The very finest Good-morning, and thanks for to-day's letter, which I probably received about the same hour as you my last Tuesday's. I have just shut up work, which is progressing very slowly, to write you a couple of lines before going out. Moreover, I'm medicining to-day; the London diet has rather interfered with me of late, and I was advised to take a couple of pills reputed to give the lungs free play: which somewhat lowers me. I fancy it will have good results, however, and also restore my night's sleep. Early yesterday, with the first grey of dawn, I was tossing sleepless on my bed and waiting for my nightingale; she held her peace, but suddenly I heard an awful roar instead from the Zoological Garden. At once I recognised the one uncivil lion, and his wish to take the nightingale's place in entertaining me this time. Indeed I could but laugh at the clownish fellow, who presumably imagined he was roaring as gently as any nightingale, like Bottom (Zettel) in the Midsummer Night's Dream, and with all my heart I said, "Roar again, lion"; which he also did, and goes on doing to this day, so that he has often interrupted my work. But when an atrocious street-band came besides, and played "Guter Mond, du gehst so stille" in front of the house, at last I thought: You'd better throw it up and write Minna the story instead, who herself can roar and sing "Good moon" quite nicely. Which happens herewith. —
Yesterday Eschenburg and Gerber fetched me to see the animals, who vastly entertained us again. Among the birds I was particularly attracted this time by a wonderful nightingale from New Zealand (in the South sea) who sang to us quite passionately, and bewailed her love-lorn plight in tones so splendid that they still are ringing in my ears. You see what unexpected musical suggestions I'm gathering here! Then we dined in Piccadilly, but had the greatest difficulty in getting home. Fidelio (in Italian) was to be given at the Italian Opera in honour of the visit of the Queen and the Emperor of the French, and whatever streets the mighty potentates were to traverse on their way to the opera-house were lined already with an awful mass of people. On boxes and boards stood lofty England, to treat the Chef of the French gensd'armes, Jews and Jesuits, to its enthusiasm; it was an illumination night, and transparencies flared "Welcome Napoleon" to put one's eyes out. Well, we had to edge through to cross the road, and of course the people we thrust aside believed we merely wanted to secure the best place in front, which naturally made them most indignant. Among other things, I came by a terrible blow in the back from someone's fist; when I looked round, it was a highly respectable grey-haired gentleman, and I politely bade him "Thank you, Sir." Eschenburg, on the contrary, found a very handsome tassel off a lady's mantle hanging to a button of his, so that he at least made something by it. — To the selfsame Fidelio and Ney I am invited tomorrow by Hogarth, who gets seats given him as journalist; yesterday the orchestral stalls cost 15 pounds apiece, which would have rather gênéd me, as I unfortunately have had a good many expenses of late, for the summer overcoat already mentioned, a dozen pairs of stockings, etc.; so that I have gone far beyond my rule, which consists in taking 5 pounds a week out of Aunt Wesendonck's big pouch. I usually have to pay about 4 pounds in the house, so that something like a pound is left for out of doors, which just covers my cab-fares and other small expenses. But if I lay in provisions, such as wine, ham, bouillon for soup, to say nothing of buying myself anything, I have to break into another week's money; which throws me quite out of balance, and often makes me sceptical as to my projected savings. Thus much is certain: if I mean to bring back anything even supportable, I must keep myself damned short of theatres and outings. —
I have heard of nothing in the newspapers about our last concert; the Times has kept silence again. Should anything rational put in an appearance, from a disinterested quarter, Sulzer shall certainly receive it; only I wonder at his making such account of the rubbish: what will it profit him or me? For that matter, the last concert met with much favour again, and I have been assured that Publicus was quite enthusiasmed. The room is never very full, although well filled; it follows its own old groove, and only gets notably full when a very famous virtuoso plays; if the Ney were to sing, for instance, the whole place would be packed. That's the truth. — So — compose yourself, I beg! — By the by, the Tannhäuser overture is to come off next time; even at our last rehearsal it went tolerably. — To-day I mean to take poor Klindworth for a little drive in the beautiful air; he's still too weak for walking. — I shall be writing to Sulzer next, even if I can't enclose him any journals. Give him and the other dear friends and people my very best remembrances; and mind you skim off the best of everything, and keep it for yourself.
Your news rejoiced me much again; continue feeling well and cheerful, and you will greatly ease my mind and give me agreeable hopes for our mutual future. So — farewell, dear Minna; I shall soon have been the longest span away from you! —
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 85