Dearest Minna,
I mean to pull myself thoroughly together, not to forget anything — as usual. Apart from that, my life here would afford me small occasion to, as it creeps away so drearily and against my inner grain, that I wish I never had come into the position to have to report on it! — Here goes, then! — Your question about the pastilles I have already answered at last, with Eschenburg; I must renew my thanks, however, for your great attentiveness and forethought, which I do herewith from all my heart. It really is a little droll, to see myself assisted on this single very trifling point, whereas so many other and more important things have still to be paid for so shockingly dear. Precisely now, the imposts for this crazy war make living and all accessories infinitely dearer than has ever been the case before; owing to the enormous taxes, every single article has tremendously risen in price. — That by the way. — One letter, according to your account, must certainly have gone astray; luckily there can have been nothing of very great moment in it. Did you get my letter with the lion anecdote the other day? With our wind from the North-East I constantly hear the naughty fellow roar now, which also is a sign that we shall go on having fair dry weather, but cold and inhospitable, so that I have to keep reverting to my wadded coat. Nevertheless I have ordered a complete Spring-Summer outfit now: trousers, coat, and two of those stout English piqué waistcoats. These things weren't dearer than at Zurich here, if anything a little cheaper; consequently I am erecting myself a memorial to England, and at the same time lightening my tailor's bill of next New Year. — Regarding the colour of my cast-off summer paletot we will not quarrel any more; you mean the one made 5 years since at Zurich, which I took into indoor wear at last, and I mean that made 3 years since at Zurich, which I hitherto had worn out of doors. — From London there will fall to yourself some lovely Irish lace, in any case, and maybe something else. When the end draws near, I must also bear our Zurich friends in mind quite decently, don't you think? As I shan't be bringing back much money, it would be the most sensible to bring nice souvenirs; for — to London I shall not return. There's time enough for that, however. —
I fancied I should get another 50 pounds from Anderson after the 4th concert, and in that case meant to send the 1000 fr. for Wesendonck at once to Sulzer — an occasion I had destined for the long letter I promised him; but Anderson appears to have forgotten it, and as I still have enough money to live on, I would rather not remind him, but go on waiting. Please say so to Sulzer, who won't be so afraid of calling on a grass-widow, I hope, as the "uncorrupted" Wesendonck. Let us hope the last good creature doesn't think that nothing save the presence of her husband holds a woman back from every kind of silly prank she else would necessarily play with others; I'm sure he has no such dismal notion of his wife, for instance, just as I am happy not to have it of you, whom I therefore heartily permit to receive whatever caller you may find agreeable.
That brings me to your account of the bad odour into which the Wesendonck has fallen with Mesdames M., H. and B. — If the lady has really become so disagreeable of a sudden that those individuals can't abide her any longer, it must indeed be a very bad case; for the Wesendonck was universally regarded as a most amiable woman only a short time since. If one should "pity him," Wesendonck, for this bad odour of his wife, it certainly would shew much charity toward him, but not towards the lady whom one brings into bad odour oneself, and I could not deem that pity very cordial. It is to be hoped, however, that you will set Mad. H. and M. a good example, and shew yourself more lenient and indulgent toward peculiarities perchance arising, which at bottom may well be excusable and not so terribly forbidding. Naturally, no constraint can be put on you either, and if you have a genuine antipathy towards the Wesendonck, I myself should not account the thanks supposedly due to her sufficient to oblige you to keep up an intercourse distasteful to you. But should your aversion repose on any manner of mistrust appearing to involve your honour, I believe I may give you the assurance that such mistrust is perfectly unjustified and groundless: on the contrary, you may take it for certain that no one more deserves your confidence and friendship than Mme Wesendonck; just as I myself, for all the difference in characters and parts, have a firm and hearty confidence in him, a confidence I also hope that he returns me of full right. — I have so often made no reply to what you say about the W., that I thought it incumbent upon me to go into the thing at greater length this time, as I could not help remarking that an utterly erroneous suspicion has put you out, in however natural a fashion, and warped your judgment. You are not cross with me for this, I hope? — As for my grey hairs, why, tell that to the Wesendoncks without any fear of wounding my vanity; for, notwithstanding your calling me a "handsome husband" in your last letter, I have no great conceit of my beauty. — Touching the "Uncle and Aunt," alas, I've no secret to tell you: there's absolutely nothing in it; you surely ought to know how often I have quizzical flashes with no further meaning whatever. With the best and most honourable will, I must therefore leave your curiosity unsatisfied this time. —
By the way, please tell Wesendonck, to whom I lately sent a few lines for his wife — on a hint from himself — that he has still to expect a thoroughly rational letter from me. —
I have nothing to say to the violin man; Praeger has passed on his address to an instrument dealer here, who — if he means to go into the matter — will write himself. — But tell me, how ever did you come by the infamous idea that there's a bang on the gong in my Tannhäuser overture? For the life of me I know nothing of it, and therefore with the best of will can't leave it out, which I would otherwise have gladly done to please you; if I mistake not, that gong is a banger out of Sulzer's head. That's how one gets paid out for leaving one's wife all alone with strange bachelors! — As for the concert anecdotes, I wrote you all that was needful last time. The next programme will somewhat compensate me for the last; besides my overture and a Beethoven symphony, we're to have a Mozart one I've entirely re-nuanced to my liking, and for the close — the going-out piece — the overture to Preziosa. At the last concert we did quite an obscure and insignificant — earlier — overture of Weber's to The Ruler of the Spirits; I was astounded and annoyed at its being demanded da capo, for which I could discover no reason whatever. It has been explained to me now: it was a deliberate demonstration by the audience in my favour, to compensate me, as it were, for Herr Lucas with his boring symphony having been received before (as Englishman and director of the society) with more applause than he was certainly worth. That's how these people are: the thing itself makes no true impression on them, and leaves them cold, as I recognised again thereafter with the effect of the A-major symphony; but so soon as they interest themselves in a person, they shew it with a deliberateness that looks almost like enthusiasm. Consequently, all is design! —
To retrieve another point forgotten, I may tell you that the Ney's Fidelio left me very cold: a fine, equable soprano voice, but the whole thing drill, and already all those mannerisms I detest so; added to which, she is hideously ugly. The whole representation was bad; to particularise, Costa didn't understand the tempi at all, and dragged everything: only Formes as Rocco was very good; I could make use of him some day. I also saw Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet at the Haymarket Theatre the other evening, by very indifferent actors who nevertheless had the tradition at their fingers' ends — so it seemed — which interested me in many ways. I and Lüders had a droll experience with the impersonator of Romeo himself: an old womanish chap whom we ranged in the sixties, without any nose, with a mouth all sunk in and a monstrous big chin which made so disastrous an impression upon us that we couldn't help laughing whenever he shewed himself in profile. After the 1st act we consulted the programme for the old boy's name, and found to our surprise it was a Mistress Cushman, a woman!! — The day before yesterday we were at another theatre, the Olympic, small, but very elegant and with quite excellent comedy actors. The actual chief genius was a Mr. Robson, who played, danced and sang in a concluding pantomime, The Yellow Dwarf — for all the actors here must be able to play, dance and sing. The man was really admirable — a mixture of what I need for Mime and Alberich; I wish I could have him! — I won't deny that an occasional visit to the theatre — always very expensive, though — agreeably distracts and helps me to endure the otherwise abominable stay here.
Yesterday I also resumed my work, in which I had been interrupted awhile by hideous ill-humour. Nothing came of the excursion to Röckel at Bath — as you perceive — since Praeger couldn't accompany me; in return, I'm expecting Eduard here. — Liszt's visit is out of the question: you read aright; he is going to Hungary. Has Hülsen sent that money yet to Sulzer?
Your finding nothing more about our concerts in the Zurich papers is natural enough; it can't be kept up thus for ever. The ordinary reports in the press here are brief, and disparaging or appreciative according to party. Moreover, there has been nothing special to discuss; only because there was a novelty at the last concert, the symphony by Lucas, has Davison written something in the Times again: for that matter, I didn't have to conduct the nonett of Spohr, the execution whereof he found so poor. Quite funny tales are told me of this Davison. It is certain that he has been bought by Meyerbeer's agent (the Jewish music-dealer Brandus) to pull me down, to prevent my making any way here lest I might have a shot at Paris later. In any case he felt he had lent me more weight by his enormous tirade in the Times than he naturally meant to; also, his editor may have given him a hint; so he has confined the venting of his gall on me to his own rag, the Musical World. To criticise me to the bottom there, he has also instituted in the said rag a literal translation of the text of Lohengrin, which, as I have been assured, isn't at all bad. Now this translation is being generally read with great interest, and arouses the liveliest sensation; so the stupid fellow simply is playing into my hands again. But I have further been assured that he — Davison — himself is quite enraptured with this poem and told a friend of Lüders the other day point-blank, The man who wrote this text must be a very demi-god! — Now, what is one to make of it all? Praeger says, it is just like him: he can be quite transported by a thing one day, and tear it to pieces the next if his position requires. Pretty tales! — I must still wait for anything solid and sane to be written about me, although a fitting opportunity to make my full acquaintance will in no case arise. Meanwhile, however, my hand alights on something in the Spectator anent the second concert; it is appreciative, exactly as far as the man who wrote it could know me. Please give it to Sulzer for his provisional edification.
That will be about enough for you to-day, dear Muzius (why ever do I choose to call you so? mustn't there be something behind that as well?) Take good care of yourself and keep in thorough good health for me, and all will come right. If Pepsel gets lame again, just give his paw another sound rubbing; give him and Knackerchen my very best regards. Yesterday I saw a perfectly beautiful puppy for sale, but — remained faithful and staunch; as I am in everything, to sing my own praises for once. — Have I forgotten anything else??
So — farewell, accept my heartiest kisses; be thoroughly sensible, hold me dear, and salute the whole Switzery a 1000 times.
Thy Wilhelm Richard Wagner.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 88