Dear Minna,
I telegraphed to you yesterday that I should be starting for Italy to-day; that is now about to be executed, and I hope to be already at Venice by Sunday. In and for itself, my chief desire is to make straight for the spot where I think of settling for some time, arrange myself a tolerable abode, get the piano sent, and find at last a frame of mind for work again. Geneva could in no case have been that spot for long, and Venice principally attracts me through its notoriously being the only city that hasn't the smallest noise of traffic, to which I have become extremely sensitive. Well, you know I was only delaying on account of the heat of the sun; but Karl Ritter implores me afresh not to make that an obstacle: Venice has an exceptionally healthy climate, he says, and most people go there precisely at this season, etc. That suited me perfectly; for I couldn't have remained here much longer without setting myself up with piano etc., which I didn't want to do twice over. Now I'm curious to see how this Venice will appeal to me; God grant I may find it supportable, for I shouldn't care to travel farther, and mental repose, such as my work alone can give me, has become my supreme need.
I have been feeling particularly wretched for some days past, especially after receiving your letter, which shewed me that it probably will forever remain impossible to you to see clearly and correctly. With you, a definite blame must and should always be borne by a definite person; you do not comprehend the nature of things and Fate, but simply think that if this person or that thing had never been, all would have happened otherwise. Upon that I can say nothing more to you; others must do so for once: Heaven grant you may find the proper person to enlighten you. It also is repugnant to me to make a fresh attempt, and I merely declare once more to you emphatically that nothing drove me to abandon Zurich beyond the recognised impossibility of continuing in that close neighbourship. Things could be requested of the husband by his wife which you and I can request of him no more: so long as silence reigned between the four of us, under well-understood conditions of propriety, one could jog along; but so soon as it had come to speech between the four of us, that would work no longer. He accepted my announcement of removal with the greatest friendliness and gratitude — but he did accept it; and I also was in honour bound to go, since every other road to a good understanding shewed itself harder and harder. — But enough, and already too much! You'll go fumbling at this again, I fear, and fail to find your way. Best we should drop it entirely and each seek to conquer his past for himself, thus to find for the future the only path that promises repose and healing! —
Regarding yourself in particular, I abide by it that you will gradually feel better after your total removal from Zurich; it will be slow in coming, but come it will. Your heart-complaint is terrible, and I can't tell you how I pity you in these sufferings; but everybody knows that change of air and surroundings is the first means to improvement. Remember how it is when a certain position in bed begins to irk you: if you remain in it, the oppression increases, and may even become fatal; but as soon as you change your position, and so bring the blood into proper circulation, it is relieved of a sudden. It is just the same with moral situations; believe me, and hope for improvement!
By the time I reach Venice I hope to have to address you at Zurich no longer. Therefore as soon as the day of your departure is fixed, write to Venice poste restante; my first letter to you from there will then catch you, I hope, on your birthday in Saxony — at Zwickau, if it must be: against which place I have nothing in particular, though it would have been better if you had gone direct to Dresden, taken a small apartment there, and let N. return awhile — on trial — to leave someone in charge of the animals in the event of your making excursions and visits. But I shall dictate nothing further to you on that head.
What Tichatscheck may have understood when I wrote him we were leaving Zurich, packing up and selling trifles, I cannot comprehend; he wrote to me as well about the pictures and the Erard. Do you think he isn't quite all there? I shall answer him as soon as I get his report on Rienzi. Of course you'll take no notice of this stupid query; I particularly want our departure from Zurich not to bear the look of a breaking up, but simply of a removal with everything kept together. —
Now farewell, my good old Mutz! Would to God I had been able to provide you with quieter days! I am very sorry for you, and my compassion is heartfelt and great; I indeed have a singular life of it: that it brings you so much trouble, I deeply deplore! But put your best foot forward now: act calmly and with dignity, shew self-command, and soon give me good news of yourself. Farewell! Bear patiently, and — God be with you!
Thy Richard.
Many kind greetings to Heim: tell him he mustn't be cross with me for throwing so much upon him, and I hope to be able to lighten his load before long. Please also give orders at the Post that newspapers and the like, such as theatrical journals, be either altogether countermanded or sent to Heim; in no case forwarded.
Give Friedrich and Lisette hearty greetings too; say I want them faithfully to help you. O God, to think how everything might have gone better! It was possible; but — I won't expostulate. To good Fipsel a thorough good shake of the paw.
Conceive the present feelings of a domesticated, homely man like me! And yet — it must be so awhile! Farewell! The poor bed-clothes I always meet with, pampered mortal, inspire me with the wish that you would send my bed-linen along with that packet of music I asked you for. Please think whether it can be done. The piano mustn't go off before I have obtained a free pass for it at Venice, which I then will send to Heim.
Perhaps the wadded quilt also, and feather-bed. Just as you think. —
(Yet perhaps not?)
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 143