My poor good Mutz,
Hearty thanks for your letters, the first of which crossed my last to you. You still have to report unpleasantnesses that have occurred to you, and thereby afford me great regret and continual cause for legitimate self-reproaches. May that soon alter, and you have nothing to report but soothing and agreeable impressions! That is my heartfelt wish, and what I can do toward realising it, I certainly shall. Only in one hardship endured I cannot pity you; for your travelling third class on that long journey I am at a loss for words! Don't take it ill of me, but I consider that more than absurd: your motive for such self-tortures and abasements makes no appeal to me; I know I'm not to blame for such exaggerations, but am doing all I can to hold privations of that sort aloof from you, which, comparatively speaking, don't even yield a perceptible saving. In such-like things, and there are many of them, I cannot truly pity you; for a certain stubbornness on your side, in which there lurks a dumb rebuke of me, is solely to blame for them. Forgive me, you deserved the tiny sermon! As for that scoundrel Furrer, I demand that he shall ask your pardon; I hear from Heim that his conduct roused universal indignation. For that matter, the whole town behaved pretty disgustingly; Heim told me that, to account for my unexpected departure, they stumbled on the idea that I had left Zurich on account of excessive indebtedness. Well as it might suit us for people not to guess the actual reason, really this belief was stupid and low enough, especially as various tradesmen might have stepped forward to whom I had paid considerable sums in full this year for our furnishing. But a perfect panic seems to have seized those who had yet to present their annual accounts, and Heim couldn't send me the piano because legal distraint had been laid on our things by these asses. Naturally it only needed my simple declaration that I acknowledged the claims in question, and should pay them at New Year, to put an end to the proceedings; particularly as it had been discovered meanwhile, of course, that no one else had claims on me and the whole thing was a blind alarm. Consequently public opinion has been corrected also, and the damage rebounds on the rascals who had bled me of so much money and of a sudden behaved so abominably that, as Heim tells me, they're being soundly rated for it now. So next week I expect the piano, the music, and the bedding, which I missed, to tell the truth, and should have missed. I got the key all right; best thanks.
My having to go without the piano so long, was very provoking to me, for my best cordial had been the recovery of a good mood for resuming my work. Of late, however, I've been occupied enough with letter-writing. Naturally I'm trying all I can to coin Rienzi's great success at Dresden into takings from elsewhere, and accordingly have been inviting all the theatres I'm friends with to acquire this opera speedily. On the whole they seem to be stand-off and distrustful toward this older work of mine, and consider its success is merely due to local interest and Tichatscheck. Still, a few good examples will encourage the rest; Breslau wants it shortly, also Darmstadt. Hanover I haven't bagged yet, but there's a prospect of it; and by the new year I may hope to have polished everybody off at Zurich.
And now to speak about my life here. Linking on to the last point, I won't exactly say it's very cheap; which can scarcely be expected en garçon, when the setting up of a whole establishment always costs such a large amount at first. A small unfurnished lodging was out of the question; they are only to be found in the business quarter of the inner city, from which God preserve me! Apart from those, there are none but the furnished apartments in palaces bought from the impoverished old nobili and fitted up by speculators for foreigners who visit Venice for a shorter or longer time. After long search I had to think myself lucky to find something of the kind to suit me at last, and to submit to paying more than I had anticipated.
Like all such apartments, it is in a big ancient palace, with wide halls and spaces. For my living room I have an enormous saloon looking on to the Grand Canal; then a very roomy bedchamber, with a little cabinet beside it for a wardrobe. Fine old ceiling-paintings, splendid floors inlaid with magnificent mosaic; badly distempered walls (once richly tapestried, no doubt), antique furniture, very elegant in appearance, covered with red cotton-velvet, but very rickety and miserably stuffed; nothing quite in working order, doors not shutting properly, all somewhat the worse for wear. I had a big state-bed removed at once, and replaced by a smaller iron bedstead with spring mattress. Linen so-so; pillows stuffed with wool; for the colder season a foot-quilt weighing 3 hundredweight. The landlord, an Austrian, is delighted to have me in his house, and does all he can to satisfy me; I have contrived a few conveniences myself, arranged a passable divan, fauteuil, etc. Things now will do quite well, and the piano is sure to sound glorious in my big saloon. The want of air-tightness in windows and doors is said to be no serious drawback even in winter here. The climate and the air are really heavenly; a regard in which Venice is said to be one of the most favoured of places, far more so than Florence, Rome, or even Naples. An agreeably refreshing East wind constantly blows from the sea, moderating any excessive heat, keeping the sky always clear, and furnishing beautiful air. For a whole month we've only had two rainy days, and only one at a time. Of course, one never sees a trace of drought, as the sea keeps the air always moist. I still go about in full summer clothing, and that of an evening, not until when do I make my promenade.
My manner of life is as follows: The whole day till 4 I work — at whatever there has been to do yet — then I get ferried across the Canal, walk up S. Mark's piazza, meet Karl there at 5 in the restaurant, where I dine à la carte, well, but dear (I can never get off under 4 to 5 francs! — without wine, too); after dinner, so long as the fine season permits, out in a gondola to the Public Garden, promenade there, and return either afloat or on foot through the town; then another promenade on shore for the length of the Molo, a glass of ice at the pavilion there, and then home, where the lamp stands lit for me at 8; a book picked up, and finally to bed. So I have been living for 4 whole weeks now, and am not tired of it yet, even without real absorbing work. What affords the never-flagging charm, is the strange contrast of my dwelling with the part that serves me for a promenade: here all still, supremely tranquil, a broad track of lapping water from the sea, with ebb and flow; instead of carts and horses, gondolas moored to the houses' very doors; wonderful palaces in front and everywhere, all lofty, silent, melancholy. Then of a sudden, on one's stepping forth, mean alleys of the strangest twists and crossings, often scarcely wide enough for two to pass, all flanked with open shops and stalls in which one feels as if upon the pavement; continually flooded with a stream of people one only needs to join, when without the smallest notion of topography one either arrives at the Rialto — the business quarter — or the Square of S. Mark, where nobody does anything but promenade.
The amazing, unique and quite unparalleled splendour of this Square, and everything connected with it down to the water's brink, is not to be described; each time I reach it from my house, the whole thing staggers me afresh. By all means I must send you some good pictures of it soon. One would never believe one was in the street, if only since it all — there being no horse traffic — is paved with slabs of marble just like some great prince's court. (I've a bad foot, and for many days have been going out in my slippers.) Everything strikes one as a marvellous piece of stage-scenery. Here it is one continual surging up and down, everyone doing nothing but stroll and amuse himself. This peculiar gaiety never fails of its effect on the newcomer; one feels at ease, and the eye is perpetually entertained. For myself the chief charm consists in its all remaining as detached from me as if I were in an actual theatre; I avoid making any acquaintances, and therefore still retain the feeling. The gondola trip out to sea always has an extremely soothing and beneficial effect: the battle in the sky 'twixt day and night is glorious; ever new isles in the distance to keep the fancy alert with their gardens, churches, palaces. In brief, I believe the choice of Venice was the happiest I could have made; for there was everything to fear for me if I had not lit on such an element, if I had felt uncomfortable, not come to rest, lost patience, roved about, and never got to work — which in fine is the one and only thing to enthral me sustainedly. Now that is overcome, and hope thereby won for a turn in our fortunes. —
At the outset my landlord spread the news of my arrival, and it got into the papers at once; but I won't let him admit anyone, and am enjoying the most complete retirement. People in Vienna naturally jumped to the conclusion that Lohengrin had prompted me to an attempt to get permission to go there; but everything that has come to your ears to that effect, of course, is mere false rumour without the smallest foundation. On the contrary, I am only too glad to be left at peace here. True, they demanded my pass a second time, and I began to fear lest demurs would be raised to my remaining longer; but the police returned it to me — very flatteringly addressed, in fact, "to the renowned Herr R. W." — with the assurance that no objection had been discovered to my unmolested residence in Venice. Consequently I am now enjoying full asylum.
So much for my life here, good Mutz. Tell Fipsel also, there are dogs here too, quite good ones, both spaniels and poodles. They set out marble basins everywhere for the dear good beasts to drink from, and I often catch the good chaps at it. Tell Jacquot I haven't yet quite found his like; but when I open one of the windows in my bedroom of a morning, I always pay my respects to a pair of canaries placed in front of a window at right angles to mine, so that I can almost reach across to them. They know me already, and no longer are frightened. But — I'm providing myself with nothing, neither bird nor dog, but remain faithful to our own good beasties. So I hope Fipps in especial will keep faithful to me, and give me a hearty good lick when I see him again, which shan't be such an eternity off.
To yourself, dear Minna, I have to say that you do wrong to make light of compassion; which can only arise from your understanding something erroneous by it. All our relations with others have but one foundation, either sympathy or decided antipathy: community of grief and joy makes out the true essence of love; but community of joy is something most illusory, for there is little reasonable ground at all upon this earth for joy, and our fellow-feeling has a solid footing only when directed to another's grief. For my part, in all my relations to whatsoever persons, I no longer wish for anything excepting that they shall not suffer on account of me; but where I feel this, it peremptorily drives me to sympathy. Neither do I ask anything more, than to be able to assuage the sufferings of others for me. Nothing, nothing — beyond!
Enough of that. Carlsruhe, of course, was a mere project; I'm very pleased at your intending to set up in Dresden. I wrote to Tichatscheck about it yesterday; Dresden, after all, is the only place where I'm at home, so to speak — everywhere else I'm abroad. Do so, and write me all about it soon. And give my heartiest remembrances to your people, make your mind easier and easier, sleep well, and console with reports on your feeling better your good Husband who greets you most heartily and with sincere fellow-feeling. Farewell, and send good tidings soon! —
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 147