You altogether good Wife,
Only to-day have I received your portrait from the Custom-house, as it had to be laid before the Censor first. You may easily imagine how it touched me! It was quite an excellent inspiration of yours, for which I thank you from my heart. Moreover — with all respect for Herr Klepperbein — I must confess that this photograph has turned out far more successfully than that product of his art you once sent me to London; though I have preserved the latter also, particularly since at least that good fat rascal, our lamented Peps, came out so well on it. The only thing I do not like about your portrait is the addition of those red lips; otherwise it is quite capital and has made a most moving impression on me. It lies on my writing-table now beside the portrait of my father Geyer; so I'm quite well supplied with portraits. Once more, accept my hearty thanks for the wholly excellent and kind idea! — A decent photograph of myself will never come off, and I'm waiting till some first-rate painter shall try his hand on me!
I have been confined to my room again the last 4 days; what a deal of trouble I keep on having! I had come by a sore on my leg, didn't think much of it, applied cold compresses, and bound them rather tightly to prevent their slipping, as I didn't want to miss the chance of good promenades in such fine weather. But the pain became fiercer and fiercer, the inflammation and swelling increased, till at last I grew alarmed and called in the doctor. At once I was ordered not to do any more walking, but to apply certain resolvent poultices; which I continued for three days on end, with such an aggravation of the pain that I couldn't rise from my chair at last without screaming aloud. Now it has begun to suppurate, and I'm horrified at all the bad matter that is coming to light. I still have to take great care of myself, as the indurations still are there. In all my life I've never had anything so horrible on my body, yet it seems connected with my good nose, which is white as snow just now: a divertent, then. — The only pity is the constant hindrance to my work; may God improve it! —
It's very shabby of me to be narrating you my little illnesses, when you have such great ailments to surmount yourself, — but I think it may divert your thoughts a little also. Thank Heaven for your last letters! Remain like that, dear Minna! Ward off your dismal fancies; they are the deadliest foes to your health. Troger and Pusinelli (with every physician who knows your complaint) agree on that in their reports to me. Your malady is painful and will give you trouble for long, and to the end of your life you will have to exercise the greatest care never to overtax yourself in any way, but always to spare yourself; when true tranquillity of mind sets in, however, you soon will feel quite different and many of the distressing symptoms will disappear, so that at last you'll accustom yourself to certain, perhaps chronic, inconveniences in your condition, always be able to control them, and so lead quite a tolerable existence for long to come — for as long as your lease of life itself. But am I much better off? My nervous and circulatory troubles (Blut-Leiden) don't ever altogether cease disturbing me: how is it, then, that I still retain sufficient freshness and vigour of mind for creation, and have made my general condition so much more supportable than of yore? Do you believe that if I had still been kapellmeistering, with that inner repugnance, that eternal annoyance, and the constant repetition of intense excitement at rehearsals and performances, things would go so endurably with me? Eh, I should like you to see it: I should no longer be alive, take my word! But each has a rift he retains for his life; it is no good shutting one's eyes to it: we ought to learn wisdom with our riper years, instead, and cease sapping our vitals. On the contrary, if one orders one's life accordingly, and wins that fine repose I spoke of, despite that rift one can then enjoy one's life quite sensibly at last. That's what I have resolved to, and that's what you should do as well! Man mustn't dwell too much upon the past; whoever would keep himself on end, has enough to do with the present. In that respect remembrance is our greatest foe. As regards yourself, my dear Minna, I now have made it my most sacred duty to do everything that can possibly give you ease of mind about me, and therefore also to avoid whatever might excite you needlessly. I have written thus to Pusinelli also, and assured him that in his cure he will have a support in me on which he may rely. — So — rest! repose! trust! reconcilement! — no more brooding! —
After my wedding-day presents I am expecting another letter from you in a day or two, in reply to which I'll tell you sundry things that I omit to-day (since writing now is somewhat difficult to me as well). I hope you then will also tell me you've at once put up your mantle bought in Dresden for re-sale? Mathilde will soon attend to that for you, even if you lose a little by it. — Yes, I half expected I should have bad luck with my present; you who always feel it too hot, couldn't you have waited just a wee bit longer? O you naughty Madame!
You will also have the new pianoforte score of the Iphigenia sent you; I shall keep on getting sent to you whatever things of mine come out. But I forgot Tichatscheck this time, and am writing Härtels to send you yet another copy; so give him either this or that in my name. And now God bless you for to-day! — Ow! Ow! — soon more, and always good, from
Thy dear Man.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 152