My good Minna,
I haven't felt well the last few days, and have had to break off work; I've had to spend my utmost capability of writing anything on all kinds of letters, none of which has given me pleasure. Added to which, I should like to write you in as good humour as possible: I think your rug will assist me to that at last. The certificate has come, and I'm to get it from the Custom-house tomorrow; so I shall reserve the close of these lines until after I've seen it. —
Yesterday I also sent off an important letter to Dresden: my last attempt to ascertain what I have to expect from there. After mature reflection, though, I haven't addressed this enquiry to the Minister of Justice, from whom I no doubt should have got nothing but a dry evasive answer. No, I hunted for a high-placed, influential person, of easy access to the King, and with whom a word could really be exchanged; and I hit on my old Lüttichau, who after all stands nearest to me of them all, and to whom at the same time I could make a proposal for the regulation, in a happy event, of that advance from the Pension Fund I had left in the lurch. The letter naturally turned out a long one; if I can any way manage it, however, I'll take a copy for you from the draft and enclose it by and by. It was of importance to give definite reasons once and for all why I cannot entertain the suggestion to present myself for trial after these 10 years: I have declared that this regard for my state of mind and health, thereon depending, is absolutely due from me to the claims of the art-world on myself and my works to be still created; but I deem it of moment that the King should definitely know that I cannot consent to it. So I shall make everything hinge upon Lüttichau's answer; I've written him in such a tone that I may assume he will do all that is possible to procure me perfect certainty. Should that fall out adversely, I then should try the other path of which I told you lately, through the German princes. —
Well, I shall have to wait that while before I can give you my final views about next winter and the fixed habitat to be chosen for the pair of us thenceforward. Is it to be in Germany, or is it to be abroad? That is the question, and as the answer doesn't stand within our power, we will not break our heads on it at present, since that would lead to nothing. Nevertheless I've been enquiring as to the climatic conditions of certain places, and among other things I have learnt to my sorrow that Vienna has a very bad climate. Strassburg is said to be quite unhealthy, and a miserable hole all round; neither could one count upon the place itself at all, and I could far more easily bring off a German Opera in Paris, where there actually reside 100,000 Germans. However, no brain-racking on that point now, as said; once the other is settled, that can soon be arranged. No doubt your own state of health will also have to be taken into consideration then; perhaps suitable winter quarters in a nice mild climate may be of decided benefit to you, at least until your radical improvement. Venice, for instance, hasn't been precisely hot this winter, but I must say I've never enjoyed such clear, pure air, with blue and cloudless skies, almost throughout a whole winter before. November was stormy and raw, as everywhere; but since then, on an average, we have had bright clear weather nearly all the time, mild, yet often fairly fresh; and now we're also getting the beginning of Spring warmth. I almost think this climate would be bound to do you good: only I doubt if Venice itself and its canals would please you otherwise; also, I'm not exactly mad on passing another winter here so soon. Karl's not having needed a fire comes from his living on the Riva, where the sun beats from its rising to its setting; also from his room being only about half as large as our little dining-room at Zurich, and as low again. It is a regular Venetian attic, and must be absolutely unbearable in summer. Moreover, Karl wasn't in Venice from November 20 to January 1, i.e. the coldest period, whereas it has been bright ever since, that is to say, sun in his room; which counts for a very great deal in Italy. It would never have occurred to myself to take rooms on the Riva, as in all this else so tranquil Venice it is the only spot where from morn till eve cries, bagpipes, barrel-organs, Punch-and-Judy shows, and now at Carnival time even the music of rope-dancers etc., never cease. I take my daily promenade the length of it, and am as if in pieces when I've got through all the hubbub; so that I keep asking Karl, who always has his windows open for the sun, how he can stand it. He declares he has got used to it now, and indeed had done no work at first whatever. That's true: at the outset he rummaged Venice like a madman for pictures and art-treasures, and was never to be found at home; even now one mostly cannot catch him. But I, on the other hand, have my big room on the solemn, still Canal, and — for the winter alas! — no sun. Added to it, a bleak corner where the Messieurs Winds often come to quite terrible blows when they're changing. Then, miserable stoves, very badly fitting windows, and — with the exception of 2 to 3 hours — I'm all the time indoors. That makes a fearful difference. Indeed, I should have moved out in the end if I hadn't the Spring in front of me; which begins very early here, and precisely in this apartment, lying as it does, should compensate me richly for the winter. Already I'm stoking much less, and fancy I soon shall leave off altogether. —
I can't tell you of any further special incidents, except that they want to give my operas in Moscow. Härtels forwarded me an enquiry they had received about Lohengrin; as the people there are not obliged to pay at all if they can only manage to obtain the scores another way, I believed it prudent to take counsel with my Russian prince. So the latter has commissioned a friend in Moscow to procure me advantageous terms there just for honour's sake; such a thing has always to be done through personal influence, if anything decent is to come of it. Then, still waiting for word from there, I learn to-day through the Leipzig theatrical agent, who had addressed himself to Fischer for the purpose, that he had applied to Härtels specifically about Lohengrin, but at the same time had orders from Moscow for the whole of my operas. So I cannot do better than await the first Moscow answer, as I am sure to hear from there then that it really is a matter of all my operas. It would be highly desirable if something quite decent should result from it soon; but I won't build too great hopes.
Give Papa Fischer my very kindest regards, and thank him for his letter. His news that there are no more scores of Tannhäuser at all is certainly most fatal. Just to lay in a small stock, I had recourse at once to Boom and A. Müller, to whom I had once given copies, and begged them to exchange the Tannhäuser, which they must know quite well enough by now, for the Tristan which they should receive from me instead next autumn. That would make two copies, which Fischer has probably received already; a third might be extracted from Frau Uhlich, as Karl says he made a present of his copy to poor Uhlich. The widow might be offered the former shop-price of 10 thlr. for it, which doubtless would be welcome to her; Fischer, or even yourself, will perhaps be so good as to transact this. He might simply give the lady an intimation to hold it in readiness in case it's needed. Fischer might also take advantage of the opportunity to have another thorough search among Uhlich's papers for those lost portions of the Rienzi scores, of which he tells me to my horror. How could such a thing have got lost? Can any part thereof, by chance, be lying still at Fürstenau's? Please ask Papa to set my mind at rest soon. —
God knows, nothing ever goes off smoothly, without bother! — I'm thoroughly sick of it. —
Bülow writes me from Berlin of Hülsen's comical wrath at Lohengrin's "impertinent success," as he is said to have expressed himself because he can't give it as often as it's asked for: he would never have expected that; and now Johanna's going to marry soon, what ever is he to do? Every seat booked for six performances which haven't been given yet, and constant fresh orders — it's really quite amusing. Presumably the Tuczek will have to take on Ortrud then.
For that matter, dear child, these young folk worry you too much; let them be as they are, I don't believe they're half so bad, tho' everybody has his weakness. With such very young people, you see, one mustn't be too particular; that's how I get on with them now quite well myself. Don't let what you hear from here and there disturb you too much; Hans is bursting with zeal for his masters, and just as he is passionately devoted to myself and my successes, he also is incredibly susceptible to all attacks on his papa-in-law, attacks so often very spiteful. His behaviour at that concert was perhaps injudicious, but at any rate does honour to his character and ardour; moreover, the consequences seem to be turning out quite well: the young Jews were furious, but he impressed everybody, and the cause isn't standing half so badly in Berlin now, even for himself; in a few days he'll be giving his second concert. The immediately next piece after that scene was the prelude to Lohengrin, which was so frantically applauded that the audience was only annoyed, in turn, at its not being repeated. —
Liszt certainly seems to be in a state of profound ill-humour now, and I can discern that it isn't the scurrilities of the newspaper Jews (to which you might really pay a little less attention now and then!) nor the insignificant occurrences at the theatre, etc., that are to blame for it, but his experiences of the gross ingratitude, disloyalty and treachery, of those to whom he had shewn nothing but kindness. The man is palpably too grand and imposing a figure for our mass of German Gothams. In France a man like this, with such goodness of heart, such zeal for the advancement of others, and such eminent abilities, would be otherwise esteemed and honoured. It grieves me very much, and I shall make it my business to hearten him, for I almost fear he has become distrustful even of myself. —
I thank Herr Bürde very much for the attentions he is shewing you; it is uncommonly gratifying to me to hear of such a thing. Don't you forget to remember me cordially both to him and his wife. —
So I'll wind up for to-day, and save the blank space for admiring the rug, which I'm to receive from the Customs tomorrow, as said. The amount of red-tape in these Customs is wellnigh past belief; so I'll conclude by telling you the tale of my cigars. As I didn't want to pay double duty through Sardinia, I got Frau Ritter to send these cigars after me from Lausanne, the beginning of September. Since then I've had to correspond as far as to Vienna, even to get permission to import them; every week there has been something to attend to for them, and money to fork out. At last, with the beginning of February one has got the great length of permission and all, but — the cigars have been sent back to Lausanne; merely two pounds of snuff had arrived, which I had got sent from Geneva, and for those I was asked to pay — 40 francs duty. Prompt as my thanks for the snuff, I naturally would not accept it, and wrote off to Lausanne merely to keep the cigars there till I fetched them myself. — What eyes you'd make, if you could see me with my long Turkish pipe! For one gets excellent Turkish tobacco here, but wretched cigars. So, at breakfast just think of my long pipe and the ashes you'll have to knock out for me some day! —
11. February. (Forenoon, during work.)
This moment, dear Mutz, the rug has arrived, been unpacked, laid under the piano, and already made music on. It touched and moved me very much! How gladly would I have got yourself to spread the carpet for me, and let you witness my delight at this beautiful kindly work. There is something very doleful in my having to receive such intimate domestic presents from you at a distance now, and I cannot fight off a great sadness.
Dear good Wife, we have a hard life of it; let us conquer it at last! But only from the inner fortress of the heart can it be overcome; so rest, calm, peace to the heart! Everything is still to hope, and I hope it from the bottom of my soul; but for God's sake, oblivion! Keep Present and Future firm in eye, and vanquish by their aid the demon Past, and with it every feeling of revenge! I'm preaching you no sermon, and should not be elect to; but I am expressing my sincerest, heartiest wish. For — I do so want to recompense you yet for all the sorrows of your life; myself I now have hardly any other than those of knowing you not yet released from yours. What else in life can truly pain us, than the belief that we had been betrayed? And what alone can remove that pain from us, save recognition that we really had deceived ourselves, and even our enemies were only suffering and erring mortals, no wicked culprits? I know no better and more thorough balm. And yet, so feeble is the making of the human heart, that we scorn this best of balms the fiercest, because we won't admit to our own selves that we mistook. Thank God, I've overcome that fatal vanity; Heaven grant you soon this balm yourself! —
And now farewell! Rest assured, your lovely rug has given me great, affecting joy, and will do every day. Accept my thanks, my greeting, and my hearty kiss for it!
Thy Richard.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 160