Look here, dearest Mutz, you really don't behave your best towards me! I might have had an answer to my last letter 5 days since. I don't think it's the fault of the Post, for date and post-mark have always tallied hitherto. With the telegram it was different: that certainly went off at 8 in the morning, but only as far as the Swiss frontier; the Swiss bureau won't answer for delays arising at the German stations. The brief letter you wrote me in consequence of that despatch I had already answered in essence through my letter of the same date, and so I hoped to receive a reply to my letter in turn, by the beginning of this week. Moreover, it propounded various points on which you were to give me your opinion; so I shall hope to hear something from you tomorrow! —
To-day it's miserable enough again. We had a lovely sunset yesterday, all was so vivid, and I expected a fine day to-day for certain: — this morning everything in mist and cloud again! I've really had bad luck this time with Switzerland: my plan of residence was altogether reckoned for fine weather; cut off from all society, nothing for one's recreation or distraction except Nature in its beauty, an abode which is only beautiful through offering a lovely view, — and now: that Nature and this view continually cut off and veiled! In a big city that of course matters nothing, or certainly much less; there one often scarcely remarks how the sky is looking. To be dependent on it alone, however, is another pair of boots.
Speaking strictly, what brought me to Switzerland in general and this neighbourhood in particular, was the hope of remedying the troubles in my lower regions — which never cease plaguing me, now in this form, now in that — by frequent and considerable excursions, climbs, and a taste of the pure high-mountain air. But they have become almost worse; each morning I awake with heavy head and aches in every limb, to gaze out on such another cheerless day that stops me from everything. And one is to preserve good humour with it all! Work — yes, that's mighty fine, it helps one to forget much in the end; but all the worse if work itself becomes impossible. No, this sort of thing cannot go on much longer! I still hope to effect a radical alteration, and reconciliation with my surroundings, through the advent of settled fine weather; if that favour isn't granted soon, I really don't know what to do, especially about my health. I have a horror of all springs and spas, because I'm not the man to abide by the cure so systematically that it does some good; and then, on the contrary, it only makes bad worse. What might be of the most radical help to me, and lead to a great change in my slack state of health, I know well enough: — to be able to arrive at decent outward activity again, delight in a fine performance, stimulation, etc., etc. — But how wretchedly and pitifully does the whole world leave me in the lurch, everybody, everybody. Bah! and yet one has so many "friends," such influential, high-placed friends! — Abominable!!
Liszt wrote me recently again: "Only complete your Tristan, and then we will see!" — to which I answered: "Capital! But how if I didn't complete it, couldn't complete it, because I need refreshment first, not after. Have I perchance supplied too little yet, to earn the Germans' energetic interest in my fate? Must I first make this or that besides?" —
Well, I shall help myself ere long, and presumably then turn my back on some of them. — For the present, as said, I'm still living in hope that the heavens will at last take pity on me and shew a friendly countenance to my Swiss cure; things can't go on so wretchedly! In any case I shall keep my birthday on the Rigi, let the weather behave as it chooses. I shall ascend the previous evening, and awake in the morning atop; then down again to receive the lovely presents with which it is to be hoped you'll congratulate me. — Otherwise I'm sent to Coventry, the whole world holds its tongue; 'tis as if they all had a bad conscience in my regard.
The war is most absurd, that's certain; but the Theatre always comes out of it best in the long run, as people fight shy of larger outlay in the lump, such as for pictures and works of art, but gladly invest in a bit of a ticket for an evening's distraction. 'Twas ever thus! Nevertheless I admit I regard the American offer now with more and more favourable eyes, and — as you will uphold in me — am quite determined to accept it. After all it's an absolutely safe way, independent of any European complications, of amply insuring ourselves against every contingency for a number of years; and consequently it is quite invaluable. The voyage on the extremely comfortable big steamers is said to be really not so disagreeable, and at any rate nothing to compare with that we once went through.
Under these circumstances I still hold fast to Paris as the best, nay, only place for us. Even if I take nothing at all there at first, that will not matter, whilst it certainly is the most agreeable of all large cities, and the one that offers most from every point of view. If I get in a regular huff with Germany, I might even decide next Easter, on my return from Newyork, to embark on a good (superfine) German Opera enterprise (in the Italian Opera-house), so as to bring out my operas, including Tristan for the first time. Lord bless me, there are 100,000 Germans living in Paris, and it would also make a prodigious sensation among the French public; I shouldn't be at all afraid of the success, a downright German. And what joy for me, from the heart of the enemy's country first to shew these mouthing German-patriotic swindlers a German work in the fullest sense, and then to ask what all their German swinery was worth!! — It really is unaccountable how they behave to me, and I can't help thinking they're all — — — fellows who cannot trust themselves to use the proper language in the proper quarter. Devil take it — if the fire there were only duly poked, and the disgrace of their still keeping me out of Germany regardlessly shewn up to them, they would be bound to feel ashamed of themselves and do something respectable. But it's just this cowardice which so disgusts me that I mostly turn away from them all with nothing but contempt. However, I shall help myself ere long, as said — but in my own way then! —
Lord, the weather cleared up so nicely yesterday, that I really got back a little zest for life. On a three hours' ramble, such as one really can make nowhere else than in these glorious environs, I had much to observe which delighted me. I sat down by a mill-race to cool myself till I could take a drink, when I got into a good frame for observing: inside clacked the works, outside cackled the hens; pigeons sought their provender between them; on a small wagon heaped with straw the sparrows hopped about and pecked stray grains; I heard the ox in his stall, and asked myself what still was lacking? Aha! the cat came out of the door, seated herself on the sill, attended to her toilet, and watched the birds. At last a girl sallied forth to draw water, and behind her bounced a great big dog, who never harmed me. — Then I thought: Eh, such a genuine country life might also suit me for a change. I'm so fond of keeping company with animals; and that no superficial company. One always has something to give one little cares and blameless joys, with them; every day has its interest, for one learns to know each beastie personally, they depend on us, and that flatters us. — Then I passed over the hill, through the forest, with the heavenly concert of woodbirds, in which I keep believing I discover some new song. But it was superb on the pasture-lands. Such beautiful chimes I have heard nowhere else: almost every cow wears her big fine-toned metal bell, on which these people seem to spend a lot. Standing in the midst of them, it was a true Power of Sounds to me; and the cattle are so friendly, all come close up to one and look at one inquisitively. Long did I hear those lovely bells, from farthest distance; ay, even at night I heard them on my balcony across the lake, for the cows remain upon the pasture all night long.
If everything went thoroughly according to my wish for once, I should like to pass the winters in Paris, but every summer we should have to be able to lead just such a homely country life in Switzerland; perhaps at Brunnen after all. I don't mean to give the latter scheme quite up, and shall resume it with Aufdermauer. America! America, thou must help! — With money, you know, one can do anything! —
Tell me, bad woman, do you honestly deserve my painting you such pretty things as the above, and on pink paper into the bargain? (Which reminds me of my barber, who wished to speak thorough heigh German with me yesterday, and since the Swiss always pronounce ei as i — Isen, for instance, instead of Eisen — jibbed at saying Papier, and offered me instead "Papeier." I had to explode with laughter!) And there I go telling you such a fine anecdote into the bargain! What have you done for it? You prefer not to write me at all. I fancy it's a sign that you're having as much entertainment as I by all means wish you from my heart; but I don't particularly respect your large correspondence elsewhere. What you women have to hatch among yourselves isn't worth much as a rule, and your father was perfectly right not to consent to you girls learning writing. Na, mend your ways, and give me in exchange the greatest joy you can afford me, by sending me fine reports on your state of health. Ah, so much is based on that! Our remaining apart till the end of August or September, looked at sensibly, has the sole aim of your going quite smoothly through your summer cure, from which we all indeed have hoped so much. Meantime I shall jog aimlessly on, hoping that good summer weather here will yet bring me the proposed benefit to my own health, that my work may thrive therewith and get completed, I may then attend to everything in Paris nicely, and finally we both may pitch our tent a little solidly again and fairly snugly: when mutual cosseting and recreation will do both of us good! —
Now adieu, you bad Mutz-wife! If I don't get a letter tomorrow, I shall become still more personal! Adieu! Best greetings to the menagerie!
Thy Richard.
It will soon be a full quarter of a century now, that we have known and made eyes at each other! A lovely time — how will it be after the next quarter of a century?? — I fancy I then shall be amnestied. —
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 171