I have nothing of importance to tell you, dear Minna; yet I'll answer you at once, and see what this bad-weather humour will bring forth. Really, my patience is put to a severe test by this weather-disease; I shan't forget this last Swiss visit. For 3 months the weather has grown no better, but steadily worse; now it has been raining incessantly again for days, enough to make me despair. And yet — were I to suddenly break off, and go to Paris? So soon as I had turned my back, fine weather would appear, and I should arrive in Paris together with the fiercest heat; whilst the main affair — my work — would be interrupted afresh. So I mean to hold out still. But once I've finished with this work, I won't write another note until I get into a different style of living, at the least have presented my Tristan, and feel a little refreshed and encouraged to life again. The last note of Tristan will be the utmost one can rap out in my position. Then nothing more: or things must alter first. —
Anyhow I shall need some distraction myself then, a rest from this eternal brain-consuming, grinding labour. I ardently long for that time; my life is growing ever harder, — from no one in the world can I hear anything. They've held a music-festival at Leipzig, given the prelude to Tristan without asking my leave, and not a soul has written me a word about it. No news from Paris for a whole quarter. From Newyork nothing. Nothing from anywhere! I'm completely dropped. Well, one must comfort oneself that if only the weather turned fine, the rest would follow. But that's my worst chicane. Moreover, I feel that my constant malaise will not even yield to fine weather before I lay my work entirely aside; which also is the opinion of my doctor. But I couldn't bring myself to take a decent outing now, even with fine weather, so violent is my longing to get done and then be free. I hope it will not be too late then! The Kissinger water acted quite agreeably so long as I drank it, but has not effected any great improvement; neither can that be at present, my head is too much occupied.
My little doctor tries his best to tide me over, and has recommended riding now. The landlord has good horses, one of which is very gentle and an easy goer; he lets me have it very cheap for an hour's ride each day, from 6 to 7 in the morning. That really seems to be something quite capital, and I am expecting good results from it pending completion of my work. It's going off quite well; the first morning I took the groom by my side, but ride alone since then. It really is the only thing that gives me a little pleasure now. As I have no dog, horse company takes its place; and that is something quite unique. It doesn't only go beside one; it goes with one, bears and moves me. One has to be constantly on the alert with it; comes an unaccustomed noise, a startling sight, it winces, shies a little; then the rider needs to grip it tighter and say something to it: at once it's quiet, and merely pricks its ears. It really affords very much entertainment; I look forward to my ride each time, and can scarcely wait for it. And then the motion is so beneficial: much walking or running simply tires the legs, and doesn't stir the liver; after a ride, on the contrary, one detects no fatigue, whereas the liver is duly shaken up, and the stagnant blood disperses. My only equestrianism, as you are aware, dates from Riga; but I soon felt at home on horse-back, ride English, rising in the saddle (mit Balance), and — it goes quite passably. For the last two days, however, I've been debarred from my ride by the rain; tomorrow morning again, let's hope.
I would beg you to insist upon their sending my letter on to you from Dresden; it was dated the 8th inst. — I believe — will please you, and you oughtn't to miss it. — Now mind that the cure sets you thoroughly up; I am glad to hear of the chalybeate baths, and delighted that Pusinelli allows you them already: that's a good sign. You must always present your right ear when people want to tell you nasty things about your husband; when I'm back with you myself it shall soon hear as well as the other, especially if I make thorough fine music. Poor woman, you, still half deaf! But that will soon pass off again; the whole trouble with you is simply nervous, and once a radical composure of the nerves sets in, the majority of these symptoms will vanish, whereas with other constitutions they would prove organic lesions. I am not very timid about them; you'll still recover all your powers quite tolerably. I have come to know you pretty well now, and hope to be quite clear about your treatment upon my side also. Don't you have any more fear; everything will come right, and is so in the main already, do believe me!
I wrote to Devrient lately that we'll fix the production of Tristan for about October; it couldn't be at the beginning of September without great rush and risk. I am glad I've got so far. I have no fear of the war, and with me doubtless every perspicacious person. The South German Reich cry, proceeding from the Catholic Austrian party, will be put a sensible stop to by Prussia; never, never can she declare war against France to save Lombardy to Austria: that's sheer impossible, and our brilliant German Unity (O Papa Fischer!) has already dissolved into smoke. That cry quite made me ill. To resume — I think the war won't interfere with us, and so let us hold fast to our own peace. If it must be, I shall join the Cavalry, unless they can find any use for me among the Engineers. For yourself, please quit the Lazaretto soon; and to enable you to do so, take as much care of yourself at present as if you had composed the Tristan; then I shall. —
Keep Nette with you; tell her mille choses from me. Squeeze Fipps's paw, and tell Jacquot he's a sheep's-head! As for you, just keep delighting me by return with good accounts of your cure. Probably I shan't write to Schubert myself, but send him word through Tichatscheck. It is understood that you're to put up at the Hotel Bellevue. And so farewell, and hold dear
Thy Richard.
(Enclosed the card of a new Zurich beer-host.)
You still have the Rheingold full score, have you not? Mind you take good care of it!!
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 177