I am expecting a letter from you tomorrow, dear Minna, it's true; but I want just to bid you Good-morning to-day. Your letter — the answer to my last but one, detained in Dresden — amused me very much by its descriptions of the Schandau Royal shoot with concert; still greater was my delight at Fipps's hare-hunt: I'm always glad to hear of our good beasties. As I wrote you once before, myself I'm keeping company with almost none but animals here, and my out-door friends are now augmented by a cat who plays magnificently with a young black poodle — so that everybody stops to look — and finally by a — donkey. The latter is penned on the hill for grazing, seems to feel lonely, and comes towards me whenever he sees me; then he stretches out his head to me, and I scratch him behind the ears a little, which seems to do him a world of good. As soon as I pass on, he always starts a hideous howling; to scold him out of it I couldn't well call him an "Ass," as to him that would have been no opprobrium, so I've had to say: Donkey, don't play the goat! —
For the rest, the fine weather now set in at last is doing me much good. How beneficial the effect of this air is, with the bise that's always blowing now, I feel to my complete surprise. It has made my mood quite excellent; the Kissinger too, which I still drink at intervals, may be shewing its good effect now; and in particular the riding seems also to contribute very much to my improvement. I've seldom felt so merry, as of late; this greatly helps my work, and in its turn the progress of my work contributes to my general good humour. So I hope for certain to have finished Tristan entirely by the end of August, and what contributes the most to my cheerful mood is the prospect of rest and recreation then, which I may well — indeed, must accord myself after such a marvellous piece of work. Consequently I am looking forward with extraordinary joy to next winter, when I mean to unharness thoroughly for once, and distract myself at ease. I fancy Paris will be the very thing for that; in tiny holes one is thrown back on almost nothing save one's work. On the other hand, I remember how much we strictly neglected in Paris; whilst we can also take a trip some day to London, where I likewise saw next to nothing. In short, I'm hoping for a very pleasant, entertaining and diverting winter, and already have a presentiment of the benefit that will be to me, and how much good it will also do yourself again. Even if I don't make any American earnings at present (I hear nothing more from there whatever) my new opera will help for a good long while, and it is appearing at the nick of time for acquirement by many theatres for this winter itself. Tannh. and Lohengrin, too, continue to yield something to live on, especially through Berlin; and indeed I cannot grumble at the abundant way my operas are helping us out. Last year really cost a fearful amount of money, and yet there was always some when wanted, so that I didn't need to run into a farthing of debt. Tristan will be of great use to me: it is a very long time since people have learnt anything new of me, and no doubt the world almost regards me already as a man from whom there's nothing more to expect. This work, then, will greatly revive the interest in me; its music is bound to make an incredible effect, as has been the case already — so I read — with the orchestral prelude at Leipzig.
I wrote to Tichatscheck yesterday. If you are going to Lohengrin, please order yourself a thoroughly well-situated room at the hotel in advance. I do hope the opera may turn out well at Dresden; but there, you'll tell me all about it. —
I no longer think of any larger excursions now, despite the lovely weather, work chains me so. By the bye, I owe that lovely weather to the priests. A week ago le bon Dieu walked the streets in person: it was Corpus Christi day; the evening before, when the right wind had already come to stay, the priests drove the children into the churches to pray for fine weather, which accordingly succeeded in the amplest measure. That padre who was always up at Seelisberg, and paid his court to you, had also clothed himself in a very beautiful lace shirt, and gabbled away in the procession. — What pleased me better, was a company of Tyrolese (splendidly handsome people) who sang in the gardens here with wonderfully fine voices, especially the women's.
Now mind you're soon able to send me as good accounts of your health as I you of mine to-day. I hope for the best, only I should like just to give you one piece of advice: if you wake up early and cannot get to sleep again straight off, arise at once, put on your clothes, take a short promenade, and then a thorough good rest after breakfast instead; the more tired you then feel all the day, the earlier and better will you sleep at night. I get up regularly soon after 5 now, ride or walk, and — how divine these early mornings in high summer are, can't be extolled enough; and what one loses if one passes them in stuffy bed, is not to be deplored enough. In revenge, to bed by 10. Just try it for once. In summer one can hardly be out of doors at any other time, you see, than very early. The air is so gloriously invigorating then, that I'm always of a wellnigh irrepressible good-humour at breakfast.
— So: early to rise! — And now — to dinner, which is being served this instant. Farewell, be calm and cheerful. Everything will turn out quite splendid!
Thy Richard.
Tell me, foolish woman, how ever did you come by that woful idea that I meant to foist an organic defect of the heart on you, with my allusion to its thumping on the Rigi? And yet you must have believed something of the kind, or you wouldn't defend yourself against it so stoutly? No, that beats all! — It's getting time you met me face to face again, or I shall be sporting Devil's horns and hoofs in your eyes next!!! —
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 178