My good Minna,
You won't be surprised at my not having written you for so long, when I tell you that absolutely nothing has occurred to effect any change whatever in my situation. Everything has remained so completely as it was, that it really needs great patience to wait on like this from day to day, from week to week, without seeing anything brought the least step forward or the awaited arrive! That tells you all the history of my sadness, and what is weighing me seriously down. — Please realise that even to-day I'm only taking up my pen against my will, and merely writing you to prevent your being plunged into any other fears about me; else I would gladly remain silent till I could tell you something a trifle satisfactory. —
Here I am leading such a useless life of waiting, that it often seems to me without an object; and last week I already was next-door to despair over Ander's condition, which remained so uncertain that simply nothing could be settled. Really, I had to ask myself: What's to be done, if I must forgo a production of my new opera in Vienna this winter? — If a favourable decision of the Grand Duke had arrived of a sudden from Carlsruhe, I believe I should have started for there that instant, at least to set something in order. But everyone keeps silent there as well; which doesn't astonish me, for that matter, when I remember that much must doubtless first be pondered and arranged upon my patron's side, before he can let me have a definitive answer such as I desire. Moreover, he is certain not to be exactly at Carlsruhe just now, and that would temporarily complicate the legal path whereon alone he can decide my case as man of conscience. —
Half in despair I had already heard a new tenor whom the Director wanted to let make a debut; he really had a very fine voice, but proved so terribly talentless, lazy and pitiful, notwithstanding his having sung at other theatres some years, that after one rehearsal I myself concurred with their not allowing him even to appear. Meanwhile the Court Intendant had insisted on Ander's condition being submitted to an official medical inquiry, to ascertain whether he would be in a position to study a new fatiguing part this winter and at the same time fulfil his obligations in the repertory. — Luckily Laube, who sets great store by Ander, had already re-inspired me with courage: he knew Ander, he said, and he had been much worse than that before, yet against all expectation he had always rapidly and completely recovered in the end. And now the medical report has revived Ander's own courage and dispelled his hypochondria: the first physicians here have examined him carefully, and given him — or rather the Intendance — the certificate that he is suffering from quite an ordinary hoarseness, which is merely not completely got rid of yet, but may easily have vanished entirely within a week. So Ander also — whose nervousness had made him really imagine he was in for quite losing his voice — is suddenly on his mettle again; he will remove to town at last next Saturday, and with the first of October, they now say, the rehearsals of Tristan are to begin in earnest. God give his blessing! My heart is still heavy enough, and declines to brace itself as yet to any good belief; only, the affair has returned to a point where I dare not break off anything, but must patiently just — wait!! —
Naturally we don't entirely trust the fresh hope set on Ander yet, and the Director is indefatigable in his look-out for a new tenor. Thus I was invited by him at short notice to accompany him to Frankfort the day before yesterday, there to hear as Masaniello on Sunday a Herr Richard who had been recommended to him as good. I telegraphed to Schmidt, but he hadn't heard the man himself yet. Besides him there is further in prospect a superlative tenor, a German, who lately made a furore at the Italian Opera in Madrid under the name of Morini, and is said to be one of the very best in every respect. So Salvi is off, to go on from Frankfort to Paris, where he thinks of coming to terms with Morini (Schrumpf). He much wanted to have me with him; but honestly, the proposal was too much exertion for me, and in particular it wasn't quite clear to me whether I was to travel at my own or the theatre's expense; wherefore I stayed behind, unfortunately having also lost all faith in something decent.
Remarkably enough, however, I could almost have repented my decision to stay behind. For, on the very same day I was asked by telegram from Paris whether I would give my consent to Roger's singing Tannhäuser's scene from the 3rd act at the Opéra comique next Tuesday. I telegraphed back that I left the decision to Truinet and Flaxland; but I also wrote to Roger himself, and committed everything to his judgment and responsibility. Certainly I might have been able to see to this performance turning out at least correct; but Lord knows, on the other hand, it struck me as so idiotic to treat the thing as of importance enough to be tumbling head over heels into Paris myself for it. One has become so circumspect and cold, that one thinks nothing worth great exertions and sacrifices any longer. — Otherwise I have no tidings from Paris at all; merely I've learnt that the Flying Dutchman has been deposited at the Théâtre lyrique (?). I am expecting an answer from Truinet. — I have made the acquaintance here, however, of a Herr Marchesi, an Italian, who is quite bent on translating Rienzi into Italian and being the first to produce it in Paris, at the Italian Opera. As Paris is his actual home, and he is very well known there, I am giving him free scope for the present, and shall wait and see what may come of it. —
There you have a précis of my last events: the upshot, as you see, is: — Uncertainty, Waiting, — Trial of Patience!! — Add to it, Nothing ever coming off: answer from Coburg, "Regret inability to give Lohengrin this winter"; and so it goes on. To enliven the proceedings, fresh effronteries and bothers from the side of the lamented Meser's worthy Dresden successor regarding the Paris edition, occasioning me constant agreeable correspondence etc. again. So you may imagine how blissful and bubbling I am, and how I've heart for nothing, not even for excursions into the country, to which I'm frequently invited!
Whilst I'm in such deadly uncertainty, my only pleasure is your feeling tolerably well for the moment. Your accounts of the Wartburg gave me great delight; I'm always glad to hear that sort of thing from you! So take your walks at ease in the beautiful park, and look on Weimar as a soothing after-cure, since the cure itself so ill agreed with you, which I heartily regret. I thoroughly approve of your intention to consult our good Pusinelli again about your malady directly after; nay, I thank you with all my heart for having hit upon this good idea, so reassuring to myself as well. In that way, too, your Dresden visit will have a very apt ground in the eyes of the world, and I may hope the place itself will best assist you to endure the uncertain time of expectation we both are now going through. (I wrote to Pusinelli immediately upon receipt of news of the bereavement.) But I can't say much more to-day even about yourself, as I unfortunately am so powerless to interpose with any safety in your situation, — which, believe me, is no small grief to me. Yet do not doubt, my good Mutz, that every atom of your news appeals to me most keenly, and I always feel somewhat comforted and cheered when I can gather that you at least are feeling fairly for the moment. How glad and happy it would make me, if I soon could tell you something really good and satisfactory. Indeed I hope to!
So please be content with the little I bring you to-day, and console yourself in all adversity with the thought of your husband, who in truth has still more troubles to put up with! Farewell; write again soon, and accept a thousand heartfelt greetings.
Thy R.
(You are right about Lulu, as always and in everything! So: entirely of your opinion! —)
(I am eternally plagued with colds and catarrhs here!!)
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 214