Best thanks, dear Minna, for your letter. Even without my assurances you no doubt will believe that it did me much good to learn how well you're looking: it lets me infer an improvement of your whole state of health with certainty; and that in turn revives my never-flagging hope of a cosy, calm old age for both of us. In truth it is conceivable that, if only Health will re-establish itself to some extent, the storms and trials of life at last must render us so wise and pliant, that — we finally should understand to prize the peace of an agreeable home as if with doubled power of enjoyment. At least — I have got so far myself as to prefer a fixed, well-ordered home to any other conceivable stroke of good fortune. Let us take good thought for it, and sharpen our wits in advance to obviate all friction then, and ensure ourselves peaceable intercourse. In the end it's sure to come to pass!
Meanwhile I'm paying a terrible penalty in my own life. I am no longer in a state to rough it: after so often having housed oneself entirely to one's mind, inconveniences and deprivations become extremely trying; and how much time one wastes, before one can even shake down! When I read your letter yesterday morning, the passage struck me where you say the S. had told you on behalf of St. that he was expecting me in his house. So listen! — In October, when I already detected that things would go wrong with Vienna, I wrote a friendly letter to St., foreshadowing the possibility that I might take advantage awhile this winter of the hospitality he lately had offered me again. He promptly answered me that he was very sorry, but he was expecting relatives, etc. I wrote you nothing of it, as of so many other disagreeable experiences. — Well, having to fend for myself here till the first of January, not before when can I move to the Metternichs, it occurred to me while reading your letter that I perhaps might pass this fortnight more conveniently — and above all, cheaper — if I really went to St. for it. So I made off to him at once, expecting he would broach the subject on my call (as he was supposed to have said so to the S.). But, God preserve him, he listened very sympathetically to the story of my invitation to the Metternichs, also of my lodging in a garni till the 1st of January, but never rose! So I took my leave, not knowing what to make of the S. and her chatter, till I reflected that this good lady is very fond of chattering, and at times may not be accurately informed. —
Certainly my presence in Paris hasn't remained such a secret, but I am sticking to it that I'm merely passing through. As I had a severe chill, I wanted wet-cloth rubbings given me, which I can only get done properly and comfortably at the hydro in the Rue de la Victoire (oh, that's another thing I once had so much handier! —). To cross the boulevard is tantamount to my being recognised by all Paris; so I ran into that wretched E. as well: the creature wouldn't leave go of me, and insisted on my coming to dine one of these days. When I got home, however, I wrote her a little note to excuse me: I was ill from too much speaking, always did myself harm by my talking, and had made up my mind to go nowhere, for a long time yet, where I should have to talk. Thus I shook off that lady, — but I mean to pay a call on the S.'s some day. —
I have written to Schott's about your parcel, and may expect it now. Best of thanks in advance. — You make me most inquisitive about the big work you speak of so mysteriously: I hope it will come to daylight in our future establishment! What you take this occasion for telling me about my under-rating of your work in general — I swallow as an injustice done me. — At Christmas you'll receive a tiny present from myself, which is certain to amuse you. Guess what? Jacquot will be equally delighted with it. The poor chap, by the way, must be terribly missing his cage!
— To repair an omission, I assure you that the tale about the laurel-wreath in Vienna was a pure invention: I didn't mention lies of that sort, or I should never know when to stop. Thus the Emperor of Austria is said to have sent a grand piano expressly to Venice, to boot, for me to play at a court-concert there on the Empress's birthday! —
It has seemed droll to be mixing with my Nürnberg Meistersingers here in Paris, opposite the Tuileries and Louvre; I often have to laugh out loud, when I look up.
Here you have a small sample of my new verses: Hans Sachs is musing on the formless, free, and yet so stirring song with which the young cavalier had failed at the singing-trial, but won Sachs' heart: he says one cannot pick it up at all, just like the song of birds which everybody understands but can't note down, because it's something so entirely different from what humans sing: however that be —
"Dem Vogel, der so süsse sang, / dem war der Schnabel hold gewachsen; / ward auch den Meistern dabei bang, / der Sang gefiel doch wohl Hans Sachsen."
Then:
First the Marker has been plaguing him about his shoes, — then comes the young maiden also, and, annoyed with Sachs, in turn complains that her new shoes are pinching here and there, and so on. — Finally Sachs shews her that he knows where the shoe is pinching her, and admits her lover; — then he complains: "hat man mit der Schuhmacherei nicht seine Noth! —
War' ich nicht noch Poet dazu, / ich machte länger keine Schuh!"
Enough of the sample, — you see the world I'm living in! I thank God that I hit on this subject: it helps me through in every way now, whereas I should otherwise have downright not known what to do! — Now just you stay friends with me, too! Continue with your looking well, and help me to bear; just as I myself, or far or near, shall ever stand true by your side! —
Adieu, dear old girl! All will come right in the end, indeed it will! Patience!
Thy loveliest Husband.
Many greetings to acquaintances: above all to Pusinelli!
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 224