My good Mutz,
You gave me great, great joy with your last letter; and indeed, believe me, you've succeeded in imbuing me with courage! Thus things will go; thus I see all coming right. Thanks, then, and true heart's reward!
I fancy I shall get another letter from you in a day or two, however, as my last informed you that I intended staying on here till the termination of my new poem. At that I'm now working with an eagerness beyond belief: it pleases me so, and yields me such exhilaration, that I'm only sorry each time I've to cease for the day, since I see nothing else at all before me that can give me joy. Unfortunately this keenness is somewhat deranging my diet; it makes me over-pass my luncheon hour, and consequently my hunger; in result whereof my digestion itself is fairly out of order, and I'm suffering somewhat severely from abdominal pains. Still, I shall probably hold out to the end, and hope to have finished for certain by the end of this month. —
Your letter has also turned the scale as to what I shall do then. I keep to Wiesbaden for this summer at any rate, there's so much in its favour; but your description has really put me rather out of conceit with it for the present, and in particular the idea of tumbling into the midst of utterly strange folk and surroundings in winter isn't very inviting to me. Many things combine with your suggestion, on the contrary, to influence me to pass the remainder of the winter in Berlin. At first I wanted to avoid it, as I was afraid of somewhat compromising myself by a premature appearance there. However, who's going to force me to appear in public? I've a couple of friendly families there, who will make life pleasant to me; and I look for nothing beyond. Bülow has offered me full hospitality, full tranquillity for work, full unconcern, and everything besides. Now the Avenariuses offer me the same; they won't take it ill of me, if I prefer the Bülows. Hans invited me to them so long ago as last summer; they're furnished for it, from Liszt's visits to them; with him I am intimate, have the pianist, the practical musician, and uncommonly attached comrade at hand, and shall be glad to work in such surroundings. The family Avenarius, on the other hand — in spite of sister — is quite a stranger to me now; neither does Cecilie deserve it: she never came to Switzerland. That would be a sort of constraint, as said, of unhomeliness, which couldn't have attracted me to Berlin; making music with Hans, especially at a time when I'm composing there, will be most agreeable and stimulating to me; moreover, in any case he was the first to speak. I shall see the Avenariuses often, and with that they'll be content.
But sundry other influences are at work, which perhaps may conduct to an issue of some kind in Berlin. Eh, it seems, it seems to me as if my remarkably erratic fate were about to undergo a change there. Lord, if it were nothing beyond a small pension, how greatly it would serve our settling down anywhere else! I have had myself announced at Carlsruhe, to conduct Lohengrin there, and to read my new text to the Grand Ducals. Already — I happen to know — the Grand Duchess (between ourselves!!) has taken steps in Berlin. So we'll see what I can thaw out on this winter-journey, and in consequence thereof.
One thing stands firm, however, Mutz: from this summer forward we'll try to bring our domiciling definitely about. I'm thinking of having the furniture and piano despatched to Schott's at Mainz; but in any case we soon shall meet again, even if only on a flying visit to Berlin. I leave it entirely to yourself how you regard that, and whether you'd care to leave Dresden this winter; but in the Spring at any rate, somewhere about the end of May — if your heart isn't absolutely set on something else — we'll take up our quarters on the Rhine, have a good look round, and if Fate's at all propitious and we're well pleased with some place — if we find a thoroughly suitable nice abode where living isn't dear — why, the furniture will be close at hand, and by the autumn all will be ready for entry. Without a settling down I cannot do: I can't go on like this; and even if I had to get collections made for me throughout all Germany, it must be. And if you won't settle down with me, why, I'll take unto me somebody else: settled down it must be, even if I had to marry the A. There, you've got it now, and know what to expect; let's hope you'll catch fire!
When my Prentices are chaffing poor David over his old Magdalene, they sing:
"Johannistag! Johannistag! / Da freit ein Jeder wie er mag! / Der Meister freit, / der Bursche freit, / da giebt es Geschlamb und Geschlumbfer! / Der Alte freit / die junge Maid, / der Bursche die alte Jumbfer! / Juchhei! Juchhei! / Johannistag!"
I hope you will find the rhyme quite pretty! I wonder if it will please the A.? —
Na, it's going with me, you see! —
Apropos: call on Seebach and remind him. The Countess Pourtalès is also going to Berlin, and has begged me to call upon her at her father the Minister's. Might also be of service to us! — So a best God-be-with-you! More hearty thanks! Yes, courage, courage: I've something in me still, I feel it! Adieu, good Mutz!
Thy R.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 229