Dearest Minna,
I must send you a couple of lines at once, in answer to your good-tempered letter! — Your little spies deceive you; you're served exactly like the Saxon Police, when they also had me spied on heretofore, and got fine balderdash reported to them. My child, I am glad to be installed here for my work, and have but one care: namely, to keep interruption at arm's length. I was at Darmstadt for 2 hours some time ago, to call on poor Weissheimer, who unfortunately is not quite out of danger yet; Schindelmeisser insisted on my running over the next Sunday for Tannhäuser (with Tichatscheck); next morning I received a letter of regret, the performance was interfered with. So I remained where I was, and have had no further notice; neither has Tich. himself called on me, so I'm still waiting and waiting to meet him. I go to Wiesbaden almost every day by the 6 o'clock train, drink a cup of coffee in the Kur garden, take a walk, and return on foot to Biebrich, where the burning lamp awaits me regularly from 8½ on. — Since poor Weissheimer hasn't been calling on me, I see or speak to literally not a soul; least of all at Wiesbaden, with the exception of a Herr Standel, a connection of Schott's, whom I meet about once a week there, and perhaps of Herr B., who inflicted himself on me a little too long the other day. At Frankfort I wanted to attend a Tannhäuser rehearsal once, but changed my mind, and returned without it.
The reason why I didn't answer your punctually-received letter of the 30th of last month for some time, will have become plain to you from my last, which I despatched to you 5 or 6 days since. (Apropos: your last letter, of the 9th May via Darmstadt, only arrived here to-day; nevertheless I am surprised at your not having received mine by then.) Now I see by your epistle of to-day that I very probably attached too great a weight to the provoking questions and remarks contained in that letter, and find my experience confirmed that one mustn't always take things so precisely with you. No doubt it pains me to have always to be prepared for this or that slash, this or that confusion as to which you urgently demand intelligence, — especially when I am bound to wish myself such total peace of mind as now; nevertheless I'll resolve not to take things in such deadly earnest for the future. This time it had quite uncommonly put me out again; and most likely that arose from the state of my health, which makes me a great hypochondriac at times. The last time it was positively unbearable, particularly with my bowels and my chest-affection; do or omit what I would, it made no difference (my doctor's a toper, and doesn't shew his face). I daresay it must spring from some error of diet; mostly, tho', from my unceasing cares, the constant failure of everything I undertake, the necessity of resigning myself in every direction.
I stick to my work like a devil, and while you — who know me so well, you know! — suppose me on continual pleasure-trips, even in the worst of humour I am wresting from my muse at least one smile a day. So I really am well into it now, and a fairish portion of the first act is already finished. Concoct what plans I may for my future bearings toward the Theatre, all, all must come to this alone: I must bring a fresh opera into being — since I'm still in great uncertainty about the Tristan at Vienna. — Nothing else I might undertake has any sense or prospect of success if something new of mine, and easy to be given, does not precede it. So I keep suppressing all my thoughts, all disappointment, and tell myself: Complete the Meistersinger; nothing else! — I hope you will quite comprehend this, and seek no other thing behind, if I am growing more and more uncertain about my projected Dresden visit. It is no trifle, and often of the greatest danger, to interrupt one's work. Eh, if I had already finished something like the half, and needed a distraction; but it's only 6 weeks since I thoroughly got to work: everything still is delicate, and needs careful rearing. Moreover, I have become so distrustful of anything pleasant or good assumed to be in front of me; I believe in nothing, but simply fear commotions, disillusions, annoyances: at least, they always happen to me, once I mix with people. Oughtn't one to prefer a secure limitation, to any change? And then the money point: would it not be better for me to save the 50 thaler the excursion at least would cost me altogether, and contribute it to you, which really will soon be of need again? — All these are demurs which I give you to ponder, to prepare you for the event of my not coming just now; but I've settled nothing as yet: we'll see! —
Everybody at Schott's is ill; they fear that he's developing consumption. Consoling also! — From Carlsruhe — not a sign of life! — Never mind, if my work but succeeds in spite of all. I — hope so! —
Farewell, and greet all who greet me. Perhaps —
Now Adieu!
Thy Rich.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 243