Dearest Friends: Heartiest thanks for your love, which after all is the one thing which has made the dull London lastingly dear to me. I wish you joy and happiness, and, if possible, to be spared the dreariness of the London pavement. Were it not that I regret to have left you, I would speak of the delightful feeling which has taken possession of me since I have returned to the continent. Here the weather is beautiful, the air balmy and invigorating. The past night’s rest has somewhat recruited my strength after the recent fatigue. At present I am enjoying peace and quiet, which I hope will soon enable me to resume work, the only enjoyment in life still left to me.

I have not much to tell of adventures, except that when I went on board I felt rather queer. I lay down in the cabin and had just succeeded in getting into a comfortable position for sleep, hoping thereby to keep off the sea-sickness, when the steward shook me, wanting to look at my ticket. To comply, I had to turn over so as to get to my pocket. This movement caused me to feel unwell; and then the unhappy man claiming his steward’s fee, I was obliged to sit up in order to find my money. This new movement brought on the sea-sickness, so that just as he thankfully received his gratuity, he also received the whole of my supper. Yet he still seemed quite content, notwithstanding, whilst I had such a fit of laughter that drove away both sickness and drowsiness so that I entered Calais in tolerably good spirits.

The custom-house visiting only took place in Paris. It was well for me that the lace I had secreted for Minna was not discovered. Here I soon found my friend Kietz, to whom I poured out my heart about you, dear friends. To-morrow I leave with a Zurich friend, who has waited for me. From Zurich you shall have news. As I write to you all, I beg you to divide my greetings, and do this from the depth of your hearts. To my sister LÉonie, give her as well a hearty kiss for me.

Adieu, good lovable humankind, think with love of thy

Richard Wagner.

Paris, 28th June, 1855.

Best greetings from Switzerland.

I hope you have already received tidings of me from LÜders. From you, however, I have not yet heard anything. You might at least have written to say you were glad to have got rid of me, how sister LÉonie fares, and how Henry is, whether “Gypsy” (the dog) has made his appearance in society, whether the cat has still its bad cough. Heaven! how many things there are of which I ought to be informed in order to be perfectly at ease. As for me, I am still idle. My wife has made me a new dressing-gown, and what is more, wonderfully fine silk trousers for home wear, so that all the work I do is to loll about in this costume, first on one sofa and then on another.

On Monday next I go with my wife, the dog, and bird, to Seelisberg; there I think I shall at last get straight! If you could but visit me there. My address for the present is Kurhaus, Sonnenberg, Seelisberg, Canton Uri. I do not know how I can sufficiently express the pleasure which my wife wishes me to convey to you. Whilst I unpacked I chatted, and kept on chatting and unpacking. Several times she was deeply moved, particularly when we came to the carefully marked and neatly folded socks. Again and again she called out, “What a good woman that LÉonie must be!” and then when the needle-case came out and that beautiful thimble, both she and I were mightily pleased. We wish your wife the happiest confinement that woman ever had, and at least six healthy children all at once with heavenly organized brains, every one to be born with a pocket containing ten thousand pounds each, and further, that your wife shall be able on the same evening of the confinement to dance a polka in the Praeger drawing-room. May it please heaven that this reverential wish shall be tenfold fulfilled, then your love for children will be fully satisfied.

In a few days you will receive a box with three medallions in plaster of Paris. These were modelled by the daughter of “the Princess Lichtenstein,” and are to be divided thus: one for the Praeger family, one for the family Sainton and LÜders (who I sincerely trust will never separate, and who are regarded by me as one family), and the other for the poor fellow of Manchester Street, Klindworth, the invalid, from whom I am expecting news about his performance of last Wednesday. I trust he is already at Richmond enjoying the benefit of hydropathy. I purpose writing to him as soon as I know his address. For the present greet the poor fellow heartily for me, and in my name try to console him for me. I will soon write to Sainton, and for that occasion I will pull together all the French I learned in London, so that I might be able to express to him my opinion that he is a splendid fellow. And what is dear LÜders about? I hear that he has headed the riot in Hyde Park. Is that true?[14] I hope he has not used my letter to Prince Albert in making lobster salad. I have often been unlucky with letters of mine. Even yesterday I found reproduced in Brendel’s “Neue Zeitschrift” a letter I had written to my old friend, Fischer, at Dresden. It has most disagreeably affected me, for if I had wished to express myself about the London annoyances I should have done it in a different manner, but I had not the slightest wish to do anything of the kind. However, I am heartily glad my time of penance is past, and forgive with my whole heart Englishmen for being what they are; still I am resolved, even in thought, never to have anything more whatsoever to do with them. But you, my dear friends, I will ever cherish in remembrance, and if all that is agreeable be but a negative of pain, then by the memory of your love and friendship is the period of my London tribulation blotted out.

A thousand hearty thanks for your love! Now you will, I hope, give me the joy of good news, and say that you love me still. To dear Edward[15] give my best greetings. It was a great pity I did not see him again.

Farewell, my dear Ferdinand; all happiness to yours, and to the dear wife good wishes.

Richard Wagner.

Zurich, 7th July, 1855.

Dearest Friend Ferdinandus: A thousand hearty congratulations to the newly born. Right gladly I agree to become god-father and, if you think it will bring fortune, add my surname as well.

I arrived here in this paradise a few days ago. I read your letter on the left corner of the balcony of the hotel, the picture of which heads this letter. Occasionally, while reading, I raised my eyes and looked beyond upon the magnificent Alps, which you cannot fail to notice at the side of the hotel. I say that I looked from the letter occasionally, since its contents afforded me matter for reflection, and I found solace and comfort in the contemplation of the sacred and noble surroundings. You have no conception how beautiful it is here, how pure the air that one breathes, and how beneficially this wonderful spectacle acts on me. I fancy you would become delirious with joy at the prospect, so that the return to London would be a sad event; yet you must undertake this trip next year with your dear wife.

But how strange that the same incident should have happened to us both at about the same moment! You remember that I expected to see my old and faithful dog, “Peps.”[16] Well, shortly before my arrival he had been taken ill, but nevertheless he received me with the greatest delight, and soon began to improve somewhat in health. The day of our departure for Seelisberg was already fixed, where, as I wrote to you, I was going with my wife, my dog, and bird.[17] Suddenly dangerous symptoms showed themselves in “Peps,” in consequence of which we put off our journey for two days so as to nurse the poor dying dog. Up to the last moment “Peps” showed me a love as touching as to be almost heartrending; kept his eyes fixed on me, and, though I chanced to move but a few steps from him, continued to follow me with his eyes. He died in my arms on the night of the 9th-10th of the month, passing away without a sound, quietly and peacefully. On the morrow, midday, we buried him in the garden beside the house. I cried incessantly, and since then have felt bitter pain and sorrow for the dear friend of the past thirteen years, who ever worked and walked with me. It has clearly taught me that the world exists only in our hearts and conception. That the same fate should befall your young dog at almost the same moment has deeply affected me. I have often thought of “Gypsy,”[18] and wished I had taken him with me, and now that fiery creature too is also suddenly dead!! There is something terrible in all this!!! And yet there are those who would scoff at our feeling in such a matter!

Alas! I am often tired of life, yet life is ever returning in a new guise, alluring us anew to pain and sorrow. With me now it is sublime nature which ever impels me to cling to life as a new love, and thus it is I have begun once more to work. You have again been presented with a new-born life. I wish you happiness with all my heart. I feel as though I had some claim to the boy, for it was during the last four months prior to his entering the world that I came a new member into your household. The affection I sought was vouchsafed to me in the highest degree; the mother’s mind was no doubt much occupied with that strange, whimsical individual, whom, to his great joy, she so heartily welcomed. May it not be, perhaps, that before he saw the light, this may have influenced the little stranger! if so, my heartiest wish is that it may bring him blessings. Now give my best greetings to sister LÉonie, and thank her heartily for all the kindness she showed me. I can but wish her the happiest motherly joys; remember me to Henry; he is to care for his little brother as if it were a sister.

Farewell, and let me soon know how you all are, Keep up, and above all, see well that you come to visit me next year; kindly remember me also to my few London friends. LÜders and Sainton I thank for their friendly letter; you will soon hear from me. Farewell, dear brother,

Your
Richard Wagner.

P.S. Liszt will not come until October. Ask Klindworth to write to me. Thousand kind things from my wife.

Seelisberg, Canton Uri, 15th July, 1855.

Best thanks, dear friend, for your letter, which was, alas, sad enough to make me sad too. The worst of misfortune in a life like yours is that in surveying all circumstances, it is positively unrectifiable: to revolt against it, even at the best, has still something ridiculous in it. To him, who like you suffers keenly (and amongst your surroundings must perforce suffer the most), all I can say is, think, dear friend, no man is happy except he who is foolish enough to think that he is. You and I are not fit for this life except to be tired of it; he who becomes so the soonest finishes his task the quickest. All so-called “fortunate events” are but deceptive palliations, making the evil worse. I know this is capable of being understood in a double sense, so that it might be interpreted either as a trivial commonplace or the deepest possible reflection. I must leave it to chance how you will understand it. The only ray of light in the dark night of our life is that which sympathy affords us. We only lose consciousness of our own misery when we feel that of others. Entire freedom from one’s own sorrow is only possible if one could live solely for the sorrows of others, but the evil of it is, that one cannot do this continually, as one’s own troubles always return the stronger to attack the feelings. I, for my part, must say that since in London I have never had my mind free from troubles. The demon of sickness has come to lodge in my house. My wife, particularly, causes me great anxieties. Her ever-increasing ill-health helps to render me very sad. Worried and troubled, I resumed work. I struggle at it, as work is the only power that brings to me oblivion and makes me free. Only look to it that next year you come to Switzerland; meanwhile amuse yourself as much as you can in your polemical war against London music-artists and critics, not on my account, however, but only as I believe it is a good channel to absorb your otherwise sad thoughts.

From New York I have just received an invitation to go over and conduct there for six months; it would be well paid. It is fortunate, however, that the emolument is not after all so very large, or else, perhaps, I might myself be obliged to seriously consider the matter. But of course I shall not accept the invitation. I had enough in London. I am somewhat fidgety that you have not yet acknowledged my three medallions, one for you, one for Sainton and LÜders, and one for Klindworth. I paid freight for them some time ago, and thought they would have been in your hands long before this. If you have not yet received them, I beg of you to make inquiries at the post-office, since I sent the little box from Basle by the mail, and your address was correctly written. Do not forget to speedily inform me of its arrival.

Please send at once to Berlin the box which I left at your house, containing my manuscripts, and address it to the Royal Music Director, Julius Stern, Dessauer Strasse No. 2. Do not prepay it. You may have some expense on my account which I will settle with you when we meet. Do not forget to mention it.

Perhaps you have heard already that “TannhÄuser” has created a perfect furore at Munich. I felt constrained to laugh at the sudden veering round in my favour when I remembered that only two years ago Lachner contrived that the performance of the overture to “TannhÄuser” should be a complete fiasco. On the whole, I live almost entirely isolated. Working, walking, and a little reading constitute my present existence. At present, I am expecting Liszt at Christmas. How fares my sister Leonie? Well, I hope. You write so ambiguously about it that I cannot make out the exact thing. How is the boy? Is he really called Richard Wagner? Are you not right glad to have him? Greet your dear wife for me with all my heart, and tell her I often think of her with pleasure, and of the friendly interest she took in me. My love to the poor hypochondriacal LÜders. How well I ought to have felt myself in London. When he became excited, he was irresistible. I will write to Sainton soon. He is happy, and finds himself best where he is.

Farewell, dear Ferdinand. A thousand thanks for your friendship. When things go badly with you, laugh at them.

Adieu,

Your
Richard Wagner.

Zurich, 14th September, 1855.

Ansicht vom Kurhause Sonnenberg auf
Seelisberg, Ct. Uri.

Ma TrÈs ChÈre Soeur! Allons donc! Je vais vous Écrire en franÇais. Dieu donne que vous en entendiez quelques mots—ce qui ne sera pas chose facile. Mais je ne serai pas si absurde de me donner de la peine, pour faire de bonnes phrases; cela sera l’affaire du Dr. Wylde, qui s’y entend probablement aussi bien qu’À la musique! PlutÔt je porterai sur ce papier quelques bÊtises de mon genre, qui ne toucheront au caractÈre d’aucune langue, ni vivante, ni morte.

Enfin, je vous fÉlicitÉ, ma soeur, d’Être doublement mÈre! L’ÉvÉnement que Ferdinand m’a annoncÉ il y a quelque temps, Était prÉvu par moi moyennant d’un pressentiment prophÉtique, qui me naissait pendant mon sÉjour À Londres; car, pendant que je me souhaitais au diable—c’est À dire: hors du monde—je m’avisais, que le bon Dieu se preparait À remplir la lacune attendue, en mettant au monde un remplaÇant pour moi. Mais ce bon Dieu s’est trompÉ, comme il lui arrivÉ quelques fois (en toute confiance soit dit!); le diable ne m’a pas encore acceptÉ; je suis restÉ au monde, par obstination seulement, comme vous allez voir—et mon remplaÇant est arrivÉ pendant que je vis encore, de la sorte qu’il y a maintenant deux Richard Wagner. Ainsi, je ne suis pas surpris de cet ÉvÉnement, que j’ai plutÔt prÉparÉ en quelque sorte (et sans la moindre offense pour Ferdinand!) seulement par ma rÉsolution de quitter la terre, rÉsolution, dont le changement me procure maintenant le plaisir passablement rare, de vivre ensemble avec mon remplaÇant future, de faire sa connaissance personelle, de m’entende avec lui sur la direction des concerts de la SociÉtÉ Philharmonique, enfin sur mille choses d’une importance extrÊme, qui ne s’arrangent pas si bien par une distance si Énorme que celle de la mort À la vie.—Cette affaire a donc bien rÉussie. Seulement je plains de vous avoir causÉ tout de dÉsagrements et de souffrances, comme vous les avez dÛ subir pour cela (je le dis vous savez toujours sans la moindre offense pour Ferdinand!). Jugez donc de la grande et intime satisfaction, que je viens d’eprouver À la nouvelle de votre rÉtablissement complÊt, et croyez À la sincÉritÉ bien cordiale des fÉlicitations, que je vous addresse.

Maintenant je n’ai pas d’autre soin, que de m’entendre aussitÔt que possible avec ma doublette sur nos dÉmarches rÉunies pour conquÉrir le monde avant de le quitter de ma part c’est-À-dire: de la part de Richard Wagner l’aÎnÉ. Ainsi je vous prie de me donner toujours des nouvelles bien promptes et exactes sur l’État du dÉveloppement de mon remplaÇant. J’ai dÉj trÈs besoin de ses fonctions auxiliares. On m’a invitÉ de venir en AmÉrique, pour faire de la musique À New York et À Boston on m’a promis des recettes trÈs fortes, et mille autres choses. Mais il m’est impossible d’y aller: cela serait alors l’affaire de Richard Wagner le jeune; quand pourra-t-il accepter l’invitation? Expliquez-vous, je vous en prie, trÈs clairement sur ce point lÀ. Aussi j’ai une multitude de projets de sujets d’opÉras dans ma tÊte: Ferdinand les croÎt sous le toÎt de ma maison; il se trompe, ma maison c’est moi, et le toÎt c’est mon crÂne. Je n’ai ni le temps, ni la tranquillitÉ nÉcessaire pour les Ôter de leur cage, lÀ, oÙ ils sont encore enfermÉs: ainsi, ce sera l’affaire de mon remplaÇant de delivrer ces plans d’opÉras et d’en donner ce qui lui plaÎt À son petit pÈre pour qu’il en fasse la musique. Quand sera-t-il assez dÉveloppÉ pour ce travail bien pressant? RÉpondez-moi avec promptitude sur cette demande; demandez À Ferdinand si elle est importante! Ah! mon dieu! il y a encore tant d’autres choses À arranger ensemble qu’une confÉrence prochaine me parait indispensable. Connaissez-vous le Dr. Wylde? Eh bien! j’attends son invitation pour lui donner des leÇons de “musique du future.” Richard Wagner le jeune ne serait-il pas encore mieux avancÉ que moi pour instruire ce genre de musique, puis qu’il est encore plus du future que moi? Que voulez-vous? Il n’y a pas de temps À perdu. DÉpechez-vous du peu d’education qu’il faudra pour mÛrir les facultÉs de mon remplaÇant, et Écrivez moi aussitÔt tÉlÉgraphe quand le moment sera venu, ce moment de dÉveloppement accompli que j’attends avec impatience. N’est-ce pas, chÈre soeur LÉonie? N’est-ce pas, ma mÈre (entendez-bien!!) n’est-ce pas, vous n’oublierez pas cela par hasard? Et surtout vous ne manquerez pas d’instruire mon “alter-ego” de gagner de l’argent? le seul talent (entre autres) que, par une faute incomprehensible dans mon education, je n’ai pas cultivÉ dutout ce qui me cause quelquefois, i.e. toujours—des peines horribles, puisque je suis luxurieux, prodigue et dÉpensier par nature, beaucoup plus que Sardanapale et tous les empereurs Romains pris ensemble. J’ai donc besoin d’un autre moi! (“passez-moi le mot”) qui gagne ÉnormÉment d’argent pour moi. Vous n’oubliez pas cela, et m’enverrez sous peu de temps quelques millions, volÉs par mon remplaÇant aux admirateurs innombrables que j’ai l’aissÉ en Angleterre. J’y pense bien, je trouve que c’est lÀ le point dÉcisif, de la sorte que je vous donne le conseil final, de faire apprendre À mon remplaÇant seulement ce que je n’ai jamais appris-moi; cela veut dire faire de l’argent—“make money”—mais beaucoup! Beaucoup! EnormÉment beaucoup!

VoilÀ ma bÉnÉdiction:—que Dieu m’exance!!

Quant À Richard Wagner l’aÎnÉ, je ne puis vous donner que des nouvelles peu agrÉables: il se traÎne À travers la vie comme un fardeau. Sa seule rÉjouissance est son travail; son plus grand dÉplaisir est quand il perd l’envie de travailler; mais la cause de sa mort sera un jour le sort terrible auquel il lui faut livrer ses travaux, À la mutilation et À la destruction parfaite par des exÉcutants bÊtes ou mÉrchants; contre lesquels il lui est dÉfendu de protÉger son oeuvre, puisqui’il est exilÉ de lÀ, oÙ il est exÉcutÉ. (Pensez donc À mon remplaÇant!) Tout autre malheur ne me touche plus fortement: mais celui-lÀ me touche au coeur et aux entrailles. Sous de telles influences je perds quelques fois, l’envie de travailler parfaitement et pour longtemps: ces Époques sont terribles, car alors il ne me resto rien, rien pour me soulager. Aux derniers mois j’ai regagnÉ heureusement un peu mon ancien zÊle, et je travaillais assez bien au second de nos drames musicals; que je voulais finir À Londres (so’t que j’Étais!) Malheureusement j’Étais forcÉ de passer les derniÈres sermaines au lit, en proie d’une maladie, long temps cachÉe en moi, et enfin ÉclatÉe—j’espÈre À mon salut. Je viens de quitter le lit hier, et me voilÀ aujourdhui À la table pour vous Écrire. Soyez indulgent, et pardonnez-moi le tas de bÊtises que je vous envoie avec cette lettre; mon Écrit ne sera pas probablement mieux que ma conversation, qui Était bien triste et bÊto. Mais nÉanmoins vous m’avez vouÉ votre amitiÉ, car vous savez lire entre les lignes de ma conversation. Soyez bien cordialement remerciÉ pour ce bien-fait! Maintenant soyez heureuse, ce qu’on est qu’au milieu de dÉsagrements et de souffrances de toute sorte—par un coeur plein de compassion, de cette compassion qui s’Égaie aussi À l’apperception d’un sourire de l’autrui, mÊme si ce n’Était que le sourire exaltÉ de la mÉlancolie. Par example:—

Vive le punch et la salade de hommard! Vive LÜders qui la prÉparait! Vive Ferdinand qui devorait les os! Vive Sainton qui venait tard, mais qui venait! Vive Klindworth, quine mangeait et ne buvait pas, mais qui assistait! Vive, vive LÉonie, qui riait de compassion de notre hilaritÉ! Cela n’Était pas si mal! Soyons reconnaissants, et restons amis! Et vous ma chÈre mÈre? restez ma soeur!

Adieu.
Votre
Richard Wagner l’aÎnÉ.

P.S. La prochaine lettre sera À Sainton. Je ne puis pas dÉpenser autant de FranÇais dans un jour!—

3^D Novembre, 1855.

Ansicht von Kirhause Sonnenberg auf
Seelisberg, Ct. Uri.

My Dear Sister: Now, then, I am going to write to you in French. May heaven help you to understand something of it, for I fear it will not be an easy matter. I shall not, however, be foolish enough to give myself the trouble of making fine phrases. That I leave to Dr. Wylde,[19] who, no doubt, understands that much better than he does composing. Rather do I prefer to put down on paper some stupidities of my own, which will have no relation either to a dead or living language.

Now, I congratulate you, my sister, in being doubly mother.[20] The event, Ferdinand had announced to me some time ago, I had foreseen, by means of prophetic vision generated during my stay in London; for whilst I was wishing myself to the devil—that is to say, out of the world—I perceived that Providence was preparing to fill the gap, by sending into the world a substitute. But the same Providence made a mistake, as He occasionally does (this, remember, is quite confidential!); the devil has not yet wanted me; I have remained in the world, as you shall see, through sheer obstinacy, and my other self has arrived whilst I am still living, so that now there are two Richard Wagners!!

I am not surprised, then, at the event, which, by my resolve to quit the world, I had in some measure prepared (this without the slightest offence to Ferdinand); but fate having ordained otherwise, I have the rare pleasure of living at the same time with my future substitute, of making his personal acquaintance, of coming to some understanding with him about conducting the concerts of the Philharmonic Society; in short, upon a thousand things of the greatest importance, which could not conveniently be arranged at such an enormous distance as that of the other world to this. So the event has been quite a success. But I must ever regret to have caused you so much pain and suffering on that account. I say it, you know, always without any offence to Ferdinand. Think, then, of the great personal relief I have just experienced at the news of your convalescence, and believe in the warm-hearted sincerity of my congratulations.

I have no other care now but to come to an understanding as quickly as possible with my other self, respecting our united efforts to conquer the world before I myself (i.e. Richard Wagner the elder) leave it. I therefore entreat you to keep me well informed of the exact state of the development of my substitute. Even at this very moment I very much need his help.

I have received an invitation from America to conduct at New York and Boston. In addition to a thousand other things I have been promised very large receipts. It is, however, quite impossible for me to accept; that must be the province of Richard Wagner the younger. When will he be able to accept the invitation? I beg of you to be very explicit on this point. Further, I have a multitude of projects and subjects for operas in my head. Ferdinand imagines them under the roof of my house; he is mistaken, my house is myself, the roof my skull. But, alas, I have neither the time nor the requisite tranquillity to release them from the prison-house in which they are confined: that also, then, must be the work of my other self; and when he has liberated them he may give what he likes of them to his father to set to music. When will he be developed enough for this pressing work? Be prompt in your reply on this point. Ask Ferdinand if it is not important! Ah! good heavens! there are such a number of other things which we must arrange together that an early conference is imperative.

Do you know Dr. Wylde? Well, I am expecting an invitation from him to give him lessons in the “music of the future.” But will not Richard Wagner the younger be better fitted than I to teach that kind of music, since he is still more closely connected with the future? What think you? There is no time to lose. Make haste with the little education absolutely necessary for ripening the faculties of my alter ego, and telegraph to me the moment the time has arrived—that time of complete development so anxiously waited for by me. Is it not so, dear sister LÉonie? Eh! my mother (you understand!) Now you must not fail to remember this.

But above all, you must not omit to teach my alter ego to make money, the one talent of all others which, by some incomprehensible fault in my education, has never been cultivated. And this causes me sometimes (i.e. always) horrible anxieties, since by nature I am luxurious, prodigal, and extravagant, much more than Sardanapalus and all the old Roman emperors put together. In this I am sadly in want of another self (pardon me for saying so), who will gain money enormously. Now be sure and do not forget this and send me as soon as possible a few millions, stolen by my double from the innumerable admirers I have left behind in England! On pondering over the situation, I perceive that herein lies the crucial point, so that my last entreaty is that you instruct my other self in that which I have never learnt, viz. making money—make money—but much! Much! Enormously much!

This is my prayer; may heaven hearken to me!

Of Richard Wagner the elder I can only give you poor news. He drags himself through life as a burden. His only delight is his work. His greatest sorrow, the loss of desire to work. The cause of his death will one day be the terrible fate to which he cannot help exposing his works, i.e. to their mutilation and complete destruction by stupid or wicked executants, from whom he is powerless of protecting them, since he is an exile from that land where they are being performed. (Think, therefore, of my alter ego!) No other misfortune affects me so keenly. This touches me to the heart, to the very core. It is when under such feelings that I occasionally lose completely—yes, even for a long time—the desire to work. These periods are terrible, for then nothing remains, nothing to comfort me. During the last few months I had happily regained a little of my old enthusiasm, and I had been working pretty well at the second of my musical dramas, which I had hoped to finish in London (fool that I was!). But alas, I have been confined, during the last few weeks, to my bed, a prey to a long latent illness, which, having at last broken out, I hope has been the saving of my life. I only left my sick-bed yesterday, and here I am to-day at my table, writing to you. Be indulgent, and excuse the mass of nonsense I am sending you in this letter. My correspondence will probably be no better than my conversation, which was very dull and stupid. But nevertheless, you vowed to me your friendship, for you know how to read between the lines of my conversation. I thank you very heartily for that kindness!

Now be happy, although one lives in the midst of annoyances and sufferings of all kinds—for it is only by a heart full of compassion which brightens up even at the perception of a smile from another, though it be but the forced smile of melancholy.

Three cheers for the punch and lobster salad! Long live LÜders, who prepared it! Long live Ferdinand, who devoured the bones! Long live Sainton, who came late, but who came! Long live Klindworth, who neither ate nor drank, but who was present! Long live, long live LÉonie, who laughed sympathetically at our boisterousness! That was not so bad. Let us be grateful, and let us remain friends. And you, my dear mother, remain my sister.

Adieu.
Yours,
Richard Wagner the Elder.

November 3d, 1855.

P.S. The next letter will be to Sainton. I cannot dole out so much French in one day.