The Fortnightly Review: No. CCCCLXIII, New Series [‎615v] (121/239)

90
RICHARD AND MINNA WAGNER.
with me, and is of no other opinion than that I ought never to
ask a farthing for my works; only he is not rich or powerful
enough, though I am sure to have a little good news from him
soon—my only little. Still, it’s a joy even to be able to speak
with him as what I am. My wish would be for him to take
possession of me bodily and provide for my life and works in
naturalibus; any small pension I then would assign to my wife.
“ But whatever way this outward question of existence may
resolve itself, how favourably soever, it hardly will allay the point
that really gnaws my vitals. I’ve such an awful amount of regret
in me, it is so horrible to think that anyone is suffering through
me, that it costs me an untold exertion to bring myself to reason.
My own eyes have taught me that my wife has better health away
from me, in any circumstances, than beside me ; further, I plainly
recognise that the feeling of true love for me does not exist in her
at all, that she knows no injury but what is done to her, and her
heart is quite incapable of e’er forgiving it; yet—for the only
world w’e know is that within us—I figure to myself it may be
otherwise, deep sorrow, yearning of the heart may make her
suffer—and my heart bleeds. Since the day before yesterday,
when I said goodbye at Frankfort to the unhappy but still wrath-
fully resentful woman, it has kept on gnawing at me ; and nothing
but the certainty that by softness I should only prolong the agony
on both sides, can bring me—resignation in the end. Ah, God !
and then the tears well up in me, and I cry aloud for a woman’s
kind soul to take me gently to itself ! ! But that I have shut off
from me; and so, I fancy, all the troubles of my wife are venged !
“Alack!—
‘ ‘ Do tell me how you have been faring 1 . . . . Your visit [a
month ago] was like a fairy-tale : with you the good angel de
parted, as with you it came. ... I haven’t been cheerful since,
though I have taken a liking to Weissheimer; his seriousness and
zeal attract me, and I do not think him without gifts. He often
comes out to me. ... Of course I haven’t got to wmrk yet : it is
incredible how one’s life is stolen from one. . . . Within me and
around me all is waste, still March ! A huge disgust has taken
me; if I don’t get to work soon, there’s an end of me. Heavens,
for just one year of peace and but a little comfort! —
“ Now piece together what you can from these mumblings of a
man dead-beat. Keep of good cheer, remember me kindly, and
think of another fairy-tale ere long.
“ Adieu, friend; all’s so drear!
“ Your
“ Bichard.’’
(1) The few sentences which I omit here, and lower, are of no general
interest; mere references to mutual friends.