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Somewhere I have recently seen this collection
of "Family Letters" referred to by a well-wishing journalist in
advance of its integral English publication—a few of the
letters or portions thereof having been elsewhere translated by me
before—as "a supplement to Wagner's Autobiography." Upon the
assumption that we yet may be given a reliable translation of
Mein Leben, to some extent I can accept that description, as
all the intimate expressions of a great man s personality may be
said to supplement each other in a sense, But the true counterpart
of these letters of Richard Wagner s to his blood-relatives and
connections is to be found, of course, in those to his first wife
"Minna," at the end of my preface to which I breathed the hope, now
more than two years since, that they might "soon be supplemented by
an English rendering of the delightful Familienbriefe"; and
in fact it is by the barest chance that the latter rendering did
not then take first place, as was my own desire when the two
collections made almost simultaneous appearance in their original
vernacular, winter 1907-8.
For my own part, as between the three works just
named, in the matter of self—portraiture I should give
decided preference—and should have even before seeing any of
them—to the one which displays to us the author in the most
levelling of all human relations, that of the member of a large
family conclave, and youngest but one of a numerous middle-class
brood. Here no possible suspicion of attitudinising can arise in
the mind of the most inveterate carper; if I may be allowed to
appeal to personal experience of a similar quiverful, elder
brothers and sisters knock all that sort of thing out of their
juniors mighty soon. And so we get a picture of the naked human
spirit in the driest and most neutral of lights, even the letters
addressed to a younger generation, those to two or three adoring
nieces, being sobered by the certainty that they will be shewn to
the girls' parents. Yet what letters they are, the majority of
those to his nieces! Take No. 65,
for instance, with its "I court the affection of nobody,
and leave people to think what they like of me;
but . . if but a finger of true unconditional love is held
out to me from anywhere, I snatch at the whole hand as possessed,
draw the whole mortal to me by it if I can, and give him, an' it
may be, just such a thorough hearty kiss as I should like to give
yourself to-day." As pendant to which I may cite that to his
brother-in-law Eduard of almost ten years earlier "I know no first
nor last midst those my heart belongs to; I've only one
heart, and whoever dwells there is its tenant from bottom to top"
(p. 56).
After reading the above pair of extracts, and
comparing them with the letters to Uhlig or Liszt, one may be
pretty sure that if this collection is not ten times its
present size, the fault largely lies at the recipients' door;
either in that lack of responsiveness so common among large
families, particularly when most of the grown-ups have young
progeny of their own to attend to, or in simple neglect to treasure
up a store whose future value was not realised (cf. p. 278).
Yes, and—as my friend Herr Glasenapp informs us in his
thumbnail sketch at this volume's end—it is to the
half-sister, Cecilie Avenarius, her famous brother's only
junior, that we owe the conservation of the main bulk of those
family—letters we do possess; just as it was to her and her
husband that by far the chief constituents of its first half were
addressed. On the other hand, I cannot quite share the belief my
friend expresses, that a want of such care and forethought on the
part of other members of the family has deprived us of very many
fellows to these documents; themselves they offer too much
indication that at various periods in their author's life, e.g.
that directly preceding and succeeding his first marriage, all
ordinary correspondence with his kinsfolk was suspended for a good
long while, as so often is the case with less uncommon individuals
in like circumstances. Nevertheless, it is tolerably certain that
letters passed between Richard Wagner and his sister Ottilie
Brockhaus or her husband in the summer of 1837 concerning the
divorcement of Minna then actively contemplated (cf. "R. to M.
Wagner," p. 502), whilst sister Clara Wolfram's long Zurich
visit of the late summer and early autumn 1856 must have
entailed at least one letter from her host himself before and after
it, to say nothing of his arranging for Minna's visit to her two
years previously. So that there still is faint hope of just a few
emerging from some secretive purchaser's portfolio in course of
time,
Turning to another aspect of our collection as
it stands, one of its distinctive features is that—setting
aside a few applications to music-publishers—it presents us
with the earliest of Richard Wagner's private missives as yet
discoverable; though in that respect it is run pretty close by the
"Letters to Apel" quite lately contributed by me to The
English Review, which in their turn richly supplement our
rather scanty record for the 'thirties. The 'forties, on the
contrary, here shew a harvest more abundant than in any other
volume of the master's letters; whilst the total time-span bridges
nearly all his adult life, little more than its eight last years
being unaccounted for besides those earlier gaps.
Regarding the technique of the present edition a
very few words will suffice. With the exception of eight letters to
Minna included by Herr Glasenapp in the original edition before it
was decided to issue the whole of that extensive group apart,
nothing whatever has been consciously omitted by me in this
Englishing of a correspondence transcribed by my friend and
colleague from the autographs themselves; similarly, all the
un-signed footnotes are mere reproductions from his, On the other
hand, for internal reasons I have transposed the sequence of two or
three undated letters, added one of Albert Wagner's narrating the
Mother's death (pp. 141-5), and furnished the least possible
dressing of what I may term connective tissue,—all such
additions of mine being indicated by square brackets, as my
colleague has restricted himself to curved. Having experimented in
the "Minna" volumes with "Thy" for the signature where
Wagner employs the second person singular throughout a letter, and
having found the experiment successful—so far as can be
judged from its provoking no adverse comment in any quarter—I
have continued it here, as stamping a degree of intimacy for which
our own colder nation has no symbol in general use.
In conclusion, I have just one appeal to address to the reader: an appeal of a practical nature on both sides. Feeling that what has greatly militated against a truer knowledge of R. Wagner's character as man has been a limitation of the sale of kindred volumes by their comparatively high cost, I have persuaded my present publishers to issue this one at a price within the means of all who crowd the cheaper sections of the house at performances of his dramatic works, or take the most modest of parts in their representation. With them and their numberless friends it must rest, alike to justify our present, and to shape our future policy. For at least one more volume of letters is ready for printing in the event of a cordial reception of this.
My dear good Ottilie—So it is my turn at
last to send a few lines to your far-away Denmark, after not having
seen you for so long that it has become a positive need to me to
have another talk with you, at least on paper. But really there's
so much I should like to tell you of the year gone by, such
a decisive one for me, that I fear this sheet of paper would never
hold it; so I must just make shift with what lies nearest to my
heart.
How much it grieved me, that I was unable to
take leave of you when you made your departure from here! That is
the chief sorrow that has befallen me in your entire absence, and I
felt quite mopish when I stayed in the same hotel at Culm where,
And now let me narrate you a little bit about myself; which perhaps will be just what you would like, since you shewed such great concern about me in one of your last letters.
Ah, how it grieves me to have to tell you that
I, no doubt, was quite unruly for a while, and had been so turned
from my goal through keeping company with students, that it caused
dear Mother very much anxiety and pain. But I pulled myself
together in the end, and have now been so confirmed in my
improvement by my new teacher, that already I stand on a point
whence I may view my higher course of life as firmly entered. For
you must know that for over the past half-year I have been the
pupil of our Cantor Weinlig, whom one may rightly call the
greatest contrapuntist now alive; added to which, he's such
an excellent man that I'm as fond of him as of a father. He has
brought me on with such affection that, to employ his own
expression, I may already regard my 'prenticeship as ended, and now
he simply stands towards me as advising friend. How fond he is of
me himself, you may judge by this: when Mother asked him to name
his fee, after half a year's tuition, he said it would be
unreasonable of him to accept payment for the delight of having
taught me, my industry and his hopes of me were quite enough
reward.
Well, you may easily imagine that all this has
borne fruit. Last Christmas an overture of mine was performed at
the theatre,
Grand concert last week;
Enough of that. Now for another piece of
König Enzio, a new tragedy by
Raupach, which is performed at the theatre each time the piece is
played; it pleases every one.
And now no more about my products; as soon as you are back among us, it will give me infinite joy, my dear sister, to shew you everything.
The
See what a time I have been without ending my letter! Meanwhile we have received your last, and as Rosalie herself is answering it, and these lines will be a mere enclosure, it would be needless to present you with our news when Rosalie's letter is sure to tell you quite enough about us all.
How particularly delighted I was to see by your
last letter that you are getting a regular longing to be back with
us; it is certain to expedite your journey home. O come right
soon, that when Rosalie departs
[Between this and the next letter young Richard,
still a minor, has made his first launch on the world, starting in
January 1833 to join his eldest brother, Albert—singer,
actor, and stage-manager—at Wurzburg; where he soon obtained
the post of operatic Chorus-master, and presently commenced his
first completed opera, Die Feen.—TR.]
I must confess to you, my only Rosalie, that
your letter made a profound impression on me, coming, as it did, at
a time when the sole reason for my silence toward you all had been
a certain bashfulness as to how I was to step before you.
So, dearest, the composition of my opera is finished, and
I have only its last act left to instrument now! It is my somewhat
pedantic mode of writing out my score as tidily as possible from
the outset, that has most delayed me in the instrumenting of my
work;—if I am nice and industrious,
But how shall I describe to you the mood I've been working in of late? How I thought of you all with well-nigh every note—ah, of yourself!—and it was a feeling which often spurred me on indeed, but often also overwhelmed me so, that I had to stop work and seek the open air. That happened to me oft, but ever did I hold it for a glad presentiment; and how it has delighted me to find your letter bearing witness to an equal sympathy! Oh, God grant I don't deceive your joyful expectations! But that, that cannot be,—everything has flowed so from my inmost soul,—and they say a thing like that, you know, must likewise pass into the souls of others.
To-morrow there's to be a concert, for which I
have been asked to give a couple of numbers from my opera. An
amateur with a fine voice will sing Ada's grand aria
But why do I speak of all these things? 'Tis
nothing but the yearning to inform you of just everything. My God,
the time is not so distant now,—I shall soon be with you
all—with yourself. I mustn't give way to the thought so
entirely, though, or I shall be unable to write another
word,—and I've such a lot still to tell you, if I could only
get it all in trim! I'm in such an agitated state all day
now,—last night again I got no sleep;—but ah! what am
I saying? I had to give up
What you write me about the acceptance and
Hans
Heiling is taking so well, and goes on filling the house
;—I must confess, this news has been extremely disagreeable
to me, in a certain sense. We have given that opera here as well,
and by all means I find the music very pretty too, especially the
single pieces; but in no other opera of Marschner's have I met so
entire a dearth of total effect. I can't make it out, but he has
let the best effects pass unexploited what sort of things are those
for act-ends;—what unmelodiousness in the choruses! In the
2nd finale he treats the culminating point of the whole: "He
springs from the realm of gnomes and dwarfs, and is the
It is distressing that things should be like
that with your lady singers,—I much need a reliable voice and
emotional acting,—something after the Devrient pattern
wouldn't come amiss. From what I know of the Gerhardt as yet, her
voice might doubtless prove too weak,—though her having been
good as Alice
Robert]
Upon the other things you tell me, dearest Rosalie, let me be silent for the present;—it all affected me too disagreeably, and has wounded me too acutely, for me to be able to discuss much of that sort with you yet; I shall soon be with you all, and pride myself upon a certain gift now which at least will lighten some of your forebodings, and rob good Mother of many a—crotchet! Yet I thank you for those communications,—the source they flowed from, your loving trust, honours me much!———
How is Mother, and how are you all ?——Ah,
deal together
in this life yet! Do you agree? For the rest, I'm infinitely glad
that everything is standing well with all of you,—give the
others my best love, and don't let them dread my arrival. It will
be about a year, I've been away from you;—God grant it may
have borne good interest!
——I perceive I'm winding up my letter most irregularly; ascribe it to the perpetual unrest and agitation which possess me now, particularly when I think of you all and my future! Everything is mixing itself up before my senses, and it's highest time my opera were ended, or my objectivity would have a poor look-out. God willing, however, I shall have finished in 3 to 4 weeks,—then forth to you!
Albert is writing also,—how glad I am that he is relieving me of a duty I can only think of with alarm! I can do no more than beg you all most sincerely for your kindness and indulgence in every way! Good Lord, I'm only 20 years of age as yet!——
—Remembrances to all once more, and heartiest of all to my good Mother; and tell them a lot about their Richard, who gives them so much care and trouble. But yourself—you remain my good angel, my only Rosalie; remain it aye!—Thy RICHARD.
My dear Rosalie—Merely a brief
report—what would be the use of a long letter? I shall be
back quite soon, you see, and then say more by mouth!
Not until Monday did we leave Teplitz for
Prague, after having stayed there a fortnight on account of the
baths in particular, which Theodor took seriously, and I rather for
amusement. That visit enraptured me, and I shall remember the
Milleschauer all the rest of my life. Prague, too, seems quite
another city to me now; I can see now what a dull and cheerless oaf
I was, when I roamed about it last.
We have been too short a time here, and I have
gone about too little yet, to be able to give you folk much other
news. Only to-day am I calling on Gerle, Kinsky,
We are having disgracefully good luck;—
yesterday Löwe commenced his starring here, as Garrick: a
heavenly treat. But all the rest are good, too,—and they
haven't all assembled yet,—
I'm glad you tell me such grand tales of
Ringelhardt;—he'll be in fine feather, for sure.
Probably nothing will come of Vienna, we've been
too long already; and that exactly suits me. We shall travel back
by Carlsbad. So, if you haven't forwarded the notes yet
How are you all? I'm glad Mother has enjoyed
herself. How are things standing with Laube? I keep thinking of
him, and am much afraid for his sake
Farewell, my Rosalie, and don't go crying in your bedroom again when you come home at night and undress; I was in your sitting-room, and heard you. Farewell!—Thy RICHARD.
Many greetings from Theodor,—he affords me great hope. Give Mother my sincerest love once more.
How much I wish Julius could make this journey
too; he would be bound to return from it well. I feel more
and more what a glorious blessing Health is; luckily, though, since
I am in possession of it, and have no need to long for it,—
but I wish it Julius with all my heart!
Please send the
Feen]
[Now just of age, Richard soon
became musical conductor at the Magdeburg theatre. At the end of
his first season he paid his relations a visit, when he had rather
a dismal tale to tell of his manager's impecuniosity; a tale which
seems to have met with little sympathy from his brother-in-law,
Friedrich Brockhaus, for his mother writes him some months later:
"You must not think
Only of yourself, dearest Mother, can I think
with the sincerest love and profoundest emotion. Brothers and
sisters, I know it, must go their own way,—each has an eye to
himself, to his future, and the surroundings connected with both.
So it is, and I feel it myself: there comes a time when roads part
of themselves,—when our mutual relations are governed
solely from the standpoint of external life; we become mere nodding
diplomats to one another, keeping silence where silence seems
politic, and speaking where our view
No doubt I, too, belong to those who cannot always speak out at the moment as their heart dictates,—or you might often have come to know me from a much more melting side. But my sentiments remain the same,—and see, Mother—now I have left you, the feeling of thanks for that grand love of yours towards your child, which you displayed to him so warmly and so tenderly again the other day, so overpowers me that I fain would write,nay, tell you of it in accents soft as of a lover to his sweetheart. Yes, and still softer,—for is not a mother's love far more—far more untainted than all other?
Nay, here I won't philosophise,—I simply
want to thank you, and again, to thank you,—and how gladly
would I count up all the separate proofs of love for which I
thank,—were there not too many of them. O yes, I know full
well that no heart yearns after me now with so great an inner
sympathy or such solicitude, as yours; yes, that perhaps it is the
only one that watches o'er my every step,—and not, forsooth,
coldly to criticise it,—no, to include it in your prayers.
Have you not ever been the only one to stay unalterably true to me
when others, judging by mere outward results, turned
philosophically away? It would indeed be exacting beyond measure,
were I to ask a like affection from them all; I even know it is not
possible,—I know it from myself: but with you all
issues from the heart, that dear good
For the future I shall tell the family but
little of my doings,—they judge by the outward results, and
will learn those without my assistance. In whatever fashion it has
come about, I'm independent now, and mean to stay so. O that
humbling before Brockhaus is graven deep into my heart, and the
bitterest self—reproaches torture me, that I should have
given into his hands a right to humble me. I shall get even with
him in time, but never, never at one with him; and should that be
wrong of me, I prefer to bear that wrong into the grave with me: I
withdraw from them entirely. Each side cannot be right, and I was
wrong;—yet I will never admit it—to them, but
place myself in such a situation that I've nothing to admit to
them,—whereas my recent great fault was having played into
their hands, given them the very smallest right against me. For
that matter, we stand so far from one another, that it would be
absurd of me to want to be at one with
I have been to Teplitz and Prague, and found
nothing there beyond the confirmation of my plan not to go to
Vienna, and advice to pursue the direction I already have struck.
My dear, dear Mother,—my good angel,—fare heartily well, and don't fret;—you have a grateful son who never, never will forget what you are to him.—With the tenderest remembrances, Thy RICHARD.
[On his way back to duties at Magdeburg he paid a flying visit to Leipzig again, temporarily exchanging his trunk there for Rosalie's hand-bag, as may be judged from the end of No. 5. Now in the possession of Wagner's nephew, F. Avenarius, this No.5—so Glasenapp informs us—is in a most dilapidated condition, much blotted with a corrosive ink which has made the paper so brittle that some of the ends of the lines have dropped away.—TR.]
My dear Rosalie—I will just give you in
brief the needful news you wish for. In any event Wolframs are
firmly engaged here,
here, since
both the Wolframs have left Nuremberg
together. Cläre wrote you, you know, that she would be
starting this week in any case;—consequently it might be that
Cläre has arrived alone, and Wolfram stayed
behind;—if so, please tell her that, in receipt of the
travelling money, Wolfram would follow her now. In any event don't
let her waste a single minute,—they're counting on her here
already as on their daily bread. So, if they both left Nuremberg
together, and have pulled through so far, they'll receive the money
here. Cläre mustn't think of accepting any other
offer,—but both must come here very, very quick.
Please go this instant and enquire at both the
Letter and the Parcel Post whether a poste—restante letter
with Friedrichs d'or for me is lying there. Bethmann has shewn me
the certificate; it was despatched to Frankfort, and, according to
orders I left there, will either have been forwarded to
Leipzig—or if not, it will return here to-day or to-morrow. I
will write you to-morrow if Freimüller
of Women yesterday, which was really quite
charmingly played, at the least just as well as with you. I believe
we shall have a great success with the Opera here; every one is
You'll get your travelling-bag back by the same
Love to all—most hearty love, and excuse this hurried scrawl.—Thy RICHARD W.
[Owing to Bethmann's insolvency, this Magdeburg
operatic season came to a premature end with a disastrously
scrambled production of Wagner's only just completed
Liebesverbot, March 29, 1836. After hanging on there another
few weeks, meantime opening vain negotiations with Leipzig
Ringelhardt for acceptance of that second opera in default of his
shelved first, the already-affianced proceeds to try his luck with
it about the middle of May in big Berlin itself.—TR.]
Dearest mother—You must have been
expecting a letter from me for some time, especially after your
being here and our not meeting. Not until the evening after your
departure, did I learn from Eichberger that you had been here. I
had heard from the Gerhardt before, that you were here with Mad.
Berthold;—but I didn't quite believe it, and thought that if
you really were here, you would surely have informed Laube of it,
as you couldn't well know where I was lodging. I went to
Laube,—but he knew nothing about it, and doubted it as much
as 1,—and—so I was quite thunderstruck when I learnt it
at last, but too late, from Eichberger. So far as I made out from
him, moreover, my letter from Magdeburg
My Berlin expedition has turned my evil star at last a little. I and Cerf
Konversationsblatt the printed announcement of all that I've
told you above. There's nothing else for it, I'm
So Cläre is staying with you,—the dear good creature! But how are things going with her husband? In my direst want and desperation I wrote him once from Magdeburg,—but got no answer. Wohlbrück from Riga is here;—a new theatre is being built there, and will be opened this autumn. Perhaps I may go there; but I want to make my name here first.
Excuse me, I must be off to my good friend
Spontini, or the man will be dropping in here; he is beside himself
that he can't give my opera;—but why did he apply so
late? I cannot oblige him! My good friend the King has
offered me Spontini's post; but what good would that be to me? At
this moment six writers are craving an audience of me
;—there's a regular rush for me,—I can't stand it much
longer,—particularly as I haven't a farthing in my
pocket. My good friend—Theodor Apel—also sent me a
very pretty unfranked letter to Magdeburg, in which he told
me they were rebuilding at Ermlitz, and so there'd be no room for
me;—I maintain that's another new joke from his latest
comedy. Quite frankly, dear Mother, I have even a mite of suspicion
that it was you who set this gentleman a little on to me as well; I
have my grounds.
There you see how splendidly your son is faring. Cerf, among other things, can't control his affection for me; he's sure to strike his children from his will and put me there instead,—often he quietly beweeps upon my breast the woes of his directorate. He's just as much a blackguard, as of use to anybody who can manage him. My whole policy, just now, is to pack Gläser off to the baths as quickly as possible;—he must catch a thorough chill there,—for I don't believe he is intemperate. God grant me His assistance! Till then fare right heartily well. Love to Cläre and the whole family a thousand times from Thy RICHARD W.
[After kicking his heels for two
months in Berlin to no purpose, Wagner followed Minna Planer to
Königsberg, on the chance of an appointment there, which he
did not actually obtain until the theatre was on the eve of
bankruptcy. Meanwhile he married her, November 24, 1836; but his
wife ran away from him just half a year later, and did not rejoin
him till some few weeks after his installation as Kapellmeister at
Riga, September 1837, where he began the composition of
Rienzi. Ousted from his post through the intrigues of a
false friend, Heinrich Dorn, he leaves Russia the end of June 1839,
and, after a perilous sea-voyage of over three weeks, reaches
London with his wife and dog the beginning of August, en
route for that imagined El Dorado, Paris.—TR.]
Most esteemed Sir and friend—Please let
me call you by that intimate name at once, Since for my own part I
already feel so prepossessed by all that I have heard about the
amiability and uprightness of your character, that I shall do
everything I can to earn the corresponding rights and title of a
friend. Forestalling that, 1 have repeatedly troubled you before
through my good sister Cäcilie; and the readiness with which
you undertook a fairly difficult transaction for me is warrant that
I shall not completely put my foot in it with the request that
forms this letter's chief occasion. No doubt you have already been
made acquainted by Cäcilie that my present somewhat daring,
nay, haply adventurous object is Paris; how far I am prepared to
face that mass of obstacles undaunted, you will judge for yourself
when you have had the obligingness to lend ear in Paris to what I
think of and propose; a matter in which I also reckon mainly on
your good advice, for whose bestowal I beg you in advance most
keenly.
After a ghastly and very perilous voyage of
nearly 4 weeks, I arrived in London on a sailing ship about 12 days
ago, and was forced to spend a week of gold-fraught days on its
expensive pavement through the muddling of my captain,
finished, in order to begin my
machinations there immediately after arrival; 3°, I really
wished to be able to rest off some of the jolting I have gone
through, before plunging afresh into such a hurly-burly as the
Parisian is certain to be.
Might I therefore beg you in the meantime to
find me a lodging in Paris, kindly observing the following
:—An ordinary room with an alcove is fully sufficient, of
course, for myself and my wife; a larger room without one
would also do at a pinch. It will have to be furnished in fact,
though we possess our own bedding and linen, table-gear,
candlesticks, utensils, as we have brought almost our whole small
outfit with us, and merely sold the most untransportable in Russia.
My wife will do the housekeeping herself i.e., buy our
victuals, cook, and so on; therefore needs no other service than of
a charwoman to assist her in the roughest work. Naturally, I can
only hire the lodging by the month, and as I don't quite know the
price one has to pay for such a thing in Paris, I won't name any
fixed one, but leave it to necessity and your own obliging nous. I
hardly need assure you
I know I am begging no trifling favour of you, but nevertheless nurse the perhaps impudent trust that, of all people, you are in a position to make me the sacrifice. At the same time I also beseech you to write me how your and Cäcilie's affairs are standing now. It would very much rejoice me to hear something joyful in that regard, more especially as I unfortunately have been unable to get any tidings from home for ever so long. If I might hope to see good Cäcilie in Paris soon, all my hopes of a favourable issue to my future endeavours would really become the fonder and more precious in no small degree. God give his blessing, and let all honest folk prosper!
Looking joyfully forward to a letter from you, I
commend myself to your regard with all the cordiality of which my
heart is capable.—Yours most sincerely, RICHARD WAGNER
My most valued Sir—If I am so late in
answering your very kind and attentive letter, it is because
this letter of mine was at the same time to inform you
definitely of the day of my arrival in Paris; which on various
grounds, in turn, has only become possible to-day. For the
self-same reason I am also writing but a few lines now, as I hope
to be very soon able to greet you in person and discuss everything
by word of mouth; for I leave here by diligence Monday, the 16th of
this month, and shall therefore reach Paris quite early on Tuesday.
So, to come to one of the main points straight off, I will avail
myself of your not sufficiently to be acknowledged kindness, and
beg you to hire a room big enough for myself and my wife in a
hôtel garni to begin with, according to your own suggestion,
and for the present by the week. What you say about my plan
of a lodging to manage oneself is perfectly right, and that is a
point you will permit me to discuss by mouth with you and quite
clear up. You write me, one can get a very decent chamber in a
hôtel garni for as little as 30 francs a month, and I must
confess that I hadn't supposed one could do it so cheap;
consequently, if you will engage that sort of thing for me, I beg
you not to be afraid even if the rent should amount to 40 or 50
francs; I had set
very early Tuesday, and should
really not care to alight at an inn, you would infinitely oblige me
if you would give yourself the great trouble to write a couple of'
lines with the address of the hôtel garni in which you had
engaged my room, and leave them at the Barrière St. Denis,
which we shall pass on our way from Boulogne, so that I may find
them on my arrival, and be able accordingly to drive to my refuge
at once.
That is the chief thing I wanted to ask you beforehand. Only don't let it alarm you; I mean to moderate my future claims as much as possible.
Once again I reserve for oral conversation whatever else may be worth the telling now. Only thus much about my affairs: in no case should I have remained at Boulogne so long, with these English prices to pay, if a lucky chance had not ordained that I was to meet Meierbeer here; who may be of incalculable weight for my project, and with whom I already have struck up as much friendship as possible. But upon that too—by mouth, as also concerning all your news about my family.
That I really am sincerely looking
forward to making your personal acquaintance, I scarcely need
assure you. With that presumption I most heartily commend myself
and wife to your friendship and favour.—Yours very
sincerely, RICHARD WAGNER.
Most estimable friend—Tired and done up
as hardly ever before, I have this instant come home after
knocking around at the
Garcia's, Joly's, Dumersan s, Meyerbeer's, etc., since 10 o'clock;
so I must heartily thank you for your offer to take me to the
Italian Opera to-night, but hoard it for another time. For which
matter, in the Garcia I have made the acquaintance to-day of a most
amiable and obliging creature, who has volunteered to assist me in
everything I ask of her,—consequently I am hoping she'll also
be able to procure me tickets for the Opera, etc., from time to
time.
I'm as tired as a dog! Heartily wishing you much enjoyment—though without me, Yours sincerely, RICHARD WAGNER.
In great haste, and knocked to pieces.
Most valued friend—My wife very, very warmly
entreats you to be so kind as to send her 10,000 francs per
bearer;—should that be impossible in such a jiffy, at least
she implores 12 hours of your excellent coffee-mill, which
you shall receive back to-morrow morning.
I am invited to dinner at Dumersan's to-day.
—Till death Your RICHARD WAGNER.
My valued friend and benefactor—Please
answer me quite simply, Yes or No, whether it stands in your
power—(would to God it were only your will!)—to
increase the sum of my indebtedness to you by another fifty francs;
which would make that sum exactly round, or rather, square. No
doubt, with the present complexion of the debt itself I feel that
this request of mine almost borders on effrontery
;—nevertheless Want not only teaches importunity, but also a
certain grade of impudence, which you, however, will perhaps
excuse more readily than any other man. To pay my rent, etc., I
visited the pawn-shop yesterday with the last things we could
spare, yet without being able to raise sufficient; so, as it is a
matter of no more than exactly fifty francs cash, I am having
recourse to yourself again (and for the last time). If you
are able to round off an affirmative answer with the actual nervus
rerum, you may easily imagine how welcome it will be to
me.—Your RICHARD W.
I found it impossible to bring this query past
my lips yesterday.
Dear valued friend—You will have been
unable to explain to yourself why you didn't receive that letter of
my wife's for kind despatch to Cäcilie long ago. She begs you
herewith to excuse this delay, since I myself, or rather, my
illness has been cause of the lengthy postponement. You will
remember that a sudden toothache seized me, the last evening we
spent together. That was the beginning of it: a couple of days
later I nearly went mad with neuralgia; after which I got fever,
and had to keep my bed; now I'm merely suffering from a stiff neck,
but daren't go out yet. My wife accordingly has not felt fit to
write a fluent letter till to-day, as you may well conceive.
Voilà tout! Heartiest thanks once more. Regards from both of
us. Your RICHARD WAGNER.
My most honoured friend and brother-in-law—I
enclose a letter for Fr[au] Dr. Laube, whom
I am asking to combine with my sister Luise and send you as quickly
as possible the needful authority, or whatever else is required, to
advance me 200 francs, I beg you, in the first place, to be so kind
as to forward this letter with your
To be sure, my dearest Avenarius, it would be a
shorter and far less circuitous method of arriving at the same
result, if you could make it possible to advance me this
extra 200 fr. for a month yourself, and recoup yourself out
of the money I have to receive on the 1st of June. For I hereby
declare that it's only a question of another 200 fr. which I
must have at once to cover my requisite outgoings; since, fully
recognising that I should be unable to sustain my life much longer
this way, I have already taken steps of such a kind that, beyond
these instantly lacking 200 frs, I shall need to make no more
appeals on that side. I beg you not to treat this as bombast, but
rest assured that if I don't at once inform you whence this
extra assistance is coming to me
To confirm you in that belief; I cannot tell you
how much I should have wished not even to need to beg of you these
200 frs themselves. Rest assured that I am only turning to you now
because I've tried all other ways of obtaining what I need
for the moment in vain. I therefore confess that I feel
greatly humbled at being compelled to turn to you once more, after
I already had promised to leave you henceforth at peace with that
sort of thing.—But—the time was too short, and
my instant
This, dearest Avenarius, was all I meant, too,
when I remarked to you the other day that "You were my nearest
resource," Your answer shewed me that you somewhat misunderstood
me, and I therefore repeat that I merely viewed you as the
"nearest" for so long as you still should have donations to
disburse or my support.
For the very reason which engendered that misunderstanding the other day,—or rather, to avoid it,—I prefer writing, to speaking to you about this last money—matter between us; more especially as it is difficult to get a word with you alone, and I don't care to discuss that kind of subject with you before Cäcilie.
Once more, then, the last plea of its sort
:—If it is possible to you, would you have the
kindness to advance me 200 frs, in return for which I hereby
formally make over to you what you would be paying me the 1st of
June on behalf of Fr. Dr. Laube and Luise. In that case I would beg
you not to forward the enclosed letter to Frau Laube, but to keep
it back, as it would only give rise to a needless
confusion.—If you don't care to, or cannot do this, please
have the kindness to send that letter off to-day. But as an answer
can't arrive so quickly as I need the money for my maintenance, I
would beg you, in perfect confidence that the authorisation to take
this step
How much and sincerely I deplore, dear
Avenarius, your having reaped nothing but disturbances of this kind
from your acquaintance with me so far,—please be convinced;
for I know they form the very greatest upset to the regulated life
of a business man; moreover, I already have seen how estranging has
been their effect on two couples who otherwise, perhaps, would be
standing in the frankest and most sociable intercourse. But as no
one feels this more than I, whilst no one more heartily wishes that
intercourse to become what it unfortunately is not at
present,—so I hereby beg you once again to be fully assured
that it isn't empty boasting when I tell you that this shall have
been my last relation with you in the pecuniary line—at least
of an unpleasant nature—and with the ceasing of those
relations I cordially look forward to entering a closer and more
intimate communion with you both, which at least shall be
interrupted no more by invasions of this sort: a thing, I'm aware,
that will only be possible when those questions shall never
re-arise between us which really have hitherto troubled our
intercourse more than is fit. Adieu, dearest Avenarius! Your
faithful brother-in-law
Dearest Avenarius—Do you know, you could
do me a very great favour: to wit, if the state of your affairs
permitted you to advance me five-hundred francs till Easter.
Schlesinger, for whom I've undertaken work to the tune of
threethousand fr.—namely, complete arrangements of two
operas, the Favorite and Guitarrero—has already paid me the
half, fifteen-hundred fr. cash; but, as I'm only just about to
commence the second opera, I fear, and with very good reason, I
shall be unable to obtain another lump payment quite so soon;
whilst I have various personal grounds for much preferring to have
no need to dun him for money again till I've completed everything
and can demand the whole. The beginning of April I shall have
finished Guitarrero also, and thus be able to dispose of such a
tidy sum in the course of that month that I can firmly promise
repayment of what I ask to-day by Easter; in fact, despite my
recently—acquired distaste for notes of hand, 1 even might
offer to draw you one up with good conscience.
To repeat: if it could be done without a certain
sacrifice on your part, you would render me a very great service by
granting my request, a service I should be only too eager to return you
So, if it is possible, please try and render me
this friendly service, whereby you may gain me a profit of 300 to
400 fr. in the happy event of my drumming my representations
into Schlesinger's head.
Well, you will see what you can manage, and be sure of my thanks in advance. Begging for a couple of lines in reply, Your faithful brother-in-law
RICHARD WAGNER.
25, RUE DU HELDER.
My best little mother—It is my
turn at length to be able to offer you an equally joyful and hearty
congratulation on your birthday! Please do not think I have ever
forgotten you, even when I was silent and let nothing be heard of
me. Ah, I believe I've told you once before, there have been times
when I really avoided arousing your interest anew in my fortunes.
Then I prayed God in silence to preserve your life and health,
since I hoped in time to reap a reward from even my endeavour that
should make it more gratifying to me to shew you my face again. Let
those who don't know me say: "He should have acted so—he
ought to have done this or that," as much as they like,—they
all are wrong! So long as it comports with one's inner sense of
right and wrong, every man who would attain to true inner and outer
independence ought decidedly to strike the path his own more
serious inclination and a certain irresistible inner impulse bid.
Without needing to be particularly magnani mous, the world may very
well forgive him the sufferings he thus draws down upon himself;
only who would fain relieve those sufferings, has the right to
tender him advice,—but whoever is unable to relieve
them notwithstanding, must eke put up with seeing his advice not
followed after all. I'm sure I am none of your headstrong,
I have won the firm conviction that for at least
as long as I can only wage the contest with my personal powers, it
is absolutely impossible for me to prevail here. To those who
predicted me pretty much the same, I reply that their mere forecast
on hearsay could have carried no weight with me. When such a man as
Meyerbeer, on the contrary, emboldened me to rush into the fray,
hardly any one will be surprised that a young man like myself
preferred trying—to turning tail without a stroke. And
Meyerbeer was right; the qualifications I lacked—renown and
money—might be very well made good to me by others, and he
offered to lend a helping hand himself through his considerable
influence. Meyerbeer's having been obliged to keep away precisely
all this time from Paris, that was the misfortune in store
for me; for operations at a distance count for nothing in
Paris,—the personage is everything.
Consequently I had soon to see myself con
strained to prosecute with my own powers a battle I had undertaken
in reliance on the aid of others. And that attempt I had to
venture also. Had I been one of those frivolous creatures of the
present mode, had I any sort of flashy talent for the salon,
it would doubtless have been possible to push my way into this or
that coterie which perhaps would
not cut out for that! I have been bound to despise whomever
I have seen succeed in that way; such an indomitable disgust has
seized me at these good-for-nothings, that I really account myself
lucky not to have taken their taste at all.—So, what is left
me with Paris, is to devote to my frugal subsistence the resources
of an arduous métier I have opened for myself here with a
music-publisher, and calmly thus abide the time when luck and
chance shall help me whither I would go. Moreover, that is what I
shall be compelled to fall back upon, provided the good- fortune
now presenting itself to me from another quarter should not attain
complete fulfilment.—
That good-fortune is the definitive acceptance of my opera for Dresden. In my last letter I made you all acquainted with the position of my Dresden affairs, at the same time informing you of the steps I had taken toward the success of my enterprise. Those steps, my dear Mother, it heartily rejoices me to be able to tell you,—have completely succeeded. As early as the beginning of July I received LÜTTICHAU 's letter, announcing to me in the most flattering terms that, after mature examination of its text and score, my opera "Rienzi" had been accepted for representa tion in Dresden, and would be produced the beginning of next year at latest.—
Even in this announcement, best Mother, I have
to recognise an extraordinary piece of great
first production
of an opera like this, which I strictly had reckoned for Paris,
must be attended with all possible luxury. But nowhere—not
even at Berlin or Vienna—could I find a more excellent cast,
than in Dresden, for the leading rôles of my Rienzi
:—the DEVRIENT and TICHATSCHEK—I surely need say no
more.—In short, if God disposes all things happily, this may
prove the lucky turning in my life.—
I have made up my mind to start for Dresden
about a fortnight before the performance; so I shall see you again,
my good motherkin, at last—at last!—You may imagine
the delight this thought, this certainty affords me!—Heaven
will grant me to find you quite safe and sound; and if a down right
fine success is reserved for me at Dresden in addition,—I
fancy such wishes may form my best congratulation to you even
to-day.—How many, many years have I waited, fought and
struggled. to be able to rejoice you with a piece of news like
this. It gives me a positive shudder, to think that, at my next
glimpse of you, almost six years will have flown since I
parted from you last: great God, who would ever have thought it! I shall
her,
who had watched the throes of my development at such close quarters
and often with such painful feelings, a witness also of the happier
issues of my frantic efforts,——and now I must approach
her grave!——God, God but keep my darling Mother in
good health, and grant her still the strength to revel in her
children's prospering!
We shall not come to harm! Even Albert won't,
shan't, and cannot! Let Fortune only smile on one of us,—the
good luck of one is the other's also. Perhaps Heaven may even make
my self the channel, and prepare me an engagement in which I can
push Albert's best wishes!—I don't want to look ridiculous
through speaking out what I am thinking, what I hope,—for
what are thoughts and hopes ?—but things must mend,
and he is worthiest to taste good luck, who comes home from out the
storm with all the teachings of misfortune I——
Best love to each and all! We soon shall meet
again, and let things around us figure as they may,—our
hearts will have remained the old ones, and—
—everything's bound to come right! Preserve thee, dear
Motherkin, for Thy faithful son
Most valued friend and brother-in-law—A
couple of words in confirmation and reinforcement
I shall be completely helped over
the stile. For, with these 300 frs I can pay what I owe at my
flat,—therefore can insist on immediate
release,—which—as the concierge assures me—can't
be refused me in case I'm placed in that position before the 15th
inst. Purchasers have also been proposed to me for other single
articles; so that I may even hope to be able to stop my
cabinetmaker's mouth with something,—when I shall move the
remnant of my furniture to a small apartment, and transfer it to
the cabinet maker in part payment when I leave for good,—and
everything would be fairly quits.
This would be the best and most desirable
expedient in all respects; for, if I can only get rid of that fatal
flat at once, I'm certain of a great
O my cherished brother-in-law—Couldn't you
carry out the proposal once made me, and forward this letter for
Meyerbeer to Berlin, accompanied by a few lines to your
correspondent there?—In that case you would have to beg the
gentleman to take the note to Meyerbeer himself and wait for an
answer.—I have cut my lines very short, and told him that, to
make his answer easier for him, I have asked a friend of my
brother-in-law's to receive it from him orally and report to me
hither. I merely want him to declare in brief whether he has
received my "fl. Holländer," and whether he has anything in
mind with it ?—Please do so this very day!—In spite of
her inward repugnance, my wife is commissioned to hand you the
postage. God bless yourself and wife and child!—Thine
ever,
RICHARD.
Dearest Eduard, dearest Cäcilie!—
—So it really is a whole fortnight since I went away from
you—and I'm writing you only to-day! Vivid as few events in
all my life, the hour and moment of our parting stands before my
soul; never shall I forget it, for 'twas it that first brought
fully home to me how very precious you two had become to my heart.
When I left you, I certainly didn't think I should be able to hold
out so long without sending you tidings: at each station I wanted
to write to you; at Chalons, in fact, the paper lay spread for it.
The farther we travelled, however, the more our journey engrossed
us; it was fatiguing, especially for poor Minna, as we preferred
not to halt even at Frankfort, for reasons
That is the history of my past fortnight's
experiences, by way of brief preamble : now for an intimate word
!—Never has a parting come harder to us than that of Paris;
Lord! what are all the sorrows we endured there, against the sense
of so sincere a friendship which we have borne away ?—What
witchcraft have you played with Minna ?—Decidedly
you've turned her heart about, so that Paris now seems
nothing to her but a paradise. The whole journey she never ceased
weeping; hardly had she grown a little calmer, than the only answer
she could make to all the comforting I felt obliged to give her,
was "Mayn't I cry again ? "—Her relations—everything
was quite indifferent to her,—and when I took farewell of her
to go to Dresden
without you two I don't
reckon of much account. Howbeit, Heaven will soon take care that
things shan't go too gilded with me.—Minna wants them
to turn out amiss, that I may make a contract with Schlesinger and
return to Paris :—the poor woman has no thought for anything
save Paris.
For my own part, this fortnight is a dream to me already; my waking senses are with you. In that dream did Mother and the rest of us recur to me: the streets and houses where they live have altered much, themselves but little; the young brood that has shot up in their midst forms the single change. Horror takes me at the thought that perhaps I'm also not to see your Maxel any more till he has shot up too! If Minna sobbed out Maxel's name betwixt her tears, she was sure to set myself in tears at once. In the memory of that dear babe concentres all our sadness. Maxel! Maxel !—
Ottilie's children pleased me; the eldest is somewhat spoilt, the younger a droll little rogue. How envious they all were, when I told them tales of Maxel!
On every side, though, you were asked about with
great affection; I went up in Mother's estimate when I assured her
you were fond of me. The portraits of both of you hang in her room:
your picture, dear Cäcilie, pleased me best, though it is
outré in various features; yours, good Eduard, has a certain
resemblance, but is rather ordinarily conceived and executed: but
both drawings took me thoroughly back to you, ay, I even had a
little chat with you. When Maxel's picture comes, the Devil's
certain to break loose again; I shall be unable to look at it
without poignant emotion. For which matter, they are all
looking eagerly forward to it. Will it come soon?—
I know that Minna bitterly regrets being unable to write to you this time with me. As soon as I've returned to Dresden, we will both sit down and execute a writing duet; and that's why I have had to promise Minna to get back sharp. I hope it will soon come off too, as I can't do much here for the moment; since the new Intendant, Kiistner, has not arrived yet, and Redern, so Meyerbeer assured me, neither can nor may fix anything regarding the date of my opera s production. It's almost immaterial to me, though—I would I were with you.
What I'm going to live on, this summer, I do not
yet know. Luise, who is occupying herself much with my immediate
requirements unasked, sees insuperable difficulties in the way of
collecting the means; she wants to leave Schletter
I was very sorry not to find Clärchen as we expected; she had returned to Chemnitz: should it prove impossible for me to visit herjust yet, the dress shall be sent on to hera Albert's on tour, and doing well,—as Mother assures me. For the present it will be difficult for me to see him either; such joys need money—confounded money.
Most ingenuously I informed Heinrich Brockhaus
that you, dear Cäcilie, implored him not to come to
Paris, as that would be your only chance of carrying out your pet
idea of coming with Eduard to Germany. Of course he had to laugh,
for he could see well enough by my face that it really was my
own wish.—
Yes, dear children, if you could make that feasible,—if you both could come to us, to say nothing of Cäcilie and Maxel staying with us at our ideal Töplitz,—that would be something to fling up one's cap over. Oh, do try and manage it: you, Cäcilie, travel in front, and let Eduard fetch you in the autumn; you'll do that, won't you?—If Rienzi has come out by then, I'll defray your return journey. Ah, what would I not do!
Only rejoice us with a couple of lines, and that
full soon! But both of you, mind; and reflect that, if Minna
isn't writing with me this time, it's simply due to circumstances.
Tell us all about yourselves and dear, dear Maxel. Tell us also of
Herr and Mad. Kühne, to whom I only don't write this time
because I'm saving it up till I can
RICHARD.
P.S.—I am seated in a
dubious Berlin inn, and the remnant of my Paris cash is pulling
still more dubious faces at me; so pardon if my letter reaches you
unfranked this time: it shan't occur again. But I didn't want to
forward through the firm, for once, so that at least you might
receive these lines quick in the end.—
Our Dresden lodging is Töpfergasse No. 7.
Best Eduard! Dearest Cäcilie!—I sent you from Berlin
my first dazed lament for our parting, and so it's nothing but devoir
and duty that I should inform you briefly of the facts of our
position in a clearer mood. The first truly crushing impression,
which my separation from you both was bound to leave upon me for a
goodish while, has at length been effaced, in a measure, by too
material contact with the present;
My first shaking-up came in Berlin. True, it wasn't
possible to do anything decisive towards settling the date when my
opera is to be produced there, as Küstner was still on his
travels; yet I made the acquaintance of Hr v. Redern, who received
me with great distinction, and indulged my wish so far as to
promise to arrange the present repertory so that my opera should be
the next to be got up after the production of the Huguenots (which
is to take place the end of May). So Küstner would require to
set himself in flagrant opposition to arrangements made already, if
he meant to put my Holländer upon the shelf. Of course he
won't do that, though, as in the first place Mendelssohn (with whom
I have struck up quite friendly relations) has assured me he's
convinced that Redern will in any case exert supremacy for the
first half-year, and in the second, every measure has been taken to
win over Küstner to my interest
My pecuniary affairs have taken a turn I really much prefer. The
best of it is that it didn't cost myself a word: Luise, Ottilie and
Hermann had put their heads together and arrived at the conclusion
(as they told me) that it was their personal
In general, best children, I must confess it strikes me as if
all our folk had greatly changed to their advantage: that odious
hot temper seems to have somewhat died out from our family; and in
this respect I was particularly pleased with Julius, whom I found
better in every way than I anticipated.—The Mama is living
quite in clover now, and really has a pleasant time of it: at any
instant she can either be alone or in society; she has a marvellous
flat, big and comfy, for which you'd envy her with your entire
household. All the same, she intends going to Töplitz this year as
well, and wants to churn with Minna there: how would it be, good
Cäcilie, if you really came too? Just listen! We would engage
a lodging for you, in fact in the same house with ourselves. In
August, as irrevocably fixed now, my Rienzi is to be brought
out here: good Eduard shall run over for that; I'll pay off my debt
to him out of my fee, which will be something toward the journey
back. Couldn't all that be arranged? Your Eduard need give you
little money,—we'd club
There's very little for me to tell you of Dresden, after all.
These people look upon me as a golden calf, and will certainly do
everything I wish. They're to begin studying my opera the
commencement of July; from most sides I'm congratulated on
being able to be present, as it will have the best of influences.
Reissiger is continually falling on my neck, and smothers me with
kisses whenever he gets the chance ; moreover, every one assures
me he really means square by me and feels the best will: but the
man has turned into such a lazy philistine, alas, that I should be
terribly off if I left the artistic execution of my opera to his
tender care alone.
I had just got thus far, and Minna had just finished her letter
to Cäcilie (—she began hers first—)—when your
joint letter arrives !—That releases the Devil—I
weep—and Minna howls! A
one point I'm more cheerful:—I believe in a
quicker reunion than you do. God in Heaven—after all,
one's only slave for just so long as one can't help it; but
whoever can help it first, there really can be nothing better for
him to do, Heaven knows, than institute a Wiedersehen between us!
In this sense it has a double value to me when I look towards the
smile of Fortune: with gainings in my purse, I'm free
and can do what I will; and my will is, to see you both
again straight off: whether in Paris or at Töplitz, is
immaterial. We shall meet again soon; that's my belief and
Minna's consolation!—The good soul looked over the first
page of your letter with me,—after that she could see nothing
more, her tears rolled down thick and prevented it; and yet it was
a proper joy, for there's no true joy without them ! Precisely in
that style will we all of us weep and rejoice, when we do meet
again.—
Nothing beyond a general outburst of feeling,
dissolved. Eduard's lines have touched me to the
quick; if only that fatal "dernier des derniers hadn't figured
among them! Lucky it's French, and so I see you merely meant it as
a joke, dear Eduard, else I should have felt mortally offended. I
know no first nor last midst those my heart belongs to I've only
one heart, and whoever dwells there is its tenant from
bottom to top; how you get on together in it, is no affair of
mine,— —Children, children, buck up; good times are
close ahead! Away with tears ; save them all well up for
Wiedersehen!— —Maxel! Maxell!!!—Ah,
that's another story,—it bubbles from one's heart into one s
eyes the babe, that babe !—There goes Minna giving way
again!—I must shut up; not another sober word will come!
I intended writing also to the cherished trefoil
God bless you! God preserve you! We'll have another talk soon. A thousand salutes and kisses! Tears, laughter and sobs! Ever both of Yours,
Dearest and best—Here we are at Töplitz, the
Schlossberg in front of our noses, a cowshed beneath us,—and
here we sit and think of you— of both of you! Your excellent
letter, good Cäcilie, we laid in the
family—archives; its words stand graven on our hearts. You
faithful creature with your staunch attachment, how dear and ever
near you are to us! We shall never forget either of you, not for so
much as a day; and there are many hours in our days we fill with
memories of both of you in all we speak or think of. Your being
robbed us for this summer, is a woful grief that ne'er forsakes us,
and dims our mirth. Only stay near to us in spirit through your
kindness and fidelity, the least trace of which attends our steps
with blessing, when courage and endurance must e'en conquer
separation! How do things look; have you no prospect?—Is
nobody coming from Leipzig to Paris,—or can Eduard contrive
no business pretext for paying the Leipziger Quer-Gasse a visit? It
isn't far from there to Dresden.—Ah God, that these should be
mere empty phrases, at which you'll only twitch your lips, dear
Eduard, if your confounded business leaves you even time for that.
What is one to do, so long as one's a slave? Enjoy what presents
itself at no expense, hope in the future, and—hold each other
dear, be it from afar or near!—
Yes, we are at long-promised Töplitz! How
Ah, this Töplitz with its remotest precincts is perhaps the
loveliest spot I know! Our coming here had been delayed by the
uncertainty I was hovering in at the end of last, and beginning of
this month, whether I should have to run over to Berlin a second
time or no. I had already got as far as Leipzig again the 2nd of
June, to go on from there to Berlin, when I received a letter there
from Küstner telling me pretty well all I could anyhow have
learnt by mouth. Since he is only just entering the Intendancy amid
a thousand cross-currents and chicanes, Küstner could say
nothing more definite at present re the date of my opera's
first performance, than that it should take place as soon as ever
circumstances allowed. Accordingly I abandoned pro tem a useless
and expensive personal visit, and, with a man who is shewing
himself so punctilious as Küstner in epistolary dealings, in
any case I hope to arrive at the best possible results on this road
also. So I went straight back to Dresden and arranged our departure
for Töplitz with Minna, who has brought with us her excellent
sister zur Eiche," the last house on the Turnaer Wiese, a
mere matter of some 50 paces from the Turna
We had meant climbing the Schlossberg this morning itself, to be
able to report if we found your and Eduard's names there still; but
Minna had cramp in the calf, and begged me to postpone that
expedition for the nonce.—The Mama, who wrote to you a week
ago, is also here; she travelled from Dresden the same day
as ourselves, but in another carriage: her eternal indecision, as
to whether and when she would come, hadn't permitted her to give me
definite orders for booking a seat. So Mother and Minna met here
for the first time, naturally in the attitude of two people who
want to make one another's acquaintance at last. Mother seems very
glad of our society; despite her stiff knee, she came hobbling up
the Schlackenburg after us the day before yesterday, as I had told
her we intended going there. She asked Minna to provide her with
baked meat from time to time,—yesterday we sent her roast
veal; whereupon she paid us a call, and got treated to cream. She
is quite chirpy, and prattles to herself by the hour; really she's
looking remarkably well, and in spite of her leanness I have firm
hope that God will preserve her to us for a long time to come.
Ottilie very much wants to run over to Töplitz for a week, with her children; but Mother thinks nothing will come of it. Shall see! I should like it, for I've grown quite fond of her afresh.—Luise will also arrive at Carlsbad in the next few days; I am heartily attached to her.
Holla! Rienzi is to cross the boards the end of August in full
harness! You'll be there, of course? I will see to your
lodgings.—All's well with it in Dresden; nowhere have I met
any hostility yet.—Apropos, I have been to see Albert at
Halle; I found him better than I expected ; moreover, he had been a
little maligned as to his "comedian ways" at Leipzig.—I slept
2 nights in his diggings, and had long and hearty talks with him. A
better engagement must be obtained him in time, that's
certain,—nevertheless there was a crumb of comfort:—he
gets his salary punctually! One knows what that
is saying. His wife s as beautiful as ever; Johanna can play-act
quite well, and—has a voice that justifies great
hopes, under Albert's tuition.—I was unable to visit
Cläre, but then she had spent two days at
Dresden with her
Before winding up, I have something else to
request you, good Cäcilie: to tell Kietz that I should have
liked to write him too to-day, but have refrained from doing so
because I can learn nothing definitive re his money affairs for
another few days; I have done what there was to do, and have
good hope that my steps will have the best results. I am expecting
a letter from Leipzig about it, on receipt of which I will write
him Instanter and post him the letter direct ; in this way he
perhaps may get his letter even earlier than the present one, which
I'm sending through the firm, will reach yourselves. Heine
Rienzi?]
Children, fare heartily well! I don't want to
break down again, for if my tears were to fall on this
infernally thin paper into the bargain, my letter no doubt would
present an emotional, but by no means a legible look. Farewell all
of you, farewell! Eduard, eyes right! Muster yourself
God keep you! Onward, Max! Remember your glorious uncle, but on no account follow his footsteps!—Onward, Natalie! Grow tall and slim!—To me, to us, you dear ones never to be forgotten! Dearest Sister, best Brother-in-law! Ever all of yours,
Best Eduard—I can't and won't reply to your and Cecilie's
letter with these scanty lines, which I only address you because of
an instant occasion. That shall be done in a fortnight at latest,
however, not before when shall I be able to write to you clearly
and fully about a weighty question [re Natalie?] raised in
Cecilie's letter. So, everything suspended until then! I should
like these lines to reach you very quickly ; hence I'm writing on
the moment's spur and in all brevity.
Hr Ferd. Heine, my and Kietz's friend, has called on me, an
instant back, and begged me to address you an enquiry and prayer on
his behalf. He is a thorough French scholar, to wit, and
porte de fer, p. F. duc
d'Orléans, and secondly, Memoires du Maréchal Soult,
duc de Dalmatie. Heine, however, who has no particular belief in
the said Zirges, thinks that you would be getting these
books translated in Paris at once in any event, since they're very
interesting; and so, in case you feel disposed to, he begs you to
commission him with that translation, which would be highly
desirable to him for the simple reason that he would be
entering relations with a solid firm. If his guess is correct, and
if it's all the same to yourself who supplies the
translation, you would be doing me a very great favour if you would
think of Hr F. Heine for it ;—he 's an excellent fellow, and
vowed heart and soul to my interest, to which he already, in fact,
has rendered substantial services.—Please do what you
can!—
Two words more.—My opera, which we have been getting up
since August 1, isn't to come out till the beginning of
October, to open the subscription series.— —I can't
write to Kietz, either, for a fortnight: the experiences I am
reaping with his affairs are most instructive to me;
nevertheless I hope to be able to send him money—how and in
what fashion, he shall hear in a fortnight. A
Best brother and sister—You have sent us such plenteous
and beautiful gifts once again, that we remain re-engaged to fresh
thanks. The colder and more indifferent to us our present
surroundings, the greater the warmth with which we look into the
distance and the past! So our wish to meet again this summer didn't
come to fulfilment; will it next year?
To let you both quite realise how much your letters have
delighted us—especially that great surprise, the dear
birthday-letter
So we've both been back in Dresden since the
1st of August. I couldn't avoid taking a somewhat respectable
lodging here, nor hiring a grand piano:
the two together ran away with over the half of our monthly
money; so, with the present dearness, we have a terrible pinch to
keep up appearances, which I am bound to maintain much more in my
position here than was needed in Paris. Often I
As to the state of my opera I wrote fairly
It quite alarmed us, dear Cecilie, what you told
Mother and us about the danger, now happily surmounted, that
threatened your health. Ah, how much I wish you, too, the chance of
soon being able to exclusively attend to a cure! In fact, Eduard
gives us quite serious hope that both of you will come to Germany
next year; and as he expresses it, I also firmly trust to
see it realised.
—Should all go according to my wish, we shall visit you in
Paris winter come a year; oh, my plans are all laid! What you write
me of your trip to Bellevue touched me much. Ah, believe me, there
comes a soft spot in our heart whenever we think of you:
this 5th of September, and that of last year!!! O Heavens,
what a contrast!!! I hardly congratulated Minna at all, my dumps
were so deep:—then came the letter from you two, and made us
fully feel again what a godlike power resides in friendship! You
sat at table with us, and we kissed each other and rejoiced as if
we had you tête à tête! Never, never, good
Cecilie and
Dear good children, keep us in friendly remembrance—as
indeed you are certain to—and rest assured that none save a
good fortune in common can ever come our way. So pray for
Rienzi, you also; you soon shall know the lot appointed it.
Farewell! Ever and eternally both of Yours with heart and soul,
RICHARD W.
WAISENHAUS-STRASSE, No. 5,
DRESDEN,
(P.S.)—Best thanks, dear Eduard, for the kind
answer to my enquiry about translations for Hr Heine; if you
really can give him employment in time, you'll please me greatly,
for he has deserved it of me through unfeigned and self-forgetting
sympathy.—
There's no foundation for Cecilie's chaff about
children as yet : as we still have no prospect of
human young whatever, we have to continue making up with
dogs. We've another now, only 6 weeks old, a funny little
chap; his name is Peps, or Striezel (because he looks
exactly as if he had come from the gingerbread market). He is
better than our late Robber
one of
that in the world at a time.
Children, a letter takes really too long through the firm; I'm
sending this by post, and that unfranked—for mere
safety's sake;—true, I also have no money,—but that
would be the smallest reason: I'm too fearful of losing the
porterage, especially when I can't pay it!
Best Eduard—It's true I wrote you both last time that I
shouldn't be sending you news of myself again until after the
production of my opera; however, it strikes me as getting too long
to leave you on the qui vive as to the date of that production,
just when you are certain to be thinking of me with additional
interest. Really I intended writing yourself in particular as early
as the 5th; but I was so extraordinarily busy that day, that I had
only time to remember you duly and with fitting emotion, good
Brother-in-law, at my and Minna's very frugal dinner. We had no
wine, to toast you properly upon your birthday,—so we did it
with a hearty hand-shake: he's a rogue, who does more than he's
able. We'll retrieve the toast with wine, though, next time we're
all together—let's hope, next summer. To resume, that day it
still stood settled that my opera should be given on the 12th
inst.; so I put off writing you till the 13th: but, for
very good reasons and with my full consent, after allowing for every
Yes, dearest Eduard, on the 19th the Devil breaks loose with
lightning and thunder; I can tell you, I'm looking forward to this
production with high glee, for it will be excellent!
Singers and band are rehearsing with well-nigh more than affection;
from all sides I receive the most encouraging wishes, and every one
anticipates an extraordinary success. Certainly it's rare that any
one can say upon such an occasion: I've nowhere come across a
malcontent as yet. First singers, who only have insignificant parts
in my opera, and therefore began with some grudging, were soon
drawn into the general glow, and now co-operate as zealously as if
they had the most grateful rôles. The band exclaims: "For once we
really have a job it's worth while taking pains with." In spite of
a sore throat and not feeling well, the Devrient hasn't missed a
single rehearsal; and through her enthusiastic remarks wherever she
goes (so I'm told) she has contributed no little to gaining my
opera such credit with the public, in advance, that everybody is
looking towards the production with all the intentness due to
something quite out of the way. Tichatschek declares Rienzi will be
his most brilliant part, since there's no other in which he finds
so many opportunities.—The only one who might have been set
against me by jealousy, Reissiger—seems to forget all
egoistic regards in personal affection
Really I oughtn't to have plagued you with
such silly chatter; your domestic affairs will be giving you
worry enough, and we unfortunates have increased it for you to a
certain extent. Only suffer it for my sake a little
longer,—some thing is certain to happen to me soon, to cut
the knot whose tightening still forces me to send you this letter
unfranked to-day, and made me propose your health on the 5th
without wine.—Ah, how I long for a glass of good
wine—you know the sort; often I'm so washed out by these
terribly exhausting rehearsals, that a frivolous craving for a drop
of fire-water perhaps is excusable in me. Never mind, do you my
drinking for me! Things soon shall turn better; cheer up, my
darlings! Peace and blessing to you also, Mr.
Loizeaux Kietz,
who, in return for my last letter, for my most sacred entreaties to
keep faith in times of pinch with sterling art and console
himself with that—as I did,—could find no other answer
to all this I wrote him, than his chicken-hearted
money with it. Money! Money!— —
Bah!—
Now greet and kiss Cile most fervidly for me, and Maxel most tenderly.—I embrace all my friends, and declare to them: "The knot's bound to be cut!"—God protect you, dear good Eduard! Stay true to Thy
RICHARD W.
But doesn't my wife greet and kiss you all, too?! Do I need to assure you it? Of course not.
Na, dearest Children ! Played out as I am, at least I must send
you a hasty line to—day to tell you what happened yesterday.
I would rather you heard it from others, though, for—I'm
bound to say it—never before, as every one
assures me, has an opera been received on its first appearance in
Dresden with such enthusiasm as my Rienzi. It was a
commotion, a revolution throughout the
city;—four times over was I tumultuously called. People
assure me that Meyerbeer's success with his production of the
Huguenots here wasn't to be compared with that of my Rienzi.
The second representation is the day after to-morrow:—every
seat is taken for even the third. I am fearfully tired and run
down; after the second representation
in detail. The performance was
transportingly fine—Tichatschek—the
Devrient—everybody—everything in a perfection such
as had never been witnessed here. Triumph, triumph, you dear
good, faithful souls! The day has broken; it shall shine upon
you all! Your
RICHARD.
DRESDEN, the
The opera will be given at raised prices for several performances more.
I got Cecilie's letter this morning—with what feelings we read its good wishes!!!
(In Minna's hand, on the margin): Children, I am too happy, my utmost wishes are attained!—MINNA.
To my dear ones in Paris—To which
of you shall I write in
particular? Shall I give each single one of you a separate piece of
news? Or am I to believe I have a secret to impart to one of you
which the rest are not to know? Assemble the Holy Synod of Five,
grant Cecilie the honour of the chair—you owe it her,
were it only as the sole lady among you—and hear how things
go with your brother!
I ought to have written you all again long ago; but I was partly
withheld by exhaustion, pressure of business, visits from members
of my family, partly also by the circumstance that I wanted to wait
for a few more settlements in my affairs before writing you at
length. Added to which, Heine
Children, it's quite true,—my opera has had an unexampled
success here; and the greater's the marvel, as it was the
Dresden public that pronounced this success. Bear in mind:
a public which had never before been placed in the position of
having to pass a first verdict on any considerable dramatic
product. Was it not to be supposed that, with an entirely unknown
author's name in front of it, these people would be shy and
diffident about delivering judgment, were it only through sheer
philistricity
sic]
But you've been informed of the success of the first
representation—so not another word about it; it made an epoch
in the annals of German operatic performances. Since then the opera
has been given for a fourth time, and—unheard-of case—
invariably at raised prices and to an overflowing house; nor do I
believe those prices will be lowered in a hurry, as the rush is
still the same: tickets are never to be had from one performance to
the next. At the second representation again I was called, with the
company, after the second and last acts. For the third
representation I arranged with the regisseur that—in case
there were any more calls—I should no longer appear on the
stage, so that the singers should have the whole honour in future.
At that performance, accordingly, there were calls after the 2nd,
3rd and 4th acts, with my name above all again; but the singers had
to come forth alone, and immediately the rumour got about that I
had left for Paris already. At the fourth representation the
singers were vociferously called again twice. In short, the thing's
assured, and there's no telling when the success will
diminish. What's most remarkable to myself is the audience's
endurance: I've cut as much as possible, but the opera still
goes on till half past 10, and yet we haven't seen a seat vacated
during a single performance; everybody sits it out with the very
keenest attention till the last fall of the curtain: which, for
Dresden, is something to say. When I began the shortening, I had
strange experiences
After all this, I really had some curiosity about
my fee. The most unheard-of fables went the round: some said the
first 3 takings would belong to me,—some that I should get
2000 thaler, etc. Instead of which, after the third representation
I received a letter at last from his Excellency, telling me, with
the most flattering expressions, that he was assigning me a fee of
300 thaler
I shall be able to demand. So, dear children,
I cannot help any one much with this first receipt of mine: for, in
the first place I have to pay debts to the Brockhaus's out of it;
secondly, my old Magdeburg creditors are threatening me with
prosecution—and I shall have to appease them so far as possible;
then our bodily outfit—shirts, linen etc.—is in a
condition at present that's indescribable, and cries aloud for
restoration; and so on. But,
success it's really inconceivable
that things should remain for long at this one receipt; it
is to be hoped I shall soon sell the score to a few other places,
at least; moreover, a good publisher—one who'll pay me
decently— cannot be very far off. With this forecast, which
is surely not flippant, I will console you and my Paris creditors
for a wee time yet, and promise—to set apart my very next
taking exclusively for them. It isn't to be imagined that that
should be long deferred; so comfort with a good conscience
whomsoe'er you see pining for me!!!—
And speedy takings on another path, too, will
not be lacking. Only fancy!—KÜSTNER, the present
Berlin Intendant, wrote me that he couldn't give my "fl.
Holländer" before next February, as he means to and must bring
out the Lachner opera first
Catarina Cornaro]one composer will have been given in immediate
succession. The scenery is already ordered here, and, fortune
favouring, the first performance of my "Holländer" will take
place a month from to-day here in Dresden. See, children, the
commencement is made!!—
But I must still entertain you with something
most comic, namely the rumours current here about
me.—Naturally, every one has been asking:
"What does it all mean? Who is the man? One had never
heard tell of him, and of a sudden he pops up with a work putting
Meyerbeer, Auber, in short, all our recent notabilities to flight!
Is it a beginner's effort, this Rienzi? That isn't possible! Under
what name can he have been writing operas before?" etc. But then
they see I'm still a youngish man, and their perplexity goes on
increasing.—At last it transpires that I'm a Leipziger, and
was lately in Paris : of course—I'm a pupil of Meyerbeer's.
The happy family B. skims the fat off it, though: B. sent me to
Paris for three years, people say, to "study" there and write
Rienzi; I drew 100 thaler a month from him, and he has contrived to
get this opera produced in Dresden.—Children, this gossip
will drive me to the grave with vexation! Really, it's abominable
that the stupid world should be used to ascribing triumphs to such
people as these...!!
For the first representation came Ottilie and Hermann, in the
first place, then Luise with Bochmann; Fritz
Deutsche Allg. Ztg]you, all you still
failed me. Jesus Christus, what wouldn't I have given to have had
you here! For listen:
we're quite forlorn still; of an evening we sit all alone, all
alone, and no one drops in as of yore:
ah, what sweet remembrances the sorriest plights
must come
together again; only let my opera bear interest, and when the
creditors (Gläubiger) are polished off; the believers
(Gläubigen) shall have their turn. It must be! Who
knows what news I shall be giving you next? "Have trust in me, the
tribune!" God will vouchsafe me not merely to remain the same, but
to go on increasing.—
Now give my heartiest regards to all acquaintances and sympathisers. Tell Kühne and wife the minutest item, and assure them that I and Minna are always thinking of them with the warmest thanks. God keep you all, my precious dear ones; I bring you my whole heart as greeting! All of Yours,
RICHARD W.
DRESDEN,
To-morrow I shall send off a parcel through the firm with playbills and text-books of Rienzi.
My good Eduard—Not to mix up what's of common interest to
you all with trivial specialities, I am writing you a couple of
lines in particular, to beg you to oblige me by undertaking a small
commission for Hofr. Winkler. For all his
To be continued...
Two years Richard's senior, Ottilie had formed an intimacy with Charlotte, daughter of the Danish poet, Adam Oehlenschläger, and was now at the latter's home in Copenhagen on a visit which already had lasted something like nine months.—TR.
A little place between Dresden and Teplitz where the mother was wont to take a course of baths each summer; presumably Ottilie accompanied her, and started thence for Denmark.—TR.
This work's identity is a little difficult to establish at present.—TR.
That is to say, one of the regular subscription-concerts at the Gewandhaus. The concert taking place Feb. 23, 1832, this overture was manifestly that in D minor, composed Sept. 26, and revised Nov. 4, 1831.—TR.
C major with closing fugue, terminally dated "Leipzig, 17 März 1832"; performed also the 30th of the ensuing April at an "extraneous" concert in he Gewandhaus.—TR.
Evidently regarding that Zurich conductorship which Glasenapp informs us that
Rosalie was so anxious for her brother to accept in the September
just past; see Life of R. Wagner, i, p. 166.—TR.
With his "juvenile" Symphony in his pocket he had gone there summer 1832, when that work obtained its earliest performance at the hands of old Dionys Weber's pupils in the Conservatorium.—TR.
The initial given in the German edition; but it plainly should be "P.," as
these young ladies, friends of Rosalie's, were the daughters of a
count Pachta, whose guest the budding genius had been two years
before. See Mein Leben and Letters to Apel.—TR.
"Der wird sich gewiss auch tüchtig heben"; meaning ambiguous in the absence of data.—TR.
Address: "Ihr Wohlgeb. / Madame / JOHANNA GEYER / pr. Adrss. Fräulein Rosalie Wagner / zu / LEIPZIG—Reichel's Garten, im Hintergebäude."
Namely, to look in minor cities for the singers his manager needed. The actor Moritz of the next sentence had once played Romeo at the Prague theatre to Rosalie's Juliet.—TR.
Sister Clara (his senior by 5 1/2 years) and her husband Heinrich, both of them stage artists at this epoch. They do not appear to have retained their Magdeburg engagement very long, as they soon discovered how the managerial land lay.—TR.
Address: "Ihr. wohlgeb. / Madame / JOHANNA GEYER. / LEIPZIG. Reichels Garten, Hintergebäude, rechts."
Lessee and manager of the Königstädter theatre in Berlin. From this point onward it is scarcely necessary to warn the reader against taking too greatly in earnest a harmless mystification of the anxious mother.—TR.
"Recht offen, liebe Mutter, ich habe selbst Dich ein wenig im Verdacht, dass Du mir auch diesen Mann etwas auf den Hals gehetzt hast, ich habe dazu meine Gründe." The meaning here is somewhat obscure, though possibly connected with Frau Geyer's objection to her son's proposed marriage.—TR.
Avenarius was then betrothed to Wagner's half-sister Cecilie, whom he married March 5 of the ensuing year. Address of this letter: " à /Monsieur/ Monsieur AVÉNARIUS/pr. addresse :/LA LIBRAIRIE DE BROCKHAUS/ET AVÉNARIUS/à/Paris./Franco." Postmark : "Boulogne-sur-mer, 24 Août 1839.
Note by recipient "Answered 27, viii. fr. poste rest."
Address: "Monsieur / AVÉNARIUS / libraire / à / PARIS / No : 60, rue Richelieu." Postmark: "Boulogne-sur-mer, 15 Sept. 1839." Paris post mark: "16 Sept. 39."
Address: "à Monsieur/Monsieur/AVÉNARIUS/RUE RICHELIEU, No. 60."
Draft answer, on the reverse side: "4th Jan. 1840. I forward you, dear
Friend, the 50 fr. you wish for—making 400 fr. in
all—and will see what I find your Frau sister [Luise?]
disposed to. with the best will, however, I cannot go
beyond; as, to obviate any possible misunderstandings, I ought not
to conceal from you.—Ever yours, E. A."
Address: "Monsieur / Monsieur E. AVÉNARIUS / librairie Allemande / 60, rue Richelieu."
Perhaps referring to hack-work such as the "arranging of airs for all the
instruments under heaven" to be undertaken for publisher
Schlesinger (cf. Prose Works, i.
By a palpable slip of the pen, Wagner has written "1840," the post mark being "23 Février 1841"; which latter year-date agrees with the draft reply of Avenarius,—who in his turn, as will presently appear, must have made a similar error in the day of the month. The address is: "Monsieur/Avenarius/librairie de Brockhaus et Avenarius/60 rue Richelieu/ Paris."
Draft of Avenarius' reply, on an accompanying loose sheet: "P. 22 Febr. 1841.—Believe me, dear wagner, perhaps none of your connections would be readier than myself to assist you with a loan, if I could do it. But I have no money to dispose of,—I require my earnings from the business for my really very modest house-keeping, and draw them at stated intervals whilst the capital of the bus, does not stand at my private command.—I may direct your notice to a combination which perhaps can be carried out. Get a payment on account of Guitarrero made you by Schlesinger in the form of a bill dated 6th May, or still better, June. That way you would spare him a payment of cash for the nonce, which he always likes avoiding, and I will try and get the bill discounted for you at no great loss. Yours . . ." Beneath which these words are struck through: "If you can come to me Friday. . ."
Address : "To Mother"; an enclosure to another letter.
Address: "Monsieur/Monsieur E. Avenarius/Librairie Allemande de Brockhaus et Avenarius/60, rue Richelieu/à/ Paris."
Address (in German this time, the letter being evidently conveyed by Minna): "Sr. Wohlgeboren / the / distinguished Bookseller / and excellent / Brother-in-law / in / Paris."
Draft on the back, in Avenarius' hand: "3 März 1842/Hrn. Asher & Co. in Berlin / Permit me to claim your obligingness in a small private matter to-day. I beg you, to wit, to send one of your assistants to Herr Meyerbeer with the enclosed letter and ask him for an answer, which you will doubtless have the kindness to convey to me in your next.—The enclosure is from Hr. Richard Wagner, who is acquainted and in connection with Hr. Meyerbeer, and sent him the full score of an opera The flying Dutchman some time ago, without, however, getting news about it from Herr Meyerbeer as yet, who appears to be no very punctual correspondent.
"Herr Wagner would therefore like to know whether he [M.] received the opera, and what he thinks of doing with it; and I trespass on your kindness to procure my friend and relative this information—at the least to leave him in no doubt as to the score's safe receipt.
"You would much oblige me, if in
your next business letter you would include a word how the matter
stands, in any event. Kindly forgive the trouble caused you,
etc., etc."
Address : "Monsieur/Monsieur/E. Avenarius/60, rue Richelieu/à/ Paris"; postmark: "Berlin, 2 1.4.5-6."
No address; written on very thin note-paper, the letter is an enclosure per the firm of Brockhaus.
In his capacity of Munich Intendant, he had recently rejected
this same Flying Dutchman as "not at all suited for
Germany."—TR.
Formerly regarded as Minna's youngest sister, but openly
avowed in the master's Mein Leben to have been her
love-child from several years before he made his first spouse's
acquaintance.—TR.
Who kept a private school in Paris; see
Mein Leben.—TR.
Her age was then just three months short of 68; she died over five years after, see p. 141.—TR.
Address: "Herr/Eduard Avenarius/in/Paris./Urgently recommended by Richard Wagner for kind enclosure in the next [business] letter going off."
Address: "Monsieur/Edouard Avenarius/Rue Richelieu, No. 60/à/Paris."
Address "Monsieur / Monsieur / Edouard Avenarius / Libraire/ Rue Richelieu No. 69/ à / Paris."
Undated enclosure in No. 28, with special address "To Eduard."