You will certainly not expect me to leave your beautiful glorious letter unanswered. Or ought I, to do the noblest thing, to renounce the dear right of replying? But how could I answer you in a way worthy of you? These tremendous conflicts we undergo, how could they end save in victory over every wish and desire? Did we not know, even in the most ardent moments of our drawing together, that this was our goal? Yes, and only because of its supreme difficulty did it need such hard struggles to achieve. Have we fought out all our battles now, or can there be more before us? Indeed, I feel profoundly that they are all over. A month ago, when I told your husband of my decision to break off personal intercourse with you, I renounced you. And yet at that time I was not perfectly innocent. I simply felt that only absolute separation or absolute union could save our love from the terrible handling to which we have seen it exposed lately. Over against the sense of the necessity of parting there stood involuntarily a feeling of the possibility of reunion. This produced an agonised tension which we were both unable to bear. I came to you and at once it was plain to both that every other possibility involved a sacrilege which we might not even contemplate. This entirely altered the character of our necessary renunciation. The agony gave place to the gentleness of an expiatory freedom. The last trace of egotism vanished from my heart and my decision to visit you again proved the victory of the purest altruism over the last stirring of selfish desire. All I wanted was to reconcile, to soothe, to comfort, to cheer and thus to win, even for myself, the sole happiness which may yet be mine.
Never before in my life have my feelings been so profound or so terrible as in these last months. All previous experiences were insubstantial compared with these. The violence of the emotion which shook me when the catastrophe came could not but leave deep scars and, if anything could have added to the burden on my mind, it was my wife's condition. For two months I had to face daily the possibility of news of her sudden death; for the doctor was obliged to tell me that it was a possibility. Everything about me exhaled the very smell of death; whether I looked forwards or backwards, I saw nothing but the image of death, and life as such lost its last charm for me. While I was bound to spare my unhappy wife in every possible way, I had to make up my mind to break up our new-found hearth and home, and to let her know of it, to her great consternation. What did I feel, do you think, when in this lovely summer weather I gazed at my exquisite Asyl, absolutely fitted to my desires, as I strolled at morning in the dear little garden, looked at the great burst of bloom, listened to the white-throats who had nested in the little rose-tree? What this rending away from this anchor-hold means to me, you, who know my mind more intimately than any other, can tell! I fled from the world before; do you think I could return to it now, now, when, grown unaccustomed to its contacts through lapse of time, my sensibility has immensely increased? Even my recent meeting with the Grand Duke of Weimar showed me more clearly than ever that I can only flourish in absolute independence and must firmly refuse any suggestion of entering into any kind of contract, even with this not unamiable prince. I can never, never return to the world again. To settle permanently in a big town is unthinkable. Am I, then, to found a new refuge, a new hearth, when I have had to leave behind me in ruins this one, scarcely enjoyed, which friendship and the most generous love built for me in an enchanting paradise? Oh no! To leave here means for me to go under! With these wounds in my heart I cannot try ever again to make myself a home!
My child, there is only one salvation for me that I can think of, and this can come only from the profoundest depths of the heart, not from any outward circumstances. It is rest, rest from longing, the stilling of every desire. Noble, worthy victory! To live for others, for others, and so find comfort ourselves! Now you know my soul's full grave and resolute mood. It is linked with my outlook on life, with all the future, with all I care for, and so with you, who are my dearest. And now, upon the ruins of this world of longing, let me make you happy! You see, I have never in my life been importunate, never in any circumstances; instead I have always been almost exaggeratedly sensitive. Now I mean to seem importunate to you for the first time and to beg you to be utterly at rest on my account. I shall not often come to see you, for henceforth you shall only see me when I am sure of being able to show you a happy and peaceful countenance. Once upon a time I came to your house in sorrow and longing; I brought unrest and pain to the place where I came seeking comfort. That shall no longer be. So, when for a while you do not see me, pray for me in silence, for you may know that I am suffering. But when I come to you be assured that I am bringing a lovely gift from my own life to your house, a gift such as it is perhaps given to me alone to give, to me, who suffered so much and so willingly.
Probably, nay certainly, the day will shortly come, I think early in the winter, when I shall absent myself from Zurich for a long time. My amnesty, which I expect soon, will open Germany to me again and I shall go back there periodically to get the one thing which I cannot get here. Then you will not see me for long periods. But to come back again to the Asyl which has grown so dear to me, to rest from worries and inevitable vexation, to breathe sweet air and gain fresh energy for the old tasks for which nature has chosen me, this, if you will grant it, will always be the gentle beam of light which will sustain me over there, the sweet comfort which will beckon me here. And have you not conferred on me the highest of life's benefits? Have I not thanked you for the one thing on earth that can still seem to me worthy of thanks? And should I not try to requite you for what you have attained for me with unspeakable sacrifice and suffering? My child, these last months have notably whitened the hair at my temples. There is a voice within me calling me to rest, the rest which, long years ago, I made my Flying Dutchman desire. It was the yearning for home, not for the luxurious enjoyment of love! Only a true, glorious woman could gain that home for him. Let us consecrate ourselves to this lovely Death, which covers and stills all our longings and desires. Let us die blessedly, with peaceful illumined glance, with the holy smile of beautiful victory! And none shall lose if we are victorious! Farewell, my dear blessed angel!
Richard Wagner
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Volume 1, ed. Altmann/Hull (London: Dent, 1927), No. 358