[July 6 (?) i8s8.]t Tuesday morning. Surely thou didst not expect me to leave thy marvellously beautiful letter unanswered ? Or was I to forgo the privilege of replying to the noblest word? And how could I reply to thee, but in a manner worthy of thee ? — The stupendous conflicts we have passed, how could they end but with the victory over every wish and longing ? In the most fervent moments of approximation, did we not know that this was our goal ? — ' Assuredly! Only because its difficulty was so untold, was it only to be reached after the hardest of combats ; but have we not fought out all our battles now? What others could there still remain ahead ?— Of a truth, I feel it deep within : they are at end ! — When a month gone by I told thy husband my resolve to break off personal commune with you ["Buck "—plural] I had— given thee up, albeit I was not yet altogether whole in that. For I merely felt that nothing save a total separation, or — a total union, could secure our love against the terrible collisions to which we had seen it exposed in these latter times. Thus the sense of the necessity of our parting was haunted by the possibility— present to the mind, if not to the will — of union. In that still lay a racking suspense which neither of us could bear. I approached thee, and clear as day it stood before us, that that other possibility involved a crime which could not be so much as thought of. But hereby the necessity of our renunciation of itself acquired another character : the strain resolved into a gentle reconcilement. The last taint of egoism vanished from my heart ; and now my decision to revisit you (Euck) was the triumph of purest humanity over the last stirring of selfish desire. I wished naught any longer but to reconcile, assuage, console — cheer up ; and thus procure myself withal the only happiness that still can come to me. — So deeply and terribly as in these last few months, have I never been affected in my life. All earlier impressions were void of meaning 'gainst these last. Shocks such as I endured in that catastrophe were bound to plough deep furrows in me ; and if aught could add to the great seriousness of my reflections, it was my wife's condition. For two whole months I was threatened each day with the possible news of her sudden death ; for the doctor had felt obliged to warn me of that possibility. Everything round me breathed the scent of death ; all my prospects and retrospects became images of death, and life — as such — lost its last lure for me. Admonished to the utmost sparing of the unhappy soul, nevertheless I had to make up my mind to raze our last hearth and home, so lately founded, and at last to tell her so, to her deepest dismay. — With what feelings dost thou think in this sweet summertide I viewed this charming Asyl,* the sole and perfect counterpart of my whilom aims and wishes, when I wandered through the tiny garden of a morning, watched the flowers springing into bloom, and listened to the whitethroat that had built her nest within the rosebush? And what this tearing loose from my last anchor meant for me, that tell thyself, who know'st my inmost thought as none ! If I have fled from the world once before, dost dream I could return into it now? Now, when each nerve of me has grown so sensitive and tender with the lengthier weaning from all contact with it? Even my recent interview with the Grand Duke of Weimar [mid- June] shewed me plainer than ever that I can thrive in nothing but most absolute independence, so that I earnestly had to decline every possible kind of obligation to be entered, even towards this really not unamiable prince. I cannot — cannot face towards the world again ; to settle down in a big city, is inconceivable to me. And if not that — how could I think again of founding a new refuge, a new hearth, after having to break up this, scarce tasted, which friendship and the noblest love had founded for me in this charming paradise? No, no ! — To go forth hence, for me is tantamount to — going under ! With wounds like these in my heart, I can try to found me no new home again ! — My child, there's only one salvation for me I can think of; and that can only arise from the innermost depth of the heart, not from any sort of outer dispensation. Its name is Rest ! A truce to yearning ! Allaying of every desire ! Worthy, noble overcoming ! Life for others, for others — in relief to ourselves ! — Thou know'st the whole solemn resolve of my soul now ; it relates to all my views of life, to my whole future, to all that stands anigh me, — and so to thee, too, who art dearest to me! Upon the ruins of this world of longing, let me — bless thee! — See, never in my life, in any manner of relation, have I ever been importunate, but always of an almost exaggerated sensibility ; so for the first time will I seem to be importunate, and implore thee to be profoundly tranquil as regards me. I shall not often visit you (EucA), for in future you must only see me when I'm sure of shewing you a calm and cheerful countenance. — Of old, maybe, I have sought thy house in suffering and longing : thither, whence I wanted solace, have I brought unrest and suffering. That shall be no more. Wherefore if thou dost not see me for a length of time, then — pray for me in silence ! — For, then be sure that I am suffering ! But when I come, be sure I'm bringing to your house a gracious gift of my being, a boon such as lent perhaps to me alone to shed, who have endured so much and willingly. — Probably, nay, certainly, the time is at hand — I conjecture the beginning of next winter — when I shall depart from Zurich altogether for a spell ; my amnesty, expected soon [in vain 1], will reopen to me Germany, whither I shall periodically return for the only thing I could not make good to myself here. Then I often shall not see you for long. But then to return again to the Refuge so endeared to me, to recover from worry and unavoidable vexation, to breathe pure air, and gain new zest for the old work for which Nature has chosen me, — this, if you grant it me, will ever be the point of mellow light that buoys me up there, the sweet relief that becks me here. And — wouldst thou then have shewn my life no highest benefaction ? Should I not owe to thee the only thing that yet can seem worth thanks to me upon this earth ? And ought not I to seek to requite what thou has won for me with suffering and sacrifices so indicible ? — My child, these last months have perceptibly blanched the hair on my temples ; there is a voice in me that cries with yearning after rest, — that rest which long, long years ago I made my Flying Dutchman yearn for. It was the yearning after "home," — not after the seductive joys of love : only a grandly faithful woman could gain for him that homeland. Let us vow ourselves to this fair death, which stills and buries all our hankerings and cravings ! Let us fade away, with peacefully transfigured gaze, and the holy smile of beautiful self-victory ! — And — no one then shall lose, when we are victors ! Farewell, my dear hallowed angel !
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 55