[To Frau Eliza Wille, Mariafeld.J 221. Penzing bei Wien ,—* June 5, 1863 Dear honoured Lady, In a day or two I mean to write to Wesendonck's again, at last ; only — it can only be to him. I am too fond of the wife, my heart is so melting and full when I think of her, that it is impossible for me to address her with that formality which would be more incumbent on me now, in her regard, than ever ; neither can I write her from my heart without an act of treason to her husband, whom I sincerely prize and honour. What, then, is to be done ? for I also cannot keep it wholly buried in my heart ; some human soul, at least, must learn how it stands with me. So I tell it you : She is and stays my first and only love ; I feel it plainer every day. That was the summit of my life ; the trembling years of beautiful distress I lived beneath the waxing spell of her proximity hold all the sweetness of my life. It needs but the remotest ground, and I am back amidst them, all saturated with that magic atmosphere which takes my breath still, just as then, and leaves me nothing but a sigh. And were there no stimulant else, yet dreams would do it ; dreams that refresh me every time they shew her to me. — Now tell me, friend, how can I converse with this lady as now it should and must be ? — Impossible ! — Ah, even do I feel I dare not see her any more ; in Venice once already such a wiedersehen made me right unhappy : only after I had entirely lost that memory, did she become to me again quite what she was before. This do I feel : fair will she ever remain in my eyes, and never will my love of her turn cold, but I dare not see her face to face ; not under this awful constraint, which — imperative as I acknowledge it — must be the death-knell of our love. What am I to do, then ? Should I leave my dearest in the fallacy that she has grown indifferent to me ? But oh, that falls so hard ! — Should you relieve her of that fallacy, would that be doing good ? I know not ! —And life will slip away at last ; O misery ! — Since my departure from Zurich I have been strictly living as in exile ; what I sacrificed then, no tongue can tell ! — Tis my solitary craving now, to arrive at least at household peace again, be left to live for work alone. By dint of untold exertions I have bought myself at least the possibility of founding a hearth once more, which I henceforth have to tend entirely alone. Repeated attempts have convinced myself and friends that a continued dwelling with my wife is clean impossible, and thoroughly injurious to us both ; so she is living in Dresden, where I provide for her abundantly beyond my means. She cannot quite compose herself as yet, and I am forced — with strenuous subdual of recurrent accesses of pity — to adopt an attitude of sternness, without which I should only prolong her sufferings and rob myself of all prospect of peace. I can truly say, this trial is the hardest I have ever borne ; but there ! — I am renouncing all, and wish for nothing but a working rest ; the sole relief to clear my conscience and make me really free ! — And now, my dear, do be beseeched and tell me often of our lady-friend, — you love her still, I hope, and she is likewise true to you? Indeed it is too hard to know so infinitely loved a being's life so utterly remote and alien, without the power to cast a glance upon it anywhere. What I may learn through her husband, you will comprehend, cannot shew me the Lady-friend to whom I dare protest undying love e'en tho' I never mean to see her more. Never? — 'Tis hard, — but so it must be! — I have just been opening that green case, again, she sent me once to Venice. How many an agony of life has been passed through since then, and yet to be encompassed at a touch with all the old, unspeakably beautiful charm ! Sketches for Tristan there, for the music of her poems ! — Ah, dearest friend, 'tis true one loves but once, whatever of intoxicant or flattering this life may bring our way ! Yes, I ,know it now, now first completely, that I shall never cease to love but her. You will respect the innocence of this avowal, and forgive me that I make confession to yourself? Good-bye, and be a friend to Your Richard Wagner.
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 135