221. Penzing bei Wien. June 28, 1863. Lady-friend, A beautiful, beautiful portfolio arrived to-day ; it is destined for the Meistersinger. I have managed down to AFTERMATH 31I now quite capitally with the green one, which I unpacked again the other day ( — I have settled once more!—) and behold ! all kinds of sketches and strange leaves therein, all tucked into a corner. Dear Heaven, it looked like Tristan still, inside there ! Never mind ; the mastersingers had to creep in too. Now, don't be cross with me for once, I'm not a proper Master yet ; even with my music I haven't got much beyond the 'prentices (so God knows how it all will turn !) : wherefore the perfectly finished shall always go into the new portfolio, and look so grand that I'll tell myself each time I peep at it, " Come, you're already a bit of a master, — tho' nothing like so much as she who sent you the Master-portfolio"; but the unfinished (alas! and how much about me is unfinished !) shall jog along in the big green one meanwhile, with all the gleanings from old wondrous days. I really am more faithful than you may believe, and perhaps than you are sometimes made believe about me ; so the mastersingers, if ever they're to come to anything, must come into the world partout in the same old green portfolio : God only knows what luck 'twill bring them ! But whatever gets quite straight at last shall move, as said, to the new brown one ; already there are 40 pages of full score inside, — tho' I've no idea at all what luck 'twill bring. How am I to make that intelligible to you? — Admit, it's hard for so unfinished a mastersinger to write you ; e.g., if I were to tell you, A master ought to have repose, I must confess at once that I have none, and — what's worse ! — am never like to have any. That's the hideous truth which has now become quite plain to me: I've no repose! I cut myself entirely loose from men, relations, every sort of intercourse at last, because at bottom all torment me — that's how I am ! — and furnish me a nice still dwelling ; every nook in it has to fit to my mind, I'm a-fever to make it all immensely snug and comfortable, for I tell myself, There shall you stick, pass all your time there (fortune favouring) and stay entirely alone. — To be alone : ah ! the bliss that thrills through me anon, when I tell myself that — before I actually am alone. Good : I get alone — foolish man, as if my heart weren't yoked to me ! — and then at last my full unrest explodes, now in the likeness of care, now of craving. I yearn for a presence, since nothing save presence can soothe — believe me, the god of peace and happiness, his name is " Presence " — and — have to do without it. So I take up at first with my serving-folk,* who soon grow fond of me ; then a dog is added. Not that I have procured myself a new one, — I've a horror of everything new now, all new associations, even with a dog ; but thieves broke in, the other day, and stole a gold snuffbox which the Moscow orchestra had given me as souvenir ; that grieved my old Baron who lives below, and he placed his old retriever at my service. So the dog now sleeps in my rooms at night, and will not quit me even in the day ; he clings to my heels wherever I go. His name is Pohl ; he's brown and strong, but aged already, as I said : ere long he'll die.t like Fipps and Peps, — the pity of it ! To resume : I fancy I shall reach no true repose. Even as regards the Meistersinger I'm still mistrustful, earnestly and calmly as the brown portfolio stares at me. — Can Otto be cross with me for not having written to him so long? Well, I did write him as soon as my birthday was over — the so momentously awaited 50th [cf. p. 231] — lest he might think I only wrote him when I wished to bother him for something ; but if it were not for yourself I really shouldn't have known if he received my lines or no. How goes it with his health; does his throat still trouble him? I hope for good news of him. How stands it with beautiful Switzerland ? Is the lake as vivid green and blue as ever ; and the mountains with their fields of snow ? — Children, indeed you chose yourselves a lovely land, and oft-times does a longing for it seize me ; once I hoped to die there some fine day ! Methinks I was often more restful there, upon the whole, than I am now ; Swiss scenery like that has something tranquillising ! A sunset I no longer know ; just a couple on the Rhine of late. But no residence would come to hand there, so I'm seated here for the sake of some fine tall trees which I have in the garden ; and the abode is restful, — not myself ! However, I told you that before. — And how do things fare with yourself? To you Hans Sachs came easy ; to me he still comes hard. Art also can be serious — not life alone ! Adieu, Lady-friend ! Stay kind to Your R. W.
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 137