Best greetings to wife and children.
Love me, and forever yours,
Richard Wagner.
Then came the following:—
Dearest: Come when you will! Alas, everybody comes in the few weeks of the summer, and it is possible that you will find visitors already when you come. In the quiet time not even a cock crows after you, but you will find your place prepared for you; only, therefore, to our next meeting.
Yours,
Richard Wagner.
Lucerne, Tribschen, 6th June, 1871.
STANDING ON HIS HEAD.
In the summer I went to stay with Wagner. How changed! Fifty-eight years old, and yet but one year in the possession of what is called home. His had been a roving life. Not through choice, but necessity. Energetic and persevering, never leaving a stone unturned or failing in an effort to preach his creed. And so through the long years of early manhood and middle age had he struggled with adversity, never finding an abiding resting-place. But the sunset of his life was setting in rich, warm colours. A feeling of serenity, born of the conscious security from worldly anxieties, had taken possession of him. His work had been acknowledged throughout Europe. He was ambitious, and his soul was satisfied. Now was he for the first time living in that warm-hearted, self-denying atmosphere of “home,” where dwelt a remarkably cultured, intellectual wife and children. There “bloomed for him a splendid son, strong and beautiful.” Yes; he was happy. His naturally buoyant temperament had not lessened with years. I remember full well, one day when we were sitting together in the drawing-room at Tribschen, on a sort of ottoman, talking over the events of the years gone by, when he suddenly rose and stood on his head upon the ottoman. At the very moment he was in that inverted position the door opened and Madame Wagner entered. Her surprise and alarm were great, and she hastened forward, exclaiming, “Ah! lieber Richard! Richard!” Quickly recovering himself, he reassured her of his sanity, explaining that he was only showing Ferdinand he could stand on his head at sixty, which was more than the said Ferdinand could do. This was a ridiculous incident, but strikingly illustrative of the “Wagner as I knew him.” I suppose there are few thinking people who will deny the seriousness and profundity of Wagner’s mind, and that perhaps in earnestness of purpose and power of reflection, he may be said to have been the equal of Carlyle; yet who can picture the “sage of Chelsea” standing on his head at sixty, or indeed at any period of his life?
Wagner’s tranquillity of mind was delightful to contemplate. He longed for “peace on earth and good will to all men.” The desire of his heart, the dream of those early Dresden days, was about to be realized. A theatre constructed after his own theory was soon to be erected. The architect and engineer, Neumann and Brandt, came to Lucerne during my visit. I was privileged to be present at their discussions. It was another illustration of “to have a clear notion of what you want is half-way to get it.” “The theatre must be so built that it can be emptied in the space of one or two minutes”; upon this Wagner insisted. Did the experts explain some detail to him it was marvellous to see how quickly he grasped the point and debated it with them. His heart was in his work, in this as in all he did, and there lay the secret of his success, for of this I am convinced, that without his indomitable will, that untiring perseverance which would not be conquered, the genius of Wagner would have availed him but little.