My catarrh has developed so thoroughly and nobly, that I may hope it will rid me of my usual winter illness, if I take proper care of it; even now I perceive the beneficial effect of nature’s self-relief, although I feel as if leaden fetters were on me.  I am sure that I shall be better in a few days, and am looking forward to offering you the fruits of my recovery in the shape of an excellent temper.

For today I am a strict patient, and must not think of a visit to Herwegh.  If you will give me the pleasure of seeing you today, I inform you that I shall have to perspire from noon to 4 p.m.; before or afterwards my aspect would be less horrible.  The hardest thing was that I had to miss the organ concert yesterday.  But resignation helps me over everything.

I will try to finish the letter to the Grand Duke today.

A hundred thousand most cordial remembrances to the whole
Rectory.  How are you, indefatigable man?

227.

Sunday, early.

Here I sit again gazing after you.  My best thanks to your dear Princess for the first news.  My mind was set at rest not a little on hearing that you had been able to continue your journey to Munich without mishap.  There you will be able to rest a little more comfortably than at the Hecht of St. Gallen.  Rest?  Ye indefatigable ones!

A thousand ardent blessings follow you everywhere.  What you have become to me your hearts will tell you.  You are so rich a possession to me that I scarcely know how to realise it.  But on the other hand, you are to me a continual sermon of repentance; I cannot think of you without being heartily ashamed of myself.

How can you bear with me, who appear so unbearable to myself?

But I am not without good resolutions of amendment.  Although I shall palm off great part of the care on my doctor, who is to put me completely on my legs again next spring, I am too well aware that an enormous labour—­less watercure than purgatory—­lies before me.  Yes, I will shut myself up in that Purgatorio, and hope, dearest Franz, that I shall do so well that I may greet you with a Magnificat soon.  It is true that I shall never be able to equal you, but then you are the only genuine virtuoso.

My aesthetic efforts will, I hope, cure my moral prostration to some extent.  I must try tomorrow to break the news of the death of his mother to “Siegfried.”  On Thursday evening I arrived at the Zeltweg, freezing and empty, with a violent cold and in terrible weather; since then I have not set foot out of doors.  All I did was to find a good place for the Madonna and Francesca, which was a difficult job.  I hammered like Mime.  Now all is safe and sound.  The Madonna hangs over my writing table and Francesca over the sofa, under the looking-glass, where she looks beautiful.  When I begin “Tristan” Francesca will have to go over the writing table, and the turn of the Madonna will not come again until I take the “Victors” in hand.  For the present I will try to inspire myself a little with the victrix, and to imagine that I could do the same thing.