Ten days ago we took possession of the little country house next to W.’s villa, which I owe to the great sympathy of that friendly family.  At first I had to go through various troubles, for the furnishing of the little house, which has turned out very neat, and, according to my taste, took much time, and we had to move out before there was any possibility of moving in.  In addition to this my wife was taken ill, and I had to keep her from all exertion, so that the whole trouble of moving fell upon me alone.  For ten days we lived at the hotel, and at last we moved in here in very cold and terrible weather.  Only the thought that the change would be definite was able to keep me in a good temper.  At last we have got through it all; everything is permanently housed and arranged according to wish and want; everything is in the place where it is to remain.  My study has been arranged with the pedantry and elegant comfort known to you.  My writing-table stands at the large window, with a splendid view of the lake and the Alps; rest and quiet surround me.  A pretty and well-stocked garden offers little walks and resting-places to me, and will enable my wife to occupy herself pleasantly, and to keep herself free from troubling thoughts about me; in particular a large kitchen garden claims her tenderest care.  You will see that a very pretty place for my retirement has been gained, and if I consider how long I have been wishing for this, and how difficult it was even to bring it into view, I feel compelled to look upon the excellent W. as one of my greatest benefactors.  At the beginning of July the W.’s hope to move into their villa, and their neighbourhood promises many friendly and pleasant things to me.  Well, so much has been achieved.

Very soon I hope to resume my long-interrupted work, and I shall certainly not leave my charming refuge even for the shortest trip before Siegfried has settled everything with Brynhild.  So far I have only finished the first act, but then it is quite ready, and has turned out stronger and more beautiful than anything.  I am astonished myself at having achieved this, for at our last meeting I again appeared to myself a terribly blundering musician.  Gradually, however, I gained self-confidence.  With a local prima-donna, whom you heard in “La Juive”, I studied the great final scene of the “Valkyrie.”  Kirchner accompanied; I hit the notes famously, and this scene, which gave you so much trouble, realised all my expectations.  We performed it three times at my house, and now I am quite satisfied.  The fact is, that everything in this scene is so subtle, so deep, so subdued, that the most intellectual, the most tender, the most perfect execution in every direction is necessary to make it understood; if this, however, is achieved, the impression is beyond a doubt.  But of course a thing of this kind is always on the verge of being quite misunderstood, unless all concerned approach it in the most perfect, most elevated, most