One morning mid-April, having awakened later than usual, Minna went to Richard''s study to give him an affectionate greeting. She knew he was nearing completion of the Venusberg orchestration, but instead of finding him busy at work, she was shocked to see him seated at the piano crying. Her moving across the room awakened Peps, who was stretched out on his stool. The dog barked, startling Richard.
"God, Minnel...," he said, wiping his eyes.
"What''s wrong?" she asked, irritated by his laziness and sullen mood. "Didn''t Amalia make coffee for you? Or did you finally figure out that you can''t afford to elegantly bind one hundred copies of this new opera!"
"My whole being has been so consumed with this task," he said, gently touching a page of the composition draft from which he was working, "that the closer I get to finishing it the more afraid I am that I''ll die before it''s done."
Richard had suffered many sleepless nights due to stomach cramps and headaches, but after years of attending him through bouts of erysipelas, catarrh, nausea, and a host of other ailments, all of which he recovered from through the exertion of his seemingly indomitable spirit, Minna had not been concerned. But the pallor of his usually vibrant face and talk of sudden death frightened her into a more compassionate temper.
"Remember how worried your sister Cacilie was before the birth of her little Richard?" she said, gently brushing his disheveled hair from his prominent forehead.
"That was because Rosalie died in childbirth!"
"And just like a mother you are about to send another of your children into the world to an unknown fate."
"See, Minnel, this work must be good! If not, I can never accomplish anything. It has worked such magic on me! I no sooner touch the music than I glow and quiver with warmth," he said with what seemed to Minna almost sexual delight. "Even with all the great interruptions in my work, I''m always freshly inspired by that peculiar fragrance which intoxicated me at the very first conception. My Tannhäuser is a German fellow from top to toe. May he win German hearts more completely than my former works."
"Why must you always whine? Rienzi plays to big audiences!”
"And do you ever find mention of that in the newspaper? Did Schladebach report on the magnificent performance of my Love-Feast at the Frauenkirche, or even Weber''s funeral? Everything to do with that dignified ceremony, especially the music, was my work!"
"You never give tickets to Schladebach. Why do you now place stock on a single music critic?" she asked tauntingly.
"Because, Minnel, it is his job to review and write about music for newspapers throughout Germany. Mein Gott, I know quite well that newspaper reports can''t make a good work into a bad one, or a bad one into a good one. But the papers can prejudice a good thing by hindering its spread. They can be discouraging!"
"Your Venusberg will not be stillborn. Play for me. Let me hear what the orchestration will sound like."
The request seemed to light a fire in her husband''s eyes. She took a chair near the window from where she could watch the ever-changing features of his face as he played. No sooner did the first notes sound than she recognized Wolfram''s Song to the Evening Star with its concluding orchestral refrain. It is a lovely song people will be eager to play and sing at salons and parties, she thought.