But the hope was vain, and a friend of the family who wrote under the name of the “Idealistin” describes the—­

“almost daily trouble in the intercourse, increased by the fact that the absence of children deprived them of the last element of reconciliation.  Nevertheless, Frau Wagner was a good woman, and in the eyes of the world decidedly the better half and the chief sufferer.  I judged otherwise, and felt the deepest pity for Wagner, for whom love should have built the bridge by which he might have reached others, whereas now it was only making the bitter cup of his life bitterer.  I was on good terms with Frau Wagner, who often poured her complaints into my ears, and I tried to console her, but of course in vain.”

And now Minna, whose housewifely meekness had endured the Wesendonck tempest and all the other multitudes of trials Wagner went through, found herself unable to endure his fidelity to his artistic ideals.  The quarrels grew fiercer and fiercer, until finally she left Wagner for ever, and went back to her people in Dresden, where she spent the rest of her life.

Wagner’s immortal hope was not even yet dead; as late as 1863 he wrote to Praeger from St. Petersburg: 

“I would Minna were here with me; we might, in the excitement that now moves fast around me, grow again the quiescent pair of yore.  The whole thing is annoying.  I am not in good spirits:  I move about freely, and see a number of people, but my misery is bitter.”

Minna herself seems to have toyed with the idea of reconciliation, for she wrote to Praeger, who told Wagner, and received the following bitter complaint: 

“And so she has written to you?  Whose fault was it?  How could she have expected I was to be shackled and fettered as any ordinary cold common mortal?  My inspirations carried me into a sphere where she could not follow, and then the exuberance of my heated enthusiasm was met by a cold douche.  But still there was no reason for the extreme step; everything might have been arranged between us, and it would have been better had it been so.  Now there is a dark void, and my misery is deep.”

A year later, Wagner’s regret is not yet dead, and he writes to Frau Wille: 

“Between me and my wife all might have turned out well!  I had simply spoiled her dreadfully, and yielded to her in everything.  She did not feel that I am a man who cannot live with wings tied down.  What did she know of the divine right of passion, which I announce in the flame-death of the Walkuere who has fallen from the grace of the gods?  With the death-sacrifice of love the Dusk of the Gods (Gotterdammerung) sets in.”

And again he bewails his loneliness to Praeger: 

“The commonest domestic details must now be done by me; the purchasing of kitchen utensils and such kindred matters am I driven to.  Ah! poor Beethoven! now is it forcibly brought home to me what his discomforts were with his washing-book and engaging of housekeepers, etc., etc.  I who have praised woman more than Frauenlob, have not one for my companion.  The truth is, I have spoiled Minna; too much did I indulge her, too much did I yield to her; but it were better not to talk upon a subject which never ceases to vex me.”