. . . The piano score of Tristan should be finished soon now: you and the young Kalergis will soon get the whole business. It won't make you very happy: the music is grayish, I tell you that confidentially. Fortunately, however, you are—as Liszt's pupil—a good pianist in any case: the arrangement by Bülow will then at least entertain you; to me, undisciplined pianist that I am, it simply remains a riddle because it is so pianistic.
Heaven knows when I shall ever hear this music which I like so much—despite the fact that it is so monstrous! That's the only thing I care about, nothing else in Paris. Your father probably knows about it already, but doesn't want to tell me. Surely the tyrannical Saxon minister has answered by this time? I have finally met Prince Metternich. I liked him pretty well: he expressed hopes for me on the part of the Saxon government; Seebach told him so. If there should still be insurmountable obstacles, he thought he could give me hopes for Vienna. It all sounded very promising. What I liked most was that he expressed some misgivings about my music: I assured him that nobody had more misgivings about that than I. I haven't seen the Princess again. As for Herr Münch, I have been able to present myself twice only by way of my card.
Since Papa surely can do everything (why would he be sitting in Brussels otherwise?), let him straighten out the Dresden trouble as soon as possible. I'll have to be able to go to Germany soon in order to look around for a birthplace for Tristan. That happens to be a matter of the heart, and matters of the mind can be taken care of clearly and successfully only when the heart is satisfied. So if Papa wants the Parisians to see an intelligible Tannhäuser, he'll first have to help me to bring out Tristan. The rehearsals here can't really get started before the middle of September. But in Vienna or elsewhere I can bring out Tristan in the beginning of August: how easy would my job of civilizing the Parisians then become! Papa should consider that and should straighten out everything quickly.
I'll write to him soon. Give him my most cordial regards for today and tell him he is really a wonderful papa. Since I have no children, I look upon myself as having only an uncle's place in the world. But to you I want to be a real friend even if you don't say much to me. But when you do say something to me, let it always be as sincere and fine as in the last letters: then I understand, feel ennobled, strengthened and uplifted; then I smile, and say to myself: "Well, things must be going well again for a change."
A thousand fervent regards from your
Richard Wagner
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 220