Dear Minna!
Anyone who had to say how I am getting along would have a hard time. Above all he wouldn't know how to begin. Patience is a good thing: I believe I have shown that I have it. But how to manage to hold on to it, I hardly know. Bad luck can be survived—even a great deal of it; but these obstacles to anything and everything I undertake, they persist so long, and finally destroy all courage. I am pestered on all sides by secret and open annoyances. I am in exactly the same situation as a beginner except that I am burdened by a general hatred and envy inspired by my former accomplishments and my fame. Nothing is successful either here or elsewhere. Even Pourtalès doesn't answer me. A visit to Berlin just now would be no help at all; this is the opinion of Alwine Frommann, whom I have consulted. It is more than doubtful whether the Queen would receive me. And what if she did? The Grand Duke of Baden claims that he answered me—he told Frau Frommann so, but I haven't yet received the letter. He intimated only that he doesn't believe he can comply with my requests. I would care little about these questions for the moment if I could only succeed in something here. For a new success would make all further progress easier. I could not have experienced a more unlucky winter than this one as regards the Vienna Opera. Everything is ready and in order, but the tenor question is still entirely unsolved, and "if" and "when" are questions which, with the best will in the world, can't be answered. The malicious take advantage of this uncertainty to spread obstructive rumors, and my position for the future as an artist is so bad that there is no prospect for me at any of the theaters. On top of this, the tightness of the financial administration here was reflected in a recent answer to me in the matter of my fees which immediately induced me not to accept a single gulden before the performance. This caused great anger. Only the orchestra stood by me. They recently of their own accord played several fragments of Tristan—Dustmann singing—in a private rehearsal; and after one single trial they did it so excellently that the musicians themselves as well as the listeners were sent into the greatest rapture; all of them, and I especially, became convinced that this opera more than all my other ones will succeed even in the first performance.
The orchestra then urgently asked me to repeat these private rehearsals more often with them. That is fine and shows me who I am and what I accomplish; but all this can't counteract my unlucky star, which opposes me on every side. In the main question, that of the tenor part, everything is still in the dark.
The worst of it is that this continued ill luck in the end undermines my spirit and health. I can't sleep, and live in a perpetual state of terrible irritation which is especially aggravated by unnecessary argument. I fear a catastrophe. A few months of complete rest and retirement, without special worries, would be the only remedy. From a trip which would again involve much talking I could only expect an increase of my nervous ailment. Deep in my soul I feel urged to forget the whole world for a while and to tackle an entirely new work which by its subject would be a relief. I have plenty of material. I have an invitation from the Nakos, who in the winter live on their beautiful estate, with a completely furnished castle—about three railway hours from Vienna. Yesterday also the good Metternich, who in his short visit proved very friendly, surprised me suddenly by the words: "Dear Wagner, you need rest and distraction. Come with us to Paris for a few months. You will live with us; I am now definitely settled there and nothing will disturb you. Besides, we shall combine with Pourtalès and Seebach, and even from Paris we can at last do something for you in Germany." I must confess that I was very much touched by the until then rather calm and reserved man. But I feel only perplexed now by everything and I balk at any decision for the moment. Perhaps it would be well to act quickly and accept one of the offered chances—but on the other hand I don't know what a loss it might be for me to leave Vienna entirely for a few months! For I can't begin again with another theater. Here is the place where it must be fought out and where I must prove that everything which had been circulated about my new work was false and evil. Thus I am and still remain for the moment—undecided. . . .
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 242