[...] My position with regard to Germany, moreover, remains very obscure. As you know, I am neither amnestied nor pardoned, and all I have been promised is that the right of extradition will not be invoked in cases where, for the purposes of a performance of my works, I wish to enter any of the German federal territories whose government has consented to my doing so and which will first have sought permission for such consent from the Saxon government. I would not even have been able to extend my six-day journey to the Rhine in order to take in Weimar without first having seen to the fulfilment of these conditions, assuming, of course, that I did not wish to begin by insulting the Saxon government. None of our German potentates can deal directly with me in any way at present, since I remain as before a political outlaw. And so I still cannot expect any Court to take any significant or adequate measures on my behalf, with the result that plans for the performances of my latest works have really made very little progress. And this is all the more evident in that, on the other hand, our greatest opera houses are in such a shocking state: Berlin, for ex., is quite out of the question, unless one were to envisage the possibility of a complete revolution of the theatrical and administrative conditions there. I cannot say that I was so bold as to appear before the Princess of Pr. with any hope of making a significant impression on her in this respect: I know that what I am thinking of cannot be even remotely understood by anyone from that region, simply because there is no possibility there of any really serious interest in me. And so I was perfectly content to find in the Princess the expected intelligent, shrewd and lively woman that I had imagined; it was sufficient to express my appreciation and gratitude for her uninterrupted pleasure in my works, without my being in any way misled into informing her of any particular plans or wishes that I might have.
And so, for the moment, it remains a mysterious secret where my Tristan will first see the light of day. Its birth would be simplest - it seems - if I were to entrust its confinement to the King of Hanover. Niemann claims that the King would immediately engage any singer, male or female, whom I needed for a model performance of my work, as long as the performance were to take place in Hanover. That would be something. This King appears to be liberal and munificent in his passion for the arts: nothing else is any use to me. Let us hope that he sees no obstacle in my political situation.
For the present I am fully preoccupied with my Paris venture, which mercifully obscures the prospect of my future misery in Germany. I do not know what rumours are circulating with you in respect of the difficulties placed in my way: they may be well meant, but they are erroneous. Never before have I been so fully and unconditionally provided for with whatever material I need for an outstanding performance as is the case here in Paris with the performance of Tannhäuser at the Grand Opera; my only wish is that a German prince might one day offer me the same kind of thing for my new works as has been offered me here. It is the only triumph of my art so far that I myself have experienced in person: I owe it to the success of my works in Germany which have brought me such warm admirers that, on the strength of their word, the emperor resolved to issue a truly imperial decree which now makes me master over all the material I need and which protects me against all intrigues. The translation has finally turned out the greatest possible success and encourages me to hope for a favourable outcome in every other respect: I am assured of getting the best possible singers; in every one of the backstage areas there is a prevailing mood of eagerness and care to which Germany has little accustomed me. The entire administrative staff is delighted to undertake such a task which promises a more interesting occupation than their usual work. I, too, am taking the matter seriously: weaknesses that I have recognized in the score are to be removed; it is with a great deal of pleasure that I am reworking Venus’s big scene, and I plan to improve the whole work in this way. The ballet scene, too, will be completely redone according to a more elaborate plan that I have devised. —
Unfortunately I have not yet been able to make an actual start on any of these essential tasks. Up until my recent excursion to the Rhine, I was fully occupied with the translation. On my return I first had to write a short literary piece which I have only just completed. M. Frédéric Villot, about whom Hans will no doubt have spoken to you, invited me to publish my opera poems in a prose translation, and to add a preface explaining my ideas. I have now done this. I believe the piece will appear at the beginning of October at the latest. - We are now all ready for the rehearsals: unfortunately, I finally had to object to the baritone. Fould was immediately obliged to issue instructions for a new singer to be engaged: but the right man has yet to be found, and although this has resulted in a slight delay, there is no trace of any ill-will on anyone’s part. Meyerbeer, who is now behaving in his usual coy manner, is ultimately powerless to influence the emperor and, indeed, the whole affair: on the contrary, he is seeking to avail himself of the talents that have been engaged for my benefit and use them for his own future advantage. Well, I do not begrudge him that. The fellow never had any initiative.
There, my dearest Franz, you have a more or less clear idea of my present position and activities. You will not, I imagine, expect me to feel happy here: but what I do feel is the peace of mind of the fatalist who abandons himself to his fate, surprised, perhaps, at the strange manner in which it ordains my actions and guides me along unexpected channels - telling me in secret: this is ultimately how it must be!
It is with a real sense of horror that I now think of Germany and of the future plans I reckon on undertaking there. May God forgive me, but all I see there is pettiness and meanness, the semblance and conceit of solidity, but without any real ground or basis. Half-heartedness in everyone and everything, so that I would ultimately prefer to see the Pardon de Ploërmel here in Paris than in the shade of the famous, glorious German oak! I must also confess that setting foot on German soil again made not the slightest impression upon me, except, at most, a sense of surprise at the foolishness and unmannerliness of the language that was being spoken all around me. Believe me, we have no fatherland! And if I am “German”, it is no doubt because I carry my Germany around with me; and that is fortunate, since the garrison at Mainz did not exactly inspire me. -
[...]
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 262