My dear Friend,
So soon as I have news from you, I am always eased; and if I've no particular cause for writing, I then give way to the rush of occupation and the pressure of my mostly evil humour, both of which withhold me from sending you a letter. But when you are silent I grow uneasy, and write to you, not because I have anything good or important to tell you, but merely to hear why you are torturing me by silence! Let that be said to you quite candidly! On the 1st October I wrote to your wife; I am very disturbed at having had no news since then, as I hoped at least to find a welcome on my entry into my new abode, as announced. — Only believe me, children, that my home is with you, that I am in a strange land here, and only feel homelike when I know myself safe on the "green hill"!
Forgive me, too, my niggard writing in this latter time! Believe me, I am going through a quite unheard-of life; I cannot willingly decide on quite brief lines. So I will simply give you a review of my last few weeks. After completing a literary work, whose publication, printing and correcting (not counting translation) occasioned endless cares and pettifogging, I had to gird up all my powers to compose a whole long, most difficult scene of Tannhäuser entirely afresh; here, between annoyances with my landlord and lawyer, troubles of the most vexatious sort; finally a removal, at which I was the only one on my side who could speak French. I had got so far with my scene, that I needed but two days to finish it; yet I had to give in and let the removal take place, as my former dwelling was already uninhabitable. This meant an interruption of the most obnoxious kind, which robbed me of all sleep for nights. At last — the day before yesterday — I have fought it down, and finished the scene. And to all this you may add daily rehearsals of Tannhäuser for the last four weeks!! — daily conferences with scene-painters, régisseur, costumier, etc. — Knowing the extreme earnestness I give to all my occupations, you may readily imagine how this wears me! — Well, I now am in the heart of town, in a comparatively quiet street, not very far from the Opera. Much is thus made lighter for me, and the lodging itself, not very roomy, is yet quite habitable again, and the thing must go forward! — The principal aim of my present arrangements, is to get quickly through with as much as possible at once, and then be able to keep myself isolated in my cell. Since last night, too, sleep is coming back a little.
Now — agreeable news! At the Opera my Tannhäuser is being studied with a zeal, an earnestness, an exactitude and carefulness, such as have ever been my unattainable ideal of such a study. Alike punctiliousness, and minutest care bestowed on every detail, I have never found even distantly approached at any institute before: my German singer Niemann rubs his eyes, and admits that he has learnt his part for the first time here. Beyond the uncommon excellence of the whole arrangements at the Opera, I have especially to praise the extraordinary personal fitness of the chief officials: above all, the directeur du chant, who practises the singers at the pianoforte, is quite inestimable. All the technique of rehearsal is managed with a matchless neatness and exactitude, the smallest inequalities in the text and so on are polished down to the last grain (the translator is always present), so that I have just nothing to do but breathe the right spirit into a technically perfect thing. I declare aloud, that never has it been so well for me, and certainly will never be so well again in Germany. The same applies to every detail of the preparations; the scenery and all the mise en scène will fully reach the acme of my wish in this regard. — Moreover I find in each and every one so entirely good a will, so hitherto-unknown a diligence, that with such arrangements I am sure of overcoming the most fine-drawn difficulties, and consequently shall be giving my work in a completeness never even attempted by me yet.
Under such auspices I can advise you with a clear conscience, dear children, to come and see Tannhäuser in Paris this winter! It will be the most perfect thing, in the way of performances, I probably can ever offer you. I count with certainty and inward confidence on you for this affair! They still say the performance will take place in December, yet it may easily be put off until January. You shall have preciser information so soon as the date is settled!
So I close this hurried message with the unspeakably blessed feeling of being able to earn your dear presence by this instant labour of mine; and to this I will add nothing further, in answer to your last communications, than that everything you told me has touched me most profoundly. — Adieu! Adieu!!
Your
Richard Wagner.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to Wesendonck et al., trans. and indexed by William Ashton Ellis (Grant Richards, 1899), No. 28