[...] You are quite wrong [...] in believing that nothing but a special occasion could induce me to visit Weimar. On the contrary, the truth is that I abide by what I said to the Grand Duke years ago at Lucerne, when he asked me whether, in case I was amnestied, I could make up my mind to stay in Weimar now and then. I told him that your society would always attract me to Weimar, so that as long as you were there I should come frequently. Now you will see that the fact that I no longer count on the Grand Duke as the patron of my artistic productions, can happily alter nothing in my connection with Weimar; on the contrary, I may hope that I shall not have to pay for the blessing of your society by participation in what would undoubtedly be disappointing artistic activities (I am speaking of opera). Be assured that I look forward more joyfully than ever to the day when I can spread my sail for Altenburg!—
My position as regards Germany is otherwise still very unsatisfactory. As you know, I am neither amnestied nor pardoned, and all that has been promised me is a suspension of extradition proceedings when I wish to enter German territory for the purpose of producing my works, the Central Government having given its consent and having secured agreement with the Saxon Government. [...] Accordingly, I cannot dream of important and sufficient measures in my favour on the part of any court, and my plans for the performance of my latest works have not been very much advanced. This is the more evident in that, from another aspect, the condition of our largest operatic theatres is extremely discouraging. [...]
Where my Tristan is first to see the light, therefore, remains at this moment an impenetrable mystery to me. Its birth would probably be easiest for me if I were to appoint the King of Hanover as midwife. Niemann declares that the King would at once engage any singer, male or female, whom I might require for a model presentation of my work, if that presentation were to take place in Hanover. That would be something. This King appears to be liberal and splendid in his passion for art; and nothing else is any use to me. Let us hope that he will not find my political situation an obstacle.
For the present, my Parisian enterprise occupies me wholly, and mercifully obscures my view of the wretchedness of my outlook in Germany. I do not know what rumours are current with you as to difficulties in my way; perhaps they are well meant, but they are mistaken. [...] Even I am taking the thing seriously. I am removing weaknesses which I recognise in the [Tannhäuser] score. I delight in rewriting the great Venus scene, and hope greatly to improve the work thereby. In addition the ballet scene will be done on a new and larger scale designed by myself.—
Unfortunately I have not yet been able actually to begin this necessary task. Up till my recent Rhine excursion the translation itself kept me busy, and on my return I had to do a little piece of literary work which I have only just finished. M. Frédéric Villot, whom Hans has probably told you about, asked me to publish an edition of my operatic poems in a prose translation and to add a preface explaining my ideas. This I have now done. I think the work will appear early in October at latest. Everything is now ready for rehearsals, but, unfortunately, I had at the last moment to object to the baritone. Fould had at once to give orders for the engagement of another singer, but the right man has not yet been found and the result is a slight delay which, however, has not called forth the slightest trace of ill-will in any quarter. Meyerbeer, who is at work in his quiet way, cannot after all harmfully affect the Emperor or the cause; however, he is trying to turn the good engagements which have been made for me to his own future advantage. Well, I do not grudge him that. That fellow has no initiative. [...]
I think of Germany now, and of my proposed enterprises there some day, with nothing but horror. God forgive me, but there I see nothing but pettiness, meanness, self-conceit and pretence of solid worth which has no real foundation. There is lack of thoroughness in everyone and everything, so that I actually prefer to see Le Pardon de Ploërmel [Meyerbeer] here in Paris, rather than over there under the branches of the famous, the glorious German oak! I must also confess to you that I set foot on German soil again without the slightest emotion, except, at most, some amazement at the banality and incivility of the talk I heard around me. Believe me, we have no Fatherland! If I am "German" it is because I carry my Germany within me—and this is fortunate, for the garrison at Mainz did not exactly arouse my enthusiasm.—
Bülow seems to be angry with me. I recently got annoyed with him for disappointing my optimistic hopes for him. There is so much I do not understand, and this should be forgiven me on account of my curious way of life. Hans seems to me to fritter himself away, to undertake too much, thus losing the compactness and concentration necessary to a proper man. I cannot see a thing like this going on without feeling very sorry. On the other hand, I am very wrong not to accept so good a friend just as he is. And how much reason I have to acknowledge Bülow's friendship! Therefore he must not take offence with me and he must do as he likes; only sometimes he might be a little more punctual with letters!—
Believe me, in spite of my Parisian environment, I live a terribly—lonely life, whereas I cannot think of you except as continually in society, even in Weimar. Perhaps I imagine a great many things there quite mistakenly. At least, Mme. Street made me think so recently, when she wrote to me about her visit to you. She said you were very depressed, though quite well otherwise. Well, I could not see why you should be particularly cheerful and yet this news was a blow to me. [...] The last thing I should be inclined to think is that the stupid reception your works have met with here and there could be the cause of your depression, but it seems to me that no one could know better than you that this animosity has nothing to do with your work, but always with some false light in which you appear to the mob. That very light which shows you to be an exceptional phenomenon easily misconceived, is now and then too brilliant, especially for German eyes. Consequently I think you are right to keep in the shade as much as possible and let your works display themselves for a time without worrying about them. [...]
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Vol. 2, selected and ed. Wilhelm Altmann, trans. M. M. Bozman (J. M. Dent & Sons, 1927), No. 476