[Paris, beginning of August i860.] Heaven help us, what a poet I must be ! I am growing quite presumptuous — this never-ending translation of the Tannhäuser has made me so conceited. Just through being compelled to follow word by word, I've discovered at last how concise and unalterable even this my poem is ; one word, one shade of meaning dropped, and my translators and self have had to admit that an essential point was sacrificed.* At first I did believe in the possibility of minor alterations, but we've had to give up all and sundry. I was quite astounded ; and then, comparing this with other poems, I found I really knew but few to which I could ascribe a similar quality. In brief, I've been driven to acknowledge to myself that just the poem could absolutely not have been done better, — what will you say to that ? It is rather in the music, that I can make improvements ; here and there, to particularise, I shall give the orchestra richer and more expressive passages. The only scene I mean to recast entirely, is that with Venus : I found Frau Venus stiff ; a few good features, but no true life. Here I have added a fair number of verses ; the Goddess of Delight herself becomes affecting, and Tannhäuser's agony real, so that his invocation of the Virgin Mary bursts as a cry of anguish from his deepest soul : at that period I could never have made a thing like this. For its musical execution, though, I still need very good humour, and haven't the remotest notion whence to get it! — There will soon come out a prose translation of the four pieces, Holländer, Tannhäuser, Lohengrin and Tristan, for which I shall write a preface meant to give my friends here some enlightenment on the formal side of my artistic tendencies.* I have just been going through these translations, and that compelled me to take stock of every detail of my poems once again, J Yesterday the Lohengrin moved me very much, and I cannot help considering it the most tragic tale of all, since the Versohnung really is only to be found if one casts a quite terribly far glance on the world.f Only the profound hypothesis of Reincarnation (Seelenwanderung) has been able to shew me the consoling point where all converge in the end to an equal height of redemption, after their divers life-careers, running severed j but side by side in Time, have met in full intelligence Beyond it. On that beautiful Buddhist hypothesis the spotless purity of Lohengrin becomes easy to explain, in that he is the continuation of Parzival — who first had to wrest to himself his purity ; in the same sense would Elsa reach up to Lohengrin in her rebirth. Thus the plan for my " Sieger " would appear to me the sequel and conclusion of the Lohengrin : here " Sawitri " (Elsa) fully overtakes "Ananda/j Thus were all the awful tragedy of life solely to seek in sunderance by time and space ; but as Time and Space are nothing save our modes of viewing, have no reality apart from that, so to the man of perfect sight even the utmost tragic grief should be explainable as nothing but the t To prevent this sentence being twisted to an arbitrary significance, I have retained the German word Versohnung, which may literally mean either reconciliation, atonement, or expiation. Here, in light of the next paragraph, the idea is that of an ideally ' happy ' ending, but of such effected by extension of the conflicting factors to one point of rest, beyond the bounds of personality, just as with the chief characters of the three other dramas named above. — Tr, individual's defect of vision.* So it is, I believe ; and in full truth the solitary point at stake is a matter of the Pure and Noble, which in itself is griefless. — I can write you nothing but such babble — the only worth the pains; and with you alone have I a care to babble of such things ! Then Time and Space, their contents naught save want and agony, take wing ! But ah, how rarely am I in heart for such babbling ! — The Tristan is as great a wonder to myself as ever. It is becoming more and more inscrutable to me, how I was able to create a thing like that; upon reading it through again, alike my eye and ear went wide agape ! How terribly I shall have to pay for this work some day, if I mean to place it whole before me ! I distinctly foresee the most unheard-of sufferings ; for there, I can't conceal it from myself, I've overstepped whatever lies within the range of our executive achievement : supremely talented performers, the only ones equal to the task, are very rare arrivals in the world. Yet I cannot withstand the temptation, were it merely to hear the orchestra ! ! — Parzival has been much awake in me again ; I'm seeing more, and clearer, in it every day. Once the whole is finally mature within me, the carrying this poem out ought to be an unexampled joy for me ; but many a year may run ere then ; also I should like to let it rest, for once, with poetry alone. I'm staving it off as long as I can, and only busy myself with it when it takes me by main force ; but this curious generative process makes me forget my whole misery then. — Would you like me to babble of that? Didn't I tell you once, that the fabulous wild errand-woman of the Grail is to be one and the same with the temptress of the second act? Ever since that dawned on me, almost the whole of this subject has grown clear. This strange uncanny creature that slavelike serves the Grail -knights with unwearying zeal, fulfils the most untold commissions, and lies cowering in a corner till she's told to execute some office of uncommon hardship, — at times she vanishes entirely, no one knows whither or how. Then suddenly we meet her once again, worn, gruesome, wan and haggard ; yet tireless anew, serving the Holy Grail like a hound. Of its knights, tho', she betrays a secret scorn : her eye seems ever seeking for the right one, — already has she fancied to, but never found him ; nor what she's seeking, does she really know : it is sheer instinct. — When Parzival, the dullard, comes into the land, she cannot turn her gaze away from him : some strange thing must be passing in her ; she knows it not, but fixes on him. He shudders — but it fascinates him also : nothing does he understand. (Here — Poet, set to work !) The working-out alone can speak here ; yet listen to a hint or two, just as Brynhild lent her ear to Wotan : — This woman is in an inexpressible state of disquiet ; the old esquire has remarked it of her oft before, as the time drew near for her to vanish, but her condition this time is at utmost strain : what is taking place in her ? Does she dread another disappearance, fain would be dispensed therefrom ? Does she hope to be allowed to— end at last ? What is she hoping of Parzival ? Plainly, she looks to him for something never-heard, — but all is vague and shadowy, no knowledge, only craving, gloaming.* — Huddled in a corner, she is present at Anfortas' scene of agony : sphinxlike, with curious scrutiny she stares at Parzival ; he, too, is stupid, comprehending nothing, open-mouthed — stays dumb. He is cast forth: the errand-woman of the Grail sinks shrieking of a heap, then vanishes (she must roam again). Now can you guess who is the wondrous witching woman found by Parzival in the magic castle whither his knightly temper leads him? Then guess what goes on there, and how it all turns out, for I tell you no more to-day. —
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, Letter 106a, No. 106