In January, 1855, I began the instrumentation of the Walkure, but I was compelled to interrupt it, owing to a promise I made to some of my friends to give them a chance of hearing the overture to Faust, which I had written in Paris fifteen years before.  I had another look at this composition, which had been the means of so important a change in my musical ideas.  Liszt had produced the work in Weimar a little while before, and had written to me in very favourable terms about it, at the same time expressing his wish that I should rewrite more elaborately some parts that were only faintly indicated.  So I immediately set to work to rewrite the overture, conscientiously adopting my clear friend’s delicate suggestions, and I finished it as it was afterwards published by Hartel.  I taught our orchestra this overture, and did not think the performance at all bad.  My wife, however, did not like it; she said it seemed to her ’as if nothing good could be made out of it,’ and she begged me not to have it produced in London when I went there that year.  At this time I had an extraordinary application, such as I have never received again.  In January the London Philharmonic Society wrote asking me if I would be willing to conduct their concerts for the season.  I did not answer immediately, as I wanted to obtain some particulars first, and was very much surprised one day to receive a visit from a certain Mr. Anderson, a member of the committee of the celebrated society, who had come to Zurich on purpose to ensure my acceptance.

I was expected to go to London for four months to give eight concerts for the Philharmonic Society, for which I was to receive in all L200.  I did not quite know what to do, as, from a business point of view, it was of no advantage to me, and, as far as the conducting went, it was not much in my line, unless I could rely on at least a few high-class artistic productions.

One thing only struck me as favourable, and that was the prospect of again handling a large and excellent orchestra, after having been denied one for so long, while the fact that I had attracted the attention of that remote world of music fascinated me exceedingly.  I felt as if fate were calling me, and at last I accepted the invitation of this simple and amiable-looking Englishman, Mr. Anderson, who, fully satisfied with the result of his mission, immediately left for England wrapped in a big fur coat, whose real owner I only got to know later on.  Before following him to England, I had to free myself from a calamity which I had brought upon myself through being too kind-hearted.  The managing director of the Zurich theatre for that year, an obtrusive and over-zealous person, had at last made me accede to his wish to produce Tannhauser, on the plea that as this work was now performed at every opera house, it would be a very bad thing for the Zurich theatre if it were the only one to be deprived of the privilege, merely because I happened to live