As time went on I saw this more plainly, while there was abundant material for unpleasantness of every description in other quarters.  In the first place Mr. Davison, the musical critic of the Times, adopted a most hostile attitude, and it was from this that I first realised, clearly and definitely, the effect of my essay entitled ‘Judaism in Music.’  Prager had further informed me that Davison’s extremely powerful position on the Times had accustomed him to expect every one who came to England on business connected with music to propitiate him by all sorts of delicate attentions.  Jenny Lind was one whose submission to these pretensions did much to ensure her popular success; whereas Sontag considered that her rank as Countess Rossi elevated her above such considerations.  As I had been completely absorbed in the delight of handling a good, full orchestra, with which I hoped to give some fine performances, it was a great blow to learn that I had no control whatever over the number of rehearsals I thought necessary for the concerts.  For each concert, which included two symphonies and several minor pieces as well, the society’s economical arrangements allowed me only one rehearsal.  Still I went on hoping that the impression produced by the performances I conducted might even here justify the demand for a special effort.  It proved absolutely impossible, however, to depart in any way from the beaten track, and, realising this, I at once felt that the fulfilment of the task I had undertaken was a terrible burden.  At the first concert we played Beethoven’s Eroica, and my success as a conductor seemed so marked that the committee of the society were evidently prepared to make a special effort for the second.  They demanded selections from my own compositions as well as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and conceded me two rehearsals as an exceptional favour.  This concert went off quite passably.  I had drawn up an explanatory programme for my Lohengrin Overture, but the words ‘Holy Grail’ and ‘God’ were struck out with great solemnity, as that sort of thing was not allowed at secular concerts.  I had to content myself with the chorus from the Italian Opera for the symphony, besides putting up with a baritone whose English phlegm and Italian training drove me to despair at the rehearsal.  All I understood of the English version of the text was, ’Hail thee joy’ for Freudeschoner Gotterfunken.  The Philharmonic Society appeared to have staked everything on the success of this concert, which, in fact, left nothing to be desired.  They were accordingly horrified when the Times reporter fell on this performance, too, with furious contempt and disparagement.  They appealed to Prager to persuade me to offer Mr. Davison some attentions, or at least to agree to meet that gentleman and be properly introduced to him at a banquet to be arranged by Mr. Anderson.  But Prager now knew me well enough to dash their hopes of obtaining any concession of that sort from me.  The banquet fell through, and, as I saw later, the society began from that time forward to regret my appointment, realising that they had an entirely intractable and pig-headed person to deal with.