I was now very curious to learn what effect these pleasing and encouraging preparations would have upon the Berlin public when the full performance took place.  My experiences on this point were very curious.  Apparently the only thing that interested the large audience was to discover my weak points.  During the first act the prevalent opinion seemed to be that I belonged to the category of bores.  Not a single hand was moved, and I was afterwards informed that this was fortunate, as the slightest attempt at applause would have been ascribed to a paid claque, and would have been energetically opposed.  Kustner alone assured me that the composure with which, on the close of this act, I quitted my desk and appeared before the curtain, had filled him with wonder, considering this entire absence—­lucky as it appears to have been—­of all applause.  But so long as I myself felt content with the execution, I was not disposed to let the public apathy discourage me, knowing, as I did, that the crucial test was in the second act.

It lay, therefore, much nearer my heart to do all I could for the success of this than to inquire into the reasons for this attitude on the part of the Berlin public.  And here the ice was really broken at last.  The audience seemed to abandon all idea of finding a proper niche for me, and allowed itself to be carried away into giving vent to applause, which at last grew into the most boisterous enthusiasm.  At the close of the act, amid a storm of shouts, I led forward my singers on to the stage for the customary bows of thanks.  As the third act was too short to be tedious, and as the scenic effects were both new and impressive, we could not help hoping that we had won a veritable triumph, especially as renewed outbursts of applause marked the end of the performance.  Mendelssohn, who happened at that time to be in Berlin, with Meyerbeer, on business relating to the general musical conductorship, was present in a stage box during this performance.  He followed its progress with a pale face, and afterwards came and murmured to me in a weary tone of voice, ‘Well, I should think you are satisfied now!’ I met him several times during my brief stay in Berlin., and also spent an evening with him listening to various pieces of chamber-music.  But never did another word concerning the Fliegender Hollander pass his lips, beyond inquiries as to the second performance, and as to whether Devrient or some one else would appear in it.  I heard, moreover, that he had responded with equal indifference to the earnest warmth of my allusions to his own music for the Midsummer Night’s Dream, which was being frequently played at that time, and which I had heard for the first time.  The only thing he discussed with any detail was the actor Gern, who was playing in Zettel, and who he considered was overacting his part.