I decided to use the Hall of Karl the Great out of Oberon, originally suggested to me by Luttichau, instead of the real thing.  Considering the importance I attached to practical effect, this entailed a great sacrifice of my personal feelings.  And true enough, when the curtain rose for the second act, the reappearance of this throne-room, which the public had seen so often, added considerably to the general disappointment of the audience, who had anticipated astonishing surprises in this opera.

On the 19th of October the first performance took place.  In the morning of that day a very beautiful young lady was introduced to me by the leader Lipinsky.  Her name was Mme. Ivalergis, and she was a niece of the Russian Chancellor, Count von Nesselrode.  Liszt had spoken to her about me with such enthusiasm that she had travelled all the way to Dresden especially to hear the first production of my new work.  I thought I was right in regarding this flattering visit as a good omen.  But although on this occasion she turned away from me, somewhat perplexed and disappointed by the very unintelligible performance and the somewhat doubtful reception with which it met, I had sufficient cause in after-years to know how deeply this remarkable and energetic woman had nevertheless been impressed.

A great contrast to this visit was one I received from a peculiar man called C. Gaillard.  He was the editor of a Berlin musical paper, which had only just started, and in which I had read with great astonishment an entirely favourable and important criticism of my Fliegender Hollander.  Although necessity had compelled me to remain indifferent to the attitude of the critics, yet this particular notice gave me much pleasure, and I had invited my unknown critic to come and hear the first production of Tannhauser in Dresden.

This he did, and I was deeply touched to find that I had to deal with a young man who, in spite of being threatened by consumption, and being also exceedingly badly off, had come at my invitation, simply from a sense of duty and honour, and not with any mercenary motive.  I saw from his knowledge and capacities that he would never be able to attain a position of great influence, but his kindness of heart and his extraordinarily receptive mind filled me with a feeling of profound respect for him.  A few years later I was very sorry to hear that he had at last succumbed to the terrible disease from which I knew him to be suffering; for to the very end he remained faithful and devoted to me, in spite of the most trying circumstances.

Meanwhile I had renewed my acquaintance with the friend I had won through the production of the Fliegender Hollander in Berlin, and who for a long time I had never had an opportunity of knowing more thoroughly.  The second time I met her was at Schroder-Devrient’s, with whom she was already on friendly terms, and of whom she used to speak as ‘one of my greatest conquests.’