At the same time I was now in a position to complete the new composition for Tannhauser, of which the great dance scene in the Venusberg was still incomplete.  I finished it at three o’clock one morning after staying up all night, just as Minna returned home from a great ball at the Hotel de Ville to which she had been with a friend.  I had given her some handsome presents for Christmas, but as far as I myself was concerned I continued, on the advice of my doctor, to assist the slow process of recovery by a beefsteak in the morning and a glass of Bavarian beer before going to bed.  We did not watch the old year out; on the contrary, I retired to bed and slept calmly into 1861.

1861.—­The slackness with which the rehearsals of Tannhauser were being conducted when I fell ill changed at the beginning of the new year into a more decided handling of all the details connected with the intended performance.  But I could not fail to notice at the same time that the attitude of all those who took part was substantially altered.  The rehearsals, which were more numerous than might be expected, gave me the impression that the management was adhering to the strict execution of a command, but were not fired by any hope of successful results.  Certainly I now obtained a clearer insight into the actual state of affairs.  From the press, which was entirely in the hands of Meyerbeer, I knew long ago what I had to expect.  The management of the Opera, probably after repeated efforts to make the chief leaders in the press tractable, were now likewise convinced that my Tannhauser venture would only meet with a hostile reception from that quarter.  This view was shared even in the highest circles, and it seemed as if an attempt was being made to discover some means whereby to win over to my side that part of the operatic public which could turn the scales.  Prince Metternich sent me an invitation one day to meet the new cabinet minister, Count Walewsky.  An air of ceremony pervaded the introduction, and made it particularly significant when the Count in a persuasive speech endeavoured to convince me that they entertained every wish for my good fortune and desired to help me to a brilliant success.  He added in conclusion that the power to effect this was in my own hands, if I would only consent to introduce a ballet into the second act of my opera; the most celebrated ballet-dancers from St. Petersburg and London had been proposed to me, and I had only to make my selection; their engagement would be concluded as soon as I had entrusted the success of my work to their co-operation.  In declining these proposals I think I was no less eloquent than he in making them.  My complete failure, however, was due to the fact that I did not appear to understand the worthy minister when he informed me that the ballet in the first act counted for nothing, because those devotees of the theatre who only cared for the ballet on an opera night were accustomed, according to the new fashion, not to dine until eight