That evening after the concert our usual meeting included Berlioz and his wife. Berlioz had arrived shortly before this concert. Between him and Wagner I knew an awkward constraint existed, which I hardly saw how to bridge over, but I was desirous to bring the two together, and discussing the matter with Wagner, he agreed that perhaps the convivial union after the concert afforded the very opportunity. And so Berlioz came. But his wife was sickly; she lay on the sofa and engrossed the whole of her husband’s attention, causing Berlioz to leave somewhat early. He came alone to the next gathering.
After such a triumph as Wagner had had that evening with the overture, he was unusually excited. Hector Berlioz, too, was of an excitable temperament, but could repress it. Not so Wagner. He presented a striking contrast to the polished, refined Frenchman, whose speech was almost classic, through his careful selection of words. Wagner went to the piano, and sang the “Star of Eve,” with harmonies which Chellard, a German composer of little note (he had composed “Macbeth” as an opera), said “must be intended.” The effect was extremely mirth-provoking, for Wagner could ape the ridiculous with irresistible humour.
That evening Wagner, who was always fond of “tasty” dinners, spoke so glowingly of the French, and their culinary art powers, that we arranged a whitebait dinner at Greenwich at the Ship, one such as the ministers sat down to. Edward Roeckel, the brother of August, came up from Bath for the occasion, and was the giver of the feast. We went by boat. I remember well the journey, for poor Wagner had an attack of _malde-mer_, as though he actually were at sea; the wind was blowing hard, and the water rough. He appreciated highly the whitebait, especially the dish of devilled ones, and the much-decried cooking of the British ascended several degrees in his opinion.
The attitude of the bulk of the London press towards Wagner I have spoken of as unfriendly; they condemned him, indeed, before he was heard. Not content with writing bitterly against him, some persons were in the habit of sending him every scurrilous article that appeared about him. Who was the instigator I could not positively say. On one occasion, a letter was addressed to Wagner by an English composer, whom I will not do the honour of naming, who had sought by every possible means to achieve notoriety, stating that it was said Wagner had spoken disparagingly of his name and music, and desiring an explanation with complete satisfaction. Wagner was excessively angry. He had never heard the name of the composer, wanted to write an indignant remonstrance, but was dissuaded by me, for I saw both in this and the regular receipt of the anonymously sent papers, an attempt to draw Wagner into a dispute. Of course the writer was but the tool of others. In these matters Wagner yielded himself entirely into my hands, though he was often desirous of wielding a fluent and effective pen against his ungenerous enemies.