Good Lord, dear Mienel, I am quite hoarse from so much talking with — the — Queen! First she asked me how was Peps? Then, if Knackerchen was well-behaved? Then, if I was taking anything back for my wife? — Finally she asked after Sulzer, and whether Baumgartner had really failed the other day? And so on, without end. You may imagine what a deal I had to answer; in short, I can't squeeze out another word to-day.
No, don't you believe that's my fun; it's all in earnest, and the Queen of England had a very long conversation with me. Further, I can assure you that she isn't fat, but very short and not at all pretty, alas with a slightly red nose; still, she has something uncommonly kind and familiar about her, and even if she isn't precisely imposing, she is pleasing and amiable. She doesn't care for instrumental music, and when she attends a long concert like this — which is by no means the case every year — she does it simply for her husband's sake, who goes in more for music and is fond of German instrumental music. This time, however, she really appears to have received an impression. Sainton, who kept her in eye the whole time from his desk, declared she followed my conducting and the pieces with unwonted and increasing interest, whilst she and Prince Albert quite warmed at the Tannhäuser in particular. So much is certain: when I faced about at the close of that overture, both of them applauded me most heartily, and looked towards me with a friendly smile; of course the audience did not leave them in the lurch, but honoured me this time with very decided, universal and prolonged applause. That was at the end of the concert's first part, and the Court thereon withdrew to a refreshment room, whither I was summoned forthwith and handed first to the Lord Chamberlain for presentation. That lord I treated much en bagatelle; on the contrary, I must confess I felt touched to the heart by this kind and gracious Queen when she assured me quite cordially that she was delighted to make my acquaintance, for I involuntarily recalled my outward situation toward her, which really could not be more difficult and embarrassing. Pursued by the police in Germany like a highway robber, with passport difficulties made for me in France, I am received by the Queen of England, before the most aristocratic Court in the world, with the friendliest sans gêne: it really is very nice! Neither did I hesitate to give her to understand this quite frankly; whereon ensued a lengthy conversation about my operas, in which Prince Albert — a very handsome man! — joined with most gratifying interest. To the Queen's opinion that my things might perhaps be translated into Italian, to be given at the Italian Opera here, the Prince quite intelligently replied that probably my texts would not be suited for it, and certainly Italian singers would not know how to sing them. Upon that said the Queen very naively — "But most of the singers at the Italian Opera now, you see, are Germans; consequently they would only need to sing in their mother-tongue." We were obliged to laugh, and I then replied that unfortunately the German singers also had much deteriorated, and — if I wanted one day to produce the big work I now was working at — I should seriously have to think of first training my people. No doubt they didn't altogether understand that, but they expressed themselves sympathetically, adding that they had been quite enraptured with the overture; whereon I thanked once more for its commanding, and assured them both that they had greatly rejoiced me by this proof of their interest. — And that was the truth; for, although this evening can bear no further outward fruit, it has given me a most agreeable satisfaction, so that I can depart from London with some sense of reconcilement. At the close of the concert both very kindly applauded me again to my face (they were sitting in front, quite close to the orchestra), and thereby elicited from the audience a longish outburst of applause. — My handful of friends, who assembled at my rooms thereafter, were swimming in bliss. Praeger had lent me a white cravat; he means to hoard it up in memory of a German demagogue who struck up "God save the Queen" in it before the Queen of England. For the "God save" had to be played when the Queen entered, and I had to beat time for it. I should think the German police might let me pass in peace now! —
At bottom this event rejoiced me chiefly for your own sake, since I knew that the account of it would affect you most agreeably. If you are greedy of honour for me, it has been dealt me in full measure this time. It will take the press a long while ere it swallows this revenge vouchsafed me; the reporters' wrath may pass all bounds. I hereby make you a present of the whole occurrence; do with it as you please. If it affords you satisfaction, communicate some of my account to Marschall or Spyri, that they may narrate a portion of it in their journal. Whether the other newspapers will say much about it, I almost doubt. —
So I still shall conduct my last concert (a labour of Hell every time to me, which I shouldn't care to undertake again for all the money in the world) — and then take leave as cheerfully as possible. A fortnight from to-day, at 8 in the evening, I depart from London Bridge!!! May it be for a right joyful reunion! Farewell, very best Muzius; be of good cheer! Greet all our dear friends heartily from
Thy Knight of the Order of the Garter.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 99