The death of Wagner was a stupendous blow to the whole musical world and especially so to Bruckner. The latter, now approaching his sixtieth birthday, was still humble Prof. Anton Bruckner to the world about him. The field of musical fame, suddenly deprived of its solitary gigantic tenant, seemed to yawn for a new Titan. The psychological moment was at hand.
On the twenty-ninth of December, 1884, Hugo Wolf wrote: "Bruckner? Bruckner? Who is he? Where does he live? What does he do? Such questions are asked by people who regularly attend the concerts in Vienna." The Viennese were destined to the shame of soon basing taught by Germany the greatness they had been ignoring in their midst for a score of years.
When on December go, 1884, young Arthur Nikisch, Bruckner pupil, gave the Seventh Symphony its first hearing in no less modest a hall than the celebrated Gewandhaus at Leipzig, it was as if a divine Voice had burst forth from total darkness crying, "Let there be light!" As the last note ceased there was enacted a scene of unparalleled enthusiasm, the applause lasting fully fifteen minutes. Bruckner appeared on the stage dressed in his simple manner and bowed repeatedly in answer to the unexpected ovation. One of the critics present spoke of! him as follows: "One could see from the trembling of his lips and the sparkling moisture in his eyes how difficult it was for the old gentleman to suppress his deep emotion. His homely but honest countenance beamed with a warm inner happiness such as can appear only on the face of one who is too goodhearted to succumb to bitterness even under the pressure of most disheartening circumstances. Having heard his work and now seeing him in person we asked ourselves in amazement 'How is it possible that you could remain so long unknown to us?'" On New Year's Day, 1885, the whole world knew that a great symphonic composer whom snobbish Vienna had for years held bound and gagged was at last free to deliver his message to all mankind.
The performance of the Seventh Symphony in Munich under Hermann Levi proved an even greater triumph. The conductor called I it the "wonder work," avowing its interpretation was the crowning point of his artistic career. Perhaps Levi, famous Wagnerian chieftan as he was, intended to annihilate Brahms with a word when he also added, "It is the most significant symphonic work since 1827'"
Into the performance at Karlsruhe (the work was now making its meteoric way through all Germany), Felix Mottl, gifted Bruckner pupil, threw so much spiritual fire that even the white-haired Liszt, sitting among the distinguished audience, became from that moment a staunch Brucknerite. This conversion was all the more remarkable since the great pianist had long remained cold to Bruckner's music, although lie had been for two score years one of the chief marshals of the Wagrier camp. Liszt as a Wagnerian had secretly nursed the notion that the Liszt Symphonic Poems could never be properly understood by the people until they had learned to appreciate his son-in-law's music dramas.
Despite the recognition of the whole of Germany, Vienna and the Philharmonic continued to maintain a dogged aloofness. Still fearful, Bruckner anticipated any possible desire on the part of the famous orchestra to play his work by entering a formal protest against such a move, on the ground that "the hostility of the Viennese critics could only prove dangerous to my still young triumphs in Germany."
For diplomatic reasons, no doubt, the Quintet was now given, for the first time in its entirety, by the Hellmesberger aggregation. One of the most prominent reviewers wrote about it as follows: "We cannot compare it with any other Quintet in this generation. It stands absolutely alone in its field." Even Kalbeck, Brahms' biographer and one of Bruckner's bitterest enemies, said: "Its Adagio radiates light in a thousand delicate shades – the reflection of a vision of the seventh heaven."
Apparently the dawn of recognition was at hand, even in Vienna. Vet the conspirators were determined to die hard. Another critic, on the same occasion, after paving the way by admitting that the Quintet was perhaps the deepest and richest thing of its kind, warned the public on ethical grounds against Bruckner as "the greatest living musical peril, a sort of tonal Anti-Christ." His argument follows: "The violent nature of the man is not written on his face—for his expression indicates at most the small soul of the every-day Kapellmeister. Yet he composes nothing but high treason, revolution, and murder. His work is absolutely devoid of art or reason. Perhaps, some day, a devil and an angel will fight for his soul. His music has the fragrance of heavenly roses, but it is poisonous with the sulphurs of hell."
Meanwhile, for the benefit of his Viennese friends, whom he did not wish to disappoint, the composer personally prepared the initial performance of his recently finished Te Deum. This, a semi-private affair, took place in a small concert-hall. Two pianos were used in the absence of an impartial orchestra.
Suddenly Germany and Holland began clamoring for other Bruckner compositions, but only the Wagner Symphony had appeared in print. That work had even penetrated to America where the noted Wagner disciple, Anton Seidl, had given it a hearing at the Metropolitan Opera House, December 6, 1885. When Bruckner heard about the favorable report in the New York Tribune, he was as happy as a child, and exclaimed: "Now even America says I'm not bad. Isn't that just rich?"
These successes, however, did not turn his head. He was far from ready to rest on his laurels. During the summer of 1884 he began work upon a new symphony. His sister, in whose house in the little town of Voecklabruck he was vacationing, says he would show her a stack of music-paper covered with pencil marks, saying that these scribblings would become another symphony. In order to be able to set down undisturbed the ideas that came to him during frequent walks) in the surrounding woods, he rented a room with a piano in a house nearby, "just for composing."
When he heard that the owner of this house had a young and pretty daughter, he said, "I'm glad. Now I'm sure I'll be able to compose here." Every day he would bring this girl, a Miss Hartmann, a bouquet of flowers. The presence of the younger fair sex seems to have been always a source of happiness to the composer. He was them over sixty years old.
At this time, like Balboa when he first stood upon the hill overlooking the mystic expanse of the Pacific, Bruckner stood at last in the halo of his belated and hard-earned fame looking back with calm melancholy upon the bitter trials of his artistic career. Beneath this retrospective spell his Eighth Symphony unfolded itself. As a colossal structure of spiritual autobiography in tone it is a sequel to his Fifth or Tragic Symphony, which it excels in depth of expression. It has been called the "crown of nineteenth century music." It is useless to attempt to give any idea of it in words, but its message in brief is: (First movement) how the artist, a mere human, like Prometheus, steals the sacred fire from heaven and, daring to bring the divine essence to earth, is condemned to suffer for his temerity. (Scherzo) how his deed is greeted with scorn and ridicule by his fellow-men, and he finds solace only in the beauty of nature. (Adagio) reveals the secret of his creative power, communion with the Supreme Source. (Finale) the battle all truth must fight on earth before it attains recognition and the final victory and crowning of the artist. '