Hermann Levi, already familiar with it, was particularly worried that the aging master might make radical changes in the process of revision and wrote to him: "The First is wonderful! It must be printed and performed—but please don't change it too much—it is all good just as it stands, even the instrumentation. Please, please, not too much retouching." An eloquent tribute to the genius of the early Bruckner is this, verdict from the lips of the greatest of Wagnerian conductors and certainly one of the finest musicians of his time.
During these vacation days the master would review with longing the happy days before his Viennese trials began. Wondering what had become of the pretty Josephine Lang with whom he had fallen in love twenty-five years before, he decided to look her up. She had married long before and he was delighted to find in her beautiful fourteen-year-old daughter the living replica of her mother whom he had loved so long ago. Kissing the girl, he called her: "My darling substitute." In her company all reckoning of time past or present was lost for him and his heart beat once more as swiftly as the vacation moments flew by.
On December 21, 1890, the first and second printed versions of the Wagner Symphony were performed consecutively in Vienna. Hanslick admitted that here and there four or eight bars of exceptional and original beauty might be heard, but that the bulk of the work was "chaos." One wonders whether the man was really so old-fashioned that he could only read confusion out of the super-order which the world now knows as Bruckner's symphonic form, as vast and as centripetal as a great empire.
About Hanslick there seems ever to be popping up a ghost of doubt, "Was the man, after all, sincere?" If so, he certainly deserved the immortality Wagner gave him in the figure of Beckmesser. It is good for us to keep in mind that Beckmesser or Hanslick, the stubborn reactionary, is an eternal type to be found in every generation and in every field of activity.
On the above occasion the critic Helm, long faithful Hanslick assistant, left the opposition and stepped over to Bruckner's side beating his breasts for his past sins. The valiant Kalbeck still stood firm and incorrigible. He offered this recipe in lieu of criticism: "Stand the Allegro of Beethoven's Ninth on its head and see the Finale of this Bruckner Symphony tumble out."
Vienna was by then thoroughly convinced of Bruckner's quality. A group of wealthy Austrians met to take financial measured necessary to free the composer from his arduous academic duties. Though pride at first led him to misunderstand the motive for this, the master soon realized that nothing but regard for his genius had prompted it and gratefully accepted the offer, deeply moved. Thus he was set free to do with the last five years of his life as he wished. His new found leisure permitting, he would often make trips to Germany to hear his works performed.
Once a chambermaid in a Berlin hotel pressed a note into his hand on his departure for Vienna, in which she expressed great concern for the bodily welfare of her "dear Mr. Bruckner." Naturally, 'he responded at once, but insisted (this was a matter of principle with him) upon being introduced to the girl's parents. With them an understanding was quickly arrived at and a lively correspondence entered upon, until Bruckner, despite the admonition of his horrified friends, had made up his mind to marry the girl. He insisted, however, that she be converted to Catholicism and this proved in the end the only stumbling block to one of the most curious matches on record. Fortunately, the girl would not sacrifice her faith even for the privilege of nursing her beloved Mr. Bruckner." He was seventy-one years old when this adventure with Ida Buhz, the solicitous maid, came to an end.
Then there was also his "affair" with the young and pretty Minna Reischi. Add to a pair of roguish eyes a thoroughly musical nature and it is easy to see why the aged lover lost his heart to this girl. She, of course, must have been merely amusing herself at Bruckner's expense, because when she went as far as to bring the composer home to her parents, these sensible people of the world at once awakened him out of his December dream. When he came to Linz shortly after, his acquaintances guessing the truth, teased him, saying: "Aha! So you have been out marrying again!" With Minna, however, who afterwards married a wealthy manufacturer, Bruckner remained very friendly until the end.
In the autumn of 1891 he was created "Honorary Doctor" of the University of Vienna, a distinction which gave the ingenuous composer much happiness. Not long before this he had received from the emperor Franz Joseph an insignia of which he was inordinately proud and which he was very fond of displaying, much as a child will a new toy. This weakness of his for glitter, a characteristic as a rule incompatible with true greatness, is yet easily to be reconciled with his childishness and the long years spent in a land where titles and decorations were regarded as the highest marks of honor.
The summer of 1803 saw him the central figure at the Bayreuth Festspiele. His arrival was enthusiastically greeted by a host of musicians and music-lovers. In the confusion of welcome the trunk containing the sketches of the Ninth Symphony disappeared, but after many anxious hours it was located at the police-station, to the composer's great relief. Daily he made his pilgrimage to the grave of the "Master of all Masters." The critic Marsop, once an enemy of his, says he saw Bruckner! approach Wagner's grave reverently, fold his hands and pray with such fervor that the tears literally streamed down his face. Perhaps, Bruckner already felt that this visit to Wahnfried might be his last.
In the consciousness of the more enlightened Viennese his name now occupied a place beside the great masters who had lived in the "city of music," and as he passed along the street, voices could be heard whispering with awe: "There goes Anton Bruckner!"
He lived in a small, simple apartment of two rooms and kitchen, tended by an old faithful servant, Kathi, who for twenty years had spent; a few hours each day caring for the bachelor's household. In the bluewalled room where he worked stood his old grand piano, a harmonium, a little table, and some chairs. The floor and most of the furniture were littered with music. On the walls hung a large photograph and an oil painting of himself. From this room a door led to his bedroom, the walls of which were covered with pictures of his "beloved Masters." On the floor stood a bust of himself which he was pleased to show his friends, who relate that he would place his hand upon its brow, smile wistfully, and say: "Good chap!" Against the wall stood an English brass bed presented to him by his pupils. This he called "My one luxury." At home he would go dressed even more comfortably than on the street, merely! donning a loose coat whenever a guest was announced. Kathi knew exactly at what hours guests were welcome. If the master was composing no one was permitted to disturb him. At other times he went in person to meet the caller at the door. Bruckner worked, as a rule, only in the morning, but sometimes he would get up during the night to write down an idea that had suddenly! come to him. Possessing no lamp, he did this night work by the light of two wax candles. When the faithful Kathi saw traces of these in the morning she scolded him severely, warning him to be more careful about his health. When she insisted that he compose only in the daytime, he would say contemptuously: "What do you know about such things? I have to compose whenever an idea comes to me."