-" ~1 THE E A G L E S D IE p$-"­

cheapest-"one-horse"-cab. He was forever belittling his own work. "Once more I have merely chucked together a set of waltzes and polkas," he said to his friend and biographer, Max Kalbeck. The set of waltzes and polkas turned out to be the Fourth Symphony, and he pretended to discourage his pub­lisher from issuing the score: "The work will be printed when its immortality is already finished." But this was playacting, and if he could be as coy as a kitten, he could be as jealous as a cat. In truth, he was proud and touchy and often envious, and he was capable of quarreling with so faithful a friend as Bulow because he thought him insufficiently submissive. "He is an unregenerate egotist, without realizing it," Joachim said of him.

Brahms never lost his gruff North German manner, nor his Hamburg accent. Yet he became the leader of the renaissance of Viennese music and a prophet in his adopted country.

On the other hand, Anton Bruckner, the most magisterial symphonist after Beethoven, had to go outside Vienna to gain recognition. The Viennese public would not take seriously this little schoolteacher from Linz, and it was not till late in his life, after his Seventh Symphony had impressed Leipzig and Munich, that the local concertgoers began to perceive the stature of their compatriot, though they knew him to be a uniquely superb organist and though a few of the young musicians-Hugo Wolf, Gustav Mahler, the conductor Franz Schalk-understood and loved him. It was easy to make fun of Bruckner: he was an ungainly man, speaking a peasant's dialect, with a head which seemed to belong on a Roman coin, a nose which began to trace an emperor's profile and then lacked the courage to go on, and blue eyes which were forever expressing timid astonishment. That head was placed on a body which was too small to carry it. Everything about his appear­ance was ill-fitting. He dressed in a black suit of a cut fifty years out of date, and from the back pocket of his baggy trousers he would draw a seemingly endless red handkerchief stained with remnants of snuff. Unlike Brahms or Mahler, who were educated men, Bruckner's mind was concentrated on the staves of music paper; he was uninterested in poetry or science or painting or philo­sophic conversation of the kind beloved by the Viennese. He seemed a simpleton, and he was a genius.

He was excessively cross and kneeling \\ ' posed, as it were, unde of life, to be bold i about his work, as if . about holding the a notes. Bruckner thoug . beer. Perhaps his occa.:. sation for his meager prolixity: he had a compositions, as if he Indeed, he was alwa~'5

the number of cups 0:

haus) the number f written proof of his man, after an exam' iners exclaimed in ad.:_. After that he insiste examihations, in eac testimonial documen­umph. No doubt his brought him close to

was very much attrae: were almost always have none of him. '\ . an experience as ridi . Bardell. A chambe promised to marry ber engaged to her for , e be extricated by a fr . buying the girl off. B

In his diaries 3!"~

attended, how many notations are intermi and V's (Vater 1l

He admired "-a.". ~

servient to him, and propaganda of Vie

his own together a set of

and biographer, Max . ....m ed out to be the

d iscourage his pub­-.\'ill be printed when is ,,'as playacting, and be as jeaIous as a cat.

:)[ten envious, and he a friend as Biilow

magisterial 'ide Vienna to gain

,")t take seriously this em till late in his life,

Leipzig and Munich, ';e the stature of their

a uniquely superb icians-Hugo Wolf,

,mderstood and loved e ~\'as an ungainly man, .J..~cb seemed to belong

:-e an emperor's profile ~lue eyes which were

.. head was placed on a ~g about his appear­f a cut fifty years out

;:'5'- trousers he would

. 'ere educated men, 'aves of music paper; ~ painting or philo­J the Viennese. He

Compensation 297

He was excessively devout, constantly making the sign of the cross and kneeling when the Angelus sounded. Thus he com­posed, as it were, under the eye of God, who helped him, timid of life, to be bold in music. There is something incantatory about his work, as if a high priest who did not have to worry about holding the attention of his audience had penned these notes. Bruckner thought high thoughts while drinking a glass of beer. Perhaps his occasional fulsomeness served him as compen­sation for his meager external life. Perhaps he recognized his prolixity: he had a curious habit of numbering each bar of his compositions, as if he were in search of arithmetical order. Indeed, he was always adding: the number of steps of a staircase, the number of cups of coffee standing on the tables of a Kaffee­haus} the number of fiacres passing the corner. He longed for written proof of his ability. He was ecstatic when, as a young man, after an examination in organ playing, one of his exam­iners exclaimed in admiration, " He should have examined us." After that he insisted on submitting to at least eight additional examinations, in each case asking for a written Zeugnis} a testimonial document, and celebrating each occasion as a tri­umph. No doubt his maladjustment, which twice or three times brought him close to a nervous collapse, had a sexual origin. He was very much attracted to women, but the objects of his desire were almost always young girls under twenty, and they would have none of him. When he was nearly seventy, he underwent an experience as ridiculous as that of Mr. Pickwick with Mrs. Bardell. A chambermaid in a Berlin hotel claimed he had promised to marry her, and it was true that he actually became engaged to her for the length of a whole afternoon. He had to be extricated by a friend who generously undertook the task of buying the girl off. Bruckner remained unmarried.

In his diaries are records of how many carnival balls he attended, how many waltzes and polkas he danced; and these notations are intermixed with the numbers of A's (Ave Marias) and V's (Vater unsers-Pater N asters) he said.

He admired Wagner so much that he was virtually sub­servient to him, and he probably suffered more from the loud propaganda of Vienna's noisy Wagnerverein than he did from

-.0'1(:1 THE E A G L E S DIE ~o._

Hanslick's vituperation. His Third Symphony was dedicated to 'Wagner, and accepted for performance by the Vienna Philhar­monic, only to be discarded after one rehearsal. When he was fifty-three, he himself conducted this symphony: most of the Viennese audience walked out. When it was over, only about a dozen people were left in the hall; one of them was Mahler.

Bruckner was sixty-two when his Seventh Symphony was successfully performed in Vienna by Hans Richter. And it was in that year that Franz Joseph, who had heard him play the organ in Ischl, finally awarded him an order and a small stipend. When Franz Joseph asked what further favor he wanted-the con­ventional and meaningless question asked at such audiences­Bruckner is supposed to have replied, "Please, Your Majesty, tell Hanslick not to "vrite all those terrible things about me." The story may be as apocryphal as the one concerning a rehearsal of his Eighth Symphony, when the conductor turned to him and said, "Is this note supposed to be a C or a C sharp?" and he replied, "Whatever you like, Herr Kapellmeister."

. By the time success came to him, when the Seventh Sym­phony and the Te Deum were acclaimed in Berlin, when an honorary degree was conferred on him by Vienna University, when the Society of Friends of Music in Vienna elected him to membership, and he was given the freedom of the city of Linz, in short, when the honors came, they came too late. He was by that time ill and marked for death. During his illness, he composed the marvelous "Adagio" of the Ninth Symphony, which stretches to a remote but penetrable horizon.

Valerie, who liked him, offered him free lodging in the Belvedere. He moved there in July of 1895. His mind became clouded and he was increasingly subject to religious mania. In October of the following year he died, without having com­pleted the Ninth Symphony. He was laid to rest in the church of St. Florian, beneath the organ which he had played so often.

This seemingly ingenuous man, who after the performance of his Fourth Symphony rushed up joyfully to the conductor, Hans Richter, and offered him a gulden as a tip-Richter wore the coin on his watch chain ever after-left a heritage of music worth countless gulden. However plump the symphonies may

appear here or there" master.

Like Bruckner, Gustav Mahler Wa',

situated, as it \\'ere and representing a Austria, forever ~ _ Freud, the great m The evil fairy starr­addition to the e. ' homelessness, of

Austrian among me­world. Everywhe[e I

But he was W'e!.L

at a self-pity whi . touch. His inner c ration just as it re music, one often !!'E'

answered, of a pro .,. ner," he called i~

I ime confidence ' beauty" (Bruno \ ' ters," na'ive Lan d' not be truly nai\'e Redon were to pa . occasional lack of Mahler because, q~,-":ou~,-,,,

voiced our own de -:­primal beginnings .' aware that the rid _

of our age, a spok His mysticism

phony was dedicated to by the Vienna Philhar­

r ehearsal. When he was -\m phony: most of the : was over, only about a __~em was Mahler. "eyenth Symphony was

Richter. And it was heard him play the

der and a small stipend. or he wanted-the con­

ed at such audiences­L'ase, Your Majesty, tell :.;lings about me." The ;;!lCeming a rehearsal of

~-- ':urned to him and said, arp?" and he replied,

en the Seventh Sym­in Berlin, when an

by Vienna University, ' ienna elected him to

ill of the city of Linz, e too late. He was by

During his illness, he th e Ninth Symphony, orizon.

free lodging in the _5· His mind became

religious mania. In • \\-irhout having com­

w rest in the church e had played so often. after the performance HV to the conductor,

15 a tip-Richter wore - -en a heritage of music

th e symphonies may

Compensation

appear here or there, they are works of a tall and an ecstatic master.

3

Like Bruckner, with whom he is often wrongly bracketed, Gustav Mahler was born in the provinces, in a little village situated, as it were by mistake, between Moravia and Bohemia and representing a German dot on a Slavic map. That region of Austria, forever beset by local dissent, also produced Sigmund Freud, the great musicologist Guido Adler, and Franz Kafka. The evil fairy standing at Mahler's cradle burdened him, in addition to the expected difficulties, with the uneasy feeling of homelessness, of not belonging. "I am thrice homeless," he once confessed to his wife, "as a native of Bohemia in Austria, as an Austrian among the Germans, and as a Jew throughout the world. Everywhere I am an intruder, never welcome."

But he was welcome, he was successful, and his plaint hints at a self-pity which lay like a cloud over the sky he tried to touch. His inner conflicts consumed him, and twisted his inspi­ration just as it reached its highest plane. As one listens to his music, one often gets the impression of a question asked but not answered, of a promise given but not kept. "The eternal begin­ner," he called himself. Immense apostrophes to nature, sub­lime confidence in man, promenades in "the kingdom of beauty" (Bruno Walter's phrase), alternate with "country mat­ters," naive Liindler which are not really naive-Mahler could not be truly naive-and lose themselves in thickets. It is as if Redon were to paint like Rousseau. Yet once we accept his occasional lack of clarity or his banal moments, we can love Mahler because, questioning himself as deeply as he did, he voiced our own deep questions. He sought to express in music primal beginnings as well as ultimate destiny, but he was well aware that the riddle remained a riddle and that he was bound to be frustrated. He has been elected the musical representative of our age, a spokesman for frustration, a modern mystic.2

His mysticism and his preoccupation with death-which

299