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. '

In Bruckner's physical appearance at this time there was! no hint of senility. He was a little above the average in height, but an inclination to corpulency made him appear shorter. His physiognomy, huge-nosed and smooth-shaven as he was, was that of a Roman emperor, but from his blue eyes beamed only kindness and childish faith. He wore unusually wide white collars, in order to leave his neck perfectly free. His black, loose-hanging clothes were obviously intended to be, above all, comfortable. He had even left instructions for a roomy coffin. The only thing about his attire suggestive of the artist was the loosely arranged bow-tie he always wore. About the fit and shape of his shoes he was, according to his shoe-maker, more particular than the most exactingly elegant member of the fair sex. As he would hurry along the street swinging a soft black hat, which he hardly ever put on, a colored handkerchief could always be seen protruding from his coat-pocket.

In the summer of 1886 he arrived in Bayreuth just in time to attend the funeral of Liszt. As Bruckner sat at the organ improvising a "Funeral Oration" in his own language out of themes of Parsifal, it was as if he were saluting the passing of that golden age of nineteenth-century music, which had endowed the world with the titanic contribution known as the art of Wagner. Now he was leader of the glorious cause, its highest living creative exponent, but he stood alone, he and his symphonies, while the enemy still held the field in great numbers,

The Seventh Symphony continued making new conquests. Cologne, Graz, Chicago, New York, and Amsterdam paid tribute to its greatness. When it reached Hamburg the aged teacher of Brahms said it was the greatest symphony of modern times. Brahms, however, continued to shrug his shoulders, and remarked: "In the case of Bruckner one needn't use the word 'Symphony'; it's enough to talk of a kind of 'fake' which will be forgotten in a few years."

Then young Karl Muck, Bruckner pupil, came to Graz with the same symphony, and following upon this really Austrian triumph, Vienna was compelled at last to capitulate, much to the annoyance of the Hanslick coalition. Hans Richter conducted the hostile "King of Orchestras" on March 21, 1886. The Seventh Symphony, after hunting for the "blue bird" all over the world, had come home at last to bring happiness to the "prophet in his own country." Hanslick's review the following day was a sort of brief apologia pro vita sua. "It is certainly without precedent," complained he, "that a composer be called to the stage four or five times after each movement of a symphony. To tell the truth the music of Bruckner so rubs me the wrong way that I'm hardly in a position to give an impartial view of it. I consider it unnatural, blown Up, unwholesome, and ruinous." Kalbeck, his aide-de-camp, picked ion Richter for having shown personal homage to Bruckner and alleged that it was done purely for popular effect. Concerning the music itself he said: "It comes from the Nibelungen and goes to the devil!" Dompke, another member of Hanslick's staff snarled: "Bruckner writes like a drunkard." Richter, at the banquet of the Wagner-Verein held to celebrate the occasion, declared that many members of the Philharmonic orchestra had changed their minds about Bruckner and that there would be no difficulty about producing his works in Vienna from that time on. As a matter of fact, the next symphony, the Eighth, was introduced to the world by the Philharmonic. Heroic Richter now carried the banner into the British Isles, in spite of Brahms' reproving earning, "You surely are not going to perform Bruckner in England!"

The triumphant journey of the Seventh continued, Budapest, Dresden, and London next being conquered. To be sure, Berlin, in the hands of the Brahms marshals, Buelow and Joachim, only gave it a timid welcome. A prominent writer said of the occasion: "It was like offering a roast to a table of mules." Another said: "I considered Brahms a great symphonist until to-day, but how the little 'Doctor' seemed to shrink when he was programmed beside this giant, as was the case in this concert!"