It was still impossible for Bruckner to find publishers for his colossal work. Time after time his manuscripts were called for by different firms, but always returned to him with regretful apologies. Then Suddenly, New York through Anton Seidi threatened to publish the Romantic, whereupon Hermann Levi for the second time made a collection of the required sum in Munich and thus saved Europe from the imminent disgrace.

In the autumn of 1880 personal friends of Bruckner and Brahms, hoping to end the quarrel between the two masters, agreed to bring them together in a Viennese restaurant. Bruckner, quite amicable, had arrived early and had already had two or three portions of Nudel-soup before Brahms put in an appearance. "Stiff and cold they faced each other across the table," related one of those present. It was an uncomfortable situation and the well-meaning conspirators were highly disappointed. Finally Brahms broke the silence and called for the bill-of-fare. With a forced display of good-nature he cried out: "Now let's see what there is to eat!" He glanced along the list of courses, suddenly looked up, and ordered: "Waiter, bring me smoked ham and dumplings!" Instantly Bruckner joined in, crying, "That's it, Doctor! Smoker ham and dumplings. At least that's something on which we can agree!" The effect of this remark was instantaneous. Everybody shook with laughter. The ice was broken and the remainder of the evening proved to be friendly and jolly.

A real understanding between the two was, of course, impossible. It was a case of temperaments diametrically opposed, conceptions of art basically at variance, in short, an apt illustration of Kipling's phrase "And the twain shall never meet."

Bruckner explained the situation thus: "He is Brahms (hats off!); I am Bruckner; I like my works better. He who wants to be soothed by music will become attached to Brahms; but whoever wants to be carried away by music will find but little satisfaction in his work." Brahms himself had declared before joining the Hanslick camp: "Bruckner is the greatest symphonist of the age." Once after listening to a Bruckner symphony Brahms approached the composer, saying: "I hope you won't feel hurt about it, but I really can't make out what you are trying to get at with your compositions." "Never mind, Doctor," answered Bruckner, "that's perfectly all right. I feel just the same way about your things."

In 1890, warned by repeated attacks of laryngitis and general nervousness, he begged leave to spend a year free from conservatory duty. His request was granted, but with no pay. He now drew the long-dormant First Symphony from its dusty shelf and set to work polishing it. Several years before, Hans Richter, happening to be present when two of Bruckner's pupils played a four-hand arrangement of the work, in his enthusiasm snatched up the orchestral score and wanted to run off with it, when Bruckner called out anxiously, "But the ragamuffin has to be cleaned first!" From that time the First Symphony was known in Bruckner circles as the "Ragamuffin"– an apt nomenclature, indeed, when one remembers the impudence of the opening bars.

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.