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11 Mahleriana Unpublished M. R. Lunch at Prof. Julius Epstein’s, the doyen of the piano professors in Vienna, was very lively. Opposite me sat a man who was still young with sharply cut features and nervous, distracted gestures. Epstein introduced him: “Gustav Mahler, composer , conductor, and my piano pupil. He will play his [¤rst] symphony for us after lunch.” I suddenly felt a mental jolt while two of Prof. Epstein’s colleagues looked as though they would have liked to exchange the promised symphony for a gentle afternoon nap. There was no chance of that, however, because Mahler began his symphony with a verve and gusto that were reminiscent of the “grand style” of our youth. Trumpets radiated, heroes under of¤cial Valkyrian protection presented themselves for battle. A funeral march spread sadness, but was consolingly called “ironic” by the composer. There were contradictions enough, melodic inventions did not exactly celebrate orgies, but a clear will and a strong imagination were clearly knocking on the door. In between there were some drops of Liszt’s Italian sweetness. In all of it something [illegible] of Brahms. My feeling was: There is someone up and coming here. Epstein too was impressed in his own way. The gist of his verdict was always: “And people claim that I only teach pupils to play the piano quietly!” (Which Mahler consistently ignored.) Young Richard Epstein, J. Epstein’s son and heir, then attempted to create a diversion by insisting that I play Brahms’s Paganini Variations for Mahler,1 Mahler too wished to get to know the piece and the player more closely, and so I suddenly found myself sitting at the Bösendorfer. During the octave glissando Prof. [Anton] Door called out: “Some opera glasses!” During the second ¤nale I suddenly heard Mahler call out loudly: “Two pairs of opera glasses!” After I had played, Mahler said to me: “You are the pianist that interests me the most, I hope to hear you again many times, we should meet more often.” My heart went out to him! I felt that I had made a close friendship that was very valuable to me. In the meantime Mahler had beenmade director of the [Court] Opera [1897– 1907]. One of the following summers I was in Toblach [now Dobbiaco] in the Südbahnhotel. One day Mahler arrived, distraught, dejected. He had been sent to Toblach for recuperation by Primarius Gersung after a somewhat complicated operation.2 With my friend Max B., who was visiting me there,we actually formed a [illegible] trio in which we dined together every evening and spoke mainly about music and literature.3 Mahler said: “You played Scharwenka’s Concerto in b-®at this morning. It is an amusing piece. I have selected it as the¤nal test piece for the conservatorium.” At that time he was very fond of Dostoyevsky, whose The Brothers Karamazov he claimed to be the best novel in world literature. He did not much agree with my admiration for Chopin, thinking him too en miniature, too modest in manner. I said: “In a distinguished society you cannot legitimately demonstrate the wit and depth of your conversation as a man of the highest degree (as Heinrich Heine called him) with such manners. It’s a poor man who needs to put his feet up on the table to legitimize his reputation.” [Mahler] seemed cross about this temporarily, but it was only a little summer cloud that was quickly dissolved by the sun. We often discussed Hugo Riemann’s phrasing reforms that were rightfully causing feelings to run high.4 To my amazement [Mahler] even claimed one evening that the phrasing depended on the disposition and current attitude of the conductor (singer, pianist, etc.). He overestimated the bar lines, which became apparent in the allegro theme of Beethoven’s Third Leonore Overture, and was perhaps jointly responsible for Richard Heuberger reporting with a sneer in the Neue Freie Press about a genuinely French Leonore Overture decorated with the most delicate Parisian nuances.5 These memories should not form part of a historical work in which the dates become hypertrophically important; therefore I would like to mention one evening that I spent in Hamburg in the house of Mayor Sigmund Hinrichsen and that took place before the Toblach episodes. Here I played Beethoven’s Sonata op. 111 and some pieces by Chopin and Liszt. Even before I went to the piano, M. whispered to me: “I am sorry for you...

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