invited to the Altenburg. He played Harmonies du Soir, No. 2, and his own sonata. He
was at his best and played divinely.
June 9. Had a lesson from Liszt this evening. I played Chopin’s E Minor Concerto.
June 10. Went to Liszt’s this evening to a bock-beer soirée. The beer was a present to
Liszt from Pruckner’s father, who had a large brewery in Munich.
Sunday, June 12. Usual quartet forenoon at the Altenburg. Quartet, Op. 161, of
Schubert’s was played, also one of Beethoven’s quartets.
Liszt was the head and front of the Wagner movement; but except when visitors came to
Weimar and were inveigled into an argument with Raff, who was an ardent disciple of
the new school, there was but little discussion of the Wagner question. Pruckner started a
little society, the object being to oppose the Philistines, or old fogies, and uphold modern
ideas. Liszt was the head and was called the Padisha (chief), and the pupils and others,
Raff, Bülow, Klindworth, Pruckner, Cornelius, Laub, Cossman, etc., were Murls. In a
letter to Klindworth, then in London, Liszt writes of Rubinstein: ‘That is a clever fellow,
the most notable musician, pianist, and composer who has appeared to me among the
modern lights – with the exception of the Murls. Murlship alone is lacking in him still.
On the manuscript of Liszt’s “Sonata” he himself wrote, “Für die Murlbibliothek”.
On one evening early in June, 1853, Liszt sent us word to come up to the Altenburg next
morning, as he expected a visit from a young man who was said to have great talent as a
pianist and composer, and whose name was Johannes Brahms. He was to be
accompanied by Eduard Reményi.
The next morning, on going to the Altenburg with Klindworth, we found Brahms and
Reményi already in the reception-room with Raff and Pruckner. After greeting the
newcomers, of whom Reményi was known to us by reputation, I strolled over to a table
on which were lying some manuscripts of music. They were several of Brahms’s yet
unpublished compositions, and I began turning over the leaves of the uppermost in the
pile. It was the piano solo Op. 4, Scherzo E Flat Minor, and, as I remember, the writing
was so illegible that I thought to myself that if I had occasion to study it I should be
obliged first to make a copy of it. Finally Liszt came down, and after some general
conversation he turned to Brahms and said: ‘We are interested to hear some of your
compositions whenever you are ready and feel inclined to play them.’
Brahms, who was evidently very nervous, protested that it was quite impossible for him
to play while in such a disconcerted state, and notwithstanding the earnest solicitations of
both Liszt and Reményi, could not be persuaded to approach the piano. Liszt, seeing that
no progress was being made, went over to the table, and taking up the first piece at hand,
the illegible scherzo, and saying, ‘Well, I shall have to play’, placed the manuscript on
the piano-desk.