in his Lieder and, in general, could not bear his want of originality and power, and found him lacking in joy and fulness of life.  Above all, he struck at him as being the head of a party that was spitefully opposed to Wagner and Bruckner and all innovators.  For all that was retrograde in music in Vienna, and all that was the enemy of liberty and progress in art and criticism, was giving Brahms its detestable support by gathering itself about him and spreading his fame abroad; and though Brahms was really far above his party as an artist and a man, he had not the courage to break away from it.

Brahms read Wolf’s articles, but his attacks did not seem to stir his apathy.  The “Brahmines,” however, never forgave Wolf.  One of his bitterest enemies was Hans von Buelow, who found anti-Brahmism “the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost—­which shall not be forgiven."[185] Some years later, when Wolf succeeded in getting his own compositions played, he had to submit to criticisms like that of Max Kalbeck, one of the leaders of “Brahmism” at Vienna: 

“Herr Wolf has lately, as a reporter, raised an irresistible laugh in musical circles.  So someone suggested he had better devote himself to composition.  The last products of his muse show that this well-meant advice was bad.  He ought to go back to reporting.”

[Footnote 185:  Letter of H. von Buelow to Detlev von Liliencron.]

An orchestral society in Vienna gave Wolf’s Penthesilea a trial reading; and it was rehearsed, in disregard of all good taste, amid shouts of laughter.  When it was finished, the conductor said:  “Gentlemen, I ask your pardon for having allowed this piece to be played to the end; but I wanted to know what manner of man it is that dares to write such things about the master, Brahms.”

Wolf got a little respite from his miseries by going to stay a few weeks in his own country with his brother-in-law, Strasser, an inspector of taxes.[186] He took with him his books, his poets, and began to set them to music.

[Footnote 186:  Wolf’s letters to Strasser are of great value in giving us an insight into his artist’s eager and unhappy soul.]

* * * * *

He was now twenty-seven years old, and had as yet published nothing.  The years of 1887 and 1888 were the most critical ones of his life.  In 1887 he lost his father whom he loved so much, and that loss, like so many of his other misfortunes, gave fresh impulse to his energies.  The same year, a generous friend called Eckstein published his first collection of Lieder.  Wolf up to that time had been smothered, but this publication stirred the life in him, and was the means of unloosing his genius.  Settled at Perchtoldsdorf, near Vienna, in February, 1888, in absolute peace, he wrote in three months fifty-three Lieder to the words of Eduard Moerike, the pastor-poet of Swabia, who died in 1875, and who, misunderstood and laughed at during his lifetime, is now covered with honour, and universally popular in Germany.  Wolf composed his songs in a state of exalted joy and almost fright at the sudden discovery of his creative power.