met with extraordinary suecesses. He is undoubtedly a composer of the first rank, a musical genius of great power and intensity. Trained under Mahler in Vienna—Mahler's bust by Rodin adorns his work-room, and he has made his friendship with Mahler and his recollections of him into a glowing cult—he is certainly a softer, less abrupt and Caesarian nature than the master; but his relationship to his art is just as absolute in earnestness and fervour, and he is an incomparable interpreter of the symphonic struggles which this tragic worshipper had with genius. Walter's services to the art of the Bavarian capital deserved all the honours which were afforded him at his departure. He enlivened the orchestra, dignified the repertoire, and enriched the ensemble with distinguished talents, such as Frau Ivogün, Frau Reinhardt, and the baritone Schipper. His restorations, particularly of works from the German romantic sphere, as Undine, Hans Heiling, Oberon, were events. It was he who stood godfather to Pfitzner's Palestrina, a work which, regardless of how one now feels towards its mild melancholy, its unfriendliness to life, stands in any case head and shoulders above all the rest of contemporary opera as an intellectual accomplishment. Walter laid the way for it. Further, he was no less effective in the concert hall than in the conductor's chair at the opera. Many critics felt compelled to insist that there are more rigorous rhythmists; but no one disputed his unparalleled sense of sound-values. He is the most subtle, the most thoroughly musical accompanist at the piano, I have ever seen. No one who has heard Schubert's Winterreise done by him and Van Roy can forget it. In Vienna I saw an audience of two thousand deeply moved at his playing in company with the violinist Arnold Rosé.
Walter's last act as conductor of the Munich state opera was an evening of one-acters which captivated as much by their inherent charm as by their rich significance historically. He played Handel's Acis and Galatea, this tragic pastoral in which more than one accent gives a premonition of Wagner; he followed with Pergolese's charming Serva Padrona, which prepared the way for the opera bouffe and Mozart; and he finished with a German musical comedy of the eighteenth century, Schenk's Dorfbarbier, which leads in a straight line to the Waffenschmid and Nicolai's Lustige Weber. I hardly need to excuse myself for speaking of an opera performance which took place so long back; for the mere fact that I return to this subject after so great a time indicates the unusual
