Rubinstein and Bülow were both interpretative natures. Rubinstein composed much, Bülow little; and Rubinstein’s compositions are hollow while Bülow’s are fragmentary. In their compositions the two men are at their worst; the pathos of Rubinstein became maudlin, and the severity of Bülow became simple harshness. The best that Bülow ever wrote for the piano was the piano-arrangement of Tristan, which is unparalleled in its expression of pain; but his best work of all was his annotations to Beethoven’s Sonatas and Variations. Rubinstein’s innumerable Dances and National Airs are played indeed, but they are practically forgotten; his Tarantelles, Serenades, Sonatas, Concertos, get nearer to sinking every year. Rubinstein’s experiences, his activity in St Petersburg, his final stay in a pension at Dresden, were rather external than internal changes. Later in his life he was able to spend more money on his gigantic plans. In a cycle of seven piano-recitals he undertook to give a complete picture of the historical development of his art. It is well known with what self-sacrifice he gave these recitals, and how nobly he followed the unique principle which great virtuosos should set before themselves, namely that those who have should pay for the art, in order that those who have not should receive it gratuitously. Bülow’s experiences, on the other hand, were internal. His change from Wagner to Brahms will be regarded by every student of great souls, not as a desertion of his colours, but as a mental phenomenon. In Bülow’s nature there was at bottom nothing in common with Wagner; and it may well be that he never saw Wagner except through the glasses of the concert, of execution, of display, not of the stage, or of sensuous perception. Bülow was not stage-bitten, nor was he even a man with a head full of the philosophy of the stage; he was a downright worker, a teacher, to whom indeed teaching came so natural that he for a considerable time gave lessons with Raff in Frankfort and Klindworth in Berlin. When he gave public recitals he did not, like Rubinstein, crowd a history of the piano into a few evenings. He took by preference a single author, like Beethoven, and played only the five last Sonatas, or he unfolded the whole of Beethoven historically in four evenings. He would have preferred to play every piece twice. Great draughtsman as he was, he hated all half-lights and colourations; he pointed his pencil very finely, and his paper was very white. If he laid his pencil down, it was only for a short time; and if he played any work, the composer was a made man. Over the variations of Tschaïkowski could be read, “Joué par M. Bülow dans ses concerts.” [Illustration: Reinecke in his youth. Most famous of modern Mozart players, afterwards Director of the Leipsic Conservatorium. After the picture by Seel.] [Illustration: Portrait by H. Katsch.] [Illustration]