Musical conditions when my father first came to Breslau in 1858, immediately after his marriage, were miserable enough, and it was not until he founded, together with some musical enthusiasts, the “Breslau Orchester Verein” that a regular symphonic orchestra was established with a series of subscription concerts. All the great artists of the day came to Breslau to take part in these concerts, and generally they stayed at our house, although our quarters were very simple—Liszt, Wagner, von Bülow, Clara Schumann, Tausig, Joachim, Auer, Haenselt, Rubinstein. Some of them I can remember vaguely, but of course many stories and anecdotes were current in the family regarding their visits. When Tausig, Liszt’s greatest piano pupil, spent a night in our house, the bed in the guest-room broke down in the middle of the night and he calmly arranged his mattress on the floor and continued his slumbers. But his visit was connected in my brother’s and my mind particularly with a certain apple pudding which he adored and which my mother always baked especially for him, so that it became known in our family as the “Tausigsche Apfel-Speise.” It was a luscious mixture of apples, raisins, and almonds incased in a delicate, light pie-crust. My father and Tausig would sometimes engage in the most violent discussions on musical or philosophical topics, and the latter would often become so enraged that he would rush out of the house, vowing he would never return. Then he would run around the block and come back in five minutes, smiling and saying, “Come, Damrosch, let us play a Beethoven Sonata together,” and all would be well. When Joachim arrived he found a large “WILLKOMMEN HERR JOACHIM” in green leaves over the door of our music-room, carefully arranged by my brother and myself. We adored him because he loved children and would cut all manner of wonderful figures out of paper for us. Liszt came on especially to officiate as godfather at the christening of my older brother, Frank (Franz), who was named after him, but, as I was not born at the time, my memory of it is not very vivid. Once when Hans von Bülow arrived for dinner, my mother herself had roasted a hare in his honor. To her despair she discovered at table that she had seasoned it with sugar instead of salt, but Bülow, perfect gentleman that he was, asked for a second helping, insisting that sugar always improved roast hare immensely.