ho was struggling for existence and teaching for
a very small sum. Remenyi and Brahms became so interested in each other
that they forgot all about the soiree, and sat up till four the next
morning chatting and playing together. Remenyi's negligence of his
engagement resulted in the loss of any further business in Hamburg, and
together with Brahms he set out for Hanover, giving concerts as they
went, and thus earning sufficient funds to carry them on their way.

At Hanover they called upon Joachim, who arranged for them to play
before the court. After this they proceeded to the Altenberg to see
Liszt, who received them warmly, and offered them a home. During all
this time Brahms received little or no recognition, in spite of
Remenyi's enthusiasm in his cause, neither did he find very much favour
with Liszt, although the latter recognised his talent. He therefore
returned to Hanover, where Joachim gave him a letter to Schumann, and it
was Schumann's enthusiastic welcome and declaration that a new genius
had arisen that established Brahms's reputation in musical circles.

Remenyi said that Brahms, shortly after his arrival at the Altenberg,
offended Liszt and his pupils by comfortably sleeping during one of the
famous lessons, which were in the nature of a general class. This breach
of manners Brahms justified on the score of being exhausted by his
previous journey.

The death of Remenyi, which occurred on May 15, 1898, created a
sensation throughout the country. He had, after many misgivings,
consented to appear in "vaudeville." The financial inducement was large,
and he soothed his artistic conscience with the argument that his music
would tend to elevate the vaudeville rather than that the vaudeville
would tend to degrade him. It was at the Orpheus Theatre in San
Francisco, and it was his first appearance. He played one or two
selections, and being tremendously applauded, and correspondingly
gratified, he returned and answered the encore with the well-known "Old
Glory." He was in his best vein, and played as one inspired. The
audience literally rose with him, leaving their seats in their
excitement, and the applause lasted several minutes. He came forward,
and in response to another burst of applause commenced to play Delibes's
"Fizzicati." He had played but a few measures when he leaned over as if
to speak to one of the musicians in the orchestra. He paused a moment,
and then fell slowly forward on his face. One of