o complete his cure and prevent him from thinking
of work. The precaution was unnecessary; for he says in a letter to Hugo
Faisst, written in the same month:

"There is no need for you to trouble yourself or fear that I shall
overdo things. A real distaste for work has taken possession of me,
and I believe I shall never write another note. My unfinished opera
has no more interest for me, and music altogether is hateful. You
see what my kind friends have done for me! I cannot think how I
shall be able to exist in this state.... Ah, happy Swabians! one
may well envy you. Greet your beautiful country for me, and be
warmly greeted yourself by your unhappy and worn-out friend, Hugo
Wolf."

When he returned to Vienna, however, he seemed to be a little better,
and had apparently regained his health and cheerfulness. But to his own
astonishment he had become, as he says in a letter to Faisst, a quiet,
sedate, and silent man, who wished more and more to be alone. He did not
compose anything fresh, but revised his Michelangelo _Lieder_, and had
them published. He made plans for the winter, and rejoiced in the
thought of passing it in the country near Gmunden, "in perfect quiet,
undisturbed, and living only for art." In his last letter to Faisst, 17
September, 1898, he says:

"I am quite well again now, and have no more need of any cures. You
would need them more than I."

Then came a fresh seizure of madness, and this time all was finished.

In the autumn of 1898 Wolf was taken to an asylum at Vienna. At first he
was able to receive a few visits and to enjoy a little music by playing
duets with the director of the establishment, who was himself a musician
and a great admirer of Wolf's works. He was even able in the spring to
take a few walks out of doors with his friends and an attendant. But he
was beginning not to recognise things or people or even himself. "Yes,"
he would say, sighing, "if only I were Hugo Wolf!" From the middle of
1899 his malady grew rapidly worse, and general paralysis followed. At
the beginning of 1900 his speech was affected, and, finally, in August,
1901, all his body. At the beginning of 1902 all hope was given up by
the doctors; but his heart was still sound, and the unhappy man dragged
out his life for another year. He died on 16 February, 1903, of
peripneumonia.

He was given a magnificent funeral, which was attended by all the people
who