From Gustav Mahler: Memories and Letters, by Alma Mahlerpage 20

And I – I was silent – silent. He had simply made up his own mind about it. We went down to join the rest, both of us in a strange sort of enchantment. Burckhard and M., an architect [probably Kolo Moser], an old admirer of mine, were already there. The elemental undercurrent of that evening drove poor M. from our house forever. Mahler, in the company of the others, now revealed all his charm, all the resources of his mind. We argued about Schiller, whom he loved and I at the time did not. He knew him almost by heart and there was such a fascination in the way he rose up in his defence that I, after letting him kiss me without really wishing it, and speed on the wedding before I had even thought of it myself, knew now that in both he was right and that I could no longer live without him. I felt that he alone could give my life meaning and that he was far and away above any man I had ever known.

One of our early discussions was about Jesus Christ. Although I was brought up as a Catholic, the influence of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche had made a free-thinker of me. Mahler contested my point of view with fervour. It was paradoxical that a Jew should hotly defend Christ against a Christian.