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Title: The Life of Johannes Brahms (Vol 1 of 2)
Author: May, Florence
Language: English
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[Illustration: _Brahms at the age of 20._
LONDON. EDWARD ARNOLD: 1905]
THE LIFE
OF
JOHANNES BRAHMS
BY
FLORENCE MAY
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W.
1905
(_All rights reserved_)
TO
THE MANY KIND FRIENDS
WHOSE SYMPATHY
HAS HELPED ME DURING THE WRITING OF THESE VOLUMES,
THEY ARE GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
The biographical materials from which I have written the following Life
of Brahms have, excepting in the few instances indicated in footnotes,
been gathered by me, at first hand, chiefly in the course of several
Continental journeys, the first of which was undertaken in the summer of
1902. Dates of concerts throughout the volumes have been authenticated
by reference to original programmes or contemporary journals.
My aim in giving some account of Brahms' compositions has not been a
technical one. So far as I have exceeded purely biographical limits my
object has been to assist the general music-lover in his enjoyment of
the noble achievements of a beautiful life.
I feel it impossible to ignore numerous requests made to me to include
in my book some particulars of my own acquaintance with Brahms--begun
when I was a young student of the pianoforte. I have not wished,
however, to interrupt the main narrative of the Life by the introduction
of slight personal details, and therefore place together in an
introductory chapter some of my recollections and impressions, published
a few years ago in the _Musical Magazine_. These were verified by
reference to letters to my mother in which I recorded events as they
occurred. Written before the commencement of the Biography, they are in
no way essential to its completeness, which will not suffer should they
remain unread.
* * * * *
I am indebted for valuable assistance and sympathy to:
H.R.H. Alexander Frederick, Landgraf of Hesse.
Herr Carl Bade.
Fräulein Berninger.
Mrs. Jellings Blow (b. Finke).
Fräulein Theodore Blume.
Frau Professor Böie.
Herr Professor Dr. Heinrich Bulthaupt.
Herr Professor Julius Buths.
The late Gerard F. Cobb, Esq.
Frederic R. Comec, Esq.
Herr Hugo Conrat.
Fräulein Ilse Conrat.
Fräulein Johanna Cossel.
Frau Elise Denninghoff-Giesemann.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Hermann Deiters.
Herr Hofcapellmeister Albert Dietrich.
Herr k. k. Hofclavierfabrikant Friedrich Ehrbar.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Engelmann.
Herr Professor Julius Epstein.
Fräulein Anna Ettlinger.
Frau Dr. Maria Fellinger.
Herr Professor Dr. Josef Gänsbacher.
Otto Goldschmidt, Esq., Hon. R.A.M., Member of Swedish A.M., etc.
Dr. Josef Ritter Griez von Ronse.
Herr Carl Graf.
Fräulein Marie Grimm.
Frau Grüber.
Herr Professor Robert Hausmann.
Fräulein Heyden.
Herr Professor Walter Hübbe.
Herr Dr. Gustav Jansen.
Frau Dr. Marie Janssen.
Herr Professor Dr. Joseph Joachim.
Frau Dr. Louise Langhans-Japha.
Mrs. Johann Kruse.
Herr Carl Lüstner.
J. A. Fuller Maitland, Esq., F.S.A.
Herr Dr. Eusebius Mandyczewski, Archivar to the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde.
Carl Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Hermann Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Herr Richard Mühlfeld, Hofkammermusiker.
Herr Professor Dr. Ernst Naumann.
Herr Professor Dr. Carl Neumann.
Herr Christian Otterer.
Fräulein Henriette Reinthaler.
Herr Capellmeister Dr. Rottenberg.
Herr Kammermusiker Julius Schmidt.
Herr Fritz Schnack.
Herr Professor Dr. Bernhard Scholz.
Herr Heinrich Schröder.
Fräulein Marie Schumann.
Frau Simons (b. Kyllmann).
Herr Professor Josef Sittard.
Herr Dr. Julius Spengel.
Mrs. Edward Speyer.
Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, Mus. Doc.
Mrs. Edward Stone.
Frau Celestine Truxa.
Herr Superintendent Vogelsang.
Herr Dr. Josef Victor Widmann.
And others who prefer that their names should not be expressly mentioned.
F. M.
SOUTH KENSINGTON,
_September, 1905_.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 1
CHAPTER I
1760-1845
The Brahms family--Johann Jakob Brahms; his youth and marriage--Birth
and childhood of Johannes--The Alster Pavilion--Otto
F. W. Cossel--Johannes gives a private subscription concert 45
CHAPTER II
1845-1848
Edward Marxsen--Johannes' first instruction in theory--Herr Adolph
Giesemann--Winsen-an-der-Luhe--Lischen--Choral Society of
school-teachers--'A.B.C.' Part-song by Johannes--The Amtsvogt
Blume--First public appearance--First visit to the opera 63
CHAPTER III
1848-1853
Johannes' first public concert--Years of struggle--Hamburg
Lokals--Louise Japha--Edward Reményi--Sonata in F sharp
minor--First concert-tour as Reményi's accompanist--Concerts in
Winsen, Celle, Lüneburg, and Hildesheim--Musical parties in
1853--Leipzig and Weimar--Robert Schumann--Joseph Joachim 83
CHAPTER IV
1853
Brahms and Reményi visit Joachim in Hanover--Concert at Court--Visit
to Liszt--Joachim and Brahms in Göttingen--Wasielewsky,
Reinecke, and Hiller--First meeting with Schumann--Albert
Dietrich 106
CHAPTER V
1853
Schumann's article 'New Paths'--Johannes in Hanover--Sonatas
in C major and F minor--Visit to Leipzig--First publications--Julius
Otto Grimm--Return to Hamburg viâ Hanover--Lost
Violin Sonata--Songs--Marxsen's influence as teacher 126
CHAPTER VI
1854-1855
Brahms at Hanover--Hans von Bülow--Robert and Clara Schumann
in Hanover--Schumann's illness--Brahms in Düsseldorf--Variations
on Schumann's theme in F sharp minor--B major Trio;
first public performance in New York--First attempt at symphony 153
CHAPTER VII
1855-1856
Lower Rhine Festival--Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt--Edward
Hanslick--Brahms as a concert-player--Retirement and study--Frau
Schumann in Vienna and London--Julius Stockhausen--Schumann's
death 179
CHAPTER VIII
1856-1858
Brahms and Joachim in Düsseldorf--Grimm in Göttingen--Brahms'
visit to Detmold--Carl von Meysenbug--Court Concertmeister
Bargheer--Joachim and Liszt--Brahms returns to Detmold--Summer
at Göttingen--Pianoforte Concerto in D minor and
Orchestral Serenade in D major tried privately in Hanover 204
CHAPTER IX
1859
First public performances of the Pianoforte Concerto in Hanover,
Leipzig, and Hamburg--Brahms, Joachim, and Stockhausen
appear together in Hamburg--First public performance of the
Serenade in D major--Ladies' Choir--Fräulein Friedchen
Wagner--Compositions for women's chorus 225
CHAPTER X
1859-1861
Third season at Detmold--'Ave Maria' and 'Begräbnissgesang'; performed
in Hamburg and Göttingen--Second Serenade first publicly performed in
Hamburg--Lower Rhine Festival--Summer at Bonn--Music at Herr
Kyllmann's--Life in Hamburg--Variations on an original theme first
performed in Leipzig by Frau Schumann--'Marienlieder'--First public
performance of the Sextet in B flat by the Joachim Quartet in
Hanover 243
CHAPTER XI
1861-1862
Concert season in Hamburg--Frau Denninghoff-Giesemann--Brahms
in Hamm--Herr Völckers and his daughters--Dietrich's visit to
Brahms--Music at the Halliers' and Wagners'--First public performance
of the G minor Quartet--Brahms in Oldenburg--Second
Serenade performed in New York--First and second Pianoforte
Quartets--'Magelone Romances'--First public performances of
the Handel Variations and Fugue in Hamburg and Leipzig by
Frau Schumann--Brahms' departure for Vienna 262
APPENDIX No. I
MUSICAL FORM--ABSOLUTE MUSIC--PROGRAMME MUSIC--BERLIOZ
AND WAGNER 282
APPENDIX No. II
THE MAGELONE ROMANCES--PIERRE DE PROVENCE 290
APPENDIX No. III
RULES OF THE HAMBURG LADIES' CHOIR 304
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BRAHMS AT THE AGE OF TWENTY _Frontispiece_
No. 60, SPECKSTRASSE, HAMBURG _To face page_ 52
BRAHMS AND JOACHIM, 1855 " 182
BRAHMS AND STOCKHAUSEN, 1868 " 262
THE LIFE OF JOHANNES BRAHMS
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
BADEN-BADEN.
It was to the kindness of Frau Schumann that I owed my introduction to
Brahms, which took place the very day of my arrival on my first visit to
Germany. I had had lessons from the great pianist during her visit to
London early in the year 1871, and on her departure from England she
allowed my father to arrange that I should follow her, as soon as I
could possibly get ready, to her home in Lichtenthal, a suburb of
Baden-Baden, in order to continue my studies under her guidance.
I can vividly recall the bright morning in the beginning of May on which
I arrived at Baden-Baden, rather home-sick and dreadfully tired, for
owing to a railway breakdown _en route_ my journey had occupied fourteen
hours longer than it ought to have done, and my father's arrangements
for my comfort had been completely upset. It was too early to go at once
to Frau Schumann's house, and I remember to have dreamily watched,
whilst waiting at the station, a passing procession of young girl
communicants in their white wreaths and veils, as I tried to realize
that I was, for the first time in my life, far away from home and from
England. When the morning was sufficiently advanced, I took an open
Droschke, and driving under the great trees of the Lichtenthaler Allée
to the door of Frau Schumann's house, I obtained the address of the
lodgings that had been taken for me in the village. Without alighting, I
proceeded at once to my rooms, where I was almost immediately joined by
Frau Schumann herself, who came round, as soon as she had finished
breakfast, to bid me welcome.
My delight at seeing the great artist again, combined with her
irresistible charm and kindness, at once made me feel less strange in my
new surroundings, and I joyfully accepted the invitation she gave me at
the close of a few minutes' visit, to go to her house the same afternoon
at four o'clock and take coffee with her in her family circle.
On presenting myself at the appointed hour, I was at once shown into a
pleasant balcony at the back of the house, overlooking garden and river.
In it was seated Frau Schumann with her daughters, and with a gentleman
whom she presently introduced to me as Herr Brahms. The name awakened in
my mind no special feeling of interest, nor did I look at its owner with
any particular curiosity. Brahms' name was at that time almost unknown
in England, and I had heard of him only through his arrangement of two
books of Hungarian dances for four hands on the pianoforte. As, however,
from that day onwards I was accustomed, during a period of months, to
meet him almost daily, it may be convenient to say at once a few words
about his appearance and manner as they seemed to me after I had had
time to become familiar with them.
Brahms, then, when I first knew him, was in the very prime of life,
being thirty-eight years of age. Below middle height, his figure was
somewhat square and solidly built, though without any of the tendency to
corpulency which developed itself at a later period. He was of the
blonde type of German, with fair, straight hair, which he wore rather
long and brushed back from the temples. His face was clean-shaven. His
most striking physical characteristic was the grand head with its
magnificent intellectual forehead, but the blue eyes were also
remarkable from their expression of intense mental concentration. This
was accentuated by a constant habit he had of thrusting the rather
thick under-lip over the upper, and keeping it compressed there,
reminding one of the mouth in some of the portraits of Beethoven. His
nose was finely formed. Feet and hands were small, the fingers without
'cushions.'
'I have none,' he said one day, when I was speaking to him about
pianists' hands; and he spread out his fingers, at my request, to show
me the tips. 'Frau Schumann has them, and Rubinstein also; Rubinstein's
are immense.'
His dress, though plain, was always perfectly neat in those days. He
usually wore a short, loose, black alpaca coat, chosen, no doubt, with
regard to his ideas of comfort. He was near-sighted, and made frequent
use of a double eyeglass that he wore hanging on a thin black cord round
his neck. When walking out, it was his custom to go bare-headed, and to
carry his soft felt hat in his hand, swinging the arm energetically to
and fro. The disengaged hand he often held behind him.
In Brahms' demeanour there was a mixture of sociability and reserve
which gave me the impression of his being a kindly-natured man, but one
whom it would be difficult really to know. Though always pleasant and
friendly, yet there was a something about him--perhaps it may have been
his extraordinary dislike to speaking about himself--which suggested
that his life had not been free from disappointment, and that he had
reckoned with the latter and taken his course. His manner was absolutely
simple and unaffected. To his own compositions he alluded only on the
very rarest occasions, nor could he be induced to play them before even
a small party. His great satisfaction and pleasure were evidently found
in the society of Frau Schumann, for whom he displayed the most devoted
admiration, an admiration that seemed to combine the affection and
reverence of an elder son with the sympathetic camaraderie of a
colleague in art. He had established himself for the spring and summer
months at Lichtenthal, in order to be near her, and was always a welcome
guest at her house, coming and going as he liked. I met him there
continually at the hour of afternoon coffee, as on the day of my
arrival; and very often, when the coffee-cups were done with, it was my
good fortune to listen to the two great artists playing duets; Brahms,
the favoured, being always allowed to retain the beloved cigar or
cigarette between his lips during the performance, and taking his turn
in playing the treble part.
It was Frau Schumann's kind habit to invite me to her mid-day dinner on
Sundays, and frequently to supper during the week. Brahms was rarely
absent, and was sometimes accompanied by one or two of his friends. The
talk on these occasions was more or less general, but naturally my chief
interest was in listening to Frau Schumann and Brahms, who used to
discuss all sorts of topics with great animation. Brahms' interest in
politics was keen, and although he had been settled in Vienna for some
years, and had become much attached to that city and to his friends and
surroundings there, yet it was evident that he remained an ardent German
patriot.
He was a great walker, and had a passionate love of nature. It was his
habit during the spring and summer to rise at four or five o'clock, and,
after making himself a cup of coffee, to go into the woods to enjoy the
delicious freshness of early morning and to listen to the singing of the
birds. In adverse weather he could still find something to admire and
enjoy.
'I never feel it dull,' he said one day, in answer to some remark about
the depressing effect of the long-continued rain, 'my view is so fine.
Even when it rains, I have only another kind of beauty.'
He was considerate for others, even in trifles. I remember that one
evening, before we had quitted the supper-table, someone produced a copy
of 'Kladderadatsch,' and, pointing out to Brahms a set of sarcastic
verses dedicated to John Bull, begged him to read them aloud for the
entertainment of the assembled party. Brahms, after glancing down the
column, playfully declined to do as he was asked, indicating, with a
wave of the hand, his English _vis-à-vis_ as his reason for objecting;
and it was not until I had laughingly and repeatedly expressed my
earnest wish to hear whatever might be in store for me as Mr. Bull's
representative, that he at length, and still reluctantly, complied with
the request.
Frau Schumann often spoke to me of his extraordinary genius and
acquirements both as composer and executant, as well as of his general
intellectual qualities, and especially of his knowledge and love of
books. She wished me to hear him play, but said it was no easy matter to
do so, as he was extremely dependent on his mood, and not only disliked
to be pressed to perform, but was unable to do justice either to himself
or his composer when not in the right humour. The first time, indeed,
that I heard him, at a small afternoon gathering at Frau Schumann's
house, I was utterly disappointed. After a good deal of pressing, he
crossed over to the piano and gave the first movement of the G major
Fantasia-Sonata and the first movement of the A minor Sonata, Op. 42,
both of Schubert, but his playing was ineffective. It appeared to me to
be forced and self-conscious, and he himself seemed to remain, as it
were, outside the music. I missed the living throb and impulse of
feeling by which I had been accustomed to be carried away when listening
to Frau Schumann, and he left one of his audience, at all events, cold
and unmoved. When I told this to Frau Schumann afterwards, she answered
that I had not yet really heard him; that he had not wished to play, but
had yielded to over-persuasion, and that I must wait for a better
opportunity of judging before forming an opinion.
The opportunity came the very next evening, when the same friends were
assembled and Brahms played again. The next day I wrote home as follows:
'... Then Brahms played. It was an entirely different thing from
the day before. Two pieces were by some composer whose name I can't
remember, and then he played a wild piece by Scarlatti as I never
heard anyone play before. He really did give it as though he were
inspired; it was so mad and wild and so beautiful. Afterwards he
did a little thing of Gluck's. I hope I shall hear him often if he
plays as he did last night. The Scarlatti was like nothing I ever
heard before, and I never thought the piano capable of it.'
Such were the general impressions I formed of Brahms during the first
seven or eight weeks of my stay at Lichtenthal. To say the truth, I
thought but little about him at the time, my whole attention being
absorbed in my studies and in the charm of my new experiences of life.
To me he seemed a very unaffected, kind-hearted, rather shy man, who
appeared quietly happy and content when under the influence of Frau
Schumann's society. As yet I had had scant opportunity of testing my own
capacity for appreciating his musical genius, and next to none of
individual personal intercourse with him. Frequently, when my landlady's
servant came to attend me to my lodgings after an evening spent at Frau
Schumann's house, and Brahms and I took our leave at the same moment, he
would say, 'I am coming, too,' and, our ways lying partly in the same
direction, would walk the short distance by my side; but these occasions
did not add much to my knowledge of him. He would make a few casual
remarks, often playful, always kindly, on any topics of the hour, but
did not touch on musical subjects. One evening, however, I asked him if
he intended to visit England. 'I think not,' he immediately replied, as
though his mind were definitely made up on this point. I ventured to
pursue the subject, telling him he ought to come, in order to make his
compositions known. 'It is for that they are printed,' he said rather
decidedly, and with these words he certainly gave me some real insight
into his character. The composer of a long series of works which
included such masterpieces as the second serenade, the two string
sextets, the first and second pianoforte quartets, the inspired German
Requiem, and a host of others already before the world (but of which I
then knew nothing), could, of course, do no otherwise than allow his
compositions to rest quietly on their merits; and doubtless the intense
pride which is equally inherent with intense modesty in the higher order
of genius had its share in causing Brahms' reticence about all things
concerning himself.
From his determination not to visit England I do not believe he ever
seriously wavered. Only on one occasion--a few years before his
death--did I ever hear him speak doubtfully on the subject, and I then
felt sure that he was only playing with the idea of coming. Of when or
why he formed his resolution I cannot speak with absolute certainty; it
had become fixed before I made his acquaintance. His want of familiarity
with our language may have had something to do with it; he could read
English a little, but I never heard him attempt to speak it. He had a
horror of being lionized and of involving himself in an entanglement of
engagements; perhaps, also, he was possessed with an exaggerated notion
of the inflexibility of English social laws, especially as to the
wearing of dress-clothes and the restrictions with regard to smoking.
Before and behind all such superficial considerations, however, I
suspect that early in his career the idea had taken root in him, right
or wrong as it may have been, that to visit England would not further
his artistic development. Brahms had certainly formed the clearest
conception not only of his purpose in life, but of the means by which he
felt he could best pursue and achieve it, and from first to last he
inflexibly adhered to the conclusions he had come to on these points. If
his aim was to give the most complete possible expression in his musical
creations to the very best that was in him, his method, while it
satisfied an inner craving of his being, was yet, as I believe,
deliberately adopted; and it was to lay himself open to every kind of
influence which could healthily foster the ideal side of his nature, and
more or less completely to eschew all others. It would be ridiculous, at
the present time, to touch upon the completeness of his technical
musical equipment, to dilate on his easy grasp of all the resources of
counterpoint, on his mastery of form, of harmonic and rhythmic
combinations, and the like. These things are matter of course. But
Brahms knew that not alone his intellect, but his mind and spirit and
fancy, must be constantly nurtured if they were to bring forth the
highest of which they were capable, and he so arranged his life that
they should be fed ever and always by poetry and literature and art, by
solitary musing, by participation in so much of life as seemed to him to
be real and true, and, above all and in the highest degree, by the
companionship of Nature.
'How can I most quickly improve?' I asked him one day later on. 'You
must walk constantly in the forest,' he answered; and he meant what he
said to be taken literally. It was his own favourite prescription that
he advised for my application. For such a man, with a name practically
unknown in England, life in London, and especially during a concert
season, would have been not only uncongenial, but impossible. It would
only have been a hindrance to him for the time being. It was not his
business to push his works before either conductors or the public, and,
after early successes and failures in this direction, he had almost
entirely given up planning for the future of his compositions, and had
yielded himself wholly to his destiny, which was to create.
In adopting this attitude, there was nothing whatever of outward posing.
He simply did faithfully what he found lying before him to do, and did
not look beyond.
Life at Lichtenthal passed quickly onwards, and the time approached when
Frau Schumann would pay her annual visit to Switzerland. At the close of
one of my lessons she said to me:
'I have been thinking that perhaps you might like to have some lessons
from Herr Brahms whilst I am away. It would be a very great advantage
for you in every way, and he would be able to help you immensely with
your technique. He has made a special study of it, and can do anything
he likes with his fingers on the piano. He does not usually give
lessons, but if you like I will ask him, and I think he would do it as a
favour to me.'
I must here explain that my visit to Germany had been undertaken with
the special object of correcting certain deficiencies in my mechanism
which Frau Schumann had pointed out, she having advised me to study for
a year with this aim particularly in view.
It need hardly be said that I now eagerly accepted her proffered
kindness, and it was decided that she should sound Herr Brahms on the
question of his willingness to give me lessons. If he should show
himself favourable to the project, the arrangement was to be considered
as decided, subject only to the approval of my father, who was on the
point of starting from London to join me at Lichtenthal. The next
morning Frau Schumann informed me that Brahms had consented to the plan,
and a few days later, on my receiving my father's ready assent to my
request, all preliminaries were settled, and it was arranged that I
should have two lessons every week from Brahms.
'You must ask him to play to you,' Frau Schumann said; 'and if he will
do it, it will give you a real opportunity to hear him. And now, now you
will begin to know Brahms.'
BRAHMS AS TEACHER OF THE PIANOFORTE.
Brahms united in himself each and every quality that might be supposed
to exist in an absolutely ideal teacher of the pianoforte, without
having a single modifying drawback. I do not wish to rhapsodize; he
would have been the first to object to this. Such lessons could only
have come from such a man. I have never to this day got over the wonder
of his giving them, or the wonder and the joy of its having fallen to my
lot to receive them.
He was strict and absolute; he was gentle and patient and encouraging;
he was not only clear, he was light itself; he knew exhaustively, and
could teach, and did teach, by the shortest possible methods, every
detail of technical study; he was unwearied in his efforts to make his
pupil grasp the full musical meaning of whatever work might be in hand;
he was even punctual.
I cannot hope in what I may say to convey more than a faint impression
of what his lessons were to me. From the very first hour of coming under
his immediate musical influence I felt that it was a power which would
continue to act upon and develop within me to the end of life. Perhaps,
however, I may succeed in helping lovers of his music to add to their
conception of his character and his gifts, by writing of him as he was
in a capacity in which, so far as I know, he has not hitherto been
described. Such personal details as I may introduce will be given with
the object of illustrating that side of Brahms' character which I once
knew so well; of exhibiting him as the all-capable, single-hearted,
encouraging, inspired and inspiring teacher and friend.
Remembering what Frau Schumann had said of his ability to assist me with
my technique, I told him, before beginning my first lesson, of my
mechanical difficulties, and asked him to help me. He answered, 'Yes,
that must come first,' and, after hearing me play through a study from
Clementi's 'Gradus ad Parnassum,' he immediately set to work to loosen
and equalize my fingers. Beginning that very day, he gradually put me
through an entire course of technical training, showing me how I should
best work, for the attainment of my end, at scales, arpeggii, trills,
double notes, and octaves.
He not only showed me how to practise: he made me, at first, practise to
him during a good part of my lessons, whilst he sat watching my fingers;
telling me what was wrong in my way of moving them, indicating, by a
movement of his own hand, a better position for mine, absorbing himself
entirely, for the time being, in the object of helping me.
He did not believe in the utility for me of the daily practice of the
ordinary five-finger exercises, preferring to form exercises from any
piece or study upon which I might be engaged. He had a great habit of
turning a difficult passage round and making me practise it, not as
written, but with other accents and in various figures, with the result
that when I again tried it as it stood the difficulties had always
considerably diminished, and often entirely disappeared. 'How must I
practise this?' I would ask him, with confidence, which was never
disappointed, that some short-cut would be found for me by which my way
would be effectually smoothed.
His method of loosening the wrist was, I should say, original. I have,
at all events, never seen it or heard of it excepting from him, but it
loosened my wrist in a fortnight, and with comparatively little labour
on my part.
How he laughed one day, when I triumphantly showed him that one of my
knuckles, which were then rather stiff and prominent, had quite gone in,
and said to him: 'You have done that!'
It may seem incredible, but it is none the less true, that after a very
few weeks of work with him the appearance of my hands had completely
changed. My father says, writing to my mother:
'Her hand has an entirely different conformation from what it used
to have; it has lost all its angular appearance, and it really is
the case, as she says, that her knuckles are disappearing. I have
given up all idea of inducing her to go anywhere with me; she will
allow nothing to interfere with her practising. She is enthusiastic
in her admiration of Brahms, and says his patience is wonderful. He
keeps her strictly to finger-work.'
He was never irritable, never indifferent, but always helped,
stimulated, and encouraged. One day, when I lamented to him the
deficiencies of my former mechanical training and my present resultant
finger difficulty, 'It will come all right,' he said; 'it does not come
in a week nor in four weeks.'
Perceiving at once the extraordinary value of my technical studies with
him, I was desirous of not being hampered by feeling obliged, at first,
to get up many pieces to play through. That, he said, was quite right; I
must practise a great deal in little bits for a time. Here is an extract
from one of my letters. I copy it exactly as it stands, without altering
the careless wording of a girl's letter hastily penned for home perusal
in an interval between practice times:
'My lessons with Brahms are too delightful; not only the lessons
themselves, but he makes me feel I must practise all day and all
night. I have begun to eat a great deal for the mere purpose of
being able to practise! He is so patient, and takes such pains, and
I ask all sorts of questions, and the lessons are too delightful. I
can't understand his giving lessons, and yet he is never angry at
any sort of foolishness, only says, "Ah! that is so difficult." As
for an hour's lesson, that is nothing. He systematically arranges
for an hour and a half. I absolutely revel in my lessons. He makes
the saraband sound on the piano just as on a violin. Then he never
expects too much, and does not give much to learn, but is always
satisfied with little if one is really trying.'
He was extremely particular about my fingering, making me rely on all my
fingers as equally as possible. One day whilst watching my hands as I
played him a study from the 'Gradus,' he objected to some of my
fingering, and asked me to change it. I immediately did so, but said,
knowing there was no danger of his being offended by the remark, that I
had used the one marked by Clementi. Brahms, not having had his eyes on
the book at the moment, had not perceived this to be the case. He at
once said I must, of course, not change it, and would not allow me to
adopt his own, as I begged him, saying: 'No, no; he knew.'
I had with me at Lichtenthal my own copies of Bach, which I had brought
from England, but the edition was unfingered, and Brahms desired me to
get copies with Czerny's fingering, and always to use it. The other
indications in the edition I was not to adopt.
A good part of each lesson was generally devoted to Bach, to the
'Well-tempered Clavier,' or the English Suites; and as my mechanism
improved Brahms gradually increased the amount and scope of my work, and
gave more and more time to the spirit of the music I studied. His
phrasing, as he taught it me, was, it need hardly be said, of the
broadest, whilst he was rigorous in exacting attention to the smallest
details. These he sometimes treated as a delicate embroidery that
filled up and decorated the broad outline of the phrase, with the large
sweep of which nothing was ever allowed to interfere. Light and shade,
also, were so managed as to help to bring out its continuity. Be it,
however, most emphatically declared that he never theorized on these
points; he merely tried his utmost to make me understand and play my
pieces as he himself understood and felt them.
He would make me repeat over and over again, ten or twelve times if
necessary, part of a movement of Bach, till he had satisfied himself
that I was beginning to realize his wish for particular effects of tone
or phrasing or feeling. When I could not immediately do what he wanted,
he would merely say, 'But it is so difficult,' or 'It will come,' tell
me to do it again till he found that his effect was on its way into
being, and then leave me to complete it. On the two or three days that
intervened between my lessons, I would, after practising at the
pianoforte, sometimes take my music into the forest to try to think
myself more completely into his mind, and if, when he next came, I had
partially succeeded, he took delight in showing his satisfaction. His
face would light up all over, and he would be unstinting in his praise.
'Very good, quite right; Frau Schumann would be very surprised to hear
you play like that,' or, 'That will make a great effect with Frau
Schumann.'
In spite of his extraordinary conscientiousness about detail, Brahms was
entirely free from pedantry and from the tendency to worry or fidget his
pupil. His great pleasure was to commend, and if I played anything to
him for the first time, in the way he liked, nothing would induce him to
suggest, with one word, any change at all. 'That is quite right; there
is nothing to say about it,' he would say; and though I have felt
disappointed not to get any remark from him, and have entreated him to
make some suggestions, he would remain firm. 'No, it must be like that;
we will go on,' and there was an end of the matter.
One morning my father, coming into the room at the close of my lesson,
asked Brahms: 'Has she been a good girl to-day?' 'Sehr fein,'[1]
answered he, and suddenly turning to me added imperatively: 'Tell your
father that.' I was equal to the occasion, however, and promptly
translated: 'Herr Brahms says he is not very satisfied to-day, papa.' My
father's face fell a little. Brahms looked straight before him,
displeased and impassive. 'I have told him,' said I. 'No, you have not
told him.' 'But you don't know that; you don't understand English.' 'I
understand enough to know that'--stonily. 'Herr Brahms says I have done
pretty well,' I reassured my father; then to Brahms: 'Now I have.' 'Yes,
now,' he admitted, with relenting countenance.
Another day, in the middle of my lesson, the door of my sitting-room
opened, and my landlady begged to speak to me. 'No, Frau Falk,' I said;
'I am engaged and can see no one: you must please go away.' 'One moment,
gnädiges Fräulein,' she said, and persisted, to my displeasure, in
coming in. I then perceived she had with her a pretty little girl of
about five years old, who held some beautiful yellow roses in her hand.
Frau Falk led the child straight up to the piano and made her little
speech. The small maiden was the daughter of the gentleman living in the
neighbouring villa, and, being with her father in his beautiful
rose-garden, had begged him to let her carry some of his roses to the
Fräulein to whose playing they had been listening. The little one,
seeing I was not alone, became suddenly shy as she handed me the lovely
flowers, and, turning away her face, looked downwards with very red
cheeks as she stood quietly at Brahms' knee. But this was not the kind
of interruption to displease him. 'Na,' he said, coaxing her, 'you must
look at the Fräulein, and let her thank you. Look at her; she wants to
thank you.' Between us we reassured the little one, who held up her face
to me to be kissed, and sedately allowed Frau Falk to lead her away.
Soon after beginning my work with Brahms, I asked him at the end of my
lesson if he would play to me, telling him I did so by Frau Schumann's
desire. There was an instant's hesitation; then he sat down to the
piano. Just as he was about to begin, he turned his head round, and said
almost shyly: 'You must learn by the faults also.' That was the
beginning. From that day it became his regular habit to play to me for
about half an hour at the close of the hour's lesson, which he never
shortened. Oftenest he chose Bach for his performance. He would play by
heart one or two of the preludes and fugues from the 'Well-tempered
Clavier,' then take up the music and continue from book as the humour
took him. When he reached the end of a composition, I would say little
or nothing beyond 'Some more,' for fear of stopping him, and he would
turn over the leaves to find another favourite. I do not remember his
ever making a remark to me either between-whiles or after he had
finished playing, beyond, perhaps, telling me to get him another book.
Once, and once only, he resisted. I had made my usual request at the end
of the lesson, when he quaintly and unexpectedly replied: 'Not every
time; it is silly. Frau Schumann would say it is silly to play every
time'. 'It is so disappointing,' I wished to say, but was uncertain of
the right German word. He, as was his wont on similar occasions, made me
show it him in the dictionary. There was some little argument between
us, and he returned to the piano and took his place there. It was of no
use, however. He could not play that day, and almost seemed to take
pleasure in doing as badly as possible. Every time he was conspicuously
faulty he turned round to me with a sardonic smile, as though he would
say: 'There! you have got what you wanted; how do you like it?' 'Very
unkind,' I murmured, and he soon rose. 'I will _not_ play next time,' he
angrily declared as he took leave. 'I will _never_ ask you again,' I
rejoined. A shrug of the shoulders was his only answer, and, with the
usual 'good-day,' he left the room.
After two days came my next lesson. It passed off delightfully, as
usual, and at the close Brahms departed, without a word about his
playing being said on either side; but I was left with a feeling of
something having been very much wanting. In the middle of the following
lesson, giving way to a sudden impulse which I could not have explained,
but which, perhaps, arose from the fear of renewed disappointment, I
abruptly ceased playing in the middle of my piece, saying, 'I cannot
play any more to-day.' Brahms glanced at me with rather an inquiring
expression, and asked, 'Why?' 'I don't know; I cannot,' I replied. There
was an instant of dead silence, during which I did not look round. Then
Brahms spoke. 'I will play to you,' he said quietly, 'in order that you
may have something.' We immediately changed places, and he never refused
me again.
My father, writing to my mother, says:
'Brahms is recognised in Germany as the greatest musician living.
It is said to be most difficult to get him to play; however, after
every lesson he plays piece after piece. He is a delightful man--so
simple, so kind and quiet. He lives in a beautiful situation
amongst the hills, and cares only for seclusion, and time to devote
himself to composition. He was pleased the other day by F.'s asking
him about a passage in Goethe that she could not comprehend, and
went into it in a way which delighted her. With all his genius he
is thoroughly practical. Punctual to a minute in his lessons, and
of extreme delicacy.'
It was my happiness to hear, amongst other things, his readings of many
of the forty-eight preludes and fugues, and his playing of them, and
especially of the preludes, impressed me with such force and vividness
that I can hear it in memory still. His interpretation of Bach was
always unconventional and quite unfettered by traditional theory, and he
certainly did not share the opinion, which has had many distinguished
adherents, that Bach's music should be performed in a simply flowing
style. In the movements of the suites he liked variety of tone and
touch, as well as a certain elasticity of _tempo_. His playing of many
of the preludes and some of the fugues was a revelation of exquisite
poems, and he performed them, not only with graduated shading, but with
marked contrasts of tone effect. Each note of Bach's passages and
figures contributed, in the hands of Brahms, to form melody which was
instinct with feeling of some kind or other. It might be deep pathos, or
light-hearted playfulness and jollity; impulsive energy, or soft and
tender grace; but sentiment (as distinct from sentimentality) was always
there; monotony never. 'Quite tender and quite soft,' was his frequent
admonition to me, whilst in another place he would require the utmost
impetuosity.
He loved Bach's suspensions. 'It is here that it must sound,' he would
say, pointing to the tied note, and insisting, whilst not allowing me to
force the preparation, that the latter should be so struck as to give
the fullest possible effect to the dissonance. 'How am I to make this
sound?' I asked him of a few bars of subject lying for the third,
fourth, and fifth fingers of the left hand, which he wished brought out
clearly, but in a very soft tone. 'You must think particularly of the
fingers with which you play it, and by-and-by it will come out,' he
answered.
The same kind of remarks may be applied to his conception of Mozart. He
taught me that the music of this great master should not be performed
with mere grace and lightness, but that these effects should be
contrasted with the expression of sustained feeling and with the use of
the deep legato touch. Part of one of my lessons was devoted to the
Sonata in F major--
[Music: etc.]
Brahms let me play nearly a page of the first movement without making
any remark. Then he stopped me. 'But you are playing without
expression,' said he, and imitated me, playing the same portion, in the
same style, on the upper part of the piano, touching the keys neatly,
lightly, and unmeaningly. By the time he left off we were both smiling
at the absurd performance.
'Now,' he said, 'with expression,' and he repeated the first few bars of
the subject, giving to each note its place as an essential portion of a
fine melody. We spent a long time over the movement that day, and it was
not until the next lesson, after I had had two, or perhaps three, days
to think myself into his conception, that I was able to play it broadly
enough to satisfy him. At the close of the first of these two Mozart
lessons I said to him: 'All that you have told me to-day is quite new to
me.' 'It is all there,' he replied, pointing to the book.
Brahms, in fact, recognised no such thing as what is sometimes called
'neat playing' of the compositions either of Bach, Scarlatti, or Mozart.
Neatness and equality of finger were imperatively demanded by him, and
in their utmost nicety and perfection, but as a preparation, not as an
end. Varying and sensitive expression was to him as the breath of life,
necessary to the true interpretation of any work of genius, and he did
not hesitate to avail himself of such resources of the modern pianoforte
as he felt helped to impart it; no matter in what particular century his
composer may have lived, or what may have been the peculiar excellencies
and limitations of the instruments of his day.
Whatever the music I might be studying, however, he would never allow
any kind of 'expression made easy.' He particularly disliked chords to
be spread unless marked so by the composer for the sake of a special
effect. 'No arpége,' he used invariably to say if I unconsciously gave
way to the habit, or yielded to the temptation of softening a chord by
its means. He made very much of the well-known effect of two notes
slurred together, whether in a loud or soft tone, and I know from his
insistence to me on this point that the mark has a special significance
in his music.
Aware of his reluctance to perform his compositions, I let some weeks
pass before I asked him to play me something of his own. When I at
length ventured to do so, he objected: 'Not mine; something by another
composer.' But I had resolved to carry my point. 'No, no,' I insisted;
'a composition played by the composer himself is what I wish to hear,'
and my importunity gained the day. He gave me a splendid performance of
a splendid theme with variations, which, as I found out some months
afterwards, was from the now familiar string Sextet in B flat. It was
the first time I had heard anything of Brahms' composition with the
exception of one or two songs, and it raised in me a tumult of delight.
Probably I said to him little beyond thanks, but the power of the music
and the performance must have worked itself in me to some manifest
effect, for on my taking my seat directly after the lesson at the _table
d'hôte_ of the Hôtel Bär, the village inn where my father and I used to
dine, a lady of our acquaintance exclaimed: 'What is the matter with you
to-day that you look so excited?' I remember answering her: 'Brahms has
just played me something quite magnificent--something of his own--and it
keeps going in my head.'
Since then I have heard the movement times innumerable in England and on
the Continent, performed by various combinations of artists, but I never
listen to it without being carried back in thought to the gardener's
house on the slope of the Cäcilienberg where, in my blue-papered,
carpetless little room, Brahms sat at the piano and played it to me. The
scent of flowers was borne in through the open lattice-windows, of which
the green outside sun shutters were closed on one side of the room to
keep out the blazing August sun, and open on another to views of the
beautiful scenery.
The merits of our respective views had been the subject of some friendly
argument soon after my arrival at Lichtenthal. Brahms had declared that
no prospect from any windows in the village could possibly be as fine as
his, whilst I was equally sure that mine must be quite unrivalled. Two
of my windows looked right across the valley of the Oos as far as the
plain of Strassburg, and showed, in fine weather, the distant peaks of
the Vosges glimmering in the sunlight. Two others commanded a prospect
of the pine-covered ranges of Black Forest hills. The first time Brahms
came to my rooms, in order to give me a lesson, the variety and
loveliness of my view drew from him an exclamation of delight. 'But
yours is really grander and sterner, is it not?' I magnanimously asked.
'This is more suitable for a girl,' he prettily replied.
On the next occasion after the day when he had performed his own work, I
reminded Brahms that he had promised he would allow my father, who was
anxious to hear him play to better advantage than from the room
overhead, to share with me this great pleasure some time. 'But he is not
here,' he said, and taking this as a token of assent, I quickly called
my father, who was writing letters above, to come down. When we were all
three seated, I told Brahms I wished to have the piece he had played to
me two or three days before, but he said he would not play anything of
his own--'something else.' 'No,' I said, 'something of yours, and the
same; my father wishes to hear the same.' 'Ah, I forget what it was; I
have composed a great many things. I will play something else.' 'But no,
no, no!' I urged. 'I know what it was. I must have the same. Play the
first two or three chords.' 'Well, then, I think it was this,' said he,
giving way; and he repeated the movement from beginning to end, carrying
us both completely away.
Brahms' playing at this period of his life was, indeed, stimulating to
an extraordinary degree, and so _apart_ as to be quite unforgettable. It
was not the playing of a virtuoso, though he had a large amount of
virtuosity (to put it moderately) at his command. He never aimed at mere
effect, but seemed to plunge into the innermost meaning of whatever
music he happened to be interpreting, exhibiting all its details and
expressing its very depths. Not being in regular practice, he would
sometimes strike wrong notes--and there was already a hardness, arising
from the same cause, in his playing of chords; but he was fully aware of
his failings, and warned me not to imitate them.
He was acutely, though silently, sensitive to the susceptibility or
non-susceptibility of his audience. As I have already mentioned, but few
words passed between him and myself during the momentary intervals
between his playing of one piece and another, but he would now and then
suddenly turn his head round towards where I sat and give me a swift,
searching glance, as though to satisfy himself that I understood and
followed him. Once only he refused to go on. It was soon after his
performance before my father. I had begged for another of his
compositions, and he had begun to play one. I was sitting rather behind
him, listening intently and trying to follow, but I knew I did not
understand. Very soon he turned to give his usual scrutinizing look, and
immediately ceased playing, saying: 'No, really I can't play that.' I
did not attempt to make him think I had entered into the meaning of the
music, but only entreated him to begin it again and give me one more
chance, as it was difficult to follow. Nothing would induce him,
however, to play another note of it, and he went on to something by
another composer, much to my disappointment and mortification.
Brahms disliked to hear anything said which could possibly be
interpreted as depreciation of either of the great masters. Once, when
two or three people were present, a remark was made on the growing
indifference of the younger musicians to Mendelssohn, and particularly
on the neglect with which his once popular 'Songs without Words' had for
some time been treated. 'If it is the case, it is a great pity,'
observed Brahms, 'for they are quite full of beauty.'
He especially loved Schubert, and I have heard him declare that the
longest works of this composer, with all their repetitions, were never
too long for him.
He greatly admired my copy, which was of the original edition and in
good preservation, of Clementi's 'Gradus,' and asked me to lend it him
for a day or two to compare with his own. I did not at that time attach
much value to original editions; and, fancying he merely wished to
prevent me from overworking, against which he often cautioned me, I said
I could not spare it. 'You won't lend it me!' he exclaimed, very much
astonished indeed. I answered that if he did take it away it would make
no difference, as I could practise as well without it. Finding,
however, that he really wished to examine the copy, I said it was too
hot for him to carry so large a book in the middle of the day, and that
I would send it in the evening. 'I am not so weak!' he replied, but
consented to the proposal. He sent it back after a few days, strongly
scented with the odour of his tobacco, which it retained through many a
long year, and which rather enhanced its value to me.
Rather curiously, he liked the scent of eau-de-Cologne. My father
brought me a case from Cöln, and if, on my lesson day, I had an open
bottle near at hand, and offered some to Brahms, he would place his
hands together, palm upwards, for me to pour into, and, dipping his
head, would rub the scent over his forehead, protesting as he did so,
'But it really does not become a man.' Seeing that he liked it, I used
it sometimes to wash the keys of the piano when he was coming, but I do
not think he ever found me out.
He delighted in the music of Strauss' band, which was engaged to play
daily at Baden-Baden through some weeks of the season. It was then
conducted by the great Johann Strauss, Brahms' particular friend, and he
used to walk over every evening to hear it. 'Are you so engrossed?' said
a voice behind me one evening as I was standing in the Lichtenthal
village street with a friend, looking at the performances of a dancing
bear. On turning round I found Brahms, hat in hand, smiling with
amusement at our preoccupation, himself on his way, as usual at that
hour, to listen to the delicious music of the Vienna waltz-king.
Brahms disliked mere compliment, but he had a warm appreciation of the
genuine expression of friendly feeling towards himself, and did not try
to hide the pleasure it gave him. His countenance would change, and he
would answer in a simple, modest way that was almost touching. One day
when I told him how I valued his teaching, and felt it was something for
my whole life, 'You ought to tell Frau Schumann,' replied the composer
of the German Requiem, as though he were asking me to give a good report
of him. On my assuring him that I had already done so by letter, he
added hastily: 'But not too much; never praise too highly; always keep
within bounds.'
Shortly before Frau Schumann's return I said to him that I hoped he
would not lose all interest in my music at the termination of my lessons
with him, and that I should like, if it were possible, to make some
additional arrangement by which it might be maintained. He did not give
me any definite reply at the moment one way or the other, but on my
saying the same thing to him another day he replied: 'It is very nice
and very kind of you, but I don't think it can be done. You must,
however, play to me very often. Everything you learn with Frau Schumann
you must play to me.'
About this time, however, my father, who was about to start on his
homeward journey, persuaded me to go away with him for a week's holiday
before his departure for England, and on my return to Lichtenthal Frau
Schumann arranged that I should continue my studies under Brahms for the
remainder of my stay, saying I had become more his pupil than hers.
There were, indeed, but few more lessons to look forward to. Autumn had
set in, and everyone was thinking of departure. Brahms had to go
sometimes to Carlsruhe, where he was occupied with rehearsals, but he
punctually kept his remaining appointments with me. His concluding
lessons were as magnificent as the earlier ones, and when I went back to
England my ground was clear. I do not mean to assert that my hand was
already completely developed from a pianist's point of view, or my
technique as yet fully in my possession. These things were physically
impossible; but Brahms had shown me the path which led straight to my
goal, and had himself brought me a considerable distance on the way. A
cast of one of my hands taken on my return to England, when compared
with one that had been done shortly before I left, could not have been
recognised as being from the same person.
Those were, indeed, golden days, when Brahms sat by my side and taught
me; memorable to me no less for their revelation of an exquisite nature
than for the musical advantages they brought. I have often been told
that there was another side to his character, and that he could, even at
that time, be bitter and rough and satirical. I dare say he was not
faultless, but I do not think that he can at any period of his life have
been bitter in the sense of being soured. He no doubt had a strong
feeling about the indifference and downright antagonism against which
his works long had to struggle; but if it had ever been a feeling even
of disappointment, I am sure this had mellowed, before I knew him, into
a firm though silent belief in the future of his compositions, and had
only served to intensify, if possible, his determination to put into
them of his very best.
Rough he may have been sometimes, and in later years I had occasional
opportunity of perceiving that he was not always gentle, though he was
never otherwise with me. His roughness was, in certain instances, no
doubt caused by his resolution in protecting his time from
celebrity-hunters, and even from friends. It may have been partly
traceable, also, to the circumstances of his youth, when he must often
have been placed amid surroundings where rough-and-ready frankness of
speech was more cultivated than conventional polish of manner. It is,
however, certain that during the latter part of his life he sometimes
availed himself of the privilege of the _enfant gâté_ to yield to the
caprice of the moment, and that he now and again said things which could
not but wound the feelings of others. This was to be regretted, and it
hardly excused him that his pungent words came from the lips only, and
not from the heart. I am, however, quite certain that many of his
acerbities were assumed to cover his naturally acute sensibility of
temperament, of which he stood a little in dread, and which he liked to
conceal even from himself. He was a firm believer, for himself and for
others, in the salutary process of bracing both mental and physical
energies.
A year or two before Brahms' death I revisited Lichtenthal, staying a
night at the Hôtel Bär, where I used to dine in the old days. I looked
up old acquaintances, and amongst them the former mistress of the dear
old inn, whom I found retired and living in a charming villa close by,
her brother being still the proprietor of the hotel. She, of course, had
known Brahms well, and during the hour or two that I spent with her we
talked chiefly about him. She repeated the verdict given by everyone
really acquainted with him: 'So simple and natural, so kind and
cheerful, able to take pleasure in trifles. He was such a simple-hearted
man.' A tease, certainly, but his teasing was never unkind, never more
than mere raillery. He would often bring a friend to dine at the Bär in
the old days, and she always had the cloth laid for him in a private
room or in the back part of the garden, so that he should not be worried
by the visitors. 'He never minded what he did. He would sometimes drop
in, if he were passing, to say good-morning to us, and if we were very
busy he would make a joke of sitting down and amusing himself by helping
us cut up the vegetables for dinner. Only he could not bear to go into
formal society, or to have to wear his dress-clothes. I have not seen
him now for several years. The last time was in September, 1889, when he
paid a flying visit to the Bär. He was very angry to find that three
pine-trees had been cut down near the house where he used to lodge,
thinking the poetry of the view had been impaired, and he said he would
never stay in the place again. What a warm heart he had! He liked to
know all the country people of the neighbourhood, and took a pride in
feeling that every man, woman, and child whom he met in his early
morning walks interchanged greetings with him. I begged for his
autograph the last time he was here. You will like to see what he
wrote;' and my old friend sent for the album in which the master had
written:
'Johannes Brahms. ('J. B.
eines schönen Tages one fine day
im schönen Baden in beautiful Baden
im lieben Bären.' at the dear Bear.')
BERLIN.
Years were destined to elapse before my next meeting with Brahms. After
my return to England I worked unremittingly on the lines he had
indicated, and found that by the observation and practice of his
principles I was guided straight onwards in the path of progress. His
teaching had been of such a kind that its development did not cease with
the actual lessons. As the weeks and months went by I found myself
growing continually into a clearer perception of the aims and results it
had had in view. It caused me no surprise to find, on becoming
acquainted with his pianoforte compositions, that I must postpone for a
time the delightful task of getting them up. Brahms himself had prepared
me for this. He had always been extremely careful, when selecting music
for me to work at, to choose what would develop my technical power
without straining my hands, and when I had wished to study something of
his had answered that his compositions were unfit for me for the
present, as they required too much physical strength and grasp. He
fancied, indeed, at that time that nearly all of them were beyond a
woman's strength. When I asked why it was that he composed only such
enormously difficult things for the pianoforte, he said they came to him
naturally, and he could not compose otherwise ('Ich kann nicht anders').
In the winter of 1881-82 I found myself in Berlin. It is difficult to
describe the feelings with which I one day read the announcement that
von Bülow, in the course of a _tournée_ with the Meiningen Orchestra, of
which he was conductor, would shortly visit the city to give a three
days' series of concerts in the hall of the Singakademie; that Brahms'
compositions would figure conspicuously in the programmes; that Brahms
himself would be present, and that he would probably take part in one or
more of the performances. The life at Lichtenthal had come to seem to me
a sort of far-away fairy-tale impossible of any sort of renewal, and I
could hardly realize that I should soon see Brahms again. Finding,
however, from subsequent announcements, that the concerts were really to
take place, I lost no time in securing a subscription ticket for the
series.
Feeling sure that every moment of Brahms' short stay in Berlin would be
occupied, I decided that my only chance of getting a word or two with
him would be to gain admission to one of the rehearsals, and to watch
for a favourable moment in which to make myself known to him. As ill
luck would have it, I was claimed on the first day by engagements that
could not be postponed. I was, however, the less inconsolable since
Brahms was to take an active part only in the second and third concerts.
Their respective programmes included a new pianoforte concerto still in
MS. (No. 2 in B flat), to be played by the composer, with von Bülow as
conductor; and the first pianoforte concerto, with Bülow as pianist and
Brahms at the conductor's desk.
Betaking myself to the Singakademie in good time for the rehearsal on
the second morning of the series, I explained, to the friendly custodian
at the entrance-door, my claims to admission. He allowed me to enter the
hall and to take my place amongst the small audience of persons
privileged to attend.
The members of the orchestra were already assembled, and after some
moments of waiting von Bülow came in with several gentlemen. Lusty
applause broke forth from platform and stalls, and a small stir of
greetings took place. But where was Brahms? I could perceive him nowhere
at first, and it was only as the rehearsal proceeded, and he took his
place on the platform, that I felt certain he was really present. I had
prepared myself to find him looking changed and older, but not beyond
recognition. It is, however, no exaggeration to say that as I gazed at
him, knowing him to be Brahms, I was utterly unable to recognise the man
I had known ten years previously. There, indeed, was the great head with
the hair brushed back as of old, though less tidily than in former days;
but his figure had become much heavier, and both mouth and chin were
hidden by a thick moustache and shaggy, grizzled beard that had
completely transformed his appearance. When I first knew him at the time
of his early middle age, one might fancy that his countenance and
expression had retained more than a trace of his youthful period of
_Sturm und Drang_, but this had now quite vanished. I felt, with a
shock, that my foreboding that I should never see my old friend again
had been realized, though in a way different from that anticipated by
me.
Brahms received an ovation when he had finished his performance of the
new concerto, and as he was retiring from the platform Bülow, unable to
restrain his excitement, darted forward and gave him a kiss. It seemed
to take him rather aback, but he submitted passively.
At length the rehearsal came to an end, and Brahms was immediately
surrounded by friends eager to offer their congratulations and to
receive a word of greeting from him. 'Now or never,' I thought, and,
taking my courage in my hand, I managed to get near, though a little
behind him. 'I, also, should like to say a word of thanks to you, Herr
Brahms,' I said. Brahms turned his head. 'Are you here in Berlin, then?'
he rejoined instantly, answering as he might have done if we had met the
previous week. Someone else pressed forward to claim his attention as I
was replying, and I fell behind again. I did not like to wait for a
second opportunity, feeling there was no chance of his being free, so I
straightway departed and went back to my lodgings.
Thinking things over on my road, I came to the conclusion that Brahms
had not recognised me, but that when my words caught his ear he had
uttered the first casual reply that rose to his lips, and which might be
appropriate to any acquaintance whom he did not at the moment remember.
However exceptional his memory for faces might be, it appeared to me
incredible that, after the lapse of so many years, he should have known
me without the hesitation of a second at a moment when his attention
was preoccupied by the concert business of the day and by the claims of
his Berlin friends.
It was in this frame of mind that I took my seat in the evening to hear
the concert. Having got over the first excitement of seeing Brahms
again, and knowing what I had to expect in regard to his personal
appearance, I was able to listen to the music in a more composed mood
than had been possible to me in the morning. My pleasure in the
performance of the concerto was, of course, in some measure impaired by
the circumstance that the long, intricate work was quite new. I think,
however, that I should have enjoyed it more if Brahms had conducted and
Bülow performed the solo. I did not think Brahms' playing what it had
been. His touch in forte passages had become hard, and though he might,
perhaps, be said to have mastered the difficulties of his part, he had
not sufficiently surmounted them to execute them with ease. It could
not, in fact, have been otherwise. No composer having attained to the
height of Brahms' greatness could have kept his technical command of the
pianoforte unimpaired; life is too short for this. I knew, however, that
I had listened to a magnificent work of immense proportions, and longed
for opportunity to hear it again that I might assimilate it.
There was a scene of tumultuous enthusiasm at the close of the work. The
public applauded wildly, and shouted itself hoarse; the band joined in
with its fanfare of trumpet and drum; Brahms and von Bülow were recalled
again and again, separately and together; and in the moment of the great
composer's triumph I saw the earlier Brahms once more standing before
me, for, whilst his eyes shone and his face beamed with pleasure, I
recognised in his bearing and expression the old familiar look of almost
diffident, shy modesty which had been one of his characteristics in
former days.
I did not, of course, seek for a further opportunity of speaking to
Brahms on the evening of which I am writing, but I laid my plans for the
next morning, and at the proper hour again made my way to the
Singakademie and successfully begged for admission to the rehearsal.
During the first part Brahms sat as one of the audience in the front row
of stalls, and in a convenient break between the pieces I sent my
English visiting-card to him, having written on it a few lines recalling
myself to his remembrance. He read it and looked round. 'I know that
already,' he said coldly, but rising and coming towards me. 'I saw you
yesterday.' 'But you did not know who I was?' I returned, still
sceptical. 'Yes, I knew.' 'It seemed to me quite impossible you could
have recognised me!' I ejaculated. 'Oh yes, yes--_oh_ yes!' said Brahms
in quite a different tone, and for a couple of seconds I forgot to look
up or say anything.
'Are you taking notes?' he asked by way of recalling me to myself,
touching my pencil. But the rehearsal had to proceed, and Brahms
presently took his place on the platform with Bülow for the performance
of the Concerto in D minor. When the rehearsal was over, I did not leave
the hall so quickly as on the previous day, but waited in the hope of
getting another word with Brahms, and was rewarded by having a good
many.
In the evening, as he faced the audience before the commencement of the
concerto, catching sight of me in the third row of stalls, he was at the
pains to bestow upon me a kind bow and smile of recognition. He glanced
slightly at me again once or twice during the evening, and I knew,
though his appearance still seemed a little strange to me, that Brahms
was in the world after all.
The execution of the D minor Concerto was one of those rare performances
that remain in the memory as unforgettable events. Brahms, when
conducting, indulged in no antics, and was sparing of his gestures,
often keeping his left hand in his pocket, or letting it hang quietly at
his side; but he cast the spell of his genius over orchestra and pianist
alike. The performance was remarkable for its power and grandeur, but
not chiefly so, for these qualities were to be expected. It was made
supremely memorable by the subtle imagination that touched and modified
even the rather hard intellectuality of von Bülow's usual style. Good
performances of Brahms' orchestral works may not seldom be heard, and
great ones occasionally; but the particular quality of his poetic fancy,
by which, when conducting an orchestra, he made the music sound from
time to time as though it were floating in some rarefied atmosphere,
vibrating now with fairy-like beauty and grace, now with ethereal
mystery, was, I should say, peculiar to himself, and is hardly to be
reproduced or imitated.
As soon as Brahms had finished his share in the evening's programme I
quitted the hall, for I was thoroughly exhausted by the excitement of
the past two days, and felt I could bear nothing more. Early the next
morning he left Berlin to fulfil engagements in another town.
VIENNA.
During the next four years much of my time was passed in Berlin. I
delighted in the concerts and general musical atmosphere of the German
capital, and did not allow my plans to be disturbed by a vague
invitation to visit Vienna which Brahms had given me in the course of
our short interview in the hall of the Singakademie. I felt that however
kind and friendly his recollection of me might have remained, yet I
could not hope to derive direct musical benefit from one absorbed in the
intense thought and brooding to which the life of a really great
composer must be largely devoted.
It was not until December, 1888, that I paid my first visit to Vienna. I
arrived there towards the end of the month, armed with letters of
introduction which met with a kind response and obtained for me
immediate admission into those English and Austrian circles to members
of which they were addressed. I waited for a week before letting Brahms
know of my arrival, as I wished not only to be settled before calling on
him, but also to be in such a position in regard to my acquaintance as
would make it impossible for him to suspect that I could want anything
whatever of him beyond the delight and honour of seeing him again, and
of recalling myself to his remembrance.
Meanwhile I gathered, from all I heard, that his dislike of anything
approaching to general society had steadily grown upon him. Some, even,
of his old friends spoke of the increasing rarity of his visits. A lady
at whose house he had been intimate for many years told me it had once
been his custom to announce himself for the evening from time to time at
a few hours' notice, with the proviso that he should find her and her
husband alone in their family circle, or at most with one or two chosen
friends. On these occasions he had been used to play to them one after
another of his newest compositions. This habit, however, he had almost
entirely given up.
I heard but one opinion, both from friends and outsiders, as to his
essentially high character and sterling qualities of nature; but his
manners were described with unanimity, by those not within his immediate
circle, as difficult, sarcastic, and arrogant. I was, indeed, so
repeatedly assured that I should do no good by trying to see him that I
almost began to fear I should find he had become rude and impossible, if
not hopelessly inaccessible. To all that was said to me on the subject I
answered merely that I had once known him well, and had never found him
otherwise than kind and simple, but that I had prepared myself to find
him changed and rough in his behaviour to me.
At length, on a dark afternoon of one of the closing days of the year, I
made my way to the Wieden, the quarter of Vienna inhabited by Brahms,
and, turning in at the doorway of No. 4, Carlsgasse, I ascended the worn
stone staircase as far as the third _étage_. Here I pulled the shining
brass handle of the old-fashioned door-bell, and the feeling of doubt
which had possessed me changed to one of positive alarm as I listened to
the prolonged peal I had awakened. I thought it must sound to Brahms
like the announcement of a most daring and determined intruder, and that
it would inevitably prove the death-knell of any chance of my
admission.
The door was soon opened by a friendly maid-servant, who told me,
indeed, that the Herr Doctor was not at home, but satisfied me that I
was not being put off with a mere phrase by adding that she thought he
would probably be back by six o'clock, and that she advised me to return
about that hour if I particularly wished to see him, as he was to start
on a journey early the next morning. I thanked the girl, said I would
follow her suggestion, and, without leaving my name, returned to my
rooms to wait for the evening.
The second visit was again unsuccessful, but on trying a third time, at
seven o'clock, I found that Brahms had returned. 'Please to walk in,'
said the landlady, who this time opened the door. But this unexpected
facility of access to the master was even more embarrassing than would
have been the conflict of argument I had anticipated. 'Please take my
card,' said I, 'to the Herr Doctor, and ask if he will see me.' 'Oh, it
is not necessary,' she said; but took it in, returning immediately and
asking me to enter. As I advanced, the formidable and overbearing Brahms
hastened to meet me. 'Why did you not leave your address? I should have
come to find you out,' he said, giving me his hand. And returning with
me to the sitting-room, he bade me take a seat on the sofa, whilst he
placed himself on a chair opposite.
He did not try to hide that he was pleased to see his old pupil. He
evidently wished me to understand that our acquaintanceship was to be
taken up from the exact point at which it had been last left, and
reminded me, when I alluded to his lessons at Baden-Baden, that he had
seen me since those early days. 'Oh, for a moment at the rehearsals at
Berlin,' I answered. 'But since then,' he insisted. 'Only at the
concert,' said I, rather surprised. 'Yes, at the concert,' he agreed,
'and you sat downstairs, I remember.'
I told him I had lately been getting up the same B flat Concerto which
he had played at the time, and had performed it in London before a
private audience. He was interested in hearing the particulars of the
occasion, and when I said, laughingly, that the fatigue entailed by the
practice of its enormous difficulties had given me all sorts of aches
and pains, and made it necessary for me to go into the country for
change of air after the performance was over, he replied in the same
vein: 'But that is very dangerous; one must not compose such things. It
is too dangerous!'
He informed me rather slyly, 'I am the most unamiable of all the
musicians here,' as though he would like to know if I had heard of his
reputation for cross-grained perversity, and was frankly gratified when
I answered: 'That I will never believe, Herr Brahms--never!' He was to
be absent at the longest for ten days only, and when I took leave of him
it was with the pleasant consciousness that he would be glad to find me
still in Vienna on his return.
In appearance, Brahms had again greatly altered since our meeting in
Berlin. Though not fifty-six, he looked an old man. His hair was nearly
white, and he had grown very stout. I had a good opportunity of
observing him, myself unnoticed, soon after his return from his journey.
The first public performance in Vienna was given of his newly-published
Gipsy Songs, at the concert of a resident singer, one of his friends.
Brahms had not been announced to take part in the performance, but when
the evening came, he walked quietly on to the platform as the singers
were arranging themselves in their places and took his seat at the
pianoforte as accompanist. Of course his appearance was the signal for
an outburst of enthusiastic welcome from the crowded audience, some
hopes, but no certainty, having been entertained that he would show
himself.
As I sat in my corner and watched, I was aware that not only his general
aspect, but his expression also, had undergone another and a curious
change during the last years. He now wore the happy, sunshiny look of
one who had realized his purpose, and was content with his share in
life; of one to whom the complete measure of success had come, and not
too late to be valued. If in Baden-Baden he had made upon me the
impression of a man awaiting full recognition, who had already waited
long for it; if in Berlin, the impression of one who, having attained a
glorious pinnacle of fame whilst still in the plenitude of his powers,
was untiringly pressing onward towards higher summits of fulfilment--I
had the feeling, when I looked at him in Vienna, that the second phase,
too, was more or less belonging to the past, and that he had entered
upon a period of reward, and perhaps of less strenuous exertion.
One of the very few opportunities I ever had of seeing Brahms avail
himself of a great man's license to follow his whims regardless of
convention, and, perhaps, of due respect to others, was afforded me at a
meeting of the Vienna Tonkünstlerverein, the musicians' club, of which
he was honorary president. It was one of the special social evenings of
the society, when the members supped together. Brahms was late in
coming, and when he arrived supper was proceeding. He allowed himself to
be conducted to the place, at the top of a long table, which had been
reserved for him as president, but did not sit down. Leisurely scanning
the assembled company, he picked out the position he preferred, which
happened to be at the side near the bottom. A slight space was certainly
there, but not enough for a seat. 'There,' he said, pointing to it, and
he sauntered down the room, apparently quite unconcerned at the
disturbance and inconvenience which he caused, a bench having to be
moved and several people being obliged to shift their places to make
room for him. When once in occupation of the seat he fancied, he
contributed his share to the cordiality of the evening, and was in no
hurry to leave.
Another occasion was very similar. He was again dissatisfied with a
place that had been assigned him at a supper-party. This time it was at
a private house, and, as he could not have declined the seat without
making himself unbearably rude, he submitted, with a kind of
half-protest, to occupy it. During the greater part of the
entertainment, however, he was not only in a wayward mood, but in a
thoroughly bad temper, which he could not control. There was, when all
is said, certainly no ill-natured intention in what he did on either
occasion, but at the worst a mere childish petulance and
over-excitability under slight disappointment.
I discovered, though Brahms had no fixed hour, that the right time to
call upon him was about eleven o'clock. Always an early riser, he had
then completed his morning's work, and if at home, as was generally the
case, was ready to receive a visitor. He was sometimes to be found
seated at the piano with an open volume (often Bach) on the music-stand,
which was placed on the closed top lid of the instrument, playing
softly, or silently studying the work in front of him. I have never felt
that I was disturbing him when I called. It is true that I only went
occasionally, and when provided with a legitimate excuse. Still, I do
not altogether understand how he acquired such a reputation for
incivility. He was, in his own way, of a sociable disposition.
One day when I was with him, some terrible pianoforte strumming was
going on in the flat above him. I commented on the strange constitution
of people who could deliberately plant themselves in his immediate
neighbourhood--for he had occupied the same rooms for years--and then
worry him with such noise. He said there was sometimes bad singing and
violin-playing, both of which he found even harder to bear than the
piano, but added: 'They have their rights, and I know how to help
myself;' and he held out his hands in keyboard position, to indicate
that when too much disturbed to do anything else, he shut out the sounds
and employed his time by playing.
Brahms generally went out at about a quarter to twelve at latest, and
would arrive before one o'clock at his favourite restaurant, Zum Rothen
Igel. After his early dinner he walked, finding his way to a café in
another part of the town, where he would read the papers over a cup of
black coffee. After this was his best time for paying visits, and about
six o'clock he often returned to his rooms to write letters or do other
work. Later on he would go out again to fulfil his evening engagements.
Sometimes it happened that he did not go home, after leaving in the
morning, until after supper. These details I learnt incidentally in the
course of my stay in Vienna.
Brahms made a great point of being polite to ladies on the question of
smoking, and was very particular in asking permission before lighting
his cigar. Of course, if I found him alone, he never smoked. One day,
however, when I had been with him only a very few minutes, the door-bell
rang, and two gentlemen appeared, one a friend of Brahms', the other a
youth whom he had brought to introduce to the master. Brahms wished me
to remain, and I therefore kept my seat. Very soon he produced his box
of cigars, according to Continental custom, and handed it to his
visitors, saying, however: 'But I do it unwillingly, as a lady is
present.' The elder of the two gentlemen put his cigar into his
breast-pocket, the younger lighted his and vigorously puffed away alone,
from sheer confusion, I think, at finding himself in the presence of the
master. Brahms returned to his seat without taking one. 'But won't you
smoke, Herr Brahms?' I said, after a few seconds. 'If you allow it,' he
answered, making as much as possible of the few words, and taking a
cigar.
Though Brahms was not, during the latter part of his life, a frequenter
of concert-rooms, he nearly always attended the concerts of the
Philharmonic Society and of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna,
sitting, usually, in the 'artists' box' in the gallery. In the intervals
between the pieces he would lean forward, both arms on the front, with
his opera-glasses to his eyes, spying out his acquaintances in different
parts of the hall.
When I called to say good-bye to him at the close of my first visit to
Vienna, I happened to mention that I had made a small collection of
works written for the keyed instruments of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, and had picked up one or two rather valuable first
editions. He was greatly interested, and saying, 'We have done the same
thing,' took down from the bookcase one or two of his own old
music-books to show me. I especially remember an original edition of
Scarlatti's Sonatas, in first-rate preservation, but without the
title-page, of which he was particularly fond and proud. He asked if I
would bring one or two of mine to show him on my next visit, and I told
him that I happened to have one with me--an original Rameau--and that if
he had not got a copy I would send it him at once.
'No,' he answered; 'it is too late now--you are going away
to-morrow--but next year when you come again.' 'But I mean,' I rejoined,
'that I will give it you.' Brahms did not immediately answer, and I
added: 'Would you rather not? If so, I will not do it.' 'No, I would
_not_ "rather not," but you must not immediately give your things away,'
he replied. 'Then I will do it,' I declared, delighted that I possessed
something he would like to have, and to accept from me. Later in the day
I sent him the book, with a few lines telling him how much pleasure it
would give me if I might leave it with him as a remembrance. Early the
next morning I left Vienna. I was not to arrive in London for another
week, having engagements _en route_, and this Brahms knew. On the
evening of my return home, as soon as my mother's first greetings were
over, she said: 'There is a letter for you from Brahms; it arrived this
morning.' 'From Brahms! How do you know?' I answered. 'From his having
written his name on the outside,' she returned, handing me the precious
missive.
On the outside of the envelope, above the adhesive, he had written 'J.
Brahms, Vienna, Austria,' and, opening the envelope, I read as follows:
'VERY ESTEEMED AND DEAR FRÄULEIN,
'It was too late the other evening for me to be able to do as I
wished, and come and express my thanks to you in person.
'Let me, therefore, send them very heartily after you, for your so
kind and valuable gift.
'It was indeed much too kind of you to part with the pretty
treasure in order to give me pleasure, and it shall still be at
your disposal next year!
'In the hope of seeing you here again next year, and of being able
to repeat my hearty thanks,
'Yours very sincerely,
'J. BRAHMS.'[2]
On my first visit to Brahms in the following winter, he led the way to
his bookcase and showed me the Rameau, saying: 'I shall die in ten
years, and you will get it back again.' I told him that should I outlive
him I should prefer not to have it back, but to let it go with his
collection, and thus the matter remained.
The success of my first visit to Vienna induced me to pay several
subsequent ones, the last of which took place rather more than a year
before Brahms' death. A minute account of each would be wearisome, and I
will only allude, therefore, to the opportunity that I had, in the
course of two separate winters, of hearing the concerts of the Joachim
Quartet in Vienna, and of seeing Brahms as one of the audience. On one
of these enchanting evenings the Clarinet Quintet was given, with
Mühlfeld as clarinettist. Brahms had his seat downstairs, at the end of
the room reserved for resident and other musicians, and separated from
the general audience by the performers' platform. My place was only two
or three away from his, and so situated that I could see him all the
time the work was being played. His face wore an unconscious smile, and
his expression was one of absorbed felicity from beginning to end of the
performance. When the last movement was finished, he was not to be
persuaded to come forward and take his part in acknowledging the
deafening clamour of applause, but, as it were, disclaimed all right in
it himself by vigorously applauding the executants. At the last moment,
however, as the noise was beginning to subside, up he got, and stepping
on to the platform, in his loose, short, shabby morning-coat, made his
bow to the audience. Another item in the programme was the Clarinet
Trio, played by himself, Mühlfeld, and Hausmann. Joachim, sitting on the
right-hand side of the piano, turned over for him. I changed my seat
during the performance of this work, taking the place that Brahms had
vacated, which was close to the piano and gave me a full view of the
keyboard. In spite of my several experiences of the master's tenacious
memory for small things, I confess that I felt a thrill of surprise at
the end of the first movement, and again at the end of the second, when
he turned his head suddenly round and glanced straight at me in the very
same quick, searching way to which I had been accustomed in the old
Lichtenthal days, as though to satisfy himself as to whether or not I
had understood.
ISCHL.
I spent several weeks at Ischl during the summers of 1894 and 1895, and
was much interested in observing the life of my old friend in
surroundings that were new to me. His habits, during these closing years
of his life, were in all essential respects the same as when I had first
known him in Baden-Baden. Rising soon after four o'clock, his days were
passed in the same simple, natural routine of walking, studying, and
composing, in the enjoyment of the society of his friends and of the
cordial relations which he maintained with the people of the country,
between whom and himself a perfect understanding existed.
His love of children has often been recorded. I have seen him sitting
reading on the bench of the little garden of his lodgings, apparently
quite undisturbed by his landlady's boys, who romped round and about
him, jumping on and off the bench, playing hide-and-seek behind his
back, and the like. Now and then he would interrupt his studies to
caress a couple of kittens that were taking part in the frolics.
'I know this man,' said a droll, tiny boy of about five or six, in a
funny red suit, who, taking a stroll along the promenade one afternoon
with some companions, came upon Brahms sitting under the trees before
Walter's coffee-house, the centre of a large group of musicians and
friends. The great composer was quite ready to acknowledge the
acquaintanceship, and called his small friend to his table to receive a
spoonful of half-melted sugar from his coffee-cup.
'My Katie knows Brahms,' said a village dressmaker to me, alluding to
her pretty little fair-haired daughter of eight. 'We have met him out
walking very early in the morning, but Katie was frightened the other
day and cried because he ran round her and pretended he wanted her piece
of bread.'
'The Herr Doctor has already seen him,' a young peasant mother observed
to me as she showed me her three-months-old son, 'and says he is a
strapping boy.'
One morning when I called on Brahms to say good-bye, I found him in the
midst of preparations for his own departure. An open portmanteau, in
process of being packed, was in the sitting-room, and there was a litter
of small things about. Brahms invited me to take a seat on the sofa. A
book which he had been reading lay open, face downwards. I ventured,
with an apologetic glance at him, to take it up and look at it. This he
did not at all mind. He had been amusing himself with an essay on
Bismarck. After we had chatted a little while, as I rose to say
farewell, my eye was caught by a table on which were a number of cheap
German playthings--small boxes of puzzles, toy knives and forks, etc.,
evidently destined for parting or returning gifts to quite poor
children.
'What is this?' I involuntarily exclaimed, taking up, before I knew
what I was doing, a toy fork of most ungainly make, broad, squat, and
almost without handle. An inquisitiveness, however, which seemed to hint
at the soft side of Brahms' nature could not be allowed. 'What does that
matter to you?' he cried. Then, instantly, as though afraid he had been
rough, he added: 'It is for small things--fruit, fish, or the like.'
Only I, having seen the clumsy toy, can quite appreciate the comicality
of the answer, which of course simply meant: 'No allusion, if you
please.' Brahms, however, had saved appearances, and without being hard
on me, had drawn a thin veil over his kind intentions to his little
friends. I held the fork another instant, and then replaced it on the
table, saying with gravity: 'I thought it was a plaything, Herr Brahms.'
A young lady, an inhabitant of Ischl, who taught singing, and gave an
annual concert there, and who, during the season, presided over a
milliner's business on the Promenade, was a great ally of Brahms', and
never omitted to stand outside the door of her atelier as the hour
approached for him to pass to his café, in order to get a greeting from
him. The little ceremony was duly honoured by the great composer, who
was always ready with, at the least, his genial 'Good-day.'
Fräulein L. talked of him to me in just the same way as all others did
who were content to be natural and unostentatious in their manner
towards him. He was so good-natured and bright, she remarked, and though
he loved to tease, his teasing was so kindly. He made a point of calling
on her formally once every season. Taking advantage of this ceremony,
she one day placed before him a cabinet photograph of himself, and asked
if he could do her the honour of writing his name underneath.
'Yes, I can do that,' he answered in his cheerful tone, 'I learned that
at school. But why do you keep this ugly old face? Why not have a
handsome, curly-haired one? Ah, what have we here?'--catching sight of a
little saucer containing cigar-ash. '_You smoke!_'
Fräulein L. laughingly assured him that neither she nor her assistant
had been guilty of the cigar. 'So much the worse!' he retorted. 'Who was
it? Is he dark or fair?'
By such genial intercourse and harmless banter, Brahms endeared himself
to all the towns-people with whom he came in contact, and his preference
for Ischl was a source of pride and gratification to them. His
sociability had in it no suggestion of patronage; it was that of a
friend with friends, and was valued accordingly.
A few words spoken to me by his landlady at Ischl are not without their
value, coming, as they do, from one who had the opportunity of knowing
him in small things. The occasion was as follows. My lodging was
opposite to Brahms' on the other side of the valley, but on a much
higher mountain slope. I could see his house from my balcony and
windows, but was too far away to have the least apprehension that he
could be disturbed by hearing anything of my piano. Someone suggesting
to me, however, that, with the wind in a certain direction, the sound
might possibly reach his windows, I went across one afternoon, when I
knew he would be out, to interview his landlady on the subject. She
assured me nothing had ever been heard, and added: 'You can play quite
without fear, gnädiges Fräulein; nothing is heard here--the water makes
too much noise. And even if a tone were to be heard now and then--it
could not be more--the master is not so particular: it would not disturb
him. He is not capricious: no one can say that of him.'
That Brahms had his little prejudices and limitations, however, cannot
be denied, and these grew more pronounced as he advanced in years and
became less pliable. The mere circumstance of his having inflexibly
adhered to the particular method of life adopted by him as a young man,
by which he shut himself away as much as possible from whatever was at
all distasteful to him in ordinary social intercourse, contributed, as
time went on, to increase his sensitiveness and make him impatient of
contradiction. He became rather too prone to suspect people to whom he
did not take a fancy, of conceit and affectation; and, without knowing
it, he acquired a habit, which sometimes made conversation with him
difficult, of dissenting forcibly from trifling remarks made more with
the object of saying something than for the sake of asserting a
principle. He had his own particular code of polite manners, and was
rigorous in expecting others to adhere to it, yet he was apt, in his
latter years, to be intolerant of those whose ideas of what was due to
the amenities of life were more extended than his own, or somewhat
differed from them.
What, however, were his prepossessions, his little sarcasms, and
occasional roughnesses, but as the tiniest flecks on the sun? We may
well be thankful, we musicians and music-lovers of this generation, to
have passed some part of our lives with Brahms in our midst--Brahms the
composer and Brahms the man. As his music may be searched through and
through in vain for a single bar that is not noble and pure, so also in
his mind dwelt no thought which was otherwise than good and true. We may
even be glad that he was not perfect, but human, the dear, great,
tenderhearted master, whose lofty message, vibrating with the pulsations
of the nature he so loved, was of such rare beauty and consolation.
The few lines with which I conclude these slight personal reminiscences
were the last I ever received from Brahms. They were written on his card
and sent, enclosed in an envelope, when I was at Ischl. I had been
expecting him to come to see me, and he had not appeared.
'ESTEEMED FRÄULEIN,
'Prevented by many things, I venture to ask if it is not possible
for you to call on
'Your most sincerely
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.'[3]
[1] An expression of commendation peculiarly German.
[2] 'SEHR GEEHRTES UND LIEBES FRÄULEIN,
'Es war neulich zu spät am Abend geworden als dass ich, wie
ich wünschte, Sie selbst noch hätte aufsuchen u. Ihnen meinen Dank
aussprechen können.
'So lassen Sie mich denn nachträglich diesen sehr herzlichen sagen
für Ihr so freundliches u. werthvolles Geschenk.
'Es war in der That gar zu liebenswürdig von Ihnen sich mir zu
gefallen von dem hübschen Schatze zu trennen u. es soll Ihnen
im nächsten Jahre auch noch zur Verfügung stehen!
'In der Hoffnung Sie aber im nächsten Jahre wieder hier zu sehen u.
Ihnen meinen herzlichen Dank wiederholen zu können,
'Ihr sehr ergebener,
'J. BRAHMS.'
[3] 'GEEHRTES FRÄULEIN,
'Mannichfach abgehalten, erlaube ich mir die Anfrage ob es
Ihnen nicht möglich ist vorzusprechen bei
'Ihrem ergebensten
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.'
CHAPTER I
1760-1845
The Brahms family--Johann Jakob Brahms: his youth and
marriage--Birth and childhood of Johannes--The Alster
Pavilion--Otto F. W. Cossel--Johannes' private subscription
concert.
Johannes Brahms came of a race belonging to Lower Saxony. This is
sufficiently indicated by the family name, which appears in extant
church records variously as Brahms, Brams, and Brahmst. The word Bram
belongs to the old Platt-Deutsch, the near kin to the Anglo-Saxon and
English languages. It is still the common name in the Baltic districts
of Germany, the Hanoverian provinces, and, with a modified vowel, in
England, for the straight-growing _Planta genista_, the yellow-flowering
broom, and is preserved in its original form in the English word
'bramble.'
The letter _s_ at the end of a name has the same meaning in German as in
English, and just as 'Brooks' is a contraction of the words 'son of
Brook,' so 'Brahms' signifies, literally, 'son of Bram,' or 'Broom.'
Peter Brahms, the great-grandfather of the composer, and the first of
his family of whom there is authentic record, was a child of the people.
He trekked across the mouth of the Elbe from Hanover into Holstein, and
settled down to ply his trade of joiner at Brunsbüttel, a hamlet or
small township situated in the fertile fen-country which lies along the
shore of the Baltic between the mouths of the Elbe and the Eider. This
district is remembered as the land of the Ditmarsh Peasants, who were
distinguished, some centuries ago, by their fierce and obstinate
struggles for the maintenance of their independence, but who finally
settled down about the year 1560 under the dominion of the Princes of
Holstein. They are said to have been pre-eminent amongst neighbouring
peoples, not only in courage, but in a simple untaught genius for the
arts of poetry and music. They loved to turn their various adventures
into verse, which they afterwards sang to the most expressive and
appropriate melodies of their own invention, and their war-songs and
ballads, though now forgotten, were long a cherished possession of their
children's children. The little country has in recent times proved not
unworthy of its former reputation. Niebuhr the traveller, and his son,
the celebrated historian, both belonged to Meldorf. Claus Groth, the
Low-German poet, was a native of Heide, where his grandfather and father
were millers living on their own land in patriarchal fashion. Groth has
drawn, notably in his volume 'Quickborn,' pathetically naïve pictures of
his beloved Ditmarsh; of its homely scenery, its changing cloud-effects,
its sudden bursts of storm, its simple, hard-working, honourable peasant
life; and it is a striking circumstance that he should have been in a
position to describe, as old family friends and neighbours, living
amongst the memories of his childhood, the great-grandfather,
grandfather, father, and uncle of Johannes Brahms.[4]
Old Peter the trekker was respected as a thoroughly well-mannered,
orderly citizen. He was short and robust, and lived to a ripe old age.
He passed the closing years of his life at Heide, where he spent most of
his time sitting on a bench in front of his house, smoking a long pipe,
and was wont to startle the dreamy Claus Groth, as he passed by every
morning on his way to school, with a loud, jocular greeting.
Johann his son, who was tall and handsome, with straight, yellow hair
and fair complexion, combined the callings of innkeeper and retail
dealer first at Wöhrden and afterwards at Heide. He married Christiana
Asmus, a daughter of the country, and who knows what strain of latent
poetic instinct, inherited from some old minstrel and patriot ancestor,
may have been transmitted, through her veins, into the sturdy Brahms
family? There is some presumption in favour of such a conjecture.
Two sons were born of her marriage with Johann, each of whom had a
marked individuality. Peter Hinrich, the eldest, married at the age of
twenty, and settled down as his father's assistant and future successor.
Groth has described his adventure in the fields one memorable Sunday
afternoon. Accompanied by his little son, he carried a huge kite, taller
than himself, with a correspondingly long, thick string, which he
successfully started. A strong north-west wind carried it along, and, to
the delight of a crowd of small spectators, he tied to it a little cart
of his own manufacture, in which he placed his boy. The cart began to
move, drawn by the kite, slowly at first, then more quickly. Faster and
higher flew the monster, quicker and quicker rolled the wheels, the
child in the carriage, the father by its side. Then a scream, a crash!
The terrified Claus knew no more till next day, when he heard that the
little carriage had been dragged over a wall and upset, that the child
had fallen out unhurt, and the kite been found on a high post a mile or
two distant.
This Peter Hinrich added to the vocations of his father that of
pawnbroker, and gradually acquired a large business as a dealer in
antiquities. In the end, however, his delight in his possessions gained
decided predominance over his business instincts. Becoming partially
crippled in old age, he would sit in a large arm-chair for which there
was barely space, surrounded by his beloved pots and pitchers, weapons
and armour, and point out desired objects to would-be purchasers with a
long stick. Often, however, he could not persuade himself to part with
his curiosities, and would send his customers away empty-handed,
satisfied with the mere pleasure of showing the treasures with which he
packed his house quite full. His children and grandchildren remained and
spread in the Ditmarsh, where some of them prosper to this day.
Johann Jakob, the second son of Johann and Christiana, destined to
become the father of our composer, was his brother's junior by fourteen
years, and was born on June 1, 1806. From his early boyhood he seems to
have had no doubt as to his choice of a vocation. He could by no means
be persuaded to settle down to the routine of school-work, to be
followed in due course by the humdrum existence of a small country
innkeeper or tradesman, such as had sufficed for his father and
grandfather, and was contentedly accepted by his elder brother. He was
upright, good-natured, and possessed of a certain vein of drollery,
which made him throughout life a favourite with his associates; he was
born, also, with a quietly stubborn will. He had an overmastering love
of music--music of the kind he was accustomed to hear at neighbours'
weddings, at harvest merry-makings, in the dancing-rooms of village
inns. A musician he was resolved to be, and a musician, in spite of the
determined opposition of parents and family, he became.
There existed, not far from his home, a representative of the old 'Stadt
Pfeifereien,' establishments descended directly from the musicians'
guilds of the Middle Ages, whose traditions lingered on in the rural
districts of Germany for some time after the original institutions had
become extinct. The 'Stadt Pfeiferei' was recognised as the official
musical establishment of its neighbourhood, and was presided over by the
town-musician, who retained certain ancient privileges. He held a
monopoly for providing the music for all open-air festivities in the
villages, hamlets, and small townships within his district, and formed
his band or bands from apprenticed pupils, who paid a trifling sum of
money, often helped with their manual labour in the work of his house
and the cultivation of his garden or farm, and, in return, lived with
him as part of his family and received musical instruction from himself
and his assistants. At the termination of their apprenticeship he
provided his scholars with indentures of character and efficiency,
according to desert, and dismissed them to follow their fortunes.
Country lads with ambition, who desired to see something of the world,
or to attain a better position than that of a peasant or journeyman,
would persuade their parents to place them in one of these
establishments. They were expected to acquire a practical knowledge of
several instruments, so as to be able to take part upon either as
occasion might demand, and the bands thus formed were available for all
local functions. Johann Jakob would readily have applied himself to
learn, from the nearest town-musician, all that that official was able
to teach him, but his father could not be brought to consent to his
exchanging the solid prospects of a settled life in the Ditmarsh for the
visionary future of an itinerant performer. The boy's inclination was,
however, unconquerable, and he settled the matter in his own fashion. He
ran away from home several times and made his own bargain with his
musical hero. Twice he was recalled and forgiven, and after the third
escapade was allowed to have his own way, and bound over to serve his
time in the usual manner. 'I cannot give such proofs of my devotion to
music,' wrote his son Johannes to Claus Groth many years afterwards.
Five years of apprenticeship were spent, the last three at the more
distant town of Weslingbüren, in the study of the violin, viola, 'cello,
flute, and horn, and, in the beginning of the year 1826, the quondam
musical apprentice obtained his indentures, which testified to his
faithfulness, desire to learn, industry, and obedience,[5] and quitted
the old home country to try his luck at Hamburg.
It is not easy to imagine the feelings of this youth of nineteen or
twenty on his arrival, fresh from the simple life of the Ditmarsh
peasants, in the great commercial fortress-city, still the old Hamburg
of the day, with its harbour and shipping and busy river scenes; its
walls and city gates, locked at sunset; its water-ways and bridges; its
churches and exchange; its tall, gabled houses; its dim, tortuous
alleys. Refined ease and sordid revelry were well represented there; the
one might be contemplated on the pleasant, shady Jungfernstieg, the
fashionable promenade where rich merchants and fine ladies and gay
officers sat and sipped punch or coffee, wine or lemonade, served to
them by the nimble waiters of the Alster Pavilion, the high-class
refreshment-house on the lake hard by; the other, in the so-called
Hamburger Berg, the sailors' quarter, abounding in booths and shows,
small public-houses, and noisy dancing-saloons, in which scenes of
low-life gaiety were regularly enacted. Johann Jakob Brahms was destined
to appear, in the course of his career as a musician, in both
localities. He made his début in the latter.
Thrown entirely on his own resources, with a mere pittance in his pocket
for immediate needs, he had to pick up a bare existence, as best he
could, in the courtyards and dancing-saloons of the Hamburg Wapping. He
seems to have preserved his easy imperturbability of temper throughout
his early struggles, and to have kept his eyes open for any chance
opportunity that might occur. Helped by his natural gift for making
himself a favourite, he managed, by-and-by, to get appointed as one of
the hornists of the Bürger-Militair, the body of citizen-soldiers, or
town-guard, in which, with a few exceptions, every burgher or inhabitant
between the ages of twenty and forty-five was bound to serve. Each
battalion of the force had its own band, and each band its own uniform,
the musicians of the Jäger corps, to which Johann Jakob was attached,
wearing a green coat with white embroidered collar, headgear decorated
with a white pompon, and a short weapon called a Hirschfänger. This was
a distinct rise in the fortunes of the wanderer. He won for himself a
recognised place in the world, obscure though it might be, when he
acquired the right to wear a uniform of the city of Hamburg, and in due
time he enrolled himself as one of its burghers. The document of his
citizenship has been preserved, and will be mentioned again near the
close of our narrative.[6] It cannot be said that his further
advancement was rapid. His partiality for the music he knew of is
suggestive rather of a struggling instinct than an actual talent. His
professional acquirements were slender, and of general education he had
none; but he was not without shrewdness, was upright and diligent, and
he made gradual progress. He and his colleagues used to form themselves
into small brass bands, and to play wherever they saw opportunity,
sometimes getting trifling engagements in dancing-rooms, sometimes
dependent on the goodwill of a chance audience in a beer-garden or small
house of entertainment. He did not earn much, but was no longer entirely
dependent on the very meanest exercise of his industry, and may be said
to have obtained a footing on the lowest rung of fortune's ladder.
On June 9, 1830, a few days after completing his twenty-fourth year,
Jakob committed himself to the second great adventure of his life. He
married, choosing for his wife Johanna Henrika Christiana Nissen, who
was forty-one years of age and in very humble circumstances. She was
small and plain, and limped badly; was sickly in health, and somewhat
complaining; of a very affectionate if rather oversensitive disposition,
and had a sweet expression in her light-blue eyes that testified to the
goodness of her heart. She was an exquisite needlewoman, possessed many
good housewifely virtues which she exercised as far as her very limited
opportunities allowed, and is said to have been endowed with great
refinement of feeling and superior natural parts. One of her husband's
colleagues has described her as having faded, later on, into a 'little
withered mother who busied herself unobtrusively with her own affairs,
and was not known outside her dwelling.'
The strangely-matched couple began their life together on the smallest
possible scale, and in February of the following year a daughter was
born to them, who was christened Elisabeth Wilhelmine Louise. The young
father's material resources seem to have remained much as they were, but
before this time his dogged perseverance had added yet another
instrument to the list of those he had already practised. He contrived
to learn the double-bass, and as his friends increased, and he became
more known, he began to get occasional engagements as double-bass
substitute in the orchestras of small theatres. Meanwhile he did not
neglect his other instruments, but performed on either as occasion
presented itself.
On May 7, 1833, the angel of life again visited the poor little home,
and Johanna Henrika Christiana presented her husband with a son, who was
baptized on the 26th of the same month at St. Michael's Church, Hamburg.
The child, being emphatically the 'son of Johann,' was called by the
single name Johannes, after his father, mother, and paternal
grandfather, and the grandfather was one of the sponsors.
The house in which Johannes Brahms was born still stands as it was
seventy years ago, and is now known as 60, Speckstrasse. The street
itself, which has since been changed and widened, was then Speck-lane,
and formed part of the Gänge-Viertel, the 'Lane-quarter' of the old
Hamburg. Want of space within the city walls had led to the construction
of rows of houses along a number of lanes adjacent to one another, which
had once been public thoroughfares through gardens. A neighbourhood of
very dark and narrow streets was thus formed, for the houses were tall
and gabled, and arranged to hold several families. They were generally
built of brick, loam, and wood, and were thrown up with the object of
packing as many human beings as possible into a given area. The
Lane-quarter exists no longer, but many of the old houses remain, and
some are well kept and picturesque to the eye of the passer-by. Not so
60, Speckstrasse. This house does not form part of the main street, but
stands as it did in 1833, in a small dismal court behind, which is
entered through a close passage, and was formerly called
Schlüter's-court. It would be impossible for the most imaginative
person, on arriving at this spot, to indulge in any of the picturesque
fancies supposed to be appropriate to a poet's birthplace; the house and
its surroundings testify only to the commonplace reality of a bare and
repulsive poverty. A steep wooden staircase in the centre, closed in at
night by gates, leads right and left, directly from the court, to the
various stories of the building. Each of its habitations is planned
exactly as every other, excepting that those near the top are contracted
by the sloping roof. Jakob and Johanna lived in the first-floor dwelling
to the left on facing the house. On entering it, it is difficult to
repress a shiver of bewilderment and dismay. The staircase door opens on
to a diminutive space, half kitchen, half lobby, where some cooking may
be done and a child's bed made up, and which has a second door leading
to the living-room. This communicates with the sleeping-closet, which
has its own window, but is so tiny it can scarcely be called a room.
There is nothing else, neither corner nor cupboard. Where Jakob kept his
instruments and how he managed to practise are mysteries which the
ordinary mind cannot satisfactorily penetrate, but it is probable that
his easy-going temperament helped him over these and other difficulties,
and that he was fairly content with his lot. If Johanna took life a
little more hardly, it is certain that husband and wife resembled each
other in their affection for the children, and that the strong tie of
love which bound the renowned composer of after-years to father and
mother alike, had its earliest beginning in the fondness and pride which
attended his cradle in the obscure abode in Schlüter's-court.
[Illustration: NO. 60 SPECKSTRASSE, HAMBURG.]
The family moved several times during the infancy of Johannes, and their
various homes are partly to be traced in back numbers of the Hamburg
address-book, which may be consulted in the library of the Johanneum.
These early changes, however, have but little interest for the reader,
and it will suffice to record that when the hero of our narrative was
four or five years old, and the proud senior by two years of a little
brother Friederich, known as Fritz, they moved into quarters less
confined than those they had yet occupied, at 38, Ulricus-strasse. Here
the anxious wife and mother was able to add a trifle to Jakob's scanty
earnings, by engaging on her own account in a tiny business for the sale
of needles, cottons, tapes, etc., which had been carried on for many
years previously at No. 91 of the same street by the 'sisters Nissen,'
and by taking as boarder an acquaintance of her husband's, who, though
not a musician, remained a life-long family friend. The intimacy
descended to the next generation, and his son, Herr Carl Bade, has many
a droll anecdote to relate of Jakob, whom he remembers with affectionate
regard.
From such particulars as can be gathered, it is evident that the
childhood of 'Hannes' gave early promise of the striking characteristics
of his maturity, and that some of the most powerful sentiments of his
after-life are to be traced to influences acting on him from his birth.
Indications of his possession of the musical faculty were apparent at a
very tender age. He received his first actual instruction from his
father, but his sensitive organization, aided by the music of one sort
and another that he was constantly hearing, seems almost to have
anticipated this earliest teaching. In his clinging affection for his
parents the child was father to the man, and one of his constant
petitions was to be allowed to 'help.' It is easy to imagine the little
tasks he learned to perform for the mother whom he worshipped, and the
feeling of pride with which he watched his tall father on the
exercise-days of the Jäger corps may have had something to do with his
partiality for his beloved lead soldiers, the favourite toys which he
kept locked in his writing-table long after he was grown up. He was
sent, when quite a young child, to a little private school on the
Dammthorwall, close to his parents' house, where the teaching was
probably neither better nor worse than that of the very small English
day-schools of the period. Until he was nearly eight his musical
education was carried on at home, and did not include the study of the
piano. It seems to have been taken for granted that he would, in due
course, follow his father's calling, which was gradually ripening into
that of a reliable performer in the humbler orchestras of the city. It
is hardly surprising that Jakob, who knew nothing about genius, and was
not troubled by notions about art for its own sake, should have looked
forward contentedly to the career of an orchestral player for his boy.
He himself, after more than twelve laborious years, was only struggling
into a position of acceptance by musicians of this class. That Johannes
should begin life by taking his place amongst them as a fiddler or
'cellist, who might work his way to some distinction, must necessarily
have appeared to him a sufficiently ambitious object, the attainment of
which would enable his son to support himself and help the family. The
orchestral players of the Hamburg of that time carried on their work
under peculiar circumstances. They were bound together in a kind of
musical trade-union, the Hamburger Musikverein, founded in 1831, which
protected them from competition, no member being allowed to play in any
band that included an outsider. They met constantly at their 'Börse,' or
club, through which most of their engagements were made. It was open
every morning for a couple of hours for the transaction of business, and
there was a Lokal in the same building available for a chat over a glass
of beer and a smoke. The establishment was, for some time, presided over
by the father of Carl Rosa (originally Rose), who lived on the premises,
and Johann Jakob Brahms was one of the original members of the society.
His copy of the rules is still in existence, and bears, underneath his
signature the date May 1, 1831. The system of working by deputy was
extensively practised in the arrangements of the union. If a member
engaged for a certain performance happened to get a more lucrative offer
for the same day and hour, he would give notice to the 'Börse' to
furnish a substitute for the first appointment. The substitute might
repeat the process in his turn, and it sometimes happened that a single
engagement passed through several hands in succession before the date of
its fulfilment. Under these conditions music was very much a mere
business, but, on the other hand, orchestral players were expected to be
fairly good all-round musicians, capable of performing passably on
several instruments, and able to fill a gap at short notice. Many of
these men, who made the musical atmosphere with which Johannes Brahms
was familiar in his childhood, lived in the Lane-quarter, partly
because it was cheap, partly in order to be near their 'Börse,' which
was situated in the Kohlhöfen. They were, as a rule, shrewd,
hard-working, honourable members of their profession, happy in their
calling and in their mutual friendly intercourse, and striving to bring
up their children to improved circumstances. Those among them who were
not able to obtain better employment were glad to acquire experience,
and to earn something, by playing in dancing-saloons and Lokals of
various degrees of repute, hoping for a rise of fortune in days to come.
Proofs of continual advancement in Jakob's career are to be found in
the fact that, from about the year 1837 onwards, his services were
requisitioned from time to time as substitute in the small band which
played from six till eleven, every evening throughout the year, in a
room of the Alster Pavilion, and especially in the circumstance that
he by-and-by became one of its regular members, succeeding to the
duties of double-bass player. The orchestra was composed of two
violins, viola, two flutes, and double-bass, and performed 'evening
entertainment-music,' consisting of overtures, airs, operatic
selections, and pot-pourris. The public, which was a good one, was
served with light refreshments outside, or crowded into the house to
listen, according to inclination and the season, and the musicians were
paid by contributions collected during intervals between the pieces.
Count Woronzow from St. Petersburg, who was present with his son in the
audience one fine summer evening, was so delighted with the music, and
so gratified at hearing the Russian national air played _con amore_ in
his honour, that he not only put a gold piece on the plate, but wanted
to carry off the six performers to Russia, guaranteeing that they would
make their fortunes there, and would not take a refusal till they had
had a week or two to consider the matter.
There lived at this time at No. 7, Steindamm a young pianist of Hamburg,
Otto Friedrich Willibald Cossel, who was well known to the set of men
belonging to the musicians' union, and in great and just repute with
them as a teacher of his instrument. He was a pupil of the eminent
teacher and theorist Marxsen of Altona, and had cherished dreams of fame
as a pianoforte virtuoso. Adverse circumstances, delicate health, and
want of self-confidence, may have been the causes of his failure to
realize his aspirations; but whether or not this be the case, he has
left behind him the reputation of having been a good player, an
excellent instructor, and a thoroughly high-minded man. He was devoted
to his art, and had a large number of pupils; but they were chiefly
recruited from the classes who could not afford to pay much, and it was
not in Cossel's nature to be difficult on the question of remuneration.
He was fain to content himself with the consciousness of hard work well
done as a great part of his reward.
To Cossel came, one day in the winter of 1840-41, Jakob Brahms with the
little seven-year-old Hannes, a pale, delicate-looking child with fair
complexion, blue eyes, and a mane of flaxen hair falling to his
shoulders. He was as neat and trim as a new pin--a little
'Patent-Junge'--and wore over his home-knitted socks pretty wooden shoes
such as are seen to this day in the shops of Hamburg, an effective
protection against the wet climate of the city. Too pale and serious to
be called pretty, there was a something most attractive in his
appearance, and when his face lighted up on hearing the conclusion of
his father's business Cossel's heart was won.
'I wish my son to become your pupil, Herr Cossel,' said Jakob, speaking
in his native Low-German tongue. 'He wants so much to learn the piano.
When he can play as well as you do, it will be enough!'
The short interview brought about important results to Hannes, whilst
for Cossel it insured the future enduring respect of the musical world.
He soon perceived that in his new scholar he had no ordinary pupil, and
his affection went out more and more to the docile, eager, easily-taught
child. He got into the habit of keeping the little fellow after his
lesson that he might practise on his piano, and be spared some of the
fatigue entailed by constant walks between home, school, and the
somewhat distantly-situated Steindamm. Hannes, on his part, grew
passionately fond of his teacher, and the special relation in which
he stood to him was soon recognised and accepted by Cossel's other
pupils. The two were brought still closer together at the end of
about a year, for Jakob and his wife, on the impending marriage of
their boarder, moved again into smaller quarters close by--at No. 29,
Dammthorwall--whilst Cossel took over their rooms in Ulricus-strasse.
Well for Hannes that an admirable method of instruction enabled him to
get through the necessary drudgery of acquiring a good position of the
hand and free movement of the fingers at a very early age, and that he
was prepared by wise guidance easily to encounter successive steps of
his master's system, which included the practice of the best masters of
études--Czerny, Cramer, Clementi--of the great classical masters, and of
pieces of the bravura school in fashion at the time.
In the course of the year 1843 Cossel added to the many proofs he had
already given of his affection for his pupil, an admirable instance of
generosity and sacrifice of personal considerations. It became evident
to him that, notwithstanding--or perhaps in consequence of--the rapid
progress made by Hannes, influence was being brought to bear on Jakob to
induce him to transfer the boy to the care of some other teacher, and he
at once determined that in spite of the keen pangs of disappointment any
change would cause him, his darling should, if possible, be placed under
Marxsen. Various causes may have led him to this resolution--anxiety to
protect the boy from the chance of being thrown too early on the world
as a regular bread-winner, to the detriment of the quiet course of his
development; unselfish desire that he should grow up with the prestige
of association with a man of established musical authority; above all, a
profound sense of his own responsibility in regard to the genius of
which he found himself guardian, and of the duty incumbent on him to
submit its possibilities to the direction of the widest experience and
best skill attainable.
La Mara[7] has related, on Marxsen's authority, the steps taken for the
fulfilment of the plan, and their immediate issue. Cossel brought the
ten-year-old Johannes to Altona, with the request that his master would
examine the boy, and, if satisfied of his possession of the necessary
gifts, undertake his further musical instruction. Marxsen, however, did
not prove ready to accept this charge. After hearing Johannes play 'very
capitally' some studies from Cramer's first book, he pronounced him in
the best hands, saying nothing could be more desirable for the present
than that he should remain, as heretofore, under Cossel's guidance.
The friends of the family, however, continued to press Jakob, pointing
out that Cossel had been too retiring in his own case, prophesying that
the history of his career would be repeated in that of Johannes if some
change were not made, and insisting that the teacher was too cautious
and pedantic in his methods with the boy, who now required to be brought
forward. The upshot of these things was that, a few months after the
interview with Marxsen, a private subscription concert was arranged 'for
the benefit of the further musical education' of Johannes, which took
place in the assembly-room of the Zum Alten Rabe, a first-class
refreshment-house, long since pulled down, that stood in its own
pleasure-garden near the Dammthor. The programme included a Mozart
quartet for pianoforte and strings, Beethoven's quintet for pianoforte
and wind, and some pianoforte solos, amongst them a bravura piece by
Herz, the execution of which, by the youthful concert-giver, seems to
have caused immense sensation in the circle of his admiring friends.
Hannes, who was the only pianist of the occasion, was assisted in the
quintet by Jakob and three of his friends, and in the quartet by
Birgfeld and Christian Otterer, two well-known musicians of Hamburg, and
Louis Goltermann of the same city, afterwards professor at Prague (not
to be confounded with the 'cellist-composer C. E. Goltermann, native of
Hanover). The concert was a great success both from an artistic and a
financial point of view, and as its result Jakob himself visited Marxsen
to prefer, in his own name and that of Cossel, a second request that the
distinguished musician would accept Johannes as a pupil. This time
Marxsen consented, saying he would receive him once a week provided that
the lessons from Cossel were continued without interruption side by side
with his own. The mandate was carried into effect, and the arrangement
worked smoothly for a time without let or hindrance; but the successful
concert had brought danger as well as advantage in its train. An
impresario, who had obtained admission on the occasion to the 'Old
Raven,' conceived the idea of taking Johannes on a tour and exhibiting
him as a prodigy, and presently made proposals to this effect to Jakob,
who, not unnaturally, was transported to the seventh heaven by the
dazzling prospects which the wily stranger presented to his imagination.
The first step to be taken, for which he prepared, probably, with some
perturbation of mind, was to break the news to Cossel.
'Well, Cossel,' he said, finding the young musician at home, 'we are
going to make a pile of money.'
'What?' shouted Cossel.
'We are going to make a pile of money. A man has been who wants to
travel with the boy.'
Poor Cossel! all his worst fears seemed about to be realized; his heart
leapt to his mouth.
'Then you are a word-breaker!' he thundered.
It was now Jakob's turn to look aghast, for Cossel, as described by all
who knew him personally, was no stickler for ceremony, and could show
his wrath right royally when he felt he had righteous cause for
indignation. 'You are a word-breaker!' he cried, and, adopting a sudden
idea, went on: 'You said to me, "You shall keep the boy till he knows as
much as you do." He can only learn that from Marxsen!'
A heated argument followed, which ended in a compromise. The affair was
to be allowed to stand over for a time, and, in fact, several
succeeding months passed as quietly as heretofore. But the impresario
renewed his proposal, and the struggle recommenced. Cossel perceived the
only means of securing a permanent victory for the benefit of Hannes,
and he determined to use it, cost him what it might. It lay in his own
complete self-renunciation. He went again to Altona, and besought
Marxsen to take entire charge of the boy's musical career, only to be
once more refused. Marxsen did not yet feel convinced that the great
progress made by Johannes during the past year had been due to other
qualities than those of assiduous industry and eager wish to learn.
Cossel, however, was not to be beaten. He returned to the attack,
actually declaring to his bewildered master that the boy made such rapid
strides he felt he could teach him nothing more. The kind Marxsen at
length gave way, and consented to take the musical education of Johannes
into his own hands henceforth, and to teach him without remuneration,
saying he did so the more willingly since the parents were not able to
pay for the training they wished to secure for their child, and because
he had become fond of the little pupil for his own sake.
'How could you let yourself be put off from such business?' said Aunt
Detmering after the impresario had been finally dismissed. She had been
partner with Johanna in the little shop of the 'sisters Nissen,' and had
married into somewhat better circumstances than Jakob's wife. 'I can't
interfere in it,' answered Johanna simply, for her boy's good was more
precious to her than silver and gold, in spite of her hard, struggling
existence. 'Min soote Hannes!' she would say, throwing her arms round
him, when he came up sometimes to give her a kiss.
Thus was the rich, budding faculty of Johannes guided to the safe
shelter of Marxsen's fostering care, and it is not too much to say that
Cossel, by his noble action, secured the future of the genius the
significance of which he was the first to recognise. It would be idle to
speculate about the unrealities of a non-existent might-have-been, and
to contemplate a fancied picture of Brahms' career based upon
circumstances and events other than those actual to his childhood. It
is, however, certain that no mere natural musical endowment, however
splendid, can attain to its perfect growth without having been put in
the right way, and those who have entered into the heritage of Brahms'
songs and symphonies, his choral works and chamber music, may well
cherish Cossel's name in grateful remembrance. Although he will not
again occupy a prominent place in our account of Brahms' life, his
private relations with his pupil did not cease. His piano and his
sympathy were still at the service of Hannes, who was grateful for one
and the other, and who, remembering his early teacher and friend to the
end of his life with admiring affection, strove, as opportunity served
in later years, to obtain for him the more widely-known professional
position to which his qualities so justly entitled him. Cossel died in
1865 at the age of fifty-two.
[4] 'Brahms Erinnerungen,' in _Die Gegenwart_, No. 45.
[5] Printed verbally in Max Kalbeck's 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 4.
[6] Vol. II., Chap. XXI.
[7] 'Musikalische Skizzen Köpfe,' vol. iii.
CHAPTER II
1845-1848
Edward Marxsen--Johannes' first instruction in theory--Herr Adolph
Giesemann--Winsen-an-der-Luhe--Lischen--Choral society of
school-teachers--'ABC' Part-song by Johannes--The Amtsvogt
Blume--First public appearance--First visit to the opera.
Edward Marxsen was born on July 23, 1806, at Nieustädten, a village
close to Altona, where his father combined the callings of schoolmaster
and organist. His musical talent showed itself in early childhood, and
was cultivated by his father to such good purpose that, whilst still a
lad, he became competent to take the organist's duty from time to time
when a substitute was needed. He was not, however, destined for the
musical profession, and was on the verge of manhood when he was at
length allowed to follow his unconquerable desire to apply himself with
all his energies to the serious study of art. At eighteen he became the
pupil of Johann Heinrich Clasing, a musician well qualified to bring up
his students in the traditions of the classical school in which he had
himself been trained.[8] His warm interest was soon aroused by the
enthusiasm and unremitting application of his new pupil. Marxsen allowed
nothing to interfere with the regularity of his lessons, and walked the
two miles separating Nieustädten from Hamburg and back again, on dark
winter evenings, by the light of his hand-lantern, no matter how stormy
the weather. He continued to live at home, studying, teaching, and
helping more and more frequently with the organ, till he reached the age
of twenty-four, when his father's death left him free from ties. He soon
resolved to go to Vienna, with the especial purpose of perfecting his
theoretical knowledge under Ignaz von Seyfried, a prolific composer now
chiefly remembered as editor of the theoretical works of his master, the
renowned Albrechtsberger. Seyfried received the new-comer cordially,
and, probably finding Marxsen's musicianship to be but little inferior
to his own, treated him, during his lengthened sojourn at Vienna, more
as a friend than a pupil. He did not give him formal instruction, but
admitted him to frequent musical intercourse, which was chiefly devoted
to the discussion of artistic questions and to the free interchange of
opinion, and which brought to the younger musician, amongst other
benefits, the special gain of thorough familiarity with the great forms
of Beethoven. Seyfried's society was interesting and stimulating. He had
had pianoforte lessons, as a child, from Mozart, and had been on terms
of personal acquaintance with Haydn and with Beethoven, who was his
hero. He was of a kind disposition, moreover, and the many opportunities
he was able to offer for forming friendships, for hearing music, and for
living in musical society, were placed unreservedly at the disposal of
his protégé. Marxsen at the same time pursued his study of the
pianoforte under Carl Maria von Bocklet, a pianist and musician of
eminence, and a very successful teacher, who had enjoyed the favour of
Beethoven and been the close intimate of Schubert. Bocklet was one of
the earliest to appreciate the genius of the younger master, and, with
his colleagues Schuppanzigh and Klincke, gave the first performances,
early in 1828, of Schubert's two pianoforte trios, written a few months
previously.
Marxsen returned to Altona, after an absence of between two and three
years, with the matured confidence of the travelled musician who has
associated with the authorities of his art, his previous enthusiasm for
the works of the great Vienna masters and for the then known
instrumental works of the mighty Sebastian Bach fanned into ardent
worship. That his mind was sufficiently powerful to rise entirely above
the musical artificiality and bad taste of his time cannot be said. To
us, who belong to a generation that has been educated on the purist
principles first made widely acceptable by Mendelssohn's influence and
since popularized by the genius of a few famous executants, with Clara
Schumann, Rubinstein, and Joachim at their head, it is difficult to
realize the revolution that has taken place in the general condition of
musical art since the days when Marxsen, three years Mendelssohn's
senior, was young. Many things were then accepted and admired in Vienna,
in Berlin, in Leipzig, in London, which would now be regarded as
impossible atrocities. Marxsen was capable of setting the Kreutzer
Sonata for full orchestra, but this is hardly so surprising as that the
Leipzig authorities should have produced the arrangement at one of the
Gewandhaus concerts, or that Schumann should have mentioned it
indulgently, on whatever grounds, in the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_.
Marxsen came for the first time before the public of Hamburg on November
19, 1833, at the age of twenty-seven, in a concert of his own
compositions. Such a programme was a novelty in the northern city, and
excited attention. The occasion was successful, and established the
reputation of the concert-giver as a sound and earnestly striving
musician, and from this time his position as a teacher and theorist
continuously rose. He was a man of catholic tastes and liberal culture,
and his influence over his pupils was not merely that of the instructor
of a given subject, but was touched with the power of the philosopher
who has a wide outlook on life. The central aims of his theoretical
teaching were to guide his pupils to a mastery of the principles
illustrated in the works of the great composers, and to encourage each
student to develop his own creative individuality on the firm basis thus
afforded. He produced a very large number of works, which include
examples of the most complex as well as of the simpler forms of
composition, and many of them were brought to a hearing. That few show
the attempt to appeal to a higher tribunal than the musical taste of the
day may, perhaps, be a sign that Marxsen was conscious of not being
endowed with original creative power, and did not try to go beyond his
natural limitations. He had a genial, encouraging manner which invited
his pupils' confidence, and his lively interest in all questions
concerning literature, philosophy, and art gave constant impulse to the
minds of the really gifted amongst them, which was not the least of the
benefits they derived from association with him.
We shall not be far wrong if we fix the age of Johannes, at the time he
became entirely Marxsen's pupil, as about twelve; and from this date his
time, always well employed, must have been very fully occupied. He had
to go to Altona for his pianoforte lessons (the question of his learning
composition had not yet arisen), to practise at Cossel's or at the
business house of some pianoforte firm--for there were too many
interruptions at home--and to go regularly to school. Not to the one on
the Dammthorwall mentioned above. He now attended F. C. Hoffmann's
school in ABC-strasse, an establishment several grades higher than that
of which he had formerly been a pupil, and one of good repute in its
degree. Hoffmann was a conscientious as well as a humane man, and won
the liking and respect of his scholars. He gave them sound elementary
instruction, and even had them taught French and English. Brahms
retained some knowledge of both languages, as the present writer can
testify from her personal acquaintance with him, begun when he had
entered middle age. He could read English to some extent, though he
could not speak it, and was able to help himself out, when necessary,
with a phrase or two of French, though his accent was hopeless. He
preserved a pleasant remembrance of Hoffmann in after-life, recommended
his school on one or two suitable occasions, and sent him a present on
the celebration of his jubilee in the middle of the seventies.
Marxsen's interest and pleasure in Johannes' progress increased every
week as he became more convinced of his exceptional capacity. 'One day I
gave him a composition of Weber's,' he says,[9] 'going carefully through
it with him. At the following lesson he played it to me so blamelessly
and so exactly as I wished that I praised him. "I have also practised it
in another way," he said, and played me the right-hand part with the
left hand.' (No doubt Weber's _moto perpetuum_, published by Brahms,
without opus number, as a left-hand study.)
Part of Marxsen's discipline was to accustom Johannes to transpose long
pieces at sight, a practice he had probably learnt from Seyfried, who
relates as a _tour de force_ of Albrechtsberger that on some public
occasion, when he had to play on a low-pitched organ, he transposed an
entire Mass from G to G sharp at sight, and without error. Brahms, it
may be parenthetically remarked, continued to find diversion in this
pastime, and would play fugues of Bach and other works for his own
edification in various transposed keys when at the height of his
mastership.
The boy had, almost from infancy, shown signs of the tendency to
creative activity. Widmann[10] speaks of a conversation held with Brahms
within the last decade of his life, during which the master, recalling
early memories, described the bliss experienced by him as a very young
child on making the discovery, unaided, that a melody could be
represented on paper by placing large round dots in higher or lower
positions on lines. 'I made a system for myself before I knew of the
existence of such a thing.' When a few years older, he was fond of
writing the separate parts of concerted works one under the other--of
copying them into score, in fact. Nor was he to be kept from trying his
hand at original composition. Louise Japha, an eminent pianist of
Hamburg, whose more intimate acquaintance the reader will make later on,
speaks of having heard him play a sonata of his own when he was about
eleven, at the pianoforte house of Baumgarten and Heins, where she one
day found him practising. Cossel, responsible for his advance in
playing, is said to have been anxious at his spending too much of his
time in these childish attempts; but the instinct was unconquerable, and
Marxsen no doubt discovered this when he had Johannes constantly with
him. After a time he began to teach him theory. Referring to the
commencement of the new study, he writes to La Mara:
'I was captivated by his keen and penetrating intellect, and yet,
when he came later on to original composition, it was at first
difficult to him, and required a good deal of encouragement from
me. Still, though his first attempts produced nothing of
consequence, I perceived in them a mind in which, as I was
convinced, an exceptional and deeply original talent lay
dormant.... I therefore spared myself neither pains nor trouble to
awaken and cultivate it, in order to prepare a future priest of
art, who should proclaim in a new idiom through his works, its
high, true, and lasting principles.'
At what age precisely Johannes began to earn regular money by playing in
the dancing-rooms and Lokals of Hamburg cannot now be ascertained. It is
possible that he occasionally performed on the violin from early
childhood, in cases of emergency, as substitute for his father or one of
his father's colleagues, though the conjecture is not borne out by
reliable record. There is no doubt, however, that loosely repeated
anecdotes have given rise to considerable false impression on the point.
The notion which has been partially prevalent, that Jakob made
systematic use of his boy from a tender age, employing his gifts for the
family benefit, is warmly repudiated by those who have the best means of
knowing the circumstances. 'With the best will,' says Christian Otterer,
who, about twelve years Johannes' senior, has till lately led an active
professional life, and retains a bright and unclouded remembrance of old
days, 'I cannot recollect that Johannes played, as a young child, in
Lokals. I was daily with his father at the time, and must have known if
it had been the case. Jakob was a quiet and respectable man, and kept
Hannes closely to his studies, and as much as possible withdrawn from
notice.'
'It cannot be true,' said Mrs. Cossel repeatedly, referring to such
tales; 'my husband never mentioned such a thing to me when speaking of
Johannes' childhood; and even if it had been proposed, I am sure he
would never have allowed it.' Two authentic sources of information,
however, establish the fact that from the age of about thirteen the boy
regularly fulfilled engagements of the kind. The earnings derived from
them were eagerly contributed to the general family fund.
A glimpse of him at this period is furnished by Christian Miller,[11]
then a young musical student, who has related that he used to play for a
small payment on Sunday afternoons during the summer of 1846, at a
restaurant in Bergedorf, near Hamburg. Miller heard him there, and,
fascinated by his performance, begged to be allowed to play duets with
him. After this the two lads met frequently until Miller left Hamburg to
become a pupil of the Leipzig Conservatoire. The companionship would
seem to have been tolerated rather than actively desired by Johannes,
who rarely spoke when out walking with Miller, but was accustomed to
march along hat in hand, humming!
The reader will not have forgotten the band of six members which had,
during the late thirties, delighted the fashionable loungers of the
Jungfernstieg, patrons of the Alster Pavilion. Its activity had been
continuous up to the year 1842, when the disastrous fire which broke out
in Hamburg during the night of May 4-5, and was not extinguished till
the morning of the 8th, destroying the churches of St. Nicholas and St.
Peter, St. Gertrude's Chapel, the Guildhall, the old Exchange, the Bank,
and over 1,200 dwelling-houses and warehouses, had interrupted the
pleasant labours of the musicians. The Alster Pavilion had miraculously
been left untouched by the flames, whilst the Alster Halle, a similar
establishment close by, had been razed to the ground; and the demolition
of the row of shops and houses on the Jungfernstieg had changed the
agreeable promenade into a scene of ruin. Little could be thought of in
the city for a time save how to meet and repair the ravages inflicted by
the calamity, which had stricken the grave citizens of Hamburg with
dismay, and made an impression of mixed bewilderment and awe upon the
sensitive soul of our little Hannes that was never completely effaced.
Gradually, however, public edifices and private houses were rebuilt,
Hamburg was restored and beautified, and long before the year 1847, at
which our story has arrived, the little orchestra had again become used
to assemble, though with a somewhat changed personnel, in the familiar
room of the Pavilion, to discourse in lively strains before the
ever-shifting guests of the establishment. Jakob retained his position
as bass player, and, from his long association with the house, had come
to be regarded as an important support to its artistic attractions.
Amongst the most faithful patrons of the Pavilion concerts of this
period was a certain Herr Adolph Giesemann, owner of a paper-mill
and a small farm in the not very distant country townlet of
Winsen-an-der-Luhe. He was in the habit of paying frequent business
visits to Hamburg, and, being very fond of music, a performer on the
guitar, and the possessor of a good voice, liked nothing better than to
spend a leisure hour on the Jungfernstieg listening to a movement of
Haydn or Mozart. A familiar acquaintance had grown up between him and
Brahms. Giesemann willingly listened to Jakob's eager talk about the
achievements of Johannes and the promise of his younger brother Fritz.
He had a little daughter of his own at home in Winsen, and hoped she
might some day be able to take her part in the private musical doings
there--at any rate, learn to play the piano well enough to accompany his
guitar. One evening in spring Jakob approached him with a request. His
Hannes had found constant employment during the past winter in playing
the piano until well into the night in the dancing-rooms of various
Hamburg Lokals, and the something under two shillings earned by each
engagement had amounted to a valuable addition to the scanty family
means. But the late hours had told sadly upon his health. Now the work
had ceased for a time, and the little toiler could be spared from home.
Would Giesemann give him a few weeks' holiday at Winsen? The boy's
musical services would be at his command in return. He could accompany
him, play to him, and give pianoforte lessons to the little Lischen, a
year younger than himself.
Giesemann's kind heart was instantly touched. He had no need to think
twice about his own reply, and could answer for that of his wife.
Johannes was to be made ready to accompany him back to Winsen after his
next visit to Hamburg, which would take place very soon.
And so, in the bright springing month of May, when the buds were
bursting and the birds singing, and the gray skies of Hamburg beginning
to show a little blue, our dear Hannes took his departure from his big,
busy native city to taste for the first time the delights of a free
country life, with a kind little sister as companion. He never for a
moment felt like a visitor on his arrival, but forgot his constitutional
shyness, becoming a child of the house to be petted and brought back to
health by fresh air and good food and Frau Giesemann's motherly care.
Lischen was at school all the morning, but this was quite a good thing.
Hannes had his tasks to attend to also, and could not afford to lose
time, for Jakob had made such arrangements as were at his limited
command to ensure that his boy's general progress should not suffer by
the holiday.
Fresh air, however, was all-important, so he had come provided with a
small dumb keyboard for the mechanical exercise of his fingers, and
every day after breakfast, after he had got through such practice as had
to be done in the house, Frau Giesemann used to turn him into the fields
with a bag slung over his shoulder, containing his books and lunch, the
clavier under his arm, the notebook, without which he never stirred
anywhere, peeping from his pocket, and orders not to show himself again
till dinner-time. Johannes had already been enjoying himself out of
doors long before this hour. He used to rise at four o'clock, and begin
his day by bathing in the river. Joined not long afterwards by Lischen,
the two would spend a couple of delightful hours rambling about,
discovering birds' nests and picking flowers. Johannes was quite a
simple child in spite of his fourteen years and hard experience, and
revelled in the happy days passed amidst sunshine, wild blossoms, and
fragrant air. He was very pale and thin, and had little strength on his
arrival, but soon gained flesh and colour, to which the glass of fresh
milk put by for him every day no doubt contributed. The animals about
the place--the cows and pigs, the big dog, the doe--gave him great
delight, and he was charmed when the crane spread its wings and flew
high overhead as he and Lischen approached it, clapping their hands. He
liked to join in the games with which the children of Winsen amused
themselves by the river-side on cool summer evenings, but could not be
persuaded to take part in the boys' rough sport, and would only play
with the girls. The lads, of course, despised him for this, telling him
he was no better than a girl himself; but he did not seem to mind, and
continued quietly to follow his inclination. One evening, however, soon
after his arrival, before he had picked up much strength, as he was
returning with several children from wading in the river, Lischen well
on in front, one or two rough boys set on him, emptied his pockets, and
robbed him of all his possessions, even of the precious pocket-book. He
could not help crying at this, but Lischen, seeing him standing on the
bank rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, soon found out what was the
matter, and, dashing back into the water, forced the molesters to
restore everything to her. To the pocket-book Johannes confided his
inspirations on every subject. Sometimes it was a melody, sometimes a
line or two of verse, that occurred to him. Then, whether he were
walking, or climbing trees, or practising, or doing his lessons, out
came the book that the idea might be fixed on the spot.
It was not long before his musical talents awakened the admiration of
the neighbourhood. There was a pleasantly situated Lokal at Hoopte, a
village about two miles from Winsen, which contained a large apartment
suitable for dancing and music. This and one or two adjoining rooms were
annually taken by the Giesemann circle for the Sunday afternoons of the
summer season, and after morning church and mid-day dinner as many of
the subscribers as felt inclined would meet there to pass a few sociable
hours. Johannes soon became the central figure of these occasions. It
was found that he could play, not only the most inspiriting music for
the dancers, but a variety of solos also, including some lovely waltzes
to which it was delightful to listen quietly; and on being asked, one
day, to conduct the men's choral society that was to contribute to the
afternoon's programme, he showed himself so astonishingly competent for
the rôle he consented to assume, and inspired such confidence and
sympathy, as he stood before his forces in short jacket and large white
turn-down collar, his fair girlish face, with its regular features and
shock of long, light hair, adding to the impression made by his
childlike manner, that he was unanimously elected conductor of the
society for so long as he should remain at Winsen; a period which was,
as now decided, to be prolonged until he should be recalled to the
recommencement of his autumn duties.
The men's choral society of Winsen consisted of about twelve members,
the majority of whom were school-teachers of the neighbouring villages.
The teachers Backhaus of Winsen, Albers of Handorf, Schröder of Hoopte,
belonged to it; other prominent members were the goldsmith Meyer and the
big master-baker Rieckmann, who had a splendid bass voice. The practices
were held on Saturdays from six to eight o'clock, generally in Rector
Köhler's schoolroom, because it contained a piano, but when this was not
available, in the billiard-room of the Deutsches Haus, Winsen's best
Lokal. The singers used to stand round the billiard-table, and Johannes
would take his place at the top. Lischen was privileged to attend all
meetings of the society during the period that her friend officiated as
its conductor.
The boy found a most valuable ally in teacher Schröder, who had great
talent and love for music, had worked hard at thorough-bass and
counterpoint, and been a composer since his fourteenth year. When
Johannes came upon a knotty point in his theoretical studies that
required discussion, he would walk over to Hoopte and consult Schröder,
who was always ready with sympathy and counsel. He had not returned late
one evening from an expedition of the kind, and Giesemann, becoming
uneasy, was about to start in search of his young guest, when up drove
Mr. Carriage-overseer Löwe from Pattenzen, a few miles away. 'Here is
your Johannes,' he cried as the boy jumped from the gig; he went out by
the wrong gate this morning and missed his way. I found him asleep by
the side of a ditch some distance out on the Lüneburg Heath, the clavier
by his side and the notebook fallen from his pocket; lucky they had not
all rolled in together!'
The theoretical exercises and the little compositions for voices on
which Marxsen encouraged his pupil to try his hand were regularly
carried to Altona, for, with Marxsen's concurrence and the advice of the
schoolmaster Hoffmann, it had been arranged that Johannes should go
every week by steamboat to Hamburg and remain there two nights, which
allowed him a clear day for his music-lessons and for general private
instruction. Now and then Lischen was invited to accompany him, and to
share sister Elise's tiny chamber in the Brahms' little dwelling on the
Dammthorwall. The journeys were easily managed, for 'Uncle' Adolph
Giesemann's brother, manager of the restaurant at the Winsen
railway-station, was also contractor for the refreshment department of
the steamboat service to and from Hamburg, and nothing could be simpler
than for one or both of the children to go and return as his friends.
Frau Giesemann used to see that they started with a liberal supply of
'belegtes Brödchen,' a crusty roll cut through, buttered, and put
together again, with slices of cold meat, sausage, cheese, or what not,
between the two halves. Their friend the restaurateur provided each of
them, at the proper time, with a large mug of thin coffee, and Lischen
and Hannes, sitting together in the bottom of the boat, thoroughly
enjoyed these picnic dinners.
Johannes always began the day after his arrival at Hamburg by exercising
his fingers on the upright piano that stood against the parlour wall, on
the music-desk of which a book invariably stood open, into which he
poked his head--for he was very near-sighted--reading as he worked.
Lischen saw little of him afterwards, for his time was occupied by his
various lessons, but she did not mind this. She soon became very fond of
his dear, kind old mother, and liked to watch her at her duties,
sometimes able to help her by fetching water from the pump at the bottom
of the steps outside the house, a task which Johanna's lameness
prevented her from performing herself. Lischen much admired the portrait
of Frau Brahms that hung above the piano, and thought, as she looked at
the youthful figure arrayed in a pink dress made Empire fashion, with
flowing skirt, short waist, and low neck, the hair dressed with little
curls in front and a high comb behind, that Hannes' mother must have
been very pretty in her youth. The parlour was rather bare, containing
little beyond the piano, table, chairs, a few shelves filled with books,
and one or two small prints; but Lischen did not think this mattered, as
everything was so neat and shining. She felt sorry, however, that it was
so dark, and that its one small window had no other prospect than a
close, dreary courtyard--for Johanna still had her little shop in
front--and proposed to Hannes that they should bring some
scarlet-runners from Winsen, which could be planted in the courtyard and
trained up sticks. There would soon be something bright in front of the
parlour window. Johannes greatly approved of the plan, which worked well
up to the planting of the beans and the placing of some immensely high
sticks in readiness for the training. After this stage it disappointed
expectations, as the plants failed to do their part and firmly abstained
from growing.
It would have been impossible for Johannes to pass with entire enjoyment
through the months of his visit to Winsen if he had been without the
means of gratifying a taste hardly less strong in him than his passion
for music. From the very early age at which he was first able to read,
he had been devoted to books, and, whilst showing the child's natural
preference for the romantic and wonderful, had displayed strange
discrimination in the choice of his favourite tales. He had always
contrived by some means or other to provide himself with reading
material, preferring books for his little birthday and Christmas gifts,
buying them from time to time from pedlars' wheelbarrows with his
collection of halfpennies, or begging the loan of a volume from a
friend. Brahms' exceptional knowledge of the Bible grew from the time
when, as a young child, he was accustomed to eat his dinner with the
book lying open beside his plate, absorbed in the Old Testament stories
which were then his prime favourites, misty speculations forming in his
brain which laid the foundation of his future attitude towards many of
life's problems. He had not been long at Winsen before he had exhausted
the mental nourishment afforded by Uncle Giesemann's collection of
volumes. Fortunately, another resource was at hand. There was a lending
library in the neighbourhood belonging to a certain Frau Löwenherz, a
Jewess, who had a son called Aaron. With Aaron the two children made
friends, and of him, in the absence of sufficient funds to pay the full
price of a constant supply of literature, they sought counsel. He proved
an able adviser, and, whilst promising to obtain for them access to the
coveted books, showed that he was not wanting in the capacity of turning
opportunity to profit on his own account. He promised that he would, on
his private responsibility, bring one volume at a time for the perusal
of Hannes and Lischen, to be put back when done with and replaced by
another; the price demanded and agreed to for this secret service being
one groschen (about a penny) for each supply.
By this expedient Hannes and Lischen--the latter having probably been
the active partner in striking the bargain, for Johannes had few spare
pennies--found themselves provided with as many books as they could
desire. Their best time for reading was when they sat together by the
river-bank, or fished in the pond during the afternoon. Forgetting their
rods, they used to pore silently over the open book supported between
them, devouring one tale after another of knights and tournaments,
outlaws and bandits. Aaron received very particular instruction as to
the kind of selections he was to make, and took pains to suit the taste
of his patrons. He appeared one afternoon with a volume containing the
history of 'The Beautiful Magelone and the Knight Peter with the Silver
Keys.' That was a red-letter day in the history of the young subscribers
to the lending library which neither Hannes nor Lischen ever forgot. The
romance made an indelible impression on both of them. As for bandits,
what better could Johannes desire than a work bearing the stimulating
title of 'The Robbers,' which Aaron offered another day, insisting with
justifiable pride on the success of his researches? The book was written
by one Schiller, and proved so satisfactory that Hannes begged Aaron to
be on the look-out for other volumes bearing this name on the
title-page.
It might be expected that the young conductor of the Winsen Choral
Society and the pupil of the distinguished musician of Altona would turn
his studies to account by writing something for the use of his choir,
and so it was. Johannes composed an 'ABC' four-part song for his
school-teachers, consisting of thirty-two bars in two-four time,
preceded by three bars of introduction and followed by a kind of
signature. The introduction and first three of the four eight-bar
phrases had for their text the letters of the alphabet arranged, first
in order, and then in syllables of two letters as in a first spelling
lesson; the fourth phrase was set to a few words introduced at random.
The composition closed with the words 'Winsen, eighteen hundred seven
and forty,' sung in full chorus, _lento_ and _fortissimo_, on the
reiterated tonic chord. The little composition, tuneful and spirited,
showing a feeling for independent part-writing, and conceived in a vein
of boyish fun that was fully appreciated by the teachers, was soon
succeeded by a second, 'The Postilion's Morning Song,' composed to the
well-known words 'Vivat! und in's Horn ich stosse.' The young musician
was also requested by a deputation from the school-children of Winsen to
assist them in the performance of a serenade with which they were
desirous of greeting their Rector Köhler on his birthday. He accordingly
looked out one suitable to the occasion, arranged it in two parts,
practised the boys and girls until they were perfect with it, and
conducted the performance outside the Rector's house on the eve of the
birthday celebration. He was very strict and serious when engaged in
these professional duties, beat time with great verve, and insisted on
careful observance of the _pianos_ and _fortes_, as well as on the
proper graduation of the _rallentandos_. The singing of the Ständchen
was declared brilliantly successful by the quite considerable audience
that assembled near the Rector's house to enjoy it.
Rumours of the increased musical activity of Winsen could not fail to
reach the ears of the Amtsvogt, Herr Blume, an official of good social
standing residing there, whose duties, as administrator of some of the
rural districts of northern Hanover, brought him into touch with the
life of such parts of the country as were included in his circuit. Herr
Blume was not far short of seventy when Johannes paid his first visit to
the Giesemanns, but his interest in music and love for Beethoven's art
were as strong as ever, and Johannes, before leaving Winsen, was invited
to his house, and pressed to use his piano for practice. The boy
delighted the Amtsvogt by playing with him some four-hand pianoforte
arrangements of Beethoven's works, and won the heart of Frau Blume, in
spite of his shy, awkward manner, by his simple, childlike nature. If,
as was hoped, he should be able to repeat his visit to Uncle Giesemann
next year, he was to come often to the Blumes' house, and use the piano
as long as he liked. Great regret was felt throughout the circle of
Winsen friends at the news of the young musician's impending departure,
but the arrival of autumn brought with it the necessity for the
resumption of duties in Hamburg, and nothing remained save to hope for a
renewal of the pleasures his long visit had brought to many beside
himself.
Johannes returned to his home in such a satisfactory condition of health
and spirits that he was able, with Marxsen's approval, to take a decided
step forward in his career. He played in the Apollo Concert-room on
November 20, at a benefit concert given by Birgfeld, already known to
our readers as the violinist of the subscription concert at the 'Old
Raven,' performing Thalberg's Fantasia on airs from 'Norma.' Marxsen's
affection for his pupil and appreciation of his gifts are clearly to be
read in the summary of concerts which appeared a week later in the
_Freischütz_, a widely-read Hamburg paper to which he was one of the
chief contributors:
'Birgfeld's concert is said to have been interesting and enjoyable
as regards both the vocal and instrumental portions of the
programme. A very special impression was made by the performance of
one of Thalberg's fantasias by a little virtuoso called J. Brahms,
who not only showed great facility, precision, clearness, power,
and certainty, but occasioned general surprise and obtained
unanimous applause by the intelligence of his interpretation.'
On the 27th of the same month, Johannes appeared in the small room of
the Tonhalle at a concert of the pianist Frau Meyer-David, whom he
assisted in the performance of a duet for two pianofortes, also by
Thalberg, whose fame was at this time at its height. Marxsen's influence
is again apparent in the special mention of Johannes in the Freischütz
review, though it is evident, from the misspelling of the name, that he
was not the writer of the notice:
'The duet performed by the concert-giver and the young pianist
Bruns, who lately appeared for the first time in public with such
marked success, gave satisfaction, and was played with laudable
unity and facility.'
With the exception of a mere record of the same performance in the
_Hamburger Nachrichten_, no further mention of Johannes is to be found
in the newspapers of the winter 1847-48. It was passed by the young
musician in much the same routine of severe study by day and fatiguing
labour by night as the previous one had witnessed. He was, however,
spared in the spring for another visit to the Giesemanns' house, to
which he returned as to a second home. The members of the choral society
were delighted to welcome their conductor, who, in the course of the
season, added to their répertoire by arranging two folk-songs for use at
the practices. These must be accepted as the earliest recorded
illustrations of the partiality for national songs and melodies which
remained one of the great composer's most characteristic traits, and
which culminated, less than three years before his death, in the
publication, in seven books, of his well-known collection of German
Volkslieder.
Johannes was frequently at the Blumes' this year, and often played duets
with the Amtsvogt. Lischen's pianoforte lessons were not resumed, as
they had not been attended by any great result. It was difficult to
confine her to the house to practise on bright summer afternoons, when
she longed to be enjoying herself out of doors. She never entirely
forgot what Johannes had taught her on his first visit, however, and
continued to be very fond of music. It was hoped that by-and-by it might
be possible to have her voice thoroughly trained. Johannes felt sure it
would develop into a fine one.
Meanwhile she succeeded in procuring for her companion the greatest
pleasure he had as yet experienced. He wanted very much to hear an
opera, and Lischen thought she would like it, too, so one day, when they
were going together to Hamburg, she persuaded her father to stand treat
for two places in the gallery. It was to be a great night. Formes, then
of Vienna, had been secured for a few weeks by the managers of the Stadt
Theater (the opera-house of Hamburg), and was making a great sensation.
Lischen and Hannes were to hear him in 'Figaro's Hochzeit,' the
title-rôle of which was one of his great parts. They started early from
the house on the Dammthorwall, supplied by Frau Brahms with some
buttered rolls, and waited for two hours in the street before the door
opened, which was part of the pleasure. They got capital places, and
enjoyed sitting in the gallery before the performance, looking at the
house and seeing the people come in. But when the music began Johannes
was almost beside himself with excitement, and Lischen has never to this
day forgotten his joy. 'Lischen, Lischen, listen to the music! there
never was anything like it!' Uncle Adolph was made so happy when he
heard all about the evening and perceived the delight he had given, that
he said the visit to the opera must be repeated, and accordingly the
pair of friends went a little later on, to hear Kreutzer's 'Das
Nachtlager von Granada,' which both of them enjoyed very, very much.
Johannes was not able to stay so long at Winsen this year as last, and
still greater sadness was felt as the day drew near on which his visit
would terminate, as it was the last of the kind he would pay. It was his
confirmation year. He was past fifteen now, his general school education
was finished, and he was to take his position in the world as a musician
who had his way to make and would be expected to contribute regularly to
the support of his family and the education of his brother Fritz,
destined for a pianist and teacher. He copied out the four-part songs,
dedicated to the Winsen Choral Society, beautifully, as a parting
present to Lischen, putting headings to each in splendid caligraphy, and
adding her name with a special inscription. Lischen treasured the
manuscripts long after she had become a wife and mother, in memory of a
happy episode of her youth.
There was a solemn farewell ceremony at the last meeting of the choral
society, which took place at the Deutsches Haus. After the conclusion of
the practice, the conductor addressed his singers in a poem written by
himself for the occasion, which began with the line: 'Lebt wohl, lebt
wohl, ihr Freunde schlicht und bieder' (Farewell, farewell, ye friends
upright and simple). An instant's sorrowful silence followed; then
there was a tremendous stamping and clapping and shouting, and the big
master-baker Rieckmann, calling out, 'Here, young one!' hoisted Johannes
over his shoulder pickapack, and marched several times round the table,
followed by Lischen and the other members of the society singing a last
chorus.
It was the concluding scene of Johannes' childhood, which had been
unusually protracted, in spite of its drawbacks; but, as everybody said,
he was to come often again to Winsen, and whenever he should be able to
take a short relaxation from the serious duties of life awaiting him, he
would know where to find a number of friends ready to greet his arrival
amongst them with heartiest welcome.
[8] Clasing was a pupil of C. F. G. Schwenke, who succeeded C. P.
Emanuel Bach as cantor and music-director of St. Catharine's Church,
Hamburg. On the death of Emanuel Bach in 1788, a portion of his library
came into Schwenke's possession, including the score, in Sebastian
Bach's own handwriting, of the great B minor Mass.
[9] La Mara, 'Studien Köpfe.'
[10] 'Brahms in Erinnerung.'
[11] Steiner's 'Johannes Brahms'. Neujahr'sblatt der Allg.
Musikgesellschaft in Zürich, 1898.
CHAPTER III
1848-1853
Johannes' first public concert--Years of struggle--Hamburg
Lokals--Louise Japha--Edward Reményi--Sonata in F sharp
minor--First concert-tour as Reményi's accompanist--Concerts at
Winsen, Celle, Lüneburg, and Hildesheim--Musical parties in
1853--Leipzig and Weimar--Robert Schumann--Joseph Joachim.
It was on September 21 that Johannes made his fresh start in life by
giving a concert of his own, thus presenting himself to his circle as a
musician who was now to stand on an independent footing. It took place
in the familiar room of the 'Old Raven,' 'Herr Honnef's Hall,' with the
assistance of Marxsen's friends, Madame and Fräulein Cornet, and some
instrumentalists of Hamburg. The price of tickets was one mark (about a
shilling), and the programme, as printed in the _Hamburger Nachrichten_
of the 20th, was as follows:
FIRST PART.
1. Adagio and rondo from Rosenhain's Concerto in A major for Piano,
performed by the concert-giver.
2. Duet from Mozart's 'Figaro,' sung by Mad. and Fräul. Cornet.
3. Variations for Violin, by Artôt, performed by Herr Risch.
4. 'Das Schwabenmädchen,' Lied, sung by Mad. Cornet.
5. Fantasia on Themes from Rossini's 'Tell,' for Piano, by Döhler,
performed by the concert-giver.
SECOND PART.
6. Introduction and Variations for Clarinet, by Herzog, performed
by Herr Glade.
7. Aria from Mozart's 'Figaro,' sung by Frl. Cornet.
8. Fantasia for Violoncello, composed and performed by Herr
d'Arien.
9. _a_) 'Der Tanz' } Lieder, sung by Mad.
_b_) 'Der Fischer auf dem Meer' } Cornet.
10. _a_) Fugue by Sebastian Bach
_b_) Serenade for left hand only, by E. Marxsen
_c_) Étude by Herz, performed by the concert-giver.
Unattractive as it now seems, this selection of pieces was no doubt made
with a view to the taste of the day, and the inclusion of a single Bach
fugue was probably a rather daring concession to that of the
concert-giver and his teacher. The two vocal numbers from 'Figaro' may
be accepted as echoes of the boy's delight on the evening of his recent
first visit to the opera. No record remains of the result of the
concert, but its success may fairly be inferred from the fact that it
was followed, in the spring of 1849, by a second, for which the price of
the tickets was increased to two marks. This was announced twice in the
_Nachrichten_ as follows:
'The undersigned will have the honour of giving a musical soirée on
April 14 in the concert-room of the Jenisch'schen Haus (Katharine
Street, 17), for which he ventures herewith to issue his
invitation. Several of the first resident artists have kindly
promised their assistance to the programme, which will be published
in this journal.
'J. BRAHMS, Pianist.'
The programme was appended to the third and last advertisement of April
10:
FIRST PART.
1. Grand Sonata in C major, Op. 53, by Beethoven. (The
concert-giver.)
2. Romance from Donizetti's 'Liebestrank.' (Th. Wachtel.)
3. Schubert's 'Ave Maria,' performed on the Horn by Herr Börs.
4. 'O geh' nicht fort,' Lied, by E. Marxsen, sung by Frl. Cornet.
5. Fantasia for Piano on a favourite Waltz, composed and performed
by the concert-giver.
SECOND PART.
6. Concerto for Violin, by Fr. Mollenhauer, performed by Herr Ed.
Mollenhauer.
7. Songs. Me. Cornet.
8. Fantasia on Themes from 'Don Juan,' by Thalberg, performed by
the concert-giver.
9. Duet, sung by Me. and Frl. Cornet.
10. Variations for Flute, by Fräsch, performed by Herr Koppelhöfer.
11. Air Italien, by C. Meyer, performed by the concert-giver.
The performance of Beethoven's 'Waldstein' sonata, Op. 53, was regarded
long after the close of the forties, as a great technical feat, and,
taken together with the execution of the 'Don Juan' fantasia, would
represent something near the height of the pianistic virtuosity of the
time, whilst with the Fantasia on a favourite waltz the concert-giver
made his first public entrée as a composer. This work must be identified
with the variations on a favourite waltz mentioned by La Mara as having
been played at his concert by the young Brahms, of which one variation
took the form of a 'very good canon.' Marxsen's notice of the concert in
the _Freischütz_ of April 17 was the only one that appeared:
'In the concert given by J. Brahms, the youthful virtuoso gave most
satisfactory proofs of advancement in his artistic career. His
performance of Beethoven's sonata showed that he is already able to
devote himself successfully to the study of the classics, and
redounded in every respect to his honour. The example of his own
composition also indicated unusual talent.'
Although the report adds that the room was so full as to oblige many
listeners to be content with seats in the ante-room, it is probable that
the young musician found concert-giving more vexatious and expensive
than useful or profitable. Though he appeared from time to time at the
benefit-concerts of other artists, and repeated his own fantasia at one
given on December 6 by Rudolph Lohfeldt, his third soirée in Hamburg,
given under conditions of which he could not at this time have dared to
dream, did not take place till after the lapse of another decade. The
four or five years immediately succeeding his formal entry into life
were, perhaps, the darkest of Brahms' career. Money had to be earned,
and the young Bach-Mozart-Beethoven enthusiast earned it by giving
wretchedly-paid lessons to pupils who lacked both talent and wish to
learn, and by his night drudgery amid the sordid surroundings of the
Hamburg dancing-saloons.
It was an amelioration in his life and a step forward in his career,
when he was engaged by the publisher, August Cranz, as one of several
contributors to a series of popular arrangements of light music,
published under the name 'G. W. Marks.' We have read in Widmann's pages
of the spirit in which the great composer, a few years before his death,
recalled these passages of his struggling youth:
'He could not, he said, wish that it had been less rough and
austere. He had certainly earned his first money by arranging
marches and dances for garden orchestras, or orchestral music for
the piano, but it gave him pleasure even now, when he came across
one of these anonymously circulating pieces, to think that he had
devoted faithful labour and all the knowledge at his command, to
such hireling's work. He did not even regard as useless experience
that he had often had to accompany wretched singers or to play
dance music in Lokals, whilst he was longing for the quiet morning
hours during which he should be able to write down his own
thoughts. "The prettiest songs came to me as I blacked my boots
before daybreak."'
And if the master could so speak and think of his early trials, must not
we, who are, perhaps, the richer through them, treasure the remembrance
of the nights of uncongenial toil through which he passed to become,
even on the threshold of life, its conqueror and true possessor? The
iron entered his soul, however, and the impression derived from his
night work remained with him till death. He was accustomed to read
steadily through the hours of his slavery. Placing a volume of history,
poetry, or romance on the music-desk before him, his thoughts were away
in a world of imagination, whilst his fingers were mechanically busy
with the tinkling keys. He did not lift his eyes to the scene before him
after his first entrance, though there were times when he felt it with
shuddering dismay. It is, however, right to repeat that, as we have
hinted in a previous chapter, this kind of industry was a more or less
recognised means by which struggling musicians of the class to which
Jakob Brahms belonged, were enabled to help their needy circumstances,
and it would not be difficult to name more than one executant afterwards
well known who fulfilled similar engagements in youth. The position of
Johannes was not in itself exceptional, though the contemplation of it
is now startling from its contrast with his tender nature, his sensitive
genius, and the great place which he ultimately won.
An engagement of which Kalbeck speaks, to act as accompanist behind the
scenes and on the stage of the Stadt Theater, may have been less irksome
to the young musician than his other hack work, and it is possible to
believe that the experience drawn from it may have been of some
appreciable value to him in after-life, even though his artistic
development did not result in dramatic composition. Evidence is not
wanting, however, to show that he kept his thoughts steadily fixed upon
the higher practical possibilities of his profession, and that, though
his position continued very obscure, it did not remain at a standstill.
His terms to pupils increased to about a shilling a lesson, and
occasionally he was able to get more. Every now and then he obtained a
small concert-engagement, or officiated at a private party, and on one
occasion he appeared with Otto Goldschmidt, the then leading pianist of
Hamburg, who was about four years his senior, in a performance of
Thalberg's duet for two pianofortes on airs from 'Norma.'
Conditions at home remained unfavourable for practice, and Johannes now
worked regularly at the establishment of Messrs. Baumgarten and Heinz,
where an instrument was always at his service. Here, one day, he met
Fräulein Louise Japha, who remembered the circumstance, already recorded
in these pages, of having heard him play five or six years previously as
a child of eleven. A talk ensued, a sympathetic note was struck, and a
comradeship quickly grew up between the two young musicians. Louise,
born in 1826, and therefore some seven years the senior of Johannes, was
possessed of high musical endowment. At the time of which we write, she
was the pupil of Fritz Wahrendorf for pianoforte, and of William Grund
for theory and composition. She achieved eminence later on, becoming
well known in Germany and a great favourite with the public of Paris.
Frau Dr. Langhans-Japha is now not far from eighty, but there is still a
peculiar charm in her playing, which is especially distinguished by
beauty of tone and phrasing. Her competent sympathy was a valuable
addition to young Brahms' pleasures in life, in the days when he knew
little of congenial artistic companionship. They met constantly to play
duets and compare notes as to their compositions, for Louise was a
song-writer of ability. Johannes used to discuss with her both his
favourite authors and his manuscripts. One day it was a long exercise in
double counterpoint that he brought to show her, another day a
pianoforte solo. On a third occasion he produced a pianoforte duet in
several movements, which he begged her to try with him, and,
acknowledging its authorship at the close of the performance, asked her
opinion of the work. This proving generally favourable, the composer,
going more into detail, took exception to one of his themes, which he
feared was rather 'ordinary'; but when Louise was half inclined to agree
with him, he cried angrily: 'Why did you not say so yourself? Why was I
obliged to ask you?'
He was always composing, and as time went on, was ably guided by Marxsen
to the practice of the large musical forms, over which he soon acquired
conspicuous mastery, showing extraordinary facility in applying to them
the skill he had gradually attained in free contrapuntal writing, whilst
allowing to his fancy the stimulus of the classical-romantic literature
that appealed with special force to his imagination. 'It came into my
head after reading so-and-so,' he would say. The whole of his small
amount of spare cash was devoted to the purchase of second-hand volumes
from the stalls to be found in the Jews' quarter of Hamburg, and what he
bought he read. Sophocles and Cicero, Dante and Tasso, Klopstock and
Lessing, Goethe and Schiller, Eichendorff, Chamisso, Pope, Young, and
many other poets, were represented in the library collected by him
between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one.[12] His favourite romances
were those of Jean Paul and E. T. A. Hoffmann, whose influence over his
mind is easily recognisable in the published compositions of his first
period. No other work on which he might be engaged, however, prevented
him from the composition of many songs. He threw one off after another.
'I generally read a poem through very slowly,' he said to Louise, 'and
then, as a rule, the melody is there.'
Fräulein Japha was before her time in conceiving an enthusiasm for
Schumann's art, and tried hard to win over Johannes to an appreciation
of its beauties, but he was too entirely under the influence of Marxsen,
who, in training him as a composer rightly proceeded on strictly
orthodox lines, to become a present convert. He, on his part, made
efforts to induce Louise to change her teachers and put herself under
his master. She had quite other views, however. Schumann and his wife
paid a visit to Hamburg in 1850, appearing several times in public, and
Louise resolved that if it could be made possible, she would enter on a
fresh course of study of composition and the piano under the two great
artists respectively. She only waited for a convenient opportunity to
carry out her plan. Johannes approached Schumann in another fashion, by
sending a packet of manuscripts to his hotel and begging for his
opinion. It is no wonder that the master, who was besieged on all sides
during his week's stay, found no time to look at them, and returned the
parcel unopened.
It must not be supposed that the young Brahms was always so
companionable as we have shown him when in the society of his chosen
friends. He had his moods. Christian Miller's early experiences of his
persistent taciturnity had not been exceptional. He spent a few evenings
at the Japhas' house, but Louise's family, her sister Minna only
excepted, by no means took a fancy to her favourite. One evening, when
he was about eighteen, a gentleman of the Japha circle, who had been
interested in hearing him play the scherzo now known as Op. 4, the
earliest written of his published instrumental works, accompanied him on
the way home, and made repeated but quite hopeless efforts after
sociability. Not one word would Johannes say. Perhaps he felt subsequent
secret prickings of conscience, for he made confession to Louise, though
not in any apparently repentant spirit. 'One is not always inclined to
talk,' he said; 'often one would rather not, and then it is best to be
silent. You understand that, don't you?' 'No, you were very naughty,'
she told him, but forgave him nevertheless. She could overlook his
occasional whims. She perceived his genius, admired his candid nature,
and felt her heart warm to him when he talked to her of the old mother
to whom he was devoted, and of Marxsen, whom he revered with all the
enthusiastic loyalty of his true heart. Soon after his walk with the
Japhas' friend he had a chance opportunity of playing his scherzo to
Henry Litolff, who bestowed high praise on the composition.
Meanwhile the friends at Winsen faithfully remembered their young
musician. Uncle Adolph and friend Schröder seldom missed going to see
him when occasion brought either of them to Hamburg, and Lischen came
over to be introduced to Madame Cornet and Marxsen. Johannes persevered
in his desire that her voice should be trained for the musical
profession, and wished her to obtain a good opinion on the subject. The
verdict of the authorities proved, however, unfavourable to the project.
Of the general invitation to visit the Giesemanns Brahms gladly availed
himself, staying sometimes for a few days, sometimes in the summer for a
week or two, as his occupations allowed. He was never again able to
undertake the choral society, but there was always a great deal of music
at the Amtsvogt's house when he was at Winsen, as well as at the
Giesemanns' and Schröders'. Town-musician Koch was a good violinist, and
but too happy to have the chance of playing the duet sonatas of Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven with such a colleague, and every now and again
compositions were looked out in which Uncle Giesemann could take part
with his guitar. Pretty Sophie Koch, the younger of the town-musician's
two daughters, took great interest in these artistic doings, and it was
rumoured, as time went on, that her fondness for music was not untinged
by a personal element connected with the Giesemanns' popular guest. If
this were so, Johannes himself was probably the last person to become
observant of it. He was wholly absorbed in his profession, and several
quite independent informants have concurred in describing him to the
author as being, at this time of his life, something less than
indifferent to the society of ladies, and especially of young ones. For
his early playmate, Lischen, his affection continued unchanged, and with
her he remained on the old terms of frank and cordial friendship.
It happened as a natural consequence of the political revolution which
took place early in the year 1848 in Germany and Austria, that, during
the year or two following its speedy termination, there was an influx
into Hamburg and its neighbourhood of refugees on their way to America.
Conspicuous among them were a number of Hungarians of various sorts and
degrees, who found such sympathetic welcome in the rich, free
merchant-city that they were in no hurry to leave it. Some of them
remained there for many months on one pretext or another, and amongst
these was the violinist Edward Reményi, a German-Hungarian Jew whose
real name was Hoffmann.
Reményi, born in 1830, had been during three years of his boyhood a
pupil of the Vienna Conservatoire, studying under Joseph Böhm, now
remembered as the teacher of Joachim. He had real artistic endowment,
and played the works of the classical masters well, if somewhat
extravagantly; but something more than talent was displayed in his
rendering of the airs and dances of his native country, which he gave
with a fire and abandon that excited his hearers to wild enthusiasm.
Eccentric and boastful, he knew how to profit to the utmost by his
successes in Hamburg, where he created a furore. Johannes, engaged one
evening to act as accompanist at the house of a rich merchant, made his
personal acquaintance, and Reményi, quickly perceiving the advantage he
derived from having such a coadjutor, made overtures of friendship in
his swaggering, patronizing way, which were not repulsed by the young
pianist. Brahms had, in fact, been fascinated by Reményi's spirited
rendering of his national Friskas and Czardas; he was willing that the
chance acquaintance should be improved into an alliance, and, on his
next visit to the Giesemanns' house, was accompanied by his new friend.
The violinist had connections of his own in the neighbourhood. Begas, a
Hungarian magnate, had settled down into a large villa at Dehensen, on
the Lüneburg Heath, that had been placed at his disposal for as long a
time as he should find it possible to elude or cajole the police
authorities, and kept open house for his compatriots and their friends.
To his circle Brahms was introduced, and much visiting ensued between
Dehensen and Winsen, for one or two musicians staying with Begas were
pleased to come and make music with Reményi and Johannes, and to partake
of the Giesemanns' hospitality. It was a feather in Brahms' cap, in the
eyes of many of his friends, that he had been able to capture for Winsen
such a celebrity as Reményi, though they were not all quite of one mind.
Lischen, for example, did not care for him at all, but much preferred
the tall, handsome fiddler Janovitch, with his flashing black eyes and
his velvet jacket, who wrote a splendid characteristic waltz expressly
that he might dedicate it to her. The jolly party broke up suddenly at
last, running off to take speedy ship for America, for they had heard
that the police were on their heels. Johannes, who happened to be at
Winsen when this crisis occurred, accompanied them as far as Hamburg,
where he remained to pursue his ordinary avocations. Meanwhile the
Friskas and Czardas continued to revolve in his brain.
Time went on, the Hungarians were no longer vividly regretted, and
somewhere about the autumn of 1852, Brahms was left more lonely than
ever by the departure of Louise Japha, who found opportunity to carry
out her cherished wish to stay at Düsseldorf, where the Schumanns had
now been settled for about two years. Her sister Minna was to accompany
her, to carry on the cultivation of her own special gift under Professor
Sohn, of the Düsseldorf Academy of Art. The thought of losing his friend
caused Johannes great sorrow. 'Do not go,' he entreated; 'you are the
only person here that takes any interest in me!' His prospects do not
seem to have been improving at this time, and his best encouragement
must have been derived from his own sense of his artistic progress. This
was advancing by enormous strides, the exact measure of which is
furnished by the manuscript of the Sonata in F sharp minor now in the
possession of Hofcapellmeister Albert Dietrich. It bears the signature
'Kreisler jun.,' a pseudonym adopted by Brahms out of love for the
capellmeister Johannes Kreisler, hero of one of Hoffmann's tales, and
the date November, 1852.
This work, which, though published later on as Op. 2, was written
earlier than the companion sonata known as Op. 1, is, in many of its
fundamental characteristics, immediately prophetic of the future master.
In it the mastery of form and skill in contrapuntal writing, the
facility in the art of thematic development, the strikingly contrasted
imaginative qualities--here subtly poetic, there large and
powerful--bring us face to face with the artist nature which united in
itself high purpose, resolute will, sure capacity, sensitive
romanticism, boundless daring. The fancy, however, has not yet
crystallized; the young musician has still to pass out of the stage of
mental ferment natural to his age before he will be able to mould his
thoughts into the concentrated shape which alone can convince the world.
The sonata, not perhaps destined ever to become widely familiar, must
always remain a treasure to the sympathetic student of Brahms' art, not
only by reason of the beauties in which it abounds, but also because it
is absolutely representative of its composer as he was at nineteen. We
may read his favourite authors in some of its movements without the need
of an interpreter, and we know, from his own communication to Dietrich,
that the melody of the second movement was inspired by the words of the
German folk-song, 'Mir ist leide, Das der Winter Beide, Wald und auch
die Haide, hat gemachet kahl.'
It would be difficult, and is fortunately unnecessary, to trace the
exact steps of Reményi's career after his flight from Germany. For the
purpose of our narrative the facts suffice that he reappeared in Hamburg
at the close of 1852, giving a concert in the Hôtel de l'Europe, which
does not seem to have created any great sensation, and that he found
himself in the same city in the spring of 1853. Brahms, depressed by the
hopeless monotony of his daily grind, was no doubt glad enough to see
him, and, as his slack time was at hand, it was proposed, perhaps by
Reményi, perhaps by Uncle Giesemann, possibly by Johannes himself, that
the two musicians should give a concert to their friends in Winsen, who
would, no doubt, hail the prospect of such an event, and assist it to
the utmost of their power. Communications were opened, and the proposal
was not only entertained, but developed, as such ideas are apt to do. If
at Winsen, why not also at Lüneburg and Celle? Amtsvogt Blume had
influence in both towns, which he would be too happy to exert. In the
end, the project expanded into the plan of a concert-tour. Johannes and
Reményi would give performances in the three localities named, and from
Celle it would be no distance to go on to Hanover, where the
twenty-one-year-old Joachim, already a European celebrity, had a post at
Court. Reményi had known him for a short time when they had both been
boys at the Vienna Conservatoire; they would go and see him. He was
bound to welcome his compatriot and former fellow-pupil. Who could tell
what might happen?
No doubt Brahms' heart beat fast when he left home on this his first
quest of adventure, and probably not the least ardent of his
anticipations was that of making the personal acquaintance of the
celebrated violinist whose first appearance in Hamburg at the
Philharmonic concert of March 11, 1848, with Beethoven's Concerto,
remained vividly in his remembrance as one of the few great musical
events of his own life. Before starting, he exacted a promise from his
mother that she would write to him regularly once a week--not a mere
greeting, but a real letter of several pages. It was a serious
undertaking for Johanna, who was not practised in penmanship, but she
gave her word to Hannes, and found means to keep it. The travellers took
but little luggage with them. Such as Johannes carried was made the
heavier by his packet of manuscripts, which contained his pianoforte
sonata-movements and scherzo, a sonata for pianoforte and violin, a
pianoforte trio, a string quartet, a number of songs, and possibly other
works. One programme was to suffice for the concert _tournée_, and this
the two artists had in their heads.
The exact date of the Winsen concert is forgotten, apparently beyond
chance of recall, but the event may be fixed with certainty as having
taken place in the last week of April. Both musicians were the guests of
the Giesemanns for several days beforehand, and spent the greater part
of their mornings practising together, beginning before breakfast. They
gave a great deal of time to the Hungarian melodies, and it would seem
as though Johannes had been preparing a pianoforte accompaniment; for
they repeated the periods over and over again, Reményi becoming very
irritable during the process. The season was a warm one; they worked
energetically in their shirt-sleeves, and the violinist more than once
drew a scream of pain from his colleague, by bringing the violin bow
suddenly down on his shoulder to emphasize the capricious _tempo_ he
required. One morning Johannes, very angry, jumped up from the piano,
and declared he would no longer bear with Reményi; but the concert came
off nevertheless, and turned out a brilliant success. It took place in
the large room of the Rusteberg club-house; the entrance fee was about
eight-pence, and the profits to be divided came to rather over nine
pounds. Beethoven's C minor Sonata for pianoforte and violin headed the
programme, and was followed by violin solos; Vieuxtemps' Concerto in E
major, Ernst's 'Elégie,' and several Hungarian melodies, all accompanied
by Brahms, who, it must be remembered, was but the junior partner in the
enterprise. Only one thing was to be regretted. Schröder had been ill,
and could not come to Winsen for the concert. He managed, however, to
attend a repetition of the programme, which the two artists gave the
next day in his schoolroom at Hoopte, expressly in order that he might
get some amount of pleasure out of the great doings of the
neighbourhood.
The next concert took place on May 2 at Celle. It had been arranged for
with the assistance of Dr. Köhler, a well-known inhabitant of the town,
probably a relation of the Rector of Winsen, and a friend of Amtsvogt
Blume, who, besides seeing through the business arrangements, had
neglected no opportunity of arousing general interest in the event. The
single public announcement appeared in the _Celles'sche Anzeigen_ of
Saturday, April 30:
'Next Monday evening at seven o'clock the concert of the Herren
Reményi and Brahms will take place in the Wierss'schen room. The
subscription price is 12 g.gr.[13] Tickets may also be obtained of
Herr Wierss jun. at Herr Duncker's hotel, and on the evening at the
room for 16 g.gr.'
At Celle there was a sensation. The two artists, going, on the morning
of May 2, to try their pieces in the concert-room, were dismayed to
find that the only pianoforte of which it boasted was in such an
advanced state of old age as to be unusable for their purpose. Classical
concerts were rare events in Celle, and it had occurred to no one to
doubt the excellence of the instrument; a piano was a piano. It was
arranged that every effort should be made, during the few hours that
remained, to procure a better one, and a better one was actually
discovered and sent in just as the hour had arrived for the concert to
begin. But a fresh difficulty arose. The second instrument proved to be
nearly a semitone below pitch, and Reményi refused to make so
considerable a change in the tuning of his violin. What was to be done?
The practised and intrepid Johannes made short work of the difficulty.
If Reményi would tune his fiddle slightly up, so as to bring it to a
true semitone above the piano, he himself would transpose his part of
the Beethoven sonata a semitone higher than written, and play it in C
sharp instead of C minor. No sooner said than done. The young musician
performed the feat without turning a hair, though his colleague allowed
him no quarter, and the performance was applauded to the echo. Reményi
behaved well on this occasion. Addressing the audience, he related the
circumstances in which he and his companion had found themselves placed,
and said that all approval belonged by right to Brahms, whose
musicianship had saved the situation for everyone concerned. History
does not relate whether the young hero transposed his parts throughout
the evening, or whether the old instrument was sufficiently serviceable
for the accompaniments of the violin solos, and the question does not
appear to have suggested itself until the present time, when it cannot
be solved. Johannes himself seems to have thought but little of his
achievement. Writing presently to let Marxsen know how he was getting
on, he mentioned the incident, not as worthy of comment, but as one
amongst others.
The day after these events Reményi and Brahms retraced their steps as
far as Lüneburg, where they were to remain for a week as the guests of
Herr Calculator Blume, son of the Amtsvogt. At his hospitable house
they were presented to the musical circle of the town, so far as it
included members of the sterner sex. At the earnest persuasion of
Brahms, no ladies were invited to the party arranged by Frau Blume in
the interests of the forthcoming concert. 'It is so much nicer without
them,' he said, and was so serious about the matter that his hostess
regretfully gave way to him. He played part of the C major Sonata, on
the composition of which he had lately been engaged, on this private
occasion, making but little impression with it. Perhaps the double
consciousness, which cannot but have been secretly present with him, of
his great artistic superiority to Reményi, and of the quite secondary
place to which he found himself relegated whenever they appeared
together, may have increased the awkward shyness which placed him at
such a disadvantage by the side of his colleague. He was incapable of
making any effort to assert himself in general society, and attracted
little notice from ordinary strangers who had no particular reason for
observing him closely. However, everyone behaved very kindly to him
throughout the journey. He was certainly a good pianist, and accompanied
Reményi delightfully.
The concert was advertised in the _Lüneburger Anzeiger_ of May 7, the
twentieth birthday anniversary of our Johannes:
'The undersigned propose to give a concert on Monday evening, the
9th inst., at 7.30, in Herr Balcke's Hall, and have the honour to
invite the attendance of the music-loving public. Amongst other
things, the concert-givers will perform Beethoven's Sonata for
Pianoforte and Violin in C minor, Op. 30, and Vieuxtemps' grand
Violin Concerto in E major.
'Tickets to be had,' etc.
'EDWARD REMÉNYI.
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.'
Again a great success was scored, and the next day a second concert 'by
general desire' was announced, with the same programme and special
mention of the 'Hungarian Melodies,' for Wednesday, May 11. It brought
the visit to Lüneburg to a brilliant conclusion, and the performances
were again repeated on the 12th at a second concert in Celle, advertised
in the Celle journal of the 11th.
With the account of these five soirées, exact record of the public
concerts of the journey is exhausted. Neither advertisement nor local
recollection of any other can be traced, though Heuberger speaks, on the
authority of Brahms' personal recollection, of two given at
Hildesheim.[14] The first was very sparsely attended, and the artists,
after supping at a restaurant where they seem to have made merry with
some companions, paraded the streets with a queue of followers until
they arrived underneath the windows of a lady of position who had been
their principal patron. Reményi greeted her with some violin solos, the
assembled party followed suit with a chorus, and the ingenious
advertisement proved so successful that a second concert-venture on the
following evening drew a crowded audience. The circumstances thus
related point to the conclusion that the first concert at Hildesheim was
hastily arranged, and the explanation may be that some unexpected
introduction caused the musicians to visit the town. This would fit in
with the fact that there is no reference in any Hildesheim journal of
the date to Brahms and Reményi, and with the absence of all knowledge,
on the part of several persons still living who have personal
associations with the journey, of any other concerts than those in
Winsen, Lüneburg, and Celle, and of one other of a different kind in
Hanover, to which we shall return.
It is necessary for the understanding of what is to follow that we
should here part company, for a time, with the travellers. Before
introducing Johannes to the great musical world which he is to enter
before long, we must glance at the party questions by which it was
agitated in the early fifties, and which had hitherto been unknown or
unheeded by our young musician in the inexperience of his secluded life.
The musical world of Leipzig, the city raised by the leadership of
Mendelssohn to be the recognised capital of classical art, had become
split after the death of the master in November, 1847, into two
factions, both without an active head. The Schumannites, whilst
receiving no encouragement from the great composer whose art they
championed, decried Mendelssohn as a pedant and a phrase-maker, who,
having nothing particular to say, had covered his lack of meaning by
facility of workmanship. The Mendelssohnians, on the other hand,
declared Schumann to be wanting in mastery of form, and perceived in his
works a tendency to subordinate the objective, to the subjective, side
of musical art. The division soon spread beyond Leipzig throughout
Germany, and, in the course of years, to England, with the result that
Mendelssohn, once a popular idol, is now rarely represented in a concert
programme.
Meanwhile Franz Liszt, perhaps the greatest pianoforte executant of all
times, and one of the most magnetic personalities of his own, had
exchanged his brilliant career of virtuoso for the position of conductor
of the orchestra of the Weimar court theatre, with the avowed noble
purpose of bringing to a hearing such works of genius as had little
chance of being performed elsewhere. He declared himself the advocate of
the 'New-German' school, and, making active propaganda for the creeds of
Hector Berlioz and Richard Wagner, succeeded in attracting to his
standard some of the most talented of the younger generation of artists,
amongst whom Joachim, Raff, and the gifted and generous Hans von Bülow,
were some of the first converts. There were, therefore, three different
schools of serious musical thought in the year 1853, each of which
boasted numerous and distinguished adherents.
The purists of Leipzig held sacred the memory of Mendelssohn, clung to
the methods as well as the forms of classical tradition, and declined to
recognise as legitimate art anything that savoured of progress.
The Schumannites believed it possible to give musical expression to the
world-spirit of the time by expanding their methods within the old
forms--_i.e._, by free use of chromatic harmonies, varied cadences,
mixed rhythms, and so forth.
The Weimarites, rejoicing in the potent leadership of Liszt, declared
they would no longer be hampered either by old methods or old forms,
which they regarded as worn out and perishing of inanition.
The party disputes as to the respective merits of Mendelssohn and
Schumann, were as nothing beside the violent controversies which raged
for years around the theories professed by the founders of the so-called
'music of the future.' For some time the battle was fought chiefly
between the 'academics' of Leipzig and the 'revolutionists' of Weimar.
The classical-romantic art of Schumann had points of contact with that
of each of the extremists. Animated by new impulse and instinct with
modern thought, it was by no means coupled by the leaders of the new
party with that of Mendelssohn, but was accepted by them for some years
with more than toleration, and some of the master's works, as 'Genoveva'
and 'Manfred' were performed at Weimar under Liszt's direction. Schumann
himself, however, whilst warmly appreciating the great qualities of
Wagner's musicianship, was well aware that any relationship between his
own works and that of the new school was merely superficial. He was
second to none in his reverence for the forms of the great masters, upon
which he based his compositions, and, though it is probably the case
that the originality of his art-methods did not attract the sympathy of
Mendelssohn, he clung to the memory of this departed friend as that of a
beloved comrade in arms.
Schumann, who had long since retired from his labours as editor of the
_Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_, of which he was the founder, lived quietly
at Düsseldorf, where he had, in 1850, succeeded Ferdinand Hiller as
municipal conductor. The success achieved by him there, during the first
season of his activity as director of the orchestral subscription
concerts and the choral society, was only transient. His reserved
nature, and the progress of the malady that threatened him, unfitted him
for the position, and he was subject to the constant annoyance that
resulted from differences with his committee. To this was added the
serious disappointment of knowing that the periodical to which he had
devoted untiring energy during some of the best years of his life, had
become, under the editorship of Franz Brendel, the organ of the
New-German party, from whose principles he felt increasing alienation.
These vexations probably augmented his nervous condition, and his
habitual silence and reserve increased. His chief pleasure was found in
the absorbing work of composition, and in his generous sympathy with a
group of young musicians who regarded themselves as his disciples.
Perhaps feeling that the best part of his own career was already behind
him, he lived in the constant hope that someone would appear of creative
genius sufficiently decisive to indicate him as the worthy successor to
the prophet's mantle of classical art.
Many of our readers are aware that Joseph Joachim was born on June 28,
1831, at Kittsee, a village near Presburg in Hungary; that at the age of
twelve he had learnt all that the distinguished violinist Böhm, of the
Vienna Conservatoire, master of many famous pupils, could teach him; and
that he lived at Leipzig, well known at the conservatoire, though not
its pupil, for the next six years, happy during the first four of them
in the affection of Mendelssohn, to whom he was passionately attached,
and who lost no opportunity of furthering his protégé's genius and of
laying the foundation of his future career.
It was not until after Mendelssohn's death that either of the party
questions to which we have referred became acute, and Joseph grew up an
unquestioning believer in the principles of musical tradition, which he
reverenced with something of religious fervour. The loss of Mendelssohn
left him, at the age of sixteen, lonely and disconsolate, in spite of
his being himself already a distinguished personality and a universal
favourite. The peculiar place in his life which the master had occupied
could not again be filled, and for more than two years he was unable to
regard anyone as even the partial successor to his best affections. It
happened, however, that two events of the year 1850, awakened in his
heart something of the personal enthusiasm which had made his early
happiness. A week spent by the Schumanns at Leipzig in the month of
March, convinced him of his sympathy with the composer and his art; and
a visit which he paid to Weimar in August, on the occasion of the first
performance of Wagner's 'Lohengrin,' stirred him so strongly that by the
end of the year he had resigned his position in Leipzig and taken up his
residence in Weimar as concertmeister in Liszt's orchestra.[15]
Here he lived for two years, and it seemed for a time as though he would
become one of the most enthusiastic of the band of young musicians,
amongst whom were Bülow, Raff, Cornelius, and the violoncellist
Cossmann, who proclaimed themselves disciples of the new school. His
genius and his already eminent position as an artist made him by far the
most important member of the group, and he was treated by Liszt almost
on equal terms, as a younger colleague. In the constant companionship of
this fascinating master, Joachim felt some renewal of the satisfaction
in life which he had experienced when with Mendelssohn at Leipzig; but
his early convictions and affections were too deeply rooted to be
effaced by newer impressions, and his allegiance to the school of the
future was not permanent. Liszt's aspirations, as the composer of
sounding orchestral works which Joachim ought to have admired, but could
not, gradually caused the young concertmeister to feel his position a
false one, and he was glad to accept a post offered him, at the close of
1852, as court concertmeister and assistant capellmeister at Hanover. By
this step he regained his independence without hurting the feelings of
his Weimar friends. His absence of warmth on the subject of the
Symphonic Poems had, indeed, been observed by Liszt, but Joachim had
naturally refrained from expressing himself about them in detail, and
Liszt could not guess that his young companion had conceived a positive
aversion to his compositions. Joachim remained for some years yet on
terms of affectionate intimacy with Liszt, Bülow, and the others, and
was, indeed, so lonely and depressed during the first few months of his
residence in Hanover, that he was impelled to express his state of mind
by the composition of an overture to 'Hamlet.' Sending the manuscript to
Liszt in the middle of March, he wrote:
'I have been very much alone. The contrast between the atmosphere
which is constantly resounding, through your influence, with new
tones, and an air which is completely tone-still, is too barbarous.
Wherever I have looked there has been no one to share my aims--no
one; instead of the phalanx of like-minded friends at Weimar ... I
took up "Hamlet" ... I am certain that you, my ever-indulgent
master, will look through the score, and will advise me as though I
were sitting near you, dumb as ever, but listening eagerly to your
musical wisdom.'[16]
The Festival of the Lower Rhine, held in the year 1853 at Düsseldorf
(May 15-17), was a particularly brilliant function. The names of Robert
and Clara Schumann, Ferdinand Hiller as chief conductor, Joseph Joachim,
the English artist Clara Novello, and others of high distinction, roused
lively expectations which were perhaps exceeded by the performances.
Schumann's D minor Symphony, Pianoforte Concerto played by his wife, and
Overture and final chorus from the 'Rheinweinlied,' all given under his
own direction, were received with enthusiasm; and the first appearance
on the Rhine of the young concertmeister from Hanover, with Beethoven's
then little-known Violin Concerto, resulted in a triumph that defies
description. 'He opened a veritable world of enchantment,' 'He was the
hero of the festival,' 'We will not attempt to describe his success;
there was French frenzy, Italian fanaticism, in a German audience,' say
the critics of the day.
For our readers, the peculiar interest of the occasion lies in the fact
that Joachim, increasingly attracted by Schumann's art and
individuality, took advantage of his few days' stay in Düsseldorf to
draw closer his relations with the master, and it may be said that his
future attitude was finally determined at this time. He saw in Schumann
the living representative of the music that he loved, and to him and his
he became bound henceforth by ties that death itself was but partially
able to sever.[17]
[12] _Cf._ Kalbeck, p. 186.
[13] Two Guter Groschen were of about the value of 2-1/2d.
[14] Heuberger, 'Musikalische Skizzen.'
[15] The concertmeister is the leader--_i.e._, leading violin of the
orchestra. The capellmeister is the conductor of the orchestra.
[16] Moser's 'Life of Joachim.'
[17] To assist those of our readers to whom the terms 'musical form,'
'absolute music,' 'programme music,' convey no distinct ideas, and who
do not realize with exactness what the real position of Wagner's art was
in its relation to the school of Weimar, we have entered into these
subjects, in Appendix No. I. of this volume, in detail which cannot be
conveniently introduced into the body of our narrative.
CHAPTER IV
1853
Brahms and Reményi visit Joachim in Hanover--Concert at
Court--Visit to Liszt--Joachim and Brahms in
Göttingen--Wasielewski, Reinecke, and Hiller--First meeting with
Schumann--Albert Dietrich.
Leaving Düsseldorf on May 18, the day following the close of the
festival, Joachim proceeded on a week's visit to Weimar, and, returning
thence to spend a day or two at home in Hanover before settling for the
summer at Göttingen, where he proposed to attend University lectures,
was surprised by a call from Reményi and Brahms.[18] His first attention
was naturally devoted to his old school-fellow, but by-and-by he turned
to the stranger, and an account of the interview may be given in his own
words:
'The dissimilar companions--the tender, idealistic Johannes and the
self-satisfied, fantastic virtuoso--called on me. Never in the
course of my artist's life have I been more completely overwhelmed
with delighted surprise, than when the rather shy-mannered, blonde
companion of my countryman played me his sonata movements, of quite
undreamt-of originality and power, looking noble and inspired the
while. His song "O, versenk dein Leid" sounded to me like a
revelation, and his playing, so tender, so imaginative, so free and
so fiery, held me spell-bound. No wonder that I not only foresaw,
but actually foretold, a speedy end to the concert-journey with
Reményi. Brahms parted from him soon afterwards, and, encouraged
before long by an enthusiastic recognition, marched proudly onwards
in his own path of endeavour after the highest development.'[19]
Reményi had not been mistaken in building hopes for the success of the
concert-journey upon the chance of an interview with Joachim, who proved
the medium through which both he and his companion were guided to the
respective spheres for which each was peculiarly fitted. The great
violinist was at this, his first interview with Brahms, so deeply
penetrated by the certainty of his genius, so impressed by its daring,
and so profoundly touched by the evident sincerity and childlike
freshness of his nature, that he took him then and there to his heart,
and made his cause his own. He at once exerted his influence in Hanover
to such purpose that the travellers were engaged to appear before King
George and the royal circle.
'There is in his (Brahms') playing,' he wrote to the Countess
Bernstorff, a lady of great musical accomplishment attached to the
Hanoverian Court, 'that concentrated fire, what I may call that
fatalistic energy and precision of rhythm, which prophesy the artist,
and his compositions already contain much that is significant, such as I
have not hitherto met with in a youth of his age.'[20]
Joachim's engagements did not allow him to wait in Hanover till the date
of the proposed court concert; but before his departure he cordially
invited Johannes, who called to bid him farewell, to visit him in
Göttingen if his relations with Reményi should come to as early a
termination as Joachim thought likely.
Mention of the concert before King George and the royal family is to be
found in a volume, 'Aus allen Tonarten,' by Heinrich Ehrlich, court
pianist at Hanover, who was present, and has recorded that Brahms played
the E flat minor Scherzo. In a subsequent letter to this musician
Joachim wrote:
'... It was his exceptional talent for composition, and a nature
which could have been developed in its integrity only in close
retirement, pure as the diamond, tender as snow.'
From Hanover, Reményi and Brahms travelled to Weimar, where Joachim had
ensured them a welcome by writing to Liszt on their behalf. Of the first
meeting between the world-famous musician, who lived in a style of
ostentatious luxury in a house on the Altenburg belonging to the
Princess Caroline von Sayn-Wittgenstein, and the obscure young composer
from the Lane-quarter of Hamburg, we have, fortunately, the account of
an eye-witness, William Mason, of New York, who was at the time resident
in Weimar as a pupil of Liszt, and one of the ardent young champions of
the new school.
'One evening early in June,' says Mason,[21] 'Liszt sent us word to
come up the next morning to the Altenburg, as he expected a visit
from a young man who was said to have great talent as a composer,
and whose name was Johannes Brahms. He was to come accompanied by
Edward Reményi.
'The next morning, on going to the Altenburg with Klindworth, we
found Brahms and Reményi already in the reception-room with Raff
and Prückner. After greeting the new-corners, of whom Reményi was
known to us by reputation, I strolled over to a table on which were
lying some manuscripts of music. They were several of Brahms'
unpublished compositions, and I began turning over the leaves of
the uppermost of the pile. It was the pianoforte solo, Op. 4,
Scherzo in E flat minor.... Finally Liszt came down, and after some
general conversation he turned to Brahms, and said: "We are
interested to hear some of your compositions whenever you are ready
and feel inclined to play them."
'Brahms, however, who was in a highly nervous state, declared that
it was quite impossible for him to play, and as the entreaties of
Liszt and Reményi failed to induce him to approach the piano, Liszt
went over to the table, saying, "Well, I shall have to play"; and
taking the first piece at hand from the heap of manuscripts, he
performed the scherzo at sight in such a marvellous way, carrying
on, at the same time, a running accompaniment of audible criticism
of the music, that Brahms was surprised and delighted. Raff found
reminiscences, in the opening bars, of Chopin's Scherzo in B flat
minor, whereupon Brahms answered that he had neither seen nor heard
any of this composer's works. Liszt then played a part of Brahms'
Sonata in C major, Op. 1.
'A little later, someone asked Liszt to play his own sonata, a work
which was quite recent at that time, and of which he was very fond.
Without hesitation he sat down and began playing. As he progressed,
he came to a very expressive part, which he always imbued with
extreme pathos, and in which he looked for the especial interest
and sympathy of his listeners. Glancing at Brahms, he found that
the latter was dozing in his chair. Liszt continued playing to the
end of the sonata, and then rose and left the room. I was in such a
position that Brahms was hidden from my view, but I was aware that
something unusual had taken place, and I think it was Reményi who
told me what had occurred. It is very strange that among the
various accounts of this first Liszt-Brahms interview--and there
are several--there is not one which gives an accurate description
of what took place on the occasion; indeed, they are all far out of
the way. The events as here related are perfectly clear in my own
mind; but not wishing to trust implicitly to my memory, I wrote to
my friend Klindworth, the only living witness of the incident
except myself, as I suppose, and requested him to give me an
account of it as he remembered it. He corroborated my description
in every particular, except that he made no specific reference to
the drowsiness of Brahms, and except also that, according to my
recollection, Brahms left Weimar on the afternoon of the day on
which the meeting took place; Klindworth writes that it was on the
morning of the next day--a discrepancy of very little moment.'
It is to be observed, in the first place, with reference to this
interesting account, that Brahms' panic was probably caused by his
finding that he was expected to play before not only Liszt himself, but
a party of his pupils, the most unnerving kind of audience with which he
could possibly have been confronted; and in the second, that Reményi,
in saying his companion had fallen asleep, unquestionably merely
intended to convey the meaning that he had not taken prudent advantage
of his opportunity to ingratiate himself with the great man. The very
different methods employed by the violinist for the advancement of his
own ambition are illustrated by a letter written by him to
Liszt--evidently soon after this first interview--which throws an
illuminating sidelight upon the scene and its immediate sequel. It is
clear that Reményi at once took steps for the purpose of ingratiating
himself with the leader of Weimar and his rising young musicians by
acquainting himself with, at all events, the names of Liszt's
compositions, and announcing himself a convert to the New-German music.
He remained associated with the party for a considerable time, and Liszt
recognised his gifts whilst ridiculing his extravagances. The letter
referred to opens with a kind of preamble:
'This scribbler ventures to address the great man, after having
heard the sonata, the scherzo, the rhapsodies, the Dante fantasia,
etc. One must have courage to dare to write to such a man. Let us
see, let us try, nevertheless. We shall see whether I have the
talent to continue. Now to work!
'TISZTELT LISZT UR!
'Admirable compatriot!
'I am here on the Altenburg, the place where I have had the
happiness (read effrontery) of being received by Liszt, and where I
have the happiness of finding myself again!
'Conceive the immense joy you have given me by forwarding the
letter addressed to me from Hungary. Every bad thing is of some
use; when I reflect that this bit of a Hungarian letter has
procured me the sublime lines of Liszt--Ah! yes, I have read this
letter four or five times--no! devoured it, but not altogether;
some fragments fortunately remain for me to point to proudly in the
future (when I shall have become a great man??!!): do you see,
gentlemen? I am a happy mortal. I possess the writing--no, _a
personal letter from Liszt_. You may be assured that that is
_everything_ for me--it will be my talisman! If you by chance ask
what I am doing, really I cannot tell you--of what interest can it
be to you if I scrape on the violin or compose some new mazourek
fantastiques? That is zero for you....
'As for my political confession, it is already sent--Raff has
edited it!
'Now, I think this letter is much too long. I shall finish it by
telling you quite simply, but very sincerely, that the good God has
you in His holy keeping, and that He ever directs your genius for
the honour and glory of the human race in general, and particularly
(but particularly) of your dear country.
'Adieu, great compatriot!
'I subscribe myself,
'E. REMÉNYI,
'_Citizen of the Altenburg, ci-devant of Hungary_.
'P.S.--Brahms has left for Göttingen.'[22]
And no wonder! one feels inclined to exclaim, on reading the postscript,
the first of three appended to the epistle. Johannes must have felt that
his power of endurance was being strained to its utmost limit by daily
association with such a comrade, and determined to break it, helped,
very likely, to his resolution by the recollection of the very different
personality of that other violinist, the young king of fiddlers, who had
invited him to Göttingen. The story frequently related, that Brahms and
Reményi, or one of them, stayed on for several weeks as Liszt's guests
at the Altenburg, is contradicted by all contemporary testimony,
negative as well as positive. No such visit is mentioned in any known
letter of the period, whilst Reményi's communication to Liszt would of
itself be fairly good evidence that none such took place, and, taken
together with the independent accounts of Mason and Klindworth, must be
accepted as conclusive against the supposition. The morning at the
Altenburg can, indeed, have left little behind it in the mind of our
musician beyond a feeling of mortification, and Mason expressly states
that the impression it produced on the young men present was that it had
not been a success. It is likely that Klindworth was substantially
correct as to the exact date of Brahms' departure from Weimar. Perhaps
hoping to appear to better advantage in a _tête-à-tête_ interview, he
seems to have called a second time on Liszt, who presented him with a
leather cigarette-case in which was placed an autograph inscription in
remembrance of their meeting.[23]
Somewhere about the middle of June, then, Joachim, at work one day in
his rooms at Göttingen, had hardly time to call out, 'Come in' in answer
to a knock at the door, before the door opened and in walked Brahms.
This was the beginning of the intimate acquaintance between the two
youthful musicians, which ripened into the historic friendship that
endured until the death of Brahms forty-four years later. What a
discovery was each to the other! Alike in no respect, perhaps, save in
earnest devotion to art, and a profound feeling of obligation in her
service, the dissimilarity of their dispositions was such as to make
them mutually interesting and to cement the growing bond between them.
To Joachim the worship of art, adored goddess though she might be, could
never be all in all; it could never appease the craving for human
sympathy which, since Mendelssohn's death, he had at times felt to be
almost intolerable. Johannes, haunted by a vision of the delight of
intimate sympathy, was not convinced of its being either possible or
indispensable, and knew that he could, if necessary, live his life
without it. To Joachim, possessed of strong likings and antipathies, and
firm to convictions involving a principle, it was not difficult, in a
conflict of mere inclinations, to yield. In Johannes, with all his
childlike sweetness of nature, there dwelt an ineradicable combative
instinct. To Joachim life had been one continued triumph; he had never
known even the taste of failure. A personality from childhood, he had
conquered his world once and for all with scarcely an effort. Hannes had
passed his days in obscurity, and had seen and known only struggle. And
now, to Joachim, who had never had to plan for his own advancement, what
a fresh joy it was to think and hope and suggest for the future of
Johannes, and to Johannes, who had known little of the satisfaction of
intelligent appreciation from colleagues of his own standing, what an
astonishing experience was this enthusiastic and authoritative approval
from such a comrade! The companions, engrossed in the first place by
their compositions--for Joachim was engaged upon two overtures, and
Johannes busy with sonatas and songs--found plenty of time for other
occupations. They studied and made music together, and walked and talked
and dined together, and compared opinions and argued and agreed
together. No doubt Johannes heard much about the Leipzig of Bach and
Mendelssohn, and he found to his surprise that Joachim, the unparalleled
interpreter of Bach and Beethoven, shared Louise Japha's opinion of
Schumann's music. He certainly touched Joachim's heart by his loving
talk of Hamburg, rich in proud traditions, and not without art memories
of its own, associated with the great names of Klopstock and Lessing, of
Telemann and Keiser, of Handel and Mattheson and Emanuel Bach. The fêted
violinist, familiar since his ninth year with one or other centre of
musical learning, brilliant pupil of the conservatoire of Vienna,
beloved favourite of that of Leipzig, listened, moreover, with no little
interest to all that Johannes chose to relate of his solitary studies
with his Marxsen. The happy young Hamburger felt that he could tell
Joseph anything. He spoke to him of his struggles, his kind friends at
Winsen, his acquaintance with Louise Japha, the difficulties of his
journey with Reményi. Joachim was so much interested in the Winsen
episodes that he could not refrain from writing to Uncle Giesemann to
tell him that his young musician would be a great man some day.
In one thing only Johannes would not bear his friend company. He
declined to attend the university lectures of Ritter and Waiz, voting
lectures a bore, and preferring to take his mental food, as usual, from
books. He was very ready, however, to join the jovial fellowship that
met at the Saxsen, the students' club-restaurant frequented by Joachim
and his friends. He entered with great zest into all the fun of the
social evenings, and on the night when he and Joachim were called upon,
as the youngest of the party, to perform the 'Fox-ride,' he sat
astraddle on his little chair, and galloped round the table with the
court concertmeister from Hanover as though he were bent on keeping his
terms with the most serious-minded student of them all. The happy
holiday was crowned by a concert given by the two 'students,' which
attracted an overflowing audience and provided Brahms with welcome funds
for the prosecution of his immediate plans. He wished to make a walking
excursion along the Rhine before the summer should have passed away, and
left Göttingen about the middle of August, armed with several of his
friend's visiting-cards with which to introduce himself to musical
houses on his route. The acquaintance which Joachim desired to secure
for him above all others was that of Schumann, but Johannes, probably
sore from his recent experiences of an interview with a leader
surrounded by his followers, was uncertain if he should stay at
Düsseldorf. The separation between himself and Joachim was to be a short
one only. They were to meet in October at Hanover, where Johannes was to
pass the winter in his friend's society.
We have to picture our traveller as passing, during the next two or
three weeks, from point to point along the beautiful Rhine valley in a
frame of mind rendered almost ecstatic by the combined influences of his
daily surroundings, his recent experiences, and his well-grounded hopes
for the future. We meet him again early in September in the house of J.
W. von Wasielewsky, who at this period filled a post as music-director
at Bonn, and who has given an interesting account of Brahms' arrival in
that city.
'Towards the end of the summer,' he says,[24] 'I was surprised by a
visit from an attractive-looking, fair-haired youth, who delivered
to me one of Joachim's visiting-cards, on the reverse side of
which was his own humorously-written signature.[25] Coming in the
direction from Mainz, he had travelled on foot through the Rhine
valley, and presented himself to me staff in hand and knapsack on
his back. His fresh, natural, unconstrained manner impressed me
sympathetically, so that I not only bade him welcome, but invited
him to stay a day or two with me, to which he then and there
consented. After the first hours of our intercourse, I naturally
felt a desire to learn to know my guest from the musical side. He
at once favoured me with a performance of one of his then
unpublished early works, a pianoforte sonata, the quality of which
immediately revealed to me his great talent for composition. I also
heard him in other things. I particularly remember his
characteristic execution of the Rakóczy March, which he was fond of
playing and gave with great effect.'
Asked by Wasielewsky whether he intended to visit Schumann, Johannes
replied that he had come to no decision on the point, giving as the
reason for his uncertainty, the failure of his effort to approach the
master on his visit to Hamburg in 1850, and no persuasion of his new
friend availed to bring him to a resolution. He did not quit the
neighbourhood of Bonn immediately. Acting, no doubt, on Wasielewsky's
advice, he retraced his steps a little in order to present himself at a
great house in the vicinity--that of Commerzienrath Deichmann, a
gentleman widely known, not only from his wealth and hospitality, but
also by the warm interest taken by himself and his family in matters
connected with literature and art. Distinguished visitors of many
varieties of social rank, from royal personages downwards, were
entertained by Frau Deichmann at her residence at Mehlem, opposite
Königswinter. Celebrities on a visit to the Rhine country were generally
to be met in her drawing-rooms in the course of their stay, many of the
artists resident in the neighbourhood belonged to her intimate circle,
and young musicians of promise were received by her with especial
kindness. Needless to say that the arrival of Brahms as Joachim's
intimate was hailed by her with lively satisfaction, and the familiar
friends of the house, amongst whom were Franz Wüllner, the 'cellist
Reimers, Wasielewsky himself, and other young musicians, hurried to
Mehlem on receiving her hasty summons, prepared to extend to the
new-comer's performances as much approbation or criticism as the event
might justify.
'I found,' said Wüllner, in a memorial speech delivered after Brahms'
death in the conservatoire of Cologne, 'a slender youth with long fair
hair and a veritable St. John's head, from whose eyes shone energy and
spirit. He played us the just-finished C major Sonata, the earlier
completed F sharp minor Sonata, the E flat minor Scherzo, and several
songs--amongst them the now familiar "O versenk dein Leid." We young
musicians were immediately delighted and carried away by his
compositions.'
As might have been expected, Brahms was not allowed to leave Mehlem
immediately. He was persuaded to remain on as the Deichmanns' guest, to
improve his acquaintance with their friends, and to further explore the
Rhine and its beauties from their house, and it was during this visit
that he found the opportunity, eagerly desired by him since his stay at
Göttingen, to begin the real study of Schumann's compositions, till now
but little known to him. What must have been his wonder and his joy as
he found himself brought face to face in many of their pages with his
favourite authors, Jean Paul and E. T. A. Hoffmann, and perceived in
them as in a mirror the dreamings of his own soul! His surprise was
probably but little less on making the discovery that Schumann's
tone-poems, with all their fresh originality of method and their
fascinating romance, were no mere erratic imaginings, but were firmly
rooted in the great traditions of classical art. It is, perhaps,
impossible to realize in its strength the revulsion of feeling that must
have attended this first real spiritual meeting of 'Kreisler jun.' with
the composer of the 'Kreisleriana'; but it is safe to say that it
settled him in the determination to pay the visit to Schumann which
Joachim had planned, and that it had its share in producing the temper
of mind manifest in a letter written by Johannes in the third week of
September, whilst he was on a few days' excursion with the boys of the
Deichmann family, to the Amtsvogt Blume of Winsen:
'DEAR HERR AMTSVOGT,
'Permit me to offer most heartfelt wishes for your own and for Frau
Blume's happiness on the joyful festival which you celebrate this
month. The great esteem and love which I have for you may excuse me
for troubling you from so great a distance, and perhaps at the
wrong time, with these lines; I only know that you celebrate your
golden wedding in the middle of this month. May God long preserve
you in health, that I may often again, as hitherto, spend many
happy hours at your house. In case you still feel some interest in
my fate, you may, perhaps, be pleased to hear that I have passed a
heavenly summer, such as I have never before known. After spending
some gloriously inspiring weeks with Joachim at Göttingen, I have
now been rambling about for five weeks according to heart's desire
on the divine Rhine. I hope to be able to pass this winter at
Hanover in order to be near Joachim, who is equally noble as man
and artist. Begging you to remember me most warmly to your wife and
daughter, I would also request you to express my heartiest greeting
to your son with his wife and children, to dear Uncle Giesemann,
and to all acquaintances. With best greeting, Your JOH. BRAHMS.
'IN THE LAHNTHAL, _Sept. 1853_.'[26]
Johannes' thoughts were engaged at this time on the Pianoforte Sonata in
F minor, Op. 5, that was finally completed early in November. Who that
has really tasted of the enchantment of that wonderful composition,
great in spite of its immaturity, can doubt, on reading these lines,
that the shining Rhine with its wooded heights, that the Rolandseck and
the Nonnenwerth and the Drachenfels, and the deep blue sky and gorgeous
starry nights, had their part, with the romance and wonder and gratitude
and delight dwelling in his young heart, in the making of the work--not
in the sense of supplying the composer with a programme for his
inspiration; but as the sunbeam caught by the plant--as mingling with
his nature and becoming a portion of the very elemental force that
blossomed into the flower of his imagination?
Yet another important halt was made by Brahms at Cologne, where two more
interesting names were added to the long list of acquaintances already
formed by him during the short five months of his absence from home. He
delivered a letter from the university music-director of Göttingen,
Arnold Wehner, and a greeting from Wasielewsky, to Carl Reinecke, at the
time professor of pianoforte and counterpoint in the conservatoire of
the Rhenish capital, and Reinecke, after hearing some of his
compositions, conducted him to Ferdinand Hiller's house, and
subsequently accompanied him to the railway-station at Deutz. Here he
took train for Düsseldorf,[27] full, no doubt, of fluttering expectation
at the thought that he was about to seek an interview with the great
master of his day; sole successor, since the death of Mendelssohn, to
the mighty giants in whose traditions he had been steeped since early
childhood by Cossel and Marxsen. And as we accompany the young musician
in imagination on this last stage of his Rhine journey, we may fittingly
pay the tribute of passing remembrance to these two men. To their
talents and attainments and character he owed it that he was able to
approach the supreme hour of entrance upon the manhood of his artistic
life, shortly to dawn for him, with the certainty of equipment and
devotion of purpose that had already stamped upon his genius the
unmistakable pledge of mastership.
Several accounts, agreeing in essential points, have been given by Dr.
Schübring and others of Brahms' first acquaintance with Schumann. After
some preliminary conversation, the master desired his visitor to play
something of his own. Scarcely was the first movement of the C major
Sonata concluded, when he rose and left the room, and, returning with
his wife, desired to hear it again. And as Johannes had played it three
months previously to the amazement and delight of Joseph Joachim, so he
now played it to the amazement and delight of Robert and Clara Schumann;
and when he had finished one movement these two great artists bade him
play another, and at the end of that, another, and still desired more,
so that when, at length, the performance was at an end their hearts had
gone out to him in affection, whilst in his the first link had already
been forged of that chain of love by which he soon became bound to the
one and the other till the end of both their lives.
Johannes lost no time in finding out his old friends Louise and Minna
Japha. What wonderful adventures he had to relate to them, more than
could be got through in one or even two interviews! There was the tour
with Reményi, the performance at Court--how far away these things
seemed!--then the visit to Weimar, the student-life at Göttingen, the
journey along the Rhine. He had made the acquaintance of many young
musicians, who had one and all welcomed his coming amongst them; he had
been introduced to Hiller, become Joachim's closest friend, and now had,
he thought, won Schumann's approval. 'He patted me on the shoulder,'
Johannes told Louise, 'and said, "We understand each other." What did he
mean?' Schumann's meaning was made very obvious to Joachim, who received
the following note from the master in answer to the introduction and
messages of greeting he had sent him by Brahms: 'This is he that should
come.'
We may now turn to the delightful account given by Albert Dietrich,[28]
one of Schumann's favourite disciples, who lived at Düsseldorf in daily
intercourse with the great composer, of his first acquaintance with the
new-comer:
'Soon after Brahms' arrival in September, Schumann came up to me
before the commencement of one of the choral society practices with
mysterious air and pleased smile. "Someone is come," said he, "of
whom we shall one day hear all sorts of wonderful things; his name
is Johannes Brahms." And he presented to me the interesting and
unusual-looking young musician, who, seeming hardly more than a boy
in his short gray summer coat, with his high voice and long fair
hair, made a most agreeable impression. Especially fine were his
energetic, characteristic mouth, and the earnest, deep gaze in
which his gifted nature was clearly revealed.'
Here was another companion of the right sort for Brahms. He and Albert
met daily from this time forward during his four weeks' stay at
Düsseldorf, breakfasting together at an open-air restaurant in the
Hofgarten, and sharing each other's confidences and pleasures. Albert's
recognition of the powers of his new friend was no less thorough than
Joachim's had been, and he sent enthusiastic reports of him to Kirchner,
Naumann, and other young musicians of the Schumann set. Himself a
_persona grata_ in the various artistic circles of Düsseldorf, he was
able to open to Johannes a new and inexhaustible source of interest. He
introduced him to Schirmer, Lessing, Sohn, and other of the leading
painters, at whose houses the young musician heard much talk about the
sister arts which bore due fruit in a mind whose first need was, in
Joachim's words, 'the harmonious cultivation of its various powers and
the loving assimilation of all sorts of knowledge.' A charming young
society was quite ready to welcome a new playfellow--and such a
playfellow--into its midst, and Johannes was invited by Albert's friends
to many parties and excursions. He managed to waive the objection to
ladies' society which he had once found insuperable, and discovered that
a festivity from which they were not rigorously excluded was not
therefore a necessarily tiresome affair! Music in general and his music
in particular, was much in demand at frequent evening gatherings, and
his hearers knew not whether they were more delighted by his
interpretations of the great masters or of his own compositions.
'Everyone was filled with astonishment,' says Dietrich, 'and the
young people, especially, were dominated by the impression of his
characteristic, powerful, and, when necessary, extraordinarily
tender playing. He used to receive the enthusiastic praise
accorded to his performances in a modest, deprecatory manner.
'His constitution was thoroughly sound; the most strenuous mental
exertion scarcely fatigued him, but then he could go soundly to
sleep at any hour of the day he pleased. With companions of his own
standing he was lively, sometimes arrogant, dry, and full of
pranks. When he came to see me, he used to rush up the stairs,
thump on the door with both fists, and burst in without waiting for
an answer.... Brahms never spoke of the works with which he was
busy, or of his plans for future compositions, but he told me one
day that he often recalled folk-songs when at work, and that then
his melodies suggested themselves spontaneously.'
At the Schumanns' house Brahms learned chess and table-turning. He was
soon made free of the master's library, and borrowed from it many a book
to lend to the Japhas, who had to submit to a term of quarantine during
Minna's recovery from an attack of measles. Johannes refused, for his
own part, to acquiesce in the decree, and paid long daily visits to the
sisters as soon as they were able to receive him. He often sat at
Louise's side reading with her from an open volume placed between them,
as he had once been used to do with Lischen in the Winsen fields. One
day he brought some volumes of Hoffmann, to reread his favourite tales
from Schumann's own copy. He carried the old memories and friends, and
the simple home with its dear affections, faithfully in his heart
throughout his excitements and successes, and throughout the weeks and
months of his absence Johanna kept her promise to her boy. 'Look,' said
Hannes one day, pulling a letter out of his pocket, and holding it open
before Louise and Minna as he told them of the stipulation he had made,
'I get one like this every week; my old mother keeps her promise. Some
of it is copied from the newspapers; what is she to do when she has no
more news? she cannot write a philosophical treatise, but she always
sends me three whole pages.'[29]
The passionate admiration quickly conceived by Brahms for the character
and genius of Schumann, which was intensified by the recollection of his
past misconception of the great composer's art, was returned in
appropriate measure. Schumann became every day fonder of his young
friend, and inclination united with conviction to strengthen the strong
first impression he had received as to the extraordinary nature of his
gifts. 'Facile princeps' is written in one of Schumann's pocket-books
against the name Johannes Brahms, added, in the master's handwriting, to
a list of his favourite young musicians. It has sometimes been suggested
that the secret of the immediate fascination exercised over him by
Brahms' compositions lay in his perception of their dissimilarity from
his own. This, however, is only part of the truth. Though it be the case
that Schumann's influence is not traceable either in the melody,
harmony, or structure of Brahms' first published movements, it is
equally the fact that the 'delicate youth with dreamy expression, who,
without a tinge of affectation, spoke naturally in poetic phrases; who
signed his manuscripts "Joh. Kreisler jun."; who exactly answered
Joachim's description, "pure as the diamond, tender as snow"';[30] had
elements in his many-sided nature of near kin to the characteristic
spirit of Schumann's genius, which were by no means without influence on
the individuality of his works, and especially the works of his first
period. Schumann, astonished beyond measure by the mastery and
originality of Brahms' technical attainment, was, in regard to his ideal
qualities, certainly penetrated as much by the romance as by the
independence, by the tenderness as by the power, by the subjective, as
by the objective side, of his art, and the elder musician loved the
younger as much because of the affinity as of the difference between
them. Both contrasting sides of Brahms' nature are strikingly manifest
in the very beautiful drawing of him which was executed for Schumann at
this time by the painter de Laurens, a representation of which we are
enabled, by the kindness of Frau Professor Böie, to whom the original
now belongs, to place before the reader at the beginning of this volume.
Schumann had not been forgetful of the overtures to closer intimacy made
to him by Joachim in the spring of the year, and composed two
concert-pieces for violin and orchestra about this time, during the
writing of which, the famous young violinist and his performances at the
Düsseldorf festival were constantly present to his mind. In a letter to
Hanover concerning these and other matters, written by him on October 8,
the following passages occur:[31]
'I think if I were younger I could make some polymetres about the
young eagle who has so suddenly and unexpectedly flown down from
the Alps to Düsseldorf.[32] Or one might compare him to a splendid
stream which, like Niagara, is at its finest when precipitating
itself from the heights as a roaring waterfall, met on the shore by
the fluttering of butterflies and by nightingales' voices....
'The young eagle seems to be content in the Lowlands; he has found
an old guardian who is accustomed to watch such young flights, and
who knows how to calm the wild wing-flapping without detriment to
the soaring power.'[33]
On the same day he wrote to Dr. Härtel, head of the great Leipzig
publishing firm:
'A young man has just presented himself here who has most deeply
impressed us with his wonderful music. He will, I am convinced,
make the greatest sensation in the musical world. I will take an
opportunity of writing more in detail about him.'[34]
Five days later, writing again on business to Joachim, who was to take
part on the 27th, in the first Düsseldorf subscription concert of the
season, he adds:
'I have begun to put together my thoughts about the young eagle. I
should wish to help him on his first flight through the world, but
fear I have grown too fond of him to be able to describe the light
and dark colours of his wings quite clearly. When I have finished
the paper, I should like to show it to his comrade [Joachim], who
knows him even better than I do.'
A postscript is subjoined: 'I have finished the essay and enclose
it. Please return it as soon as possible.'
A second letter to Dr. Härtel enters into some of the promised detail:
'You will see before long, in the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_, an
article signed with my name on young Johannes Brahms from Hamburg,
which will give you further information about him. I will then
write to you more fully about the compositions he intends to
publish. They are pianoforte pieces and sonatas, a sonata for
violin and piano, a trio, a quartet, and a number of songs--all
full of genius. He is also an exceptional pianist.'
And now, whilst Schumann, with Albert and Johannes, was eagerly looking
forward to Joachim's arrival for the concert of the 27th, Schumann
proposed that they should prepare a surprise for him in the shape of a
new sonata for pianoforte and violin, to be written by the three of them
jointly. Thereupon Dietrich undertook the first movement, Schumann the
intermezzo and finale, and Brahms the scherzo.
The popular young concertmeister had been passing his time pleasantly
enough during the progress of some of the events just related; had
attended a festival at Carlsruhe, where he met his friends of the Weimar
circle in force--Liszt, Wagner, Cornelius, Bülow, and the others; and
had played for Berlioz at a concert in Brunswick. He was to be
Schumann's guest during the two days of his stay in Düsseldorf, and was
greeted, on his arrival on the 26th, by the assembled party of his
intimate friends. Amongst them was an attractive, youthful lady attired
in rustic costume, who stepped forward from the rest and handed him a
basket of flowers. Hidden beneath these was the manuscript sonata of
welcome, on the title-page of which Schumann had written:
'F. A. E.[35]
'This Sonata has been written in expectation of the arrival of the
honoured and beloved friend Joseph Joachim by Robert Schumann,
Johannes Brahms, Albert Dietrich.'
There was a small gathering of intimate friends in the evening at the
Schumanns' house, when the sonata was performed and Joachim was required
to guess the authorship of the several movements, a problem he had no
difficulty in solving correctly. Schumann was in a bright mood. He was
always at his happiest in his home circle with one and another of the
young musicians who might be said to belong to it about him, and he had
taken both Brahms and Joachim into his most special affection. 'One
cannot be fond enough of him,' he whispered to Fräulein Japha as
Joachim, accompanied by Frau Schumann, came to the concluding bars of
the new fantasia for violin. Johannes was nervous and excited this
evening. 'What shall I play?' he said, crossing over to Louise when
Schumann summoned him to the piano. She suggested the scherzo, which the
master had not yet heard, but eventually got a scolding for her pains.
Johannes persuaded himself that his performance was a failure. 'Why did
you give me that advice?' he asked reproachfully, returning to his
faithful friend. 'Liszt did not care for the scherzo, and now Schumann
does not like it!'
The concert of the following day was the last given in Düsseldorf under
the direction of Schumann, who was about to start with his wife on a
concert tour in Holland. He was at this time seriously contemplating a
permanent removal to Vienna, whence he had received overtures that were
attractive to himself and Frau Schumann. Whether he would have made up
his mind to the step cannot be determined. The decision was, as we know,
taken out of his hands by one of the tragedies of fate.
[18] The accounts of some authors place the visit in Göttingen. They
must be regarded as, in this respect, mistaken. Dr. Joachim is positive
on the point. 'The whole scene lives clearly in my memory; it occurred
in my rooms in Princes Street, Hanover,' he lately said to the present
writer.
[19] Festival address at Meiningen, October 7, 1899.
[20] Moser's 'Life of Joachim.'
[21] 'Memoirs of a Musical Life.'
[22] From La Mara's 'Briefe hervorragender Zeitgenossen an Franz Liszt.'
[23] According to a personal communication to the author by Frau Dr.
Langhans-Japha, to whom Brahms showed the case.
[24] 'Aus siebzig Jahren.'
[25] 'Joh. Kreisler jun.'
[26] This letter and another to Amtsvogt Blume, which follows in Chapter
VI., were first published in the _Lüneburger Anzeige_ March 29, 1901.
[27] 'Gedenkenblätter an berühmte Musiker,' by Carl Reinecke.
[28] 'Erinnerungen von Johannes Brahms.'
[29] At this period envelopes were not in universal use. The large
'letter-paper' was folded and sealed, and addressed on the blank fourth
page.
[30] Ehrlich, 'Dreissig Jahre Künstlerleben.'
[31] 'Robert Schumann's Briefe.' Neue Folge. Edited by Gustav Jansen.
[32] These words sufficiently disprove the assumption occasionally
adopted, that Schumann expected Brahms before receiving his call at
Düsseldorf.
[33] The movements of the F minor Sonata were no doubt submitted to
Schumann's criticism during the process of their composition.
[34] See, for this and other letters of Schumann, Dr. Jansen's
collection referred to above.
[35] 'Frei aber einsam' (Free but lonely), Joachim's favourite device at
this time.
CHAPTER V
1853
Schumann's article 'New Paths'--Johannes in Hanover--Sonatas in C
major and F minor--Visit to Leipzig--First publications--Julius
Otto Grimm--Return to Hamburg viâ Hanover--Lost Violin
Sonata--Songs--Marxsen's influence as teacher.
On October 28 Schumann's article appeared in the _Neue Zeitschrift für
Musik_. Brahms seems to have read it for the first time in Hanover,
whither, in pursuance of the plans formed in the summer between himself
and Joachim, he accompanied his friend from Düsseldorf. Its contents
were so unexpected, and their influence on Brahms' career was so
far-reaching, that, though it may already be familiar to many readers,
it seems right to quote it _in extenso_.
'NEW PATHS.
'Years have passed--almost as many in number as those dedicated by
me to the previous editorship of this journal, namely, ten--since I
appeared on this scene so rich to me in remembrances. Often, in
spite of arduous productive activity, I have felt tempted; many new
and considerable talents have appeared, a fresh musical energy has
seemed to announce itself through many of the earnest artists of
the present time,[36] even though their works are, for the most
part, known to a limited circle only. I have thought, watching the
path of these chosen ones with the greatest sympathy, that after
such a preparation someone must and would suddenly appear, destined
to give ideal presentment to the highest expression of the time,
who would bring us his mastership, not in process of development,
but would spring forth like Minerva fully armed from the head of
Jove. And he is come, a young blood by whose cradle graces and
heroes kept watch. He is called Johannes Brahms, came from Hamburg,
where he has worked in obscure tranquillity, trained in the most
difficult laws of art by an excellent and enthusiastic teacher, and
was lately introduced to me by an honoured, well-known master.[47]
He bore all the outward signs that proclaim to us, "This is one of
the elect." Sitting at the piano, he proceeded to reveal to us
wondrous regions. We were drawn into circles of ever deeper
enchantment. His playing, too, was full of genius, and transformed
the piano into an orchestra of wailing and jubilant voices. There
were sonatas, more veiled symphonies--songs, whose poetry one would
understand without knowing the words, though all are pervaded by a
deep song-melody,--single pianoforte pieces, partly demoniacal, of
the most graceful form,--then sonatas for violin and
piano--quartets for strings--and every one so different from the
rest that each seemed to flow from a separate source. And then it
was as though he, like a tumultuous stream, united all into a
waterfall, bearing a peaceful rainbow over the rushing waves, met
on the shore by butterflies' fluttering, and accompanied by
nightingales' voices.
'If he will sink his magic staff in the region where the capacity
of masses in chorus and orchestra can lend him its powers, still
more wonderful glimpses into the mysteries of the spirit-world will
be before us. May the highest genius strengthen him for this, of
which there is the prospect, since another genius, that of modesty,
also dwells within him. His companions greet him on his first
course through the world, where, perhaps, wounds may await him, but
laurels and palms also; we bid him welcome as a strong champion.
'There is in all times a secret union of kindred spirits. Bind
closer the circle, ye who belong to it, that the truth of art may
shine ever clearer, spreading joy and blessing through the world.
'R. S.'
Such was the proclamation by which Schumann, carried away by the
impulsive generosity of his nature, designed to facilitate the entrance
into the jealous musical world of the composer of twenty, whose gifts
had not been tested by the publication of a single composition, whose
name was hardly known to rumour.
'It is doubtful,' says Mason, 'if, up to that time, any article had
made such a sensation through musical Germany. I remember how
utterly the Liszt circle in Weimar were astounded at it. It was at
first, no doubt, an obstacle in Brahms' way, but, as it resulted in
stirring up great rivalry between two opposing parties, it
eventually contributed much to his final success.'
In sober truth, Brahms' worst enemy could scarcely have weighted him
with a heavier mantle of immediate difficulty. It made his name an easy
subject of ridicule to those who would in any case have been inclined to
regard a new-comer with incredulity; it drew upon him the sceptical
attention of others who might have been prepared to receive him with
indifference or indulgence; it was calculated to awaken extravagant
expectations in the minds of some whom it disposed to be his friends.
The musical world generally, adopted an attitude of hostile expectancy,
and this was shared especially by the 'Murls,'[38] as the young
satellites of Liszt styled themselves. Their 'Padisha,' Liszt himself,
could afford to be more or less indifferent, though he was not
unobservant. 'Avez-vous lu l'article de Schumann dans le dernier numéro
de Brendel?' he says, writing on November 1 to Bülow, who replies on the
5th, alluding to supposed Brahms resemblances: 'Mozart-Brahms ou
Schumann-Brahms ne trouble point du tout la tranquillité de mon sommeil.
Il y a une quinzaine d'années que Schumann a parlé en des termes
tout-à-fait analogues du génie de W. Sterndale Bennett. Joachim, du
reste, connait Brahms, de même l'ingermanique Reményi'.'
What Brahms' own feelings were on reading the paper cannot be difficult
of conjecture. Joy and bewilderment, gratitude and dismay, must have
struggled within him for mastery. The steady sense of proportion which
was one of his life-long characteristics, the consciousness of the
almost crushing weight of artistic responsibility thus thrust upon him
at the outset of his career, must have conflicted severely with his
natural loyalty and his delight at having won from Schumann such an
overflowing measure of approval. To a man of weaker moral fibre, the
temptation to overmuch exaltation or undue depression might have proved
more than perilous. Brahms, however, was made of stuff that enabled him
to face the situation, to accept it, and finally to triumph over it, and
the means which he used are the only means that can enable even genius
to win the kind of victory that he obtained. They were unswerving
loyalty and single-hearted devotion to an exalted purpose.
The matter of the selection of works to be submitted for the approval of
the publishers was much discussed both before and after the departure of
Joachim and Johannes from Düsseldorf, with the result that Schumann,
wrote on November 3, to Dr. Härtel, and proposed for publication; as Op.
1, String Quartet; 2, Set of six Songs; 3, Pianoforte Scherzo; 4, Second
set of six Songs; 5, Pianoforte Sonata in C major. He hoped, he said, to
arrive at an understanding by which, whilst the young composer would
derive an immediate pecuniary advantage, the publishers would not run
too much risk, and he suggested that if the sale of the works should,
after five years, have realized expectations, Brahms should then receive
further proportionate remuneration. He proposed as first payments; ten
Louis-d'ors (about £9 10s.) each, for the quartet and sonata, eight
Louis-d'ors (about £7 12s.) for the scherzo, six (£5 14s.) for each of
the two sets of songs--in all about £38. Should these proposals meet Dr.
Härtel's views, he would put Brahms into direct communication with him
in order that the works might be submitted for his consideration.
'He is an intimate of Joachim's in Hanover, where he proposes to
spend the winter. Joachim has written an extremely fine overture to
Hamlet, and an equally original and effective concerto for violin
and orchestra, which I can recommend to you with the warmest
sympathy.'[39]
Schumann's kindness did not stop here. He sent a sympathetic note to
Jakob Brahms at home in Hamburg, tidings of which, and of the rejoicing
family circle, just established in a new dwelling at No. 7
Lilienstrasse, were forwarded by the father to the young musician at
Hanover. Dr. Härtel did not delay in sending word that he would be glad
to see the manuscripts, for on November 9, Schumann wrote him a letter
of thanks for his favourable reply, and added:
'I will write to-day to Brahms, and beg him to go as soon as
possible to Leipzig to introduce his compositions to you himself.
His playing belongs essentially to his music. I do not remember to
have heard such original tone effects before.'
Dr. Härtel's note was forwarded to Hanover by Schumann in a letter to
Joachim with the words: Give the enclosed to Johannes. He must go to
Leipzig; persuade him to do this, or they will get a wrong idea of his
works; he must play them himself. This seems to me very important.'
After relating the arrangements pending with the publisher, he adds:
'Once again, pray urge him to go to Leipzig for a week;' and concludes:
'Now good-bye, dear friend. Write again before our Dutch journey, and
tell Johannes, the lazy-bones, to do the same.'
Johannes had, in fact, not written to Schumann since leaving Düsseldorf,
and he still waited, letting nearly three weeks go by before thanking
the master for his article in the _Neue Zeitschrift_. Perhaps this fact
may be regarded as confirmation of the surmise that he had not read
Schumann's prophetic announcement with feelings of unmixed satisfaction,
but if it be so, he allowed no other sign to appear of such a
possibility. He very anxiously reconsidered his choice of works for
publication, however, and before receiving Härtel's letter to Schumann,
had forwarded to Leipzig a somewhat different selection from that
decided on at Düsseldorf, withholding from it the string quartet.
Having settled this matter as far as he could to his satisfaction, and
brought himself to consent to Joachim's persuasions that he should go to
Leipzig for a week, his attitude to Schumann remained one of unmixed
gratitude and affection, as may be read in the following letter:[40]
'HONOURED MASTER,
'You have made me so immensely happy that I cannot attempt to thank
you in words. God grant that my works may soon prove to you how
much your affection and kindness have encouraged and stimulated me.
The public praise you have bestowed on me will have fastened
general expectation so exceptionally upon my performances that I do
not know how I shall be able to do some measure of justice to it.
Above all it obliges me to take the greatest care in the selection
of what is to be published. I do not propose to include either of
my trios, and think of choosing as Op. 1 and 2 the Sonatas in C and
F sharp minor, as Op. 3 Songs, and as Op. 4 the Scherzo in E flat
minor. You will think it natural that I should try with all my
might to disgrace you as little as possible.
'I put off writing to you so long because I had sent the four
things I have mentioned to Breitkopf and Härtel, and wished to wait
for the answer, to be able to tell you the result of your
recommendation. Your last letter to Joachim, however, informs us of
this, and so I have only to write to you that I shall go, as you
advise, within the next few days (probably to-morrow) to Leipzig.
'Further I wish to tell you that I have copied out my F minor
Sonata, and made considerable alterations in the finale. I have
also improved the violin sonata. I should like also to thank you a
thousand times for the dear portrait of yourself that you have sent
me, as well as for the letter you have written to my father. By it
you have made a pair of good people happy, and for life Your
BRAHMS.'
'HANOVER, _16 Nov. 1853_.'
The reader may have noted that the work chosen by Brahms with which to
introduce himself, not only to Joachim, but to the Deichmann circle, to
Wasielewsky, and to Schumann himself, was the C major Sonata now known
as Op. 1; and the natural inference to be drawn, that he considered it
his best as it was his latest achievement, is confirmed by his reply to
Louise Japha when she asked him, later on, why he had numbered his
scherzo, a much earlier work, as Op. 4. 'When one first shows one's
self,' he said, 'it is to the head and not the heels that one wishes to
draw attention.'
That the composer was not mistaken, if we may thus take his own estimate
of his published works by implication, may be safely affirmed. Sharing
the fundamental characteristics, technical as well as temperamental, of
the earlier written work of the same form--unity of plan, wealth of
resource, impetuous vigour, dreamy romance, a breath that is repeatedly
suggestive of the folk-lore in which the composer loved to steep his
imagination--the Sonata in C gives evidence that the process of
crystallization had already begun which was to distinguish Brahms'
development towards maturity, which, indeed, did not stop at maturity,
but may be traced continuously down to the close of his career. This
process is to be observed, as regards the work in question, in the
themes of the principal movements, which are not only more pregnant in
themselves, but are presented in more concentrated form than those of
the Sonata in F sharp minor. That the first theme of the opening
movement bears traces of the composer's study of Beethoven's Sonata in B
flat, Op. 106, is of no great consequence. The question of musical
reminiscence is so frequently misunderstood that it may be well to
devote a few words to it on the threshold of our narrative of Brahms'
career as a composer, which will take but little account of such
occasional examples as may easily be found in his works--in the opening
bars of the scherzo of Op. 5, the second subject of the first allegro of
Op. 73, and so forth. No one would affirm that reminiscences are in
themselves desirable, but they are almost inevitable, and the important
question is, not whether this or that rhythmical figure, this or that
passing melodic progression, may be found anticipated in some earlier
work, but whether it has been so used the second time as to have become
an integral part of a composition with a distinct individuality of its
own. The parentage of Brahms' sonata Op. 1, as, indeed, of every work
published by him, is loudly proclaimed by each one of its pages. The
opinion entertained by our composer, when in his maturity, of the
self-satisfied reminiscence-hunter, is well illustrated by his reply to
a conceited acquaintance who was courageous enough, on an occasion late
in the seventies, to draw his attention to a transient resemblance in
one of his great works to a passage of Mendelssohn. 'Some booby has
already been telling me something of the kind.' (So was hab' ich schon
von einem Rindvieh gehört), he answered. 'Such things are always
discovered by the donkeys,' he said one day to a friend.
That the C major Sonata has been heard more frequently than that
numbered as Op. 2, and is still occasionally to be found in a
concert-programme, may be accepted both as evidence and result of its
advance upon the Sonata in F sharp minor. The step from the C major to
the F minor Op. 5, is, however, more remarkable. In this work we find
that the 'wild wing-flapping' of which Schumann wrote has been calmed by
the faithful guardian, not only without detriment, but with strange
increase of strength and certainty, to the 'soaring power.' The progress
shown in the facility of expressing the idea seems almost to have
reacted on the idea to be expressed. No work in the entire catalogue of
Brahms' compositions more convincingly exhibits the composer's title to
rank as a seer of visions. In this one respect, in its exalted
imaginative energy, it may almost be associated with the wonderful first
symphony. Truly, it requires an interpreter who can decipher the vision,
and hearers capable of receiving the interpretation. In spite, however,
of the difficulties it presents both to listener and performer, as well
as of its defects of immaturity, this sonata, which was a favourite with
von Bülow, has grown very gradually into some measure of general
acceptance, and it seems not impossible that it may some day be
frequently heard in the concert-room. It is the only one of Brahms'
extant works which was submitted to Schumann's criticism whilst in
process of completion. In consequence of a mischance presently to be
related, the violin sonata referred to in the letter quoted above was
never published.
Amongst the young Schumannites who had been roused by Joachim's and
Dietrich's accounts of Brahms to an extreme expectation, which had not
been lessened by the appearance of Schumann's essay, was one Heinrich
von Sahr, a musician from choice rather than necessity, who lived at
Leipzig in the intimacy of the notabilities of its artistic circle. He
had written in October to Dietrich:
'Send me your real opinion of Brahms. I am dreadfully anxious to
know him.... What is he like personally? Ah, write! do please write
soon and tell me what you think of him. Is he still in Düsseldorf?
What is his music like? What has he composed?'
Von Sahr was the first person in Leipzig to make Brahms' acquaintance,
and, on the day after his arrival, insisted that he should leave his
hotel to become his guest. He introduced him to Mendelssohn's old
friend, the celebrated concertmeister, David; to Julius Rietz, conductor
of the Gewandhaus concerts; to the personal acquaintance of Dr. Härtel;
to Wieck and his daughter Marie (Frau Schumann's father and sister); to
Ernst Ferdinand Wenzel, one of Schumann's special friends; to Julius
Otto Grimm, a young musician whose room was on the same staircase as his
own, and who soon became numbered amongst Johannes' particular chums;
and, generally speaking, to the entire Leipzig circle.
'He is perfect!' he exclaims in a letter to Albert; 'the days since
he has been here are amongst the most delightful in my
recollection. He answers so exactly to my idea of an artist. And as
a man!--But enough, you know him better than I do....
Unfortunately, he can only stay till Friday. He has, however,
promised, and I think he will keep his promise, to come again
soon.'
There was a performance in von Sahr's rooms one morning, by Brahms and
David, of the sonata for pianoforte and violin, and performances on the
same and the following days of the C major Sonata and other solos, with
the now customary result. Johannes also writes to Albert:
'The Härtels have received me with immense kindness.... If our
master is still in Düsseldorf, tell him this, and say how highly I
honour him, how much I love him and how grateful I should like to
be.'
Brahms left Leipzig on Friday, November 25, in Grimm's company, for a
few days' visit to the Countess Ida von Hohenthal, a lady living on her
estate not far from Leipzig, who was devoted to music, liked to receive
young artists, and always had a particularly warm welcome for Grimm and
his friends. Her name, which appears on the title-page of Brahms' Sonata
in F minor, Op. 5, is of interest from its association with this period
of the composer's début in the circle of the Leipzig notabilities, whose
number was swelled, during the first ten days of December, 1853, by the
presence of Berlioz from Paris, and that of Liszt, supported by a body
of his 'Murls,' from Weimar.
The occasion of the assembling of the members of the New-German party in
the city of Leipzig was one of great importance to them. Berlioz had
been invited to conduct a selection of his works within the precincts of
the classical Gewandhaus itself, and the second part of the subscription
concert of December 1, was to be devoted to the following compositions:
'The Flight into Egypt,' 'Harold in Italy,' 'The Young Shepherd of
Brittany,' the fairy Scherzo from 'Romeo and Juliet,' selections from
'Faust,' and the overture to the 'Carnaval Romain.' Brahms and Grimm
returned in time to be present with their friends on the occasion, which
was made lively by the demonstrations and counter-demonstrations of two
conflicting parties in the audience, but seems to have resulted as
satisfactorily for the Weimarites as they could reasonably have
expected. Brahms and his messiahship were discussed, and none too
gently handled, at a supper-party at which Berlioz, Liszt, Gouvy, and
others of their set, met after the concert, but the hostile attitude
adopted towards the young musician was not enduring. The personal animus
which Schumann's essay had aroused against him was generally disarmed,
as he became known in Leipzig, by the attraction of his unassuming
manner--the more speedily, perhaps, because it was felt that his modesty
rested upon an underlying feeling of confidence in himself and his
purpose. He at once showed his indifference to party jealousies, and
perhaps ran some risk of offending his companions, by calling on Liszt,
who, with Berlioz, Raff, Laub, Reményi, and others, was staying at the
Hôtel de Bavière, and it will presently be shown that Liszt reconsidered
his position to the young musician towards whom public attention had
been so suddenly and strikingly directed.
Johannes presented himself on the Sunday (December 4) following the
Gewandhaus concert at two houses always open to visitors on the first
day of the week, into both of which we are enabled to penetrate by means
of detailed accounts written immediately after the occurrences they
describe. One is contained in a volume by Helene von Vesque;[41] the
other in an 'open letter' written by Arnold Schloenbach to the editor
Brendel, for publication in the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_ of December
9, 1853.
Hedwig, younger daughter of the wealthy house of Salamon, was not only
possessed of literary and artistic talents, but of a magnetic
personality which enabled her to form many distinguished friendships.
She was long intimate with the families of Mendelssohn, Schumann,
Schleinitz, Hauptmann, and other leaders of musical Leipzig, knew
Joachim as a boy, and was for some time looked upon by her circle as the
probable future wife of the Danish composer, Niels Gade. At the time of
which we write she had nearly completed her thirty-second year, but her
marriage with the composer Franz von Holstein did not take place until
nearly two years later. The extracts from her diaries and letters
contained in Helene von Vesque's book include several of interest to
musical readers. Of young Brahms she says:
'Yesterday Herr von Sahr brought me a young man who held in his
hand a letter from Joachim. He sat down opposite me, this young
hero of the day, this young messiah of Schumann's, fair,
delicate-looking, who, at twenty, has clearly-cut features free
from all passion. Purity, innocence, naturalness, power, and
depth--this indicates his being. One is so inclined to think him
ridiculous and to judge him harshly on account of Schumann's
prophecy; but all is forgotten; one only loves and admires him. In
the evening he came to a small party at Elizabeth's [Hedwig's
sister, Frau von Seebach].... He placed himself at a little table
near me, and spoke so brightly and continuously that his friends at
the other table could not be surprised enough, for he is generally
extremely quiet and dreamy. We had plenty of points in common:
Joachim, the Wehners, our mutual favourite poets, Jean Paul and
Eichendorf, and his, Hoffmann and Schiller.... He vehemently urged
me to read "Kabale and Liebe" and the "Serapionsbrüder," but above
all Hoffmann's musical novels, of which he spoke with real
enthusiasm. "I spend all my money on books; books are my greatest
pleasure. I have read as much as I possibly could since I was quite
little, and have made my way without guidance from the worst to the
best. I devoured innumerable romances of chivalry as a child until
the 'Robbers' fell into my hands, of which I knew nothing except
that it had been written by a great poet. I asked for something
more by the same Schiller, however, and so made gradual progress."
He speaks in the same fresh way of music, and when I said to him,
"You will not care so much about music when you have a post as
music-director or professor," he answered smiling, but quite
decidedly: "Yes; I shall not take a post."
'And with all this independent strength, a thin boy's voice that
has not yet changed! and a child's countenance that any girl might
kiss without blushing. And the purity and firmness of his whole
being, which guarantee that the spoiled world will not be able to
overcome this man; for, as he has been able to bear his elevation
from obscurity to the perilous position of an idol without losing
any of his modesty, or even his naïveté, so God, who created such
a beautiful nature will continue to help him!'
Schloenbach's 'open letter' is written in too inflated a style to
deserve lengthy quotation, but one or two extracts may be welcome as
describing our composer's first semi-public appearance in Leipzig. Franz
Brendel's 'at home' on the particular Sunday in question was a more than
usually brilliant function. 'Composers, teachers, virtuosi, lyric and
dramatic poets, romancists, booksellers, critics and journalists--even
preachers--clever, artistic women, charming girls,' were gathered in the
editor's reception-rooms, and one artist after another performed for the
edification of the distinguished audience. A harp solo executed by
Jeanette Paul, and rewarded by a double handshake from Berlioz; one on
the pianoforte by Krause; a number of vocal contributions by the great
tenor Götze--songs by Schumann and Wagner, and, in association with the
accomplished amateur and Wagner enthusiast Frau Lily Steche, the famous
'Lohengrin' duet--formed the earlier part of the impromptu programme.
'The last performance of all was of special interest. Following
maturity came immaturity, but immaturity of rare endowment and rich
promise; immaturity already considerably defined, because possessed
of individual power and true originality. We listened now to the
young Brahms from Hamburg, referred to the other day in Schumann's
article in your journal. The article had, as you know, awakened
mistrust in numerous circles (perhaps in many cases only from
fear). At all events it had created a very difficult situation for
the young man, for its justification required the fulfilment of
great demands; and when the slender, fair youth appeared, so
deficient in presence, so shy, so modest, his voice still in
transitional falsetto, few could have suspected the genius that had
already created so rich a world in this young nature. Berlioz had,
however, already discovered in his profile a striking likeness to
Schiller, and conjectured his possession of a kindred virgin soul,
and when the young genius unfolded his wings, when, with
extraordinary facility, with inward and outward energy, he
presented his scherzo, flashing, rushing, sparkling; when,
afterwards, his andante swelled towards us in intimate, mournful
tones, we all felt: Yes, here is a true genius, and Schumann was
right; and when Berlioz, deeply moved, embraced the young man and
pressed him to his heart, then, dear friend, I felt myself affected
by such a sacred tremour of enthusiasm as I have seldom
experienced.... If you should smile now and then whilst reading my
letter, remember that it is the poet who has spoken, and that it
was yourself who invited him to do so.
'LEIPZIG,
'_December 5, 1853_.'
It must not be forgotten, in connection with these effusive lines, that
the party circumstances of the time and the excitement caused by
Schumann's article made Brahms' appearance amongst the guests of
Brendel, who had identified himself with the New-Germans, an event of
importance, to be regretted by the younger and more excitable of the
Leipzigers, and welcomed by the Weimarites. It no doubt contributed to
the satisfaction expressed by Liszt, in a letter to Bülow, on his return
to Weimar after a second appearance of Berlioz in Leipzig, and the
sympathetic tone of this communication clearly shows that the motive of
policy which dictated it was supported by a more personal feeling of
approbation. He says on December 14:
'Je viens de passer quelques jours à Leipzig, où j'ai assisté aux
deux concerts de Berlioz le 1er et le 11 de ce mois. Le résultat
d'opinion à été en somme très favorable à Berlioz.'
And two days later:
'Écrivez-moi de Hanovre, où vous ferez bien de passer une quinzaine
de jours. Vous y trouverez Brahms auquel je m'intéresse sincèrement
et qui s'est conduit avec tact et bon goût envers moi durant les
quelques jours que je viens de passer à Leipzig en l'honneur de
Berlioz. Aussi l'ai-je invité plusieurs fois à dîner et me plais à
croire que ses "Neue Bahnen" (New Paths) le rapprocheront davantage
de Weimar par la suite. Vous serez content de la Sonate en Ut dont
j'ai parcouru les épreuves à Leipzig et qu'il m'avait déjà montré
ici. C'est précisément celui de ses ouvrages qui m'avait donné la
meilleure idée de son talent de composition. Mille et mille tendres
amitiés à Joachim, auquel j'ai fait demander sa partition de
l'ouverture de Hamlet par Brahms et par Cossmann. Rappelez-lui que
je désire beaucoup la faire exécuter à la prochaine représentation
et la maintenir pour les représentations subséquentes.'[42]
Brahms was persuaded to make his first public appearance in Leipzig at
one of the David Quartet Concerts, which took place regularly in the
small hall of the Gewandhaus. The programme of the occasion consisted of
Mendelssohn's D major Quartet, Brahms' C major Sonata and E flat minor
Scherzo, and Mozart's G minor Quintet. The reception of the new works by
the audience was not discouraging, in spite of the absence from them of
the qualities that go to the making of an immediate popular success, and
most of the critics treated the composer sympathetically. Some of them,
not content with writing about his music, discussed his appearance, and
one described his 'Raphael head.'
'In the second Quartet concert, which took place on December 17,'
says 'Hoplit' [Dr. Richard Pohl, a writer in the interests of the
Weimar school, who was on the staff of the _Neue Zeitschrift_],
'Johannes Brahms presented himself to the public with his Sonata in
C major and his Scherzo. Schumann's article caused much division
amongst the uninitiated, but all doubt has been dispelled by
Brahms' public appearance, and we concur with all our heart, and
with the warmest satisfaction, in Schumann's opinion of the
unassuming and richly-endowed young artist. There is something
forcible, something transporting, in the works which Brahms
performed the other evening. A ripeness rare in one so young, a
creative power springing spontaneously from a rich artist-mind, are
revealed in them. We find ourselves in the presence of one of those
highly-gifted natures, an artist by the grace of God. Some
roughnesses and angularities in the outward, very independent form
of Brahms' compositions may be overlooked for the sake of the
imposing beauty of their artistic aim. His modulations are often of
striking effect; they are frequently surprising, but always fine
and artistically justifiable. Brahms' spirit is in affinity with
the genius of Schumann. He will, advancing steadfastly and safely
along his "new paths," some day become what Schumann has predicted
of him, an epoch-making figure in the history of art.'
Stress was laid by the orthodox _Signale_ on the originality and
freshness of the composer's invention, on the significance of his
thematic material, and on his eminent gift for presenting his ideas in
varied and interesting forms. His facility in unexpected modulations was
noted, but, by this critic, not always approved. With regard to the
performance, 'much appeared more difficult to the executant than to the
creator, for the sonata is very hard to play, and Brahms is a better
composer than virtuoso.'
The composer's Leipzig successes had, indeed, been sufficient to enable
him to arrange with a second publisher, Bartolf Senff, for the
production of his sonata for violin and pianoforte, and of a third set
of songs, as Op. 5 and Op. 6, respectively. His satisfaction at the
remarkable turn in his affairs is summed up in a letter, overflowing
with happiness, to the master at Düsseldorf. The style of the address is
in allusion to the Schumanns' just completed brilliantly successful
concert-journey in Holland.
'MYNHEER DOMINE,
'Forgive him, whom you have made so boundlessly glad and happy, for
the jesting address. I have only the best and most satisfactory
news to relate.
'To your warm recommendation I owe my reception in Leipzig,
friendly beyond all expectation, and especially beyond all desert.
Härtels declared themselves ready, with great pleasure, to print my
first attempts. They are these: Op. 1, Sonata in C major; Op. 2,
Sonata in F sharp minor; Op. 3, Songs; Op. 4, Scherzo in E flat
minor.
'I delivered to Herr Senff for publication: Op. 5, Sonata in A
minor for Violin and Pianoforte; Op. 6, six Songs.
'May I venture to place Frau Schumann's name upon the title-page of
my second work? I scarcely dare to do so, and yet I should like so
much to offer you a little token of my respect and gratitude.
'I shall probably receive copies of my first things before
Christmas. With what feelings shall I then see my parents again
after nearly a year's absence. I cannot describe what is in my
heart when I think of it.
'May you never regret what you have done for me, may I become
really worthy of you. Your
'JOH. BRAHMS.'
The letter was written from Hanover, whither Johannes proceeded on the
20th, accompanied by Grimm, with whom the acquaintance of the first
Leipzig days had already ripened into an intimacy that remained one of
the closest of our composer's life. A treasured memorial of its
commencement is in the possession of Fräulein Marie Grimm--the original
manuscript of the set of six Songs, Op. 6, as arranged for publication,
with Brahms' autograph inscription on the title-page: 'Meinem lieben
Julius zur Erinnerung an Kreisler jun., 8 Dec., 1853.'
There was quite a reunion at Hanover, for Dietrich had come over by
Johannes' particular desire to meet him, and the four young men spent
two pleasant days in each other's society. Grimm now first made
acquaintance with Joachim, and remained behind to cultivate his
friendship when the two others departed. By the end of the week Johannes
was in his parents' arms.
It is not difficult to imagine something of the mother's feelings as she
welcomed back the long-absent Hannes, who had always been as the apple
of her eye, or to picture the simple preparations, the sweeping and
scouring, the polishing and decorating, with which she and Elise
anticipated his arrival; but who shall measure the father's joy on the
return of his young conquering hero? The swiftly-progressing successes
of Johannes' journey had been most literally Jakob's own personal
triumphs, vindicating emphatically every one of the stages of his
career; the obstinate disobedience of his boyhood, the pertinacious
struggle of his youth, the reckless adventure of his marriage. What
wonder that, as time went on, Johannes became to him as a sacred being
in whose presence he felt awed and unable to speak or act naturally, but
of whom, when alone with a sympathetic listener, he would talk
unweariedly by the hour, tears of joy running down his cheeks.
As to Johannes himself, the feelings he had not been able to describe in
his letter to Schumann were probably strong enough within his heart to
touch the joy of the first home embraces with a gravity that did not
immediately admit of speech. The first emotions over, however, an
exuberant mirthfulness asserted itself in the bearing of the happy young
fellow. He established at this time a custom from which he never
afterwards departed. The first visit paid by him after his arrival was
to Marxsen. One to the Cossels soon followed, and, on this occasion of
his return from a first real absence, he went the round of several
Lokals, where he had been accustomed to work regularly, and in his
lightness of heart flourished on some of the instruments that had been
the sign of his bondage, in very joy at his emancipation.
The radiance of this year's Christmastide in the little home where the
young genius dwelt for a few days, the simple, unspoiled child of loving
and beloved parents, might have been taken for granted. We possess an
assurance of it, however, in some words written by Johannes, at the end
of the year, to Schumann:
'HONOURED FRIEND,
'Herewith I venture to send you your first foster-children (which
are indebted to you for their world citizenship), very much
concerned as to whether they may rejoice in your unaltered
indulgence and affection. To me, they look in their new form much
too precise and timid, almost philistine indeed. I cannot accustom
myself to seeing the innocent sons of Nature in such decorous
clothing.
'I am looking forward immensely to seeing you in Hanover and being
able to tell you that my parents and I owe the most blissful time
of our lives to your and Joachim's too-great affection. I was
overjoyed to see my parents and teacher again, and have passed a
glorious time in their midst.
'I beg you to express the most cordial greetings to Frau Schumann
and your children of
'Your
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.
'HAMBURG, _in December, 1853_.'
As we have said in a previous chapter, the violin and pianoforte sonata
that was to have been published as Op. 5 was not given to the world. The
manuscript was mysteriously lost. How or by whose agency has never been
made clear. That Brahms delivered it to Senff for publication is
expressly stated in his letter to Schumann. The known circumstances of
the case lead to the conclusion that it was borrowed from the publisher
by Liszt during his Leipzig visit--no doubt with Brahms'
concurrence--for performance with Reményi at the Hôtel de Bavière, and
not returned. In a letter written by Liszt six months later to
Klindworth, who was giving concerts in England with Reményi, he says:
'Reményi does not answer me about the manuscript of Brahms' violin
sonata. Apparently he has taken it with him, for I have, to my
vexation, hunted three times through the whole of my music without
being able to find it. Do not forget to write to me about it in
your next letter, as Brahms wants the sonata for publication.'
There is a ring of vexation in these words which suggests that Liszt
felt responsible for the work. No trace of it was discovered, however,
until 1872, nineteen years after its disappearance, when, says Dietrich,
'whilst I was staying in Bonn to conduct my D minor Symphony,
Wasielewsky showed me a very beautifully copied violin part, and asked
me if I knew the handwriting. I immediately recognised it as that of
Brahms' first period. We regretted very much that the pianoforte part
was not to be found. It will have been the violin part of the lost
sonata.'
The works actually published, therefore, before and after the New Year
were--by Breitkopf and Härtel, the Sonatas in C, Op. 1, and in F sharp
minor, Op. 2, dedicated respectively to Joachim and Frau Schumann; the
set of Songs, Op. 3, dedicated to Bettina von Arnim, whose acquaintance
Brahms had made, through Joachim, during his visit to Hanover in
November; and the Scherzo, Op. 4, dedicated to Wenzel: and by Bartolf
Senff, the Sonata in F minor, Op. 5, dedicated to the Countess Ida von
Hohenthal, substituted for the lost work; and the set of Songs dedicated
to Louise and Minna Japha, Op. 6. Schumann presented a copy of the
songs, Op. 6, to the Japhas immediately on their publication, on which
he wrote: 'Dem Fräulein Japha, zum Andenken an das Weihnachtsfest, 1853,
als Vorbote des eigentlichen Gebers. R. Schumann' (To the Misses Japha,
in remembrance of the Christmas Festival, 1853, as forerunner of the
real giver).
In the two sets of songs, Op. 3 and 6, and in the third, Op. 7,
dedicated to Dietrich and published but little later, may already be
perceived the composer whose lyrics were destined to take their place in
the heart of the great German people as a unique portion of a peculiar
national treasure. Deeply original, absolutely sincere, of an
imagination that is angelic in its purity, feminine in its tenderness,
and virile in its reticent strength, Brahms' songs admit us to communion
with a rarely ideal nature, and the intuitive power of perfect
expression which marks some of his early lyrics anticipates the
experience of his later years. The beautiful 'O versenk dein Leid' will,
no doubt, always be treasured as the most exquisite example, in its
domain, of this early period of his fancy, but each of the three first
song collections contains one or more tone-poems to which the
music-lover returns with delight. Amongst them may be mentioned 'Der
Frühling' (Op. 6, No. 2) and 'Treue Liebe' and 'Heimkehr' (Op. 7, Nos. 1
and 6). The last-named little gem is the earliest written of the
published songs; unfortunately, it has only one verse.
The energy of imagination dwelling within Brahms' songs is often the
more striking from its concentration within the short form preferred by
the composer in the majority of instances. In it, as time went on, he
gave vivid expression to thoughts wistful or bright, playful or sombre,
naïve or deeply pondered; and whilst his lyrics are especially
characterized by the clear shaping of the song-melody, and the
distinctness of the harmonic foundations upon which it rests, many of
them derive an added distinction from a quiet significance in the
accompaniment, which, whilst helping the musical representation of a
poetic idea, never embarrasses the voice. In spite of their apparent
simplicity, the accompaniments are, however, frequently difficult both
to read and to perform.
It is to be said, generally, of Brahms' songs that they do not betray
the marked influence of either of the two great lyrical composers who
preceded him. They have no affinity with those of Schumann, and if many
of them share the fresh naturalness of Schubert's inspirations, this is
rather to be traced to a partiality for the folk-song, in which both
composers found an inexhaustible stimulus to their fancy. On the other
hand, in Brahms' songs we frequently meet the musician who has
penetrated so deeply into the art of Bach that it has germinated afresh
in his imagination, and placed him in possession of an idiom capable of
serving him in the expression of his complex individuality. Each song
bears the distinctive stamp of the composer's genius, though hardly two
resemble each other, and it would be difficult to point to one that
could be mistaken for the work of another musician.
The young Kreisler was in the habit of presenting his manuscripts, and
especially those of his songs, to intimate friends. Most of these gifts
bear his boyish, affectionate inscriptions, some only the date and place
of composition. 'Göttingen, July, 1853,' is written at the end of an
autograph copy of 'Ich muss hinaus' presented at Düsseldorf to the
Japhas. 'Weit über das Feld' has a friendly inscription in his hand to
the sisters. His manuscripts--probably the originals--of some of the
songs from Op. 3, notably 'O versenk' and 'In der Fremde,' the latter
dated 1852, were given 'To my dear Julius in kind remembrance' (J. O.
Grimm). Touching pictures arise in the mind as one looks at these pages,
some of them discoloured by time, of the young idealist with his girlish
face and long fair hair sitting at his night toil, his soul whole and in
his possession, his thoughts straining towards the early morning hours,
the only ones of the twenty-four which he was certain of being able to
devote to the loveliest inspirations of his muse. In the eager affection
of the inscriptions is to be read his bounding joy at his release; in
the devoted remembrance with which his gifts have been treasured may be
perceived one of the qualities of his personality which he, perhaps, but
little understood--the power of attracting the abiding love of loyal
friends.
It is now time to sum up the real significance in the life of Brahms of
the remarkable first concert-journey, the account of which has so long
occupied our attention, and this may be done in a very few words. The
journey was the transformation scene of his life. The obscure musician
who, having been guarded from the dangers of prodigy fame, had started
from Hamburg in April without prestige, without recommendations, without
knowledge of the world, its manners or its artifices, had passed from
the two or three provincial platforms on which he had appeared as
Reményi's accompanist, to present himself as pianist and composer in the
Leipzig Gewandhaus, and to return to his home in December the accepted
associate of the great musicians of the day; recognised by Weimar,
appreciated by Leipzig; encouraged by Berlioz and Liszt, claimed by
Schumann and Joachim. Before he had well begun to climb the steep hill
of reputation he had found himself transported to its summit. Starting
hardly as an aspirant to fame, he had come back the proclaimed heir to a
prophet's mantle. His life's horizon had been indefinitely widened, his
whole existence changed. Back again amid the familiar scenes of Hamburg,
the events of the past nine months must have seemed to him as the
visions of an enchanted dream.
To the wise and faithful friend in Altona the occurrences which had
startled the musical world had seemed in no wise astonishing.
'There was probably,' wrote Marxsen later to La Mara, 'but one man
who was not surprised--myself. I knew what Brahms had accomplished,
how comprehensive were his acquirements, what exalted talent had
been bestowed on him, and how finely its blossom was unfolding.
Schumann's recognition and admiration were, all the same, a great,
great joy to me; they gave me the rare satisfaction of knowing that
the teacher had perceived the right way to protect the
individuality of the talent, and to form it gradually to
self-dependence.'
These last words seem to indicate that here is a fitting opportunity for
the brief consideration of a question which has not seldom been raised,
and has received various answers, often biassed by prepossession. What
was Marxsen's share in the art of Brahms? A Brahms would have learned
what he did learn, if not from Marxsen then from someone else, has been
the opinion of some people to whose judgment respect is due. Such
influence as Marxsen had on Brahms' development was merely negative, is
the reply of others; and it has been affirmed, on the authority of Herr
Oberschulrath Wendt, that Brahms declared on one occasion that he had
learned nothing from his master.[43]
Without stopping to discuss whether it has been just to the memory
either of Brahms or of Marxsen to give the permanence and emphasis of
print to whatever depreciatory words Brahms may have let fall in an
unguarded moment to an intimate friend, it may safely be asserted that
if our composer fortunately became aware, at an early age, of what had
been the weak points of his master's teaching, he preserved, when at the
height of his mastership, a clear recognition and grateful appreciation
of the strong ones.
Marxsen has himself indicated, in the last sentence of the above
quotation from his letter, the two main purposes of his teaching, both
of which were attained by him in the case of Brahms with absolute
success. To have 'protected the individuality' of an endowment so
powerfully original as that of our composer might, perhaps, be regarded
as an easy achievement if taken alone; though even here it should be
remembered that Marxsen made himself responsible, when the affectionate
and impressionable Hannes was at a tender age, for his musical
education, and must, therefore, have been instrumental in directing his
creative energy to that study of the highest art by means of which it
developed to such good purpose. To have trained his talent to the
'self-dependence' it had attained by the time the young composer was
twenty, however, implies in the teacher a distinctness of aim, a
knowledge of method, an insight and originality, an active and potent
influence, which few will fail to attribute to Marxsen who have a real
acquaintance with the large works of Brahms' earliest period, written at
the time that his formal pupilage was drawing or, in the case of one
work, had just drawn, to its close.
Limitation of space prevents the possibility of giving here a detailed
description of Marxsen's methods of instruction, but, as some account of
their excellencies and shortcomings seems to be called for, it may be
said that as a teacher of free composition, and especially of the art of
building up the forms which may be studied in the works of Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven, he was great--the more so that he did not educate
his pupils merely by setting them to imitate the outward shape of
classical models. He began by teaching them to form a texture, by
training them radically in the art of developing a theme. Taking a
phrase or a figure from one or other of the great masters, he would
desire the pupil to exhibit the same idea in every imaginable variety of
form, and would make him persevere in this exercise until he had gained
facility in perceiving the possibilities lying in a given subject, and
ingenuity in presenting them. Pursuing the same method with material of
the pupil's own invention, he aimed at bringing him to feel, as by
intuition, whether a musical subject were or were not suitable for
whatever immediate purpose might be in view. The next step was that the
idea should be pursued not arbitrarily, but logically, to its
conclusion--a conclusion that was not, however, allowed to be a
hard-and-fast termination. Marxsen's pupils were taught to aim at making
their movements resemble an organic growth, in which each part owed its
existence to something that had gone before. 'Unity clothed in variety'
might have been his motto.
The strength and freedom of craftsmanship, the immense resource imparted
by such training, and the assistance lent by its earlier stages to the
later study of construction, hardly need pointing out, nor is it
necessary to dwell upon particular instances of its efficacy in the case
of Brahms. Every page of his instrumental music teems with
illustrations of the fruitfulness of his youthful studies; their result
lives in the very core of his technique, and to them may in great part
be traced, not only his mastery of form, but the elasticity which from
the first marks his essential adherence to the models of classical
tradition.
The severe course of apprenticeship in the art of free contrapuntal
writing to which Marxsen subjected his pupil, which furthered, and was
itself helped, by his training, in thematic development, is abundantly
evident in the movements of the three pianoforte sonatas, and the
estimation of the precise value especially of the two first of these
works is facilitated by some knowledge of the methods from which they
resulted. That Brahms, when at the summit of his mastership, expressed
his exact sense of his indebtedness to his teacher, to whom he
constantly testified his gratitude and affection both by word and
action, is in the knowledge of the present writer. Gradually in the
course of his career he had, he said, made the acquaintance of nearly
all the foremost musicians of Germany, and he believed that in the
teaching of the logical development of a theme, and in the teaching of
form, especially what is called 'sonata form,' Marxsen, even if he could
be equalled could not be excelled.
Eminent as he was, however, as an instructor in the art of free
imitative composition, in that of pure part-writing Marxsen was no
trustworthy guide. That he had gone through a course of training in
strict counterpoint, canon and fugue--the surest foundation for the
attainment of facility in part-writing--in his early days under Clasing,
and that he carried his pupils through the same branches of study, goes
without saying; but he had retained neither the exact knowledge, nor the
interest, necessary to enable him to impart to his pupils purity and
ease in the strict style of writing, or to train them to the effective
application of the contrapuntal skill they might have acquired, in
compositions in pure parts for voices or instruments.
It would be a nice question to determine, however, whether the very fact
of Marxsen's deficiencies did not result in a balance of gain to
Brahms. While his powers of imagination obtained from what his master
did do, encouragement and strength and facility in concentrating
themselves into shape, they were exempt by the absence of that which he
did not do from the danger of being dwarfed or intimidated. Marxsen
helped Johannes to the putting forth of his strength in confidence and
joy, and if the young musician ever felt it irksome to have to go back
to the confining and polishing processes, he knew that the conquests won
by him during the time of his pupilage ensured him final victory in the
fresh course of serious study to which he soon voluntarily submitted
himself.
Marxsen's indifference to the study of part-writing is strangely
illustrated by the absence of his name from the list of subscribers to
the great Leipzig edition of Bach's works; an absence which can hardly
be accounted for, in view of his enthusiasm for the instrumental works
of the mighty master, otherwise than by the supposition that his
vehement intolerance of religious creeds had impaired his interest in
the branch of musical art which originated and reached its highest
development in the service of the churches. The majority of the works
made generally known by the publications of the Bach Society were
written for use in the two churches for the musical portion of whose
services Bach was for many years responsible. This hypothesis is equally
plausible in its application to the church composers and learned
contrapuntists of the early Italian and German schools.
An interesting article on Marxsen is to be found in a little book called
'Künstler Charakteristiken aus dem Concert-Saal,' by his friend
Professor Joseph Sittard, and in an address given by this author at a
Brahms memorial concert in Hamburg immediately after the master's death,
the following sympathetic allusion was made to the beloved teacher:
'Brahms had the rare good fortune of being trained under a teacher
whose like does not fall to the lot of many young musicians.
Pledged to no special artistic creed, sworn to no particular
tendency or party, Marxsen had interest to bestow upon every
important development of musical art. He never gave instruction on
an inflexible scheme, but allowed himself to be guided by the
separate requirements of each case. He was careful not to interfere
with the individuality of young talent, not to meddle with the
distinctive peculiarities of his pupil's creative ability; he only
guided them within artistic confines. Brahms regarded his teacher
with touching gratitude, and when at the height of his creative
power still continued to send his compositions, before their
publication, for Marxsen's critical inspection. Nothing is more
indicative of the intimate relation between the two men than the
letters (from Brahms to Marxsen) that I was permitted to see years
ago.'
Unfortunately for the musical world, only one or two scraps of this
correspondence remain. On the death of Marxsen in 1887, Brahms' letters
to his teacher were returned to him at his request, and were destroyed.
[36] 'I have here in my mind Joseph Joachim, Ernst Naumann, Ludwig
Norman, Woldemar Bargiel, Theodor Kirchner, Julius Schäffer, Albert
Dietrich, not forgetting the earnest-minded E. F. Wilsing. As trusty
heralds in the right path, Niels W. Gade, C. F. Mangold, Robert Franz,
and St. Heller should also be named here.'
[37] Joachim.
[38] Anti-philistines.
[39] 'Robert Schumann's Briefe.' Neue Folge. Edited by Gustav Jansen.
[40] The letters in this and the following chapters from Brahms to
Schumann were first published by La Mara in the _Neue Freie Presse_ of
May 7, 1897.
[41] 'Eine Glückliche. Hedwig von Holstein in ihren Briefen und
Tagebuchblättern.'
[42] 'Liszt's Briefe.' Edited by La Mara.
[43] Kalbeck's 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 35.
CHAPTER VI
1854-1855
Brahms at Hanover--Hans von Bülow--Robert and Clara Schumann in
Hanover--Schumann's illness--Brahms in Düsseldorf--Variations on
Schumann's theme in F sharp minor--B major Trio--First public
performance in New York--First attempt at symphony.
With the opening of the year 1854, Brahms may be said to have entered
upon the first chapter of his new life. The transition stage of his
career had been defined with unusual sharpness of outline. The eventful
journey had been as a bridge by which he had passed from youth to
manhood. Behind it were the dark years of lonely effort with issue still
untried, the gathering up of strength and treasure but dimly recognised
by the worker, labouring under a thick haze of obscurity; in front lay,
straight and clear, the pathway of endeavour towards a fixed goal,
cheered by companionship and illumined by the consciousness of a measure
of success already won. Having tranquillized his mind and shaken off the
effects of months of excitement by nearly a fortnight's intercourse with
his family and friends at Hamburg, Johannes was impatient to get quietly
to work again, all the more since new and forcible motives--the sense of
his responsibility to Schumann, and the desire to become as far as
possible worthy of his encomiums--added their influence to the energy of
his nature, and helped to spur him on to the resolve to outdo even his
utmost.
Bringing his stay in Hamburg to a close with the opening of the New
Year, he left on January 3 or 4 for Hanover, where he found a new
introduction awaiting his arrival. Hans von Bülow, who had passed
Christmas in Joachim's 'dear society,' writes on the 6th to his mother:
'I have become tolerably well acquainted with Robert Schumann's
young prophet Brahms. He arrived two days ago, and is always with
us. A very lovable, frank nature, and a talent that really has
something God-given about it.'[44]
Bülow took an early opportunity of carrying out Liszt's desire, hinted
at in the letter of December 16. He played the first movement of the C
major Sonata on March 1 at Frau Peroni-Glasbrenner's concert in Hamburg,
and was thus the first artist--always excepting the composer himself--to
perform a work of Brahms in public. That his attitude towards our
composer did not, during the succeeding twenty years, correspond with
this promising beginning, as will be seen hereafter, may be chiefly
attributed to the disappointment with which the disciples of the
New-German school gradually realized that their artistic aims were at
variance with the mature convictions of Joachim, whom they reckoned for
a while as one of themselves, and of Brahms, whose allegiance they had
hoped to secure.
Johannes, established in a lodging of his own at Hanover, began the
routine of work, diversified by intimate association with a few chosen
friends, which he preferred to the end of his life, and was soon
absorbed in the composition of his B major Pianoforte Trio. The intimacy
between Joachim and himself was now widened to a triple alliance by the
addition of Grimm, and lively discussions were carried on in Joachim's
rooms late into the night by the three friends. The young violinist had
not been a smoker up to this time, but his companions used to envelop
him and themselves in such thick clouds of tobacco, that one night,
unable any longer to endure his sufferings passively, he suddenly
declared his surrender, and began to puff away with the others, to
Brahms' and Grimm's great delight.
Schumann had accepted an invitation from Hille, the founder and
conductor of the 'New Singakademie' at Hanover, to be present at a
performance of his 'Paradise and the Peri' on January 28, and, to the
joy of the young musicians, wrote to Joachim to suggest that his visit,
which was to be made in the company of his wife, should be the occasion
of several public appearances. He continues:
'Now, where is Johannes? Is he with you? If so, greet him. Is he
flying high--or only amongst flowers? Is he setting drums and
trumpets to work yet? He must call to mind the beginnings of the
Beethoven symphonies; he must try to do something of the same kind.
The beginning is the main point; when one has begun, the end seems
to come of itself....
'I hope also to see, or better still to hear, something new of
yours soon. You, too, should remember the above-named symphony
beginnings, but not before Henry and Demetrius.[45]
'I always get into a good humour when I write to you. You are a
kind of physician for me.
'Adieu.
'Your R. SCHU.'
Some idea of the happy week passed by the three friends in the constant
society of their 'master' may be gathered from Moser's charming
description in his Life of Joachim. Schumann could not see enough of his
beloved young favourites, Joachim and Brahms, and readily extended his
cordiality to their companion Grimm. The third subscription concert was
a veritable Schumann festival. Joachim conducted the master's fourth
symphony, 'evidently with great delight and love,' says the _Hanover
Courier_, as well as Beethoven's Pianoforte Concerto in E flat, played
by Frau Schumann, and performed Schumann's lately-written Violin
Fantasia dedicated to him and first played at Düsseldorf. There were
plenty of opportunities for private meetings in Joachim's rooms, in the
railway restaurant, and elsewhere, that were unshadowed by any
presentiment of an impending catastrophe; for Schumann was unusually
bright and communicative, and took pleasure in amusing his young
friends with anecdotes of his own early experiences. The hours thus
passed were tenderly remembered in after-years by those who had been
gladdened by the setting radiance of a light soon to be extinguished.
'What a high festival we have had through the Schumanns' visit,'
writes Brahms, a few days after their departure, to Dietrich in
Düsseldorf. 'Everything has seemed alive since. Greet the great
ones from me many times.'[46]
A week after their return Schumann wrote:
'_February 6, 1854._
'DEAR JOACHIM,
'We have been at home eight days, and have not yet sent a word to
you and your companions. I have, however, frequently written to you
with invisible ink.... We have often thought of the past days; may
others like them come quickly! The kind royal family, the excellent
orchestra, and the two young dæmons moving amid the scenes--we
shall not soon forget it.
'The cigars are very much to my liking. It seems they were a
handshake from Brahms, and, as usual, a very substantial and
agreeable one.
'Write to me soon--in words and in tones!
'R. SCHU.'
It is sad to realize that the very day after sending this letter, so
free from signs of depression, so bright and healthy in tone, Schumann
wrote down his last musical thought, the now well-known Theme in E flat;
and that three weeks later he was overtaken by the crisis of his
terrible malady. Alarming symptoms declared themselves as the month went
on; the master became a prey to attacks of mental agony, and was
distressed by illusions, imagining that he constantly heard one or more
notes from the impression of which he was unable to rid himself. In the
intervals of relief from his sufferings he continued to compose, and
wrote several variations on his theme, which he fancied had been brought
to him in the night by the spirits of Schubert and Mendelssohn; but his
condition gave rise to such grave apprehension that he was constantly
watched by his wife in turn with one or another devoted friend. On
February 27, however, he managed to leave his house unobserved, and a
few moments afterwards had thrown himself into the Rhine. He was rescued
by some sailors belonging to a steamboat near, and conveyed to his home
in a carriage, but his state continued so distressing that Frau
Schumann, herself needing care at the time, was not allowed by the
doctors to see him, and he was taken, on March 4, to the private
establishment of Dr. Richarz at Endenich, near Bonn.
It would be difficult to describe in exaggerated terms the consternation
with which a great part of the musical world, and especially the friends
of Schumann's immediate circle, became aware of these overwhelming
occurrences. Sorrow for the great master, love for the indulgent friend,
alarmed sympathy for the stricken wife, kept the younger of his
disciples in a state of restless agitation, which seems to have found
its principal relief in the writing of letters of excited inquiry to
Dietrich, the only one of their number on the scene of the catastrophe.
'Never in my life has anything so moved and deeply shaken me,'
wrote Theodor Kirchner, 'as the dreadful occurrence with our
honoured, beloved Schumann.... We should all be terribly lonely
without him, and as regards myself, all pleasure in my own
endeavours would be gone.'
'Pray send me an exact description of the whole catastrophe _as
quickly as possible_,' so ran Naumann's letter, 'especially if
there is any hope of Schumann's complete restoration, how his
unhappy wife has borne this cruel stroke of fate, and how you are
yourself. I repeat my request for _immediate_ news.'
To the friends in Hanover, who had so lately seen Schumann in apparent
enjoyment of unwonted health both of body and mind, the tidings, of
which they first became informed through a paragraph in the _Cologne
Gazette_, seemed too sudden and tragic to be credible.
'DEAR DIETRICH--'Joachim dashed off--
'If you have any feeling of friendship for Brahms and me, relieve
our anxiety, and write word instantly whether Schumann is really as
ill as the paper says, and let us know at once of any change in his
condition. It is too grievous to be in uncertainty about the life
of someone to whom we are bound with our best powers. I can
scarcely wait for the hour that will bring me tidings of him. I am
quite beside myself with dread.
'Write soon.
'Your J. JOACHIM.'
It was impossible, however, to wait for an answer, and no letter could
have appeased the desire of the affectionate young musicians to be on
the spot; so Brahms, having no fixed duties to detain him, started
immediately for Düsseldorf, and Joachim hoped to follow, if only for a
couple of days. On March 3 Johannes sent his report:
'DEAREST JOSEPH,
'Do come on Saturday; it comforts Frau Schumann to see certain dear
faces.
'Schumann's condition seems to be improved. The physicians have
hope, but no one is allowed to see him.
'I have already been with Frau Schumann. She wept very much, but
was very glad to see me and to be able to expect you.
'We expect you on Sunday morning, and Grimm on Wednesday.
'Your
'JOHANNES.'[47]
'To my great relief,' wrote Dietrich a fortnight later to Naumann,
'Brahms came at once after hearing the dreadful news. Grimm is also
here. Joachim was here for two days, and is coming again in a few
weeks.'
At the end of the letter he adds:
'Brahms has written a quite wonderful trio, and is a man to be
taken in every respect as a pattern. With all his depth, he is
healthy, fresh, and lively, entirely untouched by modern
morbidness.'
It now became the cherished duty of the young men to do what in them lay
to support and comfort the sorely-tried wife in her desolation. Nothing,
perhaps, could have helped and soothed her so much as the feeling that
the tie which primarily bound them to her was that of their devotion to
her husband, the knowledge that they mourned with her in a common grief,
and that their sympathy was touched by their personal sense of what she
had lost. Never, indeed, was more loyal sympathy offered for the
consolation of sorrow, and it had its reward. After the first terrible
days had been lived through, a calm and self-possession returned to the
illustrious lady, which heightened, if possible, the young artists'
admiration of her. The news from Endenich improved towards the end of
the month, and on April 1 even became reassuring. The patient was now
passing his time walking, or quietly sleeping, undisturbed by fits of
anxiety or delusions of hearing; was gentle towards his attendant, had
conversed a little with him, and had even made a joke appropriate to the
day. Frau Schumann summoned up courage to look with hope to the future,
and allowed herself to be persuaded to resume some of her ordinary
avocations. The short remainder of the musical season was, indeed,
passed in necessary retirement; but the great pianist found solace in
quietly studying her husband's compositions anew with Dietrich, Brahms,
Grimm, and others of the circle, playing his great orchestral and choral
works with them on the pianoforte, and listening in turn to their
performances. Dietrich writes in March:
'Yesterday and the day before she went through the whole of
Schumann's "Faust" music with us. We are with her every day, and it
is impossible for me to think of leaving at present.'
Frau Schumann found congenial occupation in the summer in writing a set
of variations on the theme of her husband's Album-Blatt, Op. 99, No. 1:
[Music: etc.]
--which itself refers to the composer's early work, Op. 5, Variations on
a theme by Clara Wieck, and a touching memorial of Brahms' efforts to
assist in diverting her mind from its burden of sorrow exists in his
treatment of the same theme in his Variations for the pianoforte on a
theme of Robert Schumann, Op. 9, dedicated to Frau Clara Schumann. This
work was begun during the period of Frau Schumann's convalescence after
the birth of her seventh child on June 11. Each new variation was
brought to her as it was completed. Grimm, who remained at Düsseldorf
during these months in close companionship with Johannes, christened the
work 'Trost-Einsamkeit' (Consolation in loneliness), and remembered it
as such ever afterwards. It tells plainly enough the story of the young
composer's thoughts. It is full of references to Schumann and his
wife--notably in the ninth variation, which contains note for note
reminiscences of Schumann's Album-Blatt, Op. 99, No. 2, and in the
tenth, in which the first four bars of Clara Wieck's original theme
[Music: etc.]
are introduced by diminution into the middle voice:
[Music]
The work is astounding in its evidence of the mastery already achieved
by the young composer over the technique of variation form, in which he
uses the complicated resources of contrapuntal science with absolute
playfulness. For one illustration of this the reader may again be
referred to the tenth variation, in which the original bass of
Schumann's theme is used as the melody of the upper part and its
inversion as the bass part, whilst the original melody (quoted on p.
159) is imitated by diminution in the middle part.
[Music: etc.]
We must resist the temptation to linger over the many interesting
details of this noble work, as the aim of our pages is not a technical
one; but we may note in passing that, of the sixteen variations which it
contains, five are written in keys varying from that of the theme, a
circumstance which again brings it into a certain association with
Schumann.[48] Brahms, in his five other independent sets of variations
for pianoforte, nearly follows the practice of the earlier masters, who
confined themselves to the major and minor modes of one key.
Johannes had meanwhile, according to custom, sent the completed
manuscript of his trio to Marxsen, and had speedily received it back
again with his master's critical remarks. These he acknowledged on June
28 in a letter from which the following brief extracts are taken,
sending Marxsen, at the same time, a collection of short pieces written
at odds and ends of time, which he proposed to call 'Leaves from the
Journal of a Musician, published by the Young Kreisler.'
'Let me thank you very much for having vouchsafed such a long
letter, such a detailed examination to my trio. I will write about
the proposed little alterations when I send you the printed copy. I
have allowed the trio to lie in order to accustom myself to them.'
Asking Marxsen if he considers the pianoforte pieces worth publishing,
he adds as to the proposed title: 'What do you think of it? Doesn't it
please you? I must confess I should be sorry to strike it out.'[49] It
must be presumed that Marxsen's opinion, coinciding with that of some of
the young colleagues to whom the pieces were also shown, was
unfavourable, for they did not see the light. We shall, however, meet
with one or two of them in a few concert-programmes before long, and one
will be found to have a particular interest for English readers.
The B major Trio, published in 1854 by Breitkopf and Härtel as Op. 8,
which remained for many years but little known, has, with its beautiful
youthful qualities, long since become dear to those who have yielded
their hearts to the spell of Brahms' music. The composer's fertile fancy
has betrayed him, in the first allegro, into some episodical writing
which somewhat clouds the distinctness of outline, and impedes the
listener in his appreciation of the distinguished beauties of the
movement, and there are places in the finale where a certain
disappointment succeeds to the conviction inspired by the impetuous
opening subject; but in wealth of material, in the rare beauty of its
principal themes, and in noble sincerity of expression, the trio
occupies a distinguished place even amongst the examples of Brahms'
maturity. The scherzo with its trio are already masterly both in
conception and treatment, and in the adagio we have promise of the
deeply impressive slow movements which were moulded in ever-increasing
perfection of structure by the composer's ripening genius. That Brahms
retained an affection for this child of his young imagination is shown
by his having published a revised edition of the work so late in his
career as the year 1891. We must confess our preference for the original
version, which is consistently representative of the composer as he was
when he wrote it. The later one does not appear to us to have solved the
difficulty of successfully applying to a work of art the process of
grafting, upon the fresh, lovable immaturity of twenty-one, the
practised but less mobile experience of fifty-seven.
The trio was performed for the first time in public, to the lasting
musical distinction of America, on November 27, 1855, at William Mason's
concert of chamber music in Dodsworth's Hall, New York, by the
concert-giver, Theodor Thomas, and Carl Bergmann, to whom, therefore,
belongs the honour of having inaugurated the public performances of
Brahms' great series of works of this class. It was played, for the
second time, at Breslau on December 18 of the same year. Many years
elapsed before it was heard in England.
[Illustration: BRAHMS AND JOACHIM, 1855.]
Frau Schumann changed her residence to another in Düsseldorf in the
month of July, and immediately afterwards went with one of her young
daughters to stay with her mother in Berlin, whither Joachim also
proceeded on a visit to some of his own particular friends. Dietrich had
quitted Düsseldorf some months previously to follow prospects of success
in Leipzig; Grimm and Brahms remained behind to take charge of any
urgent tidings from Endenich. To Johannes was specially entrusted the
congenial task of arranging Schumann's books and music in the new
dwelling. This was soon accomplished to his satisfaction, as he writes
to Dietrich:
'And now I sit there the whole day and study. I have seldom felt so
happy as I do now, rummaging in this library.'
On July 19, the very day of Frau Schumann's departure, the happy news
arrived that a marked improvement had taken place in her husband's
health. He had spoken of feeling better, expressed a desire to visit his
friend Wasielewsky at Bonn; above all, had picked flowers, and evidently
wished them to be sent to his wife, whom he had not mentioned during his
illness. News and flowers were instantly despatched to Berlin, and were
received with almost overwhelming feelings of hope and longing.
'I cannot describe my feelings,' Frau Schumann writes to Dietrich
after informing him of the tidings, 'but I never knew till now how
difficult it is to bear a great happiness ... it often seems to me
as though I should lose my reason; it is too much, all that I have
gone through and that is still before me!'
She returned to Düsseldorf after about a fortnight's absence. The
succeeding movements of the party are chronicled in a letter written by
Johannes to the Amtsvogt Blume of Winsen:
'ULM, _August 16, 1854_.
'HONOURED SIR,
'You certainly think that your dear letter did not give me the
least pleasure, as I have left it so long unanswered? Ah, the time
lately has been so full of excitement that I was obliged to put it
off from day to day. Frau Schumann went with a friend on the 10th
of this month to Ostend for the benefit of her health. I, after
much persuasion, resolved to make a journey through Swabia during
her absence. I did not know how greatly I was attached to the
Schumanns, how I lived in them; everything seemed barren and empty
to me, every day I wished to turn back, and was obliged to travel
by rail in order to get quickly to a distance and forget about
turning back. It was of no use; I have come as far as Ulm, partly
on foot, partly by rail; I am going to return quickly, and would
rather wait for Frau Schumann in Düsseldorf than wander about in
the dark. When one has found such divine people as Robert and Clara
Schumann, one should stick to them and not leave them, but raise
and inspire one's self by them. The dear Schumann continues to
improve, as you have read in my letter to my parents. There has
been a great deal of gossip about his condition. I consider the
best description of him is to be found in some of the works of E.
T. A. Hoffmann (Rath Krespel, Serapion, and especially the splendid
Kreisler, etc.). He has only stripped off his body too soon.--If
you would give me pleasure, let me find a letter from you in
Ddf.--is that quite too bold? I will write to you again, and more
rationally, from there. I am writing this letter in the
waiting-room of the railway-station, which accounts for its having
become, probably, very confused.--A thousand hearty greetings to
dear Uncle Giesemann, I will write to him also from Ddf.; heartiest
greetings also to Frau Blume and your daughter. Remember with
affection
'Your JOHANNES BRAHMS.'[50]
Stopping at Bonn on his return journey to inquire after the patient at
Endenich, Brahms obtained permission to look at Schumann, himself
unseen, and from his position behind an open window was able, after he
had sufficiently controlled his first agitation, to assure himself that
the master looked well and wore the kind, tranquil mien natural to him;
and on his arrival at Düsseldorf, whom should he find there but Grimm,
who, having missed the object of a journey on which he, too, had set,
out, had likewise been to Endenich, seen Schumann, and gained an
impression of his appearance and manner similar to that which had
reassured Johannes!
Grimm left Düsseldorf in November for Hanover, and remained there till
the following year, when he accepted a post as conductor of a choral
society at Göttingen. Johannes also went north on a visit to his
parents, but for a few weeks only. The Schumanns' house had become a
second home to him, and his place in the affections of its master and
mistress that of a beloved elder son. Almost every particular that had
marked the course of his year's acquaintance with them had been of a
kind to stir his true, loving, high-strung nature to its depths.
Schumann's noble character, his quick affection for the young stranger
and unconditional acceptance of his art, the ideal relation which united
the great composer with his wife, the distinguished qualities of the
gifted woman who found her greatest happiness in consecrating her genius
to the service of her romantic love, the terrible blow which had
separated the two lives so closely linked, the sadness of the present,
the uncertainty of the future--each and all of these things had aroused
in the heart of Johannes a tumult of feeling, a poignancy of affection,
that allowed him no rest when he was out of immediate touch with the two
people who were its object. He could study to his heart's content in
Schumann's library, where books and music were unreservedly at his
disposal; could be of use to Frau Schumann, who truly valued his
sympathy and returned his affection; he was in constant communication
with Joachim, and could have as much pleasant society as he cared for.
In short, he felt that for the present his place was at Düsseldorf, and
at Düsseldorf he remained.
It was in the spring of 1854 that he made the acquaintance of Julius
Allgeyer, who, four years his senior, was at the time a student of
copper-plate engraving in Düsseldorf under Josef Keller.
'Brahms,' says Allgeyer in a letter of this date, 'has Schiller's
striking profile; his compositions sound different from everything
else known to me. He has the bad manners of a frolicsome child and
the understanding of a man.'
There was much in the circumstances and characters of the two young men
to foster an intimacy between them. Allgeyer's youth had, like that of
Johannes, been passed in struggle, and he resembled Brahms in his
restless hunger after general culture, which he endeavoured to satisfy
by constant and varied reading. The composition of Brahms' Ballades for
pianoforte, Op. 10, which belongs to this time, has a direct association
with Allgeyer, to whom the young musician was indebted for his
acquaintance with Herder's 'Stimmen der Völker,' the volume containing a
translation of the Scotch ballad 'Edward' that inspired the first of the
pieces in question. Brahms' memory for such details is well illustrated
by his dedication to Allgeyer of the Lieder und Romanzen for two voices,
with pianoforte accompaniment, Op. 75, published in 1878, the first
number of which is a setting of 'Edward.' Another avowed instance of his
partiality for Herder's collection is to be found in a still later work,
No. 1 of the three Intermezzi for pianoforte, Op. 117, and it may be
surmised that the book contains the secret key to the composer's
thoughts during the writing of more than one other of the short pieces
for pianoforte designated by the general name of 'Intermezzo' or
'Capriccio.'
Brahms and Allgeyer remained intimate, though with intervals of some
estrangement--if this be not too strong a term to express a temporary
cessation of intercourse without alleged cause--until Brahms' death; and
Allgeyer, who was introduced by Johannes to Frau Schumann, came to be
regarded by her as belonging to the circle of her valued friends.[51]
Schumann's desire that his young protégé should apply his powerful ideal
gifts and his skill in the handling of form to the composition of an
orchestral work had not been disregarded by Brahms. He had tried his
hand at an overture early in the year, and had worked through the spring
and summer at a symphony, making his first attempts at instrumentation
with the help of Grimm. It could not be otherwise than that the rapid
succession of extraordinary events and vivid emotions which had agitated
his spirit should prove a strong stimulus to his imagination; and it is
not surprising to find that they moved him to the composition of a
series of movements, two of which remain amongst the most powerful
produced by him, one having been accepted by thousands of mourners all
the world over as the most fitting musical expression known to them in
the presence of profound grief. The symphony, as such, was never
completed, but the work was thrown into the form of a sonata for two
pianofortes, of which the first two movements have become known to the
world as the first and second of the Pianoforte Concerto in D minor, and
the third is immortalized in the 'Behold all Flesh,' the wonderful march
movement in three-four time of the German Requiem. Brahms frequently
played the sonata in private at this period with Frau Schumann or Grimm.
The two sets of Variations on Schumann's theme were published
simultaneously, by Brahms' desire, in the autumn, with his Songs, Op. 7,
dedicated to Dietrich, and the B major Trio; the variations by Johannes
appearing as his Op. 9. The song 'Mondnacht' also appeared this year,
without opus number, in a book of 'Album-Blätter' published at
Göttingen.
The improvement in Schumann's condition went on so steadily that on
September 13, the thirty-fifth anniversary of his wife's birthday, he
was permitted to receive a letter from her. It contains no allusion to
Brahms, but brings Schumann's tenderness in his home relationships so
vividly before the mind that a short extract from it will, we think, be
welcomed by the reader:[52]
'ENDENICH, _Sept. 14, 1854_.
'How I rejoiced, beloved Clara, to see your handwriting. High
thanks for having written to me on such a day, and that you and the
dear children still remember me. Greet and kiss the little ones!
Oh, if I could see you and speak to you again, but the way is too
far. So much I should like to know; how your life is going on;
where you are living and if you still play as gloriously as
formerly; if Marie and Elise continue to make progress, if they
still sing also--if you still have the Klems pianoforte [a present
from Schumann to his wife], where my collection of scores is (the
printed ones) and what has become of the manuscripts (such as the
Requiem, the Sänger's Fluch); where our album is, containing
autographs of Goethe, Jean Paul, Mozart, Beethoven, Weber, and many
letters addressed to you and me.'
On the 18th he writes:
'What joyful news you have again sent me ... that Brahms, to whom
you will give my kind and admiring greetings, has come to live in
Düsseldorf; what friendship! If you would like to know whose is my
favourite name, you will no doubt guess his, the unforgettable
one!... If you write to Joachim, greet him. What have Brahms and
Joachim been composing? Is the overture to Hamlet published? Has he
finished anything else? You write that you are giving your lessons
in the pianoforte-room. Who are the present pupils? Who the best?
Are you not doing too much, dear Clara?'
He goes on to recall the happiness of the journeys made in his wife's
company, begs that their double portrait may be sent him, would like
some money, in order to be able to give to the poor people whom he
meets in his walks, wants a list of his children's birthdays.
A week later, September 26, he says:
'What you write about ... has given me the greatest pleasure. So
also about Brahms and Joachim and their compositions. I am
surprised that Brahms is working at counterpoint which does not
seem like him. I should like to make acquaintance with Joachim's
three pieces for pianoforte and viola. I can remember de Laurens'
portrait of Brahms, but not the one of me. Thank you for the
children's birthday dates. Who are to be sponsors for the little
one, and in what church is he to be baptized?...'
In October he acknowledges the arrival of Brahms' variations, sent him
by his wife:
'DEAREST CLARA,
'What pleasure you have again given me! Your letter and Julie's,
Brahms' variations on the theme which you have varied, the three
volumes of Arnim Brentano's Wunherhorn.... I remember Herr Grimm
very well, we used to be together with Brahms and Joachim at the
railway-station [in Hanover]; greet him and above all Fräulein
Leser. I shall write to Brahms myself....'
That this renewal of intercourse with her husband cheered and encouraged
Frau Schumann for the performance of her arduous public duties during
the autumn season will be readily believed. Under the necessity of a
heavily increased weight of responsibility to her young children, she
had bound herself to the fulfilment of a long list of concert
engagements, which scarcely allowed her an interval of rest. Happily,
the reports from Endenich continued favourable. Joachim, writing to
Liszt on November 16, says:
'What a happiness it is that Schumann's condition is distinctly
improved. I had a letter from him from Endenich lately. He relates
some of our common experiences quite clearly, expressing himself in
a kind, gentle way as though he had just awakened from a dream.
Everything seems new to him, and he would like to participate in
what is going on; asks about compositions, about friends; one may
certainly hope for the best.'
On November 27, having had time to study Brahms' variations, he writes,
in the course of a letter to his wife:
'The variations of Johannes delighted me at first sight and do so
still more on deeper acquaintance. I shall myself write also to
Brahms; does his portrait by de Laurens still hang in my study? He
is the most attractive and gifted young fellow. I recall with
delight the splendid impression he made that first time with his C
major Sonata, and afterwards with the F sharp minor Sonata and the
Scherzo in E flat minor. Oh, if I could only hear him again! I
should like his ballades also.'
To Brahms, enclosed in the above:
'Could I but come to you myself, to see you again and to hear your
splendid variations, or [to hear them] from my Clara of whose
wonderful interpretation Joachim has written to me. How
incomparably the whole is rounded off, how one recognises you in
the rich brightness of the imagination and again in the profound
art, united as I have not yet known them. The theme emerging here
and there, but very secretly, then so vehement and tender. The
theme then quite vanishing, and at the end, after the fourteenth
[variation], so ingeniously written in canon in the second; how
splendid is the fifteenth in G flat major, and the last. And I have
to thank you, dear Johannes, for all your kindness and goodness to
my Clara; she always writes to me about it. She sent me yesterday
to my pleasure, as you perhaps know, volumes of my compositions and
Jean Paul's Flegeljahre. Now I hope soon to see your handwriting,
however great a treasure it is to me, in another form also. The
winter is fairly mild. You know the Bonn neighbourhood. I enjoy
Beethoven's statue and the beautiful view of the Siebengebirge. We
saw each other last in Hanover. Only write soon to
'Your affectionate and appreciative
'R. SCHUMANN.'
Brahms' answer speaks for itself:
'HAMBURG, _2 December 1854_.
'MOST BELOVED FRIEND,
'How can I describe to you my pleasure at your dear letter! You
have already so often made me happy when you have remembered me so
affectionately in the letters to your wife, and now I have a
letter belonging entirely to myself. It is the first I have had
from you; I value it beyond measure. Unfortunately I received it in
Hamburg, where I had come to visit my parents; I would much rather
have received it from the hand of your wife.
'I expect to return to Düsseldorf in a few days; I long to be
there.
'The overmuch praise which you bestow on my variations fills me
with happiness. I have been studying your works industriously since
the spring; how much I should like to hear your praise of them
also! I have passed this year since springtime at Düsseldorf; I
shall never forget it, I have learned all the time to love you and
your glorious wife more and more.
'I have never yet looked forward so cheerfully and confidently,
never believed so firmly in a splendid future as now. How I wish it
were near, and nearer still the happy time when you will be quite
restored to us.
'I cannot then leave you any more; I shall try to earn more and
more of your dear friendship.
'Good-bye, and think of me with affection.
'Your warmly venerating JOHANNES BRAHMS.
'My parents and your friends here think of you with the greatest
veneration and love. The parents, Herr Marxsen, Otten, and Avé,
particularly beg me to give you their most cordial greetings.'[53]
About the middle of the month Schumann wrote again to Johannes:
'ENDENICH, _December 1854_.
'DEAR FRIEND,
'If I could but come to you at Christmas! Meanwhile I have received
your portrait from my dear wife, your familiar portrait, and I know
the place in my room quite well, quite well--under the mirror. I am
still refreshing myself with your variations; I should like to hear
several of them from you and my Clara; I am not completely master
of them; especially the second, the fourth not up to time and the
fifth not; but the eighth (and the slower ones) and the ninth--A
reminiscence of which Clara wrote to me is probably on p. 14; what
is it from? a song?[54]--and the twelfth----Oh, if I could only
hear you!'
The andante and scherzo from Brahms' F minor Sonata, Op. 5, were
included by Frau Schumann in several of her programmes of the season,
and, though received with indifference by the general public, were, on
the whole, noticed encouragingly by the press. The _Vossische Zeitung_
of Berlin dismissed the movements as wanting in clearness and
simplicity, but the _National Zeitung_ of the same city pronounced that
the sonata, associating itself with the school of Schumann, gave
evidence of eminent creative power, and a Frankfurt critic wrote:
'Frau Schumann deserves high commendation for introducing Brahms'
compositions to the public with her master-hand, and thereby
preparing the way for their general acceptance.'
Joachim, who was frequently Frau Schumann's artistic colleague during
the season, giving concerts with her in various parts of Germany, spent
the Christmas festival with his friends in Düsseldorf, making time on
his way thither to call at Bonn to get news of Schumann. To his joy, he
was admitted to the first interview with a personal friend allowed to
the patient since his residence at Endenich. The impression he derived
was reassuring to a certain extent, and there was comfort in the mere
fact that he had seen and conversed with Schumann. A touching picture of
the little gathering in Düsseldorf of those who stood first in the
affections of the great composer is given in Brahms' next letter to him:
'MOST HONOURED FRIEND,
'I should like to write a great deal about the Christmas evening,
which was made so happy to us by Joachim's news; how he told us
about you the whole evening and your wife wept so quietly. We were
filled with joyful hope that we may soon be able to see you again.
'You always turn the days which would otherwise be days of mourning
for us, into high festivals. On her birthday your wife was allowed
to write you the first letter. At Christmas a friend first talked
with you, the only one to whom we should not grudge this happiness,
but only desire for ourselves to be allowed to succeed him soon.
'On the first day of the festival your wife gave her presents. She
will now be writing to tell you about it; how well Marie played
your A minor Sonata with Joachim, and Elise the Kinderscenen, and
how she delighted me with Jean Paul's complete works. I had not
hoped to be able to call them my own for many years. Joachim got
the scores of your symphonies, which your wife had already given
me.
'I returned here the evening before Christmas; how long the
separation from your wife seemed to me! I had so accustomed myself
to her inspiring society, I had lived near her so delightfully all
the summer and learned to admire and love her so much, that
everything seemed flat to me, and I could only long to see her
again. What nice things I have brought back with me from Hamburg,
however! The score of Gluck's Alcestis (the Italian edition, 1776)
from Herr Avé, your first dear letter to me and several from your
beloved wife. I must thank you most warmly for a pleasant word in
your last letter, for the affectionate "thou"; your kind wife also
makes me happy now by using the nice, intimate word; it is the
highest proof to me of her favour; I will try always to deserve it
more.
'I had a great deal to write to you, dearest friend, but it would
probably only be a repetition of what your wife is writing,
therefore I conclude with the warmest handshake and greeting. Your
'JOHANNES.
'DÜSSELDORF, _30 December, 1854_.'
Frau Schumann, having before her the fatigues of a concert-journey in
Holland, allowed herself a brief rest during the early part of January,
and was cheered by the most encouraging letters from her husband. He
wrote on the 6th:
'... I wish also to thank you most particularly, my Clara, for the
artist letters and Johannes for the sonata and ballades.[55] I know
them now. The sonata--I remember to have heard it once from
him--so profoundly grasped; living, deep, and warm throughout, and
so closely woven together. And the ballades--the first wonderful,
quite new; only I do not understand the _doppio movimento_ either
in this or the second, is it not too fast?[56] The close
beautiful--original! The second how different, how diversified, how
suggestive to the imagination; magical tones are in it. The bass F
sharp at the end seems to lead to the third ballade. What shall we
call this? Demoniacal--quite splendid, and becoming more and more
mysterious after the _pp_ in the trio. And the return and close!
Has this ballade made a similar impression on you, my Clara? In the
fourth ballade how beautifully the strange melody vacillates at the
close between minor and major, and remains mournfully in the major.
Now on to overtures and symphonies! Do you not like this, my Clara,
better than organ? A symphony or opera, which arouses enthusiasm
and makes a great sensation, brings everything else more quickly
forward. He must. Now greet Johannes warmly and the children, and
you, my dearest heart, remember your, as of old, loving
'ROBERT.'
Brahms was permitted to follow Joachim, and paid the master a visit of
several hours' duration, in the course of which he played both to and
with him. At its close Schumann walked back to Bonn with his dear young
friend, and could not make up his mind to part with him. Johannes tore
himself away just in time to catch his train, and wrote a few days
afterwards:
'DEAR HONOURED FRIEND,
'I must thank you myself for the great pleasure you give me by the
dedication of your splendid concertstück.[57] How I rejoice to see
my name thus printed! Especially, too, that I, like Joachim, have a
concerto of my own.[58] We have often talked of the two works and
which we like best--we have not been able to decide.
'I think with joy of the short hours that I was allowed to spend
with you, they were so delightful--but passed so quickly. I cannot
tell your wife enough about them; it makes me doubly glad that you
received me with such friendship and kindness, and that you still
think of the hour with so much affection.
'We shall be able to see you thus more and more frequently and
pleasantly till we possess you again.
'I have taken the catalogue (chronological), as you wished, to your
copyist (Fuchs).
'I expect you would like the original of Jenny Lind's letter. It is
probably the handwriting that you want. I need not write out the
contents for you.
'We are sending Bargiel's new work, it will give you great
pleasure, as it does us; Op. 8 is a great advance upon Op. 9. Both
are dedicated to your wife; that is what I should like to do
always. I should like to take turns with the names Joachim and
Clara Schumann till I had courage to add your name. That, probably,
will not soon come to me.
'Now good-bye, dear man, and think sometimes with affection of your
'JOHANNES.
'DÜSSELDORF, _in January 1855_.'
'Do you remember that you encouraged me last winter to write an
overture to "Romeo"? For the rest, I have been trying my hand at a
symphony during the past summer, have even instrumented the first
movement and composed the second and third.'
During the entire winter, the devotion to Frau Schumann, through which
Joachim and Brahms were alike eager to express their veneration for the
beloved master in his awful trial, was shared between them in the most
practical way. Joachim remained her constant artistic companion after
her return from Holland, and the success achieved by the two great
musicians on the innumerable occasions of their giving concerts
together, during this and the following season, was extraordinary and
unvarying. Johannes remained at Düsseldorf to attend to Schumann's
little requirements, and to send cheery news of all that was going on
at home to the anxious wife and mother. In February he writes to
Endenich:
'DEAR HONOURED FRIEND,
'Herewith I send you the things you wished for; a necktie and the
_Signale_. I must be responsible for the first; as your wife is in
Berlin, I had to decide. I only hope you will like it, and that it
is not too high?
'I also send you the _Signale_; some of the numbers are missing, we
have not been careful enough about them. From this time forward you
shall have them regularly.
'I can now already give you the most positive assurance that Herr
Arnold has had your proof of the "Gesänge der Frühe." There must be
some other reason for his having delayed the publication so long.
'I wonder if the long walk with me did you good? I expect so. With
what pleasure I think of the delightful day; I have seldom been so
perfectly happy! Your dear wife was very much calmed and pacified
by my blissful letter.
'I am entrusted with many greetings to you from all your friends
here. I will particularly mention those from your children and
Fräulein Bertha.[59]
'May all go well with you, and may you often think with affection
of your
'JOHANNES.
'DÜSSELDORF, _in February 1855_.'
Another letter follows early in March:
'HONOURED MASTER,
'You will have wondered very much that I wrote of an F sharp minor
Sonata which was to be sent you with the other things, and none was
there. I quite forgot to put it up this morning. I send it you now
with the songs and choruses from "Maria Stuart." I think you will
like to have them; you have often mentioned them.
'Your wife just writes to me, quite delighted with your letter.
She is going to send you some beautiful music-paper. I was
certainly quick, but not so particular. Only women do everything
quickly and well at the same time.
'With warmest greetings, Your
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.
'DÜSSELDORF, _March, 1855_.'
Of the F sharp minor Sonata, Op. 2, Schumann answers:
'Your second sonata, my dear, has brought me much nearer to you. It
was quite new to me; I live in your music, so that I can half play
it at sight, one movement after the other. I am thankful for this.
The beginning, the _pp_, the whole movement--there has never been
one like it. Andante and the variations and the scherzo following
them, quite different from those in the others; and the finale, the
sostenuto, the music at the beginning of the second part, the
animato and the close--in short, a laurel wreath for the
from-elsewhere-coming Johannes. And the songs, the first one; I
seemed to know the second; but the third--it has (at the beginning)
a melody in which there are many good girls, and the splendid
close. The fourth quite original. In the fifth such beautiful
music--like the poem. The sixth quite different from the others.
The rushing, rustling melody-harmony pleases me.'
To Joachim, Schumann writes on March 10:
'Your letter has put me into quite a happy mood. The great gaps in
your artistic cultivation, and the so-called violinist's eye and
the address; nothing could have amused me more. Then I recalled the
Hamlet overture, Henry overture, Lindenrauschen, Abendglocken,
Ballade--books for viola and pianoforte--the remarkable pieces
which you played with Clara one evening at the hotel in
Hanover;[60] and as I went on thinking I began this letter....
Johannes has sent me last year's _Signale_, to my great pleasure,
for everything that has happened since February 20 was new to me.
There has never been such a musical winter [1853-54] as that and
the following; such travelling and flying from town to town, Frau
Schroeder-Devrient, Jenny Lind, Clara, Wilhelmine Claus....'
Thus the months passed on. At the close of Frau Schumann's
concert-season Johannes travelled with her to Hamburg, in response to
an invitation from Capellmeister Otten, a well-known musician of the
city, to be present at a performance of Schumann's 'Manfred' at his
subscription concert of April 21. They passed a day at Hanover on their
return journey, and on May 7, Brahms' twenty-second birthday
anniversary, were joined at Düsseldorf by Joachim, who had promised to
make his headquarters near them this season during the period of his
'free time'--free from the fixed duties of his post in Hanover--which,
according to his contract, extended till the month of October.
Brahms' birthday-presents included the manuscript of a romance for the
pianoforte composed for him by Frau Schumann, and from the master the
score of his overture to 'The Bride of Messina,' both with affectionate
inscriptions. The following letter of thanks was the last written by him
to Endenich:
'BELOVED, HONOURED FRIEND,
'I must send you most heartfelt thanks for having remembered me so
affectionately on May 7. How surprised and delighted I was by the
beautiful present and the loving words in the book!
'The day was altogether such a delightful one as one does not often
experience. Your dear wife understands how to give happiness. You,
however, know this better than anyone.
'A portrait of my mother and sister surprised me. In the afternoon
Joachim came, we hope for a very long time.
'I heard the overture to "The Bride of Messina" the other day in
Hamburg, as you know. How much the deeply-earnest work took hold of
me, and after "Manfred"! I was wishing all the time that you were
there to hear and see what joy you give by your splendid works.
'I have been longing for some time past to hear especially
"Manfred" or "Faust." I hope we shall hear the last, greatest,
together some time.
'Only your long silence, which made us uneasy, could have kept me
from sending you my thanks sooner; accept now the heartiest thanks
for your dear remembrance on May 7, 1855.
'In hearty love and veneration,
'Your JOHANNES.'
[44] Bülow's 'Briefe und Schriften.' Edited by Marie von Bülow.
[45] Two overtures on which Joachim was working.
[46] This and all other extracts from Dietrich are taken from his
well-known 'Recollections of Brahms.'
[47] From the original letter, presented by Dr. Joachim to the author.
[48] _Cf._ Schumann's great variations: the 'Etudes Symphoniques.'
[49] Sittard's 'Künstler-Charakteristiken.'
[50] See footnote on p. 117.
[51] Professor Carl Neumann's introduction to the second edition (1904)
of Allgeyer's 'Life of Anselm Feuerbach.'
[52] This and the following letters written by Schumann at Endenich were
first published by Edward Hanslick in the _Neue Freie Presse_ of October
27 and 29, 1896, and afterwards republished in Hanslick's 'Am Ende des
Jahrhunderts' (Robert Schumann in Endenich).
[53] See footnote on p. 131.
[54] The introduction by diminution of Clara Wieck's theme mentioned on
p. 160.
[55] In manuscript: Ballades for Pianoforte, Op. 10.
[56] The _doppio movimento_ marked in the manuscript of the first
ballade was changed before publication to _allegro ma non troppo_, no
doubt in deference to Schumann's suggestion.
[57] Concert-allegro with Introduction for Pianoforte and Orchestra, Op.
134.
[58] Fantasia for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 131, dedicated to Joachim.
[59] Fräulein Bertha Bölling, a young lady who was resident for some
years in the Schumanns' house as domestic help to Frau Schumann, to whom
she was greatly attached, and in whose confidence she stood high. During
the first few days of Schumann's illness, before his removal to
Endenich, she was allowed by the doctors to go in and out of the
sick-room, and her presence had a tranquillizing effect on the patient.
[60] Joachim's compositions.
CHAPTER VII
1855-1856
Lower Rhine Festival--Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt--Edward
Hanslick--Brahms as a concert-player--Retirement and study--Frau
Schumann in Vienna and London--Julius Stockhausen--Schumann's
death.
Extraordinary interest was lent to this year's Festival of the Lower
Rhine, again held at Düsseldorf (May 27-29), by the appearance at each
of its three concerts of Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt. According to
traditional custom, and, indeed, by the _raison d'être_ of these great
Whitsuntide gatherings, the programmes of the first two days each
included a large work for chorus and orchestra, and on this special
occasion the combined singing societies of about a dozen towns furnished
over 650 voices, perfected by many weeks' previous practice, for the
performance of Haydn's 'Creation' and Schumann's 'Paradise and the
Peri.' That the selection of Schumann's beautiful work was due, in the
first place, to a desire expressed by Madame Lind-Goldschmidt is, under
the circumstances of the time, a specially interesting detail. The
direction of the concerts was in the experienced hands of Ferdinand
Hiller, and Concertmeister David of Leipzig had been invited to lead the
splendid body of strings.
It hardly needs telling that Madame Goldschmidt's performance of the
soprano solos in the two works mentioned created the usual extraordinary
impression. The name 'Jenny Lind' is almost synonymous with triumph.
'The most perfect purity and certainty of intonation,' says Otto
Jahn, 'the most strictly correct interpretation, the distinctness
and clearness of accent, the extraordinary virtuosity in everything
that belongs to vocal technique--all this would suggest a great
singer, and that she unquestionably is; but her peculiar
characteristic lies in something beyond such qualities. Her
phenomenal power is to be traced to the genius which, without
disturbing the composer's intention, makes everything she sings
literally her own--the mystery of artistic reproduction in its
highest perfection, which is as inexplicable as production itself,
and cannot be described by ordinary expressions.'[61]
At the third and so-called 'artists' concert,' chiefly devoted to solos,
Madame Lind was heard in trios from Mozart's 'Nozze' and Bellini's
'Beatrice di Tenda,' and in Mendelssohn's song 'Die Sterne schaun in
stiller Nacht.' The stormy applause, recalls, orchestra flourishes,
flowers, and poems, in which the enthusiasm of her audience found
expression were duly chronicled by the critics of the day. The
instrumental solos of this final programme were in the hands of Otto
Goldschmidt and Concertmeister David, who performed respectively
Beethoven's G major Pianoforte Concerto and a violin concerto by Julius
Rietz, conductor of the Leipzig Gewandhaus.
The festival is remembered as one of the most brilliant on record. The
immense audience brought together by the magic of one name was as
remarkable for its character as its numbers.
'To give a list of the celebrities is impossible,' continues Jahn.
'Who could count them? To mention a few of the foremost: critics
were there, from Chorley of London to Hanslick of Vienna; pianists,
from Stephen Heller of Paris to Stein of Reval; composers, from
Gouvy to Verhulst; conductors, from Franz Lachner to Franz Liszt.
The music-directors were almost more numerous than the privy
councillors in Berlin.'
'In Jacobi's garden,' says Hanslick,[62] 'a spot hallowed to me by
its associations with Goethe, I met Brahms and Joachim one morning.
Brahms resembled a young ideal hero of Jean Paul, with his
forget-me-not eyes and his long fair hair. From him and from Clara
Schumann I heard the news that Robert was completely restored,
reading, writing, and composing by turns with a clear mind.'
This was Brahms' first meeting with the man who was to be one of his
most intimate friends and appreciative critics during more than thirty
years of his later career.
At a matinée given by Frau Schumann in honour of a few of the famous
musicians assembled at Düsseldorf, Johannes again renewed his
acquaintance with Liszt, in whom equal ennui seems to have been produced
by the works of Haydn and of Schumann to which he had listened on the
two first concert days, and it may be accepted as certain that the
meeting did not further a rapprochement between the leader of Weimar and
Schumann's ardent young friend. Our musician was introduced the same
afternoon to Madame Lind-Goldschmidt, meeting her on speaking terms for
the only time in his life. No especial feeling of personal interest was
awakened between the two artists. Johannes' large capacity for the
sentiment of particular enthusiasm was already absorbed by his devotion
to Frau Schumann, and it is not surprising, on the other hand, that his
lack of training in social conventionalities, which allowed him on this
and other occasions to perpetuate some innocuous but decidedly pointless
jokes, should have somewhat offended the taste of the fastidious lady
who had had the élite of Europe and America at her feet. Madame
Goldschmidt's first personal impression was strengthened by an
occurrence shortly to be related, nor did she ever develop any great
sympathy for Brahms' music. Special circumstances, however, placed her,
in later years, in a certain association with it which has an interest
of its own, and particularly to the music-lovers of England. On the
occasions of the fine performances of the composer's Schicksalslied
(April 29, 1878), and of his German Requiem (March 16, 1880, and April
6, 1881), given in St. James's Hall, London, by the Bach Choir under the
direction of its then conductor, Otto Goldschmidt, the great
songstress, long since retired from public life, was to be found amongst
her husband's forces as leader of the sopranos; and the inspiration has
not yet been forgotten which was lent to the choir by the co-operation
of one, peculiarly fitted by her exalted temperament to appreciate, at
all events, the penetrating earnestness of the master's art.
Joachim's prolonged sojourn at Düsseldorf brought with it, through the
private quartet evenings which he held regularly twice a week, an
important addition to his friend's musical experience. Brahms'
opportunities of hearing the great examples of chamber music for strings
had not been frequent, and he was, at this time, not only enabled to
extend his acquaintance with this form of art by delightful means, but
often had the chance of taking part in the performance of some work for
pianoforte and strings included in the evening's selection. In spite of
the melancholy circumstances that kept them at Düsseldorf--and anxiety
about Schumann was again increasing--the time was a happy one to the two
young men, who passed many hours of the day in each other's society.
Johannes lodged in a flat above Frau Schumann's dwelling; Joachim lived
close by. The mornings were devoted by each to his particular
avocations, but these frequently brought them together, and they always
made part of Frau Schumann's family party at her mid-day dinner during
the few weeks she was able to remain at home. The afternoons and
evenings were often spent in long walks and excursions. Joachim had
forgotten his loneliness, and Johannes' affection for his dearest Joseph
had become one of the mainsprings of his life.
The greater part of June was spent by Frau Schumann at Detmold, capital
of the small principality of Lippe-Detmold, which, during the fifties
and sixties, possessed a very flourishing and enterprising musical life.
The reigning Prince, Leopold III., had inherited from his mother, a
Princess of Schwarzburg-Sondershausen, a fine taste for music that was
shared by his brothers and sisters, and soon after his accession he
established a private orchestra, consisting of thirty-three, soon
augmented to forty-five members, under the conductorship of the
violinist Kiel, a pupil of Spohr. A certain number of court concerts
were given every year, the programmes consisting of a symphony, two
overtures, and several solos, selected from the works of the best
classical and modern composers. The Prince was not without interest in
the New-German school, and compositions by Wagner and Berlioz were given
from time to time. Now and then there was a performance of the whole or
part of some large choral work.
Prince Leopold's mother, the Dowager Princess, resided with her
daughters, the Princesses Luise, Friederike, and Pauline, in the old
castle not far from the palace, and it had been settled that the
talented Princess Friederike should enjoy the advantage of lessons from
Frau Schumann during the short interval at the disposal of the artist.
The arrangement proved a great success, and not only with regard to the
lessons. Frau Schumann delighted a circle of sympathetic listeners by
playing at several court soirées, was enthusiastically received at a
public concert, and, on the eve of her departure, played one of
Beethoven's pianoforte concertos at an orchestral court concert, which
was made further memorable by the presence of Joachim and his
performance of the same master's concerto for violin.
Soon after the return of the two artists, the little party at Düsseldorf
dispersed for a time. Joachim started for a tour in the Tyrol, and Frau
Schumann, accompanied by Fräulein Bertha and Johannes, went to Ems,
where she had announced a concert for July 15, for which Madame
Lind-Goldschmidt had, during the week of the Düsseldorf festival,
proferred her services. The date decided upon was somewhat in advance of
the one originally selected, and Goldschmidt had been called to Sweden
meanwhile on affairs of importance. He interrupted his engagements,
however, and travelled to Ems, in order to put his services at Frau
Schumann's disposal by superintending the general business of the
concert and acting as his wife's accompanist; and it was in this
connection that a certain appearance of nonchalance in Brahms'
proceedings caused a feeling of irritation in Madame Goldschmidt and
himself.
The concert was to take place in a room of the Kurhaus, and, owing to
the procrastination of some of the authorities, the arrangements to be
made on the spot, including those for receiving and seating the large
number of ticket-holders, could not be begun until within an hour or two
of the time appointed for the commencement of the music. The result was
hurry and confusion indescribable, and many last things had to be done
even during the assembling of the audience. The brunt of the
difficulties was borne by Goldschmidt, who successfully overcame them,
but who was annoyed that Brahms, on his arrival with Frau Schumann and
Fräulein Bertha, passed quietly to his seat amongst the audience without
offering to make himself useful. Perhaps he may have thought he could
help matters best by keeping out of the way. He added to his
delinquency, however, by disappearing after the concert, which was, of
course, a huge artistic and financial success, without even showing
himself in the artists' room, and was seen no more in Ems. Starting for
Braubach, he wandered about alone for a couple of days, until the
winding up of the concert business left Frau Schumann at leisure, when
he rejoined her at Coblenz. There is no question that on this occasion
it was his invincible dislike to a fashionable crowd which overcame his
judgment, but it is not to be wondered at that his real or apparent
indifference was commented on by those to whom it seemed inexplicable.
Johannes passed ten happy days walking along the Rhine from Coblenz to
Mainz and visiting Frankfurt and Heidelberg in the society of Frau
Schumann and her companion, and, on their departure for a short stay at
Baden-Baden, to be followed by a month's rest at the seaside, he
returned to Düsseldorf to work hard at his pianoforte-playing. He had
not been unsuccessful in obtaining pupils there, but the means he
derived from his teaching were unreliable, and he had resolved to take
the advice of his two best friends to try his luck again as a
concert-player. He looked forward with dread to the ordeal, and shrank
from the partings it would involve, but kept to his plan; and in the
course of September a paragraph appeared in the _Signale_ announcing his
intention of making a concert-journey. He began, not at Leipzig, as he
had intended, but by joining Frau Clara and Joachim in giving two
concerts at Danzig on November 14 and 16, a change of plan which was of
benefit both to his spirits and his pocket. A picture of him on his
arrival in the town, given by Anton Door,[63] forms an amusing and
perhaps instructive sequel to the foregoing account of the occurrences
at Ems:
'I had hardly been a week in Danzig, when I saw great bills in the
streets announcing the coming concert of Clara Schumann, Joseph
Joachim, and Johannes Brahms. I at once called on Joachim, who
received me with cordiality, and we chatted, as old acquaintances,
of home and our experiences.
'During the whole time we were together, a slender young man with
long, fair hair paced continually to and fro in the background
smoking cigarettes, without troubling himself in the least about my
presence, or even showing by an inclination of the head that he
observed me; in a word, I was as empty air for him. This was my
first meeting with Johannes Brahms.'
Door became, nevertheless, in later years, a cordial friend and admirer
of the composer.
Complete equality amongst the three performers was observed in the
arrangement of the programmes. Each played solos, and both pianists
performed with the violinist at either concert. Brahms' contributions
included Bach's Chromatic Fantasia, which remained one of the _pièces de
résistance_ of his répertoire throughout his pianistic career, and two
manuscript pieces, Saraband and Gavotte, from amongst the 'Album-Leaves'
which he had contemplated publishing in 1854.
The critical moment had now arrived when Johannes was obliged to bid
farewell to his friends and go his own way. He played with success at
one of the Bremen subscription concerts on November 20, contributing to
the programme Beethoven's G major Concerto and Schumann's great
Fantasia, Op. 17; and on the 24th, the date which he had anticipated
with ever-increasing anxiety as it drew nearer, made his first
appearance in Hamburg since the wonderful turn that had taken place in
his fortunes in 1853, at one of G. D. Otten's annual series of
orchestral subscription concerts.
No doubt he was additionally weighted by nervousness--that _bête noire_
of executive artists to which, from the rarity of his public
appearances, Brahms was peculiarly a prey--by feeling, not only that he
was on his trial before his fellow-citizens, but that there were, in the
audience, loving friends prepared to triumph on his behalf. He had
chosen for performance Beethoven's E flat Concerto and unaccompanied
solos by Schumann and Schubert, but achieved at most a _succès
d'estime_.
'The pianoforte part of the concerto,' said the critic of the
_Hamburger Nachrichten_, 'was played by Brahms with the modesty of
a young artist, and was kept throughout in subordination to the
whole musical effect of the symphonic concerto. In our opinion, he
carried his reserve too far. He might, without detriment to the
spirit of the work, have displayed rather more virtuosity. That he
possesses it was shown by his playing of a canon by Schumann, and a
march by Schubert for four hands, arranged by Brahms for two
hands.'
It will not have escaped the reader's attention that Brahms introduced
no new important composition of his own on either of the occasions now
chronicled, and that no mention has been made of any fresh publication
from his pen since the autumn of 1854. The reason is not far to seek.
Neither the extraordinary praise bestowed on his works by Schumann,
Joachim, and their circle, nor the reserve with which they had been
received by many musicians whose good faith could not be doubted, nor
the acrimonious attacks of a portion, and especially the Rhenish
portion, of the musical press, could influence to any appreciable extent
the tribunal to which he had thus early in his career accustomed himself
to submit his works in the last instance--his own searching
self-criticism. He had, as has been seen, carried out Schumann's wish,
and had tried his hand on a symphony. The discovery that he had not
sufficiently mastered some of the fundamental technical qualifications
necessary for the successful fulfilment of such an attempt no doubt
prevented his carrying it to a conclusion. It will be remembered, also,
that he had withheld the string quartet recommended to Dr. Härtel for
publication by Schumann in 1853. By the middle of 1855, he had
sufficiently gauged both his strength and his weakness to have made the
resolve to apply himself to a fresh course of severe study--study which
should widen and strengthen and refine his capacity in every direction,
but which should have as its special aim the attainment of greater
facility and purity in part-writing in the strict style. From this time,
for a period of five or six years, he worked on without view to
immediate publication, but only with a set determination to become
worthy of Schumann's high hopes. He insisted before long that Joseph
should join him in his studies, though his friend's training in strict
counterpoint and part-writing under Moritz Hauptmann of Leipzig had been
much more thorough than his own under Marxsen; and an exchange of
exercises at fixed intervals, agreed upon between the two young
musicians, was kept up for some years. Joachim was inevitably much less
regular than Brahms in sending his papers, and Johannes by-and-by
instituted a system of fines, to be paid and spent in books in case of
unpunctuality on either side. The chief burden of the new rule certainly
fell upon the famous young concertmeister, whose great and increasing
popularity brought innumerable concert-journeys in its train. The
difference in the character of the two men is pleasantly illustrated by
this episode, which shows Johannes insisting on having his own way, and
Joachim, from whom no excuse was accepted, good-naturedly yielding, and
wishing to do more than he could possibly fulfil. Many interesting
memorials of Brahms' studies are in existence in the form of
music-books, printed or in manuscript, of which he possessed himself at
this period. Amongst them is an original edition of the first part of
Emanuel Bach's collection of his father's setting of German chorales
(1765), on the cover of which is Brahms' autograph and the date 1855,
and at the end of the book is an alphabetical index in Brahms'
writing.[64] There is also a very beautifully copied manuscript (not by
Brahms) of Sebastian Bach's 'Kunst der Fuge,' containing one or two
trifling pencil corrections in our musician's unmistakable hand. On the
fly-leaf is written 'Joh. Brahms, Nov. 1855, Hamburg,' also in pencil,
in large and bold penmanship, probably in one of the styles taught at
Hoffmann's school.[64] There are, too, a volume containing compositions
by Orlando di Lasso;[65] and manuscript copies of, amongst other works,
Palestrina's 'Missa Papæ Marcelli,' with Brahms' autograph and the date
1856; of Rovetta's 'Salve Regina'; and, in Frau Schumann's hand, of a
'Gloria' of Palestrina.[66] Still more valuable are the manuscripts of
several original Mass movements in four and six parts, presented later
on by the composer to his friend Grimm,[67] and these recall Dietrich's
mention of an entire Mass written in canon for two voices. This list
shows clearly enough the nature of Brahms' aims. He was determined to
become thoroughly acquainted with the historical development of his art,
to know the why and wherefore, as well as the how and when, of what he
had studied in the works of succeeding masters. The fascination
exercised over his mind by the clear, pure style of the great early
writers, whose learning is often used with such consummate ease as to be
unsuspected by the untrained hearer, is evident enough in many of the
choral works published by him later on. He exercised himself in the
acquisition of their technique until it had become an instrument in his
hand for the production of works which, like everything else that he
gave to the world, bear the impress of his own individuality.
In the issue of the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_, of December 14 a long
article on Brahms appeared, the closing one of a series of three begun
in July. Until this date, since the very sympathetic notice written by
'Hoplit' after the young musician's début at the Leipzig Gewandhaus, not
a word had been printed in this paper about his compositions save the
bare announcements of publication, in spite of the fact that nine opus
numbers had been given to the world in the interval, five of them being
important instrumental works, and three consisting severally of six
songs. 'Hoplit' had now come forward to take upon himself entire blame
for the omission, which, he declared, must not be attributed to any
indifference of the editor. Brendel had not only sent him each work as
it appeared, but had urged him to write, asking repeatedly, 'Why nothing
about Brahms?' His own great interest in the young composer, his desire
to find himself in complete accord with Schumann's opinion, his
incapability of entirely agreeing with it, had, he said, always led him
to defer his criticism; and, indeed, the reluctant and hesitating tone
of the articles leads to the conviction that they were written in
complete good faith.
'That Brahms found many opponents on his first appearance was an
unusual distinction; it showed that he possessed a very significant
artistic individuality. When, however, enthusiastic friends saw in
him the prophet of a new time, and especially when they proclaimed
the completely developed, ripe artist, we can only regard it as an
amiable excess of enthusiasm.'
'Brahms,' says the third and most interesting article, 'has
sometimes been described as the most talented and pronounced of the
Schumannites. So far as this is true, we regret it.... Schumann
cannot be carried further.... His very important individuality
quite unquestionably possesses a high value, but only in its
originality. Brahms is, however, no imitator of Schumann. He
displays, in the whole bent of his nature and creative activity, an
inner affinity with him which is more than mere sympathy, and has
about it nothing forced or borrowed; but he possesses an element
not in Schumann which makes us believe that, if it is only given to
him to attain to full development, he will find his own paths. The
more he succeeds in freeing himself from the characteristic
Schumann nature, the more may be looked for from his future....
'Brahms is not free from Schumann's danger; he, also, has the
subtle habit of mind, the tendency to the indefinite and misty,
which characterize the romanticists. He shares Schumann's strong
faith, moreover, in impulses of genius and inspirations of the
moment, to be followed without discrimination or resistance. He
sometimes introduces passages which have neither presupposition nor
consequence, but which are not therefore heaven-bestowed. His work
is inconsistent and defective in style. He should have been
regarded as an artist not yet mature. When all is said, however, it
was an unusually striking phenomenon that such a young composer
should exhibit in his first works a freedom in the handling of
form, a diversity of harmonic and rhythmic development, and an
abundance of ideas, such as are to be found in the works only of
those who are called to become one day masters. And yet who will
deny that much "lies in the air" to-day which had formerly to be
won by hard fighting, or to be developed entirely from within?'
Dr. Pohl's doubt evidently overcomes him again in the last sentence, and
it would be quite unjust to refer his hesitation to the influence of
party spirit, or to say that he had no ground for his feeling of
uncertainty as to the destiny of our composer's genius. It is difficult
now to realize the position of the critic who, in 1855, wished to write
without bias of the Brahms of twenty-two; but the good faith of these
_Neue Zeitschrift_ articles is curiously confirmed by a few forcible
words written in 1893 by an intimate friend of the Brahms of past sixty.
'Brahms' first works,' says Hanslick,[68] 'had interested me in a
high degree--interested, however, rather than satisfied me. A young
Hercules at the parting of the ways. Will he turn to the left, to
the most extreme romanticism, or to the right, to the path of our
classics?'
That Brahms himself had become aware of the problem that faced him is
conclusively shown by the future course of his development; and, with
the exception of the Ballades for pianoforte, Op. 10, dedicated to
Grimm, mentioned by Schumann in his letter of January, 1855, and
produced by Breitkopf and Härtel early in 1856, no work of his
composition succeeded the publications of 1854 until after a period of
six years.
Johannes again passed Christmas with Frau Schumann, and on January 10
played Beethoven's G major Concerto and unaccompanied solos by Schumann
at the Leipzig Gewandhaus concert. The impression generally created by
his performance is summed up by a few words in the _Signale_ which
suggest that he again rather overdid his artistic self-restraint:
'Many artists could certainly have displayed more technical
brilliancy, but few have the capacity for bringing out so
convincingly the intentions of the composer, or following as Brahms
does the flight of Beethoven's genius and disclosing its full
splendour.'
The critic adds that the young artist, who thinks more of the work he
happens to be interpreting than of self-display, has already won many
friends in the art world by his compositions.
Paying a flying visit to Hanover on his way back to Hamburg, which is,
just now, to be considered as his settled home, Johannes for the first
time heard Rubinstein, who had come to play at one of the subscription
concerts conducted by Joachim, and who shortly afterwards wrote to
Liszt:
'... As regards Brahms, I hardly know how to describe the
impression he made on me. He is not graceful enough for the
drawing-room, not fiery enough for the concert-room, not simple
enough for the country, and not general enough for the town. I have
but little faith in this kind of nature.'
It may be remarked here that Rubinstein never acquired a liking for
Brahms' art, and that, to the end of his life, he expressed the opinion
that the series of great masters had ceased with Schumann. Rubinstein
obtained a powerful following, not only as pianist, but as composer, at
Leipzig, and in later years his works were pitted against those of
Brahms by the large and influential set of musicians and amateurs of the
typical Gewandhaus circle. The generosity of Rubinstein's nature is too
well established to leave room for any suspicion of his having been
moved by paltry feelings of professional jealousy, and his repeated
asseverations that he could find no music in Brahms' works must be
accepted as genuine expressions of his sentiments.
Many celebrations took place, during the opening month of 1856, of the
centenary of Mozart's birth (January 27, 1756), and Johannes, making his
second appearance at Otten's concerts on the 26th, contributed the D
minor Concerto to a programme selected from the great master's works.
Whilst practising for the occasion at the house of Messrs. Baumgarten
and Heins, he made the acquaintance of the critic and journalist E.
Krause, between whom and himself a permanent friendship was established.
Krause became one of the earliest and ablest supporters of his art.
But two concerts of the season remain to be mentioned--one at Kiel,
given by Brahms in association with the composer Grädener, of Hamburg,
and the violinist John Böie, when his solos were Beethoven's E flat
Sonata, Op. 27, No. 1, and C minor Variations; the other at Altona,
where he played Bach's Organ Toccata in F major, Beethoven's 'Eroica'
Variations, and, with Böie and Breyther, Schumann's trio movements
'Märchen Erzählungen' and Beethoven's Sonata for pianoforte and violin,
Op. 96. He passed February and March quietly with his parents, making as
much money as he could by teaching. Mention may be made of a pupil in
whom he was interested at this time--Fräulein Friedchen Wagner, a cousin
of Otten's, and herself a pianoforte-teacher. Brahms' acquaintance with
her has an association, to which we shall presently refer, with some of
the works published by him in the early sixties.
Frau Schumann, who travelled without break, save for a short interval
in December, during the season 1855-56, spent more than two months of
the early part of the year in Vienna, where Schumann's works were as yet
but little known to the general public. Appearing as the inspired
missionary of her husband's art, she succeeded in arousing interest in
his compositions, whilst her personal achievements as an executant
excited extraordinary enthusiasm. She gave six recitals, and introduced
into two of her programmes respectively Brahms' Saraband and Gavotte and
the andante and scherzo from his F minor Sonata. The critic of the
_Wiener Zeitung_ of that date, Carl Debrois van Bruyck, speaks of them
as 'pieces of special beauty, which confirm the impression of the young
composer's exceptional talent' already formed by him from the study of
other works, especially of a set of variations [Op. 9] and a book of
songs. The successful début of Brahms' name in a concert-programme and a
prominent journal of the city to which he was to belong during the
second half of his life is an interesting point in his history.
It will be convenient to refer at once to a detailed review of our
composer's early works contributed to his journal by van Bruyck on
September 25, 1857. At this date, as the reader is aware, Brahms'
publications had not increased beyond the ten numbers already mentioned,
and consisted of the three sonatas, scherzo, variations, and ballades
for pianoforte, the B major Trio, and the three first books of songs.
The similarity of the remarks of the Vienna critic with those contained
in 'Hoplit's' _Neue Zeitschrift_ articles, already referred to, is the
more striking since van Bruyck did not concern himself with the party
conflicts of Germany. He was, however, a very great lover of Schumann's
art, and if he had any bias in regard to that of Brahms, it inclined in
favour of Schumann's young prophet.
He regards the variations as decidedly pre-eminent amongst the ten
works. They convince him that Brahms has
'a genuine and entirely original talent, a finely-endowed artist
nature.... Some of them are quite magic and ethereal, although the
finest of all recalls Schumann, perhaps intentionally; and in
others, especially the last, the young composer's tendency to the
vague and mystical is rather unpleasantly and dangerously apparent.
Next to the variations I should place the songs, which contain
tones of penetrating depth and sweetness.... Brahms certainly
stands within the sacred circle, and has already acquired a very
definite power of achievement, though it may not at present be
sufficient for his purpose; and it is the duty of serious,
unbiassed criticism to protect him against the derision which the
more highly gifted men have never escaped, especially when their
endowment has been peculiarly individual. As we have said, Brahms'
natural power seems to be lofty beyond all question, and the danger
and doubt as regards his development lies, we think, in his partly
instinctive, partly conscious striving after over-refinement; in
his excessive bent to the dæmoniacal, the fantastic. Should he
succeed in restraining this inclination, we may await with
confidence many riper, more perfect fruits whether in the nearer or
farther future.'
The derision from which van Bruyck desired to protect Johannes emanated
chiefly or entirely at this period from the Rhenish press. As it
consisted chiefly of the vulgar commonplaces of the journalist--familiar
at all times and in all countries--who has neither knowledge of his
subject nor instinct to avoid displaying his ignorance, no example will
be given of it in these pages.
Whilst Frau Schumann was achieving a series of unbroken successes in
Vienna, her private anxieties pressed upon her with ever-increasing
severity. The apparent improvement in Schumann's health had been but
transitory. He had steadily lost ground since the spring of 1855, and
before the winter had well come to an end the physicians were unable to
conceal from themselves that his case was hopeless. The afflicted wife
was sustained for the fulfilment of her duties by the best accounts that
the situation admitted of, but she was obliged, on her return from
Vienna, to relinquish all immediate hope of an interview with her
husband, whom she had not seen since the hour before the catastrophe of
1854. Nor could she allow herself the solace of remaining near him. She
was now sole bread-winner for the family, and a group of young children
depended on her exertions. She had entered into engagements for the
London season, and, after a very short interval of rest, started on
April 7 for England.
For Brahms, bound as he was by the closest ties of affection and
gratitude to Schumann and his family, it was impossible, under the
melancholy trend of events, to remain quietly at his studies in Hamburg.
There was some idea of removing the patient from Endenich; at all
events, it would be a satisfaction to obtain the opinion of fresh
experts on brain disease; and Johannes undertook to make personal
inquiries of certain eminent doctors, and to send his report as soon as
possible to England. On April 15 Frau Schumann wrote from London to
Dietrich, who had in the summer been appointed Wasielewsky's successor
as music-director at Bonn:
'DEAR HERR DIETRICH,
'I enclose a long letter from Gisela von Arnim. Will you give it to
Johannes on his return? I must again thank you and Professor Jahn
very fervently for the sympathy which you show Johannes in his
undertaking; it is a comfort to me that he does not stand alone, it
would be too hard for him. Of myself I have little satisfactory to
relate. In spirit I am always in Germany. I played yesterday at the
Philharmonic with a bleeding heart. I had a letter from Johannes in
the morning, in which I read hopelessness between the lines as
regards my beloved husband, although he had tried in all affection
to tell me everything as gently as possible. Whence the power to
play came to me I do not know; I could do nothing at home, and yet
in the evening things went.
'Think sometimes kindly of your
'CLARA SCHUMANN.
'I really think the enclosed letter is worth consideration.
Johannes will certainly show it to you and Professor Jahn. I have
just heard something about cold-water treatment for brain disease,
which makes me very anxious to try it for my husband. Please tell
Johannes I will write about it to-morrow.'
All was in vain, however. Schumann was already in an advanced stage of
the disease which, technically described under different learned names,
according to its many varieties, is known to the layman as softening of
the brain. Anyone who has watched the powers of friend or acquaintance
gradually succumbing to this most cruel of all maladies is familiar with
the general course of the symptoms. Minute particulars need not be
described. Enough that Johannes, permitted to see Schumann again after
an interval of more than a year, had been unutterably shocked, and had
felt that the time had arrived when it was his duty to prepare Frau
Schumann for the worst. As gently as possible he allowed her, as she
expresses it, to read between the lines that no change of treatment
could alter the inevitable. All the doctors were agreed in opinion;
none, therefore, was attempted.
The concert so pathetically referred to in the letter quoted above was
the Philharmonic concert at the Hanover Square Rooms of April 14, the
occasion of Frau Schumann's first appearance in England. Could any
incident of fiction be more heart-rending in its pathos than this
occurrence of real life--this picture of the sensitive, highly-strung
woman, whose nerves were habitually in a state of strained tension,
obliged to force herself, for the sake of her children's existence, to
step for the first time on to a London concert platform, a sea of
unknown faces before her, her kith and kin far away, a few hours after
she had accepted the certainty of her passionately loved husband's
tragic doom? No wonder she could 'do nothing' before the concert. Those
who knew her best can understand how it was that, after all, 'things
went.' Her début in England was made with Beethoven's E flat Concerto
and Mendelssohn's Variations Sérieuses, and things went with such
brilliant success that she was re-engaged for the next Philharmonic
concert.
Through the remainder of April, through May, June, and part of July, did
this great artist work incessantly, going in desolation of spirit from
triumph to triumph; and some of Schumann's shorter compositions which
were encored by the public became something more than tolerated, even by
the conservative press, for the sake of her perfect playing of them.
Her numerous concert-journeys through the British Islands extended as
far as Dublin. Amongst the most important of her London appearances were
those at the Musical Union (John Ella's) concerts and at her own three
recitals. At the second of these, which took place on June 17, she
imitated her own precedent at Vienna, and introduced Brahms' name for
the first time to an English public. The entire selection belongs so
peculiarly to the events and period occupying our attention that it may
interest the reader to have the complete programme:
Variations (Eroica) _Beethoven._
Two Diversions, Op. 17, from Suite de
Pièces, Op. 24, No. 1 _Sterndale Bennett._
Variations on a theme from the 'Bunten
Blättern' _Clara Schumann._
(_a_) Saraband and Gavotte in the style of
Bach _Johannes Brahms._
(_b_) Clavierstück in A major _Scarlatti._
'Carnaval' _Schumann._
The Brahms Gavotte was enthusiastically applauded, but Frau Schumann,
having regard to the performance of the 'Carnaval' before her, refused
the encore. At the close of the recital, however, she returned to the
piano in response to continued demonstrations, and repeated the
composition. Her performances were given on a pianoforte by Erard, whose
instruments were preferred at that date by all the great pianists of
Europe. A magnificent 'grand' was presented by the house to Frau
Schumann at the close of her London season, and despatched to her
residence in Düsseldorf. It continued to be her favourite instrument for
private use until 1867, when she reappeared in England after an absence
of ten years, and used a Broadwood pianoforte. On her departure a
Broadwood concert-grand was sent to her house near Baden-Baden by
Messrs. John Broadwood and Sons. Some years later, when the author was
intimate at Frau Schumann's residence, the Broadwood pianoforte stood in
the drawing-room, the Erard in the dining-room. On the former Frau
Schumann and Brahms often played duets after afternoon coffee; on the
latter Johannes--always 'Johannes' to his old friend--played one evening
after supper several numbers of the third and fourth books of the
Hungarian Dances, not yet published, not yet books, his eyes flashing
fire the while.
Brahms gave up all idea of returning to Hamburg for the present. Duty
and inclination alike prompted him to remain in Schumann's
neighbourhood, and the fact of Dietrich's residence at Bonn gave him
additional satisfaction in resolving to pass the summer on the Rhine. It
was at this time that he made the personal acquaintance of the poet
Claus Groth, who was staying at Bonn to be near Otto Jahn; and the
musical festival of the year (May 11-13) marked the beginning of his
intimacy with the great singer Julius Stockhausen, who, making his first
appearance on the Rhine, was heard in the part of Elijah in
Mendelssohn's oratorio, in 'Alexander's Feast,' in an aria by Boieldieu,
and in songs by Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann.
Stockhausen had been a pupil of Manuel Garcia in Paris and London, and
was well known to the musical public and the private artistic circles of
both cities before he became a celebrity in Austria and Germany.
'His delivery of opera and oratorio music,' says Sir George
Grove[69]--'his favourite pieces from "Euryanthe," "Jean de Paris,"
"Le Chaperon Rouge," and "Le Philtre"; or the part of Elijah, or
certain special airs of Bach--was superb in taste, feeling, and
execution; but it was the Lieder of Schubert and Schumann that most
peculiarly suited him, and these he delivered in a truly remarkable
way. The rich beauty of the voice, the nobility of the style, the
perfect phrasing, the intimate sympathy, not least, the
intelligible way in which the words were given--in itself one of
his greatest claims to distinction--all combined to make his
singing of songs a wonderful event. Those who have heard him sing
Schubert's "Nachtstück," "Wanderer," "Memnon," or the "Harper's
Songs," or Schumann's "Frühlingsnacht" or "Fluthenreicher Ebro," or
the "Löwenbraut," will corroborate all that has been said. But
perhaps his highest achievement was the part of Dr. Marianus in
the third part of Schumann's "Faust," in which his delivery of the
"Drei Himmelskönigin" ("Hier ist die Aussicht frei"), with just as
much of acting as the concert-room will admit, and no more, was one
of the most touching and remarkable things ever witnessed.'
Cordial relations were so quickly established between Stockhausen and
Brahms that before the close of the month they had given two concerts
together--one on the 27th, in the 'yellow room of the casino' at
Cologne; the other on the 29th, in the hall of the Lesegesellschaft at
Bonn. Stockhausen's performances, accompanied in each instance by
Brahms, created a furore on both occasions. Brahms' solos--consisting on
the 27th of Bach's Chromatic Fantasia and Beethoven's C minor
Variations, and on the 29th of Beethoven's E flat Variations, Clara
Schumann's Romance, a Schubert Impromptu, and the great Bach Fugue in A
minor, to be found in vol. iii. of the Leipzig Society's edition--were
coldly received. This is not to be wondered at. During the half-century
which has elapsed since these concerts took place musical taste has
passed through more than one revolution; it is, however, questionable
whether at any time within the interval a pianist, of whatever
qualifications, not already accepted into the prime affections of the
public, could have successfully courted its favour beside the attraction
of a really great singer in full possession of his powers, whose
selections included a number of the most fascinating lyrics of Schubert,
Mendelssohn, and Schumann. One of the Cologne critics, at all events,
was satisfied with the pianist. It is rather surprising to read, in the
_Niederrheinische Musik Zeitung_, that Herr Johannes Brahms played his
two solos on the 27th 'with such purity, clearness, musical ripeness,
and artistic repose, that his performances gave true pleasure.'
Brahms' temperament was not really suited, however, to the career of a
virtuoso, nor had the obscure circumstances of his youth fitted him for
it. He generally felt too nervously self-conscious when before the
public to have a chance of gaining its entire confidence, and was too
dependent on his mood to be able to throw himself at all times
completely out upon his audience and compel their sympathy. The
achievement of striking and lasting success as a performer involves a
concentration of the best energies of body and mind upon this career,
whilst the attainment of real greatness as a composer means the devotion
of a life to the end. No illustration of these truths could be more apt
than the contrasted careers of Brahms and Joachim. Whatever Joachim's
natural creative faculty may have been, his boundless success as an
interpreter was fatal to its development. The divergence of the paths
pursued by the two friends resulted not altogether, or perhaps chiefly,
from variety of musical endowment, but largely from the radical
differences in their characters and circumstances. From early childhood
Joachim has never appeared on a platform without exciting, not only the
admiration, but the personal love of his audience. His successes have
been their delight. They have rejoiced to see him, to applaud him,
recall him, shout at him. The scenes familiar to the memory of three
generations of London concert-goers have been samples of the everyday
incidents of his life in all countries and towns where he has appeared.
Why? It is impossible altogether to explain such phenomena, even by the
word 'genius.' Joachim followed his destiny. His career is unparalleled
in the history of musical executive art. It began when he was eight; it
is not closed now that he is seventy-four. All possibility of his
achieving greatness as a composer--notwithstanding that he has produced
one or two great works--was excluded by the time he had reached the age
of fourteen.
The mistress of Brahms' absorbing passion, on the other hand, was from
first to last his creative art, to which all else remained secondary. He
never swerved by a hair's-breadth from his devotion, but accepted
poverty, disappointment, loneliness, and failure in the eyes of the
world, with all the strong faith that was in him, for the sake of this,
his true love. He was never drawn by inclination to his virtuoso career,
to which he submitted only as a necessity, discarding it as soon as
circumstances allowed. He was seldom able to disclose the infinite
possibilities of his playing under circumstances in which he was not at
ease; and though he possessed a great technique which he could easily
have developed into something phenomenal, and which, as it was, enabled
him to excite an audience now and again by sounding and dramatic
performances of Bach's organ compositions and other imposing works, yet
the more distinctive beauties of his style were too subtle for the
appreciation of a mixed body of listeners. His imagination of effects of
tone was, to quote Schumann's article, quite original, and this was even
more strikingly displayed in later years, when he conducted one or other
of his orchestral works. His playing even of such a trifle as Gluck's
Gavotte in A, arranged for Frau Schumann in 1871, which the author more
than once heard, was full of unsought graces that were the immediate
reflection of his delicate spirit. His performance of this little piece,
and his conception of many works of the great masters, together with his
whole style of playing, differed _in toto_ from Frau Schumann's. The two
artists admired each other's qualities. Frau Schumann courted Brahms'
criticisms, and has, on some occasions, quoted to the author his sayings
as to the reading of certain of Beethoven's sonatas, declaring she felt
them to be right. Nevertheless, her temperament would never have allowed
her to carry out these suggestions in actual public performance, and she
was better fitted by temperament than Brahms for the interpretation, to
the large public, of the masterpieces of musical art.
The author has been carried by this digression, which is the result of
her personal intercourse with these great musicians, to a date many
years later than that reached by the narrative. Its insertion here may,
however, be of advantage to the reader by preparing him to expect that
Brahms' career as a pianist, though not without success, was attended by
few brilliant triumphs.
On June 8, the forty-sixth anniversary of Schumann's birthday, Johannes
again went to Endenich, accompanied on the walk from Bonn by Jahn,
Dietrich, Groth, and Hermann Deiters, another notable acquaintance of
this summer. He looked very serious on rejoining his companions, though
he said that Schumann had recognised and seemed pleased to see him. The
end was, indeed, not far off. The mists that had so long been gathering
around the lofty spirit of the master continued to close him into
ever-increasing darkness. Bad news attended Frau Schumann's return from
England towards the middle of July, and on the 23rd of the month she was
summoned by a telegraphic despatch to Endenich. Even now the longed-for
interview had to be deferred. Fresh symptoms appeared before her
arrival, and she was obliged to return to Düsseldorf to live through
three more days of agonizing suspense. She returned to Bonn on the
evening of the 26th, there to await the end, and at length, on Sunday
morning, July 27th, passed with Johannes into the solemn chamber of
death. Schumann was lying quietly with closed eyes as she entered, but
opened them presently on the figure kneeling at his bedside, and it
became evident after a few moments that he knew his wife. His power of
speech was almost gone, but a look of recognition passed over his
countenance. He received with satisfaction a few drops of wine with
which she tenderly moistened his lips, and suddenly, with a last
accession of strength, was able to place one of his arms round her.
Those faint looks of love, that last embrace, dwelt in Frau Schumann's
memory as an ever-present solace through the forty years of her
widowhood, and, in spite of her many sorrows, the radiance was never
dimmed that had been shed over her spirit once and for all by the
enchantment of an early ideal happiness.
Schumann lingered yet a day or two, growing weaker hour by hour as his
wife and his young friend watched at his side. He passed quietly away at
four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, July 29; and Frau Schumann, returning
from a short interval of repose at her hotel, accompanied by Brahms and
Joachim, who had taken immediate train to Bonn on receiving a hopeless
report, learned that her husband's sufferings were over for ever.
Two days more, and on Thursday, July 31, in the stillness of a balmy
summer evening, the mortal remains of the master were laid to rest in
the cemetery of Bonn. The funeral was arranged with touching simplicity.
A pleasant spot had been chosen by the city, some plantain-trees planted
by the grave. The coffin, borne from Endenich by the choristers of the
Concordia, was immediately followed by the three chief mourners--Brahms,
who carried a laurel wreath, Joachim, and Dietrich. Next came the
clergyman, Pastor Wiesemann, and the Mayor of Bonn, and at an appointed
spot in the city a long string of friends and musicians joined the
procession, which passed on foot through the streets accompanied by a
band of brass instruments playing one and another of the most solemnly
beautiful of the old German chorales. At the graveside Brahms stepped
forward and placed the wife's wreath upon the coffin, bare of other
floral decorations. A short address was delivered by Pastor Wiesemann,
then came a sacred part-song by the choristers, a chorale, a few simple
words spoken by Ferdinand Hiller, the last farewell of friends throwing
earth upon the coffin, and all was over.[70]
On the anguish of the widow looking out despairingly to the future of
her lonely life, who yet might not despair because of the little ones
clinging to her side, on the steadfast loyalty of the affectionate
friends in whose sympathy she had found, and continued to find, support,
it is unnecessary to dwell; they are matter of history. Rather let the
chapter be closed in silent remembrance of the departed master and of
the group of his loved ones who lamented together in the sacred presence
of an irreparable grief.
[61] 'Gesammelte Aufsätze über Musik.'
[62] 'Aus meinem Leben.'
[63] _Die Musik_, first May number, 1903.
[64] In the author's possession.
[65] In the possession of Professor Julius Spengel.
[66] In the library of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, Vienna.
[67] In the possession of Fräulein Marie Grimm.
[68] 'Aus meinem Leben.'
[69] Grove's 'Dictionary of Music and Musicians.'
[70] Chiefly taken from the account written at the time for the _Neue
Zeitschrift_, by Ferdinand Hiller.
CHAPTER VIII
1856-1858
Joachim and Brahms in Düsseldorf--Grimm in Göttingen--Brahms' visit
to Detmold--Carl von Meysenbug--Court Concertmeister
Bargheer--Joachim and Liszt--Brahms' return to Detmold--Summer at
Göttingen--Pianoforte Concerto in D minor and Orchestral Serenade
in D major tried privately in Hanover.
Frau Schumann returned to Düsseldorf the day after the funeral,
accompanied by Brahms and Joachim. There were certain things to be done,
the performance of which she desired to entrust to the two young
musicians who had been so near the master's heart. Together they set in
order the papers left by the deceased composer, wrote necessary letters,
and made plans for the immediate future. Joachim writes on August 2 to
Liszt:
'Frau Schumann returned here yesterday; the presence of her
children and of Brahms, whom Schumann loved like a son, comforts
the noble lady, who appears to me, in her deep grief, a lofty
example of God-given strength. I shall remain here for some days.'
Johannes had taken over some lessons which Frau Schumann had arranged to
give, on her return from England, to Fräulein von Meysenbug, daughter of
the late Minister and sister of the then Hofmarschall at the Court of
Lippe-Detmold, and by so doing had added four people to the list of his
friends: his pupil, her mother and sister--all settled for a few weeks
in Düsseldorf--and her young nephew Carl, who came from Detmold to visit
his relations.
'On the occasion of one of the lessons,' says Freiherr von
Meysenbug,[71] 'I first saw and heard the almost boyish-looking,
shy, and socially awkward young artist, who played to us Schubert's
"Moment Musical" in F minor. His rendering of the piece made an
indelible impression on me.'
The boy's admiration led later on to a fast alliance between Brahms and
Carl. The ladies, on their part, became enthusiastic in their admiration
of the young musician, and on the termination of the lessons, which
could not long be continued on account of the sad circumstances of the
moment, they invited him to stay with them in the spring at Detmold,
with a view to his appearance at Court.
It was felt that the all-important necessaries for Frau Schumann were
rest and good air. Since the crisis of her husband's malady in February,
1854, followed after a few months by the birth of her youngest son, she
had enjoyed but little repose, and since the autumn of 1855 practically
none. During November and December of that year she travelled, as we
have seen, in Germany, giving concerts with Joachim in Leipzig, Berlin,
Danzig, Berlin again, Rostock, and many other towns. At home for
Christmas, she gave her first concert in Vienna on January 7, which was
followed by five others, the last taking place on March 3. Travelling
meanwhile, she combined her engagements in the Austrian capital with
performances at Prague and other cities. Returning early in March by way
of Leipzig, she was at home about a fortnight, and on April 7 started
for England, to remain until the second week of July. We have seen to
what she returned, and may well understand that she seemed to Joachim
and Brahms 'an example of God-given strength.' It was now decided that
she should go to Switzerland, and that Johannes' sister, whom she knew
and liked, should accompany her. Elise Brahms was not artistic, and had
little education. She had suffered all her life from bad headaches, and
the constitutional tendency had been aggravated by her employment of
plain sewing, carried on at home or in the houses of her clients. She
was not pretty, her single personal attraction being an abundance of
light-brown hair which grew to a great length, but she was simple,
unselfish, and kind; she was the sister of Johannes; and Frau Schumann
hoped that a respite from her confined life, in fine air and scenery,
might do her good. The whole party--Frau Schumann with some of her
children, Elise, and Johannes--set off together as soon as the necessary
arrangements could be made, accompanied on the first part of their
journey by Joachim, and proceeded by short stages to Gersau, on the Lake
of Lucerne, where they settled down for several weeks. The time was
spent in quiet walks and excursions, with some amount of music and a few
meetings with close friends, and the return was made in the same
leisurely way, with ten days' stay at Heidelberg. The holiday had its
effect, and the beginning of October found the three musicians prepared
to take up the ordinary duties of life. Frau Schumann began to practise
for her concert-season, Joachim was at his post at Hanover, and Johannes
about to return to his home in Hamburg, to apply himself to the
occupations which had been interrupted by the events of the past six
months. He appeared at Otten's concert of the 25th of the month with
Beethoven's G major Concerto, and this time with immense success. 'The
concerto was played with such fire and élan as to excite enthusiastic
demonstration.' Some special outward circumstance or inner mood probably
stirred him on this occasion. His performance was so powerful that it is
still vividly remembered, with its effect upon the audience. His
appearance on November 22 at a Philharmonic concert chiefly devoted to
Schumann's works awakened no enthusiasm. He played the master's
Pianoforte Concerto, and the indifference with which his performance was
received was the more marked by contrast with the stormy applause that
followed Joachim's playing of Schumann's Violin Fantasia and of Bach's
Chaconne.
It was, however, a joy to Brahms to have his friend with him for a day
or two. Kalbeck speaks[72] of a quartet which he had ready to show
Joachim, and which was tried in private at one or other friendly
house--Grädener's or Avé Lallement's (a well-known Hamburg musician).
Internal evidence points to the probability of its having been the
Pianoforte Quartet in C minor, now known amongst its companion works as
No. 3, or some of its movements. There is a great deal in this
composition which is suggestive of Brahms' early period, and the scherzo
is unmistakably founded on, though it is not identical with, the
movement contributed by Johannes to the sonata of welcome written for
Joachim in October, 1853, by Schumann, Dietrich, and Brahms.
The season 1856-57 was passed uneventfully by Brahms in the studies and
other occupations already described, varied by occasional journeys. He
may at this time be said to have had three if not four homes, in
addition to that of his parents at Hamburg. In Düsseldorf, Hanover,
Göttingen, and Bonn he was alike welcome. Grimm had married in the
spring of 1856, choosing for his wife Fräulein Philippine Ritmüller,
daughter of the head of the Göttingen pianoforte firm of that name.
There was a large room in Ritmüller's establishment available for
private performances, and in it the idea originated which has enriched
the world with Brahms' first pianoforte concerto.
One day after a performance of the symphony movements of 1854 for which
Grimm cherished an enthusiastic affection, in their arrangement for two
pianofortes, the young musician again urged upon the composer his
frequently expressed opinion of the inadequacy of this form for the
expression of the great ideas of the work. Johannes, however, had quite
convinced himself that he was not yet ripe for the writing of a
symphony, and it occurred to Grimm that they might be rearranged as a
pianoforte concerto. This proposal was entertained by Brahms, who
accepted the first and second movements as suitable in essentials for
this form. The changes of structure involved in the plan, however,
proved far from easy of successful accomplishment, and occupied much of
the composer's time during two years. The movements were repeatedly sent
to Hanover for Joachim's inspection, and returned with his suggestions;
for his time, sympathy, musicianship, and knowledge of the orchestra,
were placed, with unfailing generosity, at Brahms' disposal during all
the years of ripening experience that led up to the composer's maturity.
The immediate fortunes of the work after it was at length completed will
be related in due course.
The invitation of the von Meysenbugs having been duly renewed and
accepted, the young musician paid a short visit to Detmold at
Whitsuntide. Arriving at the little town one pleasant afternoon, the
last stage of his journey having been made by post, he was met by his
pupil and her nephew Carl, and brought by them to Frau von Meysenbug's
house. The article of the Vienna _Neues Tagblatt_ already referred to,
by Freiherr von Meysenbug, the 'Carl,' or 'Charles,' as he was generally
called, of 1857, gives a pleasant account of the visit:
'I can still see the young fellow standing in silent embarrassment
in the old Excellency's drawing-room, not quite knowing how to
begin a conversation with the ladies, who were still practically
strangers to him. Just then--it was about four o'clock--a princely
carriage drove through the quiet street, in which were seated the
three sisters of the reigning Prince on their way to dine with
their brother at the palace. The ladies were accustomed to look up,
as they passed, to the windows of my relations, and my aunt, seeing
the carriage coming, said, "I will just nod to the Princess
(Friederike) that Herr Brahms is come." Upon this Brahms broke
silence with the words, "Do they live close by, then, like everyone
else?" evidently thinking that the sign was to be given to an
opposite window. This set the conversation going till I showed
Brahms his room.'
The same evening Charles reappeared with his parents and Concertmeister
Bargheer, of the Detmold court orchestra, a fine player, pupil of Spohr
and Joachim, and already an acquaintance of Brahms. The Hofmarschall
wished to hear the new-comer as a preliminary to his appearance at
Court, and listened to most convincing performances of a thundering
prelude and fugue of Bach and of Beethoven's C sharp minor Sonata, Op.
27. An orchestral court concert was immediately arranged, at which
Johannes played his favourite Beethoven Concerto in G major and took
part in a performance of Schubert's 'Forellen' Quintet with
Concertmeister Bargheer, viola-player Schulze, violoncellist Julius
Schmidt, all soloists of the court orchestra, and a bassist, member of
the same body. His success was unequivocal, and he appeared with
Bargheer at an assembly of musicians and their friends held after the
concert at the chief confectioner's, in rollicking boyish spirits.
Capellmeister Kiel, on the other hand, who looked rather askance at a
probable future favourite at Court, assumed airs of even unusual
importance. He was at present, he said, setting one of the Psalms as a
chorus; he often composed Biblical texts, but was sometimes puzzled by
the Scriptural expressions. For instance, 'To the chief musician on the
Gittith.' 'Pray, can you inform me what a Gittith was?' solemnly to the
young hero of the evening. 'Probably a pretty Jewish girl,' returned
Brahms, with a serious air--an answer which procured him a suspicious
look over the spectacles of the old musician, and enraptured Charles,
who, supposed by his parents to be in bed, had found means of his own to
join the party. The entertainment having been prolonged until dawn, the
more ardent spirits of the gathering proposed a walk to a neighbouring
height to see the sun rise, and Brahms and Charles strode off together,
leading the way. Their enthusiasm survived that of their companions, who
gradually dropped off; and overcome by weariness as they reached the
beginning of the last steep climb, they turned into the garden of a
restaurant hard by, where Charles dropped on to the corner seat of an
arbour bench, and Brahms, stretching himself out at full length with his
head on his companion's knee, immediately went soundly to sleep.
'Just as I, too, was giving way to fatigue,' continues Freiherr von
Meysenbug, 'a fine brown spaniel came sniffing at Brahms' face,
and he suddenly jumped up, roused by the dog's cold nose. Meanwhile
the house had awakened, we drank some hastily-prepared coffee,
satisfied our healthy young appetites with delicious country black
bread and golden-yellow butter, and trotted back to the little
town. We both presented rather a questionable appearance in the
streets, which were already astir, especially so the small Brahms
in dress-coat, crumpled and disarranged white necktie, and
crush-hat on one side. Paying a passing visit to the faithless
Bargheer, whom we disturbed in his morning slumbers, we next set
out for my grandmother's dwelling. There--oh, horror!--we suddenly
came upon my aunt setting out for her morning walk. A distant look
of righteous indignation travelled up and down the two
night-enthusiasts, for Brahms' attire betrayed but too clearly that
he had not been back since the previous evening. A stormy
atmosphere prevailed during the day in the house of the hospitable
ladies, who were not only unused to visits from men, but could
never have imagined that the ideal artist would commit himself to
such extravagances. I was severely censured by grandmother and
aunts as the harebrained youth who had led the honoured guest
astray. Brahms left the next day, not having been very warmly
pressed to prolong his visit! He had, however, given such
satisfaction in high quarters that his return in the autumn for a
long stay in Detmold was definitely arranged. He was to give
lessons to the Princess, play at Court, and conduct an amateur
choral society, which, by invitation of the Prince, held its weekly
meetings at the castle, and to which His Serene Highness, together
with his brothers and sisters, belonged as regular members.'
Brahms, who could now look forward to the autumn without anxiety as to
his finances, and who appreciated in anticipation the advantages he
would derive as a composer from his position as conductor of a choral
society and from constant association with a standing orchestra, met
Frau Schumann on her return from England, where she had again passed the
London season, in happy mood. Any regret he may have felt at resigning
his freedom of action for a few months by a binding engagement was
mitigated by the fact that his association with Düsseldorf must in any
case shortly be severed. Frau Schumann had made up her mind that she
would best serve her own happiness and the interests of her family by
settling near her mother in Berlin, and was to take up her residence
there in September, in readiness for the concert season and for the more
advantageous opportunity of working as a teacher in the Prussian
capital, by which she hoped to supplement her income. Born September 13,
1819, the great pianist, now not quite thirty-eight, was in the zenith
of her powers, and, with the probability of a long career before her, it
is not surprising that she should have resolved to begin a new chapter
of life away from the town that was chiefly associated in her mind with
painful recollections. A short summer vacation was passed by her on the
Rhine in the more or less constant society of Brahms, Joachim, and
Grimm, and a memorial of a few specially pleasant days spent at St.
Goarshausen is in existence in the shape of a copy, in her handwriting,
of Brahms' Variations, Op. 21, No. 2. On the outside page is written:
'Ungarische Variationen von Johannes. Herrn Julius Otto Grimm, zur
Erinnerung an die Tage in St. Goarshausen. August, 1857. Clara
Schumann.'[73]
It was at this moment that Joachim resolved on a step which contributed
not a little to inflame the party feeling animating the younger
disciples of the New-German school. That they had felt increasingly
aggrieved by the position taken up by him since the crisis of Schumann's
illness, by his thoroughgoing association of his name and influence with
the art of the master and his wife, by his intimacy with Brahms, and by
his passive attitude towards Liszt's Symphonic Poems, may be read in
letters of the period. Bülow, whose correspondence up to the middle of
1854 contains repeated affectionate references to Joachim, to whom he
was immensely attached, wrote to Liszt in reference to the numerous
concert journeys of 1855 undertaken with Frau Schumann:
'Joachim and the statue of which he is making himself the pedestal
are not coming here till the beginning of next month. I am afraid
we shall have difficulty in recognising each other, for we are at
work in completely opposite directions.'
Perhaps their secret conviction of Joachim's artistic sincerity added to
the disappointment of the Weimarites, which undoubtedly increased during
the two following years, though his dislike of the Symphonic Poems was
only to be guessed by his silence about them. On the publication of the
works in 1857, however, with a somewhat pretentious preface, the
embarrassment he felt from the consciousness that he would be unable to
live up to the desires of his quondam associates, stimulated beyond a
doubt by the sympathy of Johannes, who fully shared his sentiments,
induced him to pen a letter to Liszt in which he made full confession of
his apostasy. The intense pain which the writing of it caused him,
attached as he was to everything about Liszt excepting his compositions,
may be read in every line of the epistle, which is dated August 27,
1857.
'... But of what use would it be if I were to delay any longer
saying plainly what I feel? My passivity towards your works could
not but reveal it to you, who are accustomed to be treated with
enthusiasm, and who regard me as capable of true, active
friendship. I will not, therefore, longer conceal what, as I
confess, your manly soul had the right to demand of me sooner. I am
entirely without sensibility for your music; it contradicts
everything upon which my powers have been nourished since early
youth from the spirits of our great ones. If it were conceivable
that I could ever be robbed, that I must renounce what I have
learned to love and reverence in their works, what I feel as music,
your tones would be no help to me in the vast, annihilating desert.
How, then, could I associate myself with the object of those who,
under the banner of your name and in the belief (I speak of the
conscientious among them) that they are bound to make themselves
responsible for contemporary justice towards artistic achievement,
make it the aim of life to spread the acceptance of your works by
every means at their command?...'
These lines were written when Joachim was twenty-six. That they were
wrung from him by the strength of his artistic convictions is clear, and
it is certain that they were entirely characteristic of the writer at
the time. It is probable that Brahms, if he had been called upon to
compose the letter, would have expressed himself differently; but then,
he would not, under similar circumstances, have felt the same amount of
pain. An element in his great influence over his friends, and one which
he encouraged through life by deliberate training, was to accept the
inevitable with philosophy, and to look on the bright side of things;
and his natural elasticity of temperament would have enabled him, had
circumstances demanded of him the sacrifice of a friendship, to yield it
with little outward flinching. It is difficult for the present
generation, for whom the artistic party questions of half a century ago
have little beyond historic interest, to judge of the position of those
for whom they were a burning personal topic; but it is certain that
Joachim's letter to Liszt added fuel to a fire which raged violently
through the next succeeding years, and which occasioned the issue of a
mass of controversial pamphlets and articles almost unreadable at the
present day.
Liszt himself accepted the young musician's confession with generous
dignity, and never allowed a disrespectful word to be uttered about
Joachim in his presence. His first and only reply to the letter of 1857
was not made until nearly thirty years later. Joachim, arriving one year
early in the eighties at Budapest to perform his great Variations for
violin and orchestra, called on Liszt, who happened to be staying in the
same hotel with himself. The two artists had not met for many years, and
the pleasure felt by each at the accidental rencontre reminded them of
the tie of affection that had formerly united them. It turned out that
Liszt had already made himself acquainted with the variations, and he
proposed now to attend the rehearsal in order to hear the composer's
performance of them, saying: 'As you do not like my music, dear Joachim,
I feel that I must admire yours in double measure.'
By the end of September Brahms found himself once more in Detmold. The
terms of his engagement, which extended through the three last months of
the year, included free rooms and living, and he was lodged in the
hotel Stadt Frankfurt, a comfortable inn, since enlarged and modernized,
exactly opposite the castle enclosure--close, therefore, to the scene of
his duties. The difficulty of procuring a piano in the little town was
got over by the loan of an old 'grand' belonging to the Frau
Hofmarschall that had been superseded in her drawing-room by one of
later construction; and Brahms, relieved at having succeeded in
obtaining something that had at least been good in its day, rewarded
Charles for his suggestion that the instrument should be sent to the
Stadt Frankfurt by promising him right of entrance to all practices and
performances that he might hold in his room with Bargheer, Schmidt, and
others.
The daily life of our musician during the next three months was one very
much after his own heart. His mornings were sacred to work. Bargheer
joined him at the Stadt Frankfurt for early dinner, and the afternoons
were generally passed in exercise in the crisp autumn air of the
Teutoberger forest. There were games with Carl and his younger brother
Hermann; trials of strength with Bargheer, in which Brahms was
invariably defeated; Sunday excursions with Bargheer, Carl, and others,
which occupied the whole day and included an al-fresco luncheon carried
from Detmold, to which Brahms was proud to be able sometimes to
contribute an excellent bottle of Malvoisier. This he procured by
dispensing with the half-bottle of ordinary wine daily provided with his
dinner until he had covered the cost of the superior vintage to be
shared with his friends. 'He was as happy as a king at these times, he
loved beautiful nature so much,' says Julius Schmidt, who was
occasionally one of the party.
His post as conductor of the choral society was at first particularly
welcome, not only as giving him experience in a branch of musical
activity which he had not practised since he stood, a boy of fifteen, at
the head of his little society of teachers at Winsen, but as affording
opportunity for the practical application and test of the studies to
which he had been devoting special attention. He began his duties as
conductor with the practice of short works by early and modern masters,
and arranged some of his favourite folk-songs expressly for the use of
the society, deriving from each rehearsal fresh insight into the art of
writing for voices. There were frequent informal musical soirées at
Court, which provided occasion for choral performances in the intervals
between the instrumental works that formed the bulk of the programmes.
These were played by Brahms, Bargheer, Schulze, Schmidt, and the
splendid hornist August Cordes, whose rich, mellow tone drew from Brahms
enthusiastic expressions of admiration. Almost the entire répertoire of
classical chamber music seems to have been gone through during this and
succeeding seasons; all the duet sonatas and pianoforte trios and
quartets, etc., of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, and Schumann, were
played in turn. Brahms' Trio was performed several times, and it gave
the young musician particular pleasure to execute, not only Beethoven's
Horn Sonata with Cordes, but Mozart's and Beethoven's quintets for
pianoforte and wind with the soloists of the orchestra, who were one and
all artists. The powers of the flutist are said to have been hardly less
remarkable than those of Cordes.
The court violoncellist, Julius Schmidt, who in 1857 was a man in the
early prime of life, has described to the author Brahms' appearance, on
his coming to Detmold, as so delicate and refined as to be almost
girlish; and this impression was strengthened by his voice, which was
still of the high quality that has been frequently mentioned. Impatient
of the remarks elicited by the peculiarity, he began at this time to
practise a series of vocal gymnastics for the purpose of forcing his
voice down, and was eventually successful in this aim.
When engaged in the performance of his duties, he was always quiet and
serious, and would stand, before the commencement of a choir practice or
a court concert, at the extreme end of the long room in which the
functions took place, speaking to no one, perhaps looking through a
piece of music or a letter. His duties in connection with the
orchestral concerts were to play from time to time, and to conduct now
and then. In the course of the successive autumns passed by him at
Detmold, his performances included several of Mozart's and Beethoven's
concertos, which were heard with especial delight; Schumann's Concerto;
Mendelssohn's D minor Concerto and B minor Caprice; Moscheles' G minor
Concerto; and, with Bargheer and Schmidt, Beethoven's triple Concerto.
Occasionally, as time went on, the Princess Friederike played a
concerto, and on the occasion of a performance of Beethoven's Choral
Fantasia the Frau Hofmarschall von Meysenbug undertook the pianoforte
solo, whilst Brahms acted as conductor.
The young musician soon became a favourite at Court, not only on account
of his musical genius, but also because of the general culture of his
mind. He invariably seemed at home on a topic of real interest, and able
to contribute something worth hearing to its discussion. 'Whoever wishes
to play well must not only practise a great deal, but read a great many
books,' was one of his favourite sayings, and the excellent public
library of Detmold afforded him good opportunity for indulging his
literary tastes. On the evenings that were free from duties, some of the
musicians often dropped into Brahms' room to play, and the performances
generally went on until late into the night.
'And how Brahms loved the great masters! how he played Haydn and
Mozart! with what beauty of interpretation and delicate shading of
tone! And then his transposing!'
He would play a new composition by one or other of his Detmold friends
at sight in a transposed key without a mistake, taking it at any
interval suggested, and thinking nothing of the feat. He even liked to
play tricks on Court Concertmeister Bargheer, and to lead off Mozart's
duet sonatas, which Prince Leopold was fond of hearing in private, in
transposed keys, in which Bargheer was obliged, and luckily able, to
follow.
'His score playing, too, was marvellous. Bach, Handel, Haydn,
Mozart, all seemed to flow naturally under his fingers, and each
point to come out, as it were, of itself. Then, he was of such a
noble character, such a good, kind nature, and so loved
children....'
It must be added, however, that Schmidt, like most of the Detmold
musicians, whilst enthusiastically admiring Brahms' gifts as an
executant, regarded his compositions with scepticism. The B major Trio
was by no means a favourite with himself or his colleagues--Bargheer
always excepted--and he thought the 'cello part most ungratefully
written for the instrument.
Enough has been said to make it evident that Brahms' sojourn at Detmold
was an unmitigated success, and before his departure his re-engagement
the following season had come to be regarded as a matter of course. The
Christmas festival, passed by him in the midst of the Hofmarschall's
family party, was as bright and happy as can be imagined. Johannes
became for the evening a child of the house, entering eagerly with the
boys into the mystery of the hour preceding the great presentation of
Christmas gifts, and ready to laugh heartily at the practical jokes of
which he and others were made victims later in the evening. A few words
written in an album given to Hermann are still treasured by their owner:
'This was written in hearty friendship by your Johannes.'
Two signs, contrasted one with the other, but both prophetic of things
to come, are to be noted in January newspaper issues of 1858. One, which
points to the swelling bitterness of feeling with which the Weimarites
contemplated the compact phalanx of friends who may conveniently be
termed the Schumann party, is contained in a reference to Rubinstein as
composer, penned by Bülow in the _Neue Berliner Musikzeitung_ of January
27:
'He [Rubinstein] knows his powers; he has tested his arms, and has
therefore attained to a higher stage than the brooding Brahms.'
The other is the record, in a paragraph of the _Signale_, of what was
probably the début of Brahms' name in Italy. The distinguished pianist
Alfred Jaell had included one of his compositions in the programmes of a
lately-ended concert-tour through that country.
On leaving Detmold, Johannes proceeded to Hamburg, where he remained
about half the year, occupied with his studies, compositions and pupils.
He paid a visit to Berlin towards the end of March to compensate himself
for the loss of Frau Schumann's society at Christmas, and passed much of
his time with her stepbrother, the composer Woldemar Bargiel, but
returned after a few weeks to his parents' house to stay till the middle
of July. The family moved again this year to a more commodious dwelling
at 74, Fuhlentwiethe, still in the old quarter of Hamburg, but with
good-sized rooms, which were always kept in beautiful order. The parlour
was comfortably though plainly furnished, and decorated with ivy after
the custom of the time. It had a large open fireplace with old-fashioned
hobs on either side, which occasionally served in the summer as a refuge
for cake-eating child-visitors, to the preservation of Fräulein Elise's
spotless floor. The room set apart for Johannes, who, now as always, was
responsible for a large share of the family expenses, afforded ample
space for a sleeping sofa, washing-stand, piano, writing-table, and
large bookcase, on the top of which stood a bust of Beethoven. Two or
three small prints from good pictures decorated the walls, one of them
being a representation of Leonardo da Vinci's 'Last Supper.' There was
sufficient space in the dwelling for the accommodation of one or two
boarders--a means of income to which Jakob and his wife had had
recourse, as we have seen, in the early part of their married life.
When Brahms quitted Hamburg in July, it was understood that his absence
would be a long one. He would not, at any rate, return before the
beginning of the next year, after the close of his Detmold season, and
there was great uncertainty as to what his future plans might be. It was
a sad time for Fräulein Friedchen Wagner, who had been his regular pupil
during all the months of his stay, and at her last lesson she begged her
master for some little souvenir, desiring that it should be of a serious
character to correspond with her mood. She was not at home when he
called to say good-bye, however, and he left Hamburg apparently without
a sign. Too melancholy for some days to feel that she could open her
piano, her delight was the greater when at length, resolving to go to
work again, she found under the lid of the instrument a manuscript in
Brahms' hand, which bore the inscription: 'To Fräulein Fr. Wagner, in
kind remembrance. July, 1858.' It was the organ prelude to the chorale,
'O Traurigkeit, O Herzeleid,' which was published with a fugue, in 1881,
in a supplement of a number of the _Musikalisches Wochenblatt_.[74]
Brahms passed nearly all the remainder of the summer at Göttingen. Frau
Schumann, after drinking the waters at Wiesbaden, took up her residence
with some of her children in the Grimms' house; Johannes found a lodging
close by, and some memorable weeks were passed by the circle in work and
play that were almost equally delightful. Grimm and his wife were
inexpressibly touched by the beautiful and rare relation in which
Johannes stood to Frau Schumann. 'He was to her as a careful friend, a
loving and protecting son.' She was, indeed, the centre of the party,
and the chief thought of all the younger musicians gathered about her.
Johannes was a famous playfellow for her little ones, proposing all
sorts of romping games for them, in which the elders willingly joined.
As for music, they had their own share in that, too. One can imagine
them cowering quiet in their hiding-places as they heard the approaching
voice of the seeker:
[Music:
Wil-le, wil-le, will, Der Mann ist kom-men;
Did-dle, did-dle dee, There's some-one com-ing;
]
the demands of the four-year-old Felix for another ride on somebody's
knee, in spite of the answer:
[Music:
Ull Mann will ri-den, wull hat er kein Pferd;
He would go ri-ding, but no horse had he;
]
the efforts of the small Eugénie to keep the dust out of her eyes just a
little longer, though
[Music:
Die Blü-me-lein sie schla-fen schon,
The flow-er-ets are sleep-ing,
]
These and other songs which were sung by Johannes with and to Frau
Schumann's children at Göttingen this summer were published anonymously
by Rieter-Biedermann at the end of the year as 'Children's Folk-songs,
with added accompaniment, dedicated to the children of Robert and Clara
Schumann.'
The Pianoforte Concerto in D minor was not the only large composition
with which Brahms had been busy. Until a comparatively late period of
his career, his method of working in some respects resembled that of
Beethoven. We have seen that he was in the habit, as a boy, of putting
his thoughts down as they occurred to him. Later on he was accustomed to
keep several large compositions on hand at once, allowing his ideas to
expand gradually; and he sometimes had a work by him for years before
completing it in its final shape. The cases of the D minor Concerto, the
C minor Pianoforte Quartet, and the C minor Symphony are
well-established instances in point, though Brahms took care that the
process by which his works were developed should not after his death
become public property, by destroying the vast majority of his
sketches.[75] This year, besides completing the concerto, he had
composed the work known as the Serenade in D for large orchestra. Not,
however, in its present form. Inspired by the delight with which he had
listened to the 'cassation music,' the serenades and divertimenti of
Mozart, as performed by the soloists of the Detmold orchestra, he had
set about writing something in the same style in the form of an octet,
bearing particularly in mind the exceptional qualifications of the wind
performers of Prince Leopold's band. This was completed before being
shown to Joachim, whose extraordinary English successes kept him in this
country from April until the autumn of the year; and it was not until
the Göttingen party had broken up--Frau Schumann proceeding on a visit
to Düsseldorf, and Johannes returning to his engagement at Detmold--that
our composer had an opportunity of talking over his newly-finished
manuscripts with his best friend.
Joachim had reserved a day or two for Johannes on his way back to
Hanover, where he was due on October 1, and turned up unannounced one
day in the last week of September, to find that Brahms had gone for a
day's walk with his companions, and would not be back till evening. He
had to get through the hours as well as he could, and the pedestrians
did not find him in his happiest mood on their return. The best had to
be made of a bad matter, however, and there was wonderful music in
Brahms' room on that and the following evening. The two friends played,
amongst other things, all Bach's sonatas for clavier and violin, and,
more memorable still, the first performance took place of Joachim's
Hungarian Concerto. He had completed it in England, and wished to show
it to Johannes, who insisted on having out the manuscript and going
through it immediately, to the great satisfaction of the few listeners
present. Brahms was frequently wont to express his regret that Joachim
allowed so much of his time and energy to be swallowed up in
concert-journeys, and particularly disapproved of his long absences in
England. Regarding him as a tone-poet whose creative gifts contained
possibilities of exceptional fruition, he would have liked to see his
friend settle down into a life similar to his own, in which the first
object should be the development of his talent as a composer. We have
already referred to some of the reasons that militated against the
fulfilment of this desire. Brahms was captivated by the new concerto,
and his admiration of the splendid finale seems to have awakened in him
the desire to use some of his favourite Hungarian melodies in a
developed movement in sociable emulation of Joachim. With what result
will presently appear.
Plans were now made for an immediate private rehearsal at Hanover of
Brahms' new compositions. In Joachim's words to the author, 'We were
naturally anxious to hear how they sounded, and I had the band at my
disposal.' Frau Schumann was invited to hear the trial of the two new
works, and perhaps her account of them may have been responsible for the
following paragraph, which appeared in the _Signale_ in the course of
October:
'We hear that since the arrival of J. Brahms in Detmold a few weeks
ago there has been an animated musical life there, of which the
young artist is the centre. Brahms will remain in Detmold until the
end of the year, and it is hoped that some of his new compositions
may be brought to a hearing. He has completed, amongst other
things, a pianoforte concerto, the great beauties of which have
been reported to us.'
The same journal notices a concert given by Frau Schumann in Düsseldorf,
at which she played arrangements by Brahms for two hands on the
pianoforte, of a selection of Hungarian Dances, 'that called forth a
veritable storm of applause.' This unanswerable statement should
effectually dispose of the fable which still obtains considerable
credence amongst the musical laity, that the 'Hungarian Dance'
arrangements were the outcome of impressions derived during Brahms'
residence in Vienna. As has been shown in an earlier chapter, he owed
his first acquaintance with the melodies to the playing of Reményi.
The hope expressed in the _Signale_, that the new works might be
performed at Detmold, was only partially fulfilled. As we have seen,
Brahms was not seriously accepted as a composer by the musicians
there--one of them only excepted--and Capellmeister Kiel regarded his
compositions with peculiar jealousy and mistrust. So far as can be
ascertained, the D minor Concerto was not even tried at Detmold. The
result of the rehearsal at Hanover was, however, that Joachim, in spite
of some official opposition, carried through his wish that it should be
put down for a first performance at one of the Hanover subscription
court concerts, choosing for date January 22, 1859, when Johannes would
be free from duties; and that through the influence of Court
Concertmeister David arrangements were made for its second performance a
few days later at the Leipzig Gewandhaus concert of January 27.
As regards the serenade, Joachim formed the opinion that it should be
scored for orchestra, and Johannes, following his friend's advice,
presently effected the alteration. It was heard at one or more of the
Detmold court concerts.
Carl von Meysenbug was not long able this season to enjoy the pleasures
of the evening music at the Stadt Frankfurt, which was more than ever of
an institution. He departed at the end of October to enter upon the life
of a University student at Göttingen, where he soon found himself at
home in the midst of the congenial musical friends of Grimm's circle.
'You will see,' Johannes said to him as they parted, 'how surprised you
will be, after your admiration of the stiff court ladies here, when you
become acquainted with the pretty, fresh, lively daughters of the
professors.'
These words were significant. The age of twenty-five is suitable to
romance, and Brahms was at this time in love. That he had passed through
the earliest years of manhood without any _affaire de coeur_ is to be
explained by the circumstances in which he had been placed. The
prosecution of a noble ambition which involved unremitting application
to work occupied one half of his energies, whilst his affections had
been absorbed by family ties, by a dear companionship, and by his love
for two people to whom he looked up with unbounded reverence. A calmer
period had succeeded the exciting course of past events, and he now had
leisure to think of himself. His intercourse with the charming young
people who frequented the Grimms' house, and the contemplation of his
friend's great happiness in his wedded life, had awakened in him a
feeling of loneliness, and he thought much of Fräulein Agathe, daughter
of Professor S---- of Göttingen, and one of Frau Philippine's most
intimate friends. Agathe was handsome, cultivated, and very musical, and
she sang Brahms' songs with especial sympathy, particularly when he
played the accompaniments. The very confident rumour of an impending or
even of an accomplished betrothal between the pair, however, proved to
be a tale without an ending. Johannes seems, after a while, to have
suddenly faced the fact that he was bound to take a decided course one
way or the other, and no one who has grasped the key to his character
and aims can feel surprised that his decision led him away from
marriage. Now and afterwards he liked the society of charming girls, and
perhaps thought it no harm to enjoy the pleasure of a special friendship
without going beyond the consideration of the hour; but it may safely be
assumed that he would not, at the outset of his career, have risked the
sacrifice of his artistic aims by accepting binding responsibilities,
even had his worldly prospects been much more certain than they were. He
resolutely put away the visions of happiness with which he had dallied
for a time, and turned cheerfully to confront the future in undivided
allegiance to the Art that was to maintain supreme sway over his
affections to the end of his life. That the remembrance of Agathe
remained treasured somewhere in a corner of his heart as the years
rolled onward will seem certain to those who have had opportunity of
appreciating the tenacity of his memory for old friendships.
[71] 'Aus Johannes Brahms' Jugendtagen,' by Carl, Freiherr von Meysenbug
(_Neues Wiener Tagblatt_, April 3 and 4, 1902).
[72] 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 297.
[73] In the possession of Fräulein Marie Grimm.
[74] 'Brahms in Hamburg,' by Professor Walter Hübbe.
[75] The few sketches Brahms allowed to survive him are preserved in the
library of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde at Vienna.
CHAPTER IX
1859
First public performances of the Pianoforte Concerto in Hanover,
Leipzig, and Hamburg--Brahms, Joachim, and Stockhausen appear
together in Hamburg--First public performance of the Serenade in D
major--Ladies' Choir--Fräulein Friedchen Wagner--Compositions for
women's chorus.
It is not difficult to realize something of the mingled feelings of hope
and anxiety that must have filled the mind of Johannes on his arrival in
Hanover in January, 1859. If the first chapter of his career had closed
in triumphant fashion with the extraordinary series of events that
followed his first little concert-journey, the second chapter can only
be regarded as an intermezzo which was spent in quiet preparation for
what was to succeed it. The prelude of his artistic life had been
successfully completed in 1853; the main action was to begin with the
performances in Hanover and Leipzig in the opening month of 1859. Brahms
was almost extravagantly self-critical, but he must have felt encouraged
when he remembered the substantial success of his début as a composer at
Leipzig immediately after the appearance of Schumann's famous article,
and he knew that he had now attained a much more advanced stage of
capacity. Such considerations, combined with the enthusiasm of his best
friends, may well have raised his hopes high.
The concerto was heard at Hanover on January 22 under the most
favourable conditions. Joachim conducted the orchestra, Johannes played
the solo, and it would be hard to say which of the two young musicians
was the more interested in the occasion, but the result of the
performance was that the public was wearied and the musicians puzzled.
'The work had no great success with the public,' reported the
Hanover correspondent of the _Signale_ ten days later, 'but'--and
we seem to read the promptings of a Joachim in the following
words--'it aroused the decided respect and sympathy of the best
musicians for the gifted artist.'
'The work, with all its serious striving, its rejection of
triviality, its skilled instrumentation, seemed difficult to
understand, even dry, and in parts eminently fatiguing,' said
another critic;[76] 'nevertheless Brahms gave the impression of
being a really sterling musician, and it was conceded without
reservation that he is not merely a virtuoso, but a great artist of
pianoforte-playing.'
Johannes had to leave immediately for Leipzig, and he started from
Hanover without knowing more about the impression produced there by his
concerto than could be gathered from the reserve of the audience and the
enthusiasm of his friend, but that his frame of mind was not despondent
may be inferred from a paragraph which appeared in the _Signale_
immediately after his arrival.
'Herr Johannes Brahms is here, and will play his Concerto at the
Gewandhaus concert of the 27th. He thinks of remaining the rest of
the winter at Leipzig.'
It is necessary to remind the reader what kind of audience it was for
whose acceptance our young composer was now about to submit his work.
Leipzig still occupied the position of musical capital of Europe to
which it had been raised by the genius of Mendelssohn. By the most
influential of its artistic circles, the premature death of this
fascinating master (1809-1847) was still deplored as an almost recent
event. Most of his old friends were living, and, in virtue of their
former personal association with him, looked upon themselves as
competent judges of all later aspirants to fame. It is matter of daily
experience that the uninformed satellites of a man of genius are
arrogant in proportion to their ignorance, and that even professional
adepts of sincerity are apt to allow their horizon to be limited by
their hero-worship. Musicians and amateurs, alike, of the Gewandhaus
circle associated the idea of a concerto with the clear melody of Mozart
and Beethoven, still, perhaps, regarding Beethoven as a little difficult
to understand, with the attractive sparkle of Mendelssohn and with the
opportunity for a display of the soloist's virtuosity afforded more or
less by the works of all three masters. If asked to listen to a novelty,
they expected that it should not be too unlike what they had heard
before to be difficult to follow. Bernsdorf, newly appointed to succeed
Brahms' friendly critic, Louis Köhler, on the staff of the conservative
_Signale_, was himself a conservative of the most obstinate type, in
some respects resembling the English J. W. Davison of the _Times_ and
the _Musical World_, who was honestly convinced that the series of great
masters had closed with Mendelssohn.
On the other hand, the New-Germans had by this time made considerable
conquests in Leipzig, where they had established an important party
organization, and had, as we have seen in an earlier chapter, even been
admitted on trial to the platform of the Gewandhaus. The _Neue
Zeitschrift_ was their organ, but they had supporters also amongst the
journalists of the daily press, Ferdinand Gleich, of the _Leipziger
Tagblatt_, being one of the principal. They were on the look-out for
champions who would rally to their cause, and welcomed the unusual as
such, though reserving their heartiest approval for the piquant,
sounding, sensational, or even revolutionary.
To these two bodies of extremists our Johannes, with his inexperience,
his ideal aims, his genius, and his dislike of the sensational, was now
to appeal. Had he been compelled at the moment to declare for either
party, he certainly would not have chosen the side of revolution. But he
was gifted with an imagination at once profound, original, and romantic.
This sealed his fate with the men who considered themselves the modern
representatives of classic art. The day after the concert he wrote to
Joachim to announce--'a brilliant and decided failure.'
'In the first place,' he says, 'it really went very well; I played
much better than in Hanover, and the orchestra capitally. The first
rehearsal aroused no feeling whatever, either in the musicians or
hearers. No hearers came, however, to the second, and not a muscle
moved on the countenance of either of the musicians. In the evening
Cherubini's Elisa overture was given, and then an Ave Maria of his
uninterestingly sung, so I hoped Pfund's (the drummer's) roll would
come at the right time.[77] The first movement and the second were
heard without a sign. At the end three hands attempted to fall
slowly one upon the other, upon which a quite audible hissing from
all sides forbade such demonstrations. There is nothing else to
write about the event, for no one has yet said a syllable to me
about the work, David excepted, who was very kind....
'This failure has made no impression at all upon me, and the slight
feeling of disappointment and flatness disappeared when I heard
Haydn's C minor Symphony and the Ruins of Athens. In spite of all
this, the concerto will please some day when I have improved its
construction, and a second shall sound different.
'I believe it is the best thing that could happen to me; it makes
one pull one's thoughts together and raises one's spirit.... But
the hissing was too much?...
'The faces here looked dreadfully insipid when I came from Hanover,
and was accustomed to seeing yours. Monday (January 31) I am going
to Hamburg. There is interesting church music here on Sunday, and
in the evening Faust at Frau Frege's.'[78]
The grimness of the young composer's disappointment may be read between
these Spartan lines. But perhaps he has exaggerated his failure. Let us
see what Bernsdorf has to say.
'It is sad, but true; new works do not succeed in Leipzig. Again at
the fourteenth Gewandhaus concert was a composition borne to the
grave. This work, however, cannot give pleasure. Save its serious
intention, it has nothing to offer but waste, barren dreariness
truly disconsolate. Its invention is neither attractive nor
agreeable.... And for more than three-quarters of an hour must one
endure this rooting and rummaging, this dragging and drawing, this
tearing and patching of phrases and flourishes! Not only must one
take in this fermenting mass; one must also swallow a dessert of
the shrillest dissonances and most unpleasant sounds. With
deliberate intention, Herr Brahms has made the pianoforte part of
his concerto as uninteresting as possible; it contains no effective
treatment of the instrument, no new and ingenious passages, and
wherever something appears which gives promise of effect, it is
immediately crushed and suffocated by a thick crust of orchestral
accompaniment. It must be observed, finally, that Herr Brahms'
pianoforte technique does not satisfy the demands we have a right
to make of a concert-player of the present day.'
Nothing could be more representative than these lines, of the
conscientious bigotry which almost always opposes what is really
original, though it is expressed by Bernsdorf with exceptional
coarseness. The narrowly orthodox antagonists of Brahms' art resembled
those who had levelled their shafts against Beethoven and Schumann each
in their day. The young composer fared differently at the hands of the
progressists. The _Neue Zeitschrift_ wrote:
'The appearance of Johannes Brahms with a new concerto was bound to
attract our especial attention. In the first place, on account of
the hopes entertained of an artist who had been introduced in a
most exceptional manner, even before his first appearance, by the
enthusiastic words of a revered master; and secondly, from the
rarity of his subsequent public announcements and the retirement in
which he has lived.
'Notwithstanding its undeniable want of outward effect, we regard
the poetic contents of the concerto as an unmistakable sign of
significant and original creative power; and, in face of the
belittling criticisms of a certain portion of the public and press,
we consider it our duty to insist on the admirable sides of the
work, and to protest against the not very estimable manner in which
judgment has been passed upon it.'
Ferdinand Gleich writes:
'Who would or could ignore in this new work the tokens of an
eminent creative endowment! We least of all who regard it as our
duty to encourage young talent. Many doubts, however, suggested
themselves as we listened to this concert-piece in large form.
This work again suggests a condition of indefiniteness and
fermentation, a wrestling for a method of expression commensurate
with the ideas of the composer, which has indeed broken through the
form of tradition, but has not yet constructed another sufficiently
definite and rounded to satisfy the demands of the æsthetics of
art.... The first movement, especially, gives us the impression of
monstrosity; this was less the case with the two others, although
even there we were not able, in spite of the beauties they contain,
to feel real artistic enjoyment. Brahms places the orchestra, as
far as is possible in a concert-piece, by the side of the obligato
instrument, and by so doing establishes himself as an artist who
understands the requirements of the new era. The treatment of the
orchestra shows a blooming fancy and the most vivid feeling for new
and beautiful tone effects, although the composer has not yet
sufficient command over his means to do justice to his intentions.
The work was received calmly, not to say coldly, by the public; we,
however, must acknowledge the eminent talent of the composer, of
whom, though he is still too much absorbed in his _Sturm und Drang_
period, it is not difficult to predict the accomplishment of
something great.'
Whether or not these two reviews were penned with a deliberate
purpose--and a desire on the part of the supporters of the New-German
school to identify Brahms with their cause can hardly be regarded as
either remarkable or dishonourable--no trace is to be found in either of
the insincerity attributed by Kalbeck, in his Life of Brahms, to the
journalistic partisans of the Weimarites, and especially to Brendel,
editor of the _Zeitschrift_ and friend of Liszt. Their honesty of
purpose, as well as their liberality of view, has been vindicated by the
fate which for many years attended the published concerto, and again we
may place the remarks of Hanslick, the avowed champion of classical art
and the enthusiastic admirer of the mature Brahms, beside those
published in the _Zeitschrift_ of the fifties. Writing in 1888, he
says:[79]
'Brahms began, like Schumann, in _Sturm und Drang_, but he was much
more daring and wild, more emancipated in respect to form and
modulation. The fermentation period of his genius, which is
generally supposed to have closed with his Op. 10 (Ballades for
pianoforte), should, perhaps, be extended ... does it not include
the D minor Concerto, with its wild genius?'
It has, indeed, taken nearly half a century to establish the concerto in
a secure position of public acceptance, and the day, though now probably
not far distant, has not even yet arrived when it can be said to rank as
a prime favourite amongst compositions of its class with the large body
of music-lovers.
Conceived as part of a symphony, the first movement of the work is
symphonic in character, though, as Spitta has pointed out, not in form.
The desire attributed to the composer by Ferdinand Gleich and by many
others since, to create a new form, to compose a symphonic work with a
pianoforte obligato, did not exist. Brahms simply wished to use what he
had already written, and did not feel that the time had come when he
could successfully complete a symphony. He rewrote his first two
movements, therefore, as we have noted, making room in them for a
pianoforte solo, put away the third movement, and composed a new finale.
How successfully he accomplished his task is to-day apparent to
accustomed ears, for which the first movement, though it contains slight
deviations from traditional concerto form, has no moment of obscurity.
The imagination of this portion of the work is colossal. It has
something Miltonic in its character, and seems to suggest to the mind
issues more tremendous and universal than the tragedy of Schumann's
fate, with which it must be associated. No one will assert that it
contains what are termed 'brilliant pianoforte passages,' the very
existence of which is unthinkable in a movement of such exalted poetic
grandeur; but that its performance brings due reward to capable
interpreters has been proved by the enthusiasm of many a latter-day
audience. After all that has been said, the reader will have no
difficulty in understanding the fervent intensity of mood which impelled
the composition of the slow movement, or in realizing something of the
emotions which suggested the motto, _Benedictus qui venit in nomine
Domini_, written above it in the original manuscript (in Joachim's
possession) by Brahms. In the finale, the difficult task of creating
something which should relieve the tension of feeling induced by the
preceding movements, without impairing the unity of the concerto as a
whole, has been well achieved. If it is somewhat more sombre in colour
than the usually accepted finale in rondo form, it is abundant in vigour
and impulse, whilst, on the other hand, though written with a view to
the concert-room, it never descends towards the trivialities of mere
outward glitter.
Much more might be said in explanation of the dubious position so long
occupied in the world of art by this great work of genius. We may not,
however, linger longer over such interesting matters. It is enough to
say that the purpose expressed by Brahms in his letter to Joachim, of
'pulling his thoughts together,' was literally carried out, and that his
development proceeded in the direction it had already taken, which was
the very opposite of that pursued by the adherents of the New-German
school. It consisted in the still closer concentration of his powers
within the forms of tradition, and the rapidity with which he attained
to complete and free mastery over musical structure is marked by the
production--soon to be recorded--of the first of the great series of
chefs-d'oeuvre of chamber music which have set his name, in this
particular domain of art, as high as that of Beethoven himself.
Unrecognised by the public and misunderstood by the academics of
Leipzig, whose sympathies he seems particularly, though for many years
vainly, to have desired to gain, our young musician had now no choice
but to return to his home and pupils at Hamburg. If, however, he himself
felt at all despondent at the failure of his hopes, his friends were
determined about the future of his work. Prompted and backed up by
Joachim, Avé Lallement, who was a member of the Philharmonic committee,
persuaded the directors to engage composer and concerto for their
concert of March 24. Joachim had written to Avé:
'DEAR FRIEND,
'Nearer acquaintance with Brahms' concerto inspires me with
increasing love and respect. The most intelligent people amongst
the public and the orchestra (of Leipzig) with whom I have spoken
express a high opinion of Brahms as a musician, and even those who
do not like the concerto are at one as to his eminent playing. I
have never expected anything else than that prejudice on the one
hand, and, on the other, astonishment at an individuality which
surrenders itself so unreservedly to the ideal as that of our
friend, should present some impediment to the brilliancy of his
success. A few places in the composition which, though good in
themselves, are too much spun out may also here and there disturb
one's enjoyment. Nevertheless, one may say that the concerto has
had a success honourable alike to artist and public; the same in
Hanover. Now let fault-finders and malicious detractors gossip as
they please--I don't mind; we have done right.... Now do as you
like in Hamburg, but if you give the concerto at the Philharmonic I
will come and conduct. That has long been settled.'[80]
The concert was made into a musical event of unusual importance by the
engagement of Joachim and of Stockhausen--his first appearance in
Hamburg; and public interest was increased by the advertisement of a
concert in the joint names of Brahms, Joachim, and Stockhausen to take
place on the 28th, which was to be signalized by the first public
performance of the newly composed Serenade in D major. That Johannes had
taken heart again after his disappointments, and was looking forward
with pleasure to the visits of his friends, is evident from a letter
written by him a few days beforehand to the lady in waiting on the
Princess Friederike of Lippe-Detmold.
'VERY ESTEEMED, GRACIOUS FRÄULEIN,
'In the first place I beg you to express my most humble thanks to
Her Serene Highness the Princess Friederike for the despatch of the
new Bach work.
'How often this present will remind me in the most agreeable manner
of Her Highness's kindness. You know how I love the divine master,
and may imagine that his tones (so dreaded by you) will often be
heard here.
'I am glad that Her Serene Highness continues to work so
industriously at her music, and only wish I could help her in some
way.
'In the trio mentioned by you[81] the most simple way is that the
left hand (which ceases playing) should help the poor right. For
what embarrassment the mischievous arrogance of the composer is
responsible!
'The day after to-morrow I play my pianoforte concerto here, and a
few days later introduce other works at a concert of my own.
Joachim and Stockhausen, who are coming for it, will make the days
into real musical festivals.
'In spite of the great diversity of opinions expressed about my
works, I have reason to be quite satisfied with my first attempts
for orchestra, and I confidently hope that they will find friendly
hearers in Detmold also.
'And I may venture to hope, above all, for later ripening and
better swelling fruits....'[82]
The Philharmonic committee had no reason to regret their arrangements.
The attraction of the two great names filled their concert-room to
suffocation. Every seat and every standing-place was occupied, and
crowds were turned from the doors. Those who have witnessed similar
scenes during--how many decades! can picture the excited expectancy that
followed the performance of a Cherubini overture, the thunder of welcome
at the first glimpse of Joachim, the never-ending applause and recalls
at the conclusion of his first solo, Spohr's 'Gesang-Scena,' the
sensation of Stockhausen's first appearance, the magnificent success of
his performance of a great aria from his oratorio répertoire. Then a
lull, the disappearance of Capellmeister Grund, the opening of the
piano, the reappearance of Joachim, this time to take his stand at the
conductor's desk, and the entrance of the slight, blonde young
Hamburger, pale and nervous, but calm and self-controlled, almost happy
in the support of his two friends.
On such an evening of enthusiasm, what public could have refused its
tribute to the young fellow-citizen who came before them as a composer
practically for the first time, with two heroes at his side to champion
his cause? Johannes was really successful. 'The concerto created an
impression, and excited applause far beyond that of a mere _succès
d'estime_,' and the critic of the _Nachrichten_ records the fact with
the more satisfaction from its contrast with the result of the
performance at the Leipzig Gewandhaus.
It would appear from the wording of the letter to Detmold quoted on a
foregoing page that the concert of the 28th, advertised in the three
names, had been arranged for Brahms' benefit. Ten years had elapsed
since his performance of the Variations on a favourite waltz had passed
unrecorded save in Marxsen's paper. Since that time he had given no
concert in Hamburg, and the change in his prospects is well measured by
the different circumstances of the occasions of 1849 and 1859. True that
at the age of twenty-six he had achieved no popular success, that his
concerto had effectually alienated from him the sympathies of the
Leipzigers, and that the Weimarites, whilst encouraging his efforts,
partially misunderstood his aims. Thorough-going belief in his art and
its promise was more firmly established than ever as a leading principle
of the inner Schumann circle, and this was itself gradually spreading.
We give the full programme of March 28, which is interesting for many
reasons:
1. Bach: Sonata for Clavier and Violin.
2. Handel: Aria from 'The Messiah.'
3. Tartini: 'Trillo del Diavolo.'
4. Schubert: Song, 'Der Erlkönig.'
5. Brahms: Serenade for Strings and Wind.
6. Boieldieu: Cavatina, 'Fete du Village Voisin.'
7. Schubert: Rondeau Brilliant for Pianoforte
and Violin.
8. Schubert, Schumann, etc.: Songs (including 'Der Nussbaum,'
'Mondnacht,' 'Widmung').
There was good reason to be delighted with the material result of the
undertaking. The large Wörmer hall was thronged. Brahms' artistic
success was also assured in regard to his playing of the duet sonata and
rondo with Joachim, and many of the musicians present appreciated his
wonderful accompaniment of Stockhausen's songs. The serenade, however,
now instrumented for small orchestra, and conducted by Joachim, was not
received with any decided favour, and the _Nachrichten_ expressed the
general sentiment of the time in the concluding sentence of its review:
'If Brahms will learn to say what is in his heart plainly and
straightforwardly, and not go out of his way to cut strange capers,
the public will endorse Schumann's hopes, and the laity be able to
understand what it is that professional musicians prize so highly
in his works.'
Such contemporary criticism might well pass unnoticed if it were not
that, in spite of the wealth of beautiful material and the fine
workmanship contained in the serenade, only one or two of its movements
are occasionally heard in the concert-rooms of the present day, whilst
the composer's later and more difficult orchestral works grow every year
in the favour of the public. The circumstance is to be chiefly explained
by considerations similar to those we have already applied to the first
concerto. When Brahms wrote the work he had not quite passed from his
apprenticeship. Though within sight of mastery, he had not achieved it.
The Serenade in D is a serenade in the character of its ideas, but not
entirely so in the structure of its movements. The instrumental
'serenata' (fair weather), a form which flourished vigorously during the
latter half of the eighteenth century, and was exhibited in its
greatest perfection by Mozart, was especially cultivated in an age when
music was dependent on the patron--the prince or nobleman who kept his
private band, and who delighted himself and his friends by open-air
performances in his park on fine summer nights. It consisted of a longer
or shorter series of movements--a march, an allegro, rondo, one or two
andantes, a couple of minuets, none of them developed to any great
length, and was composed for more or less solo instruments according to
circumstances. Brahms, fascinated by the performances of the Detmold
wind players, probably began his work with the intention of composing a
serenade _pur et simple_; but his interest in the art of thematic
development outran his discretion, and, by over-elaborating one of its
movements, he injured the balance of his composition and introduced into
it a character of complexity foreign to the nature of its form. The
Serenade in D consists of an allegro molto, scherzo, adagio non troppo,
minuets 1 and 2, scherzo, rondo. Some of the six movements, irresistible
from their grace, daintiness, or romance, delight the public when
performed as separate numbers, but the length of the opening movement
and the somewhat mechanical development of its middle section may
perhaps prove in the future, as they have done in the past, obstacles to
the frequent performance of the entire work. Traces of the young
musician's studies are to be found in the well-known reminiscences of
Beethoven and Haydn in the second scherzo.
The serenade, written as an octet and afterwards scored for small
orchestra, was probably rearranged for large orchestra, the form in
which it has become known to the world, in consequence of experience
obtained on this occasion of the first public performance of the work at
Hamburg.
The few years immediately succeeding Brahms' second return from Detmold
must be regarded as forming another turning-point in his career. They
witnessed the close of his _Sturm und Drang_ period and his complete
transformation into a master. They are remarkable not only on account of
the appearance of a number of short choral works which, perfect in
themselves, lead directly to the splendid achievements of later years in
the same domain, to the German Requiem, the Schicksalslied, the
Triumphlied, but they form a period of actual magnificent fruition. To
them is to be referred the inauguration of those chamber-music works of
Brahms which stand in the forefront of the finest compositions of their
kind, and the appearance of a classic for pianoforte unsurpassed by any
other of its form, the Variations and Fugue on a theme by Handel. This
portion of our composer's life belongs especially to his native city.
More than one consideration may have induced him, at the time, seriously
to contemplate the idea of settling permanently in Hamburg, and not the
least potent will have been furnished by his strong patriotic sentiment
and his deeply-rooted family affections. That he was not at once
accepted as a great composer by his fellow-citizens should not be matter
of surprise. It has too often been forgotten by Brahms' partisans that
his development as a creator was not precocious. The list of
Mendelssohn's compositions when he was a boy of sixteen is bewildering
in its length and variety; at the same age the most important of
Johannes' achievements was presumably the set of Variations on a
favourite waltz. Schubert's career was cut short in his thirty-second
year; Mozart died at thirty-five. Brahms at the age of twenty-six had
not completed any large work which can be regarded as entirely
representative of his mature powers, and had introduced but few
compositions either to the public or his friends. There were, however,
those among the musicians of Hamburg who, belonging to the increasing
circle of his personal acquaintances, believed in his creative genius
with the enthusiasm of absolute conviction, and as a pianist, though not
regarded as a phenomenal performer, he was generally accepted as an
artist of first rank.
Brahms' regard for his pupil, Fräulein Friedchen Wagner, had led to his
becoming intimate at her father's house, and here he frequently had
opportunity of hearing some of the compositions and arrangements for
voices which engaged much of his attention. Fräulein Friedchen, her
sister Thusnelda, and the charming Fräulein Bertha Porubszky, from
Vienna, who arrived in Hamburg to stay for a year with her aunt, Frau
Auguste Brandt, were delighted to practise short works in two and three
parts under his direction. Probably he hoped gradually to obtain a
larger number of recruits for his purpose. Before long, however,
accident led to his becoming the conductor of a quite considerable
ladies' choir.
On May 19 the wedding of Pastor Sengelmann and Fräulein Jenny von Ahsen
took place at St. Michael's Church. There was a large gathering of
friends to witness the ceremony. Grädener, already mentioned as a friend
of Brahms, who was an accomplished composer and the director of a
singing school, conducted his pupils in the performance of a motet for
female voices which he had written for the occasion, and Johannes, a
very old acquaintance of the bride, accompanied on the organ. Pleased
with the effect of Grädener's composition, Brahms expressed a wish to
hear his own 'Ave Maria' for female voices with accompaniment for organ,
composed during his second visit to Detmold, under similar conditions of
performance, and with the assistance of Fräulein Friedchen, who exerted
herself to procure the requisite number of voices, a rehearsal was
arranged. On Monday, June 6, twenty-eight ladies assembled at the
Wagners' house, and tried, not only the 'Ave Maria,' afterwards
published as Op. 12, but the 'O bone Jesu' and 'Adoramus,' now known as
Op. 37, Nos. 1 and 2. Brahms was seized with a fit of nervousness whilst
conducting, and Grädener, who was present amongst a few listeners,
stepped forward to the rescue; but a second rehearsal on the following
day went well, and the third trial in church with organ accompaniment
was in every respect highly successful. The practices had been so
enjoyable that, with the concurrence of Grädener, it was arranged that
the ladies, most of whom were pupils of the singing school, should
assemble every Monday morning to practise with Brahms; and the little
society thus founded became a source of delight to all who were
associated with it. The meetings were held during the first season at
the Wagners' house in the Pastorenstrasse; later on they took place at
several members' houses in turn. Each young lady used to sing from a
small oblong manuscript book, into which she copied her parts, and
several of these volumes are still in existence. After the business of
the morning was over, the conductor usually played to his young
disciples and admirers, who soon learned to look upon his performances
as not the least memorable part of the weekly programme. Writing in the
course of the summer to Fräulein von Meysenbug, Brahms says:
'... I am here, and shall probably remain until I go to Detmold.
Some very pleasant pupils detain me, and, strangely enough, a
ladies' society that sings under my direction; till now only what I
compose for it. The clear silver tones please me exceedingly, and
in the church with the organ the ladies' voices sound quite
charming.'[83]
The season closed on September 19 with a performance at St. Peter's
Church before an invited audience. Some of the 'Marienlieder'
(afterwards Op. 22) and the 13th Psalm (Op. 27) were included in the
programme. The members of the choir appeared attired in black to denote
their grief at the approaching departure of their conductor, and sent
him, afterwards, a silver inkstand buried beneath flowers as a mark of
their appreciation of his labours. This Brahms acknowledged from Detmold
in the following official letter to Fräulein Friedchen, his energetic
helper in the founding of the choir:
'DETMOLD, _end of Sept., 1859_.
'ESTEEMED FRÄULEIN,
'Nothing more agreeable than to be so pleasantly obliged to write a
letter as I am now.
'I think constantly of the glad surprise with which I perceived the
inkstand, the remembrance from the ladies' choir, under its
charming covering of flowers.
'I have done so little to deserve it that I should be ashamed were
it not that I hope to write much more for you; and I shall
certainly hear finer tones sounding around me as I look at the
valued and beautiful present on my writing-table. Pray express to
all whom you can reach my hearty greeting and thanks.
'I have seldom had a more agreeable pleasure, and our meetings will
remain one of my most welcome and favourite recollections.
'But not, I hope, till later years!
'With best greetings to you and yours,
'Your
'heartily sincere
'JOHS. BRAHMS.'[84]
That the composer did not forget his maidens during his season at
Detmold appears from another letter to Fräulein Wagner written a couple
of months later:
'_Dec., 1859._
'ESTEEMED FRÄULEIN,
'Here are some new songs for your little singing republic. I hope
they may assist in keeping it together. If I can help towards this
end pray command me.
'Kindest greetings to you and yours.
'Most sincerely,
'JOHS. BRAHMS.'[84]
Acquaintance with the charming circumstances which stimulated Brahms to
the writing of most of his published choruses for women's voices gives
an additional interest to the study of these beautiful compositions,
which undoubtedly take their place amongst the most fascinating works of
their class. Those with sacred texts, all evident fruits of the
composer's studies in the strict style of part-writing, show,
nevertheless, considerable variety of character. The 'Ave Maria,' with
accompaniment for orchestra or organ, Op. 12, first sung by, though not
composed for, the ladies' choir, is animated by a gentle, childlike,
devotional spirit appropriate to a prayer addressed by a group of tender
girls to the Virgin Mother of Christ. The 13th Psalm, with accompaniment
for organ or pianoforte, Op. 27, strikes at once a more solemn note,
with its three opening cries to the Lord; and the mourning plaint of the
writer is reproduced in tones whose fervent pleading is not impaired by
the clear simplicity of style in which the music is conceived. The Three
Sacred Choruses, without accompaniment, Op. 37, are alike beautiful,
whilst varying in character. The 'Adoramus' and 'Regina Coeli' (Nos. 2
and 3), written throughout in canon, are fine examples of learned
facility; and the last-named, the bright 'Regina Coeli,' for soprano and
alto soli and four-part women's chorus, is an entirely captivating
composition.
The secular pieces--the Songs with accompaniment for horns and harp, Op.
17, and the Songs and Romances to be sung _a capella_, Op. 44--though
fairly well known, should be heard oftener than they are. The dainty
charm of such little works as the 'Minnelied' and the 'Barcarole,' to
name only two of the most effective from Op. 44, gives welcome
refreshment in a miscellaneous choral concert, and never fails to
captivate an audience.
In our rapid survey of some of the works which are to be associated with
Brahms' Ladies' Choir, we have only taken account of those that were
actually published in the form required by the nature of the society.
Many settings and arrangements are to be found, in the little oblong
manuscript books, of songs which have become known to the world amongst
the composer's settings for a single voice or for mixed choir; and there
are some there which have never been published. The canons Nos. 1, 2, 8,
10, 11, 12 of Op. 113 were sung at the society's meetings. The 'Regina
Coeli,' on the other hand, was not included in the ladies'
répertoire.[85]
[76] Dr. Georg Fischer's 'Opera und Concerte im Hoftheater zu Hannover
bis 1866.'
[77] The concerto opens with a long-continued roll of drums.
[78] From a letter first published in Max Kalbeck's 'Johannes Brahms,'
vol. i., p. 356.
[79] 'Musikalisches und Literarisches': 'Neuer Brahms Katalog.'
[80] Moser's 'Life of Joachim.'
[81] Brahms' Trio in B major.
[82] First published in Reimann's 'Johannes Brahms.' One of the Princess
Friederike's Christmas presents to Brahms whilst he was her teacher
consisted of the five volumes (1851-1855 inclusive) of the Leipzig
Society's edition of Bach's works issued before he became a subscriber,
and it would appear from the opening of the above-quoted letter that she
made herself responsible for his subscription during the consecutive
seasons of his visits to Detmold. It is interesting to read the traces
of his movements furnished by the subscription list placed at the
commencement of each volume. In 1856 his name appears as belonging to
Düsseldorf; 1857-1864 inclusive, to Hamburg; and from 1865 onwards, to
Vienna.
[83] 'Aus Johannes Brahms' Jugendtagen,' by Hermann Freiherr von
Meysenbug (_Neues Wiener Tagblatt_, May, 1901).
[84] First published, with an account of the Ladies' Choir, in Hübbe's
'Brahms in Hamburg.'
[85] Hübbe.
CHAPTER X
1859-1861
Third season at Detmold--'Ave Maria' and 'Begräbnissgesang'
performed in Hamburg and Göttingen--Second Serenade, first
performed in Hamburg--Lower Rhine Festival--Summer at Bonn--Music
at Herr Kyllmann's--Variations on an original theme first performed
in Leipzig by Frau Schumann--'Marienlieder'--First public
performance of Sextet in B flat in Hanover.
Brahms found himself more than ever in request amongst the general
circle of Detmold society during the autumn of 1859. He had become the
fashion. It was the thing to have lessons from him, and his presence
gave distinction to a gathering. The very circumstance of his
popularity, however, caused some friction between himself and his
acquaintances. He disliked to waste his time, as he considered it, in
mere society, and, when occasionally induced to attend a party against
his will, gave his hosts cause to regret their pertinacity. If not
silent the whole evening, he would amuse himself by exercising his
talent for caustic speech. Carl von Meysenbug, when at home, jealous for
his friend's credit, often called Johannes privately to account for his
perversity, but was always silenced by the unanswerable reply, 'Bah!
that is all humbug!' (Pimpkram).
The young musician's relations with the princely family remained
unclouded, and his musical gifts were, on the whole, fairly appreciated
by the entire court circle, though he was not regarded personally with
unanimous favour by those who did not know him well. Carl's mother, the
Frau Hofmarschall, took a few lessons from him to please her friends at
the castle, and once accepted his offer to play duets with her; but no
subsequent invitation could induce her to repeat this performance. 'The
good fellow should not have behaved as he did that once; I cannot put up
with it,' she wrote to Carl. Something in Brahms' manner--independence,
artistic self-consciousness, or whatever else it may be called--repelled
her; and, in view of the fact that she was not the first person whom he
had offended in a similar way, since the time when he had visited as a
youth at the Japhas' house in Hamburg, it may fairly be assumed that Her
Excellency had justifiable grounds for the reserved attitude she
maintained towards him.
It is, indeed, certain that Brahms, during his third season at Detmold,
began to grow impatient of his position there. His lessons to the
Princess, who was really musical and made rapid progress, continued to
give him genuine pleasure, but he chafed at the constant demands on his
time arising from his fixed duties, and the rigid etiquette observed at
the Court of a very small capital gave him a distaste for his work as
conductor of the choral society. The circle of Serene Highnesses,
Excellencies, and their friends, did not furnish sufficient voices for
the adequate rendering of two or three oratorios and cantatas by Handel
and Bach which he selected for practice during his second and third
seasons; and, with Prince Leopold's permission, he supplemented them by
persuading some of the towns-people to become members. His sense of the
ridiculous was strongly excited by the rules of conduct prescribed for
these not very willing assistants, who were not even permitted to make
an obeisance to the Serenities, and scarcely ventured to lift their eyes
from the music whilst in their august presence. There were some good
performances of great works, however, and Bach's cantata 'Ich hatte viel
Bekümmerniss' was given four times; but the difficulty of procuring
tenors continued serious, and the entire circumstances of the meetings
made Brahms feel increasing desire to be relieved from the necessity of
attending them.
To this season is to be referred the first private performance of one of
those of Brahms' great works which have made his name not only famous,
but popular. The Quartet in G minor for pianoforte and strings, destined
to become one of the most familiar of the master's achievements, was
tried by the composer, Bargheer, Schulze, and Schmidt, though not
altogether as it now appears. The complaint made by the young composer's
colleagues at Detmold, that his string passages were often ungrateful
and sometimes unplayable, was not unfounded. Brahms, like everyone else,
had to buy exact technical knowledge with experience, and the quartet
was considerably altered before its final completion. Essentially,
however, the work dates from the Detmold period, and the conception of
the finale is to be associated with the sudden visit of Joachim, with
his Hungarian Concerto, in the autumn of 1858. Of this movement, the
magnificent 'Rondo alla Zingarese,' Joachim declared in generous
triumph, comparing it with the last movement of his own composition,
that Brahms had beaten him on his own ground. It is not the business of
our pages either to endorse or contradict this statement, but it may be
permissible once again to remind the reader that the increasing
perfection of Brahms' instrumental works of the period was in no small
degree furthered by the invaluable criticism and self-forgetting
sympathy of his friend.
The programmes of the court concerts of the season included the D major
Serenade; the 'Ave Maria,' sung by the ladies of the choral society; and
the Begräbnissgesang, for mixed chorus and wind instruments (Op. 13).
It is strange that this fine work, composed to a sixteenth-century text
by Michael Weisse, the editor of the earliest German church hymn-book,
is not more generally known. Like all Brahms' sacred compositions of the
time, it gives evidence of the strong impression he had derived from his
exhaustive study of the medieval church composers; and the music,
austere in its simplicity, is characterized by uncompromising fidelity
to the almost grimly severe spirit of the words. Too grave to be in
place in an ordinary miscellaneous programme, it is well adapted for
performance at a Good Friday concert or as a church anthem in Passion
Week. It was performed together with the 'Ave Maria,' both for the first
time in public, at Grädener's Academy concert of December 2, and Brahms,
who obtained leave to go to Hamburg for the occasion, appeared the same
evening with Schumann's Pianoforte Concerto.
The manuscripts were sent immediately afterwards to Göttingen for
practice by Grimm's choral society, of which Carl von Meysenbug was an
enthusiastic member.
'As Grimm was distributing the parts of the "Ave Maria" and the
"Begräbnissgesang" at one of the practices,' says the Freiherr von
Meysenbug, 'my neighbour, a glib University student with the
experience of several terms behind him, said to me in a surprised
tone: "Brahms! who is that?" "Oh, some old ecclesiastic of
Palestrina's time," I replied--a piece of information which he
accepted and passed on.'
The compositions were given under Grimm's direction at the society's
concert of January 19, 1860. There is little doubt that Philipp Spitta,
author of the exhaustive biography of Sebastian Bach, whose essay 'Zur
Musik' should be read by all earnest students of Brahms' music, took
part in the performance of the Begräbnissgesang. His friendship with our
composer dates from this period when he was a student of the Göttingen
University and one of the intimates of Grimm's circle.
It will be convenient to add here that the invitation to revisit Detmold
on the same terms as before was finally refused by Brahms in a letter to
the Hofmarschall dated from Hamburg, August, 1860:
'After renewed consideration, I must beg to express to His Serene
Highness the Prince my regret that I shall not be able to visit
Detmold in the winter. I have to add to the causes of this decision
which I have already had the honour to communicate, that I shall be
much occupied this autumn with the publication of my works, with
revising the proofs of some, and preparing others for the engraver.
On this account alone, therefore, I must decide to stay here during
the winter. I particularly desire to express my regret to the
Princess Friederike that I shall be unable to enjoy her progress
in playing and her great sympathy for music....'[86]
The post of conductor to the court orchestra, which became vacant on
Kiel's retirement with a pension in 1864, and which might probably under
other circumstances have been offered for the acceptance or refusal of
Brahms, passed to Bargheer, who retained it until 1876, when Prince
Leopold's death put an end to the musical activity of Detmold.
Brahms' interest in the orchestra had been by no means even temporarily
satisfied by the writing of the works of which we have recorded the
performances. The first serenade was not completed before he had
sketched a second, the finished manuscript of which he carried with him
on his departure from Detmold early in January, 1860. Separated longer
than ever from Joachim, whose successes in England, Scotland, and
Ireland detained him until nearly the end of the year 1859, Johannes now
went to see his dearest friend, and during his stay at Hanover heard a
private trial of the new Serenade for small Orchestra (wind, violas,
'celli, and basses). The work was performed for the first time in public
at the Hamburg Philharmonic concert of February 10. On the same occasion
Joachim transported the audience by his performances of Beethoven's
Concerto and Tartini's 'Trillo del Diavolo,' and Johannes had a great
success as pianist with Schumann's Concerto.
The second serenade was considered easier to understand than its elder
sister, and was received with comparative favour, though not with
enthusiasm. To the ears of the present generation the work appears
limpidly clear, and it is difficult to realize that it was ever
accounted otherwise. In it we have a chef-d'oeuvre which displays our
musician passed finally from his transition stage and standing out
clearly as a master in definite possession both of aim and method.
Unmistakably he has taken his footing on the basis of tradition, and
creates with the freedom of self-control within the forms consecrated by
the works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, no longer betrayed by
immaturity into anything that could be misconstrued as the intentional
discursiveness of rhapsody. The work is impregnated with a breath as
fragrant as the spirit of Schubert's muse, and, though perhaps not fully
representative of the very powerful individuality now associated with
the name of Brahms, bears the distinct impress of his mind, and could
have been written by no other composer. Each of the five movements is a
gem of the first water. Each has a character of its own, which yet
combines with every other to make the serenade a perfect example of a
developed form of garden music, night music. Graceful romance, tender
playfulness, lively frolic, just the stirring of the deeper emotions,
all the gentler phases of poetic sentiment, are suggested in turn by its
lovely melodies.
[Music: etc.]
Why is this masterpiece so seldom heard?
Appropriately called a serenade from the character of its ideas, and
even from the structure of its movements, which, whilst fully developed,
are all quite clear, balanced and symmetrical each in itself and as part
of a whole, and indicate the composer's perfect fulfilment of his
intention, the length of the work again approaches that of a symphony.
It must be borne in mind that to a general audience the name 'serenade'
as applied to instrumental music does not now suggest any particular
class of composition, the times and customs which produced this form
having long since passed away; whilst it is customary to associate with
the word 'symphony' a suggestion of the more strenuous emotions of human
existence. Thus, the ordinary concert-goer who listens to Brahms' work
is puzzled as to what he ought to expect, and his uncertainty interferes
with his enjoyment.
Another drawback, under modern concert conditions, to the general
appreciation of the beautiful Serenade in A major is the absence of
violins from the score. It hardly needs pointing out that the, so to
say, muted tone of the combination of instruments employed by the
composer would be ideal in the surroundings proper to the performance of
the 'serenade' as originally so called--palpitating summer heat,
deep-blue, starlit sky, flitting to and fro of gallant and graceful
forms--but in the prosaic atmosphere of a modern concert-room the bright
tone of the violins cannot, perhaps, be safely dispensed with throughout
the length of so long a work. It consists of an allegro moderato,
scherzo, quasi minuetto with trio, rondo. It may still be hoped,
however, that the serenade may be revived, and may take its place in the
répertoire of our concert societies.
We have lingered so long over the two serenades that a bare mention must
suffice of the performance of the first in D major--the first
performance in the second and final rearrangement of the score--at the
Hanover subscription concert of March 3 under Joachim's direction, nor
need we dwell upon the fact that it was received with indifference by
audience and critics. It is time to glance again at the party conflicts
of the day, and especially to note the activity of the disciples of
Weimar, whose partisanship, as the reader may remember, had been
stimulated to violence by the candid admissions of Joachim's letter to
Liszt quoted on p. 212.
'In the _Grenzboten_,' says Moser,[87] 'Otto Jahn, the biographer
of Mozart, led the cause of the conservative party and of those
musicians whose creative art was rooted in classical tradition. In
the opposite camp, Brendel, with a staff of like-minded colleagues,
represented in the _Neue Zeitschrift_ the principles of radical
progress, and extolled Liszt as the Mozart of his time, in whose
works were united the efforts and results of all art epochs from
the day of Palestrina. Liszt's cause and the Wagner question were
treated as almost inseparable, and from this time dates the
unfortunate influence of the "Wagnerians," who, in Raff's words,
damaged rather than helped their master's cause.'
To put the matter, so far as our narrative is concerned with it, as
shortly as possible, Brahms, who had been longing to enter the fray as
an active combatant, now induced Joachim to join him in drawing up a
manifesto for signature by musicians of their way of thinking, and
subsequent publication. An obstacle to the fulfilment of the plan
presented itself in the impossibility of obtaining unanimity of opinion
as to the suitable wording of the document, and part of the difficulty
seems to have arisen from Brahms' desire to differentiate between the
works of Berlioz and Wagner on the one hand, and Liszt's 'productions'
on the other. Before these preliminaries had been satisfactorily
arranged, however, accident settled the matter. By a mischance that has
never been explained, a version of the manifesto which was presumably
going round for signature found its way, with only four names attached,
into the _Echo_, a journal of Berlin. It ran as follows:
'The undersigned have long followed with regret the proceedings of
a certain party whose organ is Brendel's _Zeitschrift für Musik_.
The said _Zeitschrift_ unceasingly promulgates the theory that the
most prominent striving musicians are in accord with the aims
represented in its pages, that they recognise in the compositions
of the leaders of the new school works of artistic value, and that
the contention for and against the so-called Music of the Future
has been finally fought out, especially in North Germany, and
decided in its favour. The undersigned regard it as their duty to
protest against such a distortion of fact, and declare, at least
for their own part, that they do not acknowledge the principles
avowed by the _Zeitschrift_, and that they can only lament and
condemn the productions of the leaders and pupils of the so-called
New-German school, which on the one hand apply those principles
practically, and on the other necessitate the constant setting up
of new and unheard-of theories which are contrary to the very
nature of music.
'JOHANNES BRAHMS.
'JULIUS OTTO GRIMM.
'JOSEPH JOACHIM.
'BERNHARD SCHOLZ.'
A few days later the answer appeared in the _Zeitschrift_ of May 4, in
the shape of a parody written, not in a very formidable style of wit, by
C. T. Weitzmann:
'DREAD MR. EDITOR,
'All is _out_!----I learn that a political coup has been carried
_out_, the entire new world rooted _out_ stump and branch, and
Weimar and Leipzig, especially, struck _out_ of the musical map of
the world. To compass this end, a widely _out_reaching letter was
thought _out_ and sent _out_ to the chosen-_out_ faithful of all
lands, in which strongly _out_spoken protest was made against the
increasing epidemic of the Music of the Future. Amongst the select
of the _out_-worthies [paragons] are to be reckoned several
_out_siders whose names, however, the modern historian of art has
not been able to find _out_. Nevertheless, should the avalanche of
signatures widen _out_ sufficiently, the storm will break _out_
suddenly. Although the strictest secrecy has been enjoined upon the
chosen-_out_ by the hatchers-_out_ of this musico-tragic
_out_-and-_out_er, I have succeeded in obtaining sight of the
original, and I am glad, dread Mr. Editor, to be able to
communicate to you, in what follows, the contents of this aptly
conceived state paper--I remain, yours most truly,
'CROSSING-SWEEPER.'
'PUBLIC PROTEST.
'The undersigned desire to play first fiddle for once, and
therefore protest against everything which stands in the way of
their coming aloft, including, especially, the increasing influence
of the musical tendency described by Dr. Brendel as the New-German
school, and in short against the whole spirit of the new music.
After the annihilation of these, to them very unpleasant things,
they offer to all who are of their own mind the immediate prospect
of a brotherly association for the advancement of monotonous and
tiresome music.
'(Signed) J. FIDDLER.
'HANS NEWPATH.
'SLIPPERMAN.
'PACKE.
'DICK TOM AND HARRY.
'Office of the Music of the Future.'
Bülow, writing from Berlin to Dräseke, says:
'The manifesto of the Hanoverians has not made the least sensation
here. They have not even sufficient wit mixed with their malice to
have done the thing in good style, and to have launched it at a
well-chosen time, such as the beginning or end of the season.'
It must be said here that Brendel was sincere in his views, whether or
not they commend themselves to us, and that he had an exceptional power
of appreciating the ideas put forth by the leaders of the new school.
Equally certain is it that the antipathy felt by Joachim and Brahms for
Liszt's compositions proceeded from no feeling of malice or personal
animosity, but from the most sincere conviction. Joachim's confession to
Liszt had been wrung from him by the necessity of escape from a false
position. The extraordinary importance attached by the musical parties
of the day to his alliance is well illustrated by Wagner's bitter words:
'With the defection of a hitherto warm friend, a great violinist,
the violent agitation broke out against the generous Franz Liszt
that prepared for him, at length, the disappointment and
embitterment which caused him to abandon his endeavours to
establish Weimar as a town devoted to the furtherance of
music.'[88]
The baselessness, and even folly, of such a statement is self-evident.
With regard to Brahms particularly, though such works as Liszt's
Symphonic Poems and Dante Symphony were abominations to him, he always
cherished a profound respect for the music of Wagner, even though the
principles underlying its composition were not those of his own artistic
faith. His allegiance, like that of Joachim, was wholly given to the
masters of classical art, to whom he had paid homage from childhood, and
it was one of the ironies of fate that he should have been widely
supposed, during many years, to belong to the New-German party, and that
he was handled more tenderly by the _Zeitschrift_ than the _Signale_. By
Brendel himself, indeed, who from the year 1859 onwards worked
earnestly to effect a reconciliation between the contending musical
parties, Schumann's young hero was treated fairly, and even generously,
and a steady Brahms propaganda was practised in years to come by the
fraternity of the Allgemeiner Deutscher Musikverein, a society founded
by Brendel in 1861 for the furtherance of his pacific aim.
Our composer, who had been betrayed into polemic partly by loyalty to
his convictions and partly by his exuberant vitality, was not by
temperament a party man any more than his friend, and was to be removed
before very long from the immediate scene of party strife. For the
future he took the wiser course of holding himself aloof from the
contentions of the day, issuing no other manifestoes than such as were
constituted by his works, and never allowing himself to be tempted into
answering the many printed attacks that were levelled at him. Henceforth
he lived his life, and wrote his works, and followed his faith, leaving
the question of the false or the true to the decision of time. Who shall
yet say what will be the final judgment of this supreme arbiter of all
such matters?
Johannes was again settled in his parents' home during the spring of
1860, but his thoughts were busy with many plans for the future. He
longed to extend his travels, and the desire to see Vienna was stirring
forcibly within him. He played his Concerto and some numbers of
Schumann's Kreisleriana at Otten's concert of April 20; but the concerto
was very badly accompanied, and once more proved a complete failure. The
critic of the _Nachrichten_ confesses his inability to understand the
work, 'which is recognised so warmly by the musicians of the newest
tendency,' and elects to say nothing about it.
The young musician's greatest pleasure was derived from his singing
society of girls, who resumed with ardour their practices under his
direction. He placed it this season on a more formal footing by drawing
up a set of rules, signature to which was made a condition of
membership. The document, headed 'Avertimento,' is playfully worded in a
bygone style of formality, and after a short prelude, in which is set
forth, amongst other things, that the practices are to be held only
during spring and summer, five laws are laid down, the first two of
which enjoin punctual attendance.
'Pro primo, it is to be remarked that the members of the Ladies'
Choir must be _there_.
'By which is to be understood that they must oblige themselves to
be _there_.
'Pro secundo, it is to be observed that the members of the Ladies'
Choir must be there.
'By which is meant, they must be there precisely at the appointed
time....'
Absentees and late-comers were to be fined in various amounts, according
to various degrees of delinquency, and the money collected given to
'begging people,' 'and it is to be desired that it may surfeit no one.'
The fourth rule relates to the careful preservation of the music
entrusted to the care of the 'virtuous and honourable ladies,' which was
not to be used outside the society, and the fifth, to the admission of
listeners under conditions. The whole concludes:
'I remain in deepest devotion
and veneration of the Ladies' Choir their most assiduous
ready-writer and steady time-beater
'JOHANNES KREISLER JUN.
(_alias_ BRAHMS).
'Given on Monday,
'The 30th of the month of April,
A.D. 1860.'
The signatures, or most of them, must have been added after this date,
for amongst them is that of Frau Schumann, who paid a visit to Hamburg
at about this time certainly, but not in April. She arrived on May 6
with Fräulein Marie Schumann, who was from an early age her mother's
constant and devoted travelling companion, and, residing at the Hôtel
Petersburg, attended the practices of the choir during her nearly three
weeks' stay. We shall have occasion to mention the name of the great
artist more than once again in interesting connexion with the sisterhood
of singers, who were not a little proud of the right given them, by her
signature, to claim her as an honorary colleague.[89]
Notwithstanding the stringent rules as to punctuality of attendance
inserted in this formal document, the meetings were seriously
interrupted during the season, and by the absence of no less a person
than the director himself. Johannes could in no case, especially in his
present restless mood, have remained away from the Rhine Festival of the
year (Düsseldorf, May 27-29). Schumann's B flat Symphony was to be
performed, Hiller to conduct, Joachim to play the Hungarian Concerto and
a Beethoven Romance, and Stockhausen to sing selections by Boieldieu,
Schubert, Schumann, and Hiller. Frau Schumann was to attend the
concerts, and expected to meet many intimate friends at Düsseldorf,
amongst them being Dietrich and his bride, a lady long known to the
circle as Clara Sohn, daughter of the painter and professor at the Art
Academy. Brahms therefore accompanied Frau Schumann and her daughter
when they left Hamburg for Düsseldorf on May 24, and the occasion of the
festival proved no less enjoyable than those similar ones which have
been referred to in our pages. A new feature at one or more of the
private reunions that took place in the intervals of the concerts was
the singing of quartets, under Brahms' direction, by four members of the
Ladies' Choir who had come to the Festival: the sisters Fräulein Betty
and Fräulein Marie Völckers, Fräulein Laura Garbe, and--Frau Schumann
herself. She, indeed, it was who proposed to her hostess, Fräulein
Leser, that the Dietrichs, Joachim, Stockhausen, and a few others,
should be invited to listen to what proved a delightful performance.
Under the circumstances, it cannot be regarded as surprising that Brahms
did not immediately return to Hamburg after the festival, but made one
of a party that proceeded to Bonn, where he remained with his companions
till towards the middle of July.
'The spring had set in gloriously,' says Dietrich, who, as the
reader will remember, had been settled for some years in the city.
'There is something enchanting in such a spring on the Rhine. The
pink blossoming woods of fruit-trees, the numerous whitethorn
hedges on the banks of the river, the voices of nightingales in the
light, warm nights, the fine outlines of the Siebengebirge in the
distance; what excursions we were induced to make! It was a happy,
sunny time, rich also in artistic enjoyment.
'For Brahms, after six years' long silence, had brought with him a
number of splendid compositions. There were the two serenades, the
Ave Maria, the Begräbnissgesang, Songs and Romances, and the
Concerto in D minor.
'He had employed his retirement in the most earnest studies; he had
composed, amongst other things, a Mass in canon form, which,
however, has not been printed.
'We met frequently at the Kyllmanns' hospitable and artistic house
for performances of chamber music and the enjoyment of
Stockhausen's splendid singing.
'The artists came also often and gladly to our young home, and
before we parted they were present with us at the baptism of our
first child. Brahms, Joachim, and Heinrich von Sahr were the
sponsors.'[90]
Herr Kyllmann's house in Coblenzstrasse, with its beautiful garden
situated on the Rhine bank and commanding a view of the Siebengebirge,
was the scene of many noteworthy reunions that gave equal pleasure to
the famous guests and the art-loving, art-appreciating family, who were
proud to entertain them. One party which took place early in June,
during the week that Frau Schumann was able to remain amongst her
friends, must be recorded in detail, for the musical performances
included a string quartet played by Joachim, David, Otto von Königslow
(for many years concertmeister of the Gürzenich subscription concerts,
Cologne), and the excellent 'cellist Christian Reimers; Schumann's
Quintet, by the same artists, with Frau Schumann as pianist; and songs
sung by Stockhausen to Frau Schumann's accompaniment--amongst them
'Mondnacht' and 'Frühlingsnacht.' Otto Jahn, who was, of course, present
to enjoy the music, brought with him his friend Dr. Becker, just arrived
from England on his resignation of his post of private secretary to the
Prince Consort, and Brahms must be counted with them amongst the
listeners. He retired to the sofa of an inner drawing-room, and was not
to be induced to perform, though Frau Schumann herself came to request
him to do so, and Joachim followed with his persuasive 'Oh, Johannes, do
play!' Johannes, as is abundantly evident, was no diplomatist. He often
felt it easier to know himself misunderstood than to overcome his
nervous shrinking from the ordeal of sitting down to play before a mixed
party of listeners.
The nearly two months passed at Bonn, during which Johannes and Joachim
lodged respectively at 29 and 27, Meckenheimerstrasse, proved of
importance in Brahms' career. It was at this time that he made the
acquaintance of Herr Fritz Simrock, a young man about his own age,
junior partner in the well-known publishing house of N. Simrock at Bonn,
and destined, as the later head of the firm after the removal to Berlin,
to usher into the world the great majority of the composer's works.
Between Fritz Simrock and Brahms a cordial understanding gradually
established itself; the publisher's dealings with the musician were from
the first considerate and generous, and when Brahms' fortunes became
flourishing, it was Simrock who was his confidant and adviser in
business matters. As an earnest of the future, the Serenade in A, Op.
16, was published by the firm before the close of the year, the Serenade
in D, Op. 11, being issued in the autumn by Breitkopf and Härtel. The
Pianoforte Concerto, refused by this firm, was accepted by
Rieter-Biedermann, together with the 'Ave Maria,' Begräbnissgesang, and
the Lieder und Romanzen (Op. 14), all of which were published the
following year.[91]
'I am very glad to see Johannes' things in print before me at
last,' wrote Joachim to Avé Lallement. 'Now the _Signale_ and other
superficial papers may abuse them as they please. We have done
right. They will continue to smile on with their beautiful motifs
long after the clumsy fault-finders have been silenced.'
The meetings of the ladies' choral society were recommenced on Brahms'
return to Hamburg in July. Fräulein Porubszky, with whom he had been on
terms of lively friendship during her year of membership, which had seen
him a frequent visitor at her aunt's house in the Bockmannstrasse, had
now returned to Vienna, where the reader will presently renew her
acquaintance as Frau Faber. The members of the choir were, however, one
and all thoroughgoing admirers of their conductor, and amongst the
houses open for the holding of the practices, two at which he became
intimate, must be particularly mentioned--those of Herr Völckers and his
two daughters at Hamm, and of the Hallier family at Eppendorf, both at
that time almost in the country.
The large Eppendorf garden was the scene of many a pleasant gathering of
the singers; now and again they performed there before an invited
audience of friends. Hübbe tells of an open-air evening party, with an
illumination, vocal contributions by the choir, which were conducted by
the director from the branch of a tree, and fireworks in the intervals.
The Halliers lived in town during the winter, and Brahms often dropped
in to their informal Wednesday evenings, which were attended by the
artists and art-lovers of Hamburg. He was good-natured about playing in
this familiar, sociable circle, and would perform one thing after
another, unless particularly interested in conversation, when no
entreaty could get him to the piano. As his Detmold friends had found
out, he formed definite opinions on most current topics of interest, and
did not hesitate to avow them, or to confess the unorthodoxy of his
religious views. He went constantly also to Avé Lallement's house, where
a few men used to meet regularly to read Shakespeare and other authors,
and found time to attend lectures on art history and to study Latin
under Dr. Emil Hallier, and history under Professor Ægidi of the
Academic Gymnasium.
The autumn of this year was signalized by the appearance of a new and
very great work--the String Sextet in B flat--the first of Brahms'
important compositions to attain general popularity. Joachim was its
sponsor, producing it at his Quartet concert at Hanover of October 20;
and it was partly owing to his enthusiastic appreciation that the
composition was so quickly and widely received into public favour.
It would be beside the mark to discuss, in a narrative which has no
technical aim, the musical characteristics of a work that has become so
entirely familiar as this one, which has long since taken its place
among the few classics that attract an audience on their own merits,
apart from the consideration of whether a public favourite is to lead
their performance. It may, however, be remarked that the String Sextet
in B flat is a work to which neither 'if' nor 'but' can be attached.
Both in beauty and variety of idea and in spontaneous clearness of
development, it is without flaw, and these qualities combine with the
fineness of its proportions, perfectly conceived and perfectly wrought
out, to place it with few rivals amongst the greatest examples of
chamber music. Fresh, happy, and ingenuous, the mastery it displays over
the art which conceals art may be compared with that of Mozart himself.
With it opens the great series of works of its class which reveals the
powerful individuality of Brahms in all its moods, and includes the
first and second Pianoforte Quartets, the Pianoforte Quintet, the second
String Sextet, and the Horn Trio--works which, in the author's opinion,
were not surpassed even during later periods of the composer's
magnificent activity in this domain.
Frau Schumann, Joachim, and Johannes met in November at Leipzig, the two
last-named artists to assist actively on the 26th of the month at the
annual Pension-Fund concert of the Gewandhaus, which was given under the
direction of Carl Reinecke, the lately appointed successor to Julius
Rietz. Both Johannes and Joachim appeared as composers--Brahms with the
second Serenade, Joachim with the Hungarian Concerto--and each conducted
the other's work. Their own artistic conscience, with each other's and
Frau Schumann's approval, and perhaps that of a few other friends, was
their best reward. The audience was cold; the daily press left the
concert unmentioned; the _Zeitschrift_ dismissed it with a few dubious
sentences--perhaps not ungenerous treatment under the circumstances--and
the _Signale_, candid as ever, declared the serenade to be a terribly
monotonous work which showed the composer's poverty of invention,
together with his despairing attempts to appear learned. Joachim's
concerto was pronounced decidedly richer in invention than his friend's
work, but rather monotonous also, and certainly very much too long.
Frau Schumann, nothing dismayed by these remarks, introduced at
her concert of December 8, given in the small hall of the Gewandhaus,
the very beautiful Variations on an original theme, which, though
hardly suitable for general concert performance, should be much
better known than they are. They show the composer in one of his
Bach-Beethoven-Brahms moods, by which is here meant his learned and
profoundly serious vein touched with exquisite tenderness. The theme, in
three-four time, has about it, nevertheless, something of the pace of a
grave march, and the opening variations are tender reflections on a
solemn idea. In the eighth and ninth we have the imposing tramp of pomp,
whilst the eleventh and last breathes forth tones of mysterious
spirituality which subdue the mind of the listener as to some passing
divine influence.
These Variations together with the earlier set on a Hungarian melody,
and the three Duets for Soprano and Contralto, Op. 20, were published by
Simrock in 1861.
The fact that Brahms' sextet was placed in the programme of the
Hafner-Lee concert announced for January 4 affords evidence that the
composer was gradually penetrating with his works to the heart of
musical life in his native city, though he may not have enjoyed the
particular favour of its public. The Quartet-Entertainments of these
artists were among the regularly recurring artistic events of Hamburg,
and enjoyed unfailing support. Hafner, a Viennese by birth and a
Schubert enthusiast, had found a second home in the northern city, and
was accounted its first violinist; and in the 'cellist Lee he had a
sympathetic colleague. He was not, however, destined to lead the sextet.
His sudden illness caused the postponement of the concert, and his death
followed. The work was played in Hamburg from the manuscript by his
successor in the enterprise, John Böie, with Honroth, Breyther, Kayser,
Wiemann, and Lee, and with immediate success. The impression made was so
great that the work was repeated three times within the following few
weeks by the same concert-party.
[86] 'Aus Brahms' Jugendtagen.' See footnote on p. 205.
[87] 'Joseph Joachim,' p. 154.
[88] Reprint of Wagner's pamphlet 'Das Judenthum in der Musik.'
[89] The rules, first published by Professor Walter Hübbe in his 'Brahms
in Hamburg,' are given entire in the original German in Appendix No.
III.
[90] This pleasant description is given entire, as containing a
substantially accurate account of Brahms' artistic progress, though
Dietrich, writing after the lapse of many years, has overlooked the fact
that the works referred to had already been performed in public from the
manuscripts.
[91] A revised edition of the second serenade was published by Simrock
in 1875.
CHAPTER XI
1861-1862
Concert season in Hamburg--Frau Denninghoff-Giesemann--Brahms at
Hamm--Herr Völckers and his daughters--Dietrich's visit to
Brahms--Music at the Halliers' and Wagners'--First public
performance of the G minor Quartet--Brahms at Oldenburg--Second
Serenade performed in New York--The first and second Pianoforte
Quartets--'Magelone Romances'--First public performances of the
Handel Variations and Fugue in Hamburg and Leipzig by Frau
Schumann--Brahms' departure for Vienna.
Frau Schumann, Joachim, and Stockhausen visited Hamburg repeatedly
during the year 1861, and all made much of Johannes. Both Joachim and
Brahms assisted at Frau Schumann's concert of January 15. Brahms took
part in the performance of Schumann's beautiful Andante and Variations
for two pianofortes, and conducted the Ladies' Choir, to the great
delight of the members, in their singing of several of his part-songs.
The first part of the programme included 'Es tönt ein voller
Harfenklang,' 'Komm herbei Tod,' and 'Der Gärtner,' from the set with
horns and harp accompaniment, Op. 17; the second part the 'Minnelied'
and 'Der Bräutigam' (from Op. 44) and 'Song from Fingal' (from Op.
17)--all performed from manuscript. On the 22nd of the month Frau
Schumann and Brahms appeared together at a concert in the Logensaal
Valentinskamp, with Bach's C major Concerto and Mozart's Sonata, both
for two pianofortes.
[Illustration: BRAHMS AND STOCKHAUSEN, 1868.]
Frau Schumann and her daughter Marie were, during this somewhat
prolonged visit, the guests of the Halliers, who understood the
necessities involved by the strain of the great artist's arduous
life, and allowed her perfect freedom of action. Johannes visited his
old friend every day, dining privately with her and her daughter at an
hour that suited their convenience; and on a few free evenings there was
glorious music in the Halliers' drawing-room before a few intimate
acquaintances.
On March 8 Brahms played Beethoven's triple Concerto with David and
Davidoff at the Philharmonic concert, and a few weeks later the
Begräbnissgesang was performed under his direction at a Hafner memorial
concert arranged by Grädener, and made a profound impression.
'The composer has realized the solemn spirit of mourning with
extraordinary insight. As part of a funeral ceremony, the effect of
the work would be quite overpowering,' wrote one of the critics.
Joachim and Stockhausen came in April for the Philharmonic concert of
the 16th, and the brilliant season closed with Stockhausen's and Brahms'
soirées on the 19th, 27th, and 30th of the month. At the first two
concerts, at Hamburg and Altona respectively, the entire series of
Schubert's 'Schöne Müllerin' was given; and at the last--who can imagine
a more enthralling feast of sound than the performance of Beethoven's
melting love-songs, 'To the Distant Beloved,' the very thought of which
brings tears to the eyes, sung by Stockhausen to the accompaniment of
Brahms, followed by our composer's lovely second Serenade, and this by
Schumann's 'Poet's Love-Songs'? Happy Hamburgers, happy Stockhausen,
happy Brahms, to have shared such delights together! Will their like
ever come again? Strangely enough, they lead in the course of our story,
as by natural transition, to the record of a visit paid to Brahms in the
second week of July by a very early friend of his and of the reader.
Lischen Giesemann had not met her old playmate since she had bidden him
God-speed at the commencement of his concert-journey with Rémenyi early
in 1853. During the years immediately following what proved to be his
final departure from Winsen, she had occasionally visited her dear
'aunt' Brahms, but, never finding Johannes at home, had been obliged to
content herself by rejoicing with his mother over the letters he
constantly sent to his parents from Düsseldorf, Hanover, etc. She was
now a happy newly-married wife, but the memory of the old child-life
remained like the warmth of sunshine in her heart, and having
ascertained that her now celebrated hero was living at home again, she
determined to go with her husband to see him. As ill-luck would have it,
Johannes had gone out for the day when Herr and Frau Denninghoff made
their call in the Fuhlentwiethe, but his mother, overjoyed to see her
young friend again after a long separation, offered such consolation as
was in her power by showing her his room. How many remembrances crowded
upon Lischen's mind as she entered it! The practices with Reményi, the
teacher's choral society, the dances at Hoopte, the story of the
beautiful Magelone and her knight Peter. Lischen found herself standing
near the piano--and what did she see there? Some manuscript songs,
apparently newly composed, stood on the music-desk, which bore the name
of the beautiful Magelone herself in Brahms' handwriting! It almost
seemed like a waking dream to the young wife, and the manuscript
appeared to her as a link by which the past would be carried into the
future. Nor was she mistaken. Brahms' 'Magelone Romances' have become
world-famous, and wherever they are heard the delight which stirred the
heart of the youthful Johannes as he and Lischen sat together in the
pleasant Winsen fields eagerly devouring the old story from Aaron
Löwenherz's purloined volume lives also. Lischen was not again to meet
her old friend, but she never forgot either him or his music, and he,
too, kept a faithful memory for the old pleasant time. Writing to her
twenty years later, when at the height of his fame, he said:
'The remembrance of your parents' house is one of the dearest that
I possess; all the kindness and love that were shown me, all the
youthful pleasure and happiness that I enjoyed there, live secure
in my heart with the image of your good father and the glad,
grateful memory of you all.'
Lischen's daughter inherited her mother's voice, and was endowed with
fine musical gifts; and when Agnes came to the right age, Frau
Denninghoff sent her to be trained as a singer at the Royal Music School
of Berlin, of which, as everyone knows, Joachim has been director since
its foundation. Joachim invited Agnes to his house one evening to meet
Brahms, who, coming forward to greet her, said it was as though her
mother were again standing before him. He sent her a selection of his
songs, and in due time she became a distinguished singer, appearing in
public under a pseudonym, and the wife of a famous musician.
Lischen saw only the first four numbers of the 'Magelone' song-cycle,
which had, by a strange coincidence, just been completed at the time of
her visit; the fifth and sixth were not composed until May, 1862.[92]
These six songs were published by Rieter-Biedermann in 1865, with the
title 'Romanzen aus L. Tieck's Magelone' and a dedication to
Stockhausen; and there can be no doubt that the immediate incitement to
their composition is to be traced to our composer's association with
this great singer in the performance of the song-cycles of Beethoven,
Schubert, and Schumann. The remaining nine songs of Brahms' series were
not published until 1868, and the exact date of their composition has
not been ascertained.
'I am living most delightfully in the country, half an hour from
town,' wrote Brahms, pressing Dietrich to pay him a visit; 'you
would be surprised to find how pleasantly one can live here.
Perhaps I can take you in, and at any rate my room at my parents'
in Hamburg is quite at your service. In short, I hope you will be
comfortable.'
He was established for the summer at Hamm in the pleasant country house
of Frau Dr. Rösing, aunt of the two girls, the Fräulein Betty and Marie
Völckers, already mentioned as members of the choir. Here a large airy
room with a balcony, on the first floor, had been allotted him, that had
been the billiard-room of the house when it was inhabited by Herr
Völckers and his family. This gentleman now lived next door with his
two daughters in a charming old-fashioned habitation built,
cottage-wise, with a thatched roof and but two floors, and possessing a
spacious apartment on the ground-floor that was particularly well
adapted for the choir practices. Both houses had pleasant gardens
separated only by a green hedge, and close by, the spreading branches of
fine old trees provided shelter for the many nightingales that built
their nests in the quiet spot. Brahms' room was cheerful for a
considerable part of the day, with the sunlight that shone through the
outside greenery and the tinted panes of the open windows, and in it he
could enjoy his favourite early morning hours of work with the added
relish of feeling that they were but the prelude to days of quiet
refreshment. He was intimate with all the branches of his hostess's
family, from Herr Völckers, who had been a good public singer of his
day, down to his gifted little granddaughter Minna (now Mrs. Edward
Stone), one of the young composer's very favourite and most devoted
pianoforte pupils; and that he passed a considerable portion of his time
this summer in the society of the two girls next door--Betty and Marie
Völckers--will astonish none of our readers. He went in and out their
house as he liked, and frequently joined them as they sat in their
garden with work or books, or chatting with their friends Fräulein
Reuter and Fräulein Laura Garbe, whom they often invited. Johannes would
stroll in with his cigar or cigarette, and take a seat near the group,
silent or talkative according to his inclination. By-and-by he would
sing a note or two of a well-known melody, begin to beat time, and the
garden would be glad with the sound of four fresh young voices swelling
and dying together in the charming harmonies of a favourite part-song.
He often spent the evening with the young ladies and their father,
gladly accepting their informal hospitality, and would play to them
after supper until late into the night, sometimes performing duets with
Fräulein Marie, who was his pupil on the pianoforte.
'I may say with pride that he was happy in our little house,' said Frau
Professor Böie (Fräulein Marie Völckers) to the author; 'his playing
was a great delight to our old father. His behaviour to old people was
touchingly thoughtful and kind.'
Dietrich, who had lately accepted the post of court capellmeister to the
Grand-Duke of Oldenburg, and was now quite a near neighbour, paid his
promised visit to Hamburg in September, and found Johannes engaged on
the A major Pianoforte Quartet. 'He played me the sketches which
convinced me that the work would be surpassingly fine.'
'I occupied his very interesting room [at Hamburg], and was
astonished at his comprehensive library, which he had gradually
collected since early youth; it contained some remarkable old
works.
'After breakfast in the morning I used to sit cosily with his dear
old mother, who united true heart-culture with her plainness and
simplicity; her Johannes was the inexhaustible subject of our
lively conversations. The father generally left home early to
follow his calling of bassist and music-teacher. I used to remain a
little while with the dear people, and spent the rest of the day
with Brahms in his charming country quarters, where we occupied
ourselves with the detailed examination of his newest works.'
Several indications suggest that Brahms' thoughts were still turned
longingly in the direction of Vienna; not as a permanent place of
residence--at no time in his life, probably, did he so seriously
contemplate settling in Hamburg as at the present--but he wished to see
the city that had been the home of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and
Schubert; and the enthusiastic sympathy accorded to Frau Schumann on
each of her visits to the Austrian capital confirmed him in a desire to
try his luck with its music-loving public. He knew his way had been
prepared for him, and a good opportunity seemed likely to occur for his
appearance there. Joachim was meditating another Austrian tour, and
would have rejoiced to have Johannes with him. Matters went no further,
however, than they had done previously. As in a former year, paragraphs
appeared in the _Signale_ announcing that Brahms and Joachim were about
to visit Vienna, but in the end Brahms remained at home--partly, no
doubt, from motives of policy.
It was generally understood that Wilhelm Grund, who had for many years
conducted the Philharmonic concerts and the Singakademie connected with
them, must soon retire. He had done good work in his day, but his day
was over. Musical conditions had changed; he was too old to alter with
them, and the Philharmonic performances had long ceased to satisfy
modern requirements. It was hoped by Brahms' friends that the young
genius of Hamburg would succeed to the post, and Johannes himself may
have thought it wise to remain on the spot with such an important issue
imminent. The disappointment he felt at giving up the desired journey
was partially consoled by the knowledge that Frau Schumann would be much
in Hamburg during the autumn months.
He began his concert-season on October 19 at Altona, and appeared at one
of the Böie-Lee concerts later in the month, playing the Schumann
Variations for two pianofortes with Frau Clara. On the 30th there was a
music-party at the Halliers', which is charmingly described in a letter
written a few days afterwards by Fräulein Julie Hallier:
'The guests were late in coming; it was half-past eight when they
had all arrived; and who comes with Frau Schumann?--Our dear friend
from Hanover, with his beaming face and delightful friendliness;
the glorious Joachim. Everyone was taken by surprise, Frau Schumann
and Brahms in the morning, we in the evening. Avé: "My boy! where
have you come from?" After the first excitement was over, Edward
showed his Italian photographs. Brahms literally devoured them; he
was very nice the whole evening, especially with Edward. He teased
me about my punch, which I altered three times, he following it
with anxious looks as the bowl disappeared through the door. Frau
Schumann and Brahms played beautifully beyond imagination; three
rondos by Schubert and two marches. The violin of course had not
come; Joachim only arrived yesterday and is already gone again. At
first Avé turned over, but he did it badly, so Brahms called
Joachim. Avé: "My dreadful cold; I cannot see properly." He now
stood behind and began to beat time. During the music the table
was laid in the small room. It was rather narrow, but comfortable.
All went well. We separated at half-past eleven.'
A few days afterwards there was a similar gathering at the Wagners',
when Frau Schumann performed with Brahms his duet arrangement of the
second serenade.
'The best of all was a set of variations by Brahms on a theme by
Handel,' continues the letter--'another magnificent work!
splendidly long--the stream of ideas flowing inexhaustibly! And the
work was splendidly played, too, by himself. It seemed like a
miracle; one could not take one's eyes from him. The composition is
so difficult that none but great artists could attempt it.'[93]
These words give some measure of the progress effected during the last
half-century in the technique of pianoforte-playing, partly, indeed,
through the demands made upon pianists by the compositions of Brahms
himself. Lovers of his art who have learnt his particular technique,
which demands of the player certain qualities of endurance and grip, do
not find the performance of his works unduly fatiguing. The twenty-five
variations, with the fugue that succeeds them, are now in the fingers of
most good players, and would undoubtedly be often heard in the
concert-room if it were not for the great length of the work. They show
a melodious fertility and power of invention which is practically
inexhaustible. Each variation or pair of variations presents some fresh
idea, some striking change of fancy, figuration, rhythm, mood, to hold
the listener's attention, whilst the entire long work is essentially
based upon the simple harmonic progression of Handel's theme (to be
found in the second collection of Harpsichord Pieces). The changes of
key in Brahms' variations are restricted to the tonic minor (Nos. 5, 6,
13) and the relative minor (No. 21). The finale, the great free fugue
which invariably 'brings down' a house, is, with its grand and brilliant
climax, to which extraordinary effect is imparted by an original
employment of the dominant pedal point, a unique example of its kind.
If there ever were a young composer who had reason to be made happy from
the outset of his career by the appreciation of the most eminent of his
colleagues--appreciation sweeter than any other to the soul of the true
artist--Brahms was he. At each of Frau Schumann's three appearances in
Hamburg during this autumn, she performed a great work of his
composition, two being introduced for the first time to the public. At
her first concert, on November 16, she played the G minor Pianoforte
Quartet, only now finally revised and completed, with Böie, Breyther,
and Lee, and on the same evening several of the composer's part-songs
were sung under his direction by the Ladies' Choir; on December 3 she
appeared as the champion of the unpopular Concerto, choosing it for her
chief solo at the Philharmonic concert of that date; and on the 7th of
the same month she brought forward the Handel Variations and Fugue at
her second concert. These she repeated a week later at the Gewandhaus
soirée of the 14th in Leipzig.
Not even the magnetic personality of Frau Schumann availed to awaken any
show of enthusiasm for the concerto. The new works were more favourably
received both in Hamburg and Leipzig, and the _Signale_ itself bestowed
a mild word or two upon some of the variations. It is easy, however, to
read between the lines of the press notices that such encouragement as
was awarded to the composer was mainly due to the personality of the
performer. The B flat Sextet was given with fair success at the
Gewandhaus Quartet concert of January 4 by David Röntgen, Hermann,
Hunger, Davidoff, and Krummholtz.
Brahms passed the first two months of the new year in Joachim's society,
making his headquarters at Hanover, and undertaking frequent short
journeys with his friend. The two artists appeared together on January
20 at one of the Münster subscription concerts, of which Grimm, who had
been called to Münster in 1860, was now the conductor; and on February
14 they gave a concert in Celle, a locality which the reader will
remember as the scene of Johannes' transposition feat during the Reményi
_tournée_ of 1853. The A major Pianoforte Quartet was now finished, and
was, with its companion in G minor, much appreciated in the private
circles of Hanover, where both works were frequently played by Brahms
with Joachim and his colleagues.
Brahms, answering an invitation from Dietrich received on the eve of his
departure, says:
'HANOVER, 1862.
'DEAR FRIEND,
'I have been here for some time, and have your letter forwarded
from Hamburg. I go back to-morrow, and write a few words in haste.
'I should much like to visit you and to make the acquaintance of
those whom I know pleasantly by name, otherwise I would say no. I
will come and see how long I can afford to be idle.
'What shall I play? Beethoven or Mozart? C minor, A major, or G
major? Advise!
'And for the second?--Schumann, Bach, or may I venture upon some
new variations of my own?
'You, of course, will conduct my serenade. We have been playing my
quartets a great deal here; I shall bring them with me and shall be
glad if you and others approve of them.
'_À propos!_ I must have an honorarium of 15 Louis-d'ors [about
£14], with the stipulation that if I should play at Court I receive
extra remuneration. I much need the money; pro sec. my time is
valuable to me, and I do not willingly take concert engagements;
if, however, this must be, then the other must also.'[94]
Dietrich had already had the pleasure of welcoming Frau Schumann and
Joachim to Oldenburg during this his first season of activity there, and
had worked well to prepare the way for Brahms, so that the evening of
March 14, the date fixed for the composer's personal introduction to the
concert-going public, was awaited with keen interest. Arriving at
Dietrich's house a few days previously, Brahms found himself surrounded
by new friends, and had won the favour of the musical élite of the town
before his public appearance, by playing several of his works in private
circles. The members of the orchestra, who assembled _en masse_ on the
evening of the 13th, were excited to enthusiasm by his performance of
the new Handel Variations and Fugue, and every condition that could
insure a sympathetic reception for the hero of the 14th was fulfilled.
The concert opened with the D major Serenade (Op. 11), conducted by
Dietrich, who had the delight of finding that he had secured an adequate
reception for his friend's orchestral work.
'The whole made the most satisfactory impression, and carried the
hearers away more and more, especially from the fourth movement
onwards, and at the close the applause reached a pitch of
enthusiasm not hitherto experienced here. The members of the
orchestra, who had been studying the serenade for some time, showed
their concurrence in the general approval by a lively flourish'
(_Oldenburger Zeitung_).
No less satisfactory was the verdict of the audience on the performances
of Beethoven's G major Concerto and Bach's Chromatic Fantasia, with
which our composer came forward as pianist. His success was repeated at
the chamber music concert of the 19th, when the sextet was performed by
Court Concertmeister Engel and his colleagues. Both in public and
private Brahms left endearing memories behind him.
'He was the most agreeable guest,' says Dietrich, 'always pleased,
always good-humoured and satisfied, like a child with the children.
'He took the greatest pleasure in our happiness. He thought our
modest lot enviable, and had his position then allowed him to
establish a home of his own, perhaps this might have been the right
moment, for he was attracted by a young girl who was often with us.
One evening, when she and other guests had left, he said with quiet
decision: "She pleases me; I should like to marry her; such a girl
would make me, too, happy." He met many people at our house, and in
small and large circles outside it, and everyone liked his earnest
nature and his short and often humorous remarks.'
It is pleasant to have to record here that a few weeks before the events
now described, New York, distinguished, as we have seen, by Mason's
timely performance of the B major Trio in 1855, led the way a second
time in connection with Brahms' career. In February, 1862, the first
performance after publication of the second serenade took place there at
a Philharmonic concert, and the occasion is doubly memorable as marking
the earliest introduction of an orchestral work of Brahms to a public
audience outside the cities of Hamburg, Hanover, and Leipzig. This early
appreciation of the composer's genius in America has proved to have been
neither accidental nor transitory. It grew steadily year by year with
the general growth of interest in musical art, and his works, great and
small, were welcomed as they appeared, and performed--often, it must be
said, from pirated editions in the earlier days--with ever-increasing
success. It has been impossible to ascertain the exact dates of first
American performances. New York, the earliest centre in the United
States for the cultivation of Brahms' music, was emulated later on,
especially by Boston; and the famous Symphony Orchestra of this city
has, since its foundation in 1881, performed each of the four
symphonies, in Boston and in the course of numerous concert tours, at an
average of forty concerts; whilst the two overtures, the concertos, and
other large works, have been given with corresponding frequency.
The chamber music has been a special feature in the programmes of
several concert-parties resident in various parts of the United States.
Of these, special mention should be made of the Kneisel String Quartet
of Boston, whose performances, familiar not only to American, but also
to some of the circles of European music-lovers, were warmly appreciated
by Brahms himself.
In the spring of 1862, an artistic tour undertaken in France by Frau
Schumann laid the foundation of Brahms' reputation in Paris, which,
little to be noted during many years, has of late been rapidly
increasing. That the great pianist, when introducing her husband's
works, which were almost unknown to French audiences, had to confront
the inevitable prejudice against what is new, explains the fact that
Brahms' name did not appear in the programmes of her concerts at the
Salle Erard. The efforts she made in the cause of his art, however,
amongst the inmost musical circle of her acquaintance created an
impression that was not entirely fleeting.
The two first Pianoforte Quartets, now finally completed, and performed,
as we have seen, during the winter of 1861-62--the earlier one in
public, and both frequently in private--add two glorious works of
chamber music to the series so brilliantly inaugurated by the Sextet in
B flat. In their broadly-flowing themes, their magnificent wealth of
original and contrasted melody, their consummate workmanship, their
fresh, vigorous vitality, their enchanting romance, one seems to hear
the bounding gladness of the artist-spirit which has attained freedom
through submission to law, and revels in its emancipation. They are so
rich in beauty, so transcendent in power, that the attempt to point out
this or that particular detail for admiration results in bewilderment.
The romantic intermezzo, the riotously brilliant Hungarian rondo, of the
first; the graceful scherzo with its bold trio, of the second, and the
adagio, with its atmosphere of mystery, lit up twice by the outbreak of
passion that subsides again to the hushed expressiveness of the
beginning and end; the opening allegro of either work--all are original,
great, beautiful; but so is every portion of every movement of both
quartets, and each movement proclaims--from Bach to Brahms. That Brahms'
course of development proceeded ever further in the direction of
concentration of thought and conciseness of structure cannot affect the
value of the splendid achievements of his earlier period of maturity,
and of these the two quartets stand amongst the greatest.
The sincerity of Brendel's efforts to conciliate the contending musical
parties, and his desire to do justice to each, is strikingly proved by
the appearance in his journal, in the course of several months of the
year 1862, of a series of articles signed 'D. A. S.,' by Dr. Schübring,
a distinguished musician and critic of the Schumann school. The first
few numbers are devoted to sympathetic reviews of the works of Theodor
Kirchner, Woldemar Bargiel, and others; and following these are five
articles in which the whole of Brahms' published works are examined in
detail. The composer's genius, his progress, his moods and his methods,
are discussed with the skill of a scientific musician, the impartiality
of a sound critic, and the affection of a personal and artistic friend.
They are too technical for quotation here, but the last sentence of the
concluding number may be given in well-deserved tribute to Brendel, who
must have known what he was doing when he arranged for Dr. Schübring's
contributions.
'The foregoing words may sound inflated, but stopped horns are of
no use when it is desired to arouse the great public, which does
not yet seem to comprehend in the least what a colossal genius, one
quite of equal birth with Bach, Beethoven, and Schumann, is
ripening in the young master of Hamburg.'
The mediator's task is seldom a grateful one, and it appears probable
that Dr. Brendel was reproached for his large-mindedness by some of the
New-German party, with whom he had been so long intimately connected, as
a half-apologetic explanation of his reasons for desiring the
publication of the 'Schumanniana,' as the articles were entitled,
appeared in a later number of the _Zeitschrift_.
It would be unsatisfactory to omit all mention of the first performance
of a 'Magelone Romance,' though there is but little to record save the
fact that Stockhausen sang the opening one, the 'Keinem hat es noch
gereut,' from the manuscript, at the Philharmonic concert of April 4, as
one of a group of songs by Brahms. It produced no impression whatever on
the Hamburgers, who were only mystified. How many persons in the
audience had read Tieck's poems? How many had ever heard anything about
the adventures of Magelone and Peter? Without such knowledge, the first
and second numbers of the cycle cannot be really appreciated. To those
who are aware that the first is the song of a minstrel who incites a
valiant young hero to journey to distant lands in quest of adventure,
and the second the exultant shout of the joyful aspirant as he rides
forth from his parents' home, resolved on doughty deeds, the music
becomes living, and seems to breathe forth the very spirit of chivalry.
The third, fourth, and some other of the songs, notably the ninth--the
ravishing 'Ruhe Süssliebchen'--are capable of telling a tale of their
own, and give rich delight apart from their place in Tieck's version of
the story; but the enjoyment even of these favourite and familiar songs
is much heightened by an acquaintance with the incidents of the romance.
Tieck's 'Beautiful Magelone' is contained in his 'Phantasus,' a
collection of tales published between 1812 and 1816, some of which have
been made familiar to English readers by the translations of Hare,
Froude, and Carlyle. The 'Magelone' story of the book is a modernized
version of an old romance of chivalry, and, by introducing into it a
number of songs, Tieck furnished the opportunity seized upon more than
forty years later by Brahms, to which the world is indebted for some of
the composer's most perfect inspirations.
To provide in this place the much-needed clue to their connexion with
the events of the tale would cause too serious an interruption to our
narrative. The author has therefore added, in Appendix II., an account
of the romance and the incidence of Tieck's songs, which it is hoped may
interest the reader and increase his love for the compositions.
Brahms continued to make Frau Dr. Rösing's house his headquarters, and
remained there during most of the spring and summer of 1862. Before
going to Oldenburg in March, he had written to Dietrich: 'It is
delightful here in Hamm, and unless I look out of window at the bare
trees I fancy summer is come, the sunlight plays in the room so, gaily.'
Later it was: 'It is blooming splendidly, and the trees are blossoming
in Hamm, so that it is a joy.' He occupied his leisure in similar
agreeable pursuits to those of the preceding year, and now in the
springtime a double choir of maidens and nightingales might often be
heard by the passer-by, carolling together as if in mutual emulation of
the others' song. He begged, later on, for photographs of his girls'
quartet and of the two houses, and said that he neither remembered nor
saw before him a happier time than that he had passed in Hamm. The
sisters met their fate in due time. Each married a distinguished
violinist, and Concertmeister Otto von Königslow of Cologne and
Professor John Böie of Altona were amongst the most active admirers of
Brahms' art. The composer remained on terms of intimacy with the entire
Völckers family, and never failed, when occasionally staying at Hamburg
during the later years of his career, to visit both the Böies and the
Stones.
Avé Lallement, who would gladly have seen Johannes settled in Hamburg as
conductor of the Philharmonic, says, in a letter written in the early
spring of the year to Dr. Löwe of Zürich:
'We had the "Matthew Passion" here under Grund; Brahms also was
delighted, in spite of the defective performance. He thinks of
going to Vienna in the autumn; then I shall be quite alone, but
thank God I have learnt to know the man so well. I have come a good
piece forward through him.'
The pianoforte quartets finished, the composer was now busy with the
great work which we know as a quintet for pianoforte and strings. It was
finished in its first form--a string quintet with two violoncelli--by
the end of the summer. When tried a year later by Joachim and his
colleagues, the effect of the work was found insufficiently sonorous for
its great material, and Brahms arranged it as a sonata for two
pianofortes, and subsequently as a quintet for pianoforte and strings.
We shall have occasion later on to make particular mention of the first
public, and of an early private, performance of the sonata version.
Brahms and Dietrich met at the Rhine Festival given this year at Cologne
(June 8-10), where they made the artistic and personal acquaintance of
Frau Louise Dustmann, court chamber singer, and of the court opera,
Vienna, whom Brahms knew well in later years. From Cologne they
proceeded to Münster-am-Stein, taking lodgings together near Frau
Schumann, who was staying there with her family. From Münster Dietrich
wrote to his wife:
'The longer I am with Brahms, the more my affection and esteem for
him increase. His nature is equally lovable, cheerful, and deep. He
often teases the ladies, certainly, by making jokes with a serious
air which are frequently taken in earnest, especially by Frau
Schumann. This leads to comical and frequently dangerous arguments,
in which I usually act as mediator, for Brahms is fond of
strengthening such misunderstandings, in order to have the laugh on
his side in the end. This to me attractive humorous trait is, I
think, the reason why he is so often misunderstood. He can,
however, be very quiet and serious if necessary.'
Brahms and Dietrich composed industriously in the mornings; the
afternoons and evenings were occupied with excursions or music, and at
this time Brahms showed his friend an early version of the first
movement of his C minor Symphony, not completed until fourteen years
later. The six 'Magelone Romances' were pronounced by Dietrich to be
amongst the finest works yet produced by their composer.
The Sextet in B flat, the Handel Variations, and the horns and harp
Songs for women's Chorus, were published this year by Simrock. Two works
in the hands of Rieter-Biedermann--the Marienlieder for mixed Chorus and
the Variations for Pianoforte Duet Op. 23--appeared at the end of 1862
or the beginning of 1863.[95]
The Marienlieder, seven in number, to be sung _a capella_, are not
sacred compositions. They are settings of old texts founded upon some of
the medieval legends that grew up around the history of the Virgin, and
are delightfully fresh examples of the pure style of part-writing of
which Brahms had made himself a master. In spite of the restricted means
at the disposal of the composer who elects to forego, for the nonce, all
but the few diatonic harmonies alone available in this style, there is a
something about these attractive little pieces which allows Brahms'
individuality to be distinctly felt. If, as is inevitable, they carry
back the mind of the listener to the choral music of the sixteenth
century, they recall the style of the early German, rather than of
either of the Italian, schools. Perhaps the most fascinating of the set
is No. 2, entitled 'Mary's Church-going.' Mary, on her way to church,
comes to a deep lake, and, finding a young boatman standing ready,
requests him to ferry her over, promising him whatever he may like best
in return. The boatman answers that he will do what she asks provided
she will become his housewife; but Mary, replying that she will swim
across rather than consent to the suggestion, jumps into the water. When
she is half-way to the other side, the church bells suddenly begin to
ring, loudly, softly, all together. Mary, on her safe arrival, kneels on
a stone in prayer, and the boatman's heart breaks. The first five verses
are composed strophically (each like the other) for two sopranos,
contralto, and tenor, in E flat minor, and are marked _piano_. The bass
enters with the sixth verse, composed in E flat major, and, whilst the
whole choir bursts into a jubilant _forte_, keeps up a movement in
concert, first with the tenor and then with the soprano, suggestive of
bell-ringing. The concluding words return to the setting of the first
five verses, and by this means the little composition is rounded into
definite shape.
The Variations are amongst the most beautiful of Brahms' many fine
achievements in this particular domain, and present for admiration
conspicuous qualities of their own arising from the opportunities
offered by their composition in duet form. The theme on which they are
founded is that supposed by Schumann to have been brought to him in the
night three weeks before his malady reached its crisis. The work is
dedicated to Fräulein Julie Schumann, the master's third daughter.
And now, in a few weeks, the period of Brahms' career which is to be
especially associated with Hamburg was to close. He would gladly have
strengthened his ties with the city to which he was so proud to belong,
but, as we shall see, his compatriots would have none of him. Twice in
the coming years they passed him by, and when the time at length
arrived in which they would willingly have proclaimed the world-famous
composer as their own special prophet, his interests and affections had
become too deeply rooted within the city that he made his second home to
be capable of a second transplantation.
Brahms quitted Hamburg for his first visit to Vienna on September 8.
That he expected to return speedily is evident from the lines sent by
him to Dietrich on the eve of his departure:
'DEAR FRIEND,
'I am leaving on Monday _for Vienna_! I look forward to it like a
child.
'Of course I do not know how long I shall stay; we will leave it
open, and I hope we may meet some time during the winter.
'The C minor Symphony is not ready; on the other hand, a string
quintet (2 v.celli) in F minor is finished. I should like to send
it you and hear what you have to say about it, and yet I prefer to
take it with me.
'Herewith my Handel Variations; the Marienlieder are not yet here.
'Greet all the Oldenburg friends.
'Pray do not leave me quite without letters. You might address for
the present to Haslinger, or to Wessely and Büsing.
'Heartiest farewell meanwhile, dear Albert, to you and your wife.
'Your JOHANNES.'
'Father,' said Brahms, looking slyly at his father as he said good-bye,
'if things should be going badly with you, music is always the best
consolation; go and study my old "Saul"--you will find comfort there.'
He had thickly interlarded the volume with bank-notes.[96]
It is highly interesting to possess a clear conception of Brahms'
achievements as a composer, and, therewith, of his exact title to
consideration at this important moment of his career. This will be best
obtained by a glance at the list of the chief completed works with
which he was to present himself in the city associated with the most
hallowed memories of his art. His departure for Vienna is by no means to
be regarded as coincident with the close of any one period of his
creative activity, though it emphatically marks the end, not only of a
chapter, but of the first book of his life.
LIST OF BRAHMS' CHIEF COMPLETED WORKS ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR VIENNA.
Pianoforte Solos:
Three Sonatas.
Scherzo.
Variations on Schumann's theme in F sharp minor.
Variations on an original theme.
Variations on a Hungarian song.
Variations and Fugue on Handel's theme.
Pianoforte Duet: Variations on a theme by Schumann.
Pianoforte with Orchestra: Concerto in D minor.
Orchestral: Two Serenades.
Chamber music:
Sextet in B flat for Strings.
Trio in B major for Pianoforte and Strings.
Quartet in G minor " " " "
Quartet in A major " " " "
Songs:
Five books (thirty songs).
'Magelone Romances' (first six).
Vocal Duets: two books.
Three Vocal Quartets.
Women's Chorus:
'Ave Maria.'
Part-songs.
Mixed Chorus:
Begräbnissgesang.
Marienlieder.
The 13th Psalm.
Motets.
Sacred Song.
The newly-finished String Quintet is not included in the list, as the
work was not published in this its first form. The Hungarian Dances, as
being arrangements, are also omitted.
[92] Max Kalbeck, p. 458.
[93] First published in Hübbe's 'Brahms in Hamburg,' pp. 42-44.
[94] Dietrich.
[95] The Variations are dated 1866 in the published catalogue.
[96] Max Kalbeck, p. 497. The reader must be reminded that at this
period German bank-notes frequently represented but small sums.
APPENDICES
I.
MUSICAL FORM--ABSOLUTE MUSIC--PROGRAMME-MUSIC--BERLIOZ AND WAGNER
The word Form, as applied to instrumental music, is synonymous with
Design. A movement is built up on a certain ground-plan, the outlines of
which are constructed according to some given arrangement of keys, or
melodies, or both, which secures symmetry for the work and facilitates
its presentment as a whole to the intelligence of the hearer. A chief
element in musical form is recurrence, the simplest illustration of
which--three sections of which the third repeats the first (A, B, A)--is
to be found in a vast number of folk-melodies.
The main source to which the instrumental music of classical art owes
its primitive origin is the Folk-melody, whether of dance or of song.
This Folk-melody was entirely naïve, and as free from the imitative or
pictorial, as from the reflective, element. The dance-melody was
conditioned by the rhythm of the dance. The song-melody, also rhythmical
as distinct from declamatory, more or less reflected the sentiment of
the text; verses of a joyous character naturally suggested joyous tunes,
those of a plaintive character, plaintive tunes; but the ideas
constituting the melody were essentially musical thoughts, and contained
no attempt at pictorial illustration of the subject of the words; the
melody formed from them was Absolute music.
In process of time these melodies came to be treated apart from their
text or their dance, and new ones were invented whose primary object was
not the dance or the song, but the gratification of the ear and
intelligence by the pleasing succession of musical phrases. Instrumental
movements were constructed, and these bore unmistakable impress of their
descent, since the ideas and series of ideas forming them were
rhythmical and symmetrical.
It is obviously impossible in the short space at our disposal even to
touch upon the history of the process by which early instrumental pieces
of a few bars have gradually developed into the elaborate movements of
classical art, but, by sketching as slightly as possible two of the
forms, one or other of which underlies the vast majority of the
instrumental works of modern classical music, we hope to enable all our
readers to follow the allusions to Form in our text, which must be
understood to include other forms than these, but such as have in common
with them the essential element of design or symmetry.
The Rondo-form has been used by composers of almost all periods, and
has, in modern times, developed into two large varieties. The idea from
which it originated is best realized by reference to the old rondeau
dance-song, the design of which is simplicity itself. A short melody
sung several times in chorus was alternated with others contributed by
solo voices, which were sometimes called 'couplets,' and which are now
generally termed 'episodes.' The form required two, and permitted any
number, of episodes, each of which was bound to furnish a new melody.
The performance terminated as it began, with the chorus. The form,
therefore, may be thus represented: A, B, A, C, A, _ad libitum_.
The reader will find many examples of the early eighteenth-century
instrumental Rondo in Couperin's 'Pièces de Clavecin,' published in
Paris in 1713, and edited for republication by Brahms (Chrysander's
'Denkmäler der Tonkunst'). With these he may compare the great
rondo-movement of Beethoven's Sonata in C major, Op. 53.
The so-called Sonata-form underlies the immense majority of the first
movements composed by the great masters of the last century and a
half--the first movements, not only of those works for pianoforte solo
or pianoforte and another instrument which are called by the name
sonata, but of trios, quartets, and so forth, and of symphonies, which
are, in fact, sonatas for orchestra.
A movement in Sonata-form consists of three essential parts--the
Statement or Exposition of themes, the 'thematic material'; their
Development; their Repetition. To these was formerly appended a short
Coda, which has gradually developed, and now frequently extends to the
dimensions of a fourth part.
The first part, the Statement, is itself divided into two sections, not
necessarily or even generally of equal duration, marked by difference of
tonality. The first is dominated by the tonic key of the movement. It
contains the First Subject, which may be either short and concise, of
sixteen or even eight bars only, or of several different paragraphs; a
principal idea and subordinate themes. The second section is dominated
by some other key; formerly, in a major movement by that of the
dominant, in a minor movement by that of the relative major or dominant
minor. It contains the Second Subject, a new melody followed or not by
subordinate themes. These two sections are connected by a modulatory
'bridge passage,' which leads the ear from the first to the second
principal key of the Statement, and which used generally to come to a
pause on the dominant harmony of the new key in preparation for the
entry of the Second Subject. The Statement closes, with or without a
Codetta, in the key of the Second Subject. Formerly it was invariably
played twice, its termination being followed by a double bar with
repetition marks.
The second part of the movement, the Development, sometimes called the
Free Fantasia or the Working-out, is what its name implies. It is
constructed from the material of the Statement, which the composer works
or develops according to his fancy, using either or both of his
subjects, his bridge passage, his codetta, entire or in part, alone or
combined, with much or little modulation to near or distant keys, just
as he pleases. The Development part of the movement is not visibly and
mechanically cut off from what follows it by a double bar like the
Statement, nor does it end with a final cadence, but usually closes with
some sort of half-cadence--formerly it was the typical one, a pause on
the dominant--which leads to the third part of the movement, the
Repetition.
In this the Statement is repeated, modified by the circumstance that
both its sections are dominated by the tonic key of the movement, in
which the Second Subject as well as the First is heard, such modulations
as may have occurred in the Statement being represented in the
Repetition with the changes required by this fact.
The Coda is more often than not retrospective, but its character and
arrangement are at the discretion of the composer, provided that it
gives sufficient emphasis to the original key to leave the mind of the
hearer impressed with the tonality of the movement.
We have not troubled the reader in this short sketch with the varieties
or exceptions to be found in the works of the great composers of the
period indicated above. Their movements in this form, whether we examine
those of the simple sonatina or of the complex symphony, will be found,
broadly speaking, to conform to our description. A very clear
illustration of the outlines of Sonata-form may be studied in the first
movement of Beethoven's Sonata in G major, Op. 14, No. 2.
The developed instrumental movements of classical art, capable of
stirring the highest aspirations of which the spirit of man is capable,
are, like the short pieces from which they have sprung, constructed from
'musical ideas'--ideas, that is to say, which act upon the nerves,
emotions, intellect of the listener, directly through the sense of
sound, and are not dependent for their effect upon intermediate mental
translation into images perceptible to the mind's eye, the vision of
imagination. This does not mean that a composer of pure music never is
and never may be pictorial, but the cases in which he is so are, as it
were, accidental, and the pictorial element in a given work is not of
the essence of his art, but is something added to it, something,
moreover, which does not affect the value of the composition as a work
of art. A composer of Absolute music may indeed, and often does,
stimulate his imagination by recalling a poem, a legend, a scene of
nature or life; and either of these may leave a more or less definite
impress on his music; whilst a title or a motto placed above a short
pianoforte piece, an orchestral overture, or, in very few cases, a
symphony, may sometimes stimulate the hearer's appreciation; but the
music is not in such a case to be taken as 'meaning' this or that in
detail. The composer aims at making his movement a work of art complete
in itself, and relies for his effects upon his musical thoughts and
their treatment as such, though he may be willing to let his hearers
know that his fancy was encouraged by extraneous aid.
The listener may, on the other hand, if it assist his enjoyment, attach
his own 'meaning' to what he hears, but he must understand that this is
relative to himself only. No one can assure him that his 'meaning' is
right or wrong. The music as such should stand high above such
interpretations, and, if it is to fulfil its supreme destiny, must speak
directly to the soul in its own infinite language of sound, infinite
just because it is capable of transcending the defined objects of sight.
Vocal forms have always necessarily been to a great extent dependent on
the text chosen for musical treatment. Nevertheless, certain vocal forms
have been developed--the aria, the ballad, the lied, the
ensemble--which, though freer than those of instrumental music, have the
common characteristics of symmetry more or less, and of rhythmic melody
as distinct from the mere accentuation of the recitative.
The Art-song of the classical masters, whether for one or more voices,
mirrors, like its parent the Folk-song, the sentiment of the text, but
is not pictorial. Its instrumental accompaniment may, and at times does,
reflect or emphasize the suggestion of the words, but it does not
attempt to imitate or illustrate in detail the images which they
represent; or only in an insignificant number of instances, which may be
classed with the cases to which we have referred in our remarks upon
instrumental music.
A good deal of confusion prevailed in the mind of the general musical
public of the middle of the nineteenth century as to the views held by
the musicians of the New-German party, and it has not been cleared away
even at the present day. This has resulted chiefly from the fact that,
like many another body of radical reformers, they were by no means at
one as to the positive articles of their faith.
It is far from the desire of the present writer to enter into a lengthy
discussion of vexed controversies which time alone can settle. The
object of this appendix is simply to assist the general reader to follow
certain allusions and incidents in the text of the narrative, and
especially to make clear how it was that Brahms, an uncompromising
champion of musical tradition, whose very existence as an artist was
staked on the vitality of Absolute music, could deeply respect the art
of Wagner. With these ends only in view, it is proposed to limit the few
words to be said here to the attempt to show what the fundamental
difference was which separated the methods of Berlioz and Wagner, the
two giants of the Weimar party, in their efforts to establish a basis
for the Music of the Future so far as they conceived this could be
achieved by the closer union of the arts of instrumental music and
poetry.
Berlioz (1803-1869) has been accepted as the typical champion of what is
called Programme-music. The question as to what is to be understood by
this term, however, has become very difficult to answer, because
nowadays anything may become a programme or supply a label. A poem, a
romance, or a commonplace situation of everyday life; an emotion, a
series of emotions, or the individuality of a man or woman; or, again,
the emotion or mental action which a certain personality may excite in
another. If, however, we restrict the question and examine only what
meaning attaches to the term Programme-music as applied to Berlioz's
instrumental works, the answer is that the composer is so intent on
conveying, as an essential part of his movements, definite and detailed
ideas outside the art of sound _per se_, which he finds in certain poems
or plays or narratives, that he not only places verbal headings above
them, but in many cases prefaces his works with an explanation minutely
describing the scenes which they are intended to represent point by
point, or the emotions that he desires to excite at successive steps of
their progress. Such detailed labels and expositions are what is
commonly termed the Programme.
However the purpose be described which Berlioz thus set himself to
fulfil, whether it be said that the music was to absorb or to clothe the
poem, to translate or reflect it, it is obvious that, if words have any
real meaning, its ultimate _raison d'être_ was to be either imitative
or, at best, illustrative. Instrumental music necessarily becomes one or
the other the moment that material outside the domain of sound is
accepted as of its essence, and it is thereby debased from the level of
the fine art of sound. If it be said that the object of the programme is
to be a sort of guide-post to the emotions or sentiments to which the
music is addressed, the position becomes worse, for the incapacity of
the musician as such stands confessed. The union of poetry and music in
the sense of the instrumental Programme composer is, from the point of
view of the creator of Absolute music, fatal, not only to the dignity,
but to the vital force, of both arts. The poem becomes a phantom, the
music a conundrum; the listener wastes his time and fancy in trying to
fit them together, and is without means of knowing how far he has been
successful, and the product of these processes is a something which, in
the words of Wagner, is neither fish nor fowl.
Whatever may be the ultimate fate of Berlioz's works, his immense
capacity, the extraordinary sensitiveness and force of his imagination
of tone-colour, and his phenomenal mastery of the resources of the
orchestra, have insured the survival of his name. If on no other
account, it will live as that of the creator of the complex art of
instrumentation in its modern sense, which was assimilated by Wagner and
developed by him in his dramas with vitalizing energy.
Very far removed from Berlioz's position was that of Wagner (1813-1883),
who not only implied his disbelief in Programme-music by his practice,
but expressly recorded it by direct avowal, and illustrated his remarks
by references to Berlioz's works.[97] If, as may be the case, he
received his first impulse as a reformer from Berlioz, he clearly saw
the fallacies in which the theories of the French musician were
involved, and avoided them in a sufficiently convincing manner. He
perceived, firstly, that the rejection of a future for Absolute music
was the same thing as the rejection of a future independent art of
sound; secondly, that a union of instrumental music with poetry in
Berlioz's sense meant that the function of music must be illustrative;
thirdly, that the subject to be illustrated by musical sound must be
presented to the perception of the audience in as real and indubitable a
manner as the illustration; that, as the musical illustration was to be
heard, so the subject illustrated must be seen.
Having boldly faced his premises, a splendid vision dawned upon his
imagination, and he shrank from no consequences which they involved.
Rejecting the future existence not only of music, but also of poetry, as
a separate art, he predicted for both a future, as co-ordinate elements
with action and scenic effect, of a larger art, the drama, the object of
which he explained to be dramatic truth. Concentrating his immense
energies upon a reform of the stage, he adopted as his fundamental
principle that of a return, in the modern sense, to the practice of
Greek Tragedy. He substituted musical declamation of a very
highly-developed order for the rhythmic melody and symmetrical movements
of opera. Relinquishing the aria, the scena, the regularly-constructed
ensemble linked by _recitativo secco_, which he conceived to be
contradictory and obstructive to dramatic truth, his method was to set
his poem to a glorified species of recitative, called by him the Melos,
and to support and give it additional force and vividness by a gorgeous
illustrative orchestral accompaniment, its other self. An important
feature in his scheme, which is to be regarded as his substitute for the
Subject of traditional form, was the adoption and development of the
Leitmotif, a device employed to some extent by Weber in 'Der
Freischütz,' and by Berlioz. By it the successive appearances on the
stage of each prominent person of the drama, and often the anticipation
and remembrance as well as the occurrence of an important situation, are
signalized by a special harmonic progression or a particular rhythmic
figure. These became in the case of Wagner, who was his own poet,
something more than mere labels or mottoes. Growing up in his mind with
the progress of his poem, his series of Leitmotive became for him, as it
were, his musical dramatis personæ. He felt them as an inseparable part
of his persons and events, and they became with these the framework on
which his works were constructed.
It must be clear to all unprejudiced minds that the principles which
guided the creator of the great music dramas were perfectly logical and
coherent, and that Wagner acted on them throughout the course of his
career, properly so called, with entire consistency and with magnificent
success. His error, and the error of his disciples, lay in their
arrogant and senseless propaganda of the Wagnerian articles of faith, as
expressions of the ultimate and universal principles of art. Wagner went
so far as to claim that Beethoven, recognising that instrumental music
had reached its natural term of existence, had given practical
expression to such a belief by setting Schiller's 'Ode to Joy' in the
finale of his ninth symphony. The assumption is controverted by the
facts that Beethoven composed the works known as the posthumous string
quartets, and sketched a purely instrumental tenth symphony after the
completion of the ninth.
The rejection of a future for Absolute music is, of course, purely
arbitrary. Wagner's achievements for the stage were transcendent, but it
is even conceivable that the progress of time may sooner or later
produce a composer able successfully to champion, in a manner of his
own, the cause of rhythmic melody, of traditional form, on Wagner's own
arena, on the stage itself.
If we examine the pretensions of the so-called larger art, the
musical Drama, versus the capacities of the several arts of poetry,
of music, of dramatic action, by the testimony of Wagner's own works,
is it possible to contend that these make for, and not against, the
wholly superfluous proposition from which he started as a reformer?
One of the reproaches frequently levelled by the New-Germans against
ante-Wagnerian opera was that its form hardly rose above the level of
an entertainment; that entertainment was its _raison d'être_. What,
however, is the ultimate result of the musical Dramas? Is it not also
entertainment--entertainment of a highly complex and luxurious form,
conceived and accomplished, certainly, in the most perfect and perfectly
consistent manner? The famous Dramas are gorgeous stage poems; but are
they so exceptionally and extraordinarily elevating to the mind? They
address the senses with exceptional power. Could either of them replace
amongst our highest possessions a really great play, a great poem, a
great symphony? The art of sound, the art of music, is and remains the
special art divine because it is capable of reaching beyond the limited
impressions of which words are the symbols, and of suggesting the
infinite.
Let us be grateful for the splendid gifts which the genius of Wagner has
bestowed on the world. May the supreme art of music, however, be always
recognised as such. May a musical prophet again arise in due time,
capable of speaking with authority in its language--the language of
Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann,
the language of Bach and of Brahms.
[97] 'Music may accompany action, but can never become its substitute.'
'In the case even of the best and most ideal examples [of
Programme-music] it always happened that I so completely lost the thread
that no effort enabled me to recover it,' etc.
Wagner, at a certain period of his career, professed himself a partial
convert to Programme-music--_i.e._, as it is exemplified in the works of
Liszt; but it is scarcely possible to read his remarks at this point
without feeling that they were wrested from him by his conception of the
obligations of friendship, and the circumstances of the time. Confessing
that he finds it extremely difficult to explain himself, he says that he
leaves to others the task of developing his meaning, and returns
repeatedly to the expression of his general dislike of Programme-music.
II.
THE MAGELONE ROMANCES
The story of the Count Peter of Provence and the beautiful Magelone,
Princess of Naples, which is associated with a well-known ruin on the
south coast of France, is said by Raynouard to have formed the subject
of a poem written towards the close of the twelfth century by Bernhard
de Trèves, Canon of Magelonne in Languedoc. It was adapted as a prose
romance not later than the middle of the twelfth, and printed in at
least five different editions before the end of the fifteenth, century.
Of these, rare copies are to be found in some of the famous libraries of
England and the Continent. Two editions, copies of which are in the
British Museum, were issued by Maître Guillaume Le Roy. With slight
differences of spelling they begin:
'Au nom de notre seigneur ihesucrist, cy comm[=e]ce listoyre du vaillant
chevalier pierre filz du cote de prov[=e]ce et de la belle maguelonne
fille du roy de naples.'
The romance is constructed from the familiar elements of medieval
fiction--chivalry, religion and love--and has been translated at various
dates into almost every European language, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese,
Russian, Norse, etc. It has been republished in German many times
through the centuries since it was first done into that language
(probably in 1483), and was included by G. O. Marbach in 1838 in his
popular series of tales (Volksbücher). That it was this version of the
story that found its way into Frau Löwenherz's library and was read by
Johannes and Lischen is proved beyond doubt by its title, which is
identical with that noted down by the present writer from the lips of
Frau Denninghoff, the 'Lischen' of our biography--'Geschichte der
schönen Magelone und dem Ritter Peter mit den silbernen Schlüsseln'--and
it seems probable that Marbach obtained his tale from an edition
published in 1661 at Nürnburg: 'Historia der schönen Magelona, eines
Königs Tochter von Neaples, und einem Ritter, genannt Peter mit den
silbernen Schlüsseln, eines Grafen Sohn aus Provincia.' Of the many
editions, fifteenth and up to the nineteenth century, to which the
author has had access, no other contains in its title any mention of the
silver keys.
Marbach's version is a fine one. Whilst he has modernized the old
romance in certain respects, he has kept, not only to the main incidents
of the tale, but to the quaint old dialogues which naïvely portray the
characters of the manly-hearted but rather weak-minded Peter and the
high-spirited, self-willed, yet tender Magelone.
Tieck's version, published in 1812 in the first volume of the
'Phantasus,' differs considerably, especially in its particulars of the
beginning and end of the romance, from the original details of the
story. In making his alterations, the poet seems to have been chiefly
concerned to eliminate the religious element from his narrative as far
as possible, and to provide opportunity for the introduction of
seventeen songs of which Brahms composed fifteen. The tale has suffered
considerably in his hands. The general atmosphere of French medieval
fiction, with its characteristic setting of sunrise and sunset, flowers
and birds, and, in parts, the wording of the old romance, have, however,
been preserved, and we may be grateful to Tieck for the poems which have
placed us in possession of Brahms' beautiful song-cycle.
We propose to give an abridgment of his narrative up to a certain point
and to summarize ensuing details, which become prolix and involved in
all the versions. We shall insert only the first few lines of each song.
HOW A STRANGE SINGER CAME TO THE COURT OF PROVENCE.
A long time ago, a Count reigned in Provence whose beautiful and noble
son grew up the joy of his parents. He was big and strong and his
shining fair hair flowed round his neck and shaded his tender, youthful
face. Then he was well proved in arms; no one in or beyond the land
managed the lance and sword as he, so that he was admired by great and
small, young and old, noble and simple. He was often absent-minded as
though meditating on some secret desire, and many experienced people
concluded that he must be in love, but none of them would awaken him
from his thoughts, for they knew that love is like the vision of a
dream, which is apt, if disturbed, to vanish and return to its dwelling
in the ether and the golden mists of morning.
His father gave a great tournament to which many knights were invited.
It was a wonder to see how the tender youth hove the best and strongest
from their saddles. He was lauded by everyone, but no praise made him
proud; indeed he sometimes felt ashamed at overcoming such great and
worthy knights. Amongst the guests was a singer who had seen many lands;
he was no knight, but he surpassed many nobles in insight and
experience. He made friends with Peter and praised him uncommonly, but
concluded his talk with these words: Sir Knight, if I might advise you,
you should not remain here, but should see other places and other men,
to improve your ideas and learn to associate the strange with the
familiar. He took his lute and sang,
No one yet hath rued the day
When on charger mounting
Youthful-strong he sped away,
Pain nor peril counting, etc.
The youth listened to the song: when it was at an end, he remained
awhile sunk in thought; then said: Yes, now I know what I want; many
variegated pictures pass through my mind. No greater joy for a young
knight than to ride through valley and over field. Here in the morning
sunshine stands a stately castle, there over the meadow sounds the
shepherd's shawm; a noble maiden flies by on a white palfrey. Oh, I wish
I were already on my good horse. Heated by these new thoughts, he went
at once to his mother's chamber where he found his father also. Peter
immediately sank on one knee and made his request that his parents would
allow him to travel and seek adventures: for, thus he concluded his
speech, he who only stays at home keeps a narrow mind during his whole
life, but by travel, one learns to associate the strange with the
familiar; therefore do not refuse me your consent.
The old Count said: My son, your request appears to me unsuitable, for
you are my only heir; if I should die in your absence, what would become
of my land? But Peter kept to his request, whereat his mother began to
weep and said to him: Dear, only son, you have never tasted trouble, and
see only your beautiful hopes before you, but remember that if you
depart, a thousand difficulties may confront you; you may be miserable
and wish yourself back with us.
Peter remained humbly on his knees and answered: Beloved parents, I
cannot help it. My only wish is to travel into the wide world, to
experience pleasure and sorrow there and to return a known and honoured
man. For this you travelled in your youth, my father, and brought home
my mother from a strange land. Let me seek a like fortune, I beg for
this with tears.
He took the lute and sang the song which he had heard from the minstrel,
and at the end he wept bitterly. The parents were moved, especially the
mother; she said: Well, I, for my part, will give you my blessing, dear
son, for what you have said is true. The father also rose and blessed
him, and Peter was glad from his heart that he had received his parents'
consent.
Orders were given to prepare everything for his departure, and his
mother sent for him to come to her privately. She gave him three
precious rings and said: See, my son, I have kept these three precious
rings carefully from my youth. Take them with you and treasure them, and
if you find a maiden whom you love, and who is inclined towards you, you
may give them to her. He gratefully kissed her hand, and the morning
came on which he took leave.
HOW THE KNIGHT PETER DEPARTED FROM HIS PARENTS.
When Peter was ready to mount his horse, his father blessed him again
and said: My son, may good fortune ever accompany you so that we may see
you back again healthy and strong; think constantly of the precepts I
have impressed upon your tender youth; seek good, and avoid evil,
company; honour the laws of knighthood and never forget them, for they
are the noblest thoughts of the noblest men in their best hours; always
be loyal even though you may be deceived, for the touchstone of the
brave is that though he may seldom meet honourable men, he remain true
to himself. Farewell!
Peter rode away without attendance, for, like many young knights, he
wished to remain unknown. The sun had risen gloriously, and the fresh
dew sparkled on the meadows. Peter was in cheerful spirits and spurred
on his good horse so that it sprang boldly forward. An old song rang in
his head and he sang it out loud:
Yes! arrow on bow
Shall swiftly be laid
To humble the foe,
The helpless to aid, etc.
He arrived, after many days' journey, at the famous city of Naples. He
had heard much talk on his way of the King and his surpassingly
beautiful daughter Magelone, so that he was very anxious to see her face
to face. He dismounted at an inn to ask for news, and heard from the
host that a distinguished knight, Sir Henry of Carpone, had come and
that a splendid tournament was to be held in his honour. He learned,
also, that entrance would be allowed to strangers who appeared equipped
according to the laws of tourney. Peter at once resolved to be present
to try his dexterity and strength.
PETER SEES THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.
When the day of the tournament arrived, Peter put on his armour and
betook himself to the lists. He had had two beautiful silver keys of
uncommonly fine workmanship placed upon his helmet, and had caused his
shield and the cover of his horse to be likewise ornamented with keys.
This he did for the sake of his name and in honour of the Apostle Peter,
whom he greatly loved. He had recommended himself to his care and
protection from his youth and therefore chose this token, as he wished
to remain unknown.
A herald rode forward and with sound of trumpet proclaimed the
tournament that was opened to the honour of the beautiful Magelone. She
herself sat on an elevated balcony and looked down on the assemblage of
knights. Peter looked up but could not see her distinctly as she was too
far off....
... Peter opposed the knight in the lists and soon threw him from his
horse, so that everyone marvelled at his strength; he did more, for in a
short time he had emptied every saddle so that none remained to tilt
against him. Then everyone desired to know the name of the strange
knight, and the King of Naples himself sent his herald to learn it, but
Peter humbly begged leave to remain unknown until he should have become
worthy by his deeds to name himself, and this answer pleased the King.
It was not long before another tournament was held, and the beautiful
Magelone secretly hoped that the knight with the silver keys might again
be visible, for she loved him, but had as yet confided this to no one,
since first love is despondent and holds itself a traitor. She grew red
as Peter again entered the lists in his conspicuous armour. She gazed at
him steadily, and he was victor in every contest; at length she felt no
more surprise, for it seemed to her as though it could not be otherwise.
At last the tournament was over. Peter had again won great praise and
honour.
The King sent to invite him to his table; he sat opposite the Princess
and was amazed at her beauty. She constantly looked kindly at him, which
caused him the greatest confusion. His talk pleased the King, and his
noble and strong appearance astonished the attendants. In the hall he
found opportunity to speak alone with the Princess, and she invited him
to come again often, upon which he took leave; she sent him away at
length with another very kind glance.
Peter went through the streets as if intoxicated. He hurried into a
beautiful garden and walked up and down with folded arms, now slowly,
now quickly, without being able to understand how the hours passed. He
heard nothing around him, for music within him drowned the whispering of
the trees and the rippling murmur of the fountains. A thousand times he
spoke the name Magelone and then was suddenly afraid that he had called
it loudly through the garden. Towards evening a sweet music sounded, and
now he sat down on the grass behind a bush and wept. It seemed to him as
though heaven had for the first time displayed its beauty, and yet this
feeling made him unhappy. He saw the grace of the Princess floating on
the silver waves; she appeared like sunrise in the darkening night, and
the stars stood still, trees were quiet, and the winds hushed. Now the
last accents of the music sounded, the trees rustled again and the
fountains grew louder. Peter roused himself and softly sang the
following song:
Is it gladness that is ringing,
Is it sorrow, in my heart?
Now a thousand flow'rs are springing
And all former joys depart, etc.
He was somewhat comforted and swore to win his love or to die. Late at
night he returned to the inn, sat down in his room, and repeated every
word the Princess had said to him. Now he thought he had reason to
rejoice, then he was again troubled and in doubt. He wished to write to
his father, but could only address Magelone, and then he reproached
himself for his absence of mind in venturing to write to her whom he did
not know. At length he lay down; slumber overcame him, and wonderful
visions of love and flight, solitary forests and storms at sea, visited
his chamber and covered the bare walls as with beautiful variegated
hangings.
HOW THE KNIGHT SENT MAGELONE A MESSAGE.
During the night Magelone was as restless as her unknown knight. She
went often to the window and looked down thoughtfully into the garden.
She listened to the rustling trees, looked at the stars mirrored in the
sea, reproached the stranger because he was not standing before her
window, then wept because she thought it impossible. When she closed her
eyes she saw the tournament and the beloved unknown looking up with
longing hope. Now she fed on these fancies, now she scolded herself.
Towards morning she fell into a light slumber.
At last she resolved to confess her inclination to her beloved nurse. In
a confidential evening hour she said to her: Dear nurse, something has
for a long time been weighing upon me which almost crushes my heart; I
must, at length, tell it you and you must help me with your motherly
counsel, for I do not know any longer how to advise myself. The nurse
answered: Confide in me, dear child; it is for this that I am older, and
love you as a mother, that I may assist you to good purpose, for youth
never knows how to help itself.
When the Princess heard these words she became more courageous and
confidential and said: Oh, Gertrude have you observed the unknown knight
with the silver keys? But of course you have, for he is the only one
worth notice; all the others serve but to glorify him, to circle his
head with the sunshine of fame. He is the one man, the most beautiful
youth, the bravest hero. Since I saw him my eyes have become useless,
for they now see only my thoughts in which he dwells in all his glory.
If I only knew that he were of high race I would place all my hopes on
him; but he cannot come from an unworthy house, who then could be called
noble? Oh, answer, comfort me, dear nurse, and give me counsel.
When the nurse heard these words she was frightened and said: Dear
child, I have long expected that you would confide to me who it is that
you love of the nobles of this or another kingdom, for the highest of
the land and even kings desire you. But why have you placed your
inclination upon a stranger of whom no one knows whence he came? I
tremble lest the King, your father, should observe your love. The
Princess became much agitated whilst the nurse was speaking, and when
she ceased, vehemently reproached her for calling the knight who was so
near her heart a stranger.... Oh, go and seek him, Gertrude, and find
out his rank and his name. He will not keep them secret if I ask them,
for I would keep no secrets from him.
When the morning came the nurse went to church to pray for guidance and
perceived the knight also kneeling in devout prayer. When he rose, he
approached and greeted her politely, for he had seen her at Court. She
gave him the Princess's message and asked his name and his rank: because
it did not become so noble a man to remain hidden.
Peter rejoiced, for he perceived that Magelone loved him. He begged
leave to keep his name concealed a little longer, but ended his talk
with the nurse by saying: Tell the Princess that I am of noble lineage,
and that my ancestors are famed in history books. Meanwhile take this
remembrance and let it be a little reward for your welcome message which
has brought back hope to me.
He gave the nurse one of his rings and she was glad, because she knew
from it that he must be of high descent. He modestly gave her, also, a
leaf of parchment, saying he did so in the hope that the Princess would
read some words that he had written down in the sentiment of his love.
Love drew near from distant places,
No attendant in her train,
Beckon'd me, nor called in vain,
Held me fast in sweet embraces, etc.
The song touched Magelone deeply; it was like the echo of her own
feeling. She persuaded the nurse to give her the ring in exchange for
another trinket, and before going to rest at night she hung it by a
chain of pearls to her neck. She dreamed of a garden, nightingales,
music, love, and of another ring even more precious than the first. In
the morning she told her dream to the nurse, who became thoughtful, for
she saw that the happiness or unhappiness of the Princess was fixed on
the unknown knight.
HOW THE KNIGHT SENT MAGELONE A RING.
The nurse tried to see Peter again and found him in church. He went to
her directly and asked after the Princess. The nurse told him she had
kept the ring and had read his words; she also mentioned Magelone's
dream. Peter grew red with joy and said: Ah, dear nurse, tell her all I
feel and that I must die of longing if I do not speak to her soon; if,
however, I may talk with her face to face, I will reveal to her my rank
and my name. All my desire is to win her for my wife. Give her this ring
also and pray her to keep it as a little token. The nurse hastened back
to Magelone, who ran to meet her and asked for news. See, cried the
Princess, this is the ring I dreamed of. A leaf contained this song:
Does pity so tender
Tell love's sweet surrender?
Oh, am I awake?
The fountains are springing,
The streams softly singing,
And all for love's sake.
HOW THE KNIGHT RECEIVED ANOTHER MESSAGE FROM THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.
Peter again met the nurse in church. She asked him to swear to her his
honourable intentions, and, when he had taken his oath, promised to help
him and the Princess. She told Peter to prepare to go, to-morrow
afternoon, through the secret garden-gate to her room to see Magelone
there, and ended by saying: I will leave you alone, that you may speak
out your hearts to each other.
After telling him the hour at which he was to go through the gate, she
left. Peter was distracted with joy, and it seemed to him that the time
stood still until the evening hours. He sat up late at night without a
light, looking at the clouds and stars, his heart beating violently. At
length he slept. All the next morning he was unable to calm himself, so
at last he took a lute and sang:
Oh, how shall I measure
The joy of our meeting?
My spirit's wild beating
Acclaimeth my soul's only treasure.
HOW PETER VISITED THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.
When the nurse brought Peter to her room he trembled and was very
frightened, and both he and Magelone were much confused. Magelone could
scarcely help rising and going towards him. She controlled herself,
however, and remained seated. The nurse left the room and Peter sank on
one knee before the Princess. Magelone gave him her beautiful hand and
told him to rise and sit near her. Peter told the Princess that all his
life was consecrated to her. He gave her the third ring, which was the
most precious of all, and in doing so kissed her hand.... Then she took
a costly gold chain and hung it round his neck, and said: Herewith I
take you as mine. Here she took the frightened knight in her arms and
kissed him, and he returned the kiss and pressed her to his heart. When
they were obliged to part, Peter hastened at once to his room. He walked
up and down with great strides and at length seized his instrument,
kissed the strings and wept. Then he sang with great fervour:
Were they thine on which these lips were pressing,
Thine the frankly-offered, tender kiss?
Dwells in earthly living so much bliss?
Ha! what light and life were in thy sweet confessing,
All my senses tremble in its blessing! etc.
A TOURNAMENT IN HONOUR OF THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.
The King of Naples much wished his daughter to be soon married to the
knight, Henry of Carpone, who had now waited at Naples a long time for
this purpose, and he proclaimed another tournament more splendid than
any that had gone before it. Many famous knights came from Italy and
France, and Peter was victor over all.
When it was over he went to see Magelone; he had now visited her pretty
often, and thought he would like to try her, so he said that he should
now be obliged to leave her and go and be with his parents. Magelone
wept very much, but as Peter persisted she at length gave way, and said:
Go, then, I shall die. Peter rejoiced at this and told her he would not
leave her.
Magelone, however, became thoughtful, and after she had reflected for a
while, said to the knight that her father would soon marry her to Sir
Henry of Carpone, and that therefore it would, perhaps, be better for
Peter to return to his father and mother and to take her with him. She
desired him to have two good horses ready the next night at the
garden-gate: But let them be swift and strong, for if we were to be
overtaken we should all be miserable.
The youth heard the Princess with joyful surprise. He said it would be
best to take her to his parents, and that the horses should be ready.
Magelone did not confide their intention even to the nurse for fear lest
she should betray them.
Peter took a walk through the town to bid farewell to the places near
which he had so often wandered in his intoxication, and which he
regarded as witnesses of his love. When he returned to his room he was
moved to see his faithful lute on the table. Touched by his fingers, it
had often expressed the feelings of his heart. He took it up again for
the last time and sang,
Dear strings, we are parting
This night for evermore,
'Tis time to be starting
For the far-off blissful shore, etc.
HOW MAGELONE WENT AWAY WITH THE KNIGHT.
When the night came it was very cloudy and the moonlight showed scantily
through the darkness. Magelone said farewell to her favourite flowers as
she went through the garden. She found Peter before the gate with three
horses, one a palfrey with a light and easy step; the third was to carry
provisions, so that they need not enter the inns.
The nurse missed the Princess the next morning, and the King sent out
many people to search, but all returned after some days without tidings.
Peter chose to ride towards the forests by the sea because they were
quiet and lonely. He and Magelone rode on through the night and Magelone
was happy. The forest was dark, but whenever they came to an open space
she refreshed herself by gazing at Peter. In the morning there was a
white mist and by-and-by the sun shone out. The horses neighed, the
birds awoke and sang as they hopped from branch to branch, the happy
larks flew upwards and sang from above into the red glimmering world.
Peter also sang cheerful songs. The two travellers saw in the glowing
sky, in the brightness of the fresh forest, a reflection of their love.
The sun mounted higher, and towards noon Magelone felt a great
weariness. They dismounted, therefore, at a cool, shady place in the
forest where there was a mound thickly covered with moss and tender
grass. Here Peter sat down and spread out his mantle, and Magelone
placed herself upon it, resting her head on the knight. She told Peter
how happy she was, and begged him to sing to her, to mingle his voice
with the birds, the trees, the brooks, in order that she might sleep a
little: But wake me at the right time in order that we may soon arrive
at the home of your dear parents. Peter smiled, watched her beautiful
eyes close, and sang,
Rest thee, sweet love, in the shadow
Of leafy, glimmering night;
The grass rustles over the meadow,
Refreshing and cool is the shadow,
And love holds thee in sight.
Sleep, lady mine,
Hush'd in woodland shrine,
Ever I am thine, etc.
Peter almost sang himself to sleep also. Then something roused him. He
looked round and saw a number of beautiful, tender birds on the mound,
and it pleased him that they came so near to Magelone. But a slight
noise caused him to turn again, and he was startled to perceive a great
black raven perched on the branch of the tree behind him; it seemed to
him like a rough, coarse churl amongst noble knights.
He fancied that Magelone breathed with some uneasiness, and unlaced the
neck of her dress. There he found a little red silk bag; it was new, and
he was curious to know what was in it and turned it out. He was
overjoyed to find that it contained his three precious rings, and
quickly wrapped them up again and placed them beside him on the grass.
But suddenly the raven flew down from the tree and carried away the bag,
perhaps taking it for a piece of meat. Peter was frightened. Magelone
might awaken and be displeased at losing her rings. He therefore folded
his mantle and placed it carefully under her head, and then stood up to
look for the raven. It flew away, and Peter followed and threw stones to
make it drop the bag, but was unable to hit it. As it flew further and
further he went after it, without noticing that he was already some
distance from the spot where he had left Magelone sleeping, till
presently he came to the sea. There was a pointed crag not far from the
shore and the raven perched there, and Peter again threw stones. At last
the bird dropped the bag and flew away screaming. Peter saw the bag
floating in the sea close by and ran up and down to find something to
help him into the water. He found an old weather-beaten boat left behind
by fishermen as useless, and jumped into it and tried to steer towards
the bag. Suddenly a strong wind blew from the land, the waves rose and,
in spite of all Peter could do, the boat was carried past the crag and
further and further from the shore. The bag was fast disappearing from
sight; now it was only like a red spot in the distance, the land
receded. Peter cried and lamented loudly, but without avail. His tones
were echoed back mingled with the sound of the waves. He thought of
Magelone sleeping in the wood, and wished to drown himself in his
despair. Presently the sun shone out, and now he was seized with a
terrible thirst which he was unable to quench. At length evening began
to fall: Ah, dearest Magelone, he thought, how strangely have we been
parted! The moon filled the world with golden twilight; stars appeared
in heaven, and the firmament was mirrored in the waving water. All was
still and only the waves plashed, and birds fluttered over him from time
to time, filling the air with strange tones. At last Peter lay down in
the boat and sang loudly,
Foam on then in furious raging,
Surround me, tempestuous waves,
Relentless thy forces engaging,
For death is the boon that love craves, etc.
The sequel may be summarized. Magelone, on awakening and finding herself
alone, waits vainly for Peter's return, and at length, as night comes
on, climbs a tree to be safe from the wild beasts which she fancies she
hears in the distance. In the morning she loosens the horses which Peter
had tied to a tree and lets them go their own way, and after a little
while finds herself on the road to Rome, where she makes an exchange of
dress with a passing pilgrim. Making her way first to Rome and thence to
Genoa, she takes ship for Provence, where she thinks she may hear
something of Peter. She is sheltered on her arrival there by a kind
woman who talks to her about the good Count and Countess of Provence and
of their great grief. They have heard nothing of their only son since
his departure two years ago in quest of adventure. Magelone now knows
that some sad mishap has befallen Peter, and that he had not intended to
leave her. She resolves to remain unmarried, think of Peter, and
dedicate her life to the service of God. The kind woman with whom she is
staying tells her of a small island near 'the port of the heathen,'
where all merchant-ships and other vessels call in passing and where
many poor and sick folk are to be found. Here she resolves to settle.
She builds a small church, the altar of which is raised to the honour of
St. Peter, and calls it the Church of St. Pierre de Maguelonne. The fame
of her strict life and good deeds reaches the ear of the Count and
Countess of Provence, who go to see her, and the Countess, not knowing
who she is, relates the history of her troubles. Magelone comforts her
and inspires her with the hope that Peter will return. Some time
afterwards the Count's cook finds a small red bag in the belly of a
great fish which he has cut open. He runs with it to the Countess, who
finds that it contains her three precious rings. This wonderful event
convinces her that she will see her son again.
Tieck's version of Magelone's adventure is that, after untying the
horses and wandering alone for some days till she comes to Provence, she
finds shelter in a shepherd's hut, where she sings the song No. 11 of
Brahms' cycle:
Not long enduring,
Light goes by;
The morning seeth
The chaplet dry
That yesterday blossomed
In splendour bright,
But drooped and withered
In gloom of night, etc.
Peter's adventures are various. Rousing himself from his despair on the
morning after his separation from Magelone, he resolves to bear the
anguish as well as the joy of life with manly courage. Soon a big
pirate-ship sails towards him. It is full of Moors and heathen who take
him on board, and who, struck with his youth and glorious manhood,
determine to carry him as a present to the Sultan of Babylon. The Sultan
is pleased with Peter and shows him high favour. He puts him in charge
of a beautiful garden and lets him wait on him at table.
So far Tieck is faithful to the old story, only introducing the song
(No. 12 of Brahms' work) which Peter sings as he walks in the garden
thinking sadly of Magelone:
Are we, then, for ever parted?
Was our true love all in vain?
Why must we live broken-hearted?
Death were surely lesser pain, etc.
From this point the versions differ. In the medieval romance, Peter,
who, though beloved by everyone in the Sultan's palace and especially by
the Sultan himself, is very unhappy, at length persuades his master to
let him go and see his parents, and, after adventures on the way, is
recognised by Magelone in one of the beds of her hospital to which he
has been brought almost lifeless.
Tieck, who does not localize the Sultan, introduces into the story his
beautiful daughter Sulima, who falls violently in love with Peter and
has him secretly introduced to her presence by a confidential slave.
Peter, greatly surprised and embarrassed, is astonished at her beauty,
but his heart holds fast to Magelone. He longs to see his native land
again, to be amongst Christians and with his parents. He often sees
Sulima, who observes his unhappiness and one day offers to fly with him
in a ship that is already standing in the harbour with sails filled. She
will give him a sign for a certain evening; when he hears a little song
he likes in the garden, he is to come and fetch her. Peter, after
considering the proposal, decides to accept it. He believes Magelone to
be dead, and thinks that he will thus be enabled to return to a
Christian land and to his parents.
On the appointed night he walks up and down the Sultan's garden by the
shore. At length he sleeps, and dreams that Magelone is looking at him
threateningly. On awaking, he walks up and down again, reproaching
himself, and at last resolves to throw himself into a little boat and
cast out to sea alone. It is a lovely summer night, a warm breeze is
stirring, and Peter gives himself up to chance and the stars. Then he
hears the sign. A zither sounds, and a sweet voice sings,
Belovèd, where dwelleth
Thy footstep this night?
The nightingale telleth
Its tale of delight, etc.
Peter's heart shrinks within him as he hears the song; it seems to call
after him his weakness and vacillation. He rows more swiftly; love urges
him backwards, love draws him onward. The music becomes fainter and
fainter; now it is quite lost in the distance, and only the murmur of
the waves and the stroke of the oar sound through the stillness.
Peter gathers heart when the sound of the song no longer reaches him,
and lets the little vessel drift before the wind as he sits down and
sings:
Fresh courage on my spirit breaks
And fading is my sadness;
New life within me reawakes
Old longing and old gladness, etc.
Tieck preserves the further adventures of the romance, but brings the
knight to Magelone as she sits spinning outside the door of the
shepherd's hut. The song of their reunion is the fifteenth and last of
Brahms' cycle:
Faithful love long time endureth,
Many an hour it doth survive,
And from sorrow strength secureth,
And from doubt doth faith derive.
III.
THE HAMBURG LADIES' CHOIR [98]
Avertimento.
Sondern weilen es absolute dem Plaisire fördersam ist, wenn es fein
ordentlich dabei einhergeht, als wird denen curieusen Gemüthern, so
Mitglieder des sehr nutz- und lieblichen Frauenchors wünschen zu
werden und zu bleiben jetzund kund und offenbar gethan, daß sie
partoute die Clausuln und Puncti hiefolgenden Geschreibsels unter
zu zeichnen haben ehe sie sich obgenannten Tituls erfreuen und an
der musikalischen Erlustigung und Divertirung parte nehmen können.
Ich hätte zwaren schon längst damit unter der Bank herfür wischen
sollen, alleine aberst dennoch, weilen der Frühling erst lieblich
präambuliret und bis der Sommer finiret, gesungen werden dürfte,
als möchte es noch an der Zeit sein dieses Opus an das Tageslicht
zu stellen.
Pro primo wäre zu remarquiren daß die Mitglieder des Frauenchors +da+
sein müssen.
Als wird verstanden: daß sie sich obligiren sollen, den Stehungen
und Singungen der Societät regelmäßig beizuwohnen.
So nun Jemand diesen Articul nicht gehörig observiret und, wo Gott
für sei, der Fall passirete, daß Jemand wider jedes Decorum so
fehlete, daß er während eines Exercitiums ganz fehlete:
soll gestraft werden mit einer Buße von 8 Schillingen H. C.
[Hamburger Courant].
Pro secundo ist zu beachten, daß die Mitglieder des Frauenchors +da+
sein müssen.
Als ist zu nehmen, sie sollen praecise zur anberaumeten Zeit da
sein.
Wer nun hiewieder also sündiget, daß er das ganze Viertheil einer
Stunde zu spät der Societät seine schuldige Reverentz und
Aufwartung machet, soll um 2 Schillinge H. C. gestrafet werden.
|:Ihrer großen Meriten um den Frauenchor wegen und in Betracht
ihrer vermuthlich höchst mangelhaften und unglücklichen Complexion,
soll nun hier für die nicht genug zu favorirende und adorirende
Demoiselle Laura Garbe ein Abonnement hergestellt werden, wesmaßen
sie nicht jedesmal zu bezahlen braucht, sondern aber ihro am Schluß
des Quartals eine moderirte Rechnung praesentiret wird:|
Pro tertio: Das einkommende Geld mag denen Bettelleuten gegeben
werden und wird gewünscht daß Niemand davon gesättiget werden möge.
Pro quarto ist zu merken, daß die Musikalien großentheils der
Discretion der Dames anvertrauet sind. Derohalben sollen sie wie
fremdes Eigenthum von den ehr- und tugendsamen Jungfrauen und Frauen
in rechter Lieb und aller Hübschheit gehalten werden, auch in
keinerlei Weise außerhalb der Societät benützet werden.
Pro quinto: Was nicht mit singen kann, das sehen wir als ein
Neutrum an. Will heißen: Zuhörer werden geduldet indessen aber pro
ordinario nicht beachtet, was Gestalt sonsten die rechte
Nutzbarkeit der Exercitia nicht beschaffet werden möchte.
Obgemeldeter gehörig specifizirter Erlaß wird durch gegenwärtiges
General-Rescript anjetzo jeder männiglich public gemacht und soll
in Würden gehalten werden, bis der Frauenchor seine Endschaft
erreichet hat.
Solltest du nun nicht nur vor dich ohnverbrüchlich darob halten,
sondern auch alles Ernstes daran sein, daß andere auf keinerlei
Weise noch Wege darwider thun noch handeln mögen.
An dem beschiehet unsere Meinung und erwarte dero gewünschte und
wohlgewogene Approbation.
Der ich verharre in tiefster Devotion
und Veneration des Frauenchors allzeit dienstbeflissener
schreibfertiger und taktfester
Johannes Kreisler jun.
alias: Brahms.
Geben auf Montag
den 30ten des Monats Aprili.
A. D. 1860
Professor Hübbe adds:
'It must be said in explanation of the jesting note to section 2 that
the Demoiselle Garbe mentioned in it was often prevented from being
punctual, and that Brahms was unwilling to begin without her. The
exception at first taken by her to the note in question was met most
kindly by Frau Schumann, who pointed out that the special mention of her
name in the highly important document would be the very means of
securing its lasting fame.
The 'begging people' of section 3 saw nothing, as I am told, of the
money collected by the fines, which was used for other purposes--on one
occasion for an excursion to Reinbeck.
One of the ladies' copies still in existence bears the following
signatures: Auguste Brandt, Bertha Porubszky, Laura Garbe, Marie
Seebohm, Emilie Lentz, Clara Schumann, Julie Hallier, Marie Hallier, Ch.
Avé Lallement, Friedchen Wagner, Thusnelde Wagner, M. Reuter, Betty
Völckers, Marie Völckers, Henny Gabain, Marie Böhme, Francisca Meier,
Camilla Meier, Susanne Schmaltz, Antonie Mertens (Emma Grädener).'
The metal badge which the members had to wear was no doubt adopted at
this time (1860). It had the form of a trefoil clover-leaf with a circle
in the centre. This displayed a B upon red, and the three surrounding
parts of the trefoil, the letters H. F. C. upon blue, ground.
[98] From 'Brahms in Hamburg,' by Walter Hübbe. See p. 255 of this
narrative.
END OF VOL. I.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
Transcriber's Note
Apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below.
"_" surrounding text represents italics.
"+" surrounding text represents gesperrt.
Punctuation, capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been
made consistent.
Illustrations have been moved to be closer to their discussion in the
text.
Page 71, "muscial" changed to "musical". (The boy's musical services
would be at his command in return.)
Page 98, "Anzeige" changed to "Anzeiger". (The concert was advertised in
the _Lüneburger Anzeiger_ of May 7, the twentieth birthday anniversary
of our Johannes:)
Page 145, "Den" chagned to "Dem". ('Dem Fräulein Japha, zum Andenken an
das Weihnachtsfest, 1853, als Vorbote des eigentlichen Gebers. R.
Schumann')
Page 182, "cirsumstances" changed to "circumstances". (In spite of the
melancholy circumstances that kept them at Düsseldorf--and anxiety about
Schumann was again increasing--the time was a happy one to the two young
men, who passed many hours of the day in each other's society.)
Page 290, "comm[=e]ce" and "prov[=e]ce" appear with a macron over the
first e. [=e] has been used to represent this.
Footnote [6] originally referred to Chapter X. in Vol. II. However, as
there is no Chapter X. in Vol. II., this has been updated to read
Chapter XXI., which makes reference to the subject.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Life of Johannes Brahms (Vol 1 of 2)" ***
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