Excerpt from the fourth movement of Brahms' Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98.[Listen]
and in such a manner that its contrapuntal learning remains subordinate to its poetic contents.... It can be compared with no former work of Brahms and stands alone in the symphonic literature of the present and the past.'
A still more triumphant issue attended the production of the symphony under Brahms at a concert of the Hamburg Cecilia Society on April 9. Josef Sittard, who had recently been appointed musical critic to theHamburger Correspondenten, a post he has held to the present day, wrote:
'To-day we abide by what we have affirmed for years past in musical journals; that Brahms is the greatest instrumental composer since Beethoven. Power, passion, depth of thought, exalted nobility of melody and form, are the qualities which form the artistic sign manual of his creations. The E minor (fourth) Symphony is distinguished from the second and third principally by the rigorous and even grim earnestness which, though in a totally different way, mark the first. More than ever does the composer follow out his ideas to their conclusion, and this unbending logic makes the immediate understanding of the work difficult. But the oftener we have heard it, the more clearly have its great beauties, the depth, energy and power of its thoughts, the clearness of its classic form, revealed themselves to us. In the contrapuntal treatment of its themes, in richness of harmony and in the art of instrumentation, it seems to as superior to the second and third, these, perhaps, have theadvantage of greater melodic beauty; a guarantee of popularity. In depth, power and originality of conception, however, the fourth symphony takes its place by the side of the first....'
After an interesting discussion of the several movements, the writer adds: 'In a word, the symphony is of monumental significance.'
Brahms' fourth symphony, produced when he was over fifty, is, in the opinion of most musicians, unsurpassed by any other achievement of his genius. It has during the past twenty years been growing slowly into general knowledge and favour, and will, it may be safely predicted, become still more deeply rooted in its place amongst the composer's most widely-valued works. The second movement, in the opinion of the late Philipp Spitta, 'does not find its equal in the symphonic world'; and the fourth, written in 'Passacaglia' form, is the most astonishing illustration achieved even by Brahms himself of the limitless capability of variation form, in which he is pre-eminent.[69]
It is with something of a mournful feeling that we find ourselves at the close of our enumeration of the master's four greatest instrumental works. Enough, we may hope, has been said to indicate that any comparison of the symphonies as inferior or superior is impossible, for the reason that each, while perfectly fulfilling its own particular destiny, is quite different from all the others, and such natural preference as may be felt by this or that listener for either must be considered as purely personal. The present writer may, perhaps, be allowed to confess that, with all joy in thedainty second and the magnificent third and fourth—emphatically the fourth—neither appeals to her quite so strongly as the first. There is here a quality of youth in the intensity of the soaring imagination that seems to search the universe, which, presented as it is with the wealth of resource that was at the command of the mature composer, could not by its nature be other than unique. The presence of this very quality may be the reason why the first symphony suffers even more lamentably than its companions from the dull, cold, cautious, 'classical' rendering which Brahms' orchestral works receive at the hands of some conductors, who seem unable to realize that a composer who founds his works on certain definite and traditional principles of structure does not thereby change his nature, or in any degree renounce the free exercise of his poetic gifts.
Perhaps the present is as good an opportunity as may occur for passing mention of a newspaper episode of the eighties, which was much talked of for a few years, but which, though it may have caused Brahms annoyance, could not possibly at this period of his career have had any more serious consequence so far as he was concerned.
Hugo Wolf, in 1884 a young aspirant to fame, seeking recognition but finding none, poor, gifted, disappointed, weak in health, highly nervous, without influential friends, accepted an opportunity of increasing his miserably small means of subsistence by becoming the musical critic of theSalon Blatt, a weekly society paper of Vienna, and soon made for himself an unenviable notoriety by his persistent attacks upon Brahms' compositions. The affair would not now demand mention in a biography of our master if it were not that the posthumous recognition afforded to Wolf's art gives some interest, though not of an agreeable nature, to this association of his name with that of Brahms. For the benefit of those readers who may wish to study the matter further, it may be added that Wolf's criticisms have been republished since his death. For ourselves, having done what was, perhaps, incumbent on us by referring to the matter, we shall adopt what we believe would have been Brahms'desire, by allowing it, so far as these pages are concerned, to follow others of the kind to oblivion.
The summer of 1886 was the first of the three seasons passed by Brahms at Thun, of which Widmann has written so charming an account. He rented the entire first-floor of a house opposite the spot where the river Aare flows out of the lake, the ground-floor being occupied by the owner, who kept a little haberdashery shop. According to his general custom, he dined in fine weather in the garden of some inn, occasionally alone, but oftener in the company of a friend or friends. Every Saturday he went to Bern to remain till Monday or longer with the Widmanns, who, like other friends, found him a most considerate and easily satisfied guest, though his exceptional energy of body and mind often made it exhausting work to keep up with him.
'His week-end visits were,' says Widmann, 'high festivals and times of rejoicing for me and mine; days of rest they certainly were not, for the constantly active mind of our guest demanded similar wakefulness from all his associates and one had to pull one's self well together to maintain sufficient freshness to satisfy the requirements of his indefatigable vitality.... I have never seen anyone who took such fresh, genuine and lasting interest in the surroundings of life as Brahms, whether in objects of nature, art, or even industry. The smallest invention, the improvement of some article for household use, every trace, in short, of practical ingenuity gave him real pleasure. And nothing escaped his observation.... He hated bicycles because the flow of his ideas was so often disturbed by the noiseless rushing past, or the sudden signal, of these machines, and also because he thought the trampling movement of the rider ugly. He was, however, glad to live in the age of great inventions and could not sufficiently admire the electric light, Edison's phonographs, etc. He was equally interested in the animal world. I always had to tell him anew about the family customs of the bears in the Bern bear-pits before which we often stood together. Indeed, subjects of conversation seemed inexhaustible during his visits.'[70]
Brahms' ordinary costume, the same here as elsewhere, was chosen quite without regard to appearances. Merelapse of time must occasionally have compelled him to wear a new coat, but it is safe to conclude that his feelings suffered discomposure on the rare occurrence of such a crisis. Neckties and white collars were reserved as special marks of deference to conventionality. During his visits to Thun he used on wet Saturdays to appear at Bern wearing 'an old brown-gray plaid fastened over his chest with an immense pin, which completed his strange appearance.' Many were the books borrowed from Widmann at the beginning, and brought back at the end, of the week, carried by him in a leather bag slung over his shoulder. Most of them were standard works; he was not devoted to modern literature on the whole, though he read with pleasure new and really good books of history and travel, and was fond of Gottfried Keller's novels and poems. Over engravings and photographs of Italian works of art he would pore for hours, never weary of discussing memories and predilections with his friend.
Visits to the Bern summer theatre, a short mountain tour with Widmann, an introduction to Ernst von Wildenbruch, whose dramas the master liked, and with whom he now found himself in personal sympathy—events such as these served to diversify the summer season of 1886, which was made musically noteworthy by the composition of a group of chamber works, the Sonatas in A and F major for pianoforte with violin and violoncello respectively, and the Trio in C minor for pianoforte and strings. The Sonatas were performed for the first time in public in Vienna; severally by Brahms and Hellmesberger, at the Quartet concert of December 2, and by Brahms and Hausmann at Hausmann's concert of November 24; the Trio was introduced at Budapest about the same time by Brahms, Hubay, and Popper, in each case from the manuscript.
Detailed discussion of these works is superfluous; two of them, at all events, are amongst the best known of Brahms' compositions. The Sonata for pianoforte and violoncello in F is the least familiar of the group, but assuredly not because it is inferior to its companions. It is, indeed, one of the masterpieces of Brahms' later concisestyle. Each movement has a remarkable individuality of its own, whilst all are unmistakably characteristic of the composer. The first is broad and energetic, the second profoundly touching, the third vehemently passionate—in the Brahms' signification of the word, be it noted, which means that the emotions are reached through the intellectual imagination—the fourth written from beginning to end in a spirit of vivacity and fun. The work was tried in the first instance at Frau Fellinger's house. 'Are you expecting Hausmann?' Brahms inquired carelessly of this lady soon after his return in the autumn. Frau Fellinger, suspecting that something lay behind the question, telegraphed to the great violoncellist, who usually stayed at her house when in Vienna, to come as soon as possible, if only for a day. He duly appeared, and the new sonata was played by Brahms and himself on the evening of his arrival. They performed it again the day before the concert above recorded, at a large party at Billroth's.
The last movement of the beautiful Sonata in A for pianoforte and violin is sometimes criticised as being almost too concise. The present writer confesses that she always feels it to be so, and one day confided this sentiment to Joachim, who did not agree with her, but said that the coda was originally considerably longer. 'Brahms told me he had cut a good deal away; he aimed always at condensation.'
Dr. Widmann allows us to publish an English version of a poem written by him on this work, the original of which is published in the appendix to his 'Brahms Recollections.' We have desired to place it before our English-speaking readers, not only because it coincides remarkably with what we related in our early chapters of the delicate, fanciful tastes of the youthful Hannes, but because it gave pleasure to the Brahms of fifty-three, and even of sixty-three, and thus seems to illustrate the fact on which we have insisted, that if in any case then in our master's, the child was father to the man. Only a year before his death the great composer wrote to Widmann to beg for one or two more copies of the poem, which had been printed for private circulation.
THE THUN SONATA.
Poem on the Sonata in A for Pianoforte and Violin, Op. 100,By Johannes Brahms,
WRITTEN BYJ. V. WIDMANN.
There where the Aare's waters gently glideFrom out the lake and flow towards the town,Where pleasant shelter spreading trees provide,Amidst the waving grass I laid me down;And sleeping softly on that summer day,I saw a wondrous vision as I lay.
Three knights rode up on proudly stepping steeds,Tiny as elves, but with the mien of kings,And spake to me: 'We come to search the meads,To seek a treasure here, of precious thingsAmongst the fairest; wilt thou help us traceA new-born child, a child of heav'nly race?'
'And who are ye?' I, dreaming, made reply;'Knights of the golden meadows' then they said,'That at the foot of yonder Niesen[71]lie;And in our ancient castles many a maidHath listened to the greeting of our strings,Long mute and passed amid forgotten things.
'But lately tones were heard upon the lake,A sound of strings whose like we never knew,So David played, perhaps, for Saul's dread sake,Soothing the monarch curtained from his view;It reached us as it softly swelled and sank,And drew us, filled with longing, to this bank.
'Then help us search, for surely from this place,This meadow by the river, came the sound;Help us then here the miracle to trace,That we may offer homage when 'tis found.Sleeps under flow'rs the new-born creature rare?Or is it floating in the evening air?'
But ere they ceased, a sudden rapid twirlRuffled the waters, and, before our eyes,A fairy boat from out the wavelet's whirlFloated up stream, guided by dragon-flies;Within it sat a sweet-limbed, fair-haired may,Singing as to herself in ecstasy.
'To ride on waters clear and cool is sweet,For clear as deep my being's living source;To open worlds where joy and sorrow meet,Each flowing pure and full in mingling course;Go on, my boat, upstream with happy cheer,Heaven is reposing on the tranquil mere.'
So sang the fairy child and they that heardOwned, by their swelling hearts, the music's might,The knights had only tears, nor spake a word,Welling from pain that thrilled them with delight;But when the skiff had vanished from their eyes,The eldest, pointing, said in tender wise:
'Thou beauteous wonder of the boat, farewell,Sweet melody, revealed to us to-day;We that with slumb'ring minnesingers dwell,Bid thee Godspeed, thou guileless stranger fay;Our land is newly consecrate in theeThat rang of old with fame of minstrelsy.
'Now we may sleep again amongst our dead,The harper's holy spirit is awake,And as the evening glory, purple-red,Shineth upon our Alps and o'er our lake,And yet on distant mountain sheds its light,Throughout the earth this song will wing its flight.
'Yet, though subduing many a list'ning throng,In stately town, in princely hall it sound,To this our land it ever will belong,For here on flowing river it was found.'Fervent and glad the minnesinger spake;'Yes!' cried my heart—and then I was awake.
Whilst our master had been living through the spring and summer months in the enchanted world of his imagination, coming out of it only for brief intervals of sojourn in earth's pleasant places amidst the companionship of chosen friends, certain hard, commonplace realities of the workaday world, which had arisen earlier at home in Vienna, were still awaiting a satisfactory solution. The death of the occupier of the third-floor flat of No. 4, Carlsgasse, the last remaining member of the family with whom Brahms had lodged for fourteen or fifteen years, had confronted him with the necessityof choosing between several alternatives almost equally disagreeable to him, concerning which it is only necessary to say that he had avoided the annoyance of a removal by taking on the entire dwelling direct from the landlord, and had escaped the disturbance of having to replace the furniture of his rooms by accepting the offer of friends to lend him sufficient for his absolute needs. Arrangements and all necessary changes were made during his absence. To Frau Fellinger Brahms had entrusted the keys of the flat and of his rooms, which under her directions were brought into apple-pie order by the time of his return, the drawers being tidied, and a list of the contents of each neatly drawn up on a piece of cardboard, so that everything should be ready to his hand. The greatest difficulty, however, still remained. Who was to keep the rooms in order and see to the very few of Brahms' daily requirements which he was not in the habit of looking after himself? His coffee, as we know, he always prepared at a very early hour in the morning, and he was kept provided with a regular supply of the finest Mocha by a lady friend at Marseilles. Dinner, afternoon coffee, and often supper, were taken away from home. The master now declared he would have no one in the flat. To as many visitors as he felt disposed to admit he could himself open the door, whilst the cleaning and tidying of the rooms could be done by the 'Hausmeisterin,' an old woman occupying a room in the courtyard, and responsible for the cleaning of the general staircase, etc. In vain Frau Fellinger contested the point. Brahms was inflexible, and this kind lady apparently withdrew her opposition to his plan, though remaining quietly on the look-out for an opportunity of securing more suitable arrangements. By-and-by it presented itself. In Frau Celestine Truxa, the widow of a journalist, whose family party consisted of two young sons and an old aunt, Frau Fellinger felt that she saw a most desirable tenant for the Carlsgasse flat, and after a renewed attack on the master, whose arguments, founded on the immaculate purity of his rooms under the old woman's care, she irretrievably damaged by lifting a sofa cushion and laying barea collection of dust, which she declared would soon develop into something worse, he was so far shaken as to say that if she would make inquiries for him he would consider her views. Frau Fellinger wisely abstained from further discussion, but after a few days Frau Truxa herself, having been duly advised to open the matter to Brahms with diplomatic sang-froid, went in person to apply for the dwelling. After her third ring at the door-bell, the door was opened by the master himself, who started in dismay at seeing a strange lady standing in front of him.
'I have come to see the flat,' said Frau Truxa.
'What!' cried Brahms.
'I have heard there is an empty flat here, and have come to look at it,' responded Frau Truxa indifferently; 'but perhaps it is not to let?'
A moment's pause, and the composer's suspicious expression relaxed.
'Frau Dr. Fellinger mentioned the circumstances to me,' she continued, 'and I thought they might suit me.'
By this time Brahms had become sufficiently reassured to show the rooms and to listen, though without remark, to a brief description of Frau Truxa's family and of the circumstances in which she found herself.
'Perhaps, Dr. Brahms, you will consider the matter,' she concluded, 'and communicate with me if you think further of it. If I hear nothing more from you, I shall consider the matter at an end.'
After about a week, during which Frau Truxa kept her own confidence, her maid came one day to tell her a gentleman had called to see her. Being engaged at the moment, she asked her aunt to ascertain his business, but the old lady returned immediately with a frightened look.
'I don't know what to think!' she exclaimed; 'there is a strange-looking man walking about in the next room measuring the furniture with a tape!'
'The things will all go in!' exclaimed the master as Frau Truxa hurried to receive him.
The upshot was that the master gave up the tenancy ofthe flat, returning to his old irresponsible position as lodger, whilst Frau Truxa, bringing her household with her, stepped into the position of his former landlady, thereby giving Brahms cause to be grateful for the remainder of his life for Frau Fellinger's wise firmness. He was, says Frau Truxa, perfectly easy to get on with; all he desired was to be let alone. He was extremely orderly and neat in his ways, and expected the things scattered about his room to be dusted and kept tidy, but was vexed if he found the least trifle at all displaced—even if his glasses were turned the wrong way—and, without making direct allusion to the subject, would manage to show that he had noticed it. Observing, after she had been a little time in the flat, that he always rearranged the things returned from the laundress after they had been placed in their drawer, she asked him why he did so. 'Only,' he said, 'because perhaps it is better that those last sent back should be put at the bottom, then they all get worn alike.' A glove or other article requiring a little mending would be placed carelessly at the top of a drawer left open as if by accident. The next day he would observe to Frau Truxa, 'I found my glove mended last night; I wonder who can have done it!' and on her replying, 'I did it, Herr Doctor,' would answer, 'You? How very kind!'
Frau Truxa came to respect and honour the composer more and more the longer he lived in her house. She made his peculiarities her study, and after a short time understood his little signs, and was able to supply his requirements as they arose without being expressly asked to do so. It is almost needless to say that he took great interest in her two boys, and once, when she was summoned away from Vienna to the sick-bed of her father, begged that the maid-servant might be instructed to give all her attention to the children during their mother's absence, even if his rooms were neglected. 'I can take care of myself, but suppose something were to happen to the children whilst the girl was engaged for me!' Every night whilst Frau Truxa was away, the master himself looked in on the boys to assure himself oftheir being safe in bed. For the old aunt he always had a pleasant passing word.
The fourth Symphony and two books of Songs were published in 1886, and the three new works of chamber music, Op. 99, 100, 101, in 1887. Of the songs we would select for particular mention the wonderfully beautiful setting of Heine's verses:
'Death is the cool night,Life is the sultry day,'
Op. 96, No. 1, and Nos. 1 and 2 of Op. 97.
Brahms' Italian journey in the spring of 1887 was made in the company of Simrock and Kirchner. The following year he travelled in Widmann's society, visiting Verona, Bologna, Rimini, Ancona, Loretto, Rome, and Turin. Widmann sees in Brahms' spiritual kinship with the masters of the Italian Renaissance the chief secret of his love for Italy.
'Their buildings, their statues, their pictures were his delight and when one witnessed the absorbed devotion with which he contemplated their works, or heard him admire in the old masters a trait conspicuous in himself, their conscientious perfection of detail ... even where it could hardly be noticeable to the ordinary observer, one could not help instituting the comparison between himself and them.'
Brahms had an interview when on this journey with the now famous Italian composer Martucci, who displayed a thorough familiarity with the works of the German master.
Amongst the friends and acquaintances whom the composer met at Thun during his second and third summers there were the Landgraf of Hesse, Hanslick, Gottfried Keller, Professor Bächthold, Hermine Spiess and her sister, Gustav Wendt, the Hegars, Max Kalbeck, Steiner, Claus Groth, etc. One day, as he had started for a walk, he was stopped by a stranger, who asked if he knew where Dr. Brahms lived. 'He lives there,' replied the master, pointing to the haberdasher's shop. 'Do you know if he is at home?' 'That I cannot tell you,' was the reply. 'But go and askin the shop; you will certainly be able to find out there.' The gentleman followed this advice, sent his card up, and received the answer that the Doctor was at home, and would be pleased to see him. To his surprise, on ascending the stairs, he found his newly-formed acquaintance waiting for him at the top.
Photograph of Brahms' Lodgings near Thun. Photograph by Moegle, Thun.Brahms' Lodgings near Thun.Photograph by Moegle, Thun.
The rumour revived in the summer of 1887 that Brahms was engaged on an opera. This came about, perhaps, from his intimacy with Widmann. 'I am composing the entr'actes,' he jestingly replied to the Landgraf's question as to whether the report had any foundation. As a matter of fact, the subject of opera was not mentioned between the composer and his friend at this time.
The works which really occupied Brahms during the summer of 1887 were the double Concerto for violin and violoncello, with orchestral accompaniment, and the 'Gipsy Songs.'
The Concerto was performed privately, immediately on its completion, in the 'Louis Quinze' room of the Baden-Baden Kurhaus. Brahms conducted, and the solo parts were performed by Joachim and Hausmann. Amongst the listeners were Frau Schumann and her eldest daughter, Rosenhain, Lachner, the violoncellist Hugo Becker, and Gustav Wendt. The work was heard in public for the first time in Cologne on October 15, Brahms conducting, and Joachim and Hausmann playing the solos as before; and the next performances, carried out under the same unique opportunities for success, were in Wiesbaden, Frankfurt, and Basle, on November 17, 18, and 20.
In the autumn of this year one of the few remaining figures linked with the most cherished associations of Brahms' early youth passed away. Marxsen died on November 17, 1887, at the age of eighty-one, having retained to the end almost unimpaired vigour of his mental faculties. The last great pleasure of his life was associated with his beloved art. In spite of great bodily weakness, he managed to be present a week before his death at a concert of the Hamburg Philharmonic Society to hear a performanceof the 'ninth' Symphony. 'I am here for the last time,' he said, pressing Sittard's hand; and he passed peacefully away fourteen days later.
A few years previously his artistic jubilee had been celebrated in Hamburg, and his dear Johannes had surprised him with the proof-sheets of a set of one hundred Variations composed long ago by Marxsen, not with a view to publication, but as a practical illustration of the inexhaustible possibilities contained in the art of thematic development. Brahms, who happened to see the manuscript in Marxsen's room during one of his subsequent visits to Hamburg, was so strongly interested in it that in the end Marxsen gave it him, with leave to do as he should like with it after his death. The parcel of proof-sheets was accompanied by an affectionate letter, in which Brahms begged forgiveness for having anticipated this permission and yielded to his desire of placing the work within general reach during his master's lifetime; and perhaps no jubilee honour of which the old musician was the recipient filled him with such lively joy as was caused by this tribute. Marxsen's name as a composer is, indeed, now forgotten without chance of revival, but his memory will live gloriously in the way he would have chosen, carried through the years by the hand that wrote the great composer's acknowledgment to his teacher on the title-page of the Concerto in B flat.
Four more performances from the manuscript of the double concerto of interest in our narrative remain to be chronicled—those of the Leipzig Gewandhaus, under Brahms, on January 1, 1888; of the Berlin Philharmonic Society, under Bülow, of February 6; and of the London Symphony Concerts, under Henschel, on February 15 and 21. The work, published in time for the autumn season, was given in Vienna at the Philharmonic concert of December 23 under Richter. On all these occasions the solos were played, as before, by Joachim and Hausmann.
Bülow, having at this time resigned his post at Meiningen, had entered on a period of activity as conductor in some of the northern cities of Germany, and particularly in Hamburgand Berlin. His future programmes, in which our master's works were well represented, though not with the conspicuous prominence that had been possible at Meiningen, do not fall within the scope of these pages, since, with the mention of the double concerto, the enumeration of Brahms' orchestral works is complete. Bülow's successor at Meiningen, Court Capellmeister Fritz Steinbach, carried on the traditions and preferences of the little Thuringian capital as he found them, until his removal to Cologne a year or two ago, and has become especially appreciated as a conductor of the works of Brahms, whose personal friendship and artistic confidence he enjoyed in a high degree.
The name of Eugen d'Albert, whose great gifts and attainments were warmly recognised by Brahms, should not be omitted from our pages, though detailed account of his relations with the master is outside their limits. D'Albert's fine performances of the pianoforte concertos helped to make these works familiar to many Continental audiences, and certainly contributed, during the second half of the eighties, to the better understanding of the great composer which has gradually come to prevail at Leipzig.
But little needs to be said about the double concerto. This fine work, which may be regarded as in some sort a successor to the double and triple concertos of Mozart and Beethoven, exhibits all the power of construction, the command of resource, the logical unity of idea, characteristic of Brahms' style, whilst its popularity has been hindered by the same cause that has retarded that of the pianoforte concertos; the solo parts do not stand out sufficiently from the orchestral accompaniment to give effective opportunity for the display of virtuosity, in the absence of which no performer, appearing before a great public as the exponent of an unfamiliar work for an accompanied solo instrument, has much chance of sustaining the lively interest of his audience in the composition. Of the three movements of the double concerto, the first is especially interesting to musicians, whilst the second, a beautiful example of Brahms' expressive lyrical muse, appeals equally to less technically preparedlisteners. On the copy of the work presented by Brahms to Joachim the words are inscribed in the composer's handwriting: 'To him for whom it was written.'
Widely contrasted in every respect was the other new work of 1887, introduced to the private circle of Vienna musicians at the last meeting for the season of the Tonkünstlerverein in April, 1888. The eleven four-part 'Gipsy Songs,' published in the course of the year as Op. 103, were sung from the manuscript by Fräulein Walter, Frau Gomperz-Bettelheim, Gustav Walter, and Weiglein of the imperial opera, to the composer's accompaniment. Brahms obtained the texts of this characteristic and attractive work from a collection of twenty-five 'Hungarian Folk-songs' translated into German by Hugo Conrat, and published in Budapest, with their original melodies set by Zoltan Nagy for mezzo-soprano or baritone, with the addition of pianoforte accompaniment. Conrat's translations have been done in masterly fashion. Literal as far as possible, slight modifications of the original have been admitted here and there in order to obtain a natural flow of the lines; and to some single-strophe songs, including Nos. 3 and 4 of Brahms' work, a second verse, developing the idea of the first, has been added. The German texts, in which the national Hungarian character is admirably preserved, appealed irresistibly to our master, and are well adapted to the four-part setting with pianoforte accompaniment which had proved so successful in the two books of Liebeslieder Walzer.
One of the earliest public performances of the Gipsy Songs was that of the Monday Popular concert of November 26 by Mr. and Mrs. Henschel, Miss Lena Little, and Mr. Shakespeare, with Miss Fanny Davies as pianist. They were repeated at the Saturday Popular of December 1, and again on Monday and Saturday, December 22 and 28. The first public performance in Vienna—by the executants who had already given the work privately—took place at Walter's concert in the Börsendorfer Hall on January 18, 1889.
The Gipsy Songs had an immediate widespread, and enormous success, and were soon heard in all parts of themusical world. They were sung in Paris in a French translation, and many times in Budapest, where the composer's art had become popular, in Hungarian retranslated from Conrat's version. Great though their popularity has remained, however, it has not equalled that of the Liebeslieder, and of these the demand for the first book has continued to exceed that for the second.
A graphic picture of Brahms as he was in the year 1888 and onwards is to be found in an article by Dr. Jenner.[72]This gentleman made the master's acquaintance under particularly interesting circumstances. When still a very young man, resident at Kiel, and a favourite of Claus Groth, the manuscripts of some of his songs came under Brahms' notice, and so much engaged his sympathy as to induce him to say he would be happy to receive the composer during his visit to Leipzig on the occasion of the above-recorded performance of the new double concerto.
'My friend Julius Spengel joined me in Hamburg and we went together to Berlin,' says Dr. Jenner. 'There I was present for the first time at a Joachim Quartet evening. Immediately after the concert we travelled with the Quartet to Leipzig, arriving in the middle of the night at the Hôtel Hauffe. Never shall I forget the feeling that came over me as I read in the visitors' list, "Johannes Brahms from Vienna." He had already retired. By a strange chance I was shown into the room next his and as I entered it a sound of healthy snoring proclaimed the proximity of the mighty one. Moving about quietly, I went to rest with a strange mixed feeling of awe, pride and anxiety. When I came down the next morning Brahms had already breakfasted. Comfortably smoking, he was reading the papers.... He received me with pleasant, simple kindness, intimated that he knew why I had come, and took pains to help me over my first embarrassment and shyness by every now and then putting to me some short, direct question, so that I was soon convinced of his good-nature and felt unlimited confidence in him....
'It was past 3 o'clock when we returned that night to the Hôtel Hauffe. How delighted but also astonished I was when Brahms, as he said good-night, announced that he wouldexpect me in his room at 7 o'clock in the morning to speak to me about my compositions. I presented myself punctually at the appointed time and found him at breakfast, fresh, rosy and the picture of equanimity....
'I had brought a trio for pianoforte and strings, a chorus with orchestral accompaniment, unaccompanied choruses for women's voices, and songs; and found that he had made himself acquainted with them down to the smallest detail, and, indeed, later he never looked through work with me which he had not thoroughly examined beforehand. After a few introductory remarks, in which he said that he had formed a generally favourable impression of my compositions, he gave me back the accompanied chorus with the words "Pity for the beautiful little poem." It was Claus Groth's "Wenn ein müder Leib." Thea capellachoruses met with the same fate; I received them back with the remark "Such things are very difficult to make...."'
For the sequel the reader must be referred to the article itself, which amusingly describes the tranquil and ruthless methods by which the master reduced his young friend to the verge of despair. All ended well, however, and the middle of February saw the arrival in Vienna of Herr Jenner and his introduction to Mandyczewski, under whom he was to go through a course of study in strict counterpoint, whilst his work in free composition was to be carried on under the master's personal supervision. After making Mandyczewski's acquaintance,
'I dined with Brahms at the "Zum Rothen Igel" and afterwards he went with me to find a lodging, giving preference to the old houses. Whilst we were on this expedition, he took every opportunity of making me acquainted with the sacred places of the city. Before one house it was "This is the Auge Gottes," before another "Look, Figaro was written there." At length a suitable room was found near his own dwelling. "The young man likes music" said Brahms to the landlady, "will he be able to hear a little pianoforte playing or singing here sometimes?" This she could not offer. "Never mind, it does not matter." Then he gave me one of his coffee-machines, plates, cups, forks, knives and spoons, so that I was comfortably settled the first day. The use of his library was at my disposal; his purse also. I could have as much money as I neededfrom him, but I was never obliged to take any and never did so....
'I think with deep melancholy of the glorious evenings when Rottenberg and I sat alone with him in the low back room of the Igel and the silent Brahms thawed and showed us glimpses of a great and strong soul. But he never spoke on such occasions of his works, very rarely of himself and his life. I have, indeed, often had the good fortune of hearing him speak of himself whilst he was giving me a lesson; it was nearly always with some excitement. I was unfortunately obliged to give up the pleasure of dining with him every day during my second winter, as the Igel was too dear for me. Brahms always declared it was the cheapest house in Vienna and in fact he understood so well how to choose that he always had to pay less than I and yet got a better dinner. He was quite extraordinarily moderate in his daily life; 70-80 kreuzers was the most that he spent for his dinner and this included a glass of Pilsener beer or a quarter of a litre of wine. In the evening he drank but little more. It is only because the contrary has been so often affirmed that I think it my duty to tell the truth in such detail.'
The old-fashioned restaurant Zum Rothen Igel, where Brahms was for many years a 'Stammgast'—i.e., a daily customer—is situated in a corner of the Wildpret Markt close to the Augustinestrasse. Brahms did not frequent the regular dining-room of the house, but took his dinner in a low, dark, vaulted chamber at the back, on the ground-floor, ordinarily used by waiters, coachmen, and similar guests. Here, at a table near a door leading to a small, gloomy courtyard, many a distinguished guest, the Landgraf of Hesse, Joachim, and many another, has partaken in our master's company of the homely but well-cooked dishes that he preferred. In fact, but few prominent musical visitors to Vienna quitted the imperial city without making the acquaintance, under Brahms' auspices, of the dingy apartment in the Wildpret Markt now called 'the Brahms room' and decorated with a photograph of the master. He was very often joined at his mid-day meal by resident friends and acquaintances, and often supped at the Igel after a concert with a party of musicians. Amongst those most frequently seen with him were his old friends Epstein andDoor and a circle of the young men in whom he took an interest; at the date now reached by our narrative, Mandyczewski and Rottenberg were his almost daily companions. If he supped alone at the Igel, he preferred to take his place in a corner behind the house-door, which was screened from the taproom by a red curtain and was just large enough to hold a table and bench, occupied in slack hours by the manager. During the short time that the weather permitted, he dined, after his return to Vienna at the beginning of October, in the 'garden'—i.e., at one of the two or three tables placed outside the house, and flanked by large pots of ever-greens which were carried away when the days became cold.
During the last ten years of his life Brahms allowed himself to accept more invitations than formerly to dine or sup with one and another of the small group of families forming his immediate circle, and when invited out he liked, and even expected, to be asked to a good table and to have good wine put before him. He retained the notion, universal in a former generation, but now out of date, that it was incumbent on a bidden guest, not only to appreciate, but to show appreciation, of the hospitality of his host and hostess. 'There are people,' he used to say, 'who are afraid of showing that they like a good dinner.' Brahms was certainly not one of these. He was prepared to do ample justice to the recherché cookery and excellent wines with which his friends liked to regale him, but he was at no period of his life either a glutton or a wine-bibber, and, indeed, never varied from the abstemious habits which the early circumstances of his life had made incumbent on him as a young man.
One of the annual Brahms festivities was the asparagus luncheon always given by Ehrbar on, or as near as possible to, May 7, in honour of the master's birthday. About twelve or sixteen people were invited, amongst whom the Hanslicks and Billroth and his daughter were regularly included. The luncheon hour was twelve o'clock, and the menu, which never varied, consisted of oysters, caviare, cold meat, then thepièce de résistance, asparagus, which was always provided in the proportion of two bundles to each person. This wasfollowed by cheese and dessert, and there was a free flow of fine champagne.
The summer of 1888, the last one passed by Brahms at Thun, did not reach the end of its course in such unbroken tranquillity as the two previous ones. A heated political discussion with Widmann, in which neither disputant would give way, threatened to put a sudden end to the intimacy which had been a source of pleasure and advantage to both friends. Fortunately this catastrophe was averted by the good sense of the two men and the cordial affection existing between them, and when Brahms left Switzerland in October they looked forward to renewing the experience of a journey to Italy together which had brought them a succession of delights in the spring of the year.
The third Sonata for pianoforte and violin, in D minor, was composed during the summer, and was played for the first time in public from the manuscript by Brahms and Joachim at Joachim's Vienna concert of February 13, 1889. It was published in the spring, with Brahms' dedication to 'his friend Hans von Bülow,' and was performed immediately afterwards in London by Miss Fanny Davies and Ludwig Straus at Miss Davies' concert of May 7. The three sonatas for pianoforte and violin were played one summer's day at Gmünden, by Brahms and Joachim, before the Queen and royal family of Hanover, an incident which carries the memory back to the year 1853, when Johannes, having come safely through the first stages of his concert-journey and taken Joachim's heart by storm, appeared with Reményi for the first time before King George and his circle at Hanover.
The other publications of 1889 were a book of five Songs for mixed Chorusa capella, and three books of five Songs each, for a single voice with pianoforte accompaniment. Of these 'Wie Melodien,' 'Auf dem Kirchhofe,' and 'Verrath' (Nos. 1, 4, 5 of Op. 105), and 'Serenade' (No. 1 of Op. 106), are great favourites of the author's. Brahms' songs, however, offer such rich choice of beauty that the selection of one or another, even of the more celebrated, for particular mention must be regarded as little more than the indication of a personal preference.
Hamburg honorary citizenship—Christmas at Dr. Fellinger's—Second String Quintet—Mühlfeld—Clarinet Quintet and Trio—Last journey to Italy—Sixtieth birthday—Pianoforte Pieces—Billroth's death—Brahms' collection of German Folk-songs—Life at Ischl—Clarinet Sonatas—Frau Schumann, Brahms, and Joachim together for the last time.
From the year 1889 onward Brahms chose for his summer dwelling-place the charming town of Ischl, the central point of the beautiful region of the Salzkammergut, and a favourite watering-place of the Viennese. He rented rooms, as on one or two former visits, in a cottage prettily situated on the outskirts of the town near the rushing river Traun, away from the visitors' quarter and convenient for his favourite walks about the picturesque mountains which surround the valley. A strong note of affectionate regret, very characteristic of the composer, is observable in the letter in which he announced to Widmann his arrangements for the open-air season of 1889. His extreme attachment, however, to his Vienna friends, to whom he may be said to have belonged almost entirely during the closing years of his life, probably determined his choice of Ischl, which was well within the reach of any of them who wished to visit him, whilst several had villas for summer residence in the immediate neighbourhood. Johann Strauss always lived at Ischl during the summer, the Billroths' delightfully situated home at St. Gilgen could be reached by train or the lake boat service in an hour, whilst the house and grounds of Herr and Frau Victor von Miller zu Aichholz at Gmünden, and Goldmark'srooms, also at Gmünden, were not much further off, and so on with other friends.
'I have heard by chance,' writes Billroth from St. Gilgen to Brahms at Ischl on June 16, 'that Mandyczewski and Rottenberg are with you ... make up your mind quickly therefore and come over with them to St. Gilgen and invite Brüll or Goldmark also in my name....'
Brahms always dined when at Ischl in the 'Keller' of the Hôtel Elisabeth, which was reached by a flight of steps leading downwards from the street, and is thus described by Billroth:
'I passed a couple of pleasant hours with Brahms at Ischl. We dined in a damp, underground room belonging to the Hôtel Elisabeth. The same dishes are served there as in the better class dining-room but at rather cheaper prices; it is very cool in the summer and no toilet is required; everything as if made for Brahms.'
The city of Hamburg this year conferred its honorary citizenship on Brahms, a distinction he shared with Bismarck and Moltke. Greatly touched by this recognition, the master let himself go for once, and immediately telegraphed his thanks to the mayor in natural, impulsive fashion that he seems to have regretted when he saw his words in print.
'... You will find me here,' he wrote to Hanslick from Ischl, 'until—I must go to the music festival at Hamburg! I must, for my honorary citizenship, with all that is associated with it, has been too pleasant and gratifying. I dread it, however, for I see that my telegram to the mayor has been printed! It sounds too foolish; "the best that could have come to me from men"—as though I had been thinking of eternal bliss; whereas all that I had in my mind was that when a melody occurs to me it is more welcome than an order, and that if it lead to my succeeding with a symphony, it gives me more pleasure than all honorary citizenships!...'[73]
In acknowledgment of the honour bestowed on him, Brahms composed three eight-part chorusesa capella, which he entitled 'Fest and Gedenksprüche' (Festival and Commemoration Sayings) and dedicated to the mayor ofHamburg, Herr Oberbürgermeister Dr. Petersen. Patriotic remembrances and hopes were vividly present to his mind as he composed them, and the work is to be accepted as a second great musical memorial and glorification of the events of 1870-71. The texts are again selected from the Bible: from Deuteronomy, the Psalms, and the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Luke. The choruses were studied by the Cecilia Society, and performed under Spengel at the first of three festival concerts arranged by Bülow for the opening of the Hamburg Industrial Exhibition. Sittard calls them 'a splendid musical gift,' and places them amongst the best and finest of the composer's works.
'The "Sayings" do not address themselves to a particular nation or creed, but speak to every thoughtful mind, to every human heart susceptible to earnest, ideal influences, and striving after the high and the beautiful. There lives in these movements something of that strong confidence which we find—expressive of another period of thought and of art—in Handel's works, and which acts like a tonic on every faithful mind. Brahms is the only composer of the present day who can sufficiently control his own individuality to be capable of expressing his texts in a musical language universally applicable and intelligible.'
The work was received with immense enthusiasm, and the master was obliged to come forward to acknowledge the long-continued plaudits which followed its conclusion. It was the last time that he stood on a concert platform of his native city.
Spengel, who witnessed with Bülow the presentation of the citizens' document, which took place at Dr. Petersen's house, relates that Brahms gave warm verbal expression to the deep feeling animating the written acknowledgment by which he had supplemented his telegram of thanks. This letter ran as follows:[74]
'Your Magnificence'Most Honourable Herr Bürgermeister
'I feel with my whole heart the need to add a few words to my hasty, short telegram. Kindly permit meagain to assure your magnificence that my fellow-citizens have delighted and honoured me beyond measure by the bestowal of the honorary citizenship. As the artist is rejoiced by such a distinguished token of recognition, so also is the man by the glorious feeling of knowing himself so highly esteemed and loved in his native city. A feeling doubly proud when this native city is our beautiful, ancient, noble Hamburg!... The precious gift of my citizen's letter ... becomes more precious and dear to me as I place it by the side of my father's citizen's document (still in Low-German). My father was, indeed, my first thought in connection with the pleasant event, and one wish only remains, that he were here to rejoice with me....'
This was not the only mark of the esteem felt for him in high places by which the master was this year honoured. The news that the Emperor Francis Joseph had conferred upon him the distinguished 'Leopold's' order reached him in Ischl, taking him completely by surprise, and was followed by an inundation of letters, cards, and telegrams of congratulation, to all of which he replied individually.
'I was so pleased that the Austrians, as such, were glad that I was obliged to reply prettily,' he wrote to Hanslick.[75]
Another of the distinctions bestowed upon Brahms late in his career, which gave him, as a German musician, extraordinary pleasure, was that of his election as foreign member of the Académie française. He endeavoured to write his letter of acknowledgment in French, but, not being able to satisfy himself, was obliged to be content with expressing his gratification in his own language.
It seems appropriate to record, with the mention of these pleasant incidents, the fact of Brahms' warm admiration of the opera 'Carmen,' the work of the French composer Bizet.
A visit to Cologne—the last—in February is noteworthy as having furnished opportunity for the first (private) performance from the manuscript of three Motets for four and eight part chorusa capella. They were sung by the students' choral class of the conservatoire, and on the same occasion Brahms played—also from the manuscript—withtwo of the professors, the revised edition of his early B major Trio for the first time outside Vienna. We have already, in the early pages of our narrative, expressed our preference for the original version of this lovely work.
A visit to Italy in the spring with Widmann, which included Parma, Cremona, Brescia, and Vicenza, afforded Brahms opportunity of deriving pleasure from the most varied sources. The sight of the cathedral of Cremona by moonlight, upon which he and Widmann came suddenly the night of their arrival, as they turned a street corner, quite overpowered him. He could not gaze long enough at the wonderful scene, and was obliged to return with his friend to look at it once again before he could persuade himself to go in for the night. He was able, on the other hand, to derive amusement from the trifling incidents of each day's adventures, and was always ready to meet the passing difficulties and embarrassments of the traveller with laudable equanimity and resource. He used, later on, to describe, with some zest, an opera performance which he attended at Brescia. The work, he declared, consisted entirely of final cadences, but was so beautifully sung that he had great pleasure in listening to it.
His appearance and manner, which at this period of his life made an irresistible impression of nobility and, generally, of benevolence on strangers, in spite of his short stature and careless dress, attracted the constant admiration of his casual fellow-travellers and of the people of the country with whom he had to do; and amongst other anecdotes related by Widmann is one of a guide at Palermo who had fought under Garibaldi:
'Our refined and amiable guide suddenly stopped short in the midst of his flowing discourse, and, with a look at Brahms, exclaimed involuntarily: "Ah! mi pare di parlare al mio venerabile generale Garibaldi!" at which the master's eyes lightened enthusiastically.'
Brahms was frequently asked to officiate as godfather to his friends' children, and this summer he acceded to the request of Frau Dr. Marie Janssen, eldest daughter of hisfirst teacher, Cossel, that he would stand sponsor to her little son. A few months later Frau Janssen sent him a photograph of two of her children, which he acknowledged in the following words:
'Dear and esteemed lady,
'I am not able to write a real letter however strongly your kind and welcome packet tempts me to do so. Let me, however, briefly express my thanks and believe that my most cordial thoughts go out to you at Kiel, and again to Hamburg to your unforgettable father, whose memory is amongst those most sacred and dear to me. Only one thing were to be wished as to the charming little packet—that it could have smiled at him.
'In warm remembrance and with best greetings
'Yours sincerely,
'J. Brahms.'
When the Janssens settled at Kiel, Brahms wrote to ask Groth to call upon them, saying:
'... The lady is the daughter of my first pianoforte teacher Cossel of whom I must have told you. And when I began to speak of him I was certainly unable to leave off again....'
At the period we have now reached, Brahms had given up his solitary Christmas evenings. The home of Dr. and Mrs. Fellinger became every year more and more a substitute to him in some sort for that home of his own which he imagined, perhaps, with longing and regret till the last year of his life. Each Christmas Eve of his last seven winters found him amongst the Fellinger family group, rejoicing in the joy of the young people, stimulating their fun, happy in feeling himself truly one in the midst of a family circle whose greatest delight it was to know that their friend of friends liked to be amongst them. Frau Fellinger always contrived some charming practical joke in the matter of the Christmas presents prepared for the master, by which he was annually and unfailingly taken in. One year—the first Christmas he passed at the house—part of her own gift table, labelled with his name, was tastefully arranged with toilet accessories. In front of a burnished mirror two candlesticks stood, holdinglighted candles; between these was a pincushion, on to which was pinned a black silk necktie; some parcels with pink paper wrappings, tied with ribbon and labelled 'Finest perfume,' lay near. The only uncovered articles were packets of writing-paper of the kinds most used by Brahms, supplied in sufficient quantities to last some time.
The usual general survey of the gift-laden tables took place, and Brahms evinced much sympathetic interest during the tour of inspection, but presently he walked silently away to the other end of the room, passing his hand over his beard, then sauntered back carelessly, only to retire again and pace about apart, the picture of quiet dismay. 'But won't you look at your things, Dr. Brahms?' inquired Frau Fellinger by-and-by, when her guest had summoned sufficient courage to mingle again with the party and admire the young people's presents, though he carefully avoided glancing at his own. Poor Brahms allowed himself to be led to the table, and stood mute and dazed before it. 'Ah!hereis mine,' he cried, suddenly catching sight of the paper; 'this is for me!' 'But all is for you,' returned his hostess kindly but firmly. 'But these things are all for you,' said the master, pleading; 'they are not for me, they are yours.' 'But why, Dr. Brahms?' insisted the lady; 'pray look at your things; do you not like scent?' By little and little the master was persuaded to handle his presents, gingerly enough, it is true. And now ensued the transformation scene. Each dainty trifle turned into some useful article suited to Brahms' needs. The two candlesticks became cream-jugs, the pincushion a sugar-basin, the packets of perfume proved to be tablets of unscented soap. A bread-basket containing bundles of English quills such as Brahms always used for writing music, and a clothes-brush, stood in bare, attractive reality before his astonished eyes. Soon nothing remained but the mirror. 'But this really does belong to you,' he implored, still deceived. 'Look behind it,' said Frau Fellinger; and the mirror became a nickel coffee-tray, chosen because of its smooth, brilliantly-polished back, which had well served the Christmas Eve purpose.'Now I really must sit down,' said Brahms, drawing a long breath, his kind face shining; and he insisted on carrying away all his things in a cab the same evening.
But though Brahms was persuaded, in the later years of his life, to join the family festivities of these kind friends, he kept up to the last his custom of showing himself at his landlady's Christmas Eve party. Frau Truxa used to light up her tree an hour or two earlier than formerly, so that he should feel quite happy in setting out for Dr. Fellinger's. Of course her two boys were always remembered by the master, and his gifts to them, generally books, were found punctually on the table at the hour appointed for the commencement of the festivity.
The publications of the year 1890 were the 'Fest und Gedenksprüche,' as Op. 109, and three Motets for four and eight part Chorusa capella, Op. 110.
The writer of these pages was present at a supper-party given in Vienna in January, 1890, after a concert of the Joachim Quartet, at which Brahms with Joachim and his colleagues were the chief guests. 'What shall we have next?' said Joachim to Brahms in the course of supper; 'a quintet; we have one, a very fine one; we will have another.' A second string quintet, with two violas, composed during the summer at Ischl, was the next work produced by Brahms, and was heard for the first time in public from the manuscript in Vienna at the Rosé Quartet concert of November 11 (Rosé, Bachrich, Hummer, Jenek, and Siebert). An anecdote which appears to the author worth preserving, as expressive of Brahms' appreciation of his friend's incomparable playing, may find a place here. At a period when the two men had not met for a couple of years an occasion came when Brahms heard Joachim play. 'Now,' he said afterwards to the lady who related the story to the author, 'now I know what it is that has been wanting in my life during the past two years. I felt something was missing, but could not tell what. It was the sound of Joachim's violin. How he plays!'
Brahms' Quintet in G major is, in the opinion of mostcompetent judges, one of the most powerful and fascinating of his works of chamber music for strings. If there is, in one or two of his late compositions for pianoforte and other instruments, something that suggests the feeling that in this domain the elasticity of his imagination was approaching its limits, nothing of the sort can be said of either of the works for strings only, and the Quintet in G is certainly second to none of them in wealth of spontaneous melody, in vigour and variety of inventive power, in all, in short, that is included in the word 'vitality.' To the present writer it appears quite clear and easy to follow, but that there may be two impressions on this point is proved in a remarkable way by two letters written by Billroth, the first to Brahms himself after the work had been performed for the first time from the manuscript at a party at Billroth's house, the second a few months later to Hanslick.
In the letter to Brahms, dated November 6, the famous surgeon, writing evidently under the influence of the great artistic excitement of the day, tells the master that he cannot rest without sending him word of his delight.
'Lately I have been silent, for I know not what more to say than, wonderfully fine and now clear to me at first hearing, clear as the blue sky!... Could one compare the various works of Michael Angelo, Raphael, Beethoven, Mozart when they were at the height of their powers? Only in the sense of a limited personal sympathy.... I have often wondered what human happiness is—now I was happy to-day when listening to your music. That is quite clear to me.'
The following March, however, Billroth wrote to Hanslick that he found the quintet one of the most difficult of Brahms' works.
'The form, when one has found it out, is simple and clear; but the length of the first bass theme and the rhythmic and harmonic over-rich, I might say overladen, five-part development make enjoyment of the movement [the first] impossible except under great mental strain. One must be fresher and better in health for it than I am at present....But it is easy to talk; we are always wanting something new, something which interests us more than the last; no one can quite satisfy us.'[76]
Billroth heard the work the first time under the most favourable imaginable conditions, when his own powers of receptivity were strongly stimulated. He was depressed and out of health when he wrote the second letter. The majority of music-lovers would, we fancy, range themselves on the side of his original impression. The power and loveliness of the first movement, the romance of the second (the wonderful adagio), the plaintive daintiness of the third, the vivacity of the fourth, tinged with Hungarian colouring, all seem to foretell a continued prolongation of the composer's creative force and impulse. That Brahms himself, however, in the beginning of the nineties was conscious of needing rest is well known. Billroth says of him in a letter dated May 28, 1890, after visiting him at Ischl:
'He rejected the idea that he is composing or will ever compose anything. He is deep in Sybel's "Foundation of the German Empire," three thick volumes and the fourth to come.'
To another friend Brahms said in 1891: 'I have tormented myself to no purpose lately, and till now I never had to do so at all; things always came easily to me.' He professed his intention of giving his creative activity a rest, and employing his time in reading, going excursions, and seeing his friends, but did not at once persevere in the resolution.
In the early part of the year 1891 he paid a visit to Meiningen. His enjoyment was the greater since the Duke, to whom the master had often spoken of Widmann, had invited this gentleman to meet his friend. Several delightful details of the time are related by Widmann. For us, however, the fact of particular interest is that it was now that Brahms' admiration of the performances of the clarinettist Mühlfeld, of the Meiningen orchestra, culminated in the determination to write for his instrument. Mühlfeldhad gained particular reputation as a soloist by his performances of Weber, whose Concertino for clarinet and orchestra had been introduced by him at Meiningen on December 25, 1886, the hundredth anniversary of the composer's birth. Our master, who since that date had had many opportunities of listening to Mühlfeld's wonderful tone and execution, now asked for a private recital with only himself as audience, in the course of which the clarinettist played to him one piece after another from his répertoire, and discussed his instrument with him. The sequel was the composition by Brahms, during his annual residence at Ischl, of a trio for pianoforte, clarinet, and violoncello and a quintet for clarinet and strings. These works were performed from the manuscripts before the ducal circle at Meiningen Castle on November 24 of the same year, the Trio by Brahms, Mühlfeld, and Hausmann, the Quintet by the same musicians, Joachim, and two members of the Meiningen orchestra.
Brahms remained on as the Duke's guest for some little time after the performance, and then followed his friends to Berlin in order to take part in the Joachim Quartet concert of December 12, when his new works were heard for the first time in public. This occasion was, and has remained, unique in the history of the famous party of artists. The Joachim Quartet concerts in Berlin, occupying a position in the forefront of the musical life of the city, have now taken place annually for nearly forty years; but into no other programme than that of December 12, 1891, has a work not written exclusively for strings been admitted. That Brahms was much gratified by the compliment paid him is evident from a letter written by him on December 1 to Hanslick, in which he says:
'... I shall not be able to tell you about it [a performance of Strauss' opera, 'Ritter Paynim'] for another fortnight. This is because Joachim has sacrificed the virginity of his Quartet to my newest things. Hitherto he has carefully protected the chaste sanctuary but now, in spite of all my protestations, he insists that I invade it with clarinetand piano, with trio and quintet. This will take place on the 12th of December, and with the Meiningen clarinettist. Tell Mandyczewski (or let him read) that the quintet "adagio con sordini" was played as long and often as the clarinettist could hold out.'[77]
The visit to Berlin resulted in a phenomenal triumph. A public rehearsal was held on the 10th, when every seat was occupied, and at the conclusion of the quintet, the last number of the programme, the audience indulged in an overwhelming demonstration to composer and executants. They went so far as to demand a repetition of the entire work, and Joachim and his colleagues at length consented to repeat the adagio. A similar scene was enacted at the concert on the 12th. Both new works were favourably noticed by the Berlin press, which waxed enthusiastic over the quintet, and especially the adagio.
The trio was played in Vienna the same month at a Hellmesberger concert; the quintet on January 5, 1892, by the Rosé Quartet party, with the clarinettist Steiner. Both works were heard again in the Austrian capital a fortnight later at a concert given there by the Joachim Quartet party, with the co-operation of Brahms and Mühlfeld. The quintet was introduced to a London audience at the Monday Popular concert of March 28 by Mühlfeld, Joachim, Ries, Straus, and Piatti, and repeated at the Saturday concert of April 2, when the trio was also played by Miss Fanny Davies, Mühlfeld, and Piatti.
The Clarinet Trio appears to us one of the least convincing of Brahms' works, and this in spite of the fact that it bears its composer's name writ large on every page. No one could fail to recognise his handwriting in either of the four movements, and to true Brahms lovers the handwriting must always be dear; but if one may compare the composer with himself, the inspiration of this work seems to us to halt, the spirit to want flexibility. Far otherwise is it with the beautiful and now favourite quintet, which contains, as Steiner says, richest fruits of the golden harvest of the poet'sactivity. Here 'the brooks of life are flowing as at high noon,' though the tone of gentle, loving regret which pervades the four movements, and holds the heart of the listener in firm grip, suggests the composer's feeling that the evening is not far away from him in which no man may work. A fulness of rich melody, a luscious charm of tone, original effects arising from the treatment of the clarinet, 'olympian' ease and mastery, distinguish every movement of this noble and attractive work, which, taking its hearers by storm on its first production, has grown more firmly rooted into the hearts of musicians and laymen with each fresh hearing. In the middle section of the second movement Brahms has written for the clarinet a number of quasi-improvisatory passages embracing the entire extent of its compass, which are supported by the strings, and which, when competently performed, are of surprisingly attractive effect. A fancy that suggested itself to one of the Berlin critics, as to the position assigned in this movement to the clarinet, seems to have commended itself to Brahms, who was ever afterwards in the habit of introducing the distinguished artist for whom it was written, to intimate friends, as 'Fräulein von Mühlfeld, meine Primadonna.'