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:

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.