Vienna TonkÜnstlerverein—Fourth Symphony—Hugo Wolf—Brahms at Thun—Three new works of chamber music—First performances of the second Violoncello Sonata by Brahms and Hausmann—Frau Celestine Truxa—Double Concerto—Marxsen's death—Eugen d'Albert—The Gipsy Songs—Conrat's translations from the Hungarian—Brahms and Jenner—The 'Zum rothen Igel'—Ehrbar's asparagus luncheons—Third Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin.

The early part of the year 1885 offers for record no event of unusual interest to the reader. The greater portion of it was spent by Brahms in his customary routine in Vienna. He was generally to be seen at the weekly meetings of the TonkÜnstlerverein, a musicians' club founded by Epstein, GÄnsbacher, and others, of which the master had consented to be named honorary life-president. The Monday evening proceedings included a short musical programme, sometimes followed by an informal supper. Brahms did not usually sit in the music-room, but would remain in a smaller apartment smoking and chatting sociably with friends of either sex. His arrival always became known at once to the assembled company, 'Brahms is here; Brahms is come!' being passed eagerly from mouth to mouth. His old love of open-air exercise had not diminished with increasing years, and the Sunday custom of a long walk in the country was still kept up. A few friends used to meet in the morning outside the CafÉ Bauer, opposite the Opera House, and, taking train or tram to the outskirts of the city, would thence proceed on foot, returning in the late afternoon. Brahms, nearly always in a good humour on these occasions, was generally soon ahead of his companions, or leading the way with the foremost, and, as had usually been the case with him through life, was looked upon by his friends as the chief occasion of their meetings, allowed his own way, and admired as a kind of pet oracle. The excursions always commenced for the season on his return to Vienna in the autumn, and were continued with considerable regularity until his departure in the spring. They not infrequently gave opportunity for the employment of the composer's unfailing readiness of repartee, as on the occasion of a meeting in the train, on the return journey, with a learned but unmusical acquaintance of one of the party, between whom and Brahms an animated conversation arose. 'Will you not join us one day, Herr Doctor? Next Sunday, perhaps?' asked Brahms. 'I!' exclaimed the other. 'Saul among the prophets?' 'Na, so you give yourself royal airs!' instantly rejoined the master.

The fourth symphony was completed during the summer at MÜrz Zuschlag, where Brahms this year had the advantage of Dr. and Frau Fellinger's society, and—indispensable for his complete enjoyment of a home circle—that of their children. Returning one afternoon from a walk, he found that the house in which he lodged had caught fire, and that his friends were busily engaged in bringing his papers, and amongst them the nearly-finished manuscript of the new symphony, into the garden. He immediately set to work to help in getting the fire under, whilst Frau Fellinger sat out of doors with either arm outspread on the precious papers piled on each side of her. Luckily, all serious harm was averted, and it was soon possible to restore the manuscripts intact to the composer's apartments.

Brahms paid a neighbourly call, in the course of the summer, on the author Rosegger, who was living in his small country house at Krieglach near MÜrz Zuschlag, and tasted the unusual experience of a repulse. Absorbed in work at the moment when his servant announced 'a strange gentleman,' Rosegger, without glancing at the card placed beside him, desired his visitor to 'sit down for a moment.' Conscious only of the presence of a bearded stranger with a gray overcoat over his shoulder and a light-coloured umbrella in his hand, he vouchsafed but scant answer to the trifling remarks with which his caller tried to pave the way to cordiality, and before long Brahms composedly remarked that he would be on his legs again, and took leave. It was not till some minutes after his departure that it occurred to Rosegger to glance at the card, and he has himself described the feelings of despair with which he read the words 'Johannes Brahms' staring at him in all the reality of black on white. Not he alone, but the ladies of his family, were enthusiastic admirers of the composer's genius. He was so overwhelmed by his mistake as to be incapable of taking any steps to remedy it, and firmly declined to yield to the entreaties of his wife and daughter that he would return the visit and explain matters to Brahms. He published an amusing account of the misadventure in the year 1894 in an issue of the Heimgarten. Perhaps it may have fallen into the master's hands.

The honour not only of the first, but of several subsequent early performances of the Symphony in E minor, fell to the Meiningen orchestra. The work was announced for the third subscription concert of the season 1885-86, and shortly beforehand the score and parts of the third and fourth movements were sent by the composer to Meiningen for correction at a preliminary rehearsal under BÜlow. Three listeners were, by BÜlow's invitation, present on the occasion—the Landgraf of Hesse; Richard Strauss, the now famous composer, who had succeeded MannstÄdt as second conductor of the Meiningen orchestra; and Frederic Lamond. The lapse of another day or so brought Brahms himself with the first and second movements, and the first public performance of the work took place on October 25.

That the new symphony was enthusiastically received on the occasion goes almost without saying. Persevering but unsuccessful efforts were made by the audience to obtain a repetition of the third movement, and the close of the work was followed by the emphatic demonstration incident to a great success.

The work was repeated under BÜlow's direction at the following Meiningen concert of November 1, and was conducted by the composer throughout a three weeks' tour on which he started with BÜlow and his orchestra immediately afterwards, and which included the towns Siegen, Dortmund, Essen, Elberfeld, DÜsseldorf, Rotterdam, Utrecht, Amsterdam, the Hague, Arnheim, Crefeld, Bonn, and Cologne. A performance at Wiesbaden followed, and the work was heard for the first time in Vienna at the Philharmonic concert of January 17, 1886, under Richter. This occasion was celebrated by a dinner given by Billroth at the HÔtel Sacher, the guests invited to meet the composer being Richter, Hanslick, Goldmark, Faber, Door, Epstein, Ehrbar, Fuchs, Kalbeck, and DÖmpke.

A new and important work by Brahms could hardly fail to obtain a warm reception in Vienna at a period when the composer could look back to thirty years' residence in the imperial city with which his name had become as closely associated as those of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert; but though the symphony was applauded by the public and praised by all but the inveterately hostile section of the press, it did not reach the hearts of the Vienna audience in the same unmistakable manner as its two immediate predecessors, both of which had, as we have seen, made a more striking impression on a first hearing in Austria than the first Symphony in C minor. Strangely enough, the fourth symphony at once obtained some measure of real appreciation in Leipzig, where the first had been far more successful than the second and third. It was performed under the composer at the Gewandhaus concert of February 18. The account given of the occasion by the Leipziger Nachrichten is, perhaps, the more satisfactory since our old friend DÖrffel, who might possibly have been suspected of partiality, had long since retired from the staff of the journal. Bernhard VÖgl, his second successor, says:

'... The reception must, we think, have made amends to Brahms for former ones, which, in BÜlow's opinion, were too cool. After each movement the hall resounded with tumultuous and long-continued applause, and, at the conclusion of the work, the composer was repeatedly called forward.... The finale is certainly the most original of the movements, and furnishes more complete argument than has before been brought forward for the opinion of those who see in Brahms the modern Sebastian Bach. The movement is not only constructed on the form displayed in Bach's Chaconne for violin, but is filled with Bach's spirit. It is built up with astounding mastery upon the eight notes,

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 the Hamburger 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 the advantage 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 the dainty 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 the Salon 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. Mere lapse 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 concise style. 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 BY
J. V. WIDMANN.

There where the Aare's waters gently glide
From 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 things
Amongst the fairest; wilt thou help us trace
A 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 maid
Hath 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 twirl
Ruffled the waters, and, before our eyes,
A fairy boat from out the wavelet's whirl
Floated 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 heard
Owned, 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 thee
That 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 necessity of 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 bare a 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 of the 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 of their 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 ask in 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.

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 performance of 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 Hamburg and 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 prepared listeners. 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 the musical 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 would expect 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." The a capella choruses 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 needed from 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 and Door 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 the piÈce de rÉsistance, asparagus, which was always provided in the proportion of two bundles to each person. This was followed 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 Chorus a 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.