The Meiningen Festival—Visit to Frau Schumann—Festival at ZÜrich—Brahms in Berlin—The 'Four Serious Songs'—Geheimrath Engelmann's visit to Ischl—Frau Schumann's death—Brahms' illness—He goes to Carlsbad—The Joachim Quartet in Vienna—Brahms' last Christmas—Brahms and Joachim together for the last time—The Vienna Philharmonic concert of March 7—Last visits to old friends—Brahms' death.

But few events remain for record in the life which we have now followed step by step nearly to the end of its progress. Of these few, several have the pathetic interest of last visits to dear and familiar places made, so far as appears, without presentiment that they were final. The composer was present at a three days' festival held in Meiningen September 27-29; 'the Festival of the three B's,' as it has sometimes been called, from the circumstance that the programmes were devoted to works by Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms. Those of Brahms selected for performance included the Song of Triumph, the fourth Symphony, the B flat Pianoforte Concerto, with d'Albert as pianist, the Clarinet Sonatas performed by the same artist with MÜhlfeld, some of the Vocal Quartets, amongst them the early favourite 'Alternative Dance Song,' and others.

The festival was an immense success, and the pleasure which the master derived from the concerts is evident in the following lines written to Steinbach immediately after the last one:

'Dear Friend,

'However tempted I may feel, I dare not break in upon your well-deserved rest; but you shall find my hearty greeting awaiting you on your happy awakening; how hearty and grateful it is there is no need to tell you in detail. You must have perceived each day that you gave me and all who took part in your splendid festival, a quite exceptional pleasure....'[84]

Brahms was, of course, a guest at the castle, and he remained on for a few days after the last concert. Leaving Meiningen on October 3, he proceeded to Frankfurt on a flying visit to Frau Schumann. Professor Kufferath of the Brussels Conservatoire, with Mr. and Mrs. Edward Speyer, accompanied him on the short journey, and were, by his particular suggestion, invited to spend the evening at Frau Schumann's house. Professor Kufferath, a pupil of Mendelssohn at Leipzig, and on a very old footing of intimacy at the Schumanns', had been for more than twenty years on terms of cordial friendship with Brahms also, though the two men met but seldom. Frau Schumann's daughters Marie and EugÉnie, and Stockhausen, were the only others present. The hours were spent in pleasant chat as between old friends, and music was represented only by a few of Brahms' folk-songs sung by Mrs. Speyer (FrÄulein Antonia Kufferath) to the master's accompaniment.

Brahms left the next morning, but before his departure he requested his old friend to play to him. Forty-two years had passed since Schumann had desired him to play for the first time to her, marking both musicians with inevitable outward signs. The traces of suffering and sorrow had deepened of late on Frau Schumann's countenance, but those who were happy enough to listen to her playing at this period, in the privacy of her home, knew that her spirit was still young, and Brahms' last remembrance of the great artist, the remembrance of an old age which had left the poetry of her genius untouched, will have fitly completed the long chain of personal associations begun when Schumann called his wife to rejoice with him in the daring power and romantic enthusiasm of Johannes' inexperienced youth. When she rose from the piano on that October morning, the final link had been added. Frau Schumann and Brahms were not to meet again on earth.

A four days' festival in October (19-22) to celebrate the inauguration of the new concert-hall at ZÜrich seems to carry us more than one stage nearer the end. It brought Brahms for the last time to Switzerland to conduct his Triumphlied; a fine close—for as such it may almost be regarded—to a noble career.

Let us pause for a moment to picture the robust figure of the composer as he stands before the vast audience completely filling the brilliantly lighted hall, and leads with sure, quiet dignity the 'masses of chorus and orchestra' that swell out in proud tones of thankfulness for his country's glory. Listen! for with the sounds of the grand old hymn 'Now thank we all our God' the bells of victory are pealing, and a sensation of happiness spreads through the mass of hearers, a vibration that stirs something of the feeling which roused the great German audience at Cologne to enthusiasm as they listened twenty years ago to the same jubilant tones. Who so fitted to raise the strain as the patriot citizen of ancient Hamburg, the unique descendant of the mighty Bach, the musician of true, rich, loving spirit, conqueror of life and of himself, our Johannes Brahms? Conqueror, too, of death; for surely we cannot be mistaken in accepting the likeness of the master, that looks down with those of the greatest of his art from the painted ceiling of the new hall, as the symbol of a further life to be his even here on earth, when he has entered the darkness that is soon to cover him from our sight.

Brahms was in overflowing spirits during the entire festival, enjoying the concerts, the private gatherings, the meetings with old friends, in a mood of harmless gaiety that recalls the Detmold days.

'We have seen Brahms and Joachim together again, both in full vigour; may we not hope for a prolongation of this happy state of things?' writes Steiner a few days after the festival.

Widmann was, of course, there, and stayed with Brahms at Hegar's house. When he bade the master farewell on the day after the concert, the two friends clasped hands in a final grasp.

One of Brahms' late public appearances was on the occasion of the concert given in the BÖrsendorfer Hall, Vienna, by Signorina Alice Barbi (now the Baroness Wolff Homersee) shortly before her marriage. He pleased himself by acting as accompanist to the distinguished cantatrice, whose programme included a number of his songs. He held the bÂton for the last time on a Vienna platform when he directed the performance of his Academic Overture by the students of the conservatoire at the festival concert given to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary (1895) of the opening of the present home of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde. He officiated for the last time in public at d'Albert's concert in Berlin of January 10, 1896, conducting his two Pianoforte Concertos and the Academic Overture, and was received with the usual enthusiasm. Stanford speaks of being present at a dinner-party given by Joachim during Brahms' brief visit.

'Joachim, in a few well-chosen words, was asking us not to lose the opportunity of drinking the health of the greatest composer—when, before he could say the name, Brahms started to his feet, glass in hand, and calling out "Quite right; here's to Mozart's health," walked round clinking glasses with us all. His old hatred of personal eulogy was never more prettily expressed.... The last vision I had of him was as he sat beside the diminutive form of the aged Menzel, drinking in, like a schoolboy, every word the great old artist said with an attitude as full of unaffected reverence as of unconscious dignity.'

Of all modern painters, Adolph von Menzel was the most admired by Brahms. He visited him on several occasions, and spoke of him and his works with unfailing enthusiasm.

That the master had realized a competence some years before his death—more than a competence for one of his extraordinarily simple habits—is generally known. How he regarded it, how he used it, may have been but little suspected outside a small circle. His friend and publisher, the late head of the firm of Simrock, shared his confidence on the subject more than anyone else, for it was often through his agency that Brahms' munificence was applied to its object; the substantial help, perhaps, of a needy musician, or a promising talent. He contributed more than one large donation to the 'Franz Liszt Pensionsverein' of Hamburg, a society founded by Liszt in 1840 for the benefit of aged or disabled members of the Stadt Theater orchestra. Several authentic stories are told by accidental witnesses of some of his particular acts of generosity. One has been related to the author by the Landgraf of Hesse, who was sitting with the master one morning when a caller appeared with a tale of distress which touched his heart. He listened quietly, asked some questions, then went to his writing-table, and, handing his visitor the entire sum of money towards which he was asked for a contribution, said quietly, 'Take this from me; I do not need it. I have more money than I want for myself.' This was his usual formula on such occasions, 'I do not need it,' to which was sometimes added, 'If you should ever have it in your power, you can pay me back.'

Brahms' heart was of gold, if ever such existed. He was rough sometimes—often, perhaps—let it be freely granted. The spoiled humours of his last two or three years have already been noted; they do not amount to much. He permitted himself deliberately to repulse strangers or slight acquaintances when he felt so disposed; necessarily, if his time and tranquillity were to be protected. Now and then he was inconsiderate or blunt to his friends. The concentration of mind, the sacrifice of immediate inclination, the devotion of energy, involved in the fulfilment of the career of genius are often but imperfectly realized even by the friends of a famous man. The great poet, the great painter, the great musician, has his brilliant rewards. He has also his bitter disappointments, and one of the hardest of these—which is especially apportioned to the lot of the creative musician—is the discovery that, as in the case of other princes and sovereigns of the world, his path in life must be solitary. Brahms may sometimes have imagined he had reason for his impoliteness; more frequently a gruff manner, an awkward joke, was the result of a constitutional want of presence of mind in trifling matters, which frequently caused him to be misunderstood. His real attitude is expressed in a note published after his death by Hanslick in the Neue Freie Presse article from which we have already more than once quoted.[85] Hanslick had sent him a packet of letters to read, and had inadvertently enclosed in it one from a mutual friend which contained a comparison of Beethoven and Brahms. In it were these words:

'He is often offensively rough to his friends like Beethoven, and is as little able as Beethoven was to free himself entirely from the effects of a neglected education.'

Hanslick was very much upset on remembering what he had done, and immediately wrote to Brahms to throw himself on his mercy and beg his silence on the matter. The master immediately answered:

'Dear Friend

'You need not be in the least uneasy. I scarcely read ——'s letter, but put it back at once into the cover, and only gently shook my head. I am not to say anything to him—Ah, dear friend, that happens, unfortunately, quite of itself in my case! That one is taken even by old acquaintances and friends for something quite different from what one is (or, apparently, shows one's self in their eyes) is an old experience with me. I remember how I, startled and confounded, formerly kept silence in such cases; now however, quite calmly and as a matter of course. That will sound harsh or severe to you, good and kind man—yet I hope not to have wandered too far from Goethe's saying, "Blessed is he who, without hate, shuts himself from the world."'

Brahms was ready for another journey to Italy in the spring, but Widmann was unable to accompany him, and he passed his sixty-third birthday anniversary in Vienna. When it dawned, the work that was for a short time generally accepted as his swan-song had been completed. Deiters writes that the immediate occasion of the composition of the 'Four Serious Songs' was the death of the artist Max Klinger's father, which occurred earlier in the year. The not unnatural assumption that has sometimes seen in these solemn utterances of the great composer a presentiment of his own fast-approaching end may or may not represent a fact. It has not been accepted by those of his friends amongst whom he passed the last few months of his life, and certainly nothing that is known of his individuality lends likelihood to the notion of his going out, as it were, to meet the thought of his death. On the other hand, his repeated assertion that the songs had been composed for his own birthday points to the possibility that his mind may have been under the influence of forebodings of which he was, perhaps, but vaguely conscious. 'Yes, GrÜber, we are in the front line now,' he said to his landlord on hearing of the death of some of the old people in the course of one of his last summers at Ischl.

The 'Four Serious Songs' were published in the summer of 1896 with a dedication to Max Klinger, his personal friend, of whose work, including that inspired by his own compositions, he became a warm admirer, though he at first disliked the painter's 'Brahms Fantasie.'

Three of the songs deal grimly with the thought of death (Eccles. iii. 19-22, iv. 1-3; Ecclus. xli. 1, 2); the fourth has for its text St. Paul's beautiful glorification of love (1 Cor. xiii. 1-3, 12, 13):

'For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; as the one dieth, so dieth the other, for all is vanity....

'Though I spake with the tongues of men and of angels, and had not love, I should be as sounding brass or a tinkling bell....

'We see now through a glass, in a dark word, but then face to face. Now I know it partly, but then I shall know it as I am known.

'Now remain faith, hope, love; but the greatest is love.'

It is certain that Brahms speaks to us in the songs from the depth of his convictions. Herr Geheimrath Dr. Engelmann arrived one evening in the course of the summer on a day's visit to Ischl. Brahms called at his hotel at six o'clock the next morning, and after breakfast brought his friend back to his rooms, where they spent several hours together. The composer was in delight over some lately-arrived volumes of the complete edition of Schubert's works, then in progress, and could not sufficiently express his joy in their contents. 'See here,' he said, with his energetic enthusiasm, as he pointed to one place after another with beaming face and lightening eyes—'see here, what a splendid fellow he was! People talk of him as a mere melodist, but look what material he had even in his early works; look what the melodies are, how they grow.' By-and-by, taking up a copy of the 'Four Serious Songs,' he said: 'Have you seen my protest? I wrote these for my birthday.'

The explanation of these words is that the master viewed with mistrust, or even dislike, modern efforts to revivify and popularize the services of the Evangelical Church by the introduction of sacred musical works composed for the purpose, of which those of Heinrich von Herzogenberg may be taken as the type. Brahms, who subscribed to no church dogmas, regarded this tendency as artificial, and therefore as weak and unhealthy, and much as he admired Herzogenberg's powers, he regretted that they were dominated during the last ten years of his creative activity by his strong ecclesiastical bias.[86] Brahms' love of the Bible and his preference for Scriptural texts was, as we know, not that of what is conventionally called a 'pietist.' He spoke in the language of the people's book as a realist who was at the same time an idealist. He has so arranged the texts of his German Requiem that it would be difficult to construe the work as the embodiment of a definite belief, and he expressly refused to enlarge it into an account of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ; and yet, as we have endeavoured to show, it contains the presentiment, the inspiration, of something positive. From Brahms' standpoint the attempt to go behind the mysteries of life and death, to construct the unspeakable, the unthinkable, into verbal formulÆ, is not only predoomed to failure, but is almost irreverent. Yet, as we may remember, 'he had his faith,' and if anything may be judged of it from the story of his life, the spirit of his works, this faith lay in acceptance of the immutability of truth, the sacredness of life, and the sovereignty of love.

Brahms had been settled in his rooms at Ischl scarcely a fortnight, when he was profoundly shaken by the tidings of Frau Schumann's death. She passed away peacefully at her home in Frankfurt on May 20, in the seventy-seventh year of her age, and was laid to rest by her husband's side at Bonn on Whit Sunday, May 24. The story of her life, triply crowned by fame, love, and sorrow, remains amongst the ideal possessions of the world.

A great crowd of musicians and friends assembled at the funeral, those of Frankfurt, Bonn, and Cologne being strongly represented. The custom of the ceremony had changed with time since Johannes had borne Frau Clara's laurel-wreath to Schumann's grave, and on the conclusion of the service, which consisted of the singing of chorales and an address by Dr. Sell of Bonn University, more than two hundred floral tributes were piled up around the spot. Joachim with Herzogenberg, bound by Italian engagements, had attended a service held in the Schumanns' house at Frankfurt. Woldemar Bargiel and Bernhard Scholz were at the cemetery, and of our own particular musicians, Stockhausen and Brahms. Another last meeting.

On the termination of the service, Brahms, whose agitation had been very unpleasantly heightened during his journey from Ischl by the delay of a train, and his consequent anxiety lest he should be late, went to Honnef to stay till the next day with Herr and Frau Wehermann, the near relatives of his Crefeld friends, the von Beckeraths and von der Leyens, who were at the time on a visit there. Professor Richard Barth and his wife, Dr. OphÜls, and two of the Meiningen musicians, Concertmeister Eldering and Herr Piening, were also of the party. The master was very much excited and overcome on his arrival at Honnef, but the soothing influence of the Rhine country, so closely associated with the recollections of his youth, did him good, and he prolonged his visit to nearly a week. Confiding to Barth the day after his arrival that he had with him something new, which he would like to play very quietly to one or two chosen listeners, his three most intimate friends retired with him to a room secure from interruption, impressed by his manner with the feeling that something unusual was about to ensue. When the little party had taken their places, Brahms, with every sign of the most profound emotion, which communicated itself to his companions, played through the 'Four Serious Songs' from the manuscript. 'I wrote them for my birthday,' he said in the same words which he afterwards used to Dr. Engelmann. He then played some new organ preludes.

He was agreeably interested in Dr. OphÜls' project of arranging a collection of his composed texts. 'I have often wished for such a thing, for though I do not care to look closely at my music, it would be quite pleasant to recall it now and then by reading the texts.' The collection was completed during the ensuing months, and the manuscript placed in the master's hands.[87]

Brahms appeared unannounced in Vienna in the middle of June to take part in the family celebration of Dr. and Frau Fellinger's silver wedding day. Returning immediately to Ischl, he spent the next few weeks in his usual fashion, though neither mind nor body really recovered the double shock of Frau Schumann's death and of the anxious journey to Bonn. He occupied himself still with his art, and on June 24 had completed seven organ preludes, which he played to Heuberger on that date at Ischl. 'Splendid pieces,' says Heuberger's diary; and in another entry, dated July 5: 'Brahms' things must have been sent away already, for he has promised to show me new compositions.'[88] These were, no doubt, some more preludes. Eleven were found after Brahms' death, the last four being written on a different kind of paper from that used for the first seven.

The 'Elf Chorale-Vorspiele' (Eleven Chorale-Preludes) for organ are instrumental movements founded, as their name implies, upon some of the grand old church tunes for which Germany is famous. They are worked in florid counterpoint in a style which may be studied, also, in the organ preludes contained in the third volume of the Leipzig Society's edition of Bach's works, and are written with an ease to which no other composer than Brahms has attained in this style since Bach's day. That the great modern master had studied it during the years of his retirement in the fifties, before he was in possession of the Society's volumes, seems certain, from the fact that three old books of Bach's Chorale-Preludes once belonging to Brahms are still in existence. One, bearing Brahms' pencil autograph, is in manuscript, possibly that of his father or brother; the others are early published editions.[89]

The majority of the chorales selected for treatment in 1896 have death for their subject, and are written in the profoundly serious vein to which we are accustomed in the composer's sacred works. The fourth prelude, 'Herzlich thut mich erfreuen,' is in a somewhat lighter vein than the others, but is, none the less, absolutely and distinctly Brahms. One of the most delicately touching is the eighth, 'Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen.' 'Herzlich thut mir' is the subject of two of the movements, 'O Welt ich muss dich lassen' of two, of which one is the eleventh and last.

It is impossible that we can be mistaken in accepting the Chorale-Preludes, together with the 'Four Serious Songs' which immediately preceded them, as indicating the bent of the composer's thoughts during his last year of life, and we involuntarily apply to them the words, quoted in the preceding chapter, used by Brahms in reference to Schumann's theme. They speak to us 'as the message of a spirit about to depart, and we think with reverence and emotion of the glorious man and artist.' Nevertheless, a note written by the composer to Frau Caroline on August 13 contains little sign of his depressed condition. It opens with charming, simple comments on his stepmother's last little budget of home news, urges a tour in Norway and Sweden on Fritz Schnack—'it would give me real pleasure if he would do it, and tell me all about it afterwards'—and ends:

'The summer is not exactly fine, but whoever, like myself, rises early and can go out walking when he will, may be content and there are innumerable beautiful walks here. I hope you will continue so well and write sometimes to

'Your heartily greeting Johannes.'[90]

It had not escaped the notice of Brahms' friends, however, that his ruddy complexion had changed to a yellow colour, and some of them were courageous enough to speak to him about his health, and urge him to consult a doctor. At first he showed much annoyance when the subject was broached, and turned it off impatiently with the reply that, as he never used a glass, he did not know how he looked. But the uneasiness felt about his condition increased, and he was at length persuaded to seek medical advice in Vienna. The doctor whom he consulted did not issue an alarmist report, but, pronouncing him to be suffering from jaundice, ordered him to Carlsbad for the 'cure.' Much against his will, the master, who hated the very idea of waters and cures, and who prided himself on never having being ill in his life, gave up some pleasant Ischl engagements, and started on September 2 for Carlsbad. He was met at the station by two friends of Hanslick, Herr Emil Seling and Musikdirektor Janetschek, who took him to the 'Stadt Brussels,' near the Hirschensprung. Here, during the fine autumn days which succeeded the wet summer, he made himself content, and even wrote cheerful reports to his friends, in which he expressed satisfaction at having been obliged to make the acquaintance of the celebrated watering-place. He was the object of much considerate and respectful attention, which seemed to cheer him; and Faber came to be near him, accompanied him in his daily walks, and took tender care of him.

The report written to Hanslick by the distinguished Carlsbad physician Dr. GrÜnberger, after three weeks' careful observation, was ominous. There was considerable swelling of the liver, with complete blocking of the gall-passages, and the inevitable results—jaundice, indigestion, etc. The eminent medical authority could not but regard the condition of his patient as 'very serious.'

No more definite name was given to the malady on the master's return to Vienna after some six weeks' treatment at Carlsbad, and his request that he should be told 'nothing unpleasant' was scrupulously observed. He went about as before, dining more frequently, however, with his most intimate friends the Fellingers, Fabers, Millers, Conrats, Strauss' and von Hornbostels, and often accepting the offer from one and another of a seat in a box at the Burg Theater. He became very testy if asked how he was or if told that he looked better, and answered to every inquiry, 'Each day a little worse,' but continued in letters to his stepmother and other friends at a distance to keep up the fiction that he was suffering from an ordinary jaundice which only needed patience. Those who loved him, however, looked with dismay at the alteration that was taking place in his appearance. The yellow colour, which had been the first striking symptom of his condition, was changing gradually to a darker hue, the bulky figure shrinking to terrible emaciation; the firm gait was beginning to falter, the head was no longer held erect. A visit to Vienna, early in December, of Joachim and his colleagues of the Quartet gave him touching pleasure; he was with them as much as possible during the day, and generally remained with them, after attending their concerts, until late at night. He continued to take interest in important new compositions, and begged Hausmann to come to his rooms to play him DvorÁk's Violoncello Concerto. He accompanied the entire work on the piano, and broke into enthusiastic admiration at the end of each movement, exclaiming after the last one, 'Had I known that such a violoncello concerto as that could be written, I would have tried to compose one myself!'

He not only spent Christmas Eve with the Fellingers, but invited himself to dine with them also on December 25, 26, and 27. Frau Fellinger gave him a 'secco,' a soft, short coat, as one of her Christmas presents, and it seemed a sort of comfort to him to put it on when he was at the house, where it was kept in readiness for his use, and to sit quietly in the family sitting-rooms without need of exerting himself. After dinner on the 27th he raised his glass, saying, 'To our meeting in the New Year,' but by-and-by added, pointing downwards, 'But I shall soon be there.' He dined again on New Year's Day with the same dear friends, whose joy it was to feel that they were privileged to afford him some solace in his weakness and suffering.

The Joachim party returned to Vienna after a tour in the Austrian provinces, and gave two concluding concerts in the BÖrsendorfer Hall on January 1 and 2, 1897. Ill as he was, Brahms not only attended both concerts, but came on the morning of the 2nd to Joachim's rooms at the HÔtel Tegethof to listen to the rehearsal of his G major Quintet, which was in the evening's programme. He derived peculiar pleasure from hearing it. 'That is not a bad piece,' he said, as though half ignoring that it was his own. The scene which took place after the performance of the work in the evening is remembered with emotion by those who took part in it. It was the final one in the friendship of Brahms and Joachim—a friendship as striking and interesting as any contained in the history of art. Its character may be suggested to the reader's imagination in a few words written to the author by the great musician whose love and recognition Brahms enjoyed from beginning to end of his career.

'He had great pleasure that evening in the G major Quintet. It was touching to see him come before the public to acknowledge the enthusiasm aroused by his work. The tears were in his eyes and he was very weak. The people cheered and cheered endlessly.'

Thus the master's state gradually changed for the worse. He dined with the Fellingers in the middle of the day on February 7, and seemed excited and restless throughout the meal. When it was at an end, he intimated that he wished to be alone with Dr. and Frau Fellinger, and, retiring with them, began to speak about his affairs. He desired, he said, to make a new will, but dreaded the necessary formalities to such a degree that he knew not how to resolve to go through them. Would it not be possible to arrange his affairs quietly without having to speak about them with strangers? Dr. Fellinger said it could be done, and that by the Austrian law things could be so managed that there need not even be witnesses. The master remained for four hours—from two till six o'clock—with Dr. and Frau Fellinger, discussed his affairs in minute detail, and asked Dr. Fellinger to be his curator. He seemed relieved at the end of the conversation, and stayed on with the family, chatting about other topics. The following morning Dr. Fellinger took to the composer at his rooms in Carlsgasse the copy of a will which he had drawn out to meet Brahms' expressed desires, and explained to him that he had only to write it out himself, date and sign his name to it, and it would be valid according to Austrian law. Brahms, who was on the point of starting out to his dinner, expressed himself as glad and relieved, and placed the paper in a drawer of his writing-table; and Dr. Fellinger, pleased to have cheered him, returned home with the conviction that he would copy it without delay. The master did not return to the subject at any future meeting with his friends, whilst they, believing the matter to have been finally settled, did not again allude to it.

February passed, and Brahms grew continually worse. Every day he spent a good deal of time in looking through and destroying old letters and other papers. 'It is so sad,' he would say, when one or other intimate friend called and found him thus employed, his stove filled with ashes. He attended the Philharmonic concert on March 7, when DvorÁk's Violoncello Concerto, played by Hugo Becker, and his own fourth Symphony in E minor were in the programme. Going into the concert-room he met his old friend GÄnsbacher. 'Ah,' he said, 'you have been so often to see me, and I cannot go to you, I am so suffering;' then, rousing himself a little, went on, 'You will hear a piece to-day, a piece by a man!' (DvorÁk's concerto).

The fourth symphony had never become a favourite work in Vienna. Received with reserve on its first performance, it had not since gained much more from the general public of the city than the respect sure to be accorded there to an important work by Brahms. To-day, however, a storm of applause broke out at the end of the first movement, not to be quieted until the composer, coming to the front of the 'artists'' box in which he was seated, showed himself to the audience. The demonstration was renewed after the second and the third movements, and an extraordinary scene followed the conclusion of the work. The applauding, shouting house, its gaze riveted on the figure standing in the balcony, so familiar and yet in present aspect so strange, seemed unable to let him go. Tears ran down his cheeks as he stood there shrunken in form, with lined countenance, strained expression, white hair hanging lank; and through the audience there was a feeling as of a stifled sob, for each knew that they were saying farewell. Another outburst of applause and yet another; one more acknowledgment from the master; and Brahms and his Vienna had parted for ever.

Brahms appeared after the concert at a luncheon-party given by Excellenz Dumba, a distinguished protector of art in Vienna. About twenty-five gentlemen, chiefly artists and art-lovers, and the ladies of the house were present. Brahms was placed near to several of his intimate friends—Epstein, Conrat, Hanslick, GÄnsbacher, and Mandyczewski—but he was not able to remain long. Within a few days of this date his Ischl landlady received a postcard from him announcing his intention of going to Ischl earlier than usual, and desiring that his rooms might be got ready. The last opera he heard was his friend Goldmark's 'Das Heimchen'; he entered a theatre for the last time on March 13, sitting with Hanslick at the production of Johann Strauss' 'Die GÖttin der Vernunft,' but was obliged to leave at the end of the second act, and, much against his will, suffered a friend to accompany him home in a cab.

From this time he grew rapidly worse. He complained that he could no longer remember what he read, but wished for Busch's 'Bismarck,' the last book with which he tried to occupy himself. He soon became unable to take a walk even in a friend's care, and Dr. Victor von Miller called every day in his carriage to take him to drive in the Prater, where the fresh air somewhat revived him. His strength of will remained phenomenal to the last. He dragged himself to a rehearsal of the Roeger-Soldat Quartet party held at Frau Wittgenstein's less than a fortnight before his death, to hear Weber's Clarinet Quintet with MÜhlfeld's co-operation. A performance of the work at Meiningen had particularly pleased him, and its inclusion in the Soldat programme was by his suggestion. In the same week he paid his last visit to the Fabers, and, whilst ascending the staircase to their flat, nearly fainted with pain. Herr Faber revived him, and got him on to the drawing-room sofa, where he sat exhausted, his head on his breast. He was obliged to leave the family dinner-table of some other intimate friends, and, retiring to the next room, sank down in agony. Frau Fellinger was ill at this time, and unable to leave her room. Brahms' last call of inquiry at her house was made on March 19.

The master was very gentle during the last months of his life, and touchingly grateful for every attention shown him. His evenings were of necessity passed in his rooms, for he firmly refused all the entreaties of his friends that he would take up his abode in one or another house. Every evening at dusk he used to place himself at the piano, and improvise softly for about half an hour, and when too tired to continue, would sit by the window gazing out on the familiar scene till long after darkness had set in. On March 24 Frau Door, who had always been a favourite with him, called to take him a bunch of violets. She was not admitted, but, observing Dr. von Miller's carriage before the house door, waited near the entrance, hoping to see Brahms pass out. He came down in about half an hour leaning on his friend's arm, and, noticing Frau Door, gave her his hand. 'I am very ill' (Mir geht es sehr schlecht), he answered faintly to her inquiry. He did not go out again. The next day Conrat was admitted, and was sitting talking quietly with him, when Brahms, who was on the sofa smoking, suddenly dropped his head. 'There must be something in it,' he muttered. Conrat gently left the room without disturbing him. On the 26th the physician wrote word to Frau Fellinger that all chance of moving him was over. Brahms did not leave his bed again. His two or three closest friends were constantly at his side, whilst his landlady, Frau Truxa, was his faithful and devoted nurse. He spoke little during the last days, and was too weak to notice much of what was passing in his room, but he managed on the 29th to write a few pencil lines from his bed to Frau Caroline:

'D. M. For the sake of change I am lying down a little and cannot, therefore, write comfortably. Otherwise there is no alteration and as usual, I only need patience.

'Affectionately your Joh.'[91]

A few more weary days and nights, during which the beloved master's life ebbed rapidly away, bring us to the early morning of April 3. He had lost consciousness several times in the night and been restored, and had recognised Faber, who, calling at about six o'clock and performing some slight service for him, caught the whispered words, 'Du bist ein guter Mensch' (You are a kind man). It is now nearly nine o'clock, and Brahms has fallen asleep. Early messages of inquiry have been answered, and the doctor, who has been at hand during the night, has departed, promising soon to return. The day has begun with the bright spring promise that the master was wont to greet year after year with joyful welcome; the sun shines, a soft breeze enters through the open window; outside there is a twittering of birds. Near the bed sits the untiring nurse, noticing the signs of the fast-approaching end. A movement from the bed claims her assistance. Brahms has opened his eyes, and tries to raise himself. With Frau Truxa's help he attains a sitting posture, and, looking at her, tries to speak. The lips move, but the tongue has lost its power, and he can only utter an inarticulate sound. Great tears roll down his cheeks; a last sigh, a last breath, and he sinks back, supported by gentle hands, on to his pillow, rid of his sufferings, passed quietly to his rest.[92]

Dr. von Miller, whose house was in the vicinity, was the first of the friends to receive intelligence of the master's decease. He hurried at once to Carlsgasse, and was immediately joined by Dr. Fellinger and Herr Faber. Many others called during the morning, some of whom were admitted to look at the still features, smoothed by the caress of death into an expression of noble serenity. A sketch was taken by the painter Michalek, a mask by Professor Kundemann, a photograph by a private friend. The cause of death was certified, after a medical examination of the remains, as degeneration of the liver. The body, in evening dress, was placed the same afternoon in the coffin, and the room arranged with candelabra containing lighted candles; on a crimson cushion were displayed the various orders of the deceased composer. The next day the arrival began of the flowers, wreaths, crosses, and other floral tributes that transformed the room into a temple of beauty.

On the afternoon of the 4th General-Secretary Koch, Dr. Fellinger, and Herr Faber met in the dwelling, and searched for a will in the presence of a notary, but only found one written in May, 1891, on two sheets of paper, the last of them signed and dated, in the form of a letter to Simrock. This, a legally competent document in its original form, except for the slight omission of the signature on the first sheet of paper—which, under the indisputable circumstances establishing the authenticity of the will, would not have rendered it invalid—had been returned to the master at his own request by Simrock some time subsequent to the death of his sister, Elise Grund, in 1892. It was found, however, to have been marked by Brahms in pencil, some of the clauses lined out, whilst notes in the margin indicated designed alterations. These were in exact correspondence with the wishes expressed by Brahms in February to Dr. and Frau Fellinger, and embodied by Dr. Fellinger in the paper he had delivered into the hands of the composer to be copied by himself and signed. Another search was made the next day, therefore, but it proved fruitless. Only Dr. Fellinger's manuscript was found, and it must be presumed that Brahms had put off the dreaded task from day to day in the hope of feeling more capable of it, until his strength was no longer equal to its fulfilment. Nothing remained, therefore, but to apply to the proper authorities for the nomination of a curator in order that the necessary arrangements might be proceeded with. This was done; Dr. Fellinger was appointed, and on the afternoon of the 5th the sitting-room which, with the small inner room leading from it, contained Brahms library, manuscripts, and other possessions, was formally sealed. The coffin was closed the same day.

As soon as the master's death became known, the offer of an honorary grave was made by the city of Vienna. There was no hesitation in accepting it, but a deliberation was held as to whether the remains should be taken direct to the Central Friedhof or should be cremated at Gotha, according to directions contained in the letter to Simrock, and the ashes only deposited in Vienna. The remembrance of a few words dropped by Brahms himself when speaking of the 'sacred spot' which contains the graves of Beethoven and Schubert decided the point. It was felt that he would have chosen to rest in the place selected for him: the particular garden of the Friedhof in which the remains of Beethoven and Schubert lie, and which is sacred also to the memory of Mozart.

'All musical Vienna accompanied the great dead to the grave on the afternoon of April 6 and a stranger not knowing the man's greatness might have measured it by the number of prominent artists mingling in the great assemblage of the funeral procession, by the celebrated men and women who came from afar to show the last honour to Brahms.'

Till the hour appointed for the commencement of the ceremony deputations continued to arrive, from various parts of Europe, from the numerous societies of which the composer had been an honorary member, and telegrams and messages to pour in. At one o'clock a deputation from the Hamburg Senate was admitted to the house to lay a magnificent wreath on the coffin side by side with that from the Corporation of Vienna. Wreaths had been sent by the Queen of Hanover, the Duke of Cumberland, the Princess Marie of Hanover, Duke George of Saxe-Meiningen, the Princess Marie of Saxe-Meiningen, Helene, Baroness von Heldburg, and innumerable private friends known and unknown to Brahms; by the Society of Plastic Arts, Committee of the Opera, Gesellschaft, and other societies of Vienna; by the Philharmonic Society, Society of Music-lovers, Cecilia Society of Hamburg; by the Royal Academy of Arts, Berlin; by the various musical societies of Berlin, Leipzig, Budapest, Cologne, Salzburg, Mannheim, Frankfurt, Jena, Laubach, Lemberg, Graz, St. Petersburg, Brussels, Amsterdam, Cambridge, Basle, ZÜrich, and many other towns. Six cars scarcely sufficed to hold them.

The arrangements of the public funeral with which the city of Vienna honoured the remains of the great composer formed a singular contrast to the simplicity which had marked the daily habits of his life. Details may be read in the journals of the time. We shall confine ourselves to the record of a few of those appropriate to our narrative. The cortÈge, followed by the long train of mourners, started from Carlsgasse about half-past two, and, proceeding to the building of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, halted before the principal entrance, where arrangements had been made for a short ceremony, consisting of an address by Herr Direktor J. R. Fuchs, of the conservatoire, and the singing of Brahms' part-song 'Fahr'wohl,' for unaccompanied chorus, under the direction of Richard von Perger, conductor of the Singverein. The procession then passed on to the Evangelical Church in Dorotheenstrasse, where the clergy and choir and several of the city dignitaries were assembled. After the coffin had been carried into the church, the choir sang Mendelssohn's 'Es ist bestimmt in Gottes' Rath.' The funeral address was delivered by Dr. von Zimmermann, who especially dwelt on the inspiration derived by the deceased composer's art from the pages of the Bible, on his love for children and the childlike spirit, and on his sympathy with distress.

'Wherever he could bring support to the unknown sufferer, the laborious striver, the helpless, the dying, there, in the man who, in his own habits, was frugal to the verge of parsimony, was found the most eager benefactor. The master Johannes Brahms is not dead. His spirit has conquered death and has entered into the light and blessed world of the pure harmonies of peace.'

At the entrance to the Friedhof the coffin was surrounded by personal friends of the deceased composer, carrying lighted wind-torches, and was accompanied by them to the grave. They were Ignaz BrÜll, Anton DvorÁk, Arthur Faber, Dr. Fellinger, Robert Fuchs, Richard Heuberger, Max Kalbeck, Ludwig Koch, Eusebius Mandyczewski, Dr. von Miller-Aichholz, Richard von Perger. At the grave-side Dr. von Perger spoke a few words of last farewell:

'This sacred place is now to receive the mortal remains of our great contemporary. He who has so enriched and blessed the whole world, what has he been to us musicians! In the light which streamed from his creative genius, his penetrating art-comprehension, we were able to look up confidently to his incomparable mastership, to his lofty, unbending artistic intelligence. Amid the countless paths and by-paths which to-day intersect the domain of musical art, we were guided by the torch held high and secure by the hand of her first priest. He has met his worthy spiritual brothers, indeed, for the first time to-day in this resting-place, but he was always a simple, sympathetic friend to his living colleagues in art, in spite of the great distance which raised him above them; always a helper of uprising talent, a sure and faithful friend in adversity and suffering.... Here thou restest now, thou blessed of heaven, in this vast, awful world-solitude; clouds of light float above thee and that of thee which is immortal floats with them through eternal spaces. Ade Meister Johannes, fahr'wohl, fahr'wohl.'

Joachim was in England at the time of Brahms' death, fulfilling long-contracted engagements. Stockhausen, now a man of seventy-three, and not in strong health, was at this period unequal to a hurried and distressing journey from Frankfurt to Vienna.

Memorial performances were given by the Cecilia Verein, Hamburg, on April 5, the day preceding the funeral; by the Vienna Gesellschaft on the 11th; by the Beethoven-Haus Verein, Bonn, in May; by the Royal High School for Music, Berlin, in the summer; and by innumerable musical societies of Europe and America during the season 1897-98. In nearly all instances the German Requiem formed part of such concerts as were orchestral.

A clause in Brahms' will provided that any of his unpublished works found in his rooms after death should be the property of Simrock. There was one opus only—the eleven Organ Preludes. With them were the arrangements, as pianoforte duets, of Joachim's two overtures referred to in an earlier chapter. All three works were published in 1902, a delay of five years having been caused by difficulties that arose in connection with the will. Apart from detail, these may be generally stated as follows:

Brahms is said to have left, besides his library, which included valuable autograph musical manuscripts, and a very few personal possessions, about £20,000 in investments. In the original will three societies—the Liszt Pensions-Verein of Hamburg, the Czerny Verein and the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde of Vienna—were named as the inheritors, subject to the payment of a legacy to the composer's landlady, Frau Truxa, and of two life-annuities—one to his stepmother, Frau Caroline Brahms, to be continued after her death to her son, Fritz Schnack, for his life; the other to Brahms' sister, Elise Grund. These would practically account for the time being for the income arising from the investments.

In the absence of any legally valid document, about twenty cousins of various degrees of kinship came forward, in answer to advertisements in the newspapers, as claimants to the property. Litigation ensued, and was protracted through several years. The original process and the first appeal were determined in favour of the societies; the second appeal reversed these decisions, and declared the blood relations to be the heirs. To prevent the further expense and delay of another appeal, a compromise was now arrived at by the contending parties, and the general results of the will, the law-processes, and the compromise have been that the blood relations have been recognised as the heirs to all but the library, which is now in the possession of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde; that Frau Truxa's legacy has been paid; and that certain sums accepted by the societies, by which they will ultimately benefit, have been invested, and the income arising from them secured for the payment of the life-annuity to Herr Schnack. (Frau Caroline Brahms died in the spring of 1902.)

Projects for the erection of memorials to the master in Hamburg, Vienna, and Meiningen, were set on foot soon after his death. The first to be completed has been that now standing in the 'English Garden' at Meiningen, the unveiling of which was made the occasion of a Memorial Festival in October, 1899. The bust of the master which it displays is the work of Professor Hildebrandt.

The memorial erected at the grave by the heirs, after the final settlement of the property, designed and executed by FrÄulein Ilse Conrat, was unveiled on May 7, 1903, the seventieth anniversary of Brahms' birth. It consists of a marble bust and pedestal in front of a marble headstone, on which are allegorical figures in bas-relief.

Memorial tablets have been placed by the respective municipalities on the houses in which Brahms lived in Vienna, Ischl, and Thun, and the garden of the house at MÜrz Zuschlag has been bought by the town and made into a music-garden. A bronze bust of the master by Frau Dr. Fellinger stands in the musicians' pavilion.

A Brahms-Haus has been erected by Dr. von Miller-Aichholz in his private grounds at GmÜnden, the rooms of which are constructed to the exact dimensions of those occupied by Brahms in Ischl, and furnished with the Ischl furniture as it used to stand. They contain an interesting collection of musical and other autographs of the master, photographs, programmes, and other mementos.

A Brahms Society has been formed in Vienna for the purpose of collecting and preserving all available mementos in a special museum.

Our task is now completed. If it should prove to have been so far successfully accomplished as to suggest to our readers at all a true conception of the character and individuality of Brahms, to throw some additional light upon the spirit which dictated the composition of his works, our aim will have been achieved. It is as yet far too soon to attempt any surmise as to the exact ultimate place that he will occupy amongst the great ones of his art. Schumann's words, however, spoken rather more than half a century ago, which proclaimed Johannes as the prophet destined to give ideal presentment to the highest spirit of his time, have, even now, been surely proved true. Brahms stands immovable in his position as the representative of the musical thought of the ages as it has gradually developed through three hundred and fifty years from Palestrina's day to his own; and in his works dwells the high and beautiful spirit—the essential spirit of life—which, whilst it knows no compromise with truth, works out its appointed course in 'faith and hope and love, these three; and the greatest of them is love.'