This was not the only mark of the esteem felt for him in high places by

which the master was this year honoured. The news that the Emperor

Francis Joseph had conferred upon him the distinguished 'Leopold's'

order reached him in Ischl, taking him completely by surprise, and was

followed by an inundation of letters, cards, and telegrams of

congratulation, to all of which he replied individually.

'I was so pleased that the Austrians, as such, were glad that I was

obliged to reply prettily,' he wrote to Hanslick.[75]

Another of the distinctions bestowed upon Brahms late in his career,

which gave him, as a German musician, extraordinary pleasure, was that

of his election as foreign member of the Académie française. He

endeavoured to write his letter of acknowledgment in French, but, not

being able to satisfy himself, was obliged to be content with expressing

his gratification in his own language.

It seems appropriate to record, with the mention of these pleasant

incidents, the fact of Brahms' warm admiration of the opera 'Carmen,'

the work of the French composer Bizet.

A visit to Cologne--the last--in February is noteworthy as having

furnished opportunity for the first (private) performance from the

manuscript of three Motets for four and eight part chorus _a capella_.

They were sung by the students' choral class of the conservatoire, and

on the same occasion Brahms played--also from the manuscript--with two

of the professors, the revised edition of his early B major Trio for the

first time outside Vienna. We have already, in the early pages of our

narrative, expressed our preference for the original version of this

lovely work.

A visit to Italy in the spring with Widmann, which included Parma,

Cremona, Brescia, and Vicenza, afforded Brahms opportunity of deriving

pleasure from the most varied sources. The sight of the cathedral of

Cremona by moonlight, upon which he and Widmann came suddenly the night

of their arrival, as they turned a street corner, quite overpowered him.

He could not gaze long enough at the wonderful scene, and was obliged to

return with his friend to look at it once again before he could persuade

himself to go in for the night. He was able, on the other hand, to

derive amusement from the trifling incidents of each day's adventures,

and was always ready to meet the passing difficulties and embarrassments

of the traveller with laudable equanimity and resource. He used, later

on, to describe, with some zest, an opera performance which he attended

at Brescia. The work, he declared, consisted entirely of final cadences,

but was so beautifully sung that he had great pleasure in listening to

it.

His appearance and manner, which at this period of his life made an

irresistible impression of nobility and, generally, of benevolence on

strangers, in spite of his short stature and careless dress, attracted

the constant admiration of his casual fellow-travellers and of the

people of the country with whom he had to do; and amongst other

anecdotes related by Widmann is one of a guide at Palermo who had fought

under Garibaldi:

'Our refined and amiable guide suddenly stopped short in the midst of

his flowing discourse, and, with a look at Brahms, exclaimed

involuntarily: "Ah! mi pare di parlare al mio venerabile generale

Garibaldi!" at which the master's eyes lightened enthusiastically.'

Brahms was frequently asked to officiate as godfather to his friends'

children, and this summer he acceded to the request of Frau Dr. Marie

Janssen, eldest daughter of his first teacher, Cossel, that he would

stand sponsor to her little son. A few months later Frau Janssen sent

him a photograph of two of her children, which he acknowledged in the

following words:

'DEAR AND ESTEEMED LADY,

'I am not able to write a real letter however strongly your kind

and welcome packet tempts me to do so. Let me, however, briefly

express my thanks and believe that my most cordial thoughts go out

to you at Kiel, and again to Hamburg to your unforgettable father,

whose memory is amongst those most sacred and dear to me. Only one

thing were to be wished as to the charming little packet--that it

could have smiled at him.

'In warm remembrance and with best greetings

'Yours sincerely,

'J. BRAHMS.'

When the Janssens settled at Kiel, Brahms wrote to ask Groth to call

upon them, saying:

'... The lady is the daughter of my first pianoforte teacher Cossel

of whom I must have told you. And when I began to speak of him I

was certainly unable to leave off again....'

At the period we have now reached, Brahms had given up his solitary

Christmas evenings. The home of Dr. and Mrs. Fellinger became every year

more and more a substitute to him in some sort for that home of his own

which he imagined, perhaps, with longing and regret till the last year

of his life. Each Christmas Eve of his last seven winters found him

amongst the Fellinger family group, rejoicing in the joy of the young

people, stimulating their fun, happy in feeling himself truly one in the

midst of a family circle whose greatest delight it was to know that

their friend of friends liked to be amongst them. Frau Fellinger always

contrived some charming practical joke in the matter of the Christmas

presents prepared for the master, by which he was annually and

unfailingly taken in. One year--the first Christmas he passed at the

house--part of her own gift table, labelled with his name, was

tastefully arranged with toilet accessories. In front of a burnished

mirror two candlesticks stood, holding lighted candles; between these

was a pincushion, on to which was pinned a black silk necktie; some

parcels with pink paper wrappings, tied with ribbon and labelled 'Finest

perfume,' lay near. The only uncovered articles were packets of

writing-paper of the kinds most used by Brahms, supplied in sufficient

quantities to last some time.

The usual general survey of the gift-laden tables took place, and Brahms

evinced much sympathetic interest during the tour of inspection, but

presently he walked silently away to the other end of the room, passing

his hand over his beard, then sauntered back carelessly, only to retire

again and pace about apart, the picture of quiet dismay. 'But won't you

look at your things, Dr. Brahms?' inquired Frau Fellinger by-and-by,

when her guest had summoned sufficient courage to mingle again with the

party and admire the young people's presents, though he carefully

avoided glancing at his own. Poor Brahms allowed himself to be led to

the table, and stood mute and dazed before it. 'Ah! _here_ is mine,' he

cried, suddenly catching sight of the paper; 'this is for me!' 'But all

is for you,' returned his hostess kindly but firmly. 'But these things

are all for you,' said the master, pleading; 'they are not for me, they

are yours.' 'But why, Dr. Brahms?' insisted the lady; 'pray look at your

things; do you not like scent?' By little and little the master was

persuaded to handle his presents, gingerly enough, it is true. And now

ensued the transformation scene. Each dainty trifle turned into some

useful article suited to Brahms' needs. The two candlesticks became

cream-jugs, the pincushion a sugar-basin, the packets of perfume proved

to be tablets of unscented soap. A bread-basket containing bundles of

English quills such as Brahms always used for writing music, and a

clothes-brush, stood in bare, attractive reality before his astonished

eyes. Soon nothing remained but the mirror. 'But this really does belong

to you,' he implored, still deceived. 'Look behind it,' said Frau

Fellinger; and the mirror became a nickel coffee-tray, chosen because of

its smooth, brilliantly-polished back, which had well served the

Christmas Eve purpose. 'Now I really must sit down,' said Brahms,

drawing a long breath, his kind face shining; and he insisted on

carrying away all his things in a cab the same evening.

But though Brahms was persuaded, in the later years of his life, to join

the family festivities of these kind friends, he kept up to the last his

custom of showing himself at his landlady's Christmas Eve party. Frau

Truxa used to light up her tree an hour or two earlier than formerly, so

that he should feel quite happy in setting out for Dr. Fellinger's. Of

course her two boys were always remembered by the master, and his gifts

to them, generally books, were found punctually on the table at the hour

appointed for the commencement of the festivity.

The publications of the year 1890 were the 'Fest und Gedenksprüche,' as

Op. 109, and three Motets for four and eight part Chorus _a capella_,

Op. 110.

The writer of these pages was present at a supper-party given in Vienna

in January, 1890, after a concert of the Joachim Quartet, at which

Brahms with Joachim and his colleagues were the chief guests. 'What

shall we have next?' said Joachim to Brahms in the course of supper; 'a

quintet; we have one, a very fine one; we will have another.' A second

string quintet, with two violas, composed during the summer at Ischl,

was the next work produced by Brahms, and was heard for the first time

in public from the manuscript in Vienna at the Rosé Quartet concert of

November 11 (Rosé, Bachrich, Hummer, Jenek, and Siebert). An anecdote

which appears to the author worth preserving, as expressive of Brahms'

appreciation of his friend's incomparable playing, may find a place

here. At a period when the two men had not met for a couple of years an

occasion came when Brahms heard Joachim play. 'Now,' he said afterwards

to the lady who related the story to the author, 'now I know what it is

that has been wanting in my life during the past two years. I felt

something was missing, but could not tell what. It was the sound of

Joachim's violin. How he plays!'

Brahms' Quintet in G major is, in the opinion of most competent judges,

one of the most powerful and fascinating of his works of chamber music

for strings. If there is, in one or two of his late compositions for

pianoforte and other instruments, something that suggests the feeling

that in this domain the elasticity of his imagination was approaching

its limits, nothing of the sort can be said of either of the works for

strings only, and the Quintet in G is certainly second to none of them

in wealth of spontaneous melody, in vigour and variety of inventive

power, in all, in short, that is included in the word 'vitality.' To the

present writer it appears quite clear and easy to follow, but that there

may be two impressions on this point is proved in a remarkable way by

two letters written by Billroth, the first to Brahms himself after the

work had been performed for the first time from the manuscript at a

party at Billroth's house, the second a few months later to Hanslick.

In the letter to Brahms, dated November 6, the famous surgeon, writing

evidently under the influence of the great artistic excitement of the

day, tells the master that he cannot rest without sending him word of

his delight.

'Lately I have been silent, for I know not what more to say than,

wonderfully fine and now clear to me at first hearing, clear as the

blue sky!... Could one compare the various works of Michael Angelo,

Raphael, Beethoven, Mozart when they were at the height of their

powers? Only in the sense of a limited personal sympathy.... I have

often wondered what human happiness is--now I was happy to-day when

listening to your music. That is quite clear to me.'

The following March, however, Billroth wrote to Hanslick that he found

the quintet one of the most difficult of Brahms' works.

'The form, when one has found it out, is simple and clear; but the

length of the first bass theme and the rhythmic and harmonic

over-rich, I might say overladen, five-part development make

enjoyment of the movement [the first] impossible except under great

mental strain. One must be fresher and better in health for it than

I am at present.... But it is easy to talk; we are always wanting

something new, something which interests us more than the last; no

one can quite satisfy us.'[76]

Billroth heard the work the first time under the most favourable

imaginable conditions, when his own powers of receptivity were strongly

stimulated. He was depressed and out of health when he wrote the second

letter. The majority of music-lovers would, we fancy, range themselves

on the side of his original impression. The power and loveliness of the

first movement, the romance of the second (the wonderful adagio), the

plaintive daintiness of the third, the vivacity of the fourth, tinged

with Hungarian colouring, all seem to foretell a continued prolongation

of the composer's creative force and impulse. That Brahms himself,

however, in the beginning of the nineties was conscious of needing rest

is well known. Billroth says of him in a letter dated May 28, 1890,

after visiting him at Ischl:

'He rejected the idea that he is composing or will ever compose

anything. He is deep in Sybel's "Foundation of the German Empire,"

three thick volumes and the fourth to come.'

To another friend Brahms said in 1891: 'I have tormented myself to no

purpose lately, and till now I never had to do so at all; things always

came easily to me.' He professed his intention of giving his creative

activity a rest, and employing his time in reading, going excursions,

and seeing his friends, but did not at once persevere in the resolution.

In the early part of the year 1891 he paid a visit to Meiningen. His

enjoyment was the greater since the Duke, to whom the master had often

spoken of Widmann, had invited this gentleman to meet his friend.

Several delightful details of the time are related by Widmann. For us,

however, the fact of particular interest is that it was now that Brahms'

admiration of the performances of the clarinettist Mühlfeld, of the

Meiningen orchestra, culminated in the determination to write for his

instrument. Mühlfeld had gained particular reputation as a soloist by

his performances of Weber, whose Concertino for clarinet and orchestra

had been introduced by him at Meiningen on December 25, 1886, the

hundredth anniversary of the composer's birth. Our master, who since

that date had had many opportunities of listening to Mühlfeld's

wonderful tone and execution, now asked for a private recital with only

himself as audience, in the course of which the clarinettist played to

him one piece after another from his répertoire, and discussed his

instrument with him. The sequel was the composition by Brahms, during

his annual residence at Ischl, of a trio for pianoforte, clarinet, and

violoncello and a quintet for clarinet and strings. These works were

performed from the manuscripts before the ducal circle at Meiningen

Castle on November 24 of the same year, the Trio by Brahms, Mühlfeld,

and Hausmann, the Quintet by the same musicians, Joachim, and two

members of the Meiningen orchestra.

Brahms remained on as the Duke's guest for some little time after the

performance, and then followed his friends to Berlin in order to take

part in the Joachim Quartet concert of December 12, when his new works

were heard for the first time in public. This occasion was, and has

remained, unique in the history of the famous party of artists. The

Joachim Quartet concerts in Berlin, occupying a position in the

forefront of the musical life of the city, have now taken place annually

for nearly forty years; but into no other programme than that of

December 12, 1891, has a work not written exclusively for strings been

admitted. That Brahms was much gratified by the compliment paid him is

evident from a letter written by him on December 1 to Hanslick, in which

he says:

'... I shall not be able to tell you about it [a performance of

Strauss' opera, 'Ritter Paynim'] for another fortnight. This is

because Joachim has sacrificed the virginity of his Quartet to my

newest things. Hitherto he has carefully protected the chaste

sanctuary but now, in spite of all my protestations, he insists

that I invade it with clarinet and piano, with trio and quintet.

This will take place on the 12th of December, and with the

Meiningen clarinettist. Tell Mandyczewski (or let him read) that

the quintet "adagio con sordini" was played as long and often as

the clarinettist could hold out.'[77]

The visit to Berlin resulted in a phenomenal triumph. A public rehearsal

was held on the 10th, when every seat was occupied, and at the

conclusion of the quintet, the last number of the programme, the

audience indulged in an overwhelming demonstration to composer and

executants. They went so far as to demand a repetition of the entire

work, and Joachim and his colleagues at length consented to repeat the

adagio. A similar scene was enacted at the concert on the 12th. Both new

works were favourably noticed by the Berlin press, which waxed

enthusiastic over the quintet, and especially the adagio.

The trio was played in Vienna the same month at a Hellmesberger concert;

the quintet on January 5, 1892, by the Rosé Quartet party, with the

clarinettist Steiner. Both works were heard again in the Austrian

capital a fortnight later at a concert given there by the Joachim

Quartet party, with the co-operation of Brahms and Mühlfeld. The quintet

was introduced to a London audience at the Monday Popular concert of

March 28 by Mühlfeld, Joachim, Ries, Straus, and Piatti, and repeated at

the Saturday concert of April 2, when the trio was also played by Miss

Fanny Davies, Mühlfeld, and Piatti.

The Clarinet Trio appears to us one of the least convincing of Brahms'

works, and this in spite of the fact that it bears its composer's name

writ large on every page. No one could fail to recognise his handwriting

in either of the four movements, and to true Brahms lovers the

handwriting must always be dear; but if one may compare the composer

with himself, the inspiration of this work seems to us to halt, the

spirit to want flexibility. Far otherwise is it with the beautiful and

now favourite quintet, which contains, as Steiner says, richest fruits

of the golden harvest of the poet's activity. Here 'the brooks of life

are flowing as at high noon,' though the tone of gentle, loving regret

which pervades the four movements, and holds the heart of the listener

in firm grip, suggests the composer's feeling that the evening is not

far away from him in which no man may work. A fulness of rich melody, a

luscious charm of tone, original effects arising from the treatment of

the clarinet, 'olympian' ease and mastery, distinguish every movement of

this noble and attractive work, which, taking its hearers by storm on

its first production, has grown more firmly rooted into the hearts of

musicians and laymen with each fresh hearing. In the middle section of

the second movement Brahms has written for the clarinet a number of

quasi-improvisatory passages embracing the entire extent of its compass,

which are supported by the strings, and which, when competently

performed, are of surprisingly attractive effect. A fancy that suggested

itself to one of the Berlin critics, as to the position assigned in this

movement to the clarinet, seems to have commended itself to Brahms, who

was ever afterwards in the habit of introducing the distinguished artist

for whom it was written, to intimate friends, as 'Fräulein von Mühlfeld,

meine Primadonna.'

In 1891 were published the String Quintet in G, Op. 111; six Vocal

Quartets, the last four being additional Gipsy Songs set to Conrat's

texts, Op. 112; and thirteen Canons for women's voices, the appearance

of which forms a direct link between the composer's late maturity and

early youth.

The Clarinet Trio and Quintet and three books of short Pianoforte

Pieces, Op. 116, Nos. 1 and 2, and Op. 117, appeared in 1892.

Brahms departed in good time in the spring of 1893 for what was to be

his last holiday in the south, meeting Widmann and two Zürich friends

(Friedrich Hegar and Robert Freund) in Milan and proceeding with them to

Sicily, whose scenery and general romantic charm had made an indelible

impression on his mind when he had travelled in the country with

Billroth some fifteen years previously. He had an additional and weighty

reason for desiring to leave Vienna in April. The coming 7th of May,

his sixtieth birthday, could not fail to be made the occasion, not only

of friendly rejoicings, but, if he were at home, of formal

congratulatory functions in which he would be asked to take part. To his

mind, such a predicament left but one course open to him--flight; and

for this he had made arrangement months beforehand. As early as the year

1892 he had refused Hegar's invitation to celebrate his birthday by some

festival performances at Zürich in the following terms:

'VIENNA, _September 29th, 1892_.

'DEAR FRIEND */ 'I hasten to place this pretty sheet of paper

before me and will endeavour approximately to express my gratitude

to you and your society for your extremely kind and friendly

project for the next 7th May. To-day I will only say that I have

for some time been intending to make a proposal to you. My

indolence in writing is the only cause that you have been

beforehand with me. I wished to ask you and Widmann if you would

not like, as I should, to go for a little while to Italy?

'When and where is all one to me; if on the 7th of May we are only

safe in the Abruzzi or somewhere else where no one can find us; if

we can only devote ourselves to touching (and preferably jovial)

meditation. You see my plans and ideas are quite different from

yours and my next letter will contain only many thanks for your

very kind thought....'[78]

To Herr Ehrbar's annual invitation to the asparagus luncheon, therefore,

which was sent as usual about the middle of April to No. 4, Carlsgasse,

and which contained a special request that in this particular year the

festivity should be celebrated on May 7 itself, a telegraphic reply was

received from Genoa. The master was very sorry that he would not be able

to be present this year, but sent his kindest greetings to all friends

who should assemble on the occasion. Instead of postponing the party on

account of this disappointment, Herr Ehrbar decided not only to gather

the old friends about him as usual, but to hold the festivity at the

Hôtel Sacher, and to invite some additional guests to drink the health

of the absent composer, bringing up the number to about thirty.

Widmann, who had an accident during the return journey which injured his

knee and obliged him to remain for two days at Naples under the

surgeon's care, has thus described how Brahms spent May 7:

'And so it happened that Brahms passed his sixtieth birthday in the

most quiet seclusion, remaining to watch faithfully by my bed after

we had persuaded our two friends to make an excursion to Pompeii.

The doctor's performances, which gave me little pain, excited him

fearfully, though he tried to conceal this by making jesting

remarks, as when he muttered grimly between his teeth, "If it

should come to cutting, I am the right man; I was always Billroth's

assistant in such cases." When we were alone he provided for my

comfort like a deaconess and took pains to keep up my spirits by

chatting cheerfully, saying for instance, "You have already tramped

about so much in the Swiss Alps and Italy. Even if, at the worst,

this should not again be possible, you are much better off than a

hundred thousand others who have not had such opportunity." ...

Every now and then whilst he was sitting with me, congratulatory

telegrams arrived from intimate friends who had obtained

intelligence from one or other of us as to our whereabouts.'

It was rumoured in Vienna, nevertheless, that Brahms was present at Herr

Ehrbar's luncheon; that he was seen in the Augustinestrasse in the

evening of the 6th; that he astonished his friends by joining them at

the Hôtel Sacher at twelve o'clock on the 7th, just as they were about

to sit down to table; and that he vanished from the city immediately

after the festivity, to come back no more until the usual time of his

return in October.

The sixtieth birthday of its honorary president was celebrated by a

special meeting and musical performance in the club-rooms of the

Tonkünstlerverein, and the Gesellschaft had a gold medal cast in the

master's honour.

A note to Frau Caroline, written in June from Ischl, headed by a

diminutive photograph of himself in walking dress, is suggestive of

Brahms' happy mood at this time:

'Here I come, dear mother, and thank you for your dear letter.

'I am delighted that Fritz [Schnack] is making a nice tour which

shows that you are both well--let him only make further plans, and

travel!... I will be careful that you get a cast of the medal. It

will interest Fritz as a connoisseur--he must imagine the gold. I

am very well and the summer becomes finer every day. In the autumn

or winter I really must look in upon you myself and not merely in a

portrait.

'Have you a great deal too much money, or may I send some? I should

like Fritz to spend plenty in travelling and he can afterwards

entertain you and himself again with his sufferings!...

'Your JOHANNES.'[79]

Years before this date, Frau Caroline had, at the urgent and

oft-repeated wish of Johannes, given up her boarding-house in the

Anscharplatz, and retired to enjoy the remainder of her life as mistress

of her son's quiet home in Pinneberg. Johannes kept his stepmother

supplied with the necessary funds, which were regularly transmitted to

her through his publisher, Herr Simrock of Berlin; but he was never

tired of urging upon her his readiness to meet intermediate demands as

they might arise, and particularly of suggesting holiday journeys for

Fritz Schnack as a good way of spending extra money. Frau Caroline and

her son, who both worshipped Johannes, frequently incurred his

displeasure on account of the moderation with which they availed

themselves of his generosity.

He never went to Hamburg after his stepmother's retirement without

reserving a few hours to visit her at Pinneberg, and there, in the

modest little dwelling he had provided, felt himself, as it were, in the

old family home. He would sit in a corner of the sofa in the room by the

side of the shop filled with clocks whose hands pointed to the right

time and whose pendulums swung cheerily to and fro, and chat happily

with her and Fritz, hearing little items of domestic news, asking after

this and the other acquaintance; then would suddenly relapse into

silence and reverie, which were unfailingly respected by the two people

to whom he was so dear. By-and-by, after he had arranged his thoughts,

he would come out again from his musing to continue the pleasant

chit-chat where it had been left.

Brahms always expected his stepmother to be present at his public

appearances in Hamburg, and continued to stay with her, when visiting

the city, until she went to live at Pinneberg. On an occasion of his

coming, after her retirement, to conduct a symphony at one of Bülow's

Hamburg concerts, he took a room for her next his own at the Hôtel

Moser, that they might be as much as possible together during the few

days of his stay, and led her on his arm to her seat at rehearsals and

concert. Frau Caroline did not, perhaps, entirely fathom the depths and

intricacies of her stepson's fourth symphony, but she loved the work,

and shared in the joy of it with her whole heart. Fritz, too, came over

from Pinneberg, and greeted his stepbrother in the artist's room before

the concert began. The master's sister, Elise Grund, died in 1892, and

his visit to Hamburg after her death seems to have been the last known

by his friends to have been paid by him to his native city. He was at

Pinneberg, however, after this date.

Some of Brahms' time at Ischl this summer was given to the editing of

the supplementary volume of Frau Schumann's complete edition of her

husband's works. One cannot but read in this deeply-interesting book our

master's desire to associate his name once more with those of Schumann

and his wife, especially as he has taken the, for him, altogether

exceptional course of writing and signing the introductory sentences of

its first page. It contains, to quote Brahms' words,

'a few things found amongst Robert Schumann's papers which, on

account of their value, or of some special interest, ought not to

be omitted from this collection.... The theme with which the volume

concludes is, in a quite peculiar sense, Schumann's last musical

thought. He wrote it on the 7th of February, 1854, and afterwards

added five variations which are withheld here. It speaks to us as a

kindly greeting spirit [genius] about to depart and we think with

reverence and emotion of the glorious man and artist.

'JOHANNES BRAHMS.

ISCHL, _July 1893_.'[80]

Of the composer's original work of the season Billroth writes a few

months later to a friend:

'Brahms has, so far as I know, composed a dozen pianoforte pieces

during the summer. I do not know the cause of this sudden passion.

I like him least of all in this style, the G minor Rhapsody

excepted. He does not sufficiently diversify his form in these

little works.... He ought to keep to the great style.'

The pieces in question were published in the autumn in two books--Op.

118 and 119. The other publications of the year, issued without opus

number, were the two books of Technical Exercises for Pianoforte.

Billroth's expression of feeling about the Pianoforte Pieces will

probably be endorsed by many even of the most faithful admirer's of

Brahms' art, whilst all will certainly agree as to his one exception.

Beautiful as many of the intermezzi, fantasias, etc., are, it is to be

doubted whether Brahms' short compositions for the pianoforte will ever

gain such universal and unreserved affection as has long since been

accorded to those of Schumann and Chopin. The manner in which the

thoughts are expressed sometimes seems out of proportion to the moderate

length of their development, the height of the structure to be, as it

were, too great in comparison with the superficial area allotted to it.

In several instances at all events, however, this impression is due to

the unusualness of the pieces, and passes away as they become really

familiar. It is as yet too soon to form any definite opinion as to the

place they may ultimately take.

True appreciation of Brahms' small as of his great works is sometimes

slow in coming, even to those who love his music with deepest affection.

When, however, from time to time, the spirit dwelling within his

inspirations reveals itself unsought as in a sudden flash, the whole

heart is apt to go out with complete acceptance to the reception of its

beauty and truth. Only in one instance (Op. 117, No. 1) has the master

given any clue as to the sources which may have stirred his fancy during

the composition of his thirty short pieces for the pianoforte from Op.

76 onwards, and where he has been reticent it would ill beseem others to

stamp any particular piece with a definite suggestion. It may, however,

be surmised that many of the little compositions are expressions derived

from his passion for nature. The mountain storm swept up by the wind and

bursting with a sudden crash, the approaching and retreating roll of its

thunder, with the ceaseless pattering of rain on the leaves; the gay

flitting of butterflies; the lazy hum of the insect world on a hot

summer day; the long sweep of gray waves breaking into foam on the

shore--all may be found in them. The music of the spheres, also, too

ethereal for the perception of ordinary mortals, has been caught by our

master's ear, and, woven into gossamer sound-textures, has been conveyed

by him to the appreciation of organizations less delicate than his own.

Some of the pieces have certainly grown up around the fancies of a

legend or a poem. In these we may hear the weird footsteps of the spirit

world, the dread strike of the bell of fate, the catastrophe of human

lives. In no case, however, except in the one mentioned, are the several

works to be taken as having been associated with this or that in the

mind of the composer. The same one may mean different things to

different people, and Brahms has carefully guarded against the

possibility of being suspected of programme-music by giving to the

Fantasias, Rhapsodies, Ballades, Intermezzi, the vaguest of all

possible titles.[81] The book Op. 117 has become really popular, and is

sold in the United Kingdom alone in its thousands. One of the first

persons--perhaps the first--to hear books Op. 116 and 117 was Frau

Schumann's pupil, Fräulein Ilona Eibenschütz (now Mrs. Carl Derenberg),

to whom Brahms played them on their completion, inviting her especially

to hear them.

Asking Brahms to be present in October at a festival meeting of the

Imperial and Royal Society of Physicians, Billroth says:

'I should like to see you for once in evening dress [_schön

decorirt_]. If, however, you object to this, you will find a place

among the younger doctors in the (not high) gallery in walking

costume.'

It was one of the last semi-public functions in which the famous surgeon

took part. His health had for some time been declining, and he died on

February 6, regretted by all ranks of Vienna citizens. The funeral

procession was witnessed by crowds of people, especially of the poorer

classes.

'We do not wear such open hearts,' writes Brahms afterwards to

Widmann, 'nor show such pure and warm affection as they do here (I

mean the people, the gallery).... In the whole innumerable

concourse no inquisitive or indifferent face was to be seen, but

upon each countenance the most touching sympathy and love. This did

me much good when passing through the streets and at the

cemetery.'[82]

Brahms could not trust himself to remain too close a spectator of the

last scene. Whilst the relatives and friends of the departed surgeon

remained standing round the open grave, he quietly strolled to a

side-walk and paced up and down, talking with an acquaintance of other

matters.

The thought of death had, indeed, a power over the master which probably

held him in its clutch at times throughout his life. He could not bring

himself to face the enemy with resolute front, especially during his

later years, when the iron hand laid claim to one of his friends, but

would speak of the matter as little as might be, and no doubt kept it as

much as possible at bay in his thoughts. 'I do not mean to drink any

more coffee,' he said one day to his landlady in Carlsgasse. 'Why, Herr

Doctor, you enjoy your coffee so much!' exclaimed Frau Truxa, who had

gained an insight into his character, and felt sure that something lay

behind this announcement. 'I have taken coffee for a long time,'

returned Brahms. 'I am going to leave it off, and drink something else.'

A few days later Frau Truxa heard by chance of the death of a lady

living in Marseilles who had for years kept the master supplied with

Mocha. Nothing more was said, but an arrangement was made, without

Brahms' knowledge, by which the same supply was to be despatched at the

same interval by her daughter. Coming as it were from the same hand,

Brahms continued to drink the coffee, but without further comment.

Death had, however, till now been kind to our master, sparing him the

agony of many severe partings. We have seen his deep grief at the loss

of the parents who had loved him with the entire devotion of their

simple, affectionate hearts. By the nature of things, his sense of

bereavement on the deaths of brother and sister had been less enduring

in its sting. His friend Pohl, librarian of the Gesellschaft, died in

1887, but with this exception the old circle of chums remained as it had

been. Joachim, Stockhausen, Grimm, Dietrich, Kirchner, Hanslick, Faber,

Billroth, Goldmark, Epstein, Gänsbacher, all had continued with him,

whilst in Frau Schumann's presence he was at the age of sixty-one still

young, with youthful feelings of veneration in his heart. The death of

Billroth dealt him a severe blow. Who shall say that even at this time

he had not a presentiment that before very long he was to follow?

If this were so, but little change showed itself in his outward habits.

The pedestrian excursions near Vienna took place every second or third

Sunday as before, and if Brahms, growing every year heavier, found the

ascent of the surrounding heights more fatiguing than in past years, he

did not openly allude to the fact, but would invite his companions to

pause for a few moments to look at the country, whilst they, at once

acceding to his wish, always carefully avoided perceiving that he was

short of breath. Hugo Conrat frequently made one of the party of walkers

at this period, and the master was often a guest at his house, where it

is to be feared that Frau Conrat, in no way behind the rest of his

friends, sadly spoiled him. He had become in these years a complete

autocrat in the circles in which he moved. His comfort was studied, his

desires were anticipated, his witticisms appreciated, his tempers

accepted, and his utterances recognised as final. Brahms enjoyed his

position, and, it must be confessed, did not hesitate to avail himself

of his privileges. On one occasion of a dinner-party, being asked to

escort one of the principal lady guests to the dining-room, he turned

sharply round and offered his arm to the young governess. On another--a

party at the Conrats' country house--finding on his arrival that the

cloth had been laid in the dining-room, and not in the veranda, he went

up to the hostess, saying: 'But it is still fine weather. I always dine

out of doors in October.' The lady sent word to the kitchen that the

dinner was to be put back for twenty minutes, and, begging her visitors

to walk in the garden meanwhile, gave orders for the alteration of her

arrangements. 'But what did Brahms say when he found he was causing such

trouble?' someone asked Fräulein Conrat afterwards. 'Then he was good

again,' she replied. Such incidents could be multiplied from the

experiences of many of Brahms' friends. They serve chiefly to prove that

the master's mind lost its pliancy as he grew older, and that he became

incapable of adapting himself to circumstances outside his ordinary

routine. His friends accepted his whims as a part of himself, and,

knowing his sensitiveness to contradiction, did not contradict him. They

were aware that the sterling nature had not really changed, and did not

trouble themselves to criticise the outer crust of irritability and

roughness that sometimes concealed it from the appreciation of less

indulgent observers.

[Illustration: SILHOUETTE BY DR. BÖHLER.

_Photograph by R. Lechner (Wilh. Müller), Vienna._]

'All that you tell me is very nice,' said Brahms one day to Herr

Conrat's two gifted young daughters, who, paying the master a visit in

his rooms, had been encouraged by him to talk about the progress of

their studies. 'You must know these things, which are very important;

but I will show you something to be learnt of still greater

consequence;' and he fetched from a drawer an old, worn, folded

table-cloth. 'Look here,' said he, showing the two girls some exquisite

darning, 'my old mother did this. When you can do such work you may be

prouder of it than of all your other studies.'

After the completion of the Clarinet Quintet and Trio in 1892, Brahms

allowed his mind the refreshment of change of work. The only original

compositions belonging to the following year are the two books of

'Clavierstücke,' Op. 118 and 119, the appearance of which we have

already chronicled. He was, however, engaged with his collection of

German Folk-songs, arranged with pianoforte accompaniment, six volumes

for one voice, and the seventh for leader and small chorus.

The publication of this valuable work in 1894, almost at the end of the

life of the great musician who compiled it, adds yet another and most

striking illustration to those on which we have commented, of the

general continuity of the lines on which Brahms' career was shaped. As

he began, so he ended. The boy of fifteen who arranged folk-songs for

practice by his village society, the youth of twenty who used them in

his first published works, the mature master who returned to them again

and again for inspiration and delight, all live in the veteran of

sixty-one, who, as he busies himself in preparing the unique collection,

every page of which bears mark of his insight, skill, and sympathetic

tact, seems to be looking back over the years of the past with longing

to leave behind him a final sign of his love for his great nation and

all belonging to it. 'It is the only one of my works from which I part

with a feeling of tenderness,' he said on its completion for the press.

A child of the people by birth, Brahms remained, with all his literary

and artistic culture, a child of the people by sympathy. He loved, and

ever had loved, the simple peasant folk of the country places where he

dwelt, as part of the great life of nature which was his delight. His

partiality for them had in it something which resembled his feeling for

children. He was pleased with their naïveté, valued their confidence,

and perhaps, idealist as he was, gave them credit for a genuineness and

simplicity not always theirs. In their songs, it was this same

naturalness that attracted him, and whether in his original settings of

national texts, or in his arrangements of the people's melodies, nearly

always, as we have seen, left the words as he found them in their

spontaneous directness of expression. Writing to Professor Bächtold, to

whom he sent a copy of his collection, he says:

'... I think you will find some things new to you, for if you have

been interested in the music of our folk-songs, Erk and now Böhme

will have been your guides? These have hitherto led the (very

Philistine) tone, and my collection stands in direct opposition to

them. I could and should like to gossip more if I knew that you

were interested and especially if we were sitting together

comfortably....'[83]

Brahms at one time contemplated changing his rather confined quarters at

Ischl, but a feeling of loyalty to the good folks in whose house he had

spent several summers, and who regarded themselves as having a

prescriptive right to their lodger, asserted its sway over his kind

heart. He returned to them as each succeeding spring came round, and the

little signs that heralded his approach--the opening of shutters, the

cleaning of windows, and other preparations visible from outside--were

eagerly looked forward to by the country people near as the first tokens

of the approaching season.

Frau Grüber's little house, of which Brahms occupied the first-floor,

was built on a mountain slope, and a short flight of steps at the side

led to a small garden furnished with a grass plot, a garden bench, and a

summer-house. Visitors had to mount the steps, cross the garden, find a

second entrance-door at the back of the house, go in, and knock at the

door of the composer's sitting-room. Sometimes he would cross the room,

open the door, and peep cautiously out; but more often than not he

called out, 'Come in!' and the visitor stepped at once into his

presence. He laid strict injunctions on his landlady, however, that the

door of his rooms was to be kept locked and the key in her possession

whenever he was out, and that on no account was she to allow anyone even

to peep into the room containing his papers and piano. If he once found

out that she had disregarded this rule, once would be enough for him;

that very day he would pack up and leave her, never to return. It was a

most necessary precaution to take, for numerous visitors of either sex

who were unknown to him found their way to the house, and would gladly

have sought consolation for their disappointment at not seeing him by

inspecting some of his belongings.

One or other of his friends frequently called for him about half-past

eleven, and soon afterwards he would start out and gradually make his

way to the Hôtel Kaiserin Elisabeth. Between two and three o'clock he

usually made his appearance on the promenade by the side of the river.

Stopping at Walter's coffee-house, he would seat himself at a table

under the trees outside, where a cup of black coffee and the daily

papers were at once brought to him. Here he generally remained for at

least an hour, and sometimes it was much longer, to be joined by one

friend and another till his party numbered a dozen or more. Walter's

became, indeed, at this hour of the day, a rendezvous not only for

Brahms' personal friends, but for many musical visitors to Ischl who did

not know him, but who heard that they could easily get a sight of him

there. He was very particular in acknowledging the greetings of his

numerous acquaintance as they passed along the promenade, and, owing to

his anxiety to be courteous and his near-sightedness combined, he

sometimes made a mistake and bowed to people whom he did not know.

'Oh, if you had only been with us this afternoon!' a friend and

fellow-lodger said to the author one day in the summer of 1894. 'Paula

and I were walking on the promenade, and we met Brahms, who greeted us

so kindly. He waved his hand, and looked round, saying, "Good-day!

good-day!" Of course I returned his greeting. I wonder if it could have

been because he was pleased with my little Paula? He takes so much

notice of children.' Frau F. was far too much gratified by the incident

to accept the author's opinion that it was a case of mistaken identity,

as Brahms was not in the habit of consciously bowing to strangers.

Herr Oberschulrath Wendt, of Carlsruhe, when staying at Ischl, was daily

to be seen in the master's company, and the two men, both of striking

appearance, presented a singular contrast as they paced side by side

along the promenade. Wendt, tall, thin, and pale, was delicate-looking,

and walked with a slight stoop. Brahms, rather short, very stout, with a

good deal of colour, probably acquired by exposure to the weather, that

seemed the more pronounced from its contrast with his white hair and

beard, went along with head well thrown back, the very personification

of vigour. On leaving Walter's he generally betook himself to a friend's

house, most frequently that of Johann Strauss. To his intimacy there the

world is indebted for some of the best of his late photographs--those of

Krziwanek, of Vienna and Ischl--which were taken one afternoon in the

summer of 1895 as he was sitting at ease with his friends.

Brahms knew, and was well known to, all the children of the

neighbourhood, and when starting on his country walks would fill his

pockets with sweetmeats and little pictures, and amuse himself with the

eagerness of the small barefooted folk, who knew his ways and would run

after him as he passed, on the look-out for booty. 'Whoever can jump

gets a gulden,' he would say; and, displaying beyond reach of the little

ones a handful of sweetmeats made in imitation of the Austrian coin, he

would increase his speed, and raise his hand higher and higher, drawing

after him the flock of running, leaping children, until he allowed one

and another to gain a prize.

Two Sonatas for clarinet and pianoforte, the last works of chamber music

composed by Brahms, were completed during the summer of 1894, and

towards the end of September Mühlfeld arrived at Ischl to try them with

the composer. The first private performance took place very soon

afterwards, when the two artists played them before the ducal circle of

Meiningen at the palace of Berchtesgarten.

A reunion at Frankfurt in November is of pathetic interest. It carries

us back to the very early pages of our narrative, and is the last

complete one of the kind we shall have to record. For the last time we

find Frau Schumann and her husband's and her own two dearest

musician-friends assembled and making music together. Brahms arrived at

her house on a few days' visit on the 9th of the month; on the 10th

Mühlfeld spent the evening there, having come from Meiningen at the

composer's especial request, and the new works were played to the

illustrious lady, 'the revered Frau Schumann,' as Brahms used to call

her to his younger friends, who had now completed her seventy-fifth

year. The next day Joachim, prince of violinists at sixty-three as at

twenty-one, the age at which he entered these pages, gave a concert with

his colleagues of the Quartet, and on the 12th there was a party at Herr

and Frau Sommerhoff's, when Brahms and Mühlfeld again played the two

Sonatas, and Frau Schumann, Joachim, and Mühlfeld, Mozart's beautiful

Clarinet Trio, a favourite work of Brahms. The reunion of old friends

was completed by the presence of Stockhausen, who, like Frau Schumann,

had been resident in Frankfurt since 1878. On the 13th, the third

Frankfurt performance of the Clarinet Sonatas by Brahms and Mühlfeld

took place at a large music-party at Frau Schumann's, and another

memorable item of the evening's pleasures was the playing by Frau

Schumann and Mühlfeld of Schumann's Fantasiestücke for pianoforte and

clarinet. Joachim had left to fulfil other engagements before the

evening, and Brahms departed on the 14th.

The master's journeys and performances with Mühlfeld gave him

extraordinary pleasure, and the publication of the two sonatas, which

in the usual course of things would have taken place in the autumn of

1894, was delayed until the summer of 1895, that his possession of the

manuscripts might be prolonged. Both works were performed at the Rosé

concerts, Vienna, by the composer and his friend--No. 2 in E flat on

January 8, 1895, when the Clarinet Quintet was also played; and No. 1 in

F minor at an extra concert on January 11, the programme of which

included the G major String Quintet. Amongst other towns visited by

Brahms and Mühlfeld in the month of February were Frankfurt, Rudesheim,

and Meiningen, and the master was seen for the last time in public by

his Frankfurt friends on the 17th, when he listened to a performance of

his D major Symphony, and conducted his Academic Overture at a Museum

concert. The two sonatas were performed for the first time after

publication at Miss Fanny Davies' concert of June 24 in St. James's

Hall, London, by the concert-giver and Mühlfeld, engaged expressly to

come to England for the occasion. The manuscripts of both works are in

the possession of Mühlfeld, to whom the composer presented them on

publication, with an appreciative autograph inscription.

With the publication of the two Clarinet Sonatas, our master's career is

all but closed, and closed as we would have it. The more familiar they

become, the more firmly will they root themselves, as we believe, in the

affection of the lovers of his music. The fresh, bounding imagination of

youth is, indeed, not in them, nor would we wish it to be there; but

both works are pervaded by a warmth and glow as of sunset radiance,

which, reflecting the spirit of the composer as he was when he wrote

them, fill the mind of the listener with a sense of the mellow beauty,

the rich pathos, the unwavering sincerity of his art. To compare the two

sonatas one with the other is unnecessary. We prefer simply to commend

them to the study of those of our readers to whom they are not entirely

familiar, holding them, as we do, to be amongst the especially lovable

examples of the late period of Brahms' art.

[73] _Neue Freie Presse_, June, 1897.

[74] Spengel's 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 8.

[75] _Neue Freie Presse_, June 29, 1897.

[76] Billroth's Briefe.

[77] _Neue Freie Presse_, July 1, 1897.

[78] Published in Steiner's 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 29.

[79] Published in Reimann's 'Johannes Brahms,' p. 117.

[80] The theme is the one alluded to on p. 156 of our first volume.

N.B. On the occasion of Schumann's opera 'Genoveva' being put into

rehearsal at the Hanover court theatre in 1874, Brahms, with Frau

Schumann's approval, added a few bars to the close of Siegfried's song

in the third act. These do not appear, however, in the pianoforte score

of the work included in the complete edition.

[81] See Appendix No. I.

[82] Widmann's 'Recollections.'

[83] Steiner, p. 33.

CHAPTER XXII

1895-1897

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.'

[84] Reimann, p. 109.

[85] _July 1, 1897._

[86] See for an account of Herzogenberg's church music 'Heinrich von

Herzogenberg und die evangelischen Kirchenmusik,' by Friedrich Spitta.

Reprint from the _Monatschrift für Gottesdienst und kirchliche Kunst_,

1900, No. 11.

[87] Preface to the 'Vollständige Sammlung der von Johannes Brahms

componirten und musikalisch bearbeiteten Dichtungen,' by Dr. G. Ophüls.

[88] 'Der musikalische Nachlass von Johannes Brahms,' by Ludwig Karpath.

_Signale_, March 26, 1902.

[89] In the author's possession.

[90] First published by Reimann, p. 118.

[91] Reimann, p. 118.

[92] See 'Am Sterbebett Brahms,' by Celestine Truxa, _Neue Freie

Presse_, May 7, 1903.

CHRONOLOGICAL CATALOGUE OF THE PUBLISHED WORKS OF JOHANNES BRAHMS

_The references are to the pages of this work._

-----+--------------------------------+-----------+----------------------

OP. | TITLE OF WORK. | PUBLISHED | PAGES.

| | [93] |

-----+--------------------------------+-----------+----------------------

1 | Sonata in C major for | 1853 | I. 98, 109, 116, 118,

| Pianoforte | | 129, 131, 132,

| | | 139, 140, 141,

| | | 144, 154, 170,

| | | 281;

| | | II. 180.

2 | Sonata in F sharp minor for | 1853 | I. 93, 116, 132, 141,

| Pianoforte | | 144, 176, 177,

| | | 281;

| | | II. 180.

3 | Six Songs for Tenor or | 1854 | I. 141, 145.

| Soprano[94] | |

4 | Scherzo in E flat minor for | 1854 | I. 90, 108, 116, 131,

| Pianoforte | | 132, 138, 140,

| | | 141, 144, 281;

| | | II. 71.

5 | Sonata in F minor for | 1854 | I. 117, 133, 135,

| Pianoforte | | 144, 172, 193;

| | | II. 150.

6 | Six Songs for Soprano or Tenor | 1853 | I. 141, 144, 145.

7 | Six Songs for one voice | 1854 | I. 145, 167.

8 | Trio in B major for Pianoforte,| 1854 | I. 154, 161-163, 167,

| Violin and Violoncello | | 193, 215, 217,

| | | 273, 281.

| The same; revised edition | 1891 | I. 162; II. 242.

9 | Variations on a theme by | 1854 | I. 160, 161, 167,

| Schumann for Pianoforte | | 171, 193, 281.

10 | Ballades for Pianoforte | 1856 | I. 166, 173, 174,

| | | 191;

| | | II. 103.

11 | Serenade in D major for large | 1860 | I. 220, 223, 233,

| Orchestra | | 236, 237, 249,

| | | 257, 272, 281;

| | | II. 11-13, 21, 39,

| | | 88.

12 | Ave Maria for women's Chorus | 1861 | I. 239, 241, 246,

| with accompaniment for | | 256, 257, 281.

| Orchestra or Organ | |

13 | Funeral Song for Chorus and | 1861 | I. 245, 246, 256,

| Wind instruments | | 263, 281.

14 | Songs and Romances for one | 1861 | I. 257;

| voice | | II. 82.

15 | Concerto in D minor for | | I. 30, 167, 207, 220,

| Pianofortewith accompaniment | | 222, 223, 225-235,

| for Orchestra | | 256, 257, 281;

| | | II. 38, 42, 101,

| | | 102-104, 136,

| | | 145, 146, 198.

16 | Serenade in A major for small | 1860 | I. 247, 257, 260,

| Orchestra | | 273, 281;

| | | II. 14-16, 103,

| | | 112, 135.

| The same; revised edition | 1875 |

17 | Songs for women's Chorus with | 1862 | I. 242, 262.

| accompaniment for two | |

| Horns and a Harp | |

18 | Sextet in B flat major for two | 1862 | I. 19, 259, 260, 270,

| Violins, two Violas and two | | 274, 278, 281;

| Violoncellos | | II. 14, 22, 23, 53,

| | | 86, 102, 113,

| | | 175.

19 | Five Songs for one voice | 1862 | I. 281.

20 | Three Duets for Soprano and | 1861 | I. 260, 281.

| Contralto with Pianoforte | |

| accompaniment | |

21, |} Variations on an original | 1861 | I. 260, 281; II. 71.

No. 1|} theme for Pianoforte | |

21, |} Variations on a Hungarian | 1861 | I. 211, 260, 281;

No. 2|} air for Pianoforte | | II. 103.

22 | Marienlieder for mixed Chorus | 1862 | I. 278, 279, 280,

| _a capella_ | | 281;

| | | II. 15, 163.

23 | Variations on a theme by | 1863 | I. 278, 279;

| Schumann for Pianoforte | | II. 15, 40, 93, 103.

| Duet | |

24 | Variations and Fugue on a | 1862 | I. 238, 269, 270,

| theme by Handel for | | 272, 280, 281;

| Pianoforte | | II. 7, 8, 54, 103,

| | | 180.

25 | Quartet in G minor for | 1863 | I. 245, 259, 270,

| Pianoforte, Violin, Viola | | 271, 274, 281;

| and Violoncello | | II. 6, 7, 40, 103,

| | | 135, 144, 175.

26 | Quartet in A major for | 1863 | I. 259, 267, 271,

| Pianoforte, Violin, Viola | | 274, 281;

| and Violoncello | | II. 6-10, 79, 102,

| | | 144.

27 | The 13th Psalm for three-part | 1864 | I. 241, 281; II. 26.

| women's Chorus with | |

| Pianoforte accompaniment | |

28 | Duets for Alto and Baritone | 1864 | I. 281;

| with accompaniment for | | II. 26, 79, 102.

| Pianoforte | |

29 | Two Motets for five-part mixed | 1864 | I. 281;

| Chorus _a capella_ | | II. 26.

30 | Sacred Song (by Paul Fleming) | 1864 | I. 281;

| for four-part mixed | | II. 26.

| Chorus with accompaniment | |

| for Organ or Pianoforte | |

31 | Three Quartets for Solo voices | 1864 | I. 281;

| with Pianoforte | | II. 24, 26, 38, 113,

| | | 267.

32 | Songs for one voice | 1864 | II. 26.

33 | Romances from Tieck's | 1865 | I. 264, 265, 275,

| 'Magelone' for one voice. | | 276, 278, 281;

| Nos. 1-6 | | II. 35, 70.

| " 7-15 | 1868 | II. 38, 83.

34 | Quintet for Pianoforte, two | 1865 | I. 259, 277;

| Violins, Viola and | | II. 32, 35, 36, 51,

| Violoncello | | 76, 103.

34 |}Sonata for two Pianofortes | 1872 | I. 277; II. 23, 24,

_bis_|} (after the Quintet) | | 32, 35.

35 | Variations on a theme by | 1866 | II. 24, 43, 54, 112,

| Paganini for Pianoforte. | | 180.

| (Two sets) | |

36 | Sextet in G major for two | 1866 | I. 259;

| Violins, two Violas and two | | II. 43, 47, 52, 102,

| Violoncellos | | 113.

37 | Three Sacred Choruses for | 1866 | I. 239, 242; II. 43.

| women's voices without | |

| accompaniment | |

38 | Sonata in E minor for | 1866 | II. 31, 43, 113.

| Pianoforte and Violoncello | |

39 | Waltzes for Pianoforte Duet | 1867 | II. 25, 68, 79.

40 | Trio for Pianoforte, Violin | 1866 | I. 259;

| and French Horn | | II. 31, 38, 39, 43,

| | | 51, 68, 113.

41 | Five Songs for four-part men's | 1867 | II. 68.

| Chorus | |

42 | Three Songs for six-part | 1868 | II. 83.

| Chorus _a capella_ | |

43 | Four Songs for one voice | 1868 | II. 81.

44 | Twelve Songs and Romances for | 1868 | I. 242, 256, 262;

| women's Chorus. Pianoforte | | II. 83.

| accompaniment _ad libitum_ | |

45 | A German Requiem for Soli, | 1868 | I. 6, 167, 238;

| Chorus and Orchestra (Organ | | II. 44, 48, 50, 54,

| _ad libitum_) | | 55, 59-68, 72-78,

| | | 81, 86-88, 90,

| | | 93, 98, 102, 111,

| | | 114, 140, 141,

| | | 156, 167, 169,

| | | 180, 195, 201.

46 | Four Songs for one voice | 1868 | II. 81

47 | Five Songs for one voice | 1868 | II. 81, 82.

48 | Seven Songs for one voice | 1868 | II. 81, 82.

49 | Five Songs for one voice | 1868 | II. 81, 82.

50 | Rinaldo (Cantata by Goethe) | 1869 | II. 84, 85, 90, 94,

| for Tenor solo, men's | | 135.

| Chorus and Orchestra | |

51 | Two Quartets for two Violins, | 1873 | II. 48, 113, 122,

| Viola and Violoncello (C | | 124, 128, 130,

| minor and A minor) | | 140, 147.

52 | Love Songs. Waltzes for | 1869 | II. 93, 94, 103, 113.

| Pianoforte Duet with voices | |

| _ad libitum_ | |

53 | Rhapsody (Fragment from | 1870 | II. 93-97, 135, 141,

| Goethe's 'Harzreise') for | | 183.

| Contralto solo, men's Chorus | |

| and Orchestra | |

54 | Song of Destiny for Chorus and | 1871 | I. 238; II. 77,

| Orchestra | | 104-106, 108, 114,

| | | 136, 155, 205.

55 | Song of Triumph for eight-part | 1872 | I. 238; II. 98-101,

| Chorus and Orchestra (Organ | | 111, 112, 114-119,

| _ad libitum_) | | 132, 136, 137,

| | | 146, 180, 183,

| | | 267, 269.

56A | Variations on a theme by | Jan. 1874 | II. 121, 128, 129,

| Joseph Haydn for Orchestra | | 135, 136, 145,

| | | 195.

56B | Variations on a theme by | Nov. 1873 | II. 121, 130.

| Joseph Haydn for two | |

| Pianofortes | |

57 | Songs for one voice | 1871 | II. 106.

58 | Songs for one voice | 1871 | II. 106.

59 | Songs for one voice | 1873 | II. 130.

60 | Quartet in C minor for | 1875 | I. 207, 220;

| Pianoforte, Violin, Viola | | II. 138, 143, 144.

| and Violoncello | |

61 | Four Duets for Soprano and | 1874 | II. 138.

| Contralto with Pianoforte | |

62 | Seven Songs for mixed Chorus | 1874 | II. 138, 139.

| _a capella_ | |

63 | Songs for one voice | 1874 | II. 138.

64 | Quartets for Solo voices with | 1874 | II. 138.

| Pianoforte | |

65 | New Love Songs. Waltzes for | 1875 | II. 103, 138.

| four Solo voices and | |

| Pianoforte Duet | |

66 | Five Duets for Soprano and | 1875 |

| Contralto with Pianoforte | |

| accompaniment | |

67 | Quartet in B flat major for | 1876 | II. 146, 147.

| two Violins, Viola and | |

| Violoncello | |

68 | Symphony in C minor for large | 1877 | I. 133, 220, 280;

| Orchestra. (No. 1) | | II. 114, 142,

| | | 147-156, 162,

| | | 163, 166, 168,

| | | 184, 195,

| | | 198-220.

69 | Nine Songs for one voice | 1877 | II. 162.

70 | Four Songs for one voice | 1877 | II. 162.

71 | Five Songs for one voice | 1877 | II. 162.

72 | Five Songs for one voice | 1877 | II. 162.

73 | Symphony in D major for large | 1878 | II. 142, 163-166,

| Orchestra. (No. 2) | | 170, 171, 174,

| | | 176, 183, 220.

74 | Two Motets for mixed Chorus | 1879 | II. 177.

| _a capella_ | |

75 | Ballads and Romances for two | 1878 | I. 166; II. 176.

| voices with Pianoforte | |

| accompaniment | |

76 | Pianoforte Pieces. (Two books) | 1879 | II. 170, 179, 181,

| | | 257.

77 | Concerto in D major for Violin | 1879 | II. 170, 177-179,

| with accompaniment for | | 181, 188.

| Orchestra | |

78 | Sonata in G major for | 1880 | II. 122, 179,

| Pianoforte and Violin | | 181-183, 184.

79 | Two Rhapsodies for Pianoforte | 1880 | II. 183, 184, 189,

| | | 256.

80 | Academic Festival Overture for | 1881 | II. 104, 189, 190,

| large Orchestra | | 192, 195, 201,

| | | 270.

81 | Tragic Overture for Orchestra | 1881 | II. 189, 190, 192,

| | | 195, 201.

82 | Nänie (by Friedrich Schiller) | 1881 | II. 29, 192, 193,

| for Chorus and Orchestra | | 196-198, 205,

| (Harp _ad libitum_) | | 206.

83 | Concerto for Pianoforte in | 1882 | I. 27, 33;

| B flat major with | | II. 193, 194, 195,

| accompaniment for Orchestra | | 198-201, 231,

| | | 267, 270.

84 | Romances and Songs for one or | 1882 | II. 201.

| for two voices with | |

| Pianoforte accompaniment | |

85 | Six Songs for one voice | 1882 | II. 201.

86 | Six Songs for a deep voice | 1882 | II. 201.

87 | Trio in C major for Pianoforte,| 1883 | II. 203, 204.

| Violin and Violoncello | |

88 | Quintet in F major for two | 1883 | II. 203, 204.

| Violins, two Violas and | |

| Violoncello | |

89 | Song of the Fates (by Goethe) | 1883 | II. 202, 203,

| for six-part Chorus and | | 204-207.

| Orchestra | |

90 | Symphony in F major for large | 1884 | II. 207-210, 220.

| Orchestra. (No. 3) | |

91 | Two Songs for Contralto with | 1884 | II. 33, 210.

| Viola and Pianoforte | |

92 | Quartets for Soprano, | 1884 | II. 210.

| Contralto, Tenor and Bass | |

| with Pianoforte | |

93A | Songs and Romances for | 1884 | II. 210, 288.

| four-part mixed Chorus | |

| _a capella_ | |

93B | Tafellied for six-part mixed | 1885 | II. 213.

| Chorus with Pianoforte | |

94 | Five Songs for a deep voice | 1884 | II. 210, 211.

95 | Seven Songs for one voice | 1884 | II. 210.

96 | Four Songs for one voice | 1886 | II. 229.

97 | Six Songs for one voice | 1886 | II. 229.

98 | Symphony in E minor for large | 1886 | II. 211, 215,

| Orchestra (No. 4) | | 216-220, 229,

| | | 255, 267, 282.

99 | Sonata in F major for | 1887 | II. 222, 223, 229.

| Pianoforte and Violoncello | |

100 | Sonata in A major for | 1887 | II. 222, 223-225,

| Pianoforte and Violin | | 229.

101 | Trio in C minor for Pianoforte,| 1887 | II. 222, 229.

| Violin and Violoncello | |

102 | Concerto in A minor for Violin | 1888 | II. 230, 231, 232,

| and Violoncello with | | 233.

| accompaniment for Orchestra | |

103 | Gipsy Songs for four Solo | 1888 | II. 233, 234.

| voices with Pianoforte | |

| accompaniment | |

104 | Five Songs for mixed Chorus | 1889 | II. 238.

| _a capella_ | |

105 | Five Songs for a deep voice | 1889 | II. 238.

106 | Five Songs for one voice | 1889 | II. 238.

107 | Five Songs for one voice | 1889 | II. 238.

108 | Sonata in D minor for | 1889 | II. 238.

| Pianoforte and Violin | |

109 | Fest and Gedenksprüche for | 1890 | II. 240, 241.

| double Chorus | |

| _a capella_ | |

110 | Three Motets for four- and | 1890 | II. 242, 246.

| eight-part Chorus | |

111 | Quintet in G major for two | 1891 | II. 246-248, 251,

| Violins, two Violas and | | 280, 281.

| Violoncello | |

112 | Six Quartets for Soprano, | 1891 | II. 251.

| Contralto, Tenor and Bass | |

| with Pianoforte | |

113 | Thirteen Canons for women's | 1891 | II. 251.

| voices | |

114 | Trio in A minor for | 1892 | I. 40;

| Pianoforte, Clarinet (or | | II. 249-251, 261.

| Viola) and Violoncello | |

115 | Quintet in B minor for | 1892 | I. 39;

| Clarinet (or Viola), two | | II. 249-251, 261.

| Violins, Viola and | |

| Violoncello | |

116 | Fantasias for Pianoforte (two | 1892 | II. 251, 258.

| books) | |

117 | Three Intermezzi for | 1892 | I. 166; II. 251, 257,

| Pianoforte | | 258.

118 | Pianoforte Pieces | 1893 | II. 256, 261.

119 | Pianoforte Pieces | 1893 | II. 256, 261.

120 | Two Sonatas for Clarinet (or | 1895 | II. 265, 266, 267.

| Viola) and Pianoforte (F | |

| minor and E flat major) | |

121 | Four Serious Songs for a Bass | 1896 | II. 273, 274, 276,

| voice | | 277.

122 | Eleven Chorale-Preludes for | 1902 | II. 276-278, 289.

| Organ (the only posthumous | |

| work) | |

-----+--------------------------------+-----------+----------------------

WORKS WITHOUT OPUS NUMBER

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TITLE OF WORK. | PUBLISHED | PAGES.

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Song, 'Mondnacht,' for one voice | 1854 |

republished | 1872 |

Children's Folk-songs with added | 1858 | I. 220.

Pianoforte accompaniment | |

German Folk-songs arranged for | 1864 | II. 26.

four-part Chorus | |

Fugue in A flat minor for Organ | 1864 | II. 26.

Studies for Pianoforte (Nos. 1 and 2)| 1869 | I. 67;

after Chopin and Weber | | II. 98.

Hungarian Dances arranged for | 1869 | II. 79, 98.

Pianoforte Duet, Books 1 and 2 | |

Gavotte by Gluck arranged for | 1871 | I. 201;

Pianoforte | | II. 106.

Hungarian Dances arranged for | 1872 | I. 222;

| | II. 79, 98.

Pianoforte solo, Books 1 and 2 | |

Hungarian Dances arranged for | 1874 | I. 135.

Orchestra, Nos. 1, 3, 10 | |

Studies for Pianoforte (Nos. 3, 4, 5)| 1879 | II. 181.

after Bach | |

Hungarian Dances arranged for | 1880 | II. 184.

Pianoforte Duet, Books 3, 4 | |

Chorale-Prelude and Fugue for Organ | 1881 | I. 219;

| | II. 138.

Fifty-one Technical Exercises for | 1893 | II. 256.

Pianoforte. (Two books) | |

German Folk-songs with Pianoforte | 1894 | I. 80;

accompaniment. (Seven books) | | II. 261, 262.

Arrangements of Joachim's Overtures | 1902 | II. 92, 289.

to 'Henry IV.' and 'Demetrius' | |

as Pianoforte Duets | |

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WORKS EDITED BY BRAHMS

Couperin: Clavier Compositions. (Chrysander's 'Denkmäle der

Tonkunst.')

Mozart: Requiem. (Breitkopf and Härtel's critically revised

complete edition.)

Schubert: Three Pianoforte pieces.

Schumann: Supplementary volume to Clara Schumann's complete

edition.

Brahms' name appears for the first time in 1878 in the list of the

committee of the Leipzig Society's edition of Bach's works.

[93] The dates of publication here printed are those given in Simrock's

published Thematic Catalogue of Brahms' works, excepting in the few

instances especially indicated in the main narrative.

[94] Unless otherwise described, all songs for a single voice are

composed with pianoforte accompaniment only.

ARRANGED CATALOGUE OF WORKS