CHAPTER XI

1861-1862

Concert season in Hamburg--Frau Denninghoff-Giesemann--Brahms at Hamm--Herr Völckers and his daughters--Dietrich's visit to Brahms--Music at the Halliers' and Wagners'--First public performance of the G minor Quartet--Brahms at Oldenburg--Second Serenade performed in New York--The first and second Pianoforte Quartets--'Magelone Romances'--First public performances of the Handel Variations and Fugue in Hamburg and Leipzig by Frau Schumann--Brahms' departure for Vienna.

Frau Schumann, Joachim, and Stockhausen visited Hamburg repeatedly during the year 1861, and all made much of Johannes. Both Joachim and Brahms assisted at Frau Schumann's concert of January 15. Brahms took part in the performance of Schumann's beautiful Andante and Variations for two pianofortes, and conducted the Ladies' Choir, to the great delight of the members, in their singing of several of his part-songs. The first part of the programme included 'Es tönt ein voller Harfenklang,' 'Komm herbei Tod,' and 'Der Gärtner,' from the set with horns and harp accompaniment, Op. 17; the second part the 'Minnelied' and 'Der Bräutigam' (from Op. 44) and 'Song from Fingal' (from Op. 17)--all performed from manuscript. On the 22nd of the month Frau Schumann and Brahms appeared together at a concert in the Logensaal Valentinskamp, with Bach's C major Concerto and Mozart's Sonata, both for two pianofortes.

Frau Schumann and her daughter Marie were, during this somewhat prolonged visit, the guests of the Halliers, who understood the necessities involved by the strain of the great artist's arduous life, and allowed her perfect freedom of action. Johannes visited his old friend every day, dining privately with her and her daughter at an hour that suited their convenience; and on a few free evenings there was glorious music in the Halliers' drawing-room before a few intimate acquaintances.

On March 8 Brahms played Beethoven's triple Concerto with David and Davidoff at the Philharmonic concert, and a few weeks later the Begräbnissgesang was performed under his direction at a Hafner memorial concert arranged by Grädener, and made a profound impression.

'The composer has realized the solemn spirit of mourning with extraordinary insight. As part of a funeral ceremony, the effect of the work would be quite overpowering,' wrote one of the critics.

Joachim and Stockhausen came in April for the Philharmonic concert of the 16th, and the brilliant season closed with Stockhausen's and Brahms' soirées on the 19th, 27th, and 30th of the month. At the first two concerts, at Hamburg and Altona respectively, the entire series of Schubert's 'Schöne Müllerin' was given; and at the last--who can imagine a more enthralling feast of sound than the performance of Beethoven's melting love-songs, 'To the Distant Beloved,' the very thought of which brings tears to the eyes, sung by Stockhausen to the accompaniment of Brahms, followed by our composer's lovely second Serenade, and this by Schumann's 'Poet's Love-Songs'? Happy Hamburgers, happy Stockhausen, happy Brahms, to have shared such delights together! Will their like ever come again? Strangely enough, they lead in the course of our story, as by natural transition, to the record of a visit paid to Brahms in the second week of July by a very early friend of his and of the reader. Lischen Giesemann had not met her old playmate since she had bidden him God-speed at the commencement of his concert-journey with Rémenyi early in 1853. During the years immediately following what proved to be his final departure from Winsen, she had occasionally visited her dear 'aunt' Brahms, but, never finding Johannes at home, had been obliged to content herself by rejoicing with his mother over the letters he constantly sent to his parents from Düsseldorf, Hanover, etc. She was now a happy newly-married wife, but the memory of the old child-life remained like the warmth of sunshine in her heart, and having ascertained that her now celebrated hero was living at home again, she determined to go with her husband to see him. As ill-luck would have it, Johannes had gone out for the day when Herr and Frau Denninghoff made their call in the Fuhlentwiethe, but his mother, overjoyed to see her young friend again after a long separation, offered such consolation as was in her power by showing her his room. How many remembrances crowded upon Lischen's mind as she entered it! The practices with Reményi, the teacher's choral society, the dances at Hoopte, the story of the beautiful Magelone and her knight Peter. Lischen found herself standing near the piano--and what did she see there? Some manuscript songs, apparently newly composed, stood on the music-desk, which bore the name of the beautiful Magelone herself in Brahms' handwriting! It almost seemed like a waking dream to the young wife, and the manuscript appeared to her as a link by which the past would be carried into the future. Nor was she mistaken. Brahms' 'Magelone Romances' have become world-famous, and wherever they are heard the delight which stirred the heart of the youthful Johannes as he and Lischen sat together in the pleasant Winsen fields eagerly devouring the old story from Aaron Löwenherz's purloined volume lives also. Lischen was not again to meet her old friend, but she never forgot either him or his music, and he, too, kept a faithful memory for the old pleasant time. Writing to her twenty years later, when at the height of his fame, he said:

'The remembrance of your parents' house is one of the dearest that I possess; all the kindness and love that were shown me, all the youthful pleasure and happiness that I enjoyed there, live secure in my heart with the image of your good father and the glad, grateful memory of you all.'

Lischen's daughter inherited her mother's voice, and was endowed with fine musical gifts; and when Agnes came to the right age, Frau Denninghoff sent her to be trained as a singer at the Royal Music School of Berlin, of which, as everyone knows, Joachim has been director since its foundation. Joachim invited Agnes to his house one evening to meet Brahms, who, coming forward to greet her, said it was as though her mother were again standing before him. He sent her a selection of his songs, and in due time she became a distinguished singer, appearing in public under a pseudonym, and the wife of a famous musician.

Lischen saw only the first four numbers of the 'Magelone' song-cycle, which had, by a strange coincidence, just been completed at the time of her visit; the fifth and sixth were not composed until May, 1862.[92] These six songs were published by Rieter-Biedermann in 1865, with the title 'Romanzen aus L. Tieck's Magelone' and a dedication to Stockhausen; and there can be no doubt that the immediate incitement to their composition is to be traced to our composer's association with this great singer in the performance of the song-cycles of Beethoven, Schubert, and Schumann. The remaining nine songs of Brahms' series were not published until 1868, and the exact date of their composition has not been ascertained.

'I am living most delightfully in the country, half an hour from town,' wrote Brahms, pressing Dietrich to pay him a visit; 'you would be surprised to find how pleasantly one can live here. Perhaps I can take you in, and at any rate my room at my parents' in Hamburg is quite at your service. In short, I hope you will be comfortable.'

He was established for the summer at Hamm in the pleasant country house of Frau Dr. Rösing, aunt of the two girls, the Fräulein Betty and Marie Völckers, already mentioned as members of the choir. Here a large airy room with a balcony, on the first floor, had been allotted him, that had been the billiard-room of the house when it was inhabited by Herr Völckers and his family. This gentleman now lived next door with his two daughters in a charming old-fashioned habitation built, cottage-wise, with a thatched roof and but two floors, and possessing a spacious apartment on the ground-floor that was particularly well adapted for the choir practices. Both houses had pleasant gardens separated only by a green hedge, and close by, the spreading branches of fine old trees provided shelter for the many nightingales that built their nests in the quiet spot. Brahms' room was cheerful for a considerable part of the day, with the sunlight that shone through the outside greenery and the tinted panes of the open windows, and in it he could enjoy his favourite early morning hours of work with the added relish of feeling that they were but the prelude to days of quiet refreshment. He was intimate with all the branches of his hostess's family, from Herr Völckers, who had been a good public singer of his day, down to his gifted little granddaughter Minna (now Mrs. Edward Stone), one of the young composer's very favourite and most devoted pianoforte pupils; and that he passed a considerable portion of his time this summer in the society of the two girls next door--Betty and Marie Völckers--will astonish none of our readers. He went in and out their house as he liked, and frequently joined them as they sat in their garden with work or books, or chatting with their friends Fräulein Reuter and Fräulein Laura Garbe, whom they often invited. Johannes would stroll in with his cigar or cigarette, and take a seat near the group, silent or talkative according to his inclination. By-and-by he would sing a note or two of a well-known melody, begin to beat time, and the garden would be glad with the sound of four fresh young voices swelling and dying together in the charming harmonies of a favourite part-song. He often spent the evening with the young ladies and their father, gladly accepting their informal hospitality, and would play to them after supper until late into the night, sometimes performing duets with Fräulein Marie, who was his pupil on the pianoforte.

'I may say with pride that he was happy in our little house,' said Frau Professor Böie (Fräulein Marie Völckers) to the author; 'his playing was a great delight to our old father. His behaviour to old people was touchingly thoughtful and kind.'

Dietrich, who had lately accepted the post of court capellmeister to the Grand-Duke of Oldenburg, and was now quite a near neighbour, paid his promised visit to Hamburg in September, and found Johannes engaged on the A major Pianoforte Quartet. 'He played me the sketches which convinced me that the work would be surpassingly fine.'

'I occupied his very interesting room [at Hamburg], and was astonished at his comprehensive library, which he had gradually collected since early youth; it contained some remarkable old works.

'After breakfast in the morning I used to sit cosily with his dear old mother, who united true heart-culture with her plainness and simplicity; her Johannes was the inexhaustible subject of our lively conversations. The father generally left home early to follow his calling of bassist and music-teacher. I used to remain a little while with the dear people, and spent the rest of the day with Brahms in his charming country quarters, where we occupied ourselves with the detailed examination of his newest works.'

Several indications suggest that Brahms' thoughts were still turned longingly in the direction of Vienna; not as a permanent place of residence--at no time in his life, probably, did he so seriously contemplate settling in Hamburg as at the present--but he wished to see the city that had been the home of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert; and the enthusiastic sympathy accorded to Frau Schumann on each of her visits to the Austrian capital confirmed him in a desire to try his luck with its music-loving public. He knew his way had been prepared for him, and a good opportunity seemed likely to occur for his appearance there. Joachim was meditating another Austrian tour, and would have rejoiced to have Johannes with him. Matters went no further, however, than they had done previously. As in a former year, paragraphs appeared in the _Signale_ announcing that Brahms and Joachim were about to visit Vienna, but in the end Brahms remained at home--partly, no doubt, from motives of policy.

It was generally understood that Wilhelm Grund, who had for many years conducted the Philharmonic concerts and the Singakademie connected with them, must soon retire. He had done good work in his day, but his day was over. Musical conditions had changed; he was too old to alter with them, and the Philharmonic performances had long ceased to satisfy modern requirements. It was hoped by Brahms' friends that the young genius of Hamburg would succeed to the post, and Johannes himself may have thought it wise to remain on the spot with such an important issue imminent. The disappointment he felt at giving up the desired journey was partially consoled by the knowledge that Frau Schumann would be much in Hamburg during the autumn months.

He began his concert-season on October 19 at Altona, and appeared at one of the Böie-Lee concerts later in the month, playing the Schumann Variations for two pianofortes with Frau Clara. On the 30th there was a music-party at the Halliers', which is charmingly described in a letter written a few days afterwards by Fräulein Julie Hallier:

'The guests were late in coming; it was half-past eight when they had all arrived; and who comes with Frau Schumann?--Our dear friend from Hanover, with his beaming face and delightful friendliness; the glorious Joachim. Everyone was taken by surprise, Frau Schumann and Brahms in the morning, we in the evening. Avé: "My boy! where have you come from?" After the first excitement was over, Edward showed his Italian photographs. Brahms literally devoured them; he was very nice the whole evening, especially with Edward. He teased me about my punch, which I altered three times, he following it with anxious looks as the bowl disappeared through the door. Frau Schumann and Brahms played beautifully beyond imagination; three rondos by Schubert and two marches. The violin of course had not come; Joachim only arrived yesterday and is already gone again. At first Avé turned over, but he did it badly, so Brahms called Joachim. Avé: "My dreadful cold; I cannot see properly." He now stood behind and began to beat time. During the music the table was laid in the small room. It was rather narrow, but comfortable. All went well. We separated at half-past eleven.'

A few days afterwards there was a similar gathering at the Wagners', when Frau Schumann performed with Brahms his duet arrangement of the second serenade.

'The best of all was a set of variations by Brahms on a theme by Handel,' continues the letter--'another magnificent work! splendidly long--the stream of ideas flowing inexhaustibly! And the work was splendidly played, too, by himself. It seemed like a miracle; one could not take one's eyes from him. The composition is so difficult that none but great artists could attempt it.'[93]

These words give some measure of the progress effected during the last half-century in the technique of pianoforte-playing, partly, indeed, through the demands made upon pianists by the compositions of Brahms himself. Lovers of his art who have learnt his particular technique, which demands of the player certain qualities of endurance and grip, do not find the performance of his works unduly fatiguing. The twenty-five variations, with the fugue that succeeds them, are now in the fingers of most good players, and would undoubtedly be often heard in the concert-room if it were not for the great length of the work. They show a melodious fertility and power of invention which is practically inexhaustible. Each variation or pair of variations presents some fresh idea, some striking change of fancy, figuration, rhythm, mood, to hold the listener's attention, whilst the entire long work is essentially based upon the simple harmonic progression of Handel's theme (to be found in the second collection of Harpsichord Pieces). The changes of key in Brahms' variations are restricted to the tonic minor (Nos. 5, 6, 13) and the relative minor (No. 21). The finale, the great free fugue which invariably 'brings down' a house, is, with its grand and brilliant climax, to which extraordinary effect is imparted by an original employment of the dominant pedal point, a unique example of its kind.

If there ever were a young composer who had reason to be made happy from the outset of his career by the appreciation of the most eminent of his colleagues--appreciation sweeter than any other to the soul of the true artist--Brahms was he. At each of Frau Schumann's three appearances in Hamburg during this autumn, she performed a great work of his composition, two being introduced for the first time to the public. At her first concert, on November 16, she played the G minor Pianoforte Quartet, only now finally revised and completed, with Böie, Breyther, and Lee, and on the same evening several of the composer's part-songs were sung under his direction by the Ladies' Choir; on December 3 she appeared as the champion of the unpopular Concerto, choosing it for her chief solo at the Philharmonic concert of that date; and on the 7th of the same month she brought forward the Handel Variations and Fugue at her second concert. These she repeated a week later at the Gewandhaus soirée of the 14th in Leipzig.

Not even the magnetic personality of Frau Schumann availed to awaken any show of enthusiasm for the concerto. The new works were more favourably received both in Hamburg and Leipzig, and the _Signale_ itself bestowed a mild word or two upon some of the variations. It is easy, however, to read between the lines of the press notices that such encouragement as was awarded to the composer was mainly due to the personality of the performer. The B flat Sextet was given with fair success at the Gewandhaus Quartet concert of January 4 by David Röntgen, Hermann, Hunger, Davidoff, and Krummholtz.

Brahms passed the first two months of the new year in Joachim's society, making his headquarters at Hanover, and undertaking frequent short journeys with his friend. The two artists appeared together on January 20 at one of the Münster subscription concerts, of which Grimm, who had been called to Münster in 1860, was now the conductor; and on February 14 they gave a concert in Celle, a locality which the reader will remember as the scene of Johannes' transposition feat during the Reményi _tournée_ of 1853. The A major Pianoforte Quartet was now finished, and was, with its companion in G minor, much appreciated in the private circles of Hanover, where both works were frequently played by Brahms with Joachim and his colleagues.

Brahms, answering an invitation from Dietrich received on the eve of his departure, says:

'HANOVER, 1862.

'DEAR FRIEND,

'I have been here for some time, and have your letter forwarded from Hamburg. I go back to-morrow, and write a few words in haste.

'I should much like to visit you and to make the acquaintance of those whom I know pleasantly by name, otherwise I would say no. I will come and see how long I can afford to be idle.

'What shall I play? Beethoven or Mozart? C minor, A major, or G major? Advise!

'And for the second?--Schumann, Bach, or may I venture upon some new variations of my own?

'You, of course, will conduct my serenade. We have been playing my quartets a great deal here; I shall bring them with me and shall be glad if you and others approve of them.

'_À propos!_ I must have an honorarium of 15 Louis-d'ors [about £14], with the stipulation that if I should play at Court I receive extra remuneration. I much need the money; pro sec. my time is valuable to me, and I do not willingly take concert engagements; if, however, this must be, then the other must also.'[94]

Dietrich had already had the pleasure of welcoming Frau Schumann and Joachim to Oldenburg during this his first season of activity there, and had worked well to prepare the way for Brahms, so that the evening of March 14, the date fixed for the composer's personal introduction to the concert-going public, was awaited with keen interest. Arriving at Dietrich's house a few days previously, Brahms found himself surrounded by new friends, and had won the favour of the musical élite of the town before his public appearance, by playing several of his works in private circles. The members of the orchestra, who assembled _en masse_ on the evening of the 13th, were excited to enthusiasm by his performance of the new Handel Variations and Fugue, and every condition that could insure a sympathetic reception for the hero of the 14th was fulfilled.

The concert opened with the D major Serenade (Op. 11), conducted by Dietrich, who had the delight of finding that he had secured an adequate reception for his friend's orchestral work.

'The whole made the most satisfactory impression, and carried the hearers away more and more, especially from the fourth movement onwards, and at the close the applause reached a pitch of enthusiasm not hitherto experienced here. The members of the orchestra, who had been studying the serenade for some time, showed their concurrence in the general approval by a lively flourish' (_Oldenburger Zeitung_).

No less satisfactory was the verdict of the audience on the performances of Beethoven's G major Concerto and Bach's Chromatic Fantasia, with which our composer came forward as pianist. His success was repeated at the chamber music concert of the 19th, when the sextet was performed by Court Concertmeister Engel and his colleagues. Both in public and private Brahms left endearing memories behind him.

'He was the most agreeable guest,' says Dietrich, 'always pleased, always good-humoured and satisfied, like a child with the children.

'He took the greatest pleasure in our happiness. He thought our modest lot enviable, and had his position then allowed him to establish a home of his own, perhaps this might have been the right moment, for he was attracted by a young girl who was often with us. One evening, when she and other guests had left, he said with quiet decision: "She pleases me; I should like to marry her; such a girl would make me, too, happy." He met many people at our house, and in small and large circles outside it, and everyone liked his earnest nature and his short and often humorous remarks.'

It is pleasant to have to record here that a few weeks before the events now described, New York, distinguished, as we have seen, by Mason's timely performance of the B major Trio in 1855, led the way a second time in connection with Brahms' career. In February, 1862, the first performance after publication of the second serenade took place there at a Philharmonic concert, and the occasion is doubly memorable as marking the earliest introduction of an orchestral work of Brahms to a public audience outside the cities of Hamburg, Hanover, and Leipzig. This early appreciation of the composer's genius in America has proved to have been neither accidental nor transitory. It grew steadily year by year with the general growth of interest in musical art, and his works, great and small, were welcomed as they appeared, and performed--often, it must be said, from pirated editions in the earlier days--with ever-increasing success. It has been impossible to ascertain the exact dates of first American performances. New York, the earliest centre in the United States for the cultivation of Brahms' music, was emulated later on, especially by Boston; and the famous Symphony Orchestra of this city has, since its foundation in 1881, performed each of the four symphonies, in Boston and in the course of numerous concert tours, at an average of forty concerts; whilst the two overtures, the concertos, and other large works, have been given with corresponding frequency.

The chamber music has been a special feature in the programmes of several concert-parties resident in various parts of the United States. Of these, special mention should be made of the Kneisel String Quartet of Boston, whose performances, familiar not only to American, but also to some of the circles of European music-lovers, were warmly appreciated by Brahms himself.

In the spring of 1862, an artistic tour undertaken in France by Frau Schumann laid the foundation of Brahms' reputation in Paris, which, little to be noted during many years, has of late been rapidly increasing. That the great pianist, when introducing her husband's works, which were almost unknown to French audiences, had to confront the inevitable prejudice against what is new, explains the fact that Brahms' name did not appear in the programmes of her concerts at the Salle Erard. The efforts she made in the cause of his art, however, amongst the inmost musical circle of her acquaintance created an impression that was not entirely fleeting.

The two first Pianoforte Quartets, now finally completed, and performed, as we have seen, during the winter of 1861-62--the earlier one in public, and both frequently in private--add two glorious works of chamber music to the series so brilliantly inaugurated by the Sextet in B flat. In their broadly-flowing themes, their magnificent wealth of original and contrasted melody, their consummate workmanship, their fresh, vigorous vitality, their enchanting romance, one seems to hear the bounding gladness of the artist-spirit which has attained freedom through submission to law, and revels in its emancipation. They are so rich in beauty, so transcendent in power, that the attempt to point out this or that particular detail for admiration results in bewilderment. The romantic intermezzo, the riotously brilliant Hungarian rondo, of the first; the graceful scherzo with its bold trio, of the second, and the adagio, with its atmosphere of mystery, lit up twice by the outbreak of passion that subsides again to the hushed expressiveness of the beginning and end; the opening allegro of either work--all are original, great, beautiful; but so is every portion of every movement of both quartets, and each movement proclaims--from Bach to Brahms. That Brahms' course of development proceeded ever further in the direction of concentration of thought and conciseness of structure cannot affect the value of the splendid achievements of his earlier period of maturity, and of these the two quartets stand amongst the greatest.

The sincerity of Brendel's efforts to conciliate the contending musical parties, and his desire to do justice to each, is strikingly proved by the appearance in his journal, in the course of several months of the year 1862, of a series of articles signed 'D. A. S.,' by Dr. Schübring, a distinguished musician and critic of the Schumann school. The first few numbers are devoted to sympathetic reviews of the works of Theodor Kirchner, Woldemar Bargiel, and others; and following these are five articles in which the whole of Brahms' published works are examined in detail. The composer's genius, his progress, his moods and his methods, are discussed with the skill of a scientific musician, the impartiality of a sound critic, and the affection of a personal and artistic friend. They are too technical for quotation here, but the last sentence of the concluding number may be given in well-deserved tribute to Brendel, who must have known what he was doing when he arranged for Dr. Schübring's contributions.

'The foregoing words may sound inflated, but stopped horns are of no use when it is desired to arouse the great public, which does not yet seem to comprehend in the least what a colossal genius, one quite of equal birth with Bach, Beethoven, and Schumann, is ripening in the young master of Hamburg.'

The mediator's task is seldom a grateful one, and it appears probable that Dr. Brendel was reproached for his large-mindedness by some of the New-German party, with whom he had been so long intimately connected, as a half-apologetic explanation of his reasons for desiring the publication of the 'Schumanniana,' as the articles were entitled, appeared in a later number of the _Zeitschrift_.

It would be unsatisfactory to omit all mention of the first performance of a 'Magelone Romance,' though there is but little to record save the fact that Stockhausen sang the opening one, the 'Keinem hat es noch gereut,' from the manuscript, at the Philharmonic concert of April 4, as one of a group of songs by Brahms. It produced no impression whatever on the Hamburgers, who were only mystified. How many persons in the audience had read Tieck's poems? How many had ever heard anything about the adventures of Magelone and Peter? Without such knowledge, the first and second numbers of the cycle cannot be really appreciated. To those who are aware that the first is the song of a minstrel who incites a valiant young hero to journey to distant lands in quest of adventure, and the second the exultant shout of the joyful aspirant as he rides forth from his parents' home, resolved on doughty deeds, the music becomes living, and seems to breathe forth the very spirit of chivalry. The third, fourth, and some other of the songs, notably the ninth--the ravishing 'Ruhe Süssliebchen'--are capable of telling a tale of their own, and give rich delight apart from their place in Tieck's version of the story; but the enjoyment even of these favourite and familiar songs is much heightened by an acquaintance with the incidents of the romance. Tieck's 'Beautiful Magelone' is contained in his 'Phantasus,' a collection of tales published between 1812 and 1816, some of which have been made familiar to English readers by the translations of Hare, Froude, and Carlyle. The 'Magelone' story of the book is a modernized version of an old romance of chivalry, and, by introducing into it a number of songs, Tieck furnished the opportunity seized upon more than forty years later by Brahms, to which the world is indebted for some of the composer's most perfect inspirations.

To provide in this place the much-needed clue to their connexion with the events of the tale would cause too serious an interruption to our narrative. The author has therefore added, in Appendix II., an account of the romance and the incidence of Tieck's songs, which it is hoped may interest the reader and increase his love for the compositions.

Brahms continued to make Frau Dr. Rösing's house his headquarters, and remained there during most of the spring and summer of 1862. Before going to Oldenburg in March, he had written to Dietrich: 'It is delightful here in Hamm, and unless I look out of window at the bare trees I fancy summer is come, the sunlight plays in the room so, gaily.' Later it was: 'It is blooming splendidly, and the trees are blossoming in Hamm, so that it is a joy.' He occupied his leisure in similar agreeable pursuits to those of the preceding year, and now in the springtime a double choir of maidens and nightingales might often be heard by the passer-by, carolling together as if in mutual emulation of the others' song. He begged, later on, for photographs of his girls' quartet and of the two houses, and said that he neither remembered nor saw before him a happier time than that he had passed in Hamm. The sisters met their fate in due time. Each married a distinguished violinist, and Concertmeister Otto von Königslow of Cologne and Professor John Böie of Altona were amongst the most active admirers of Brahms' art. The composer remained on terms of intimacy with the entire Völckers family, and never failed, when occasionally staying at Hamburg during the later years of his career, to visit both the Böies and the Stones.

Avé Lallement, who would gladly have seen Johannes settled in Hamburg as conductor of the Philharmonic, says, in a letter written in the early spring of the year to Dr. Löwe of Zürich:

'We had the "Matthew Passion" here under Grund; Brahms also was delighted, in spite of the defective performance. He thinks of going to Vienna in the autumn; then I shall be quite alone, but thank God I have learnt to know the man so well. I have come a good piece forward through him.'

The pianoforte quartets finished, the composer was now busy with the great work which we know as a quintet for pianoforte and strings. It was finished in its first form--a string quintet with two violoncelli--by the end of the summer. When tried a year later by Joachim and his colleagues, the effect of the work was found insufficiently sonorous for its great material, and Brahms arranged it as a sonata for two pianofortes, and subsequently as a quintet for pianoforte and strings. We shall have occasion later on to make particular mention of the first public, and of an early private, performance of the sonata version.

Brahms and Dietrich met at the Rhine Festival given this year at Cologne (June 8-10), where they made the artistic and personal acquaintance of Frau Louise Dustmann, court chamber singer, and of the court opera, Vienna, whom Brahms knew well in later years. From Cologne they proceeded to Münster-am-Stein, taking lodgings together near Frau Schumann, who was staying there with her family. From Münster Dietrich wrote to his wife:

'The longer I am with Brahms, the more my affection and esteem for him increase. His nature is equally lovable, cheerful, and deep. He often teases the ladies, certainly, by making jokes with a serious air which are frequently taken in earnest, especially by Frau Schumann. This leads to comical and frequently dangerous arguments, in which I usually act as mediator, for Brahms is fond of strengthening such misunderstandings, in order to have the laugh on his side in the end. This to me attractive humorous trait is, I think, the reason why he is so often misunderstood. He can, however, be very quiet and serious if necessary.'

Brahms and Dietrich composed industriously in the mornings; the afternoons and evenings were occupied with excursions or music, and at this time Brahms showed his friend an early version of the first movement of his C minor Symphony, not completed until fourteen years later. The six 'Magelone Romances' were pronounced by Dietrich to be amongst the finest works yet produced by their composer.

The Sextet in B flat, the Handel Variations, and the horns and harp Songs for women's Chorus, were published this year by Simrock. Two works in the hands of Rieter-Biedermann--the Marienlieder for mixed Chorus and the Variations for Pianoforte Duet Op. 23--appeared at the end of 1862 or the beginning of 1863.[95]

The Marienlieder, seven in number, to be sung _a capella_, are not sacred compositions. They are settings of old texts founded upon some of the medieval legends that grew up around the history of the Virgin, and are delightfully fresh examples of the pure style of part-writing of which Brahms had made himself a master. In spite of the restricted means at the disposal of the composer who elects to forego, for the nonce, all but the few diatonic harmonies alone available in this style, there is a something about these attractive little pieces which allows Brahms' individuality to be distinctly felt. If, as is inevitable, they carry back the mind of the listener to the choral music of the sixteenth century, they recall the style of the early German, rather than of either of the Italian, schools. Perhaps the most fascinating of the set is No. 2, entitled 'Mary's Church-going.' Mary, on her way to church, comes to a deep lake, and, finding a young boatman standing ready, requests him to ferry her over, promising him whatever he may like best in return. The boatman answers that he will do what she asks provided she will become his housewife; but Mary, replying that she will swim across rather than consent to the suggestion, jumps into the water. When she is half-way to the other side, the church bells suddenly begin to ring, loudly, softly, all together. Mary, on her safe arrival, kneels on a stone in prayer, and the boatman's heart breaks. The first five verses are composed strophically (each like the other) for two sopranos, contralto, and tenor, in E flat minor, and are marked _piano_. The bass enters with the sixth verse, composed in E flat major, and, whilst the whole choir bursts into a jubilant _forte_, keeps up a movement in concert, first with the tenor and then with the soprano, suggestive of bell-ringing. The concluding words return to the setting of the first five verses, and by this means the little composition is rounded into definite shape.

The Variations are amongst the most beautiful of Brahms' many fine achievements in this particular domain, and present for admiration conspicuous qualities of their own arising from the opportunities offered by their composition in duet form. The theme on which they are founded is that supposed by Schumann to have been brought to him in the night three weeks before his malady reached its crisis. The work is dedicated to Fräulein Julie Schumann, the master's third daughter.

And now, in a few weeks, the period of Brahms' career which is to be especially associated with Hamburg was to close. He would gladly have strengthened his ties with the city to which he was so proud to belong, but, as we shall see, his compatriots would have none of him. Twice in the coming years they passed him by, and when the time at length arrived in which they would willingly have proclaimed the world-famous composer as their own special prophet, his interests and affections had become too deeply rooted within the city that he made his second home to be capable of a second transplantation.

Brahms quitted Hamburg for his first visit to Vienna on September 8. That he expected to return speedily is evident from the lines sent by him to Dietrich on the eve of his departure:

'DEAR FRIEND,

'I am leaving on Monday _for Vienna_! I look forward to it like a child.

'Of course I do not know how long I shall stay; we will leave it open, and I hope we may meet some time during the winter.

'The C minor Symphony is not ready; on the other hand, a string quintet (2 v.celli) in F minor is finished. I should like to send it you and hear what you have to say about it, and yet I prefer to take it with me.

'Herewith my Handel Variations; the Marienlieder are not yet here.

'Greet all the Oldenburg friends.

'Pray do not leave me quite without letters. You might address for the present to Haslinger, or to Wessely and Büsing.

'Heartiest farewell meanwhile, dear Albert, to you and your wife.

'Your JOHANNES.'

'Father,' said Brahms, looking slyly at his father as he said good-bye, 'if things should be going badly with you, music is always the best consolation; go and study my old "Saul"--you will find comfort there.'

He had thickly interlarded the volume with bank-notes.[96]

It is highly interesting to possess a clear conception of Brahms' achievements as a composer, and, therewith, of his exact title to consideration at this important moment of his career. This will be best obtained by a glance at the list of the chief completed works with which he was to present himself in the city associated with the most hallowed memories of his art. His departure for Vienna is by no means to be regarded as coincident with the close of any one period of his creative activity, though it emphatically marks the end, not only of a chapter, but of the first book of his life.

LIST OF BRAHMS' CHIEF COMPLETED WORKS ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR VIENNA.

Pianoforte Solos:

Three Sonatas. Scherzo. Variations on Schumann's theme in F sharp minor. Variations on an original theme. Variations on a Hungarian song. Variations and Fugue on Handel's theme.

Pianoforte Duet: Variations on a theme by Schumann.

Pianoforte with Orchestra: Concerto in D minor.

Orchestral: Two Serenades.

Chamber music:

Sextet in B flat for Strings. Trio in B major for Pianoforte and Strings. Quartet in G minor " " " " Quartet in A major " " " "

Songs:

Five books (thirty songs). 'Magelone Romances' (first six).

Vocal Duets: two books.

Three Vocal Quartets.

Women's Chorus:

'Ave Maria.' Part-songs.

Mixed Chorus:

Begräbnissgesang. Marienlieder. The 13th Psalm. Motets. Sacred Song.

The newly-finished String Quintet is not included in the list, as the work was not published in this its first form. The Hungarian Dances, as being arrangements, are also omitted.

[92] Max Kalbeck, p. 458.

[93] First published in Hübbe's 'Brahms in Hamburg,' pp. 42-44.

[94] Dietrich.

[95] The Variations are dated 1866 in the published catalogue.

[96] Max Kalbeck, p. 497. The reader must be reminded that at this period German bank-notes frequently represented but small sums.

APPENDICES

I.

MUSICAL FORM--ABSOLUTE MUSIC--PROGRAMME-MUSIC--BERLIOZ AND WAGNER

The word Form, as applied to instrumental music, is synonymous with Design. A movement is built up on a certain ground-plan, the outlines of which are constructed according to some given arrangement of keys, or melodies, or both, which secures symmetry for the work and facilitates its presentment as a whole to the intelligence of the hearer. A chief element in musical form is recurrence, the simplest illustration of which--three sections of which the third repeats the first (A, B, A)--is to be found in a vast number of folk-melodies.

The main source to which the instrumental music of classical art owes its primitive origin is the Folk-melody, whether of dance or of song. This Folk-melody was entirely naïve, and as free from the imitative or pictorial, as from the reflective, element. The dance-melody was conditioned by the rhythm of the dance. The song-melody, also rhythmical as distinct from declamatory, more or less reflected the sentiment of the text; verses of a joyous character naturally suggested joyous tunes, those of a plaintive character, plaintive tunes; but the ideas constituting the melody were essentially musical thoughts, and contained no attempt at pictorial illustration of the subject of the words; the melody formed from them was Absolute music.

In process of time these melodies came to be treated apart from their text or their dance, and new ones were invented whose primary object was not the dance or the song, but the gratification of the ear and intelligence by the pleasing succession of musical phrases. Instrumental movements were constructed, and these bore unmistakable impress of their descent, since the ideas and series of ideas forming them were rhythmical and symmetrical.

It is obviously impossible in the short space at our disposal even to touch upon the history of the process by which early instrumental pieces of a few bars have gradually developed into the elaborate movements of classical art, but, by sketching as slightly as possible two of the forms, one or other of which underlies the vast majority of the instrumental works of modern classical music, we hope to enable all our readers to follow the allusions to Form in our text, which must be understood to include other forms than these, but such as have in common with them the essential element of design or symmetry.

The Rondo-form has been used by composers of almost all periods, and has, in modern times, developed into two large varieties. The idea from which it originated is best realized by reference to the old rondeau dance-song, the design of which is simplicity itself. A short melody sung several times in chorus was alternated with others contributed by solo voices, which were sometimes called 'couplets,' and which are now generally termed 'episodes.' The form required two, and permitted any number, of episodes, each of which was bound to furnish a new melody. The performance terminated as it began, with the chorus. The form, therefore, may be thus represented: A, B, A, C, A, _ad libitum_.

The reader will find many examples of the early eighteenth-century instrumental Rondo in Couperin's 'Pièces de Clavecin,' published in Paris in 1713, and edited for republication by Brahms (Chrysander's 'Denkmäler der Tonkunst'). With these he may compare the great rondo-movement of Beethoven's Sonata in C major, Op. 53.

The so-called Sonata-form underlies the immense majority of the first movements composed by the great masters of the last century and a half--the first movements, not only of those works for pianoforte solo or pianoforte and another instrument which are called by the name sonata, but of trios, quartets, and so forth, and of symphonies, which are, in fact, sonatas for orchestra.

A movement in Sonata-form consists of three essential parts--the Statement or Exposition of themes, the 'thematic material'; their Development; their Repetition. To these was formerly appended a short Coda, which has gradually developed, and now frequently extends to the dimensions of a fourth part.

The first part, the Statement, is itself divided into two sections, not necessarily or even generally of equal duration, marked by difference of tonality. The first is dominated by the tonic key of the movement. It contains the First Subject, which may be either short and concise, of sixteen or even eight bars only, or of several different paragraphs; a principal idea and subordinate themes. The second section is dominated by some other key; formerly, in a major movement by that of the dominant, in a minor movement by that of the relative major or dominant minor. It contains the Second Subject, a new melody followed or not by subordinate themes. These two sections are connected by a modulatory 'bridge passage,' which leads the ear from the first to the second principal key of the Statement, and which used generally to come to a pause on the dominant harmony of the new key in preparation for the entry of the Second Subject. The Statement closes, with or without a Codetta, in the key of the Second Subject. Formerly it was invariably played twice, its termination being followed by a double bar with repetition marks.

The second part of the movement, the Development, sometimes called the Free Fantasia or the Working-out, is what its name implies. It is constructed from the material of the Statement, which the composer works or develops according to his fancy, using either or both of his subjects, his bridge passage, his codetta, entire or in part, alone or combined, with much or little modulation to near or distant keys, just as he pleases. The Development part of the movement is not visibly and mechanically cut off from what follows it by a double bar like the Statement, nor does it end with a final cadence, but usually closes with some sort of half-cadence--formerly it was the typical one, a pause on the dominant--which leads to the third part of the movement, the Repetition.

In this the Statement is repeated, modified by the circumstance that both its sections are dominated by the tonic key of the movement, in which the Second Subject as well as the First is heard, such modulations as may have occurred in the Statement being represented in the Repetition with the changes required by this fact.

The Coda is more often than not retrospective, but its character and arrangement are at the discretion of the composer, provided that it gives sufficient emphasis to the original key to leave the mind of the hearer impressed with the tonality of the movement.

We have not troubled the reader in this short sketch with the varieties or exceptions to be found in the works of the great composers of the period indicated above. Their movements in this form, whether we examine those of the simple sonatina or of the complex symphony, will be found, broadly speaking, to conform to our description. A very clear illustration of the outlines of Sonata-form may be studied in the first movement of Beethoven's Sonata in G major, Op. 14, No. 2.

The developed instrumental movements of classical art, capable of stirring the highest aspirations of which the spirit of man is capable, are, like the short pieces from which they have sprung, constructed from 'musical ideas'--ideas, that is to say, which act upon the nerves, emotions, intellect of the listener, directly through the sense of sound, and are not dependent for their effect upon intermediate mental translation into images perceptible to the mind's eye, the vision of imagination. This does not mean that a composer of pure music never is and never may be pictorial, but the cases in which he is so are, as it were, accidental, and the pictorial element in a given work is not of the essence of his art, but is something added to it, something, moreover, which does not affect the value of the composition as a work of art. A composer of Absolute music may indeed, and often does, stimulate his imagination by recalling a poem, a legend, a scene of nature or life; and either of these may leave a more or less definite impress on his music; whilst a title or a motto placed above a short pianoforte piece, an orchestral overture, or, in very few cases, a symphony, may sometimes stimulate the hearer's appreciation; but the music is not in such a case to be taken as 'meaning' this or that in detail. The composer aims at making his movement a work of art complete in itself, and relies for his effects upon his musical thoughts and their treatment as such, though he may be willing to let his hearers know that his fancy was encouraged by extraneous aid.

The listener may, on the other hand, if it assist his enjoyment, attach his own 'meaning' to what he hears, but he must understand that this is relative to himself only. No one can assure him that his 'meaning' is right or wrong. The music as such should stand high above such interpretations, and, if it is to fulfil its supreme destiny, must speak directly to the soul in its own infinite language of sound, infinite just because it is capable of transcending the defined objects of sight.

Vocal forms have always necessarily been to a great extent dependent on the text chosen for musical treatment. Nevertheless, certain vocal forms have been developed--the aria, the ballad, the lied, the ensemble--which, though freer than those of instrumental music, have the common characteristics of symmetry more or less, and of rhythmic melody as distinct from the mere accentuation of the recitative.

The Art-song of the classical masters, whether for one or more voices, mirrors, like its parent the Folk-song, the sentiment of the text, but is not pictorial. Its instrumental accompaniment may, and at times does, reflect or emphasize the suggestion of the words, but it does not attempt to imitate or illustrate in detail the images which they represent; or only in an insignificant number of instances, which may be classed with the cases to which we have referred in our remarks upon instrumental music.

A good deal of confusion prevailed in the mind of the general musical public of the middle of the nineteenth century as to the views held by the musicians of the New-German party, and it has not been cleared away even at the present day. This has resulted chiefly from the fact that, like many another body of radical reformers, they were by no means at one as to the positive articles of their faith.

It is far from the desire of the present writer to enter into a lengthy discussion of vexed controversies which time alone can settle. The object of this appendix is simply to assist the general reader to follow certain allusions and incidents in the text of the narrative, and especially to make clear how it was that Brahms, an uncompromising champion of musical tradition, whose very existence as an artist was staked on the vitality of Absolute music, could deeply respect the art of Wagner. With these ends only in view, it is proposed to limit the few words to be said here to the attempt to show what the fundamental difference was which separated the methods of Berlioz and Wagner, the two giants of the Weimar party, in their efforts to establish a basis for the Music of the Future so far as they conceived this could be achieved by the closer union of the arts of instrumental music and poetry.

Berlioz (1803-1869) has been accepted as the typical champion of what is called Programme-music. The question as to what is to be understood by this term, however, has become very difficult to answer, because nowadays anything may become a programme or supply a label. A poem, a romance, or a commonplace situation of everyday life; an emotion, a series of emotions, or the individuality of a man or woman; or, again, the emotion or mental action which a certain personality may excite in another. If, however, we restrict the question and examine only what meaning attaches to the term Programme-music as applied to Berlioz's instrumental works, the answer is that the composer is so intent on conveying, as an essential part of his movements, definite and detailed ideas outside the art of sound _per se_, which he finds in certain poems or plays or narratives, that he not only places verbal headings above them, but in many cases prefaces his works with an explanation minutely describing the scenes which they are intended to represent point by point, or the emotions that he desires to excite at successive steps of their progress. Such detailed labels and expositions are what is commonly termed the Programme.

However the purpose be described which Berlioz thus set himself to fulfil, whether it be said that the music was to absorb or to clothe the poem, to translate or reflect it, it is obvious that, if words have any real meaning, its ultimate _raison d'être_ was to be either imitative or, at best, illustrative. Instrumental music necessarily becomes one or the other the moment that material outside the domain of sound is accepted as of its essence, and it is thereby debased from the level of the fine art of sound. If it be said that the object of the programme is to be a sort of guide-post to the emotions or sentiments to which the music is addressed, the position becomes worse, for the incapacity of the musician as such stands confessed. The union of poetry and music in the sense of the instrumental Programme composer is, from the point of view of the creator of Absolute music, fatal, not only to the dignity, but to the vital force, of both arts. The poem becomes a phantom, the music a conundrum; the listener wastes his time and fancy in trying to fit them together, and is without means of knowing how far he has been successful, and the product of these processes is a something which, in the words of Wagner, is neither fish nor fowl.

Whatever may be the ultimate fate of Berlioz's works, his immense capacity, the extraordinary sensitiveness and force of his imagination of tone-colour, and his phenomenal mastery of the resources of the orchestra, have insured the survival of his name. If on no other account, it will live as that of the creator of the complex art of instrumentation in its modern sense, which was assimilated by Wagner and developed by him in his dramas with vitalizing energy.

Very far removed from Berlioz's position was that of Wagner (1813-1883), who not only implied his disbelief in Programme-music by his practice, but expressly recorded it by direct avowal, and illustrated his remarks by references to Berlioz's works.[97] If, as may be the case, he received his first impulse as a reformer from Berlioz, he clearly saw the fallacies in which the theories of the French musician were involved, and avoided them in a sufficiently convincing manner. He perceived, firstly, that the rejection of a future for Absolute music was the same thing as the rejection of a future independent art of sound; secondly, that a union of instrumental music with poetry in Berlioz's sense meant that the function of music must be illustrative; thirdly, that the subject to be illustrated by musical sound must be presented to the perception of the audience in as real and indubitable a manner as the illustration; that, as the musical illustration was to be heard, so the subject illustrated must be seen.

Having boldly faced his premises, a splendid vision dawned upon his imagination, and he shrank from no consequences which they involved.

Rejecting the future existence not only of music, but also of poetry, as a separate art, he predicted for both a future, as co-ordinate elements with action and scenic effect, of a larger art, the drama, the object of which he explained to be dramatic truth. Concentrating his immense energies upon a reform of the stage, he adopted as his fundamental principle that of a return, in the modern sense, to the practice of Greek Tragedy. He substituted musical declamation of a very highly-developed order for the rhythmic melody and symmetrical movements of opera. Relinquishing the aria, the scena, the regularly-constructed ensemble linked by _recitativo secco_, which he conceived to be contradictory and obstructive to dramatic truth, his method was to set his poem to a glorified species of recitative, called by him the Melos, and to support and give it additional force and vividness by a gorgeous illustrative orchestral accompaniment, its other self. An important feature in his scheme, which is to be regarded as his substitute for the Subject of traditional form, was the adoption and development of the Leitmotif, a device employed to some extent by Weber in 'Der Freischütz,' and by Berlioz. By it the successive appearances on the stage of each prominent person of the drama, and often the anticipation and remembrance as well as the occurrence of an important situation, are signalized by a special harmonic progression or a particular rhythmic figure. These became in the case of Wagner, who was his own poet, something more than mere labels or mottoes. Growing up in his mind with the progress of his poem, his series of Leitmotive became for him, as it were, his musical dramatis personæ. He felt them as an inseparable part of his persons and events, and they became with these the framework on which his works were constructed.

It must be clear to all unprejudiced minds that the principles which guided the creator of the great music dramas were perfectly logical and coherent, and that Wagner acted on them throughout the course of his career, properly so called, with entire consistency and with magnificent success. His error, and the error of his disciples, lay in their arrogant and senseless propaganda of the Wagnerian articles of faith, as expressions of the ultimate and universal principles of art. Wagner went so far as to claim that Beethoven, recognising that instrumental music had reached its natural term of existence, had given practical expression to such a belief by setting Schiller's 'Ode to Joy' in the finale of his ninth symphony. The assumption is controverted by the facts that Beethoven composed the works known as the posthumous string quartets, and sketched a purely instrumental tenth symphony after the completion of the ninth.

The rejection of a future for Absolute music is, of course, purely arbitrary. Wagner's achievements for the stage were transcendent, but it is even conceivable that the progress of time may sooner or later produce a composer able successfully to champion, in a manner of his own, the cause of rhythmic melody, of traditional form, on Wagner's own arena, on the stage itself.

If we examine the pretensions of the so-called larger art, the musical Drama, versus the capacities of the several arts of poetry, of music, of dramatic action, by the testimony of Wagner's own works, is it possible to contend that these make for, and not against, the wholly superfluous proposition from which he started as a reformer? One of the reproaches frequently levelled by the New-Germans against ante-Wagnerian opera was that its form hardly rose above the level of an entertainment; that entertainment was its _raison d'être_. What, however, is the ultimate result of the musical Dramas? Is it not also entertainment--entertainment of a highly complex and luxurious form, conceived and accomplished, certainly, in the most perfect and perfectly consistent manner? The famous Dramas are gorgeous stage poems; but are they so exceptionally and extraordinarily elevating to the mind? They address the senses with exceptional power. Could either of them replace amongst our highest possessions a really great play, a great poem, a great symphony? The art of sound, the art of music, is and remains the special art divine because it is capable of reaching beyond the limited impressions of which words are the symbols, and of suggesting the infinite.

Let us be grateful for the splendid gifts which the genius of Wagner has bestowed on the world. May the supreme art of music, however, be always recognised as such. May a musical prophet again arise in due time, capable of speaking with authority in its language--the language of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann, the language of Bach and of Brahms.

[97] 'Music may accompany action, but can never become its substitute.'

'In the case even of the best and most ideal examples [of Programme-music] it always happened that I so completely lost the thread that no effort enabled me to recover it,' etc.

Wagner, at a certain period of his career, professed himself a partial convert to Programme-music--_i.e._, as it is exemplified in the works of Liszt; but it is scarcely possible to read his remarks at this point without feeling that they were wrested from him by his conception of the obligations of friendship, and the circumstances of the time. Confessing that he finds it extremely difficult to explain himself, he says that he leaves to others the task of developing his meaning, and returns repeatedly to the expression of his general dislike of Programme-music.

II.

THE MAGELONE ROMANCES

The story of the Count Peter of Provence and the beautiful Magelone, Princess of Naples, which is associated with a well-known ruin on the south coast of France, is said by Raynouard to have formed the subject of a poem written towards the close of the twelfth century by Bernhard de Trèves, Canon of Magelonne in Languedoc. It was adapted as a prose romance not later than the middle of the twelfth, and printed in at least five different editions before the end of the fifteenth, century. Of these, rare copies are to be found in some of the famous libraries of England and the Continent. Two editions, copies of which are in the British Museum, were issued by Maître Guillaume Le Roy. With slight differences of spelling they begin:

'Au nom de notre seigneur ihesucrist, cy comm[=e]ce listoyre du vaillant chevalier pierre filz du cote de prov[=e]ce et de la belle maguelonne fille du roy de naples.'

The romance is constructed from the familiar elements of medieval fiction--chivalry, religion and love--and has been translated at various dates into almost every European language, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Norse, etc. It has been republished in German many times through the centuries since it was first done into that language (probably in 1483), and was included by G. O. Marbach in 1838 in his popular series of tales (Volksbücher). That it was this version of the story that found its way into Frau Löwenherz's library and was read by Johannes and Lischen is proved beyond doubt by its title, which is identical with that noted down by the present writer from the lips of Frau Denninghoff, the 'Lischen' of our biography--'Geschichte der schönen Magelone und dem Ritter Peter mit den silbernen Schlüsseln'--and it seems probable that Marbach obtained his tale from an edition published in 1661 at Nürnburg: 'Historia der schönen Magelona, eines Königs Tochter von Neaples, und einem Ritter, genannt Peter mit den silbernen Schlüsseln, eines Grafen Sohn aus Provincia.' Of the many editions, fifteenth and up to the nineteenth century, to which the author has had access, no other contains in its title any mention of the silver keys.

Marbach's version is a fine one. Whilst he has modernized the old romance in certain respects, he has kept, not only to the main incidents of the tale, but to the quaint old dialogues which naïvely portray the characters of the manly-hearted but rather weak-minded Peter and the high-spirited, self-willed, yet tender Magelone.

Tieck's version, published in 1812 in the first volume of the 'Phantasus,' differs considerably, especially in its particulars of the beginning and end of the romance, from the original details of the story. In making his alterations, the poet seems to have been chiefly concerned to eliminate the religious element from his narrative as far as possible, and to provide opportunity for the introduction of seventeen songs of which Brahms composed fifteen. The tale has suffered considerably in his hands. The general atmosphere of French medieval fiction, with its characteristic setting of sunrise and sunset, flowers and birds, and, in parts, the wording of the old romance, have, however, been preserved, and we may be grateful to Tieck for the poems which have placed us in possession of Brahms' beautiful song-cycle.

We propose to give an abridgment of his narrative up to a certain point and to summarize ensuing details, which become prolix and involved in all the versions. We shall insert only the first few lines of each song.

HOW A STRANGE SINGER CAME TO THE COURT OF PROVENCE.

A long time ago, a Count reigned in Provence whose beautiful and noble son grew up the joy of his parents. He was big and strong and his shining fair hair flowed round his neck and shaded his tender, youthful face. Then he was well proved in arms; no one in or beyond the land managed the lance and sword as he, so that he was admired by great and small, young and old, noble and simple. He was often absent-minded as though meditating on some secret desire, and many experienced people concluded that he must be in love, but none of them would awaken him from his thoughts, for they knew that love is like the vision of a dream, which is apt, if disturbed, to vanish and return to its dwelling in the ether and the golden mists of morning.

His father gave a great tournament to which many knights were invited. It was a wonder to see how the tender youth hove the best and strongest from their saddles. He was lauded by everyone, but no praise made him proud; indeed he sometimes felt ashamed at overcoming such great and worthy knights. Amongst the guests was a singer who had seen many lands; he was no knight, but he surpassed many nobles in insight and experience. He made friends with Peter and praised him uncommonly, but concluded his talk with these words: Sir Knight, if I might advise you, you should not remain here, but should see other places and other men, to improve your ideas and learn to associate the strange with the familiar. He took his lute and sang,

No one yet hath rued the day When on charger mounting Youthful-strong he sped away, Pain nor peril counting, etc.

The youth listened to the song: when it was at an end, he remained awhile sunk in thought; then said: Yes, now I know what I want; many variegated pictures pass through my mind. No greater joy for a young knight than to ride through valley and over field. Here in the morning sunshine stands a stately castle, there over the meadow sounds the shepherd's shawm; a noble maiden flies by on a white palfrey. Oh, I wish I were already on my good horse. Heated by these new thoughts, he went at once to his mother's chamber where he found his father also. Peter immediately sank on one knee and made his request that his parents would allow him to travel and seek adventures: for, thus he concluded his speech, he who only stays at home keeps a narrow mind during his whole life, but by travel, one learns to associate the strange with the familiar; therefore do not refuse me your consent.

The old Count said: My son, your request appears to me unsuitable, for you are my only heir; if I should die in your absence, what would become of my land? But Peter kept to his request, whereat his mother began to weep and said to him: Dear, only son, you have never tasted trouble, and see only your beautiful hopes before you, but remember that if you depart, a thousand difficulties may confront you; you may be miserable and wish yourself back with us.

Peter remained humbly on his knees and answered: Beloved parents, I cannot help it. My only wish is to travel into the wide world, to experience pleasure and sorrow there and to return a known and honoured man. For this you travelled in your youth, my father, and brought home my mother from a strange land. Let me seek a like fortune, I beg for this with tears.

He took the lute and sang the song which he had heard from the minstrel, and at the end he wept bitterly. The parents were moved, especially the mother; she said: Well, I, for my part, will give you my blessing, dear son, for what you have said is true. The father also rose and blessed him, and Peter was glad from his heart that he had received his parents' consent.

Orders were given to prepare everything for his departure, and his mother sent for him to come to her privately. She gave him three precious rings and said: See, my son, I have kept these three precious rings carefully from my youth. Take them with you and treasure them, and if you find a maiden whom you love, and who is inclined towards you, you may give them to her. He gratefully kissed her hand, and the morning came on which he took leave.

HOW THE KNIGHT PETER DEPARTED FROM HIS PARENTS.

When Peter was ready to mount his horse, his father blessed him again and said: My son, may good fortune ever accompany you so that we may see you back again healthy and strong; think constantly of the precepts I have impressed upon your tender youth; seek good, and avoid evil, company; honour the laws of knighthood and never forget them, for they are the noblest thoughts of the noblest men in their best hours; always be loyal even though you may be deceived, for the touchstone of the brave is that though he may seldom meet honourable men, he remain true to himself. Farewell!

Peter rode away without attendance, for, like many young knights, he wished to remain unknown. The sun had risen gloriously, and the fresh dew sparkled on the meadows. Peter was in cheerful spirits and spurred on his good horse so that it sprang boldly forward. An old song rang in his head and he sang it out loud:

Yes! arrow on bow Shall swiftly be laid To humble the foe, The helpless to aid, etc.

He arrived, after many days' journey, at the famous city of Naples. He had heard much talk on his way of the King and his surpassingly beautiful daughter Magelone, so that he was very anxious to see her face to face. He dismounted at an inn to ask for news, and heard from the host that a distinguished knight, Sir Henry of Carpone, had come and that a splendid tournament was to be held in his honour. He learned, also, that entrance would be allowed to strangers who appeared equipped according to the laws of tourney. Peter at once resolved to be present to try his dexterity and strength.

PETER SEES THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.

When the day of the tournament arrived, Peter put on his armour and betook himself to the lists. He had had two beautiful silver keys of uncommonly fine workmanship placed upon his helmet, and had caused his shield and the cover of his horse to be likewise ornamented with keys. This he did for the sake of his name and in honour of the Apostle Peter, whom he greatly loved. He had recommended himself to his care and protection from his youth and therefore chose this token, as he wished to remain unknown.

A herald rode forward and with sound of trumpet proclaimed the tournament that was opened to the honour of the beautiful Magelone. She herself sat on an elevated balcony and looked down on the assemblage of knights. Peter looked up but could not see her distinctly as she was too far off....

... Peter opposed the knight in the lists and soon threw him from his horse, so that everyone marvelled at his strength; he did more, for in a short time he had emptied every saddle so that none remained to tilt against him. Then everyone desired to know the name of the strange knight, and the King of Naples himself sent his herald to learn it, but Peter humbly begged leave to remain unknown until he should have become worthy by his deeds to name himself, and this answer pleased the King.

It was not long before another tournament was held, and the beautiful Magelone secretly hoped that the knight with the silver keys might again be visible, for she loved him, but had as yet confided this to no one, since first love is despondent and holds itself a traitor. She grew red as Peter again entered the lists in his conspicuous armour. She gazed at him steadily, and he was victor in every contest; at length she felt no more surprise, for it seemed to her as though it could not be otherwise. At last the tournament was over. Peter had again won great praise and honour.

The King sent to invite him to his table; he sat opposite the Princess and was amazed at her beauty. She constantly looked kindly at him, which caused him the greatest confusion. His talk pleased the King, and his noble and strong appearance astonished the attendants. In the hall he found opportunity to speak alone with the Princess, and she invited him to come again often, upon which he took leave; she sent him away at length with another very kind glance.

Peter went through the streets as if intoxicated. He hurried into a beautiful garden and walked up and down with folded arms, now slowly, now quickly, without being able to understand how the hours passed. He heard nothing around him, for music within him drowned the whispering of the trees and the rippling murmur of the fountains. A thousand times he spoke the name Magelone and then was suddenly afraid that he had called it loudly through the garden. Towards evening a sweet music sounded, and now he sat down on the grass behind a bush and wept. It seemed to him as though heaven had for the first time displayed its beauty, and yet this feeling made him unhappy. He saw the grace of the Princess floating on the silver waves; she appeared like sunrise in the darkening night, and the stars stood still, trees were quiet, and the winds hushed. Now the last accents of the music sounded, the trees rustled again and the fountains grew louder. Peter roused himself and softly sang the following song:

Is it gladness that is ringing, Is it sorrow, in my heart? Now a thousand flow'rs are springing And all former joys depart, etc.

He was somewhat comforted and swore to win his love or to die. Late at night he returned to the inn, sat down in his room, and repeated every word the Princess had said to him. Now he thought he had reason to rejoice, then he was again troubled and in doubt. He wished to write to his father, but could only address Magelone, and then he reproached himself for his absence of mind in venturing to write to her whom he did not know. At length he lay down; slumber overcame him, and wonderful visions of love and flight, solitary forests and storms at sea, visited his chamber and covered the bare walls as with beautiful variegated hangings.

HOW THE KNIGHT SENT MAGELONE A MESSAGE.

During the night Magelone was as restless as her unknown knight. She went often to the window and looked down thoughtfully into the garden. She listened to the rustling trees, looked at the stars mirrored in the sea, reproached the stranger because he was not standing before her window, then wept because she thought it impossible. When she closed her eyes she saw the tournament and the beloved unknown looking up with longing hope. Now she fed on these fancies, now she scolded herself. Towards morning she fell into a light slumber.

At last she resolved to confess her inclination to her beloved nurse. In a confidential evening hour she said to her: Dear nurse, something has for a long time been weighing upon me which almost crushes my heart; I must, at length, tell it you and you must help me with your motherly counsel, for I do not know any longer how to advise myself. The nurse answered: Confide in me, dear child; it is for this that I am older, and love you as a mother, that I may assist you to good purpose, for youth never knows how to help itself.

When the Princess heard these words she became more courageous and confidential and said: Oh, Gertrude have you observed the unknown knight with the silver keys? But of course you have, for he is the only one worth notice; all the others serve but to glorify him, to circle his head with the sunshine of fame. He is the one man, the most beautiful youth, the bravest hero. Since I saw him my eyes have become useless, for they now see only my thoughts in which he dwells in all his glory. If I only knew that he were of high race I would place all my hopes on him; but he cannot come from an unworthy house, who then could be called noble? Oh, answer, comfort me, dear nurse, and give me counsel.

When the nurse heard these words she was frightened and said: Dear child, I have long expected that you would confide to me who it is that you love of the nobles of this or another kingdom, for the highest of the land and even kings desire you. But why have you placed your inclination upon a stranger of whom no one knows whence he came? I tremble lest the King, your father, should observe your love. The Princess became much agitated whilst the nurse was speaking, and when she ceased, vehemently reproached her for calling the knight who was so near her heart a stranger.... Oh, go and seek him, Gertrude, and find out his rank and his name. He will not keep them secret if I ask them, for I would keep no secrets from him.

When the morning came the nurse went to church to pray for guidance and perceived the knight also kneeling in devout prayer. When he rose, he approached and greeted her politely, for he had seen her at Court. She gave him the Princess's message and asked his name and his rank: because it did not become so noble a man to remain hidden.

Peter rejoiced, for he perceived that Magelone loved him. He begged leave to keep his name concealed a little longer, but ended his talk with the nurse by saying: Tell the Princess that I am of noble lineage, and that my ancestors are famed in history books. Meanwhile take this remembrance and let it be a little reward for your welcome message which has brought back hope to me.

He gave the nurse one of his rings and she was glad, because she knew from it that he must be of high descent. He modestly gave her, also, a leaf of parchment, saying he did so in the hope that the Princess would read some words that he had written down in the sentiment of his love.

Love drew near from distant places, No attendant in her train, Beckon'd me, nor called in vain, Held me fast in sweet embraces, etc.

The song touched Magelone deeply; it was like the echo of her own feeling. She persuaded the nurse to give her the ring in exchange for another trinket, and before going to rest at night she hung it by a chain of pearls to her neck. She dreamed of a garden, nightingales, music, love, and of another ring even more precious than the first. In the morning she told her dream to the nurse, who became thoughtful, for she saw that the happiness or unhappiness of the Princess was fixed on the unknown knight.

HOW THE KNIGHT SENT MAGELONE A RING.

The nurse tried to see Peter again and found him in church. He went to her directly and asked after the Princess. The nurse told him she had kept the ring and had read his words; she also mentioned Magelone's dream. Peter grew red with joy and said: Ah, dear nurse, tell her all I feel and that I must die of longing if I do not speak to her soon; if, however, I may talk with her face to face, I will reveal to her my rank and my name. All my desire is to win her for my wife. Give her this ring also and pray her to keep it as a little token. The nurse hastened back to Magelone, who ran to meet her and asked for news. See, cried the Princess, this is the ring I dreamed of. A leaf contained this song:

Does pity so tender Tell love's sweet surrender? Oh, am I awake? The fountains are springing, The streams softly singing, And all for love's sake.

HOW THE KNIGHT RECEIVED ANOTHER MESSAGE FROM THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.

Peter again met the nurse in church. She asked him to swear to her his honourable intentions, and, when he had taken his oath, promised to help him and the Princess. She told Peter to prepare to go, to-morrow afternoon, through the secret garden-gate to her room to see Magelone there, and ended by saying: I will leave you alone, that you may speak out your hearts to each other.

After telling him the hour at which he was to go through the gate, she left. Peter was distracted with joy, and it seemed to him that the time stood still until the evening hours. He sat up late at night without a light, looking at the clouds and stars, his heart beating violently. At length he slept. All the next morning he was unable to calm himself, so at last he took a lute and sang:

Oh, how shall I measure The joy of our meeting? My spirit's wild beating Acclaimeth my soul's only treasure.

HOW PETER VISITED THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.

When the nurse brought Peter to her room he trembled and was very frightened, and both he and Magelone were much confused. Magelone could scarcely help rising and going towards him. She controlled herself, however, and remained seated. The nurse left the room and Peter sank on one knee before the Princess. Magelone gave him her beautiful hand and told him to rise and sit near her. Peter told the Princess that all his life was consecrated to her. He gave her the third ring, which was the most precious of all, and in doing so kissed her hand.... Then she took a costly gold chain and hung it round his neck, and said: Herewith I take you as mine. Here she took the frightened knight in her arms and kissed him, and he returned the kiss and pressed her to his heart. When they were obliged to part, Peter hastened at once to his room. He walked up and down with great strides and at length seized his instrument, kissed the strings and wept. Then he sang with great fervour:

Were they thine on which these lips were pressing, Thine the frankly-offered, tender kiss? Dwells in earthly living so much bliss? Ha! what light and life were in thy sweet confessing, All my senses tremble in its blessing! etc.

A TOURNAMENT IN HONOUR OF THE BEAUTIFUL MAGELONE.

The King of Naples much wished his daughter to be soon married to the knight, Henry of Carpone, who had now waited at Naples a long time for this purpose, and he proclaimed another tournament more splendid than any that had gone before it. Many famous knights came from Italy and France, and Peter was victor over all.

When it was over he went to see Magelone; he had now visited her pretty often, and thought he would like to try her, so he said that he should now be obliged to leave her and go and be with his parents. Magelone wept very much, but as Peter persisted she at length gave way, and said: Go, then, I shall die. Peter rejoiced at this and told her he would not leave her.

Magelone, however, became thoughtful, and after she had reflected for a while, said to the knight that her father would soon marry her to Sir Henry of Carpone, and that therefore it would, perhaps, be better for Peter to return to his father and mother and to take her with him. She desired him to have two good horses ready the next night at the garden-gate: But let them be swift and strong, for if we were to be overtaken we should all be miserable.

The youth heard the Princess with joyful surprise. He said it would be best to take her to his parents, and that the horses should be ready. Magelone did not confide their intention even to the nurse for fear lest she should betray them.

Peter took a walk through the town to bid farewell to the places near which he had so often wandered in his intoxication, and which he regarded as witnesses of his love. When he returned to his room he was moved to see his faithful lute on the table. Touched by his fingers, it had often expressed the feelings of his heart. He took it up again for the last time and sang,

Dear strings, we are parting This night for evermore, 'Tis time to be starting For the far-off blissful shore, etc.

HOW MAGELONE WENT AWAY WITH THE KNIGHT.

When the night came it was very cloudy and the moonlight showed scantily through the darkness. Magelone said farewell to her favourite flowers as she went through the garden. She found Peter before the gate with three horses, one a palfrey with a light and easy step; the third was to carry provisions, so that they need not enter the inns.

The nurse missed the Princess the next morning, and the King sent out many people to search, but all returned after some days without tidings.

Peter chose to ride towards the forests by the sea because they were quiet and lonely. He and Magelone rode on through the night and Magelone was happy. The forest was dark, but whenever they came to an open space she refreshed herself by gazing at Peter. In the morning there was a white mist and by-and-by the sun shone out. The horses neighed, the birds awoke and sang as they hopped from branch to branch, the happy larks flew upwards and sang from above into the red glimmering world.

Peter also sang cheerful songs. The two travellers saw in the glowing sky, in the brightness of the fresh forest, a reflection of their love. The sun mounted higher, and towards noon Magelone felt a great weariness. They dismounted, therefore, at a cool, shady place in the forest where there was a mound thickly covered with moss and tender grass. Here Peter sat down and spread out his mantle, and Magelone placed herself upon it, resting her head on the knight. She told Peter how happy she was, and begged him to sing to her, to mingle his voice with the birds, the trees, the brooks, in order that she might sleep a little: But wake me at the right time in order that we may soon arrive at the home of your dear parents. Peter smiled, watched her beautiful eyes close, and sang,

Rest thee, sweet love, in the shadow Of leafy, glimmering night; The grass rustles over the meadow, Refreshing and cool is the shadow, And love holds thee in sight. Sleep, lady mine, Hush'd in woodland shrine, Ever I am thine, etc.

Peter almost sang himself to sleep also. Then something roused him. He looked round and saw a number of beautiful, tender birds on the mound, and it pleased him that they came so near to Magelone. But a slight noise caused him to turn again, and he was startled to perceive a great black raven perched on the branch of the tree behind him; it seemed to him like a rough, coarse churl amongst noble knights.

He fancied that Magelone breathed with some uneasiness, and unlaced the neck of her dress. There he found a little red silk bag; it was new, and he was curious to know what was in it and turned it out. He was overjoyed to find that it contained his three precious rings, and quickly wrapped them up again and placed them beside him on the grass. But suddenly the raven flew down from the tree and carried away the bag, perhaps taking it for a piece of meat. Peter was frightened. Magelone might awaken and be displeased at losing her rings. He therefore folded his mantle and placed it carefully under her head, and then stood up to look for the raven. It flew away, and Peter followed and threw stones to make it drop the bag, but was unable to hit it. As it flew further and further he went after it, without noticing that he was already some distance from the spot where he had left Magelone sleeping, till presently he came to the sea. There was a pointed crag not far from the shore and the raven perched there, and Peter again threw stones. At last the bird dropped the bag and flew away screaming. Peter saw the bag floating in the sea close by and ran up and down to find something to help him into the water. He found an old weather-beaten boat left behind by fishermen as useless, and jumped into it and tried to steer towards the bag. Suddenly a strong wind blew from the land, the waves rose and, in spite of all Peter could do, the boat was carried past the crag and further and further from the shore. The bag was fast disappearing from sight; now it was only like a red spot in the distance, the land receded. Peter cried and lamented loudly, but without avail. His tones were echoed back mingled with the sound of the waves. He thought of Magelone sleeping in the wood, and wished to drown himself in his despair. Presently the sun shone out, and now he was seized with a terrible thirst which he was unable to quench. At length evening began to fall: Ah, dearest Magelone, he thought, how strangely have we been parted! The moon filled the world with golden twilight; stars appeared in heaven, and the firmament was mirrored in the waving water. All was still and only the waves plashed, and birds fluttered over him from time to time, filling the air with strange tones. At last Peter lay down in the boat and sang loudly,

Foam on then in furious raging, Surround me, tempestuous waves, Relentless thy forces engaging, For death is the boon that love craves, etc.

The sequel may be summarized. Magelone, on awakening and finding herself alone, waits vainly for Peter's return, and at length, as night comes on, climbs a tree to be safe from the wild beasts which she fancies she hears in the distance. In the morning she loosens the horses which Peter had tied to a tree and lets them go their own way, and after a little while finds herself on the road to Rome, where she makes an exchange of dress with a passing pilgrim. Making her way first to Rome and thence to Genoa, she takes ship for Provence, where she thinks she may hear something of Peter. She is sheltered on her arrival there by a kind woman who talks to her about the good Count and Countess of Provence and of their great grief. They have heard nothing of their only son since his departure two years ago in quest of adventure. Magelone now knows that some sad mishap has befallen Peter, and that he had not intended to leave her. She resolves to remain unmarried, think of Peter, and dedicate her life to the service of God. The kind woman with whom she is staying tells her of a small island near 'the port of the heathen,' where all merchant-ships and other vessels call in passing and where many poor and sick folk are to be found. Here she resolves to settle. She builds a small church, the altar of which is raised to the honour of St. Peter, and calls it the Church of St. Pierre de Maguelonne. The fame of her strict life and good deeds reaches the ear of the Count and Countess of Provence, who go to see her, and the Countess, not knowing who she is, relates the history of her troubles. Magelone comforts her and inspires her with the hope that Peter will return. Some time afterwards the Count's cook finds a small red bag in the belly of a great fish which he has cut open. He runs with it to the Countess, who finds that it contains her three precious rings. This wonderful event convinces her that she will see her son again.

Tieck's version of Magelone's adventure is that, after untying the horses and wandering alone for some days till she comes to Provence, she finds shelter in a shepherd's hut, where she sings the song No. 11 of Brahms' cycle:

Not long enduring, Light goes by; The morning seeth The chaplet dry That yesterday blossomed In splendour bright, But drooped and withered In gloom of night, etc.

Peter's adventures are various. Rousing himself from his despair on the morning after his separation from Magelone, he resolves to bear the anguish as well as the joy of life with manly courage. Soon a big pirate-ship sails towards him. It is full of Moors and heathen who take him on board, and who, struck with his youth and glorious manhood, determine to carry him as a present to the Sultan of Babylon. The Sultan is pleased with Peter and shows him high favour. He puts him in charge of a beautiful garden and lets him wait on him at table.

So far Tieck is faithful to the old story, only introducing the song (No. 12 of Brahms' work) which Peter sings as he walks in the garden thinking sadly of Magelone:

Are we, then, for ever parted? Was our true love all in vain? Why must we live broken-hearted? Death were surely lesser pain, etc.

From this point the versions differ. In the medieval romance, Peter, who, though beloved by everyone in the Sultan's palace and especially by the Sultan himself, is very unhappy, at length persuades his master to let him go and see his parents, and, after adventures on the way, is recognised by Magelone in one of the beds of her hospital to which he has been brought almost lifeless.

Tieck, who does not localize the Sultan, introduces into the story his beautiful daughter Sulima, who falls violently in love with Peter and has him secretly introduced to her presence by a confidential slave. Peter, greatly surprised and embarrassed, is astonished at her beauty, but his heart holds fast to Magelone. He longs to see his native land again, to be amongst Christians and with his parents. He often sees Sulima, who observes his unhappiness and one day offers to fly with him in a ship that is already standing in the harbour with sails filled. She will give him a sign for a certain evening; when he hears a little song he likes in the garden, he is to come and fetch her. Peter, after considering the proposal, decides to accept it. He believes Magelone to be dead, and thinks that he will thus be enabled to return to a Christian land and to his parents.

On the appointed night he walks up and down the Sultan's garden by the shore. At length he sleeps, and dreams that Magelone is looking at him threateningly. On awaking, he walks up and down again, reproaching himself, and at last resolves to throw himself into a little boat and cast out to sea alone. It is a lovely summer night, a warm breeze is stirring, and Peter gives himself up to chance and the stars. Then he hears the sign. A zither sounds, and a sweet voice sings,

Belovèd, where dwelleth Thy footstep this night? The nightingale telleth Its tale of delight, etc.

Peter's heart shrinks within him as he hears the song; it seems to call after him his weakness and vacillation. He rows more swiftly; love urges him backwards, love draws him onward. The music becomes fainter and fainter; now it is quite lost in the distance, and only the murmur of the waves and the stroke of the oar sound through the stillness.

Peter gathers heart when the sound of the song no longer reaches him, and lets the little vessel drift before the wind as he sits down and sings:

Fresh courage on my spirit breaks And fading is my sadness; New life within me reawakes Old longing and old gladness, etc.

Tieck preserves the further adventures of the romance, but brings the knight to Magelone as she sits spinning outside the door of the shepherd's hut. The song of their reunion is the fifteenth and last of Brahms' cycle:

Faithful love long time endureth, Many an hour it doth survive, And from sorrow strength secureth, And from doubt doth faith derive.

III.

THE HAMBURG LADIES' CHOIR [98]

Avertimento.

Sondern weilen es absolute dem Plaisire fördersam ist, wenn es fein ordentlich dabei einhergeht, als wird denen curieusen Gemüthern, so Mitglieder des sehr nutz- und lieblichen Frauenchors wünschen zu werden und zu bleiben jetzund kund und offenbar gethan, daß sie partoute die Clausuln und Puncti hiefolgenden Geschreibsels unter zu zeichnen haben ehe sie sich obgenannten Tituls erfreuen und an der musikalischen Erlustigung und Divertirung parte nehmen können.

Ich hätte zwaren schon längst damit unter der Bank herfür wischen sollen, alleine aberst dennoch, weilen der Frühling erst lieblich präambuliret und bis der Sommer finiret, gesungen werden dürfte, als möchte es noch an der Zeit sein dieses Opus an das Tageslicht zu stellen.

Pro primo wäre zu remarquiren daß die Mitglieder des Frauenchors +da+ sein müssen.

Als wird verstanden: daß sie sich obligiren sollen, den Stehungen und Singungen der Societät regelmäßig beizuwohnen.

So nun Jemand diesen Articul nicht gehörig observiret und, wo Gott für sei, der Fall passirete, daß Jemand wider jedes Decorum so fehlete, daß er während eines Exercitiums ganz fehlete:

soll gestraft werden mit einer Buße von 8 Schillingen H. C. [Hamburger Courant].

Pro secundo ist zu beachten, daß die Mitglieder des Frauenchors +da+ sein müssen.

Als ist zu nehmen, sie sollen praecise zur anberaumeten Zeit da sein.

Wer nun hiewieder also sündiget, daß er das ganze Viertheil einer Stunde zu spät der Societät seine schuldige Reverentz und Aufwartung machet, soll um 2 Schillinge H. C. gestrafet werden.

|:Ihrer großen Meriten um den Frauenchor wegen und in Betracht ihrer vermuthlich höchst mangelhaften und unglücklichen Complexion, soll nun hier für die nicht genug zu favorirende und adorirende Demoiselle Laura Garbe ein Abonnement hergestellt werden, wesmaßen sie nicht jedesmal zu bezahlen braucht, sondern aber ihro am Schluß des Quartals eine moderirte Rechnung praesentiret wird:|

Pro tertio: Das einkommende Geld mag denen Bettelleuten gegeben werden und wird gewünscht daß Niemand davon gesättiget werden möge.

Pro quarto ist zu merken, daß die Musikalien großentheils der Discretion der Dames anvertrauet sind. Derohalben sollen sie wie fremdes Eigenthum von den ehr- und tugendsamen Jungfrauen und Frauen in rechter Lieb und aller Hübschheit gehalten werden, auch in keinerlei Weise außerhalb der Societät benützet werden.

Pro quinto: Was nicht mit singen kann, das sehen wir als ein Neutrum an. Will heißen: Zuhörer werden geduldet indessen aber pro ordinario nicht beachtet, was Gestalt sonsten die rechte Nutzbarkeit der Exercitia nicht beschaffet werden möchte.

Obgemeldeter gehörig specifizirter Erlaß wird durch gegenwärtiges General-Rescript anjetzo jeder männiglich public gemacht und soll in Würden gehalten werden, bis der Frauenchor seine Endschaft erreichet hat.

Solltest du nun nicht nur vor dich ohnverbrüchlich darob halten, sondern auch alles Ernstes daran sein, daß andere auf keinerlei Weise noch Wege darwider thun noch handeln mögen.

An dem beschiehet unsere Meinung und erwarte dero gewünschte und wohlgewogene Approbation.

Der ich verharre in tiefster Devotion und Veneration des Frauenchors allzeit dienstbeflissener schreibfertiger und taktfester

Johannes Kreisler jun. alias: Brahms.

Geben auf Montag den 30ten des Monats Aprili. A. D. 1860

Professor Hübbe adds:

'It must be said in explanation of the jesting note to section 2 that the Demoiselle Garbe mentioned in it was often prevented from being punctual, and that Brahms was unwilling to begin without her. The exception at first taken by her to the note in question was met most kindly by Frau Schumann, who pointed out that the special mention of her name in the highly important document would be the very means of securing its lasting fame.

The 'begging people' of section 3 saw nothing, as I am told, of the money collected by the fines, which was used for other purposes--on one occasion for an excursion to Reinbeck.

One of the ladies' copies still in existence bears the following signatures: Auguste Brandt, Bertha Porubszky, Laura Garbe, Marie Seebohm, Emilie Lentz, Clara Schumann, Julie Hallier, Marie Hallier, Ch. Avé Lallement, Friedchen Wagner, Thusnelde Wagner, M. Reuter, Betty Völckers, Marie Völckers, Henny Gabain, Marie Böhme, Francisca Meier, Camilla Meier, Susanne Schmaltz, Antonie Mertens (Emma Grädener).'

The metal badge which the members had to wear was no doubt adopted at this time (1860). It had the form of a trefoil clover-leaf with a circle in the centre. This displayed a B upon red, and the three surrounding parts of the trefoil, the letters H. F. C. upon blue, ground.

[98] From 'Brahms in Hamburg,' by Walter Hübbe. See p. 255 of this narrative.

END OF VOL. I.

BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.

Transcriber's Note

Apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below.

"_" surrounding text represents italics.

"+" surrounding text represents gesperrt.

Punctuation, capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been made consistent.

Illustrations have been moved to be closer to their discussion in the text.

Page 71, "muscial" changed to "musical". (The boy's musical services would be at his command in return.)

Page 98, "Anzeige" changed to "Anzeiger". (The concert was advertised in the _Lüneburger Anzeiger_ of May 7, the twentieth birthday anniversary of our Johannes:)

Page 145, "Den" chagned to "Dem". ('Dem Fräulein Japha, zum Andenken an das Weihnachtsfest, 1853, als Vorbote des eigentlichen Gebers. R. Schumann')

Page 182, "cirsumstances" changed to "circumstances". (In spite of the melancholy circumstances that kept them at Düsseldorf--and anxiety about Schumann was again increasing--the time was a happy one to the two young men, who passed many hours of the day in each other's society.)

Page 290, "comm[=e]ce" and "prov[=e]ce" appear with a macron over the first e. [=e] has been used to represent this.

Footnote [6] originally referred to Chapter X. in Vol. II. However, as there is no Chapter X. in Vol. II., this has been updated to read