All was in vain, however. Schumann was already in an advanced stage of the disease which, technically described under different learned names, according to its many varieties, is known to the layman as softening of the brain. Anyone who has watched the powers of friend or acquaintance gradually succumbing to this most cruel of all maladies is familiar with the general course of the symptoms. Minute particulars need not be described. Enough that Johannes, permitted to see Schumann again after an interval of more than a year, had been unutterably shocked, and had felt that the time had arrived when it was his duty to prepare Frau Schumann for the worst. As gently as possible he allowed her, as she expresses it, to read between the lines that no change of treatment could alter the inevitable. All the doctors were agreed in opinion; none, therefore, was attempted.

The concert so pathetically referred to in the letter quoted above was the Philharmonic concert at the Hanover Square Rooms of April 14, the occasion of Frau Schumann's first appearance in England. Could any incident of fiction be more heart-rending in its pathos than this occurrence of real life—this picture of the sensitive, highly-strung woman, whose nerves were habitually in a state of strained tension, obliged to force herself, for the sake of her children's existence, to step for the first time on to a London concert platform, a sea of unknown faces before her, her kith and kin far away, a few hours after she had accepted the certainty of her passionately loved husband's tragic doom? No wonder she could 'do nothing' before the concert. Those who knew her best can understand how it was that, after all, 'things went.' Her début in England was made with Beethoven's E flat Concerto and Mendelssohn's Variations Sérieuses, and things went with such brilliant success that she was re-engaged for the next Philharmonic concert.

Through the remainder of April, through May, June, and part of July, did this great artist work incessantly, going in desolation of spirit from triumph to triumph; and some of Schumann's shorter compositions which were encored by the public became something more than tolerated, even by the conservative press, for the sake of her perfect playing of them. Her numerous concert-journeys through the British Islands extended as far as Dublin. Amongst the most important of her London appearances were those at the Musical Union (John Ella's) concerts and at her own three recitals. At the second of these, which took place on June 17, she imitated her own precedent at Vienna, and introduced Brahms' name for the first time to an English public. The entire selection belongs so peculiarly to the events and period occupying our attention that it may interest the reader to have the complete programme:

Variations (Eroica)Beethoven.
Two Diversions, Op. 17, from Suite de Pièces, Op. 24, No. 1Sterndale Bennett.
Variations on a theme from the 'Bunten Blättern'Clara Schumann.
(a) Saraband and Gavotte in the style of BachJohannes Brahms.
(b) Clavierstück in A majorScarlatti.
'Carnaval'Schumann.

The Brahms Gavotte was enthusiastically applauded, but Frau Schumann, having regard to the performance of the 'Carnaval' before her, refused the encore. At the close of the recital, however, she returned to the piano in response to continued demonstrations, and repeated the composition. Her performances were given on a pianoforte by Erard, whose instruments were preferred at that date by all the great pianists of Europe. A magnificent 'grand' was presented by the house to Frau Schumann at the close of her London season, and despatched to her residence in Düsseldorf. It continued to be her favourite instrument for private use until 1867, when she reappeared in England after an absence of ten years, and used a Broadwood pianoforte. On her departure a Broadwood concert-grand was sent to her house near Baden-Baden by Messrs. John Broadwood and Sons. Some years later, when the author was intimate at Frau Schumann's residence, the Broadwood pianoforte stood in the drawing-room, the Erard in the dining-room. On the former Frau Schumann and Brahms often played duets after afternoon coffee; on the latter Johannes—always 'Johannes' to his old friend—played one evening after supper several numbers of the third and fourth books of the Hungarian Dances, not yet published, not yet books, his eyes flashing fire the while.

Brahms gave up all idea of returning to Hamburg for the present. Duty and inclination alike prompted him to remain in Schumann's neighbourhood, and the fact of Dietrich's residence at Bonn gave him additional satisfaction in resolving to pass the summer on the Rhine. It was at this time that he made the personal acquaintance of the poet Claus Groth, who was staying at Bonn to be near Otto Jahn; and the musical festival of the year (May 11-13) marked the beginning of his intimacy with the great singer Julius Stockhausen, who, making his first appearance on the Rhine, was heard in the part of Elijah in Mendelssohn's oratorio, in 'Alexander's Feast,' in an aria by Boieldieu, and in songs by Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann.

Stockhausen had been a pupil of Manuel Garcia in Paris and London, and was well known to the musical public and the private artistic circles of both cities before he became a celebrity in Austria and Germany.

'His delivery of opera and oratorio music,' says Sir George Grove[69]—'his favourite pieces from "Euryanthe," "Jean de Paris," "Le Chaperon Rouge," and "Le Philtre"; or the part of Elijah, or certain special airs of Bach—was superb in taste, feeling, and execution; but it was the Lieder of Schubert and Schumann that most peculiarly suited him, and these he delivered in a truly remarkable way. The rich beauty of the voice, the nobility of the style, the perfect phrasing, the intimate sympathy, not least, the intelligible way in which the words were given—in itself one of his greatest claims to distinction—all combined to make his singing of songs a wonderful event. Those who have heard him sing Schubert's "Nachtstück," "Wanderer," "Memnon," or the "Harper's Songs," or Schumann's "Frühlingsnacht" or "Fluthenreicher Ebro," or the "Löwenbraut," will corroborate all that has been said. But perhaps his highest achievement was the part of Dr. Marianus in the third part of Schumann's "Faust," in which his delivery of the "Drei Himmelskönigin" ("Hier ist die Aussicht frei"), with just as much of acting as the concert-room will admit, and no more, was one of the most touching and remarkable things ever witnessed.'

Cordial relations were so quickly established between Stockhausen and Brahms that before the close of the month they had given two concerts together—one on the 27th, in the 'yellow room of the casino' at Cologne; the other on the 29th, in the hall of the Lesegesellschaft at Bonn. Stockhausen's performances, accompanied in each instance by Brahms, created a furore on both occasions. Brahms' solos—consisting on the 27th of Bach's Chromatic Fantasia and Beethoven's C minor Variations, and on the 29th of Beethoven's E flat Variations, Clara Schumann's Romance, a Schubert Impromptu, and the great Bach Fugue in A minor, to be found in vol. iii. of the Leipzig Society's edition—were coldly received. This is not to be wondered at. During the half-century which has elapsed since these concerts took place musical taste has passed through more than one revolution; it is, however, questionable whether at any time within the interval a pianist, of whatever qualifications, not already accepted into the prime affections of the public, could have successfully courted its favour beside the attraction of a really great singer in full possession of his powers, whose selections included a number of the most fascinating lyrics of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann. One of the Cologne critics, at all events, was satisfied with the pianist. It is rather surprising to read, in the Niederrheinische Musik Zeitung, that Herr Johannes Brahms played his two solos on the 27th 'with such purity, clearness, musical ripeness, and artistic repose, that his performances gave true pleasure.'

Brahms' temperament was not really suited, however, to the career of a virtuoso, nor had the obscure circumstances of his youth fitted him for it. He generally felt too nervously self-conscious when before the public to have a chance of gaining its entire confidence, and was too dependent on his mood to be able to throw himself at all times completely out upon his audience and compel their sympathy. The achievement of striking and lasting success as a performer involves a concentration of the best energies of body and mind upon this career, whilst the attainment of real greatness as a composer means the devotion of a life to the end. No illustration of these truths could be more apt than the contrasted careers of Brahms and Joachim. Whatever Joachim's natural creative faculty may have been, his boundless success as an interpreter was fatal to its development. The divergence of the paths pursued by the two friends resulted not altogether, or perhaps chiefly, from variety of musical endowment, but largely from the radical differences in their characters and circumstances. From early childhood Joachim has never appeared on a platform without exciting, not only the admiration, but the personal love of his audience. His successes have been their delight. They have rejoiced to see him, to applaud him, recall him, shout at him. The scenes familiar to the memory of three generations of London concert-goers have been samples of the everyday incidents of his life in all countries and towns where he has appeared. Why? It is impossible altogether to explain such phenomena, even by the word 'genius.' Joachim followed his destiny. His career is unparalleled in the history of musical executive art. It began when he was eight; it is not closed now that he is seventy-four. All possibility of his achieving greatness as a composer—notwithstanding that he has produced one or two great works—was excluded by the time he had reached the age of fourteen.