The mistress of Brahms' absorbing passion, on the other hand, was from first to last his creative art, to which all else remained secondary. He never swerved by a hair's-breadth from his devotion, but accepted poverty, disappointment, loneliness, and failure in the eyes of the world, with all the strong faith that was in him, for the sake of this, his true love. He was never drawn by inclination to his virtuoso career, to which he submitted only as a necessity, discarding it as soon as circumstances allowed. He was seldom able to disclose the infinite possibilities of his playing under circumstances in which he was not at ease; and though he possessed a great technique which he could easily have developed into something phenomenal, and which, as it was, enabled him to excite an audience now and again by sounding and dramatic performances of Bach's organ compositions and other imposing works, yet the more distinctive beauties of his style were too subtle for the appreciation of a mixed body of listeners. His imagination of effects of tone was, to quote Schumann's article, quite original, and this was even more strikingly displayed in later years, when he conducted one or other of his orchestral works. His playing even of such a trifle as Gluck's Gavotte in A, arranged for Frau Schumann in 1871, which the author more than once heard, was full of unsought graces that were the immediate reflection of his delicate spirit. His performance of this little piece, and his conception of many works of the great masters, together with his whole style of playing, differed in toto from Frau Schumann's. The two artists admired each other's qualities. Frau Schumann courted Brahms' criticisms, and has, on some occasions, quoted to the author his sayings as to the reading of certain of Beethoven's sonatas, declaring she felt them to be right. Nevertheless, her temperament would never have allowed her to carry out these suggestions in actual public performance, and she was better fitted by temperament than Brahms for the interpretation, to the large public, of the masterpieces of musical art.
The author has been carried by this digression, which is the result of her personal intercourse with these great musicians, to a date many years later than that reached by the narrative. Its insertion here may, however, be of advantage to the reader by preparing him to expect that Brahms' career as a pianist, though not without success, was attended by few brilliant triumphs.
On June 8, the forty-sixth anniversary of Schumann's birthday, Johannes again went to Endenich, accompanied on the walk from Bonn by Jahn, Dietrich, Groth, and Hermann Deiters, another notable acquaintance of this summer. He looked very serious on rejoining his companions, though he said that Schumann had recognised and seemed pleased to see him. The end was, indeed, not far off. The mists that had so long been gathering around the lofty spirit of the master continued to close him into ever-increasing darkness. Bad news attended Frau Schumann's return from England towards the middle of July, and on the 23rd of the month she was summoned by a telegraphic despatch to Endenich. Even now the longed-for interview had to be deferred. Fresh symptoms appeared before her arrival, and she was obliged to return to Düsseldorf to live through three more days of agonizing suspense. She returned to Bonn on the evening of the 26th, there to await the end, and at length, on Sunday morning, July 27th, passed with Johannes into the solemn chamber of death. Schumann was lying quietly with closed eyes as she entered, but opened them presently on the figure kneeling at his bedside, and it became evident after a few moments that he knew his wife. His power of speech was almost gone, but a look of recognition passed over his countenance. He received with satisfaction a few drops of wine with which she tenderly moistened his lips, and suddenly, with a last accession of strength, was able to place one of his arms round her. Those faint looks of love, that last embrace, dwelt in Frau Schumann's memory as an ever-present solace through the forty years of her widowhood, and, in spite of her many sorrows, the radiance was never dimmed that had been shed over her spirit once and for all by the enchantment of an early ideal happiness.
Schumann lingered yet a day or two, growing weaker hour by hour as his wife and his young friend watched at his side. He passed quietly away at four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, July 29; and Frau Schumann, returning from a short interval of repose at her hotel, accompanied by Brahms and Joachim, who had taken immediate train to Bonn on receiving a hopeless report, learned that her husband's sufferings were over for ever.
Two days more, and on Thursday, July 31, in the stillness of a balmy summer evening, the mortal remains of the master were laid to rest in the cemetery of Bonn. The funeral was arranged with touching simplicity. A pleasant spot had been chosen by the city, some plantain-trees planted by the grave. The coffin, borne from Endenich by the choristers of the Concordia, was immediately followed by the three chief mourners—Brahms, who carried a laurel wreath, Joachim, and Dietrich. Next came the clergyman, Pastor Wiesemann, and the Mayor of Bonn, and at an appointed spot in the city a long string of friends and musicians joined the procession, which passed on foot through the streets accompanied by a band of brass instruments playing one and another of the most solemnly beautiful of the old German chorales. At the graveside Brahms stepped forward and placed the wife's wreath upon the coffin, bare of other floral decorations. A short address was delivered by Pastor Wiesemann, then came a sacred part-song by the choristers, a chorale, a few simple words spoken by Ferdinand Hiller, the last farewell of friends throwing earth upon the coffin, and all was over.[70]
On the anguish of the widow looking out despairingly to the future of her lonely life, who yet might not despair because of the little ones clinging to her side, on the steadfast loyalty of the affectionate friends in whose sympathy she had found, and continued to find, support, it is unnecessary to dwell; they are matter of history. Rather let the chapter be closed in silent remembrance of the departed master and of the group of his loved ones who lamented together in the sacred presence of an irreparable grief.
CHAPTER VIII
1856-1858
Joachim and Brahms in Düsseldorf—Grimm in Göttingen—Brahms' visit to Detmold—Carl von Meysenbug—Court Concertmeister Bargheer—Joachim and Liszt—Brahms' return to Detmold—Summer at Göttingen—Pianoforte Concerto in D minor and Orchestral Serenade in D major tried privately in Hanover.