JOHANNES BRAHMS
Reproduction of a triplex photograph from life, made in 1889 by Brasch.
JOHANNES BRAHMS
The spirit of modern civilization is preëminently a critical one. A vast amount of knowledge and talent is constantly put in its service and it seems as though education had no higher purpose than to enable man to become as early as possible a critic of everything offered for material or spiritual use or enjoyment. In no field have these tendencies become more conspicuous than in the most delicate and complicated art of music. Our generation is brought up not so much for a life-long devotion, study and true appreciation, as for a most premature forming and uttering of opinions as to the merits, and particularly the shortcomings, of any production. Most of our critics, too, work in this wrong direction, instead of preaching that modesty and prudence and earnest devotion which alone enables us to become familiar with new talent or works of a higher order. Goethe accuses critics in general, that they have the habit of ignoring really great things and of showing an unusual interest in mediocrity. He ascribes to them a bad influence upon creative artists, saying that these can only follow the path dictated by their nature, while arrogant criticism, which assumes to prescribe to them how to do or not to do a thing, may destroy them. He doubts whether in modern England, with the criticising daily press, such an astounding appearance as that of a Shakespeare would be possible, and, as an expert, declares that great things can be accomplished only in a state of absolutely undisturbed, innocent, almost somnambulistic creation, attained by complete isolation. That such self-chosen isolation, resting upon a strong personal and artistic character, yet combined with a hearty interest in all human concerns and the most comprehensive general culture, is possible, even in our modern time, and that it can be crowned with most wonderful results, is splendidly shown by the career of Johannes Brahms, whose greatness rests mainly on this unswerving fidelity to his genius in spite of all adverse criticism during the years of his development and attained mastership.
He was born in Hamburg, May 7th, 1833, being the eldest of three children of Johann Brahms, a remarkable musician, who played double bass at the theatre, and Christiane Nissen, a lady of an affectionate, noble character. There was never a doubt as to his becoming a musician. Under the instruction first of O. Cossel and, from his tenth year, of Eduard Marxsen, a most thorough musician and excellent teacher in the sister city Altona, the boy made rapid progress on the piano. Marxsen soon began also to give him theoretical instruction and was at once attracted by the rare keenness of the intellect of his pupil. Indeed, in his first productions he recognized a spirit which convinced him of a profound latent talent. He therefore spared no effort to awaken and guide this talent that his pupil might become another priest of art to “preach in a new way what is high, true and imperishable.”
As a lad of fourteen Brahms played for the first time in public, pieces of his favorite masters, Bach and Beethoven, and original variations on a folk-song, thus showing an early liking not only for popular melodies, but for a musical form which he has cultivated more assiduously and for higher purposes than any other modern composer. Indeed this combination of popular elements with most artistic and complicated forms has perhaps remained the most characteristic feature of Brahms’ music.
After giving a few other concerts, Marxsen kept him for several years from appearing in public, until in 1853 he could send him as a master of his instrument upon his first journey with the Hungarian violin virtuoso Remenyi. In Hanover, where he played much before the king, he met Joachim, who became his life-long friend, and Joachim was especially impressed when Brahms, in one of these concerts with Remenyi, transposed on account of the low pitch of the piano, without any preparation and even without notes, a Beethoven violin sonata, raising it a semitone. Marxsen was not surprised; for years Brahms had been accustomed to transpose great pieces at sight into any key, and so astonishing was his memory, that he never carried notes with him upon a concert trip. The compositions of Beethoven and Bach and a long list of modern concert pieces were safely committed to memory by him. Brahms remained several weeks in Weimar as the guest of Liszt, who delighted in playing the young composer’s manuscripts. Then he parted from Remenyi and went with Joachim’s recommendation to Robert Schumann in Düsseldorf. The impression which his personality, playing, and works made upon the latter was profound. Nothing in his later career, rich in honors and triumphs, can be dearer to his memory than the enthusiastic greeting with which Schumann introduced him to the musical world.