Brahms and his World, Revised Edition

Heinz von Beckerath’s memoir of Brahms is really a double one, since most of it is in the words of his father, Alwin von Beckerath (1849–1930). Heinz (1876–1940) was nine years old when Brahms first arrived as a guest in his parents’ house; Alwin was a fine amateur violinist and violist devoted to Brahms’s music. The friendship with Alwin flourished over the course of many years, during which Heinz grew up and made his own observations. Alwin must have had the intention to publish something about his long connection to Brahms, but never did so. Eventually it was his son who put the notes in order and contributed some of his own memories and commentary. Heinz’s writing was largely unsophisticated, and he was certainly no scholar. The memoir was written with little attempt to distinguish between the remembrances of the author or his father, and we have retained its style virtually intact, adding only a few emendations in square brackets. We have made minimal modifications in the listings of the various concert programs. All endnotes are editorial.

Brahms’s involvement with the von Beckerath family dates from 1874, when he struck up a friendship with a music-loving vintner and violinist, Rudolf von Beckerath (1833–88), and joined him and Fritz Simrock for a weeklong hiking expedition in the high Alps. The friendship soon extended to others in Beckerath’s musical and well-to-do family: his nephew and brother-in-law, Alwin von Beckerath; his nephew by marriage, the pianist Rudolf von der Leyen (1851–1910), also a vintner; and their wives and children. Willy von Beckerath (1868–1938), one of the sons of Rudolf, sketched what is arguably the most famous portrait in all Brahms iconography—Brahms seated at the piano, cigar in mouth, arms stretched to the keyboard, feet stretched to the pedals.

The family seat was Krefeld, a Rhineland town just north of Düsseldorf. By the time of this memoir, family members were also settled in Wiesbaden and Rüdesheim. A portion of the memoir describes a private music festival during Whitsun (Pentecost) weekend of 1896, held on the Hagerhof estate that belonged to yet another Beckerath relative, Walter Weyermann (Heinz’s uncle).¹ By chance, Clara Schumann was buried on that weekend in nearby Bonn. Brahms was in attendance at the funeral service, of course, along with several other people who appear in the narrative. After the funeral, Brahms took refuge with his friends for the next four days, traveling to Hagerhof in the company of Richard Barth (1850–1925) and Rudolf von der Leyen.

The memoir is uniquely informative about two issues that are frequently discussed in the literature without taking into account Brahms’s comments as they are related here: Brahms’s wish to hear his symphonies with a “really big orchestra,” and his lifelong regret over his behavior toward Agathe von Siebold. Specific musical comments also find a place, with respect to tempi in the first movement of the String Quintet in F Major, op. 88, and the dynamics and effect of the opening of the fourth movement of the Piano Quartet in C Minor, op. 60. This memoir provides the clearest exposition of Brahms’s intent when arranging his songs in a given opus, his view of the complete opus as a “bouquet.”

The memoir appeared originally as “Erinnerungen an Johannes Brahms: Brahms und seine Krefelder Freunde,” in Die Heimat (Krefeld) 29/1–4 (1958): 81–93. It appears here in translation by kind permission of Dr. Reinhard Feinendegan, the present publisher of Die Heimat.

On the morning of a lovely, sunny day in the early spring of the year 1885, an animated, chatty group of people wandered through the countryside of the Lower Rhine. The high-spirited company had traveled by train from Krefeld to the village of Grefrath, which is situated on the main train line to Holland. In those days Grefrath was one of many settlements in the vicinity of Krefeld in whose houses chattered the looms of the Krefeld silk manufacturers. The villages were all spotlessly clean and friendly. To the west of Grefrath the view is limited by the range of hills left by an Ice Age moraine, and from its heights one looks toward Holland; to the east, the distant view is limited by the mountain ranges beyond the Rhine. Grefrath lies at the edge of broad meadowlands through which the little river Niers winds its way. On its banks lies the small weavers’ village of Mülhausen, which houses several substantial farmsteads and one of the many water mills of the region. A tree-lined country road leads there from Grefrath.

This is the road along which the high-spirited group was walking, Johannes Brahms among those leading the way, chatting vivaciously, bareheaded, hands behind his back. He was accompanied by the artists who had taken part in the previous day’s concert: the soprano Frl. Maria Fillunger, the alto Frl. Auguste Hohenschild, the tenor Herr H. van der Meden, the bass Herr E. Hungar, the music director August Grüters and his wife, the concertmaster Richard Barth and his wife, as well as Brahms’s close musical friends from Krefeld—altogether some twenty persons. Once they reached the little village they crossed the little river on a bridge. In the village street that follows the river’s course, children were playing and Brahms delighted them with candies that he magically produced out of his coat pocket. At the lower end of the village, on the banks of the Niers, stood a large, Frankish farmhouse that had been converted into a pleasant inn. Here the party made a stop. As was the custom in that region, the farmstead was surrounded by water-filled ditches, and passing through a covered gate one entered into the area between the buildings that soon opened toward the little river. Several boats were tied up in the clear water along its banks. There the party amused itself for a while before sitting down at the flower-bedecked table where fish, fowl, and other local produce were served to them. Brahms was in the best of spirits. The concert had been very successful and the lovely sun-drenched countryside delighted these lovers of nature.

Following the midday meal, it was customary at parties to remain seated at the table for a cup of coffee, and afterward, a glass of punch, during which time Brahms closed his eyes for a while. As might be expected among a population dedicated to singing, there was no shortage of songbooks, and the small circle sang a variety of quartets in high spirits and finally, Mendelssohn’s four-part chorus Entflieh mit mir und sei mein Weib (Come flee with me and be my wife) from The Trilogy of Passions.² My father, in those days called Uncle Alwin by Brahms, conducted and made great demands on the singers involving tempo changes and dynamics, which they followed with ease. Brahms sang along with his rough voice and amused himself royally. In the evening, the party was back in town.

I was then nine years of age. I will now continue my report, always following essentially an account written at that time by my father, for the most part in his own words, also drawing on my memory of stories told to me by my parents, as well as my own experiences. How was it that in the 1880s Brahms was so fond of coming to Krefeld, and did so often?

Krefeld was, at that time, a friendly, spotlessly clean, and wealthy town, whose only industry was manufacturing silk and velvet. The manual looms gradually disappeared and the weavers went to work in the large mechanized textile mills. The town’s rural surroundings with pleasant forests had the appeal of a Lower Rhenish countryside and a climate strongly influenced by the sea. In the town of Krefeld the prominent citizenry were much devoted to sociability, the arts, and, above all, to music. Herr Musikdirektor August Grüters was the conductor of the Singverein and of the orchestral and symphonic concerts. Working together with him in the Concert Society was my father, Alwin von Beckerath, and the brother of my mother, Rudolf von der Leyen, who wrote the lovely book Brahms als Mensch und Freund.³ They worked together in planning the programs.

In the year 1880, the plan was to perform Brahms’s 2nd Symphony, op. 73, and the Triumphlied, op. 55. In the summer of 1879, my father wrote to his uncle, Rudolf von Beckerath, owner of a vineyard in Rüdesheim and a good friend of Brahms, to commission him to invite Brahms on behalf of the Concert Society to conduct the two works on January 20, 1880. A short time later, the joyful affirmative acceptance arrived by way of Rudolf von Beckerath, after which Direktor Grüters took the matter in hand. Brahms was very fond of playing with Rudolf von Beckerath, who owned a beautiful Stradivarius violin.

My father now continues his story. Brahms arrived several days before January 20 in order to conduct several rehearsals of the orchestra and the chorus. I played in the orchestra along with Rudolf von Beckerath at the second desk of the first violins. It was astonishing how Brahms contrived to transform the orchestra, for whom this music was still utterly unknown territory, so that at the performance it far outdid itself. Such pianos and crescendos the audience had never before heard, and the same applied to the chorus. That is also why the effect was so tremendous. The jubilation of the audience was indescribable. The program of the January 20, 1880, concert was as follows:⁴

Under the direction and with the participation of Johannes Brahms Performance of the following compositions by Joh. Brahms.

At the society’s social evening in Rudolf von der Leyen’s home, I asked Brahms, with the agreement of Direktor Grüters, whether it would suit him if the concert committee also invited Joachim for the Violin Concerto next year, when Brahms would be back. To which Brahms answered: “Well, Barth in Münster plays it excellently.” I then asked Grüters to put the same question to Brahms, and he received the same reply. That settled it: concertmaster Richard Barth from Münster would come next year.⁵

For the concert that took place on January 25, 1881, Brahms again arrived several days early. The program was as follows:

As always, Brahms stayed at Rudolf von der Leyen’s, while Barth stayed with us. Both of them were manifestly very comfortable in their quarters. Barth played the concerto quite exquisitely. There was also chamber music.

Barth then decided to come to Krefeld as concertmaster with a fixed salary of 600 marks, and married. The remainder of his income would have to come from teaching and from chamber music evenings with Direktor Grüters. I played 2nd violin in the quartet, later viola. It was the beginning of a time filled with the most serious and noblest of delights. Barth understood how to demonstrate that the best possible artistic results can only be attained through the greatest exertion of all powers and the most severe self-criticism.

With Richard Barth playing violin, me viola, concertmaster Schwormstedt cello, and Rudolf von der Leyen piano, we played the Brahms piano quartets. By the time Brahms came for the third time, in January 1883, the quartet already played well together. We had studied the A-Major Piano Quartet in particular. Brahms came six days before the concert in order to conduct the rehearsals for his B-flat Major Concerto and the Parzenlied. The concert took place on January 23, 1883, with the following program:

Brahms was in the best of spirits because he found the orchestra to be dramatically improved and he was very satisfied with the chorus.

The concert came off gloriously. Musicians had come from far and near, and after the beautiful performance of the Parzenlied there was boundless enthusiasm, with shouts of da capo and bis ringing out one after the other until Brahms again raised the baton. The ladies of the chorus had brought along flowers, which they now threw at Brahms amid great jubilation. This was not as harmless as intended, for the flowers were tied into flat bouquets with wire, as was then the custom, and Rudolf von Beckerath, who sat at the first desk, had to hold his arms over the head of Brahms to shield him. The repetition of the Parzenlied succeeded perhaps even more wonderfully than its first rendition.

The soprano Antonie Kufferath, who was friends with us and the von der Leyens, had told Brahms that we had studied the A-Major Piano Quartet. Thereupon Brahms remarked, at the dinner table, that he had a burning desire to play his A-Major Quartet. This did take place later, in the von der Leyens’ house. After the first movement Brahms said: “Donnerwetter, this really calls for paying attention and playing well!” There was great joy, and the difficult piece was finished quite splendidly. When Brahms made his comment, he might have been thinking back to 1880, when he was in Krefeld for the first time. Rudolf von Beckerath had then played first violin, Grüters cello, and the ancient musician Friese, viola. They played the C-Minor Quartet, op. 60, without a rehearsal, and Friese admitted to me afterward that he had gotten lost in the first movement after 20 measures and had not found his place again until the last measure. This time, Brahms was well satisfied, and as he got up from the piano, he patted my cheek lightly as he passed, the way he probably did with our children.

I would like to add to the words of my father that as children my younger brother and I were a little afraid of this, because Brahms, or Onkel Brahms as we called him, patted our cheeks quite vigorously. But this did not prevent him from always being our good friend. He liked talking with us, used to sit between us at the table in our playroom, and looked at picture books with us. My father writes: He was delightful with the children. Always stimulating and cheerful and teasing incessantly, he sat between them in the children’s room for hours, or he would lie down with them on the floor where they played. Brahms called my parents Onkel Alwin and Frau Mariechen. My mother played piano very well, as did her brother, Rudolf von der Leyen.

My father now continues. Occasionally Brahms would also dine with us by himself. On such days there was a big, freshly baked ham with thick beans for the midday dinner. When the ham was being served he would exclaim happily, “And what might that be?” and ate with enormous enjoyment. The theme of the conversation changed frequently; Brahms was astonishingly well read. “Goethe read a great deal more than I,” he said. Once, at a sizable dinner party, the cook inadvertently salted a large pike twice and my wife was fairly desperate. Brahms was well aware of it and helped himself twice to a large serving. And a glass of good wine was never lacking on such occasions.

For his morning pint, Brahms joined friends and visiting artists in a pleasant inn that had good Kitzinger beer. It was served to him in a jug that had belonged to old Papa Friese, and on its lid were engraved the opening measures of the Brahms Piano Quintet. It amused Brahms to push the jug suddenly toward the visiting musicians and pose the unexpected question, “What is this from?” which was often followed by rollicking laughter.

The Krefeld String Quartet—Richard Barth first violin, I second violin, Direktor Grüters viola, and M. Schrempel (cello soloist) cello, with Papa Friese playing second viola—had studied the Quintet, op. 88, that appeared in 1882, and had performed it with great success at a chamber music evening in the winter of 1882. When Brahms arrived at the beginning of 1883, we asked him if we might play it for him. Brahms agreed immediately, and on Sunday morning the musicians assembled in our house. Brahms, very interested, wandered around the music room while we played, humming happily, his hands at his back. When Grüters played the lovely triplet theme in the first movement somewhat dryly, he interrupted with a loud “Ah, das müssen Sie etwas unverheirateter spielen!” (Ah, that you have to play a bit more like bachelor!) That aside, everything went well up to the coda of the finale, Presto

, which we had practiced very diligently. There we got a surprise. Brahms merely said, “Na, das ging aber flott” (Na, that was mighty speedy), and then we had to repeat the coda in an accelerated allegro tempo. (Joachim had written to Brahms that he had initially taken the whole last movement too fast.) This made it much clearer for the listener, and it was probably what Brahms wanted. He always took moderate tempi; utter clarity and a warm feeling were always what mattered most to him. (To this one might add no inappropriate rubatos, the natural flow of the melody, no accelerandos in the crescendos.)

Brahms complained to me that most singers, men and women, arranged his songs for themselves in a way that was quite arbitrary, according to however they suited their voices, disregarding the trouble he always took to assemble his lieder like a bouquet of flowers. His complaint was, indeed, quite justified. Where do you find a singer who performs entire lieder works by him, apart, perhaps, from the Magelonenlieder?⁶ With what fine sensitivity and poetic feeling had he tied together the lieder bouquets! This is also why it is regrettable that Ophüls had so cruelly pulled these bouquets apart to have them printed in the order of their lyricists. This was without a doubt the reason that Ophüls had to wait so long for Brahms’s thanks for his onerous labors.⁷

My father had to remind Brahms of this occasionally. Brahms replied that he would have found great pleasure in reading through the texts as he had arranged them, while recalling the music. He talked of flower bouquets that had been picked apart by Ophüls, who, he added, “was pleased when he finds worms [in them].” The individual songs gain quite exceptionally by their particular sequence. The famous singer von Zur-Mühlen probably sang the songs mostly as they had been arranged. At a party one evening he told my parents that he had studied the songs when they first appeared, but had then let them lie for about a year before taking them up again to sing them in public. During a dinner party he once told my parents, jokingly: “I am not an artist, I am a conjurer.” I still remember his moving performance. He also told my parents that he had once sung Schubert’s Winterreise for Bismarck, with Herr von Keudell at the piano. The next day Bismarck told him: “Mühlen, I cannot afford to have that happen to me again. The whole night through, I was coming and going” (Ich bin die ganze Nacht ein-und aus-gezogen).⁸

My father’s account now continues. During an evening gathering at the home of Herr X, the president of the Concert Society, Brahms was first seated next to the wife of the then Lord Mayor, who was unfortunately not musical. After a while he winked to Frau Direktor Grüters, and on some pretext he asked her to sit next to him for he needed to speak to her. Soon afterward, Richard Barth broke a wine glass out of nervousness, whereupon Brahms called to him across the table: “Barth, just put the shards into the bookcase—gold-stamped books—and not a soul will notice them.”

When Brahms came to Krefeld again in 1885, we (Barth violin, I viola, and Schwormstädt cello) played the wonderful Piano Quartet in C Minor, op. 60, with him, after we had prepared it meticulously. When he sat down at the piano, he said with a serious mien: “These are my Sorrows of Werther.” We then began rehearsing the piece painstakingly. Brahms played superbly and with the deepest emotion, and the three of us did our best to follow him in that. It was noteworthy that in the first part of the last movement, he could not get the choral motive of the strings soft enough; even when we were already playing pp, he continued to shush us. It was supposed to sound like a mere breath from far away. Then the effect is indeed heartrending.

I experienced my greatest musical pleasure as a result of the Horn Trio [op. 40]. Professor Leonhardt Wolff, who had kindly left me his lovely viola, advised me to have the horn part of the trio transcribed for viola. The experiment was surprisingly successful. Barth and I studied the piece diligently with my brother-in-law, Rudolf von der Leyen, and when Brahms heard about the trio he was immediately very interested. He had again come several days before the concert, and he insisted on playing it with us. We played it first in our house, and it succeeded quite splendidly. Brahms was pleasantly surprised by the beautiful, novel sound. We had to repeat it immediately and, at his request, played it twice more at the von der Leyens’. It evidently gave him great pleasure and he shouted, “Darauf müssen wir reisen” (This we must take on tour). He immediately wrote to Simrock to have the viola part engraved.

My mother later played the Horn Trio with concertmaster Ofterdinger and the horn player Nauber, professor at the conservatory in Cologne. Herr Nauber remarked that he was particularly grateful for the beautiful piano playing and the moderate tempi, which allowed him to bring out properly the gorgeous horn passages, something that was not always as agreeably possible.

My father’s account now continues. Once, after a substantial noonday meal in our home, Brahms played the piano as evening approached. In those days, his playing was in good shape. He played organ pieces by Bach that he himself had arranged for piano, and, later, Viennese waltzes.⁹ The infinitely graceful appeal that he wrung from this music is quite unimaginable. The music room was on the second floor and the guests were already below in the vestibule. It was already late and some lights had already been extinguished when Brahms said to my mother, “Shall I fetch them all back up?” He then sat down at the grand piano and began to play the waltzes. Silently, they all returned to listen to the beautiful music. On another occasion in our house he played Beethoven’s Sonata, op. 111, quite wonderfully, and much else.

Soloists: Dr. Johannes Brahms from Vienna,

Frl. M[arie] Fillunger from Frankfurt a. M.,

Frl. Auguste Hohenschild from Berlin,

Herr H[ermann] von der Meden from Berlin,

Herr E[rnst] Hungar from Cologne.

It was on the following day that the excursion which I described at the beginning took place.

In the evening of the same day, my father continues, the whole company dined at the home of Alfred Molenaar, one of the Friends of Music. Brahms sat next to my wife and was very animated. Following a humorous toast to the ladies by Herr Molenaar, Brahms now prodded my wife to offer a toast to the gentlemen, saying that he would prompt her. He tapped a glass on her behalf. My wife rose and spoke very merrily and brightly of the “gentlemen of Creation.” Brahms hissed, “That’s the way, that’s the way,” “better and better,” and was pleased as punch with the orator, whose speech was received with great applause.

In the chamber music recitals that followed the Singverein Festival on January 30, I had the honor and the pleasure of playing viola in the first performance of the Two Songs for Alto and Viola with Piano Accompaniment, op. 91. Auguste Hohenschild sang and Brahms sat at the piano. Fräulein Hohenschild sang beautifully, but in the first song before the repeat she skipped one measure of rest. “Ah, she still owes us that measure of rest!” Brahms said to me as he left the stage. He was much amused to hear how assiduously Frl. Hohenschild had studied the songs, for she had mentioned to him that she was practically sight-reading them. But Brahms will rightly have perceived this as modesty.

A younger sister of my wife was visiting while Brahms stayed with us in those days, and in her lively way she asked Brahms for a few notes in his hand to give to her girlfriend. Brahms quickly agreed and wrote out the first measures of Singe Mädchen, hell und klar.¹¹ When my wife then alluded to this unknown girl now being wealthier than we, he said in a kind voice, “Oh, just write me a postcard when I am back in Vienna, and you two will get something.” And he kept his word, for upon sending the card to remind him, we received by return mail the manuscript of the Tafellied, op. 93b, with the dedication, “Affectionately dedicated to Alwin and Mariechen and a few others, J. Brahms.” On the lower left side, after the ending, Brahms had written the beginning of the viola part of the first song of op. 91, and the words “it was lovely on January 29, 1885” (the date was January 30).

Brahms could not have given us any greater joy. But we would not have had the great joy of playing with the great musician if Barth had not been in Krefeld. Owing to his enchantingly beautiful violin playing, his wonderful phrasing, his big and noble tone (he played on a Stradivarius that had been rebuilt for him; he bowed from the left, since his left hand had been injured by a glass shard when he was a child), he also ennobled the playing of his fellow players so that in our ensemble playing he actually lifted us beyond our ability. Brahms played his chamber music works with us with genuine contentment and enjoyment.

He commented to Rudolf von der Leyen that no other town offered him such pleasant music making. That judgment had not a little to do with our having thoroughly studied the music ahead of time.

Barth had the same ennobling influence on the orchestra as well. He furnished the string parts with bowings and fingerings and established separate rehearsals for strings and winds. By the time Brahms arrived, the difficult things were already surprisingly good, so that once, during a rehearsal, he loudly acknowledged the excellent preparation by the concertmaster. That was too much for Direktor Grüter’s self-esteem, although it was justified. From that time on, there were regrettable differences between the two musicians, which gradually destroyed their friendship. In performances, Grüters may well have relied too much on good luck. Barth resigned his post as concertmaster in the winter 1886–87. He was still here to play the Beethoven Violin Concerto and the Adagio from Spohr’s 7th Concerto in the concert of December 14, 1886. Richard Barth then became music director at the University of Marburg and, in 1894, general music director in Hamburg.¹²

That brought to an end the glorious, unforgettable time of constant music making with this outstanding violinist and musician, as well as the Brahms concerts in Krefeld.

The Krefeld string quartet had also studied Brahms’s A-Minor Quartet, op. 51, no. 2, in which my father (viola) and Richard Barth (violin) had somewhat different views concerning the tempo of the last movement. In my father’s opinion, Barth’s tempo was somewhat too fast. My father thereupon wrote to Brahms to ask for his opinion. In response, he received the letter reproduced below. Brahms had written it on the blank page of a letter from the concertmaster in Winterthur, who had a difference of opinion with his music director regarding the tempo of the “Gaudeamus” in the Academic Festival Overture.

Winterthur, the 10th of December 1885

Highly esteemed Master!

Revered Doctor!

Trusting in your kind benevolence, I take the liberty of taking up a few moments of your precious time by asking you to read these lines and to be kind enough to answer them.

In last night’s subscription concert of the Musik-Kollegium, your Academic Festival Overture was played for the first time and, I might add, received with enthusiasm.

The undersigned concertmaster and the 2nd Conductor of the Collegium (a former student of the Leipzig Conservatory and a compatriot of your distinguished self) differed with Direktor M. with regard to the tempi of the wonderful above-mentioned overture, and this disagreement gave rise to a quarrel in which not only the two quarrelers but the Music Collegium were participants. The question regarding who is right needs to be resolved authoritatively and with great urgency.

My request to you, with which I dare to trouble you, esteemed Master, amounts to checking the enclosed tempo indications (according to MU) and kindly stating, in a few words whether you agree with them or not, and possibly providing the correct tempo markings next to them.¹³ (The tempi indicated in the attachment are those employed by the director here. The quarrel revolves around the L’istesso tempo un poco maestoso, which, in my view, ought to be played not with a quarter note = 124, but with a half note = 80.)

Because the decision reached in this matter is of great significance for me—it is a question of going or staying for me—I had the courage to appeal to your benevolent kindness, and I hope for a kind and early answer.

In expectation of the same, I remain

with highest esteem and reverence,

Your

Hans Winderstein

P.S. The affair has already had consequences, in that the Musik-Kollegium has just informed me in writing that, until further notice, I am prohibited from exercising my duties! You can see, therefore, that clarification is urgently needed!

Dear Uncle Alwin,

You can see, I get this quite often!

But in your case, where your neck is not on the block, I can quite easily start you on a subscription for metronome markings. You pay me a tidy sum and each week I will deliver to you—different numbers, for with normal people they cannot remain valid for more than a week.

Incidentally, you are right, and the first violin as well!

In a decent quartet, the viola must be the retarding element—But you don’t need my wisdom and I don’t have any numbers.

So, please pass my very cordial greetings all around, and here and there my tender ones. I’m coming to Cologne for the 9th of February and I hope I can then swing myself up into your arms!

All the best, your J. Brahms

In 1885, Brahms came to Krefeld once again with the Meiningen Kapelle under von Bülow, and on that occasion Brahms himself conducted his 4th Symphony. He stayed again with von der Leyen and told me one day that while the Meiningen Kapelle played his symphony splendidly, he had the desire to hear it also performed by a really large orchestra one day, e.g. the Frankfurt orchestra. But he had qualms because of Bülow. I told him that, in my view, this ought not to be the crucial issue. Then Brahms did indeed do it, and Bülow resented it, as he had predicted.¹⁴

Brahms told us also that the last time he was in Frankfurt, he had been assigned the place of honor between two elderly ladies at a festive dinner following a concert. At which he told the committee member in charge, “Couldn’t we dine at a separate small table? Because, you see, Fräulein Spies and I are engaged.” And in that way he spent the evening very pleasantly. Pranks like that may have contributed to the myth that there were tender feelings and even love between the two—myths that were circulated by Kalbeck and the sister of the singer Spies.¹⁵ Anyone who knew Brahms well had to know that he would never have played such a prank if such sentiments had actually been in his heart.

On another occasion, Brahms talked about how Steinbach had once told him in Meiningen, before a rehearsal, that the Hofkapelle had studied the Orchestral Variations, op. 56a, very meticulously. Brahms was very pleased to hear this difficult piece played by such a splendid orchestra, and he was about to step on the podium and reach for the baton when Steinbach swiftly beat him to it in order to conduct it himself. “That’s the way they all are,” Brahms said.¹⁶

We met Brahms again in 1890 in Cologne, where Franz Wüllner had invited him to hear (for the first time) his 3 Motets, op. 110, just published, and sung by the superb first graduating class in choral singing. The Fest-und Gedenksprüche, op. 109, were also performed. The accomplishments of the chorus were overwhelmingly beautiful in both sound and expressivity.¹⁷

My wife asked Brahms to come to Krefeld in order to get to know our new house and our new grand piano, and Brahms did travel with us to Krefeld at that time. Again he stayed with the von der Leyens and was gracious to everyone as always, but how he did miss Barth! And so he played piano tirelessly, mostly for four hands with Rudolf von der Leyen, and mainly Schubert. Brahms also paid a visit to Musikdirektor Grüters, but, not finding him at home, he merely left his card.

In the years that followed, during the Easter and Whitsun holidays small chamber-music festivals took place in the homes of my parents and Rudolf von der Leyen, in which artists friendly with them took part. One postcard from those days has been preserved; it is from the famous pianist, Frau Professor Engelmann, née Emma Brandes, who was then living in Utrecht and later in Berlin.¹⁸ The postcard is to Frau Luise Bezold, a woman friend of hers in Leipzig, and on it are recorded the programs of four days in Krefeld. The concerts took place in the homes of the two families, and their musical friends in Krefeld were also invited.

Brahms, Quartet in G Minor, op. 25, Rudolf von der Leyen, Barth, von Beckerath, Hausmann.

Schumann lieder, “Nußbaum,” “Ihre Stimme,” “Lehn deine Wang an meine Wang,” Rud. v. d. L. and Frau Speyer,

Brahms Lieder, Three “Regenlieder” (Groth), “Botschaft,” “Sehnsucht,” “Die Kränze,” “Frühlingstrost,” Frau E. and Frau Sp.,

Brahms Lieder, “Feldeinsamkeit,” 3 Heimwehlieder (Groth), “Nachtwandler,” “Alte Liebe,” Frau E. and Fr. Sp.

Brahms, Lieder, “Serenade,” “Minnelied,” “Verzagen,” “An die Nachtigall,” “Am Meeresstrande,” “Nachtigallen schwingen,”

Beethoven, Variations on “Bei Männern welche Liebe fühlen,” Frau E. and Prof. H.,

Besides that, Frau Prof. Engelmann also played two piano pieces by von Herzogenberg; Brahms, Study after Bach; Bach, Fantasy in G Major for Organ.¹⁹

What a glorious time it was, when private musical offerings like these were possible! The artists concerned were close friends of my parents and von der Leyen. Starting in 1893, these small music festivals took place partly at the estate of my uncle, Walther Weyermann, in Hagerhof near Honnef on the Rhine. Frau Weyermann, my mother’s sister, was also an outstanding pianist. My father, who organized these get-togethers, had also invited Johannes Brahms and received the responses that follow.

My father had already written to Brahms in 1891 to express my parents’ grateful joy over the beautiful new compositions. Brahms answered: “My warmest thanks for your kind greeting. This is something one really likes to hear, and it takes one back with all one’s senses to the dear circle! With my heartfelt greetings, your devoted J. Br.”

From Brahms, regarding the 1892 invitation: “You can make your Easter even merrier and invite the prettiest pianist for the Trio—what won’t I do in order to please you! As a result, I now have to write the letters to Simrock, leaving me only enough time to inform you by means of this measly postcard! When you enjoy your festive meal in Uerdingen, do greet the entire company from me—I wish I were there—particularly, of course, for the Trio and the Quintet;

Reply to the invitation to Hagerhof 1894, when my father had asked Brahms for a picture for my mother’s birthday:

“Dear friend. For Frau Mariechen? That calls for haste, and so I will save my thanks for your report about the festival until later. The only things of interest, I suppose, are the ladies and the walks in the Siebengebirge. You will understand why I am not so interested in your programs when I tell you that I am just about to publish the first sensible thing.

“‘A bit late,’ I hear you say. But that does not matter as long as you will say yes to it later on. And so, until the next time, I am, with warm greetings to all my friends.” Instead of a signature there was a small photograph which shows him walking in the Fellingers’ garden.

“The first sensible thing” were the folk songs.²⁰ A large picture of Brahms was enclosed with the letter, showing him in the Fellingers’ library, with the words “for Frau Mariechen, with affectionate greetings. J. Br.”²¹

“So that’s settled, March 25, Genoa, Weyermanns, masses of accommodations and masses of pianos on the familiar flat roof. Honnef writing slipup noticed right away, bring canned sardines, very popular in Italy. Affectionate greetings all over the place.

In April 1894, Professor Richard Barth, who had taken part in the family music festival in 1894, wrote from Marburg to my father, among other matters: “Our time together was magnificent from A to Z; we did make such wonderful music together, as never before, and over it all hovered such an especially brilliant star in the heavens that we are still quite filled with it and will remain so until days as splendid as that return!

“And, dear friends, you all played so magnificently that I cannot express what heartfelt pleasure it gave me!

“Greetings also to dear Herr Piening (soon afterward chamber musician in Meiningen, later professor, cellist, and a student of Prof. Hausmann) who performed really outstandingly well, do tell him that, too.”²³

In the year 1892, my father’s account continues, we saw Brahms once again in Berlin. Three concerts had been arranged for the dedication of the Beethoven House—on October 4, 5, and 6—one each for Bülow, Brahms, and Rubinstein.²⁴ In the Brahms concert, the B-flat Major Sextet, op. 18, the D-Minor Violin Sonata, op. 108, and the Clarinet Quintet, op. 115, were performed by the Joachim Quartet, Brahms and Mühlfeld (clarinet). Brahms and Joachim had not rehearsed the sonata ahead of time and the performance suffered as a result, but the sextet and quintet were all the more beautiful for it.

It was lovely to be staying together with Brahms in the old Hotel Askanischer Hof in the Königgrätzer Street. When on the first day I went to see him in his living room with alcoves, he greeted me with: “Sollte das nicht ein Bratschiste sein!” (Ah, is that not a violist!) and introduced me with the words “Mein Leibbratschist” (my personal violist) to the conductor Radecke, who was present.²⁵ He was in shirtsleeves, and when my wife entered he quickly put on his coat. He was charming to us, like an old good friend. Richard Barth and his wife were also staying in the same hotel. One morning I caught up with Brahms when he was about to come into our room to inform us that he would be playing piano pieces at Simrock’s at 11 a.m. That was a happy surprise.

A considerable number of musical friends had assembled at Simrock’s. Brahms played all the piano pieces that were published as opp. 116 and 117, with the exception of the first D-minor piece, which he did not have securely in memory. Upon my request he repeated the Lullaby, op. 117, no. 1, and upon the request of Dr. Krieger, a nephew of Menzel’s, he repeated the E-major piece, op. 116, no. 6. In the evening, after the concerts, we got together for a glass of beer in a pub on Potsdamer Street. Old Menzel was also there and the two great artists sat quietly and contentedly next to each other.²⁶ On Brahms’s other side sat Mühlfeld, who at first did not know how to respond to Brahms, who had presented him with a figurine of a clarinet-playing piglet. We had to make it clear to the dear man that he had played so very beautifully and that he should recognize the joke for what it was. That made him very happy and he accepted the piglet gladly as a memento.

In September 1894, my father received the following postcard from Mühlfeld in Munich (a pretty picture of a Bavarian holding a lute and a glass of beer, and of a Bavarian girl, both in Tyrolean costume): “Esteemed Herr von Beckerath. Master Brahms has commissioned me to inform you that he has composed two sonatas for viola and piano (op. 120), which for the past few days I have played for the time being—lacking a viola—on the clarinet (with the Master himself in Berchtesgarden, at the Duke of Meiningen’s). Devoted greetings, Richard Mühlfeld. Friendly greetings, Fritz Steinbach.”

My father’s report continues. I must recall another lovely, unforgettable encounter with Brahms in Frankfurt, with Mühlfeld also present. It was in February, during the cold winter of 1895, that we traveled in crisp frosty weather up the Rhine, through the snowy countryside. It was a glorious trip in bright sunshine. Upriver from St. Goar, the Rhine was frozen solid. Sappers attempted to keep a channel open near the Lorelei by blasting, but the mass of ice was too overwhelming. It was delightful to observe how, in many communities, traffic had developed over the ice, from shore to shore, on foot or in carriages. The path through the ice labyrinth was marked with small spruce trees, and at the start and finish there were high masts with Bülowing flags. In Bingen a lot of shacks and tents stood on the ice. We, Rudolf von der Leyen, and the Weyermanns arrived in Frankfurt around noon, and before long Brahms, who knew of our arrival, came to the Swan Hotel to greet us. He was in the best of spirits and told us that Aunt Laura von Beckerath had invited him and Mühlfeld to Rüdesheim for the following day and that we should all come along. There we would hear the clarinet sonatas in a small circle, which was really delightful beyond all expectations. In Frankfurt there was a Museum concert in the evening, in which Mühlfeld played a Weber concerto and, at the end, the Academic Festival Overture was supposed to be played, but the remaining program escapes me (the Second Symphony by Brahms was played at the beginning, in which a da capo of the third movement was demanded).²⁷ At the concert we had five seats in the first row, next to Frau Schumann. Only one seat, next to her, remained empty in case Brahms should still come. Frau Schumann greeted us like old acquaintances with her distinctive, enchanting graciousness. The concert had long since begun, when, following the first movement, a side door opened near us to the left, and Brahms, stooped over and with quick steps, sneaked in front of us to his seat next to Frau Schumann, waving friendly greetings to us as he passed. (The audience had noticed him, however, and had applauded.) Mühlfeld played the concerto very beautifully. When the Academic Festival Overture was about to be played at the end, Kogel, the conductor, came down from the podium to ask Brahms to conduct the piece himself.²⁸ Brahms declined quite resolutely and pointed to his attire. But Frau Schumann lent a hand and beseeched him so lovingly with: “Ach, Johannes, tu es doch!” (Oh Johannes, please do it!). At which he relented and climbed up on the podium. When the audience saw his figure appear, jubilation swept through the hall. Brahms opened the score, letting his pince-nez drop at the same time, so that in view of his shortsightedness he actually conducted from memory. Sustained by such enthusiasm, the overture came off gloriously. I have never heard it better, and never-ending applause thanked him when it was finished. Prof. Willy von Beckerath immortalized the occasion in his five sketches.

At around noon on the next day, the whole company traveled to Rüdesheim with Brahms and Mühlfeld. Brahms sat the whole time hatless at an open window, gazing at the sparkling icy river. At the railway station in Rüdesheim some primitive sleds were waiting. Brahms immediately swung himself like a young man onto the box and sat next to the coachman, while Aunt Laura and Mühlfeld sat in the sled. After lunch everyone went for a walk over the ice to Bingen and back. It was wonderful to stroll in the calm and clear cold over the seemingly infinite expanse of ice. Following afternoon tea, there was music making, first the two sonatas, op. 120, and after a pause the three Fantasiestücke by Schumann.²⁹ I was allowed to turn pages for Brahms in the two sonatas, but must admit that I gained only a general impression of something beautiful. I recognized the full importance of these splendid pieces only after studying them closely. Mühlfeld played beautifully, and in the second sonata Brahms asked Mühlfeld, before each movement, “Können Sie noch?” (Can you still go on?) and then they played on. The Schumann pieces were delightful. After the music it was time for dinner, and kitchen and cellar rose to the occasion. In the morning, unfortunately, it was time to say farewell, and we parted with heartfelt thanks to our dear hostess and hopes for getting together again soon.

My father writes that he heard the two clarinet sonatas played by Brahms and Mühlfeld once more, in Berlin.

In the autumn of 1895 there was a music festival in Meiningen, with Brahms in attendance. On July 11, 1895, Herr Direktor Fritz Steinbach wrote about it as follows to my father:

The music festival will definitely take place this year from September 27 to 29, inclusive. The final rehearsal for the Passion will be on the 26th.

September 27 at 11:00 a.m.: First Chamber Music Concert
Beethoven—Quartet op. 18,
Brahms—Sextet, B-flat Major, op. 18
Beethoven—Quartet C# Minor
Joachim—Quartet with Eldering and Piening.

At 7 p.m.: Passion According to St. Matthew (in the church)
Soloists: Johanna Nathan, Frau Walter Choinanus, Kammersänger Anthes, Kammersänger Perron, Opernsänger Fenten.

400-member choir, 40-member choir for the Chorale, 100-member boys’ choir, 75-member orchestra (8 flutes, 8 oboes).

At 5 p.m.: Concert (in the church)
Bach, Cantata (50) for Double Chorus,³⁰
Beethoven, Missa Solemnis,
Brahms, Triumphlied.

Kalbeck reports that the program was altered slightly (unfortunately I do not have the program).

First Chamber Music Concert:
Beethoven, Quartet, op. 131 [recte: op. 130 in B-flat Major]
Brahms, Clarinet Sonata F Minor,
Beethoven, Quartet op. 59, no. 3;

Second Chamber Music Concert:
Brahms, Clarinet Quintet,
Beethoven, Quartet, C

Minor,
Brahms, Quintet G Major, op. 111.³¹

In the concert of September 28, the Handel Variations were played instead of the Haydn Variations for piano, according to Kalbeck.

Steinbach’s letter then continues: “I hope that additional words of invitation are superfluous. But I would be delighted if I could welcome Krefeld’s faithful Brahmsians here at the festival. Would you be kind enough to inform Herr von der Leyen of the program? In the middle of August I am traveling to Brahms in Ischl so as to recuperate a bit. Today I conducted the 54th choir rehearsal since the middle of April, here and in the other participating towns of the land. Accordingly, I can promise you a worthy festival.

Unfortunately, my parents and the von der Leyens were unable to come to Meiningen.

After I passed my Abitur in the spring of 1895, I [HvB] was allowed to undertake an extensive voyage that took me first to Schachen, to see relatives and friends on the Bodensee, then to Munich, and finally to the music festival in Meiningen. Next to his living room, Herr Kammermusikus Piening, who had been my cello teacher when he was still in Krefeld, had another small sleeping chamber with a bed. That is where I was put up. Consequently I lived almost together with the orchestra musicians and spent splendid days in Meiningen. The lovely warm autumn weather contributed to the festive mood. The little town, the surrounding wooded heights, the large park and the venerable ducal castle, the beautiful theater, the bright and friendly church—it was all enchanting and created a small universe of its own, in which the participants of the festival moved about in an elevated mood. Besides the concerts, I was able to listen to the rehearsals. I chiefly recall the rehearsal of the Double Concerto in the theater on the morning of the 28th. Only the stage was illuminated and I could make out only a few listeners in the theater. Then began the Double Concerto. The beauty and power of Joachim and Hausmann’s playing were overwhelming, and the orchestra under Steinbach played to perfection. In this way was created a rendition of this wonderful work, which, in its spontaneity, may not quite have been attained at the evening’s concert. I still recall that I was moved most deeply, and that I felt heartily grateful for having experienced this performance. The enthusiasm at the evening concert was overpowering. At the end, following the First Symphony, the excited audience would not rest until Brahms stepped—a little awkwardly—onto the stage to express his gratitude for the ovation. Kalbeck reports how Brahms spent those glorious days in high spirits. He mentions that Herr Eduard Speyer reported to him that Brahms had expressed his regrets at the absence of his Krefeld friends with the words: “Was soll ich nun von den Schlafmützen am nahen Rhein halten?” (What am I supposed to make of those sleepyheads on the nearby Rhine?)³² It was surely not spoken as it reads. C’est le ton qui fait la musique applies here as well.

At the final church concert I was sitting in the church where the right transept begins, quietly awaiting the wonderful sounds from the choir stall that would delight the listeners below. Next to me (on the aisle), a seat had remained empty. Shortly before the start of the concert, Brahms came into the church through an entrance behind me and sat down on that chair. I started and said softly, “Good day, Herr Doktor.” Brahms answered: “Ah, somebody from Krefeld is here after all.” He listened quietly. I was so impressed by all this that I can no longer recount the details today. I don’t know if Brahms asked me why my parents had not come. Soon the music began.

And now came the last unforgettable reunion with Brahms at Hagerhof, near Honnef-on-the-Rhine, during Whitsuntide 1896. Alexander von Humboldt has described the view from Rolandseck across the Rhine, with the islands Nonnenwerth and Grafenwerth, looking toward the Siebengebirge, as one of the loveliest he knew. In 1896 there was no significant traffic in today’s sense. Nature was still in the thrall of the Romantic era, and one could picture how the young Brahms, together with the sons of Deichmann, had wandered upriver on the way to the Mosel, knapsack on his back. Afterward he had visited the Schumanns for the first time, in Düsseldorf.³³

Standing on the Rolandseck, if one looks out over the broad flat Honnef basin on the other side of the Rhine, one discerns a small valley at the foot of the mountains. On some of its slopes, vineyards flourished, protected from the raw north and east winds, while the little valley itself was almost entirely taken up by the large park of the Hagerhof estate’s manor house, built in English Gothic style. Meadows and lovely groves of trees alternated in the park, in its ponds the frogs croaked, and at night fireflies flew through the silent, damp forest and flowers bloomed very near to the house.

My uncle Walter Weyermann, owner of Hagerhof along with his musical wife, had commissioned my father to invite artists of his acquaintance to Hagerhof for a small music festival at Whitsuntide. They all accepted the invitation gladly: Professors Richard Barth, Hamburg (violin), and Leonhard Wolff, Bonn (viola), with their wives; Bram Eldering, Meiningen (violin); Karl Piening, Meiningen (cello); and along with them a few friends of music, such as Frau Laura von Beckerath, Rüdesheim, and her son, the painter Prof. Willi von Beckerath, and Dr. Gustav Ophüls. Of course, the von der Leyens and my parents were part of the inner circle. This is what was going to be played: three string quartets, Brahms A-Minor, Beethoven F-Minor, Schumann A-Major; then the Sonata for Piano and Two Violins by Handel; furthermore, three sonatas for piano and violin, Kreutzer Sonata, Brahms G-Major and A-Major; furthermore, two trios, Beethoven B-flat Major [“Archduke”] and Schubert B-flat Major; and finally, the Piano Quintet by Schumann. In addition, Brahms then played his Piano Quintet.

Dr. Gustav Ophüls has written about these days in considerable detail in his book Erinnerungen an Johannes Brahms, but here I will report what my father tells of those lovely days.³⁴

As early as Friday morning, the string quartet had begun rehearsing the three quartets. In the afternoon, my wife played the B-flat Major Trio by Beethoven with Barth and Piening. On Saturday, Frau Weyermann played Schubert’s B-flat Major Trio with Barth and Piening, and [Brahms’s] A-Major Sonata with Eldering. In the afternoon, Rudolf von der Leyen and Barth played the Kreutzer Sonata and the G-Major Sonata by Brahms.

The funeral of Frau Schumann took place on Whitsunday and caused an interruption of the musical offerings, since several of the participants attended the memorial service in Bonn. Those who remained were in a quiet holiday mood until suddenly, at about 11 a.m., the telegram arrived: “Bitte um ein Bett und ein Kouvert Brahms” (Request a bed and place-setting Brahms). Everyone started to scurry about in preparation for the reception of the beloved Master. A second wire asked that dinner be delayed until 6 p.m. In the forest, birch saplings were cut for decorating the main entrance and the young girls spelled out the letters “J. B.” with flowers in front of the stairway. But the banners stretched over the stone walls from some windows were removed by order of the host, so that only the greenery and flowers remained. Later on, when Brahms strolled through the park with me, he looked back toward the house and said, “But I saw just one banner on the outside of the building.” Brahms arrived at around four o’clock with Rudolf von der Leyen and Leonhard Wolff. He stepped carefully over the flowers and greeted everyone warmly. After a cup of coffee, the company strolled in groups around the park. The heavens granted us the loveliest spring weather throughout these days. Brahms was quiet in the beginning, but evidently in a contented mood. When Professor Wolff asked whether the string quartet could play his A-Minor Quartet for him, Brahms cheerfully agreed. Although they played well, a desire to make more music did not rightly develop. Brahms himself suggested that we postpone it until morning. He was not about to leave right away, then! During dinner, when, in response to the host’s halting invitation, Brahms wanted to ask those present to remember his departed friend, his voice failed him and tears ran down his beard. After that, the mood was more relaxed. After the meal, everyone went walking in the woods again. Brahms was tired after his very strenuous and anxious journey and the day’s excitement, and he went to sleep early. The others soon followed his example.

Brahms and the Hagerhof Circle in 1896. From left to right: Gustav Ophüls, Brahms, Bram Eidering, Alwin von Beckerath.

Following a sound sleep, Brahms’s healthy constitution permitted him to go rambling in the park as early as six o’clock. Elise, the kind cook, had prepared a cup of coffee for him and had to tie his shoes for him. There developed a kind of friendship between her and Brahms in the early mornings, which the good Elise thought back on with pride for many years. After a communal breakfast and a short walk, the music making began. At first Brahms played his Piano Quintet with the string quartet; then followed the A-Major Quartet of Schumann. While it was being played, Brahms sat thoughtfully next to the window and gazed out over the flower garden into the park. Afterward he played his C-Minor Trio with Barth and Piening. After the music everyone went for a little walk, and the Weyermanns’ young daughter, in the riding ring, showed off her two small dressage ponies. On the way back to the house, Brahms asked me if another piano might be available. I told him right away that there was a pianino in the daughter’s room, which my sister-in-law would certainly be glad to put at his disposal. That pleased him and he said that after the second breakfast.³⁵ he wished to perform a new composition for us and requested that, to begin with, only Richard Barth, Rudolf von der Leyen, Leonhard Wolff, Ophüls, and I with my wife and her sister, Frau Weyermann, be present. We assembled in complete silence while most of the others were having a siesta. As Brahms sat down at the piano, he said: “For my birthday, I wrote something for myself. It is the most godless stuff that was ever composed.” With that he began the introduction to the first of the Four Serious Songs. The vocal part he indicated in his rough voice. Leonhard Wolff wanted to help him out, but he would have none of it and sang with the deepest emotion. An anxious feeling gripped my heart, as though I apprehended the looming, sad end of the passionately loved and revered Master. Then Brahms had someone fetch another manuscript from his suitcase, the eleven Chorale Preludes, and he played those as well. (The following morning, Brahms again gathered a group of festival participants around him and played the new things for them as well.)

At six o’clock, everyone gathered for a festive meal at the lovely flower-bedecked table. The ladies wore light-colored dresses and only happy faces could be seen. There were several speeches, and Brahms was in the most animated and happy mood. He sat between Frau Laura von Beckerath and the hostess, and across the table from my wife and Richard Barth. After the meal, everyone went strolling for a while in the mild spring evening, and spent the rest of the evening in jovial companionship, to the great delight of Brahms as well. At the end, Eldering performed an excellent musical recitation at the piano in the mystical glow of two wax candles. It was the story of the very exuberant little girl, Lenchen, and her grandmother.³⁶ The hour was very late when the evening had run its untroubled course.

On Tuesday morning, Rudolf von der Leyen played the Schumann Piano Quintet with the string quartet, while Brahms was upstairs inspecting the library. After the Quintet, Handel’s Sonata for Two Violins was played, and when Brahms heard these sounds, he immediately came downstairs and asked me, with keen interest, what this was. He did not know the piece and was so delighted with it that he had it played for him twice more in the course of the day, with Frau Weyermann playing the piano part. Brahms then played his B-Major Trio and the morning music came to a close with Beethoven’s F-Minor String Quartet.

In the afternoon, several of the participants left. Brahms bade them farewell with deep emotion, particularly Rudolf von der Leyen. He ran after the carriage a little way, waving his handkerchief. The next morning, he played the Schubert B-flat Major Trio with Barth and Piening and, in the afternoon, he traveled up the Rhine together with Frau Laura von Beckerath.³⁷

In those days Brahms also used to go on small outings with my parents, and he told them during a conversation that “it had been so difficult for him to forgive people, that they had prevented him from marrying. That it would have been impossible for him to come back to his wife and have to tell her that it had again come to nothing.” In his gentle manner, known only to his close friends, he added: “I dealt like a cad with Agathe.” So it seems that the poor man tortured himself with his love throughout his life’s struggle, while bestowing such marvelous works of art on humanity. Agathe von Siebold hovered over his life like an angel.

It was my good fortune to take several photographs in those days, and they are appended to these lines. Brahms thanked me for them in a friendly letter, in which he expressed the hope to be able to thank me again next year.³⁸

And to conclude, I present the lines that my parents wrote to Eugenie Schumann in the year 1926.

“Brahms did not often speak of your parents, and then [he did so] only in the narrowest circle. He probably did not want even those close to him to catch a glimpse into his heart, which beat so passionately and constantly for these two great and singularly beloved persons. On only a single occasion did he speak to us of your father’s illness and the Endenich period. Your father had expressed a desire for reading matter and had included the Bible in the list of books he wanted. At the time, that had been interpreted as an indication that his condition was deteriorating. ‘The people did not know that in darkness, we North Germans are accustomed to finding our Bible.’ Of your mother he spoke only with eyes glistening and in greatest reverence and love for the splendid woman. On another occasion, when Brahms was again our only dinner guest and was feeling at his ease, he suddenly blurted out that it could happen to him that he would say unpleasant things to people whom he otherwise dearly loved and treasured. It was almost as if a malevolent spirit forced him to do so, that he could not suppress it, he just had to say it. Afterward he would regret it sincerely. It was touching how the great man made this modest self-confession.

“In the afternoon of that sad Whitsunday 1896 we walked with Brahms alone in the quiet park of the Hagerhof and then continued on through the beautiful spruce forest to an observation point. Stepping out of the forest, one beholds a wonderful panorama of the Siebengebirge, the Rhine valley, Godesberg and Bonn, and, after gazing at the view quietly for some time, Brahms said, ‘Now I have nothing more to lose.’

“He was not satisfied with the funeral oration, because the speaker had mostly celebrated the great artist and had failed sufficiently to memorialize the outstandingly splendid woman and mother. Later, at the large dinner table, he was noticeably at pains to show that he felt at ease in the company. But on the inside, he was still deeply moved, and when he tried to respond to the sensitive speech of the host, his voice failed him in the midst of his pain and mourning. It was devastating for all of us. The next morning, while Schumann’s A-Major Quartet was being played, Brahms sat at the window and looked out constantly into the lovely flower garden with his head propped in his hand, and large tears rolled in his beard.”³⁹

On June 5, Brahms wrote to Frau Fellinger from Ischl: “I spent a few days in the Siebengebirge, where every year a sizable number of particularly dear friends get together at a large estate owned by a mutual friend. This year, I thought less than usual of joining them. Fortunately, I allowed myself to be taken along.—How empty and gloomy I would have felt on my journey home and here, and how delightfully the solemn memorial service now faded away amid the splendid scenery, the exceptional company, and the most beautiful music.”

Whenever I look back to those days of my youth, a song by Brahms in his op. 97 comes to mind: “Ein Vögelein fliegt über den Rhein, und wiegt die Flügel im Sonnenschein …” (A little bird flies over the Rhine, wafting its wings in the sunshine …).

NOTES

We would like to thank William Melton (Hauset, Belgium) for indispensable aid in obtaining Heinz von Beckerath’s memoir, and William Horne (New Orleans) for specialist assistance.

Heinz von Beckerath
Remembering Johannes Brahms
Brahms and His Krefeld Friends

TRANSLATED BY JOSEF EISINGER
INTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY STYRA AVINS

NOTES

Bach,	Brandenburg Concerto no. 6,
Brahms,	Double Concerto (Joachim, Hausmann),
Brahms,	Solo Quartets with Piano,
Brahms,	Variations on a Theme by J. Haydn.

Beethoven,	E-flat-Major Piano Concerto,
Brahms,	First Symphony.

Brahms,	Clarinet Sonata,
Beethoven,	Quartet in F Minor or the Harp Quartet,
Brahms,	Clarinet Quintet, (Joachim Quartet with Mühlfeld).

Heinz von BeckerathRemembering Johannes BrahmsBrahms and His Krefeld Friends

TRANSLATED BY JOSEF EISINGERINTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY STYRA AVINS

NOTES

Heinz von Beckerath
Remembering Johannes Brahms
Brahms and His Krefeld Friends

TRANSLATED BY JOSEF EISINGER
INTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY STYRA AVINS