Part 1

WHAT IS A REQUIEM, AND WHAT IS THE BRAHMS REQUIEM?

Part 2

THE BOY IN THE BORDELLO

Part 3

JOHANNES AND CLARA AND ROBERT

THE MASTER

A LOOK AT THE REQUIEM — PART FOUR

A LOOK AT THE REQUIEM — PART FIVE

Part 1

WHAT IS A REQUIEM, AND WHAT IS THE BRAHMS REQUIEM?

Simply put, a Requiem (Aeternam) ("Rest Eternal") is a Mass for the Dead, constructed by the Roman Catholic Church, centuries ago, for the living to pray for the souls of the departed, so that they may be spared the tortures of Hell and to, instead, gain Paradise. To early believers, especially during the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance and even beyond, Hell was portrayed by artists and writers as something so dreadful that one would do anything to avoid it. That kept people in line, usually; but, one never could be sure. There always were always sins invented by those in power to keep people from ever being certain of a heavenly reward. Thus, the Mass for the Dead. If it was said often enough (and the more frequent the services {and the money it cost to pay for them}), the more likely the soul would leave its temporary "holding area" (i.e., Purgatory), and rise to Heaven. There was a set liturgy according to the dictates of the Church, and it was either spoken, or chanted.

The dramatic imagery was bound to attract composers: "Dies Irae" ("Day of Wrath"); "Libera me de Ora Leonis et de Profundo Lacu" ("Deliver me from the Mouth of the Lion and the Bottomless Pit"); "Rex Tremendae" ("Lord of Fearsome Majesty"). Mozart and Cherubini were inspired. The Fort Street Chorale has performed their Requiems, which showcased these images. Verdi and Berlioz were perhaps the most spectacular, with huge forces employed in their very public memorials (neither composer was religious, but they reveled in the dramatic text). Dvorak and von Suppe wrote lengthy, but less bombastic, works. Both Faure and Durufle composed more comforting and shorter Requiems, and The Fort Street Chorale has sung them. Benjamin Britten wrote his deeply moving pacifist War Requiem, and Andrew Lloyd Webber and John Rutter surprised the musical world by composing their takes on the Mass for the Dead. All of these works incorporate basically the same Latin liturgy. Rarely, however, have any of the above been used in religious services, due to their length. They are concert works, not for liturgical use.

Johannes Brahms also composed a Requiem, but it is not at all like the previously mentioned Masses. He did away with the Latin and all that dread and fire and brimstone. He called it "A German Requiem," but that could be interpreted as meaning a non-Catholic memorial, with the use of the language of the country where it could be performed. Thus, The Fort Street Chorale sings it in English. Unlike the Latin Requiems, every word in the Brahms Requiem is taken from the Bible, even if a couple of passages are from the Apocrypha.

We shall look at the Brahms Requiem in more detail in March and April as we approach the May 5 performance. First, we shall look at the man who wrote this music: his strange life, his grumpy personality, his tremendous contributions to the musical world, his fervent followers and his fierce foes. These stories will appear in January and February.

Part 2

THE BOY IN THE BORDELLO

I'm looking at a picture of a ramshackle five-storied tenement house in Hamburg in northern Germany. This stinking, filthy, crowded place is where Johannes Brahms was born, to a well-meaning but ineffectual father, who was a not-very-successful musician, and his wife, seventeen years his senior, who was his landlord's daughter and who was 41 when Johannes was born, the first of three children. At a very early age, "Hannes" decided he wanted to play piano, rather than any of his father's several string and band instruments, and, once he quickly became a piano prodigy, he insisted that, most of all, he wanted to be a composer. Little Hannes was so talented that several piano teachers tutored him free of charge, and one of them, Eduard Marxsen, prevented the boy from being taken to the United States by some hot-shot enterpreneur who promised the family lots of gold. Brahms thus would not become a "performing monkey."

Thus, the world was given a great composer. But at a terrible cost to the boy. Money was so scarce that the little fellow, at age 12 or so, began playing piano in the notorious Sankt Pauli area brothels, in order to make his family's ends meet. There, the pretty child was subjected to life-scarring experiences as he was subjected to bestial behavior and language, and screaming and fighting. He was passed around and pawed by the "Singing Girls" and their drunken sailor customers. The abuse made him bitter. Often, the young teen would stagger home in a drunken stupor in the early hours of the morning. Is it any wonder that Brahms became a caustic, suspicious and difficult person? He made friends, but his friendships were always strained, and he was suspicious of all women. He never married. Women liked him and he was attracted to them, but he kept his distance when it came to relationships. Yet, there was one woman....But, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Johannes' bordello career finally ended when he was 14. His expertise at the piano got him noticed by better circles, and some money started coming in at last. One admirer, Adolph Geisemann, (at the begging of Johannes' father) urged the boy to come live with him and his family in the country. Johannes would tutor his daughter, and he'd be part of the family. That worked wonders. Brahms got the fresh air and sun he needed. He went for long walks to gain strength in his skinny body. He remained an enthusiastic walker for the rest of his life. Doing that, he emulated the German Romantics, who reveled in the love of nature: the forests, the mountains, the rivers, the meadows. Like them, Brahms would walk for months and absorb the German Romantic mystique.

Despite of, and maybe because of, his tortured childhood, Brahms would give the world some of the most beautiful music ever composed. The Fort Street Chorale will present his very personal and moving Requiem on Sunday, May 5, at 3:00 in the sanctuary of Fort Street Presbyterian Church.. Be sure to keep that date open, so that you may be a part of a great experience.

Part 3

JOHANNES AND CLARA AND ROBERT

When one thinks of Johannes Brahms, one is likely to picture him as a rotund, avuncular fellow with a very large white beard and a cigar in his mouth. However, I'm looking at a pencil drawing portrait entitled "The Youthful Brahms." A thoughtful pose, an exquisite profile, slender, obviously attractive, he appears to be about 14 years old. Actually, this drawing was done in 1853. Thus, Brahms was 20, and looked much younger. He had almost feminine features, and he had a high-pitched voice, which would bother him all of his life. At age 20, he wasn't anywhere near close to having a beard, try as he might!

During his travels in his late teens, Johannes often had company. Two violinists, first Eduard Remenyi, then Josef Joachim, would perform violin sonatas with him wherever they went, before enthusiastic audiences and they would join composers such as Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Liszt, and Wagner, and others, in music-making and deep, often heated discussions about the future of music. But all the people he met urged him to visit Robert Schumann and his wife Clara in Dusseldorf. Schumann was revered as the greatest figure in German Romantic music. Not only was he a composer, but he was publisher of the most influential music magazine in Europe. And Clara had surmounted all of the prejudices against women in the world of music by being a brilliant pianist, a noted composer herself, and, above all, a very determined woman.

One day in 1853, Brahms knocked on the door of the Schumann home, and was let in as someone who they had heard about, and immediately he was accepted. He charmed the Schumanns with his good looks and talent, and they insisted he move in with them. Robert was extravagant in his praise for the young musician (Robert often went overboard in praise of young musicians, especially good-looking ones, but this one more than anyone else). He proclaimed Brahms as the future leader of the musical world. His words carried weight. It brought Brahms instant recognition, but also a huge responsibility to prove Robert's confidence in him. It also caused jealousy from other composers. Brahms's life with the Schumanns was very happy for a while. But then, tragedy struck. Robert, already quite unstable, began to crack under the strain. On February 6, 1854, he jumped off a bridge into the Rhine. He was rescued, but his insanity caused him to be put into an asylum where he suffered horribly for more than two years. He died in July of 1856. All this time, Johannes was there to care for Clara and her eight children, often alone, when she went on concert tours to keep money coming in. Johannes fell in love with this remarkable woman, and even proposed marriage, but she, fifteen years older than Brahms, rejected him. Nevertheless, Clara and Johannes remained fast friends for the rest of their lives. Clara died in 1896, and Brahms never recovered from his grief. He died a year later.

Part 4

A BUNDLE OF CONTRADICTIONS

I'm looking at a portrait of Johannes Brahms, made when he was thirty. He is strikingly handsome, with a fine head of hair, no beard and dressed formally: a picture of success.

As mentioned in Part Three, Clara apparently rejected Brahms' proposal of marriage following the death of Robert. But was that so, or is it the other way around? Either way, it fit their respective personae. Clara would wear black mourning clothes for the rest of her life. She seemed to "revel" in being "The Widow of the Master" and being treated with respect befitting her title.

But, if Brahms rejected her (and she was inconsolable when he took off for Hamburg), it fit him like a glove, rejecting people that loved him. He was a bewildering set of contradictions: he could be cold, yet generous, egocentric, loving, sarcastic, shy, grumpy; often, all at once. Women truly adored him: In his mid-twenties, he was drop-dead good-looking, no longer effeminate, but that high-pitched voice remained. And Brahms enjoyed the adulation he received.

His composing also reflected mood changes. In the midst of his writing light-hearted German folksongs, he tried to compose a symphony, to honor the memory of Robert Schumann. When Brahms went through Robert's belongings after the funeral, he saw in his writings the words "Ein deutsches Requiem." Nothing else to shed light on what that meant. But the idea of writing something important took place before that, when Schumann had attempted to drown himself. Brahms had been so shaken that he had felt he had to express his sorrow musically. He set out to compose a symphony; but, after finishing the first three movements, he decided he wasn't talented enough to complete it. He was intimidated by Beethoven's legacy. So, he tossed many pages into the fire (something he did often to his early works, by the way), and used a few ideas to create a two-piano sonata and, then, in 1857, he changed again. The tribute to Robert was to end up being Brahms' First Piano Concerto in D minor, one of the grandest and most challenging of all works for piano and orchestra.

Still, finding those words in Schumann's book caused Brahms to pursue the matter of creating a type of "memoriam" quite unlike the Latin mass for the dead. Brahms was a humanist of sorts, and he was not at all moved by the fire-and-brimstone excesses of the musical requiems that other composers had written. Thus, the real meaning of the term "German" Requiem. To some people, singing the German Requiem in English makes no sense. A "German" Requiem should be sung in German, nicht wahr? Well, not necessarily. The "German" in the title actually could mean "Lutheran" (Germany was the center of Lutheranism and Luther had lived there), or it could mean "non-Catholic" or "non-traditional," or "in the vernacular." The text, based on Scripture passages, would thus be familiar to those who read the Bible. Therefore, it is not paradoxical to perform the "German Requiem" in English, or Swedish, or Czech.

But to return to the compositional history: Brahms envisioned a mourning cantata in four sections, each with Scriptural sources. "All flesh is grass" (I Peter 1:24) appears as a funeral march, the music coming from his discarded 1854 symphony, and not used in the D minor Concerto. So, the first part of Part 2 was composed first. Then came Part 1. But, then, Brahms laid the composition aside and did not return to the work for years, until 1865, when his aged mother died. In mourning, he went back to the cantata, and he composed Part 3 ("Lord, make me to know mine end"). By now, Brahms realized that the cantata had assumed much larger proportions to remain a cantata, and that, in fact, it was becoming a Requiem. He composed three more sections, and the work was given its premiere on December 1, 1867. But, only the first three parts were performed, and due to insufficient rehearsal time and a crazed tympanist who went berserk on the kettledrums, and a loud fugal ending when people expected consolation, it was a fiasco. However, on Good Friday, April 10, 1868, it was done in its entirety in Bremen, and it was well-received. After the performance, Johannes and his father returned to Hamburg to visit the grave of his mother. There, he was moved to compose still one more section, for soprano solo, Part 5, the most profoundly moving section in the entire work.

THE OLD CURMUDGEON

We'll discuss the Requiem more fully later on. And, today, we'll skip forward a bit, and we'll come back to another topic in a future installment.

I'm looking at my favorite Brahms picture, a silhouette of the rotund, bearded man striding along, cigar in mouth, bowler hat on (it was usually off), hands behind his back, and a little hedgehog ambling alongside. (The hedgehog was a symbol: the name of Brahms' favorite tavern was "The Red Hedgehog.") It is typical Brahms: alone, in the woods he loved, composing all along (just like his hero, Beethoven, who did the same, even to the hands behind his back.) Like Ludwig, Johannes was a cantankerous bachelor, and a messy one at that, in his last ten years or so: his cigar ashes often remained on his clothes, which were usually old, baggy and patched. His trousers were invariably too short. He was hopelessly sloppy. But those were acquired traits; remember, he was consistently upset about his high voice and, eventually, decided to scream raucously, whenever possible, with the result that his naturally lovely voice became a rasp and, even then, it was too high that he decided to become more manly by smoking cigars, drinking a lot, being gruff, forsaking his fastidiousness, and becoming sloppy, engaging in racy stories, eating so much that he became obese, and -- tada! -- he grew a beard at last, and it became huge and his singular identification.

He was known as a "skeptical pessimist" and there is not much joy associated with him. And yet, he was, in his self-reliance, a happy man, and a very healthy and robust one. He had many friends, male and female, who loved him, and yet he would, at one time or other, insult them and be most inconsiderate, He spoke his mind, had no tact, and could be bitingly sarcastic. One of his admirers, Max Kalbeck, once made disparaging remarks about Richard Wagner, Brahms' arch-enemy musically, thinking this would please Johannes, who, instead yelled: "For God's sake, stop talking about something you don't understand!" Max slunk away, humiliated, yet remained a fast friend. Once, at the end of a get-together with friends, the story goes, as he leaves, Brahms says: "If there's anyone here who I haven't insulted this evening, please forgive me!" Brahms never forgot a slight. He remained bitter at Hamburg for not naming him music director, even though the rejection caused him to end up in Vienna, a city he loved, and where he was lionized.

Despite his bitterness, sarcasm and insulting behavior, Brahms was a most generous man, who, though wealthy, lived simply, and gave to others, never forgetting his parents, even after their divorce, by giving them much-needed money. Children adored him, and came running wherever he appeared, to be put on his lap, and stroke his huge beard. He was, very often, most kind and helpful to fellow composers.

Critical as he was with others, he was even harder on himself, constantly belittling his accomplishments. Sometimes, he went to the point of disingenuousness, such as when he criticized his 2nd Piano Concerto as a "tiny concerto, with a tiny, tiny Scherzo movement." Of course, it is a huge concerto, very difficult; especially, the very complex Scherzo. Many of his early works he simply burned, feeling they were not up to his own standards and, as we know, he would revise and reinvent what he had written before he was happy.

And what about his religion? That's a much-discussed topic. He was nominally a protestant, but he was more of a humanist, and some scholars prefer the term "Human", or "Humanist" Requiem to what it is called. There are no Christian references in the work (yes, the word Christ is used in Part 2 in our score, but that is an English translation of the German word Herr, meaning "Lord") and there are numerous passages that humanists would believe is consistent with their philosophy. Brahms, himself, boasted that he never attended church. Yet, one touching thing I learned about Brahms was that his favorite book was his Children's Bible, and he read from it every day of his adult life.

BRAHMS AND WAGNER: MUSICAL BATTLE-LINES

I'm looking at a portrait of Brahms, taken at age 50, in 1883, the year Richard Wagner died. A handsome face, his beard (yes, by now he had one) covering his cravat. Everything looks in place. Here is an impressive man, a successful man of wealth and accomplishment. He has become a symphonist and, to many, a worthy successor to Beethoven. Many others, however, saw Brahms as very conservative, not innovative. He did not blaze new trails. He followed the path, created by Bach and Haydn and Beethoven, and he has often been called "the last classicist." It is not necessarily a complimentary title. As he was maturing, some composers had been going into other directions, notably Franz Liszt. Brahms abhorred his music. While acknowledging that Liszt was a formidable piano virtuoso and basically a good guy, he thought his music to be empty and bombastic. Liszt initiated something he called the "symphonic poem," orchestral music with stories to tell. That was not at all to Brahms' liking. His symphonies were "absolute" music, music for its own sake, not describing something. And, then, there was Richard Wagner, a Liszt disciple, but eventually the master of the "new music." He was the absolute antithesis of Brahms, who "followed the rules" set by previous composers. Wagner broke them all. Brahms, though self-centered (he was a bachelor, needed his own space, and often alienated his friends), was, in many other ways, a kind and generous man. Wagner, on the other hand, was egomaniacal, a ruthless, hateful man who never had anything good to say about anyone. He was the ultimate backstabber. His music shocked and transported people and, soon, the musical world would divide itself into two "enemy" camps: the Wagnerites and the Brahmsians. Now, Brahms actually admired much of Wagner's music; he considered Wagner a genius. Wagner, of course, despised Brahms. He was deeply resentful of the popularity of the German Requiem. He thought himself to be the Messiah of "holy German art" ("What right does this stuffy fool Brahms have to call something of his German?" What Brahms feared was not so much Wagner himself, but the man's influence on others. What would "Wagnerism" do to music in the hands of lesser composers?

It had bcome virtually impossible to like both composers. This seems quaint today, as most of us admire both composers. But from, say, 1860 to 1930, Europeans (and Americans) took sides. Each side had its champions. For Brahms were Max Kalbeck, Hans von Bulow (a Wagner deserter; Wagner had stolen his wife Cosima), Eduard Hanslick (the most critical of Wagner's foes), and such musicians as Josef Joachim, Clara Schumann, Antonin Dvorak, and others who praised Brahms and disparaged Wagner. Then, there was "the claque," often vocally abusive at concerts featuring Wagnerian music. The most visible victim of this abuse was the gentle, pious, provincial symphonist Anton Bruckner, who worshipped Wagner, and whose gargantuan symphonies were cruelly hooted down by the Brahmsians. Bruckner was often in tears as concert halls emptied out during the performances of his works and only a handful of admirers would be left. Another Wagnerite was Gustav Mahler. It is just as well that Brahms wasn't around anymore to hear Mahler's huge, angst-filled symphonies. He would have been appalled at Mahler's musical hysteria. Also, on the Wagnerian side were Richard Strauss ("Brahms has lentils in his beard!"), Herman Levi (a Brahms deserter and a Jew who conducted the anti-Semitic Wagner's operas), George Bernard Shaw (who called the German Requiem an advertisement for a mortuary), and Hugo Wolf, a composer whom Brahms didn't praise enough, and who retaliated by writing vindictive, venomous, vicious veekly (sorry: weekly) vitriol against Brahms. Then, there was the unnamed musician who said he glanced at Brahms's music every other year just to reassure himself that his music was really as bad as he remembered it.

I'm looking at the essential Brahms picture: a painting by a friend of his: Brahms at his piano, sitting far enough back from the keyboard so that his girth doesn't touch it, arms outstretched, playing crosshanded, with a smoking cigar-stub in his mouth, white beard about to receive the ashes. It could only be Brahms, in his 50s or 60s.

By the time he was twenty, he was famous. In 1868, when he was 35, he had finished composing his stupendous Piano Quintet and the "German" Requiem, and that earned him the honor of being called The Master. It would be another six years before he completed his first Symphony and "only" three more were to follow, but each was a masterpiece. Surely every composer, even Mozart and Beethoven and Dvorak and Tchaikovsky, had an occasional "lesser" symphony. Not Brahms. (Nor did Mahler, by the way)

In 1880, he was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Breslau and, in thanks, he composed an "Academic Festival" Overture, filled with university drinking songs and "hail-fellow-well-met" optimism. Thus, he became known as Herr Doktor Brahms.

Brahms' Symphony #1 was finally completed in 1876 (Brahms was 43 years old). The final movement included an "Alpenhorn" tune, played by trombones, and "that grand tune" that reminded everybody of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." Conductor, critic, and Brahms' great backer, Hans von Bulow, mentioned this as a compliment and Brahms responded, "Every jackass can tell you that!" Bulow was so impressed that he called Brahms "The 3rd B," with Bach and Beethoven, and that moniker, "The Big Three Bs," has remained.

The same year, 1876, saw another monumental musical event: the first performance of Wagner's "Ring" Cycle which, once and for all, showed the vast difference between the two German giants. Brahms would not attempt an opera ("I'm as likely to compose an opera as to marry"). He believed whatever he'd try in that field would pale beside Wagner's work. Of course, that's how he had felt about composing a symphony, with the shadow of Beethoven lurking. By the way, Brahms and Wagner agreed with one another that Bizet's "Carmen" was a masterpiece of operatic writing.

Brahms' 2nd Symphony has been called his "Pastoral" Symphony, but its ending is hardly pastoral, with those glorious trumpet calls at the finish. The general mood of the work is sunny, with every movement in the major key. The 3rd starts heroically, and thus has been called, by some, his "Eroica." Well, that's a stretch, but you can see a pattern here: his backers wanted to continue to declare him the successor to Beethoven. The symphony ends quietly, the only of the four to not have a grand climax. The third movement is very famous, and there is a song made from it. The 4th has a lyrical opening and a rather angry ending, followed by a lovely lyrical slow movement, then a scherzo (the only of his symphonies to have a scherzo) that is very vigorous, and the finale is, amazingly, a theme of eight measures and 32 variations, ending in a furious minor key series of notes by the strings and two decisive final chords. Beethoven, the symphonist, never did anything quite like that!

Next week, we'll look at Brahms' last years and, then, it's on to a closer look at his Requiem.

Top

A POIGNANT FAREWELL

I'm looking at the last photograph of Brahms, taken in June of 1896. He is listing to one side, his hands clasping one another. He has aged quite rapidly. Several colleagues had died, and he was moved to write music in mourning: one for the artist Feuerbach, a choral work called "Nanie." In 1896, several more died, including his rival, the much-belittled Anton Bruckner, a man Brahms often ridiculed (Brahms called his sprawling symphonies "boa-constricters"). But Clara Schumann also died, and Brahms was stricken with grief. Their often-stormy relationship notwithstanding, they admired each other, promoted each other and, in their own peculiar ways, loved each other very much. During her illness, Brahms composed his "Four Serious Songs," like "Nanie," a reflection on the end of life. Not long afterward, Brahms was strick,en with jaundice; his skin turned yellow, and became greenish. Brahms, knowing the end was nearing, composed eleven organ chorale preludes, including the beautiful "Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen" (the original tune by Praetorius: "Lo, How a Rose . . .") and the last one: "O Welt, ich muss dich lassen" ("O World, I have to leave Thee" from Heinrich Isaak's poignant tune "Innsbruck, Ich muss dich lassen"). These are very spiritual works from a man who never wanted to be considered a Christian, but who still managed to write much music that is heard in churches everywhere. He never wrote another note. He had a stroke, and then was diagnosed with cancer of the liver. He lost weight alarmingly. His ever-loyal landlady, Frau Celistina Truxa, carefully re-sewed his coat, so that it wouldn't look so baggy.

I wish there were one more photograph; that one, showing Brahms, on March 7, 1897, in the first row of the balcony of Vienna's music hall, the Musikverein, standing, clutching the balustrade, weeping, as the audience, on its feet, cheered him wildly and lovingly after the performance of his Fourth Symphony, which was his final public appearance. All of them knew that they would never see the great man again. He died on April 3. The funeral, three days later, was an immense affair, with all of Vienna seemingly present along the streets, and many of the world's greatest musicians (even entire orchestras) marching in the procession.

A large and impressive statue of a seated Brahms is situated across the street from the Musikverein.

Part 9

A LOOK AT THE REQUIEM — PART ONE

We shall now be concentrating on Brahms' Requiem. We remember that the idea of a "German" Requiem came from Robert Schumann in a pile of papers he left behind following his tragic death. While Brahms attempted to compose his first symphony, he gave up and used some of this musical material for other purposes, including some ideas for an entirely different type of Requiem. In 1867, the first three parts were presented to the public and, as we know, it was a failure for a number of reasons (we'll touch upon that again when we study Part 3). Good Friday, April 10, 1868, the "complete" six-part work was done in Bremen and it was hailed as a masterpiece. It was shortly, thereafter, that Johannes (and his father) visited his mother's grave, which inspired him to write one more section, which he inserted as Part 5.

Numerous musical luminaries were in attendance at the Protestant Cathedral on that Good Friday, including Clara Schumann, who had not been expected, due to another argument with Johannes and Jakob, his father. A choir of 200 voices had been prepared by Karl Reinthaler, a choirmaster and theologian, and a large orchestra was used, Brahms himself conducting. Julius Stockhausen was the baritone soloist and Josef Joachim's wife, Amelie, was soprano soloist; but, not for the Requiem, because Part 5 had not yet been composed. This is how it happened:

Reinthaler voiced his displeasure over one thing: even though every word in the Requiem comes from Scripture, Brahms never referred to Jesus. How about including John 3: 16, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life." Brahms was adamant that this was not a Christian Requiem, but a humanistic one. Brahms had chosen the verses with great care. He would not change. So, they made a compromise of sorts! Amelie Joachim would sing "I Know that my Redeemer Liveth," from Handel's MESSIAH, and also an aria from Bach's St. Matthew Passion, with husband Josef at the violin. (I have not been able to find out whereabouts this Christian "intrusion" occurred. Hopefully, it was before the Requiem began and not at the end, or (gasp!) in between sections. (JT)

The beauty of Brahms' Requiem is that it seeks to comfort those who mourn, that death has been conquered ("Oh, Death, where is thy Sting? Oh, Grave, where is thy Triumph?"), and that the lives and good works of those who died will live on after them. And, if believers wish to give it a Christian interpretation (as most Christians do), they are free to do so, as the text does not contradict their beliefs.

Part 10

A LOOK AT THE REQUIEM — PART TWO

Section 1: "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall have comfort" (Matthew 5:4)

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." (Psalm 126: 5,6)

What a beautiful way to start a Requiem! Remember, Brahms did not accept a Christian or any other creed, but he read his childhood Bible daily, and he chose Jesus' Sermon on the Mount and the Beatitudes for his opening statement.

Brahms immediately seeks to comfort the bereaved. For, those who grieve at the death of a relative or friend and who have cared for the deceased in life, will eventually rejoice, because of a good conscience and good memories.

The Psalm spoke directly to a people who understood the process of sowing and reaping. The Psalmist used the metaphor to rejoice with those who "sat by the waters of Babylon, yea, and wept," and have returned to Zion.

Musically, this first section is dark, befitting a period of grief. For this reason, Brahms chose to eliminate the first violins for this section, in order to prevent a bright sound. The darkest measures occur when the men's voices sing "who goeth forth and weepeth" (measure 78), but great comfort is brought by the altos and tenors, "Blessed are they that mourn" (measures 106-109), and a stretto passage on measures 139 and 140 to the end, the final chord being an arpeggio on the harp (m. 157).

Section 2: Please read I Peter 1:24; James 5:7; I Peter 1:25; Isaiah 35:10

Again, there is a reference to agriculture here, the metaphor being that all of us will wither and die, like the flowers of the field, but that there also will be a rejuvenation (a resurrection, if you wish: the coming of the Lord), as the grower waits patiently for the refreshing rain. And we all "shall return to Zion," redeemed, rejoicing. Tears and sighing shall flee, and joy shall be everlasting.

Not even the famous Section 4 ("How lovely . . . ") is as iconic to the Requiem as is the dirge starting Section 2. Even casual listeners will have remembered this music! The theme starts softly, in gloom; then, with orchestral modulations, returns in full power, very ominously, tympani pounding away. Then, the rejuvenation theme is a breath of fresh air, only to be followed by the "double-whammy," again.

Then comes a new key and a powerful statement: "The Lord's Word endureth" (in contrast to our finite being). A fugal series of passages weave throughout the remainder of this section, with "gladness" and "joy" themes predominating. But there is never a feeling of "lightness" or "gaiety" here. It's almost defiant, martial, but, at the very end, it's as if we are all entering Heaven/Paradise/Nirvana, in great peace of mind, the violins showing the way with a run of two octaves, upward, one note at a time.

Part 11

A LOOK AT THE REQUIEM — PART THREE

Section 3: Please read: Psalm 39: 4-7 and, from the Apocrypha: Wisdom 3: 1

This is the most fascinating section. It starts with the baritone solo reflecting on the fleetingness of human life. It is properly desolate in a mode of D minor. (A "minor mode" in Western music is usually associated with sadness, conflict, defeat, non-resolution, evil, uncertainty, negativity, darkness, desolation, etc.). Brahms reflects on how unimportant we are in the grand scheme of things (a "hand-breadth," "frail," "nothing," a "vain show," a "shadow," "disquieted," and "futile"). The chorus repeats this feeling, often with pauses, representing our helplessness.

Then, the baritone asks, "Lord, what do I wait for?" (meas. 142) (What is there to look forward to?) The chorus, each voice part, in turn, singing an arching line covering more than an octave, repeats the phrase, in agitation, until (meas. 159) all voices are united and wait in breathless anticipation.

The answer comes in a major key: D (The major key usually signifies victory, resolution, hope, goodness, etc.); but, it is the modulation to that key that is so amazing (meas. 164-173). In stretto style, each voice-part singing triplets with very "thick" notation, anticipating some 20th Century experimentation, we wander through some wilderness; perhaps, even a new universe, until we reach that marvelous D Major (meas. 173)

The answer is: "The righteous souls are in the hand of God," and no grief or pain shall come near them." (from the Book of Wisdom in the Apocrypha). What a contrast to the usual Requiem message which warns us of the pains of Hell, unless enough prayers are said!

The form here is a fugue, started by the tenors, then taken up by the altos, then the sopranos, and finally the basses. This goes on for 35 measures, building to a tremendous climax with all the instruments joining in, including the organ and kettledrums, which hold on to the low D all the way. The low D is, thus, "the hand of God," our foundation that will not waver.

Don't do it during the performance; but, at home, listen to these 35 measures, crank up the sound and sing that D, without letup, as loudly as you can. It's a real trip!!

Unfortunately, this is where the first-ever performance ended. The audience was appalled; a Requiem ending this loud, the tympanist banging away, and you had been promised a comforting message? What one desperately wanted was something soothing and beautiful. That would be Section 4 and Section 5. About this, in the next installment.

Section 4: Psalm 84: 1,2,4: "How lovely is Thy dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longeth, yea, fainteth for the courts of the Lord. My heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God. Blessed are they that dwell in Thy house. They will praise Thee evermore."

Section 3, with its desolate start but transformed conclusion, with its mighty fugue and low D-Major "pedal-point," lasting 35 measures, gives the listener a feeling of triumph and, yet, thirsting for something beautiful. The now-very-familiar opening notes of Section 4 provide that for us. "How lovely . . . " has become the "hit tune" of the Brahms Requiem. The heaviness of the first three sections is assuaged by this sweet-natured choral work that, surely, every music-loving church library owns and its choir performs on a regular basis. The words of the Psalm are comforting; it tells us that there is a place for us. They were meant for the Jewish people to hear, of course, but Christ also said "In my house there are many mansions . . ." and other religions, likewise, have words of comfort for the hereafter.

Surely, this chorus has had no criticisms but, actually, it was none other than Clara Schumann who objected to the fugal passage starting on measure 124, obviously feeling that Johannes had already written two fugues previously and another one was a bit much. Believe it or not, Brahms later decided she was right and regretted writing it. But the piece had already become so popular, that there was no way he would retract it. (I wonder how it would sound without the little fugue; the ending depends on it the way it is.)

Section 5: Please read John 16:22, Isaiah 66:13 and, from the Apocrypha, Sirach 51:27

Perhaps even more beautiful than Section 4 is this piece. This was inspired by Johannes and his father's visit to the grave of Johannes' mother, following the successful first performance of the complete 6-part Requiem. He remembered his mother comforting him during his dark childhood and this was his tribute to her. He inserted it after :"How lovely . . ." It is for soprano solo, with the choir accompanying her. As her voice soars above everyone, we hear words to comfort the sorrowful, in words originally spoken by Jesus; but, clearly, Johannes hears his mother speaking those words and given to the soprano soloist to sing. It is very touching! "You know that for a little time, labor and sorrow were mine, but at the last I have found comfort."

Those words are found in the book of Sirach, in the Apocrypha. The music is ethereal throughout.

Section 6: Please read Hebrews 13: 14; I Corinthians 15: 51, 52, 54, 55; Revelation 4: 11.

"Here on earth we have no continuing place." Appropriately, the opening notes are a march for mankind that seems to be without direction; aimless, almost zombie-like. And now the baritone solo quotes a very familiar passage to us who sing (or listen to) Handel's MESSIAH; which, also, has the baritone/bass singing "Lo, I tell you a mystery," and "The trumpet shall sound." Handel quotes a larger portion of I Corinthians 15, than Brahms, from verse 51 through 57, which also includes a recitative, a duet and a chorus ("But thanks be to God"). A thrilling passage is used by Brahms when the chorus announces the "sound of the trumpet," when the dead shall be raised, and we shall be changed. Very dramatic passages follow, the chorus in full throat, singing long lines but, also, staccato passages. This culminates in "Death, where is thy sting?!" In the orchestra, the trumpets and horns blare away and the violins fiercely attack the strings. In many ways, this sounds somewhat similar to the "Dies Irae" section of the likes of Verdi, Mozart and Berlioz.

But, let's look at this. The Latin Requiem's "Dies Irae" section features the same "trumpet shall sound" passage ("Tuba mirum"), but the difference is astounding! The Latin mass focuses on that "Day of Dread" and all of the horrors and judgments that are to follow. But Brahms didn't believe any of that. To him, the trumpet sound signals a change into incorruptibility, without divine judgment, without the need of prayers for the dead or for forgiveness.

The final "Death, where is thy sting?" sounds like the end of this section. But, no; from the book of Revelation, now, comes a hymn of praise ("Worthy art Thou to be praised"), a giant fugue, each voice-part starting with those words. Toward the climax, it becomes layer upon layer of sound, a paean to the Maker of all things.

This section is a tour-de-force for a choir. It is long and it is loud; thus, it takes a good deal of stamina to get through it. Still, it is exhilarating to perform, due to lovely melodies in the long lines, rich harmonies and occasional syncopation.

Section 7: Please read Revelation 14: 13 (And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write:) Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.

One should expect, even hope, that the next section would be less taxing; but, no! The sopranos immediately must sing a beautiful line forte, to be followed by the basses who must have enough energy left to negotiate that high tessitura line themselves. Everyone joins in, all in forte, and then, control their voices to sing softly, "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." Then, in "ghostly" chords (meas. 40): "Saith the spirit that they rest from their labors," followed by a meltingly-beautiful line. The "ghostly" passages will return several times to great effect, each time followed by that comforting message. The tenors now get to sing that glorious first line (meas. 103). All the voices sing "Blessed are the dead," a few more in forte, but with great contrasts in dynamics, until, at the end, the word "Blessed" is repeated pianissimo, and the harp gives its benediction with a heavenly arpeggio.

Final comments: I am not a theologian, so I must tread carefully here. But, it seems to me that this last section is a testimony to Brahms' humanistic spirit. "Their works live after them," rather than "they are saved" from eternal damnation. The lives lived by the now-deceased is testimony to their state in the afterlife whatever that may be. I do think that Brahms believed in an afterlife, even if it was not the customary belief. He had his own personal, private relationship with his Maker that had no place for a creed or a ritual.