Having been born and raised in Hamburg, I share a certain affinity with Johannes Brahms. His lovely lullaby “Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht” put me to sleep as a child and I, in turn, sang it to my children. My favorite aunt resides in Brahmsallee, and I used to visit concerts at the Musikhalle in Johannes-Brahms-Platz. While I appreciate his music, as a psychiatrist/psychoanalyst I was especially interested in the environment he grew up in, and the relationships that influenced him to become Brahms, the man and humanist.
Looking at Brahms’ religious upbringing and attitude, it struck me that this was not much different from the way I experienced the Lutheran faith - the prevailing confession in Northern Germany - more than 100 years after he was born. The church was part of society, taken for granted, and baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals administered by a parson were normal milestones in life. Even if people did not regularly go to church on Sundays, churches were filled to the last bench at Christmas - not because people were pious, but because it was such a beautiful and festive ceremony.
That a child from a poor family would cherish his Children’s Bible, a baptism gift, and read it over and over, had certainly less to do with Brahms’ Christian faith, than with the fact that he owned very few books, had a rich imagination and loved fables and stories.
Also, Brahms’ many liturgical compositions and musical pieces, set to verses of the Bible, should not be attributed to his piety but, as I will point out later, to the inspiration - and especially the consolation - he derived from beautiful poetry.
Modest, self-deprecating and frugal himself, but magnanimous and charitable to those who were less fortunate, the composer was known for empathically looking out for others. Loyal, reliable and conscientious, he willingly took responsibility and gave his wholehearted support to those in need - whether family, friends or strangers.
There was also a downside. Brahms was liberal and undogmatic in his thinking, but uncompromising to a fault about his music. He prized his freedom - but paid for it with loneliness and depression. “Frei, aber einsam” (free, but lonely) he took as his motto.
Johannes, second child of Johann Jakob Brahms and his wife Christiane, grew up in one of the poorest, most miserable quarters of Hamburg. The Gängeviertel (gateway quarter) was a labyrinth of narrow, half-timbered houses looming over sunless backyards, narrow gateways and long, dark corridors.
The ramshackle buildings housing 25 families or more (plus plenty of rats, mice, cockroaches and bedbugs) had no bathrooms or running water. People drank unfiltered water from the canals, and cholera, tuberculosis and other infectious diseases were rampant. But, surprisingly, not only the poorest of the poor lived here because the Gängeviertel, with its cheap rents, also attracted lower-middle class people like small craftsmen, or newcomers like Brahms’ father.
An innkeeper’s son from rural Dithmarschen, Johann Jakob Brahms did not follow in his father’s footsteps. With an early passion for music, he apprenticed with the city piper. Arriving in Hamburg without a penny in his pocket, the 19-year-old first played music in the streets, and then was hired as hornist by the citizens’ militia, playing at balls and weddings.
Johann Jakob met his wife, Johanna Henrika Christiane Nissen, as lodger in her sister’s house, where she cooked for the tenants and, also, worked as a seamstress at the sewing store. At age 39 Christiane was rather plain looking, walked with a limp, and had resigned herself to a life as an unmarried woman, when, after only eight days, the handsome musician 17 years her junior proposed to her.
The married couple moved into a typical Gängeviertel house at the end of a small, dark yard. Johannes was born on May 7, 1833, one year after his sister Elise. His proud father announced the birth of a “healthy boy” in the weekly newspaper - an advertisement unusual for the time.
Plagued by frequent nervous headaches, shy and introverted, little Johannes preferred playing alone by himself rather than joining the neighborhood children. They often poked fun of him, calling him a “Deern,” a girl, in Hamburg dialect.
Two deeply traumatizing events affected Brahms’ childhood. As in every major city with mainly wooden structures, fires were a constant threat in old Hamburg. On his ninth birthday, the Great Fire of 1842 struck, raging for days, and destroying large parts of the inner city. Though his neighborhood would be saved, this horrific experience made little Johannes question how God could let such a terrible thing happen.
At the age of 10, Johannes was hit by a cab on the street. He barely survived. This life-threatening accident, which immobilized him for six weeks, contributed to a general feeling that life was uncertain, and tragedy could strike at any time. This sense of insecurity would never leave him.
Modest and thrifty, Brahms’ mother strongly believed in helping others, generously sharing the little she had: Her son displayed his mother’s empathy for other peoples’ needs. And, like Christiane, Johannes loved poetry and folk songs.
To Johann Jakob’s delight, his son showed an early ear for music. After listening to his father’s playing he would flawlessly sing the melodies he just heard. Johannes not only inherited Johann Jacob’s musical talent, but also his father’s penchant for uncompromisingly following his passion.
Johannes’ first five years at school were marred by being demeaned by a strict headmaster and, following their teacher’s example, being bullied by his classmates. Subsequently his parents enrolled him at a renowned progressive school where Johannes could thrive. He studied mathematics, natural sciences, Latin, French and English. As was usual, Lutheran religious instruction was part of the curriculum.
His father’s pride and his mother’s joy, Johannes was his parents’ “golden child.” But their marriage, based on convenience, not on compatibility, had soured. Christiane was frugal, eking out the little money she earned with her sewing. Johann Jakob, a well-paid member of the Hamburg Philharmonic Orchestra, squandered his money, leaving his wife and children with hardly enough to get by. Johannes loved both parents, but suffered from their frequent quarreling. His mother’s confidante and helper and, at the same time, his father’s pride and collaborator, he was caught in the middle of their conflict.
When Johannes wished to play the piano, Johann Jakob hired pianist Otto Friedrich Willibald Cossel. This beloved teacher became a lifelong friend and mentor. Cossel hoped to turn him into a great pianist, and his father wanted him to accompany him when he played in taverns and dance halls. Happy as they were with Johannes’ progress, both men complained about his tendency to “compose all the time.”
At age 10 Johannes performed in public for the first time. Accompanied by his father’s colleagues at a ballroom of an inn, he played quintets by Mozart and Beethoven for invited guests, who were delighted with the new wunderkind. After this triumph a businessman offered to arrange a tour of the United States to Johannes, promising a lot of money. Though his parents (who could have come along) were quite enthusiastic about this idea, Cossel feared that the stress of tedious travels and frequent performances would lead to an early burnout for his sensitive pupil. He persuaded Hamburg’s most renowned piano teacher, Eduard Marxen, to take on young Brahms as student for free. Surprised and delighted, Johannes’ parents agreed, and the prospected tour never happened.
While his new teacher helped Johannes to perfect his pianistic abilities, he was also happy to instruct him in composition and musical theory: “There was a rare keenness of thinking that captivated me… I recognized a spirit that gave me the conviction of an unusually great, strangely deep talent.” Brahms never forgot what Marxen did for him when, forty years later, he dedicated one of his greatest works, the Piano Concerto No. 2, to his “dear friend and teacher Eduard Marxen.”
Besides his music, young Johannes loved reading, spending all his money on books. Another favorite pastime was taking long, solitary hikes. He called them “walking the ideas in my head,” while he looked for inspiration in nature.
His budding musical career progressed. Invited by a famous violinist, the 14-year-old had his next big success playing at a benefit concert. In 1849 young Brahms already attracted an audience to fill a large theater, mastering Beethoven’s “Waldstein Sonata,” and playing one of his own compositions for the first time. He received enthusiastic applause and glowing reviews for his “unusual talent.”
At age 17 Brahms overcame his shyness to contact a composer he greatly admired, Robert Schumann, who was visiting Hamburg with his wife, Clara, during one of her concert tours. Unfortunately, his request came at a bad time as Schumann was suffering from a bout of depression. He returned Brahms’ little package of compositions, unopened.
In April 1853 Johann Jakob decided his 19-year-old son was old enough to support himself and to move out, as he himself had done. Johannes received an offer for a concert tour through Northern Germany with Reményi, a popular violinist. Through Reményi, Johannes had the chance to meet one of the most important musicians at the time, Franz Liszt. The great master was friendly and interested in the young musician, and his approval could have helped open many doors for Brahms. Although Brahms admired Liszt as a performer, he vehemently and outspokenly disagreed with Liszt’s progressive views on music and composition. Liszt looked to literature and art for musical inspiration, while Johannes’ music reflected deep feelings from within the inner self.
This disharmony with the musical celebrity also caused another fallout - with his concert partner. Reményi, shocked and angry by Johannes’ seeming ingratitude and arrogance, ended their contract prematurely. Deeply embarrassed, and unwilling to confront his parents, Brahms decided to go on a long solitary hike. The inspiration for this venture was poet Joseph von Eichendorff’s “Good-For-Nothing” hero, with whose strong passion and ambivalence he identified.
Brahms finally dared to contact Robert Schumann again, at his home in Düsseldorf. This time his visit was a success. Schumann agreed to receive him, and Brahms played for Robert and Clara. The result was a dinner invitation - and a lifelong friendship was born.
Schumann was happy to promote his new protégé, even praising Johannes as a “musical messiah” in a renowned musical magazine. Everything seemed to go well; Brahms traveled to Leipzig and Hannover, had his first sonatas and lieder published, gave concerts, finished compositions, and met with important people.
Then life took an unpredicted turn. Suffering from a bipolar disorder with acoustic hallucinations, Robert Schumann, following a suicidal impulse, jumped from a bridge into the Rhine. While Schumann was hospitalized, Brahms rushed back and did everything to help Clara (who was pregnant again), even moving into the Schumann residence.
Brahms’ new role as Clara’s confidante and aide caused conflicting feelings: “I often have to constrain myself that I do not quietly embrace her…” The couple engaged in a lively correspondence when they were separated during Clara’s frequent concert tours, their relationship becoming more and more intimate - though only in words. Clara was a celebrity, and married, and had a reputation to maintain.
However, after Robert Schumann’s death two-and-a-half years later, nothing changed in their relationship - Clara remained the unattainable, idealized love: “You are and will be everything for me, but I am not allowed to be anything for you.” Brahms tried to make lemonade from lemons: “Passions do not belong to mankind as something natural…when they rise above a certain level, one has to regard oneself as sick… Passions need to pass quickly, or one has to drive them away.”
In 1857 Fürst zur Lippe hired Johannes as piano teacher for his daughter, at his residence in Detmold. Soon Brahms was promoted to be leader of the choir, and conductor and pianist with the court orchestra. Well paid, and with enough leisure time, Brahms composed many folk songs.
Like his idol Beethoven, the 24-year-old was not willing to comply with court etiquette. He hated mannerisms and formal attire, and did not care if he antagonized people. Always plagued by self-doubts, Brahms saw the “stamp of dilettantism” on his first concerto for piano and orchestra and, unfortunately, his fears were confirmed when the premiere bombed. Critics called it “a desert of the most screaming dissonances and inharmonious sounds…”
He fell in love again, this time with a woman his age, Agathe. Their relationship, fueled by ardent love letters that inspired many new songs, progressed to the point where they exchanged rings. Then nothing else happened. People in the small town started talking, and a friend urged him to finally declare his intentions. Cornered, Brahms asked the impossible from Agathe: “I love you! I need to see you again! But I cannot bear chains!” Love, yes, but no commitment. Later he admitted that he had behaved “like a cad.”
This pattern repeats itself over and over again. Brahms falls in love, usually with a young, beautiful choir member. Fueled by passionate letters, the relationship progresses and inspires elated compositions. But, at the same time, Brahms’ inner conflict - nearness vs. distance - grows, until his fears suffocate his positive feelings. “Unfortunately I was never married, and, thank God, I’m still the same!”
The object of his love, heartbroken if she returns his feelings, inevitably comes to realize that her admirer has no serious intentions, and marries somebody else. For a while Brahms feels miserable and depressed - and his grief inspires more compositions.
After the successful performance in Hamburg of his Serenade No. 1, Brahms started working with a female choir. He took this new task very seriously and, with his passion and dedication, became so popular that the girls dressed in black when he finally left Hamburg to return to Detmold.
Again he fell in love with a young singer, Bertha. They exchanged letters, with Brahms expressing his hope that she would wait for him. But he dragged his feet, and when he finally, after several years, visited her in Vienna she was already engaged to somebody else.
When Bertha’s first child was born, Brahms made her a very special gift - the lovely lullaby “Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht.” It was almost a love song.
In 1860 composers Wagner, Berlioz and Liszt, calling themselves the “New Germans,” gained a lot of attention with their new compositions. Brahms, who still vehemently resented their “symphonic poetry,” wrote a pamphlet together with friends, blasting their works as “shitty stuff,” “mess” and “aberrations.” Unfortunately, an uncorrected draft of their manifesto was leaked, and handed their opponents the opportunity to publish a scornful, satirical rebuttal, even before their own version appeared in the papers.
This fiasco not only made Brahms and his friends look like idiots, but it hurt them professionally. Brahms had to work full time as a pianist again, with no time to compose and, even more humiliating, move back in with his parents in Hamburg.
Luckily, Brahms was invited to spend the summer at some friends’ house. With time to compose again, he finished earlier drafts and created new pieces. In 1862 he returned to Vienna, meeting with many musicians and composers and engaging in an active social life. Though the performance of his new Piano Quartet in G-minor earned him some friendly applause, the critics called it: “Desolation, storm, terror, destruction.”
The Viennese may not have appreciated the composer, but they loved Brahms, the pianist. Women found the young man with his long, blond hair and dreamy blue eyes romantic, but he neither took his flirtations seriously, nor did he plan to stay. The Hamburg Philharmonic Orchestra was looking for a new concert director, and Brahms hoped they would choose him. However, the committee decided against him, offering the job instead to a friend. Brahms was bitterly disappointed, hurt and angry.
Following an offer to conduct the Wiener Singakademie, he proved once again to be an excellent pedagogue, and under his leadership the choir excelled. With his preference for melancholic songs, he sometimes demanded too much of his audience. “If, for once in a while, Brahms is really cheerful, he sings: “The Grave Is My Joy.” Here we see the tendency to depressed moods manifesting that would overshadow his whole life.
After a successful season - his own compositions received better recognition this time - Brahms was offered a lucrative three-year contract. This was his chance for the secure income and middle class existence. But the prospect - or threat? - of a longer commitment brought up his ambivalence again and, to everybody’s surprise, he declined.
When he returned to Hamburg, his parents’ marriage had deteriorated to a point that separation was inevitable. As in his childhood, Brahms tried to mediate between them. He rented and paid for an apartment for his mother and unmarried sister, with a separate room for his father, hoping for a reconciliation. But Christiane suffered a stroke and died in 1865.
A year after his mother’s death his father married Karoline Schnack. His son felt no resentments, he was happy for his father and so welcomed his new stepmother: “My regards to the future mother and tell her, she could not have a more grateful son than me, if she makes my father happy.” He would fulfill his promise.
With his professional success Brahms felt even less need to stick to etiquette, wearing colorful shirts without collars, and his pants always a bit too short. He was well liked everywhere, even though his language may not always have been polished.
Still grieving for his mother, he finally finished a piece he had worked on for a long time. “Ein Deutsches Requiem” premiered at the Bremen Cathedral in 1868. A huge success, the German Requiem was praised as a “modern masterpiece.”
Even though Brahms had distanced himself from his mother’s strong faith at an early age, he cherished the Bible for its inspirational stories and verses. “Life is the focus of my Requiem. I want to console with it…. The death that you have to fear … is not your own death, but the death of those you lose … the death that you have to live with.”
Finally he decided to move permanently to Vienna, renting a room in a quiet neighborhood in the center. There he lived comfortably off of his concerts and compositions. He was friends with scientists, artists, conductors and, rather beneficial for him, the influential critic Eduard Hanslick.
Though Brahms liked his comforts, he was frugal and invested his money wisely. His room was modestly furnished with a rocker, a massive leather sofa, a bust of Beethoven, and piles of books and sheet music. Unlike his father, he didn’t feel the need to splurge or impress anybody; his music, the company of friends, good food, a glass of wine and his cigars were enough for him.
In 1872 Johann Jakob died of liver cancer. Brahms stepped in at once. From now on he would not only support his sickly sister, but also his stepmother Karoline.
As one of the most renowned conductors in Vienna, Brahms delivered “unforgettably beautiful performances.” His selection of works was often influenced by his melancholic disposition. Even his well-meaning friend Hanslick had to admit that “… here, as little as elsewhere, people like visiting concerts in order to have first a Protestant - and then a Catholic burial, in a row.” But despite his sometimes morbid music choices, Brahms remained very popular. Awarded the Honorary Membership of the Prussian Academy of Arts and the Maximilian Medal of Bavaria, he was offered an honorary doctorate in Cambridge. But he felt “too nervous to travel” to receive it, and declined.
In his forties Brahms felt under pressure to produce his first symphony. Assailed by self-doubts, he feared to be compared and judged inferior to Beethoven. A trip to the island of Rügen finally helped him to overcome his composer’s block. Brahms’ Symphony No. 1 premiered in 1876, with enormous financial success After this triumph he could afford turning down the prestigious job offers that followed. From then on he would fully concentrate on composing.
Recalling his mother’s kindness and charity, Brahms was eager to sponsor other musicians the same way he had been supported by Schumann. As a member of a commission whose mission was to give grants to talented, poor artists, he could put his charitable intentions into practice. One of these artists, Iwan Knorr, remembered his first encounter with Brahms in 1877: “He did not only shake my hand, but put his arm around me, and stuck a cigar in my mouth, with the directive: “Smoke!”
Impressed by the works of young Czech composer Antonin Dvořák, Brahms traveled to Prague to meet with him. Dvořák was struggling to eke out a meager living, so Brahms managed to obtain a stipend for him. Brahms also championed his career, helping Dvořák secure his international breakthrough.
Dvořák was deeply grateful: “I can only say so much, as that you earned my lifelong gratitude by having the best and most noble intentions for me, worthy of a truly great artist and man.” An unselfish mentor, Brahms felt neither threatened by his protégé’s success, nor was he envious. A devout Catholic himself, Dvořák wondered about his agnostic friend: “Such a man, such a fine soul—and he believes in nothing! He believes in nothing!”
Though Brahms could enjoy the good things in life, his difficult childhood experiences had left their mark on him. He described himself as a “deeply melancholic person,” all the time as if “under a black shadow.” Self-deprecating and with a wry sense of humor, he joked about his Symphony No. 2, the most cheerful of his compositions: “I have never written anything so sad and so much in minor: the score has to be published with a black rim.”
Magnanimous though he was, there was one perceived insult he could not forget. Brahms still harbored a grudge against his hometown of Hamburg for not choosing him as concert director. Later triumphs and celebrations could not make up for it, and he blamed this one-time rejection for his inability to live a settled, middle-class life: “If they had chosen me at the right time, I would have become a respectable man, could have married.” With his well documented ambivalence towards any kind of long term commitment, that was a remarkable claim.
Brahms was a very faithful, reliable friend. After Anselm Feuerbach’s death he composed the “Requiem for Choir and Orchestra” in his memory, dedicating it, as consolation, to the artist’s stepmother. When music professor Gustav Nottebohm became seriously ill and had to be hospitalized, Brahms visited him every day, paying all medical expenses for his impoverished friend, and later also covering the costs for his funeral.
With no children of his own, Brahms took a friendly interest in every child he met, especially the poor ones - he well remembered the neglected, hungry street kids that roamed the Gängeviertel even late at night, because nobody cared for them. Visiting Brahms, his friend Hanslick remembered from their walks: “There was not one small child that didn’t take to the stocky white beard with the friendly blue eyes… It was often difficult to keep pace with Brahms, because he stopped all the time to talk to a child, to tell a joke, to give a gift.”
A true humanist, Brahms’ greatest concern was not for himself but for others. When a fire broke out in a neighboring house, he did not think of protecting his own precious belongings. Hauling water buckets to the fire hose, Brahms did everything to save the poor man’s workshop, putting the carpenter’s need to make a living first.
In spite of having many friends, a successful career, and no financial problems, Brahms felt very lonely, and his compositions were full of resignation, longing , and saying farewell to life.
During his lifetime, Brahms received several medals of distinction and numerous awards, but these honors did not mean much for him. He was “more interested in coming up with a pretty melody than receiving a medal.” And he had to be persuaded to wear formal attire when he had an invitation from the Austrian Emperor.
Even though Brahms could easily have afforded a house and servants, he was content with renting just a room. Only after his landlady died did he lease the whole apartment, but left most of it to be used by his new housekeeper and her two children.
Taking care of his dearest and nearest was important to Brahms. At age 58 he already made plans for his estate. In his will, dated 1889, Brahms bequeathed 10,000 marks and his furniture to his devoted housekeeper, and 5,000 marks each for his sister, cousin and stepmother. His sheet music, books and valuable collection of autographs were to go to the Society of Friends of Music. He also set aside a large amount of money for musicians’ pension funds in Hamburg and in Vienna.
When his health began to fail, Brahms did not see a doctor. In 1894 a jaundice first misdiagnosed as hepatitis turned out to be much more serious - the 63-year old had pancreatic cancer. Brahms knew he did not have much time: “Oh, world, I have to leave you” is the title of the last fantasy of his “Eleven Preludes for Organ.”
Dr. Joseph Breuer, famous for his “talking cure” (upon which Sigmund Freud based his psychoanalysis), treated Brahms during his last months. He noted: “Brahms - like most gravely ill people - clearly knew the facts in his deepest soul; but he wanted… to spread a veil over this clarity, not always see … what would have made it impossible for him to breathe freely in unbearable times, if it had been always clearly in his conscious mind.”
With rapidly deteriorating health, Brahms still enjoyed company and meals with friends. Well-wishers sent him presents, and concerned friends and acquaintances called on him. Sick as he was, Brahms insisted on seeing all his visitors, to exchange at least a few friendly words and thank each of them.
Though very weak, Brahms attended a performance of his Symphony No. 4, the same work that had flopped 10 years earlier in Vienna. When the audience took notice of his presence, they applauded so frenetically that he had to get up and show himself. Musicians and audience gave him several standing ovations.
Even in his serious condition, Brahms hated the idea of disappointing his housekeeper’s children, insisting on a Christmas tree to be put up in his room, like every year. He was considerate, apologizing to his friends that he was unable to keep his appointments with them. With his last words he thanked his housekeeper and his doctor for all they had done for him.
Johannes Brahms died in Vienna on April 3, 1897. Due to his difficult childhood experiences he was never able to overcome his fears of “being tied down” in a committed, loving relationship, but he was a reliable, faithful friend, grateful for what the “good fathers” in his life had done for him, and “paying it forward” to help others in need of a fatherly mentor.
Having grown up in the squalor of Hamburg’s Gängeviertel, he could emphasize with poor, hard-working people, putting their needs above his own. He understood grieving, and created music to console the bereaved. He had no liking for formalities and intellectual rigidity. Otherwise an agnostic, Brahms followed one religion with passion: Music!
Helping and feeling for others was natural for Brahms: “Man lives but half, if he lives only for himself, and not for others!” He did not live half.
References
Dahms, Geerd: Das Hamburger Gängeviertel, Unterwelt im Herzen der Großstadt, Berlin 2010.
Hofmann, Kurt: Johannes Brahms und Hamburg, Reinbek bei Hamburg 1986.
Hygiene-Institut Hamburg 2003: Cholera in Hamburg 1892 (PDF 7,7 MB).
Klemm, Hans-Georg: Johannes Brahms. Lambert Schneider, Darmstadt 2014.
Schmidt, Christian Martin: Reclams Musikführer Johannes Brahms. Stuttgart 1994.
Teuteberg, Hans Jürgen, Wischermann, Clemens (Hrsg.): Wohnalltag in Deutschland, 1850-1914, Bilder, Daten, Dokumente, Coppenrath, Münster 1985.
http://www.jad-journal.com/article/S0165-0327(07)00139-5/fulltext
https://helenadepreester.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/depreestertheoddposition.pdf
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johannes_Brahms
https://ffrf.org/news/day/dayitems/item/14303-johannes-brahms