Ständchen Op.106 No.1 (1888)

Die Mainacht Op. 43 No. 2 (1866)

Vergebliches Ständchen Op.84 No.4 (c 1878)

The rejuvenating effect of Brahms’s friendship with Hermine Spies - a singer more or less half his age when he first met her in a performance of his Gesang der Parzen in 1883 – is nowhere better illustrated than in his setting of Franz Kugler’s Ständchen. It is not just that is so delightfully detailed, with its strummed zither figuration in the piano part and its echoes of the accompanying flute and violin. It is even more remarkable for its frankly romantic attitude as the object of the serenade dreams of her musician lover in the garden outside.

Night is also a time for solitary introspection, as is so poignantly reflected in Die Mainacht. A sure indication that all is not well is the reference to the nightingale in the third line where, far from echoing the ecstatic aspect of its song, Brahms recalls its chromatic pining notes. Sure enough, the basically strophic structure is modified to incorporate a harmonically distraught middle section, after which, with the hot tears still running, the third stanza is scarcely able to sustain the major-key security with which it begins. It is not at all likely that the rejected serenader of Vergebliches Ständchen, the composer’s own favourite among his many Lieder, will find himself so downcast. Irrepressibly cheerful in spite of its ironically chilly minor harmonies in the third stanza, Brahms’s setting seems to suggest that if one strategy fails he can always try another, preferably on a warmer night.

Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer Op.105 No.2 (1886)

Die Mainacht Op.43 No.2 (1866)

Vergebliches Ständchen Op.84 No.4 (1882)

The rejuvenating effect of Brahms’s friendship with Hermine Spies – a singer more or less half his age when he first met her in a performance of his Gesang der Parzen in Krefeld in 1883 – is illustrated nowhere better than in his setting of Franz Kugler’s Ständchen. It is not just a matter of its delightful detail, with its strummed zither and tuneful flute and fiddle in the piano part. It is even more remarkable for its youthfully romantic attitude as, stirring in her sleep, the object of the serenade dreams of her musician lover in the garden outside.

In Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer sleep offers no such gratification. On the contrary, the voice outside is now only a memory which displaces the sadly dreaming melodic line (borrowed from the slow movement of the Second Piano Concerto) with sobbing syncopations in the piano part. The prospect of a last meeting does, however, induce an ending in the major. In Die Mainacht too night is an occasion for solitary introspection. A sure indication that all is not well is the reference to the nightingale in the third line where, far from echoing the ecstatic aspect of its song, Brahms recalls its chromatic pining notes. Sure enough, the basically strophic structure is modified to incorporate a harmonically distraught middle section, after which, with the hot tears still running, the third stanza is scarcely able to sustain the major-key security with which it begins.

It is not at all likely that the rejected serenader of Vergebliches Ständchen (the composer’s own favourite among his many Lieder) will find himself so downcast. Irrepressibly cheerful in spite of its ironically chilly minor harmonies in the third stanza, Brahms’s setting seems to suggest that if one strategy fails he can always try another, preferably on a warmer night.

Much influenced by Brahms in his song-writing though he was, Berg did not share the older composer’s faith in folk-song simplicity. That quality is exemplified at its best in Vergebliches Ständchen which, Brahms once declared, he would gladly trade for all his other songs. It is not entirely artless of course. The art is in judging just how far one can go in elaborating a folk text without compromising its integrity: in these circumstances a strategy as basic as changing to the minor in the third stanza is an inspiration in terms not only of harmonic variety but also of comic characterisation. Brahms’s treatment of the Bohemian folk text in Der Gang zum Liebchen is only slightly more sophisticated. Set in the minor from the start, it demonstrates that the lover’s anxiety is not too serious by twice having him skip into a charming little Ländler.

Two of the poems set by Brahms in his 9 Lieder und Gesänge Op.63, Meine Liebe ist grün and Wenn um den Holunder, are by his godson Felix Schumann, the youngest child of Robert and Clara Schumann. Felix cannot have known his father, who had been committed to the asylum at Endenich before he was born, but he presumably knew his music, and even if he didn’t appreciate Brahms’s tribute to Robert in his setting of Meine Liebe ist grün Clara surely did. The resemblance to the older composer’s Schöne Fremde (from the Eichendorff Liederkreis) – the ecstatic vocal line, the palpitating syncopations in the pianist’s right hand, the emphatically passionate doublings between voice and piano – is clearly intentional. Certainly, both Clara and Felix (who was to die of tuberculosis six years later) found it a very delightful Christmas present.   

Von ewiger Liebe reverberates with echoes from Brahms’s own life. The girl’s fervent melody in the second half of the song was written originally for a Brautgesang (Bridal Song) for Agathe von Siebold, to whom the composer had been briefly engaged six years earlier. One reason why he broke off the arrangement, it is generally believed, was his continuing attachment to Clara Schumann. It is quite possible of course that the song has no autobiographical relevance at all. Even so, it is tempting to speculate on whether – given the boy’s heroic minor-key declaration in the first half of the song and the girl’s major-key assertion that their bond is unbreakable – it was inspired by his relationship with Clara. Certainly, there is a well-documented story that when Brahms played it to her “she sat there in silence… her face bathed in tears.”