Gazzetta Musicale di Milano,  XXXV, January 18, 1880
[English translation (c) Robert W. Eshbach, 2025] 

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JOACHIM
AT THE SOCIETÀ DEL QUARTETTO

            Last Tuesday, a crowd of friends and admirers accompanied the prince of modern violinists to the Central Station, where he was heading to Venice, and disappeared like a bright meteor after having dazzled our minds, in his all-too-brief stay among us, with the vivid brilliance of his genius. It was not only a feeling of admiration and gratitude for the noble emotions he had provided that prompted such a demonstration, but above all the sympathy earned by one who combines the eminent qualities of the artist with the most exquisite traits of courtesy and modesty. Deeply moved, he shook everyone’s hand, promising to return soon: quod est in votis! [which is what we wish for!]

            For several years, the management of the Società del Quartetto had made efforts to have him at its concerts, but his very serious commitments had never allowed him to accept the invitation. Joachim is a professor at the Berlin Conservatory and gives 12 lessons a week to about 250 students at the Hochschule. Among these, there is one who gives the highest hopes and to whom he predicts a splendid future—an Italian: a Melani from Naples. Although this was the first time he played in Italy, he had already visited our country before and had even decided to spend the winter of 1862–63 here, when this plan changed after meeting Mrs. Amalia Weiss, a contralto, then the prima donna at the Opera Theater in Hanover, where Joachim conducted the Royal Concerts. He married her in 1863 and they had many children. Mrs. Joachim is an excellent artist who has a great reputation especially in the oratorio genre.

            Joseph Joachim was born in Kittsee, Hungary, in 1831. He received his first musical instruction at the age of 5 from an excellent musician, the concertmaster of the opera in Pest: the Pole Szewacinsky [recte: Stanisław Serwaczyński (1791–1859)], who especially trained his left hand. His vocation was decided by the fact that, as a boy, upon hearing his sister taking singing lessons, he expressed the desire to accompany her. For this, he was given a violin, on which he soon learned to play simple melodies, so he was immediately given the best teacher.

            The first time he performed in public he was seven years old, playing with his teacher a Concertante for two violins by Eck, and Variations by Pegatsche [recte: Franz Xaver Pecháček (1793–1840)]. — A curious judgment was pronounced about him which I wish to relate: his right hand, in terms of bow handling, had been so neglected in favor of the left, that Prof. Hellmesberger, father of the current director of the Vienna Conservatory, alarmed, declared that he would never be able to overcome this defect! As you see, he was neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet. However, Joachim’s relatives, on Ernst’s advice, entrusted him to Professor Böhm, a pupil of Rode, in whose home he lived until the age of 12 and received private instruction while also attending the Vienna Conservatory. It is known that he then studied under David in Leipzig, and David, mentioning the students who had brought him honor, liked to recall a famous concert also mentioned by Fétis, in which the fourteen-year-old Joachim, with our Bazzini, Ernst, and David himself, drew applause from the audience. I thought it interesting for readers to gather these notes, which they will not find in Fétis or other biographical dictionaries.

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            I had never heard Joachim before, and after Wilhelmi [August Wilhelmj (1845–1908)] it seemed to me that nothing more could be achieved. And yet!… and so it is that our taste is constantly refined, that our desires grow in direct proportion to the satisfactions we have experienced, the aspirations fulfilled, the needs already met, and in the end we realize the truth of the saying: ars longa, vita brevis [art is long, life is short]. At first, I tried to draw a comparison between Wilhelmi and Joachim; but aside from the difficulty, I realized the futility of such a task:—however, I think I can define my impression by comparing the first to primitive man, to man-in-nature where everything is still spontaneity and untamed fire, where instinct predominates and the senses are at their keenest, where physical development is at its peak:—the other is the product of civilization, the refined man, in whom education has corrected nature’s exuberance and the mind has tempered the force and impulse of sensations, in whom reason and heart have ennobled the passions:—if my reader were a sportsman, I would say: one is the Arabian horse with flaring nostrils and fiery eyes, the other the English thoroughbred who has preserved the qualities of the desert’s son, enhanced by the fruits of wise breeding.

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            The three concerts given by Joachim for the Società del Quartetto were a true revelation for me, and I am pleased to note that they were so also for that attentive audience, which year after year is educating itself to the most exquisite manifestations of serious art. The programs, compiled with perfect measure, allowed us to appreciate every aspect of that extraordinary performer and at the same time satisfied the demands of the strictest purism. Joachim does not claim the title of composer, although the andante of his Hungarian Concerto has demonstrated his talent: of this rare, almost unique, reserve in speaking of himself through his violin (a reserve almost unique among artists), he gave proof worthy of honor by not filling the programs with his own compositions, instead teaching us to venerate, through him, the greatest masters. Beethoven and Bach are Joachim’s two idols; I believe that in saying this I have praised his artistic soul; the interpretation he has achieved shows the loving devotion with which he surrounds them;—and now let us enter directly into the vast field of his qualities.

            Joachim is above all and especially a performer of style such as no other; he has a reputation for being unrivaled in uncovering the hidden treasures of Bach, in perfectly grasping all his intentions and rendering them so that they appear as clear as they were in the mind of that boundless genius. I will never forget what I felt hearing the Suite in E major (prelude, minuet, gavotte) at the second concert, and that Sarabande which he chose to play at the third concert after repeated requests for an encore of the Chaconne. Joachim marvelously captures that lofty style, that marked originality, that boldness of harmony, those miracles of contrapuntal mastery that seal Bach’s works: he reveals, one by one, the resources with which the great composer came to the aid of ungrateful and sometimes rather baroque themes. He makes intelligible that development of highly complex parts which would otherwise appear only as a labyrinth. — At the home of Consul Struth, where I spent a memorable evening with Joachim, Bazzini, Sessa, and Arrigo Boito, he gave proof at the same time of his prodigious memory, the long study, and the great love with which he has delved into that composer.

            The Chaconne he played at the last concert, a splendid piece taken from the Second Sonata for violin, with those admirable variations that are at once spontaneous and unexpected, would alone suffice to demonstrate Joachim’s superiority over Wilhelmi, a superiority evident even from those statements of the theme which Wilhelmi attacked with a bit too much roughness. — Joachim is supreme in his sense of rhythm, and this is one of the qualities that make him a delightful interpreter, considering how much it sometimes takes to distinguish one part from another.

            He is always restrained; he is the true nobleman who knows that his wealth stands out through nobility and solidity of bearing, not through the flashy garments of a charlatan. Some small precious touches that I sometimes concede to his insatiable need to be more perfect than perfection itself do not undermine what I say; all his effects come from a proper balance. He never sacrifices to triviality or to that false idea of passion which the common crowd believes is achieved, for example, by dragging out a cadence with its resolution suspended, or by mumbling phrases and turning every leap into a chromatic scale. All violinists of some renown play Mendelssohn’s Concerto, but how many play it like Joachim? The Concerto is a classic; it is not a powerful conception like those of Beethoven, but it has a rightness of form, an elegance, a delicacy, an attention to detail that is found only in good models. The same cannot be said of Spohr’s, which is not a spontaneous creation; it lacks the vital breath and often falls into the most disagreeable mannerism. Joachim has perfect intonation. He is an exquisite colorist; he plays with passion, has notes of infinite sweetness, and when he laments, his violin has heartrending accents; his pianissimos are like the murmurs of a distant brook; his outbursts make you think of an entire orchestra; he has a variety of sounds, now resembling the viola, now the clarinet; his pizzicatos are those of a harp. He played that divine andante from Beethoven’s Quartet in C major (Op. 59) in a way that made one fall in love; he also performed a beautiful Romance in F by Beethoven, which, if I am not mistaken, was written with orchestral accompaniment. And here, I find it fitting to lament that the season did not allow the Society to have an orchestra, which would have better supported even the magnificent Concerto in G minor by Max Bruch.

            Joachim also has the right intuition for the style of different composers, even when, rather than a marked style, it is the result of complex and not well-defined tendencies. This is evidenced by his performance of the Sonata in A minor and especially the Fantasia (Op. 121) by Schumann, bristling with difficulties and abstruseness. Schumann was for a long time little appreciated, and even now, although his supporters have greatly increased, the general public, even in his own country, still greets him rather coldly. He wants to express everything through his music, everything that stirs within him, and sometimes he is not very clear, either because he does not have time to clarify his sensations, or because his impressions are indefinable, or even because he lacks the technical musical knowledge which he came to grips with only at a rather advanced age. Nevertheless, one feels in him to the highest degree that German idealism which our public finds hard to appreciate, and which led them to value little even the Novellettes, a type of period composition, in which there are indeed sentimental and truly charming ingenuous things, and which were among the best interpretations of the pianist Bonawitz.

            Of Joachim as a virtuoso in the sense of overcoming difficulty, everything can be said in a word: he knows none. Leaps, arpeggios, dizzying scales, trills of phenomenal purity and fluidity, double and triple stops, etc., etc., are child’s play to him. Consider the Sonata by Tartini, a stupendous composition which the author considered his best, known as the Devil’s Sonata, because he wrote it after awakening from a dream in which Mephistopheles appeared to him with a violin in hand. Since Paganini, an old friend told me, no one has played it like that!

            Among the old violin schools, Joachim considers the best to be the one formed by Viotti, Rode, Kreutzer, and Baillot. Paganini, the greatest genius of this instrument and one of the most phenomenal, diabolical artistic natures, was too subjective to form a school. His imitators have mostly taken from him what amazes the masses and sometimes even flatters their weaker tendencies. The true, immortal, and unsurpassable Paganini, says Joachim, is revealed in his compositions, in the stupendous 24 Caprices.

            Joachim is not an exclusivist; as a true artist, he accepts and cultivates the beauty of all schools. Among the moderns, he has a favorite, and that is Brahms, whom he considers the greatest symphonist. He attended a popular concert performance of that composer’s Second Symphony and expressed his admiration in the highest terms. I regret not being able to fully share it, as I recently wrote here, and not being able to join the opinion of the famous critic Hanslick, who calls Brahms’s symphonies the Tenth and Eleventh Symphony!

            I asked Joachim what he thought of the music of the future, and he replied: “I do not know the music of the future. The music of the future is our greatest masters.” He believes that Wagner, with his most original spirit, has said good things about opera and has done even better in his own works, and that in this sense he may remain of real influence;—however, much in his works appeals little to him; nevertheless, he added, one must not confuse him with the crowd of those who, under the cloak of a great name, go hunting for a semblance of originality, with piquantly piled-up phrases and a perfect ignorance of the laws established by the great masters.

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            Before closing this note, in which I have tried to outline this giant figure, I must offer sincere words of praise to Mr. Bonawitz, who has perhaps remained a bit in the shadow of the colossus, but is worthy to stand at his side as a perfect accompanist who intuits and supports his intentions—and he also gave some excellent interpretations of his own. I also wish to praise without reservation Messrs. De-Angelis, Cernicchiaro, and Mattioli, who, in Haydn’s Quartet in D major (Op. 64) and in the aforementioned Beethoven quartet, formed a fine ensemble around Joachim; they had the good fortune to be praised and thanked by him personally. That should suffice!

Il Misovulgo.

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JOACHIM
ALLA SOCIETÀ DEL QUARTETTO

            Martedì scorso uno stuolo di amici ed estimatori accompagnava alla stazione Centrale il principe dei violinisti moderni, recantesi a Venezia, il quale spariva, meteora luminosa, dopo aver, nel troppo breve suo soggiorno fra noi, abbagliato le nostre menti collo splendore vivissimo del suo genio. Non era solo un sentimento di ammirazione e di riconoscenza per chi ei aveva procurato le più nobili emozioni che a tale dimostrazione ei spingeva, ma anche e soprattutto la simpatia che seppe acquistarsi chi accoppia alle qualità eminenti dell’artista e più squisite doti di cortesia e di modestia. Profondamente commosso egli stringeva la mano a tutti promettendo di ritornare fra breve: quod est in votis!

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            Da varî anni la Direzione del Quartetto aveva fatto pratiche per averlo ai suoi concerti, se nonchè le gravissime sue occupazioni non gli avevano concesso mai di arrendersi all’invito. Joachim è professore al Conservatorio di Berlino e dà 12 lezioni alla settimana a circa 250 allievi della Hochschule. Fra questi ve n’ha uno che dà le più belle speranze di sè ed al quale egli crede serbato uno splendido avvenire, ed è un italiano: un Melani di Napoli. Sebbene questa sia la prima volta che ha suonato in Italia, già prima d’ora aveva visitato il nostro paese, ed anzi aveva deciso di passarvi l’inverno 1862 63, allorquando venne a mutare questo progetto la conoscenza ch’egli fece della signora Amalia Veis, contralto, allora prima donna al teatro dell’Opera di Hannover, ove Joachim dirigeva i Regi Concerti. Egli la sposò nel 1863 e n’ebbe molti figli. La signora Joachim è un’egregia artista che ha una grande reputazione specialmente pel genere oratorî.

            Giuseppe Joachim è nato a Kjtse, in Ungheria, nel 1831. Ebbe la prima istruzione musicale all’età di 5 anni da un ottimo musicista, maestro concertatore dell’opera in Pest: il polacco Szewacinsky, il quale formò specialmente la sua mano sinistra. La sua vocazione fu decisa dal fatto che udendo da ragazzetto sua sorella che prendeva lezioni di canto, manifestò il desiderio di poterla accompagnare: per

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Cui gli venne regalato un violino sul quale in breve imparava a suonare piccole melodie talchè gli si diede tosto il miglior maestro.

            La prima volta ch’egli si produsse in pubblico aveva sette anni e suonava col suo maestro un Concertante per due violini di Eck, e Variazioni di Pegatsche. — Fu pronunciato un curioso giudizio su di lui che voglio riferire: la sua mano dritta riguardo al maneggio dell’arco era stata così trascurata a profitto della sinistra, che il prof. Hellmesberger, padre dell’attuale direttore del Conservatorio di Vienna, spaventato, dichiarò che mai avrebbe potuto superare questo difetto! Come vedete, non era profeta nè figlio di profeta. Però i parenti di Joachim lo affidarono, dietro consiglio di Ernst, al professore Böhm, uno scolare di Rode, nella casa del quale dimorò fino al 12.° anno ed ebbe insegnamento privato frequentando in pari tempo il Conservatorio di Vienna. È noto che studiò quindi sotto David a Lipsia, e questi citandomi gli allievi che gli avevan fatto onore, amava ricordare un famoso concerto di cui parla anche il Fétis, nel quale Joachim quattordicenne, col nostro Bazzini, Ernst e David stesso, strapparono gli applausi dal pubblico. M’è parso interessante per i lettori di raccogliere questi cenni che non troveranno nè sul Fétis nè su altri dizionari biografici.

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            Io non aveva mai udito Joachim, e dopo Wilhelmi mi pareva che non si potesse far di più. Eppure!… ed è così che continuamente ei andiamo raffinando il gusto, che i nostri desiderî crescono in ragione diretta delle soddisfazioni avule, delle aspirazioni realizzate, dei bisogni già contentati e ei accorgiamo in ultimo della verità dell’adagio: ars longa vita brevis. M’ero provato dapprima a far un parallelo fra Wilhelmi e Joachim; ma oltrechè della difficoltà, m’accorsi della sterilità di un simile lavoro: – sembrami però poter definire l’impressione mia risultante paragonando il primo all’uomo primitivo, all’uomo-natura in cui tutto è ancora spontaneità e fuoco indomato, in cui predominante è l’istinto e superlativo l’acuimento dei sensi, in cui lo sviluppo fisico è all’apogeo: – l’altro è il portato dell’incivilimento, l’uomo raffinato, nel quale l’educazione ha corretto l’esuberanza della natura e la mente ha temperato la foga e l’impeto delle sensazioni, nel quale la ragione ed il cuore hanno ingentilito le passioni: – se il mio lettore fosse un uomo di sport gli direi: l’uno è il cavallo arabo dalle nari fumanti, dall’occhio di fuoco, l’altro il puro sangue inglese che del figlio del deserto ha conservato le qualità accresciute dai frutti di un sapiente allevamento di razze.

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            I tre concerti dati da Joachim alla Società del Quartetto furono per me una vera rivelazione e mi compiaccio di notare che lo furono anche per quell’attento pubblico, il quale va d’anno in anno educandosi alle più squisite manifestazioni dell’arte severa. I programmi compilati con

perfetta misura erano tali da farci conoscere sotto tutti i lati quel portentoso esecutore ed in pari tempo soddisfacevano alle esigenze del più rigoroso purismo. Joachim non la pretende al titolo di compositore, sebbene l’andante del suo Concerto Ungherese ce ne abbia dimostrato la valentia: di questa sua ritrosia a parlare di sè col suo violino (ritrosia più che rara unica negli artisti) diede una prova che lo onora col non infarcire i programmi di sue composizioni, insegnandoci invece a venerare, per mezzo suo, i sommi.

            Beethoven e Bach sono i due idoli di Joachim; mi pare con ciò aver fatto l’elogio della sua anima d’artista; l’interpretazione che è arrivato a darne mostra l’amorevole culto di cui li circonda; – ed ora entriamo di botto nel vastissimo campo delle sue qualità.

            Joachim è prima di tutto e sovratutto un esecutore di stile come non ve n’ha altri; egli ha fama d’essere inarrivabile nello sminuzzare gli ascosi tesori di Bauli, nell’intuirne perfettamente tutte le intenzioni e renderle in modo che appaian chiare come erano chiare davanti alla mente di quel genio sconfinato. Non dimenticherò mai quel che ho provato udendo la Suite in mi maggiore (preludio, minuetto, gavotta) del secondo concerto, e quella Sarabanda che volle dare nel terzo concerto dopo che si chiedeva insistentemente il bis della Ciaccona. Joachim afferra in modo meraviglioso quello stile elevato, quella marcata originalità, quell’arditezza d’armonia, quei miracoli di sapienza contrappuntistica che suggellano le opere di Bach: egli mostra ad una ad una le risorse colle quali il grande compositore veniva in aiuto a temi ingrati e talvolta un po’ barocchi. Egli rende intelligibile quello sviluppo di parti complicatissime che altrimenti non appaiono che come un labirinto. — In casa del console Struth, ove passai con Joachim, Bazzini, Sessa e Arrigo Boito una memorabile serata, egli ei dava prova in pari tempo che della sua prodigiosa memoria, del lungo studio e del grande amore col quale ha sviscerato quell’autore.

            La Chaconne che suonò nell’ultimo concerto, splendido pezzo tolto dalla Seconda Sonata per violino, con quelle variazioni ammirabili che riescono insieme spontanee od inaspettate, basterebbe a dimostrare la superiorità di Joachim su Wilhelmi, superiorità palese fino da quelle affermazioni del tema che Wilhelmi attaccava con un po’ troppa ruvidezza. – Joachim è sovrano nel sentire il ritmo e questa è una delle qualità che ne fanno un interprete delizioso quando si pensa a quel che basta talvolta a distinguere una parte dall’altra.   

            È castigato sempre; è il vero gran signore il quale sa che la sua ricchezza risalta dalla nobiltà, dalla sodezza del portamento, non dalle vesti sfarzose da cerretano; qualche piccola preziosità che concedo talvolta al bisogno insaziabile di essere più perfetto della perfezione, non infirma il mio dire; i suoi effetti li cava tutti da un giusto equilibrio; non sagritìca mai alla trivialità nè a quella falsa idea del-l’appassionato che i volgari credono ottenuta, per esempio, smezzando una cadenza di cui tengono sospesa la risoluzione o biascicando frasi facendo d’ogni salto una scala cromatica. Tutti i violinisti di qualche grido, suonano il Concerto di Mendelssohn, ma quanti lo suonano come Joachim? Il Concerto è classico; non è una potente concezione come quelli di Beethoven, ma è di una giusta quadratura, di un’eleganza, di una delicatezza, di un’accuratezza di dettagli che non si riscontra che nei buoni modelli. Non si potrebbe dire altrettanto di quello di Spohr che non è una creazione di getto; vi manca il soffio vitale e spesso cade nel barocchismo più antipatico. Joachim è di una giustezza d’intonazione perfetta. È un coloritore squisito; canta con passione, ha note di una dolcezza infinita, e quando geme, il suo violino ha accenti strazianti; i suoi pianissimi sono mormori di un ruscello lontano; i suoi impeti ti fanno pensare ad un’orchestra intiera; ha una varietà di suoni, che ora arieggiano la viola ed ora il clarinetto; i suoi pizzicati sono quelli di un’arpa.

            Ha suonato quel divino andante del Quartetto in do maggiore (Op. 59) di Beethoven, in modo da innamorare; di Beethoven ei diè pure una bella Romanza in fa^ la quale, se non erro, fu scritta con accompagnamento d’orchestra. E qui, mi viene acconcio lamentare che la stagione non permettesse alla Società di disporre di un’orchestra, la quale avrebbe sostenuto meglio anche il bellissimo Concerto in sol minore di Max Bruch.

            Joachim ha inoltre la giusta intuizione dello stile dei diversi autori anche quando piuttosto che stile marcato è il risultato di tendenze complesse e non ben definite. Ne fa fede l’esecuzione della Sonata in la minore e sopratutto della Fantasia (Op. 121) di Schumann, irta di difficoltà e di astru-

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serie. Schumann fu per lungo tempo poco apprezzato, ed ora ancora, sebbene i suoi partigiani si siano grandemente accresciuti, la grande generalità dei pubblici, anche del suo paese natio, gli fa viso poco benevolo. Egli vuol esprimer tutto colla sua musica, tutto quanto si agita in lui, e riesce talvolta poco chiaro, o perchè non ha il tempo di stenebrare le sue sensazioni, o perchè le sue impressioni sono indefinibili, od anche perchè gli fanno difetto le cognizioni tecniche musicali, delle quali tardò ad impratichirsi in età già avanzata. Del resto, si sente in lui in sommo grado l’idealismo tedesco a cui difficilmente s’accosta il nostro pubblico il quale apprezzò poco anche le Novellette, specie di composizione a periodo, in cui pure sonvi cose sentimentali e ingenue veramente graziose, e furono fra le migliori interpretazioni del pianista Bonawitz.

            Di Joachim virtuoso nel senso della difficoltà da superare, è detto tutto in una parola: non ne conosce. Salti, arpeggi, scale vorticose, trilli di una purezza e fluidità fenomenali, note doppie e triple, ecc., ecc., sono giuochi per lui. Informi la Sonata di Tartini, stupenda composizione che l’autore riputava la migliore fra le sue, conosciuta sotto il nome di Sonata del Diavolo, perchè la scrisse al destarsi da un sogno ove gli era apparso Mefistofele col violino in mano. Da Paganini in poi, mi diceva un vecchio amico, nessuno l’ha suonata così!

            Joachim fra le scuole di violino antiche, reputa la migliore quella formata da Viotti, Rode, Kreutzer e Baillot. Paganini, il più gran genio di questo strumento ed una delle più fenomenali diaboliche nature d’artista, era troppo soggettivo per poter formare una scuola. I suoi imitatori hanno per lo più preso da lui quello che desta stupore presso la gran massa e talvolta anche ne lusinga le deboli tendenze. Il vero, immortale e inarrivabile Paganini, dice Joachim, si manifesta nelle sue composizioni, negli stupendi 24 Capricci.

            Joachim non è esclusivista; da vero artista ammette e coltiva il bello di tutte le scuole. Fra i moderni, ha un beniamino, e questo è Brahms, ch’egli ritiene il più grande sinfonista. Egli assisteva, in un concerto popolare, all’esecuzione della Seconda Sinfonia di quel compositore, ed esprimeva altamente la sua ammirazione. Mi duole di non condividerla appieno come di recente qui stesso scrivevo, e di non associarmi all’opinione del celebre critico Hanslick, il quale chiama le Sinfonie di Brahms, la Decima e l’Undecima Sinfonia!

            Io ho chiesto a Joachim cosa pensasse della musica dell’avvenire, ed egli mi ha risposto: «Non conosco musica dell’avvenire. La musica dell’avvenire sono i nostri sommi maestri.» Egli crede che Wagner, dallo spirito originalissimo, abbia detto buone cose sull’opera e ne abbia fatto di migliori nelle sue opere e che in questo senso possa rimanere di reale influenza; – molto però nei lavori di lui gli riesce poco simpatico; tuttavia, soggiungeva, non bisogna confonderlo colla turba di quelli che sotto il manto di un gran nome, vanno a caccia di un sembiante d’originalità, con frasi piccantemente accatastate ed una perfetta ignoranza delle leggi stabilite dai grandi autori.

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            Prima di chiuder questo cenno, nel quale mi son provato a delineare, questa gigantesca figura, bisogna che rivolga parole di lode sincera al signor Bonawitz, il quale appunto è rimasto un po’ nell’ombra del colosso, ma è degno di stargli al fianco come perfetto accompagnatore che indovina ed asseconda le intenzioni sue – e ei ha dato di suo alcune egregie interpretazioni. Voglio lodare anche senza restrizione i signori De-Angelis, Cernicchiaro e Mattioli, che nel Quartetto in re mag. (Op. 64) di Haydn e in quello di Beethoven già citato, fecero bella corona a Joachim; essi hanno avuto la fortuna di essere da questi stesso, encomiati e ringraziati. Può bastare!

Il Misovulgo.

 

Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, 6 February 1880: 75.
[English translation below (c) Robert W. Eshbach, 2025]

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Château Valrose, Nice

Joachim in Italien

            Deutsche Kunst fährt gegenwärtig fort, in Italien sich ungewöhnliche Sympathien zu erwerben, die sensationellsten Erfolge zu erringen. Jetzt war es Joseph Joachim, welcher in Oberitalien einem Triumphzug gleiche Siege feierte, was um so mehr sagen will, da der Italiener wohl die Gründlichkeit bei deutschen Virtuosen bereitwilligst schätzt und anerkennt, dagegen den künstlerischen Funken sehr häufig bei ihnen vermißt und nur zu gern für sich allein in Anspruch nimmt.

            J.‘s erstes Concert fand in Nizza statt, wo der reiche russische Baron v. Derwies sich unter Leitung des geistvollen Müller-Berghaus ein ausgezeichnetes Privatorchester hält. Als D. erfuhr, daß Joachim dort concertiren wolle, stellte er ihm sein Orchester und seinen prachtvollen Concertsaal kostenfrei zur Verfügung, eine Auszeichnung, welche bisher noch keinem Künstler widerfahren war. Andrang und Aufnahme waren so stürmisch und enthusiastisch, daß der Reinertrag des dortigen Concertes 5000 Frs. betrug.

            Am Glanzvollsten aber gestaltete sich Joachims Empfang in Mailand. „Kaum hatte der Großmeister aller Violinisten die ersten Tacte von Spohr’s ‚Gesangscene‘ gespielt, so brach ein Beifallsturm los, der sich während des ganzen Stückes, fast nach jedem achten Takte, wiederholte.“ Joachim selbst erklärte: einen ähnlichen Erfolg bisher nicht erlebt zu haben, und wer Joachims Erfolge in Deutschland, Paris, England etc. kennt, wird begreifen, was dieser Ausspruch bedeutet. Die dortigen Zeitungen überboten sich förmlich in ihrem Enthusiasmus über den „Unerreichbaren“ und massenhafte Einladungen langten täglich aus allen Theilen Italiens an, die aber J. nur zum kleinsten Theile zu berücksichtigen vermochte. Nach dem ersten Concert in Mailand wurde Joachim zum Ehrenmitgliede der mit Recht hochrenommirten Società del Quartetto ernannt, auf deren besondere Einladung J. nach Mailand gekommen war. Der als Fortschrittskämpfer bekannte freisinnige Filippi in Mailand, welcher sich u. a. um das Verständniß Wagner’s in Italien so große Verdienste erwerben, schildert in der Perseveranza den Eindruck folgendermaßen: „Der berühmte Violinmeister stellte sich uns vor in der Ueberfülle seines außerordentlichen Talentes, dem der Weltruf eines ernsten, gediegenen Künstlers ohne irgend welchen Schatten eitlen Flitters noch Scharlatanismus vorherging. Joachim, ein Ungar, geboren 1831, ist also nun fast ein halbes Jahrhundert alt, mit dem Außern ungefähr eines Vierzigers. Ein starker künstlerischer Kopf mit dunklem Bart und vollem Haar, kleinen lebhaften Augen und sehr sympathischem Ausdruck, seine Erscheinung groß und stattlich, athletische Schultern, die Hände fleischig aber nervig und die linke Hand von überraschender Biegsamkeit, hat Joachim eine ganz eigenthümliche Art, die Violine zu halten — wie Gesänge aus heiligen Hallen erklingen die Weisen auf seinem prachtvollen Stradivario. Der leichtbeschwingte Bogen wird mit einer Eleganz, einer Mäßigung geführt, wie ich nie gesehen. Die Finger der linken Hand berühren die Saiten so, daß sie sprechen, singen, seufzen in einer das Herz in Entzücken versetzenden Weise, und mit vollkommener Reinheit der Intonation. Schwierigkeiten existiren nicht für Joachim, doppelte und dreifache Noten, Sprünge, Triller, Scalen, wirbelnde Arpeggien, sich kreuzende Motive, alle transcendentalen Teufeleien, wie in der Schumann’schen Phantasie, erklingen alle in blühendster Weise oder steigen brausend empor auf der obersten Saite bis zu gewagtester Höhe. Aber alles Dies ist gar Nichts im Vergleich mit den Geistesschätzen, für die dieser vollendete Mechanismus nur der folgsamste Diener ist. Diese Schätze sind der Styl, die Farbe, aber speciell das vollendete rhythmische Gefühl, stetigstes Ebenmaaß; nicht die geringste Koketterie, kein Flecken von Manirirtheit trübt die erhabne Reinheit dieser Töne, dieser Phrasen. Die einzige lebende Künstler, der mit ihm verglichen werden könnte, ebenso geachtet und ihm nahekommend, ist ein Italiener, nämlich Piatti. Joachim, welcher speciell mit ihm gespielt hat, spricht nicht anders als mit aufrichtiger begeisterter Bewunderung von ihm. Ein anderer bedeutender italienischer Künstler, für welchen Joachim besondere Sympathien hat, ist unser Bazzini. Mit ihm begann Joachim seine glänzende Laufbahn in Leipzig; es war im Jahre 1843. Joachim war 12 Jahre alt, als er im Gewandhaus auftrat und mit Maurer’s Concert für 4 Violinen einen glänzenden Erfolg erzielte, welches er mit seinem Lehrer David, Ernst und Bazzini spielte. Von diesen Vieren sind zwei gestorben. Joachim aber steht heut in vollster Größe da, ein gefeierter Name, bestimmt, Epoche zu machen, wie einst Nardini, Viotti, Paganini. Ich habe Joachim nur 2 Mal gehört, zuerst in Paris 1866, und in diesen 14 Jahren ist er riesengroß geworden. Das erste Mal hörte ich ihn in intimem Kreise bei Szarvady, dem Gatten der berühmten Pianistin Clauß. Dort waren auch Piatti und Clara Schumann, welche großes Talent zur Sängerin hatte und uns viele Lieder von Schumann hören ließ, bewunderungswürdig ausgeführt. Drei Stunden lang spielten Joachim, Piatti und Frau Szarvady-Clauß ununterbrochen Sonaten, Trios und Solostücke von Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schumann und haupsächlich von Bach, Joachims Lieblingscomponisten. J. hatte damals dasselbe stille Aussehen, aber weniger jugendlich, wie heute nach 14 Jahren. Das zweite Mal hörte ich von ihm Mendelssohn’s Concert im Circus Pasdeloup inmitten von 5000 Menschen mit überraschend klangvoller Wirkung.“

            „Sein diesmaliges hiesiges Auftreten eröffnete J. mit Spohr’s abgeblaßter ‚Gesangscene‘, welche sich besonders im Adagio und Recitativ in solcher Wiedergabe wunderbar verjüngte. Hierauf spielte er Tartini’s Teufelssonate in einer Weise, daß, wäre ich Violinspieler, ich meine Violine mit meinen Füßen zertreten hätte. Wunderbar erklang nicht nur der phantastische schwere Theil bis zum letzten dämonischen Triller, sondern auch der erste süß melodische Theil, verschönt durch ausgesuchteste effectvolle melodiöseste Rococo-Tournüre. Hier zeigte sich noch kein ernstlich gemeinter Teufel, sondern hier sang vielmehr ein Engel aus dem Paradiese. In der Phantasie von Schumann, einer sehr schönen aber nicht leicht zu verstehenden Composition, bewunderte der intelligente Theil der Zuhörer, welcher ihre violinistische Schwierigkeit ahnte, die enorme Virtuosität, mit der Joachim sie besiegte, wie seine olympische Ruhe. Als Schlußnr. Spielte Joachim das sehr schöne und charakteristische Andante seines ungarischen Concertes, geschrieben in dem die Musik der Zigeuner wiedergebenden Styl, einem Styl von ganz eigenthümlichem Colorit und melodischen Wendungen. J. führte sie aus mit der ganzen ihm eigenen Nervosität, mit welcher er nachher ebenso bewunderungswürdig die ungarischen Tänze von Brahms durchglühte. Mit Violine machen sie doppelten, drei- und vierfachen Effect, aber es ist nöthig, daß sie eben ein Joachim spielt. Als das Publikum sie so hörte, vermochte es keinen Augenblick seinen Enthusiasmus zu unterdrücken, sondern brach fortwährend in Beifallsstürme aus.“

            Einen höchst ebenbürtigen Kunstgenossen hatte sich übrigens J. in Heinrich Bonawitz aus Wien beigesellt, dessen Name bisher noch unbekannt war, ein gediegener Pianist, reich an seltenen Eigenschaften, ein pietätvoller ausgezeichneter Darsteller, glücklicher Interpret von Chopin und Schumann. Chopin’s Bmollscherzo z. B. haben wir bisher noch nie in so vollendeter Weise von irgend einem Andern gehört, als von Bonawitz, von welchem Joachim entzückend begleitet wurde. Ja da sind wahre und ungetrübte Feste und Freuden der Kunst, welche ebenso viele dramatische und musikalische Foltern, ebenso viele choreographische Qualen aufwiegen, zu denen die arme Kritik unaufhörlich verdammt ist.

Filippi.“

            Mit ebenso enthusiastischer Emphase stempelten Franzioli und andere angesehene ital. Referenten das Erscheinen Joachims in Italien zu einem ungewöhnlichen Ereigniß in den Annalen ihrer Kunstgeschichte. Nie sei das dortige Publikum von einem deutschen Virtuosen so entzündet worden, sodaß nach dem letzten Concerte die Beifallsstürme, Hervorrufe und Zurufe „Auf Wiedersehn“ kein Ende nehmen wollten. —

[Heinrich Schmidt]

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Concert hall, Château Valrose, Nice
[photos-hdr.com]

Joachim in Italy

            German art is currently gaining unusual sympathy in Italy and achieving sensational successes. Now it was Joseph Joachim who, in Northern Italy, celebrated triumphant victories — which is the more remarkable given that, while Italians readily appreciate and acknowledge the thoroughness of German virtuosos, they often find the artistic spark lacking in them that they are only too happy to claim for themselves.

            J.’s first concert took place in Nice, where the wealthy Russian Baron von Derwies[1] maintains an excellent private orchestra under the direction of the talented Müller-Berghaus. When D. learned that Joachim intended to perform there, he made his orchestra and magnificent concert hall available to him free of charge, an honor that no artist had received before. The attendance and reception were so stormy and enthusiastic that the net proceeds of the concert amounted to 5,000 francs.

            But the most brilliant reception was in Milan. “Hardly had the grandmaster of all violinists played the first bars of Spohr’s ‘Gesangscene’ when a storm of applause broke out, repeating almost every eighth bar throughout the entire piece.” Joachim himself declared that he had never experienced a similar success before, and anyone familiar with Joachim’s successes in Germany, Paris, England, etc., will understand what this statement means. The local newspapers outdid each other in their enthusiasm for the “Unsurpassable One,” and daily massive invitations arrived from all parts of Italy, which Joachim could only consider in the smallest part. After the first concert in Milan, Joachim was made an honorary member of the rightly highly reputed Società del Quartetto,[2] at whose special invitation Joachim had come to Milan.

            The liberal-minded Filippi in Milan, known as a fighter for progress and who earned great merits for promoting Wagner’s understanding in Italy, described the impression in the Perseveranza as follows:

“The famous violin master presented himself to us in the abundance of his extraordinary talent, preceded by the world reputation of a serious, solid artist without any shadow of vain glitter or charlatanism. Joachim, a Hungarian born in 1831, is now almost half a century old, appearing about forty. A strong artistic head with dark beard and full hair, small lively eyes, and a very sympathetic expression; his appearance is tall and stately, with athletic shoulders, fleshy but sinewy hands, and a left hand of surprising flexibility. Joachim has a very peculiar way of holding the violin — the melodies on his magnificent Stradivarius sound like songs from sacred halls. The gracefully floating bow is guided with an elegance and moderation I have never seen before. The fingers of the left hand touch the strings so that they speak, sing, sigh in a way that delights the heart, and with perfect purity of intonation. Difficulties do not exist for Joachim: double and triple stops, leaps, trills, scales, swirling arpeggios, crossing motifs, all transcendental devilries as in Schumann’s Fantasy, all sound in the most flourishing manner or roar up on the highest string to daring heights.

But all this is nothing compared to the treasures of spirit for which this perfect mechanism is only the most obedient servant. These treasures are style, color, but especially the perfect rhythmic feeling, constant evenness; not the slightest coquettishness, no trace of mannerism mars the sublime purity of these tones, these phrases. The only living artist who could be compared to him, equally respected and approaching him, is an Italian, namely Piatti. Joachim, who has played especially with him, only speaks of him with sincere enthusiastic admiration. Another important Italian artist for whom Joachim has special sympathies is our Bazzini. With him, Joachim began his brilliant career in Leipzig in 1843. Joachim was 12 years old when he appeared at the Gewandhaus and achieved a brilliant success with Maurer’s Concerto for four violins, which he played with his teacher David, Ernst, and Bazzini. Of these four, two have died. Joachim today stands in full greatness, a celebrated name destined to create an epoch, like Nardini, Viotti, and Paganini once did. I have heard Joachim only twice, first in Paris in 1866, and in these 14 years he has become a an artistic giant. The first time I heard him was in an intimate circle at Szarvady’s, the husband of the famous pianist Clauß. Piatti and Clara Schumann, who had great talent as a singer and let us hear many songs by Schumann, admirably performed, were also there. For three hours Joachim, Piatti, and Szarvady-Clauß played, without interruption, sonatas, trios, and solo pieces by Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and especially Bach, Joachim’s favorite composer. J. then had the same quiet appearance, but less youthful than today after 14 years. The second time I heard him was in Mendelssohn’s concerto at the Circus Pasdeloup amidst 5,000 people, with surprisingly resonant effect.”

“His current appearance here opened with Spohr’s now-faded ‘Gesangscene,’ which was wonderfully rejuvenated in this performance, especially in the adagio and recitative. He then played Tartini’s Devil’s Sonata in such a way that, if I were a violin player, I would have trampled my violin under my feet. Not only did the fantastic difficult part sound wonderfully up to the last demonic trill, but also the first sweet melodic part, beautified by the most exquisite, effective, melodious Rococo turns. Here, no seriously meant devil appeared; rather, an angel from paradise sang. In Schumann’s Fantasy, a very beautiful but not easy to understand composition, the intelligent part of the audience, which suspected its violinistic difficulty, admired the enormous virtuosity with which Joachim conquered it, as well as his Olympic calm. As a final number, Joachim played the very beautiful and characteristic Andante of his Hungarian concerto, written in the style representing the music of the Gypsies, a style of very peculiar color and melodic turns. J. performed it with all his own nervous energy, with which he later also admirably ignited Brahms’s Hungarian Dances. With the violin, they produce double, triple, and quadruple the effect, but it is necessary that it be played by a Joachim. When the audience heard them like this, it could not suppress its enthusiasm for a moment but repeatedly broke out in storms of applause.”

Incidentally, J. had a highly worthy artistic companion in Heinrich Bonawitz[3] from Vienna, whose name was previously unknown — a solid pianist rich in rare qualities, a respectfully excellent performer, and a fortunate interpreter of Chopin and Schumann. For example, we have never heard Chopin’s B-flat minor Scherzo in such a perfect manner from anyone else as from Bonawitz, who was delightfully accompanied by Joachim. Yes, there are true and unclouded festivals and joys of art, which outweigh as many dramatic and musical tortures, as many choreographic torments to which poor criticism is incessantly condemned.

— Filippi.”

… With equally enthusiastic emphasis, Franzioli and other respected Italian reviewers received Joachim’s appearance in Italy as an unusual event in the annals of their art history. Never had the local audience been so inflamed by a German virtuoso that after the last concert the storms of applause, calls, and shouts of “Goodbye” seemed never-ending.

— Z. [Heinrich Schmidt]

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[1] Baron Paul von Derwies (also spelled Derwies, Derviz, or von der Wiese), was a prominent Russian railway magnate, entrepreneur, and patron of the arts in the 19th century. He was born in 1826 in Lebedjan, Russia, and died in 1881 in Bonn, Germany. Derwies amassed significant wealth through his leadership roles in several major Russian railway companies during the rapid expansion of the rail network in the Russian Empire. His success enabled him to acquire estates in Russia, Switzerland, and France. In 1867, he purchased land in Nice and commissioned the construction of the Château de Valrose, a neo-Gothic palace completed between 1867 and 1870. The château featured lavish interiors and a concert hall, where he regularly hosted concerts with notable musicians such as Joseph Joachim, Adelina Patti, and Francis Planté.

Derwies was also known for his philanthropy, funding charitable works such as a local asylum (which later became a school) and supporting hospitals. He was a passionate music lover, a pianist and a sometime composer. He made Valrose a cultural center for the Russian and international elite wintering on the French Riviera. Today, the Château de Valrose houses the University of Nice’s Faculty of Science and is recognized as a historical monument.

[2] The Società del Quartetto di Milano has played a vital role in shaping Italy’s musical landscape. It was founded in 1864 by such notable figures such as Arrigo Boito and Tito Ricordi. Though primarily dedicated to the promotion and performance of chamber music, especially string quartets, it has hosted numerous larger events, including the first Italian performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in 1878 and the first Milanese performance of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in 1911.

[3] Johann Heinrich Bonawitz (12 April 1839, Dürkheim am Rhein, Germany – 15 August 1917, London, England).

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New-York Tribune, 7 May, 1899, Illustrated Supplement

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JOACHIM’S JUBILEE.

––––––––––

HOW THE SIXTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF

THE GREAT VIOLINIST’S FIRST AP-

PEARANCE WAS CELEBRATED

IN BERLIN.

Berlin, April 28.

The great hall of the Philharmonie was filled to overflowing on Saturday night, April 23, for the celebration of the jubilee of Joseph Joachim, who sixty years ago, a little boy, eight years old, made his first public appearance as a virtuoso in Budapest, and began the career which has made him the master violinist of Germany, and in the opinion of many of the whole world. Bach, Schumann, Mendelssohn, and the entire “noble army” of musicians, who as cameo reliefs on the pale green wall keep watch over the splendid hall, looked down on one of the most brilliant assemblies of famous men and women ever gathered together in Berlin to honor a man great “by the grace of God.” Musicians, artists, men of letters and learning, high officers and Ministers of State, with countless orders gleaming on their breasts, crowded the parquet, the boxes and the gallery to bear witness to the esteem in which they held Germany’s “grand old man.”

He sat there among them in the centre of the hall, in his big chair of honor, decorated with gorgeous azaleas, smiling on them all, pleased as a child and modest as only a great man can be. Only a few minutes before every one of those thousands of men and women, from the highest dignitary to the humblest music student at the far corners of the hall, had risen and cheered at his entrance, while the trumpets of three of the finest regiments in Berlin sounded a fanfare of welcome. How simple he was, as he came in, accompanied by a few devoted men, stopping to shake hands with a friend in the box above him, or laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of an old colleague as he passed him on his way down the aisle! The shouts of the people and the blare of the trumpets did not for one moment distract his attention from the familiar faces that beamed on him from all sides.

Indeed, they were all familiar faces. Robert von Mendelssohn, the banker and ‘cellist, descendant of the great Felix, and Joachim’s friend for many years, sat in the chair to his right. Across the passage to his left was the beloved old professor, Hermann Grimm, who had composed the prologue for the occasion, and coming toward him to welcome him was his friend and neighbor, Herr von Keudell. In the orchestra, every member of which was standing and waving his or her handkerchief, stood Wirth and Hausmann, Halir, and Moser and Markees, the two capable instigators and managers of the festival, and, besides these, old friends and pupils from all over the world, gray-haired men, middle-aged men, boys and girls, and no one could make noise enough. When the trumpets had ceased and the vast audience was seated, Fraulein Poppe, of the Royal Theatre, came to the front of the stage and recited the anniversary poem which Professor Grimm had written. It was a touching tribute, which grew in eloquence and feeling up to the last words, which were addressed to the orchestra, and as one exquisite mellow voice 144 stringed instruments responded with the opening strains of the overture to Weber’s “Euryanthe.” If ever an orchestra was inspired, that one was! No one who was not there can realize how perfectly the love and devotion to Joachim which every performer felt were breathed into that beautiful music. The audience sat spellbound. And no wonder, for such a collection of artists never played together before. Every city in Germany which could boast of a violin virtuoso sent him to play on this unique occasion, and not only Germany, but England, whose devotion to the great master is almost, if not quite, as great as that of his own country, sent the best two professors of the London Conservatory to represent her. Scattered among the older men were a few young ones, present pupils of Joachim, and about a dozen young girls in their light dresses, some of them with their hair still hanging in braids down their backs—German, English, American.

After the Joachim Variations, played by Petri, of Dresden, and after the overtures of Schumann and Mendelssohn, the “Genoveva” and “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and the Brahms Symphony in C Minor, there were three stars on the Programme. “What did they mean?” Every one looked at every one else and nobody knew, but a surprise was evidently in store. Then a note from some one on the stage was carried to Joachim, and at the same moment the whole orchestra rose and began to croon softly the first measures of the Beethoven Concerto. Then all understood and cheered and clapped, but the master himself was of a different mind. He could be seen expostulating and gesticulating and shaking his head and sitting down, only to get up again to expostulate further. But the orchestra never stopped; the soft music went on insistently—it would not be denied. The people behind the boxes, standing on tables and chairs, leaned forward, not to lose a sight or sound. “They’re bringing his violin,” the whisper ran through the excited crowd; and, sure enough, there came three girls, a deputation of his favorite pupils, down the aisle toward him, holding out his wonderful Stradivarius.

When he took it in his hand the music suddenly ceased, and every drum and horn and fiddle began to pound and toot and shriek in a most enthusiastic “Tusch.” When he had taken his stand, the noble old man turned to the audience in a modest, deprecating way and said: “I haven’t practiced for three days and my hands ache. I have clapped so hard. There are many men in this orchestra who can play this better than I can, but if you really wish me to, I’ll do my best.” A pinfall could have been heard when he began. Every one sat breathless, expectant, and no one was disappointed. If another man in the world could have played better, no one in the audience would have conceded as much, for to a German a false note by Joachim, the “violin king,” is more inspired than the most perfect note of any other violinist living.

When he was through and had returned to his comfortable chair, they made him come back again and again and bow and bow, and were not satisfied until he took the baton in his hand and himself conducted the last number on the programme, the Bach Concerto in G Major. It was written for three violins, three violas, three ‘cellos and basso continuo, but was played by sixty-six violins, the number of the other instruments being increased in proportion. The whole orchestra remained standing throughout in honor of the director, and he deserved it, for Bach, in Joachim’s hands, has beauties which the most stubborn Philistine must feel.

The public had been requested to depart immediately after the close of the concert, that the room might be cleared for the banquet that was to be held there in honor of the hero of the evening, so the rank and file went early, leaving the more fortunate to enjoy the speeches and reminiscences of bygone times.

 

Signale für die Musikalische Welt, vol. 12, no. 14 (March, 1854): 113-14.
[English translation below]

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Zwanzigstes Abonnementconcert
im Saale des Gewandhauses zu Leipzig. Donnerstag, den 23 März 1854

Erster Theil: Introduction und erste Scene aus “Iphigenie in Tauris” von Gluck. Iphigenie: Fräulein Clara Brockhaus. — Concert für die Violine von Henri Litolff, vorgetragen von Herrn Concertmeister R. Dreyschock. — Hymne für eine Sopranstimme und Chor von Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy; die Solopartie gesungen von Fräulein Brockhaus. — Ouverture zu “Hamlet” von Jos. Joachim, (Manuscript, unter Direction des Componisten .) — Notturno für das Waldhorn, componirt von Lorenz, vorgetragen von Herrn A. Lindner, Fürstl. Reuß. Hofmusikus. — Zweiter Theil: Symphonie pastorale (Nr. 6) von L. van Beethoven. (Die Ausführung der Chöre durch die Mitglieder der Singakademie, des Pauliner-Sängervereins in Verbindung mit dem Thomanerchore.)

Wenn man seine Gedanken mittheilen will, so ist die erste Forderung an dieselben, daß sie verständlich seien. Nur unter den deutschen Philosophen und Componisten sehen wir zuweilen Individuen auftreten, die jenes Verlangen nicht erfüllen können oder nicht erfüllen wollen. Das ist eine wahrhaft betrübende Erscheinung, um so betrübender als sie namentlich in der Neuzeit gerade an den begabtesten Geistern am öftersten bemerkt wird! Wir haben Herrn Joachim vor Kurzem ein außergewöhnliches Compositions-talent zugesprochen und wir bleiben auch nach der Aufführung seiner Ouverture zu Hamlet bei unserer Meinung. Neuheit und Eigenthümlichkeit der Gedanken hat sie durchaus. Allein was hilft es, wenn wir nach dem Anhören eines Tonstückes sagen können: das war sehr neu, sehr eigenthümlich, und hinzufügen müssen: aber durchaus unbegreiflich? Und durchaus unbegreiflich ist uns seine Ouverture geblieben. Wir haben eine sehr lange Reihe seltsamer Gedanken gehört, worunter welche wie leuchtende Blitze in düsterer Nacht kurz aufzuckten, aber wir vermochten sie weder als eine einheitliche Form zu fassen, noch irgend einen Bezug in ihnen auf Shakspeares Hamlet zu er-

114

kennen. Herr Joachim wird gefunden haben, daß es dem ganzen Gewandhaus-Publikum so ergangen, und er weiß, daß das ganze Gewandhaus-Publikum ihn liebt. Kann oder will er seine Ideen in der Folge in eine begreifliche Form bringen und ihren Inhalt deutlicher ausdrücken, so steht ihm eine bedeutende Zukunft offen; auf dem Wege, den er mit diesem Werke betreten, geräth er in wüste Gegenden, wo keine Menschen wohnen, die Theil daran nehmen können. […]

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Twentieth subscription concert
in the hall of the Gewandhaus in Leipzig. Thursday, March 23, 1854

First part: Introduction and First Scene from “Iphigenia in Tauris” by Gluck. Iphigenia: Miss Clara Brockhaus. – Concerto for the violin by Henri Litolff, performed by Herr Concertmeister R. Dreyschock. – Hymn for soprano and choir by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy; the solo part sung by Fräulein Brockhaus. – Ouverture to “Hamlet” by Jos. Joachim, (Manuscript, under direction of the composer .) – Notturno for the French Horn, composed by Lorenz, performed by Herr A. Lindner, Fürstl. Reuss. Court Musician. – Second part: Symphonie pastorale (No. 6) by L. van Beethoven. (The performance of the choruses by the members of the Singakademie, the Pauliner-Sängerverein in connection with the Thomanerchore).

If one wants to communicate one’s thoughts, the first requirement is that they be comprehensible. Only among German philosophers and composers do we sometimes see individuals who cannot, or do not want to, fulfill this demand. This is a truly distressing phenomenon, all the more distressing because it is most often noticed, especially in modern times, in the most gifted minds! We have recently acknowledged Herr Joachim’s extraordinary compositional talent, and we stand by our opinion even after the performance of his overture to Hamlet. It certainly has novelty and idiosyncrasy of thought. But what is the use of being able to say after listening to a piece of music: that was very new, very peculiar, and having to add: but absolutely incomprehensible? And his overture has remained absolutely incomprehensible to us. We heard a very long series of strange thoughts, among which some flared briefly like luminous bolts of lightning in a gloomy night, but we were neither able to grasp them as a unified form, nor to find in them any reference in them to Shakspeare’s Hamlet.

114

Mr. Joachim will have found that the whole Gewandhaus audience feels the same way, and he knows that the whole Gewandhaus audience loves him. If he can or wants to subsequently bring his ideas into a comprehensible form and express their content more clearly, then a significant future is open to him; on the path that he is treading with this work, he is getting into desolate areas where no people live who can take part in it. […]

 

The Oxford Magazine, vol. 25, no. 8, (December 5, 1906), p. 135.

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MUSIC OF THE WEEK

THERE was the usual crowded and enthusiastic audience to welcome the Joachim Quartet at the Public Classical Concert on Thursday afternoon: the programme consisted of three string quartets, Mozart in D minor, Brahms in B flat, and Beethoven in C minor. Professor Wirth being still unable to play owing to eye-trouble, Herr Karl Klingler has been making his first visit to England, and, much younger than his famous colleagues though he is, he proves himself in every way worthy of the honour: the great viola passages in the Brahms quartet were played with quite superb breadth and insight, and throughout all the works his splendid tone and exceptional musicianship were very noticeable. Professors Halir and Hausmann were as wonderful as ever; and the passage of time leaves no trace on all the essential things in Dr. Joachim’s playing, nor is there any change in the extraordinary perfection of ensemble with which his colleagues reproduce every tinge of his moods. All his many long years of intimate love of the great music have resulted now in a style of extraordinarily ripe and mellow beauty: there is a lifetime of thought and reverence behind every note he plays, and at the age of seventy-five he can still teach us the last word in the art of interpretation. And yet there is nothing in the least degree stereotyped about his conceptions: absolutely faithful as they have always been, they are yet creative, and have varied, and still vary, to a considerable extent. On Thursday he was in a, on the whole, somewhat specially quiet and meditative vein: when we next hear him again, he might very possibly, in the same works, reveal to us different but equally great treasures from his inexhaustible store.

August Wilhelm Ambros: Review of Joachim’s Orchestration of Schubert’s Grand Duo, Op. posth. 140, D812. Wiener Zeitung, No. 260 (November 12, 1872): 1785. (Second concert of Hans von Bülow, November 7, 1872, in the small hall of the Vienna Musikverein).

[English translation below]

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A symphony by Franz Schubert concluded the concert, or rather a translation of the Duo, Op. 140, from the piano to the orchestral realm. Joachim, the translator, brilliantly accomplished the task. Even Robert Schumann initially mistook the piano duo for an arranged symphony and was only enlightened by Schubert’s own handwritten notation on the original manuscript of another composer. “One can clearly hear,” Schumann remarked, “even on the piano, the tutti passages, horn and oboe entrances, timpani rolls, and so on.” Joachim also heard all of these elements and knew how to write them into their rightful places. His arrangement truly gives the impression of an original work—it conveys outwardly what is hidden esoterically in Schubert’s piano piece. The echoes of Beethoven’s second and seventh symphonies were already noted by Schumann.

Hardly any other work by Schubert reveals the direct influence of Beethoven’s models as clearly as this nevertheless original and genuinely Schubertian duo. It is also characteristically Schubertian in the sense that, as usual, dear Franz searches for the exit door for a good while before finally finding it in the finale. In his larger instrumental works, he indeed resembles the leech mentioned by Horace in the final line of the Epistle to the Pisos. Schumann rightly counts the duo among Schubert’s finest works, saying, “We have one more symphony.” Now, through Joachim, we truly and genuinely have it, and we thank him for it!

Dwight’s Journal of Music, vol. 8, no. 10 (Boston, 8 December 1855), 78-79 .

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Nov. 10.— What can I say? I am too excited, too much ‘carried away,’ and yet would fain record, that hereafter I may recall in some faint degree, the feelings with which I have heard CLARA SCHUMANN and JOACHIM again. [The concert took place in Berlin’s Singakademie on November 4, 1855 —RWE] Have I sneered at virtuosity? Never at such as this! Where and how to begin? The lauguage of the critics is like Sanscrit to me. I can neither use it myself nor understand it in others. I must—as I can with truth—comprehend all technical description in one phrase—there are no difficulties to them in their respective instruments. What are difficulties to other performers are so easily overcome, are played with such perfect calmness and rest, and glide away so unnoticed from their fingers that you cannot think to wonder at them. Let me go back a week.

It was a concert with orchestra in the Sing Akademie. Again, as last winter, I found it so beautiful in them, when all was ready, to come down to their places in front of the orchestra, so modestly and simply as if the audience was but a meeting of friends—with no display, no evident wish to be greeted with applause, no zany-like contortions of body, nor tossing of heads, but quiet and calm in their strength, without anxiety, without triumph. The overture to Byron’s “Manfred”, led by that excellent director STERN, and played by our new ‘Orchester Verein’, opened the concert. A powerful work, expressive of struggle and commotion of spirit. Schumann’s strong side, as it seems to me. Then followed his Concerto in A, minor, for piano-forte and orchestra, which she played. I was badly seated to get the proper effect of the work, but not to see the mastery with which the pianist ruled her instrument. What force and what delicacy! How wonderfully those handfuls of notes spoke out the deepest thoughts of Robert Schumann! Here a sigh, and there a tear—here the struggles of a giant, there the soothing voice of an angel. It is this wondrous power of entering into the very soul of the composer, which makes Clara Schumann what she is. Others can equal her in the technicalities of playing, but no woman approaches her in this thing. I met a lady a day or two after, who asked me how Madame Schumann appeared? “She seemed to me care-worn and sad; as well she may, poor woman! said I. “She appeared just so years ago, when she was a young girl, and came here to triumph over all,” said the lady. “She never had a childhood. Her father was determined to make a virtuoso of her, and the joyousness of youth she never knew. Even then her countenance showed her secret sorrow. Is not this the reason that she plays BEETHOVEN as no other living ? Does she not feel that great struggling spirit in his music? does it not sympathize with her, and share every trouble, and soothe, and calm and speak peace? When she plays his music, you think no more of composer and performer than you do of SHAKSPEARE when reading his dramas. On this evening she only played some variations by the great master, in C minor. No mere finger-work, but full of feeling and beauty.

Joachim’s first piece was a sonata for the violin solo, by BACH. I had heard it a day or two before, when he played it to an audience of two, curled up upon the lounge; and as he now stood up before the large audience, there was no change in his demeanor, no variation in his manner of playing; all was just as simple and unaffected as before, and what is the secret of this, but his love for the music ? And truly I begin to have some faint conception of that man Bach’s greatness. What power, depth and quaint beauty in this work! The first movement has a grand, sweeping power, producing an effect that one could hardly expect from the instrument. Then follows a quaint fugue, on four subjects, I think; but can that be possible? I heard it twice and hardly dare say it; and then an Adagio, full of soul, and a finale, capricious and wild, and full of technical difficulties hardly to be imagined. One never would imagine it from the manner of Joachim. RELLSTAB says of the performance: “The poet says:

‘In him have I
The model of a perfect man beheld.’

“We can quote these words in relation to this artist, in whom we honor a model of perfect performance. Not the storm of applause at the close, but the breathless stillness during the piece praised him the most. In the solution of his problem not only did no note of the smallest importance fail him, but no stroke of power, no spark of fire, no breath of tenderness; it was the most perfect Daguerreotype of the work.”

But it was in the last piece that I felt his mighty power to the fullest extent This was that grand work of Beethoven’s ripest years, the Concerto for violin and orchestra, op. 61, in D. I had heard it at a concert of the Orchester-Verein not long before, the solo by Concert-master LAUB, from Vienna. He had played it with distinguished skill and it had not failed of making its due impression. But now! Still as the tomb was that house, the audience being prepared for the noble orchestral opening by the delicate variations before mentioned, which immediately preceded it. This work was written at that period when Beethoven’s genius proved in the fourth Symphony, that as a mere artist, a simple writer of music, he was behind none. So in this work the deep sorrow of the later period does not appear. The giant is there in the Allegro, but a giant rejoicing in his strength. What tenderness, what unheard-of depths of human feeling in the Larghetto! ” You need not be ashamed of your wet eyes,” said Miss G. to me, “there are many others here in the same state.”

If Joachim would only put on a few artist airs, one could think of him; as it is, the stream of music carries us along with it and the very heart strings are vibrating to every tone of that marvellous instrument. If he would not be so calm and utterly buried in his own feelings, there would be some escape. But no. He seizes upon you by his very personal appearance, and after the first tones all escape from his enchantment is impossible. And so the Larghetto ended and the people waked from their trance—the magic bonds were loosed. The deepest feelings had been excited. The British Spy wondered how the audience of the blind preacher could be brought down from the pitch of excitement to which his eloquence had raised them. Had any one but Beethoven written that Larghetto, or had any other than Joachim played the Rondo (Finale), I should have feared like the British Spy. But when did Beethoven ever fail in placing just exactly the right thing after one of his heart-reaching, soul-thrilling Andantes or Adagios? With what abounding life and joyousness did the Rondo spring from beneath Joachim’s bow! His own figure, calm as it was, seemed to feel in every nerve the change. The orchestra was inspired to a man, and the audience were electrified. That the “gloomy Beethoven!” This last movement is the very champaigne of music; Joachim poured it out to us, until we were “like Bacchus, crowned and drunken!”

A. W. T.

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Hans von Bülow reviewed this concert in the Berliner Feuerspritze:

The hall of the Sing-Akademie was brilliantly reinaugurated by means of the concert given by Frau Schumann and Herr Joseph Joachim, and since Franz Liszt such beautiful music has not been heard in this room. This evening will remain unforgotten and unique in the memories of those who partook of this artistic pleasure, which has filled all with lasting enthusiasm. It was not Joachim who yesterday played Beethoven and Bach, Beethoven himself played!

That was not an interpretation of the highest genius, it was a revelation. Even the most incredulous must believe in miracles, a similar transubstantiation has never been. Never has a work of art been brought before the mind’s eyes e in such life and spirit, nor has the immortality of genius before appeared so lustrous and sublime in its truest reality. One wished to listen on one’s knees! Anyway  description of the impression which Beethoven’s tenth symphony [i.e. the Violin Concerto —RWE]  made yesterday would be a desecration.

Frau Schumann surpassed herself in her rendering of Robert Schumann’s pianoforte concerto. If all the compositions of the leading modern composers of instrumental music were interpreted with such wonderful perfection, the whole conception so rhythmic and with such subtlety of detail, they would soon make headway even with the most reserved and opposing public. Schumann’s pianoforte concerto won the sympathy of all, through the great pianist, who poured her whole soul into her interpretation of it. In addition, we may  also mention that the piano solo of this orchestral piece cannot be called otherwise than a ‘grateful’ part. But how particularly grateful it is for this artist!

Andreas Moser, Joseph Joachim: A Biography (1831-1899), tr. Lilla Durahm, London: Philip Wellby, 1901, pp. 154-155.

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Durch das gestern abend stattgehabte Konzert von Frau Clara Schumann und Herrn Joseph Joachim erfuhr der Saal der Singakademie eine überaus glänzende Rehabilitation. Seit Franz Liszt ist in deisen Räumen nie so schöne Musik gehört worden. Dieser Abend wird unvergeßlich und einzig bleiben in der Erinnerung der Teilnehmer an diesem Kunstgenuß, der jeden mit nachwirkender Begeisterung erfüllt hat. Nicht Joachim hat gestern Beethoven und Bach gespielt, Beethoven selbst hat gespielt!

Das war keine Verdolmetschung des höchsten Genius, es war eine Offenbarung. Auch der Ungläublgste muå an Wunder glauben; eine ähnliche Transsubstantiation ist noch nicht geschehen. Nie ist ein Kunstwerk so lebendig und verklärt vor das innere Auge geführt worden, nie die Unsterblichkeit des Genius so leuchtend und erhaben in die wirklichste Wirklichkeit getreten. Auf den Knien hätte man zuhören mögen! Jede Schilderung des Eiondruckes, den Beethoven’s zehnte Symphonie gestern erregt hat, wäre eine Entweihung.

Frau Dr. Schumann übertraf sich selbst in dem Vortrage von Robert Schumanns Klavierkonzert. Wenn die Komposition des hervorragendsten modernen Instrumentalkomponisten mit solch wunderbarer Vollendung, mit so schwunghafter Totalauffassung und so ausgefeilter Nuancierung aller Einzelheiten interpretiert werden, so brechen sie sich auch bei dem widerstrebendsten, zurück-

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haltendsten Publikum Bahn. Schumanns Klavierkonzert hat aller Sympathien errungen durch die große Meisterin, die den ihr verwandten Geist so unvergleichlich zur Mitteilung gebracht hat. Hierbei geben wir noch zu bedenken, daß die Klavierpartie dieses Orchesterstückes nichts weniger als eine ‘dankbare’ zu nennen ist. Wie äußerst dankbar bewährte sich dieselbe aber für die Künstlerin!

Andreas Moser, Joseph Joachim. Ein Lebensbild, vol. 1, Berlin: Verlag der Deutschen Brahms-Gesellschaft, 1908, pp. 216=217