DO YOU RECOGNIZE THE MELODY?

There cannot be many who have not heard – at least once in their life – that yearning melody of the “Träumerei” (= reverie) from Robert Schumann’s Kinderszenen, Op. 15 (= scenes from childhood, 1837/38). It has more or less become his musical “ID”. Originally, the Kinderszenen had been planned as an appendix to the Noveletten, entitled Kindergeschichten (= children’s stories). Schumann wrote as follows to Clara Wieck: “Es war mir ordentlich wie im Flügelkleide und hab’ da an die dreißig kleine putzige Dinger geschrieben ...” (= “I felt as if I were in pinafores again and then I penned about thirty quaint little things”). Subsequently, thirteen pieces were printed independently (probably for publishing reasons) as the Kinderszenen.
The Kinderszenen form a programmatic cycle, which is not – as one might suspect from the title – intended for children or young people, but rather for adults, who reflect on their own childhood when listening to the music. Schumann defined it in a rather more poetic manner, saying that the cycle contained “reflections of an older person, for older persons”. In any case, the fact that some critics regarded Op. 15 as an “aberration of art” caused Schumann quite some problems. He was especially annoyed with Ludwig Rellstab’s remarks: “I have seldom come across a more inept and bigoted description than that given by Rellstab of my Kinderszenen. Apparently, he believes that I imagine in front of me a yelling child, and then simply search for the corresponding notes. It is the other way around. Yet I do not deny that a few children’s faces appeared in my mind’s eye while composing the work; of course, the titles came later, and are in fact no more than subtle hints concerning the performance and interpretation of the pieces.” This final statement refers to the wholly mutual integration of music and poetry in Schumann’s compositions.
The miniatures for piano are highly individualized retrospective views of the world of the child, penned by a composer who was still under 30 himself. Loving, yet not sentimental. Veracious, yet not pedantic. Earnest, yet not severe. Despite the pieces being either short or extremely short, they are neither simple nor uncomplicated. Quite the contrary, behind the concise form, the motivic-thematic intensification down to the bare bones of the pieces, there are most definitely riddles concealed for the listener to discover. Subcutaneous, directly under the surface, there are hidden and shaded mysteries, subtly encoded autobiographical messages (à la Jean Paul). And Schumann gave his beloved Clara a few tips for the interpretation: “You will take pleasure in this work, although you will have to forget that you are a virtuoso.” Indeed, this work does not make huge technical demands on a professional pianist; yet on the other hand, he must draw strongly on his personal experiences. After all, the Kinderszenen are not a cycle “for”, but “about” children.

Paganini’s spirit
in Brahms’ hands
By contrast, Johannes Brahms did not write a composition about children: Paganini was his subject, or rather, a theme composed by the “devil’s” violinist. In his Variations on a theme by Paganini, Op. 35, which he wrote in 1863 and of which he himself gave the première in 1865, Brahms exhibits his pianistic skills in 28 variations with finale. Following this work, a full 15 years were to pass before Brahms once again wrote piano music for two hands (Op. 76, 8 Piano Pieces). In Op. 35, it becomes very clear that Brahms was highly successful in both his professional fields: not only was he a profoundly scrupulous composer, he was also a fantastic pianist capable of firing his audience with enthusiasm during his concert tours. Brahms took the theme of the variations from Paganini’s Capriccio, Op. 1. The 28 Variations are published in two volumes, each containing 14 variations. They are “etudes”, as indicated in the title given by Brahms “Studies for the pianoforte”: however, the publisher rejected this subtitle before actually printing the variations. Op. 35 is a work for virtuoso pianists, in which great emphasis is laid on technique: the changing and crossing of hands in expansive arpeggios, syncopated shifts, etc. Here, the listener experiences Paganini’s spirit in Brahms’ hands, a border reconnaissance of the technical limits of the piano, which proceeds through a sequence of the greatest possible difficulties. For these pieces are through-composed, and effectively staged in combined phrases chock-full of suspense and excitement.

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