Schumann: Violin Concerto in D minor (1853)
Im kräftigen, nicht zu schnellen Tempo
Langsam
Lebhaft, doch nicht schnell
There are times when too much knowledge of people’s private lives can exert an unhealthy and wayward influence on a view of their Art. Such is surely the case with Robert Schumann’s later years which, as is well known, were clouded by progressively worsening mental illness. But does this mean therefore that one should look for declining powers of composition as an inevitable product of declining mental health? Obsessive rhythms, irregular phrasings, strange and unexpected harmonic and melodic shifts are not necessarily manifestations of madness, nor indeed do they by definition constitute weak music. Many of his late works are still hardly known at all, and tend to be dismissed under the misguided assumption that they can’t be all that good – like the gravely beautiful Requiem, whose Benedictus would surely melt the heart of the staunchest adversary; if only s/he would listen to it!
This concerto has a particularly strange history, not to say mystical: at this time Schumann’s appointment as Musikdirektor at the Düsseldorf Musikverein was proving to be something of a disaster, with unsettling machinations going on behind the scenes. But on 17th May 1853 the young Jozsef Joachim performed the Beethoven violin concerto at the Lower Rhine Music Festival, with Schumann conducting, and an extraordinary connection between the two was established. An immediate response was a request from the violinist that “may Beethoven’s example incite you, wondrous guardian of the richest treasures, to draw a work out of your deep quarry….”. On 7th October Clara wrote in the household diary that “Robert has completed an extremely interesting violin concerto…..”; earlier entries had noted his “diligence” and “joy” in the creating of this work, as well as the “happy hours” spent with Joachim, to the extent that his mental health improved remarkably. The first performance was scheduled for 27th October, but had to be postponed, owing to a shortage of time for the material to be copied and for Joachim to learn it – he himself implied he had underestimated its great technical difficulties, especially in the finale. Although it was subsequently rehearsed in Hannover the following January, it was only a few weeks later that the stricken composer (back in Düsseldorf) suddenly left his bed in the middle of the night of 17th February, in order to write down a melody – which he claimed had been sung to him by angels. This proved to be a new version (which he didn’t finish) of the deeply affecting main theme of this very concerto’s slow movement. Ten days later he stole out of his room and threw himself into the Rhine, from where he was rescued by fishermen. At his own request he was moved to a private asylum in nearby Endenich, where he remained until his death on 29th July 1856.
Clara and Joachim – together with their cherished friend Brahms – later decided the violin concerto should not be published, and instead the manuscript was sent to the Prussian State Library in Berlin. In their defence, they genuinely thought their action was in Schumann’s own best interests – perhaps recalling “old, unhappy far-off things”. And so the concerto remained silent – until an extraordinary occurrence in 1937, when Joachim’s great-niece – the violinist Jelly d’Arányi – claimed to have been directed to the score in Berlin by the spirits of Schumann and her uncle during a table-moving session (séance). Weird that Schumann himself was obsessed by table-moving at the time of the violin concerto…… Yet it is more likely that she knew about the concerto via a lengthy letter from Joachim, dated 5th August 1898, in response to an enquiry about it from the publisher Andreas Moser! And so the work was finally recorded and performed that year by Yehudi Menuhin and Georg Kulenkampff respectively – albeit in a shortened and “revised” version by the library’s music director, Georg Schünemann; and even then its misfortune continued through its adoption by the Nazi party, with speeches by Goebbels and others at that première.
So, what of this strange music itself: rather like the last quartets of his hero Beethoven, the works from Schumann’s final years may well have been misunderstood for so long on account of his quest for new and adventurous sounds and harmonies. Nevertheless, despite its genesis from an all-too-rare positive mindset, Schumann’s violin concerto does not give up its deep secrets so easily: there are ravishing moments – as one would expect of him: not least the faintly Autumnal nostalgia of the first movement’s second subject, or the berceuse-like opening of the ensuing Langsam, leading to the aforementioned “angels” melody as the soloist enters: a precious inner sanctum, if ever there was one, whose slumbers are quickly awakened by the polacca-like finale – which Clara ultimately found the least comprehensible; and indeed its rustic heavy-footedness takes some getting used to – but which one trusts will be aided very readily by its sheer exuberance! So how gratifying for us to read, in a letter written to the Austrian writer Debrois van Bruyck towards the end of 1853: “. . . it is not the praise that causes the artist’s exultation, but joy that what he has felt himself finds harmonious echoes in men’s hearts”.
© Alan George
