Home | Archive | In memoriam

Edvard Grieg 1843–1907

Although Dr. Edvard Grieg had been for many years a delicate man, his sudden death at Bergen, his native city, came as a shock to his many friends and admirers in England. Some of us had been looking forward to seeing and hearing him either at the Leeds Festival or in London at Queen’s Hall during the next few weeks, and now all our expectations have been set at naught by the call of the Reaper whose name is death. But while we deplore the loss of a master-musician, we rejoice in the wealth of sweet strains he has left us in his simple, unaffected music. If the question be asked, ‘Was Grieg a great composer?’ the answer must depend upon the various meanings of the adjective ‘great.’ This poetic-souled son of the North certainly did not compose noisy music that is void of understanding; therefore some might put him out of the category of greatness, judged from that standpoint. On the other hand, an artist who writes music which, by the charm of its melody and the excellence of its simplicity, gives untold pleasure to those who perform and those who listen, can surely be numbered among the great ones in music, and, if so, Edvard Grieg must be placed high up in the roll of fame.

Edvard Hagerup Grieg was born at Bergen, June 15, 1843. He came of a Scottish stock. As he once told a Scotch clergyman:

Alexander Greig, my great-grandfather, who afterwards changed his name to Grieg, emigrated from Fraserburgh last century.... See, he said, displaying the seal at the end of his watch-chain, with the figure of a ship among stormy waves and the motto ‘At spes in fracta,’ here is our crest; it is the same as the Scotch Greigs.

He received his earliest instruction in music from his mother, an excellent musician who once gave a splendid performance of Beethoven’s Fantasia (Op.80) and who took great pleasure in playing the works of Weber, one of her favourite composers. During the boyhood of Edvard, the distinguished violinist, Ole Bull, himself a native of Bergen, visited the Grieg family. When Ole Bull heard that the boy had composed music, he insisted upon his going to the pianoforte and playing his juvenile pieces. One day the violinist visitor suddenly said to Edvard: ‘You are to go to Leipzig, and become a musician.’ Thus the boy’s fate was sealed. ‘Everybody looked at me affectionately,’ he records, ‘and I understood just one thing, that a good fairy was stroking my cheek and that I was happy.’

In 1858, aged fifteen, Grieg became a student at the Leipzig Conservatorium. He studied counterpoint under Hauptmann and Richter; composition under Rietz and Reinecke (the latter is still living); and the pianoforte under Wenzel and Moscheles. Among his fellow-students at Leipzig were Walter Bache, John Francis Barnett, Edward Dannreuther, Arthur Sullivan, and Franklin Taylor. In the biographical sketch of the late Mr. Dannreuther which appeared in THE MUSICAL TIMES of October, 1898, that much-esteemed musician said to the present writer:

You ask me about Grieg? He was then a slight-built, retiring youth, of a typical Northern physiognomy, flaxen hair, and large dreamy blue eyes, very quiet, self-absorbed, and industrious. As a pianist he never laid much stress on technique, but his playing was always delicate and intelligent – you know the rare charm he imparts to his own music; and though he never came forward as a virtuoso, to this day he manages to make a very good show in his magnum opus, the Pianoforte concerto. To see Grieg, the composer, in a nutshell, examine his ‘Norwegische Volksweisen’ (Op.17 and 66). Here are all the elements of his genre, Norse tunes, plaintive or crude, as the people sing and play them – the drone bass – the chromatic inner parts – the use of some quaint bit of the tune by way of introduction or coda – the studied compactness and concentration, the glaring contrasts.

Grieg remained at Leipzig until the spring of 1862. A curious light is thrown upon the methods adopted at the Conservatorium in those days by a report of a students’ concert which appeared in the Musical World of January 19, 1861:

LEIPZIG. – The last evening performance in the Conservatory before the holidays was very interesting. The following is the programme:– Concerto for violin, Mendelssohn (first movement), by Mr. Albert Payne, of Leipsic (an English gentleman); fugue for piano, in E minor (Op.35), Mendelssohn, by Mr. Franklin Taylor, of Birmingham; air from Semele, ‘Awake, Saturnia,’ Handel, Miss Rosamund Barnett; and concerto for pianoforte, in F minor, Chopin (last two movements), Miss Clara Barnett, of Cheltenham. Mr. Arthur Sullivan, formerly holder of the Mendelssohn Scholarship, played the wind instrument parts of the concerto on a piano, and conducted the song from Semele. The pieces were one and all admirably performed.

Were there no wind-instrument players in the Conservatorium orchestra?

An interesting incident of those student days is contained in the following reference to Sullivan. Grieg says:

Sullivan at once distinguished himself by his talent for composition, and for the advanced knowledge of instrumentation which he had acquired before he came to the Conservatorium. While still a student he wrote the music to Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest,’ a few bars of which he once wrote in my album, and which displays the practised hand of an old master. Although I did not come across him much, I once had the pleasure of passing an hour with him, which I shall not forget. It was during a performance of Mendelssohn’s ‘St. Paul.’ We sat and followed the music with the score, and what a score! It was Mendelssohn’s own manuscript, which Sullivan had succeeded in borrowing for the occasion from the Director of the Conservatorium, Conrad Schleinitz, who was, as is well known, an intimate friend of Mendelssohn’s. With what reverence we turned from one page to another! We were amazed at the clear, firm notes which so well expressed the ideas of the composer.

The young Norwegian left Leipzig in the spring of 1862, but not before he had scored his ‘first success,’ which he thus describes:

I hasten to give one instance of what must be called a real success. It was Easter time, 1862, before I left the Conservatorium, when I enjoyed the honour of being among the students who were selected to appear at the public performance in the hall of the Gewandhaus. I played some pianoforte pieces of my own; they were lame productions enough; and I still blush to-day that they appeared in print and figure as Opus 1; but it is a fact that I had an immense success and was called for several times. There was no doubt about that success. Yet it meant nothing for me. The public consisted of invited friends and relations, professors and students. In these circumstances it was the easiest thing in the world for the fair-haired lad from the North to make a hit.

On his return to Norway, in 1862, Grieg gave his first concert at Bergen, and afterwards lived for a time at Copenhagen, where he profited to some extent by the advice of Niels W. Gade, then settled in the Danish capital. It was not, however, until after he had come into contact with Rikard Nordraak (1842–1866), a gifted Norwegian composer, that Grieg cast off the fetters of Leipzig’s pedantic classicalism in order to enjoy the freedom of composing national music. He says, referring to Nordraak: ‘It was as though the scales fell from my eyes: through him, for the first time, I became acquainted with the Northern folk-music and with my own bent. We abjured the Gade-Mendelssohn insipid Scandinavianism, and entered with enthusiasm on the new path which the Northern school is now following.’ In the winter of 1864–65 these two enthusiasts founded at Copenhagen the Euterpe Society, its object being to bring forward the works of young Northern composers. The Society only lasted a few seasons, and Nordraak (to whom Grieg dedicated his Humoresken, Op.6) went to Berlin. Nordraak’s premature death, at the age of twenty-three, was a sore grief to Grieg, who composed a march for performance at his friend’s funeral.

One of Grieg’s most popular songs is ‘Jeg elsker dig’ (‘I love thee’), a setting of Hans Christian Andersen’s words. This he composed in 1864, and in all probability for his cousin, Miss Nina Hagerup, to whom he then became engaged, though the marriage did not take place until three years later, June 11, 1867. In the meantime the fair-haired lover visited Italy. On his return to Norway he settled at Christiania, eager to do any work that, in view of his approaching marriage, would ‘bring grist to the mill.’ There, with the co-operation of Madame Norman Neruda (now Lady Hallé) and his fiancée, he gave a concert in the autumn of 1866, the programme including his Violin sonata (Op.8), Humoresken for pianoforte (Op.6), Pianoforte sonata (Op.7), some of his songs, and other songs by Nordraak and Kjerulf. During the eight years that he lived at Christiania he did much to educate the taste of the people there. With the invaluable co-operation of his young wife – a most charming singer of her husband’s delightful songs – he gave subscription concerts and conducted the Philharmonic Society. Under his inspiring direction were performed such works as Mozart’s ‘Requiem,’ Mendelssohn’s ‘Elijah,’ Schumann’s ‘Paradise and the Peri,’ selections from ‘Lohengrin’ and Liszt’s ‘Tasso.’ About this time he composed his beautiful Pianoforte concerto, of which more anon.

Like many other young musicians he received great encouragement from Liszt. Without in the least degree seeking any testimonial, or sending him any of his compositions (Liszt was deluged with such publications), Grieg, then aged twenty-five, received the following cordial letter from the greatest of pianists:

SIR,– I am very glad to tell you what pleasure it has given me to read your Sonata (Op.8). It bears testimony to a talent of vigorous, reflective and inventive composition of excellent quality, – which has only to follow its natural bent in order to rise to a high rank, I am pleased to think that in your own country you are meeting with the success and encouragement you deserve: these will not be wanting elsewhere either; and if you come to Germany this winter, I cordially invite you to stay a little at Weimar, in order that we may thoroughly get to know each other.
Pray receive, Sir, the assurance of my sentiments of esteem and very distinguished regard.
F. LISZT.
Rome, December 29, 1868.

It is said that this letter caused the Norwegian Government to grant Grieg a sum of money in order that he might pay a second visit to Rome in the autumn of 1869. There he met Liszt, who received him most kindly and showed the greatest interest in his compositions. His delightful intercourse with Liszt he has recorded in some letters, from which we venture to make an extract, quoting from Mr. Finck’s valuable monograph on the composer:

I had fortunately just received the manuscript of my pianoforte concerto from Leipsic, and took it with me. Beside myself there were present Winding, Sgambati, and a German Lisztite, whose name I do not know, but who goes so far in the aping of his idol that he even wears the gown of an abbé; add to these a Chevalier de Concilium, and some young ladies of the kind that would like to eat Liszt, skin, hair, and all, their adulation is simply comical.... Winding and I were very anxious to see if he would really play my concerto at sight. I, for my part, considered it impossible; not so Liszt. ‘Will you play?’ he asked, and I made haste to reply: ‘No, I cannot’ (you know I have never practised it). Then Liszt took the manuscript, went to the piano, and said to the assembled guests, with his characteristic smile, ‘Very well then, I will show you that I also cannot.’ With that he began. I admit that he took the first part of the concerto too fast, and the beginning consequently sounded helter-skelter; but later on, when I had a chance to indicate the tempo, he played as only he can play. It is significant that he played the cadenza, the most difficult part, best of all. His demeanour is worth any price to see. Not content with playing, he at the same time converses and makes comments, addressing a bright remark now to one, now to another of the assembled guests, nodding significantly to the right or left, particularly when something pleases him. In the adagio, and still more in the finale, he reached a climax both as to his playing and the praise he had to bestow.

A really divine episode I must not forget. Toward the end of the finale the second theme is, as you may remember, repeated in a mighty fortissimo. In the concluding bars, p.83, when in the first triplets the first tone is changed in the orchestra from G sharp to G, while the piano part, in a mighty scale passage, rushes wildly through the whole reach of the keyboard, he suddenly stopped, rose up to his full height, left the piano, and with big theatric strides and arms uplifted walked across the large cloister hall, at the same time literally roaring the theme. When he got to the G in question he stretched out his arms imperiously and exclaimed : ‘G, G, not G sharp! Splendid! That is the real Swedish Banko!’ to which he added very softly, as in a parenthesis : ‘Smetana sent me a sample the other day. He went back to the piano, repeated the whole strophe, and finished. In conclusion, he handed me the manuscript, and said, in a peculiarly cordial tone : ‘Keep steadily on; I tell you, you have the capability, and – do not let them intimidate you!’

This final admonition was of tremendous importance to me; there was something in it that seemed to give it an air of sanctification. At times, when disappointment and bitterness are in store for me, I shall recall his words, and the remembrance of that hour will have a wonderful power to uphold me in the days of adversity.

On his return to Christiania he founded the Musical Society and had a valuable coadjutor in Johan Svendsen. who became his successor when Grieg left the city to spend the remainder of his days in his native Bergen. This was in 1874, when the Norwegian Government granted Grieg and Svendsen each an annuity valued at about £88 a year. (Fancy a Chancellor of the Exchequer proposing such a thing in our House of Commons!) Although this amount does not seem large to us, it must be remembered that twenty shillings go much farther in Norway than here; at all events, Grieg was thus enabled to give up teaching and conducting and thenceforth to devote himself to the more congenial occupation of composing and making known his works in other lands than his own dear Norway. There, amid the fjords and the magnificent scenery of that northern clime, Grieg quietly passed the remainder of his days, drawing inspiration from his lovely surroundings.

GRIEG IN ENGLAND.

As in the In Memoriam article on Dr. Joachim last month, it may not be unacceptable to English readers if something be said about the introduction of Doctor Grieg’s music in England and his visits to this country. The earliest definite date we have been able to find is that of April 18, 1874, when Mr. Edward Dannreuther gave the first performance of the Pianoforte concerto (Op.16) in England at a Crystal Palace Saturday concert. That excellent pianist also contributed to the programme-book a lucid analysis of the work, in which he referred to his fellow-student in these words:

During the term of his studies, whilst taking in mental stock as it were, laying up treasures for future use, he lived mostly in the romantic worlds of Schumann, Mendelssohn, and Chopin, whose works gave the tone to the entire musical life of Leipzig, and especially of the Conservatorium. It may be doubtful whether he counted Bach and Beethoven among his household gods then. It is at all events certain that Liszt, Berlioz, and Wagner have been excluded from his threshold up to this day; which, as far as concerns the production of pure chamber and concert music, is certainly not ‘a calamity hard to be borne.’

The characteristic Scandinavian features of Grieg’s musical talents took a tangible shape soon after his return to the north. Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian people’s songs and dances there absorbed his fancy. They strengthened his thought, and, in a word, made a man of him. Henceforth his compositions bear the stamp of a particular nationality more clearly than any man’s, except perhaps Chopin’s.

This leads to a slight digression about the history of this popular and characteristic Concerto. As already stated, it was composed in 1868, during the summer of that year, at the Danish village of Sölleröd. Liszt’s verdict upon this creation of the twenty-five-year old composer has also been mentioned. Its first public performance appears to have taken place at Copenhagen in 1869, when the solo part was played by Edmund Neupert, to whom the work is dedicated. On October 30, 1879, Grieg himself played it at the Gewandhaus, Leipzig, with great success. The Concerto had, however, been previously performed (but from manuscript) at a Gewandhaus concert, in aid of the Orchester-Pensionsfonds, by Fraulein Erika Lie (afterwards Madame Nissen), a brilliant Scandinavian pianist, then a young girl of nineteen. It is very amusing to read a criticism of the work contained in a letter of the Leipzig correspondent of the Musical Standard at that time:

The other two compositions upon which we were called for the first time to pronounce our verdict were nothing to be compared with the above-mentioned [Handel’s ‘L’Allegro’ and Lachner’s Suite in C] .... With regard to Edvard Grieg’s Concerto, there is little praise to be given; and had it not been for the favour in which Mdlle. Lie – the artiste to whose hands was entrusted the interpretation of the effusion – is held by everybody here, no attention would have been bestowed upon it.

‘Effusion’ – forsooth!

To return to Dannreuther’s performance of the Pianoforte concerto at the Crystal Palace. THE MUSICAL TIMES said:

The Pianoforte Concerto of Edward Grieg, excellently played by Mr. Dannreuther, may also be mentioned as a work of great originality, the young Norwegian composer having evidently dared to think for himself, instead of imitating the style of those who have preceded him. The Concerto was received with the warmest applause.

The Athenaeum was rather more cautious:

The work is strictly orthodox in form, and it possesses individuality of a Scandinavian type, which renders it very interesting, and made a decidedly favourable impression. The pianist, for his very able exposition, was recalled.

No notice of the concert seems to have appeared in The Times!

The success which attended the introduction of Grieg’s Pianoforte concerto into England doubtless prompted Mr. Charles Hallé to perform the Sonata for pianoforte and violin in G (Op.13) at his recital at St. James’s Hall, May 29, 1874, Madame Norman-Neruda playing the violin part. At the Saturday Popular Concert of February 6, 1875, Hans von Bülow and Prosper Sainton played the earlier Sonata (in F) for pianoforte and violin (Op.8). On November 15, 1887, at one of his ‘London Symphony Concerts,’ Mr. Henschel conducted the Two elegiac melodies for stringed orchestra (Op.34).

We may pass on to the first public appearance of Edvard Grieg in England, a country he had, however, previously visited in company with his parents. The Philharmonic Society had the honour of again introducing a distinguished composer to an English audience when Grieg stepped on to the platform of St. James’s Hall on May 3, 1888, to conduct the Two elegiac melodies referred to above. Those who were present on that interesting occasion will not easily forget the lovely effect the conductor-composer obtained at the end of the second piece (‘The last Spring’), when, with his left hand, he gently waved the long sustained final chord through a lovely diminuendo into silence. The present writer cannot recall a similar instance by any conductor of such a perfect fading away of sound. Equally memorable on that occasion was Grieg’s performance of his Pianoforte concerto, which gave an added charm to a beautiful work. With what delicacy he played the lovely Adagio, and, by way of strong contrast, the verve, energy and rhythmic ‘go’ he infused into the last movement, with its exhilarating northern tunes! At this visit, on May 16, 1888, Grieg and his wife gave an evening concert at St. James’s Hall. The programme, which consisted entirely of his compositions, was as follows:

Sonata in F major, for pianoforte and violin (Op.8).
MADAME NORMAN-NERUDA AND THE COMPOSER.
Songs...
Two eyes of brown.
I love thee.
Wandering in the wood.
MADAME NINA GRIEG.
Pianoforte Solos...
On the mountains.
Norwegian bridal procession passing by(from Op.19).
THE COMPOSER.
Romance and Finale from the Sonata, in C minor, for pianoforte and violin (Op.45).
MADAME NORMAN-NERUDA AND THE COMPOSER.
Songs...
My song shall be thine, sweet springtime.
In the summer evening.
Good morning.
MADAME NINA GRIEG.
Pianoforte Solos...
Alla Menuetto (from Op.7).
Humoresken (from Op.6).
Norwegian folk-songs and dances (from Op.17).

THE COMPOSER.

The fascinating manner in which Madame Grieg sang her husband’s delightful songs to his delicate accompaniment forms a life-long memory. In the autumn of that year (1888), at the Birmingham Musical Festival, Grieg conducted his Holberg Suite for stringed orchestra, and his Overture ‘In Autumn’ (Op.11), originally a pianoforte duet, and performed in its orchestral version for the first time on that occasion. Sir George Grove, who was present, has recorded his impressions of the composer and his music in a characteristic letter dated ‘Birmingham, August 30, 1888,’ in which he says:

A very interesting thing was Grieg’s overture last night and his conducting of it. How he managed to inspire the band as he did and get such nervous thrilling bursts and such charming sentiment out of them, I don’t know. He looks very like Beethoven in the face, I thought, and though he is not so extravagant in his ways of conducting, yet it is not unlike.

The remaining visits of Grieg to England were in 1889, 1894, 1896, 1897, and 1906. On May 10, 1894, the University of Cambridge conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Music, honoris causa. THE MUSICAL TIMES, in recording the event, said :

The degree which should have been conferred upon Grieg last summer, when the Cambridge University Musical Society celebrated its jubilee, had to be postponed till the 10th of last month, when the chosen representative of Scandinavian music was, if not in the most robust health, sufficiently recovered to journey to Cambridge for the purpose. Grieg’s remarkable popularity with all sections of cultivated society – of those whose proclivities are not exceptionally musical as well as of the inner circle of musical enthusiasts – was shown by the warmth of his reception, both in the Senate House and at the Concert in the Guildhall, at which he was afterwards present. Like many great composers before him, Grieg’s eminence is not to be measured by his height, and some time was spent in adapting to his stature by means of the domestic pin the doctor’s gown lent him for the ceremony, while the saying that ‘extremes meet’ was amusingly illustrated by the presence on the floor of the Senate House of Dr. Alan Gray, Professor Stanford’s successor in the Trinity College organ loft, who, in spite of his innate modesty, must perforce look down upon his professional colleagues.

It is very difficult and not without risk to give the dates of ‘first performances in England,’ because programmes and announcements of concerts are not always to be relied upon in this respect; therefore, in addition to the dates already given, it may suffice to say that the famous ‘Peer Gynt’ Suite appears to have been first heard here at Mr. Henschel’s London Symphony Orchestra Concert, St. James’s Hall, November 20, 1888, when it was received with that enthusiasm which the fanciful music always excites.

THE FUNERAL.

The funeral of Edvard Grieg took place at Bergen on Monday, September 9. The first part of the service was held in the Museum of Art and Industry, after which the body was cremated. Dr. Adolph Brodsky, Principal of the Royal Manchester College of Music and an old friend of the composer, was not only present but he has graphically described the ceremony in the columns of the Manchester Guardian, from which we venture to quote the following extracts:

The most imposing and the most impressive feature of Grieg’s funeral was the crowd. In my estimate there must have been between 40,000 and 50,000 people. There was no cold curiosity, no fighting for places, no stretching of necks to see better; from old man to urchin, all had the same grave expression of face which showed that they felt their loss.

The programme of the ceremony, which was to begin at noon, was as follows: (1) ‘Varen’(‘In Spring’), by Grieg, played by the string orchestra; (2) Folk-song, by Grieg, sung by the male choir; (3) the laying down of the wreaths; (4) song for male voices, sung by the same choir, also composed by Grieg; and (5) ‘Funeral March’ for orchestra, by Grieg. The orchestra was a scratch orchestra gathered from the theatre, music-halls, and amateurs; I offered my services as a violinist, and they were accepted. Halvorsen, conductor of the National Theatre, Christiania, conducted. He is the husband of one of Grieg’s nieces and a former pupil of mine from the Leipzig Conservatoire. The Funeral March was composed by Grieg about forty years ago, on the death of his friend Nordraak (who had such a great influence on Grieg as a composer), and is written for a military band only. But the only available military band in Bergen is so miserable that Halvorsen at the eleventh hour orchestrated it for an ordinary orchestra. And he did it so well, and the instrumentation was so completely in Grieg’s manner, that it sounded as if it had been done by Grieg himself. It is a beautiful piece, a genuine ‘Grieg,’ and ought to become in its present form a standing piece on the repertory of the leading orchestras.

There were fifty-seven wreaths, which had to be ‘laid down’ by nearly as many delegates; and the Kaiser’s delegate, Legationsrat Sheller Steinwartz (himself a good musician and personal friend of Grieg), made the only long oration – and a beautiful one. The German Emperor’s wreath came next after the wreath of the King and Queen of Norway, which was ‘laid down’ by General Nissen. Then came wreaths from the Storthing, from the Norwegian Government, from the municipalities of Bergen and Christiania, from the Imperial Chancellor, von Bülow; from the Royal Academy, Berlin; from the Queen’s Hall Orchestra, London; from the Concert Gebouw Orchestra, Amsterdam; and from the Brodsky Quartet, Manchester. As I brought a wreath from the Brodsky Quartet, the committee asked me to take charge of the wreath of the Concert Gebouw Orchestra, which I did.

In German, I bade our dear friend farewell, and said that his works would remain to give him immortality so long as true and noble art endured. I and the other bearers then lifted the coffin and carried it outside to the hearse – a beautifully decorated car drawn by four black horses. So it stood visible to everybody. As we passed through the streets, the houses draped with flags, all the people uncovered their heads. The procession consisted of hundreds of deputations with standards inscribed with the names of the societies to which the deputations belonged. There were about 10,000 people in the procession. We who followed directly after the hearse were quite out of town when the end of the procession was still passing through the streets of Bergen. All the schools, all the shops, and all the mills were closed. Outside the town we passed through an alley of trees surrounded by the fjords and mountains; the view was overpowering. At a certain spot the hearse stopped, and the procession, with their standards, passed before the hearse, and every deputation lowered their standard before the coffin and passed on. It was nearly an hour before the last standard was lowered. Afterwards we drove to the cemetery, on a hill a few miles outside the town. Kaiser, King, government, towns, professional musicians, students, workmen, peasants – they all were united and led by one idea – to do homage to the remains of Grieg.

Madame Grieg has asked that the following message may be published : ‘My most heartfelt thanks to all who honoured the memory of my husband and bestowed their sympathy upon me.– NINA GRIEG

Musical Times, October 1907