Most recent scholars imply that the first critiques of the Requiem support their interpretation of the text as valid for all faiths. A thorough inspection of the literature through the composer's lifetime—almost thirty years of reviews and essays—proves otherwise. Indeed, the first commentators on the Requiem consistently read and heard it as a piece upholding common Christian beliefs. Testimony to the contrary is meager, unconvincing, or misunderstood. In this chapter I survey a wide range of early assessments of the Requiem text (evaluations of the music appear in chapter 5) written by anonymous journalists, significant critics, distinguished musicologists, and Protestant theologians. Several of them were friends of Brahms and early supporters of his music. Most writings clearly assume a Christian reading of the text, but those examined here make explicit pronouncements to that effect. Time and again these authors refer to distinctive Christian themes in the work as discussed in the previous chapter, including redemption, resurrection, praise of the creator, and heavenly blessedness. Remarkably, except for some of the performance reviews, most of the sources cited here have appeared in various bibliographies or studies about Brahms; therefore, they are not unknown, but they have not been given an adequate hearing. Normally a few well-chosen examples would be sufficient to corroborate a particular claim, but a larger selection will be presented here because of the revisionist nature of my argument. Only the reader who becomes convinced that this was the prevailing view of the work may begin to murmur about the profusion of evidence. Here I invoke the words of the eighteenth-century music theorist and composer Johann Mattheson as he provided numerous scriptural passages as proof for heavenly music to those who denied its existence: “Therefore it is necessary, where possible, to open their understanding with still more passages … in order that no one may complain that not enough was told him about this.”

When examining early reactions to the Requiem, it is important to acknowledge that not everyone's opinion must be valued or trusted equally. For example, a zealous follower of Wagner, under the spell of the music of the future, will more than likely find something to critique in the works of Brahms.

Most recent discussions of the Requiem emphasize what the text does not mean by denying a Christian interpretation, but an explanation of what we are supposed to understand in place of that usually remains absent. A synopsis of the Requiem text based on information supplied by current writings would read something like this:

This may strike some as an extreme parody, but I consider it an accurate summation of recent scholarship on the Requiem.

Notwithstanding the evidence already submitted, the most important hermeneutical guide to the Requiem for the informed listener is the music itself. As Jonathan Bellman contends, “for purposes of telling a story, delivering a message, or making a point, the choice of musical idiom has to be considered the most immediately striking and significant choice a composer can make.” Bellman asserts that “there was no ‘public-domain’ musical style over which [Brahms] had less than absolute command.” With a variety of styles under his authority, Brahms set his Requiem text sympathetically, convincingly, dramatically, and, above all, with an earnest devotion to sacred music traditions. Brahms is legendary as a student of the music of his German predecessors and for his dedication to sustaining and participating in that imposing heritage. To do so, he became, in the words of Charles Rosen, “the most learned composer in the history of music.” In examining what he calls Brahms's “allegiance to the tradition of Bach, Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven,” J. Peter Burkholder explains: “Brahms's music embraces all he knew of previous European musical history within it, a summation that is both awesome in its scope and incomprehensible without an understanding of the past that is being evoked.” Indeed, just as an appreciation of the text of the Requiem is richer with knowledge of the Bible—its intertext—and its previous use by other composers, so does an appreciation of the work's musical message become more profound with a knowledge of the musical intertext of the Requiem, that is, the general musical traditions as well as individual musical works to which Brahms pays tribute in his work.

This chapter will consider the musical context of the Requiem as well as its appraisal by early writers. As throughout this study, the focus will be on the elements that encourage and validate a Christian interpretation of the work. After an opening section that evaluates general comments by early critics, Brahms's continuation of the German sacred music tradition will be examined in detail, primarily through his allusions to masterworks of his predecessors and his conscientious setting of the biblical text through traditional techniques.

In many discussions of Ein deutsches Requiem, the supposition for the interpretation is rarely delineated. Perhaps the writer assumes the reader will share the same strategies for scrutinizing the piece, or the amount of space needed to expound on the analytical procedure is simply unavailable. Because my view of the work is so uncommon, it is vital that every step of my reasoning process be articulated. Since readers and listeners with diverse practices for establishing a reading of a work will likely arrive at varied conclusions, explicitly stating one's premises can make scholarly conversations more profitable.

This opening chapter, then, attempts to demarcate the rationale for my evaluation of the Requiem's text. I access a variety of literary theories and examine other scholars’ methodologies concerning the work, suggesting where they seem to go awry or employ inconsistent tactics. I also explore Brahms's approach to some of his other choral works and the responses of early audiences and critics as well as modern scholars, who seem to apply a different set of principles to the Requiem. The biblical knowledge of those who heard the Requiem in its early performances will also be taken into account. Finally, a first look at Brahms's selection of biblical texts explains how it provides interpretive clues for listeners. Altogether, this survey will support the logic for using the biblical context of the Requiem's text as an elemental factor in understanding the work.

Authorial Intent

One possible rationalization for the seemingly undisputed view of the Requiem's so-called universality of religious expression is that most current scholars have endeavored to determine what the text meant to Brahms and, as a corollary, what it should therefore mean to us today. This tack is understandable for studying the music of Brahms, who, like most composers, carefully chose texts that resonated with him for a particular, if not always discernible, reason. Indeed, intriguing connections between Brahms's texts and his personal life have been revealed—what Carol Hess has called “autobiographical allusion” and John Daverio “autobiographical overtones”—in such works as Rinaldo (1863–68), the Alto Rhapsody (1869), and the Schicksalslied (1868–71), all completed shortly after the Requiem.

The published correspondence between Brahms and Karl Reinthaler includes seventy-seven letters, only two of which are from Reinthaler to Brahms. Styra Avins includes eight of Brahms's letters to Reinthaler in her magisterial collection of the composer's correspondence. Reinthaler's first surviving letter to Brahms (October 5, 1867) is a response to Brahms's request to return the manuscript of the Requiem, which their mutual friend Albert Dietrich had loaned to Reinthaler with the idea of facilitating a Bremen premiere. The letter has selectively been quoted by scholars focusing on the conductor's concern about the doctrinal suitability of the text for a church performance on Good Friday, an issue treated in the preceding chapter. The complete letter appears here for the first time in an English translation to allow readers to make their own judgment. Brahms's reply to this letter appears complete in Avins's collection.

Karl Reinthaler, Letter to Brahms

Bremen, October 5, 1867

Enclosed, dear sir, I return to you in your “German Requiem” a treasure that I have kept in my house longer than I was probably entitled to considering the underlying circumstances. My friend Dietrich, who knows how much I take an interest in your creations, sent it to me at my request and came himself; he told me that he believes you would not object if I wanted to produce a performance of the work in the Bremen cathedral, of course, if possible, with you personally and if you would consider it most appropriate.

I read through the work with the highest interest, and it has touched my soul in the deepest way. For a performance here only the beautiful cathedral seems to me the appropriate place; and for this winter we have nothing but Good Friday available (unless we had arranged a special concert). I looked at your “Requiem” with that in mind and, forgive me, the thought came to me whether an extension of the work would not be possible that would bring it closer to a Good Friday performance; such an extension, it seems to me, is consistent with the concept of the work itself.

THE rediscovery of Bach's cantatas was a long process with its roots in the publication of the Bach-Gesellschaft editions. But yet again history proves that the publication of scores did not necessarily prompt performances, and premieres could be claimed well into the twentieth century. Records show that cantatas were programmed across the full spectrum of performance spaces, from private gatherings to public concerts and from church services to dramatised festivals.

Henry Wood programmed cantatas throughout his career, but with the constant features of a large orchestra at his disposal and concert-goers with an appetite for the orchestral sounds of the late nineteenth century, he prepared his own re-scored versions. In his quest to make Bach both accessible and exciting to new audiences, his approach divided contemporary opinion. Whereas Havergal Brian may have argued that a cantata sinfonia ‘modernized’ by Wood was ‘one of the most completely satisfying things yet experienced’, more general opinion of his treatment of the cantatas was not favourable. Writing in 1929, for example, the critic Frank Howes suggested:

The simple answer is Wood's own conclusion: ‘transcriptions are not to everybody's taste’.

The total number of cantatas now catalogued in the Wood Archive surpasses previous estimates of Wood's activity, and it is evident that he owned the full collection published by the Bach-Gesellschaft. Many, but not all, of his own arrangements can be traced to Proms performances with dates of premieres noted on the score covers. However, Proms programmes (and those of other concerts elsewhere) record further cantatas for which neither scores nor parts survive, suggesting that they were either lost or hired from another library.

THE story of Bach at the Proms begins with their first patron Dr George Cathcart. When Henry Wood had accepted Robert Newman's offer to conduct the festival, he had not been able to contribute the required £2,000 to launch the first season. The answer was found in Cathcart, a wealthy, music-loving, Harley Street ear, nose, and throat surgeon whose patients included singers with vocal complaints, which is how he first came in contact with Wood. The two men developed a friendship, and Cathcart set specific conditions in return for his sponsorship. He insisted that Wood should be the sole conductor, and that the series should be performed at the lower French concert pitch (a′ = 439 at 68°F). Cathcart had previously worked with Wood on restoring the vocal health of singers and believed that the lower pitch would be medically advantageous. His stipulations led to a re-tuning of the Queen's Hall organ and the acquisition of new wind and brass instruments for the newly established QHO, in a rare example of orchestral standardisation. Cathcart's terms prompted a consistency of orchestral sound, especially in the wind section, but specifically for performances of Bach they also helped address the challenges of orchestral balance and moved the pitch closer to eighteenth-century norms.

To jump to the end of the story, in 1944 a tribute to Wood's Proms Jubilee was published entitled Sir Henry Wood: Fifty Years of the Proms. Its contributors included eminent musicians, artists, and commentators of the day, and it gave an account of the differing facets of his accomplishments at the Proms. The chapter ‘Queen's Hall was my Club’ by the philosopher Cyril Joad encapsulates the welcoming environment that Wood and Newman created for a fresh generation of concert-goers: