Robert Schumann: Reporter, Critic, Cheerleader

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I have written about Schumann’s composition, Träumerei, and mentioned in passing that he was also a critic and reporter on musical matters.  The journal he helped to get off the ground, and which he kept alive when his original collaborator or collaborators were unable to continue to help (in fact, I believe, one of the founders of the journal disappeared or died) is—as evidenced by the fact that I was able to provide a link to its website—still in existence today.  It is a journal in the sense that it reported the day-to-day musical events and achievements of the musical community of which Schumann was —a very important— part.

The critical role was somewhat different from that of a professional music critic for a major newspaper today.  Schumann was a very friendly critic.  In fact, as we will see below, his approach might be considered almost opposite from that of a professional critic; he was a fan, an enthusiast, an amateur in the best sense.

I went so far as to obtain a book of Schumann's writings for the express purpose of reporting here what it was like.  The title, available as a Dover reprint of a St Martin's Press publication from 1965, already had a lengthy publishing history.  Because Schumann died young, and because of the fact that he lived in such interesting times, musically, his writings were valuable a few decades after his death.  As soon as Schubert, Brahms, Chopin, Liszt,  Mendelssohn, Wagner and co. were recognized to be the geniuses they were, it was useful to read what Schumann might have written about them.  The book is Robert Schumann: Schumann on Music, A selection from the Writings, translated and edited by Henry Pleasants.

One of the most valuable books I was ever given (and one whose loss I still mourn) was a book entitled Letters of Composers, which I received as a school prize in my teens, and which had an amazing influence on me.  To this day I'm not certain which particular collection of letters of composers this lost book had been, but certain letters conveyed such a vivid impression of the composers that they’re indelibly etched in my mind, most notably Mozart, whose letters are the goofiest things you could ever read.  As soon as I saw the movie Amadeus, I told myself, gosh, they’ve outed old buddy Mozart!  I was under the fond impression that only I knew what a strange bird he was, or at least that only I was alive of anyone who might have known.

But the overall impression one gets of German writing of the 18^th and 19^th century is the almost maniacal use of figurative language.  Oh, my word.  It is as if anyone who expected to have any sort of audience at all wrote in such a flowery style that it almost got in the way of getting at the meaning.  Any negative statement had to be presented in a sly manner, as a sort of backhanded compliment.  Robert Schumann is no exception.  He goes off into flights of fancy whether he wants to praise a performance or a new work, or whether he wants to poke at its flaws.

Dr Eduard Hanslick

The pre-eminent music critic of the time, and a sworn enemy of some of the greatest composers of the period, was Eduard Hanslick.  Hanslick has come to represent the music Critic as the fearlessly opinionated reporter with a vicious pen.  (In actual fact, some authorities are of the opinion that his writing was generally balanced.)  I risk the wrath of the translator of the Schumann reader (Mr Pleasants) by providing the following excerpt from his introduction.

He must be ranked, nevertheless, among the great critics of European music.  He lacked Hanslick's easy mastery of the writer's craft.... He was, indeed, rather provincial. ... He knew little of the world outside Germany, and his prejudice against most things Italian and all things French, was pronounced and benighted.  And yet ... his articles are ... distinguished by a most uncommon decency.
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He was an idealist, then, who was guided by the most exalted examples, both musical and literary, and who proved himself worthy of his models.  If he was, as a critic, not quite a Hanslick —well, Hanslick, in more ways than one, was no Schumann.

I think those words beautifully capture how Schumann is both a critic, in the sense of illuminating a performance or a composition from the point of view of one who was truly knowledgeable, and an enthusiastic supporter.  His criticism, as Mr Pleasants goes on to explain, is from the point of view of being let down.

An interesting device Schumann uses —and one which I have seen being used by other authors of the time, notably Louisa May Alcott, of all people— is to introduce fictitious personalities with certain fixed points of view (and personal characteristics to match) whom Schumann brings out to present the pros and cons of a particular item, and whom he makes argue back and forth, so that a review can be made to look like a conversation.  The members of Schumann's Punch and Judy show are Eusebius (“Moderate, sober, reflective and tolerant,” according to Pleasants,) and Florestan (“fiery, impatient, and idealistic”).

Appendix: More works by Schumann

I’m unlikely to write often on Schumann, since he figures rather low on my list of favorites, so I must give you some pieces that you should try.

His piano concerto is one of the most beautiful, with a lovely Spring-like feel that leaves you feeling uplifted, and gives you an idea of what sort of a pianist he might have been.  He also wrote some four symphonies (or am I thinking of Brahms?) which I remember to be wonderful.

Outside of his journal, and his friendship with Brahms, Schumann is remembered most for his Lieder.  Die Lotusblüme is particularly beautiful.  Here it is, sung by the inimitable Elly Ameling.  Schumann’s Lieder settings are more lyrical than those of Schubert.  Here is Elisabeth Schwarzkopf singing Der Nussbaum.