A Debut of Note: Himari

by Maureen Buja  October 7th, 2026

The young Japanese violinist Himari (b. 2011 as Himari Yoshimura) made her American concert debut with Henryk Wieniawski’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in F sharp minor with the Santa Fe Symphony in 2023, aged 11, and then made her European debut with the work in 2025, age 13. That debut with the Berlin Philharmonic is captured on her debut recording on Decca Classics, appropriately called Debut.

Himari © himari-info.com

Himari started her violin study at age 3, working with Koichiro Harada and Machie Oguri. She made her debut with a professional orchestra at age 6, and at age 11 she was admitted to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, where she studied with Ida Kavafian. At age 13, she signed an exclusive contract with Decca Classics, becoming the label’s youngest female artist.

In competition, Himari has been awarded grand prizes at the Arthur Grumiaux Competition in Belgium (2019) and the International Competition for Young Violinists in Honour of Karol Lipinski and Henryk Wieniawski, Lublin, Poland (2021), as well as the 26th Andrea Postacchini International Violin Competition in Italy and the Kogan International Violin Competition in Belgium. She plays the 1717 ‘Hamma’ Stradivari on loan from Mr Yusaku Maezawa. Her bow is on loan from the Munetsugu Collection.

Henryk Wieniawski (1835–1880) wrote his first violin concerto in 1851 while on tour in Russia with his brother. After returning to give concerts in Leipzig, Paris, and London, he returned to Russia in 1860 at the invitation of Anton Rubinstein. He spent the next 12 years there, variously as solo violinist to the Tsar, leader of the opera Orchestra, and professor of violin at Rubinstein’s conservatory. When he returned to his touring career in 1872, he extended his travels to North America with Rubinstein. When he returned to Europe in 1875, he was appointed professor of violin at the Brussels Conservatory. His health was increasingly frail, and he had to leave the stage during a performance of his Violin Concerto No. 2 in Berlin. Joseph Joachim was in the audience and took his place on stage, replacing the concerto with a performance of the Bach Chaconne on Wieniawski’s violin. Despite this setback, Wieniawski continued his tour out of financial need, but he was often forced to leave the stage, unable to perform. Wieniawski died on 31 March 1880 in the house of Tchaikovsky’s patroness, Nadezhda von Meck.

In the first movement, after a first subject in the clarinet and a more lyrical second subject, the violin enters in a technically demanding solo entry in 10ths. The first subject follows, played only on the G string. The rest of the movement includes a brief cadenza, followed by a lyrical passage that gives the violinist a chance to display technique, complete with triple-stopped chords and difficult but dazzling arpeggios. The final coda brings back the first subject.

Henryk Wieniawski: Violin Concerto No. 1 in F sharp minor, Op. 14 – I. Allegro moderato

Himari plays with authority and assurance, and even her own teacher remarks on her maturity: ‘If you’re listening to Himari and you close your eyes, you wouldn’t realise her age. Inside Himari, there is an older person and a wise musician… she’s immensely talented.’

After this brilliant orchestra debut, Himari fills the rest of the album with recital material of the highest quality, including Frédéric Chopin’s Nocturne No. 16 in E-Flat Major, Op. 55, No. 2 (transcribed by Jascha Heifetz); Leopold Godowsky’s Triakontameron: XI. Alt Wien (transcribed by Jascha Heifetz); Jean Sibelius’ Mazurka, Op. 81, No. 1; and Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C sharp minor (transcribed by Nathan Milstein). These are works by the virtuosos of their day, and even Sibelius’ Mazurka is technically demanding, with a cadenza-like opening, double stopping, and huge leaps in the melodic line, requiring a virtuoso hand.

She closes the album with more Henryk Wieniawski, with his Fantasia on Themes from Gounod’s ‘Faust’, Op. 20.

With its mix of orchestral and recital material, Himari’s debut recording gives us an exceptional view of her skills. Sometimes, as happens on live recordings, her leaps may fall a hair short, but that’s the excitement of live performance. In the piano and violin works, where Chelsea Wang, who made her own orchestral debut at age 6, ably accompanies her, we have a more traditional format. Still, again, Himari’s choice of works distinguishes her. In Wieniawski’s Faust Fantasia, she has the vision to create a coherent storyline amid all the virtuoso fireworks.

Himari: Debut (Wieniawski, Chopin, Sibelius, and Godowsky)

Himari, violin; Berlin Philharmonic with Sebastian Weigle, conductor; Chelsea Wang, piano
Decca Classics 00028948722099
Release date: 25 September 2026

Vienna Soundscapes: The Quatuor Hermès

 by Maureen Buja  October 12th, 2026

The Quatuor Hermès (Omer Bouchez, violin 1; Elise Liu, violin 2; Lou Yung-Hsin Chang, viola; and Yan Levionnois, cello) have brought together three musical emblems of Vienna on their new album Echoes of Vienna. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791), Anton Webern (1883–1945), and Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897–1957). They view Korngold as the source of these echoes, signalling through his 1933 String Quartet the end of the brilliant ‘music school of Vienna’ created by Mozart and which Webern had ushered ‘into modernity’. Through his farewell, Korngold, who was to leave the city in 1934 for Hollywood, acknowledge the twilight of the once-great city of music.

In choosing their works for this album, the Quartet looked at both Beethoven and Haydn before settling on Mozart. As the starting cornerstone, Mozart’s 1783 quartet (Quartet No. 15 in D minor) opens the discussion. The Quartet sees Webern and Korngold as further embodiments of the Viennese soul.

The invisible body in the middle of these works is Romanticism, and by jumping from Mozart’s Classical quartet, which they view as ‘pre-Romantic’, to Webern’s and Korngold’s definitive post-Romantic works, we’re asked to imagine what lies between them. Mozart’s dramatic quartet and its use of D minor as its key only emphasises the work’s ‘post-Classical’ position in this context.

Webern’s Langsamer Satz, written in 1905, transcends Romanticism on the edge of atonality. Webern sets a love story in a man’s walk with his beloved, but at the same time finds traditional atonality unable to fully convey the emotions he wants to express. In the same idea of intimacy and anxiety that can be found in Mozart’s Quartet No. 15, said to have been written while he awaited the birth of his first child, Webern carries us with a sense of emotional restraint.

The album ends with Erich Korngold’s String Quartet No. 2. The precocious Korngold was often compared to the equally precocious Mozart, and one of the strengths of his music from the beginning was its ability to conjure up stories and images. The Quartet first met Korngold through his Piano Quintet, and they found the same sense of farewell in this String Quartet. They are protagonists in an epic tale, and the music seems to have cinematic qualities, as will so much of his future Hollywood material.

The recording is an imaginative and creative look at the string quartet as it moves from tradition to the future. Emotions give way to emotional stories that lead to cinematic ones.

Quatuor Hermès (photo by Lyodoh Kaneko)

They play with skill and authority, and their extensive work with late Romantic and Early Modern quartets and quintets gives them a unique modern viewpoint. They note that this recording is their first to include Mozart.

This album joins an extensive list on La Dolce Volta by the Quartet, including Schumann’s Three Quartets, Op. 41 (LDV 17), String quartets by Ravel, Dutilleux, and Debussy (LDV 33), Brahms’ Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34, with Geoffroy Couteau (LDV 61), and his Piano Quartets nos. 1–3 (LDV 62.3), and Schubert’s Rosamunde and Der Tod und das Mädchen (LDV 85).

Echoes of Vienna: Mozart, Webern, Korngold

Quatuor Hermès
La Dolce Volta LDV 134

Official Website

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Chopin’s Final Year: A Month-By-Month Guide to 1849

 Emily E. Hogstad  October 15th, 2026

Frédéric Chopin’s death on 17 October 1849 was not sudden. It was the end of a long, slow, painful decline.

During the final year of his life, he gave his last public concert, signed his will, and stopped taking new pupils. His famous relationship with author George Sand was over, and the two would never reconcile. He was 39, weighed 99 pounds, and spent months unable to compose.

What followed was one of the most romanticised and mythologised deaths in classical music history. Former students, celebrated artists, and the Parisian elite attended and mourned across Europe.

Here is how Chopin’s final year unfolded, month by month.

October 1848: Chopin Draws Up a Will

Maria Wodzińska: Chopin, 1836 (National Museum in Warsaw)

In October 1848, Chopin was finishing his final concert tour through Scotland and England, accompanied by his student Jane Stirling.

At the time, he was battling late-stage tuberculosis. His health deteriorated so much that, later in the month, while he was staying in Edinburgh, he signed a last will.

He described his choice to his friend Wojciech Grzymała as “a kind of disposition to be made of my stuff in the future, if I should drop dead somewhere.”

On 31 October, he arrived in London on his way back home.

November 1848: Chopin’s Final Concert

In November, Chopin’s health continued to go downhill. His doctors began acknowledging that his diagnosis was almost certainly a terminal one. He lost weight until he was just 99 pounds (45 kilograms).

Chopin gave his final public concert at London’s Guildhall on 16 November 1848. It was a benefit show for Polish refugees. Unfortunately, the English crowd was more interested in socialising and dancing than in listening to Chopin’s playing.

Chopin understood then that the end was nearing. He wrote to his friend, writer Stanisław Koźmian, that “I have ended my public career.”

A week later, on 23 November, he left London by rail and crossed the English Channel. He wrote to Grzymała, asking him to leave out flowers so his apartment would smell good when he arrived. He returned to his Parisian home on the 24th.

December 1848: Chopin’s Final Compositions

It is believed that sometime before the year ended, or in very early 1849, Chopin wrote some of his last music: a Waltz in A minor (WN 63) and a Mazurka in G minor (WN 64).   

January 1849: Chopin’s Final Picture

On New Year’s Day, they took Chopin’s last picture. Looking at it, it’s clear that he wasn’t feeling well.

He spent the rest of January resting, playing privately, and teaching.

Sadly, his condition deteriorated enough during the month that he stopped accepting new pupils, despite the financial hit.

February 1849: Visiting With Friends

Portrait of Frédéric Chopin and George Sand by Eugène Delacroix

In February, artist Eugène Delacroix visited Chopin. He would visit eight times throughout the year.

Delacroix wrote that one of the things they discussed was Chopin’s legendary ex, the author George Sand.

Sand was writing her memoirs at the time, and the two men wondered what she would write about. Chopin would not live to see the book: she only finished and published it in the mid-1850s, years after his death.

We wrote about Chopin and Sand’s tumultuous relationship here: https://interlude.hk/frederic-chopin-and-george-sand-the-real-story-behind-their-relationship/.

March 1849: Visiting With Former Students

His health continued to deteriorate. Friends continued to come by.

In late March, Chopin’s friend and former student Countess Delfina Potocka visited to perform for him. Fellow student Maria Kalergis also dropped in to play piano.

April 1849: “Boredom is for him the cruellest torment”

Although he had broken up with her mother, George Sand, Chopin continued to correspond with Solange Clésinger, whom he viewed as a kind of daughter figure. Solange was about to give birth to her first child.

On 5 April, Chopin reported to her, “I am at a loss what to do. I have a fourth successive doctor; they take from me 10 fr. a visit – they come sometimes twice a day but bring me little relief.”

On 7 April, Delacroix swung by again, and the two went on a ride down the Champs-Élysées. Wanting to distract Chopin from his pain, Delacroix asked him about the logic of music.

Delacroix returned a week later, but by that time, Chopin was in no shape to go riding again. He reported that Chopin was “distressed” and “breathless.” “Boredom is for him the cruellest torment,” Delacroix wrote.

May 1849: Corresponding With George Sand’s Daughter

In May, Solange Clésinger wrote to Chopin to let him know that she had given birth to a daughter. She asked if he would consider encouraging her husband, sculptor Auguste Clésinger, to work in London.

A few months later, Auguste Clésinger would create Chopin’s death mask.

June 1849: Summering in the Suburbs

It was common in aristocratic Parisian circles to leave the city for the summer. Accordingly, Chopin’s friends banded together to find him summer housing in the suburb of Chaillot.

On 18 June, he wrote to Grzymała, painting a vivid picture of life in the Parisian capital in the summer of 1849: “Everyone is leaving – some from fear of cholera, others from fear of revolution.”

In the same letter, he reported, “I am stronger, as I have caught up on eating and thrown up my medicine – but I am panting and coughing the same, just that I am bearing it better – I have not yet started to play – I cannot compose – I do not know what kind of straw I shall soon be eating.”

Four days later, he wrote, “Violent attacks of illness. Two haemorrhages during the night.”

A week later, he wrote to his sister Ludwika, asking if she could come to Paris to be with him in his final months. “If you can, then come. I am weak, and no doctor can help me like you.”

July 1849: The Door Closes on a George Sand Reconciliation

In July, Amélie Grille de Beuzelin wrote to George Sand, “He painfully feels your absence.”

George Sand replied with exasperation, making it clear that their legendary relationship was over: “His sentiment died long ago, and if my memory still oppresses him, it is because he feels pangs of conscience.”

The couple would never reconcile – and a few months later, she’d choose not to attend his funeral.

August 1849: Chopin’s Sister Ludwika Arrives to Caretake

Ludwika Chopin

After a few weeks of preparing and travelling, Chopin’s sister Ludwika arrived in Paris on 9 August with her husband and their daughter.

She would stay with her brother until the end.

September 1849: Final Visits

In September, it was time to return to Paris proper.

It had been months since he could teach or make money, so Jane Stirling paid for his lodgings at the Hôtel Baudard de Saint-James on the Place Vendôme. He moved there on 9 September.

Pauline Viardot as Orphée, 1860

His colleague, singer and composer Pauline Viardot, reported that during this time, as the city paid its respects, “All the grande dames of Paris considered it their duty to faint in his room.”

October 1849: Chopin’s Death

Time was rapidly running out, and Chopin knew it. He informed his sister Ludwika that he wanted his unpublished work thrown into the fire. (She ended up disobeying his wishes, which is why we have so many posthumous Chopin works.)   

His condition deteriorated badly on 15 October. By then, only his closest loved ones remained, waiting with him for the end. We wrote about those final days here: https://interlude.hk/on-this-day-17-october-frederic-chopin-died/.

Soon after midnight on 17 October, his physician asked him if he was suffering. “No longer,” Chopin replied. He died about an hour later.

His sister Ludwika and George Sand’s daughter, Solange Clésinger, were present for his death.

After Ludwika liquidated her brother’s estate, she returned to Poland. She carried her brother’s heart with her so that it could be buried in Polish soil, as per his wishes.

Solange Clésinger-Sand

Conclusion

Chopin’s death at 39 cut short one of the most singular careers in Western music history.

Even at the end, he was surrounded by an extraordinary web of loyalty and love. His student Jane Stirling funded his final months. His friend Delacroix visited eight times. His sister Ludwika crossed Europe to be with him, stayed until the last breath, and then carried his heart home to Poland.

The works he wanted burned survived because the people closest to him ignored his wishes. We’ve been grateful ever since.

From Witches’ Sabbath to Dance of Death: Four Related Pieces for October

 by Bruce Robinson  October 12th, 2026

Orchestras love to program Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre around Halloween. But you can celebrate the season all month with other dances of death—no candy corn required. From Berlioz’ hallucinatory Sabbath to Saint-Saëns’ skeletal waltz—by way of Liszt and Mussorgsky—here are four works that summon the spirits.

Looking at just the Romantic era, it all starts with Hector Berlioz’ 1830 Symphonie fantastique. Has there ever been a work of such startling originality? Berlioz’ program for the last movement states, “He sees himself at the Witches’ Sabbath, amidst a hideous throng of shades, sorcerers, and monsters of every kind, gathered for his funeral.” The idea of a witches’ sabbath—a nighttime gathering with Satan—dates from the Middle Ages.

Berlioz recasts his idée fixe—the recurring theme of the symphony—as a mocking dance tune for the clarinet. Bells announce the introduction of two other themes. In a blaze of imagination, he introduces the plainchant Dies Irae with its evocation of the Last Judgment: “Day of wrath—that day—shall dissolve the world into ash.” And a new, energetic melody piles a “witches’ round” on top of the madness.

Hear the Witches’ Sabbath, the fifth movement of Berlioz’ Symphonie fantastique, played by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Gustavo Dudamel.

From the first performance, audiences responded with passion. Yet repeat performances didn’t materialise, and Berlioz remained poor. Franz Liszt, who was present at the premiere, transcribed the piece for piano solo and performed it frequently—a remarkable achievement for a 21-year-old.

A decade later, Liszt appropriated parts of Berlioz’ concept as he began composing his Totentanz (Dance of Death) for piano and orchestra; the first version was completed in 1849. Rather than the witches’ sabbath, Liszt drew on the tradition of the Dance of Death, particularly the woodcuts of Hans Holbein the Younger and the Triumph of Death fresco at Pisa’s Campo Santo. In Holbein’s woodcuts, the agent of death—a skeleton—drags people away from all walks of life, in all conditions, often while playing an instrument. In his single-movement showpiece, Liszt transforms the Dies Irae melody through a series of dazzling variations. Liszt has the strings play col legno—“with the wood,” using the back of the bow—to signify the bones of the skeleton.

The Noblewoman, by Hans Holbein

Hear pianist Nelson Freire with the Dresden Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Michel Plasson.

Liszt made three tours of Russia in the 1840s, including his last as a virtuoso. Partly because of the personal connections he made, Liszt exerted a profound influence on the direction of Russian music in the decades that followed. In 1867, Modest Mussorgsky knew of Liszt’s Totentanz as he wrote his tone poem, St. John’s Night on Bald Mountain. Mussorgsky wrote, “The form and character of my composition are Russian and original. Its tone is ardent and chaotic.” While Mussorgsky didn’t incorporate the Dies Irae in its original form, several of its themes echo the chant.

St. John’s Night refers to the Eve of St. John the Baptist’s birth, traditionally observed on June 23—six months before Christmas. Russian folk traditions include bonfires and other means of warding off evil spirits and witches. With this background, Nikolai Gogol wrote a short story, St. John’s Eve, about which Mussorgsky composed his music.

Bald Mountain was neither published nor performed during his lifetime. Mily Balakirev, who often imposed his views on his circle—Mussorgsky, César Cui, Alexander Borodin and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov—didn’t approve of the work. It fell to Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov to tighten and redesign the piece into the version most often played now. You can read how Rimsky-Korsakov’s version differs from Mussorgsky’s in Maureen Buja’s Interlude story.

Hear Paavo Järvi conduct the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra in Rimsky-Korsakov’s arrangement of Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain

Saint-Saëns drew on yet another legend for his brief tone poem Danse Macabre: Death playing the violin at midnight on Halloween, with skeletons leaving their graves to dance. Incredibly, the piece began in 1872 as an art song to a delicious text by Henri Cazalis, who wrote under the pseudonym Jean Lahor. The song is rarely performed, perhaps because of the difficulty of the rapid-fire text. The violin plays open strings as if tuning—but the E string is tuned to E Flat in a technique called scordatura. The interval from A to E-flat is a tritone—the devil’s interval.

Hear Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre for voice, Markus Poschner conducting the Orchestra della Svizzera Italiana with Tassis Christoyannis, baritone.

Zig et zig et zig, la mort en cadence Frappant une tombe avec son talon, La mort à minuit joue un air de danse, Zig et zig et zag, sur son violon. Le vent d’hiver souffle, et la nuit est sombre, Des gémissements sortent des tilleuls; Les squelettes blancs vont à travers l’ombre Courant et sautant sous leurs grands linceuls. Zig et zig et zig, chacun se trémousse. On entend claquer les os des danseurs, Un couple lascif s’assoit sur la mousse Comme pour goûter d’anciennes douceurs. Zig et zig et zag, la mort continue De racler sans fin son aigre instrument. Un voile est tombé! La danseuse est nue! Son danseur la serre amoureusement. La dame est, dit-on, marquise ou baronne. Et le vert galant un pauvre charron— Horreur! Et voilà qu’elle s’abandonne Comme si le rustre était un baron. Zig et zig et zig, quelle sarabande! Quels cercles de morts se donnant la main! Zig et zig et zag, on voit dans la bande Le roi gambader auprès du vilain!

Zig and zig and zig, Death keeps the beat, Striking a tomb with a bony heel; At midnight, Death plays a dance-tune sweet— Zig and zig and zag—on the fiddle’s steel. The winter wind blows, and the night is deep; Moans rise up from the linden trees; White skeletons through the shadows sweep, Leaping and running in shrouds like these. Zig and zig and zig, how they sway and spin! One hears the clatter of dancing bones; A lustful pair sits where mosses begin, Savoring pleasures of old, in tones. Zig and zig and zag, Death plays on and on, Scraping the strings of that shrill instrument. The veil has fallen! The dancer is nude, Stripped bare! Her partner holds her, all intent. The lady, they say, is a marchioness— Her gallant, a lowly wheelwright—oh, dread! Yet she yields to his amorous, bold caress, As if the boor were a baron bred. Zig and zig and zag, what a wild saraband! What circles of dead, hand clasped in hand! Zig and zig and zag, in the throng we see The king capering near the peasant—glee!

In 1874, Saint-Saëns reworked the song as a tone poem, giving the vocal part to the violin. A single harp note is struck twelve times, marking the twelve strokes of midnight, before the violin’s satanic dance begins. The xylophone depicts the dancing skeletons. Saint-Saëns inserts a fugato, then the woodwinds play the Dies Irae—but in a major key, so listen carefully! The madness fully blossoms into a brilliant showpiece before the oboe imitates a rooster at dawn.

Hear Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre, Daniel Harding conducting the Bremen Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie with Renaud Capuçon, violin.

Almost a half-century after transcribing Berlioz’ Symphonie fantastique, Liszt transcribed Danse Macabre for piano. Today, Liszt’s transcription is most often heard in Vladimir Horowitz’s 1942 reworking.

Hear Vladimir Horowitz, piano, play his version of Liszt’s transcription of Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre.

Each of these four works offers a different answer to the same question: what does death sound like? The Dies Irae—that ancient warning of judgment—becomes, in their hands, a source of wonder. Death, for all its terror, can be made to dance.

A Bear Called Winnie-the-Pooh (Published on October 14, 1926)

100 Years of Adventures

On 14 October 2026, we celebrate a very special 100th birthday. Our birthday bear is friendly and steadfast, and though he is a little slow and naïve, he often comes up with clever ideas.

Our celebrity is also a talented poet and storyteller, and occasionally he even composes a song. Have I given you enough clues to guess our birthday bear’s identity?

Enough suspense already! Today, we celebrate the 100th anniversary of the publication of Winnie-the-Pooh, the lovable fictional teddy bear created by the English author A. A. Milne and brought to life by illustrator E. H. Shepard.   

From Winnipeg to the Hundred Acre Wood

Winnie-the-Pooh is actually a collection of stories about a good-natured honey-loving bear who lives in the Hundred Acre Wood, a fictional place modelled on Ashdown Forest in East Sussex, England.

The lovable bear was inspired by a stuffed toy Milne bought for his son Christopher Robin, and by a bear named Winnie they visited at the London Zoo. Thus, Winnie-the-Pooh was essentially inspired by a real bear.

The bear story begins in Canada, where an officer of the Canadian Army Veterinary Corps named Harry Colebourn adopted an orphaned female bear cub in White River, Ontario. He named the cub Winnipeg, or Winnie for short, after the Canadian city of Winnipeg, where he was based.

Harry Colebourn and Winnie

Lopez/Lopez: “The Tummy Song”   

From Zoo to Literary Fame

When Colebourn’s regiment came to England, he brought Winnie with him, and she soon became the regiment’s unofficial mascot. When Colebourn left for the front, he placed Winnie at the London Zoo, and she quickly became a crowd favourite.

One of those visitors was Christopher Robin Milne, who was so taken with Winnie that he renamed his teddy bear after her. Originally, the name Pooh belonged to a swan that Christopher Robin visited and fed. And thus the fictional Winnie-the-Pooh was born.

A. A. Milne, 1920

The first collection of stories under the title “Winnie-the-Pooh” was published in 1926, and the sequel “The House at Pooh Corner” appeared in 1928. Since we have already met Winnie-the-Pooh, it’s now time to introduce Pooh’s companions in the forest.

Winnie-the-Pooh, Evening News

Lopez/Lopez: “A Very Important Thing to Do” 

Meet the Gang

Of course, Christopher Robin is the boy who shares his name with Milne’s son. He is the benign master of the forest, and the animals turn to him when a problem gets too big for them.

He leads their expedition to the North Pole, and when Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit’s doorway, Christopher reads to him for over a week until Pooh has grown thin enough to escape through the doorway.

And then there is the old and grey donkey “Eeyore,” a kind but always self-deprecating creature. Odd mishaps seem to follow him around, as his missing tail is found at the Owl’s house, and Pooh and Piglet accidentally dismantle his stick house.

The original Winnie-the-Pooh toys

One of Pooh’s closest friends is “Piglet,” a small and often nervous creature who is fiercely loyal. One day, he sets out to give Eeyore a balloon for his birthday but accidentally pops it. Never mind, he still brings the remains as a gift. “Piglet” is very brave and even stands up to such creatures as a Heffalump, a creature resembling an elephant.  

Sherman/Sherman: “Like a Rather Blustery 

Wisdom, Bounce & Trouble

“Owl,” predictably, is an expert on almost everything, and always ready with a story or piece of advice. “Owl” lives in a splendid house at the Chestnuts, and even has a doorbell that rings inside.

The exuberant tiger bounding around on his tail first appeared in the 1928 book. Called “Tigger,” he joins many adventures and boasts that he can climb trees. Amusingly, he discovers that getting down is much harder than getting up.

Pooh (Shepard, 1928)

“Roo” is a baby kangaroo riding in his mother’s pouch, and it’s all fun and games. When “Roo” falls into a stream, he discovers that he can swim, and he even gets stuck up a tree with Tigger.

His mother “Kanga” is the fastest animal in the woods and is known for keeping track of every detail. She certainly is very practical and attentive, and later looks after Tigger as well.

“Rabbit” is an expert thinker who is convinced that he can solve almost any problem. When he gets annoyed at Tigger bouncing around, he leads him deep into the forest to disorient him, but in the end, it is “Rabbit” who loses his way.    

A Few Simple Lines

And thus, the stage is set for “Winnie-the-Pooh” to get himself into all kinds of sticky situations. The 1926 book contains 10 chapters that recount his various adventures. Milne insisted that Ernest H. Shepard illustrate these stories.

Shepard had long been working as a book illustrator, and he was also a full-time cartoonist at Punch, focusing on political cartoons. He also collaborated with Milne on the publication of When We Were Very Young in 1924.

His illustrations were always inspired by life itself. He often carried a sketchbook and observed everything from landscapes to children’s toys. As such, his drawings for “Winnie-the-Pooh” are delightfully light and natural, with a few simple lines suggesting personality and environment.   

Pooh Goes to Hollywood

Milne quickly understood that Shepard’s contribution made the books a great success, and Shepard received a share of the royalties. As a result, “Winnie-the-Pooh” became a huge success and the book was translated into countless languages.

Walt Disney acquired the screen rights to Milne’s Pooh stories in 1961, and the character made his Disney animated debut in the 1966 featurette Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree. Originally, the screen characters were based on Shepard’s illustrations, but were subsequently adapted. Interestingly, Shepard called the Disney animation a travesty in 1966.

Two more short features followed, and all three were later combined into a feature-length animation titled The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh in 1977. Yet, living with the resounding success of Winnie-the-Pooh proved difficult for the people behind it. A. A. Milne was frustrated that his bear story overshadowed his plays, novels, and essays.  

May His Songs Never End

Illustrator Ernest H. Shepard developed a similar resentment as his Pooh drawings became more famous than the rest of his work. And Christopher Robin Milne was mercilessly teased by his classmates over his fictional counterpart. As an adult, he tried to distance himself completely from the character.

Of course, “Winnie-the-Pooh” is a rather musical bear, so the original Disney productions featured songs by the Sherman brothers. For the 2011 “Winnie the Pooh” film, Henry Jackman composed the background score, while new songs were written by the songwriting team Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez.

Winnie the Pooh

A hundred years after Winnie-the-Pooh first appeared in print, he still gets stuck in doorways and stumbles into wild adventures with his friends. This jolly bear has made children and adults smile for 100 years and may his honey pots always be full and his songs never end.