Wilhelm Taubert (Born on March 23, 1811) Berlin’s Hidden Romantic

 by Georg Predota  March 23rd, 2026

The German conductor, composer and pianist Wilhelm Taubert (1811–1891), born on 23 March 1811, was part of a Berlin circle of musicians that included Felix Mendelssohn, Giacomo Meyerbeer, and the singer and writer Eduard Devrient, the librettist of two of his operas.

Wilhelm Taubert

Mendelssohn and Taubert studied piano with Ludwig Berger, and they exchanged a number of letters. In one of these letters, Mendelssohn identifies “the lack and impetus of spirit which, for all of Taubert’s musicianship, refined taste and great industry, nevertheless hindered him from achieving complete success as a composer.” (Lindeman, Grove Music Online, 2001)

On the occasion of Taubert’s birthday on 23 March, let’s explore the life and works of a capable yet eclipsed composer whose prolific output was ultimately overshadowed by his more illustrious contemporaries.

Childhood Promise

Carl Gottfried Wilhelm Taubert was born into a middle-class family. His father may have held an administrative or civil service position, and he was exposed to Berlin’s vibrant musical and theatrical scene at an early age.

Taubert showed great early promise on the piano, and his first structured lessons came from August Neithardt and, most significantly, Ludwig Berger. Berger was a student of Muzio Clementi and even went with him to Russia.

Ludwig Berger

A capable composer and piano virtuoso, Berger built his reputation as a teacher, counting Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn, Dorn, August Wilhelm Bach, and Wilhelm Taubert among his most distinguished students.

Dual Path in Berlin

Bernhard Klein

Under Berger’s guidance, Taubert progressed rapidly, and he was allowed to perform publicly as early as age 13. Taubert also studied composition with Bernhard Klein, himself a student of Luigi Cherubini, who held the professorship of composition at the Royal Institute for Church Music and served as music director at the University of Berlin.

Alongside music, Taubert also pursued philosophy studies at the University of Berlin, preparing for a dual path that shaped his refined taste and intellectual approach to music. Among his first compositions were small instrumental pieces and sets of songs which attracted favourable comments from Mendelssohn.

Mendelssohn and Taubert engaged in a busy exchange of letters that discussed various aspects of musicianship and artistry. When a critic highly praised the uniqueness of the overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Mendelssohn wrote to Taubert, “…the first obligation of any artist should be to have respect for the great men and to bow down before them…and not try to extinguish the great flames in order that his own small candle can seem a little brighter.” (Green, Biography as Ethics, 2006). 

The Working Musician

Wilhelm Taubert

At the age of 20, Taubert was appointed assistant conductor and accompanist for the Berlin court concerts. He would subsequently become associated with the Berlin Königliche Schauspiele under Mendelssohn and Meyerbeer, and served as Generalmusikdirektor there from 1845 until 1848.

Taubert also held the appointment of court Kapellmeister until 1869, and in this position, he would conduct the royal orchestra until 1883. As far as we can tell, Taubert was highly regarded as a teacher, instructing Theodor Kullak, among others, at the Royal Academy of Arts.

Taubert composed in a graceful and popular style, and he soon attracted the attention of Robert Schumann. As the editor of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Schumann reviewed a great many of Taubert’s compositions, indicating his high regard. He even asked Taubert to contribute to the journal.  

Encounter with Schumann

In his early twenties, Taubert composed his Piano Concerto No. 1, dedicated to his piano teacher Ludwig Berger. Schumann heard the concerto performed by the composer in 1833, and three years later, after the score was published, he remembered many of the positive aspects of his first impression.

As Schumann writes in his 1836 review, “Without waxing lyrical, I could call this Concerto one of the most excellent.” (Lindemann, Hyperion, 2010) However, Schumann also found too many similarities to Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 25. In the end, Schumann credits Mendelssohn as the original.

Challenges in Complexity

Wilhelm Taubert composed five symphonies that reveal the challenges of writing longer, more complex music. He also composed six operas that were all staged at the Königliches Theater in Berlin. “Although these works seem not to have stood the test of time, they were well received and often highly admired when written.” (Smith, Naxos, 2024)

In his compositional style, Taubert stayed close to the traditional models offered by Mendelssohn and Carl Maria von Weber. His music is highly diatonic and cadential, with chromaticism primarily reserved for modulatory passages.

As has been noted, Taubert’s music is full of graceful and gentle melodies of light lyrical charm, and therefore well adapted to smaller and more intimate musical forms. As such, it is hardly surprising that Lieder form an important part of his output.  

A Forgotten Footnote

For much of the 20th century, Wilhelm Taubert was little more than a forgotten footnote in music history. Overshadowed by Mendelssohn and Schumann, his extensive oeuvre was quickly forgotten after his death.

Mendelssohn’s assessment, quoted at the beginning, might well have played its part. While he praises Taubert’s technical skill and competence, and acknowledges his diligence and productivity, he pinpoints a core deficiency.

What Mendelssohn misses in Taubert’s music is the inner fire and passion, or, in other words, originality and creative energy. This isn’t just a mild criticism but a clear statement that Taubert might well have been a capable composer, albeit one without genius.   

21st-Century Revival

Wilhelm Taubert

Fortunately, the 21st century has engaged in a quiet rediscovery that finally gives listeners a chance to hear this forgotten voice. Initially, Hyperion Records released Taubert’s two piano concertos as Volume 51 of its acclaimed “Romantic Piano Concerto” series.

However, the real breakthrough arrived in September 2025 when pianist Lucas Wong released the world-premiere recording of Taubert’s Piano Sonatas. Praising its pastoral charm, light virtuosity and intimate storytelling, critics have found great delight in the discovery of a once-neglected composer.

In an age hungry for fresh repertoire, the works of Wilhelm Taubert remind us of the vast untapped 19th-century music. While his symphonies and operas still await full revival, Taubert is finally restored to the broader narrative of 19th-century Romanticism.

Khatia Buniatishvili

 

I love how she always thanks the orchestra with applause before she takes a bow. Class act all the way. Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54 by Robert Schumann is a lyrical and intimate masterpiece, blending poetic expression with symphonic depth. In this performance, Khatia Buniatishvili brings fiery passion and delicate nuance, while Paavo Järvi leads the hr-Sinfonieorchester with clarity and balance. The result is a vivid dialogue between piano and orchestra, rich in emotion and Romantic spirit.

https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/oo6xXyqRB8

6 of the Most Romantic Symphonies in Classical Music History

 by Emily E. Hogstad  February 14th, 2026

What makes a symphony romantic?

For one, a symphony can be stylistically of the Romantic Era – Romantic-with-a-capital-R, full of sweeping melodies, warm orchestral colour, and heart-tugging harmonies.

But a symphony can also be romantic in a more personal sense: when it springs from a composer’s love for someone – or even somewhere.

Today, we’re looking at six symphonies that are Romantic in both senses of the word: stylistically of the era, and emotionally rooted in a love story.

All six of these works remain among the most popular romantic symphonies in the classical repertoire.

Berlioz – Symphonie fantastique (1830)

The Love Story

This symphony’s autobiographical program was directly inspired by Berlioz’s own tumultuous love life and romantic fixations.

In 1827, after seeing Irish actress Harriet Smithson perform the role of Ophelia in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Berlioz became obsessively infatuated with her.

Although the production was in English, Smithson’s performance was so gripping that it electrified Parisian audiences.

Hector Berlioz in 1832

One audience member in particular was electrified: Hector Berlioz.

He fell in love not with Smithson as a person – he wouldn’t get to know her for quite some time – but rather with her talent and appearance, as well as the many Romantic Era ideals she represented.

While in the throes of this fixation, Berlioz channeled his infatuation into a symphony.   

The music is programmatic and, in Berlioz’s own words, follows a “young artist of morbidly sensitive temperament” (a not-so-subtle stand-in for himself) as he plunges from ardent passion into the depths of delusion.

The beloved’s tender theme (idée fixe) is first heard in the symphony’s opening movement, but it later curdles into a vulgar fiddle tune in the witches’ sabbath, symbolising how his idealised love has turned into a nightmare.

The orchestration here is noteworthy, featuring an expanded percussion section, new instruments like the English horn, and striking effects like col legno bowing, where string players tap the wood of their bows on the strings to create spooky sounds.

Harriet Smithson

Berlioz kept trying to get Smithson’s attention. He sent her numerous letters and even went so far as to stalk her lodgings, to no avail. In fact, she didn’t even attend the symphony’s 1830 premiere.

However, two years later, she finally heard a performance. She was astonished that she had inspired such a work, and they soon began dating.

They married in 1833. The marriage collapsed within a matter of years. But this symphony, the spark of inspiration that signaled the start of their relationship, remains a revolutionary Romantic Era statement that out-survived their love – and them.

Mendelssohn – Symphony No. 4, “Italian” (1833)

The Love Story

Horace Vernet: Felix Mendelssohn, 1831

Felix Mendelssohn was not undergoing a tortured love affair while writing the Italian Symphony.

In fact, this work is more influenced by a place he loved than a person: the “romance” here is between the composer and Italy itself.

Mendelssohn’s letters from his 1830–31 Italian journey are ecstatic in their admiration.

“This is Italy! … the supreme joy in life. And I am loving it,” he wrote to his family.   

Each movement of the symphony takes on a different aspect of the life he observed in Italy. The joyful first movement is followed by a slow movement reflecting a religious procession he saw in Naples. The dance of the third movement is a standard minuet and trio, and the final movement incorporates two different Italian dances, the quick Roman saltarello (a jumping dance), and the Neapolitan tarantella.

Its joy makes it one of the most “Romantic” – if not overtly romantic – symphonies of the era. Read more about Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 4.

Schumann – Symphony No. 1 “Spring” (1841)

The Love Story

Robert and Clara Schumann

The “Spring” Symphony emerged from the happiest period of Robert Schumann’s life: his first year of marriage to pianist Clara Wieck.

After years of struggling to win the approval of Clara’s father, the star-crossed lovers were finally able to marry in September 1840.

This personal triumph sparked an extraordinary burst of creativity. 1840 had been Robert’s “Year of Song,” when he poured his love into over a hundred love songs.

But by 1841, with Clara’s encouragement, he had turned to the symphony.

She wrote in her diary:

“It would be best if he composed for orchestra; his imagination cannot find sufficient scope on the piano… His compositions are all orchestral in feeling… My highest wish is that he should compose for orchestra – that is his field! May I succeed in bringing him to it!”

As for his part, Robert later said that the work was inspired not just by spring’s external imagery but by his own “spring of love” (“Liebesfrühling”).   

Astonishingly, Schumann sketched this symphony out over just four days in January 1841. It exudes all of the exuberance you might expect from such an energetic start.

Schumann wanted the opening trumpet fanfare “to sound as if it came from on high, like a summons to awakening,” heralding spring’s (and love’s) arrival. This motto theme, bold and hopeful, recurs as a unifying idea.

He crafted music that somehow sounds like spring, featuring buoyant rhythms, anticipatory tremolo passages in the strings, and woodwind passages that resemble birdsong.

Throughout, the symphony’s tone is one of youthful hope, excitement, and, importantly, satisfaction. It’s very much in line with Romantic Era ideas and idealism about the rejuvenating power of both love and nature.

Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 4 (1877)

The Love Story

Tchaikovsky with his wife Antonina Milykova

Few symphonies are as closely tied to a composer’s personal emotional life as Tchaikovsky’s Fourth.

Written in 1877, it coincided with a period of acute turmoil in Tchaikovsky’s romantic and emotional life.

That year, against his better judgment, Tchaikovsky entered into a hasty marriage with a young conservatory student, Antonina Miliukova – a marriage that proved disastrous and lasted only weeks before he fled her forever.

Tchaikovsky may have hoped marriage might quell rumours about his homosexuality, but the reality drove him to a nervous breakdown.   

During the aftermath of this catastrophic marriage, Tchaikovsky poured his inner despair and conflict into his fourth symphony.

He described the opening fanfare as the “Fate” that hangs over a person’s life: a concept that colored the entire symphony.

In a candid letter to his patroness and confidante, Nadezhda von Meck, Tchaikovsky admitted: “I was very depressed last winter when writing the symphony, and it is a faithful echo of what I was experiencing.”

Madame von Meck, who became Tchaikovsky’s benefactor in 1877, actually played a critical role in the symphony’s creation and the composer’s life at that particular time.

She provided financial support so he could quit teaching, along with an emotionally intimate – if strictly epistolary – friendship.

Nadezhda von Meck

The dedication of the fourth symphony even reads “To my best friend”: Tchaikovsky’s tribute to von Meck, and a thank-you for helping to usher him through an especially trying time in his life.

It’s ironic that one of the most infamous marital breakdowns in classical music history inspired one of the standout symphonies of the Romantic Era.

Mahler – Symphony No. 5 (1901–02)

The Love Story

Alma Schindler, 1902

The years 1901–1902, when Mahler composed his Fifth Symphony, were momentous in his personal life, especially in terms of romantic love.

In November 1901, Gustav Mahler met Alma Schindler, a young composer and socialite from Vienna.

Their whirlwind courtship was intense; by March 1902, they were married. (Alma was pregnant at their wedding.)

This intense new love had a profound impact on Mahler, and we see its reflection most clearly in the symphony’s Adagietto.   

According to Alma’s testimony, the Fifth’s Adagietto (which starts at the 46:15 mark in the video above) was Mahler’s love song to her.

Historians have noted that Alma’s picturesque storytelling isn’t always strictly accurate, but the following story remains persuasive. Apparently, he left her a small poem with the Adagietto’s manuscript, saying: “How much I love you, my sun, I cannot tell you in words – only my longing and my love and my bliss.”

Today, the Adagietto is regarded as the wordless love letter from Mahler to his new wife, communicating in music what he felt he was unable to say in words.

It provides a transcendent counterbalance to the earthiness of the rest of the symphony, enhanced by its orchestration for strings and harp alone.

Rachmaninoff – Symphony No. 2 (1907)

The Love Story

Sergei Rachmaninoff and Natalia Satina

The creation of his Symphony No. 2 marked a particularly redemptive chapter in Rachmaninoff’s professional life: one shaped by the support and love he found in his marriage.

A decade earlier, in 1897, Rachmaninoff’s first symphony had premiered to disastrous reviews (one critic likened it to “a program symphony about the Ten Plagues of Egypt”).

The fiasco of that premiere sent the young composer into a deep depression and a creative block. He recovered only with the help of therapy and through composing his successful Second Piano Concerto (1901).

During that same period, he fell in love with and became engaged to Natalia Satina, his cousin and childhood sweetheart.

After overcoming significant obstacles (including family disapproval and Orthodox Church restrictions on cousin marriage), Sergei and Natalia married in 1902 on a rainy spring day.

By the time he was writing the second symphony in 1906, Rachmaninoff had been happily married for a few years and was a father. His first daughter, Irina, was born in 1903, and his second, Tatiana, was born in 1907.

Enjoying such a stable, loving home life provided Rachmaninoff with a foundation of emotional security that was crucial to his productivity after the turmoil of his earlier years.  

In late 1906, he and Natalia moved to Dresden specifically to escape the pressures of Moscow so that he could focus on composition in peace.

There, with his wife and daughter by his side, he worked on the symphony – though not without bouts of self-doubt.

At one point, he nearly abandoned the score, calling it “boring and repulsive” in a typical burst of self-criticism, before eventually returning to it.

It’s easy to imagine that the heartfelt outpouring of the symphony – especially its incandescent Adagio – was nurtured by the contentment and warmth of Rachmaninoff’s married life.

The triumphant premiere of the symphony in early 1908 in St. Petersburg was a vindication; the public and critics hailed it, and it earned Rachmaninoff a prestigious Glinka Award.

Today it remains one of the symphonic highlights of the late Romantic Era, beloved for its lush string writing and deeply felt, warmly expressed emotion.

Conclusion

Romanticism in symphonic music wasn’t just an artistic movement; it was also a way for composers to transform their private longing, devotion, and emotional crisis into publicly performed art.

From Berlioz’s hallucinatory passion in the Symphonie fantastique to Rachmaninoff’s newfound confidence in his Second, these six works reveal how love – fulfilled, frustrated, or otherwise – shaped some of the most powerful music of the Romantic Era.

Taken together, they show just how deeply composers’ love stories shaped their compositions, and why these pieces remain so easy to love even today.

The Most Memorable Composer Christmases: Mahler, Rachmaninoff, and More

by Emily E. Hogsta

Everyone approaches the winter holidays differently: some people feel excitement, while others feel dread. It can be a season of celebration, crushing loneliness, and everything in between.

The great composers also experienced a wide variety of Christmas celebrations. Today, we’re looking at five memorable Christmases from the lives of five great composers. (Read Part 1 here: The Most Memorable Composer Christmases: Chopin, Schumann, and More)

Mahler’s Devastating Breakup – 1884

Gustav Mahler

In mid-1883, 23-year-old Gustav Mahler took a job conducting opera at the Königliches Theater in Kassel, Germany.

While there, he began working with 25-year-old coloratura soprano Johanna Richter and fell in love with her. It was his first intense love affair.

We are not sure if Richter reciprocated Mahler’s feelings quite as intensely; only one letter from her survives.

In 1884, he began composing for her, writing lyrics based on folksongs and setting them to music. He called the resulting song cycle Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, or Songs of a Wayfarer. His December 1884 was absorbed by the project.   

Despite his passion for Richter, the couple was ultimately doomed.

He spent New Year’s Eve of 1884 with her and wrote to a friend about the experience:

I spent yesterday evening alone with her, both of us silently awaiting the arrival of the new year.

Her thoughts did not linger over the present, and when the clock struck midnight, and tears gushed from her eyes, I felt terrible that I, I was not allowed to dry them.

She went into the adjacent room and stood for a moment in silence at the window, and when she returned, silently weeping, a sense of inexpressible anguish had arisen between us like an everlasting partition wall, and there was nothing I could do but press her hand and leave.

As I came outside, the bells were ringing, and the solemn chorale could be heard from the tower.

Although the relationship didn’t work out, Mahler did reuse ideas from Songs of a Wayfarer in his first symphony, which he composed between 1887 and 1888. He wasn’t about to let his holiday heartbreak go to waste!

Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel Is Disappointed by the Christmas Singing of Papal Singers – 1839

Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel

Felix Mendelssohn and his sister Fanny Mendelssohn were two of the most talented child prodigies in the history of music. They remained close for their entire lives.

Felix, however, was encouraged to pursue a musical career, while Fanny’s musical accomplishments were viewed as mere feminine adornments. (Luckily, her husband understood her talent and encouraged her music-making.)

Long story short, Felix got support that she never did, and in 1830, when Fanny was 24, and Felix was 21, the family sent him on a ten-month trip to Italy…without Fanny. The trip was formative, and Fanny was fascinated by the stories of his travels.   

Happily, Fanny got to go eventually. Between 1839 and 1840, Fanny, her husband, and her baby son Sebastian took their own trip to Italy, following in Felix’s footsteps.

On 1 January 1840, she wrote to her brother, sharing some observations about musical life in Rome:

We’re enjoying a pleasant life here. We have a comfortable, sunny apartment and thus far have enjoyed the nicest weather almost continuously. And since we’re in no particular hurry, we’ve been viewing the attractions of Rome at our leisure, little by little.

It’s only in the realm of music, however, that I haven’t experienced anything edifying since I’ve been in Italy.

I heard the Papal singers 3 times – once in the Sistine Chapel on the first Sunday in Advent, once in the same place on Christmas Eve, and once in St. Peter’s basilica on Christmas day – and have to report that I was astounded that the performances were far from perfect.

Right now, they seem to lack good voices and sing completely out of tune…

One can’t part with one’s trained conceptions so easily.

Church music in Germany, performed with a chorus consisting of a few hundred singers and a suitably large orchestra, assaults both the ear and the memory in such a way that, in comparison, the pair of singers here seemed quite thin in the wide expanses of St. Peter’s.

With respect to the music, a few passages stood out as particularly beautiful. On Christmas Eve, for instance, after the parts had dragged on separately for a long time, there was a lively, 4-part fugal passage in A-minor that was very nice.

I later discovered that it began precisely at the moment when the Pope entered the chapel, and I didn’t know it at the time because women, unfortunately, are placed in a section behind a grille from which they cannot see anything.

This section is far away, and in addition, the air is darkened by the smoke from candles and incense.

On the other hand, I could at least occasionally see the officials on Christmas day in St. Peter’s very well, and found them quite splendid and amusing.

We naturally had a Christmas tree, because of Sebastian, and constructed it out of cypress, myrtle, and orange branches. The branches were very lovely, but it wasn’t the best-looking tree, and Sebastian and I attempted to outdo each other the entire day in feeling homesick.

Johannes Brahms Surprises Clara Schumann – 1865

Clara Schumann and Johannes Brahms

Johannes Brahms and Robert Schumann’s wife, virtuoso pianist Clara Schumann, stayed close friends until the end of their lives.

They never had a traditional romance, but they loved each other deeply, and over their decades-long relationship, Brahms spent many holidays with Clara and her children.

At Christmas 1865, Johannes was 32, and Clara was 46. Both had busy performing careers that necessitated frequent travel, and Clara assumed that she wouldn’t be seeing Johannes for the holidays.   

She sent him a traveling bag as a Christmas gift. With the gift, she included a letter talking about her daughter Julie, who had recently been ill.

She wrote, “Thank heaven we have fairly good news of Julie. She has got over the danger of typhoid, but it will be a long time before she has completely recovered.”

The family was worried about Julie’s health, and they didn’t even bother lighting candles on the tree that year.

But then the door opened – and Brahms appeared! He had made a seven-hour journey to Düsseldorf to surprise the family and check in on Julie himself.

Clara wrote in her diary that she was “very pleased and excited.”

Read our article about Christmas with Brahms.

Rachmaninoff Flees Russia – 1917

Kubey-Rembrandt Studios: Sergei Rachmaninoff, 1921

The Russian Revolution began in February 1917, leading to Tsar Nicholas II’s abdication in March and a provisional government taking power.

During that year’s October Revolution, a Bolshevik insurrection overthrew the provisional government. Once the Bolsheviks took power, a broader civil war broke out.

The conflict impacted Rachmaninoff’s life deeply. In the spring of 1917, he returned from touring to find that his estate had been seized by the Social Revolutionary Party. He departed, disgusted, and vowed never to return.

He and his family moved to Moscow. As tensions rose throughout the fall, he made edits to his first piano concerto with the sound of bullets flying in the background.   

During this tense time, he received an invitation to give a series of recitals in Scandinavia. He accepted because it would give him and his family an excuse to flee the country.

On 22 December 1917, the Rachmaninoffs got on a train in St. Petersburg, crowded with terrified passengers who feared arrest. Fortunately, the officials who met them were kind.

The following day, they arrived at the Finnish border. To get across it, Rachmaninoff, his wife, and two daughters had to travel in an open peasant sleigh during a blizzard.

They arrived in Stockholm on Christmas Eve. Exhausted, the family stayed in their hotel.

After escaping Russia, Rachmaninoff would go on to a celebrated performing career, but he would compose less and less. Later in his life, he would remark, “I left behind my desire to compose: losing my country, I lost myself also.”

Leonard Bernstein Conducts the Historic Berlin Wall Concert – 1989

Leonard Bernstein

In November 1989, the Berlin Wall was taken down, signaling the demise of the so-called Iron Curtain that had hung across Europe for a generation.

Conductor and composer Leonard Bernstein helped to organise a performance at the present-day Konzerthaus Berlin. This venue had been burned out during World War II but was reconstructed in the late 1970s and early 1980s, opening just a few years before this concert.

Musicians from all around the world participated, including men and women from Leningrad, Dresden, New York, London, and Paris.

Together on Christmas Day 1989, they performed a concert celebrating the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Bernstein programmed Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and changed the Ode to Joy to the Ode to Freedom.

It was broadcast all over the world and became one of the most famous orchestral performances of the twentieth century, seen live by around 100 million viewers. How’s that for a memorable Christmas?

Schumann-Liszt Widmung

by Anson Yeung  

Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck © pages.stolaf.edu

Marked by its technical bravura, Widmung (or Dedication in English) has remained one of the most popular encore pieces in piano recital, allowing pianists to display their virtuosity. However, Widmung is much more than a mere showpiece – containing probably the most passionate music writing and most heartfelt feelings. Written by Robert Schumann in 1840 (this piece was from a set of Lieder called Myrthen, Op.25), this piece was later arranged for piano solo by Franz Liszt. Myrthen was dedicated to Clara Wieck as a wedding gift, as he finally married Clara in September, despite the opposition from Clara’s father (who was also Robert’s piano teacher).

Below is the text of Widmung, written by Friedrich Rückert, with English translation:

Original Text by Friedrich Rückert

English Translation (by Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005))

Du meine Seele, du mein Herz, Du meine Wonn’, o du mein Schmerz, Du meine Welt, in der ich lebe, Mein Himmel du, darein ich schwebe, O du mein Grab, in das hinab Ich ewig meinen Kummer gab! Du bist die Ruh, du bist der Frieden, Du bist vom Himmel mir beschieden. Dass du mich liebst, macht mich mir wert, Dein Blick hat mich vor mir verklärt, Du hebst mich liebend über mich, Mein guter Geist, mein bess’res Ich!

You my soul, you my heart, You my rapture, O you my pain, You my world in which I live, My heaven you, to which I aspire, O you my grave, into which My grief forever I’ve consigned! You are repose, you are peace, You are bestowed on me from heaven. Your love for me gives me my worth, Your eyes transfigure me in mine, You raise me lovingly above myself, My guardian angel, my better self!

The work starts with a flowing sense of pulse, while the first phrase (“Du meine Seele, du mein Herz”) already captures Schumann’s love for Clara and devotion to the relationship. Here, Schumann sincerely confesses to Clara, declaring how important she is to him. For him, Clara is his angel, his spiritual support, and his entire world. Nevertheless, there is still a sense of fear and insecurity in the music, due to separation and uncertainty about their future. This complex mixture of feelings, as a true and full-bodied representation of love, certainly strengthens the emotional power of the music.

Friedrich Rückert © www.britannica.com

Liszt lengthened the first section by repeating the first theme, but with the melodic line mostly embedded in left hand (with some intertwining) and accompaniment in higher register. Then, the music moves on to the chordal section in E major, which is unchanged in Liszt’s arrangement. The repeated chords convey warmth, tenderness and peace, especially when the text here is associated with death and heaven. Here, the love has changed into everlasting, eternal one – love that transcends space and time.

Franz Liszt © img.wikicharlie.cl

After the brief hand-crossing passage, the music reaches its most technically brilliant and rousing part with arpeggios on right hand and chords highlighting the melodic line on left hand, revealing Schumann’s most intimate feelings. It is the moment when Schumann’s love for Clara becomes so dramatic and uncontrollable, and eventually erupts – a perfect combination of rapture, passion, commitment and sense of elevation. The rich orchestral colours (such as the harp-like figurations, quasi-brass calls) in the music further heightens the emotional intensity. What an outpouring of love here.

In the extended coda, where there are some triumphant chords marked fff, the passion in the music remains, but this time presenting different moods. With ecstatic joy, the music transforms into a declaration, as if Schumann is announcing that he is determined to spend the rest of his lifetime with Clara and willing to make sacrifices in the face of adversity, for Clara is an indescribable miracle of his life.