How to Say “Thanks” for that Honorary Degree

But it’s Wednesday, you’re saying.  But it’s time for MidWeekMuse!

Ah, mon frères, I am glad that you pay attention to these details.  It indeed time for midweek muse.  Today, it comes to you with a story.

When Johannes Brahms was in his late forties, the University of Breslau (now the University of Wrocław, Poland) awarded him an honorary doctorate of music.  “The degree came with a pompous Latin sentence describing Brahms as ‘the foremost composer of serious music in Germany today.’”  (Source.)

Usually these days one gets honorary degrees in return for speaking at a commencement or some such occasion, but Brahms was a composer, rather than a public speaker, so they expected him to do what he did best: write music.

“Apparently he initially wrote them a simple thank you note but the conductor Bernard Scholz, who had nominated him for the degree, convinced him that protocol required him to make a grander gesture of gratitude. The University expected nothing less than a musical offering from the composer. ‘Compose a fine symphony for us!’ Scholz wrote to Brahms. ‘But well orchestrated, old boy, not too uniformly thick!’” (Source.)

Can you imagine writing that to a world class composer, as if you were ordering up a pudding?  No, neither can I.

Alas, no new symphony was forthcoming.

“Rather than composing some ceremonial equivalent of Pomp and Circumstance—a more standard response—Brahms crafted what he described as a ‘rollicking potpourri of student songs,’ in this case mostly drinking songs. It is easy to imagine the amusement of the assembled students, as well as the somewhat less-amused reaction of the school dignitaries, to Brahms’s lighthearted caprice.

“The Academic Festival Overture showcases four beer-hall songs that were well known to German college students. … It was the first melody, however, that was most notorious in the composer’s day. ‘Wir hatten gebauet’ was the theme song of a student organization that advocated the unification of the dozens of independent German principalities. This cause was so objectionable to authorities that the song had been banned for decades. Although the proscription had been lifted in most regions by 1871, it was still in effect in Vienna when Brahms completed his overture. Because of this ban, police delayed the Viennese premiere of the Academic Festival Overture for two weeks, fearing the incitement of the students.”  (Souce.)

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, what what?

Play by play of the songs (pun intended?) can be found here.

I’ve always (by which I mean, for at least a few years now) wanted to found my own university, which will be practically perfect in every way and one hundred percent free of politics and only hire my friends.  Now I have reached a further decision: Our graduates and deans and boards will never, never march to “Pomp and Circumstance.”  Gaudeamus juvenesdum summus!

And a final fun fact: This is the piece that is used as a leitmotiv for the delightful and very Chestertonian movie People Will Talk, which I described some time ago in another blog post.  (There, I called the music Beethovenian—my sincere apologies to both composers.)  If you haven’t seen the movie, find a copy—it is delightful.  Kitschy?  Only if you decide it’s kitsch as opposed to brilliance that you happen to enjoy.

And so it is with the Brahms.  Play on, Johannes.

Bonus on top of the boni: Bernstein a delight to watch.