GRIEG AS I KNEW HIM

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 50, 7 June 1940, Page 9

GRIEG AS I KNEW HIM

Some Personal Reminiscences —

By

Haagen

Holenbergh

{From the "Home Magazine,’ Sydney)

RIEG was a man of very delicate health, Ge which he always complained. When not engaged on Continental concert tours, the great composer usually made his winter home in Copenhagen, finding the climate of the Danish capital better suited to his weak lungs than the rough snowstorms and severe. frosts of his native Norway. He usually preferred to stay at one of the most old-fashioned hotels in the city, but for the work of composing he needed the quietest of rooms, and it was in this connection that, as a young boy, I first met the man of genius, whose smaller pieces every student loves to learn, while his larger compositions, such as the famous "Peer Gynt" suite, and the piano concerto, are the delight of millions who may not know one note of music. Grieg’s excessive sensitiveness to noise led him to take rooms in the strangest places. And he had another reason for seeking a quiet refuge. Though it gratified him that the world should love his music in its finished form, he could not work if he thought anyone could overhear him as it was in process of creation. For, unlike most other composers, he generallv wrote at the piano. Cellars and Attics His wife, merry little Nina Grieg, used to laugh at this. "Edvard always insists on finding the most impossible places in town to work in," she said once. "Mere holes in cellars, or attics overlooking dingy backyards-it does not matter to him; so long as he knows nobody can hear him he is happy." This habit of Grieg’s was the cause of my meeting him for the first time. My father having died, my mother wished to sub-let part

| of our home. It was rumoured that Grieg, who had just arrived in Copenhagen, and was living at his hotel across the street, was looking for a room to work in. My brother and sister and myself-we were all learning music -were thrilled at the thought of Grieg coming to our home. Being the eldest, I was sent to find him at his lodgings and offer him accommodation with us. Early one wintry morning, I was shown to the secluded corner of the dining-room where he and his wife were breakfasting by gaslight. Grieg has having coffee and buns. He had a table napkin tucked around his neck and tied in a knot at the back-a habit of his, even at dinner parties. It would have given him, if it had not been for his long grey hair and moustache, the look of a medium-sized baby boy. He was so short that his chin only just reached above the table edge. Like a Kindly Hobgoblin Though awed in the presence of the famous composer, whose music I was already then learning to love, my first impulse at the sight of him was an almost irrepressible desire to chuckle. So little, and yet so old and grey. He immediately reminded me of the fantastic pictures of gnomes or hobgoblins ("trolls") out of wonder tale books with which all Scandinavian children are familiar. There was something quaint and grotesque about him, yet his beautiful blue eyes were kind and sad, almost as if he looked at one through tears. My explanations of the reason for my visit were, I fear, somewhat stammering. He was ‘kind enough, though, and promised to come and have a look at our rooms that same day. While he spoke’ to me he found time to gulp his coffee and devour his buns. His wife, who was just as small and grey as he was, smiled at me in a kind and motherly way. In the afternoon he came, panting and out of breath after climbing the stairs-we lived on the third floor of a house. old and big, near the castle bridge. Grieg’s little thin hands trembled with excitement. He liked the rooms well enough-but then, there were three children in the family, each practising some instrument or other! And there were those many stairs to climb. No, he dared not. With a deep sigh he shook his grey head, pointed to his chest, and explained at length about the miserable condition of his lungs. I remember him as he sat there, in an old armchair covered with green plush. When he had gone we scratched his name and the date of his visit on the back of the chair, which is still treasured by the family. A Later Meeting A few years later I was to meet him again, this time under more favourable circumstances. Since childhood I had known Peter Soeren Kroeyer, a Danish artist of European fame. He was passionately fond of music, and I now spent a good deal of time in his studio, playing to him while he painted, or accompanying him at the piano during his frequent intervals of recreation, when he would drink a glass of Spanish wine and have a song or two. For years

a small literary and artistic circle used to meet here at eight every Thursday night, for dinner, These parties were usually picturesque affairs-the lady of the house having a genius for decoration, and, fortunately, enough wealth to allow her to carry out her ideas. At times she arranged scenes that were Italian of the Renaissance rather than twentieth century Copenhagen. Poets, musicians and painters would come, and sometimes the Griegs would be among the gueststhough he was by no means easy to persuade, and it was usually problematical till the last minute whether he would turn up. He Did Not Talk Much Grieg, shy and sensitive though he was, had a sense of humour and always took these antics in good part; but though other guests might become very free and merry, he never spoke much, except for a few almost inaudible answers in his melodious Norwegian accent. I believe he had then already prattically lost his voice. He stooped much, and one shoulder was lower than the other. Still he enjoyed the merriment in his own way, and did justice to the Italian wines, and the various viands and salads that adorned the table. His head, with the large napkin tucked below it, emerged over the table edge; his appearance was strangely touching, with the long waves of grey hair and the unshapely nose that would have given him a grotesque look if it had not been for his beautiful, swimming blue eyes. Unlike him, Nina Grieg was always full of laughs and jokes. Often these parties would last all night, but usually the Griegs left early, at midnight or before. Grieg was not fond of musical entertainment at parties, and few had the temerity to suggest music when he was present. Yet, when he met somebody who could sing his songs quite-to his liking-usually some young and blonde woman-he would sometimes sit at the piano for many hours-it was an .old Erard grand in a corner of the huge studio-and play the accompaniments, his eyes shining with . joy. Only once did I dare play when he was present. eS An orchestral concert featuring the works of Edvard Grieg, will be. presented: from 4YA, Dunedin, beginning at 8 p.m. on Thursday, June 13.

| Haagen Holenbergh, the Danish pianist, | _ who came to New Zealand last year, and _ now lives in Christchurch, is frequently | | heard over National Stations | |