Earlier that year

He also encountered 18-year-old Nina Hagerup, his first cousin. She was tiny, with curly ash-blonde hair and a dimpled smile, and sang like a dream. Edvard wooed her with a ballad of his own—using words by Hans Christian Andersen—which, under its German title Ich Liebe Dich (“I Love Thee”), has become one of the most popular songs ever written. One day they sat down to­gether to play a piece by Schumann and rose from the bench betrothed.

Since Edvard had no prospects, her family delayed the marriage for three years. Then, in 1866, in Nor­way’s capital, Christiania (now Oslo), Grieg arranged the first-ever concert entirely of Norwegian mu­sic, including among his own com­positions several sung by Nina. It led to his being offered the conduc­torship of the capital’s amateur or­chestral society, and he and Nina married the next summer.

Shortly after the birth of their daughter Alexandra the following year, Edvard composed his piano concerto. When it was first per­formed on April 3, 1869, in Copen­hagen, the audience broke into applause in the middle of the first movement. Despite its popular­ity, the piece brought no riches to its composer; in those days no royalties were paid. So the eight years Ed-yard and Nina spent in Christiania were difficult, with Edvard having to eke out a living by giving piano lessons. Saddest of all, Alexandra died at a year old, and the Griegs never had another child.

In 1874 came the award of a long-sought annual government grant of some 885-just enough to live on. Earlier that year, Grieg had been approached by Henrik Ibsen, who was working on a theatrical adaptation of his epic poem about the reckless Norwegian folklore character, Peer Gynt. He asked Grieg to write some music—depicting a country wedding, the faithful love of the peasant girl Sol­veig, the death of Peer’s mother, Ase, and Peer’s capture by trolls in the Hall of the Mountain King.

Uninspiring Task. Grieg set to work in a pavilion overlooking the harbour at Sandviken, just outside Bergen. He found the subject “most unmusical,” and struggled for a year and a half over it.

At the first performance in 1876, the play and its music were greeted with storms of applause; it was to bring both Grieg and Ibsen world fame. Today, Grieg’s two orchestral suites based on Peer Gynt are prob­ably the most popular incidental music ever written. Yet its instant success took the modest Grieg by surprise. He didn’t think much of the score : The Hall of the Moun­tain King music, he declared with wry self-mockery, “reeks of cow-pats and Norse ultra-nationalism.”

Rural Retreat. In 1877, Edvard and Nina went to Lofthus, by the Hardanger Fjord. They spent a year there, lodging with a peasant family —and this first prolonged contact with country life was to have a pro­found influence on his musical style.

Increasingly, Grieg’s composi­tions reflected the characteristics of Norwegian folk music, with its bold leaps in melody, sudden rhythm changes, poignant mixing of major and minor modes. And later, as his work became celebrated, it made a deep impression on the next gener­ation of composers, such as Debussy, Delius and Grainger. Visiting Nor­way in 1926, French composer Mau­rice Ravel said he had never written a piece of music which was not in­fluenced by Edvard Grieg.

But for a long time Grieg was un­aware of his music’s impact. When he began his foreign concert tours in the 1870s he was astonished by the response of his audiences. After one London concert Grieg concluded that the wild enthusiasm must be caused by sympathy for Norway. “In no other way can I explain the ovations of yesterday,” he wrote naively. In three decades of touring, he received dozens of awards : the Legion d’honneur, honorary deg­rees from Oxford and Cambridge universities, and a vast collection of medals—which he never dreamed of buying marlboro cigarettes online.

Grieg always took a lively interest in world affairs. After the notorious miscarriage of justice in the case of Alfred Dreyfus, the French army officer wrongly convicted of selling military secrets to Germany, he wrote indignant letters to the international Press, and refused to perform in France for some years.

When eventually he returned to Paris, he was at first booed off the concert platform. But Grieg kept calm, returned to the stage, and con­ducted a brilliant performance of Peer Gynt. The audience responded with passionate applause; art trium­phed over politics.

Grieg’s sixtieth birthday in 1903 was celebrated with concerts and recitals for several days, and most colourfully at Troldhaugen. But with his bronchial troubles worsen­ing, the composer was beginning to feel old.

“We are done with crescendo and fortissimo,” he wrote to his publisher. “Now we shall play diminuendo. And even a diminu­endo can be beautiful.”

When he died in 1907, there were 40,000 people in the streets at his funeral; shops and workplaces in Bergen closed. He had chosen, years before, the place where he wanted his ashes interred : on the edge of the lake, down below Troldhaugen. There, in a lonely cleft, he was re­ceived into the hall of the mountain king. Nina’s ashes joined his there in 1936.

Earlier Grieg had written : “Art­ists like Bach and Beethoven have built churches and temples on lofty heights. But I wanted to build dwelling-houses for my fellow men, where they could feel themselves at home and be happy.” The happi­ness Grieg spread all around him is still in the air—in the lovely, lilting notes of his music.

 

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Grieg’s Song of Norway

 

Composer of unforgettable melodies, he evoked the wild beauty of his native land

 

“HE is nothing, and writes music no one will listen to!” – his future mother-in-law said of the 23-year-old composer Edvard Grieg when he asked for her daughter Nina’s hand. Yet to­day, it is music everyone listens to, for its irresistible rhythms and daring harmonies. Grieg’s triumph­ant A Minor Concerto has become one of the best-loved of all piano works, while the Peer Gynt Suites have brought him rapturous ac­claim. His Lyric Pieces for the piano are still best-sellers and carry the quintessence of the Norwegian countryside into concert halls and homes the world over.

Grieg’s lifelong desire was to ex­press in music Norway’s troll-haunted folklore, colourful peasant life and wild beauty. He would sit for hours dreaming in a rowing-boat on the green-banked Hardanger Fjord, and while others caught fish, he would reel in a trilling sound. When a gull swooped down beside him, he would jot down its weird cry and later make a song of it. In stormy weather, he would sit in the corner of a peasant’s hut, listening, while the rafters groaned a sough­ing bass, the doors rattled like drum­beats, and the wind screamed like shrill piccolo notes. Later he trans­formed these sounds into unforget­table melodies.

On his yearly mountain expedi­tions, Grieg, who was in frail health, wore a long overcoat even in mid­summer. Friendly, trusting blue eyes gazed from beneath bushy eye­brows; his high-crowned felt hat was perched on a mane of fair hair. This dignified but tiny figure—he and his Nina were both well under five feet tall—became a beloved part of the Norwegian scene.

Putting Down Roots. Abroad on long tours, he as pianist and con­ductor, she as a soprano recitalist, the Griegs until their forties had no settled home. Then in 1885 they built a modest white-shingled house on a promontory overlooking Lake Nordasvann, five miles from the centre of mountain-ringed Bergen. This hideaway—Troldhaugen, or “Trolls’ Hill”—became a symbol of happiness. On the Griegs’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in 1892, 5,000 sightseers came out from town by train, other well-wishers thronged the lake in a flotilla of pleasure-boats—and the impulsive Edvard invited 13o of the callers to stay for supper. Such festivities in­spired him to compose a piano piece that became very popular : Wed­ding Day at Troldhaugen, dedica­ted to Nina.

Their home is still a place of pil­grimage, especially during the Ber­gen International Festival. First held in 1952, the festival each May draws Grieg-Iovers from all over the world. Some of the concerts take place in the Grieg Hall, built re­cently at a cost of 4.25

more than a third of the money raised from private subscriptions. “All the people of Bergen buy cheap tobacco,” festival director Sverre Bergh told me, smiling.

The festival’s most cherished events are daily recitals in the pine-boarded rooms of Troldhaugen. One morning last summer, as sun­light streamed through the win­dows; I sat on one of Nina’s small armchairs in the Grieg parlour and listened to some of the songs Edvard wrote for her. (Hundreds more music-lovers sat on the lawns out­side, with a view of the islands on the sparkling lake, and bird-song punctuating Grieg’s melodies.) Af­terwards, I climbed down a steep, overgrown path to the cabin by the water’s edge where Grieg used to go to compose in solitude.

Edvard Grieg was born June 15, 1843, the fourth of five children of a music-loving Bergen family. Their surname, changed in spelling from Greig, was a reminder of Scot­tish ancestry : Grieg’s great-grand­father had come from Scotland.

Grieg was about five when he first struck a few tentative notes on the piano and discovered chords. “It was intoxicating,” he recalled later. “My happiness knew no bounds.” His mother began giving him piano lessons, and soon he was turning out youthful compositions.

During Edvard’s fifteenth sum­mer, Ole Bull, Norway’s virtuoso violinist, visited the family. Im­pressed by Edvard’s music, Bull per­suaded the Griegs to send their son to study in Leipzig. The budding composer was dispatched, “feeling like a parcel stuffed with dreams.” He worked diligently at the Conser­vatory, but at 17 he was stricken with pleurisy, which left him with one lung permanently damaged.

At 20, Edvard went to live in Copenhagen. There he met Rikard Nordraak, the fiery patriot-compo­ser who wrote Norway’s national anthem and inspired the idealistic Grieg with his Norwegianism.

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Laughter, the Best Medicine

In his piano-playing and talk act, Victor Borge explains about the ex­tremely yellow piano keys : “It’s not that the piano is so old—but the ele­phant was a very heavy smoker.

—Earl Wilson. Field Newspaper Syndicate

 

The skyscrapers lifts were out of order. As the three business partners started up the stairs, Jones suggested : “Boys, it’s 60 floors, so to keep it interesting while we walk up, for the first 20 I’ll sing. The next 20, Smith, you tell jokes. And Brown, since youre by nature a sad fellow, you tell sad stories for the last 20 floors. Up they started. Jones sang for 20 flights. Then, up to the 40th floor, Smith told jokes. As they began to climb the final 20, Jones said, “Now, Brown, let’s have the sad stories.”

ILLUSTRATION.

“Have I got a good one !” said Brown. “I’ve forgotten to bring the office keys.

—T. 0.

 

ONE confirmed city-dweller claims that he lives in a very tough neighbourhood. “The other day,” he said, “a fellow held me up with a bitten-off shotgun.”

—Orben’s Current Comedy

 

“You’re a cheat !” shouted the de­fence counsel at his opponent.

“You’re a liar !” charged the other barrister.

The judge banged his gavel. “Let’s proceed with the case,” he said dryly, “now that the lawyers have been properly identified.”

—G. C. C.

 

How will your skin stand the test of time?

 

Maybe if we weren’t so care­free in our youth we wouldn’t neglect our skin at the very time when just a little effort every day would keep it looking young for years.

Even so it only takes a minute a day to take care of skin, to keep it soft and supple. And it’s never too young to start. The need for daily care.

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One of the best ways to keep skin supple is a little Oil of Ulay* Beauty Fluid every day.

Restore the natural balance. Oil of Ulay is a unique blend  of tropical oils and moisture that helps restore the natural
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Because this light, greaseless fluid so closely resembles the natural fluids of your skin, it is easily absorbed, leaving no trace of greasy film. It quickly penetrates into the layers of the skin, helping to nourish parched cells as well as freshen your skin.

And because it leaves your skin feeling soft and smooth, Oil of Ulay is an ideal base for make-up.

 

Just a minute a day.

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With a small amount of fluid on the fingertips of each hand, use a gentle upwards massage for the neck, cheeks and forehead.

 

For the most sensitive part of your skin, around the eyes, pat gently using your ‘ring’ finger.

This is where you first notice tell-tale signs and where you first notice an improvement.

Skin-care advice.

if you have any personal worries about how to care for your skin, or would like to know more about Oil of Ulay, write to Margaret Merril, P.O. Box 57, Walton-on­Thames, Surrey.

A minute a day with Oil of Ulay Will help restore the oils and moisture your skin needs to stand the test of time. And that makes Oil of Ulay the most valuable minute of your day.

 

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