A reader inquired about “Alas, not by me,” the running head I use to link to choice snippets by other people (usually bloggers) that I wish I’d written. It’s a reference to a celebrated anecdote about Johannes Brahms. Back in the nineteenth century, autograph seekers sometimes invited their quarry to inscribe fans–the kind you hold in your hand. Brahms, the story goes, was invited by the wife (or possibly the daughter) of Johann Strauss the Younger to sign a fan, and responded by sketching a musical staff, writing out the first couple of bars of “On the Beautiful Blue Danube,” and signing it “Alas, not by–Johannes Brahms.”
This is such a wonderful story that I fear it may not be true, especially since it could have been: Brahms was a witty gent capable of just such a spontaneous gesture, and his friendship with and admiration for Strauss were anything but apocryphal. (He told Hans von Bülow, for example, that Strauss was “one of the few colleagues I can hold in limitless respect.”) I just checked, and two of the most reliable Brahms books on my shelves make no reference to the anecdote, so I plan to check no further. When the legend becomes true, print the legend (alas, not by me).
Incidentally, the word “alas” is one of my too-familiar, over-relied-upon fingerprints, along with “not surprisingly,” “needless to say,” “much less,” “least of all,” “I suspect,” and (sigh) the use of hyphenated modifiers. Not surprisingly, I suspect that most far-too-prolific writers have, alas, a whole stack of these tics. Used in the strictest moderation, they’re part of what turns a voice into a full-fledged style, but I’m not always careful about using them moderately, least of all on this blog, which is frequently written on the fly. When I was editing The Skeptic: A Life of H. L. Mencken, I determined to trim away all but one or two occurrences of each of my personal clichés. Don’t hold me to it, though, and please don’t keep score when you’re reading A Terry Teachout Reader. I guarantee you’ll find them there, in profusion.