Who was Antonín Dvořák?
In September 1892, the 51-year-old Antonín Dvořák arrived in New York to take up the position of director of the National Conservatory – a move that would not only swell his bank account but also see him fêted as something of a celebrity in his adopted home. On top of his teaching duties, Dvořák also performed and travelled widely, absorbing much of the local culture. His compositions from his period in the US are among his most famous, including his Symphony No. 9 ‘From the New World’, ‘American’ String Quartet No. 12 and, shortly before returning back to his Czech homeland in 1895, his Cello Concerto.
Dvořák Cello Concerto: the work
Discovering the cello's potential
As Robert Hausmann played Dvořák’s Cello Concerto through, Johannes Brahms turned round to the composer and said, ‘If I had known that it was possible to write a cello concerto like this, I would have tried it as well!’ High praise indeed.
Dvořák’s Concerto is indeed an inspired work, but he hadn’t always been so taken with the cello. He considered his youthful First Concerto, written at the age of 23, to be incompetent, and it was almost 30 years later, on hearing Victor Herbert’s Second Cello Concerto in New York, that he realised the instrument’s potential. He studied Herbert’s score and six months later began sketching his own work, completing the first version in February 1895. Returning to Prague in April, he revised his Concerto over the summer and offered it to Simrock, his publisher.
Tragedy and tribute: the death of Dvořák's beloved sister-in-law
This gives us the timeline of the composition, but misses the personal tragedy that defines its creative impetus. While working on the sketches, Dvořák knew that his beloved sister-in-law Josefina was ill. She wrote to him: ‘Forgive me for not writing, but I have been seriously confined to bed, and unable to do so. I have not heard from you for such a long time. This is not as it should be! However, I shall resign myself to the fact I have nothing to look forward to anymore.
With the knowledge that Josefina’s health was failing, Dvořák wanted to pay tribute to her in his new work. He includes in the second movement some quotes from the song ‘Lasst mich allein’ (Leave me alone) which was a favourite of Josefina, and a reference to the three-note ‘Lebewohl’ (Farewell) motif from Beethoven’s Sonata ‘Les adieux’. On learning of Josefina’s death, Dvořák was utterly devastated, adding a Coda in the last movement that quotes the same song – a mesmerisingly tender moment.
Was this an open love letter and farewell? Dvořák’s early passion for Josefina had come to nothing and she married a German-speaking aristocrat – a better match than his position then as a lowly orchestral player. But the two remained close – Dvořák married her younger sister, and his family visited her estate at Vysoká every summer. The passion and intimacy in the music perhaps tells the story best.
Dvořák Cello Concerto: a stormy route to the first performance
The dedicatee of the Cello Concerto, friend and cellist Hanuš Wihan, stepped in with some virtuosic figurations and advice and was originally going to give the premiere in London. But then he and Dvořák had a major rift. The cause? Wihan had decided his own cadenza should be inserted into the Finale, ruining Dvořák’s intricately wrought tribute to Josefina. Dvořák angrily wrote in October 1895 to Simrock: ‘I have some differences of opinion with friend Wihan. I do not like some of the passages – and I must insist on my work being printed as I have written it. I shall only give you my work if you promise not to allow anybody to make changes. There is no cadenza in the last movement. I told Wihan straight away when he showed it to me it was impossible just to stick such a bit on.’
Wihan dropped the work, and the British cellist Leo Stern took over. It had been a vitriolic spat, as Dvořák’s biographer Otakar Šourek elucidated in a letter: ‘He esteemed Josefina not only as a dear friend, but also as the charming young actress who, long years ago, had awakened in him a secret passion.’ Šourek also mentions the songs Dvořák quoted by way of farewell: ‘For this reason, Dvořák insisted on his own definitive conclusions.’
The Concerto meant everything to Dvořák. In a letter to his friend Alois Göbl he admitted his relentless rehearsal of the work in Prague, taxing Leo Stern to his limit: ‘We studied and practised every day – he was quite in despair and I was insisting that it was good, but that it must still be better.’
Dvořák Cello Concerto: the premiere
It served them both well – the premiere, with Dvořák conducting the Philharmonic Society Orchestra in London in March 1896, was warmly received. ‘All three movements are richly melodious,’ wrote The Times, ‘the just balance is maintained between orchestra and solo instrument, and the passages written for display are admirably devised. Mr Stern played the solo part with good taste and faultless technical skill.’ On the Viennese premiere two years later, Eduard Hanslick, critic of Neue Freie Presse, wrote that ‘Dvořák has written a magnificent work which has brought to an end the stagnation of violoncello literature.’
Dvořák Cello Concerto: form and style
While teeming with Romantic gestures, there are also interesting modern elements. It is more of a cello symphony than concerto, the solo part integrated into orchestral dialogues. Textures are multi-layered, with a leaning towards Wagnerian chromaticism, and programmatic elements are suggested – the numerous trills perhaps allude to the bird song from the composer’s notoriously early morning walks at Vysoká. And the march that opens the Finale even foreshadows Gustav Mahler, while the Bohemian inflection in the melodies lends a flavour of nationalism to this towering work.
Dvořák Cello Concerto: The Best Recording
Truls Mørk (cello)
Oslo Philharmonic/Mariss Jansons
Erato 735 2972 (1992)
Since Emanuel Feuermann made the first commercial recording of Dvořák’s Cello Concerto in 1928, around 230 have followed. Among the historical versions are a glorious rendition from Pierre Fournier and the Berlin Philharmonic under George Szell, while Mstislav Rostropovich made the work very much his own with numerous recordings. One of the earliest, with the Czech Philharmonic under Václav Talich, is a classic, while his version with Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic has an impressive orchestral richness. However, on the basis of superior sound, I’ve restricted my contenders to more contemporary recordings.
Most of the cellists that have recorded this work are strongly virtuosic and expressive, but because of its symphonic nature, the orchestral partnership proves a decisive factor. From the opening bars in Truls Mørk’s 1992 recording, conductor Mariss Jansons brings a natural feel for the rubato with tremendous richness of detail and timbral colour to proceedings. The solo cello is in perfect dialogue with the orchestral solos and integrates into the textures sublimely, allowing to shimmer a plethora of orchestral hues.
'Vivid passion and intensity'
Mørk is an aristocratic cellist – poised and refined, yet equally expressive and nuanced. Passion and intensity are vivid, and technically everything is delivered with graceful ease. Jansons seems able to evoke a rustic Bohemian feel to some of the timbres which reflects Dvořák’s much-documented homesickness, equally expressing the openly suggested grief.
The conductor opens the first movement quite deliberately, but quickly the temperature rises – we are on a rollercoaster of turbulent drama, before calming for the beautiful horn solo. Mørk enters the stage heroically, with strong triple stops. He raises urgency into his delivery, intoning nostalgia into the folk-like material. Always, though, he imparts a yearning, and utterly captivating, intensity. Mørk brings a real vocal quality into the song references in the gloriously melodic second movement and conjures a spell-binding sense of intimacy.
The Finale bursts forth with energy before Mørk takes over the narrative. It evokes a fond cheerfulness, which quickly turns to a troubled fervour before the heart-wrenching, private yet open grief and farewell ends the concerto. Dvořák has invited us into his inner world, to share the emotional troubles and joys of the key characters. Here, it is simply intoxicating.
Buy Truls Mørk Dvořák Cello Concerto on Amazon
Dvořák Cello Concerto: three other great recordings
Pieter Wispelwey (cello)
Wispelwey is a poet of the cello – breathtaking in his sensitivity in this live 2007 recording. Conducted by Iván Fischer, the Budapest Festival Orchestra is not always as refined, but it has a real on- the-edge-of-your-seat intensity as we sit back for the operatic narrative to unfold. The second theme is wonderfully captivating, with feathery light ricochet passage work accompanying the woodwind. Wispelwey certainly depicts Dvořáks heartache in being away from his country and ailing beloved. Similarly, the closing passages of the second movement mercurially whisper sadness in our ear. (Channel Classics CCSSA25807)
Buy Pieter Wispelwey Dvořák Cello Concerto on Amazon
Jean-Guihen Queyras (cello)
Under the baton of Jiři Bĕlohlávek in this 2005 recording, the Prague Philharmonic is on excellent form in the introduction, with a lovely sense of rubato and excellent horn solo. Queyras delivers a strong solo opening yet is always alert to the orchestral partnership, quixotically changing colours like a chameleon’s camouflage, accompanying then delivering subtle tender solos. His spell-binding lyricism beautifully shapes the melancholic melodies of the second movement, the Finale briskly uttering in the heroic cello solo. His captivating adieu at the end is exquisitely sad. (Harmonia Mundi HMC901867)
Buy Jean-Guihen Queyras Dvořák Cello Concerto on Amazon
Frans Helmerson (cello)
Helmerson’s 1984 recording benefits from a fantastically nuanced orchestral partnership from the Gothenburg Orchestra under Neeme Järvi in what is such a fervent rendition that it sweeps the listener along in a torrent of passion. Occasionally, Helmerson pushes the tempo a little, but the intensity works. He is fully invested in the drama and the eloquence of Dvořák’s anguish, as depicted in the Finale’s aching melodies and tortured ending. (BIS BISCD245)
Dvořák Cello Concerto: and one to avoid…
Gaspar Cassadó was one of the cello giants, not least because of his virtuoso compositions for the instrument, but in his 1956 version with the Vienna Symphony the opening orchestral introduction has a surprisingly slow tempo, with unblended woodwind solos and overly bright brass. The cello is closely miked, which diminishes the symphonic element. That said, the challenging passage work is delivered with élan and, as with all historic recordings, it has a place in tracing a performing legacy, despite the sound.
