Violoncello Concerto in B Minor, Op. 104

Antonín Dvořák did not want to write another cello concerto. He had already tried his hand at it as a young composer, writing—but never finishing—a concerto in A major that was intended for a cellist in the theater orchestra in which Dvořák also played. Frustrated, he had eventually abandoned the piece, deciding that the cello was an “insufficient” instrument for which to write a concerto. Complaining about the cello’s “nasal high register and mumbling bass,” he vowed not to waste any more time writing for what he considered to be such an ineffective solo instrument. This well-known reluctance, however, did not stop Dvořák’s friend and colleague Hanuš Wihan from continuing to badger the composer to try again. The Czech cello virtuoso had become friends with Dvořák, and the two had toured together as part of a piano trio in 1892. Dvořák knew Wihan’s playing well, and the cellist had actually premiered Dvořák’s Rondo in G Minor and his “Dumky” Piano Trio. Despite his appreciation for Wihan’s abilities, however, Dvořák did not wish to revisit the challenges of writing a cello concerto and continued to decline the request. Undeterred, Wihan persisted. It was not until Dvořák heard the premiere of Victor Herbert’s Cello Concerto in E Minor while in his third year serving as director of the National Conservatory in New York that he was inspired to finally reconsider. He began work on a new concerto for Wihan in November of 1894 and completed it in February of 1895, approximately 14 months after the premiere of his “New World” Symphony. It would be the last solo concerto Dvořák would compose.

After returning to Europe the following spring, Dvořák and Wihan met to read through the work. Wihan made several suggestions for changes, including the addition of two cadenzas. Dvořák stood his ground, however, adopting a few of the more minor changes but refusing to consider the cadenzas. He even went so far as to write to his publishers, stating, “I give you my work only if you will promise me that no one—not even my friend Wihan—shall make any alteration in it without my knowledge and permission, also that there be no cadenza such as Wihan has made in the last movement; and that its form shall be as I have felt it and thought it out.” Despite being its dedicatee, Wihan was unable to play the premiere, which was given in London in March of 1896 by the English cellist Leo Stern. Wihan gave his first performance of the work in January 1899 and had great success performing it thereafter. Today, the concerto remains one of the most beloved and often-performed works in the cello repertoire.

The opening Allegro begins quietly, with low clarinets offering a subdued first theme that gradually grows into a grand orchestral exposition. One of Dvořák’s main concerns about writing for the cello as a solo instrument was the fear of it being overpowered by the orchestra. He avoids that pitfall by utilizing the orchestra at its fullest only when the soloist is not playing and reducing the accompaniment to primarily soft strings and woodwind solos when the cello is present. Soloist and orchestra take turns in the spotlight as Dvořák’s soaring melodies are put through various incarnations, showcasing the cello’s rich baritone voice, while also requiring some extraordinary technical wizardry. Dvořák finally lets the brass section free at the end, providing a highly dramatic, bold conclusion.

While in New York working on the second movement Adagio, Dvořák received word that his sister-in-law, Josefina Kaunitzová, was seriously ill back in Europe. Years prior, Dvořák had been quite infatuated with Josefina, but she had not returned his affection, and he had eventually married her sister Anna. Josefina had remained an important part of his life, however, and the news of her illness hit Dvořák hard. As the Adagio opens, a gentle woodwind choir offers a peaceful, almost hymn-like melody, which is joined by the soloist. Suddenly, a powerful outburst erupts from the orchestra, as startling and unexpected as the news of Josefina’s illness must have been. Dvořák then offers a tribute to his sister-in-law by means of a central section in which he quotes one of her favorite works, his song “Lasst mich allein (Leave Me Alone),” which he had written in 1888. A gentle choir of horns eventually reprises the opening music as the cellist and woodwind solos bring the movement to a wistful conclusion.

The Finale begins quietly, with low strings providing the rhythm for a march-like theme in the horns and woodwinds. The soloist offers their own bravura version of the tune, which will return, interspersed with more tranquil, contemplative sections. Dvořák could have continued this alternating rondo pattern for the entire movement, but instead, he chose to close the work with a lengthy coda section that gently revisits tunes from the first two movements with touching nostalgia. It was only a month after his return to Europe that Josefina died, and her passing prompted him to include another reprise of her favorite song from the Adagio. It was here that Wihan had wanted to include a virtuosic cadenza, but Dvořák would have none of it, insisting to his publisher that the finale should close gradually with a diminuendo, “like a breath ... then there is a crescendo, and the last measures are taken up by the orchestra, ending stormily. That was my idea, and from it I cannot recede.” Indeed, the final, lingering cello note carries a bittersweet poignancy, which is then overtaken as the force of the orchestra rises up to a fierce conclusion. Dvořák may have been hesitant to write another cello concerto, but when he did, he was steadfast in his vision for the work as one of substance, not glitz. Cellists and audiences for the past 125 years have been equally steadfast in their gratitude.