Of other early performances of the second symphony we may mention those of October 22 in Breslau, under the composer, and of November 23 in Münster, under Grimm. Such a furore was created in Münster that the work was repeated by general desire at the concert of December 21.
At the Vienna Gesellschaft concert of December 8, No. 1 of the two Motets, Op. 74, for unaccompanied chorus was sung, under the direction of Edward Kremser, from the manuscript parts. All four movements, the first and last in four, the second and third in six, parts, made a deep impression, and in spite of the serious character of the work it was followed by long-continued applause. The texts have the characteristics usually preferred by Brahms for his sacred compositions, and, taken together, are expressive of courageous, trustful resignation in the face of mystery. The music, exquisitely suited to the words, furnishes another example of deeply serious feeling clothed in the beautiful forms of early contrapuntal art.
Great interest was aroused in the musical circles of many lands by the announcement that Joachim would play a violin concerto by Brahms at the Leipzig Gewandhaus concert of January 1, 1879. Such an event was bound to raise a particular question, connected not only with Brahms' musical career, but with the history of musical art. Many concertos for violin solo with orchestral accompaniment had been produced since the days of Viotti, through those of Mozart and Spohr, down to the publication in 1877 of Max Bruch's second in D minor, and, of the most favoured, few had retained more than an occasional place in concert-programmes. Two only had survived the test of time as the pre-eminent masterpieces of their class; those of Beethoven and Mendelssohn. If no work of the kind could be placed exactly with Beethoven's Violin Concerto, yet, even as compared with this supreme achievement, no thought of inferiority could be applied to that of Mendelssohn, which immediately on its production took the place it had ever since held as one of two chefs-d'œuvre. The question which now naturally suggested itself was whether Brahms' new work would take its place as a third by the side of its two greatest predecessors. It was the more interesting because, though the composer was not now breaking essentially new ground, yet his one previous concerto had been composed for the pianoforte, and whilst two decades had elapsed since its completion in final form (Detmold, autumn of 1858), and first public performances (Hanover and Leipzig, January, 1859), it bore distinct traces of a still earlier period, with which we now know it to have been associated. The experience of a life, therefore, may almost be said to have intervened between the two works.
Turning to our old friend Dörffel, already doubly proved impartial, for his immediate impressions of the Gewandhaus concert of January 1, we find his report very interesting reading.
'No less a task,' he says, 'confronted Brahms, if his salutation to his friend were to be one suitable to Joachim's eminence, than the production of a work that should reach the two greatest, Beethoven and Mendelssohn. We confess to having awaited the solution with some heart palpitation, though we firmly maintained our standard. But what joy we experienced! Brahms has brought such a third work to the partnership. The originality of the spirit which inspires the whole, the firm organic structure in which it is displayed, the warmth which streams from it, animating the work with joy and light—it cannot be otherwise—the concerto must be the fruit of the composer's latest and, as we believe, happiest experiences.
'The first movement is broad, with sharply defined contrasts through which, however, the serious-soft mood is preserved; the second is short, very thoughtful and fervent; the last, very spirited and attractive. There is, however, a quite unusual handling of the instrument, and again, a breath in the orchestra, which make us look forward with delight to the study of the score; we have seldom been so enthralled by the composer's genius. But Joachim played, also, with a love and devotion which brought home to us in every bar the direct or indirect share he has had in the work. As to the reception, the first movement was too new to be distinctly appreciated by the audience, the second made considerable way, the last aroused great enthusiasm.'
Bernsdorf was less unsympathetic than usual. He considered the concerto 'one of the clearest and most spontaneous of the composer's works.' Both Joachim and Brahms, who conducted the orchestra, had to respond to numerous recalls.
Joachim, to whom the concerto is dedicated, brought the manuscript with him to England, and performed it at the Crystal Palace Saturday concert of February 22 (August Manns), at the Philharmonic concerts of March 6 and 20 (W. G. Cusins), at some of his appearances in the north of Britain, and, a little later, at a concert of the Royal Academy of Arts, Berlin, when the accompaniment was played by his school orchestra. Published in the course of the year, it has ever since held a conspicuous place in his répertoire. The violinists Brodsky and, a little later, Frau Roeger-Soldat were amongst those who associated their names in a special manner with the early life of the work, which has recently been frequently performed with immense success by Fritz Kreisler.
If the mood of this great concerto has, as Dr. Deiters remarks, something in common with that of the second symphony, the sentiment is maintained at a loftier height than that of the earlier composition, the limpid grace of which has an immediate fascination for a general audience. The concerto requires time for full appreciation, and though, by general consent of the initiated, it undoubtedly occupies a position on the plane assigned to it by Dörffel, it would be too much to assert that it has as yet entirely conquered the heart of the great public. It is gradually making its way, however, to what will probably become unreserved popularity.
The year 1879 is of particular interest in our narrative, not only in relation to the Violin Concerto, but also because it included the publication of two books of Pianoforte Pieces, Op. 76, the several numbers of which are entitled 'Intermezzo' or 'Capriccio'; and the first performance from the manuscript of a Sonata for pianoforte and violin. We have traced the remarkable continuity of Brahms' development as a composer during the first ten years of his connection with Vienna, in its relation to the period which directly preceded his earliest visit to the city. The period dating back from 1862 to 1852 is not so unbroken. Quite another sequel than the actual one might have been anticipated from the fact that of the first ten of the composer's published works six had been pianoforte solos, five of them in other than variation form. We have watched his progress from one stepping-stone of excellence to another in this form, from the early beauties of the examples contained in the Sonatas, Op. 1 and Op. 2, through the astonishing technical advance displayed in Op. 9, up to a masterpiece, the Handel Variations and Fugue, Op. 24, and have still had to add one more work to the list, the Paganini Variations, with imposing characteristics of its own; but we have not had to record the appearance of a single unaccompanied pianoforte solo in any other form in the course of the twenty-five years which succeeded the completion of the Ballades, Op. 10, in 1854 (published in 1856). Only now when the narrative has been brought to the point appropriate for the contemplation of these facts is it possible to point out the true significance to our master's career of the four years of study passed in complete retirement by the composer, as distinct from the pianist, Brahms, that followed the close of 1854. On his reappearance in 1859 and 1860 with a number of new works, not only had his technique been reformed, and transfigured, but the tendency of his career changed. The fascination exercised over his mind by the pure style of part-writing practised by the best masters of the early Italian schools, and the extent of resource he had acquired by constant assimilation of the treasure of Bach's learning, had given him an irresistible bent towards the composition of works that led up to the Requiem and Triumphlied on the one hand, and the String Quartets and Symphonies on the other; and the same influences would naturally dispose him towards the writing of chamber music for pianoforte and strings rather than for pianoforte alone. It is well known that his innate fastidiousness in regard to his own work was augmented in the case of his first symphony by his never-ceasing consciousness of Beethoven's overwhelming achievements in this domain; and his abstention, after his earliest period, from the publication of a pianoforte sonata may have been partially due to a similar, and perhaps even stronger, feeling that Beethoven's sonatas cannot be succeeded. It is, however, difficult to believe that Brahms' would not have persevered and conquered—conquered in the sense of producing something appropriate to his time—in the one case as in the other if he had felt a real impulse to do so, and it may possibly be true that his genius was better suited for the forms in which he worked than for those which he avoided.