Sonata in E minor, Op.38 (1862–5)

The first of Brahms’s two Cello Sonatas has had the misfortune to gather a repuation as “bleak” and “surly.” That can only be the result of taking some of its material, as politicians are fond of saying, “out of context.” It is true that the instrumental colouring of much of the first movement is dark and that it harmonies are predominantly in the minor. But its radiant ending, in E major, is as bleak as a sunny day in spring. It is true too that the Allegretto quasi Menuetto is more minor than major but there is nothing surly about the cello writing here, and still less in the lyrical trio section. While the fugue which occupies most of the last movement is deeply serious, there are contrastingly happy episodes and the quicker section towards the end is not so much surly as heroic.

Brahms was almost as reluctant as Mendelssohn to entrust the cello with a full-scale slow movement. He wrote an inspired Adagio affettuoso for his F major Sonata in 1886 but twenty years earlier, in preparing his E minor Sonata for publication, he actually suppressed an Adagio he might have included in it.

It is a consequence partly of that and partly of its neo-baroque orientation that the work has long been misunderstood: “the bleak E minor, wherein the surly cello can seldom be coaxed up from the depths…” is a characteristic comment. It is true that the first subject is introduced in E minor in the lower register of the cello. But it is then repeated three octaves higher by the piano in what is, after all, a duo designed to exploit the colours of both instruments. The second subject begins with a theme in B minor on the upper strings of the cello, descends into “the depths” and emerges again with another theme, this one in B major. Brahms makes little of the B major theme at this point but holds it in reserve to heighten the effect of its positively radiant recapitulation in E major.

The outer sections of the Allegretto quasi Menuetto are based on an old-style minuet in a faintly modal A minor. There is nothing surly about the cello writing here, however, and still less in the trio section, where the cellist exploits the natural lyrical talents of his A and D strings. The only suspicion of surliness is in an occasional passage in the fugue which, clearly in tribute to J.S. Bach, occupies most of the last movement. This is also in E minor, but there are contrastingly happy episodes in G major and B major and, although the work does end in the key in which it began, the più presto coda is not so much bleak as heroic.

Although the cello is today valued above all for the lyrical eloquence obtainable in high positions on the A-string – a quality which is obviously put to best effect in a slow movement – composers before Brahms seem to have had little faith in the ability of cellists to sustain a pure line. There is a true slow movement in only the last of Beethoven’s five cello sonatas and none at all in either of Mendelssohn’s. Brahms wrote an inspired Adagio affettuoso for his F major Sonata in 1886 but twenty years earlier, in preparing his E minor Sonata for publication, he actually suppressed an Adagio he might have included in it.

It is a consequence partly of that and partly of its neo-baroque orientation that the work has long been misunderstood: “the bleak E minor, wherein the surly cello can seldom be coaxed up from the depths…” is a characteristic comment. It is true that the first subject is introduced in E minor in the lower register of the cello. But it is then repeated three octaves higher by the piano in what is, after all, a duo designed to exploit the colours of both instruments. The second subject begins with a theme in B minor on the upper strings of the cello, descends into “the depths” and emerges again with another theme, this one in B major. Brahms makes little of the B major theme at this point but holds it in reserve to heighten the effect of its radiant recapitulation in E major. In a coda as bleak as a sunny day in spring that key survives to the end of the movement.

The outer sections of the Allegretto quasi Menuetto are based on an old-style minuet in a faintly modal A minor. There is nothing surly about the cello writing here, however, and still less in the trio section, where the cellist exploits the natural lyrical talents of his A and D strings. The only suspicion of surliness is in an occasional passage in the fugue which, clearly in tribute to J.S. Bach, occupies most of the last movement. This is also in E minor, but there are contrastingly happy episodes in G major and B major and, although the work does end in the key in which it began, the più presto coda is not so much bleak as heroic.

The absence of a slow movement in the first of Brahms’s two cello sonatas is not as anomalous as it looks. Although the solo cello is today valued above all for the lyrical eloquence obtainable in high positions on the A string - a quality which is obviously put to best effect in a slow movement - composers before Brahms seem to have had little faith in the ability of cellists to sustain a pure line. There is a true slow movement in only the last of Beethoven’s five cello sonatas and none at all in either of Mendelssohn’s. Brahms wrote an inspired Adagio affettuoso for his F major Sonata in 1886 but twenty years earlier, in preparing his E minor Sonata for publication, he actually suppressed an Adagio he might have included in it.

It is a consequence partly of that and partly of its neo-baroque orientation that the work has long been misunderstood: “the bleak E minor, wherein the surly cello can seldom be coaxed up from the depths…” is a characteristic comment. It is true that the first subject is introduced in E minor in the lower register of the cello. But it is then repeated three octaves higher by the piano in what is, after all, a duo designed to exploit the colours of both instruments. The second subject begins with a theme in B minor on the upper strings of the cello, descends into “the depths” and emerges again with another theme, this one in B major. Brahms makes little of the B major theme at this point, and during the course of the development he actually presents it in B minor. The point of this must be to heighten the effect of its radiant recapitulation in E major. In a coda as bleak as a sunny day in spring that key survives to the end of the movement.

The outer sections of the Allegretto quasi Menuetto are based on an old-style minuet in a faintly modal A minor. There is nothing surly about the cello writing here, however, and still less in the trio section, where the cellist exploits the natural lyrical talents of his A and D strings. The only suspicion of surliness is in an occasional passage in the fugue which, clearly in tribute to J.S. Bach, occupies most of the last movement. This is also in E minor, but there are contrastingly happy episodes in G major and B major and, although the work does end in the key in which it began, the più presto coda is not so much bleak as heroic.

The absence of a slow movement in the first of Brahms’s two cello sonatas is not as anomalous as it looks. Although the solo cello is today valued above all for the lyrical eloquence obtainable in high positions on the A string – a quality which is obviously put to best effect in a slow movement – composers before Brahms seem to have had little faith in the ability of cellists to sustain a pure line. There is a true slow movement in only the last of Beethoven’s five cello sonatas and none at all in either of Mendelssohn’s. Brahms wrote an inspired Adagio affettuoso for his F major Sonata in 1886 but twenty years earlier, in preparing his E minor Sonata for publication, he actually suppressed an Adagio he might have included in it.

It is a consequence partly of that and partly of its neo–baroque orientation that the work has long been misunderstood: “the bleak E minor, wherein the surly cello can seldom be coaxed up from the depths and every tune of all three movements is in the minor” is a characteristic comment. It is true that the first subject is introduced in E minor in the lower register of the cello. But it is then repeated three octaves higher by the piano in what is, after all, a duo designed to exploit the colours of both instruments. The second subject begins with a theme in B minor on the upper strings of the cello, descends into “the depths” and emerges again with another theme, this one in B major. Brahms makes little of the B major theme at this point, and in the development – after a searching treatment of the first subject in all registers of the cello and a dramatic entry of the second subject in F minor – he actually presents it in B minor. The point of this must be to heighten the effect of its radiant recapitulation in E major. In a coda as bleak as a sunny day in spring that key survives to the end of the movement.

The Allegretto quasi Menuetto is a kind of pastiche in a faintly modal A minor, and it is a fact that there is at least as much C minor as C major in its rather more romantic second theme. However, there is nothing surly about the cello writing here, and still less in the trio section, where, though in F sharp minor instead of the expected A major, the cellist exploits the natural lyrical talents of his A and D strings. The only possibility of surliness is in some passages in the cello part in the fugue which, clearly in tribute to J.S. Bach, occupies most of the last movement. This is also in E minor, but there are contrastingly happy episodes in G major and B major and, although the work does end in the key in which it began, the più presto coda is not so much bleak as heroic.