Of all the titles in a composer’s toolkit, perhaps none is more evocative than “Romanze.” The word itself promises a story of high emotion, lyrical beauty, and heartfelt expression. For Max Bruch, a composer whose entire artistic creed was built on the foundation of soaring melody and rich harmony, the romance was a natural and cherished form. Late in his life, long after the thundering success of his First Violin Concerto had become both a blessing and a curse, he returned to this intimate genre to create his Romanze for Viola and Orchestra, Op. 85, presented here in its popular and effective transcription for cello.
Composed in 1911, the Romanze is a product of Bruch’s final creative period. By this time, the musical world had been turned upside down by the likes of Debussy, Schoenberg, and Stravinsky. Yet Bruch, then in his early seventies, remained gloriously, even stubbornly, unswayed. He was a man out of time, a living relic of the Romantic era who saw no reason to abandon the musical language he had perfected. This steadfastness could make him famously grumpy. There's an amusing, if telling, anecdote about his encounter with the music of Richard Strauss, a composer he considered a cacophonous upstart. After hearing Strauss's opera Salome, Bruch reportedly quipped, "I'm going home to read a score by Mozart to cleanse my ears!"
It is this very devotion to tradition, this "cleansing" focus on pure melody and classical form, that gives his late works their unique poignancy. He wrote the Romanze for Willy Hess, the principal violist of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and a musician he deeply admired. However, the publisher, Simrock, ever with an eye on sales, was hesitant to release a major work for the viola, an instrument they felt had limited commercial appeal compared to the violin or cello. They delayed publication for a year, a frustrating slight to the aging composer. It’s ironic that this piece, so full of warmth and confidence, was born amidst such professional anxieties and the composer's own sense of artistic isolation.
The Romanze is cast in a single, eloquent movement and unfolds in F Major, a key often associated with pastoral calm. Its soul is one of profound, autumnal nostalgia. This is not the fiery, youthful passion of his famous concerto, but something deeper, more reflective—a long look back over a life devoted to beauty.
The work opens with a noble, spacious theme announced by the orchestra, full of the warm harmonies of horns and winds. The cello then enters, taking up this melody and immediately establishing its role as the work's protagonist and storyteller. The writing for the soloist is a masterclass in lyricism. Bruch, ever the tunesmith, allows the cello’s voice to sing, to soar into its upper register with a yearning intensity before returning to a mood of dignified composure. He resists the urge for empty virtuosic display; every note is in service of the musical line, every phrase a vital part of the romantic narrative.
A contrasting middle section offers a gentle shift in mood. The music becomes more impassioned and searching, the dialogue between the soloist and orchestra more urgent. Here, we get a glimpse of the dramatic fire that always lay within Bruch's Romantic heart. Yet, the storm is brief. The tranquil opening theme soon returns, this time imbued with a sense of peaceful resolution. The work concludes not with a grand flourish, but with a feeling of quiet, contented satisfaction.
In this beautiful Romanze, we hear the authentic voice of Max Bruch: unapologetically romantic, supremely lyrical, and deeply sincere. It is a work that reminds us that even as the world rushed toward a noisy, uncertain future, a master composer could still find profound truth and solace in the simple, timeless power of a beautiful song.
