CONCERTS FROM THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 2020-2021

The Gertrude Clarke Whittall Foundation in the Library of Congress

DUDOK QUARTET AMSTERDAM

Friday, March 26, 2021 ~ 8:00 pm The Library of Congress Virtual Event In 1935 Gertrude Clarke Whittall gave the Library of Congress five Stradivari instruments and three years later built the Whittall Pavilion in which to house them. The GERTRUDE CLARKE WHITTALL FOUNDATION was established to provide for the maintenance of the instruments, to support concerts (especially those that feature her donated instruments), and to add to the collection of rare manuscripts that she had additionally given to the Library.

Conversation with the Artists Join us online at https://loc.gov/concerts/dudok-quartet-amsterdam. html for a conversation with the artists, available starting at 10am on Friday, March 26, 2021.

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This program has been supported by the Dutch Culture USA program of the Netherlands Consulate General in New York.

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The Gertrude Clarke Whittall Foundation in the Library of Congress DUDOK QUARTET AMSTERDAM

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Program

Anton Webern (1883-1945) String Quartet, op. 28 (1936-8) I. Mässig II. Gemächlich III. Sehr fliessend

1 GyÖrgy Ligeti (1923-2006) String Quartet no. 2 (1968) I. Senza tempo—Allegro nervoso—Prestissimo sfrenato—Sostenuto— Meno presto—senza tempo—Allegro moderato—sub. Feroce—Poch- iss. meno mosso—Ferrocisimo—pochiss. meno mosso—senza tempo— Precipitoso—senza tempo—Subito a tempo II. Sostenuto, molto calmo III. Come un meccanismo di precisione—Grave—poco più mosso—Più mosso—sub. a tempo—subito ancora più mosso—subito poco meno mosso—Sehr gleichmässig, akzentlos bis zum Schluss IV. Presto furioso, brutale, tumultoso—(grave)—(presto)...subito presto furioso—sub. molto calmo...sub. presto furioso—(poco grave)...sub. molto calmo—sub. presto furioso, con tutta la forza (al fine)—Senza tempo V. Allegro con delicatezza; stets sehr mild—"Senza tempo," Prestissimo possibile—a tempo—Senza tempo

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) / David Faber (1833-1897) Intermezzo in B minor, op. 119/1 (c.1893)

Johannes Brahms String Quartet no. 3 in B-flat major, op. 67 (1876) Vivace Andante Agitato (Allegretto non troppo)—Trio...Coda Poco Allegretto con Variazioni—Doppio Movimento

Anton Webern Langsamer Satz (1905)

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About the Program

Anton Webern, String Quartet and Langsamer Satz

Today’s concert will open and close with two works by Webern, composed some 30+ years apart. The pieces are worlds apart stylistically, but the Dudok Quartet Amsterdam seeks to demonstrate that the emotional vitality of Webern’s work did not diminish in his transition from Romantic 2 to Modernist, and that his path to dodecaphonic mastery was very much a part of a lineage drawn from Brahms and his predecessors. We will hear the works in reverse chronological order, beginning the concert with Webern’s final chamber work—the String Quartet, op. 28, completed in 1938—and closing the event with one of the works he wrote while under the supervision of Arnold Schoenberg, his Langsamer Satz of 1905.

String Quartet, op. 28 The Library of Congress has a special relationship with Webern’s music for string quartet, and the op. 28 string quartet in particular. The work was personally commissioned by Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, and the original holograph manuscript was given to the Library of Congress in May of 1938 as a gift from the founding patron of our series. The piece was composed for the occasion of a performance by the Kolisch Quartet at the 10th Berkshire Festival of Chamber Music in Pittsfield, MA, later that year. However, the story is much more interesting when you dive into the correspondence about the commission.1 In a letter dating from November of 1937, Coolidge proposed a commission of Webern for a piece for “five wind instruments, preferably without piano.” At the time, she was anticipating the engagement of “our finest Wind Ensemble (that headed by Mr. Barrère),”2 presumably the Barrère Ensemble of Wind Instruments formed by the famous French flutist who had performed in the premiere of Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune and for whom Varèse composed Density 21.5 just a few years before Coolidge’s proposed commission.

Webern’s response from the 15th of December of that year shows that the plans had changed in the meantime, to the chagrin of wind players and the benefit of string musicians. Webern had been in touch with Rudolf Kolisch, and came to understand that Coolidge would now like to commission a string quartet to be premiered by the Kolisch Quartet instead of a new work for winds. This probably worked to Webern’s advantage since he appears to have started work on the string quartet as early as 1936. Thus the op. 28 quartet came to be commissioned and put into the custody of the Library of Congress. Of further interest, a second manuscript and set of parts with Webern’s annotations, possibly used by the Kolisch Quartet, came into the Library’s possession as a purchase for the Heineman Foundation Collection in 1987.3 Both manuscripts bear 1 Many thanks to my colleague Melissa Wertheimer for delving into the archives to find this information while I have been unable to visit the Library. 2 Letter from Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge to Anton Webern, November 23, 1937, Coolidge Foundation Collection, Box 103 Folder 16. 3 In addition to the two manuscripts of op. 28 found in the Coolidge and Heine- man Foundation collections, the Library of Congress holds numerous other manuscripts

3 a dedication to their commissioner: “Mrs. Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge zugeeignet.”

The music of the op. 28 quartet is as sparse as one expects to find in the late dodecaphonic music of Webern. Yet, like Schoenberg, Webern organized his material using recognizable formal and technical structures that ground and contextualize the work, such as variations, scherzo, canons, fugal/imitative writing, and ternary forms. As in all of his mature music, Webern’s quartet is also remarkably concise, accomplishing with precision what the composer had set out to do under certain conditions. For Webern, rules and structure were like a warm artistic blanket, providing both safety and permission to explore a new realm. As Webern put it, “We want to say ‘in quite a new way’ what has been said before. But now I can invent more freely: everything has a deeper unity. Only now is it possible to compose in free fantasy, adhering to nothing except the row. To put it quite paradoxically, only through these unprecedented fetters has complete freedom become possible.”4

Without delving into a twelve-tone analysis of the piece, I think it is important to note that Webern is drawing on principles of organization and expression that have been around since before J.S. Bach, and in this sense there is a conservative aspect to his music. Beyond the variations one finds in the two-note groupings in the first movement, the ternary second movement structure complete with repeats,5 or the more integrative “finale” movement one might expect to find, there is the pervasive matter of ordering and how the linear combines with the vertical. These are not the new province of twelve-tone music at the time, but rather a continued reckoning with such notions. A theme or motive can be presented one way, then backwards, inverted, or inverted backwards, or transformed or manipulated in a variety of ways. Composers like J.S. Bach were masters of such varied presentations of discrete material. Bach’s name continues to be invoked here because it has a special significance to Webern in this work: namely, he used the Germanic musical spelling of Bach’s name (B-A-C-H, or B-flat, A, C, B-natural) as the fundamental building block of his row for the piece. It is often disguised with registral displacements, transpositions and other means, but Webern’s row uses two transpositions of Webern in its Moldenhauer Archive. Works related to Webern’s string quartet output in this archive include the manuscripts of his 1905 string quartet composed around the same time as the Langsamer Satz, the Rondo for string quartet, a piano transcription of the op. 28 string quartet by Otto Jokl, among other important early printed scores. 4 As quoted in Whittall, Arnold, “Webern and Multiple Meaning,” Music Analysis 6, no. 3 (1987), 337. 5 As Arnold Whittall put it, “Webern described the second movement of Op. 28 as ‘a “Scherzo” in miniature,’ and said of the first main section… that ‘the theme of the Scherzo is a perpetual canon in a “subject”-like form.’” Whittall, 338. 4 of these four notes along with an inversion. It is a historical reference and practice begun by Bach himself, perhaps most famously near the close of the unfinished Art of Fugue. Once you know what this B-A-C-H idea sounds like, it is something on which you can hang your hat as a listener. Even though this is among Webern’s last works, for this reason it serves as a good entry point into exploring his mature style.

Langsamer Satz We started the program with Webern’s last chamber work, and will end with one of the earliest works from his days as a student of Schoenberg, composed in 1905 while the composer was in his early 20s. While the Library of Congress does not have the manuscript of the single- movement Langsamer Satz, it was a part of the astonishingly rich Hans Moldenhauer Archive that was split between a number of institutions, including the Library. When Edward T. Cone first wrote about the piece upon its posthumous publication (it is part of the Moldenhauer Archive at the University of Washington), he wrote that it “…is impossible to listen with an unbiased ear to the juvenilia or the student works of a well- known composer. What we know of his mature production is bound to influence, favorably or unfavorably, our judgment of his early efforts.”6 Cone describes the games that get played upon the emergence of early works—looking for “imperfections” and “obvious models,” and secondly “intimations of a style yet to be formed.”7 Given that the piece was composed while Webern was under the instruction of Schoenberg, Cone points out that it “…should be clear that behind Schoenberg’s teaching stands the ghost of Brahms. The construction of a melody by motivic manipulation, the use of thematic material to create accompaniment figures, the transformation of one theme into another, the devices of foreshadowing and reminiscence—all these are familiar methods of the Old Master.”8

While commentators often refer to the blossoming of Webern’s romantic relationship with his future wife Wilhelmine Mörtl at this time as an impetus for the piece, the sound world of the piece points to musical precedents like Schoenberg and Zemlinsky—in particular Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht. But just as in the music of those two composers, there is very much the specter of Brahms (whose string quintets were composed not too far in the past) whispering in Webern’s ear as the young composer uses techniques not so far removed from those he would employ throughout his career. At this rich moment in Webern’s life the harmonic 6 Cone, Edward T., “Webern’s Apprenticeship,” The Musical Quarterly, vol. 53/1 (1967), 39. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid., 46. 5 worlds of Wagner and Liszt intersected effortlessly with the instrumental music of Brahms to yield a fervent, beautifully-crafted single-movement addition to the quartet repertoire. As Cone notes, it is difficult to respond to the early music of a composer you know in a different context, but in the case of the Langsamer Satz it is meaningful to imagine it as a work that would likely have been successful had it been published in fin-de-siècle Vienna instead of staying out of sight for more than half a century.

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GyÖrgy Ligeti, String Quartet no. 2

György Ligeti’s music is almost always immediately recognizable, despite occupying a variety of stylistic and sonic spaces over the course of his career. The second string quartet dates from 1968, and is contemporaneous with the only major work of Ligeti’s held in manuscript at the Library of Congress—his Ramifications from 1969. Both works to greater and lesser degrees exhibit instances of one of his signature sounds from the 1960s in particular, “micropolyphony.”

As Jonathan Bernard quotes in his article “Voice Leading as a Spatial Function in the Music of Ligeti,” Ligeti himself had an interesting way of describing this particular technique, or rather its aural consequences: “…You hear a kind of impenetrable texture, something like a very densely woven cobweb. I have retained melodic lines in the process of composition, they are governed by rules as strict as Palestrina’s or those of the Flemish school, but the rules of this polyphony are worked out by me. The polyphonic structure does not come through, you cannot hear it; it remains hidden in a microscopic, underwater world, to us inaudible. I call it micropolyphony (such a beautiful word!).”9 This notion of micropolyphony can be liberally used to describe a number of sections in Ligeti’s quartet, and while perhaps most obviously applying to the repeated figuration in the fifth movement, it can also be meaningfully used to describe the complexes of sound that Ligeti achieves via detailed notation, creating in effect a controlled chaos that moves like fog across a lake.

Michael Hicks points to Ligeti’s own formulations about the composer's process of creating dramatic musical structures, and these apply quite 9 As quoted in Bernard, Jonathan W., “Voice Leading as a Spatial Function in the Music of Ligeti,” Music Analysis, vol. 13, no. 2/3 (1994), 232. 6 strikingly to the music of the second quartet. As Hicks writes, “…we must first take note of Ligeti’s observation that, when constructing a musical form during this part of his career, he replaced tension vs. resolution, dissonance vs. consonance, and other ‘pairs of opposition in traditional tonal music’ with a concern for textural density. Again using a visual metaphor for the processes in his music, Ligeti says, ‘I… contrast ‘mistiness’ with passages of ‘clearing up.’”10 The musical arguments can often be considered fruitfully in terms of degrees of clarity and coordination.

The music of the first movement of Ligeti’s second string quartet is characterized by extremes, starting after an initial blip with extremely quiet upper harmonics, juxtaposed with feroce explosions of material. The instruments are sometimes divided, either providing a quiet pedal (usually in a high register), or motorically cycling through fast notes. A pivotal moment comes with unison movement, which only lasts so long before the swift music accelerates to the point of devolution into a tremolo. While the effect can seem chaotic, Ligeti very carefully notates what he wants: eight against nine against ten and so forth yields a cloud of sound that brims with energy. The movement closes in the stratosphere once again.

The second movement is something of a fantasy on an ever-changing tone. The music starts on a unison pitch, and through a remarkable use of timbral shifts Ligeti develops the sound of that pitch while also expanding the pitch space out from it. Sul ponticello gasps become more frequent, glassy intruders, and trills and tremolos seek to take the place of the single pitch. A unified crescendo with a lot of bow strokes leads to a sudden pianississimo tremolo, and Ligeti keeps bringing the music back to the single pitch idea, though with swifter deviations. A remarkable series of final held tones and chords gives almost a sense of tonal arrival due to the use of octaves and triadic inflections.

In the third movement Ligeti requires a lot of pluck on the part of the musicians. The tempo of the pizzicato passagework is not regulated by the usual limit suggested in orchestration classes (beware of asking string players to pluck faster than they must in the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s fourth symphony). The plucked strings begin together before diverging and going at different rates, usually ever-faster but with rhetorical flashes of instruments re-introducing a slower rate of plucking against the others. Register is also used effectively to accomplish

10 Hicks, Michael, “Interval and Form in Ligeti’s Continuum and Coulée,” Perspec- tives of New Music, vol. 31, no. 1 (1993), 174. 7 a differentiation in the sound. However, in the overall effect a similar sound cloud process is happening, in addition to the pitch expansion encountered earlier. One of the dramatic arguments of the music has to do with moments of coincident attack versus the perception of indistinct coordination—something accomplished in general through highly specific notation. A bowed section provides a briefspiccato respite before the pizzicato resumes to close the movement, back now on a single pitch.

Louder, more “traditional” playing opens the highly dissonant fourth movement, punctuated in reverse with periods of sustained quiet tones. It feels almost like a commentary on the previous movements, and the scrambling music of earlier is referenced with brief presto furioso outbursts. An almost obscenely loud and sustained scream decays again into held tones in the upper register, before a final statement of the main material closes the short movement.

In a sense the final movement covers similar territory to the music that preceded it, in that expectations of a normative state are set and then gradually altered. Measured tremolos open the music at different rates, followed by scalar trills (that is, repeating scalar figures that repeat again and again within a confined register), further-expanded versions of repeated materials, and penultimately arpeggios that have branched away from the source prior to sustained tones. There follows a beautifully coordinated duet between the second violin and cello with fast scrambly music. Harmonics and tremolandi are again the order of the day, with slippages outside of that frosty realm periodically occurring with each instrument with shards of sound piercing the fabric. The rapid trills and tremolos return, but again with moments of coordination between instruments that serve as structurally significant aural cues. A measured tremolo turns into a rhythmically unison traversal of the quartet’s range, with the upper and lower voices splitting into alternating duets. When the tremolos return and stick around for a bit in the violins, D’s appear across three octaves in the viola and cello, striking once again in how they take root in our ears against the frenetic background music of the violins. In the context of Ligeti’s music of this period, a simple octave or sustained interval has the impact of a dramatic cadence. The tremolo begins to emphasize tritones, fifths and fourths in turn before settling again on a trill. After held tones, the original tremolo of the movement returns briefly, before the music evaporates quietly at both extremes of the register with dissipating scales. • 8 Johannes Brahms, Intermezzo in B minor;

The piano played a vital role throughout the entirety of Brahms' compositional life. Four of the first five works he published were significant solo keyboard pieces (three sonatas and a scherzo), and in his final years Brahms produced a remarkable body of pieces of great refinement. Some of these latter-day pieces contain the orchestral fire that branded his early work, such as the capriccios from op. 116, the Ballade from op. 118 and the Rhapsody from op. 119,11 but many were of the more introspective Intermezzo variety (an unusual and ambiguous title that Brahms embraced especially in the last two decades of his life).

The nature of Brahms' late piano works raised contemporaneous questions about the appropriateness of the venue of their potential performance. Katrin Eich quotes an intriguing letter from the Bach biographer Philipp Spitta to Brahms in her chapter "Where was the home of Brahms' piano works?" Before suggesting that it would be silly to perform the Intermezzi in public due to their intimate nature, he writes in part:

"The Clavierstücke occupy my mind continually; they are so different from everything that you have written for piano, and are perhaps the richest and profoundest works in an instrumental form which I know of yours. They really are meant to be absorbed slowly in peace and solitude, not just to think about afterwards, but also beforehand, and I think I understand you correctly when I say that you meant something like this with the Intermezzo. Pieces in between' have predecessors and followers which in this case, each player and listener is to make for himself."12

There is something attractive about this formulation of Brahms' Intermezzi as an artistic site of personal interiority, and while it might be easier to achieve if we could invite a pianist to perform for us in our homes individually, there is something magical about sharing the experience with other people. Alas, in this case we are forced into a situation that allows us to “absorb” the work in the peace and solitude of our own homes, albeit today with a version of the work in a transcription

11 Of the late piano works, the Library of Congress possesses four holograph manu- scripts: the Intermezzo in A minor op. 118/1, and the first three Intermezzi of op. 119 in B minor, E minor and C major. The Library also holds the manuscript of a transcription of the first Intermezzo of op. 117 for violin and piano by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco. 12 As quoted in Eich, Katrin, "Where was the home of Brahms' piano works?" in Brahms in the Home and the Concert Hall: Between Private and Public Performance, Katy Hamilton and Natasha Loges, eds. (United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 101-102. 9 for string quartet.

Of the late pieces, the B-minor Intermezzo with its chains of descending thirds was a special one for the composer. When first sharing it with his great friend Clara Schumann, Brahms wrote: “I should very much like to know how you get on with it. It teems with discords. These may be all right and quite explicable, but you may not perhaps like them… It is exceptionally melancholy… Every bar and every note must be played as if ritardando were indicated, and one wished to draw the melancholy out of each one of them, and voluptuous joy and comfort out of the discords. My God, how will this description whet your appetite?” Clara indeed appreciated the piece, delighting in its harmonic ambiguities (made more tolerable perhaps by the decay of the sound and its quiet demeanor) and called it a “gray pearl.”13

As Jan Swafford describes it, “…in its harmonies the B Minor Intermezzo may not have gone as far into the future of music as others had, but it represents the furthest Brahms was willing to go.”14 Like most of the late Brahms miniatures, the Intermezzo has a ternary form. The Adagio principal material with its descending-thirds accompaniment is contrasted with a quietly bright contrasting central section in D major. The thirds reappear, and in gentle cascades return us to a variant of the material from the first section. In the closing measures we see Brahms allow the stack of thirds to descend to a B-minor chord, essentially creating a 13th chord in its wake with the member pitches G-E-C#-A#-F#- D-B, sounding atop one another before the upper register resolves to a B-minor triad. One can see why Brahms may have seen himself out on a harmonic limb with the piece, but as the final measures show, the logic of his argument is revealed to have been at all times under his control.

David Plylar Senior Music Specialist Library of Congress, Music Division

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13 As quoted in Swafford, Jan, Johannes Brahms: A Biography (New York: Vintage Books [Random House], 1999 edition), 586. 14 Ibid., 587. 10 Johannes Brahms, String Quartet no. 3 in B-flat major

“Yes, Beautiful, I do love Brahms” An essay by Jan Brokken15

Every Brahms composition comes with a story—a vivid story, often suspenseful, with a nail-biting finish. His Third String Quartet, for example, popped up like a mushroom in the shadow of a mighty oak: his First Symphony. The quartet and the symphony were both presented to the public around the same time: the String Quartet No. 3 in B-flat major, Op. 67, had its premiere performance on 31 October 1876 in Berlin, and the Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68, was first heard in a concert hall four days later, on 4 November 1876 in Karlsruhe. Brahms described the quartet as “a useless trifle,” the opposite of “the serious countenance of a symphony.” Dreading the premiere of the First Symphony as if awaiting trial, he decided to let his beard grow and, if the critics were lenient, not shave it off. The symphony was not praised to the skies, and just after the performance in Karlsruhe Brahms made some changes to the middle sections for the performance in Vienna, but he kept the beard, and it grew into a coarse, shaggy, unkempt monstrosity that very soon took on a salt- and-pepper pattern. After the premiere of the symphony, he suddenly became an old man.

So the Third String Quartet can be described as the last Brahms without a beard. It is a remarkably light-hearted piece, lively and sometimes even cheerful—as if Brahms were saying a festive farewell to his formative years, which had been difficult and often unsparing but also tumultuous and exciting, thanks to the youthful élan that had never abandoned him. But above all, Op. 67 was a great escape into new artistic territory, which rescued Brahms from a nervous breakdown.

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By mid-1875, Brahms was thoroughly fed up. Summer was coming down on him like a block of granite, and the city smelled like a woman who had to resort to clouds of perfume. He wanted to get out of Vienna. Like everyone else, I associate Johannes Brahms mainly with Hamburg: with the harbor, the smell of brackish water, and a couple of seagulls peering down from on high. With sailors’ bars, music halls, and the Alster Pavilion on Binnenalster Lake, where his father would play polkas, mazurkas, and waltzes on his horn or pluck his double bass, earning more than he 15 Printed with permission from the artists; commissioned by the Borletti-Buitoni Trust and Vrienden van het Dudok Quartet Amsterdam. 11 would have from a permanent seat in an orchestra. But not enough to buy an instrument for his son. As a young man, Hannes played piano in the waterside bars to earn back the money he’d spent on music lessons. He is even said to have sung in his high voice. Later he forced his voice lower, down to the deepest bass tones. That was around the same time that he let his beard grow.

Yes, Brahms goes together with low skies and the wide mouth of the Elbe, more than with the sea, which like many Hamburg natives he rarely saw. His world was framed by docks, and by the straight and narrow Protestant ways of the north, passed down to him by his deeply religious mother. After his death, Brahms received the greatest tribute possible for a son of Hamburg: all the ships in the harbor flew their flags at half-mast.

But in 1862, he had left Hamburg and slammed the door behind him, because the city fathers there did not consider him qualified to conduct an orchestra, as a musician without a conservatory education. They had snubbed him no less than three times for the position of Kapellmeister. Their real problem was his family background. He had departed for Vienna, the Holy City of music and the cradle of his greatest role models: Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven. Even before he made it his permanent home, he knew the city like the back of his hand and could point out the very palace in which Beethoven’s Eroica had rung out for the first time, the house where Schubert had mumbled, in a musty alcove, “Here, here is my end,” the theatre where the first performance ofThe Magic Flute had taken place, and the place where Beethoven had last directed his Ninth, so deaf that he went on waving his baton long after the orchestra had reached the end. To Brahms, Vienna was the city “where I can drink my wine in the same place where Beethoven did.” It was cosmopolitan: forty percent of the population came from across the border and the other sixty percent was mostly Hungarian. It was an aristocratic city dominated by a certain lifestyle—rather than a place to get rich quick, like Hamburg—and a bastion of Catholicism to boot, with magnificent Baroque churches. Yet those never tempted him to change his religion; as if keeping a deathbed vow to his mother, he remained a Protestant. One thing Vienna did have in common with Hamburg was a large supply of brothels. Brahms was a frequent visitor there, as he had been in Hamburg, spending time among girls who brought back memories of Gängeviertel, the impoverished district of his childhood. He knew each of them by name, and they called him Doktor Brahms; he would talk to the girls and stroke an arm now and then, not much more.

12 He lived in a cramped, dark apartment, Karlsgasse 4, in the shadow of the Karlskirche. In July and August, the Vienna heat was stifling and he had to get outside. Almost every summer, he found himself longing to flee the city, and in the year of our story, 1875, that feeling was stronger than ever. Where would he go? He didn’t have to wonder for long. He would seek out the green banks and fresh air of the Neckar. That May, he had turned 42, not quite old yet—and in any case, with his smooth cheeks and combed-back hair he looked good for his age. He wanted to do something to celebrate, before he grew a beard.

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His pretext for this getaway involved a string quartet. In Vienna, an idea had come to him, a game of questions and answers between four string players, vivace... It was the kind of inspiration that clamored for his immediate attention, but no, he had his First Symphony to work on. For years, it had weighed on his shoulders like lead, and at last it was close to completion—close, but not quite there yet. For twenty years, he had been asking himself how you could compose a symphony after Beethoven; it gnawed at him. When a troublesome orchestra complained about one of his serenades, he said from the conductor’s podium, “Gentlemen, I am aware that I am not Beethoven.” Marvelous, such critical insight into yourself, but also exhausting, like a huge obstacle you couldn’t make it over or around. He was searching for an escape route, a way to put off that terrible moment: the premiere. In every nightmare, he heard the kind of silence that causes such pain when you’re expecting an ovation, and he saw how they would label his First Symphony: traditional.

Then it came to him. In a fit of high spirits, he started work on a string quartet. He hadn’t done much of it, he told everyone around him; just the beginning. In fact, he was already well beyond that; for the second movement, he had a cantilena in mind, a delightful, lyrical melody for the first violin. He hoped to finish a little faster than he normally did, in the course of a single season in the countryside. He needed to go out into nature, wandern, spazieren—yes, that’s how German he was—and what better place than the Badische Land along the Neckar River? So he had asked a friend, the painter Anton Hanno, to come stay with him for a few weeks in Ziegelhausen. Brahms had friends all over the place, and not having a wife or children, he loved to pay them long and frequent visits. When all went well, they inspired him, and he managed to shake off his perpetual doubts.

13 He once confessed to his childhood friend Alwin Cranz that he had written more than twenty string quartets before three finally saw the light of day: the two that make up his Op. 51, both published in the summer of 1873 (after more than fourteen years of refinements), and the quartet on which he planned to work in Ziegelhausen. Just to be clear, let me repeat that: for his two Op. 51 quartets, he spent fourteen years between the earliest drafts and publication, making changes and corrections. In his letter to his childhood friend Cranz, he offered an explanation for his plodding creative process: “It is not difficult to compose, but what is enormously hard is to leave the superfluous notes under the table.”

Brahms conceived of the String Quartet No. 3 in B-flat major as an exceptionally light and cheerful piece, beginning with vivace and andante movements that would make a perfect match for Haydn. In other words, a Viennese work. After all, who was more Viennese than Haydn? Many years later, when the Joachim-Quartett was preparing to perform Op. 67 in Vienna, Brahms gave them some advice: “I would start the program with Haydn. That will set the mood for my quartet.”

***

Ziegelhausen is now a suburb of Heidelberg, but in 1875 it was a village surrounded by woods, hills, and orchards. Early in the morning, Brahms would follow the path to the Benedictine abbey in Neuburg, which dated from the twelfth century. Another beautiful walk went up to Heidelberg Castle. Everything about Germany that seemed so attractive, sprightly, and charming to him could be found along the Neckar. Another significant advantage of the Neckardal was the good food and fine white wine. I can imagine that certain ideas for his Third String Quartet came to him after lunch, at an outdoor café, as he sipped his last glass of wine and gazed at the river below—although, come to think of it, he preferred to eat while walking. That habit became unattractive later, once he had grown the beard, because he was always getting crumbs in the curly gray hairs, and sometimes whole chunks of sardine.

He had learned to love the Badische Land thanks to Clara Schumann. Six years after the death of her husband Robert, she had moved from Düsseldorf to a house in the Lichtental district of Baden-Baden that had just enough rooms for her eight children. She had drawn Brahms’s attention to a lovely house high on a hill in the same part of town. At that stage, he could not afford to rent the whole house, Maximilianstrasse 85, but he could manage an apartment on the second floor. From 1865 to 1874, he spent every summer there, within walking distance of Clara. 14 It had never bothered Brahms that Clara was fourteen years older than he was. His mother had been seventeen years older than his father: forty- one when they married. Around 1870, Clara was a portly woman who suffered from migraines and rheumatism, always dressed in black, and she made it clear in Lichtental that Brahms was visiting her strictly as a friend. After the death of Robert Schumann in 1856, she had resolved to be an exemplary widow. Until two years after Schumann’s death, Brahms addressed Clara as Frau Schumann; once they were on more informal terms with each other, he instead called her “Meine liebe Frau Mama.”

In 1875, Frau Mama did not come to Ziegelhausen. Brahms must have been disappointed; his love for Clara never faded, and he offered her the finest compliment you can give a loved one, saying she had taught him what beauty was. At the same time, her absence must have come as a relief. Clara would have been a constant reminder of the unfinished First Symphony, since she had been involved from the outset in the creation of the work.

His earliest ideas had arisen soon after the twenty-year-old Johannes first met Robert and Clara. It was love at first sight for all three of them—and admiration at first hearing. Robert wrote in his diary: “Visit from Brahms. A genius.” A few weeks later, he published the famous article hailing Brahms as the long-awaited savior of German music, who would bring all its most excellent qualities to fruition. The effect was intimidating. Not only in Germany, but throughout Europe, the young man from Hamburg came to be seen as the incarnation of centuries of German music.

Brahms was also endowed with a tremendous capacity for self-criticism, which ultimately led him to destroy more works than he published. But the idea of a symphony that would unite all the achievements of the genre had quickly taken hold of him. The very vocal support of Clara and Robert Schumann made things extremely difficult for young Brahms. The representatives of the New German School, with Liszt and Wagner leading the way, had declared the symphony dead. By composing one, Brahms would align himself with the conservatives. But he had no wish to do that; he felt much too young and original. So he had to demonstrate that he could adhere to classical forms yet strike out in a new direction.

His first attempt failed. Some of his ideas for the symphony ended up in his First Piano Concerto and may have been what made it so formidable— even though at the premiere, only three people applauded (as Brahms confessed in a letter to Clara). Others found their way into Ein deutsches Requiem, which he composed after his mother’s death, but which was also 15 inspired by the tragic demise of Robert Schumann. One movement of that requiem, the solemn “Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras,” was written in Lichtental, and it was also in Lichtental that Clara told him that Robert had planned to write a requiem with the same title: “A German Requiem.” The name meant merely that it was sung in the German language rather than in Latin. In the same year as Ein deutsches Requiem, Brahms composed the riotous Hungarian Dances, so lively that the listener can barely sit still. He was a bundle of contradictions.

Johannes had first met Clara and Robert Schumann in 1853. He did not send Clara the first movement of his First Symphony until 1862 (and then without the overture). By 1875 he had made great progress: the second, third, and fourth movements were as good as finished. But for the rest of the year he did not touch the composition. It was the summer of 1876 by the time he picked up the piece again on holiday in Rügen, and he wrote the majestic opening measures after he was reunited with northern skies and the view of the Baltic. It is speculated that he was thinking of Caspar David Friedrich’s Chalk Cliffs on Rügen—a meditative, almost religious painting that combines spiritual revelation with a quality of suspense emanating from the woman in red, who is so dangerously close to the edge. It must have appealed to Brahms, who had not only a rough but also a more contemplative side: he could recite long Bible passages verse for verse, the result of his religious education by his devout mother. In late September, he played the outer movements of his symphony on the piano for Clara, who was impressed. Arnold Schönberg would later call him a “revolutionary traditionalist.”

***

Compared to that titanic struggle, composing the Third String Quartet was a walk in the park. The piece has the vitality of a rambler out on a long walk, taking in views of hills and dales and remembering treasured moments of life and love. It is his last string quartet. After the Third, he had said everything he had to say—in that genre, that is. The quartet radiates a calm pastoral quality and a rural freshness. Brahms loved to quote the motto of his friend, the violinist Joseph Joachim: “frei aber einsam,” free but lonely. But in the summer of 1875 he came up with his own variation: “frei aber froh,” free but cheerful.

The Dutch composer Alphons Diepenbrock could not abide Brahms— too strict, too ponderous, too northern German—and regarded him as Goethian rather than Romantic. What Diepenbrock had in mind was the Goethian ideal of beauty, which he felt was behind the times in 16 1898. He argued that the great dramatic theme of the Romantics—the irreconcilability of Poetry with Life—eluded Brahms because he was too rationalistic; as a true son of Hamburg, a true northern German, Brahms had too much contemplative distance from the elements of his art. He lacked the “passionate force of true sensuality” so characteristic of the Romantics, Diepenbrock claimed. Instead, all he had to offer was a “soft, round, waxy, flaccid, passionless sensuality.”

I am familiar with Alphons Diepenbrock as the face of Amsterdam’s musical scene around 1900 and as Gustav Mahler’s Dutch friend. I have also encountered him Erik Menkveld’s novel Het grote zwijgen [“The Great Silence”], which portrays him as a jealous, insecure, and wounded composer. I wonder whether Diepenbrock ever heard the String Quartet No. 3, or any of Brahms’s chamber music, which vibrates with a constant tension between reality and the ideal.

Diepenbrock claims that the rigid, lackluster northern German—what a stereotype!—betrays himself most obviously in Ein deutsches Requiem, which the Dutch composer calls an impossible piece. He suggests that, in moving to Vienna, Brahms was trying to absorb the sensuality and lust for life of the Viennese—a lost cause, Diepenbrock tells us. “The music remains German in the narrow sense, not in the broad sense in which Beethoven is German and Berlioz French. It is German in the same way that Massenet is French; it represents the weak and less significant characteristics of the nationality to which it belongs.” In his firm opinion, Brahms’s German music was practically worthless “and certainly [did] not have a future.”

By way of apology for Diepenbrock, I must point out that he belonged to the generation that had been won over by Wagner’s music. He saw Wagner as the living ideal of the genius, “the master builder of a new house that will accommodate many generations to come,” while Brahms, “diligent Brahms,” was a kind of anti-Wagner, a “highly competent, artful workman” whose entire oeuvre was encapsulated in a single lament: “Auch das Schöne muss sterben” [Even beautiful things must die].

***

Brahms most certainly does not let beautiful things die in his Third String Quartet—or for that matter, in any of his works. He makes beautiful things glow like a sublime autumn—he remained in Ziegelhausen until mid- September—in full, somewhat dark, but enchanting tones. The quartet has the polyphonic structure of a distant view, the intense colors of a river 17 valley, and the spirited rhythm of an eager and carefree walker amid that landscape. Brahms takes you on a journey from Vienna to the Badische Land.

In the second movement, Brahms composed one of his greatest violin parts. And that is saying a great deal, since to please his friend Joachim he wrote many glorious violin pieces, from his Violin Concerto to the Rain Sonata. The melody in this movement has a melancholy beauty that never once becomes sentimental. In the third movement, he places the viola center stage. That choice, too, has a story behind it: he dedicated the Third String Quartet to Theodor Wilhelm Engelmann, a professor of physiology at Utrecht University and a devoted amateur musician. Engelmann, who came from Leipzig, was an accomplished cellist with whom Brahms had made music a few times. By making the viola central to the third movement, he hoped to persuade Engelmann to switch from the cello to that instrument. Engelmann appreciated the joke but did not take the advice, despite the dedication.

The fourth movement goes from variation to variation in quick succession, from heights of profundity to the merriment of a dance. It was this dance- like quality that pleased Clara most. In May 1876, the Joachim-Quartett gave a private performance of the Third String Quartet in Clara’s new home in Berlin. Johannes did not attend this first performance. In a letter written on 23 May, Clara thanked him for his wundervolles Quartett and especially for the third and fourth movements. But in her diary, she grumbled that the second movement—with that beautiful melody in the first violin—was not distinctive enough for a composer such as Brahms. He must have found out about her reservations, because it was that second movement to which he made the most revisions before sending the work to his publisher. But unlike in the other cases where Clara criticized his work, he did not toss the score in the wastebasket.

He loved the Third String Quartet even more than his first two, because it was lighter and had come into the world more easily—like a flash of inspiration. In this respect, it was like his Fourth Ballade for piano, Op. 10, about which Glenn Gould once said in an interview, “It is especially difficult to handle. It is beautiful in its way, almost a hymn, you might say, and the reason I love it is that it is one of the few works by Brahms in which he lets his imagination—a flood of impressions—prevail over his sense of design and architecture. That’s exactly what makes it so difficult to do justice to the piece.” In the String Quartet No. 3, he likewise let his imagination run free and achieved a brilliant spontaneity in which one musical masterstroke is swiftly followed by the next. Even Clara 18 eventually acknowledged that his Poco allegretto con variazioni is “too fascinating for words, with its delightful, mocking conclusion.”

***

Brahms once moaned that no one else’s life had been as hard as his. After reading four biographies, including Jan Swafford’s monumental work, I must admit that he was hardly exaggerating. He had to fight for everything he accomplished, and he had to stay humble, so humble that he once said he hoped that eventually he would be performed a little more often than Cherubini—or maybe that was meant as a witticism.

Even though he regarded his Third String Quartet as a playful distraction, it is actually one of his most characteristic works. Brahms does show some resemblance to Goethe—but I mean that in the best possible way. The quartet recalls “Harzreise im Winter” [“Winter Journey in the Harz”], the last in a series of poems that begins with the passionate “Wandrers Sturmlied.” “Harzreise” ends with meditative lines about life and nature. This was not the first time the poem had inspired Brahms. His Alto Rhapsody, Op. 53 (1869), ends with these lines of poetry from Goethe:

Öffne den umwölkten Blick Open his clouded eyes Über die tausend Quellen To the thousand springs Neben dem Durstenden Beside the thirsting one In der Wüste. In the wilderness.

On his walks through the Badische Land, Brahms discovered the best in himself. And that too is characteristic of Brahms: when, after all his struggling, he sent a composition out into the world, he never again questioned its value, but embraced it like an imaginary beloved. Yes, beautiful, just beautiful, I do love Brahms. ~ Jan Brokken

•

About the Artists

The Dudok Quartet Amsterdam is forging a reputation as one of the most creative and versatile young quartets of its generation. With its

19 mission of “sharing the heart of music,” the Dudok Quartet is committed to crafting unique and eclectic programs in order to engage with its audiences in new and imaginative ways.

In repertoire ranging from Mendelssohn, Mozart and Beethoven to Ligeti, Shostakovich and Weinberg, the Quartet constantly strives to forge and explore new pathways and connections in music. Their intelligent approach and flair for programming also sees them regularly perform their own arrangements of pieces, and they have so far produced arrangements of works by composers including Gesualdo, des Prez and Brahms. Collaboration is also a key part of the Quartet’s ethos, and recent partners have included Pieter Wispelwey, Daria van den Bercken, Vladimir Mendelssohn, Erik Bosgraaf and Annelien Van Wauwe.

The Dudok Quartet has performed at many of the major European venues and festivals including the Vienna Konzerthaus, Beethoven Haus Bonn, De Doelen, Carinthischer Sommer Festival, Gergiev Festival, West Cork Chamber Music Festival, Festival Jeunes Talents, Festival Quatuors à Bordeaux, and the Amsterdam String Quartet Biennale, Concertgebouw and Muziekgebouw. The Quartet made its US debut in January 2018 at the Northwestern University Winter Chamber Music Festival, with future US plans including its New York debut at the Park Avenue Armory.

In 2015 the Quartet released its first recording on the Resonus Classics label. Métamorphoses explores the theme of musical innovation through works by Ligeti, Haydn and Brahms. It was awarded Editor’s Choice in Gramophone, with the Quartet also being praised by The Guardian for its “lithe, lively sound and alert sense of structure and detail.” The Quartet’s critically acclaimed second release in 2017, entitled Labyrinth, explores the use of counterpoint in works by Mozart, Ligeti and Bach. The Quartet’s most recent disc, Solitude (2018), features works by Mendelssohn, Weinberg and Shostakovich, curated around the theme of loss and loneliness, with The Strad praising the disc as “an intense listening experience that will have you on the edge of your seat.”

Other recent projects have included the world premiere of Kaija Saariaho’s opera Only the Sound Remains with Philippe Jaroussky and Dutch National Opera and a collaboration with director Rosabel Huguet re-imagining Beethoven’s Op 132 String Quartet for children. Entitled Quartet! A Card Game with Beethoven, the project will be presented at venues including the Vienna Konzerthaus, Festspielhaus Baden-Baden, Flagey and De Doelen as part of the Quartet’s ongoing commitment to education and outreach work.

Having first met as members of the Ricciotti Ensemble, a Dutch street 20 symphony orchestra, the Dudok Quartet studied at the Hochschule für Musik in Cologne with the Alban Berg Quartet and later at the Dutch String Quartet Academy with Marc Danel of the Danel Quartet. Other important mentors include Eberhard Feltz, Peter Cropper (Lindsay Quartet), Luc-Marie Aguera (Quatuor Ysaÿe) and Stefan Metz. The Quartet was winner of a 2018 Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award, prizes at the Bordeaux International String Quartet Competition and the Joseph Joachim International Chamber Music Competition Weimar, as well as the prestigious Dutch Kersjes Prize (2014).

The Quartet performs on instruments generously on loan from the Dutch Musical Instrument Foundation (NMF); violins by Francesco Goffriller and Vincenzo Panormo, viola by Max Möller and cello by Jean- Baptiste Vuillaume. The Quartet takes its name from renowned Dutch architect Willem Marinus Dudok (1884 – 1974). A great lover of music, Dudok came from a musical family and composed in his spare time, saying “I feel deeply the common core of music and architecture: after all, they both derive their value from the right proportions”.

• Upcoming Events in April Visit loc.gov/concerts for more information Friday, April 9, 2021 at 8:00 pm [Concert] MET Orchestra Musicians, Program I Music by Mozart, Puccini, Barber and Verdi Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/met-orchestra-april9.html) Additional video content available starting at 10am on 4/9/21

Friday, April 16, 2021 at 8:00 pm [Concert] New World Symphony, Program II Music by Walton, Tillis and Dvořák Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/new-world-symphony-april16.html) Additional video content available starting at 10am on 4/16/21

Saturday, April 24, 2021 at 8:00 pm [Concert] Terri Lyne Carrington The New Standards Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/terri-lyne-carrington.html) Additional video content available starting at 10am on 4/23/21

21 Friday, April 30, 2021 at 8:00 pm [Concert] Mahan Esfahani, harpsichord Music by J.S. Bach, J.C.F. Fischer, Andriessen & Martinů Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/mahan-esfahani.html) Additional video content available starting at 10am on 4/30/21

•

KEEP CHECKING LOC.GOV/CONCERTS FOR UPDATED INFORMATION ABOUT UPCOMING PROGRAMMING!

You can still catch all of the (Re)Hearing Beethoven Festival! See loc.gov/concerts/beethoven.html for the full lineup, including performances, lectures and conversations. "The President's Own" United States Marine Band Music by Beethoven: Symphonies 3 and 7 (https://loc.gov/concerts/presidents-own-marine-band.html)

Borromeo String Quartet Music by Beethoven: Symphony no. 8, op. 130 & 133 Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/borromeo-nicholas-cords.html) ZOFO Music by Beethoven: Symphonies 4 and 6 Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/zofo.html) Verona String Quartet and Adam Golka: Hammerklavier Virtual: (https://loc.gov/concerts/beethovens-hammerklavier.html)

Ran Dank & Soyeon Kate Lee Music by Liszt and Beethoven: Symphony no. 9 Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/dank-lee.html)

Christopher Taylor Music by Beethoven: Symphonies 1, 2 and 5 Virtual Event (https://loc.gov/concerts/christopher-taylor.html)

22 Concerts from the Library of Congress

The Coolidge Auditorium, constructed in 1925 through a generous gift from Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, has been the venue for countless world-class performers and performances. Gertrude Clarke Whittall presented to the Library a gift of five Stradivari instruments which were first heard here during a concert on January 10, 1936. These parallel but separate donations serve as the pillars that now support a full season of concerts made possible by gift trusts and foundations that followed those established by Mrs. Coolidge and Mrs. Whittall. • Concert Staff

CHIEF, MUSIC DIVISION Susan H. Vita

ASSISTANT CHIEF Jan Lauridsen

SENIOR PRODUCERS Michele L. Glymph FOR CONCERTS AND Anne McLean SPECIAL PROJECTS

SENIOR MUSIC SPECIALIST David H. Plylar

MUSIC SPECIALISTS Kazem Abdullah Claudia Morales

ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICER Donna P. Williams

SENIOR RECORDING ENGINEER Michael E. Turpin

ASSISTANT ENGINEER Sandie (Jay) Kinloch

PRODUCTION MANAGER Solomon E. HaileSelassie

CURATOR OF Carol Lynn Ward-Bamford MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS

PROGRAM DESIGN David H. Plylar

PROGRAM PRODUCTION Michael Munshaw

23 Support Concerts from the Library of Congress

Support for Concerts from the Library of Congress comes from private gift and trust funds and from individual donations which make it possible to offer free concerts as a gift to the community. For information about making a tax-deductible contribution please call (202-707-5503), e-mail ([email protected]), or write to Jan Lauridsen, Assistant Chief, Music Division, Library of Congress, Washington, DC 20540-4710. Contributions of $250 or more will be acknowledged in the programs. All gifts will be acknowledged online. Donors can also make an e-gift online to Friends of Music at www. loc.gov/philanthropy. We acknowledge the following contributors to the 2020-2021 season. Without their support these free concerts would not be possible. • GIFT AND TRUST FUNDS DONOR CONTRIBUTIONS

Julian E. and Freda Hauptman Berla Fund Producer ($10,000 and above) Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge Foundation The Aaron Copland Fund for Music, Inc. William and Adeline Croft Memorial Fund DutchCultureUSA Da Capo Fund Frederic J. and Lucia Hill Ira and Leonore Gershwin Fund The Netherland-America Foundation Isenbergh Clarinet Fund Allan J. Reiter Irving and Verna Fine Fund Revada Foundation of the Logan Family Mae and Irving Jurow Fund Adele M. Thomas Charitable Foundation, Carolyn Royall Just Fund Inc. Kindler Foundation Trust Fund Mallory and Diana Walker Dina Koston and Robert Shapiro Fund for New Music Underwriter ($2,500 and above) Boris and Sonya Kroyt Memorial Fund Geraldine Ostrove Wanda Landowska/Denise Restout Joyce E. Palmer Memorial Fund William R. and Judy B. Sloan Katie and Walter Louchheim Fund George Sonneborn and Rosina C. Iping Robert Mann Fund The George and Ruth Tretter Charitable Gift The Sally Hart and Bennett Tarlton Fund, Carl Tretter, Trustee McCallum Fund McKim Fund Benefactor ($1000 and above) Norman P. Scala Memorial Fund Anonymous Karl B. Schmid Memorial Fund William D. Alexander Judith Lieber Tokel & George Sonneborn Bill Bandas and Leslie G. Ford Fund Leonard and Gabriela Bebchick Anne Adlum Hull and William Remsen Peter and Ann Belenky Strickland Fund Richard W. Burris and Shirley Downs Rose and Monroe Vincent Fund Ronald M. Costell and Marsha E. Swiss Gertrude Clarke Whittall Foundation In memory of Dr. Giulio Cantoni and Various Donors Fund Mrs. Paula Saffiotti Cathey Eisner Falvo and Jessica Aimee BEQUESTS Falvo in honor of Carole Falvo Milton J. Grossman, Elmer Cerin In memory of Dana Krueger Grossman Barbara Gantt Wilda M. Heiss Sorab K. Modi Judith Henderson

24 Benefactor (continued) Patron (continued) Virginia Lee, In memory of Dr. and Mrs. Chai Lorna C. Totman, Chang Choi In memory of Daniel Gallik Egon and Irene Marx James C. and Carol R. Tsang Winton E. Matthews, Jr. Harvey Van Buren Dr. Judith C. and Dr. Eldor O. Pederson Amy Weinstein and Phil Esocoff, Richard Price and Yung Chang In memory of Freda Hauptman Berla Arthur F. Purcell Sidney Wolfe and Suzanne Goldberg Harriet Rogers Gail Yano and Edward A. Celarier Mace J. Rosenstein and Louise de la Fuente Christopher Sipes Sponsor ($250 and above) Anonymous (2) Patron ($500 and above) Edward A. Celarier Barry Abel Carol Ann Dyer Naomi M. Adaniya Elizabeth Eby and Bengal Richter Daniel J. Alpert and Ann H. Franke Damien Gaul Devora and Samuel Arbel Michal E. Gross Sandra J. Blake, James S. and Zona F. Hostetler In memory of Ronald Diehl In memory of Randy Hostetler Marc H. and Vivian S. Brodsky Kim and Elizabeth Kowalewski Doris N. Celarier Helen and David Mao Margaret Choa George P. Mueller William A. Cohen Robert H. Reynolds Herbert L. and Joan M. Cooper Juliet Sablosky, Diane E. Dixson In memory of Irving L. Sablosky Elizabeth Eby and Bengal Richter Alan and Ann Vollman Willem van Eeghen and Mercedes de Shari Werb Arteaga Patricia A. Winston Lawrence Feinberg Becky Jo Fredriksson and Rosa D. Wiener Fred S. Fry, Jr. and Elaine Suriano Geraldine H. and Melvin C. Garbow Howard Gofreed, In memory of Ruth Tretter

The Richard & Nancy Gould Family Fund Margaret Hines Marc and Kay Levinson George and Kristen Lund Mary Lynne Martin Rick Maurer and Kathy Barton Donogh McDonald Jan and Frank Moses Undine A. and Carl E. Nash Judith Neibrief John P. O'Donnell Jan Pomerantz and Everett Wilcox Richard Price and Yung Chang Amy and Paul Rispin Bruce and Lori Laitman Rosenblum Mike and Mical Schneider In memory of Victor H. Cohn David Seidman and Ruth Greenstein Rebecca and Sidney Shaw, In memory of Dr. Leonard G. Shaw Beverly J. and Phillip B. Sklover Anna Slomovic Maria Soto, In memory of Sara Arminana Dana and Linda Sundberg

25