Run Time: Approx. 38 minutes

Johannes Brahms is a somewhat mysterious figure in music history. He was very private about his inner life, burning many personal letters, destroying works he was unhappy with, and erasing all traces of his compositional process. He never married, but he had a close circle of friends with whom he shared his life; what we know of the enigmatic composer mostly comes from their memories and the letters that survived. Besides that, we have his music. So, in cases like the Third Symphony, those of us who study music get to combine detective work with armchair psychoanalysis. Sometimes, it can seem a bit invasive, but in a letter to a friend, Brahms did say, “I speak through my music.” Very well, I’ll take that as an invitation.

In the summer of 1883, Brahms stayed in Wiesbaden, a scenic city along the Rhine River—not his usual place of work. The Rhine, whose dramatic mythology spans Western Europe from the Alps to the North Sea, had long served as a muse for German artists, and Brahms, who often found inspiration in nature, was no exception. Earlier that spring, he turned 50, a milestone regardless of the era. In my view, his work reflects deep introspection and nostalgia, filled with references to the most important people in his life, grounded by two main ideas. One is the Rhine, which appears throughout the piece. The other is the musical cryptogram F–A–F, the three notes that form the core of the work, and a nod to two of his dearest friends, violinist Joseph Joachim and composer Robert Schumann.

Thirty years earlier, the up-and-coming young Brahms was introduced to Robert and Clara Schumann by violin superstar Joseph Joachim. The Schumanns were about as close as one could get to a 19th-century musical power couple, with Clara herself being an internationally renowned pianist. They immediately recognized the young man’s talent and took him under their wing, inviting him to stay with them in their home in Düsseldorf—another city on the Rhine.

During this period, Robert Schumann arranged a collaborative sonata written jointly by himself, Brahms, and another friend, Albert Dietrich. Conceived as a gift for Joachim, the sonata was based on the notes F–A–E, inspired by Joachim’s personal credo, “Frei aber einsam” (“Free but lonely”). The young Joachim believed that an artist must avoid all attachments to truly fulfill their role as an artist.

Brahms, for his part, agreed with the idea of the unfettered artist, but believed that this independence led not to isolation, but to fulfillment. In response, he adopted his own motto, “Frei aber froh” (“Free but happy”), which he outlined with the notes F–A–F, appearing in various works throughout his life.

Robert Schumann’s mentorship was very meaningful to Brahms, but unfortunately it was cut short by the former’s troubled mental health. Just two years after they met, Robert attempted suicide by jumping into the Rhine. Although he was rescued by fishermen, he never recovered from his breakdown and voluntarily entered an asylum, where he died in 1856. After Robert’s death, Brahms and Clara remained extremely close; her daughter later recalled that it seemed he was always part of the family. Their letters reveal a deep love for each other, but by all accounts, they kept their relationship platonic. Many pages could be written about Brahms and Clara Schumann, but that’s a story for another time.

One last figure whose influence can be seen throughout the Third Symphony is Richard Wagner. Wagner and Brahms weren’t very close, but Brahms’s career was largely shaped by him—or perhaps more accurately, in opposition to him. Music critics had declared a division in compositional styles that we now affectionately call the “War of the Romantics,” which pitted the progressive Wagner against Brahms’s more conservative tastes. This wasn’t just a theoretical divide; critics and fans sympathetic to Wagner would often attend Brahms’s premieres just to boo. Despite their differences, Brahms greatly respected Wagner’s talent and even owned a piece of the original manuscript of his opera, Tannhäuser. Wagner, too, has deep ties to the Rhine, as he set his monumental Ring Cycle on its waters. In February 1883, just a few months before Brahms arrived in Wiesbaden, Wagner passed away.

So, what does any of this have to do with the Third Symphony?

The opening chords of the symphony feature Brahms’s signature F–A–F theme, a striking three-note motif that dramatically soars from the lower F to the upper octave. This motif serves as the main theme of the first movement but is not limited to it. It returns throughout the symphony and reappears powerfully at the end of the final movement. Here, Brahms slightly modifies the notes to F–A-flat–F, changing the motif from major to minor and presents one of the principal conflicts of the work: the tension between major and minor. Throughout the piece, the music constantly shifts between these two modes, never able to stay rooted in one for long. Might this ongoing struggle between darkness and light, especially as it colors this extra-musical theme, reveal complex feelings about his choice of a life of freedom?

Coming directly out of the opening F–A–F chords, the strings play a descending passage that closely resembles the opening of Robert Schumann’s Third Symphony, known as the Rhenish—Rhenish, of course, referring to the Rhine. Then, as the energy begins to slow down, Brahms adds a direct quote from Wagner: the siren song from Tannhäuser. It’s even been suggested that the easy, folk-like clarinet solo that follows these chords sounds very much like Liszt’s song “Die Lorelei,” based on the Heine poem about the famous siren of the Rhine. Beneath it all, a steady motion in the accompanying instruments seems almost irresistibly to evoke the rush of water.

With these references included, it’s hard not to wonder if Brahms was reflecting on several key moments in his life—the friendships of his youth, the loss of his mentor, his ongoing rivalry with Wagner, and perhaps most of all, his decision to remain solitary—all somehow subtly connected to the majestic river on which he now stayed.

The second movement is more tender but keeps that distinctive flow, reminding us that we haven’t strayed far from the water. Clara Schumann described the movement as “pure idyll; I can see the worshipers kneeling about the little forest shrine, I hear the babbling brook and the buzz of insects.” Indeed, there’s a sense of reverence—almost liturgical—in some of the chords, especially in the movement’s final moments.

The third movement seizes on the C-major chord that concludes the second movement, then immediately shifts it into C-minor, emphasizing the symphony’s core tension between the two. On the surface, it appears as a somber waltz, but the main melody rises and falls with a sweeping motion that swells and ebbs like waves crashing on the shore, perhaps hinting at the darker, more dangerous side of the Rhine.

The symphony’s conclusion begins where the first movement started: in F minor, presenting an uncertain, agitated, and rhythmically intense version of the F–A–F theme before shifting back to the major. Much of the movement alternates between these two, but in the end, major triumphs as the final iterations of F–A–F, played first in the solo horn, then by the strings, are transposed up to a different part of the scale, allowing the theme to fit into the F-major chord—cleverly done! From there, the work closes in quiet reverence, swelling into a final echo of Schumann’s Rhenish theme, with the strings oscillating in gently flowing passages beneath tranquil chords in the winds.

Many analyses of this work focus on the F–A–F theme, which is understandable; it’s meaningful, and musical ciphers are undeniably exciting. But I believe the true core of this symphony is the Rhine. In my view, this is Brahms’s Rhenish Symphony, but it’s not the idyllic fairy-tale Rhine of Schumann, nor the gods and monsters world of Wagner. This is the Rhine of Brahms’s inner world, the thread connecting the pillars of his life: love, loss, solitude, friendship, and above all, art. Or maybe none of that is true. Maybe it’s just a symphony in F major. As was Brahms’s way, he’s left it up to us to decide.