At one of the processing desks there sat a dignified-looking middle-aged soldier. I started a conversation with him and found he was the director of the Bremen Symphony. And I invited him to dinner at our house. I picked up my prisoner (he was not yet discharged) and brought him to the house. We had a fine meal, with wine and everything, and afterwards we listened to a recording of Brahms’ 3rd Symphony. Later, when I took him back to the camp, he said that he felt he was becoming civilized again… About eight months later, when I was back home, I received a letter from him, thanking me again for that evening. He had reestablished the orchestra, and he had opened the season with a playing of Brahms 3rd. That music became indelibly linked to that experience for me.
Length of complete piece: 3:15
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes they love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
– William Shakespeare