Gustav Mahler
Symphony No. 4
Between 1805 and 1809, a pair of German poets, Ludwig Achim
von Arnim and Klemens Brentano, published a book of German folk poems and song
lyrics they titled Des Knaben Wunderhorn
– The Youth’s Magic Horn (the “horn” being here a cornucopia). Like
other Romantic song-collectors of the period, the two edited their source
material freely; they also made up some of their own ‘folk’ poetry. The book
was very popular and widely read throughout German-speaking countries; it even
rated a ringing endorsement by the most famous German philosopher and writer of
the time, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
Gustav Mahler was another Wunderhorn fan, who called it one of his favorite books. He set many
of its poems to music throughout his life, and besides publishing individual
songs and song collections, he incorporated songs based on Wunderhorn in his second, third, and fourth symphonies. His Symphony
No. 2 features a scherzo based in part on a setting of a poem about Saint
Anthony’s sermon to the fishes, followed by the song “Urlicht”
(Primal Light) based on another Wunderhorn
poem. The fifth movement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 3 is also a Wunderhorn
song, “Es sungen drei Engel” (Three Angels were Singing). Mahler originally
intended to end that symphony with a movement based on “Das himmlische Leben”
(The Heavenly Life), a song he had written in 1892 from yet another Wunderhorn
poem. However, although there are several moments in the third symphony
where Mahler quotes thematic material from “Das himmlische Leben,” in the
end he decided not to use the song at all. Instead, this song – a naïve,
joyful paean to the bliss of life in heaven – became the seed for his Symphony
No. 4.
Mahler usually worked on his own compositions during breaks
from his duties as conductor of the Vienna Opera, and his fourth symphony was no
exception. He began writing in the summer of 1899 and completed the work in
April 1901. He continued revising the symphony until its premiere in November of
the same year, in Munich, with the Kaim Orchestra. And in fact, he tweaked the
orchestrations now and then for the next ten years, making his final revisions
after the performances he conducted with the New York Philharmonic in January,
1911.
All this fine-tuning, however, did not earn the work
immediate acceptance. He had hoped that the symphony would be the most easily
embraced of his works thus far, based as it was on the blissfully naïve poem.
The tone of the overall work is sunny and, although his orchestrations are as
technically adept as ever and the work filled with clever polyphonies and
variations, his musical themes are simple and meant to be easily understood.
Even the orchestral forces are restrained, for Mahler – he omits tubas and
trombones, and there is nothing like the forest of horns he employs in some of
his other symphonies. Frustratingly, however, his audiences did not seem to
understand the utter sincerity of Mahler’s writing. Rather than finding its naïve
tone endearing, they felt it was artificial, insipid, uninspired, or, as one
reviewer wrote, “a medley of symphonic cabaret acts.” The Munich audience
booed the premiere performance; audiences in Berlin and Vienna were equally
caustic. Reviews were harsh and anti-Semitic, and in hindsight it may be that
the critical reaction was as much a part of the anti-Semitism Mahler was
enduring in his post in Vienna as it was a response to this particular work.
Fortunately we can leave such prejudices behind us as we
attend to the music itself. The first movement is marked Bedächtig. Nicht eilen (Deliberately. Don’t hurry). It opens
brightly with flutes and sleigh bells, of all things, followed by a lilting
theme for violins. Lower strings reply, a horn interjects, clarinets sing along,
and cellos discover they can follow the violins just two beats behind. We
quickly realize that this movement is, in fact, a charming musical conversation
between all members of the orchestra, using polyphonic writing techniques that
hearken all the way back to Bach. Music writer Michael Steinberg called it “a
game of interruptions, resumptions, extensions, reconsiderations, and unexpected
combinations.” The mood is generally cheerful, but swells to a
timpani-pounding climax at its center, augmented with a few mysterious horn
calls. A bassoon silences that mystery, then the joyous spirit returns and a
wonderful theme for strings, heartfelt and with just a touch of Mahler’s
trademark longing, sweeps us back into the conversation.
Where the first movement takes time to express its thoughts
in many combinations, the second is relatively compact and succinct. Marked by
Mahler In gemächlicher bewungen. Ohne
hast (In leisurely motion. Without haste), its tempo is remarkably
restrained for a scherzo. Yet it has an ominous subtext, for as Alma Mahler
explains, her husband was “under the spell of the self-portrait by Arnold Böcklin,
in which Death fiddles into the painter’s ear while the latter sits
entranced.” Mahler described the scherzo as follows: “Freund Hein spielt zum
Tanz auf; der Tod streicht recht absonderlich die Fiedel und geigt uns in den
Himmel hinauf.” Freund Hein (Friend Hal) is a name for a fairytale figure
representing Death, and the entire description translates roughly as, “Friend
Hal starts up the dance; Death strikes most oddly on the fiddle and plays us up
into Heaven.”
For this movement, the first violin is asked to play on an
instrument that is tuned a whole tone higher than normal to make it harsher, in
a technique known as scordatura. In
addition, Mahler instructs the violinist to be aggressive and to play the
re-tuned violin like a country fiddle. In contrast with these grotesque moments,
Mahler provides a bucolic trio. While working with Mahler on a 1904 performance
of the piece, conductor William Mengelberg of the Amsterdam Concertgebouw
Orchestra wrote, “here he leads us into a lovely landscape.” (Interestingly,
one of the successful performances of the fourth in Mahler’s lifetime occurred
at this October 1904 concert, when Mahler led the orchestra through his symphony
twice!)
The third movement, Poco
adagio, is the most expansive of
the piece. Marked simply Ruhevoll (Serene),
it is a long series of variations, alternating a peaceful first theme with a
more anguished second. Mahler wrote that the movement “laughs and cries at the
same time,” and indeed it is perhaps the sweetest and most yearning of his
adagios. This is no coincidence, as the purpose of this movement is to lead us
into the heaven of the finale. With measured pace Mahler brings us to the
symphony’s loudest climax, with bells ringing, horns blaring, and timpani
tolling – we are at heaven’s gate. Then Mahler pulls us back again to piano
as strings and woodwinds rise ever higher in breathless anticipation of heaven
itself.
And what a heaven it is. We now hear the human voice, a
soprano singing as a little angel, instructed by Mahler to perform “with
childlike and serene expression, absolutely without parody.” We are in no
hurry, the movement marked Sehr behaglich
(Very comfortably). From the complex polyphony of the opening, we have arrived
at this simple song, filled with the joys of eating, dancing, and singing.
Because he wrote this symphony from back to front, always knowing that he was
moving toward this moment, it comes as a natural conclusion, a benediction on
its listeners. But in the end, Mahler reminds us, heaven is ever just beyond our
reach. “Kein Musik ist ja nicht auf Erden, / Die uns’rer verglichen kann
werden,” our angel sings: No music exists on Earth / that can compare with
ours.
Written for Artek Recordings, January, 2010
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