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Gustav Mahler
composed his Seventh
Symphony during 1904/5, but
the work did not receive its
first performance until
September 1908, when the
composer directed an
interpretation whose
undoubted authority was
somewhat lost upon a
sceptical audience. Later
performances at Munich and
Amsterdam also failed to
make the impact which the
composer so strongly
desired, and it is only
quite recently that the
Seventh has become widely
known.
This late
recognition is all the odder
because there can be little
doubt that this symphony is
one of Mahler's crucial
works - guiding us with
singular directness and
urgency to the core of his
protean sensibility. Like
its two predecessors - the
Fifth and Sixth Symphonies -
the Seventh is purely an
orchestral work. While
Mahler had found vocal
explorations essential for
the projection of the
varying ideologies of the
Second, Third and Fourth
Symphonies, he confined
himself to strictly
instrumental resources for
his next three works in the
genre - only, however, to
return to orchestral-vocal
media for the Eighth and Das
Lied von der Erde. It
is worth noting that in all
the symphonic works which
involved vocal elements
Mahler is in some way
addressing humanity in terms
of direct appeal. This was
not the case in the purely
orchestral symphonies: in
these - and the same applies
to the First and Ninth as
well as the middle trinity -
the thought processes are
more deeply interior, the
struggle for entire veracity
is more personal, the
informing vision less
broadly humanised. The
universal drama is
adurnbrated in the unfolding
of individual agony,
experienced in terms of a
nervous sensibility of
limitless responsiveness. We
may well consider that the
relevance of this work today
lies in its freedom from
cliché, its honesty of
statement and its acceptance
of ugliness, darkness and
beauty as interwoven strands
in an indissoluble fabric.
There are no 'solutions'
propounded in Mahler's last
movement: the riddle is
re-stated with many a
passing flash of irony.
The work is
scored for a large
orchestra: 2 piccolos, 4
flutes, 3 oboes, cor
anglais, E flat clarinet, 3
clarinets in A, bass
clarinet, 3 bassoons, double
bassoon, tenor horn in B, 4
horns in F, 3 trumpets, 3
trombones, tuba, a large
range of percussion, 2
harps, mandoline, guitar and
the usual strings. Such an
array might suggest
heaviness of texture, but
the reverse is the case.
Mahler's tutti are rare; he
prefers to use a vast
variety of sonorities,
always with the most
scrupulous dynamic
prescriptions. The listener
is perpetually amazed at the
dazzling clarity of the
scoring: the slightest
detail makes its effect. It
may be doubted whether any
of the great orchestrators -
Wagner, Berlioz, Liszt, for
example - had an ear so
delicately adjusted as
Mahler's. Certainly, this
Seventh Symphony is - quite
apart from any other glories
- one of the greatest feats
of orchestration which music
has to offer.
One other
general feature holds
special interest - a
flexibility of pulse and
tempo which enables each
movement to unfold in
continuous but always natural
forward motion, breathing
with the ease of organic
being.
This lucidity
of texture and ease of
movement combine to achieve
what Schoenberg, in a
memorable letter to the
composer, described as
'perfect repose based on
artistic harmony ...
something that set me in
motion without simply
upsetting my centre of
gravity ... that drew me
calmly and pleasingly into
its orbit'.
Formally, the
work bears much similarity
to the Fifth Symphony: the
last movement is a rondo and
there are three middle
movements instead of two.
The central one of these is
a scherzo, and it is flanked
by two movements entitled Night
Music. It was these
which Mahler composed first,
and the idea underlying the
first movement was only
suggested to him as he was
being rowed across a
Tyrolean lake: the rhythm of
the oars evoked a musical
image which dominates the
lengthy Adagio introduction.
Mahler was so strongly
saturated in the classical
tradition, and, above all
was so gripped by the shadow
of Beethoven, that in spite
of a strong urge for
structural experiment he
could never wholly shake off
the influence of the sonata
principle which controlled
so much of the music which
he admired - and conducted
with such genius. So the
first, third and final
movements of the Seventh
carry many traditional
elements. In spite of its
vast scale, the first
movement, consisting of an
introduction and an Allegro
main section, represents a
generous extension of a plan
first practised by Haydn.
The Scherzo has a Trio
section, just as in a
corresponding movement by
Beethoven or Schubert, and
the concluding Rondo is
rounded off by a lively
coda. Yet, so marked is the
individuality of the
Mahlerian idiome - melodic,
harmonic, rhythmic and
instrumental - that from the
first bar to the last we
seem to be confronted with a
musical experience of entire
novelty. This, from the
technical point of view, was
the measure of Mahler's
revolution: a framework
bequeathed by predecessors,
whose music was part of his
inner fabric, was expanded
and refurnished in terms of
so rich an imagination that
these symphonies have posed
aesthetic problems to this
day. The Seventh has proved
particularly controversial.
Its two Night Music episodes
have bothered many a critic.
Do they, or do they not mar
the total unity? Is their
style out of keeping with
the first and final
movements? Each listener
must, of course, form his
own conclusions. For my part
I am convinced that Mahler
knew what he was about:
these movements, shot
through with swiftly varying
shades of light and
darkness, informed, too,
with a wry humour, stand
convincingly as
parenthetical comments on
what precedes and follows
them, and the tinge of irony
which stamps them is echoed
even more forcibly in the
parodies and pawky
witticisms of the final
Rondo.
First movement.
Langsam (Adagio) - Allegro
risoluto. Against a
throbbing repetition, pianissimo,
of the rhythmic motive
already referred to, the
tenor horn announces the
first main idea of the
symphony. This is marked forte,
and the composer directs
that it be played with a big
tone. 'Here nature roars',
Mahler said to his
biographer, Specht. Slowly
the music gathers impetus,
until, immediately after a
fierce bandying of fourths
by the trumpets, the
Allegro, in E minor, is
introduced by a martial
theme on horns and cellos.
This is developed with
mounting excitement - the
rhythmic figure of the
opening bars being prominent
- until the persuasive
second subject emerges in C
major on the violins. It is
typically Viennese, and the
composer has marked its
nuances with extreme care.
The shadow of Richard
Strauss is not far away. The
extent of each of these main
themes, and the wealth of
the linking material ensure
a long and eventful
development section. Two
principal episodes can be
identified. In the first the
leading role is taken by the
E minor theme, now treated
with fantastic tonal freedom
and harmonic resource. The
second sub-section is
dominated by the rhythmic
element of the Introduction,
and includes an evocative
chorale motive, heard softly
on the brass. The passage
before the recapitulation -
so vital an episode in
Viennese symphonies - is of
breathtaking beauty, and the
remarkable telescoping of
the original material makes
this reprise taut and
psychologically revealing.
One of the wonders of the
symphonic experience with
any great composer is the
revelation of the musician's
view of his own ideas in
this crucial section of a
first movement. Through his
ears we learn so much of
what seemingly
straight-forward themes
meant to him. Though
Mahler's coda is brilliantly
scored there is less than
full triumph in its clamour.
Second movement -
Nachtmusik I - Allegro
moderato. This is in C
minor. Its main section is a
slow march. In the haunted
quality of this music
Mahler's imagination is lit
with memories of his Wunderhorn
days. This is withdrawn,
intimate music - Mahler is
here dwelling on the darker
aspects of human existence
which, for him, always cast
a shadow on the greatest
joys. A more extrovert vein
appears for a while in the
first episode, in A flat,
with its exquisite cello
melody, but the use of
cowbells on the return of
the opening section is
significant - they were for
Mahler a symbol of
loneliness. The
half-sensuous nostalgia of
the second episode is
bitter-sweet. There are
memories here whose initial
innocence has been soured.
Third movement -
Fliessend, aber nicht
schnell (Schattenhaft).
Schattenhaft - shadowy
- is the determining element
in this typically exact
prescription. Once again, in
this Scherzo-style movement,
Mahler’s memories are
distorted. What we have here
is a corruption of Waltz and
Ländler - the music of
social cameraderie and
innocence heard as through
the wrong end of an
ear-trumpet. Again and again
Mahler gives directions for
abnormal tone. So the flutes
cry as lost creatures, the
horns and trumpets are muted
and the strings indulge in
glissandi. It is romanticism
with the whiff of death;
only in the comparatively
gentle Trio in D does
normality gain its voice,
but it is not for long, and
the extreme violence of the
pizzicato on the return to
tempo I typifies the reign
of satire - for it is that
rather than sheer diablerie.
Fourth Movement -
Nachtmusik II -
Andante amoroso. In sharp
contrast to both the
preceding movements this is
a serenade in which gentle
lyricism for once gains the
upper hand. In some ways the
movement may be seen as the
Adagietto of the Fifth
Symphony in miniature. The
sensuous cello melody of the
Trio is in the composer’s
most expansive vein. Far
from being out of place, as
some have maintained, this
movement is to be seen as
the reverse side of the coin
vis-a-vis Nachtmusik
I, and a necessary foil to
the strange blend of joy and
irony encountered in the
Rondo.
Fifth Movement -
Rondo-Finale - Allegro
ordinario; Allegro moderato,
ma energico. The title is
the composer's, and the key
is C. Structurally this is a
unique form of rondo,
embracing variation and
sonata elements in what
would conventionally be
regarded as the episodes.
Four successive themes are
used as the recurring
element, and each of them
comes in for varied
treatment. The second one of
the group is a parody of the
Nlasters theme in Die
Meistersinger. Before
long, on a key switch to A
flat, a lyrical idea emerges
which the composer proceeds
to use as though it were the
second subject of a sonata
movement. Another parody
appears, this time of the Merry
Widow Waltz. (Mahler
and his wife much enjoyed
this work but were afraid to
attend a public performance
in case they were seen to
appreciate it
!). After
a gracious variation lit
with infinite delicacy of
feeling Mahler begins to
prepare a large-scale coda,
commensurate with the
dimensions of the work as a
whole. He returns to an
emphatic statement and
reiteration of the main
theme of the first Allegro.
Later he combines this with
the principal material of
the Rondo. In spite of the
battery of percussion which
drives home the concluding
fanfares, the movement as a
whole does not leave the
listener with an impression
of unqualified triumph. The
passing ironies have been
too piercingly expressed for
that. This is a symphony in
which a darkness and light
walk hand in hand. Neither
masters the other. Mahler
accepts each as an
inseparable part of the
complex experience we call
life.
Geoffrey
Crankshaw
© 1971, The
Decca Record Company
Limited, London.
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