Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Symphony no. 4 in G major (1899-1901), arr. Klaus Simon (2007)
Of Mahler’s nine completed symphonies, the Fourth has the reputation for being the least conflicted. It offers no existential combat, like the Second and Sixth. On the contrary, it’s filled with lovely tunes and a sort of relaxed disposition. And, while parts of it reference Mahler’s earlier symphonies (and some spots look ahead to the later ones), its style seems to hearken back to the music of Haydn and Beethoven more than anyone else: on the surface, at least, it’s far more comfortable and relaxed that what one usually expects to hear from Mahler.
That said, it’s background was anything but easy. The Fourth is a symphony that’s built around its finale, a setting of a poem called “Das himmlische Leben” (“The Heavenly Life”) that’s from an early-19th-century collection of German folk poetry called Des knaben Wunderhorn. Mahler thought very highly of these poems – he set more than twenty of them in the 1880s and ‘90s – and drew freely on his settings in the first four symphonies. And “Das himmlische Leben” was perhaps Mahler’s favorite of the bunch, frequently programmed by him and held back for publication until Mahler was certain he had employed it correctly.
To that end, he originally intended for it to be the last movement of the Third Symphony. In the event, though, he opted for a soaring, instrumental finale to close that work, so “Das himmlische Leben” became the basis for the Fourth. And that’s entirely appropriate, since it allowed Mahler to develop an extended symphonic essay around the blissful imagery of the poem’s pure, naïve vision of heaven.
Over the course of the Symphony’s four movements, there is a clear progression towards innocence. Thus, the first movement, for all the charm of its gestures and the beauty of its melodies, is actually among Mahler’s most furiously involved. It features no less than seven distinct motives, beginning with a beautiful melody (introduced by sleigh bells!) that Mahler described as “childishly simple and quite unselfconscious.”
All the themes are heard in succession; some are quite short and several are closely related. They are treated to rigorous contrapuntal handling, being continually broken down, inverted, and recombined in remarkably deft and intricate ways.
The second movement features a solo violin tuned up a whole tone (to give it a harsher sonority). It’s meant to represent “Freund Hein,” a character in German folklore who symbolizes death, and the part is to be played brashly, “wie ein Fiedel” (“like a fiddle”). Between the menacing fiddle episodes come a pair of ländler-like interludes that anticipate the “heavenly life” of the finale.
Before we get there, though, comes a massive adagio. Mahler once said that this slow movement was inspired by “a vision of a tombstone on which was carved an image of the departed, with folded arms, in eternal sleep.” The five variations that follow its spacious opening theme recall music heard earlier in the symphony, particularly the first movement’s chugging ostinatos, which figure importantly in the finale, too. At its climax, the music builds to a sudden explosion in E major – Mahler’s “heavenly” key – before retreating once more to G major just before the start of the last movement.
Then begins the long-awaited “Das himmlische Leben,” starting with its gently rocking accompaniment, after which the soprano sings her triadic, largely diatonic melody. After each verse (all three of them ends with a short, solemn chorale), there’s a vigorous outburst from the ensemble. But none of these lead to anything untoward or violent. Quite the opposite: here, we’re told, “there is no music on earth with which ours can be compared,” and, accordingly, no earthly vices intrude on the music’s (or story’s) action. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, this vision fades away into the mists. It’s a portrait only Mahler could have painted.
© Jonathan Blumhofer
Reproduction Rights: This program note may be reproduced free of charge in concert programs with a credit to the author.