Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Overture: Scenes from Goethe’s Faust (1844/53)
Goethe’s Faust Parts I & II overwhelmed so many European composers that it clearly hit the deepest of Romantic nerves. Taking just the obvious ones in chronological order we have Spohr’s opera Faust (1813); Wagner’s Faust Overture (1840/44/55); Schumann’s Scenes from Goethe’s Faust (1844/53); Berlioz’s La damnation de Faust (1845/46); Gounod’s opera Faust (1850); Liszt’s Eine Faust-Symphonie (1854/57); Boito’s opera Mephistopheles (1865/76); Mahler’s Symphony No 8 (1906); and Busoni’s opera Dr Faustus (1916/24). Thus, the middle of the nineteenth century was when Goethe’s influence on the Romantic movement was at its zenith (1849 was the centenary of Goethe’s birth) and Schumann was right there in the thick of it. Liszt, having become Kapellmeister at the Court of Weimar, conducted the Apotheosis section of Schumann’s score on August 29th, 1849. (This was before the great ideological rift between Schumann and Liszt). Simultaneously Leipzig and Dresden were also presented with Schumann’s music. It was a success – much to the surprise of the composer who said “I only wish I could have had Faust’s mantle for that day. In order to be everywhere and hear everything. How strange, the piece lay five years in my desk. Nobody knew anything about it, and I myself had almost forgotten its existence – and now in this unusual celebration it had come to light!”
Most other composers kept to the more approachable Part I of Goethe’s Faust, but Schumann, with his mystical sensibilities was drawn to the more unstageable closing scenes of Part II – Faust’s Transfiguration (which is why he opted for a choral work rather than an operatic one. Mahler took a similar option with the second part of his monumental Symphony No 8.) The score did not come easily – he began it in 1844 but his inspiration came fitfully. 1847 and 1848 saw more sections added. He completed Part 1 (mainly concerned with Gretchen) in 1849 and titled his score Scenes from Goethe’s Faust.
The performance of the Apotheosis (Part 3) lit the proverbial fire under Schumann who quickly completed Part 2 (dealing with Faust). But then Schumann paused once again. His style had changed along the way – Parts 1 and 2 were more operatic than the oratorio style of the earlier Part 3. (Perish the thought, given the developing enmity between the Schumann and Wagner camps, but clearly Wagner’s dramatic ideas had had an effect on Schumann’s creative imagination in the meantime). Then, near the end of 1853, Schumann added the dark, brooding, tense and turbulent Overture in D minor which, given the great conflict between good and evil depicted in Faust, sets the tone for what is to come. It had taken him nine years to see this epic project through to completion, and, as it sadly turned out, it was only just in time, as two months later Schumann threw himself into the Rhine at Düsseldorf in a failed suicide attempt – and spent his last remaining years in an asylum.
The complete work was given its first performance posthumously by Ferdinand Hiller who conducted it in Cologne on 13 January 1862. It was a huge, and influential, success.
© David Gardner
Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)
La Mort de Cléopâtre (1849)
Although the Prix de Rome was something that every young French composer seriously coveted - for the prestige, the money and the privilege of two years residence at the Villa Medici in Rome - very few of the winning entries have become part of the standard repertoire. This is not so much because the outstanding students of their day like Charles Gounod, Georges Bizet and Jules Massenet were incapable of producing anything of lasting interest as because the rules of the competition and the conservatism of the jurors virtually precluded any display of originality or individuality.
Berlioz went in for the Prix de Rome four times in four successive years and finally won it in 1830 with La Mort de Sardanaple, which was not the best of his Prix de Rome cantatas but the most obedient. The most inspired of the four is La Mort de Cléopâtre, which so offended the jury in 1829 that rather than give their approval to such an unruly score they chose not to award a first prize at all that year. Up to a point, one can sympathise with those "grave and reverend signors" who, listening to the piano transcription (as the rules required) of an essentially orchestral conception and hearing harmonic transgressions not even the dreaded Beethoven would have perpetrated, must have been severely baffled by the work.
Interestingly, however, the notoriously severe Director of the Paris Conservatoire, Luigi Cherubini, was one of the small minority who voted for it. As a not unprogressive opera composer himself, he no doubt had to acknowledge the dramatic intensity in the swirling figuration and urgent syncopations of the instrumental introduction, the eloquence of Cleopatra's opening recitative and the pathos of the following near-aria. It is difficult to imagine, on the other hand what even the most liberal academic could have made of the central 'Méditation' (which was to be recycled in Lélio two years later) with its ominously strummed rhythms, its macabre trombone colours and its weird harmonic progressions. As for the naturalistic rather than conventionally emphatic ending - after the fatal snake-bite the music just dies away on an erratic and failing pulse - that demonstration of Berlioz's genius was the ultimate offence as far as most of the jurors were concerned.
© Gerald Larner
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Symphony No 5 in C minor, Op 67 (1808)
Allegro con brio
Andante con moto
Allegro
Allegro
"Three G's and an E flat. Simple. Baby simple. Anybody could do it. Maybe." Leonard Bernstein's famously laconic comment on the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony spotlit the astounding effect in this work of a motif the composer had already employed, to quite different effect, in his third and fourth piano concertos. Beethoven's own comment, as quoted by his unreliable friend Schindler, was that in the Fifth Symphony the notes represented Fate rapping at the door. The description went down in history, though it prompted the Austrian theorist Heinrich Schenker to ask whether the same motif in the fourth piano concerto therefore represented Fate rapping at a different door or whether someone else was doing the rapping. In fact the motif was a regular Beethoven fingerprint during a certain period in his career, though he never used it to more potent effect than in the Fifth Symphony, where it pervades the opening movement and returns in both the scherzo and finale. It is a motif which, in any case, had already been employed by Cherubini in his Hymne du Pantheon, as Beethoven surely knew.
The thematic unity of the first movement of the Fifth Symphony is nevertheless one of its strongest features, transcending not only Cherubini's but Beethoven's own previous use of it. Hurled at us at start of the work, it makes its point unequivocally and goes on making it. Not even the plaintive little oboe cadenza which quietly intrudes at the height of the action can impede its progress for long. But whether, as has often been claimed, the music's inexorably marching motion represents Austria expelling the French is hard to say. Certainly, although some listeners are unwilling to see it that way, this is a profoundly militaristic work, and the brassy fanfares in the slow movement, the screeching piccolo and braying trombones in the finale, are in themselves enough to demonstrate this. Not for nothing did a member of the Napoleonic guard, on hearing it for the first time, feel impelled to spring to his feet at the start of the finale crying: "C'est l'empereur." Though that would suggest he had got the wrong end of the stick, it was for the right reasons. The music is ceremonial, victorious, exultant, even brutal in a way that the composer did not always feel to be necessary.
Beethoven, who had once contemplated settling in Paris rather than Vienna, held famously self-contradictory views on Napoleon, as well as possessing a considerable admiration for French music. It was Berlioz, a Frenchman, who said that Beethoven's ability to sustain such a height of effect in this work was prodigious. Yet it took a long time - four years, from 1804 until 1808 - for him to shape the music to his satisfaction. The slow movement, originally conceived as a sort of lumbering minuet, eventually became a theme and variations through whose notes a hint of minuet motion remained discernible. The scherzo, originally an extended movement on the lines of those of the fourth and seventh symphonies, eventually grew shorter. The finale, linked to the scherzo by ghostly drum taps and stealthy strings, announces itself with the most famous burst of C major in musical history, but later refers back to the ghostly passage already heard.
Yet the work as a whole is not purely about progress from the darkness of C minor to the sunshine of the major key. The four notes with which it opens - those three G's and and an E flat - are not specifically in the key of C minor at all. Nor are they played by the full orchestra, though that is the effect which their initial statement on strings and clarinets manages to convey. Beethoven's Fifth may be the most often performed of all his symphonies, but it still has the power to surprise.
© Conrad Wilson
Ticciati combines Beethoven’s blazing symphony with a deep personal passion: Schumann’s Faust, which ranked among the composer’s greatest popular successes during his lifetime. The programme is also a showcase of Scottish talent as Karen Cargill performs Berlioz’s tragic and dramatic scena, which she will also perform in the Orchestra’s subsequent tour to Spain.
The Orchestra performed Beethoven's Symphonies Nos 1-8 at the 2006 Edinburgh International Festival, under Sir Charles Mackerras. The performances were recorded by Hyperion and released as a 5-disc CD box set. The Philarmonia Orchestra perform Symphony No 9. Buy from the SCO Online Shop.

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