Views And Reviews: Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony
Tchaikovsky started work on his Sixth Symphony in the idyllic surroundings of his country house near Klin. “It's therefore more than likely that, in the music, he was merely recalling memories of past anguish,’’ Paul Serotsky suggests. “Had he felt anything like it sounds, would he have been in a fit state to write it at all, never mind so brilliantly?’’
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Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) – Symphony No. 6 "Pathetique"
"A week after the premiere of his Sixth Symphony (1893), in a fit of depression, Tchaikovsky drank unboiled water during a cholera epidemic, contracted the disease and died." That common explanation of his death has recently been a subject of controversy: was it accident or recklessness, or suicide by order of a court of honour to avoid a homosexual scandal? Such discussions are somehow compulsory when talking about the Sixth, but really they appear to be irrelevant to the music, the writing of which (obviously!) predated the performance . . .
True, he was neurotic, fatalistic, reserved – which might explain why in 1877, succumbing to moral blackmail, he married an admirer who was also a deranged nymphomaniac – for a latent homosexual a recipe for disaster (what might his music have been like, had he lived in today's moral climate?). This "union" lasted nine weeks, leaving Tchaikovsky a nervous wreck. He was revived by the generosity of the mysterious, wealthy widow Nadezhda von Meck, whose patronage over the next three years enabled him to devote himself entirely to his art.
In 1892, a comfortably well-off Tchaikovsky completed The Nutcracker, arguably his happiest score. About then, in the idyllic surroundings of his country house near Klin, he started his Sixth Symphony. It's therefore more than likely that, in the music, he was merely recalling memories of past anguish. Had he felt anything like it sounds, would he have been in a fit state to write it at all, never mind so brilliantly?
We are told that the Ballet influenced his symphonies. However, as this holds for so much of his output, is it simply that his intrinsic style happened to suit ballet? However, the real importance of Tchaikovsky's symphonies arises from their simultaneous aggravation of two opposing factions. The Russian Nationalists disliked his cow-towing to western models, while many Western Europeans objected to his Russian "primitivism". Tchaikovsky at once dragged Russian music kicking and screaming into the mainstream of musical culture, while stunning that mainstream with some really wild sounds.
Like Rachmaninov and Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky speaks directly and emotively to the uninitiated. The Sixth outshines even the Fourth in combining a supreme command of symphonic structure with belting good tunes, toe-tapping rhythms, vivid, poster-paint orchestration and overwhelming dramatic flair. Not for nothing was this symphony dubbed “Pathetic”, a term whose true meaning is entirely lost to modern "yoof culture"!
The First Movement (adagio – allegro non troppo) is long, but with a structural lucidity owing much to its being built of big, bold "duplo" bricks. It emerges from subterranean depths, brooding gloomily on a fragment of the first subject, seemingly unsure whether it's worth bothering with. But, once let loose, it blossoms invigoratingly, spawning a motif presaging the second subject, that object lesson in what can be got from a simple descending scale (as I first heard this, my Mum sang along with it – now I can't exorcise those damnable words!).
The development shatters a stillness optimistically marked pppppp, a shock usually diluted in concert by a huge conductorial gesture. After much frenetic activity, the music descends balefully from an extremely loud climax. A drastically abbreviated recapitulation relegates the first subject to a vague echo in the religioso coda.
The Second Movement (allegro con grazia) seems to be a moment of relaxation, waltz-like and lilting. However, it is cast in a teasing 5/4. The constant 3 + 2 rhythmic alternation lends a feeling of vague uneasiness. This is crystallised in the central episode’s doleful sighing, whose resonance casts a long shadow over the rest of the movement.
Third Movement (allegro molto vivace). Is this a march of "triumph", as commonly assumed, or "hysterical desperation"? Tchaikovsky whips up such frenzy that I incline to the latter! But, like Beethoven in the finale of his Seventh, Tchaikovsky keeps a tight rein on the structure that contains these wild passions.
Tension is thrust to considerable heights with masterly guile. The first tremendous crescendo unleashes the first full statement of the main theme, but not in a mighty climax: it just tootles in on a solo clarinet. From here, he can crank the tension even higher, like whipping a racing car up through the gears.
Curiously, when the Big Climax comes, it is prefaced by a series of (to my ears, at least) tension-dissolving scale runs, and the tumult is led by not brass but violins. Consequently, the repeat of this climax feels like it wants to shout LOUDER but can't find the breath, thereby reinforcing the feeling of desperation.
Placing the Slow Movement (adagio lamentoso) last was revolutionary, but logical if you're after a really depressing ending. From the flaming heights of triumph (or hysteria), it is a long, long drop to the depths of despondency. The stifling descent of strings is a dramatic masterstroke. Yet, alarmingly, this famous theme is but a figment caused by the modern practice of placing first and second violins together. In Tchaikovsky's day, the opposition of the violins would have revealed, antiphonally, the intended intertwining of two distinct strands. The yearning second subject offers no consolation whatever. Passions do rise, but the movement itself passes inexorably from despair to the rock bottom of the pit of utter oblivion.
It's fascinating to wonder: could Tchaikovsky have planned a happy ending, putting the March last? He seemed contented enough at the time of writing, the tonal structure does not preclude it, and dramatically it would make sense: the second movement's unease would lead quite naturally, through the dark adagio, into an emotional abyss, from which the only way out is up – exactly the right place to start the March's ascent. We may never know how or why it turned out as it did. Triumphant endings are more fun, I suppose, but the plain fact is that we're all suckers for a "two-Kleenex" ending. That said, who else but Tchaikovsky should have been the first to put one in a symphony?
© Paul Serotsky 1996, 2005
