Tchaikovsky: Symphony No.1 in G minor, Op. 13 “Winter Reveries” (1866)
“Reveries on a Winter Journey”:- Allegro tranquillo
“Land of Desolation, Land of Mists”:- Adagio cantabile ma non tanto
Scherzo:- Allegro scherzando giocoso
Finale:- Andante lugubre – Allegro moderato – Allegro maestoso – Andante lugubre – Allegro vivo
The Tchaikovsky bibliography, although now fairly extensive, has not previously been particularly sensitive or perceptive as to the quintessential qualities and characteristics which lie at the heart of his music. This is partly the fault of the faithful Modest, whose three-volume biography of his older brother (1900-2) sensationalises much of his life and personality, suppresses information crucial to a real understanding of the man, and is not always reliable in its purely musical judgment. Since much subsequent critical biography and commentary has inevitably been influenced by – indeed, has been largely dependant on – what might be expected to be uniquely authoritative and authentic material, the accepted view of the composer has until recently been somewhat of an amalgam of the two brothers’ personalities – the composer as his brother might have liked him to be, perhaps? Fortunately a new generation of Tchaikovsky research and scholarship is going a long way towards redressing the balance, and our gratitude is due to the professors David Brown and Edward Garden, amongst others, for applying the corrective – and also to the conductor David Lloyd-Jones in his illuminating forewords to the latest editions of Eulenburg miniature scores. Inevitably these began with the more well known works, such as concertos and symphonies, yet it is in this very area that the thickest layers of grime have accumulated – one of the great paradoxes surrounding Tchaikovsky being that his enormous and widespread popularity is confined to a relatively small number of pieces, to such an extent that the rest of his considerable output suffers too much ignorance and neglect – for example, this first symphony: did he really compose only three of them, Nos. 4, 5, and 6…?! Given such a situation, how can one possibly claim a balanced knowledge or understanding of a lifetime’s work?
There is no doubt that Tchaikovsky’s life was beset with emotional difficulties (often arising from his sexuality), that his work is often a medium for self expression, and that the music itself can and does provoke extreme emotional response in players and listeners alike. But his compositions truly are far from being “so much the fruit of the emotional élan of the moment”, as the (somewhat prejudiced) writer and critic Martin Cooper would have us believe. Neither did he “only theorise when he was hard put to it” (ibid). Dr. Brown has convincingly demonstrated what a complete professional Tchaikovsky was, and how masterly was the sheer technical level of his writing (not surprising when Mozart and Mendelssohn were two principal models). Both he and Prof Garden show him to be a true Russian composer, as nationalistic (in certain works, at least) as any of “The Five”. They have also explained how Tchaikovsky – like Mozart and Beethoven before him – was essentially a dramatic composer; and if (as one eminent contemporary conductor proclaims) the latter wrote nine operas in addition to Fidelio, a similar case should also be made for Tchaikovsky’s own symphonies – of which his first (literally) gave him more sleepless nights than any other of his works: indeed, Modest reports that “…he wrote this symphony not only during the day but also at night time….his sleep was ruined by the unaccustomed work, and sleepless nights paralysed his energy and ability to compose….Dr Jurgenson….found that he was ‘on the verge of madness’….”
Given the early struggles with its composition – together with the well intentioned but disruptive interference of his mentors Anton Rubinstein and Nikolai Zaremba, who initially rejected the work for performance at the St Petersburg branch of the Russian Musical Society, later passing only the middle movements after extensive revision – the symphony eventually proceeded reasonably purposefully, confidence no doubt stimulated by his first major success: the performance of the Overture in F on 13th May 1866. It should be remembered that only three years previously he had still been a civil servant by profession, having studied at the School of Jurisprudence since 1850 and not resigning his post at the Ministry of Justice until 1863. The previous year he had also enrolled at the conservatoire, where he quickly acquainted himself with a vast amount of musical literature through four-hand piano sessions with his friend Herman Laroche. Latterly he had been studying symphonies by Schumann and Mendelssohn – notably the latter’s “Italian”, so it is not at all surprising to find a delicacy and transparency of texture in his own G minor symphony (Edward Garden even compares the opening to the Hebrides!).
The sheer rigour of his study at the conservatoire comes to the fore in brilliant fugato passages in the outer movements; and the distinctly Russian character of the melodies is not confined to the one real folk tune (“The Gardens Bloomed”) he actually quotes: initially in the slow introduction to the finale, and later as its rumbustious second subject. Even if his enthusiasm gets the better of him towards the end, we can forgive him his sense of triumph after so many months of toil – and also after music of such enchanting freshness and heartfelt passion, to the extent that this work can truly be recognised as one of the most original and accomplished of all First Symphonies. So it is gratifying to learn that in 1883 he was able to write to his long-time confidante Madame von Meck, “although it is in many ways immature, yet fundamentally it has more substance and is better than many of my other more mature works”.
© Alan George
