Schumann: Symphony No.1 in B flat, Op.38 Frühlingssinfonie (1841)

Andante un poco maestoso – Allegro molto vivace
Larghetto –
Scherzo:- Molto vivace
Allegro animato e grazioso

The marriage between Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck must surely have been one of the most famous and creative of all such unions between two great artists. From posterity’s point of view, the consequences were particularly happy – although it is not easy to be certain just how many of Schumann’s compositions were a direct result of her inspiration, nor (perhaps more importantly) how much her presence affected the nature of his musical style. But Schumann was a being incapable of half-heartedness when something really mattered to him, such that the passion he felt for her shines through so much of his music in a quite unmistakable way. Berlioz (whose emotional capacity was certainly equal to Schumann’s) was once asked which he considered to be the greater, Music or Love. His reply was to the effect that whereas music has the power to express love, love can give no idea of music. Such a sentiment could find no more substantial proof than the year of the Schumanns’ marriage (1840), which witnessed a miraculous outpouring of Lieder. The same almost certainly applies to the period which followed: the “Symphony year” of 1841, which gave rise to both the Spring and D minor symphonies, as well as the Overture, Scherzo, and Finale (Op.52), plus the original first movement (Phantasie) of the piano concerto.

We know from sketches, letters and diary entries that even before 1841 Schumann was determined that his increasing reputation as a composer of piano pieces and songs should be balanced by mastery in large scale symphonic thought as well – no doubt inspired to a degree by that historic moment in 1838 when Schubert’s brother Ferdinand revealed to him the existence of the Great C major symphony. Indeed, his intense study of this visionary work paid huge dividends in his own new symphony, in which so many of the earlier composer’s pioneering techniques can be identified – not least in terms of orchestration. Indeed, for all that this aspect of his symphonic music has been (unfairly) criticised over the years, the B flat symphony clearly demonstrates the extent of his studies; together with (not surprisingly) various Beethovenian fingerprints which can occasionally be heard as well. Notwithstanding his infamous little aberration at the very opening – where he unaccountably neglected those pitches on natural horns and trumpets that needed to be “stopped” – it turns out that Mendelssohn’s suggested correction gives the opening a still brighter gleam. He also gave great attention to Beethoven’s “inner logic” in symphonic construction, writing in 1839 about “a genuine preservation or mastery of the grand form, where ideas alternate in rapid succession and yet are linked by an inner spiritual bond”. This is no more clearly demonstrated than towards the conclusion of the first movement, where a heartfelt chorale temporarily interrupts the dash for the end – thus setting the scene for a tender love song, which assuredly is the second movement, itself then linked both thematically and physically to the scherzo, softly and distantly through another chorale, this time on the trombones – a masterstroke of originality, and inspired scoring.

Clara herself had earlier confided to her diary, “it would be best if he composed for orchestra; his imagination cannot find sufficient scope on the piano… His compositions are all orchestral in feeling… My highest wish is that he should compose for orchestra—that is his field! May I succeed in bringing him to it!”. Even his revered friend Mendelssohn was deeply impressed at the outcome – and he was entirely capable of being more than a touch acerbic about Schumann’s music, when he thought fit. The latter proudly wrote in the household diary on 6 March 1841, “……What he said astonished me. He always sees and finds the right thing…… That was a penetrating review”. Indeed, it was his great contemporary himself who initiated and conducted the premiere of the new Frühlingssinfonie – a title dreamed up by Schumann himself, with reference to a short poem by Adolph Böttger (whose final couplet happens to fit exactly with the opening brass fanfare). This hugely significant event took place in the Leipzig Gewandhaus on 31 March 1841, and achieved a critical success beyond anything its composer might have expected: “I have ventured into territory where, for sure, not every first attempt is successful”. This is all the more extraordinary when one learns that following so much protracted preparation and study the entire work was sketched in just four days towards the end of January.

If Robert Schumann’s career benefitted hugely from his marriage, the same was not always true of Clara’s; apart from domestic duties – including the production of a seemingly endless number of children – it was necessary at home for her to subordinate her work to her husband’s. In practical terms, this meant that she could not practise the piano when he was composing. Robert himself recognised her sacrifices: “Too often she must pay for my Lieder with silence and invisibility. That is the way it goes in an artist marriage; but, if people love one another, it’s still good enough”. Yet her fame at this time far exceeded his, a reality often cruelly apparent when they went away on tours together – except he did gratefully acknowledge that it was the addition of her name as soloist on the concert bill for the symphony’s premiere that would add prestige to the occasion. The achievement of this Spring symphony unquestionably opened the floodgates; there immediately followed a further undoubted masterpiece (the D minor), combining to thrilling effect all the energy, passion, and generosity of No.1 with a new-found confidence to explore, through the orchestra, still greater depths and regions – both darker and sunnier – of the human spirit. 

© Alan George
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