Among the encounters between great composers at which I dearly wish I could have been the proverbial fly on the wall, it’s difficult to think of one more intriguing than the single meeting between Gustav Mahler and Jean Sibelius, which took place in 1907 when Mahler paid a visit to Helsinki to guest conduct there. These two geniuses were, arguably, the two greatest symphonic minds of their age, and the seven symphonies of Sibelius and the nine (or ten if one counts the final, unfinished symphony) of Mahler are not only supreme musical achievements, but also a pair of testaments to the immense power and flexibility of the symphonic idea. What makes the encounter of the two musical titans particularly significant is the fact that they discussed their respective views of the nature of the symphony. 

While they were both clearly inheritors of the symphonic legacy of Beethoven, they disagreed profoundly about what a symphony ought to be. Sibelius argued for the idea of a symphony that was constructed architecturally in a completely organic way, such that every single note and idea evolved out of what came before it and led inevitably to what came after. This led him to pursue such an increasing economy of means such that his seventh and last symphony is an immensely powerful and compact single movement lasting just 20 minutes. Mahler, by contrast, vehemently disagreed and argued that a symphony should “contain the whole world” and express or portray the entirety of life and human experience. Mahler’s shortest symphony, the Fourth,  lasts less than an hour, and his longest, the Third, last almost an hour and 45 minutes. From the standpoint of orchestra, too, the two composers could not have taken more different approaches: Sibelius never abandoned the the fundamental make-up of the orchestra of the early to mid- 19th century of around 70 musicians. Mahler on the other hand wrote for gigantic forces, sometimes asking for well over 100 musicians, and included a chorus and/or vocal soloist in four of the nine symphonies. Mahler’s symphonies truly do encompass the whole world, in fact one might even say the whole universe ,in their cosmic perspective. They also can be said to constitute one giant musical autobiography, into which he poured everything that he thought and felt about the world, about nature, about himself, about literature, about love and relationship,  and about God.   Every  one of his symphonies can be a profoundly moving and cathartic experience, but it is the 2nd that is perhaps the most direct window into Mahler’s immense heart, mind, and soul, and I believe it is the symphony which speaks most directly – and often overwhelmingly – to the uninitiated Mahler listener. It is unquestionably a work which changed my life when I heard it for the first time at the age of 14.

Like all of Mahler’s symphonies, the 2nd has an almost cinematic quality, and also like the other symphonies, it makes specific references to other of his works as well as to music by some of his musical heroes, in this case, Beethoven and Schubert in particular.  Mahler was, in addition to being a great symphonist, a great song composer, and melodies from his songs often are referenced in the symphonies. Perhaps the most interesting intertextual reference in the 2nd Symphony is the fact that the music of the 3rd movement is drawn from a song of Mahler’s called “St. Anthony Preaching to the Fishes” which is one of his settings of the collection of German folk poetry known as “Des Knaben Wunderhorn” (Youth’s Magic Horn). This wildly imaginative, almost hallucinatory movement gives us the original melody of the song but without the text. The song is called  Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt (“St. Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fish”) and tells the story of Saint Anthony of  Padua, the namesake of our city, and a contemporary of St Francis of Assisi. St. Anthony arrives at a church to preach, only to find the church completely empty.  He goes to the bank of a nearby river and preaches to the fish, who in miraculous fashion leap out of the water in their enthusiasm for his sermon, but as soon as the sermon ends return to their former “sinful” and gluttonous ways. Mahler himself wrote of this music: 

“This piece is really as if nature were pulling faces and sticking its tongue out at you. But it contains such a spine-chilling panic-like humor that one is overcome more by dismay than laughter.”  

Mahler originally developed a “program” for the entire symphony, which was printed and distributed at the premiere but ultimately decided to dispense with providing audiences with “guides” to the narrative and poetic content of his symphonies. It is however known from that program that the symphony was specifically intended as an exploration of the themes of life, death, and resurrection. The titanic, epic first movement was originally an independent work called “Totenfeier” (Funeral Rite)  that could stand (and is occasionally performed) on its own.  The exquisite second movement is a “Ländler”, an Austrian folk-dance that was beloved of Schubert and serves as the symphony’s equivalent of a “slow”movement. The third movement, based on the song about St. Anthony, is the symphony’s scherzo. The fourth movement, titled “Urlicht” (Primal Light), lasts just a few minutes, and introduces the voice and the word into the symphony in one of Mahler’s most deeply moving creations. This movement, like the third, was originally a song, whose text also comes from one of the Des Knaben Wunderhorn poems. The anonymous poet, address a little red rose,  speaks of someone lying in deepest pain and need, and then says “I am from God and to God I will return”, introducing the theme of resurrection which will come to full fruition in the sublime closing pages of the work. In a letter to a colleague, Mahler wrote the following: 

“With the finale of the Second Symphony, I ransacked world literature, including the Bible, to find the liberating word, and finally I was compelled myself to bestow words on my feelings and thoughts,” Mahler wrote to the critic Arthur Seidl in 1897.

“The way in which I received the inspiration for this is deeply characteristic of the essence of artistic creation. For a long time I had been thinking of introducing the chorus in the last movement and only my concern that it might be taken for a superficial imitation of Beethoven made me procrastinate again and again. About this time Bülow [the legendary pianist and conductor Hans von Bülow]  died, and I was present at his funeral. The mood in which I sat there, thinking of the departed, was precisely in the spirit of the work I had been carrying around within myself at that time. Then the choir, up in the organ loft, intoned the Klopstock [Friedrich Gottlob Klopstock, and important German poet] ‘Resurrection’ chorale. Like a flash of lighting it struck me, and everything became clear and articulate in my mind. The creative artist waits for just such a lightning flash, his ‘holy annunciation.’ What I then experienced had now to be expressed in sound. And yet, if I had not already borne the work within me, how could I have had that experience?”

In addition to the two verse from Klopstock’s poem, Mahler added four verses of his own.

Mahler had written that in the first movement of the symphony, the following questions were posed:

“Why have you lived? Why have you suffered? Is it all some huge, awful joke? We have to answer these questions somehow if we are to go on living – indeed, even if we are only to go on dying!”

He promised that these questions would be answered in the final movement, and I think that no one who has heard the entire symphony from beginning to end could possibly doubt for a moment that he left us the most beautiful, uplifting and inspiring answer we could possibly hope for.  No single work of music I have ever encountered has affected me more deeply and brought me so much joy and inspiration, and I hope it will do the same for each and every one of you.

-Jeffrey Kahane, Music Director & Conductor