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Title: Gustav Mahler, Song SymphonistAuthor: Gabriel Engel (1892-1952)* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0300041h.htmlEdition: 1Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: US-ASCIIDate first posted: January 2003Date most recently updated: January 2003This eBook was Digitized by Jason Greshes. Prepared for ProjectGutenberg by Andrew Sly.Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisor any other Project Gutenberg file.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html
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This biography is not an unqualified eulogy. It is the first lifeof Gustav Mahler written by one who cannot boast a more or lessintimate personal acquaintance with him. It is, nevertheless, thefirst account of his life based on his collected letters,[Gustav Mahler Briefe. Paul Zsolnay Verlag, Vienna.]the recent publication of which has at last made available materialproving him to have been a far more human and fascinating figure thanthe haloes of sentiment cast over him by German biographies willadmit. Therefore, the author of this book, the first on the subjectconceived and written in English, believes he is justified in havingmade frequent and generous quotations from these letters, andacknowledges gratefully the kindness of the publisher, Paul Zsolnayof Vienna, in permitting him to make them.
Mahler's compositions receive much the same treatment in thesepages as other incidents in his life; for he lived his works, andnothing was more abhorrent to him than the guide-book explanationsand programmatic rhapsodies which constitute the rather ramblingmethod of the biographies by his countrymen.
The book is necessarily short; for it is a first word from a newpoint-of-view. Yet it is no mere chronicle of dates and factsintended to preface an esthetic discussion of the thousand and onedetails of nine colossal symphonies. It is primarily and almostentirely a narrative.
The utmost efforts of the studious countryman, Bernhard Mahler ofKalischt, Bohemia, to better himself had net him after manydiscouraging years only the modest dignity of a rustic private-tutor.The hopelessly cramped environment of the sleepy village mocked hisfutile bookishness, and calmly watched him waste the best years ofhis early manhood getting a bare living by driving a wagon or slavingin a factory. To those about him the development of his sterncharacter meant nothing, but as a man destined to become the fatherof a genius he assumes definite significance in the eyes of a worldconvinced of the tremendous importance of heredity.
There was no sentiment in the man's emotional make-up. Purely outof an inculcated sense of duty he turned his attention at the age ofthirty to the problem of establishing a household of his own. Helooked about him shrewdly for an ideal helpmate in this undertakingand decided upon the gentle and obedient Marie Hermann, daughter of aneighboring soap-boiler. There was no question of a love-match, butby sheer strength of will he won the girl's consent. Of the twelvechildren that issued from this marriage the first, a boy, died inearliest infancy. The second, Gustav, joined the childless couple onJuly 7, 1860.[Biographers are agreed upon July 7.Unfortunately, the written record has disappeared, and since thecomposer always regarded July 1 as his birthday, this chronologicalriddle will perhaps never be solved.]
The house of Gustav Mahler's birth was the typical littlepeasant-shack, a dwelling so poor that its windows could not evenboast panes. The composer related in later years that this detail anda large puddle of water before the door were for him theunforgettable features of the place. However, Bernhard Mahler had nointention of subjecting his son to the educational disadvantages thathad frustrated his own ambition, and the very same year, with babyGustav only five months old, the little family migrated to the notdistant provincial town of Iglau.
The influence of these new, highly picturesque surroundings uponthe nature of the growing child was, no doubt, tremendous. The vitalatmosphere of the high valley in which the town lay and the deep,hilly woods ranging on every side so rich in mysterious folk-loresurely lent their essence to the colorful music Mahler composed inlater years. Besides, Iglau, at that time still untouched by themodernizing railroad, was utterly free from the political excitementracking the outer world. For many generations the townspeople hadlived peacefully side by side unswayed by creed differences. Thesignificance of this circumstance must not be overlooked, foralthough Gustav Mahler was of Jewish extraction, throughout hisarduous, yet meteoric rise to the throne of music he never complainedof religious discrimination.[Alfred Roller relates that inthose last sad days preceding Mahler's resignation from the VienneseOpera House, he said bitterly, "Is it not strange that theanti-semitic papers are the only ones that still seem to have somerespect left for me?"]
The early childhood of great men is handed down to posterity inthe shape of a few anecdotes chosen to show the first promise oftheir genius. Of such stock stories there are severalrevealing the phenomenal musical endowment of little Gustav. Onetells how at the age of two he could sing hundreds of folk-songs andalready exhibited a preference for music of a military nature. Morecredible, perhaps, is the claim of another that he could at four playcorrectly on an accordian all the march tunes used in the neighboringbarracks. Certainly the Mahler symphonies, with their great wealth ofrhythmic material in strikingly martial settings, are eloquentcorroboration of the story of the extraordinary little boy whosurrendered his soul to the brazen spell of signalling trumpets, andwas compelled by some mysterious power to haunt the vicinity of thebarracks lest he miss the strange voice of beauty lurking deepbeneath this music's stern, drab medley.
The occasion that inaugurated his real musical training occurredupon a visit to the home of his grandparents. The four-year-old child[According to Mrs. Mahler's preface to the "Briefe."]was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Anxious search finally located himin the attic engrossed with an old piano upon which he was pickingout well-known tunes with the greatest ease.
An anecdote of unusual psychological interest is the following:One day father Mahler took little Gustav with him to the woods, butsuddenly reminded of some forgotten chore he decided to hurry backhome. Seating the child on a tree-stump, he said, "Stay here andwait. I'll be back very soon." In the meanwhile visitors had arrivedat the house, and in the excitement he completely forgot about Gustavuntil it was almost sunset. Apprehensive, he now ran back to the woods only to find the boy still sittingjust as he had been left before, but as though in a trance, with eyesfull of wonder, fixed upon some marvelous fancied vision.
Of all the stories of his childhood this one throws most lightupon Mahler the creator. There is an uncanny magnificence about thischild which is the very soul of all the man's symphonies. Mahler hasalways been described as merely a seeker, but in reality he is, likeall great creative artists, one who has come to us as a revealer. Thetruth and beauty constituting the soul of each artist's revelationthe world has never failed eventually to fathom. The child who foundNirvana in the heart of the woods grew up to endow the world withthat incomparable "Song of the Earth,"[Das Lied von derErde.] the cradle-song of evolution sung to all life byNature.
In the light of his lifetime of conflict with environment thefollowing anecdote stands out with keynote significance. Upon beingasked by someone what he would like to be when he grew up, littleGustav gave the amazing answer, "A martyr."
Iglau boasted the typical little theatre of the provincial town.Mahler's first activities as conductor were at theatres of similarlylimited possibilities. The leader of this theatre, a man namedViktorin, became the child's first music-teacher. He was succeeded bya pianist named Brosch, under whom Gustav's progress was so rapidthat he was at the age of seven delegated to teach an older boy. Forthis service the little pedagogue received five kreutzer (about twocents) an hour. This early affluence was, however, short-lived, forthe unhappy pupil was soon unable to meet the exactingdemands of the young tyrant and tearfully refused to go on with hisstudies.
Gustav's parents were naturally very proud of his promise and dideverything that could be done by people in humble circumstances tohasten his musical development. They nourished in him a sense ofresponsibility and he grew up with a devotion to home and family thatnever abated. He understood perfectly that with so many children inthe house (he was the oldest of seven) he would be compelled to makehis own way as soon as possible.
He was always very fond of books; but in school he was consideredinattentive. Now and then a whistled note suddenly invading theacademic quiet of the class-room would testify that Gustav was faraway in his own musical world, and the teacher would have to drag himback to earth with a shouted warning.
However small from a scholarly viewpoint may have been the facevalue of his musical education in Iglau, for Mahler its comparativefreedom from the letter of the law seems to have been little short ofideal. His mind had the lightning-like grasp and analytic powercharacteristic of the boy Richard Wagner. Thus a mere hint wassufficient to whirl him unerringly through a whole chapter ofcomplicated musical theory. Unfortunately, the mature Mahlerdestroyed every bit of his work which struck him as unworthy, leavingposterity no definite idea of the quality of his efforts during theseearly years. Yet many traits which later found full utterance in hissymphonies doubtless took root in these Iglau days. The startlingfantasy that caused him to clothe apparent trivialities with mystic,symbolic raiment sought spiritual nourishment through the omnivorousreading of poetic and romantic works. His earlyinclination towards the weird and abnormal is attested by the famousmusicologist, Guido Adler, his boyhood companion, who says Mahlerread with especial avidity the gruesome tales of E. T. A. Hoffmann,our Edgar Allan Poe's great forerunner.
In the minds of his parents there was never any doubt that Gustavpossessed gifts and traits predicting artistic greatness. The boymust merely be given his chance at any cost; for the musical andgeneral cultural limitations of Iglau had early become obvioushindrances to his further progress. The solution was simple enough,requiring only added self-sacrifice on the part of the father andmother already heavily burdened with economic responsibilities.Fabulous, golden Vienna, the musical capital of the world, with itsfamous conservatory beckoned temptingly from a distance of only a fewhours. Thither, they decided, must Gustav go.
In the year, 1875, music in Vienna, long a prey to musicians'personal dissensions, practically assumed the character of apolitical issue. All eyes were riveted on the preparations for thegreatRing premiere at Bayreuth, when a startling eventsuddenly sent Viennese musical interest to fever-pitch. Wagnerhimself was announced as being once more on his way to the hostilecapital, in a final drive for much needed devotees and shekels.Sounding the battle-hymn of "Brahms ueber Alles" the horde ofanti-Wagnerites, led by the arch-critic Hanslick, redoubled theirefforts to discredit "Richard the Great," the best-hated man of histime.
The younger generation, however, fascinated by the heroic appealof the music-dramatist, was not to be taken in by an army of criticsand pedants masquerading as guardians of outraged musical art.
Consequently, when that much-scorned Wagnerite, the shy andpatient professor of counterpoint, Anton Bruckner, ascended theplatform of a university lecture-hall to deliver his opening address,he beheld to his amazement a far greater and more enthusiasticaudience than had ever invaded the peaceful precincts of any coursein musical theory. He realized instinctively that his actualsignificance for these young enthusiasts was not that of acontrapuntal pedagogue, but rather that of a standard-bearer in theexploration of a new, broader world of musical art.
Out of the obscurity of the Austrian provincial districts two boysof fifteen were thrust by Fate into this dramatic setting--Hugo Wolf,fiery fanatic, with his dream of symphonizing the song, and GustavMahler, naive seeker, hungry for the experience he still lackedtowards adequate self-expression.
Hugo, conscious of his genius and mission, would be guided by nonebut the supreme opinion and at once sought to win his way to thepresence of Wagner, the "Master of Masters." Gustav, far lesssophisticated, but patiently analytic, proceeded in solitary silenceto weave his own art-creed with the aid of the most vital threads ofthe old and the new. From the outset the attitude of Wolf spelledrebellion to the Conservatory faculty. His disdainful, uncompromisingpersonality created discomfort in that sturdy bulwark ofconservatism, made him exceedingly unpopular, and finally broughtabout his expulsion from the institution. The germ of a similarspirit at first dormant in Mahler soon began to exhibit itself, butnever during his three-year course did it bring him into openconflict with the authorities. He did, however, earn at their handsthe descriptive slur, "arrogant."
Among the professors entrusted with the shaping of hismusicianship there is one who for his sympathetic and understandingnature deserves a particular place of honor among the potentinfluences in Mahler's life. Julius Epstein, renowned master of pianovirtuosi, purposely overlooked in this youth the possibilities of aworld-stirring pianist, lest the exacting drudgery of scales andetudes take too great a toll of precious time that should be devotedto higher artistic purposes. In spite of his desultory application totechnical details, the quality of Gustav's performance on the pianowas excelled by none in the Conservatory. The orchestral power of hisplaying attained an almost legendary fame among the reminiscences ofhis fellow-students. It is said that he took particular delight inperforming colossal arrangements from scores, like the "MeistersingerPrelude." Misled by this practice he even fell victim to thelamentable habit of composing at the piano, the resulting defectiveorchestral scoring proving later the chief reason for his relentlesssuppression of all his juvenile efforts. A partial register of theseill-starred pieces comprises, in addition to a violin sonata(composed in a single day!), and a piano quartet and quintet, bothawarded prizes by the faculty, at least two symphonic works, one onNordic themes, and fragments of two operas,The Argonauts andErnest, Duke of Suabia.
Perhaps the earliest personal Mahler document in existence is thefollowing bubbling letter of thanks written by the youth to hispiano-teacher at the Conservatory. Gustav had just returned to Iglauto take his final academic (Gymnasium) examination.
"My Dear and Honored Teacher,
"You cannot imagine what joy your letter brought me. I really donot know how to thank you for such kindness. Were I to write wholepages about it I could accomplish no more than to say 'It is justlike you'. And you may be sure this is not mere talk but anexpression of genuine, true feeling.
"Your Well-tempered Majesty must pardon me for suddenly modulatingby angry dissonances from this expressive Adagio to a savage Finalethat calls for your unusually indulgent (rubato) interpretation. Thefact is I have made my entrance a few bars too late at thisFinal-exam Concert in Iglau, or rather, I have arrived a few days toolate to take the examination and must now wait two months to do so. Ihope nevertheless to be able to finish to your total satisfaction thevacation-task you have set me.
"With sincere assurance of my respect and gratitude, I remain
Your humble pupil,
Gustav Mahler."
[Gustav Mahler Briefe, Vienna, Paul Zsolnay Verlag; unlessotherwise indicated all letters quoted in this book are taken fromthe above named work.]
The sum of his debt to his two other professors, Robert Fuchs,theory, and Theodor Krenn, composition, is more problematical. Theconservatory records show that owing to the great knowledge displayedin his compositions Mahler was excused from the further study ofcounterpoint after his first season. However, he is said to haveregretted this lapse of training in after years, leading us tosuspect that the release took place perhaps at his own request. Howdifferent in this respect was the thorough Bruckner, to whom not eventhe contrapuntal slavery of a score of years brought a spirit ofindependence!
Here again the analogy between Wagner and Mahler in youth issuggestive. It is general knowledge that the former was at the end ofsix months' study dubbed a master of counterpoint; but it is equallyclear that the composer who undertook the sublime taskof setting theMeistersinger text to music entered there andthen upon a fresh and all-embracing study of the subject. Prof.Weinlig, young Wagner's teacher, may have been the wisestcontrapuntal scientist of his time and yet perfectly powerless tofathom the most expressive depths of that art. What a yawning chasmlies between the insignificant perfection of a work by Prof. Sechterand that rugged Everest of inspired counterpoint, his pupil's(Bruckner's)Fifth Symphony! In short Mahler, the creativeartist, had need of but little academic apprenticeship; for like allgreat composers he approached each new symphonic labor with thatnaivete of genius that creates almost instinctively an indissolubleunion of context, art, and science.
The value of the instructions concerning musical form dispensed byProf. Fuchs must not be overrated in Mahler's case; for Gustav, ascomposition student, seems to have led a double life. When hisprofessors thought he was concentrating upon the production ofconventional, "prize-winning" chamber-music he was already wrestlingin private with the highest forms, symphony and opera. While he wasshamming interest in the delicately constructed serenades of Prof.Fuchs, his fine piano-version of Bruckner's "Wagner" Symphonyappeared and bore eloquent witness of the long and passionate studyhe had devoted to a symphonic work till then perhaps unequalled inits gigantic proportions and freedom of expression. One is hereinvoluntarily reminded of the youthful Wagner's piano arrangement ofBeethoven'sNinth, a work regarded in 1830 as an ugly,misshapen giant of music.
Only once, for a brief, disappointing moment, did the real artistMahler in embryo threaten to win immortality in the conservatoryannals. For weeks Gustav had been sitting up nights writing outcareful copies of the score and instrumental parts of a symphony(perhaps the ill-fatedNordic). This drudge work should, ofcourse, have been done by a professional copyist. But that would haverequired a considerable outlay of money; and Mahler's finances werealways at low ebb. At last, however, the trying task was done. Withtrembling fingers the boy handed the manuscript to DirectorHellmesberger, head of the Conservatory, then conducting theorchestra. The parts were quickly distributed, the baton rose and thesymphony began. A few bars went smoothly by, but suddenly there arosea discordant muddle of notes, and poor Mahler's heart almost stoppedbeating. Tap, tap, tap, went the stick. Again the symphony began. Butonce more the same unfortunate spot brought it up short. Scowling,Hellmesberger turned fiercely upon the unhappy composer, andshouting, "How dare you ask me to conduct a score so full ofmistakes!", flung the offending book at the boy's feet. Mahlercorrected the score, but nothing could move the stubborn director togrant it another hearing.
The finest feature--one might say, the spiritual crown of Mahler'sconservatory days was the remarkable friendship between him and AntonBruckner. Many anecdotes, some related by Mahler himself, reveal theaffection and respect the elder genius had for the younger. On theother hand young Mahler's feeling for Bruckner was nothing short ofhero-worship. He attended religiously Bruckner's lectures at theuniversity. In fact the two would usually be seenentering and leaving the building together. A frequent visitor at themaster's home, Mahler was one of the privileged few to whom Brucknerwould play passages from a symphony in the making. And highestdistinction of all, Bruckner would always escort him down the fourflights of stairs and extend his parting greeting at thestreet-door.
The categorical yes or no to the question whether Mahler wasBruckner's pupil is of no importance in the face of theincontrovertible evidence of this deeper community of feeling; butfortunately the following recently uncovered Mahler letter seems toplace the matter beyond further argument:--
"I was never a pupil of Bruckner. The world thinks I studied withhim because in my student days in Vienna I was so often in hiscompany and was reckoned among his first disciples. In fact, Ibelieve, that at one time my friend Krzyzanowski and I were his solefollowers. In spite of the great difference in age between us,Bruckner's happy disposition and his childlike, trusting naturerendered our relationship one of open friendship. Naturally therealization and understanding of his ideals which I then arrived atcannot have been without influence upon my course as artist and man.Hence I believe I am perhaps more justified than most others incalling myself his pupil and I shall always do so with deepgratitude."[Bruckner Blaetter--III. Jahrgang 1931, Nummer2-3.]
Crowned with highest honors Mahler left the scene of his threeyears' student-triumphs to spend the summer (1878) as usual at homein Iglau. There with his parents he discussed plans for hisfuture--proud plans born of a provincial naivete; for these peopleknew little of the scepticism of the world and could not realize thattheir anticipation of immediate recognition for the giftedconservatory graduate had no more foundation than an air-castle. Theybelieved Gustav had but to return to Vienna in the fall and throughthe prestige of his academic laurels command the attention of theworld of music; that then an opportunity worthy of his extraordinaryability would at once present itself.
Thus the ensuing musical season found an ingenuously hopefulMahler settled again midst the scenes of his recent student glories.Actual contact with the problem his parents had deemed so easilysolved brought him the disillusionment necessary for a more accurateperspective of things as they really were. For a year his soleearnings were gained from one or two piano-pupils--in short,pocket-money. The eighteen year old aspirant never heard even awhispered offer of an appointment as conductor in any theatre. Thesebitter conditions increased his innate melancholy but did not crushhis fervent spirit. The wonders of life and art still held much tofascinate him and dispel the monotony of empty hours. He appliedhimself whole-heartedly to the study of philosophy andhistory at the university. He read the deepest masterpieces ofcontinental literature, and at the susceptible age when most analyticminds fall prey to the scepticism and pessimism of immaturity hisromantic nature developed to a degree of ecstasy met with only in themost impassioned of lyric poets.
The brilliant career of Wagner had made him the idol of Germanyouth. Mahler's hero-worship of the great man, however, took the formof actual attempts to follow in his footsteps. Wagner had always beenhis own poet. Mahler who had just given up trying to set to music atext by a friend, Steiner, suddenly resolved to write his ownlibretto. The result a long, rhymed affair in ancient ballad style,was perhaps not inferior to Wagner's juvenile attempts; but the worlddoes not know it in its original operatic form,Das klagendeLied having in the course of the twenty years preceding itspublication undergone many drastic changes, both literary andmusical. Its initial setting was completed before Mahler had reachedhis twentieth birthday, and the work, with its unnatural, almost gorysymbolism, derives its chief importance from having been the abstractbattlefield upon which the artificial operatic leanings of its youngcomposer were decisively routed by more genuine forces calling forextra-theatrical expression. Its final state reveals the earneststruggle of young genius to adapt its message to some accepted form;but it is nevertheless something unique, a cantata with chorus, butwith an orchestral background as rich and complicated as that of areal music-drama.
The choice of theme is reminiscent of the manner of Grimm's fairytales. A flute fashioned from a human bone by a wandering musiciansings a gruesome story of fratricide committed by ajealous man in love with his brother's betrothed. Grim justice isdone when the musician arrives at the murderer's castle and plays theaccusing song of the flute just in time to stop the wedding.
As effective as this tale is in cantata form it would have beenregarded as little short of romantic burlesque if actually staged inWagnerian 1880. It was the last attempt Mahler ever made to enrichthe world's operatic repertoire through his own composition. A decadelater he undertook to finish and whip into shape the posthumousfragments of Weber'sThree Pintos but this was far less a featof operatic composition then a self-imposed test of the practicalvalue of his experience in the theatrical field.
As the summer of 1879 approached without the coveted engagement,in order to be spared the humiliation of further dependence upon homehe accepted the offer of a wealthy Hungarian to spend the season on apuszta estate. There he was to teach the proprietor's son how to playthe piano. Subject to frequent depressing fits of homesickness hesought consolation in writing long letters to his friend, the poetSteiner. Some of these letters have survived and constitute theearliest and in a way the most important documents of Mahler's life.They furnish a vivid, unrestrained portrayal of the struggles of hisinmost soul, and seem in relation to the great symphonic chain helater forged almost possessed of the pertinence of a foreword. Theirfantastic sentiments make the impression of futile ravings ratherthan of emotion really felt; but Mahler deprived of the aid ofmusical notation was generally a sorry poet. His inclination toprophetic apostrophe authentically shown for the firsttime in these letters is a characteristic met with at the mosteloquent moments of many of his symphonies, when it seems that onlythe human voice singing flaming words can utter the deep messagetranscending the powers of mere instrumentation.
A representative excerpt is here quoted:
"O, that some divine power might tear the veil from before myeyes, that they might pierce the very marrow of the world! O, forjust one real glimpse of it, this earth, in its primeval nakedness,undecked, and unadorned, as it appears to its Maker! I might thenconfront its demon-spirit and say, 'I know you now, liar! Yourhypocrisy can fool me no more! Your sham sorcery dazzles me not!Behold! He, who once bewitched by the golden glitter of yourdeceptions fell victim to the fearful lashing of your scorn, facesyou now, still unbroken, strong! Cower in your hiding-place! From theValley of Life I fling this accusation up to you in your cold, lonelycitadel! Do you realize how much misery you have heaped upon us herebelow through aeons of time? Upon this mountain of suffering have youreared your fortress--and laugh! How will you answer the AvengingJudge on that final day, you, who have not stilled the agony of asingle tortured soul?'"
The day after this passionate outburst a much calmer and moresincere Mahler wrote:
"I was too exhausted to write further yesterday. I feel like onewho after a great fit of rage experiences the consolation of tears.Dear Steiner! You ask me what I do with my time. I'll tell you in aword. I eat and drink, sleep and wake, cry and laugh. I climb hillscaressed by the breath of God. I go to the meadow where the tinklingof the herd-bells lulls me to dreaming. But alas! I cannot escapemyself! Doubt pursues me everywhere. For me there can be no real joy.Sorrow poisons my happiest moments.
"I am living on the Hungarian puszta with a family that has hiredme for the summer. I have to teach the son piano and occasionallylure the family into a condition of musical appreciation. Thus I'mcaught here like a fly in a spider's web. However, 'the Moor pays hisdebt.' But when I go out to the meadow in the evening and climb thelinden-tree that stands solitary there and I gaze outfrom the top of 'my favorite'[Mahler was passionately fond ofnature and called the tree his "Liebling."] upon the world, Isee before me the Danube winding along on its timeworn way, and inits waves smolders the fire of the setting sun. Behind me in thevillage the evening bells chime and their chorus is borne across tome by a kind breeze while the branches of the trees sway to and froin the wind, lulling me like the daughters of the Erlking, and theleaves and blossoms of 'my favorite' caress my cheeks tenderly.Everywhere peace! Holiest peace! Only from afar sounds the melancholycall of the toad sitting sadly among the rushes.
"Then shadowy memories of my life pass before me like longforgotten ghosts of departed happiness. The song of yearning soundsagain in my ears and we wander together once more over the old paths.There stands a hurdy-gurdy man extending his hat with his witheredhand and in his discordant music I hear the greeting of 'Ernst ofSuabia'.[The title of the opera text by Steiner.] NowErnst appears suddenly in person stretching his arms out to me andwhen I look closer it is my poor brother;[Mahler's brotherErnst, a year younger, died 1874, aged 13.] the veil drops;the visions and sounds grow dim and disappear.
"O my beloved Earth, when, O when will you take the abandoned oneinto your lap! See, mankind has driven him forth and he flees fromits cold, heartless bosom to you, to you! Receive the lonely,restless one, O eternal Mother!
"It is the story of my life that is written on these leaves.Extraordinary fate that tosses me about, now in the grip of sad, vainlonging, now in the carefree laughing sunshine. I fear that some dayI shall be shattered in the tempest that has so often dealt me cruelblows.
"It is six in the morning. I've just come from the meadow where Iwas sitting by the hut of Farkas the shepherd, listening to the musicof his shalm. Ah, how sadly it sounded, and so passionately ecstatic,the folksong he played! The wildflower that grew at his feet trembledbeneath the dreamy fire of his dark eyes and his brown hair wavedabout his sun-tanned cheeks. Ah, Steiner! You are still asleep inyour bed and I have already seen the dew on the grass. I am now sopeacefully content and quiet happiness steals into my heart as thespring sun into wintry fields. Will it now be spring in myheart?"
The following season proved a very gloomy one for Mahler. Oncemore the "city of music" could furnish him no greater materialconsolation than that of a few piano-pupils. Evenings he would attachhimself to a group of young, poverty-stricken Wagnerian enthusiastsand over a cup of coffee help wage the abstract battles of themusic-dramatist's political and ethical doctrines. Of these sageutterances one the young musicians adopted unanimously was theproposal to regenerate mankind through strict, vegetarian diet.Perhaps the cost of meat-dishes had as much to do with thisresolution as the realization that carnivorous humanity was going tothe dogs. Meanwhile, only a stone's throw away, in the famousViennese Opera House a fine performance ofTristan orMeistersinger might be going on, but the vegetarian society ofembryo conductors would try to forget in the heat of argument thestark fact that the real Wagner, he of music, was denied to such ascould not afford the price of admission.
For several successive weeks Mahler worked day and night to finishDas klagende Lied. The enthusiasm of youth and the spell ofinspiration rendered him oblivious of the drain excessive labor wasmaking on his constitution and nerves already weakened by inadequatediet. But one night, exhausted by many hours of concentration uponhighly dramatic moments in the work he arrived at a passage in thetext calling for the most subtle musical allusion to the thoughts oftrees and flowers. A feeling of extreme uneasiness suddenly tookpossession of him. Some secret force compelled him to keep raisinghis tired eyes from the paper to watch a certain shadowy comer of theroom. In vain he tried to focus his attention on the musical problem at hand. The weird opposing force was toostrong, and at last he surrendered completely. All at once it seemedto him that the wall was coming to life. Someone was strugglingfuriously to come through it into the room. Now he could see theapparition's face contorted with the agony of hopeless struggle.Suddenly he knew it was his own face! Terror-stricken Mahler rushedfrom the room. Next day he attempted to continue his work at thepoint where it had been interrupted by the grim hallucination, butwith his very first approach toward the mood which interpreted treesand flowers in terms of music that uncanny sense of hopeless,agonized striving returned to oppress him, and he was again compelledto abandon the composition. Many days of compulsory rest passed bybefore he could cope successfully with this abnormal mentalstate.
At last the gigantic cantata was finished, leaving Mahler happythough on the verge of nervous prostration. More than ever he was nowconvinced that his life-work lay not in conducting but incomposition. If only something would happen to provide him with themeans necessary for one who should devote himself exclusively tocreative work!
With perhaps more hope than confidence he enteredDas klagendeLied for the "Beethoven Prize Competition" (600 Gulden). Thejury, a stone wall of musical classicism presided over by Brahms andHanslick, had no sympathy for revolutionary tonal utterance. Didthose two require more than a single glance at an apparentlyincoherent score abounding in unprecedented fantastic touches andactually calling for the presence of a second orchestra outside the concert-hall? However, Mahler awaited a favorableverdict with almost pitiful confidence.
The summer of 1880 had arrived when Prof. Epstein who had longbeen watching his young protege with some concern suddenly decided hemust take a hand in getting him started. Hall, an Upper-Austriansummer resort whose esthetic hunger was satisfied mostly withmiserable performances of low farces and other stage monstrositiesrequiring incidental music, was asking for a conductor, salary 30Gulden a month. The kind piano professor said to Mahler, "You know Iwish you only good. Take this chance."
Mahler did; and closing his ears to the horrified remonstrances ofrelatives and friends he set out for this first engagement of hiscareer as conductor. The idealist in him condemned to the dung-heapof sham art that was the theatre at Hall suffered tremendously, butthere was some comfort in the thought that the period of trial wasvery limited and experience could not begin too low. The world-famousoperatic conductor of later years really had nothing to be ashamed ofin this sad, obscure debut the very memory of which he sought to blotout of his life.
The summer over he returned penniless to Vienna to face again thedisheartening conditions of his city existence. Almost at once thehope of solving his difficulties through the "cantata" was dispelledby the unfavorable verdict of the judges. However, it developed thatthe success of Herzfeld, the now forgotten winning candidate, sparedMahler the torturing qualms victory would inevitably have involved;for one of his friends, competing (without his knowledge) went insanefrom the shock of failure, and another was almost asunfortunate. Mahler's own discouragement at the time is clearlyrevealed in a letter to a friend:
"So poor Rott has gone mad; and I fear Krisper is threatened withthe same horrible fate. Everywhere stalks Misery, taking mostunexpected shapes, as if to mock us poor mortals. If you know of asingle happy creature on this earth tell me his name lest I lose thelittle desire I still have for life. One who has seen so great andnoble a nature shattered in this low struggle cannot refrain fromhorror at the contemplation of his own miserable chances."
The season of misfortune finally came to a close. Suddenly thefuture, bringing Mahler an engagement of which he need not beashamed, took on a brighter aspect. Laibach, with a theatre in whichreal operas were given, was the new scene of his musical activity.Here the young conductor whom extreme poverty had almost banned fromattending the Viennese Opera was to experience for the first time thethrill of interpreting serious scores for the stage. Of course nogreat master-works were given in the small town; but this was afortunate circumstance for Mahler whose fanatic idealism later causedhim to strike from the repertoire of even larger provincial theatresthe outraged works of Mozart and Wagner. Each different opera heconducted at Laibach held for him the fascination of a premiere.Unhampered by tradition and prejudice he set out to frame theindividual operatic creed which was soon to win for him the respectof musical Europe. Yet the limitations of this particular theatrewere very sad--so sad that at a performance ofMartha theamazed conductor once found himself compelled by the sudden absenceof a singer to render theLast Rose of Summer himself. This hedid good-humoredly, being a very tuneful whistler.
The new world of possibilities Laibach had opened before himassumed more solid form when he accepted the post of conductor at thetheatre of Olmuetz for the following season. This, a large town, wasa definite mile-post in the early career of operatic conductors.Mahler's decision to continue in this arduous line of work whichseemed to spell death to his real mission as composer caused him tospend his short vacation in Vienna in gloomy contemplation. In thecompany of a trusted friend he would take his customary long walks inthe beautiful woods around the city, but hour after hour would passin depressing silence, though Mahler had the reputation of being abrilliant and eager conversationalist. The friends who heard him playthe piano during those days (for he was then still a willingperformer) report that he poured a magnificent despair into hisinterpretation of Beethoven sonatas and Bach fugues, as though hewere about to take leave of them forever. He already imagined himselfthe unhappy one condemned to a life of wandering.
Physically, he could not at this time have been without charm. Thegrim determination that later almost distorted his face, lending itthat deceptively hard appearance which earned him the nickname of"the ugly Mahler," was as yet totally absent from his features. Thegreat nervous energy which called for constant play in some form ofwork was still tempered by the air of the dreamer characteristic ofhis childhood days. He was a little below average height, but a wiry,slender figure of perfect proportions obviated any impression ofshortness. He had flowing black hair and dark brown eyes which underthe stress of great emotion would take on an almost fanaticgleam.
The company of the fair sex was very agreeable to him but hisextreme idealism in those early years caused him to maintain astrictly platonic attitude towards women. When a girl friend mighthave been led to believe that some tenderer sign of affection was atlast imminent, he would suddenly draw back and burst forth intowarning and preaching. At eighteen he had fallen in love with a girl,but when she could move him to no more promising a display ofaffection than the utterance of some very sound but disappointingadvice she sought friendship elsewhere. The shocking news of hersuicide not long afterwards could not have been without tremendousinfluence upon young Mahler's perplexed cogitation of the problems ofsex.
Irresistibly drawn to women he would show them an attentivenessbeyond the demands of ordinary courtesy. Often he would confide to afriend that he expected soon to succumb to the charms of "theinevitable one." Just before the post of conductor at Olmuetz fellvacant giving him his chance to advance he spent a few days at homein Iglau. The following letter he wrote there is perhaps not withoutpsychological interest.
"The other day I was crossing the Square when suddenly a voicecalled from above, 'Herr Mahler, Herr Mahler.'
"I looked up and saw in a third story window Miss Morawetz (theyoungest, whom I met at your house) who in her naivete and perhapsalso her joy at seeing me, could not refrain from calling out.
"I have taken her completely into my care in Iglau, and shown herabout everywhere; and she cannot thank me enough. As I write theselines she is sitting in the next room with my sister. And as she isgrowing quite impatient for me I must close with heartygreetings."
Arrived in Olmuetz towards the end of 1882 his first reaction wasone of extreme disappointment; for here too the limited possibilitiesof the theatre presented disadvantages and humiliations hard for hissensitive nature to tolerate. Besides, he had been led to expect adecided improvement over the conditions at Laibach.
"When the noblest steed," wrote he to a friend, "is hitched to acart with oxen it cannot do otherwise than sweat and pull along withthem. I shrink at the very thought of coming near you--so defiled doI now feel. Thank God, I conduct only Meyerbeer and Verdi here."
Nevertheless he admitted that the staging of Mehul'sJoseph inEgypt was a real joy. Generally, both musicians and singers wereinclined to regard him as a freak; for they could not understand whyhe tried so hard to infuse enthusiasm into the stereotyped drudgeryof rehearsals. Occasionally a spark of his fire would touch them andthe resulting rare moment of cooperative sympathy was sufficient balmfor Mahler who vowed he was happy to endure "being called a lunaticbecause of his devotion to the Masters." Usually his frantic effortsto rouse the performers' enthusiasm met with hostile stolidity andthen furious and baffled he felt tempted to fling the baton aside andrun away.
Although two years had passed since those unforgettable meatlessmeetings of the young Wagnerians in Vienna, Mahler was in Olmuetzstill a vegetarian, claiming bitterly that he went to the restaurantto starve. His income was a little more than it had been at Laibach,but he had set his heart on an unusual extravagance, having made uphis mind to attend the next summer festival at Bayreuth.
His conducting at Olmuetz, revealing an intention far beyond hislimited material, attracted the notice of the music-director ofKassel, who happened to be present at one of Mahler's performances ofCarmen. The important man congratulated the young conductorheartily and promised to watch his career with interest. Shortlythereafter a rumor arose that the assistant-conductorship at Kasselwas about to be vacated. Without a moment's hesitation Mahler drewenough money to make the expensive trip thither and succeeded insecuring the appointment.
Bayreuth in 1883 was looked upon by Wagnerians much as a holyshrine, a Mecca of the Faithful, the sole true lovers of musical art.Early that year Wagner, having almost reached the allotted threescore and ten, had breathed his last. Thus the performance ofParsifal that summer bore somewhat the air of a formalcanonization of the almost deified master. The work itself, Wagner'spious farewell from an all but pious life, was actually amagnificent, universal setting of the Holy Mass.
Among the hundreds of notable literary and musical figuresthronging the neighborhood of Wahnfried, the Wagner villa, the modestsmall-town fame of Mahler naturally went unnoticed. However, he hadalready begun to regard solitude as a most advantageous condition,and in these surroundings packed with distinguished people he had theadvantage of remaining obscure and alone and gave himself up whollyto the artistic grandeur of the occasion.
The testimony of the overwhelming impressionParsifal madeupon Mahler is contained in a few words extracted from one of hisletters written immediately after. This has become a significantquotation in the annals of modern music, because while still underthe confessed spell of the sacred music-drama Mahler actuallyconceived and planned his greatResurrection Symphony.
"As I emerged from the Festspielhaus," he wrote, "too moved toutter a word I knew that the loftiest and mostagonizing of revelations had just come to me and that it would remainwith me throughout my life."
Filled with artistic dreams and longings higher than ever beforehe entered upon his duties at the theatre in Kassel. As before atOlmuetz, the hopes he had placed in the qualities of the institutionimmediately proved unfounded. The marvels of stage achievement he hadwitnessed at Bayreuth rendered him more dissatisfied than ever withthe faulty accomplishment of a provincial theatre. Only a few daysafter his arrival he was again in black despair, complaining--
"It is the same old story; everything has fallen into the usualrut. I must conform. I have borne the humiliation of accepting stupidorders, and bound with one chain after another I am once more in astate of abject dependence."
By December he had reconciled himself somewhat to thesedisadvantages when the celebrated Buelow arrived in town to conduct asymphony concert. The soul-stirring effect of this performance uponMahler is revealed by the tone of utter worship swaying his letter tothe master conductor the following day. This amazing letter, clearlypenned in the strictest confidence, has been recently unearthed andilluminates as does perhaps no other document the tragic innerstruggles of the younger Mahler.
"Revered Master!
Pardon the brazen persistence with which I appeal for yourattention after having been turned away by the porter of your hotel.I realize only too well that you may consider my conduct beneathcontempt. When I first sought an interview of you I had no notion ofthe blaze your incomparable artistry was to kindle in me. In aword--I am an errant musician groping about in the intense night of our modern music-world. I have noguiding-star and am the helpless prey to doubts and mistakes. Yourconcert yesterday was the fulfilment of my highest dreams and hopesof artistic perfection. Listening I felt at once: This is your goal!Here is your master! Your wanderings must end now or never! So I turnto you and implore you! Take me with you--whatever your conditionsmay be! Let me be your pupil, even though it cost my blood. What Ican do--or could do--I do not know, but you can soon find that out. Iam twenty-three years old, a student of the University of Vienna andthe conservatory of the same city, where I studied composition andpiano, and now, after much tossing about, I have been engaged assecond conductor at the theatre here. You are well able to judge foryourself how disappointing such a post may be for one who loves andyearns for true art with all his being, and must stand by and see itsevery holy tenet most shamefully violated. I give myself upcompletely to you and if you would only accept this gift I should behappy beyond description. Only favor me with an answer and I am readyto pursue any course you advise. O--give me some answer, at least! Insuspense,
Gustav Mahler."
Not only did Buelow refuse to answer, but he abused contemptiblythe sacred confidence of those fervently sincere lines written him bythe unhappy young genius who so naively believed that innate kindnessand artistic greatness were inseparable. In the records of the Kasseltheatre, among which the letter was found, there is a tellingentry:--
"January 25, 1884;--Received from Conductor Treiber this letterwritten to Dr. Hans v. Buelow by Music-director Mahler; withexplanation that it had been turned over to him by Dr. v. Buelow inperson."
Though nothing was said to the unsuspecting Mahler concerning theletter it certainly did not enhance his popularity with themanagement.
His immediate superior instilled the venom of his displeasure intoa contemptuously uttered "Stubborn puppy!" Mahler hadrepeatedly dared to request that more attention be paid "at least theelementary requisites of the art." His unpopularity so swiftlyinitiated was much intensified in the hearts of orchestra and choruswhen they found themselves for the first time compelled to engage inexhausting rehearsals of interminable length. Accustomed to theeasy-going carelessness of every-day provincial conductors they nowsuspected the over-zealous Mahler of malicious intent. So fanatic adevotion to art as his exactions flaunted was far beyond theirbroadest conception of sincerity. Increasing rage brought them thecourage to rebel. They decided to teach the offending upstart amuch-needed lesson.
Early one morning a friendly musician burst into Mahler's room ingreat excitement and implored him to remain away from the theatrethat day. Chorus and orchestra had pledged themselves to welcome withsticks and clubs the incorrigible nuisance who inflicted upon themsuch nerve-racking rehearsals. With a smile of disdain Mahler donnedhis coat and went at once to the theatre. He entered boldly andwalked swiftly to the piano. Then with the energy of a demon he begana rehearsal more exacting than ever. Only after eight hours ofmerciless driving during which his unerring musicianship convertedanimosity into wondering admiration, he shut the piano with a bang,rose, looked about him furiously midst awed silence, and, without somuch as a single parting syllable, left the hall.
Parsifal had brought Mahler added confirmation that his owncreative talent lay not in the operatic but symphonic field. Just ashe had abandoned the original operatic version ofDas klagendeLied he now sacrificed the fragments of anotherlegend-operaRuebezahl upon which he had for some time beenworking with great enthusiasm. These sudden changes of attitude werecharacteristic of his pre-symphonic years and eloquent of the rapidand violent spiritual evolution through which he was passing.
A tour de force rather than an artistic contribution was theincidental music he composed for theTrompeter von Saekkingenin two days at Kassel. The amazingly facile flow of ideas thusevoked, added to the conviction that the resultant score was far toogood for the "living pictures" it accompanied, was at first a sourceof pride to Mahler; but the inexorable critic in him, soon brandingthis complacence as plain vanity, led him to regard with littlepleasure the publicity this music was getting through performances inmany German cities.
He was secretly happy that the real masterpieces of the musicalstage did not form a part of the Kassel repertoire. Remembering theartistic horrors of Laibach, where he luckily had the authority toban the works of Mozart and Wagner, he shuddered as he thought of theinjury the incompetent performers of Kassel might inflict upon thatmusic now grown dearer to him than ever. In the fall of 1884, hungryfor a taste of real music-drama, he visited Dresden in order to hearTristan. Although the high musical quality of both principalsand orchestra delighted him, the interpretation of the conductor,Schuch, left him cold. Condemned on account of his youth to beat timefor such grandiloquent banalities asRobert the Devil, Mahlerwas looking forward to the day when as absolute ruler in a greatopera-house he would be able to give Wagner as he felt the mastershould be presented.
It was during these days that he confessed himself really in lovefor the first time. Blue-eyed, blond-haired Johanne Richter was oneof the singers at the theatre. Torn between the spell she cast overhim and an ambition dictating solitude and celibacy Mahler was atlast face to face with an intense, harrowing experience, the problemof the "inevitable one" he had jestingly predicted. Johanne, romanticand sympathetic, saw how distracted and worried he had become in thecourse of their few weeks of close friendship. Perhaps she recalledthe tragic married life of Minna and Richard Wagner who had met underjust the same circumstances. At any rate, she decided they must part.Mahler agreed with her. Thrown together daily by their theatricalduties they found the resolution to separate far easier than itsaccomplishment. Their constant efforts to loosen their attachmentlent the entire love-episode the semi-comical air of an endlessleave-taking. Holidays struck them as best suited to theaccomplishment of a permanent farewell. They parted at Christmas ofthat year (1884). New Year's Eve, however, seemed too significant adate to be neglected. They must meet just once again and sever forall time the sweet but troublesome bond. Mahler wrote hisconfidential friend about the meeting:
"We sat yesterday evening alone at her home and awaited in almostcomplete silence the arrival of the New Year. Her thoughts were notabout the present and as the chimes sounded and the tears streameddown her cheeks the dreadful realization struck me that I was nolonger privileged to dry them for her. She went into the adjoiningroom and stood quietly a while by the window. When she returned,still weeping softly, indescribable pain had set up a barrier betweenus. I could only press her hand and go. As I arrived at the outerdoor the bells were ringing merrily and from the tower came the glorious strains of a chorale. Ah, dearfriend, it appeared as if the Supreme Stage-Director wished to givethe occasion a truly artistic setting."
Of course, they continued to meet as long as Mahler remained atKassel. A letter dated May, 1885, takes up the theme:
"When I wrote you some time ago that our affair had come to an endit was only the trick of the shrewd theatrical manager who announces'Last performance!' only to follow it next day with another."
The final date of his contract at Kassel was only a few weeksdistant and once more with no definite prospects in view Mahler fellprey to gloomy forebodings. His mind's eye pictured a renewal ofthose lean, hopeless days in Vienna when piano-lessons were his solemeans of support.
To be sure, the theatre had been a cruel master and had madeMahler a slave. His longing to compose music in great forms had beencompelled to satisfy itself with stolen moments of leisure hardlysufficient for the occasional creation of a mere song. Yet even thismiserable condition was preferable to a repetition of those days inVienna the memory of which now returned, vivid and hideous as anightmare.
Thinking of Johanne he pictured himself at last bound to leave heras one condemned to exile. Unconsciously he had lived himself intothat fine cycle of songs,Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen,["Songs of a Wanderer."] for which he had writtenseveral poems under the inspiration of his love for Johanne. In thesepoems, four of which he then set and orchestrated, he himself is the one "driven forth by the blue-eyes of his love"; and hedeparts broken-hearted to find his only consolation in the unchangingbeauty and friendliness of nature. The texts of the songs are couchedin the simple romantic language of the old folksong. The tunes havethe air of the simplest folktunes. But in the orchestration,prodigally rich and delicate, the real Mahler is evident. Theorchestral language is clearly his native tongue. In its vocabulary,the nuances of which he has mastered as perhaps no man before him, hecan sigh or weep, smile or laugh at will; he can love or hateprofoundly; he can shriek in insane terror or dream as sweetly as achild; he can sneer at the banalities of life or eulogize thegrandeur of death.
"I have written a song-cycle," he writes, "at present six songs,all of which are dedicated to her. She does not know them. But theycan tell her only what she already knows. Their burden is, a man whohas found only sadness in love goes forth into the world awanderer."
Had not the demands of the theatre consumed practically every bitof his leisure time he would have now devoted himself to thecomposition of his first real symphony. The experience ofParsifal had suggested to him the outlines of a greatsymphonic work; but these early sketches for it were suddenlysupplanted by new, far clearer ideas born of a thrilling emotionaladventure that Mahler had lived as a man. Out of the music and plotof the songs he had made "for Johanne" he now determined to fashionhis first symphony. Accordingly, he sketched it in detail hoping thenear future would bring him the leisure necessary for itscompletion.
One of the poems not incorporated in the cycle is of unusualinterest because he turned back to it more than twenty years laterwhen preparing the text for the symphonic song-cycleDas Lied vonder Erde.
"The night looks softly down from distances
Eternal with her thousand golden eyes.
And weary mortals shut their eyes in sleep
To know once more some happiness forgotten.
See you the silent, gloomy wanderer?
Abandoned is the path he takes and lonely,
Unmarked for distance or direction;
And oh! no star illuminates his way,
A way so long, so far from guardian spirits,
And voices versed in soft deceit sound, luring,
'When will this long and futile journey end?
Will not the wanderer rest from all his suffering?'
The Sphinx stares grimly, ominous with question,
Her stony, blank gray eyes tell nothing,--nothing.
No single, saving sign, no ray of light,--
And if I solve it not--my life must pay."
Though personally rather unpopular Mahler, as musician, was lookedupon by music-lovers of Kassel with a respect bordering on awe.Shortly before the summer (1885) people of influence who had beenwatching his work at the theatre were so convinced of his outstandingability that they decided for the good of the big annual musicfestival to engage him rather than his "superior" as conductor. Thisunusual stroke of luck with its promise of fame set Mahler todreaming once more of the higher plane of music whose center wasVienna. Here at last was something of which he might be proud! Viennatoo should hear of it!
From a letter to his old friend and teacher Prof. Epstein:
"As you may read in the enclosed clipping, there will take placehere in June under my direction a great music festival during whichamong other things the Ninth Symphony is to be given. Since this isfor a young man an extraordinary mark of confidence that places awhole country, so to speak, at his disposal (for all the greatmusical societies of Hesse and Hanover will participate) perhaps itis pardonable for me to wish that the Viennese also hear somethingabout it. Would you be so kind? Isn't it true, I'm still as'arrogant' as ever?"
The announcement of the committee's unexpected choice naturallyfell like a bomb-shell upon the theatre already extremely hostile toMahler. Enraged and jealous the "first conductor" warned him torefuse the offer. Mahler, who loved a fight, laughed at him. Thenopen war was declared. At once rival factions were formed and theirheated arguments often culminated in blows.
In order to rehearse each singing society separately, a practiceupon which the thorough Mahler insisted, he was compelled to makefrequent trips by train to the different towns taking part in thefestival. This he did although the traveling expenses madedisheartening inroads on his all too slender exchequer, and althoughhe suspected that his enemies might not stop at mere insults shouldthey catch him out of sight of Kassel.
One day, arriving very early at the railroad station, he boardedthe still empty local train that was to transport him to the place ofrehearsal. Engrossed in the study of the oratorioSt. Paulwhich was to be the grand choral offering of the festival he sat lostto the world. Suddenly he looked up from his music, andrealizing that considerable time had passed, he was surprised to findthe train still standing at the Kassel station. Looking at his watchhe saw that a whole hour had gone by and knew that something must bewrong. Not a soul was to be seen. What was the matter? Getting out ofthe car, he saw to his amazement that it stood alone and now bore thesign, "Waiting Room." The train had left long before. Making the bestof an unpleasant moment he telegraphed that he would be unable toattend the rehearsal.
As ever, the artist in him could not long be silenced by theglamorously soothing voice of prestige. The Augean task of fitting ahalf-dozen rustic singing societies for the difficult oratorio theyhad to perform soon brought disillusionment. Writing to a friend,Mahler said:
"You would like to know whether the Music Festival is a source ofjoy to me. The trouble with it is the same as with all dreams thefulfilment of which one awaits from others. Do you believe that whena couple of singing societies get together to create art anythingdecent can come of it? It happens to be the fashion just now to be'festivally' musical--patriotic. My appointment has caused a terriblepolitical battle and lately the entire project for the festival wasalmost abandoned on this account. It seems that no one, particularlynone of the 'trade,' can forgive me my youth. The orchestra is onstrike because the chief conductor considers himself disgraced andeven the general-director has had the impudence to ask me to give upthe festival. Of course, I have refused and now I'm a 'dead man' atthe theatre."
Mahler's extremely independent attitude toward the "impresario"was perhaps not entirely due to principle, for good fortune had inthe meanwhile come to him in the shape of two flattering offers. Thetheatre at Leipzig required an assistant to the noted resident- conductor, Nikisch, for 1886. Close upon the heels ofthis came a call from the Wagnerian "specialist," Angelo Neumann, whohad contracted for the theatre at Prague during the coming season,1885-6, and wished to have Mahler as assistant to the greatWagnerian, Anton Seidl. With unbounded pride and joy the youngconductor leaped at both chances. When preliminary negotiations weresatisfactorily concluded he wrote:
"I have much to tell you to-day. First of all you ought to knowthat I've been engaged by Angelo Neumann as first conductor at Praguefrom August 1 and that I shall on that day personally conductLohengrin for the first time in my life. In the course of theseason I shall give theRing, Tristan, Meistersinger! So yousee, I'm progressing by leaps and bounds. Alas, this glory will lastonly a year because the director at Leipzig will not even considerreleasing me from my contract for the year following. Well, let thedirectors fight over me to their hearts' content.
"The Festival is also making great strides and will be inauguratedin a few days with colossal pomp. I've really become popular, a sortof hero of the day. With the exception of my financial troubles,everything seems very bright."
Such was the fiery enthusiasm with which Mahler conducted theoratorioSt. Paul that the Kassel summer festival of 1885endowed his name with lasting admiration among the music-lovers ofthe whole region. For Mahler himself it was a particularlysignificant musical experience; for with it came a realization of thebroader and more grateful opportunity for artistic interpretationoffered by concert-work. As the last note of the oratorio soundedthere was launched a tremendous ovation which gave way only to apompous, provincial address of gratitude extended the young conductorby the head of the festival committee. Then Mahler was presented witha laurel wreath. But trophies of another sort, a diamond ring and agold watch, were perhaps no less welcome; for his own watch had forsome time been languishing at the pawnbroker's and the forbiddinglyexpensive outlook of the approaching days (fare to Iglau, to Leipzig,to Prague) seemed to appeal eloquently in behalf of another visit tothat convenient institution.
Then came a short rest at home preparatory to a qualifying "trial"month at Leipzig, part of the agreement with the director,Staegemann. This probation period successfully by, Mahler hastened toPrague where his distinguished superior, Seidl, was already busy withrehearsals for the coming season.
Lohengrin was to be the opening opera. With nothing shortof blissful wonder Mahler watched the work of thegifted conductor whose artistic creed had received the personalblessing of the great Wagner himself. Seidl's consummate mastery ofstage details was a first-hand contribution from the most intimateworkshop of Bayreuth, and proved a priceless lesson never to beforgotten by his young colleague. Though Mahler's rare privilege ofassociation with Seidl was soon interrupted by the latter'semigration to America, the brief apprenticeship was sufficient tobring him new hope for the attainment of the perfect stageperformance. To be sure, the quality of the Prague orchestra andperformers left much to be desired. In fact, this entire operaticventure of the nomadic Neumann, a grandeur evoked almost overnight,exhaled the uncertain atmosphere of a new and speculative affair.Mahler saw at once that the success of the "season" would dependchiefly upon the brilliancy and energy of the conductor. The setting,with its direct challenge to prowess, was the ideal one for histemperament, providing unlimited opportunities for the display ofresourceful musical generalship.
Seidl gone, Mahler found himself for the first time in his life inunqualified possession of a major baton. Rising enthusiastically tothis long-coveted independence he electrified critics and audiencewith a series of vivid performances bristling with the originality hehad been so long forced to curb. In quick succession there sprang tolife under his eager direction theMeistersinger, theRing,Don Giovanni, and other master-works, singing with an eloquencenew to the Bohemian capital of that generation. It seemed at once asif art were Mahler's religion, the conductor's stand an altar, andthe score a ritual. Here he felt really like ahigh-priest and offered up with an ecstasy of abandon all the "sacredfire" with which he was endowed. He was truly in his element duringthose first months at Prague.
But the impending shadow of Leipzig, with its threat of compulsorydependence, was a source of great worry to him. The very thought ofabandoning the glory he had carved out for himself at Prague for theposition as assistant to the formidable and long-established Nikischwas exceedingly painful. Again and again he appealed to the Leipzigdirector, Staegemann, for his release, but in vain. All he succeededin getting was a reassurance that he would not be actuallysubordinated to Nikisch, and would share equally with him theresponsibility of directing theRing.
From Mahler, first conductor, to Mahler, tyrant, was, in soultopography, a short distance. Neumann, in addition to his Wagnerianpredilections, was diplomat enough to see the peril to normaloperatic polity involved in the young man's despotic manner. Hissincere admiration of Mahler led him to hope the dreaded day ofdiscontent might be staved off until the end of the season. But thegrowing unpopularity of the conductor with the cast soon doomed themanager to disappointment.
The occasion for open war was a performance of Gounod'sFaust. This work owing to its mediocre artistic level and itsballet music was doubly hateful to Mahler and always put him in badhumor. The chief dancer, undisputed empress of her realm, had leftspecific instructions concerning the interpretation of the ballet.During the performance, however, Mahler paid little attention tothese; for he chose to perform the music as musicallyas possible. The dancer's rage knew no bounds, and rushing in tearsto Neumann she demanded the offender's instant dismissal. To mollifyher the perplexed manager scolded Mahler but, fearing the proud"hotspur" would resign at once because of the "insult," went on toshout in assumed anger, "My ballet-mistress has more experience thanyou! What she orders you to do you must do--and like it! If she tellsyou to tear the guts out of Faust do so and serve them up to her witha smile!"
In spite of the obvious humor of the situation Mahler feltslighted and demanded that Neumann apologize to him for this"mud-slinging" that had impaired the dignity of his position asconductor in the eyes of cast and orchestra. Neumann evaded the issuebut at the close of the season wrote Mahler so warm a testimonial ofgratitude for his services that it was accepted in lieu of the formalapology, and they parted the best of friends.
One of the most memorable of Mahler's musical experiences atPrague was his brilliant performance of Beethoven'sNinthSymphony, the opportunity for which the sudden, unavoidabledeparture of Karl Muck, the scheduled conductor, threw his way. Withtime left for only a single rehearsal, Mahler undertook an almostimpossible task, but conducted with such mastery (and without ascore!) that the Bohemian audience went wild with joy and pridebecause it was one of their own countrymen who had performed thisremarkable feat.
A far less pretentious concert-program he gave shortly before theclose of the season had greater personal significance for him. Onthat occasion three of his more recent songs were sungby one of the ladies of the theatre, a Miss Frank, who was perhapsidentical with the enamoured "Miss F" mentioned in a letter Mahlerwrote a few months later. Just prior to this concert he had made hismodest bow as composer, a group of early songs having appeared inprint under the title ofLieder und Gesaenge aus derJugendzeit (1885). On the same program there appears also aBrucknerScherzo to witness that Mahler had joined the slenderranks of Conductors pledged to the spreading of that neglectedgenius' fame. Much time had elapsed since those happy hours in Viennawhen the curious pair, student and professor, each shyly aware of theother's quality, were to be seen entering and leaving thelecture-hall arm in arm. Remembering this, Mahler wroteBruckner:--
"I know you are angry at me but I have not altogether deserved it,for tossed about on the tide of life I still regard you with the deepaffection and reverence of old. It is one of the aims of my life tohelp your glorious art to the triumph it deserves."
In July, 1886, after the customary few days of rest at Iglau,Mahler left for Leipzig, the new scene of his operatic servitude.Director Staegemann realizing that a conductor who had repeatedlyappealed for release from his agreement might not enter upon hislabors with much enthusiasm, tried in every possible way to instillinto Mahler the required optimistic spirit. Socially, he made life atonce very pleasant for the young musician, introducing him into thedistinguished Staegemann family circle; but the real grievance thataffected Mahler, his nominal subordination, did not yield to socialamenity. Nikisch had begun to give much of his time toconducting symphony concerts. Frequent calls from distant citiesplayed havoc with his operatic obligations. Thus the schedule of overtwo hundred performances, the most strenuous season Mahler had everfaced, might not fare too well under two reluctant leaders, one ofwhom was likely at any moment to take to open rebellion. Besides,Neumann, having serious trouble with Muck, his new conductor atPrague, was in constant communication with Mahler who he hoped mightbe tempted to rebel and return to his former post.
A Mahler letter hints at the impending trouble:
"The outlook for me here is still dubious. I am dying of longingand homesickness. I have made some splendid acquaintances and metwith a warm welcome. The Director has received me into his homecircle where I've spent many pleasant hours. Nikisch conducts soefficiently that I almost feel as if I were conducting myself. Butthe highest and deepest things in music are a closed book to him. Ihave no personal contact with him whatsoever. He is cold andsecretive towards me, whether because of conceit or mistrust--Icannot tell."
For a few weeks he had no real occasion to protest, but with theapproach of the season's firstRing performance he remindedStaegemann of the promise to divide equally between the twoconductors the responsibility of that gigantic music-drama. Thepromise, however, now proved to have been nothing but a bit of vaguediplomacy used as bait to impress Mahler. At once the lattersubmitted an ultimatum, and the affair languished in this sullencondition, Staegemann refusing to release him, for some time. Atlength fate solved the situation. Nikisch became seriously ill andwas compelled to take a vacation of six months leavingthe rare joys and abundant worries of first and only conductorship tohis younger colleague.
Naturally, these six months of Mahler's life developed into aperiod of utter slavery. Day and night he applied himself like amartyr to the endless array of details involved in the preparation ofthe most difficult operatic works. It seems incredible that he couldmaintain a uniformly high level of achievement under so merciless astrain, yet Steinitzer, the noted "Strauss-biographer" and leadingLeipzig critic of the time, reports that Mahler seemed to createafresh every bar he conducted.
Through the now delighted Staegemann he struck up an acquaintancewith Captain Carl von Weber, the grandson of the great composer. Thissoon grew into a warm friendship, for the open admiration andsympathy of Mahler for the music of Weber was a source of greatdelight to the military grandson. The home of the Webers came to bethe haven to which the tired conductor would repair after many anexhausting session at the theatre. Here he who loved children wouldspend an occasional hour of relaxation in the company of the charmingWebers of the younger generation. Now and then one of those simple,powerful poems out ofDes Knaben Wunderhorn, a famous book ofGerman romantic poetry which the children owned, would catch him inthe mood for composition, and then he would write down one of thoseWunderhorn songs which have since become world-famous. Eachsong was to him the nucleus of a symphonic movement. In the absenceof leisure to express himself in larger forms he sought in a fewmusical phrases to catch the essence of a gigantic emotional experience. Perhaps out of these songs hemight make real symphonies some day when he need no longer slave in atheatre.
Most highly treasured of the Weber possessions was an old sheaf ofmusic manuscript, posthumous fragments of an opera left unfinished bythe composer ofFreischuetz. After the death of Weber hiswidow had entrusted them to Meyerbeer who had expressed his desire toprepare the work for public performance; but many years passed andthe fragments persisted as such. At length Captain Weber inheritedthem. He was firmly convinced that if the right composer were foundthe project of completingThe Three Pintos would prove notonly practicable but even a great, popular success. The charming,racy old Spanish tale made into a libretto almost a century beforeneeded but slight revision to fit it for the more sophisticatedpublic of Leipzig. The city loved Weber's music, so much so that aWeber "cycle" including all his operas was as much a part of itsmusical schedule as a Wagner "cycle." How fine a thing it would be tocrown such a series with the surprising added novelty of a completedThree Pintos!
In Mahler, the captain was certain, lay the correct solution ofthis old problem. Here was a musician with superb technicalequipment, a young man and yet a man of great culture, a romanticistwho could flavor with humor the extreme of sentimentality, and astage-conductor of wide practical experience,--in short, the rightman for the work at hand. Together the two went carefully over thefragments and with each examination Mahler's enthusiasm increased.Swiftly the two reshaped the text and found that, while most of thefirst two acts had already been completed by Weber, thewhole of the third would have to be subtly set in the romantic spiritof the old master's music.
The summer arrived and Mahler took the fragments home with him toIglau. The inspiration with which he set to work whipping them intoshape is attested by the fact that in two weeks the finished operalay on his desk. No forgotten piano piece of Weber, from waltz tocanon, had been neglected by this demon of energy in his search forthe proper genuine material from which the new act must beconstructed.
The remainder of his vacation he devoted to elaborating thesketches he had made several years before for a symphony based on theLieder eines fahrenden Gesellen. The contrast between real andsham creative work now struck him with the force of a revelation, buthe once more suppressed the rebellion in his heart against theconditions that were taking him further and further away from histrue self. The symphony spread its wings steadily; but so colossal awork could not be launched after a mere week or two of incessant,clever scribbling. The vacation days were over and he who had intheir short span turned symphonist was rudely dragged forth again tothe hateful, all-consuming responsibilities of the opera-conductor.This agonizing experience, recurring every year, was the tragedy ofMahler's life.
Director Staegemann was tremendously pleased at the prospect ofbeing able to present the smartly finishedThree Pintos whichMahler brought back to Leipzig with him in the fall. At onceelaborate plans were made to give the work an impressive performance.In the excitement of these, in the pride and joy of his friend, the captain, and in the daily rehearsal andperformance that were part of his regular duties Mahler forgot hisprivate grievance against fate.
Richard Strauss, aged twenty-three, the brilliant protege ofBuelow, visited him and listened with delight to portions of theThree Pintos. No doubt the fact that Mahler played them forhim in person on the piano and thus infused into them anindividuality perhaps not present in the score accounts for therather unfavorable impression the performance of the complete operamade a few months later upon this young eagle of program-music. ButMahler, the conductor, at once found an admirer in Strauss, who in aletter to Buelow after hearing some of his fine Wagner performancesthus paid tribute to Mahler's musicianship:
"I have made a new, very charming acquaintance in Mr. Mahler, whostrikes me as being an extremely intelligent musician, in fact one ofthe few modern conductors who understand variations of tempo. He hassplendid views on music in general, but particularly about Wagner'stempos, (as opposed to the Mozart-conductors of present-daystanding.)"
Upon reading this glowing account of the qualities of the youngconductor he had (not long before) so utterly scorned, Buelow musthave suffered some qualms of conscience, and yet when Strausssuggested to him that the Austrian seemed also to be a giftedcomposer, the celebrated "Doctor" merely replied, "You are surelyjoking." From that moment seems to have dated Buelow's unrelentingantipathy to Mahler's works, an attitude paralleled only by hisunwavering scorn for Bruckner through almost a whole generation evenin the face of musical Germany's verdict in favor of thatsymphonist.
The premiere of theThree Pintos took place in January,1888. Midst a Weber-loving public, the performance so carefully andwell prepared proved a real triumph. Both Mahler and Captain Weberhad to respond to repeated calls from the delighted audience. Nextday the newspapers showed the occasion to have been an orgy for thedisplay of critical stupidity. Parts of the opera to which Mahler hadnot contributed a single note were attacked by the press on theground of being "un-Weberish." Some episodes which were entirelyMahler's work were hailed as fine samples of the typical Webergenius. However, the people's verdict was overwhelmingly in favor ofthe novelty, and before the summer it had to be given fifteen timesin Leipzig alone. At once theatres in many other German cities alsoincorporated it in their repertoires. Even Vienna, sceptical nucleusof conservatism, produced it; but the performance was cold anddisappointing. The critics of the musical metropolis branded it as acheap, commercial attempt of a young unknown musician to climb tofame on the shoulders of a great name.
But public success or failure had come to mean very little toMahler, whose heart was at last deep in the creative delight of hisfast-shapingFirst Symphony. Though the season was barely halfspent the energetic conductor would now, much to the consternation ofDirector Staegemann, be seen going about abstractedly, as if he wereoccupied with mysterious, distant thoughts. At social gatherings hewould suddenly rush to the piano in an adjoining room to returnelated with the announcement that he had just jotted down a wonderfulidea. Sometimes, without apology or explanation, he would leave anamazed group of friends in order to work inuninterrupted solitude at home.
He was aware of the disappointment and pain he was causing thedirector, but his long-suppressed genius was no longer to be baffled.He had slaved day after day, unceasingly, at the theatre. He hadgiven himself unstintingly to all but himself. Surely he had deserveda short respite from theatrical responsibilities and socialamenities. He could not face Staegemann with this sudden "flare oftemperament" but he could venture an appeal for indulgence inwriting.
"Please do not be angry at me for writing, when you are really sonear-by. I have noticed for some time that owing, perhaps, to a floodof petty worries and annoyances you are out of sorts; but I cannothelp feeling that I am also somewhat to blame for your condition. Ifear that a misunderstanding between us at present may imperil thefriendship that has been such a source of joy to me and has made myposition here so pleasant. I confess unhesitatingly that you havesufficient cause to complain about me, for I have long ceased toattend to my duties in the manner you had come to expect of me. Ialso know that I do not have to offer excuses to you, because thereason for my neglect is sufficiently important to deserve yourlenient indulgence. Only a little more patience! Let another twomonths go by and you will see that I am again the one I used tobe."
For six weeks he was a recluse, working incessantly. Day and nightwere one to him. He lived at the desk alone. Not since that almostinsane fit of inspiration a decade before when he had leashed hisnerve-racked, half-starved body to the labor of theKlagendesLied, had he worked with such fervor and abandon. No humanphysique could have borne the strain without weakening. One night hewas engaged upon a most delicate, colorful passage in which birds andwoods were voicing the miracle of nature. He was veryweary and lifted his eyes gradually from the intricate web of noteswhich he had just written. His tired gaze wandered about the room,finally coming to rest upon the wreaths of flowers, trophies of theThree Pintos, heaped in profusion upon the table in thecenter. A moment later he attempted once more to concentrate upon themusic, but an uncanny feeling had stolen upon him and again he lookedup. Suddenly the appearance of the table had changed. It seemed tohim as if it were now surrounded by weirdly flickering candles! Andon the center, among the wreaths lay a shape,--a corpse! The featureswere his own! Horrified he rushed from the room.
Finally in the middle of March he was able to sit back, exhaustedbut happy, and write to a friend:--
"At last my work is finished! Now I wish you were here by my sideat the piano so that I might play it for you. Perhaps you are theonly one to whom nothing in it will seem strange. The others willhave something to wonder about. It has turned out so overwhelming--asif it issued from my heart like a mountain stream."
Thus ended the "adventure of the soul" leading up to thecompletion of Mahler'sFirst Symphony. The youth who hadwandered and suffered in the world for nearly a decade had at lengththe consoling balm of living the great experience over in his ownheart and, having turned it into a grand orchestral "Wanderer'sSong," now faced the future a symphonist.
Mahler rose from the finished score of his first symphony to findthe radiant "spring in his heart" met by wintry scowls on the face ofDirector Staegemann. The friendship that had depended on Mahler'sslavish devotion to the affairs of the theatre had been strained tothe breaking-point by his dereliction. Of a renewed contract for thecoming season there was now no mention, and faced once more with theprospect of no engagement, and consequent poverty, Mahler took tobrooding. His financial worries had long ere this been intensified bythe expenses involved in the serious illnesses of both his father andmother. Their visits to Vienna for consultation with specialists hadbecome a regular part of the budget the dutiful son had pledgedhimself to face. With apprehension not unmixed with a desperate hopehe watched the last weeks of the operatic season slip ominouslyby.
In the open resentment of the director every vestige of Mahler'sauthority at the theatre came to eternal rest. A certain Mr.Goldberg, the "power behind the scenes," took to haunting therehearsals the discredited musician conducted, and the latter nowrealized that there was a plot on foot to get rid of him even soonerthan the expiration of his contract. Helpless he awaited the dreadedmoment. It arrived one morning when Mr. Goldberg intruded himselfmost insultingly upon some explanations Mahler was making to the singers. Unable to restrain his anger,the unhappy conductor turned upon the offender. "To-day you haveconducted here for the last time!" shouted the mighty Mr. Goldbergvindictively. To Mahler's request that Staegemann by some wordreinstate him with unimpaired dignity in the eyes of orchestra andsingers, the director merely shrugged his shoulders, saying sullenly,"What Mr. Goldberg does I do. I am he." Thereupon Mahler bowed hishead and handed in his resignation.
The summer that was thus ushered in promised to be the darkest ofhis career. To cap the gloomy climax his physical condition, run-downby overwork, suffered the first severe setback it had everexperienced and he was ordered to go to Munich for treatment. Therean operation was found necessary, and after a few weeks ofconvalescence he arrived home in Iglau, weak and sad, to find hisfather already marked by swiftly approaching dissolution and hismother so ill that it was clear she could not long survive herhusband.
However, the summer was not far advanced before his financialfears, at least, proved to have been unfounded. His abilities asconductor and his high artistic ideals had won him the admiration ofmany prominent musicians. When the noted Hungarian cellist, DavidPopper, delegated by Commissioner Beniczky of Budapest, asked GuidoAdler, Mahler's boyhood friend, about the young conductor's executiveand artistic qualifications, it became clear that Mahler was beingconsidered for a very important position. The Budapest Royal Opera,founded four years before, had through incompetent management and theextravagant evils of the "star" system fallen victim to an alarming deficit. An ever sinking quality of scheduleand performances had brought about a wholesale withdrawal of publicpatronage. The restoration of this vanishing popular faith wasnecessary if the "opera" was to survive; and the solution of thisproblem obviously required a strong and able musical hand. Popper,urged by Adler, recommended Mahler so enthusiastically for theHungarian post, that Beniczky's doubts (because of the candidate'syouth) were dispelled, and Mahler was summoned to a preliminaryconference in Vienna. There and then was drawn up a contract theastonishing features of which have perhaps no parallel in the historyof music. A conductor twenty-eight years old was by its termsappointed absolute director and given unqualified control of thedestiny of a major opera-house for a whole decade. The salary, 10,000Gulden per annum, was a fortune compared to the miserable wage Mahlerhad hitherto been slaving for. The only stumbling-block to theagreement was that sudden political changes in the government mightexert a disturbing influence over operatic polity; but even such acontingency had been deprived of its threatening shadow by thecontract which called for a generous cash settlement should theperiod of ten years be curtailed for some unforeseen reason.
Thus relieved of all material worries by a mere stroke of the penMahler entered upon his duties as director at Budapest in the fallwith new-born enthusiasm and confidence. To the amazed andincredulous singers and musicians of the "opera" he made thisintroductory announcement:--"Let us dedicate ourselves heart and soulto the proud task that is ours. Unwavering fulfilment ofresponsibilities by each individual, and completesubjection of self to the common interest, let this be the motto weinscribe on our banner. Expect no favoritism from me. If I may pledgemyself to one thing today, it is this, that I shall endeavor to be anexample to you in zeal and devotion to work. So let us begin,--and doour duty! Success will surely crown our efforts!"
Since many of the artists understood only Hungarian Mahler had toemploy an interpreter. The disadvantages of this condition at onceshowed him that the quickest way to reach the hearts of the peoplewas through their mother tongue. Before his arrival performances hadbeen rendered ludicrous by "stars," assembled from all quarters ofEurope, who insisted upon singing in their native language. Thus itwas not an uncommon occurrence for a music-lover of Budapest to heara text begun in Italian suddenly turn to French, German, or Hungarianduring the same performance. Immediately Mahler insisted that the"star" system must go. This drastic demand granted, he found himselfleft with third-rate Hungarian material. To whip this into shape hewas forced to resort once more to a tyranny of long, exhausting dailyrehearsals. Gradually the improved quality of the ensemble-work madeitself apparent to the audience, which began to increase steadily.Mahler, now become Budapest's lion of the hour, was hailed as apatriot for his diplomatic ruling that Hungarian be the sole languagesung at the opera. He had even gone as far as to have Wagnertranslated into Hungarian and before the season was three months oldhe was conducting spirited performances of such unheard-of noveltiesasA Rajna Kincse (Rheingold) andA Valkuerbefore an audience of Hungarians the number andenthusiasm of which were without precedent in the annals of theBudapest Opera House. The whole first season proved a distincttriumph for him, although he was able to achieve it only afterundergoing greater trials than ever before. He kept strictly his grimpromise of tyranny to the musicians and singers and these, seeing thewonders his rigor was bringing to pass, cooperated with him. He inturn displayed a gratified spirit of friendship towards them afterworking-hours, occasionally inviting some of them to his quarterswhere they would eat and drink sumptuously at his expense while hetold them of his plans and hopes for the future.
Naturally, such revolutionary changes in artistic policy could notbut meet with some opposition. One or two temperamental gentlemen ofthe cast who felt themselves slighted by the "foreigner" demandedsatisfaction of Mahler in the traditional southern manner. He was atone time actually compelled to announce in the newspapers that he didnot believe in the healing qualities of the duel.
In reality, he now felt himself more the exiled wanderer than everbefore. Hemmed in by a strange language which for reasons of art hehad even accepted as the sole tongue for his own stage, he felthomesick and lonely, and wrote, "If I could only hear a word sung inGerman!"
In February of the following year, 1889, his father died. Mahlerhad been long expecting this blow, and arrived home that summer tofind the fast failing condition of his mother hinting grimly theinevitable dissolution of the parental household in the near future.Mrs. Mahler died in October, and the three eldest dependent children,Justi, Emma, and Otto moved to Vienna, where the"successful" Gustav had assumed the burden of a home for them. He wasnot of a saving disposition, for he loved the comforts of life. Thefriends of his youth who had not met with such good worldly fortunealways found him ready and generous with his "loans." The terminationof the Mahler household at Iglau meant the inauguration of a newseries of large but necessary expenditures. To meet these he wasalways compelled to draw upon his salary before it was due. Findinghimself in a state of persistent financial embarrassment he grew morebitter than ever at the fate that forced his shoulder to the wheel ofa hated drudgery and he would often exclaim, "That cursed money!" Inaddition, his brother, Otto, although possessed of great musicaltalent, was a pathological case, refusing stubbornly to attend toboth the academic and musical studies without which he could neveramount to anything. His sister, Justi, weakened by the strain of along spell of attendance upon her dying mother, showed alarming signsof a break-down in health and the distracted, self-styled "head ofthe family" remarked sadly, "In my family there is always someoneailing."
On November 20th occurred the most important event of his Budapestengagement, the first performance of hisFirst Symphony.Tentatively, he had programmed it after the fashion of the day as"Symphonic Poem, in Two Parts." It was in reality a symphony in fourmovements with a pause of several minutes, (he once personallyadvised as long as five minutes!) between the second and thirdmovements. The musicians who had come to know and admire him didtheir utmost to make the difficult work intelligible tothe audience; but outside of the small circle of his personal friendsmost of the strangely earnest music fell on unsympathetic ears. Themusic-lovers, to whom Beethoven and Brahms were the unalterablesymphonic gospel, squirmed about uneasily under the forked-lightningof dynamic surprises in this new symphony. During the opening bars ofstormy passion in the last movement an elegant society lady in a boxbecame so excited that her handbag and opera-glasses fell with acrash to the floor. Of the two critics who published their opinionson the following day one seemed somewhat favorably impressed, but theother, a certain von Herzfeld, fell upon the symphony with adestructive fury which entitles him to the distinction of havinginaugurated a newspaper opposition to Mahler's works that is stillflourishing over forty years later and keeping the composer'sposition in musical history problematical.
During the next three years Mahler kept his first symphonic scorehidden away, much as if it had been a secret diary. The wastedperformance at Budapest became for him the sad, unpleasant memory ofan occasion upon which he had confided his inmost secrets to ears ofstone. Meanwhile, he worked steadily to give his sketches for a newsymphony definite, clear form, building for it a far greaterstructure than that of its predecessor. The topic he had chosen tosucceed the drama of the "singing wanderer" was "Death andResurrection," a theme calling for a truly colossal setting. Thefirst longing to compose such a symphony had taken hold of him asearly as 1883 when the austerity ofParsifal had left itsindelible impression upon his mind. Strauss'Death andTransfiguration, certainly conceived later and,happily for the composer, in an idiom and form ideally suited to theepigram-loving disposition of the intelligentsia of the Nineties, hadalready made its mark, almost establishing a canon of one-movementbrevity for the successful symphonic expression of the coming age.Mahler, however, had unhesitatingly set out at a tangent from theartistic inclinations of his day and, convinced of the vitalsuperiority of Beethoven's symphonic creed, felt that a musicalartwork must stand or fall by the power of its direct appeal to theheart and that programs were at bottom mere "props," a sort ofDeus ex machina.
Curiously it was Strauss himself, master of the "new" key to thepublic's musical heart, who first of all prominent musicians realizedthe significance of this strange first symphony of Mahler's, writtenin an unprecedentedly colorful orchestral language. In 1894 (it hadhad a second vain hearing at Hamburg in 1892) Strauss used hisinfluence so effectively that the work was made the outstandingfeature of an important concert at Weimar. Whether or not theproverbial, numerical magic of the "third trial" had anything to dowith it, this performance proved at least a partial success, leavingaudience and critics sufficiently puzzled to engage in heatedafter-discussions, an attention most gratifying to the composer.
"My symphony", wrote he to a friend, "met on the one side withunqualified recognition. Opinions were aired on the open street andat private gatherings in a most edifying manner. 'When the dogs beginto bark, we know we're on the way!' Of course, I'm the victor (thatis, in my estimation, though the opinion is shared by hardly anyoneelse). The performance was extremely imperfect owing to insufficientrehearsal. The orchestra, yielding to the persuasiveness of a barrelof beer, proved distinctly in favor of the work andalso of the manner in which I conducted it. My brother (Otto) who waspresent was highly pleased with the partial failure of the symphony,and I, ditto, with its partial success."
Not without misgiving, yet hoping that such a trick could onlyhave a superficial effect upon the general understanding of the work,while it would certainly make it seem "up-to-the-minute," Mahlerannounced in the program-book of the concert that the symphony wascalled "Titan" and followed this with the story of each movementoutlined briefly. This led, of course, to much misunderstanding; formany, too fondly versed in the manner of that "prodigal son" ofLiszt, Strauss' glitteringSymphonic Poem, looked upon theseromantic explanations much as they would have regarded a "bill offare," and although they found Mahler's colorful instrumentationhighly interesting, protested that the events heralded in the printed"list" had not come off satisfactorily. When the work was finallypublished three years later, the composer's intentions were revealedas definitely anti-programmatic, for in the printed score all theearlier descriptive phrases are missing; and except for a few generalhints to help the conductor's interpretation, the first symphony hasbeen handed down to posterity as a work conforming to the essentialprinciples of absolute music.
Much of the interest aroused by the performance at Weimar centeredabout the timeworn question whether the relationship between"symphony" and "program" is a natural one. That more or less definiteintentions or experiences always form the invisible background ofcreative work in music has been generally accepted. In this broadersense all symphonic music is "program" music, the deeper and more personal its message, the richer and more variedits undescribed content. However, it was along this wave of futilecontroversy the name of Mahler, the composer, was wafted into itsfirst prominence.
Strauss' hearty endorsement of the work added to the fact that theWeimar program still called it a "symphonic poem in two parts,"persisted so long as the bone of contention in German musicaldiscussions that Mahler felt at last obliged to publish his personalviews on the true content of the symphony. The keynote of hisrevelation, which he claimed to be the soul of all his symphonicwork, (he had by that time finished hisThird Symphony) wasthe deceptively simple phrase printed over the opening bar of theFirst, "Wie Ein Naturlaut," or freely translated, "as thoughspoken by Nature."
"That Nature embraces everything that is at once awesome,magnificent, and lovable, nobody seems to grasp. It seems so strangeto me that most people, when they mention the word Nature inconnection with art, imply only flowers, birds, the fragrance of thewoods, etc. No one seems to think of the mighty underlying mystery,the god Dionysos, the great Pan; and just that mystery is the burdenof my phrase,Wie Ein Naturlaut. That, if anything, is myprogram, or the secret of my composition." (Mahler was writing thisto a prominent critic.) "My music is always the voice of Naturesounding in tone, an idea in reality synonymous with the concept soaptly described by Buelow as 'the symphonic problem.' The validity ofany other sort of 'program' I do not recognize, at any rate, not formy work. If I have now and then affixed titles to some movements ofmy symphonies I intended them only to assist the listener along somegeneral path of fruitful reaction. But if the clarity of theimpression I desire to create seems impossible of attainment withoutthe aid of an actual text, I do not hesitate to use the human voicein my symphonies; for music and poetry together are a combinationcapable of realizing the most mystic conception. Through them theworld, Nature as a whole, is released from its profound silence andopens its lips in song."
There were many in the audience at Weimar who felt that the"program-book" should have included more detailed explanations of thework to be performed, with musical illustrations, in the manner of a"guide." One of these music-lovers wrote to Mahler asking him whythis practice had not been followed at the concert. The composer'sanswer, an essential part of his artistic creed, seems to deservecitation.
"I do not believe in misleading the audience at a musicalperformance with musico-technical details; for misunderstanding, inmy opinion, is the inevitable result when one is handed aprogram-book that asks the audience to see instead of to hear! Ofcourse, I agree that the thematic web of a work should be clear toevery listener. But do you think that the mere sight of a few themescan bring that condition about? The understanding of a musical workcan be attained only through an intensive study of it; and the deepera work the more difficult and gradual is this process. At a 'firstperformance' it is most important for the listener to allow only thegeneral human and poetic qualities of the work to play freely uponthe emotions. If these qualities seem to make an eloquent appeal thenthe work deserves more detailed examination. To draw an analogy, howare we to proceed in fathoming the true nature of any human being, amystery certainly deeper and greater than that of any of man'saccomplishments? Where can we find the 'program-book' to explain him?The solution is similar--we must study him incessantly, with devotedattention. Naturally, man is subject to constant development andchange, while a work remains ever the same; but analogies are doomedto lameness at some point or other!"
With this very first symphony Mahler felt that he was making areal contribution to music. The manner in which he considered it tobe new is suggested in the confidential letter previously quoted."You alone will understand it because you know me; to others it willsound strange." He realized that the only possible addition ofpermanent value to art is the powerful portrait of apersonality. When he said that his work would have to wait long forrecognition because there was nothing to link it to the past, he didnot have revolutionary technical considerations in mind. He did notmean that his music must be judged by other standards than those ofthe masters before him. He was merely aware that his orchestrallanguage would seem strange--so strange as to put his messagehopelessly out of reach of his time, since only a generation to whichthe idiom would seem natural and unaffected could be expected topierce through it to the deep underlying meaning. He regarded Straussas his "great contemporary," the fortunate creative artist whoseidiom had the same pulse-beat as the life about him. Mahler's sharp,ascetic orchestral idiom, assumed the moment he had (in early youth)ceased to compose at the piano, remained his mode of expression tothe end. After those juvenile futilities of instrumentation, Mahlerespoused with the fervor of faith a purely polyphonic mode ofexpression, whether a brief song or a gigantic work was involved. Ofcourse, there was a steady development in his mastery of orchestraltechnique during twenty years of symphonic study and creation, butthis development was only in the direction of increased clarity andintensity of expression. Throughout all his colossal works there isapparent an unwavering conviction in the validity of the many-voicedlanguage they speak.
Externally considered this language offers points of contacthelpful to a deeper insight of Mahler's individual message. To beginwith, all the instruments of the orchestra are for himsolo-instruments and hence of equal importance. Each one is exploitednot merely for the clearest musical effect of which itis capable but even more for its most striking emotional accents.Through this analysis Mahler was enabled to endow the orchestralidiom with a psychological power it had never possessed before. Theprodigal profusion of his unexpected usages in instrumentation wasthe strange feature that accounted (and still accounts in a greatmeasure) for the conservative music-lover's misunderstanding of hisworks.
Perhaps a brief, general catalogue of some of these surprisingorchestral habits may not be out of place at this point. Solo fluteswhich the custom of masters had made the vehicles of sweet melodieswere now suddenly heard sounding ethereally, totally bereft ofpathos, as if issuing out of infinite distances. The brilliant littleE-flat Clarinet, a queer foundling abandoned by Berlioz and carefullyreared by Mahler, now invaded the proud precincts of the symphonyorchestra a full-blown soloist, bursting forth in occasional mockery,grotesque often to the point of scurrility. Owing to the parodisticgifts of this reclaimed instrument not even the lugubrious atmosphereof a funeral march beclouding life would be safe from an interruptionof almost ribald merriment tearing our thoughts away from futilegloom; or the spell of most tenderly sentimental moments might berudely broken by an instrumental sneer, a practice the validity ofwhich is amply reflected in our daily experience. The oboe, no longerthe accustomed high-pitched voice of poignantly sweet pathos, was nowheard singing with unstrained accents, in its natural, middleregister. The bassoon, on the other hand, suddenly become mosteloquent of suppressed pain, would cry out, most convincing in itshighest tones; and the contrabassoon might have acoarse, grotesque remark to make all alone.
The horn (in the treatment of which authorities agree Mahler wasone of the greatest masters of all time) had never had so important arole. To the noble level of expressiveness it had attained inBruckner's hands Mahler added a new power, enabling it by means ofdying echoes to carry smoothly an idea already exploited into achanged musical atmosphere. Sometimes a solo horn would issue withoverwhelming effect from a whole chorus of horns among which it hadbeen concealed, or singing in its deepest tones it would lend apassage the air of tragic gloom. In Mahler's resourceful use of thehorn every register seemed possessed of a different psychologicalsignificance.
Short, sharp, fanfaresque trumpet "motifs" (so effectively used byBruckner in his symphonies) attain apotheosis with Mahler, for eitherdisappearing gently in a soft cadence, or singing bravely on, theysoar with ever increasing intensity and breadth to a powerful dynamicclimax, to be finally crowned with the triumphant din of massed brassand percussion. Often where usage would recommend the intensificationof a melodic line by the employment of many instruments in unisonMahler would save the clarity of the line from the blurring effect ofmassed voices by having a single trumpet take up the theme withintense passion. Above a sombre rhythm powerfully marked by a chorusof trombones over percussion he would set a solitary trombone to pourout grief in noble, poignant recitative. Never had such significancebeen given the percussion group as Mahler gave it. His peculiarunderstanding of this family was doubtless a result ofthe fascination with which he had in childhood days absorbed themartial strains issuing from the Iglau barracks. Often he would evencombine various percussion instruments, giving even them a share ofhis all-embracing polyphony, much as if drums too were soloinstruments.
"Tradition is slovenly!" was his motto. He rejected everystereotyped means of obtaining a desired effect; and it was often thesheer originality of his solution to an instrumental problem which(while carrying richer meaning) was dismissed by the misunderstandinglistener, fed on conventional combinations, as merely grotesque. Inthis intensified and clarified musical idiom, however, there wasnothing actually revolutionary. The whole orgy of amazing polyphonywhich is Mahler's work, technically considered, signified nothingmore than that the inevitable development of the orchestral languagehad been sent forward a whole generation by the genius of oneman.
His great mastery of the color possibilities of each instrumentkept Mahler, the absolute symphonist, thoroughly modern in a musicalworld gone "program" mad. Owing to this knowledge, in those daysstill new, he could afford to stand aside from those who blindlyrisked the sacrifice of musical content to the sensational effect oftrick instrumental combinations. There was no emotion he could notgive clear expression without abandoning a pure, many-voiced melodicmethod essentially as legitimate as that of Bach. Through orderlycontrapuntal "line," scored in his eloquent idiom, he achieved"color," and yet retained that transparent clarity of expressionwhich in the higher orchestral world has become synonymous with thename Mahler.
So striking and vital was the originality of his method that itspeedily evoked a "school" of emulators but little concerned with thereal content of his symphonies. A generation went by; meanwhile thelatest offspring of major music came into existence, the"chamber-symphony," over whose many exclusively solo voices thelineo-coloristic method of Mahler holds paternal sway.
Just turned thirty, he was already a prey to doubts concerning therevolutionary trend of the coming generation. This is clear from oneof his letters, dated 1891:
"I have done much reading this year and many books have made adeep impression upon me; indeed, I might say they have caused acomplete 'about-face' in my attitude towards the world and life--orperhaps, merely a further development. Has it not struck you that wehave already seen the younger generation grow up--(the new ideaswhich we fought for have become commonplaces) and that we shall haveto fight the new youth to protect from their violence what we havegained?"
The tremendous combined burden of directing, rehearsing, andconducting at the Budapest Opera House was a greater strain than thephysique of one man could endure. Although Mahler was far strongerthan his over-slender and somewhat diminutive proportions seemed toindicate, his recent illness necessitating an operation had left himtoo weak for the almost superhuman labors involved in his officialposition. Perhaps owing to lack of rest, it soon developed that theoperation had not brought the expected relief, and in order to beable to forget the excruciating pain that often made concentrationupon his responsibilities impossible Mahler was sometimes compelledto resort to morphine injections.
The condition of his sister Justi failed to improve and thebeginning of the summer vacation of 1890 found them both travelingtogether among the beautiful cities of Italy, breathing in the mild,healing Mediterranean air. Determined to permit no artisticexperience to mar this rare period of complete relaxation Mahlerreligiously avoided visiting museums and cathedrals during the entiretrip, confining himself to the enjoyment of the abundant naturalbeauties about the famous old Italian towns.
After almost a month of this carefree nomadic life (the Hungariangovernment was paying all railroad expenses) he settled down for theremainder of the summer in the Austrian Alps. Unfortunately frequentvisits of theatrical officials from Budapest together with the problem of passing on the merits of newoperatic scores consumed all the time he would have otherwise devotedto creative work.
The musical season of 1890 opened ominous with the politicalshadow that lurked behind the alleged "absolute powers" conferredupon Mahler by his Hungarian contract. The air was full of the rumorthat his musical patron, Count Beniczky, was to be transferred toanother field of governmental authority. Untrusting among foreignersand impelled by self-imposed financial responsibilities to his family(Mahler was once more in debt) he anticipated the threatened approachof trouble by communicating secretly with the director of the HamburgOpera. The position about which their correspondence bargained meantnominally a step backward for Mahler, but in reality Hamburg, thecity of the great Buelow, was one of the centers of German music andan operatic conductor there had opportunities for general recognitionfar beyond those offered by Budapest. At any rate, by the time thetransfer of Beniczky became a fact, the agreement with Hamburg wasdefinite--Mahler's call thither to take effect the day of his releasefrom Budapest. Count Zichy, the one-armed piano virtuoso, conductorand poet, who succeeded Beniczky, naturally had opinions andaspirations of his own concerning the "opera." The fact that theinstitution's deficit had been turned into a profit by the shrewdhand of Mahler did not persuade this new "lord" to leave well enoughalone. His very first decree altered the operatic statutes in such amanner that the director suddenly found his position divested of allthe authority guaranteed by his contract. Zichy soon began to conductrehearsals in person, arranging the repertoire to suithis own anti-Wagnerian tastes. For a week or two Mahler attempted toadjust himself to this most unpleasant situation; but at length sureof his legal ground he tendered his resignation. The contract thatcalled for a period of ten years' service had been clearly broken bythe Hungarian government after only a little over two years. Mahlerinsisted upon a cash settlement and the sum of 25,000 Gulden wasagreed upon.
It was during these last days at Budapest that his musicianshipreceived the highest tribute it had as yet been paid. The celebratedBrahms, in the city at the time (January, 1891) could not be inducedto attend the opera. Every attempt to persuade him that this youngconductor was worthy of even his notice failed to arouse hisinterest. Finally on the evening of aDon Giovanni performancesome influential Mahler admirers insisted that the famous composeraccompany them to the opera. The great man protested in vain, "Nobodycan interpretDon Giovanni for me! That is music which I canenjoy only if I sit flown and read the score to myself!" Much againsthis will Brahms found himself one of the audience. Cross as he hadbeen, from the very beginning of the opera his delight and amazementwere evident and he would show his appreciation of particularly finepassages by exclaiming from time to time, "Excellent!" "Splendid!""Remarkable!" "At last, that's just the way it ought to be done!""What a devil of a fellow that Mahler is!" At the end of the firstact Brahms hurried backstage, threw his arms affectionately aboutMahler, and said, "That was the bestDon Giovanni I've everheard. Not even the Imperial Opera in Vienna can rival it!"
The recognition of Brahms was highly gratifying to Mahler facedonce more with the prospect of wandering in quest of fortune. Aprilfound him in Hamburg, again just a "first conductor." Deeply analyticby nature he now gathered together the wealth of his years ofpractical operatic experience in the hope of sifting out a policythat would enable him to adapt these new conditions to his ownideals. The hostile Buelow, his first conquest, recognized at oncethe authoritative artistic personality reflected by that ascetic facewhich, when Mahler was conducting, would assume every nuance ofemotion from the agony of the damned to the bliss of thetransfigured. Mahler still anxious to learn, attended the Buelowconcerts as often as he could and was almost embarrassed by thepompous manner in which the famous conductor would bow to him fromthe stage. Throughout the concert this remarkable man would not missthe slightest opportunity of showing his respect and admiration forthe new conductor of the "opera." Regardless of the wonder of theaudience Buelow would beckon or smile inquisitively down to Mahler(seated in the first row) during the most beautiful passages of themusic, as if asking "Don't you think this is fine?" or "Why shouldn'tI be proud of this?" Buelow spoke of Mahler as "The Pygmalion of theHamburg Opera," implying that his work there had resurrected theinstitution from the dead.
But here again was the case of a new-found powerful friend whowould do all for the executive musician, but shrank in horror fromhis creative work. After expressing his amused delight at Buelow'sostentatious display of approval, Mahler wrote, "But when I played myTotenfeier (Death-celebration, the opening movement of theSecond Symphony) for him, hefell into a state of extreme nervous terror, carrying on like alunatic, and exclaimed, 'Next to your musicTristan sounds assimple as a Haydn symphony.' Indeed, I'm almost beginning to believeit myself; my symphonies are either maudlin ravings or... well,express the alternative for yourself. I've tired of doing it."
So exacting were Mahler's duties in Hamburg that he consideredwith growing despair the decreasing leisure time left him forcomposition. He longed more than ever for the day when freedom fromthe financial worries involved in the total dependence of severalmembers of his family would enable him to take some modest positiondemanding less time and energy. Yet he never ceased to dread theuncertainty of a conductor's contract, knowing that those he lovedwould be the worst sufferers if fate really granted him the respitehe so coveted.
Just before the summer of 1892 the Hamburg Opera House thrilledwith the announcement that its recent excellence had so impressedLondon music-lovers that the English metropolis had decided upon ataste of real German opera. The exciting invitation to Londonincluded a large part of the Hamburg cast and, of course, the newconductor. Immediately Mahler threw himself heart and soul into thestudy of English, making such headway in a few weeks that he proudlywrote his reports from London in his newly "mastered" language. Thefollowing quotation is literal, even orthographically so:--
"Dear Berliner!
I shall only to give you the adresse by you upon your life andother circumstances in Hambourg. I myself am too tired and excitedand not able to write a letter. Only, that I found the circumstances of orchestra here bader than thought andthe cast better than hoped. Next Wednesday is the performance ofSiegfried which God would bless. Alvary: Siegfried, Grengg:Wotan, Sucher: Bruennhilde, Lieban: Mime. This is the most splendidcast I yet heard, and this is my only trust in these very carefultime. Please to narrate me about all and am
Yours,
Mahler.
I make greater progress in English as you can observe in thisletter."
The enthusiasm of the Londoners for Mahler's "Wagner" was so greatthat the cause of German opera became a popular one in Englandthereafter. The following account of theSiegfried performanceby the same Anglo-Austrian "correspondent" seems veryilluminating:
"Siegfried--great success. I am myself satisfied of theperformance. Orchestra: beautiful. Singers: excellently. Audience:delighted and much thankful. Mittwoch: Tristan (Sucher). I am quitedone up!
Yours
Mahler."
The Hamburg newspapers trumpeted forth proudly the triumphs ofMahler on foreign soil; but the expected reception to the returninghero was dashed by a terrible epidemic of cholera which suddenlyafflicted the city, driving thousands of panic-stricken inhabitantsto the safety of other parts. Among those who fled many of thesingers and opera officials were prominent and the scheduled openingof the musical season was indefinitely postponed. Mahler himself, enroute, was compelled to await in Berlin the outcome of an acuteattack of stomach trouble which he long suspected to be the dreaddisease's advance messenger. The worry and pain of thiscondition left him more nervous than ever, but he was obliged toreport in Hamburg as soon as the epidemic was on the wane.
Shortly after this Buelow fell seriously ill and unhesitatinglynamed Mahler as his substitute at the symphony concerts he had madepart of German musical history. No sooner had the "substitute"conducted the first few bars at rehearsal when the novel character ofhis phrasing and dynamic effects met with the vociferous disapprovalof leading members of the orchestra. Mahler realized at once what apower for evil an exaggerated conservatism could be in the educationof musicians. Undaunted he now added a new and difficult aim to hisalready formidable array of embattled ideals. He determined to freethe world of that stupid canonization of the old masters whichrendered the slightest critical emendation of their printed pagesalmost a capital crime. Fearlessly and devotedly he examined theimmortal BeethovenNinth and wherever he was convinced thatthe doubling of an instrument or the raising of a part by an octavewould only enhance the clarity of the composer's intention he madethat change. Wagner, himself one of the anointed, had made many suchalterations in the same score. The highest technical tribunals ofmusic secretly approved of these. So far from being disturbing, suchchanges improved the work, making its message clearer, morebrilliant. So long as no detail of Beethoven's conception wasobscured or discarded the consummate grasp of orchestral balancecharacteristic of the modern composer-conductor could do the greatscore no harm. That was Mahler's conviction. In his rescoring ofSchumann'sRhenish Symphony his work of "retouching" fell on less hallowed ground and wasaccepted as law by the whole world of conductors. It is doubtfulwhether any major performance of Beethoven'sNinth to-dayexcludes entirely the suggestions advanced by Mahler in the directionof increased clarity.
The close of 1892 found the fame of Mahler, the composer, butslightly advanced. A second performance of hisFirst Symphony,again under his own direction, met with the warm approval of oneleading critic of Hamburg, Pfohl. Otherwise it aroused no interest.In Berlin two of his orchestral songs were given a prominent hearing.The second and third collections of hisSongs from Youth hadjust been printed and were helping to pave the way to intelligibilityfor those movements of his symphonies in whichWunderhornsongs formed an integral part of the content.
In 1893 Buelow, in a dying condition, resigned his leadership ofthe Hamburg symphony concerts and departed for the milder climate ofEgypt. He was automatically succeeded by Mahler who conducted theseries of eightBuelow Concerts in a style as masterly as itwas disconcerting to the ultra-classically inclined members of theorchestra. Of the complete sincerity of their opposition Mahler couldnot convince himself. To him they appeared not only stubborn andstupid, but even deplorably bad artists. His utter discouragement inthe face of their attitude is evident from the followingletter:--
"Believe me, our art-life nowadays has ceased to have anyattraction for me. Always and everywhere the same lying, cursed, anddishonest point-of-view! Supposing I went to Vienna, what sort ofreception would my conception of art get there? I would merely have to show the famous "Hans-trained"[Hans Richter, conductor of the Viennese PhilharmonicSociety.] Philharmonic my interpretation of a Beethovensymphony to meet with the most bitter opposition. Have I not had theexperience here in spite of the authoritative position assured me bythe unqualified recognition of Brahms and Buelow?
"What a storm of abuse I bring down upon myself whenever I attemptto step out of the beaten path to present some idea of my own! I haveonly one wish: to be permitted to work in a little town unhampered bystultified 'traditions' or guardians of 'the laws of eternalbeauty,'--to work among simple, sincere people and really to servemyself and the few who understand me. If possible, a place wherethere is no theatre, noRepertoire!"
Mahler spent four consecutive summer vacations (1893-6) on theshore of one of the most beautiful Austrian lakes, the Attersee. Herein a little hut, undisturbed except for the occasional clucking ofwandering poultry, he gave himself up for a few weeks to the creativework which his operatic obligations in the city made impossible forten months out of the year. TheSecond Symphony almost reachedcompletion in this ideal atmosphere during his first sojourn there.Only the last movement continued to baffle him; for the convincingconception of "resurrection" powerfully expressed in tone had not asyet come to him.
Buelow died in Egypt early the following year and Mahler was oneof the chief mourners when his colleague's remains arrived at Hamburgfor final interment. At the funeral services a choral setting ofKlopstock's odeResurrection was being rendered when it seemedto him that through its words of hope the spirit of Buelow wasaddressing him. Suddenly he knew that his symphony must close withhuman voices singing these words.
That year his work at the opera became doubly hateful to him. Thesecond conductor left and the director engaged nobody for thevacancy, thus placing a double burden on Mahler's shoulders. Hisstrict, healthy, routine life alone kept this superhuman task withinthe bounds of his unaided accomplishment. Retiring late he would riseat seven. While taking a hasty, cold bath he would ring impatientlyfor his breakfast, a cup of coffee, which he drank a few momentslater, completely dressed, smoking a cigarette between sips. He readno newspaper in the morning, preferring to start his day with poemsfrom theWunderhorn or some Goethe or Nietzsche. Then heworked hard at his own music until 10:30, this labor consistingmostly of the preparation of legible, final copies of symphoniccompositions feverishly set down the preceding summer. Then followeda brisk walk of three quarters of an hour to the opera house where hewas due at eleven for rehearsal. At 2:30, returning also on foot, hewould signal his approach from afar with the cheerful, whistledopening notes of Beethoven's Eighth Symphony, so that "Sister Justi"would have the soup ready on the table as he entered. During thishearty meal (he had a splendid appetite in those days) he wouldengage in what was to him the most fascinating of all his dailyoccupations--reading the mail. In these sealed messages he saw hisonly hope of release from the hated rut which Hamburg had grown to befor him. "Anywhere at all, only away from Hamburg," was his dailydream of longing and he would refer whimsically to a certain Spirit,who would some day send him the coveted release, as the "God of theSouthern Zones." Occasionally some operatic composer would accompanyhim home to dinner, but Mahler's financial limitationsmade it difficult for him to entertain guests as often as he wouldhave liked. Dinner over he would take a short nap, after which hewould hurry to the copyist, ever busy on some important workrequiring Mahler's personal supervision. Then came a long walk aboutthe quiet outskirts of Hamburg until six when he departed for theevening's performance. He would arrive home late at night, invariablyin bad humor, hissing, "The opera is an Augean stable which not evena Hercules could clean!"
Doubtless most prominent musicians of the Nineties wereunpleasantly surprised when Strauss put his stamp of approval uponMahler'sTitan Symphony, bringing about its performance at theWeimar festival in 1894. Perhaps the prestige of his name wassomewhat responsible for the reluctance of critics to engage in theruthless butchery of the work after the concert. Those who suspecteda prank on Strauss' part must have been convinced of their error whenhe became the first to take the field in behalf of the newlycompletedSecond Symphony of the scorned Hamburg conductor.His performance of three of the five movements of this long work inBerlin in 1895 served as a fitting prelude to the actual firstcomplete hearing under Mahler's own baton later in the same year.
A few days before this concert in Berlin Mahler found himself thecenter of an incredibly difficult artistic triangle. He hadsimultaneously to prepare the BeethovenNinth for theBuelow Concerts in Hamburg, to rehearse his own symphony in adistant city, and to conduct at the Hamburg opera every evening. Atthe close of the performance at the theatre he would hurry to thetrain and, after traveling all night, rehearse tillnoon in Berlin. Then hurrying back by train he would arrive at theHamburg opera just in time to give the signal for the openingnote.
So gigantic was the chorus that had volunteered for thisperformance of theNinth that the usual conductor's stand wasfar too low to furnish Mahler an adequate view of the entire musicalscene. Accordingly he ordered that a new, high platform beconstructed for the occasion, taking it for granted that the stagecarpenter would know exactly what was required. Mahler's complicatedduties at this time naturally made it impossible for him to attend tothe supervision of petty details and he had his first view of the newplatform only as he was hurrying to ascend it midst the thunders ofapplause a moment before the opening bars. To his dismay he saw thatthe stupid workman had built a perilously narrow structure literallya whole story high! To delay or retreat now would cause laughter andmar the triumphant occasion. Resolutely Mahler climbed to the summitof the structure. A first moment of dizziness--and then planting hisfeet so firmly into the planking that people nearby thought he wastrying to dig a sure footing in the wood, he raised the baton and thesymphony began. Eye-witnesses testify that he stood like a statueriveted to one spot from beginning to end, lifting his arms high tostave off any attempt at applause between the movements of the work.It was a most magnificent display of will-power, all the moreremarkable in view of Mahler's extremely nervous feet the involuntaryshifting and stamping motion of which was the heritage of a childhoodtendency to St. Vitus dance.
On the heels of this concert came the premiere of hisSecond Symphony in Berlin. The critics nowaware that a new young and revolutionary creative force was demandingrecognition acted in accordance with theBeckmesser traditionimmortalized by the still hale Hanslick. Already buffeted by manyyears of critical unkindness Mahler was steeled against theirdestructive attack and was more than satisfied with the obviousimpression his work had made upon the general listeners. Theirspontaneous reaction was, he believed, the only valid criticism of afirst performance--and it had been clearly favorable.
Strauss' continued championship of his cause found maliciousdetractors who insinuated that Mahler in reality regarded himself asa rival of the composer who had so generously befriended him. Thefollowing Mahler letter to a prominent critic shows this charge to bepreposterous:--
"I shall never cease to be grateful to Strauss who has somagnanimously given the impetus to public hearings of my works.Nobody should say that I regard myself as his rival (although I'msorry to say the stupid implication has often been made). Aside fromthe fact that my music should be looked upon as a monstrosity had notthe orchestral achievements of Strauss paved the way for it, I regardit as my greatest joy to have met with a companion fighter andcreative artist of his calibre among my contemporaries."
Mahler's explanation of the meaning of hisSecond Symphonyis limited to the merest noncommittal suggestion. It is in a manner adirect sequel to theTitan Symphony, the dead hero of which isduring the funereal opening movement carried to his grave. But thisDeath-celebration is not the objective one of the former workwhere all nature joins in the bitter, cacophonous laughter belittlingthe fate of a single insignificant bit of creation. The death musicis now subjective and out of its sombre depths rise theultimate human questions:
"Why have you lived? To what end have you suffered? Is it just agreat, terrible jest? We must somehow answer this to prove life worthwhile, and death life's most magnificent step towardsfulfilment."
The last movement, the musical exposition ofResurrectioninspired by the burial services of Buelow, is the final answer tothese questions. The intervening movements unfold the checkered taleof life in which the tenderness of universal love mystically sung issubjected to the cruel and irrepressible interruptions of bitterirony born of the darkest and perhaps most modern feature of Mahler'sthoughts--a desperate scepticism. Yet, just as in life, this doubtcannot be victorious, for the soothing promise of subtler, kinderpowers that will not be denied lurks constantly behind the yearningmelancholy of the music.
Just about this time the condition of the Imperial Opera House inVienna had become so discouraging owing to an alarming deficit, thatrumors began to spread throughout the musical world heralding theinstallation of a new regime in the immediate future. Mahler musthave been forewarned by his guardian "Spirit of the Southern Zones"that his reputation as financial stabilizer in declining opera-houseswould probably make him the favored candidate in this emergency. Atlast his life's fondest dream, of entering Vienna as musical marshal,might be realized, and far sooner than he had dared to hope! With hiscustomary thoroughness and energy he tackled the problem of turningdesired probability into happy reality. No helpful detail that wasnot in direct conflict with his artistic creed met withMahler's neglect. The mere suspicion that his lack of formalassociation with the church might be a hindrance (though he had neversuffered from anti-semitism) caused him to go through the ritual ofconversion to Catholicism. Thus if he were to meet with any obstacleit could not be that of creed. Certainly, in every other respect hefelt himself eminently qualified for the lofty position.
In the summer of 1896 he visited the aged and failing Brahms whosetremendous influence over musical Vienna he succeeded in enlisting.Although the famous composer shrank from even the mildest of Mahler'sorchestral creations, branding him as "the most incorrigiblerevolutionist," he had not forgotten that thrilling performance ofDon Juan in Budapest five years before. In the Austriancapital Guido Adler, the noted musicologist, did much to directofficial attention towards Mahler as the only logical candidate. Thenunforeseen, like the reward of "bread cast upon the waters," animportant member of the Viennese opera cast, who had more than adecade before sung under Mahler at his memorable concert debut, theCassel music Festival of 1885, now added her praise of his ability tothe already formidable weight of evidence in his favor. Early in 1897he received a secret summons to Vienna and at once handed in hisresignation to Director Pollini of Hamburg.
One of the most pleasant events of his last season in the northerncity was the publication of the orchestral score of hisSecondSymphony. His greatest worry had always been for the safety ofhis manuscripts, the only copies of his symphonic work in existence.Wherever he went, if only for a short vacation, a heavytrunk of manuscripts would have to go with him or if that wereimpossible some trusted friend would be delegated to stand guard overthe temporarily abandoned treasures. Often Mahler would complainbitterly of a condition that not only made him a baggage-slave, butalso made it impossible for him to take advantage of repeatedrequests for his music by conductors contemplating its performance.One day a merchant of Hamburg, a great admirer of Mahler, heard ofthis from a musician who made piano arrangements of modern symphoniesand at once offered to defray the major part of the expense ofprinting theSecond. At the same time Guido Adler set intomotion the machinery of influence which brought about the publicationin 1898 of theFirst and the recently completedThirdby theBohemian Institute for the Promotion of Art andScience. Mahler, approaching his thirty-seventh birthday, felt atlast that he was on the way to freedom from all material cares, thelast of these being totally obscured by the sudden blaze of sunshinefrom Vienna.
In March, 1897, Weingartner gave the newThird Symphony afractional premiere in Berlin playing three of the seven movements inwhich Mahler reveals his "happy philosophy." The chapters he chosefor the occasion were the "messages of the flowers, the animals, andof love." Mahler's report of the concert in a letter follows:--
"I engaged in two battles yesterday (the 'general rehearsal' andthe concert) and am sorry to be compelled to report that the enemywas victorious. There was much approval, but also just as muchopposition. Hissing and applause! Finally Weingartner called me and Itook a bow. That was the signal for the audience to become reallynoisy. The papers will tear me to pieces. Justi appearsto be deeply hurt by the 'failure' in Berlin. So far as I'mconcerned, the affair meant nothing--in fact, in a certain sense, I'mproud of the 'reception' I got. In ten years those 'gentlemen' and Imay meet again."
After a brief unpleasant concert engagement in Moscow, marred byhis inability to swallow Russian food and by a narrow escape fromtrain-wreck, he went to Vienna, the city of his dreams. There he wasreceived quietly but with the respect due one secretly invested withfull directorial powers over the Imperial Viennese Opera.
Almost ten years before this Mahler had entered the HungarianRoyal Opera as a sort of efficiency expert, his position proving forthe short period of his stay virtually that of artistic director. Atthe very first rumor that political intrigue was at work to nullifyhis authority he looked about him for some new field of activity,entering eagerly upon negotiations with Director Pollini of Hamburg,although the proferred position meant voluntary abandonment of aglory nominally far greater. In the northern city, with the meretitle of conductor, he had in the course of five years won therecognition generally accorded only the musical ruler of a city.Therefore, upon entering Vienna in 1897, there was no doubt in hismind that ability and energy, not titles, were the sole marks ofdistinction the music-loving public would respect.
At first the authorities who had called him were still somewhatanxious about the wisdom of their choice and announced his arrival atthe opera quietly, as though just another conductor had been added tothe rostrum. Jahn, the Director, an excellent musician but aneasy-going executive, knew that the newcomer was to be his successor,but with a characteristic pettiness almost pardonable in histemperamental profession, asked Mahler to accept the perilousDonGiovanni for his Viennese debut. But Mahler was too wise abatonist to fall into the trap of presenting a Mozart work which hehad not himself prepared and which instinct told himmust have fallen into a most deplorable rut in an institution solaxly directed for seventeen years. Until his open assumption ofleadership he would restrict himself to performances for which, witheven a single rehearsal, he could blaze the way to success by thesheer fire of his conducting.
The gratefully romanticLohengrin was his first offering.That performance still remains one of the most thrilling musicalreminiscences of those who happened to hear it. Never before had theyfelt this vivid score to be so pulsating with every attainable nuanceof tone and color. Students of the conservatory, reading the musicduring the performance, rubbed their eyes in wonder, for though theseold strains seemed to sound new there was clear evidence before themin black and white that Wagner had intended them to sound just asthey were now heard. Public and press joined heartily in theunstinted praise that welcomed the new conductor, Shortly after thiscame his first performance of theFlying Dutchman, and on thewave of universal approval that met his "regeneration of the Vienneseopera-chorus" Prince Liechtenstein, the power behind the institution,felt that the psychological moment had arrived for the openannouncement of Mahler's actual position. At first the city learnedthat he had been "promoted" to the post of assistant-director, butthe demoniac energy with which the newcomer suddenly began to turnthe old order inside out left no doubt in anyone's mind that anotherregime had been inaugurated at the Imperial Opera. Two months later,in August, this impression was officially confirmed and Mahlerpublicly named "artistic director."
The changes he made embraced every department in which he saw thepossibility for improvement. A born stage-director he had an unerringinstinct for the spirit behind the dramatist's intention. He also hada lightning-like grasp of the inadequacy of details that lent an airof sham to the general effect of a setting. One of the first reformshe gave his attention dealt with the exaggerated tendency of mostsingers towards unnecessary gesturing. He could not see (to give oneinstance of this) why in a world-famous opera-house the presence ofthe word "heart" in the text must be accompanied by an expressiveraising of the palm to the anatomical region described. Mahler wentto the very root of this evil, the conservatory, ordering thatoperatic students be taught their roles with their arms bound! At theopera he would often insist that the singers rehearse a certain partwithout any gestures whatsoever.
Of the ultimate virtues of his drastic method there remained noroom for doubt after several noted stars of the old order indignantlyleft to be replaced by comparatively unknown, Mahler-trained singersfrom Hamburg. One of these, Anna Mildenburg, though possessed of arather small voice, through the genuineness of her artistry was soonheralded as the greatest actress on the operatic stage.
Although the wooden "posing" of the singers had perhapscontributed more than any other vice toward the ruination ofperformances, Mahler found other evils the sham quality of which wasa definite hindrance to the success of the Viennese institution. At ageneral meeting of the cast he revealed a plan to do away with thatparasite of the opera, the shameful and expensive army of hiredapplause--the claque.
To prevent possible reprisals in the shape of hissing and othervengeful disturbances he proposed to have detectives scatteredthroughout the gallery ready to arrest any offender instantly. Thesingers gladly acceded to this measure which meant to them the savingof a considerable percentage of their salary. Then suddenly turningabout, he expressed great contempt for their far too frequentinstances of sudden indisposition which often compelled the directorto announce a change of schedule at the eleventh hour, and demandedthat they agree to the added responsibility of a "second-team"emergency casting for each performance. This demand was particularlycharacteristic of the idealist Mahler who unhesitatingly dashed hishead against an opposing wall in the effort to make his way beyondit.
Nevertheless he achieved a certain popularity among them andremembering the transitory nature of such goodwill wrote a friendconfidentially:
"What do you think of the pleasant breeze that is blowing here forme? About my being lovable? At this moment I have only three enemiesin Vienna, Jahn, Richter, and Fuchs.[The other conductors atthe opera.] Everybody else considers me very congenial. Brrr!How surprised they are going to be!"
His next reforming blow was directed at the audience, many of whomwould nonchalantly saunter into the hall at any time during the firsthour of the performance. One morning the Viennese papers announcedthat by order of the director no late-comers would be admitted untilthe finish of the first act unless a prescribed pause after theoverture permitted tardy entrance without disturbing the progress ofthe work being given. Fortunately for art the public isbasically just whenever it understands the principle involved in theproblem requiring its decision. This reform that strikes us as quitenatural to-day was really a startling innovation in the Nineties.There has perhaps never been more thankful ground for musical artthan Vienna, and, when its music-lovers perceived that the city hadbeen endowed with a daring and able reformer who had the courage ofhis convictions, they flocked to the opera with a loyalty andenthusiasm that they had not shown for many years. The financialcondition of the institution improved so noticeably that Mahlerreceived the personal congratulations of the Emperor and the Princewho both pronounced his rule a great success. Even after the pricesof seats at the opera were increased the surplus that remained boreeloquent witness of the popularity of the new director.
The opera orchestra, made up of the finest instrumentalperformers, also formed the bulk of that little autonomy of musicknown as the Viennese Philharmonic Society. The annual series ofconcerts this organization gave was regarded by musical Europe as theapex of executive perfection in the art and the pride with which itsmembers cherished this traditional glory was sufficient guaranteeagainst any inroads of carelessness and indifference on their part.But the cheapened standards of the opera-house, where during theseason preceding Mahler's arrival a dainty ballet (Bayer'sFairyDoll) had been the most often performed attraction, had made itimpossible for the musicians to regard their duties in the theatrewith the same earnestness as at the concerts where only the greatestsymphonic works were offered.
Mahler became aware of this amazing discrepancy the very eveninghe conducted his firstWalkuere in Vienna. At the rehearsal inthe morning he had expended much care and time over an importantpassage for the kettle-drums in the last act, the significance ofwhich had apparently never before been clear to the drummer. At theproper moment during the performance that evening, Mahler gave thenecessary signal confidently, but instead of the rehearsed volley ofsound only a feeble insignificant tapping greeted his expectant ear.Gazing angrily at the culprit, he saw to his amazement that adifferent drummer was now sitting in the orchestra. After the finalcurtain he demanded an explanation and learned that it had becomecustomary for musicians living in the suburbs to leave before theclose of the longer operas. Though it was already midnight hetelegraphed the first drummer to report to him early in themorning.
From this man he ascertained how hard was the lot of theopera-orchestra with its daily rehearsal and performance. ThoughMahler had always been of the opinion that the perfect opera and thedaily performance were hopelessly incompatible he could do nothing tochange that condition, but hearing how low was the pay of themusicians he succeeded at least in having this increased. Just as atBudapest, he ruled over the musicians with absolute tyranny, but themoment he put down the baton he would treat them as his equals,missing no opportunity to show them the kind heart beneath all thisnecessary despotism. Every sign of their devotion to art met with apersonal expression of appreciation from him. A particularly touchinginstance of this is recorded in one of his published letters. Theoccasion was a silent act of heroism on the part of thefirst clarinetist, who realized that he was absolutely indispensableat an important premiere then in preparation and kept reportingloyally at his post of duty all through a period saddened by themortal illness and subsequent death of his child.
"Dear Professor,
I learned at the rehearsal to-day of the misfortune that hasbefallen you and am most deeply grateful to you for the sacrifice youhave made in an hour of great suffering. Rest assured I understandhow much self-denial and courage it required to attend to duty atsuch a time. Please accept my deepest sympathy and most heartfeltgratitude, dear Mr. Bartolomey. I shall never forget this fine deedof yours.
Most sincerely,
Gustav Mahler."
Gradually the orchestra came to understand him, respondinginstinctively to every signal he gave. Often this was very difficult,for his manner of conducting, always accentuating the melodic line ofthe music rather than its superficial division into measures, made itseem as if the bar began on almost any other beat but the first.However, the superior virtues of his style were beyond question whenthe result was considered. The most significant portions of thescores had never been so emphatically stressed, while transitionalpassages suddenly sounded livelier and lighter. The Wagnermusic-dramas, now given for the first time in Vienna without "cuts,"proved half an hour shorter than their former, abbreviated versions.Yet they seemed to music-lovers never to have been sung sobroadly.
The phlegmatic, good-natured Wagnerian conductor Richter had beenloved by these musicians. A dynamic, tyrannous naturelike Mahler's rendered any such sentiment out of the question; butfor several seasons the admiring awe which he inspired more than madeup for the absence of real affection. During his very first season hewas offered the leadership of the Philharmonic concert-series, thegreatest musical honor Austria could bestow. Although compelled atthis time to conduct every evening at the opera, owing to thefrequent real or feigned illnesses of the other conductors, Mahlerhappily assumed this added burden. For three seasons he conducted thePhilharmonic, while audience and orchestra partook in mingled wonderand fear of the strange, almost illicit beauties and "blasphemies" ofhis readings of hallowed classics. The connection of such a"revolutionist" with this tradition-bound organization naturallyaroused bitter criticism among the more conservative element and hishonest but tactless open message explaining his Beethoven emendationsaroused general horror the force of which has not yet ceased tofunction at the mention of Mahler's name.
In 1899 the "Philharmonic" played hisSecond Symphony, butalthough the applause was so spontaneous that one movement(Urlicht) had to be repeated the critics proved no morefriendly than those of Berlin. The following season, on the occasionof the French World Centennial, the famous Viennese orchestra enteredupon a series of five concerts under Mahler at the Exposition inParis. It proved an expensive venture with a discouraging deficit andcast a heavy pall of gloom over the organization. This financialsetback was probably one of the leading reasons for Mahler'ssubsequent refusal to officiate over the group in anycapacity save that of guest-conductor.
His first few seasons in Vienna proved, all in all, as physicallyexacting as any he had undergone in previous years, but by 1901 thelong-delayed arrival of the modest and reluctant young Bruno Walterfurnished him with a highly gifted and devoted assistant who couldrelieve him of much of his work as conductor. Death and resignationhad by now cleared the opera list of all the batonists of the oldorder, and when Franz Schalk, ambitious and able scion of Bruckner,joined the new regime Mahler was enabled to confine his activitiesalmost exclusively to the preparation of premieres and thesupervision of matters of policy involving the artistic welfare ofthe institution.
Every day he would sit alert by the stage-telephone in thedarkness of the director's box watching some rehearsal. His excited,shrill tenor voice (it was normally a deep, friendly baritone) mightbe heard all morning sending forth that barrage of disapprovingcriticisms without which he felt the performance could not attainartistic perfection. IfDon Giovanni were in preparation hemight be heard shouting, "What sort of costume is Dippel (DonOttavio) wearing? He is the typical pall-bearer! No Spanishgrandee ever looked like that!" Or during the minuet in the secondact, with its little orchestra on the stage, "What does that violaplayer mean, appearing on the stage with pince-nez? If his sight isbad let him wear spectacles!" Then to Sister Justi, sitting besidehim, "If I let such nonsense go by they will soon be performingFidelio in monocles." Later at the graveyard scene, "Do youcall that a statue? It looks like paper, not stone.And the face is miserably painted." And to the quaking managerroughly, "Don't let it happen again."
The wounded vanity of some performers secretly favored by thecourt led Prince Liechtenstein to remonstrate with Mahler, warninghim against theSkandal his roughness had aroused. Mahleranswered, "When the standards of a great opera-house have declined tosuch a shameful depth as here tyranny is the only cure. Please don'tput any stock in these petty complaints, unless--I cause at least twoSkandals a week." He made full use of his privileges as "king"at the opera and later it became clear to all that his despotism wasthat of a fanatical idealist and not that of a mere bully glorying inhis power. For the time came when he stood discredited in the sightof the powers behind the institution and diplomacy may have provedadvantageous, but his tyrannous hand held firm.
The opera season over he would hurry to his own summer abode, nowon the shore of the beautiful Woerthersee, a lake frequented by morefashionable people than the scene of his previous vacations. He foundit more difficult each year to recapture the threads of the sketcheshe had been compelled to abandon because of the all too suddenarrival of another opera season. These spiritual hindrances, however,invariably disappeared after a few days of relaxation. In 1900 hefinished hisFourth Symphony, although theThird hadnot as yet been performed in its entirety. With this (for him) veryshort and ethereally scored work (there are no trombones in it) hebrought to a close the tetralogical cosmos of the human spirit whichhis first four symphonies are intended to suggest. Inthe space of four movements lasting only forty-five minutes Mahler'sFourth sings the joys of heavenly existence, supplementing thesuccessful wanderings of the hero in search of faith in theFirst, his death and resurrection in theSecond, andthe praise of universal love and the wonders of nature in theThird. Just as in the two symphonies preceding it, the humanvoice is here called upon to intensify the ecstasy of the musicsinging the praises of "life in heaven."
The opening of the fifth decade of Mahler's life proved from everypoint of view revolutionary. The year 1901 shows his symphonic laborssuddenly interrupted. The only musical products of that season arelyric, theFive Songs from Rueckert. There is one reason andthe same reason for both facts--a woman. Turning aside from along-confirmed celibacy he begins to court the charming youngstep-daughter of the artist Carl Moll. At the home of the musicallygifted and highly congenial Alma Maria Schindler (such is her name)he doffs his grey cloak of solitude and makes every effort to appearthe jolly, sociable companion. Alma, at first just fascinated by theattention of the famous director, in the course of a, few monthsknows that she loves him. At length he ventures to propose and sheagrees to become his wife.
The marriage took place in March, 1902. Before the close of theyear the new household consisted of three, a tiny girl, Maria Anna,having come to join it in November. During this period Mahlercomposed his immortal setting of Rueckert'sKindertotenlieder.When his little daughter died at the age of four, a victim of scarletfever, friends heard him say in great sorrow, "Underthe agony of fear that this was destined to occur I wrote theKindertotenlieder." Anna Justina, born two years after herunfortunate sister, survived to lessen the heavy weight of spiritualsuffering of her father's few remaining years. The death of littleMaria seems to have sounded the gloomy keynote of Mahler's tragicclosing years, years as poor in solace for him as they proved richfor the rest of mankind through the bounty of his martyredgenius.
Mahler's songs had by now attained supreme utterance in theKindertotenlieder. They were threatening to demolish thewavering border-line between orchestral song and symphony, a deedactually accomplished later inDas Lied von der Erde. Mahlerused to wonder why the superficial effusions of his imitators hadbecome popular while his ownWunderhorn songs were almostcompletely neglected by concert singers. Vienna's reception to itsgreat men of music had always presented puzzling features. Beethovenand Brahms, both foreigners, were the only ones at whose feet thecity had fallen. Mozart, Schubert, and Bruckner, true Austrians, hadmet with utter scorn and neglect the disgrace of which was neverwiped out by the storms of contrite tears shed over the modestepitaph facing a brand new "grave of honor." Mahler would saywistfully, "My time will yet come." When any singer of the operaasked permission to program some of his songs at a concert he refusedpoint blank rather than face the question whether the motiveprompting the request was personal or artistic.
The year 1902 began encouragingly, with none of his finishedsymphonic works unplayed. TheFourth, under his own baton, hadbeen given in Munich, Berlin and last, even in Vienna;theThird in all its sevenfold philosophic magnitude had comeinto its own, a first and successful hearing at Crefeld. In Vienna,however no Mahler symphony premiere took place during the composer'slife-time.
The composition of a new symphony, theFifth, finished inthe summer of 1902 in the peaceful surroundings of his pretty summervilla in Maiernigg on the Woerthersee proved a mysteriously bafflingprocess to Mahler. He realized that he had never before been socontented with life and its prospects. The increasing leisure grantedhim by the lessening burdens of the opera, most of the performancesbeing now in the hands of reliable subordinates--the happiness oflife with an understanding wife whom he loved--the promise of afamily of his own soon to be fulfilled--this beautiful summer villaof his dreams--and yet, somehow, he seemed unable to apply to thescoring of this new work the consummate technical equipment which theexperience of four huge symphonic labors had brought him. Again andagain he would return to the revision of this difficult score and itwas not until the last year of his life, 1911, that he couldwrite:
"TheFifth is finished. I have been compelled toreorchestrate it completely. I cannot understand how I could have atthat time (1902) written so much like a beginner. Clearly the routineI had acquired in the first four symphonies deserted me altogether,as if a totally new message demanded a new technique."
Mahler failed to realize that the spiritual metamorphosisresulting from his changed manner of life was so complete that theFifth was literally a "child of fancy" conceived during aperiod ofStorm and Stress and bore inevitably the marks of the inner struggle characterizing a transitionalwork. Yet curiously enough, in form, it marks (just as do Beethoven'sand Bruckner'sFifth) the high point of his symphonicachievement, being a work in the classically sanctioned fourmovements, anAdagietto (the shortest section in all hissymphonies) taking the place of the traditionalAndante orAdagio. Technically it presents the orchestral idiom of hisformer symphonies with its almost exclusively polyphonic methodintensified by even greater freedom of melodic fantasy, culminatingin that amazing display of contrapuntal artistry in theRondoFinale that has been described as a Triple Fugue. However, it wasnot until hisSixth, begun the following year and finished inthe summer of 1904, that the realism of this prodigally polyphonicscoring struck him with convincing force. This work, owing to itspersistent pessimism, being the only symphony of Mahler with a dark,unhappy ending, has been aptly called the "Tragic." In one way atleast it must be regarded, despite its comparative unpopularity evenamong Mahlerites, as its composer's most personal expression.Emotionally it answers the requirements of sincere poetry for itrecreates in a period of comparative calm the sufferings of twentyyears of Odyssean wandering. After a rehearsal preceding its premiereat Essen, 1906, one of his friends, shocked by the extreme bitternessthat swayed this work to its ultimate echo, asked Mahler, "How coulda man as kind-hearted as you have written a symphony so full ofsuffering?" "It is," replied Mahler, "the sum of all the suffering Ihave been compelled to endure at the hands of life."
For those who find comfort in grouping his symphonies "logically," since Mahler himself liked tolink theFifth,Sixth, andSeventh into atrilogy, the fact that theFifth opens with a grim, longtrumpet call in a minor key preceding a funeral march seemssufficiently significant to furnish a point of direct contact withthe first four symphonies. Only in this case the "program" suggestedis a shrinking back from the grave hitherto regarded by Mahler as thesymbol of the gate to eternal life. This funeral march has about itnothing of the terrifyingDeath-celebration of theSecond, nor the weirdness of theHunter's Burial in theFirst, for it sings almost with the serenity and sweetness ofa wistful lullaby. It sings the mystic ode of human fate, finalinterment, a concept of perfect peace from which the soul, lovinglife, recoils crying and gasping frantically for mortal existencedespite all its inevitable pain.
Then followed theScherzo, leaping with unprecedentedabandon into the dance of life, weaving the praises of its joys intoan almost inextricable polyphonic web of elation, paving the way forthe happy and masterlyRondo Finale. TheAdagietto isan interlude of yearning love between these two bright movements,almost giving the impression of interpolation, but deep beneath itsgraceful, amorous lines is that same haunting suggestion of sadnessso characteristic of Mahler.
TheSixth is, as has already been stated, autobiographical,and stands starkly realistic in sound and meaning between the "returnto earth" (of theFifth) and that eerie exquisiteSong ofthe Night, theSeventh, conjuring up secrets and mysteriesof goblin spirits far beyond the magic spell cast by the immortalScherzo of Mendelssohn'sMidsummer-night's Dream.
During these years Mahler applied to the proper launching of hissymphonies the leisure granted him by the firm status to which hisuntiring efforts had raised the Viennese Opera House. Because of theopen hostility of the Austrian capital towards his compositions heresponded gratefully to the offers of assistance he received fromforeign cities. In Willem Mengelberg, the musical mentor of Holland,he found a particularly devoted admirer. Mahler's scores would besent on to Amsterdam, thoroughly rehearsed by Mengelberg (Mahlerwould often demand as many as seven rehearsals for a symphony) and aday or two before the performance the composer would arrive to takepersonal charge of the preparations. These flying trips to Amsterdamwere a great joy to Mahler and his regard and friendship forMengelberg grew constantly. The gifted Hollander in turn was happy totake his place beside Bruno Walter, thus becoming the second officialMahler disciple. In 1903 Amsterdam heard with enthusiasm theFirst andThird, in 1904 theSecond andFourth, the latter symphony being actually presented twice insuccession on the very same program! Mengelberg's faith in Mahlerseems today, a whole generation since, stronger than ever. The worldwitnessed a most magnificent testimonial of his pledge of life-longservice in the cause of Mahler's art at Amsterdam in May, 1920, whenhe performed a complete cycle of the departed master's orchestralworks at theFirst Mahler Festival. The concerts were attendedby a host of the most distinguished representatives of the wholeworld of music. That the occasion, following so close upon the heelsof the World War, impressed the listeners as more than a mere musicfestival, rather as an event symbolic of the universallove which Mahler so often sang, is eloquently suggested by one ofthe leading reviewers:
"The last echoes have died away, bringing to a close the mostgigantic and overwhelming group of festivities ever given in honor ofa musician. What is left? Tablets and monuments, and 'MengelbergStraat' and 'Mengelberg Plein,' newly named by the cities ofAmsterdam and Utrecht in honor of its great musician, and anineradicable memory in the hearts of thousands of the most beautifulfestival of music they have ever experienced.
"Not more? Yes, much more. For this has been more than a musicfestival. It has been a peace conference--the most genuine peaceconference that has been held since the world went to war six yearsago. And above everything--we shall remember to the end of our days:that here for the first time Frenchmen and Germans, Italians andAustrians, Englishmen, Americans, Belgians, Hungarians have stoodtogether in the common worship of a genius--of 'enemy nationality' tomost of them---on neutral and hospitable soil."
Before this crowning festival Mengelberg had conducted 229performances of Mahler's orchestral works all over the world, theFourth leading in frequency, with a record of 42, and thedreadedTragic (Sixth) trailing with only fivehearings.
In October, 1906, not long after the coldly received premiere oftheSixth at Essen, Mahler wrote Mengelberg:
"MySixth appears to be too hard a nut for the tenderlittle teeth of our critics of to-day. Just the same it manages topush its way through the concert-halls. I'm looking forward happilyto its performance in Amsterdam. Shall I bring the cowbells with mefrom Vienna?"
These cow-bells, a set especially constructed to symbolize adistant parting greeting from the valley of life to the wandererascending to the peaceful solitude of ethereal heights, accompaniedMahler to all the performances of theSixth.Besides, he was often tempted to take his trusted first-horn playerwith him to assure the transcendentally difficult passages he hadallotted that instrument an adequate performance.
Life had given Mahler scant opportunity for contact with creativeartists outside the world of music. One of his dearest friends,Siegfried Lipiner, was a fine poet who wrote austere dramas in thegrand manner, and steeped himself in those deep, gloomy problems ofthe human soul that were always a great fascination to Mahler. Theviews of this poet on death and the hereafter were of particularinterest to Mahler ever since a very serious illness during his earlyViennese directorship had brought him face-to-face with the prospectof death. That frequent contemplation of such a nature exerted asombre influence over his symphonies there can be no doubt; yet inthe light of his natural inclination towards the melancholy and theweird this influence cannot be regarded as detrimental anddisturbing, but only as supplementary and intensifying. For Lipiner'spoetry Mahler had a great love and respect perhaps corroborated bythe verdict of no other reader, but here, as well as in music, hecared nothing for the critical voice of tradition and weighedeverything on the genuine, if not always accurate, scales of his ownintuition.
At the home of his father-in-law, Carl Moll, he listened withsupreme interest to the enthusiastic discussions of a group of youngpainters and sculptors and was delighted with the realization thatthey represented in their field the same revolt against shamtradition as he in music. One of these, Alfred Roller, had someamazingly fine plans for promoting the unity of light, color, andtone on the operatic stage. To Mahler, busy at thetime with plans for a new staging ofTristan, the suggestionsof Roller came like a revelation. The "director" suddenly had visionsof a great future for the music-drama, with a brilliancy recallingWagner's own dreams of a perfect unity of the arts. At once Rollerwas appointed by Mahler to collaborate with him in the preparation ofa series of totally new presentations of operatic masterpieces.
A newTristan was the first fruit of their combined genius.Of the music as conducted by Mahler, who had perhaps never beforebeen surrounded with such inspiring incentives, (for his "idealperformance" was at last becoming a fact) it is unnecessary to speak.The greatest tragedienne of the German operatic stage, Mildenburg,sang the role of Isolde with an emotional eloquence that surpassedeven her own former superb renditions of the part. But thecontribution of Roller lay in the wonders of tragic portent, passion,and suffering he had lived into the settings. The very soul of theruling emotions of each portion of the music-drama was reflected inthe subtle shades of color in which the scene was painted and therewas an adapting magic in the changing character of the light thatimpressed the passionate message of the music more deeply and swiftlythan ever before upon the hearts of the audience.
Fidelio andDon Giovanni, a Beethoven and Mozartcompletely regenerated, followedTristan. Every musical detailof these works was exploited by Mahler for its inmost psychologicalsignificance and the resulting performance, once more set into theliving framework of light and color created by the gifted Roller,proved so vivid and convincing that the music-lovers, lost in wonder,almost believed they had been attending the premieresof works born in their own day. However, only a few felt the realsignificance of this collaboration of Mahler and Roller. To such (andReinhardt was among these) it meant the beginning of a great epoch inthe history of the stage of an importance commanding respect besideeven the mighty contribution of Wagner.
Unfortunately, these productions were expensive and while theywere the delight of the art-loving Viennese they were the source ofdissatisfaction among the powers behind the "opera," who would havemuch preferred saving the money involved. Mahler's repeated demandsthat he be permitted a grand new setting for theRing met withflat refusal for several seasons and it was only in the last monthspreceding his resignation in 1907 that a reluctant consent wasgranted. However, by then the "eleventh hour" of Mahler's decade ofauthority had arrived and he had once more come to feel how hopelesswas his dream of an ideal operatic stage. Forty-seven years old, helonged more than ever for a complete separation from the theatricalduties which had become utterly hateful to him. His position inVienna was now being seriously threatened and, uncertain what thefuture held in store for him, he determined nevertheless to accept nofurther directorial offer from any institution.
The arraignment of Mahler by those determined to oust him includedthe preposterous charge that he was undermining sacred principles ofart; but skin-deep beneath the surface of all the accusations lay thetrue cause of his "downfall," known to most as the bitter personalenmity of those who nursed private grievances against him. Atyrannous strictness and fanatic devotion to the principles of arthad made it possible for Mahler to raise the VienneseOpera to a position of supreme importance. The very same qualitiesaccounted for his forced departure from that institution.
Many invisible paths led from the theatre to the "high places" ofthe Austrian court. The Emperor's "special friend" was an actress.The opera ballet hung by the most delicate of morganatic threads tomany a left-hand of the highest nobility, old as well as young. TheEmperor played his favorite game of cards every week at the house ofa certain woman, who was, in turn, a great friend of a tenor whomMahler had pensioned off in accordance with a conviction that old ageand the operatic stage were incompatible. Mahler was unpleasantlysurprised one day to receive word from Francis Joseph that the singermust be reinstated. Instead of obeying the implied order he handed inhis resignation.
It is unnecessary to quote in full his noble, touching letter offarewell to the members of the "opera." He expressed great sorrowthat "instead of the perfect accomplishment of his dreams he had leftonly incomplete fragments, as man was fated to do." The following dayruthless, hostile hands tore the message from the walls of the"opera" and destroyed it. But ten years of inspired regime hadimpressed the memory of Mahler unforgettably upon the opera-house andthe music-lover. Today, a quarter of a century since, Rodin'smagnificent bust of the "Director" stands at last in the opera foyer,but an unusually fine performance in the hall itself, where thegreatest dramatic music burst into vivid life under his baton,elicits this tribute from the elderly Viennese music-lover, "Yes, itwas fine; but it was a mere reflection of the brilliancy that wasMahler."
In August, 1906, with hisSeventh still unperformed Mahlerfinished hisEighth, known because of the number of singersits choruses require, as the "Symphony of a Thousand." Concerning ithe wrote enthusiastically to Mengelberg:--
"I have just finished myEighth! It is the greatest thing Ihave as yet done. And so individual in content and form that I cannotdescribe it in words. Imagine that the whole universe begins to soundin tone. The result is not merely human voices singing, but a visionof planets and suns coursing about."
The following summer occurred the sad event which hisKindertotenlieder had anticipated, the death of his littledaughter. Three months later, on October 15, 1907, he conducted forthe last time at the Viennese Opera House. That his resignation hadalready been tendered and accepted no one in the audience at thatmemorable lastFidelio dreamed.
Mahler's friends, particularly Guido Adler, were soon horrified tohear that he had determined to set out once more, but now in searchof fortune. He would leave Austria, Europe, in one last attempt towin success, gold, a worldly victory. He was no longer in robusthealth, an ever recurring angina having made sad inroads upon hisvitality. Three years more, and he would be fifty, just the rightage, thought he, for one to retire from the exacting duties of aconductor and devote oneself to the peaceful uninterrupted creationof music and the cultivation of a few chosen friends. With theresponsibility of a family, accustomed as he hadbecome to a life of comparative luxury, he must look to some sourceother than the meager annuity granted him by the government that casthim out. To regard as purely material the motives that induced Mahlerto accept the offer of Manager Conried of the Metropolitan OperaHouse is unjust, for the letter of explanation he sent Adler in 1910from New York certainly reflects no discredit upon him:
"I must have some practical outlet for my musical abilities tobalance the tremendous inner experiences of creative work; and theleadership of a concert-orchestra was exactly what I've always longedfor. I am glad that this has been granted me for once in my life. Whyhas Germany or Austria made me no such offer? Am I to blame if Viennahas cast me out? Besides, I am used to certain comforts and luxurieswhich my pension (the sole reward of almost thirty years of labor asconductor) could not have provided me. Therefore, it was a welcomeopportunity which America offered me--not only a suitable positionfor my inclinations and abilities, but also a salary so generous thatit will soon be possible for me to spend the remaining years of mylife in the manner held decent by my fellow-men."
By that time Mahler had learned to look with great favor upon theNew World, the musical backwardness of which made most distinguishedEuropean musicians of those days resort to scornful expression. Hehad refused to take over from Conried the perplexed steering wheel ofthe Metropolitan Opera House, and yet he had thrown himself body andsoul into the regeneration of the New York Philharmonic Society'sorchestra. Fate alone is to blame for the tragic outcome when a heavytraveling schedule of concerts proved too severe for his shatteredvitality. The plans he had made after his first taste of Americanlife were clearly full of hope and cheer. To Mengelberg, early in1908, he wrote:
"I shall spend the next years here in America. I am thoroughlydelighted with the country, even though the artistic achievement atthe 'Metropolitan' is a very moderate one. But if I were young andstill had the energy which I gave unstintingiy to Vienna for tenyears, perhaps it would be possible to create here the conditionwhich appeared to us at home an unattainable ideal--the exclusion ofevery commercial consideration from matters pertaining to art--forthose in authority here are honest and their resourcesunlimited."
That summer he returned to Austria, ill and exhausted, to learnfrom a frank physician that unless he at once abandoned his life offeverish activity for one of complete relaxation his weakened heartmust give way. The force of this ominous revelation was crushing tohis spirit and sitting hopeless by the table in his little vacationwork-hut at Toblach, Austria, he turned for comfort to Bruno Walter,his dearest friend, the man who, as he said, understood him as noother.
"I have tried to come to myself here. Now I have been forced tochange not only my abode (Mahler could not be induced to return tohis summer home at Maiernigg where his little daughter had died) butalso my mode of life. This last, you may well imagine, will be hardfor me to do. I have accustomed myself for many years to steady,energetic activity--to wander about in the mountains and woods andcarry away with me, like captured booty, the sketches I had made bythe way. I went to my desk only as the farmer to the barn--to preparewhat I had already gathered. Spiritual indisposition was a mere cloudto be dispelled by a brisk march up the mountain-side. And now theytell me I must avoid every exertion. I must take stock of mycondition constantly--walk but little. At the same time in thissolitude my thoughts naturally become more subjective, and thesadness of my condition seems intensified. Perhaps I view things intoo dark a light--but I feel, here in the country, worse than I didin the city where the various diversions helped me to forget the sadtruth. And this is such a glorious place! If only once in my lifesuch surroundings could have been mine after thecompletion of a work! For that is, as you well know, the only timewhen one is capable of carefree enjoyment. At the same time I havenoticed something strange. I can do nothing but work; all else I haveunlearned in the course of years. I feel like a drug-fiend suddenlydeprived of his necessary poison. I am sorely in need of the onlyhope still left me--patience."
It is no wonder that the symphony he composed in this state ofmelancholy resignation was one in which he resorted to the humanvoice throughout, placing upon the lips of the singers those exoticold Chinese verses of desperately repressed suffering the world hascome to know as Mahler'sDas Lied von der Erde. That he didnot call this workNinth Symphony (for symphony it is, despiteits apparent song-cycle character) is perhaps the result of the naivesuperstition lent ominous significance by the fact that bothBeethoven and Bruckner had died after writing theirNinth.Although Mahler did finish another symphony afterwards, theFarewell song closingDas Lied von der Erde has beenalmost universally regarded as his own farewell to the world. Butthose who have also heard his rarely givenNinth know that ittakes up the burden of the soul at the very point of despair where ithas been abandoned byDas Lied von der Erde. Then, after anopening movement conceived in the same orchestral phraseology, itreturns with unprecedented jollity to the dance of life andculminates in a slow, stately song of optimism, spreading a messageof faith as lofty and moving as that of Bruckner's last adagio.
Mahler did not live to hear either of these two symphonies. Thepremieres of both of them fell (appropriately) to the lot of thegreat musician to whom Mahler confided his inmost worries during theperiod of their composition. Bruno Walter performedDas Lied von der Erde in Munich in 1911, a few months afterMahler's death, with such overwhelming effect that it was at oncehailed as a masterpiece, worthy, because of the individuality andperfection of its art, of a place of honor beside theSymphony ofa Thousand. TheNinth was given its first hearing atVienna, in 1912, also under Walter's baton, but proved somewhatdisappointing to the critics, who though at last conceding Mahler'ssignificance claimed that this work was the uneven product of afailing master. However, the ensuing reluctance of conductors toprogram this final symphony was a ban which could not last. It iscurious that Doctor Koussevitzky of the Boston Symphony has mostrecently displayed a tremendous interest in just this neglected work.The welcome reception which the music-lovers of Boston and New Yorkhave given his repeated readings of it clearly suggests thepossibility that it has been underrated by those who heard it twentyyears ago. Perhaps, after all, America is the land of musicalpromise. Prophetic behind these recurring performances of Mahler in"unmusical" America stands his oft-repeated, patient assurance todoubting European friends after many a discouraging premiere, "MeineZeit wird noch kommen."["My time will yet come."]
There remains only to speak of theEighth, the symphonywhose colossal features Mahler had suggested briefly in a letter toMengelberg in 1906. For four years he withheld this most gigantic ofall symphonic scores from an increasingly curious world of musicians.Not until 1910 did he finally yield to the unceasingprayers of his concert representative Gutmann that he agree to itspremiere. He selected Munich as the proper scene for the great event.Months before the date of the performance long series of choralrehearsals had already been entered upon. Mahler in distant America,ascertaining by letter some of the almost insuperable difficultiesattending the preparation of the work, wrote frantically to Gutmannthat the project was impossible of success and must be abandoned. ButGutmann persisted indomitably and at length the composer was informedthat the rehearsals were ready for his final, formative touches.Incredulous he traveled to Munich, only to convince himself that hehad been unjust in describing Gutmann's sensational plans as a"Barnum and Bailey" affair.
The much heralded performance, which took place September 12,1910, Mahler himself conducting, was the greatest and perhaps theonly unqualified triumph of his life. In the overwhelmingdemonstration of joy (for theSymphony of a Thousand has beencalled "the true ode to joy") that followed the last note the wholeworld of music, eminently represented upon that significant occasion,joined. Mahler, his pale, pain-lined, ascetic features transfiguredwith happiness by so unparalleled a tribute to his accomplishment,stood motionless on the huge stage while that solitary great storm ofenthusiastic applause of his life kept raging. The face of more thanone music-lover, to whom the work with its sweeping union ofChristian mysticism and pagan pantheism had come as a herald ofuniversal love and faith, must have blanched at the irrepressible andshocking realization that this frail being with the most titanic soul of all was already marked for mortaldissolution.
[To Leopold Stokowski goes the honor of having brought theSymphony of a Thousand to America. In March, 1916, he gave thework nine successive performances in Philadelphia and New York beforetremendous audiences. In answer to a recent inquiry concerning thoseconcerts he wrote: "When we played Mahler'sEighth Symphony itmade an impression on the public unlike anything else I have everexperienced. There seems to be a human quality in this work which sodeeply moved the public that the greater part of the listeners werein tears at the end of the performance. This happened at all of thenine performances we gave; so it was not due to an accidentalcondition on one particular date."]
The winter of 1910 found the composer once more in America. Thiswas his third season of voluntary exile. His health, now completelyundermined by repeated attacks of angina, ever more startling, ledhim to make apologies not only to his friends but at last even tohimself for having undertaken a heavy schedule of sixty-five concertswith the New York Philharmonic. His message to an anxious Viennesefriend at this time was:--
"I see with satisfaction the distance I still have to traversehere growing ever less, and, if God is willing, I hope in about ayear to attain a respectable material status, which will permit me tobe somewhere at home, to live and work--a home, I hope, so near myfew friends that I may be with them from time to time."
The forlorn hope was at once stamped out by the cruel, almostscurrilous sneer of that inexorable power he had worshipped as theonly true deity, Nature--a terrible sneer that burst upon his dreamswith even more jarring effect than any disturbing accent of a mutedtrumpet upon the sweetest of his symphonic measures. On February 21,after conducting his forty-seventh concert of the season, hecollapsed utterly. His condition was immediately diagnosed ashopeless.
In vain he journeyed to Paris for serum treatments. The wisest specialists shook their heads sadly. Thenrealizing that the end was inevitable he went on home "to die in hisbeloved Wien." At eleven o'clock on the evening of May 18, 1911, hepassed away. He was, in accordance with his wishes, buried in thenon-sectarian cemetery of Grinzing, a Viennese suburb. He had leftspecific instructions that not a word be said nor a note sung at theburial. Contrite multitudes of Viennese stood bareheaded in theteeming rain as the coffin was lowered. And as they turned awayheavy-hearted a rainbow appeared to intensify an almost penalsilence. On the following day Francis Joseph pompously decreed thattheSymphony of a Thousand be performed in honor of the greatdeparted Austrian composer and light-hearted Vienna felt it mightonce more resume the smile a sombre moment had interrupted.
Gustav Mahler Briefe, Vienna, 1924, Paul ZsolnayVerlag.
Adler, Guido:Gustav Mahler, Vienna, 1916.
Bauer-Lechner, Natalie:Erinnerungen an Gustav Mahler,Vienna, 1923.
Bekker, Paul:Gustav Mahlers Sinfonien, Berlin, 1921.
Mengelberg, C. Rudolf:Das Mahler Fest, Vienna, 1920.
Neisser, Arthur:Gustav Mahler, Leipzig, 1918.
Roller, Alfred:Die Bildnisse von Gustav Mahler, Vienna,1922.
Specht, Richard:Gustav Mahler, Stuttgart, 1925.
Stefan, Paul:Gustav Mahler, Muenchen, 1920.
Stefan, Paul:Gustav Mahlers Erbe, Vienna.
I. New York, December 16, 1909 (Mahler)
II. New York, 1908 (Mahler); Boston, Jan. 22, 1918 (Muck)
III. New York, Feb. 8, 1922 (Mengelberg)
IV. New York, 1904 (Damrosch); New York, January 17, 1911(Mahler)
V. Cincinnati, 1905 (Stucken); Boston, February 2, 1906(Gericke)
VII. Chicago, April 15, 1921 (Stock)
VIII. Philadelphia, March 2, 1916 (Stokowski)
IX. Boston, October 16, 1931 (Koussevitsky)
Das Lied von der Erde--New York, Season 1921-1922 (Friends ofMusic, Bodanzky)
Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen--Boston, February 5, 1915 (PaulDraper)
At the opening of the musical season of 1932-1933 the SixthSymphony, the two movements of the Tenth Symphony prepared by ErnstKrenek, and Das klagende Lied are the only major works of Mahlerstill unperformed in America.
1860--Born, July 7, in Kalischt, Bohemia; removed to Iglau,December of same year.
1866--First piano lessons.
1875--Attended Viennese conservatory (until 1878)
1877--Attended University of Vienna (until 1879); friendship withBruckner begun.
1878--Mahler's piano arrangement of Bruckner's III (Wagner)Symphony published.
1880--First engagement (summer) at Hall, Upper Austria.Dasklagende Lied finished; revised, 1898; published 1899; firstperformance, Vienna, 1901.
1881-2--Conductor at Laibach.
1882-3--Conductor at Olmuetz.
1883--HeardParsifal at Bayreuth.
1884--ComposedLieder eines fahrenden Gesellen; published1897. Conductor at Kassel (until 1885).
1885--Conductor at summer music festival, Kassel.Lieder undGesaenge aus der Jugendzeit, first part, published. Conductor atPrague.
1886--Conductor at Leipzig (until 1888).
1887--Finished Weber'sDrei Pintos; premiere, Leipzig,1888.
1888--Director of Royal Opera at Budapest (until 1891.) Finished ISymphony; first performance, Budapest, Nov. 20, 1889; published1898.
1891--Conductor at Hamburg Opera House (until 1897).
1892--Conductor of German opera troupe in London.Lieder undGesaenge aus der Jugendzeit, parts II and III published.
1894--Finished II Symphony; first performance, Berlin, 1895.
1896--Finished III Symphony; first performance (2 movements)Berlin 1896; the whole work, Krefeld, 1902; published 1898.
1897--Conductor at Imperial Opera, Vienna, May. Director atImperial Opera, Vienna, July. Artistic Director at Imperial Opera,Vienna, October (until 1907).
1900--Finished IV Symphony; first performance, Munich, 1902;published 1901.
1902--FinishedKindertotenlieder; first performance,Vienna, 1905; published 1905;Five Songs from Rueckert;published 1905; Finished V Symphony; first performance, Cologne,1904; published, 1905. Married Alma Maria Schindler, March 10;children, Maria Anna, 1902-7, and Anna Justina, 1904.
1904--Finished VI Symphony; first performance, Essen, 1906;published 1905.
1905--Finished VII Symphony; first performance, Prague, 1908;published 1908.
1906-7--VIII Symphony, first performance, Munich, Sept. 12th,1910; published 1910.
1907--Conductor of operas and concerts in New York (MetropolitanOpera House).
1908--FinishedDas Lied von der Erde; first performance,Munich, November 1911 (Walter). Second season in New York; thePhilharmonic Society.
1909--Finished IX Symphony; first performance, June 1912, Vienna;published 1912; X Symphony (Unfinished); two movements performed atPrague, 1924.
1910--Third season as conductor in America.
1911--Death, May 18, Vienna; burial in cemetery at Grinzing(Vienna).
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