(“Symphony of a Thousand”)
Here is a choral symphony that fully deserves its name! In Beethoven's Ninth, like in Mahler's own Second and Third, the chorus only sings in a single movement. In Mahler's Eighth, on the other hand, the chorus is present from the first minute to the last.
It was, interestingly, not planned that way from the start. When Mahler arrived at his country home on Lake Wörth in June 1906, he had, at first, no specific compositional plans at all. One day, however (as he later described the incident to his wife), “at the threshold of my old workshop, the Spiritus Creator took hold of me and shook me and drove me on for the next eight weeks until my greatest work was done.”
The Spiritus Creator that took hold of Mahler was none other than the medieval Latin hymn “Veni Creator Spiritus,” traditionally sung in the Roman Catholic liturgy on the feast of Pentecost. Mahler's original intention, as far as it can be reconstructed from the sketches, was to use the hymn within the usual four-movement symphony structure. According to Donald Mitchell, who has made an extensive study of the sketches, the work was to consist of choral first and last movements, a purely instrumental slow movement that Mahler planned to call “Caritas,” and a third-movement scherzo (“Christmas Games with the Christ Child”) for orchestra with two solo songs as trios. For the texts of these songs, Mahler thought of again using Des Knaben Wunderhorn (“The Youth's Magic Horn”), the collection of folk poetry that had inspired him so often during the earlier part of his career. The genesis of the piece took an unexpected turn, however, when Mahler decided that the symphony should have only two movements, the second being a monumental musical setting of the last scene from Goethe's Faust, Part II.
In Mahler's concept, “Veni, creator spiritus” is a prayer for an elevation of the spirit that subsequently becomes reality in the final scene from Faust. The ideas of heavenly love, grace, and a striving for higher spheres pervade both parts of the symphony. The answer to Part I, essentially an invocation, comes in Part II, in which the blessed state is reached. After a number of successive stages that take us from the uncertainties of a deep forest ravine, with its cliffs, caves, and lions, to the exalted realms at the end, the Mother of Christ appears in person and salvation is announced.
Of course, it is somewhat simplistic to call Part I an “invocation” and nothing else. The setting of “Veni, creator” goes through an inner evolution of its own. Mahler's response to the medieval words is nowhere less than ecstatic, and the music is full of dramatic contrasts. After the grandiose opening, the reference to the gifts of God (“Fons vivus, ignis, caritas”) is reflected by a lyrical secondary idea of an Italianate stamp (for a moment, one is reminded of Verdi's Requiem) where the double chorus is replaced by an ensemble of solo voices. At the mention of the enemy (“Hostem repellas longius”), the music grows into a true battle-scene. And at the words %u201CAccende lumen sensibus” Mahler fashioned a tremendous climax by introducing an important new theme in fortissimo. Throughout the movement, Mahler displays a level of contrapuntal virtuosity that surpasses even what we saw in the Fifth Symphony.
Despite the numerous dramatic events taking place, Part I remains a hymn: a sacred song in multiple strophes that are all equal in length and meter and essentially similar in importance. Part II, on the other hand, consists of segments that vary widely in meter and structure, introduces a multitude of dramatis personae, and exhibits a diversity and evolutionary dynamism wholly absent from Part I. If Part I is in essence a monumental motet, Part II is definitely operatic in conception. It was as close as the director of the Vienna Opera ever came to writing an opera himself.
In comparison with the rest of the symphony, the orchestral introduction (“Poco adagio”) and the following chorus in Part II are unique in their style and emotional content. Rather atypically for Mahler, the Eighth is characterized by unadulterated optimism and jubilation. The opening of Part II constitutes the symphony's only moment of doubt. The muted tremolos and broken melodic lines create an atmosphere of suspense, dispelled by the two consecutive arias of the Pater Ecstaticus (baritone) and the Pater Profundus (bass).
The two male solos prepare the angels' chorus proclaiming Faust's salvation. The chorus begins with the climactic theme from Part I at “Accende,” and culminates with a fanfare-like motif as the “younger angels” sing “Jauchzet auf! es ist gelungen” (“Rejoice! It is fulfilled”), marking the movement's first emotional high point.
Faust himself never speaks in the scene, nor is his name explicitly mentioned. Having completed the part of his journey of which he had control, Faust is now silently awaiting his judgment by the divine powers. Yet before the final word is spoken, we hear the pleas of souls who have themselves suffered, sinned, and been redeemed. The tempo slows down and the music quotes the “Infirma nostri corporis” passage from Part I, as the older, “more perfect” angels sing of feelings of pain and imperfection. Consolation comes from the younger angels and Doctor Marianus (tenor). An expressive violin solo in a very slow tempo, with tenor solo and male voices from the chorus all singing pianissimo, announces the appearance of the Mater gloriosa, whose actual entrance is marked by a powerful arpeggio in the harps and piano.
The penitent women now step forward. Three other women whose stories are known from the Bible sing their strophes, first in alternate solos and then in a trio with a hushed and canonic first half and a strong unison ending. The impassioned plea of “One Penitent” (formerly, Gretchen) at one point recalls the verse “Imple superna gratia” (“Fill them with grace”) from Part I.
The Virgin herself has only two lines to sing, but these are of central importance (Donald Mitchell calls them a coup de théâtre). In a very delicately orchestrated and soft passage, she calls on the Penitent and the Newly-Arrived (Faust) to move on to the highest spheres. An exultant choral hymn ensues, whose climax marks the second emotional high point in the movement. After a slow transition, we reach the final “Chorus mysticus,” a setting of eight of the most celebrated lines in German literature.
Harps, piano and celesta dominate the orchestral texture of this passage, in the midst of which the chorus enters, almost imperceptibly at first. Starting out in a near-recitative sung wie ein Hauch (“like a whisper”), the chorus is gradually joined by more and more soloists and orchestral instruments. The music soon reaches triple forte, and this third and last climax concludes the gigantic symphony.
***
“I have just finished my Eighth,” Mahler wrote to the famous Dutch conductor Willem Mengelberg in August 1906. “It is the grandest thing I have done yet – and so peculiar in content and form that it is really impossible to write anything about it. Try to imagine the whole universe beginning to ring and resound. These are no longer human voices, but planets and suns revolving. – More when I see you.”
Four years passed between the writing of these lines and the symphony's premiere. The enormous performing forces and the extraordinary demands placed on the chorus in particular made a performance an extremely difficult undertaking, and it took a great deal of courage on the part of impresario Emil Gutmann to produce the work in Munich in 1910. In an effort to promote the symphony, Gutmann came up with the nickname “Symphony of a Thousand” by which the symphony has been known ever since. This was in itself an accurate label since the performance involved 858 singers and 171 instrumentalists, which adds up to 1,030, if we count the conductor, Mahler himself. Mahler, however, was annoyed by the moniker; he said it made him think of a Barnum and Bailey show.
Mahler and Gutmann had more substantial disagreements during the months preceding the premiere. In February 1910 – seven months before the scheduled premiere – the composer urged the impresario to cancel the performance because “I think it impossible for the choirs to be ready in time!” Then, less than a week before the great day, Mahler created a scandal by refusing to work with the Munich concertmaster and demanding that his friend and brother-in-law Arnold Rosé be brought in from Vienna to fill the post.
In the end, the performance, attended by many of Europe's leading musicians, writers, and politicians, turned out to be the greatest triumph Mahler ever knew as a composer. Tragically, it was also the last time Mahler was able to conduct the premiere of one of his works; he died eight months later, without having had a chance to perform Das Lied von der Erde or the Ninth Symphony.