Sunday 10 June 2012 - London Symphony Orchestra

Franz Schubert (1797–1828)
Symphony No 9 in C major (‘The Great’) D944 (1825, rev 1826)
1 Andante – Allegro ma non troppo
2 Andante con moto
3 Scherzo: Allegro vivace
4 Finale: Allegro vivace
It is not clear when people first began referring to Schubert’s last
completed symphony as the ‘Great C major’. Apparently the tag was
first applied to differentiate it from the ‘little’ C major symphony,
known as ‘No 6’, which Schubert wrote in 1817–18. But the nickname
is well deserved: apart from Mozart’s ‘Jupiter’ it is the great Symphony
in C. Not only is it conceived on a huge scale, its sophistication and
formal mastery are as impressive as its vitality, imaginative range and
the infectious memorability of its main themes.
That mastery is all the more impressive when one considers that it
was only the year before he began work on the score that Schubert
had declared his intention in a letter ‘to pave my way to grand
symphony’. That same year, 1824, Schubert had also heard the
premiere of Beethoven’s ‘Choral’ Ninth – a big influence to digest,
one might have thought, and yet Schubert’s response to that
challenge is confident and utterly original. Indeed Schubert clearly
felt so sure of himself that he was able to invoke Beethoven’s Ninth
without fear of comparison: the woodwind figures at the beginning of
the development section of Schubert’s finale contain an unmistakable
reference to a phrase from Beethoven’s famous ‘Ode to Joy’ theme.
Almost certainly the C major Symphony’s vigour and assurance reflect
something of Schubert’s mood in the summer of 1825, when he made
a long walking tour with friends in Upper Austria. At one point in that
extended holiday the party stayed at the house of Anton Ottenwalt,
brother-in-law of Schubert’s close friend Josef von Spaun. Ottenwalt
wrote that ‘Schubert looks so well and strong, is so bright and relaxed,
so genial and communicative, that one cannot but be sincerely
delighted’. In the next sentence, Ottenwalt reports that Schubert
‘had been working on a symphony … which is to be performed in
Vienna this winter’. For Ottenwalt there was clearly a connection
between Schubert’s state of mind and his current musical fertility.
6 Programme Notes
But one could go further than that. The symphony is dominated
by images of physical movement: the muscular, striding theme of
the first movement; the exuberant waltz-tunes of the Scherzo; the
hurtling vitality of the Finale – even the ‘slow’ second movement
is carried forward by a march-like tread, introduced on the strings
before the oboe sounds the leading melody. It is hard to imagine a
greater contrast with the lyrical, introverted character of the B minor
‘Unfinished’ Symphony, composed in much less happy times three
years earlier. It is surely also significant that that productive summer
of 1825 saw the completion of one of Schubert’s most awe-inspiring
songs, a hymn to the God revealed in nature entitled ‘Die Allmacht’
(Omnipotence) – also in C major and, like the finale of the new
symphony, dominated by repeated triplet rhythms. An invigorating
walking regime, a delight in nature, thoughts of God inspired by sublime
landscapes – all of this is implicit in the ‘Great’ C major Symphony.
Despite his excellent spirits and abundant inspiration, Schubert had to
wrestle with the symphony before it arrived at its final form. The score
was extensively revised in 1826, as a result of which it became even
longer than that already ambitious first version. Finally the symphony
was handed over to the Vienna Philharmonic Society; parts were
duly copied, and at some time towards the end of 1826 there was a
run-through by the orchestra. But the hoped-for public performance
did not materialise. According to one account, the symphony was
‘provisionally put aside, because of its length and difficulty’. Schubert
was never to hear the work performed in concert. It wasn’t until March
1839 – eleven years after the composer’s death – that Mendelssohn
conducted it at the Leipzig Gewandhaus. And despite enthusiastic
championship, especially by the composer Robert Schumann –
who made a point of praising its ‘heavenly length’ – it was not widely
recognised as the masterpiece it is until much later. Even well into
the 20th century it was not uncommon for the symphony to be
performed with cuts.
It is obvious from the opening bars that this is to be a symphonic
journey on a grand scale. Two horns, unaccompanied, announce a
quietly majestic tune that is to find echo in many of the symphony’s
later ideas. Instead of providing a conventional classical ‘slow