Program Notes

Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

Symphony No. 4 in A Major, Op. 90 “Italian” (1830-33)

Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings

 

Although great composers can be their own worst critics, one can generally take their harshest criticism as the result of that most accursed of artistic traits, that of perfectionism. Scarcely was a composer born who didn’t suffer from it, and indeed, find a way to use it to their advantage. For some composers the revisions have taken as long as the original composition. Bruckner re-wrote most of his symphonies and Franz Liszt’s catalogue of piano works seems almost evenly divided between first and second versions. But we are quite content to accept the judgment of these great men as the most authoritative. After all, they wrote the stuff. We can simply take the composer’s word and then make our own personal decisions while being guided by their expertise. But there are also those times when you have to wonder what they were thinking.

One case in point is Felix Mendelssohn and his baffling dissatisfaction with his Symphony No. 4, the “Italian.” The genesis of the work went back to a trip through Italy that the composer took in 1830. He was, like most visitors to the country, quite taken with it, and was inspired to write an Italian symphony. He worked on it in earnest, but other matters were pressing and he was forced to lay it aside.

In 1833, the London Philharmonic Society commissioned a new work from Mendelssohn, largely due to the success of his famous Hebrides Overture. The composer knew immediately that the new work would be the unfinished symphony he had started in Italy. He set to work and by March of that year the Italian Symphony (Mendelssohn’s own title) was finished. It was premiered on May 13, 1833 at the Hanover Square Concert Rooms, the same place where Haydn had premiered many of his London symphonies. From its wildly enthusiastic reception, it would seem that Felix had been responsible for yet another masterpiece. But he didn’t see it that way.

From the end of the first performance the composer complained bitterly about his dissatisfaction with the work. Against the advice of his sister Fanny and his good friend the conductor and composer Ignaz Moscheles, Mendelssohn set about revising the symphony. By 1835 he was still tinkering with it, and he brought it up in a letter as late as 1840. The composer remained unhappy with the work and when he died in 1847, it had not received a second performance at his own hand.

Mendelssohn’s contemporaries were bewildered as to why this sparkling gem of the symphonic repertoire caused its composer such grief. It is not known to have had a single ill word spoken about it by anyone but Felix, and even Berlioz, a notorious Mendelssohn-hater, was charmed by the work. It isn’t surprising, therefore, that when it was finally published in 1851, it was in its original version. It is in this version that it has been a staple of the concert stage since, and has delighted millions all over the world. A revised score is known to exist, but has been all but forgotten except for historical research. History has never missed it.

Mendelssohn biographer Heinrich Eduard Jacob described this symphony as a “blue sky in A major,” and right from the start we see his point. The composer sets the tone with vibrant repeated notes in the winds under a soaring violin melody. Mendelssohn seems quite taken with this theme and lingers a bit on its development. The gentle, bouncing second theme only adds to the exuberance. The clarinet, unable to resist, takes up the theme in A minor, and once its whims are indulged, Mendelssohn introduces a new theme on the winds. This new theme builds to a climax and leads us back to the beginning of the exposition for a second go. Once it is repeated, the composer bypasses this new theme and leads us straight into the development. Here Mendelssohn introduces yet another new theme which is taken up in fugue. The music swells, and all the while the movement’s first theme struggles to gain a foothold. It is eventually shouted down by the fugue theme which simply overpowers it. But this dominance is only momentary as the two themes suddenly vie with each other for first place. Then the struggle seems to be too much and they both pause for breath. The music builds once more, but when it finally reaches its peak it is the first theme that now bursts forth to begin the recapitulation. Near the end of the section, the fugue theme is thrown into the mix, and lastly we are re-acquainted with the brief theme that made an appearance at the end of the exposition.

The second movement is a solemn, stately processional. The low strings accompany with a march beat which becomes more insistent and more dominant. But the somber mood does not sit well with the rest of this symphony and the music becomes more lyrical. The two moods alternate, but the original solemnity is allowed to decide things in the end, and slowly fades away.

The third movement is a charming minuet filled, as is the whole symphony, with classical grace, but thoroughly romantic temperament. The serene trio is led by horns and bassoons.

Thus far, after an opening that many could easily take for Italian in spirit, the symphony has been moving steadily away from the culture that so inspired Mendelssohn. But in the finale, he leaves us no doubt. In order to make his point, he switches to A Minor to present us with a saltarello, a traditional dance after the Italian word for ‘jump.’ The rapid triplet figuration that defines the movement waxes and wanes, but is persistently energetic, reaching breathtaking climaxes and sudden burst of almost violent energy. The sprightly scherzo quality of the movement is reminiscent of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but distinctly un-fairylike.