Gustav Mahler
Sinfonia n.2 "Resurrezione"

Transformation and Catharsis. Earthly transience and divine sublimation. Death and Resurrection. The artistic synthesis of these dichotomies finds its highest outcome in the monumental Symphony No. 2 in C minor by Gustav Mahler, significantly baptized, indeed, "Resurrection." The development of this epic-salvific theme, which will represent both the leitmotif and the keystone of subsequent Mahler symphonies, is conducted here under the auspices of colossal grandeur, both in terms of musical resources (alongside the full orchestra, there are also choir, soprano, alto, and organ), and in terms of emotional density and stylistic-aesthetic solutions, mixed in a compound of overwhelming power. Compared to the first symphony, "The Titan," the evolution in compositional weave and programmatic ambition is immediately perceptible: this Mahler, not even thirty years old, already masters a frighteningly mature and complex language, so much so that it was even bewildering to contemporary critics (a circumstance that would increasingly become chronic over time). Not so for the audience, who from the premiere conducted by Mahler himself on December 13, 1895, and later with Bruno Walter's magnificent rendition, was conquered by the expressive force and the granite integrity of the composition.

The genesis of this work emerges, as with the first symphony, from a symphonic poem in a single movement, titled "Totenfeier" ("Funeral Rites"), which Mahler himself intended as the funeral of the Titan. The "Totenfeier," in fact, was already completed in 1888, thus before the definitive writing of Symphony No. 1, a circumstance from which derives the strong connection of melodic and motivic material between the two compositions. The symphonic poem was then set aside until 1891, when Mahler proposed its listening to the famous conductor Hans von Bulow, playing it on the piano; to his dismay, von Bulow, despite being a champion and promoter of Wagner's "music of the future," found it "annoyingly modern." Another two years passed, and in 1893, probably, Mahler was convinced to expand the "Totenfeier" into a symphony, integrating the symphonic poem as the first imaginary movement. He then composed the Andante and, almost simultaneously, began to reorganize one of the Lieder from his collection "Das Knaben Wunderhorn," titled "Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt," transforming it into an orchestral scherzo. Later, having completed the orchestration of another Lied from the "Wunderhorn" collection, named "Urlicht," he decided to integrate it as the fourth movement (the order of these three central movements was nevertheless controversial, and at one point it even seemed that the Scherzo had become the second and the Andante the fourth movement). At this point, there remained the problem of finding a sufficiently powerful finale to balance the already massive body of the symphony. The inspiration came on the day of von Bulow's funeral, on March 29, 1894, during which a chorale was performed based on verses from Klopstock's sacred poem "The Resurrection" ("Die Auferstehung"): the performance impressed Mahler to the point of overcoming legitimate doubts about introducing a choir, a circumstance that would have exposed him to a very uncomfortable comparison with the paradigm of Beethoven's Ninth. It would be this material, developed and chiseled, to provide the solemn and coherent closure of the mammoth symphony. A few months later, on July 24, 1894, finally, Mahler was able to announce the completion of his second symphony.

The magnificent grandeur of Symphony No. 2 in C minor (the quintessential Beethovenian tonality) is evident from the first movement, Allegro maestoso: on a hyperextended model of sonata form, the dark shadows of the funeral march for the Titan loom threateningly, first in dotted rhythm and then in triplets, with an ascending theme exposed by the strings in the low region (destined to reappear with increasingly violent and obsessive vigor), subsequently taken up by oboes and English horn first, and by the entire orchestra later. This black episode, now mortally macabre, now grotesquely swaggering, now hysterical and virulent, is faced by a second subject luminously lyrical, solemn as a hymn and delicate as a prayer: the sharp and harsh contrast exalts to the point of paroxysm the two different thematic sections, which alternate not statically but renewing, developing, transforming according to a continuous process of self-generation. The dichotomic gap mentioned at the beginning is already all contained here, in this first movement, which thus testifies to its original unity and completeness, like a symphony within a symphony. Following, the Andante moderato in A flat major, structured like a dance, incorporates and alternates the melodically popular theme of a Landler, with two nervous trio sections: it results in a strongly evocative passage, recalling joyful moments in the life of the deceased hero, but also the melancholic memory of youth and loss of innocence. Over everything, the oppressive weight of Death, tangible in the two trios, casts a sinister shadow even over this bittersweet episode. Moreover, one will not miss the homage Mahler pays to the Master of Bonn by reproducing, somewhat disguised, the theme of the Scherzo of the Ninth: it is not mere citation but transfiguration, manipulation, recomposition until achieving a different, autonomous, and original result. With the subsequent Scherzo, then, the mood changes again. The somewhat sad serenity of the Andante gives way to a suffocating sense of alienation and loss of faith: the motivic material from the Lied "Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt," exposed, ornamented, transformed, then interrupted, and finally combined with a different theme, casts a sardonic and disgusted gaze on life and man, contemplating its futility and senselessness, until it explodes into a cry of despair, dark and plague-ridden. This movement conquered Brahms and inspired the third movement of Berio's "Sinfonia," from 1968. But it is already time for "Urlicht" ("Primeval Light"): in this fourth movement lies the focal point, musical and programmatic, of the entire symphony. A deep, moving hymn entrusted to the sidereal timbre of the alto, flings open the doors of intense spirituality that bends the knees.

"I came from God and want to return to God! God has given me the light that will illuminate my path to eternal life!"

Despite its brevity, this precious song manages to dissolve the despair, the sadness that has so far pervaded the composition, foreshadowing the victory of Life over Death which will be celebrated in the last, imposing movement, with which Mahler paints his colossal Last Judgment. This final movement begins with the explosive recapitulation of the scherzo's despairing cry, followed by the re-presentation of material taken from the other movements, culminating in a tremendous "Dies Irae"; then a fast development section, in Allegro energico, presents us with a grotesque funeral march, the procession of the dead, which once again flows into the cry of despair. Finally, mysterious and unexpected, a choir a cappella bursts in the moment of the final recapitulation, accompanying the soprano in the enunciation of the salvific message of the Resurrection. And so, up to the awaited, liberating, and sumptuous passage to the key of E flat major: a piercing sonic and emotional impact, like dying and being reborn to a new life, like feeling God's hand stretching from the heavens down to this unhappy and crooked world and calling you to encounter eternity.

"You will rise, yes, you will rise, my dust, after brief rest. Immortal life will be given by the One who called you."

The intensity grows, grows to reach almost unbearable peaks in the reprises of the alto solo, the choir with the two soloists, the soloists in duet, up to the triumphant, majestic free fugato of the choir, for which I find no better words than those Mahler himself used with regard to the Symphony of a Thousand:

"Imagine the universe beginning to sing and resound. They are no longer human voices; it is a dance of planets and suns."

The performance I submit to you is a very recent and exquisite release (May 2006) by DG, with Pierre Boulez at the helm of the Vienna Philharmonic and the Wiener Singverein choir, and Christine Schafer and Michelle DeYoung as soloists. It is a fascinating reading, without any compromise, expunging all "romantic" executive frills to privilege and emphasize, almost brutally, the sensations of pure joy and sheer terror of Mahlerian visions. Speaking of non-conformist readings, I also refer you to the Sinopoli integral (DG box set, 15 CDs), astonishing for its adherence to the most genuine Mahlerian spirit.