Symphony No. 4 in F minor, Op. 36
Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky (1840-93)
Andante sostenuto - Moderato con anima – Moderato assai, quasi Andante – Allegro vivo; Andantino in modo di canzona; Scherzo: Pizzicato ostinato – Allegro; Finale: Allegro con fuoco
Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky dedicated his Fourth Symphony to Dame Nadezhda von Meck under unusual circumstances. She was a generous patron of the arts, a mother of 13 children, and an immensely wealthy widow. Having written to Tchaikovsky asking him to arrange some music for a group of students who met regularly to rehearse in her house, she triggered a 14-year correspondence comprising several hundred letters. Tchaikovsky referred to von Meck as ‘my best friend’ and he adhered to her unusual stipulation that they should never meet. She deposited 500 roubles into his bank account each month; in exchange he kept her informed of its progress, describing the emergent work as ‘theirs’, and as a result the symphony become inextricably linked with her in his mind. In acceptance of that joint ownership, she urged him to tell her what the symphony was about because she felt certain that it had an underlying narrative of some kind. It didn’t, but Tchaikovsky obliged with some dense and fanciful prose that showed him to be a more accomplished composer than dissembler. With obvious scepticism, Phillip Huscher called the narrative ‘…a detailed account, filled with emotional thoughts and empty phrases - words written after the fact to satisfy an indispensable patron’. Tchaikovsky focused on the word ‘Fate’, explaining that the opening fanfares for brass were symbolic of Fate. They recur throughout the work, mainly in the first movement, but most dramatically in the last. Despite such emphasis, one might yet enquire, ‘So what is “Fate”, if you please?’
In August, 1877, Tchaikovsky wrote to von Meck:
Our symphony progresses. The first movement will give me a great deal of trouble with respect to orchestration. It is very long and complicated: at the same time I consider it the best movement. The three remaining movements are simple, and it will be easy and pleasant to orchestrate them.
It is generally agreed that the weight of the symphony indeed resides in its first movement, which occupies around half of the work’s 40-minute duration. It is here that we find the architecture and argument that are expected of a symphony. While the complexity of the form is almost labyrinthine, the outcome is certainly successful. Memorable motifs and themes visit and revisit leaving the listener with a rounded and satisfying musical experience.
Tchaikovsky composed operas, ballets and symphonies. Few other composers have enjoyed comparable success in such a wide range of musical environments. The cross-fertilisation of styles is evident, especially in the symphonies where, from time to time, we find music that is essentially balletic or operatic in character. The second and third movements of the Fourth Symphony are notable examples of this. The second resembles a plaintive operatic aria in folk style, but is no less winning for that. As a balance, the third movement is delightfully balletic. The orchestra is treated in sections (strings, woodwind, brass) before coming together at the end. Throughout, the strings play pizzicato (plucked), and the woodwind seem similarly nimble when their turn comes.
A vein of Russian folk music runs through much of Tchaikovsky’s output. Sometimes he imitates folk tunes; sometimes he borrows them. Much of the last movement of this symphony is based on a Russian folksong, ‘The Little Birch Tree’. The movement’s frequent repetitions throw the single re-entry of the ‘Fate’ fanfare into spine-chilling relief, while the accumulation of volume and activity that leads to its thunderous conclusion is thrilling and exhausting for listeners and performers alike.