String Quartet in D minor, D.810 (“Death and the Maiden”)

Whatever the technical reasons for choosing his song “Death and the Maiden“ as a theme for variations in the slow movement of the Quartet in D minor, this “most unhappy and wretched creature in the world” - as Schubert described himself at the time - clearly had his emotional reasons too. The brief opening statement extends its grim influence throughout the first movement, in anticipation of the dramatic and highly expressive Andante con moto variations, and neither the hard driven Scherzo nor the dance-of-death tarantella of the final Presto has much room for hope. Indeed, the prestissimo coda definitively closes it out.

It is difficult not to associate the two string quartets Schubert wrote in March 1824, those in A minor and D minor, with his state of mind at that time – his despair at the progress of an incurable disease contracted two years earlier and now in its secondary stage, his confession to a friend in that very same month that he felt himself “the most unhappy and wretched creature in the world.”

The first movement of the Quartet in D minor offers little more than a glimpse of hope. The brief opening statement, presented fortissimo by all four instruments in rhythmic unison, extends its grim influence everywherewhere. Its presence is obvious at all levels in the contrapuntal texture of the D minor first subject and it is scarcely less obvious when, after a deceptively obliging change of key to the relative major, the two violins intro­duce the charmingly melodious second subject. That new theme is shadowed, however, by a rather less attractive alter ego, which dominates the development section. The recapitulation offers much the same disturbing scenario as the expo­sition and a coda based on first-subject material confirms just how grim the situation is.

It is possible that Schubert turned to his song Der Tod und das Mädchen (“Death and the Maiden”) for its purely musical values. Certainly, its melodic and rhythmic simplicity make it a good subject for variations. On the other hand, the inspired and uncommonly demonstrative scoring of the five variations of the Andante con moto suggest that the poetic message of the song was no less important to him than the technical potential of the G minor theme he derived from it.

The hard-pressed, much syncopated D minor third movement is no jokey scherzo. Even in the radiantly scored G major trio section the characteristic dotted rhythm of the scherzo section persists on one instrument or another throughout. As for the Presto finale, variously described as a tarantella and a dance of death, it meets resistance to its relentless progress only in the broadly defiant chords of the F major second subject. When the tempo finally changes to Prestissimo there is no resistance at all.

arranged for string orchestra by Gustav Mahler

Allegro

Andante con moto

Scherzo: Allegro molto

Presto – Prestissimo

In 1894, in his first season as director of the Hamburg subscription concerts, Mahler conducted the strings of the orchestra in the slow movement of Schubert’s String Quartet in D minor. “Divine music robbed of its natural intimacy” was the predictable criticism. Had he performed the whole work, however, he might have aroused more enthusiasm. The Andante con moto, which takes the form of five variations on a theme from Schubert’s song “Der Tod und das Mädchen” (Death and the Maiden) is an intimate movement which requires, for example, the solo voice of the cello in the second variation and which frequently features a first violin part so detailed in its decorative figuration that it is unsuitable for more than one instrument at a time. There is, on the other hand, a case for the claim that the comparatively aggressive third variation is more effective with a large body of strings.

Whether Mahler ever conducted the whole work in a string-orchestra version we do not know. It is clear, however, that he intended to or at least thought seriously about it. Certainly, he annotated a score of the original string quartet version in such a way that it gives a good indication of how he would have deployed a string orchestra in it. Here Mahler offers such indications as how to accommodate the double basses (there is, of course, no double-bass part in a string quartet) and when to use a solo violin, while adding directions for phrasing and articulation, dynamic markings and such other colour details as where to apply mutes in the Andante con moto. This fascinating document was discovered after Mahler’s death by his daughter Anna and was published as a string-orchestra score in 1964.

The movements that lend themselves most naturally to string-orchestra treatment are the first and last, both of them dramatic expressions of despair by a composer who described himself at the time as “the most unhappy and wretched creature in the world.” There are are assertive statements – many of them, like the explosive opening bars, marked fortissimo in the original – which could positively benefit from the presence of double basses and the additional weight of sound in the ensemble in general. While the semiquaver figuration applied by violin or cello as a passionate counterpoint to the second subject of the Allegro is not the most suitable material for orchestral strings, the vivid dynamic contrasts introduced in a remarkable passage just before the acceleration that leads to the closing bars is all the more effective in this version.

Much the same applies to the angry D minor Scherzo, if not to its more congenial Trio section in the major. But there are few exceptions to be made to the wisdom of enlarging the sound of the relentlessly persecuted Presto finale, least of all in the Prestissimo closing bars where the original version seems to be striving for the orchestral sound to be achieved on this occasion.

Gerald Larner © 2011

It is difficult not to associate the two string quartets Schubert wrote in

March 1824, those in A minor and D minor, with his state of mind at that time – his despair at the progress of an incurable disease contracted two years earlier and now in its secondary stage, his confession to a friend in that very same month that he felt himself “the most unhappy and wretched creature in the world.”

The first movement of the Quartet in D minor offers little more than a glimpse of hope. The brief opening statement, presented fortissimo by all four instruments in rhythmic unison, extends its grim influence everywhere. Its presence is obvious at all levels in the contrapuntal texture of the D minor first subject and it is scarcely less obvious when, after a deceptively obliging change of key to the relative major, the two violins intro­duce the charmingly melodious second subject. That new theme is shadowed, however, by a rather less attractive alter ego, which dominates the development section. The recapitulation offers much the same disturbing scenario as the expo­sition and a coda based on first-subject material confirms just how grim the situation is.

It is possible that Schubert turned to his song Der Tod und das Mädchen (“Death and the Maiden”) for its purely musical values. Certainly, its melodic and rhythmic simplicity make it a good subject for variations. On the other hand, the inspired and uncommonly demonstrative scoring of the five variations suggest that the poetic message of the song was no less important to him than the technical potential of the G minor theme he derived from it. The virtuoso violin part in the first variation, with its broken line and its wide leaps, is more than merely decorative. The second and third variations are remarkable for the sustained eloquence of the cello solo in one case and the dramatic exchange of multi-stopped chords between first violin and cello in the other. Although the G major fourth variation displays a more conventionally decorative violin line, in the second part of the fifth the cello is moved to express itself as forcibly as the two cellos put together at similarly passionate moments in the Quintet in C major. After that and the whispered coda, the G major ending is as unreal as that of the theme itself.

The hard-pressed, much syncopated D minor third movement is no jokey scherzo. Even in the radiantly scored G major trio section – which is the last example of lyrical beauty Schubert has to offer in this haunted work – the characteristic dotted rhythm of the scherzo section persists on one instrument or another throughout. The eerie unison beginning of the Presto finale takes up the continuity where it left off in the unison ending of the scherzo. Variously described as a tarantella and a dance of death, it meets resistance to its relentless progress only in the broadly defiant chords of the F major second subject. But in both the exposition and the recapitulation the resistance is immediately undermined by being combined with the triplet figuration from the D minor first subject. In fact, there is little effective resistance and when the tempo finally changes to Prestissimo none at all.

Far from concealing the personal background to his instru­mental music, Janacek not infrequently drew attention to it, as in his two illuminatingly subtitled string quartets The Kreutzer Sonata and Intimate Letters. With Schubert - who was working a hundred years earlier and in an atmos­phere still influenced by the classical ideal of the work of art as some­thing elevated above the personal circumstances of its creator - the situation is quite differ­ent. Even so, it is difficult not to associate the two string quartets Schubert wrote in March 1824, the A minor and the D minor, with the state of his mind at that time, his despair at the progress of an incurable disease contracted two years earlier and now in its secondary stage, his confession to a friend in that very same month that he felt himself “the most unhappy and wretched creature in the world.”

The first movement of the Quartet in D minor offers little more than a glimpse of hope. The brief opening statement, presented fortissimo by all four instruments in rhythmic unison, extends its grim influence everywhere, mainly though not exclusively by means of the triplet figure which is its salient feature. Its presence is obvious at all levels in the contrapuntal texture of the D minor first subject and it is scarcely less obvious when, after a deceptively obliging change of key to the relative major, the two violins intro­duce the charmingly melodious second subject.

What is disturbing about the treatment of this innocent new theme is not so much that it is diverted almost immediately into minor harmonies as that its first phrase is pressed into the grimly obsessive purpose of the opening bars. The melody occasion­ally recovers its charm – most appealing when it is overlaid by delicately coloured decorative figuration in the first violin part – but only to turn the other way again. Indeed, its less attractive alter ego dominates the development section, sometimes in combin­ation with the triplet figure, and it is the two of them to­gether that lead on a crescendo into a restatement of the D minor opening. The recapitulation offers much the same disturbing scenario as the expo­sition and a coda based on first-subject material confirms just how grim the situation is.

It is possible that in March 1824 the “most unhappy and wretched creature in the world” turned to his song Der Tod und das Mädchen (“Death and the Maiden”) for its purely musical values. Certainly, its melodic and rhythmic simplicity make it a good subject for variations. On the other hand, the inspired and uncommonly demonstrative scoring of the five variations suggest that the poetic message of the song was no less important to him than the technical potential of the G minor theme he derived from it. The virtuoso violin part in the first variation, with its broken line and its wide leaps, is more than merely decorative. The second and third variations are remarkable for the sustained eloquence of the cello solo in one case and the dramatic exchange of multi-stopped chords between first violin and cello in the other. Although the G major fourth variation displays a more conventionally decorative violin line, in the second part of the fifth the cello is moved to express itself as forcibly as the two cellos put together at similarly passionate moments in the Quintet in C major. After that and the whispered coda, the G major ending is as unreal as that of the theme itself.

The hard-pressed, much syncopated D minor third movement is no jokey scherzo. Even in the radiantly scored G major trio section – which is the last example of lyrical beauty Schubert has to offer in this haunted work – the characteristic dotted rhythm of the scherzo section persists on one instrument or another throughout. The eerie unison beginning of the Presto finale takes up the continuity where it left off in the unison ending of the scherzo. Variously described as a tarantella and a dance of death, it meets resistance to its relentless progress only in the broadly defiant chords of the F major second subject. But in both the exposition and the recapitulation the resistance is immediately undermined by being combined with the triplet figuration from the D minor first subject. In fact, there is little effective resistance and finally, when the tempo changes to Prestissimo, none at all.