Introduction to Schoenberg III: Gurrelieder

If a little song can sometimes say everything, the opposite of this is Schoenberg's monumental cantata, Gurrelieder. This is a masterpiece on an epic scale. Schoenberg started on this work in 1900, but only came back to complete it much later in 1910. In both its style and conception, it is a thoroughly Wagnerian work of simply extraordinary opulent Romantic beauty. It is a work on a huge scale, demanding enormous forces with an orchestra numbering around 400, plus soloists and chorus. The story of Gurre-Lieder is originally a Danish Medieval legend about the castle of Gurre, the ruins of which can still be seen today:

The ruins of Gurre Castle in Denmark today

The poignant basic theme of the work is that of rage against God. King Waldemar has had his mistress, Tove, poisoned by the jealous Queen. The broken hearted Waldemar vents his anger against God, upon whom Waldemar blames his fate. After his death, Waldemar's ghost, along with his horde of henchmen, go on an apocalyptic wild hunt around the castle of Gurre, threatening to tear down the gates of heaven in order to be united once more with his beloved Tove. Stories scarcely come more Romantic than this, and the music matches it perfectly.

Gurrelieder's central theme of lovers torn apart by fate, yearning for eternal reunion, is the thread that links this work with Goethe's Faust —which, of course, is what Mahler's 8th Symphony (premiered in 1910) is based on. Both the Schoenberg and the Mahler demand similar massive orchestral and choral forces. Part III of Gurrelieder was completed after the premier of the Mahler 8th, and shows Mahlerian influences: unusually for Schoenberg, orchestral textures tend towards sparseness and clarity, with contrasting shifts between small groups of instruments.

One part to listen out for on first listening includes Waldemar's blissful opening Nun dämpft die Dämm'rung jeden Ton. It is indescribably rapt and melting, especially at the words:

Im Western wirft die Sonne
Von sich die Purpurtracht
Und träumt im Flutenbette
Des nächsten Tages Pracht.

To the west, the sun
Casts away her purple mantle
And, upon a bed of waves, dreams
Of the next day's splendours.

I have deliberately kept the feminine "her" for the son in my translation. In Germanic mythology, the sun (Sonne) is feminine, with her streaming locks of blond hair:

Note that in Wagner's Ring, the Rhinemaidens also sing of Frau Sonne. Incidentally, in Germanic mythology, the moon is called Herr Mond:

Frau Sonne and Herr Mond

Somehow, Gurrelieder seems to occupy that same Wagnerian mythological universe as Wagner's Rhinemaidens. Here, Schoenberg has the Rhinemaidens' Frau Sonne lying on her bed of lapping waves, as she sinks over the horizon, casting off her purple cloak of sunset.

The rather somber and mournful Voice of the Wood Dove, who announces the death of Tove, is well known and sometimes played separately from the main work.

Also immediately appealing is Waldemar's passionate anger towards God over the death of Tove:

Herrgott, weißt Du, was Du tatest,
Als klein Tove mir verstarb?

Dear God, knoweth Thou what Thou wert doing,
When my little Tove died?

If this doesn't sweep you away, nothing will.

Listen out for the first ever appearance of Sprechstimme (a mixture of part singing and part speaking) in Klauss the Fool's part in the final section. It more than a little foreshadows the rapt moonstruck madness of Pierrot Lunaire (one of Schoenberg's later compositions). Once again, Schoenberg often cited Mozartian operatic recitative as a forerunner of Schoenbergian Sprechstimme. Wagnerian Sprechgesang is another obvious precedent. Schoenberg is always very much the traditionalist, even if he is sometimes radically traditional. "I am a conservative who has been forced to become a radical", Schoenberg liked to say. More of that in future posts.

The work ends with a sunrise upon the reappearance of Frau Sonne over the castle with her streaming locks of glorious golden hair (Strahlenlockenpracht), as daylight vanquishes the ghoulish wild hunt lead by Waldemar's nightly hoards. Yet there is something so heartachingly bittersweet about the victory of the feminine charms of the day over night.

This, incidentally, also emphasises why it is so important to keep the feminine identity of the sun in German mythology. I have seen English translations that disastrously change the son into a masculine "he".

As for recordings, I have a personal favourite: Herbert Kegel. It is also available as part of a boxed set of Kegel recordings. Other highly regarded recordings include the Chailly, which others regard as first choice. Another quite satisfying recording comes from Robert Craft.

In terms of profundity and sheer passionate Romantic fervour, Schoenberg easily outdoes most rivals, including Richard Strauss and arguably even Gustav Mahler. The story goes that by the time Gurrelieder was premiered, Schoenberg had started to gain enemies, due to a reputation for an increasingly radical compositional style. Some showed up at the premier for no other reason than to disrupt it in protest, only to find themselves so utterly disarmed by it that they ended up on their feet contributing to the enraptured applause. The grand Romantic opulence of this monumental and richly rewarding post-Wagnerian epic should continue to win Schoenberg a great many new friends.