französische Symphonie im 20. Jahrhundert

Die skizzierte Gattungsgeschichte der französischen Symphonie seit etwa der d-moll-Symphonie von César Franck konzentriert sich auf die Aspekte <Begriff und Verständnis>, <Gattungsschnittpunkte>, <Form>, <Tonalität und Harmonik> und <Instrumentation>. Dabei läßt sich eine so große Abhängigkeit von spezifisch nationalen Traditionen und Vorstellungen belegen, daß man die Entwicklung der französischen Symphonie angemessen nur als besondere Teil-Geschichte innerhalb der generellen Gattungshistorie beschreiben kann. (Jost, Peter)

Louis Glass and Carl Nielsen: Opposites in Danish Musical Life

Carl Nielsen and Louis Glass were close contemporaries, and their musical careers began in parallel. But their points of departure were different. Whereas Nielsen took off from Beethoven, Brahms, Dvorˇák and Svendsen, Glass was particularly inspired by César Franck and Bruckner. Around the time of World War One, the differences became pronounced. Nielsen gained great popularity with his folk-like songs, whilst Glass submersed himself in theosophy. Symbolic of the differences are Nielsen’s Fourth Symphony, The Inextinguishable, and Glass’s Fifth, Sinfonia Svastica, each of which foregrounds the concept of ‘Life’, but from a different point of view. Glass clearly perceived that he had become cast in Nielsen’s shadow, and in a short correspondence with him in 1923 he tried to plead his case that they were both working in the same direction but from different points of departure. He felt that they were complementary. Nielsen’s side of the correspondence has not survived, and we therefore do not know his attitude.

Ernest Chausson

Amédée-Ernest Chausson (b. 1855–d. 1899) was born in Paris to a wealthy contractor and his wife. Although he obtained a law degree in 1876, music was his true passion. He entered the Paris Conservatoire, where he studied briefly with Jules Massenet and then with César Franck. Between 1879 and 1883 he made several journeys to Bayreuth and became an ardent Wagnerian. He served as secretary of the Société Nationale de Musique from 1886 until his death. Chausson and his wife, Jeanne, maintained an active salon that drew many prominent figures from all the arts, and he developed close relationships with many of them, most notably the young Claude Debussy. Despite his happy family life (which included five children) and comfortable surroundings, as a composer Chausson was beset with crippling self-doubts. Struggling to express his feelings with as much emotional honesty and satisfying artistry as possible, he continually found himself “erupt[ing] with rage at seeing how what I can do is so far from what I would like to do, from what I seem to hear in my head” (from a letter of 1884). Friends ascribed the melancholy in his music to this obsessive search for what Vincent d’Indy called “the better,” to a profound empathy with the suffering of others, and to deep apprehension that critics would dismiss him merely as a wealthy amateur imitating Franck and Wagner—as indeed many did. Despite his insecurities, Chausson composed notable chamber and orchestral works, a substantial body of mélodies, and one opera, Le roi Arthus. Most observers believed that Chausson finally achieved his own voice in the late 1890s, especially in the Piano Quartet of 1897. Tragically, however, his career ended soon thereafter, on 10 June 1899: riding a bicycle at his country estate, he apparently lost control going down a hill and crashed head-first into a wall. Pierre Louÿs’s eloquent condolence letter to Mme. Chausson summed up the general reaction: “There was never a more excellent man . . . I was struck, each time, by the . . . admirable goodwill that radiated through each gesture. At every moment of his life, he felt compelled to bring happiness to people. Everyone loved him.” As his student Gustave Samazeuilh wrote, Chausson “will occupy an eminent place in the history of French music; a just recompense for a life devoted totally to the good, to work, and to the Ideal.”

“Mortally Wounded”

This chapter focuses on events following the death of Edna Phillips' younger sister Peggy in a plane crash. Not long after the Phillips family received the cable informing them of Peggy's death, the orchestra's personnel manager, Paul Lotz, who had already spoken with Stokowski, called Phillips. That Monday evening, the very next day, the orchestra was scheduled to play a concert that had the César Franck Symphony on the program, which the second harpist had not rehearsed with the orchestra. Stokowski asked Lotz to convey a message to Phillips for him. “As a man,” the maestro said, “I'd tell her not to play, but as an artist, she must if she possibly can. ” And so Phillips played the concert on Monday night. Although Edna's grief over Peggy was deep, her work in the orchestra couldn't be ignored. She had to go forward, and she did.