FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)
Overture to Ruy Blas (1839)
Composed on commission from the Leipzig Theatrical Pension Fund, Mendelssohn’s overture to Ruy Blas, introduces Victor Hugo’s play, set in 17th century Spain. Mendelssohn wasn’t keen on fulfilling this commission; he felt the play was “odious” and “beneath contempt.” He told funders that he didn’t have time to write it. When the folks at the Fund expressed their regret at not having given him enough time, Mendelssohn took that as a challenge and completed the assignment in a mere three days, just in the nick of time for the benefit performance. The plot involves the valet Ruy Blas whose master Don Salluste seeks revenge against the Spanish queen by entangling her in an affair with Ruy (disguised as a nobleman) and then blackmailing her. His plans go awry when Ruy becomes a popular court figure—rising to the post of prime minister. When Ruy is exposed by his cruel master, he murders him, and then takes poison. In his dying moments the queen forgives him. The overture evokes all the turbulence, romance, and plot twists of the play, opening with a solemn brass chorale—a reflection of the court perhaps—and then proceeds to the powerful main theme. There are plenty of hints at the melodrama of the story, but mercifully Mendelssohn omits a depiction of the bloody ending.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)
Violin Concerto (1844)
In 1835, when Felix Mendelssohn was just 27 years old, he was appointed conductor of the famed Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra and hired Ferdinand David to be concertmaster. The two had been friends since their teens—a friendship that would continue throughout their lives. Mendelssohn started thinking about a violin concerto in 1838, and wrote to him, “I want to write a violin concerto next winter. One in E Minor is running through my head, and the beginning of it gives me no peace….” But it would be another six years before the concerto was completed, thanks to Ferdinand David’s encouragement, advice, and gentle pressure to get it done. David was the dedicatee and the soloist at the premiere. The work was a great success, and other performances soon followed. One was particularly memorable, as it launched the career of the then-14-year-old violin prodigy Joseph Joachim, a last-minute substitution for the indisposed Clara Schumann, originally scheduled to perform her husband’s piano concerto in Dresden. The genially-inspired work takes the concerto genre to realms far exceeding the many empty show-off pieces that were then a-dime-a-dozen, but are now forgotten. While soloists can certainly display their technical brilliance, the Mendelssohn concerto also calls upon them to interpret the emotional content of the gorgeous melodies. The work has been praised for its tight construction, such as the immediate entrance of the violin at the beginning, linking phrases between the movements, and placing the first cadenza in the middle, instead of at the end of the first movement. But audiences don’t need to understand the technical aspects of this popular score. It’s ultimately about the beauty of the sound. It was Joachim who summed it up best many years later: “The Germans have four violin concertos. The greatest, the one that makes fewest concessions, is Beethoven’s. The one by Brahms comes close to Beethoven’s in its seriousness. Max Bruch wrote the richest and most seductive of the four. But the dearest of them all, the heart’s jewel, is Mendelssohn’s.”
FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)
Die Erste Walpurgisnacht (The First Walpurgis Night) , Op. 60 (1831; rev. 1842/43)
In 1799, Germany’s most revered poet, dramatist, and novelist, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) wrote the dramatic ballad “Die Erste Walpurgisnacht” and was seeking someone to set it to music. He first tapped his friend Karl Friedrich Zelter, who didn’t feel he was up to the task after reading the text. Zelter turned the task over to his student, one Felix Mendelssohn, who completed the assignment in 1831. The two men encountered each other when Mendelssohn was a mere 20, and the grand old man Goethe was 80. In subsequent correspondence between them about the project, Goethe explained that there was a deeper meaning to his ballad. “It is highly symbolic. For, in world history, it must occur again and again that something old, well-established, well-tried, and comforting is pushed aside, and, if not extirpated, cramped into the least possible space, by innovations that crop up. The intermediate period, where hate still can and does have its counter effect, is presented here pregnantly enough, and joyous, indestructible enthusiasm flames up once more in glory and truth.” After the secular cantata premiered at the Berlin Sing-Akademie in 1833, Mendelssohn felt it needed revision and undertook a recasting of it ten years later, the version performed today. Sadly, Goethe died before he could hear it. “Walpurgisnacht,” the night of April 30 to May 1, is a confluence of pagan and Christian elements: ancient German tradition has it that witches and devils gather that night on the Brocken Mountain, an inhospitable peak in the Harz Mountains (à la Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain); but April 30 is also the feast day of St. Walburga, a missionary to Germany, whose name was conflated with Waldborg, a heathen fertility goddess. The story of the ballad and the cantata revolves around the ancient spring rituals of German Druids and their followers, who, having been persecuted by fanatical Christians bent on exterminating them, flee in order to be free and safe to worship their nature gods and to celebrate the renewal of the light and of spring. On Walpurgis Night they decide to frighten away the “superstitious” plotters and proselytizers by turning their superstitions against them: they put on the disguises of devils and witches and all hell breaks loose to an unbelievable racket (created by the normally more restrained Mendelssohn with bass drum, cymbals, and shrill piping from the piccolo). After they have driven off the persecutors, the spring ritual can finally take place. The overture is in two parts: “Bad Weather” and “Transition to Spring,” and at the center of the cantata is a grand chorus sung by the guardians of the Druids. The romantic treatment of this subject is colorful and full of energy, with noise and racket enough to wake the dead during the witches’ scene; we’re pulled us into the tumult of this strange and fantastical night and then lead out into the glorious light of spring, expressed with a grand C Major chord. Hector Berlioz, who knew a thing or two about Witches’ Sabbaths, was in the audience for the premiere and declared it “a true masterpiece!”