Shostakovich’s Eighth Symphony and his preceding Seventh form a majestic symphonic duologue. But if the Seventh Symphony, written as a direct response to the full-scale invasion by the enemy, is dominated by heroic traits then the Eighth, composed during the third year of the most bloody war in history, literally absorbed the pain and suffering of a shocked mankind. The premiere of the Eighth took place on 4 November 1943 in Moscow and was performed by the State Orchestra of the USSR under Yevgeny Mravinsky, to whom Shostakovich dedicated the symphony.
The epigraph theme that opens the first movement (Adagio) resembles an oratorical call for attention. It is answered by the slowly flowing, mournful monologue of the violins. The polyphonic rise and growth of this integrated main theme leads to the secondary one – a sad, song-like melody, just as extensive and developed. The broken rhythm of its accompaniment is like a heartbeat. In its development, which begins unnoticed, by degrees the chorus of strings is joined by the penetrating woodwind, the moaning and wailing of the brass and the harsh rhythm of the percussion. The themes become twisted and distorted until they are unrecognisable, “becoming inhuman”. It appears that the horror and suffering have reached their peak. But it comes again in a second, more powerful wave, it smashes everything in its path; the sea seethes with hatred and evil… This chaos of truly inhuman tension leads to other “quiet, almost silent episodes in the Eighth Symphony…” (Boris Asafiev), among them one of Shostakovich’s most heartfelt instrumental monologues – the English horn solo. Conciliatory sadness dominates in the short coda, ending with an Adagio.
Fulfilling the role of a scherzo, the second movement (Allegretto) conjures up the image of a pompous parade of a military machine exultant and intoxicated with its own might. The first theme – a grotesquely distorted motif from the popular foxtrot Rosamund – clearly indicates its German flavour. The second theme initially creates associations with the “play” parade-ground of Friedrich the Great (Prussian military flutes, wigs with plaits…). But when the same theme is passed on to a fortissimo unison of the strings in the recapitulation, it sounds evil and threatening.
The third movement (Allegro non troppo) is another, this time furiously evil scherzo: the mechanical rhythm of the toccata creates the monstrous image of a mindless, inhuman machine of death. The middle section draws an apocalyptic view of “a horseman named Death”, charging over the corpse-strewn battlefield. The banal dance accompaniment follows the victoriously “prancing” melody of the trumpet and the “rousing” chorus of high-toned woodwind. The elusive pace of the toccata returns; it hastens the symphony’s grandest culmination, emerging on the edge of catastrophe. And it begins in the final bars of the third movement. After a general pause and two shattering Jericho-like tutti cries, the fourth movement begins without pause (Largo). The pathetique theme begins in fortissimo with a powerful unison. When it fades, eleven variations rise from its foundations. The ancient passacaglia genre is at one and the same time a mournful, graveside speech and a symbol of faithfulness to the main idea, to the image that runs throughout the symphony.
Like a ray of sunshine beaming in a gloomy cellar, we hear a low C major chord… The finale (Allegretto) follows immediately after the passacaglia, the only possible conclusion to a symphony of immense suffering, a symphony of unparalleled courage. After the main theme – the gentle melody of the bassoon, repeated by the violins, the birdlike twittering of the solo flute, full of the cello’s song – a creeping, winding secondary theme snakes through the bass section (bassoons, bass clarinet). For a time the development of the theme casts a gloomy atmosphere with grotesque leaps and grimaces. As it proceeds the tension grows, reaching the burning heat of the battle scenes. The final mighty culmination of the symphony begins – a copy of the culmination of the first movement: the evil squall is authoritatively quashed by the salutary intrusion of the epigraph theme. A farewell glance at the “landscape after the battle”: the “snake-like” secondary theme of the bass clarinet sounds rather comic than evil, with the pastorale themes of the cello and bassoon washed away, so to speak… The radiant C major triad in the high register of the violins; the unchanging, repetitive pizzicato of the basses – the initial notes of the finale. The idyllic coda is goodness itself. Light and goodness.
Iosif Raiskin |
