Arthur HONEGGER (1892-1955)
Orchestral Works
Born in Le Havre on 10th March, 1892, Arthur Honegger was of
Swiss-French parentage, an ancestry in many ways determining the nature of his
music, far removed from the self-conscious gaiety and whimsicality frequently
evoked by the other members of the Paris-based group Les Six. Studies at the
Paris Conservatoire during 1911-18 instilled in him a love of counterpoint and
fugal procedure, evident throughout his work, while a lifelong appreciation of
the possibilities of technology is evinced in his extensive output for film and
radio, not least Abel Gance's 1927 epic film Napoleon (Marco Polo 8.223134).
Despite the fact that his international career was launched
in 1921 by the dramatic psalm Le roi David (Naxos 8.553649), and that operas
and ballets occupied the major part of his creative thinking between the wars,
Honegger is now best remembered for a sequence of vivid and increasingly
dramatic orchestral works. During the 1920s and 1930s, these took the form of
short tone poems and mood pictures, often with a specific evocation in mind.
Latterly, the composer preferred more abstract titles, composing his First
Symphony in 1930 and three further symphonies during the 1940s. Dating from
1951, the Fifth Symphony is among his last major works, a defiant statement by
a composer who, undermined by serious ill health from 1947, was increasingly
uncertain about the artist's rôle in a world haunted by the threat of its own
destruction. He died in the Paris district of Montmatre, where he had lived
since 1913, on 27th November 1955.
A tone poem depicting summer in the Alps above Berne,
Pastoral d'ete, prefaced by a quotation from Rimbaud, J'ai embrasse l'aube
d'ete (I embraced the dawn of summer), was a notable success at its première in
1920, and has remained one of Honegger's most performed pieces. Calmly
undulating strings provide the backdrop for a ruminative horn melody, continued
by oboe and complemented by graceful clarinet arabesques. Violins take up the
theme, leading in a gradual crescendo to the central section of the piece, a
livelier, folk-like theme shared between woodwind. Strings add their animated
contribution, resulting in an overlay of 'folk' themes at the central climax.
This quickly subsides, and the initial melody and rhythm return, albeit with reminiscences
of the central section. A version of the 'folk' theme, sounding ethereal on
flute, brings the piece to a gentle close.
Few pieces caught the mood of the time, and the imagination
of musicians and public alike, as did Pacific 231 (1923), Honegger's graphic
musical depiction of a train in motion, in which he expresses acceleration by
decreasing note values, while actually slowing the tempo. The trajectory of the
work is very simple. After a ghostly initial inhaling and exhaling on upper
strings and woodwind, the rhythmic momentum gets under way in earnest. As the
pulse-rate gradually increases, so does the stridency of the orchestration,
with numerous rhythmically-defined gestures coalescing in ever-new patterns and
combinations. Particularly notable is a tarantella-like woodwind idea, and an
angular trumpet motif which constantly returns in new guises. At length
everything comes together in a hectic tutti, with the brakes applied as the
music slows inexorably to its final chord.
Although Honegger might be thought to be repeating the trick
again in Rugby (1928), this piece is less the graphic depiction of a game of
rugby-football than an effervescent scherzo that can be heard and enjoyed
purely as music. The opening chorale-like theme on brass acts as a framing
device throughout, with a broad-spanned string melody the main source of
contrast. In between, incisive exchanges between orchestral groups imply a
sense of opposing forces trying to secure the upper hand, culminating in the
affirmative return of the chorale-theme to impart a sense of victory, though
who has triumphed over whom is left very much to the listener's imagination.
Perhaps it was a sense that titles were becoming a hindrance
that led Honegger to label a third potentially descriptive piece simply
Mouvement Symphonique No. 3, commissioned in 1933 by Furtwangler for the Berlin
Philharmonic Orchestra, a work that aroused Nazi hostility, for whatever
reason. The musical language here is emotionally more ambiguous. Strident
opening gestures effect a sequence of hard-edged, tensile ideas, but only a
lively theme on trumpet and strings manages to impose itself on the restless
musical discourse. Midway through the piece, rhythmic activity comes to a head;
after a sequence of grating chords, the very different sound of tenor
saxophone, plaintive against halting lower strings, assumes the foreground.
Other woodwind, then strings, take up its melody, leading to a pensive
conclusion which confirms that the composer is intent on seeking a deeper vein
of expression.
An expression that found fulfilment in numerous stage-works
and concert pieces over the 1930s, before the onset of World War Two, brought
about a further expressive intensification of Honegger's musical language. His
Second Symphony (1941), written in the darkest days of French subjugation, ends
with a chorale which points to future victory. That victory over Nazism came
about four years later, but its successor (1945) is far from a triumphal
display: mankind had been drawn to new levels of destruction, such as presented
grave questions as to its very survival. Questions such as those that
Honegger's Third Symphony, his Symphonie Liturgique, where each movement is
headed by a title drawn from the liturgy, tackles in earnest.
The first movement, Dies irae, suggests hate that destroys
everything. Scurrying strings quickly erupt in an impassioned theme for horns
and strings, goaded on by shrieking trumpets and woodwind. The turmoil
continues over a pounding string ostinato, with a listless melody on violins
and upper woodwind emerging to provide necessary expressive contrast. The music
quietens for a tense central interlude, in which an oriental-sounding theme,
underpinned by unsnared side drum, briefly assumes prominence. Activity soon mounts,
however, leading to a return of the ostinato rhythm and a free recapitulation
of those ideas heard at the outset of the movement. A brief coda sees the music
disappear back into the depths for which it had emerged, with the final return
of a ray of hope in what the composer described as his 'bird-theme'.
In the second movement, De profundis clamavi, a plea of
supplication, the opening gestures are as balm after the preceding furore,
preparing for a lyrical yet troubled theme which alternates between strings and
woodwind, evolving new expressive gestures as it continues and with an
especially touching episode for violins and muted trumpets. Ominous chords deep
in the piano's bass register presage the main climax, building steadily and
deliberately before culminating in the impassioned return of the theme's
initial phrases. There is no formal recapitulation as such, and even the threat
of a further climax is pointedly forestalled, enabling the movement to wind
down to a calm but somehow questioning close, made more so by the solo flute
return to the 'bird-theme', the dove of peace over the ruins.
The third movement, Dona nobis pacem, sets off with a heavy
march rhythm, underlying much of what follows. A baleful theme for horns,
underpinned by strings, heightens the ominous atmosphere, the march-rhythm
continuing as brass point up its militaristic connotations, described by the
composer as the march of robots against civilised man. The horn theme now
returns with a striving counter-melody for strings, which duly brings about the
second return of the march and the work's climax: the march-rhythm hammered out
between brass and percussion, exploding in a dissonant chord across the whole
orchestra before vanishing into silence. Out of this conflagration emerges a
warmly expressive melody for violas and cellos, expressing the wish of
suffering humanity and drawing in those questioning elements from the end of
the previous movement, even though the march-rhythm is still audible on
timpani. The 'bird-theme' is heard on the piccolo and a solo violin offers the
plea De profundis clamavi ad te. Honegger ends with a suggestion of a utopian
world, governed by reciprocal brotherhood and love, if such a thing were
possible.
Richard Whitehouse