Richard Strauss was born June 11, 1864 in Munich, and died September 8, 1949 in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. His composition of Till Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche (Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks) was in May of 1895. The work is dedicated to “my dear friend Dr. Arthus Seidl.” Its first performance took place in Cologne on November 5, 1895 with Franz Wüllner conducting the Gurzenich Orchestra . It is scored for 3 flutes, 3 oboes, English horn, clarinet in D, 2 clarinets in B flat, bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 4 horns in D (ad libitum) 3 trumpets in F, 3 trumpets in D (ad libitum) 3 trombones, bass tuba, timpani, triangle, cymbals, bass drum, a large rattle, and strings.
How can one translate humorous literature or legend into music without the benefit of words? The answer is elusive, largely because true musical humor can only be defined in terms of musical syntax. But purely instrumental music inspired by humorous subject matter can, in the right hands, be effectively communicated. If an audience is moved to laughter, or even just a smile, during the performance of a piece, it is because the composer has found the means to surprise us in a pleasant way. In no way is our surprise dependent upon knowing the “story” behind the music.
Richard Strauss certainly was a master at finding the means to surprise his listeners. At times the surprises heard in his symphonic poems (or tone poems) can be dramatic and awe-inspiring (Death and Transfiguration, A Hero’s Life, and Thus Spake Zarathustra). Two of his symphonic poems (Don Quixote and Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks), by contrast, are filled with satire and wit, as befits the stories that inspired them. Strauss’s earlier tone poems had the effect of setting the musical world on its proverbial ear. Composed in 1894-5 (roughly the same period that Gustav Mahler was working on his Symphony no. 2), Till Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche. Nach alter Schelmenweise-in Rondeauform-für grosses Orchester makes use of the Flemish legendary prankster from the sixteenth century as a cipher for Strauss himself playing tricks upon the unsuspecting musical public of his day. At one point, Strauss contemplated using the subject of Till as be basis for an opera, provisionally entitled Till Eulenspiegel bei den Schildbürgern. For reasons still unknown, Strauss abandoned the opera project in favor of the tone poem. Even the use of the term “rondeau” in the full title of the work is a prank of sorts, since the work can’t be said to truly follow the precise outline of that musical form, much less the fixed form used in the late Middle Ages.
The story begins with a brief introduction that suggest “once upon a time there lived a prankster by the name of Till Eulenspiegel.” The introduction comprises two musical ideas—a whistful theme in the violins, followed by rhythmically sophisticated mock-heroic fanfare played by the French horn. A ubiquitous soprano clarinet soon presents a characteristic and cheeky version of the violin tune. The first adventure finds Till at a masquerade. After this episode he takes a ride through a marketplace, upsetting the vendors’ carts. In the third adventure he assumes the garb of a priest, taking on a “solemn and unctuous mien.” If he feels any remorse about mocking the priesthood, he easily sloughs it off by means of a glissando in the solo violin, leading to his next adventure in which he takes on the personality of a decadent and oily lover. Failing at this, he tries his hand as a pseudo-scholar—a role that Strauss most certainly must have relished in particular. The jeering woodwind figures here unmistakably Strauss (as Till) thumbing his nose at the academes (music critics). As he brushes them off, he strolls down the street whistling a merry Gassenhauer (street ditty). What follows sounds suspiciously like a recapitulation, (as I said, one can’t trust the term rondo!) as the opening horn fanfares return (here the 3rd chair hornist shares honors with the 1st chair). As soon as the unrepentant Till achieves a triumphant apotheosis, his glory is rudely cut off by the sinister sounds of the long arm of the law. At first Till protests mildly, but this soon rises to a desperate shriek in the soprano clarinet as the prankster is brought to justice and finds himself at the end of a hangman’s noose. A short “Epilogue,” however, reminds us that this was nothing more than a tale about a prankster, whose spirit continues to live forever.
Notes by David B. Levy, © 2007/2025