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Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Symphony No. 3, “Polish”

(Instrumentation: piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, strings)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

(Born in Kamko-Votinsk, Russia in 1840; died in St. Petersburg in 1893)

Symphony No. 3 in D Major, “Polish,” Op. 29

  1. Introduzione e Allegro: Moderato assai (Tempo di marcia funebre) – Allegro brilliante
  2. Alla tedesca: Allegro moderato e semplice
  3. Andante elegiaco
  4. Scherzo: Allegro vivo
  5. Finale: Allegro con fuoco (Tempo di polacca)

In 1875, not too far from Moscow, Tchaikovsky spent the summer months with a former pupil, Alexander Shilovsky, in a beautiful landscape where the fabled Steppes of central Asia begin. He was in a rare mood of calm and happiness as he reported by letter to a friend:

“I’m now composing a new symphony, and I’m doing a bit at a time. I don’t sit over it for hours on end, and I’m walking more…”

The “new symphony” was his enchanting Symphony No. 3 that he completed in under two months. Although the speed of composing was typical of this great composer, the fact that Tchaikovsky did not manically slave over his new composition at all hours, exhausting himself, and battling anxiety, was uncharacteristic. As he effused in letters to Modest, his brother, Tchaikovsky was in love with Shilovsky, and their summer affair along with the tonic of the beauty of the countryside, appears to have imbued a generally happy tone into much of this new Symphony. In thanks, Tchaikovsky dedicated his Third to Shilovsky.

Three of the great charms of this Symphony are Tchaikovsky’s delightfully lyrical themes, the creative use of rhythms, and how the Symphony’s themes often feel dance-like. It turns out that just before leaving Moscow for Shilovsky’s estate, Tchaikovsky had agreed to compose his very first ballet, Swan Lake, as soon as he had finished his Symphony. Although Tchaikovsky never offered any direct mention of it, the Symphony feels permeated by dance. So much so, that in 1967 the great dancer, choreographer, and co-founder of the New York City Ballet, George Balanchine, choreographed the last four movements of the Symphony as part of his famous dance suite Jewels.

Though the introductory section of the first movement is marked as a marcia funebre (“funeral march”), it appears that Tchaikovsky was using this tempo marking not to create a macabre tone but instead for two creative purposes: one, to introduce us to several of the themes that will appear throughout the work; and, secondly, for dramatic effect as the funeral march blossoms into the ebullience that permeates much of this Symphony – the only of his 7 symphonies that Tchaikovsky cast in a major key. As the funeral march accelerates, it is transformed into a lively and grand procession, the Allegro brillante. Listen for how Tchaikovsky creates a kind of orchestral “sound check” as he passes bits of the theme and their accompanying lines across the entire roster of instruments. Not long into this Allegro, the oboe serenades us with a folklike, exotic theme. From here on out, themes will transform continually, shifting as Tchaikovsky creates successive waves of energy building to climax. Throughout, the pace is brisk with a sprightly undercurrent, giving the feeling that this is music waiting to be choreographed.

The second movement (considered an atypical “fifth” movement in the usual four-movement symphonic scheme) is marked “Alla tedesca” which means “in the German style,” referring to its rustic waltz, called a ländler in German. This is one of Tchaikovsky’s most lovely treasures and is truly dance music. The opening flute theme is intoxicatingly folksy and quirky as the rhythm gives a syncopated weight to the weak beats in the bar. This is just the first of Tchaikovsky’s frequent experiments in this Symphony with meter manipulation. After the bassoon reprises the flute’s lovely folk theme, Tchaikovsky then ingeniously makes us wonder if there are two beats, or three beats, in each bar – and yet, the movement flits by with an otherworldly allure and grace.

The third movement, Andante elegiac (meaning slowly and elegiacally), begins with a somber wind chorale. Then the bassoon, followed by the horn, sings a melancholic love call filled with longing. A new section arrives after a brief break and the strings serenade us with a touching, romantic song. Elements of both sections begin to mingle throughout the rest of the movement. At times, the richness of sound that Tchaikovsky creates with full orchestra is breath-taking, and as the movement winds down, some of the effects are sparkling – such as near the movement’s end as the tremolo strings wander down into the depths just before the bassoon returns to its lonely call.

The fourth movement, Scherzo, begins with gossamer lightness and breezy ebullience in both the strings and winds. Tchaikovsky adds punctuations from a core group of winds that propel the pace along. Every few phrases, singing above this buzzing activity, the horn and then the trombone have extroverted solos. The overall effect is wonderfully dizzying. Listen especially for one of Tchaikovsky’s most inventive moments in the Symphony at about 3 minutes in. Here, the violins begin playing rolling arpeggios (the basic notes of a chord) at great speed. By accretion, the other strings join in, some in different rhythms, creating a magnificent din of whirling activity. Into this musical maelstrom enter the horns with a blaring fanfare, as though the calvary has driven into the riotous fairy crowd. The remainder of the movement, though basically a recap of the first half, is a virtuosic concerto for the orchestral instruments.

The finale is directed to be played “con fuoco” (with fire) and like a polonaise (“Tempo di polacca”) – one of the most famous and widespread Polish waltz-like dances of the 18th-19th Centuries. From this tempo designation came the Symphony’s nickname, the “Polish,” upon its British premiere in 1899. At that time, Poland was struggling for independence from three occupying countries, Prussia, Russia, and the Hapsburg (Austrian) monarchy – referred to in the West as the “Polish Question.” Thus, the British audiences, along with the headlining advocacy of Ignacy Jan Paderewski for his home country, were sympathetic to Poland’s quest for independence, and imagined that Tchaikovsky was also on board with the “Polish Question” in this finale. In reality, in 1875 the Tsarist Russia of Tchaikovsky’s time when writing this Symphony, the polonaise was associated with royalty. When the Tsar did anything publicly, a polonaise was expected to be played – thus, Tchaikovsky was hedging for royal favor in his new work, not Polish independence. But even though historically inaccurate as representing hopes for Polish independence, the nickname “Polish” has stuck, nonetheless.

But Tchaikovsky wasn’t just thinking of the Tsar – polonaises were hugely popular worldwide, and the composer was clearly looking to please. And this finale does indeed please – feelings of dancing course throughout the entire movement, as does an exhilarating energy. Several moments are noteworthy in this final movement. One is Tchaikovsky’s wonderful second theme, heard in the winds and horns above active strings – it’s anthem-like, and one of his most robustly cheerful melodies. When this anthem returns near the end, it jubilantly blazes into triumph. Soon after, the beat becomes disorienting and ambiguous – again, juggling between the syncopation of two beats per bar versus three beats – keeping us delightfully off balance. And finally, Tchaikovsky saves the best for last – the concluding bars are as glorious as anything Tchaikovsky wrote. With bombastic brass and timpani, the Symphony ends with breath-taking joy.

© Max Derrickson