At the end of 1876, Tchaikovsky was introduced to Nadezhda von Meck, a wealthy widow who became his confidante and patron and to whom he dedicated the Fourth Symphony. For years, von Meck provided the composer with financial as well as intellectual and moral support for his work. She is often portrayed as a positive counterpart, from the composer’s perspective, to the young Antonina Miliukova (a former student), whom Tchaikovsky married in 1877 in an effort to satisfy social appearances and deflect from his same-sex liaisons.

The Fourth Symphony is his first large-scale work since being taken under von Meck’s wing. Tchaikovsky responded to her curiosity about the music that was consuming him with a detailed explication of the role of “Fate,” represented at the outset by the fanfare motto of horns and brass. This, he wrote, is “the decisive force that prevents our hopes of happiness from being realized, which watches jealously to see that our bliss and peace are not complete and unclouded...”

The basic timeline and this description have encouraged gossipy assumptions about the intersection of an artist’s private emotional life with the actual work of art. Yet Tchaikovsky made the following point to fellow composer Sergei Taneyev: “This program is such that it cannot be formulated in words. Should not [a symphony] express everything for which there are no words, but which the soul wishes to express, and which requires to be expressed?” He goes on to suggest a parallel musical program, which is that the Fourth “rests on a foundation that is nearly the same” as that of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony—itself a work widely regarded as an expression of the struggle with Fate.

The first movement is the most complex in design. Following an opening unison blast from horns and trumpets (often tagged the “Fate motto”), the main theme is given by the strings, wheeling in a rhythmic pattern that Tchaikovsky exploits masterfully. At times, this takes on the guise of a ghostly waltz.
Tchaikovsky turns to a looser, almost cinematic processes of association to maximize a sense of dramatic conflict as he juxtaposes his thematic ideas. The introductory Fate motto recurs as a structural cue. After the exhaustive emotional journey of the first movement, Tchaikovsky allows some relaxation in the inner two movements, which have a quality of dreamlike interludes.

But each is distinct in character. The Andantino’s main melody (first heard on oboe) is notable for the melodic interest Tchaikovsky sustains using nothing but simple eighth notes. Unison strings introduce an archaic atmosphere flavored by memories of Old Russia. The Scherzo exploits the soundscape of plucked strings en masse, with colorful, balletic contrasts from chirping woodwinds and crisp brass.

The finale crashes on the scene with an exuberant outburst, though Tchaikovsky has already, if surreptitiously, prepared for this surprise. The music billows in a pattern of descending scales (foreshadowed in the Scherzo). The simplicity of the folk tune on which the finale is based makes it highly versatile. Tchaikovsky embroiders it with festive, high-speed scales and cymbal crashes, yet flashes of angst at times darken the picture: for the first time since the end of the opening movement, the Fate motto comes back in full force. Yet this time, the orchestra simply sets it aside and carries on to a conclusion that rivals the jubilant spirit at the end of Beethoven’s Fifth.

© 2019 Thomas May