Having a Ball with Tchaikovsky's Symphony No 6
The Backstory
Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74 ("Pathétique")
I'm Tchaikovsky, and this is the backstory of my Symphony No 6. You'll learn how I planned a symphony with a program I kept secret and a quiet, slow ending instead of a loud one, and why that choice still surprises people. On this site my fellow composers and I also teach you to recognize our pieces the moment you hear them, so whenever you feel ready, give the Trainer a try .
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The Symphony I Destroyed
Before this symphony existed, I had started another one in the autumn of 1892. I got part of the way through orchestrating it, and then I destroyed it. That might sound dramatic, but a composer who keeps every unhappy draft ends up with a very crowded desk. So I cleared the table, and that left room for the music that became my Symphony No 6.A Secret I Told Only Half Of
In February 1893 I wrote to my nephew Vladimir Davydov about a new symphony with a program that would remain an enigma to everyone. A program is the story or idea behind a piece of music, and I had one, but I never told anybody what it was. To this day nobody knows what it contained, so every listener is free to hear their own story. I dedicated the symphony to Vladimir, which seemed only fair, since I had written to him about it.Quick Sketches, Slow Summer
The work went in two stages, and the first was fast. I sketched the whole symphony in February and March 1893, and I told people I had finished it in outline. Then I spent July and August orchestrating it at Klin, which means deciding which instrument plays which note. Sketching is like drawing a floor plan, and orchestrating is the long job of furnishing every room.Four Chapters, No Applause in Between
A symphony is split into movements, which you can think of as the chapters of a novel, each with its own mood and a short pause before the next begins. The first chapter starts slowly and then grows restless, marked Adagio and then Allegro non troppo, in B minor, and it is followed by a graceful second one marked Allegro con grazia, in D major. The third, marked Allegro molto vivace, in G major, is a bustling march that keeps getting louder and more confident, so you might think the story is heading for a triumphant ending. Instead the last chapter, an Adagio lamentoso back in B minor, is slow and sorrowful, with descending scales, a great climax of yearning, and a fading ending that dies away to almost nothing.The Title That Fooled the English
My working title was simply Program Symphony, which is not very catchy. My brother Modest suggested the subtitle Pathétique, and I accepted it. English speakers sometimes think it means pathetic, but the Russian word means full of pathos, which is to say passionate and emotional. So the symphony is not feeble at all, it simply feels everything very strongly.Life, Then the Quiet Part
I once outlined the plan with the words that the ultimate essence of the symphony is Life. The first movement was to be all passion, confidence and thirst for life, and the finale was to be death, the result of collapse. I told Vladimir that I wanted the ending to be a long drawn-out adagio rather than a loud allegro. Symphonies often finished with a bang, so ending in a whisper was a bold change of habit.Borrowed Tunes and a Fierce Fugue
The first movement has a few surprises tucked inside it. At one point I quote an Orthodox chant for the dead, and the second theme bears a resemblance to the Flower Song from Bizet's Carmen. Later, in the middle section, there is a fugue, which is a passage where the same tune chases itself around the orchestra, and I marked it feroce. That is the Italian word for fierce, and I meant every bit of it.The Audience Scratches Its Head
The premiere took place in October 1893 in Saint Petersburg, at the first symphony concert of the Russian Musical Society, and I conducted it myself. I noticed some bewilderment among the audience, and the critics responded in a muted way. I was proud of the work all the same, and I was satisfied with it. Sometimes a piece needs a little time before people catch up with it.Nine Days Later
I died nine days after the premiere, on 6 November 1893, and that timing has made people wonder about the symphony ever since. The Houston Symphony notes mention cholera, while other accounts debate suicide, and the sources do not settle it. Some people call the symphony a farewell note, but the musicologist David Brown calls that theory patent nonsense. What I can say for certain is that the music itself is full of life, which is why it is still played so often.A Big Orchestra and a Long Evening
I wrote the symphony for a large orchestra, with three flutes, four horns, three trombones, a tuba, and a tam-tam for the darkest moments. A performance lasts between 45 and 50 minutes, so it is best to settle into your seat and not check your watch. My publisher Jurgenson brought out the piano duet version in November 1893, and the full score and parts followed in February 1894. That meant the music could travel to concert halls and living rooms while I was no longer there to carry it.---
Now that the story has reached its quiet end, I'd like to stay with it for a moment. I conducted the premiere in Saint Petersburg in October 1893, and I noticed some bewilderment in the audience, but I was proud of the work. Nine days after that evening I was gone, and people have gone on reading meaning into the symphony ever since. I never revealed what the secret program was, and I rather like that the music is left to speak for itself. Did you enjoy getting to know the story behind my Symphony No 6? There is still a lot more to explore, from the lopsided waltz and the fierce fugue in the first movement to the way the finale slowly fades away. Please click on the links provided to keep exploring Symphony No 6. When you have a free evening, you could listen to it from beginning to end, which takes about 45 to 50 minutes.