Die Moldau, from Má Vlast

As a seminal voice in the creation of nationalist operas, Bedřich Smetana (1824-84) fulfills a similar role to Glinka in Russia, Berlioz in France, and Wagner in Germany. Elements in his music suggest the powerful influence of Beethoven; and because Smetana completely lost his hearing in the summer of 1874, that parallel becomes almost irresistible. Smetana conceived and worked on the six symphonic poems in Má Vlast (My Homeland) as separate entities, which he developed between 1874 and 1879. The work is rarely performed in its entirety, for the second movement (Vlatava, or The Moldau) has become so beloved—and so representative of the whole, quoting from the other movements—that it provides a concise, ten-minute synopsis of the larger work.
Evoking the sights and sounds of Prague in particular and Bohemia more generally, The Moldau functions as a kind of Czech national soundtrack. (Little wonder that it was used in Terrence Malick’s recent film epic, The Tree of Life.) The material still sounds so fresh and descriptive, and Smetana shows a masterful touch in orchestration that further enhances the tone-painting. For instance, he divides the mysterious opening figure between two flutes to suggest the Moldau’s two sources. First glimpses of land emerge from the mincing woodwinds. Eventually the lower strings (viola, then cello and bass) enter as prelude to the haunting and justly famous main theme in E minor, which includes both passion and restraint in its simple shape. Smetana repeats the theme just moments later in major, but the lingering presence of the “modal” minor sixth scale degree (C natural) wonderfully poises the mood between contemporary “nationalist” celebration and an older, more poignant allure. The next episode, invoking a forest hunt, is stamped with the style of Richard Wagner in almost every bar. Less original than the preceding main theme, this material nevertheless wonderfully mimics the best in Wagner’s symphonic writing: cascading strings between brass fanfares.
The following wedding dance carries its rustic charm lightly, illuminated by use of triangle. Smetana then introduces his own mysterious evocation of moonlight on the water, generations after Beethoven’s well-known Moonlight Piano Sonata. The wind instruments recall the texture of the opening, but gradually our attention settles on the sustained melodic notes in the high strings. Soon enough the subtle echoes of the introduction become more overt, and a full-blown recapitulation begins. The easy progress of the river is interrupted by a storm episode redolent of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony or Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain. At the start of the coda, the river once again breaks through triumphantly. Possibly the most significant borrowed theme in The Moldau is the Vysehrad motive, a four-note pattern related to the medieval castle of the same name. (The Vysehrad motive forms the main thematic material of Ma Vlast’s opening movement.) This medieval recollection dissolves to an apparently peaceful conclusion—before the festive spirit catches up with us in two final, brusque chords.

(c) Jason Stell