Gustav Mahler: An Introduction to His Music, by Deryck Cooke

Posted October 4, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews, Germany, Music

O’er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp . . . .
Paradise Lost, II.620

This is a posthumous project, drawn from a booklet that Cooke wrote for the BBC as part of a celebration of Mahler’s one-hundredth birthday in 1960. The editors expanded the original “Mahler as Man and Artist,” drawing on Cooke’s program notes written over the years. All eleven symphonies (1-8, Das Lied von der Erde, 9, and the unfinished 10) are included, along with some early works, Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the Kindertotenlieder, and the Rückert Lieder.

The whole thing is 127 pages, including the index. There is something to be said for compactness, and how delightful with this subject! The editors have included all the texts of the free-standing songs and those that are part of the symphonies, but not a single measure of the music is reproduced.

There is a bit of biography set alongside the musical analysis. In 1895-96, Mahler used his time after the conducting season in Hamburg to work on his Third Symphony in the Austrian village of Steinbach am Attersee in the Salzburg Alps. There, he drew directly on nature for his inspiration, giving the work an initial program that read:

A Summer Morning’s Dream
I. Summer marches in
II. What the meadow flowers tell me
III. What the creatures of the forest tell me
IV. What night tells me (mankind)
V. What the morning bells tell me (the angels)
VI. What love tells me
VII. The heavenly life (what the child tells me)

Mahler removed that last section from the already loose baggy monster of the Third and made it the end of his charming Fourth, a setting of “Das himmlische Leben” from the Wunderhorn collection. He also discarded the program titles from what remained.

He was so immersed in nature in writing the Third that the story goes, according to his wife, Alma:

“One day in the summer he came running down from his hut in a perspiration, scarcely able to breathe. At last he came out with it: it was the heat, the stillness, the Pan-ic horror. He was overcome by this feeling of the goat-god’s frightful and vivid eye upon him in his solitude, and he had to take refuge in the house among human beings, and go on with his work there.”


Alma Mahler

Alma Schindler Mahler-Gropius-Werfel


Das Lied von der Erde (Song of the Earth) is a symphony, and like the Second, Third, Fourth, and Eighth, it includes a text. Unlike those, the text is not from Wunderhorn, the Christian liturgy, Goethe, or Klopstock, but rather from Chinese poems, as translated into German by Hans Bethge in his “The Chinese Flute.” Mahler declined to call this work his Ninth Symphony out of superstition that because Beethoven only completed nine symphonies, once he himself did so, it would be the end. So he then safely called the next symphony his Ninth (because he had written eight), but it was really the tenth one, if you’re counting symphonies. He assumed “the danger was over.” Then on to the Tenth, which he didn’t finish. That’s fate for you.

Mahler’s modernness comes through in the discussion of the Tenth Symphony. He completed a four-stave score and notes on elaboration of this “piano-duet layout” into a full score, but stopped halfway through. Cooke completed a version for performance. What is so contemporary about this is what Cooke drops as a casual detail–Mahler had left “three folders” containing drafts of two full-length movements and the first thirty bars of another. “And so he did not even begin the third stage–the elaboration of the full-score draft into the final definitive full score of the completed work. He had, however, decided on the order of the movements, having written blue-pencil roman numerals on the covers of five of the folders.” A symphony in folders! Did Richard Strauss have folders for Salome?



Das Lied von der Erde, or Symphony No. 9, as you please


Schopenhauer and the Wild Years of Philosophy, by Rüdiger Safranski

Posted September 10, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews, Germany

There was an old person of Buda,
Whose conduct grew ruder and ruder,
Till at last with a hammer,
They silenced his clamour,
By smashing that Person of Buda.

–Edmund Lear

Kant, Fichte, Schelling, the Romantics, Hegel, Feuerbach, Marx in his youth all made some noise in the early nineteenth centuries. Reality at last was becoming knowable and malleable. These were the “wild years of philosophy.” Schopenhauer’s great work, The World as Will and Representation (1814-18), took decades to be noticed, during which time the philosopher carried on in spite of the world.

The book is a biography of Schopenhauer with a great deal of summary of his and others’ philosophies mixed in, largely with success. There would not have been a philosopher Schopenhauer but for some circumstances. His father was a merchant in Hamburg, and wanted Arthur to follow in the family business. Arthur had studied literature and preferred it to trade. The father gave Arthur a choice in 1803, when he was fifteen: He could take a tour of several months to England, Holland, France, Austria, and Switzerland to see the world’s great architecture, paintings, and sculpture, and come home to start a life of business; or, he could skip the tour and live his own life that he chose. Arthur chose the tour, but then something intervened. The father died suddenly in 1805,  giving Arthur an inheritance and the opportunity and security to study.

With his mother, Johanna, he moved to Weimar, where he met Goethe. (The mother, who wrote several novels and was not bashful about promoting her work, deserves her own biography.) Young Arthur’s discussions with Goethe on the theory of colors got his own philosophy of sensation underway.

He never married, but had a keen appreciation of women. There were several affairs, but never a serious engagement. At forty-three, he proposed to a seventeen-year-old girl. The father was flabbergasted: “But she is only a child!” Schopenhauer’s philosophy frankly admits the sex drive as one of many expressions of the “Will,’ that chaotic urge behind all things.

He was appointed lecturer at Berlin University, where he scheduled his lectures at the same time as the celebrity Hegel, as if out of spite. No one came. No one came for fifteen years. It takes a certain self-confidence to carry on in such a fashion. Eventually, Schopenhauer took a new position at Frankfurt, but remained out of sight of all but a few. He declined to be relevant or to make philosophy serve the state, as tempted Fichte and Hegel.

There were two journeys to Italy. At the Café Greco in Rome, he “would sit and irritate people.” To a group of “Nazarene-German” artistic amateurs he praised the Olympic gods. His tablemates preferred the apostles, but Schopenhauer snorted, “Spare me your twelve philistines from Jerusalem!”

He wrote for three hours every morning and for consolation, played Rossini on the flute. The author says that Schopenhauer could play all of Rossini’s works, which is saying something. His greatest influence arguably is in aesthetics. It is in contemplation of the work of art that one overcomes the Wahn (madness, as Hans Sachs sings) of hither-and-yon activity. This attitude is all over Thomas Mann and James Joyce, to name two. Think of Stephen Dedalus explaining the artist to Lynch, “indifferent, paring his fingernails.”

There is only passing mention of Wagner in the book. Schopenhauer would be Wagner’s greatest philosophical influence. If one were to look for a “Schopenhauer for Dummies,” this would not be the book to read. Instead, take in the Tristan Prelude. Nietzsche called it the heartbeat of the Will.

Ludwig and Malvina Schnorr von Carolsfeld in the first production of Tristan und Isolde, Munich 1865

Ludwig and Malvina Schnorr von Carolsfeld in the first production of Tristan und Isolde, Munich 1865


The Whole Harmonium: The Life of Wallace Stevens, by Paul Mariani

Posted May 15, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews, Poetry

In middle-age hoping to twig from
What we are not what we might be next, a question 
The South seems never to raise.
–Auden, “Good-bye to the Mezzogiorno”

Biographies these days challenge the forearms. While pleading for the subject to kick the bucket already, you keep yourself awake in late-night reading bouts, desperate to finish before drowsiness drops the volume onto your nose with ensuing sparks.

So, the reader is grateful for a life that gets it done in 411 pages of text. But still, of course, the reader has whimsies of his own and is impossible to please. Too much is left out! What did Stevens think of Yeats, or Hardy, or Auden? Why did he bull ahead with his blank verse lines, loosening the line only a bit, but never as Eliot did, to melt into prose? How did he handle the apparent rejection of Harmonium when he finally let it loose on the world, publishing for the first time at age forty-three?

There’s no original research shown. The author seems to have flipped through the published Letters, the smaller collections of letters with José Rodriguez Feo and with the poet’s wife Elsie, and the oral biography by Peter Brazeau, Parts of a World. (It is said that there are many letters that Stevens’s only child and literary executor, his daughter, Holly, never let see the light of day, but she has been gone for over twenty years now and should not be able to veto from the grave.) Finally, there are the poems themselves. In any literary biography, there is going to be some analysis of the work product. Mariani makes the curious choice to weave the poetry itself into the narrative. It’s somewhat pleasing if the reader is very familiar with the poems already. Otherwise, it must be very tedious. It would be adventurous to recommend this book to anyone unfamiliar with Stevens’s poetry.

Putting Stevens in our contemporary context would have been useful. One of the finest poems from Ideas of Order cannot be mentioned in polite society these days (and scarcely so when published). He had bourgeois ways of speaking and liked to drink with the boys–too much so, as the author shows, not only on the famous trips to Florida with Judge Arthur Powell, but at literary dinners, too. Do those who care about poetry these days think less of him for all that? They may and likely do, but we are not told.

This is thirty years after the much more ambitious and detailed biography by Joan Richardson. It is good to have a shorter life to read, but more work could have been done to press out the whey and firm things up. The author doesn’t attempt to defend or explain his choices. There is no introduction. The last two pages are an afterword of sorts, though not separate from the main text.

There are not many photographs. Those that are included are not new. In fairness, let us admit that there may not be many to choose from, but it’s too bad that the cover photo is the very same one used on the Library of America’s Collected Poetry and Prose. The photo is not so classic that the choice cannot be ascribed to laziness.

Still, if one admires the poetry of Stevens very much, it is an excuse to dip back in again, if one needs such impetus!


A Fisherman's Paradise - Long Key Fishing Camp (Library of Congress)

A Fisherman’s Paradise – Long Key Fishing Camp (Library of Congress)

Human Voices, by Penelope Fitzgerald

Posted March 6, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews

Fierce is the wind tonight,
It ploughs up the white hair of the sea
I have no fear that the Viking hosts
Will come over the water to me.
–“The Viking Terror,” Irish anon. 9th cent.

This is a fictionalized memoir of the author’s experience as one of many female RP Junior Assistants at the BBC Broadcasting House, Department of Recorded Programmes, during 1940. The office has an unmenacing but comic bureaucratic feel to it, like 1984 or A Clockwork Orange in watercolours. Names and offices assume acronyms and are lost in the ABCs–BH for Broadcasting House, RPD for Recorded Programmes Director, DPP for Director of Programme Planning, ADDG for Acting Deputy Director General, and so on.

The building is compared to an ocean liner early on, then called the “Seraglio” because of the number of young women employed there, and eventually becomes an island of safety during the Blitz. Workers hardly left for weeks at a time, bunking in the concert hall (which gave rise to a headline in the Daily Mirror, “THIS IS THE NINE O’CLOCK SNOOZE”):

The sleepers were obscurely tormented by the need to be somewhere in five, ten, or twenty minutes. Awakened, quite often, by feet walking over them, they struck matches whose tiny flames wavered in every corner of the concert-hall, and had a look at their watches, just to be sure. Yet some slept on, and the walls, designed to give the best possible acoustics for classical music, worked just as well for snoring. Accommodation, who had provided so much, had never thought of this. No barracks or dormitory in the country produced snoring of such broad tone, and above that distinctly rose the variations of the overwrought, the junior announcers rehearsing their cues, correcting themselves and starting again, continuity men suddenly shouting: ‘… and now, in a lighter mood …’, and every now and then a fit of mysterious weeping.

Affairs are begun and broken off amidst the dust and splinters. One of the young women has a boyfriend in the French forces who is evacuated to London. Soldiers stand about waiting for their next assignment after Dunkirk. A French general (not de Gaulle) attempts to broadcast his own wakeup call to the western forces but is stymied by a BBC executive who figures him out and cuts the mic. Life during blackout required counting your steps during the daytime to be able to get about at night. The novel avoids sentiment without being clinical.


Photo source:

Photo source:

KL: A History of the Nazi Concentration Camps, by Nikolaus Wachsmann

Posted February 16, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews, Germany

Suum cuique
–Cicero; motto over Buchenwald gate (Jedem das Seine)

Not a history of the Holocaust (which included hundreds of thousands shot in the forests of Eastern Europe) or of all WWII German incarceration (POW camps as such are not included), this thorough but readable history documents the “KL” (Konzentationslager) system overseen by Rudolf Höss and ultimately by Himmler. By defining his subject in this way, Wachsmann also leaves out the extermination camps of Treblinka, Sobibor, and Belzec, which operated independently of the KL, and did not pretend to exist to house anyone for any length of time.

The title may be a place to start. “KZ” is the more familiar German term for the Nazi concentration camps, still taken from the same German word. According to Wachsmann, the SS, which ran the system, called them KL, and so he sticks with that term. (A recent award-winning German film, The People vs. Fritz Bauer, about the Frankfurt prosecutor who helped track down Adolf Eichmann, had the character use “KZ” to describe the camp where he briefly spent time, before exile in Sweden.)

The story begins in Dachau, established almost immediately after January 1933 as a dumping ground for political enemies, later to include other undesirables such as Jehovah’s Witnesses and even common criminals. Jews were not the focus early on–the regime preferred to make life uncomfortable enough so that they would choose emigration. This changed after Kristallnacht, when a large number of Jews were sent to the camps, but they were mostly released within a few months.

The focus shifts to Auschwitz-Birkenau after 1939. The plan originally had been for it to hold Soviet POWs, but that changed to include other persecuted groups, and then the transported Jews who were not killed immediately. One of Wachsmann’s themes is that the concentration camp system did not develop according to a master plan, and conditions even would improve for a short while here and there, then descend again.

The book is a kind of encyclopedia, though presented in a 630-page narrative. More detail is in the 200 pages of endnotes, for those who want it. Issues covered and not often discussed include:

  1. The “Camp SS”–Himmler’s SS took over the concentration camps after the fall of the SA in 1934 and established a dedicated set of guards, the Camp SS. These later were supplemented with captured foreigners who were pressed into duty, reducing the original esprit de corps.
  2. Red Cross packages began to be allowed in late 1942, but only went to prisoners whose names and whereabouts were known to welfare organizations and relatives. Others continued to starve.
  3. The short-lived family camp at Birkenau, housing thousands from Theresienstadt. Conditions were still very poor, but greatly improved over the rest of the Auschwitz-Birkenau complex. Even children were allowed there and had some normalcy. They even put on a musical based on the Disney movie Snow White. The family camp was only temporary and for the benefit of propaganda. On one night in March 1944, 3,800 of the inmates were wiped out. The rest were eliminated by June 1944.

Individual stories, though brief in themselves (St. Maximilian Kolbe gets seven lines) are what make the history a story and not just a body count. More than one survivor shows that luck made all the difference.

Still, the focus on Auschwitz takes the history away from the camps on domestic soil (primarily Dachau, Ravensbrück, Sachsenhausen, Buchenwald, and Mauthausen in Austria) after the war begins. The narrative comes back to these camps when the eastern prisoners are again resettled, but this time west. The remaining political prisoners in Germany in 1945, some who had the leisure to read or play chess, are dumbfounded by the appearance of the “Muselmänner” (the Nazi slang for the walking dead of the east). The camps within prewar borders were overwhelmed with the uprooted, emaciated, and diseased. Such were the conditions when the Americans came across Dachau and the British opened Belsen.

There is a short epilogue on the crude work of justice after the war and in the later decades. Nearly every commandant was tried and hanged. There is a photo of Höss in his gallows on the grounds of Auschwitz in 1947.

Fidelio, playbill of the premiere, Vienna, Kärntnertortheater, 23 May 1814

Fidelio, playbill of the premiere, Vienna, Kärntnertortheater, 23 May 1814

The Pope’s Elephant, by Silvio Bedini

Posted January 6, 2016 by Don
Categories: Book reviews, Catholic culture

Und dann und wann ein weißer Elefant.
 —Rilke, “Das Karussel”

Pope Leo X Medici lived like a king, and all the kings of Europe paid him tribute, even from new possessions reached by sail. King Manuel I of Portugal sent a mission to Rome in 1513 led by explorer Tristão da Cunha, who had named south Atlantic islands after himself. In addition to a gold chalice, gold tabernacle, vestments of gold cloth, and an altar frontal  “sewn with countless pearls and precious stones valued at more than 60,000 ducats, ” the mission included a cheetah, two leopards, “numerous parrots,” a Persian horse, and a three-year-old Indian elephant named Hanno.

Just getting Hanno to Rome was a feat of engineering and doggedness. His weight required special hoists from ship to dock and meant that transport by wagon was out of the question. Hanno made the last leg of seventy miles from Porto Ercole to Rome on his own four legs, stopping from time to time to recuperate from the effects of Roman roads on his footpads.

The arrival of Hanno and presentation to the pope became a story of its own. Hanno’s mahout had trained him to bow down low upon meeting Leo, which he did, and then followed up the obeisance with a burst of water sucked up from a barrel, dousing Leo’s courtiers. The pope was delighted.

Hanno settled down into the papal menagerie, where he was the star attraction. At several points, Bedini tries to make the case for Hanno as the pope’s favorite pet, but there’s not much evidence to support that part of the story.

The pope used Hanno at one point to embarrass an unfortunate abbot, Giacomo Baraballo, who was made to ride the elephant in a kind of fool’s parade. This tale was often a chief exhibit to show the hopeless corruption of the papal court.

Unfairly absent from the book’s title is another unusual papal pet described in the book, the pope’s rhinoceros, who also became known far and wide, even becoming the subject of an influential drawing by Albrecht Dürer. There is a novel by Lawrence Norfolk called The Pope’s Rhinoceros, but Bedini doesn’t mention it here.

The book contains several dozen illustrations, including drawings of the animals, portraits, and maps. This is a scholar’s book; it really is upside-down, with the text less of a narrative than a compilation of notes. You like this kind of thing or you don’t. Once I figured out what I was reading, I admired it immensely.


Giacomo Baraballo on Hanno

Giacomo Baraballo on Hanno


Embattled Rebel, by James M. McPherson

Posted December 13, 2015 by Don
Categories: Book reviews

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm. . . .
  –Richard II

This book is a companion to the author’s previous book Tried by War, which focused on Lincoln’s role as a war president. Here, McPherson gives the same treatment to “Jefferson Davis as Commander in Chief,” as the subtitle has it.

Davis resigned his post as Senator from Mississippi and came home as a new major general of the Army of the Mississippi. Before he could plan a battle, the Confederate Congress, meeting in Montgomery, unanimously elected him President. His experience as Secretary of War under Franklin Pierce made him well fitted for presiding over the new nation whose chief business would be war.

The focus of this short book (just over 250 pages) is Davis’s furious effort to keep the Confederacy in the fight, despite the overwhelming odds. It’s not a happy story. Egos abound. Portraits of the leading generals pop up every dozen pages or so. You can imagine them in Davis’s nightmares.

There was a Secretary of War in the Confederacy, but Davis performed much of that function himself, partly because the first Secretary, Leroy P. Walker, was useless, but more because Davis couldn’t help himself. Davis planned an “offensive-defensive” strategy–“the best way to defend the Confederacy  was to seize opportunities to take the offensive and force the enemy to sue for peace.”

He got out of Richmond to the battles himself from time to time. He took a train to Manassas in time to encourage some stragglers to head back to the battlefield. The victory was “perhaps his happiest moment of the war.” From then on, there was a barrage of complaints and pleadings from the generals for promotions, reinforcements, and supplies. Sorting out the promotions was not the hardest part. There were few reinforcements and less and less of any supplies.

The author declares in the Introduction, “My sympathies lie with the Union side in the Civil War.” The impression of Davis from this book is someone who gave his all in trying times. There is a short “Coda” that considers some might-have-beens on strategic decisions, ending:

Davis’s relationship with General Robert E. Lee was one of the brightest features of his tenure as commander in chief. The president recognized Lee’s ability and supported the general in the face of initial criticisms. The two men forged a partnership even closer and longer lasting than the one between Lincoln and Grant on the other side. And while the Lincoln-Grant team eventually won the war, this does not mean that the Davis-Lee team was responsible for losing it. For in the final analysis, the salient truth about the American Civil War is not that the Confederacy lost but that the Union won.


Falls of the James River, by Benjamin Henry Latrobe (Library of Virginia)

Falls of the James River, by Benjamin Henry Latrobe (Library of Virginia)