Tchaikovsky's Pathétique: between pathos and romanticism
Article
On 21 and 22 February in Namur and Bozar, the BNO will perform Tchaikovsky's famous “Pathétique” Symphony, the composer's last romantic masterpiece. Find out more about the history and structure of this piece in this article by musicologist Pieter Mannaerts.
In Antiquity, pathos referred to the power of emotion, regarded as a fundamental element of both ethics and art: joy, sorrow, anger, compassion, and fear were seen as forces that profoundly shape human action. Aristotle already observed that rhetoric speaks directly to the emotions, even if reason must ultimately remain its guide. The Stoics, by contrast, distrusted uncontrolled passions and advocated an unshakable apatheia — a state of inner equanimity.
Such restraint feels far removed from the world of Romantic music. Throughout the nineteenth century, the notion of pathos found immense resonance there. It is almost too tempting to point out that, nearly a century apart, Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Op. 13 (1798) and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 Op. 74 (1893) both bear the nickname “Pathétique.” Yet the label is hardly essential: Berlioz and many of his contemporaries explored the depths of human emotion, translating inner storms and ecstatic surges into sound in order to move the listener’s heart and imagination.
Like the subtitle of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata (suggested by his publisher Joseph Eder), the epithet attached to Tchaikovsky’s Sixth did not originate with the composer but with his brother Modest. In Russian, Pateticheskaya does not mean “pathetic” in the sense of pitiable, but rather “deeply emotional” or “passionate.” And the symphony is indeed rich in intensity and drama. From the opening bars, a dark murmur (heard in the bassoons and double basses) rises and expands into a sweeping orchestral outburst.
The second movement is famous for its five-beat meter (5/4). Despite this irregular rhythmic framework, Tchaikovsky created music of remarkable grace and suppleness by regularly inserting an elongated note within the three-beat subdivision (3/4), producing a subtle sense of pause or “breathing” in the melodic line. Although five-beat meter never became standard, the five-step waltz was less unusual than one might assume at the end of the nineteenth century and even enjoyed a period of popularity. Tchaikovsky himself composed one in his 18 Pieces for Piano, Op. 72 (No. 16).
The letters addressed to his nephew Vladimir Davydov, to whom the work is dedicated, closely trace the genesis of the Sixth Symphony. They reveal how inspired Tchaikovsky felt, completing the composition relatively swiftly. He was especially proud of the final movement which, in stark contrast to the triumphant brilliance of the preceding scherzo, fades away into a searing silence.
The Sixth was Tchaikovsky’s last work. Initially met with a lukewarm reception at its premiere, it quickly gained recognition after the second performance. Two factors continue to nourish the myth surrounding this symphony: the composer’s death shortly after the premiere, most likely from cholera (the theory of suicide related to his homosexuality remains purely speculative), and the supposed programme of the work — hinted at in Tchaikovsky’s letters, yet the precise content of which will forever remain unknown.
