Nielsen: Symphony No. 2

Carl Nielsen (1865-1931)

Symphony No. 2, “The Four Temperaments”



  1. Allegro collerico (The Choleric)
  2. Allegro comodo e flemmatico (The Phlegmatic)
  3. Andante malincolico [sic] (The Melancholic)
  4. Allegro sanguineo — Marziale (The Sanguine)

Throughout his career Nielsen had an abiding interest in human nature and characteristics, but the music he wrote at the turn of the 20th century concerns itself so directly with the portrayal of character and personality that it is sometimes referred to as Nielsen’s “psychological period.” This reaches its apotheosis in the opera Saul and David and his Second Symphony. In the opera, composed between 1899 and 1901, the drama is built on the contrast between David the youthful, joyful and obedient servant of god, and the proud, impulsive and melancholic Saul. The Second Symphony, begun in 1901 as he was finishing the opera, takes as its inspiration the four “humours” that medieval philosophers defined as the four fundamental character types: the choleric, the phlegmatic, the melancholic and the sanguine.


This fascination with human character had a number of roots. In common with most artists of the time Nielsen was intrigued by the new ideas of the subconscious expounded by Freud and Jung (he read Freud’s early writings keenly, although was more dismissive of The Interpretation of Dreams). Beyond his awareness of being alive in a period of radical new ideas, Nielsen’s life at this time was filled with turbulence. His wife, the sculptor Anne-Marie Brodersen, was building her own career; she was often away for extended periods leaving Nielsen to cope with their three young children as well as attend to his duties at the Royal Opera, a situation that Nielsen found difficult and frustrating. His work at the Opera was not untroubled either: he was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with his role as a second violinist in the orchestra. He was by now established as a composer and often deputised as a conductor, but felt that he management continued to dismiss him as a mere orchestral player, and nurtured ambitions to conduct and establish himself as a composer. Saul and David was premiered in November 1902 to a good reception, but was given only two performances. These tensions would eventually lead to his resigning from the orchestra in 1905. He overcame the setback with his second opera, Maskarade, which was a triumph at its premiere in 1906 and established itself as the quintessential Danish opera.


His disappointment over the treatment of Saul and David was alleviated by the premiere of the Second Symphony three days after the opera. This was received well by the audience if less so by the critics. It was dedicated to Busoni, whom Nielsen had met and befriended on a trip to Berlin, and who had promised to secure a German performance of the new symphony. thus in 1903 Nielsen found himself conducting the berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. The German audience was considerably more lukewarm than the Danish though, and the reaction of the Berlin press was so hostile that Nielsen had trouble composing for a while, although like the sanguine temperament of the last movement, he eventually bounced back.


The inspiration for the symphony came from a picture Nielsen saw hanging in a village pub while on a walking trip in Zealand. This featured four caricatures of the medieval temperaments: “The choleric man was on horseback; he had a long sword in his hand, with which he slashed wildly at the empty air, his eyes were nearly rolling out of his head, his hair flew madly around his face; it was so full of fury and devilish hate that involuntarily I burst into laughter,” he recalled. The other three portraits were similarly exaggerated and comical, and provided much amusement for Nielsen and his friends. But the images stayed with Nielsen, and he began to consider the deeper implications. Eventually ideas for a new symphony came to him, which he completed in December 1901.


The Four Temperaments may have its roots in caricature, but Nielsen’s symphony is altogether more sophisticated. Each movement aims to portray a credible character, and each contains an element of of some of the other characters; and the whole symphony is perhaps a rounded portrayal of all the facets of a single personality. So the choleric temperament can certainly be heard wildly wielding his sword in the opening movement, but also has his more reflective and noble moments when he rues his own temper.


The phlegmatic temperament of the second movement is more settled in his easy-going nature: “I have never seen him dance; he wasn’t active enough for that, though he might easily have got the idea to swing himself in a gentle slow waltz rhythm,” wrote Nielsen. “Only once is there a forte. What’s that? Did a barrel fall into the harbour from a ship disturbing the young chap lying on the pier dreaming? Maybe. So what? In a moment everything is quiet again: the lad falls asleep, the world dozes, and the water is again smooth as a mirror.”


The third movement expresses “the basic character of a heavy, melancholy man,” beginning with a cry of despair , followed by a plaintive sighing on the oboe. The Melancholic is allowed his quieter, resigned moments too, until the anguish of the opening returns before a gentle, searching coda.


After this tentative close, there is a rude awakening as the Sanguine bursts in. The Sanguine, says Nielsen is “a man who storms thoughtlessly forward in the belief that the whole world belongs to him, that fried pigeons will fly into his mouth without work or bother.” The music thus marches boldly forth without much regard for the niceties of staying in any one key for long. Suddenly the mood changes: “just for once... it seems he has met with something really serious; at least he cogitates about something or other that seems foreign to his character.” However, the Sanguine temperament is irrepressible, and soon reasserts itself in a final march which nevertheless suggests that the protagonist has learned something and has acquired a certain dignity as a result.

Kodály: Dances of Galánta

Zoltán Kodály (1882-1967)

Dances of Galánta


Kodály spent his childhood in the Hungarian countryside. His father worked as a station master for the State Rail Company at a number of small town stations, including between 1885 and 1892 the small town of Galánta, then part of the Kingdom of Hungary, now Slovakia. Kodály’s first musical experiences came care of his parents - his father played the violin, while his mother sang and played piano - and also through the elementary school he attended in Galánta. Here he heard the traditional folk songs of the region sung by his classmates. Kodály retained fond memories of this time; he described it as “the best seven years of my childhood.” When he set out on the first of his folk song-collecting trips, it was to Galánta that he went.


Kodály composed Dances of Galánta in 1933 for the 80th anniversary of the Budapest Philharmonic Society. It was written in part as a sequel to an earlier work, Dances of Marosszék, a piano suite which he had recently orchestrated. Dances of Galánta takes most of its themes from a collection of Hungarian songs published in Vienna in the early 19th century. It makes particular use of the themes and structures of verbunkos music: recruiting tunes associated with the Magyar tribes who were the forerunners of the modern Hungarian people. Thus a slow opening section precedes and intersperses a sequence of four fast dances, with a final reminiscence of the slow music just before the music hurtles towards its coda.


The dances, along with the set from Marosszék, were used as the basis for a ballet presented by the Budapest Opera in 1935. The ballet’s failure was certainly nothing to do with the music; one reviewer remarked that its story was “obviously written by someone who was unable either to understand the music or to adapt himself to the requirements of the choreographer.”

Kodály’s remarks about Dances of Marosszék could apply equally to Galánta: “The Hungarian Dances composed by Brahms are typical of urban Hungary around 1860, and were in the main based on the work of composers that were still living. My Dances... have their roots in a much more remote past, and represent a fairyland that has disappeared.”

Tchaikovsky: Romeo and Juliet

Pytor Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

Fantasy Overture: Romeo and Juliet


In 1869, at the age of 28, Tchaikovsky had one symphony and one opera under his belt. As yet, however, he had not made much of an impact as a composer, and supported himself by teaching at the Moscow Conservatory and also writing music criticism. He had also become acquainted with Mikaily Balakirev, the leader of the “Mighty Handful” of five composers who were forging a distinctive Russian style of art music. Despite his innate suspicion of anyone with a Conservatoire training, Balakirev warmed to Tchaikovsky and his music. He was, however, not one to mince his words, and when Tchaikovsky’s tone poem Fatum [Fate] was performed to a lukewarm reception in St. Petersburg, Balakirev (to whom Tchaikovsky had dedicated the work) was not backwards in informing Tchaikovsky that “there wasn't much applause, probably because of the appalling cacophony at the end of the piece, which I don't like at all.” He went on to declare that the piece was sloppily written and formally inadequate, before signing off “M. Balakirev (who sincerely loves you).”


Tchaikovsky was immensely self-critical and took Balakirev’s comments very seriously indeed, eventually destroying the score. He set to work on a new project suggested by Balakirev: an overture based on Romeo and Juliet. Balakirev helpfully suggested his own King Lear overture as a template on which to base the new piece.


The piece was premiered in 1870, although the performance was overshadowed by the scandal surrounding its conductor Nikolai Rubinstein, who had recently lost a court case involving a female pupil. “After the concert we dined…No one said a single word to me about the overture the whole evening,” complained Tchaikovsky. He also had to contend with Balakirev’s fierce criticism of the music, although even he conceded the quality of the love theme: “I play it very often, and I want to kiss you for it,” he wrote. Tchaikovsky set about rewriting the overture to accommodate Balakirev’s judgements. Balakirev still had his quibbles about this second version, objecting in particular to what he considered a weak ending, but by 1872 when the revision was performed his influence on Tchaikovsky was waning. Nevertheless, in 1880 Tchaikovsky revised it once more, and this time gave it a conclusion of which even Balakirev could approve.