Mahler’s Evolution of Orchestral Technique and the Struggle for Clarity. How his Revisions Left the Music in Disarray, and how Modern Editors Solved this Problem.

A Document submitted to

The Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF MUSICAL ARTS IN ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTING

in the Performance Studies Division of the College‐Conservatory of Music

by

Phillip Blake Richardson

B.M., University of Texas, 2004 M.M., Indiana University, 2006 Abstract

Gustav Mahler’s own music was greatly influenced by his conducting career. An exacting, demanding maestro, Mahler worked to achieve musical clarity in each of the works he conducted. Over the span of his career, his knowledge of orchestral technique grew considerably, and Mahler revisited his older works to apply his newest techniques to them. For each performance, Mahler added slight modifications, or Retuschen, to the printed scores of his works.

As a result, Mahler’s scores were in a constant state of change, and his revisions yielded multiple different versions of each work. When Erwin Ratz and the Internationale

Gustav Mahler Gesellschaft set out to create definitive performing versions of Mahler’s works in 1955, they would have to determine which revisions were appropriate to include and which were not. Ratz and his team adopted the editorial practice of Ausgabe letzter

Hand, which defines the author’s final written revisions of a work as correct. This approach is particularly appropriate to Mahler when considering Mahler’s assertion that his latest revisions superseded all prior revisions.

This paper discusses Mahler’s evolving orchestral technique, how he incorporated his newest techniques into his and other composers’ works, and how editors incorporated these revisions into a modern edition.

ii

iii Acknowledgments

I would like to first thank my committee at the University of Cincinnati for their help in writing this document. Special thanks go to my advisor, Professor Mark Gibson, for his guidance and support during my entire time at CCM and in my professional life beyond. I would also like to express my gratitude to Dr. Jeongwon Joe and Professor Kenneth

Griffiths for reading and editing this text.

Much gratitude goes to the people at CCM who supported me throughout the entire degree program. To my fellow members of conducting studio, especially Christopher Hill and Thomas Heuser: your support and encouragement meant everything. I couldn’t have done it without you. To all of the musicians I collaborated with at CCM: thanks for the memories and so many rewarding musical experiences.

Lastly, I would like to thank my family for their unending love and support throughout my entire academic journey.

iv List of Musical Examples

EXAMPLE 1: Beethoven, Symphony no. 9, mm.1­7...... 23

EXAMPLE 2: Beethoven, Symphony no. 9 (ed. Mahler), mm. 1­7 ...... 25

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS iv

LIST OF MUISCAL EXAMPLES v

INTRODUCTION 1

PART 1: MAHLER’S CREATIVE PROCESS Mahler as a Conductor 5 Mahler and the Orchestra 7 Mahler’s Revisions in General 11 Revisions of Other Composers 14 Mahler’s Revisions of his Own Compositions/Progress in Technique 23 What was left when Mahler died? 29

PART 2: EDITING MAHLER’S MUSIC Towards a Critical Edition of Mahler’s Symphonies 31 The Effort is Organized 33 Finding an Approach 35 Redlich’s Ausgabe Letzter Fassung 38 Guidelines for the Edition 40 Editing the Works 44

CONCLUSION 57

SOURCES CONSULTED 59

vi Introduction

American musicologist W. Parks Grant traveled to Vienna in 1965 to assist the fledgling Internationale Gustav Mahler Gesellschaft (IGMG) in their efforts to care for

Mahler’s work. Just six years before, the IGMG had undertaken the massive task of creating an updated complete critical edition of Mahler’s works, the first serious editorial effort since the time of Mahler’s death in 1911. Mahler’s own compositional process presented a unique set of demands on the editorial team, and their process was an entirely original one, tailored especially to this composer’s music. Grant found a devoted team of editors who understood Mahler well, and over the next year, he learned just how meticulous Mahler was in notating his scores. He also learned how Mahler’s revision process worked, and how deficient existing editions were in incorporating those revisions.

A controversial and often misunderstood composer, Gustav Mahler’s compositional process was, in a sense, never ending. Mahler was most famous during his life not as a composer, but for his work as a conductor1, having served posts as Director of the Royal

Hungarian Opera, Budapest (1888‐91), the Vienna Court Opera (1897‐1907), and the New

York Philharmonic (1909‐1911).2 This direct experience gave Mahler practical experience through which he developed a revolutionary instrumental technique geared toward eliciting his most exacting musical ideas. Notoriously difficult with orchestras, he had a keen sense for musical expression, and went to great lengths to achieve musical clarity in his performances. Musicians constantly denounced his requests as impractical and

1 David Pickett, “Arrangements and Retuschen: Mahler and Werktreue,” In The Cambridge Companion to Mahler, ed. Jeremy Barham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 178. 2Kurt Blaukopf and Herta Blaukopf, Mahler: his Life, Work and World, trans. Paul Baker (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1991), 9‐12.

1 unplayable, but the relentless Mahler continued to search for perfection in orchestral expression until his death.

Active as a conductor from 1880‐19103, Mahler refined certain aspects of detail in his own works, as well as other works he conducted in order to bring them more in line with his constantly evolving ideals of orchestral expression. In the case of Beethoven and

Schumann, two composers performed often by Mahler4, completely revised versions of these composers’ works appeared in Mahler’s hand.

It is important to understand, however, what exactly Mahler changed. Mahler almost never made large‐scale structural changes. That is, he rarely repositioned, removed, or inserted music, and rarely changed notes and rhythms. Rather, he made small changes, or

Retuschen, of performance details. Dynamics, articulation, tempo and expression markings, and orchestration were modified in order to correct, as Mahler saw it, certain difficulties that stood in the way of clear expression. As is commonly done by many conductors today, he also carefully prepared his orchestral parts with bowings, instructions for repeat signs, and additional rehearsal figures.5 Simply put, Mahler’s process of preparing and performing an orchestral composition had two very specific, very divided task sets: one creative, and one executive. The creative aspects of a composition (notes, rhythm, form, harmony) were almost always set and permanent, while the executive (performance instructions and instrumentation) were highly fluid and changed as his orchestral technique evolved.

3 Pickett, 178. 4 Ibid., 183. 5 Ibid., 184.

2 Mahler premiered his First Symphony in Budapest on November 20, 18896, beginning a long and prolific career performing his own works. Mahler performed

Symphonies nos. 1‐8 at least twice each, with the First Symphony receiving sixteen performances by the composer himself.7 Mahler revised details of his own compositions for almost every performance he gave, adjusting orchestration, articulation and expression marks, dynamics, and tempo markings of each work. Mahler never saw his work as complete, and understood how his instrumental technique changed. And as his technique matured, he applied his new technique to each of his works.

Resultant from Mahler’s revisions are a multitude of different texts for a given work, each in the Composer’s own hand, and each differing from the other in certain ways.

Simplifying this, however, is Mahler’s instruction to regard the newest version of a work as correct. This assertion is a key piece in governing just how the IGMG evaluated which version of a Mahler work should establish the precedent for a new edition. The editorial team determined which changes were most recent and incorporated these changes into the first edition (in most cases, published during Mahler’s life) to create the new critical edition. And while this is an oversimplification of their process, it asserts the philosophy guiding their efforts: find the most recent modifications and accept them as Mahler’s final word.

6 Blaukopf, Mahler: His Life, Work, and World, 9‐12. 7 “Mahler Als Konzertdirigent,” Internationale Gustav Mahler Gesellschaft, www.gustav‐mahler.org/mahler/dirigate‐f‐e.cfm.

3 In order for a contemporary reader of a Maher score to understand its provenance, it is helpful to look at the entire process here—from first edition through Mahler’s revisions to the “final word” as dictated by the complete critical edition.

This paper is divided into two parts. Part one will explore the aspects of Mahler’s musicianship that guided his revisions. It is important to understand Mahler’s paradigm of musical expression, and how it evolved throughout his life. Next I will discuss how implementation of these values led to an ever evolving orchestral technique, and how this evolution led him to revise his and other composers’ works.

Part two will examine how the editorial team incorporated these revisions into their modern edition. I will also consider the alternative edition presented by Hans Ferdinand

Redlich and publisher Ernst Eulenberg, and how this edition brought up certain criticisms of the IGMG’s editorial approach.

4 Part 1: Mahler’s Creative Process

Mahler as a Conductor

Mahler’s first professional engagement was at Bad Hall in Upper Austria during the summer of 1880, his second at the Landschaftlichen Theater in Laibach (now Ljubljana) in

1881. During his six months in Laibach, the 21 year‐old Mahler conducted some 50 performances of opera and operetta.

On his first evening there, Mahler led a meager band of eighteen musicians and a chorus of seven women and seven men in Verdi’s Il Trovatore.8 Verdi’s original score calls for a grand component eighteen wind and brass players alone, not to mention a large complement of strings and percussion, as well as offstage musicians.9 To ensure his reduced forces covered each musical line of the original, Mahler had to make clever adjustments to the original score in order to cover the missing parts. He quickly learned the unique capabilities of each instrument in the orchestra and exploited them to their fullest in order to redistribute the parts of Verdi’s original score.

Though Mahler would soon go on to much more resourceful organizations, his early experiences in Laibach gave him a keen sense of how to manipulate an orchestra in unfavorable circumstances. Likely, Mahler knew Trovatore well from the piano score, and such a knowledge of the score—free from the restrictions of the orchestral apparatus— probably gave Mahler increased freedom in rearranging these parts. Because he had such limited resources available to him, he was probably able to stray far away from Verdi’s

8Herta Blaukopf, “Mahler as conductor in the opera house and concert hall,” In The Cambridge Companion to Mahler, ed. and trans. Jeremy Barham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 165‐66. 9 Giuseppe Verdi, Il Trovatore in Full Score (Milano: Ricordi, 2003), preface.

5 original orchestration in order to achieve the best results possible. And, in doing so, he most likely learned a good deal about how to create musical clarity in an orchestra, especially under less than ideal circumstances. This very idea—musical clarity—is the most important fundamental guiding how he dealt with orchestras, how he notated his own music, and how he revised other composers’ music for his entire career. Furthermore, it is important to understand that even though this goal was unchanging, his methods for achieving it were constantly evolving. Mahler’s practical experience with orchestras gave him constant opportunity to devise and implement new techniques, figure out what worked, and discard what didn’t.

6 Mahler and the Orchestra

The popularly held notion that Mahler was a champion of bombast, that he employed large forces for sheer spectacle, blatantly overlooks a keen, subtle master of instrumental technique who was just likely to employ 1000 musicians for a grand finale as he was to reduce a large string section to only its principal players. Mahler’s use of each end of this spectrum—the largest forces to the smallest—was not something he did on a whim, but a carefully calculated event that was a tool Mahler employed as a means to achieve a grand range of expressive possibility.

As mentioned in the introduction, certain musical elements were unchanging (the creative) for Mahler, while he manipulated others (the executive) at will. There are a few instances where Mahler did change the “creative” elements, but each was a unique situation and is not systematic by nature. These changes were made in a situation where

Mahler saw a glaring structural inadequacy that hindered the overall effectiveness of a composition.

Those elements he did revise—the executive elements—can be divided into two subcategories: 1) written instructions such as dynamics and expression and tempo markings, and 2) orchestration, or the distribution of the music among the instruments of the orchestra. These items were, for Mahler, at the service of creative elements, and had to be used with exactitude so that the music itself shone through with perfect clarity.

Mahler divided the music he conducted into a hierarchy that defined to what degree of prominence certain elements of the music should be heard. Generally, he was looking for a clear relief between melody, counter‐melody, and accompaniment. This existence of a

7 perfect balance between voices allowed for the aforementioned clarity of musical expression.

Mahler applied these ideas first to the music of other composers, and eventually to his own. He was harshly criticized for how modified the orchestration and added other practical markings in the symphonies of Beethoven. He increased the size of the orchestras for these works as well, adding E‐flat clarinet, extra brass players, and double winds in his prepared scores. He even added an offstage banda in his score for the Turkish march in the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.10

It is important here to distinguish Mahler’s Retuschen from wholesale

“Mahlerization” of all the works he conducted. His modifications were rooted in the simple task of achieving textural and expressive clarity and were not intended to create original, out of style sonorities. Fundamentally detached from Mahler’s personal artistic interpretation, the issue was entirely a matter of fact and was technical in nature.11

Mahler approached each work with the goal of bringing out each composer’s unique voice, and, on a more reduced level, each composition’s individual voice. He had respect for the permanence of each composer’s original creation, and changing a work’s orchestration too drastically would, of course, destroy a work’s original character. The prime challenge here for Mahler was to apply his revisions with a judicious hand so that each piece’s identity would be preserved.

Within the realm of his own compositions, however, one cannot deny the many

“new” sounds that Mahler conjured in his own music. In many cases, this is not a conscious

10 Pickett, 186. 11 Erwin Stein, Orpheus in New Guises (Westport, CT: Hyperion, 1979), 26.

8 act on Mahler’s part, but simply the result of the increased scope of instruments available in Mahler’s orchestra. Mahler did not include these instruments for the sake of modernization, but to increase the orchestra’s expressive capacity. Mahler said,

“Instrumentation is not there for the sake of sound‐effects, but to bring out what one has to say”12 This idea is in direct contrast to many of Mahler’s contemporaries’ approach to the orchestra. In fin­de­siècle Paris, Ravel and Debussy consciously explored new instrumental combinations within the orchestra as an expressive means, a manner for eliciting a response from the listener. Orchestration for these composers is a structural musical element, in line with notes, harmony, rhythm, and form.

Mahler’s compositions all began in short score with no indication for orchestral distribution. From the beginning his composition was rooted entirely in notes, rhythms, and simple musical expression. He worked through his compositions at the piano, and was able to use his own hands to manipulate textural balance in order to achieve his own creative goals. When Mahler then went to apply his works to the orchestra, his initial expressive ideas were already well formed, and expression of these ideas were completely dependent on how he orchestrated and notated his scores.

No one composition or moment adequately defines Mahler’s orchestral technique, and Mahler was beholden to no one precedent. Mahler was secure in his musical convictions and approached the orchestra with confidence and creativity. Over the two decades he wrote music for the orchestra, he developed an entirely unique approach to

12 Natalie Bauer‐Lechner, Recollections of Gustav Mahler, tr. Dika Newlin and ed. Peter Franklin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 178.

9 orchestration and notation. Mahler used each performance as a laboratory in which to apply his approach, and was rarely satisfied with a prior version of a piece.

10 Mahler’s Revisions in General

Each score of a work by Mahler used for a performance by Mahler is a document explaining his most recent approach to a work. But before discussing how he arranged his own works, it is helpful to take a look at how he modified others’ compositions.

Mahler employed the process of “Werktreue” in revising other composers’ works.

This technique implies consideration of each individual work, rather than a generic approach toward the oeuvre of any one composer, style, or period.13 A common practice of the early twentieth century, performers of the time would judiciously revise certain details of a given composition to bring it in line with musical techniques of the day. And while the quantity of revisions resulting from Mahler’s Werktreue was greater than revisions made by his contemporaries, he never lost sight of his task of retaining a composition’s original voice.

In order for a clear texture to exist, modifications would have to be made to the primary, secondary and tertiary voices. Each voice was given the proper markings so that the secondary and tertiary voices were subservient to the principal melodic voice. Mahler said, “I always have the leading upper voice played loudest. Bad instrumentation or performance can obscure the line; when the middle voices are played too loudly, it sounds crude.”14 Such clarity was achieved through the following:

1. Moderation of dynamics—it is not uncommon in a score marked by Mahler to

see multiple dynamics across the orchestral score. For example, an instrument

13 Pickett, 182. 14 Bauer‐Lechner, 123.

11 playing the principal voice is marked forte while less important voices are

marked piano.

2. Clarification of articulation—Mahler used specific articulation markings to

achieve unified articulation across a section or the orchestra. By adding such a

specific mark, any ambiguity in note length was removed, thus clarifying the

overall texture. To further clarify this, Mahler would actually modify rhythms to

indicate note length in the form of a specific rhythmic length. The types of

rhythms modified, however, were simply those that would create a clearer

articulation: for example, changing a succession of four eighth notes to four

sixteenth notes with sixteenth rests in between.15 This a rare instance where

Mahler changed a specific note value—again, not to change the actual rhythm,

but to shorten a duration in order to give concrete definition to a note’s length.

3. Perfect instrumental distribution—Here, he added instruments to support a

melodic line, removed accompanying voices that blurred the melody, and

doubled wind voices to strengthen such lines.

4. Written‐out instructions for musical expression—when every traditional tool for

musical expression (dynamics, articulation, tempo markings, etc…) failed to

express what he needed it to, Mahler would write sentences or short passages

above or below the staff describing an intended musical effect.

Inherent in such modifications is an entirely new level of notational specificity. Mahler’s knowledge of what modern musicians needed in order to reproduce his ideas is expressed

15 James L. Zychowicz, Mahler’s Fourth Symphony (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 154.

12 in this quote, “So in order that the music should be played as it was meant to sound, one has to add all sorts of dynamic indications to the parts, so that the principal voice stands out and the accompaniment retires into the background.”16

In the end, it is debatable whether Mahler ever truly achieved the “ideal score”—one that perfectly integrated each of these concepts so that his printed score elicited his sonic ideal from the orchestra. None of his scores ever reached a permanent performing version in his lifetime, and his continued modifications until the end of his life suggest a composer still searching for the perfect score, steadfastly refining these concepts and their application.

16 Bauer‐Lechner, 45.

13 Revisions of Other Composers

Erwin Stein said in his 1953 book Orpheus in New Guises, “It can certainly not be denied that there are many works (including some of the most important masterpieces) whose orchestral textures make it difficult, or even partly impossible, to achieve a clear realization of the musical content. In such instances, conductors usually have recourse to small and mostly dynamic modifications which, however, rarely go far enough.”17

Composers at the turn of the twentieth century were liberated by the technical advancements of modern orchestral instruments. Limitations of natural brass instruments were lifted thanks to modern valved instruments, and the development of machine timpani facilitated easy pitch modification. These developments expanded the chromatic possibilities of each of these instrument groups, allowing composers to assign more complex lines to brass and timpani.

Prior to the twentieth century, Richard Wagner was able to exploit some advanced capabilities of more modern instruments in order to solve difficulties present in

Beethoven’s music. In his essay, “On Conducting,” Wagner proposed changes to

Beethoven’s Symphony no. 9 that were regularly included in his disciples’ subsequent performances. Making changes to Beethoven was commonplace among Mahler’s contemporaries, and conductors Hans von Bülow, Artur Nikisch, and Hans Richter regularly used Wagner’s subtle changes verbatim in their own performances.

For Wagner, correcting Beethoven’s scores was not an issue of “modernizing” older music. Beethoven, Wagner posits, was in a “peculiar position” regarding the instrumentation of his orchestral works. “He instrumented on exactly the same

17 Stein, 25.

14 assumptions of the orchestra’s capacity as his predecessors Haydn and Mozart, notwithstanding that he vastly outstripped them in the character of his musical conceptions.”18

Beethoven’s musical language represented a significant growth in conception far removed from the language of Mozart and Haydn, but Beethoven was still confined to the relatively primitive “classical” orchestral apparatus. In the classical orchestra, strings generally performed in an augmented quintet: five separate parts, each played by multiple performers. Cellos and basses played the same part more often than not, and winds saw limited solo work and contributed in tutti passages. The ubiquitous pair of natural horns had some ability to play chromatic notes by using stopped notes, while trumpets were generally limited to notes in the natural harmonic series. Changing the pitch of timpani was a lengthy process that prohibited tuning changes mid‐performance. As a result, timpani and trumpets were, according to Wagner, only truly effective in the tonic key.

Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony represents an important historical shift in orchestral writing. Wind instruments took on a more prominent role, and Beethoven had to develop new techniques to allow the woodwinds to compete fully with the rest of the orchestra.

Problems in Beethoven’s orchestration existed, however, in his tendency to assign a melody to the woodwind section while a larger group—the string orchestra, for example— provided an unbalanced accompaniment underneath the woodwinds that was impractically large for the amount of sound created by the small woodwind group.

Beethoven tried to compensate for this imbalance of power by doubling woodwind lines

18 Richard Wagner, “On the Rendering of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony,” in Orchestration: An Anthology of Writings, ed. Paul Mathews (New York: Routledge, 2006), 18.

15 with more powerful brass instruments. Unfortunately, the natural instruments of the day could only lend partial support as many of the chromatic tones Beethoven wrote for woodwind instruments were outside of the natural harmonic series and thus unavailable on non‐valved brass instruments. As a result brass instruments often had to drop out of a woodwind doubling when a given line contained too many chromatic tones.

Such sporadic interjections, though well intentioned, are not entirely effective.

While they do lend some support, the overall effect is lost due to the lack of sustained support. Wagner suggests Beethoven’s deafness only further heightened the problem. As the composer lost touch with aural reality, he made poorly informed decisions in his orchestral writing. He began to write for the orchestra in a proverbial vacuum, unaware of any practical reality to his solutions to orchestral balance.

Mahler thoroughly modified Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and the beginning of the last movement, the Schreckensfanfare, is an example of a typical solution to uneven brass support for a melody assigned to the winds. Here, Beethoven writes a melody in D Minor for the woodwinds. Marked ff, this piercing melody provides opening to one of the longest, most monumental movements Beethoven ever composed. The music itself is divided into two fundamental groups: the melody, played by flutes, oboes, clarinets, and trumpets, and the accompaniment, played by bassoons, horns, and timpani. With modern instruments, this collection of instruments can produce a texture that is fortissimo in dynamic, while allowing for an appropriate balance between melody and accompaniment. The texture created by Beethoven’s older instruments, however, is unbalanced due to the trumpets’ inability to fully support the flutes, oboes, and clarinets.

16 EXAMPLE 1: Beethoven, Symphony no. 9, IV, mm. 1‐7. 19 Note intermittent trumpet doubling of clarinet line.

Symphony No. 9 in D Minor, Op. 125

19 Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony no. 9, Op. 125, ed. Max Unger (New York: Dover, 1976), 176.

17 1 This simple melody employs only three notes: D‐natural, F‐natural, and A‐natural.

As the natural trumpets in D Beethoven called for are unable to play one of the pitches in this series—F‐natural—they have to rest when the melody uses this note. Such a technique, while an admirable attempt by Beethoven to reinforce his woodwinds, skews the actual balance across the orchestra. Furthermore, the rhythmic content is blurred as the trumpets’ natural strength at a fortissimo dynamic overwhelms the actual material in the woodwinds. This leaves an unnatural accentuation in the music, an effect likely unintended by Beethoven. Mahler solves this problem by having trumpets adopt the entire passage the woodwinds play, doubling the clarinet line:

18 EXAMPLE 2: Beethoven (with alterations by Mahler), Symphony no. 9, IV, mm. 1‐7.20 Mahler alterations in pencil. Of particular interest is his exact doubling of the clarinet line— in effect, completing the orchestration.

20 Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony no. 9, ed. Gustav Mahler (Leipzig: C.F. Peters, 19‐‐), 171.

19 Such an alteration, while controversial, is not blatant re‐orchestration. Registration matches that of the clarinets and simply fills in the blanks left in Beethoven’s original score.

Few would argue that Beethoven’s original intent was to have the music accentuated as the trumpets’ incomplete line forces it to be. Had that been the case, he could have even placed accent markings over those notes shared by the woodwinds and the trumpets. While it is impossible to know whether Beethoven would have authorized this solution, one has to ask whether, by writing this “incomplete” trumpet part, he was laying the groundwork for future musicians to take advantage of developments in instrument technology.

This solution gives the melody a relentless, pressing quality, likely Beethoven’s original intent. Furthermore, as the melody now has full support from the trumpets, the accompaniment can continue playing fortissimo throughout the entire passage. Thus, the fortissimo affect is now fully achieved across the entire orchestra. The necessity for this

“filling out” is further corroborated by the fact that in the third and final interjection of this passage, the strings join the woodwinds to play the entire melody.

Granted, these modifications do tamper with Beethoven’s original composition. But

Beethoven was working with primitive brass instruments, and was handicapped by his own faulty hearing. Beethoven’s original solution is both an innovative use of brass instruments and ill informed. Using the trumpets in this manner is perhaps the only solution available to the composer if a fortissimo wind texture was what he was looking for, but Beethoven’s inability to hear the passage and modify it (interestingly enough, as Mahler might have done with one of his own compositions) denied him the information necessary to realize and correct this basic flaw in instrumentation of this passage.

20 In addition to modifying the score itself, Mahler regularly used larger complements of wind and brass players in order to strengthen their role in the texture. The larger string sections of the time, Mahler felt, necessitated greater power from the wind sections, and addition of these extra instruments allowed the winds to compete more effectively with a modern string section.

With Beethoven, Mahler generally added an extra player to each wind and brass part. For example, if a work called for two oboes, he would ask for four (two playing the first part, two playing the second). He carefully worked out doublings so that extra instruments were not used for the entire piece, but only when support was necessary. He indicated this in his score by adding a marking à 2 above the line in the original score.

Mahler further took advantage of extra players at his disposal by assigning a resting instrument to support a weaker line. In rare instances he sometimes replaced an oboe line with clarinet or flute in a passage he thought warranted a softer timbre. In places calling for a particularly loud dynamic, he also added instructions for clarinets and oboes to raise their bells in the air.

Mahler’s changes to Beethoven’s original brass writing called for moderation of dynamics and added music. To conform to Beethoven’s intent that the brass instruments be used to strengthen wind and string lines, Mahler added, removed, or redistributed the brass as needed in order to properly reinforce wind and string lines. Just as with the woodwinds, he avoided excessive doubling within the brass section and used extra players sparingly to reinforce key moments within a work. During a performance of the Beethoven

Third Symphony in Vienna, for example, Mahler used the extra 3rd and 4th trumpets

21 (doubling the first and second trumpets, respectively) in only eleven bars of the entire 45‐ minute symphony.

Wagner’s assertion that the melody must “hold us” without fail21 is a value that is evident in Mahler’s attempts at clarifying Beethoven’s language. Clear in Mahler’s work is a thoughtful approach that considers all aspects relating to that passage, an approach that never meant to step upon Beethoven’s original intent. Mahler’s reverence for Beethoven’s music working in concert with his extraordinary understanding of the orchestral apparatus produced significant advances in how we think about and execute Beethoven’s music. In the end, these efforts were not off‐the‐cuff or frivolous, but were the result of an honest desire to correct many impunities asserted on Beethoven’s music both by the composer’s own faulty hearing and the technical limitations of his orchestra.

21 Ibid., 30.

22 Mahler’s Revisions of his Own Compositions/Progress in Technique

Given a conductor so adept at manipulating an orchestra to achieve his musical goals, one would expect Mahler to have little trouble in orchestrating and notating his own compositions. Not true. Mahler’s extensive efforts in revising his own compositions reflect a perfectionist who continually searched for the perfect combination of instruments, the perfect dynamic markings, and the perfect articulation instructions to allow his music to sound as he thought it should. As such, Mahler struggled to find the ideal practical language for his own works. Perhaps this doesn’t demonstrate that Mahler was deficient in orchestrating his own compositions. On the contrary, you can take most any edition, from the first to the most recent critical edition and pull off an effective performance of a Mahler score. Mahler, however, believed in the progress of his own abilities and saw to it that his own compositions benefited from his latest evolutions in orchestral technique.

At the time of Mahler’s death, published editions of eight of his nine symphonies existed, some in multiple editions. But for Mahler, publication of a symphony rarely concluded his involvement with the work, since he continued to revise published music after he performed it.22 In a sense, a first published edition was a solid starting point from which Mahler would apply his latest innovations in orchestral technique. It is important to understand, however, that Mahler was not trying to “complete” his works. They were complete; he was simply improving them.

Mahler’s progress of technique existed in two separate, but closely related realms.

First, as his technique had naturally progressed, each new composition benefitted from his latest technical developments from the time of that work’s conception. Likewise, each time

22 Zychowicz, Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, 151.

23 he performed an older work, he made modifications to bring its orchestration in line with his latest innovations. As would be expected, the First Symphony, which he performed 16 times over a span of 20 years23, changed a great deal from the original version to the version used for Mahler’s final New York performance in 1909.24 Another way to look at these two lines of progression is such: as Mahler was fine‐tuning his compositions, he was also fine‐tuning his technique. The two are mutually beneficial and could not have existed without the other. In order for his technique to grow, he would have to have compositions that warranted innovation. Likewise, as a result of so much experience performing with great orchestras, he had regular opportunities to see and hear the shortcomings of his technique. Furthermore, on a specific level, he developed new strategies for instrumental clarity and applied these strategies in each individual work.

Just as with the music of Beethoven or Schumann, Mahler’s attention was directed toward texture and adapting it to his current level of instrumental aesthetics.25 The same elements permanent for Mahler in other composers’ music were permanent in his own: the notes, rhythms, harmony, and form almost always stayed the same. Likewise, the practical details dealing with how to execute music were in a constant state of refinement. It is important to note that several key “structural” modifications do exist; most notably the early five movement “Hamburg” edition of the First Symphony, the early three movement version of Das Klagende Lied, as well as his change to the original movement order to the

Sixth Symphony. Again, these anomalies are not systematic by nature and each is a unique situation to be considered in its own light. While each of these structural changes would

23 “Mahler als Konzertdirigent.” 24 Ibid. 25 Kubik, “’Progress’ and ‘Tradition’,” 401.

24 have to be considered in determining a work’s final text, they are not part of the general discussion of Mahler’s system of revision.

One of Mahler’s main aims in conducting his own music was to hear exactly how his writing sounded, thereby verifying his own aural imagination. With some symphonies, he even had his own orchestra play a work during the developmental stage (prior to rehearsals for the premiere), in these cases yielding some preliminary Retuschen that were incorporated into his score.26

Mahler learned a great deal from his players’ reactions to markings. In a sense, much of what he was doing was actually trying to anticipate their reactions and apply certain cautionary measures that forced the player to give him the exact intended effect he was looking for. For example, in places where he expected an orchestra to rush, he would insert

“nicht eilen” as a cautionary tempo marking. Likewise, he would write “nicht schleppen” to guard against an unintended slowing down.27

His frustration with his musicians’ lack of understanding of certain performance practice conventions common in the 18th century led Mahler to use specific notational tools and verbal instructions to enforce these conventions. In the second movement of the Third

Symphony, Mahler added a footnote at bar 32 asking the first violins that “the sixteenth notes should be equally fast at all times; the ritardando should be transferred to the dots.”

Baroque practice dictates that one not “stretch out” a rhythmic formula, even during

26 Blaukopf, “Mahler as Conductor,” 176. 27 Ibid., 177.

25 ritardando, but instead add length to the rest (or in this case, dot) to maintain the integrity of the rhythm itself.28

The messa di voce, another tool that had disappeared from common usage by 1900, dictates a gradual crescendo and diminuendo within a single sustained pitch. Notated using a small crescendo followed by a small diminuendo, this symbol is found with frequency in

Adagietto of the 5th Symphony and can easily be confused with an actual crescendo/diminuendo over a group of notes. In order to clarify this marking’s application to a single note, Mahler placed the messa di voce over the note head rather than the under the staff location of an actual crescendo‐diminuendo. This unusual marking confused editors of the first edition of the 5th, and the messa di voce was incorrectly notated as a crescendo/diminuendo below the staff. Mahler corrected this inconsistency for further publications, and the most recent editions place the messa di voce markings in their proper place, above the note head.

Stages of revision for a given work can be identified in the following categories: 1) global revision of an entire work in preparation for a new edition, 2) revisions Mahler made in his score and the orchestral parts prior to a specific performance, and 3) revisions made on the spot during rehearsals. Naturally, the first type applies to the works published in multiple editions during Mahler’s life as well as those for which Mahler was preparing a new edition prior to his death.

For Mahler’s first seven symphonies, the scope and types of revision differ for each work, but a classification of types of revisions made in each work is helpful. Mahler primarily revised the ‘who’ and ‘how’ of his compositions. He focused on the following

28 Kubik, “Progress and Tradition,” 403.

26 ‘logistical’ aspects of notation: 1) instrumental doubling, 2) markings of dynamics, expression, and articulation, and 3) tempo indications. If we look into how and why he made these revisions, one gains a clearer understanding into the conductor‐composer’s fundamental musical values.

In a conversation with Nathalie Bauer‐Lechner, Mahler said, “Composing is quicker than orchestrating‐and in such a change of medium the whole thing would in fact have to be reworked.”29 This sentence distinguishes how Mahler applied his works to the orchestra. Some composers begin with the orchestra in mind—the earliest conceptions of a piece are applied to orchestral instruments. For Mahler, however, the notes themselves were conceived of away from the orchestra during the composition process. Mahler’s compositional process began with writing notes and rhythms alone. Starting from a blank

“orchestral slate”, he would then transfer the finished piece in its short score version to the orchestra.

Mahler improved balance by revising instrumental doubling, and this was generally a ‘reductive’ process. Mahler’s aesthetic toward the end of his life favored lean instrumentation that achieved a distinct clarity between voices. In his final 1910 version of the Fourth Symphony, Mahler removed almost every remaining doubling in favor of an orchestral texture resembling the chamber music sonorities of his late works. A line originally given to two woodwind players was reduced to one; markings of “zu 2” in the score now became “solo.”30

29 Bauer‐Lechner, 235. 30 James Zychowicz, “Re‐evaluating the Sources of Mahler’s Music,” In Perspectives on Gustav Mahler, ed. Jeremy Barham (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005), 267.

27 Mahler’s ongoing struggle with instrumental technique is exemplified by his 1910 revision of the Fifth Symphony, just six years after the work’s premiere. A 24‐year veteran conductor when he composed this work, Mahler seemingly knew his notational approach well. One would expect that he would be able to express his ideas clearly through the orchestra, and could create a satisfactory orchestral score. But at the time of his final 1910 revision, Mahler felt differently:

“I simply cannot understand why I still had to make such mistakes, like the merest

beginner. It is clear that all the experience I had gained in writing the first four

symphonies completely let me down in this one—(for a completely new style

demanded a new technique.)”31

Ultimately, Mahler revised his scores in order to achieve a published score that left behind a clear text dictating exactly how his works should be performed. He removed excessive doublings that conductors would have to control and shape in performance.

Dynamics, tempo markings and articulations were marked with care and precision. In a sense, the score played itself—“interpretation” was taken out of the equation.

31 Katarina Markoviç‐Stokes, “Gustav Mahler. Symphonie Nr. 5 in fünf Sätzen für Großes Orchester,” Notes 63, no. 3 (March 2007): 703.

28 What was left when Mahler died?

Mahler died on May 18, 1911, leaving behind a catalogue of nine completed symphonies, an incomplete Tenth, several song cycles, and various other chamber and orchestral works. By the time of his death, he had performed his first eight symphonies, and each of these had been published at least once under Mahler’s guidance. Several works had received multiple publications, and a contract had been signed between Mahler and

Universal Edition in the months prior to Mahler’s death for new editions of all the symphonies. With the stipulation that Universal Edition publish the final revisions of his symphonies, Mahler wanted to ensure that the revised versions superseded all prior published editions.32

Had Mahler lived beyond 1911, publishing authoritative corrected editions of his works would have likely happened. Furthermore, Mahler’s propensity to continue to revise his works, even years after their initial composition, would likely have necessitated continued republication. We would be left with a much greater swath of the composer’s creative process as well as untold revised editions of his works. Clearly, the advantage of having Mahler himself as part of the editorial process would have greatly aided the effort in preserving his most specific wishes.

But Mahler’s early, somewhat unexpected death left at the age of 50 left his music in an incomplete editorial state. In the coming years, editors would be faced with the task of assembling a complete collection of Mahler sources in order to determine his final intent. In addition to the widely available published editions, various “working” documents still

32 Gustav Mahler, Symphony no. 4, ed. Hans F. Redlich (London: Ernst Eulenberg, Ltd., 1966), XXII.

29 existed. Copies of printed editions with revisions in Mahler’s hand, manuscripts, fair copies, and sketches still existed and were available to Ratz and his team. Sources continue to surface to this day, and they continue to assist current editors in the quest to incorporate the latest scholarship into new editions.

Whoever undertook this monumental task would have to evaluate these sources and decide what to incorporate into a modern edition. As Mahler repeatedly stated that scores containing his final revisions took precedence over prior versions, the determination as to a source’s placement within the timeline of revisions would be crucial.

A certain amount of conjecture would have to be made by the editorial team as to individual revisions’ place within the editions they were creating and it would be the job of the editorial team to determine which revisions were final, and how to properly incorporate them into a critical edition.

30 Part 2: Editing Mahler’s Music

Towards a Critical Edition of Mahler’s Symphonies

Mahler’s lifelong crusade to notate his scores with exacting precision inadvertently created a series of problems for editors and publishers. Perhaps there is no other composer that revised his own works to the extent that Mahler did, yielding an array of unique issues editors must consider when making a final, critical edition of his works.

Further complicating the problem is each work’s unique editorial needs. Mahler performed his First Symphony sixteen times, while the Ninth was left unperformed at his death. Naturally, Mahler performed his earlier symphonies more than his later ones, thereby giving him more opportunity to revise those earlier scores. As the scope of revisions differs from work to work, so the editorial requirements. Furthermore, the works that were never performed by Mahler were, naturally, never revised. In the case of these unperformed works, an entirely different editorial strategy would have to be devised.

Similarly, the earlier works saw numerous Mahler‐sanctioned publications during his life, while the Ninth and Das Lied von der Erde were not published until after Mahler’s death.

Due to the lack of final, sanctioned versions of his works, available published editions were generally error‐ridden for the fifty years following his death, while a collection of scores and orchestral parts containing final revisions and corrections (in

Mahler’s own hand) for each work were left scattered among libraries, musicians, and archives. Editors would have to search for and collect the materials, determine the authenticity of his revisions, incorporate them into published materials, and correct any remaining publishing errors.

31 Posthumous success in having his revisions incorporated, however, suffered a long delay. Universal Edition would not fulfill their 1910 contract to publish versions that incorporated all of Mahler’s final revisions, and reprints of these obsolete, error‐ridden editions continued. Two world wars and worldwide economic depression further slowed editorial efforts for the next 50 years, and Mahler’s lack of popular success created little demand for updated scores.

32 The Effort Is Organized

Amid a persistent air of controversy surrounding Mahler’s music, even his own

Vienna Philharmonic was still quite ambivalent towards his compositions in the years following his death.33 Performances were sparse, and public acceptance of his music was still cold in musical home, in part because of the legendary anti‐Semitism of the Viennese.

Still, Mahler’s orchestra recognized the glaring necessity for a body charged with caring for his music and in 1955 the Vienna Philharmonic helped found the Internationale Gustav

Mahler Gesellschaft. The orchestra provided the initiative for the organization’s foundation by lending financial support and soliciting donations in their own concert programs, and

Mahler’s widow, Alma, reluctantly gave permission for all manuscripts in her possession to be microfilmed for use in preparation of a complete critical works.

On November 11, 1955, the first constituent general assembly took place with the charge of developing a plan for caring for all aspects of Mahler’s music. This meeting took place in the conference hall of the Vienna Philharmonic, and musicologist Erwin Ratz was elected president. The first executive committee included Theodor Adorno, Ernest Krenek,

Rafael Kubelik, Donald Mitchell, and Vienna Philharmonic concertmaster Arnold Rosé.

The IGMG’s founding goals reflect comprehensive support for Mahler’s music, structuring itself for thorough protection of all things related to his music. The Society initially set out to:

33 Reinhold Kubik, “The history of the International Gustav Mahler Society in Vienna and the Complete Critical Edition,” in The Cambridge Companion to Mahler, ed. and trans. Jeremy Barham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 217‐218.

33 1) Promote Mahler’s work through performances, production of records and other

sound media, encouragement and support of academic work, making initial

contacts with radio stations, and presenting lecturers.

2) Establish a Gustav Mahler archive for which photocopies of complete manuscript

sketches, letters, and other documents were to be produced and made available

for academic research

3) Create a library which was to encompass all writings about Mahler

4) Prepare and publish a Complete Critical Edition of Mahler’s works

5) Produce a series of publications in which the results of Mahler research could

from time to time be disseminated

6) To maintain the memorials associated with his work. 34

In spite of a well‐structured beginning, the IGMG ran into several difficulties early on as it began to carry out its initial aims. Owners of source material relating to Mahler were largely unknown and had to be sought out. Technology of the day limited

‘photocopying’ to actual photographs, a rather time consuming and expensive process, and the current public ambivalence towards Mahler’s music led to caution on the part of publishing houses, radio broadcasters, and sources of funding.

34 Ibid., 218‐219.

34 Finding an Approach

Erwin Ratz led the editorial efforts of the Kritische Gesamtausgabe (complete critical edition) until his death in 1973. Ratz began his duties as chief editor by approaching publishing house Bote und Bock in 1956 about the missing final revisions and mistakes in their edition of the Seventh Symphony. The two parties agreed to produce a new edition of this work within the context of a Complete Critical Edition of Mahler’s works.

Early on, Ratz largely had to rely on his own resources, working out of the small workroom and library of his own home. Despite their limited resources, the IGMG and Ratz pushed ahead and worked quickly to formulate an approach that defined how they edited each work. Ratz set out to produce practical, usable performance material and was not interested in producing a historical document to be studied in libraries. This edition was created with the goal providing accurate performance materials to musicians.

To guide their work, he and his team adopted the editorial practice of Ausgabe letzter Hand, which defines the author’s final written revisions of a work as correct. This approach was particularly appropriate to Mahler’s music as it made incorporation of all of his final revisions possible.3536

An explanation of Mahler’s compositional process—that is, the original creative process; the establishment of the notes, rhythms, harmony, and form—is beyond the scope of this paper. However, the one aspect of his creative process that must be understood is that it was rapid and unchanging. Mahler said, “It’s a strange thing: the passages that I jot down rapidly, provisionally, just so that I can get on with the work—passages that I expect

35 Ibid, 223. 36 Zychowicz, “Re‐Evaluating,” 430.

35 to cut later or to change completely—these are the ones that eventually turn out best of all.”37 As structural musical elements were almost entirely permanent, the manuscript is relatively inconsequential here. The primary editorial concern with Mahler is the change in technique, and incorporation of these changes. Furthermore, Ausgabe letzter Hand deals with the most final Retuschen, which are by nature far removed from the original manuscript.

Mahler unequivocally believed in his creative musical prowess. All the while, he was forever struggling with the practical, executive aspects of music. His life was a constant process of discovery in how best to express music, how he could manipulate the music and those executing the music to positive effect. Otto Singer, who created the four‐ hand version of the Fifth Symphony, complained, “With Mahler, it’s a calamity—he changed his mind about what should be altered from day to day only to change what he originally wrote without thorough understanding of what he had wanted to reject.”38

If editors were to adopt an “urtext” approach, the result would yield a correct version of Mahler’s notes, rhythms, harmony, and form, accompanied by a set of untested, obsolete performance instructions. While such an edition would be an interesting historical document, it would fail to incorporate the final revisions. A first edition reprint of an early work would give the same effect.

Ausgabe letzter Hand is an appropriate approach for editing Mahler’s works, but some questions remained as to what concessions would need to be made in order to adapt this approach to Mahler’s work. What about the 9th, Das Lied, and other works that Mahler

37 Bauer‐Lechner, 65. 38 Markoviç‐Stokes, “Gustav Mahler. Symphony no. 5,” 701.

36 never performed? What about revisions Mahler made toward the end of his life that were never tested in performance? What about Mahler’s famous decision to switch the order of the inner movements of the Sixth Symphony prior to the first performance even though he stated he wished to perform the work as he originally conceived it?

Ratz and his team would have to answer each of these questions on a case‐by‐case basis and make decisions they believed were appropriate. In the end, they would have to bend their editorial philosophy to accommodate the difficulties unique to Mahler’s music.

Mahler never had the chance to fully test out his later works to the extent he did the earlier ones. Granted, his instrumental technique had clearly matured over time, and fewer revisions would seemingly be necessary in his later works, but it is difficult to believe that his technique would have not changed had he lived longer.

In 1910, Mahler entered into discussions with Universal Edition Wien about publishing definitive editions of his first four symphonies. Mahler subsequently entered revisions into published scores that would serve as a basis for these definitive editions.39

Even though these final revisions never made it into print during Mahler’s lifetime, the fact that Mahler undertook this project, and entered into discussions with his publishing house strengthened Ratz’s decision to include these final alterations in his critical edition. 40

39 Zychowicz, Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, 152. 40 Ibid., 161.

37 Redlich’s Ausgabe Letzter Fassung

Still, Ausgabe letzter Hand has been called into question. Hans Ferdinand Redlich, a

Mahler scholar and contemporary of Ratz, denounced Ratz’s wholesale acceptance of the final revisions as Mahler never officially sanctioned their inclusion. Redlich asserted his own viewpoint by creating his own editions of the 1st, 4th, 6th, and 7th symphonies. These editions, published by Ernst Eulenberg from 1965‐68, are the only new editions outside of the IGMG’s KGA to be published since Mahler’s death. Redlich believed that true authenticity of a revision was corroborated only by that revision’s appearance in a published edition sanctioned by the composer himself.

Redlich, like Ratz, was an ardent devotee of Mahler’s music and wanted to preserve his music in an edition that best served the composer’s final wishes. Where Redlich and

Ratz differed was in their approach. Redlich took a significantly more conservative approach than Ratz and believed revisions that lacked corroboration in a Mahler‐ sanctioned edition should not be published in a modern critical edition. Redlich said:

“Clearly this final version (of Mahler’s Fourth Symphony) remains without Mahler’s

imprimatur and, thus, lacks final authenticity. Only the musical texts of the

symphony published between 1902 and 1910 carry full authenticity for posterity.”41

Redlich was clearly skeptical of any revisions not published in an official edition, and any changes in orchestration or other practical details not present in a sanctioned printed edition did not appear in his critical editions.

The Redlich/Eulenberg editions offer a much more significant critical report and more explanations than the IGMG editions. They are also entirely newly typeset as this

41 Mahler/ed. Redlich, Symphony no. 4, preface.

38 effort was independent of the IGMG, who maintained control over all existing Mahler editions. These plates were unavailable to Redlich. Interestingly enough,

Redlich/Eulenberg does not incorporate any kind of editorial device (dotted slurs, dynamics in different fonts, etc…) to indicate those places where an editorial decision was made. Incorporating such a device is commonplace in critical editions of other composers and would have strengthened the case for this edition, perhaps better ensuring the survival of this now defunct edition.

Redlich, like Ratz, did correct obvious printing errors and textual ambiguities,42 and essentially, Redlich’s editions offered a corrected version of the most current published edition. He believed revisions lacking Mahler’s authorization should instead form “part of a critical appendix in which these are offered as alternative versions only.”43

42 Ibid., XXVII. 43 Gustav Mahler, Symphony no. 7, ed. Hans F. Redlich (London: Ernst Eulenberg, Ltd., 1969), XI.

39 Guidelines for the Edition

Ratz’s choice to use the editorial approach of Ausgabe letzter Hand for the complete works of Mahler, though flawed, is widely considered to be mostly correct. And Ausgabe letzter Hand is, by nature, an apparatus that yields a critical edition. It is important, however, to consider the different editorial approaches available to the team, and in what ways each is (or is not) apropos to the music of Mahler.

In order for Ratz and his team to create a correct edition that incorporated all of the latest Mahler scholarship, they had to collect all sources that were integral to determining

Mahler’s final revisions. The “practical” edition they set out to create was to be a document easily used by musicians and scholars alike. To create a facsimile or diplomatic edition of a

Mahler work would preserve a single artifact from Mahler’s working process, but would fail to incorporate all final revisions. An edition of the corrected text is by nature an extension of a typeset diplomatic edition that goes one step further to correct obvious errors. The score is also adapted to modern notational practices. Each of these types of editions is only appropriate for preserving certain types of scores and would have imposed overly strict editorial limitations on Ratz and his team.

The critical edition, however, goes beyond each of these and allows for an editor to exercise certain licenses a facsimile, diplomatic edition, or edition of the corrected text does not allow. Editors are given the freedom to compare multiple editions with each other and can solve problems based on speculation. Variants from the author are taken into account, clearly an important idea to consider when editing the works of Mahler. Textural

40 criticism is generally used in cases where several authentic versions are available for comparison.44

According to Feder, an edition is “critical” if, “it uses the critical method to determine the original text from extant texts, and it includes a critical apparatus.”45 In addition to the transcribed, corrected musical score, an edition must contain certain key pieces in order to be considered critical:

1. Diacritical or distinguishing marks used to signify where a sign was added or

modified editorially. (for example, an added slur can be shown with parentheses or

brackets, or a broken slur line)

2. Illustrations (for example, photocopies of important passages from a manuscript

can be a valuable substitute for an entire manuscript reprint)

3. A Foreword where the editor reports their findings as well as remarks from the

composer about the work

4. A section outlining the guidelines editors used.

5. A Critical Commentary containing the following three components:

a. Description of Sources‐each source used should have a siglum that clearly

defines what type (manuscript, engraver’s copy, first edition, etc…) and

assigns a specific enumeration

b. Source evaluation

44 Georg Feder, Music Philology, trans. Bruce C. MacIntyre (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 2011), 137‐58. 45 Ibid., 142.

41 c. A critical report that explains the passages where the edited texts deviate

from which sources and how, as well as places where there is doubt about a

certain reading.

6. Performance Practice Directions‐clues in a work’s sources that could assist in

performance

7. The Libretto‐in vocal works, a separate printing of the text in poetic verse and

stanzas

If we take an inventory of the above items in a Mahler edition from the IGMG, we see some, but not all of these pieces. Present in each edition is the corrected musical text, and a

Revisionsbericht, or “revision report.”

The revision reports for each IGMG edition usually contain information about the overall editorial approach, remarks from and about the composer, and a critical commentary. The critical commentary lists all of the sources consulted, briefly notes any missing sources, and lists any editorial corrections that require special mention.46 Due to the extent of Mahler’s revisions, and the subsequent quantity of passages the editorial team would have to consider, Ratz made the decision to shorten the critical report and only include those places that required special mention. As a result, the critical reports are relatively short given the quantity of passages editors would have to modify.

Each score already existed in a previously printed edition. And Mahler’s revisions of small details made the physical correction of the editions somewhat easy. This, coupled with a lack of financial resources, led the team to modify plates used for editions published

46 Gustav Mahler, Symphony no. 4 (Universal Edition: Wien, 1963), Revisionsbereicht.

42 during Mahler’s lifetime. Notes and rhythms, aside from any unintended errors, stayed the same.

This approach did, however, have some limitations. Noticeably absent from the

IGMG’s editions are diacritical marks for expression and other editorial sigla. The reason for this is two‐fold: one functional, and one intentional. Functionally, it was impossible to include these marks due to the lack of available space in the already existing editions. And intentionally, Ratz’s goal was to produce an edition that was convincing and gave the performer a solid, unquestionable version of what Mahler wrote. “Editorial” musical marks are by nature a “second option” and are less convincing to the reader. They require a certain amount of license and choice by the user, and incorporating such marks would fundamentally weaken the new edition, taking it afield from the practical edition Ratz was trying to make.

43 Editing the Works

According to Mahler scholar James Zychowicz, the job of an editor is to “review all details involved with a score including musical notation, text underlay in vocal works, verbal markings, and other graphic elements in the score.”47 Zychowicz goes on to explain that a critical edition is usually based on a “fundamental text” corroborated with other sources. The idea of a fundamental text in Mahler is rather tenuous as his revisions reflected his continuous refinements to the presentation of musical notation. With so little solidity given to any one version, a fundamental text is difficult to define. In this case, the best option was to consider the first published edition to be the fundamental text, using this text as a base for revisions. As Mahler was very much a part of the editorial process in most of his first editions, these texts provide a good foundation on which to apply final revisions.

Ratz’s editorial process was to compare the fair copy and the first published edition with the final revisions made by Mahler. Once the differences had been noted, the final revisions were then incorporated into the original publication. Any printing errors in the first edition were also corrected, resulting in an edition that was both up to date and correct. As each score received a different post‐composition treatment by Mahler and each had a different publication history, editors would have to treat each work with its own approach.

47 James L. Zychowicz and Susan M. Filler, “The Newly Discovered Source for Mahler’s First Symphony: Issues of Context,” Naturlaut 1, no. 4 (Mar 1, 2003): 13.

44 Editors initially set out to collect and evaluate all sources available to them. James

Zychowicz outlines a set of criteria for evaluating Mahler’s sources in the following chart:

Identify the Source

• Autograph Full Score • Published score with autograph corrections • Other published edition

Determine Authenticity/Provenance

• Ownership • Secondary references • Verify handwriting

Verify Authenticity/Dating

• Inscriptions • Signature • Date • Library/other sigla

Confirm Other References to the Sources

• Published Criticism • Bibliographic References • Auction Catalogues

Prioritized List of Sources Edited Score

Having created a prioritized list of sources, editors then identified materials related to

Mahler’s final version of a work rather than an analysis of all the extant materials.48

An interesting firsthand account of this process comes from W. Parks Grant’s sabbatical leave from the University of Mississippi during the 1965‐66 academic year.

48 Zychowicz, Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, 157.

45 Grant traveled to Austria to help Ratz and his colleagues prepare the new editions of the

2nd, 3rd, 8th and 9th Symphonies.

Grant and his wife arrived in Vienna on August 31, 1965. He began work two days later, with the immediate task of helping with the new edition of the Second Symphony.

Grant understood that the IGMG had been working on the complete edition for ten years now and carried out his work in a manner that fit within their established procedures and routines.

While Grant acknowledged that each work was unique and would require a slightly different approach, he was able to devise a general approach to guide his work:

“I corrected, in red pencil, all obvious misprints. Suspected misprints or places

about which there might be some question I kept on a list. These were thoroughly

discussed with Prof. Ratz during our periodic conferences, always held in my

apartment (and I loved being addressed as "Herr Professor"), at which each item

was disposed of in one or the other of four ways:

1. We decided the printed version was perfectly correct.

2. We decided a change was necessary, and made it in red pencil.

3. We decided that the flaw was so slight that the present status could be

conscientiously allowed to remain.

4. We were unable to determine exactly what Mahler's intentions really

were and earmarked the spot for discussion in the "Revision Report"

(Revisionsbericht) which Prof. Ratz will prepare for inclusion in the preface

to each work as it comes out in the new "Critical Edition."

46 Evident from the above list is a keen combination of common sense and conjecture on the editors’ part. Due to the highly fluid nature of Mahler’s revisions, a cut‐and‐dry, conservative editorial approach (along the lines of Redlich) could fall short in determining

Mahler’s exact intent. By considering each place in depth, editors were able to determine exactly which final revisions warranted inclusion.

Items of type 3 from Grant’s list were allowed to remain on purely functional grounds. When undertaking the enormous task of making a new Mahler edition, one naturally wants every measure, every note to be perfect. As is such, one would expect even the minutest details to be corrected. Due to the scope of the project, however, Grant identified these “type 3” flaws as less significant flaws—flaws that the average reader would fail to notice in everyday usage. These flaws fall into the following categories:

1. Lack of advance warnings for a change of clef for those instruments (i.e. viola,

bassoon) that regularly change clef when extended registration demands so.

Composers generally give a warning symbol of the new clef in the measure

following the music preceding an upcoming clef change.

2. Superfluous use of sharps or flats when an existing key signature had already

served the intended function.

3. Incorrect beaming for a grouping of notes within an arpeggio. In the Second

Symphony, for example, there was a passage of arpeggios written for the second

harp in 2/2 time. Mahler notated an arpeggio of eight notes spanning an entire

47 bar using sixteenth notes, implying that eight sixteenth notes equaled a whole

note. The correct note value in this case would have been eighth notes.49

For Grant, these inconsistencies were “not flawlessly correct—but not worth the bother of a change.”50 Indeed, only the essential modifications were made so as not to crowd these already detailed editions.

Grant’s working relationship with Ratz was highly collaborative. The two met regularly to discuss Grant’s findings, and Grant would come to each meeting with an exhaustive list of what he deemed to be questionable places. They discussed even the minutest details. Many of the issues Grant deemed insignificant Ratz found highly interesting; likewise, it would take a good deal of work on Grant’s part to convince Ratz of certain places’ significance.

The editorial team’s purpose, according to Grant was, “to establish and publish what Mahler actually wrote (or intended to write), not what we think he ought to have written or what we wish he had written.”51 It was not their job to judge and rectify technical problems in the music, or to try to solve any difficulties that might arise for conductors. These were problems Mahler dealt with daily and was quite adept at fixing himself. For editors to go beyond a Mahler‐penned alteration and make such a decision on speculation would have gone beyond their assigned task. They were there for the sake of uncovering a solution based on physical evidence, not to try to “correct” the music as they saw fit.

49 W. Parks Grant, “Mahler Research and Editing in Vienna,” Chord and Discord 3, no. 1 (1969): 103‐104. 50 Ibid., 103. 51 Ibid., 105.

48 Mahler wrote passages and notes outside the playable range of certain instruments—low A’s in the Bassoons for example. Lack of provision for these unavailable notes does seem to go against Mahler’s pragmatism in writing for the orchestra. Ratz and

Grant considered providing a footnote for musicians to help solve these problems, but decided inclusion of such a direction or an outright correction of the problems would step outside their editorial bounds. Mahler continually pushed the boundaries of an orchestra and it was important to take these notes in faith and honor Mahler’s foresight. Was he writing in hopes that modern instrumental technology would eventually allow these notes to be played? Regardless of the answer to this question, the decision not to make any provision for them was the right one. Indeed, many of the range problems Grant outlined have been solved through modern instruments’ expanded range, and today’s players have figured out how to adapt to any other unresolved difficulties.

In editing the Second Symphony, Grant had seven sources at his disposal:

1. Miniature photocopy of Mahler’s manuscript

2. Miniature photocopy of the Stichvorlage (engraver’s copy)

3. Miniature photocopy of the printed score with changes by Mahler prior to

publication of the first edition.

4. First edition score in full score size—published by Weinberger (Vienna) in 1897

5. Second edition in study score size—published by Universal Edition (London) in

1952

6. Third edition in full score size—published by Universal Edition (Vienna) with no

date, but probably from the early 1920s

49 7. Complete set of orchestral parts52

On a side note, comparison between the dates of the third and second editions

(sources 6 and 5, respectively) highlights one problem in Mahler publication between his death and the first complete works. Publishers often made the misinformed decision to print obsolete editions when a more current edition was available to them. A 1952 publication of the second edition by Universal deliberately reissues an edition made obsolete by the Second Symphony’s later third edition.

Grant proceeded with a note‐by‐note comparison of the first and third editions, eventually copying all of the changes made for the third edition into a clean copy of the first edition using black pencil. Grant copied the third edition’s changes into the second edition using a green pencil. Misprints, of which there were many in the third edition, were corrected using red pencil.

Further problems arose from copyists’ improper correction of misprints identified by Mahler. Mahler regularly corrected simple errors such as misplaced accidentals and missing dynamic marks. Unfortunately, these marks were misinterpreted on many occasions by copyists and in turn, made into much larger problems. These types of problems were numerous in the case of the third edition of the Second, and Grant made every effort to identify and correct all cases.

Checking and correcting the set of orchestral parts was Grant’s final step. Due to the

Second Symphony’s enormous length and large quantity of players involved, this would prove to be a serious undertaking. Grant compared each part with his edited first edition score that included Mahler’s final revisions. The lack of editorial conformity in the parts is

52 Ibid., 105‐106.

50 shown by their lack of correspondence to one specific edition. While based on the third edition, each part contains several passages that still conform to the first or second edition.

In the case of the seriously error‐ridden fourth trumpet part, there is a passage where the line assigned to this instrument has been dispensed with and the fourth is actually duplicating one of the other trumpet lines. As is the case with the full score, Grant also corrected any obvious misprints in these parts.

Having finished his work on the Second, Grant now turned his attention to the Ninth

Symphony. As Mahler never performed this work, its revision history is nonexistent. The task of editing this work would simply involve comparing the existing printed edition with

Mahler’s own manuscript. Grant describes the poor condition of the Ninth’s manuscript in this quote:

“In contrast to the neatness of Mahler's other manuscripts, the writing in the Ninth

Symphony is extremely messy, at points practically illegible (for he was in wretched

health as well as hurried when he wrote it); there are several points where he seems

to have set a new page down on the still‐wet notes of the preceding page, resulting

in a frightful blur.”53

Grant was given a photocopy of Mahler’s manuscript (of which the reproduction was not terribly good), a photocopy of the engraver’s copy (in good condition), and also had a 1952

Universal Edition study score to work from. He soon noticed a correlation between passages in the manuscript that were extraordinarily messy and those places in the published score that, due to inaccurate engraving, were heavily error‐ridden.

53 Ibid., 109.

51 The engraver’s copy bears a rubber stamp date of July 11, 1912, indicating the date that the work was released by UE to the engraver. As Mahler had died fourteen months earlier, it is unlikely he ever saw a proof of the work. Grant further doubted that anyone at the publishing house ever proofread the work—many of the errors present in the published edition (of which there are 112 in the third movement alone) would have been uncovered and corrected by a good proofreader. Incorrect notes were common, and a note unplayable by the celli was printed (likely the result of Mahler placing a new blank page on top of a still‐wet page).

Grant completed his initial task of editing the Ninth’s third and fourth movements

(in addition to his already completed work on the Second) in December of 1965, a remarkable accomplishment for his first five months in Vienna.

Before returning to edit the first two movements of the Ninth, Grant worked on the

Eighth Symphony. In contrast to the difficult 2nd and 9th, the Eighth would prove to be an easy task. Mahler’s manuscript of the Eighth was clean and easily legible, and few editorial difficulties existed in this work. Mahler did, however, revise the work between the manuscript stage and the work’s printing, most likely at the time of the September 1910

Munich première. Corroboration of the several differences between the manuscript and the printed edition would have been quite easy had the engraver’s copy not been lost. In its place, Grant had to undertake a detailed analysis of the score looking for any places that seemed strange to him. In comparing the strange places in the printed score against the manuscript, he was almost always able to arrive at a convincing answer as to whether the passage in question was, in fact, correct. Misprints in this edition were few, and aside from a few questionable pitches in the printing, the only other flaw came from Mahler’s lack of

52 ability to write properly for the organ. Grant explains that Mahler’s organ writing—while both impractical and unconventional—was not so bad as to warrant any kind of editorial intervention. As strange as the writing may seem, Mahler’s intent was always clear and any skilled organist could interpret the music in order to get the exact effect Mahler desired.

Following his work on the Eighth, Grant returned to work on the Ninth in February.

Having already edited the third and fourth movements, he now set his attention to the first two movements. Just as before, he worked to identify and correct misprints, of which there were, again, many.

He also discovered certain alterations that were not in Mahler’s hand. Bruno Walter, who conducted the work's première, added these in June 1912. Likely, these were not

Mahler‐sanctioned additions, but were by Walter, one of Mahler’s chief disciples, out of good intent and first hand knowledge of the composer’s tendencies. One of the most interesting examples of this involves indications as to where the harp part should be doubled and where it should employ only one player. The printed score calls for two harps, but only one part is ever printed. Walter indicated how many harps were to play in a given passage by using the marking “zu 2” for two players or I. for only one player. While these indications would likely have been helpful to future conductors and musicians alike, they do not represent a decision made by Mahler and thus are not appropriate to include in the edition.

Having finished his work on the Ninth (or at least so he thought), Grant turned his attention on the Third Symphony. A task similar to that of the Second, Grant had the manuscript, a first edition, and a second edition at his disposal. Wary of the myriad misprints in the second and third editions of the Second, Grant took special care to search

53 for misprints in the Third’s second edition. Creators of this work’s second edition had, in contrast, exercised much more care than the editors the Second’s second edition, making editing a rather simple task. Three unique aspects of the Third did, however, come to light:

1. The first edition showed that the famous post horn solo in the third movement had

originally been given to the flugelhorn

2. The manuscript facsimile curiously showed that Mahler had originally designated

the key of this symphony as F major rather than D minor.

3. Grant had long known that the fourth movement of the Fourth Symphony had once

been intended for use in the Third Symphony, but never knew where it was to have

fitted in. (The fact that there are themes common to both the Third and Fourth

Symphonies stems from this early plan) The manuscript suggests that this extra

movement would have been inserted after the first movement; the second

movement becoming the third, and so on.54

While still at work on the Third, Grant returned to the most error‐ridden movement of the

Ninth Symphony, the third movement. Grant soon realized within the first few minutes that he had missed several key misprints in this movement. He decided to undertake yet another full examination of this movement.

Stunned by a list of 35 new places to investigate, Grant became concerned that this level of uncertainty might jeopardize the integrity of this new edition. Thankfully, a helpful source soon surfaced, a score belonging to Alban Berg. Highly fragmented, primitively orchestrated, and formally incorrect, these sketches still corroborated the decisions Grant had made in his editing in the following ways:

54 Ibid., 112.

54 1. They proved that he had been quite right in making changes that on earlier

occasions seemed so obviously necessary.

2. They proved that some of the suspected mistakes were indeed errors.

3. They proved that certain mistakes were entirely correct as printed.55

Being able to use this source allowed Grant to significantly reduce the quantity

“questionable places”, and greatly increased his belief in the integrity of this edition.

After finishing his work on the Ninth, Grant returned to the US having contributed a great deal to these new editions. Varying performance histories, quantity of available materials and quality of previous editions for each work necessitated an individualized approach in order to bring each work in line with the quality of edition they were trying to produce. Furthermore, this effort was a highly dynamic process, one that involved many people and required a great deal of effort. Sources had to be gathered, experts consulted, and specific problems considered. Professor Grant’s dedication to this project was admirable. He was unpaid by the IGMG, and only received his sabbatical half‐salary from the University of Mississippi while working on this project. His highly methodical approach was, at the same time, deferential to Ratz and his team’s work, and served this edition’s mission well. Ratz was clearly grateful for Grant’s help, as he directly thanked Grant in the revision reports printed at the beginning of the critical editions of the 2nd, 3rd, 8th, and 9th

Symphonies.

Most importantly, this valuable text is a direct first‐hand account of the editorial team’s work. Information such as this is almost entirely absent from published Mahler scholarship. Most of the available information on the first critical edition is analysis done

55 Ibid., 113.

55 after the fact; conjecture as to what might have been done; criticism of the overall editorial process or the editorial process for an individual work. One only wishes other people working on the edition had done the same. It would have been quite interesting to hear a similar description of the process from Ratz or one of his colleagues.

Grant understood Mahler well. It was clear he knew the nature of the revisions and carried out his work as such. One of the best lines of the article is this, the very final sentence: “I would say this: a singleness of purpose underlies all of Mahler’s retouches.”56

And that is just it. It may be easy when viewing the overall scope of changes involved

(changes in orchestration, modification of dynamics, changes in articulation) to fault the entire system as a disparate, fractured effort—Mahler acting on whim to satisfy his feeling of the moment. As is hopefully clear by now, that was absolutely not the case with Mahler.

Each modification was made with the end goal in mind of ensuring that the music—the fundamental notes, rhythms, and harmonies—came out with absolute expressive clarity.

Mahler’s respect for the concrete aspects of music is undeniable. He had to make these modifications in order to be satisfied that the music was being heard in its clearest, most affecting state.

56 Ibid., 115.

56 Conclusion

Because of Mahler’s short life, we can never know what might have happened had he lived another 20 years. Would he have continued to improve his works or was he beginning to master his technique?

In 1910, Mahler was in negotiations with Universal Edition to publish “definitive” editions of his first four symphonies. In these negotiations, he expressed his desire to arrive at a firmly established score of the Fourth. This suggests a composer who is slowly becoming comfortable enough with his own abilities, and perhaps Mahler was getting to the point that he might be able to create a concrete, definitive score of at least his early works. The frequent revisions make arriving at a single, authentic text difficult. Meanwhile the secondary nature of the revisions bring the editor’s focus to elements that are not structural and do not change the overall affect of a work. They simply help bring the work into sharper focus, and represent Mahler’s most current musical technique.

Erwin Ratz and his team made significant strides in bringing Mahler’s last wishes into significant, vital print. Using limited resources at a time when Mahler’s popularity was nothing like it is today, they undertook their work with care and dignity, and developed an editorial strategy that they determined to best serve Mahler’s creative process. Musicians were left with a much‐improved version of his works just as his popularity was beginning to take flight.

Since their efforts, certain new sources have come to light and revisions of the original edition have appeared. Another new critical edition has been undertaken, indicating both the difficulty at achieving a final, authoritative text, as well as the still fluid nature of Mahler’s text. As the editorial process begins to settle down, hopefully someday

57 we will actually have a final text. As fewer sources come to light and editorial problems are thoroughly solved, a final text should be within easy reach. Clearly, the efforts of Mahler editors over the last 50 years have done a great service to a composer who lies at the heart of the symphonic repertoire today.

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