In just over a century of independent Latvia’s development of music history, 4 names of female composers already stand out.
The first is Marija Gubene (1872-1947), (author of many tasteful arrangements of folk songs), a graduate of the organ class of the Moscow Conservatory, later joined in the 1920’s by graduates from the Riga Conservatory by:Paula Līcīte, Laura Reinholde and Lucija Garūta. The name that is the most significant of these composers, is Lūcija Garūta. Her work covers a broad spectrum of genres. Reaching professional maturity early on, her music enriched the cultural values of Latvian Soviet music together with the art of Jānis Ivanovs, Ādolfs Skulte, Marģers Zariņš, Arvīds Žilinskis, Jānis Ķepītis, Jānis Ozoliņš and other talented contemporary composers.
Lūcija Garūta was born in Riga on May 14, 1902 into a working class family.
The middle sister of 3 daughters, she engaged with music from an early age, although no one in her family received a musical education. Thinking continually about music, she says to her elder sister, “You don’t need to sing real songs at all, it’s enough just to sing about what you see around you,” as they return home one evening after a walk, “ then new melodies always come out,” she explains.
Confirming her statement, she sings a self-composed melody about flowers she observes in the beautiful Vērmaņa garden. Her only concern is how to write down these melodies? Her older sister already learnt how to write at school and taught her little sister already to read fluently in Latvian and Russian. This however, is no help for writing the young Lūcijā’s self composed melodies. Neither her father, weary from work or her mother can advise their young daughter. She decides to learn for herself. Fortunately a few days later, an old collection of folk tunes falls into Lūcija’s hands. Seeing the strange dots and stalks next to melodies with words from songs she already knows, she is able to decipher the meaning of the strange symbols, using her listening skills to understand the different pitch notations hearing the music in her head without any instrument at all. With a little more time and effort Lūcijā can freely sing all the melodies included in the collection. Most importantly, she knows how to record her flights of melodic fantasy on sheets of self-made sheet music. An amazing musical talent is revealed. The little composer had not yet begun learning a musical instrument but seeing her keen interest, her father managed to buy a piano. This instrument at home opened up unexplored artistic horizons for Lūcija, as she puts her notation skill to good use. Every evening she improvises, never tiring of playing on the piano much to her family’s delight. Developing her skill, all of Lūcija’s dreams are invested in the piano, forgetting other childhood games.
Finally at the age of seven, Lūcija Garūta has the opportunity to study with the well-known cellist Otto Fogelmanis (1876-1926) who turned out to be a good piano teacher for her. His pedagogical method has the ability to unleash the creative imagination of his students whilst working on their musical refinement. He motivates and encourages Lūcija not to abandon her early attempts at composition. Her first composition from this time is a solo song “Jūrnieks”, a programmatic miniature composed to her own text.
At school her classmates soon discover this musical side to her personality and the pianist that is blossoming. She enjoys contributing to the school’s musical events with her intimate and personal sound world. Strong-willed, she ignores the advice of others to start cultivating theoretical knowledge more seriously. She worries that studying theory will not allow her to compose from the heart.
Despite these concerns, aged 15, Lucija begins her theoretical education under the guidance of music critic and composer Nikolajs Alunans (1859-1919). At the same time she has piano lessons with Marija Žilinska, a former student of world renowned pianist, Anton Rubinštein. In the autumn of 1919 the Riga Conservatory is founded in the newly independent Latvia. Lūcija Garūta enrols in the piano class. Her talents are spotted during entrance aural exams by Jāzeps Vītols, the conservatoire’s director. Vitols hears many things about this young talented student and learns of her compositions, which over the years, have accumulated to a substantial amount of work.
Under Vitols’ direction, encouraged by his enthusiasm and guidance, Lūcijā Garūta takes her first steps in a small group of young composers – first to learn the “secrets” of the art of composition in the newly founded Riga Conservatory. In 1924, Lūcija Garūta graduates from Jāzeps Vītola’s composition class, a year later receiving her piano diploma. Travelling to Paris in 1926 and 1928, provides Lūcijā Garūta the opportunity of working with excellent musicians abroad including the composer Paul Dukas. A successful independent career is begun. By 1925 Lūcijā Garūta has become a well known name with the Riga concert going public, holding regular musical evenings showcasing her compositions and featuring many outstanding singers of the time : Milda Brechmane-Štengele and Ādolfs Kaktiņš amongst others. An excellent soloist and accompanist she creates a regular series of chamber music concerts, which through her participation, sees her artistry flourish and establishes a tradition of music making with a high level of excellence in Riga.
In the autumn of 1927 the second chapter of Lūcijā Garūta’s musical career began – her work as a pedagogue in piano and theory at the Riga Conservatory. This was later to become the State Conservatory under the Soviet regime and during this period, Lūcijā Garūta retained her position in the newly named music academy. A force of nature, she was a favourite amongst the composition teaching faculty. It is thanks to her that an entire generation of young music academics and composers gained theoretical knowledge and training under her tutelage.
The list of Lūcijā Garūta’s compositions is extensive: symphonic compositions Teiksma, 1932 and Meditation 1934 ; variations “ My homeland “ 1935 and piano works, the “Variations in F minor” 1921. Sonata in B minor 1924, preludes 1927, 1929, “Variaitons on a theme of a folk song”, 1933 and other compositions for violin and cello,- “sonata for violin and piano “ 1927. In the early decades of her career, her most important contributions are in vocal music: ensembles, larger vocal- instrumental forms including the opera, the “Silver Bird” based on her own libretto which has remained in piano reduction since 1938 and a collection of over 200 songs. It is significant that Jāzeps Vītols recorded a dedication in his own collection of choral songs given to Lucija Garuta, namely his “ Latvian Songs for a flourishing flower “ ( March 3, 1934. It is perhaps in her vocal music most of all, that Lūcijā Garūta’s characteristic style is most marked: namely her dramatic power and the romantic yearnings of the soul captured in dense dark minor colours.
Pain of love and loss, motherhood, dreams of happiness, splendour of nature and other fundamental elements of human experience are the subjects of her songs. As a composer Lūcijā Garūta, always writes from her heart, her composing driven by a deep inner compulsion. Her song lyrics, often set to poetry she wrote herself, express her ideals and match the beauty of her music. Emotion her guiding principle, no matter how psychologically complex her language, it cannot but fail to move the listener.
This emotional clarity also characterises other genres of her musical oeuvre. In the last decade of her composing career she began to focus more on instrumental music, particularly works for piano. There was also an increased interest in Latvian folk music incorporated into her compositions. This resulted in several compositions developed from folk songs, once again another development of Jazeps Vitols paraphrases in Latvian Soviet piano music.
The piano concerto, written in the summer of 1950 and following summer and autumn is one of the most outstanding achievements of Lūcijā Garūta’s creative output. The concerto was nominated by the III Congress of the Union of Soviet Latvian Composers as one of the most significant works of Latvian Soviet culture of recent decades, deservedly representing Latvian Soviet concerto literature.
The history behind the piano concerto is a tragic one. Having conceived of the idea for a long time of a large – scale piano composition, Garūta was saddened by the realisation that, due to poor health, she many never be able to perform this work as soloist.
New hope came in the post war years in the birth of her niece, Laila, the daughter of her younger sister. Like her aunt, Laila’s musical talent was clear from an early age and Lūcijā Garūta became her first music teacher. It is impossible to say whether it was this musical connection that bound the two of them so close or whether it was simply the gentle nature of the young niece kindling the most sincere affection in Lūcijā Garūta- perhaps it is both. Laila soon becomes not only niece, but Lūcijā’s best friend. Their duet making goes on for hours and every free moment of Lūcijā’s time is dedicated to Laila’s music education, developing her talent. Laila’s quick intellectual development and reciprocal love of music deepens their bond. It is soon Laila who becomes the connoisseur of Lūcijā’s sound world. It is Laila who gets to experience the new compositions first and who at times initiates them.
The tragic, sudden and difficult illness of Laila and her unexpected death deeply shocked the composer to her core and drove her into a deep depression, a depression that she cannot hide from her colleagues and students no matter how hard they try to help. A letter from this time by Alfred Kalnins from March 4 1950 is significant in this respect: “ I remember that already in 1944, probably in the old Gertrude church, you introduced me to your sister’s daughter, and since then I also knew that you both connected by a particularly deep love. I believe that no sacrifice would be too difficult for you to be able to help your sister’s daughter maintain her health, study, and get everything she needs for school and life. Many people knew about this mutual love between you, and I understand how painful it must be for you now to be without your eye-catcher. I understand you well and I also understand your grief. Put them in some sounds, and it will become easier and more bearable for you. Write something «in memoriam*» in memory of the little one.»** **taken from a letter in possession of L. Garūta.
Encouraged by this outstanding Latvian music master, Lūcija Garūta wrote the second part of her piano concerto, “In memoriam” in the summer of 1950, adding the two outer parts of the concerto a year later. The author’s tragic experiences are reflected in this deeply convincing work written “in memory of my little friend Lailiņa”. Such tragic experiences are not narrowly captured in an individual tone palette. Intensely felt musical feelings are incorporated into her composition, which aim to resolve the eternal conflict of life and death in a convincing resolution. The first movement conveys the stormy, protestation of powerful musical feelings combined with an overriding mood of tragedy and loss. (Part II) explores a range of human feelings probing into the searching of a philosophical nature that culminates in a dramatic finale.
This last part seeks to successfully resolve conflict in a fulfilling finale, as the composer, rising above personal pain, expresses an unbreakable faith in the unstoppable and never-ending flow of the force of life.
A composition permeated with intense inner experience and struggle goes far beyond the dogmas of the once infamous Soviet “non-conflict” theory. It is precisely these Soviet theories that influence the Latvian Soviet Composers’ Union meeting on February 3, 1952 to judge the piano concerto unfairly and for which it receives unjustly harsh criticism. The spiritual struggle and humanity at the heart of this composition was criticised for distorting Soviet reality. It is of course those who are uncivilised those theoretical dogmatists that “understand the subject of tragedy in art in primitive fashion, that equate tragedy with pessimism.” Moreover, it is ignored that it is precisely the nature of such sublime tragic works that have always sustained humanity and have always been the most life-affirming in the world of art. Such are the tragedies of Shakespeare, Goethe, Tolstoy, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky. The progressive, humanistic view of art from all nations no less vividly refer to pain and suffering and express their existence. It is this expression of humanity that protest against such tyranny. How then can a Soviet artist, the bearer of the most progressive, most humanistic art traditions, break away from this artistic discussion?”*
It was only a few years later that at the end of 1954 and the beginning of 1955 that Lūcija’ Garūta was able to gain the strength of will to return to her composition and begin it’s orchestration. The piano concerto was finally premiered on the Riga radio broadcast on September 29, 1955 with the soloist Hermanis Bruans (LPSR Merited Artist ) conducted under the baton of Arvins Jansons (LPSR Merited Artist Arvins Jansons).
The concerto’s first performance received a most favourable response from the audience (conductor, People’s Artist of the LPSR Leonids Vigners, soloist H. Brauns) however at the Congress of the Composers’ Union, on February 29, 1956, they unanimously condemn the “former vulgar” subject matter of the concerto in their assessment of the concerto. In defiance of this verdict, the work gains a following amongst the Latvian people which increases the popularity of this work.
So what are the key features of Lūcija Garūta’s new composition? We have already talked about the deep experience from the composers own life that forms the basis of musical development in this vast and complex composition. Saturated with emotional tension there is no artificiality of form. It is concise in meaning with no empty bridge passages patching together ill conceived “white threads” which sometimes link together individual musical subjects in large-scale modern compositions. Everything is constantly developing according to the laws of musical dramaturgy. It is appropriate to note that the mastery of symphonic development, characterizing Lūcija Garūta’s work in general, reached its fullest expression in this concerto, thanks to the excellent education that she received in Jāzepa Vītola’s composition class. Clarity of form, laconic melodies conceived in individual orchestral parts, musical elements in structural proportion all speak of the true realist school making it an excellent example of concerto form. Emotional content matched with pianistic writing of the solo part is testament to its standing in the tradition of great classical art. In this way it stands in the tradition of such works as the Tchaikovsky’s last three symphonies, in which there is a similarly convincing, deep realisation of tragic and life-affirming subject matter.
Being an excellent pianist herself, Lūcija Garūta has created a virtuoso solo part. Comprehensively exhausting textural possibilities of the piano, the author gave equal importance to the role of orchestra, which together with piano, explore in symphonic style deep musical thought.
The orchestral score, like the musical material of the concerto itself, does not have empty ostentatious splendor. Suloti’s thick orchestral sound is hollowly mysterious in the most painful moments of the work. Warm, yet delicate timbres of the string section add lyricism whilst tragedy is intensified by the cutting sounds of brass instruments. Instrumentation purposefully mirrors the emotional requirements of the composition’s content, delineating contours of the concertos diverse ideas. The composition’s content is similarly served by the composer’s harmonic language. Lūcija Garūta’s harmonic sequences are clearly balanced, progressions seamless but above all used imaginatively with expressionist chromatic colouring. An attentive researcher will come across a lot of sharp, unusual harmonic modulations surprising the listener with unexpected turns, at times obscured by tasteful inner voicing and complex counterpoint. When Lūcija Garūta’s original language explores use of Latvian folk melody, her harmonic language fits into the framework of strict diatonism, combining polyphony in creative ways. The overall result is one of true Latvian colour where Latvian elements are highlighted to give it a truly national flavour.
It is important also to underline two moments in the opening of the concerto. First of all it is formed with one common circle of modulations in the development of certain important themes. The cohesion of this long work ( more than 30 mins) therefore is ensured by musical flow and unity of thematic material. Secondly Lūcija Garūta quotes from several folk songs, and moreover, contrary to other examples found in Soviet music literature, she has chosen musical quotes which correspond to the overall mood of the subject matter. This use of folk music has an instructive purpose. Already in earlier workings of the composition she explores many rarely known, unprocessed samples of Latvian folk melodies, for example the appearance of old funeral melodies “Kam tu luži, ozoliņi” and “Jūdziet sirmus” appear. Most notable of all is her use of one of three quotes from folk songs (“Daugaviņa, mellacīt”) treated for the first time in Latvian music literature. This sampling of folk music infuses the work with the freshness of an invigorating breeze and gives the concerto a distinctively Latvian flavour.
I part, Lento, pesante (fa diez min.)
A gloomy introduction, which, as if at the end, a mysterious timpani tremolo background, prepared by a solo piano, grows into a group of string and woodwind instruments. The introductory thematic material is very concentrated, consisting of an upward unison march with a poignant resolution in the sixth degree seventh chord, which is wrapped around an ascending solo piano passage that grows out of the same chord.
The development of the concerto’s short introduction takes place in three stages. For the first time, the laconic, ascending theme covers the extent of the fifth. The second time it reaches the volume of the sixth, at which both the rhythmic structure of the theme and the chord of its solution are intensified. For the third time, the ascending movement stops on the nona, moves a step higher with even greater dramatic force, and then, in a mood of deep pain, the heavy tonic triad of F minor resolves.
The three stages of the development of the introduction mark the clash between the theme’s ascending aspiration and the chords full of fatal severity. The louder, more passionate the rising cry of the theme, the heavier and more oppressive the force of these harsh chords confronts it. And it wins in the introduction, as evidenced by the painful, as if under inexorable forces, the final, desperate, ignorant measures of the introduction. The hours of painful trials have come. What will be? Will the forces of evil really remain victorious? The answer to this question comes in the main movement of the concerto, which replaces the introduction, Allegro sostenuto, semper ben marcato. These are not pessimistic sighs or silent cries with which the protagonist of the concert stands before us. No, in his view, the tragic event is received with a fervent and irreconcilable shout of protest, with a superhuman will to win, to live. Rhythmically sharp, descending, permeated with painful dramas is the thematic grain of the main part, which first sounds in the piano, then with new force is reproduced a second time in the subdominant harmony, and finally, gradually, attracting string groups and woodwind instruments, from dramatically descending and anxious ascending signal-like intonations causes everything further development of the main party.
It is significant that the intonation of the descending second characteristic of the thematic grain of the main movement can be observed in the introduction at the top of the piano passage. Thus, the features of the main part contrasting with the fateful chords of pain are already outlined in the piano texture of the introduction with barely noticeable strokes. The signal-like intonations in the development of the main part bring the music of Lūcias Garūtas especially closer to the peculiarities of Scriabin’s symphonic art. Once again, with great force, in the tutti and piano chant of the whole orchestra, the author gives free rein to the theme of will full of protesting power. As in the opening bars of the main movement, it repeats itself twice. This repetition marks the beginning of the connecting part corresponding to the allegro form of the classical sonata.
However, contrary to examples often found in the literature, the connecting part of Lūcija Garūta’s piano concerto does not have a simple role of combining the main and side parts. Characters full of masculine power, thanks to the abundant use of intonations in the main part, also dominate the tie-in part. Even more, its continuous development leads to a powerful climax full of internal excitement, which marks the highest moment of emotional tension in the entire exposition of the first movement. It is interesting that the thematic material of this climax also appears in a varied form in the development of the side party. The lyrically excited image of the side part of A major is like a reflection of the main character of the concerto. With this moment, the musical mood of the whole piece changes drastically. From the excitement of excited passion, it sinks into bright, deeply heartfelt moods.
The performance of the melody in solo piano, using the upper, light register, underlines the bare, childish nature of the image. The structure of the part next to it is highly symmetrical: the eight-bar sentence makes up the first half of the period, and this sentence is made up of two melodically different, although coherent in mood, four-bar phrases (a+b). The first half of the second sentence repeats the melodic material a, but the material b is replaced here with new intonations that have grown from the previous one. The result is the formula (a+b)+(a+c), reminiscent of form-building techniques often found in folk music. That’s why the side part of the concert, although it doesn’t carry throughout brightly expressed searches for national color, thanks to its square structure, is close to a simple, poetic folk song. It has the sincerity characteristic of folk music, and, knowingly or unknowingly, with the appearance of the material of the side part in the first part, the whole sound of the second part of the concert, which is twisted from the themes of folk melodies, is prepared. Next, the first movement of the part is heard only in the piano.
The melody of the second movement is taken over by a group of string instruments and a flute, while a swirling piano accompaniment of triplets wraps around the light-hearted theme, reminiscent of the play of sunlight on the slowly swirling water of a river. The image of the nearby party begins to sound a second time in a dynamic way, gaining strength and power with the beginning of the second sentence. The texture of the piano becomes dynamic and rich, the sound is enhanced by new instruments of the orchestra. In the constant climb, more and more exciting characters are formed. From childlike simplicity and sincerity, they grow to deep soulful excitement, which reaches its greatest emotional tension in the climax saturated with unfulfilled longing. The climax of the adjacent party is identical in its development to the climax of the main party. And not only in development. By careful comparison, the listener will also see the similarity of the two climaxes in the intonations: the major second fa diez sol diez and sol diez – fa diez, as well as the descending pure fifth fa diez si, is the leading element of intonations in both cases. This once again allows us to conclude that the central thematic materials of the first part of the concert – the main and the side part – are two worlds of different moods from the perspective of one person. The first mood is associated with images full of protesting strength and inner will, the second with longing for the sun, light, for life.
It is impossible to say whether this longing will come true, because when the bright development of the music gradually tears away from the material of the adjacent part in the final part, the familiar intonations of the adjacent part begin to sound excitedly in an ignorant, minor mood. This moment marks the beginning of the elaborate stage of Part I of the piano concerto. Driven by constant questions and dramatic tension, it directs the entire development of music towards one goal, the sound of the epic folk song “Daugaviņa, mellacīt”*. The slightly Slavic melody, surrounded by a rapid burst of double octaves on the piano, sounds like a mighty anthem. It is superfluous, the thoughts of the hero of the concert stopped in front of the eternal nature. And now in deep anxiety he observes this magnificent scene of nature. Personal suffering has not stopped life. Like a mighty stream, it flows further and further… The depiction of nature reaches even greater grandeur at the moment when, after the first performance of the folk song in B-flat minor, there is an unexpected turn to B-minor and the theme sounds like a new one. Daugavina, mellacit’, Darkness falls in the evening. How that dark one will not flow, Full of precious bodies.
The seemingly tiny step of a semitone creates a great effect. The epic song announces its existence with harsh force. The joint cooperation of the entire orchestra and the piano reinforces the strong sound of the theme, the highest degree of emotional tension of the product is reached. But at this moment there is a break in the music. From the intonations of the main part, the soloist begins to solve the musical material of the cadence, which, driven by constant internal drama, waves and washes until it reaches the intonations of the already familiar introduction. In accordance with all the principles of the classical sonata allegro, this cadenza prepares the beginning of the reprise. The familiar material of the main part sounds like a new one, only in a more tragic, stronger, protesting sound. It seems that despite all the experiences, the hero does not believe in the inevitability of the tragic event. In a slightly more concentrated way, the solution of musical thoughts passes to the side part formed in F minor, which develops in the same way as in the exposition. However, when the light’s long-awaited climax begins to grow from the second performance of the lyrical theme, and when the sound of bright images takes on an increasingly daring force, a sudden, unexpected break occurs in the entire musical development. The light flow of the music is darkened by the gloomy image of the introduction. Like the fateful themes of Tchaikovsky’s and Beethoven’s symphonies, it eerily reminds us of the inevitable. As in Dargomižski’s vocal painting “The Old Corporal”, it seems to interrupt the strong flow of a thread of life. Tragedy has happened… Human will is broken, only screams of protest remain about the injustice of the victory of the forces of darkness.
II part, «In memoriam»
– Grave in E flat minor. The piece is built in a simple three-part form (A+B+A+coda) and is thus based on two characteristic thematic materials (A and B). The first of them is arranged in four eight-bar variations. It should be noted that the principle of variations is one of the most favorite techniques of the development of Lucija Garuta’s musical thought. The variations are based on the gloomy folk melody “Kam tu luži, ozoliņi”*. In the first variation, this melody in the piano pianissimo sound of double basses, cellos and violas depicts the scene of a mournful procession as if emerging from afar. The dynamic power of music is gradually increasing. With each subsequent variation, the composition of the orchestra’s instruments becomes richer. Neither the tonality nor the melodic creation of the theme changes, only the instrumentation and, above all, the finish of the folk song varies, and a special role is given to the counterpoint in this solution of variations. So already in the second variation on string instruments in the low register, the background piano of the gloomy-sounding folk song forms a melancholy melody, which, along with the main theme, is assigned a visible place in the entire further development of the second part. * Who are you breaking, oak trees, Are there no trees, breaker? What did you die for, pale ones, Are there no people, mortal?
In the third variation, the heavy-sounding folk melody on the piano is surrounded by a new, melodically even more independent, emotionally brighter counterpoint, which in the clarinet’s performance is formed as a message full of sad sighs. In the fourth mpespressive variation, the folk song “Kam tu luži, ozoliņi” reaches a deeply tragic sound. The theme is tackled by the strong group of brass instruments, while the piano in a mighty chord arrangement and an excited rhythmic arrangement forms the counterpoint borrowed from the second variation, which deepens the tragedy of the whole music. The middle part (B) is related to the second Latvian folk funeral melody “Jūdziet sirmus, jūdziet raudus”*, which sounds somewhat contradictory to the text, in a slightly light, soothing mood. Feel the grays, feel the tears, Take me to the sandbox! There will be tears, there will be tears, I will not come forever.
The finish of the melody oscillates between both G-flat major and B-flat minor harmonies, but throughout the development of this section, the instrumentation continuously maintains its bright, sunny mood. And associations with many compositions of a mournful nature in classical music, in the middle parts of which are usually drawn images of deceased heroes, beloved departed ones, are inevitably created. It seems that at this moment in the piano concerto of Lucija Garuta, more than anywhere else, the bright memories of the author about the beloved person, whose world of inner feelings was so vividly revealed by the image of the side part of the first part, are manifested more than anywhere else. A rousing violin solo concludes this memory scene. The well-known melody “Kam tu lūzi, ozoliņi” enters the music in a new, variation-like development. Three variations imbued with tragedy recall the dark event in all their immediacy. These are deeply human pains, crushing regrets that have yet to be overcome, that must be overcome in order to maintain faith in life and work.
III part, Maestoso Fa
Part III, Maestoso in F major is composed in five-part (so-called rondo) form with a broad introduction and conclusion (coda). the thematic material of the levada resonates with the opening intonations of the first part. Only instead of minor, there is now a major, cheerful, anthemic major, which in the powerful sound of the orchestra seems to confirm that all the good, beautiful things that man has given in life do not disappear. It lives in the memory of other people, passes from generation to generation.
— It seems that with this the author imagines the realization of the unfulfilled dreams of the hero of the first part of the concert in other people’s lives. So what is the fulfillment of these dreams? asks the interrupted cadence, which stops all the flow of musical imagery full of philosophical uplift. The answer to this question is sounded by the piano solo, creating sounds that confirm the joy of life, surrounded by carefree playfulness. Only a little later, the listener is given the opportunity to learn that the playful intonations develop extensively in the Allegretto scherzando stage, one of the leading thematic materials of Part III. For the time being, only the course of the author’s philosophical thoughts is marked in the few bars of carefree joy. Once again, the philosophy affirming the immortality of the work left by man begins to unfold in majestic power. Once again, the serious sound of the orchestra is countered by the reckless joy of the piano solo, which grows in height. And then the flash of bright sounds takes its toll. The leading theme (A) of the third movement of the somewhat peculiar rondo form [A+B+A+ C + (B+ A)]* begins, which again does not represent examples of consciously sought-after nationalism, but which, thanks to its sincerely bright simplicity, however, it contains an optimism of folk dance music that is difficult to describe in words. Gradually, starting with a solo piano, it also attracts the other instruments: from the piano, it first moves to the group of brass instruments, then to the string instruments, as if searching for the most expressive instrumental outfit possible. And then for a new performance by the whole orchestra, enhanced by the pianistically brilliant piano part, it shimmers in light colors like a fragrant bosom of lilacs in the spring sunlight. Episode B, in a slightly more lyrical way, continues to use the scene of the spring splendor, creating an excitedly elevated, sincerely lyrical song instead of a dancing, playful scene. And then, in the increasingly daring, pianistically brilliant piano part, the already familiar theme of playful joy of life (A) unfolds anew. An important role in the musical composition of the third part is played by the second episode (C) – a widely flowing epic theme. * The pattern of the regular rondo shape is A+B+A+C+A.
It seems to carry reflections of the philosophy already heard in the introduction to Part III. It is not for nothing that the rhythmic structure of the opening bars of the theme is identical to the rhythmic structure of the musical material of the introduction, and therefore also to the rhythmic structure of the introduction to Part I. Thus, in this theme, the realization about the grandeur of life, the greatness of life, melted in the fires of the concert’s experiences, seems to intertwine. As in the introduction of the third part, the musical development of this episode also uses the material related to the side parts of the first part of the concerto. The constant ascension of emotional feelings going towards the light and the sun, which was suddenly interrupted in the side part that sounds in the reprise of the first part, here reaches a strong conclusion in the cadence of B major, thus giving confirmation of the victory of life. Everything that has been experienced has been overcome. From pain grew joy, from death life. The already familiar episode B enters for a new joy, and then, extensively developed, it gives its name again to the playful main theme, which for the last time unequivocally and unbreakably expresses the victory of the light forces forged in a long and difficult battle. After all that, the following piano solo cadenza, which deliberately includes almost the entire cadenza material of Part I, reminds us of the tragic battle. However, contrary to the cadence of the first part, the bright images now break out, gaining the most complete life at the end of the concert (coda), where the flow of music is formed from the introductory material of the third part and sounds like a hymn to life – a hymn to the great, mighty, beautiful and forever unstoppable life.
