Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks

In the series of symphonic tone poems that followed Richard Strauss’s “conversion” to the path laid out by Liszt, Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks is the fourth, following Macbeth, Don Juan, and Death and Transfiguration. Each one was, in general, longer, larger, and more complex than the previous one. The last of the series, An Alpine Symphony, finished in 1915, is nearly an hour long and requires massive forces, including an army of offstage horns.

Till Eulenspiegel was composed in 1895, when Strauss was assistant conductor at the Bavarian State Opera, having already established a reputation as one of Germany’s leading conductors and composers. He was busy and productive in both roles, and the energy that propelled him is clearly evident in this work. Strauss once boasted he could portray almost anything in music, and the symphonic poems’ subjects range from the contemplation of death to the humorous episodes of Till Eulenspiegel (translated as Till “Owl-glass”).

Till is a character of German folklore who gets away with a series of pranks until the law finally catches up with him, allegedly based on a real person who lived in the mid-14th century. Strauss picked a few episodes from the many recorded in ancient accounts and presented them in “Rondeauform,” which contributes a joke of Strauss’s own — the piece is not by any means in traditional rondo form, even though it has a series of non-recurring episodes.

As the piece opens, we learn that Till is an endearing character from the sweet phrase delicately presented by the violins. But the solo horn’s tricky rhythms tell us that he’s also a slippery individual as he sets off to have some fun. The real Till is soon revealed by a squeaky clarinet, landing on a teasing chord for oboes. The endearing smile we heard at the beginning was only a mask.

For a while, Till saunters along, looking for a way to amuse himself (the orchestra enjoys playing “ball,” passing his theme back and forth and around the stage). Eventually, he strides into the marketplace and, with a heavy cymbal crash and noisy rattle, he overturns the tradesmen’s stalls and runs off, leaving havoc behind.

Cautiously peeping out from his hiding place, Till decides to dress up as a priest. The music is solemn (rather than holy), and a series of slithering brass chords represent his alarm at contemplating the fearful punishments meted out to those who mock religion. And so, with a solo violin glissando from the top of its range, Till escapes and prepares himself for his next adventure.

This time, Till plays a cavalier, ready to woo any pretty woman who passes. Charming phrases fall from his lips, and he falls genuinely in love with one girl, who rejects him after seeing through the imposture. For a short while, he fumes and then forgets the whole episode by joining a group of argumentative professors (played by the bassoons). The discussion gets more intense, with Till’s teasing contributions causing them to turn on him in fury. A demonic trill on the oboe chord nails his predicament, from which he escapes with the jauntiest little tune.

At this point, Strauss recounts no more particular adventures, but instead brings the music to a recapitulation, in which all the themes are heard again in increasingly dense combinations. Till finds himself in increasingly hot water, and it seems the law is catching up with him. When the solemn preacher’s melody is heard again in the brass, the game is up. A snare drum supports the solemn deliberations of his judges.

The slithering brass chords tell us that punishment is due, and two brutal notes in the trombones, horns, and bassoons represent Till’s fate on the gallows. But as the final moments suggest, his spirit is not dead, and Till Eulenspiegel wins a new smile, even a guffaw, as his memory lives on.

— Hugh Macdonald

Hugh Macdonald is Avis H. Blewett Professor Emeritus of Music at Washington University in St. Louis. He has written books on Beethoven, Berlioz, Bizet, and Scriabin, as well as Music in 1853: The Biography of a Year.