LDV100

22 MAHLER ∙ SCHOENBERG / JUGENDSTIL He lays down the book and pushes open the door of the cottage. Outside, the earth is spongy and makes a noise under his feet. The cool air makes him shiver and he pulls his jacket tightly over his ribs, rubbing his arms, then sets off down a little path. A drama is unfolding in the sky. The day is in its death throes and the clouds, in the last rays of sunshine, have burst into flames and seem to writhe in pain. His fingers ache a little from holding his pen, and he feels a certain jubilation at the notion of a work whose origins lie in a funeral march: he is burying the old world and, like a demiurge, building the new. There is no need for words, everything is said in purely musical terms . This symphony will have no room for voices or explicit programmes; it will be nothing but music. He is a frail figure at the edge of this great forest where silence reigns, but his creation makes him strong. He is strong, too, because Alma loves him and has agreed to abandon her ambitions for his sake . He is amused when he thinks back to their first meeting: a dinner at the house of Berta Zuckerkandl, who holds one of the most famous salons in Vienna. At first he took her for a ‘doll’, but soon her vivacity and intelligence seduced him. Indeed, the evening had risen to a climax, with all the guests falling silent when they heard the couple shouting at each other: she was screaming and he was stamping his foot – they were quarrelling about Zemlinsky. ‘That Zemlinsky’, he mutters, then his thoughts drift off again.