I. Tempo molto moderato; allegro moderato
II. Andante mosso, quasi allegretto
III. Allegro molto: un pochettino largamente
There is not a sensuous note, not a single bid for immediate popularity;
but there is something in the symphony that will be permanent. It is
skillfully constructed in a new manner; skillfully scored with most
ingenious effects not too laboriously contrived, and with a
comparatively small orchestra. The young composer of today, looking at
the score, will rub his eyes in wonder and exclaim: “What! No English
horn, no bass clarinet, only four horns, no celesta, xylophone, harp,
tam-tam? What’s the man thinking about?”
But Sibelius has ideas. He feels deeply; he pours out his emotions; he
snaps his fingers at decorations, at sensational effects, at sugared
pages sure to please. When he is in lighter mood it is only for a
moment; the eternal questions asked since the beginning of time are ever
in his mind; yet serious, he is not dull, he does not sermonize. He
writes music first of all to free himself of what is in his heart and
brain and must out.
This man of the North knows the exciting effect of oriental repetition
in phrase and rhythm, and on these repetitions he rears imposing musical
structures. There are measures to which dervishes might whirl, rays of
the sun break through the clouds, yet we prefer Sibelius when the sky is
leaden.
* * *
This symphony was composed before the World War. It was performed at
Helsingfors as early as the spring of 1914. It is said that the symphony
was revised before performances in other cities, among them Stockholm.
The first two movements are here played as one.
When the symphony was performed in London the _Daily Telegraph_ had this
to say: “It is true that this symphony is designed on broader lines than
its predecessor; it contains more positive statement of its ideas, many
of which are of the simplest melodic kind, that the coloring is richer
and fuller, with more use of the effects of orchestral masses....
“The first two movements are closely linked together by a four-note
motto theme which pervades the greater part of the subject matter of
both; they are distinguished by contrast of mood. The first is a
dreaming fantasy in which many motives and forces contend; the second
unifies them in a more closely knit _scherzo_ rhythm. Through both of
them the strings supply in an uneasy background of shimmering sound,
while the voices of the wind instruments are more closely articulated.
“The third movement is _andante quasi allegretto_. The rather dry
rhythmic pattern of the chief theme is discussed among the instruments
in a way which is strangely Mozart-like, and marks more definitely
Sibelius’s abstracted devotion to pure beauty of design. The _finale_
launches out into a franker expression of feeling. Its second subject
makes an almost passionate appeal on its first revival, and this appeal
is intensified in the long development of it which leads to the _coda_.
Yet somehow this ending left the feeling that the composer had not
allowed himself to say all that he meant, or the thing which he meant
most of all. This may have been partly in the playing, for Sibelius is a
difficult conductor to follow.
“Sibelius, both as composer and conductor, stands apart, a lonely figure
seeking with difficulty to bring the ideals which are intensely real to
him into touch with other minds. Possibly it is his struggle for
expression which sometimes recalls Beethoven as one listens to him.”
SYMPHONY NO. 7, OP. 105
(_In one movement_)
Mr. Lawrence Gilman was right in characterizing Sibelius’ Seventh
symphony as “enigmatic, puissant.” Is it also, as he says, “strangely
moving”? It is not a symphony for an afternoon’s careless pleasure.
The music of Sibelius seldom accepts the canons of obvious beauty. His
musical soul is proud, regardless of popular applause. In his latest
works he seems to be writing for himself; to be absorbed in
introspection and the expression of what he finds that is dear and
important to himself alone. There are noble ideas, fleeting and haunting
passages, in this symphony, but the plan and the conclusion of the whole
are not easily grasped.
* * *
It has been said that this symphony, published in 1925, was composed
with the view of producing it under the direction of the composer at an
English music festival. Sickness prevented his going to England. The
symphony was performed in Philadelphia by the Philadelphia Orchestra,
Mr. Stokowski conductor, on April 3, 1926.
There is no designation of key. The opening measures are in A minor; the
ending is in C major.
The first section is a somber _adagio_. It opens with an ascending
scale, 3-2 time for the strings. This is the basic theme of the
symphony, appearing as a whole, in fragments, or inverted. A lyric theme
follows, C major, for violas (divided) and violoncellos. The violins
join later. There is a melody, somewhat like a chant for a solo
trombone. This later assumes marked importance. The pace grows faster,
until it is _vivacissimo_, C minor. Mr. Gilman, in his lucid notes for
the Philadelphia Programme Book, finds that the subject now announced by
the strings “recalls the mood of the _scherzo_ of Beethoven’s
‘_Eroica_.’” The _adagio_ tempo recurs, as does the trombone theme,
which the brass section enlarges. Change in tempo: _allegro molto
moderato_. There is a new motive, C major, 6-4, simple, in folk manner;
still another motive with wood-wind “doubled in pairs, playing in
thirds, fifths and sixths.” The development is for strings and wind.
_Vivace_, E flat major. Antiphonal measures for strings and wood-wind.
“The tempo becomes _presto_, the key C major. The strings, divided in
eight parts, begin a mysteriously portentous passage, at first
_pianississimo_, with the violas and violoncellos defining an urgent
figure against a reiterated pedal G of the violins, basses, and tympani.
A _crescendo_, _rallentando_, is accompanied by a fragment of the basic
scale passage, in augmentation, for the horns. The tempo is again
_adagio_; and now the chant-like C major theme is heard once more from
the brass choir, against mounting figurations of the strings. There is a
climax _fortissimo_, for the whole orchestra. The strings are heard
alone, _largamente molto_, in an _affettuoso_ of intense expression.
Flute and bassoon in octaves, supported by soft string tremolos, sing a
plaint. The strings, _dolce_, in syncopated rhythm, modulate through
seventh chords in A flat and G to a powerful suspension, _fortissimo_,
on the tonic chord of C major; and this brings to a close the enigmatic,
puissant, and strangely moving work.”[48]
The instrumentation which Sibelius calls for in his Seventh symphony
is typical of the severely “classical” orchestration which was the
basis of his symphonies in general: two flutes, two oboes, two
clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones,
kettledrums, and strings. This was also the instrumentation of the
Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth (although, for episodic purposes, a
glockenspiel was added to the Fourth, and a bass clarinet and harp to
the Sixth). The First symphony had a richer bass and percussion—bass
tuba, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, and harp were used (compare the
orchestration of _Finlandia_ and _The Swan of Tuonela_ of the same
early period). When he wrote his Second symphony, Sibelius dropped all
these instruments of percussion. The tuba he kept for the Second, but
he did not use it again in his symphonies.—EDITOR.
“FINLANDIA,” SYMPHONIC POEM FOR ORCHESTRA, OP. 26, NO. 7
It is said that _Finlandia_, although it was composed as far back as
1894, evokes such enthusiasm in the composer’s native land that
performance of it was forbidden by the oppressing Russian. The question
is, does _Finlandia_ evoke enthusiasm in Madrid, Dresden, Boston? For
after all it is something more than a national document. It is
picturesque, with suggestions of prayers and hymns, revolts and
revolutions.
There is more of Finland in the symphonies, the violin concerto, and _A
Saga_ of Sibelius than in his _Finlandia_, which is hot with the spirit
of revolt. No doubt he wrote this music with a patriotic heart, but
patriotism is not an essential quality in a musical work of art.
* * *
_Finlandia: Tondight for orkester_, Op. 26, No. 7, was composed in 1894.
It is not a fantasia on genuine folk tunes. The composer is the
authority for this statement. Mrs. Newmarch says: “Like Glinka, Sibelius
avoids the crude material of the folk song; but like this great national
poet, he is so penetrated by the spirit of his race that he can evolve a
national melody calculated to deceive the elect. On this point the
composer is emphatic, ‘There is a mistaken impression among the press
abroad,’ he has assured me, ‘that my themes are often folk melodies. So
far I have never used a theme that was not of my own invention. Thus the
thematic material of _Finlandia_ and _En Saga_ is entirely my own.’”
The following note is from a programme of the Russian Symphony Society:
“_Finlandia_, though without explanatory subtitle, seems to set forth an
impression of the national spirit and life.... The work records the
impressions of an exile’s return home after a long absence. An agitated,
almost angry theme for the brass choir, short and trenchant, begins the
introduction, _andante sostenuto_ (_alla breve_). This theme is answered
by an organ-like response in the wood-wind, and then a prayerful passage
for strings, as though to reveal the essential earnestness and
reasonableness of the Finnish people, even under the stress of national
sorrow. This leads to an _allegro moderato_ episode, in which the
restless opening theme is proclaimed by the strings against a very
characteristic rhythmic figure, a succession of eight beats, the first
strongly accented.... With a change to _allegro_ the movement, looked at
as an example of the sonata form, may be said to begin. A broad,
cheerful theme by the strings in A flat, against the persistent rhythm
in the brass, is followed by a second subject, introduced by the
wood-wind and taken up by the strings, then by the ’cello and first
violin. This is peaceful and elevated in character, and might be looked
upon as prophetic of ultimate rest and happiness. The development of
these musical ideas carries the tone poem to an eloquent conclusion.”
_Finlandia_ is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two
bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba,
kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, triangle and strings.
“THE SWAN OF TUONELA” (“TUONELAN JOUTSEN”), LEGEND FROM THE FINNISH
FOLK EPIC “KALEVALA”
Here is no swan, singing before death, a fable that suggested to
Villiers de l’Isle-Adam one of his cruelest tales, and served Anna
Pavlowa for an entrancing, memorable dance-pantomime to Saint-Saëns’
familiar music. This is the swan that glides and sings on the river of
black water around Tuonela, the Kingdom of Death. Sibelius, to whom the
Finnish epic _Kalevala_ furnished subjects for several of his earlier
compositions, by economic means, by an unerring choice of his
instruments, portrays the scene and gives the song—after the hearer is
acquainted with the explanatory note in the score. Suppose that the
hearer had no knowledge of the legend, had never read of Lemminkainen’s
adventures; how, to win the maid Pohjola, he set out to accomplish
certain tasks, among them to shoot a swan on this River of Death. How
would the hearer then be impressed? Surely he would be moved by the
strangeness of the music, by the mysterious first measures, by the
unearthly melancholy of the song, by the quiet intensity of it all. He
would find in the music a tragic mood, simply but unmistakably
expressed. To us this legend of Sibelius, for itself, is commanding
music.
* * *
_The Swan of Tuonela_ is the third section of a symphonic poem
_Lemminkainen_, in four parts, Op. 22, 1. “Lemminkainen and the
Maidens”; 2. “His Sojourn in Tuonela”; 3. “The Swan of Tuonela”; 4.
“Lemminkainen Homefaring.” These pieces are drawn from the Finnish epic
_Kalevala_. A note on the score of _The Swan of Tuonela_ runs thus:
“Tuonela, the Kingdom of Death, the Hades of Finnish mythology, is
surrounded by a broad river of black water and rapid current, in which
the Swan of Tuonela glides in majestic fashion and sings.”
Lemminkainen is one of the four principal heroes of the _Kalevala_. Mr.
W. F. Kirby, in his translation of the epic, describes him as a “jovial,
reckless personage, always getting into serious scrapes, from which he
escapes either by his own skill in magic or by his mother’s. His love
for his mother is the redeeming feature in his character. One of his
names is Kaukomieli, and he is, in part, the original of Longfellow’s
‘Pau-Puk-Keewis.’”
In the thirteenth and fourteenth Runos, it is told how Lemminkainen asks
the old woman of Pohja for her daughter Pohjola. She demands that he
should first accomplish certain tasks: to capture on snowshoes the elk
of Hiisi; to bridle fire-breathing steeds. Succeeding in these
adventures, he is asked to shoot a swan on the river of Tuonela.
_I will only give my daughter,
Give the youthful bride you seek for,
If the river swan you shoot me,
Shoot the great bird on the river;
There on Tuoni’s murky river,
In the sacred river’s whirlpool,
Only at a single trial,
Using but a single arrow._
Lemminkainen came to the river. A cowherd, Märkähattu, old and
sightless, who had long waited for him, slew him there by sending a
serpent “like a reed from out the billows” through the hero’s heart, and
cast the body into the stream. Lemminkainen floated on to Tuonela’s
dread dwelling. The son of Tuoni cut the body into pieces. The hero’s
mother, learning of his fate, raked the water under the cataract till
she found all the fragments. She joined them together and restored her
son to life by charms and magic salves, so that he could return home
with her.
The piece is written in A minor, _andante molto sostenuto_ 9-4 time.
Mrs. Rosa Newmarch (_Jean Sibelius_) says of it:
“The majestic but intensely sad, swan-like melody is heard as a solo for
_cor-anglais_, accompanied at first by muted strings and the soft roll
of drums. Now and then this melody is answered by a phrase given to
first violoncello or viola, which might be interpreted as the farewell
sigh of some soul passing to Tuonela. For many bars the brass is silent,
until suddenly the first horn (muted) echoes a few notes of the swan
melody with the most poignant effect. Gradually the music works up to a
great climax, indicated _con gran suono_, followed by a treble
_pianissimo_, the strings playing with the back of the bow. To this
accompaniment, which suggests the faint flapping of pinions, the swan’s
final phrases are sung. The strings return to the natural bowing and the
work ends in one of the characteristic, sighing phrases for
violoncello.”
The second theme is given out by the strings to a slow but rhythmed
accompaniment of wood-wind, brass, and drums.
The score calls for oboe, English horn (solo), bass clarinet, two
bassoons, four horns, three trombones, kettledrums, bass drum, harp, and
the usual strings.
RICHARD
STRAUSS
(Born at Munich, June 11, 1864)
“DON JUAN,” TONE POEM (AFTER NICOLAUS LENAU), OP. 20
Some of Strauss’s wild-eyed worshipers, not content with the quotations
that serve as mottoes, have invented ingenious analyses in which we are
told the precise meaning of each theme in _Don Juan_, and how this
section represents his passion for a widow and that for a maiden. But
did not Strauss himself say that the theme which represents, according
to an analyst, Don Juan rushing off to new triumphs was intended as his
drunken entrance into a ballroom? And is it not possible that when
Strauss wrote down this theme he attached no specific and minute
significance to it? No, there is no need of the showman with blackboard
and rod while this music is playing. “Don Juan—after Lenau’s poem” is
enough; and merely _Don Juan_ might serve.
A daring, brilliant composition: one that paints the hero as might a
master’s brush on canvas. How expressive the themes! How daring the
treatment of them! What fascinating, irresistible insolence, glowing
passion, and then the taste of Dead Sea fruit!
* * *
_Don Juan_, composed at Munich 1887-88, is known as the first of
Strauss’s symphonic or tone poems, but _Macbeth_, Op. 23, was composed
at Munich, 1886-87 (revised in 1890 at Weimar), and published later
(1891). _Don Juan_ was published in 1890. The first performance of _Don
Juan_ was at the second subscription concert of the Grand Ducal Court
Orchestra of Weimar in the fall of 1889.
The work is scored for three flutes (and piccolo), two oboes, English
horn, two clarinets, two bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, three
trumpets, three trombones, tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals,
glockenspiel, harp, strings. The score is dedicated “To my dear friend,
Ludwig Thuille,” a composer and teacher, born at Bozen in 1861, who was
a fellow student at Munich. Thuille died in 1907.
Strauss’s hero is Lenau’s, in search of the ideal woman. Not finding one
reaching his standard, disgusted with life, he practically commits
suicide by dropping his sword when fighting a duel with a man whose
father he had killed. Before this Don Juan dies, he provides in his will
for the women he had seduced and forsaken.
Lenau wrote his poem in 1844. It is said that his third revision was
made in August and September of that year at Vienna and Stuttgart. After
September he wrote no more, for he went mad, and he was mad until he
died in 1850. The poem, “Eitel nichts,” dedicated in the asylum at
Winnenthal, was intended originally for _Don Juan_. _Don Juan_ is of a
somewhat fragmentary nature. The quotations made by Strauss paint well
the hero’s character.
L. A. Frankl, a biographer of the morbid poet, says that Lenau once
spoke as follows concerning his purpose in this dramatic poem: “Goethe’s
great poem has not hurt me in the matter of _Faust_ and Byron’s ‘Don
Juan’ will here do me no harm. Each poet, as every human being, is an
individual ego. My Don Juan is no hot-blooded man eternally pursuing
woman. It is the longing in him to find a woman who is to him incarnate
womanhood, and to enjoy in the one, all the women on earth, whom he
cannot as individuals possess. Because he does not find her, although he
reels from one to another, at last Disgust seizes hold of him, and this
Disgust is the Devil that fetches him.”
It has been said that the “emotional phases of the story” appealed to
Strauss: