Philip Hale's Boston Symphony Programme Notes

The symphony was sketched and orchestrated at Düsseldorf between November 2 and December 9, 1850. Clara Schumann wrote in her diary, November 16, 1850: “Robert is now at work on something, I do not know what; for he has said nothing to me about it.” It was on December 9 that he surprised her with the symphony. Sir George Grove, for some reason or other, thought Schumann began to work on it before he left Dresden to accept the position of City Conductor at Düsseldorf; that he wished to compose an important work for production at the Lower Rhine Festival.

The first performance of this symphony was in Geisler Hall, Düsseldorf, at the sixth concert of Der Allgemeine Musikverein, February 6, 1851. Schumann conducted from manuscript. The reception was cold. Mme Schumann wrote after the performance that the “creative power of Robert was again ever new in melody, harmony, and form.... I cannot say which one of the five movements is my favorite. The fourth is the one that at present is the least clear to me; that it is most artistically made—that I hear—but I cannot follow it so well, while there is scarcely a measure in the other movements that remains unclear to me; and indeed to the layman is this symphony, especially in its second and third movements, easily intelligible.”

Schumann wrote (March 19, 1851) to the publisher, Simrock, at Bonn: “I should have been glad to see a greater work published here on the Rhine, and I mean this symphony, which perhaps mirrors here and there something of Rhenish life.” It is known that the solemn fourth movement was inspired by the recollection of the ceremony at Cologne Cathedral at the installation of the Archbishop of Geissel as Cardinal, at which Schumann was present (November 12, 1850). Wasielewski quotes the composer as saying that his intention was to portray in the symphony as a whole the joyful folk life along the Rhine, “and I think,” said Schumann, “I have succeeded.” Yet he refrained from writing even explanatory mottoes for the movements. The fourth movement originally bore the inscription, “In the character of the accompaniment to a solemn ceremony”; but Schumann struck this out and said: “One should not show his heart to people; for a general impression of an art work is more effective; the hearers then, at least, do not institute any absurd comparison.” The symphony was very dear to him. He wrote (July 1, 1851) to Carl Reinecke, who made a four-handed arrangement at Schumann’s wish and to his satisfaction: “It is always important that a work which cost so much time and labor should be reproduced in the best possible manner.”

The first movement, lebhaft (lively, animated), E flat major, 3-4, begins immediately with a strong theme, announced by full orchestra. The basses take the theme, and violins play a contrasting theme, which is of importance in the development. The complete statement is repeated; and the second theme, which is of an elegiac nature, is introduced by oboe and clarinet and answered by violins and wood-wind. The key is G minor, with a subsequent modulation to B flat. The fresh rhythm of the first theme returns. The second portion of the movement begins with the second theme in the basses, and the two chief themes are developed with more impartiality than in the first section, where Schumann is loath to lose sight of the first and more heroic motive. After he introduces towards the end of the development the first theme in the prevailing tonality, so that the hearer anticipates the beginning of the reprise, he makes unexpected modulations, and finally the horns break out with the first theme in augmentation in E flat major. Impressive passages in syncopation follow, and trumpets answer, until in an ascending chromatic climax the orchestra with full force rushes to the first theme. There is a short coda.

The second movement is a scherzo in C major, sehr mässig (very moderately), in 3-4. William Foster Apthorp found the theme to be “a modified version of the so-called ‘Rheinweinlied,’” and this theme of “a rather ponderous joviality” well expresses “the drinkers’ ‘Uns ist ganz cannibalisch wohl, als wie fünf hundert Säuen!’ (As ’twere five hundred hogs, we feel so cannibalic jolly!) in the scene in Auerbach’s cellar in Goethe’s Faust.” This theme is given out by the violoncellos and is followed by a livelier contrapuntal counter theme, which is developed elaborately. In the trio horns and other wind instruments sing a cantilena in A minor over a long organ-point on C. There is a pompous repetition of the first and jovial theme in A major; and then the other two themes are used in combination in their original form. Horns are answered by strings and wood-wind, but the ending is quiet.

The third movement, nicht schnell (not fast), in A flat major, 4-4, is really the slow movement of the symphony, the first theme, clarinets and bassoons over a viola accompaniment, reminding some of Mendelssohn; others of “Tu che a Dio spiegasti l’ali,” in Lucia di Lammermoor. The second theme is a tender melody, not unlike a refrain heard now and then. On these themes the romanza is constructed.

The fourth movement, feierlich, E flat minor, 4-4, is often described as the “Cathedral scene.” Three trombones are added. The chief motive is a short figure rather than a theme, which is announced by trombones and horns. This appears augmented, diminished, and afterwards in 3-2 and 4-2. There is a departure for a short time to B major, but the tonality of E flat minor prevails to the end.

Finale: lebhaft, E flat major, 2-2. This movement is said to portray a Rhenish festival. The themes are of a gay character. Towards the end the themes of the “Cathedral scene” are introduced, followed by a brilliant stretto. The finale is lively and energetic. The music, as a rule, the free development of thematic material of the same unvaried character.

SYMPHONY NO. 4, IN D MINOR, OP. 120

I. Andante; allegro

II. Romanza

III. Scherzo

IV. Largo; finale

  (Played without pause.)

Weingartner regards the D minor symphony of Schumann as inferior to the first and second of the same composer. I fail to see why. Surely this symphony does not fall behind its companions; it is the one of Schumann’s four that can be heard with full enjoyment. The middle movements breathe a romantic spirit that Schumann himself never surpassed as expressions of gentle, dreamy melancholy. I know of few more haunting pages in orchestral music than those of the trio in the scherzo.

This symphony was composed in 1841, immediately after the Symphony in B flat major, No. 1. According to the composer’s notes it was “sketched at Leipsic in June, 1841, newly orchestrated at Düsseldorf in 1851. The first performance of the original version was at the Gewandhaus, Leipsic, under David’s direction. December 6, 1841.” Clara Schumann wrote in her diary on May 31 of that year: “Robert began yesterday another symphony, which will be in one movement, and yet contain an adagio and a finale. I have heard nothing about it, yet I see Robert’s bustle, and I hear the D minor sounding wildly from a distance, so that I know in advance that another work will be fashioned in the depths of his soul. Heaven is kindly disposed toward us: Robert cannot be happier in the composition than I am when he shows me such a work.” A few days later she wrote: “Robert composes steadily; he has already completed three movements, and I hope the symphony will be ready by his birthday.”

Their first child, Marie, was born on September 1, 1841. On the thirteenth of the month, his wife’s birthday, Marie was baptized and the mother received from her husband the D minor symphony: “which I have quietly finished,” he said.

Schumann was not satisfied with the symphony, and he did not publish it. In December, 1851, he revised the manuscript. During the years between 1841 and 1853 Schumann had composed and published the Symphony in C (No. 2) and the Symphony in E flat (No. 3); the one in D minor was published therefore as No. 4. In its first form the one in D minor was entitled “Symphonische Phantasie.”

The symphony in the revised and present form was played for the first time at the seventh concert of the Allgemeine Musikverein at Düsseldorf on March 3, 1853, in Geisler Hall. Schumann conducted from manuscript. At this concert selections from the Mass were performed for the first time.

The concert master, Ruppert Becker, made these entries in his diary concerning the rehearsals and the first performance of this symphony in Düsseldorf:

“Tuesday, evening of March 1. Rehearsal for 7th Concert. Symphony by Schumann for the first time; a somewhat short but thoroughly fresh and vital piece of music. Wednesday, 2. 9 o’clock in the morning, 2 rehearsal for concert. Thursday, 3. 7th concert: Program.

“Of Schumann compositions these were new: Symphony D minor, which he had already composed 12 years ago, but had left lying till now. 2 excerpts from a Mass: both full of the most wonderful harmonies, only possible with Schumann. I liked the symphony especially on account of its swing.”

The symphony was dedicated to Joseph Joachim. On the title-page of the manuscript was this inscription: “When the first tones of this symphony were awakened, Joseph Joachim was still a little fellow; since then the symphony and still more the boy have grown bigger, wherefore I dedicate it to him, although only in private. Düsseldorf, December 23, 1853. Robert Schumann.”

The parts were published in November, 1853. The score was published the next month.

It was stated for many years that the only changes made by Schumann in this symphony were in the matter of instrumentation, especially in the wood-wind. Some time after the death of Schumann the first manuscript passed into the possession of Johannes Brahms, who finally allowed the score to be published, edited by Franz Wüllner. It was then found that the composer had made important alterations in thematic development. He had cut out elaborate contrapuntal work to gain a broader, simpler, more rhythmically effective treatment, especially in the last movement. He had introduced the opening theme of the first movement “as a completion of the melody begun by the three exclamatory chords which make the fundamental rhythm at the beginning of the last movement.” And, on the other hand, some thought the instrumentation of the first version occasionally preferable on account of clearness to that of the second.

It was Schumann’s wish that the symphony should be played without pauses between the movements. Mendelssohn expressed the same wish for the performance of his “Scotch” symphony, which was produced nearly four months after the first performance of this Symphony in D minor.

The first movement begins with an introduction, ziemlich langsam (un poco lento), D minor, 3-4. The first motive is used later in the “Romanze.” The orchestra gives out an A which serves as background for this motive in sixths in the second violins, violas, and bassoons. This figure is worked up contrapuntally. A dominant organ-point appears in the basses, over which the first violins play an ascending figure; the time changes from 3-4 to 2-4.

The main body of this movement, lebhaft (vivace), in D minor, 2-4, begins forte with the development of the violin figure just mentioned. This theme prevails, so that in the first section there is no true second theme. The characteristic trombone figure reminds one of a passage in Schumann’s piano Quartet in E flat, Op. 47. There is a heroic figure in the wood-wind instruments. After the repetition comes a long free fantasia. The true second theme, sung in F major by first violins, appears. The development is now perfectly free. There is no third part.

The “Romanze,” ziemlich langsam (un poco lento), in D minor—or, rather, A minor plagal—opens with a mournful melody said to be familiar in Provence. Schumann intended originally to accompany the song of oboe and first violoncellos with a guitar. This theme is followed by the dreamy motive of the introduction. Then the first phrases of the “Romanze” are sung again by oboe and violoncellos, and there is a second return of the contrapuntal work—now in D major—with embroidery by a solo violin. The chief theme brings the movement to a close on the chord of A major.

The scherzo, lebhaft (vivace), in D minor, 3-4, presents the development of a rising and falling scale-passage of a few notes. The trio, in B flat major, is of a peculiar and beautiful rhythmic character. The first beat of the phrase falls constantly on a rest in all the parts. The melody is almost always in the wood-wind, and the first violins are used in embroidery. The scherzo is repeated after the trio, which returns once more as a sort of coda.

The finale begins with a short introduction, langsam (lento), in B flat major, and it modulates to D minor, 4-4. The chief theme of the first movement is worked up against a counter figure in the trombones to a climax. The main body of the movement lebhaft (vivace), in D major, 4-4, begins with the brilliant first theme, which has the character of a march, and it is not unlike the theme of the first movement with its two members transposed. The figure of the trombones in the introduction enters. The cantabile second theme begins in B minor, but it constantly modulates in the development. The free fantasia begins in B minor, with a G (strings, bassoons, trombones), which is answered by a curious ejaculation by the whole orchestra. There is an elaborate contrapuntal working out of one of the figures in the first theme. The third part of the movement begins irregularly with the return of the second theme in F sharp minor. The second theme enters in the tonic. The coda begins in the manner of the free fantasia, but in E minor; but the ejaculations are now followed by the exposition and development of a passionate fourth theme. There is a free closing passage, schneller (più moto), in D major, 2-2.

CONCERTO IN A MINOR, FOR PIANOFORTE AND ORCHESTRA, OP. 54

I. Allegro

II. Adagio

III. Allegro non troppo

After Schumann heard for the first time Mendelssohn play his own Concerto in G minor, he wrote that he would never dream of composing a concerto in three movements, each one complete in itself. It is said that he began to write a pianoforte concerto when he was only seventeen and ignorant of musical form; that in 1836 he sketched a concerto in F major when he was living at Heidelberg. In January, 1839, he wrote from Vienna to Clara Wieck, his betrothed: “My concerto is a compromise between a symphony, a concerto, and a huge sonata. I see I cannot write a concerto for the virtuosos: I must plan something else.” The key was not mentioned.

The first movement of the Concerto in A minor was written at Leipsic in the summer of 1841—it was begun in May. It was then called “Phantasie” in A minor, and was not intended for the movement of a concerto. It was played for the first time by Clara Schumann, on August 13, 1841, at a private rehearsal in the Gewandhaus, Leipsic. This rehearsal was for the changes made in Schumann’s First symphony. Schumann wished in 1843 or 1844 to publish the work as an allegro affettuoso, also as Concert Allegro, for pianoforte with orchestral accompaniment, “Op. 48,” but he could not find a publisher. The intermezzo and finale were composed at Dresden, May-July, 1845. Clara wrote in her diary on July 31, 1845: “Robert has finished his concerto and given it to the copyists.”

The whole concerto was played for the first time by Clara Schumann at her concert, December 4, 1845, in the Hall of the Hôtel de Saxe, Dresden, from manuscript. The second performance was at Leipsic, January 1, 1846, when Clara Schumann was the pianist and Mendelssohn conducted. Verhulst attended a rehearsal, and said that the performance was rather poor; the passage in the finale with the puzzling rhythms “did not go at all.”

I. Allegro affettuoso, A minor, 4-4. After a short pianoforte prelude, the first period of the first theme is announced by wind instruments. The antithesis, which is almost an exact repetition of the thesis, is for the pianoforte. The second theme is practically a new version of the first and may be considered as a new development of it. The free fantasia begins andante espressivo, A flat major, 6-4. The recapitulation section is almost a repetition of the first. There is an elaborate cadenza for the pianoforte before the coda, which is an allegro molto, A minor, 2-4.

II. Intermezzo: andante grazioso, F major, 2-4. The movement is in simple romanza form. Dialogue between solo instrument and orchestra; then more emotional phrases for violoncellos, violins, etc. (accompanied by pianoforte arpeggios). At the close there are hints at the first theme of the first movement, which lead directly to the finale.

III. Allegro vivace, A major, 3-4. The movement is in sonata form. The pianoforte gives out the chief theme. After a modulation to E major, the second theme is for the pianoforte. This theme is distinguished by constantly syncopated rhythm. A contrasting theme is developed in florid fashion by the pianoforte. The free fantasia begins with a short orchestral fugato on the first theme. The third part begins irregularly in D major, with the first theme as an orchestral tutti. There is a long coda.

In each of his four symphonies Schumann used two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns (two horns sufficed for the Second symphony), two trumpets, three trombones, kettledrums, and strings. For the piano concerto, he used the same orchestration, with two horns, and omitting the trombones.—EDITOR.

ALEXANDER NICOLAIEVITCH
SCRIABIN

(Born at Moscow on Christmas Day, 1871; died there on April 14, 1915)

“THE POEM OF ECSTASY” (LE POÈME DE L’EXTASE), OP. 54

A singular and at times interesting composition. Victor Hugo has said that agony when at its height is mute. Some, on hearing Scriabin’s score, have wished, no doubt, that this were true of ecstasy. Is the music really ecstatic? There are anthropological sociologists who find extreme voluptuousness in physical pain. Mantegazza has a chapter on this subject, a chapter that is not for the jeune fille. We are told that Scriabin in this music wished to express the ecstasy of untrammeled action, the joy in creative activity. Let the poem he wrote, and the title, be put aside; there are fine and original passages in the composition, and there is certainly untrammeled action. The themes themselves are not important, not expressive, not significant enough to warrant the extravagant development and the polyphonic complexity. There is also irritating repetition.

“Le Poème de l’Extase” was performed for the first time by the Russian Symphony Society of New York in New York, December 10, 1908. Modeste Altschuler conducted. We were indebted to Mr. Altschuler in 1910 for the following information about The Poem of Ecstasy:

“While I was in Switzerland during the summer of 1907 at Scriabin’s villa, he was all taken up with the work, and I watched its progress with keen interest. The composer of the Poème de l’Extase has sought to express therein something of the emotional (and therefore musically communicable) side of his philosophy of life. Scriabin is neither a pantheist nor a theosophist, yet his creed includes ideas somewhat related to each of these schools of thought. There are three divisions in his poem: 1. His soul in the orgy of love; 2. The realization of a fantastical dream; 3. The glory of his own art.”

Mr. Modeste Altschuler has interesting letters written by Scriabin covering the period of his sojourn in the United States and Mr. Altschuler’s journey to Russia in 1907, the aim of which was to secure a subsidy from the Russian government for the Russian Symphony Orchestra in New York. Scriabin was very anxious to assist Mr. Altschuler in his mission. The letters plainly indicate his anxiety. Those letters will appear in Mr. Altschuler’s Memoirs, which a Russian historian was taking down in November, 1930, when Mr. Altschuler was conductor of the Hollywood Symphony Orchestra.

Scriabin wrote from Paris in the spring of 1907 that he had finished The Poem of Ecstasy. The revised instrumentation now in use was made that summer (1907) by the composer and Modeste Altschuler together, in Switzerland, where they spent two weeks together.

It has been said that the subject of Le Poème de l’Extase begins where that of Le divin Poème leaves off. The three divisions of the latter symphony, movements joined together without a pause, are “Luttes,” “Voluptés,” “Jeu divin” (creative force consciously exercised).

Le Poème de l’Extase was completed in January, 1908, in Switzerland, the month of the Fifth sonata, which, it is said, was written in three or four days. It is scored for these instruments: piccolo, three flutes, three oboes, English horn, three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, eight horns, five trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, tam-tam, bells, deep chime in C, celesta, two harps, organ, and the usual strings.

Scriabin wrote a poem in Russian for this orchestral composition. The poem was published at Geneva, Switzerland, 1906. Mr. Altschuler kindly lent his copy of it. A literal translation into English was made by Mrs. Lydia L. Pimenov-Noble of Boston expressly for the Boston Symphony Programme Book of October 22, 1910. The poem is very long, too long for reprinting. There are verses that recur like a refrain, especially the first lines:

The poem ends with a rhapsodic invocation of the poet to the world he has created:

JEAN JULIUS CHRISTIAN
SIBELIUS

(Born at Tavastehus, Finland, December 8, 1865)

Some, judging the music of Sibelius or rhapsodizing over it, have laid great stress on the fact that Finland is a wild and desolate country. They therefore argue that the music of Sibelius must be bleak and grim. They are also convinced that Sibelius himself must be a stern-visaged man, something of a Berserk, savage and unapproachable, to write as he does. But travelers assure us that in Finland there are smiling landscapes, and we know from personal acquaintance that Mr. Sibelius, like Baptista Minola in the comedy, is “an affable and courteous gentleman.” We doubt if climatic conditions, the constitutional qualities or the passive mood of a man necessarily affect his music. Beethoven was in doleful dumps when he wrote one of his most cheerful symphonies. We have heard music by contemporaneous Italian composers that is more barbaric, gloomier than the great majority of that by Scandinavian or Russian musicians.

SYMPHONY NO. 1, IN E MINOR, OP. 39

I. Andante ma non troppo; allegro energico

II. Andante ma non troppo lento

III. Allegro

IV. Finale (quasi una fantasia): andante; allegro molto

There is a marked difference between the mood and the orchestral expression of this First symphony and those of the composer’s Fifth and Seventh. Sibelius was not young in years when he wrote the First—he was thirty-four—but this symphony was the work of one musically young. It is seldom that a first symphony rests on firm foundations architectonically planned, logically continuous in flow of musical thought, as is the First symphony of Brahms, who had written much chamber music before he ventured into the symphonic field.

The musical thoughts of a symphonic composer meditating his first work of long breath are many; they are often yeasty in their exuberance. There is not yet in the joy of composing the ability to eliminate. There is so much to say; all of it is thought important, essential.

Yet this exuberance when it expresses itself in a fantastical manner is not displeasing. Better wild irregularity, barbaric force than the smug aping of orthodox and approved predecessors. In the first symphony he did not escape the influence of Tchaikovsky, an influence shown particularly in the second movement. But the voice of Sibelius himself speaks in no uncertain tones: a virile voice that has new things to say; is not ashamed of screaming outbursts, sudden contrasts; not a whining egoist, not a despairing pessimist; a strong soul not disturbed by the sensuous charm of woman.

And so this symphony is more than conventionally interesting. It is dramatic, as if Sibelius had had a drama in his mind, perhaps one of his own life. The music is free, outspoken. It is without fear of the learned professor at the conservatory. One might say of the symphony, one hears this music and is in the mighty presence of a man.

The First symphony was composed in 1899 and published in 1902. The first performance was at Helsingfors on April 26, 1899. The symphony was played in Berlin at a concert of Finnish music, led by Robert Kajanus, in July, 1900.

I. Introduction: andante ma non troppo, E minor, 2-2. Over a drum roll that rises and falls in intensity a clarinet sings a mournful melody, which is of much importance in the finale of the symphony.

The first violins, after the short introduction, give out the first theme with imitative passages for violas and violoncellos, allegro energico, E minor, 6-4. There are two subsidiary motives: one for wind instruments, and one, derived from this last, for strings. A crescendo leads to a climax, with the proclamation of the first chief theme by full orchestra with a furious drum roll. The second and contrasting chief motive is given to the flutes, piano ma marcato, against tremulous violins and violas and delicate harp chords. The conclusion of this theme is developed and given to the flutes with syncopated rhythm for the strings. The pace is quickened, and there is a crescendo, which ends in B minor. The free fantasia is of a passionate nature with passages that suggest mystery; heavy chords for wind instruments are bound together with chromatic figures for the strings; wood-wind instruments shriek out cries with the interval of a fourth; cries that are taken from one in the introduction; the final section of the second theme is sung by two violins with strange figures for the strings, pianissimo, and with rhythms taken from the second chief theme. These rhythms in the course of a powerful crescendo dominate at last. The first chief theme endeavors to assert itself, but it is lost in descending chromatic figures. Again there is a crescendo, and the strings have the second subsidiary theme, which is developed until the wild entrance of the first chief motive. The orchestra rages until, after a great outburst and with clash of cymbals, a diminuendo leads to gentle echoes of the conclusion of the second theme. Now the second theme tries to enter, but without the harp chords that first accompanied it. Rhythms that are derived from it lead to defiant blasts of the brass instruments. The movement ends in this mood.

II. Andante, ma non troppo lento, E flat major, 2-2.

“The adagio (andante) is steeped in his proper pathos, the pathos of brief, bland summers, of light that falls for a moment, gentle and mellow, and then dies away. Something like a memory of a girl sitting amid the simple flowers in the white Northern sunshine haunts the last few measures.”[45]

“The andante is purest folk melody; and it is strange how we know this, though we do not know the special tune.”[46]

III. Allegro, C major, 3-4. The chief theme of the scherzo may be said to have the characteristically national humor, which seems to Southern nations wild and heavily fantastical. The second theme is of a lighter and more graceful nature. The trio, E major, is of a somewhat more tranquil nature.

IV. Finale (quasi una fantasia), E minor. The finale begins with the melody of the introduction of the first movement. It is now of an epic, tragic nature, and not merely melancholy. There are hints in the lower strings at the chief theme, which at last appears, 2-4, in the wood-wind. This theme has a continuation which later has much importance. The prevailing mood of the finale is one of wild and passionate restlessness, but the second chief theme, andante assai, is a broad, dignified, melodious motive for violins.

“The substratum [of the symphony] is national; in fact, one may say that if the principal subjects are predominantly Slavonic in character, the subsidiary ones are often distinctly Finnish, and the atmosphere of storm and conflict which pervades the entire work is largely the outcome of a kind of revolt on the part of this thematic rank and file against their lords and masters. In this way the symphony presents a symbolical picture of Finnish insurrection against Russian tyranny and oppression. Not that I would suggest for a moment that the composer had any such purpose in mind while writing it, but there would be nothing surprising if there were an unconscious correspondence between the state of mind of the composer and the position of his unhappy country at the time when the symphony was conceived, at the very height of the Tsarist persecution. On the contrary, it would be surprising if there were not.”[47]

SYMPHONY NO. 2, IN D MAJOR, OP. 43

I. Allegretto

II. Tempo andante ma rubato

III. Vivacissimo; lento e suave

IV. Finale: allegro moderato

Mr. Paul Rosenfeld, who writes about certain modern composers as if he had summered and wintered with them and been through them with a dark lantern, finds this symphony of a “pastoral” nature, full of “home sounds, of cattle.” The music reveals a “pale, evanescent sunlight,” and through the music sounds “the burden of a lowly tragedy.” This is entertaining reading, to be sure, but to be charged with these impressions Mr. Rosenfeld must have heard a tea-table performance of the symphony. There is almost continually the tragic note in the music, but the tragedy is hardly “lowly.”

This music is extremely Northern, at times bleak and windswept. Arresting and impressive music; and lo, suddenly Sibelius drops into Tchaikovskian mood, and even speaks the self-torturing Russian’s speech. Yet Sibelius is generally in the foreground, and his speech is generally his own. It is when he would touch the heart of the public that Tchaikovsky pushes him aside. There is much of interest in the symphony besides the peculiar esthetic and racial quality: there are qualities of the orchestration that hold the attention and excite admiration, as the long pizzicato figure for the double basses.

This symphony, composed in 1901-02, was produced at Helsingfors, March 8, 1902, at a concert given by the composer.

According to Georg Schneevoight, an intimate friend of Sibelius, the composer’s intention was to depict in the first movement the quiet, pastoral life of the Finns undisturbed by thought of oppression. The second movement is charged with patriotic feeling, but the thought of a brutal rule over the people brings with it timidity of soul. The third, in the nature of a scherzo, portrays the awakening of national feeling, the desire to organize in defense of their rights, while in the finale hope enters their breasts and there is comfort in the anticipated coming of a deliverer.

I. Allegretto, D major, with various rhythms, that of 6-4 predominating. The movement begins with an accompaniment figure for strings, which reappears in the course of the development. The quaint first theme is announced by oboes and clarinets. This theme is worked, and secondary motives are introduced, to be used again later. A passage for strings pizzicato leads to a theme given out by flutes, oboes, and clarinets in octaves; bassoons and brass instruments sustain, and the strings have the characteristic strumming heard at the beginning. After the free fantasia a prolonged tremolo of strings leads to the recapitulation. The quaint first theme appears again in the wood-wind, but the accompaniment is more elaborate. The second theme is again announced by wind instruments, and at the end there is the initial figure of accompaniment.

II. Tempo andante ma rubato, D minor, 4-4, 3-8, 4-4. On a roll of kettledrums, double basses begin pizzicato, a figure which is finally taken up by violoncellos, and serves as an accompaniment for a mournful theme sung by the bassoons in octaves. The movement becomes more animated and more dramatic. After a climax fortississimo, molto largamente, the second and expressive theme is sung by some of the first violins, violas, violoncellos (F sharp major, andante sostenuto), accompanied at first by strings and then by running passages in flutes and bassoons. This theme, now in wood-wind instruments, is accompanied by running passages for violins. The first theme returns in F sharp minor, and is developed to another climax, after which the second theme enters in D minor, and toward the close there are hints at the first motive.

III. Vivacissimo, B flat major, 6-8. The movement begins with a nimble theme for violins. There is a short development, and flute and bassoon announce the second theme, against the rhythm of the first, which returns against a tremolo of wood-wind instruments supported by brass and kettledrums. Lento e suave, G flat major, 12-4. The oboe has the theme over sustained chords for bassoons and horns. This section, which serves here as a trio to a scherzo, is short. There is a repetition, with changes of the opening section. The oboe sounds again the theme of the trio, and there is a free transition to the finale without any pause.

IV. Finale: allegro moderato, D major, 3-2. The movement is fashioned after the general style of a rondo on a short and simple theme announced immediately by violins, violas, and violoncellos. There are less important motives which serve as thematic material, and there are modifications of tonality and tempo. The movement ends in a sonorous apotheosis, molto largamente.

SYMPHONY NO. 4, IN A MINOR, OP. 63

I. Tempo molto moderato quasi adagio

II. Allegro molto vivace

III. Il tempo largo

IV. Allegro

The fourth symphony is strangely different in character from those that precede and follow it. Was Sibelius experimenting, endeavoring to strike out a new path? Was he dissatisfied with the result? When it was performed in New York as a new piece, Mr. Henderson, the most sympathetic of those reviewing the symphony, thought that Sibelius had “parted company with himself and joined the futurists.” One of the critics went so far as to describe the work as “inconsequential as the ravings of a drunken man.” This was an absurd opinion, for, whatever may be said of the symphony, it is not “inconsequential”; it was planned deliberately; one might say, from the lack of emotional quality, planned in cold blood.

Perhaps there was an argument in his mind. Perhaps he had been hearing Parsifal, for there are times in the symphony when one is reminded of Amfortas with his complaining voice. Not that Sibelius was obliged to borrow phrases; but the mood of the composer and that of the wounded knight are at times alike. There is also the suggestion of similar harmonic and orchestral, but not melodic expression.

The thematic material is for the most part cool, contemplative, often fragmentary, or purposely incomplete. The melancholy that drips from the pages is almost without relief. Nor does one find the symphony of “baffling simplicity” as a London reviewer found it a few years ago. The “simplicity” was carefully contrived. There is little real beauty, frank or subtle—there is little that impresses by loftiness of thought, or nobility of expression. There is prevailing sobriety. Sibelius might say, “That is the way I felt when I wrote it. I could not write otherwise any more than I could then feel differently.” Is it not a significant fact that Sibelius soon left this path that he had found?

This symphony, dated 1911, was performed at Helsingfors in that year. The score is dedicated to Eero Järnefelt.

The reviewer for the London Times noted (February 28, 1921) that there was moderate applause after a performance, and added: “After all, what was there to make a fuss about? No accumulation of energy, no building to a climax, no display of rhetoric; just a number of ideas, each dwelt on as long as it showed capacity for growth, each left as soon as it had generated another; there is just enough relevance to defeat the charge of inconsequence, not enough arrangement to suggest a moment’s tautology. The fineness of this symphony is of the ascetic type which refuses the luxuries of sound and finds a miracle in the simplest relations of notes. From these relations the tunes grow naturally as folk tunes grow. From the intonation of two notes at the outset comes the whole of the first movement; a perfect fifth is the source of the most expansive melody which crowns the third movement. There is nothing abstruse about it; people only fail to understand it because they cannot believe that any man could be so simple and so real as Sibelius shows himself to be.”

Mr. Fox Strangways wrote (February 21, 1932): “Sibelius has, what only the best composers have, the flair for the phrase that will repay investigation. His phrase on paper impresses no one; when you hear it, spaced out, set in relief, debated upon, it grows life size. He seems to go on for minutes together in an ordinary tone of voice, and then suddenly an idea stings him, and he is afire, and the whole room hanging on his lips.”

“The complete absence of sensuous appeal in this work,” writes Cecil Gray, “coupled with the exacting demands it makes upon the intelligence of audiences, will always prevent it from being popular. For the few, however, it probably constitutes Sibelius’s greatest achievement; he has certainly never written anything to surpass it.”

SYMPHONY NO. 5, IN E FLAT MAJOR, OP. 82

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.