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.

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.