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.