The long career of Jean Sibelius is inextricably bound with the recent history of his home country, Finland
— and not simply because he is that country’s most famous composer. Born during increasing Russian repression in the 1870’s that led to a Finnish nationalistic movement, Sibelius attended one of the first Finnish-language schools, in Hämeenlinna. His schooling in Finnish literary tradition provided him the thematic basis for much of his life’s work, as his musical compositions consistently referred to the Finnish mythological cycle, the Kalevala, for inspiration. Indeed, some of his early successes as a composer were symphonic poems based on tales from the Kalevala:
Kullervo (1892) and the Lemminkäinen Suite, which includes his well-known
Swan of Tuonela (1893). His other inspiration came from the very landscape around him: the mountains, lakes, and river valleys of Finland. By 1897 his work was considered so important to his country’s culture that the Finnish government gave him a pension for life so he could compose his works undisturbed by more mundane matters.
In 1913, when Sibelius began work on his fifth symphony, his music was known for its novel groupings of instruments, striking harmonic shifts, and resonant orchestral colors. But he was also withdrawing from the tides of modernism that he felt engulfed him with either self-indulgence (Mahler, Richard Strauss) or incomprehensibility (Debussy, Schoenberg). His work went slowly, beset as he was by troubles both personal (marital tensions, struggles with alcohol) and political (the growing war that would cut off his German royalties). Yet he still felt inspired, as he wrote in September of 1914: “In a deep valley again. But I already begin to see dimly the mountain that I shall surely ascend … God opens His door for a moment and His orchestra plays the Fifth Symphony.” He completed his first revision of the work in 1915, premiering it on his fiftieth birthday in December, celebrated as a national holiday. He was not yet satisfied with the piece, however, and presented another version in 1916. World war abroad coupled with the isolation brought by the Finnish civil war prevented him from completing the symphony until 1919, when he premiered it in its final form in Helsinki on November 24.
The version of 1915 had four movements, but for the 1919 revision he completely rewrote the first movement, compressing it and the Scherzo of the original second version into one movement with two distinct, though interrelated, parts. The third movement, he wrote to a friend, contained portions of the original first, while he reworked the fourth to make it “stronger … triumphal.” The result is perhaps his most distinctive example of the “profound logic,” the concentration and relation of harmonic structure he felt every piece of music should possess.
The first movement’s two parts (Tempo molto moderato and Largamente, followed by Allegro moderato and Presto) treat the same thematic material in two distinct ways. The horns and woodwinds introduce the theme in a series of naturalistic calls, seemingly calm, but growing to what music analyst Donald Tovey calls a “cloudy chromatic trembling” in the strings, while the “original figure moans in the clarinet and bassoon” (marked lugubre and patetico). The development continues with whirling figures in thirds by pairs of woodwinds and increasing agitation in the strings, building to the restatement in a broader, almost heroic form. Suddenly the first theme is part of a dance tune, and the movement transforms into the original symphony”s scherzo. This section gradually accelerates from allegro moderato to presto, ending on a repeated chord that consists of the four notes of the horn call from the movement’s opening.
The second movement, Andante mosso, quasi allegro, presents a series of variations on a rhythmic theme containing two groups of five quarter notes, separated by a quarter rest. This theme, presented first in pizzicato by the strings, is contrasted with sustained notes from the woodwinds, balancing motion against stillness–but not tranquility. The extended notes can become dissonant against their moving counterparts, while a series of sliding calls by the trombones and swelling chords from brass and timpani lend a vaguely threatening aura. However, Sibelius brings the movement to a delicate close with a quiet final statement of the rhythmic motif.
Music analyst Michael Steinberg notes that the moving figure of the second movement is twice supported by the bass playing a “swinging” figure in octaves and ninths — a figure which becomes the second theme of the final movement. This figure was inspired by the sight of a flock of flying swans, which Sibelius described in a sketchbook: “One of my greatest experiences! Lord God, that beauty! … Nature’s mysticism and life’s angst!” Sibelius introduces this motif following a perpetual-motion whirring (Allegro molto) from the strings in the symphony’s original key of E-flat. Two pairs of horns begin antiphonal calls, the “swan song,” which, contrasted against another rhythm and melody in the woodwinds and cellos, presents an indelible image of majestic movement (Misterioso). This motion grows to an increasingly complex climax, when the tolling theme slows and stretches over building, sometimes dissonant chords, as if it were breaking apart. As the movement slows to Largamente assai, we seem to be developing to a broad, triumphal ending — but then Sibelius surprises us. A series of six isolated pulses rings out, four chords and two unisons, that bring the work to an imperious, astonishing close.
February 23, 2003