Jean Sibelius and His World

Daniel M. Grimley, Daniel Grimley

• Éditeur: Princeton University Press
• Année: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781400840205
• Sujet: Medios de comunicación y artes escénicas
• Sous-sujet: Biografías musicales

New perspectives on the greatest Finnish composer of all time Perhaps no twentieth-century composer has provoked a more varied reaction among the music-loving public than Jean Sibelius (1865–1957). Originally hailed as a new Beethoven by much of the Anglo-Saxon world, he was also widely disparaged by critics more receptive to newer trends in music. At the height of his popular appeal, he was revered as the embodiment of Finnish nationalism and the apostle of a new musical naturalism. Yet he seemingly chose that moment to stop composing altogether, despite living for three more decades. Providing wide cultural contexts, contesting received ideas about modernism, and interrogating notions of landscape and nature, Jean Sibelius and His World sheds new light on the critical position occupied by Sibelius in the Western musical tradition.The essays in the book explore such varied themes as the impact of Russian musical traditions on Sibelius, his compositional process, Sibelius and the theater, his understanding of music as a fluid and improvised creation, his critical reception in Great Britain and America, his "late style" in the incidental music for The Tempest, and the parallel contemporary careers of Sibelius and Richard Strauss.Documents include the draft of Sibelius's 1896 lecture on folk music, selections from a roman à clef about his student circle in Berlin at the turn of the century, Theodor Adorno's brief but controversial tirade against the composer, and the newspaper debates about the Sibelius monument unveiled in Helsinki a decade after the composer's death.The contributors are Byron Adams, Leon Botstein, Philip Ross Bullock, Glenda Dawn Goss, Daniel Grimley, Jeffrey Kallberg, Tomi Mäkelä, Sarah Menin, Max Paddison, and Timo Virtanen.

PART I
ESSAYS

Sibelius and the Russian Traditions

PHILIP ROSS BULLOCK

To discuss the music of Jean Sibelius in the context of Russian culture and history is to broach complex questions of national identity and musical influence. Although Finland’s status between 1809 and 1917 as a Grand Duchy within the Russian Empire has been the subject of considerable recent work by revisionist historians, the policies of extreme Russification that were in place between 1899 and Finland’s eventual independence eighteen years later have tended to cast the debate in terms of how a small nation bravely won self-determination despite the predations of a vast and arrogant imperial power.¹ This historiographical discourse has implications for our understanding of Sibelius’s music and personality too, since, as Glenda Dawn Goss suggests, the composer has long served as an icon of Finnish national consciousness: “The real Sibelius has been obscured . . . by the tendency to see him solely through a nationalistic lens. This view received powerful impetus in connection with Finland’s valiant and prolonged resistance to Russian domination, a resistance that Sibelius’s music came to symbolize in the world.”² The consequences of this tendency can be seen in a Finnish review of one of the major Soviet-era publications on Sibelius. Although little about the 1963 biography by Alexander Stupel seems immoderate or controversial today,³ and indeed, many of its suggestions about Sibelius’s connections to Russian music have since been independently corroborated and further developed, Dmitry Hintze’s negative assessment of Sibelius’s influence on Russian composers from Rimsky-Korsakov to Rachmaninoff is symptomatic of an era when political factors affected attitudes in the writing of national history.⁴

Notwithstanding such political considerations, many of the clichés that have come to be associated with Russian music as Europe’s perpetual “Other”—Oriental exoticism, emotional intensity, technical insufficiency, even, as in the case of the reputation of Pyotr Tchaikovsky, sexual deviance and effeminacy⁵—have meant that commentators have tended to downplay comparisons between Sibelius and Russian composers, preferring instead to incorporate Sibelius into the European mainstream. The posture adopted in Walter Niemann’s early writings—interpreted by James Hepokoski as “a priestlike gesture within the cultic institution intended to keep pure the sacred space of Germanic symphonism”—is a case in point.⁶ Although dismissive of Sibelius’s handling of the symphony, which he saw as nothing more than “an imitation of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique in a Finnish dialect,”⁷ Niemann was nonetheless keen to emphasize Sibelius’s status as a composer with organic, Western-oriented links to Scandinavia rather than Finland’s occupying neighbor to the east. Crucially, for Niemann, Sibelius’s works were free from the emotional and structural shortcomings that were supposedly so characteristic of Tchaikovsky:

Sibelius’s broad and expressive approach to melody frequently has an unmistakable affinity with that of Tchaikovsky, and as a symphonist, Sibelius has without question borrowed many ideas from the symphonies of the Russian master, above all the E-minor symphony and the Pathétique. Except that Sibelius is more reserved in his expression, less decorative, less contrived and sentimental, less differentiated than the Russian master, despite all of his striking intensity of emotion and Slavic fatalism. Against our will and as if hypnotized, we are at the mercy of the weak and sensual Russian. The stern and steely Finn appeals to heart and mind. You will search in vain in Sibelius for movements such as the half-barbarian finales of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies.⁸

More unequivocal admirers of Sibelius’s music continued this trend by pointing out how his symphonies departed from Russian models on both temperamental and structural grounds. Cecil Grey’s argument that “the symphonies of Sibelius represent the highest point attained in this form since the death of Beethoven” rests on a concomitant dismissal of Russian music as “eastern rather than northern in geographical character and atmosphere.”⁹ Bengt de Törne, similarly keen to emphasize Sibelius’s Teutonic credentials, ultimately dismissed the importance of Tchaikovsky’s influence, seeing Sibelius as altogether more epic, virile, and self-possessed, and thus correspondingly free from the existential traits of the Russian soul: “Russian music is famous for its gloomy tints. Yet these magnificent sombre colours are essentially different from those of the North, being conditioned by the Slav atmosphere of submission, despair and death.”¹⁰ Any arguments in favor of Sibelius’s exclusively and essentially Nordic identity are, whether consciously or not, indebted to a whole set of stereotypes about the national and emotional character of Russian music.

The situation has changed, of course, not least as a result of the publication of Erik Tawaststjerna’s critical biography.¹¹ Not only did it paint a far more detailed picture of Sibelius’s life than had previously been available, it also began to overturn widespread assumptions about his musical origins. As Tim Howell writes:

Erik Tawaststjerna has revealed that far from being a nationalist figure separated from mainstream European developments by living in his native Finland, Sibelius travelled extensively, was fully aware of current trends in music, thought, discussed and came to terms with the complex nature of twentieth-century composition and from various stylistic influences gradually formed a personal and highly original style.¹²

Within this welcome development in Sibelius criticism, however, the influence of Russian music has been the subject of comparatively little detailed analysis, and figures such as Sibelius’s Russian violin teacher, Mitrofan Wasilieff, have only recently been restored to the historical record. As Goss argues: “The idea of a Russian’s helping to shape the national icon was more than most Finns could stand in the aftermath of the horrible events of the first half of the twentieth century.”¹³

Thus the purpose of this essay is first to set out the broad political and historical context that shaped Russo-Finnish relations between 1809 and 1917, and second to consider the close personal, intellectual, and artistic ties that bound together cultural figures on both sides of the border, before then turning to an examination of the various ways in which Russian music played a profound role in Sibelius’s evolution as a Finnish and European composer.

The Russian Empire and the Grand Duchy of Finland

In trying to disentangle some of the myths surrounding Sibelius’s role in the development of Finnish national consciousness and the move to political self-determination, the best place to start is, ironically enough, one of his most obviously patriotic and overtly political works:Finlandia. Traditionally read as a protest against Russian domination, the work was subject to a highly politicized interpretation in which Sibelius himself was complicit:

It was actually rather late that Finlandia was performed under its final title. At the farewell concert of the Philharmonic Orchestra before leaving for Paris, when the tone-poem was played for the first time in its revised form, it was called “Suomi.” It was introduced by the same name in Scandinavia; in German towns it was called “Vaterland,” and in Paris “La Patrie.” In Finland its performance was forbidden during the years of unrest, and in other parts of the Empire it was not allowed to be played under any name that in any way indicated its patriotic character. When I conducted in Reval and Riga by invitation in the summer of 1904, I had to call it “Impromptu.”¹⁴

However, as Harold Johnson argues, this was a rather dramatic and even questionable interpretation of the situation, and one, moreover, that was written several decades after the events described:

It is true that at the concert to which the composer alluded the tone poem was officially listed on the programme as Suomi, a title that had no meaning for the Russians. But in all the newspapers it was listed as Finlandia. Just how late is “rather late” we cannot say. It is a matter of record, however, that Finlandia was performed under that title in Helsinki during November 1901 and through the remaining years when Finland was still a part of the Russian Empire. Had Governor General Bobrikov been interested, he could have purchased a copy of Finlandia from a local music store.¹⁵

An investigation into the origins of Finlandia reveals a still more complicated story. The music that was to become Finlandia derives from the six Tableaux from Ancient History that were staged in Helsinki in November 1899. Ostensibly designed to raise money for the pensions of journalists, the tableaux offered, in Tawaststjerna’s words, “both moral and material support to a free press that was battling to maintain its independence in the face of Czarist pressure.”¹⁶ In them were depicted significant stages of Finland’s history, from the origins of the Kalevala and the baptism of the Finnish people by Bishop Henrik of Uppsala, to the sixteenth-century court of Duke John at Turku, and the events of the Thirty Years’ War and the Great Northern War (during which Finland was ravaged by Russian forces between 1714 and 1721, a period referred to as “The Greater Wrath”). As Derek Fewster suggests, this particular historical scene may have been interpreted as an instance of anti-Russian sentiment around the turn of the century:

The fifth tableau was intended as a striking allegory to modern Finland: Mother Finland with her children, sitting in the snow and surrounded by the genies of Death, Frost, Hunger and War, during the Great Northern War. Performing such an offensive tableau—intended as a “memory” of what Russia was all about—was a striking choice and a fascinating example of how the previously complaisant and loyal Finns now could be served anti-Russian sentiments without half the public leaving the theatre in outrage.¹⁷

In the sixth tableau, however, the depiction of Russia’s involvement was subtly yet significantly transformed. Titled “Suomi Herää!” (Finland, awake!) it evoked the nineteenth century through a series of historical figures who had contributed to Finland’s discovery of its own identity as a nation: “These included Czar Alexander II, the poet Johan Ludvig Runeberg, Johan Vilhelm Snellman inspiring his students to think of the possibility of Finnish independence, and Elias Lönnrot transcribing the runes of the epic, Kalevala.”¹⁸

In order to understand the presence of such a seemingly unlikely figure as the Russian emperor Alexander II in the score that gave rise to a work as patriotic as Finlandia, it is necessary to look back at the circumstances of Finland’s incorporation into the Russian Empire. Over the course of the ...