Symphony No. 3 in c ("Organ Symphony")

When Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921) was born, Chopin and Liszt were still young men and Brahms was just two years old. Yet Saint-Saëns lived long enough into the 20th century to make many recordings. He began as a child prodigy on par with Mozart. Already performing by age five, he gave an acclaimed public debut at age ten during which he offered to play any of Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas from memory. He later held important posts at Parisian cathedrals—notably not at the Conservatory—and was widely acclaimed for his improvisations. It is worth mentioning that, in Liszt’s opinion, Saint-Saëns was the greatest organist of the age.

As a composer, Saint-Saëns wrote fluently in almost every genre. Originally drawn to the latest trends in European music, he also showed a reactionary nature that intensified over time. His stance toward Wagner, in particular, evolved from fascination to revulsion. Relations with many contemporaries were tense. Debussy’s “impressionist” manner left Saint-Saëns cold, and the Wagnerism of Franck and D’Indy inspired his vehement scorn. Once he began to teach composition—Gabriel Fauré being his most successful pupil—Saint-Saëns became even more austere and refined, ever more classical in stylistic outlook.

In 1886 Saint-Saëns resigned his post with the Société Nationale de Musique, a group he had co-founded but which had lately become overtly pro-Wagnerian. That same year he accepted a commission from London’s Philharmonic Society to appear as piano soloist and present a new symphony. This latter work, the remarkable Symphony No. 3 avec orgue, enjoyed critical and public acclaim at both its London and Paris premieres. It has since become one of the most beloved of all 19th-century symphonies. Saint-Saëns attempts so much in this work that, by the end, it seems to literally burst with sound.
Despite Saint-Saëns’ souring toward Wagner, the German’s spirit hovers over the slow introduction, which merges soft strings with upwardly striving lines in oboe and flute. The moment is brief, however, and the dominant theme of the movement—central, in fact, to later movements as well—is the ominous C-minor Allegro. Redolent of Schubert’s Unfinished, this theme begins a series of musical allusions, from Schumann’s Rhenish to the medieval Dies irae to Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, which presages this work’s overall grandeur, use of cyclical form, and departure from conventional four-movement structure. Ultimately, it will be the organ that gives this symphony its nickname and lasting fame. The organ first appears without any fanfare, linking the C-minor Allegro to the Poco Adagio in D-flat major. A grander plan for the King of Instruments is in the offing, but for now it simply accompanies a tender, hymn-like theme in strings. The reverie will be interrupted temporarily by a chromatic episode, but these contrasting voices are quickly absorbed into an amplified restatement of the Adagio.

The second movement opens with a vigorous, agitato theme similar to the Allegro heard earlier. Saint-Saëns’ string writing again shows a close study of his musical idols, here suggesting the spirit of Mendelssohn. The pace of musical activity quickens from here to the end, and Saint-Saëns seems unwilling to hold back any possible idea. To wit, fugue largely governs the symphony’s latter portions. The first fugue subject evokes Bach (the E major fugue from Well-Tempered Clavier II comes to mind). This idea gradually fades away, replaced by the ever-recurring C-minor Allegro. But even that strategic signpost is obliterated by a blast of full organ chords—in radiant C major—that follows. In a sense, it is this single moment that has earned the symphony its place in the pantheon. Saint-Saëns continues to unleash new ideas, bringing in rippling four-hand piano arpeggios (a sound effect used in the Carnival of the Animals, also composed in 1886) and massive orchestral textures. He may at times get sidetracked exploring sheer novelty, but the expressive arc toward a resounding, roof-raising coda will not be denied. And where bombast in, for instance, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture seems out of proportion in a 15-minute work, the majestic conclusion to Saint-Saëns’ Symphony No. 3 feels more genuine, more organic, and fully earned.

(c) Jason Stell