Overture to William Tell (1828-1829) GIOACCHINO ROSSINI ■ 1792-1868 In 1824, Rossini moved to Paris to direct the Théâtre Italien, and there became fully aware of the revolutionary artistic and political trends that were then gaining popularity. Rossini was too closely attuned to public fashion to ignore the changing audience tastes, and he began to cast about for a libretto that would keep him abreast of the latest developments in the musical theater while solidifying his new position in Paris. Schiller’s play William Tell, based on the heroic Swiss struggle against tyranny in the 14th century, had recently created much interest when it was introduced to Paris in a French translation. Rossini decided that the drama would make a fine opera (or, at least, a saleable one), and he seems to have taken special care to incorporate the emerging Romantic style into this epic work, as evidenced by its subject matter, symphonic scope and attention to dramatic and poetic content. The four sections of the Overture, virtually a miniature tone poem, represent dawn in the mountains, a thunderstorm, the pastoral countryside and the triumphant return of the Swiss troops.

Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks, Op. 28 (1894-1895) RICHARD STRAUSS ■ 1864-1949 “If you want to create a work that is unified in its mood and consistent in its structure, and if it is to give the listener a clear and definite impression, then what the author wants to say must have been just as clear and definite in his own mind. This is only possible through the expression of a poetical idea.” Thus wrote Richard Strauss in 1888 in a letter to his mentor, the great pianist and conductor Hans von Bülow, even before he had composed his first successful tone poem, Don Juan. The “poetical idea” from which Till Eulenspiegel sprang was a well- known character of German folklore, a “rude mechanical” born in Brunswick in 1283, according to the account of 1515 by a Franciscan monk, Thomas Murner. So popular were the tales of Till that they were soon translated into a half dozen languages, including English, and fully twenty editions of his adventures had been published in French by the beginning of the 18th century. Olin Downes wrote of this impish character, “Till, they say, was a wandering mechanic who lived by his wits, turning up in every town and city. He made himself out to be whatever the situation required — butcher, baker, wheelwright, joiner, monk, or learned metaphysician. He was a lord of misrule, a liar and villain, whose joy it was to plague honest folk and play foul jests upon them. He pillaged the rich, but often helped the poor.” The performance of an opera based on the Till legends by the forgotten Wagnerite Cyrill Kistler in Würzburg in 1889 first piqued Strauss’ interest in the subject. Strauss began sketching a libretto for a projected opera about Till by June 1893, but his lack of talent at poetry and the failure of his first opera, Guntram, the following May discouraged him from further work on the plan. When he returned to the subject several months later, the opera had become a tone poem. The work scored an immediate triumph at its premiere, and was soon being performed by orchestras around the world. “Eulenspiegel” in German means “owl-mirror,” and it is generally agreed that the name of this legendary rascal, who both embodies and exploits human foibles, alludes to a German proverb: “Man sees his own faults as little as an owl recognizes his ugliness by looking into a mirror.” When asked to elucidate his music, Strauss wrote to Franz Wüllner, the conductor of the premiere, “By way of helping listeners to a better understanding, it seems sufficient to point out the two Eulenspiegel motives, which, in the most manifold disguises, moods, and situations, pervade the whole up to the catastrophe, when, after he has been condemned to death, Till is strung up to the gibbet. For the rest, let them guess at the musical joke which the Rogue has offered them.” The two motives that Strauss mentioned occur immediately at the beginning of the work — the “once upon a time” phrase played by the strings, and the bounding horn theme, whose ambiguous rhythm offers a musical joke to those trying to tap their toes. Strauss, a master of thematic manipulation, spun most of the melodic threads of Till from these two motives. Unlike the historical Till, who reportedly died in bed of the plague, Strauss sentenced his scoundrel to swing for his crimes amid threatening rolls on the drums and great blasts from the trombones. The closing pages, however, revive the impish spectre of the physically departed Till, as if to say that his insouciant spirit remains always evergreen.

Petrushka, Ballet in Four Tableaux (1911) IGOR STRAVINSKY ■ 1882-1971 Stravinsky burst meteor-like onto the musical firmament in 1910 with the brilliant triumph of his first major score for the Ballet Russe, The Firebird. Immediately, Serge Diaghilev, the enterprising impresario of the troupe, sought to capitalize on this success by commissioning Stravinsky to write a second score as soon as possible. Stravinsky was already prepared with an idea which had come to him even before finishing The Firebird. “I saw in imagination a solemn pagan rite,” he recalled in his Autobiography of 1936. “Sage elders, seated in a circle, watched a young girl dance herself to death. They were sacrificing her to propitiate the god of spring. Such was the theme of Le Sacre du printemps.” Diaghilev was as excited about this vision as was Stravinsky, and he sent the composer off to write the score with all possible haste. Stravinsky continued the story in his Autobiography: “Before tackling The Rite of Spring, which would be a long and difficult task, I wanted to refresh myself by composing an orchestral piece in which the piano would play the most important part — a sort of Konzertstück. In composing the music, I had a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life.... Having finished this piece, I struggled for hours to find a title which would express in a word the character of my music and, consequently, the personality of this creature. One day I leaped for joy, I had indeed found my title — Petrushka, the immortal and unhappy hero of every fair in all countries. Soon afterwards, Diaghilev came to visit me. He was much astonished when, instead of the sketches of the Sacre, I played him the piece I had just composed and which later became the second scene of Petrushka. He was so pleased with it that he would not leave it alone, and began persuading me to develop the theme of the puppet’s sufferings and make it into a whole ballet.” Though his progress on the score was interrupted by a serious bout of “nicotine poisoning,” Stravinsky finished the work in time for the scheduled premiere on June 13, 1911. Tableau I. St. Petersburg, the Shrove-Tide Fair. Crowds of people stroll about, entertained by a hurdy-gurdy man and dancers. The Showman opens the curtains of his little theater to reveal three puppets — Petrushka, the Ballerina and the Blackamoor. He charms them into life with his flute, and they begin to dance among the public. Tableau II. Petrushka’s Cell. Petrushka suffers greatly from his awareness of his grotesque appearance. He tries to console himself by falling in love with the Ballerina. She visits him in his cell, but she is frightened by his uncouth antics, and flees. Tableau III. The Blackamoor’s Cell. The Blackamoor and the Ballerina meet in his tent. Their love scene is interrupted by the arrival of Petrushka, furiously jealous. The Blackamoor throws him out. Tableau IV. The Fair. The festive scene of Tableau I resumes with the appearance of a group of wet-nurses, a performing bear, Gypsies, a band of coachmen and several masqueraders. At the theater, Petrushka rushes out from behind the curtain, pursued by the Blackamoor, who strikes his rival down with his sword. Petrushka dies. The Showman assures the bystanders that Petrushka is only a puppet, but he is startled to see Petrushka’s jeering ghost appear on the roof of the little theater. ©2015 Dr. Richard E. Rodda