UNIVERSITY OF CINCINNATI
Date:______
I, ______, hereby submit this work as part of the requirements for the degree of: in:
It is entitled:
This work and its defense approved by:
Chair: ______
Louis Durey’s Le Bestiaire:
A Performance Study
A Document submitted to the
Division of Graduate Studies and Research of the University of Cincinnati
in partial fulfillment of the
requirements for the degree of
DOCTOR OF MUSICAL ARTS
in the Performance Studies Division
of the College-Conservatory of Music
2008
by
Kathryn Stieler
B.M., Western Michigan University, 1990
M.M., Bowling Green State University, 1995
Committee Chair: Professor Mary Henderson Stucky
Abstract
This document aims to enhance the understanding and appreciation of Louis
Durey’s setting of Le Bestiaire for both listener and performer by providing an in-depth, practical performance study. It begins with an outline of the cultural and artistic climate of the early twentieth century in Paris, France, when the poems, woodcuts and music were conceived. Next, the study includes a brief biography of the poet, the visual artist, and the composer of the work, followed by an overview of their individual approaches to
Le Bestiaire specifically. Finally, a song-by-song commentary will examine each poem and include a working translation and historical, biographical, and contextual references as appropriate; aspects of Dufy’s art work that illuminate the poems and/or music; musical qualities in both the piano and vocal line that signal particular moments of interest in the cycle; and specific suggestions for the singer and pianist to enhance their performance of the work.
iii
iv Acknowledgments
I would like to thank a number of important people who encouraged and supported my long journey to completion of this paper and degree program. Thank you to Professor
Mary Stucky, my advisor, for being a steadfast source of expertise, inspiration and patience. Thank you to Professors Bill McGraw and David Adams who served as meticulous readers of this document. Thank you to Professor Dan Royer who helped me to identify my fledgling passion for writing. Thank you to all my family and friends who politely kept me on track with their persistent questioning about when I would be finished. Most of all, thank you to my husband, David, who cheerfully and generously held down the fort so that I could invest my time and energy into this project, cheered me on when I felt discouraged, and believed in me from beginning to end.
v Table of Contents
I. List of Figures…………………………………………………………….. viii II. Introduction a. Purpose of Study………………………………………………… 1 b. The Cultural and Artistic Climate of the EarlyTwentieth Century in Paris, France………………… 4 III. Biographical Background a. Poet, Guillaume Apollinaire…………………………………….. 6 b. Visual Artist, Raoul Dufy………………………………………. 10 c. Composer, Louis Durey……………………………………….... 13 IV. Le Bestiaire Overview a. Poetry…………………………………………………………… 15 b. Woodcuts……………………………………………………….. 20 c. Music………………………………………………………….... 24 V. Le Bestiaire - Song by Song Commentary a. Orphée…………………………………………………………... 31 b. La tortue………………………………………………………… 34 c. Le cheval………………………………………………………… 36 d. La chèvre du Thibet……………………………………………... 39 e. Le serpent……………………………………………………….. 42 f. Le chat…………………………………………………………... 45 g. Le lion…………………………………………………………… 49 h. Le lièvre…………………………………………………………. 52 i. Le lapin………………………………………………………….. 55 j. Le dromadaire…………………………………………………… 58 k. La souris………………………………………………………… 61 l. L’éléphant………………………………………………………. 64 m. Orphée………………………………………………………….. 68 n. La chenille……………………………………………………… 69 o. La mouche……………………………………………………… 71 p. La puce…………………………………………………………. 73 q. La sauterelle…………………………………………………….. 76 r. Orphée………………………………………………………….. 79 s. Le dauphin……………………………………………………… 80 t. Le poulpe………………………………………………………. 83 u. La méduse………………………………………………………. 86 v. L’écrevisse……………………………………………………… 88 w. La carpe………………………………………………………… 90 x. Orphée………………………………………………………….. 93 y. Les sirens……………………………………………………….. 94 z. La colombe……………………………………………………… 97 aa. Le paon…………………………………………………………. 100 bb. Le hibou…………………………………………………………. 102 cc. Ibis………………………………………………………………. 105 dd. Le boeuf…………………………………………………………. 107
vi
VI. Concluding Remarks………………………………………………………. 110 VII. Bibliography………………………………………………………………. 114
vii
I. List of Figures
Fig. 1 “La tortue,” mm. 8-10…………………………………………………… 34 Fig. 2 “Le cheval,” mm. 1-2……………………………………………………. 37 Fig. 3 “La chèvre du Thibet,” mm. 1-4………………………………………… 40 Fig. 4 “Le serpent,” mm. 1, 4………………………………………………….. 43 Fig. 5 “Le chat,” m. 1, 5……………………………………………………….. 46 Fig. 6 “Le lion,” mm. 2-3, 4-5…………………………………………………. 50 Fig. 7 “Le lièvre,” mm. 1-4…………………………………………………….. 52 Fig. 8 “Le lapin,” mm. 1-4……………………………………………………... 55 Fig. 9 “Le dromadaire,” mm. 1-2………………………………………………. 59 Fig. 10 “Le dromadaire,” mm. 25-26……………………………………………. 59 Fig. 11 “La souris,” mm. 1-4…………………………………………………….. 62 Fig. 12 “L’éléphant,” m.4……………………………………………………….. 65 Fig. 13 “L’éléphant,” m. 6, 18…………………………………………………… 66 Fig. 14 “La chenille,” mm. 1-3………………………………………………….. 69 Fig. 15 “La mouche,” mm. 1-3………………………………………………….. 71 Fig. 16 “La puce,” mm. 1-2……………………………………………………… 74 Fig. 17 “La puce,” mm. 12-13…………………………………………………… 74 Fig. 18 “La sauterelle,” mm. 1-4………………………………………………… 77 Fig. 19 “La sauterelle,” mm. 8-11……………………………………………….. 77 Fig. 20 “Le dauphin,” mm. 1-2………………………………………………….. 81 Fig. 21 “Le poulpe,” m. 1……………………………………………………….. 83 Fig. 22 “Le poulpe,” m. 4……………………………………………………….. 84 Fig. 23 “La méduse,” mm. 1-3………………………………………………….. 86 Fig. 24 “L’écrevisse,” mm. 1-2…………………………………………………. 89 Fig. 25 “La carpe,” m. 4………………………………………………………… 91 Fig. 26 “Les sirènes,” mm. 6-8…………………………………………………. 95 Fig. 27 “Les sirènes,” m. 9……………………………………………………… 95 Fig. 28 “La colombe,” mm. 1-2………………………………………………… 98 Fig. 29 “Le paon,” mm. 12-15………………………………………………….. 101 Fig. 30 “Le hibou,” mm. 1-3……………………………………………………. 103 Fig. 31 “Ibis,” mm. 1-4…………………………………………………………. 105 Fig. 32 “Le boeuf,” mm. 7-10…………………………………………………… 109
viii II. Introduction
a. Purpose of Study
Le Bestiaire (The Bestiary), ou Cortège d’Orphée (The Parade of Orpheus), is a collection of thirty poems by French literary figure, Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918), that portrays a procession of animals following Orpheus with his lyre. The published poems are printed one to a page with an accompanying woodcut designed by French artist, Raoul Dufy (1877-1953), on the opposing page. Louis Durey (1888-1979), a young French composer associated with the well-known group in Paris labeled “Les Six,” set twenty-six of the poems in 1918-19.
Durey and his friend and colleague, Francis Poulenc, set the Le Bestiaire poems at the same time unbeknownst to each other. Jean Cocteau, a well-known artistic promoter in Paris in the early twentieth century, wrote a very favorable review of Durey’s settings of Le Bestiaire, pointing out that “where Poulenc leaps with the paws of a young dog,
Durey delicately poses his doe’s feet. Both are natural, which is why we contemplate them with the same pleasure.”1 Regardless of Cocteau’s equally favorable review of both works, Poulenc’s setting, a staple of the French art song repertoire, virtually eclipses
Louis Durey’s setting which is scarcely known by listeners and performers today.
Though the composers of “Les Six” were considered key players in the movement to reshape the direction of French music in the twentieth century and have been the topic of much research, there is little extensive information available specifically about Louis
Durey. Among his colleagues, Durey was often referred to as “the quiet one,” living in the shadow of figures like Poulenc and Milhaud, with only one major biographical work published about his life. Louis Durey, L’aîné des Six (1968) was written by Frederic
1 Benjamin Ivry, Francis Poulenc (London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1996), 34.
1 Robert, a friend and fellow member of the Fédération Musicale Populaire. It offers a mostly subjective historic perspective and provides very little specific information about
Durey’s works.
In 2004, Jocelyn Beth Dueck Dyrud authored a doctoral project entitled “The Life and Song Cycles of Louis Durey 1888-1979.” This work helps to fill in many of the personal aspects of this private man’s life by including a 2003 interview with the composer’s daughter, Arlette Durey. In addition, Dyrud gives an overview of Durey’s artistic output. Of particular interest because of their obscurity among performers are his early works which include Le Bestiaire, and some settings that were never published such as Trois poèmes de Verlaine and L’offrande lyrique. While Dyrud’s study is an interesting and illuminating overview of Durey’s life and work, it provides only general musical and interpretive commentary on the works.
There is only one professional recording available of Durey’s Le Bestiaire, and it is performed by French baritone, François Le Roux, and pianist, Graham Johnson, on a compact disc released in 2002 entitled “Songs of Louis Durey.” The compact disc features much of Durey’s early art song settings. The liner notes, authored by Graham
Johnson, a highly regarded art song scholar, offer a somewhat detailed look at Durey and the poets whose work he chose to set. Inherent in Johnson’s writing is a well-deserved respect for this little known composer.
This performance study aims to enhance the understanding and appreciation of
Louis Durey’s setting of Le Bestiaire for both listener and performer by providing an in- depth, practical performance study. The study is modeled after the textual and musical analysis methods employed by writers such as Barbara Meister in her text, Nineteenth
2 Century French Song, and Mary Dibbern, Carol Kimball, and Patrick Choukroun in
Interpreting the Songs of Jacques Leguerney: A Guide for Study and Performance. It will begin with an outline of the cultural and artistic climate of the early twentieth century in Paris, France, when the poems, woodcuts and music were conceived. Next, the study will include a brief biography of the poet, the visual artist, and the composer of the work, followed by an overview of their individual approaches to Le Bestiaire specifically. Finally, a song-by-song commentary will examine each poem and include a working translation and historical, biographical, and contextual references as appropriate; aspects of Dufy’s art work that illuminate the poems and/or music; musical qualities in both the piano and vocal line that signal particular moments of interest in the cycle; and specific suggestions for the singer and pianist to enhance their performance of the work.
3 b. The Cultural and Artistic Climate of the Early Twentieth Century in Paris, France
In the years leading up to World War I, artists across disciplines were feeling intense political pressure to maintain absolute political and social stability, often at the expense of artistic freedom. In reaction to this unwanted coercion, artists began experimenting with radical forms of expression. As a result, music historians commonly point out that “the period between 1900 and 1914 is one of the most turbulent in the entire history of the arts, one that produced a series of revolutionary developments fundamentally affecting all subsequent endeavors.”2
In France, Pablo Picasso was venturing into new territory with the revolutionary
Cubist movement. Guillaume Apollinaire coined the term, “surrealism,” to describe a movement that slowly replaced the Symbolist movement with something more depictive and real, even if arranged in such a way as to stretch the imagination. French music was emerging from under the influence of Germanic formality and aesthetic aims, with
Claude Debussy largely responsible for setting the new course toward Impressionism.
These shifts in the pre-war artistic climate appeared to be a necessary preparation, a liberation of sorts, for the reorientation that was to come after the war.
With the outbreak of World War I, much of the pre-war optimism was lost and there was a sudden collapse of the old intellectual order. Rollo Myers describes this period as a time “during which all lines of communication with the past had, in a sense, been cut, had created a kind of intellectual and artistic vacuum, and all the old values were in the melting-pot.”3 French artists, in particular, were joining in an aesthetic and intellectual crusade to define a new French identity. There was a desire to avoid the
2 Robert P. Morgan, Twentieth-Century Music (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991), 14. 3 Rollo Myers, Modern French Music (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971), 123.
4 excesses of the late and post-Romantic period in favor of “a more economical and less subjective type of art, more down to earth and less swollen in its ambitions.”4 Jean
Cocteau led this initiative by promoting a French music that was free from “not only the vapors of Debussy and Mallarmé but from the German influences and what he called the
‘Russian trap’.”5 Erik Satie, an eccentric and witty middle-aged composer directly opposed to artistic authority, defined the cutting edge and cultivated a style that promoted a return to simplicity that was to become the basis of the Neoclassic movement of the1920’s.
The refinement once associated with the French was replaced by an earthy, and at times indecent, gaiety across all art forms. Le Boeuf sur le toit (The Ox on the Roof), the title of a ballet created by Jean Cocteau with music by Darius Milhaud, was also the name of a night club used as a gathering place for artists and intellectuals of this time.
The ox served as a social and artistic symbol for the breakdown of social conventions brought on by the war. In his book, The Ox on the Roof, James Harding described the ox,
“its glassy eye watched unmoved the spectacle of women smoking cigarettes in public and of the arts invaded by anarchy. The benevolent animal was at home alike to
‘flappers’ and artists, to showmen and musicians, to dress designers and poets.”6 This new attitude in France, embodied by the ox, smiles on the gently comic and sometimes irreverent quality that pervades Apollinaire’s Le Bestiaire poems, Dufy’s accompanying woodcuts and even Durey’s musical setting.
4 Robert P. Morgan, Twentieth-Century Music (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991), 154. 5 Glenn Watkins, SOUNDINGS: Music in the Twentieth Century (New York: Schirmer Books, 1995), 267. 6 James Harding, The Ox on the Roof (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1972), 11-12.
5 III. Brief Biography
a. Guillaume Apollinaire
Guillaume Apollinaire, the pseudonym of Wilhelm Apollinaris de Kostrowitzky, was born on August 26, 1880 in Rome of a Polish-Italian mother and, it is suspected, a
Swiss-Italian father who was never to become a part of his life. His mother, an adventuress driven by a passion for gambling, was unmarried when she bore two illegitimate sons – Wilhelm (or Guillaume) and Albert – leaving much speculation about the identity of their father. Throughout his life, Apollinaire offered his own contradictory and often glorified accounts of his father’s identity which further confused the issue.
As a single parent and a woman driven by her compulsive behavior, Apollinaire’s mother rarely stayed in one place for long, creating a rather turbulent childhood for her sons. Apollinaire was schooled in various languages and cultures through Europe. He first heard French in Monte Carlo as a young boy and began to write French poetry long before changing his name from Kostrowitzky to Apollinaire and moving to Paris in 1899.
For several years, the young artist drifted in and out of Paris, piecing together a living by subsidizing his poetic pursuits with side jobs. In 1901, Apollinaire traveled abroad to serve as a tutor to the children of the Viscountess of Milhau. Here, he met and fell in love with the governess, Annie Playden. This love affair, Apollinaire’s first, was to be the inspiration for many of his subsequent poems. By 1902, at age twenty-two,
Apollinaire had finally settled in Paris with his mother.
Once he was established in Paris, Apollinaire met important literary figures including André Salmon, Alfred Jarry and Jean Moréas, who were to shape his early years as a writer and poet. He pursued different literary projects that eventually failed
6 and led to a temporary job writing pornography in order to support himself. In 1905, he met Pablo Picasso and quickly became an influential champion of the Cubist movement in visual art, promoting the work of a circle of friends that included Picasso, Braque,
Dufy, ‘Doanier’ Rousseau and Marie Laurencin. It was through the promotion of his contemporaries in visual art and his own forward thinking in the literary field that
Apollinaire eventually established his own credibility as a literary artist.
No sooner had Apollinaire become a recognized figure in the Parisian culture when he endured an event that would bring into question his very identity and plague him for the rest of his life. In 1911, Apollinaire was keeping sporadic company with a young
Belgian named Géry Pieret, a slick fellow who he found particularly amusing and inspiring at the same time. Apollinaire’s association with Pieret lead to Apollinaire’s false arrest in the burglary of the famous Mona Lisa from the Louvre Museum. At the height of Apollinaire’s career and public recognition, he was sent to prison for a brief time until the authorities eventually found him innocent. In spite of the acquittal and the eventual fame derived from the unsavory nature of the incident, Apollinaire never fully recovered from feeling persecuted by the public, and felt like an unwanted foreigner in the only country he ever considered home.
In 1912, Apollinaire’s public affair with Marie Laurencin who many considered his muse, came to an end when she left him. His heartbreak over this relationship propelled him into publishing several of his most significant works the following year including Alcools (1913), a selection of poems written over a period of fifteen years that combined classical verse forms with modern imagery and involved transcriptions of
7 street conversations and Peintres cubistes (1913), a book which expounded on the theory behind cubism and analyzed the work of important cubists.
In 1914, Apollinaire joined the army, and after being demobilized by a serious head wound in March of 1917, published L’esprit nouveau et les poètes (1917), a non- fiction book which outlined his poetic and political beliefs, Le poète assassiné (1916), a collage of the great fictional poet Croniamantal from his birth to his breakthrough as a poet and death at the hand of a mob, and Les Mamelles de Tirésias (The Breasts of
Tieresias) (1917), a play about a housewife, Therèse, who changes sex and lets her breasts float upwards as toy balloons. In 1918, Apollinaire married Jacqueline Kolb and published his final collection of poetry, Calligrammes (1918), subtitled Poems of war and peace 1913-1916, a collection of “concrete poetry” noted for how the typeface and spatial arrangement of the words on a page plays just as much of a role in the meaning of each poem as the words themselves. His brief life ended on November 9, 1918 due to complications he sustained from the war.
Historians have a particularly difficult time defining Apollinaire because, although his personal life and work were inextricably intertwined, giving many a sustained glimpse at one through the other, both were somewhat contradictory in nature.
Throughout his life, Apollinaire was described by those who knew him well as someone who “had a warmth of manner, an almost feminine charm, an evident joy in life that radiated from him in what sometimes seemed an almost tangible way.”7 However, beneath this public persona Apollinaire privately struggled with bouts of melancholy.
His status as an illegitimate child, nomadic upbringing, strained relationship with his mother, a string of unsuccessful love affairs that ended bitterly and incited irrational
7 Cecily Mackworth, Guillaume Apollinaire and the Cubist Life (New York: Horizon Press, 1963), 7.
8 jealousy, the false arrest surrounding the Mona Lisa theft, and a general struggle for professional recognition all undoubtedly contributed to a general unease and deep-seated insecurity. This helps to explain both a self-promoting and, at the same time, self- deprecating quality in the poet.
The polarities of Apollinaire’s personal life are also reflected in some intriguing dichotomies in his writing. As a voracious reader with eclectic interests in the classics,
French literature, magic, religion, theosophy, and medieval history among other things, his writing reflected a broad array of topics and relied on a great number of literary references and exotic vocabulary. Even so, Apollinaire achieved with brevity and colloquialism a folk quality in his writing that made it accessible to the lay person. His writing reflects both his religious background and an irreverent bawdiness. It is both casual and impassioned, traditional and innovative. Ultimately, one can see in his work the graceful blending of diverse styles to create an original voice in contemporary literature.
Perhaps Apollinaire’s unique and most enduring quality as a writer was his tendency to root his work in the present moment or in response to some immediate personal event or emotion. Cecily Mackworth appropriately describes Apollinaire as “a vast sponge, assimilating, soaking up his times; responding to every trend, to every personality; and by some alchemical process transforming everything into living Myth, restoring to all what he had taken from each one.”8 Apollinaire felt that the writer/poet had an obligation to show mankind how to become fully conscious of the world and themselves by seeing beyond the limitations of their own experience. Many feel that
Apollinaire achieved that through his writing.
8 Cecily Mackworth, Guillaume Apollinaire and the Cubist Life (New York: Horizon Press, 1963), 237.
9
b. Raoul Dufy
Raoul Dufy’s name is perhaps little known or recognized by the general public, but his work, noted for its brightly colored and highly decorative scenes of luxury and pleasure, has made an indelible impression on the twentieth century art world. Born at
Le Havre in Normandy, one of nine children, Dufy was introduced to music at an early age by his father who was an amateur organist. He quickly developed a passion for the music of Beethoven, Chopin and Mozart. Though he was forced to leave school at age fourteen, Dufy had already been exposed to a solid education that included a drawing component as well as the study of Latin and Greek.
As a young adult Dufy pursued painting lessons in the evening while maintaining his day job with a Swiss coffee importer, until in 1900, he was able to devote his primary effort to painting after winning an annual scholarship to École des
Beaux-Arts, Paris. There, along with fellow student, Georges Braque, he was exposed to the impressionist landscapes of Claude Monet and Camille Pissarro. In 1905, he saw Matisse's Luxe, Calme et Volupté at the Salon des Indépendants which deeply influenced him and directed his interest towards Fauvism. In 1909, his contact with the work of Paul Cézanne led him to adopt yet another style, Cubism. It wasn’t until
1920 that Dufy began establishing his own distinctive style, one to which the public was not immediately receptive. Dufy ultimately won his fame through his fabric designs which he pursued from approximately 1909-30 and which continue to influence contemporary fashion.
10 Throughout his career and across the gamut of styles, Dufy demonstrated an affinity for Persian, Japanese and primitive art. In addition, Bryan Robertson, an art- historian and long-time admirer of Dufy, points out that Dufy’s art could be defined in terms of four distinct qualities: a repertoire of visual motifs which recur in paintings and drawings throughout his life, his use of vibrant colors, the luxurious subjects of his drawings such as oils and watercolors depicting yachting scenes, sparkling views of the French Riviera, chic parties and musical events, and his love for his subjects.9 His paintings and printed materials demonstrate a care for each subject - body, insect, flower, etc. The fashionably decorative nature of much of his work has meant that his output is less highly critically valued than artists who treat a wider range of subjects.
Though, as Robertson writes, “on Dufy’s own terms, he gave something personal and dynamically alive to the twentieth century; he invented his own world.”10
Dufy was extraordinarily amiable, cheerful, and witty and demonstrated a friendly ease with other artists. Early on in his career, he comfortably settled in
Montmartre, surrounded by friends who included Picasso, Derain and Apollinaire. He always belonged to this innocent and carefree pre-war era and by the time of his death in 1953, he had almost completely slipped from the public’s mind. In spite of his waning reputation, his work remained an icon of modern art that influenced commercially manufactured products and popular arts of the Western world throughout the twentieth century. In his final years, when arthritis confined Dufy to a wheelchair, his indomitable spirit was evidenced in his remark: “I am the art in
9 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 43. 10 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 39.
11 arthritis, and art is going to win.”11 Dufy died near Forcalquier, France, on March 23,
1953, and was buried not far from Matisse in the Monastery Cemetery in Cimiez, a suburb of the city of Nice, France.
11 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 54.
12 c. Louis Durey
Louis Durey was born in Paris, the first of three sons. As a child Durey studied piano and attended opera regularly, though it wasn’t until 1907, at age nineteen, when he attended a transformative performance of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande at Toussaint, that he decided to pursue a career in music. Prior to that, Durey and his brothers worked for their father in the typesetting business. When their father’s business closed temporarily in 1914 due to the war, Durey and his brother, René, chose artistic paths;
Durey as a composer and René as a painter.
Once Durey committed to a career in music, he studied harmony and counterpoint with Léon St. Requier at the Schola Cantorum. It was there that he came into contact with Erik Satie, with whom he formed a relationship that proved to be a valuable stepping stone in his young career. Satie formed a group of young composers, “Nouveaux
Jeunes,” which included Durey, Auric, and Honegger. It was this group that eventually grew into “Les Six.” Around this same time Durey was also receiving positive encouragement from notable composers such as Maurice Ravel and Albert Roussel. He felt an attraction to the work of composers such as Schoenberg and Stravinsky, but
Debussy’s music remained Durey’s guiding light throughout his career.
By the time “Les Six” was officially labeled in 1920, Durey was already growing tired of the immaturity of the group’s new self-appointed leader, Jean Cocteau, and excused himself from the group by declining an invitation to take part in the joint composition that was to solidify the reputation of “Les Six,” Les Mariés de la tour Eiffel.
Durey never shared the personality and temperament of his colleagues, nor was he impressed by the Parisian elite. He had a reputation for being serious in nature and
13 taking unpopular and often lonely paths politically and musically. He subscribed to left- wing Communist ideals and centered much of his professional life on the Fédération
Musicale Populaire, an organization that called on its artist members to abandon individualism in favor of writing music for the people. These decisions made it difficult for him to stay in Paris and certainly did not bode well for his compositional career.
Though born and raised in Paris, Durey eventually moved away to his family’s villa near St. Tropez in 1921 where he continued to set texts that more closely reflected his interests, and he began to edit music. By the time he returned to Paris with his wife,
Anna Grangeon, and daughter, Arlette, in 1930, he had effectively ended his career in the public eye. He continued to nurture his friendship with the members of “Les Six,” but was never able to regain comparable public recognition.
In 1959, the destruction of the Durey Paris family home in rue Boissonade led
Durey to move permanently to St. Tropez where he continued to compose but remained in virtual obscurity. Durey survived his two younger brothers and reached the age of ninety-one before passing away in 1979.
14 IV. Overview of Le Bestiaire
a. Poetry
Living in Paris, Apollinaire’s deep appreciation for the visual arts brought him in contact with many of the prominent visual artists of his time. The artistic and social milieu in which he circulated was ripe with opportunities for collaboration. He was witnessing the resurgence of popularity of Japanese woodcuts, and was particularly struck in 1906 by the work of his friend and colleague, Picasso, in his studio at the Rue
Ravignon. His first experiment with woodcuts was a set of poetry entitled L’enchanteur pourrissant that featured woodcuts of André Derain. For Le Bestiaire, Apollinaire called on his vast knowledge of Medieval literature, particularly the bestiaries of the Middle
Ages in which brief poems described the appearance and habits of a beast. Apollinaire turned to Raoul Dufy, an original and talented artistic innovator of the time, who, beginning in 1909, devoted himself for more than a year to the project. The poems and woodcuts were printed and exhibited in 1910, and finally published by Deplanche in
March, 1911.
Originally, eighteen Le Bestiaire poems appeared in the June 15, 1908 issue of La
Phalange under the title La Marchande des Quatre Saisons, or Le Bestiaire Mondain.
These poems were introduced by a “tradeswoman” or “costermonger.” Eventually,
Apollinaire supplemented the collection with twelve additional poems and replaced the
“tradeswoman” with Orpheus. The final collection includes twenty-six animal poems divided into four sections - creatures that tread the earth; insects; creatures of the sea; and mystical or magical winged-creatures who symbolize both heaven and earth. Each of the four sections is introduced by an additional Orpheus poem.
15 This cycle resembles a colorful parade of animals, never lingering too long on one particular poem or sentiment. In spite of the seeming randomness of this parade, the whole turns out to be larger than the sum of its parts. The poems are ordered in a way that offers contrast, but also a natural progression from beginning to end. Apollinaire arranges particular pairs of animals, the octopus/jellyfish, hare/rabbit and fly/flea, that share a physical similarity, and others, such as the mouse/elephant and cat/lion, that vary generously in physical form and temperament. There are poems across the cycle that share a common theme, such as the flea/octopus (sucking the life from another) and the horse/grasshopper (representing the impact of Apollinaire’s writing) and those that offer an interesting contrast, such as the dove (reverence)/peacock (arrogance). The organization of the entire cycle appears to be a slow progression from the classical world of Orpheus presiding over the animals of the earth to the modern world of Orpheus who is portrayed as a Messianic figure who reigns in heaven.
The individual poems in the cycle are in various forms, most of which are traditionally French forms taken from the Medieval French literary tradition. The majority of the poems are quatrains (four lines) of octosyllabic (eight syllables) lines.
The rhyming patterns vary among aabb, abab, abba, abcb. There are three cinquains (five lines), a form adapted from the quatrain and almost exclusively used in French poetry; and three quatrains of alexandrines, twelve-syllable lines broken into two six-syllable groups called hémistiche.
Le Bestiaire is part of Apollinaire’s early attempts at poetry and many agree that it is not yet fully representative of his talent. Nevertheless, these early poems demonstrate on some level many of the stylistic qualities that are more thoroughly cultivated in the
16 poet’s later work. As has already been stated, Apollinaire comes from a rich literary background as evidenced by these poems that are chocked full of literary references. The influence of medieval literature is particularly present in this cycle. One can also identify numerous Biblical and historic references that are so naturally embedded into the landscape of these simple poems that one might inadvertently overlook them.
Apollinaire’s writing demonstrates a unique dialectic between tradition and innovation. He was an artist who had a healthy respect for the work of his predecessors while continuing to cultivate his own contemporary voice in the literary world. Le
Bestiaire demonstrates this careful balance through the use of both traditional poetic vocabulary and the colloquial language of the contemporary poet; a combination of convention and quirks; an inherent French elegance in spite of a sometimes irreverent tone; the juxtaposition of the exotic and the everyday; and the poetic evidence of a devoutly religious man followed in close order by the bawdy humor of a former author of pornography. Apollinaire uses no single device or tone that would assign him to either a traditional or innovative camp exclusively and it is this quality of surprise that continually delights the reader.
Throughout Le Bestiaire, and the entirety of Apollinaire’s artistic output for that matter, one sees autobiographical glimpses of the poet. His affinity for self-identification is present even in these animal quatrains, which reflect the complexity of a man who is both devout and irreverent, witty and sincere, passionate and withdrawn, bitter and hopeful. His great triumphs, painful loss, endearing charm and private melancholy play out over the course of the cycle. The melodious rhythms and folk quality of the poems, reflective of Apollinaire’s easy manner, are contrasted by a sometimes profound or
17 impassioned message that reflects Apollinaire’s deepest beliefs about life. While the cycle can be enjoyed on a rather surface level, Apollinaire’s notes confirm a much deeper message and divine mission.
Those who essay the art of poetry search for and love that perfection which is God Himself. Would this divine goodness, this supreme perfection abandon those who devote their lives to revealing His glory? It seems impossible. To my mind, poets have the right to hope that when they die they will attain the enduring happiness that comes with a complete knowledge of God, that is, of sublime beauty.12
Perhaps Apollinaire’s most endearing quality as a poet is his ability to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary with a subtle choice of words or a turn of phrase. He has the ability to deliver a poignant, political, comic or even moralistic message in a subtle, yet effective way. In Le Bestiaire, he assigns the animals the subtle qualities of humans, giving each poem unusual and unexpected layers of meaning. His unique sense of humor, demonstrated in a blend of the gently comic, the ironic and outright bawdy, is ever present, disallowing a serious tone to overtake the mood.
This subtlety of expression necessary to deliver these poems effectively creates an interesting challenge for the interpreter. Francis Poulenc addressed this in his notes about his Le Bestiaire cycle. Poulenc’s initial exposure to the Le Bestiaire poems took place before the war when the young composer heard Apollinaire read them aloud at a bookshop in the Rue de l’Odéon. He was immediately struck by the sound of the poet’s voice and commented in his diary, “I think this is vital for a musician who is anxious not to betray the poet’s intention.” Poulenc purports that “to sing Le Bestiaire with irony is a complete misconception. It would show no understanding whatever of Apollinaire’s
12 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 65-66.
18 poetry…..”13 Although modern performers do not have Poulenc’s luxury of hearing the poet read his own poems, a broader knowledge of the poet and his work will suffice to bring about a deeper understanding of the poet’s intentions. This overall awareness on the part of the performers will undoubtedly enhance the delivery of these deceivingly simple poems.
13 Pierre Bernac, Francis Poulenc: The Man and His Songs, trans. Winifred Radford (New York: Norton, 1977), 52.
19 b. Woodcuts
Apollinaire initially invited Picasso to supply woodcuts, but was refused by the artist because he was too busy with other projects. Eventually Apollinaire was lead to
Raoul Dufy, who proved to be an ideal partner to fuse these two art forms. With Dufy’s love of music and appreciation for the lyricism inherent in Apollinaire’s writing, and his own ability to exploit the technical possibilities of this primitive medium, this collaboration proved to be a most natural and beneficial one.
What distinguishes this poet/artist partnership from many others is the extent to which Apollinaire and Dufy collaborated. While most authors exert little control over their illustrations, Apollinaire interacted with Dufy over the duration of the creation of the woodcuts, offering feedback and ideas for further experimentation. As a result,
Dufy’s woodcuts not only complement the poem, but even play a critical role in their interpretation. The prints occupy an equivalent space to the corresponding quatrain, taking up three quarters of the page, further emphasizing their importance. Each pair functions as a single unit, perfectly aligned, and one in which the reader finds it hard to determine which came first.
Because of the significance Dufy’s woodcuts bring to the poetry, it is important to identify particular aspects of the prints that lead to a better understanding of the work as a whole. Each of Dufy’s woodcuts features the subject of its corresponding poem. Beyond this simple criterion, there are other aspects to be considered such as the way Dufy uses texture, line and color to portray the image, the stance or attitude of the animal, the addition of pictorial objects beyond the primary animal subject, the way the component
20 parts of the print interact, and the overall style of the print that give clues about the specific intention of the poem.
Woodcuts, by their nature, rely primarily on the contrast of light and dark to achieve an effect of depth. Within the realm of contrast, Dufy treats texture, line and color with particular care, so as to give a specific effect. Dufy gives texture to animals with crisscrossed lines (serpent), parallel lines (dolphin), flecks of white (horse), and curves (Tibetan goat). These varied textures give each animal a character or an energy that is sometimes difficult to portray in a two-dimensional print. He also uses the width of line to portray a quality about each animal. Thin lines denote a delicate subject such as the grasshopper. Thicker lines represent qualities of strength, vigor and good health as seen in the Tibetan goat and the lion. Lastly, Dufy adjusts the proportion of black and white to achieve certain effects. Dark images, such as the elephant and the dolphin, with lighter backgrounds emphasize the size, weight and bulk of the animal. Conversely, light images suggest fragility as seen in the octopus and the jellyfish.
The stance, gesture, or pose of each subject suggests a kind of language that goes beyond words. The image can be factual or symbolic. Perhaps the four prints of Orpheus are the clearest example of how a stance can change the quality of the subject. In the first
Orpheus print, he is standing face front, open-chested with his arms open at his sides.
One leg is holding his weight while the other is out to the side. This shows a confident and comfortable hero. The second image of Orpheus has him holding his lyre close to his body with the other arm hanging straight down, his glance directed to his left and his legs in motion showing a more subdued character. The third print shows Orpheus with both feet on the ground, his instrument dangling down on one side and his other hand in the air
21 with a finger pointed to the sky, an image that bears likeness to the peaceful strength of
John the Baptist. The final Orpheus print is another active stance that shows him looking straight ahead, but holding his lyre with two hands on his left side. His stance is in response to the image of the Siren on his right.
Perhaps one of the most effective means by which Dufy communicates something about the poems beyond the words themselves, is through the use of pictorial objects alongside the subject of the print. These objects, either consciously or subconsciously, help create associations in the viewer’s mind and often tell an interesting story. In “Le dromadaire” (dromedary), Dufy uses date palms and pyramids in the background to suggest a location in Egypt. Other examples, such as the background for “Le lion” (lion) which sets the animal against a harbor with specific landmarks, offer even more subtle clues that will be covered in more depth in the song-by-song commentary.
The way in which Dufy places the various components of each print and how they relate to one another is informative. In most cases, Dufy places the subject of the poem in the foreground to signal its significance. Proportionally, the subject is often larger than life as in “Le lion” (lion). However, there are a couple of instances, such as “La souris”
(mouse), where Dufy allows the background to tower over the subject and many that are traditionally proportioned such as “Le lapin” (rabbit). He also made use of a composite portrait with two separate views for the “Le lièvre” (hare) where the animal is superimposed on a hunting scene that includes a hunting horn, dogs and a rifle.
The last aspect that is interesting to note is Dufy’s artistic aesthetic. As an artist, he was influenced by Art Nouveau, the Fauvist style and Japanese prints among other things and reflects these influences throughout this set of prints. In “Le dauphin”
22 (dolphin), the waves resemble those in Japanese block prints while the graceful curves of
“Le paon” (peacock) plumage suggest Art Nouveau. In addition, Dufy included some of the principal characters he uses throughout his work. An old-fashioned sailing ship with billowing sails as seen in “Le lion” (lion) harkens back to his memories as a youth working in the coffee importing offices by the shipyards at Le Havre. The still life of fruits, a sign of the earth’s abundance, is featured in “La souris” (mouse).
Dufy’s attention to these artistic details and his close collaboration with
Apollinaire resulted in a rare and beautiful volume that has been translated numerous times and has delighted readers for generations. It is the remarkable and unusual blend of visual and verbal arts that has attracted composers such as Durey and Francis Poulenc to set this work. Apollinaire wrote the following review of his work:
“The restrained poems which make up the Bestiaire or Cortège d’Orphée by Guillaume Apollinaire form one of the most varied, charming and finished poetic works of the new lyrical generation. This collection, very modern in sentiment, is closely linked by its inspiration to the works of the greatest humanist culture. The same spirit which moved the author inspired the illustrator, Raoul Dufy, who, as is well known, is one of the most original and capable reformers of the arts by whom France is honoured today. Hand-printing is a very slow operation which demands a great deal of care. It alone gives perfect results. Bibliophiles who are amateurs of art and letters will be grateful to the publisher Deplanche for offering them a book whose fine typography is guaranteed by the fame of the firm of Gauthier-Villars. Le Bestiaire, or Cortège d’Orphée, is worthy of being considered as one of the most beautiful and choice books of our time.”14
14 Pierre-Marcel Adema, Apollinaire, trans. Denise Folliot (New York: Grove Press, 1955), 134-5
23
c. Music
Several years after the 1911 publication of Apollinaire’s Le Bestiaire, Louis
Durey emerged as a young composer associated with “Les Six,” a group that was mostly bound by a pleasant camaraderie, but also a loose adherence to a musical aesthetic that centered on “simplicity, terseness and clarity”15 prescribed by Jean Cocteau in his manifesto Le Coq et L’Harlequin. Apollinaire’s poems, with their “blend of mocking humor, easy versification, and folk wisdom”16 and Raoul Dufy’s strong, primitivistic, black and white images serve as ideal poetic and visual counterparts to this aesthetic, which is undoubtedly why Durey was drawn to setting them.
Already having written most of his important vocal works and at the peak of his song-writing career, Durey began to set Apollinaire’s Le Bestiaire in 1918. Prior to this,
Durey had been interested in translations from the classics and more obscure poets virtually ignored by other composers. His setting of the Le Bestiaire poems was his first dalliance with Apollinaire’s writing and the beginning of a brief affinity for the poet. He committed to setting twenty-six of the poems in 1918-20, excluding only the four dedicated to Orpheus, and later, in 1957-58, arranged his setting for voice and thirteen instruments.
Apollinaire had a deep respect for music and its role in poetry, often setting his own words to a simple tune to help him find a natural lyricism. For Durey, who was innately sensitive to the accents and emphasis of the language, the text played a dynamic,
15 Martin Cooper, French Music: From the Death of Berlioz to the Death of Fauré (London: Oxford University Press, 1951), 184. 16 Roger Shattuck, The Banquet Years: The Arts in France, 1885-1918 (New York: Vintage Books, 1968), 314.
24 inspirational role in the compositional process. In the following passage, Durey describes his initial encounter with the poems and his experience setting them:
The collection of quatrains making up Apollinaire’s Bestiaire, illustrated by Dufy’s woodcuts, had scarcely been published. Without consulting each other at all, ignorant of our respective projects, Francis Poulenc and I took hold of these texts and set them to music, mine begun a little bit earlier and finishing later, framing those of my friend. But whereas Francis set only 12 of the pieces (of which he retained only 6), I devoted my energy to the whole of these 26 little poems. It was not as easy as it looked at first glance, because, though some of them called irresistibly for music, others, on the contrary, proved more daunting for me: I managed to get through these (La chenille, Le poulpe, Le paon, La colombe) helped by the strictest simplicity.17
In spite of the seeming ease in setting many of Apollinaire’s texts, one can also perhaps detect the challenges to which Durey refers. One wonders, then, why Durey chose to set all twenty-six poems. Poulenc, who was a well-known champion of
Apollinaire’s poetry, only chose to set twelve of the poems, excluding six for publication on the advice of his respected colleague, Georges Auric, to avoid redundancy. As a result, his six settings are dramatically and coloristically diverse.
Durey was a man of tradition, relying heavily on his formal training. Even prior to his career as a composer, one can see in Durey a hard-working, meticulous craftsman.
He was not afraid to follow a path regardless of how it appeared to others or how it was received in the artistic community, as evidenced by choices he made throughout his career. Taking all of this into account, one may understand better why Durey committed to what he considered to be the “whole” of Apollinaire’s cycle.
There are several influential factors that one can detect in Durey’s setting, that become even more pronounced when compared to Poulenc’s setting. There is no doubt that Durey took much of his musical inspiration from Apollinaire’s text. One can easily see this in the many instances of text painting throughout the cycle. Durey not only
17 Frederic Robert, Louis Durey: l’aîné des Six, (Paris: Éditeurs Français Réunis, 1968), 56.
25 “painted” individual words and ideas, but also worked to capture the movement and attitude of each animal in the music. However, unlike Poulenc and perhaps due to his more traditional and conservative style, Durey tempered the influence of the text with his formal training as a musician. As a result, one can hear shades of Debussy as well as the
“simplicity, terseness and clarity” of the new French aesthetic.
Finally, one can detect in Durey’s cycle the musical elegance and tenderness of this serious, soft spoken man. In fact, it is quite intriguing to observe the way in which
Durey and Poulenc’s personalities are reflected in their settings. When Apollinaire read his poetry aloud, it was reported that the tone of his voice was “both melancholy and gay.
Sometimes there was a shade of irony in his talk, but never the tongue-in-cheek quality of a Jules Renard.”18 Durey capitalizes on the melancholy quality, approaching the happier texts more conservatively than Poulenc, and drawing on the more serious expressive qualities of the poetry.
Durey uses melody as a prime ingredient and unifying force in his songs.
Whether it appears in the vocal line or the piano line or in both, nearly every piece in the cycle features a lyric, singable melodic line free of excessive ornaments or bravado. In the vocal line, Durey worked to honor the speech rhythm and color of the language in his melodies, but tended to succumb to pure lyricism more often than not. He occasionally interrupted the lyric line with brief quasi-parlando sections that more explicitly emphasize the text. Though in many pieces, the piano serves an accompanimental role,
Durey bestows his beautiful melodies on the piano line quite frequently as well. Often, a piano prelude will feature a melodic motive that is then repeated in the vocal line and
18 Keith W. Daniel, Francis Poulenc: His Artistic Development and Musical Style, (Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1982), 235.
26 then handed back to the pianist in the interludes and postlude. In a few instances, the piano line features the melody throughout, while the vocal line serves as an accompaniment of sorts.
Durey’s harmonic language in this cycle is a mixture of styles including the unpretentious, accessible aesthetic of his peers, the formal training of the Schola
Cantorum and the impressionistic qualities reminiscent of Debussy. He does not assign a single key signature throughout the cycle. In spite of this, one almost always hears the inherent tonal center in Durey’s cycle. Most of his pieces tend to hover around a single key area, often minor, or modulate to a parallel or closely related key. Even so, there is no shortage of colorful harmonic devices employed within this tonal context including extended tertian chords, chromaticism, dissonance, and quartel harmonies, modality, and even synthetic.
Following Satie’s prescription for simplicity and clarity, Durey used very few complex rhythms. Much as in the melodic aspect, he attended to the dictates of the word stress and the emotional atmosphere of the poem. He made great use of rhythmic motives and ostinato rhythms to unify a piece. The metric organization is made up of mostly straightforward, regular meters. Mixed and irregular meters appear occasionally, but most often to accommodate the specific needs of the text. However, there are a few instances when the rhythm of a particular piece purposefully obscures the bar line.
Perhaps one of the more intriguing aspects of this cycle is the way in which Durey never indicated a specific tempo, but rather used a subjective, expressive language such as
“mélancolique,” “indolent,” or “lourd,” leaving room for the individual interpretation of
27 the performer. The ambiguity of Durey’s markings gives free reign to the sensibilities of the performer and encourages more diverse interpretations of his songs.
In Durey’s settings of these poems which are no more than five lines each, he never repeats text. The results are short, through-composed songs of between nine and thirty-one measures long that leave very little room for formal development. Rather,
Durey uses melodic and rhythmic motives to unify individual songs. In terms of the form of the cycle as a whole, Durey alternated slow and fast, melancholy and cheerful.
Because the degree of difference is not as pronounced as Poulenc’s, he did not achieve the same contrast. The overall effect of his cycle has been compared to long stretches of
Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, where there is sustained beauty with little dramatic or coloristic change. Durey’s musical setting does not include the four Orpheus poems that
Apollinaire used to introduce the four sections, but knowledge of them helps to give necessary context to the rest of the cycle. On the 2002 Hyperion recording, François
LeRoux recites the Orpheus poems within the order of the sung poems.
Many of the musical devices Durey employs in his cycle come as a result of his intimate understanding of the text and his attempt to illustrate those nuances in the music.
This, beyond any other single factor, is the most prominent feature of this cycle and a seemingly inevitable response to these poems. Durey honors the speech inflections of the language and sets the text syllabically and without excessive melismas and ornaments that might distract the listener from understanding the text. Beyond that, he uses aspects of melody, harmony, rhythm and texture to color words, express the mood of the text, or even capture the essence of the animal subject.
28 Durey’s writing for the piano line offers much in the way of melodic, textural and coloristic interest. Though the piano serves as accompaniment in many instances, often providing an ostinato or harmonic structure, Durey also infuses preludes, interludes, and postludes with soloistic lyricism. In fact, there are times when the piano line functions as a solo voice independent of the vocal line. Durey uses a variety of textures in the piano line, including block chords, arpeggiated chords, and even one piece, “Le dauphin,” that consists of a single melodic line played by one hand. The piano line often sets the mood of the text with various harmonic colors, such as the dissonant plodding of the elephant and the impressionistic blur of the underwater jellyfish. The piano parts are unencumbered by excessive virtuosic demands, but the subtle and individual treatment requires significant technique and sensitivity.
Durey’s cycle explores a vocal range of a little over an octave and a half. The tessitura lies very comfortably for a baritone/mezzo-soprano with a high A-flat, or a soprano with a particularly interesting middle voice. Though Durey avoids overt surges of emotion, he indulges in carefully chosen moments of higher tessitura for dramatic purposes. One can hear these judiciously spaced throughout the cycle. Other than the inherent challenges of French music which require a thorough knowledge of the language and style, most of the pieces in this cycle are relatively easy to learn musically. The challenge comes in realizing the entire cycle. However, the varied phrase shapes and lengths, as well as Durey’s impeccable attention to text, make this a particularly rewarding experience for the singer.
An interpreter of this cycle must first choose how many pieces will be performed.
There is a certain strength and momentum in the cycle when it is performed as a whole.
29 However, this choice poses issues of vocal and dramatic stamina. The cycle takes approximately twenty-five minutes from beginning to end, and requires a flexible and focused performer who will delve into each short poetic vignette with the same interest and spontaneity. A smaller selection of varied songs and poems could also work nicely on a recital program.
Regardless of how many pieces are performed, it is important for both singer and pianist to observe all the musical markings in the score. Durey gives the performer quite a bit of leeway with his subjective tempo markings at the start of each piece, but otherwise offers specific directions for dynamics, articulation, and tempo changes throughout the score. One may find that a particular passage of text takes on a new layer of meaning with Durey’s musical instruction. In the spirit of the musical aesthetic handed down from Satie, these pieces must remain simple and unencumbered by rubato, portamento, or any other unnecessary musical or vocal indulgence. In the spirit of
Apollinaire, the performer must allow the words to speak for themselves.
30 V. Song by Song Commentary
a. Orphée (Orpheus)
Admirez le pouvoir insigne Admire the awful strength! Et la noblesse de la ligne: The noble lines: Elle est la voix que la lumière fit entendre His the speaking voice of light Et dont parle Hermès Trismégiste en son Pimandre. As Hermes Trismegistus said in his Pimander.
This poem is the first of four Orphée poems that are spaced throughout the cycle.
They are the only poems in Le Bestiaire ou Cortège d’Orphée that Durey does not set to music, however, they do serve an important purpose in the cycle. In addition to introducing each new category of animals, Orpheus plays the central role, or narrator, in this cycle. Apollinaire’s choice to use Orpheus is significant on several levels. The most obvious relates to the well-known mythological legend of Orpheus who, with his magical lyre, attracted wild animals and held them in his sway. Who better to lead a distinguished parade of animal poems?
The first poem appears to be describing Orpheus with his “awful strength” and
“noble lines.” Dufy’s woodcut featuring the young hero standing naked and muscular provides a perfect demonstration of these qualities. The second half of the poem, which references the “speaking voice of light,” Hermès Trismégistus, and the Pimander, also specifically refers to Orpheus. Hermès Trismégistus, an archetypal figure that refers to several different personages in the Greek, Egyptian and Roman traditions, was considered a great philosopher, priest, and king. He was thought to have written many books on the subject of divine things including the Pimander which dealt specifically with the power and wisdom of God. In this book, Orpheus, considered Hermès’
31 successor, is described as the “voice of light” who prophesied the coming of the Savior,
Jesus Christ.
However, in reading the notes that Apollinaire wrote about his poems, one realizes that the “awful strength” and “noble lines” to which he was referring in this poem are his own praise for “the lines which form the pictures, magnificent ornaments of this poetic amusement.”19 His notes go on to explain, “We read in the ‘Pimander’: ‘Soon the shadows descended…and there came from them an inarticulate cry which seemed to be the voice of light.’ This ‘voice of light’ is drawing itself, that is to say, line. And when light expresses itself completely, everything becomes colored. Painting is, properly, a language of light.” 20 This revelation is no surprise considering the poet’s great love for visual art, but it is also not a coincidence that these same qualities parallel those of the Orpheus.
Another interesting parallel that Apollinaire may or may not have directly implied with his choice of Orpheus is the one between himself and the mythological hero.
Apollinaire’s tendency of self-identifying with the subject of his poetry can easily be seen in this instance. Orpheus is a figure for whom Apollinaire held great respect and admiration, and someone with whom he would most certainly want to identify. Just as
Orpheus was known to attract nature with his magical charm, Apollinaire was known to have an inviting personality and engaging intellect that attracted all types of people. In spite of the often radical ideas and opinions he espoused, Apollinaire’s friends bore witness to his ability to convince anyone of anything, even conservatives. André Billy
19 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 63 20 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 63.
32 wrote in an obituary for Apollinaire that he “has aroused so much fury, or provoked so many sneers. All the forces of stupidity, ignorance and routine were leagued against him.
But it was sufficient for him to appear, to smile, and his opponents, like the beasts of
Orpheus, would immediately crouch and purr. I have seen that happen a hundred times.”21
Another way in which Apollinaire may have cared to identify with this ancient figure is as a prophet or “voice of light.” Orpheus is distinguished as someone having earned a significant place in ancient theology as an inventor of the sciences and arts and a
“prophet” who was responsible for predicting the Christian coming of the Savior.
Apollinaire, too, was regarded as a “prophet” or “voice of light” in the artistic movement of the early twentieth century, predicting a future for the arts that brought contemporary artists out of the darkness of the Belle Époque and into a new age. So it is that Orpheus is woven throughout this cycle as a symbol of the strength and nobility of visual art as well as that of the poet.
21 Cecily Mackworth, Guillaume Apollinaire and the Cubist Life (New York: Horizon Press, 1963), 236.
33 b. La tortue (The Tortoise)
Du Thrace magique, ô délire! From magic Thrace, oh delirium! Mes doigts sûrs font sonner la lyre. My expert fingers ring across the lyre. Les animaux passent aux sons The animals pass to the sounds, De ma tortue, de mes chansons. Of my tortoise, of my songs.
Continuing with the theme of Orpheus, Apollinaire indicates in his notes that
Thrace, the home of Orpheus, is a place where he learned magic and the ability to prophesy. There, he was given a lyre by Mercury that was made from a tortoise’s shell, bound with leather and strung with sheep gut. As the legend goes, when Orpheus played the instrument and sang, savage animals followed him as if in a trance.
Durey marks this first piece of the cycle “majestueux” (majestic) and introduces the strength of the narrator, Orpheus, with two stately rolled chords, depicting the strumming of the lyre. One continues to hear the plucking of the strings in the left hand of the accompaniment for the first six measures. This gives way to a section of ostinato sixteenth notes in parallel fourths that call up the dreamy, impressionistic quality of
Debussy’s music and stop abruptly before the second half of the song.
Fig. 1 “La tortue,” mm. 8-10
The second section is marked “extrêmement lent” (extremely slow), and is made up of planing seventh and ninth chords that first progress downward chromatically and then eventually move upward into the treble clef and give way to a simple chromatic
34 melodic line. In the chords, one hears the slow march of the animals trooping by to the sound of the lyre. The vocal line mirrors the piano with a slow, step-wise melody that trudges along. In the last two measures, marked “somber et lointain” (somber and remote), the pianist moves back to the bass clef for the final three chords, giving the impression of the animal parade gradually fading from view.
It is important that the pianist begin the cycle with two truly “majestic” rolled chords that not only represent Orpheus’ expert plucking of the lyre, but also introduce this parade of animal poems in a grand manner. The vocal line begins “mf” and, though the tessitura is initially rather low, continues to crescendo, embodying the frenzy of the magical Thrace. This mood quickly gives way to a second section, “Mes doigts surs font sonner la lyre,” that should be sung lightly and lyrically to match the dreamy planing in the piano line.
The second half of the piece is an extended crescendo/decrescendo for both the singer and pianist that resembles the sound of a moving object that is first heard from a distance, then increases in volume as it approaches, and eventually fades as it departs. In the line, “Les animaux passent aux sons de ma tortue, de mes chansons,” the singer should draw out each word and take only one breath after “tortue” so as to maintain the continuity of this gradual crescendo or trance-like trooping of the animals. The final three chords of the piano postlude must be played as softly and tenderly as possible to create the image of distance and the somber quality indicated in the score.
35 c. Le cheval (The Horse)
Mes durs rêves formels sauront te chevaucher, My formal dreams will harness you; Mon destin au char d’or sera ton beau cocher My fate, riding a gold car, will be your handsome driver; Qui pour rênes tiendra tendus à frénésie, And, strained to frenzy, his reins will be Mes vers, les parangons de toute poésie. My lines, paragons of verse.
Apollinaire’s horse is a metaphor for his own imagination, a wild energy that must be harnessed, reigned in and guided by a driver. In the Pimander, a spiritual book that Apollinaire references in the first poem of his cycle, Hermès writes of the seven
Fates who reign over man, and thus, hold his imagination at their whim. In this poem
Apollinaire gives similar power to “fate,” assigning it the role of the handsome driver riding in a gold car, determining the direction of the horse/imagination. The reins which are “strained to frenzy” in an attempt to keep control over his unbridled imagination are the poet’s own lines of poetry which he identifies as “paragons of verse” or a model of excellence. “Le cheval” is the only poem in Le Bestiaire that is situated entirely in the future. This speaks very clearly to Apollinaire’s hopes for the power of his poetry to become a role model for modern poetry.
Dufy’s accompanying woodcut fittingly depicts Pegasus wearing neither a bridle nor a saddle. This legendary winged horse served the Greek Muses, a sisterhood of goddesses or spirits who are often referred to as inspiration itself. The dark horse is outlined by long, luminous brushstrokes and dotted with white smaller strokes that seem to suggest an inherent wild energy in the animal that make it a most appropriate steed for the ambitious poet. The horse is set against a lighter background that appears to be the foot of Mount Helicon, home of the Muses. A flowing stream issuing from the mountain may be a reference to the Hippocrene spring which Pegasus released when he stamped his foot on the rock. The trefoils which dominate the upper half of the background are
36 both a symbol of the Trinity, a small testament to Apollinaire’s faith, as well as a common fodder for the winged horse. Everything about the image suggests a lushness and vitality.
While the piece, marked “décidé” (determined), features a strong, angular melodic motive that serves as the “fate” theme, the mixed meter (3/4 and 2/4), which
Fig. 2 “Le cheval,” mm. 1-2 accommodates the two-bar melodic motive, portrays the unrest or unpredictability of the wild horse/imagination. The “fate” theme introduces the piece in the treble clef of the piano line, reappears in the bass clef in the middle of the piece, breaks at the high point of the piece, but quickly returns “ff” in the treble line in the last six bars of the piece as if to signal fate as the ultimate winner.
The vocal line imitates the general angular shape and intervals of the “fate” theme in the piano line, but does not replicate it exactly. Rather, the vocal line takes on the frenetic quality of the horse to give the impression of a bumpy ride. In the final phrase, the ascending vocal line takes flight much like the winged Pegasus portrayed in Dufy’s woodcut, but is met by a triumphant fortissimo E-major return of the “fate” theme. This
37 heightened musical battle between fate and imagination offers one of the more dramatic moments in the cycle.
The piano line is marked “sans Pédale” (without pedal) giving it a dry and somewhat percussive feel for the “fate” theme. The pedal is added again when the “fate” theme gives over to the dreamy imagination. It is important for the pianist to bring out the quality of each theme so as to heighten the battle between the two and draw the listener to the final triumph of “fate.” Likewise, the singer should think of an almost marcato feel for most of the song. Perhaps, there could be more legato in the last phrase of the piece leading into the final statement of the “fate” theme in the piano.
For much of the piece the piano and vocal line move from a higher to a lower tessitura together, but in the case of measures eleven through fifteen, the singer is at a disadvantage because of the low range in the vocal line and the higher range of the piano.
In spite of the “f” marked in the vocal line, this is a place that will need the specific attention of both performers to attend to issues of balance.
38 d. Le chèvre du Thibet (The Tibetan Goat)
Les poils de cette chèvre et même The fleece of this goat and even Ceux d’or pour qui prit tant de peine The golden one that Jason labored for Jason, ne valent rien au prix Are worth nothing when compared Des cheveux dont je suis épris. To the hair that I’m in love with.
Apollinaire had many significant romantic relationships, but perhaps his most intriguing love affair, and one that fueled much of his poetry including Le Bestiaire, was with Marie Laurencin. Laurencin was a prominent figure in the Parisian avant-garde movement and considered the only significant female Cubist painter. Some speculate that she had ulterior motives with regard to her relationship with Apollinaire, an art critic who was very supportive of her work. Nevertheless, Apollinaire described Laurencin as the great love of his life and others referred to her as his ultimate muse. This poem epitomizes Apollinaire’s devotion to Laurencin by comparing a single hair from her head to that of the Tibetan goat’s soft wool or Jason’s hardwon fleece.
The subject of this poem is artfully blended into the unmistakable Tibetan landscape. Dufy depicts the long hair of the goat with strokes that are difficult to distinguish from the lines of the vegetation and the flowing river at the bottom of the print. However, the Buddhist temple, the arched bridge, indigenous flowers, and the towering mountains are easily identified and immediately give the viewer a strong impression of the exotic country of origin.
Durey fittingly assigned this love poem a “tendrement” (tender) tempo marking which allows the melody to lilt and flow much like the long tresses of the lover. A delicate melodic motive introduced in the right hand of the piano in the first four bars of the piano prelude establishes F-minor.
39
Fig. 3 “La chèvre du Thibet,” mm. 1-4
The “F” is repeated on the down beat of each measure helping to anchor the tonality. In measure four, the melodic motive is introduced in the vocal line down a perfect fourth, establishing “C” as the dominant to the F-minor melody that continues in the piano line.
Fragments of the melodic motive are heard several more times in the piano line before gracefully winding up to the treble clef in the postlude and dissolving into a final F-minor final chord.
The minor key casts a somewhat melancholy shadow on this love poem, almost suggesting that the love may be unrequited. The piece begins with both hands of the accompaniment in the treble clef, giving it a sweet, feminine quality. When the poet claims that the Golden Fleece is “worth nothing when compared to the hair of the beloved,” the dynamic increases, and the left hand of the piano briefly touches down in the bass clef. Even before the end of the last line of poetry, Durey uses the ascending melodic motive to carry the listener back up into the clouds of romantic bliss.
In spite of the organization of Apollinaire’s poetic lines, Durey builds breaths into the music that make better sense with the overall meaning of the text. Breaths should be taken after “chèvre,” “Jason,” and “cheveux.” The vocal line begins rather softly and tenderly and builds to a more impassioned delivery in measure fourteen at the “f” before
40 retreating back to a “p” on the final note. The piano line has a similar arch but ends with a “ppp” dynamic marking in the postlude. The piano line, which carries most of the melodic material of the piece, is to be played with great sensitivity and tenderness. The melodic motive should be brought out, particularly in conjunction with the dramatic progression of the vocal line.
41 e. Le serpent (The Snake)
Tu t’acharnes sur la beauté. You torment beauty. Et quelles femmes ont été And what women have been Victimes de ta cruauté! Victims of your cruelty! Eve, Eurydice, Cléopâtre; Eve, Eurydice, Cleopatra. J’en connais encore trois ou quatre. I myself know three or four others.
Each of Apollinaire’s beautiful and tragic heroines was caught in a deceptive victimization by the serpent. Eve gave in to the serpent’s temptation which brought about expulsion from the Garden of Eden and the eventual downfall of man. Eurydice, who, ironically, is often portrayed holding serpents in her hands, is brought to death by a serpent’s bite. Cleopatra, who was also known for her affinity for serpents, often decorating her body with them, takes her own life after the death of Antony by jumping into a pit of deadly serpents. Apollinaire’s seemingly nonchalant attitude toward a creature that aims its destruction at female beauty is a curious one. He was regarded as one who held great respect for his female contemporaries, but who also suffered the bite of heartbreak by virtue of their often unrequited love.
Dufy captured the strength of the serpent with an enormous black checkered image that appears at the center of the composition. The image of the serpent is contrasted by the foliage of the Garden of Eden and the white forms of the two naked bodies of Adam and Eve on either side of the serpent. Besides those of Orpheus, this is the only print featuring human beings. Adam is standing weakly with his hands to his chest, knees together, and leaf covering his genitals in shame. Eve’s stance, cradling her face with one hand, covering her mouth with the other, and her hair flowing down between her legs, also suggests her shame.
42 Durey reveals the casual tone of Apollinaire’s poem with a “capricieux” or whimsical tempo marking at the top of the piece. He sets a one measure descending, scalar melodic figure that repeats throughout the piece in both the vocal and piano line.
Fig. 4 “Le serpent,” mm. 1, 4
The lyricism of the piece is interrupted only briefly by a rather abrupt, contemplative, quasi-recitative section listing the names of the serpent’s victims. Durey freely sets the names over three measures, temporarily obscuring the bar line. The piano line immediately returns with another repetition of the melodic motive.
The piece is primarily driven by the descending melodic motive, giving it a mostly linear feel and reminding the listener of both the slithering serpent and the downfall of its victims. In the recitative section, Durey diverges from his attention to
43 melody and treats each name individually. He sets “Eve” on two identical pitches,
“Eurydice” elicits a bit more melodic interest with two contrasting pitches, and
“Cleopatra” achieves the most intrigue with an alluring tritone interval. The last line of poetry, “I myself know three or four others,” is set matter-of-factly over two alternating pitches, almost like an afterthought.
Harmonically, the piece is somewhat static, hovering around the tonic C-sharp minor chord for much of it. The piece begins in C-sharp minor and outlines the tonic chord for five measures before introducing the “vi” chord (F-sharp minor) for two measures. Durey quickly resumes writing in the tonic for two bars before surprising the listener with an F-sharp diminished chord to announce the quasi-recitative section. The
C-natural of this chord allows for the interesting tritone setting of “Cleopatra.” After this brief three-bar repose, Durey returns to C-sharp minor, though manages to modulate to E- major for the final two bars of the piece. Ending in a major key almost makes one feel at peace with the serpent, in spite of its victims.
In order to bring out the descending, slithering melodic motive, the singer and pianist should crescendo into the line as it descends. Otherwise, the setting requires a somewhat casual delivery. The tessitura remains mostly middle voice and syllabic, making it easier to emphasize the text. As previously mentioned, the recitative should be brought out as the one major diversion from the casual tone. Here, the singer can relish the “librement” marking and take time to deliver each name carefully and contemplatively. The final line, a kind of punch line, is marked “piano” and should be delivered with almost a blasé quality, tossing off these victims as merely more of the same.
44 f. Le chat (The Cat)
Je souhaite dans ma maison: I want to have in my house: Une femme ayant sa raison, A sensible woman, Un chat passant parmi les livres, A cat moving among the books, Des amis en toute saison Friends in every season, Sans lesquels je ne peux pas vivre. Without whom I cannot live.
This poem is perhaps more personal in nature than any other in Apollinaire’s collection. It is a slice of Apollinaire’s life as an everyday man surrounded by those things he held most dear in his life. After achieving a certain level of notoriety among his contemporaries, Apollinaire longed to simplify his life and indulge in the domestic qualities of his own home. In 1910, he pursued this life dream when he moved from his mother’s home to settle into his own. There, he enjoyed the company of a cat named
Pipe and a “sensible woman,” his lover, Marie Laurencin, who was equally enchanted by this dream of domesticity. Together, Apollinaire and Laurencin hosted weekly gatherings in his home for friends.
Dufy captures the warmth of Apollinaire’s home with his depiction of a dark cat with hatchings to give texture to its fur at the center of the composition. The cat is surrounded by items that suggest comfort such as a cozy oil lamp, a vase of flowers and an open book placed on an ornate table.
Durey appropriately marks this piece “intime” (intimate) at the beginning. The lyric melodic beauty and warm harmonies of the song gracefully unfold in the piano line, creating a dreamy, timeless quality in the prelude. The vocal line enters in measure four over the same piano melody played up the octave.
45
Fig. 5 “Le chat,” m. 1, 5
By measure eight, the piano serves a more accompanimental function providing chords over which the vocal line has a more sustained quality. This middle section continues to build with a “plus animé” tempo marking, rising vocal tessitura, and a more rhythmically active accompaniment until measure fourteen when the “tension” releases back into the original graceful melody in the piano line.
In the first section, one can hear the G-minor tonality amidst extended seventh and ninth chords and occasional accidentals used for color. Beginning in measure eight and stretching through measure fourteen, Durey sets a sequence of chords whose root spells a synthethic scale beginning and ending on an “A”. As the section builds, the
46 harmonic rhythm gets faster with chords on every quarter note. In measure fourteen, the vocal line climaxes on the word “vivre” and the piano line returns to the initial G-minor melody of the prelude. The piece gracefully winds down to the tonic, colored with non- chordal tones. Overall, this piece possesses some of Durey’s most beautiful lyric writing, due in large part to his sophisticated use of harmonic dissonance to add subtle colors to an otherwise diatonic song.
Durey’s choice of a 5/4 time signature was out of the ordinary for him. The irregular meter helped him achieve a graceful timelessness that would not have been possible in 4/4. Halfway through the middle section, however, the time signature does change to 4/4 to create a momentum. Durey replaces eighth notes with triplets in measure eleven. These triplets are set against even eighth notes in the vocal line which create additional friction. In this section, Durey sets Apollinaire’s “wishlist” of things by which he would like to be surrounded (a sensible woman, a cat, books and friends).
Eventually this intensity mounts to the last phrase, “without which I cannot live.”
“Vivre” sits somewhat high in the tessitura and extends for nine counts before diminishing back into the comfort established at the beginning of the piece.
For the singer, this is a deceivingly difficult piece. It requires long sustained phrases that must be negotiated through the passaggio area, while maintaining the relaxed intimacy of the first half and the mounting excitement of the second half of the piece.
Durey’s setting of the final note in the vocal line that begins “f” and diminuendos over two bars can pose a particular challenge for the young singer. The pianist must use enough pedal to allow dissonances to mingle freely without getting muddy.
Rhythmically, both singer and pianist must be aware of the irregular meter without
47 drawing attention to it. In measures twelve through fourteen, singer and pianist must be careful to line up triplets and eighth notes in order to maintain the rhythmic momentum and stay together. The challenges of this piece are worth the rewards of this lyric gem.
48 g. Le lion (The Lion)
O lion, malheureuse image Oh lion, unhappy image Des rois chus lamentablement, Of kings pitifully fallen, Tu ne nais maintenant qu’en cage Now you’re born only in cages A Hambourg, chez les Allemands. In Hamburg, among the Germans.
The power once associated with the German monarchy and symbolized in the strength and dignity of the lion came to an end in 1918 with the abdication of the German emperor and King of Prussia, Wilhelm II. Wilhelm had long been regarded as a king who had very little influence on German policy leading up to the First World War.
Apollinaire depicts the once empowered King as a lion who has become nothing more than a caged animal in Hamburg. The reference to Hamburg, Germany’s second largest city, has to do with the famous animal dealer, Karl Hagenbeck, who built the first modern zoo there. In contrast to many of the other poems in the cycle which tout the virtues of the subject, this poem laments the fate that has befallen this noble beast.
In the foreground, Dufy’s woodcut features a muscular lion rearing up on his hind legs, bearing his claws with tongue hanging from his mouth. The strength of the animal portrayed in Dufy’s print recalls the power the animal once had. Now, the angry animal almost appears as a caricature of itself. The harbor of the prominent port town,
Hamburg, a city that represents the fall of the animal, looms in the background.
This piece is marked “sombre” (dark, gloomy) and maintains a melancholy feeling in spite of the rise and fall of individual phrases and the overall structure of the piece. It begins with both hands of the piano in the bass clef, rises to treble clef throughout the piece, and eventually returns to the bass clef for the final chord of the piece. Durey secures a melancholy tone with the establishment of D-minor by means of a pedal tone that is regularly articulated throughout much of the piece. Though the song
49 has very few accidentals, the chords do not function traditionally. Rather, Durey uses both triadic and quartal chords to support a scalar melodic contour with little attention paid to harmonic progression. These chords are set in an eighth-note ostinato in the right hand of the piano that gives the piece momentum until the final resting chord of the piece.
The rise and fall of the melodic contour throughout seems a fitting way to express the fate of the lion, which once rose to power and eventually sunk to obscurity. Among the individual lines, one can detect particular moments of text painting with the rise and fall of words such as “malheureuse image” (unhappy image), which is set over a descending minor seventh interval, and “lamentablement” (pitifully), which similarly descends by a major fifth.
Fig. 6 “Le lion,” mm. 2-3, 4-5
50 The third phrase rears up like the once-strong lion reproaching its fate in the forte section that moves from a higher tessitura for both voice and piano down the scale on the resigned words, “Te ne nais maintenant qu’en cage” (You are born now only in cages).
Durey sets the last line of poetry, “chez les Allemands” (among the Germans), in an almost disdainful way, with a brief “messa di voce” that quickly fades into the solemn and sparse piano postlude.
The singer should take special care to color words such as “malheureuse image” and “lamentablement.” The lines “Tu ne nais maintenant qu’en cage” (You are born now only in cages) and “A Hambourg” (in Hamburg), though Apollinaire sets them on separate lines and Durey puts an eighth-note rest between them, should be linked together by the singer as one thought. Perhaps this could be accomplished with a non-evident breath at the rest. The final phrase should be sung with the venom of a spurned King who has been subdued.
The pianist does not have much in the way of prelude or postlude, but does function independent of the vocal line, taking responsibility for the rhythmic and harmonic pulse of the piece. The piano rarely doubles the vocal line and in fact, there are numerous instances of dissonance between the voices on strong beats that should be emphasized to bring out the much desired tension in the piece. The pianist is responsible for the crescendo in measures four and five that sets up the singer’s “forte” in measure six. The final two bars represent the last bit of life left in the once-powerful animal. The pianist must allow ample time for the final chord and image to disappear.
51 h. Le lièvre (The Hare)
Ne sois pas lascif et peureux Avoid the lechery and fear Comme le lièvre et l’amoureux. Of hare and lover, Mais que toujours ton cerveau soit But may your mind be always filled with child, La hase pleine qui conçoit. Like the hare’s mate.
The buck or male hare in Apollinaire’s poem admonishes one to avoid the infidelity of the lover or the male hare who is known for his promiscuity, impregnating multiple partners. Rather, it is suggested that one be like the hare’s mate who is focused on the things of stability and fidelity, such as children. Certainly, Apollinaire was aware of the ability of the hare’s mate to conceive even while pregnant. Dufy’s print features the guilty buck, ears pricked and leaping over a bank as if to escape. The figure of the animal is encircled by a hunting horn, creating a firing target out of the unfaithful lover.
In the background, one can see the rifle and two starved hunting dogs to complete the picture.
Durey’s male hare appears in a jaunty, dotted rhythmic figure that serves as an ostinato for the short twenty-one bar piece.
Fig. 7 “Le lièvre,” mm. 1-4
The rhythmic figure is introduced in the right hand of the piano prelude and incorporated into much of the vocal line as well. In this rhythmic figure, one can practically envision the animal leaping across the field to escape as seen in Dufy’s print. The left hand of the
52 piano line complements the ostinato rhythm with brief thirty-second note interjections on the off beat. They remind the listener of Dufy’s hunting dogs close at the heels of the male hare.
The notes of the left hand complement, color and sometimes even directly clash with the harmony in the right hand. There are two particular instances of dissonance, the
G-sharp set against G-natural in measure one and the E-flat set against D-natural in measure thirteen, that create a tension that seems to suggest the impropriety of the buckhare. Otherwise, the piece hovers mostly around E-minor with an abundance of seventh chords that obscure any traditional-sounding harmonic progression, except for the final v-i cadence in the last two bars of the piece. Even the final E-minor chord has a
“D” added for color.
The piece has a breezy quality, indicated by Durey’s “insouciant” (jaunty) tempo marking and 3/8 meter. The texture remains light allowing the rhythm to drive the piece.
The first half of the piece is in both treble and bass clef to depict the buck hare. The tessitura of the vocal line at the end of the second phrase as well as the piano interlude wind upward and eventually arrive in the treble clef for the second half of the poem depicting the hare’s mate. The descending vocal line, “mais que toujours ton cerveau soit…” is like an answer to the first two phrases. The piano postlude features the melodic line continuing to ascend upward over a decrescendo to pianissimo. This seems to indicate the eventual escape or disappearance of the male hare into the distance.
In order to keep the simplicity and jauntiness of the subject, it is easiest to feel the
3/8 time signature in one. Care should be given to keeping the left hand piano figures clean and crisp. Once singer and pianist have a clear idea of the rhythmic momentum,
53 the piece moves quickly and effortlessly. Durey adds an interesting duple rhythmic figure in the second to last phrase that seems to put the brakes on an otherwise unstoppable momentum. Durey marks the piece “piano” with carefully chosen moments of crescendo. By keeping the piece soft, the singer and pianist are further able to capture the ease and agility of the buck hare’s movement. This is a welcome musical contrast to the seriousness of the previous song, “Le lion.”
54 i. Le lapin (The Rabbit)
Je connais un autre connin I know another kind of coney Que tout vivant je voudrais prendre. I wish I could take alive. Sa garenne est parmi le thym His warren’s amid the thyme Des vallons du pays de Tendre. Of the valleys in the land of Tender.
This poem appears to be written in reference to the preceding poem which features the hare, a larger but similar animal to the coney. In both cases, the animals are being hunted. The rabbit’s fur, considered quite valuable, much like the fleece of Jason, is used to make hats and coats. Therefore, this animal lives hidden in his warren amid the thyme in the valley of the “land of Tender.” At the bottom of Dufy’s frame, one can barely detect the animal surrounded by softly rolling hills, green foliage and the steeple of a small country church in the background. The unmistakable image of a cross on the steeple of the church may be Dufy’s attempt at giving this land a sacred significance.
Durey’s music for this rabbit is quite a contrast to that of “Le liévre.” He marks this piece a “gracieux” (graceful) 3/4 time signature. It features a gently sloping melodic line in the right hand of the piano suggesting the rolling hills of Dufy’s idyllic country scene.
Fig. 8 “Le lapin,” mm. 1-4
55 In the left hand of the piano are rolled chords that soften the edges of each measure while also giving the piece motion. The voice enters in measure nine with a mostly stepwise melody that stretches out over seven bars. The piano line accompanies the vocal line with chords on beats one and two. Durey writes a “cédez” (slow down) over the pick-up note to the second half of the piece as a way of announcing the launch back into “a tempo” for the piano interlude which returns with the sloping melodic line from the beginning of the piece. The last two lines of poetry are set to a more angular vocal line that builds and climaxes to a “forte” for six bars before a brief diminuendo in the two-bar piano postlude.
The piece mostly lingers in a nostalgic-sounding B-minor key. Durey, as he does in many other songs of this cycle, makes great use of the i and iv chords, as heard in the first eight measures with the alternating B-minor and E-minor chords. Measure nine marks the addition of G-sharp for six measures which leads the listener’s ear to an F- sharp minor tonality. Again, Durey stays mainly on the i (F-sharp minor) and iv (B- minor) chords in this section. In the second half of the piece, Durey returns to B-minor for five measures and then begins a colorful progression of chords that eventually leads back to the tonal center. The final seven bars are a return of the i (B-minor) iv (E-minor) alternating chords.
Durey’s piano line is inherently graceful, but it is helpful if the pianist allows for just a bit of rubato in the eighth notes, particularly when not accompanying the singer, to give the piece suppleness. Durey achieves a gracefulness in the vocal line in spite of the syllabic setting, because of his sensitivity to the text. He elongates particular words such as “connais,” “connin,” “vivant,” and “prendre” as a way of emphasizing their meaning
56 and giving shape to the line. The last two lines of poetry are set to a melody that seems to depict the mountains and valleys of this region through larger leaps of a fourth and fifth. In spite of the lines of Apollinaire’s poem, it seems more musically and vocally advantageous to take a breath after “vallons” in order to sing the final words in one breath.
57 j. Le dromadaire (The Camel)
Avec ses quatre dromadaires With his four dromedaries Don Pedro d’Alfaroubeira Don Pedro of Alfarrobeira Courut le monde et l’admira. Traveled the world and admired it. Il fit ce que je voudrais faire He did what I would do Si j’avais quatre dromadaires. If I had four dromedaries.
Don Pedro, also known as “Infante D. Pedro das Sete Partidas do Mundo” (Don
Pedro of the Seven Parts of the World) (1392-1449), was possibly the most well-traveled prince of his time. Apollinaire states in his notes that the Portuguese prince and his companions “rode four dromedaries and, after passing through Spain, went to Norway and, from there, to Babylon and the Holy Land.”22 The trip was filled with adventure and intrigue. Apollinaire writes this poem in first person revealing his personal admiration for the Portuguese hero. Knowing Apollinaire’s penchant for history, travel and adventure, it is no surprise that he would feel an affinity for this historic character who lived honorably and followed his dreams across the world. It is yet another example of how Apollinaire projected aspects or, in this case, aspirations of his own life onto his poetry. Dufy’s woodcut features the dromedary, a symbol of wealth, as a dark figure against a lighter background of palm trees with enormous branches to indicate the country of origin.
Durey marks his setting “avec entrain” (with liveliness), a nice contrast to the graceful quality of the preceding piece. He begins this witty setting with an ascending crisp rhythmic figure shared by both hands in the piano that sounds like the excited flick of the camel’s tail.
22 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 64.
58
Fig. 9 “Le dromadaire,” mm. 1-2
This figure is inverted and returns in the last two measures of the piece as a kind of musical bookend.
Fig. 10 “Le dromadaire,” mm. 25-26
In the third measure of the piece, Durey introduces a spirited, ascending, diatonic melody in the piano that is later heard in the vocal line and embodies the promise of this young adventurer, Don Pedro. As the vocal line takes over Don Pedro’s melody, the piano begins a lopsided pattern that sounds like the loping gait of the camel.
The first half of the song, a setting of the text about Don Pedro’s adventure, is marked “forte” and serves as a contrast to the second half of the song which is marked
“piano” and reflects the poet’s own longings to follow in the footsteps of the adventurer.
Durey sets the last line of poetry, “Si j’avais quatre dromadaires” (If I had four camels) on an ascending scale making it almost sound like a question. The final inverted rhythmic figure, the flick of the camel’s tail, could also be heard as a succinct “But, you
59 don’t!” response to the poet’s musing, The piece is firmly grounded in E-flat major by the frequent repetition of the tonic pitch in the left hand of the piano line throughout the song.
60 k. La souris (The Mouse)
Belles journées, souris du temps, Beautiful days, mice of time. Vous rongez peu à peu ma vie. You gnaw away my life bit by bit. Dieu! Je vais avoir vingt-huit ans, My God! I’m going to be twenty-eight – Et mal vécus, à mon envie. A wasted life, as I wanted it.
This is a unique look into Apollinaire’s perspective on his life around 1908 when he had just turned twenty-eight. Picasso and several of Apollinaire’s other professional friends were growing tired of Montmartre and the Bohemian lifestyle that had once seemed exciting. In 1910, as he approached his thirtieth birthday, Apollinaire packed his belongings and moved to distant Auteuil where he sought new horizons and a more stable existence. A mid-life crisis of sorts had forced him to re-examine his life. Dufy’s woodcut illustrates this allegorical poem about the passing of time with different sections which depict the fauna and flora of each season and the mouse poised to “gnaw away” at the bounty of life.
The bittersweet message of this poem is perfectly captured in Durey’s
“mélancolique” (melancholy) tempo indication. The 4/8 time signature allows the listener to digest each eighth note as they tick by forming an ostinato throughout the piece that reminds one of the passing of time. There is one brief release from this trance- like ostinato that happens in measures sixteen and seventeen when the piano line stops and the vocal line turns into a brief quasi-recitative section exclaiming “Dieu! Je vais avoir vingt-huit ans” (My God, I’m going to be twenty-eight!). Immediately after this revelation, unforgiving time returns in the form of the original ostinato for the last six bars of the piece.
61 The harmonic rhythm of the piece moves slowly and is centered on F-minor.
Durey sets one figure in the right hand and complementary descending triads in the left hand.
Fig. 11 “La souris,” mm. 1-4
For the first six bars, these repeat without a change. Using the same figures in both hands but on different scale degrees, Durey sets another three bars of repetition in the piano line. The piano interlude takes on a bit more interest by shifting the triads in the left hand to quartal chords that eventually penetrate the right hand of the piano line. The piano line climbs up two octaves and then back down before the chord signaling the quasi-recitative section appears. After this section, the accompanimental figure from measure seven returns for two bars and eventually winds down with a v-i cadence to the tonic seventh chord.
The vocal line is rather simple melodically, though it effectively illuminates the dramatic aspect of the song. The first phrase is a simple, lyric line. In the second phrase, one can hear text painting in the quickened and anxious rhythm of the words “vous rongez peu-à-peu ma vie” (you gnaw, bit by bit, my life away). The third phrase is the slow realization set in recitative-like declamation, “God I’m going to be twenty-eight!”
Finally, the last phrase, “a wasted life as I wanted it,” is rife with regret heard in the
62 descending intervals. Though this line should be sung as one musical phrase, there is no liaison observed between “vécus” and “à.”
63 l. L’éléphant (The Elephant)
Comme un éléphant son ivoire, An elephant has his ivory. J’ai en bouche un bien précieux. So I have in my mouth precious goods. Pourpre mort!...J’achète ma gloire Purple death! I buy my fame Au prix des mots mélodieux. At the price of melodious words.
Apollinaire uses the elephant’s ivory as a metaphor for the precious “goods” or words in the mouth of the poet. “Purple death” could be a reference to the purple prose
Apollinaire sold to make a living or it could be a reference to the rumors that were circulating in Paris in 1911 of a “purple death” that would eventually invade the whole of
Europe, killing hundreds of thousands of people. Either way, his exclamation of “purple death” infers that there is a hefty price - life itself - to pay for fame. The elephant in
Dufy’s print is a prominent black figure set against a lighter background, looking backward in order to show off its stark white ivory tusks. The dark, heavy subject takes up most of the print and is grounded at the bottom. The front quarters of the elephant are tensed to suggest that it is stepping forward, crushing the abundant vegetation beneath its great feet, in an attempt to escape its fate. The background of the print offers a delicate contrast to the elephant with textured vegetation and a lotus flower blossoming,
Durey’s “lourd” (heavy) tempo marking at the top of the piece is most fitting for this large animal. He unmistakably sets the elephant’s heavy steps in the piano line with accented, dissonant chords in the bass clef in both hands alternating with a low B-flat pedal tone in the left hand. Once the voice enters, the accompaniment becomes a bit less dense, but both hands still remain in the bass clef. The vocal line features a modal ascending scale that includes F-sharp, C-sharp and B-flat.
64
Fig. 12 “L’éléphant,” m. 4
Perhaps this exotic scale is reflective of the exotic quality of the subject. The first two lines of poetry are interrupted by the quasi-recitative exclamation, “Pourpre mort!” In the poetry, the exclamation is followed by an ellipsis indicating a pause or unfinished thought. Durey sets this with a sustained chord over two measures followed by a fermata.
After the fermata, the accompaniment enters with a more active tempo marking,
“un peu plus allant” (a little more lively), more rhythmic momentum and a consonant A- minor tonal center. This section feels almost like the poet’s resignation to his fate. A simple two-note figure (F, B-flat) in the left hand is introduced in measure four through measure seven that returns in the final measure of the piece and comes to symbolize the fate of the elephant.
65
Fig. 13 “L’éléphant,” mm. 6, 18
It is not heard throughout the second half of the piece after Apollinaire’s exclamation of
“purple death.” However, it makes a brief appearance in the final bar with a marking from Durey to allow the two notes to continue vibrating until they fade. This last chord emblazons the memory of the elephant in the listener’s ear, reminding us of the old adage that “elephants never forget.” Nor should we.
Singer and pianist must deal with some significant balance issues in the first half of the piece in which the piano line lies primarily in the bass clef with dense accented chords that are marked “piano” underneath a delicate vocal line, also marked piano and sitting mostly in middle voice. Eventually, both singer and pianist build up to the chord over which the singer exclaims “Pourpre mort!” This is one of Durey’s strongest musical expressions in the cycle. It must be delivered with the doom that it implies. The
66 pianist needs to honor the silence apparent in the fermata before picking up the second half of the piece, for it is in this moment that the poet realizes his cruel fate. The final two lines of poetry can be delivered “piano” as marked, and with the edge of regret in the sound that is implied in the text. The pianist should be encouraged to sustain the final note as long as possible to keep the memory of the elephant alive.
67 m. Orphée (Orpheus)
Regardez cette troupe infecte Look at this lousy crowd, Aux mille pattes, aux cent yeux: A thousand feet, a hundred eyes: Rotifères, cirons, insectes Rotifers and insects, mites Et microbes plus merveilleux And microbes – all more wonderful Que les sept merveilles du monde Than the seven wonders of the world Et le palais de Rosemonde! And Rosamonde’s palace!
This poem has Orpheus observing the many facets of nature he has attracted with his magic lyre and singing, particularly the insects featured in the subsequent section of poems. Dufy’s woodcut has Orpheus clad in a pleated peplum clasping his lyre in his right arm, and surrounded by aspects of nature, particularly insects, butterflies and flowers.
In his notes, Apollinaire cites the following old lyric as a source of his inspiration for this poem:
To shelter Rosemonde from the malice She suffered from his queen, The king built Rosemonde a palace More beautiful than ever seen.23
Apollinaire’s reference to Rosamond Clifford (before 1150 – c. 1176), “the Rose of the
World” and mistress of Henry II of England, and the elaborate, labyrinthine palace at
Woodstock that Henry II built for her to protect her from the jealous queen, Eleanor of
Aquitaine, demonstrates Apollinaire’s great knowledge of and affinity for Medieval history, a theme running through this set of poems. In addition, his reference to The
Seven Wonders of the World, which harkens back to Don Pedro’s travels heard earlier in
“Le dromadaire,” also serves to further unify the collection of poems.
23 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 64.
68 n. La chenille (The Caterpillar)
Le travail mène à la richesse. Labor leads to riches. Pauvres poètes, travaillons! Poor poets, let’s go to it! La chenille en peinant sans cesse The caterpillar, by his diligence, Devient le riche papillon. Becomes the rich butterfly.
This poem, like “Le cheval,” is one of the few in the cycle that projects into the future and, again, reflects Apollinaire’s desire to succeed as a poet. As it turns out, this is a completely appropriate incantation for a poet whose success indeed came as a result of his persistence and hard work. Dufy’s woodcut features a dark, textured caterpillar coiled in a circle and surrounded by a garland of foliage that serves as a kind of cocoon.
The subject takes up most of the print, but four butterflies of different species in each corner remind the viewer of the future’s promise.
This nine-bar piece is an extremely simple setting with a thin texture of accompaniment and a recitative-like line in the voice. Durey marks the piece
“inexpressif” (inexpressive) to infer a certain detachment or acceptance of the dull diligence necessary for the caterpillar to metamorphose into the beautiful butterfly. The piece opens with a simple C-major triad in the right hand of the piano that moves upward by two steps over the next three measures, maintaining transparency with each step.
Fig. 14 “La chenille,” mm. 1-3
69 The voice enters almost immediately over the first chord with two short declamatory phrases. By measure five, the piano line takes on a bit more interest and one may even hear a melody. The hands cross over one another in the treble clef giving the piece lightness indicative of the fragile butterfly.
Durey mentions that this is one poem he found particularly difficult to set and thereby resorted to the strictest simplicity in his approach. Ironically, the piece’s simplicity offers some of Durey’s most beautiful lyricism, particularly in the sparse accompaniment. The piece is in E-minor and does not stray far from the tonic and dominant chords. The piano postlude ends with a traditional v-i cadence which is somewhat rare in this cycle.
The vocal line may feel a bit cumbersome with the necessity of balancing a syllabic setting that sits in a relatively higher part of the range with a soft and inexpressive delivery. In this case, it may be wise for both the singer and pianist to approach the piece with the same simplicity in mind as the composer had when he set it.
Allow the vocal line to unfold by honoring the speech rhythms of the text. Durey indicates that the piano line is to be played “sans Pédale” (without pedal) which will keep any unnecessary weight out of the accompaniment.
70 o. La mouche (The Fly)
Nos mouches savent des chansons Our flies know songs Que leur apprirent en Norvège Taught to them in Norway Les mouches ganiques qui sont By ganique flies which are Les divinités de la neige. Deities of the snow.
Scott Bates points out in his book, Guillaume Apollinaire, that the “mouches ganiques” are invisible flies tamed and cherished by generations of Finnish and Lapp wizards who kept them in boxes waiting to fly in swarms to torment evildoers.24 The flies often take the shape of a snow flake and are known for their immortal singing of magic words. Apollinaire’s interest in these flies points to his belief in magic and something beyond this world. This is an intriguing contrast to his equally fervent religious devotion.
The wings of Dufy’s subject are light and fragile, while the body and head are darker and more substantial. The fly is at the center of the woodcut, soaring toward the top of the composition. Overall, the fly seems to be dominated by the background of the print, made up of flowers reminiscent of Dufy’s bold, decorative fabric prints.
This piece is unified by an active accompaniment made up of a six-note ostinato pattern that repeats in each measure with gradual changes in the harmony.
Fig. 15 “La mouche,” mm. 1-3
24 Scott Bates, Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967), 163.
71 The left hand of the piano alternates two notes throughout each key area almost like a pedal tone, while the right hand of the piano spells various arpeggiated chords. Together, though the two hands are often directly dissonant, they create a piano accompaniment which anchors the harmonic structure of the piece in three key areas. It begins in B- minor for four measures, moves to F-sharp minor for six measures and then moves to A- minor for the final fourteen measures. The vocal line forms a melody that floats above the piano ostinato in these various key areas. The last chord of the piece reintroduces the
C-sharp and ends on a surprising A-major chord.
Durey marks the piece “leger” (light), sets it in 3/8 time, and calls for “sans
Pédale” (without pedal) for the first three and a half measures. This dry and trance-like ostinato in the piano line recalls the buzzing of the fly. In measure four, Durey creates a duple feeling in each bar by accenting the fourth eighth-note of each measure with a tenuto and directing the pianist to renew the pedal in the middle of each measure. This creates a two against three feeling with the vocal line which remains in three for most of the piece. Only briefly in measures fifteen and eighteen does the vocal line also demonstrate a dotted rhythm that can be felt in two.
As often is the case with Durey, he sets both hands of the piano line in the treble clef to reflect the small size of the subject. This also keeps the piece feeling buoyant and vital. The pianist plays with hands crossing over one another throughout the piece. This must be accomplished while maintaining the lightness of the piece and allowing the voice to soar above. For the singer, this piece lies mostly in middle voice, but still must project over the busy accompaniment. Anything less than a “mp” in the vocal line throughout would probably not carry.
72 p. La puce (The Flea)
Puces, amis, amantes même, Fleas, friends, even lovers – Qu’ils sont cruels ceux qui nous aiment! How cruel are those who love us! Tout notre sang coule pour eux. All our blood is spilled for them. Les bien-aimés sont malheureux. It’s the beloved who are not happy.
This is an interesting look into Apollinaire’s perception of his relationships with friends and lovers. His biography makes clear that he suffered many disappoints in life surrounding his relationship with various lovers and even friends and colleagues. He often felt the sting of rejection most poignantly from those closest to him. This is not an isolated incidence of Apollinaire’s somewhat cynical tone. One can glean this same dark tone or skepticism about life from “Le dauphin” and “Le poulpe”.
Dufy’s flea is a dark, active figure that occupies the entire surface of the engraving. Due to its proportion in the print, it appears to be a much more ominous creature than it is in real life. The flea is sitting comfortably amidst its element which includes beautifully textured plants and flowers.
Durey’s sense of play is revealed more vividly in this piece than just about any other in the cycle. His tempo marking, “mordant” (biting and caustic style), describes the tone of Apollinaire’s poem perfectly. A “très sec” (very dry)/”sans Pédale” (without pedal) marking in the piano and mezzo staccatos placed over each of the eighth notes in the initial five bars of the piece, including those in the vocal line, cleverly portray the biting of the flea.
73
Fig. 16 “La puce,” mm. 1-2
This same flea returns in measure twelve with chromatic “buzzing” in the right hand of the piano line.
Fig. 17 “La puce,” mm. 12-13
In measure sixteen, the left hand of the piano doubles the voice line in a slowly rising chromatic line that continues to build the anticipation of the victim’s fate. A thick, dissonant chord in measure twenty-one signals the landing of the flea on its prey and the subsequent consequences of such a fate. Rather forlornly, the next section marked “lent”
(slow), delivers the verdict that “the well-loved are not happy.” Durey sets one eighth note of rest before bringing back the pesky, biting flea in the piano line but with a “lent et triste” (slow and sad) tempo marking that embodies the resignation of the poet.
74 Durey uses a variety of harmonic and textural devices to bring this poem to life.
The piece stays mostly in G-minor, but makes great use of stepwise chromatic lines and parallel quartel harmonies to build momentum. For instance, the first three measures of the vocal line are disjunct and transparent. In measure seven, the character of the piece shifts completely when the vocal line becomes more legato and stepwise and the piano line uses parallel chords built on fourths to rhapsodize over the cruelty felt from those who love us. Again, the piece shifts dramatically with the chromatic buzzing of the flea in the piano line and the anticipatory nature of the rising chromatic vocal line. The final line of the poem calls for yet another dramatic musical shift which Durey creates with a string of measure-long soft seventh chords. The return of the flea’s biting in the piano line is the final surprise. It is important that the singer and pianist understand this dramatic progression of the piece and work to embody the highly disparate musical devices throughout.
75 q. La sauterelle (The Grasshopper)
Voici la fine sauterelle, Here’s the fine grasshopper, La nourriture de saint Jean. John the Baptist’s food. Puissent mes vers être comme elle, May my poetry be like it, Le régal des meilleures gens. A treat for the best people.
Apollinaire references the following verse from the Bible in his notes regarding this poem:
Mark I:6 “And John was clothed with camel's hair, and had a leathern girdle about his loins, and did eat locusts and wild honey.”25
The idea that Apollinaire would equate the nourishment of poetry with that of the locust for John the Baptist reveals both his reverence for the Biblical figure and for the power of poetry. Dufy ignores scale by having the light, fragile image of the grasshopper in the foreground among plants and flowers. Nevertheless, one’s eye is drawn to the background of the print that depicts the warmth of a village with a small house, smoke curling from it chimney, billowing clouds, rolling hills, and other homes that suggest an intimate community.
Durey’s music, marked “chantant” (singing), features a simple, reverent melodic motive that is first introduced in the piano prelude and accompanied by treble clef chords in the left hand.
25 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 65.
76
Fig. 18 “La sauterelle,” mm. 1-4
The motive is repeated in the opening vocal line down the octave.
Fig. 19 “La sauterelle,” mm. 8-11
The piano line picks up the motive again in the interlude, but with a more active arpeggiated treble clef accompaniment in the left hand. The second half of the song features a new motive and phrase shape that begins with a descending movement. Where the first motive is an ascending hopeful one, almost like a question, the second motive serves as its answer. Underneath the final vocal phrase, the piano once again returns to the original motive but in a truncated form that is repeated several times to the end.
In spite of the hopeful quality of the text, Durey chooses to set this piece in E- minor. However, the lack of dissonance creates a kind of peacefulness. The piece begins with an F-sharp half-diminished seventh chord on the upbeat which quickly resolves to the tonic chord (E-minor) in the downbeat of the following measure. Durey continues to employ seventh chords (A-minor, C-major, D-major, E-minor, F-sharp minor) throughout
77 the piece, giving the piece color and depth. Most of the chords are diatonic, but their progression is nontraditional.
This piece is very much structured as a duet between voice and piano. The pianist must treat the piano line as a solo voice when it features the melody even when the vocal line overlaps it. The final eight bars in the piano repeat a portion of the initial melodic motive twice. The first time is “forte” and the second is up the octave and “piano” and should give the effect of an echo. The vocal line begins in the low to medium range, but quickly rises to the upper middle register. The second half of the piece features one of the highest declamatory moments in the cycle, creating a very dramatic effect amidst an otherwise delicate setting. The text, “Le régal des meillleures gens” (a treat for the best people) begins on a high “G” and descends and decrescendos an octave to the last word of the phrase suggesting an offering of the highest order being brought down to the common man.
78 r. Orphée (Orpheus)
Que ton coeur soit l’appât et le ciel, la piscine! May your heart be the bait and heaven the pond! Car, pécheur, quel poisson d’eau douce ou bien For, sinner, what fish of fresh water or ocean marine Egale-t-il, et par la forme et la saveur, In form or in flavor can equal Ce beau poisson divin qu’est JESUS, Mon Sauveur? The beautiful, divine fish that is JESUS, My Savior?
This poem, which introduces the subsequent section of poems about creatures that dwell in water, appropriately uses the metaphor of a divine fish for Jesus, the savior. It is an invitation that encourages the sinner to invite the divine fish, Jesus, from the heavenly pond into one’s heart. Apollinaire’s religious convictions, which are often obscured by other contradicting aspects of his personality, are becoming more clear toward the end of this set of poems.
Dufy’s woodcut features Orpheus clad in a much more conservative white pleated toga with a cloak covering his shoulders fitting for the Savior. He is standing against a seascape, depicted by a series of upturned “V” shapes, characteristic of Dufy’s style, that stretches far away to a distant horizon. Surrounding Orpheus are several creatures of the water and some of the subjects featured in the subsequent poems. He is holding his lyre in his right hand and, like in paintings and icons of St. John the Baptist who is depicted with his arm outstretched and his finger pointing his disciples away from himself and toward Christ, Orpheus is pointing heavenward with his left hand.
79 s. Le dauphin (The Dolphin)
Dauphins, vous jouez dans la mer, Dolphins, you romp in the sea, Mais le flot est toujours amer. But the waves are always bitter. Parfois, ma joie éclate-t-elle? Yes, my joy breaks through at times. La vie est encore cruelle. But life is still cruel.
In his book, Guillaume Apollinaire, Scott Bates points out that the dolphin is the animal of Apollo and the classical symbol of joy.26 That Apollinaire would identify with a symbol of joy is no surprise. However, the poem gives way to an underlying melancholy that is felt in spite of the joy, a dichotomy that perfectly captures
Apollinaire’s experience. It is fascinating to see how Apollinaire is able to disclose in his poetry the deep and personal thoughts he hid from even his closest companions.
Dufy’s woodcut for the dolphin offers several particularly pleasing contrasts. In addition to the dark, textured subject which occupies the whole of the foreground, this woodcut features several of the trademark qualities inherent in much of Dufy’s work.
The sea of frothy waves in which the dolphin is swimming reminds one of the bold
Japanese prints Dufy later used for his fabrics. The steamboat with swollen sails and billowing smoke emerging from its tall funnel is another image often seen in the artist’s work.
This is an unusual piece that stands out because the accompaniment, with the exception of the final two chords, is a single arpeggiated line played by the right hand only. This creates an uncomplicated, transparent quality to the piece. The shape of the line, made up of six eighth notes that are repeated each measure, is that of a graceful wave.
26 Scott Bates, Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967), 157.
80
Fig. 20 “Le dauphin,” mm. 1-2
Durey indicates the use of a sustain pedal that gives the wave figure a veiled, impressionistic sound. The first note of each successive wave in measures one through nineteen outlines a synthetic scale – A,G,F-sharp,E, D, C, B-flat A - that is similar to the one used in “L’éléphant.” In measure twenty, after a brief “poco ritardando,” the piece introduces again the arpeggiated figure starting on “A.” This time the progression moves only down the scale a fifth, ending on the”E” in the final chord.
Durey’s setting features a languid, sustained vocal line getting no louder than
“mp” and a “tranquille” (tranquil) tempo marking that helps to create a melancholy mood. The piece, set in 6/8 time, is easiest felt in two in the vocal line and in three in the piano line. Keeping the piano line “très égal et souple” (very equal and supple) helps to coordinate both voices. The vocal line floats above the piano line with only a few moments that “break through” or ascend to a higher vocal tessitura. Special attention should be given to words such as “amer” (bitter) and “cruelle” (cruel) as they signal the despair of the poet. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Durey indicates a
81 crescendo that builds up to the line, “Yes, my joy breaks through at times,” creating a climactic and hopeful moment in the piece. This is quickly followed up with the final line, the realization that life is still cruel, sung “p” and with much melancholy.
82 t. Le poulpe (The Octopus)
Jetant son encre vers les cieux, Flinging his ink towards the heavens, Suçant le sang de ce qu’il aime Sucking the blood from all he loves Et le trouvant délicieux, And finding it delicious, Ce monster inhumain, c’est moi-même. This inhuman monster is myself.
This is a “delicious” glimpse at the irreverent poet who rejects the conservative notion of responsibility. Rather, he indulges in the fantasy of flinging his toxic ink as far as it will go with little regard for its path. Like the octopus, he will suck the very life from those he loves and do so with guiltless pleasure. The last line of the poem when he confesses to being the “inhuman monster” is written with a certain degree of ownership and pride. Dufy’s print features a highly ornamented octopus with highly textured tentacles moving in every direction and dominating the print. It is swimming in the light of the sea almost oblivious to the surrounding underwater life.
Durey suggests an “indolent” or slothful tempo for the piece which gives the listener an impression of the creature’s lack of care for it victims. The first piano figure of this piece depicts the octopus’ sluggish flinging of its ink. Durey accomplishes this with a rolled chord in the left hand and a scalar sixteenth-note ascending figure followed by a sustained note.
Fig. 21 “Le poulpe,” m. 1
83 The voice enters on the tail end of this figure and for the first half of the piece maintains a speech-like, declamatory quality. The first phrase is piano and then after another
“flinging” figure in the piano line, the second and third vocal phrases crescendo and build to the highest note in the cycle.
In measure five, the mood changes suddenly with a serene triplet figure in the right hand and half notes in the left hand of the piano line. This texture gives the impression of being submerged underwater. The final phrase is delivered in a quiet, satisfied way with the last word, “moi-même” (myself), a defining moment of the piece, sustained over three half notes. The last two measures of piano postlude return to a final
“flinging” figure.
Harmonically, the piece begins in F-minor with a rather dark feeling. Once the poet confesses to being the inhuman monster, in relief, the piece moves to a bright F- major. The harmonic rhythm of the piece is equally as sluggish as the subject. One spot of particular harmonic interest is in measure four where Durey sets three consecutive
“forte” seventh chords – D-flat, C-minor, and B-flat minor - on each quarter note that move in parallel motion and sound like the sting of the octopus’ bite.
Fig. 22 “Le poulpe,” m. 4
84 Though the piece is set in 4/4, the listener does not necessarily hear it that way. Durey sets the first three phrases of text in a recitative fashion that requires a freer delivery. As the dramatic momentum picks up, the rhythm moves from eighth notes to sixteenth notes.
It is most effective if the singer can allow the speech rhythm to dictate the tempo of each phrase, bringing out particularly descriptive words such as “suçant” and “délicieux” and being careful not to rush. By measure five, the music gives way to the swimming triplet figure in the piano line which is more of a descriptive texture than a rhythmic event. The duple rhythm of the final vocal phrase is delivered over the triplet figure in the piano of measure six which further obscures the bar line and allows the piece to freely and gently unfold to the last measure.
85 u. La méduse (The Jellyfish)
Méduses, malheureuses têtes Jellyfish, unfortunate heads Aux chevelures violettes Of violet hair. Vous vous plaisez dans les tempêtes, You take your pleasure in tempests Et je m’y plais comme vous faites. And I take mine there, too.
The title of this poem points to Apollinaire’s interest in and knowledge of Greek mythology. The “medusa” is a beautiful sea nymph who was turned by Athena into a frightening beast with snakes in her hair because she slept with Poseidon. The sea creature, whose tentacles resemble the hair of the mythological figure, allow the current to force prey within the reach of its tentacles, hence its love of tempests. This poem is another illuminating biographical glimpse at Apollinaire, a man who cherishes the
“tempests” of life that bring his prey closer to him. Dufy’s print places the subject in its element, surrounded by starfish, seaweed and clams, swimming in iridescent light, and its tentacles waving in every direction.
This piece gives one the feeling of an impressionistic painting with soft lines and blurred harmonies. The overall effect is a pleasant one, as indicated by Durey’s
“harmonieux” (harmonious) tempo marking. The long arpeggios in the piano line that wind their way upward are like the tentacles of the jellyfish reaching out for its prey.
Fig. 23 “La méduse,” mm. 1-3
86 The vocal line is sustained and understated and floats serenely above the piano line. The slow harmonic and melodic movement gives one the impression of being submerged under water. The piece begins with sixteenth note arpeggios that clearly delineate each bar line. As the piece progresses, tempest is depicted in the quickening of the rhythmic movement in both the piano and vocal line that obscures the bar line. In measure twelve, the tonal center changes to E-minor and the feel of the rhythm becomes more metered. In the final three measures of the piece, one catches a final glimpse of the languorous tentacles in two soft arpeggios that eventually land high above the treble clef.
The piece sits rather low in the vocal tessitura for such an active accompaniment.
The piano line is marked piano for the first half of the piece and must remain so in order for the “mf” vocal line to be heard above it. The singer should be encouraged to feel the linear quality of the line, rather than working to line up vertically with the pianist, which is only necessary on the downbeat of each measure. Measure eleven is tricky to coordinate between pianist and singer because of the unusual rhythmic figures in the piano line combined with the “poco ritardando.” It will help the singer to listen for the final F-sharp in the right hand of the piano as a pick-up to the following measure which begins again in “a tempo.” In measure twelve, both singer and pianist are “mf” for three measures establishing an almost accusatory tone before retreating back to the original dynamic marking for the final phrase. The pianist should take as much time as desired in the final two bars of the piece in an attempt to savor the last remnant of the tempest.
87 v. L’écrevisse (The Crayfish)
Incertitude, ô mes délices Uncertainty, o my delights, Vous et moi nous nous en allons You and I we get away Comme s’en vont les écrevisses, As crayfish do, À reculons, à reculons. Backwards, backwards.
This poem is a wonderful example of how Apollinaire captures an aspect of humanity in a humorous and profound way. Bates explains that the crayfish has long been considered a symbol of inconstancy.27 Apollinaire uses the backward movement of this creature as a metaphor for the tentative gestures of human inconstancy. Shattuck further explains that “the movement of a crayfish is familiar to most of us, and once the relationship has been pointed out to us between the tentative gestures of human uncertainty and the backward motion of a crayfish, we rejoice in the felicity of the association.”28 This poem provides another vulnerable glimpse at a poet who seemed confident, but who suffered from incredible uncertainty internally.
Durey’s “timide” (timid) tempo marking is a particularly sensitive choice for this vulnerable poem. Musical phrases are typically five bars long which give the piece an irregular or “inconstant” feeling. The vocal line begins in measure six with a descending or backward movement. The tessitura continues to descend to the end of the piece which acts as one long, gradual retreat. The last two vocal phrases repeat the words “à reculons” (backward) on a single note getting softer and more tentative the second time.
The piano line has a similar descent in range, beginning with both hands in the treble clef and ending on a C below low C in the bass clef.
27 Scott Bates, Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967), 157. 28 Roger Shattuck, trans., Selected Writings of Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: New Directions Book, 1950), 34.
88 A two-bar melodic figure that is introduced in the first measures of the piece is repeated throughout on various scale degrees in the piano line and serves as a unifying force.
Fig. 24 “L’écrevisse,” mm. 1-2
The piano features the melodic interest of this piece, while the vocal line reflects the more tentative nature of the subject. Durey makes judicious use of a few ornaments in the piano line which is rarely seen in his writing. He also uses sweeping rhythmic figures in the piano line such as an octuplet and nonuplet, reminiscent of Ravel.
The pianist must treat his/her line like the solo part that it is, bringing out the melodic motive each time it appears and playing the sweeping figures with abandon.
However, all of this must be accomplished with careful attention to dynamic balance with the singer. The singer must work to maintain a simple delivery, stretching triplet figures, but otherwise keeping a steady and unencumbered rhythmic pulse. The final two words must be delivered with great care, separated with a breath for maximum effect.
89 w. La carpe (The Carp)
Dans vos viviers, dans vos étangs, In your pools, in your ponds, Carpes, que vous vivez longtemps! Carp, you live such a long time! Est-ce que la mort vous oublie, Is it that death forgets you, Poissons de la mélancolie. Fish of despondency?
Dufy’s woodcut is instrumental in determining the underlying meaning of this poem. In the woodcut, one sees a carp wriggling in a pool of water at the center of the composition. The subject is framed by two giant flowers and stands in front of an architectural setting. A question that arises is the identity of the structure in the background. Some believe it to be the gardens at Versailles, near the Orangerie.29 If this is the case, one might presume that the carp is intended to evoke France’s history. This old fish was witness to the country’s glorious past as well as its less favorable modern culture, which accounts for its melancholy. Left with nothing but memories, the carp is isolated in this crowded pool. Like the Lion, the Carp represents the decline of royalty and the rise of modern democratic society, a topic of great interest to Apollinaire leading up to the war.
Durey marks this piece “triste” and maintains that quality for three bars of sad, heavy chords. In measure four, one begins to hear the bubbling up of the fish’s movement in the sixteenth-note figure of the left hand.
29 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 119.
90
Fig. 25 “La carpe,” m. 4
The high point of the vocal line comes in the fifth bar when the singer exclaims “carpe” and the sixteenth-note figure in the piano line gives way to septuplet swirls that wind upward. Eventually, this anxious churning of the fish gives way to eighth-note staccato parallel seventh chords that animatedly move up the keyboard and disappear into a fermata, upon which it appears that the fish has again become dormant.
After a half measure of rest, Durey marks the tempo “lent” to pose the question
“Est-ce que la mort vous oublie” (Is it that death has forgotten you). Durey set the final text “Poissons de la melancolie” (fish of melancholy), over a slow triplet figure of repeated notes that slowly stretches across two bars, suggesting a positive answer to this melancholy question. The piece ends with a rolled triad that sounds like the last two bubbles rising up to the surface of the water from the otherwise despondent carp.
The pianist plays an extremely important role in this piece, portraying the character and activity of the carp. The piano prelude, though only three measures long, is a miniature piano solo that must be played with utmost sensitivity to set up the story.
The singer is then responsible for relating the story. Much care must be given to the final two lines of poetry. Be sure to take time with the triplet, emphasize the middle syllable
91 of “oublie” (forget) as indicated, and color the final word “mélancolie” (melancholy) perhaps with an intentional lack of vibrato or some other device to suggest despondency.
92 x. Orphée (Orpheus)
La femelle de l’alcyon, The she-kingfisher, L’Amour, les volantes Sirènes, Love, and winged Sirens Savent de mortelles chansons Know deadly songs, Dangereuses et inhumaines. Dangerous, inhuman songs, N’oyez pas ces oiseaux maudits, Don’t heed these wretched birds, Mais les Anges du paradis. But hear the Angels of paradise.
“Sailors, hearing the song of the she-kingfisher, prepared to die, except in mid-December when these birds make their nests and the sea was believed to be calm. As for Love and the Sirens, these marvelous birds sing so harmoniously that life itself is not too high price to pay for the pleasure of hearing such music.”30
This passage, taken from Apollinaire’s notes, helps to explain how the she- kingfisher and the imaginary siren are metaphors for the irresistible and often destructive temptation of women. He encourages the reader to turn from these symbols of the earth and rather dwell in a more heavenly realm, that of the Angels of paradise. The pain of unrequited love expressed earlier in the cycle is being transformed as Apollinaire seems to be moving toward a more spiritual outlook on life. In Dufy’s woodcut, Orpheus is clothed in the style of antiquity, holding his lyre in both hands with his left leg stepping forward. He is seemingly unfazed by a winged mermaid or siren standing in the upper left corner, her left wing extended behind his head as if in an attempt to sweep him into her lair.
30 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 65.
93 y. Les sirènes (The Sirens)
Saché-je d’où provient, Sirènes, votre ennui How should I know, Sirens, Quand vous vous lamentez, au large, dans la nuit? where your tedium comes from Mer, je suis comme toi, plein de voix machinées When you moan in the night from far-off shores? Et mes vaisseaux chantants se nomment les années. Sea, I am like you, full of scheming voices; And my singing ships are called my years.
A siren is often depicted as a woman-bird, an enchantress, a mermaid or even a prostitute. Mythology recounts that sirens living on far-away islands used their songs to tempt seamen dangerously close to the rocky coast resulting in their shipwreck. There is a specific account of Jason’s expedition with Orpheus where Orpheus heard the voices of the sirens and quickly drew up his lyre and played his music more beautifully than they, drowning out their voices and avoiding shipwreck. Apollinaire paints an image of desperate and isolated creatures moaning in tedium across the sea to attract their lovers.
In Dufy’s woodcut, a siren, an imaginary creature but with very real presence, stands triumphantly with her wings spread and chest thrust forward with yearning. Another siren of equal beauty is waiting in the background.
The first eight bars of this sad piece, marked “douloureux” (painful/aching), feature an ostinato rhythm in the bass clef of the accompaniment that obscures the bar line and sounds like a distant heartbeat. A static vocal line that repeats the same note eleven times before ascending by a fifth enters in above this ostinato to depict the tedium of the sirens. As the text references the “moan” from far-off shores, the right hand of the piano introduces a melodic moaning figure that is repeated two more times.
94
Fig. 26 “ Les sirènes,” mm. 6-8
The second section of the piece is marked by an abrupt change in texture. It begins with a new four-note melodic motive in the right hand, accompanying chords in the left hand and a sustained tremolo that gives the music a newfound tension.
Fig. 27 “Les sirènes,” m. 9
The melodic motive briefly appears in the vocal line with an arpeggiated accompaniment in the piano before returning to two measures where the melody and tremolo return to the piano line. The final vocal phrase soars upward to a sustained final note on “F” that seems to sympathize with the sea creature’s despair.
95 The piece sits firmly in D-minor throughout. The first eight measures are grounded in “D” by a pedal tone that sits at the bottom of the various chords played throughout this section. In the second half of the piece the dominant chord is used more often, but the D-minor tonal center remains. D-minor is established underneath the final line of text with descending triplet arpeggios in the right hand of the piano that move down the D-minor scale stepwise.
The pianist must take a very active role in telling this story as Durey uses several pianistic devices for illuminating the text including the soft, underwater heartbeat at the beginning of the piece, the moaning in the right hand of the piano line in measures six through eight, and the tremolo that seems to bubble up and burst forth into the poet’s confession of his own “subtle cries.” The vocal line, on the other hand, is less descriptive and seems to be intentionally simple until the final phrase. Particularly at the beginning with the “p” marking, the singer should keep any unnecessary weight out of the voice and work to be almost like the mysterious, far away cries of the siren. The second half picks up with a “mf” dynamic marking and an ascending vocal line as the poet relates his experience to that of the sea. The fourth line climaxes to the final pleading note and then slowly dissipates with a decrescendo over the next two bars.
96 z. La colombe (The Dove)
Colombe, l’amour et l’esprit Dove, the love and the spirit Qui engendrâtes Jésus-Christ, That gave birth to Jesus Christ, Comme vous j’aime une Marie. Like you I love a Mary, Qu’avec elle je me marie. Whom I hope to marry.
Apollinaire’s four-line poem features eight syllables to a line and an AAAA rhyme scheme. Having the last word of each phrase rhyme gives the poem unity and predictability. Apollinaire also uses a play on the French word “marie.” It refers to
Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, Marie Laurencin, his mistress, and the French word for
“marriage.” All three subjects are worthy of his deepest devotion. The dove is a symbol of new hope embodied in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. It is often painted above
Christ’s head as a sign of innocence and peace. “It is undoubtedly to God that
Apollinaire addresses himself through this dove, this ‘love and spirit.”31
“Just like a painter of the Middle Ages, Dufy chooses here to represent the dove with the great curvilinear swirls of stylized clouds all round its spreading wings, which are stretched out like the arms of a cross; the body of the bird, all speckled with white pearls, represents the upright of the cross. Rays of light which stream out from its wings stretch to all four corners of the plate.”32 Dufy’s print immediately evokes a deep religious devotion and a focus on the renewal of life.
Durey notes that this piece was particularly challenging for him to set, though much like “La chenille” where he experienced a similar challenge, his simplistic approach achieved one of the most lyrically reverent pieces in the cycle. The piece
31 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 118. 32 Arts Council of Great Britain, Raoul Dufy 1877-1953 (London: SPADEM, 1983), s.v. “An Introduction to Dufy” by Bryan Robertson, 118.
97 begins with the repetitive coo of the dove heard in the right hand of the piano line and continues throughout the piece as a unifying force.
Fig. 28 “La colombe,” mm. 1-2
The minor third interval used for the dove’s cooing figures predominantly in the melody of the vocal line throughout. As in “Le serpent” and “La souris,” Durey makes effective use of a quasi-recitative section which momentarily stops the cooing. This “librement”
(free) section is the most impassioned of the song, exclaiming the poet’s own love for “a
Mary.” Subsequently, the cooing returns underneath a simple delivery of the last line before subsiding into an E-minor final chord.
The texture of the piano line remains quite light though still establishing an E- minor tonal center. In measure eight, a modulation begins that eventually leads to a v-i cadence to a D-minor ninth chord. However, right after the quasi-recitative section, the
E-minor cooing returns again as before with no regard for the former key area. Durey increases the dissonance and consequently, the harmonic interest, by adding an “A” and
“C” pedal tone to the final six measures of cooing.
This is one of few pieces in which Durey uses a melisma. Most other settings are syllabic. There are only two instances of words that extend over more than one note,
“colombe” and “marie.” These should be given special treatment as he most certainly
98 intended to bring them out. In the piano line, Durey has specific markings for when he wants the pianist to use pedal. Much of the cooing is “sans Pédale” (without pedal) which creates the “contenu” (stifled) quality Durey assigns as a tempo marking. As the music builds toward the more rapturous quasi-recitative section, Durey calls for pedal.
Measure nineteen through twenty-one are without pedal again. When Durey adds the non-chordal tones to the cooing, he indicates that the pedal should soften the edges of the dissonance.
99 aa. Le paon (The Peacock)
En faisant la roué, cet oiseau, When he spreads his tail, this bird, Dont le pennage traine a terre, Whose plumage trails on the ground, Apparait encore plus beau, Seems more beautiful than ever Mais se decouvre le derriere. But reveals his rear end.
This four-line poem with its delightful ABAB rhyme scheme is a perfect example of Apollinaire’s ability to address a subject with subtlety and wit, saving the punch line for last. One wonders if this may be Apollinaire’s commentary on the formal traditions and pretense of the past, an aesthetic that was replaced by the artists of the twentieth century. The lovely plumage of Dufy’s peacock, carefully etched with a repeating pattern of white feathers, is generously spread across the bottom half of the print. On one side of the peacock are the rungs of a grand staircase, the other side boasts a pedestal with a decorative urn of flowers, both images suggesting decadence.
The mood of this fifteen-measure piece is, as Durey suggests in his tempo marking, “animé” (animated) and remains light and breezy throughout in spite of the minor key. The piece begins with first inversion chords that move up and down the scale, functioning traditionally in A-minor, outlining the melody in the piano line. The vocal line enters with a countermelody that shares the same general contour and range of the piano melody, at which point the piano chords move to syncopated rhythm that temporarily throws the piece off kilter. After the second line of poetry, the piano changes to a sixteenth-note arpeggiated figure with the countermelody in the left hand to express the elegance of the text “seems more beautiful than ever.” After three bars, the chordal outline of melody from the piano introduction returns, but up an octave for a grand conclusion to the song.
100 Durey reflects the decadence of the subject in a stately 3/4 time signature that manages to maintain interest with the various textures introduced in the piano line.
Because the lines of poetry rarely enter on a strong beat, this piece does not take on the traditional feel of a waltz. In fact, it almost feels as though Durey purposely avoided this device for a somewhat clumsier romp that better suits the punch line of the poetry.
There is a tendency to want to slow the piece, particularly the chords, rather than maintain the “animé” marked by the composer. One exception may be the three measures of arpeggiated chords, measures eight through ten, which can be played with a lighter touch and more legato to bring out the peacock’s elegance. However, to adequately set up the punch line, it is important to keep most of the piece simple and buoyant with very little pedal use and the singer’s crisp diction. In addition to the slow build from “mf” to “f” in measure eleven, the pianist must bring out the tenuto markings over the return of the initial melodic line. The last phrase of poetry, or punch line, is set in playful, repeated, staccato fourths that should be emphasized for full effect.
Fig. 29 “Le paon,” mm. 12-15
The final word, “derrière,” is sustained over two bars and the singer may choose to color this word accordingly.
101 bb. Le hibou (The Owl)
Mon pauvre coeur est un hibou My poor heart is an owl Qu’on cloue, qu’on décloue, qu’on recloue. They nail up, take down, nail up again. De sang, d’ardeur, il est à bout. It’s run out of blood, of zeal. Tous ceux qui m’aiment, je les loue. All those who love me, I commend.
This poem is most likely a reference to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, with the owl serving as a metaphor for Jesus. Scott Bates points out that in Edgar Quinet’s 1833 epic novel, Ahasuérus, in which a Wandering Jew named Ahasuerus taunted Jesus on the way to the Crucifixion, the “hibou” (owl) serves as a symbol of Christ.33 A modern allegory offers a more general explanation of the Wandering Jew epitomizing the callousness of mankind toward the suffering of individual human beings.
The crucifixion is an event that resonated with this controversial poet who was the victim of personal, political and artistic persecution. Apollinaire uses first person to describe how his heart has been repeatedly subjected to ridicule and callousness by his persecutors until it ran out of blood/zeal. There are any number of personal circumstances Apollinaire could have been referencing in this poem of betrayal, including strong responses to his artistic innovation, failed romances, and the cultural isolation he chronically felt as a French immigrant. Dufy’s haunting depiction of the owl with its wide, vulnerable eyes and white feathers surrounded by the leaves of a tree almost sinks completely into the dark background of the print.
Durey’s “plaintif” (complaining) marking at the outset seems an appropriate attitude for this poem of betrayal. There is a static quality in both the piano and vocal line of this piece that eventually breaks forth in the second to last measure. Until then,
33 Scott Bates, Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967), 160.
102 the piece begins with an alternating figure in the piano line that feels like a gentle rocking. The figure is two beats long and repeats itself without a break throughout the piece as an ostinato.
Fig. 30 “Le hibou,” mm. 1-3
The harmonic rhythm of this figure moves very slowly, sometimes staying exactly the same for two and three measures at a time before moving to a completely new key area.
In measure six, the figure begins modulating several times before landing in the original key for the final five bars of the piece.
The vocal line begins very quietly and in a rather low tessitura. Durey uses two alternating notes in the vocal line that depict the relentless persecution of the owl’s being nailed up, taken down and nailed up again. The third phrase is a descending scale that sounds as if the blood is being drained from it. All of this middle voiced singing within a small range of pitches draws special attention to the moment in measure thirteen that breaks free from the trance with a “mf” fifth ascending leap on the words “I commend.”
The piano line serves as an accompanimental background in this piece. Durey calls for the use of pedal, but the pianist must be sure to renew it every two beats to keep the rocking figure clean, particularly through the modulatory section. There is a half-note
103 rest marked in measure thirteen which momentarily breaks the trance of the piano ostinato. Durey ties the notes of the first part of the bar into the rest indicating that this is not a completely silent moment, but just the cessation of the ostinato, an effect that is particularly powerful.
The singer must be careful not to get lost in the monotony of the notes, but rather pay special attention to important words and phrases. For instance, it is important to honor the commas between “Qu’on cloue, qu’on décloue, qu’on recloue” (They nail up, take down, nail up again) as the repetition of text points to the monotonous act of persecution. Also, by observing the “messa di voce” on the final text, “je les loue,” as well as holding the last note for its full value, the singer leaves the listener with the promise of peace and resolution.
104 cc. Ibis (Ibis)
Oui, j’irai dans l’ombre terreuse Yes, I will go into the shadowy earth. O mort certaine, ainsi soit-il! O certain death, so let it be! Latin mortel, parole affreuse, Dead Latin, fearsome word, Ibis, oiseau des bords du Nil. Ibis, bird of the banks of the Nile.
Toward the end of his cycle of poems, Apollinaire deals more directly with the weightier, more philosophic questions of life and death. In “Ibis,” he anticipates death’s inevitable invitation into the shadowy earth. In the second half of the poem, Apollinaire uses two interesting metaphors for death: “Latin”, a reference to a practically extinct or dead language, and the Ibis, a sacred wading bird, found in warm climates, and associated with death by its tendency to eat corpses, mummified by Egyptians. Dufy’s woodcut features the image of this exotic bird with its long curved bill in white set against the dark and shadowy background. The bird’s legs are poised for movement and its neck is craned backward, with an intent look in its eye.
Durey’s “agité” (agitated) tempo marking is embodied by a syncopated ostinato rhythm that begins in the left hand of the piano line, moves to the right hand in measure eight, and then returns to the left hand in the last three measures of the piece.
Fig. 31 “Ibis,” mm. 1-4
This rhythmic figure provides continuity and consistent movement in the piece as well as an underlying anticipation of the unknown. A complementary chordal texture, often doubling the vocal line, is set in the opposite hand to balance the overall accompaniment.
105 In the first four measures of the piece, the ponderous quality of the right hand of the piano line builds an E-major triad one note at a time eventually giving way to the octave doubling of the tonic and first note of the vocal line. From there, the vocal line sweeps down an octave on the words, “Yes, I’ll go into the shadowy earth.” This feels like a dramatic gesture for Durey who infrequently spans an octave in the course of one phrase. This initial vocal phrase is followed by a quieter, more conservative phrase, “Oh certain death, so let it be!” The third vocal phrase is marked by two sets of descending fourths that paint a distinct feeling of doom. The last phrase of the vocal line, “Ibis, bird of the banks of the Nile,” is perhaps the most surprising. Durey marks this phrase
“piano” and returns to the initial tempo of the piece. The right hand of the piano line is taken up an octave giving it an airy quality, the melody ascends to the final note and the harmony is distinctly modal before settling into G-minor in the final bar. This treatment mirrors the delicate and exotic nature of this unusual bird and perhaps the peaceful resignation of the poet about his inevitable death.
In the vocal line, Durey achieves a reflective, speech-like quality with a series of short phrases separated by eighth rests. The continuity of the piece is dependent upon the delivery of the singer who must create larger phrases by dramatically linking the shorter ones together. The last phrase stands out as one that deserves a particularly delicate touch. The tempo returns to the original tempo with just a little broadening as indicated by the composer. It can be sung very quietly and lightly, even without vibrato, to bring out the simple exoticism of the poem’s subject.
106 dd. Le boeuf (The Ox)
Ce chérubin dit la louange The cherubim recites the praise of paradise Du paradis, où, près des anges, Where close to the angels Nous revivrons, mes chers amis, We will live again my dear friends Quand le bon Dieu l’aura permis. When the good Lord allows.
This final poem in the cycle is a definitive testament of Apollinaire’s faith. He writes in his notes about the poem: “Those who essay the art of poetry search for and love that perfection which is God Himself. Would this divine goodness, this supreme perfection abandon those who devote their lives to revealing His glory? It seems impossible. To my mind, poets have the right to hope that when they die they will attain the enduring happiness that comes with a complete knowledge of God, that is, of sublime beauty.”34 This quote by the poet leaves little doubt of his belief in a higher power and his perception of life after death.
In Christian art, cherubim have been portrayed as faces of lion, eagle and even children with wings. However, Scott Bates defines “chérubin” as winged steers in Jewish
Hagadah and Assyrian myths.35 The traditional role of the cherubim as guardian supports Apollinaire’s choice of a strong ox as angel. He explains that “among the celestial hierarchies devoted to the service and glory of the divinity, there are beings of unknown forms and surprising beauty. The cherubim are winged oxen, not in the least monstrous.”36 Dufy’s depiction of the ox with jets of steam escaping from its nostrils, muscles protruding, and the wings of an angel suggest both the strength and beauty of this celestial being.
34 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 65-66. 35 Scott Bates, Guillaume Apollinaire (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967), 156. 36 Guillaume Apollinaire, Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus, trans. Pepe Karmel (Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980), 65.
107 Durey’s musical setting also captures both the strength and the beauty of the ox.
Throughout the entirety of the piece, one hears the detached, open-fifth accented chords in the right hand of the piano, sounding on every quarter note beat, and the half-note open-fifth chords in the left hand, lending a strong backbone to the setting. The beauty of the creature is exemplified in the vocal line which begins in the middle range with a
“piano” dynamic, and progressively soars and elongates to the final, sustained “G”.
The piece begins “piano” with a tempo marking, “solennel” (solemn/formal) giving it a grounded, yet expansive feeling. The effect of the gradual crescendo and ascending tessitura that occupies the whole of this one page piece is a slow and deliberate ascent to heaven. The final text “when the good Lord permits,” is accented and leads to the highest sustained note in the cycle. In fact, this piece sustains the highest tessitura of the cycle, signaling the importance Durey places on Apollinaire’s description of the promise of heaven.
The accented chords in the right hand of the piano line are made up of a doubling at the octave plus the fourth and, along with the F-sharp in measure three (the only accidental in the piece), help to solidify the G-major key of the song. The strong C-major and A-minor chords in the left hand of the piano line partially obscure the key until the last two bars of the piece where one clearly hears the V-I cadence to G-major.
The pianist is faced with a particular challenge of providing the rhythmic framework of the piece without getting prematurely heavy or plodding. The “piano” dynamic marking in the beginning of the piece extends halfway through the piece. Even then, one must leave room for the eventual crescendo to “ffff” in the final measure. As in several other instances in this cycle, Durey brings the vocal line down to “D” in measures
108 six and seven, as the piano line is crescendoing in a higher tessitura, creating an issue of balance that must be specifically addressed by the performers so as not to lose the continuity of the vocal line.
Despite the long phrases, it is helpful for the singer to take breaths only where
Durey places eighth rests. This gives the elongated effect Durey indicates in his marking in the second bar of the piece, “en augmentant et en élargissant jusqu’à la fin” (augment and enlarge to the end). The vocal line should be sung sweetly and gracefully until the last phrase where Durey calls for a more emphatic delivery with “très accentué” (very accented) quarter notes.
Fig. 32 “Le boeuf,” mm. 7-10
109
VI. Concluding Remarks
After studying and performing Durey’s Le Bestiaire, the question as to the work’s lack of prominence in twentieth century French art song literature becomes all the more intriguing. The strength of Durey’s cycle lies in the graceful, sophisticated lyricism that pervades each song, the singable vocal lines that are as well suited to the young voice student as well as to the seasoned professional, and the pleasing contrast his cycle offers to that of Poulenc. Why is it, then, that Poulenc’s Bestiaire cycle has become a favorite staple of French literature and Durey’s Bestiaire is largely forgotten? There are a number of factors, directly and indirectly related to the music that may be responsible.
The coincidence of Poulenc’s setting of the Bestiaire poems around the same time as Durey’s can be seen as perhaps a blessing and a curse. The composers of “Les Six” were at the center of the artistic scene in Paris and were attracting much attention for their work. The fact that two of its members set Apollinaire’s Bestiaire poems around the same time could likely have created even more of a buzz because of the special bond between composers and a reason to take notice of their work. Jean Cocteau’s enthusiastic praise of both works was practically the official stamp of approval for young composers of this time.
On the other hand, it was evident early on that Durey wanted to avoid a comparison of his work to that of Poulenc. When their settings of Le Bestiaire were completed around the same time, Durey intentionally delayed the premiere of his cycle.
He invited Jane Bathori, the well-known contemporary art song champion, to premiere his work in 1922, but only after the memory of Poulenc’s premiere had faded. He may have suspected that his extended cycle of twenty-six settings would not bode as well as
110 Poulenc’s colorful and quirky six settings. Durey had a deep respect for the younger composer and enthusiastically praised his work in the various correspondences they exchanged throughout their lives. However, in many ways, both musically and socially,
Durey lived in the shadow of the charismatic and gifted Poulenc.
Nearly ninety years after the composition of these cycles, Graham Johnson, a respected French art song scholar and collaborative pianist, writes in regard to Durey’s cycle that “the younger composer’s [Poulenc] inherent wit and tenderness are hard to beat, but Durey’s wider selection of animal poems (elephant, fly, flea, and dove, among many others), supplements Poulenc’s much smaller menagerie.”37 Ironically, it is the large number of songs which Durey set that may lie at the heart of their lack of prominence.
As stated earlier, when Poulenc went about setting the Apollinaire poems, he originally composed twelve songs. On the advice of his esteemed colleague, Georges
Auric, he omitted six of the poems before they were published. It seems that the characteristic brevity of the poems is perfectly reflected in Poulenc’s brief and refreshing cycle. Having set twenty-six of the poems, Durey’s cycle is vulnerable to repetition or at least, a similar quality throughout. Judging by his own comments about the difficulty of setting several of the poems, he must have also felt the inherent challenge of conceiving twenty-six distinct and engaging settings. Had he limited his cycle to six of his very best settings, the reception of his work may have been very different.
Beyond the comparisons with Poulenc’s setting, one can also look to extra- musical circumstances that may also have made it difficult for Durey’s cycle to thrive.
37 Graham Johnson & Richard Stokes, A French Song Companion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 152.
111 Le Bestiaire was one of Poulenc’s first song settings and certainly not considered among his best, however, the huge success of his subsequent fruitful output helped to draw positive attention to some of these earlier works. Durey, on the other hand, wrote Le
Bestiaire at the peak of his career. Without a large output of art song already under his belt and the subsequent diminishing momentum of his career, Durey’s Le Bestiaire had little reputation on which to ride.
Many composers of the early twentieth century aligned themselves with fellow composers, performers, visual artists, poets, and producers in the artistic circles of Paris who played a large role in promoting their work. Though Durey had many supporters of his work, perhaps the most influential and prominent artistic promoter in Paris was Jean
Cocteau, who did indeed admire the composer’s work at one time. In fact, Cocteau wrote a set of poems specifically intended for the composer to set. However, soon after the reputation of “Les Six” was established, Durey became tired of Cocteau’s narcissistic and controlling personality and eventually parted company with him. After this split, it became readily apparent that Cocteau no longer held an interest in Durey or his work, deliberately leaving him off programs and out of articles written about the group. Durey, never having enjoyed the Paris scene and the inevitable notoriety that went along with it, preferred a quiet existence which he eventually achieved when he moved to the south of
France. He was virtually never heard of again except for his occasional social reunions with the composers of “Les Six.”
Another distinct advantage that Poulenc has over Durey lies in his relationship to
Pierre Bernac, a performer who worked very closely with Poulenc, championing many of his works, serving as a partner with whom Poulenc could exchange musical and
112 interpretive ideas that did indeed influence the composer’s writing, and leaving a written legacy of the composer and his works. Bernac knew Poulenc’s music so well that he was able to write two very valuable resources on the composer’s songs that sit on the shelf of most performers’ libraries – The Interpretation of French Song and Francis Poulenc, the
Man and His Songs. By having access to this type of personal insight and the musical and interpretive nuances of his music, performers are more inclined to venture into this repertoire. As previously mentioned, there is very little that exists of this nature and extent for Louis Durey or his Le Bestiaire cycle.
Graham Johnson states that Durey is “a song composer who is still generally underestimated.”38 I agree with his sentiments and particularly in regard to his Le
Bestiaire cycle. It is my hope that this and other studies written on behalf of Louis Durey will re-ignite interest in this unique composer and specifically his setting of Le Bestiaire, which deserves a significant place in the French art song repertory of the early twentieth century.
38 Graham Johnson & Richard Stokes, A French Song Companion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 152.
113 VII. Selected Bibliography
BOOKS
Adéma, Pierre-Marcel. Apollinaire. trans. Denise Folliot. New York: Grove Press, 1955.
Apollinaire, Guillaume. Bestiary or The Parade of Orpheus. trans. Pepe Karmel. Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1980.
______. Selected Writings. trans. Roger Shattuck. New York: New Directions Book, 1948.
Arts Council of Great Britain. Raoul Dufy 1877-1953. London: SPADEM, 1983.
Bates, Scott. Guillaume Apollinaire. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1967.
Bernac, Pierre. The Interpretation of French Song. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1970.
______. Francis Poulenc, the Man and His Songs. trans. Winifred Radford. New York: Norton, 1977.
Breunig, L. Apollinaire on Art. trans. S. Suleiman. New York: 1972.
Brody, Elaine. Paris: The Musical Kaleidoscope. New York: George Braziller, Inc., 1987.
Cocteau, Jean. The Difficulty of Being. trans. Elizabeth Sprigge. New York: Coward- McCann, Inc., 1957.
Cooper, Martin. French Music: From the Death of Berlioz to the Death of Fauré. London: Oxford University Press, 1951.
Daniel, Keith W. Francis Poulenc: His Artistic Development and Musical Style. Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1982.
Davies, Laurence. The Gallic Muse. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1967.
Demuth, Norman. Musical Trends in the 20th Century. London: Rockliff, 1952.
Dibbern, Mary, Carol Kimball and Patrick Choukroun. Interpreting the Songs of Jacques Leguerney: A Guide for Study and Performance. Hillsdale, New York: Pendragon Press, 2001.
114 Fulcher, Jane F. French Cultural Politics & Music. New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Gold, Arthur and Robert Fizdale. Misia: The Life of Misia Sert. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1980.
Hall, James Husst. The Art Song. Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1953.
Harding, James. The Ox on the Roof. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1972.
Ivry, Benjamin. Francis Poulenc. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1996.
Johnson, Graham & Richard Stokes. A French Song Companion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.
Kimball, Carol. SONG: A Guide to Style and Literature. Seattle: Pst…Inc., 1996.
Mackworth, Cecily. Guillaume Apollinaire and the Cubist Life. New York: Horizon Press, 1963.
Meister, Barbara. An Introduction to the Art Song. New York: Taplinger Publishing Co., Inc., 1980.
______. Nineteenth Century French Song. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980.
______. Art Song: The Marriage of Music and Poetry. Wakefield, New Hampshire: Hollowbrook Publishing, 1992.
Milhaud, Darius. Notes Without Music. ed. Rollo H. Myers. trans. Donald Evans. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1953.
Morgan, Robert P. Twentieth-Century Music. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991.
Myers, Rollo. Modern French Music. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971.
Perloff, Nancy. Art and the Everyday: The Impact of Parisian Popular Entertainment on Satie, Milhaud, Poulenc and Auric. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991.
Poulenc, Francis. Correspondance, 1915-1963. comp. Hélène de Wendel. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1967.
______. Francis Poulenc: “Echo and Source:” Selected Correspondence 1915-1963. trans. and ed. Sidney Buckland. London: Victor Gollancz, 1991.
115
______. Journal de mes mélodies (Diary of My Songs). trans. Winifred Radford. London: Vicotr Gollancz, 1985.
______. My Friends and Myself. comp. Stéphane Audel. trans. James Harding. London: Dobson, 1978.
Robert, Frederic. Louis Durey: l’aîné des Six. Paris, Éditeurs Français Réunis, 1968.
Shattuck, Roger. The Banquet Years: The Arts in France, 1885-1918. New York: Vintage Books, 1968.
Shattuck, Roger, trans. Selected Writings of Guillaume Apollinaire. New York: New Directions Book, 1950.
Simms, Bryan R. Music of the Twentieth Century: Style and Stucture. New York: Schirmer Books, 1995.
Steegmuller, Francis. Apollinaire: Poet among the Painters. New York: Farrar, Straus and Company, 1963.
Watkins, Glenn. SOUNDINGS: Music in the Twentieth Century. New York: Schirmer Books, 1995.
Wood, Vivian Lee Poates. Poulenc’s Songs: An Analysis of Style. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1979.
______
DISSERTATIONS de Boeck, B. “Les mélodies vocales de Louis Durey.” diss., Catholic University of Leuven, 1970.
Dueck Dyrud, Jocelyn Beth. “The Life and Song Cycles of Louis Durey 1888-1979.” Project, University of Minnesota, 2004.
Hargrove, Guy A., “Francis Poulenc’s Settings of Poems of Guillaume Apollinaire and Paul Eluard.” Ph.D. diss., University of Iowa, 1971.
Wharton, Marjory Running. “Visual Art and Poetry in the Songs of Francis Poulenc.” Ph.D. diss., University of Iowa, 1998.
116
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ARTICLES
Bohn, Willard. “Contemplating Apollinaire’s Bestiaire.” The Modern Language Review, 99, no. 1 (2004): 45-51.
Durey, Louis. “Francis Poulenc.” Chesterian, 25 (September 1922): 1-4.
Gillmor, Alan. “Erik Satie and the Concept of the Avant-garde.” Musical Quarterly, 1xix.1 (1983): 104.
Sadie, Stanley, ed. The New Grove Dictionary. New York: Grove’s Dictionaries, Inc., 2001. s.v. “Louis Durey,” by Frédéric Robert.
Wood, Marc. “Louis Durey: Homme de tête.” The Musical Times, 141, no. 1873 (Winter 2000): 43-46.
117