PROGRAM NOTES by Daniel Maki Petrushka (1947 version) by Igor Stravinsky (1882 – 1971) Duration: Approximately 34 minutes First Performance: June 13, 1911 in Paris Last ESO Performance: March, 2000; Stephen Squires, conductor In a period of three years shortly before the start of the First World War, Igor Stravinsky wrote in quick succession for the Ballets Russes in Paris music for three ballets that established him as one of the great creative figures of the twentieth century. The first was The Firebird, produced in1910, written in a lush post-romantic style that has maintained it as Stravinsky’s most accessible and popular work. (The composer grew to refer to it as “ that great audience lollipop.”) The last of the three, produced in 1913, was The Rite of Spring, which literally caused one of the most scandalous riots in music history and immediately became an icon of the “modernist” movement in the arts, symbolizing the most radical experimental techniques of the time. Somewhere in between, both chronologically and stylistically, was Petrushka, first produced in 1911. Although containing many modernist techniques, it was considerably easier listening than The Rite, and la bourgeoisie was, accordingly, considerably less épatée. Its early success has continued, and with its brilliant orchestration and astonishingly original use of rhythmic, harmonic, and melodic elements, it has rightly taken its place as one of the masterpieces of twentieth century music. The story takes place in St. Petersburg at the Shrove-Tide fair, that time of year when Christians in many lands perform with unusual intensity all the forbidden activities that they plan to renounce during Lent. A Magician, or Charlatan as he is sometimes called, introduces three puppets beginning with Petrushka, the Russian incarnation of that crafty archetypal figure drawn from the commedia del’ arte of sixteenth century Italy and known in various other places as Punch, Polichinelle, or Pulcinella . A beautiful ballerina and an exotic Moor also make their appearance. In due course, Petrushka lusts after the ballerina but is rejected by her in favor of the handsome but stupid and brutal Moor. Petrushka and the Moor fight and Petrushka is struck dead by the Moor’s scimitar, much to the consternation of the crowd. The Charlatan reassures the onlookers that Petrushka is only a puppet but as the crowd disperses, Petrushka’s spirit appears on the roof of the little theatre, thumbing his nose, as the Charlatan flees in horror. All these goings-on are, of course, brilliantly depicted in the music. The colorful introduction perfectly captures the hub-bub of a carnival crowd complete with a carnival barker touting his attractions and occasional interruptions by organ-grinder music. Suddenly a deafening drum roll announces the Charlatan. After playing a languorous, improvisatory solo on his flute, he touches the three puppets with his flute and, to the astonishment of the crowd, brings them to life as they dance the spectacular Russian Dance. The story then continues as Petrushka lamely tries to impress the ballerina, and she tries in turn tries to impress the Moor by playing a saucy tune on a toy trumpet (the famous cornet solo) and dances with him. After these smaller scaled and more intimate scenes we return in the final tableau to various crowd and dance scenes at the carnival, which are finally interrupted by cries from the puppet theatre as the Moor does poor Petrushhka in. Petrushka himself is portrayed by the famous “Petrushka chord,” which is actually a C major chord and an F# major chord played simultaneously to create an early example of the modernist technique known as polytonality, or the use of two different keys at the same time. Such dissonant music was intended as the puppet’s brash and often insulting nature and contrasts with the less dissonant diatonic music of the crowd scenes. The tunefulness of the score owes much to a number of melodies that Stravinsky cheerfully purloined and put to his own uses. These include organ-grinder music borrowed from a French popular song, waltzes borrowed from the Austrian composer Joseph Lanner, and a number of Russian folk songs. The prominence of the solo piano part stems from the fact that the work began as a Konzertstück (concert piece) for piano and orchestra. Stravinsky said that from the beginning he had conceived the music as representing a puppet, annoying the orchestra with cascades of arpeggios. Only after some time did the idea occur of naming it after Petrushka, the character that he himself had enjoyed at carnivals since his childhood. At the very end of the work we hear Petrushka’s final nose-thumbing retort, represented by one last statement of the “Petrushka chord.” The chord is in two different keys just as Petrushka himself is both puppet and human, serving , in the composer’s own words, “ as the personification of the spiritual and suffering side of humanity.” * * * Suite from Sleeping Beauty, op.66a TH 234 by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840 -1893) Duration: Approximately 17 minutes First Performance: January 15, 1890 in St. Petersburg Last ESO Performance: November, 1956; Douglas Steensland, conductor In spite of the difficulties that he had endured with his first ballet, Swan Lake, when the opportunity presented itself some years later to do another, Tchaikovsky needed very little persuasion. The idea came in May of 1888 from Ivan Vsevolozhsky , the man newly appointed by Tsar Alexander III as director of the Imperial Theatres and who had been charged with making substantial reforms. Vsevolozhsky’s proposition was for a new ballet on the Sleeping Beauty story, for which he would write a libretto based on Charles Perrault’s version published in 1697 under the title La Belle au bois dormant. A major incentive for Tchaikovsky would be the chance to work with the legendary choreographer Marius Petipa, then at the height of his powers. The collaboration would prove a great opportunity for Petipa himself, for, although he had already brought Russian ballet to a remarkably high level, he had never had the chance to work with a composer of Tchaikovsky’s stature. Tchaikovsky was delighted to accept the commission and , by all accounts, the three artists enjoyed a very close and cordial collaboration. They met frequently, conversing, incidentally , in French, a practice, as readers of Tolstoy will know, that was quite common among the Russian upper classes of the time. Tchaikovsky paid a number of visits to Petipa’s house to play excerpts , while the choreographer experimented with various scenarios using papier-mâché figures. Tchaikovsky’s enthusiasm for the project spurred him to work remarkably quickly. After beginning work near the end of 1888, he interrupted the project for a tour that included, among other places, London, Paris, Berlin, and Hamburg. In Hamburg he had a chance to hear a performance of his new Fifth Symphony as well as to enjoy a bibulous lunch with Johannes Brahms (we were “quite drunk”, he wrote), whom he had grown to like personally despite his distaste for his music. Returning to Russia after a brief side trip to Greece and Turkey, he worked intensely on the score, completing it on 7 June, 1889. The entire project was, by his own count, completed in 40 days, a remarkably short time for a full length ballet. The orchestration would require another two months. The premiere took place in January of 1890 , to mixed critical reaction. Tchaikovsky, always touchy about his work, was disappointed by the Tsar’s two word verdict : “Very nice”. Critics seem to have been puzzled by this ground-breaking new work. The rich score was thought by some to be “too operatic”, the severe demands on the dancers thought to be stunts appealing to low popular taste, and the exquisite sets and costumes “too luxurious.” Nevertheless, audience reaction was enthusiastic and it did not take long for Sleeping Beauty to become one of the staples of the repertoire. Today it is widely viewed as the most nearly perfect example of Romantic ballet. Although the three collaborators may all have been dedicated Francophiles, the result of their work was what Jennifer Homans in her beautifully written history of ballet, Apollo’s Angels, calls “the first truly Russian ballet.” The new work combined the sophistication of the classical techniques which Petipa brought from his native France with native Russian concepts, all of which was fertilized by Tchaikovsky’s matchlessly sumptuous and dramatic music. As Ms. Homans points out, the hyper-refined , luxurious design of the ballet matched the exquisite Easter eggs and other objets d’art produced by the legendary designer Carl Gustav Fabergé , objects that were much coveted by the Romanoff family and , along with the gloriously otherworldly character of ballet, perhaps helped them to forget momentarily the growing political problems of the country that they ruled. For those needing re-acquaintance with the story, the tale is set in the sixteenth century and begins with the christening of the baby princess Aurora. The good fairies present their gifts to the child, but then the evil fairy Carabosse appears, incensed because she was not invited to the ceremony. She casts a spell on the princess, according to which the princess will grow to be beautiful, but will prick her finger and fall into an eternal sleep. The good Lilac Fairy mitigates the curse by saying that a handsome prince will discover her, wake her from her sleep with a kiss, and they will marry. Sure enough, sixteen years later at her coming out, when the princess sees an old woman (Carabosse in disguise) with a spindle, she takes it and pricks herself, falling into a deep sleep.