Francis Poulenc, His Artistic Development and Musical Style 0835712842, 9780835712842

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Francis Poulenc His Artistic Development and Musical Style

Studies in Musicology, No. 52 George Buelow, Series Editor Professor of Musicology Indiana University

Other Titles in This Series

No. 46 The Spanish Baroque Guitar, with a Transcription of de Murcia’s Passacalles y obras

No. 47

Neil D. Pennington

The Monodies of Sigismondo d’India

John J. Joyce

No. 48 The Keyboard Concertos of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach

Rachel W. Wade

No. 49 Schoenberg's Twelve-Tone Harmony: The Suite Op. 29 and the Compositional Sketches

Martha M. Hyde

No. 50

Walter Piston

Howard Pollack

No. 51 The French Cantata: A Survey and Thematic Catalog

Gene E. Vollen

No. 53. French and Italian Influence on the Zarzuela: 1700-1770

William M. Bussey

No. 54. Compositional Origins of Beethoven’s String Quartet in C Sharp Minor, Opus 131

Robert S. Winter, III

Francis Poulenc His Artistic Development and Musical Style

by Keith W. Daniel

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Copyright © 1982, 1980 Keith W. Daniel All rights reserved Produced and distributed by UMI Research Press an imprint of University Microfilms International Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Daniel, Keith W.

Francis Poulenc: musical style.

his artistic development and

(Studies in musicology ; no. 52) “A revision of the author's thesis, State University of New York, Buffalo, 1980.” 1. Poulenc, Francis, 1899-1963. Works. |. Title. I). Series.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

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Childhood: 1899-1914

1

2

Emergence:

9

1914-1921

Growth: 1921-1932

23

Maturity: 1932-1945

35

Serenity: 1945-1963 Style

47

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Chamber Music

101

The Concertos

IaD

The Piano Music

163

The Choral Music The Songs

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Stage Works

13

Conclusion

Notes

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243

283° 313

S15

List of Works

353 -

Bibliography Index

379

365

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Acknowledgments I would like to express my deepest thanks to my advisers, Jeremy Noble and David Fuller, of the State University of New York at Buffalo. I would like also to thank the following people for their help during the research stage of this work: Mme Jean Séringe, Yves Gérard, Jean-Michel Nectoux, Georges Auric, Jacques Février, Pierre Bernac, Suzanne Peignot, and Henri Sauguet.

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Childhood: 1899-1914

Francis Poulenc was born in the heart of Paris, near the Place de la Madeleine,

on 7 January 1899. In writing about his childhood, he was always quick to acknowledge the influence that both of his parents exerted on his spiritual, cultural, and musical development. The spiritual encouragement came primarily from his father, Emile, one of the managers of the Rhéne-Poulenc textile firm. He brought a provincial background to the Poulenc household: it must be remembered that my father came from the robust and mountainous Aveyron district, situated between Auvergne and the Mediterranean lowlands. Poulenc is, moreover, a

typically southern French name. My father, like all of his family, was profoundly, but liberally, religious, without the slightest trace of pettiness.’

Poulenc’s father was devout, but far from dogmatic; indeed, he was a free

thinker, and Poulenc’s personal conception of religion can be traced to him. This conception, which was positive and happy, was based upon a profound deism, rather than upon organized religion. Poulenc disliked proselytizing, breastbeating, and mental or spiritual self-criticism. The gaiety and sensuality that pervade much of his religious music should not suggest that his belief was corrupt, weak, or even misdirected; rather, these qualities express a realistic, humanistic interpretation of religious belief. Poulenc’s mother, Jenny Royer, brought a contrasting influence to bear on the child—that of a cultured urban socialite. Her family had been settled in Paris for generations, and they had always enjoyed all the cultural benefits the capital city could offer. Poulenc’s maternal uncle, Marcel Royer, known as Papoum,

was a man-about-town, a raconteur who took young Poulenc to concerts, plays, and art galleries. Both his mother and Papoum entertained frequently at the Poulenc apartment on the Place des Saussaies, receiving aristocrats, singers, and

actors with equal grace. From his mother the young Francis absorbed a love of poetry and painting, as well as of literature, drama, ballet, and cinema. Poulenc was to develop an

acute sensitivity to culttre, particularly to the poetry and painting of the

2

Childhood: 1899-1914

twentieth century. He read extensively and was later to make a conscious effort to visit art galleries wherever he traveled. His resultant breadth of knowledge and refinement impressed acquaintances and friends, such as Stéphane Audel, who in 1963 expressed an admiration for the extent of Poulenc’s “cultural competence.” A personality and aesthetic formed by two such contrasting influences as Poulenc’s mother and father might be expected to show contradictions, and indeed they did. Claude Rostand pinpointed one such contradiction when he described Poulenc as “half monk, half guttersnipe.” Though these appellations are extreme, not only with regard to Poulenc, but particularly in referring to his

parental influences, it is undeniable that a gentle, devout Poulenc coexisted with

a rakish bon vivant throughout his life, and these two opposing natures emerged rather unpredictably in his music. Poulenc was introduced to music at a very early age; there is a picture of him at age three, dressed in a bonnet, standing next to a white lacquered piano. Both of his parents appreciated music, but it was clearly his mother’s tastes he inherited, including a life-long admiration for Mozart.* His mother was an accomplished amateur pianist, and she often played Schubert, Chopin, and Scarlatti, three other composers whom Poulenc would come to admire. But she had a particular predilection for facile, semi-popular piano pieces, such as the

Grieg Berceuse and a Romance by Anton Rubinstein; this was what Poulenc

would later affectionately call “l’adorable mauvaise musique.” It seems likely that Poulenc’s gift for lyric melody and his adherence to diatonicism can be traced, at least in part, to this light music that he so frequently heard early in his life. Poulenc began formal piano lessons at age six, and he was soon performing competently the music of Chopin and Debussy. By the time he was fifteen, he was interested in, and capable of playing, Schoenberg.” Yet his first profound musical memory comes from the winter of 1910-11, when the Poulenc family was forced to seek refuge from a Paris crippled by serious flooding by moving to the Fontainebleau forest. Finding a local music dealer, young Francis purchased a copy of Schubert’s Die Winterreise and sat down at the piano that faced out a window through which could be seen the red sun of a late winter afternoon. Poulenc writes: I went from magic moment to magic moment. Byabizarre coincidence, city-raised as I had been, I discovered all at once the beauty of the country, the winter, and its sublime musical transmutation. ..something very profound was changed in my life.°

Though the music of Schubert did not become one of the most direct influences on Poulenc’s style, its mood and spirit left a strong mark on his mélodies,’ particularly with regard to the close alliance between voice and piano, and he

Childhood: 1899-1914

3

often admitted that he perfected his mélodie techniques by studying and performing Schubert Lieder with Pierre Bernac. Perhaps Schubert’s influence can also be heard in Poulenc’s fondness for major-minor alternations. Another composer whom Poulenc admired early in his life was Debussy. We know that he was moved upon hearing, in 1907, Debussy’s Danses sacrée et

profane (1904); perhaps it was this experience that prompted him to write, nearly fifty years later, “Without a doubt, Debussy awakened me to music.”* This

is a remarkable

claim,

but, as we

shall see, Poulenc

never

lacked

effusiveness in paying homage to composers who influenced him in one way or another. In any case, after this initial contact with Debussy’s music, he began to play and study various piano pieces and mélodies. Poulenc’s first work, a set of piano Préludes written in 1916 (never published and later destroyed), was his only composition written under a pure Debussy inspiration: “of an incredible complexity. They were written on three or four staves, rather second-rate Debussy.” If these Préludes were the only Poulenc work that looked, and sounded,

like Debussy (though parts of Rapsodie négre are impressionistic),'° we must discover more

subtle, organic influences. We know that he greatly admired

Debussy’s mélodies and the opera Pelléas et Mélisande; in fact, he felt that Debussy was the greatest composer of mélodies who had ever lived. He particularly admired Debussy’s insistence on correct prosody in his vocal music, as well as his innate sense of reticent lyricism. Both of these characteristics exerted a subtle influence on Poulenc’s music, especially in Dialogues des Carmélites, which he dedicated to Debussy and three other composers. Poulenc may also have borrowed his fondness for cellular construction, "in which a oneor two-bar phrase (cell) is repeated immediately, from Debussy. This compositional procedure can be seen most clearly in La Voix humaine. Poulenc never met Debussy, for the “Musicien de France” was dying of cancer just as Poulenc’s career was auspiciously beginning. Much to his later embarrassment and regret, the pressures of aesthetic politics coerced Poulenc into denying his love of Debussy during the years 1917-22; both Cocteau and Satie, the two guiding spirits of Les Six during these years, professed a dislike for Debussy, leaving the six young composers little choice but to concur. Poulenc attempted to atone for this by avowing, in 1954, “Debussy has always remained

the musician whom I prefer after Mozart.”"””

The first composer whose style distinctly influenced Poulenc’s was Emmanuel Chabrier (1841-1894). He made the acquaintance of Chabrier’s music in 1914, when he unwittingly played a recording of the /dylle for piano ina boutique near the Madeleine. After listening to the piece some ten times, he described the ramifications of the afternoon’s experience: “suddenly a harmonic universe opened up befgre me, and my music never forgot that first kiss of love.”"? Poulenc was to pay frequent homage to Chabrier, culminating ina 1949

biography“ written in his lavish, rather precious prose.

4

Childhood: 1899-1914

Chabrier’s impact on French music from 1900 to 1930 was considerable; the composer and critic Roland-Manuel referred to him as “the father of the new French school.”’* Indeed, Satie and most of the members of Les Six were quite

vocal in paying tribute to Chabrier; Poulenc often referred to him as his “grandpapa.” The antiromantic, anti-Wagnerian bent of much of his music certainly must have attracted these composers, as did his simple textures, ingratiating melodies, and popular café-concert atmosphere. Chabrier’s rejection of motivic development, in favor of on-going evolution or altered repetition, was also taken up wholeheartedly by the majority of Les Six. Poulenc praises all of these aspects of Chabrier’s musical style in his book. He seems to have preferred Chabrier’s mélodies, piano music, and light operas (L‘Etoile, 1878, Une éducation manquée, 1879, and Le roi malgré lui, 1887). We can find specific influences of Chabrier works on Poulenc: the wry humor, simple melodic line, and lilting accompaniment of Villanelle des petits canards influenced many early Poulenc songs, notably Le Bestiaire (1919) and the Cing poeémes de Max Jacob (1931); such piano pieces as the Dix piéces pittoresques (1881) and the Cortége burlesque (1880s) exerted a more general influence, while the Trois valses romantiques (1883) found an echo in numerous Poulenc waltzes, even as late as L’Embarquement pour Cythére (1951); finally, Poulenc himself avowed that “I thought a great deal about L’Etoile while composing Les Mamelles de Tirésias.”'* Poulenc also admired Chabrier’s spirit of antisnobbism and defiance, his rejection of convention; perhaps he saw in Chabrier his direct ancestor as a “guttersnipe.” Both composers were virtually self-taught, not influenced by the training of the Conservatoire. And both possessed a raucous sense of humor. Displaying some of this humor, Poulenc described his relationship with Chabrier and his music: Ah! Chabrier... 1 love him as one loves one’s papa! An over-indulgent papa, always gay, his

pockets full of succulent tid-bits. Chabrier’s music is a limitless treasure.'’

Poulenc’s borrowing went far beyond the modest influences absorbed from Schubert, Debussy, and Chabrier. He often referred to himself as “wildly eclectic,” and Ned Rorem once said that “He was probably the most eclectic composer who ever lived.”'* Yet for Poulenc, there was no pejorative sense to the word. He borrowed from other composers as freely and as naturally as did the musicians of the eighteenth century. Was this because of Poulenc’s lack of formal musical training before his twenty-second year? Or was he encouraged by the eclecticism of his peers and role models, most notably Ravel and Stravinsky? Of course, all composers are eclectic to a certain degree; our perception of their borrowing depends upon their subtlety (conscious or unconscious) in masking

what they have done. Perhaps Poulenc’s candor, indeed his verve, in writing

Childhood: 1899-1914

3

about his eclecticism, in paying this respect to all the composers from whom he borrowed, is partly responsible for his reputation. Except in the case of Stravinsky, Poulenc’s borrowings were always subtle rather than explicit, brief in length (except for Suite francaise, a reworking of seven dances by Claude Gervaise), and somehow infused with his own musical personality. Poulenc himself gave us the best insight into his views on eclecticism: “Whom shall I imitate in order to be original?” seems as silly to me as “How, in order to be

original, can | avoid imitating anyone?” I wish to be able to employ at will a chord of Wagner, Debussy, Schumann, or even of Franck [whom he disliked] if it more clearly expresses the nuance that I wish to render. When I had composed the recitatives for [Gounod’s opéracomique] La Colombe “in the manner of Gounod,” Stravinsky said to me: “Nothing is more Poulenc than these recitatives.”””

Poulenc was certainly no mere imitator, for he established and maintained a

highly personal style, identifiable even through the most obvious of borrowings. A statement by Darius Milhaud is representative of critical affirmation of this personal style: “His personality clearly made itself known from the first notes that he composed.””° Perhaps, as Jean Cocteau has written: “An original artist

cannot copy. Thus he has only to copy to be original.””' Poulenc admired, and borrowed from, a wide range of composers, from Le Jeune to Prokofiev. He described this catholicism in an oft-quoted letter to the critic Paul Landormy: Tired of Debussyism (I adore Debussy), tired of impressionism (Ravel, Schmitt), I long for a healthy, clear, robust music, a music that is as frankly French as Stravinsky’s is Slavic. Satie’s

music seems to be perfect in this respect. Parade is Paris, just as Petrouchka was Saint Petersburg. Another music, more cerebral, seems also to open a door on the future: that of Roussel, which I deeply admire for its discipline, firmness, and sensitivity. I also tenderly love Chabrier (Espafa is marvellous and Joyeuse marche is a masterpiece); Manon and Werther, which I consider to be our folklore; the songs of Mayol; the quadrilles of Offenbach... finally, Bach, Mozart, Haydn, Chopin, Moussorgsky and Stravinsky. What a salad! you say. That is my way of loving music, by using what particularly pleases me from each model.”

Any musician who unashamedly admits indebtedness in the same breath to the music-hall composer Félix Mayol (1872-1942) and to J.S. Bach is both remarkably eclectic and refreshingly candid. Poulenc’s musical style and compositional output reflect the incongruity of this list of inspirations; it was not unusual for him to write a rather flippant secular piece and a profound sacred work in succession (L’Embarquement pour Cythére and the Quatre motets pour

le temps de Noél in 1951, and Parisiana and Dialogues des Carmélites in 1954 are but two examples). The breadth of Poulenc’s sympathies is another example of the numerous contradictions in his personality and music.

6

Childhood: 1899-1914 Closely allied to Poulenc’s eclecticism is his propensity for nostalgia. In

both cases, an external stimulus is responsible for an inspiration. Furthermore,

an assimilation of past sensory perceptions and experiences is quite similar to a borrowing of material from other composers. Finally, both tendencies involve a concentration on pre-existent material, rather than the breaking of new ground. Such was the case, for the most part, with Poulenc’s entire musical style.

Poulenc was always extremely sensitive to visual stimuli;** his surroundings, therefore, greatly influenced his personality and his music, and became one of the major sources of his nostalgia. If Claude Debussy wished to be known as “Musicien de France,” nothing would have pleased Poulenc more than to be known as “Musicien de Paris.” He loved the excitement, the culture, and the people of Paris. We have already seen that, as a young boy, Poulenc was immersed in Parisian culture by his mother and his uncle Papoum. When he became old enough to go out on his own (roughly after 1914), he began to frequent the fairs, circuses, theaters, music halls, and café-concerts of Paris,

especially in the République quarter. It was in these music halls and caféconcerts that Poulenc came under the spell of Maurice Chevalier, then a young singer whose trademarks were a straw hat and cane. Several of Poulenc’s early works were influenced by Chevalier and the music-hall style, most notably the 1919 “chanson hispano-italienne,” Toréador. This song might have been found in any Parisian revue of that era, with its lilting rhythm, lighthearted text (by Jean Cocteau), hummable tune, and popular-music harmonies. On a larger scale, this Parisian strain of popular music penetrated much of Poulenc’s secular music: a mélodie such as Montparnasse (1945), or the raucous street-circus tone of the Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone (1922), would have been unthinkable without this influence. Of the major twentieth-century French composers, Poulenc is the most explicit, and the most convincing in his use of Parisian popular music. Yet Poulenc’s love of Paris went far deeper than this use of popular music idioms. He always was able to find a location, an event, or an atmosphere in

Paris to correspond to his own frequently changing moods: “It is also the only place in the world where I can live with great sorrow, anguish or melancholy. I have only to go walking in the neighborhoods that I love.”** He maintained a home in Paris all his life,** though he was often compelled to remain away for weeks, or months, at a time, in order to compose without distraction.~° It was these absences that gave rise to his nostalgia for the city: “Whenever I spend weeks working away from Paris, it is with a lover’s heart that I return to ‘my city.’”’’ This feeling of nostalgia is manifest in his vocal music whenever Paris (or a district or specific locale in Paris) is mentioned, such as in the mélodies Montparnasse and “Jouer du bugle” (from Parisiana), or in the chorus following the Presto-Lacouf duel in Les Mamelles de Tirésias. In these, and other, instances the tone becomes tender and melancholy.

Childhood: 1899-1914

7

Another of his homes of which Poulenc often spoke nostalgically was Nogent-sur-Marne, a small village just east of the Paris city limits. There his grandparents owned a spacious white house, and there he spent his carefree summer months for the first twenty-five years of his life. He wrote about his summer activities in Nogent and the surrounding countryside: the banks of the Marne, dear to my childhood: Joinville; Champigny and its Island of Love, where I would stroll with Raymond Radiguet; and finally Nogent.... The bombarded house at the foot of the Tremblay viaduct has caused me to dream for many years.”

In the first two decades of this century, Nogent was a sleepy little town, with an occasional boat drifting by on the Marne. At night, however, the numerous cafés that dotted the town came to life with bal/s musette, floor shows, and the odor of fried potatoes. A true carnival atmosphere invaded these guinguettes, as the country cafés were called. Young Poulenc was an habitué, particularly at the Café Bébert, enjoying the gay mood, the accordion music, and the popular tunes of such artists as Henry Christiné and Vincent Scotto, rivals of Maurice

Chevalier. This setting left a strong and lasting impression on Poulenc, and his later writings contain many references to Nogent and the lighthearted years he spent there. Much of his early music was affected by sensory perceptions which he associated with Nogent: First of all, the so-called “galant” or erotic aspect of my early works can be traced to Nogentsur-Marne. ..to this sort of stale odor of French fries, of river boats, and of pom-poms.””

This atmosphere can clearly be felt in such works as the piano Valse (1919), the early wind

sonatas,

and Les Biches (1923). Poulenc

himself attributes the

inspiration and mood of Le Bal masqué (1932) to impressions of Nogent, and this nostalgia even colored such mature works as Les Mamelles de Tirésias and the Concerto pour piano (1949). As late as 1958, Poulenc wrote to his friend Marthe Bosredon: I am writing to you from Nogent, where I am spending a day of pilgrimage. Nothing is as melancholy as this sort of introspection into the past, however, I can never resist it. But where

are the banks of the Marne of yesteryear, today devoid of cafés and popular orchestras, without Bébert in his cap and Nini in her pink silk blouse! An important aspect of my music can be explained by my suburban past: this aspect of “tickling in the right places” which can be found in “Hétel” [Banalités.]°

An accurate picture of Poulenc through his first fourteen years would include, then: his early affinity for music, particularly the piano; the dual heritages passed to him by his parents; his early contacts with, and sensitivity to,

8

Childhood: 1899-1914

high art; his propensity for eclecticism, and his ability to assimilate a broad range and immense quantity of music; and his intimate feelings for his homes in Paris and Nogent-sur-Marne, feelings which would generate a life-long nostalgia. There is no doubt that Poulenc’s complex personality was developing during the early years of the century.

2

Emergence: 1914-1921 There is at least one significant difference between Poulenc’s career and those of nearly all other French composers since the early nineteenth century: he did not attend any of the established music schools—the Conservatoire, the Ecole Normale, the Ecole Niedermeyer or the Schola Cantorum. (Chabrier, as we have seen, was the other notable exception to this tradition). Both Poulenc and his mother wished him to enter the Conservatoire, but his father’s preference for

a general education prevailed, and he matriculated at a normal lycée, achieving a baccalauréat, without distinction, in 1917. Upon completing his studies, he attempted to enter the Conservatoire by showing some of his early compositions, including the provocative Rapsodie négre, to the distinguished teacher Paul Vidal. He was dismissed unceremoniously. These early compositions were written with the barest of formal musical training. While at the lycée, Poulenc studied solfége with an Italian cellist named Muccioli, and harmony with an organist friend. Yet his compositional skills were shaped and encouraged by his first important teacher, Ricardo Vifies. Vifies (1875-1943) had come to Paris from his native Spain in order to study at the Conservatoire with Albert Lavignac and Benjamin Godard. He spent the rest of his career based in Paris, promoting contemporary music and playing the premiéres of many works by Debussy, Ravel, Satie, Falla, and Albeniz. Poulenc

was introduced to Vifies in 1914, by a friend of the family, Geneviéve Sienkiewicz; he was accepted immediately as a pupil, and the lessons continued until 1917. Poulenc was attracted to Vifies because, “at that time, ... he was the only virtuoso who played Debussy and Ravel,”' and he dared to be an interpreter of Chabrier and Satie before they became fashionable. There is no doubt that Poulenc began to study Chabrier’s music under the influence of Vifies, and it is probable that his contacts with the music of Satie were initiated by his new teacher. The role that Vifies played in shaping Poulenc’s development asa pianist, a composer, and a provocative young man was crucial at this point in his career. He described the importance of the lessons:

10

Emergence: 1914-1921 At first, it was decided that I would have a half-hour lesson each week, but this lesson soon

lasted an hour, then two, and, imperceptibly, I began to spend my life with this Hidalgo with

the face of a kind inquisitor.’ As these lessons were expanded, their content broadened in scope, and Vifies began to read Mallarmé, Huysmans, and Bloy to Poulenc, and to discuss

painting and poetry with him.’ Vifies introduced him to such seminal figures as Erik Satie, Jean Cocteau, Georges Auric, and Igor Stravinsky, as well as to such fellow pupils as Marcelle Meyer, who would later become an important interpreter of Poulenc’s piano music. Vifies clearly was responsible for ushering Poulenc into the Parisian artistic world, where he was soon to make his mark as

a composer. Poulenc admitted a second important debt to Vifies: “I owe to him the entire beginning of my career, not only for the understanding of the piano that he gave me, but for the effective way in which he supported my first [compositional] efforts.”* Seven of Poulenc’s first twelve works are for solo piano (or piano four-hands), while of the remaining five, four include a piano. Vifies was almost single-handedly responsible for the resounding success of Poulenc’s first published piano piece, the Mouvements perpétuels (1918), which Vifies played at nearly every one of his concerts in 1919 and 1920. Perhaps Poulenc would not have become a composer had he not studied with Vifies: “Everything that I know about the piano I owe to this brilliant master, and it was

he who decided what my career would be.” Poulenc undoubtedly did learn “everything” that he knew about the piano from Vifies, for their styles of performing have often been compared. Vifies had developed a personal style (in turn probably influenced by the boisterous, unbridled technique of Chabrier, whom he had known) based on exuberance, freedom and, above all, a broad and fluid use of the pedals. Poulenc comments on this last characteristic: No one understood the employment of pedals, an essential factor of modern music, better than Vifies. He was able to play clearly within a flood of pedal!®

Poulenc himself learned this full use of pedals, and it became a hallmark of his

own performing style. It also became an important characteristic of his piano compositions.’ The forceful style of Chabrier and Vifies was also taken up by Poulenc (as in the Sonata for piano 4-hands, 1918), though he later added a gentle, reticent style for contrast (cf. Pastourelle and the first Nocturne). By 1916, then, Poulenc had decided to become a composer, and he had

begun to make acquaintances, through Vifies, in the artistic world of Paris. This world had been particularly vibrant during the first fifteen years of the twentieth century: Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky, and Satie in music; Valéry, Cendrars, and

Emergence: 1914-1921

11

Apollinaire in poetry; Jarry and Claudel in theater; Rolland, Gide, and Proust in literature; Fauvism (Derain, Dufy, Vlaminck) and Cubism (Braque and

Picasso) in art; and the coalescence of the arts in Diaghilev’s Ballets russes. The harsh realities of war brought about significant changes in this artistic scene. Such great men as Debussy, Péguy, Apollinaire, and Alain-Fournier died during the war years, while numerous cultural institutions either closed, or were forced to operate with reduced budgets and audiences. Despite these setbacks, Parisian artistic life continued to flourish. One center of activity was Adrienne Monnier’s bookstore, “Les Amis du livre,” at 7,

rue de ’Odéon. Poulenc was brought there one day by Raymonde Linossier, a childhood friend who encouraged his artistic and literary pursuits. His natural charm and unaffected manner impressed Mlle Monnier, and he became a regular visitor by the winter of 1916-17. It was there that he met the leading French poets and writers of the day, and of the future, including Fargue, Larbaud,

Jacob, Claudel,

Valéry, Breton, Aragon,

Soupault,

Desnos, and

Eluard. He listened to them read their latest works and he formed friendships with at least four of them (Jacob, Aragon, Eluard, and Desnos) that were to lead to collaborations (or, in the case of Desnos, posthumous settings of two of his poems). Though he met Apollinaire elsewhere,* Poulenc listened to him read his poetry at Monnier’s. Inspired by the poetry he read and heard at the bookstore, Poulenc devoured the numerous cultural journals, such as Littérature and Les

Soirées de Paris, that sprang up (and disappeared) quickly between 1910 and 1925. His destiny as the leading composer of the French art song after Ravel was forged in Monnier’s bookstore during the years of World War I. Undoubtedly the most significant cultural event of the war years was the Paris premiére of the ballet Parade on 18 May 1917. Serge Diaghilev, who had been operating his Ballets russes in Rome since 1915, had assembled three of the rising stars in the Parisian cultural firmament: Erik Satie, Jean Cocteau, and Pablo Picasso. Cocteau, responding to Diaghilev’s request to “Astound me!,”” wrote the scenario for a “ballet réaliste” depicting “a burlesque scene played outside a sideshow booth to entice spectators inside.”'° Picasso provided cubist sets and costumes and Satie created a deliberately banal score, employing real sound effects (one of the first examples of musique concréte) and a bit of American jazz (one of the first instances of its use by a European composer). The boisterous reception of Parade by an audience of artists, musicians, and bourgeois concert-goers has become modern folklore." For several generations of artists, composers, and writers, Parade was to

symbolize a new direction; Apollinaire may have sensed this direction when he

wrote, in the program notes: “From this new alliance [of the arts] there resulted, in Parade, a sort of ‘surréalisme’ in which I see the point of departure for a series

of manifestations of this SNew Spirit.’”'” Apollinaire seems to have felt that the era of impressionism and Wagnerian symbolism had reached its natural end, £

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Emergence: 1914-1921

and that the new movement embodied in this experimental ballet pointed in the direction of a realism that transcends reality; hence his coining of the term “surréalisme.” This surrealism had its roots, not surprisingly, in Apollinaire’s own poetry. Poulenc was in attendance at that historic afternoon performance, and he was profoundly influenced by what he saw and heard: I was conquered! Though I idolized Debussy, I allowed myself, with the shortsightedness of my youth, to renounce him abit since I yearned for this new spirit that Satie and Picasso were

bringing us.”

Nor were Poulenc and Apollinaire alone in sensing this “new spirit”—the composers that were to become Les Six all adopted Satie as their aesthetic and musical model during the ensuing four years. What they admired in Satie’s music was its simplicity and its tunefulness, characterized by its inclusion of jazz and music-hall influences. For the first time, a French composer had thrown off the multiple influences of Wagner, romanticism, impressionism, and Russian

exoticism. Poulenc had met Satie in 1916, after having admired and studied the older

composer’s music for two years. The critic and violinist Héléne JourdanMorhange, who knew them both, records Satie’s initial opinion of Poulenc: “despite the warm recommendation of Ricardo Vifies, Erik Satie saw in him only a middle-class son, still wet behind the ears.”'* After a period during which he left the room when any of Poulenc’s early works were being played, Satie became convinced of the young composer’s worth, and began to accept him. The turning point seems to have been Poulenc’s appearance at the premiére of Parade and his subsequent lavish praise of the work to Satie himself. By that time (May 1917), Poulenc knew agreat deal of Satie’s music and was conscious of its importance: “All I knew about Satie’s music, and I knew everything [!], seemed to me to signal a new direction in French music.”’* After Poulenc’s praise of Parade brought them together, the two composers became friends. More importantly, a significant Satie influence began to appear in Poulenc’s music, particularly from 1918 to 1920: Shortly afterward, I wrote the Mouvements perpétuels and, a bit later, this Suite en ut so

obviously Satie-esque. You must realize that the metamorphosis took place in the twinkling of an eye under the guidance of a magician who knew my true personality.'°

This statement indicates that both Satie and Poulenc were conscious of the exertion of an influence; perhaps the two merely discussed and played each other’s music, or perhaps. there was actually some coaching and a great deal of advice passed from Satie to Poulenc. Whatever the procedure, for Poulenc is nowhere more specific than in the above remark, the influence was certainly considerable:

Emergence: 1914-192]

13

Erik Satie influenced me a great deal, as much spiritually as musically. He saw things so clearly...that a young musician could only gain by knowing him. Furthermore, he was

marvellously funny. '’

The Poulenc-Satie friendship lasted for only seven years. Satie learned that both Poulenc and Georges Auric, while in Monte-Carlo for their 1924 ballet

premieres, '* had become friendly with Louis Laloy, the critic and arch-enemy of Satie. Exhibiting his customary petulance, Satie became enraged and refused to speak to the young composers. Poulenc exacerbated the rift after attending the first performance of Satie’s ballet Mercure on 15 June of the same year. Aligning himself with a group of surrealists, including Breton, Aragon, Soupault, and Ernst, Poulenc helped issue an artistic manifesto. Entitled “Hommage a Picasso,” this declaration expressed unbounded admiration for Picasso (who had done the sets and costumes), and thanked him for being a leader of young artists. No mention was made of Satie, who felt slighted and became angered with Poulenc beyond the possibility of reconciliation. Poulenc later regretted this association, and tried to deny any direct contact with the cruel, often destructive surrealists: “I never was actually a member of the surrealist group,

for a musician would not have fitted in.”!” This is essentially true, for though Poulenc later set poems of Eluard, Aragon, and Desnos, his choice of these

surrealists was highly selective and he never showed an affinity or a personal liking for Breton or the other radical members of the group. Poulenc’s love for Satie and his music was not diminished by this fallingout of 1924. He visited the “Maitre d’Arcueil” on his deathbed, and it was he and

Milhaud who were entrusted with the task of being the first to examine Satie’s room and belongings after his death.” In 1954 Poulenc was still able to say, “his music remains for me one of the most valuable treasures in all of music.””’ Less than three weeks after the premiére of Parade, that is on 6 June 1917, an evening of music and poetry was presented in honor of the revolutionary ballet. The event was sponsored by the poet Blaise Cendrars (1887-1961) and held in a tiny garret at 6, rue Huyghens, owned by the Swiss painter Lejeune. This was not the first cultural event held in the “Salle Huyghens,” for Francis Steegmuller tells us that Cocteau read poetry there as early as November 1916.” The entertainment on the evening of 6 June 1917 included poetry readings by Cendrars, Cocteau, Apollinaire, and Jacob; the music consisted of a two-piano

version of Parade, played by Satie and Juliette Meerovitch, a Trio by Georges Auric, Carillons by Louis Durey, and a collection of mélodies on Apollinaire

texts by Arthur Honegger. The last three composers formed the nucleus of a group dubbed “Les Nouveaux Jeunes” by Satie, who became their spiritual model and unofficial guardian at that time. The roots of Les Nouveaux Jeunes go back to the years immediately preceding the war, when Darius Milhaud (1892-1974), a young composer from 7

14

Emergence: 1914-1921

Aix-en-Provence, met Arthur Honegger (1892-1954) in André Gédalge’s composition class at the Conservatoire. They sensed a similarity of outlook, and began alasting personal and musical friendship. Milhaud left Paris early in 1917 to serve as Paul Claudel’s secretary in Brazil;*? he was a member, in absentia, of Les Nouveaux Jeunes until his return in 1919. After Milhaud’s departure,

Georges Auric (b. 1899) and Louis Durey (b. 1888) were introduced to Honegger by Satie, and the core of Les Nouveaux Jeunes was formed. In the fall of 1917,

Poulenc and Germaine Tailleferre (b. 1892), who had met Auric at the Conservatoire, were added to the group, the former by Cocteau (whom Poulenc had met through Vifies) and the latter by Satie, once again. Cocteau’s association with the group was thus established as early as 1917. A seventh composer, Roland-Manuel (1891-1966), was a peripheral member of the group, for his works were often performed at their concerts. Concerts by Les Nouveaux Jeunes were presented with regularity from 1917 to 1920 at the Salle Huyghens. Under the sponsorship of Cendrars, the actor Pierre Bertin, and the conductor Félix Delgrange, art displays by young Paris-based painters (Picasso, Braque, Gris, Modigliani) enhanced the music and poetry, and these multimedia events were soon called “Lyre et Palette” concerts. Some of the finest musicians in Paris performed works by Satie and Les Nouveaux Jeunes, including Vifies, Meerovitch, and Marcelle Meyer, the singers Suzanne Peignot and Jane Bathori, and the Jourdan-Morhange Quartet. Three of Poulenc’s earliest works, Mouvements perpétuels, Cocardes, and Le Bestiaire, were favorites at these concerts by 1919. Cocteau provides a nostalgic remembrance of the Salle Huyghens and the vibrant events that filled it during these years: I detest sentimentalizing over meager souvenirs, but the Salle Huyghens was not without its charm. We listened to music and poetry standing—not as a matter of respect, but owing toa lack of chairs. The stove used to burn well in the spring, but in winter it refused to draw. Beautiful ladies in furs could be seen next to “djibbahs” of Montmartre and Montparnasse. These miracles did not-last long, but while poets and painters were learning to hate each other, our musicians came together, supported one another, and formed under the title “Nouveaux

Jeunes.””* In the fall of 1917, just as he was making a name for himself as a member of

this group, Poulenc was drafted into the army. He had recently been rejected at the Conservatoire and had, as a consequence, been recommended, by Vifies, to

study with Ravel;” this was now impossible. He did remain in Paris until January 1918, appearing, in uniform, at the premiére of his Rapsodie négre at the Théatre du Vieux-Colombier in December 1917 (see below). Between January 1918 and July 1919, Poulenc was stationed inaseries of small towns not far from Paris. He was apparently never sent to the front, and he suffered from boredom. He had trouble adjusting to army life and its strictly imposed

Emergence: 1914-1921

15

discipline; he was confined to the guardhouse on several occasions for overstaying his infrequent liberties in Paris.”° The dull routine of military life was beneficial musically, however, in that Poulenc composed at least eight pieces during the twenty months he spent away from Paris and his friends. Two of these works, Toréador and Jongleurs, were not immediately performed (Jongleurs was never performed and was later destroyed). The other six works”’ were played frequently during the war years, either at Lyre et Palette Concerts, or by the touring Ricardo Vijfies. Poulenc was assigned to a simple desk job in Paris in August of 1919, and he was released from duty in October of 1921. The first work of Poulenc’s to be performed publicly was the controversial Rapsodie négre. It was presented as part of a Nouveaux Jeunes concert at the Théatre du Vieux-Colombier

on

11 December

1917; the remainder of the

program consisted of Auric’s Gaspard et Zoé, Honegger’s Alcools (poems by Apollinaire), Durey’s Carillons, Tailleferre’s Sonatine a cordes, and RolandManuel’s Sept poémes de Perse. The concert was organized and sponsored by Pierre Bertin and Jane Bathori; the latter, a champion of new music, had been

left in charge of the theater during Jacques Copeau’s absence. Rapsodie négre, dedicated to Erik Satie, is a chamber work in five movements for piano, string quartet, flute, clarinet in Bb, and voice. The vocal part appears in the third movement, an “interméde vocal” entitled “Honoloulou.” Poulenc found the text

for this blague while strolling along the book-stalls that line the Seine. The “poem,” nothing more than three stanzas of pseudo-African doggerel, was written by a poet ostensibly named Makako Kangourou. It was, at that time, the height of the Parisian vogue for Negro art, led by Picasso; “Honoloulou” was only one example of a proliferation of “African poetry.” Though the other four movements (purely instrumental) of Rapsodie négre contain some wrenching dissonances, numerous parallel fifths and octaves, and some shockingly banal writing a la Parade, it was “Honoloulou” that riled the audience and caused the succés de scandale that every young composer dreams of. Poulenc tells us”* that the audience was. further surprised to see him, in his uniform and soldier’s cap, singing the “interméde” because the contracted singer refused to take part in such nonsense. By the time the entire program was repeated, on 15 January 1918, Poulenc had earned the reputation of an “enfant terrible,” and his name had become linked with those of Satie, Cocteau, and Les Nouveaux Jeunes. In the spring of 1918, while Poulenc was away from Paris, Cocteau published a short tract called Le Coq et l'arlequin. *” He had become quite involved with music, particularly since his collaboration with Satie on Parade; he emerged as a champion of Les Nouveaux Jeunes, and Auric and Poulenc

quickly became his two favorite composers among the group, for they were the youngest, the most brashy and the most Parisian of the six. Le Coq et l'arlequin deals almost exclusively with music; it is clear that Cocteau’s relationship with

16

Emergence: 1914-1921

these composers was becoming an important part of his life. Dedicated to Auric, the little book is composed of maxims (like those of La Rochefoucauld), a form to which Cocteau’s cultivation of the bon mot irresistibly drew him. Cocteau called for a new kind of music from French composers: he urged them to abandon the philosophical mists and wanderings of German romanticism and French impressionism in favor of a light, tuneful, popular French art, based

on the music of the circus, the café-concert, and the music-hall.

He

explicitly rejected Debussy: “Enough of clouds, waves, aquariums, undines, and perfumes of the night; we need a music with its feet on the ground, a music for

daily use”; and Wagner: “All music that is to be heard with one’s head in one’s

hands is suspect. Wagner is the epitome of that kind of music.”*° He encouraged the creators of this new French music to be brief and to the point, to favor melody over harmony and counterpoint, to avoid the “caress of strings,” and to write accessible music. And he asked for a music of instinct, rather than intellect: “Instinct must be controlled by method, but only instinct helps us discover a

method which is our own, and through which we can control our iristinct.”*! It is important to realize that Cocteau was not here laying the foundation for a new musical aesthetic, but rather describing what he already had heard in the music of Satie and Les Nouveaux Jeunes. During this brief but highly significant period (1917-1921), these seven composers produced the kind of music that Cocteau liked; creating the illusion (as he often did) that he was somehow behind this new movement, Cocteau was quick to advocate the kind

of music influenced they were impact of

these composers were producing. None of them was ever really by Cocteau, but he was helpful in describing and publicizing what doing. Poulenc delivers a final evaluation of Cocteau’s role and the Le Cog et l'arlequin:

a genius of a manager ...and a faithful and marvellous friend. He was, if you will, our poetic chronicler far more than our theoretician. Truthfully, Le Cog et l‘arlequin is not so much a manifesto of the group, but rather a defense of Satie’s aesthetic as opposed to that of the preWar masters: Debussy, Ravel, and Stravinsky. Cocteau... wished that our aesthetic were

his.”

Cocteau began to collaborate on a regular basis with Satie and Les Nouveaux Jeunes, organizing, supporting, producing, and publicizing their musical efforts. He became Poulenc’s cultural guide and mentor, introducing him to Count Etienne de Beaumont and his wife, as well as to many other society figures and patrons; taking him to art exhibitions, concerts, poetry readings, and his newest passion, films; and making sure that his artistic contacts multiplied. They spent a great deal of time together in Paris, during Poulenc’s liberties, frequenting the café-concerts, foires, and music halls of the République and Pigalle quarters, where they both delighted in listening to the popular singer Jeanne Bloch and in visiting the famous Cirque Médrano and its renowned acrobatic act, the Fratellini Brothers.

Emergence: 1914-1921]

Le

Poulenc and Cocteau (1889-1963) first collaborated artistically on a “séance music hall” which Cocteau was planning for late 1918 in the Théatre du Vieux-Colombier. For this “séance,” Poulenc composed a number called Jongleurs, preceded by a percussion prelude; both of these works have been destroyed (see above). His collaboration with Cocteau consisted of a “chanson hispano-italienne,” entitled Toréador, composed to a poem written for the occasion and mailed to Poulenc in the army.”’ Toréador was dedicated to Pierre Bertin, who

was to sing the premiére. The “séance” never took place, and

Toréador was not published until 1932. At that time (1918), Cocteau was in his dada period, which had begun in 1916-17 with Parade. The pseudo-serious tone of Toréador, and its unusual narrative of a bullfight taking place in Venice (!), are indicative of Cocteau’s brand of dada. The second Poulenc-Cocteau work is steeped in this dada atmosphere: three chansons collectively called Cocardes (1919). The poems are remarkable for their lack of cohesion and direction; Cocteau seems to have

conceived of them aleatorically, with words and images that can be placed in any order, any pattern.’ Yet the musical setting is directed and controlled, guided by the principles espoused by Cocteau himself in Le Coq et larlequin: clarity, order, bare and simple melody, French in aesthetic and style, and a popular strain (Cocardes was originally scored for violin, cornet, trombone, bass drum and triangle—the bal musette orchestra of cafés and street dances). Poulenc touched on these characteristics in describing the work: This cycle should be sung without irony. What is most important is to believe in the words, which fly by like a bird dashing from one branch to another. Médrano in 1920, Paris before 1914, and Marseille in 1918 are evoked here. But you must guess where they are, like the scenes that you see on a pen holder. I would include Cocardes in my “Nogent works,” with the odor of fried potatoes, the accordion, and Piver perfume. In a word, everything that I loved at that age.*°

This work, first performed at the Boeuf sur le toit concert at the Théatre des Champs-Elysées on 21 February 1920 (see below), became one of Poulenc’s most important works of his early period. With its nostalgia, its tenderness, and its sadness veiled behind circus gaiety, Cocardes became one of the most popular pieces of the years 1919-1921, and Poulenc was called upon to sing and play it at every get-together of his musician-poet-artist friends. The bittersweet tone, a sadness thinly disguised by joy, was germane to the aesthetic of Apollinaire, Picasso, Cocteau, Les Nouveaux Jeunes, and the entire Parisian artistic scene of

the years 1910-1920, and it became an essential quality of Poulenc’s personality and style. This quality is described by André George, as it applies to Cocardes: Here tears glisten through laughter. Around a subtly naive text... poignant melody coils itself, and under the apparent festivity, the merry-making of fairs and traveling shows, there is

an immense fundamental sadness.”°

-

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Emergence: 1914-1921

Poulenc and Cocteau continued to interact during Cocteau’s dada period. In 1921, Cocteau and his intimate friend and protégé, Raymond Radiguet,”’ collaborated on a play, a “comédie-bouffe” with a terribly absurd plot, called Le Gendarme incompris. Poulenc was called upon to write some incidental music (including several songs), and he responded with a score which was highly praised by Darius Milhaud. Inexplicably, Poulenc never allowed the music to be played after the short run of the play, and he refused to publish it; he later destroyed the score. A second spectacle of 1921, Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel (see below), marked the conclusion of Cocteau’s dada period and indicated an advance into the periphery of surrealism. The entire spectacle is dream-like and surreal, and it foreshadows the techniques Cocteau would later use in his films. Poulenc composed two orchestral pieces for Les Mariés, and they follow in the tradition of Cocardes—bright, tuneful, popular in style, and bittersweet in tone. Poulenc was not again moved to set Cocteau’s writing to music until late in his life when, in 1959, he turned to one of Cocteau’s most realistic plays, La Voix

humaine. Poulenc discovered the poetry in remarkable operatic monodrama, perhaps successful example of that genre. Their final when Poulenc composed a “scéne lyrique,”

this play, and turned it into a the most powerful and most collaboration occurred in 1961, or dramatic concert aria, on

Cocteau’s monologue, La Dame de Monte-Carlo.

For his part, Cocteau was a fervent admirer of Poulenc’s music throughout his life; it offered him one of his few pure pleasures. In 1923, after the sudden

death of Radiguet, Cocteau went to pieces, falling into a serious nervous state and taking heavily to opium. In August of 1924, he wrote to Poulenc: “Les

Biches help me to live”;* in September of the same year he wrote: “I am still

suffering like the first day; I am leading an absurd life. Your works are the only

things which keep me going and which give me the curiosity to live.”*? On the occasion of Poulenc’s death, Cocteau would repay this debt with a perceptive and moving eulogy of the composer. Milhaud returned from Brazil in the spring of 1919, and Les Nouveaux Jeunes finally coalesced, under the twin beacons of Satie and Cocteau. The group immediately began spending their Saturday nights together (Poulenc joined them on a regular basis in August, when he was transferred to Paris). Milhaud fondly recalls those lively “soirées”: For a period of two years, we met regularly at my apartment every Saturday evening. Paul Morand would mix cocktails, then we would go to alittle restaurant on the rue Blanche. The dining room of the Petit Bessonneau was so small that our group completely filled it. The group indulged in unrestrained exuberance. There were not only composers among our faithful, but also performers (Marcelle Meyer, Juliette Meerovitch, Andrée Vaurabourg, the

Russian singer Koubitzsky), painters (Marie Laurencin, Iréne Lagut, Valentine Gross... Guy

Pierre Fauconnet), and writers (Lucien Daudet and Radiguet, a young poet brought to us by Cocteau). After dinner, attracted by the steam-powered merry-go-rounds, the mysterious

Emergence: 1914-1921

19

boutiques, the Daughter of Mars, the shooting galleries, the games of chance, the menageries, the racket of the mechanical organs with perforated rolls that seemed relentlessly to grind out all the brassy tunes of the music-hall and the revues, we would go to the “Foire” of Montmartre, and occasionally to the Cirque Médrano to watch the Fratellini Brothers’ sketches ...so worthy of the Commedia dell’Arte. We would finish the evening back at my apartment. The poets would read their poems. We would play our latest compositions. We would coerce Poulenc into playing his Cocardes every Saturday, which he would do with the

utmost grace,*°

On 16 January 1920, an article appeared in Comoedia by the critic Henri Collet, entitled “Un livre de Rimsky et un livre de Cocteau—les cing Russes, les six Francais et Erik Satie.” This lengthy title heads a probing article which compares Le Cog et l'arlequin, by then a “best-seller” of the artistic world, with some of Rimsky-Korsakov’s writings on music; Collet goes on to compare Les Nouveaux Jeunes with the Russian Five. The following week, a second article by Collet dealt with the aesthetic and music of “Les Six frangais,” soon to be shortened to Les Six. Thus, the catchy name for the six young composers dates from 23 January 1920. Collet had been inspired to write the two articles after attending a private concert at Milhaud’s apartment. By the second half of 1919, the music of Poulenc, Milhaud, Auric, Honegger, Tailleferre, and Durey was being performed on a regular basis, and generally on the same programs.“! Collet’s article

did not, then, create Les Six, for the group had been interacting and presenting concerts for a year and ahalf; the articles provided the group with a simple, memorable name, for Les Nouveaux Jeunes was a private appellation used primarily by Satie, Cocteau, and the composers themselves. Under the guidance of Cocteau, their impresario and business manager, the six composers took advantage of the publicity and notoriety that followed during the next year. The first common venture of the group seems to have been the issuing of four volumes of a broadsheet entitled Le Coq (renamed Le Cog parisien for the third and fourth volumes) between May and November 1920. The magazine, whose title clearly refers to Le Coq et l'arlequin, was designed and put together by Cocteau, Radiguet, Paul Morand, Lucien Daudet, Max Jacob, and Cendrars. The six composers were all contributors, though Cocteau’s favorites,

Auric and Poulenc, seem to have been the most deeply involved. Le Coq was a folding, colored-paper broadsheet which contained poems, articles, slogans, announcements, and even fragments of music, all of which was printed in various directions and in different sizes of type. Though there was some fine poetry contributed to Le Coq, the tone was generally pseudo-serious, selfcentered, and somewhat condescending; there was, for instance, a short novel in

serial form, written by “Elysées 08-74.” Cocteau and his collaborators sought to surprise, entertain, and perhaps infuriate a cultured Parisian public that was, at the time, eagerly reading a host of such literary magazines.

20

Emergence: 1914-1921

The reputation that Les Six were to gain as the “bad boys” of modern music can be traced initially to the dissemination of Le Coq. Their thoughts, opinions, and aesthetic views were paraded before a much broader audience than they had enjoyed in the previous two years. Such intentionally provocative aphorisms as, “The six musicians are no longer interested in harmonic counterpoint,” and “Arnold Schoenberg, the six musicians salute you,”” brought other composers, critics, and men of letters to the barricades. A literary quarrel raged over the merit and impertinence of Les Six for the next four years, culminating in a negative article in the first issue (New York, 1924) of Modern Music, written by Emile Vuillermoz, an old enemy of Satie and his composer friends; Leigh Henry responded to Vuillermoz’ article in the following issue. For all its silliness and pretention, Le Cog provides a precious documentation of the thoughts and personalities of a group of creative people, and a reflection on the brief period of time in which they came together. In addition, it contains at least two colorful opinions of Poulenc and his enormously popular Cocardes by his contemporaries, Auric: “The little orchestra of Francis Poulenc’s Cocardes thrills me as much as a page of Rameau”; and Radiguet: “The pictures [by Roger de la Fresnaye] which will accompany Jean Cocteau’s Tambour are a masterpiece of clarity, grace, and equilibrium. They have musical equivalents: Cocardes, the Parisian chansons of Francis Poulenc.”*? Paradoxically, as Les Six became both famous and controversial, their

musical activities as a group ceased. One month after the two Henri Collet articles which gave the group its name, three of Les Six took part in an important “concert-spectacle,” along with their musical godfather, Satie. Cocteau conceived and produced this concert, presented on21 February 1920 in the Theatre de la Comédie des Champs-Elysées. Included in the program were an Ouverture (since destroyed) and Cocardes by Poulenc, Auric’s light-hearted fox-trot Adieu, New York, and Satie’s bare and artless Trois petites piéces montées. The second half was given over to Milhaud’s Le Boeuf sur le toit, an outrageous Cocteau pantomime to jazzy Brazilian tunes (tangos, sambas, and maxixes) that Milhaud had originally written to accompany a Chaplin film; it was Cocteau himself who convinced Milhaud to use the music for the “ballet” rather than a film. The action of Cocteau’s story, which takes place in slow

motion inside an American bar during Prohibition, was admirably mimed by the Fratellini Brothers and other acrobats from the Cirque Médrano. More than any other single concert, the evening of 21 February 1920 epitomized the era of Les Six, as Henri Pruniéres wrote in 1928: This memorable presentation marked the triumph of Cocteau’s ideas. The circus, jazz, the cinema, and especially the music-hall furnished the principal elements of this new aesthetic,

which was in vogue for but a short time.“*

Emergence: 1914-1921

2l

Other interesting events followed during 1920 and 1921, none of which included the participation of all of Les Six. On 8 March 1920 Pierre Bertin organized an avant-garde event* in Paul Poiret’s Barbazange Gallery. Both art and music (e.g., Stravinsky’s Berceuses du chat) were included in the entertainment,

but

the

innovation

that

startled

the

audience

took

place during

intermission, when Satie and Milhaud provided live background music, which they called musique dameublement (furniture music), meant to be ignored by the chatting, strolling audience. Milhaud later tells us*° that Auric and Poulenc were not interested in this concept of artless, formless, repetitive music, and they

refused to take part in the festivities. On 23 May 1921 Bertin again organized an unusual evening of entertainment, this time at the Théatre des Mathurins. Only one piece of concert music was performed, Milhaud’s Caramel mou, Shimmy, the remainder of the program included Satie’s dadaist play-with-music, Le Piége de Méduse, Radiguet’s play Les Pélicans, with incidental music by Auric, and a play by Radiguet and Cocteau, Le Gendarme incompris, with music by Poulenc, as commented on above. This selective, but representative, account indicates that, by 1921, Milhaud, Auric, and Poulenc were the only members of

Les Six still active in Parisian concert life. Cocteau attempted to draw the group together and to crown their successes with a unique theatrical work upon which all six composers were to collaborate. Cocteau describes this dadaist fantasy, called Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel: Ballet? No. Play? No. Revue? No. Tragedy? No. Rather a sort of secret marriage between ancient tragedy and the end-of-the-year revue, between a chorus and a music-hall number.*’

This most bizarre of mixed marriages was presented on 18 June 1921 at the Théatre des Champs-Elysées, with choreography by Jean Borlin for the Ballets suédois, set design by Iréne Lagut, and costumes by Jean Hugo.” The one-act farce, which presents a series of unexpected and unexplained occurrences on the Eiffel Tower, narrated by two talking phonographs (an idea Cocteau had wanted to use in Parade), combined Cocteau’s love for light music-hall entertainment with the modernism, realism, and taste for the absurd of the

postwar era. Cocteau’s wish to elicit music from all six composers was frustrated by Durey’s refusal to participate; in fact, Durey was about to remove himself from Les Six and from public life, to devote his career to writing music for communist functions. Though Honegger did contribute one number to Les Marieés, the premiére of his oratorio Le Roi David on 11 June (one week prior to Les Mariés) indicated a new direction in his career; he was never again to collaborate in a concert by Les Six. Thus, an attempt to display the talents and the solidarity of Les Six marked, instead, the demise of the group. who comprised this coterie never actually formed a The six composers unified whole, nor did they even have much in common aesthetically or £

22

Emergence: 1914-192]

philosophically. They were linked together by friendship, by the fact that their music was performed at the same concerts between 1917 and 1921, and by Cocteau’s keen sense of public relations and the artistic taste of the mass audience. Poulenc explains definitively: An association of friends, certainly; but an aesthetic association, certainly not. What could be

more different than Milhaud and Auric, than Honegger and myself? The best proof that affection was the only bond that ped us is that, 15 years later, each one following his own path, we have remained close friends.”

Most evaluations of the contribution of Les Six tend to be overstated or exaggerated, undoubtedly because of the fervency of their supporters and detractors in the 1920s. Though Les Six existed as a group for a mere five years, it can be said that the six composers were a liberating force on French music and on the state of art in general. They were responsible (in France, at least) for the downfall of Wagnerism and impressionism, and they accelerated the decline of romanticism that had begun in the decade 1910-1920 with the music of Satie and

Stravinsky.” They helped to lay the artistic foundation of skepticism and

banality upon which dada and surrealism flourished. They brought music back down to earth—indeed, they traced it back to its popular roots. They helped usher in a decade of pleasure (of hedonism, some might argue) and of musical and aesthetic freedom. They set the stage for, and became some of the chief proponents of, musical neo-classicism. And they contributed to the continuing importance of Paris as a musical and cultural center. After 1921, Les Six went their separate ways; but four of them (Poulenc, Auric, Milhaud, and Honegger) continued to play an important role in the music of the twentieth century.

3

Growth: 1921-1932 In the closing months of 1920, Cocteau, Satie, Les Six, and several friends began

gathering regularly at the Gaya, a small bar with white-tiled walls on the rue Duphot.

The

owner,

Louis

Moysés,

who wished to take advantage of the

growing fame and influence of the group, invited them to patronize his bar as part of their Saturday “soirées.” The poets and musicians responded favorably to his invitation, for they were intrigued by the American jazz they heard at the Gaya, performed by pianist Jean Wiéner’ and American saxophonist Vance Lowry. Curiously, though Poulenc clearly enjoyed the jazz he heard (he even “sat in” at the piano during several Saturday night sessions), he eschewed jazzin his compositions; its influence is evident in only one piece, the Rag-Mazurka of Les Biches. He was later to write: I don’t even like [jazz] and | certainly don’t want to hear about its influence on contemporary music. It amuses me whenIlisten to records of it while taking my bath, but it is frankly

distasteful to me in the concert hall.’

Milhaud was the only member of Les Six to assimilate jazz effectively into his style. A year later, on 15 December 1921, Moysés moved his bar and its clientele to a new location, no. 28, rue Boissy d’Anglas. This new bar was christened “Le

Boeuf sur le toit,” with the permission of Milhaud and Cocteau, apparently to capitalize on the enormous success and memorable title of their ballet of 1920. Le Boeuf sur le toit became an immediate success, and it was soon frequented by much of the bohemian artistic world, as well as by an impressive group from /a haute société, and even by foreign nobility. All rubbed elbows in an intimate atmosphere, while enjoying jazz, cocktails, poetry, and contemporary music. Francis Picabia drifted over from the Certa bar (located not far away in the Passage de l’Opéra), the home of the dadaists, and put together a magnificent painting-collage, L’Oeil cacodylate; many of the habitués added a signature or an aphorism. Hanging over the bar at Le Boeuf, L Oeil cacodylate was asymbol of the intimacy, comaraderie, and joie-de-vivre of this group of artists, poets, musicians, and society figures who interacted and met there during the early 1920s.

24

Growth: 1921-1932 Poulenc could be found at the center of this rather hedonistic world, for his

ingratiating personality and his lighthearted, impertinent music made him everybody’s favorite. It was at this time that he met five important patrons of the arts in Paris: the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, the Prince and Princesse Jean and Marie-Blanche de Polignac, and the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Noailles.’

Poulenc spent many evenings in the elegant salons of these patrons, where the social grace his family background gave him served him well. More importantly, several of his larger works (Aubade, Le Bal masqué, Concerto pour deux pianos, and Concerto pour orgue), as well as a number of songs, were commissioned by these five patrons, and many of these works received their premieres at the weekly salons. In addition to fostering the expansion of his social contacts, the year 1921 was to provide two other significant events in Poulenc’s career. Upon being discharged from active military duty in October of that year,’ he immediately sought to rectify his lack of formal musical training, a shortcoming which had troubled him since his rejection in 1917 from the Conservatoire. Thus he began three years of private study with the venerable and enigmatic Charles Koechlin (1867-1950). The lessons began with a concentration on counterpoint, which Poulenc willingly attempted, remembering that Satie had studied it at the Schola Cantorum. But both Poulenc and Koechlin soon realized that the young composer’s aptitude lay elsewhere, and a new study was undertaken: Having soon sensed that, like many Latins, I was more of a harmonist than a countrapuntist,

he had me harmonize Bach chorale tunes in four parts while I continued working on my

counterpoint exercises. This work, which excited me, had a decisive influence on me. It is due to these chorale exercises that I acquired a sense of choral music.°

Thus, we can trace two crucial developments to Poulenc’s study with Koechlin. The older composer discovered a fundamental trait of Poulenc’s aesthetic viewpoint and style, and at once encouraged him to cultivate his predilection for harmony over counterpoint. Secondly, Poulenc was encouraged to write for chorus for the first time. Though he did not compose in that genre with regularity until 1936, his first choral piece was composed under the guidance of Koechlin: the Chanson a boire (1922), written for the Harvard Glee Club. This boisterous drinking song contains the germs of most of Poulenc’s later choral techniques. As he had thanked Vines for his influence on his piano compositions, Poulenc payed homage to Koechlin: “My choral music owes

everything to Charles Koechlin.”° We must go back to June of 1921 for the other significant event of that year. Sitting in the audience at the premiére of Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel was Serge Diaghilev, ever watchful of innovations in any of the performing arts. He was so impressed with the musical numbers in Les Mariés, that he quickly commissioned ballets from Poulenc, Auric, and Milhaud. Poulenc began Les Biches in

Growth: 1921-1932

25

the fall of that year, but it was not completed until two years later, receiving its premiere in Monte-Carlo on 6 January 1924. Les Biches was not only Poulenc’s first large-scale composition, but it also marked his first significant exposure to

an international audience. His reputation as a viable, serious composer, as more than just a member of the slightly adolescent Les Six, can be traced to the beauty and success of his first ballet. Diaghilev had been introduced to Poulenc, after the performance of Les Mariés, by Igor Stravinsky. By that time, Stravinsky had already exerted a great influence on Poulenc’s style and career, and he would continue to be, along with Satie, one of the two composers most responsible for Poulenc’s musical development. Poulenc first came into contact with Stravinsky’s music at the age of eleven, and he later defied his father’s wishes by attending a concert version of the “profane” Le Sacre du printemps in 1914. He met Stravinsky in 1916, when the latter was in Paris to meet with the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, who had commissioned Renard from him. By the following year, the two composers had become friends. From the start, Poulenc idolized Stravinsky, and the older composer seems to have been genuinely impressed with Poulenc’s first compositional efforts. He was certainly impressed enough to prompt Chester of London, his own publisher, to issue many of Poulenc’s early works. And, as mentioned, his intervention helped secure the commission for Les Biches. For his part, Poulenc was often called upon to pass judgment on Stravinsky’s works of the early 1920s, and he was asked to play one of the four piano parts in the Paris premiére of Les Noces (1923).

Though the impact of Stravinsky’s music is most evident in Poulenc’s neoclassic works of the 1920s and 1930s,’ it is not difficult to find traces of it insuch

late works as Les Animaux modéles (1941), the Sonate pour deux pianos (195253), and even Dialogues des Carmélites (1955). The profundity of Poulenc’s debt to Stravinsky is expressed in this statement, made late in his life: Ah yes, if Stravinsky had not existed, would I have written music? All I can tell you is thatI consider myself a son, the type of son that he would certainly disown, but nevertheless a

spiritual son of Stravinsky.*

Not all of Poulenc’s works of the 1920s bear the mark of Stravinsky. He composed four pieces in the first half of the decade that seem more influenced by Milhaud and Koechlin than by any other composer. By 1920, the year after Milhaud’s return from Brazil, he and Poulenc had become close friends, and

they were very conscious of each other’s musical style. Immediately upon Poulenc’s release from military service in October of 1921, the two embarked on a trip to Vienna, accompapied by the singer Marya Freund, who was one of the faithful interpreters of the works of Satie and Les Six. The three musicians f

26

Growth: 1921-1932

visited Mahler’s widow in Vienna, and she in turn introduced them to Berg and

Webern. They went to Mdédling, where they spent several days with Schoenberg, culminating the visit with two presentations of Pierrot Lunaire. Milhaud conducted a French version with Freund singing, as they had done at an earlier Jean Wiéner concert in Paris; Schoenberg conducted a German version, which Poulenc found more precise, less lyrical than Milhaud’s interpretation. Poulenc was to maintain a reserved admiration for Schoenberg's music, though its influence on his style is negligible. Poulenc continued to cultivate a close relationship with Milhaud. In 1922, the two composers journeyed to Italy, hoping to make some contacts and to awaken interest in Les Six (or the vestiges thereof). They found, to their surprise, that Les Six were already notorious, at least in Rome. They did instigate some important friendships, most notably Casella, Malipiero, and Vittorio Rieti; = last of these composers would later take part in many concerts of La Sérénade.” The four works written during these years under an apparent influence of Milhaud and Koechlin are: Promenades (1921), Esquisse d'une fanfare (1921), Napoli (1922-25), and Poémes de Ronsard (1924-25). All four works contain heavy dissonance (Milhaud) and a contrapuntal texture (Koechlin) uncharacteristic of Poulenc. None of the four reflects the Poulenc personality of the music of 1917-1919.

Promenades

shows

an additional

influence

of Satie, with

its

modality and its resemblance to Sports et divertissements; it is, consequently, the lightest, most unpretentious of the four works. The Esquisse dune fanfare, to open the fifth act of “Roméo et Juliette” (Cocteau’s?), is continuously dissonant and dense, and possesses a hint of polytonality. Napoli, begun in Naples during the Italian trip of 1922 and originally called Caprice italien, is endowed with Poulenc’s natural lyricism, but again is dissonant and lacks the clarity and spontaneity of earlier Poulenc works. The Poémes de Ronsard are extremely heavy and reflect Stravinsky as well as Milhaud and Koechlin. Poulenc recaptured his own personality with two works written in 1925-26: Chansons gaillardes, eight songs for baritone voice and piano on anonymous seventeenth-century texts, and the Trio for piano, oboe, and bassoon, one of his

most perfect chamber works. Both pieces received their first performance at a joint recital of the music of Auric and Poulenc, presented at the Salle des Agriculteurs on 2 May 1926. The singer of the generally lighthearted and bawdy Chansons gaillardes was a young man of twenty-seven named Pierre Bernac. Poulenc was deeply impressed with Bernac’s skill and interpretive sensitivity, and urged further collaboration, but to no avail. The two lost sight of each other

for more than eight years.'° During these years of the middle 1920s, a project equal in magnitude to Les Biches was occupying Poulenc. Early in 1923, the very year in which he completed Les Biches, he was invited by Ricardo Vifies to attend the Paris

premiére of Falla’s El Retablo de Maese Pedro at the home of the Princesse

Growth: 1921-1932

ee

Edmond de Polignac, who had commissioned the pantomime-ballet. Playing the harpsichord part in the concert was a diminutive woman named Wanda Landowska.

Born in 1879, Landowska had moved to Paris in 1900 and, while

presenting concerts at the Schola Cantorum, had abandoned the piano in favor of the harpsichord. Since 1903, she had been devoting her career to the revival of the harpsichord and the music that had been written expressly for this

instrument

by Bach,

Rameau,

Scarlatti, and Couperin.

As a result of this

concert in 1923, she asked both Falla and Poulenc to compose a modern work for harpsichord for her.

Poulenc was unable to find the right inspiration for such a work until he was invited, in 1926, to visit Landowska’s “country” home at Saint-Leu-laForét, a suburb north of Paris. Landowska was then in the habit of presenting a yearly series of concerts (as part of her Ecole de la musique ancienne), colorfully described by René Dumesnil: Each year, in the spring, Wanda Landowska presented, in her Saint-Leu-la-Forét home, several concerts champétres, the memory of which remains among the fondest of the period between the wars. Everything combined for the pleasure of the guests: a marvelous setting, in one of the most pleasant of sites in the vicinity of Paris; an exquisite house, full of artistic treasures displayed with taste and simplicity that served to set them off; a music room located at the end of a garden decked out in the splendor of the season; and, of course, the programs. |!

Poulenc was so moved by this setting that he decided to compose a work for harpsichord and orchestra which would depict his impressions of the “country” at Saint-Leu. He was able to begin work on this concerto in 1927, when he recieved a commission from the Princesse Edmond de Polignac. The actual composition of the Concert champétre, and Landowska’s contribution to it, are discussed in a later chapter, when the work is analyzed in detail. Poulenc and Landowska, though separated by some twenty years and great cultural and national differences, became close, lifelong friends: “She soon invited me to her home and, since then, I have always been her darling child.”

Indeed, their letters show a tenderness and a concern usually reserved for members of a family. Poulenc greatly admired Landowska: “Wanda Landowska is one of the only women who gives me the impression of genius in its pure

state.”'’ He described the ramifications of their friendship: My meeting with Wanda Landowska was, indeed, a key event in my career. I feel for her equal amounts of artistic respect and human affection. I am proud of her friendship, and I will never be able to say how much I owe her. It was she who gave me the key to the harpsichord works of

Bach. It was she who taught me all that I know about our French harpsichordists.'*

This knowledge would finda vehicle in Concert champétre, in Aubade (1929), in the incidental music to Jntermezzo (1933), and in Suite francaise (1935). e

28

Growth; 1921-1932

In 1927, Poulenc invested a great deal of his personal inheritance’ in a sixteenth-century house in Noizay, a tiny village in the Loire Valley near Amboise (Touraine district). Though he continued to maintain his apartment in Paris, he felt a need to get away from the capital city for extended periods: Being wildly visual, everything distracts me, causing me to fritter away my time. I must, therefore, retire into my shell and work in solitude. That is why I cannot work in Paris.'®

His new house in Noizay, called “Le Grand Coteau,” was a perfect choice for this purpose. Large, airy, and sunny, the house is surrounded by hundreds of acres of vineyards and farmland, all of which Poulenc owned; to this day, the nearest

neighbor is more than a mile away. With his customary social tact, Poulenc rapidly adopted the ways of Noizay: he made and drank his own wine; he walked and bicycled through the countryside; he took to wearing sabots and large sun hats; he made many local friends (including a dear old woman he called his “Tante” Liénard) who were frequently invited to his home for afternoon tea or apéritifs. He even hired a local ambulance driver as his personal chauffeur (Poulenc hated to drive), and the two became lifelong friends and, eventually, lovers. Yet, though he fit in well, he was never really comfortable in the country.

Though he had the appearance of a big-boned country boy’’ and though he adjusted to life in Noizay, Poulenc deeply missed Paris when he was away from

it.'* He was really quite bored by his existence at “Le Grand Coteau.” It was undoubtedly this very boredom that enabled him to compose there so successfully, for a large portion of his music after 1927 was written at Noizay; he spent most of his summers there and also made frequent short visits during the winter months. Poulenc definitively explained his relationship to Noizay: | am not a Tourangeau, no matter what may be said. The critics bury me in country adjectives with the bouquet of good wine [see note 17]. Though I own a pleasant home in Noizay, the only locale where I am able to work, I have no roots in this area.'”

And: I beg of you, never allow anyone to refer to me as the Touraine musician, for I have always worked here as if I were in prison, dreaming of fairy-tale countries: Monte-Carlo, Nogent, the

Boulevard de la Chapelle [Paris], etc.”°

The bucolic or country strain that critics seem to find in Poulenc’s music is merely a general robustness, openness, and clarity;”’ he was definitely a “city boy” and an urbane, sophisticated composer whose music reflects the culture of Paris.

Growth: 192]-]1932

29

In 1929, Poulenc received a commission from the Vicomte and Vicomtesse

de Noailles for a chamber-orchestra piece to be part of the entertainment for a fancy dress ball that they were planning to give on 18 June. He responded with his most serious work up to that time: Aubade, a “concerto chorégraphique” for piano and eighteen instruments on the theme of Diana’s eternal chastity. This is a far cry from the chic, impertinent, often frivolous works that Poulenc had

composed during the first ten years of his career. Yet this new side to his nature was never to usurp the spontaneity and vitality of his personality and his music

from the era of Les Six. Rather, it would make him a more complete man and

composer. The serious tone of Poulenc’s last composition of the 1920s was mirrored by the tenor of the pieces presented along with Aubade at the tenth anniversary concert of Les Six on 11 December 1929 in the Théatre des Champs-Elysées. Clearly a joyous decade was coming to a close, symbolized by the fall of the stock market, a gathering world depression, and the new direction taken by the former members of Les Six, the enfants terribles of the 1920s.

During the following three years, Poulenc’s entire output was vocal, until he turned to the piano late in 1932. He produced thirteen songs (Epitaphe, 1930; Trois poémes of Louise Lalanne, Quatre poémes of Apollinaire, and Cing poeémes of Jacob, all in 1931), and a chamber cantata, Le Bal masqué (1932),_ based on four poems of Jacob. These “poetry-song” years marked Poulenc’s first settings of contemporary French poetry since his two early collections, Le Bestiaire and Cocardes (both 1919). Yet, a healthy portion of Poulenc’s total output was vocal music. Of his 293 works, about three quarters (215) can be considered either vocal or directly inspired by a text (i.e., Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel and his incidental music for plays and films). Of these 215 vocal works, 196 are generated by poetry. Poulenc quite succinctly explains his predilection for this type of piece: “I always passionately loved poetry, and that is why there are sO many songs in my musical output.””” This love of poetry was awakened at an early age, for Poulenc was introduced to it (as well as to music and art) by his eclectic mother and uncle Papoum as soon as he was able to comprehend. He was also fortunate in developing a close and sensitive friendship with a young girl named Raymonde Linossier.*’ She taught him much about poetry and brought him to Adrienne Monnier’s rue de |’Odéon bookstore, “Les Amis du livre.” He also read, “avec gourmandise,” the poems of Cocteau, Apollinaire, Eluard, Jacob, Reverdy, and

a host of others, as they appeared in the literary journals of the war years. Poulenc spoke about these poets with awe, and approached them with

respect when he met them, for he looked upon their work as a miracle. His reaction to poetry was an instinctive one—he either loved it or he ignored it. This became the basis of his transformation of poetry to music:

30

Growth: 1921-1932 The musical transposition of a poem should be an act of love, and never a marriage of reason. I

set Apollinaire and Max Jacob to music because I love their poetry.”

This instinctive identification with verse enabled Poulenc to become one of the greatest prosodists in the history of the French mélodie, but not without the intervention of “reason,” in the shape of profoundly self-critical craftsmanship. He labored over a poem he wished to set, examining it from every angle, reading it aloud hundreds of times before he put it to music. The result was usually a setting so spontaneous and natural, despite the enormous effort, that it enhanced the beauty and clarified the meaning of the original text. The vast majority of the poems set to music by Poulenc came from contemporary French poets; he seemed to struggle, to lose his spontaneity, when he attempted to set older poetry (e.g., Racine and Ronsard). The two contemporary French poets that Poulenc concentrated on during 1931-32 were Apollinaire and Jacob. Guillaume Apollinaire (né Guillelmus-Apollinaris-Albertus) was born in 1880. After traveling about Europe with his free-thinking mother, he settled in Paris in 1898. By 1904 he had befriended most of the leading artistic figures in Paris, and he had become an habitué at the newly inaugurated artists’ colony in Montmartre, “Le Bateau-Lavoir”; his theories, articles, and reviews helped create the artistic movement called cubism. He began publishing his poems, stories, and critical articles in various literary revues, and in 1912 he founded his own magazine, Les Soirées de Paris. He augmented the meager living earned from these publications by writing pornographic stories and novels, and by submitting “chatty” society articles to middle-class journals under the pseudonym Louise Lalanne. Apollinaire and the painter Marie Laurencin enjoyed a brief, but tempestuous affair, after which he gallantly joined the war effort in 1914 and fought heroically, perhaps recklessly, until he was wounded in the head by a shell fragment in 1916. After an operation, he returned to Paris and his

bandaged head became a feature of the 1916-17 artistic events, particularly the premiére of Parade and the production of his own play, Les Mamelles de Tirésias. A happy marriage (not to Marie Laurencin) provided him some relief from physical anguish, but he died on 9 November 1918, two days before the armistice. Despite being a prolific critic of art, theater, and literature, Apollinaire is,

of course, best known for his poetry, of which the collections Onirocritique (1908), Le Bestiaire (1911), Alcools (1913), Calligrammes (1918), and Il y a (posthumous) contain the best examples. The style that runs throughout Apollinaire’s poetry is paradoxical and rather inconsistent, for he juxtaposes simple lyricism with profound cynicism, gentle melancholy with harsh fatalism. It is a rich, robust poetry, often tinged with a modest humor which is at once tender and sentimental.

Growth: 1921-1932 Edward Lockspeiser Poulenc’s music:

describes

this varied

style and compares

31 it to

Elsewhere he reveals a remarkably pure lyrical strain, derived from the music inherent in words, as in certain poems of Verlaine....Yet mated with this entrancing simplicity is a rasping sarcasm, a cynical despondency which French artists have again and again used as an antidote to any semblance of too obvious sentimentality. We find this combination in the music of Poulenc itself, as in the music of Chabrier, Satie and Ravel.”

Apollinaire’s poetry can thus be seen as the essential link between symbolism and surrealism. It contains both the vocal, quasi-musical quality of symbolist poetry, and the highly visual, fantastic element of surrealist verse. In addition, Apollinaire foreshadowed the important World War II resistance poets (Aragon, Eluard, Desnos) by his oblique methods of expression, his secret or intimate passion, and his deep nostalgia. Finally, he was instrumental in the development of visual poetry (see Calligrammes) and automatic writing, two techniques which would later gain popularity. On 28 April 1918, Poulenc met Apollinaire at the home of Valentine Gross.” Though Poulenc knew his poetry, from Monnier’s bookstore and from reading Les Soirées de Paris, he had not yet been moved to set any to music. On the occasion of that first meeting, Poulenc sat quietly, listening to the poet speak: Here is the crux of the matter: I heard the sound of his voice. I think this is important for a musician who does not want to betray a poet. Apollinaire’s tone, like the tone of his work, was both melancholy and joyous. Sometimes there was a touch of irony in his speaking.”’

This seemed to provide the impetus for Poulenc to set Apollinaire’s poetry to music. In February 1919, while he was stationed in Pont-sur-Seine, Poulenc

received a package from Adrienne Monnier. It contained a reprint of Le Bestiaire, illustrated with a series of woodcuts by Raoul Dufy, one of Poulenc’s favorite contemporary artists. Working with a burst of inspiration, Poulenc set twelve of the short poems by 8 May,” producing his first collection of mélodies. Apollinaire appealed to Poulenc as a standard-bearer of contemporary culture. His personality, his poetry, and his career breathed life into all of the important artistic developments in France during the first two decades of the twentieth century: fauvism, cubism, jazz and cabaret music, the child-like magic

of fairs and circuses and the music (Stravinsky’s Petrushka) and art (Picasso’s saltimbanques) that it engendered, and the early efforts of cinema. On a deeper, more personal level, Poulenc found a kindred spirit in Apollinaire, a spirit of deep tenderness and biting humor, a modern spirit rooted in tradition; in a word, Poulenc and Apollinaire shared a temperament of contradictions. Claude Rostand succinctly describes the similar natures of poet and composer:

32

Growth: 1921-1932 we find in Francis Poulenc and in Guillaume Apollinaire this same tender and lyrical side, this same drollness, this same Rabelaisian bawdiness, this same biting sarcasm which occasionally approaches cruelty, this same direct and penetrating poetic sentiment, this same poetic sensitivity, or rather sensuality, to atmosphere...this same mischievous strain, this same

latent eroticism.”

For Poulenc, these aspects of Apollinaire’s personality and poetry generated a nostalgia for the two places he considered home. Like the paintings of Dufy, the poetry of Apollinaire drew him to Nogent-sur-Marne: I find in Apollinaire...this style of a popular sentimental ballad, this sympathy for the suburbs and the little boats on the Marne, that touches me more deeply than anything, for it is

one of the essential elements of my life.*°

This atmosphere makes its first tentative appearance in the Quatre poémes of 1931, and reaches full flowering in La Grenouillére (1938), a mélodie whose

exquisite gentleness and iridescence evoke the Marne on a lazy summer afternoon. Paris, however, was the land of magic for both poet and composer, as Poulenc tells us: The more I reread Apollinaire, the more I am struck by the poetic role held by Paris in his work. That is why, amidst the madness of Mamelles, for example, I always respected the oases of tenderness provoked by the word Seine or the word Paris.*'

In addition to Les Mamelles de Tirésias, Poulenc indicated his love for Paris in the following Apollinaire mélodies: Allons plus vite (1938), “Hétel” and “Voyage a Paris” (from Banalités, 1940), and Montparnasse (1941-45). Of these mélodies, “H6tel” provides a clue to Poulenc’s conception of Paris and Nogent as being essentially one, with Paris representing the culture and excitement of life and Nogent symbolizing the calm, relaxed side of life; for “Hétel,” which clearly takes place in a room in Paris, utilizes the same key and the identical

parallel seventh- and ninth-chord

style of La Grenouillére.

All of these

Apollinaire mélodies, as well as Mamelles, are colored by an extremely tender melancholy, another character trait which Poulenc and Apollinaire shared, as

Poulenc points out: I have always been moved by the melancholy of his smile; that is why my music, even on his

gayest poems, always maintains a melancholy emotion.”

In 1931, Poulenc returned to Apollinaire after a twelve-year absence and seven of his poems. He turned regularly to his favorite poets (Eluard was other; see chapter 4) during the following twenty-five years. In 1948, composed his last collection of Apollinaire mélodies, Calligrammes, written

set the he for

Growth: 1921-1932

33

the first American tour of the Poulenc-Bernac duo.*’ Poulenc explains why he set only two other short poems of Apollinaire during the last fifteen years of his life: [Calligrammes] represents for me the culmination of my research into the musical transposition of Apollinaire. The more I leaf through his volumes, the more I sense that I can no longer find nourishment within. It is not that I love his poetry any less (I have never loved it

more); but I feel that I have used up all that I can of his poetry. **

The second poet to whom Poulenc turned in 1931-32 was Max Jacob (1876-1944). This enigmatic, marginal surrealist was a Jew from Brittany, two cultural heritages that are almost mutually exclusive. As if further to confound his personality, an image of Christ appeared to Jacob in his tiny, one-room Montmartre apartment in 1909; he immediately converted to Roman Catholicism. From that point on, he was to mix religious meditation and poetry, while he dabbled in painting, novel writing, and criticism. Poulenc met Jacob in 1917, and the two saw each other often in Paris, until the poet sequestered himself in a provincial monastery in the late 1920s. Poulenc first set his poetry in 1921, when he chose four fanciful and somewhat enigmatic poems that Jacob had written specifically for him: “Poéte et ténor,” “Dans le buisson de mimoses,” “Est-il un coin plus solitaire,” and “C’est pour aller au

bal.” The first of these poems appeared soon after in Jacob’s anthology Le Laboratoire central, while the other three were included in Les Pénitents en maillots roses (1925). Poulenc set these poems for baritone voice, flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, and trumpet, and dedicated them to Darius Milhaud, who

conducted the premiére on 7 January 1922. Highly dissatisfied with these songs, Poulenc destroyed the Quatre poémes before they could be published. We must regret this decision, for they would undoubtedly have provided an interesting evolutionary link between the songs of 1919 and the Chansons gaillardes of 1926. Poulenc turned to Jacob once again in 1931, setting Cinq poémes for female voice and piano. One year later, he produced his definitive Jacob work: Le Bal masqué, a cantata for baritone voice and chamber orchestra which combined four poems with several purely instrumental interludes. In 1954, Poulenc paired two Jacob poems, “Jouer du bugle” and “Vous n’écrivez plus,”

and gave them the title Parisiana. Jacob’s poetry is remarkable for its variety of emotions and subject matter. His early works are satirical, often tongue-in-cheek; they approach surrealism in their depiction of a fantasy world where anything can happen. The characters and events in Jacob’s world are escapees from fairy tales and monster stories, reacting to the most inefedible occurrences with alternating calm acceptance and wide-eyed wonder. The collection Le Cornet a dés (1917), an anthology of prose poems, is typical of this type of artifice and cocasserie; Poulenc deeply

34

Growth: 1921-1932

appreciated this collection: “I unreservedly admired this astonishing volume of Max Jacob’s: Le Cornet a dés, which I consider one of the three masterpieces of

French prose poetry.”*° (The other two are Baudelaire’s Spleen de Paris and Rimbaud’s Saison en enfer.) In his middle period (c. 1920-1935), Jacob began to paint real people, but continued to place them in fantasy situations; it was from this period that Poulenc drew the poems for Le Bal masqué (from Le Laboratoire central). Stark realism and black humor continue to alternate with tender, lyrical poetry. Religious introspection became the dominant force in Jacob’s last ten years of work. In general, Jacob’s poetry is witty and clever, utilizing jeux de mots and pointing out the absurd humor of everyday situations. It combines the earthiness of his Breton heritage and the sophisticated charm of his adopted Paris; perhaps this combination produced the suggestion of Nogent that Poulenc found in the poems of Le Bal masqué. Poulenc was attracted to several aspects of Jacob’s poetry: the colorful, almost grotesque caricatures; the juxtaposition of unrelated or remotely-related imagery (see “Jouer du bugle”), which represents a poetic counterpart of Poulenc’s additive, non-developmental style; and the nostalgic element in much of his poetry. Poulenc evidently compared this nostalgia to that evoked by Apollinaire, for he felt the two poets had certain things in common: “The welldeserved glory of Apollinaire has too often eclipsed that of Max Jacob; they

influenced one another, as did Picasso and Braque from 1911 to 1913.”*° Whatever the magic was that existed between

Poulenc and Jacob, for they

certainly admired one another, it produced one of Poulenc’s finest and most characteristic works in Le Bal masqué. For his part, Jacob showed his love and admiration for Poulenc by dedicating five “Poémes burlesques” (in Les Pénitents en maillots roses) to the composer. In 1931, Jacob wrote, ina letter to

Poulenc: “My only claim to glory will be for my name to appear beside yours.”?”

Despite this burst of song composition in 1931-32, Poulenc did not turn to the mélodie again until 1935. The three intervening years were crucial, however, to his evolution and maturation, as was the poet to whom he finally turned in 1935.

4

Maturity: 1932-1945 Many of the works composed by Poulenc in the early 1930s received their first performance at a concert series called “La Sérénade.” Sponsored by the Marquise

de Casa

Fuerte,

this series began

in December

1931, and

ran

successfully until 1938, presenting new works by Poulenc, Milhaud, Auric, Henri

Sauguet,

Nicolas Nabakov,

Igor Markevitch,

and Vittorio Rieti. A

concert given in February 1932 included a revival of Satie’s Le Piége de Méduse, performed by Sauguet and Madeleine Milhaud, and the premiéres of Poulenc’s Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire and Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne. Poulenc was thus fortunate to have many of his works immediately performed during a crucial decade in his career. Poulenc’s private life during the first half of the 1930s was outwardly serene. He was dividing his time between Paris and Noizay, composing such lighthearted works as Le Bal masqué and the Concerto pour deux pianos (both 1932). Yet from 1932 to 1936, his personality and style underwent their most serious evolution, leading to the emergence of a mature composer in the works of 1936. While engaged in self-analysis,' he continued to compose, falling back upon piano music, his most facile genre. Perhaps this explains the preponderance of piano music, most of it light and rather inconsequential (Villageoises, Presto, Humoresque, Badinage), in Poulenc’s output between 1932 and 1934.

One must look at his vocal music to discover the earliest manifestations of this evolution of the mid-1930s. Poulenc began his experimentation in the domain of solo song. After the intense output of the years. 1931-32, he produced only four works in this genre until Tel jour, telle nuit, his monumental cycle of 1936-37; yet two of the four suggest a marked change of direction. In 1934, Poulenc arranged Huit chansons polonaises for the Polish soprano Maria Modrakowska, who was about to embark ona concert tour of Morocco. This seemingly minor task occupied him for four months, perhaps an indication of his serious approach to the project. Two significant stylistic innovations can be found in these folk-song settings. The piano parts, which were newly composed by Poulenc, show a noticeable improvement in technique, appropriateness, and interaction with the vocal line,

36

Maturity: 1932-1945

over his mélodies of 1931-32; this is particularly evident in the introduction to the first song, and throughout the fifth and sixth. The masterpiece of the set, however, and one of Poulenc’s most powerful vocal pieces, is the final song. Here he shows himself to be in command of a strongly dissonant, chromatic idiom. Though he had attempted this style (to a somewhat lesser degree) before, in Promenades and Napoli, the result had been tentative and rather without distinction; here the style seems perfectly natural and not labored. Moreover, Poulenc combines the resultant feeling of unrest and ambiguity with the profound sense of melancholy heard previously in Aubade. Though this intense chromaticism was to figure prominently in only a handful of later Poulenc works, it signaled an expansion of technique and a deepening of seriousness, without which the Cing poémes de Paul Eluard (1935), the other significant solo vocal collection of the period, would not have been possible. Two additional influences helped to generate this latter pivotal work: Poulenc’s collaboration with Pierre Bernac, and his long-cherished desire to set Paul Eluard’s poetry. Poulenc first met the singer Bernac’ in 1926, when he sang the premiére of the Chansons gaillardes. The two immediately felt a similarity of spirit and a complementary approach to the performance of art songs; yet they were not to meet again until 1934, when Poulenc was hired by Le Figaro to report on the Salzburg Festival. Upon arriving there, he found a note in his room from Bernac, asking him to accompany the singer in a program of Debussy songs to be given at the home of a wealthy American woman (Bernac’s own accompanist had been taken ill). Poulenc agreed enthusiastically (the two had probably run through some Debussy in 1926), the concert was a success, and an agreement was reached: After the concert, we decided to collaborate in a regular fashion and to create, in short, a team similar to those that perform violin-piano sonatas, with the same concern for balance and stylistic preparation going into our interpretation of vocal music.’

From 1935 to 1959, the Poulenc-Bernac duo toured all over the world, performing Gounod, Chabrier, Debussy, Ravel, Satie, Poulenc, Schubert,

Schumann, Wolf, and others. Poulenc wrote most of his songs during this period, and nearly a hundred of them were written specifically for Bernac. Poulenc’s compositional process was greatly influenced by the voice, style, and advice of Bernac: “Of course, it is because of this association that I composed so many mélodies that no one will ever sing better than Bernac, for he knows the smallest secrets of my music.”* Many of his songs have vocal lines which were designed for the qualities of Bernac’s light baritone voice; for example, they often rise an octave or more while decreasing in volume, frequently to a pianissimo. Other features of Bernac’s voice which played an important role in shaping Poulenc’s style are a remarkable clarity and facility of pronunciation,

Maturity: 1932-1945

37

and the ability to encompass such diverse tones as sweet refinement and a coarse “parigot”—a rather sneering quality referred to by Poulenc as “mauvais gout.” Poulenc sums up Bernac’s influence on his own stylistic development: all of the evolution that took place in my mélodies was due to Bernac. Just as Vifies had

revealed to me certain secrets of pianistic writing, Bernac showed me the possibilities of

singing, and since singing is my greatest love, | need say no more as proof of my happiness

during these years of collaboration.*

After their chance meeting in August 1934, Poulenc and Bernac immediately began preparing for their first joint recital, to be given on 3 April 1935 at the Ecole Normale. For this concert, Poulenc composed Cing poémes de Paul Eluard, ending a lengthy struggle with the problems inherent in setting Eluard’s poetry to music (see below). He attributes the impetus to coming to grips with Eluard to his collaboration with Bernac: “Bernac’s vocal style prompted me to seek, quite naturally, a lyric poet. I immediately thought of Paul Eluard.”° Since the Cing poémes represent Poulenc’s first settings of a surrealist poet, this important artistic movement should be examined at this time. Surrealism began to rise, in 1921, out of the ashes of World War I. Its roots can be traced to

dadaism, anihilistic movement that had been created in 1917 by the poet Tristan Tzara, as a violent reaction to the waste and insanity of the war. Tzara and his friends, who regularly assembled at the Café Voltaire in Ziirich, were poets looking for a new language: Tzara wished to restore magic power to the word by assembling oddly disparate words in poems to create a verbal equivalent of the collage technique used by dadaist artists like Kurt Schwitters, who would pick up odds and ends in the street for his works.’

Thus

they employed

meaningless

repetition of sounds, enumeration,

free

association of unrelated words, and simultaneousness; the latter two techniques were retained by the surrealist poets. Further, the dadaists advocated complete anarchy in life and in the arts; they called for disorder, uncontrolled violence,

and the rejection of artistic convention: there is no beginning, and we do not tremble, we are not sentimental. We, a furious wind, tear away the covering from clouds and from prayers, and prepare the great spectacle of disaster,

of fire, and of decomposition.*

Such principles were artistically sterile and self-defeating. As a result, dada “happenings” quickly lost their novelty, and the more creative spirits soon turned to an exploration of the unknown (influenced by the poetry of Rimbaud, Nerval, and William BlaKe), to the concept of a voyage of the mind (Nerval and Baudelaire), and to dream imagery, seeking a new irrational reality. By 1919,

38

Maturity: 1932-1945

André Breton and Philippe Soupault had founded the revue Littérature and had begun to print such surrealist poems as “Les Champs magnétiques.” By 1922, the surrealist group had coalesced,’ and two years later their “leader,” Breton (1896-1966), defined their aims in a Manifeste du surréalisme: Surrealism, n: Pure, psychic automatism by which one attempts to express, either verbally, in writing, or in any other manner, the real process of thought. A dictation of thought, in the absence of any control exercised by reason, devoid of any aesthetic or moral preoccupation. '°

The surrealists looked to Freud’s writings on dreams and the subconscious as the source of their freedom. The artistic result usually hovered precariously close to incomprehensibility because of ambiguity and/or incongruous juxtaposition. The movement was at its height from 1925 to 1930, after which many adherents began to defect, particularly to the Communist movement. The chaos of World War I had given birth to surrealism; the political urgencies of the 1930s and the outbreak of World War II brought the movement to a close. While it flourished, surrealism was an important force in the fields of poetry, literature, theater, cinema, painting, and music.

Yet few surrealist poets were ever set successfully to music;!! the one significant exception was Paul Eluard. Born in 1895, Eluard (whose real name

was Eugene Grindel) made the acquaintance of the future surrealists during World War I, when many of them were in the habit of congregating at Adrienne Monnier’s bookstore. Eluard had already tried his hand at poetry, and he was in search of a new form of language, one possessing a purity and freedom which would complement his inherent lyricism. Finding a solution in the new surrealist techniques, he published his first important collection, Capitale de la douleur, in 1926. This was followed by L’Amour la poésie (1929) and La Rose publique (1934). These first anthologies were composed primarily of poems about love, though the language was highly charged and the imagery was obscure. A distillation of style began to appear in the mid-1930s, with the collection Les Yeux fertiles (1936). Without abandoning the dream imagery and incongruous juxtapositions of surrealism, Eluard found a simpler language, and his poetry began to deal with more intimate emotions, and with a larger sense of humanity. As his style became more personal and his subject matter more universal, Eluard turned away from the concerns of surrealism and toward those of communism. In the collection Cours naturel (1938), he showed deep interest in the Spanish Civil War. It was then but a brief step for Eluard to become involved in the Resistance Movement during World War II; poetry infused with

suffering or advocating patriotism can ouvert (1942), Poésie et vérité (1942-43), Before his death in 1952, he continued language, and he wrote poetry of intense of his life.

be found in the collections Le Livre and Au rendez-vous allemand (1944). his quest for purity and perfection of lyricism throughout the last seven years

Maturity: 1932-1945 Poulenc

first met

Eluard

in 1916, when

39

he listened to him read his

unpublished poems at Monnier’s bookstore. He was immediately drawn to the young poet: First of all, because he was the only surrealist who tolerated music. Secondly, because his work possesses a musical vibration. Finally, | had found alyric poet, a poet of love, both human

love and love of liberty.”

Furthermore, Poulenc felt that both the character and poetry of this handsome,

personable young man were constructive, as opposed to the nihilism of the thenembryonic dada group. Yet, despite this early infatuation with Eluard’s poetry, Poulenc was unable to set it to music, which would necessitate comprehending the often-veiled meaning, interpreting the implications found “between the lines,” and finding appropriate musical responses to incongruous juxtapositions of images. He labored with it for nearly twenty years, finding the key to the problem only in 1935. The result was Cing poémes, which Poulenc describes as: “a searching, groping work. A key turned in a lock.”'* There is undeniably a more serious mood and a more thoroughly integrated piano style than in earlier Poulenc solo songs. But the search, the struggle behind this breakthrough in setting Eluard is apparent, for the five songs seem labored; they do not flow smoothly, and they lack the clarity and simplicity of his Apollinaire and Jacob songs of 1931-32. None of these failings reappears in the twenty-nine songs which Poulenc wrote on Eluard poems over the next twenty-three years. Everything fell together in Tel jour, telle nuit, a cycle of nine songs composed in 1936-37: a clear sense of Eluard’s prosody, a musical portrayal of the inherent lyricism of the verse, a musical clarification of the difficult verbal imagery, a limpid purity of diatonic harmony in certain songs, and the influence, for the first time in a non-

religious work, of Poulenc’s rapidly developing sacred style (see below). Poulenc’s method of dealing with Eluard’s poetry, as compared with that of Apollinaire, Jacob, and Vilmorin, has received less analysis, both from the

critics and from the composer himself, presumably because that method is both mysterious and difficult to describe. We do know that Poulenc studied the poetry minutely, looking for the meaning of every verbal image and association. Bernac, who was as close to the Eluard songs as were the poet and the composer, has attempted to describe the method, but describes only the product: Poulenc succeeds in clarifying the poems by his music, divining their correct movement, their punctuation,

their breaths, their inflexions;-he catches their feeling, their emotion, often

revealing their deepest and most hidden meaning, and giving them life. '* Bernac

speaks

of clarification,

and therein

lies the clue to Poulenc’s

interpretation of Eluard. Unlike the poetry of Apollinaire, Jacob, and Cocteau, r

40

Maturity: 1932-1945

which Poulenc felt was often in need of lyric expansion, Eluard’s poetry is inherently lyrical, yet it perhaps needs some clarification by the musical phrasing and mood. The shorter poems are thus allowed to fly by.as song settings (see nos. 3, 5, and 8 in Tel jour, telle nuit), leaving a fleeting impression, yet one that is somehow more defined than that left by the poem alone; the music does not reinterpret the poems, but simply makes it easier for us to comprehend the meaning hidden in the difficult verbal imagery. It is the more expansive pieces, such as Tu vois le feu du soir (1938), that seem to capture the inner being of both poet and composer. Because Poulenc’s nature and approach to music were inherently lyrical, he felt a strong kinship with Eluard: “Paul Eluard was truly a spiritual brother, and I think that it was probably he who permitted me to express my deepest secrets and, above all, my vocal lyricism.””° Poulenc had a clear sense of what he wanted his legacy to be: “If they put on my tomb: ‘Here lies Francis Poulenc, musician of Apollinaire and Eluard,’ I feel

that would be my greatest claim to glory.”’® Apollinaire never lived to hear the results of Poulenc’s comprehension of his poetry; had he been so fortunate, he might have felt the same as did Eluard, who paid tribute in a 1944 poem entitled “4 Francis Poulenc,” which contains these revealing lines: Francis je ne m’écoutais pas Francis je te dois de m’entendre [Francis, I wasn’t listening to myself Francis, thanks to you I hear myself]

In the spring of 1936, prompted by several Monteverdi motet sessions with Nadia Boulanger’s group, Poulenc returned to the composition of choral music after a fourteen-year absence. The resultant Sept chansons reveal a mature style in the choral genre, for here there is a far wider vocabulary of vocal ranges, phrasing, and textures than had been employed in the Chanson a boire (1922). Furthermore,

Poulenc

expanded

his conception

of his two favorite poets,

Apollinaire and Eluard, by setting their texts in a new genre. The joy that he found in composing the Sept chansons \ed him to produce regularly in the choral medium for the remainder of his life. That joy was undoubtedly in the forefront of his mind that very summer. Since the preceding summer of 1935, Poulenc and Bernac had developed a certain working routine: From

1935 to 1938, Poulenc and Bernac spent a month of summer vacation together,

sometimes in Dordogne, sometimes in Morvan: a month of study during which the two friends prepared their concerts and enriched and perfected their repertoire; a month of

creation, as well, for the composer."

Maturity: 1932-1945

41

In 1936, this August “vacation” was spent in Uzerche, and Poulenc and Bernac were

accompanied

by Yvonne

Gouverné,

friend,

teacher,

conductor,

and

principal critic of both composer and singer. Poulenc describes the events of August 22: In 1936, a key date in my life and my career, taking advantage of a working holiday in Uzerche with Bernac and Yvonne Gouverné, I asked Pierre to drive me in his car to Rocamadour, a

place about which my father had so often spoken. .. .I had learned, several days before, of the tragic death of my colleague, Pierre-Octave Ferroud. The horrible snuffing-out of this musician so full of vitality had absolutely stupefied me. Ruminating on the frailty of our human condition, I was once again attracted to the spiritual life... .The very evening of that visit to Rocamadour, I began my Litanies a la Vierge Noire for female voices and organ... .From that day forth, I returned often to Rocamadour, putting under the protection of the Black Virgin such diverse works as Figure humaine, Stabat Mater, dedicated to the memory of my beloved friend Christian Bérard, and the Dialogues des Carmélites of

Bernanos....You now know the true source of inspiration for my religious works.

Poulenc had received a devout Roman Catholic upbringing, but had abandoned his religion when his father died in 1917. Yet he somehow recalled, during this time of intense emotional upset, that the elder Poulenc had often visited the exquisite carved black statue at Rocamadour, and had spoken of the serene beauty and calm of the pilgrimage site. The return of Poulenc’s religious fervor was self-imposed and sincere, and it remained with him, revealing greater depth in his character and musical style. The immediate product of these events of August 1936 was the Litanies a la Vierge Noire, Poulenc’s first religious work. The choral idiom, in which he had written his previous work (Sept chansons), seemed perfectly suited to religious composition, as was his choice of the organ, both to accompany and to frame the vocal sections. The particular mood and style of this piece, to be discussed in chapter 10, represent a further stage in Poulenc’s evolution of the mid-1930s. Not only would sacred choral music become one of his preferred genres throughout the last twenty-six years of his life, but the gentle, tender mood, characteristic harmonies, and oscillating chord patterns would make their way into other genres in which he composed after 1936. The first non-sacred work to exhibit these characteristics was the important song cycle Tel jour, telle nuit, composed between December 1936 and January 1937. As was mentioned above, this work marks the arrival of the mature Poulenc solo song style. We can, therefore, pinpoint the realization of this fiveyear process of evolution and maturation with three works written between March 1936 and January 1937: Sept chansons, Litanies a la Vierge Noire, and Tel jour, telle nuit. By 1937 Poulenc was enjoying the kind of life that few composers are ever fortunate enough to achieve: his inherited wealth allowed him to own a home in the country and an apartment in Paris, and he was free to compose and perform *

42

Maturity: 1932-1945

without the burden of earning a living; though he was sympathetic to the Spanish Civil War and aware of the mounting crisis across the Rhine, he was

politically “uninvolved”; '? he was blessed with good health and peace of mind; and he was successful as a composer, pianist, and lecturer.”° As a result, the years 1937-40 were prolific: during them, Poulenc composed twenty-one works, as compared with nine between 1927 and 1930. The majority were vocal (songs and choral pieces), prompted, no doubt, by the success of the three key works of 1936 and by the flourishing collaboration with Bernac. In 1937, Poulenc’s major works included a Messe en sol majeur for four-

voice a cappella choir (dedicated to the memory of his father), Sécheresses, a secular cantata for mixed chorus and orchestra (poems by Edward James), and Trois poémes, three songs set to the poetry of Louise de Vilmorin. Vilmorin (1906-1972) has established a reputation as a commercially successful, if minor, twentieth-century neoromantic writer. Her overtly emotional, sentimental style can best be seen in such novels as Le Retour d’Erica,

Julietta, Madame de, and Migraine, and in the poetry collections Fiangailles pour rire, Le Sable du sablier, and L’Alphabet des aveux. That Poulenc should turn to a blatantly romantic, “feminine” poet when he had been concentrating on Apollinaire, Jacob, and Eluard might seem surprising. Retrospect allows us to realize, however, that he was about to enter his own “romantic” period, as the works of the years 1937-1948 reveal (see chapter 6). In December of 1936, Marie-Blanche de Polignac showed Poulenc a poem that Vilmorin had sent to her for Christmas. This was his first contact with her poetry, and he was so impressed that he wrote to the poet and asked her for further examples of her work. She responded the following summer by sending him “Le Gargon de Liége” and “Eau-de-vie! au-dela!,” which Poulenc combined with the “Christmas” poem, “Aux officiers de la garde blanche,” to produce Trois poémes, which he then dedicated to the catalytic Marie-Blanche de Polignac. Poulenc turned to Vilmorin’s poetry again in 1939. Happening to read in the newspaper that the poet was being detained in a castle in Hungary at the outbreak of war because she was married to a foreign nobleman, Poulenc was moved to set six of her poems as a tribute to a woman he greatly admired. The resultant Fiangailles pour rire, though not a true cycle in the sense of Tel jour, telle nuit, nevertheless forms a connected and weighty grouping of mélodies. The third collection of Vilmorin songs, entitled Métamorphoses, was composed in 1943; Poulenc’s interest in setting her poetry thus lasted scarcely seven years,

coinciding with the first half of his own “romantic” period. Poulenc was more thanalittle infatuated with Vilmorin, both as a creative

artist and as a woman: Few people touch me as deeply as Louise de Vilmorin: because she is beautiful, because she is lame, because her French has an innate purity, because her name evokes flowers and

Maturity: 1932-1945

43

vegetables [her family was famous for growing them], and because she loves her brothers like lovers and her lovers like brothers. Love, desire, pleasure, sickness, exile, and discomfort are

the sources of her authenticity.”'

More importantly, Vilmorin represented everything mysterious and romantic to Poulenc: she was a free spirit, she had become apersecuted “political” figure, she played the guitar and carried it with her, and she was both talented and beautiful. Her poetry touched Poulenc directly and profoundly; he discovered in it a lyricism close to, and perhaps deeper than, that which he found in Eluard’s. It possesses a sort of impetuous abandon that one associates with youth and freedom: I found in Vilmorin’s poetry a sort of sensitive impertinence, a licentiousness, a gluttony which recaptured, in the songs, feelings that I had expressed, when I was very young, in Les Biches, while collaborating with Marie Laurencin.”

Vilmorin’s poetry is anachronistically straightforward and sentimental. The imagery is more direct, more realistic than that employed by the surrealist and quasi-surrealist poets set so frequently by Poulenc. Vilmorin can be both playful and elegant, but generally she aims straight at the heart. The most obvious musical result of this is a diatonicism that is unusual even for Poulenc. If the poetry of Jacob and Apollinaire induced Poulenc to use light, passing dissonance, and that of Eluard invoked powerful, occasionally strident dissonance, Vilmorin’s poetry produced a consistent diatonicism in Poulenc’s music, particularly noticeable in the melodic lines. In addition, the phrasing and metrical patterns are slightly more regular than in other Poulenc mélodies. Perhaps, as some critics have suggested, Vilmorin’s poetry allowed Poulenc to express the gentle, “feminine” side of his own complex personality. Important works of the years 1938-40 include: the Concerto en sol mineur for organ, strings, and timpani, commissioned by the Princesse Edmond de Polignac; the mellifluous Eluard mélodie “Tu vois le feu du soir” (from Miroirs briilants); the poignant Priez pour paix, a setting of a Charles d’Orléans poem which Poulenc found in a daily newspaper on the eve of the war; Quatre motets Pour un temps de pénitence, written for the Chanteurs de Lyons; the Sextuor, begun in 1932, revised and completed in 1939; and Banalités, a collection of five marvelous Apollinaire mélodies. The songs of this period were all composed for the now-frequent recitals of Poulenc and Bernac. World War II effected a profound disruption on Poulenc’s peaceful existence and successful career. Faced with partial exile from the Paris he so loved, the emigration to America of his friend Darius Milhaud, the deportation

to Germany of other friends, such as Max Jacob and Robert Desnos, and the sad, oppressive atmosphere of an occupied nation, Poulenc suffered bouts of ¥

44

Maturity: 1932-1945

depression. He fervently supported the Resistance Movement, in spirit if not in action. Yet it was suggested, after the Liberation, that he had “collaborated,” principally because he continued to compose and to be performed, even in Paris. He made his sentiments known in such works as the mélodie “C” (poem by Louis Aragon) and the ballet Les Animaux modéles, whose patriotism was so subtle as to go unnoticed when performed for occupying troops, and in such works as the Sonate pour violon and the cantata Un soir de neige, that poignantly reflect the misery of occupied France. One of Poulenc’s most important choral works, Figure humaine, dates from this period. During the dark days of the occupation (1942 and 1943), Paul Eluard was busy writing poems, many of which were openly and emotionally patriotic. They could not be published, but were distributed through the underground. Poulenc, being a close friend of the poet, received a copy of the collection, called Poésie et Vérité. The impetus for setting certain poems of this collection to music came

from a commission,

in March

1943, from Henri

Screpel, the director of the Discophiles Record Company. The resulting cantata for double mixed chorus a cappella, Figure humaine, was written in six weeks during the summer of 1943. It was not performed in France, however, until 1947,

two years after its world Poulenc spent much in Noizay, occasionally Undoubtedly because of

premiére in London. of his time during the war years away from Paris, often in other small towns such as Brive and Beaulieu. his boredom in being forced to remain for long periods

in the country, his output did not decline between 1940 and 1944. In addition, his

music sustained him, gave him a raison d @tre; after describing his compositional activities in a 1940 letter to Milhaud, he concluded by saying: “Now we must only live for hope and for future projects.””’ Yet this steady output is somewhat deceiving, for life was not pleasant, even for a wealthy, non-Jewish composer.

There were personal discomforts: “I am taking advantage ofa little calm in the domestic storm to speak to you about something other than electricity failures, lack of water, missing keys, refugees, etc.”’* There was concern for friends, as Henri Sauguet wrote to Poulenc in 1940: “Dear Francis, how I wish that Noizay might be intact. I have thought about it so much. And, of course, about you! May God bring us together again, not too far in the future, as we were for countless Christmases and Pentecosts, which will always perfume my memory.”” Above all, there was depression: “I have just spent a horrible two weeks, from all points of view”;** and there was fear: “The wildest rumors are circulating. We have heard that 100,000 are dead in Paris alone. Here we feared the worst, but thank God we have been spared.””’ Indeed, Noizay had been spared, as had Poulenc, and during the summer of

1944, anticipating the end of the occupation and the war, he composed Les Mamelles de Tirésias, his first opera and one of his most carefree and tuneful pieces. He had begun thinking about Apollinaire’s surrealist play as a possible

Maturity: 1932-1945

45

libretto in the late 1930s, but the advent of war and various commitments postponed the actual composition until 1944. Poulenc completed the two-act opéra-bouffe in six short months (May-October) during the Allied liberation of France, but the premiére, produced by Max de Rieux, with décor and costumes by Romain Erté, did not come until 3 June 1947, at the Opéra-Comique. The role of Thérése-Tirésias was taken by Denise Duval, a young soprano whom Poulenc had discovered in a Paris music hall. Les Mamelles de Tirésias enjoyed a succés de scandale and has been performed frequently in the thirty years since its premiere. Poulenc dedicated the opera to Milhaud, his close friend since 1919, whose

return to France from the United States he considered imminent. The two composers had influenced one another, and would continue to do so, throughout their careers. They met as members of Les Six; they exchanged personal and compositional advice; they took several trips together (see chapter 3); they helped each other to have works performed and published; and they carried on arich, intimate correspondence. Asked why he was dedicating the opera to Milhaud, Poulenc responded, simply: “It is to tell you how much he is present in my musical life.””*

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5

Serenity: 1945-1963 In the years immediately following World War II, Poulenc concentrated on the song genre. Between 1945 and 1950, he composed twenty-seven songs, some individually and some in collections, by seven different poets; not surprisingly, settings by Apollinaire and Eluard were numerous and important. In January of 1945, Poulenc completed a mélodie on an Apollinaire poem which he had begun in 1941. In Montparnasse, one of his most beautifully lyric songs, he pays his respects to Paris, the city he had often been forced to leave during the occupation. The last influences of the war to be found in Poulenc’s music were two songs on poems by Robert Desnos (1900-1945), a close personal friend from the time the two met around 1920. Desnos’ first poems, published in 1919 in the revue Littérature, were in a bold surrealist style: “In a highly serious, not to mention instructional, form of word-play, the early poems are often structured according to experiments with language, including puns, interchange of syllables, and the deliberate mishearing of homonyms.”’ He fell naturally into the surrealist group, where his “specialty” was automatic speaking and writing, which he achieved by entering a state of trance at will; Jacques Prévert would

“play” this “game” with Desnos. His natural lyricism and detached sense of humor led Desnos into the field of film scenarios and criticism in the late 1920s. At the same time, he turned to the theater, producing one of the few surrealist plays, La Place de I’Etoile (1927). His greatest popular success came in the 1930s, when he worked for French radio creating the series “Complainte de Fant6mas,”

set to music by Kurt Weill and broadcast in 1934. He split from the surrealist hierarchy when he published his own Troisiéme Manifeste du Surréalisme in 1930, after he had been attacked by Breton in the Second Manifesto, of the same year. Desnos was deported during the war, and he died in a Nazi concentration

camp in 1945. The two Desnos poems set by Poulenc, Le Disparu (1947) and Dernier

poéme (1956), are both from the poet’s last years. The imagery is straightforward and charged with emotion,/for Le Disparu describes a man torn from his friends and neighborhood to be deported to Germany; Dernier poéme is even more

48

Serenity: 1945-1963

poignant in that the words of the poem, so filled with tender affection, were the last ones written by Desnos, scribbled on a match-box and sent to his wife,

Youki, shortly before he was executed. Poulenc reacted simply and profoundly to the two poems, creating two of his most powerful mélodies. The relentless waltz tempo of Le Disparu subtly connects both poet and composer to their native Paris. After the stylistic evolution of the 1930s and the disruptions of World War II, Poulenc was finally able to achieve personal and stylistic serenity during the last eighteen years of his life. The excitement of the first three decades of his career was over: “as with many artists, the first years of my career were the ones

filled with the most notable events.” During the late 1940s, Poulenc composed without distraction, producing such important works as L Histoire de Babar (1945), the Sinfonietta (1947), the

collection of Apollinaire songs called Calligrammes (1948), the Concerto pour piano et orchestre (1949), the Eluard cycle La Fraicheur et lefeu (1950), and the

Stabat Mater (1950). Some of these works were written for a series of three

concert tours in the United States that he undertook with Bernac between 1948

and 1952: November-December 1948, with a repertoire including Calligrammes, Tel jour, telle nuit, the Messe performed by the Robert Shaw Chorale, and the Concert champétre performed by the New York Philharmonic under Mitropoulos, with Poulenc as soloist; January-March 1950, including the Concerto pour piano and Figure humaine, as well as numerous songs (Poulenc and

Bernac made their first American recordings at this time); and January-March

1952, which also included a stay in South America. Poulenc kept a witty, anecdotal journal of the 1950 trip, in which he describes his visits to museums

and concerts and his renewal of many friendships.’ In 1951, Poulenc was coincidentally asked to write music for a film by Henri Lavorelle, entitled “Le Voyage en Amérique.” Most of this incidental music remained unpublished, but the delightful valse-musette for two pianos, L’Embarquement pour Cythére, was extracted from it and published separately. Critics were generally favorable to Poulenc’s works of these postwar years. The Stabat Mater, in particular, was lavishly praised; Claude Rostand claimed that, “This Stabat is not just a success. It’s a masterpiece.”* The one work that was not always well received was the Concerto pour piano et orchestre. Poulenc

himself admits that the Boston audience greeted it with “more sympathy than direct enthusiasm,”° while R. Aloys Mooser, reviewing the work in 1953 in his Panorama de la musique contemporaine, felt the Concerto was too light and lacked conviction: “From all evidence, the author of this concerto went to all

lengths to avoid effort—more, I suppose, to avoid ‘taxing’ his audience than to keep from tiring himself.”° This critic, and several others who reviewed the

European premiére at Aix-en-Provence on | August 1950, were probably influenced by the lightweight, impertinent third movement, while ignoring the depth and beauty of the first two movements.

Serenity: 1945-1963

49

One reason for the continuing critical success of Poulenc’s works was his fundamentally conservative approach. Though serialism became the compositional “rage” after World War II, and despite the ground-breaking efforts of Cage, Stockhausen,

Messiaen, and others, critical acclaim and major perfor-

mance opportunities were still more likely to be afforded the “traditional” composers in the 1950s. If Poulenc was considered unfashionable, out-of-date, or unwilling to change, it was only by the younger generation, for most of his peers remained similarly conservative. It can certainly be said that Poulenc’s reach never exceeded his grasp; a close friend, Dom Surchamp remarked: “Poulenc always knew how to proportion his work to his talents. He never tried to appear other than he was, either in his music or in his life.”’ Though he appreciated other musical styles and techniques, particularly serialism and electronic music, he knew that tonality was to remain the only language in which he could work.* He was also acutely aware of his own shortcomings and failures, often destroying a work before, or even after, it had been completed; after laboring over a string quartet, which he finally finished in 1945, he unceremoniously threw it down a Paris sewer after hearing it once.’ If Poulenc maintained narrow musical boundaries, he continually achieved a high level of quality within those boundaries. To return to the chronology of Poulenc’s life, we find that several choral works (Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél and Ave verum corpus) and the important Sonate for two pianos, commissioned by the American duo of Gold and Fizdale, occupied him during 1952 and the early part of 1953. In that year, he began work on his first serious opera, Dialogues des Carmélites, which he completed in June 1956. Poulenc was so possessed by the composition of this opera that he only wrote three other short works during the three years in question: Bucolique for orchestra, Parisiana (two Jacob songs), and Rosemonde, a short song toa lyrical Apollinaire poem. In March of 1953, Poulenc arrived in Milan while on a brief concert tour with Pierre Fournier, the French cellist for whom he had written a sonata (1948). He called at the offices of Ricordi, to discuss a ballet on the life of Saint Margaret of Cortona’ which the publishing company had earlier commissioned from him for a gala premiére at La Scala. He informed Valcaranghi, the Ricordi director, that Saint Margaret simply did not inspire him, though a religious subject would certainly suit his temperament. '! The director thought a moment, then suggested that Poulenc might be interested in setting Georges Bernanos’ Dialogues des Carmélites as an opera. Poulenc had seen the play twice, but had not considered it as a potential libretto. Now its possibilities became clear to him: “I can see myself sitting in a Piazza Navona café, one clear

morning in March 1953, devouring Bernanos’ drama, and saying to myself at each scene, ‘But of course#it’s made for me, it’s made for me!’”””

50

Serenity: 1945-1963

Poulenc made the few cuts he felt necessary to adapt the play intoalibretto during this train journey back to Paris. He then immersed himself in the lives and thoughts of the Carmelite nuns, reading extensively about them, particularly in a history written by Father Bruno, La véritable histoire des Carmélites de Compieégne, and frequently visiting their convents. His letters to friends during the late summer and fall of 1953 reveal his obsession with the subject matter. He wrote to Bernac on 22 August: “I have begun the Carmélites, and I no longer sleep (literally). I think it will be all right, but there are so many problems.”'’ On 31 August, he bared his soul to Stéphane Audel: I am working like a madman—I don’t go out, I see no one... .1 am composing a tableau each week. I no longer recognize myself. | am so obsessed with my subject that I am beginning to

believe that I knew these women.“

Poulenc suffered much from depression between August 1953 and the first performance of the opera in 1957. He wrote to Henri Hell in February 1954: I am terribly sad....Yet this climate of anguish was certainly necessary for my women. You will see what a terrible atmosphere it is, and I think the audience will have chills down their spines by intermission. I would never have thought that I could write a work of such .

.

intensity.

15

He began to doubt the value of his music and he became a hypochondriac, fearing that he had afatal cancer. The most serious problem, which eventually drove him to a nervous breakdown, was a “legal” struggle over the performing rights to the text. The historical evidence for the events it describes is contained in the memoirs

of Mother

Marie, the only member

of the convent

who was not

executed. These were expanded into a novella, Die Letzte am Schafott (The Last on the Scaffold), by the German novelist Gertrude von LeFort (1876-1971). In 1947, the Reverend Raymond Briickberger, a French Dominican with literary leanings, joined forces with the French producer Philippe Agostini to create a film version of LeFort’s novella. They called upon Bernanos to write the dialogue for this film, to which he agreed reluctantly, for he had never worked in the film medium before. But the producers soon canceled the project, expressing their dissatisfaction with Bernanos’ screen play; the film was later produced, with a different writer and modest

success,

at best. Bernanos’ “dialogues”

survived, however, and were arranged for the stage after his death by his friend and executor, Albert Beguin. The play was first produced in Ziirich in 1951. Poulenc’s “legal” problem stemmed from the fact that the rights to any stage production based on LeFort’s novella had been acquired by an American

playwright named Emmet Lavery,'® who had turned it into his own play (The Last on the Scaffold) and who had then prohibited the production of Bernanos’

Serenity: 1945-1963

Jl

play in any English-speaking country while exercising his control over its performance throughout the world. Poulenc was told by Bernanos’ heirs and publisher that he must obtain Lavery’s authorization before his opera could be performed on stage, anywhere. After several months and numerous letters, permission was granted, as long as Poulenc would add the disclaimer “with the authorization of Mr. Emmet Lavery” to the publicity and the program." Though the matter never had to go to court, Poulenc was deeply affected by the psychological strain, in the midst of his emotional involvement in composing the

opera. Poulenc recovered his equilibrium and completed Dialogues des Carmélites,

in vocal score, in August 1955. The orchestration occupied him until June

1956, and the opera was mounted, at La Scala (in Italian), on 26 January 1957. The three and a half years he had spent on Dialogues had been a monumental episode in Poulenc’s life, and the impact would be felt on much of the music he composed in the remaining eight years of his life. Le Travail du peintre, a collection of Eluard mélodies, was Poulenc’s first work after Dialogues (August 1956) and the first work to manifest this impact; not only is the spirit of the music reminiscent of that of the opera, but the Opening motive derives from the Mother Marie/courage motive of Dialogues.'* Poulenc’s life-long love of the visual arts is the basis of this enthusiastic but reverent homage to seven modern painters. Though he appreciated sculpture, photography, and cinema, it was painting to which he was most attracted: “From my earliest childhood, I have been passionately in love with painting. I

owe to it as many profound joys as I owe to music.””” His taste in painting was extremely eclectic, as it was in music: “Basically, I like painting of all periods, all countries, and all movements.””” His sympathies embraced such widely diverse artists as Mantegna, Zurbaran, Titian, Raphael, Goya, Watteau, Corot, Cézanne, Matisse, Dufy, Picasso, Braque, and Klee. Because of a special liking for Dufy and Matisse, Poulenc had hoped to

include them in Le Travail du peintre, but to no avail. Born into a family of musicians, Raoul Dufy (1877-1953) developed a style marked by a Mozartian grace, a joyful spontaneity of color, and a child-like innocence. His world was bright, gay, and optimistic, and his paintings are, above all, authentic. He concentrated on exteriors, depicting scenes on or near the water, early in his career. After working with the fashion designer Paul Poiret, he added a mixture of interiors, including a late series of musical and orchestra studies. Poulenc was particularly moved by Dufy’s early paintings, his Fauve” creations of c. 1900-1920. Specifically, Dufy awakened a tender nostalgia in Poulenc, since these early paintings reminded the composer of his beloved Nogent-sur-Marne. Poulenc was later to write: 2 In any case, if you want to imagine these banks of the Marne about which you have often

52

Serenity: 1945-1963 heard me speak, you have only to look at the paintings and watercolors of Dufy. Whenever I see them, they touch me to the heart. Here, magnificently summarized and laid out, is the

paradise of my childhood.”

He further admitted: “I often thought...that Dufy and I had more than one

thing in common,”” and these similarities are enumerated by Jean-Michel Hayoz: Moreover, in the case of Poulenc, I am compelled to discover a parallel between his music and

the painting of Raoul Dufy. The same ease and fertility are found in Poulenc and Dufy, the same happy, serene, sometimes mocking view of the world, the same impulsive, sometimes

sentimental spirit, the same taste for simplicity of forms and structural clarity, the same rather jingoistic affection for France, to which they pay homage in images and in sounds... and the same care for serving their art by autonomous means.”

Peter Hansen, in his survey of twentieth-century music, also links Poulenc and Dufy: Perhaps [Poulenc’s] place in twentieth-century music will be comparable to that held by

Raoul Dufy, who avoided all complications of execution in his breezy paintings and presented

absolutely no difficulties to his viewers.”

Poulenc’s style, for the most part accessible, enjoyable, devoid of innovations, seems to be the musical parallel of Dufy’s paintings. Another painter who significantly influenced Poulenc’s music was Henri Matisse (1869-1954). Matisse began by copying the Masters, then he developed his own style of neoimpressionism. With “Luxe, Calme, et Volupté” (1904-05), he both culminated his first period and set out in a new direction. Undergoing multiple influences of Cézanne, Signac, and Derain, Matisse helped establish

the Fauve style in 1905. For the next ten years, he was to enjoy his greatest period of creativity, touching on cubism and Oriental decorative art. By 1916, Matisse had emerged as one of the most independent, individual painters in Europe. The rest of his career was spent pursuing his own personal line of stylistic development, moving increasingly toward abstraction and simplicity. Poulenc was attracted by this quest for simplicity and by Matisse’s apparent desire to transfer the attributes of music to his painting; in referring to the colors and shapes of “Joie de vivre” (1905-06), Matisse said that they “sing

together, like a chord in music.””° In searching for a more expressive pictorial language through tools to harmony, Poulenc was oped by Matisse,

simplification, Matisse felt that he was reducing his graphic melody, and rhythm. further intrigued by a certain compositional process develbased: on this concept of simplification:

Serenity: 1945-1963

ae

I cannot tell you how much his sketches for Mallarmé’s poems affected me....You could see in them the same subject, in particular a swan, in three or four stages, which always went from the more complex and thick... to the most ideally simple and pure pen strokes, I often tried,

particularly in the accompaniments of my mélodies, to follow this lesson.’

The distillation that Poulenc effected in his piano writing in such late songs as Le Pont (1946) and the cycle La Fraicheur et le feu (1950) bears out Poulenc’s understanding of the aim behind Matisse’s method. Poulenc’s understanding of the visual arts went far beyond that of the layman. In the midst of a purely social gathering in Paris or Noizay, he would suddenly digress to a technical description of a painting, or a certain artist’s works, or a particular artistic process, often to the amazement, and occasionally

to the boredom, of his companions.”* His library contained numerous books on art and on specific artists, and he never spent any amount of time ina city without finding his way to a gallery or a museum. It is little wonder, then, that many of his works had a visual inspiration,

often directly related to a specific style or painting. In addition to those mentioned

above, Poulenc himself cites the following works: Cocardes was

conceived under the “French patriotic aesthetic influence of Roger de la Fresnaye”,”’ “Carte postale” (from Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire, 1931) took form when Poulenc thought about a Bonnard” portrait of his friend Misia Sert; “Hier” (from Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne, 1931) represented, for Poulenc, an interior painted by Vuillard;*’ La Grenouillére was inspired by Monet’s canvas of the same name; and Le Bal masqué was colored by the art of Dufy and Picasso. Consequently, when Poulenc and Bernac started planning recitals of vocal music (all the above examples are vocal works), Poulenc conceived of these recitals as he would an art exhibition, juxtaposing songs as he would paintings ina gallery: “It is all a question of placement, as crucial to music as it is to painting.” One final aspect of Poulenc’s visual tendencies concerns his six works for the stage. Together with the music of his three ballets and three operas, Poulenc also visualized the staging, scenery, and costumes, the entire “mise-en-scéne.” Since this visual conception evolved parallel with the music, it can even be seen to have influenced the course of the music toa certain extent; this is particularly true in Les Animaux modeéles.*’ For this reason, Poulenc insisted on overseeing the entire production of each of his stage works, though his youth and the

stature of Diaghilev dictated that he be second in command to the great impresario in creating Les Biches. After completing Le Travail du peintre, Poulenc spent the remainder of 1956 and all of 1957 composing several songs (La Souris—Apollinaire, Nuage— Laurence de Beylié, and Dernier poéme—Desnos),

as well as an endearing

Sonata for Flute and Piano and a moody, angular Elégie for horn and piano, dedicated to the memory of Denis Brain.

54

Serenity: 1945-1963

Barely a year after the premiére of Dialogues des Carmélites, Hervé Dugardin, the Paris director of Ricordi, the company that had commissioned and published Dialogues, approached Poulenc with a suggestion for a new project. Would Poulenc, who was now an established musical dramatist, be

interested in setting Jean Cocteau’s 1930 monodrama, La Voix humaine? Poulenc agreed quickly and wholeheartedly, but rejected Dugardin’s second suggestion that the single role in the opera be designed for Maria Callas; Poulenc

envisioned his now-favorite leading lady, Denise Duval,” as “Elle.” The fortyminute, one-act “tragédie-lyrique” was composed quickly, between February and June 1958, and it received its premiére on 6 February 1959 at the OpéraComique, with design and production by Cocteau himself; the orchestra was conducted by Georges Prétre. For a second time in five years, Poulenc was obsessed by a composition. He wrote to Stéphane Audel: “La Voix humaine is finished. I am going to orchestrate it quickly in order to get this nightmare off my back, for I truly wrote

this work in a trance.””° It was the intense mood of grief and solitude that pervades La Voix humaine that caused Poulenc’s state of agitation, as he himself tells us: “I think that I needed the experience of spiritual and metaphysical anguish in Dialogues des Carmélites so as not to betray the terribly human

anguish of Jean Cocteau’s superb text.””° Poulenc and Bernac retired as a touring duo in 1959, though they continued to present master classes. Poulenc’s days of traveling, however, were not over. He continued

to deliver lectures, and in 1960 he returned to America

to

accompany Duval in performances of La Voix humaine and scenes from his two earlier operas. During the course of this trip, he wrote to his friend Stéphane

Audel: “This journey has made me feel ten years younger.”*” Indeed, Poulenc seemed to feel rejuvenated after the taxing efforts of composing the two serious operas. He composed fourteen works between the summer of 1958 and his death in January 1963; six of these can be considered important to Poulenc’s output. Yet this renewed compositional vigor was accompanied by a curious sense of fatalism in his last five years, undoubtedly spawned by what he had felt to be a brush with death while composing

Dialogues. He was overcome with frequent bouts of melancholy and nostalgia for his carefree childhood. He turned more toward religion, composing three sacred works during those last five years: the Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue for a cappella male chorus, the Gloria for mixed chorus and orchestra, and the Sept répons des ténébres, also for chorus and orchestra. He began to talk more about death and to write about it in his letters. In February 1962 he wrote

to Henri Hell: “What shall I write next? Undoubtedly nothing else”;** in March

1962 he wrote to Pierre Bernac: “I now feel completely, happily free, and I can

await Providence.”

Poulenc completed his Gloria, commissioned by the Koussevitzky Music Foundation, in December 1959. He made his final journey to the United States

Serenity: 1945-1963

eye}

in January 1961 for the world premiére by the Boston Symphony under Charles Minch, with soprano soloist Adele Addison. It was during this trip that he received a commission to compose a sacred work for the opening of Lincoln Center. His fame was undeniably at its peak in this country after the success of the Gloria. To fulfill this commission, Poulenc turned once again to a work he had begun in 1960, yet he labored over the Sept répons des ténébres for nearly two years, and was not able to finish it in time for the opening of Lincoln Center. He attached a great deal of importance to this gentle, introspective work, and he told many of his friends that it would be the last religious music he would write. He spent the summer of 1962 on two projects: a set of incidental music, with which he was never happy, for Cocteau’s play Renaud et Armide; and two woodwind sonatas, one for oboe and one for clarinet. Once again, convinced that his death was imminent, Poulenc wished to complete a cycle of woodwind sonatas, begun with the Flute Sonata of 1956. These two sonatas of 1962 are the most perfect examples of Poulenc’s mature art: serene, profound, lyric, and ideally proportioned. They were to be his last works, for he did not live to write the bassoon sonata that would have completed the cycle. Poulenc’s activities did not diminish in the least during his last year, for he remained a healthy, robust man. He undertook atiring two-week concert tour of Italy with Duval in February of 1962. He composed and traveled throughout the following summer, though he complained frequently about the heat. In January 1963, he and Duval gave a short concert tour of Belgium and Holland. After returning to Paris, Poulenc died suddenly, of a heart attack, on 30 J anuary 1963.

Three of his last works were presented posthumously: the Sonata for Clarinet and Piano was first performed on 10 April by Benny Goodman and Leonard Bernstein; the Sept répons received its world premiére on 11 April in Carnegie Hall by the New York Philharmonic under Thomas Schippers; and the Sonata for Oboe and Piano was given its first performance in June 1963, at the twenty-fifth Strasbourg Festival, by Pierre Pierlot and Jacques Février. Perhaps the most moving tribute to Poulenc came from his close lifelong friend, Jean Cocteau, whose words were recorded next to a picture of Poulenc from the Les Six period: “Impossible to write an article on Poulenc. .. suffice it to say that his death is a disaster for music and for personal friendship.””” Allen Hughes, the American critic who has provided some of the most intimate, affectionate portraits of Poulenc, emphasized his musical contributions: “There is probably no composer of concert music in this century whose secular works have offered more lighthearted, impudent fun to listeners than those of Poulenc, and none whose sacred music is more intensely devout and communicative in expression.”*' Finally, Ned Rorem, a fellow composer and a close friend, spoke about Poulenc’s position inthe history of music: “For Poulenc had inherited Ravel’s mantle; and today, in leaving us, he has taken with him the best of what

remained in musical France.””

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© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Finally, the choral works exhibit two further melodic styles. On the one hand, we find melodic lines that are composed of fragmentary motives (ex. 16);

on the other hand, we see simply a succession of harmonies, within which a

melody may or may not be discernible (ex. 17). Only in the most lighthearted works (Chanson a boire, Petites voix, Chansons francaises) does anything

Style

71

approaching a tune appear; nor can we find many triadic melodies. Many of the short fragments in the choral music are, on the contrary, suggestive of plainchant in their narrow range and conjunct style. It would be hard to distill characteristic melodic shapes from such a diverse body

of music.

Certain

tendencies,

however,

can

be observed.

As

was

mentioned, Poulenc clearly preferred diatonic melodies, but he often added

chromatic appoggiaturas or passing tones, or he mixed the major and minor modes for chromatic coloring. The opening section of “Jouer du bugle” (from Parisiana) is perfectly diatonic within the context of the fluid harmonies. A later phrase begins diatonically, then inserts several chromatic appoggiaturas (ex. 18). Later in this piece, the alternation of major and minor modes is explored. This latter technique is often manifested in short scalar fragments, with an arpeggiated accompaniment, as in example 19 from “Juan Gris” (Le Travail du peintre). Ex. 18.

Parisiana: |, bars 18-22

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G, Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Bx. 19:

Le Travail du peintre: 1V, bars 10-12

Aux beau -.tés

des

con

-

tours

Ves . pa - ce

li

© 1957 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission ofthe publisher.

One prevalent shape consists of a departure, by leap, from a given note, followed by a return to that note or one of its neighbors. Two examples from the Sextuor will illustrate tis tendency. At two bars before r. 14 in the first movement, the horn melody has a downward leap of an octave (surrounded by

72 ~—‘Style its upper neighbor) before returning to the original note and landing on its lower neighbor (ex. 20). The melody that opens the second movement has an upward leap before returning to the original pitch, by way of its lower neighbor (ex. 21). The opening notes of the slow movement of the Concerto pour piano illustrate that Poulenc liked to use the tonic and the leading tone for his notes of departure and return, generating his favored major seventh harmony (ex. 22). Ex. 20.

Sextuor: 1, 2 before r. 14

Ex. 21.

Sextuor: Il, opening

OBOE

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Bxa22;

Concerto pour piano: II, opening

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Bxy23:

L‘Histoire de Babar: p. |2, top

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The lengthy melody at r. | in the slow third movement of the Sinfonietta is indicative of another tendency: to follow several conjunct notes with a skip or a series of skips (see ex. 55). A briefer example (ex. 23) may be found in L’Histoire de Babar. Finally, Poulenc was fond of placing a passage of instability or chromaticism at, or near, the end of a diatonic melody; this probably is generated by increased harmonic complication near the cadence. Such is the case in the theme

Style

73

of the Théme varié for piano (ex. 24). An example from the song genre can be found in A sa guitare, in which two convoluted measures follow a lengthy passage in G minor-major (bars 21-23). Ex. 24.

Théme varié: Theme, bars 22-27

© 1952 Editions Max Eschig, Paris, Used by permission of the publisher.

This last melodic tendency is closely related to Poulenc’s harmonic style, which is certainly as unique and personal as his melodic language. The critic Clarendon asserts its importance: “Poulenc was the best harmonist of his generation, the last lover of harmony; let us not complain that his chords are too

beautiful.”’* Indeed, it is the beauty of these chords, and the way in which they follow each other, that provide a great deal of the interest in Poulenc’s music. Jean Roy goes so far as to speak about a “harmonic sensuousness,”’° and indeed Poulenc’s harmonies are certainly often luxuriant, even blatantly seductive, in comparison with the idiom of many of his contemporaries. The vast majority of Poulenc’s music is umambiguously tonal. Though he did not always employ key signatures (a matter of convenience in a rapidly modulating style), the music nearly always gives a sense of being firmly in a key. There

are, however,

a few exceptions.

He used twelve-tone rows

on two

occasions: three different rows can be found in the Elégie for horn and piano, '® and the third movement of the Sept répons des ténébres begins witha row, while

a different one appers in the male voice parts at r. 31 in the fourth movement.” These unaccompanied rows are not used to generate serial composition, but are merely presented and then abandoned; there does not seem to be any textual justification for them. A more interesting example is the brief song entitled Un Poéme (1946); here the dedication to Luigi Dallapiccola might suggest serialism, but none is to be found. Instead, there is a series of strongly dissonant trichords, which are seemingly unrelated and non-functional, though several of them can be analyzed as incomplete seventh chords. When the apparently independent vocal line is added, tertian and quartal chord structures emerge, but they remain unrelated and non-functional. However, Poulenc characteristically finishes the piece by tacking on a tonal ending, in the form of an E-)’ chord and a C major chord. Nonetheless, this remains his only provocative experiment in an atonal musical language.

74

Style

It is also safe to say that Poulenc’s harmony is fundamentally diatonic and functional. The functions are often intricate or circuitous, but they can usually be discerned. Intense chromaticism is generally avoided, though there are brief passages of chromatic motion, as in the seventh measure of the last of the Petites voix choruses

(ex. 25), and at r. 4 in, once again, the horn Elegie, here

exacerbated by the accompaniment based on superimposed sevenths. '* Richard Bobbitt feels that, “The chromatic harmonies are usually a means of embellish-

ing diatonic textures.”!? Such embellishments tend to be brief and unobtrusive. Finally, much apparent chromaticism is generated by the fluid and sometimes unorthodox harmonic motion within a tonal context. Ex. 25.

Petites voix: V, bar 7

Sy si nous quittons if we left him

la cui in the

—————————______

e e f\ 4 lal cco eee cae rer ee ee ee en es tt dD eteonsh beeen heheh kd ae atoad ge oe ee ee Sd c

Si nous quittons la cui if we lefthim in the

Si mous quittons

la cui -

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 26.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias: 1, r. 42

© by Heugel— Paris— France

The vast majority of Poulenc’s chord structures are tertian. Quartal and quintal harmony appear very infrequently; one delightful example occurs at r. 42 in the first act of Les Mamelles de Tirésias, where the effect is curiously Oriental (ex. 26). Structures built from sevenths are still rarer; the one obvious example is at r. 4 in the horn Elégie. Chords of seconds are non-existent. Of course,

numerous

seconds

and sevenths are to be found,

but as standard

dissonance practice (appoggiaturas, suspensions, passing tones) within the flow of tertian harmonies. _ All of this might lead us to the conclusion that Poulenc was not really a harmonic innovator, that he was content to employ the chords and progressions

Style

Te

handed down to him. Ina sense, this is true, as he himself admits: I certainly know that I am not among the musicians who will have been harmonic innovators, like Igor, Ravel or Debussy, but I think there is a place for new music which is happy to use the chords of others. Wasn’t this the case with Mozart and Schubert?”

Yet he went on to say that: “Time will reinforce the personality of my harmonic style.”*! There is something unique about the way Poulenc’s harmonies follow one another, something unique in the boldness with which he borrowed chord structures and progressions from diverse composers (from Victoria to Prokofiev) and diverse styles (from Renaissance motets to popular songs). The result is truly a distinct harmonic “personality.” Poulenc’s chord vocabulary appears to be quite standard. Yet he had certain preferences, and he made certain choices which lend that vocabulary a unique color. As mentioned above, his structures are nearly always tertian, but he employed seventh chords as frequently as simple triads. We can examine the delightful mélodie Rosemonde for proof. The tonality of the opening section is C minor, but the very first chord is a C minor’, followed by a dominant seventh. After these chords are repeated, the next vertical structures to appear are all seventh and ninth chords, up to the first cadence; the phrase contains no simple

triads at all. Such examples are ubiquitous in Poulenc’s music, but two others can be cited. The second song in Tel jour, telle nuit begins and ends on a G minor’ chord, and seventh and ninth chords abound.

Finally, several brief

excerpts from the first movement of the Sonata for Oboe and Piano will indicate the emphasis on seventh structures in this piece (ex. 27). Exe 27.

Sonata for Oboe and Piano: |, 7 after r. 1 and r. 3

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Seventh and ninth chords are certainly not uncommon in the music of postDebussyian composers. What is unusual is Poulenc’s insistence on added sevenths on the tonic triad, along with the normal seventh chords on the other r

76

Style

scale degrees. Though Poulenc might have denied it, this practice can be traced back to Fauré, one of the most important, though subtle, harmonic innovators

of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. If Poulenc favored seventh and ninth structures, he rarely used the eleventh. Thirteenth chords can be found with regularity, but principally as a dominant structure at a cadence. Two examples, again from the first movement of the Oboe Sonata (ex. 28), are indicative of Poulenc’s incomplete thirteenth (which generally omits the fifth and the eleventh). Ex. 28.

Sonata for Oboe and Piano: 1, 2 before r. |-r. 1 and 6 after r. 1

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex, 29.

Tel jour, telle nuit: 1, bars 13-14 and 17-18

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Diminished triads and sevenths appear frequently in the mature (post1935) works, particularly in the two last operas and in the choral music. Augmented structures are used less often; the two types commonly found (as seen in the accompaniment of the second song from Tel jour, telle nuit—ex. 29) are altered chords (usually a raising of the fifth degree of the dominant) and

augmented sixth chords (here the German configuration). These diminished and augmented structures are used, as they were in the nineteenth century, to generate tension er ambiguity.

Style

a7

Poulenc has a penchant for colorful final chords. In his early works, they tend to be flippant or impertinent, and often dissonant, as in Le Bestiaire and Mouvements perpétuels. As he matured, his final chords became, more often,

minor or major tonic seventh structures. All four of the Quatre petites priéres for male chorus end on a dominant seventh chord. Occasionally a concluding chord will leave a feeling of ambiguity, as at the end of the first song in Fiangailles pour rire; this particular chord is preceded by a full cadence in A major. Poulenc tends to use four- or five-note chord structures rather than threenote, with dissonant added notes lending fullness to the sonority, yet he varied the configurations by occasionally cadencing on an incomplete triad. He employed polychords rather infrequently, and rarely after 1935; Richard Bobbitt points out several examples.” Pandiatonic chords also appear infrequently; two important examples can be found in the early Sonata for piano four hands, and in the Stabat Mater (ex. 30). Some “wrong-note” dissonance (see below) can be considered pandiatonicism. Ex. 30.

Sonata: 1, bar 59, and Stabat Mater: I, bar 6 and V, bar 9

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent. Used by kind permission of J&W Chester Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 31.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias: 1, 5-6 after r. 57

je

vais

l'in-ter-pel

- ler

1

must

at- fract his

eye

© by Heugel— Paris— France

+=

Ss je I

78

Style

One technique of chord coloring of which Poulenc was very fond was the use of appoggiaturas. The tone most often added is the ninth, as seen inexample 31 from Les Mamelles de Tirésias. In example 32, a passage from the second song of Tel jour, telle nuit, there are two appoggiaturas on the ninth, the first resolving down (on the dominant) and the second (on the tonic) resolving up. Here Poulenc has gone out of his way to employ the second appoggiatura, for the thirteenth of the dominant chord could easily have been held over to create the third of the ensuing tonic. Some of the appoggiaturas are more dissonant, like an augmented fourth from “Tu vois le feu du soir” (ex. 33) and a minor ninth from the thirteenth Jmprovisation (ex. 34). Poulenc’s extensive use of appoggiaturas is further personalized by the fact that many of them either resolve unconventionally, or do not resolve at all. On the other hand, many apparent appoggiaturas are merely added tertian notes, creating richer harmonies. Ex. 32.

Tel jour, telle nuit: 11, bars 10-11

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Ex. 33.

“Tu vois le feu du soir”: bar 18 (in C minor)

des

trot-toirs

pleins

d’ex -

ea

aa \

aaah ered

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Style Ex. 34.

79

Improvisations: XIII, bar 17

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Chord progressions are too varied and diverse for classification. Certain trends and several characteristic progressions can, however, be examined. Motion tends to be extremely functional, based on the dominant-tonic relationship; here Chopin seems to have been Poulenc’s model. The opening progression of “Carte postale” (from Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire) is a simple I-IV’-V$ of V-V’-I in F minor. Similarly, Poulenc’s last work, the

Sonata for Oboe and Piano, begins with a I-VI’-II’-V"’-I in G. Six measures later (at seven after r. 1), we find the following harmonic motion: G: V-minor V-V" of ee

Ab: {nie

E,: © Vi-1-V2-1-V2-1-V'

-IP

It is clear that the opening progression is being repeated in several keys. Occasionally this dominant-tonic motion is run through a brief circle of fifths, as in this measure from the first of the Feuillets d’album for piano: (G major) Bh’Eb’-Ab’-Dp’ (G major). Even as early as the third song in Le Bestiaire, we see this progression at the beginning: A’-D'’-G’-C’”. In a more extreme example, from the end of the first piano Nocturne (later to be used as a principal motive in Dialogues

des Carmélites),

there is a sequence of dominant-tonic

descending by steps of minor third, as shown in example 35. Ex, 35:

Nocturnes: |, last 6 bars

© by Heugel—Paris— France

cadences

80

Style

This excerpt (ex. 35) indicates that Poulenc’s root motion is not always by fourths

and

fifths—motion

by thirds, seconds,

and

even

tritones

can

be

discovered. A few examples can be considered representative. At r. 1 in the second movement of the Cello Sonata, we find the following progression: Bh

min-Dp min-E min-G'’-C min-E}’-Ap min-B’-E min. In the first three chords, before the establishment of the E minor tonal center, there is motion by minor

third (or augmented second). Then there are three dominants and their resolutions, with the roots of the resolutions separated by major thirds. Of course, motion to the submediant in a minor key produces a descending M3, just as submediant motion in a major key (see ex. 35) produces a m3. Measures 5-8 in “Reine des mouettes” (#1 of Métamorphoses) contain this progression in Ab major: Ab-G- G, -F’ laltered Vil

VII

V’ of II

-B, gil

-F’-B)min’-E,A) Vv’ of Il

I’

|

This functional progression is really a I-II’ (extended)- V-I, but the first four chords amount to semitone motion. Several movements in the Stabat Mater contain some of Poulenc’s most individual progressions. The third movement, in B minor, begins: [eT

SV

ew e2 =n Vie Nose)

of V

Ex. 36:

Stabat Mater: III, first 6 bars

" © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Poulenc then chooses to repeat the last word on another half cadence using “the Neapolitan sixth in root position.”** This results in a tritone motion in the bass voice (ex. 36). The following phrase begins abruptly in E} minor, but we see in the second measure of that phrase the return of the C major chord that served as

Style

81

the Neapolitan in the first phrase (ex. 37). Here the chord acts as an altered VI, providing root motion by a minor third. Could Poulenc have considered the C major chord as an unorthodox pivot?” One of his most audacious progressions is found at the beginning of the sixth movement of the same Stabat Mater. After the key of B minor is wrenchingly established in the orchestra (see chapter 10, ex. 48), the voice enters over this progression: B min-C min’ -Aj-A min-B) min’F#’-B min. It is impossible to analyze this in the given key, nor is there any true modulation, yet the motion by half step and diminished fourth provides genuine tension, which the final V’-I resolves. Exe ar

Stabat Mater: Ill, bars 7-10

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 38.

Fiangailles pour rire: 1, bar 4 (piano only)

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The harmonic motion is not always fluid in Poulenc’s music. He occasionally used an oscillation of two, three, or four chords, particularly in the choral music.”° Related to this is a less frequent use of arch structures or palindrome progressions, as in “Dans l’herbe” (#2 in Fiangailles pour rire), shown in example 38. Finally, there are passages in which the harmony remains static or fluctuates ambiguously between two closely related triads. The first five measures of “Rédeuse au ffont de verre” (#4 of the Cing poémes de Paul Eluard) suggest either Bh minor or Gy’ (ex. 39); Gp seems to be emphasized later in the e

82

Style

song, but the final chord is Bh minor’. Similarly, at r. 42 in Aubade a C minor harmony is established and maintained for the last ten measures of the Andante (the two Ab chords at seven after r. 42 are so closely related that they do not alter the feeling of lack of motion). Ex. 39.

Cing poémes de Paul Eluard: \V, opening

€ = R6 =adeuse=

re autront ide

ver -

- re,

sans lenteur (d=80-84)

Se

2.

b

Soncoeursinscrit

dans une é-toi_le noi -

a

z

-re

© 1935 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Cadential practice is one of the more personal aspects of Poulenc’s harmonic style. Given a tonal language, we can expect primarily half and full cadences. The majority of his half cadences are approached either by a II chord or by a lowered VI chord, creating semitone motion. The latter, as seen in bar 4 of “Reine des mouettes” (the first song in Métamorphoses, ex. 40), is referred to

as a “false Neapolitan sixth” by Giséle Philips.” Full cadences to the tonic are

most often prepared by diminished sevenths or dominants; these dominant chords are frequently ninths or thirteenths. A delightful cadence from the fourth Nocturne, in which there is a double appoggiatura (only one resolves—the other dissolves) on the tonic chord, illustrates the dominant thirteenth chord (ex. 41). One

of Poulenc’s

instrumental

genres,

most

characteristic

consists

full cadences,

of a dominant-to-tonic

found

motion

in all of his

with a 9-8

Style

8&3

appoggiatura over the tonic resolution. Poulenc seems to have first hit on this in 1929, as multiple examples in Aubade (the piano solo at r. 1) and the first Nocturne indicate (ex. 42). Ex. 40.

Metamorphoses: |, bar 4

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 41.

Nocturnes: 1V. bars 15-16

© by Heugel—Paris—France

Ex. 42.

Aubade: 9-10 and 13-14 after r. |

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

84

Style

Other cadences are somewhat less orthodox and/or more colorful. In an early song, “1904” (from Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire), we find this

cadence: VI’-V’-V of VII-I, in F minor. The inserted chord between the dominant and tonic delays our expectations and provides an added color; the effect is similar to the “wrong-note” dissonances employed by Poulenc in the first two decades of his career. Two other somewhat unorthodox cadences come from mature works. The final cadence in Un soir de neige (for chorus) is VI’-I in Ep} minor (though the fourth piece began in Ep major). The VI-I cadence was a favorite of Poulenc’s in his choral music. In the thirteenth Jmprovisation (1958), Poulenc used what appears to be a Neapolitan cadence in measures 7-8;~* yet the

chord on the lowered second degree is a minor seventh chord, rather than a major triad. Ex. 43.

Salve Regina: bar 6

===a= © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Cadences which are colored by added notes are more prevalent. In the motet Salve Regina, the sixth measure contains a I-VI’-V cadence in G minor (ex. 43). Yet, in the VI’ chord, the fifth scale degree is replaced by its lower and upper neighbors in successive eighth notes; each is dissonant with another note in the chord, and each adds a color to the chord. In “C’est le joli printemps” (#3 of the Chansons villageoises), we are ostensibly in the key of Dpat r. 19, yet, after an altered chord four bars from the end, the final cadence seems best analyzed as

I’-V"-I"° in Gp, though it could be II’ of IV-V* of IV-IV" in the key of Dp.2? In

either case, it is certainly unusual to end ona thirteenth chord; it was mentioned above, however, that Poulenc had a penchant for colorful final chords.

The most important concept of Poulenc’s cadential practices is that no

matter how ambiguous, fluid, or colorful the harmonies before a cadence may

be, the sense of tonality is always clarified at the cadence. One often has a feeling of emerging from a dark forest into an open field, as in a passage from the motet “Timor et tremor,” illustrated in example 44. This sense of purification occurs

Ex. 44.

Lenten Motets: 1, bars 29-33

ct( KP

et

ti

ad. ju

Thou

: z

art

cn

tor

for. tis

ad- ju

hou

art

Do

Sure de _ fense.__

eaheothpebeiianenddbdasraitnaanstconentonanttanemmentin tcc

oe =

-.

my

-

my

tor

sure oO

=

Hear,

oe

atthe

for. tis—_

Lord,

jn J

vo.ca ;

call

.

mi. O

ne Lord,

in t

vo.ca. call

et

ad- ju.

Thow

art

my

te

ee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeE

ee oe

tor

for ~ tis__

Do

sure

de. fense._

Hear,

.

mi 0O

ne Lord,

in 7

vo. ca. call

Thee;_

eee

et IT

:

SS

=

adc ju art

jx, ) tor»

my

sure

SS

far~ tis.

Do ~

de_ fense._

Hear, ‘

7_

SS SS

mi ~ O

ne Lord,

in f eS

ear

vi. te

uw. pon

Thee;_

>

25 Thou

mio

Thee; Bs

a . te

wi. pon

See OS

=|

svi. i

upon

ee

Hear,

OOS

0

denenbebhwaenfnahetieentartGgatpahatetionmatelttomeadiitane etic

Do

de_ fense._

mi .- no

vo. ca. vi. te call

w_

pon

Thee;_

EE

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

more often, of course, in the works with a more complex harmonic style and more frequently changing tonal centers, such as the motets and the Mass, as well as the Stabat Mater, and certain songs, especially “Tu vois le feu du soir.” Poulenc establishes and changes these tonal centers with great fluidity—the result is that the key structures rarely appear to be architectonically designed. There is no strong drive from one key to another, and often no apparent pattern to the tonal motion. We might go as far as to say that Poulenc chooses his keys arbitrarily and somewhat casually. For example, in the fifth movement of Les Animaux modéles, the main theme is in Bp while the second one is in C; both later return in different tonalities. The first movement of the Trio is in A, but its slow middle section begins in F minor and even toys with Dp and Ab minor. There is no emphasis, therefore, on a strong tonal scheme in Poulenc’s music, but rather a feeling that keys must change frequently and flexibly to accommodate the variety of moods and themes. William Austin wrote the following in reference to Fauré’s modulatory practices: He hardly ever stays simply in one key for as much as a phrase, but he uses chromatic progressions only sparingly, he blends related diatonic scales together by vague modality— especially favoring the raised fourth of the Lydian mode—and finally, he makes each phrase lead so smoothly into the next that the one key of the whole piece is supreme throughout. ae

The comments could apply to Poulenc’s style almost as easily, though there is considerably less feeling of “vague modality,” and Poulenc frequently concludes a piece in a key other than that in which it began. Poulenc vehemently denied any influence of Fauré upof his style, and even went out of his way to express his dislike for Fauré’s music. Yet there are apparent links between the song styles of

86

Style

the two composers, and Poulenc’s mature piano style (post-1940) could hardly have been the same without Fauré. Furthermore, certain passages, such as r. 2 in

the Concerto pour orgue,*' are so similar harmonically to Fauré that the influence, however unconscious it may have been, is unmistakable.

Be that as it may, Poulenc’s music modulates as freely as the music of any other tonal twentieth-century composer. Henri Hell pointed out the importance of this “game of modulations”: “It is to these delicate and subtle relationships of tonalities that Poulenc’s music owes a great part of its harmonic sensuousness.””? The frequent and fluid modulations also offer relief from excessive repetition (e.g., “Le Lion amoureux” from Les Animaux modéles) or from an ostinato rhythm (as in “Tu vois le feu du soir’). An examination of the first section (to r. 6) of the first movement of the Sonata for Oboe and Piano will reveal Poulenc’s method of fluid modulation. The movement begins in G major and moves to E} for the second theme, at r.2; modulation by major third, either up or down, is one of his most characteristic

practices. We must look at the eight measures preceding r. 2 to see how this modulation is effected. The passage is ushered in by a secondary modulation to

the dominant: II’ of V-V"’ of V-V. This simple three-chord pattern is a Poulenc fingerprint for secondary modulations. The V chord is given tonic stability by the addition of a major seventh, thus confounding its dominant function. In the fourth measure of the excerpt, this chord turns to minor, becoming a I’ chord

for a second secondary modulation: II’ of IV-V"’ of IV-IV’. We can now see this C major’ chord as the pivot: IV’ = VI§ in Ep, and the final two measures

complete the modulation with II’ and V’”’ in the new key of Ep. In the course of eight measures, three modulations were effected. But Poulenc is not content to remain in the new key of Ep. At five bars after r. 2, he pivots onan F minor’ chord: II? = VI’ in Ab, and arrives in Ab at r. 3. In the four measures between r. 3 and 4, he moves to Gb (II’-V°-I) and, through an

altered chord, to the dominant thirteenth of his new key (Bb) for his third theme. This new key is retained for as many as eight measures before an abrupt modulation, without pivot chord, to D major at three after r. 5; once again, the modulation is by major third (ascending). The frequency of modulation in this passage is not unusual. In the nine measures of the miniature song “Plume d’eau claire” (#3 of the Cing poémes de Paul Eluard), the following key scheme can be observed: C minor, Bh minor, A minor, F minor, and C minor-major. In the Valse-Jmprovisation sur le nom de Bach for piano, there are numerous modulations, some of them quite audacious, in one hundred and sixty-six bars in 3/8 time: C, e, Dp, a, F, Dp (= C#), E, Dh, E, f, F#, e. Furthermore, Poulenc never returns to the opening tonality; here, then,

is an example of a piece beginning and ending in different keys. Many of Poulenc’s modulations are effected with two or three chords, most often a dominant preparation and a dominant. He sometimes uses an altered

Style

87

chord for his pivot, particularly in the choral works and other more harmonically complex pieces; in example 45, from the motet Salve Regina, a III chord in the key of G minor becomes a IV chord with a raised third in the new key of F minor. There are also many modulations produced by a single chord, generally a dominant ninth or thirteenth. Finally, a number of modulations occur with neither pivot nor preparatory dominant—what we might call “slash modulations.” These occur most often in the songs, as at bars 24-25 in “Au-dela” (from

Trois poémes de Louise de Vilmorin, ex. 46) and at bars 37-38 in Montpar-

nasse* (see chapter 11, ex. 3); there is no textual correlate in either case.°4 Ex. 45.

Salve Regina: bars 22-24

A

es 2 ee mi-_se_ri-cor .des

ae

3

wr

v

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 46.

Trois poémes de Louis de Vilmorin: Il, bars 24-25

© 1938 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company

Sole Representative U.S.A.

¥

—

+

88

Style

The “game of modulations,” which gives Poulenc’s music such expressivity and personality, is nowhere better played than in the song “Tu vois le feu du soir.” Here he passes effortlessly from C# minor, through such unrelated keys as Ab minor at bar 9, B minor at bar 11, F minor at bar 14, C minor at bar 20, and By

minor at bar 25, finally arriving in Ep major at bar 33. He returns to minor (Ep) at bar 38, passes to F# minor at bar 41, and returns to the home key of C# minor at

bar 47. The final page is one of his most poetic passages. After toying with Dp (= C#) in bars 50-52, he gives us three measures of ambiguous diminished and dominant chords, with no tonic to anchor us back in C# (ex. 47). The true poetry occurs in bars 56-58, where the following progression takes us far away from C+: A maj’ a D’

a Ge

os (Ee -F maj’

0)

But he slips gracefully back into C¥ minor with an altered dominant seventh as the penultimate chord. Ex. 47.

“Tu vois le feu du soir”: bars 53-55

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

One final aspect of Poulenc’s harmonic style must be examined: dissonance treatment. Dissonance plays an important role in Poulenc’s music, within a generally consonant context. Three approaches to dissonance may be discerned. The first will be referred to as “wrong-note” dissonance. This technique,

Style

89

characteristic of between-the-wars neoclassicism, involves the addition or substitution of one or more notes “out of tune” with their conventionally determined context. Poulenc used it for both playful and impertinent effects. In the early Valse for piano, the opening phrase, which is repeated, is clearly inC major, though the right-hand melody employs the Lydian mode on C., Yet at measure 17, there is jarring dissonance (Bp-D)) over the vamped C major accompaniment (ex. 48); the effect is irreverent, almost mocking. In the last movement of the Concert champétre, at r. 9, the two trumpets in seconds are rather playful.*° Le Bal masqué, a crucial work to the development of Poulenc’s personality,*° contains more “wrong-note” dissonance than any other of his works; two simple examples are representative (ex. 49). Ex. 48.

Valse: bars 15-17

© 1934 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Ex. 49.

Le Bal masqué: | before r. 52 and r. 67

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

This particular approach to dissonance was gradually abandoned by Poulenc after his maturation in the mid-1930s. What replaced it, though it is not absent even from earlier works, may be called “harsh” dissonance. While “wrong-note” is dissonant against a conventional background, “harsh” dissonance is more autonomous, not as easily analyzed or “cleaned up.” This dissonance is more serious, more powerful than the playful or impertinent “wrong-note” type. A very early example appears at the opening of the Sonata for piano four hands (1918), though here the influence of Stravinsky is so obvious that we cannot call this a personal gesture (ex. 50). Probably the first characteristic example is in the introduction to the Trio (ex. 51). Here the

90

Style

dissonance is more pensive, more calculated than the seemingly flippant, offhanded attitude of the “wrong-note” type. Later examples can be found mostly in Poulenc’s more serious works, such as the Organ Concerto, the second march

of the Deux marches et un interméde, the Sonate for two pianos, and in much of the choral music. In addition, the dissonance found in the last two operas is of

this nature, though the numerous augmented and diminished structures in La Voix humaine produce a sense of ambiguity rather than harshness. Ex. 50.

Sonata: |, opening

Modéré. (d « 152)

=P)

a a

CO ae

a

eee

rome nn

CGA

ee ciate ani ogee meemereeee maa ee nnn en eee ee ne see ee ne

ee

SS a

paelhere

SCeeieereepeematnetemee sameeren heal Sa aaa SS ee cere re ame eral

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Exes

Trio: 1, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The third approach to dissonance is at once the most pervasive and the least conspicuous, for it involves Poulenc’s ubiquitous seventh, ninth, and thirteenth chords. Of course the concepts of consonance and dissonance are relative, and what would be dissonant in Saint-Saéns, was not for Poulenc. In many cases, these “dissonant” structures, in replacing triads, begin to sound consonant. Such is the case in the second song from Tel jour, telle nuit, where the three

occurrences of the opening piano figure employ the tonic chord with the added minor seventh, so that we hear G minor’ as the key of the piece. Such an innovation—and this is one of Poulenc’s real contributions—would not have

Style

91

been possible had he not been sufficiently eclectic to assimilate influences from such composers as Fauré, Debussy, Satie, and Ravel, as well as from popular music. Poulenc was fond of using pedals; these tend to appear at the ends of

sections or movements, and more often on the tonic than on the dominant. His

pedals rarely consist of a single sustained note: at six after r. 7 in the second movement of the Sextuor we find an E} pedal in the piano, but it consists of quarter notes in three different octaves; the following phrase (at r. 8) is another brief pedal containing the root and third of the F minor triad; the pedal at r. 46 in the Concerto pour orgue does use a sustained G, but above it can be found a sustained D and quarter-note pizzicato Gs and Ds; from one before r. 54 to the end of Aubade is Poulenc’s lengthiest pedal, employing all three notes of an F major triad. Occasionally his pedals are carefully disguised, though the effect is unmistakable. Such is the case at four before r. 9 in the first movement of the Sonata for Oboe and Piano, where a dominant pedal is suggested by employing the dominant in the right hand of the piano over the fifth of the dominant chord and its two semitone neighbors (ex. 52). Exyo2s

Sonata for Oboe and Piano: 1, 4 before r. 9ff.

Pcicaclnkaiclicka eee —_

erreae

———"

> —_}—_——

= a ee nt echo

a = eae came icemmeer a

|alll sccecasieentenill ene: ateemcinisicatialleaindinell [ppg teet

Ca

7

oe

=

—

Seth elke eee

Re

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

No critic or analyst has suggested that Poulenc was a rhythmic innovator, nor was he in fact; yet there are several practices which are particularly characteristic of him. One such practice is the use of ostinati. Most of these, particularly in the early works, such as the opening rhythmic figure of the

Sonata (1918) for piano four hands,*’ can be traced to an influence either of Satie or Stravinsky. As he matured, Poulenc began to adapt this technique to his own middle-of-the-road style, producing such simple, flowing ostinati as the one found at r. 13 in Aubade (ex. 53).

eT

92

Style

Closely related is Poulenc’s penchant for writing lengthy passages, often entire movements or songs, in a continuous flow of even eighth notes; the slow movement of the Flute Sonata and the song “Tu vois le feu du soir” are two examples of this techinique. This is but one example of Poulenc’s rhythmic conservatism; none of his pieces provides any rhythmic difficulties for the performer, either in terms of extremely short note values (he rarely uses anything smaller than sixteenth notes), or in terms of complex syncopation or subdivision. There is a strong rhythmic influence from popular music, particularly various dances (waltzes, the galop, the polka, and the mazurka), in all of

Poulenc’s genres except choral music. Contrary to belief, however, there are few indications of jazz influence in his music; he was one of the few tonal composers

of his generation who did not like or employ jazz. On the other hand, the lilting rhythms and vamped accompaniments of the French café-concert and Parisian music hall songs play an important role in his lighter music. Poulenc was more original in the fields of meter and phrasing. His notation does not indicate his metrical originality, for he maintained the standard simple and compound meter signatures, with an occasional irregular meter (in five or seven) and a marked liking for 6/4. His originality lies, rather, in the frequency and fluidity of his meter changes. These meter changes occur with consistency in all genres, particularly the vocal ones, where it is rare to find a page without a change. In the opera La Voix humaine, for example, any two pages of the pianovocal score, containing between sixteen and twenty-two measures, will have an

average of six changes of meter. A particularly fluid passage is found between r. 35 and 38 of the last movement of the Concert champétre, where there are eleven changes of signature in only nineteen measures. Ex. 53.

Aubade: r. 13 (piano only)

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G, Schirmer, U.S. agent.

These changes are sometimes dictated by the text, and sometimes by purely musical concerns. They may occur at the beginning, middle, or end of a phrase. A typical passage from the Sinfonietta may be examined: the lengthy melody at r. | inthe third movement is shown as example 54. The first phrase is clearly four

Style

93

bars in length, and cadences on the dominant. Yet Poulenc cheats expectation by shortening the fourth measure bya beat, changing the meter to 2 /4. The same principle is employed in the second four-bar phrase. The third phrase (three bars in length) changes to 4/4 in the third bar. Here the addition of a beat is disconcerting, for the phrase appears to be another one of four bars, with the fourth beginning on the fourth beat (arrow) of the first 4 /4 measure. As is often Poulenc’s habit, the fourth phrase concludes the passage in the new meter (4/4). Ex. 54.

Sinfonietta: Ill, r. 1-3 (melody line only)

Used by kind permission of J&W

Bx55.

Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Aubade: r. 44 (piano only)

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 56.

Mouvements perpétuels; 111, opening

#

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

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Style

In addition to shortening and lengthening phrases, Poulenc also used meter changes for subdivision and for combining several measures. An example of subdivision can be found at r. 44ff. in Aubade (ex. 55), where a measure in 3/4 is inserted into a passage in 2/2. When combining measures, Poulenc rarely sought a hemiola effect, but rather the addition or elimination of a beat. In example 56, from the beginning of the third of the Mouvements perpétuels, two bars of 4/4 are combined into one bar of 7/4, with the elimination of the upbeat.

As can be seen from these examples, many of Poulenc’s meter changes are the result of irregular or asymmetric phrasing. Phrases of three or five measures in length are quite common, as reductions or extensions of four-bar phrases. Certain passages (see especially La Voix humaine) abandon traditional two- and four-bar phrasing altogether, in favor of choppy phrasing and/or cellular construction, often resulting in three-bar groupings. None of this seems unusual for a twentieth-century composer, until we consider the fact that Poulenc, who admired the music of Mozart and Schubert, wrote some of the most unashamedly periodic tunes of this century. These foursquare, antecedent-consequent tunes appear beside passages that are irregularly phrased and perhaps filled with meter changes. Such a diversity or, as some might say, a contradiction, is commonplace in Poulenc’s music. He was as eclectic a composer as ever lived,** borrowing freely and often consciously, and he felt no qualms about doing so. In addition, his was a complex personality, exhibiting striking inconsistencies and, often, diametrically opposed attitudes, as Ned Rorem writes: He was deeply devout and uncontrollably sensual. In short, his aspect and personality, taste and music, each contained contrasts which were not alternating but simultaneous. In a single spoken paragraph he would express terror about a work in progress, hence his need for a pilgrimage to the Black Virgin’s shrine at Rocamadour; his next breath extolled the joys of

cruising the Deauville boardwalk.

Laurence Davies expresses it in another way: A Parisian with his roots in the Touraine, a vulgarian with a connoisseur’s sense of the exquisite, an innocent commuting to and from the infernal regions of art, a practical joker let loose in the temple of the immortals—these and many other paradoxes could be used to describe the man who more than anything else remains quintessentially Poulenc.”

Poulenc’s style changed, however subtly, throughout his career. But, instead of dropping one style in favor of another, he simply added the new techniques to his vocabulary. We are now going to examine the evolution of Poulenc’s style and the way in which he assimilated these techniques and outside

influences.

Style

95

Poulenc’s first stylistic period (1917-22) might be called the “fauve” period. He was, indeed, a brash young composer during these years, intentionally shocking the public, becoming a member of the provocative Les Six, and earning a reputation as the mauvais garcon of new French music. With an as yet undeveloped compositional style, Poulenc found himself strongly influenced by the music of Erik Satie,*’ who was a fauve in his own individual way. Poulenc liked nearly all of Satie’s music, but he expressed a predilection for the piano works and for Parade. The clearest references to Satie are found in Poulenc’s early piano works, such as Mouvements perpétuels (1918),

Valse (1919), Suite en ut (1920), and Promenades (1921), the latter

apparently modeled after Sports et divertissements. In addition, Poulenc became one of the best interpreters of Satie’s piano music.” Parade exerted a general textural and melodic influence, particularly on Poulenc’s contributions

to Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel (1921), and on the Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone (1922). He also especially admired one song of Satie’s, La Statue de bronze: “It exerted a formidable influence on my melodic style; I owe it secret tenderness and infinite gratitude.”* The early song collections Le Bestiaire (1919) and Cocardes (1919) are the clearest manifestations of his debt to this particular song. The principal stylistic elements of Poulenc’s works of this period can be traced to the music of Satie: modest dimensions; a carefree, flippant attitude; a thin, linear texture; simple, often diatonic melodies; a repetitive chordal

accompaniment; the use of modality and ostinato; the ability to flirt with banality and monotony without quite lapsing into them; and an often popular atmosphere, redolent of the circus, the fair, the café-concert, and the music hall.

Poulenc never abandoned nor suppressed the Satie influence; rather he assimilated it into his own rapidly developing musical personality. Occasionally it would resurface in an obvious manner, as in the simple naiveté and banal tunes

of the Villageoises (1933) for piano, or in the parallel, seemingly motionless added-tertian chords (sevenths, ninths, and elevenths) of such songs as “Hé6tel”

(From Banalités, 1940) and La Grenouillére (1938). More importantly, the attitude of youthful impertinence that he learned from Satie was to remain with him, as Claude Rostand tells us: Of all of the group [Les Six], he was to remain the most faithful to the ideal of simplicity and clarity favored by Satie; in addition, he would remain faithful for a long time to the aesthetic of the anti-sublime characteristic of the 1920s. Until around 1936, he would produce works in

this fauve vein with a perpetually renewed inventiveness.“

Poulenc’s second stylistic period (1923-35) might be called the “Stravinsky or neoclassic period.” Poulenc spoke of the depth of Stravinsky’s influence on his style:

96

Style Around the age of twenty, I was wild about Stravinsky’s music. Many of my earliest works serve witness to this passionate veneration; it was a natural influence since, at that time, I would often play the overture to Mavra or the finale of Pulcinella more than twenty times ona given day. Now that I am past forty, and I am controlling, or should be controlling, my sentiments, I have maintained my fervor for Stravinsky’s music, and I continue to owe many of my most joyful musical experiences to this master.*°

Though isolated Stravinsky influences can be detected in some of Poulenc’s “earliest works” (Sonata for piano four hands, Sonata for Two Clarinets), it seems that he was most affected by Stravinsky’s neoclassic works of the 1920s and 1930s: Pulcinella, Mavra, Symphonies of Wind Instruments, Le Baiser de la fée, Apollon Musagéte, Oedipus Rex, and the Concerto for Piano and Wind Orchestra. He himself admitted that Pulcinella influenced Les Biches and the Concert champétre, while Le Baiser de la fée and Apollon influenced Aubade. The most obvious stylistic characteristics borrowed, and then assimilated,

by Poulenc between the wars all issue from Stravinsky’s neoclassicism, a problematic term which needs examination. Eric Salzman feels that the stylistic characteristics of a neoclassic work include: “its references to other music, its

spare but vigorous lines and colors, its shifting rhythmic and accentual organization, its use of small closed forms, its ironic wit, and its method of

achieving tonal centers of gravity through assertion and juxtaposition.”*° Most of Stravinsky’s works between Pulcinella and The Rake’s Progress exhibit these traits; similarly, a large group of composers from Europe and the Americas adopted all or some of these characteristics and attitudes in the period between the wars. However, William Austin cautions us against accepting the term too freely,

for it leads to unfounded generalizations.*’ Thus Poulenc’s neoclassicism differs

markedly from Stravinsky’s in that it is less synthetic, less abstract, and less objective; moreover, his “references” are to Stravinsky himself as often as they

are to earlier composers. Nevertheless, Poulenc’s neoclassic works possess these characteristics in common with Stravinsky’s: a return to earlier composers and styles for inspiration (for Poulenc, sixteenth-century French chansons, Monteverdi, eighteenth-century clavecinistes, Mozart, and Chopin were the most notable); a general thinness of texture; “wrong-note” dissonance (with its implications of a stylistic convention); use of ostinato melodic and rhythmic patterns; a classical conception of structure; small closed forms; and a modesty of forces (Poulenc wrote very few orchestral works before 1940). His important and obvious neoclassic works include: Les Biches, Poémes de Ronsard, Chansons gaillardes, the Trio, Concert champétre, Aubade, Suite francaise, and Deux marches et un interméde (also, in a sense, the Concerto pour orgue). Of course, restraint, wit, and throughout his career.

diatonic

tunefulness

marked

Poulenc’s

music

Style

97

There are numerous specific instances of Poulenc’s debt to Stravinsky. For example, the assimilation of the melodic and harmonic materials of Pulcinella is evident in sections of Les Biches. The trumpet melody in the finale of Pulcinella is clearly the model for the trumpet melody in the “Rondeau” and at the very end of the same ballet (at r. 156). The opening vocal phrase of Mavra finds a close echo in the opening of Poulenc’s Poémes de Ronsard; the opening of Aubade can be traced back to the coda of the “Village Féte” section of Le Baiser de lafée. The chord at r. 8 in the third of the Sept chansons (1936) was borrowed from the Symphonies of Wind Instruments. Similar borrowings from Stravinsky that occurred later in Poulenc’s career will be pointed out in the discussions of specific works (see, especially, La Fraicheur et le feu and Dialogues des Carmélites). Apart from the profound influence of Stravinsky, this second period was marked

by uncertainty, experimentation,

and a marked refinement of tech-

nique. It had begun with Poulenc’s years of study with Koechlin** and the resultant heaviness and uncharacteristic dissonance in certain works; yet the simple, tuneful, erotic Les Biches was also written during these years of study. The first examples of technical mastery in two important genres followed in 1925-26, with the composition of the Chansons gaillardes and the Trio. This mastery was then incorporated into two extended works, the Concert champétre

and the very serious Aubade. Yet these are two of Poulenc’s most difficult, unusual works; each is unique in his oeuvre. The important evolutionary process of the first half of the 1930s is described

elsewhere.*? These years were

also marked,

however,

by one of

Poulenc’s most personal works (Le Bal masqué), and by some of his more lighthearted ones (Concerto pour deux pianos, Badinage, Feuillets d'album, and Villageoises). He seems to have been searching for an individual path to take him away from his somewhat stifling association with Les Six in the 1920s. In the third period (1936-52), Poulenc found that path by turning ina more serious, lyrical direction. With his study of Bach, Victoria, and Monteverdi

(through friendship with Wanda Landowska and Nadia Boulanger), his new partnership with the sensitive, cultured Bernac, his ability finally to understand and set the poetry of Eluard, and his religious re-awakening following his pilgrimage,

in 1936, to the shrine

of Rocamadour,

Poulenc

added

new

dimensions and greater depth to his music. Roland Gelatt feels these changes were manifest in two particular works: “One senses a new note of passionate engagement in the song cycle Tel jour, telle nuit and an unsuspected wellspring of beatific serenity in the Mass.”°° Indeed, the profundity of Poulenc’s religious works, and the seriousness of this new side of his personality, seemingly diametrically opposed to_the clowning, impish man known to the public, surprised all but his closest friends.

98

Style

Furthermore, a romantic coloring began to filter into Poulenc’s music with more frequency in the late 1930s and 1940s; it can be detected in a more direct emotional expression, the increased use of such devices as rolled chords, tempo

rubato, and compound meter, and a more sustained lyricism. His emphasis on the poetry of Eluard and Vilmorin, far more expansive and lyrical than that of Apollinaire or Jacob, is indicative of these new romantic tendencies. It seems that romanticism was a fundamental aspect of Poulenc’s character—David Drew goes so far as to suggest that, “Poulenc’s real musical nature is intensly romantic and sentimental”’'—and that he had merely been suppressing this tendency during a period (c. 1915-35) in which it was more fashionable and upto-date to be an antiromantic composer. To be sure, sentiment and lyricism can be found in early Poulenc works,

from Les Biches, to Napoli, to passages in the Concerto pour deux pianos, suggesting that once Les Six had gone their separate ways (1921), he was free to express his innermost emotions. But only after 1936 did these gestures appear with sufficient frequency to warrant the classification of Poulenc’among the neoromantics. He did not totally abandon, however, the humor, simplicity, and impertinence of his early works, nor the neoclassicism of his second period; his scope and range of expression simply continued to grow. By the years immediately following World War II, Poulenc had added depth, seriousness, religiosity, and a stylistic synthesis, what Claude Rostand called “a sort of concentration,” to his music. Though he continued to be open

to stylistic influences, he had found his own musical personality, as Arthur Honegger wrote in 1948:

The influences of Chabrier, Stravinsky, and Satie, which he underwent at the beginning of his

career, have been assimilated, as often happens when a true vigor exists, and are now so dissolved in the mixture of his own qualities that it is impossible to detect them, while at each moment a melodic shape or a harmonic progression causes us to say: “That is very Poulenc.”*?

He carried this mature, comfortable musical personality into his fourth and

final period (1953-63). He now occupied himself exclusively with serious matters: sacred choral works, a few gentle songs and piano pieces, serene chamber works, and two operas. His last vestiges of youth and frivolity, of innocence, of “dressing too young for his age,” had been left behind in the 1940s: Les Mamnelles de Tirésias, the Sinfonietta, the song Paul et Virginie, and the finale of the Concerto pour piano. As his music mellowed, his harmony became richer and his tempi became slower, more relaxed. Despite these minor stylistic refinements, Poulenc’s overall musical style

changed little throughout his career, as a comparison of Les Biches with the late wind sonatas shows. There was no wholesale abandonment of youthful techniques, nor was there any abrupt shift of direction, such as a turning toward serialism. There was simply a gradual deepening™ and distillation, a steady enrichment in the compositional language.

Style

99

Part of the reason that Poulenc’s style changed little, despite fifty years of intense evolution all around him, might have to do with his attitude toward

musical composition. Like many of his neoclassic contemporaries, he felt that composing is more a craft than an art. It must be an everyday task, devoid of pretension. As a consequence, his music is more like conversation, rather than

the rhetorical gestures and large-scale dramas produced by the nineteenthcentury composers whom he rejected. Poulenc’s music is always amicable and unpretentious, even when it is devoutly religious or serious. Thus it remained

uncomplicated and accessible throughout his career. Most critics have taken the stance espoused by Claude Rostand when he said that, “[Poulenc’s] musical language varies so little from one genre to another that a given passage from a comic opera could easily be found ina given sacred work.”*° It is certainly true that there are passages in Les Mamelles de Tirésias that foreshadow the Stabat Mater, just as there are passages in the Mass that seem to spring directly from certain songs; a phrase in the Concerto pour piano even seems to have served as the source for the opening of Dialogues des Carmélites.*’ Poulenc borrowed freely and unashamedly within his own oeuvre, and many of these “given passages” are pointed out in chapters 7-12. Yet isolated passages do not constitute a “musical language.” Though there are several stylistic constants which run through all the genres, there is little in common between the piano music and the operas, and less incommon between the choral works and the chamber music. Indeed, Poulenc’s music varies more in style and mood from genre to genre than many other composers from the last two centuries. The remainder of this study will be devoted to an examination of the six major genres of Poulenc’s music, the particular stylistic characteristics of each, and the principal works, works which prompted Poulenc often to say: “My music is my portrait.”

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7

Chamber Music

Since a number

of Poulenc’s most characteristic, best-known works are for

chamber ensembles, we may begin by examining this genre. Among his thirteen chamber works are his first and last published compositions, and several sonatas which have become part of the standard twentieth-century repertoire. Poulenc did not express his deepest feelings in his chamber music; we must look to the songs, the choral works, and the operas to discover the more intimate facets of his personality. The chamber works are generally lighthearted and tuneful, often saucy and tongue-in-cheek; in this sense, they retained, through-

out Poulenc’s fifty-year career, the imprint of Parisian popular music (caféconcert and music hall) and the aesthetic of Les Six. It is, of course, primarily in the fast movements that we find these characteristics and this boisterous mood;

the contrasting slow movements are often melancholy, even poignant, as lyrically attractive as the best of his contemporaneous works in other genres. Yet, with a few exceptions, no real depth of expression is probed; a work as late as the Sonata for Clarinet and Piano' (1962) displays the youthful exuberance of the works of Poulenc’s first period of chamber composition (1917-39). Undoubtedly this vitality has contributed to the popularity of the chamber works. Poulenc often expressed a preference for wind over stringed instruments, and his chamber music bears this out: only three of the thirteen works include solo strings.” The writing for them, moreover, is astonishingly simple, relying on techniques that could be learned in a textbook. The writing for the wind instruments, on the other. hand, is skillful and idiomatic from the very first works, employing characteristic articulations, the most efficacious ranges, and appropriate figurations, while exploring all the expressive possibilities of each instrument. Poulenc also seems to have understood how to combine winds with each other and with a piano. His predilection for wind instruments began early in his life: I have always adored wind instruments, preferring them to strings, and this love developed independent of the tendencies of the era [c. 1915-25]. Of course, L'Histoire du Soldat and

Stravinsky’s solo clarinet pieces stimulated my taste for winds, but I had developed the taste as

a child.’

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Chamber Music

This affinity was undoubtedly nurtured by the high quality of wind playing in France, due to the strong teaching tradition at the Conservatoire. Poulenc markedly preferred woodwinds to brass, for he used the latter, apart from the French horn, in only two chamber works.*

All but three of the chamber works (Rapsodie négre, Elégie, and Suite francaise) are composed of three movements, generally in the traditional fastslow-fast pattern.” The first two movements tend to be in a modified ternary form, while the last is usually a rondo. The form is generated by addition rather than by thematic development; the internal expansion that took place between the early sonatas (1918-22) and the Sextuor (1939), one of Poulenc’s longest chamber works, has to be explained by the addition and lyrical filling-out of thematic material, rather than by traditional organic development. The fast movements tend to pile one theme or motive upon another (see the first movement of the 7rio), while the slow ones rely more on repetition and slightly altered restatement. Finally, Poulenc was fond of marked tempo and mood changes

within

a movement;

a slow,

melancholy

section,

replacing

the

anticipated development, will often occur within a fast, impertinent movement. The texture employed most frequently in the chamber music is theme-andaccompaniment homophony. In the six pieces for solo instrument and piano, the accompaniment is naturally found most often in the piano part; but since these are not virtuoso sonatas (in keeping with Poulenc’s neoclassical aesthetic), he often gives the solo instrument an accompanimental role, with the melody in the piano. Passages in octaves and parallel motion, dialogue alternation, and counterpoint are employed in the ensemble pieces, but one line generally stands out over the others; the major exceptions to this are the fast movements of the very early Sonata for Two Clarinets (1918), and the special texture of this piece will be discussed below. The role of the piano in Poulenc’s chamber music should be considered here, for it is an integral part of all but the three early sonatas. It was always Poulenc’s intention to make the piano an equal partner, as he tried to do in his art songs. Thus it is given frequent solos, opening the Trio, for example, or introducing new themes; it may join another instrument in parallel motion; it frequently doubles the melody while also providing the harmony; and itmay engage in a dialogue with the other instrument(s). Some of Poulenc’s best piano writing, he tells us (see chapter 9), can be found in his chamber music. In 1954, Poulenc made the following statement in an interview with Claude Rostand: “For me, chamber music is...an intermittent phenomenon. Sometimes an inner necessity compels me to write, and sometimes a virtuoso simply gives me the opportunity.”° At the time this was said, Poulenc was on the

threshold of what we may consider the last of his three periods of chamber music composition. The first encompassed the years 1917-1939, and included Rapsodie négre, the three early wind sonatas, the Trio, Suite francaise, and the Sextuor

Chamber Music

103

(composed in 1932, revised and published in 1939). None of these works was written for a particular virtuoso performer, and we may reasonably attribute all of them to “inner necessity.” The circumstances surrounding the memorable premiére of Rapsodie neégre were recounted in chapter 2. The work is in five movements, and is scored for piano, string quartet, flute, clarinet in Bb, and voice. A similarity to the forces employed in Pierrot Lunaire cannot be denied, but the real influences on the music, as on most of Poulenc’s early works, came not from Schoenberg, but

from Satie and, to a lesser extent, Stravinsky. The piano part makes extensive use of pedal tones and ostinati. There is a great deal of dissonance, arrived at harmonically (and often of the “wrong-note” type) rather than contrapuntally. The second movement flirts with polytonality, with the piano in E, minor and the other instruments in D minor; the off-beat Dys in the cello and piano right hand add further unrest. There is also a prevailing feeling of modality, and a corresponding bareness of texture and banality of melodic material. Finally, the nearly monotonous repetitions, and such markings as “monotone,” provide a mood suggestive of Satie’s “white music” or “musique d’ameublement” and such emotionless Stravinsky works as the Three Pieces for String Quartet. We shall also encounter an influence of Debussy in the first and fourth movements. Yet this work is not a mere pastiche, for there are many personal gestures that were to become an essential part of Poulenc’s style. Impertinent codas, discovered here for the first time, are very characteristic of his early works, as well as some of the later ones. The lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek style of popular music is illustrated, for example, by the two percussive chords (“like a blast ona whistle”)’ that conclude the second movement. The winds are characteristically favored over the strings, with the latter often merely doubling or filling in harmonies. And such passages as the closing of the first movement contain harmonies and melodic shapes which, even as early as this, seem typical of Poulenc. The opening movement, Prélude, is somewhat pretentious, though dominated by a simple, graceful pentatonic melody. It begins with harmonies built on fourths and fifths, perhaps representing Poulenc’s conception of African music, though ultimately sounding more Oriental in nature. Though the key signature contains three flats, the key seems to be F minor. A second section, with solo flute accompanied by pizzicato strings, is redolent of Debussy’s Prelude a laprés-midi d'un faune. The third section slips further into a feeling of impressionism with the emergence of string tremolos; even a consciously antiimpressionist composer was unable to avoid its influence in 1917, especially since Poulenc held a secret admiration for Debussy.® The motivic second movement is extremely fast and in a rough ABA form. A chromatic melody déminates the A section; the longer middle section contains several short melodic fragments over a grinding piano pedal. ¥

104

Chamber Music

The third movement, entitled “Interméde vocal,” is accompanied only by piano and is marked “Lent et monotone.” The vocal line consists simply of a repetitive descending line of four notes (B-A-G#-F#) over oscillating harmonies (E major with an added C, and D major with an added C). Thus we have an ostinato vocal line, oscillating accompaniment, and a pedal on middle C; the effect is certainly “monotone” and an appropriate response to the bland doggerel of the poem, “Honoloulou.” A dissonant chord opens the movement and returns between the three verses, while a flippant coda serves as a conclusion. The fourth movement, Pastorale, is gentle and melodic, in contrast to what

precedes it. It again suggests Debussy in its impressionistic haze. The expressive climax contains flute and clarinet playing in parallel fifths or sevenths over the incessant piano oscillation, imparting, again, an Oriental rather than African color. A dissonant four-bar coda brings the movement to aclose. The almost violent fifth movement, like the second, is in a modified ternary form. In this first Poulenc chamber work, we find a practice he would use often,

for he recalls earlier movements in this Final. The running accompanimental figure in the A section begins with the four descending notes of the third movement’s “Honoloulou.” The following theme in the winds is identical to a melodic fragment in the second movement. In the B section, moreover, the voice

returns singing “Honoloulou” over an accompaniment that is altered but reminiscent of the “Interméde vocal.” All of this occurs within a strongly dissonant context. Poulenc was never to write another work quite like Rapsodie négre, though similar instrumental techniques can be found in the chamber version of Le Bestiaire of 1919 and a similar provocative, impertinent mood can be found in Le Bal masqué of 1932. Poulenc wrote in some detail about the three short wind sonatas that were to follow (Sonata for Two Clarinets, 1918, Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon, 1922, and Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone, 1922): Concerning my first three wind sonatas, their existence is due, without a doubt, exclusively to my instinct. Clearly, [they] are youthful works, and calling them sonatas might surprise certain people because of their restrained dimensions, but we must not forget that Debussy had just revived the tradition of the eighteenth-century French sonata, as a reaction against the post-Franckian sonata. Well-written for winds, [these sonatas] maintain a certain youthful Vitality that links them to Dufy’s early canvasses.’

Writing in 1923, Darius Milhaud endorsed Poulenc’s claim of an eighteenthcentury inspiration behind these sonatas: “[Poulenc] has renewed in chamber music the brevity of Scarlatti’s sonatas. The elements are here reduced to their

minimum.””°

Chamber Music

105

Indeed, the brevity of these pieces (6’25”, 8’58”, and 8’18” rather than the 12-

20 minutes of most other Poulenc chamber works) suggests that they could have been titled “sonatina” rather than “sonata.” All three have certain features in common: each consists of three short movements in the pattern fast-slow-fast; all nine movements are in either ternary or rondo form; there is a great deal of motivic repetition, though it gradually decreases from the earliest sonata to the latest; dissonance pervades all three pieces, much of it the “wrong-note” variety that is generally linked to Stravinsky; and there are numerous meter changes in each sonata (the first movements alone contain twenty, twenty-four, and sixteen meter changes, respectively). Many of these characteristics were to become hallmarks of Poulenc’s chamber music works in general. Ex. |.

Sonata for Two Clarinets: 11, opening

S etlapeneag ire

Used by kind permission of J&W

Exes.

eh asakatteee! ae esnesed eaitnepene eee aener DR ret TrccL cagSe are

Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Brass Sonata: I, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

A

106

Chamber Music

Ex. 4.

Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon: 1, 10 from end

Clar. in Bb

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Exe:

Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon: |, 5 after r. 3

Clar. in Bb

Bassom

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 6.

Sonata for Two Clarinets: 11, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Since these are his only three chamber works without a keyboard instrument, they are uniquely contrapuntal. The most prevalent technique is melody plus linear accompaniment; this accompaniment may be an ostinato, as in the second movement of the Sonata for Two Clarinets (ex. 1); it may be an arpeggiation, as in the second movement of the Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon (ex. 2); or it may be a combination of both, or simple harmonic tones, or quasiindependent lines, as in the first movement of the Brass Sonata (ex. 3). Much of the remainder of the textural writing consists of parallelisms (ex. 4), nonimitative polyphony (less frequent), and an occasional passage of imitation. A strange and infrequently employed texture shows up, nevertheless, often enough to be described: it may be called an alternating hocket effect, as seen at five bars after r. 3 in the first movement of the Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon (ex. 5). A texture which is far more difficult to describe dominates the fast movements of the Sonata for Two Clarinets. It seems to be a combination of all of the textures described above except “melody plus linear accompaniment,” for there is never a true sense of melody in these two movements. Short fragments are combined in

Chamber Music

107

parallel motion, in alternation, or in a way in which one seems to complete the other (see the opening of the third movement—ex. 6). But a sense of melodic definition is generally avoided, even when an accompanimental figure is established in one clarinet, as at nine bars after r. 3 in the third movement.

Finally, it must be said that since triadic structures are not available to Poulenc in the first two of these sonatas, the resulting thinness, angularity, and ambiguity of mode sets them apart even from the fuller Brass Sonata. Though the three sonatas seem to form a coherent group, there is a marked stylistic maturation from the earliest to the latest. The Sonata for Two Clarinets is characterized bya great deal of repetition, limited melodic material, and an almost primitive emphasis on ostinati and shifting meters; the influences of Satie and Stravinsky (especially the Three Pieces for Clarinet, 1919) are unmistakable, as is the similarity with the Mouvements perpétuels of the same year. The first movement is in a ternary form; already in this work, Poulenc experimented with a tempo and mood change for the B section, as he would do in many of his fast movements from the Trio on. The Asection is monotonously repetitive and melodically banal. Each clarinet part consists of a pentatonic phrase, in which the notes are repeated over and over in different rhythmic and metric permutations. The repeat of A, like the original, has alittle Poulenc “tail” of one measure, ending ambiguously on octave Ds, a note with no tonal sense in the context of the two pentatonic scales. The second movement is equally repetitive, though more tuneful and firmly rooted in A minor. The structure can be diagrammed as A A’ A”, with each section introduced by the same two measures (see ex. 1). The clarinet in A continues with this monotonous accompanimental figure, but opens into arpeggiations in the A’ section. The melody in the top clarinet is rather narrow in range, rising a fifth above the tonic and falling only a second below it. So much repetition creates a berceuse-like, almost hypnotic effect. It should be pointed out that both the melody and the monotone accompaniment were later used by Poulenc in the Interlude before act III, scene 2 of Dialogues des Carmélites (ex. 7); here the effect of monotony is appropriate to the litany-like effect of the reading of the official proclamation. Ex: 7;

Dialogues des Carmélites: Interlude before III, ii, opening

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

108

Chamber Music

The third movement isa lively rondo in an ABAB’CA form, where C is only a brief transition. Again there is a great deal of repetition, and much parallel writing in the manner of the first movement. The rhythms are vibrant and far outstrip in importance any sense of “tune”; yet here Poulenc chooses to alter the meter only at the very end. This sonata is a remarkable work for a nineteen-year-old composer, in its structures,

its textures,

its idiomatic clarinet figuration, and the impact

it

achieves with the barest of means. Yet it is clearly a youthful work, with its banality, its repetitions, and its liking for passages that are to be played “incoloré” or “sans nuances” linking it undeniably to the period of Satie and Les Six. The Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon employs many similar compositional techniques (the same textures and forms and an emphasis on repetition), but there is evidence ofa stylistic evolution. First of all, there is more shape to the melodic lines and a greater variety of melodic material. The hypnotic ostinati are gone, their repetitive rhythms replaced by a new flexibility. There is a clearer sense of tonality in all three movements, though there is a correspondingly greater use of “wrong-note” dissonance. Finally, Poulenc provides a greater sense of overall structure by introducing a recall of the slow movement within the finale. Despite these advances over the earlier sonata, however, the Sonata for

Clarinet and Bassoon is still obviously a youthful work. It does not yet possess the lyrical melodies associated with Poulenc; even the slow movement exhibits simple, unsophisticated melodic shapes. The thin harmonies are spicy and impertinent rather than rich and sensual. There are striking parallelisms, as in the Sonata for Two Clarinets (ex. 8). The Dorian mode is used in the slow movement; most of Poulenc’s works employing this mode were written during the first five years of his career. Finally, the dryness of the first movement is redolent of the circus or music-hall atmosphere so dear to Poulenc during his years of association with Les Six. The Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone generates the same

atmosphere, though here the brass instruments invoke the spirit of a Parisian street celebration, such as that of 14 July. Here also is the tunefulness that is lacking in the other two sonatas. Most of these tunes are given to the trumpet, and a few to the horn, while the trombone is relegated to an accompanimental role. The music is concise without being bare, simple without being trivial, and well-structured without being monotonously repetitious. It was undoubtedly

these qualities that prompted Milhaud, in 1927, to call it “a true masterpiece.”"!

The first movement has a rather unusual ABCA’ structure. A (in G major) consists of the spritely main melody, a syncopated transition at r. 1, and a closing at r. 2, again quite tuneful. B is an inserted slow section in the contrasting key of Ep} major, lyrical and melancholy.

Chamber Music Ex. 8.

109

Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon: lll, 2 before r. 7

iG] tres rude

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Exai0:

Brass Sonata: III, closing

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The Andante, which evoked the classical equilibrium of Monteverdi or Couperin for Claude Rostand,”’ is in a standard ternary form. The languid melody is given over to the trumpet, except at r. 2, where the horn plays a short phrase reminiscent of the slow section in the first movement; recall of first movement material within the second movement was an unusual practice for Poulenc. The major-minor alternation, tentatively introduced before r. 3 in the first movement, becomes an essential feature of the Andante. The last movement is titled “Rondeau,” but the form is ternary rather than

rondo; perhaps Poulenc had in mind the form or the mood of the Renaissance vocal rondeau. In any casé, he was to continue the distinction between the two

homonymic terms throughout his career. The major-minor alternation that rose

110

Chamber Music

to prominence in the second movement remains a dominant element of the melodic material here. The style is dry and somewhat raucous (ex. 9), reminiscent of the first movement of the Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon. Of interest structurally is the quasi-development, however brief, in the B section (between r. 3 and 4), and the increasing intensity of dissonance, climaxing in the last measure (ex. 10). Poulenc’s next chamber work, the 7rio for oboe, bassoon, and piano, was

composed in 1926. The inclusion of the piano seemed to bring about a sudden blossoming in his chamber style, adding not only a fuller sound, but also a more serious tenor; though an overall lightness is maintained, Poulenc has clearly abandoned the pert mood of the first three wind sonatas and Rapsodie négre. The three-movement form of the early sonatas is preserved, but each movement is considerably expanded, not by thematic development, but by the addition of themes, the lengthening of phrases, and flexible modulation, which allows for repetition without monotony. Ex. 11.

Trio: 1, opening (piano only)

Used by kind permission of J& W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Poulenc discloses his intentions at the outset, for the introduction to the first movement is subdued and serious, revealing a depth not before plumbed in the chamber music.-The piano begins the piece, establishing its central role immediately. Even the dissonance in the first phrase is more serious, less offhanded than in earlier Poulenc works (ex. 11). The style of this introduction may be called recitative-like, for it is fragmented (start-and-stop) and characterized by jagged interjections, trills, and dotted rhythms. The parallel runs in the wind instruments before r. 2 are reminiscent of an eighteenth-century trio sonata or operatic duet. All of this reveals a neoclassic basis to the introduction; this is

confirmed by later phrases and accompanimental figures suggestive of Mozart and Chopin. The Presto of this lengthy first movement begins at r. 2, firmly in A major. Poulenc borrowed the form that he used for this movement, as well as that of the

third movement:

Chamber Music

111

For those who accuse me of being careless with form, I will not hesitate to divulge my secrets: the first movement is based on the structure of a Haydn allegro, and the Rondo finale derives from the scherzo movement of Saint-Saéns’ second Concerto for Piano and Orchestra. Ravel always counseled me to use this method, which he often followed himself.'?

This is an intriguing and revealing claim, and it might prompt us to scurry through the first movement in search of Haydn sonata-allegro form. What we find, however, is a modified ternary form that has only little in common with Haydn. The layout of the Asection is not unlike a Viennese exposition (tonality excepted), with a theme area in A major (r. 2-8), a contrasting theme area in F minor (r. 8-11), and a closing in F major (r. 11-12). The B section, however, is not only nondevelopmental, but is in a slow tempo and consists of entirely new material, except for a recall of the introduction at r. 15.'* A’ is greatly shortened, eliminating the second theme area of A, and it begins not with the first motive,

but with the fourth of the first theme group. In view of this, it is hard to see just what Poulenc did borrow from a Haydn allegro. Ex, d2;

Trio: Il, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 13.

Trio: Il, r. 2ff.

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The slow movement, also in an ABA’ form, is one of Poulenc’s finest lyrical, melancholy creations, foreshadowing the slow movements of the two

piano concertos (1932 and1949). The piano opens this movement with a phrase

suggestive perhaps of Bellini or Chopin, particularly in the embellished ending g

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Chamber Music

(ex. 12). The A section continues in a basically nineteenth-century style, except for the use of the major supertonic chord in the fifth and sixth measures, and the abrupt modulation and resulting melodic alteration in the third bar after r. 2 (ex. 13). This modulation is used to set up the dominant, in the ensuing four-bar bridge, of the new key of B minor (the movement began in Bh major). The B section (r. 3-8) often resembles the popular music of this century, in particular a Brazilian song known in America as “How Insensitive.” This is effected through the harmonies, for the melodic style is nondescript. Here is the first chamber music example of Poulenc’s mature harmonic style: diatonic, functional, and enriched with frequent seventh chords. After a gentle, melancholy section of dialogue and parallel writing between the two woodwinds, the climax of the movement occurs from r. 5 to 7, signaled by the increased dynamics, the broader, more dramatic piano writing, the first break in the two-bar phraseology (at r. 5), and the combining of the two ideas from the A section (at four after r. 6). The return of the A section, at r. 8, is entrusted to the piano; it is

shortened and in the key of F rather than Bp. A lengthy closing, based on the gentle dialogue idea of B, follows, and the movement ends on an F minor chord with an added major seventh. The beauty of this movement seems to lie in the balance between the rhythmic and phraseological repose and the harmonic and tonal flux which draw the listener on continually. If we compare the diagram of the rondo finale with that of the Saint-Saéns model (the Second Piano Concerto), we see both similarities and, once again,

differences:

Poulenc (Macro) A

(Micro) abca

r.4

r.9

r. 10

ryli7

5 after r. 20

B

A

Cc

A

Coda

defg

a

hi Ma ef of e

r.6 7.7 17.8.

abce

r.11r.12 1.15

r. 20

4 before r.15. Saint-Saéns

(Macro)

A

B

(Micro)

aa’a”baa’a”b

ccd——s=aab

A bridge

Cc

A

€ Cc’ ———_ bridge

a a’a”

B

(A)

ccd

suggested in

Coda

horn

First of all, Poulenc has an abundance of motives, while Saint-Saéns uses fewer

and “develops” them more within each section. Poulenc’s rondo has strong ties between B and C, whereas Saint-Saéns writes a short, vaguely-connected C section, but then brings backB in its entirety. Finally, Poulenc’s middle Ais very brief and his final A contains the e motive from B, while Saint-Saéns’ last A is

Chamber Music

113

merely suggested in the horn. Once again, though Poulenc may have relied upon a model, he effected enough changes to make the form very personal. Poulenc’s coda begins, at five after r. 20, with the eighth motive of the first movement (see r. 11 in that movement), continuing a practice he had begun in the Rapsodie négre and the Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon. The Trio is Poulenc’s first mature chamber work. Undoubtedly the completion of his studies with Charles Koechlin and the confidence he had gained through the composition of Les Biches were the principal reasons for this maturity. Lightness is maintained from the early works, but depth, substance, tunefulness, and lyricism are added in the Trio.

The genesis of Poulenc’s next chamber work is described by Harry Neville: The Suite francaise is taken from the incidental music Poulenc wrote in 1935 for a play by Edouard Bourdet, La Reine Margot. The heroine of Bourdet’s play is Margaret of Valois, wife of the man who was to be crowned Henry IV, King of France, in 1594. For source material and

inspiration, Poulenc went to a collection of sixteenth-century French dances, Livre de Danceries, by Claude Gervaise. Using a small ensemble of wind instruments (two oboes, two bassoons, two trumpets, three trombones) with percussion and harpsichord... he arranged the music in a way that was unmistakably his own, but which still retained the flavor of the original model. The Suite in no sense represents a “re-composition” of another person’s music, as in some works by Stravinsky. Poulenc’s transcriptions from Gervaise are very free but they remain transcriptions. Although parts of the score are entirely by Poulenc, a careful stylistic unity is maintained. The result is a charming, if distinctly twentieth-century, evocation of a

Renaissance atmosphere. '®

In fact, Neville is only partially correct. Suite francaise is based upon neartranscriptions of Gervaise rather than a re-composition from fragments, as Stravinsky had done in Pulcinella. Yet the Gervaise models provide only a small portion of each of Poulenc’s seven dances—the remainder is newly composed material. Occasionally this new material does maintain a “careful stylistic unity” with the Gervaise sources, as at r. 12-13 in the Petite marche militaire; but in

other cases there is a marked stylistic divergence, as at r. 8-9 in the Pavane. Such freedom rubbed at least one critic wrong, for David Drew speaks of “Poulenc’s

illiterate trifling with the music of Claude Gervaise.”"° Six of the seven dances in Suite francaise can be traced to Gervaise sources found in the 1908 Expert edition, which Poulenc most surely used;'’ the

Complainte is either so altered as to be undetectable in its original, or Poulenc drew it from another source. In all six pieces, Poulenc maintains the key and key signature of the source. Since the borrowed material is found at the beginning of each piece, Poulenc thins his openings to the number of instruments found in the Gervaise originals (four or five); he uses full or fuller texture for the newlycomposed sections. More freedom is taken with meters and note values; in the Sicilienne, for example, Péulenc takes two measures of Gervaise in triple meter and combines them into one bar in 6/8 time, presumably to effect the Sicilienne

rhythms.

r

114

Chamber Music

Poulenc alters the Gervaise melodies and harmonies to varying degrees in the borrowed passages. For example, the first two phrases of the Carillon (bars 1-10) contain only one small harmonic change from the Gervaise Bransle (in addition to the elimination of bars 2 and 8 to turn two six-bar phrases into two of five each): Poulenc stays on a G chord at the end of the first phrase, while Gervaise had gone back to a C chord. In the Pavane, which starts virtually identically to the Gervaise Pavane d’Angleterre for the first eight bars, Poulenc re-voices and re-harmonizes bars 9-12 (they were a simple repeat in Gervaise), to add several pungent harmonies and seventh chords (ex. 14). Ex. 14.

Suite frangaise: 11, bars 9-12

BASSOONS

f

| | TL © 1948 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Poulenc’s newly composed material, which is quite extensive,'® includes cadential phrases, melodic extensions and complements, and seemingly unrelated passages. Certain of his harmonic choices can be explained by his concept of sixteenth-century modality (particularly the minor dominant to tonic cadences), others by the influence of Stravinsky and his neoclassic, “wrongnote” dissonance, and still others by his own predilection for added-tertian chord structures and oscillating patterns (ex. 15). The Concert champétre, with its neoclassic mood and style and its use of the harpsichord, can be seen as an influence on the Suite francaise, especially in such passages as r. 19, and in the overall sense of refinement.

Chamber Music Bxis,

TEA

Suite francaise: 2 before r. 2-2, and r. 8

OBES

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al

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‘BASSOONS

ad 5 = a bw k wn

Dy

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src

Ail ihe

Hey

pires

115

TROMBONES

(res see

SSS SS

HARPSICHORD

© 1948 Durand S.A.

Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

ee

116

Chamber Music

These seven dances are carefully juxtaposed in terms of tempo and mood. There is a great deal of internal repetition, as one would expect from Renaissance dances; most of the fifth piece, for example, is based on the two-bar motive heard at the beginning. Poulenc’s scoring is inventive, for he not only sets the brass against the woodwinds, but he often opposes the combined bassoonstrumpets to the combined oboes-trombones (see r. 5). It remains to be said that the piano version of the Suite francaise, dedicated to Bourdet, was published first (1935); the instrumental version had to wait until 1948. The final work of Poulenc’s first period of chamber music composition was the Sextuor, for piano, flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, and horn. He completed it in 1932, and it received its first performance at a La Sérénade concert on 16 December 1933. Dissatisfied with the work, Poulenc withdrew it and extensively

rewrote it before publishing it, in 1939. Its first definitive performance was on 9 December 1940 at an Association Musicale Contemporaine concert. The intent of the Sextuor is simple, as Poulenc tells us: “This is chamber

music of the most straightforward kind: an homage to the wind instruments

which I have loved from the moment I began composing.”’* To find the rationale behind this work, then, we must look no farther than the desire to

please or to charm; this is the case with most of Poulenc’s instrumental music. Though this aesthetic principle set him apart from many of his contemporaries, it placed him in a long line of French composers:

But the point I wish to make here is that Poulenc deliberately sets out to charm you with his music (whether he always succeeds or not is quite another question). His music, in fact, is written expressly to give pleasure... .Poulenc dares to be a hedonist in music. This is atrait he shares to some extent with the old French masters, the Couperins, the eighteenth-century harpsichordists, and later with Gounod, Chabrier and Massenet.”°

The same principle was at the foundation of Le Bal masqué and the Concerto pour deux pianos, both also written in 1932, and there are numerous links between the three works. For instance, the forceful rhythmic passage at r. 12 in the third movement of the Sextuor closely resembles the beginning of the last section (at r. 71) of Le Bal masqué (ex. 16). An astonishingly close connection can be found between the passage at five after r. 14 in the first movement of the Sextuor and r. 15 in the first movement of the Concerto (ex. 17). The Sextuor is structured much like its close ancestor, the Trio. The first

movement isalively allegro in a modified ternary form, in which the middle section is newly composed material in a slow tempo. Strangely enough, though the A section begins in the key of A, its return (at r. 16) is in the key of D, yet the piano accompaniment is the same for both passages; the harmonies suggested by this accompaniment are among the most nonfunctional that Poulenc ever wrote (ex. 18).

Chamber Music

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester

a

‘Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 17.

i

te 2m

pa

Fi

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Pee at ee

21

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© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Sextuor: 1, 5 after r. 14, and Concerto pour deux pianos: Per .

ry ae

117

s

ee

saratoga

rae

hetet re ed

t= ctr

eel ee eo ie | ttl

fe

1-$—J

ce

et ee

re

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ee

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 18.

Sextuor: 1, r. 1 (piano only)

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The second movement, a graceful “Divertissement,” is also in an ABA’ form. The A section consists of two statements, plus their extensions, of one of

Poulenc’s most melancholy, lyrical themes, presented first in the oboe. Of

particular interest is the Aluid harmonic motion, by half step and tritone, between measures five and ten:

118

Chamber Music Gy) dim.’ — G dim.’ — E, dim. — Aj’ — Dp min. — F maj.’ — G min. — G+ dim. — F# min. — Bb maj.’ — E maj.’ — F¥ maj.’ — C maj.’

Extending a by-now favorite practice, Poulenc placed the B section in a contrasting tempo and mood—here it is fast, lighthearted, and tuneful in an offhanded way. The gentle retransition to A’ is quite ingratiating. As in the first movement, the return of A is effected in a different key (Ap) than its first statement (Dh). The final movement is a rondo of the same type that closed the Trio: Tay

Tonality

A-——— C

r. 6

r. 10

Tyl'l

B ———— A ——___. C —____- A ——_ coda c G By CaN C Ab

Ex. 19.

Tan)

a

d

e

c Ab

cH

Sextuor: Ill, | before r. 7ff. and 8 after r. 2ff.

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

As in the Trio (where it was suggested by the Saint-Saéns model), there are strong links between B and C. The principal theme of C, presented at one bar before r. 7, has the same shape as one of the motives in B(ex. 19). The connection is strengthened at eight bars after r. 8, where the lyrical theme of C (in the piano)

is combined with an altered version of the first B motive, as found earlier at r. 4

(ex. 20). After the final return of A, interrupted again (at four after r. 10) by the

Chamber Music

119

same important B motive (see ex. 19), a two-part coda concludes the movement. The first part is jagged and rhythmic, reminiscent of Le Bal masqué. The second part, at r. 13, is slow and marked “trés doux et mélancolique.” Its principal motive, at five after r. 13, is very similar to the first motive from the slow B section of the first movement (ex. 21). Poulenc has thus continued the practice of recall in the last movement that he began in Rapsodie négre and the Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon." Ex. 20.

Sextuor: Ill, 8 after r. 8ff.

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

EX

Sextuor: Ill, 5 after r. 13ff. and I, r. 10

Used by kind permission of J&W

Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The completion of the Sextuor in 1939 marks the conclusion of Poulenc’s first period of chamber music composition. The second phase, marked by a greater use of romantic gestures (see below), encompassed the decade 1940-1950

and included only two works: the Sonate pour violon et piano (1942-43) and the Sonate pour violoncelle et piano (1948). This was a period in which Poulenc was inspired by virtuosos (see above), for these sonatas were written expressly for the

violinist Ginette Neveu and the cellist Pierre Fournier. Poulenc had made

120

Chamber Music

several earlier, unsuccessful attempts at writing a string sonata; on 23 October 1918 he wrote to his friend Valentine Gross: “I now have a sonata for piano,

violin, and cello on the drawing board. The working out of this piece intrigues

me quite a bit.””” Later in the same letter, he referred to a sonata for piano and violin that he was also working on at that time. It must have been this latter work which Héléne Jourdan-Morhange recalled in 1955: I remember a sonata for piano and violin for which Poulenc did not have enough time to finish the piano part. We played [during the 1917-18 concert season at the Salle Huyghens] only the first two movements, which were extremely lovely.”

Finally, still a third sonata was recalled by Poulenc some thirty years after its conception: My second sonata [for violin and piano] dates from 1924. I envisioned it for Jelly d’Arany, the dedicatee of Tzigane. It suffered the fate of my quartet [which was attempted in 1947]. I wrung

its neck rather than deliver it to the public.” Despite these three failures, and despite Poulenc’s own belief that he could not

write for solo strings, he began sketching a sonata for cello and piano in 1940. Poulenc wrote further about the birth of this sonata: Sketched in 1940, [the Sonate pour violoncelle et piano] can be traced to the same roots as Les Animaux modeles, which | was beginning at the same time. I abandoned my sketches until 1948, when the admiration and affection that I felt for Pierre Fournier prompted me to finish

the work.”

It should be added that the composer and the cellist were about to embark ona recital tour of Italy in 1948. Thus the Sonate pour violon et piano, written in 1942-43, was actually

completed before the Cello Sonata. Poulenc wrote about the Violin Sonata on several occasions, first in a letter to André Schaeffner:

It is really not bad, I feel, and in any case quite different from the never-ending line of violinmelody sonatas written in France during the nineteenth century. Ah, but Brahms’ sonatas are

lovely! I did not know them well. A proper balance of sound between violin and piano can only be obtained by treating them equally. The prima donna violin above an arpeggiated

piano makes me vomit.”

In a later article, he elaborated further on his intentions and on his feelings concerning the difficult problem of equilibrium between violin and piano: If you wish to know my models in this venture, they were Brahms and Debussy, because, for me, they were the only composers who, since the Classical composers, successfully solved the

Chamber Music

121

difficult problem of the piano-violin equilibrium. What works for stringed instruments often does not work for the piano, and vice-versa; that is why certain themes in my Sonata belong

exclusively to one of the two instruments.””

By 1954, this enthusiasm had given way to his penchant for self-criticism: Despite several delicious violinistic details, due entirely me in the instrumental realization, this sonata is an utter the last movement, but I find even greater fault with the work. To tell the truth, I simply do not like the violin

to Ginette Neveu, who greatly aided failure; | am referring in particular to artificially pathetic tone of the whole in the singular.”*

How can these divergent views be reconciled? Technically, Poulenc seems to have achieved his goal of a proper balance between the two instruments. A perusal of the first movement reveals that both piano and violin are playing together in all but four measures, and in these bars it is the violin that is silent. There is a true division of labor, as Poulenc pointed out: the “a” theme (see discussion of structure below) is shared by both instruments, which are

essentially doubling; the “b” theme, simple and rhythmic, is given to the piano, while the “c” theme allows both instruments to display their lyric capabilities; the “d” and “e” themes are similarly exposed in both instruments in alternation; the “f” theme, in the slow section, is given to the violin because of its powers of

sustaining; when the “a” theme returns, at r. 17, it is presented in the piano witha violin accompaniment. At no point does either instrument efface or overshadow the other. Structurally, the work is nearly as cohesive as Poulenc’s earlier chamber works. The first movement is in the by-now characteristic ABA’ form:

A a

a

r1'3

a

B b

cd

e

closing

after 1/3'°5S'46"

7

r. 10

A’

“recitative” f

re hte?

MA

retransition

r. 16

coda

nly

rts

Dm

Dm

Fue

Dm

Exi22,

Dm

Am_

G

FmCm

Aym,~e~ Gm, Dm

Em,GmFm

Violin Sonata: I, r. 6 and bars 34

© 1944 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

free Dominant modulation

122

Chamber Music

Of particular interest here is the similarity of theme “d” to theme “a”: allowing for melodic alterations, “d” is like an augmentation of “a” (ex. 22). The “recitative” which opens the slow Bsection is reminiscent of the contrasting note values and parallel runs which began the Trio and which play an important role in the “Récitatifs” found in Aubade (1929). The second movement isa free, songlike intermezzo. The last movement is not the usual Poulenc rondo, but rather

another free-form structure in which several themes are alternated and developed. This rather artificial, heavy-handed development, which occurs between r. 2 and 3,r. 10 and 11, andr. 14 and 15, is unusual in Poulenc’s chamber

music and may have helped to account for his unfavorable judgment. Ex. 23.

Violin Sonata: III, r. 6

PiIANe ONWY

© 1944 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Ex. 24.

Violin Sonata: III, 4 after r. 8f.

© 1944 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Poulenc himself, as we have seen, pointed to several reasons for his own low opinion of the Violin Sonata. First of all, he spoke about an “artificially pathetic tone.” This is in evidence in the coda of the second movement and throughout much of the “Presto tragico” finale. Yet, in this last movement, it is far more disconcerting to find the incongruous juxtaposition of a lighthearted music halltype tune at r. 6 (ex. 23), than to have to support the overall somber mood. As in

the second movement, the coda here is particularly oppressive; it is introduced, at r. 17, with a violin figure that foreshadows the “vigil at the coffin” scene (II, i) in Dialogues des Carmélites. Secondly, Poulenc felt that much of the violin writing was not idiomatic,

despite the help he had received from Neveu. Certainly such passages as four bars after r. 8 in the last movement (ex. 24), and the abundance of single pizzicato notes and the paucity of double stops, can be seen as uncharacteristic

of solo violin writing. Ultimately, the violin is given little opportunity to exhibit the lyrical quality usually associated with it.

Chamber Music

23

Poulenc held his Sonate pour violoncelle et piano in higher esteem; it is arguably a better work than the Violin Sonata, for it is tuneful and sincere and

lacks the pomposity of the other piece. The Cello Sonata has the distinction of being Poulenc’s only chamber work in four movements. The first, in E major, is a standard modified ternary structure with numerous themes or thematic fragments; the slower middle section, in Dp, is noteworthy in that it contains a tempo change within it (at r. 14), accompanied by a change of mood and key (to F major). The second movement, entitled “Cavatine,” is one of Poulenc’s most serene, poetic creations; such markings as “trés calme” and “trés doux” reflect

the mood. It begins and ends in F#¥ major, but very little of the movement is in that key; here is a good example of Poulenc’s off-handed, anti-architectonic treatment of tonality. The opening motive, which returns near the end of the movement, at r. 9, is imbued with a calm religiosity, though it is reminiscent of a motive found in the “Balinese” section of the brightly secular Concerto pour deux pianos (ex. 25). At two after r. 2 there is a connection to the slow section of the first movement (see note). EX:

Cello Sonata: II, opening, and Concerto pour deux pianos: I, 5-6 after r. 25

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The lighthearted “Ballabile” is the added movement; like the opening allegro, it is also in ternary form, with a recall of B in the reprise of A (at r. 14). The first theme is nearly idéntical to one found in Les Animaux modeles (ex. 26), affirming the relationship of which Poulenc spoke above.

124 Ex. 26.

Chamber Music Cello Sonata: III, opening, and Les Animaux modéles (piano score): p. 29

Ft

4

,eek

© 1942 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

BxaZ27-

Cello Sonata: IV, r. 14 and Lat a2,

S tres chante

Ptres chante (sans vibrate)

ed

Chamber Music

lO5

The lengthy finale is the least imaginative movement. The form is once again modified ternary with another suggestion, at r. 14, of the slow section of the first movement (ex. 27); by now the effect is one of near cyclical structure. This movement suffers not only from excessive length and unimaginative melodies, but from a pompous introduction and coda, reminiscent of the “artificially pathetic” tone of parts of the Violin Sonata. Poulenc’s weakness in writing for solo strings is also in evidence here, for much of the melodic interest is entrusted to the piano, leaving the cello dull accompaniments (ex. 28) and many sustained, trilled notes. Ex. 28.

Cello Sonata: IV, r. 5

© by Heugel— Paris—France

These two sonatas form a unit as the only works of the second period not only because they are Poulenc’s only two chamber compositions for a single stringed instrument plus piano, but also because they are linked by a prevailing romantic style. We know that the 1940s was a decade of “romanticism” for Poulenc;”’ now we can see how this was evinced in his music. First of all, we might point to a greater expression of sentiment, rather than the mocking, devilmay-care tone of the earlier chamber works; this was undoubtedly generated by the impact of the war, and not by anything in Poulenc’s personal life. Though he was able to keep this sentiment under control in the songs and choral music, it was given freer rein in the piano music (Mélancolie, Intermezzo—see chapter 9) and in these string sonatas, perhaps because of his conception of the instruments and the genres. Moreover, each sonata contains asection in the first movement

in compound meter—Poulenc exploited these lyrical meters in the 1940s as a means of supporting lengthy melodic lines and flexible harmonic rhythm. Each also contains instances of stylized nineteenth-century piano arpeggiation (ex. 29). In addition to these gestures, certain passages evoke the styles of particular romantic composers, such4s the suggestion of Rachmaninoff at r. 11 in the first movement of the Cello Sonata. Finally, the biting “wrong-note” dissonance of ©

126

Chamber Music

Ex. 29.

Violin Sonata: I, 2 after r. 13, and Cello Sonata: II, 2 before r. 8

el ae pelo een ee

Fs eeheel sacsDees enedaeseee ene ae ead

i

()

ee

ea

i A

ge]

ba

ae © by Heugel—Paris—France

Ex./30;

Cello Sonata: IV, r. |

pP subito

Peis

© by Heugel— Paris—

France

the early works has been excised and replaced by a serene consonance or a more

harsh, individual dissonance (ex. 30).*”

Poulenc’s third and final period of chamber music composition covered the last six years of his life (he wrote no chamber works between 1948 and 1956), and included the E/égie for horn and piano, and sonatas for flute and piano, clarinet and piano, and oboe and piano. There is some evidence that he was planning a bassoon sonata to complete this late cycle, but his death early in 1963 robbed

him of the opportunity.”

Chamber Music

127

These four works bear the fruit of a lengthy and gradual process of maturation; they exhibit neither the bareness and banality of the early works nor the slightly affected pathos of the string sonatas. Instead, they seem most closely linked in mood and in structure (with the exception of the Elégie) to the Trio and the Sextuor. Yet they may also be compared with Debussy’s late sonatas in their mastery of form and medium, their reticence, and their easy flow of melody. Indeed, the three wind sonatas rank among Poulenc’s most profound, accomplished works: they retain the early tunefulness, but the impertinent edge is replaced by serenity and self-confidence, deepened by the addition of a religious undertone. Because of its unusual nature, the E/égie must be considered apart from the three sonatas. It was written in 1957, “In memory of Denis Brain,” the English horn virtuoso, and was first performed on 17 February 1958 by Poulenc and Neill Sanders on a BBC radio broadcast. It is a one-movement work, though it falls into several sections, much like the Concerto pour orgue. These sections

alternate between calm and intensity; in each case the juxtaposition is somewhat unnerving, as between the opening phrase and the section at r. 1. Is this Poulenc’s idea of an elegy? It is certainly not his only conception, for the twopiano Elégie of 1959 (dedicated to the memory of Marie-Blanche de Polignac) is calm, melancholy, and tonal throughout. Indeed, the surprise of the E/égie for horn is that it is one of a handful of

Poulenc works that is not tonal throughout. Three twelve-tone rows can be found in the piece, each stated monophonically: at the beginning, at r. 3, and at r. 20. The rows are unrelated, except that the second and third begin with the same

two pitches and begin and end with minor second intervals. Nor is any of the rows used to generate serial composition; each is simply stated and then abandoned. Why, then, did Poulenc use these rows in the E/égie? We can only speculate, for nowhere does he explain his intentions. We know that he was quite aware of the work that Boulez and other serialists were doing; in 1954, while working on

Dialogues des Carmélites, he wrote to Henri Sauguet: “How is Paris? Is it serializing itself at top speed?”” Yet he felt that he should shun twelve-tone composition, sensing that it was inharmonious with his style. Perhaps he was merely experimenting in the Elégie, searching for the correct response to the death of a friend, and a performer whom he admired. He was to use tone rows

only one other time in his career: in the Sept répons des ténébres, completed in 1962. Much of the Elégie, notably at the beginning (to r. 5) and near the end (r. 1417), is far more dissonant than was Poulenc’s custom. It is a harsh, angular,

almost angry dissonance, based on minor seconds and major sevenths (ex. 31); indeed, the final row ha nothing but seconds, sevenths, and tritones as its

intervals. The result is one of his least pleasing works, perhaps because of his efforts to break new stylistic ground. g

128

Chamber Music

Exit

Elégie: r. 4 and 2 before r. 2

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Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

On the other hand, the three late sonatas are all masterful chamber works,

perfectly balanced. There is, however, very little advance over the techniques employed in the Trio, indicating that Poulenc had achieved a certain degree of stylistic (though not personal) maturity by the time he was twenty-seven years old. He continued to eschew thematic development in favor of a piling-on and repetition, with free modulation, of numerous themes and motives. The Sonata for Flute and Piano and the Sonata for Clarinet and Piano follow the structure and pattern of moods of the early works, with a moderate first movement in modified ternary form, a slow, gentle middle movement in a contrasting key, and a vibrant third movement, youthful in feeling, which is in rondo form and has a short reference to the first movement. Though a quasi-religious serenity pervades the first two movements of each of these sonatas, the third movements

recapture the rollicking lightheartedness of Poulenc’s first-period works. The Sonata for Oboe and Piano also consists of three movements, but the pattern is S-F-S; the customary recall of the first movement, however, can still be found in

the third. EXxy932;

Flute Sonata: opening; Clarinet Sonata: II, 4 after r. 7; and Oboe Sonata: I, 2 before r. 8 and I, closing

dope iste PIANwo

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

These three sonatas are linked together by several motives and characteristics. First of all, the opening thirty-second-note motive of the Flute Sonata

Chamber Music

129

appears transformed in the other works: at four after r. 7 in the second movement of the Clarinet Sonata, and at two before r. 8 in the oboe and in the piano at the very end of the first movement of the Oboe Sonata (ex. 32). A more important figure that plays a prominent role in all three sonatas is the following: rs or J. . This figure appears in the Flute Sonata fromr. 8 to 12 in the first movement as well as at r. 3 in the second; it appears in the Clarinet Sonata from r. 8 to 10 in the first movement and frequently throughout the second; the Oboe Sonata displays it in the first movement, from r. 6to 8 and at r. 10, and between r. 4 and 5 in the last movement. Secondly, the scope (four pages), mood, and accompaniment (ex. 33) of the second movements of the Flute and Clarinet Sonatas are uncannily alike, though their forms are different. A similar mood exists in the first movement of the Oboe Sonata, and in one

passage the accompaniment resembles those in the other sonatas (ex. 34). Finally, though it is a minor point, the melodic line and cadence before r. 3 in the first movement of the Clarinet Sonata reflect a similar passage before r. 1 in the first movement of the Flute Sonata (ex. 35).

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Used by kind permission of J&W

Ex. 34.

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Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Oboe Sonata: I, 7 after r. |

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The Sonata for Flute and Piano was written between December 1956 and March 1957; as such, it is one of the first works to be composed after Dialogues

des Carmélites. Given tke impact that the opera had on Poulenc’s life and style,” we should not be surprised that many of the musical motives in the sonata can be

130

Chamber Music

traced back to Dialogues. For example, the closing motive of the A section in the modified ternary first movement (at r. 7) comes fromr. 105 in I, iv. The motive at r. 10 in the same movement can be traced to the opening of II, i, as well as toa

passage in III, i. The second movement opens with a theme similar to the Second Prioress’s aria in III, ili; at r. 5, the sonata borrows a phrase from the orchestral

closing of act II; the phrase beginning six bars from the end is strikingly close to Blanche’s phrase at r. 33 of I, i; and the movement closes as did I, iii. Finally, a

brief interruption in the third movement (at r. 16 and at seven after r. 20) comes from the orchestral interlude between scenes iii and iv of act I in the opera. Rarely has a composer in this century unblushingly used so many common motives in two of his works. Ex. 35;

c larinet

Clarinet Sonata: I, 2 before r. 3f., and Flute Sonata: I, 2 before r. | f. in Bo

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The Clarinet Sonata follows the structure definitively established in the Trio. The first movement is a modified ternary form with a slow Bsection; the first page serves as a jerky, angular introduction. The main theme of B, at r. 8, is similar to r. 43 in the Gloria (1959). The harmonies found in this section are among Poulenc’s simplest and most moving. The concise return of A reflects the economy and control of the entire movement. The slow second movement, more profound than its title of “Romanza” might suggest, is a free alternation of two beautiful themes. The finale is freer still in form, though it most closely approximates a rondo: a

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Chamber Music

131

The movement is absolutely bursting with memorable tunes, again recalling the Trio; one of these tunes, “b” in the diagram, is a return of the third theme of the first movement (see r. 5). The Oboe Sonata, Poulenc’s last significant work, is imbued with a serene gentleness and a peaceful resignation that could have come only from a man who had achieved contentment with his life and his music. He continued to suffer from insecurity throughout his last years, but news of resounding admiration for his works reached him in the early summer of 1962 from Milhaud and Henri Sauguet, who were attending a festival of French music in Aspen, Colorado. Poulenc was, then, at peace with himself and his music when

he composed the Oboe Sonata, and this peace is manifest in all three movements. The first is entitled “Elégie” and is a departure from the usual gay, lighthearted opening movements of Poulenc’s chamber works. Yet this approach is not totally without precedent, for the Flute Sonata opens with an “Allegro malinconico” indicated at d = 84, and the moods of these two movements are similar. The form once again fits into the ternary plan so often used by Poulenc. The gentle A section (to r. 6) consists of three themes, and is characterized by seventh-chord harmonies. The B section (r. 6 to 9) is restless and unstable, with recitative-like double dotting, short note values, and a stopand-start motion, and with a certain amount of dissonance; this conception of

an elegy as alternatingly calm and intense reaffirms the stance taken by Poulenc in the earlier Elégie for horn and piano. The second movement is a scherzo and can be compared to the third movement in Poulenc’s other chamber works. Here he has altered the expected rondo form by the insertion of a significant slow section; the result is a complex hybrid of rondo and ternary form: z after

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(“Déploration”) as “a sort of liturgical chant.””* In this light, one can view the

132

Chamber Music

“Déploration” as Poulenc’s final statement to the world: tender, deeply religious, perhaps accepting his coming death peacefully. It is curious that he would express such profound feelings in a chamber work, for chamber music had been one of his more facile, secular, perhaps even superficial, genres throughout his career. Ex. 36.

Oboe Sonata: II, r. 9

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 37.

Oboe Sonata: III, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd,

Ex. 38.

Oboe Sonata: Ill, r. 4, and I, r. 8

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Chamber Music

133

The movement opens in Poulenc’s religious style: soft, gentle, chordal (ex. 37). The initial open fifth and the oscillating incomplete seventh and ninth chords are reminiscent of the organ opening of Litanies a la Vierge Noire, his first religious work. The narrow melody, winding about several pitches, also recalls the Litanies and seems to be based on plainchant. The concept of chant (“a sort of liturgical chant”) is maintained in the next section, r. | to 4, through the use of a quasi-modal melodic line (the sixth scale degree is omitted from what appears to be an Aeolian mode). A new section begins at r. 4, returning to the opening key of Ab minor; this section is reminiscent of r. 8 in the first movement (ex. 38). After a crescendo toa climax, at r. 5, the link between the outer movements is completed with a return at r. 6 of the gentle theme that was introduced at r. 4 in the first movement. After a brief return of the opening motive of the movement (at r. 7), a dirge-like coda concludes the movement and the piece. The Oboe Sonata marks the culmination of Poulenc’s chamber genre, both chronologically and stylistically. In it can be found elements of his mature style (graceful lyricism, religiosity, a full harmonic vocabulary emphasizing seventh and ninth chords), as well as reminiscences, in the second movement, of his lighthearted, impertinent first period works and his sentimental, romantic works of the 1940s. Indeed, Poulenc’s chamber music was his most consistent

genre, for he composed it in every decade and the stylistic characteristics (though not the mood) changed little from the works of the 1920s to those of the 1960s.

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The Concertos Though Poulenc wrote but five concertos, their success, their popularity, and his own favorable opinion of them justify their being treated together as a separate genre. It seems appropriate to deal with them between the chapters on the chamber music and the piano music since, with the exception of the Concerto pour orgue, these works exhibit the overall structure and techniques of the chamber music, while all five are written for keyboard instruments (three for piano, one for harpsichord, and one for organ). It is no surprise that Poulenc chose to model his concertos after his chamber music. The first three concertos were written between 1927 and 1932. Prior to that time, his only orchestral music consisted of stage works: Le Gendarme incompris, Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel, and Les Biches.' Such stage music suggests its own structure, based on plot and action, and could not serve as a model for Poulenc when he turned to the composition of concertos, except perhaps in the realm of orchestration. Furthermore, his only formal compositional training, which he undertook with Charles Koechlin in the early 1920s, concentrated heavily on vocal music and harmonization. It seems likely, however, that the success of the 1926 7rio was in the front of Poulenc’s mind when he set about composing his first concerto in 1927. The stylistic characteristics which he apparently borrowed from the Trio are: overall dimensions, the size and structure of individual movements, the fast-slow-fast

pattern of movements, the contrast of moods within a movement (and accompanying changes in meter and tonality), and the general melodic and harmonic style. Each of: the concertos possesses at least two of these characteristics linked to Poulenc’s chamber music. In addition, the orchestration of the concertos seems to lie somewhere between that of his purely orchestral works and the instrumentation of the Sextuor, Poulenc’s most complex chamber work. The scoring of these concertos exhibits the lightness and clarity of chamber music and, except for the Concerto pour orgue, the string instruments clearly are given a subsidiary role. Finally, the nature and balance of the’*keyboard writing in these concertos seem to be closer to the piano techniques of the chamber music than to those of the solo piano

136

The Concertos

music. It is safe to say, in other words, that these are not virtuosic concertos, but

rather equal and continuous dialogues between solo instrument and orchestra. This is, perhaps, the most important aspect common to all of Poulenc’s concertos. Further remarks about general characteristics of the concertos would be futile, for only the Concerto pour piano and the Concerto pour deux pianos resemble each other at all closely. The five works will be examined in chronological order. The background of the inspiration and conception of the Concert champétre, Poulenc’s first concerto, was presented in chapter 3 of this study. When he began actually composing the work, in 1927, he had a definite preconception of its mood: “I decided to compose a rustic concerto, appropriate to this forest of Saint-Leu, where Rousseau and Diderot once strolled and where Couperin, like Landowska, once stayed.” On another occasion, Poulenc elaborated upon this

eighteenth-century bucolic inspiration behind the Concert champétre: For a lad who, until the age of eighteen, thought of the country as the Vincennes woods and the hills of Champigny, rustic implies the suburbs. In 1928, Landowska was living at SaintLeu-la-Forét...and it is in this rural eighteenth-century atmosphere that I placed my work. This concerto is rustic in the style of Diderot and Rousseau. This explains the refined aspect of certain melodic shapes. [The critic] Gabriel Marcel believed that he had discovered scandalous and inexplicable “military bugle calls” in the last movement. That is absolutely correct. For me, perennial city-dweller, the trumpets of the Vincennes fort, heard from the neighboring woods, are as poetic as Weber’s hunting horns.?

Such “country” or “rustic” concerts (concerts champétres) did, of course, rise to prominence in the eighteenth century. Such composers as Jacques Aubert (Les Fétes champétres et guerriéres), Bernard de Bury (Les Bergers de Sceaux), Francois Chauvon (Les Agréments champétres), Jean-Francois Dandrieu (Fanfares de Chantilly), and Jean-Joseph Mouret (Grandes nuits de Sceaux) were active in writing outdoor divertissements, mostly for the wooded areas surrounding Paris. Saint-Leu was one of those “banlieues.” Because of this pervasive eighteenth-century mood, the Concert champétre can be considered one of Poulenc’s first neoclassic works, though he had evoked the 1700s, in spirit if not in musical mood, in Les Biches.* Here he makes numerous musical references to the refined and ornate style galant. In addition to the “rustic” influences mentioned above, the wind choir writing, as in the slow introduction to the first movement and between r. 24 and 25 and at r. 35 in the last movement, pays further homage to the outdoor music of the eighteenthcentury. The harpsichord is employed primarily in the style of such eighteenthcentury clavecinists as Francois Couperin, Gaspard Le Roux, and Rameau: grace notes (often double and triple), ornamentation, and rolled chords are used

liberally; left-hand accompanimental figures tend to be arpeggiations or staccato chords; and there is a general lightness and separation, rather than an

The Concertos

attempt at sustaining or blending of colors. eighteenth-century stylistic influence:

Henri

137

Hell emphasizes this

One cannot deny the relationship between this work and those of the old “clavecinistes”: the inspiration, the form, even occasionally the themes—it all bears the mark of the homage being paid to them. Yet it is an homage, and not a pastiche. This is not eighteenth-century music

written by a twentieth-century musician.°

This strong neoclassic grounding of the Concert champétre places it is such company as Stravinsky’s Apollon Musagéte and Ravel’s Le Tombeau de Couperin. Both composers are represented by more precise influences in this work: the rhythmic vitality and melodic angularity of five bars before r. 26 in the first movement (as well as its extended recall inthe third movement) and r. 19-25 in the third movement owe more thanalittle to Stravinsky, while the contro: and reticence of the second movement remind one strongly of Ravel. As Hell points out above, this is a twentieth-century neoclassic work, and the frequent meter changes, rhythmic flexibility, chords of the added sixth, seventh, and ninth, and spicy “wrong-note” dissonance place the Concert champétre squarely in the 1920s. The Concert champétre was completed in September 1928 and received its premiére on 3 May 1929 by Wanda Landowska with the Orchestre Symphonique de Paris, under-the direction of Pierre Monteux. It is scored for large in the traditional fast-slow-fast

orchestra, and consists of three movements

order. The first movement is constructed of many small thematic fragments or tunes, most of which appear only once or twice.° There is a brief recapitulation of three of these fragments at r. 32, hinting at a rounded structure, though the lack of a clear distinction between a hypothetical A and B prevents one from classifying this as a typical Poulenc ternary form. The movement opens with a slow introduction which sets the mood of the entire piece: refined and stately, in the manner of the style galant. Interesting aspects of this introduction include: the cross-choir orchestration, employing the essential instruments of the eighteenth-century outdoor divertissements in their traditional groupings; the dominance of the horns; the major-minor alternation often favored by Poulenc, and which returns in the final six bars of the piece; and the early entrance of the solo harpsichord. The “allegro molto” arrives with the A theme exposed by the harpsichord (ex. 1); it combines classical periodicity and simplicity with the lighthearted gaiety of twentieth-century popular music. The structure of the movement from this point on might be diagrammed as:

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138

The Concertos

where the recapitulation is underlined, and F and Mare

slow sections; here

Poulenc uses tonality to strengthen the vague feeling of ternary structure. Exaile

Concert champétre: I, r.3

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan, By arrangement with G. Schirmer, Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

The second movement, marked “Andante” and “Mouvement de Sicilienne,” is lyric and melancholy. It is simpler than the first movement in structure and, except for immediate repetitions of each theme, it is nearly throughcomposed, a rarity for Poulenc. It may be diagrammed as:

A-

9

2

2

2

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after

after

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-Closing

the A, B, and D themes resemble each other rather closely, and the closing vaguely recalls A, but it is dramatic rather than lyrical, and greatly shortened. The key structure for the lettered sections is G minor - Bb minor -Ab - E,- G

minor - G - G, rather conventional by Poulenc’s standards. The harpsichord passage before r. 6.in the rather unstable C section would reappear, nearly verbatim, in the fourth dance of Poulenc’s own Suite francaise (1935). The third movement opens like a lighthearted Poulenc rondo, of the variety found in the Trio or in the Concerto pour piano. But, the opening theme, A, never returns; the structure may be diagrammed as: 3 2 before r.8 A - transition

after r.9

5 17

r.18

after 9 7.19 1.24

25

r.27

- B - C - transition - D - C = transition - C.

The Concertos

139

The first transition contains, at r. 9, one of the bizarre “military bugle calls” referred to above (ex. 2). Sections B and D are lengthy, and both contain two additional thematic fragments which are related to the main theme of the section. Letter C looms as the most important motive of the movement, for it appears twice before returning at r. 27 to dominate the closing. This motive had first appeared at letter L of the first movement, and this method of establishing coherence in textless works through recall of previous material seems to have been borrowed by Poulenc from his own chamber music. The horn call at three bars before r. 18 resembles that at r. 12 in the first movement. This call is repeated by the harpsichord at r. 25, beginning the final transition. The remainder of this transition is a clear reference to the introduction of the first movement, providing further unity to the piece. A final passage which links the two outer movements is the D theme in the last movement, which recalls the slow harpsichord theme at four bars after r. 28 in the first movement (ex. 3). Ex 2

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140

The Concertos

In describing the collaborative process of composing the Concert champétre, Poulenc reveals his concern for detail and his willingness to learn from others: 1 worked with [Landowska] on the first version of my Concert. We revised it measure by measure, note by note. We did not change, however, one measure nor one melodic line, but the keyboard writing and the choice of concertant instruments were the objects of our most profound scrutiny. Above all, we clarified the writing, either by simplifying chords or by deleting notes. In short, we arrived at a score which should certainly strike you with its simplicity and impress you with its richness and variety.’

The complex question of balance between harpsichord and orchestra is dealt with later in this important interview: I decided to set the entire orchestra against the fragile harpsichord. If they dialogue, one will not harm the other. Whenever they play together, I extract the necessary units from the mass and, one by one, each group emerges, without obliterating the sound of the harpsichord; on the contrary, the result is a greater variety of colors.*

The musical manifestations of this discussion bear examination. In the outer movements, the harpsichord frequently appears alone or lightly accompanied, or it emerges from the orchestral texture. In the first movement, for

example, the harpsichord appears alone in seventy-six bars; it is lightly accompanied in forty-three; and it is tacit for a total of one hundred and twentyfive measures, a remarkable number for the solo instrument in a concerto, bearing in mind that Poulenc does not begin with an orchestral exposition of the themes. The remainder of the time, some one hundred and thirty-nine bars, the

harpsichord is present within the texture of the orchestra, sometimes buried, sometimes doubling from the texture to assumes a primarily ment, emerging only

a wind instrument on the melody, sometimes emerging rise to prominence. On the other hand, the harpsichord accompanimental role in the more lyrical second movefor its few solos. In general, it may be said that Poulenc has

exploited all of the possible role functions of solo instrument and orchestra, but he has opted for a balanced concerto, free from any virtuoso dominance. It remains only to be said that the sylvan nature of this piece is manifest in the prominence of the horns (there is a horn call figure in each movement), and in a mood of contrasting dark and light, much like a forest. The critic Paul Bertrand expressed this idea well: “the aim of the Concert champétre is not a picturesque effect, but rather the evocation of an atmosphere; it wraps itself in an autumnal chill which is both impassioned and soothing.”” This atmosphere may account for the freshness and vigor that the work retains, even today. Even the melancholy of the second movement is bucolic rather than meditative; the listener remains in the forest, emerging now and then into an open field.

The Concertos

14]

The Concert champétre is a difficult work, juxtaposing many moods within a choppy, breathless structure; all three movements lack the cohesion and architectural design found in the other concertos and chamber works. Yet it remains one of a handful of viable works written for the harpsichord in this century. There is no denying that the compositional technique exhibits a high level of skill and invention, confirming the hypothesis that Poulenc achieved technical maturity with the completion of the Trio and the Chansons gaillardes in 1926. Yet, despite the success of this unique and charming concerto, he wrote no other work like it. Poulenc’s second concerto, Aubade, is actually a hybrid work commissioned by the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Noailles, close Poulenc, for performance at a “féte” to be given at their Place des home on 18 June 1929. The genesis of the work is described by the

that was friends of Etats-Unis composer:

I had the idea of composing a choreographic concerto, showing off a dancer and a pianist at the same time. My friends placed eighteen musicians at my disposal... and the addition of a piano increased the color possibilities. Thus was this amphibious work conceived.'°

Aubade was, therefore, conceived as a ballet, though it has been presented only a handful of times in that form (in 1929, 1930, 1936, 1946, and 1952).

The argument, which Poulenc chose and wrote himself, concerns the myth of Diana and her condemnation to eternal chastity, a plot which, of itself, would seem to place this work in the neoclassic movement. Because Poulenc was later to say: “It is the synopsis alone that generated the structure of the work,””’ the scenario and synopsis should be presented: A clearing at dawn (in the style of the School of Fontainebleau painters). Diana’s companions awaken, one by one, anguished by sad foreboding (Récitatif). Diana, burning with a love that ravishes her purity, passes among them, her clothes disheveled (Rondeau). Her friends bustle about dressing her. She submits begrudgingly (Presto). Yet she presses the hunting bow that they give her to her breast (Récitatif) and dances a moving and humble variation (Andante).

She throws away her bow and falls into despair. She seeks refuge in the woods, but returns quickly (Allegro féroce). Her companions surround her. Diana begs.them to let her go. Suddenly, taking advantage of their confusion, she again leaps toward the woods. Dismayed, the women stare at the spot she has vacated, glimpsing only her arm as it waves-them a final adieu. They tumble to the ground, exhausted, and gradually fall asleep. It is morning

(Conclusion). '”

This description sets the ballet firmly in the eighteenth-century, by its reference to the Fontainebleau school of painting and by its ga/ant style. One is reminded of Rameau’s opéra-ballets. Aubade and the Concert champétre, then, form the axis of Poulenc’s neoclassic period, grounded in the refinement and clarity of eighteenth-century France, as was much of Ravel’s neoclassicism. The musical

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neoclassicism of Aubade is manifest in its order and control, its Mozartian

grace, and a general similarity to Stravinsky’s works of the 1920s, notably the reticent Apollon Musagéte (1928). The first performance was choreographed by Bronislava Nijinska, who had earlier choreographed Les Biches (1924). This performance, given privately for the Noailles, was true to Poulenc’s original conception, emphasizing chastity and a feminine atmosphere: “Aubade is a ballet about women, about feminine solitude.”'* In subsequent danced presentations of Aubade, Balanchine and Lifar had the temerity to substitute the myth of Diana and Acteon, destroying the original intention and invoking the wrath of Poulenc; he later wrote: To ignore my libretto is to falsify entirely the intention of the music. At a period of my life when I was feeling very sad, I found that dawn was the time when my anguish reached its height, for it meant that one had to live through another horrible day. I wanted to give a detached rendering of this impression, so I chose Diana as my symbolic heroine... carrying the bow that was as tedious to her as my piano was at that time to me.’

Poulenc has said that Aubade was, “written...in astate of melancholy and

anguish.”!° This is certainly apparent in much of the music, particularly the two outer movements and the two Récitatifs. Yet there is also the youthful charm of Les Biches, the impishness of the Poulenc of Les Six, and the grace of Mozart in Aubade. The result is a serious work which hides its sadness under a veneer of gaiety. In 1919, Poulenc had achieved much the same bittersweet ambiguity in Cocardes; these two works, then, stand as pillars at opposite ends of the 1920s, a decade of suppressed melancholy and overt gaieté de coeur. In this sense of the closing of an era, Aubade was an important work for Poulenc.

Yet Aubade is not one of his more popular or successful works, perhaps because of the wrenching dualism of seriousness and gaiety. This dichotomy could be dismissed, one suspects, by seeing Aubade as aballet, thus reinstating the music in its original context. Taken as a concert work, Aubade forms a disjointed suite, uneven at best. Subtitled “Concerto chorégraphique,” Aubade can be analyzed as a concerto in suite form. Of all of Poulenc’s concertos, this is the closest stylistically (though not structurally) to the chamber music, and it actually establishes a stylistic link between the Trio and the Sextuor. The solo piano in Aubade is used in the same capacity as in these two chamber works, that is, as one of an equal group of instruments, sometimes taking the melody, sometimes serving in an accompanimental role. If one were to eliminate the largely superfluous strings,'° a double wind quintet plus piano would remain. There are strong musical echoes of the Trio (see both “Récitatifs,” especially two bars after r. 27) and forecasts of the Sextuor (see, especially, r. 9-13 and the “Presto”); except for the last movement, the scoring tends to be of chamber proportions throughout, since Poulenc rarely employs more than five instru-

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143

ments plus piano (again, disregarding the strings); and the tunes or motives closely resemble the melodic contours of his own chamber music. The first of the eight continous movements, “Toccata,” opens with a powerful clarion call, setting the serious tone of the piece in a manner similar to

the openings of the Trio and the Concert champétre (ex. 4). These clarion calls seem to have been peculiar to Poulenc’s neoclassic period, and were probably linked in his mind to the eighteenth-century. This particular idea, which bears a marked resemblance to the coda of the “Village féte” section of Stravinsky’s Le Baiser de la fée (1928), will serve as a recurrent motive, uniting the entire suite as it returns in different guises. The oboe-bassoon duet before r. 1 is important for two reasons: it recalls the two melodic instruments of the Trio, and it displays the tight, dissonant style which would mark much of Poulenc’s serious music, notably the choral works (ex. 5). The remainder of the first movement is a flashy, pleasing piano solo. It has a certain uniformity of melodic character, and it serves as a Suitable overture. The following “Récitatif,” restless, indecisive, compulsive, seems to reflect

the mood of Diana’s companions. It contains two statements of the recurrent motive, at three after r. 2 and at two before r. 5. The clarinet solo at r. 3 (ex. 6), over an oscillating but static accompaniment, suggests the bare, white quality of Satie, notably his Greek works (i.e., Socrate). Ex. 4.

Aubade: opening

2 CORS en FA

1 TROMPETTE

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex, 5.

Aubade: 5 before r. 1-1

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

144

The Concertos

Ex. 6.

Aubade: r. 3

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The third movement is a lengthy “Rondeau” ina large ternary form.'’ The mood and aesthetic evoked here are strongly reminiscent of Les Biches—simple, pleasurable, and accessible. This is clearly on the fringe of popular music, and the contrast with the serious opening of the “Toccata” and the preceding “Récitatif” is somewhat disconcerting. The piano dominates the A section, and the incessantd ead d dédrhythm is only broken at r. 9, with the arrival of the middle section, or trio. This section, itself in ABABCA form, reinforces the suggestion of popular music, for here the listener finds himself seated in a Parisian music hall; we have indeed come a long way from the opening. The style is light, almost vulgar (see the brass fluttertongue sneer at two after r. 10), dancelike, repetitious, and strongly diatonic. The A section returns at r. 13, and the

rhythmic ostinato ushers in a melancholy coda at r. 15. More than any other passage in Aubade, these two pages of coda describe Diana’s loneliness and despair. The “Rondeau” closes with the recurrent motive in the piano and timpani (five after r. 17). The impish “Presto,” once again more suited to the music hall than to a

mythological ballet, is a fitting companion piece to the “Rondeau” and completes the swing away from severity. String instruments have no place in this movement, as the trumpet defiantly asserts at r. 19 (ex. 7). The movement concludes with the characteristic Poulenc cadence first encountered in bars 1314 after r. 1.'* The recurrent motive is totally absent from this “Presto,” reaffirming its position as the lightest movement in Aubade. EXaed-

Aubade: r. 19

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The final cadence of the “Presto” provides a link to the following “Récitatif,” for the same cadence occurs at r. 26 (in the minor mode) and at r. 27. This second “Récitatif” begins haltingly, throwing jagged phrases around the

The Concertos

145

orchestra. The trills, grace notes, and short note values impart a late-baroque feeling to this first section of the “Récitatif,” marking a return to the eighteenthcentury atmosphere and to seriousness. At six after r. 27, the choppy recitativelike style takes on a more arioso-like character with the imposition of a regular tempo and rhythm. Melancholy resignation becomes, once again, the dominant sentiment. The movement closes with a return, at r. 29, of the recurrent motive, intruding upon the proceedings with its customary force. This entire movement is dominated by motivic duets of the type first seen at two before r. 2 in the first movement of the Trio (ex. 8). Ex..8,

Aubade: 3 before r. 29-29

OGCE

ENGULH HON

Bo

CiARIWET £ © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

A brief “Andante” serves as a solo dance for Diana. It is in Poulenc’s preferred ternary form. The main theme, devoted to solo winds with piano accompaniment, is uncannily reminiscent of Mozart, in its melodic and

harmonic purity (ex. 9). The B section, however, shatters this likeness abruptly (at r. 34) by beginning with the characteristic Poulenc cadence. The Mozartian theme returns briefly at three after r. 41, and the movement ends with two motives later to be found in the “Conclusion,” perhaps here suggesting the first rays of dawn. Ex, 9.

Aubade: r. 31 33] Audante con moto d=72

10

Hb,

cl,

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

:

Ce

ee

146

The Concertos

An even briefer “Allegro féroce” serves as the penultimate movement. It is suggestive of Stravinsky in its power, its changing meters, its heavy, insistent accents, and its harsh dissonance. The recurrent motive appears in the horn at one bar before r. 44. This movement, so uncharacteristic of Poulenc, fails in its

attempt to portray Diana’s despair; perhaps in its original ballet context it would be more convincing. The “Conclusion,” on the other hand, is a successful musical portrayal of the arrival of dawn, fulfilling the title of the ballet. After several hesitant beginnings, including a prototype of the oscillating religious motive that would be introduced in Litanies a la Vierge Noire (ex. 10), a tight, florid clarinet duet, again evoking Stravinsky, and the only sizeable string solo in the piece (for cellos), the body of the movement unfolds at r. 51 witha massive crescendo built on an ostinato and variations of the recurrent motive. The figure in the flute and bassoon at r. 51 had been introduced by the clarinet at three bars after r. 42; the piano figure at r. 53 is clearly derived fromthe opening piano solo at seven after r. 1; and the flute figure at four after r. 53 also refers back to the peroration of the “Andante,” at five after r. 42. These motives all lend weight to this climax. The texture begins to diminish (at three after r. 56) as it had expanded, leaving the flute motive to be echoed by the piano; this phrase is the closest to the pervasive opening motive. Ex. 10.

Aubade: r. 48

Htb.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Aubade has met with mixed reviews, suffering because of its hybrid nature and its incongruity of moods. It is also unusual, and somewhat disconcerting, for a work to be structured on a progression from serious, to lighthearted, to serious. Yet it is a watershed in Poulenc’s oeuvre, for the seriousness only hinted at in the Trio, the Chansons gaillardes, and the Concert champétre emerges fullblown in Aubade. Poulenc himself was no longer interested in amusing, titillating, or even merely pleasing his audience; he indicated that his intention in

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147

composing Aubade for the Noailles was “to touch them.”"? This is a significant step for the “bad boy” of Les Six to have taken, for it showed that he was capable of breaking away from the irreverent image of Les Six to pursue his own individual path. Historically, Auwbade can be seen asafirst indication of the lengthening economic and political shadows of the 1930s that were soon to put an end to most musical levity.”° As opposed to the hybrid structure of Aubade, Poulenc composed two concertos for the piano in the traditional vein. The Concerto en ré mineur pour deux pianos et orchestre, commissioned by the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, was composed in two and a half months during 1932,”' and was first performed on 5 September of that year in Venice, at the ISCM Festival, by Poulenc and Jacques Février, with Desiré Defauw conducting the La Scala Orchestra. The work was an immediate success and has been perfomed frequently since its premiere; it remains, today, one of his most popular and endearing works. The Concerto pour piano et orchestre belongs toalater era, though it is fashioned in the same spirit. It was commissioned by the Boston Symphony Orchestra during Poulenc’s 1949 American tour with Pierre Bernac,” and it received its premiére

in Boston on 6 January of the following year, with the composer at the piano. The work was received cordially in Boston, with hostility at its European premiére in Aix-en-Provence later that year (1 August), and with mixed reviews by the critics. Poulenc himself always professed a liking for the concerto, though he considered it a minor work, the final composition of his “second youth” period (also including Les Mamelles de Tirésias and the Sinfonietta). The prevailing mood of both concertos is light and sunny; indeed, in their atmosphere, their dimensions, their tunefulness, and their lack of pretension, these works are more like divertissements than traditional concertos. In this respect, the divertissements of Mozart and the modest piano concertos of Ravel (both written in 1931) undoubtedly served as models. Each of Poulenc’s piano concertos consists of three movements, and five of the six are in the major mode. There is no mystery or philosophical pondering in these works; like the Concert champétre, they are bursting with attractive and memorable tunes, effecting an aesthetic of pleasure and lightheartedness. The first and second movements of both concertos are in ternary form, while both finales are in rondo form, Poulenc’s two favored structures. In addition to mood, overall dimensions, and structure, these concertos

resemble Poulenc’s chamber music in the following ways: there are tempo and mood changes within five of the six movements; the piano parts avoid alli virtuosic display and assume a role similar to the piano parts in the Trio and Sextuor; the Concerto pour deux pianos is unified through the recall of previous material, a practice often found in the chamber works; and the melodic contours are often close to those of the chamber music (see, especially, r. 15-16 and r. 57 in

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the Concerto pour deux pianos and r. 10-16 in the first movement, r. 5-6 in the second movement, and r. 20 in the third movement of the Concerto pour piano).

In addition, there is a striking resemblance between the opening of the slow movement of the Sextuor and the opening of the slow movement of the Concerto pour piano. The Concerto pour deux pianos was written during the summer of 1932, immediately following Poulenc’s most impertinent work, Le Bal masque. These two works mark the conclusion of his youthful or learning years, for after a three-year period of thought and self-analysis, he would emerge a mature

composer in 1936.’ The Concerto, then, stands at the end of anera for Poulenc,

a fifteen-year period of youthful, uninhibited works. Yet, in a 1932 letter to the Belgian musicologist Paul Collaer, Poulenc describes the Concerto as the first work in a new period: You will notice that it is an enormous advance on my earlier works, and that I am truly entering my major period. You should also understand that this evolution had its first roots in the Concert champétre and in Aubade, which were two indispensable steps in my evolution. It is perhaps possible that concern for technical perfection, especially in orchestration, carried me beyond my musical nature in these two concertos, but the concern was necessary and you can verify yourself with how “precise” a pen I orchestrated Le Bal masqué and the Concerto,

which, I assure you, are pure Poulenc.”4

It seems more appropriate, however, to view the Concerto as standing near the

end of Poulenc’s first two periods,” for he himself traces its lineage to the

Concert champétre and Aubade. Since he wrote the above letter in 1932, his exuberance can be forgiven, for he was unequipped with the hindsight that one can apply to his oeuvre today; it is clear that he set out in new directions after the Concerto pour deux pianos, as is manifest in several important works of 1936. The first movement of this concerto is an uncomplicated ternary form with an introduction (to r. 3—a brief suggestion of what is to comeatr. 25) and acoda (r. 24 to the end). The angularity and energy of much of the A section are suggestive of Stravinsky, but the third theme, at two bars before r. 10, is in Poulenc’s music hall style (ex. 11). The slow middle section (r. 15-17) owes something both to the gentleness and angularity of Prokofiev’s Second Piano Concerto and to the lyrical romanticism of Rachmaninoff’s concertos. The

return of A at r. 18 is unusual in that the first two themes are not restated, but are

replaced by a new motive in a strongly contrasted key (Ep rather than the opening D minor). After an energetic closing (r. 22-23), the coda changes abruptly to a mysterious mood, highlighted by a colorful castanet interjection at three before r. 25. The remarkable tone coloring continues at r. 25, with a passage for the two pianos inspired by the Balinese music that Poulenc heard at the 1931 Exposition Coloniale de Paris (ex. 12). The “Balinese” characteristics of this passage seem to be: the six-tone scale, the frequent parallel fourths, and the

The Concertos Exo

ti

149

Concerto pour deux pianos: 2 before r. 10-10

Pe

= ee

ofe

tres égal

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

hypnotic repetition. The solo cello harmonics at three after r. 27, and the flutesand-cymbal combination at 28ff. contribute to the exotic atmosphere. Poulenc describes the mood and style of the second movement: In the Larghetto of this concerto, I allowed myself, for the first theme, to return to Mozart, for

I cherish the melodic line and I prefer Mozart to all other musicians. If the movement begins alla Mozart, it quickly veers, at the entrance of the second piano, toward a style that was

standard for me at that time.”°

The movement continues in the Poulenc style with a phrase at r. 31 that is reminiscent of r. 26 in the first movement, but which springs more directly from the descending chain of seventh chords at bars 28 ff. in the eighth movement of

Les Soirées de Nazelles”’ (ex. 13). “Mozart” returns at r. 33 to complete the A section of the usual ternary structure. The middle section reinforces the first movement’s tentative foray into romanticism, with the influences being Chopin

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Ex. 13.

Concerto pour deux pianos: r. 31, and Les Soirées de Nazelles: VII, bars 28ff.

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

and Rachmaninoff, particularly in the orchestration at r. 36. The movement ends on a major seventh chord after a short coda.

The last movement is a vibrant Poulenc finale, almost too rich in infectious

tunes. The structure suggests rondo, but the succession of tunes pushes the form toward through-composed. The connecting motive that first appears at r. 52 has a modern, jazz-like flavor that suggests Gershwin and, once again, the French music hall. The flowing orchestral style of Rachmaninoff is again recalled at r.

58. The movement closes, at r. 68, with a reference to the Balinese music of the

opening allegro. With so many diverse influences crowd ed into one movement, it is remarkable that Poulenc was able to hold it together. The orchestral and piano writing of the Concerto pour deux Pianos is brilliant and refreshing, and this work undoubtedly stands as one of Poulenc’s most inventive, successful ventures in the orchestral mediu m. Though the piano parts are rather unvirtuosic, they are prominent throu ghout and are heard alone

frequently, opening all three movements and closin g the outer two. It is remarkable that the piano writing is fresh and idiomatic, exhibiting none of the stilted heaviness of his solo piano music of the 1930s; ** this serves as further proof that Poulenc was more successful placing the piano with an orchestra or

chamber ensemble.

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151

If the Concerto pour deux pianos marked the end of Poulenc’s youthful years, the 1949 Concerto pour piano represents a throw-back to that period, particularly in the impetuous third movement. Yet the opening movement skillfully integrates this youthful exuberance with a serene maturity possible for Poulenc only after 1936.” The A section of the normal ternary structure consists of four themes. The first is calm and lengthy, characteristic of the mature Poulenc of the Sonata for Flute and Piano (1957) (ex. 14). This theme is stated four times, in the keys of C# minor, Ab minor, F# minor, and C# minor; this helps to account for the rather unusual length of the movement. The second theme, beginning at r. 7, is in the flowing, romantic vein of many of Poulenc’s pieces written in the 1940s. The third (ex. 15) is clearly suggestive of Poulenc’s first compositional period in its light, tuneful simplicity, though it loses much of its potential “bite” by being presented in the strings rather than in his favored woodwinds; this is one of the numerous romantic gestures in this concerto. The fourth theme, at r. 19, is again mildly romantic, particularly in its full string orchestration. Near the end of the A section, at r. 20, there occurs a phrase which

is unmistakably related to the connecting phrase first heard at three before r. 51 in the last movement of the Concerto pour deux pianos; though the two works are similar in mood and in overall style and structure, this seems to be the only melodic passage that they have in common. Ex. 14.

Concerto pour piano: 1, opening

Fe

Hey Ce 32

ee

BENT

PY =eee SS

my

5 ===

ee OE

SSS) +f 4a

ao

pe

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eo SSS SeaSS2he:4 Her

a

Fy

es

Py ft

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pe tf ta

Etet ie ———_—

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The middle section of the first movement is a calm Largo that begins by introducing, at three after r. 21, a prototype of the opening motive of the forthcoming opera, Dialogues des Carmélites (ex. 16). One immediately suspects a religious inspiration behind this passage, and this is borne out by the calm connecting phrase which appears at r. 22, and which returns three times to unify the section, and by thevscillating, dissonant phrase at r. 24 (ex. 17), both of which relate to the idiom of Poulenc’s religious choral music. Furthermore, the ¥

LZ Ex. 15.

The Concertos Concerto pour piano: |, r. 10

ORCH.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 16.

Concerto pour piano: 1, 3 after r. 21ff., and Dialogues des Carmélites, opening

P/ANO

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co.,

ORCH.

Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Exe li

Concerto pour piano: I, r. 24

ORCH. _~..t—

a

Ff an me a ae Na pan

[4

ee La ere

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

ee ae eet een ne

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153

remaining phrases in this section (three after r.22, three after r. 23, and three after

r. 25) possess the exultant qualities of certain of Poulenc’s motets, such as “Timor et tremor” from the Motets pour un temps de pénitence (1938-39). Taken as a whole, the central section of this movement, with its alternating religious moods and imposed connecting phrase, is one of Poulenc’s finest creations, though neither he nor his critics ever saw fit to describe it in any detail.

The transition to A’, which occurs at three after r. 26 with the return of the

Opening tempo, contains a second prototype of a phrase from a late Poulenc work: here the flute melody beginning at three after r. 26 foreshadows r. 1 in the third movement of the Sonata for Oboe and Piano (1962). After this brief transition, the tripartite structure is completed with the return of the melodic material of A, shortened by the elimination of two of the original four themes. The movement ends somewhat ambiguously, but apparently in the key of C4, in which it had begun. The second movement,-in Ep and also in a ternary form, has an opening theme which is strongly characteristic of Poulenc: it begins simply and diatonically, turns dramatically away from the diatonic scale after eight bars, and “slips”*° back to a dominant ninth for a cadence at the end (one before r. 1). The calm, melancholy, almost rhythmically-hypnotic accompaniment provides a graceful, Mozartian setting for the theme. The middle section, which begins at r. 4, contains several contrasting moods and motives, notably the Ravel-like

fragment (marked “gracieux”) at r. 5 (ex. 18) and another Dialogues des Carmélites prototype (the Mother Marie motive) at r. 7. After a brief return of A at r. 11, the movement ends gently with a juxtaposition of the minor and major modes of Eb. Ex. 18.

Concerto pour piano: Il, r. 5

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

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The Concertos

The last movement is responsible for the criticism that this concerto is too gay, to the point of vulgarity. Poulenc explains his intentions: As opposed to the famous concertos of the past, which called for great virtuosos, I decided to write a light concerto, a sort of souvenir of Paris for pianist-composer. | had no fear that sucha project would be poorly received, so | interjected, into the rondeau a la francaise, the rhythm of the maxixe and a Negro spiritual derived from an old song sung by La Fayette’s sailors; I myself was amused and pleased by this handshake with a country that, at present, contains my

greatest and most loyal audience.”!

The “Negro spiritual” is, of course, Foster’s “Old Folks at Home,” which is paraphrased by Poulenc at r. 13 (ex. 19). The maxixe rhythm of which Poulenc speaks is a Brazilian urban dance in duple meter that has something in common with the tango and with American jazz. It enjoyed some vogue in Europe around 1920, owing, in part, to Darius Milhaud and his importation of Brazilian music. Ex. 19,

Concerto pour piano: Ill, r. 13

Cae ——

pe}

=e

eal

== See

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Not only might these popular intrusions into a rondo movement of a heretofore serious piano concerto have shocked even an American audience, but Poulenc seems to approach the limits of good taste throughout the movement. The vigorous reference to the music hall (can-can) at four before r. 17 (ex. 20), and the exuberant cadence at two before r. 23 are but two further examples of the near-vulgarity of this movement. At the very least, this movement is anachronistic in terms of Poulenc’s developing maturity and, to a certain extent, negates the calm, quasi-religious mood established in the first two movements. As Poulenc tells us above, this is a light concerto, with no virtuoso displays

for the piano soloist; indeed, there are only thirty bars of piano solo in the entire piece. Yet the piano writing is skillful and colorful throughout, much like that of the Concerto pour deux pianos. There is a noticeable change in orchestration between the two piano concertos, for this one employs the strings to a far greater extent than in the earlier one. This indicates, along with similar string emphasis in the Sinfonietta (1947) and the Stabat Mater (1950), a reconciliation with

romanticism in Poulenc’s works of the late 1940s.”

The Concertos Ex. 20.

155

Concerto pour piano: \11, 4 before r, 17

PiANC

ORCH.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Sehirmer, U.S. agent.

Like Aubade, the Concerto pour piano has not enjoyed the popularity and success of the other Poulenc concertos, undoubtedly because of the disconcert-

ing juxtaposition of moods between the first two movements and the last. Moreover, it simply does not provide enough display fora soloist. Yet, because of the first two movements, it must be considered a significant work in Poulenc’s oeuvre. Poulenc’s Concerto en sol mineur pour orgue, orchestre a cordes et timbales, commissioned by, and dedicated to, the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, was

completed in August of 1938 and received its first performance on 21 June 1939 at a La Sérénade concert in the Salle Gaveau;

Maurice

Duruflé, who had

advised Poulenc on registration, was the soloist and Roger Désormiére conducted the Orchestre Symphonique de Paris. There is some question, however, as to when the composition of the concerto was begun. An undated letter that Poulenc must have written in the spring of 1936 (because it mentions the Sept chansons, completed in April, and refers to the summer in the future tense), says the following: The Concerto is nearing conclusion. It gave me many problems, but I think that it is improved and that it will please you as it is. This is not the amusing Poulenc of the Concerto pour deux pianos but rather a Poulenc who is on his way to the cloister, a fifteenth-century Poulenc, if ; 33 you like.

A second letter, in which Poulenc mentions the year as being 1936, speaks of “a serious and austere concerto.”** Both of these passages clearly refer to the Concerto pour orgue, fof Poulenc was not involved with any other concerto in ¥

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1936. Perhaps the first date at the end of the score should read “Noizay—Avril

1936.” We must assume, therefore, that the Concerto pour orgue, in a nearly complete form, predates the Litanies a la Vierge Noire (August 1936), Poulenc’s first explicitly religious work. This revelation, however, does not undermine the

attribution of Poulenc’s religious reawakening to the events of August 1936,”

though it seems that he was headed in that direction by the spring of that same year. Poulenc explains the sacred nature of the concerto, excluding it from his religious oeuvre: The Concerto pour orgue occupies an important place in my oeuvre, alongside my religious music. Properly speaking, it is not a “concerto da chiesa,” but, in limiting the orchestra to strings and three timpani, I made performance in a church possible. If one wishes to have an exact idea of the serious side of my music, one must look here, as well as in my religious

works.*°

The Concerto pour orgue is written in the style of a Buxtehude fantasia: one continuous movement divided into several contrasting sections, with a great deal of motivic connection between the sections. Much of the organ writing, and certain of the string phrases, are clearly derived from baroque style in general, and from Bach in particular; the opening organ phrase seems to spring from Bach’s G minor organ Fantasia’ (ex. 21). The concerto thus becomes a part of Poulenc’s “neo” period.** That Poulenc should turn to Buxtehude and Bach, two composers for whom he never expressed any great love, is not surprising, in light of the instrument for which he was composing for the first time. Most of the “baroque” passages are consequently confined to the solo organ (ex. 21, see also €X, 22). Exit:

Concerto pour orgue: opening

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Although Poulenc sought advice from Duruflé on registration, we can assume that what is presented in the concerto represents his own conception of the sonorous capabilities of the modern organ. Like his French contemporaries Vierne and Alain, Poulenc felt that the organ was able to generate massive,

The Concertos Exe22:

157

Concerto pour orgue: 3 before r. 9, 3 before r. 26, r. 13ff., and r. 31ff.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

spatial dissonance, sensual lyricism, and gentle counterpoint. Though the organ and the strings are employed in every possible combination, the prevalent arrangement seems to be as two equal bodies in alternation or dialogue; between r. 4 and 13, as well as at r. 17 and between r. 27 and 30, this is the dominant texture. The organ also has several lengthy solos, and several sections in which it

is lightly accompanied by“the strings. As in Poulenc’s other concertos, there is no flashy, virtuosic writing for the solo instrument, yet the organ part is highly idiomatic throughout. ,

158

The Concertos

The first section of the Concerto pour orgue is an andante introduction. The organ is highlighted until four after r. 1, where the first-phrase devoted exclusively to the strings occurs; in its abundance of seventh chords, its functionally ambiguous motion, and its marking of “Trés doux et intense,” this phrase is reminiscent of Fauré.*? A second string phrase, at r. 2, is again reminiscent of Fauré (particularly six after C in the second movement of the Requiem) in its use of Neapolitan and diminished seventh chords (ex. 23). Heavy, dissonant organ chords conclude the introduction. Ex. 23;

Concerto pour orgue: r. 2

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The ensuing allegro consists of two essential motives, neither of which is a “tune” in the tradition of Poulenc’s chamber music and his other concertos. The first motive, light and angular and entrusted to the strings, is presented three times, separated by scalar passages on the organ. These scales evolve, at two ofter r. 9, into the second motive, the major seventh chord (ex. 24); this same motive forms the basis of “Marie,” the sixth song in the 1936 Sept chansons fora

cappella chorus,” strengthening the supposition that the concerto was begun in

that year. Both motives are repeated to conclude the allegro. Ex. 24.

Concerto pour orgue: 2 after r. 9

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The Concertos

159

The andante which follows forms the musical and emotional core of the concerto. After a lengthy quasi-baroque organ solo, which contains one of the few examples of Poulenc counterpoint (four after r. 13ff.), a rather lyric, romantic section begins at r. 14, based on a new dotted motive, whose roots can

be traced to six after r. 8. This motive is altered and passed to the organ at seven before r. 16. The tonality passes from A to C to E, and settles in Fat r. 16, where

a new motive, rather gay and lighthearted for an organ concerto, makes its appearance in the strings (ex. 25). A lengthy and powerful section follows at r. 17: it is a dialogue between organ and strings with a nearly incessant quarternote pulse in the basses and/or timpani. The harmonic motion in this section is very characteristic of Poulenc, using dominant sevenths with passing dissonance and appoggiaturas, and moving through aseries of related secondary keys. The tonality returns to F at r. 20 for a calm suggestion of the motive found at r. 16. The harmony becomes more dissonant, leading to a powerful crescendo at r. 23; the bass line here seems to be a prototype of the dramatic, march-like figures that would later appear in the Stabat Mater and the last scene of Dialogues des Carmélites. The lengthy andante comes to a close before r. 26 with dramatic organ chords using Poulenc’s favored minor-major juxtaposition. Px 25:

Concerto

pour orgue: r. 16

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Following a brief, ethereal diatonic phrase in the strings and a connecting II 64#/4/3—V cadence in the forthcoming key of A minor, a short section, marked “allegro. Molto Agitato,” arrives at r. 27. This is the least distinguished of the sections, though the writing for both organ and strings is skillful. The flowing arabesques and arpeggios give way, at three after r. 30, to a dramatic circle of fifths progression on major and minor seventh chords. The second motive of the first allegro section then returns, at six after r. 30. The section

concludes with an organ solo in baroque style, an intense string phrase of

160

The Concertos

parallel diminished seventh chords (at r. 33), and a connecting half cadence to v’

in the forthcoming key of E minor. A short section marked “Trés calme. Lent” follows. It is extremely gentle (one would almost say devout) and is reminiscent of r. 17-22 in the central andante, both in harmonic style (colored diatonicism with strong dominant-totonic motion) and in the melodic motives employed (compare three before r. 35 with r. 20) (ex. 26). A dissonant crescendo leads to powerful minor-to-major chords in the organ, recalling three before r. 26, the closing of the central andante. BX) 26:

Concerto pour orgue: 3 before r. 35ff. and r. 20

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The penultimate section is an allegro based upon the second motive of the first allegro, the scalar major seventh chord (see ex. 24). At r. 38 this motive is presented both in major and in minor, further indication of the importance of

this juxtaposition to Poulenc. At r. 41 there is a variation of the dotted theme of the central andante (see r. 14). The final section begins (at r. 45) with a return of the introductory organ

motive, followed by the Fauré-like phrase (of four after r. 1), this time presented in the organ. The organ continues with the first truly religious phrase, in the Poulencian sense, in the concerto: a simple, chant-like melody over oscillating, diatonic harmony consisting almost entirely of I and IV chords, with inversions (ex. 27). This becomes, at r. 46, an instrumental prayer, tender and gentle, crystalline in its orchestration (solo viola, pizzicato strings, full, static organ

chords over a pedal); Poulenc would use a similar technique in the last section of Litanies a la Vierge Noire, composed in August 1936. The concerto ends with yet another recall of the opening organ motive.

The Concertos Bxe2k

161

Concerto pour orgue: 5 after r. 45ff.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

This is one of Poulenc’s most architecturally compelling works, for it dynamically draws the listener on from beginning to end. With its multisectional structure, its transformation of certain themes or motives (see r. 14 and r. 41), and its alternation of moods, the Concerto pour orgue can be compared to a Liszt symphonic poem. There is further musical justification for this comparison, for, despite the many obvious baroque gestures, the nature of this concerto

is essentially romantic; we know that Poulenc, entering his third period of composition, was giving free rein to his inherent sentiment and lyricism.*! The Concerto pour orgue is one of Poulenc’s most serious compositions, an individualistic work which defines a certain aspect of his complex nature, as he himself attested. Yet it achieves this seriousness through a controlled balance of diverse elements, ranging from Bach-like organ passages, to lighthearted string motives, to sentimental, romantic passages, to religious reticence. As Jean Roy points out, however, such was the nature of Poulenc’s personality: “In fact, the sacred and the secular interact here, forming an alliance that corresponds to Poulenc’s innermost nature.””

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The Piano Music It is paradoxical, but true, that my piano music is the least representative genre in my output. —Francis Poulenc! Poulenc’s honesty in evaluating his own music was always refreshing; indeed, he was often too harsh in his self-judgments, and his bouts of uncertainty often led

him into states of depression. As seen above, he judged his piano music more severely than his other genres, though on another occasion, he tempered this condemnation somewhat: “I feel, quite sincerely, that my piano music is neither as good as some virtuosi contend, nor as bad as some critics think it is. The truth lies somewhere between these two opinions.” The key to discovering the true value of Poulenc’s piano music is that “virtuosi” have traditionally sung its praises, while critics have been less enthusiastic. Poulenc himself seems to have discovered the reason for this: Many of my pieces have failed because I know too well how to write for the piano, It is curious, but true, that as soon as I begin writing piano accompaniments for my songs, I begin to be innovative. Similarly, my piano writing with orchestra or chamber ensemble is of a different order. It is the solo piano that somehow escapes me. With it I am a victim of false pretenses.’

Poulenc was, quite simply, too gooda pianist, and his familiarity with the piano literature led him to facile borrowing. Moreover, much of what he borrowed has its source in the lighter salon music of the second half of the nineteenth century—what he called “L’adorable mauvaise musique.”* Furthermore, those serious composers to whom he turned as models, particularly Chopin and Schumann, had developed their own pianistic languages and taken them to their

logical limits. The result is Poulenc’s most artificial, least personal body of music; if he expressed the most profound and intimate aspects of his personality in his choral music,’ he entrusted only superficialities to much of his piano music. # Yet not all of his thirty-two solo and four-hand piano works’ are superficial and cliché-ridden; nor did he judge them all harshly:

164

The Piano Music I tolerate the Mouvements perpétuels, my old Suite en ut, and the Trois piéces. | very much like my two books of Improvisations, an Intermezzo in Ab and certain Nocturnes. I condemn without reprieve Napoli and the Soirées de Nazelles. | don’t particularly care about the rest of It.

7

We shall examine this judgment when discussing individual works. Many of Poulenc’s moderately popular piano pieces, such as the Jmpromptus, Promenades, the Deux novelettes, Badinage, and Elégie, place little emphasis on technique or empty facility, but they suffer from a lack of the Poulenc personality, either by being too arbitrarily dissonant or by being devoid of a distinctive melody. On the other hand, nearly half of the piano works, including those which he cited favorably above, achieve a clarity and simplicity characteristic of his other genres, while avoiding the weaknesses inherent in his

more virtuosic works. Poulenc became acquainted with the piano as a young boy. His early lessons (ages five to fourteen) were commonplace, though he exhibited a remarkable facility and a taste for mature, complex music (Debussy and Schoenberg) by the age of eleven. It was his three years of lessons with Ricardo Vifies, however, that led to his emergence as a composer for the piano and as a pianist, though he never intended a career as a touring soloist. Poulenc’s career as a performer began with private readings of his own works for piano and for voice and piano (especially Cocardes, 1918). An early thrill was playing one of the four piano parts in a Paris performance of Stravinsky’s Les Noces in 1923. He soon turned to the solo and four-hand piano music of Satie, and many critics consider him to have been among its best interpreters. Poulenc is best remembered, however, as an accompanist, particularly during his twenty years of collaboration with Pierre Bernac and his concert tours, late in his life, with Denise Duval.

As Poulenc himself tells us,* his performing style can be traced to the influence of Vifies: he preferred a full, vibrant sound, a strict observance of tempo and dynamic markings, a liberal deployment of pedal, and, above all, a lively, boisterous approach to the keyboard. Several of his contemporaries provide a vivid picture of Poulenc the performer, such as Robert de Fragny in 1946: “And Francis Poulenc, seated at the keyboard, is a veritable one-man

orchestra. He plays, he sings, he mimes; he is, at the same time, sound-effects man, stage director, and chorister, all with equal enthusiasm.”” Poulenc was a large man, with hands that could easily span a twelfth; René Kerdyk describes

him in 1938: This benevolent teddy-bear heads for the piano like a carpenter going to his workbench. You cannot really say that he sits down at the piano—he glues himself to it. He thrusts his thick paw on the ivory and covers two keys with a single finger. It would not shock anyone to see him

play a four hand piece by himself.'°

The Piano Music

165

A testament to Poulenc’s piano playing survives in his many recordings with Bernac, as well as several examples of his interpretation of Satie. It is a pity that we have few recordings of him playing his own piano music. Perhaps the best introduction to Poulenc’s piano music might come from his advice to those who would perform it: The great technical errors which deface my piano music, to the point of rendering it unrecognizable, are: tempo rubato, stinginess in the use of pedal, and too much articulation in certain arpeggiated phrases which should, on the other hand, be rather smooth and blurred. Let me explain: I hate rubato... once a tempo is adopted, under no circumstances should it be altered until I so indicate. Never stretch or shorten a beat. That drives me crazy. As for the use of pedals, that is the great secret behind my piano music (and often its true drama!) One can never use enough pedal, do you hear me! never enough! never enough! In a fast movement, I often rely on the pedal for the realization of a harmonic passage that could not be rendered completely in writing. [Finally], the arpeggios and accompanimental chords should be in the

background most of the time so that the melody can be heard."!

It can be seen from these admonitions that the texture of Poulenc’s piano music derives from that of nineteenth-century salon music, with a lyric theme supported by a broken-chord accompaniment; but it is colored by the “halo of pedals” style associated with the turn-of-the-century period, and tempered by a twentieth-century control of tempo. Poulenc conceived of the piano as occupying a middle ground between the percussive force sought by Stravinsky and Prokofiev, and the coloristic vagueness sought by Debussy and Scriabin. In other words, his approach to piano music was conservative; he preferred to remain with the techniques handed down to him by Chopin, Schumann, and Satie, rather than to explore the extreme sonorities of the piano, as did Messiaen and Bartok during Poulenc’s own lifetime. Poulenc’s piano music presents a varied body of work, but several general observations can be made. The vast majority of the piano pieces are what might be called “miniatures,” their length being one to five minutes; many of these

miniatures are collected in groups, such as the three Mouvements perpétuels. There are only two sonatas (one might be considered a sonatina in conception and dimensions), one set of variations, and several suites. The music is nondevelopmental, with ABA (or ABA’) being the favored structure. Poulenc preferred such abstract nineteenth-century titles as “nocturne,” “intermezzo,” “impromptu,” and “improvisation,” as well as dances (Bourrée, Valse), colorful titles (Badinage, Promenades), and titles with personal connotations (Napoli, Les Soirées de Nazelles). Perhaps the best means of examining the general stylistic characteristics of Poulenc’s piano music is to discuss one piece, the first of the eight Nocturnes, in some detail. This piece,“composed in 1929, is rather lengthy (ninety-two measures), perhaps too long for Poulenc to sustain without thematic develop?

166

The Piano Music

ment. He solves this weakness by investing it with rondo form, an extension of the norm of ternary or through-composed form. The traditional rondo form is somewhat altered by Poulenc’s placement of the theme in several different keys (C, D, G, Ab), and by the substitution of an unrelated coda (bar 87 to the end) for the final return of the theme. The melodic material of this piece is deceptively simple, as it is in much of Poulenc’s piano music. It tends to be organized in short, memorable phrases (rather than lengthy autonomous melodies), yet the structure and overall shape of each phrase is generally different. For example, the first phrase (bars 1-4) consists of a simple alternation of two structural tones, E and C:

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while at other times, often in the very next phrase (bars 13-15), it is more disjunct: 3)

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To avoid banality, as a result of these facile melodic phrases, Poulenc inserts an occasional phrase lacking in melodic contour, as in bars 32-35 and bars 60-63 (ex. 1). In this Nocturne, the melodic line is confined almost entirely to the right hand, as in most of Poulenc’s piano music. Melodic formulae are not very evident in the piano music, though one formula which seems to cut across all of Poulenc’s instrumental genres is introduced for the first time in bars 39-40 of this piece (ex. 2). Finally, one unusual melodic aspect of this piece is its relative lack

The Piano Music

167

of chromaticism. Poulenc’s piano music seems to possess nearly equal amounts of chromatic and diatonic melodic motion, as a perusal of the entire set of Nocturnes reveals. Yet only a few of the transitional passages in this first Nocturne (bars 32-34 and 47-48) reveal any significant chromaticism. Ex. |.

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© by Heugel— Paris—France

Ex. 2.

Nocturne #1; bars 39-40

© by Heugel— Paris—France

Poulenc was not a contrapuntal composer, as was pointed out in chapter 6. His preferred textures in his piano music include: melody with chordal and/or

arpeggiated accompaniment; parallel and octave writing; and, less frequently, melody over an ostinato. These textures can all be traced back to nineteenthcentury procedures, especially the octave writing, which was so important to Chopin. Melody over a chordal or arpeggiated accompaniment is the dominant texture in the first Nocturne, though there are two brief instances of imitation (measures 36-37 and 39-40), and a passage of chordal homophony in the last six bars. The arpeggiated figures tend to be long and broad, often covering more than two octaves, and incltiding frequent major and/or minor sevenths (ex. 3).

Shorter arpeggios often make their way into the right hand, as in measure 24 (ex.

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The Piano Music

4). The result of all this broken-chord motion, in this and many other pieces,” is a nearly constant flow of eighth notes, imparting a smooth but forceful forward motion to the piece. Ex. 3:

Nocturne #1: bars 16-18

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© by Heugel— Paris— France

Ex. 5.

Nocturne #1: bar 55

© by Heugel— Paris—France

Poulenc’s harmonic language in his piano music does not differ substantially from that of his other genres. Functional diatonic harmony is the rule, with numerous free modulations taking the place of thematic development. Many of these modulations are effected with only one chord (a dominant, usually ninth or thirteenth), as in bar 55 of the Nocturne (ex. 5). Passages of stable tonality and clear motion are often separated by short phrases of nonfunctional or less conventional harmony. For instance, bars 31-34 in the Nocturne separate two

passages clearly in D (ex. 6). In the short space of four measures, there are two unrelated IV-I progressions (landing on E) and C#, the upper and lower neighbors of D), and a series of chromatically descending parallel chords. Similarly, two passages of tonal stability are set apart by the rapid harmonic motion in bars 47-49 (ex. 7). This technique, which Poulenc undoubtedly uses to replace the goal-orientation of standard nineteenth-century functional harmony, is effective in providing variety and change of color. Rhythm and meter tend to be extremely varied and flexible in the piano music. Some pieces, such as the fourth Nocturne, have no meter changes at all. Others, such as the second Nocturne, rely on a prevailing rhythmic figure

The Piano Music Ex. 6.

169

Nocturne #1: bars 30-35

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© by Heugel— Paris—France

Ex. 3.

Nocturne #1: bars 47-49 pressez

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© by Heugel— Paris— France

throughout (it is broken only in bars 13-15 and at the end). By contrast, in some pieces, such as the third Nocturne, frequent changes of meter and rhythmic motives (often accompanied by shifting accents) result in instability. Most of Poulenc’s piano works, however, including the first Nocturne, exhibit a restrained number of meter changes, often found at the ends of phrases, while

they tend to possess a general rhythmic figuration which is freely varied or altered. In this piece, the flowing eighth-note pattern is broken infrequently, most notably at the end, but variations appear in measures 36 and 48.

Poulenc’s phrasing often seems to be regular in his piano music, and it may remain so for several phrases, with four-bar lengths the norm. But it is deceptive; frequently a three-bar anda five-bar phrase will take the place of two four-bar phrases, as they do in measures 36-43. At other times, a measure will simply be

chopped off of an expected four-bar phrase (see measures 68-70), producing an unmatched or uncomplemented three-bar phrase. Harmonic rhythm varies similarly between the predictable (one or two per measure) and the unpredict-

170

The Piano Music

able (lengthy passages

of no change, or perhaps four harmonies

in one

measure—see bar 88).

Though this first Nocturne is not the archetypal Poulenc piano work, it possesses most of the general stylistic characteristics and reveals the conservative, tradition-rooted nature of the piano music. Other generalizations about the style of Poulenc’s solo piano music would be futile, particularly since it changed significantly from his early works to his late ones. The piano works can be divided into three fairly distinct periods, each with its own mood and overriding stylistic characteristics. The first period, 19161921, is marked bya bare, linear simplicity, modality, polytonality, and “wrongnote” dissonance. The works of this period were obviously influenced by Satie and by Poulenc’s association with Les Nouveaux Jeunes or Les Six. The second period,

1922-1937, is characterized

by virtuosic bravura; all the traditional

capabilities of the piano are exploited. This is the period of Poulenc’s greatest pianistic failures and some of his least personal, most superficial works. Yet it is also the period of the highly regarded Jmprovisations and Nocturnes. The third period, 1940-1959, is marked by increased lyricism and a less virtuosic approach. Like most composers, Poulenc turned to the piano for many of his earliest compositions; eight of his first fifteen works are for solo piano or piano four hand, while four others include a piano part. The first two works,'’ a set of Préludes (1916) and the Trois pastorales of 1918, remained unpublished; the former were destroyed: of an incredible complexity ....They were written on three or four staves, in the shadow of Debussy. These 1916 Préludes were never played. Only Auric ever saw them."*

The latter were reworked, in 1928, as the Trois piéces (see below).

Poulenc’s next four piano pieces (1918-1920), though strongly influenced by Satie and Stravinsky, begin to exhibit personal mannerisms; it is no surprise that three of these four were pivotal works in Poulenc’s growing popularity with the public and in his emergence as an up-to-date young composer. The characteristics of these works which suggest Satie are: a simplicity of thematic material, almost to the point of banality; a great deal of repetition, almost to the point of monotony; and the tentative appearance of modal and bitonal scales. Those suggestive of Stravinsky are: a prevalence of “wrong-note” dissonance and the occasional use of ostinato patterns and percussive rhythms. In 1918, when Chester of London published the Sonata for piano four hands (or two pianos four hands), Ernest Ansermet made the following observations: Each of the three short movements of the Poulenc Sonata creates a clearly-defined harmonic environment, within which there seems to be little movement. Despite a paucity of musical

The Piano Music

171

material, much of which is unpolished, and a primitive symmetr y of form which, nonetheless,

is not boring, these three movements do, indeed, form a sonata....Thei r harmonic and melodic style is very clear and concise, bare and raw, a conscious knowled ge of Stravinsky is obvious, but the prevailing spirit is very French: the same spirit of finesse that one finds in Ravel... - of Satie’s gaiety...and here and there a certain abandon that reminds one of Chabrier.

Indeed, all four influences on Poulenc’s early style are manifest in this Sonata, but that of Stravinsky is the strongest, particularly in the driving rhythms of the

outer movements, the strong use of ostinati, and the diatonic, narrow, folk-lik e

melodies. This

Sonata

exhibits

several

characteristics which we discovered

in

Poulenc’s chamber works, including three brief movements in simple forms (ABA or ABA’), anda recall of the first two movements in the final. There is a

great deal of repetition within each movement, and, though we tend to associate cellular construction with Poulenc’s late works, much of the repetition is of that type (ex. 8). In addition, the piece is stamped by octave doubling of the melodic material, by ascending and descending scalar fragments (ex. 9), and by dissonant parallelisms (ex. 10); perhaps all three movements should have been marked, as is the second, “naif.” Each movement ends witha brief “tail,” a flippant melodic gesture employed by Poulenc in many of his early works, and some of the later ones. It remains to be said that we are dealing with a revised edition dating from

1939. '°

Ex. 8.

Sonata: Ill, bars 7-12

Used by kind permission of J&W

Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The Mouvements perpétuels were composed in December 1918 and received their first performance, by Ricardo Vifies, at a Lyre et Palette concert"” two months later. They were an immediate success and have since been performed far more often than any other Poulenc piano work.

172

The Piano Music

Ex, 9.

Sonata: lll, bars 1-2

PIANO

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Ex. 10.

Sonata: Il, bar 1, and III, bar 13

Used by kind permission of J&W

Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

Jean Roy accounts for their success: [they] reveal... through the false indifference of the first piece and the melancholy of the second, through the candor, then the poetic halo of the third piece, the personality and musical lineage of Francis Poulenc. Along with a charm which could only belong to Poulenc, one finds the economy of Erik Satie and the verve of Chabrier in this work. Never a superfluous note, but an unfailing freshness. That is the secret ofmasterpieces. '*

There is no doubt that these “three little spots of color,” as Poulenc was fond of

calling them, greatly helped define the budding aesthetic of Les Six. They certainly reflect the principles that Jean Cocteau was espousing, just at that time, in Le Cog et l'arlequin: simplicity to the point of bareness, clarity, dominance of the melodic line, rejection of heavy Germanic influence in favor of a “Frenchness” (there is clearly an influence of the eighteenth-century clavecinistes on Mouvements perpétuels), and lack of any pretension or philosophical posturing. The other obvious influence on this work is, once again, Stravinsky. It is difficult to analyze these pieces, for they are composed of the barest of means. A perusal of Poulenc’s markings provides a clear picture of the nature and intention of these pieces: “En général, sans nuances, beaucoup de pédale,” “doucement

timbré,” “Incoloré,” “indifférent,” “le chant en dehors,” “avec

charme,” and “gris.” The lack of pretension is evident. The pedals play a key role in creating an accompanimental haze under the crystal-clear, dominant melodic line. Certain of the melodic phrases, particularly in the last piece, are “tunes,” in

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173

direct lineage from popular music. Other phrases are notably unmelodic and banal; they consist of a small number of notes, in a narrow range, which wind

about with intentional aimlessness, as in Satie’s “melodies” (ex. 11). As in the Sonata, there is a great deal of repetition; indeed, each piece is repeated almost in its entirety, in addition to the internal repetitions. And, each piece ends with a “tail.” Exot):

Mouvements perpétuels: 1, bars 5-7, and II, bars 5-6

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

An ostinato, which consists of a one-bar left-hand pattern clearly in Bp,

runs throughout the first piece, breaking only for the tail in the last bar; here is certainly the first justification for the title of these three pieces. Against this, cellular construction is employed as a means of organizing the piece through short melodic cells, which are often repeated. Thus, the opening two-bar cell, a

popular-type melody in B} (ex. 12), is repeated immediately and returns intact

two other times, lending a sort of rondo effect to the piece. The final melodic cell,

a chromatic variation of the descending opening cell, comprises measures 14 and 15; it, too, is immediately repeated. The double bar is followed by the opening cell, two bars of “waiting,” while the perpetual ostinato winds down, and the concluding tail, which ends on an ambiguous chord, as shown in example 13. Ex. 12.

Mouvements perpétuels: 1, opening

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The second piece, extremely brief concept of cellular construction, but evolving structure. A subtle process throughout the first ten measures, with bar 1.

in its fourteen measures, also the ostinato is replaced by of change takes place in the result that bar 10 sounds r

contains the an ongoing both staves quite unlike

174 Ex. 13.

The Piano Music Mouvements perpétuels: 1, last 3 bars ralentir en pesant sur la maia droite

=

Tres lent lent

——,

Se ex

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The third piece, in its music hall gaiety and tunefulness, is less deliberately monotonous than the first two. The metrical freedom taken on the first page by the clever telescoping of two measures of 4/4 into one measure of 7/4, is a characteristic which would remain an integral part of Poulenc’s style. The ABA‘C structure is once again built out of a limited number of short cells; the 3/8 section, for example, can be diagrammed as A (2 bars), A, B (2 bars), B’, A, A, C (2 bars), C, A, A, D (4 bars), D, transition (1 bar). An ostinato

accompaniment, evoking Stravinsky, is set up under a folk-like theme at measure 40; it is interrupted, only to return at measure 51 for a two-bar phrase that has the unmistakable sound of Petrushka (ex. 14). This Stravinsky influence gives way, in the coda, to a tail consisting of a clever scalar divergence from middle C, with both lines seemingly disappearing off the keyboard. Ex. 14.

Mouvements perpétuels: 1, bars 51-52

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

The Valse of 1919 springs from the Cocteau-Satie aesthetic of the street waltz, the fair, and the music hall; yet there is little Satie musical influence. Like the Sonata and the Mouvements perpétuels, the materials are bare and simple, but this piece has an irreverent tunefulness which, by this time, seems to distinguish Poulenc’s style from Satie’s. Like Cocardes, a collection of songs which followed immediately, the Valse hides a tender melancholy under surface gaiety, suggestive of the clowns of the Parisian circuses and street carnivals

frequented by Les Six.'” Stylistically, there is nothing new in this piece. Its

importance lies in its enormous popularity among Les Six and their friends, and the fact that it represents Poulenc’s first piano piece free from obvious influence, thus revealing his own tuneful style and distinctive personality.

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The Suite en ut (1920), which Poulenc said he “tolerated,” consists, like the

Sonata and the Mouvements perpétuels, of three short movements ina fast-

slow-fast pattern. Poulenc admitted that the work is “so unashamedly Satie,”””

and its bareness and mundane melodies attest to this claim. It seems to lack the Poulenc “personality” established in the Valse, perhaps because of the étude-like nature of each movement. The practices of placing tails at the end of each movement, and of effecting unity through recall in the final movement, reappear. The five Jmpromptus of 1920-21 are undoubtedly the least successful works of the first period. There is an attempt at greater depth and seriousness and, perhaps under the influence of Milhaud, with whom Poulenc was spending much of his time, the addition of harsh, arbitrary dissonance. But they lack the

simplicity and clarity of the earlier piano works and, as Henri Hell points out, “Clumsiness and inexperience are more visible here.””! There is less repetition and a more complex texture iri these short studies. The third of the Impromptus, with its jazzy opening figure and its variety of textures, and the fourth, with its intricate two and three-part writing, are the most interesting of the set. The tentative foray into dissonance found in the Impromptus took on greater significance with the publication of Promenades (1921), the last work of the first period. Here the influence of Milhaud is undeniable, particularly in the predominance of polytonality (“En avion” ends with superimposed scales in D, Bp, and E}). Poulenc describes this work, so reminiscent of Satie’s Sports et divertissements (1914), in an early letter to the critic Paul Collaer: Prelude. 10 promenades. Finale. I thought of the 10 promenades as 10 variations on 10 different themes (one for each promenade). The use of a special technique for each piece will create a sort of “aural illusion,” seeing that there will be one in thirds, another in repeated

octaves, etc., etc. Thus I shall achieve a semblance of unity.””

Poulenc’s brief portrayals of ten modes of transportation are light, often frivolous, and certainly varied in style, but they simply do not succeed because of the heavy-handed harmonic style, the naive use of polytonality, and the lack of clearly defined, memorable melodic lines. Perhaps an indication of Poulenc’s

dissatisfaction with these last two works is the fact that he chose to revise both of them—the /mpromptus in 1939 and the Promenades in 1952. In the second period, as has been mentioned,

Poulenc abandoned

the

aesthetic of Les Six and the powerful influences of Satie and Stravinsky.”* He turned, instead, to more romantic influences, notably Chopin and Schumann. The result is a florid style, dominated by brilliant passage work, dense arpeggiation, wide stretches and extensions, full harmony emphasizing seventh

chords and other added teggtian structures, and more chromatic, flowing melodic lines. Certain pieces of this period maintain the clarity and simplicity of the first *

176

The Piano Music

period works; these pieces, such as the Pastourelle, the Deux novelettes, certain

of the Jmprovisations (numbers 6 and 12), and the Villageoises, seem to reveal Poulenc’s personality. Despite displaying these new resources of vocabulary, Napoli is as unsuccessful as the works which immediately preceded it. Originally called Caprice italien, it was conceived and started in 1922, during a trip Poulenc took to Naples with Milhaud. It was completed, with the addition of the third movement, in 1925 and received its premiére, by Marcelle Meyer, at the AuricPoulenc concert of 1926. The first movement, “Barcarolle,” is the shortest and

least pretentious, with a thin two-voice texture and lilting rhythms. The problems begin in the second movement, an impressionistic “Nocturne” that must have shocked the other members of Les Six. Here Poulenc adopts astilted,

artificially grave tone, much like the one he himself later criticized in the Trois chansons de Garcia-Lorca. The movement contains what might be called “inappropriate” dissonance, and an uncharacteristic tonal ambiguity. The third movement, retaining the title “Caprice italien,” has an altogether different personality, having been written three years after the others. It begins innocently enough ina light, playful mood suggestive of the tarantella. Yet, at the beginning of the B section of the unusual ABC structure,” the writing becomes heavier and gradually more affected, eventually reaching the critical point of being merely “pianistic,” the fault that was to plague many of the piano works of the second period. Poulenc temporarily abandoned this heavy style in two tuneful, lyrical works written in 1926 and 1928. The Pastourelle was originally scored for orchestra, but it is far better known in the piano version, as popularized by Vladimir Horowitz. It was conceived as part of a collaborative ballet for Jeanne Dubost,

called

L’Evantail de Jeanne.

The

Pastourelle

is one

of Poulenc’s

freshest, most melodic creations, free from all pretension and heaviness. It is the first piano work to reveal Poulenc as a lightweight, but sincere, composer of lyrical salon music: The ternary structure juxtaposes two tunes (ex. 15), and closes with a delightful quasi-military coda. In addition, it is the first piano work to make concentrated use of the lush, full seventh and ninth chords that are so

important to Poulenc’s style. The second of this pair of works is the Deux novelettes of 1927-28. The first Novelette, in C major, suggests Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words, or perhaps Fauré, in its flowing style. The second is lively and rhythmic, combining a jaunty flavor with some spicy harmonies, reminiscent of the third song of the Chansons gaillardes (1926). Poulenc describes the genesis of his next piano work, the Trois piéces of 1928:

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177

These three pastorales [of 1918, see above] remained unpublished for a long time, but when Casella wrote to me in 1928, saying “What happened to your pastorales? I really liked them,”I decided to rework them. Published under the title Trois piéces pour piano, the first is nearly identical to the original; while maintaining the first four measures and the conclusio n of the second pastorale, I turned it into the “Toccata,” which Horowitz has made famous; finally, I replaced the third pastorale with a “Hymne” that sounds quite a bit like the Concert

champétre.*°

Bx) 15:

Pastourelle: opening and bars 29-32

———

eka epee eee

eee

Fil emeadeel el cere ene cnrvanel ees

ed ER

te

Oe

Neer

ee eee

eee

hts eee ge meesinca eeeeraeecenar celAe area ea

eee

ee

© by Heugel— Paris— France

He further revised these three pieces in 1953, at which time he reversed the order

of the last two. This is one of Poulenc’s strangest collections of piano pieces, with diverse influences and styles, perhaps owing to the wide range of time over which it was “assembled.” The “Pastorale” is dissonant, impressionistically vague, and tonally ambiguous, ending on an unstable half-diminished seventh chord; since this piece is virtually unchanged from the 1918 Pastorale, a Debussy influence is not unlikely. The “Hymne” is more modern, in the sense that its stately neoclassic atmosphere and: dotted rhythms recall the opening of the Concert champétre (1927-28). The breezy “Toccata” has been justifiably popular, for it is a pianistic showpiece with a certain amount of substance. The opening, in parallel fifths, and the final twenty-two measures, which again evoke the Concert champétre (see r. 21 in the third movement), provide the piece its melodic identity (ex. 16). The “Toccata” and parts of the “Hymne” resume the trend toward virtuosic writing begun in Napoli. After an insignificarft Piéce bréve sur le nom d’Albert Roussel (1929), Poulenc began a set of eight Nocturnes, composing the first in 1929 and the

178

The Piano Music

Exa 16;

Trois piéces (Toccata): opening and bars 58ff.

© by Heugel— Paris—France

other seven between 1933 and 1938. Once again, as in the Préludes, Impromptus, and Novelettes, he has turned to the type of abstract title favored by Chopin and other romantic composers. He explains this choice: When it comes to piano music, the least contact with the keyboard unleashes the creative spirit in me. Since this type of piece does not evoke an image, I tend to use abstract titles: Improvisations, Novelettes, Intermezzi, etc.**°

There is a wide range of styles in the eight pieces, and the set is uneven, though Poulenc himself certainly favored some of the Nocturnes (probably the three

that he, and others, recorded: numbers 1, 2, and 4). The first Nocturne, discussed

in some detail above, is the most attractive, with its uncluttered, singing melody

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179

and its flowing eighth-note arpeggiated accompaniment, a style introduced tentatively in the first Novelette. The second Nocturne is strongly reminiscent of Schumann,

both in its

evocative title (“Bal de jeunes filles”) and its style; it is spritely, and is dominated by the dotted rhythm throughout. Like many of the early works, it has a brief tail. No. 3 is a curious piece, enclosing a mysterious, Bartok-like “night music” passage between two sections of dissonant rhythmic and melodic ostinato, obviously intended to depict “Les Cloches de Malines.” The fourth Nocturne, subtitled “Bal fanté6me” and inscribed with an atmospheric quote from Julien Green,”’ is a melancholy, nostalgic mazurka. The influence of Chopin is obvious, but much of the harmony and the angular melodic style are characteristic of Poulenc. This piece was written at the same time (spring of 1934) as the Huit chansons polonaises, and this unusual example of a twentiethcentury mazurka may well have been directly inspired by Poulenc’s contact with Polish folk songs. The fifth, sixth, and seventh Nocturnes, though well-written

and pianistically challenging, hold little interest. The final Nocturne serves as a coda to the group. It is in the same graceful, lyrical style as the first piece and employs the same chordal ending. In general, the eight Nocturnes are concise and idiomatic. There are no displays of empty bravura, nor is there any gratuitous or uncharacteristic dissonance. The textures are open and uncluttered. Yet the set remains uneven and is not often performed today. Poulenc’s next solo piano work, written in late 1932, was the unusual and

critically unsuccessful Valse-Improvisation sur le nom de Bach.”® Yet the next two years would be Poulenc’s most prolific in the piano genre, with the composition of seven sets or individual pieces. The series of fifteen Jmprovisations includes some of Poulenc’s best piano pieces, works which he favored above all others in this genre. The first ten were composed between 1932 and 1934; numbers 11 and 12 appeared in 1941; and the last three were written in 1958-59. The title chosen for these fifteen pieces seems appropriate, for each one is fresh and brief, uncluttered and simple; they possess the spontaneity associated with improvisation at the keyboard. These are true splashes of pianistic color, influenced, perhaps, by the études and préludes of Chopin. Structurally, either. one idea is presented and “worked out” (repeated and altered, rather than developed), or two ideas are combined

in a ternary

form. The textures range from chords, to flowing arpeggiation, to rapid flights of fancy (runs and overlapping phrases), to complex figuration. The first Improvisation, in B minor, seems to owe something to early Debussy, both in its harmonies and in its resemblance to the Arabesques. The form is a rather standard ABA’. The A section is jagged and flighty, difficult to pin down; there is little mefodic definition. The B section (bars 18-41), on the other hand, is lyrical and highly melodic. A little motive which is found five bars

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The Piano Music

from the end (ex. 17) will make a reappearance at the beginning (page 27) and end (page 29) of the dance section in Babar; in both places it carries a connotation of a child-like and dance-like spirit. Ex. 17.

Improvisation #1: 5 bars from end

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

No. 2, in the key of Ab, begins like a Schubert

waltz, lyrical and

straightforward in texture; the major-minor alternation at bars 13-16 underlines

this influence of one of Poulenc’s favorite composers. After a repetition of the opening idea in the dominant, however, the piece begins to sound like Poulencat measure 24, with a fuller arpeggiated texture, and an abundance of seventh

chords, notably the characteristic II’-V7-I° (with 9-8 appoggiatura) progression

in bars 24-25 (ex. 18). The piece ends in this style, with no return of the opening motive. Exot

Improvisation #2: bars 24-25

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

No. 3, in B minor, is one of the least well-defined of the Jmprovisations. It

has a dry and nervous style which occasionally, as at measure 37, blossoms into controlled lyricism. In general, there is a great deal of chromaticism and a lack of

clear melodic direction in this piece. Certain critics, notably Jean Roy,”’ have

suggested the influence of Prokofiev. No. 4, in Ab major (the first four, then, are in B minor, Ab, B minor, and Ab), is probably the most “pianistic” Jmprovisation in the set. Written on three staves, it is of considerable technical complexity; the style is reminiscent of Chopin, or perhaps Liszt. Because of a dearth of melodic definition, it seems to

lack personality. The fifth Jmprovisation, in A minor (ending in major), is a delightful, lyrical étude on the rhythmic figure J J-q . Despite the extreme chromaticism,

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181

the piece is both tonal and tuneful; in fact, it is essentially monothematic, with the main theme repeated three times with slight modifications. Metrical flexibility is used skillfully, particularly at the end of each phrase, and the piano writing is highly idiomatic, relying on a thin, fluid texture and a nearly steady flow of sixteenth notes. No. 6, in Bh major, has a quasi-military atmosphere in the A parts of the ABA’B’A” structure. The entire piece has a percussive, dissonant quality that seems derivative from Russian music; undoubtedly the piano music of Prokofiev was an. influence here. Yet the fluid key scheme (Bp-E}-C-E}), such’ markings as “trés rude” and “trés sec,” and the cadence at bar 40 (ex. 19) (and at the end) are characteristic of Poulenc, recalling such works as Le Bal masqué and the Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone. Ex, 19.

Improvisation #6: bar 40

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

No. 7 is one of the most beautiful of the Improvisations, recalling the simple tunefulness of the Pastourelle and the first Nocturne. The key is C major (as in the first Nocturne) and the form is ternary. The opening accompaniment is reminiscent of the Alberti bass, as used by Poulenc’s “god,” Mozart. This gives way toa lightly romantic arpeggiated style. The middle section (bars 15-33) rises to a moving climax before the return of A and the conclusion on a calm tonic ninth chord. The eighth piece of the collection is an impish presto in A minor. Though the prevailing mood is sprite-like, suggestive of the Mendelssohn of A Midsummer Night's Dream, there is the same quasi-military quality that dominated no. 6, here produced by two rhythmic figures: diy and ddda . A music hall tune is introduced on the last page, only to dissolve before it can flourish (ex. 20). No. 9, in D major, is so fleeting as to be precarious. It tumbles off the fingers in one continuous flow, resulting in melodic snatches rather than characteristic

Poulencian “tunes.” The tail leaves us with a particularly ingratiating final impression (ex. 21). No. 10, in F major and subtitled “Eloge des gammes,” is one of the best and most popular /mprovisations. The A section consists of a study of various types of chromaticized scales, accompanied by Alberti-like figures. The B section

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The Piano Music

Ex. 20.

Improvisation #8: bars 55-58

TAL

doux |

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Exit

Improvisation #9: last 2 bars

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

(bars 15-31) shifts to an arpeggiated accompaniment of a simple Poulenc tune, reminiscent of his early works (Mouvements perpétuels and Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel), and suggestive of later lighthearted tunes, as at r. 19 in the first movement of the Concerto pour piano. The eleventh, in G minor, is the briefest of the Improvisations, containing only twenty-one measures. Both Jean Roy and Henri Hell see the influence of Schumann, but Moussorgsky seems a more probable source for the inspiration of this piece, particularly the phrase outlined by measures 5-8, with its accents, its octave-staccato bass line, and its IV of VI - VI progression (ex. 22). The opening phrase establishes this piece as a study in harmonic progressions (I-VVII° of IV-—IV-VII°-I-IV-VII° of V-V), and never does a true melody emerge. No. 12, also one of the more popular /mprovisations, is a brilliant waltz in

Ep, subtitled “Hommage a Schubert.” The principal theme, which might well have been written by Schubert himself, influenced two other Poulenc works of the 1940s: r. 6 in the third movement of the Sonate pour violoncelle, and r. 61 in act II of Les Mamelles de Tirésias. The diatonic harmony and melody become increasingly convoluted after measure 49, leading to a noble, stately section (bars 65-80), which seems to foreshadow the March to the Scaffold in Dialogues des Carmélites (ex. 23). After a return of the main theme, the piece ends gently with descending octaves.

The Piano Music Pxne2s

183

Improvisation #11: bars 5-6

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G, Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 23.

Improvisation #12: bars 65-69

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The

last three /mprovisations,

written

in 1958-59, exhibit

a graceful

maturity, a gentle lyricism, and a predilection for arpeggios. No. 13, in A minor, is the archetypal mature Poulenc work; it possesses the simplest of melodic contours, a rather bare chordal texture, filled out by slow arpeggiation, and a structure composed of three distinctive phrases in an ABABABCBABABA pattern. It is the exquisite harmonies, full of major and minor sevenths and clearly influenced by his own sacred music, that define this piece and place it among his best piano works. In the first eight-bar phrase, for instance, full seventh or ninth chords are generated, despite the two- or three-voice texture, by suggestion (measure 2), by appoggiaturas and passing tones, and by pronounced use of the sustain pedal to accumulate pitches (ex. 24). The style and key of this piece strongly suggest the fourth song in Le Travail du peintre, written two years earlier. No. 14, in Dp, begins gently and lyrically. The flow of eighth notes is maintained throughout. What characterizes this piece is the rich harmonies and the frequent tonal side-slips, as at measures 12-13 and 25-27. The extreme upper and lower registers of the piano are exploited.

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The Piano Music

Ex. 24.

Improvisation #13: bars 1-2, 5-8

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The final Improvisation, in C minor, is dedicated to the memory of Edith Piaf. It is extremely romantic in its flowing compound meter, with the melancholy hint of a popular song. There is a great deal of repetition (bars 7-12 return at 19-24 and, in another key, at 32-37; bars 7-22 return verbatim at 41-56),

also suggestive of popular music. Though this often sounds like a cabaret song, its principal melody would be echoed the following year in the third song of La Courte paille. This is, indeed, a rich and varied collection of piano pieces, free from

pretension, formulas, and conscious virtuosity. Encompassing a broad range of techniques and moods, it contains many of Poulenc’s best piano pieces. Feuillets d'album, Poulenc’s next piano work, consists of three short, rather nondescript pieces in a somewhat affected style. The title of the collection and the names given to the three pieces suggest a return to the influence of light salon music. “Ariette” is lively, dominated by a two-part texture (imitative at the outset) which opens into four parts for a brief section. It contains some curious dissonances on the first page, and a chromatic passage of octaves near the end. “Réve” is harmonically conceived, but it lacks the clear, functional progressions associated with Poulenc. These ambiguous progressions combine with a convoluted melodic line to create the dream-like atmosphere suggested by the title. The style of this piece is similar to the paino parts of several melancholy compound-meter Poulenc songs of the 1930s and 1940s, such as “Hier” (Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne). “Gigue” is light and dance-like, yet lacks melodic definition. This is one of Poulenc’s weaker collections of piano pieces.

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185

On the other hand, Villageoises (1933) are absolutely delightful. These six

“petites piéces enfantines” were drawn from Poulenc’s incidental music to Jean Giraudoux’s /ntermezzo of the same year. The Villageoises are indicative of the twentieth-century interest in children’s piano music, that is, music that is simple,

tuneful, easy to perform, and accessible; Debussy, Bartok, Ravel, and Prokofi ev

(Music for Children) are several other composers who wrote this type of music. Most music for children by serious composers is more subtle than its intenti ons would suggest, and Villageoises is no exception. There is nothing serious, however, about this music; it is intended to bring pleasure. The simple melodies and textures suggest the return of a Satie influence; indeed, the first movement of Villageoises sounds like Satie’s “Tyrolienne turque” (from Croquis et

agaceries), while the third movement

begins like the second of Satie’s Trois

morceaux en forme de poire. Chapter 4 of this study suggests that Poulenc was undergoing a serious process of evolution and maturation of style between 1932 and 1936. The year 1934 was the center of that period of change; Poulenc wrote only six short works that year. Four of these are inconsequential salon showpieces for piano. The Presto is a dazzling display of virtuoso technique, and nothing more; it was popularized by Rubinstein. The Deux intermezzi continue this trend, though with less success. Humoresque and Badinage are equally undistinguished. It is apparent that Poulenc turned to the piano during this difficult, intense period of his career because of the ease with which he could produce effective, though superficial, works. His more creative energies were directed elsewhere during these years. Between 1935 and 1939, Poulenc composed only two pieces for solo piano; this was a period of prolific song and choral music composition. These two pieces, Les Soirées de Nazelles and Bourrée, au pavillon d ‘Auvergne, the latter written from the 1937 Paris Exposition universelle, close the second period. Les Soirées de Nazelles is a suite consisting of a “Préambule” and a connecting “Cadence,” eight character-sketch variations, a second “Cadence,”

and a “Final.” Poulenc describes the genesis of this work in its preface:

The variations which form the body of this work were improvised during long country evenings at Nazelles, when the author played musical “portraits” with a group of friends gathered around his piano. One hopes that these variations, presented here between a Préambule and a Final will be able to evoke this game in its proper Touraine setting, a window

of the salon open to the evening.*”

It is clear that Les Soirées de Nazelles has much in common with the keyboard salon music of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, notably the portrait pieces of Couperin (see Les Folies francaises) and Schumann. Poulenc’s variations

are

not

exaggerated

caricatures,

but rather musical

thumbnail

sketches. The only person who can be identified by her portrait is “Tante” Sf

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The Piano Music

Liénard, to whom the entire suite is dedicated. This marvelous woman, depicted in variation 7, “L’Alerte vieillesse,” was one of Poulenc’s closest “country” friends, a woman who, in her seventies, appreciated Stravinsky, modern art, and

a good glass of wine; it was at her house in Nazelles that the variations were sketched out, in 1930. Poulenc clarifies one other portrait: “this suite con-

tains...a ‘Final,’ which is a sort of self-portrait.”*' It is surprising that critics have never examined the “Final” in this light. It should be recalled that Poulenc was quite harsh in his judgment of Les Soirées de Nazelles, and he later cut variations 4-6 out of the definitive performing edition. There is no doubt that the piece is the epitome of inconsequential salon music. Yet the piano writing is skillful, carefully worked out, and highly idiomatic (perhaps too idiomatic) throughout. In addition, the piece is stylistically somewhat disconcerting, for there is a curious combination of eighteenth-century harpsichord figuration (in the two “Cadences”), romantic technique and harmony (in most of the variations), and Poulenc’s own distinctive style (in the outer movements). The “Préambule” is in a clear, simple, tuneful style, not unlike that of the

Improvisations. The theme at bar 67 derives from the music hall aesthetic that pervaded much of Poulenc’s earlier music (ex. 25). Yet a slow, pensive conclusion (the last seven measures), emphasizing the intervals of second and seventh and containing, as the three ultimate chords, a fully diminished seventh, a major seventh, and a if indicates that this section was written in 1936, when the work was completed, rather than in 1930, for the mood and the harmonies

are irrefutably connected to Poulenc’s religious style, which evolved during the summer of 1936. Ex. 25.

Les Soirées de Nazelles: Préambule, bars 67-70

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

The following “Cadence,” with its elaborate figuration (rolled chords and runs—ex. 26), and slow tempo and frequent fermate, is strongly suggestive of a Couperin harpsichord suite. But the ninth chord and the following harmonic minor scale in the third measure indicate that this piece was written by a twentieth-century composer.

The Piano Music Ex. 26.

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The eight variations, on the other hand, have a strong nineteenth-century flavor, particularly in the piano figuration. Here, undoubtedly, is the essence of the criticism that Poulenc’s piano writing is “too pianistic.” The first two variations show a marked influence of Chopin, particularly in the extensive use of tempo rubato, which Poulenc normally rejected vigorously (see above). The last two variations, though still in a nineteenth-century style, are more characteristic of Poulenc, for each contains a passage that links it to an earlier work: bar 12 in #7 reflects the second bar of the slow movement of the Sextuor, while bars 28 ff. in #8 recall r. 31 in the Concerto pour deux Pianos. Poulenc was

justified in cutting variations 4-6, for they lack the charm of the others.

The second “Cadence” and the “Final” are linked by two phrases which are very characteristic of Poulenc. The first (bars 2-3 in the “Cadence”—ex. 27)

starts as an exultant clarion-call, reminiscent of, among other works, Aubade,; it

is transformed (at 11 bars from the end of the “Final”) to a tender, quasireligious utterance. The second phrase (bars 5-6 in the “Cadence” and 9 bars from the end of the “Final”—ex. 28) strengthens this religious suggestion, indicating that these two movements, like the “Préambule,” were written in

1936.

Ex. 27.

Les Soirées de Nazelles: second Cadence, bars 2-3

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The Piano Music

Ex. 28.

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© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

In addition to this religious undertone, the “Final” presents several other aspects of Poulenc’s personality: the lively, slightly impish opening; the sweet gentleness of bars 15 ff.; the burgeoning romanticism of the rubato on page 29; and the reference to the “Charme enjéleur” (“Coaxing Charm”) movement on page 30, alluding to Poulenc’s smooth sophistication. This final movement, then, does seem to provide a capsule sketch of the many sides of Poulenc’s personality, a personality which was evolving and maturing in 1936. Les Soirées de Nazelles is an uneven

work, neither to be condemned

harshly, as by Poulenc himself, nor praised lavishly, as by such critics as Claude Rostand. The outer movements are light and enjoyable, but the body of the work displays the worst failings of Poulenc’s middle period of piano music. The final period of piano composition contains only eight works, though it encompasses the last twenty-five years of Poulenc’s life; he clearly lost interest in the solo piano, particularly as an instrument of virtuosity, after the 1930s. W. Kent Werner points this out in describing the style of the final period: Bravura and brilliance have all but disappeared from Poulenc’s keyboard style in these last works. In their place, we find Fauré-like melodic lines supported by flowing chordal figuration

in the left hand. These last works are graceful, lyrical , charming, and effective.

Yet, there is more than just this graceful lyricism in the late piano works. The first two pieces of the period were undoubtedly the models upon which Werner based his judgment, for their flowing, arpeggiated style shows a strong late-romantic influence, particularly of Fauré. It is well to remember that the 1940s were Poulenc’s most romantic decade, as a study of contemporaneous songs and chamber works will show. Mélancolie, written in 1940 and dedicated to Poulenc’s dear friend Raymond Destouches, stands as his longest singlemovement piano work at 5’ 10”. The style throughout, except for several short passages in the B section of the ABA’ coda structure, consists of right-hand theme, plus bass and arpeggiated accompaniment. Gone are the bravura posturings and facile figurations of the second period. What makes this sound

The Piano Music

189

more like Poulenc than like Fauré or Saint-Saéns is the frequent use of seventh chords, the inventive means of arriving at cadences, and the variety and fluidity of modulation. Intermezzo en La b majeur (1943) uses similar procedures to produce one of Poulenc’s own favorite pieces. The mood here is less expansive and more intimate than that of the Mélancolie. The insistence on seventh chords and the harmonically generated melody produce a style suggestive of “Tu vois le feu du soir,” one of Poulenc’s best songs. Two later pieces of this period eschew this flowing romantic style, reverting instead to Poulenc’s earlier clarity, tunefulness, and levity. L’Embarquement pour Cytheére (1951), for two pianos, is the less important of these two pieces. Though it was extracted from his incidental music to the film “Le Voyage en Amérique,” the piece is an evocation of his carefree childhood at his family’s “country” home in Nogent-sur-Marne.*? He subtitled the piece “Valse-Musette,” which implies the type of café-concert entertainment that he had heard on summer evenings at Nogent: gay, tuneful, rhythmic, a bit nostalgic. Poulenc says of this atmosphere: “it is a question here of evoking the Isle of Love and the Isle of Beauty, where one could find Nogent guinguettes [outdoor nightclubs, though of a rustic nature], with their sentimental and waggish accordions.”** This lively waltz, one beat to the measure, is certainly evocative of the caféconcert; this is one of Poulenc’s most “popular” pieces, in the vein of the Valse and the song drawn from Léocadia (1940), entitled “Les Chemins de l’amour.” The form is a rondo, in which each episode (B and Care nearly identical) consists of a tune with simple chordal acompaniment, as does the A section. The second of these lighthearted piano pieces from the final period has an interesting history. During the summer of 1940, Poulenc was staying in Brive at the home ofa friend, Marthe Bosredon.** While he was busy working on Les Animaux modeles and the initial sketches of the Sonate pour violoncelle, he

received a visit from some of his little cousins. One youngster approached him while he was seated at the piano, placed a story of “Babar, le petit éléphant,” by Jean de Brunhoff, in front of him, and asked him to “play” it. He began to improvise for her, jotting down the ideas that delighted her. The project was abandoned, however, because of other pressing work. Five years later, the same

cousin again asked him to “play” the story. This time he composed until he had completed L’Histoire de Babar, le petit éléphant, for piano and narrator. This is not children’s music, in the manner of Villageoises, for it is difficult and often quite sophisticated; Babar is intended to be listened to, but not played, by children. Ultimately, Poulenc has recaptured his own child-like spirit in enriching a well-known story with accessible music; it is sometimes gentle and tender, sometimes impish and comical, sometimes melancholy, and often impertinent.

190

The Piano Music L’Histoire

de

Babar

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interspersed with narrative. Much of the music is designed primarily to depict and elaborate upon the text: Babar’s auto ride on page 9, his daily exercises on page 8, his lumbering ride on his mother’s back on page 4, the flight of the birds on page 23, and the arrival of the guests on pages 24-25; these passages could hardly stand alone as absolute music. Other sections are more suggestive of a mood, such as the opening, the old lady’s sadness on page 16, the joy of Babar’s election on pages 21-22, the ceremony on page 26, and the calm nightfall of the last two pages; these sections could stand alone, but one hearing links them irrevocably to their texts. Finally, other passages are more purely musical than pictorial or evocative, like the fast-tempo action scenes (pages 2-4, 5, 11, 14-15, 17-18) and the dances (pages 6-7, 12-13, 27-29). There are several serene passages in Babar, such as the bottom of page 4 to the top of 5, page 16, page 26, and the final two pages, which only a mature Poulenc could have written, with their suggestion of his religious music. Yet several of the sections recall the Poulenc of Les Six and the music hall aesthetic,

notably pages 12-13 and 27-29. The exultant marriage and coronation (pages 2627) sound curiously like the first theme of the slow section in the first movement of the Trio (ex. 29). Several shorter motives suggest Les Animaux modeles, which, as was mentioned above, Poulenc was working on when he first began Babar (ex. 30). Finally, the quasi-baroque style of the procession of guests (pages 24-25), which begins like a ground-bass, and the tender romanticism of pages 6-7 make this one of Poulenc’s richest and most diverse works. Ex. 29.

L‘Histoire de Babar: top of p. 26, and Trio: I, r. 13

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd,

Théme varié, written in 1951, is Poulenc’s final piano piece in the virtuoso style. It is highly uneven, yet it merits examination on the basis of certain distinguishing characteristics. The structure is a theme and variations in the classical sense, with a finale that doubles as a coda and an eleventh variation. Poulenc keeps to the classical conception of the form (that is, each variation maintains the general contours of the melody, phrasing, and harmonic

The Piano Music Ex. 30.

191

L'Histoire de Babar: top of p. 12, and Les Animaux modeles, p. 37 (piano score) iene se

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Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

structure)—he does depart somewhat by using a wide variety of tonalities—but he gives each variation a descriptive epithet; these serve both to clarify the mood of the particular variation and, incidentally, to define more precisely certain Poulenc styles which are reflective of the many sides of his personality. For example: the double-dotted style of variation 2, which can be encountered elsewhere in act III, scene i, of Dialogues des Carmélites and in the tenth

movement of the Stabat Mater, is now identified as “noble,” confirming its seventeenth- or early-eighteenth-century roots;*° the flowing, arpeggiated style of the first Nocturne, Mélancolie, and numerous other piano pieces and songs, can now be called “pastoral,” as in the third variation; the slow, gentle style,

dominated by seventh chords and appoggiaturas (see parts of Babar and the song Montparnasse, among others), is described as “melancholy”; the slow, tender, slightly dissonant style, not unlike much of Poulenc’s religious music, is here

called

“elegiac”;

variation

6, subtitled

“ironic,” is the closest to the

lighthearted style of the early-period pieces; and the very slow, dissonant, belllike style, so important to Aubade, is called “Sybilline.” Other variations are selfevident in mood and style, such as “Fantasque,” “Sarcastique,” and “Joyeuse.”

The opening theme is simply stated and graceful; the chordal style reveals Poulenc at his best, both harmonically and melodically. It is clearly diatonic, in Ap, but the remote temporary modulation in bars 23-25 is quite typical (ex. 31— cf. chapter 6). It ends on a tonic seventh chord. The first, fourth, sixth, eighth,

and ninth variations, as well as the finale, require considerable technique and are

definite bravura pieces; their roots in the nineteenth century are undeniable. Both in melody and ir’ harmony, variation 5 is reminiscent of “Le Lion amoureux” in Les Animaux modeles. The finale is a microcosm of the problems £f

192

The Piano Music

Ex. 31.

Théme varié: Theme, bars 22-28

© 1952 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission ofthe publisher.

inherent in the piece, for it combines, rather incongruously, obvious pomposity and passages that are, once again, “too pianistic,” with a simple, clever passage in the middle and a coda that presents the theme in disguised retrograde. Ultimately, Théme varié remains an uneven work—the best part is the theme itself—but it is important to the deciphering of Poulenc’s numerous moods and styles. The Sonate pour deux pianos (1952-53) cannot be considered one of Poulenc’s most pleasing piano pieces, for it is difficult, complex, and often highly dissonant. Yet it is just these qualities, coupled with its powerful “nofrills” style, that make this Sonate one of Poulenc’s “oeuvres a clef.” The work was conceived for, and dedicated to, Arthur Gold and Robert Fizdale, the

American two-piano team that had so successfully interpreted Poulenc’s Concerto pour deux pianos. Poulenc later wrote to the pianists, explaining, in detail, the conception of the Sonate: I began with the Andante, for I already knew the general architectural shape of the work. Surrounded by a Prologue, an Allegro molto, and an Epilogue, this Andante is, for me, the

true center of the work. It is no longer, as in the Andante of the Concerto pour 2 pianos, a question of a poetic homage to Mozart... but rather a lyric, profound outpouring. Taking inspiration, moreover, from my choral music, I attempted in several places a great purity of

line—for example, the unison basses in the last measures of the Andante. The first section is not conceived as the first movement of a classic sonata, but as a true Prologue. Its second theme, “animé,” is really only a rhythmic progression designed to reveal the lyric value of the melody ... which forms the central portion of the movement. The Allegro molto is a scherzo

whose principal interest resides in the central episode, “extraordinarily peaceful.” Properly

speaking, the Epilogue is not a Finale, but a recapitulation of the other three movements, preceded by a new theme. I would venture to say that the Concerto pour 2 pianos is bright and many-colored, while the Sonate has the gravity of a string quartet.*”

The Sonate, indeed, is one of Poulenc’s most serious works. It was preceded by the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél and the Ave verum and it, in turn, directly preceded the first work on Dialogues des Carmélites; this accounts for the influence of Poulenc’s choral music on the Sonate, and the connections

The Piano Music

193

between the Sonate and the opera. This is certainly a different musical world than that occupied by the youthful Poulenc, for there is no conscious effort to amuse, to shock, or even to please. The quasi-popular tunes of early works are abandoned (with the possible exception of r. | in the second movement); the lavish, romantic harmonies and keyboard mannerisms are absent; the stilted virtuosity of certain pieces of the middle period is all but missing. In their place is a distilled, pure style, similar to that of the late operas and chamber music. The Prologue begins with crashing, bell-like dissonances which remind us of the “Sybilline” variation in the Théme varié. A calm begins to come over the music as the dissonance gives way to enriched diatonicism at r. 1; yet the power of the opening, a seminal feature of the Sonate, remains. A noble, dotted figure is introduced at r. 3, which soon sounds like one of the key motives in Dialogues

des Carmélites (ex. 32—see chapter 12, ex. 25). This motive evolves, at r. 4, intoa theme which, in its lyricism, its seventh-chord harmony, and its melodic shape, serves as the prototype for the last movement of the serene Sonate for Oboe and Piano (ex. 33). The two pianos here alternate between theme-plus-chords and arpeggiated accompaniment. At r. 6 we find further melodic evolution, producing another prototype, this time of the fourth song in Le Travail du peintre (ex. 34). A brief transition at r. 7 brings back the A section to complete this ternary structure. Now, however, the calm diatonic motive is presented first

and greatly extended, before giving way, at r. 12, to the Sybilline dissonance that opened the movement. Ex,'32.

Sonate pour deux pianos: |, bars 4-5 after r. 3

The lengthy second movement employs the customary ternary structure, with slow B section, found in the fast movements of Poulenc’s chamber music. The A section contains four themes: an opening motive, more rhythmic than melodic, which foreshadows the opening of the Sonata for Flute and Piano (1956); the only lighthearted theme of the work (at r. 1), which recalls the third theme (two before r. 10) in the first movement of the Concerto pour deux pianos; a scalar one in C major (at r. 3), which is then extended and altered; and a gentle,

lyric closing melody at r.45, which yields a beautiful progression, reminiscent of certain passages in the Fauré Requiem, at 5 after r. 5 (ex. 35.) The middle section gf

194 Ex, 33.

The Piano Music Sonate pour deux pianos: 1, r. 4, and Oboe Sonata: III, r.

I

Used by kind permission of J&W Chester/ Edition Wilhelm Hansen London Ltd.

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© 1954 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

(r. 10-15) is itself tripartite in form, beginning and ending with gentle, evocative octaves over nonfunctional harmonies, while the passage from r. 12 to 14 is powerful, like the opening of the Sonate, and based on chromatic scales. This

entire B section is difficult, and rather experimental for Poulenc; much of it sounds more like Bartok. It also represents one of his lengthiest passages of nonfunctional harmony. A short return of A concludes the movement.

The Piano Music Ex. 34.

195

Sonate pour deux pianos: |, r. 6, and Le Travail du peintre: IV, opening

© 1957 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

EXO):

Sonate pour deux pianos: II, 3 after r. 5ff.

© 1954 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

The third movement is, as Poulenc said, filled with a profound and poetic purity whose influence could only be traced to his own choral music, particularly the religious works. The movement opens in the same exultant, Sybilline style as the Prologue, sounding here like a chorale. The A section of the usual ABA’ form begins at r. 1 with a simple melody, whose interest is generated by an exquisite accompaniment and harmonic setting. The chromaticism of the second part of the melody is typical of many of Poulenc’s motets. The B section, beginning at r. 3, is still more tender, yet it builds to a powerful peak at r. 4. After a Poulenc “waiting passage””® at r. 5, the B section closes with another gentle theme, closely related to the opening of the movement. This opening theme returns at r. 8, and evolves into the conclusion (at r. 10), using the effective

octaves in the second piano part. The ending of the movement is particularly

196

The Piano Music

effective, with a C¥ minor seventh chord resolving to a C# major ninth chord (ex. 36). Ex. 36.

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© 1954 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

The theme which pervades the Epilogue is presented in the first four bars; it returns no fewer than five times, interspersed with recollections of the first movement (not, as Poulenc himself said, of the first three, though the second is hinted at at one before r. 2) and exultant, fanfare-like figures. The calm recall of the Prologue at r. 9 is especially effective. For the most part, however, the movement is powerful and, occasionally, violent. It provides a clear illustration of Poulenc’s technique of writing for two pianos: the melody and accompaniment are placed alternately in each, either in equal segments of one or two bars, or in an unequal antecedent-consequent relationship (here, generally, as three bars to one, with piano one enjoying the melodic “advantage”). A final recall of the opening of the piece, assertive yet enigmatic, is heard at r. 17, before the onrushing conclusion. Like Dialogues des Carmélites, the Sonate is one of the culminating works of Poulenc’s mature years. It captures the best aspects of his three periods of piano music, it brings together many motives important to other Poulenc works, and it provides an indication of the power, the seriousness, and the diversity of which his piano music was capable. After this monumental work, two less significant pieces, both written in 1959, conclude Poulenc’s solo piano production. The first of these two late

pieces, entitled Novelette, was written for the House of Chester’? Centenary Album, and is based on a theme by Manuel de Falla from E/ amor brujo. The

The Piano Music Exe 3/5

197

Elegie: opening

© 1960 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

piece is dominated by the lengthy theme, which is exposed four times; there is, curiously, no contrasting section in this piece. The style is lyric, flowing, and arpeggiated, yet unpretentious and uncluttered; one is reminded of the Meélancolie or the Ab Intermezzo. This Novelette would have made afitting “derniére oeuvre” for Poulenc’s piano music. Yet the death of his beloved friend, Marie-Blanche de Polignac, to whom he had dedicated so many works, inspired him to write an Elégie for two pianos. He tells us, in an introductory note, that: “This Elegy should be played as if you were improvising it, a cigar in your mouth and aglass of cognac on the piano.” The piece begins beautifully with a simple, tender theme, reminiscent of the fall of night at the end of Babar, over alternating chords in the two pianos. A characteristic harmonic turn, to pIII, in the third measure adds interest to the progression (ex. 37). The mood changes somewhat at r. 3, where the middle

section, which is too long for its context, begins. Despite this flaw, the Elégie provides an amiable, serene conclusion to Poulenc’s output for piano.

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10

The Choral Music When my sacred and secular choral works are better known, the public will have a more exact image of my personality and they will see that I am not just the frivolous author of such works as Les Biches and Mouvements perpétuels. Such is, in any case, my hope. —Francis Poulenc’ Although Poulenc’s choral works seem to be appreciated and admired, to judge by their numerous performances and recordings, they have never been accorded the status in his oeuvre that he himself felt they merited. They have never been studied as a coherent body of works, nor have they been analyzed acceptably.’ Yet, from 1936 on, when Poulenc turned in earnest to the composition of choral music, the number of works he wrote in this genre was surpassed only by that of songs. In total, Poulenc wrote nineteen choral works, as well as three stage works (Les Biches, Les Mamelles de Tirésias, and Dialogues des Carmélites) that contain significant choral passages. Of these twenty-two works, fourteen are for a cappella chorus, one has an organ accompaniment, and seven are with orchestra. With the possible exceptions of Gounod, Schmitt, and Milhaud, no major French composer since the eighteenth century has produced such alarge and significant body of choral music. Poulenc’s choral music succeeds and pleases for two reasons: it articulates one of the most intimate and important facets of his complex personality, and it creates and maintains a viable personal style and language in an accepted genre. Despite his impish antics of the period of Les Six, Poulenc was a deeply sensitive, gentle man. Despite his intelligence and probing perception, he felt and communicated directly, often emotionally. Despite his nagging self-doubt and periods of melancholy, he espoused a fundamentally happy view of life and religion. The innermost feelings of this man of contradictions were expressed in his choral music: emotion, sensitivity, and joyous affirmation. Though Poulenc artfully expressed superficial sides of his character in his chamber music, his music for piano or for orehestra, and even his songs, the major portion of his choral works reflects the most serious, interior aspects of his personality; the Sf

200

The Choral Music

Chanson a boire, the Petites voix and the Chansons frangaises are the only exceptions, because of their apparent superficiality and lightheartedness. Poulenc himself often affirmed the importance of the choral music in revealing the depth of his character, as the citation opening this chapter indicates. In summing up the two reasons for the importance of his choral music, Poulenc expresses what he hoped his musical legacy would be: Indeed, I think that I put the best and the most authentic side of myself into my choral music. Excuse my immodesty, but I believe that it is truly in this domain that I have contributed something new, and I am not far from thinking that if the world is still interested in my music fifty years from now, it will be interested more in the Stabat Mater than in the Mouvements perpétuels.’

Poulenc certainly did create a new and individual style of choral writing. Perhaps the first characteristic of this style that should be pointed out is the dominance of a homophonic texture.* There is very little imitative or nonimitative polyphony, and whatever there is is generally quickly abandoned. Examples of such imitative polyphony would include bars 46-47 and 59-62 in the early Chanson a boire (1922), the openings of the motets Exultate Deo (1941) and Ave verum corpus (1952), and the remarkable “fugue” which opens the

seventh movement of Figure humaine (1943); nonimitative polyphony, though also rare, appears at r. 43 in the Stabat Mater. Poulenc’s predominantly chordal texture seems to have been derived, above all, from the music of Claude Le

Jeune (1530-1600), for whom he often expressed admiration.° The result is an emphasis on harmony; indeed, there are few bodies of choral music in which chord structures so clearly dominate polyphonic texture. A second result is a clear, generally syllabic declamation of the text. The prosody is not as carefully controlled in his choral music as it is in his songs and operas, but errors and violations seldom occur. Finally, a melody often emerges as the top voice in the flow of chords, particularly in such pieces as the third of the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél (1951-52) and the third movement of Un soir de neige (1944). Other distinctive textures appear, though less frequently. The most prevalent is varied and alternating groups of two and three voices, as exhibited in the Gloria of the Messe (1937). This technique, which first appears definitively in the Sept chansons (ex. 1), is similar to cross-choir orchestration, and is but one example of Poulenc’s orchestral conception in certain of his choral pieces. Another texture employed with some regularity is a successive entrance of several voices at short time intervals, a sort of “piling on” texture. This succession of entries may be deceptively imitative (as in bar I of the first of the Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence—ex. 2), it may be partially imitative (as at r. 6 in the Kyrie of the Messe—ex. 3), or it may only obliquely suggest imitation (as at r. 3 in Figure humaine—ex. 4).

The Choral Music Exit

Sept chansons: ll, r. 3-4

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Ex, 2.

Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence: 1, bars 11-13

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

ExSS.

Messe: Kyrie, r. 6

Chris-te

e.le-i_son

a

e © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

.

le-i_son

9

201

202

The Choral Music

Ex. 4.

Figure humaine: r. 3 nalcebemieiaall |

e

E

—

+s

——————

pe-tit temps s’a-chée limecomes (o

an

pe-tit temps s’a-che ving

le

|timecomesr

ta

an

-

end,

-

end,

pe-tit temps s’a-che

-

|

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The Sept chansons, in particular, exhibit a third textural technique: a distinct melody set against a clearly differing accompaniment; this texture may have been inspired by Poulenc’s own piano and chamber writing. Number r. | in “Marie” (the sixth of the Sept chansons) provides a good example of this texture (ex. 5); two bars later, a counter-melody and a second accompaniment, a “quasi pizzicato” bass line, are added. In “La blanche neige” (the first of the set), two distinct melodies are contrasted with an autonomous accompaniment at r. 1. This procedure is also evident in the Quatre petites priéres de Saint Francois d’Assise (1948). Exes:

Sept chansons: VI, r. |

la la la la la la la

—a

la la la. la

la la

la la la la la la

la

mf tres doux

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Another textural resource is a sort of false counterpoint between two or more voices, false in that at least one voice is an ostinato or a chromatic line with little individuality. The “counterpoint” involving an ostinato, which bears some resemblance to ancient organum and psalm recitation, is more prevalent; a

The Choral Music

203

lengthy example can be found at the opening of the second movement of the Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue (ex. 6). The “counterpoint” involving a nonindependent chromatic line can be seen at r. 33 in Figure humaine (ex. 7). All of these textures, though distinctive, are clearly subordinated to the dominant homophonic style. EX 6:

!

Laudes: \1, opening

a —

SSS

a SY ea

oo

es a

Be.a

te

An.t6.

ni

comme une psalmoldie

eS Be_a

.te

-An-to~ni

2

Be_-a - te

a An_to.

a

ni

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

EXS 7.

Figure humaine: r. 33

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Poulenc’s profound understanding of the qualities and capabilities of the human voice contributed greatly to his creation of a personal choral style. Whether he was working with three voices, as in Petites voix, or with a sonorously divided group of twelve (there is some doubling among the sixteen voices indicated), as at the end of Figure humaine, Poulenc managed to achieve

clarity, equilibrium, and a sense of space between the parts. Though his vocal lines often cross (see Ave verum corpus), they never impeded each other. His sensitivity to tessitura and voice distribution is uncanny for a composer who was virtually self-taught; there always seems to be the proper amount of distance between the parts, an achievement which Henri Hell calls “aeration.”°

Poulenc’s late acquisition of textbook knowledge concerning voice-leading actually helped him to achieve this “aeration,” while providing one of the more distinctive elements of his style. Eschewing academic principles of voice-leading, he composed what sounded good to him, resulting in numerous parallel and direct fifths and octaves, unprepared and unresolved seventh and ninth chords,

and wildly disjunct inner voices. A perusal of his choral works reveals many instances of parallel fifths,“an archaic and rather pungent sound; measure 17 in Ave verum corpus may be examined as representative of this practice (ex. 8). He -

204

The Choral Music

Ex. 8.

Ave verum corpus: bar 17

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

is even so bold as to introduce parallel 5/3 chords in measure 15 of the second of the Chansons frangaises. Direct fifths are far more common, particularly when he is searching for a certain harmonic color; an example can be found after r. | in Exultate Deo, in which two direct fifths (and one parallel fifth) appear within four measures (ex. 9). Once again, Poulenc audaciously allows all three voices to leap to a 5/3 triad in bar 18 of Ave verum corpus (ex. 10). In the two bars before r. 4 in the first of the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél, we find direct fifths, parallel fifths, and parallel 6/4/3 chords (ex. 11). All of this parallel and direct motion lends a rough-hewn, rustic flavor to Poulenc’s choral sonority, and often

surprises because of its divergence from the “neo-Renaissance” purity of the surrounding harmonies. Ex. 9.

Exultate Deo: 4 after r. Iff.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The disjunct inner voices referred to above seem to arise from the chromaticism in certain Poulenc choral works; in intensely chromatic passages, even the bass line occasionally gives up its normal functional role in order to take part in stepwise and disjunct chromatic motion. In the motet “Timor et tremor” (the first of the Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence), there are 129

The Choral Music Exs10:

205

Ave verum corpus: bar 18

in

cru.ce

pro

ho

.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent,

Bx hl.

Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél: |, 2 before r. 4f.

Ss: Do-mi-num na-tum . as a babe new-born

A. D - mi-n i-num na =tum ~ ; ie a babe new-born

Tie vi- de - rent the Christ - Child

Do- mi-num na-tum as a babe new-born -

P

B a

vi - de - rent

Do- mi-num na-tum .-

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

accidentals in the final nineteen measures. Yet, as is always the case in Poulenc’s choral music, the tonality is crystal clear at all times (more about this below). There seem to be three types of Poulenc chromaticism: that generated by rapid and flexible harmonic change, that generated by numerous diminished triads and diminished sevenths, and that created by appoggiaturas. The last six bars of “Timor et tremor” illustrate the first type of chromaticism (ex. 12); much of “Tenebrae factae sunt” (the third of the Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence), particularly bars 9-10, 21, and 27-28, is based on diminished structures (ex. 13); and bars 8-9 in “Marie” (the sixth of the Sept chansons) display appoggiatura chromaticism (see ex. 5). Of course, not all instances of chromaticism in the choral music are produced by one of these methods; many melodic lines are independéntly chromatic, such as the fugue-like theme at r. 28 in Figure humaine, and bars 19-20 and 36 in “Tenebrae factae sunt.” *

206

The Choral Music

Exel 2:

Lenten Motets: |, last 6 bars

p

mf

0

an

Se

ee ol

non Let

ed

con. fun. dar me

ne.

-

non

Let

ew

- isSS

4

con.fun

me

ne.

Let me

8

dar

ver,

| pacincaaaivunpiiasamsnasd iaessnnaiol

ee ES non Let

non con-fun.dar

ver,

con.fun . dar ne ~. ver, me

non

con.fun. dar

Let

me ne. ver,

Ly

non

80

ne

verbe

Do_mi-

ne_ver,

te

con.

ne

in

Hear me Lord, I oo

non con.fun.dar Let me

non __W_+ssss Ss con fun-_ dar

never,

5

te —

~

Do.mi-_ne_ Hear me Lord,

vo-ca.

call

ee in I

non = con

fun dar

Do

-.

Let

mi-_ ne

ne_ver,

ne

.

ver

me

found

con_fun

“ca,

. dar.

be con. founded —

ow

con_fun.dar

Let me_ —

ne_ver,

dar.

be con _ founded __

ee Sica neha ieneicemmmasa on

vi Thee

con. fun. dar

becon.found

cou.fun—

=

vo.ca. call

vr

on Thee ,

.

ed

con. fun ~ dar. pd

be

con. founded _

con. fun _ dar. be

con. founded __

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex.))3:

Lenten Motets: Ill, bars 27-28

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

To be sure, only a small percentage of the melodic material in Poulenc’s choral music is chromatic in nature. In general, it may be said that the melodic lines are short, motivic rather than tuneful, and more diatonic than chromatic.

In this sense, Poulenc’s choral music has much more in common with the Renaissance than with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Yet plainchant seems to have exerted a strong influence on the melodic style as well. For example, the top voice in the first seven bars of “Timor et tremor” is characterized by the narrow range and conjunct motion of chant (ex. 14). Numerous other harmonized examples can be found, such as the top voice at three after r. 18 in Figure humaine. Monophonic examples of chant-like writing are still more prevalent, notably at r. 1, 3, 4, and 8 in Litanies a la Vierge Noire, the opening of the Agnus Dei in the Messe, the opening of the fourth of the

The Choral Music

207

Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence, the opening of the first piece in Un soir de neige, the opening of the last of the Quatre petites priéres, and at r. 20, 56, and 63 in the Gloria. In fact, it may be said that a majority of the solos in Poulenc’s choral music are strongly suggestive of plainchant. Ex. 14.

Lenten Motets: |, bars 1-7, soprano only

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The melodic simplicity that dominates Poulenc’s choral music can be traced to other influences, in addition to plainchant. The organum-like aspect of one of Poulenc’s prevalent textures has already been mentioned; this is nowhere better illustrated than in the opening of “Tenebrae factae sunt.” Here, as in free organum, two voices (in this case, two pairs of voices) diverge gradually from a unison to a minor seventh. As in those passages influenced by chant, the melodic motion here is generally conjunct and diatonic. A final early music influence on Poulenc’s melodic simplicity is that of fauxbourdon, or parallel 6/3 chords moving conjunctly. This technique, commonly employed by Poulenc, imparts a sweet sonority to his choral music while setting it apart from that of most other twentieth-century composers.’ Several examples of this motion can be found in Ave verum corpus (ex. 15) and at r. 3 in the second of the Sept chansons. Curiously, despite these influences of chant, organum, and fauxbourdon, Poulenc makes little use of modality. One of the few manifestations of an influence of modal scales is the appearance of minor dominant-to-tonic cadences (asa result of lowered leading tones).* Once again, we can find these cadences in the Ave verum corpus (ex. 16), as well as in the rustic Chansons frangaises (e.g., in bar 16 of the fifth song). None of the characteristics of Poulenc’s style enumerated up to this point is particularly unusual or individual, yet the combination begins to amount to a personal style. There are other more important characteristics, unique to Poulenc, which underscore the importance of the choral music in his oeuvre. All of his choral works are strongly tonal, employing traditional functional relationships; several passages of harsh dissonance can be found, such as in the

third of the Sept chansons and in “Tenebrae factae sunt,” but these passages are always controlled by an overriding tonality (i.e., they arrive at a tonal cadence). Poulenc’s tonality can be orthodox, as in “O magnum mysterium” (the first of the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél), or it can be quite original, as in the ¥

208

The Choral Music

ee

= > © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 16.

Ave verum corpus: bars 11-12

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue. In nearly every case, his divergencies from standard diatonicism’ seem to be of three types: “unorthodox” (for the most part nonfunctional) progressions; a striking abundance of unprepared and unresolved seventh chords; and appoggiaturas on non-triadic tones other than the seventh. One can find examples of all three techniques in the highly colored motet “Timor et tremor,” one of Poulenc’s most fervent and progressive choral pieces. The passage encompassed by bars 29-35 contains some interesting progressions (ex. 17). Bars 29-30 describe a harmonic palindrome (the fifth and sixth chords are the same, with the melodic change accommodating the poetic exigencies); this is but one type of the numerous Poulenc “oscillations,” which will be discussed shortly. At first glance, bars 31-33 seem to present a more pronounced departure from diatonicism, yet they are completely functional, though colored by numerous appoggiaturas and other nonharmonic tones, such as the E anticipation in the tenor in bar 33. This is unquestionably one of Poulenc’s favorite harmonic procedures, in ail of his music: a short phrase of apparent harmonic ambiguity which arrives at a standard, functional cadence. Despite all

The Choral Music Bx: 17.

Thow

209

Lenten Motets: 1, bars 29-35

art

my

sure

de. fense._

Hear,

0

Lord,

I

call

i.

w_ pon

Thee;

_

n

Let

me

=

never,

Let me

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

of the nonharmonic tones in these three bars, the bass line, as is often the case,

defines a functional V°-I-V° of V-V cadence. It is actually more of an exception to find a phrase that does not end, in this manner, in a functional cadence, as

occurs in bars 29-30. The optimism of the text in this earlier phrase (“et adjutor fortis”—“and strong helper”) does not justify the diminished harmony and the ambiguous cadence; thus, we can only speculate on Poulenc’s intention in this

phrase—perhaps it must be considered within the overall context of despair. Bars 34 and 35, which are nearly identical, are representative of Poulenc’s

most radical harmonic language, for they are not functional in the sense. The motion by thirds is not characteristic of Poulenc; thus, though totally uncolored by added notes, actually sound dissonant context of Poulenc’s functional tonality. The glaring parallel fifths and baritone parts reveal Poulenc’s willingness to use bold voice achieve a particular harmonic color. Finally, we

traditional the triads, within the in the bass leading to

can turn back to bars 21-22 to find the third technique:

unprepared and unresolved seventh chords (ex. 18). As in his chamber music, Poulenc avoids the banality and naiveté of the popular music idiom by using these sweet-sounding seventh chords with discretion, by maintaining inventive voice leading, and by surrounding such a passage with phrases in significantly different, more traditionally “serious” styles; in this case, the passage in question is followed by two impeccably diatonic bars. For a sense of Poulenc’s use of all of these procedures in one brief passage to produce his highly distinctive harmonic style, we can turn tor. | in the first of the Sept chansons (ex. 19). The progression, a brief sequence (I - V’ of pVII -}VII- V - I), is hardly unusual, but it is unusual within the context of Poulenc’s tonal language, for only in his neoclassical works (1923-36) did he employ such sequential progressions with any frequency. The tonic and flatted seventh chords both contain unprepared, unresolved major sevenths, and the V’ of pVII £

210

The Choral Music

and V chords both contain appoggiaturas. The harmonic bass and melodic soprano, two independent lines widely separated by the accented harmonic inner voices, show Poulenc at his best, orchestrating his vocal lines and creating a distinctive setting for his harmonic embellishments. Ex. 18.

Lenten Motets: |, bars 21-22

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex 19;

Sept chansons: I, r. |

e

Bel

of

fi

.

cier

=P

ee

eae

cou. leur

or ses — FS

ee

du

ciel

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

As was mentioned above, a short phrase of oscillating harmonies is characteristic of Poulenc’s choral music. This technique is more prevalent in the sacred choral works, with at least five instances in the Quatre petites priéres, but it first shows up in the Sept chansons, Poulenc’s first wholly mature choral composition. Bars 3-4 of the first of these chansons may be examined as an illustration of the technique (ex. 20). Each of the four vocal lines is contained

The Choral Music

211

within the range of a fourth, with the exception of the last note of the soprano part. The four notes of each line are combined in a regular pattern, creating four distinct harmonies in the order 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 4, 1, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4; the

harmonies are I, }VII, VI’, and minor V’ (the last two harmonies ofthe passage are altered slightly to create IV 6/5 and minor V without the seventh). The floating, repetitive, oscillating nature of these harmonies removes their sense of function momentarily, much like Satie’s floating harmonies of his Rose-Croix period and of Socrate. Poulenc never abandons functional motion entirely, as

did Satie, for he places the tonic chord at the beginning and emphasizes it in the middle of this phrase, while concluding with the dominant chord. Ex. 20.

Sept chansons: |, bars 3-4 7 — Cn en a ee Se enensendlllncasteectedesccsundshonnd pascal nas]paaantegaenidh-aApanaaatilt sancti acunttessamcl steamed hemnaetlt an tt ccledesdaes arene aw. CC) eS py Pmerereed

L’un est vé.tu en

of..fi

.

cier Lunest vé.tu

en cui_sinier

L’un est vée.tu en of. fi -

cier L'unest vé.tu encui.sinier.

L’un est ve.tuen

cierL’unestve.tu

of.fi

.

encuisinier

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

A final harmonic characteristic might be designated, for want of a better name, a Poulenc “fingerprint,” for it is the most distinctive feature of his choral style, and it seems to be found only in his choral music. It is a passage of rich harmony, full texture, often chorale-like in rhythm and tempo, and replete with seventh

chords

and, on

occasion,

added

sixths, ninths

or elevenths.

The

harmony is generally functional and its motion is usually manifested in the bass line. A particularly lyric example”® is found at bars 3-5 after r. 4 in “O magnum mysterium” (the first of the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél, 1951-52—ex. 21). The first nine harmonies explore many ways of presenting or implying G major harmony, including inversions, added sevenths and sixths, and a superimposed super tonic chord with a raised third. The use of the expressive humming and the bass liné which fluctuates between melodic and harmonic functions provide color and variety. The third measure of the example explores

212

The Choral Music

a static B major harmony in much the same way, with added sevenths, neighbor tones, and accented passing tones. A pleasing balance is thus created between stable tonality, mellifluous harmony, and a lyric melody. Ex. 21),

Christmas Motets: |, bars 3-5 after r. 4

lips closed

‘

ha -jus vis- ce - ra -low'd is thy womb

me - m- ¢that it could

Do blood

y

L

d

Se sedisChris-cum > of Christ our Lord.

hal

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Many fingerprints of this type employ similarly stable chord structures, most of which are characterized either by a pedal or by the use of oscillating harmonies, as described above. Such a passage can be found at r. 3 in the first of the Quatre petites priéres (ex. 22). Here an octave pedal and oscillating structures are both used to create an E} chord and several of its permutations

(added seventh, added seventh and ninth, added sixth). Bars 6-9 after r. 7 in the

motet Exultate Deo represent a bolder fingerprint (ex. 23). Here an A pedal underlines a simple series of descending triads: G minor - F - E dim-D min. But the insistent appoggiaturas from above, the E escape tone in the pedal in the

second measure, and the divided texture add a personal touch to a quite ordinary progression.'' Clearly, it is the sacred a cappella works which contain

the most examples, but they can be found in the secular Eluard choral works

(Sept chansons, Figure humaine, Un soir de neige) as well. The treatment of meter and rhythm in Poulenc’s choral music differs little

from its treatment in his other music, as outlined in chapter 6. Once again, meter changes tend to be frequent and fluid. The only choral works that have no changes of meter are two of the five pieces in Petites voix and four of the eight Chansons frangaises, Poulenc’s most conservative choral works, as well as the second of the Quatre petites priéres, a striking study in chordal juxtaposition. The changes in meter may be limited to several in any one piece, or they may occur nearly every other measure, as is the case in some of the more dramatic pieces, such as the Kyrie of the Messe (twenty-two changes in forty-four

measures). Meter changes are, of course, most frequently generated by the flow of the text, or by Poulenc’s interpretation of the flow of the text. Occasionally,

The Choral Music Ex. 22.

213

Quatre petites priéres: 1, r.3

salut,

ta.ber.|~.na.cle;

salut,maison;

sa.lut,

ta.ber_|-

na.cle;

salut,maison;

- na-cle; - na.cle;

salut,maison; salut,maison;

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 23.

Exultate Deo: bars 6-9 after r. 7

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

however, these changes seem to be dictated by purely musical decisions. The tenbar solo introduction to the Agnus Dei of the Messe contains five changes of meter, none of which is generated by textual meter or accent. Here Poulenc’s sense of musical line and phrasing, as well as his feeling for chant-like melismas, seem to be directing the metrical flow. Curiously, the bulk of the text in this solo passage appears in the final two bars, and it is poorly set in térms of the Latin textual stress (ex. 24); the following would be more appropriate:

214 Ex. 24.

The Choral Music Messe: V, bars 9-10

Qui

tol - lis

pec.cca

_ ta

mun

- di

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S, agent.

fe ye See 3/4 Qui

Tol-Lis

Pec-Ca-Ta

Mun-Di

Poulenc seems to have relied on the accents that a French pronunciation would produce: peccata mundi; but the accent on “qui” rather than on “tdllis” is rather baffling. Such casualness over prosody seems to be more common in Poulenc’s choral music than in his songs and operas. Another random example can be found at r. 2 in the second of the Sept chansons, where the second syllable of “misére” should receive the downbeat of the second measure, rather than the weak second beat. In the first section of Figure humaine, no less than five unaccented feminine word endings are placed on downbeats. Perhaps all of this indicates that textual, rhythmic, and metrical considerations are often out-

weighed by purely musical ones in the choral music. Poulenc’s rhythmic language, like his use of meter, may be described as fluid and conservative in his choral music. Several characteristic practices deserve mention. Much of the syncopation in these choral works results from the removal of an expected stress rather than the displacement of the stress; the most commonly removed accent is the first one of a measure, resulting in a

downbeat silence (ex. 25). Another practice, designed to produce a dramatic effect, is a sudden shift to a lower level of note values. An example occurs at two bars before r. 4 in the second of the Sept chansons, where a short phrase in sixteenth notes produces a startling dramatic result (see ex. 1). In other similar phrases, Poulenc may increase the tempo (as at r. 4 in the fourth of the Sept chansons), heighten the contrast by lengthening the note values before or after the given phrase (as at r. 2-3 in the third of the Sept chansons), or include longer note values with the short values (as in bars | 1-14 in the last of the Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence); all of these practices are designed to highlight the impact of the rhythmic acceleration. A third characteristic practice, similar to that just described, is to change the rhythmic level of one or more voices withina full-textured passage; the altered voice(s) may increase in note values, as at r. 2in the third piece of Un soir de neige, or they may decrease, as at r. 1 and 2 in the

first of the Sept chansons. In this way, Poulenc prevents his extremely homophonic texture from becoming rhythmically monotonous. A description of Poulenc’s choral music would not be complete without a word about phrasing. The frequent meter changes often complicate a fairly regular pattern of phrasing. In general, it may be said that the simpler secular

The Choral Music

215

pieces are essentially regular, two- and four-bar phrases being the most prevalent. Most of the sacred works, as well as the Eluard settings, are considerably less regular, with three-bar phrases often appearing as frequently as the more common lengths. Oscillating harmonies further obscure the clarity of phrasing in many pieces. Exo25:

Laudes: II, r. 5

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Few of these stylistic characteristics of the choral music can be described as “innovative,” but such is the case with Poulenc’s conservative, tuneful, tonal

language. In addition, many of these characteristics can be traced to earlier, more

innovative

composers,

particularly

Debussy,

Ravel,

and

Satie.

For

example,the concept of parallel motion was explored by both Debussy and Satie around the turn of the century. Yet their parallel chords tended to be added tertian structures (sevenths, ninths, etc.), while Poulenc’s, at least in the choral

music, are often simple triads. In addition, Poulenc rarely used a chain of parallel chords to suspend temporarily the functional motion, as did the two earlier composers. Open fifths, lowered leading tones, voices used quasiinstrumentally, and even fauxbourdon can also be found in the music of the same three composers. But none of them produced more than a handful of choral works. It also has been shown that Poulenc added a number of his own “fingerprints” and a skillful handling of textures. Furthermore, we can safely say that the combination of these characteristics is unique and highly personal, and that a consistent level of compositional quality is maintained throughout this expressive and colorful body of music. Poulenc’s first essay in the choral medium was a Chanson a boire, written in

1922, while he was studying with Charles Koechlin. '* He describes the genesis of the work: In 1922, an American friend having urged me to compose a choral piece for the Harvard Glee Club...1 thought, quite natafrally, that a drinking song would suit their lively spirit, and I chose, from an old 17th-century collection, to which I would later return for the texts of my

Chansons gaillardes, a sort of straightforward Bacchic hymn."

216

The Choral Music

Paradoxically, the advent of Prohibition prevented the Glee Club from introducing the Chanson a boire in 1922, and Poulenc never heard it himself until 1950. At that time, he was “stupefied” to find that he did not wish to change a single note. He admitted: “If I have insisted on telling you this, it is oeprewe to you that the feeling for polyphonic music is probably innate in me.’ This judgment seems justified, even though his texture is far more homophonic than polyphonic (Poulenc may simply have equated “polyphonic music” with the choral idiom). Chanson 4a boire is a remarkably fresh, accomplished choral work for a composer who was barely twenty-three years of age. Yet there was but little in Poulenc’s background or studies that would have prepared him to compose such a work. The music he admired and studied as a teenager was written mostly for piano, chamber ensemble, solo voice, or orchestra. His contemporaneous studies with Koechlin did concentrate primarily on Bach chorales, which would help to explain his feeling for voicing and harmony. And the influence of Ravel’s Trois chansons of 1916 is evident, in the texture, the broad vocal ranges, the use of quasi-instrumental syllables, and the

overall verve of the style. But despite these studies and models, Poulenc was ata loss to explain the ease and skill with which he composed choral music; he told the critic Clarendon: “I received from heaven the gift of knowing how to write

for a chorus.”"° The Chanson a boire is at once Poulenc’s most vibrant and most crude choral work. It is set for four-part male chorus, which further divides into as many as six parts. The structure of the piece is ABA’ coda; there are numerous changes in tempo, mood, texture, and voicing. The compositional techniques employed are bold and direct, with numerous parallelisms, including fourths, fifths, octaves, and 5/3 triads (ex. 26), melodic augmented seconds (within parallel triads), harsh dissonances (mostly seconds and sevenths), and guttural sounds. The harmonies, textures, and voicings are inventive, the rhythms are

lively and varied, and a more lyrical passage (bars 29-43) provides contrast. Ex, 26;

Chanson a boire: bars 19-20 and 9

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The Choral Music

217

Yet its exuberance marks Chanson a boire as youthful in comparison with the a cappella works of Poulenc’s maturity. Nor do the three choral numbers in his ballet Les Biches (1923) give much of a hint of what was to come thirteen years hence. These frankly Stravinsky-like choruses are discussed elsewhere in this study. Poulenc provides us with an account of the cause of his return to choral music in 1936, after a thirteen-year absence: In March of 1936, I attended several performances, at the home of the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, of Monteverdi motets, sung by Nadia Boulanger’s vocal ensemble. Since I owned a complete edition of these works, I returned home to re-study passionately these polyphonic

masterpieces, '°

Thus it was Monteverdi whose music seems to have triggered Poulenc’s return to choral music, though he went on to study the works of Le Jeune, Jannequin, and other sixteenth-century French and Flemish masters. Other forces, however,

were also at work in the spring of 1936. Poulenc had just come into possession of a new volume of poetry by Paul Eluard, the lyrical La Vie immédiate. The poems, especially “Belle et ressemblante,” attracted him strongly, and he sought to try his hand at a choral setting of Eluard after his ground-breaking solo song

settings of the preceding year, the Cing poémes.'’ Using five of the Eluard

poems, he was moved to add two additional settings (“La Blanche neige” and “Marie”) by his other preferred poet, Guillaume Apollinaire. Finally, Poulenc received a commission, at about the same time, from the renowned Chanteurs de

Lyons. The result of all these factors was the Sept chansons, written in March-

April of 1936. These seven choral settings remain one of Poulenc’s finest achievements in the medium and one of the most compelling and dramatic sets of short choral pieces of this century. Certainly the quality of the poetry helps to account for the significant improvement over his choral works of the early 1920s. But more importantly, this work is one of the first manifestations of the evolution that

Poulenc underwent during the years 1932-36.'* From the first page of the Sept chansons, it is evident that Poulenc has found his true medium. There is an ease of writing, a sense of flow in these pieces that enhance the rich harmonic language. Though they are written comfortably and idiomatically for the voice throughout, these seven choruses exhibit a fullness of “instrumentation” redolent of orchestral music. Héléne Jourdan-Morhange recognizes this: “There is something very new in the Sept chansons: the choral parts are treated in the manner of an old concerto in which the instrumental groups challenge each other and dialogue.”” 2 perusal of the first piece alone reveals numerous combinations of voices, a concertato effect in contrasting solo or duet with full texture, an inventive use of untexted (“la” and “oh”) voice parts, and a crystalline

218

The Choral Music

clarity of spacing. The texture changes and cross-choir orchestration effect between r. 2 and 4 in the second piece are even more remarkable. The other major achievement of this work, and the one which lends it such

impact, is the variety of moods contained within. As with his song settings of Eluard

and Apollinaire,

Poulenc

seems

to have clarified or enhanced

the

meaning of each of these seven poems. It is difficult to explain how he creates a sense of clean, bare snow in the first piece; but the striking triple octaves and the open fifths, fourths, and sevenths at r. 5 help to account for the brightness of the last piece. Word painting abounds in these choruses. We might look at the fourth piece for several examples: “L’Odeur des roses” is depicted by the sweet fauxbourdon at one bar before r. 2, while the agitated style at three bars before r. 5 fits the text precisely (“luttant avec les aiguilles de la pendule”). The solitude of the narrator as he walks by the Seine is portrayed by the solo phrase at r. 7 in the sixth piece. Poulenc’s choice of texts is particularly striking for, though the imagery is often obscure or ambiguous, an overall sense of direction and continuity can be felt, one that is more

than alittle

reminiscent

of the textual narrative in

Schubert’s Die Winterreise.” The first poem transports us outside in the winter’s snow, contemplating the angels and the brightness of the sun; the feeling of longing (“que n’ai-je, ma bien-aimée entre mes bras”) is similar to that evoked by Miiller’s verses. The next two poems deepen the narrator’s love for his “bienaimée,” while introducing the concept of nudity, so important to Eluard’s poetry. “Tous les droits” serves as the fulcrum of the set, and its difficult imagery takes us subtly out of the winter (“Le jour le plus court de l’année et la nuit exquimau”) and toward the spring. The fifth poem focuses our attention on the beloved’s face, while recalling the “dead leaves” and “hidden sun” of autumn. In the penultimate text, the narrator wonders when “Marie” (the beloved?) will

return. The positive imagery of the final text conducts us to the warmth of the summer (unlike the melancholy conclusion of Die Winterreise), though it is not revealed to us whether the beloved has returned. Thus, although there are no internal musical connections, the Sept chansons form a textual cycle and should

be performed as such. Poulenc’s treatment of text in the choral music differs somewhat from that of the songs. There is considerably more repetition of single words and phrases, either immediately (as in “La Blanche neige”) or as a unifying device at the end of the piece (as in “Tous les droits”). In comparison, repetition is employed only in the sixth of the nine songs of Tel jour, telle nuit, and it is the shortest text in the cycle. More interestingly, Poulenc uses the flexibility of a mixed chorus to overlap textual phrases (see r. 4 in “Tous les droits”), or to present two phrases simultaneously (see four before r. | in “Belle et ressemblante”). Finally, his most creative procedure involves two (or three) different simultaneous rhythmic settings of the same line, as at r. 3 in “Par une nuit nouvelle.”

The Choral Music

219

Many of the stylistic characteristics of these choruses have been described in the general analysis above. The first piece, “La Blanche neige,” is one of the richest, with its major-minor alternation at the beginning, its parallelisms, its passages of oscillating harmonies (bars 3-4 and three from the end), and its concluding tonic thirteenth chord. The second piece, “A peine défigurée,” again employs significant major-minor alternations. Several solos, and differing voice combinations (at r. 3), add interest to the homophonic texture. The third piece is one of the most difficult and dramatic, with its violent opening, its complicated texture at r. 3, and its pandiatonic cluster chords at r. 8. The fourth and central piece, “Tous les droits,” contains the most variety of moods, textures, and

harmonies. The bare, two-voice polyphony of the opening (using all the possible diatonic intervals) contrasts with passages of full, lush harmony, of parallel motion, and of solos. This piece ends on a tonic ninth chord.

The fifth piece is, by contrast, the most tender and gentle in the set. It opens with simple octaves, expands to a two-voice texture suggestive of free and parallel organum, and then to three-voice parallel writing, before a lovely change to the parallel major introduces homophonic texture at r. 1. The sixth chorus makes use of nontexted syllables to provide an accompaniment for tuneful melodic lines. The ostinato phrase at three before r. 1 (ex. 27) resembles a key motive in the Concerto pour orgue, which Poulenc was also working on in the spring of 1936.7! The seventh piece, “Luire,” is, like the fourth, filled with

changes of mood

and texture. It is highly rhetorical, aided by interesting

progressions (at r. 1), oscillations (at r. 2), and numerous seventh chords and

appoggiaturas. The crystalline three-voice harmony at r. 5 (ex. 28), suggestive of a harmonic oscillation, is characteristic of Poulenc and would reappear in later

works. It remains to be said that because of a legal problem with his publisher, Poulenc was forced to replace the two Apollinaire poems before releasing the set. The original printing of 1936 contains only the five Eluard settings; Poulenc

issued the other two choruses in 1937 with substitute texts, “La Reine de Saba” and, remarkably, a different “Marie,” both by the poet Jean Legrand. Once the legal difficulties had been settled, the Apollinaire poems were reinstated in 1943. Thus, early editions of this work contain the Legrand texts, and at least one recording exists of that version.

Poulenc continued in the choral medium for his next work, Litanies a la

Vierge Noire. The religious experience of August 1936” that gave birth to this work would

seem to call for a choral piece, for choral music, humane yet

personal, has always been the prime medium of religious expression. Poulenc’s musical response to this profound jolt to his existence was a tender, gentle, devotional piece, combining his newly developed urban maturity with a country He described his intentions in writing the Litanies a la directness and simplicity” Vierge Noire:

220

The Choral Music

ExT 275

Sept chansons: V1, 3 before r. Iff. f

i }

YY

=H)

—

Quand

dono

')

é

=)

——t 7

Te . vien .

- @drez - vous

;

')

ry

Ma . rie

>

ho FA phN Ap AA Ap pA DADA Ap pA }

la la la la la le la la

ila la la la le leala la iam la la le le

| ne SG , Kelatant Quand

done

>

re.

>

vien.

>

la Ja lelala la la la

~-drez- vous >

Ma.

>

lale lele le jala la

rie >

lala le la le

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Ex. 28.

Sept chansons: VII, r. 5 >

Cow

. reur

te .- nant

par

un

fil

au

dor

.

meur.

Cou

- reur

te . nant

par

aun

fil

au

dor

-

meur.

© 1936, 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

In this work I tried to depict the mood of “country devotion” that so deeply struck me in this mountain locale [Rocamadour]. This is why this invocation must be sung simply, without pretension,”

He chose textual litanies and female or children’s choral voices to convey the calm, devotional tone and rustic simplicity of French peasant prayers. The organ serves mostly to connect the vocal phrases, either with meditative chorale-like passages, or with bold, harsh, sometimes dissonant extensions of the dramatic endings of the vocal cadences. In several places, the organ provides soft harmonic accompaniment for the voices, and in four

The Choral Music

OT

instances (five bars before r. 5, four bars before r. 7, two bars after r. 8, and four

and six bars after r. 12) it adds significant counterpoint. All of these techniques were being explored by Poulenc in his Concerto pour orgue, which he was also composing in 1936.** After the remarkable oscillating introduction, with its parallel fifths, its persistent pungent sevenths, and its major-minor alternation (ex. 29), the organ all but disappears, returning gradually and increasing in importance as the piece progresses. Exo2o)

Litanies a la Vierge Noire: opening

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

The vocal style is worlds apart from that of the Sept chansons, for the strong influences here are chant and fauxbourbon,

rather than a complex,

quasi-orchestral homophony. The bare opening line, rising dramatically through the Dorian mode (one of Poulenc’s infrequent uses of modal scales), is answered by a gentle four-bar phrase of oscillating D minor harmonies at r. 2 (ex. 30). Each new vocal section is begun by a monophonic vocal line: those at r. 3, 4, and 8 are chant-like; the one at r. 5 is more personal and lyrical in its outline;

those at r. 7 and 10 are declamatory, with contrasting moods of power and intense calm. A fauxbourdon texture appears at six bars after r. 4, as wellas at r. 6 and 12. Poulenc’s unmistakable harmonic style is evident at twelve after r. 4, at

r. 9, and from r. 10 to the end. The text is declaimed syllabically throughout, with no overlapping of lines, as is appropriate for a prayer. The quiet, devotional mood, the chant-like solo lines, the simple harmonic texture of the three vocal parts, and certain harmonic gestures, notably the oscillation at r. 2 and the brief phrases at four before r. 12 and five after r. 12 (ex. 31), would become familiar parts of Poulenc’s sacred choral language. Indeed, variations of r. 2 and the concluding organ oscillation would resurface in secular works (e.g., Tel jour, telle nuit, Les Animaux modeéles) to suggest a subtle or overriding religious intent. Poulenc’s next work. Petites voix, is also for chorus (three-part female), but it does not achieve the depth or individuality of the Sept chansons and the

222

The Choral Music

Litanies. Perhaps the lighthearted, childlike texts by Madeleine Ley failed to inspire Poulenc; or perhaps the work simply seems pale in comparison with its two predecessors. In general, the textures are straightforward and the melodies and harmonies are quite unremarkable. The interest lies in the vigorous rhythms and the overall uncluttered simplicity. Exasul

Litanies a la Vierge Noire: r. 2

-teur,

ay-es

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

Ex. 31.

Litanies a la Vierge Noire: 4 before r. 12 and 5 after r. 12

© 1937 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

pi-tié de nous.

The Choral Music

223

One year later, in the summer of 1937, Poulenc produced, by contrast, his most difficult, dense choral work: the Messe en sol majeur. The styles and moods of the Sept chansons and the Litanies seem to have been combined here,

for the Messe has both the devotional impact of the latter and the complex texture and harmonic style of the former. Poulenc said that “this is, harmonically speaking, my most complex a cappella work; [but] the Messe is more sober, more romanesque than the Stabat Mater. »?5 Thus, Poulenc has employed a full, rich texture (often opening to six parts, and occasionally to as many as nine) while avoiding anything that could be construed as excessive, rhetorical, or

ornamental. In dedicating the work to the memory of his father, the man who was responsible for his religious upbringing, Poulenc underlined the simple, loving inspiration behind this work; he referred to this inspiration as “realism”:

“My Mass is much closer to Victoria than to Josquin; it has, I dare say, a realistic

side characteristic of Mediterranean art.””° In describing the Messe, Poulenc spoke of the “roughness,” the “almost savage style””’ of the Kyrie. Indeed, after the bare opening, both the Kyrie (in G) and the Gloria (in B) display a power hitherto unseen in Poulenc’s choral music. Several dramatic features are in evidence: vigorous dotted rhythms; the severity of parallel fifths and fourths; accented and staccato vocal effects (ex. 32); and striking melodic lines (ex. 33).

After these two rich, dramatic movements, the Sanctus (in E) brings a mood of joyous repose; Poulenc referred to this sweetly romantic movement as a and “carillon of voices.””* Here a full, chordal texture, replete with added sixths sevenths, predominates. There are numerous repetitions of the first two motives,

but Poulenc cleverly shifts them to the subdominant at r. 29 without changing the melodic lines. The Hosanna halves the tempo and fills the texture to eight voices, producing some of the richest chords Poulenc ever wrote. With the quiet, subdued Benedictus, we enter yet another world. The movement begins simply and in a straightforward harmonic style; but the harmony becomes increasingly convoluted until, at r. 37, there is a startling at r. display of chromaticism. The music of the opening of the movement returns the 39, an unusual occurrence in Poulenc’s choral music. Less surprisingly, Hosanna returns literally. dei, Poulenc had this to say about the last movement: “As for the Agnus an Christi which begins with a soprano solo in the high register, it symbolizes the taken over by soul, confident ofa life after death.””” The soprano’s phrases are cally; the the choral soli. Poulenc sets most of the final two petitions harmoni s simply, second begins mysteriously (diminished chords at r. 45) but cadence s sensuous at while the third begins simply (G minor-major at r. 47) and become in this movement, “Dona nobis pacem” There is, of course, much text repetition

as in all others but the Gloria.

224

The Choral Music

x52:

Messe: r. 18

,amipennnbiaiaanamaasadpinns ttcrapaseameeene=aemane sed FRI ESS ES SE STATS SETI Sel epee a ee eee eg a eee

SUD Tees TESS O eS 1} DEE? oe SES eeSe — fond iccentslais samuesicmanameniatticteas ionaeeeatod Dn sanssnidseapupeenacatdmiabiaiasss cen

qui

tol - lis

pec_ca

aatres seclel seandé

qui tol lis pee_ca

ta

mun-_di

;

_ ta

mundi

qui tol _lis

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S, agent.

Ex, 33;

Messe: 3 after r. 9ff.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

In addition to the rich variety in the Messe, it contains the first choral examples of cellular construction, a compositional technique employ ed fre-

quently by Poulenc in his mature works.*° Two examples can be found, at three

after r. 7 and at three after r. 36, Despite this variety, the Messe is one of Poulenc’s least frequently perfomed a cappella choral works. It is difficul t and often convoluted in its chromaticism and harmonic progressions, but it is far less so than choral works of Schoenberg and Messiaen. Certainly its skilled voicings and its varied and effective moods should place it high in Poulenc ’s choral oeuvre. Poulenc’s next choral work, Sécheresses, a cantata on texts of Edward James,”' was a failure with the critics and the public, partly becaus e of a poor

The Choral Music

225

first performance. Discouraged after this premiére (May 1938), Poulenc wanted to destroy the work, but relented on the advice of Auric, Yvonne Gouverné, and

Roger Désormiére. Poulenc later thought the work worth revising in 1951, and he even called it one of his better pieces (perhaps an exaggeration), saying that it influenced his choral writing in Les Mamelles de Tirésias and the Stabat Mater. Yet Sécheresses is a curious work, stark, harsh, desolate, more strident than most Poulenc; perhaps the dry, depressing nature of the surrealist texts of James

provoked

such music. One is reminded

of the emotionless yet disturbing

paintings of Dali and Tanguy.” A great deal of the choral writing is monophonic (unison or octaves), the lines being sometimes conjunct, more often jagged and dissonant, full of minor seconds and tritones, and often suggestive of modal scales (ex. 34). Many of the homophonic sections are equally harsh, and seldom does Poulenc employ the sensuous, consonant sound which is so characteristic of his choral music; the

most important of this small number of diatonic passages, bars 107-113 (ex. 35), serves as a stylistic link between the fifth of the Sept chansons and certain sections of Figure humaine. It is hard to see how the barren, sinister style of this piece influenced Mamelles and the Stabat Mater, other than its being Poulenc’s first large-scale work for chorus and orchestra. The importance of Sécheresses lies more in its gaunt seriousness and in Poulenc’s effort to break new ground in choral writing, however uncharacteristic it turned out to be. After this array of choral works during 1936 and 1937, Poulenc contributed only six motets to the genre during the ensuing five years, for 1938-42 was a period of intense song composition. He composed eleven motets in all, the other five appearing in 1952. All but one of these are for four-voice a cappella chorus. They are all restrained, expressive, dramatic without dramatizing, and written in a rich, mature language. The first group, Quartre motets pour un temps de pénitence (Lenten motets), was written in 1938-39. Poulenc describes its genesis: While attending... the first performance of Milhaud’s marvellous Cantates de la paix and Deux cités...1 suddenly came up with the exact image of my Motets...and I wrote four motets for Holy Week which are as realistic and as tragic as a Mantegna painting. “

On another occasion, he claims to have been inspired by Victoria in composing

these motets,°° but they are certainly far closer in style to the expressive Milhaud

pieces. The dramatic Latin texts for Holy Week called forth one of Poulenc’s richest, most colorful collections of vocal pieces. The style can be compared to that of the Messe, though the harmonies are somewhat less convoluted. In general, the Lenten motets exhibit the following characteristics: a full texture,

broadening often into six parts; a chordal style, with less solo and duet writing ¥

226

The Choral Music

Ex. 34.

Sécheresses: bars 65-70

- Si qu’u.ne

YA

.

cro

© 1938, 1952 Durand S.A.

Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

EX 939.

Sécheresses: bars 107-113

o 2 a~

a

. 86. che_res

cest

Cet

-

te

la

fois

6é_che_res

_ se

sé_che_res

_ se,

_ se

d@’hi ver;

res

_.se

@hi ver;

sé_che.res

_ se

d’hi ver;

é.che

a

cris _tal

- | vient

du

cris _tal

l

du

Ip.

He ent

il

de

des

eats kai gel:

© 1938, 1952 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

than in previous works; less voice doubling than in other Poulenc choral works, particularly those with orchestra; more repetition than has previously been seen in Poulenc (sectional repetition in the second motet one- or two-bar cellular repetition in the third and fourth); and increased concern for the interest of the >

a

inner voices.

The Choral Music

oO

Controlled, sustained dramatic effect is the key aspect of these motets, and

examining the means Poulenc uses to achieve this (chromaticism, contrast, registration, rests, accents, short note values, diminished harmonies, and a few

baroque-like motives) reveals their true beauty; many of these details were described in the first part of this chapter. Perhaps “Tenebrae factae sunt” (#3), with its dissonant, organum-like opening,” its cellular construction, its contrast of voicings and registrations, its plaintive solo interruptions, and its diminished harmonies, is the most striking of the four pieces. It is not surprising that these four expressive motets are among Poulenc’s most frequently performed choral works. In May of 1941, Poulenc wrote two motets and dedicated them to Georges and Héléne Salles, two of his friends. The first, Exu/tate Deo, is vibrant,

jubilant, and “masculine.” It opens with one of Poulenc’s most strictly imitative passages, then strikes a joyful chordal style for the remainder. The concluding section (from six before r. 8) recalls that of the fourth Lenten motet. Salve Regina, the second of these two motets, is, by contrast, calm, introspective, and

“feminine,” reflecting the Marian text. The mood is reminiscent of the Litanies, but the octave motives at r. 4 recall the Sept chansons and the third of the Lenten motets (at bar 19). Much of this motet seems to have been conceived harmonically, for the harmony clearly predominates over any melodic line. There is a connection, at r. 1, to bars 10-11 of Montparnasse, a song begun in the same year; here is one example of a cross-fertilization of genres. Poulenc reached what is probably the high point in his choral writing in 1943, when he composed the extraordinary Figure humaine; from the time it was first heard, it has been one of his most highly praised works. It is a cantata, in eight movements, for double mixed chorus (six parts in each chorus) a cappella, on texts of Paul Eluard. The eight movements are uneven in quality, but the overall shape, leading to the ecstatic litany which climaxes on the word “I iberté,” cannot be faulted. Poulenc utilized all his knowledge of choral writing in this cantata, and echoes of all his prior choral works can be heard in it. As in the Sept chansons, the two choruses are handled almost orchestrally, with a broad range of textures. The fourth and sixth movements, the two most

gentle and intimate, each employ only a single chorus, while there is subdivision on the final chord of the piece to sixteen parts (nine distinct pitch classes). There are very few solo lines in Figure humaine; for the most part, the texture consists

of alternating and combining blocks of three-to-six voices. Clear exceptions are

the opening of the second movement (reminiscent, in its use of “la, la,” of the

Sept chansons), and the unusual (for Poulenc) fugal opening of the seventh movement. There is nothing radically new harmonically or melodically in Figure humaine. The richness offmuch of the harmony is remarkable, as at r. 2, (“Moije dors dans la tempéte”—ex. 36), though the texture never seems crowded; F

228

The Choral Music

Ex. 36.

Figure humaine: r. 2

dans la tem- pe aleep in

the

tem

je dans I

my- self

wit subito

dans

la tem-pé

aleep

in

-

the lem = -

dans la tem-pé

-

aleepin

-

the tem

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Poulenc’s skill in achieving “aeration” is nowhere more in evidence than in this work. There are several harmonic references to Poulenc’s “religious” style, with its abundance of sweet seventh chords, as at r. | and 11 (ex. 37). There is, necessarily, more doubling (generally soprano and tenor) in this piece than in other Poulenc choral works, but the heaviness that results is always relieved by changes in the texture. The texts sing poignantly of death, solitude, and desolation. Though the

images evoked are barren, reflecting life under the occupation, the words are laden with emotion, in contrast to the sinister emptiness painted in Sécheresses. Though Figure humaine was conceived as a multimovement cantata, as opposed to the short, individual pieces of the Sept chansons, there is actually less textual continuity, less sense of narrative than in the earlier work. After the pessimism of the first six and a half movements, only at the end of the seventh

does a positive turn (“Et la bétise et la démence et la bassesse firent place a des hommes ne luttant plus contre la vie, A des hommes indestructibles”) lead naturally to the powerful, hopeful conclusion.

The Choral Music Ex?37:

229

Figure humaine: r. | and 11 :

'

ca

,

she UEgot

,

1 gp SSS

En - tre tou -| ft

‘

- tes mes

omay have subito

ma-ny

ways of

be

I

La con-

- ing:

P=: hop a=F — pated ie ae ae 2ee En - tre tou-|

bh

fa-gonsd'é-tre

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© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The eight movements are designed to build to a musical climax, heightened by the use of key contrast: The first movement, in B minor (with sections in E, minor and G), is slow and gentle, with both choruses joining forces only for two brief early cadences and at the end. The texture is chordal, and subtle dynamics

and full seventh and ninth chords color this movement. The second movement,

in E minor, is quick and light, and displays the most imaginative textures. Again both choirs join forces only at the end, after a halving of the tempo. The brief third movement, in Eb minor, is one of the most beautiful prayers Poulenc ever wrote, yet it may be surpassed by the exquisite opening of the equally brief fourth movement, which recalls Ravel’s Une barque sur l’océan (ex. 38). This £

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The Choral Music

section, in A major (after Ep), is in a modified ternary form. These two slow movements provide a valley of calm from which the second half of the piece will rise. Ex. 38.

Figure humaine: r. 14

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The fifth movement, in C# minor, immediately breaks the calm spell, for it is marked “Trés vite et trés violent § =184.”The delicate, quasi-contrapuntal sixth movement (A minor), provides a brief respite. The difficult seventh movement begins with a four-entry “fugue,” with a highly chromatic subject. At r. 34 begins a long, ostinato-like build-up, becoming increasingly dissonant and intense until the final cadence. The remarkable concluding movement is a lengthy litany that begins and ends in E major, passing through many secondary keys en route. Each phrase cadences differently on the words “J’écris ton nom.” Poulenc effects an impressive build-up by increasing the tempo (from J = 380 to J = 138) and by adding voices as the harmony becomes more convoluted. The tempo returns to ‘) = 80 when the full twelve voices join forces at r. 51,

and all of the the word for Poulenc essence of his

chromaticism dissolves for a glorious final cadence on E major at which we have been waiting: “Liberté.” was especially proud of this work and felt that it should be the legacy: “Happily, there is a work, perhaps only one, that convinces

me that I did well in writing music: that is my cantata on Eluard’s poems.”2”

Choral writing appears in two of Poulenc’s three operas. The choral sections in Les Mamelles de Tirésias are quite simple in style and mood; they

The Choral Music

231

consist of the lively, but uninspired, opéra-bouffe finales (one for each act) and two static choruses that comment on the action. The first of the latter type is the beautiful mourning chorus at r. 50 in the first act, after the Presto-Lacouf duel. The style is purely homophonic, the interest lying in the colorful chords on the syllable “Ah” to accompany the principals, and in the skillful series of modulations. The other interesting choral piece is the march-like chorus, on the text “Vous qui pleurez,” at r. 79 in act I and r. 4 in the Entr’acte. The choral sections in Dialogues des Carmélites have more of an impact, owing to their

strategic placement and the quality of their invention.”*® Poulenc had returned to the motet genre shortly before composing Dialogues des Carmélites, and there is no doubt that his motets of 1951-52 exerted a strong influence on the choral writing in the opera. The Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél evoke the joy and calm of the Christmas season, rather than the darkness and drama of Holy Week expressed in the earlier Lenten motets. These Christmas

motets are lighter in style, with only the first, the

popular “O magnum mysterium,” approaching the depth of the earlier set. In this particular motet, the influence of Victoria is evident, in the quiet intensity

and in the cadences (ex. 39),*” but the sweetness of the main theme (at r. 1) and the passage at three bars after r. 4 (see ex. 22), as well as the poignant appoggiatura in the third bar from the end, are unmistakable Poulenc hallmarks. These four motets are extremely chordal, with the texture being reduced to less than three voices only twice: for the first motive, and its repetition, in the fourth piece. There is more musical repetition in these motets than in any of Poulenc’s a cappella pieces and, except for “O magnum mysterium,” they lack the interest of the other motets. Ex. 39.

Christmas Motets: |, bars 4-5 and last 2 bars

Ss.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

232

The Choral Music

Poulenc’s final motet, an exquisite Ave verum corpus (1952), is scored for three female voices. In its brief span of twenty-eight measures, it contains some of Poulenc’s most perfectly-fashioned choral writing. Like the Exultate Deo, it opens imitatively, but the imitation does not return, despite the modified ternary structure, which is unusual for the choral music. The minor dominant cadences (at bars 11-12 and 27-28), the pungent harmonies (ex. 40), and the striking change to F# minor (bar 14), are some of the delights of this piece. Ex. 40.

Ave verum corpus: bar 9

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

During the last twenty years of his career, Poulenc composed three short, intimate a cappella choral works, each containing four movements; in order to discuss these as a group, we shall suspend the chronological examination of the genre. The first was Un soir de neige (1944), a secular cantata to poems by Eluard. As in the previous Sept chansons and Figure humaine, Poulenc treated the Eluard poetry with reverence, and the work is among his best choral creations; Jean Roy concurs: Of modest dimensions, this chamber cantata preserves an intimate night, the cold, loneliness; it sings of years of misery, months without It pads along with humility, but occasionally a cry rises wrenchingly wrong? In my opinion, I would attach nearly as much importance to

ancestor, Figure humaine.“

character: it evokes the heat, days without hope. from the shadows. Am I this little cantata as to its

Composed between 24 and 26 December, Un soir de neige reflects both the inner ' feeling of peace generated by Christmas, and the bleak solitude of another winter of occupation in France. Stylistically, the varying textures, the phrases of oscillating harmony, the subtle use of dynamics, the rich harmony, and the alternation of chromaticism and diatonicism all recall the earlier Eluard choral pieces.

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233

The Quatre petites priéres de Saint Francois d’Assise (1948) were written, as Poulenc explains, for the monastery choir at Champfleury, where one of his great-nephews was a monk: Certainly | venerate Saint Francis, but he intimidates me a bit. In any case, in setting his marvelously touching little prayers to music, I wished to perform an act of humility. Thus, in the fourth piece, for example, a simple tenor solo is heard at the beginning, like a monk leading

his brothers to prayer.*'

Humility is, indeed, the dominant feeling of these four pieces; the humility and bareness of the Litanies are recalled, for both works are settings of rustic French

prayers. The melodic style is once again strongly influenced by chant, stripped of all excess and dramatic import (ex. 41). The texture is quite varied, except for the inflexible chordal homophony of the second piece. The harmonic style ranges from the diatonic purity of the opening of the third piece, through the highlymodulatory yet essentially triadic style of the second, to the rich “fingerprint” phrases at r. 3 in the first and fourth. Ex. 41.

Quatre petites priéres: \V, opening

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Finally, the Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue (1957-59) close this group of intimate a cappella works. These four choruses were, like the Quatre petites priéres, written for a male chorus, presumably for monastic performance; the texts are in Latin rather than the French of the 1948 prayers. The style, though still humble and introspective, is considerably more complicated, with more dramatic melodic

lines, more

solo phrases, and a more

unstable, complex

harmonic style. There is frequent chromaticism, as at the second “laborem” near the end of the first piece and in the parallel chromatic motion of 6/4 chords at “Hic vivens arrhas gloriae” in the third piece (ex. 42); each movement ends onan unstable chord; and such phrases as “Lampade non vacua” in the first piece provide examples of uncharacteristically nonfunctional harmony (ex. 43). Furthermore, the phrasing is uneven and disjointed, and there are numerous meter changes. Poulenc’s conception of Saint Anthony as dynamic and rather mysterious must have béen the driving force behind his choice of mood and stylistic elements. For all its modest dimensions, this may well be Poulenc’s most y intensely original choral work.

234 Ex. 42,

The Choral Music Laudes: |, last 2 bars and III, 5 after r. 2

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vivens

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gio_ri _ ae,

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex, 43.

Laudes: |, 7-8 after r. 2

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© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

During this period of prayers, motets, and choral settings of Eluard, Poulenc provided a surprise in 1946 with Chansons frangaises, eight choral settings of traditional French folk songs. The words and the melodies are retained intact; Poulenc’s contribution consists of the polyphonic or harmonic treatments and a few alterations of meter and rhythm. In this respect, these pieces can be compared to the choral sections found in Les Biches, and to the solo voice-piano settings of the Huit chansons polonaises. These chansons are, of necessity, simple and quite diatonic, with but a few seventh chords and passing dissonances added for color. The strophic nature of each chorus implies a great deal of musical repetition, which Poulenc attempts to ameliorate by changing the texture and the harmonies. It can be said, in summary, that the strength of these Chansons frangaises lies in their vitality, their folk-like simplicity (Poulenc avoided all temptation to “dress them up”), the variety of moods established, and the skillful use of voices to provide either accompaniment or counterpoint, as shown in example 44.

The Choral Music Ex. 44.

235

Chansons frangaises: \1, bars 7-9 and IV, opening

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clic

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© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Late in his career,

Poulenc

composed

three sacred works for chorus,

soloist, and orchestra: Stabat Mater (1950), Gloria (1959), and Sept répons des ténébres (1962). In all three, the chorus is the dominant force. Certain movements seem to have been conceived for a cappella chorus, with the orchestra added as an afterthought; indeed, there are large unaccompanied sections in the Stabat Mater, including all but three measures of the eighth movement. The following are some of the general characteristics of the choral writing in these three works: the texture tends to be more fully-homophonic than in the a cappella works, with considerably fewer reductions to one or two voices; there is more doubling, particularly between the soprano and tenor parts, and more repetition than in the a cappella works (Poulenc was less skilled in large forms than in small ones); the spacing and voice leading are similar to other Poulenc choral works, and the feeling of “aeration” is maintained despite the addition of an orchestra; such Poulenc choral techniques as oscillating harmonies, fauxbourdon, parallel writing, and major-minor alternation are considerably less evident than in the a cappella works. In general, it can be said that the choral writing in these works is more traditional, showing baroque, classical, and romantic tendencies, and less personal, less innovative than that in

his a cappella works. It is impossible to accord to these three accomplished works the detailed examination and analysis that they warrant, for each contains some of the best music of Poulenc’s mature years. A strong argument can be made for the Stabat Mater’s being the first work of his to show the serenity that only age can bring. It was inspired by the death of the painter and scenic designer Christian Bérard, a close friend of Poulenc’s, and it is dedicated to his memory. This is Poulenc’s first religious work with orchestra, and the techniques, textures, instrumental combinations, and moods that he introduced in the Stabat Mater were to serve

him well in the two which followed, as well as in Dialogues desCarmélites, many passages of which seem 30 spring directly form the Stabat Mater.” The Stabat Mater is Poulenc’s most ornate, lyric, romantic, and selfconscious religious work written up to that time, yet it never seems to overstep

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The Choral Music

the bounds of taste and control that he established for his frankly sensual sacred music. Claude Rostand saw it as architecturally “classical” when compared to the sober, bare, “romanesque” works of 1936-1948.*? There is certainly a link between the Stabat Mater and the grands motets of Lully, de Lalande, and

Charpentier, and Poulenc himself seems to see this relationship when he says: | do not think that I fell prey to a pompous style, but the Stabat is perhaps nobler

than my other religious works.””*

There is a wide range of emotions within the twelve brief movements, and

the secular sensuality and casual simplicity of nos. 4 and 7 might be cause for shock, particularly because of the gravity of the texts; yet the power of nos. 2, 5, and 11, and the clear-voiced sincerity of the other movements, clarify Poulenc’s religious intentions. The center of gravity seems to be divided between the sensual, sinuous “Vidit suum,” with its audacious progressions (ex. 45), its dramatic orchestral outburst after r. 32, and its recollection of the opening of the entire piece, and the pure, neo-Renaissance “Fac ut ardeat.” As is usually the case with Poulenc, the slow movements carry most of the weight; his fast movements lack the necessary force and rhythmic drive, or they fail to build toa suitable climax, and the beauty of his harmonies is lost at a fast tempo. Ex. 45.

Stabat Mater: V1, opening and 2 before r. 30ff.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G, Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Poulenc paid special attention to the overall structure of the Stabat Mater. The outer two movements are marked “Trés calme,” and employ the same tempo: = 56. The opening motive returns (slightly altered) in the last

The Choral Music

237

movement, and makes a brief appearance in the sixth. Tempos and moods are alternated and, as in a song cycle, certain movements (numbers 2, 7, and 11) seem to serve either as transitions or as prefaces to the ensuing movements. The Gloria, written nine years later, exhibits no significant evolution of

technique. The performing forces are nearly identical, the only change being a reduction in the chorus parts from five to four. Except for several short monophonic choral phrases, there is no a cappella writing as there is in the Stabat; Poulenc says that “my Stabat is an a cappella chorus, my Gloria is a large choral symphony.”** Indeed, the choral writing is less complicated and less prominently displayed than in the Stabat Mater, while the orchestra is far more colorful and important. The Gloria presents a relatively short text divided into six sizeable movements (soprano solo appears in three of them). The result is a great deal of textual and musical repetition, detracting from the ultimate impact of the work. For example, in the rather brief first movement, the motive exposed at r. 3

appears three times. The equally brief second movement has six statements of the main motive and three statements of a secondary one. Except for the introduction, the entire third movement consists of repetitions of four short motives for the soloist and several variable choral interjections; the vocal parts

of the lengthy fifth movement similarly comprise five short motives and their repetitions. In the fast section of the last movement, there are six repetitions of the one-bar motive that opened the Gloria. Finally, as is often the case in mature Poulenc works, there is a great deal of cellular construction,” as at r. 54 (ex. 46).

The contrasts of mood are perhaps more pronounced in the Gloria than in the Stabat Mater, for the third and fifth movements, the dual centers of gravity, convey Poulenc’s most sincere and profound religious fervor, while there is nothing more lighthearted in his sacred oeuvre than the second and fourth movements. Poulenc explains: The second movement caused a scandal; I wonder why? I was simply thinking, in writing it, of the Gozzoli frescoes in which the angels stick out their tongues; I was thinking also of the serious Benedictines whom I saw playing soccer one day.*”

It would be appropriate to say a word here about Poulenc’s religious beliefs and convictions. After his return to the church in 1936, he expressed his faith frequently and unashamedly. This faith was profound, optimistic, realistic, joyous, and totally lacking in ostentation. He often told his friends, “I have the

faith of a country pastor.” Indeed, he preferred quiet prayer or meditation, ina rural setting such as Rocamadour, to the structured service of an urban church. Two other statements beay quoting: “I want the religious spirit to be expressed clearly, out in the open, with the same realism that we see in romanesque

columns”:*? and:

r

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The Choral Music

Ex. 46.

Gloria: r. 54

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ih if

i

ll

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

I try to create a feeling of fervor and, especially, of humility, for me the most beautiful quality of prayer....My conception of religious music is essentially direct, and, I dare say intimate.

Such a conception would easily tolerate, indeed, might give rise to, the sensuality and the lightheartedness of certain movements in the Gloria and the Stabat Mater. Poulenc’s only criterion when writing religious music was that the sentiment be sincere. The Gloria was commissioned by the Koussevitzky Foundation after Poulenc had made a trip to America, and it was first performed in Boston, under conductor Charles Miinch, in January of 1961. The work enjoyed immediate success, with critics comparing it to Vivaldi’s Gloria and to various religious works of the nineteenth century. However, the Gloria displays clear links to other Poulenc compositions. The opening motive can be traced to bar 64 of the first Nocturne for piano (ex. 47). The solo line at r. 63 is strikingly similar to r. 50 in the Messe (ex. 48), and there are numerous suggestions of Dialogues des Carmélites (e.g., r. 52 in the Gloria [ex. 49] derives from act III, scene iii, and much of the wind writing, as at r. 27 and 55, recalls the opera).

Poulenc’s final religious work, and his last choral work, was the Sept répons des ténébres, a Latin setting of seven meditative texts for the three holy days preceding Easter: Like the Gloria, this work came about as the result of a commission, this time by the New York Philharmonic, to celebrate the opening

The Choral Music EXw4d.

239

Gloria: opening, and Nocturne I: bars 64-65

© by Heugel

Paris—France

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 48.

Gloria: r. 63, and Messe: r. 50

E e€

A

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Gloria: r. 52

ill

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style

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Ex. 49.

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

of Lincoln Center. Poulenc began the work in the fall of 1960 but it gave him some trouble. He wrote to Darius Milhaud on 23 May 1961: ’

’

lam working on my Répons de la semaine sainte for Bernstein. It is not going badly ’ for I have rewritten all that I did last autumn. | thought that it would show a feeling for Zurbaran > but it

is more like Mantegna.

51

Zo

240

The Choral Music

However, it did go “badly” once again; the work was not completed in time for the Lincoln Center dedication, and consequently was not given its first performance until April 1963, after Poulenc’s death. The Sept répons has been rarely performed, and it is one of the few significant Poulenc works that has not been recorded. After the lighthearted, almost jovial mood of much of the Gloria, the subdued, somber atmosphere of the Sept répons is striking. Here, as in the Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence, Poulenc is dealing with the mystery of the Passion; almost throughout, his approach is one of calm acceptance. He would later take the same stance in the final movement of his Oboe Sonata (1962), which can be seen as a coming-to-terms with his own impending death; the musical style of this movement bears close resemblance to that of the Sept répons. In addition, the final movement of the Sept répons recalls the closing scene of Dialogues des Carmélites in its march-like, resigned acceptance of death. Stylistically, the Sept répons most closely resembles the Stabat Mater, though it is set for S-A-T-B male choir rather than mixed chorus, and it calls for a boy soprano soloist. The re-emergence of a cappella choral passages and the general orchestral style suggest this parentage. Yet, there are significant differences: there are no lighthearted movements in the Sept répons; the melodic lines are often angular and quite chromatic; there are passages of harsh dissonance and the harmonic style in general is more acerbic and experimental, recalling the a cappella style of the Messe and certain motets. For example, the third movement, “Jesum tradidit,” begins with a twelve-tone row, presented without harmonization (ex. 50); a second, unrelated row appears, in the voice

parts, at r. 31. Furthermore, there are several chromatic lines with no pitch repetitions, though not all twelve pitch classes are used, as at r. 20, the closing orchestral phrase of the third movement, and the brief opening vocal phrase of the fourth movement. The entire fourth movement is extremely dissonant, often approaching a feeling of atonality; much use is made of dissonant trichords, as well as seconds and sevenths, as example 51 shows. Ex. 50.

Sept répons des ténébres: r. 21

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The Choral Music ExsSl.

241

Sept répons des ténébres: r. 30ff. and r. 32ff.

(Dovstes

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vi - am,

si - tis

8. © Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Those who would look for textual justification of such intense dissonance will not be rewarded, for the texts of all seven responses are equally dolorous. Nor is there much in the texts that would account for the varying moods of the movements in the Glorigand the Stabat Mater, particularly in the latter, where

Poulenc’s choice for lighthearted movements seems rather arbitrary. His interpretation must derive, therefore, from purely musical considerations or, as

242

The Choral Music

was often the case with the songs, from his own subjective interpretation of textual subtleties. Given the dramatic and somewhat experimental style of the Sept répons, one wonders how Poulenc’s choral music might have developed had he lived longer. Yet in many ways, there was little evolution from his first significant choral works, in 1936, to his last, completed in 1962; the style of the Sept répons

suggests that of the Sept chansons in certain ways, while its mood of calm introspection parallels that of the Litanies a la Vierge Noire. This is undoubtedly due to the fact that Poulenc came to the choral genre late in his life (excepting the tentative Chanson a boire and the Stravinsky-like choruses in Les Biches), after his personality and musical style had matured. As a result, this is his most uniform and assured body of music.

11

The Songs How I love the voice!

—Francis Poulenc! Apart from a small number of instrumental works which have become part of our standard repertoire (Les Biches, the concertos, some of the chamber pieces), Poulenc’s principal legacy will undoubtedly be his vocal music: his operas, his choral music, and his songs. He was regarded by many critics and musicians, including Ned Rorem, Virgil Thomson, Roland-Manuel, and Pierre Bernac, as the natural successor to the line of Duparc, Fauré, Debussy, and Ravel, and perhaps the last great proponent of the French art song. Joseph Machlis could write, in 1961: “Poulenc is the outstanding exponent of the art song on the

present-day scene.”

Poulenc composed 152 songs for voice and piano in the course of his career.’ About three-quarters of these songs appear in collections or cycles, ranging in size from two to nine. The size alone of Poulenc’s song output would not single him out as France’s leading composer of art songs after 1930, for

Milhaud produced more than 200 songs, and the outputs of Sauguet, Koechlin, Georges Migot, and others certainly rival Poulenc’s in sheer volume. Yet one rarely hears art songs by these other composers. It seems that the success and popularity of Poulenc’s are due to several stylistic characteristics: they do not depart markedly from the tradition of Duparc through Ravel; they are, for the most part, extremely tuneful and unashamedly tonal in their style; they provide sensitive settings of some of the greatest French poets of this century; and they are accessible and, at least superficially, not very difficult to perform. A word about terminology is in order before proceeding toa brief stylistic description of the songs. Poulenc commonly used the term “mélodie” to refer to a serious art song which evolved from the romance in the mid-nineteenth century.‘ It is the French equivalent of the Lied, and the vast majority of art songs composed between Duparc and Ravel are mélodies. Poulenc specifically named thirty-one of his songs “chansons,” and provided us with this definition: A

244

The Songs You will sense right away the difference between my chansons and my mélodies. In my opinion, the word chanson implies a style which, without really being folkloric, nonetheless Suggests a total liberty with regard to the text. I repeat words, I cut them up, I even use ellipsis, as at the end of “Les Gars qui vont a la féte” [Chansons villageoises]. The singing style of Maurice Chevalier taught me a lot about this technique.°

For Poulenc, the distinction was not so much the quality of the poetry he was working on (for he entitled three settings of Lorca poems “chansons”), but rather the degree of freedom that he took with the poetry, and the overall tone of the piece. In general, Poulenc’s chansons exhibit a more consistent regularity of rhythm and meter, a greater use of musical repetition and modified ternary structure, a lighter, more accessible harmonic and melodic style, and a more

cavalier treatment of the prosody, than in his mélodies. To be sure, Poulenc himself negated the distinction on numerous occasions. Certain works which he calls mélodies, such as the short songs in Le Bestiaire, seem more like chansons in their style and impact, while certain songs identified as chansons, notably the collections Chansons villageoises and Trois chansons de F. Garcia-Lorca, appear to be more in the mélodie tradition. It is also worth noting that Poulenc discusses all of his songs in his publication entitled Journal de mes mélodies. In this study, the general term “songs” will be used to include both mélodies and chansons; a distinction between the two will

only be made in the discussion of individual works, if it is clearly warranted.

Of all of Poulenc’s genres, the songs are the most difficult to describe stylistically. The variety implicit in an output of 152 works, composed over a period of forty-four years, renders many generalizations tenuous, and the situation is exacerbated by the necessity of dealing at times with obscure surrealistic poems. Yet although acloser look at the individual works will yield more valuable information, some general stylistic characteristics can be distilled from the songs as a group. At the most basic level, Poulenc’s songs tend to be quite short; the average

length is probably about thirty to thirty-five measures, though the scope ranges from four to seventy-seven bars. In general, it can be said that Poulenc expresses his thoughts and feelings with conciseness and alacrity. Piano introductions and/or conclusions are also generally brief, rarely exceeding two or three measures, and often not existing at all. Though there are numerous Passages, however short, in which only the piano is heard, there are only three extremely brief instances (other than one note pick-ups) in which the voice sounds alone: near the end of #3 of Métamorphoses, at the beginning of #5 of C ing poémes de Max Jacob, and bars 17-18 of #2 of Cing poémes de Paul Eluard. This is an indication both of the equivalence of the piano part with the voice, and of a difference between the songs and the operas for, particularly in Dialogues des Carmélites and La Voix humaine, the voice is heard alone with considerable frequency.

The Songs

245

In most of Poulenc’s songs, with the exception of some of the lighter chansons, it is barely accurate to speak of a piano “accompaniment,” for the piano plays an integral role. As Poulenc matured, his piano parts became increasingly complex and important, culminating in the collection La Fraicheur et le feu (1950). In general, it may be said that the piano parts are clear, unobtrusive, and free of empty pianistic display; yet they require of the performer considerable technique and sensitivity. Poulenc felt that his piano parts are often as lyrical as his vocal lines, and he expressed this when he wrote: “since, of course, there exists, in my accompaniments, a pianistic melody which only a true legato style can reveal.”° In many cases, this pianistic melody is a doubling or skeletal doubling of the vocal line; such doubling certainly occurs in significant parts of at least half of Poulenc’s songs. In other cases, there is a separate melody in the piano, which either acts as a counter-melody to the voice or as the principal melody, allowing the voice to take up straightforward declamation. A particularly lyrical example is offered by “Au-dela” (from Trois poemes de Louise de Vilmorin), in which the opening piano motive is continued after the entrance of the voice (ex. 1). Some of the piano parts in Poulenc’s songs could even stand alone; the piano part to “Au-dela” would make an ingratiating miniature. Yet there are songs, such as Rosemonde, in which the piano part is primarily accompanimental. Bx.

Trois poémes de Louise de Vilmorin: Il, bars 1-2 and 9-10

© 1938 Durand S.A. Used By Permission Of The Publisher Theodore Presser Company Sole Representative U.S.A.

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The Songs

Some other specific characteristics of the piano writing include: a liberal use of arpeggio; a frequent use of pedal; a scarcity of rolled chords, grace notes, and ornamentation; many wide stretches for one hand (Poulenc himself could easily span a twelfth); and long passages of unchanging rhythm. The vast majority of Poulenc’s songs are through-composed, with an occasional musical return, usually within the short piano coda. Some of the chansons, such as #2 of Cocardes and #2 of the Chansons gaillardes, are in modified ternary form, the structure preferred by Poulenc in his instrumental music. Only one song, #5 of the Chansons gaillardes (entitled “Couplets bachiques”), even approaches strophic form. On the other hand, many of Poulenc’s songs are given a rough ABA form by means of tonality, where A represents a section of fairly stable tonality and B represents a contrasting section of instability. Poulenc often opens and closes with the same motive in order to emphasize the unity in a song. This is the case in #1 of Banalités, in which the motive also returns in the middle of the piece. The same principle is used in #3 of La Fraicheur et le feu, and the vocal opening grows out of this piano introduction which returns, rather abruptly, at the end. Turning to the vocal lines, we see a great variety of melodic characteristics. In general, lyricism, in the form of extended arioso, is far more prevalent than declamation. Because the songs are overwhelmingly tonal, there are numerous passages in which the melodic line is diatonic. Yet, because of the frequent modulation, accidentals and chromaticism abound. There is, however, more motion by third, fourth, fifth, and sixth than by second and seventh. It can be

said that the melodic lines in the songs are less obviously “tuneful” than those found in the instrumental music, yet considerably more so than the melodic lines of the choral works. Certain of the melodic lines could stand alone (particularly in the more tuneful chansons and in the mélodies that approach the popular song style), but the vast majority seem indissolubly linked to the chain of

harmonies. An excellent example is the mélodie La Grenouillére.

Poulenc’s individual harmonic language is described elsewhere in this study,’ as is his propensity for frequent and fluid modulation. This latter characteristic is particularly germane to the songs, for rarely do we find an entire song, however brief, that remains in the principal tonality throughout. Poulenc pinpointed the source of this frequency of modulation when he explained that he composed most of his songs in fits and starts, over a period of time, a verse here and a line there. If a line came to him while walking in Paris, or while working in

his vineyards at Noizay, he would jot it down, and piece the song together later. These different lines often came to him in different keys:

Since, in order to facilitate matters, I never transpose the music that comes to me for a line, or even several words, into another key, it follows that the relationships are often difficult, and I have to step back in order to find the exact place to modulate.®

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He then added: “It follows that my modulations sometimes pass through a

mouse hole.”

We can turn to a song about two mice, “Souric et Mouric” (the last of the Cing poemes de Max Jacob), for an example of Poulenc’s subtle, “slippery” modulations.'° After a passage (bars 10-14) which is firmly in C major, Poulenc slides into Ep by pivoting on an altered By)’ chord at the end of bar 14, After only two bars, he leaves the key of Ep. Yet these two bars, which he originally heard in E}, remain in that key, no matter what surrounds them, as example 2 shows.

Where there are many such phrases in contrasting tonalities, the result can be a feeling of instability, a feeling that the music cannot be pinned down. This is the case in “Plume d’eau claire” (#3 of the Cing poémes de Paul Eluard). Here, within the short space of nine measures, the music moves from C minor, through By minor, A minor, and F minor, then back to C major-minor. These are only secondary modulations, with each effected by an inserted dominant seventh or ninth, but a feeling of constant motion is produced. Bae?

Cing poémes de Max Jacob: V, bars 14-17

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Perhaps the most extreme example of a “slippery” Poulenc modulation occurs between bars 37 and 38 of the lovely Montparnasse (ex. 3). Here there is no pivot chord; Poulenc shifts abruptly from the dominant of a well-established E minor to Ep major, and he remains in the new key for the following several phrases. There is no doubt that these two sections were originally conceived in sharply contrasting keys, and Poulenc was perfectly content to leave them

unchanged." Poulenc’s use of meter is, as in his other genres, free and varied. Certain

songs, particularly the chansons and the shorter or more popular, dance-like mélodies, tend to remain in one meter throughout; if they have any metrical changes at all, they are usually at the ends of important phrases to underline a crucial point in the poem. The entire collection of Chansons villageoises, for example, has only three meter changes. Other Poulenc songs contain numerous changes in meter; these may result from his study of French speech patterns and

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The Songs

his concern for a correct prosodic setting of the poetry, or they may result from purely musical concerns (see “Aussi bien que les cigales” from the collection Calligrammes). Correspondingly, the measure groupings tend to be of irregular length in the songs. It is in this realm of meter and phrasing that Poulenc’s style tends to be most “modern.” Exme:

Montparnasse: bars 36-38

© 1945 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

In general, Poulenc varied his rhythmic patterns from phrase to phrase in the songs (i.e., he consciously avoided the regularity that might easily result from the verse pattern). For instance, a phrase beginning ona strong beat will often be followed by a phrase beginning on an off-beat. On the other hand, rhythmic cellular construction, consisting of the repetition of a short rhythmic cell, is not uncommon. These repeated cells generally spring directly from the rhythm of the poem, as in measures 45-46 of Montparnasse (ex. 4). Ex. 4.

Montparnasse: bars 45-46

© 1945 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission ofthe publisher.

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249

In order better to understand Poulenc’s art songs, it is necessary to examine his method of song composition and his conception of an art song, which are necessarily connected. Poulenc has provided us with a provocative introduction to these subjects: When I have chosen a poem, the musical realization of which often does not follow until months later, I examine it from all angles. When dealing with Apollinaire and Eluard, I attach the greatest importance to the physical apperance of the poem, to the blank spaces and the margins. I recite the poem to myself many times. I listen to it, I look for traps, I sometimes underline the difficult parts of the text. I note the pauses, I try to discover the internal rhythm through a line which is not necessarily the first. Then | try setting it to music, bearing in mind the different densities of the piano accompaniment.”

Very rarely does a composer provide such insight into his compositional processes. It seems that Poulenc used as much “perspiration” as “inspiration” in composing his songs. On two other occasions, he affirms this point of view: “for me, a mélodie is not a form of relaxation, but a great task to which I devote my entire being”; '’ and: “a mélodie ora cycle is the opposite of an improvisation, at

least for me.”'* Yet, in characteristic fashion, Poulenc elsewhere contradicts himself with é/an, stating, in true Gallic style, that “the musical transposition of a

poem should be an act of love, and never a marriage of reason.”"° In any case, Poulenc clearly applied all of his intelligence and sensitivity to the setting to music of a poem. Let us examine, first of all, his choice of poetry. Not all poetry, he felt, should be set to music; many poems need none of the amplification or expansion that music provides. For example, Poulenc felt that Apollinaire’s Alcools were already perfect lyrical expressions, and that by setting any poems from the collection to music, he would be embellishing something that was already complete. Late in his career, he relented and set Rosemonde from Alcools, perhaps because the poem is set in Amsterdam and he and Bernac were about to present a recital there. The poems Poulenc chose to set to music fall, for the most part, into two

categories: those which were obscure (primarily Eluard), and those which were short and lacked innate lyricism (primarily Apollinaire). The astute Jacqueline Bellas describes Poulenc’s musical contribution in setting these poems: The musical score plays the role of a projection lamp; it amplifies the words, it gives them a resonance which renders far more accessible both rapid texts and those which appear obscure

because of a too rich density of images.'® Throughout his career, from Le Bestiaire on, Poulenc concentrated on obscure

poems and short ones, gttempting, through his music, to illuminate them, to clarify their inner meaning or magnify their concealed lyricism.

250

The Songs

Furthermore, Poulenc felt that he had to be inspired visually by any poem that he would choose to set to music: “with mélodies lam. .. incurably visual. A

poem must generate an image in order to tempt me.”’’ Thus, one reads, in the Journal de mes mélodies and elsewhere, numerous statements like: “In writing it

[“Hier” from Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne}, | dreamed of an interior painted by Vuillard.”"’ Finally, Poulenc felt that a composer must understand a poem completely, organically; he must be able to enter its world. He thus attached enormous importance to an understanding of the poet’s personality and aesthetic intentions. This explains why he concentrated on living poets, those whom he had met and with whom he had conversed. Poulenc always strove to match his own sensibility to that of the poet. He never attempted merely to describe a feeling, but rather to mirror it, to find “affective equivalences”'” between himself and the poet. It is just this element that is lacking in his settings of

noncontemporaneous poets. It is only natural, then, that Poulenc became the musical interpreter of

twentieth-century French poetry before World War II. No other composer even approached his output of songs to poems of Jacob, Vilmorin, Eluard, and Apollinaire;”° except for Vilmorin, the difficult surrealistic poetry, abounding in obscure imagery and disconcerting juxtaposition, may have intimidated other composers. But Poulenc understood these poets and, as he tells us: “I set to music Apollinaire and Max Jacob [as well as Eluard and Vilmorin] because I love their poetry. That’s all there is to it.””' Claude Rostand sums up Poulenc’s importance as an interpreter of modern French poetry: Those who have never completely understood the poetry of Max Jacob, Jean Cocteau, Louise de Vilmorin, and, especially, Guillaume Apollinaire and Paul Eluard should turn to Poulenc:

it is in his mélodies that they will solve all the mysteries.”

Poulenc’s songs can be divided into six categories based on their nature or character. The first category may be called “songs with a popular flavor.” This would include most of the chansons and certain of the Apollinaire and Jacob mélodies, such as “Voyage a Paris” (from Banalités) and #2 and #4 of the Cing poémes de Max Jacob. This category tends to have a tuneful, rather diatonic vocal line, regular phrasing, and a chordal, vamped accompaniment. Most of the waltzes fit into this first category. The second category is “simple, child-like songs.” These songs possess the utter simplicity of nursery rhymes or folk songs, with correspondingly tuneful vocal lines and distilled, diatonic accompaniments. Some examples include: La Souris, “Bonne enfant” (from Cocardes), Paul et Virginie, Quatre chansons pour enfants, and much of Le Bestiaire and La Courte paille. These songs, which often approach those of the first category in style and mood, were composed primarily in the first and last decades of Poulenc’s career.

The Songs

Zo!

The third category can be called “prayer-like songs.” These songs, such as Priez pour paix, “Fleurs” (from Fiangailles pour rire), and #2 and #6 in Tel jour, telle nuit, all date from after 1936, Poulenc’s year of religious reawakening and greatest maturation. They are slow, gentle, and, quite frankly, prayer-like. The fourth category is undoubtedly the largest and seems to represent the quintessential Poulenc mélodie: the “tender, lyrical songs.” This category includes such important songs as “Tu vois le feu du soir” (from Miroirs brilants), Rosemonde, Montparnasse, Ce doux petit visage, Bleuet, and La Grenouillére, as well as several songs from each Eluard cycle or collection. These songs have flexible, arioso-like vocal lines, sometimes tuneful and sometimes chromatic, a smooth accompaniment, either arpeggiated or chordal, numerous seventh chords and rather frequent modulation, a moderate-to-slow tempo, and a romantic mood whose gentleness is sometimes tinged with irony or nostalgia. The fifth category can be called “patter songs.” Some examples are: “Fétes galantes” (from Deux poémes de Louis Aragon), “Chanson de la fille frivole” (from Chansons villageoises), and “Vous n’écrivez plus” (from Parisiana). These

songs are rapid and generally light; the vocal lines are less tuneful than those of the first and second categories, and there are usually many repeated notes; accompaniments are often arpeggiated or filled with runs. Most of these songs are less than a minute in length. Some of them approach the “popular” songs in simplicity, while others, such as #5 in Tel jour, telle nuit (and most of the other Eluard patter songs), are quite serious and often powerful, approaching the last category. This last category is the “dramatic songs.” These are powerful, sometimes declamatory, often quite dissonant. They may be fast or slow, but they tend to be more emphatic than other Poulenc songs. Some examples are Le Disparu, “Le Mendiant” (from Chansons villageoises), and “Mutation” (from Calligrammes).

Perhaps one-third of the Eluard songs fit into this category, such as #3, #4, and #8 in Tel jour, telle nuit. These categories are by no means comprehensive. Certain songs may not seem to fit into one of the categories, while others might fit into several. Yet this delineation includes the majority of Poulenc’s songs. As is the case with most composers, Poulenc took to writing for the voice very early in his career. Rapsodie négre (1917) was his first published work, and his rather dramatic introduction to the public.” This piece is neither a chanson nor a mélodie, but rather a chamber work containing a short vocal movement, primarily for the shock value of the doggerel poem, entitled “Honoloulou.”” Poulenc’s first real song, Toréador, was written in 1918 toa commission by,

and a droll text of, Jean Cocteau. Though it was not performed at that time,” Poulenc tells us something about the work:

wo2

The Songs Toréador, a caricature of the music hall song, can only appeal...to a narrow elite. It is precisely the type of song that makes several up-to-date friends, gathered around a piano, laugh. Given this, I really like Toréador. It remained in manuscript for many years, but was

finally published in 1932.”°

The song is undeniably popular in style, with a few Spanish effects added for color. Poulenc later affirmed that the style of Maurice Chevalier and, in particular, a song of his called Si fatigué, directly inspired the writing of

Toréador.’ It is significant that Poulenc’s first attempt at song writing should have been a popular chanson, for this side of his style was to remain evident throughout his career, giving rise to such works as “Voyage a Paris” (from Banalités) and Les Mamelles de Tirésias. Dedicated

to Pierre Bertin, the actor-singer who was to give the first

performance, Toréador is set for baritone and piano. It consists of three verses, each followed by a refrain. The song is clearly tonal (the verse is in D with a central modulation to F, while the refrain remains in D), with ample seventh

chords and some “wrong-note” dissonance. The Spanish flavor derives from the use of Neapolitan harmonies, triplets, and a characteristic rhythmic pattern of

Spanish dances: 3/8 jh S52 4.| The genesis of Poulenc’s next songs, the collection Le Bestiaire (1919), is described elsewhere in this study.** With the composition of this one work, Poulenc succeeded in raising himself above the level of mauvais gargon, a reputation that had followed him since the premiére of Rapsodie négre. Had his career ended with Le Bestiaire, he would still have been regarded asasignificant composer. Paul Collaer concurs: “Without effort, we might say, his first stride takes him to the level of the great French classics: ‘La Carpe’ has the beauty of Couperin’s most serene pages.”” For the six songs in Le Bestiaire are nearly perfect in their conciseness, their balance of voice and instrument(s) (the original setting was for a chamber group), their melancholy and nonchalance, their dry, subtle humor, their careful prosody, and their ability to evoke a mood. The influence of Satie is unmistakable, but the lyricism and the harmonic style are personal and became early hallmarks of Poulenc’s style. “Le Dromadaire,” the first of the six songs, is also the longest. It depicts the plodding of the dromedary, with the repeated descending quintuplet, the “nonmelodic” melody line (ex. 5), and the heavy doubling of the voice in the central and closing sections. The four-bar coda, it has been suggested, represents a gay flick of the beast’s tail. The second and third songs of the collection establish the swinging accompaniment that became so characteristic of Poulenc’s Apollinaire songs. A taste of the music hall style creeps in at the last two bars of “La Sauterelle” and continues, in a brighter, more tuneful vein, in “Le Dauphin.” “L’Ecrevisse” is distinguished by the banality and repetition (only

The Songs

wo3

four notes) found in the first six bars of its vocal line, and by its crab-like reversal of the opening motive in bars 9-11. The most impressive and memorable of the six songs is undoubtedly “La Carpe,” with its rocking, languid accompaniment (ex. 6) and its lazy, melancholy mood, evoking so vividly the image of a pond on a summer afternoon. Poulenc characteristically overstated his own mood while composing this song: “‘La Carpe’ found its visual resonance in a melancholy pond where my melancholy captain was melancholically fishing; I set to

music... this ‘melancholy fish.’ ”*°

Ex.5:

Le Bestiaire: 1, bars 4-7

=e

adh ceeen A eee

Se Se

ee

eee)

© 1920 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Ex: 6.

Le Bestiaire: V1, bars 1-2

e

© 1920 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used'by permission ofthe publisher.

Marie Laurencin, Apollinaire’s companion, wrote to Poulenc in 1921: Ever since my return, I have been humming, as best I can, your Bestiaire, and you cannot imagine... how well you captured the nostalgia and the singability of these admirable quatrains. And what really moves me is that one hears in your music the voice of Guillaume Apollinaire reciting these poems.”!

Poulenc had captured the sound of Apollinaire’s voice, figuratively,” in his very first Apollinaire settings. In insisting upon the seriousness of these songs, Poulenc himself affirms his immediate grasp of Apollinaire: To sing Le Bestiaire with irony and “knowingly” is a complete misinterpretation. Such a performance would show no comprehension of Apollinaire’s poetry and my music. From Le Bestiaire on, I sensed a sure but mysterious link with Apollinaire’s poetry.””

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The circumstances and the aesthetic attitude behind the composition of

Poulenc’s next songs, Cocardes** (1919), are discussed in chapter 2 of this study. In its evocation of the fair, the circus, the melancholy of the ba/ musette, and the

simplicity and antiromanticism of the era of Les Six, Cocardes is an important work which says a great deal with a minimum of materials. The vocal phrases are rather short and choppy and they appear, for Poulenc, infrequently; for example, the first song contains thirty-four measures, but the voice is present in only twenty-one of them. These vocal phrases range from triadic, through tuneful, to scalar, to a repetition of one or two notes; it may be said that the

disjointed vocal lines reflect the disjointed dada texts. The accompaniments seem to emerge from the style of Mouvements perpétuels: they are simple and often repetitive to the point of monotony. They are frequently structured as short cells of a measure or two, which are then repeated one or two times (ex. 7). When scaler fragments are not in evidence, the bass motion is strongly functional, and there is a full measure of seventh chords and conscious “wrong-note” dissonance (ex. 8). Perhaps the dryness, the banality of Cocardes is best depicted in such accompanimental lines as those shown in example 9. Ex: 7:

Cocardes: |, r. 5

Tres calme

pee

© 1920 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Cocardes is a unique work in Poulenc’s oeuvre, perhaps because of the uniqueness of Cocteau’s texts. There are undeniable influences both of the aesthetic tenets espoused in Le Cog et l‘arlequin (a simple, bare, French popular music) and of Satie’s “white music,” especially the “musique d’ameublement.” Yet Cocardes was, and is, hailed as one of Poulenc’s most personal works. We

can certainly say that it captures the child-like gaiety and the veiled melancholy of the circus and the fair, and this accounts for its enormous popularity in Paris around 1920.

Ex. &.

Cocardes: Il, r. 2

BEx?.9!

Cocardes: Ill, bars 1-4 and 7-8

© 1920 Editions Max Eschig, Paris. Used by permission of the publisher.

Poulenc’s next songs were the abortive Quatre poémes de Max Jacob in

1921.°° He did not turn to the genre again until 1924, when he composed the five Poémes de Ronsard. They were written during his period of study with Charles Koechlin, and they consequently suffer from a heavy, stilted, overworked idiom. Poulenc himself comments on the set: written... with all possible negligences except, thank God, that of prosody. The first is

successful enough, with its clear influence of Mavra. “Attributs” should be sung imperturbably, with no rubato. The interpretation of the other songs is without surprise... like the music.2, 36

Poulenc was clearly not suited to the setting of classical poetry, as Auric unceremoniously informed him, and he made the mistake only four times in his career. Despite the heaviness, the banal melodic lines, and contrived dissonance,

there is some good writing in the Poémes de Ronsard, particularly in the first ,

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song, the opening of the fourth, and the last twelve bars of the fifth. Though it lacks clarity, “Le Tombeau” foreshadows, for the first time, the style of mature Poulenc, the Poulenc of the religious music and of the late Eluard mélodies. This

is certainly a different world from Cocardes and Le Bestiaire, with its lyricism and its full, rich chords. Though they are musically and critically unsuccessful, the Poémes de Ronsard (especially this second song in the set) signal a new direction for Poulenc, away from bare simplicity and the influence of Satie, and toward lyricism, even romanticism.

In 1925, Poulenc found the vehicle which allowed him to emerge from the heavy complexities of the Poémes de Ronsard. While composing Les Biches in 1923, he had turned to a collection of anonymous seventeenth-century poems, setting several of them for chorus in his ballet. He returned to this literary source in 1925-26 for Chansons gaillardes, a collection of eight songs. The texts he chose are earthy and occasionally rather bawdy, but, says Poulenc: I like this set, where I tried to show that music can accommodate obscenity. I detest smut. I think that the accompaniments are quite difficult, but well written.”

Indeed, not only are the accompaniments

well written, but the entire

collection affirms Poulenc’s mastery of the art song. The instinctive art of Le Bestiaire becomes controlled and habitual in the Chansons gaillardes, and is infused with the more expansive lyricism of the Poémes de Ronsard. Though much of the collection is clearly in a folk song style (e.g., the “La-la’s” in #1 and the strophic form of #4), the tone is surprisingly serious, particularly in the evennumbered songs; Poulenc treats these insignificant texts about the pleasures of wine and flesh with a great deal of respect. The tone and much of the musical style (particularly in #4) are suggestive of neoclassicism, as is the choice of texts. This seriousness, which belies the prevailing opinion that neoclassicism was always lighthearted, was to mark all of Poulenc’s neoclassic work, and undoubtedly can be traced to the severe tone of many of Stravinsky’s works of

the early 1920s.” Of the eight chansons, the odd-numbered ones are very much like folk songs, with their rapid, spirited settings, their use of repetition, and their tuneful melodic lines. Yet their remarkable accompaniments are far more intricate, well constructed, and idiomatically pianistic’? than those of Cocardes or Le Bestiaire. They contain a great deal of dissonance, but the simplification of the

chord structures and figuration renders it far more palatable than that of the Poémes de Ronsard. The even-numbered songs are the more serious ones; they are in moderate or slow tempos. No. .2 recalls the plodding, tongue-in-cheek mood of “Le Dromadaire” (from Le Bestiaire), as well as the robust, bawdy style of the choral Chanson a boire (1922). “Invocation aux Parques” has a grandiose, austere

The Songs

eof

tone, reflecting the one tender, innocent text (though a double meaning is hidden well below the surface); this tone, and the opening chords (ex. 10), so suggestive of the eighteenth century, would reappear, somewhat altered, in Aubade. The sixth song has the flowing, lyric, breathless quality of the later Vilmorin mélodies, replete with a sigh at the end. “Sérénade” has a _fin-de-siécle to it, with

melancholy

its minor

mode,

its strident dissonances,

and

its

Mahlerian diminished triad in measure 21.*° Ex. 10.

Chansons gaillardes: 1\V, opening and bars 5-6

Je

:

sombre

=

.

~~

e

|

~~

© by Heugel— Paris—France

Though Poulenc seems to have achieved a clear, successful song style with the Chansons gaillardes, he floundered in the genre during the ensuing four years (1927-30). He composed two insignificant songs during this period: Vocalise (1927) and Epitaphe (1930), the latter on a text by Malherbe, another unsuccessful attempt at setting classical poetry. The small collection Airs chantés of 1927-28 (texts by Jean Moréas) was also unappreciated, especially by the composer: “it always surprises me that I was able to write these songs. I detest Moréas and I chose his poems precisely because I found them deserving of

mutilation.”*" Moréas (real name Yannis Papadiamantopulos, 1856-1910) was the founder

of a modern

classical movement;

once again we see Poulenc

struggling with classical poetry. Nevertheless, the first and last of these four chansons are enjoyable, if lightweight, pieces. The piano writing, however, seems to have taken a step back since the Chansons gaillardes. Nineteen hundred and thirty-one might be called Poulenc’s “year of the mélodie”; in it he produced twelve mélodies and no other works at all. It was an important year in the development of his song style: one of uncertainty and experimentation, yet, significantly, one in which he returned to contemporary poetry for his inspiration, after an absence of twelve years. The curious history of the Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne, the first group written in 1931, is described by Marie Laurencin inaletter:

i

In looking at your charming score, I discovered that you set to music the three poems by Louise Lalanne. Of these three poems, two are mine: “Hier” and “Le Présent.” Eugéne Montfort, at that time director of Marges, had the idea of mystifying his readers by inventing a

258

The Songs false poetess. Naturally, Guillaume was delighted with this idea and accepted. At the moment it was to go to press, Guillaume, laziness personified, had done nothing and, I remember, we searched through my childhood notebooks, filled, naturally, with silliness, and we ended up by finding these two embryos, “Hier” and “Le Présent,” which I am still not very excited about.”

Poulenc had originally set the three poems believing that they had all been written by Apollinaire. Certainly, the two Laurencin poems are not of the highest quality, while the third, taken from Apollinaire’s // y a, is difficult and

somewhat obscure. The musical result is three complex mélodies,”’ particularly in the chromatic vocal lines and the rapid, mysterious piano parts of the first two. The first, “Le Présent,” is perhaps too dramatic for the simple, unpretentious poem. It modulates frequently, often becoming vague in its tonality, and the melodic line is jagged, reminiscent of the Ronsard songs. The octave piano style may be traced to Chopin, one of Poulenc’s favorite composers. The second song, perhaps entitled “Chanson” because of its meaningless poem, is yet more complex and fleeting, with intense chromaticism and dissonance. The piano coda trails off abruptly, leaving a sense of unfulfillment. The third song, “Hier,” though still complicated in its harmonic language, possesses the lyricism, the flowing accompaniment, and the melancholy mood of mature Poulenc. This is the first song that can unquestionably be placed in the fourth of the categories delineated earlier in this chapter (“tender, lyrical songs”). The Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire were written one month later (in March), yet they seem considerably more self-assured; perhaps the quality and subjects of the poetry appealed more to Poulenc. Here one sees the veiled nostalgia, the tongue-in-cheek irony, the semipopular tone that mark the best of Poulenc’s settings of this poet; for the first time, too, a hint of the frivolity and tunefulness that were to characterize Les Mamelles de Tirésias appears in a set of Poulenc mélodies. In addition, the piano writing is clear and appropriate, and more skillful than anything Poulenc had previously produced in the song genre. The first of the four songs is a gay valse-musette, associated with the poet’s and the composer’s love of Paris, and forming a link between the Valse (1919) for piano and “Voyage a Paris” (from Banalités, 1940). The opening motive, with a wrenching simultaneous cross-relation, forms a delightful ritornello, as it returns in the middle and at the end (ex. 11). “Carte-Postale” is in the lyric vein of “Hier,” but its harmonic language is greatly simplified, and its dedication to “Madame Cole Porter” underlines its resemblance to a good popular song of the 1930s. Indeed, these first two songs belong to the first category. On the other hand, the last two in the collection belong with the “patter songs.” Textually, it was undoubtedly the sarcasm of “Avant le cinéma” and the

“verbal kaleidoscope” of “1904” that inspired Poulenc. The silences, the vocal

leaps, the changes of mood, and the turns of phrase are indications of the semipopular tone of these pieces, yet, unlike the first two songs, they seem more attached to a particular era and, therefore, more dated.

The Songs

Jean

ne

259

Hou

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

The trend toward “songs with a popular flavor” was continued with the Cing poémes de Max Jacob, which closed the year 1931. The five poems have an acrid flavor, reflecting the Breton origin of Jacob, yet there is an underlying, childlike tenderness, as there seems to be in much of Jacob’s poetry. Poulenc referred to these settings as “songs [which are] above all descriptive,”*° meaning that he intended to portray, in music, the actual imagery of the scene or story depicted in the verse; for it is descriptive poetry, rather than the evocative poetry of Apollinaire or the psychological poetry of Eluard. Ex5 12:

Cing poémes de Max Jacob: 1, bars 30-33 and 38-39

aeT"y _——_

——_ =

erie —_1 s+

| be +}

$$ ——-=

9

eat elites Boone ee SS ee = __— —__s—_+ 1s

pe

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See reel fa

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Saaroe

ecient

J

260

The Songs

Ex. 13.

Cing poémes de Max Jacob: lll, bars 18-19 and 25

Goi _ tre, goi - tre,

‘sors de ton sac,

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

Ex. 14.

Cing poémes de Max Jacob: lV, last 4 bars

© Editions Salabert. Used by permission of G. Schirmer, U.S. agent.

This is true of “Chanson bretonne” (a “patter song”), with its bird military trumpet effect on the last page (ex. 12). “Cimetiére” is a first song with a lovely, flowing accompaniment and a tuneful melodic Petite servante” is the first “dramatic song” we have encountered, repeated notes, wild leaps, and powerful accompaniment

calls and category line. “La with its

(ex. 13); Poulenc

affirmed that this song was “very directly inspired by Moussorgsky.”*° “Berceuse,” with its cynical, reversed imagery (“Your father is at Mass, your mother at the cabaret”), seems to defy its title; Poulenc’s setting is also more like

a “wrong-note” valse-musette than a lullaby. The piece ends mysteriously on a very ambiguous chord (ex. 14). “Souric et Mouric” is a difficult song, with an impish opening, vacillating moods and styles, and a vivid evocation of night in the last two pages. Like the poetry of Jacob, this song is impossible to categorize.

The Songs

261

Poulenc’s next vocal work, though it is neither a song nor, in the strict sense, a collection of songs, should be considered at this point because of its texts

by Max Jacob and because of its logical evolution from the songs of 1931. Le Bal masqué (1932), a “cantate profane” consisting of six movements for baritone and chamber orchestra (#2 and #4 are purely instrumental), is one of Poulenc’s most important works. He considered that it depicts one side of his complex personality: It is one hundred percent Poulenc. If a strange lady were to write to me and ask me how I was put together, I would send her my portrait at the piano by Cocteau, my portrait by Bérard, Le Bal masqué and the Motets pour un temps de pénitence. | think that in this way she would get an exact picture of Poulenc-the-Janus.*’

Poulenc went on to tell us more specifically what side of his personality Le Bal masqué represents: “It is the’ only one of my works in which I think I have found

the means to glorify the suburban atmosphere which is so dear to me.”“* Thus it is the banlieusarde side, the flippant Poulenc of Nogent, that is depicted in this work, through its frantic, mocking (almost sneering) tone, its disjointed, dissonant style, and its use of parody (of a tango, a waltz, and Poulenc’s own vocal and chamber styles). While spending the summer of 1931 in Nogent, where vivid memories of his youth naturally came to mind, Poulenc discovered a collection of Jacob’s poetry: The poems of Le Bal masqué appeared in the volume entitled Laboratoire central. At that time, their violence, their truculence, and their drollness attracted me. I found in them that

splashy quality of the Parisian “weeklies” of my youth, and from this quality was born that strange musical carnival of which I have always been very fond.”

On another occasion, Poulenc compared the poems to old photographs in an album. The poetry of Laboratoire central is indeed visual, with numerous jeux de mots, severed words, onomatapoeia, and alliteration. The color and violence seem to leap from the pages; several poems actually suggest music, by the flow of the words and their very placement on the page. The title for the cantata comes from one of the poems in the collection; in addition, the poems describing “Malvina” and “La Dame aveugle” list them as “personnages du bal masqué.” It is little wonder, given such evocative poetry, that, while composing the work, Poulenc felt as many “affective equivalences” with Jacob as he ever did

with Apollinaire and Eluard. He described the creation of this work asa sort of collaboration: In a familiar atmosphere which evokes the suburbs of Paris, Max Jacob and | have set into motion a sort of carnival during which Mlle Malvina, a woman

in love, pretentious and ,

262

The Songs dissatisfied, gives her hand to a monstrous blind woman who, dressed in a fluffy gown, is getting drunk with her brother-in-law. We glimpsed these characters from the window of a “cute little chalet” on the banks of the Marne, and we have tried to make them more universal by exaggerating their characteristics. An “Air de bravoura,” which flows from the “Préambule,” carries the listener in a wild gallop across the words, which are linked by pure fantasy. An old man, violent and dull-witted, “repairer of old automobiles,” closes this gallery of bizarre portraits separated and enclosed by instrumental interludes. Above all, Max Jacob and I wanted the listener to laugh from surprise, perhaps even from shock, rather than to smile ironically, tight-lipped, logically, or even with an air of “superiority,” a gesture so

characteristic of lovers of refined art.”

To this long and colorful description of the work, it is interesting to add a further account by Poulenc: In this work I tried to create a vocal style which would be both hallucinatory, something like

photographs of crimes or vulgar pulp magazines, and strangely jarring, mixing both vulgar and appropriate harmonies, deforming the words and the sounds... .] am very fond of this work which will undoubtedly shock the paladins of so-called modern music.*!

One need add only a few comments to these lengthy and accurate descriptions. The chamber ensemble is small: a wind quartet, violin, cello, piano,

and an important and colorful percussion part (castanets, whistle, slap-stick, etc.). Except for the fourth movement (“Bagatelle”), which is a duet for violin and piano, the instruments are disposed in Poulenc’s normal fashion, that is, with the winds dominating. In general, the instrumental writing recalls the

jagged, dissonant, disjunct style of Poulenc’s early sonatas;**indeed, this work is a throwback to the era of Les Six in its style and in its cultivation of absurdity. Short, tuneful fragments alternate with rhythmic motives or scalar passages devoid of a tune. The vocal style seems to be a cross between the popular song style of a Nogent café-concert and a parody of “serious” arias; Poulenc suggests that the vocal line “should be interpreted with a mixture of violence and charm.” Numerous wide leaps, stops and starts, spoken phrases, and surprises fill the work; it is a tour de force for a singer, and requires an extraordinary facility with French pronunciation. In general, the vocal line is tuneful, but in short phrases

rather than long melodies. Along with the Concerto pour deux pianos of the same year, Le Bal masqué represents the end of Poulenc’s youth, his mauvais gargon period. He had achieved the skill and facility of an accomplished composer. He would now begin to add depth and sensitivity. In 1934, during his period of reflection and maturation,’ Poulenc arranged for piano Huit chansons polonaises for the singer Maria Modrakowska. The first seven

of these are rather conventional,

with Poulenc’s

settings often

invoking the style and melancholy mood of Chopin. The last song, however, is

The Songs

263

one of his most original and striking works. “Le Lac” (“Jezioro’) tells of a young girl abandoned beside a lake. Though the original folk melody (two verses) is diatonically in E minor, Poulenc’s setting is extremely dissonant and tonally ambiguous throughout. The first verse is set against single notes in the piano, with many seconds and sevenths (ex. 15). The second verse uses nontertian and nonfunctional chords. “Jezioro” and “Un poéme” (from Deux mélodies— Apollinaire, 1946) are Poulenc’s only experiments with ambigous tonality

throughout an entire piece. Ex, [5,

Huit chansons polonaises: VII, bars 5-10

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—=

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st

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receceeeen Ete Meeeeadlitec el ceeematieee nenadteeeed meee anh heteetheete tetieteaen ttote eames bdeotnettnaptnnatspetneendatipunabtiiesid asecichesoneamseten

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© by Heugel— Paris— France

EX. 13.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias: Entr’Acte, opening

eh

de I a —

Ee ee ee ey | nema cacataecalediemeedeall

ee

© by Heugel— Paris—France

Ex. 16.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias: | before r. 41 The dance ends

aaa

za A=

© by Heugel— Paris—France

The orchestration of Les Mamelles is a constant source of intriguing colors. A perfectly standard small nineteenth-century orchestra is employed, augmented only by a celesta, a piano, and a few percussion instruments (xylophone, bells, snare drum). Yet, by the creation of striking combinations (horns and low strings at two before r. 20 in act II, winds and celesta at two before r. 58 in act I, solo bassoon doubling Voice at four after r. 17 in act II); by the extensive and creative use of horns throughout; by the use of a concertante piano for caféa

298

The Stage Works

concert effect at r. 28, 32, and 86 of act I, and for “concert grand” effect at r. 1 in

act II; and by the exploitation of the music hall color of the solo trumpet (at r. 36 ff. and at 40 in act I, and at r. 29 and at six before 35 in act II), Poulenc has

expanded the capabilities of the standard orchestra. Both the critics and the composer himself pointed to the orchestration as contributing greatly to the success of Les Mamelles, as Poulenc wrote to Pierre Bernac: it is the best orchestral work that I have written. Imagine a Bal masqué for full orchestra. Above all, | have concentrated on lightness so that the words can be understood.”

Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this opera is its restraint. Though there is no denying that Les Mamelles de Tirésias is a comic opera, the music never resorts to slap-stick. It remains human and rather lyric throughout, with the possible exception of the opening chorus of act II, where the improbably silly situation of the husband, dressed in a nurse’s gown and tending toa stage full of babies in cradles (to whom he had “given birth”), prompted Poulenc to compose music with a broad comic effect. What is surprising is the seriousness of much of the music. This manifests itself musically in the Prologue, at r. 48 ff., 71, and 78 in act I, in the religious tone of the opening of the Entr’Acte, at r. 4, 20, 54, and

two before 40 in act II, and in the dramatic accompanied recitative phrase (at r. 31 and 68 in act I, and at r. 40 and after 38 in act II—ex. 17). In addition, many of the choral passages, particularly r. 50-54 and 79-82 in act I, and r. 4-9 in the Entr’Acte, sound like secular versions of Poulenc’s sacred choral music, such as

the Stabat Mater (1950). The result is a comic opera which must be taken seriously, a light opera which also expresses more profound and more tender

sentiments. Ex. 17.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias: 1, r. 31

© by Heugel— Paris—France

Les Mamelles de Tirésias must be considered one of Poulenc’s most important works. It stands at the watershed between his formative and his mature years. It recalls many of his earlier works, most notably Le Bal masqué,

The Stage Works

299

and it prepares the way for such works as the Stabat Mater and Dialogues des Carmélites. It might be said that Les Mamelles was the first Poulenc work to contain a significant number of musical gestures that were already familiar and gestures that were to become familiar. Poulenc twice avowed his love for the opera: “I have a definite weakness for Les Mamelles de Tirésias; | really think that I prefer this over all my other works,”” and: “along with Figure humaine and the Stabat, | consider Les Mamelles one of my most authentic works.”*” The circumstances surrounding the composition of Poulenc’s Dialogues des Carmélites, are discussed in chapter 5. The opera in 1956 and received its world premiére at La Scala, in Italian, 1957. It was a resounding success and enjoyed a lengthy run. The

second opera, was completed on 26 January Paris premiére

followed on 21 June of the same year, with Régine Crespin and Denise Duval,

Poulenc’s now-preferred lyric soprano,” singing two of the principal roles. The first American performance took place in San Francisco later that year, and the opera was produced on American television late in 1957. The story of the opera focuses on an aristocratic Parisian girl, Blanche de la Force, who enters a Carmelite convent to seek refuge from the terror of the

Revolution, and from her own fear of death. As Sister Blanche of the Agony of Christ she struggles to cope with the exigencies ofa religious life, with the death of her beloved Mother Superior, and with an imposed vow of martyrdom. Together with the other nuns of her convent, she makes this ultimate sacrifice in the moving final scene. Blanche, the only fictitious character, is the focus of the opera, as Poulenc tells us: But Blanche is the real subject. This young girl is sick and insane. And Jacquemont’s stage

direction [Paris production] makes it evident that we are dealing with insanity as well as fear. Then there is Constance, who loves Blanche innocently and instinctively. Grace operates through her, and the true subject of the play is the transferral of grace and the communion of

saints.”

Georges Bernanos, from whose play Poulenc drew his libretto, was one of the most profound, sensitive writers of Catholic literature of the twentieth century. He frequently dealt with such themes as the psychology of fear and the transferral of grace, the latter exemplified by this passage from Dialogues: “We do not die for ourselves, but for each other, or perhaps in place of one

another.” In Dialogues des Carmélites, Bernanos has achieved a clarity of language and presentation, a precision of expression, and a humanity that were often lacking in his earlier works. These were undoubtedly the qualities that attracted Poulenc to the play: “Terribly human sentiments—fear, pride—are

behind this tragic and truthful story,” and: “Bernanos’ spiritual conception is

exactly the same as mine.””° This conception shared by writer and composer was fundamentally positive, optimistic, and down-to-earth, as Poulenc intimates:

300

The Stage Works As an introductory quotation...1 chose this fiery statement of Saint Theresa: “May God deliver me from gloomy saints.” This is a clear indication of the tone I sought throughout this work.”

Neither the text nor the music of Dialogues des Carmélites ever resorts to facile breast-beating or philosophizing. The dedication of the opera tells us much about the musical style: “To the memory of Claude Debussy, who inspired me to compose, and to Claudio Monteverdi, Giuseppe Verdi, and Modeste Moussorgsky, who served as my models.” Poulenc elaborated on his choice of three of these four composers: I have always loved singing, and my first profound musical memories come from Don Giovanni, Pelléas, Boris, and Rigoletto. It is only natural, then, that the names Debussy, Moussorgsky, and Verdi appear in the dedication of Dialogues. If Mozart’s name is absent, it

is because one cannot dedicate anything to God the Father.**

The influence of Monteverdi is the least manifest of the four. The introductions to II,ii and III,i, as well as the first four bars of II,i (ex. 18), are somewhat

reminiscent of early seventeenth-century music, because of the stately moods, the polyphonic texture, the use of double dotting, and the prevalence of this

rhythmic figure: lea

.° More importantly, however, one might say

that the spirit of Monteverdi is very much alive in Dialogues, for the music throughout is designed to focus our attention on the individual characters, as Poulenc puts it: I could never think of burying Bernanos’ sensitive words under an orchestral avalanche. That is why I thought constantly of Monteverdi, whose music always achieved a maximum of

lyricism while maintaining great restraint of instrumental forces.”

This subtle, controlled use of the orchestra is an essential stylistic feature of the

opera. It is worth recalling that Poulenc had studied Monteverdi sacred works with Nadia Boulanger in 1936,°' and such a contact undoubtedly encouraged him to examine the operas. The influence of Debussy is more apparent. The emphasis on interior psychological drama, as well as the consistently subdued mood, are characteristics of both Dialogues and Pelléas. The conversational style, with the voices rarely overlapping or joining in duet, also recalls Debussy’s opera; and Poulenc’s vocal style, which occupies a middle ground between accompanied recitative and lyric aria, often resembling the vocal style of his art songs, owes a great deal to the extended arioso style developed by Debussy. On a different level, the whole-tone scale employed five bars after r. 19 in II,1i is uncharacteristic of Poulenc, and certainly suggests Debussy.

The Stage Works Ex. 18.

301

Dialogues des Carmélites: \1,ii (intro.); H1,i (intro.); and

II,i (intro.)

a OT = A

ae eae eee Nad eae ey

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Ex. 19.

Dialogues des Carmélites: |,i at 5 after r. 4f.

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G, Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Moussorgsky’s influence is felt particularly in the harmonic language; certain progressions, such as that which first appears at five after r. 4in I,i, can be traced to Boris Godunov (ex. 19), as can the bell-like opening of I,iv (Coronation Scene?) and the somber, monotone Interlude between the first and second scenes of the third act. Alan Rich sees several other Moussorgsky influences: The strong modal cast in harmony and melody, the frequent use of ostinato figures that

increase in urgency whilethe melodic material repeats at length, and the frequent juxtaposing of clashing chords to exploit their pure color value...serve constantly to conjure up the . Russian masterwork.

62

e

302

The Stage Works

The second of Rich’s stylistic observations, whether or not it can indeed be

traced to Boris Godunov, was a characteristic of Poulenc’s style throughout his career. The influence of Verdi is more subtle, but it is manifest in the lyricism of

certain scenes, in the dramatic style of the more recitative-like passages, and in the prominent role given to solo singing. Poulenc has made many conscious choices to emphasize the solo voice: the orchestra is fairly small and quite subdued throughout; there is little excitement or action to distract from the

singing; though they are short, there are numerous phrases of totally unaccompanied solo singing; and ensembles are avoided. Even when an obvious opportunity for a duet presents itself, as in the scene between Blanche and her brother (II,iii), Poulenc retains a dialogue format. He showed as much concern for correct prosody in this opera as he did in his art songs: [Dialogues] is wildly vocal. 1 am surveying each note and being careful to place the proper vowels on high notes; there is no need to question the prosody, for I believe that every word

will be understood. The essential phrases are nearly devoid of orchestra.

This was the aspect of Dialogues that Poulenc labored over, for he was a natural melodist and the music flowed easily. There are numerous accounts of him repeating phrases of the text aloud to himself, over and over, looking for the correct rhythm of the syllables. He felt that correct prosody was the key to a faithful interpretation of Bernanos’ intentions and dramatic concept: Since prosody is, for me, the great secret of this adventure, I want it to be so correct, so convincing that it could not be altered in any way. If Dialogues is not to be a mere sensationalist story, the precise tone of each phrase must express the spirituality that Bernanos

was able to inject into LeFort’s novella.™ Though Poulenc did not see fit to mention it in his dedication, the music of

Igor Stravinsky also exerted a strong influence on this opera, as on many other Poulenc works.® Other than in certain ostinati and rhythmic configurations which are pervasive in Poulenc’s music, that influence is most manifest in complex chord structures, as at two after r. 11 in the first Interlude of act II (ex.

20). One of Poulenc’s most unashamed borrowings can be found at the opening of II, i (ex. 21), where the chords and their relationships are nearly identical to those employed in the chorale-like “ritornello” which dominates the Symphonies of Wind Instruments (1920). The composer from whom Poulenc borrows the most in Dialogues is himself. Many harmonic and melodic phrases in the opera can be traced back to earlier works. For example, two of the motives quoted, (see ex. 24 and 25), important as unifying phrases in the opera, first appear in the Concerto pour

The Stage Works Ex. 20.

303

Dialogues des Carmélites: Interlude (act Il) at r. 11

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Bxe 215

Dialogues des Carmélites: 11,i, bars 5-8

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Exs22:

Dialogues des Carmélites: \\,ii, 4 after r. 33ff. A lame

eal

A

SR

Bas rae

Lapin —aeahed aint

| easrecianeiaieioaate af

4 -—_

ia

AR

—_pa Ri

to

L\

5

Ng ee

Re

Cal

-li.e

ee

eee

eT

ceeMEreel

a

ems

~- ri-bus

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

piano (1949), while still another (see ex. 23) comes from the first Nocturne (1929). There are many other small examples of such self-borrowing, including two before r. 6 in Ii (see #3 of La Fraicheur et le feu) and four after r. 72 in II, iv

(from page 4 in L’Histoire de Babar). More remarkably, the entire opening of

304

The Stage Works

the first Interlude in act III is virtually identical with the opening of the slow movement of the 1918 Sonata for Two Clarinets.” The choral sections in Dialogues, though few in number, playa pivotal role in establishing the religiosity and sensuousness of the opera.°’ There are two exquisite Latin choruses for the Carmelite nuns, the first with their prioress and the second with their priest. Both are short and chordal, alternating with phrases by the soloist. In both cases, it is the flow of the harmonies which demands our attention (ex. 22). The use of the crowd, in act II, scene 4, is purely coloristic, except for their interjections after r. 77. The chords are quite dissonant and clearly portray the effect of an angry mob. The final scene of the opera, on the other hand, uses the combination of the crowd chorus and the nun’s chorus as

the focus of attention; here the orchestra is largely supportive, and there is no solo singing until the end. Poulenc must have drawn upon what he learned in Figure humaine in composing these double choruses, for he alternates, overlaps, and combines them with great variety. A complex series of modulations lends shape to the scene, as do the dynamics. The chilling effect of eliminating one voice from the chorus at each fall of the executioner’s blade provides a conclusion that is both musically and dramatically effective. As was mentioned above, the orchestra, which is the fairly standard latenineteenth-century deployment,” remains subdued throughout, taking a supportive role to the voices. Woodwinds are emphasized, as is Poulenc’s custom, and the full orchestra is rarely used. Yet the orchestra performs two important functions. First of all, there are a number of purely orchestral interludes separating various pairs of the twelve scenes. These interludes were undoubtedly designed as scene-change music, but also music that sets the mood of the scene to follow. Most of them are rather short, yet the one that precedes the final scene is of a broader scope; it is a powerful, dramatic march to the scaffold, and it is linked, through its bass line, to the final scene. Secondly, there are a number of phrases, all entrusted to the orchestra, which appear frequently enough to justify referring to them as “leading motives.” Certain of these phrases, such as the “Moussorgsky progression” mentioned above (see ex. 19), are so pervasive and so flexible in their textual references, that they might better be called “unifying musical motives.” There are many other such unifying motives, such as the modulatory phrase (ex. 23) which is important enough (with its references to Blanche, fear, and grace) to interrupt the relentless procession of the last scene. Others act as true leading motives: the opening phrase of the opera, slowed down, colored with full ninth chords, and rendered modulatory, is used to refer to Blanche’s father (ex. 24). Another

phrase is associated with courage and its incarnation in the character of Mother Marie (ex. 25). Blanche even has her own motive, a progression which appears often in the opera (ex. 26).

The Stage Works Ex. 23.

Dialogues des Carmeélites: \,i, 5 after r. 19ff.

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Exo24

Dialogues des Carmélites: 1,i at r. 11

Copyright© 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G, Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Exs25;

Dialogues des Carmélites: 1,iv at r. 81

Copyright© 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Ex, 26:

Dialogues des Carmélites: 1,i, 8 after r. 24f.

a i ial 3—

reel

.

i

rj

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

305

306

The Stage Works

On the vertical plane, many of the triadic harmonies are colored by added sixths, sevenths, and ninths; Poulenc seems to have had a particular predilection

in this piece for the dominant seventh with an added minor ninth and minor sixth (or thirteenth). Diminished sevenths which do not resolve are used liberally in the less lyrical, more recitative-like passages, lending a feeling of insecurity or ambiguity to these sections. These chords often are used in a short “progression,” in which two notes of the chord simply change places (ex. 27). For the most part, however, a colorful functional tonality and a voluptuous lyricism create a sensuousness which, when combined with the serious subject and the

interior dialogue format, accounts for the unique place held by Dialogues in operatic literature. Harold Schonberg noted this uniqueness in discussing the “viable” operas written between 1950 and 1960—he concluded that “only Poulenc’s Carmélites seems to have a chance to survive.”” Alan Rich, who had criticized the opera in 1958, now concurs: “This is, indeed, one of the supreme musical dramas of our century.””° Exe

Dialogues des Carmélites: \1,ii at r. 53

Copyright © 1957, 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Milan. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishing, Inc., N.Y.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this opera is its anachronistic nature. There is nothing new or experimental about Dialogues des Carmélites; its music and its techniques are often rather dated.’' Yet, it seems destined to become part of the standard repertoire for two reasons: it is true music drama in that it is faithful to the Bernanos text (indeed, it enhances Bernanos’ drama); and it is

filled with imaginative and touching music. Poulenc’s third and final opera, La Voix humaine, was composed between

February and June of 1958.” Jean Cocteau’s monodrama (1930) from which Poulenc drew his libretto deals with a young, attractive woman who has been jilted by her lover. As the only character on stage, she prowls around her bedroom like a caged animal, pouring out her mixed emotions in a telephone conversation with this lover (we neither see nor hear him). A disturbing intrusion upon this already pathetic monologue are the notorious hazards of the French telephone system; the conversation is actually cut off twice and interrupted once, and she refers to the problem on five further occasions.

The Stage Works

307

Because of this and because it represents her sole link to her lover, the telephone receiver almost becomes a second on-stage character. These problems with the telephone only intensify the woman’s anxiety. She is barely coherent at times; she is mad with jealousy and suspicion; she has attempted suicide; she soars to ecstasy and descends to despondency; and her voice rises to a cry of anguish as the opera ends and she realizes she will, and must, never speak to her lover again. Ex728:

La Voix humaine: 3 before r. 26-26

laisse-moiparler.

Net’accuse pas.

Tout est ma fau_te.

Sy

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

Poulenc turned Cocteau’s monodrama into his most dramatic stage work by employing several innovative techniques. Of the 780 measures in the rather brief work, 186 are for solo voice with no orchestral accompaniment whatso-

ever.”? The vast majority of these measures employ a highly controlled, subdued vocal line, stylistically closer to traditional recitative than anything Poulenc had

previously written. The three bars before r. 26 (ex. 28) can be examined as a representative passage. Rhythmically, the three-bar phrase is an exact representation of normal speech, with the textual accents generating longer note values. The two fermate represent brief interjections by the lover over the phone; this technique is employed throughout the work, so that absolute silence (duration is determined by the singer and the conductor) accounts for the majority of the supposed conversation by the lover. The eighth-note rest after

“faute” and the rest between the two “sis” also are indicative of normal speech inflections. Curiously, the three-bar phrase is somewhat chant-like in its melodic characteristics: its entire range is narrowly contained within a diminished fifth; there is no interval larger than a minor third; F serves as a sort of “reciting tone” for the passage, and it is repeated often. Upon close examination, it can be seen that most of the vocal writing in La Voix humaine possesses the properties of the phrase discussed above. Repeated notes abound: intervals greater than afifth are rare, while step-wise motion and motion by a third predominate; rhythm and accents are designed to reflect actual speech patterns, particularly the pauses and hesitations of a phone conversation. Unlike that in Poulenc’s two previous operas, the vocal writing in La Voix humaine does not resemble that of his art songs—here he has deliberately rejected the Jyricism of his solo vocal music. Poulenc’s two major concerns here are to capture the proper rhythms of speech, and to mirror the normal inflections of speech with the subtle risings and fallings of the vocal line.

308 Ex. 29.

The Stage Works La Voix humaine: 4 before r. S8f.

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

Ex. 30.

La Voix humaine: r. 26 Deng hcereeetl nae omncadionedeamtipeainiael nai]ctened beainiiocaesnnndlpdieniarmmniead aaa ipcamndenaaiemtiadel Ictor: buna files liastlasiatl caceciesdiichesndss]oahooes bobaanticaialliaitamnIEe brian intheere iceeanniocmmennneid ctiansiastiiasanehtaennal tiene Aiea foals Ria a eea es Dd EE ey ee Ae SS Se egeens

ye

(26)

Souviens-toi

+

—j—

——

du dimanche de Ver_sail

- les

et du pneu_ma_

SoS

ti

>

SS

=

SS

5. ee que;s

iors ee

eeeo

Ab!

A-lors!

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

As the singer becomes excited, her vocal line rises, as at r. 25; as she expresses sadness, deception,

or loneliness,

as at four before r. 48, it falls; sudden

emotional outbursts are accompanied by high notes or by the infrequent wide leaps in the vocal line (ex. 29). This controlled, speech-like vocal writing is maintained throughout, except for one extremely dramatic passage (between r. 89 and 90) and two lyric passages: at r. 26 (ex. 30) she speaks fondly of a happy occasion the two of them had shared and the vocal line takes on more shape and direction;”* and at r. 61 begins the longest song-like or aria-like portion of the opera, as she speaks of her suicide attempt and her pathetic dream. This latter passage must be considered the most emotional section of the opera (Poulenc writes “au comble de la passion” after r. 62), and in it the vocal line becomes finely shaped and tonally stable. The harmonic language of La Voix humaine is also well-suited to the anguished and disjointed conversation. Though tonality is often in evidence, there is more sustained tonal ambiguity in this opera than in any other Poulenc work of comparable length. For example, no sense of stable tonality appears for

The Stage Works

309

the first eighteen measures; it is avoided through the use of nonfunctional dissonances, based on seconds, sevenths, and ninths (ex. 31). A sense of a B tonality is established by insistence at r. 5, but it is confounded by the orchestral dissonances from r. 5 to 8. At r. 9 this fleeting tonality is dissipated by an arpeggiated fully diminished seventh chord in the vocal line; this chord in turn does not resolve. As the opera progresses, the following ambiguous harmonic characteristics are encountered with some regularity: nonfunctional harmonic progressions, unresolved dissonances, an overwhelming use of diminished structures, and progressions of chords related chromatically (see r. 33, for example). Tonality is established definitively only in the most lyric passages (see above), or by short orchestral motives based upon functional harmonies; the phrase first appearing at four before r. 29 is one such motive (ex. 32). Yet these phrases are cut off quickly by a return to ambiguity, in this case at r. 29. Beas

La Voix humaine: 2 before r. 1-1 and r. 2

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

Ex. 32.

La Voix humaine: 4 before r. 29f.

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G, Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

The overall structure of La Voix humaine is unusual in Poulenc’s oeuvre. The choppy, fragmentary nature of the text, and Poulenc’s declamatory setting of it,’’ would seem to place the opera in danger of disintegrating. Poulenc’s solution was to use the orchestra as a framework for holding the work together, by entrusting it with most of the lyricism; he writes in the preface: “The entire

310 Ex. 33.

The Stage Works La Voix humaine: a) r. 1; b) 2 before r. 11; c) r. 13; d) 2 after r. 19; e) r. 20; f) r. 22; g) r. 26; h) 4 before r. 29f.; i)

ee eS en: We Noe ee LeeeQi lenge ade sha ae hd SS

Le sac? Tes lettres et les miennes.

Tu peuxle fair’prendre

quand tuveux.

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

work should be bathed in the deepest orchestral sensuality.””° Yet a rather small orchestra is employed (smaller than in Dialogues) and it never overpowers the voice. The opera is unified by a series of orchestral motives (not leading motives since they have no single dramatic reference) that provide the foundation. Nine of these motives appear often enough to bear listing (ex. 33). These motives are of varying importance, but the most prevalent are nos. 1, 2, 6, and 8. Still others

The Stage Works

311

appear, and then reappear only once or twice, such as the phrase at r. 18, which reappears at two after r. 80 and at 86. Most of these motives, and a great deal of the other orchestral material in La Voix humaine, can be found in Dialogues des Carmélites; some, such as the fourth motive listed in example 33, simply bear a strong resemblance to a passage in the earlier opera, while others, such as the eighth, are verbatim borrowings (see six bars after r. 94 in act I of Dialogues). In addition, a two-chord progression from Dialogues returns at two bars before r. 65 (ex. 34). Ex. 34.

La Voix humaine: 2 before r. 65f.

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

Ex. 35.

La Voix humaine: r. 41 and 63

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

Finally, Poulenc employed a more localized structural technique, one that can be traced to his propensity for additive rather than developmental procedures. He adopted the cellular technique used extensively by Debussy in, for example, La Mer, and by Satie in Parade and his other ballets. As seen at r. 41 and 63 in La Voix humaine (ex. 35), this technique consists of presenting a one- or two-bar phrase which is then repeated precisely, usually either once or

312

The Stage Works

twice.”’ Here the phrases are used primarily as cadential refrains. Thus, the opera is held together by some immediately-repeating cells. Ex. 36.

nine interwoven

motives and numerous

La Voix humaine: r. 36

Copyright © 1959 by G. Ricordi & Co., Paris. By arrangement with G. Schirmer/ Associated Music Publishers, Inc., N.Y.

The role of the orchestra, then, must not be underestimated. In addition to

the unifying functions mentioned above, it portrays the ringing of the telephone with repeated notes on the xylophone; it expresses the singer’s agitation and confusion while trying to reach her lover; it even suggests the jazz which she hears in the background through the phone (ex. 36). Most importantly, however, the orchestra fills in the voids created by the inherently dry, disjointed vocal line. If La Voix humaine succeeds as a drama, it is because of the vocal writing; but if it succeeds as a piece of music, as an opera, it is because of the orchestra. La Voix humaine has not been one of Poulenc’s most popular efforts; it is difficult to perform, and it possesses a tonal ambiguity and a motivic monotony which render it less palatable than his other large-scale works. Yet it is an operatic tour de force, and a fine vehicle for a singing actress;”* indeed, given that the solo operatic literature is so limited, it is surprising that La Voix humaine has not enjoyed greater popularity. Finally, this work represents alate stage of development in Poulenc’s style, as he explored new structural and melodic techniques; we can only lament the fact that he was not able to undertake another opera during the last four years of his life.

13

Conclusion

It would be presumptuous to believe that so complex a personality and so prolific a composer as Francis Poulenc could be dispensed with in a single general volume. Indeed, thisstudy merely opens up many avenues that need to be investigated in greater depth. One such avenue involves more detailed analysis of the major stage works, concertos, and choral works. Text and macroform analysis of these compositions would undoubtedly yield valuable discoveries. The comprehensive nature of the present study rendered such detail impractical. The choral music as a body deserves considerably more attention. Here, voice-leading and the nature of the writing for the inner voices provide interesting topics. Another path to follow in the choral music involves the relationship between texts and the musical responses to those texts—how extensive is the use of word painting? How closely does musical meter reflect poetic meter? One might also pursue further the relationship between Poulenc and Stravinsky. Many more specific influences than those mentioned in chapter 6 can be found. In fact, I feel that a great deal of Poulenc’s harmonic and rhythmic gestures can be shown to have derived from Stravinsky. Is there more to learn about their friendship? Could Poulenc have actually studied with the composer whom he had idolized since the age of fifteen? Several concerns of a more technical nature also need to be considered. The question of revisions is one such major concern. Why were certain works revised, and of what do the revisions consist? Here there is some difficulty in finding early editions of these works. Closely related, of course, is the need for locating and examining as many of Poulenc’s manuscripts as are still in existence (I have already ascertained that a number of them have been lost or destroyed). An investigation of Poulenc’s dedicatees, which has already been undertaken, would undoubtedly yield a valuable picture of the milieu and the times within which he lived afid worked. It might also provide a springboard for further sociological studies of Poulenc’s world. Similarly, his collected Correspondance ought to be translated and enlarged upon, for there are many provocative letters which have not been included.

314

Conclusion

Though the bibliography included with this study is extensive, it is far from complete and it could benefit from annotation. The list of works, on the other hand, is quite complete and accurate, lacking only first performance information on a number of works. Little needs to be done with the biography, for the pioneering effort of Henri Hell (Francis Poulenc, musicien francais) was written with Poulenc’s assistance. Certainly, however, intriguing discoveries can always be made in this domain, for Poulenc led an active, colorful life.

If Poulenc’s music is indeed his portrait (see chapter 6), then perhaps this general stylistic study and examination of all of the music—never before has this been undertaken—has painted a more detailed picture of this popular and frequently performed composer.

Notes

Chapter 1 Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 72. “il ne faut pas oublier que mon pére était originaire de cet Aveyron montagnard et robuste, situé entre l’Auvergne et le bassin meéditerranéen. Poulenc est d’ailleurs un nom typiquement du Midi. Mon pére, comme toute sa famille, était profondément mais trés librement religieux, sans la moindre mesquinerie.” Ibid., p. 20 “Une fois de plus, j’admirai l’étendu de sa culture. Sa compétence en musique, en peinture et en littérature était confondante.” Claude Rostand, Dictionnaire de la musique contemporaine, p. 178. His father liked Beethoven, Berlioz, Franck, and Fauré, none of whom was among Poulenc’s

preferred composers. Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 21. “En 1914, j’avais alors quinze ans, j’avais acheté les 6 piéces opus 19 datant de 1911, et j’'avais été séduit par la nouveauté d’une musique qui ne ressemblait pas a celle de Stravinsky.” Francis

Poulenc, “Mes

mélodies et leurs poetes,” Conferencia-Les Annales,

pp. 507-08.

“J’allais d’émerveillement en émerveillement. Par une étrange coincidence, enfant citadin, je »

découvrais 4 la fois la beauté de la campagne, I’hiver, et sa sublime transmutation musicale... quelque chose de trés profond dans ma vie fut changé.” I will use the French term “mélodie” for art song, as opposed to “chanson,” a song of a more popular nature (see chapter 11). Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 180. “C’est Debussy, sans aucun doute,

qui m’a éveillé a la musique.” Ibid., p. 30. “d’un incroyable complexité. Cétait, écrit sur trois ou quatre portées, du sousDebussy.” See chapter 7. See chapter 6. Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 24. “Dubussy est toujours resté le musicien que je préfére aprés Mozart.” In Héléne Jourdan-Morhange, Mes amis musiciens, p. 130. “un univers harmonique s’ouvrit soudain devant moi et ma musique n’a jamais oublié ce premier baiser d’amour.” y

Notes for Chapter 1

316 14.

Emmanuel Chabrier, (Paris, Genéve: La Palatine, 1961).

15.

Roland-Manuel, Plaisir de la musique 3, p. 30. Francis Poulenc, Emmanuel Chabrier, p. 46. “j'ai beaucoup pensé a /’Etoile lorsque j’ai écrit Les Mamelles de Tirésias.”

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 67. “Ah! Chabrier... .je l’'aime comme on aime son papa! Un papa gateau, toujours gai, les poches pleines de friandises succulentes. La musique de Chabrier est un trésor qu’on n’épuise jamais.” Ned

Rorem,

“Poulenc

and

Bernac—French

Song, with Pure Pleasure the Aim,” Hi-

Fi/ Musical America, p. 86. In José Bruyr, L’Ecran des musiciens, p. 45. ‘Qui vais-je imiter pour étre original’ me parait aussi béte que ‘comment, pour étre original, n’imiter personne?’ Je veux pouvoir employer indifférement un accord de Wagner, de Debussy, de Schumann, ou méme de Franck sil rend bien la nuance de l’émotion que je veux rendre. Quand j’eus réalisé ‘alla Gounod’ les récitatifs de la Colombe, Stravinsky m’a dit: ‘Rien n’est plus Poulenc que ces récitatifs-la.’”

20.

Darius Milhaud,

Etudes, p. 62. “Sa personnalité s'est affirmée indiscutablement dés les

premiéres notes qu'il a écrites.” 21.

Jean Cocteau, Le Cog et l'arlequin, p. 39. “Un artiste original ne peut pas copier. I] n’a donc qu’a copier pour étre original.”

De

In Paul Landormy, La Musique francaise aprés Debussy, p. 162. “Las du debussysme (j’adore Debussy), las de l’impressionisme (Ravel, Schmitt), je souhaite une musique saine, claire et

robuste, une musique aussi franchement frangaise que celle de Strawinsky est slave. Celle de Satie me semble la perfection a ce point de vue. Parade, c’est Paris, tout comme Petrouchka était Saint-Petersbourg. Une autre musique, plus cérébrale, me semble aussi ouvrir une porte sur l’avenir: celle de Roussel, que j'admire profondément pour ce qu'elle contient de discipline, de tenue et de sensibilité. J’aime aussi—tendrement—Chabrier (Espafia est une chose merveilleuse et Joyeuse marche un grand chef-d’oeuvre), Manon et Werther que je considére comme notre folklore, les chansons de Mayol, les quadrilles d’Offenbach, enfin Bach, Mozart,

Haydn et Chopin, Moussorgsky, Strawinsky. Quelle salade! direz-vous. C’est cependant ainsi que j’aime la musique, prenant modéle chez chacun sur ce qui me plait tout spécialement en lui.”

23.

The relationship between painting and Poulenc’s music is discussed in chapter 5.

24.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 165. “C’est aussi le seul lieu du monde ou je puisse supporter un grana chagrin, l’angoisse, la mélancolie. Je n’ai qu’aller me promener dans les quartiers que j’aime.”

phy

Poulenc inherited his uncle Papoum’s apartment at 5, rue de Médicis in the early 1920s.

26.

See chapter 3.

Die

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 18. “Lorsque je reste des semaines 4 travailler

loin de Paris c’est vraiment avec un coeur d’amoureux que je retrouve ‘ma ville.’” 28.

Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 522. “les bords de la Marne, chers

a mon enfance: Joinville, Champigny et son ile d’amour, ou j’aimais a flaner avec Raymond Radiguet; Nogent, enfin... la maison bombardée au pied du viaduc du Tremblay m’a fait réver

pendant des années.” oo

In “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” Bulletin de la Phonothéque nationale, p. 14. “D’abord, toutes mes premiéres oeuvres, tout ce qu’on appelle mon cété galant, mon cété érotique, ¢a

Notes for Chapter 2

317

vient de Nogent-sur-Marne. . . et cette espéce de relent d’odeur de frites et de canots et de flonsflons.”

30.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, pp. 241-42. “Je vous écris de [Nogent], ou je passe une journée de pélerinage. Rien n'est mélancolique comme ce genre d’introspection dans le passé; je n'y résiste pourtant jamais. Mais ov sont les bords de la Marne d‘antan, aujourd hui sans guinguettes, sans orchestres musettes, sans Bébert en casquette et Nini en corsage de soie rose! Tout un cété de ma musique s’explique par mon passé banlieusard: ce cété ‘titillations au bon endroit’ qui est celui d“H6tel.”

Chapter 2 1.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 42. “A cette époque.... il était le seul virtuose qui jouait Debussy et Ravel.”

Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 522. “Au début, it était convenu que je prendrais une legon d’une demi-heure chaque semaine, mais cette lecon dura bientét une heure, puis deux et, insensiblement, je passai ma vie chez cet hidalgo a figure de doux inquisiteur.” Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., pp. 173-74. In Lucien Chevallier, “Un entretien avec... Francis Poulenc,” Le Guide du concert, p. 856.

“C'est a lui que je dois tout le début de ma carriére, non seulement par la conscience qu’il m’a donné du piano, mais encore par la fagon effective dont il a secondé mes premiers efforts.” Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 522. “Tout ce que je sais du piano, je le dois a ce maitre génial, et c’est lui qui décida de ma vocation.’

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 42. “Le jeu de pédales, ce facteur essentiel de la musique moderne, personne ne I’indiquait mieux que Vifies. II arrivait 4 jouer clair dans un flot de pédale!” See chapter 9. See chapter 3. Francis Steegmuller, Cocteau, p. 82.

Ibid., p. 146. The best account of the events leading up to the creation of Parade, as wellas of the excitement of the premiere itself, can be found in Steegmuller’s Cocteau, pp. 139-97.

“De cette alliance nouvelle... il est résulté, dans Parade, une sorte de surréalisme ou je vois le point de départ d’une série de manifestations de cet ‘Esprit Nouveau.’” Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., pp. 47-48. “Je fus subjugué! Avec l’injustice des vingt ans, quoique idolatrant Debussy, j’acceptai de le renier un peu car j’avais soif de cet esprit nouveau que nous apportaient Satie et Picasso.” Héléne Jourdan-Morhange, Mes amis musiciens, p. 127. “malgré la chaude recommandation de Ricardo Vifies, Erik Satie ne voyait en lui qu’un fils de famille, un ‘blanc-bec.’”

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 83. “Tout ce que je connaissais de Satie, et je connaissais tout, me semblait frayer une“Voie nouvelle a la musique frangaise.”

318

Notes for Chapter 2 Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, pp. 47-48. “Quelque temps aprés, j’écrivais les Mouvements perpétuels et, un peu plus tard, cette Suite en ut si franchement Satie. Avouez que la métamorphose s’était opérée en un clin d’oeil sous la conduite d’un devin qui connaissait bien ma vraie personnalité.” Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 524. “Erik Satie m’a considérablement influencé, tant spirituellement que musicalement. Il voyait si juste...qu’un jeune musicien ne pouvait que gagner a son contact. De plus, il était merveilleusement dréle.” See chapter 3.

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 135. “je n’ai jamais fait partie directement du groupe surréaliste, car un musicien n’y trouvait pas sa place.” No one had set foot in Satie’s room since he had moved from Paris to Arcueil. Poulenc and Milhaud discovered, among other oddities, two pianos stacked piggy-back, a closet full of unused umbrellas and grey velvet suits, and several unknown manuscripts, including Jack-inthe- Box. 21.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 46. “sa musique demeure pour moi un des plus chers trésors de toute la musique.”

22.

Steegmuller, p. 170.

23:

Milhaud composed some of his finest works while in Brazil, including the ballet L’‘Homme et son désir and the piano suite Saudades do Brazil. On his return trip to France, he spent some time in the United States, where he was profoundly influenced by the jazz he heard in Harlem; the result was the jazz ballet La Création du monde (1923).

24.

Jean Cocteau, “The Six,” Fanfare, p. 3.

25.

See Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 15.

26.

Ibid., pp. 15-21. During one of these liberties, Poulenc was invited to a luncheon party given by Héléne Jourdan-Morhange, the music critic and leader of a young string quartet that was involved with much of the new music. It was on this occasion that Auric inadvertently placed his umbrella inside Satie’s, which was resting in the stand. The latter, whose fetish for umbrellas was well-known, flew into a rage and would not speak to Auric for months.

Die

Trois Pastorales (1918), Sonata for Two Clarinets (1918), Sonata for Piano 4 Hands (1918), Mouvements perpétuels (1918), Le Bestiaire (1919), and Valse (1919).

28.

In “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 523 and Moi et mes amis, p. 51.

29:

The 74-page book was published by Editions de la Siréne, a new publishing house created by Cocteau and Cendrars. Two of Poulenc’s works of 1919, Le Bestiaire and Cocardes, were originally published by this company.

30.

Jean Cocteau, Le Cog et l'arlequin. “Assez de nuages, de vagues, d’aquariums, d’ondines et de parfums de la nuit; il nous faut une musique sur la terre, une musique de tous les jours” (p. 28);

“Toute musique 4 écouter... dans les mains est suspecte. Wagner, c’est le type de la musique qui s’écoute dans les mains” (p. 41).

Se

Ibid., pp. 17-18. “L'instinct demande a étre dressé par la méthode, mais l’instinct seul nous aide a découvrir une méthode qui nous soit propre et grace a laquelle nous pouvons dresser notre

instinct.”

Notes for Chapter 2 32,

319

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 45-46. “un manager de génie . .. un ami fidéle et exquis, C’était, si vous voulez, notre chroniqueur poétique bien plus que notre théoricien. A vrai dire, Le Cog et larlequin n’est pas tant un manifeste du groupe, qu’une défense de lesthétique de Satie en lopposant aux grands ainés d’ayant 14: Debussy, Ravel, Strawinsky. Cocteau... souhaitait

que notre esthétique fiat la sienne.”

S35

See Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, pp. 21-24.

34.

This suggests, as a visual equivalent, the collage, which was so popular with dada artists.

35;

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, pp. 5-6. “On doit... chanter ce cycle sans ironie. L’essentiel, c’est de croire aux mots qui s’envolent comme un oiseau, d’une branche a une autre.

Médrano de 1920, Paris d’avant 1914, Marseille de 1918 sont évoqués ici. Il s’agit de les deviner, comme ces vues qu’on regarde dans un porte-plume. Je range Cocardes dans mes ‘oeuvres Nogent’ avec une odeur de frites, d’accordéon, de parfum Piver. En un mot tout ce que j’ai aimé a cet age.”

36.

André George, “Francis Poulenc,” The Chesterian, p. 143.

oT.

A vibrant young poet, Radiguet (1903-1923) had recently become Cocteau’s “ward” and lover. His most important works include the poetry collection Les Joues en feu, and the novels Le Diable au corps and Le Bal du Comte d’Orgel. His premature death, of typhoid, was to send Cocteau into a deep depression.

38.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance 1915-1963, p. 60. “Les Biches m’aident a vivre.”

39

Ibid., p. 61. “Je souffre comme le premier jour. Je traine une vie absurde. Vos oeuvres sont les seules choses qui me retiennent et me donnent la curiosité de vivre.” Darius Milhaud, Notes sans musique, pp. 103-4. “Pendant deux ans, nous nous retrouvames

réguliérement chez moi, tous les samedis soir. Paul Morand faisait des cocktails, puis nous allions dans un petit restaurant en haut de la rue Blanche. La salle du Petit Bessonneau était si petite que les samedistes l’occupaient entiérement. IIs s'y livraient sans retenue a leur exubérance. Il n’y avait pas que des compositeurs parmi nous mais aussi des interpreétes: Marcelle Meyer, Juliette Meerovitch, Andrée Vaurabourg, le chanteur russe Koubitzky; des

peintres: Marie Laurencin, Iréne Lagut, Valentine Gross...Guy Pierre Fauconnet; des écrivains: Lucien Daudet, Radiguet, un jeune poéte que Cocteau nous amena. Aprés le diner, attirés par les manéges a vapeur, les boutiques mystérieuses, la Fille de Mars, les tirs, les loteries, les ménageries, le vacarme des orgues mécaniques a rouleaux perforés qui semblaient moudre implacablement et simultanément tous les flonflons de music-hall et de revues, nous allions a la Foire de Montmartre, et quelquefois au Cirque Médrano pour assister aux sketches des Fratellini...dignes de la Commedia dell’Arte. Nous terminions la soirée chez moi. Les poétes lisaient leurs poémes. Nous jouions nos derniéres oeuvres. Nous exigions de Poulenc qu'il nous jouat Cocardes tous les samedis, ce qu’il faisait avec la meilleure grace du monde.” 41.

42.

A typical concert was the avant-garde event on 24 June 1919 organized by Pierre Bertin in Paul Poiret’s Barbazange Gallery; the music was by Poulenc, Milhaud, Auric, Durey, Satie, Roland-Manuel, Stravinsky, Tailleferre, and Lord Berners. The Lyre et Palette concerts continued, of course, at the Salle Huyghens. Unusual was the concert that spotlighted only one composer of the group, such as the Apollinaire memorial on 8 June 1919: all of the music was by Poulenc, including the first public performance of Le Bestiaire.

Unsigned, Le Cog, vol. 1. Les six musiciens ne s’intéressent plus au contrepoint harmonique.” “Arnold Schoenberg les 6 musiciens vous saluent.”

Notes for Chapter 3

320 43.

Ibid., vol. 1. “Le petit orchestre des Cocardes de Francis Poulenc me ravit autant qu’une page de Rameau.” “Les images qui paraitront avec Tambour de Jean Cocteau, sont un chefd’oeuvre de clarté, de grace et d’équilibre. Elles ont des équivalents en musique: les chansons parisiennes de Francis Poulenc: Cocardes.” Henri Pruniéres, “Francis Poulenc,” Cahiers dart, p. 126. “Cette représentation mémorable marquait le triomphe des idées de Cocteau. Le cirque, le jazz, le cinéma, enfin et surtout le

music-hall, fournissaient les principaux éléments de l’esthétique nouvelle, qui n’allait connaitre qu’une trés courte vogue.”

45.

See note 41 above.

46.

Milhaud, op. cit., pp. 127-28.

47.

Jean Cocteau, La Danse. “Ballet? Non. Piéce? Non. Revue? Non. Tragédie? Non. Plutét une

sorte de mariage secret entre la tragédie antique et la revue de fin d’année, le choeur et le numéro de music-hall.”

48.

The preface to Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel, written by Cocteau, can be found, along with the text, several sketches and photographs, and other memorabilia, in #365-366 of /’Avant-scéne (1966). The entire issue is devoted to Cocteau, who died in 1963.

49.

Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 523. “Association amicale, certes, esthétique sirement pas. Quoi de plus différent qu’Auric et Milhaud, Honegger et moi-méme. La meilleure preuve que seul un lien d’affection nous unissait, c’est que, quinze ans aprés, suivant chacun notre route, nous sommes demeurés de fidéles amis.”

50.

Paradoxically, several of Les Six later went through “neo-romantic” periods. Poulenc’s romantic tendencies can be found during the years 1937-1948 (see chapter 6).

Chapter 3 Wiéner (born 1896) went on to sponsor an important concert series in Paris in the early 1920s, performing works by Les Six, Stravinsky, Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern, as well as reawakening an interest in Bach and other early composers. He later formed a successful twopiano team with Clément Doucet which toured internationally, performing jazz and concert music. Wiéner has also been a competent composer, excelling in film and television scores, and in light, jazz-inspired pieces, such as the Sonatine syncopée and the Concerto francoameéricain. Milhaud once referred to him as “our artistic patron” (Notes sans musique, p. 133).

Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 524. “je ne l’'aime pas, et surtout qu’on ne me parle pas de son influence sur la musique contemporaine. [Il] m’amuse lorsque j’en écoute des disques en prenant mon bain, mais il m’est franchement odieux dans une salle de concert.” Born Winnaretta Singer, of the American Singer family, the Princesse Edmond de Polignac was one of the great patrons of French music. She befriended and supported Fauré, Chabrier, Ravel, Richard Strauss, Stravinsky, Satie, Falla, and Poulenc. She commissioned such works

as Socrate, El Retablo de Maese Pedro, Renard, and two Poulenc concertos (for two pianos and for organ). Jean and Marie-Blanche de Polignac became close friends of Poulenc’s. She herself was an accomplished musician who sang for a time with Nadia Boulanger’s madrigal group. Poulenc carried on alively and intimate correspondence with her, and he was to dedicate to her

two piano pieces, the chamber cantata Un soir de neige, and some fourteen songs, most of which received their first performance at the salon of Jean and Marie-Blanche.

Notes for Chapter 3

32]

Charles and Marie-Laure de Noailles dominated the social scene of Paris in the 1920s, with their support of the arts and their lavish parties. They both had a predilection for modern art, poetry, and music. They commissioned Aubade and Le Bal masqué from Poulenc, as well as other music and the surrealist films L’Age d'or (Bunuel and Dali) and Le Sang d'un poéte (Cocteau). Their salon flourished into the 1950s (see Ned Rorem’s Paris Diary). Poulenc immediately took up permanent residence in Paris, soon inheriting his uncle Papoum’s lovely apartment on the rue de Médicis, overlooking the Jardins de Luxembourg. Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 41. “Ayant de suite senti que, comme beaucoup de Latins, j’étais plus harmoniste que contrepontiste, il me fit, parallélement aux devoirs de contrepoint, réaliser en quatre parties des thémes de choral de Bach. Ce travail, qui me passionait, a eu une influence décisive sur moi. C’est grace a cela que j’ai acquis le sens de la musique chorale.” Paul Guth, “Des Mamelles de Tirésias au Stabat Mater: Francis Poulenc a deux cétés,” Le

Figaro littéraire, p. 4. “Ma musique chorale doit tout 4 Charles Koechlin.” See chapter 6. Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 188. “Eh bien, si Stravinsky n’avait pas existé, est-ce que j’aurais écrit de la musique? C’est vous dire que je me considére comme un fils, une espéce de fils qu’l renierait certainement, mais enfin un fils spirituel de Stravinsky.”

See chapter 4. See chapter 4. René Dumesnil, La Musique en France entre les deux guerres, pp. 72-73. “Chaque année, au printemps, Wanda Landowska donnait, en sa maison de Saint-Leu-la Forét, quelques concerts

champétres, dont le souvenir, aussi, reste parmi les meilleurs de ces années entre les deux guerres. Tout y était combiné pour I’agrément des visiteurs: un cadre merveilleux, dans un des

sites les plus aimables des environs de Paris; une maison exquise, pleine de trésors artistiques disposés avec un goiit et une simplicité qui les mettaient discrétement en valeur; une salle de musique, au fond d’un jardin que la saison parait de toutes les graces; et puis des programmes.”

12.

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 56. “Tout de suite elle m’invita chez elle et, depuis lors, j’ai toujours été son cher enfant.”

1

Ibid., p. 55. “Wanda Landowska est une des seules femmes qui me donne l’impression du génie a l'état pur.”

14.

Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, pp. 74-75. “Ma rencontre avec Wanda Landowska est, en effet, un événement capital dans ma carriére. J’ai pour Wanda Landowska autant de respect artistique que d’humaine tendresse. Je suis fier de son amitié et je ne dirai

jamais assez tout ce que je lui dois. C’est elle qui m’a donné la clef de l’oeuvre de clavecin de Bach. C’est elle qui m’a appris tout ce que je sais sur nos clavecinistes frangais.” Poulenc’s father had been a partner in the Rhéne-Poulenc textile firm, and Poulenc had come into a sizeable sum of money when his father died in 1917. Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 76. “Etant follement visuel, tout m’est prétexte a distraction, a

éparpillement. II me faut donc me replier sur moi-méme et travailler dans la solitude. C’est pourquoi je ne peux pas travailler 4 Paris.”

The following romantié portrait, painted by Colette in an article about Les Animaux modéles called “A propos d’un ballet,” provides the prevailing opinion of Poulenc’s appearance and manner. He vigorously denied nearly all of what Colette had to say.

Notes for Chapter 3

Bee

“Au long d’un coteau calcaire, Poulenc, entouré de vignes, vit dans une grande maison aérée, ou il fait et boit son vin. Regardez Poulenc: sont-ce la les traits d’un buveur d’eau? Il a le

nez fort et flaireur, l’oeil prompt 4 changer d’expression. II est confiant et précautionneux, a Vaise dans l’amitié, et poéte comme un paysan.” [On the edge of a calcareous hill, surrounded by his vineyards, Poulenc lives ina large, airy house, where he makes and drinks his own wine. Look at Poulenc: are these the physical traits of a teetotaler? He has a strong and sensitive nose, eyes that change expression quickly. He is self-confident and cautious, at ease among his friends, and a country poet.] 18.

See chapter 1.

Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 523. “Je ne suis pas Tourangeau, qu’on ne se le dise. Les critiques m’accablent d’adjectifs paysans qui fleurent le bon vin. Si je posséde a Noizay une maison agréable, seule retraite ou je puisse travailler, aucune origine ne me rattache a ce pays.” 20.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 141. “Je vous en prie, ne tolérez pas qu’on m’appelle jamais le musicien tourangeau car j’ai toujours travaillé ici comme dans une prison, en révant a des pays féeriques: Monte-Carlo, Nogent, le Boulevard de la Chapelle, etc.”

21.

Or perhaps they are hearing the “suburban” influence of Nogent-sur-Marne, as discussed in the first chapter.

Dee

Francis Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” Conferencia—Les Annales, p. 507. “J'ai toujours aimé passionnement la poésie, et c’est pourquoi les mélodies sont si nombreuses dans ma production musicale.”

235

See chapter 2.

24.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 69. “La transposition musicale d’un poéme doit étre un acte d’amour, et

jamais un mariage de raison. J’ai mis en musique Apollinaire et Max Jacob parce que j’aime leur poésie.” 25.

Edward Lockspeiser, “Francis Poulenc and Modern French Poets,” Monthly Musical Record, Dae

26.

A painter, poet, and intellectual, Valentine Gross was a close friend of Cocteau and Les Six. She was in the inner circle of the artistic activities of the period 1915-1925, and she designed the sets for numerous Théatre du Vieux-Colombier productions during the war years. In 1919 she married the writer, chronicler, and costume designer, Jean Hugo (she was known thereafter as

Valentine Gross-Hugo).

Dil

Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” p. 509. “Chose capitale: j’ai entendu le son de sa voix. Je pense que c’est la un point essentiel pour un musicien qui ne veut pas trahir un poéte. Le timbre d’Apollinaire, comme toute son oeuvre, était a la fois mélancolique et joyeux. Il y avait parfois dans sa parole une pointe d’ironie.”

28.

Poulenc reduced the collection to six short songs after the first few performances, apparently on the advice of Auric.

29:

See Fonds

Montpensier, no indication of journal or page number. “nous trouvons chez

Francis Poulenc comme chez Guillaume Apollinaire ce méme cété tendre et méme lyrique,

cette méme cocasserie, cette méme gaillardise et paillardise rabelaisienne, ce méme sarcasme acide et parfois cruel, ce méme sentiment poétique direct et pénétrant, cette méme sensibilité ou plutét sensualité poétique de l'ambiance...ce méme cété mauvais garcon, ce méme érotisme souterrain.”

Notes for Chapter 4

a3

30.

Nino Franck, “Poulenc 4 Montmartre,” Candide, n.p. “Je trouve chez [Apollinaire].., ce style romance a deux sous, cette joie de la banlieue, des canots sur la Marne, qui me touchent plus que tout, car c’est lun des éléments essentiels de ma vie.”

Ste

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 59. “Plus je relis Apollinaire, plus je suis frappé du réle poétique de Paris dans son oeuvre. C’est pourquoi, dans le tumulte des Mamelles, jai, par exemple, toujours respecté les oasis de tendresse suscités par le mot Seine ou par le mot Paris.”

32.

Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” p. 510. “J’ai toujours été frappé par la mélancolie de son sourire, c’est pourquoi ma musique, méme sur ses poémes les plus gais, conserve toujours un attendrissement mélancolique.”

33.

See chapter 5.

34.

Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 77. “{Calligrammes] représente pour moi l’'aboutissement de tout un ordre de recherches quant a la transposition musicale d’A pollinaire. Plus je feuillette ses volumes, plus je sens que je n’y trouve plus ma pature. Non pas que j’aime moins la poésie d’Apollinaire (je ne I’ai jamais tant aimée) mais j'ai impression que j’ai épuisé tout ce qui m’y convenait.”

3);

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., pp. 94-95. “j’ai admiré sans réserve cet étonnant volume de Max Jacob: Le Cornet a dés, que je tiens pour un des trois chefs-d’oeuvre des poémes en prose francais.”

36.

Ibid., p. 95. “La gloiresi justifiée d’Apollinaire a trop souvent éclipsé celle de Max Jacob; ils se sont alternativement influencés, comme Picasso et Braque, entre les années 1911, 1913.”

37.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 89. “Ce sera mon seul titre de gloire de figurer a cété de ton nom.”

Chapter 4

I

Poulenc never alludes to the thought or compositional processes involved in this evolution. We can only speculate, based on the direction his music took during the period. Pierre Bernac (né Bertin, but he changed his name in 1920 to avoid confusion with the actor-

poet of the same name) was, like Poulenc, born in 1899. In the early 1920s he began to work with André Caplet, the composer and conductor who was also a fine vocal coach. Caplet, in turn, sent Bernac to study with Yvonne Gouverné, director of the French Radio Choruses from 1935 until the 1960s. Wishing to expand his repertoire to include German Lieder, Bernac studied with the Austrian Reinhold von Wahrlich until 1934. Pierre Bernac, in “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” Bulletin de la Phonothéque Nationale, p. 11. “A la suite de ce concert, nous avons décidé de collaborer d’une fagon suivie et de créer, en somme, une équipe comme on en voit pour I’interprétation des sonates piano et violon, avec le méme souci d’équilibre et de mise au point pour l’interprétation du répertoire vocal de concerts.”

Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 92. “Bien entendu, c’est grace a cette association que j’ai écrit tant de mélodies que personne ne chantera jamais mieux que Bernac, qui connait les ae secrets de ma musique.” Francis Poulenc, in “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” p. 10. “tout ce que mon art, dans le domaine de la mélodie, a d’évolué, c’est grace 4 Bernac. De méme que Vines m’avait révélé

certains secrets de l’écriture pianistique, c’est Bernac qui m’a montré Ies possibilités du chant et

324

Notes for Chapter 4 comme le chant est une chose que j’aime par-dessus tout, c’est vous dire le bonheur qu’ont représenté pour moi ces années de concerts.”

Francis Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” Conferencia—Les Annales, p. 511. “Le style vocal de Bernac m’incita tout naturellement a chercher un poéte lyrique. Je pensai aussit6t a Paul Eluard.” Elmer Peterson, Tristan Tzara, p. 9.

Tristan Tzara, Sept manifestes Dada, lampisteries, p. 26. “il n’y a pas de commencement et nous ne tremblons pas, nous ne sommes pas sentimentaux. Nous déchirons, vent furieux, le

linge des nuages et des priéres, et préparons le grand spectacle du désastre, l’incendie, la décomposition.” The group consisted of Breton, Phillippe Soupault, Jacques Prévert, Raymond Queneau, Benjamin Péret, Louis Aragon, Robert Desnos, René Crevel, Paul Eluard, the peripherals

Pierre Reverdy, Max Jacob, and Jean Cocteau, and the painters Max Ernst, Francis Picabia, Joan Mir6, Giogio di Chirico, Yves Tanguy, Salvador Dali, and René Magritte. At least seven of these men were friends of Poulenc’s and he set the poetry of Aragon, Desnos, Eluard, Jacob, and Cocteau.

André Breton, Manifeste du surréalisme. “Surréalisme, n.m. Automatisme psychique pur par lequel on se propose d’exprimer, soit verbalement, soit par écrit, soit de toute autre manieére, le fonctionnement réel de la pensée. Dictée de la pensée, en l’absence de tout contréle exercé par la raison, en dehors de toute préoccupation esthétique ou morale.” Perhaps the incongruity of the poetry is incompatible with the inherent suggestive nature of music. 12.

13.

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 93-94. “D’abord, parce que c’était le seul surréaliste qui tolérat la musique. Ensuite, parce que toute son oeuve est vibration musicale. Enfin, j’‘avais trouvé un poéte lyrique, un poéte de l'amour, qu’il s’agisse de l'amour humain, ou de celui de la liberté.” Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 15. “Ouevre de tatonnement. Clef tournée dans une serrure.”

14.

Pierre Bernac, The Interpretation of French Art Song, p. 291.

15.

Poulenc, in “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” p. 13. “Paul Eluard était véritablement un frére spirituel, et je pense que peut-étre c’est lui qui m’a permis d’exprimer le plus secret de moiméme et surtout mon lyrisme... vocal.”

Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, pp. 54-55. “Si l'on mettait sur ma tombe: ci-git Francis Poulenc, le musicien d’Apollinaire et d’Eluard, il me semble que ce serait mon plus beau titre de gloire.”

I

Henri Hell, Francis Poulenc, musicien francais, pp. 106-7. “De 1935 a 1938, Poulenc et Bernac

ont I’habitude de passer ensemble, l’été, un mois de vacances, soit en Dordogne, soit dans le

Morvan: mois studieux ot les deux amis préparent leurs concerts, mettent au point et enrichissent leur répertoire, mois de création aussi, pour le compositeur.” 18.

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 108-9. “En 1936, date capitale dans ma vie et dans ma carriére,

profitant d’un séjour de travail avec Yvonne Gouverné et Bernac 4 Uzerche, je demandai 4 ce dernier de me conduire en auto 4 Rocamadour, dont j’avais trés souvent entendu parler par mon pére. Je venais, quelques jours avant, d’apprendre la mort tragique de mon collégue,

Pierre-Octave Ferroud, La décollation atroce de ce musicien si plein de force m’avait frappé de stupeur. Songeant au peu de poids de notre enveloppe humaine, la vie spirituelle m’attirait a

Notes for Chapter 5

325

nouveau ....Le soir méme de cette visite 4 Rocamadour, jecommengai mes Litaniesa la Vierge

Noire pour voix de femme Rocamadour, mettant sous humaine, \e Stabat, 4 la Carmélites de Bernanos... mon oeuvre religieuse.”

19.

et orgue....A dater de ce jour, je suis retourné bien souvent a la protection de la Vierge Noire des oeuvres diverses comme Figure mémoire de mon cher Christian Bérard, et les Dialogues des Vous connaissez maintenant la véritable source d’inspiration de

Poulenc was a political conservative—though

he harbored some royalist sympathies, he

favored the maintenance of the status quo. As a well-to-do landowner, he was somewhat

apprehensive about communism.

20.

ZL

He delivered his first talk on 6 April 1935 in Paris, entitled “La Musique frangaise de piano de Chabrier a nos jours.” His international career as a lecturer began in 1937, when he traveled to Rome to present a concert-lecture, sponsored by the Countess Pecci-Blunt, on “Les Souvenirs de mes vingt ans.” Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 21. “Peu d’étres m’émeuvent autant que Louise de

Vilmorin: parce qu'elle est belle, parce qu’elle boite, parce qu’elle écrit un frangais d’un pureté innée, parce que son nom évoque des fleurs et des légumes, parce qu’elle aime d’amour ses fréres et fraternellement ses amants. L’amour, le désir, le plaisir, la maladie, l’exil, la géne, sont

a la source de son authenticité.”

22.

Hell, pp. 114-15. “J’ai trouvé dans la poésie de Louise de Vilmorin une sorte d’impertinence sensible, de libertinage, de gourmandise qui prolongeait dans la mélodie ce que j’avais exprimé, trés jeune, dans Les Biches avec Marie Laurencin.”

23:

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 125. “Maintenant il ne faut plus vivre que d’espoirs et de projets futurs.”

24.

Ibid., p. 132. “Je profite . .. d’une petite accalmie dans la tempéte domestique pour venir parler avec vous d’autre chose que de pannes d’€lectricité, manque d’eau, absence de clefs, réfugiés, eter

25.

Ibid., p. 121. “Cher Francis, que de souhaits je forme pour que Noizay soit intact. J’y ai tellement tellement pensé, Et 4 vous, donc! Que Dieu fasse que nous puissions un jour, pas trop éloigné, nous y retrouver tous, comme les Noéls ou les Pentecdtes dont le souvenir parfumera ma vie passée.”

26.

Ibid., p. 138. “Je viens de passer une horrible quinzaine a tous les points de vue.”

21.

Ibid., p. 143. “Les bruits les plus fous ont circulé. On a annoncé 100,000 tués rien que dans Paris. Ici nous avons craint le pire mais dieu merci nous I’avons évité.”

28.

Francis Poulenc, “Oeuvres récentes de Darius Milhaud,” Contrepoints, p. 59. “C’est dire combien il est présent dans ma vie de musicien.”

Chapter 5 Michael Benedikt, The Poetry of Surrealism, p. 246. Francis Poulenc, “Mes

maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia,

p. 525. “semblable en cela a

beaucoup dartistes, les premiéres années de ma carriére ont été les plus remplies d’événements saillants.”

Francis Poulenc, “Feuilfes américaines,” La Table ronde, pp. 66-75.

326

Notes for Chapter 5 Claude Rostand, Review of 7 May 1952 in Fonds Montpensier. “Ce Stabat n'est pas seulement une réussite. C’est un chef-d’oeuvre.

Poulenc, “Feuilles américaines,” p. 69. “Plus de sympathie que de direct enthousiasme.” R. Aloys Mooser, Panorama de la musique contemporaine, p. 157. “De toute évidence, auteur de ce Concerto s'est ingénié a éviter l’effort. Autant, je le suppose, pour ne pas ‘faire peine’ a ses auditeurs, que pour éviter de se fatiguer lui-méme.” Dom Surchamp, in Zodiaque (no. 42), pp. 50-51. “Poulenc a toujours su proportionner son oeuvre a ses dons. I] n’a jamais tenté d’apparaitre autre qu'il n’était, dans sa musique comme dans sa vie.” Two late examples of serial rows, in the horn Elégie (1957) and in the Sept répons des ténébres (1962), are undeveloped and rather jejune, indicating an homage rather than an attempt at a new language.

Henri Hell, “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” Musica, p. 39. Saint Margaret (1247-1297) was born in Laviano (Tuscany). She fell into a sinful life for about nine years during her youth. As atonement, she went to Cortona and served the Franciscan Fathers in prayer and chastising of the flesh. She died in Cortona and is buried in the church of

St. Basil, now known as St. Margaret.

Apparently Poulenc had informed Valcaranghi that he was looking for a “mystical” subject upon which to write an opera. We find this revelation in a Poulenc letter to Georges Hirsch, director of the Paris Opéra (quoted in Jean Roy, Francis Poulenc, pp. 66-68). Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 211. “Je me revois dans un café de la Piazza Navona, un clair matin de mars 1953, dévorant le drame de Bernanos, et me disant a

chaque scéne: ‘Mais, évidemment, c’est fait pour moi, c’est fait pour moi!’ ”

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 211. “Les Carmélites sont commencées, je n’en dors plus (littéralement). Je crois que cela ira mais il y a tant de problémes.” Ibid., p. 212. “Je travaille comme un fou, ne sors pas, ne vois personne. .. Je fais un tableau par semaine. Je ne me reconnais pas. Je suis fou de mon sujet au point de croire que j’ai connu ces dames.”

Ibid., p. 219. “je suis horriblement triste ....Sans doute ce climat d’angoisse était-il nécessaire A mes dames. Vous verrez c’est une atmosphére terrible et je crois qu’a l’entr’acte les gens auront froid dans le dos. Je n’aurais jamais cru que je pourrais écrire une oeuvre de ce ton.” Lavery (b. 1902) has concentrated on religious subjects in such plays as The First Legion; A Drama of the Society of Jesus (1934) and Murder ina Nunnery (1944). Perhaps his best known

work is Brief Music (1940). He was educated at Fordham Law School, and has worked as a Hollywood scenario writer (1934-37) and with the Federal Theater (1937-39). This information comes from Hervé Dugardin, the Paris director of Ricordi (see pp. 225-26 in Poulenc’s Correspondance). See chapter 12.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 74. “Depuis ma plus tendre enfance, jai la passion de la peinture. Je lui dois autant de joies profondes qu’a lamusique.”

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 173. “En effet, j'aime la peinture de toutes les époques, de tous les pays, de toutes tendances.”

Notes for Chapter 5 Zi

327

Meaning “wild” or “wild beast,” the adjective “fauve” was used to describe the style of André Derain and Matisse when they exhibited in the Salon d’automne in Paris (1905). Stylistically, it implies bold brush strokes, vivid shapes, and an explosion of bright colors. For a number of years, Derain, Matisse, Dufy, Maurice Vlaminck, and Georges Rouault were considered to be

a Fauve “group.”

22,

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 176. “En tout cas, si l’on veut imaginer ces bords de la Marne dont vous m’entendez souvent parler, il n'y a qu’a regarder les tableaux et aquarelles qu’en a fait Dufy. Lorsque je les vois, j’en ressens un choc au coeur. C’est, magnifiquement résumé et schématisé, tout le paradis de mon enfance.”

23.

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 92. “J’ai...souvent pensé que Dufy et moi avions plus d'un point commun.”

24.

Jean-Michel Hayoz, “In memoriam: Francis Poulenc et son temps,” Schweizerische Musikzeitung, pp. 345-55. “Pourtant, dans le cas de Poulenc, je ne puis m’empécher de decouvrir un parallélisme entre sa musique et la peinture de Raoul Dufy. Méme aisance, méme fécondité chez Poulenc et chez Dufy, méme vision heureuse et sereine, parfois goguenarde, du monde, méme esprit prime-sautier, paffois sentimentale, méme goat pour la simplicité des formes et la clarté du dessin, méme affection un peu cocardiére pour la France qu’ils servent par l'image et les sons...mais aussi chez les deux, le méme souci de servir leur art avec des moyens autonomes.”

2.

Peter Hansen, An Introduction to Twentieth Century Music, p. 145.

26.

In Alan Bowness, Modern European Art, p. 92.

27:

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 172. “Je ne saurais vous dire 4 quel point l’exposition de ses dessins pour les poésies de Mallarmé m’a frappé. .. .On y voyait le méme sujet, spécialement un cygne, dans trois ou quatre états qui allaient toujours du plus complexe, du plus épais...au trait de plume le plus idéalement simple et pur. J’ai souvent cherché, spécialement dans les accompagnements de mélodies, a tenir compte de cette lecon.”

28.

Ned Rorem, “Poulenc—A Memoir,” Tempo, p. 29.

29.

Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 5. Roger de la Fresnaye (1885-1927), active in Paris

during the vibrant decade 1910-20, painted some strikingly oblique, expressive studies of World War I and scenes of Paris. He also did several sensitive portraits, notably of Radiguet. 30.

Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947) concentrated on portraiture and figures, but turned to landscapes later in his career. In his carefully obscured realism, Bonnard suffused modern art with late

romanticism; he bridged the gap between impressionism and abstract art.

31.

Edouard Vuillard (1868-1940) specialized in tender, tranquil sitting-room scenes. His style was essentially realistic, and he employed plain, simple colors. Both Vuillard and Bonnard were members of the Nabis group early in their careers.

32.

In Jacqueline Bellas, “Francis Poulenc ou le ‘son de voix de Guillaume,’” Actes du colloque, p. 137. “C’est toute la question de l’accrochage, aussi capitale en musique qu’en peinture.”

33.

See chapter 12.

34.

Duval, a young soprano whom Poulenc had discovered in a Paris music hall, had sung the leading roles in Les Mamelles de Tirésias and Dialogues des Carmélites.

SD:

In Jean Roy, Francis Poblenc, pp. 71-72. “La Voix humaine est finie. Je vais vite l’orchestrer pour me débarrasser de ce cauchemar, car c’est une oeuvre que j'ai écrite dans un véritable état de transe.” -

Notes for Chapter 6

328 36.

Ibid., pp. 138-39. “Je pense qu’il me fallait l’expérience de l’angoisse métaphysique et spirituelle des Dialogues des Carmélites pour ne pas trahir l’angoisse terriblement humaine du superbe

texte de Jean Cocteau.” 37.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 250. “Ce voyage me rajeunit de dix ans.”

38.

Ibid., p. 263. “Qu’écrirai-je ensuite? Sans doute plus rien.”

39.

Ibid., p. 264. “Je me sens heureusement trés libre de tout maintenant et attends de la

Providence.” 40.

Jean Cocteau, in Le Figaro, 31 January 1963, p. 1. “Impossible d’écrire un article sur Poulenc... qu’il me suffise de dire que sa mort est un désastre pour la musique et pour

V'amitié.” 41.

Allen Hughes, “Poulenc’s Music Reflected Man,” New York Times, p. 5.

42.

Rorem, op. cit., p. 29.

Chapter 6

1. _ Poulenc often spoke deprecatingly about critics and musicologists. He is reported to have said: “Music is a mystery, not to be taken apart...analyzing absolutely negates the music.” 2.

Here the dual influences of Wanda Landowska and Poulenc’s study of the music of Bach must be acknowledged.

3.

For a distinction, see chapter 11.

4.

See the discussion of Mouvements perpétuels in chapter 9.

5. | There are essentially contrapuntal French composers, such as Pierre Boulez and Serge Nigg, but their inspiration and techniques clearly derive from the Austro-German sphere. 6.

Francis Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” Conferencia—Les Annales, p. 511.

7.

See chapter 8.

8.

See chapter 7.

9.

See chapter 8, ex. 23.

10.

See chapter 10.

11.

In Laurence Davies, The Gallic Muse, p. 158.

12.

In José Bruyr, L’Ecran des musiciens, p. 45.

13.

See chapter 2.

14.

Clarendon, “Hommage a Poulenc,” Le Figaro, p. 26. “Poulenc a été le meilleur harmoniste de sa génération, le dernier amoureux de Il"harmonie; ne nous plaignons pas que ses accords soient trop beaux.”

15.

Jean Roy, Présences contemporaines, musique francaise, p. 245.

16.

See chapter 7.

17.

See chapter 10.

18)

See chapter. 7, ex, 32.

Notes for Chapter 6

329

Richard Bobbitt, The Harmonic Idiom in the Works of “Les Six,” p. 373.

20.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 128. “Je sais trés bien que je ne suis pas de ces musiciens qui auront innové harmoniquement comme Igor, Ravel ou Debussy mais je pense qu'il y a place pour de la musique neuve que se contente des accords des autres, N’était-ce pas le cas de Mozart-Schubert?”

21.

Ibid. “Le temps renforcera d’ailleurs la personnalité de mon style harmonique.”

22.

See chapter I1, ex. 24.

23.

Bobbitt, pp. 377 ff.

24.

Walter Piston, Harmony, p. 288.

25.

This is the most logical explanation: (Bm) 4 II - V

Epm: VI - III-I (ALTERED) In this case, the F¥ triad serving as the dominant in the old key of B minor is seen as the enharmonic equivalent of Gp, a mediant chord in the new key of Eh minor. Thus the Neapolitan

sixth (C major) could be considered a pivot chord, and it is easy to hear it as such.

26.

See chapter 10.

Zhe

Gisele Philips, Essai sur oeuvre lyrique de Francis Poulenc, p. 75.

28.

See chapter 9, ex. 24.

29.

See chapter 11, ex. 27.

30.

William W. Austin, Music in the 20th Century, p. 151.

31.

See chapter 8, ex. 24.

oz

Henri Hell, Francis Poulenc, musicien francais, p. 203. “C'est 4 ces rapports délicats et subtils de tonalités que la musique de Poulenc doit une grande part de sa sensualité harmonique.”

33,

See chapter I1, ex. 3.

34,

The most logical explanation, presented in chapter 11, derives from Poulenc’s tendency to compose certain songs in sections, with no concern for a tonal unity. When he “pieces” these songs together, such slash modulations may result.

35.

See chapter 8, ex. 2.

36.

See chapter 11.

37.

Seeiex. 51,

38.

See chapter |.

39:

Ned Rorem, “Poulenc—A Memoir,” Tempo, p. 28.

Davies, op. cit., p. 157.

41.

See chapter 2.

42.

Testimony of this can pe sons on an historic French recording that is still available (BAM

LDS5744).

330

Notes for Chapter 7 Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 88. “Elle a exercé une influence formidable sur mon style mélodique, je lui voue une secrete tendresse et une infinie gratitude.” Claude Rostand, “Francis Poulenc,” Dictionnaire de la musique contemporaine, p. 178. “De tout le groupe, il demeurera le plus fidéle a l’idéal de simplicité et de clarté préné par Satie; longtemps aussi, il restera fidéle a l’esthétique d’anti-sublime caractéristique des années 20. Jusqu’en 1936 environ, il produira dans cette veine fauve avec une invention sans cesse

43. 44.

renouvelée.” 45.

Francis Poulenc, “Igor Stravinsky,” L’Information musicale, p. 195. “A lage de vingt ans, j'ai aimé la musique de Stravinsky a en perdre la téte. Nombre de mes premiéres oeuvres témoignent de cette vénération passionnée; influence bien naturelle puisque dans une seule journée, il mest arrivé, a cette époque, de jouer plus de vingt fois ouverture de Mavra ou le final de Pulcinella. Maintenant que j’ai dépassé la quarantaine et qu'il entre ou qu'il devrait entrer plus de mesure dans mes sentiments, j’ai gardé pour l’oeuvre de Stravinsky une ferveur intacte, et c’est toujours A ce maitre que je dois quelques-unes de mes plus fortes joies musicales.”

46.

Eric Salzman, Twentieth-Century Music: An Introduction, pp. 47-48.

47.

Austin, op. cit., p. 32.

48.

See chapter 3.

49.

See chapter 4.

50.

Roland Gelatt, “The Last ‘French’ Composer,” The Reporter, p. 53.

51.

David Drew, “The Simplicity of Poulenc,” The Listener, p. 1372

52.

Claude Rostand, “Poulenc, musicien des coeurs attentifs,” Carrefour, n.p.

53.

Arthur Honegger, Incantation aux fossiles, p. 111. “Les influences de Chabrier, de Strawinsky

et de Satie, qu’il a subies au début de sa carriére, se sont assimilées, ainsi qu'il arrive toujours lorsqu’existe une séve véritable, et sont maintenant si bien fondues dans lensemble de ses qualités propres qu'il est impossible de les déceler, tandis qu’a chaque instant un contour

mélodique, un enchainement harmonique nous fait dire: ‘C’est trés Poulenc.’ ”

54.

55,

In Jean Roy, Francis Poulenc, p. 100.

Giséle Brelet, “Musique contemporaine en France,” Histoire de la musique, p. 1136.

56.

Rostand, “Francis Poulenc,” p. 179. “Son langage musical varie si peu d’un genre a l'autre que tel passage d’opéra bouffe pourrait fort bien figurer dans telle oeuvre sacrée.”

57.

See chapter 8.

Chapter 7

1.

The title will be given in English if the work was first published by Chester of London.

2.

Poulenc attempted several string sonatas during his career, all of which were destroyed. In addition, there were two unsuccessful efforts to write a string quartet. He mentions the first, which probably never approached completion, in a letter to Paul Collaer dated 12 July 1921 (see page 34 in the Correspondance). The second, for which three movements were sketched in 1945, was summarily deposited in a Paris sewer by its author after he heard a reading by the violinist Joseph Calvet (see Henri Hell, “Hommage a Francis Poulenc,” p. 39).

Notes for Chapter 7

gal

Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 118. “J'ai toujours adoré les instruments a vent, que je préfére aux cordes, et ceci, tout naturellement, sans tic d’époque. Bien sar, L'Histoire du Soldat et les piéces pour clarinette seule de Stravinsky ont développ é en moi ce godt, mais je l’avais déja enfant.” The original version of Cocardes (1919), a short group of songs to Cocteau texts, was scored for a small “street orchestra,” including a cornet and a trombone, while Le Bal masqué (1932), an important cantata with several purely instrumental movements, includes a cornet in its chamber orchestra.

The Sonate pour violoncelle et piano follows the pattern, but adds a brief fast movement between the slow movement and the finale. Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 118. “La musique de chambre est, chez moi...un phénomén e intermittent. C’est, tantét un besoin réel qui me pousse 4 l’écrire, tant6t une occasion que m’offre un virtuose.” From the score: “comme un coup de sifflet.”

See chapter |. Poulenc,

Entretiens, pp. 118-19. “En ce qui concerne mes trois premiéres sonates pour

instruments a vent, il est hors de doute que je les dois 4 mon seul instinct. Evidemment, [les trois

sonates] sont des oeuvres de jeunesse et le titre de sonate peut étonner a cause de leurs dimensions restreintes, mais n’oublions pas que c’est lépoque a laquelle Debussy venait de

renouer la tradition de la sonate francaise du XVII le siécle, en réaction contre la sonate post-

franckiste. Bien écrites pour les vents, elles gardent une certaine verdeur qui n’est pas sans rapport avec les premiéres toiles de Dufy.” Darius Milhaud, “The Evolution of Modern

American Revue, p. 550.

Music in Paris and in Vienna,” The North

Darius Milhaud, Etudes, p. 19. “un véritable chef-d’oeuvre.”

Claude Rostand, “Un Festival Poulenc,” Fonds Montpensier, p. 45. Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 121. “Pour ceux qui me croient insouciant de la forme, je n’hésiterai pas

a dévoiler ici mes secrets: le premier mouvement suit le plan d’un allegro de Haydn, et le Rondo final, la coupe du scherzo du deuxiéme Concerto pour piano et orchestre de Saint-Saéns. Ravel

m’a toujours conseillé ce genre de méthode qu'il a suivi, lui-méme, souvent.”

This passage also bears a marked resemblance to the slow fourth variation in Prokofiev's Second Piano Concerto (1921)—Poulenc often spoke of the debt he owed to his Russian near-

contemporary.

Harry Neville, record liner notes (Angel S-36519).

16.

David Drew, “Modern French Music,” European Music in the Twentieth Century, p. 262.

hs

(1) Bransle de Bourgogne—Bransle de Bourgogne, Book III; (2) Pavane—Pavane d’Angle-

terre, Book VI; (3) Petite marche militaire—Bransle Simple, Book VI; (4) Complainte—?; (5) Bransle de Champagne—Bransle de Champagne, Book VI; (6) Sicilienne—Gaillarde, Book IV; (7) Carillon—Bransle Simple, Book II.

R. 1-2; 4 before r. 4-4; r. 5-6; r. 7-9; 5 after r. 9-10; r. 12-13; r. 14-16; r, 19-21 (2); 5 after r. 22-6 after r. 23; 4 after r. 25-26; r. 27-30; r. 31-16 after r. 31; 12 before r. 32-6 before r. 32; r. 32-6 before r. 33; 18 after r. 33-34.

332 19.

Notes for Chapter 7 Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 527. “C’est de la musique de

chambre sans aucune arriére-pensée: un hommage aux instruments a vent que j’ai aimés des mes premiéres oeuvres.”

20.

Rollo Myers, “Francis Poulenc,” Monthly Musical Record, p. 130.

2h:

See chapter 6 for an explanation.

22.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 25. “Maintenant j’ai sur le chantier une sonate pour piano, violon, violoncelle. L’élaboration de cette oeuvre m’amuse pas mal.”

23.

Héléne Jourdan-Morhange, Mes amis musiciens, p. 74. “Je me souviens d’une Sonate pianoviolon de Poulenc dont il n’avait pas eu le temps de finir la partie de piano. Nous ne jouames que les deux premiers morceaux qui étaient fort jolis.”

24.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 205. “Ma seconde sonate date de 1924. Je la destinais a Jelly d’Arany, la dédicataire de Tzigane. Elle a subi le sort de mon quatuor. Je lui ai tordu le cou avant de la livrer au public.”

2a;

Ibid., p. 124. “Esquissée en 1940, tandis que je commengais Les Animaux modéles, elle sy apparente étroitement. J’avais abandonné mes esquisses, lorsqu’en 1948 Yadmiration et Yaffection que j’ai pour Pierre Fournier m’ont incité a terminer cette oeuvre.”

26.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 128. “Ce n’est pas mal, je crois, et en tous cas fort différent de la sempiternelle ligne de violon-mélodie des sonates frangaises du X1Xe. Comme celles de Brahms sont belles! Je les connaissais mal. On ne peut obtenir un bon équilibre sonore entre ces deux instruments si opposés: le piano et le violon, que si on les traite équitablement, a part égale. Le violon prima donna sur piano arpégé me fait vomir.”

De

Francis Poulenc, “Sur deux premiéres auditions,” Comoedia, n.p. “Si vous voulez connaitre

mes modéles en cette aventure, sachez que c’est 4 Brahms et 4 Debussy que j’ai pensé car, pour moi, ce sont les seuls compositeurs qui, depuis les classiques, ont résolu victorieusement le probleme ardu de l’équilibre piano violon. Ce qui convient aux cordes ne convient pas forcément au piano et vice-versa, c’est pourquoi certains themes de ma Sonate appartiennent en propre a l'un des deux instruments.”

28.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 120. “En dépit de quelques détails violonistiques savoureux dus a la seule Ginette Neveu qui m’a beaucoup aidé pour la rédaction instrumentale, cette sonate est carrément ratée, et je pense ici spécialement au finale, mais bien plus encore a cause de son ton artificiellement pathétique. A vrai dire, je n’aime pas le violon, au singulier.”

29"

See chapter 6.

30.

See again chapter 6.

Sie

There is also a lovely Sarabande for solo guitar, written for Ida Presti and published in 1961. It is a modest work and not terribly significant in Poulenc’s output.

32.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 219. “Comment va Paris? Se dodécanise-t-il a toute allure?”

33:

See chapters 5 and 12.

34,

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 265. “une sorte de chant liturgigue.”

Notes for Chapter 8

333

Chapter 8 See chapter 12.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 57. “j’eus l’idée de composer un concert champétre dans le godt de cette forét de Saint-Leu ot Roussea u et Diderot staient promenés, ot Couperin, comme Landowska, avait séjourné.” Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 78. “Pour un garcon qui, jusqu’a l’age de dix-huit ans, n’a connu d’autre campagne que le bois de Vincennes et les coteaux de Champigny, champétre signifie grande banlieue. Landowska habitait en 1928 a Saint-Leu-laForét...c’est dans une atmosphére de campagne trés XVIIle que j’ai situé mon oeuvre. Ce concerto est champétre selon Diderot et Rousseau. Ceci vous explique le cété policé de certains dessins mélodiques. Gabriel Marcel avait cru déceler, dans le final, de scandaleuses et inexplicables ‘sonneries de caserne.’ C’est trés exact. Pour moi, éternel citadin, les clairons du fort de Vincennes, entendu du bois voisin, sont aussi poétique que, pour Weber, des cors de chasse dans une vaste forét.” See chapter 12.

Henri Hell, Francis Poulenc, musicien frangais, p. 56. “On ne peut nier la parenté de cet ouvrage avec ceux des clavecinistes anciens: l’inspiration, la forme, Jusqu’aux thémes parfois, tout porte le signe de l"hommage qui leur est rendu. Hommage et non pastiche. Ce n’est pas une musique du XVIlle siécle écrite par un musicien du XXe siécle.”

Tunefulness is particularly characteristic of French neoclassicism. Here the abundance of tunes and the rather free structure of the movement recall the Trio. Lucien Chevallier, “Une entretien avec... Francis Poulenc,” Le Guide du concert, p. 856. “J'ai travaillé avec [Landowska] la premiére version de mon concert. Nous l’avons repris mesure par mesure, note par note. Nous n’avons cependant changé ni une mesure ni une ligne mélodique,

mais l€criture pianistique et le choix des instruments concertants a été l'objet de nos recherches les plus approfondies. Nous avons surtout clarifié l’écriture, soit par simplification d’accord, soit par suppression de notes. Bref nous sommes arrivés a une partition dont aspect de simplicité vous frappera sGrement et dont I’effet pourtant demeure riche et varié.” Ibid., p. 856. “Je me suis décidé 4 employer tout le grand orchestre contre le fréle clavecin. S’ils dialoguent, lun ne nuit point a l'autre. Dés qu’ils concertent, j’extrais de la masse les unités suffisantes et tour 4 tour chaque groupe vient rehausser sans I’écraser la sonorité du clavecin: il en résulte au contraire une plus grande variété de couleurs.” Paul Bertrand, in Le Menestral, 3 May 1929 (see Fonds Montpensier). “le Concert champétre

ne vise pas a l’effet pittoresque, mais a l’€vocation d’une atmosphére; il s’enveloppe d’un frisson

automnal a la fois ardent’et apaisé.” 10.

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 79-80. “J’eus l’idée de composer un concerto chorégraphique mettant en valeur, simultanément, une danseuse et un pianiste. Mes amis ayant mis A ma disposition dix-huit musiciens . . . ’apport d’un piano corsait encore les possibilités sonores. C’est ainsi que naquit cette oeuvre amphibie.”

UE

Ibid., p. 81. “c’est l'argument seul qui m’a donné la forme de l’oeuvre.”

12.

From the preface to the sgore (found in the piano version). “Une clairiére a l’aube (dans le style das peintres de l’Ecole de Fontainebleau). Les compagnes de Diane s’éveillent une a une,

angoissées par un triste pressentiment (Récitatif). Diane, brilée d’un amour qui lui ravit sa pureté, passe parmi elles, les vétements en désordre (Rondeau). Ses amties s’empressent pour la

334

Notes for Chapter 8 parer. Elle s'y préte de mauvaise grace (Presto). Elle serre pourtant sur son coeur l’arc qu’on lui présente (Récitatif) et danse une variation pathétique et résignée (Andante). Elle jette son arc et s'abandonne au désespoir. Elle s’enfuit dans les bois, mais revient presque aussitét (Allegro féroce). Ses compagnes |’entourent. Diane les supplie de la laisser aller. Soudain, profitant de leur désarroi, elle bondit de nouveau vers la forét. Consternées, les femmes regardent sans

comprendre l’endroit ot elle a disparu et n’apercoivent plus qu’un bras faisant le geste d’un ultime adieu. Accablées, elles tombent a terre et s’endorment peu a peu. C'est le jour (Conclusion).”

13.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 81. “Aubade est un ballet de femmes, de solitude féminine.”

14.

Francis Poulenc, “Francis Poulenc On His Ballets,” Ballet, p. 58.

15:

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 44.

16.

As it is, violins are not employed. The string parts usually double a prominent wind line, or add unobtrusive pizzicato accompaniment.

Ide

See the discussion of the Brass Sonata in chapter 7.

18.

See chapter 6.

ee

“écrit ...dans la mélancolie et l’angoisse.”

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 141.

20.

See chapter 12 in James Harding’s endearing book, The Ox on the Roof, fora discussion of the end of the 1920s.

21.

This was somewhat unusual, as Poulenc usually composed slowly, deliberately.

a

See chapter 5.

23:

Though Poulenc’s musical style could certainly be considered mature in 1926, with the

completion of the Chanson gaillardes and the Trio, it remained for him to mature emotionally and spiritually between 1932 and 1936. During this period, he seemed to add new depth to his music (see chapter 4).

24.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 90. “Vous verrez par vous-méme que c’est un énorme pas sur mes oeuvres précédentes et que j’entre vraiment dans ma grande période. Vous comprendrez aussi que cette évolution a ses premiers germes dans le Concert champétre et dans Aubade qui ont été deux échelons indispensables dans mon évolution. Que le souci de la perfection technique et spécialement de l’orchestre m/ait entrainé peut-étre au-dela de ma nature musicale dans ces deux concertos, c’est possible, mais il le fallait et vous constaterez vous-méme de quelle plume ‘précise’ j’ai orchestré Le Bal et le Concerto qui sont bien du pur Poulenc, je vous assure.”

255

See chapter 6.

26.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 83. “Dans le Larghetto de ce concerto je me suis permis, pour le theme initial, un retour 4a Mozart parce que j’ai le culte de la ligne mélodique, et que je préfére Mozart a tous les autres musiciens. Si cela commence alla Mozart, cela ne tarde pas d’ailleurs a bifurquer dés la réponse du second piano vers un style qui m’était familier a l’époque.”

Pie

Poulenc sketched out Les Soirées de Nazelles in 1930 and completed the work in 1937. We do not know when this particular fragment took shape.

28.

See chapter 9.

2a:

1936 was the year of Poulenc’s religious reawakening and the most crucial year in his emotional and psychological maturation (see chapter 4).

Notes for Chapter 9 30.

335

Poulenc once claimed, in the Journal de mes mélodies (p. 70), that: “It follows that my

modulations sometimes pass through a mouse hole.” The passage in question here seems to be one of those times.

Si;

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 133. “Par opposition aux grands concertos illustres, réclamant de grands virtuoses, je décidai d’écrire un concerto léger, sorte de souvenir de Paris pour pianistecompositeur. Je ne pensais pas que la chose serait mal prise et c’est pourquoi j’avais mélé, dans le rondeau a la frangaise, \e rythme de la matchiche a un negro spirituel issu d’ailleurs d’une vieille chanson des marins de La Fayette, trouvant amical et plaisant ce shake-hand avec un pays qui est actuellement, de loin, mon plus vaste et plus fidéle public.”

32:

See chapter 6.

33.

Francis Poulenc donné beaucoup Poulenc plaisant trés XVe si l’on

Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 96. “Le Concerto approche de la fin. I] m’a de mal mais j’espére que tel qu'il est il est bien et vous plaira. Ce n’est pas du genre Concerto a deux pianos mais plutét du Poulenc en route pour le cloitre, veut.”

Ibid., p. 98. “un concerto grave et austére.”

52:

See chapter 4.

36.

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 115-116. “Le Concerto d’orgue occupe une place importante dans mon oeuvre, en marge de ma musique religieuse. Ce n’est pas un ‘concerto da chiesa’ a proprement parler, mais, en me limitant pour l’orchestre, aux seules cordes et a trois timbales, jen ai rendu l’exécution possible a l’église. Si on veut se faire une idée exacte d’un cété grave de ma musique, c’est ici qu’il faut le chercher, comme dans mes oeuvres religieuses.”

37.

Poulenc wished to have this particular Bach Fantasia played at his own funeral.

38.

See chapter 6.

39.

Though Poulenc repeatedly professed a dislike of Fauré, influences cannot be denied on Poulenc’s piano music and on such individual works as this concerto, the Stabat Mater, and Dialogues des Carmélites. See chapter 10, ex. 27.

41.

See chapter 6.

42.

Jean Roy, Présences contemporaines—musique frangaise, p. 245. “En fait, le profane et le sacré contractent ici une alliance qui correspond a la nature profonde de Poulenc.”

Chapter 9 Quoted in Héléne Jordan-Morhange, Mes Amis musiciens, p. 133. “Chose paradoxale mais vrai, c’est ma musique de piano la moins représentative de mon oeuvre.” Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 31. “Je pense trés sincérement que ma

musique de piano n’est, ni si bien que le prétendent les virtuoses, ni si moche que I’ont écrit certains de vos confréres. La vérité est entre les deux.” Ibid., pp. 31-32. “C’est parce que je connais trop bien l’écriture pianistique que j’ai raté beaucoup de mes piéces. Ce qu'il y a d’trange c’est que, dés que le piano devient

accompagnement de/mélodies, alors j’innove. Mon écriture pianistique est également tout autre avec orchestre ou instruments. C’est le piano seul qui m’échappe. La je suis victime de faux semblants.”

.

336

Notes for Chapter 9 See chapter I. See chapter 10.

There are several collections listed as single works within this total output of thirty-two, most notably eight Nocturnes and fifteen /mprovisations. Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 35. “Je tolére les Mouvements perpétuels, ma vieille Suite en ut, les Trois piéces. J’aime beaucoup mes deux recueils d’/mprovisations, un Intermezzo en la bémol et certains Nocturnes. Je condamne sans recours Napoli et les Soirées de Nazelles. Pour le reste, je ne m’en soucie guére.” See chapter 2. Robert de Fragny, “Deux oeuvres nouvelles de Francis Poulenc,” Concorde, n.p. “Et Francis Poulenc, face a un clavier, est un véritable homme orchestre. II joue, il chante, il mime; il est a la fois bruiteur, metteur en scéne et choriste, le tout avec le méme ardeur.”

See Fonds Montpensier. “Ce bourru bienfaisant va au clavier comme le menuisier a l’établi. On ne peut pas dire qu’il s’y installe: il s’y colle. II jette sur l’ivoire sa patte épaisse et écrase deux touches avec un doigt. II jouerait tout seul 4 quatre mains que cela n’étonnerait personne.” Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 32-33. “Les grandes erreurs techniques qui défigurent ma musique de piano, au point de la rendre méconnaissable, sont: le rubato, l’avarice de pédale, et trop d’articulation de certains dessins en batteries ou arpéges qu'il faut, au contraire, jouer trés estompés. Je m’explique: je hais le rubato... une fois un tempo adopté, il ne faut en changer a aucun prix jusqu’a ce queje l’indique. Ne jamais allonger ou raccourcir un temps. Cela me rend fou. Quant a l’usage des pédales, c’est le grand secret de ma musique de piano (et souvent son vrai drame!). On ne mettra jamais assez de pédale, vous m entendez! jamais assez! jamais assez! Dans un mouvement rapide, il m’est arrivé parfois de compter sur la pédale pour réaliser, virtuellement, l’"harmonie d’un dessin qu'il serait impossible d’écrire, intégralement, dans ce tempo. Pour les batteries et les arpéges, on doit les éffacer la plupart du temps pour laisser le chant en dehors.”

One of the most famous examples of this technique can be found in the piano accompaniment to “Tu vois le feu du soir,” one of Poulenc’s longest and most fluid songs. In the Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, Poulenc mentions a Processional pour la crémation,

dun mandarin,

which he claims he wrote in 1914 under the influence of Stravinsky’s

Rossignol. Since there is no other reference to this work in Poulenc’s own writings, we can

dismiss it as a quickly destroyed effort of juvenilia. Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 30. “...d’un incroyable complexité . . . .C’était, écrit sur trois ou quatre portées, du sous-Debussy. Ces Préludes de 1916 n’ont jamais été joués. Auric seul les a connus.”

Quoted in record liner notes by Henri Hell: “Francis Poulenc—La Musique de chambre” (EMI: C165-12519/22). “Chacun des trois courts morceaux de la Sonate de Poulenc crée un milieu harmonique assez nettement défini, mais autour duquel il n'y a guére de mouvement. Construits tous trois avec trés peu de matériaux, et des matériaux trés frustes, dans une forme

d’une symétrie assez primitive et pourtant sans ennui, ils font bien cependant une sonate... .Ils sont écrits dans un style mélodique et harmonique trés clair et concis, dépouillé et cru, qui dénote une connaissance réfléchie de Strawinsky, mais animé d’un esprit trés francais: ce méme esprit de finesse qu’il y a dans Ravel...un peu de la gaieté de Satie... et ici et 14 un certain abandon qui fait penser 4 Chabrier.”

Notes for Chapter 9

337

1939 was the same year in which Poulenc revised the important Sextuor, while in 1940 he reorchestrated Les Biches.

Vis

See chapter 2.

18,

Jean Roy, Francis Poulenc, p. 85. “{ils] trahissent .. . sous la fausse indifférence du premier et la mélancolie du second, sous la franchise, d’abord, puis le halo poétique du troisiéme, la personnalité de Francis Poulenc et ses ascendances musicales. On y retrouve, avec I’addition d’un charme qui n’appartient qu’a Poulenc, l’€conomie d’Erik Satie et la verve de Chabrier. Pas une note de trop, mais une fraicheur inaltérable. C’est 1a le secret des chefs-d’oeuvre.”

See chapter 2.

20.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 48. “si franchement Satie.”

21.

Henri Hell, Francis Poulenc, musicien francais, p. 32. “La gaucherie et l'inexpérience y sont plus visibles.”

22.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 34. “Prélude. 10 promenades. Final. Les 10 promenades étant considérées par moi comme 10 variations sur 10 thémes différents (1 pour chaque promenade). La technique spéciale de chaque numéro achévera de faire ‘trompe loreille’ vu qu’il y en aura un en tierces, un autre en octaves répéteées, etc., etc. Ainsi j’obtiendrai

un semblant d’unité.” 23. 24.

The music of Satie and, particularly, Stravinsky certainly continued to influence Poulenc in other genres, most notably chamber music and concertos. Few of Poulenc’s instrumental works are truly “through-composed.” This on-going structure

was particularly unusual for his works of the 1920s.

25.

Poulenc, Entretiens, pp. 30-31. “Ces trois pastorales restérent longtemps inédites, mais en 1928, Casella m’ayant écrit: ‘Que sont devenues tes pastorales? Je les aimais bien,’ j’eus l’idée de les reprendre. Publiées sous le titre Trois piéces pour piano, la premiére est presque identique a la version originale; de la seconde, gardant les quatre premiéres mesures et la conclusion, j’ai fait une Toccata aujourd’hui trés connue grace 4 Horowitz; enfin, je remplacai la derniére par un Hymne assez proche du Concert champétre.”

26.

Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 526. “Pour la musique de piano, le seul contact du clavier suffit 4 déclencher en moi Ilan créateur. C’est pourquoi ce genre de composition ne faisant pas image, je leur donne des titres abstraits: /mprovisations, Novelettes, Intermezzi, etc.”

2M

“Pas une note des valses ou des scottishes ne se perdait dans toute la maison, si bien que le malade eut sa part de la féte et put réver sur son grabat aux bonnes années de sa jeunesse” (Le Visionnaire).

28.

This piéce d‘occasion was written as part of a Revue musicale “Hommage a Bach,” issued as a supplement in December 1932. Poulenc’s participation, along with Roussel, Casella, Malipiero, and Honegger, is somewhat surprising and may account for the stylistic inconsistencies implied by a valse-musette based on the motive BACH; we are closer to the French music-hall than to eighteenth-century counterpoint.

29.

Roy, op. cit., p. 85.

30.

Preface to piano score“Les variations qui forment le centre de cette oeuvre ont été improvisées 4 Nazelles au cours de longues soirées de campagne ou I’auteur jouait aux ‘portraits’ avec des amis groupés autour de son piano. Nous espérons aujourd’hui,que, présentées entre un

338

Notes for Chapter 10 Préambule et un Final, elles auront le pouvoir d’évoquer ce jeu dans le cadre d’un salon tourangeau, une fenétre ouverte sur la nuit.”

Se

Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” p. 527. “cette suite comprend...un ‘Final’ qui est une maniére de portrait de moi-méme.”

32:

W. Kent Werner, “Performer’s Analysis of Poulenc’s Mouvements perpétuels, no. 3,” Clavier, p. 18.

335

Watteau, who painted “L’Embarquement pour Cythére” in the eighteenth century, was from the town of Nogent-sur-Marne; this probably accounts for Poulenc’s choice of title.

34.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 37. “il s‘agit d’évoquer l’ile d’Amour et lile de Beauté ot se trouvaient les guinguettes nogentaises, avec leurs accordéons sentimentaux et gouailleurs.”

eb)

Paris had fallen to the Germans in June of 1940. Poulenc was to spend a great deal of time away from his beloved city during the following four years.

36.

Poulenc himself had declared that the Stabat Mater was more “noble” than his other choral works (see chapter 10).

SE

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, pp. 233-34. “C’est par l’Andante que j’ai débuté, connaissant déja l’architecture générale de l’oeuvre. Encadré par un Prologue, un Allegro molto et un Epilogue, cet Andante est, pour moi, le centre méme de l’oeuvre. II ne s’agit plus, comme dans |’Andante du Concerto pour 2 pianos, d'un jeu poétique devant un portrait de Mozart... mais d’un élan lyrique et profond. M’inspirant, parfois, de l’écriture de ma musique chorale, j’ai tenté, par endroits, une grande pureté de lignes—exemple les basses a l’unisson des derniéres mesures de l’Andante. Le premier morceau est concu non pas comme un premier mouvement de sonate classique mais comme un véritable Prologue. Son second théme, ‘animé,’ n’est qu'une progression rythmique destinée a faire valoir le lyrisme de la mélodie... qui forme l’épisode central. L’A/legro molto est un scherzo dont l’intérét principal réside dans l’épisode médian, ‘extraordinairement paisible.’ L’Epi/ogue n’est pas, 4 proprement parler, un Final, mais, précédée par un théme nouveau, la récapitulation des 3 autres mouVements. Je

dirai volontiers que le Concerto pour 2 pianos est allégrement bariolé tandis que l’oeuvre présente a la gravité d’un quatuor a cordes.”

38.

Generally, an ostinato pattern under harmonies which change so subtly that they seem static. Simple, nondirectional melodic fragments may also be included.

39)

Poulenc’s publisher in England since c. 1920.

Chapter 10 Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 105. “Lorsqu’on connaitra mieux toutes mes oeuvres chorales profanes et sacrées, on se fera une image plus exacte da ma personnalité et On verra que je ne suis pas uniquement l’auteur léger des Biches et des Mouvements perpétuels. Tel est, en tout cas, mon souhait.”

The doctoral dissertations by Ebensberger and Bobbitt (see bibliography) offer a certain amount of analysis, but they are both limited in their scope.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 71. “En effet, je pense que j’y ai mis le meilleur et le plus authentique de moi-méme. Pardonnez moi immodestie, mais j’ai impression que c’est véritablement dans ce domaine que j'ai apporté quelque chose de neuf, et

Nates for Chapter 10

339

je ne suis pas loin de penser que si l’on s’intéresse encore a ma musique dans cinquante ans, ce sera plus au Stabat Mater qu’'aux Mouvements perpétuels.” There are, of course, numerous solo lines in Poulenc’s choral music but, properly speaking,

monophonic texture is an absence of texture. The melodic characteristics of these solo lines will be discussed later in the chapter.

The late Renaissance style, as exemplified by Le Jeune and other composers of the Parisian chanson, as well as by Hassler and Lassus, is much more chordal, less contrapuntal than the traditional emphasis on Palestrina makes it seem. Henri Hell, Francis Poulenc, musicien francais, p. 213.

The existence of this fauxbourdon-like technique in Ravel’s choral music indicates its importance to both the French tradition and neoclassicism. Here Poulenc may have been influenced by Expert’s editions of Renaissance choral music, which were studied by most twentieth-century French composers.

“Standard diatonicism” can be considered functional music that possesses little chromatic motion. A certain amount of melodic chromaticism can be expected. One might call this passage “romantic.” It was during the 1940s and into the early 1950s that Poulenc went through his most romantic period. II.

Strangely enough, this passage hasa prototype at r. 31 inthe Concerto pour deux pianos. Once again, we see a subtle orchestral influence on certain of Poulenc’s choral works.

12.

See chapter 3.

13.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 96. “En 1922, un ami américain m’ayant prié d’écrire un choeur pour le Glee Club d’Harvard ... je pensai, tout naturellement, qu’une chanson 4 boire conviendrait a

leur entrain, et je choisis, dans un vieux recueil du XVIle siécle, celui dans lequel jai pris par la suite les textes de mes Chansons gaillardes, une sorte d’*hymne bachique trés direct.” Ibid., p. 97. “Si j’ai tenu a vous raconter ceci, c’est pour vous prouver que le sens de la musique polyphonique est chez moi vraisemblablement inné.”

15.

Clarendon, “Hommage a Poulenc,” Le Figaro, p. 26. “J’ai regu du ciel le don de savoir écrire pour les choeurs.”

16.

Poulenc, Entretiens, Polignac, a plusieurs Boulanger. Possédant relisais, avec passion,

p. 99. “En mars 1936, j’avais assisté, chez la princesse Edmond de exécutions de motets de Monteverdi, par l’Ensemble Vocal de Nadia

|’édition compléte des oeuvres de Monteverdi, rentré chez moi, je ces merveilles polyphoniques.”

EE

See chapters 4 and 11.

18.

See chapters 4 and 6.

19:

Héléne Jourdan-Morhange, Mes amis musiciens, p. 132. “Il ya quelque chose de trés neuf dans

Sept chansons: \es choeurs y sont traités a l’instar du concerto ancien ot les groupes instrumentaux s'interpellent et se répondent.”

20.

See chapter | for the influence of this work on Poulenc as a child.

21.

See chapter 8, ex. 25. a

22,

See chapter 4.

340 23.

Notes for Chapter 10 Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 109. “Vans cette oeuvre j’ai essayé de rendre le coté ‘dévotion paysanne’ qui m’avait si fort frappé dans ce haut-lieu. C’est pourquoi on doit chanter cette invocation

presque rudimentairement.” 24.

See chapter 8.

2D:

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 110. “c’est mon oeuvre a cappella la plus complexe harmoniquement; la Messe est plus sobre, plus roman que le Stabat.”

26.

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 74. “Ma messe est beaucoup plus proche de Vittoria que de Josquin; elle a un cété réaliste, si j’ose dire, propre a l'art méditerranéen.”

Zi

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 155.

28.

Ibid., p. 156.

29.

Ibid., p. 156. “Quant a l’Agnus final, qu’un soprano solo chante dans un registre aigu, c’est le symbole de l’4me chrétienne, confiante dans la vie céleste.”

30.

See chapter 6.

Bile

James (b. 1907) is a wealthy English art collector and minor surrealist poet.

32,

Salvador Dali (b. 1904) and Yves Tanguy (1900-1955) have been two of the important painters of the surrealist movement. Tanguy “invented an eerie abstract landscape, inhabited by amorphous objects and presences, half-organic, half-mechanistic, but never identifiable as things seen in the waking world” (Bowness, p. 164); while Dali often painted drooping watches or other inanimate objects backed by barren landscapes.

33;

The Ave verum corpus is for three-voice (SSA) a cappella choir.

34.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 137. “assistant...a la premiére audition des merveilleuses Cantates de la paix et des Deux cités de Milhaud . .j’eus tout 4 coup la vision exacte de mes Motets pour un temps de pénitence et j’écrivis pour la Semaine sainte quatre motets aussi réalistes et tragiques qu’une peinture de Mantegna.”

32.

References to Mantegna and Victoria suggest an interior, almost mystical mood.

36.

“Organum-like” in that one voice maintains a constant pitch while the other departs from it in step-wise motion.

Si

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 142. “Heureusement il y a une oeuvre, une

seule peut-étre, qui me prouve que j’ai bien fait d’écrire de la musique, c’est ma cantate sur les poémes d’Eluard.”

38.

See chapter 12.

39)

Poulenc tends to use appoggiaturas (e.g., the tenor Bh in bar 5 of ex. 39) to achieve the same effect that Victoria arrived at through suspensions. Jean Roy, Francis Poulenc, p. 54. “De dimensions modestes, cette cantate de chambre conserve un caractére intime: elle évoque la nuit, le froid, la solitude, elle chante les années de misére, les mois sans feu, les jours sans espérance. Humblement, elle va 4 pas feutrés. Mais

parfois s’éléve un cri qui déchire les ténébres. Ai-je tort? Pour ma part, j’attacherais presque autant de prix a cette petite cantate qu’a son ainée, Figure humaine.” 41.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 159. “Bien sar, je vénére saint Frangois, mais il m’intimide un peu. En

tout cas, en mettant en musique ses petites priéres si merveilleusement touchantes, j’ai voulu faire acte d’humilité. C’est ainsi que dans le quatriéme, par exemple, un ténor solo commence, simplement, comme un moine qui entraine ses fréres a la priére.”

Notes for Chapter 11

34]

42.

See, for example, act III, scene i and the tenth movement of the Stabat. See also chapter 12, ex. 18.

43.

Claude Rostand, “Visages de Poulenc,” Revue musicale de Suisse Romande, p. 11.

44.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 161. “Je ne pense pas que j’aie versé dans le style pompeux, mais en effet le Stabat est peut-étre plus noble que mes autres oeuvres religieuses.”

45.

Quoted in Jean Roy, op. cit., p. 144. “Mon Stabat, c’est un choeur a cappella, mon Gloria, une grande symphonie chorale.”

46.

See chapter 6.

47.

Quoted in Jean Roy, op. cit., p. 144. “La deuxiéme partie a fait scandale, je me demande pourquoi? J’ai pensé, simplement, en l’écrivant, a ces fresques de Gozzoli ot les anges tirent la langue; et aussi a ces graves bénédictins que j’ai vus un jour jouer au football.”

48.

Quoted in Laurence Davies, The Gallic Muse, p. 188. “J’ai la foi d'un curé de campagne.”

49.

Audel and Poulenc, op. cit., p. 72. “J’aime que l’esprit religieux s’exprime clairement au soleil

avec le méme réalisme que celui que nous voyons aux chapiteaux romans.”

50.

Quoted in René Dumesnil, “Francis Poulenc,” Revue des deux mondes, p. 590. “J’essaye de donner une impression de ferveur et surtout d’humilité, pour moi la plus belle qualité de la priére....Ma conception de la musique religieuse est essentiellement directe, et, si j’ose dire,

familiére.” 51.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 260. “Je travaille a mes Répons de la semaine sainte pour Bernstein. Cela ne va pas mal car je suis reparti a zéro de ce que j’‘avais entrepris cet automne. Je pensais que ce serait selon Zurbaran et c’est selon Mantegna.”

52.

See chapter 7.

Chapter 11 1.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 248. “J’aime tellement la voix!”

2.

Joseph Machlis, Introduction to Contemporary Music, p. 233.

3.

Of the 152 songs, 21 also exist in an alternate version for orchestra or chamber orchestra (various combinations). Most of the songs with alternate accompaniments are early works (1919-25), when such arrangements were in vogue.

4.

See Frits Noske, French Song from Berlioz to Duparc.

5.

Francis Poulenc, “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes,” Conferencia—Les Annales, p. 513. “Vous sentirez, tout de suite, la différence qu’il y a entre mes chansons et mes mélodies.

Le mot

chanson implique, en effet, 4 mes yeux, un style qui, sans étre pour cela folklorique, n’en sousentend pas moins une liberté totale vis-a-vis du texte. Je reprends les mots, j’en coupe, j’en susentend méme, comme dans la fin des ‘Gars qui vont a la féte.’ Le tour de chant de Maurice Chevalier m’en a appris long a cet égard.” 6.

Ibid., p. 511. “étant bien entendu qu'il existe dans mes accompagnements pianistique que, seul, un parfait legato peut extérioriser.”

une mélodie

7.

See chapter 6.

8.

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 61. “Comme jamais je ne transpose dans un autre ton, par facilité, la musique que je viens de trouver pour un vers ou méme pour quelques notes,

v

342

Notes for Chapter 11 il s’ensuit que les raccords sont souvent difficiles et il me faut du recul pour trouver I’endroit exact ou, parfois, je dois, sur place, moduler.” Ibid., p p. 70. “Il s’ensuit q que mes modulations p passent p parfois Pppar le trou d’une souris.”

Once again, though he would clearly deny it, Poulenc’s modulations often resemble those of Fauré, one of the harmonic innovators of the late nineteenth century.

It should be noted that this mélodie was begun in 1941 and completed in 1945. Could this jarring modulation be the point at which Poulenc ceased work on the song in 1941, only to take it up again, in a new key, four years later?

Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, pp. 69-70. “Lorsque jai élu un poéme, dont Je ne réalise parfois la transposition musicale que des mois plus tard, je l’examine sous toutes ses faces. Lorsqu’il s’agit d’Apollinaire et d’Eluard, j’attache la plus grande importance ala mise en page du poéme, aux blancs, aux marges. Je me récite souvent le poéme. Je l’écoute, je cherche les piéges, je souligne parfois le texte aux endroits difficiles. Je note les respirations, Jessaye de découvrir le rythme interne par un vers qui n est pas forcément le premier. Ensuite, Jessaye la mise en musique en tenant compte des densités différentes de l'accompagnement pianistique.” Quoted in Nino Franck, “Poulenc 4 Montmarte,” Candide, n.p. “pour moi, la mélodie n’est point une forme de délassement, mais un grand travail auquel je me consacre tout entier.” Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 63. “une mélodie, un cycle, sont le contraire d’une improvisation, du moins pour moi.”

115

Ibid., p. 69. “La transposition musicale d’un poéme doit étre un acte d’amour, et jamais un mariage de raison.”

16.

Jacqueline Bellas, “Apollinaire et Poulenc: peut-on mettre Alcools en musique?” Actes du colloque, Apollinaire et la musique, p. 50. “La partition musicale joue alors le réle d’une lanterne de projection, donne plus d’ampleur aux mots, leur apporte une résonance qui rend beaucoup plus accessibles .. . les textes rapides, ou ceux qu’une trop riche densité d'images fait paraitre obscurs.”

IG:

Francis Poulenc, “Mes maitres et mes amis,” Conferencia, p. 526. “pour les mélodies je suis ... irrémédiablement visuel. I] faut qu’une poésie fasse image pour me tenter.”

18.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 11. “J’ai songé en I’écrivant a un intérieur peint par Vuillard.”

19.

Bellas, op. cit., p. 52.

20.

Several other composers, including Milhaud, set Cocteau more often than did Poulenc.

Ze

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 69. “J’ai mis en musique Apollinaire et Max Jacob parce que j'aime leur poésie. Voila tout.”

22.

Claude

Rostand, “Francis

Poulenc; hier et demain,” Le Figaro littéraire, p. 17. “C’est a

Poulenc que devront s’adresser ceux qui n’ont pas tout a fait bien compris ce que signifie la poésie de Max Jacob, de Jean Cocteau, de Louise de Vilmorin, et surtout de Guillaume Apollinaire et de Paul Eluard: dans ces mélodies ils découvriront tous les mystéres.”

23.

See chapter 2.

24,

See chapter 7 for a detailed discussion of this work.

25.

See chapter 2.

Notes for Chapter 1]

343

26.

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 49-50. “Toréador, caricature de la chanson de music-hall, ne peut... s’adresser qu’a une élite restreinte. C’est exactement le type de la chanson pour faire rire, autour d’un piano, quelques amis a la page. Ceci dit, j’aime beaucoup Toréador. Longtemps inédit, je me suis décidé a le publier aux environs de 1932.”

Zt

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 136.

28.

See chapter 3.

29.

Paul Collaer, La Musique moderne, p. 192. “Sans effort, dirait-on, il atteint du premier coup au niveau des grands classiques frangais: ‘La Carpe’ a la beauté des pages les plus sereines de Couperin.”

30.

Poulenc,

Entretiens,

p. 65. “ ‘La Carpe’ trouvant

mélancolique, ol péchait mélancoliquement musique. ..ce ‘poisson de la mélancolie.’ ”

mon

sa résonance visuelle dans un étang

mélancolique capitaine, je me mis en

31.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, pp. 35-36. “Depuis mon retour je chantonne comme je peux ton Bestiaire et tu ne peux pas savoir ... comme tuas pu rendre la nostalgie et la mélopée de ces admirables quatrains. Et ce qui me cause presque de l’émotion, on dirait la voix de Guillaume Apollinaire quand il récitait ces vers.”

Pe

See chapter 3.

33.

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 4-5. “Chanter Le Bestiaire avec ironie et surtout des ‘intentions’ est un contresens complet. C’est ne rien comprendre la poésie d’Apollinaire et 4 ma musique. Dés Le Bestiaire j’ai senti un lien, sGr et mystérieux, avec la poésie d’Apollinaire.”

34.

The word “cocarde” refers to an ornamental plume or rosette worn in certain military hats. The visual and etymological connections to the French word “coq” (as in Cocteau’s Le Coq et larlequin) were certainly intended and must have pleased the members of Les Nouveaux Jeunes and their friends.

32.

See chapter 3.

36.

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 6-7. “écrits...avec toutes les négligences possibles sauf, Dieu merci, de prosodie. Le premier poéme est assez réussi avec une grande influence de Mavra. On doit chanter ‘Attributs’ imperturbablement, sans aucun rubato. L’interprétation des autres mélodies est sans surprise ...comme la musique.”

37

Ibid., p. 7. “Je tiens a ce recueil ot j’ai taché de démontrer que l’obscenité peut s’accommoder de la musique. Je déteste la grivoiserie. Les accompagnements sont trés difficiles mais bien écrits, je crois.”

38. 39.

See chapter 6. Bearing in mind, of course, that the two collections composed before 1920 were conceived

originally for chamber group. Poulenc was so fond of “Sérénade” that in 1948 he authorized a transcription of it for cello and piano by Maurice Gendron.

41.

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 8-9. “je m’étonne toujours d’avoir pu écrire ces quatres mélodies. Je déteste Moréas et j’ai choisi justement ses poémes parce que je les trouvais propices a la

mutilation.” 42.

a

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 88. “En regardant ta charmante partition, j’ai vu que tu avais aussi mis en musique les trois poémes de Louise Lalanne. Sur ces trois poémes

344

Notes for Chapter 11 deux sont de moi, ‘Hier’ et ‘Le Présent.’ Eugene Montfort alors directeur des Marges avait eu

l'idée de mystifier son public et d’inventer une fausse poétesse. Naturellement Guillaume, ravi de cette idée, avait accepté. Au moment d’imprimer, Guillaume, la paresse méme, n’avait rien

fait et, je me souviens, nous avons cherché dans mes cahiers de jeune fille remplis d’idioties bien entendu et ot nous avons fini par trouver ces deux embryons, ‘Hier’ et ‘Le Présent,’ que dailleurs je ne trouve pas extraordinaires.” 43.

From this point on, any group entitled “poémes” can safely be considered mélodies rather than chansons, with the exception of the Cing poémes de Max Jacob. Poulenc, Journal, p. 12. “kaléidoscope de mots.”

45.

Ibid., p. 12. “Mélodies avant tout descriptives.”

46.

Ibid., p. 13. “trés directement inspiré de Moussorgsky.” We cannot disagree with this claim on stylistic grounds, though “La petite servante” cannot be traced to any individual Moussorgsky

song. 47.

Ibid., p. 43. “c’est du Poulenc cent pour cent. A une dame de Kamchatka qui m ‘crirait pour me demander comment je suis fait, je lui enverrais mon portrait au piano par Cocteau, mon

portrait par Bérard, Le Bal masqué et les Motets pour un temps de pénitence. Je crois qu’ elle se ferait ainsi une idée trés exacte de Poulenc-Janus.”

48.

Ibid., p. 46. “C’est la seule de mes oeuvres ou je pense avoir trouvé le moyen de magnifier une atmosphére banlieusarde qui m’est chére.”

49.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 104. “Les poémes du Bal masqué ont paru dans le volume qui s’appelle Laboratoire central. Leur violence, leur truculence, leur cocasserie m’ont séduit alors. J'y ai trouvé ce c6té chromo des hébdomadaires parisiens de ma jeunesse et de 1a est né cet étrange carnaval musical auquel j’ai toujours beaucoup tenu.”

50.

Francis Poulenc, “Eloge de la banalité,” Présence, p. 25. “Dans une atmosphére familiére et qui fleure la banlieue parisienne, nous avons, Max Jacob et moi, promené une maniére de carnaval

au cours duquel une amoureuse, prétentieuse et inassouvie, Mlle Malvina, donne la maina une monstrueuse dame aveugle qui, vétue d’une robe de peluche, se grise avec son beau-frére. Tous ces personnages, apercus par quelque fenétre d’un ‘chalet coquet’ sur les bords de la Marne, nous avons essayé de les ramener a une optique plus universelle en les grossissant éxagérement. Un Air de bravoura qui découle du Préambule entraine dans une chimérique galopade ceux qui veulent bien chevaucher sans contréle ces mots enchainés par la simple fantaisie. Un vieillard violent et obtu [sic], ‘réparateur de vieux automobiles,’ clét cette galérie d’étranges

portraits auxquels des interludes instrumentaux servent de cadre. Max Jacob et moi avons recherché, avant tout, le rire franc, le rire issu de la surprise, voire méme de la stupeur, et nonce

sourire ironique, pincé, logique, dit ‘supérieur,’ cher aux amateurs d’esthétique rare.” 51.

Quoted in Franck, n.p. “J’ai essayé d’y trouver un style vocal assez hallucinant—quelque chose comme les photos de crimes ou les chromos vulgaires—et fort disparate, mélangeant des

harmonies vulgaires ou choisies, déformant les mots et les sons... Je tiens beaucoup A ces

derniéres mélodies qui choqueront sans doute les paladins de la musique dite moderne.”

Di;

See chapter 7.

33.

See the preface to the piano-vocal score. “devra étre interprétée avec un mélange de violence et de charme.”

54,

See chapter 4.

Notes for Chapter 11

345

5:

Poulenc, Journal, p. 15. “Oeuvre de tatonnement. Clef tournée dans un serrure. Tentative pour faire rendre au piano le maximum avec le minimum de moyens. Beaucoup pensé en composant ces mélodies 4 une exposition de dessins de Matisse pour un livre de Mallarmé, ow !’on voyait le méme dessin, au crayon, plein de hachures, de redites et |’€preuve finale n’ayant retenu que lessentiel, dans un seul jet de plume.”

56.

See page 19 in Journal de mes mélodies.

57.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 63. “J’ai doté ce cycle d’une coda pour le piano seul qui permet au public, comme dans Les Amours du poéte de Schumann, de prolonger en lui l’émotion.”

58.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 18. “un dimanche en novembre 36, je me sentais parfaitement heureux

flanant du cété de la Bastille. Je commengai a réciter le poéme extrait des Yeux fertiles: ‘Bonne journée.” Le soir la musique venait toute seule.”

59.

Jules van Ackere, L’Age d'or de la musique francaise, p. 190.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 20. “J’ai écrit cette mélodie dans 1’€motion la plus sincére. J’espére que cela se percoit. La coda pianistique est essentielle. I] est bien difficile de faire comprendre aux interprétes que le calme dans un poéme d’amour peut seu/ donner de I’intensite’ Tout le reste est baisers de nourrice.”

62.

Ibid., p. 24. Ibid., p. 40.

63.

The duet for soprano and baritone, Colloque, Poulenc’s only song to the poetry of Paul Valery,

61.

was written late in 1940. The manuscript was withheld by Bernac, and finally published (by Salabert) in 1978.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 51. “ ‘H6tel,’ c’est encore Paris; une chambre 4 Montparnasse.”

65.

Ibid., p. 51. “Quand on me connait, il paraitra tout naturel que j’aie ouvert une bouche de carpe pour happer les vers délicieusement stupides du ‘Voyage a Paris.’ ”

66.

Ibid., p. 52. “Tout ce que j’ai écrit sur le ‘Feu du soir’ [est] valable pour ‘Sanglots.’ ”

67.

Ibid., p. 55. “Ecrites en septembre 42, juste aprés la création des Animaux modéles, les Chansons villageoises en découlent directement quant a l’orchestration et méme au style harmonique. Je les ai congues comme un tour de chant symphonique pour un fort baryton Verdi (Iago). Les textes de Fombeure évoquent, pour moi, le Morvan ot j'ai passé de si merveilleux étés!”

68.

Ibid., p. 56.

69.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 128.

70.

They met during World War I at Adrienne Monnier’s bookstore (see chapter 2). Aragon (b.

vir

Such singer-composers as Jacques Brel were still producing similar songs in the 1960s.

2.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 60.

M3.

Ibid., pp. 68-69. “C'est uge maniére de ‘lied-chanson’ style Méme Piaf. Un rythme immuable, celui de la valse-boston, passe par trois couleurs: le bal-musette, la volée de cloches, la marche funébre. Le poéme de Desnos est plus suggestif que réellement de qualité. Nous sommes loin f d’Eluard ou Apollinaire.”

1897) was an early surrealist, an avid Communist, and an active supporter of the resistance movement. His output of poetry and novels is extensive.

346 74.

Notes for Chapter 11 Ibid., pp. 77-78. “Comme chez moi l’inspiration (qu’on me pardonne ce mot) survient toujours d’association d’idées, Calligrammes se rattachera toujours a ce printemps de 1918 ow, avant de monter au front, j’avais acheté chez Adrienne Monnier le volume du ‘Mercure.’ En souvenir de

ce passé, j’ai dédié chacune des mélodies 4 des amis d’alors et a cette jolie Jacqueline Apollinaire.”

Te

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 179.

76.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 78. “La premiére mélodie: ‘L’Espionne’ commence sur un rythme que j’ai employé souvent dans des mélodies d’Eluard, mais tout de suite le tonest différent, plus sensuel ici que lyrique. J’estime que ‘mais la vois-tu... préte 4 mourir’ avec son rythme regulier mais haché est une de mes plus exactes prosodies.”

li.

Ibid., p. 78. “Du point de vue technique c’est dans le domaine du raffinement de l’écriture pianistique que j'ai poussé l’aventure essayant dans ‘Il pleut’ d’obtenir une maniére de calligramme musical.”

78.

Ibid., pp. 78-79. “ “Aussi bien que les cigales’ me plait par son ton a mi-chemin entre la chanson (gaillarde ou villageoise) et la mélodie propre. Comme souvent, chez Apollinaire, le poéme court vite son chemin pour buter contre une coda d’un autre rythme, je crois avoir assez bien traduit ‘La joie adorable de la paix solaire’ par un rythme qui se souvient du soleil des Animaux modeles.”

oe

Ibid., pp. 79-80. “Nous arrivons a ‘Voyage,’ certainement une auxquelles je tiens le plus. Tres supérieur a ‘Sanglots’...par le imprévues et sensibles, ‘Voyage’ va de l’émotion au silence en Yamour....La fin, c’est pour moi la silence d’une nuit de juillet,

des deux ou trois mélodies truchement des modulations passant par la mélancolie et lorsque, de la terrasse de ma

maison d’enfance de Nogent, j’écoutais, au loin, les trains.”

80.

See chapter 3.

81.

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 88-89. “Doda Conrad me demande une mélodie pour les 80 ans de sa mére, Marya Freund. Sans hésiter je tire de ma bibliothéque le recueil du Bestiaire d’Apollinaire car c’est Marya Freund qui a imposé le style grave au Bestiaire, le seul valable. Puisque, hélas, le temps grignote nos ans, comme la souris, je mets en musique celle d’Apollinaire. Je retrouve tout de suite la mélancolie de mes vingt ans et me crois revenu A Pont-sur-Seine ou j’étais troufion en 1919.”

82.

Ibid., pp. 81-82. “Indiscutablement mes mélodies les plus concertées. J’ai tant écrit de mélodies jusqu’a ce jour que le goiit m’en est passé et que j’en écrirai sans doute de moins en moins. Si celles-ci sont réussies, et je crois qu’elles le sont, c’est qu’un probléme technique stimulait mon appétit. II ne s’agit pas en réalité d’un cycle mais d'un seul poéme mis en musique, par troncons séparés, exactement comme le poéme est imprimé. Une unité rythmique (deux tempi, un rapide, un lent) est a la base de la construction. Le piano ici est décanté a l’extréme. Pensé une fois de plus 4 Matisse. . . .les temps de pauses, entre les mélodies, ne sont pas laissés au hasard. Les mouvements de métronome sont implacables. Ces mélodies sont dédiges a Stravinsky parce qu’en quelque sorte elles sont issues de lui. La troisitme emprunte en effet le tempo et le sens harmonique de la cadence finale de la Sérénade en la pour piano.”

83.

Richard Bobbitt, The Harmonic Idiom in the Works of “Les Six,” p. 344.

84.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 81.

85.

See chapter 5.

Notes for Chapter 12 86.

347

Poulenc, Journal, pp. 85-88. “ ‘Picasso’ ouvert le recueil: a tout seigneur, tout honneur. Son théme initial .. . trouvé voici longtemps, a servi de souche pour le théme de la mére Marie dans les Dialogues. Ici, comme dans mon opéra, il prend un ton orgueilleux qui convient bien au modéle. Cette mélodie...rappelle, de trés loin, le début de Tel Jour, telle nuit. C’est le déroulement de la prosodie, avec ses grands enjambements, qui donne a cette mélodie un ton altier. ‘Chagall’ est une maniére de scherzo ala dérive. Des objets hétéroclites passent dans le ciel. Une chute poétique nous raméne a l’étre humain. ‘Braque’ est la mélodie la plus subtile, la plus fouillée du recueil. Il y a peut-étre trop de godt, mais c’est ainsi que je sens Braque. ‘Gris’est

la mélodie que j’avais esquissée en premier il y a plusieurs années. J’ai toujours beaucoup

admiré ce peintre et beaucoup aimé l'homme... .J’ai un faible pour cette mélodie ou j’ai pu souligner les équivalences rythmiques qui se trouvent dans le poéme. Toute la mélodie est grave et douloureusement mélancolique. La pédale y joue un réle capital. J’avais besoin ici [‘Klee] d'un presto. C’est une mélodie séche qui doit claquer. [‘Miro’ est] la plus difficile 4 interpréter avec son passage subit d’un éclat strident a la douceur et au lyrisme, sur les mots ‘les libellules des raisins.’ ‘Villon’ est avec ‘Gris’ ma mélodie préférée. On sait combien Jaime le cété litanies de la poésie d’Eluard. La prosodie de‘l’aube... l'amour’ donne une détente humaine A ce poéme si strict et violent.”

87.

Ibid., p. 88. “C’est plus que jamais un duo ot les matiéres, vocale et Pianistique, sont étroitement malaxées.”

88.

It seems that a latent child-like nature emerges in many people in the later years of their life.

89.

Poulenc, Journal, p. 93. “Sur de charmants poémes de Maurice Caréme, a mi-chemin entre Francis Jammes et Max Jacob... .Ces croquis tour 4 tour mélancoliques ou malicieux sont sans prétention. I] faut les chanter avec tendresse. C’est la plus stire facon de toucher le coeur

des enfants.” 90.

See chapter 5,

91.

Cocteau’s original monologue had been written, some twenty years earlier, for the actress Marianne Oswald.

92:

Quoted in Denise Bourdet, “Francis Poulenc: ‘Monte-Carlo, c’est pour moi Venise,’ ” Le Figaro littéraire, p. 19. “histoire lamentable d’une vieille cocotte abandonée, misérable, qui, au lieu de se suicider, va tenter la chance 4 Monte-Carlo et finalement se jette dans la Méditerranée.”

93;

Poulenc, Journal, p. 95. “Ce monologue m’enchante car il réssuscite pour moi les années 19231925 ow je vivais, avec Auric, a Monte-Carlo, dans l’ombre impériale de Diaghilev.”

94.

Ibid., p. 96. “C’est pourquoi j’ai essayé de donner une couleur différente 4 chaque strophe du poéme. Mélancolie, orgueil, lyrisme, violence et sarcasme. Enfin tendresse misérable, angoisse et floc dans la mer.”

95:

Ibid., pp. 96-97. “Le temps n’est plus aux mélodies (du moins pour moi). J’ai tiré tout ce que je pouvais d’Eluard, Apollinaire, Max Jacob, etc.”

96.

Quoted in David Ewen, Composers Since 1900, p. 427.

OF.

See chapter 7.

;

£ Chapter 12 Francis Poulenc théatre.”

Correspondance,

1915-1963, p. 239. “Je suis décidément un homme de

348

Notes for Chapter 12 See chapter 2.

Stéphane Audel and Francis Poulenc, Moi et mes amis, p. 53. “L’idée de Diaghilev c’%tait de monter une sorte de Sy/phides modernes, c’est-a-dire un ballet d’atmosphére. J’eus alors l’idée

de situer dans un vaste salon de campagne tout blanc, avec pour seul meuble un immense canapé bleu Laurencin, des fétes galantes modernes. Une vingtaine de femmes coquettes et ravissantes y folatraient avec trois beaux gaillards en costume de rameur.” Georges Auric, review in Nouvelles littéraires (Fonds Montpensier). “Tant de jeunesse, et A un tel degré authentique, ne se rencontre pas tous les jours.” The French “roared” into the 1920s much as did the Americans, with parties, dancing, and freedom of dress and expression. The intensity of their joy reflected the intensity of their misery during the war years. Francis Poulenc, Entretiens avec Claude Rostand, p. 57. “Tout était facilité, insouciance, soleil et bonne humeur.” Ibid., pp. 52-53. “I’'atmosphére érotique que je souhaitais: l’atmosphére de mes vingt ans. Dans Les Biches i| n’est pas question d’amour, mais de plaisir. C’est pourquoi l"Adagietto doit se jouer sans pathos romantique. Dans ce ballet, on ne s’aime pas pour la vie, on couche!” Sonata for Two Clarinets (1918), Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon (1922), and Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone (1922). An influence of Stravinsky is also apparent on this twopart wind writing.

See the discussion of the Brass Sonata in chapter 7, where it was revealed that Poulenc does not endow his “rondeau” movements with rondo form.

10.

Darius Milhaud, Etudes, p. 64. “Je ne connais pas de musique qui me touche plus directement, plus complétement que celle-ci.” Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 55. The influence must have been more subtle than literal, for I cannot

find an obvious source for the tune in Sleeping Beauty. It was used effectively in the 1973 BBC film about Poulenc, written and produced by John Amis. He later followed the same procedure in the Chansons francaises (1945-46) for mixed chorus.

His Huit chansons polonaises (1934) are solo-voice settings of Polish folk songs. See chapters 3 and 6.

Indeed, Poulenc basically disliked jazz (see chapter 3) and its harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic trappings. Georges Auric, “Les Biches,” n.p. “un orchestre qui, déja, est personnel, avec ses trompettes solides, ses trombones expressifs, ses bois tendres ou narquois.”

Henri Sauguet, Personal Interview, 1974. “Plus instrumenté qu’orchestré. I] y a un dialogue d’instruments, pas de masses d’instruments.” Georges Auric, Personal Interview, 1974. “Pas le plus essentiel chez Poulenc.”

Laurence Davies, The Gallic Muse, p. 167. Jean Cocteau, Le Cog et l'arlequin, p. 70. “Les Biches sont un portrait de Francis Poulenc.” Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 57. “Jacques Rouché m’avait demandé, depuis longtemps, un ballet pour l’Opéra. Je pensais tirer un livret de quelques fables de La Fontaine. En aott 1940, je me mis au travail a Brive-la-Gaillarde, ov j’avais échoué aprés ma démobilisation.”

Notes for Chapter 12

349

22.

Ibid., p. 59.

23;

Serge Lifar, “Fin de saison chorégraphique a l’'Opéra,” Le Figaro, 7 August 1942, n.p. “une partition vive, alerte et pétulante, doucement lyrique.”

24.

It is to be recalled (see chapter 8) that several choreographed performances of Aubade, which were not supervised by Poulenc, effected changes in the scenario, thus altering Poulenc’s original conception of the work.

25:

Francis Poulenc, “Francis Poulenc On His Ballets,” Ballet, pp. 57-58.

26.

Francis Poulenc, Program Notes (contained in piano reduction). “II nous semble superflue de résumer ici des fables connues de tous; c’est pourquoi nous nous contenterons de les énumérer entre les deux épisodes familiers qui leur servent de cadre: (1) Le petit jour; (2) L’ours et les deux compagnons; (3) La cigale et la fourmi; (4) Le lion amoureux; (5) L’homme entre deux ages et ses deux maitresses; (6) La mort et le biicheron; (7) Les deux cogs; (8) Le repas de midi.”

21:

The last tableau closes with a grace over the meal, as the peasants give thanks for the day and their blessings.

28.

See chapter 10.

29.

L’Histoire de Babar was not completed, however, until after the war, in 1945.

30.

See chapter 6.

31.

The java was a lively popular dance of the first quarter of the century. There was a slightly “naughty” connotation to it, like the Charleston.

Sm

It may have /ess chance of succeeding as an orchestral suite, stripped of its stage action, because of the narrative quality of the music.

33.

Most notably Les Mamelles de Tirésias, Sinfonietta, and the last movement of the Concerto pour piano.

34,

In the early 1920s, he had thought of turning Radiguet’s “Paul et Virginie” into an opera, but the project never reached fruition.

35

See chapter 4.

36.

In this sense, Les Mamelles de Tirésias may be traced back to Alfred Jarry’s Ubu roi, which is

today considered to have been the first modern surrealist play.

87.

As an artistic movement, cubism seems to have been isolated in the visual arts, though some claims have been made for cubist music by Satie (Parade and Entr’Acte) and Stravinsky (various works between 1910 and 1920).

38.

Jacques de Menasee, “Poulenc’s Les Mamelles de Tirésias,” MQ, p. 315.

So

See chapter 3.

Quoted in André Warnod, “Les Mamelles de Tirésias,” Le Figaro, n.p. “Je crois bien connaitre Guillaume Apollinaire. Je voudrais donc le montrer tel qu’il m’apparait: sincére, malicieux et enthousiaste, s’exaltant, se prenant toujours au jeu. Je voudrais, enfin, que mon ouvrage refléte la tendresse qu’Apollinaire avait lorsqu’ il parlait de Paris et des enfants. J’ai cherché 4 mettre en valeur cette tendressé, cette poésie, comme s’il ne s’agissait pas d’un opéra-bouffe. Ma musique est trés gaie, mais ce n'est pas une musique d’opérette. C’est méme le contraire.” 41.

Poulenc once admitted that it was the happiest work he had ever written. It must also be remembered that he composed Les Mamelles in anticipation of the end of the war and the return of his friend, Darius Milhaud (see chapter 4).

350

Notes for Chapter 12

42.

See chapter 3.

43.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 148. “Bien que la premiére des Mamelles ait eu lieu a la fin de la guerre de 1914, puisque la piéce fut en grande partie écrite dés 1903, j’estime avoir eu le droit d’en situer l’action 4 une époque typiquement apollinairienne, a savoir les années 1910-1914. Je pense également que l’exotisme n’a que faire dans cette histoire et c’est ainsi que je peux librement situer le Zanzibar imaginé par Apollinaire sur la Céte d’Azur, quelque part du cété de Monte-Carlo, ou le poéte a grandi. Monte-Carlo, que j’adore, m’a d’ailleurs toujours semblé le comble de l’exotisme.” See Warnod.

45.

Francis Poulenc, Journal de mes mélodies, p. 62. “il faudra...chanter, d’un bout a l’autre, Mamelles comme du Verdi.”

46.

Several of these self-contained songs were later used as concert arias by Denise Duval when she toured with Poulenc (c. 1959-61).

47.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 139. “En tout cas c’est bourré de musique avec une manque de redite des nombreux thémes que je trouve bien agréable.”

48.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 171. “Dans Les Mamelles j'ai fait plus attention au ton général qu’aux mots en particulier.”

49.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 167. “c’est ce que j’ai fait de mieux comme orchestre. Imaginez un Bal masqué pour grand orchestre. Avant tout je fais attention a la légéreté pour qu’on comprenne les paroles.”

50.

Audel and Poulenc, p. 69. “J’ai toutes les faiblesses pour Les Mamelles de Tirésias; je crois bien que je préfére cette oeuvre a tout ce que j’ai écrit.”

Sl

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 143. “je considére Les Mamelles comme authentique avec Figure humaine et le Stabat.”

52,

After her success in Les Mamelles de Tirésias, Duval became Poulenc’s “leading lady,” and he envisioned the role of Blanche in Dialogues des Carmélites, as well as the role of “Elle” in La Voix humaine, for her.

53.

Quoted in interview with Daniel Bernet, Fonds Montpensier. “Mais, le vrai sujet, c’est Blanche. Cette fille est une malade, une folle. Et la mise en scéne de Jacquemont rend encore plus évident qu’il ne s’agit pas seulement de peur dans le cas de cette malheureuse, mais de folie. Pres delle, il y a Constance qui l’aime par une sorte de divination. C’est la grace qui opére par elle, et le sujet de la piéce, c’est le transfert de la grace et la communion des saints.”

54.

“On ne meurt pas chacun pour soi, mais les uns pour les autres, ou méme les uns a la place des autres.” (page 111 in piano-vocal score).

D5

Francis Poulenc, “Comment j’ai composé les Dialogues des Carmélites,” L'Opéra de Paris, p. 17. “Des sentiments terriblement humains: la peur, l’orgueil, sont a la base de cette tragique et véridique histoire.”

56.

Ibid., p. 17 “[Bernanos’] conception spirituelle est exactement la mienne.”

D1;

Ibid., p. 17. “J’ai écrit en exergue...cette phrase brilante de Sainte Thérése: ‘Que Dieu m’€loigne des saints mornes.’ C’est indiquer clairement le ton que j’ai cherché, tout au long de mon oeuvre.”

ce que j'ai fait de plus

Notes for Chapter 12

35]

58.

Ibid., p. 15. “J’ai toujours adoré le chant et, mes premiers grands souvenirs musicaux, c’est a Don Juan, Pelléas, Boris et Rigoletto que je les dois. Il est donc trés naturel que les noms de Debussy, Moussorgsky, Verdi figurent dans la dédicace des Carmélites. Si le nom de Mozart en est absent c’est que, décidément, on ne peut rien dédier 4 Dieu-le-Pére.”

oo:

This figure is prominent in many mature Poulenc works, and it generally carries a religious connotation.

Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 212. “Je ne peux songer a étouffer les mots si chargés de sens de Bernanos sous une avalanche orchestrale. C’est pourquoi je songe sans cesse 4 Monteverdi, qu’une grande réserve instrumentale n’empéche pas d%tre lyrique au maximum.” 6l.

See chapter 4.

62.

Alan Rich, “Dialogues des Carmélites,” MQ, p. 93.

63.

Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963, p. 213. “[ Dialogues] est follement vocal. Je surveille chaque note, fais attefttion aux bonnes voyelles sur les sons aigus; quant a la prosodie n’en parlons pas, je crois qu’on comprendra tout. Les phrases essentielles sont presque sans orchestre.” Poulenc, Entretiens, p. 171. “La prosodie étant pour moi le grand secret de cette aventure, je veux qu'elle soit si juste, si probante, qu’elle ne puisse étre interchangeable. Pour que Dialogues soit autre chose qu’un grand fait divers, il est indispensable que le ton précis de chaque réplique exprime la spiritualité que Bernanos a su donner a la nouvelle de Mme von LeFort.”

65.

See chapter 6.

66.

Though this monotone idea may originally have come from either Stravinsky or from Boris Godunov. See chapter 7, exx. | and 7.

67.

Poulenc’s rather liberal view of religion, which allowed for both lightheartedness and sensuousness, is discussed in chapter 10.

68.

Tripled woodwinds (including piccolo, English horn, bass clarinet, and contrabassoon), four horns, three each of trumpets and trombones, tuba, harp, and piano (here used very sparingly).

69.

Harold Schonberg, “A Familiar Ring,” The New York Times, p. 13.

70.

Alan Rich, “Eclectic, Electric,” New

a

Upon completing the opera, Poulenc wrote to Henri Sauguet. After asking whether Paris was being overrun with serial music, he wrote: “The poor Carmelites can only sing in a key. We must pardon them” (Correspondance, p. 219). He was acutely aware of his rather conservative approach and style, but he was not willing to adopt any radically new languages or methods.

72, 73. 74.

See chapter 5.

York, p. 73.

Poulenc had employed this technique, to a far lesser extent, in Dialogues des Carmélites. Yet, when the same passage returns orchestrally at r. 73 and 104, the vocal lyricism is reduced to

the characteristic monotone repetition, as she speaks of their deteriorating relationship.

75.

Reminiscent, in part, of Satie’s Socrate.

76.

“L’oeuvre entiére doit bffener dans la plus grande sensualité orchestrale.”

77.

See chapter 6.

78.

A comparison with Monteverdi's Lettere amorose would not be inappropriate. We know that Poulenc studied and admired Monteverdi’s music.

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List of Works

All revised editions are published by the same editor and in the year listed for the revision, unless otherwise indicated. 3 Dates of composition have been rendered into English. Titles are given in English if the work was originally published by Chester of London. The following abbreviations will be used: rev. - revised P. - Published by ded. - dedicated to F. - First performance R.-L. - Rouart-Lerolle (publisher)

Préludes, for piano (1916); Unpublished. Rapsodie négre (1917, “Spring, Paris”, rev. 1933); For piano, flute, string quartet, clarinet in Bh, and baritone voice; poem by “Makoko Kangourou”, P. Chester, 1919; ded. Erik Satie; F. 11 December 1917 at Théatre du Vieux-Colombier, at a Jane Bathori concert, Poulenc “singing.”

Trois pastorales, for piano (1918); Unpublished; ded. Ricardo Vifies. Toréador,

chanson

hispano-italienne (1918, rev.

1932); For voice and piano, text by Jean

Cocteau; P. Deiss, 1933; ded. Pierre Bertin.

Sonata for Two Clarinets (1918, “Spring, Boulogne-sur-Seine; rev. 1945); P. Chester, 1919; ded. Edouard Souberbielle; Piano reduction by the composer, P. Chester; F. 1919 at a Lyre et Palette concert, Salle Huyghens. P. Sonata for piano 4 hands, or 2 pianos 4 hands (1918, “June, Boulogne-sur-Seine”; rev. 1939); BBC. the on Babin and Vronsky by 1933 July 24 (?) F. Tilliard; Simone Mile ded. 1919; Chester,

Mouvements perpétuels, for piano (1918, “December, Paris”; rev. 1962); (1) Assez modéré, (2) Trés modéré, (3) Alerte; P. Chester, 1919; ded. Valentine Gross; Version for chamber orchestra by the composer, 1927; F. 9 Feb. 1919 by Ricardo Vifies at a Lyre et Palette concert.

string Le Bestiaire (1919, “April-May, Pont-sur-Seine”), For voice and flute, clarinet, bassoon, Chévre La (2) , Dromadaire quartet; or voice and piano; Poems by Guillaume Apollinaire: (1) Le

Editions de la du Thibet, (3) La SautereHe, (4) Le Dauphin, (5) L’Ecrevisse, (6) La Carpe; P.

Siréne, 1920; ded. Louis Durey; F. 1919, by Suzanne Peignot and the composer.

Valse, for piano (1919, “July, Pont-sur-Seine”);

P. Demets,

1920 (im Album

Micheline Soulé; F. (?) 1919 by Ricardo Vifies at a Lyre et Palette concert.

des Six), ded.

354

List of Works

Cocardes (1919); For voice and violin, cornet, trombone, bass drum, triangle; or voice and piano; Poems by Jean Cocteau: (1) Miel de Narbonne, (2) Bonne d’enfant, (3) Enfant de troupe; P.

Editions de la Siréne, 1920; ded. Georges Auric; F. 21 Feb. 1920 by S. Koubitzky at Théatre des Champs-Elysées.

Suite en ut, for piano (1920, “March, Paris”); P. Chester, 1920; ded. Ricardo Vifies: F. 11 April 1920 by Vifies at a Société Nationale de Musique concert.

Impromptus, for piano (1920-21, “Paris”; rev. 1939); (1) Trés agité, (2) Allegro vivace, (3) Trés

modéré, (4) Violent, (5) Andante (originally six movements with different tempo indications); P.

Chester, 1922 and 1924; ded. Marcelle Meyer.

Le Gendarme incompris, comédie-bouffe en un acte mélée de chants, texte de Jean Cocteau et Raymond Radiguet (1921); Unpublished; Also unpublished suite for orch.: (1) Ouverture, (2) Madrigal, (3) Final; F. 23 May 1921 at Théatre des Mathurins.

Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel, farce en un acte, text de Jean Cocteau (1921); (1) La Baigneuse de Trouville, (2) Le Discours du général: P. Salabert (?), 1921: F. 18 June 1921 at Théatre des Champs-Elysées by the Ballets suédois, choreography by Jean Borlin, décor by Iréne Lagut, costumes by Jean Hugo.

Promenades, for piano (1921, “Summer, Touraine”; rev. 1952); (1) A pied, (2) En auto, (3) A cheval, (4) En bateau, (5) En avion, (6) En autobus, (7) En voiture, (8) En chemin de fer, (9) A bicyclette, (10) En diligence (Prélude and Final in original edition); P. Chester, 1923: ded. Arthur

Rubinstein.

Esquisse d'un fanfare (1921, “Summer”); Ouverture pour le V€ acte de “Roméo et Juliette”; P. in Fanfare (15 Oct. 1921). Chanson a boire, for male choir a cappella (1922, “Sept., Touraine”); seventeenth century; P. R.-L., 1923; ded. Harvard Glee Club.

Text:

anonymous,

Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon (1922, “Sept., Touraine”: rev, 1945); P. Chester, 1924: ded. Audrey Parr; Piano reduction by the composer, 1925; F. (2) 7 Jan. 1923 at a Concert Wiener. Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone (1922, “Aug.-Oct., Houlgate-Touraine” : rev, 1945): P.

Chester, 1924; ded. Raymonde Linossier; Piano reduction by the composer, 1925; F. (2) 7 Jan. 1923 at a Concert Wiéner.

Les Biches, ballet avec chant en un acte, texte d’aprés des chansons populaires frangaises (1923, “Touraine”); (1) Ouverture, (2) Rondeau, (3) Chanson dansée, (4) Adagietto, (5) Jeu, (6) RagMazurka, (7) Andantino, (8) Petite chanson dansée, (9) Final; P. Heugel, 1924: ded. Misia Sert;

Piano reduction by the composer; Orchestral suite (nos. 2, 4, 6, 7,9), P. by Heugel, 1940; F. 6 Jan. 1924 at Théatre de Monte-Carlo by the Ballets russes, choreography by Nijinska, décor and costumes by Marie Laurencin.

La Colombe, recitatives for opera by Charles Gounod (1923); Unpublished. Poémes de Ronsard, for voice and piano (1924-25, “January, Amboise” ); (1) Attributs, (2) Le Tombeau, (3) Ballet, (4) Je n’ai plus que les os, (5) A son page; P. Heugel, 1925; ded. Suzanne Peignot, Marya Freund, Vera Janacopoulos, Mme Croiza, Jeanne Bathori: Version for small orchestra by the composer, F. 10 March 1925 at Salle des Agricult eurs in a Marcelle Meyer

concert by Poulenc and Suzanne Peignot.

Napoli, for piano (1922-25, “September,

Nazelles”); (1) Barcarolle, (2) Nocturne, (3) Caprice

italien; P. R.-L., 1926; ded. to memory of Juliette Meerovitch; F. 17 March 1924 by Marcelle

List of Works

355

Meyer (mvts. | and 2); 2 May 1926 at Salle des Agriculteurs in Auric-Poulenc concert by Marcelle Meyer (complete). Chansons

gaillardes,

for voice

and

piano

(1925-26,

“Nazelles-Clavary”);

Texts: anonymous,

seventeenth century: (1) La Maitresse volage, (2) Chanson a boire, (3) Madrigal, (4) Invocation aux Parques, (5) Couplets bachiques, (6) L’Offrande, (7) La belle jeunesse, (8) Sérénade; P. Heugel, 1926; ded. Madame Fernand Allard; F. 2 May 1926 at Salle des Agriculteurs in Auric-

Poulenc concert by Pierre Bernac; In 1948, Poulenc authorized a transcription of “Sérénade” for cello and piano by Maurice Gendron; P. Heugel, 1950. Trio, for piano, oboe and bassoon (1926, “Feb.-April, Cannes”); P. Hansen and Chester, 1926; ded.

Manuel de Falla; F. 2 May 1926 at Salle des Agriculteurs in Auric-Poulenc concert. Pastourelle, from L’Evantail de Jeanne, a collaborative ballet in honor of Jeanne Dubost, by Maurice Ravel, Pierre-Octave Ferroud, Jacques Ibert, Roland-Manuel, Marcel Delannoy, Albert Roussel, Darius Milhaud, Francis Poulenc, Georges Auric, Florent Schmitt (1927); P.

Heugel, 1928; piano version P. 1929; F. (private): at home of Jeanne Dubost, 16 June 1927, Roger Désormiére conducting; F. (public): 4 March 1929 at the Opéra.

Vocalise, for voice and piano (1927); P. Leduc, 1929; ded. to the memory of Evelyne Brélia; F. (?) 3 March 1928 at Théatre du Vieux-Colombier by Jane Bathori. Airs chantés, for voice and piano (1927-28, “Nazelles-Paris”); Poems by Jean Moréas: (1) Air romantique, (2) Air champétre, (3) Air grave, (4) Air vif; P. R.-L., 1928; ded. Francois Hepp, Suzanne Peignot, Jacques Lerolle, Jane Bathori; F. 3 March 1928 at Théatre du Vieux-

Colombier by Jane Bathori. Deux novelettes, for piano (1927-28, “October, Nazelles-Amboise”; rev. 1939); P. Chester, 1930;

ded. Aunt Liénard, Louis Laloy; F. 10 June 1928 at Salle Chopin in Auric-Poulenc concert by Poulenc. Trois pieces, for piano (1928); (1) Pastorale, (2) Toccata, (3) Hymme;

P. Heugel, 1931; ded.

Ricardo Vifies; F. 10 June 1928 at Salle Chopin in Auric-Poulenc concert. Concert champétre, for harpsichord and orchestra (1927-28); P. R.-L., Landowska; F. (public): 3 May 1929 at Salle Pleyel by Landowska Symphonique de Paris, conducted by Pierre Monteux.

1929; ded. Wanda and the Orchestre

Piéce bréve sur le nom d’Albert Roussel, for piano (1929, “March, Noizay”); First appeared in supplement of La Revue musicale; P. Leduc, 1929; Version for small string orchestra, P. 1949. Nocturnes, for piano (1929-38); Keys: C, A, F, c, d, G, Eh, G-C; P. Heugel, 1932 (1), 1934 (2-6), 1936 (7), 1938 (8); ded. Suzette, Janine Salles, Paul Collaer, Julien Green, Jean-Michel Frank,

Waldemar Strenger, Fred Timar, no ded.

Aubade, concerto chorégraphique pour piano et dix-huit instruments (1929, “May-June, Fontainebleau—Paris”); (1) Toccata, (2) Récitatif: Les Compagnes de Diane, (3) Rondeau: Diane et compagnes, (4) Entrée de Diane, (5) Sortie de Diane, (6) Presto: Toilette de Diane, (7) Récitatif: Introduction a la variation de Diane, (8) Andante: Variation de Diane, (9) Allegro féroce:

Désespoir de Diane, (10) Conclusion: Adieux et départ de Diane; P. R.-L., 1931; ded. Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Noailles; F. (private): 18 June 1929 at the Noailles, choreography by Nijinska, decor by Jean-Michel Fragk; F. (public): 21 Jan. 1930, choreography by George Balanchine. Epitaphe, for voice and piano (1930, “July, Noizay”); Poem by Malherbe; P. R.-L., 1930; ded.

Raymonde Linossier.

?

356

List of Works

Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne, for voice and piano (1931, “Feb., Noizay”); Poems by Guillaume

Apollinaire and Marie Laurencin: (1) Le Présent, (2) Chanson, (3) Hier; P. R.-L., 1931; ded. Comtesse Jean de Polignac; F. (?) 1 June 1931 at Festival Poulenc by Suzanne Peignot.

Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire, for voice and piano (1931, “March, Noizay”); (1) L’Anguille, (2) Carte postale, (3) Avant le cinema, (4) 1904; P. R.-L., 1931: ded. Marie Laurencin, Madame

Cole Porter, Madame

Picasso, Madame

Jean-Arthur

Festival Poulenc by Suzanne Peignot.

Cing poémes

de Max

Jacob,

Fontaine; F. | June 1931 at

for voice and piano (1931, “J uly-Dec., Nogent-Noizay”); (1)

Chanson bretonne, (2) Cimitiére, (3) La petite servante, (4) Berceuse, (5) Souric et Mouric; P. R.-

L., 1932; ded. Marie-Blanche, Madeleine Vhita, Suzanne Ch. Peignot, Suzanne Balguerie, Eve Curie; F. 24 May 1932 at Salle du Conservatoire by Poulenc and Suzanne Peignot (nos. 4 and 5 only) Le Bal masqué, cantate profane pour baryton et orchestre de chambre (1932, “Feb.-April, Noizay-Cannes”); Poems by Max Jacob: (1) Préambule et air de bravoure, (2) Interméde, (3) Malvina, (4) Bagatelle, (5) La dame aveugle, (6) Finale; Scored for oboe, clarinet, bassoon, cornet,

violin, cello, percussion, piano; P. R.-L., 1932; ded. Vicomte et Vicomtesse de Noailles; P. separately: Caprice for piano (1932), Capriccio for two pianos (1952), Interméde for piano (1932), Bagatelle for violin and piano (1932); F. 20 April 1932 at Théatre d’Hyéres. Concerto en ré mineur, for two pianos and orchestra (1932); P. R.-L., 1933; ded. Princesse Edmond de Polignac; Reduction for two pianos by the composer; F. 5 Sept. 1932 in Venice at the ISCM Festival by Poulenc and Jacques Février, with the Orchestra of La Scala conducted by

Desiré Defauw.

Valse-Improvisation sur le nom de Bach, for piano (1932, “Oct., Noizay”); First appeared in La Revue musicale; P. R.-L., 1933; ded. Vladimir Horowitz. Improvisations, for piano (1932-59); P. R.-L. and Salabert (last three): (1) B minor, ded. Mme Long de Marliave (1932, P. 1933); (2) Ab, ded. Louis Duffey (1932, P. 1933); (3) B minor, ded. Brigitte Manceaux (1932, P. 1933); (4) Ab, ded. Claude Popelin (1932, P. 1933); (5) A minor, ded. Georges Auric (1932, P. 1933); (6) Bh, ded. Jacques Février (1932, P. 1933); (7) C, ded. Comtesse de Noailles (1933, P. 1934); (8) A minor, ded. Nora Georges Auric (1934, P. 1934); (9) D, ded. Thérése Dorny (1934, P. 1934); (10) F, ded. Jacques Lerolle (1934, P. 1934); (11) G minor, ded. Claude Delvincourt (1941, P. 1945); (12) Ep, ded. Edwige Feuillére (1941, P. 1945); (13) A minor, ded. Mme. Auguste Lambiotte (1958, P. 1958); (14) Dp, ded. Henri Hell (1958, P. 1958); (15) C

minor, ded. Edith Piaf (homage) (1959, P. 1960).

Feuillets dalbum, for piano (1933); (1) Ariette, (2) Réve, (3) Gigue; P. R.-L., 1933: ded. Yvonne Martin, Madame A. Bessan, Marcelle Meyer.

Intermezzo, incidental music to play by Jean Giraudoux (1933); Unpublished; F. March 1933 at Comédie des Champs-Elysées; Recording of performance can be found at the Bibliothéq ue de L’Arsenal under LO 16201 (Bob. 2) nos. 327-29, 31-33.

Villageoises, “petites piéces enfantines” for piano (1933 “Feb.-Montmartre”); (1) Valse tyrolienne, (2) Staccato, (3) Rustique, (4) Polka, (5) Petite ronde, (6) Coda. P. R.-L., 1933; ded. Jean Giraudoux and Louis Jouvet. Huit chansons polonaises, for voice and piano (1934, “Jan.-April, Noizay-Paris”); (1) La Couronne (Wianek), (2) Le Départ (Odjazd), (3) Les Gars polonais (Polska mtodziez), (4) Le dernier mazour (Ostatni mazur), (5) L’Adieu (Pozegnanie), (6) de Drapeau blanc (Biata choragiewka), (7) La Vistule (Wista), (8) Le Lac (Jezioro); P. R.-L., 1934; ded. Ida Godebska,

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357

Misia Sert, Mme la Comtesse Elisabeth Potocka, Marya Freund, Mme Kochanska, Mme Arthur Rubinstein, Wanda Landowska, Maria Modrakowska. Presto, for piano (1934, “July, Le Tremblay”); P. Deiss, 1934; ded. Vladimir Horowitz. Deux intermezzi, for piano (1934, “Aug., Kerbastic”); P. R.-L., 1934; ded. Dr. Raymond Mallet,

Comtesse Jean de Polignac. Humoresque, for piano (1934); P. Deiss, 1935; ded. Walter Gieseking. Badinage, for piano (1934, “Dec., Noizay”); P. Deiss, 1935; ded. Christiane.

Quatre chansons pour enfants, for voice and piano (1934, “Noizay-Besan¢on-Vichy-Paris”), Poems by Jaboune (Jean Nohain): (1) Nous voulons une petite soeur, (2) La tragique histoire du

petit René, (3) Le petit gargon trop bien portant, (4) Monsieur Sans-Souci, il fait tout lui-méme; P. Enoch, 1935 and 1937; ded. Marie-Blanche, Mme H. Ledoux, Mario Beaugnies de St. Marceaux, Jean de Polignac.

Villanelle, for pipe (pipeau) and piano (1934); P. Editions de l’Oiseau Lyre, 1934; ded. Mrs. Louise Dyre. La Belle au bois dormant (1935); Music for animated film, produced by Nicholas. Cing poémes de Paul Eluard, for voice and piano (1935, “March, Hyéres-Cannes”); (1) Peut-il se reposer, (2) Il la prend dans ses bras, (3) Plume d’eau claire, (4) Rédeuse au front de verre, (5) Amoureuses; P. Durand, 1935; ded. Mme la Vicomtesse de Noailles, Valentine Hugo, Suzanne

Nivard, Pierre Bernac, Nora Auric; F. 3 April 1935 at Salle de l’Ecole Normale de Musique by Poulenc and Bernac.

La Reine Margot (1935); Incidental music, composed in collaboration with Georges Auric, for a play by Edouard Bourdet; Unpublished.

A sa guitare, for voice and harp or piano (1935, “Sept., Noizay”), Text by Ronsard, drawn from La Reine Margot; P. Durand, 1935; ded. Yvonne Printemps.

Suite francaise, “d’aprés Claude Gervaise,” for nine wind instruments, percussion, and harpsichord (1935); (1) Bransle de Bourgogne, (2) Pavane, (3) Petite marche militaire, (4) Complainte, (5) Bransle de Champagne, (6) Sicilienne, (7) Carillon; P. Durand, 1948; Version for

piano by the composer—P. Durand 1935; ded. Edouard Bourdet.

Sept chansons, for mixed chorus a cappella (1936, “March-April, Noizay”); Poems by Guillaume

Apollinaire (nos. | and 6) and Paul Eluard: (1) La blanche neige, (2) A peine défigurée, (3) Par une nuit nouvelle, (4) Tous les droits, (5) Belle et ressemblante, (6) Marie, (7) Luire; P. Durand, 1936;

ded. André and Suzanne Latarget and the Chanteurs de Lyons; Originally published with two poems by Jean Legrand, “La Reine de Saba” and “Marie,” replacing the Apollinaire poems; F. 21 May 1937 at a La Sérénade concert by the Chanteurs de Lyons.

Litanies a la Vierge Noire, for female or children’s choir and organ (1936, “August, Uzerche) 28. Durand, 1937; F. 17 Nov. 1936 by Nadia Boulanger and the BBC Broadcast Ensemble.

Petites voix, for S.S.A. chorus a cappella (1936, “Sept.”) Poems by Madeleine Ley: (1) La petite fille sage, (2) Le Chien perdu, (3) En rentrant de l’école, (4) Le petit garcon malade, (5) Le Hérisson; P. R.-L., 1936; ded. Martine Paul Rouart, Claude Lerolle, Emmanuel Hepp, Daniel Milhaud, Jean Destouches.

Les Soirées de Nazelles, for piano (1936, sketched 1930, “Oct., Noizay”); (1) Préambule and cadence, (2) Eight variations (Le Comble de la distinction, Le Coeur sur fa main, La Désinvolture

et la discrétion, La Suite dans les idées, Le Charme enjéleur, Le Contentement de soi, Le Goat du

358

List of Works

malheur, l’Alerte vieillesse), (3) Cadence, (4) Final; P. Durand, 1937; ded. to the memory of Tante

Liénard; F. | Dec. 1936 by Poulenc on a BBC broadcast.

Tel jour, telle nuit, for voice and piano (1936-37, “Dec.-Jan.”); Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) Bonne journée, (2) Une ruine coquille vide, (3) Le Front comme un drapeau perdu, (4) Une Roulotte

couverte en tuiles, (5) A toutes brides, (6) Une Herbe pauvre, (7) Je n’ai envie que de t’aimer, (8)

Figure de force bralante et farouche, (9) Nous avons fait la nuit; P. Durand, 1937; ded. Pablo Picasso, Freddy, Nush, Valentine Hugo, Marie-Blanche, Denise Bourdet, Pierre Bernac, Yvonne Gouverné; F. 3 Feb. 1937 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac.

Bourrée, au Pavillon d'Auvergne, for piano (1937, “May, Noizay”) P. Deiss, 1937; ded. Marguerite Long; Appears in volume called “A Exposition,” along with pieces by Auric, Delannoy, Ibert, Milhaud, Sauguet, Schmitt, and Tailleferre.

Deux marches et un interméde, for chamber orchestra (1937, “June”); Scored for flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, strings; (1) Marche 1899, (2) Interméde champétre , (3) Marche 1937:

P. R.-L., 1938; ded. Antoinette d’Harcourt; F. 24 June 1937 ata supper given by Duke Francois d'Harcourt as part of the “Exposition Universelle,”

Messe en sol majeur, for mixed chorus a cappella (1937, “August, Anost”); (1) Kyrie, (2) Gloria, (3) Sanctus, (4) Benedictus, (5) Agnus dei; P. R.-L., 1937; ded. to the memory of the composer’s

father. F. May 1938 in the Dominican Chapel (Paris) by the Chanteurs de Lyons. Sécheresses, cantata for mixed chorus and orchestra (1937); Poems by Edward James: (1) Les

Sauterelles, (2) Le Village abandonné, (3) Le faux avenir, (4) Le Squelette de la mer; P. Durand, 1938 (vocal parts), 1952; ded. Yvonne de Casa Fuerte. F. May 1938 at a Concert Colonne by the Chanteurs de Lyons.

Trois poémes de Louise de Vilmorin, for voice and piano (1937, “Dec., Noizay”); (1) Le Garcon de Liége, (2) Au-dela, (3) Aux officiers de la garde blanche; P. Durand, 1938; ded. Marie-Blanche de

Polignac; F. 28 Nov. 1938 at Salle Gaveau at a La Sérénade concert.

Le Portrait, for voice and piano (1938, “March”); Poem by Colette; P. Deiss, 1939; ded. Héléne Jourdan-Morhange; F. 19 Dec. 1938 by Poulenc and Bernac.

Concerto en sol mineur, for organ, string orchestra, and timpani (1938, “April-August, NoizayAnost”); P. Deiss, 1939; ded. Princesse Edmond de Polignac; F. 21 June 1939 at Salle Gaveau ata

La Sérénade concert by Maurice Duruflé and the Orchestre Symphon ique de Paris, Roger Désormiére conducting.

Deux poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire,

for voice and piano (1938, “May-August, Noizay-

Anost”); (1) Dans le jardin d’Anna, (2) Allons plus vite; P. R.-L., 1939; ded. Georges Auric, Reine Bénard; F. 19 Dec. 1938 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac.

Priez pour paix, for voice and piano (1938, “Sept., Noizay”); Poem by Charles d'Orléans: P. R.L., 1939; F. (?) 19 Dec. 1938 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac.

La Grenouillére, for voice and piano (1938, “Oct., Noizay”); Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire; P. Deiss, 1939; ded. Marie-Blanche; F. (?) 19 Dec. 1938 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac.

Miroirs briilants, for voice and piano (1938-39, “August-Jan., Anost-Noizay”); Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) Tu vois le feu du soir, (2) Je nommerai ton front: P. Deiss, 1939; ded. Pierre Bernac,

Marie-Laure; F. 19 Dec. 1938 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac (#1). Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence, for mixed chorus a cappella (1938-39, “July-Jan., Noizay-Paris”); (1) Timor et tremor, (2) Vinea mea electa, (3) Tenebrae factae sunt, (4) Tristis est

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359

anima mea; P. R.-L., 1946, 1946, 1938, 1946; ded. Monsieur l’Abbé Maillet, Yvonne Gouverné,

Nadia Boulanger, E. Bourmauck; F. Feb. 1939 by Les Petits Chanteurs a la Croix de Bois.

Ce doux petit visage, for voice and piano (1939, “April, Noizay”); Poem by Paul Eluard; P. R.-L., 1941; ded. to the memory of Raymonde Linossier; F. Feb. 1941 by Poulenc and Bernac. Fiangailles pour rire, for voice and piano (1939, “Sept.-Oct., Noizay”); Poems by Louise de Vilmorin: (1) La Dame d’André, (2) Dans l’herbe, (3) II vole, (4) Mon cadavre est doux comme un

gant, (5) Violon, (6) Fleurs; P. R.-L., 1940; ded. Marie-Blanche, Freddy, Suzanne Peignot, Ninon Vallin, Denise Bourdet, Solange d’Ayen; F. 21 May 1942 by Poulenc and Geneviéve Touraine.

Bleuet, for voice and piano (1939, “Oct., Noizay”); Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire; P. Durand, 1940; ded. André Bonnélie. Sextuor, for piano, flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, and horn (1932-39); P. Hansen and Chester, 1945; ded. Georges Salles; F. 16 Dec. 1933 at a La Sérénade concert; First definitive performance:

9 Dec. 1940 at Salle Chopin by the Association Musicale Contemporaine. Deux préludes posthumes et une gnossienne (1939); Orchestrations of Satie piano pieces; P. R.-

L., 1949. Mélancolie, for piano (1940, “June-August, Talence-Brive”); P. Eschig, 1945; ded. Raymond Destouches; F. 23 May 1941 at Salle Gaveau by Marcelle Meyer.

Banalités, for voice and piano (1940, “Oct.-Nov., Noizay-Paris”); Poems by Guillaume Apollinaire: (1) Chanson d’Orkenise, (2) Hétel, (3) Fagnes de Wallonie, (4) Voyage a Paris, (5) Sanglots; P. Eschig, 1941; ded. Claude Rostand, Marthe Bosredon, Mme Henri Fredericq, Paul Eluard, Suzette; F. 14 Dec. 1940 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac. Léocadia (1940); Incidental music for play by Jean Anouilh; Unpublished; A “valse chantée” from this incidental music, Les Chemins de lamour, was published by Eschig in 1940, ded. Yvonne Printemps. Collque, for soprano and baritone voices and piano (1940, “December”); P. Salabert, 1978; ded.

Solange Lemaitre. Exultate Deo, for mixed chorus a cappella (1941, “May, Noizay”); P. R.-L., 1941; ded. Georges Salles.

Salve Regina, for mixed chorus a cappella (1941, “May, Noizay”); P. R.-L., 1941; ded. Héléne [Salles].

Les Animaux modéles, ballet en un acte d’aprés des fables de La Fontaine (1940-41, “Aug.-Sept., Brive-Noizay”); (1) Le Petit jour, (2) L’Ours et les deux compagnons, (3) La Cigale et la Fourmi, (4) Le Lion amoureux, (5) L’Homme entre deux Ages et ses deux maitresses, (6) La Mort et le

Bacheron, (7) Les deux cogs, (8) Le Repas de midi; P. Eschig, 1942; ded. to memory of Raymonde Linossier; Orchestral suite (nos. 1, 4-8) P. Eschig, 1949; F. 8 August 1942 at Opéra, choreography by Serge Lifar, décor and costumes by Maurice Brianchon, conducted by Roger Désormiere.

La Fille du jardinier (1941); Incidental music to play by Exbrayat; Unpublished. La Duchesse de Langeais (1942); Music for film, directed by Jacques de Baroncelli,; P. Salabert, 1942 (in MS form).

2

Chansons villageoises, for voice and piano (or chamber orchestra) (1942, “Oct.-Dec., Noizay-

Paris”); Poems by Maurice Fombeure: (1) Chanson du clair tamis, (2) Les Gars qui vont ala féte, (3) C’est le joli printemps, (4) Le Mendiant, (5) Chanson de la fille frivole, (6) Le Retour du

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List of Works

sergent; P. Eschig, 1943; ded. Louis Beydts, Jean de Polignac, Roger Bourdin, André Schaeffner, André Lecoeur, André Dubois; F. 28 June 1943 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Roger Bourdin.

Intermezzo en la b majeur, for piano (1943, “March, Paris”); P. Eschig, 1947; ded. Madame Mante Rostand.

Sonate pour violon et piano (1942-43, “Summer-Easter, Noizay”; rev. 1949); P. Eschig, 1944; ded. to memory of Federico Garcia Lorca; F. 21 June 1943 by Poulenc and Ginette Neveu. Figure humaine,

cantate

pour double

choeur

mixte a cappella (1943, “Summer,

Beaulieu”);

Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) De tous les printemps du monde, (2) En chantant les servantes s’lancent, (3) Aussi bas que le silence, (4) Toi ma patiente, (5) Riant du ciel et des planétes, (6) Le jour m’étonne et la nuit me fait peur, (7) La menace sous le ciel rouge, (8) Liberté; P. R.-L., 1945; ded. Pablo Picasso; F. Jan. 1945 by BBC Choir, directed by Leslie Woodgate.

Métamorphoses, for voice and piano (1943, “August-Oct., Beaulieu-Noizay”); Poems by Louise de Vilmorin: (1) Reine des mouettes, (2) C’est ainsi que tu es, (3) Paganini; P. R.-L., 1944: ded. Marie-Blanche, Marthe Bosredon, Jeanne Ritcher; F. 8 Dec. 1943 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac. Deux poémes de Louis Aragon, for voice and piano (1943, “Sept.-Oct., Noizay”); (1) C, (2) Fétes

galantes; P. R.-L., 1944; ded. Papoum, Jean de Polignac; F. 8 Dec. 1943 at Salle Gaveau by Poulenc and Bernac.

Le Voyageur sans bagages (1944); Incidental music for the play by Jean Anouilh and music for the film, directed by Anouilh; Both unpublished.

La Nuit de Saint-Jean (1944), Incidental music for the play by James Barrie; Unpublished.

Les Mamelles de Tirésias, opéra-bouffe en deux actes et un prologue (1944, “May-Oct., Noizay”); Text by Guillaume Apollinaire, from his play of 1917; P. Heugel, 1947; ded. Darius Milhaud: F. 3 June 1947 at the Opéra~-Comique, produced by Max de Rieux, décor and costumes by Romain Erté, conducted by Albert Wolff.

Un soir de neige, petite cantate de chambre pour six voix mixtes ou choeur a cappella (1944, “2426 Dec.”); Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) De grandes cuillers de neige, (2) La bonne neige, (3) Bois meurtri, (4) La nuit le froid la solitude; P. R.-L., 1945; ded. Marie-Blanche.

Moniparnasse, for voice and piano (1941-45, “Sept.-Jan., Noizay-Paris”); Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire, P. Eschig, 1945; ded. Pierre Souvtchinsky; F. 27 April 1945 by Poulenc and Bernac. Hyde Park, for voice and piano (1945, “Jan., Paris”); Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire; P. Eschig,

1945; ded. to the memory of Audrey Norman Colville; F. 27 April 1945 by Poulenc and Bernac.

Le Soldat et la sorciére (1945); Incidental music for the play by Armand Salacrou: Unpublished. L'Histoire de Babar, le petit éléphant, for piano and reciter (1940-45); Text by Jean de Brunhoff; P. Chester, 1949; ded. “For my little cousins, Sophie, Sylvie, Benoit, Florence, and Delphine

Périer; Yvan, Alain, Marie-Christine, and Marguerite-Marie Villotte; and my little friends Marthe Bosredon and André Lecoeur, in memory of Brive”; F. (?) 14 June 1946 by Poulenc and Bernac (radio); Orchestrated by Jean Francaix in 1962; Performed as a ballet under the title

“Adages et variations.”

Chansons frangaises, for mixed chorus a cappella (1945-46, “Aug.-April, Larche-Noizay”); Texts from traditional French sources: (1) Margoton va t’a l’iau, (2) La Belle se sied au pied de la tour, (3) Pilons l’orge, (4) Clic, clac, dansez sabots, (5) C’est la petit’fill’ du Prince, (6) La Belle si nous étions, (7) Ah! mon beau laboureur, (8) Les Tisserands; P. R.-L., 1948; ded. Henri Screpel.

List of Works

361

Deux mélodies, for voice and piano (1946, “July, Le Tremblay”); Poems by Guillaume Apollinaire: (1) Le Pont, (2) Un poéme; P. Eschig, 1947; ded. to the memory of Raymond Radiguet, Luigi Dallapiccola; F. 6 Nov. 1946 by Poulenc and Bernac. Paul et Virginie, for voice and piano (1946, “August, Noizay”); Poem by Raymond Radiguet; P. Eschig, 1947; ded. Lucien Daudet. Le Disparu, for voice and piano (1947, “Summer, Le Tremblay”); Poem by Robert Desnos; P. R.L., 1947; ded. Henri Sauguet. Main dominée par le coeur, for voice and piano (1947, “Summer, Noizay”); Poem by Paul Eluard; P. R.-L., 1947; ded. Marie-Blanche.

Trois chansons de F. Garcia-Lorca, for voice and piano (1947, “Summer-Sept., Noizay”); (1) L’Enfant muet, (2) Adelina a la promenade, (3) Chanson de Voranger sec; P. Heugel, 1947; ded.

Geneviéve Touraine, Madame Auguste Lambiotte, Gérard Souzay; F. 12 Nov. 1947 by Poulenc and Bernac.

-- mais mourir, for voice and piano (1947, “October, Noizay”); Poem by Paul Eluard; P. Heugel, 1948; ded. to the memory of Nush. L'Invitation au chateau (1947), Incidental music for the play by Jean Cocteau; Unpublished. Amphyirion (1947), Incidental music for the play by Moliére; Unpublished; F. 5 Dec. 1947 by the Compagnie Madeleine Renaud - Jean-Louis Barrault.

Sinfonietta, for orchestra (1947, “Noizay”); P. Chester, 1951; ded. Georges Auric; F. 24 Oct. 1948 by the Philharmonia Orchestra in a BBC broadcast, Roger Désormiére conducting. Calligrammes,

for voice and

piano (1948, “May-August,

Noizay-Le Tremblay”);

Poems

by

Guillaume Apollinaire: (1) L’Espionne, (2) Mutation, (3) Vers le sud, (4) Il pleut, (5) La Grace

exilée, (6) Aussi bien que les cigales, (7) Voyage; P. Heugel, 1948; ded. Simone Tilliard, Pierre

Lelong, Jacqueline Apollinaire, Emmanuel Fay, the composer’s sister Jeanne, Jacques Soulé, Raymonde Linossier; F. 20 Nov. 1948 in New York by Poulenc and Bernac.

Quatre petites priéres de Saint Frangois d’Assise, for male choir a cappella (1948, “Summer, Noizay”); P. R.-L., 1949; ded. “Aux Freres mineurs de Champfleury et spécialement a Frére Jérome en souvenir de son grand-pére: mon oncle Camille Poulenc”; F. 1948 or 1949 at a “Plaisir de la musique” concert by the Chorale Gouverné. Sonate pour violoncelle et piano (1948, “April-Oct., Noizay”); P. Heugel, 1949; ded. Marthe Bosredon and Pierre Fournier; F. 1948 in Italy by Poulenc and Fournier. Hymne, for voice and piano (1949, “Jan., New York”); Poem by Jean Racine; P. Salabert, 1949;

ded. Doda Conrad; F. 1949 in New York by Doda Conrad and David Garvey. Mazurka, for voice and piano (1949, “July, Le Tremblay”); Poem by Louise de Vilmorin; P. Heugel, 1949; Written for Doda Conrad, as part of Mouvements du coeur—an homage to

Chopin; Other songs by Sauguet, Auric, Francaix, Preger, Milhaud; F. 1949 in New York by Doda Conrad and David Garvey.

Concerto pour piano et orchestre (1949, “May-Oct., Noizay”); P. Salabert, 1950; ded. Denise Duval

and

Raymond

Dest6uches;

F. 6 Jan.

1950 in Boston, by Poulenc and the Boston

Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Charles Miinch. La Fraicheur et le feu, for voice and piano (1950, “April-July, Noizay-Brive”); Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) Rayon des yeux, (2) Le matin les branches attisent, (3) Tout disparut, (4) Dans les ténébres du jardin, (5) Unis la fraicheur et le feu, (6) Homme au sourire tendre, (7) La grande

362

List of Works

riviére qui va; P. Eschig, 1951; ded. Igor Stravinsky; F. | Nov. 1950 in Birmingham, England by Poulenc and Bernac. Stabat Mater, for soprano, mixed chorus (SATBB) and orchestra ( 1950, “Summer, Noizay”); Stabat mater dolorosa, (2) Cujus animam gementem, (3) O quam tristis, (4) Quae moerebat, Quis est homo, (6) Vidit suum, (7) Eja mater, (8) Fac ut ardeat, (9) Sancta mater, (10) Fac portem, (11) Inflammatus et accensus, (12) Quando corpus; P. R.-L., 1951; ded. to memory

(1) (5) ut of

Christian Bérard; F. 13 June 1951 at the Strasbourg Festival by Geneviéve Moizan, Les Choeurs de Saint-Guillaume and the Orchestre Municipal de Strasbourg, conducted by Fritz Miinch.

Le Voyage en Amérique (1951); Music for the film, directed by Henri Lavorelle, Unpublished; F. 14 Aug. 1951 at Cannes, Cinéma aux Etoiles. L’Embarquement pour Cythére, for two pianos (1951, “July, Paris”), A “valse-musette” taken from the music for the film Le Voyage en Amérique; P. Eschig, 1952; ded. Henri Lavorelle. Théme varié, for piano (1951, “Feb.-Sept., Noizay”); (1) Théme, (2) Joyeuse, (3) Noble, (4) Pastorale, (5) Sarcastique, (6) Mélancolique, (7) Ironique, (8) Elégiaque, (9) Volubile, (10) Fantasque, (11) Sybilline, (12) Finale; P. Eschig, 1952; ded. Genevieve Sienkiewicz.

Quatre motets pour le temps ne Noél, for mixed chorus a cappella (1951-52, “Nov.-May, AixMarseille-Noizay-Paris”); (1) O magnum mysterium, (2) Quem vidistis pastores dicite, (3) Videntes stellam, (4) Hodie Christus natus est; P. R.-L., 1952; ded. Félix de Nobel, Simone Girard, Madeleine Bataille, Marcel Couraud.

Matelote provengale, for orchestra (1952, “June, Noizay”); P. Salabert, 1954; ded. Roger Bigonnet; “En hommage a un compositeur trop négligé et a sa ville natale: Aix-en-Provence, sept musiciens d’aujourd’hui [Poulenc, Auric, Honegger, Lesur, Roland-Manuel, Sauguet, Taille-

ferre] ont assemblé cette Guirlande de Campra, une série de variations ou de méditations sur un théme de son opéra Camille de 1717.”

Ave verum corpus, for female chorus a cappella (1952, “August, Noizay”), P. R.-L., 1952; ded. to the Female Chorus of Pittsburg.

Sonate pour deux pianos (1952-53, “Autumn-Spring, Marseille-Noizay”), P. Eschig, 1954; ded. Arthur Gold and Robert Fizdale; F. 2 Nov. 1953 by Gold and Fizdale on a BBC broadcast.

Bucolique,

for orchestra (1954); Part of Variations sur le nom

de Marguerite Long (other

contributors: Auric, Milhaud, Dutilleux, Francaix, Lesur, Rivier, Sauguet); P. Salabert, 1954; F. 1956 at the Sorbonne, conducted by Charles Miinch.

Parisiana, for voice and piano (1954, “April, Noizay”); Poems by Max Jacob: (1) Jouer du bugle, (2) Vous n’écrivez plus?; P. Salabert, 1954; ded. to the memory of Pierre Colle, Paul Chadourne; F. 12 Oct. 1954 in Amsterdam by Poulenc and Bernac.

Rosemonde,

for voice and piano (1954, “May, Noizay”); Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire; P.

Eschig, 1955; ded. Comtesse Pastré; F. 12 Oct. 1954 in Amsterdam by Poulenc and Bernac.

Dialogues des Carmélites, opera in three acts (1953-56, vocal score dated “August 1955”), Text by Georges Bernanos; P. Ricordi, 1957; ded. “A la mémoire de ma mére, qui m’a révélé la musique,

de Claude Debussy, qui m’a donné le goat d’en écrire, de Claudio Monteverdi, Giusseppe Verdi, Modeste Moussorgski qui m’ont servi ici de modéles”; F. 26 Jan. 1957, in Italian, at La Scala, directed by Margherita Wallmann, décor and costumes by Georges Wakhevitch, conducted by Nino Sanzogno; F. Paris performance on 21 June 1957, directed by Maurice Jaquemont, décor and costumes by Suzanne Lalique, conducted by Pierre Dervaux.

List of Works

363

Le Travail du peintre, for voice and piano (1956, “August, Le Tremblay”); Poems by Paul Eluard: (1) Pablo Picasso, (2) Marc Chagall, (3) Georges Braque, (4) Juan Gris, (5) Paul Klee, (6) Joan

Mird, (5) Jacques Villon; P. Eschig, 1957; ded. Madame Alice Esty; F. 5 Sept. 1957 in Edinburgh by Poulenc and Bernac.

Deux mélodies 1956, for voice and piano (“Sept., Noizay”); (1) La Souris (poem by Guillaume Apollinaire), (2) Nuage (poem by Laurence de Beylié); P. Eschig, 1957; ded. Marya Freund, Rose Plaut-Dercourt.

Dernier poéme, for voice and piano (1956, “Dec., Cannes”); Poem by Robert Desnos; P. Eschig, 1957; ded. Youki Desnos. Sonata for Flute and Piano (1956-57, “Dec.-March, Cannes”); P. Chester, 1958; ded. to the memory of Madame Sprague Coolidge; F. 18 June 1957 at the Strasbourg Festival by Poulenc and Jean-Pierre Rampal.

Elegie, for horn and piano (1957); P. Chester, 1958; ded. to the memory of Denis Brain; F. 17 Feb. 1958 by Poulenc and Neill Sanders on a BBC broadcast. Une Chanson de porcelaine, for voice and piano (1958, “March, Cannes”); Poem by Paul Eluard; P. Eschig, 1959; ded. Jeanne Bathori. La Voix humaine, tragédie lyrique en un act (1958, “Feb.-June, Cannes-St. Raphaél-Noizay”); Text by Jean Cocteau; P. Ricordi, 1959; ded. Daisy et Hervé Dugardin; F. 6 Feb. 1959 at the Opéra-Comique, produced and designed by Cocteau, conducted by Georges Prétre.

Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue, for male chorus a cappella (1957-59, “July-March, BriveCannes”); (1) O Jesu, (2) O Proles, (3) Laus Regi, (4) Si quaeris; P. Salabert, 1959. Novelette, for piano (1959, “June, Brive”); Based on a theme of Manuel de Falla from E/ Amor Brujo; P. Chester, 1960 (in the House of Chester Centenary Album); ded. “To my dear friend [R.

Douglas] Gibson.” Elégie pour deux pianos (1959, “Summer, memory of Marie-Blanche.

Bagnols-en-forét”);

P. Eschig,

1960; ded. to the

Gloria, for soprano, mixed chorus, and orchestra (1959); (1) Gloria, (2) Laudamus te, (3) Domine

Deus, (4) Domine fili unigenite, (5) Domine Deus, Agnus dei, (6) Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris; P. Salabert, 1960; ded. to the memory of Serge and Nathalie K oussevitzky; F. 20 Jan. 1961 in Boston by Adele Addison, the Pro Musica Chorus, and the Boston Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Charles Miinch.

La Courte paille, for voice and piano (1960, “July-August”); Poems by Maurice Caréme: (1) Le Sommeil, (2) Quelle aventure!, (3) La Reine de coeur, (4) Ba, Be, Bi, Bo, Bu, (5) Les Anges musiciens, (6) Le Carafon, (7) Lune d’Avril; P. Eschig, 1960; ded. Denise Duval and Richard

Schilling; F. at the Festival de Royaumont by Colette Herzog. Sarabande, for guitar (1960); P. Ricordi, 1961; ded. Ida Presti.

La Dame de Monte-Carlo, monologue for soprano and orchestra (1961, “April, Monte-Carlo”);

Text by Jean Cocteau; P. Ricordi, 1961; ded. Denise Duval; F. Nov. 1961 in Monte-Carlo by Denise Duval, orchestra conducted by Georges Prétre.

Sept répons des Ténébres, for child soprano, mixed male choir, and orchestra (1960-62, “AprilOct.”); Jeudi Saint: (1) Una hora non postuistis vigilare mecum, (2) Judas mercator pessimus, Vendredi Saint: (3) Jesum tradidit, (4) Caligaverunt oculi mei, (5) Tenebrae factae sunt, Samedi

Saint: (6) Sepulto Domino, (7) Ecce quomodo moritur justus; P. Salabert, 1962; commissioned by

364

List of Works

the New York Philharmonic in celebration of its opening season at Lincoln Center; F. 11 April 1963 in Carnegie Hall by the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Thomas Schippers. Nos souvenirs qui chantent, for voice and piano, “d’aprés un théme de Francis Poulenc” (1962); Music by Poulenc and Paul Bonneau, text by Robert Tatry; P. Heugel, 1962. Renaud et Armide (1962); Incidental music for the play by Jean Cocteau; Unpublished.

Sonata for Clarinet and Piano (1962, “Summer”; P. Chester, 1963; ded. to the memory of Arthur Honegger; F. 10 April 1963 in New York by Benny Goodman and Leonard Bernstein. Sonata for Oboe and Piano (1962, “Summer,

Brive-Bagnols”);

P. Chester,

1963; ded. to the

memory of Serge Prokofieff; F. 8 June 1963 at the Festival International de Strasbourg by Pierre Pierlot and Jacques Février.

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Mul, Jan. “De Componist Francis Poulenc.” Mens en melodie, Sept. 1955, pp. 291-94. Myers, Rollo. “Francis Poulenc.” Monthly Musical Record 56, No. 725 (1 May 1931), pp. 129-30. Nobel, Felix de. “Memories of Francis Poulenc.” Sonorum Speculum, No. 15 (June 1963), pp. 3943. “No. 6.” Time Magazine, 15 Nov. 1948, p. 58. Philips, Giséle. Essai sur l'oeuvre lyrique de Francis Poulenc. Mémoire, Conservatoire de Paris, 1958. Pincherle, Marc. “L’Accent frangais.” Les Nouvelles littéraires, 7 Feb. 1963, p. 10. Pittaluga, Gustavo. “Francis Poulenc, and the Praise of the Paradox in Art.” The Chesterian 17,

No. 124 (Nov.-Dec. 1935), pp. 37-40. “Poulenc of Les Six.” Newsweek, 15 Nov. 1948, pp. 84-85. Prétre, Georges. “Recherche du Francis Poulenc.” Music Journal 23, No. | (Jan. 1965), pp. 58, ies Pruniéres, Henri. “Francis Poulenc.” De Muziek 2 (Jan. 1928), pp. 159-66. .“Francis Poulenc.” Cahiers dart, No. 3 (1928), pp. 125-27. .“Francis Poulenc.” Sackbut 8 (Feb. 1928), pp. 189-93. Riisager, Knudaage. “Auric et Poulenc a Copenhague.” La Revue musicale, | Dec. 1926, p. 171. Rorem, Ned. “Afterthoughts on Francis.” American Record Guide 35 (Sept. 1968), pp. 11-14. .“Poulenc—A Memoir.” Tempo, No. 64 (Spring 1963), pp. 28-29. .“Poulenc and Bernac—French Song, With Pure Pleasure the Aim.” Hi Fi/ Musical America 17, No. 11 (Nov. 1967), pp. 85-86. Rostand, Claude. “Francis Poulenc.” In De la musique encore et toujours. Paris: Editions du Tambourinaire, 1946, pp. 34-35. .“Francis Poulenc; hier et demain.” Le Figaro littéraire, 9 Feb. 1963, p. 17.

.“La Musique religieuse—Francis Poulenc et ses trois styles.” Feuilles musicales, MayJune 1961, p. 71. . “Poulenc, musicien des coeurs attentifs.” Carrefour, 5 May 1945, no p. .“Visages de Poulenc.” Revue musicale de Suisse Romande, 30 April 1963, pp. 9-12. Roy, Jean. Francis Poulenc. Paris: Seghers, 1964. .“Francis Poulenc.” In Musique de notre temps. Paris: n.p., 1973, vol. 1, pp. 181-84. Sabin, Robert. “Poulenc: ‘The Essence is Simplicity.’ ” Musical America 49, No. 14 (15 Nov. 1949), p. 27. Schaeffner, André. “Francis Poulenc, musicien frangais.” Contrepoints, No. | (Jan. 1946), pp. 5058. Schneider, Marcel. “Georges Prétre dirige Poulenc.” Combat, 13 Dec. 1963, no p. .*Si Poulenc m“%tait conté.” Les Nouvelles littéraires, 7 Feb. 1963, p. 10. Smith, Cecil. “More Emissaries from France.” New Republic 119 (13 Dec. 1948), p. 27.

“Song Recitals.” American Record Guide 33 (Dec. 1966), pp. 346-48. Spanjaard, B.K. “Het Liedwerk van Francis Poulenc.” Mens en melodie, Jan. 1947, pp. 17-21. Surchamp, Dom Angelico. “A propos de Poulenc.” Zodique No. 42 (July 1959), pp. 36-41. Tessimond, A.S.J. “Words #6 Music by Poulenc.” The Dominant, March-April 1929, p. 32. Vein, Irving. “Francis Poulenc.” The Chesterian 29, No. 179 (July 1954), pp. [1]-9.

Werner, W. Kent. “Performer’s Analysis of Poulenc’s Mouvements perpétuels, no. 3.” Clavier 9,

No. 3 (1970), pp. 17-19. .“The Piano Music of Francis Poulenc.” Clavier 9, No. 3 (1970), pp. 36-37.

372

Bibliography

Wortham, H.E. “Auric and Poulenc: Two Contemporary French Composers.” Apollo 9 (August 1926), pp. 67-72. Yvon, Francine. “Evocation: Francis Poulenc.” Le Monde, 6 Jan. 1967, no p. Individual Works

Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel (1921) Béraud, Henri. “Théatre des Champs-Elysées: Les Mariés de la Tour Eiffel.” Mercure de France,

15 July 1921, p. 449. Les Biches (1923) Auric, Georges. “Les Biches.” Fonds Montpensier. Cocteau, Jean. “Les Biches. Les Facheux. Notes de Monte-Carlo.” Nouvelle revue francaise, No.

126 (March 1924), pp. 275-78. Coeuroy, André. “Jeune musique francaise.” Revue universelle, | Aug. 1924, pp. 380-84. Fortune, Nigel. “Les Biches.” In Decca Book of Ballet. London: Muller, 1958, p. 233. Laloy, Louis. “Les Biches.” Comoedia, 11 Jan. 1924, p. 3. . “Festivals frangais sous la direction de M. Serge de Diaghilew.” Le Courrier musical 26,

No. 3 (1 Feb. 1924), p. 76. Milhaud, Darius. “Francis Poulenc et ‘Les Biches.’” In Etudes. Paris: Claude Aveline, 1927, pp. 61-68. Schloezer, Boris de. “Le Festival francais de Monte-Carlo.” La Revue musicale 5, No. 4 (Feb.

1924), pp. 161-67. —__—_.“Théatre S. de Diaghilew.” La Nouvelle revue francaise, No. 133 (1924), p. 508. Trio (1926)

Schaeffner, André. “ ‘Trio pour piano, hautbois et basson’ de Francis Poulenc.” La Revue musicale, May 1926, pp. 295-96. Pastourelle (1927)

Brillant, Maurice. “L’Evantail de Jeanne.” La Rev °'musicale, | Oct. 1927, pp. 251-52.

Concert champétre (1927-28) Corbiot, Olivier. “Francis Poulenc: Le Concert champétre.” L’Education musicale, No. 133 (1 Dec. 1966), pp. 4-5; and No. 135 (1 Feb. 1967), pp. 22-23. _George, André. “Le Concert champétre de Francis Poulenc.” Les Nouvelles littéraires, 11 May

1929, p. 12. Schaeffner, André. “Le Concert champétre pour clavecin et orchestre de Francis Poulenc.” La Revue musicale, May-June 1929, pp. 75-77. Aubade (1929) Cabry, Robert. “Premiéres auditions.” L’Humanité, 29 Dec. 1929, p. 6.

Coeuroy, André. “Les Concerts.” Paris-Midi, 2 Dec. 1929, p. 5.

Bibliography

373

Rubbra, Edmund. “Goossens and Poulenc.” Monthly Musical Record 56, No. 731 (2 Nov. 1931),

pp. 329-30. Terpander. “Poulenc’s ‘Aubade.’” The Gramophone, July 1935, p. 58; and Aug. 1935, p. 100. Quatre poémes de Louise Lalanne (1931) Ferroud, Pierre-Octave. “Les Concerts.” Paris-Soir, 4 March

1932, p. 6.

Le Bal Masqué (1932)

Petit, Raymond. “Oeuvres modernes: La Sérénade.” La Revue musicale, No. 128 (July-Aug.

1932), pp. 128-29. Suite francaise (1935)

Neville, Harry. Record liner notes. Orchestre de Paris— Poulenc. Angel, S-36519, n.d. Les Soirées de Nazelles (1936)

Rostand, Claude. “Les ‘caractéres’ de Francis Poulenc.” Carrefour, Nov. 1946, no p. Tel jour, telle nuit (1936-37) Middaugh, Bennie. “ ‘Tel jour, telle nuit’; A Stylistic Analysis.” NA TS Bulletin 25, No. 2 (1968),

pp. 2 ff. Messe (1937)

Tortolano, William. “Melody in 20th-Century Masses.” Diapason 60 (April 1969), pp. 18-19. Concerto pour orgue (1938)

Corbiot, Olivier. “F. Poulenc: Concerto pour orgue en sol mineur.” L’Education musicale, No. 99 (1 June 1963), pp. 4-7.

Dufourcq, Norbert. “ ‘Concerto en sol mineur pour orgue, orchestre a cordes et timbales’ par Francis Poulenc.” La Revue musicale 20, No. 193 (Aug.-Nov. 1939), pp. 107-8. Duruflé, Maurice. “Poulenc’s Organ Concerto.” Music-AGO 8, No. 7 (July 1974), p. 22.

Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence (1938-39) Christiansen, L.A. “Francis Poulenc’s ‘Tenebrae factae sunt.’ ” The Choral Journal 9, No. 5

(1969), p. 28.

Les Animaux modéles (1940-41)

Colette. “A propos d’un bdfllet.” Comoedia, 22 Aug. 1942, no p. Lifar, Serge. “Fin de saison chorégraphique a l’Opéra.” Le Figaro, 7 Aug. 1942, no p.

Monnier, Adrienne. Les Gazettes d'Adrienne Monnier, 1925-1945. Paris: René Julliard, 1953.

374

Bibliography

Les Mamelles de Tirésias (1944)

Adéma, Pierre-Marcel. “Les Mamelles de Tirésias—essai bibliographique.” La Revue des lettres modernes, quatriéme série, Nos. 123-126 (1965), pp. 55-63. Bellas, Jacqueline.

“Les

Mamelles

de Tirésias en habit d’Arlequin.”

La Revue des lettres

modernes, quatriéme série, Nos. 123-126 (1965), pp. 30-54. Cande, Roland de. “Les Mamelles de Tirésias.” La Revue musicale de France, June 1947, p. 4. Ducreux, Louis. “Apollinaire a la Scala.” La Revue des lettres modernes, quatriéme série, Nos. 123-126 (1965), pp. 28-29. Gavoty, Bernard. “ ‘Les Mamelles de Tirésias.’” Melos, Aug.-Sept. 1947, pp. 299-301. Gelatt, Roland. “Fare from France—Recording of ‘Les Mamelles de Tirésias.’ ” Saturday Review, 29 March 1954, p. 50. Hubert, Etienne-Alain. “Une matinée poétique donnée a la ‘Salle Huyghens’ en 1916.” La Revue des lettres modernes, quatriéme série, Nos. 123-126 (1965), pp. 112-14.

Lockspeiser, Edward. “ ‘Tirésias’ at Aldeburgh.” The Chesterian, No. 196 (Autumn 1958), pp. 4547. Menasce, Jacques de. “Poulenc’s Les Mamelles de Tirésias.” MQ 35 (April 1949), pp. 315-22. Shattuck, Roger. “Surrealism at the Opéra~-Comique.” Theatre Arts 32 (Jan. 1948), pp. 51-52. Warnod, André. “Les Mamelles de Tirésias.” Le Figaro, 7 May 1947, no p. L ‘Histoire de Babar (1945) Ardoin, John. “Poulenc’s ‘Babar.’ ” Musical America 84 (Feb. 1964), p. 47.

Concerto pour piano (1949) Hanson, John Robert. “Macroform Eastman School, n.d.

in Selected Twentieth-Century

Piano Concertos.” Diss.

Dialogues des Carmélites (1953-55)

Achaguer, Jean. “A propos du Dialogue [sic] des Carmélites de Bernanos, musique de Francis Poulenc.” L’Art sacré, Nos. 11-12 (July-Aug. 1957), pp. 32-33.

Allorto, Riccardo. “Intervista con Francis Poulenc.” Ricordiana, NS 3, No. | (Jan. 1957), pp. 5-7. Aprahamian, Felix. “Dialogue [sic] des Carmélites.” The Chesterian, No. 190 (Spring 1957), pp. 120-22. Beguin, Albert and Henri Hell. “Le Dialogue des Carmélites de Bernanos et Francis Poulenc.” L’Opéra de Paris 13, pp. 13-18. Bourdet, Denise. “*Les Dialogues des Carmélites’a l'Opéra” Le Figaro littéraire, 22 June 1957, p. II. . Confalonieri, Giulio, “La Vita musicale: La prima mondiale dei Dialoghi delle Carmelitane di Francis Poulenc.” Ricordiana, NS 3, No. 2 (Feb. 1957), pp. 99-103.

Drew, David. “The Simplicity of Poulenc.” The Listener, 16 Jan. 1958, p. 137.

Freeman, John W. “Vespers and Dialogues.” Opera News 28, No. 14 (15 Feb. 1964), p. 33.

Lockspeiser, Edward. “Poulenc and ‘The Carmelites.’ ” Opera 9, No. 1 (Jan. 1958), p. 9-11. “A New Poulenc Opera Comes to Covent Garden.” Music and Musicians 6, No. 4 (Dec. 1957), p.

19.

Pincherle, Marc. “Poulenc et Bernanos a l’Opéra.” Les Nouvelles littéraires, 27 June 1957, p. 10. Rauhut, Franz. “Les Motifs musicaux de l’opéra Dialogues des Carmélites de Francis Poulenc.”

La Revue des lettres modernes, Nos. 340-45 (1973), pp. 211-49.

Bibliography

375

Rich, Alan. “Dialogues des Carmélites.” MQ 44, No. | (Jan. 1958), p. 93.

. “Eclectic, Electric.” New York, 22 Jan. 1979, pp. 73-74. Rostand, Claude. “Dialogues des Carmélites.” Carrefour, 6 Feb. 1957, p. 10. . “Version originale.” Carrefour, 26 June 1957, p. 10. Stuckenschmidt, H.H. “Poulencs Oper von der heroischen Angst: Mailander Urauffiihrung der ‘Dialogues des Carmélites.’ ” Melos 24, No. 3 (March 1957), pp. 84-86. Thoresby, C. “Carmelite Dialogues.” New York Times, 10 Feb. 1957, Section 2, p. 9. Weerth, Ernest de. “The Carmelites Fire La Scala.” Opera News 21, No. 18 (11 March 1957), pp.

10-12. Flute Sonata (1956)

Rostand, Claude. “De Lalande a Poulenc.” Carrefour, 26 June 1957, pp. 7, 10. La Voix humaine (1958)

Barbier, Jean-Joél. “La Voix humaine.” Disques, No. 116 (1960), pp. 186-87. Caussou, Jean-Louis. “Création mondiale de La Voix humaine.” Combat, 31 Jan.-1 Feb. 1959, no p. Dumesnil, René. “La Voix humaine.” Le Monde, 10 Feb. 1959, no p. Gavoty, Bernard. “La Voix humaine.” Journal musical frangais, 17 March 1959, p. 20. Jourdan-Morhange, Héléne. La Voix humaine al'Opéra-Comique.” Les Lettres francaises, 12-18 Feb. 1959, pp. 1, 5. Lockspeiser, Edward. “An Introduction to Poulenc’s “La Voix humaine. ” Opera, Aug. 1960, pp. 527-34. “Mme. Duval on the Phone.” Newsweek, 7 March 1960, p. 65. Pincherle, Marc. “Francis Poulenc a donné de nouveaux accents a La Voix humaine de Jean

Cocteau.” Les Nouvelles littéraires, 13 Feb. 1959, no p. Rostand, Claude. “Cocteaus ‘Menschliche Stimme’ als Opera.” Melos 26, No. 5 (1959), pp. 156-

We .“La Voix humaine.” Program notes of 1960 Aix-en-Provence Festival. Schneider, Marcel. “La Voix humaine.” Combat, 9 Feb. 1959, no p. “Vox Humana.” Roster i Radio, No. 5 (1962), p. 36. Gloria (1959)

Hofmann, R.M. “Le Gloria.” Disques, No. 121 (1961), p. 106. Taylor, Robert. “Le Gloria de Francis Poulenc.” Feuilles musicales, May-June

1961, p. 75.

La Dame de Monte-Carlo (1961)

Aprahamian, Felix. “Poulenc, Cocteau and Monte Carlo.” Ricordiana, Jan. 1963, pp. 7-9. Bourdet, Denise. “Francis Poulenc: ‘Monte-Carlo, c’est pour moi Venise.’” Le Figaro littéraire, 2 Dec. 1961, p. 19.

Writings by Poulenc

#

Albeniz, sa vie, son oeuvre. Pref. Francis Poulenc. Paris: Editions du Milieu du monde, 1956. “A propos de ‘Mavra.’ ” Les Feuilles libres, June-July 1932, no p. “A propos d’un ballet.” Comoedia, 29 Aug. 1942, no p. [A letter to Colette regarding Poulenc’s involvement in the entire production of Les Animaux modéles.]}

376

Bibliography

“A propos d’une lettre d’Arthur Honegger.” Schweizerische Musikzeitung, May-June 1962, pp.

160-61. “Centenaire de Chabrier.” Nouvelle revue francaise, No. 329 (July 1941), pp. 110-14. “Le Coeur de Maurice Ravel.” Nouvelle revue frangaise, No. 323 (Jan. 1941), pp. 237-40. “Comment j’ai composé les ‘Dialogues des Carmélites.’” L’Opéra de Paris 14, pp. 15-17. “Eloge de la banalité.” Présence 3, No. 8 (Oct. 1935), pp. 24-25. [Written to defend his aesthetic of simplicity as expressed in Le Bal masqué.] Emmanuel Chabrier. Paris: La Palatine, 1961. Entretiens avec Claude Rostand. Paris: R. Julliard, 1954. [A series of radio interviews, conducted by the critic in 1954.] “Extrait du ‘Journal de mes mélodies.’ .”” Feuilles musicales, May-June 1961, p. 64. “Feuilles américaines.” La Table ronde, June 1950, pp. 66-75. [A journal of the 1949-50 American trip, with Bernac.] Francis Poulenc Correspondance, 1915-1963. Ed. Héléne de Wendel. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1967. “Francis Poulenc on His Ballets.” Ballet 2, No. 4 (Sept. 1946), 57-58. “Hommage a Bela Bartok.” La Revue musicale, numéro spécial sur Bela Bartok, No. 224 (1955),

no p. “Hommage a Benjamin Britten.” In Tribute to Benjamin Britten on His Fiftieth Birthday. London: Faber and Faber, 1963. “Igor Stravinsky.” L’Information musicale, 3 Jan. 1941, p. 195. “Inventur der modernen franzésischen Muzik.” Melos, Feb. 1956, p. 35. [An extract from the Entretiens, discussing contemporary music.] Journal de mes mélodies. Paris: Editions Grasset, 1964. “La Legon de Claude Debussy.” Claude Debussy, exposition d’August Martin. Paris: Réunion des Théatres lyriques nationaux, 1942. “Lorsque je suis mélancolique.” Mercure de France, | Jan. 1956, pp. 72-73. [A remembrance of Adrienne Monnier.] “Mes maitres et mes amis.” Conferencia, No. 21 (15 Oct. 1935), pp. 521-29. [A speech delivered on 7 March 1935, illustrated by the live performance of such works as the Sextuor.] “Mes mélodies et leurs poétes.” Conferencia—Les Annales 36 No. 12 (15 Dec. 1947), pp. 507-13.

[A conference presented on 20 March 1947.] Poulenc, Francis, and Stéphane Audel. Moi et mes amis. Paris: La Palatine, 1963. “La Musique de piano d’Erik Satie.” La Revue musicale, No. 214 (June 1952), p. 23-26. “La Musique de piano de Prokofieff.” In Musique russe. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1953. “La Musique et les ballets russes de Serge de Diaghilev.” In Histoire de la musique. Paris: Gallimard, 1960. “Un nouveau musicien: Anton Heiller.” Contrepoints, no. 4 (May-June 1946), p. 60. “Oeuvres récentes de Darius Milhaud.” Contrepoints, No. 1 (Jan. 1946), pp. 59-61. “Opera Forum.” In Music Today. London: Dobson, 1949. [Brief reply to the question of tonality and atonality in modern operas.] “Opera in the Cinema Era.” Opera, Jan. 1961, pp. 11-12. “Paris Notes: Music.” Fanfare 1, Nos. 4 and 6, no p. “Souvenirs.” In Jean Giraudoux et “Pour Lucréce.” Paris: René Julliard, 1953. [A brief discussion of the incidental music for Intermezzo (1933).] “Sur deux premiéres auditions.” Comoedia, 19 June 1943, pp. 1, 5. “Tributes to Christian Bérard.” Ballet, April 1949, p. 30. The Fonds Montpensier, a special archive of the Bibliothéque nationale, contains a large folder of press clippings dealing with Poulenc and his music. In many cases, the journal, page number,

Bibliography

377

and/or author ofthe article or review has not been included. When this information ismissing, I have made a reference to Fonds Montpensier in the Note. The following articles by Poulenc can be found in this archive: “A propos des Mamelles de Tirésias.” Opéra, 28 May 1947, no p. “Le Musicien et le sorcier.” Lettres francaises, 5 May’ 1945, no p. [Concerning Berg and Schoenberg.] “Réverie monégasque.” Opéra/ Revue, 22 Jan. 1947, no. p. [Thoughts on Monte Carlo.] “Souvenirs sur Jean Giraudoux.” Samedi soir, 5 Nov. 1953, no p.

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Index of Works

Airs chantés, 257 Allons plus vite, 32. See also Deux poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire

Chemins de l’amour, Les, 59, 189

Animaux modéles, Les, 25, 44, 53, 60, 69, Bo 20; 1235189) 19051915 2216271, 275, 209, 290,291, 292, 321

Cinq poémes de Paul Eluard, 36, 37, 39,

A sa guitare, 73 Aubade, 24, 27, 29, 36, 61, 66, 83, 91, 92, 94, 96, 97, 122, 141, 142, 148, 155, 187, 191,257; 289, 292,321,349 Ave verum corpus,

49, 61, 192, 200, 203,

204, 207, 232, 340

Cing poémes de Max Jacob, 4, 29, 33, 244, 247, 250, 259, 344 81, 86, 217, 244, 247, 263 Cocardes, 14, 17, 19, 20, 29, 53, 95, 142, 164, 174, 246, 250, 254, 256, 318, 331 Colloque, 345 Concert champétre,

27, 48, 89, 92, 96, 97,

114, 136, 137, 140, 141, 143, 146, 147, 148,177 Concerto pour deux pianos,

Badinage,

35, 97, 164, 165, 185

Bal masqué, Le, 7, 24, 29, 34, 35, 89, 97, 104, 116, 119, 148, 181, 261, 298, 321, 331 Banalités, 7, 32, 43, 67, 95, 246, 250, 252, 258, 269, 275 “Hotel,” 7, 32, 95 “Voyage a Paris,” 32, 67 Bestiaire, Le, 4, 14, 29, 30, 77, 79, 95, 104, 244° 249, 252,253; 256, 275, 279, 318, 319 Biches, Les, 7, 19, 23, 25, 26, 43, 53, 64, 69, 96, 97, 98, 113, 135, 136, 142, 144, 197, 217, 234, 242, 243, 256, 281, 283, 284, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 337 Bleuet,

251, 268

Bourrée, au Pavillon d’Auvergne, Bucolique, 49

165, 185

Calligrammes, 32, 48, 248, 251, 274, 275 Ce doux petit visage, 251, 268 Chanson a boire, 24, 40, 70, 200, 215, 216, 2072425256 Chansons frangaises,

70, 200, 204, 207,

212, 234, 348 Chansons gaillardes,

26, 33, 36, 96, 97,

141, 146, 176, 215, 246, 256, 257, 334 Chansons villageoises, 84, 244, 251, 270, Di leed2

24, 35, 58, 97,

116, 123, 136, 147,148; 150) 15 154, 155, 187, 192, 262, 295; 320: 339 Concerto pour orgue,

24, 43, 59, 61, 86,

9079196, 127, 135, 155, 156, fs} 161, 219, 221, 320 Concerto pour piano,

7, 48, 68, 72, 98,

136, 138, 147, 148, 151, 155, 182, 302, 349 Courte paille, La, 184, 250, 279, 293 Dame de Monte-Carlo, La, 19, 281

Dernier poéme, 47, 53, 279 Deux intermezzi,

185

Deux marches et un interméde,

90, 96 Deux mélodies de Guillaume Apollinaire, 263,270; “Le Pont,”

»53

“Un poéme,”

73

Deux novelettes, 164, 176, 178 Deux poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire,

267. See also ‘‘Allons plus vite”

Deux poémes de Louis Aragon, 251, 272. SC? Ad Dialogues des Carmélites, 3, 5, 25, 41, 49, 50,51, 54557, 65.929; 97; 99; 107, 122, 127 29 P51 193% 1599'82,191, 193, 196, 199, 231, 235, 238, 240, 244, 273, 279, 280, 293, 295, 299, 300, 302, 304, 306; 310531 153 2:79 339, 3505 304

380

Index Mélancolie,

Disparu, Le, 47, 251, 273

125, 188, 189, 191, 197

Messe en sol majeur,

Elégie (horn), 53, 74, 102, 126, 127, 131, 326 Elégie (two pianos), 127, 164, 197 Embarquement pour Cytheére, L’, 4, 5, 48, 189 Epitaphe,

29, 257

Esquisse d’une fanfare, 26 Exultate Deo, 200, 204, 212, 227, 232 Feuillets d’album, 79, 97, 184 Fiancailles pour rire, 42, 77, 81, 251, 268 Figure humaine, 41, 44, 48, 200, 203, 205, 206, 212, 225; 227, 228, 232, 299, 304 Fraicheur et le feu, La, 48, 53, 97, 245, 246, 275, 276, 277, 303

42; 48, 85, 97, 99,

260. 206, 2122213, 22352245225, 255; 240 Métamorphoses, 42, 80, 82, 244, 272 Miroirs bralants, 43, 251, 267. See also Tu vois le feu du soir Montparnasse, 6, 32, 47, 61, 87, 191, 227,

247 248254. 2155 2145299 Mouvements perpétuels, 10, 12, 14, 77, 94, 107, 164, 165, 171, 172, 174, 175: 1822 200) 25473185 328

Napoli, 26, 36, 58, 98, 164, 165, 176, 177 Nocturnes, 10, 79, 82, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 1777878, B79 ,AS81 91, 238, 303, 336 Nos souvenirs qui chantent,

Gendarme incompris, Le, 19, 21, 135, 283

Novelette,

Gloria, 54, 130, 207, 235, 237, 238, 240, 241 Grenouillére, La, 32, 53, 95, 246, 251, 267, 268, 270

Nuage,

Histoire de Babar, L’, 48, 72, 180, 189, 35, 179, 234,

262, 348 Humoresque, 35, 185 Hyde Park, 273 Hymne,

Ouverture,

20

Parisiana, 5, 6, 33, 49, 251, 279 “Jouer du bugle,” 6, 33, 34, 71, 279 Pastourelle, 10, 176, 177, 181 Paul et Virginie, 98, 250, 273 Petites voix, 70, 74, 200, 203, 212, 221

Piéce bréve sur le nom d’Albert Roussel, 177 Poémes de Ronsard, 26, 96, 255, 256, 258

274

Impromptus,

53, 279

“Vous n’écrivez plus?,” 33, 279

190,097, 27152915308 Huit chansons polonaises,

59

196, 197

164, 175, 178

Portrait, Le, 267

Improvisations, 58, 69, 78, 84, 164, 170, 176, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 1186; 295,336 © Intermezzo en la bémol majeur, 125, 164, 178, 189, 197 Intermezzo (incidental music), 27, 185

Préludes,

Jongleurs,

Quatre chansons pour enfants,

15,17

3, 170,178

Presto, 35, 185 Priez pour paix, 43, 251, 268

Processional pour la crémation d’un mandarin, 336 Promenades, 26, 36, 94, 164, 165, 175

263

Quatre motets pour le temps de Noél, Laudes de Saint Antoine de Padoue, 203, 208, 233

54,

Léocadia (incidental music), 189 Litanies a la Vierge Noire, 41, 133, 146, 156, 1615 206: 219) 22222752335 242, 264, 290

Main dominée par le coeur,

273

... mais mourir, 273 Mamelles de Tirésias, Les, 4, 6, 30, 32, 44,

57, 74, 78, 98, 147, 182, 199, 225, 230, 252, 288, 281, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 327, 349, 350 Mariés de la Tour Eiffel, Les, 19, 21, 24,

29, 95, 135, 182, 283, 320

5, 58,

192, 200, 204, 207, 211, 231 “O magnum mysterium,” 58 Quatre motets pour un temps de pénitence, 43, 153, 200, 204, 205, 207, 214, 225, 227, 228, 229, 230, 240, 261 “Timor et tremor,”

59, 84, 153, 208,

209 “Tenebrae factae sunt,” 59, 207, 227 Quatre petites priéres de Saint Francois

d’Assise, 77, 202, 207, 210, 212, 233 Quatre poémes de Guillaume Apollinaire, 29,32353 53984,,258,1267 “Carte postale,”’

“1904,”

84

53, 79

Index Quatre poémes de Max Jacob,

35, 255

Rapsodie négre, 3, 8, 14, 15, 102, 103, LO4 110; 1932179) 251. 252 “Honoloulou,” 15, 104, 251 Reine Margot, La (incidental music), 113 Renaud et Armide (incidental music), 55

Rosemonde,

49, 75, 245, 249, 251, 275

Salve Regina, 84, 87, 227 Sarabande, 332 Sept chansons,

195.90; 97; 218, 221, 251, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 274, 277 Théme varié, 73, 190, 191, 193 Toréador, 6, 15,17, 251, 252 Travail du peintre, Le, 51, 53, 71, 185,

VSN 27 7.27en 209 Trio, 26, 60, 68, 85, 89, 96, 97, 102, 107, POSS 7 Woe LS. 1228 27128130, 131, 135, 138, 141, 142, 143, 145, 146, 147, 190, 333 Trois chansons de F. Garcia-Lorca,

Sécheresses, 42, 224, 225, 228 40, 41, 58, 96, 155, 158,

200, 202, 205, 207, 209, 210, 212, 214, PETE 2iO. 2a). 225, 2255 2215, 2205 232, 242 .

Sept répons des ténébres, 54, 55, 73, 127, 235, 238, 240, 242, 326 Sextuor, 43, 67, 71, 91, 102, 116, 119, ie 7ohsSy142, 148.187, 331,337 Sinfonietta, 48, 58, 60, 72, 92, 98, 147, 154, 288, 349 Soirées de Nazelles, Les, 58, 149, 164, 165, 185, 186, 188, 334 Sonata for Clarinet and Bassoon, 104, 106, 108, 110, 113, 119, 348 Sonata for Clarinet and Piano,

55, 101,

38]

244, 274 Trois pastorales,

176,

170, 177, 318

Trois piéces, 164, 170, 177 Trois poémes de Louise de Vilmorin, 42, 87, 245, 267, 273 Trois poémes de Louise Lalanne, 29, 35, 53, 184, 250, 257 “Hier,” 53, 184 Tu vois le feu du soir, 40, 43, 78, 85, 86, 88, 92, 189, 251, 266, 267, 268, 270, 273, 277, 292, 336. See also Miroirs bruilants

Un soir de neige, 44, 84, 200, 207, 212, 214, 232, 320 Une chanson de porcelaine,

279

126, 128, 129, 130 Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone,

6, 95, 104, 108, 181, 334, 348 Sonata for Flute and Piano,

53, 55, 68,

126, 128) 829, 131, 151, 193 Sonata for Oboe and Piano,

GUT IG 240

55, 76, 79, 86,

P2697 99. 151, 135, 193, 193,

Sonata for Piano 4-Hands,

10, 77, 89, 92,

95170, 7 ts 173, 174; LIS, 318 Sonata for Two Clarinets, 95, 102, 104, 106, 107, 108, 304, 318, 348 Sonate pour deux pianos,

25, 49, 90, 192,

193, 194, 196 Sonate pour violon et piano, 44, 119, 120,

122.125 Sonate pour violoncelle et piano, 66, 80, 1199120) 123) 125,182, 189,331 Souris: Lay~53; 250/275, 279 Stabat Mater, 41, 48, 77, 80, 85, 99, 154, P5951912 200% 223,225; 235, 236, 237, 238, 240, 241, 298, 299, 335, 338, 341 2 String Quartet, 49 Suite en ut, 12, 94, 164, 175 Suite francaise, 5, 27, 96, 102, 113, 114,

116, 138 Tel jour, telle nuit,

35, 39, 40, 41, 48, 69,

Valse, 7, 89, 94, 165, 174, 175, 189, 258, 318 Valse-improvisation sur le nom de Bach,

86,

179 Villageoises, 35, 95, 97, 176, 185, 189 Vocalise, 257 Voix humaine, La, 3, 19, 54, 59, 90, 92, 94, 244, 281, 283, 307, 308, 309, 310, Sit, 312;°350

Voyage en Amérique, Le (incidental music), 48, 189

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General Index

Ackere, Jules van, 266 “Adorable mauvaise musique, L’””’, 2, 163

Agostini, Philippe, 50

eclecticism,

Works:

5

Fantasia for organ in g minor,

15651335 Balanchine, George, 142 Ballets russes, Les, 11, 283, 289

Alain, Jehan, 156 Alain-Fournier, 11

Ballets suédois, Les, 21

Albéniz, Isaac, 9 Albert-Birot, Germaine, Amis, John, 348 Ansermet, Ernest, 170 Apollinaire, Guillaume,

294

Bal musette,

7, 17, 254, 273

Bartok, Béla, 165, 179, 185, 194 Bateau-Lavoir, Le, 30

11, 13, 15, 39, 40, 42, 43, 47, 49, 53, 97, 249, 250, 252, 258, 25972615 263) 267,275,219; 281, 319; and Banalités, 269, 270; bittersweet tone of, 17, 32; and Les Mamelles

Bathori, Jane, 14 Baudelaire, Charles, 34, 37 Beaumont, Count Etienne de, 16

de Tirésias, 44, 293-94; life and style, 30, 31, 32; and Louise Lalanne, 257; and nostalgia, 32, 34, 273, 274, 294; and Paris, 273, 294; program notes for Parade, 11, 293; and the Sept chansons,

Bellas, Jacqueline, Bellini, Vincenzo,

217-19, 273, 294 Works: Alcools, 30, 249; Le Bestiaire, 30; Calligrammes, 30, 31, 32, 33; Ily a, 30,131; Oniro-critique, 30 Aragon, Louis, 11, 13, 31, 44, 272, 324, 345 Arany, Jelly d’, 120 Aubert, Jacques,

136

Audel, Stéphane, 2, 50, 54 Auric, Georges, 10, 24, 26, 176, 225, 255, 284, 288, 289, 293, 318, 319, 322; and Cocteau, 16; and Les Six, 19, 20, 21, 22; and Monte-Carlo, 13, 281; and popular music style, 67; and La

Sérénade, Works:

35

Adieu, New Yorky 20; Gaspard

et Zoe U5 341rio} 13 Austin, William, 85, 96

Bach, Johann Sebastian, 24, 27, 97, 216, 320, 328, 335, 337; and the Concerto pour orgue, 156,160, 161; and

Beethoven, Ludwig van,

315

Beguin, Albert, 50 Bérard, Christiane,

249 111

41, 235, 261

Berg, Alban, 26, 320 Berlioz, Hector, 315 Bernac, Pierre, 3, 39, 41, 54, 131, 243, 249, 271, 283, 295, 298, 323, 345; and American tours, 48, 147, 274; and the Chansons gaillardes, 26; and the

performing partnership with Poulenc, 36, 42, 43, 53, 97, 164, 267 Bernanos, Georges,

Works:

41, 50, 299, 302, 306

Dialogues des Carmélites,

49,

50, 299 Berners, Lord, 319 Bernstein, Leonard, 55, 239 Bertin, Pierre, 14, 17, 21, 252, 319, 323 Bertrand, Paul, 140 Beylié, Laurence de, 53, 279 Bizet, Georges, Bloch, Jeanne,

67 16 Bobbitt, Richard, 74, 77, 276, 338 Boeuf sur le toit, Le, 17, 23 Bonnard, Pierre, 53, 327 Borlin, Jean, 21 Borodin, Alexander, 287. Works: Prince Igor, 287

33,

384

Index

Bosredon, Marthe, 7, 189 Boulanger, Nadia, 40, 97, 217, 300, 320 Boulez, Pierre, 127, 328 Bourdet, Edouard, 113, 116 Brahms, Johannes, 120 Brain, Denis, 53, 127 Braque, Georges, 11, 14, 34, 51, 277 Brel, Jacques, 345 Breton, André, 11, 13, 38, 47, 324 Brianchon, Maurice, 290

Clarendon.

dada,

Bufiuel, Luis,

and Les Nouveaux Jeunes,

Works: Le Coq et l’arlequin, 15, 16,17, 19, 172, 354, 343; Roméo et Juliette,

50

26; Le Tambour,

20; La Voix humaine,

54 Colette, 267, 321 Collacr, Paul, 148, 175, 252, 330 Collet, Henri, 19, 20 Comoedia, 19

321

Bury, Bernard de, 136 Buxtehude, Dietrich,

17,18;

14, 15, 16, 17, 18; and Les Six, 4, 19, 20; 215 22,23, 675.and Parade, Diets; and Toréador, 17, 251

Britten, Benjamin, 58 Brive-la-Gaillarde, 44, 189, 289

Briickberger, Reverend Raymond, Brunhoff, Jean de, 189 Bruno, Father, 50

See Gavoty, Bernard

Claudel, Paul, 11, 14 Cocteau, Jean, 5, 6, 10, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. 20; 21922: 23526529139. 94. 505 67, 172,174, 250, 261, 273, 283, 289; 294, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 324, 331, 342, 347; and Cocardes, 17, 254; and

156

Café-concert, 4, 6, 16, 67, 92, 95, 101, 189, 262, 270, 288, 298

Conrad, Doda,

Cage, John, 49 Callas, Maria, 54

Copland, Aaron, 58 Coq, Le (Parisien), 19, 20 Corot, Camille, 51 Couperin, Francois, 27, 109, 116, 136,

Calvet, Joseph, 330 Caplet, André, 323 Caréme, Maurice, 278, 279 Casella, Alfredo, 26,177, 337 Cellular construction, 3, 59, 94, 171, 173, 224, 227, 237, 248, 271, 281, 311 Cendrars, Blaise, 10, 13, 14, 19, 318 Certa Bar, 23 Cézanne, Paul, 51, 52 Chabrier, Emmanuel, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 31, 36, 60, 67, 98, 116, 171, 320, 325 Works: Cortége burlesque, 4; Dix

piéces pittoresques, 4; Espana, 5; L’Etoile, 4; 295; Idylle, 3; Joyeuse marche,

5; operas,

4; piano music,

4;

Le Roi malgré lui, 4, 295; Trois valses romantiques, 4; Une éducation

manquée,

4; Villanelle des petits

canards, 4 Chagall, Marc, 277

Chanteurs de Lyons, Les, 43, 217 Chaplin, Charlie, 20 Charpentier, Marc-Antoine, 236 Chauvon, Francois, 136

Chirico, Giorgio di, 324 Chopin, Mrederic, 2,57, 79, 96, 111, 163, 165, 178, 179, 180, 187, 262, 288; and 5; and neoromanticism,

149, 175; and octave writing, Christiné, Henry, 7

Cirque Médrano,

16, 19, 20

15

185, 186, 252

Works:

Les Folies francaises, Crespin, Régine, 299 Crevel, Réné, 324 Cubism,

185

11, 30, 31, 52, 293, 295, 349

Dada, 17, 19, 21, 22, 23;:37, 39, 254, 319, Dali, Salvador, 225, 321, 324, 340 Dallapiccola, Luigi, 73, 273 Dandrieu, Jean-Francois, 136 Daudet, Lucien, 18, 19 Davies, Laurence, 94, 289 Debussy, Claude, 2, 9,10, 12, 16, 36, 75, 91, 120, 127, 164, 179, 185, 215, 243, 300; and cellular construction, 59, 311; and eclecticism, 4, 6, 91; influence on Poulenc, 3, 60, 170, 177, 300; piano style, 57, 165; and Rapsodie négre, 103-4 Works: Arabesques, 179; Danses sacreé

et profane, 3; La Mer, 311; Pelléas et Mélisande, 3, 300; Prélude a l’aprés-

Chester of London, 25, 170, 196, 330 Chevalicr, Maurice, 6, 7, 244, 252, 270

eclecticism,

275

Copeau, Jacques,

167, 258

midi d'un faune,

Defauw, Desiré,

103; songs,

3

147

Delalande, Michel-Richard,

236

Delgrange, Félix, 14 Derain, André, 11, 52, 327 Desnos, Robert,

11, 13, 31, 43, 47, 53,

273, 279, 324 Works: Complainte de Fantomas, 47; Le Place de l’Etoile, 47; Troisiéme

Index manifeste du surréalisme, Desnos, Youki,

47

48

188, 189, 243, 315, 320, 335, 342 Works: Requiem, 158, 193

Désormiére, Roger, 155, 225, 289

Fauvism,

Destouches, Raymond,

Ferat, Serge, 293

188

11, 31, 51, 52, 94, 95, 327

Diaghilev, Serge, 11, 24, 25, 53, 284, 347

Ferroud, Pierre-Octave,

Diderot, Denis,

Février, Jacques, 55, 147 Figaro, Le, 36 Fombeure, Maurice, 270, 271

136

Doucet, Clément, Drew, David,

320

97, 113

Dubost, Jeanne,

176

Dufy; Raoul) 11537, 51,),52, 53, 104, 327; and Le Travail du peintre, 51, 277; and nostalgia,

32, 51

385

41

Fontainebleau (forest), 2 Foster, Stephen, 154 Fournier, Pierre, 49, 119, 120 Fragny, Robert de, 164

Dugardin, Hervé, 54, 326 Dumesnil, René, 27

Franck, César-Auguste, 5, 104, 286, 315 Works: Symphony in D minor, 286

Duparc, Henri, 243 Durey, Louis, 19, 21, 319 Works: Carillons, 13, 15

Fratellini Brothers, 16, 19, 20 Fresnay, Roger de la, 20, 53

Duruflé, Maurice,

Freund, Marya,

Duval, Denise,

Freud, Sigmund,

155

45, 54, 55, 164, 278, 281, Gavoty, Bernard (pseud. Clarendon),

299, 327, 350

Ecole de la musique ancienne,

Gaya Bar, 23

27

Ecole Niedermeyer, 9 Ecole Normale, 9, 37 Editions de la siréne, 318 Eluard, Paul, 11, 29, 37, 42, 43, 70, 97, 212, 215, 234, 249, 250, 251, 256, 263, 264, 268, 273, 274, 279, 281, 290, 324; and Apollinaire, 47, 249, 259, 261; and Figure humaine, 44, 232; and La Fraicheur et le feu, 275-76; life and style, 38-39; and poetry of the resistance; 31, 38, 39; and Sept chansons, 40, 217, 218, 219; and surrealism, 13, 38, 39; and Tel jour, telle nuit, 264, 265, 266; and Le Travail du peintre, 51, 227; and Un soir de neige, 232 Works: L’Amour la poésie, 38; Au rendez-vous allemand, 38; Capitale de la douleur, 38; Cours naturel, 38; Le

Livre ouvert, 38; Poésie et vérité, 38, 44: La Rose publique, 38; La Vie immédiate, 217; Les Yeux fertiles, 38, 13, 324

Erté, Romain, Expert, Henry,

45 339

Falla, Manuel de, 9, 26, 1967320

Works: El Amor brujo, 196; El Retablo de Maese Pedro, 26, 320

Fargue, Léon-Paul,

11

Fauconnet, Guy Pierre,

Fauré, Gabriel,

73,

216

Ebensberger, Gary Lee, 338

265 Ernst, Max,

38 25, 26, 275

18

76, 85, 91, 158, 160, 176,

Gédalge, André, 14 Gelatt, Roland, 97 Gendron, Maurice, 343

George, André, 17 Gershwin, George, 67, 150, 286 Gervaise, Claude, 5, 113, 114 Gide, André, 11 Giraudoux, Jean, 185

Godard, Benjamin, 9 Gold and Fizdale, 49, 192 Goodman, Benny, 55 Gounod, Charles, 36, 67, 116, 199

Works: La Colombe, 5 Gouverné, Yvonne, 41, 225, 323 Goya, Francisco, 51 Gozzoli, 237 Grand Coteau, Le, 28 Green, Julien, 179

Grieg, Edvard,

2

Works: Berceuse, 2 Gris, Juan, 14, 277 Gross, Valentine, 18, 31, 120, 322 Guinguette, 7, 189 Hansen, Peter, 52 Harvard Glee Club, 24, 215, 216 Hassler, Hans Leo, 339 Haydn, Franz Josef, 5, 111 Hayoz, Jean-Michel, 52 Hell, Henri, 50, 58, 86, 137, 175, 182, 203, 314

Henry, Leigh, 20 Hindemith, Paul, 57 Hirsch, Georges, 326

386

Index

Honegger, Arthur, 14, 19, 21, 22, 98, 337 Works: Alcools, 15; Le Roi David, 21 Horowitz, Vladimir, 176

Hughes, Allen, 55 Hugo, Jean, 21, 322 Jacob, Max, 15 13°,29530,250), 273.0504 and Apollinaire, 39, 42, 43, 97, 281, 294; and Le Bal masqué, 261; and

Cing poémes de Max Jacob,

49, 279 Works: Le Corneta dés, 33; Le Laboratoire central, 33, 34, 261; Les Pénitents en maillots roses, 34 James, Edward, 42, 224, 340 Jammes, Francis, 279

217

Jarry, Alfred, 11 Works: Ubu roi, 349

VaZZ tne e2On SS. Oo SOs SA lle 271, 288, 312, 318, 320, 348 Josquin des Prez,

223

Jourdan-Morhange, Héléne,

12, 120, 217,

318; Jourdan-Morhange Quartet,

Kangourou, Makako, Kerdyk, Rene, 164

Lully, Jean-Baptiste, Lyre et Palette,

236

14, 15,171, 319

259; and

Le Coq, 19, 20; and Eluard, 42, 281; life and style, 33, 34; and Parisiana,

Jannequin, Clément,

Lifar, Serge, 142, 289 Linossier, Raymonde, 11, 29, 268 Liszt, Franz, 161, 180 Littérature, 11, 38,47 Lockspeiser, Edward, 31 Lorca, Frederico Garcia, 244, 274 Lowry, Vance, 23

14

15

Klee; Paul, 51,217 Koechlin, Charles, 24, 25, 26, 61, 97, 113,

1355 2155 2165243; 255 Koubitzky, Alexander, 18 Koussevitzky, Serge, 54, 238

La Fontaine, Jean de, 289, 290

Machlis, Joseph, 244 Magritte, René, 324 Mahler, Gustave, 26, 257 Malherbe, Francois de, 257

Malipiero, Riccardo, Mallarmé, Stéphane,

26,-337 53, 263

Mantegna, Andrea, 51, 225, 239, 340 Marcel, Gabriel, 136 Markevitch, Igor, 35 Marquise de Casa Fuerte, 35 Massenet, Jules, 116 Works: Manon, 5; Werther, 5 Matisse, Henri, 51, 52, 263, 276, 277, 327 Maxixe, 20, 154

Mayol, Félix, 5 Meerovitch, Juliette, 13, 14,18 Menasce, Jacques de, 294 Mendelssohn, Felix, 176, 181 Works: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 181; Songs Without Words, 176

Messager, André, 295 Messiaen, Olivier, 49, 165, 224 Meyer, Marcelle, 10, 14, 18, 176 Migot, Georges, 243 Milhaud, Darius, 5, 13, 18, 23, 24, 33, 44,

Lagut, Iréne, 18, 21

45, 58, 104, 108, 131, 154, 199, 225, 239, 240, 243, 286, 318, 319, 342, 349;

Lalanne, Louise,

friendship with Poulenc,

30

Laloy, Louis, 13 Landormy, Paul, 5 Landowska, Wanda, 27, 97, 136, 140, 328 Larbaud, Valery, 11 Lassus, Roland de, 339

Laurencin, Marie, 18, 30, 43, 353, 257, 283 Lavery, Emmet, 51, 326 Works: Brief Music, 326; The First Legion,

326; Murder in a Nunnery,

326 Lavignac, Albert,

9

Lavorelle, Henri, 48 LeFort, Gertrude von,

Legrand, Jean,

50, 302

219

Le Jeune, Claude, 5, 200, 217, 339 Le Nain, Louis, 289 Le Roux, Gaspard, 136 Ley, Madeleine, 222

25, 43, 45,

175; and jazz, 23, 288; and Les Six, 19. 20,921,.223,23: cand. Satie, 20521

and La Sérénade,

35

Works: Le Boeuf sur le toit, 20; Caramel mou, Shimmy, 21; La Création du monde, 318; L’Homme et son désir, 318; Saudades do Brazil, 318 Miro, Joan, 277, 324 Mitropoulos, Dmitri, 48 Modality, 85, 89, 95, 103, 108, 114, 133, 170, 207, 221, 225, 269, 301 Modern Music, 20 Modigliani, Amadeo, 14 Modrakowska, Maria, 35, 262 Monet, Claude, 53, 268 Monnier, Adrienne, 11, 29, 31, 38, 39, 274, 345 Monte-Carlo, 13, 19, 25, 28, 281, 283, 295

Index Monteux, Pierre,

137

Monteverdi, Claudio, 40, 96, 97, 109, 217, 300, 351 Works: Lettere amorose, 351

Offenbach, Jacques, 5, 292, 295 Orchestration, 150, 154, 288, 291, 293,

297, 304, 310, 312 Orléans, Charles d’, 43, 268

Montfort, Eugéne, 257

Oswald, Marianne,

Mooser, R. Aloys, 48 Morand, Paul, 18, 19 Moréas, Jean. See Papadiamantopulos, Yannis

Painting rel dil SS stuyO 255 Ie LO Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da, 339 Papadiamantopulos, Yannis (pseud. Jean

Mouret, Jean-Joseph, 136 Moussorgsky, Modeste, 5, 59, 182, 260,

Papoum (Marcel Royer, uncle),

Moréas),

266, 271, 300, 301, 304 Works:

Boris Godunov,

B51 Moysés, Louis,

300, 301, 302,

23

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus,

2, 3, 5, 51, 75,

94, 110, 147, 153, 192, 300; and Aubade, 142; and Concerto pour deux pianos,

149; influence on Poulenc,

60,

67, 96, 181 Works: Don Giovanni, 300 Muccioli (solfége teacher), 9 Miinch, Charles, 55, 238 Music-hall, 6, 12, 19, 95, 108, 122, 148, 150, 154, 181, 186, 190, 252, 272, 291, 292, 295, 298, 327, 337; and Cocteau, 16, 20, 21,174; and Paris, 16, 45, 67, 92,101, 144, 284 Musique concréte, 11

Musique d’ameublement,

21, 103, 254

Neoclassicism, 22, 57, 58, 66, 67, 96, 98, 102, 141, 143, 209, 256, 333, 339; and Aubade, 141; and Les Biches, 284; and the Chansons gaillardes, 256, 257; and the Concert champétre, 137, 141; and the Concerto pour orgue, 61, 156; and Stravinsky, 22, 57, 96, 114; and the Trio, 110; and “‘wrong-note” dissonance, 88, 89, 114 Neoromanticism, 42, 97, 98, 119, 125, 151, 154, 270, 320, 339

Nerval, Gérard de, 37 Neveu, Ginette, 119, 121, 122 Neville, Harry, 113

24, 29,

7, 17, Dea 32 OAs

189, 261, 262, 274, 275, 322, 338 Noizay, 28, 35, 44, 53, 246, 294 Nouveaux Jeunes, Les,

18, 19, 170, 343

and Jacob,

33, 34; and Les Six (Les

Nouveaux Jeunes), 13, 15, 18, 20, 21, 22,174; and Poulenc 1, 6,07, 5,18; 19, 28, 32, 35, 41, 42, 43, 44, 48, 53, 55, 94, 154, 164, 246, 258, 267, 268, 269, 294; and popular music, 101, 144; Bastille, 265; Boulevard de Grenelle, 267; Boulevard de la Chapelle, 28; Champs-Elysées, 269; Montmartre, 14, 19, 30, 33, 273; Montparnasse, 14, 269,

272, 273; Pigalle, 16; Place de la Madeleine, 1, 3; Place des Saussaies,

République,

1;

6, 16 4, 9, 14, 24, 192

Peignot, Suzanne, 14 Peret, Benjamin, 324 Philips, Giséle, 82 Piaf, Edith, 184, 273 Picabia, Francis, 23, 324 Works: L’Oeil cacodylate, 23 Picasso, Pablo, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 31, 34, S1553,, 20: Pierlot, Pierre, 55 Poetry, 10, 29, 30, 248, 249, 250, 257,

281, 321; and Apollinaire,

31, 32, 33,

259, 270; and Aragon, 272; and Eluard, 27, 38, 39; and Fombeure, 271; and Jacob, 33, 34; and Lorca,

274; and Poulenc,

141, 142, 147, 322 Nogent-sur-Marne,

1, 6, 29,

316,321 Paris-6, FOWL p16al eibo 2025.20; 27, 28, 44, 45, 108, 127, 136, 148, 185, 254,261, 272,273, 203,209,299, 318, S21 SB2 eo s0NSes,, 3) lecand Apollinaire, 30, 32, 33, 258, 267, 294;

1, 250, 257; prosody

of, 30, 214, 252, 296, 302; and surrealism, 38;and Vilmorin, 42, 43, 272

Nigg, Serge, 328 Nijinska, Bronislava, 142, 283 Noailles, Vicomte and Vicomtesse,

347

257

Paris Conservatoire, Peguy, Charles, 11

Nabakov, Nicolas, 35 Nemtchinova, Vera, 283

387

13, 14, 15, 16, 17,

Poiret, Paul, 21, 51, 319; his Barbazange Gallery, 21, 319 Polignac, Jean and Marie-Blanche de, 24,

320; only Marie-Blanche,

42, 127, 197

Polignac, Princesse Edmond de, 24, 25, 27, ABI AT 1Sop 2h ialU Polytonality, 26, 105, 175

388

Index

Pont-sur-Seine, 31, 275 Popular music (or style),

7, 22,67, 103, 137, 144, 173, 184, 209, 251, 252, 285, 286, 288, 290; and Apollinaire, 259; and the café-concert, 10, 189, 288; and Cocteau, 17, 67, 254; and eclecticism, 75, 91; and Paris, 6, 101; and the songs, 250, 251, 252

Porter, Madame Cole, 258 Poulenc, Emil (father), 1, 2, 7, 41, 42, 223,

321 Poulenc, Francis:

choral music,

24, 40, 41,

42, 44, 58, 61, 67, 70, 90, 92, 99, 143, 151, 163, 185, 195, 199, 242, 243, 264; eclecticism,

4, 6, 8, 94; nostalgia,

6, 7,

17, 32, 34, 51, 54, 68, 189, 251, 253,

215; and neoclassicism, 141-42; Paris, 11; and Vifies, 9, 14

and

Works: L’Heure espagnole, 295; Le Tombeau de Couperin, 137; Trois chansons, 216; Une barque sur l’océan, 229 Reverdy, Pierre, 29, 324 Rhone-Poulenc, 1, 321 Rich, Alan, 301, 302, 306 Rieti, Vittorio, 26, 35 Rimbaud, Arthur, 34, 37 Rimsky-Korsakov, Nicolai, 19 Rocamadour, 41, 94, 97, 220, 237 Roland-Manuel, 4, 14, 243, 319

Works:

Sept poémes de Perse,

15

Rolland, Romain, 11 Ronsard, Pierre de, 30 Rorem, Ned, 4, 55, 94, 243, 321 Rostand, Claude, 2, 48, 95, 98, 99, 102,

258; personality, sense of humor, 4; personality, two sides of, 2, 5, 31, 94, 199; piano music, 10, 35, 58, 69, 98, 99, 136, 150, 199; piano music, use of pedals, 10, 164, 165, 172, 183, 246,

Rouault, Georges,

327

276, 277; religion, conception of, 1,

Rouché, Jacques,

289

109, 188, 236, 250

41, 237, 238, 299; songs, 2, 24, 29, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 39, 41, 42, 43, 47, 48, 49, 51, 53, 58, 69, 98, 101, 163, 174, 185, 188, 191, 199, 200, 214, 218, 225, 243-82, 283, 293, 294, 300, 307 Poulenc, Jenny (Jenny Royer, mother), 1, 2, 6, 7, 29

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, Roussel, Albert, 4, 337

Presti, Ida, 332 Prétre, Georges,

Saint-Saéns, Camille, 90, 111, 112, 118, 189 Salle des Agriculteurs, 26

54

Prévert, Jacques, 47, 324 Prokofiev, Sergei, 4, 57, 75, 148, 165, 180,

185 Works: Music for Children, 185; Second Piano Concerto, 331 Proust, Marcel,

Pruniéres, Henri,

Saint-Leu-la-Forét,

Salle Huyghens,

185

27, 136

13, 14, 120, 319

Satiel Brike Sei) 12, ls. 20s 21. 3136, 58, 69, 94,95, 103, 1435165; 170, 171. 174, 211, 215, 293, 318, 320, 337, 349;

20 324

Le Bal du Comte d’Orgel,

Le Diable au corps,

Rubinstein, Anton, 2 Rubinstein, Artur (pianist),

Salzman, Eric, 96 Sanders, Neill, 127

and Le Bestiaire,

Rachmaninoff, Sergei, 125, 131, 148, 150 Racine, Jean, 30, 274 Radiguet, Raymond, 7, 18, 19, 21, 273,

319 Works:

Roy; Jean, 73, 161 ti2, too. 252

Salles, Georges and Héléne, 227

11

Queneau, Raymond,

136

319;

319; Les Joues en

feu, 319; Paul et Virginie, 349; Les Pélicans, 21 Rameau, Jean-Philippe, 20, 27, 136, 141 Raphael, 51 Ravel, Maurice, 5, 16, 31, 55, 75, 111, 147, 171, 185, 243, 295, 320, 339; and Bernac, 36; and the Concerto pour piano, 153,154; and the Concert champétre, 137; and eclecticism, 4, 91,

252; and cellular con-

struction, 59, 311; and Cocardes, 254, 296; and ‘Cocteau, 3) 11715. 16-19) 20, 23, 174; and eclecticism, 60, 91; and Les Nouveaux Jeunes,

14, 15, 16,

18, 19, 170; and Les Six, 3, 18, 20, 21, 23, 25, 108, 170; and Promenades, 26, 175; and Rapsodie négre, 15; and Stravinsky, 22, 25, 59, 60, 64, 98, 103, 107, 170, 175; and the Suite en ut,

175; and Villageoises, 185; and Vifies, 10 Works: Croquis et agaceries, 185; Entr’Acte, 349; Jack-in-the-Box, 318; WMercure. 115; Farade,.4el te didlo 15: 17, 21, 30, 94, 294, 311, 317, 349; Le Piége de Méduse, 21, 35; Socrate, 143,

Index 211, 320, 351; Sports et divertissements, 26, 95,175; La Statue de bronze, 95; Trois morceaux en forme de poire, 155;

Trois petites piéces montées,

20

389

95,114, 256; and Satie, 22, 64, 92, 98, 103, 107, 170, 175; and the Sonata for Piano 4-Hands, 89; and Vines, 10; and “wrong-note”’ dissonance, 114, 170

Sauguet, Henri, 35, 44, 127, 131, 243, 288, 351

Works:

Scarlatti, Domenico,

Berceuses du chat, 21; Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments, 96; L’Histoire du soldat, 101; Mavra, 96, 255; Les Noces, 25, 164, 287; Oedipus Rex, 96; Petrouchka, 5, 31, 174; Pribaoutki, 272; Pulcinella, 95, 113, 284; Ragtime, 288; The Rake’s Progress, 96; Renard, 25,320; Le

2, 27, 104

Schaeffner, André, 120 Schippers, Thomas, 55 Schmitt, Florent, 5, 199 Schoenberg, Arnold, 2, 20, 26, 103, 164,

224, 320 Works: Pierrot lunaire, 26, 103 Schola Cantorum, 9, 24, 27 Schonberg, Harold, 306

Schubert, Franz, 2, 3, 4, 36, 75, 94, 180, 182, 266, 276 Works: Der Doppelganger, 266; Die Winterreise, 2, 218 Schumann, Robert, 5, 36, 163, 165, 178,

179, 182, 185, 265 Works:

Dichterliebe,

265

Scotto, Vincent, 7 Schwitters, Kurt, 37 Screpel, Henri, 44 Scriabin, Alexander, 165

Sérénade, La, 26, 35,116, 155 Serialism, 49, 73, 98, 127, 326, 351 Sert, Misia,

53

Sienkiewicz, Genevieve, Signac, Paul,

9

52

Six, Les. 19, 20,21, 22, 25,26, 29,.45,'94, 95, 98, 101, 142, 147, 174, 176, 199, 283, 320, 322; and Le Bal masqué, 262; and Cocardes, 254; and Cocteau, 3, 23, 55,67; and jazz, 23; and Mouvements perpétuels, 171,172; and the musichall, 190; and Satie, 3, 12, 23, 25, 108,

170 Soirées de Paris, Les,

Soupault, Philippe,

11, 30, 31

11, 13, 38, 324

Steegmuller, Francis, 13, 317 Stockhausen, Karlheinz, 49 Strauss, Richard, 57, 320 Stravinsky, Igor, 4, 5, 10, 16, 25, Nae 95;

97, 113, 142, 165, 171, 186, 283, 313, 320, 337, 348, 349, 351; and Aubade,

142, 146; and Les Biches, 217, 242, 288; and cellular construction, 59; and

Chansons villageoises, Concert champétre,

272; and the

137; and the

Concerto pour deux pianos, 148; and Dialogues des Carmélites, 302; and eclecticism, 4, 5,60; and La Fraicheur et le feu, 275-76; and Mouvements

perpétuels,

174; and neoclassicism, 57,

Apollon musagéte,

96, 137,

142; Le Baiser de la fée, 96, 143;

Rossignol, 336; Le Sacre du printemps, 25; Serenade in A, 276; Symphonies of Wind Instruments, 96, 302; Three Pieces for Clarinet, 107; Three Pieces for String Quartet, 103 Surchamp, Dom, 49 Surrealism, 13, 37, 38, 43, 250, 321, 340, 349; and Apollinaire, 31, 43, 270; and Cocteau, 18; and Desnos, 47; and Eluard, 39; and Jacob, 33; and Les Six, 22; and Les Mamelles de Tirésias, 293; and Parade, 12 Symbolism, 31 Tailleferre, Germaine, 14, 19, 319 Works: Sonatinea cordes, 15 Tanguy, Yves, 225, 324, 340

“Tante” Liénard,

28, 186

Tchaikovsky, Peter Ilyich,

Works:

Thédtre des Théatre Elysées, Théatre des

286, 288

Sleeping Beauty,

286, 348

Champs-Elysées, 17, 21, 29; de la Comédie des Champs20 Mathurins, 21

Théatre du Vieux-Colombier,

14, 17, 322

Thomson, Virgil, 62, 243

Titian, 51 Tzara, Tristan,

37

Valcaranghi (Ricordi agent), 49, 326

Valéry, Paul, 11, 345 Valse-musette,

Varese, Edgard,

48, 67, 189, 258, 270, 337

57

Vaurabourg, Andrée, 18 Verdi, Giuseppe, 271, 295, 300, 302 Works: Rigoletto, Verlaine, Paul, 31

300

Victoria, Tomas Luis da, 75, 97, 223, 225, 231, 340 s Vidal, Paul, 9 Vierne, Louis, 156 Villon, Jacques, 277

390

Index

Vilmorin, Louise de, 39, 42, 43, 97, 250, 257200272 Works: L’Alphabet des aveux, 42; Fiancailles pour rire, 42; Julietta, 42; Madame de, 42; Migraine, 42; Le Retour d’Erica, 42; Le Sable du sablier,

42 Vifies, Ricardo, 9, 10, 12, 14, 15, 24, 26, 37, 164,171 Vivaldi, Antonio, 238 Works: Gloria, 238 Vlaminck, Maurice, 11, 327 Vuillard, Edouard, 53, 250, 327 Vuillermoz, Emile, 20 Wagner, Richard, 4, 5, 11, 16, 22 Wahrlich, Reinhold von, 323

Watteau, Antoine,

Works: 338

51, 284, 338

L’Embarquement pour Cythere,

Weber, Carl Maria von, 136 Webern, Anton von, 26, 320 Weill, Kurt, 47, 67 Werner, W. Kent, 188 Wiéner, Jean, 23, 26, 320 Works: Concerto franco-américain,

320; Sonatine syncopée, 320 Wolf, Hugo, 36 Wrong-note dissonance, 68, 77, 84, 88, 96, 10351105) 108) 114) 1255937, 170; 252; 254, 260 Zurbaran, Francisco,

51, 239

jerespesed

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