Jeux

Jeux is perhaps the most inspired and certainly the most prophetic of all Debussy’s orchestral works. During his lifetime, however, and for a long time after his death it was regarded by most authorities as an unfortunate aberration and even, by some, as a sign of declining powers in a prematurely ageing composer. In fact, as a score, its only fault was that it was too far ahead of its time. As a ballet, on the other hand, Jeux had problems – not the least of which was that only two weeks after its first performance by the Ballets Russes at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées in 1913 it was completely overshadowed by the sensational first performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring by the same company in th same theatre.

Another problem was Nijinsky’s choreography, which Debussy found so alien to the music that on the first night he left his seat in the middle to smoke a cigarette with the concierge in the foyer. Before that they had differed over details of the scenario but they eventually agreed on the following: In a park, at twilight, a tennis ball has got lost; a young man and then two girls come looking for it. The artificial light from the lamp-posts, which spread a fantastic radiance around them, puts ideas of childish games into their heads: they play hide and seek, chase each other, quarrel and sulk for no reason; the night is warm, the sky bathed in a gentle light, they kiss. But the charm is broken by another tennis ball thrown by who knows what malicious hand. Surprised and alarmed, the young man and the girls disappear into the depths of the park at night. Once that was decided the score was completed in little more than three weeks. A “poème dansé” in one continuous movement, it has no set pieces and follows no recognisable structural pattern. It is abundant in thematic ideas and yet few of even the most melodious of them are given much exposure or development. While one little theme recurs in an endless variety of variants and transformations, the motivation is entirely spontaneous, the atmosphere and events of the scenario reflected in miraculously subtle orchestration, daringly liberated harmonies and infinitely supple rhythms.

When Debussy referred to “orchestral colours lit from behind, like some marvellous examples in Parsifal,” he was probably thinking of the opening of Jeux under the lamps at twilight. The action begins not with the first and quite short Scherzando episode but only after an early recall of the back-lit colours and the slow tempo of the prelude. As the Scherzando tempo is resumed and a clarinet introduces the nearest thing to the main theme of the piece – a playful little tune which is immediately adopted and varied by other woodwind instruments – a tennis ball bounces onto the scene. It is followed by a young man in tennis gear who bounds across the stage with his racquet in his hand and disappears. The two girls enter with a new, more sustained melody identified by its violin trills and its legato phrasing.

No sooner is that new melody established than Debussy abandons it. He turns to new material and develops the playful clarinet theme in a comparatively long episode that is brought to an end by two loud notes on the trumpets and heavy chords on the strings: the girls have caught sight of the young man watching them through the bushes. They are inclined to run away but with “gentle and caressing” harmonies on the strings he persuades them to stay and one of them dances with him. Their dance, which never settles into a consistent tempo, increasingly sensual though it is in its woodwind and cello lines, ends in a kiss with a passionate motif high on the strings. Although the other girl, out of jealousy perhaps, proceeds to mock them, the young man is not discouraged and succeeds in getting the second girl to dance a waltz with him. A jubilant horn call indicates how well they are getting on together. The first girl is so angry that, accompanied by petulant cries high on violins, she tries to run away. But this time it is her friend who (with the help of a solo violin) holds her back, setting up the final dance for the three of them together.

There are a few false starts to this climactic episode but, when it does get going, a rising tide of emotion propels a passionate surge of legato melody – first on horns and lower woodwind and then on horn and cellos – with a regular rhythmic accompaniment in the percussion section. To judge by the mounting excitement and the moment of ecstasy that expands the once playful clarinet theme in expressive augmentation, this threesome is what they wanted all the time. But without warning, on a falling glissando on the violins and tumbling arpeggios on woodwind, another stray tennis ball bounces onto the scene. The lovers take flight and all that remains is the back-lit twilight, now a little darker, in which this erotic little adventure began.

Jeux is perhaps the most inspired and certainly the most prophetic of all Debussy’s orchestral works. During his lifetime, however, and for a long time after his death it was regarded by most authorities as an unfortunate aberration and even, by some, as a sign of declining powers in a prematurely ageing composer. In fact, as a score, its only fault was that it was too far ahead of its time.

As a ballet, on the other hand, Jeux had real problems. If it had been the only new production presented by Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes in the inaugural season of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in 1913 it might have had a chance. But in the same theatre only two weeks later the same company gave the first performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, the notoriously riotous reception of which obliterated every other artistic event in the consciousness of the Parisian public. Not that Jeux would have been a popular success even in the most favourable of circumstances. Nijinsky’s choreography – which, according to Marie Rambert, was based on “sort of stylised sports movements” – might, in theory, have been well conceived for a ballet set beside a tennis court. In practice, it was so alien to the music that even the composer left his seat before it was over to smoke a cigarette with the concierge in the foyer.

At the same time Debussy must have been aware that, even if the choreography had been brilliant, Jeux was not the kind of work that would have gone straight to the hearts of the Parisian public. Although, in his uncertainty about writing ballet music, he seems to have referred to recent examples by Stravinsky, Dukas and Ravel – all of whom are echoed in the score – Jeux is like no other ballet music of the time. Written in little more than three weeks and cast in one continuous movement (lasting just under twenty minutes), this “poème dansé” has no set pieces and follows no recognisable structural pattern. Even the symmetrical return of the prelude in the closing bars would not have happened if Diaghilev had not decided at a late stage that he wanted the ballet to end in the same way as it begins. It is a score abundant in thematic ideas and yet few of even the most melodious of them are given much exposure or development. While one little theme recurs in an endless variety of variants and transformations, the motivation is entirely spontaneous, the atmosphere and events of the scenario reflected in miraculously subtle orchestration, daringly liberated harmonies and infinitely supple rhythms.

Debussy had some trouble accepting Nijinsky’s scenario, which involved a crashed aeroplane at one point, but they eventually agreed on the following:

In a park, at twilight, a tennis ball has got lost; a young man and then two girls come looking for it. The artificial light from the lamp-posts, which spread a fantastic radiance around them, puts ideas of childish games into their heads: they play hide and seek, chase each other, quarrel and sulk for no reason; the night is warm, the sky bathed in a gentle light, they kiss. But the charm is broken by another tennis ball thrown by who knows what malicious hand. Surprised and alarmed, the young man and the girls disappear into the depths of the park at night.

When Debussy said that he wanted to create “orchestral colours lit from behind, like some marvellous examples in Parsifal,” he was probably thinking of the opening of Jeux under the lamps at twilight – although he seems to have drawn not so much on Wagner for his prelude in the park as on Dukas at the equivalent point in La Péri. The action begins not with the first and quite short Scherzando episode, which features a busy motif on bassoon and violas, but only after an early recall of the back-lit colours and the slow tempo of the prelude. As the Scherzando tempo is resumed and a clarinet introduces the nearest thing to the main theme of the piece – a playful little tune which is immediately adopted and varied by other woodwind instruments –    a tennis ball bounces onto the scene. It is followed by a young man in tennis gear (Nijinsky in a white shirt, red tie and white trousers in the original production) who bounds across the stage with his racquet in his hand and disappears. The two girls (in white pleated skirts) enter with a new, more sustained melody identified, like a similar theme in Jeux de vagues in La Mer, by its violin trills and its legato phrasing.

No sooner is that new melody established than, characteristically, Debussy abandons it. He turns to new material and develops the playful clarinet theme in a comparatively long episode that is brought to an end by two loud notes on the trumpets and heavy chords on the strings: the girls have caught sight of the young man watching them through the bushes. They are inclined to run away but with “gentle and caressing” harmonies on the strings he persuades them to stay and, by means of similarly expressive string harmonies, sweet-talks one of them into dancing with him. Their dance, which never settles into a consistent tempo, increasingly sensual though it is in its woodwind and cello lines, ends in a kiss with a passionate motif high on the strings. The other girl, out of jealousy perhaps, proceeds to mock them, reverting to a quicker tempo and contriving at one point to imitate (on oboes and cor anglais) the grotesque Dorcon in Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé.

The young man’s powers of persuasion are not exhausted, however, and he succeeds in getting the second girl to dance with him. According to the score, it’s a waltz although, with its staccato ostinato rhythms on the strings and its vaguely Spanish melody on the woodwind, it doesn’t sound like one. A jubilant horn call – which is heard twice, once on each side of a slower and mysteriously illuminated middle section –    indicates how well they are getting on together. The first girl is so angry in fact that, accompanied by petulant cries high on first and second violins, she tries to run away. But this time it is her friend who (with the help of a solo violin) holds her back, setting up the final dance for the three of them together.

There are a few false starts to this climactic episode but, when it does get going, a rising tide of emotion propels a passionate surge of legato melody – first on horns and lower woodwind and then on horn and cellos – with a regular rhythmic accompaniment in the percussion section. To judge by the mounting excitement, the occasional violence of the orchestration and the moment of ecstasy that expands the once playful clarinet theme in expressive augmentation, this threesome is what they wanted all the time. But without warning, on a falling glissando on the violins and tumbling arpeggios on woodwind, another stray tennis ball bounces onto the scene. The lovers take flight and all that remains is the back-lit twilight, now a little darker, in which this erotic little adventure began.