Préludes - deuxième cahier

XIII …Brouillards

XIV …Feuilles mortes

XV …La Puerta del Vino

XVI … “Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses”

XVII …Bruyères

XVIII …Général Lavine - eccentric

IXX …La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune

XX …Ondine

XXI …Hommage à S.Pickwick Esq., P.P.M.P.C.

XXII …Canope

XXIII …Les tierces alternées

XXIV …Feux d’artifice

Whatever the rival claims of Debussy and Ravel to who did what first in developing the language of piano impressionism, when it comes to breadth and many-sidedness of vision there is no competition. Debussy’s twenty four Preludes are a unique achievement in the extent as well as the poetic suggestivity of their allusions.

“Naming a subject,” said Mallarmé, “means suppressing three-quarters of the enjoyment of a poem… suggesting it, that’s the dream.” It was in the same spirit that in both books of Preludes, published in 1910 and 1913 respectively, Debussy headed each piece only with a Roman numeral and withheld the title until the end. The most intriguing aspects of first Prelude of Book 2 – the aural equivalent of double vision induced by conflicting tonalities in the left and right hands and the occasional emergence of melodic outlines without textural detail – carry misty associations that the Brouillards inscription finally confirms. As an introductory title, Feuilles mortes (“dead leaves”) would be too restrictive on the interpretation of a piece that takes in not only the droopingly deciduous autumnal scene but also the elegiac emotions that go with it.

La Puerta del Vino was inspired by a picture postcard, sent to Debussy by Manuel de Falla from Granada, depicting a gateway in the wall of the Alhambra. It would be a mistake, however, to hear it as a mere study in local colour, idiomatically authentic though it is, and miss the brooding quality in the stubborn repetitions of the habanera motif in the left hand and the (pre-Lorca) threat of violence allied to the familiar dance steps. Similarly, although the title “Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses” derives from a line in J.M.Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, it should not be linked exclusively to the Arthur Rackham illustration “Fairies are exquisite dancers” that goes with it. A brilliantly mobile, freely flexible dance on feet that rarely touch the ground, it covers a range of fairy allusions from Shakespeare’s Puck to Weber’s Oberon.

The next two Preludes are as far apart from each other as they can get. The pentatonic melody of Bruyères sets it in the same pastoral background as La fille aux cheveux de lin in Book I, its heather-covered landscape echoing from time to time with the sound of a Celtic harp. In Général Lavine - eccentric, the music-hall counterpart of Minstrels in Book I, Debussy reflects the military clowning of the American vaudeville artist billed as “The Man Who Has Soldiered All His Life” in a collage of bugle calls and cake-walk march rhythms accompanied by an ill-tuned banjo.

The central Prelude of Book II, La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune, was the last to be written. Inspired by a misunderstanding in a newspaper report on the arrangements for the coronation of George V as Emperor of India, it seems to be a meditation on the poetic idea of on an audience gathered on a terrace to contemplate the moon. Certainly, it is based on a phrase from the nursery song Au clair de la lune - which also occurs in the middle of Ondine, presumably to illuminate the nocturnal adventures of the seductive water sprite who emerges from her natural element at the beginning and returns to it at the end.

Although Dickens’s Samuel Pickwick was actually G.C.M.P.C. (General Chairman-Member Pickwick Club), Debussy makes no mistake about his nationality or about the congeniality of his company. In direct contrast, Canope is Debussy’s ode to an ancient (Etruscan or Egyptian) funerary urn, its ritual associations most effectively evoked by blues-tinged lamentations on a antique flute and exotic percussion sounds in the middle section.

Les tierces alternées is an anomaly among the Preludes in that it has little to do with impressionism and far more to do with keyboard technique. A clear anticipation of the piano Etudes, it concentrates on major and minor thirds in its harmonies and, except in the briefly reposeful middle section, on one simple pattern in its rhythmic motivation. Feux d’artifice also has its virtuoso aspect: the title is no doubt intended to imply “fireworks” of pianistic brilliance as well as those which are customarily displayed in France on 14 July to the accompaniment, as Debussy indicates near the end, of the Marseillaise.

XIII….Brouillards

XIV….Feuilles mortes

XV…..La Puerta del Vino

XVI…“Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses”

XVII…Bruyères

XVIII..Général Lavine–eccentric

IXX…La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune

XX…Ondine

XXI…Hommage à S.Pickwick Esq., P.P.M.P.C.

XXII…Canope

XXIII…Les tierces alternées

XXIV…Feux d’artifice

“Naming a subject,” said Mallarmé, “means suppressing three-quarters of the enjoyment of a poem, which is made up of guessing bit by bit; suggesting it, that’s the dream.” It was in the same spirit that in both books of Preludes – published in 1910 and 1913 respectively – Debussy headed each piece only with a Roman numeral and withheld the title until the end.

Brouillards, for example, one might innocently perceive not so much as a scene shrouded in fog or mist as one animated by a fine rain. Texturally and rhythmically, in fact, it has more than a little in common with Jardins sous la pluie, although in this case there is a kind of double vision induced by the conflicting harmonies of C and D flat, which means that the melodic outlines only occasionally emerge in full clarity. Taken literally, the title of the second Prelude, Feuilles mortes (“Dead leaves”), would also be too restrictive on the meaning of a piece which, surely, takes in not only the whole droopingly deciduous autumnal scene but also the elegiac emotions that go with it.

La Puerta del Vino we know was inspired by a picture postcard, sent to Debussy by Manuel de Falla from Granada, depicting a gateway in the wall of the Alhambra. It would be a mistake, however, to hear it as a mere study in local colour, idiomatically authentic though it is in its habanera rhythm, its guitar figuration, its gypsy-scale modality and the flamenco decorations applied to the melodic line. There is a dark, brooding quality in the stubborn repetitions of the habanera motif in the left hand and, in spite of the light which occasionally illuminates the scene, a veiled threat of violence allied to the familiar dance steps. Debussy himself referred to its “brusque contrasts between violence and impassioned sweetness.”

Although the title, “Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses,” derives from a line in J.M.Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens – “Fairies are exquisite dancers” –    it should not be linked exclusively to the Arthur Rackham illustration which accompanies it. A brilliantly mobile, freely flexible dance on feet that – except perhaps in a brief valse lente – never touch the ground, it is a close relation to La Danse de Puck in the Book I of the Preludes. Indeed, the sound of Oberon’s horn can be heard here too. The distant hint of pentatonic melody at the end is taken up in Bruyères, which revisits the Celtic setting of La fille aux cheveux de lin in Book I. The heather-covered landscape echoes from time to time with the sound of a harp.

Edward Lavine was an American vaudeville artist who billed himself as “The Man Who Has Soldiered All His Life” and who, to the delight of the composer, appeared at the Théâtre Marigny on the Champs-Elysées in 1910 and 1912. In Général Lavine –­eccentric – the music-hall counterpart of Minstrels in Book I and another indication of Debussy’s amused interest in the jazz idiom – Debussy matches his military clowning with bugle calls and a cake-walk march accompanied by a theatre band with an ill-tuned banjo.

The central Prelude of Book II, La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune, was the last to be written. Inspired by a misreading of a report in a newspaper – which, in detailing the arrangements for the coronation of George V as Emperor of India, referred to a “terrace for audiences in the moonlight” and not “of the moonlight” – it seems to be a meditation on the intriguingly fanciful idea of on an audience gathered to contemplate the moon. Certainly, it is based on a phrase from the nursery song Au clair de la lune which is introduced in the opening bar and a variant of which becomes the theme of the translucent waltz which occupies the middle section. Curiously, the Au clair de la lune derivative occurs in also in the middle section of Ondine, presumably to illuminate the nocturnal adventures of the seductive water sprite who emerges from her natural element at the beginning and returns to it at the end.

Although Dickens’s Samuel Pickwick was actually G.C.M.P.C. (General Chairman-Member Pickwick Club), Debussy makes no mistake about his nationality or about the congeniality of his company. In direct contrast, Canope is Debussy’s ode to an Egyptian urn: he was the proud owner of two of the much-prized head-shaped covers of these ancient funerary vessels. Whether or not the heads reminded him of Mussorgsky, that composer does come to mind in the opening processional, before the evocation of prophetically blue-tinged lamentations on a flute and the entry of exotic percussion sounds in the middle section.

Les tierces alternées (Alternating thirds) is an anomaly among the Preludes in that it has little to do with impressionism and far more to do with keyboard technique. A clear anticipation of the Etudes to which Debussy was to turn his attention in 1915, it concentrates on major and minor thirds in its harmonies and, except in the briefly reposeful middle section, on one simple pattern in its rhythmic motivation.

Feux d’artifice also has its virtuoso aspect: the title is no doubt intended to imply “fireworks” of that kind as well as those which are customarily displayed in France on 14 July (to the accompaniment, Debussy indicates near the end, of the Marseillaise). While it reverts to Lisztian devices here and there, it is also a daringly adventurous piece, directly prophetic of Bartok’s studies in “night music” and of much in the piano writing of Olivier Messiaen.    

XIII …Brouillards

XIV …Feuilles mortes

XV …La Puerta del Vino

XVI … “Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses”

XVII …Bruyères

XVIII …Général Lavine–eccentric

IXX …La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune

XX …Ondine

XXI …Hommage à S.Pickwick Esq., P.P.M.P.C.

XXII …Canope

XXIII …Les tierces alternées

XXIV …Feux d’artifice

“Naming a subject,” said Mallarmé, “means suppressing three-quarters of the enjoyment of a poem, which is made up of guessing bit by bit; suggesting it, that’s the dream.” It was in the same spirit that in both books of Preludes – published in 1910 and 1913 respectively – Debussy headed each piece only with a Roman numeral and withheld the title until the end.

Brouillards, for example, one might innocently perceive not so much as a scene shrouded in fog or mist as one animated by a fine rain. Texturally and rhythmically, in fact, it has more than a little in common with Jardins sous la pluie, although in this case there is a kind of double vision induced by the conflicting harmonies of C and D flat, which means that the melodic outlines only occasionally emerge in full clarity. Taken literally, the title of the second Prelude, Feuilles mortes (“Dead leaves”), would also be too restrictive on the meaning of a piece which, surely, takes in not only the whole droopingly deciduous autumnal scene but also the elegiac emotions that go with it. The title is thought to derive from a poem by the composer’s friend Gabriel Mourey beginning “Under the cold and melancholy autumn wind.”

La Puerta del Vino we know was inspired by a picture postcard, sent to Debussy by Manuel de Falla from Granada, depicting a gateway in the wall of the Alhambra. It would be a mistake, however, to hear it as a mere study in local colour, idiomatically authentic though it is in its habanera rhythm, its guitar figuration, its gypsy-scale modality and the flamenco decorations applied to the melodic line. There is a dark, brooding quality in the stubborn repetitions of the habanera motif in the left hand and, in spite of the light which occasionally illuminates the scene, a veiled threat of violence allied to the familiar dance steps. Debussy himself referred to its “brusque contrasts between violence and impassioned sweetness.”

Although the title, “Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses,” derives from a line in J.M.Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens – “Fairies are exquisite dancers” –    it should not be linked exclusively to the Arthur Rackham illustration which accompanies it. A brilliantly mobile, freely flexible dance on feet that – except perhaps in a brief valse lente – never touch the ground, it is a close relation to La Danse de Puck in the Book I of the Preludes. Indeed, the sound of Oberon’s horn can be heard here too. The distant hint of pentatonic melody at the end is taken up in Bruyères, which revisits the Celtic setting of La fille aux cheveux de lin in Book I. The heather-covered landscape echoes from time to time with the sound of a harp.

Edward Lavine was an American vaudeville artist who billed himself as “The Man Who Has Soldiered All His Life” and who, to the delight of the composer, appeared at the Théâtre Marigny on the Champs-Elysées in 1910 and 1912. In Général Lavine-eccentric – the music-hall counterpart of Minstrels in Book I and another indication of Debussy’s amused interest in the jazz idiom – Debussy matches his military clowning with bugle calls and a cake-walk march accompanied by a theatre band with an ill-tuned banjo.

The central Prelude of Book II, La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune, was the last to be written. Inspired by a misreading of a report in a newspaper – which, in detailing the arrangements for the coronation of George V as Emperor of India, referred to a “terrace for audiences in the moonlight” and not “of the moonlight” – it seems to be a meditation on the intriguingly fanciful idea of on an audience gathered to contemplate the moon. Certainly, it is based on a phrase from the nursery song Au clair de la lune which is introduced in the opening bar and a variant of which becomes the theme of the translucent waltz which occupies the middle section. Curiously, the Au clair de la lune derivative occurs in also in the middle section of Ondine – another Rackham inspiraton – presumably to illuminate the nocturnal adventures of the seductive water sprite who emerges from her natural element at the beginning and returns to it at the end.

Although Dickens’s Samuel Pickwick was actually G.C.M.P.C. (General Chairman-Member Pickwick Club), Debussy makes no mistake about his nationality or about the congeniality of his company. In direct contrast, Canope is Debussy’s ode to an Egyptian urn: he was the proud owner of two of the much-prized head-shaped covers of these ancient funerary vessels. Whether or not the heads reminded him of Mussorgsky, that composer does come to mind in the opening processional, before the evocation of prophetically blue-tinged lamentations on a flute and the entry of exotic percussion sounds in the middle section.

Les tierces alternées (Alternating thirds) is an anomaly among the Preludes in that it has little to do with impressionism and far more to do with keyboard technique. A clear anticipation of the Etudes to which Debussy was to turn his attention in 1915, it concentrates on major and minor thirds in its harmonies and, except in the briefly reposeful middle section, on one simple pattern in its rhythmic motivation.

Feux d’artifice also has its virtuoso aspect: the title is no doubt intended to imply “fireworks” of that kind as well as those which are customarily displayed in France on 14 July (to the accompaniment, Debussy indicates near the end, of the Marseillaise). While it reverts to Lisztian devices here and there, it is also a daringly adventurous piece, directly prophetic of Bartok’s studies in “night music” and of much in the piano writing of Olivier Messiaen.