Danse macabre, Op.40

Danse macabre was such an alarming experience in its day that audiences howled in protest and, at an early performance in 1875, the composer’s mother fainted in shock. Based on a ghoulish poem by Henri Cazalis, it is a fantasy about the devil stamping on tombstones at midnight to awaken the dead and playing his violin to get the skeletons dancing until the cock crows and sends them scuttling back where they came from. Listeners to the symphonic poem nowadays are less inclined to be disturbed by the devilishly faulty tuning of the solo violin, to be offended by the unholy distortion of the Dies Irae chant, or to be    upset by the bony rattling of skeletons on the xylophone – which, incidentally, was an instrument never used in the orchestra before Saint-Saëns adopted it here. It is no less entertaining for being less alarming however.

It might be difficult to believe today but an early performance of Danse Macabre, in Paris in 1875, aroused such extreme reactions that many of those present howled in protest and the composer’s mother fainted in shock. Saint-Saëns must have been very surprised. His song on the same subject, inspired by ghoulish verse by Henri Cazalis, had caused no such outrage and the symphonic poem had been well received on its first two performances only a few months earlier. Clearly, in its day it had the power to shock. Perhaps this audience was less sophisticated, more inclined to be disturbed by the devilishly faulty tuning of the solo violin, to be offended by the unholy distortion of the Dies Irae chant, to be alarmed by the bony rattling of skeletons on the xylophone - which, incidentally, was an instrument never used in the orchestra before.

Certainly, the symphonic poem is not only more colourful but also much more eventful than the song. The midnight chimes, sounded on harp in the opening bars, are heard only in the orchestral version, as are the stealthily approaching footsteps of Death on pizzicato cellos and basses. Death tuning his fiddle with the E-string a semitone flat, Death tapping his heels on a tombstone in the “ziggy-ziggy-zig” rhythm described in the Cazalis poem, Death seductively bowing the waltz that gets the skeletons dancing on their graves: all these are represented in the song but far less effectively than they are here by the solo violin and by the flute that introduces the “ziggy-ziggy-zig” tune. The development of this material, the inexhaustibly resourceful variations on the two main themes, the bouncy parody of the Dies Irae chant on woodwind and harp, the icy howls of chromatic woodwind and the increasing frenzy of the dance of Death are all exclusive to the symphonic poem. Common to both, however, is the ending of the work: the cock crows (as represented here by an oboe) and the skeletons swiftly and quietly retreat into their graves.

It might be difficult to believe today but an early performance of Danse Macabre, conducted by Jules Pasdeloup in Paris in 1875, aroused such extreme reactions that many of those present howled in protest and the composer’s mother fainted in shock. Saint-Saëns must have been very surprised. His song on the same subject, inspired by ghoulish verse by Henri Cazalis, had caused no such outrage and the symphonic poem had been well received on its first two performances, conducted by Edouard Colonne, only a few months earlier. Clearly, in its day it had the power to shock. Perhaps this audience was less sophisticated, more inclined to be disturbed by the devilishly faulty tuning of the solo violin, to be offended by the unholy distortion of the Dies Irae chant, to be alarmed by the bony rattling of skeletons on the xylophone - which, incidentally, was an instrument never used in the orchestra before.

Certainly, the symphonic poem is not only more colourful but also much more eventful than the song. The midnight chimes, sounded on harp in the opening bars, are heard only in the orchestral version, as are the stealthily approaching footsteps of Death on pizzicato cellos and basses. Death tuning his fiddle with the E-string a semitone flat, Death tapping his heels on a tombstone in the “ziggy-ziggy-zig” rhythm described in the Cazalis poem, Death seductively bowing the waltz that gets the skeletons dancing on their graves: all these are represented in the song but far less effectively than they are here by the solo violin and by the flute that introduces the “ziggy-ziggy-zig” tune. The development of this material, the inexhaustibly resourceful variations on the two main themes, the bouncy parody of the Dies Irae chant on woodwind and harp, the icy howls of chromatic woodwind and the increasing frenzy of the dance of Death are all exclusive to the symphonic poem. Common to both, however, is the ending of the work: the cock crows (as represented here by an oboe) and the skeletons swiftly and quietly retreat into their graves.

Once the work had recovered from its early setback with the public, caused perhaps a faulty performance at the Pasdeloup concert, the Danse macabre became one of Saint-Saëns’s most popular compositions and was published in many arrangements. Franz Liszt, who made a masterly transcription for piano, said that “the Danse macabre takes hold of you so powerfully that you long to be there!” Which, considering that only the dead are invited, was a strange comment.

Gerald Larner ©2007

Zig et Zig et Zig, la Mort en cadence

Frappant une tombe avec son talon,

La Mort, à minuit joue un air de danse,

Zig et Zig et Zag, sur son violon.

Le vent d’hiver souffle, et la nuit est sombre,

Des gémissements sortent des tilleuls;

Les squelettes blancs vont à travers l’ombre,

Courant et sautant sous leurs grands linceuls.

Zig et Zig et Zig, chacun se trémousse,

On entend claquer les os des danseurs…

Mais psit! Tout à coup on quitte la ronde,

On se pousse, on fuit, le coq a chanté…

Zig-a-zig-a-zig, Death stamping a rhythm on a tomb with his heel, Death at midnight plays a dance tune, zig-a-zig-a-zag, on his violin. The winter wind blows, and the night is dark; moans come from the lime trees; white skeletons move through the shadows, running and jumping in their long shrouds. Zig-a-zig-a-zig, everyone is dancing, you can hear their bones rattling… But sh! Suddenly the dance is over, they jostle each other as the take flight: the cock has crowed…

It is difficult to believe from our position of sophisticated hindsight that when Danse macabre was first performed in Paris in 1875 the audience was so upset by it as to make a noisy protest. The composer’s mother actually fainted in the concert hall. But it is also difficult to believe that in the first edition of the score the publishers had to explain what a xylophone was and name the shop in the Boulevard St Martin where it was possible to obtain one.

Danse macabre is, in fact, a victim of its own success. Saint-Saëns was obviously aware of the possibilities of the Cazalis poem when he first set it to music as a song. But he realised its full potential only when he made a symphonic poem of it and applied the orchestral colouring which, in its day, proved to be so alarmingly grotesque. Once the public had recovered from the shock, they adopted it is a favourite - to such an extent that only eleven years later, in the Fossils movement of the Carnival of the Animals, the composer could make parodistic allusions to Danse macabre alongside items as familiar as Au clair de la lune and Una voce poco fà in full confidence that his audience would recognize it. By then, moreover, it was scarcely necessary to explain what a xylophone was; unfortunately for the future reputation of Danse macabre, the association of skeletons with xylophones was already becoming a cliché. Similarly, detuning the top string of the violin to make a tritone rather than a perfect fifth between it and the A string no longer struck fear into the heart of the listeners; and the macabre use of the Dies Irae - already adopted by Berlioz inn the Symphonie fantastique and by Liszt in Totentanz was a commonplace.

So it is a mistake to underestimate the originality, genius even of Danse macabre. There is a particularly good and comparatively subtle example at the very beginning, where midnight strikes twelve Ds on the harp and there … seem to confirm the D major implications by adding appropriate harmonies. But then the lower strings enter in a stealthy pizzicato and suggest that the tonality might not be D major but G minor - which sinister ambiguity is immediately exploited by the solo violin with its top string tuned down from E to E flat.

This, we might gather from the Cazalis poem which Saint-Saëns insisted on having printed in the score, is Death tuning his fiddle before summoning the skeletons to join his unholy dance. The rhythm of the flute tune which follows corresponds exactly with the zig-a-zig-a-zig of the opening lines, as Death stamps his heels on the gravestones. He then plays his eerie G minor waltz which, with zig-a-zig-a-zig, is one of the two main themes of the piece. The only other theme - introduced by the woodwind after a contrapuntal development of the first two - is the mischievously syncopated version of the Dies irae.

So the dance goes on, rising to a climax by way of a deceptively comforting modulation to B major, icily chromatic gusts of woodwind, obsessive rhythms and a last acceleration. With a sudden drop in the dynamic level the crock crows on the oboe. Death regretfully dismisses his subject and, after a little whirring and whispering, peace is restored to the midnight scene.