Camille Saint-Sa\u00ebns lived a long life, and was remarkable for his wide-ranging intellectual interests and abilities. As a child he was, of course, a precocious musical talent, but even then he evinced a strong natural interest in almost every academic subject–including, but certainly not restricted to, astronomy, archaeology, mathematics, religion, Latin, and Greek. In addition to a life of musical composition and virtuoso keyboard performance, he also enjoyed success as a music journalist, champion of early music (Handel and Bach), and leadership in encouraging French musical tradition. His father died when he was an infant, and he grew into middle age extraordinarily devoted to his mother–his marriage at the age of forty to a nineteen-year old did not last long. He simply left the house one day in 1881 and chose never to see her again; she died in 1950 at the age of ninety-five. Saint-Sa\u00ebns went on to live an active life, filling an important r\u00f4le in the musical life of France–as performer, composer, author, spokesman, and scholar. He was peripatetic–researching Handel manuscripts in London, conducting concerts in Chicago and Philadelphia, visiting Uruguay and writing a hymn for their national holiday, and vacationing in the Canary Islands. He celebrated seventy-five years of concertizing in August of 1921 in his eighty-sixth year, and died a few months later.<\/p>\n
The major figure in French musical life before the advent of Debussy and Ravel, in the face of the ravishing blandishments of the new musical style of the latter two composers, he nevertheless maintained his position as the grand old man of tradition in French musical composition. His music exemplified his deep respect for traditional forms and genres, and, unlike his friend and colleague, Faur\u00e9, he contributed prolifically to all of the genres of nineteenth-century composition\u2014symphonies, operas, concerti, and more. And, in the midst of all this seriousness, he found time in the summer of 1886, to compose a gem\u2014and fairly rare example\u2014of genuine humor in symphonic literature. What is more, one whose droll humor is not compromised by stooping to cheap effects. <\/p>\n
The Carnival of the Animals <\/em>was composed in an Austrian village, where he was at work on the grand \u201cOrgan Symphony,\u201d so beloved by audiences ever since. Nevertheless\u2014perhaps as a break in the effort–he was tempted to write this suite of fourteen movements that humorously depict various animal friends for his students at the school where he taught (Faur\u00e9 had been one of them, earlier). It was never intended for public performance, the composer feeling that it compromised his reputation as a major composer of dignity and seriousness of purpose. He even forbade its publication until after his death\u2014and so the first \u201cpublic\u201d performance did not occur until 1922, thirty-six years later!<\/p>\n The suite opens with a brief, dramatic introduction, followed by a stately march for the \u201cKing of Beasts\u201d that from time to time is interrupted by the lions\u2019 formidable roar, depicted by the ferocious, low chromatic octave scales. \u201cHens and Roosters\u201d are next, clearly pecking around (no low strings, here), with little clarinet solos and an amusing rooster crow to top it off. Breakneck scales in the pianos herald the frenetic \u201cWild Asses\u201d \u2013and these are not your garden variety Mexican donkeys, for sure. These asses from Asia are supercharged, and Saint-Sa\u00ebns\u2019 busy pianists nail the depiction. The logy tortoises are next, and their ponderously slow gait is marvelously parodied by a tongue-in-cheek playing of Offenbach\u2019s famous \u201cCan-can\u201d in the low strings. It\u2019s really slow but you can doubtless recognize it. Following, a solo contra-bass earnestly sings a doleful little song for the elephant, without any apology at all for \u201cborrowing\u201d melodies from Mendelssohn and Berlioz\u2014material that in the original was the essence of almost ephemeral lightness and grace. Well.<\/p>\n After a jerky little interlude by hopping kangaroos, we stand before a serene aquarium, as iridescent tropical fish glide to and fro. Saint-Sa\u00ebns\u2019 musical imagination then nails the hee-haws of \u201cpersonages with long ears\u201d with a super high note in the violins followed by a low \u201chaw.\u201d Next, the familiar descending third of a relentless cuckoo in a tranquil \u201cpiano\u201d forest is easy to spot, played here by the clarinet\u2014followed by a musical aviary. The flute as an apparently very happy bird is a familiar musical trope, and here, the pianists help out with other bird-like sounds. Then, something completely different: Apparently some student pianists have intruded on our little animal kingdom, and the composer (an accomplished pianist and teacher) has some fun with the scales every student pianist has to practice. A note in the score calls for some sloppy novice playing\u2014as we all have done\u2014from our stalwart keyboard artists.<\/p>\n Fossils are clearly not animals, but some of them undoubtedly were, and so Saint-Sa\u00ebns has some fun with the xylophone rattling around like a box of prehistoric bones in the \u201cFossiles\u201d movement. Among the many musical quotes here, listen for \u201cTwinkle, Twinkle, Little Star\u201d and some allusions to Saint-Sa\u00ebns\u2019 own Danse macabre<\/em>. Opera buffs will recognize Rossini\u2019s \u201cUna voce poco fa,\u201d played by the clarinet.<\/p>\n Finally, the moment arrives that everyone has been waiting for, and the swan gracefully glides into view, in the guise of a \u2018cello. It\u2019s the only movement that the composer allowed to be published during his lifetime, and almost everyone knows it from its use in a thousand contexts. These charming animal vignettes end with a rousing finale that in sparkling fashion pulls together many of the motifs and tunes from the previous movements. It\u2019s a perfect example of Saint-Sa\u00ebns\u2019 technical skill, as many of the animals jump in to end this musical zoo with his typical pizzazz. The donkeys, however, have the last say, with unmistakable \u201chee-haws\u201d from these brazen equine musical critics.<\/p>\n –Wm. E. Runyan<\/p>\n \u00a9 2016 William E. Runyan<\/p>\n