Ma Mère L’Oye

Dressed in an elegantly-cut suit, hair parted, shoulders straight and chin raised, a cigarette balanced nonchalantly between two fingers: whoever has perused a collection of photographs of Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) will recognise this image of a refined, suave and style-conscious man. He was to go down in history as a composer who possessed an exemplary sense of finesse and good taste. Ravel’s musical palette was intended for the delectation of gourmets and connoisseurs, with a range of timbres, subtle, exuberant and exotic by turns, that he blended together into sounds of breath-taking beauty. Ravel’s fascination with childhood was the obverse side of his sophisticated personality. He was captivated by the transcendental innocence of the years of childhood and by children’s unbridled fantasy and unprejudiced perception; he preferred their company to that of adults. The poetry of childhood and the magic and mystical detachment of fairy tales appealed to him: ugliness is imprisoned in a fortress far beyond the horizon, an evil deed will always come to light, and the call of adventure sounds forth from even the most unwelcoming forest. Ravel’s Ma Mère l’Oye is very much a part of this universe. Ravel drew his inspiration for this suite of five movements for piano four-hands from the tales of Charles Perrault, the Comtesse d’Aulnoy and Marie Leprince de Beaumont: these were the favourite books of Mimi and Jean Godebski — the children of the artist Cyprian Godebski — and Ravel subsequently dedicated the suite to them. The music echoes the rhythms of the narratives and the clarity of the tales with repetitive bass figures and simple melodies. In Pavane de la Belle au bois dormant, an evocation of Sleeping Beauty, Princess Florine is presented as a sleepwalking figure. It is then the turn of Tom Thumb (Petit Poucet) who, despite leaving a heap of breadcrumbs behind in the forest, is accompanied by chirping birds. Laideronnette, Imperatrice des Pagodes tells of how a princess is transformed into an ugly little girl: she travels with a serpent to the land of the Pagodes, beings whose bodies are made from jewels. In Les entretiens de la Belle et de la Bête we hear waltzes, growling, and the waving of a magic wand; Ravel provides a splendid depiction of the moment when Beauty accepts to marry the Beast and suddenly beholds not the Beast, but a handsome Prince. The catharsis is complete with Le jardin féerique, a symbolic happy ending: a wonderful carpet of sound, on which the happy pair begin their long and happy life together. The success of the work’s first performance exceeded Ravel’s wildest dreams. He wrote to Jeanne Leleu, one of the pianists, as follows: “Mademoiselle, when you come to be a great virtuoso, by which time I shall be an old fogey covered with honours or completely forgotten, I hope that you will remember how much you gratified this artist with your performance of this somewhat strange work, playing it exactly as it should be. I thank you a thousand times over for your childlike and sensitive performance”.