6. Peasants, Aristocrats, and Statues

La Fille mal gardée

Before the 1789 premiere of La Fille mal gardée (the poorly-guarded daughter), main characters of ballets and dance entertainments were most apt to be gods and goddesses, or kings and lesser nobles—but hardly “common people.” Consistent with the formal tone of courtly portrayals or powerful mythological characters, the music for early ballets was also apt to be very strong in both themes and instrumentation. Many of the set forms of court social dances were elaborated for theatrical purposes. Indeed, going back to the time of France’s Louis XIV, his main musician Jean-Baptiste Lully composed and conducted the very noblest-sounding works. The king himself was a fine dancer and participated in performances for many years.

However, as the revolutionary spirit spread around Europe, so too did a desire on the part of non-aristocratic audiences for theatrical portrayals of cheerful everyday situations on the one hand, and for a different kind of music to go along with the new ballets. Skipping ahead a bit here, in France, the “Three Glorious Days” in 1830 that ended the Bourbon monarchy also ended the Court control of the Paris Opéra, and for the first time it was run by an independent director who could be responsive to the tastes of a growing urban business and middle class.

But then surprisingly, with the rise of literary and artistic “Romanticism” especially inspired by German poets, there was also in theatrical ballet during the first half of the 19^th century a passion for airy, ethereal, creatures who lived in the mists of the woods, and who were anything except “everyday” people. They weren’t even people! And they didn’t dance to strident or courtly music, but rather to sounds that were at times soft and mysterious, but ever gracious and beautiful. (However, some characters who were real country folk continued to be portrayed dancing to lively folk-style tunes and pleasant orchestral compositions.) All those mist-covered creatures and their country neighbors (“real people”) will be introduced in the essay, “Women in White.” For now, here is more about La Fille mal gardée, its peasants, and its music.

This ballet, which continues to be performed in our own times, was first presented onstage in the beautiful theater of Bordeaux, France in 1789 with choreography by Jean Dauberval (1742-1806). The music consisted of tunes that were popular at the time, and the characters were farmers, depicted theatrically in nice clean work clothes, and at harvest celebrations.

The ballet itself immediately became popular, and by 1828 one of Dauberval’s students restaged it in Paris with music arranged by the then well-known opera composer Ferdinand Hérold (1791-1833). That score still retained some of the popular tunes—even some taken from Rossini operas—but Hérold composed new music as well, which began traveling the world with the dancers. The American premiere was given in 1828 in New York, and as the dance historian Lillian Moore reported, by a miraculous chance the orchestral parts survived and are now safely in the Performing Arts Library there. The famous Fanny Elssler (1810-44) danced only once in the United States, presenting La Fille mal gardée in New York in 1842 at a special benefit for the “Fund for the Relief and Support of Decayed Artists.” (Yes!)

In 1864 another new score for La Fille was written for Berlin performances by Peter Ludwig Hertel (1817-89) and this was also used in Russia. The German performances were choreographed by Paul Taglioni (1808-1884), who came from a family of illustrious dancers. (The son of the highly successful Italian choreographer Filippo Taglioni, Paul was also brother to Marie Taglioni, who came to epitomize Romantic ballet after her performances in La Sylphide as choreographed by her father. More about her in another essay!)

Continuing into the 20^th century, La Fille was performed by Alexandre Shiryaev, partner and ballet master for Anna Pavlova and her touring company, in 1914. The program for their appearances at the Manhattan Opera House in New York credited the production to Dauberval, but as arranged by P. Zailich. Subsequently, in 1937, Pavlova’s partner Mikhail Mordkin staged La Fille for his own touring company, in Flint, Michigan. And the famous Russian choreographer Bronislava Nijinska mounted it for the very first season of American Ballet Theatre in 1940.

Moving on, in 1960 choreographer Sir Frederick Ashton returned to the original Hérold score (which had been rediscovered by dance historian Ivor Guest) and engaged music director John Lanchbery to arrange it for the Royal Ballet in London. This version of the ballet has become immensely popular, and the word most associated with it is “brilliant.” It seems that though urban theater-goers of today no longer see real peasants, people continue to enjoy this portrayal of romanticized rural life from the 18^th century, either in the theater or in the comfort of home with a well-produced DVD that features Lanchbery’s charming musical arrangement. The gentle orchestral sounds in this version always seem just right for the dances, with amusing musical punctuations that relate directly to various small dramatic touches onstage.

The story is an uncomplicated comedy. In Ashton’s production the whole ballet opens with a chorus line of hilarious chickens dancing—always sure to bring smiles to the faces of all ages. The scene is in a farm yard, obviously, and the heroine Lise goes about such chores as churning butter and spinning yarn, but more importantly, always on the look-out for her beloved young man Colas. Unfortunately, her mother wishes for her to marry the simpleton son of a  wealthier farmer (hence the mother is “guarding her daughter”).  Of course there are some obstacles along the way, but there is a happy ending, even for the simpleton son (who has a funny duet with an umbrella).  There are lovely pas de deux scenes for the two lovers, with ribbons playing a noticeable role, even as a cat’s cradle. Ribbons come in again during the community harvest dances, with a maypole, and as symbolic horse reins. There is also a flamboyant clog dance by the mother (who is portrayed by a male dancer), and the male harvesters together perform a lively stick dance.

* * *

In several written essays music director John Lanchbery told the fascinating story of how he arranged the music for Ashton. First of all, they were able to get a photocopy of the 681-page Hérold score that was in the Paris Opéra library, with 33 separate numbers. Lanchbery felt the music by Ferdinand Hérold to be “light, charming, full of melody, and very French.” Upon examining the later score by Hertel, however, he was disappointed, finding it to be far too short, and of “lamentably poor quality, the work of a hack flung together at top speed and so Teutonic as to be quite out of keeping with the story’s atmosphere.”

When the work of arranging began, Lanchbery said:

The great weakness of Hérold’s score was its lack of continuity, which I corrected to some extent by linking one number to the next wherever the action of the ballet required it, instead of having a series of disconnected pieces. But an even stronger method of knitting the work together was my frequent use of motifs for the principal characters. This “stock-in-trade” of ballet scores since the time of its inception in Adam’s Giselle was sadly lacking in Hérold (though Hertel, being post-Giselle, employed it to some extent). The material for all these motifs (with the exception of the love-pleading of Colas, which I had to write) was there in the Hérold score begging to be used, a wealth of attractively appropriate melody.

The musician goes on to describe some of the challenges of orchestration, and the fact that Hérold had used almost entirely strings. This was freshened up to include more winds and a touch of horns and percussion. Finally, he confesses, he uses a tuba solo for the simpleton’s big solo dance, though it was “strictly speaking, an anachronism, though it could perfectly well have been played on an ophicleide of the period.”

the arranger/conductor

Because his name is going to show up again and again throughout these essays, this seems a good time to introduce the London-born musician John  Lanchbery (1923-2003). For some fifty years he was outstanding as a conductor, arranger, music director, and composer for ballet, first at Sadler’s Wells; then the Royal Ballet under Frederick Ashton and Kenneth MacMillan (from 1959-72); for a few years with American Ballet Theatre; and then with the Australian Ballet. He also collaborated with other artists around the globe, including the director of the Houston Ballet, Ben Stevenson, who remarked:

If I’ve had any success with my full-length ballets, it’s due to the inspiration that Jack so brilliantly gave me with his music. When you asked him for a romantic pas de deux, something evil, something funny, or a beautiful variation of a ballerina, he knew exactly what to give you. It was total knowledge about ballet and music, love and dedication to the art coupled with an inborn talent.

As an arranger, Lanchbery knew how to make subtle changes that kept the flavor of another composer’s work intact. He knew how to utilize all the instruments of the orchestra for best theatrical effect, having studied violin since the age of eight. He received excellent training at the Royal Academy of Music, but other ingredients of his work were good humor, an innate knack, and sheer imagination. His earliest work with the Metropolitan Ballet in London required him also to play the piano for rehearsals, so he developed an understanding of what dancers need to support their movements, not only in terms of the music’s form, dynamics, melodies, tempo, and style—but also in regard to its emotional content in relation to whatever the movement combination is for the moment.

For the works covered here, John Lanchbery will be indicated as both arranger and conductor of the music on many of the DVDs. Early in his career he also did the background music for crime movies! Also for two well-known films about ballet: The Turning Point and Nijinsky. (Both now on DVD.)

For the family ballet Tales of Beatrix Potter (still available on DVD), Lanchbery both arranged older pieces and composed new music for characters such as Jeremy Frog and Pigling Bland. For human characters, he did extensive work on scores for La Fille mal gardée and La Bayadère, going back to original sources. For Frederick Ashton he delivered masterful scores for The Dream (based on music by Mendelssohn); A Month in the Country (based on Chopin); The Two Pigeons (Messager) and other favorites with audiences.

As many musicians in the field of ballet would be quick to testify, composing and conducting for ballet is not something that most other musicians can do well—or do at all. It takes a special kinetic sense, a wide knowledge of styles, and obviously a deep and empathetic understanding of how dancers move, plus enormous sensitivity to their timing moment to moment.

Furthermore, through the centuries another reason why specialists developed was simply because leading classical composers often felt that they garnered more prestige, and more financial remuneration from symphonic works and especially from opera. Even the gifted collaborative composer Adolphe Adam barely spoke of Giselle at all in his memoirs (written in French) or his other ballets. Instead, his focus and desires were mostly on opera, and because of horrible timing, also due to his financial losses related to investing in a theater.

But John Lanchbery? After his military service in World War II, in addition to his work with dancers in England, he traveled to collaborate with others in Paris, Stockholm, Rio de Janeiro, Johannesburg, Houston, and even cities in Russia, Japan, and China. In 1991 his artistic accomplishments were recognized with his being awarded the Order of the British Empire.

La Fille mal gardée with Lanchbery’s arranged score continues to have performances and applauding audiences every time the chickens come out. 

Notes and explorations:

the original choreographer:

The French choreographer Jean Dauberval, who first mounted La Fille mal gardée in 1789, had been trained as a dancer at the Paris Opéra Ballet School, where he worked himself up to ballet master by 1771. He was in charge of ballets in Bordeaux starting in 1785, and deeply influenced by the teachings of Jean-Georges Noverre (see next section about Mozart), he was one of the very first choreographers to showcase dancers as ordinary people, without bulky costumes. One of his own students was the Italian dancer/choreographer Salvatore Viganò (see upcoming section on Beethoven).  

viewing performances:

The Royal Ballet has three different performances of La Fille mal gardée  available on DVD.  Most recent is from 2015 on Opus Arte label, featuring Natalia Osipova and Steven McRae, with Barry Wordsworth conducting. Other dancers are Carlos Acosta and Marianela Nunez in 2005, also on Opus Arte, with Anthony Twiner conducting. And third is a Kultur DVD filmed in 1981, starring Lesley Collier and Michael Coleman, conducted by John Lanchbery himself. All are enjoyable to see!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=el4z9bJDO4o  This is a brief clip showing rehearsal work by the Royal Ballet and comments about the ballet from the dancers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT9naCq0fdE  A further inducement to see the entire DVD: the amusing clog dance. Will Tuckett as Widow Simone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwXoFy4P7FI John Lanchbery conducts the Vienna Symphony for the Basel Ballet’s performance of La Fille mal gardée starring Valentina Kozlova, choreographed by Heinz Spoerli. Also available on a 2006 DVD on Universal label. Other featured dancers are Chris Jensen as Colas; Otto Ris as the mother; the choreographer himself as father of the silly son, portrayed by Martin Schläpfer (who contributes some extraordinary character dances). All in all, a charming production with especially delightful segments for both women’s and men’s corps, including a scene in a field of grain, and one dance to an unseen chorus singing. The pas de deux sections are simply lovely. Music based on both Hérold and Hertel scores was arranged by Jean-Michel Damase.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WWfIJilWvII  Part 2, Ashton Rediscovered, Past, Present, and Future.  Links in the Chain is an engaging film that includes voice of Frederick Ashton as well as brief clips of him actually dancing. And lots of dancers shown in performance and rehearsal, giving us samples of what it is to have different casts. Including parts of La Fille mal gardée.

information:

Ben Stevenson’s comment on Lanchbery,  the Houston Chronicle of February 28, 2003.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_fille_mal_gard%C3%A9e Offers information about earlier versions of La Fille mal gardée.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_fille_mal_gard%C3%A9e_(Ashton)  About the Lanchbery/Ashton version. Includes run-down of all 30 sections with specific information on the music—whether composed or arranged by Lanchbery and sources from composers Martini, Rossini, Hertel, and Donizetti.

For a detailed account of composer Ferdinand Hérold’s life and work, see  New Grove.

The quotes from John Lanchbery are from Ivor Guest, editor, La Fille mal gardée (Alton, UK: Dance Books revised republication of work originally published in 1960 by Dancing Times Ltd.) pp. 17; 18-19. The book includes essays by choreographer Frederick Ashton, music arranger John Lanchbery, and designer Osbert Lancaster, plus information on productions in America and Russia. The information about the fund for Decayed Artists is drawn from this book. Ivor Guest himself provides a lengthy essay on the history of this ballet set against the French Revolution. (Chapter 8). Chapter 7 offers an enthusiastic recollection of the version for Anna Pavlova, written by Winifred Edwards (Vera Fredova). The credits for Pavlova’s company and that of Mordkin are taken from chapter 9 (p. 79) of Lillian Moore’s essay “La Fille mal gardée in America.” And finally, Ivor Guest in chapter 11, “New Light on the Original Production” identifies at least surnames of the dancers who created the roles in Bordeaux: Lison (the daughter) was danced by the wife of the choreographer, billed as Mademoiselle Théodore; Lison’s parent, the farmer Ragotte portrayed by the male dancer M. Brochard; Colas, by M. Eugène Hus, who was also assistant ballet-master. Together John Lanchbery and Ivor Guest also wrote an article on “The Scores of La Fille mal gardée” in Theatre Research, Vol. III (1961) pp.32-42, 121-134, 191-204.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lanchbery Biography plus list of scores arranged or composed for ballet.

https://www.nytimes.com/2003/02/28/arts/john-lanchbery-dies-at-79-arranged-music-for-ballet.html  Obituary written by Jack Anderson for The New York Times

Paying tribute to John Lanchbery in the Dance Magazine issue of July 2003, the eminent dance critic Clive Barnes commented that “he was among the finest arrangers and orchestrators of ballet scores that dance has ever known.”

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2003/feb/28/dance Noel Goodwin’s obituary of Lanchbery, in The Guardian.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPvKFKqtbIQ   Audio only: charming and informative long interviews of John Lanchbery tracing his career for the Hehr Archive in 2001 with Christine Mackenzie. This is Part 1, 24 minutes. Includes musical recordings, timing transcript menu of subjects covered.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59I5dtgE28U Part 2 of the interviews with Lanchbery. Talks about his music for ballet The Merry Widow and a children’s ballet based on Toad of Toad Hall.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S33E92l9_0 Part 3 starts by talking about Don Q that he did with Nureyev. Continues talking about La Bayadère.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obHjFT35JeE   Part 4. Continues to speak about his collaborations for Australian Ballet, his composing, sentimental ballet with a pickle factory, and colleagues. Musical extracts.

Mozart’s Little Nothings

In music history books, why don’t we see the big names in classical music as composers for ballets? Why weren’t Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and Brahms up there listed in the printed theatrical programs of their times?

Well, though Bach wrote many instrumental suites with movements based on court dance forms, yet his were probably intended more for listening. And though a number of modern choreographers have used Bach’s music for setting new works, it seems that this composer did not write a theatrical ballet. As for Brahms, though he for a time earned a little money playing in cafes where people danced, and though he composed wonderful Hungarian dances, and though modern choreographers such as Balanchine have set wonderful abstract ballets to his waltzes—again, it seems he did not write for the stage. But Beethoven? Yes: he wrote two scores for ballet that will be described a little later.

And Mozart? Well, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91) was disappointed by what happened with his ballet score for Les Petits Riens (literally The Little Nothings). He had traveled from Salzburg to Paris in 1778 hoping to achieve a commission for an opera, when the choreographer Jean-Georges Noverre enlisted him to compose some music for a short ballet. The 22-year old Mozart thought this might be a good step towards later securing arrangements for composing an opera.

Les Petits Riens was to be a brief ballet presented (as had long been the custom) between the acts of an opera. But come the performance, Mozart’s name was not even announced or on the program; he was paid nothing for his lovely orchestral pieces; and there were six movements by other composers added without his consultation.

The young composer did not achieve any commission for an opera. On top of that, he had a more dire reason to be distressed, because his mother (who had accompanied him to Paris) died just a few weeks later. Mozart returned despondent to his father in Salzburg. After six performances (which were enjoyed by the audiences), this “little nothing” was in fact forgotten for nearly a century, the score believed lost until discovered in the Paris Opéra’s library in 1872.

But Mozart’s music is charming, with an overture plus twelve dances ranging from adagio to allegro in tempo, and including several gavottes and a pantomime, altogether lasting about 21 minutes (without the movements by other composers). The score called for double winds: flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets; plus timpani and strings.

The ballet consists of a set of brief unrelated scenes, really a bit of fluff.

First, Cupid is asleep on a table, but hides underneath it when some men and women enter and start to play cards. However, Cupid cannot contain himself and teases the people, who catch him in a net and put him in a bird cage. In the second scene, there is a game of blindman’s buff. In the last scene, Cupid convinces a shepherdess to dress as a male shepherd and flirt with two shepherdesses—who promptly both fall in love with “him,” only to be disillusioned when the purported shepherd shows off her bosom. In the original Paris performances, this part apparently evoked calls of “bis,” meaning “again” from some members of the audience! As the ballet ended, lovers who were previously out of sorts got reunited, and those who had no lovers found some.

Noverre had cast some leading dancers of the time in the roles. So despite the lack of publicity for the composer, Les Petits Riens was counted as a success.  This little ballet really was one of the last of what we call Classical style theatrical musical presentations. Yet the dancing and costumes in the Mozart/Noverre scenes may have looked closer to Baroque dance than to La Fille mal gardée.

Apparently Mozart wrote another ballet, Le forgeron travaille, about a blacksmith and his wife, but unfortunately, what have survived are only manuscript sketches, with Mozart’s stage directions.

Theater-goers are not likely to see Les Petits Riens staged today. Some unusual opportunities were offered a few years ago when Catherine Turocy and the New York Baroque Dance Company presented it as part of the Mostly Mozart Festival at Lincoln Center. The dancers wore 18^th century costumes and had the special accompaniment provided by the Concert Royal—which uses period instruments and tuning that together give a mellower sound than we are used to with modern orchestras. (See notes for the company’s website.)

Peter Martins also used Mozart’s score but set his own choreography (not trying to be historical in style) for the New York City Ballet. For the most part, however, lacking live performances, people must be content with just hearing Les Petits Riens on CDs.

So that’s the story of Mozart’s stand-alone ballet music. However, there is a great deal more to be explored about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and the dance in his life and creative work.

ballroom dances

Probably one of the most popular images of Mozart is the 1763 portrait by Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni, showing the already celebrated prodigy standing in front of a keyboard, elegantly dressed, smiling confidently. Yet especially after his family moved into a former dance master’s house in Salzburg, the young Mozart was also apt to be not the one making music, but among those on the dance floor, since his family did host some private ball gatherings. He enjoyed dancing immensely, and later on as a young man frequented both public and private ballroom gatherings, especially when he was located in Vienna—apparently (as indicated in his letters to his family) being rather particular about the dance abilities of the young women whom he was willing to partner. Upon one occasion later on, he and his wife Constanze hosted a ball in empty rooms next to their apartment—from 6 p.m. until 7 a.m.!

Toward the end of the composer’s short life, when no longer an admired prodigy, he lacked a substantial court appointment that might have guaranteed him and his family a dependable income. However, one position he did hold was as chamber composer to Emperor Joseph II, with a salary of 800 gulden (compared to the 2,000 paid to his predecessor Gluck). His duties consisted entirely of composing ballroom dances to be played by orchestras. Consider, for example, this listing of  dances  that Mozart wrote in his last year. (The K. stands for the entries in the chronological catalog of Mozart’s works assembled by Ludwig Köchel in 1862.)

6 menuets, K. 599
6 German dances K. 600
4 menuets and 4 German dances, K. 601
2 contredances, K. 603
2 menuets, K. 604
2 German dances, K. 605
contredance, K. 610
German dance, K. 611

These are interesting since they are among Mozart’s most mature works. However, there are some 200 dances in total that he composed over his lifetime.

As this short list suggests, the most popular ballroom dances in Vienna were the aristocratic menuet, the more lively German dance (related to folk ländler and the waltzes to come), and the contredanses (related to the English country dances of the 17^th century). The instrumental combination that Mozart most used called for double winds (flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons) plus 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, and strings—without violas. The omission of violas was a very normal custom then for ballroom dance music. Additionally, sometimes Mozart would add touches of sleigh bells or a piccolo imitating birdsong or a hurdy-gurdy to surprise and please the dancers—touches he very likely learned from his father. (See endnotes about Leopold Mozart’s peasant wedding and sleigh bell entertainments for Carnival.)

There were also a few times when Wolfgang Mozart performed as a pantomime dancer at balls himself. For one account, the music historian Bruno Nettl translated a letter that Mozart wrote to his father in 1783:

On the Monday before Ash-Wednesday, we performed our masquerade at the ball. It consisted of a pantomime which took up half an hour during the intermission. My sister in law was the Columbine, I played the Harlequin, my brother in law was Pierrot, an old dancing master (Merk) had the role of Pantalon, a painter (Grassi) was “Dottore Graziano.” Both the invention of the pantomime and the music were from my pen. The dancing master was kind enough to drill us and I may tell you that we played quite prettily. I enclose the announcement which was distributed by a masked person, disguised as a postman among the masked participants.

It would be amusing to see what the composer looked like in his Harlequin portrayal.  We will never know, but six years later Mozart’s brother-in-law Joseph Lange started a portrait that immortalizes what the composer looked like in daily life. However, of course it is the body of written music that truly immortalizes Mozart. That includes 41 symphonies, 24 string quartets, 21 piano concertos, 17 masses, 5 violin concertos, concertos for clarinet and other winds, chamber music for winds, solo sonatas for piano, sonatas for violin and piano…and more! Aside from his little ballet and the short pieces intended for ballroom dances, there are many movements in Mozart’s concert works that are based on dance forms, intended not for dancing, but rather for listening. For example, some of his symphonies and chamber works have a menuet as the third movement.

Then there are dance sections in Mozart’s operas. Perhaps the most notable is the scene from Don Giovanni in which an aristocratic menuet  in 3/4  meter is being danced by upper-class characters, while simultaneously  others perform a social contredance in 2/4  time, and a peasant dance in 3/8 is seen. And each of the three dances with their own little orchestra playing simultaneously! This scene is often cited as both a visual and musical tour-de-force.

Idomeneo

Mozart’s 1781 opera Idomeneo will be described at some length here, not only because it is unique among his operas in having a substantial suite of dances added at the end, but also because there is a contemporary filmed production that includes costumed dance in the entire opera, very effectively enlarging upon the dramatic story itself.

As already noted in regard to Gluck’s operas, it was customary then to add a dance at the very end (which may or may not have had any relation to the story of the opera). And so in Mozart’s early Idomeneo, the end  was originally intended to be a separate dance performance. The opera, with an Italian libretto by Giovanni Battista Varesco after Antoine Danchet’s Idomenée, was premiered in Munich with its ballet. In recent performances the ballet is usually omitted.  But to cite the historian Bruno Nettl about Idomeneo: “Its ballet music, surely among the best of Mozart’s compositions, should be heard more frequently.”

One modern performance which not only includes the final ballet but also incorporates dance importantly at dramatic points in the story is one captured for DVD from the 2008 Styriarte Festival staging in Graz under the direction of the late conductor Nikolaus Harnoncourt and his son Philipp. Soloists from the Zurich Ballet perform choreography set by Heinz Spoerli. (See the endnotes.)

In this presentation, the elder Harnoncourt (well-known for performances of early music) starts his orchestra, the Concentus Musicus Wien, playing the powerful sounds of Mozart’s overture.  This purely musical opening is used to present a back story to the opera, as silhouetted dancers enter and simulate the battle between Greeks and Trojans. Blue-skinned Neptune (god of the ocean) then enters as soloist, and with other male dancers gives a portent of the ship disaster, and the war’s aftermath of Trojans being taken prisoner as slaves. Only then does the opera proper begin, with the captured Trojan princess Ilia lamenting the loss of her father and brothers in the war—and also, alas, the fact that she loves Idamente, son of the enemy king Idomeneo.

Meanwhile, at the coast, Idamente the prince laments the loss of his father in a reported shipwreck, only to discover him alive. The king, who dares not speak of it, had made a deal with Neptune that if he were to survive the shipwreck, he would sacrifice the first person he met. Thus the tragedy is set up (similar to the Biblical story of Jephtha).

Back in town, the chorus members all in plain dark grey robes portray returning Greeks reuniting with their families. But instead of having the singers just stand there on the side, the directors simultaneously brought on more blue-skinned male dancers and Neptune himself, as a reminder to the audience of what had happened at sea—while the chorus sings “Let Neptune be honored.” Two dancing couples also enhance the words being sung, about times when the waters are calm. (And perhaps the sparkly-clad two women can be understood as a reference to the choral mention of nymphs.) Finally, a bloodied male ceremoniously brings in the head of a sacrificed bull. So the ballet choreography really serves to add another continuing dimension to the opera.

In the second act, a delightful musical touch was added by having the instrumentalists who play natural horn, historic oboe, wooden flute, and bassoon all come onstage and accompany Ilia as she sweetly sings to the king about how she feels Crete is now her home. She is cheerful and obviously does not yet know that the king and his old teacher decided that the best way out of the deal with Neptune is to send the prince far away with Elettra—who soon appears in alluring dress, large hat, and with multiple suitcases ready for the journey, already plotting how to capture Idamente’s love.

But suddenly the backdrop turns shades of green, and weaving through the citizens of Crete who are gathered to say farewell, there appears a monster—in this case, portrayed by a conglomerate of individual dancers with heads covered as if by camouflaged second skins. Nobody leaves Crete. Instead, as Neptune whips up the sea and the monster starts killing people, the citizens huddle and ask “Who is the cause of all this?” Idomeneo confesses that he alone is the culprit, but he does not explain how or why.

The last act begins with a respite from all the calamities as Ilia, alone in a field, sings to the flowers about her love for Idamente—who appears and announces he is going to fight the monster, wander alone and seek death for himself. The princess persuades him to do otherwise, and they discover that each truly loves the other. Enter Idomeneo and Elettra, and all four sing in a quartet of various despair.

Things get first better because the prince does indeed kill the monster, then worse because the populace and the prince are all convinced that the promised sacrifice to Neptune must take place. Ilia rushes in to offer herself instead. Just in the nick of time, a deep voice offstage announces that love is causing the gods to bestow mercy: Idomeneo must abdicate; Idamente must become king and marry Ilia—and the professional soloists from the Zurich Ballet must all don modest modern white apparel and perform to the ballet music specially composed by Mozart as celebration for a happy ending!

Mozart’s suite begins with a vigorous chaconne—an old form (structured on a repeated or “ground” bass) that had become a traditional way to end operas in France. Mozart’s chaconne might be considered more of a rondo because the repeated melody is usually high, with sections of different material interspersed. At the beginning and whenever the strong main theme recurs, a group of men dancers in plain white shirts and leisure pants are onstage, at times linking some repeated movement patterns with the repeated musical phrases. Their movements are vigorous, including lifting each other. The Neptune soloist (now in white, as are all the dancers at this point) has several bravura solos, and in quieter moments, two couples dance.

The initial chaconne movement ends quietly, leading directly into a Larghetto choreographed as a pas de deux. This in turn leads directly into a reprise of the chaconne, beginning with another solo for the lead male dancer. A dolce (“sweet”) section is heard while the couples dance, and when the music resumes being loud, the male soloist resumes his part as well, joined in a Largo section by two other men. Another couple section; another male solo raises his arms summoning (as had Neptune previously) all the men. Now in white, they repeat certain swaggering movements with hands on hips to remind us of how Neptune’s retinue had danced previously. As the music keeps swelling, the entire cast gathers, all wearing celebratory smiles, with the former Neptune soloist centerstage.  A loud, grand finale!

In the published score of Mozart’s ballet suite for Idomeneo, there are three more movements, but it is understandable why these were omitted in the 2008 Graz performance, for they might seem somewhat of an anticlimax: a passepied with quiet sections in minor mode; a gavotte marked p (p = piano= soft); and a passacaille starting off sotto voce (literally “under the voice” or very quiet) progressing again to an even quieter dolce ending. This would have given a subdued finish after so much tension in the opera.

This was the only opera for which Mozart wrote such a finale—marking his first great operatic success. And looking back historically, Nikolaus Harnoncourt observed: “Mozart lost his heart to this opera.”

Indeed, though Idomeneo did not have many full performances during Mozart’s lifetime, to be able to compose more operas was among the strongest desires of his heart. Here is a list of what he was able to accomplish theatrically after Idomeneo:

Die Entführung aus dem Serail, 1782
The Marriage of Figaro, 1786
Don Giovanni, 1787
Cosi fan tutte, 1790
La Clemenza di Tito, 1791
The Magic Flute, premiered September 1791 (and the composer died in December )

None of these subsequent operas had a final ballet suite. Some of the dance sections within Mozart’s operas simply provide local color to help establish a background or location. And in some moments when there are many people onstage, the hustle and bustle may be described more as choreographed movement rather than dance. However, one scene in The Marriage of Figaro has a real fandango, and that presents a propitious moment for Susanna the maid to pass a false love note to the Count (part of the plan with the Countess to shame the unfaithful Count).

Obviously because of the theatrical expenses and so many people involved in operas, Mozart always had to wait for commissions. Even though he  managed to present concerts of his own symphonies and concertos, he needed to be concerned with finances. He and his wife Constanze had six children (only two of whom survived to grow up); the two parents also dealt with various health conditions; and Vienna was not an inexpensive place to live. Moreover, only a small proportion of Mozart’s music was published during his lifetime (when there were no copyrights or performance rights).

After Mozart’s death in 1791, his wife Constanze was able to arrange for publication of many works, and she also astutely kept the original manuscripts, which over time became very valuable. Consequently, along with a small pension from the Emperor, she was able to take care of the two surviving sons (the older one then age 7 years, the younger only 5 months) until she was remarried in 1809, to Georg Nikolaus von Nissen, a Danish diplomat who had even before that lived with the family, became a loving father to Constanze’s two sons, and embarked on writing a respectful biography of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, published in 1829 (three years after Nissen’s own death).

Mark Morris and Mozart Dances

To see theatrical dance performed to Mozart’s music on a full-length, grand scale, the world would have to wait a long time, until it became generally acceptable to dance to classical concert music. Mozart’s works often were considered somehow “too holy” to be used by choreographers. But among the outstanding ballets that were set to music by this composer was George Balanchine’s Mozartiana, an orchestral suite of music by Mozart, arranged by Tchaikovsky.

A landmark use of Mozart’s music for theatrical dance was the full evening performance of Mozart Dances choreographed by Mark Morris. Performed by his company on the stage of the New York State Theater, it was filmed and telecast in a 2007 PBS program in their series Live from Lincoln Center. The dance was aurally partnered by three piano works performed by the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra under Louis Langrée, featuring piano soloists Emanuel Ax and Yoko Nozaki. The pieces were Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 11 in F major, K. 413; the Sonata in D major for two pianos, K. 448; and the Piano Concerto No. 27 in B flat major, K. 595. This stunning work has not been released on DVD, but there are several very brief excerpts that can be viewed on You Tube.

In 2016 The New York Times celebrated yet another performance of this choreographic work (which had toured around the world) with a bold headline over Alastair Macaulay’s review: “Choreographers Should Stay Away From Mozart.  Except Mark Morris.”  The article then began:

Throughout “Mozart Dances,” Mark Morris emerges as the most artfully musical choreographer alive. He has so many resources, devices and qualities with which to respond to a score: steps, gestures, patterns, fantasy, charm, humor. Most choreographers should steer clear of Mozart (Haydn and Beethoven, too) because the work can make the dances look crude. But Mr. Morris lets us know (boy does he let us know) how keenly aware he is of the many aural layers here, and the subtle relationship between details and the overall architecture.

Uwe Scholz and the Great Mass

Finally, for a totally different modern ballet, set to sacred music by Mozart, one could probably not find one with more profoundly emotional impact than The Great Mass, choreographed in 1998 by the late Uwe Scholz (1958-2004) and performed by the Leipzig Ballet. It can be seen on a DVD filmed in 2005 in memoriam. (Also online. See endnotes.)

The German dancer/choreographer Uwe Scholz studied first under Marcia Haydée, then on scholarship at the School of American Ballet. Upon finishing his studies, he joined the Stuttgart Ballet, then at age 26 becoming director of the Zurich Ballet for six years. Then finally he directed the Leipzig Ballet from 1991 until 2004. His total output as a choreographer may have numbered as many as 100 dances!

At the heart of the music for his magnificent ballet to Mozart is the unfinished Mass in C minor. To this, the choreographer added sections with music by modern composers Thomas Jahn, Gyorgy Kurtág (with Játékok and Bach transcriptions), Paul Celan, and Arvo Pärt. Set mostly against plain black background (sometimes with mirrors adding stunning effects), the ballet touches the depths of both awe and questioning, with full chorus and the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra conducted by Balázs Kocsár.

Without mimicing the music, yet the choreographer related to it tastefully. Sometimes if there were two soprano soloists, there would be two women dancers; if two sopranos and a tenor, then onstage two woman and a man; if fugal entries occurred in the music, then there would be groups stating their own unmistakable “subjects.” The use of formations, of arms, of walking on a blue-lighted cross path to strong dotted rhythms, of Bach’s Prelude in C, of poems whispered as if to the distraught male soloist, of a light descending during the “Credo” or “I believe” section, of grouping and regrouping, of whirling white dresses and strong groups of men, of stillness, of fluttertonguing flutes to accompany terror, of playful musical chairs, of a magnificent chorus supporting many scenes and emotions suggested onstage, of all the young amazing dancers as real people bidding final farewell to their obviously beloved choreographer…all build up to an overwhelming whole.  This ballet with its music by Mozart and others is a major work well worth seeing and hearing.

notes and explorations:

Les Petits Riens:

https://nybaroquedance.org/repertoire/  This is the website for Catherine Turocy and the New York Baroque Dance Company, which was commissioned to mount Les Petits Riens in 1986 for the Oklahoma Mozart Festival. They have an impressive list of other ballets from times past that can be performed on locations as contracted.

https://www.nytimes.com/1987/07/21/arts/dance-first-ballets-at-mostly-mozart.html  Jennifer Dunning’s 1987 review of Baroque Dance Company in  Les Petits Riens at the Mostly Mozart Festival, in The New York Times.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=QEV0Jx7waGI Hofstra University student performance of Les Petits Riens as directed by Catherine Turocy.

https://www.nytimes.com/1988/01/18/arts/city-ballet-petits-riens-by-martins.html Anna Kisselgoff’s review of Peter Martins setting for New York City Ballet in 1988.

The Hartig Ensemble in Prague have this ballet in their repertoire. Costumes look gorgeous. Go to https://hartigensemble.cz/

Description of reactions to the Paris performances of Les Petits Riens is from Paul Nettl, The Dance in Classical Music (New York: Philosophical Library, 1963) pp. 73-74.

The dancers featured in the 1778 performance were two leading ballerinas of the day, Marie-Madeleine Marie Guimard and Allard, with their partners Gaétan Vestris and Jean d’Auberval (who choreographed a Fille mal gardée in 1789).

A recommended CD that includes both Les Petits Riens and the ballet music from Idomeneo is a 2014 release on Decca Eloquence label, performed by Vienna Mozart Ensemble under the direction of Willi Boskovsky.

Neville Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields recorded Les Petits Riens in the 1970s and EMI remastered their take and released a CD in 2002. Their order is: Ouverture; Largo; Gavotte; Andantino; Larghetto; Allegro; Gavotte; Adagio; Cornemuse; Gavotte; Pantomime; Passepied; Gavotte; Andante.

A pleasant CD with Les Petits Riens was recorded in 1990 by the Symphony Nova Scotia under Georg Tintner, released on the Naxos label. The CD includes some of Mozart’s late German dances, menuets, and contredanses.

dance perfomance:

The following filmed links are for brief excerpts from historic-style performances of Les Petits Riens (full credits were not mounted). Included here because there are so few opportunities to see this ballet performed live.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0Ilcc9XwZQ “Les Petits Riens” par la Compagnie de danse baroque l’Eventail

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKTiYCPcaho Part 1, La Belle Danse

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8QZvl25n0Y Part 2 Les Petits Riens excerpt

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NP5AviGH2I4 Part 3 excerpt La Belle Danse.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7TFnbF82eU  Part 4, La Belle Danse.

Les Petits Riens score:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFtdT7KvHy8 Suggested viewing and listening: orchestral score is shown scrolling in syncronization with recording by the Vienna Mozart Ensemble conducted by Willi Boskovski. Their performance also available on CD.

A full orchestral score is available in the Kalmus edition (1933).

Mozart’s other ballet:

In Paul Nettl’s book Mozart  (Paris: Petite Bibliotheque Payot, 1955) there is a five-page piano arrangement by René Frank as a suite, indicated recently discovered, of music for a ballet Le forgeron travaille,  with six short movements.

portraits of Mozart:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wolfgang-amadeus-mozart_2.jpg#/media/File:Wolfgang-amadeus-mozart_2.jpg A downloadable image of the portrait of Mozart as a six-year old, by Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni

https://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/07/arts/music/are-those-pictures-really-mozart.html Article about verification of Mozart portraits.

http://michaelorenz.blogspot.com/2012/09/joseph-langes-mozart-portrait.html  Article about the portrait of Mozart by his brother-in-law Joseph Lange.

https://hekint.org/2018/05/15/visualizing-mozart/  yet another image of the portrait by Joseph Lange, plus yet another article about the veracity of various other portraits.

CD of dances:

There are a number of available CDs of Mozart’s dances, but here are two that might serve as a good introduction: Mozart: Tänze und Menuette, Wiener Akademi under Martin Haselbock, on Novalis label, recorded 1990; and on Philips, Neville Mariner and the Academy of St. Martin’s in the Fields. A question to wonder about: just exactly what were the expected tempos for these types when people were actually dancing?

Idomeneo:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysoLVfY4glk This is a 5-minute clip from the ending ballet of Idomeneo as choreographed in 2008 by Heinz Spoerli, with soloists from the Zurich Ballet, and with the Concentus Musicus Wien under direction of Nikolaus Harnoncourt. Go to styriarte.com for information. Better, watch the whole DVD.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9b3IHYfdZg A 6-minute clip gives a glimpse of the style of the Concentus Musicus Wien production. The first soprano to sing portrays Idomeneo’s son, Idamente. Idomeneo, king of Crete, wears crown; young woman loves his son; so does Elettra the unloved.

https://www.harnoncourt.info/en/biographie/  Website for musical information about the conductor Nikolaus Harnoncourt  (1929-2016). During his illustrious career, Idomeneo was his “first and only” time as both conductor and director of an opera.