Saint-Saëns, though himself a first-rate concert pianist and the
composer of some excellent things for the piano, notably in concerto
form, is, nevertheless, chiefly gifted and principally celebrated as a
writer for orchestra, having done his best, most original, and most
interesting work in this line. Among his many important compositions for
full orchestra, there are perhaps none which better represent his
individuality and peculiar style than his four “Symphonic Poems,” of
which two have been selected for illustration here. This form of
composition, as well as its name, originated with Franz Liszt, whose
twelve “Symphonic Poems” are his most important contributions to
orchestra literature. In musical structure the symphonic poem
corresponds to the modern overture and to the pianoforte ballade, as
exemplified by Chopin, much more nearly than to the symphony proper. It
consists of a single movement, without different divisions and
pronounced differentiated parts, such as are to be found in the
regulation symphony, though it often expresses a wide variety of moods,
merging into one another without pause or interruption.
Its only radical point of similarity to the symphony lies in the fact
that its first principal theme is subjected to an elaborate and logical
development in most cases, as in the symphonic allegro. It is distinctly
an outgrowth of modern romanticism and deals always with the somewhat
definite poetic thought, or some real or imaginary episode from life. It
is, in fact, program music of the most pronounced and uncompromising
type, and the special thought or episode is always indicated by its
descriptive title.
The four Symphonic Poems of Saint-Saëns are: (1) Le Rouet d’Omphale; (2)
Phaeton; (3) Danse Macabre; (4) La Jeunesse d’Hercule.
I have selected for consideration here the first and third, entitled
respectively the “Rouet d’Omphale” and the “Danse Macabre”; the one
descriptive of a classic, the other of a medieval scene and tradition.
The first, the “Wheel of Omphale,” was suggested by the Greek myth of
Hercules and Omphale. The story of the pair is familiar to all readers
of classic mythology, and represents perhaps the most singular episode
in the checkered career of this hero and demigod. The legend runs as
follows: Hercules, having killed his friend Iphitus in a fit of madness,
to which he was occasionally subject, fell a prey to a severe malady,
sent upon him by the gods in punishment for this murder. He consulted
the Delphic oracle with a view to learning the means of escaping from
this disease. He was informed by the oracle that he could only be cured
by allowing himself to be sold as a slave for three years, and giving
the purchase money to the father of Iphitus as recompense for the loss
of his son. Accordingly Hercules was sold by Mercury as a slave to
Omphale, the Queen of Lydia, then reigning in that country, who had long
been desirous to see this strongest of men and greatest hero of his age.
He remained with her the allotted three years, and during this period of
slavery, by the wish of the queen, the warrior-hero assumed female
attire and sat spinning among the women, where his royal mistress often
chastised him with her sandal for his awkward manner of holding the
distaff, while she paraded in his lion’s skin, armed with his famous
war-club. But if awkward at the distaff this son of Jupiter understood
other arts which he practised upon the Lydian queen; for in the
intervals of spinning he made love to her so successfully that from
their union sprang the race of Crœsus, famous in antiquity. Some
authorities regard this legend of Hercules and Omphale as of
astronomical significance, while others give it a moral interpretation,
saying it illustrates how even the strongest and bravest of men is
demeaned and belittled when subjugated by a woman.
The music opens with a playfully realistic introduction, consisting of a
series of light, rapid-running figures and graceful embellishments,
imitatively suggesting the roll and buzz of the spinning-wheels. A
series of delicate turns, each an audible circle, add their quota of
pertinent symbolism to the general effect. Soon the melody enters,
joyous, musical, yet with a certain arch mockery, enhanced by its odd,
piquant rhythm. It is the song of the spinning maidens, cheerfully
speeding their hours of toil with music and mirth, with occasional
irrepressible touches of gay raillery at the expense of the clumsy
captive warrior, whose long face and futile attempts at their handicraft
afford them vast amusement. Now and then a distinct burst of silvery
laughter is heard above the boom of the wheels, interrupting the strain.
Omphale, too, is there, admonishing, chiding, ridiculing the hero, as he
moodily pursues his unwonted and unwilling task with many a blunder and
comical mistake; yet we can fancy a half-tender smile softening her
reprimands and sweetening her playful chastisements.
Then with a radical change of mood and movement comes the second
important theme, a broad, impressive, strikingly original melody in the
bass, half gloomy, half indignant, the mighty manly voice of Hercules,
uplifted in grave lament and dignified protest, deploring his hard lot,
defying its humiliations, reproaching his gay tormentors, rebelling at
his menial duties and unworthy surroundings, yet with a stern, proud
gravity, a grand fortitude which scorns alike weak complainings and
impotent petulance. It subsides at last into philosophic resignation and
sorrowful self-repression, as if consoled by the thought that his
punishment is after all just and his submission voluntary.
Then the spinning movement is resumed and the first song virtually
repeated, though in a materially modified rhythm; and the work ends
playfully, as it begins, with a wonderfully realistic imitation of the
gradual stopping of the wheels, as their momentum exhausts itself and
little by little their speed slackens and they finally come to a
complete rest when abandoned by the girls, as sunset ends the day’s
work.
This composition is one of Saint-Saëns’ most genial and melodious
productions, as well as an excellent piece of descriptive work. It may
be rendered on the piano either in the four-hand arrangement by Guiraud,
or as transcribed for two hands by the composer himself. It is about
equally feasible and effective in either of these forms.