The compositions of Joseph Maurice Ravel (1875–1937) have made an enduring contribution to the world of music and dance. But while his music has inspired generations of choreographers and dancers, Ravel’s first commission for ballet suffered a long and troubled birth.
The idea for Daphnis et Chloé came from choreographer Mikhail Fokine who, in around 1904, wished to base a ballet on the Ancient Greek tale by Longus. Inspired by figures on Attic vases, Fokine hoped to depict Ancient Greece in the most authentic way possible, using a score and narrative which would unfold uninterrupted by dancers soaking up applause as was the convention of the day. Pointe shoes would be used only if appropriate to character. Perhaps unimaginable to today’s audiences, but at that time, this constituted a revolution. Fokine’s “unpalatable” proposal was refused by the directorate of the Russian Imperial Theatres – a disappointment to the choreographer in his mid twenties, but how thankful we can be now: would Ravel’s magnificent score have come into existence otherwise?
The creation of Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes in 1909 enabled Fokine to entertain the idea of choreographing Daphnis et Chloé once again. His vision for this ballet can be regarded as a template for all subsequent Ballets Russes creations which, in turn, influenced so many works of the 20th century and beyond. Fokine’s reforming zeal chimed perfectly with Diaghilev’s urge for renewal and novelty. Leon Bakst was called upon to design scenery and costumes, with Ravel commissioned to compose and orchestrate the score for a 1910 premiere. Unlike Fokine, Ravel’s vision took inspiration from French artists of the late 18th century: “The Greece of my dreams,” he said.
Ravel struggled for months to complete the Bacchanale finale of the ballet: other projects diverted him, including the composition of Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (1911) – later choreographed by Sir Frederick Ashton and George Balanchine in 1933 and 1951 respectively. It’s sobering to recall that when Ravel played the completed piano score of Daphnis et Chloé to Diaghilev, he felt compelled to reassure his sceptical patron that it would “sound better with orchestration and chorus.” We may credit Diaghilev as having unfailing artistic taste, but one questions why he appeared so unconvinced.
Despite their uneasy relationship, the composer dedicated his ballet to Diaghilev. In rehearsals, the dancers, unsure of the music were persuaded by Fokine that “with orchestra, it will be entirely different.” If you have heard the music only in its full orchestral splendour, please listen to the piano version as well: it’s a beautiful revelation.
In Theatre Street, Tamara Karsarvina’s autobiography, the first Chloé describes the difficulty she faced with the “capricious cadence of ever-changing rhythm”, but also speaks of Ravel’s approachability and willingness to help until she could “dismiss mathematics and follow the pattern of the music.” It’s worth mentioning that in 1912 the dancers of the Ballets Russes had not yet encountered the even more intricate rhythmical challenges of Igor Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du printemps (1913), choreographed by Vaslav Nijinsky. Fokine created the role of Daphnis on Nijinsky, who was also Diaghilev’s lover and protégé. One speculates how much Fokine’s ideas influenced the dancer: Nijinsky was simultaneously choreographing his own Greek-inspired first work, L’Après-midi d’un Faune.
Ravel completed the score in April 1912 and two months later the premiere of Daphnis et Chloé finally took place in Paris on 8th June. Unhappy with circumstances backstage, Ravel refused to take a curtain call at the premiere. Diaghilev had denied adequate rehearsal time and even suggested a postponement: he preferred to promote L’Après-midi d’un Faune, which premiered just ten days before. Daphnis et Chloé was accorded just one more performance that season and only three during 1913. In 1914 Diaghilev took the production to London, but without the chorus. A war of words ensued between Ravel and Diaghilev in the form of letters published by the British press. Ravel felt that he and the London public deserved better. Diaghilev retorted that the chorus had been “a mere experiment and a useless and detrimental one at that.”
After the premiere, Fokine parted company from the Ballets Russes. Years later he stated that Daphnis et Chloé was “the most sorrowful work of my entire life.” Like Fokine, Ravel would accept another Ballets Russes commission, La Valse (1920), however, Diaghilev’s reaction was even less favourable, describing it as “a masterpiece, but not a ballet. It’s a portrait of a ballet.” Thus, Diaghilev and Ravel terminated their association. How wrong Diaghilev would be proved: Bronislava Nijinska, Ashton and Balanchine all successfully transposed La Valse onto stage.
Fokine revived Daphnis et Chloé for the Paris Opera Ballet in 1921, and throughout the 1920s and 1930s in America. British dancer, Anton Dolin, asked Diaghilev to restage it for the Ballets Russes’ 1923–24 season. Serge Grigoriev reconstructed most of Fokine’s choreography, while elusive moments were reimagined by Nijinska, who would later choreograph Ravel’s Boléro for Ida Rubenstein. When Ravel learnt that Diaghilev was mounting the ballet again without singers, he successfully denied him the performance rights.
Nothing remains of Fokine’s original choreography: thankfully, the same cannot be said of Ravel’s stupendous score which has had regular exposure in concert halls and recordings. It also lives on through various balletic incarnations. The magnitude of the music could be daunting for choreographers, yet different generations have taken on the challenge, drawn to the score’s intoxicating beauty and evocative imagery. It’s not performed regularly – perhaps directors take their cue from Diaghilev and baulk at the added expense of a chorus.
In Britain, the version most familiar to older audiences was choreographed by Ashton for the Sadler’s Wells Ballet (now The Royal Ballet). He raised the possibility of using Ravel’s score with Michael Somes, his first Daphnis, in 1943. Ashton’s response to Ravel is marvellous. The Introduction et danse religieuse slowly builds as if drawn from the dawn of time; a tapestry of music and movement is gently interwoven with the most unassuming vocabulary of steps; couples lay their heads tenderly on each other’s shoulders. There’s an appealing lack of pretension, as if movement and music can trust one another implicitly.
Ashton seems to ignore the first major climax of the score – possibly he understood the futility of attempting to match it. Instead, he employs stillness as the dancers pay their homage to Pan, standing statuesque-like facing the grotto: it feels as if Ashton is paying his respects to Ravel, or perhaps to Apollo himself. In Secret Muses, Julie Kavanagh’s biography of Ashton, he is quoted as saying: “I find that often the better the music is, the more you can stand still and do nothing.”
In the 7/4 rhythm that follows, Daphnis, Chloé, Lykanion and Dorkon weave through the shepherds and shepherdesses. Although I have listened to the score countless times, I never paused to consider the time signatures of the closing Bacchanale – too easily swept up in the fervour of hedonistic sound. It begins in 5/4 and according to Serge Lifar, the dancers of the Ballets Russes chanted five syllables, “Ser-gei-Dia-ghi-lev” to help themselves keep time. What’s most thrilling is that in the last rapturous moments, the 5/4 morphs into a whirling 3/4 and finally a quickening 2/4 accompanied, thank goodness, by heavenly voices. In unison, Ashton’s dancers repeatedly jump and land; hands rapidly rise and fall, so that all we remember in the last moments is the frenzy of movement, sound, and coloured handkerchiefs until these are tossed into the air (in the 1980s revival, handkerchiefs were merely held aloft).
Ashton’s Daphnis et Chloé received its premiere in April 1951 at the Royal Opera House, with sets and costumes sympathetic to his vision, by John Craxton. It fulfilled the wishes of Dame Margot Fonteyn who, enraptured by the music, “wanted the ballet desperately.” Chloé became one of her greatest roles. Not performed since 2012, it’s currently listed by the Frederick Ashton Foundation as “under negotiation for performance”. On YouTube you can watch The Royal Ballet’s William Bracewell rehearsing as Daphnis – it’s hard not to imagine Francesca Hayward as his Chloé.
Other choreographers have also taken on the challenge of Ravel’s monumental score including George Skibine, whose version designed by Marc Chagall was first seen in 1959. John Neumeier choreographed it in 1972, and Graeme Murphy’s 1980s’ productions included cupids on skateboards and the pirate chief, Bryaxis, portrayed as a leather-clad biker.
What a sumptuous gift Ravel bestowed upon the dance world – yet today you are more likely to see a production of Boléro than Daphnis et Chloé. Ravel’s depiction of nature in Daphnis is outstanding: through the woodwind we can imagine birdsong and flight; combined with simmering strings, French horns, and chorus, the intensifying shimmering heat is vividly conveyed; the swell of the orchestra suggests that dawn is complete. Ravel’s ability to illuminate human emotions – the pangs of despair and ecstasy – is also remarkable. The music speaks directly but there is something elevated and spiritual about it.
I wonder why more choreographers haven’t succeeded. Perhaps the overwhelming sensory experience provided by Ravel proves all too intimidating for the lesser gifted.
See upcoming listings of ballets by Maurice Ravel.
