Camille Saint-Saëns was something of an anomaly among
French composers of the nineteenth century in that he
wrote in virtually all genres, including opera,
symphonies, concertos, songs, sacred and secular choral
music, solo piano, and chamber music. He was generally
not a pioneer, though he did help to revive some
earlier and largely forgotten dance forms, like the
bourée and gavotte.
Opus 111 was written in 1899. As with Opus 52, each
étude is dedicated to a well-known virtuoso; aga...(+)
Camille Saint-Saëns was something of an anomaly among
French composers of the nineteenth century in that he
wrote in virtually all genres, including opera,
symphonies, concertos, songs, sacred and secular choral
music, solo piano, and chamber music. He was generally
not a pioneer, though he did help to revive some
earlier and largely forgotten dance forms, like the
bourée and gavotte.
Opus 111 was written in 1899. As with Opus 52, each
étude is dedicated to a well-known virtuoso; again
there is an emphasis on double-note technique. I have a
great affection for the first piece, Tierces majeures
et mineures dedicated to Arthur de Greef. It pays
homage to Chopin’s infamous Op 25 No 6, sharing the
ghoulish key of G sharp minor and recalling the opening
trill figure. To make things difficult, though, it
calls for the right-hand thumb to hold down notes,
forcing the use of the fingers for the thirds. It also
requires left-hand participation in thirds, unlike the
Chopin. Technical requirements aside, it has a touching
plaintiveness quite alien to the opening étude of Op
52.
A winged poetry permeates the five-finger chromatic
figures of No 2, Traits chromatiques. Surely Debussy
had this étude somewhere in his subconscious when he
wrote his étude, Pour les degrés chromatiques?
A rather more angular Prélude et Fugue in E flat minor
displaces the impressionistic world of the first two
études. Shifting quaver chords agitate a courageous,
thrusting theme in the prelude, which eventually
quietens into a thoughtful fugue subject, taken up in
four voices and rounded off by a big finish. The
seductive world of the Canary Islands is conjured up by
No 4, Les cloches de Las Palmas. Repetition and the
creation of atmosphere are the technical exercises
involved—a rather imaginative tone poem is the
result.
Although originally written for piano, I created this
interpretation for String Quartet (2 Violins, Viola &
Cello).
