Colette (known only by her surname), one of the most influential French writers of the twentieth century, penned the libretto for her Ballet pour ma fille (Ballet for my daughter) in 1916 at the request of Paris Opéra director Jacques Rouché, who wanted something avant-garde and engaging for younger audience members. Ravel accepted the commission to write the music, but owing to numerous delays—among them his World War I service and the emotional consequences of the death of his mother—he did not begin writing in earnest until 1924. Yet the project, which he envisioned as an opera rather than a ballet, had remained alive in his mind because the subject matter so appealed to him. All of his life he was attracted to the worlds of children, animals, and magic, so bringing Colette=s enchanted characters to life with musical imagery elicited one of the most witty and touching manifestations of his genius.

The one-act opera—actually labeled fantasy lyrique and now titled L=enfant et les sortilèges (The child and the spells)—premiered at Monte Carlo on March 21, 1925. The production’s unbashedly enthusiastic reception was contrasted almost a year later by its stormy reception in Paris at the Opéra-Comique. The Paris critics were divided as to the opera’s merits, and as to the audience, Colette wrote to her daughter: “L=enfant et les sortilèges is playing twice a week before a packed but turbulent house. The partisans of traditional music do not forgive Ravel for his instrumental and vocal audacities. The modernists applaud and boo the others, and during the >meowed= duet there is a dreadful uproar.”

The story revolves around a naughty child, who is impudent to his mother, tortures his pets, and destroys everything in his room. When the exhausted child tries to sink into an armchair, all of these objects come to life and turn against him. In the garden, the animals and insects also remind him of how he has mistreated them. Afraid and lonely, he cries out “Maman” (Mother), which only infuriates the animals further. In the ensuing frenzy a squirrel is hurt and the child binds up its wounded paw. This show of compassion immediately changes the animals’ opinion of him, and they realize they can help the child by imitating the cry for his mother.

The sheer number of characters gave an unusually broad range for Ravel’s skills as a parodist and miniaturist. He wrote a remarkable coloratura soprano aria for the Fire that colorfully depicts this character jumping out of the fireplace and flickering brilliantly about the room in vocal runs, leaps, turns as it threatens: “I warm the good, but I burn the wicked.”

—©Jane Vial Jaffe

Test and Translation

LE FEU

Arrière!

Je réchauffe les bons,

je réchauffe les bons, mais je brûle les méchants.

Petit barbare imprudent,

tu as insulté à tous les Dieux bienveillants

qui tendaient entre le malheur

et toi la fragile barrière!

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Tu as brandi le tisonnier, renversé la bouilloire,

éparpillé les allumettes, gare!

Gare au Feu dansant!

Tu fondrais comme un flocon sur sa langue écarlate!

Ah! Gare! Je réchauffe les bons!

Gare! Je brûle les méchants! Gare!

Gare! Ah! Gare à toi!

FIRE

Back!

I warm the good,

I warm the good, but I burn the wicked.

You reckless little barbarian,

you have insulted all the benevolent Gods

who stretched the fragile barrier between misfortune

and you!

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!

You have brandished the poker, knocked over the kettle,

scattered the matches, watch out!

Watch out for the dancing Fire!

You would melt like a snowflake on its scarlet tongue!

Ah! Watch out! I warm the good!

Watch out! I burn the wicked! Watch out!

Watch out! Ah! Watch out for you!