2025 marks 150 years since the birth of the exceptional French composer Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). In 1925, the Library of Congress and music philanthropist Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge commissioned his “Chansons madécasses,” a set of three songs accompanied by the unconventional combination of piano, cello and flute that Ravel completed in 1926. The chansons are settings of poems by the French Rococo poet Évariste de Parny (1753-1814). Though he accepted his commission at the beginning of 1925, it would be 16 months before Ravel completed his chansons, causing some amount of frustration and anxiety, though resulting in a stunning addition to our collections.
I’ve long known that our Coolidge Foundation Collection includes Ravel’s manuscripts for the work. What I didn’t realize until investigating, however, is that the “Chansons madécasses” did not premiere at the Library of Congress’s then newly-constructed Coolidge Auditorium; instead, Ravel’s songs premiered on May 8, 1926 at the American Academy in Rome, featuring mezzo-soprano Jane Bathori accompanied by the remarkable Louis Fleury (flute), Hans Kindler (cello) and Alfredo Casella (piano). Kindler played multiple roles in the concert and in Ravel’s commission: In 1925, it was Kindler who contacted Ravel to relay Coolidge’s offer of a commission, and it was he who notified Coolidge of Ravel’s acceptance. Coolidge gleefully replied to Kindler on January 30, 1925: “What joyful news your letter has brought me! I am truly happy about it and I must say I am a bit surprised.” (Coolidge Foundation Collection, Box 49/Folder 24)
Coolidge also employed Kindler to help coordinate Foundation-sponsored programming abroad, such as a European concert series in May and June of 1926 featuring solely Coolidge commissions on the programs – including Ravel’s new “Chansons madécasses.” The concert series started in Rome, but took Coolidge’s programming to Paris on June 13, 1926. The Coolidge Foundation Collection includes a program for the Paris concert, signed by Ravel and the artists, but note that the flutist for this particular program is listed as Monsieur Baudouin (replacing Monsieur Louis Fleury). Devastatingly, Fleury died suddenly of blood poisoning on June 10th, three days before the performance, and Baudouin had to step in at the last minute to perform. Kindler wrote to Coolidge: “I hope the sudden and tragic news of Fleury’s death has not been too horrible a shock for you. It follows me at every turn and, completely unexpected as it was, gave me such a start, that, if it had not been for the fact that both he and Mrs. Fleury implored me to advise you to go on with the concert (that is to say the day before his death he said as much to Mrs. Fleury), I would have advised to the contrary…[we will rehearse] the Ravel, with the flute player Fleury wanted to play in his place.”
In addition to music manuscripts for the works Coolidge commissioned, the Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge Foundation Collection includes correspondence that allow researchers a behind-the-scenes look at the commissioning process. To gain greater insight to the creation of the “Chansons madécasses,” it’s imperative to look not only at Coolidge’s correspondence from Ravel, but also two other major players: the aforementioned musician Hans Kindler and another collaborator, Henry Prunières. Prunières, a French musicologist, founded the music publishing magazine “La Revue musicale” in 1920 with Coolidge’s financial support, and returned that support in the form of assistance organizing her Paris festivals and connecting with French composers, such as, of course, Ravel. When Prunières inquired in October of 1925 (10 months after Ravel had accepted the commission) if he and Ravel could program the one chanson madécasse that had already been composed, Coolidge was clear with her frustrations: “I shall be very glad to give my song for the performance of the ‘Chanson madécasse’ for the month of June, with the understanding that he has completed the other two songs, for which I have already paid him, in time for their presentation in March in America, and in May in several European cities, including Paris. I wish to give the first performance of this group everywhere, and feel that I cannot consent to any other performance until the three are finished and in my hands…I am greatly disappointed as the time goes by and [Ravel] does not fulfill his promise of sending me the other two which were positively promised by the first of January, and for all three of which I paid him last May.”
So there was an idea of an American premiere preceding the European city tour! This is a surprising comment, since I’ve yet to find any references to such plans in the extensive correspondence between Coolidge and then Chief of the Music Division Carl Engel. But one thing is evidenced from my research: spending time studying Coolidge’s correspondence files allow us to learn more about the negotiations, delays, frustrations, that can accompany music commissions (think of how many deadlines you’ve been hard-pressed to meet!). And of course, despite the frustrations, Coolidge put it well when she wrote to Prunières on February 18, 1926: “I, too, am very sorry that Mr. Ravel has not yet been able to complete the work which was commissioned a year ago; but, of course, I understand that so great a genius as he is can not [sic] be expected to write to order…”
We always celebrate Ravel’s genius, but his 150th year calls for special reflection and research! While his official birthday was March 7th, I have a hunch that he would forgive me for the belated birthday recognition.
Comments (4)
Thanks for this fascinating post. The Salle Erard program from June 13, 1926, is interesting for another reason: it provides the correct spelling of the surname of the flutist who replaced Fleury. It is printed in the program as Bauduin, and that is also how he signed it on the program’s cover, the latter seeming conclusive evidence of how he spelled it. It is given twice in this article as Baudouin, which is how he is identified in “the Ravel literature,” including the scrupulous books by Arbie Orenstein and the essential Maurice Ravel: L’intégrale, published in 2018. From the latter we discover that Baudouin was the spelling Ravel himself wrote in his address book—Urbain Baudouin (assuming the editor of L’intégrale transcribed it accurately from the address book and that it was not “incorrected” by some spell-check when the book was being edited). Still, that he signed his surname “Bauduin” would seem to be incontrovertible evidence that it was how he spelled it. Bauduin is an ancient French name presumably related to the English name Baldwin. It is not very common in modern times, but its transformation into Baudouin is better known, thanks especially to the long-serving Baudouin, King of the Belgians. Bauduin the flutist seems to have had something of a performing career, if not a starry one. The advance newspaper listing for a week at Chautauqua in 1918 featuring the Musique Militaire Française (French Military Band) cites him–identified as M. Bauduin–as one of the featured players in the William Tell Overture, on July 31; and then on August 3 as the soloist in Chaminade’s Concertino in the afternoon and, in the evening, as part of an ensemble playing Saint-Saëns’ Fantasy on Danish Airs. The implication was that he was a member of band.
Hi James, thanks for noticing this! I was also intrigued by the spelling differences — I had trouble quickly finding information about a contemporary flutist by either name in the time I had to give to this blog post, and ultimately left that question behind in the interest of focusing on Ravel. But I’m so glad that you took note and added this interesting information. Another blog post for another day, perhaps!
It is also interesting that Ravel included this work in the first concert of his American tour in which he appeared as a pianist- Jan 15, 1928 at Gallo Hall, N Y.
Performers were Greta Torpadie, soprano; Horace Britt, cello; Artbur Lora, flute and Ravel piano.
Oops i misspelled Arthur