Ravel the perfectionist, the classical Impressionist, served only one master: musical idealism. Imagine, then, the problems inherent in a situation in which the composer entered a cauldron seething with the outrageous temperaments of impresario Serge Diaghilev, choreographer Michel Fokine, scenic designer Léon Bakst, and dancer Vaslav Nijinsky. When the score for the ballet Daphnis and Chloé was completed, Diaghilev, not fully satisfied, wanted to call off the project, and only after much persuasion by Ravel’s publisher, he consented to mount the production. Rehearsals were sparring matches between Fokine and Nijinsky. Diaghilev was also distracted, as his company’s production of Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun was scheduled to premiere a mere 10 days before Daphnis. Furthermore, concepts of the ballet’s character differed greatly among its creators. The story, a Greek pastoral romance attributed to the Sophist Longus, was thought to have been written in the fourth century A.D. Ravel saw it through Watteau-like eyes. “My intention in writing the ballet,” he said, “was to compose a vast musical fresco, less scrupulous as to archaism than faithful to the Greece of my dreams, which inclined readily enough to what French artists of the late 18th century have imagined.” Diaghilev envisioned it as classical Hellenic art. And, in 1912, the dancers predictably had major difficulties with Ravel’s irregular rhythms. (Some may still.)

Daphnis was not a great success at its premiere in Paris on June 8, 1912, but the score remains a flawless gem of Impressionistic art and is certainly one of Ravel’s supreme achievements. Even the austere Stravinsky called Daphnis “not only Ravel’s best work, but also one of the most beautiful products of all French music.”

The ballet’s simple action revolves around the pastoral lovers, Daphnis and Chloé. The shepherdess Chloé is abducted by pirates, and Daphnis, distraught, falls into a sleep during which he dreams that the god Pan will come to his aid. When he awakens, he finds his dream a reality—Chloé has been returned to him.

Lever du jour (Daybreak), the first part of the Second Suite (derived from a full score that includes a wordless chorus), is a marvel of orchestral warmth and light and the wonder of nature’s awakening. Woodwinds and harp rush quietly in endless cascades of ascending and descending notes, like the bubbling waters of a downstream forest brook; birds begin to chirp; a warm melody in the lower strings stretches itself luxuriously; an effulgent orchestral burst signals the embrace of the lovers.

The Pantomime section glows with the paganism of the languorous flute solo that dominates it. At this point in the ballet, Daphnis and Chloé mime the story of Pan and Syrinx. The flute solo is Pan’s entreaty to the reluctant Syrinx. (How could she resist such eloquent pleading?)

The General Dance, even with its strong echoes of Rimsky-Korsakov, vibrates with true Ravelian splendor: deliriously exciting music for the celebration of the reuniting of Daphnis and Chloé.

—Orrin Howard