Leoš Janáček (1854–1928)
arr. Václav Talich (1883–1961) after
František Škvor (1898–1970)
The Cunning Little Vixen – suite (1921–3, arr. 1937)
1. Andante
2. Andante
Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen is probably the only opera (and certainly the first)
to have been based on a strip cartoon from a daily newspaper.
Marie Stejskalová, Janáček’s maid for
40-odd years, told how it was her laughing out loud at a
particularly funny drawing of the Vixen cuddling up to her
lover, the Fox, that first drew the 66-year-old
composer’s attention to the anthropomorphic animal
adventure serial that Rudolf Těsnohlídek was
writing for the Brno daily, Lidové
noviny (‘People’s
News’), to accompany a series of drawings by the painter
Stanislav Lolek. Janáček immediately set about
turning the Vixen into the heroine of his next opera, seeing in
her freedom-loving sensuality yet another aspect of Kamila
Stösslová, the younger married woman with whom he
had long been obsessed and whose portrait he had already
sketched in Katya Kabanova and was to complete in The Makropulos Case.
The Cunning Little Vixen was first produced in Brno on 6 November 1924; the
Prague premiere took place the following May. Several new Czech
productions were mounted in the mid-1930s, the most successful
of which opened at the Prague National Theatre in May 1937
under Václav Talich. Talich had already given some
notable accounts of Janáček’s orchestral
works during the composer’s lifetime. (On 9 November 1924
he had conducted the Prague premiere of Taras Bulba and had
repeated it on 8 December, an occasion when both the composer
and the Czech President Masaryk were in the audience.) For the
1937 staging of Vixen, Talich asked František Škvor and
Jaroslav Ŕídký to reorchestrate the entire
opera: Škvor was responsible for Act 1, Ŕídký
for the remainder. Interventionist as it may appear, Talich
commissioned the reorchestration for entirely benevolent
reasons: he wanted to ease the hair-raising technical
demands of the original scoring, and to underline the
music’s sensuality. It is an affectionate tribute to a
composer for whom he had the greatest admiration.
Derived entirely from Act 1 (which itself
runs for under half an hour), Talich’s suite is a
seamlessly crafted transcription of the extended orchestral
music that constitutes much of the act, together with all of
its closing scene. The first movement (corresponding to the
scene entitled ‘How Bystrouška [Vixen] was
Caught’) is a magical evocation of a sunny afternoon in
the forest. Much of this opening scene is purely orchestral in
the opera: an idyllic – and, on stage, an almost entirely
balletic – depiction of animal life. Flies circle, a blue
dragonfly hovers, a badger emerges from his sett. A cricket and
a grasshopper dance a duet. A frog tries to catch a mosquito
and lands instead on the nose of the sleeping Gamekeeper, who
wakes, sees the Vixen and carries her off. The blue dragonfly
folds its wings in the sunshine. Differences in orchestration
are immediately apparent: in the first bars of the suite,
Janáček’s woodwind parts are omitted, and
for the chattering little motif that follows, Škvor gives
to a flute and clarinet what Janáček scored for
oboe and violins col legno (played with the wood of the bow).
The second movement begins with the
orchestral introduction to the opera’s second scene, set
in the farmyard of the Gamekeeper’s lodge, where the
captured Vixen is tied up. Talich includes all of
Janáček’s music up to the first entry of the
voices, a tone-painting of an autumn afternoon in the sunshine.
The action that follows is cut: the musings of Lapák (an
endearingly morose, if amorous, dog), the Vixen’s racy
tale of love-life in the woods, and her tormenting by two farm
boys (one of whom she bites in just revenge). The suite
continues with the radiant interlude in which the Vixen dreams
of her sexual awakening and transformation into a beautiful
young woman. From this point, the suite follows the opera to
the end of the act. In music of increasing animation, the Vixen
tries (and fails) to rouse the Hens to militant feminist
action, urging them to liberate themselves from slavish
dependency on the Rooster, whom she brands a chauvinist thug.
Disgusted by their complacency (and eager for a square meal),
she fools the feeble-minded birds by pretending to be dead,
then springs back to life and wrings their necks one by one. In
the chaos that follows this free-range bloodbath, the Vixen
escapes to the forest and freedom.
Programme note © Nigel Simeone
Nigel Simeone is a professor of music at
the University of Sheffield. He has written widely on
Janáček, and is also an authority on the music of
Messiaen.