The Soldier’s Tale (1918) is a unique work that does not easily fit any conventional genre:  it is, in its original form, a staged piece but it has no singers (only narrators and actors), so it cannot an opera, yet it is not exactly a “play” in the conventional sense either.  It was performed with dancers, but it is certainly no ballet.  And instead of an orchestra, Stravinsky used only seven players, representing the string, woodwind and brass families with two members each:  one being a high-pitched, the other a low-pitched instrument.  The ensemble of violin, double bass, clarinet, bassoon, cornet and trombone is rounded out by a highly virtuosic percussion part.  (In his magisterial book on Stravinsky's Russian period, Richard Taruskin notes the similarity of this assemblage of instruments to Russian-Jewish klezmer bands of the late 19th century.)

 

                    Such economy of means was a matter of absolute necessity when the work was written.  During World War I, no large productions could be mounted, even in neutral Switzerland where Stravinsky was living at the time.  Soldiers Tale is the classic case of making a virtue out of necessity.  As Stravinsky noted:  "The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self of the chains that shackle the spirit."  

    

                    In Switzerland, Stravinsky met the novelist and poet Charles Ferdinand Ramuz (1878-1947), and shared with him his favorite collection of Russian folktales, edited by Alexander Afanasyev (1826-71).  One of the stories from this collection, “The Runaway Soldier and the Devil,” was freely adapted for the project.  What made the story particularly attractive for musical treatment was the fact that this soldier played the fiddle, which he gave to the Devil in exchange for a magic book. 

 

                    This pact with the Devil vaguely alludes the Faust legend—a humorous reference since we are lightyears away from the serious philosophical approach that had been associated with Faust ever since Goethe's monumental dramatic poem.  Nor is the Devil a larger-than-life Mephistopheles who “always wills the evil and always produces the good”:  he is, instead, a rather clumsy fellow, matching wits with a hero who is almost his equal.  And although he happens to win in this particular instance (which is unusual for a fairytale), there are enough humorous and grotesque episodes to lighten up the grimness of the story.  

    

                    After the Soldier has made his fateful trade with the Devil, he suddenly becomes wealthy, only to lose his fortune again.  He recovers his violin after getting the Devil drunk in a card game, then cures a sick Princess with his playing, but loses the last round as the Devil takes hold of him just as he is about to reach his home village.

  

                     The majority of the movements in the score are either marches or dances, and it is fascinating to watch the games Stravinsky plays with those forms, constantly inserting irregular measures to upset their typical rhythmic patterns.  The lighter, carefree music of the opening “Soldier's March” contrasts with the pompous “Royal March” in the middle of the work and with the fierce “Triumphal March of the Devil” at the end.  In between we have such gems as “The Soldier's Violin” which starts with the soldier warming up his fingers and develops into an elaborate virtuoso piece—or the “Pastorale,” a slow interlude played between two scenes of the show. 

 

                    In the “Little Concert” themes from all of the work's movements are combined to form a brilliant whole.  There are two “chorales” marking solemn moments as Stravinsky reharmonizes an imaginary Bach chorale in his own style (the first phrase actually sounds very much like “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”).  Through carefully chosen dissonances, Stravinsky created a chorale style that is as solemn and festive as Bach's yet belongs entirely to the 20th century.

    

                    Among the dances, the “Three Dances:  Tango, Waltz, Ragtime” are played by the soldier to cure the princess.  In all three, fragments of dances popular at the time are transformed into pure Stravinsky.  The first one includes a short melodic figure that came to Stravinsky in a dream about a Gypsy woman playing the fiddle for her baby.  In relating this experience, Stravinsky pointed out that the Gypsy woman was “using the full length of the bow”—something that Stravinsky specifically requested of his violinist at this point in the score. 

 

                    Between the Tango and the Waltz, the soldier's finger exercise from earlier returns for a moment.  After the exquisite “Ragtime,” it is the Devil’s turn to dance:  his number is wild and furious but also extremely comical.  The Devil's final victory, then, is marked by a spectacular percussion solo that concludes the piece.  

 

                         Peter Laki

                         Visiting Associate Professor,

                         Bard College