From the Postwar to the Cold War
From the Postwar to the Cold War
Protesting Stravinsky in Postwar France
Abstract and Keywords
Although the 1945 protests in Paris against Stravinsky's latest music initially concerned aesthetics—rejecting neoclassicism—rather than politics, French students’ heckling of a prominent prewar composer touched a raw nerve. The students, led by Serge Nigg, associated neoclassicism with the discredited Vichy ideal of a French national tradition. Yet in defending Stravinsky, composers allied with the Resistance (including Auric and Poulenc) made ominous references to questionable wartime choices by those who supported the protesters, such as Jolivet. Nigg's prominent role in the protests prefigured his complex political and musical trajectory in early Cold War France after 1948, when the Soviet Union pressured him, along with fellow French Communist Party members, to replace “falsely cosmopolitan tendencies” with the music of their national heritage.
Unlike the war, which left behind death, destruction, and suffering, the occupation inflicted wounds that were not so much physical as moral and political, and that still have not finished healing.
PHILIPPE BURRIN, La France à l'heure allemande, 1940–1944
Stravinsky and the Early Cold War in France
In the 1944–45 season following the liberation of Paris, the free weekly performances of the Orchestre national, broadcast live to a nationwide radio audience, introduced French listeners to music that had been inaccessible to them during the German occupation. Manuel Rosenthal, who took over the direction of the orchestra in September 1944, conducted several concerts featuring music by the persecuted (such as Mihalovici on 16 November) and the banned (Prokofiev on 19 October, Hindemith on 22 November). Rosenthal later recalled the sense of urgency he felt about using the Orchestre national as a platform to reinstate the works of composers whose music had been banned: “It was crazy to think that the public had been deprived for so long of so much admirable music, and that is why it was necessary to restore, very quickly, the predilection for such music among the public that was awaiting it.”1 His efforts received steady positive press coverage in the formerly clandestine newspapers of the Resistance, with Georges Auric at Les Lettres françaises, Roland-Manuel at Combat, and Claude Rostand at Carrefour providing informed weekly commentary.
On 11 January 1945, Rosenthal and the Orchestre national inaugurated the season's most ambitious undertaking: a series of seven monthly concerts devoted to a survey of Igor Stravinsky's music (table 6). Henry Barraud, director of music at the French national radio, later wrote that he initiated the series, together with Rosenthal, Roland-Manuel, and Roger Désormière, because “we were sure that Stravinsky's music, with its variations in style, would, in one blow, sweep away the memory of the impressive concerts” that promoted German musical superiority during the (p.152)
Table 6. Stravinsky Festival programs, Orchestre national (Paris, January–July 1945)
Scherzo fantastique, op. 3 Suite from The Firebird Le Sacre du printemps
Pulcinella, for orchestra Les Noces Capriccio for piano and orchestra
Jeu de cartes The Faun and the Shepherdess Four Norwegian Moods, French premiere Symphony of Psalms
The Nightingale Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments Symphony in C, French premiere
Mavra Le Roi des étoiles Apollon musagète Petrushka
Feu d'artifice, op. 4 Suite no. 1 Perséphone
Symphonies d'instruments à vent Suite no. 2 Oedipus Rex
Table 7. Concert program, Société privée de musique de chambre (Paris, 27 February 1945)
Tre laudi (1936–37), with Marcelle Bunlet, soprano
Capriccio for ten instruments (1938)
Four Sketches (1941); French premiere
Concertino for piano, percussion, and wind instruments (1944), with Monique Haas, piano; world premiere
Danses concertantes (1940–42); French premiere
Boulez's biographers have interpreted the student protests at the 1945 Stravinsky festival as a sign of the growing influence of René Leibowitz and his successful promotion of twelve-tone composition in postwar France. As Joan Peyser put it, “Leibowitz was the figure behind the demonstration but Boulez was the young man at the center of things.” In their accounts, the 27 February and 15 March concerts are conflated, and further details, such as performers and date, are omitted. What remains constant is the decisive choice young French composers—Boulez chief among them—are said to be making of serialism over neoclassicism.3
By elevating Boulez's and Leibowitz's participation in the 1945 protests, Boulez's biographers are foreshadowing the debate in the West in the 1950s about the merits of serialism versus neoclassicism, as well as Boulez's prominent role in that debate. Mark Carroll makes explicit the larger implications of the biographers' story when he writes that “Boulez had joined classmates of Messiaen's 1945 harmony class at the Conservatoire in heckling Stravinsky's Four Norwegian Moods at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées because he, like Adorno, was of the opinion that neoclassicism was being used against the innovations of the Second Viennese School.”4 Carroll sees the 1945 Stravinsky festival as a precursor to the composer's first physical return to postwar Paris in May 1952 at L'Œuvre du XXème siècle, a month-long international festival of the arts during which Stravinsky conducted several of his own works, including the Symphony in C. The indirect funding that the festival received from the State Department and the CIA, (p.154) together with the artistic biases of Nicolas Nabokov, Stravinsky's friend who organized the festival as secretary-general of the Congress for Cultural Freedom, have provided Carroll and other scholars with a direct connection between Stravinsky's latest music and early cold war politics.5 By repeating the biographers' version of the 1945 festival, Carroll subsumes the immediate postwar period in France into a synchronic view of the early cold war era, as if the polar opposites of the 1950s—United States / Soviet Union, modernism / socialist realism, serialism/neoclassicism—had already taken hold even before the fighting in Europe had ceased.
Yet to ignore chronological distinctions between the spring of 1945 and that of 1952 is to miss crucial subtexts in the 1945 debates, thereby greatly diminishing the contributions that the study of very early postwar (and even late wartime) events might make to our understanding of music in western Europe during the cold war. The predominant interpretation of the 1945 protesters as young champions of serialism disregards the fact that it was the exoticism and mysticism of Messiaen's music, not the serialism of Schoenberg's, that became the next topic of debate in Paris even before the furor over Stravinsky's music had died down. After all, as Carroll correctly notes, the protesting students were still in Messiaen's harmony class at the Conservatoire, not in private lessons with Leibowitz. The standard interpretation also erases Nigg's central role in the controversy, for Nigg participated not only as one of the student protesters, but also as a composer and critic. Nigg's 1944 Concertino for piano, percussion, and wind instruments was premiered at the February 1945 chamber music concert that was the occasion of the initial protest against Stravinsky, and his April 1945 article in the newspaper Combat provided the student protesters' perspective to the press debates that followed the protests.6 At the same time, the extent to which the 1945 debates were motivated by the participants' wartime experiences foreshadows the enduring legacy of the German occupation during the early cold war years in France.
The 1945 protests against Stravinsky were not about the decisive embrace of a single musical style; rather, they were about the desire of young French composers to play an active role in shaping the postwar future of music in France, even as they were still uncertain as to what stylistic shape that future would take. In 1945, the protesters could initially agree that the latest version of Stravinsky's neoclassicism, almost universally embraced by their elders, was intolerably retrospective. Soon afterward, however, the emerging ideologies of the early cold war linked modernist musical styles with political freedom in the West, and more accessible music with socialist political commitments in the East. These new ideologies (p.155) divided the protesters and profoundly affected their aesthetic and political developments.
Boulez later wrote that the concern that Nigg and other young French composers had begun to express immediately after the war about social commitment and communication with their audiences represented “an ideology that filled me with horror, and that appeared to me above all to serve as a screen for conformity.”7 Yet, as Stephen Walsh has pointed out, Boulez's aggressive refusal to engage directly with politics in his music was atypical: “For those less detached the question of how progressive (that is, avant-garde) art should relate to a progressive (that is, egalitarian) politics was one of the most important issues of the day.”8 Nigg—and not Boulez—represented the experiences and hopes of the postwar generation in two respects: the aesthetic opinions of a group of young composers whose entire adult musical education had taken place during the German occupation of Paris, and the political aspirations of the young French men and women who flocked to the French Communist Party (Parti communiste français, or PCF) at the war's end.
Nigg joined the PCF in 1944, was a founding member (with Elsa Barraine, Roger Désormière, and Louis Durey, who all had been leaders in the Front national des musiciens [FNM] during the occupation) of the Association française des musiciens progressistes in 1948, and published several articles in the French press between 1948 and 1955 on the importance of social commitment in art. Nigg's steady political adherence to the PCF from 1944 to 1956 contrasts with the stylistic inconsistencies in his music during the same period, during which he experimented with styles as diverse as exoticism (the 1944 Concertino), strict twelve-tone composition (the 1947 Variations), socialist-realist settings of French folk songs for workers' choruses (published by Le Chant du monde in 1957), and orchestral music modeled on the works of Vincent d'Indy (the 1954 Piano Concerto). Nigg's participation in the 1945 Stravinsky debates gives us occasion to examine both his earliest musical compositions and the political opinions he would express with increasing ideological fervor in the 1950s, even as he struggled to find the compositional voice that would best reflect his political convictions.
Henry Rousso, in writing about France's Vichy syndrome, has argued that the national mourning for the tragedies of the occupation in post-liberation France was left incomplete by new fears of global conflict and the resurgence of anticommunism in France.9 The students who protested Stravinsky in 1945 made their aesthetic choices based on their educational experiences during the occupation; the scandalized older generation could (p.156) not separate their opinions about Stravinsky's latest music from their own lingering grievances about the war. But, as Rousso reminds us, it was not just the controversies of this early period that were affected by the occupation. The French experience of the occupation continued to affect the aesthetic and political perspectives of French composers well into the cold war that followed.
Stravinsky in Paris, 1945
The press debates that followed the 1945 Stravinsky protests in which Nigg played a leading role are the surviving traces of the passionate discussions that took place among musicians, critics, and concert-goers, both in private and in public, in early postwar France. These debates, and the music being debated, demonstrate the range of possibilities that existed for modern music in postwar France before global concerns—in the form of the escalating tension between the United States and the Soviet Union—overshadowed local ones once the cold war began.10 In her study of French musicians and the cold war, Michèle Alten argues that the French coalition government's pivotal decision in mid-1947 to expel its communist ministers and accept U.S. economic aid through the Marshall Plan created pressures on the PCF to stifle freewheeling musical debates in the immediate postwar period in both communist and noncommunist newspapers.11 The pre-1947 debates about Stravinsky's music provide a rare glimpse of a world preoccupied by the conflicts of the occupation, beset by anxiety about the future, and yet, at least in Nigg's case, remarkably open as to what musical possibilities awaited the emerging postwar generation. Close examination of these debates allows us to see what the French thought of those possibilities before the hard lines of the cold war were drawn.
At the same time, the Stravinsky debates demonstrate the extent to which the French premieres of Stravinsky's music were a catalyst for expressions of the rancor that lingered among French musicians after the liberation of Paris in August 1944. Composers and critics, ostensibly trading insults regarding the music of Stravinsky, were trading insinuations about collaboration and wartime guilt as well. They were, in other words, using Stravinsky as a proxy for deeper concerns about the ability of French contemporary music to recover from the trauma of the occupation.
For it would be a mistake to assume that the prevailing atmosphere in Paris in the winter following the city's liberation was celebratory. Released (p.157) from four years of German occupation, the capital had to wait until spring before the entire country was liberated.12 Megan Koreman notes that the term libération refers not only to the end of the military conflict, but also to “the entire troubled period encompassing the restoration of Republican government in Paris, the resumption of electoral democracy, the purge of collaborators, and the deterioration of food supplies,” a phase that arguably lasted into the fall of 1946 with the referendum on a new constitution. It was, in Koreman's words, a “transitional period between war and peace.”13
Both the material difficulties that French musicians faced and the simmering resentment toward wartime collaborators made an appearance in Auric's review of the second Stravinsky festival concert of 15 February 1945. The previous week the Orchestre national had to cancel its live broadcast concert because cuts in electricity to the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées had prevented the ensemble from adequately rehearsing the program.14 The cold was particularly severe that winter, and the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées was not heated; performers and audience members alike kept their overcoats on during the concerts to keep warm.15 After the second Stravinsky concert went on as planned, Auric expressed his joy that, this week, he had music to review: “So let us forget about the cold and the blackouts. Let us now celebrate the fully recovered genius of Stravinsky, whose splendid music, now closer than ever to our hearts, we were able to appreciate on Thursday.”16
Auric nevertheless digressed from music at the end of his review to speak darkly about his displeasure at seeing Émile Vuillermoz in the audience. Without naming him directly, Auric described Vuillermoz by the company he kept during the occupation: “While Rebatet meditates—you know where—on the ‘ruins’ [décombres] of his beloved Germany, while the fates of Laubreux, Georges Blond, and Coustau are decided in the aftermath of Robert Brasillach's execution, we saw Thursday, comfortably seated in an orchestra seat, the music critic of the weekly fascist periodical Je suis partout, the author of a preface for Philippe Henriot, the exegete of Georges Claude!”17 Vuillermoz's music criticism appeared every other week in Je suis partout starting in October 1943; in 1944 he had written an eulogistic preface for a published collection of Henriot's 1943 radio addresses broadcast by Radio-Paris. Through his addresses, Henriot, who had been appointed Vichy's minister of information and propaganda in January 1944, engaged in a pro-collaborationist propaganda war with his counterparts at the BBC; he was assassinated by members of the Resistance on 27 June 1944.18
(p.158) The postwar fates of these men varied considerably. After a highly controversial trial in January, the thirty-five-year-old Brasillach, editor of Je suis partout, had just been put to death for his treasonous writings on 6 February; his associates, Rebatet, Alain Laubreux, Georges Blond, and Pierre-Antoine Cousteau, were later condemned to death but were eventually pardoned.19 Rebatet, who had published his anti-Semitic memoir Les Décombres in 1942, was currently in Sigmaringen, Germany, where the French collaborationist government in exile welcomed persons fleeing prosecution in France.20 At the time of the second Stravinsky festival concert, Vuillermoz's wartime writings—in particular, the preface for Henriot's radio addresses—had earned him the condemnation of the Société des gens de lettres, the private association of professional writers in France. Their punishment: he was barred from membership for three years, although he could continue to receive any royalties due to him during that time.21
Auric concluded by expressing his disgust at the purification committees' focus on French musicians who had participated in German-led propaganda efforts, such as the live public concerts broadcast by Radio-Paris from the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, while a journalist of Vuillermoz's prominence had barely been censured:
While, by the caprices of an incoherent “purge,” some unlucky instrumentalists or singers at Radio-Paris are suspended, this man in his dishonored old age [Vuillermoz was sixty-six] leaves his apartment, where he ought to be happy to still find himself, for the evening and comes to publicly shake the hands of some imbeciles, lackeys, and cowards. Those of us who have not forgotten, we won't forget this either. And, as long as we are permitted to speak and to act, we will know how to prevent, by any means necessary, “that” from being forgotten.22
All this in an article ostensibly reviewing Rosenthal's performance of Stravinsky's Les Noces and Capriccio for piano and orchestra, and before any of the composer's newest compositions were performed for the first time. The text was a reprise of Auric's unsigned condemnation of Vuillermoz one year earlier in the clandestine Resistance newspaper Musiciens d'aujourd'hui.23 The performance of Stravinsky's latest compositions in Paris in early 1945 was fanning the flames of a still-smoldering fire.
The initial French audience for Stravinsky's latest music at the chamber music concert on 27 February 1945 heard Désormière conduct Danses concertantes alongside the recent music of four other composers. The five pieces present a revealing snapshot of the range of new music being performed in Paris in the winter of 1945. The sounds of the pieces by (p.159)
The reappearance of the music of Ibert, Milhaud, and Stravinsky in Paris in the 1944–45 season was a significant homecoming for all three, even if Ibert and Stravinsky's music had appeared on French concert programs during the German occupation.24 The performances of Stravinsky's Danses concertantes and Milhaud's Four Sketches were French premieres of recent music by prominent French exiles in America, and Ibert's Capriccio was by a composer whose music had been marginalized in wartime concert life for (p.161) political reasons.25 Unsurprisingly, most music critics reviewing the concert fixated on the novelty of hearing Stravinsky's American music for the first time, and they responded with hyperbolic praise. Gone are the accusations of academicism that had greeted the “Dumbarton Oaks” concerto, whose June 1938 European premiere had been Stravinsky's last concert appearance in Paris before the war.26 The earlier negative critiques were swept aside in 1945 by critics' eagerness to embrace the return of a major musical figure to the French scene. As Auric wrote in his review, the French premiere of Danses concertantes “brought to us a message from the man of genius who dominated our youth”; the piece was “a new masterpiece by our maître, whose musical language has arrived at a surprising point of perfection.”27 Likewise, Jean Wiéner rejoiced, “After four years of penitence, during which [we received] not a note, not a sign from Stravinsky,” Danses concertantes had arrived in Paris: “It's love at first sight, at the same time as a lesson in strength, equilibrium, and beauty.”28 Roland-Manuel declared that Stravinsky, who had surprised his admirers several times in the past, did so once more with Danses concertantes, in which a “sort of happy abandon” was “without example or precedent in the feats of this strong man.” He also revealed, and celebrated, that the program was organized so that Stravinsky's piece was performed twice.29
Nearly absent from the critics' responses was the fact that two of the pieces on the program presented distinctly different approaches to composing new music. In Tre Laudi Luigi Dallapiccola was experimenting with twelve-tone procedures in idiosyncratic ways. The opening soprano melody consists of a twelve-tone row and its retrograde over a B-minor triad played by the woodwinds, muted brass, harp, and lower strings in harmonics—a much richer use of instrumentation than in Stravinsky's Danses concertantes. The symbolic use of twelve-tone rows against a sustained triad to represent, in the words of Raymond Fearn, “the splendor of the stars in the firmament,” is limited to the opening measures; the rest of the piece is diatonic.30
The newest music in the concert was the world premiere of Nigg's 1944 Concertino for piano, percussion, and winds. Audiences in Paris had already heard Nigg's music during the German occupation: his Piano Sonata no. 1 in 1943, performed by Yvette Grimaud only two years after Nigg had begun his studies with Messiaen at the Conservatoire, and Nigg's first orchestral composition, the symphonic poem Timour in February 1944, performed by Désormière and the Orchestre national.31 Although Nigg has since destroyed the score and parts of the Concertino, contemporaneous documents describe in detail its musical style.32 In late 1945 Frederick (p.162) Goldbeck at Contrepoints asked several composers to answer a short survey about their own music. Nigg described his earliest compositions as “strongly colored by exoticism and primitivism”; he wrote of music that is “atonal, in the sense that it is not tonal, but in no way dodecaphonic … [and] more contrapuntal than harmonic, with a large role for rhythmic pedals.” In program notes for a 1947 concert, Nigg specified that the influence came from “exotic music and Le Sacre du printemps.” A subsequent report in Contrepoints on Nigg's recent activities reveals that the Concertino belongs to this initial phase of Nigg's compositional development, when he was strongly influenced by the music and aesthetic preferences of his teacher, Messiaen.33
Rostand was the sole reviewer to acknowledge not only that Stravinsky's music shared the program with the works of Nigg and the other three composers, but that Danses concertantes and Four Sketches had also met with vocal protests from the audience. Rostand shared the other critics' tendency toward hyperbole when it came to describing Danses concertantes: “If music, in its diverse forms, has ever been able to express the most inexpressible beauty, surely it is here, in this language whose terms are nearly inhuman.” Rostand did not mince words about “the young cretins who, the other night, attempted quite unnecessarily (and quite pitifully) to manifest their imbecilic bad humor” against Stravinsky. Whereas Rostand was intrigued by the novelty of Dallapiccola's Tre Laudi, with its “surprising expressiveness” and “surly, rugged melodic line,” his review of Nigg's Concertino took on a patronizing tone: “[Nigg's] music is far from indifferent, even if it is not always pleasant. It is merely necessary to advise him not to depend on formulas that were tested now almost thirty years ago, and that he otherwise manipulates with skill and ferocity.”34 Presumably, with Nigg's own descriptions of his music as primitive, atonal, and contrapuntal, Rostand's reference could be either to the Stravinsky of Le Sacre or Schoenberg's early atonal works, both equally invalid in Rostand's eyes as models for a twenty-year-old composer in 1945.
With all but one of the reviews of Danses concertantes published by March 10 (and thus well in advance of the third Stravinsky festival concert on the fifteenth), the stage was set for the generational conflict that manifested itself at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées and in the press for several weeks afterward. When critics and composers published their opinions about the protests against the Four Norwegian Moods, they described the students' rejection of Stravinsky's latest works as unpatriotic, disrespectful, and hopelessly out of date. Roland-Manuel compared the 1945 protests with those that met the premiere of Le Sacre in the same hall thirty-two (p.163) years earlier. The students' mistake was to idolize the “revolutionary” Stravinsky of 1913 and denounce the “academic” Stravinsky of 1945: “They are wasting their breath, for this great artisan has never concerned himself with either one.”35 Auric made the same comparison and warned against any return to the modernism of the past: “It took us twenty years, but we finally rid ourselves of an absurd conception of ‘modernism’ that seems to me today to be completely outmoded.” Make no mistake, Auric continued: the night of March 15, “the ‘young musician’ was Stravinsky. He will be there in twenty years, in a century. At that moment, we will no longer be here. Neither will most of the mediocre compositions, hastily written and artificial, that I would have hoped not to mention.” The reference is a thinly veiled jab at Nigg's Concertino, which Auric, in his review of the chamber music concert of February 27, had indeed failed to mention.36
The angriest of them all was Rostand, who decided that, this time, the “young cretins” of the initial protest needed to have Stravinsky's importance to France spelled out for them. Using language that had special resonance scarcely six months after the liberation of Paris, Rostand declared:
Mr. Igor Stravinsky—a Russian, as we all know—honored France by becoming a naturalized French citizen. Nearly his entire stunning career has taken place in France and was made by France. He honored us by premiering in Paris the majority of his most important works. He honored us by occasionally looking into our national culture to enrich his genius. He honored us by bringing to the contemporary French school certain aesthetic or technical elements that gave it, in part, its grandeur and its vitality. He even did us the honor of being a genius. And now, after a ban of five years whose stupidity is equaled only by the intolerant imbecility now shown to him, there is a pitiful attempt to attack him with some absurd recrimination at the first sign of his return among us!
Rostand followed his emotional outburst by marveling, somewhat disingenuously, that the Norwegian Moods—which he described as admittedly not among Stravinsky's “loftiest creations”—could have inspired such vicious protests, “about which there was nothing spontaneous.”37
The matter might have rested there, had not Rostand's heated rhetoric generated an equally heated response. Entitled “Enough of Stravinsky!” André Jolivet's article on April 4 turned Rostand's nationalist rhetoric on its head. If Rostand had raised the specter of a wartime ban on Stravinsky's music, Jolivet made reference to the live public concerts hosted by Radio-Paris at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées during the occupation to promote the superiority of German over French music. And now, Jolivet complained, (p.164) “we are called to the same theater to adore a new idol whose Frenchness was only temporary.” Our compatriots ought to realize, Jolivet insisted, “that Stravinsky has taught us nothing in the realms of rhythm, melody, orchestration, or formal architecture; that French musicians find these diverse elements of musical composition in their most advanced form in our own tradition.” For Jolivet, the 1945 Stravinsky festival was “the last circle of hell [in French, a play on words between cycle Straivinsky and cycle d'enfer] that French music must cross in order to merit the radiance that the French ought to help it to attain.”38 In Jolivet's opinion, if Barraud and Rosenthal had wanted to erase the memory of the German music festivals at Radio-Paris, they should have celebrated the music of a native Frenchman.39
The references by Rostand and Jolivet to the recent German occupation were highly charged in the spring of 1945. Questions of whose music had been banned by the German occupying forces, as well as the legacy of German propaganda in occupied Paris, were hotly debated even before Paris was liberated. Rostand's goal was to elevate Stravinsky for having suffered a wartime ban on his music in France; Jolivet's was to associate Stravinsky instead with the parade of German composers promoted during the occupation at the expense of the French. Neither claim holds much factual merit. Stravinsky's music was openly performed in occupied Paris by the major French orchestras, which submitted their programs to German censors in advance, as well as by chamber music series such as the Concerts de la Pléiade; performances of works by Stravinsky were broadcast not only by Radiodiffusion nationale, but also by Radio-Paris. Charles Münch's June 1944 performance of Les Noces with the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire even shared several soloists with Rosenthal's in the second Stravinsky festival concert in February 1945.40 Apart from the novelty of featuring the music Stravinsky had composed in America for the first time, the 1945 Stravinsky festival represented a striking degree of continuity with concert programs from the occupation. In Stravinsky's case, what had changed after the liberation was not the style of the music being performed but the ability of audience members to react so freely in public to the music they heard.
Jolivet's resentment toward Radio-Paris and its pro-German propaganda was widely shared. During the occupation, the Grand Orchestre de Radio-Paris attracted French musicians and conductors with generous salaries—twice as high as they would earn in the Opéra orchestra or in the Orchestre national—and a programming schedule dominated by music broadcasts. Festivals ranged from the inevitable Beethoven and Wagner celebrations to (p.165) occasional showcases of new German talent, such as the composer Werner Egk, who led the orchestra in October 1942 in an evening-long concert of his own works, including an excerpt from his opera Peer Gynt, the production of which at the Paris Opéra in October 1943 was broadcast live by Radio-Paris.41 After the liberation the focal point of French anger was composers such as Egk, whose music had been reviewed favorably during the occupation by French and German critics alike (including Delannoy and Honegger) and not the venerated German classics whose music had dominated the programs of all the symphony orchestras in occupied Paris. There was even less animosity toward foreign composers as a group.42 Roland-Manuel, in one of the first issues of Les Lettres françaises to appear after the liberation, wrote disdainfully that the music of recent German composers such as Egk presented an inappropriate model for the French, due to “a romanticism that is out of step with modern life,” even as he advocated that the French not reject the German classics simply because the Germans had denigrated French music.43 In an atmosphere where new music from several countries was featured in the Orchestre national's 1944–45 broadcast concerts and embraced by the French press (and the audience that filled the theaters), Jolivet's nationalist diatribe against Stravinsky was decidedly out of place.
It did not take long for people to say so in print. Three days after Jolivet's article appeared, Le Figaro published a response by Poulenc on its front page. Unlike flustered critics such as Rostand, Poulenc proclaimed that young people had the right to reject the music of their elders. But the “pseudo–young people” (presumably, the forty-four-year-old Jolivet) “who owe the meager varnish of modernism that covers their own works solely to the research—already surpassed by the composer himself—of the Stravinsky of 1913” were a much more serious matter. All contemporary music, in France and elsewhere, stemmed from Stravinsky's work, Poulenc proclaimed. He then countered Jolivet's innuendo with some of his own: “We ought to have the decency to acknowledge our debt; let's not push the debate to the level of nationalism, as has, imprudently, one musician, of whom one only asks that he forget a certain incidental music written inadvisably during the occupation to celebrate the eightieth birthday of the most illustrious German playwright. I suppose that my frankness in setting the record straight may earn me several enemies. Far from bemoaning this fate, I celebrate it.”44
The incidental music in question was composed by Jolivet for the play Iphigenie in Delphi by the Nobel laureate Gerhart Hauptmann during its 1943 production in French translation at the Comédie-Française. The (p.166) production, in honor of Hauptmann's eightieth birthday, was planned by the director of the Comédie-Française, Jean-Louis Vaudroyer, under pressure from the Propaganda Division for France (Propaganda Abteilung Frankreich, or PAF) to expand the theater's offering by German playwrights. Jolivet conducted his music—his first appearance at the Comédie-Française—for the play's nine performances because the theater's regular conductor, Raymond Charpentier, refused to participate.45 The production was broadcast on Radio-Paris on the evening of 21 July; two days later, Radio-Paris broadcast baritone Jacques Jansen, with pianist Marthe Pellas-Lenom, singing Jolivet's Trois Complaintes du soldat.46 The irony that Poulenc meant to highlight was that Jolivet, who was now objecting strenuously to Rosenthal's celebration of a foreigner, had himself participated in—and may even have benefited professionally from—one of the innumerable festivals in honor of German cultural figures during the occupation. Despite Poulenc's insinuations, Jolivet was never under suspicion for his wartime activities; his family, in fact, was under threat from Vichy's anti-Semitic laws.47 Following so closely after Jolivet's January 1945 appointment as music director at the Comédie-Française, however, Poulenc's public reminder of Jolivet's participation in the Hauptmann production was inopportune.
Whereas Poulenc reacted to Jolivet's nationalist call to arms against Stravinsky with insinuations about Jolivet's wartime activities, Roland-Manuel chose instead to recount sarcastically the cosmopolitan influences on Jolivet's compositional development. On 12 April in Combat he described how, back in the “good old days” (aux temps joyeux) of the interwar years, the likes of Schoenberg and Varèse (Jolivet's teacher from 1930 to 1933) had given to French music a fresh, native flavor and found inspiration in “the most authentic sources of our national tradition.” Jolivet had in turn been “so obligingly attached to the manifestations of French genius” that he followed every new (and foreign) trend that came along. Roland-Manuel saw the controversy as “a new querelle des bouffons,” a phrase that he used as the title of his article. In his opinion, the protesters' efforts to protect French music from the “foreign” influence of Stravinsky would be as unsuccessful as the eighteenth-century partisans of the tragédie lyrique had been against the incursion of Italian opera buffa in France.48
Young French Composers, 1945
Finally, on 14 April, one of the protesters spoke up about their activities in print. Having already published two articles by their own music critic, (p.167) Roland-Manuel, the editorial staff at Combat decided to respond positively to the protesters' request for equal treatment.49 It seems appropriate that the job fell to Nigg, for his music had already figured in the debate. The most recent reference to Nigg had appeared in Combat only two days earlier, when Roland-Manuel had linked Nigg's Concertino with Jolivet's recently premiered Chant de Linos to argue that, by protesting Stravinsky's music, Jolivet and his “little band of partisans” were only “barking at [Stravinsky's] heels.”50 It was a metaphor already used by Poulenc, albeit more crudely, when he spoke of “little yappy dogs … lifting their legs at the pedestals of statues.”51
Yet, whatever musical similarities may have existed between the self-avowed exoticism of Nigg's Concertino and Jolivet's use of ancient Greek funeral laments as a model for Chant de Linos, the two composers' justifications in print for rejecting Stravinsky in 1945 could not have been more different. Most notable is the complete absence of nationalism in Nigg's provocative explanation of the protesters' motivations. Nigg chafed at the remarkable unanimity in favor of Stravinsky's neoclassicism as a model of new music composition in postwar France. Instead of the “querelle des bouffons” with its nationalist overtones, Nigg sarcastically evoked later eighteenth-century musical quarrels that had been resolved in favor of an established genius: “So, no defenders of Salieri? No one for Piccinni? Everyone has recognized Mozart and Gluck; what joy!” Nigg listed the labels applied in recent articles to the protesters for having expressed their skepticism: “conformists of nonconformity,” “neo-academics,” and “devotees of modernism at any price.” “What is all this jargon hiding?” he asked. “Incontestably, a guilty conscience.”52
That one loaded little phrase encapsulates the gap between the generation that had come of age in occupied France and its elders. In the minds of French critics, the end of the occupation was an opportunity for French composers to pick up where they had left off in 1939, when the war had begun and several French musicians had been mobilized to fight in the armed forces. Their rediscovery of Stravinsky was a “grand leap backward,” a phrase coined by Serge Guilbaut in reference to the fall 1944 Picasso retrospectives in Paris.53 Guilbaut interpreted the postwar embrace of Picasso as an attempt by the French art world to erase the nightmare of the occupation and return to the point at which the war had intervened. In the case of Stravinsky, the return was to an imaginary version of prewar Paris, one where Stravinsky's new music had met with universal praise, not the mixed reception that had actually greeted the composer's final prewar appearance in the capital in 1938.
(p.168) Such a return made no sense to French composers of Nigg's generation, who were intensely aware of their own place in history. Nigg's emphasis on the necessity of meeting present-day demands confirms Guilbaut's analysis that “this concealment was certainly therapeutic but would not allow Paris to take charge of the enormous ideological and emotional transformations that the postwar had in store.”54 “Ought we,” asked Nigg, “to prolong or end definitively the neoclassical current that for nearly thirty years has dragged in its wake every mediocre element, and finds its justification in the decadent works of a great man?” Rather, he asserted, the contemporary artistic production of the so-called “young imbeciles” who protested Stravinsky ought to at least bear what he called “the traces of a profoundly felt uncertainty.”55
The “profoundly felt uncertainty” proposed by Nigg for young French composers in 1945 was the polar opposite of the critics' hyperbolic certainty in Stravinsky's postwar relevance. Nigg's position also presented a striking contrast with the knowing self-assurance that dominated the prescriptions offered by French composers, critics, and administrators to young French composers during the occupation. The Vichy government had worked actively to promote new French music by calling on young composers to return to their heritage and by condemning the so-called stylistic gimmickery of the past twenty years through which the traditions of that heritage had been cast aside. At Vichy's Administration of Fine Arts, the disdain of the director, Louis Hautecœur, for what he called modernism's “fashionable myth” of originality resonated with older French composers whose values and ideals had been displaced by new currents in modern music since 1918.56 The state's commissions program ensured that young composers who embraced their heritage received the recognition and financial remuneration their music deserved.
Nigg entered the Paris Conservatoire at age seventeen in 1941, followed by Boulez, who arrived in Paris in 1943 at age eighteen.57 Although they were too young to have been directly affected by wartime government programs for contemporary music, the education they received at the Conservatoire was not immune from the wartime nationalist embrace of tradition and the past. Nigg was a student in the first harmony classes Messiaen taught at the Conservatoire in 1941 following release from a German prisoner-of-war camp. Composition classes were taught not by Messiaen, but by Henri Busser and Max d'Ollone. Busser, a member of the Institut de France and professor of composition since 1930, made clear to his students at the Conservatoire that his lineage was from his teachers Ernest Guiraud and Charles Gounod, that his model was Fauré, and that in his class, (p.169) they were to adopt his lineage as their own.58 Although neither Nigg nor Boulez studied with them, these men held powerful positions in wartime French musical life, with d'Ollone appointed the director of the Opéra-Comique in 1941 and Busser appointed music director at Radiodiffusion nationale in 1943. Boulez spent one year in a preparatory class taught by Georges Dandelot before joining Messiaen's harmony class in fall 1944. During the occupation, Busser, Honegger, and Tony Aubin—d'Ollone's successor at the Conservatoire in 1945—were vocal proponents of the so-called New French School of young composers, and Dandelot was both a representative of the school and a beneficiary of French government support.
In the realm of orchestral music, the precursors of the New French School were clear. Honegger put it best in his 1941 review of a Debussy festival, quoting Wagner (in the original German) to make his point. “‘Honor our German masters!’ sings Hans Sachs at the end of The Meistersingers. He is right. Let us honor our French masters. After Debussy and Ravel let it now be the turn of Vincent d'Indy, Roussel, Florent Schmitt, and all those who are the honor and glory of France.”59 The battle that d'Indy had waged at the turn of the century on behalf of a French symphonic tradition, with its explicit goal of proving French competence in a domain perceived to be inherently German, had never been laid to rest. In 1913 d'Indy was predicting that French composers would fulfill the so-called “mission” of symphonic development that had begun with Haydn and Beethoven.60 Thirty years later, Aubin declared that recent compositions by Dandelot, Henri Tomasi, and others provided the necessary indications that the New French School would justify d'Indy's optimism. A return to the rigor of d'Indy's approach to la musique pure, Aubin argued, was exactly what was called for in the France of 1943.61
Aubin was referring to Dandelot's recent music: a piano concerto, two sonatinas (one for flute and piano, the other for violin and piano), a string quartet, and a piano solo, as well as the 14 February 1943 premiere, by Münch and the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire, of his Symphony in D, which had been commissioned by the Administration of Fine Arts in 1941.62 Dandelot had come into direct contact with d'Indy in a conducting class at the Conservatoire, and his Symphony in D fulfilled many of the demands that d'Indy had mapped out for the genre in his Cours de composition musicale, such as a folklike theme that outlines the steps of a triad, the contrapuntal reworking of material, cyclical connections between movements, and an overall progression from harmonic obscurity to tonal clarity. The piece is in three movements (Allegro vivo, Lento, Vivo) played without pause; the fanfare theme of the final movement is derived from the (p.170) second theme of the opening Allegro and alternates with a simple folklike melody given in several contrapuntal variations. In the program notes for the premiere Dandelot demonstrated his allegiance to d'Indy's model by insisting that his symphony had not been inspired by any “literary or anecdotal” programs.63
The premiere of Dandelot's symphony—which, in a tacit fulfillment of d'Indy's historiography, shared the program with Beethoven's Seventh and Lalo's Symphonie espagnole—was greeted with measured approval by French critics who drew the obvious connections between Dandelot's new piece and the Schola tradition, especially in the third and final movement. Even Serge Moreux's criticism that Dandelot was not prepared to tackle this most difficult of genres reinforced the idea of the symphony as the touchstone of a composer's musical maturity. With this “purely French” work, critic Jean Douel wrote, Dandelot had joined the ranks of those who had declared war on the morbidity that had previously characterized contemporary music, thus bringing honor to the New French School as a whole.64 A recording of the slow movement of Dandelot's symphony was included in the anthology produced by the AFAA in 1943–44 to promote contemporary French music abroad.65
The only way that wartime Conservatoire students such as Nigg and Boulez could gain access to new music that differed from this restrictive view centered on the French tradition was through the teachings of Messiaen, either in his official harmony classes or the private lessons he was offering concurrently.66 In addition to scores by Debussy, Wagner, and Ravel, Messiaen's students read and played medieval polyphony, non-Western music, and modern works by composers ranging from Stravinsky (Le Sacre du printemps, Petrushka, and Les Noces) to Bartók (Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celeste) and the Second Viennese School (Schoenberg, Pierrot Lunaire; Berg, Wozzeck and the Violin Concerto; Webern, Variations, op. 27).67 Of Stravinsky's music, Messiaen was notably fond of teaching his students in both classes about rhythm in the early Russian ballets, particularly Le Sacre.68 But his ambivalence toward Stravinsky's neoclassical works dated to at least 1931, when he stated, “It seems to me that all French music today is focused on the Albert Roussel of the Suite en fa and the symphonies, and early Stravinsky,” and he described Apollon musagète as “like a piece by Lully with a few wrong bass notes.”69 Nigg later told Jean Boivin, “We thought, in [Messiaen's] class, that the grand Stravinsky was that of Le Sacre, Les Noces—works of that genre.”70 Nigg echoed his teacher's opinions in his 1945 Combat article when he decried the critics' dismissal of Le Sacre. As Nigg put it, if the critics saw (p.171) Le Sacre as an outdated source, “how can they dare support those who draw upon the much more valuable, yet unsurpassable, resources of the Brandenburg concertos!”71
It is likely that Messiaen's students' experience of the academicism of wartime compositions such as Dandelot's Symphony in D predisposed them to accuse Stravinsky of a similarly suffocating adherence to tradition when they discovered that he had continued the neoclassical trends of the prewar “Dumbarton Oaks” concerto in his American compositions such as Danses concertantes. The students had not yet heard Stravinsky's Symphony in C—its French premiere was scheduled at the next Stravinsky festival concert, on 12 April—but the parallels between the symphonies of Dandelot and Stravinsky are striking. Stravinsky may not have followed d'Indy's prescriptions for the genre as closely as Dandelot, choosing his models instead in the symphonies of Haydn and Beethoven. Yet Stravinsky certainly shared not only Dandelot's aversion to emotional content, but also the assumption of Dandelot's reviewers that the symphony was the most respected of forms.72 It is difficult to see what could be more academic than Stravinsky's classical four-movement symphony, with the modified sonata form in the first movement, the cyclical connections between the outer movements, and an almost overwhelming Beethovenian motivic unity. As Edward T. Cone has written, “What [audiences] would find [in their programs]—the announcement of a symphony openly characterized as tonal, with four movements following the traditional order—would suggest a conservative, not to say reactionary pastiche. (What they might have read previously in popular accounts of Stravinsky's ‘retrogression’ would only confirm the surprise.)” Cone argues that such an assumption would be misleading, for, in his view, Stravinsky had transformed, not reproduced, convention.73 Such a distinction would probably have been lost on the French students in 1945. They may not have even attended the fourth concert, for no further protests took place. It is possible that, with a piece entitled Symphony in C on the program, they decided they had heard enough of Stravinsky's American works to justify their rejection of him.
With the publication of Nigg's article, a clash was now inevitable between the hyperbole of the critics who supported Stravinsky and the now-stated position of the protestors. Indeed, the continuing press debate over the third Stravinsky festival concert continued well past the performance of the fourth concert on 12 April, overshadowing the French premiere of the Symphony in C. Among rare reviews of the concert, Roland-Manuel prefaced his positive assessment of the Symphony in C with the sarcastic (p.172) observation that Rosenthal was “defying Mr. André Jolivet's ban” by continuing the festival.74 Auric did not even review the Symphony in C, publishing instead, on the day of the concert, a lengthy diatribe against Nigg. Quoting Nigg's objection to critics' comparisons of the student protesters in 1945 to the “little old ladies” who booed Le Sacre in 1913—Nigg had asked incredulously, “Do we now live in an age when young people look to the past, whereas the middle-aged grow younger?”—Auric expressed his hope that there still existed some young people who did not make the mistake of looking backward. Whereas his initial response to the protesters on 24 March had been fairly polite, Auric's response to Nigg's Combat article bristled with rage: “I know perfectly well that, thankfully, all the young musicians do not look to ‘the past,’ this past that is—and will definitely remain, I am certain—an aesthetic derived laboriously from several otherwise magnificent pages of Le Sacre and also, alas, from the laboratory where Mr. Schoenberg long ago mixed his evil poisons with diabolical skill.” Auric admitted that, in 1918, he and his comrades may have been impressed by Schoenberg's musical ideas, but these ideas had no place in today's world. “How can anyone, in 1945, refuse to comprehend that the stench of a cadaver emanates from an imposter art that fools us no longer?”75
Yet it was Nigg's use of the word “uncertainty” that particularly incensed Auric. After quoting Jolivet as an unnamed “improvised critic” who claimed that “Stravinsky has taught us nothing” (Auric's emphasis), Auric wrote, “At that point, dear Mr. Nigg, you pull out a superb police whistle and believe that you are bearing witness in this way to a convincing ‘uncertainty’! This time, however, we are the ones who are uncertain. We wish to accord all young artists the benefit of the doubt, but what is there to say in response to your whistles?” Auric's sarcastic appropriation of Nigg's “uncertainty” to indicate the skepticism of his generation—they are the ones who are uncertain about Nigg's claims—reveals his deep attachment to the idea of returning to Stravinsky as the surest way to proceed in the uncertain times of 1945.
Messiaen and Leibowitz in Paris, 1945
Auric's anxiety was not just about the uncertainty that Nigg expressed in response to the proposed renewal of neoclassicism in postwar France. It was also about what young French composers might embrace instead. Auric referred in his 21 April article to early Stravinsky and Schoenberg's atonal works. This was music he knew Nigg had been studying in Messiaen's classes, and it was Nigg's absorption of them as models in his Concertino (p.173) that both Auric and Rostand had recently deplored.76 Although Auric did not mention Messiaen directly in his attack on Nigg, Messiaen was a central part of the Stravinsky controversy as early as the 27 February French premiere of Danses concertantes. In his 10 March review Rostand implicated Messiaen in his students' disruptive behavior without directly naming him. Were it true that the protesters were his Conservatoire students, Rostand continued, “he would be giving them a very strange education.”77 In private, Poulenc wrote matter-of-factly to Milhaud in March about Messiaen and the protesters: “The Messiaenistes are very ‘against Stravinsky last period.’ For them, the music of Igor stops with Le Sacre.”78 By the time of the third Stravinsky festival concert, Messiaen was sufficiently conscious of the association to have gone backstage after the performance to personally apologize to Rosenthal.79
Meanwhile, Messiaen had become embroiled in a controversy of his own. On 26 March, Yvonne Loriod performed the premiere of his new Vingt regards sur l'Enfant-Jésus. The first major premiere of Messiaen's music since the liberation was met with widely diverging opinions by French critics, some of whom were unsparing in their condemnation. Two opposing views appeared in the press on 3 April in the midst of the continuing controversy over the recent Stravinsky protests. Roland-Manuel in Combat wrote warmly of Messiaen's sensuous spirituality and the originality of his theoretical system, whereas in Le Figaro Bernard Gavoty condemned Messiaen for what several critics would cite as the composer's main failings: the “abysmal” verbal commentaries whose connection to the music was opaque at best, and the recondite theoretical system that was at odds with the expressive goals of the composer. “Is this heaven?” Gavoty concluded, “No, it's purgatory.”80
With Messiaen now the subject of his own press skirmish, Poulenc and Roland-Manuel, responding later that week to Jolivet's diatribe against Stravinsky, felt obligated to defend Messiaen from any guilt by association—either with the protesters who were his students or with his colleague Jolivet. Poulenc acknowledged on 4 April in Le Figaro that it was an “established fact” that both the “timid” protests at the Danses concertantes premiere and the “premeditated” ones against the Four Norwegian Moods were led by Messiaen's students. But he defended Messiaen as a person of “integrity” and “intelligence” who ought not to be negatively associated with the actions of his students. Roland-Manuel, in his 12 April response to Jolivet, wrote that, unlike Jolivet, Messiaen was “a great musician who is content to write his music. Mr. Jolivet, who is no longer a young man and who is not yet a great musician, would do well to model himself on his (p.174) colleague.”81 The importance of these published statements of support to Messiaen at this time is evident in a letter Messiaen wrote to Poulenc on 19 April to thank him for his “direct, frank, and chivalrous article, in which you so nicely defended me…. I feel less alone now that you have spoken for me. Thank you with all my heart.”82
With the even more tumultuous premiere of Messiaen's Trois petites liturgies de la Présence divine on 21 April at the Salle du Conservatoire, the controversy persisted. The concert was a major event in Paris musical circles: the first by the Concerts de la Pléiade since the liberation, with Désormière conducting the Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire and the Chorale Yvonne Gouverné singing premieres of Milhaud's Quatrains valaisans, Poulenc's Un soir de neige, and several selections of Renaissance polyphony.83 Nearly everyone involved in the Stravinsky controversy was there, from Messiaen's students (Nigg, Boulez, Jean-Louis Martinet, Pierre Henry) to the critics who had defended Stravinsky (Auric, Wiéner, Roland-Manuel, Rostand) and the composers who had recently joined the debate (Poulenc, Jolivet).84 That morning Rostand had published a notoriously harsh review of a recent organ recital by Messiaen. In language that he later recanted in print, the critic excoriated Messiaen for his verbal excesses and mocked his juxtaposition of sensuality and religion as vulgar and in poor taste.85 What resulted was yet another protracted press debate, now surrounding Messiaen the composer instead of Messiaen the teacher, that was soon dubbed “Le Cas Messiaen.”86 Messiaen himself found the furor traumatic. For his students, however, the event was galvanizing: Nigg later described the Trois petites liturgies as “symbolizing the spiritual renewal of the country” after the terrible years of German occupation.87 Poulenc reported triumphantly to Paul Collaer in Belgium that, between the Stravinsky protests and the Messiaen premiere, musical life in Paris had come alive.88 His opinion was shared by Messiaen's friend, Guy Bernard-Delapierre, in an article published shortly after the premiere: “In this [city of] Paris liberated a few months earlier, slowly relearning how to live, the sudden revelation of this masterpiece took on the solemnity of a grand event.”89 Gavoty prefaced his discussion of “Le Cas Messiaen” in the fall of 1945 with a side-by-side description of the two scandals.90 Some six years later, Rostand regarded the press furor as the enthusiastic embrace of freedom of speech that had recently returned to France, commenting, “Everyone [except Messiaen, presumably] had a great time” (s'en donna à cœur joie).91
The two controversies were sufficiently intertwined that Messiaen responded to both simultaneously in May. From Messiaen's perspective, the (p.175) quarrel was about Stravinsky, and it made little sense to him to have been placed in the middle of it. He argued that Stravinsky was only a “pretext” to the real issue of the uncertainty surrounding music composition in the present day. What we are waiting for, he declared, was a composer who would come after Stravinsky and neoclassicism. Messiaen's description of the anticipation surrounding this musician was self-consciously biblical:
After Stravinsky, Honegger, and Bartók we await a musician who is not neoclassical but who is so profoundly and brilliantly revolutionary that his style can one day be called classical. Several French and foreign composers have already tried to fill this role: they are the precursors of this surprising genius. When will he appear? In twenty, fifty, seventy years? What a burden of influences, hesitations, reappraisals, detours, hopes, experiments, and partial successes will weigh upon his shoulders! Because it will be from all of us that he will be born: he will be our conclusion, I was about to say our Amen.
Neoclassicism had served its purpose and produced its masterpieces (he named Symphony of Psalms as one), but, Messiaen urged, critics ought to condemn “false revolutionaries” who claimed that “‘the new music, it's us’ [‘la musique nouvelle, c'est nous’] simply because they have shifted a few bass lines in a Donizetti cavatina!” But there was no need to continue the recent name-calling: “My dear detractors, leave Stravinsky in peace; his fame has no need of us. Stop tormenting André Jolivet…. Don't accuse my dear students unjustly. And if some of the young—without my knowledge—display their enthusiasm or their disapproval too noisily, be glad of their passionate feelings, signs of a more generous and humane generation.”92
It is striking that, in speaking of “the young” as potentially representing “a more generous and humane generation,” Messiaen was referring to students who were less than twenty years younger than he was. What separated Messiaen—and Jolivet—from the students more definitively than age was the experience of having reached adulthood and having received an education before the September 1939 declaration of war against Germany.93 That sense of divide deepened as several of Messiaen's students began to study with Leibowitz in a gradual process of desertion from the late spring of 1945 on.94 Although Messiaen felt that the central musical figure of the time had yet to appear, Leibowitz was clear in his conviction that this figure was Schoenberg. Leibowitz had begun his postwar campaign on behalf of Schoenberg and twelve-tone composition soon after the liberation, organizing in November 1944 a Schoenberg-Debussy concert as well as private concerts in early 1945. Leibowitz proclaimed the language of (p.176) exclusive historical inevitability for twelve-tone music in his announcement for the 1944 concert in Combat, accusing Parisians of “long before the ban imposed by the German occupation … [having] accepted a sort of conspiracy of silence around what seems to me to be the most important music of our time.” With the end of the occupation, “the time has come,” Leibowitz proclaimed, “to familiarize the man of today with a mode of expression that he will recognize, sooner or later, as the only musical language suitable to be discussed at the present time.”95
The few critics who took notice of Leibowitz in the fall of 1944 scoffed at his ideas. Roland-Manuel dismissed him as “a priest of a deconsecrated temple,” and Auric derided Schoenberg's music during the 1945 Stravinsky festival.96 During the Messiaen arguments, Poulenc protested when the preface to Leibowitz's Introduction à la musique de douze sons appeared in a lavish volume of Cahiers d'art dedicated to French artistic efforts during the occupation, juxtaposing Leibowitz's arguments on behalf of Schoenberg with the paintings of Picasso, Matisse, and Braque and the poems of Éluard and René Char.97 “Everyone knows,” Poulenc wrote, “that, aesthetically, my nationalism is among the most flexible.” It was not mindless flag-waving, he argued, but common sense to wonder why a French composer was not given the place of honor in this volume. Why not an essay on Messiaen, “whose rapid ascent is truly the most crucial event in French music in the past four years? There's a musician who doesn't need to split a hair twelve ways to enrich our heritage in a spectacular fashion.”98
Poulenc's nationalism, a potent force in the French experience of the Second World War, was at the heart of the generational divide. As we have seen, Nigg had no need of Jolivet's nationalist rhetoric to reject Stravinsky as a model for young French composers. Likewise, Schoenberg's nationality did not prevent Nigg from embracing Leibowitz's view of the historical inevitability of twelve-tone composition by the time of his previously mentioned late 1945 Contrepoints survey response in which Nigg proclaimed twelve-tone composition as “the inevitable outcome” of a broad historical progression from modality to a tonality increasingly destabilized by chromaticism.99 Boulez agreed, later commenting on the French rejection of Schoenberg after the war that “for quite some time, especially in French circles in Paris, it was said that this music had nothing to offer us because it was so Central European that it ran counter to our entire culture. Well, I think there is no sillier way of looking at the issue. Even if the music is foreign to your point of view, if you are interested in your personal development, you must confront these works.”100 Messiaen's students were eager to learn more about the unfamiliar twelve-tone works of Schoenberg (p.177) and his students in no small part because such a system of composition was so different from anything to which they had ever been exposed. As Martinet later explained, the “psychological climate of the postwar period and the deprivations of the occupation” made young musicians such as himself eager to “explore all the possibilities that were offered to them.”101
Messiaen may have unwittingly contributed to his students' receptivity to Leibowitz, for Messiaen's tolerant attitude toward twelve-tone composition contrasted greatly with the intolerance of contemporaries such as Auric. In his own response to the 1945 Contrepoints survey, Messiaen refused to embrace or exclude any style in advance: “Why ban this or that? If it pleases me to use [the] major [mode], to mix it with my modes, or to oppose it to them? If it pleases me to imitate bird song or Hindu ragas? If it pleases me to suddenly employ serial techniques because I need them, suddenly?”102 It is important to emphasize, however, that Messiaen's ecumenical outlook did not extend to Stravinsky's neoclassical works. He reiterated his disdain in October 1945 when he decried neoclassical composers as “placing around their works a modern sauce that fools the ears of the public, which imagines having heard ‘modern’ music.”103 Despite having apparently apologized to Rosenthal after the third Stravinsky festival concert, Messiaen was unrepentant in a February 1946 interview: “I cannot accompany my students to concerts with a billy club in my hands.” “I admire Stravinsky,” he continued, “but I believe that Le Sacre marked the pinnacle of his genius.”104 Messiaen's students fully embraced his opinion in their protests of March-April 1945. It is true that their next teacher, Leibowitz, shared Messiaen's disdain. After the 1945 Stravinsky festival Leibowitz repeated his earlier condemnation of Stravinsky's “academic” neoclassicism from the 1938 Paris premiere of the “Dumbarton Oaks” concerto, writing that he would leave to others a closer analysis of Stravinsky's recent pieces: “Given the scant attention Stravinsky pays to his scores today, I don't see why I should get worked up about them myself.”105 But Leibowitz's article “Stravinsky, or, The Choice of Musical Misery,” in which this statement appears, was not published until April 1946, one year after the protests had taken place.
The Legacy of the Occupation and the Early Cold War in France
Leibowitz's 1946 article was one of the last contributions to the Stravinsky controversy. One senses that, although the protests themselves already belonged to the past, the issues raised in the ensuing debates continued to (p.178) resonate in the early years of the cold war in France. In Leibowitz's words, “The criticism that some made of [Stravinsky]—namely, his abandonment of a certain explosiveness [and] of a search toward the discovery of new means of expression—is exactly that which others raised as a virtue. Thus we find ourselves before problems that go beyond the simple ‘Cas Strawinsky’ and call into question the most fundamental questions of today's musical life.”106 Yet Leibowitz's insistence on the exclusive historical inevitability of Schoenberg's model soon alienated at least one of his new students. Boulez's lessons with Leibowitz lasted only a few months; as he later explained to Goléa, he had come to the conclusion that “Leibowitz, for serial music, was the worst academicism; [he was] much more dangerous for serial music than tonal academicism had ever been for tonal music.”107 Having rejected the content of Leibowitz's dogma, Boulez nevertheless continued to embrace both the singularity of Leibowitz's vision and the strong aversion to nationalism that was typical of the generation that had come of age during the occupation. For Boulez there was only one valid way to proceed, and that way could only be found in the rejection of history. When Boulez revisited the 1945 Stravinsky protests in 1971, he reiterated his conviction that, after the “brilliant firework display” of their early years, both Stravinsky and Schoenberg were “haunted” by “history with a capital H.” His conclusion: “I shall praise amnesia.”108
Defining the political significance of Boulez's postwar rejection of his national heritage in favor of an aesthetic based on revolutionary compositional techniques—what Leibowitz called “the search toward the discovery of new means of expression”—has proven to be elusive. It is telling that when Carroll proposes a political interpretation of Boulez's Structures 1a in the 1952 L'Œuvre du XXème siècle, the same festival that brought Stravinsky himself to postwar Paris for the first time, he uses the metaphor of neutralité. It is the very inscrutability of Structures 1a to any interpretation that Carroll argues is a representation of the French desire to resist political pressures from both East and West and find its own unique path during the early cold war.109 Indeed, despite the CIA's role in funding festivals such as L'Œuvre du XXème siècle in Paris in 1952 and Music of the XXth Century in Rome in 1954, both of which included the music of serial composers, the case for arguing that the CIA promoted high modernism is much weaker in music than it is in literature and the visual arts. More plausible is Ian Wellens's contention that we ought to interpret postwar musical modernism “not as a political statement, but as a withdrawal from conventional politics, and one which … laid it open to appropriation.”110 As Wellens points out, whereas the Paris and Rome festivals were vigorously (p.179) opposed by left-wing politicians and publications, Boulez participated in the Paris festival and objected to the Rome festival because of its pompousness, not its politics.111
By contrast, Nigg's postwar trajectory was profoundly shaped by his yearning to forge a direct connection between his musical aesthetics and his political convictions. Initially, Nigg's postwar choices, like those of Boulez, were motivated primarily by musical polemics. Before 1947 the PCF displayed a tolerant attitude toward the lively debates over the future of French music that were taking place in left-wing French newspapers among party members like Nigg as well as noncommunists.112 In Nigg's April 1945 Combat article about the 1945 Stravinsky festival, any traces of Nigg's membership in the PCF are deeply submerged in vague talk of “an ethics of musical creation” and a sarcastic observation that “just as everyone today is a socialist, everyone is equally in favor of the music of the future.”113 Meanwhile, Nigg was gravitating to Leibowitz to study twelve-tone compositional methods, attracted by the ideal of a universal language mandated by history and uniquely suited to creating “a new musical order” founded on rational and logical principles.114 Nigg remained loyal to Leibowitz much longer than Boulez and is often numbered among the first French composers to embrace twelve-tone methods. For instance, his Variations for Piano and Ten Instruments was among three French contributions—the others were by Leibowitz and another of his students, André Casanova—to Leibowitz's International Festival of Contemporary Chamber Music in homage to Schoenberg, which took place in Paris on 25 and 29 January 1947.115
Nigg's eventual rupture with Leibowitz, which was motivated primarily by politics, was far more complete than Boulez's had been. At the end of 1947 a rapidly changing political landscape forced Nigg to confront the idea that his aesthetic affinity for twelve-tone composition and his political membership in the PCF might no longer be compatible. In March–April 1947 in Moscow the foreign ministers of the United States, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union were unable to come up with a peace plan for Germany and Austria that did not involve partition.116 Escalating tensions in Europe between the two superpowers put pressure on the PCF to bring the activities of all its members into closer alignment with official Soviet directives. The February 1948 resolution of the Soviet Communist Party made clear the consequences in the Soviet Union of disregarding the party's directives on socialist realism and formalism in music. The resolution's text was widely discussed in France as early as March 1948 and published in French translation two years later.117
(p.180) When, in May 1948, French musicians who sympathized with the PCF traveled to Prague to attend the Second International Congress of Composers and Music Critics, they learned what the Soviet Communist Party expected of communist musicians in the West. Nigg joined several other French musicians in signing the Prague Manifesto, which laid out these expectations, and in forming the Association française des musiciens progressistes, an organization meant to promote the manifesto's principles. These were fourfold: to renounce “extreme subjectivism” in their music in favor of the expression of progressive ideals; to defend their national cultural heritage against “falsely cosmopolitan tendencies”; to pay more attention to the vocal forms (operas, oratorios, cantatas, choruses) that would best convey progressive ideals in music; and to musically educate the masses. The manifesto was published in Les Lettres françaises, now under the control of the PCF, in October 1948.118
Nigg's initial reaction to the Prague Manifesto was to try to find a way to reconcile his avant-garde compositional style with his Communist Party membership, which was itself rooted in his belief in the necessity of social commitment in art. One week after Les Lettres françaises, published the Prague Manifesto, the newspaper published an interview between Nigg and his fellow “musicien progressiste,” the music critic Pierre Kaldor. Nigg embraced without condition the idea that all music composition “expresses a social reality, which it is shaped by,” but he defended his right as a composer to use avant-garde methods to achieve socialist ideals. When Kaldor questioned Nigg about the difficulty of his proposed synthesis, Nigg responded that a composer was now obligated to try to “integrate his most extreme research with what people had the right to expect of him, in a synthesis that could constitute the foundation of a truly new music.”119 Nigg attempted to create such a synthesis with his 1949 oratorio Le fusillé inconnu, only to abandon twelve-tone methods in his next major work, the symphonic poem Pour un poète captif, as well as the choral works he was then writing for groups such as the Chorale populaire de Paris.120
It took until 1954, however, for Nigg to accept the manifesto's directive to embrace his national heritage in his nonchoral concert works. In his Piano Concerto of 1954, Nigg used d'Indy's Symphonie sur un chant montagnard français for piano and orchestra of 1886 as a model in composing a deeply conventional three-movement work. Like d'Indy, Nigg opened his concerto with a French folk tune—first heard, as was d'Indy's, in solo woodwinds over muted strings in a slow introduction—that recurs throughout the rest of the first movement. Nigg's concerto was reviewed enthusiastically in Les Lettres françaises by Renaud de Jouvenel, who compared his music favorably to (p.181) Soviet composers Aram Khachaturian and Arno Babadjanian and praised his rediscovery of his national heritage: “Serge Nigg is French. It is an experience that does not often happen to us to watch the birth of a French composer of whom we can be proud.”121 De Jouvenel later claimed that he was the one who introduced Nigg to the French folk song “Filles, chantez le mois de mai,” which became the theme of his Piano Concerto. Until 1954 de Jouvenel had been the director of Le Chant du Monde, a music publishing and record firm funded by the PCF.122 In 1952 Le Chant du Monde issued a recording of Nigg's choral harmonizations of French folk songs, including “Filles, chantez le mois de mai,” and published them in 1957, the same year the firm published Nigg's Piano Concerto.
Yet such a close embrace of his national heritage in Nigg's concert music was both ambivalent and short-lived. In verbal statements Nigg was unambiguous in his rejection of serialism, specifically adopting the language of the Soviet Communist Party's 1948 resolution on music. He told Gavoty and Daniel Lesur in a 1955 radio interview, “For several years I was a prisoner of ideas that were artificial, manufactured, morbid, and soul-destroying; for years I dared not write a single triad, or a free and fresh melody. Think of the Procrustean bed: I was one of the victims of what one could call ‘The Musical Terror.’”123 But even in music as outwardly loyal to his national heritage as the 1954 Piano Concerto, Nigg did not make a complete break with his recent past. De Jouvenel's otherwise glowing review of the Concerto for a communist newspaper pointed to the lingering effects of Nigg's twelve-tone music in the “jerky orchestration” and complex contrapuntal treatment of the folk-song theme.124 In the concerto's first movement, the initial statement of the folk-song theme appears in the flute and clarinet (ex. 21a). When the theme returns in a climax near the end of the movement, there is a simultaneous statement of two versions of the theme, now transformed rhythmically and metrically. At the same time as the first and second violins and viola (doubled by the flute, oboe, and clarinet) play the theme in diminution and in thirds both above and below the original key, a second version of the first half of the tune, transposed down a whole step and with its original rhythmic durations, can be heard in the bassoons, trumpets, and trombones (ex. 21b). The complexity of such moments have led musicologists who have studied Nigg's activities during this period to suggest that, despite the clarity of his verbal pronouncements in adhering to socialist realist ideals, such a label may not be appropriate for his music.125 As soon as Nigg left the PCF in 1956—disillusioned, as were several other French musicians and intellectuals, by the Soviet invasion of Hungary—he immediately abandoned the adherence to national tradition of his 1954 (p.182)
The problem was that the 1948 Soviet directive to embrace his national heritage pushed Nigg to adopt the very aesthetic positions that had been advocated by conservative French composers during the German occupation. Nigg and his fellow students had rejected Stravinsky's neoclassicism as unbearably retrospective in 1945, with the near-unanimous certainty of Stravinsky's defenders reminding them of the smug commendations by wartime composers of new music that was modeled on d'Indy's symphonic works as the future of the New French School. Some of these composers, moreover, were still advocating their wartime positions in 1955. At the same time as Nigg was denouncing serialism in his radio interview with Gavoty and Lesur, the eighty-three-year-old Busser was telling the same interviewers that the postwar influence of Schoenberg in France was as “decadent” as (p.183) (p.184) that of Wagner in 1914, and that neither were “in the lineage of French genius”; Aubin, who was teaching composition at the Conservatoire at the time, was insisting still that young French composers ought to respect the lineage of French music from Gounod to Ravel. “The only rupture between music and composers,” Aubin complained, “is for those who amuse themselves in burning bridges. There is no [rupture] for the French composers who remain appropriately faithful to their culture.”126 Meanwhile, Boulez was mocking the very idea of a French tradition in music, while Nigg, pressured by the PCF to make use of the French musical heritage, did so in few of his compositions.127
During the 1945 Stravinsky debates, Nigg was a spokesman for his generation in both words and music, with his political commitment to communism playing a negligible role. After 1947, as the Soviet Union began to intervene directly in the political and creative lives of communist musicians in western Europe, Nigg could not maintain his aesthetic interests in twelve-tone composition or his distaste for overt expressions of French nationalism and remain a loyal member of the PCF. Nigg's ambivalent engagement with the Soviet doctrine of socialist realism in works such as his 1954 Piano Concerto demonstrates how the legacy of the German occupation of France lasted into the early cold war. The stylistic choices faced by French composers during this period were colored not only by the global cold war rhetoric from the superpowers, but also by the local history of France's wartime promotion of the French musical heritage as a model for a New French School. When Nigg swiftly abandoned both the French national heritage and Soviet aesthetic doctrine in the music he composed after he left the PCF in 1956, he finally began to seek the music that, he felt, would appropriately express what in 1945 he had called the “profoundly felt uncertainty” of the era. For Nigg, as for France, the early cold war had come to an end.
(1) . Manuel Rosenthal, interview by Marc Dumon, “1944: Les musiques de la Libération: Vers des lendemains qui chantent,” France Culture, 10 June 1994.
(2) . The decision, wrote Barraud, “was a little risky, in the sense that we were placing all our bets on one name, but [the name] became a sort of flag.” Henry Barraud, interview with Pierre Dellard and Louis Courtinat, “Henry Barraud: Une longue carrière radiophonique au coeur de la vie musicale et au service de la culture (1938–1965),” Cahiers d'histoire de la Radiodiffusion 43 (December 1994–February 1995): 153–54.
(3) . Joan Peyser, Boulez (New York: Schirmer, 1976), 33; Dominique Jameux, Pierre Boulez (Paris: Fayard, 1984), 30; Jésus Aguila, Le Domaine musical: Pierre Boulez et vingt ans de création contemporaine (Paris: Fayard, 1992), 178. See also Antoine Goléa, Rencontres avec Pierre Boulez (Paris: René Julliard, 1958), 9–11.
(4) . Mark Carroll, Music and Ideology in Cold War Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 96.
(5) . Ibid., 10–11; Frances Stonor Saunders, The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters (New York: The New Press, 1999), 113–28; Ian Wellens, Music on the Frontline: Nicolas Nabokov's Struggle against Communism and Middlebrow Culture (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2002), 45–62. Carroll's erroneous claim that the 1945 Stravinsky festival was associated with 1945 commemorations of the liberation of Paris stems from his misreading of Goléa's Rencontres.
(6) . Nigg, “La Querelle Strawinsky,” Combat, 14–15 April 1945, 2. Founded as a clandestine resistance newspaper in 1941 and edited by Albert Camus from 1943 to 1947, Combat became one of France's leading postwar newspapers, with a leftist political orientation that was independent of any political party. See Norman Stokle, Le Combat d'Albert Camus (Quebec: Presses de l'Université Laval, 1970), 20–38.
(7) . Pierre Boulez, “From the Domaine Musicale to IRCAM: Pierre Boulez in Conversation with Pierre-Michel Menger,” Perspectives of New Music 28, no. 1 (Winter 1990): 7.
(8) . Stephen Walsh, review of Music and Ideology in Cold War Europe, by Mark Carroll, twentieth-century music 1, no. 2 (2004): 312.
(9) . Henry Rousso, Le syndrome de Vichy: De 1944 à nos jours, 2nd ed. (Paris: Seuil, 1990), 42.
(10) . Similarly, Danielle Fosler-Lussier describes the chaotic period of open and free discussion in immediate postwar Hungary as “a rare opportunity to glimpse Hungarian musicians' ideas about their musical future just before their choices were restricted by the increasingly severe policies of the Communist regime that came to power in 1948.” Fosler-Lussier, Music Divided: Bartók's Legacy in Cold War Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 1.
(11) . Michèle Alten, Musiciens français dans la guerre froide (1945–1956): L'indépendance artistique face au politique (Paris: L'Harmattan, 2000), 50–51.
(12) . Although most of the country was liberated by October 1944, it took until March 1945 for the Allied forces to cross the Rhine, following the German army's final offensive push in the Battle of the Bulge. Pockets of German resistance lingered in towns along the Atlantic coast as late as 10 May, two days after the unconditional surrender of the German army in Europe. On the military campaign to end the occupation of France, see Robert Aron, Histoire de la libération de la France, juin 1944–mai 1945 (Paris: Fayard, 1959), 659–713.
(13) . Megan Koreman, “Libération,” in Historical Dictionary of World War II France: The Occupation, Vichy, and the Resistance, 1938–1946, ed. Bertram M. Gordon (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1998), 222–23.
(14) . See Auric, “It faut y voir clair!,” Les Lettres françaises, 10 February 1945, 5.
(15) . Dominique Saudinos, Manuel Rosenthal: Une vie (Paris: Mercure de France, 1992), 152. Among the many mentions of the poor conditions were Roland-Manuel's review of the first Stravinsky festival concert on 11 January (“A large and enthusiastic audience braved the snow outside and the ice that reigns inside the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées to come applaud” Stravinsky's music) and Poulenc's letter to Milhaud of 1 July 1945 (“Rosenthal's orchestra concerts have been well attended. Despite the cold, people have acquired the habit of coming to hear modern music every Thursday”). Roland-Manuel, “La Musique,” Combat, 13 January 1945, 2; Poulenc, Correspondance 1910–1963, ed. Myriam Chimènes (Paris: Fayard, 1994), 593. Rosenthal recalled how the musicians, especially those in the wind and brass sections, had to warm their instruments with their breath before they could play them. Manuel Rosenthal, interview by Marc Dumon, “1944: Les musiques de la Libération.”
(16) . Auric, “Le Cycle Strawinsky,” Les Lettres françaises, 17 February 1945, 5.
(18) . Émile Vuillermoz, preface to Philippe Henriot, Et s'ils débarquaient? (Paris: Éditions du Centre d'études d'agence Inter-France, 1944), vii–xii. On Vuillermoz's music criticism at Je suis partout, see Dioudonnat, Les 700 Rédacteurs de “Je suis partout,” 1930–1944 (Paris: Sedopols, 1993), 91. On the war carried out over the airwaves among the competing radio stations of Radio-Paris, the BBC's French-language broadcasts, and Vichy's own Radiodiffusion nationale, see Jean-Louis Crémieux-Brilhac and Hélène Eck, “France,” in La Guerre des ondes: Histoire des radios de langue française pendant la Deuxième Guerre mondiale, ed. Hélène Eck (Paris: Armand Colin, 1985), 39–149.
(19) . Pierre-Marie Dioudonnat, Je suis partout 1930–1944: Les maurassiens devant la tentation fasciste (Paris: La Table ronde, 1973), 402–11; and Dioudonnat, Les 700 Rédacteurs. On Brasillach, see Alice Kaplan, The Collaborator: The Trial and Execution of Robert Brasillach (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000.
(20) . On Rebatet's flight to Germany, see Rousso, Pétain et la fin de la collaboration: Sigmaringen 1944–1945 (Brussels: Complexe, 1984. Claude was an engineer and inventor who had advocated collaboration with Germany and a member of the comité d'honneur of Groupe Collaboration; he was sentenced to life in prison in 1945 but pardoned five years later. Vuillermoz had read an introduction to the broadcast of a 1943 speech by Claude on Radiodiffusion nationale: “La Croisade de Georges Claude: Français, il faut comprendre, un grand savant vous parle,” Dossier 1939–1944, Fonds Émile Vuillermoz, Médiathèque Musicale Mahler, Paris.
(21) . Vuillermoz had been called before a committee of the Société des gens de lettres on 24 January 1945 “to provide the committee with an explanation of his activity and his attitude during the period of enemy occupation.” On 9 February the committee informed him of their decision. A document dated November 1944 indicated that the committee viewed Vuillermoz's preface to Henriot's radio addresses as having “presented, defined, and reinforced propaganda in favor of the enemy.” Letters, 24 January 1945 and 12 February 1945, from the Société des gens de lettres to Émile Vuillermoz; Proposal, Commission d'épuration au Comité des gens de lettres, November 1944. Dossier d'épuration: Émile Vuillermoz. AN. F21.8126. Beaux-Arts. Spectacles et musique. Épuration. Comité national d'épuration des gens de lettres, auteurs et compositeurs.
(22) . Auric, “Le Cycle Strawinsky,” 5. Auric returned to the theme of retribution six weeks later when he articulated the anger several FNM members felt about the postwar hypocrisy of French musicians who went along with the Germans' plans: “People have told me several times in the last six months that everything [during the occupation] was really not as bad as I had believed it to be. This or that famous singer, didn't they have an elderly mother to feed? Apparently this pianist or that violinist, with the money of their Nazi masters, was hiding a mysterious parachutist, a Jew, a Communist in danger…. It wasn't at all like that, at least as much as I can remember, when I encountered them. If they were playing a ‘double game,’ they admittedly did so with a talent that oddly surpasses that which I had known them to possess.” Auric, “La Musique: Francis Poulenc à Pablo Picasso,” Les Lettres françaises, 31 March 1945, 5.
(23) . “Mort de quelqu'un,” Musiciens d'aujourd'hui 8 (February 1944): 3–4. Henry Barraud recalled in his postwar memoirs that Auric was the only musician to testify against Vuillermoz at his postwar purification trial. When it came to Vuillermoz, Barraud noted, Auric “had the soul of [Antoine Quentin] Fouquier-Tinville,” a notoriously ruthless public prosecutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal during the Reign of Terror. Barraud, Un compositeur aux commandes de la Radio: Essai autobiographique, ed. Myriam Chimènes and Karine Le Bail (Paris: Fayard, 2010), 392.
(24) . Wartime performances by Charles Münch and the Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire included Ibert's Ouverture de fête, Concertino da camera, and Flute Concerto as well as four performances of Stravinsky's Firebird and one each of Le Sacre du printemps, Les Noces, the Symphony of Psalms, Jeu de cartes, and the Concerto in Ea “Dumbarton Oaks.” For wartime orchestral performances in Paris, see Alexandra Laederich, “Les associations symphoniques parisiennes,” in La vie musicale sous Vichy, ed. Myriam Chimènes (Brussels: Complexe, 2001), 217–34. See also “Programmes soumises à la censure, 1940–1944,” BNF-Mus, Société des Concerts du Conservatoire, Archives, D 17263 (19). On 13 July 1941, Ernest Ansermet conducted the Orchestre nationale in a broadcast performance on Radiodiffusion nationale of a Stravinsky festival that included Petrushka, The Firebird, and The Nightingale. Radio national 8 (13–19 July 1941). Stravinsky's music also appeared regularly on the programs of the Concerts de la Pléiade. For the programs of the Concerts de la Pléiade, see Nigel Simeone, “Messiaen and the Concerts de la Pléiade: ‘A Kind of Clandestine Revenge Against the Occupation,’” Music and Letters 81, no. 4 (November 2000): 575–78.
(25) . As the director of the Académie de France at the Villa Medici in Rome since 1937, Ibert was closely allied with the Ministry of National Education during the Popular Front years. Ibert chose not to return to Paris to participate in the occupied capital's musical life, spending the war instead in the south of France and Switzerland. See Gérard Michel, Jacques Ibert: L'homme et son oeuvre (Paris: Seghers, 1967), 70–74. See also Alexandra Laederich, Catalogue de l'oeuvre de Jacques Ibert (1890–1962) (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1998), xi.
(26) . See 1938 assessments such as that of Boris de Schloezer, who wrote that the “Dumbarton Oaks” concerto represented “the most dismal, the flattest academicism,” in Stephen Walsh, Stravinsky: The Second Exile: France and America, 1934–1971 (New York: Knopf, 2006), 77–78.
(27) . Georges Auric, “Tibor Harsanyi,” Les Lettres françaises, 3 March 1945, 5.
(28) . Jean Wiéner, “Danses concertantes d'Igor Strawinsky,” Arts 7 (16 March 1945): 4.
(29) . Roland-Manuel, “La Musique: Les Danses concertantes d'Igor Strawinsky,” Combat, 9 March 1945, 2.
(30) . Raymond Fearn, The Music of Luigi Dallapiccola (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2003), 34. Dallapiccola's brief juxtaposition of twelve-tone composition with modality in Tre Laudi prefigured his more extensive use of both in his better-known Canti di prigionia.
(31) . Both performances are listed on Nigg's website at the Académie des Beaux-Arts, where he was elected in 1989. www.academie-des-beaux-arts.fr/membres/actuel/Musique/Nigg/fiche.htm (accessed 10 July 2010).
(32) . Claude Chamfray lists the score of the Concertino as destroyed in his 1966 catalogue of Nigg's works, “Serge Nigg,” Le Courrier musical de France 13 (1966): 57.
(33) . “Une enquête (suite): Serge Nigg, ou les convictions combatives,” Contrepoints 3 (March–April 1946): 78–79. Concerts de la Pléiade, program, 13 February 1947, 16–17: Denise Tual, Programmes, Concerts de la Pléiade, 1943–1951, BNF-Mus Rés. Vm.dos. 70 (2); Bruno Valeano, “Sur quelques jeunes musiciens,” Contrepoints 1 (January 1946): 64. Nigg's survey responses, although not published until the March–April 1946 issue, predate the January 1946 issue of Contrepoints.
(34) . Rostand, “La Musique: Strawinsky et Milhaud,” Carrefour 29 (10 March 1945): 5.
(35) . Roland-Manuel, “Signification de quelques coups de sifflet,” Combat, 25–26 March 1945, 2.
(36) . Auric, “Strawinsky ou l'éternel renouvellement,” Les Lettres françaises, 24 March 1945, 5; Auric, “Tibor Harsanyi,” 5. Nigg later claimed that Rosenthal retaliated against him for his role in the protests by canceling his plans to perform Timour with the Orchestre national. Nigg, quoted by Jean Boivin in La Classe de Messiaen (Paris: Christian Bourgeois, 1995), 64–65.
(37) . Rostand, “Strawinsky contre les imbeciles,” Carrefour 31 (24 March 1945): 5. Stravinsky also expressed skepticism about the spontaneity of the protests, writing to Rosenthal, “[The] sincere and spontaneous manifestations against the Sacre in 1913 [were] comprehensible because of the violent character of this score…. But one doubts the spontaneity of a howling manifestation against the Norwegian Moods, the elements that could provoke boisterous protestations being totally absent'…. Unless I am mistaken, it seems that once the violent has been accepted, the amiable, in turn, is no longer tolerable.” Stravinsky to Rosenthal, January 12, 1946. Quoted in translation in Stravinsky: Selected Correspondence, ed. Robert Craft (New York: Knopf, 1984), 2:347. (italics in original).
(38) . André Jolivet, “Assez de Strawinsky,” Noir et blanc 8 (4 April 1945): 114. In Jolivet's manuscript version, this final sentence is followed by “And, this, first and foremost, in France.” André Jolivet, Écrits, ed. Christine Jolivet-Erlih (Sampzon, France: Delatour, 2007), 1:183.
(39) . In a postwar interview Barraud justified the choice of Stravinsky, a nonnative French composer, with the claim, also made by Rostand, that the marginal role his music had played during the war made his Russianness irrelevant: “He may have been Russian through and through; no matter, no one had been playing his music for years.” Barraud, interview with Pierre Dellard and Louis Courtinat, “Henry Barraud: Une longue carrière radiophonique au coeur de la vie musicale et au service de la culture (1938–1965),” Cahiers d'histoire de la Radiodiffusion 43 (December 1994–February 1995): 154.
(40) . The singer Joseph Peyron and the pianists Monique Haas and Francis Poulenc performed in both concerts. Simeone, “Messiaen and the Concerts de la Pléiade,” 577. See also note 24. Joan Evans has shown that Stravinsky's music was heard frequently in Germany until September 1939, after which time his status as a French citizen made German performances of his music problematic. French citizenship, of course, was not a cause for censorship in German-occupied (p.243) France. Evans, “Stravinsky's Music in Hitler's Germany,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 56, no. 3 (Fall 2003): 581–84.
(41) . Egk's appearance with the Grand Orchestre de Radio-Paris was announced in Les Ondes 78 (25 October 1942) for broadcast on October 29.
(42) . On the positive reviews that performances of Egk's music received in occupied France, see my “Music for a ‘New Era’: Composers and National Identity in France, 1936–1946,” PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2000, 262–63, 334–41. See also chapter 1.
(43) . Catherine Morgan, “Roland Manuel nous dit l'action de quatre ans de musiciens français,” Les Lettres françaises, 16 September 1944, 7.
(44) . Poulenc, “Vive Strawinsky!” Le Figaro, 9 April 1945, 1.
(45) . On the involvement of the PAF in the production, see Marie-Agnès Joubert, La Comédie-Française sous l'Occupation (Paris: Tallandier, 1998), 178–86; and Jean-Claire Vançon, André Jolivet (Paris: Bleu Nuit, 2007), 77–78. On Jolivet's involvement as composer and conductor for the production, see Lucie Kayas, André Jolivet (Paris: Fayard, 2005), 320–33. Jolivet's incidental music for Iphigenie in Delphi was published and recorded in 1957 by Pathé Marconi as Suite delphique.
(46) . The scheduled broadcasts of Iphigenie in Delphi on 21 July 1943. and Trois Complaintes du soldat on 23 July 1943. are listed in Les Ondes 116 (18 July 1943): 8, 10.
(47) . Jolivet's wife, Hilda, originally from Algeria, could not return from maternity leave as a schoolteacher after the first Statut des Juifs was passed on 3 October 1940. The law also stripped Algerian Jews of their French nationality. Kayas, André Jolivet, 289.
(48) . Roland-Manuel, “Une nouvelle querelle des Bouffons,” Combat, 12 April 1945, 2.
(49) . Unsigned editorial, Combat, 14–15 April 1945, 2.
(50) . Roland-Manuel, “Une nouvelle querelle des bouffons,” 2.
(51) . Poulenc, “Vive Strawinsky!,” 1.
(52) . Nigg, “La Querelle Strawinsky,” 2.
(53) . Serge Guilbaut, “Comment la Ville lumière s'est fait voler l'idée d'art moderne,” in Paris 1944–1954: Artistes, intellectuels, publics: la culture comme enjeu, ed. Philippe Gumplowicz and Jean-Claude Klein (Paris: Éditions Autrement, 1995), 49.
(55) . Nigg, “La Querelle Strawinsky,” 2.
(56) . Louis Hautecoeur, Les Beaux-Arts en France, passé et avenir (Paris: Picard, 1948), 80.
(57) . On Nigg's early years, see Nicolas Bacri, “Serge Nigg: Une introduction,” in Marius Constant et Serge Nigg: Deux compositeurs en marge des systèmes, ed. François Madurell (Paris: La Sorbonne, 2000), 56. On Boulez's arrival in Paris, see Jameux, Pierre Boulez, 23–29.
(58) . Henri Busser, De Pelléas aux Indes galantes … de la flûte au tambour (Paris: Fayard, 1955), esp. 268–69. The publication of his composition textbook (p.244) in 1943 firmly established Busser, at age seventy-one, as a prominent conservative voice in wartime France. Busser, Précis de composition, with a preface by Claude Delvincourt (Paris: Durand, 1943).
(59) . “‘Ehrt eure deutschen Meister!’ dit Hans Sachs à la fin des Maîtres chanteurs. Il a raison. Honorons nos maîtres français.” Honegger, “Le Festival Claude Debussy,” Comoedia, 21 June 1941, 3.
(60) . D'Indy, “Concerts Lamoureux,” S.I.M. 9 (1 December 1913): 45, quoted by Brian Hart in “The Symphony in Theory and Practice in France, 1900–1914,” PhD diss., Indiana University, 1994, 140.
(61) . Aubin, “Premières auditions,” Comoedia, 20 February 1943, 5.
(62) . The piece, which was dedicated to Münch, was published by Lemoine in 1941 and received a second wartime performance by the Concerts Pasdeloup on 14 March 1943. Dandelot received a second state commission for an opera in 1943. See my “Music for a ‘New Era,’” 385–86, 393, 395. On Dandelot, see Armand Machabey's wartime portrait, “Galerie de quelques jeunes musiciens parisiens: Georges Dandelot,” L'Information musicale 80 (4 September 1942): 11, reprinted in Machabey, Portraits de trente musiciens français (Paris: Richard-Masse, 1949), 49–53.
(63) . Program, Société des Concerts du Conservatoire, Salle du Conservatoire, 14 February 1943. BNF-Mus, Société des Concerts du Conservatoire, Programmes, 1932–1967. Compare to d'Indy's contention that the symphony as a genre is “opposed to the very idea of a literary or poetic program, a scenic or mimed representation, or the declamation of any words whatsoever.” D'Indy, Cours de composition musicale, ed. Auguste Sérieyx (Paris: Durand, 1933), vol. 2, part 2, p. 100.
(64) . Serge Moreux, “La musique,” La Gerbe, 25 February 1943, 7; Jean Douel, review of Dandelot, Symphonie en ré, L'Information musicale 112 (16 April 1943): 289.
(66) . Boulez joined Messiaen's private lessons in the fall of 1944; Nigg joined the private lessons sometime around 1946, shortly before he left the Conservatoire. On Nigg, see Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 48. On Boulez, see ibid., 34–35. Boulez wrote of the enormous impact of Messiaen's teaching on himself and his fellow students in “Une classe et ses chimères,” a tribute to Messiaen on his fiftieth birthday in 1959. Reprinted in Boulez, Points de repère, ed. Jean-Jacques Nattiez (Paris: Christian Bourgois, 1981), 566–67.
(67) . Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 434.
(68) . Messiaen's opinions on Stravinsky's use of rhythm appeared in print in a 1939 article in which he singled out Le Sacre and Les Noces as Stravinsky's most significant works. “Le rythme chez Igor Stravinsky,” Revue musicale 191 (June 1939): 91–92. Both Messiaen and his former students later recalled the prominence of Le Sacre in his classes. Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 37–38, 46.
(69) . Messiaen, in José Bruyr, “Olivier Messiaen,” in L'Écran des musiciens, seconde série (Paris: José Corti, 1933), 128. The interview was published two years after it took place. See Simeone, “Offrandes oubliées 2: Messiaen, Boulanger, and José Bruyr,” Musical Times 142 (Spring 2001): 20.
(70) . Nigg, quoted in Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 64.
(71) . Nigg, “La querelle Strawinsky,” 2. The reference could apply to either Danses concertantes or the Concerto in Ea “Dumbarton Oaks,” which had last been performed in Paris in May 1944.
(72) . Stravinsky had recently remarked, “Of all the musical forms, the one considered the richest from the point of view of development is the symphony…. I only mention the subject in passing to remind you that there exists in music, just as in the other arts, a sort of hierarchy of forms.” Stravinsky, Poetics of Music, trans. Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl (New York: Vintage Books, 1947), 44–45. The lectures were given in 1939–40, while Stravinsky was composing the Symphony in C.
(73) . Edward T. Cone, “The Uses of Convention: Stravinsky and His Models,” in Stravinsky: A New Appraisal of His Work, ed. Paul Henry Lang (New York: W. W. Norton, 1963), 21–33.
(74) . Roland-Manuel, “Une nouvelle symphonie de Strawinsky,” Combat, 22–23 April 1945, 2.
(75) . Auric, “Génie et sifflets à roulette,” Les Lettres françaises, 21 April 1945, 5.
(76) . Auric, “Tibor Harsanyi,” 5; Rostand, “La Musique: Strawinsky et Milhaud,” 5.
(77) . Rostand, “La Musique: Strawinsky et Milhaud,” 5.
(78) . Poulenc to Milhaud, 27 March 1945, in Poulenc, Correspondance, 585.
(79) . Peter Hill and Nigel Simeone, Messiaen (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 393, note 11. They cite Roger Nichols as their source.
(80) . Roland-Manuel, “Olivier Messiaen et ses Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant-Jésus,” Combat, 3 April 1945, 2; Clarendon [Bernard Gavoty], “Les Concerts: Regard sur Olivier Messiaen,” Le Figaro, 3 April 1945, 2. For a detailed account of several responses in the press to Messiaen's music in the spring of 1945, see Hill and Simeone, Messiaen, 144–54, 160–61, and 165–67.
(81) . Poulenc, “Vive Strawinsky!,” 1. Roland-Manuel, “Une nouvelle querelle des bouffons,” 2.
(82) . Messiaen to Poulenc, 19 April 1945; in Poulenc, Correspondance, 586. (italics in original).
(83) . For the full program, see Simeone, “Messiaen and the Concerts de la Pléiade,” 577.
(84) . Hill and Simeone, Messiaen, 148.
(85) . Messiaen performed Les Corps glorieux at the Palais de Chaillot on 15 April 1945. To cite one of the most offending passages of Rostand's review: “When Mr. Messiaen speaks to me of ‘birds who have swallowed blue,’ I simply respond to him with the five letters made famous by General Cambronne [a euphemism for merde], for either he takes me for an imbecile and thus I have the right to consider him a rogue, or I fear for his sanity and his case, regarding his literary work, is a matter for psychiatric evaluation.” Rostand, “Olivier Messiaen,” Carrefour 35 (21 April 1945): 5. Rostand apologized for his offensive language in Olivier Messiaen (Paris: Ventadour, 1957), 8, note 2.
(86) . On “Le Cas Messiaen” in the context of postwar France, see Lilise Boswell-Kurc, “Olivier Messiaen's Religious War-Time Works and Their Controversial Reception in France (1941–46),” PhD diss., New York University, 2001.
(87) . Nigg, quoted in Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 65.
(88) . Poulenc recommended to Collaer that he program the Trois petites liturgies in Brussels. Poulenc to Collaer, 26 April 1945; Archives Collaer, quoted in Poulenc, Correspondance, 587.
(89) . Guy Bernard[-Delapierre], “Souvenirs sur Olivier Messiaen,” Formes et couleurs, nos. 3–4 (1945): n.p.
(90) . Gavoty, “Musique et mystique: Le ‘Cas’ Messiaen,” Études (October–December 1945): 21–22.
(91) . Rostand, La musique française contemporaine (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1952), 57.
(92) . Messiaen, “Querelle de la musique et de l'amour,” Volontés (16 May 1945): 1. (italics in original).
(93) . To my knowledge, there were two exceptions. Martinet, who attended Messiaen's private lessons, was born in 1915; he began his studies at the Conservatoire in 1933, was mobilized in 1939, and returned to the Conservatoire in October 1940. Raymond Depraz was born in 1912; he joined Messiaen's harmony class in 1943–44 after returning from a German prisoner-of-war camp. Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 410–11.
(94) . According to Jameux, Boulez first met Leibowitz at Claude Halphen's house in February 1945. Boivin describes the studies as lasting from late spring in 1945 to the following fall, with interruptions during the summer. After surveying the many contradictory dates in the literature, Susanne Gärtner has concluded that Boulez's studies began no later than June 1945 and that they lasted only a few months. Nigg claimed to Boivin that he instigated the defection of Messiaen's students to study with Leibowitz, whom he had met through André Casanova, but he gave no dates. Jameux, Pierre Boulez, 29; Boivin, La Classe de Messiaen, 57–58; Gärtner, “La discipline dodécaphonique. Untersuchungen zu René Leibowitz' Rezeption später Werke Anton Webern,” Lizentiatsarbeit, Universität Basel, 1996, 4–7, 16–17; quoted by Sabine Meine in Ein Zwölftöner in Paris: Studien zu Biographie und Wirkung von René Leibowitz (Augsburg: Wissner, 2000), 211.
(95) . Leibowitz, “La Musique: Un festival Debussy-Schoenberg,” Combat, 18 November 1944, 2.
(96) . Roland-Manuel, “La Musique,” Combat, 25 November 1944, 2; Auric, “Génie et sifflets à roulette.”
(97) . Leibowitz, “Introduction à la musique de douze sons,” Cahiers d'art (1940–44): 111–25. Leibowitz's article, with some minor editorial changes, became the preface, the introduction, and the first four sections of the first chapter of Introduction à la musique de douze sons: Les Variations pour orchestre op. 31, d'Arnold Schoenberg (Paris: L'Arche, 1949).
(98) . Poulenc, “Le musicien et le sorcier,” Les Lettres françaises, 5 May 1945, 5.
(99) . “Une enquête (suite): Serge Nigg,” 78–79.
(100) . Boulez, Par volonté et par hasard: Entretiens avec Célestin Déliege (Paris: Seuil, 1975), 33–34.
(102) . “Une enquête (suite): Olivier Messiaen, ou les harmonies poétiques et ingénieuses,” Contrepoints 3 (March–April 1946): 74 (emphasis in original).
(103) . Messiaen, in Claude Chamfray, “Notre enquête: Le désarroi musical: Olivier Messiaen,” Arts 39 (26 October 1945): 5.
(104) . Messiaen, in Gabriel Bender, “Un entretien avec Olivier Messiaen,” Guide du concert 15 (22 February 1946): 190–91.
(105) . Leibowitz, “Igor Strawinsky ou le choix de la misère musicale,” Les Temps modernes 1, no. 7 (April 1946): 1335. In 1938 Leibowitz saw the “Dumbarton Oaks” concerto as evidence of Stravinsky's “total creative impotence” and described a fugal passage as “revoltingly academic.” Leibowitz, “La Musique: Dialogue sur Strawinsky,” Esprit 6, no. 70 (June 1938): 587. See also note 26.
(106) . Leibowitz, “Igor Strawinsky,” 1320.
(108) . Boulez, “Style ou idée? (Éloge de l'amnésie),” in Points de repère, 323. (italics in original). Originally published as “Sur Stravinsky néo-classique,” Musique en jeu 4 (1971): 4–14.
(109) . Carroll, Music and Ideology, 3, 16, 91. Boulez and Messiaen performed the premiere of Structures 1a in a chamber music festival associated with L'OEuvre du XXème siècle, where it caused an audience protest of its own. Robert Craft described the incident, which he and Stravinsky witnessed, in Stravinsky: Chronicle of a Friendship, rev. ed. (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 1994), 77.
(110) . Wellens, Music on the Frontline, 126. Wellens argues that Stonor Saunders mischaracterizes the Rome festival in particular as having “a heavy concentration” on serialist composers in order to make her case for CIA sponsorship of serialism. He contends the modest presence of serialism in the festival was consistent with its presence in any contemporary music festival of the 1950s. Ibid., 121.
(111) . Ibid., 124–26. Wellens cites Boulez's scathing rejection of Nabokov's invitation to participate in the Rome festival in a letter preserved in the archives of the International Association for Cultural Freedom, Special Collection of the Joseph Regenstein Library, University of Chicago.
(112) . Alten, Musiciens français, 11, 23.
(113) . Nigg, “La querelle Strawinsky,” 2.
(114) . Nigg, 1978 interview, cited in Bacri, “Serge Nigg,” 57.
(115) . For a complete program of the festival, see Meine, Ein Zwölftöner in Paris, 259–60. Casanova, who (like Boulez) studied with Dandelot during the occupation, became Leibowitz's first French pupil in 1944. Jean-Yves Bosseur, “Casanova, André,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, (p.248) www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/05064 (accessed 13 October 2008).
(116) . Tony Judt, Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945 (London: Penguin Press, 2005), 124–26. Judt quotes Robert K. Murphy, the political advisor to the U.S. military government in Germany, as declaring that the Moscow meeting “rang down the Iron Curtain.”
(117) . “Ob opere ‘Velikaya druzhba’ V. Muradeli, Postanovleniye TsK VKP(b) ot 10 fevralya 1948 g,” Sovetskaya muzyka 12, no. 1 (January–February 1948): 3–8; Andrei Aleksandrovich Zhdanov, Sur la littérature, la philosophie et la musique (Paris: Les Éditions de la Nouvelle critique, 1950). On the French reception of the resolution, see Alten, Musiciens français, 57–71. For an English translation, see “Soviet Music Policy, 1948,” in Music since 1900, ed. Laura Kuhn and Nicolas Slonimsky, 6th ed. (New York: Schirmer, 2001), 942–52.
(118) . “La Crise de la musique: Le manifeste de Prague, les réactions des musiciens français,” Les Lettres françaises, 7 October 1948, 6. The French musicians who signed the manifesto were Nigg, Martinet, Désormière, Barraine, Charles Bruck, Durey, Pierre Kaldor, and Koechlin. Les Lettres françaises. was founded during the occupation as a clandestine literary journal; it became a weekly paper in September 1944 and was taken over by the PCF in 1947. See Pierre Daix, Les Lettres françaises: Jalons pour l'histoire d'un journal, 1941–1972 (Paris: Tallandier, 2004).
(119) . Kaldor, “Entretien sur la crise de la musique,” Les Lettres françaises, 14 October 1948, 6.
(120) . On Nigg's music and political engagement during this period, see Alten, Musiciens français, 78–94. Nigg later destroyed the score of Le fusillé inconnu. Chamfray, “Serge Nigg,” 57.
(121) . Renaud de Jouvenel, “Réflexions sur le concerto de Serge Nigg,” Les Lettres françaises, 10 March 1955, 6.
(122) . De Jouvenel, Confidences d'un ancien sous-marin du P.C.F. (Paris: Julliard, 1980), 32–52, 133.
(123) . “Serge Nigg,” in Bernard Gavoty and Daniel Lesur, eds., Pour ou contre la musique moderne? (Paris: Flammarion, 1957), 243–44.
(124) . De Jouvenel, “Réflexions,” 6.
(125) . Bacri, “Serge Nigg,” 58–59; Carroll, Music and Ideology, 50.
(126) . “Tony Aubin” and “Henri Busser,” in Gavoty and Lesur, Pour ou contre la musique moderne?, 47, 49.
(127) . In 1952 Boulez sarcastically observed, “They try to persuade us that serial discoveries are old. We ought now to create something new, and to support this brilliant thesis, they cite false Gounod, fake Chabrier, champions of clarity, elegance, refinement—qualities that are eminently French. (They adore mixing Descartes with haute couture.)” Boulez, “Éventuellement …,” Revue musicale 212 (April 1952): 118 (italics in original).