Javotte was--at least in part--the inspiration of one Jean-Jacques Croze, 
secretary of the Theatre des Folies-Marigny, who heard Saint-Saëns was planning 
a new ballet and urged him to devise a new setting of the popular story La Fille 
Mal Gardee, best known today from the rendering by the chorus-master of the 
Paris Opera, Ferdinand Herold, nearly 70 years before. (Nor was Herold the first 
to try his hand; we know of a far earlier attempt by Jean Dauberval first staged 
in Bordeaux just before the French Revolution.)

Listeners familiar with the Lanchbery ballet will find little here they might 
recognize, because the music by Saint-Saëns is entirely different, though 
clearly in the same light-hearted and melodic style. The story line remains 
basically the same. Jean pines away for his beloved Javotte, much to the 
amusement of the other girls, who dance to and fro in mocking fashion. Her 
parents arrive on the scene, distraught that she may have run off to be with 
him, and are relieved when the constable agrees to find her and bring her back. 
After they leave, Javotte comes running and falls into Jean's arms; but on 
hearing the vesper bells she feels guilty about disobeying her parents, and when 
her parents return with the constable to take her away, Jean once again bemoans 
his fate. Now we're transported to Javotte's simple cottage, with few amenities 
save for a lamp, a clock, and a dresser. Her mother tells her that as punishment 
she must do all the chores and then get busy spinning. They leave to join the 
others at the village festival; and Javotte, thinking all the while about Jean, 
takes a few swipes with the broom, then sits down at the spinning wheel but 
pushes it aside after the thread tangles and breaks. When Jean climbs in through 
the window, she dances for joy--no doubt knocking down the lamp, the clock, and 
the dresser in the process--and they vow to run away together. Her parents 
return to find the room in disarray and soon grasp what has happened; nor are 
they particularly amused when the constable arrives saying he has found the 
miscreants only to produce two youngsters they've never seen before. Back at the 
festival, the judges announce a contest to choose the Queen of the Ball, but are 
unsure what to do next when each dancer is worse than the last. Javotte takes 
center stage and gives it all she's got, but no sooner is she proclaimed the 
winner than her parents arrive, with the constable. After Jean convinces them he 
loves Javotte and is prepared to marry her, they relent and there is a triumphal 
procession for the new Queen of the Ball followed by general merry-making.

The score is a model of economy--nary a wasted note--yet as ebullient and 
invigorating as anyone might wish, beginning with the buoyant rhythm that opens 
the ballet and serves as a recurring leitmotif in the entertainment that 
follows. The deliberate stride that interrupts the dancing tells us Javotte's 
parents have arrived on the scene, with a pompous trombone serving as the 
constable. The chiming of the vesper bells joined by a somber chorale in the 
winds contrasts well with the lively dance rhythms, and Mogrelia handles the 
melancholy dialog of the lovers very effectively. When Javotte sits down to 
spin, we can hear the whirring of the wheel, though it's not as vivid as the 
more familiar Rouet d'Omphale, and there is general confusion as the parents 
indignantly turn on the constable, who has brought around the wrong youngsters. 
Each of the unfortunate contestants is gently, yet decisively set aside--the 
first something of a klutz judging by the lopsided rhythm, the next a bit too 
plain for the judges' liking perhaps, another desperately flailing to and 
fro--yet SaintSaëns has saved his most winning turns of phrase for Javotte, 
whose poise and vitality clearly impress the judges. Following the grand march 
of Queen Javotte and her court, there is a lovely cello solo, and the lovers can 
finally dance a pas de deux as the betrothed couple. Echoes of the opening dance 
are heard as the exuberant final romp brings everyone together for an 
exhilarating close.

You may have the Valois with David Robertson (Sept/Oct 1994); that was wonderful 
as far as it went; but he only offered a suite from the ballet that skips from 
the vespers scene to Javotte's triumphant march as Queen of the Ball and then 
finishes out from there. Here you have the whole thing--and a grand repast it is 
too--beautifully played by the excellent Queensland ensemble. It should be noted 
that Robertson employs a viola rather than cello in the pas de deux of Jean and 
Javotte. The score calls for the cello--or actually a quartet of cellos--who 
support the solo line in an enchanting chamber music effect. Certainly the lead 
player (I assume the first chair) does a marvelous job (no credit given).

The music for Parysatis is only a tempting fragment from the large-scale score 
supplied by Saint-Saëns for lane Dieulafoy's play about the tyrant queen of 
ancient Persia who conspired in political intrigues of the time much like Livia 
in I, Claudius. No doubt this was a familiar subject for Madame Dieulafoy, who 
with her husband Marcel-August led numerous archaeological expeditions in that 
region. Parysatis, like Respighi's Belkis, Queen of Sheba (which it often 
recalls) would greatly repay the expense of recording it in full, exotic imagery 
sometimes suggesting the Priests of Aida, and in the pounding drums of the final 
dance a reference to the 'Bacchanale' from Samson and Delilah. Even more of the 
crisp, shifting colors may come through in Geoffrey Simon's Cala recording 
(Jan/Feb 1994), but the difference is slight, and the Oriental touches nicely 
offset the simple charm of Javotte.

Here is a splendid addition to your ballet shelf and a must-have for all lovers 
of French pastry, served up in winning style. 

  --Steven Haller