Between Dream and Necessity Emile Goué (1904-1946) has left some forty compositions as well as a number of writings on the theory of musical composition. Yet his career was scientific and academic, and outstanding in that he obtained his doctorate in physics at the age of twentyfive and was Professor in specialized mathematics at the lycée Louis-le-Grand at the time of his death. But his gift for science was not his only one, as he was an artist who felt the overpowering need to abandon himself to composition, something that was more than a passion, indeed a genuine philosophy: “Music for me is a metaphysical activity and is inseparable from my life.” Goué entered the Toulouse Conservatory in 1924, at that period under the direction of Aymé Kunc. Coming to Paris in 1936, he received advice from Albert Roussel, before becoming one of Charles Koechlin’s special pupils. A promising pupil who unfortunately was to see his career cut down by the war: called up in 1939, he was held prisoner from June 1940 to May 1945, interned during this period in Oflag XB in Nienburg an der Weser. Once repatriated, he was never able to shake off the effects of his captivity, dying less than eighteen months after his return. “Nothing is more detestable than music without an idea behind it,” said Chopin. Amazingly thi s quotation applies just as much to Goué, although it goes against the romantic spirit. If he does not display the sentimental states of his soul, he completely opens the gates of his tormented inner life to the listener, something which gives his work a rare depth. In the works from before the outbreak of war, he still seems to be looking for a style of his own: the influence of Debussy and Koechlin are clearly important. But it was when Goué was made prisoner that his language attains its full maturity: without being in any way an obstacle to his creative activity, this internment proving taxing morally as well as physically, was bound to give grounds for total despair and paradoxically to transcend this “inner necessity” to express his soul’s torments. Making use of the modern harmony and counterpoint’s developments, his music has most often an unequalled severity, his pupil’s work being described by Koechlin as follows: “It’s extremely serious, often bitter, even unusual, sometimes quite austere, tragic as well.” Philippe Gordien, his friend and pupil from the Nienburg camp, also has an excellent description of Goue's use of certain compositional devices. “Emile Goué considered the traditional assertion of tonality an essential part of the French temperament, but a developed tonality reaching without complex polymodality. The infinite resources of contrapuntal writing allowed a multitude of combination of themes. His passionate reflexions on the theory of form, develop those of Vincent d’Indy. His temperament for a construction aware of unity made him prefer the use of a single theme from which a whole work develops, as exemplified by Bach.” If Goué is a French musician, it is difficult to speak of French music in the sense of the aesthetic generally understood, at least for the compositions of maturity, his taste for counterpoint and form dominates most of his work and is rather the heritage of the German school, in the style of César Franck. To assign him to any particular movement presents problems, his composition is so personal and the influences are so varied that this is impossible. Emile Goué is simply a great name of the twentieth century, with an exceptionally original language, which should be known. Dating from 1931, the collection Pénombres (Half-Light), like almost all the works from before the Second World War, owes much to the influence of Debussy, as is to be heard partly from the gentle modality employed by Goué right from the very first bars. Nevertheless the expression remains extremely personal, the composer’s language being too authentic and original to be a simple imitation. Each of the pieces that comprise this work has a title taken from a poem by Maurice Audubert-Boussat, and aims to be a musical description of the landscape of Aveyron. Je voudrais une nuit de lune somnolente (I should like a sleepy moon-lit night) has the same feeling of the sea that one finds in the Deux nocturnes (Two nocturnes), also from 1931, the first theme giving the impression of ebb and flow of the waves, before a development where reverie appears more passionate. Lassitude (Weariness) develops from the first piece, but in places presenting a more modal style. Fantasmagories de brouillard (Nightmares in the fog), clearly deriving from Debussy, is unusual: the main theme, as such, amazingly recalls Prélude à l’après midi d’un faune (Prelude to a faun’s afternoon), in its rhythmic suppleness and use of small chromatic, ascending connecting passages. But its origins disappear gradually, the language becoming more and more malicious, transforming itself into a sort of curious child-like ritournelle. Although composed in 1931, the Sonata for piano gives a clear indication of what would become the composer’s style some years later. From the outset, the work gives the impression of a neo-classic aesthetic, but the modern element rapidly becomes prominent, with Goué playing on the conflicting relationship between harmony and melodic line, fond as he is of genuine polytonal writing. Witness to this is the dynamic first movement, whose witty theme is nevertheless classically inspired, being for the most part harmonised in a mordant style which is not without irony, but which comes to underline the final perfect chord. The second movement is magisterial as the composer’s sensitivity develops in a general manner, at its best in the slow movements. Beginning by a series of chords which create a mysterious atmosphere, an extremely simple melody develops, always in conflict with the harmony suggested by Goué, in the end giving to the listener the extremely moving impression of an old, forgotten musical box. The last movement, one of extremely lively character, ends the group in the same spirit, in which it began. Defined as “descriptive” by its composer, the Horizons collection, assembled in 1939, is entirely directed towards Nature, this inspiration reflected in the title of each piece. Phare tournant (Revolving Lighthouse), is actually the second version of a previously existing work, composed in 1931, a nocturne entitled Le Phare (The Lighthouse). The pattern of the melodic line succinctly represents the movement of the waves coming to break on the structure of the building, helped here by a modal writing which in some respect recalls La Mer (The Sea) by Debussy. Soir au bassin d’Arcachon (Evening in the port of Arcachon) develops the sea-based reverie in a more intimate atmosphere; finally, Plein air sur un plateau Creusois ( In the open air on the Creusois plateau) with its lively tempo and the use of vigorous fifths creates the atmosphere of a healthy and life-enhancing walk. If Suite No 1 is obviously in the Impressionist tradition, the relationship is less clear in Suite No 2 Ambiances (Atmospheres), completed in 1942. The evolution of Goué’s language is very precise, showing him to be a harmonist with a style that is highly finished, harder and more authentically individual, one moving towards polymodality, as is the case with all his works composed in captivity. But if the style evolves, the function of Suite No 2 remains the same, immersing the listener in different atmospheres redolent of mystery, as though a transcription of some eccentric and disturbed dream. In sonata form, Orage (Storm), begins with a disturbing theme, consisting of a succession of dissonant chords, before the central section starts with a more dynamic and tormented subject matter; subject matter that only grows calmer with a return to the original theme, and ending the piece in a sort of unresolved anxiety. Fleur morte (Dead Flower) brings a relative serenity to the centre of the group, while at the same time paradoxically maintaining this feeling of disturbance in a very individual style. Renouveau (Renewal), finally, is a superb waltz, both curious and spellbinding, where Goué demonstrates, far beyond the skill of a modern harmonist, his whole sensitive and lyric potential. One also admires the extraordinary symbiosis of the music itself and the titles of the movements, which illustrate perfectly the different Ambiances. The triptych Prélude, Aria et Final (Prelude, Aria and Final) (1944) is clearly one of Emile Goué’s masterpieces. Of xceptional workmanship and unusual expressivity, the composer has an extra maturity of language, which makes this piece one of the key-works of his aesthetic. There is nothing characterless as regards the title. This reference to the eponymous work of César Franck (Prélude, Aria et Final, 1887, FWV 23), allows the composer to give clear indication of his lineage. In composition, both of them share many of the same tastes: a liking for counterpoint, daring harmonies… Constructed entirely on irregular bars, the Prélude in a driven tempo sees develop an energetic theme with the attraction of a ritournelle based on A Flat while the right hand makes rapid tremolos over an A Minor chord. Goué himself declared “polytonality would only be a new chapter about tonality…” The development follows this idea, the feeling of instability gradually growing before the initial theme reappears and an astonishing coda comes and introduces the next movement. The Aria is without doubt the masterpiece of this opus. Very much at ease in slow movements, Goué attains genius in the quality of his writing. The principal theme is made up of a chromatic counterpoint of two voices, which develops gradually, the movement being almost entirely constructed on various presentations of this theme. The end of the Aria is marked by the return of the theme of the Prélude, to which the Final is connected. This last is a movement of anger, articulated around several motives that are rhythmic rather than melodic. Again one notices a thematic reminiscence, this time from the Aria; a polyharmonic cadence brings to an end these troubling pages of music. If the title Impromptus usually implies a certain freedom from form and invention, one soon realises that Goué remains above all an architect, the two pieces composed in 1944, relating mainly to the sonata form. The first Impromptu develops an extremely tender melodic line, the harmony of which oscillates between an expressive dissonance and open poly-harmony. One notes that the more lively central section recalls the Choral, which develops from the Prelude, Choral and Fugue completed the previous year. The second piece begins with a monody in octaves of a dignified and archaic character, to which the obvious triton interval gives it a distinctly unusual attractiveness. It is followed by a section whose stranger atmosphere and writing place it in the continuity of the first movement and again is closely connected to the Choral, before the monody reappears an unresolved chord put an end to this group. Completed in 1945 at the end of the war, Thème et variations, is made up of a theme followed by eight variations, a form especially attractive to the monotheism advocated by Goué. In fact, although the variations are developed further and further, none of them is outside the framework given, the initial subject being always easily identifiable. Goué develops his variations around a reharmonisation of the theme (each time more daring and by the renewing of the accompaniment formulas, a system which he calls “decorative variations”. From the first bars, harmonic preoccupations dear to Goué’s maturity, are clearly evident in the bimodality and chromaticism are the most immediately obvious characteristic elements, which does not prevent the ideas from becoming part of the continuation of a tonal language, a language that is quite simply one that is enlarged. Thus, if the writing often claims to be daring and pungent, the perfect chord remains an entity of basic importance for Goué, moreover concluding in triumph in this Thème et variations with a perfect chord of G major (just as the Prélude, Choral et Fugue), pacifying the tension and recalling the composer’s attachment to the tonal tradition from which he emerged. Philippe Malhaire (translation: Edward Morgan)