About this Piece

Camille Saint-Saëns was a French composer of the Romantic era who, at 3 years old, was writing his first pieces on the piano. At 7, he was a celebrated concert organist, and by 10, he could play any of Beethoven’s 32 sonatas from memory at a moment’s notice. Over the course of his prolific and nearly 80-year career, Saint-Saëns would become one of classical music history’s most gifted yet underrated minds—on top of being an enthusiastic poet, playwright, philosopher, astronomer, animal rights activist, travel writer, and acoustics expert in his spare time. For in his mind, “A taste of the public for art, good or simple—it makes no difference, it is an infinitely precious guide for the artist. Whether he is a genius or talent, following this taste, he will be able to create good works.” And that he did, retaining a childlike curiosity and sense of wonder his entire life.

While visiting in a small Austrian village in 1886, Saint-Saëns came up with the idea to amuse the guests—and himself—at an upcoming Mardi Gras party. Inspired by the peculiarity of our world’s creatures, he composed The Carnival of the Animals as a 14-part grand suite of satire. He mimicked the sounds and personalities of various animals with flute, clarinet, strings, glass harmonica, xylophone, and two pianos, inviting his listeners into a captivating zoological fantasy.

Fearing that the suite might overshadow his more “serious” works, Saint-Saëns never allowed it to be performed during his lifetime (with the exception of the Swan movement). Yet, a century later, this playful piece has become one of the most beloved and delightful works of imagination and wit.

Saint-Saëns’ Introduction and Royal March of the Lion opens The Carnival of the Animals with a majestic proclamation from the king of the jungle. The piano sets a regal tone, leading into a proud, prowling theme played by the strings. The lion’s presence is unmistakable, and its grandeur and authority are conveyed through bold, sweeping melodies and a commanding rhythm.

Next, it’s time for the chickens to come out and eat. They waddle around, pecking at grain until they’ve gobbled it all up. In Hens and Roosters, the strings and pianists tap to the rhythm—first lightly, then more aggressively—imitating hungry birds. The clarinet chimes into the barnyard chaos, letting out a single “cock-a-doodle-doo” that pierces through the rest of the ensemble’s animated clucking and crowing.

Wild Donkeys—Swift Animals are up next, and the pianists’ rapid, energetic scales evoke the speed and agility of these untamed creatures. The movement is 30 seconds at most, but it’s exhilarating and relentless, like a frenzied gallop through the wilderness.

But not so fast! Aesop’s famous fable “The Tortoise and the Hare” reminds us that “slow and steady wins the race.” In Tortoises, Saint-Saëns takes Jacques Offenbach’s famous “Can-Can” from his 1858 opera Orpheus in the Underworld and slows it down to a lethargic pace, poking fun at the unlikely juxtaposition.

Elephants are famously known for their intelligence and remarkable memory, but not so much for being light on their feet. In The Elephant, Saint-Saëns lets these giant animals waltz around in a deep, double-bass melody accompanied by a sturdy, staccato piano accompaniment. The contrast between the bulky bass and the nimble piano highlights the elephant’s graceful yet lumbering movements, adding a touch of elegance to their otherwise galumphing presence.

When you next hear the piano’s dissonant, hopping chords, it’s hard to imagine anything other than Kangaroos. Here, the performers mimic the animals’ unpredictable, bouncing leaps with sudden jumps and pauses in the music. The playful rhythm vividly depicts these energetic marsupials springing across the outback.

Plunging below sea level, Saint-Saëns immerses listeners in the underwater world of Aquarium. With their flowing, shimmering textures, the piano, strings, and glass harmonica evoke the serene and mystical ambiance of marine life. If you close your eyes and listen closely, you might be able to picture the gentle glissandos as fish gracefully swimming among coral reefs in the deep, tranquil ocean.

Just don’t get too comfortable, because Characters with Long Ears are up next. With a name like that, could it mean rabbits? Maybe foxes? How about horses? Here, Saint-Saëns is referring to those stubborn donkeys again who just can’t stay away from the Carnival! Using the violins to mimic their harsh, repetitive shrieks, he creates a sharp and dissonant, almost ominous depiction of these “hee-hawing” animals.

Two pianos set the scene for the next movement—Cuckoo in the Depths of the Woods—with steady but cautious chords capturing the quiet mystery of a treescape. In this forest of chords, an offstage clarinet softly but persistently interrupts to imitate the call of the cuckoo.

More birds arrive in the Aviary movement—in fact, an entire flock seems to burst from the flute with its high-pitched trills and fluttering melodies, representing our feathered friends darting and chirping inside a bustling birdhouse.

The animal kingdom is huge and diverse and even includes us humans. Saint-Saëns teases novice keyboard players in Pianists, an exaggerated interpretation of their practicing habits. In the original score, it’s noted that performers “should imitate the hesitant style and awkwardness of a beginner.” As a pianist and organist himself, Saint-Saëns would have known all too well about the repetitive and tedious nature of rehearsing scales and exercises.

Fossils features the xylophone in a lively role, evoking the clatter of ancient bones. Saint-Saëns quotes various “archaic” and well-known tunes, including “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” “Au clair de la lune,” and his own Danse Macabre, blending them into a playful, percussive skeletal dance.

The Swan is the most famous movement of the suite and perhaps its most ethereal. Once you hear the slow cello melody float above the two pianos, it becomes clear why Saint-Saëns published this sweet and simple section all on its own. Perfectly encapsulating the grace and elegance of a swan gliding across a lake, its calm, dignified beauty contrasts the more dynamic spirit of Fossils and the closing movement.

At last, in the Finale, all the animals get a chance to shine together, bringing the Carnival to a triumphant close. It’s a whirlwind of activity with the musicians zipping through snippets of earlier movements—the proud lion, pouncing kangaroo, pecking hens, and the rest of the quirky animal kingdom. But who gets the last laugh? The donkeys, of course, “hee-hawing” in the strings until the Carnival’s final bars. —Piper Starnes