Scarbo is the third and last movement from Gaspard de la Nuit, Trois poèmes pour piano d’après Aloysius Bertrand, a suite of piano pieces by Maurice Ravel, written in 1908. The work was premiered in Paris, on January 9, 1909, by Ricardo Viñes. The piece is famous for its difficulty, Ravel intended it to be more difficult than Balakirev’s Islamey. Written in G-Sharp minor, it depicts the nighttime mischief of a small fiend or goblin, making pirouettes, flitting in and out of the darkness, disappearing and suddenly reappearing. Its uneven flight, hitting and scratching against the walls, casting a growing shadow in the moonlight, creates a nightmarish scene for the observer lying in his bed. – Yuja Wang
Oh! How many times have I heard and seen him, Scarbo, when at midnight the moon shines in the sky like a silver shield on an azure banner encrusted with golden bees!
How many times have I heard his buzzing laughter in the shadow of my alcove, and his fingernail scratching on the silken curtains of my bed!
How many times have I seen him come down from the ceiling, pirouette on one foot and twirl through the room like a spindle fallen from a witch’s distaff.
Did I then think he had passed out? The dwarf would rise between the moon and me like the steeple of a Gothic cathedral, a golden bell jingling on his pointy cap!
But soon his body would turn blue, diaphanous as a candle-wax, his face turn pale as a dying light, and suddenly he was fading away.
Original French
Oh ! que de fois je l’ai entendu et vu, Scarbo, lorsqu’à minuit la lune brille
dans le ciel comme un écu d’argent sur une bannière d’azur semée d’abeilles d’or !
Que de fois j’ai entendu bourdonner son rire dans l’ombre de mon alcôve,
et grincer son ongle sur la soie des courtines de mon lit !
Que de fois je l’ai vu descendre du plancher, pirouetter sur un pied et rouler
par la chambre comme le fuseau tombé de la quenouille d’une sorcière !
Le croyais-je alors évanoui ? le nain grandissait entre la lune et moi comme
le clocher d’une cathédrale gothique, un grelot d’or en branle à son bonnet pointu !
Mais bientôt son corps bleuissait, diaphane comme la cire d’une bougie,
son visage blémissait comme la cire d’un lumignon, — et soudain il s’éteignait.
