This is Messiaen’s notes for La Fauvette des Jardins
[quote] At the beginning of the score Messiaen describes the scene, reflecting the events, as they occur in the score:
Between the cliffs of the Obiou to the South and the spur of Chamechaude to the North lie four lakes: the Matheysine in Dauphiné. At the end of the great Lake Laffrey, at the foot of the mountain of the Grand Serre, to the East, are the fields of Petichet.
The end of June, the beginning of July. It is still night. The last waves of the great lake die down under the willows. The Grand Serre is there, with its patches of trees below its bald summit. Towards four in the morning the Quail is heard in Cretic rhythm. The Nightingale ends a verse: distant notes under the moon, an abruptly loud and victorious conclusion, long warbling until it is out of breath. The ash-trees look down on the reeds of the great lake. In the middle of the meadow the grey alders stand by the hazels.
Then dawn covers the sky, the fields, the meadow with pink. The great lake also turns pink. The song of the Garden Warbler, hidden in the ash-trees, the willows, the bushes by the great lake. Two first attempts, then a solo. The little Wren throws out some rapid, loud notes, with a trill in the middle of the verse. The Garden Warbler sings again, her voice limpid, always with new features.
Five o’clock in the morning. The arrival of the day turns the alder foliage silver, brings to life the scent of mauve mint and green grass. A Blackbird whistles. The Green Woodpecker laughs aloud. From the other side of the bank, near Lake Petichet, a Sky Lark rises up in the air, rejoicing with a piercing dominant. The Garden Warbler starts a new solo: its rapid vocalises, its tireless virtuosity, the regular flow of its discourse, seem to bring time to a halt…
Meanwhile, the morning grows on, and here is the threat of a storm. The great Lake Laffrey is divided into green and violet stripes. Two Chaffinches answer each other, with variations in their codetta. Suddenly a rasping, grating, sour voice rises in the reeds of the great lake, alternating heavy rhythms with shrill cries: it is the Great Reed Warbler. But the sun has returned, and there is another voice, unexpected, wonderfully gilded, rich in harmonics: it is a migratory Golden Oriole, coming to eat some cherries. The Garden Warbler continues its solos, interrupted now and again by the hoarse croaking of the Crows, the hard, dry alarms of the Red-Backed Shrike, the quivering cries of the Black Kite. The Grand Serre stands, with its great mass, against the elegant rise of the Swallows. In contrast to the unmoving bare mountain are the ripples in the water. The Garden Warbler sings and sings again, untiring. A new contrast: the flight of the Black Kite and the sudden calm of the great lake. The Kite climbs and descends, describing great spirals in the sky, and the circles of its flight interlock (the turns of its tail helping the movement of its wings), until it finally touches the surface of the water. The sun spreads light and warmth. These are the most beautiful hours of the afternoon, and the great lake extends its blue surface, with all shades of blue: peacock blue, azure, sapphire. The silence is only broken by the Chaffinches, the ringing sound of the Goldfinch, and the simple repeated note of the Yellowhammer. The heights of the mountain are green and gold…
Towards evening the Garden Warbler starts a solo again. The Blackcap, less of a virtuoso, has a more brilliant refrain, fluting and liquid in tone. After this refrain the voice of the Nightingale rises, announcing sunset. The sky turns red, orange, violet. The Crow and the Red-Backed Shrike give the alarm. The Green Woodpecker gives a last laugh. Night comes…
Nine o’clock in the evening. In the growing silence the double cry of the Tawny Owl is heard, wild and terrifying. The great lake is now feebly lit by the light of the moon. The silhouettes of the alders are quite black. Everything sinks into the great shadow of memory.
And the Grand Serre is always there, above the night…[/quote]
And Austbo helpfully divides it up into thee tracks, each one corresponding to about a third of the above text. So, for example, we don’t just have piano imitating birds, but also, for example, suggesting the movement of the water . . . It is episodic programme music.
That’s the way to make sense of these oiseaux pieces, I’m convinced of it. They are impressionist pieces, oriented around the scenes Messiaen wrote in the score.