As if rhapsodically floating through the Carpathian countryside, passion and tumult flow from a singular violin, immediately gripping the attention of the audience. Double stops introduce virtuosic runs and stratospheric harmonics, poignant notes that seem to whisper from the shadow of the mountains. A fragmented Hungarian folk song weaves itself between bouts of technical passagework, ultimately melting into a mysterious trill that is suddenly supported by twinkling harp. Freshly pulled from its rhapsodic cadenza, the solo violin melts into the orchestra that has been slinking in from the distance. A clarinet suggests another Hungarian melody just before a disorienting full-orchestral csárdás begins. It is difficult, at first, to believe Tzigane was composed by a Frenchman. 

As were most musicians, Maurice Ravel was mystified by Hungarian violinist Jelly d’Aranyi when she arrived in London. d’Aranyi had an exotic flair about her—she often appeared in performance dripping with jewels, her dark hair coiffed to perfection. She took pride in being “endlessly alluring” and was a true modern woman of the Roaring Twenties (especially in a musical world dominated by men). More importantly, though, she was a powerhouse performer and took great pleasure in amazing crowds with her technical abilities blended with Hungarian musicality. Ravel was just one of many composers who fell under her spell; Béla Bartók wrote and dedicated works for the stunning virtuoso prior to Tzigane’s inception. 

When Ravel met d’Aranyi in London, he pleaded with her to play Hungarian folk songs for him. Ravel was dazed by the exotic tonalities and embellishments that flowed naturally from her. Style hongroise had overtaken French salon and cafe music scenes, with exotic Eastern European influences having been introduced by Johannes Brahms’ Hungarian Dances (1868), Pablo de Sarasate’s Ziguenerweisen (1878), and—of course—Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies (1853). Eastern European music, with its melancholy modal richness, was all the rage. Their chance encounter was Ravel’s chance to tap into the native source of the Hungarian musical spirit, and the composer would not miss his opportunity. 

Ravel and d’Aranyi met until the wee hours that morning, leaving the composer drenched in inspiration hongroise immediately after. Maurice Ravel abandoned a violin sonata he’d been working on and instead composed Tzigane based on the melodies d’Aranyi had played for him just hours before. Ravel dedicated the work to this mystical creature, and d’Aranyi premiered Tzigane later that year. The enticing work has remained a popular solo for violinists since its 1924 debut.