Grouped in four suites of six, the 24 Pièces de fantaisie are a late complement to the 24 Pièces en style libre of 1913. They are the work of a more careworn—even haunted—composer, but a composer also at the height of his powers and fresh from the triumph of his Fifth Symphony for organ (1924). Both sets run the gamut of major and minor keys, in random order in the later collection, which is more substantial and, often, more searching in quality. And where the usually modest requirements of the Pièces en style libre made them largely suitable for performance on harmonium, the Pièces de fantaisie call for a three manual instrument with pedals, while some numbers—e.g., "Fantômes"—are specified "for concert performance only."

Composed in the summer of 1927, the Third Suite opens with a "Dédicace"—a genial piece clouded by hints of quiet anxiety. The "Impromptu," despite its F minor, sketches an aura of blithe nonchalance in toccata-like traceries. It is dedicated to Vierne's pupil, André Marchal, who brought the "Impromptu" to prominence through frequent performance.

A slow trill passing from register to register calls up "Etoile du soir"'s long-spun meditation on night's enigmatically lit immensities—a slowly unfolding melody shadowed by imitation, hesitations, and renewed contemplation. "Fantômes" is among the most fantastic of these Pièces de fantaisie—somber satire (made explicit in score) on the burning question of the moment, "Whither music?" Formless arabesque announces the Aesthete's freedom, answered by the merest suggestion of a chorale signaling the Pedant's response. The Black Man's answer—"The future belongs to those who dance"—is evoked and dismissed by Vierne in a bit of frenetic hurly-burly. Likewise, the Monkey's insistence on "fantasy" is similarly called up and rejected, leaving only an indistinct evocation of a hurdy-gurdy and the Beggar's riposte—"Misery." Finally, Destiny appears in oracular rumblings to proclaim that the answer is "Nowhere and everywhere." It is as if the upheavals in music of the recently sprung Jazz Age had been vaguely but anxiously overheard from a great distance, that is, from the organ loft, and "Fantômes" is Vierne's attempt to exorcise them. "Sur le Rhin" confirms his traditionalism in a severely majestic, extended chorale. Finally, in the grand "Carillon de Westminster," Big Ben's chime is serenely proffered and blithely varied in an aureole of rapid figuration before being worked to a powerful peroration.

© Adrian Corleonis, Rovi