TWENTY-FIVE WORKS

FOR THE
DRAMATIC SOPRANO VOICE AND ORCHESTRA;
A STUDY GUIDE

DOCUMENT

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree

Doctor of Musical Arts

in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By

Kathleen Beth Sasnett, M.M.

*****

The Ohio State University

2006

Document Committee: Approved by:

Professor Robin Rice, Advisor

Professor Loretta Robinson __________________________

Professor Charles Patrick Woliver Advisor

School of Music Graduate Program
 ABSTRACT

This document is meant to serve as a study guide of twenty-five works for the

dramatic soprano voice with orchestra. Criteria used for inclusion include range,

tessitura, orchestral scoring, dramatic intensity, and cultural diversity. There are

examples of works dating from 1787 through 2004, and include song cycles, monoperas,

monodramas, scena and arias, symphonic rhapsodies, cantatas, symphonic cycles, and

lyric tragedies. Adhering to the basic requirement of the piece being suitable for the

dramatic soprano voice, the chosen works are eclectic in language, style, ethnic origin,

and musical period. A cursory definition of the dramatic soprano voice is included.

Information is provided for each listing, including a brief biographical sketch of the

composer and the works history and lyrics.

ii
 Dedicated to my three dear children:

Joseph Roger, Nicole Elizabeth, and Benjamin Harris Sasnett,

And my wonderful third son,

Jonathan Hudson,

And my three darling grandchildren,

Celeste Elizabeth, Benjamin Joseph, and Charity Lynn,

And their devoted grandfather, father, and my heart of twenty-eight years,

Roger Harris Sasnett

iii
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge with profound thanks, Dr. Robin Rice at The Ohio

State University, for his vast encouragement, instruction, guidance, advice, and

friendship during the past two years. Heartfelt thanks go to Professor Loretta Robinson,

Dr. Charles Patrick Woliver, and Dr. Wayne Redenbarger for their assistance and support

on my behalf during this process. I also want to thank my husband, Roger, for his

unfailing encouragement and love, even while completing his Ph.D. in School

Psychology. I would be remiss if I did not also thank the present day composers whose

generosity in providing their musical and dramatic pieces of art, allowed for a more

complete representation of the exciting repertoire that is available to the dramatic soprano

today.

iv
 VITA

April 23, 1952Born Seattle, Washington

1987 ...Bachelor of Arts, Vocal Performance

University of Washington

1993Teaching Certificate
K-12 Vocal Music Endorsement
State of Washington

1993Teaching Credential
Elementary and Early Childhood Ed
Pacific Oaks College

2001Master of Music, Vocal Performance

Winner-Masters Concerto/Aria Competition
Graduate Teaching Assistant
Central Washington University

2004 present Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society

University Graduate Fellowship
Graduate Outstanding Achievement Award
Winner of DMA Concerto/Aria Competition
Graduate Teaching Associate
The Ohio State University
Teaching Experience

1979-1993. Director, Miniature Opera Company

Kids Chorus Clubs

1989-1993..American Sign Language, 6-adult

Music/Drama - Seattle Childrens Theatre

1993-1994..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 7-9

Redmond Junior High
Lake Washington School District

1994-1996..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades K-6

Kenmore Elementary School
Northshore School District

2000-2001..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 6-8

v
 Morgan Middle School
Ellensburg School District

2001-2002..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 4-12

East Valley Intermediate
East Valley Central
East Valley High School
East Valley School District

2002-2003..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 7-9

Exploring Performing Arts
Kingston Junior High School
North Kitsap School District

1999-2001. Adjunct Professor of Voice

Graduate Assistant
Opera Workshop Assistant Director
Vocal Coach Oklahoma!
Guest Artist Aldonza Man of La Mancha
Central Washington University

2004-2006..Graduate University Fellowship

Graduate Teaching Assistant
The Ohio State University

2006Assistant Professor of Voice and Opera

Sunderman Conservatory of Music
Gettysburg College

Performance Experience

Opera
1987 2003University of Washington
La Clemenza di Tito Vitellia
Die Fledermaus Rosalinda

Seattle Opera Outreach

Hansel and Gretel Witch
Hansel and Gretel Mother

Tacoma Opera
Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother
Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

Capitol Opera
Suor Angelica Angelica
vi
 Seattle Opera Young Artist
Madama Butterfly Cio Cio San
Tosca Tosca
Ariadne auf Naxos Ariadne
Un Ballo in Maschera Amelia
Lohengrin Elsa
Tannhuser Elisabeth
Tristan und Isolde Isolde
Cavalleria Rusticana Santuzza

Seattle Opera
Il Trovatore Leonora (Cover)
Turandot Liu (Cover)
Andrea Chenier Maddalena (Cover)
Elektra 5th Maid

2004Natchez Opera Festival

Turandot (Cover performance) Turandot

Cortona, Italy
Dialogues of the Carmelites Blanche

Firenze, Italy
Dialogues of the Carmelites Blanche

The Ohio State University

Everyman Jack Woman

2005The Ohio State University

Fidelio (Concert Version) Leonore

City of Gaithersburg, MD
Hansel and Gretel Witch

Bel Cantanti Opera

Hansel and Gretel Witch

German Embassy, Washington D.C

Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

Bel Cantanti Opera

Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

2006Amici Opera
Il Tabarro Giorgetta
vii
 Pagliacci Nedda
Cavalleria Rusticana Santuzza

Natchez Opera Festival

Il Tabarro Giorgetta

Oratorio
1987 2003.. Verdi Requiem Seattle Choral Company
December Seattle Choral Company
St. Cecelia Mass Eugene Concert Choir
Beethoven 9th Bremerton Sym Orchestra
High Holy Days Temple de Hirsch, Seattle
Love Songs Fort Collins Sym Orchestra
Mozart Requiem Bremerton Sym Orchestra
V. Williams Hodie Puget Sound Civic Chorus
V. Williams Hodie Rainier Chorale
Handel Messiah Payson Civic Chorale
Mendelssohn Elijah Payson Civic Chorale
Chichester Psalms The Seattle Symphony
Ceremony of Carols The Leonard Moore Chorale
Schubert Mass in G Bellevue Phil Orchestra
Bach Cantata #4 University of Washington
Brahms Requiem City Singers
Hovhaness Magnificat The Seattle Chorale

2004Arias in Czech Republic Praha, Czech Republic

Evening of Opera Lneberg, Germany
Evening of Opera Munich, Germany
Concert/Master Class Howard University
Rodgers and Hammerstein Natchez Opera Festival
Broadway Stars Evening Cortona, Italy
Classical Concert Series Firenze, Italy

2005Tsunami Benefit Concert Columbus, Ohio

2006Beethoven Ah, perfido! The Ohio State University

Musical Theatre
1987 2003.. Phantom Opera Diva Seattle 5th Avenue
Brigadoon Fiona Seattle Civic Lt Opera
Kismet Marsinah Burien Little Theatre
The Sound of Music Maria Northshore Civic
1776 Martha Payson Community
The Music Man Marian Village Theatre
Carnival! Lili Seattle Civic Opera
Carousel Julie Seattle Civic Opera
viii
 Oklahoma! Laurie Northshore Civic
Brigadoon Fiona Off Broadway Prod.
West Side Story Maria Shoreline Co College
Fiddler on the Roof Hodel Shoreline Co. College
Fahrenheit 451 Mrs. Hudson New City Theatre
Man of La Mancha Aldonza Central WA Univ.

2004Show Boat Parthy Natchez Opera

2006Fiddler on the Roof Golde Natchez Opera

1952 2006.. Significant voice teachers

Elizabeth Moore, Leonard Moore, Edmund
Hurschell, Mary Curtis Verna, Marsha Baldwin,
Dr. Linda Marra, Dr. Bill Hall, Dr. Robin Rice

1987 2006Professional Voice and Drama Teacher

Private Studios in Washington, Utah, Florida, Ohio,
and Pennsylvania, providing instruction in
performance for adults, teens, and children for 30
years

PUBLICATIONS

FIELDS OF STUDY

Major Field: Music

Areas of Emphasis:
Vocal Performance
Vocal Pedagogy
Vocal Literature
Opera

ix
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page
Abstractii

Dedication...iii

Acknowledgments...iv

Vita...v

List of Figures.xii

Introduction..1

Voice Classifications....2

Justification for Inclusion/Exclusion .......8

Individual Chronological Listing

Pre-1900 10

Bella mia fiamma, K528 Mozart 178711

Scena di Berenice Haydn 179516

Ah, perfido! Beethoven 179621

Les Nuits dt, Op. 7 Berlioz 184126

Wesendonck Lieder Wagner 186234

Pome de lamour et de la mer, Op.19 Chausson 189340

1900-1950...46

Shhrazade, Op. 35 Ravel 190347

The Mystic Trumpeter, Op. 18 Holst 190452

Sieben frhe Lieder Berg 190758

x
 Erwartung Schoenberg 190964

Our Hunting Fathers, Op. 8 Britten 193671

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Op. 24 Barber 194777

Vier letzte Lieder Strauss 194882

1950-2004...87

La Voix humaine Poulenc 195888

Andromaches Farewell Barber 196297

Flower and Hawk Floyd 1972102

The Diary of Anne Frank Frid 1976110

Trumpet Voluntary Eaton 1991118

Byzantium Tippett 1991122

Death of a Little Girl with Doves Beck 1998127

Umuntu: Threnody and Dances Ndodana 2001138

Medusa Bolcom 2003145

Letter to Warsaw Pasatieri 2003156

The Phoenix Sheng 2004166

Erotic Spirits Paulus 2004171

References..177

xi
 LIST OF FIGURES

Figure Page

1. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart...........11

2. Franz Joseph Haydn...16

3. Ludwig van Beethoven......21

4. Hector Berlioz....26

5. Richard Wagner..........34

6. Ernest Chausson.........40

7. Maurice Ravel.....47

8. Gustav Holst.......52

9. Alban Berg..........58

10. Arnold Schoenberg.....64

11. Benjamin Britten.. ......71

12. Samuel Barber........77

13. Richard Strauss.......82

14. Francis Poulenc.......88

15. Samuel Barber.....97

16. Carlisle Floyd.....102

17. Grigorii Frid...110

xii
18. John Eaton..118

19. Michael Tippett..122

20. Jeremy Beck...127

21. Bongani Ndodana-Breen138

22. William Bolcom.145

23. Thomas Pasatieri....156

24. Bright Sheng..166

25. Stephen Paulus...171

xiii
 INTRODUCTION

In the spring of 2005, at The Ohio State University, I won the DMA

Concerto/Aria Competition and was discussing with Maestro Marshall Haddock, of The

Ohio State University Symphony Orchestra, and Dr. Robin Rice, my DMA advisor and

voice teacher, what repertoire I should perform with the symphony orchestra the

following year. We talked about individual opera arias, but wanted a more substantial

work where I could be featured in an orchestral program as the soprano soloist.

I am not a true dramatic soprano, my timbre is not dark; it is very clear and

bright and able to be heard easily over an orchestra, especially in the upper range. In

Europe I would be termed a Zwischenfach; my most comfortable operatic repertoire

includes some of the lighter Dramatischer Sopran roles and the heaviest of the (Spinto)

Jugendlich Dramatischer Sopran roles. I am also a true crossover in that I can easily

perform musical theatre roles and lighter repertoire vocally, consequently performing

many Broadway Evenings with symphony orchestras. In classical singing, the

dramatic soprano repertoire has always felt the easiest for me to perform.

In discussing possibilities for a program, we realized there was no published

listing of existing repertoire for the dramatic soprano voice and orchestra. We

determined Beethovens Ah, perfido! to be appropriate for this occasion, due to the prior

knowledge of Maestro Haddock. This situation made it evident that there was a need for

a resource for this particular repertoire.

1
 VOICE CLASSIFICATIONS

The world of the soprano voice classification is subjective and certainly

dependent upon many variables; however, there are some generally accepted voice

categories, as outlined in the German Fach system which has attempted to narrow and

define the different properties required for the soprano voice for particular musical

presentations. In this document, I will list the classifications for the soprano voice in the

world of classical music, opera, oratorio, and solo orchestral works, as most generally

defined in the German Fach System.

Soprano Voice Classifications

As found in Voice Categories in Singers Edition by Richard Boldrey and Robert

Caldwell, the soprano voice can be classified into the following groupings:

Leggero (Soubrette)

Lyrischer Koloratursopran (Lyric Coloratura)

Dramatischer Koloratursopran (Dramatic Coloratura)

Lyrisher Sopran (Full Lyric)

Jugendlich Dramatischer Sopran (Spinto)

Dramatischer Sopran (Dramatic)

Hochdramatischer (Heroic)

Not everyone in the world agrees as to how many voice categories there are, and

their differences, but I will concentrate on solely the German way of classifying. I chose

2
to refer to these published voice classifications because they are the most widely accepted

in the opera world today. Each of these categories can be subcategorized, but for the sake

of brevity, I will concentrate on the most general former listing.

There are several standard characteristics that are generally accepted to help

classify the voice into one of these categories. They are:

Range

Tessitura

Timbre

Weight

Agility

Range refers to the actual notes the soprano can sing: her highest and lowest. All

sopranos are expected to be able to sing a high C (C5), however, the heavier dramatic

voices usually do not perform higher, whereas a coloratura soprano is expected to have a

high F above high C (F5). A voices range is a primary consideration, but cannot be the

sole determining factor in identifying a singers fach.

Tessitura is the area in ones voice where one feels the most comfortable singing;

anywhere from a fourth to an octave. It usually refers to where the majority of a certain

roles notes lie, and where a singer can perform without feeling too taxed. A soubrettes

voice can usually sustain many high light notes, whereas a spinto will sing the bulk of her

music in the middle and low, leading to a climactic high note toward or at the end of a

long phrase.

Timbre is the sopranos voice color; the quality of sound, and can range from

light to dark, smooth to brilliant, slender to lush, mellow to metallic, clear to rich, and

3
from silver to gold. Timbre is an important vocal characteristic in determining the

category most appropriate for a particular soprano voice.

Weight refers to the heaviness or loudness or thickness of a voice. It is described

by timbre and decibels and is often characterized by the thickness of the singers vocal

folds. A heavy voice (thicker folds) will carry over a full orchestra, even at lower

pitches, and is what is referred to when talking about small or large voices. But often,

weight can be confused with darkness and brightness, which are timbres.

Agility is the ability to execute trills, runs, scales, and arpeggios easily, at fast

speeds, and with clear enunciation. This ability and range are what will determine the

difference between a lyric coloratura soprano and a full lyric soprano, or a dramatic

coloratura and a dramatic soprano, because their timbre and weight can often be very

similar.

After judging all these criteria in one singer, one still has a difficult time pigeon-

holing a performer into only one vocal category because each voice is unique; each is

dynamic and can change with time, experience, physical maturity, and learned technical

skills. A singer can change from one fach to another because of these changes and can be

classified a Zwischenfach Sopran which identifies a soprano who can sing some roles

from two neighboring fachs; heaviest of one and lightest of the other.

Arguably, the accepted criteria for each vocal category are as follows:

Voice Range Tessitura Timbre Weight Agility

Soubrette Bb2-C5 good top tender light flexible

clear middle

weaker low

4
Lyric

Coloratura C3-F5 great top slender medium agile

warm

Dramatic

Coloratura C3-F5 good top metallic very strong flexible

strong middle dramatic

penetration

Full Lyric Bb2-C5 solid mellow solid, not exquisite

throughout loud phrasing

Spinto A2-C5 low more darker than lyric, with can create

powerful Lyrics more dramatic

volume climaxes

Dramatic B2-C5 generous top metallic voluminous great

well-developed darker than big, heavy penetration

and rich middle Spintos spacious seldom float

hefty low high notes

Heroic G2-C5 well-developed metallic exceptionally great

middle and low strong penetration

5
 In the German Handbuch der Oper by Von Rudolf Kloiber and Wulf Konold,

there is a listing of roles from operas that each singer in each fach is expected to be able

to perform when hired in that particular voice classification. This well-known reference

can assist in determining what operatic repertoire is suitable for the dramatic soprano

voice and help clarify the vocal type.

As stated earlier, this is a very general categorizing of the soprano voice, and

there are many exceptions as to what can be suitable, depending on the individual singer.

It may be possible for a soprano to vocally perform a certain orchestral work more easily

than other dramatic sopranos, because one or more of the vocal characteristics are

uniquely different for her (i.e., more agile perhaps, but still with a dramatic timbre),

making particular works more accessible to her alone, and not every dramatic soprano.

This system of classification can be so subjective as to make it almost impossible to

predict a work that will fit every dramatic soprano voice.

The issue of categorizing the many possible classifications for the soprano voice

is essential for the singer to perform the various scena composed with orchestral

accompaniment included in this listing. After determining the voice type, vocal

production plays a hugely important role in determining the success of the individual

singer in performing this difficult music; all dramatic sopranos need to understand and

acquire the vocal techniques necessary to sing these dramatically varied works.

Listing of selected sopranos who sing dramatic soprano repertoire:

6
Kirsten Flagstad

Birgit Nilsson

Aprile Millo

Rgine Crespin

Eleanor Steber

Renata Tebaldi

Cheryl Studer

Catherine Malfitano

Phyllis Curtin

Martina Arroyo

Zinka Milanov

Helen Traubel

Regina Resnik

Eileen Farrell

Eva Marton

Maria Callas

Hildegarde Behrens

Jessye Norman

Janice Baird

Leontyne Price

Alessandra Marc

Jane Eaglen

Deborah Voigt

7
 JUSTIFICATION

Criteria for inclusion/exclusion:

I decided on strictly soprano/orchestral compositions and did not include any

works with other soloists (vocal or instrumental), chorus, or piano only accompaniment.

Some selected pieces have a smaller orchestral scoring (i.e., string orchestra). I chose to

be eclectic in language, style, ethnic origin, and musical period, all the while adhering to

the basic requirement of the work being suitable for the dramatic soprano voice.

A variety of cultures are represented with their individual ethnic musical

expressions: German, French, Polish, Russian, American, English, Italian, South

African, Chinese, and Jewish (including two works about Holocaust victims). With each

foreign language lyric, I have included the English translation. Range, tessitura, and

duration of piece were elements researched for consideration. Recorded and live

performances by known dramatic sopranos of some of these pieces help show the

appropriateness of the work, however, many of the compositions can be performed by

more than one voice type. Scena and aria, song cycle, monodrama, monopera,

symphonic rhapsody, cantata, symphonic cycle, and lyric tragedy are all represented in

this listing. The works themselves had to have a dramatic, emotional effect, either

through the text or music or both. They are all profound in their own way utilizing the

text to present a passionate, gripping, terrifying, beautiful, or stunning performance.

8
Time periods with their respective historical styles needed to be represented and that

criterion tempered my selections. This listing is not all inclusive, but representational for

the dramatic soprano voice. .

9
PRE-1900

10
 Figure 1: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756 1791) (Wikipedia)

My subject enlarges itself, becomes methodized and defined, and the whole, though it be
long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind, so that I can survey it, like a fine
picture or a beautiful statue, at a glance. (ThinkExist)

Bella mia fiamma (1787)

K452

Composer:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Type:

Concert Aria

Originally composed for Josepha Duschek

Duration:

10 minutes

Libretto:

Taken from the opera, Cerere placata, composed by Niccol Jommelli with text

by Michele Sarcone

11
Publishers:

Brenreiter Kassel, Basel, Tours, London

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

Unknown, but the scena was composed while Mozart was staying at the country

home of Josepha Duscheks after the successful premiere of Don Giovanni

Scoring:

flutes, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, I violins, II violins, viola, violoncello, basso

Vocal Range:

D3 A4

Tessitura:

G3 G4

Role:

Titano

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

The Goddess Ceres is furious that Titano has eloped with her daughter,

Prosperina. As punishment, Ceres banishes Titano and he sings farewell to all.

Justification:

Composed for Josepha Duschek, same soprano as Beethovens Ah, perfido!

Range, tessitura, orchestration, dramatic text all support inclusion

12
Historical Significance:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozarts music is an amazing balance between immediate

audience appeal and complexity of technique and depth of feeling. He has been highly

admired by later composers and many of his works have become part of the standard

concert repertoire, recognized the world over as masterpieces of the Classical style. His

music is noble, yet entertaining, expressive, yet tasteful, simple, yet complex, and

audiences everywhere to this day, flock to hear his compositions. Most of Mozarts

soprano leading ladies were soubrette, light lyric, coloratura types. Very often today, a

Mozart opera role will be a young singers first introduction to opera, because the music

can be performed by young, agile, florid voices. Mozarts writing is full of skips, jumps,

runs, and arpeggios and the musical line often has many, many words, almost like patter

singing. (Burkholder, 201, 202) It has been said that to sing Mozart is to keep your voice

young; and this is the reason. It is difficult to have a heavier voice sing music composed

by Mozart because he did not provide long phrases on one open vowel long enough for

one to open up and really sing with power through the phrase; the voice seems to be

always moving, and that takes a different kind of emphasis and technique and is tiring on

the weightier voice.

It has also been said, jokingly, that Mozart hated sopranos, and that was why he

wrote such difficult music for them. He does not allow, very often, for natural vowel

modification in the top voice; many times one must sing a high G (G4) or higher with an

unacceptable vowel in Italian. It is interesting to think that perhaps this is because Italian

was not his native tongue, but the same can be said of his German soprano pieces as well.

13
If one can learn to sing with exceptional vocal technique and production, his music can

be a thing of incredible fireworks and breathtaking beauty in any language.

However, there are always exceptions and hence the inclusion of Bella mia

fiamma in this catalogue. True to Mozart, this concert aria is difficult, but a dramatic

soprano should be capable of performing this demanding piece; he composed this concert

aria with a particular singer of the day in mind: Josepha Duschek, the same artist

Beethoven used later for his Ah, perfido! Musicians in the Classical time period

composed for individual singers of the time, and often wrote music especially suited to

that prima donnas voice. The limited range, the lower tessitura, the dramatic quality of

the text, the orchestration, and the length of the piece are all elements that suggest this

scena is more suited to the heavier dramatic soprano voice. (Nehmt Meinen Dank, K.383)

Lyrics:

Bella mia fiamma, addio! My beautiful flame, goodbye!

Non piacque al cielo di renderci felici, It is not pleasing to heaven that we should
remain happy,
Ecco reciso, prima desser compito, Here, torn unsunder, before it is fully tied
Quell purissimo nodo, that purest bond,
Che strinsero fra lor glanimi nostril that united our souls
Con il solo voler. with a single wish,
Vivi! Cedi al destin! Cedi al dovere! Live! Yield to destiny! Yield to duty!
Della giurata fede la mia morte tassolve; My death absolves you from your oath;
A piu degno consorteo pene! To a more worthy consorto grief!
Unita vivi pi lieta a pi felice vita. Live a more joyous and more happy life.
Ricordati me, ma non mai turbi Remember me, but never may the
Dun infelice sposo la rara rimembranza memory of an unhappy husband
Il tuo riposo! disturb your tranquility!
Regina, io vado ad ubbidirti Queen, I go in obedience to you;
Ah, tutto finisca il mio furor col morir mio. Ah, all my wrath may end with my death.
Cerere, Alfeo, diletta sposa, addio! Ceres, Alfeus, beloved, goodbye!

Aria:
Resta, oh cara! Acerba morte me separa Stay, oh beloved! Bitter death separates me,
oh Dio, da te. oh, God, from you.
Prendi cura di sua sorte, Look after her,

14
Consolarla almen procura. Console her.
Vadoahi lasso! Addio per sempre! I goalas, unhappy one! Goodbye for ever!
Questaffanno, This anguish,
questo passo terribile per me. This step is terrible for me.
Ah, dov il tempio? dov lara? Ah, where is the temple? Where is the altar?
Vieni affretta la vendetta! Come, hasten my vengeance!
Questa vita cosi amara pi This life, so bitter,
Soffribile non , no. is no longer bearable.
O cara, addio per sempre! O darling, farewell forever!

(Coffin)

15
 Figure 2: Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) (Wikipedia)

How much remains to be done in this glorious art! (Wikipedia)

Scena di Berenice (1795)

Berenice, che fai? Hob:XXIVa:10

Composer:

Franz Joseph Haydn

Type:

Cantata

Two recitatives and two arias

Originally composed for Brigida Giorgi Banti (1756 1806)

Duration:

13 minutes

Libretto:

Pietro Metastasio, originally Pietro Antonio Trapassi

Act III, Scene 7 from Antigono

16
Publishers:

Ludwig Doblinger, Bernhard Herzmansky, K.G. Wien, Munich

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

New Room at the Haymarket Theatre

London, England

May 4, 1795

Artist: Brigida Giorgi Banti

Benefit Concert

Scoring:

2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, two horns, I violins, II violins, viola, violoncello,

basso

Vocal Range:

Bb2 C5

Tessitura:

F3 F4

Role:

Princess Berenice

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

300 B.C.

17
Place:

Macedonia

Synopsis:

King Antigonus Gonatus rules as the King of Macedonia. He is engaged to

Princess Berenice, but she actually is in love with his son, Demetrius. Earlier,

King Alexander of the Epirotes had wooed Berenice, but she scorned his

advances. The daughter of King Antigonus Gonatus, Ismene is in love with King

Alexander. Demetrius renounces Berenice so she can marry his father. This

scene takes place when Berenice is convinced that Demetrius, out of anguish for

the situation, is about to kill himself. She asks herself what she should do. She

approaches hysteria as she contemplates her future, her love, and the choices she

must make. This scena has two recitatives that meld into two arias, reflecting a

volatile state of mind.

Justification:

Often recorded by Mezzo-Sopranos, but suitable for Dramatic Sopranos as well

Beethoven used this scena as a model for his own composition of Ah, perfido!,

Op. 65.

Historical Significance:

Franz Joseph Haydn bears the distinction of fathering the classical symphony

and string quartet, and was a prolific composer. His development of the sonata form and

inventive creations of movement to transitional keys were revolutionary at the time, and

adopted by both Mozart and Beethoven. He took the genre of the symphony which was

characteristically short and slowly expanded its length, weight and complexity. Music

18
during this period was structured by tonality and tonal cadences. Over the five decades of

his ever increasing musical sophistication, Haydn learned from his own experience. In

his early career, Haydn was subject to compositional deadlines, due to the demanding

whims of his employers, the Princes of the Eszterhzy family. As he became wealthy

and able to compose in a more leisurely manner, his works reflected a more intentional

style, with a gradual liberation from aristocratic deadlines and a movement toward a more

liberated, concentrated development of a musical piece of art. (Wikipedia)

On May 4, 1795, Haydn premiered two important works at a farewell concert in

London at the Kings Theatre: his cantata for Soprano and Orchestra, Berenice, che fai

and his Symphony No. 104. The Scena di Berenice contains two dramatic recitatives and

two moving arias. Haydn was not exactly pleased with the performance of Brigida

Giorgi Banti, the seasons new opera star, (she sang scanty) but was very pleased with

the profits he made from the gala event. Haydn uses rapidly shifting tempi with angular

melodic lines that modulate into the arias full of sorrowful and tragic emotions. (Youens)

Lyrics:

Scena di Berenice Berenices Scene

Berenice, che fai? Muore il-tuo bene,
stupida, e tu non corri!
Oh Dio! Vacilla lincerto passo;
ungelido mi scuote insolito tremor tutte
le vene, e a gran pena il suo peso il pi
sostiene.
Dove son? Dove son? Qual confusa
folia didee tutte funeste
adombra la mia ragion?
Veggo Demetrio; il veggo che in atto
ferirFermati! Fermati! Vivi!
Dantigono io sar.
Del core ad onta volo a giurargli f:
Berenice, what are you doing? The one you
love is dying, foolish girl, and you do not
run to him!
Oh God! My uncertain step hesitates;
an unaccustomed, icy tremor shivers through
my veins, and my feet can hardly bear my
weight.
Where am I? Where am I? What a host of
woeful thoughts
clouds my reason!
I see Demetrius; in the act of
strikingStop! Stop! Live!
I shall belong to Antigonus.
I fly to him against my will to swear my
fidelity to him:

19
dir, che lamo; dir
Misera me, soscura il giorna,
balena il ciel!
Lhanno irritato I miei meditati
spergiuri.
Ahim! Lasciate chio soccorra il mio ben,
babari Dei.
Voi mimpedite e intanto forse un colpo
Improvviso
Ah, sarete contenti; eccolo ucciso.
Aspetta, anima bella: ombre compagne a
Lete andrem,
Se non potei salvarti, potr fedel
Ma tu mi quardi, e parti? Non partir!
I shall say, that I love him; I shall say
Unhappy me, the day is dark,
The sky is full of lightning!
My deliberate perjuries have
irritated it.
Alas! Let me help my love,
cruel gods!
You hold me back, while, perhaps, an
unexpected blow
Ah! You will be satisfied; see he is killed.
Wait, lovely soul: our shades shall go
together to Lethe.
if I could not save you, faithful, I shall be
able to
But you look at me, and go? Do not leave!

Aria: Aria:
Non partir, bellidol mio, Do not go, my handsome love,
per quellonda across that water
allaltra sponda to the other shore,
voglio anchio passar con te. I wish to cross with you.

Recitativo: Recitative:
Me infelice! Unhappy me!
Che fingo? Che ragiono? What am I pretending? What am I saying?
Dove rapita sono Where have I been carried
dal torrente crudel demiei martiri? by the cruel torrent of my sufferings?
Misera Berenice, Unhappy Berenice,
ah, tu deliri! ah! you are delirious!

Perch, se tanti siete Why, if you are so many

che delirar mi fate, that you make me go mad
perch non muccidete. do you not kill me.
affanni del mio cor? torments of my heart?
Crescete, oh Dio, crescete, Increase, oh God, increase
affanni del mio cor, these torments of my heart,
finch mi porga alta until the excess of grief
con togliermi di vita brings me help
leccesso del dolor. by taking my life from me.

(Mozart)

20
 Portrait by Carl Jger

Figure 3: Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) (Wikipedia)

I have never thought of writing for reputation and honor. What I have in my
heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose. (Moncur)

Ah, perfido! (1796)

Op. 65

Composer:

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

Type:

Scena and Aria for Soprano and Orchestra

Originally dedicated to Countess Josephine von Clary-Aldringenon, but first

performer was soprano Josepha Duschek

Duration:

12 15 minutes

Libretto:

Pietro Metastasio, originally Pietro Antonio Trapassi

A scene from the opera Achille in Sciro

21
Publishers:

The Well-Tempered Press,

Masters Music Publications, Inc.

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

Leipzig, Germany

November 21, 1796

Artist: Josepha Duschek

Scoring:

flutes, 2 clarinet in B, 2 bassoon, 2 horns in E, 1st violin, 2nd violin, viola,

violoncello, basso

Vocal Range

Bb2 Bb4

Tessitura:

E3 G4

Role:

Deidamia, daughter of King Lycomedes

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Greek Mythology

22
Place:

Skyros

Synopsis:

Skyros is an island which is ruled by King Lycomedes. The mother of Achilles

hides him there and dresses him as a girl because an oracle prophesied he would

die in Troy when he was a young man. While at Skyros, Achilles falls in love

with Deidamia, the Kings daughter and they have a son together. Odysseus, with

Phoenix and Nestor, come to Skyros to find Achilles, because they need him in

order to win the battle at Troy. Beethoven composed the piece that is Deidamias

reaction to Achilles leaving for the Trojan War.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Kirsten Flagstad, Birgit Nilsson, Aprile Milo, Regine Crespin, Eleanor Steber,

Maria Callas, Renata Tebaldi, Cheryl Studer

Historical Significance:

Ludwig van Beethoven is viewed as the most influential composer in the

transition from the Classical to Romantic eras of musical history. His contributions to

form development include building on the conventional sonata form and motivic themes,

extending them, writing longer and much more ambitious movements. He redefined the

symphony, taking Haydns established four movement form and restructured it to sustain

as many movements as necessary to give the work cohesion. An undisputed musical

genius, Beethovens compositions echoed his own personal torment and triumph, with

three distinct periods of musical creativity. In his early period, Beethoven emulated

23
Mozart and Haydn in form and technique, while concurrently exploring new directions

and expansion of their accepted musical ideas. The middle period began shortly after

Beethovens personal crisis with deafness, and includes many of his most famous large-

scale works, namely No. 3-8 symphonies, and his only opera, Fidelio. Beethovens late

period began around 1816 and his works during this final stage reflect a highly personal

expression, experimentation and evolvement in artistic style and originality, culminating

in recognizably Romantic elements. (Wikipedia)

Beethoven was in Prague on a pianist concert tour in February, 1796, when he

completed the scena and aria, Ah, perfido! for soprano and orchestra, op. 65. The

premiere of this work was performed the following November by Josepha Duschek, a

well-known soprano in her day. The first Viennese performance of this work was in

1808, in a very lengthy concert where Beethoven presented his 5th and 6th Symphonies, a

piano concerto, the Choral Fantasy, and several other works, including Ah, perfido! The

soprano, Josephine Killitschgy, was young and inexperienced and had an attack of nerves

during the performance, and did not sing well. The concert seemed fraught with mishaps

and was considered a disaster. (Teeters)

Contrasting moods, extremes in range, beauty of line, difficult tessitura, even

elements of fioratura are present in this powerful, yet poignant piece of vocal art. Today,

Ah, perfido! is considered a masterwork and a tour de force showpiece for any dramatic

soprano.

Lyrics:

Ah, perfido! spergiuro, Ah, perfidious-one, perjured-one,

Barbaro traditor, tu parti? Cruel traitor, you depart?
E son questi glultimi tuoi congedi? And are these last your farewells?

24
Ove sintese tirannia piu crudel?
Va, scellerato! Va, pur fuggi da me,
Lira deNumi non fuggirai!
Se ve giustizia in Ciel, se ve pieta,
Congiureranno a gara tutti a punirti!
Ombra seguace,
Presente, ovunque vai, vedro le mie vendette;
Io gia le godo immanginando;
I fulmini ti veggo gia balenar dintorno.
Ah no, ah no, fermate, vindici Dei,
Risparmiate quel cor, ferite il mio!
Sei non e piu qual era sonio qual fui;
Per lui vivea, voglio morir per lui!
Aria:
Per pieta, non dirmi addio,
Di te priva che faro?
Tu lo sai, bellidol mio,
Io daffanno moriro.
Ah crudel! Tu vuoi chio mora!
Tu non hai pieta di me?
Perche rendi a chi tadora
Cosi barbara merce?
Dite voi, se in tanto affanno
Non son degna di pieta?
(Mozart)
25
Where has one heard of more cruel
tyranny?
Go, scoundrel! Go, then flee from
me,
You will not escape the wrath of the
Gods!
If there is justice in Heaven, if there
is pity,
They will compete with each other to
punish you!
A spectre, following you,
Present, wherever you go, I will see
my vengeance;
I already enjoy it in my imagination;
I already see the lightning flash
around you.
Ah no, ah no, stop, avenging Gods,
Spare that heart, wound mine!
Though he is no longer what he was,
I am still what I was;
For him I lived, I want to die for
him!
In pity, do not say to me goodbye,
Of you deprived, what shall I do?
You it know, beautiful-idol mine,
I of anguish will-die.
Ah cruel-one! You want me to die!
Have you no pity for me?
Why do you render to the one who
adores you
Such barbarous reward?
Tell-me if in so-much anxiety
Am I not worthy of compassion?
 Figure 4: Hector Berlioz (1803-1869) (Wikipedia)

Every composer knows the anguish and despair occasioned by forgetting ideas which
one had no time to write down. (ThinkExist)

Les Nuits dt (1840/41)

Op. 7

Composer:

Hector Berlioz

Type:

Song Cycle of 6 Poems

Originally composed for:

1. Mlle. Wolf, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

2. Mlle. Falconi, singer at the Ducal Court of Gotha

3. Mme. Milde, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

4. Mme. Nottes, singer at the Royal Court of Hanover

5. M. Caspari, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

6. Mme. Milde, singer at the Ducal Court at Weimar

26
Duration:

32 minutes

Libretto:

Thophile Gautier

Publishers:

ditions Musicales du Marais, Paris

Musical Time Period:

Romantic

World Premiere:

Unknown

Scoring:

2 flutes, oboe, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 3 horns, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

G2 A4

Tessitura:

D3 F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Six poems of love and loss, set to melodies more operatic in nature; difficult

tessitura, greater dynamic variation, extreme tempi and phrasing

Can be performed by other voice types (Mezzo-soprano, tenor, etc.)

27
Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Rgine Crespin, Eleanor Steber

Historical Significance:

Hector Berlioz was a man of intense passion. He believed profoundly in the

expressive power of music to enhance the words, poetry, and personal experience. Most

of his music is based on the great dramatists and poets that inspired him, and he wrote no

"pure" sonatas or symphonies of an abstract kind. Berlioz developed a profound affinity

toward music and literature as a child. He was 17 when his father sent him to Paris to

study medicine, but he found himself enchanted by Christoph Willibald von Gluck's

operas. It was then he decided to become a composer. The first love of his life was a

famous Shakespearean Irish actress, named Harriet Smithson. He was totally enamored,

but Ms. Smithson did not return his feelings; she was famous, and he was not. It wasnt

until after his first symphony (Symphonie fantastique), which actually reflected his

unrequited love for her, that she deemed him worthy of marriage. This first marriage

eventually failed, and when Harriet died in 1854 he married again, this time to a singer.

His last years were clouded by illness and disappointment, and his son, an officer in the

Merchant Marine, died in 1867 at the age of 33. This was a terrible blow, and with his

strength failing, and he died in Paris on March 8, 1869, at the age of 65. Berlioz, the

passionate, ardent, irrepressible genius of French Romanticism, left a rich and original

legacy which exerted a profound influence on nineteenth century music. (Hector Berlioz)

He composed this exquisite set of six songs in 1840-41. The songs in Les Nuits

Dt each have their own character, are very dramatic, and are often close to being that

28
of an operatic aria, filled with contrasts, exciting freedom of movement, brooding

sadness, and spiritual exhilaration. Each song was composed or dedicated to a singer

Berlioz knew at the time, and today often are sung by more than one performer, as the

tessitura in each represents a particular difficulty and voice type. Above all, Berlioz's

music sounds unique; this composition includes abrupt contrasts, fluctuating dynamics,

and many changes in tempo. In his own words regarding this work:

" The prevailing qualities of my music are passionate expressiveness, inner fire, rhythmic
drive, and unexpectedness. To render my works properly requires a combination of
extreme precision and irresistible verve, a regulated vehemence, a dreamy tenderness,
and an almost morbid melancholy." (Dzvinochok)

Lyrics:

Les Nuits dt Summer Nights

1) Villanelle
Quand viendra la saison nouvelle,
Quand auront disparu les froids,
Tous les deux nous irons, ma belle,
Pour cueillir le muguet au bois;
Sous nos pieds grenant les perles
Que lon voit au matin trembler,
Nous irons couter les merles
Siffler!
Villanelle
When the new season comes,
When the cold has gone,
We two will go, my sweet,
To gather lilies-of-the-valley in the woods;
Scattering as we tread the pearls of dew
We see quivering each morn,
Well go and hear the blackbirds
Sing!

Le printemps est venu, ma belle; Spring has come, my sweet;

Cest le mois des amants bni,
Et loiseau, satinant son aile,
Dit ses bers au rebord du nid.
Oh! viens donc sur ce banc de mousse,
Pour parler de nos beaux amours,
Et dis-moi de at voix si douce:
Toujours!
It is the season lovers bless,
And the birds, preening their wings,
Sing songs from the edge of their nests.
Ah! Come, then, to this mossy bank
To talk of our beautiful love,
And tell me in your gentle voice:
Forever!

Loin, bien loin, garant nos courses,
Faisons fuir le lapin cach,
Et le daim au miroir des sources
Admirant son grand bois pench;
Puis, chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises,
En panier enlaant nos doigts,
Far, far away well stray from our path,
Startling the rabbit from his hiding place
And the deer reflected in the spring,
Admiring his great lowered antlers;
Then home well go, serene and at ease,
And entwining our fingers basket-like,

29
Revenons rapport ant des fraises
Des bois!
2) Le spectre de la rose
Soulve ta paupire close
Queffleure un songe virginal;
Je suis le spectre dune rose
Que tu portais hier au bal.
Tu me pris encore emperle
Des pleurs dargent de larrosoir,
Et parmi la fte toile
Tu me promenas tous le soir
O toi qui de ma mort fus cause,
Sans que tu puisses le chasser,
Toutes les nuits mon spectre rose
ton chevet viendra danser.
Mais ne crains rien, je ne rclame
Ni messe ni De profundis;
Ce lger parfum est mon me,
Et jarrive du paradis.
Mon destin fut digne denvie:
Et pour avoir un sort si beau,
Plus dun aurait donn sa vie,
Car sur ton sein jai mon tom beau,
Et sur lalbtre o je repose
Un pote avec un baiser
crivit: Ci-gt une rose
Que tous les rois vont jalouser.
3)Sur les lagunes
Ma belle amie est morte:
Je pleurerai toujours;
Sous la tombe elle emporte
Mon me et mes amours.
Dans le ciel, sans mattendre,
Elle sen retourna;
Lange qui lemmena
Ne voulut pas me prendre.
Que mon sort est amer!
Ah! Sans amour, sen aller sur la mer!
Well bring back home wild
Strawberries!
The spectre of the rose
Open your eyelids,
Brushed by a virginal dream;
I am the spectre of a rose
That yesterday you wore at the dance.
You plucked me still sprinkled
With silver tears of dew,
And amid the glittering feast
You wore me all evening long.
O you who brought about my death,
You shall be powerless to banish me:
The rosy spectre which every night
Will come to dance at your bedside.
But be not afraid - I demand
Neither Mass nor De Profundis;
This faint perfume is my soul,
And I come from Paradise.
My destiny was worthy of envy:
And for such a beautiful fate,
Many would have given their lives -
For my tomb is on your breast,
And on the alabaster where I lie,
A poet with a kiss
Has written: Here lies a rose
Which every king will envy.
On the lagoons
My dearest love is dead:
I shall weep for evermore;
To the tomb she takes with her
My soul and all my love.
Without waiting for me
She has returned to Heaven;
The angel who took her away
Did not wish to take me.
How bitter is my fate!
Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!
30
La blanche crature
Est couche au cercueil.
Comme dans la nature
Tout me parat en deuil!
La colombe oublie
Pleure et songe labsent;
Mon me pleure et sent
Quelle est dparille.
Que mon sort est amer!
Ah! Sans amour, sen aller sur la mer!
Sur moi la nuit immense
Stend comme un linceul;
Je chante ma romance
Que le ciel entend seul.
Ah! comme elle tait belle,
Et comme je laimais!
Je naimerai jamais
Une femme autant quelle.
Que mon sort est amer!
Ah! Sans amour, sen aller sur la mer!
4) Absence
Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aime!
Comme une fleur loin du soleil,
La fleur de ma vie est ferme
Loin de ton sourire vermeil!
Entre nos coeurs quelle distance!
Tant despace entre nos baisers!
sort amer! dure absence!
grands dsirs inapaiss!
Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aime!
Comme une fleur loin du soleil,
La fleur de ma vie est ferme
Loin de ton sourire vermeil!
Dici l-bas, que de campagnes,
Que de villes et de hameaux,
Que de vallons et de montages,
lasser le pied des chevaux!
Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aime!
Comme une fleur loin du soleil,
La fleur de ma vie est ferme
Loin de ton sourire vermeil!
The pure white being
Lies in her coffin.
How everything in nature
Seems to mourn!
The forsaken dove
Weeps, dreaming of its absent mate;
My soul weeps and feels
Itself adrift.
How bitter is my fate!
Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!
Above me the immense night
Is spread like a shroud;
I sing my song
Which heaven alone can hear.
Ah! how beautiful she was,
And how I loved her!
I shall never love a woman
As I loved her.
How bitter is my fate!
Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!
Absence
Return, return, my sweetest love!
Like a flower far from the sun,
The flower of my life is closed
Far from your crimson smile!
Such a distance between our hearts!
So great a gulf between our kisses!
O bitter fate! O harsh absence!
O great unassuaged desires!
Return, return, my sweetest love!
Like a flower far from the sun,
The flower of my life is closed
Far from your crimson smile!
So many intervening plains,
So many towns and hamlets,
So many valleys and mountains
To weary the horses hooves!
Return, return, my sweetest love!
Like a flower far from the sun,
The flower of my life is closed
Far from your crimson smile!
31
5) Au cimetire
Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe
O flotte avec un son plaintif
Lombre dun if?
Sur lif, une ple colombe,
Triste et seule, au soleil couchant,
Chante son chant;
Un air maladivement tendre,
la fois charmant et fatal,
Qui vous fait mal
Et quon voudrait toujours entendre,
Un air, comme en soupier aux cieux
Lange amoureux.
On dirait que lme veille
Pleure sous terre lunisson
De la chanson,
Et du malheur dtre oublie
Se plaint dans un roucoulement
Bien doucement
Sur les ailes de la musique
On sent lentemente revenir
Un souvenir;
Une ombre, une forme anglique
Passe dans un rayon tremblant,
En voile blanc.
Les belles-de-nuit, demi-closes,
Jettent leur parfum faible et doux
Autour de vous,
Et le fantme aux molles poses
Murmure, en vous tendant les bras:
Tu reviendras?
Oh! jamais plus, prs de la tombe
Je nirai, quand descend le soir
Au manteau noir,
couter la ple colombe
Chanter sur la pointe de lif
Son chant plaintif!
At the cemetery
Do you know the white tomb,
Where the shadow of a yew
Waves plaintively?
On that yew a pale dove,
Sad and solitary at sundown
Sings its song;
A melody of morbid sweetness,
Delightful and deathly at once,
Which wounds you
And which youd like to hear forever,
A melody, such as in the heavens,
A lovesick angel sighs.
As if the awakened soul
Weeps beneath the earth together
With the song,
And at the sorrow of being forgotten
Murmurs its complaint
Most meltingly.
On the wings of music
You sense the slow return
Of a memory;
A shadow, an angelic form
Passes in a shimmering beam,
Veiled in white.
These beauties of the night, half-
closed,
Shed their fragrance sweet and faint
About you,
And the phantom with its languid
gestures
Murmurs, reaching out to you:
Will you return?
Ah! nevermore shall I approach that
tomb,
When evening descends
In its black cloak,
To listen to the pale dove
From the top of a yew
Sing its plaintive song!
32
6) Lle inconnue
Dites, la jeune belle,
O voulez-vous aller?
La voile en-fle son aile,
La brise va souffler!
Laviron est divoire,
Le pavillon de moire,
Le gouvernail dor fin;
Jai pour lest une orange,
Pour voile une aile dange,
Pour mousse un sraphin.
Dites, la jeune belle,
O voulez-vous aller?
La voile en-fle son aile,
La brise va souffler!
Est-ce dans la Baltique,
Dans la mer Pacifique,
Dans lle de Java?
O bien est-ce en Norvge,
Cueillir la fleur de neige
O la fleur dAngsoka?
Dites, la jeune belle,
O voulez-vous aller?
Menez-moi, dit la belle,
la rive fidle
O lon aime toujours.
- Cette rive, ma chre,
On ne la connat gure
Au pays des amours.
O voulez-vous aller?
La brise va souffler!
Translation by Bernard Taylor (Berlioz)
The unknown isle
Tell me, pretty young maid,
Where is it you would go?
The sail is billowing,
The breeze about to blow!
The oar is of ivory,
The pennant of watered silk,
The rudder of finest gold;
For ballast Ive an orange,
For sail an angels wing,
For cabin-boy a seraph.
Tell me, pretty young maid,
Where is it you would go?
The sail is billowing,
The breeze about to blow!
Perhaps the Baltic,
Or the Pacific,
Or the Isle of Java?
Or else to Norway,
To pluck the snow flower
Or the flower of Angsoka?
Tell me, pretty young maid,
Where is it you would go?
Take me, said the pretty maid,
To the shore of faithfulness
Where love endures forever.
- That shore, my sweet,
Is scarce known
In the realm of love.
Where is it you would go?
The breeze is about to blow!
33
 Figure 5: Richard Wagner (1813-1883) (Wikipedia)

Joy is not in things; it is in us. (ThinkExist)

Wesendonck Lieder (1857/58)

Composer:

Richard Wagner

Type:

Song Cycle of 5 Poems

Duration:

16 minutes

Libretto:

Mathilde Wesendonck

Publishers:

Dover Publications, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

Romantic
34
World Premiere:

Near Mainz, Germany

July 30, 1862

Under the title Five songs for a female voice

Scoring:

Originally for piano

Orchestrated for large orchestra by Felix Mottl, the Wagner Conductor

Vocal Range:

C3 Ab4

Tessitura:

E3 E4

Voice:

Medium or High Voice

Synopsis:

Five wistful, bitter-sweet poems full of yearning and longing

Justification:

Recorded by:

Rgine Crespin, Kirsten Flagstad, Birget Nilsson, Aprile Millo, Jessye Norman,

Cheryl Studer, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

If one had studied the childhood of Richard Wagner, his consequent stunning

career in composing theatrical operatic works might not come as surprising. When he

was fifteen, he wrote a grisly play where no less than twenty-seven characters were killed

35
off before the end of the first act! He studied music in Leipzig and in Dresden where he

composed his first opera, Die Feen at the age of twenty. After marrying the actress,

Minna Planer, he found odd jobs as a conductor and composer, but was constantly in debt

and moved frequently. Rienzi was his first successful opera and this work established the

young composer as a force in the operatic world. Mythic texts were used as the basis for

his music; leit-motifs helped audiences recognize musical themes associated with

characters and his development of pageantry and orchestration as equal partners were

revolutionary. He changed the face of opera for all time; his Ring Cycle left many

stunned, some violently enthusiastic, and some totally confused. He was a musical

genius, a prolific writer, a German nationalist, and a controversial figure, but his music

will remain arguably, the most influential of the 19th century. (Seattle Opera)

The Wesendonck Lieder is a cycle of songs set to poems by Mathilde von

Wesendonck, the wife of one of Wagners friends. Wagner and his 2nd wife, Minna, were

living in a small cottage on the Wesendonck estate, where Wagner was composing the

first act of Die Walkre. Speculation suggests that Mathilde and Wagner had a love

affair that directly influenced the intensity of his music composed during this time, and

was also the inspiration for his opera, Tristan und Isolde. The Romantic chromatic and

harmonic style which permeates this song cycle is recognized in later melodic and

musical ideas developed within Tristan und Isolde. The songs were first composed for

voice and piano alone, however, a fully orchestrated version of Trume was performed

for Mathilde under her window for her 29th birthday. Both versions are equally effective,

and The Wesendonck Lieder are widely performed and recorded today, and constitute a

place in standard recital repertoire. (Wikipedia)

36
Lyrics:
1) Der Engel
In der Kindheit frhen Tagen
Hrt ich oft von Engeln sagen,
Die des Himmels hehre Wonne
Tauschen mit der Erdensonne,
Da, wo bang ein Herz in Sorgen
Schmachtet vor der Welt verborgen,
Da, wo still es will verbluten,
Und vergehn in Trnenfluten,
Da, wo brnstig sein Gebet
Einzig um Erlsung fleht,
Da der Engel niederschwebt,
Und es sanft gen Himmel hebt.
Ja, es stieg auch mir ein Engel nieder,
Und auf leuchtendem Gefieder
Fhrt er, ferne jedem Schmerz,
Meinen Geist nun himmelwrts!
2) Stehe still!
Sausendes, brausendes Rad der Zeit,
Messer du der Ewigkeit;
Leuchtende Sphren im weiten All,
Die ihr umringt den Weltenball;
Urewige Schpfung, halte doch ein,
Genug des Werdens, la mich sein!
Halte an dich, zeugende Kraft,
Urgedanke, der ewig schafft!
Hemmet den Atem, stillet den Drang,
Schweiget nur eine Sekunde lang!
Schwellende Pulse, fesselt den
Schlag;
Ende, des Wollens ew'ger Tag!
Da in selig sem Vergessen
Ich mg alle Wonnen ermessen!
Wenn Aug' in Auge wonnig trinken,
Seele ganz in Seele versinken;
Wesen in Wesen sich wiederfindet,
37
The Angel
In childhoods early days,
I often heard them speak of angels,
Who would exchange Heavens sublime
bliss
For the Earths sun.
So that, when an anxious heart in dread
Is full of longing, hidden from the world;
So that, when it wishes silently to bleed
And melt away in a trickle of tears,
So that when its prayer ardently
Pleads only for release,
Then the angel floats down
And gently lifts it to Heaven.
Yes, an angel has come down to me,
And on glittering wings
it leads, far away from every pain,
My soul now heavenwards!
Stand Still!
Roaring and rushing wheel of time,
You are the measurer of Eternity;
Shining spheres in the wide universe,
You who surround the world globe,
Eternal creation, halt!
Enough development, let me be!
Cease, generative powers,
The primal thoughts which you are ever
creating!
Slow your breathing, still your urge
Silently, only for a second long!
Swelling pulses, fetter your beating,
End, o eternal day of willing!
That in blessed, sweet forgetfulness,
I may measure all my bliss!
When one eye another drinks in bliss,
And one soul into another sinks,
One nature in another finds itself again,
Und alles Hoffens Ende sich kndet,
Die Lippe verstummt in staunendem
Schweigen,
Keinen Wunsch mehr will das Innre
zeugen:
Erkennt der Mensch des Ew'gen Spur,
Und lst dein Rtsel, heil'ge Natur!
3) Im Treibhaus
Hochgewlbte Bltterkronen,
Baldachine von Smaragd,
Kinder ihr aus fernen Zonen,
Saget mir, warum ihr klagt?
Schweigend neiget ihr die Zweige,
Malet Zeichen in die Luft,
Und der Leiden stummer Zeuge
Steiget aufwrts, ser Duft.
Weit in sehnendem Verlangen
Breitet ihr die Arme aus,
Und umschlinget wahnbefangen
der Leere nicht'gen Graus.
Wohl, ich wei es, arme Pflanze;
Ein Geschicke teilen wir,
Ob umstrahlt von Licht und Glanze,
Unsre Heimat ist nicht hier!
Und wie froh die Sonne scheidet
Von des Tages leerem Schein,
Hllet der, der wahrhaft leidet,
Sich in Schweigens Dunkel ein.
Stille wird's, ein suselnd Weben
Fllet bang den dunklen Raum:
Schwere Tropfen seh ich schweben
An der Bltter grnem Saum.
4) Schmerzen
Sonne, weinest jeden Abend
Dir die schnen Augen rot,
Wenn im Meeresspiegel badend
Dich erreicht der frhe Tod;
38
And when each hope's fulfillment is
finished,
When the lips are mute in astounded
silence,
And no wish more does the heart invent,
Then man recognizes the sign of Eternity,
And solves your riddle, holy Nature!
In the Hothouse
High-vaulted crowns of leaves,
Canopies of emerald,
You children of distant zones,
Tell me, why do you lament?
Silently you bend your branches,
Draw signs in the air,
And the mute witness to your anguish
A sweet fragrance - rises.
In desirous longing, wide
You open your arms,
And embrace through insane predilection
The desolate, empty, horrible void.
I know well, poor plants,
A fate that we share,
Though we bathe in light and radiance,
Our homeland is not here!
And how gladly the sun departs
From the empty gleam of the day,
He veils himself, he who suffers truly,
In the darkness of silence.
It becomes quiet, a whispered stirring
Fills uneasily the dark room:
Heavy drops I see hovering
On the green edge of the leaves.
Sorrows
Sun, each evening you weep
Your pretty eyes red,
When, bathing in the mirror of the sea
You are seized by early death.
Doch erstehst in alter Pracht,
Glorie der dstren Welt,
Du am Morgen neu erwacht,
Wie ein stolzer Siegesheld!
Ach, wie sollte ich da klagen,
Wie, mein Herz, so schwer dich sehn,
Mu die Sonne selbst verzagen,
Mu die Sonne untergehn?
Und gebieret Tod nur Leben,
Geben Schmerzen Wonne nur:
O wie dank ich, da gegeben
Solche Schmerzen mir Natur!
5) Trame
Sag, welch wunderbare Trume
Halten meinen Sinn umfangen,
Da sie nicht wie leere Schume
Sind in des Nichts vergangen?
Trume, die in jeder Stunde,
Jedem Tage schner blhn,
Und mit ihrer Himmelskunde
Selig durchs Gemte ziehn!
Trume, die wie hehre Strahlen
In die Seele sich versenken,
Dort ein ewig Bild zu malen:
Allvergessen, Eingedenken!
Trume, wie wenn Frhlingssonne
Aus dem Schnee die Blten kt,
Da zu nie geahnter Wonne
Sie der neue Tag begrt,
Da sie wachsen, da sie blhen,
Trumed spenden ihren Duft,
Sanft an deiner Brust verglhen,
Und dann sinken in die Gruft.
Translation from German to English copyright by Emily Ezust (Wagner)
39
Yet you rise in all your splendor,
Glory of the gloomy world,
Newly awakening in the morning
Like a proud, victorious hero!
Ah, why should I then lament,
Why, my heart, are you so heavy,
If the sun itself must despair,
If the sun must set?
And if Death gives rise only to Life,
And pain gives way only to bliss,
O how thankful I am, that
Nature gives me such anguish!
Dreams
Tell me, what kind of wondrous dreams
are embracing my senses,
that have not, like sea-foam,
vanished into desolate Nothingness?
Dreams, that with each passing hour,
each passing day, bloom fairer,
and with their heavenly tidings
roam blissfully through my heart!
Dreams which, like holy rays of light
sink into the soul,
there to paint an eternal image:
forgiving all, thinking of only One.
Dreams which, when the Spring sun
kisses the blossoms from the snow,
so that into unsuspected bliss
they greet the new day,
so that they grow, so that they bloom,
and dreaming, bestow their fragrance,
these dreams gently glow and fade on
your breast,
and then sink into the grave.
 Figure 6: Ernest Chausson (1855-1899) (Wikipedia)

I have the presentiment that my life must be short. I would not want to die without
having created something. (Duchen)

Pome de lamour et de la mer (1882-90)

Op. 19

Composer:

Ernest Chausson

Type:

For High Voice and Orchestra

Duration:

31 minutes

Libretto:

Maurice Boucher

Publishers:

Rouart, Lerolle, & Co., Paris, France

40
Musical Time Period:

Romantic

World Premiere:

Brussels

1893

Subscription Concert organized by Octave Maus

Artist: Dsir Demest (tenor)

Scoring:

Not available

Vocal Range:

Db3 Ab4

Tessitura:

F3-F4

Voice:

High

Synopsis:

Exquisitely orchestrated, this two poem piece is filled with gently flowing, highly

sensual Romantic mood and scene painting.

Justification:

Can be sung by Mezzo Soprano, or Dramatic Soprano

Recorded by:

Janet Baker, Victoria de Los Angeles, Jessye Norman

41
Historical Significance:

Ernest Chausson was killed when he was only forty-four; a man who had five

children, a happy marriage, wealth, education, culture, and talent. He had only just begun

to pursue the artistic fulfillment he craved; his compositional life was full of self-doubt

and self-criticism, always struggling with his own perfectionistic tendencies. His

inherited fortune enabled him to host other like-minded artists: Debussy, Faur, Renoir,

Monet, and Degas, where topics of music, visual art, politics, and history were discussed.

Studying under Jules Massenet and Csar Franck, Chaussons musical genius blossomed,

but because of his personal fears and struggles with composition, very few works are his

legacy today. (Wikipedia)

Pome de lamour et de la mer is intensely Romantic; full of lush, emotional

orchestration that reflects Wagners extraordinary influence. Chaussons music is

exquisitely and irresistibly beautiful, creating images and sensations that reflect so

perfectly this poignant text. This stunning tone poem has three main movements with

sections within each, some for orchestra alone. (Duchen)

Lyrics:

Pome de lamour et de la mer Poem of love and the sea

La fleur des eaux The flower of the waters

I
Lair est plein dune odeur exquise de lilas The air is filled will the exquisite
scent of lilac
Qui, fleurissant du haut des murs jusquau bas, which, flowering from the top of the
walls to the bottom,
Embaument les cheveux des femme. Perfumes the womens hair.
La mer au grand soleil va toute sembraser, The whole sea goes to the great sun
to be set aglow,
Et sur le sable fin quelles viennent baiser and, over the fine sand which they
come to kiss,

42
Roulent dblouissantes lames.
O ciel qui de ses yeux dois porter la couleur,
Brise qui vas chanter dans les lilas en fleur
Pour en sortir toute embaume,
Ruisseaux qui mouillerez sa robe, o verts sentiers, streams which will moisten her
Vous qui tressaillerez souls ses chers petits pieds, you who tremble beneath her dear
Faites-moi voir ma bien-aime!
II
Et mon Coeur sest lev par ce matin det And my heart arose on this summers
Car une belle enfant tait sur le ravage,
Laissant errer sur moi des yeux pleins de clart,
Et qui me souriait un air tender et sauvage.
Toi que transfiguraient la jeunesse et lamour,
Tu mapparus alors come lme des choses;
Mon Coeur vola vers toi, tu le pris sans retour,
Et du ciel entrouvert pleuvaient sur nous roses.
III
Quel son lamentable et sauvage
Va sonner lheure de ladieu!
La mer roule sur le ravage,
Moqueuse, et se souciant peu
Que se soit lheure de ladieu.
Des oiseaux passent, laile ouverte,
Sur labme Presque joyeux;
Au grand soleil la me rest verte,
Et je saigne silencieux
En regardant briller les cieux.
43
Dazzling waves roll.
Oh sky which has to wear the colour
of her eyes,
breeze which goes to sing in the
lilacs in bloom
so as to come out of them all
scented,
dress, or green paths,
little feet,
Let me see my beloved!
morning;
for a beautiful girl was on the beach,
letting eyes full of brightness wander
over me,
And which smiled to me with a
tender and wild expression.
You whom youth and love
transfigured,
you appeared to me like the soul of
all things;
my heart flew towards you, you took
it forever,
And roses rained upon us from the
part-opened sky.
What mournful and wild sound
Wills sound the hour of farewell!
The sea rolls over the beach,
teasing, and hardly concerning itself
That it is the hour of farewell.
Birds pass by, wings outspread,
nearly joyful over the deep;
in the full sun the sea is green,
and, silent, I bleed
Looking at the heavens shining.
Je saigne en regardant ma vie
Qui va sloigner sur les flots;
Mon me unique mest ravie
Et la somber clameur des flots
Couvre le bruit de mes sanglots.
La mort de lamour
IV
Bientt lle bleue et joyeuse
Parmi les rocs mapparatra:
Lle sur leau silencieuse
Comme un nnuphar flottera.
A travers la mer damthyste
Doucement glisse le bateau,
Et je serai joyeux et triste
De tant me souvenir bientt!
V
Le vent roulait les feuilles mortes; me penses
Roulaient comme les feuilles mortes, dans la nuit.
Jamais si doucement au ciel noir navaient lui
Les milles roses dor dou tombent les roses.
Une danse effrayante, et les feuilles froisses,
Et qui rendaient us son mtalique, valsaient,
Semblaient gmir sous les toiles, et disaient
Linexprimable horreur des amours trpasses.
Les grands htres dargent que la lune baisait
taient des specters: moi, tout mon sang se glaait were ghosts: me, all my blood froze
En voyant mon aime estrangement sourir.
Comme des front de morts nos fronts avaient pli, Our brows had paled like the brows
44
I bleed as I look at my life
about to depart over the waves;
my very soul is taken from me
and the deep clamour of the waves
Covers the sound of my sobs.
The death of love
Soon the blue and joyful isle
will appear to me among the rocks:
the isle will float upon the silent
water
Like a water-lily.
Across the amethyst sea
the boat gentle slips,
and I shall be joyful and sad
To remember so much soon!
The wind rolled the dead leaves; my
thoughts
Rolled like the dead leaves, in the
night.
Never had the thousands of golden
roses, from which
Fall the dews, sparkled so softly in
the black sky.
A terrifying dance, and the crumpled
leaves
which gave out a metallic sound,
waltzed,
seemed to moan beneath the stars,
and told of
The inexpressible horror of the dead
loves.
The great silver beaches which the
moon kissed
Upon seeing my beloved smiling
strangely.
of the dead,
Et, muet, me penchant vers elles, je us lire
Ce mot fatal crit dans ses grands yeux: Loubli.
VI
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Ne reviendra plus ce printemps ci;
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Est pass, le temps des oeillets aussi.
Le vent a change, les cieux sont moroses,
Et nous nirons plus courir, et cueillir
Les lilas en fleur et les belles roses;
Le printemps est triste et ne peut fleurir.
Oh! joyeux et doux printemps de lanne
Qui vins, lan pass, nous ensoleiller,
Notre fleur damour est si bien fane,
Las! que ton baiser ne peut lveiller!
Et toi, que fais-tu? pas de fleurs closes,
Point de gai soleil ni dombrages frais;
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Avec notre amour est mort jamais.
translated by Christopher Goldsack (Chausson)
45
and, silent, leaning towards her, I
was able to read
That fatal word written in her large
eyes: oblivion.
The season for lilac and the season
for roses
will not come back again to this
spring;
the season for lilac and the season
for roses
Is passed, the season for carnations
too.
I bleed as I look at my life
about to depart over the waves;
my very soul is taken from me
The spring is sad and cannot
blossom.
Oh! Joyful and sweet springtime of
the year
which came, last year, to light us
with its sunshine,
our flower of love is so withered,
alas, that your kiss cannot awaken it!
And you, what are you doing? No
flowers in bloom,
no happy sun nor cool shade;
the season for the lilac and the
season for roses
With our love has died forever.
1900 1950

46
 Figure 7: Maurice Ravel (1875 1937) (Wikipedia)

We should always remember that sensitiveness and emotion constitute the real content
of a work of art. (BrainyQuote)

Schhrazade (1903)

Op. 35

Composer:

Maurice Ravel

Type:

Song Cycle with Orchestra

Duration:

14 minutes

Libretto:

3 poems by Tristan Klingsor (pseudonym for Lon Leclre)

Publishers:

Durand & Co., Paris, 1914

47
Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Paris, France

Socit National de Musique

Conductor: Alfred Cortot

Artist: Jane Hatto

Scoring:

1 piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 hautebois, 1 English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns in

F, 2 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, 1 tuba, percussion, celeste, 2 harps, 1st violins,

2nd violins, violas, violoncello, contrabass

Vocal Range:

C#3 Bb4

Tessitura:

E3 E4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

These poems have a sense of longing for the sensual, exotic Far East

Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Victoria de los Angeles, Rgine Crespin

48
Historical Significance:

Maurice Ravel, born on March 7, 1875, was a French composer and pianist,

mostly known for his subtlety, innovative harmonies, and richness of tone color in his

orchestral compositions. One of the six Apaches (self-named group of young artists

with a penchant for wildness), Ravel was a piano major at the Conservatoire de Paris, and

studied for fourteen years with Gabriel Faur. A scandal ensued when Ravel, the known

favorite, was not chosen as the winner of the Prix de Rome, a competition for

composition, and the director of the Conservatory at the time had to resign. Along with

Debussy, Ravel became known for his impressionistic music, but declared the greatest

influences on his writing were Mozart and Couperin, with their classical forms and

structures. He was also highly influenced by the musical elements of Asian and Russian

music, Eastern European folk songs, and American Jazz. He never married, and in 1932

had a traffic accident that left him unable to continue his prolific musical output. He

never fully recovered and in 1937 had a neuro-operation which failed and he soon died.

(Wikipedia)

Ravels Schhrazade, the song cycle, was composed immediately after Ravels

friend and writer, Lon Leclre, (pen name Tristan Klingsor) published his Schhrazade,

a work of poetry, in 1903. Using three of the poems, Ravel created an extraordinary

work which was very successful in its premiere on May 17, 1903. He had always felt the

Orient had a sensual allure and created music to reflect the exotic texts. Greatly

influenced by Debussy, Ravels work has obvious similarities in orchestral texturing,

with whole-tone or pentatonic scales which can evoke an exotic sound. However, his

instrumentation and skill in the manipulation of modality and classic form, allow us to

49
hear his own voice. Careful adherence to the text throughout, supported with muted and

climactic orchestral effects, make this work unforgettable. (Freed, McGregor)

Lyrics:

Asie
Asie, Asie. Asie!
Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice
O dort la fantaisie comme une impratrice
En sa fort emplie de mystre.
Asie:
Je voudrais m'en aller avec la golette
Qui se berce ce soir dans le port,
Mystrieuse et solitaire,
Et qui dploie enfin ses voiles violettes
Comme un immense oiseau de nuit dans le ciel d'or. Like an huge night bird in the
Je voudrais m'en aller vers des les de fleurs
En coutant chanter la mer perverse
Sur un vieux rythme ensorceleur.
Je voudrais voir Damas et les villes de Perse
Avec les minarets lgers dans l'air.
Je voudrais voir de beaux turbans de soie
Sur des visages noirs aux dents claires;
Je voudrais voir des yeux sombres d'amour
Et des prunelles brillantes de joie
Et des paux jaunes comme des oranges;
Je voudrais voir des vtements de velours
Et des habits longues franges.
Je voudrais voir des calumets entre des bouches
Tout entoures de barbe blanche;
Je voudrais voir d'pres marchands
merchants aux regards louches,
Et des cadis, et des vizirs
Qui du seul mouvement de leur doigt qui se penche Who with a mere crook of the finger
Accordent vie ou mort au gr de leur dsir.
Je voudrais voir la Perse, et l'Inde, et puis la Chine, I should like to see Persia, and India,
Asia
Asia, Asia, Asia!
Ancient, marvelous lands of nursery
tales
Where imagination sleeps like an
empress
In her forest, surrounded in mystery.
Asia:
I should like to leave with the
schooner
Rocking tonight in the habor,
Mysterious and alone,
And at last unfurling purple sails
golden sky.
I should like to leave for the flower
islands
Listening to the perverse ocean sing
To an old, bewitching rhythm.
I should like to see Damascus and
the cities of Persia
With light minarets in the air.
I should like to see beautiful silk
turbans
Over dark faces with shining teeth;
I should like to see eyes darkened
with love
And pupils shining with joy
Against skins golden as oranges;
I should like to see velvet clothes
And robes with long fringes.
I should like to see pipes in mouths
Surrounded by white beards;
I should like to see grasping
with shady looks,
And cadis and viziers,
Dispense life or death at will.
and then China,

50
Les mandarins ventrus sous les ombrelles,
Et les princesses aux mains fines,
Et les lettrs qui se querrellent
Sur la posie et sur la beaut;
Je voudrais m'attarder au palais enchant
Et comme un voyageur tranger
Contemple loisir des paysages peints
Sur des toffes en des cadres de sapin
Avec un personnage au milieu d'un verger;
Je voudrais voir des assassins souriants
Du bourreau qui coupe un cou d'innocent
Avec son grand sabre courb d'Orient.
Je voudrais voir des pauvres et des reines;
Je voudrais voir des roses et du sang;
Je voudrais voir mourir d'amour ou bien de haine.
Et puis m'en revenir plus tard
Narrer mon aventure aux curieux de rves
En levant comme Sinbad ma vieille tasse arabe
De temps en temps jusqu' mes lvres
Pour interrompre le conte avec art. . . .
Translation by D. Kern Holoman (Ravel)
51
Pot-bellied mandarins under
umbrellas,
And princesses of slender hands
And scholars arguing
Over poetry and beauty;
I should like to linger in the
enchanted palace
And, like a foreign traveller,
Contemplate at leisure painted
landscapes
On fabrics in pine-wood frames
With a figure in the middle of an
orchard;
I should like to see assassins smiling
As the executioner cuts off an
innocent head
With his great curved oriental saber.
I should like to see paupers and
queens;
I should like to see roses and blood;
I should like to see dying of love or
of hate.
And then return
To recount my adventures to those
curious of dreams,
Raising, like Sinbad, my old Arab
cup
From time to time to my lips
To interrupt the tale, artfully.
 Figure 8: Gustavus Theodor von Holst (1874 1934) (Wikipedia)

Never compose anything, unless the not composing of it becomes a positive nuisance to
you. (Amacher)

The Mystic Trumpeter (1904)

Op. 18/H. 71

Composer:

Gustav Holst

Type:

Scena for Soprano and Orchestra

Duration:

21 minutes

Libretto:

Walt Whitman: The poem, The Mystic Trumpeter, From Noon to Starry Night

from Leaves of Grass

Publishers:

Novello and Company Limited, London

52
Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

London, England

Queens Hall

June 29, 1905

London Symphony and Royal College of Music Orchestras

Conductor: Gustav Holst

Artist: Cicely Gleeson-White

Scoring:

3 flutes (3=piccolo), 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet in Bb,

2 bassoons, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in F, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion,

harp, strings

Vocal Range:

B2 C5

Tessitura:

E3 F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Walt Whitmans 3rd poem out of 22, from his 32nd book entitled From Noon to

Starry Night in Leaves of Grass, reflecting the relationship between Man and

Spirituality, written in 1872

53
Justification:

Recording:

Claire Rutter; no other recording to date

Ms. Rutter sings Abigaille from Verdis Nabucco, Tosca from Puccinis

Tosca, Maddalena from Giordanos Andrea Chenier, Ameila from

Verdis Un Ballo in Maschera, all considered heavier roles, more suited

for the dramatic soprano voice

Huge orchestration with significant brass; indicative of Wagners influence on

Holsts musical development

Historical Significance:

Gustav Holst was born in England in 1874 and began piano lessons at an early

age. He was stricken with a nerve condition that prohibited his playing and studied the

trombone instead. While attending the Royal College of Music in London, he met a life-

long friend, fellow classmate and composer, Ralph Vaughan Williams. Old English folk

songs, madrigal singers, and simplicity of melody were used as elements in each of their

subsequent song writing. During Holsts years there, he became interested in socialism,

and Indian mysticism and spirituality, which influenced his later music. Depressed at not

winning the coveted Ricordi Prize, a competition for composition, on a doctors

recommendation he visited Algeria and his travels in that country and others inspired

many following works, including his most famous, The Planets Suite. His later years

were plagued with stomach problems and after surgery, succumbed to complications. He

died on May 25, 1934. (Lace)

54
 One of the poets to influence Holsts life was Walt Whitman. The Mystic

Trumpeter is taken from Leaves of Grass, a compilation of Whitmans extensive writings.

The poem has to do with Mans relationship to Spirituality and the Infinite and was an

exciting vehicle for Holst to try his hand at creating a masterpiece of vocal and

instrumental cohesiveness. An early work, his ecstatic musical language and texture

firmly reflect the exultant, youthful text and the result is an exciting, dramatic piece.

(Lace)

Lyrics:

The Mystic Trumpeter

1
Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,
Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost.
2
Come nearer bodiless one, haply in thee resounds
Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life
Was fill'd with aspirations high, unform'd ideals,
Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging,
That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing,
Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine,
That I may thee translate.
3
Blow trumpeter free and clear, I follow thee,
While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene,
The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdraw,
A holy calm descends like dew upon me,
I walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise,
I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses;
Thy song expands my numb'd imbonded spirit, thou freest, launchest me,
Floating and basking upon heaven's lake.
4
Blow again trumpeter! and for my sensuous eyes,
Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.
What charm thy music works! thou makest pass before me,
Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls,
the troubadours are singing,

55
Arm'd knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the holy Graal;
I see the tournament, I see the contestants incased in heavy armor
seated on stately champing horses,
I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel;
I see the Crusaders' tumultuous armies--hark, how the cymbals clang,
Lo, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high.
5
Blow again trumpeter! and for thy theme,
Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting,
Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang,
The heart of man and woman all for love,
No other theme but love--knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love.
O how the immortal phantoms crowd around me!
I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that
heat the world,
The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers,
So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark, and nigh to death;
Love, that is all the earth to lovers--love, that mocks time and space,
Love, that is day and night--love, that is sun and moon and stars,
Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume,
No other words but words of love, no other thought but love.
6
Blow again trumpeter--conjure war's alarums.
Swift to thy spell a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls,
Lo, where the arm'd men hasten--lo, mid the clouds of dust the glint
of bayonets,
I see the grime-faced cannoneers, I mark the rosy flash amid the
smoke, I hear the cracking of the guns;
Nor war alone--thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every
sight of fear,
The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder--I hear the cries for help!
I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck the
terrible tableaus.
7
O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest,
Thou melt'st my heart, my brain--thou movest, drawest, changest
them at will;
And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me,
Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope,
I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the
whole earth,
I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it becomes
all mine,
Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds
and hatreds,
Utter defeat upon me weighs--all lost--the foe victorious,

56
(Yet 'mid the ruins Pride colossal stands unshaken to the last,
Endurance, resolution to the last.)
8
Now trumpeter for thy close,
Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet,
Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope,
Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future,
Give me for once its prophecy and joy.
O glad, exulting, culminating song!
A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes,
Marches of victory--man disenthral'd--the conqueror at last,
Hymns to the universal God from universal man--all joy!
A reborn race appears--a perfect world, all joy!
Women and men in wisdom innocence and health--all joy!
Riotous laughing bacchanals fill'd with joy!
War, sorrow, suffering gone--the rank earth purged--nothing but joy left!
The ocean fill'd with joy--the atmosphere all joy!
Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the ecstasy of life!
Enough to merely be! enough to breathe!
Joy! joy! all over joy!

(Holst)

57
 Figure 9: Alban Maria Johannes Berg (1885 1935) (Alban Berg)

Music is at once the product of feeling and knowledge, for it requires from its disciples,
composers and performers alike, not only talent and enthusiasm, but also that knowledge
and perception which are the result of protracted study and reflection. (BrainyQuote)

Sieben frhe Lieder (1905-08)

Composer:

Alban Berg

Type:

Song Cycle

Orchestrated and first published in 1928

Duration:

17 minutes

Libretto:

7 poems from different poets:

1) Nacht - Carl Hauptmann

2) Schilflied Nikolaus Lenau

3) Die Nachtigall Theodor Storm

58
 4) Taumgekrnt Rainer Maria Rilke

5) Im Zimmer Johannes Schlaf

6) Liebesode Otto Erich Hartleben

7) Sommertage Paul Hohenberg

Publishers:

Universal Edition AG, Vienna

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Im Zimmer, Liebesode, and Die Nachtigall were first performed by

Schoenbergs students on November 7, 1907 in the Saal des Gremiums of the

Wiener Kaufmannschaft in Vienna, while Berg was under Schoenbergs tutelage

The Orchestral Premiere of the Sieben frhe Lieder was in Vienna

November 6, 1928

Conductor: Robert Heger

Artist: Claire Born

Scoring:

2 flutes, (1 doubling piccolo), 2 oboes, (1 doubling English horn), 2 clarinets, bass

clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 2 trumpets, 2 trombones,

percussion, harp, celeste, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 A4

59
Tessitura:

D3 F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Seven Romantic poems reflecting nature, life, and love.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Alban Berg was a terrible student; he had to repeat two separate years of high

school before he could finally graduate. He also became a father at the age of seventeen.

His life took a major turn when he and Anton Webern, signed up for composition lessons

with Arnold Schoenberg, after seeing an add in a newspaper for new pupils. Berg

brought some thirty songs he had already composed to Schoenberg, and many more

Lieder were added during their relationship which lasted for over six years. During this

time in the Second Viennese School (Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven comprising the

First), Berg learned the traditional principles of composing music with an emphasis on

counterpoint, harmony, development and variation. These three composers were to

change the focus of tonality in music to extended atonality and absence of the major-

minor system. Berg adapted the use of Schoenbergs twelve tone row or set, and devised

new playing techniques on traditional instruments. His two Expressionistic operas,

Wozzeck, and Lulu, have themes of social criticism, and are atonal, using elaborate leit-

60
motifs. In 1935, at the height of his artistic production, Alban Berg died on Christmas

Eve, apparently from blood poisoning caused by an insect bite. (Alban Berg)

The Seven Early Songs were chosen by Berg out of the many Lieder he composed

during the years with Schoenberg. In 1928 he reassembled and brilliantly orchestrated

them into the work that is performed today. Because they are compositions from his

musically formative years, influences by Brahms, Strauss, Wagner and Schoenberg can

all be recognized. (Seven Early Songs)

Lyrics:

1) Nacht
Dmmern Wolken ber Nacht und Tal,
Nebel schweben, Wasser rauschen sacht.
Nun entschleiert sichs mit einmal:
O gib acht! Gib acht!
Weites Wunderland ist aufgetan.
Silbern ragen Berge traumhaft gross,
stille Pfade silberlicht talan
aus verborgnem Schloss;
Und die hehre Welt so traumhaft rein.
Stummer Buchenbaum am Wege steht
schattenschwarz, ein Hauch vom fernen Hain
einsam leise weht.
Und aus tiefen Grundes Dsterheit
blinken Lichter auf in stummer Nacht.
Trinke Seele! Trinke Einsamkeit!
O gib acht! Gib acht!
Night
Twilight clouds the valleys night,
Mists hover, waters whisper,
Now the veil is lifted quite:
Oh, pay heed, pay heed!
A magic landscape opens wide.
Dream-high the silver mountains
stand,
Toward the valley silent silver paths
Lead from a secret land.
Noble, pure, the dreaming country
sleeps.
By the path stands the black shadow
Of a beech; a breath from distant
lonely
Groves is wafted.
From the valleys darkest depth
Little lights blink in the silent night.
Drink, oh my soul, of solitude!
Oh, pay heed, pay heed!

Carl Hauptmann

2) Schilflied Song among the Reeds

Auf geheimnem Waldespfade
schleich ich gern im Abendschein
an das de Schilfgestade,
Mdchen, und gedenke dein.
Wenn sich dann der Busch verdstert,
rauscht das Rohr geheimnisvoll,
Through green secret paths I wander
to the reedy pools quiet brink,
in the evening there to ponder,
Sweet girl, there of thee to think.
Soon the suns rays will be dying,
rustling reeds speak secretly,

61
und es klaget und es flstert,
dass ich weinen, weinen soll.
Und ich mein, ich hre wehen
leise deiner Stimme Klang,
und in Weiher untergehen
deinen lieblichen Gesang.
Nikolaus Lenau
3) Die Nachtigall
Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall
die ganze Nacht gesungen;
da sind von ihrem sssen Schall,
da sind in Hall und Widerhall
die Rosen aufgesprungen.
Sie war doch sonst ein wildes Blut;
nun geht sie tief in Sinnen,
trgt in der Hand den Sommerhut
und duldet still der Sonne Glut
und weiss nicht, was beginnen.
Theodor Sturm
4) Traumgekrnt
Das was der Tag der weissen
Chrysanthemen,
mir bangte fast vor seiner Pracht
Und dann, dann kamst du mir die Seele nehmen
tief in der Nacht.
Mir war so bang, und du kamst lieb und leise,
ich hatte grad im Traum an dich gedacht.
Du kamst, und leis wie eine Mrchenweise
erklang die Nacht.
Rainer Maria Rilke
5) Im Zimmer
Herbstsonnenschein. Der liebe Abend blickt so
still herein.
Ein Feuerlein rot knistert im Ofenloch und loht.
So! Mein Kopf auf deinen Knien, so ist mir gut.
62
ever moaning, ever sighing,
Telling me to weep for thee.
And it seems the breezes blowing
in the air your voice retain,
and the water, scarcely flowing,
Brings your song to me again.
The Nightingale
Tis the doing of the nightingale
That sang the whole night through;
From the sweetness of its song,
From the sound and echoed sound,
The rosebuds have burst open.
Once a wild young thing, she walks
Now deep in meditation,
Her summer bonnet in her hand,
Silent in the suns warm glow,
And knows not where to turn.
Crown of Dreams
The white chrysanthemums did
bloom as never before,
I almost feared their brilliant light
And then, and then you came, my
soul to
Gather deep in the night.
I was afraid, and you came softly to
me,
As Id just hoped in dreaming that
you might.
You came, and softly like an old, old
story
We heard the night.
Indoors
Autumn sunset. The tender night
Peers in.
A tiny fire crackles and glows.
So, my head upon your knee, and all
is well.
Wenn mein Auge so in deinem ruht, wie leise die
Minuten ziehn.
Johannes Schlaf
6) Liebesode
Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein.
Am offnen Fenster lauschte der Sommerwind,
und unsrer Atemzge Frieden trug er hinaus in
die helle Mondnacht.
Und aus dem Garten tastete zagend sich ein
Rosenduft an unserer Liebe Bett
und gab uns wundervolle Trume,
Trume des Rausches, so reich an Sehnsucht.
Otto Erich Hartleben
7) Sommertage
Nun ziehen Tage ber die Welt,
gesandt aus blauer Ewigkeit;
im Sommerwind verweht die Zeit.
Nun windet nchtens der Herr
Sternenkrnze mit seliger Hand ber Wander-
und Wunderland.
O Herz, was kann in diesen Tagen
dein hellstes Wanderlied denn sagen
von deiner tiefen, tiefen Lust:
Im Wiesensang verstummt die Brust,
nun schweigt das Wort, wo Bild um Bild
zu dir zieht und dich ganz erfllt.
Paul Hohenberg
Translations by Eric Smith (Seven Early Songs)
63
When my eyes thus in yours rest,
how softly
the minutes flee.
Lovers Ode
Embraced by love we blissfully fell
asleep.
A breeze of summer stood by the
garden door,
waiting to bear our peaceful
breathing out to
The night that was bathed in
moonlight.
And from the garden came to us
timidly the
roses fragrance, blessing our bed of
love
and bringing wonderful sweet
dreaming,
Dreaming in rapture, and filled with
longing.
Summer Days
Now days of summer ride through
the world,
heralds of blue eternity;
On gentler winds hours flee.
By night the Lord gently weaves
starry garlands with his blessed hand,
hangs
Them over his wide and wonderful
land.
My heart, in these days what can
you say with all your singing
of what you deeply, deeply feel?
For beauty all our words doth steal,
and comes in silence with the view
Of eventide, and filleth you.
 Photo by Florence Homolka 1948

Figure 10: Arnold Franz Walter Schoenberg (1874 1951) (Wikipedia)

Whether one calls oneself conservative or revolutionary, whether one composes in a

conventional or progressive manner, whether one tries to imitate old styles or is destined
to express new ideas - one must be convinced of the infallibility of one's own fantasy and
one must believe in one's own inspiration. (BrainyQuote)

Erwartung (1909)

Op. 17

Composer:

Arnold Schoenberg

Type:

Monodrama in one act

Duration:

31 minutes

Libretto:

Marie Pappenheim

Publishers:

Universal Edition, A.G., 1916

64
Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Prague

Neues Deutsches Theater

June 6, 1924

Conductor: Alexander Zemlinsky

Artist: Marie Gutheil-Schoder

Scoring:

piccolo, 3 flutes (1 doubling as piccolo 2), 3 oboes, English horn (doubling as

oboe 4), 4 clarinets (1 in D, 1 in Bb, 2 in A), bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, 1

contrabassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 4 trombones, 1 bass tuba, harp, celesta,

percussion, strings

Vocal Range:

G2 B4

Tessitura:

D3 G4

Role:

Woman

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Night

65
Place:

Forest

Synopsis:

4 different Scenes:

Scene 1 Woman enters the forest in search of her lover, becomes terrified of the

darkness and solitude.

Scene 2 she is deep in the woods, lost and and alone and frightened.

Scene 3 she comes to a clearing but continues to be overwhelmed with anxiety

and with mounting hysteria cries for help.

Scene 4 she comes to a larger clearing, exhausted, with a torn dress and face and

hands scratched and bloody. She sees a house and thinks her lover might have

gone there with another woman. She stumbles against her lovers murdered,

bloody body. The rest of the scene is a psychological drama that explores the

Womans demented anguish.

Justification:

Performed by:

Jessye Norman, Hildegarde Behrens, Allessandra Marc, Deborah Voigt

Historical Significance:

Arnold Schoenberg revolutionized the way composers thought about traditional

musical elements in creating music. In his early years, he took counterpoint lessons with

the composer Alexander von Zemlinsky, and in his twenties, made a living by

orchestrating and composing. Gustav Mahler and Richard Strauss both recognized the

talent in Schoenberg and Mahler adopted him as a protg. His wife, Mathilde, left him

66
for a time, and this emotional upheaval in his life reflected in his writing; he began to

take a radical approach to composition. Believing the evolvement of music had reached a

historical breaking point, Schoenberg wanted to take music in a new direction. He

developed the 12 tone row, a system of writing music where each of the twelve notes had

equal value in the composition, resulting in an atonal work with no key center. This

method of composition produced works that were so radical in sound that the public

divided into two camps; those who thought the new method was revolutionary and

innovative, and those who thought the new method was creating noise on paper. Whether

this new technique was well received or not, his idea was ground-breaking and

Schoenberg shared his ideas with other like-minded composers, including Alban Berg

and Anton Webern, in their Second Viennese School. He continued composing with

his new methods and in 1933, immigrated to Paris and then to the United States where he

was to live the rest of his life, teaching in Los Angeles, California. (Wikipedia)

In 1909, Schoenberg composed Erwartung, a monodrama for one woman and

orchestra, which was unlike anything ever written before. The libretto was written

especially for Schoenberg by Marie Pappenheim and he, upon receiving it, wrote the 30

minute piece in just 17 days. This psychological thriller includes explicit dramatic

directions and staging and is an example of an Expressionistic work. This challenging

piece was first performed 15 years later. It employs a large orchestra and according to

John L. Church (Opera World, 2001), the music is lush, strident, abrasive, soothing,

sinister, and sometimes downright frightening. (Church)

67
Lyrics:

Expectation
Scene I
Into here? The road cant be seenHow silver the tree trunks shimmer like
birchesOh, our gardenThe flowers for him are surely witheredThe night is so
warm I am afraid What a heavy air strikes from the woodlike a storm standing
still So dreadfully quiet and empty But here it is at least brightThe moon was so
bright beforeOh! always still the cricket with its love songDont speakit is so
sweet near you The moon is in the dusk Coward you are dont you want to seek
him? So then die hereHow menacing the stillness isThe moon is full of
horrordoes it look inside? I alone into the gloomy shadowI want to sing, then he
will hear me

Scene II
Is this still the road? Here it is levelWhat?...Let go! No, it was something that
crawledAnd here alsoWho is touching me? AwayAway, just keep goingfor
Gods sakeNow, the road is wideit was so quiet behind the walls of the gardenNo
scythes any moreno calling and goingAnd the city in luminous mistso longingly I
gazed acrossAnd the sky so immeasurably deep above the road which you always take
to mestill more transparent and more distantthe evening colorsBut you have not
come. Who is weeping there? Is someone here? Is someone here? NothingBut there
wasNow it is rustling overheadIt strikes from branch to branchIt is coming upon
meNot here! Let me goLord God, help meIt was nothingBut fast, but fastOh,
ohwhat is that? A bodyNo, only a tree trunk

Scene III
There comes a light!...Ah! only the moonHow goodThere something black is
dancinghundred handsDont be foolishit is the shadowOh! how your shadow
falls upon the white wallsBut so soon you must goAre you calling? And it is so
long till eveningBut the shadow does creep!...Yellow, wide eyesSo outgushingas
if on stalksHow it glaresNo beast, dear God, no beastI am so much
afraidBeloved, my beloved, help me

Scene IV
Neither is he hereUpon the whole, long roadway not a living thingand no
soundThe broad pale fields are without breath, as if deadno blade is movingStill
the city and this pale moonNo cloud, not the wing shadow of a night bird in the
skythis boundless death pallorI can hardly go furtherAnd there they do not let me
inThe strange woman will chase me awayIf he be illA bench I must restBut
for so long I have not seen himNo, this is not the shadow of the benchSomeone is
thereHe does not breatheMoistSomething is flowing hereIt shines redAh, my
hands are torn with woundsNo, it is still wet, it is from thereI cannotThat is
heThe moonlight no, there, There is the dreadful headthe ghostIf it would only

68
disappear at last.like that in the woodA tree shadow, a ridiculous branchThe moon
is malicious, because it is bloodless, it paints red blood But it will melt away at
onceDont look at itDont notice itIt will surely dissolvelike that in the
woodI want to get awayI must find himIt must be late alreadyIt is no longer
thereI knewIt is still thereLord God in Heaven It is aliveIt has
skineyeshairHis eyesit has his mouthYouyouare you itI have looked
for you so longin the wood and Do you hear? Speak at last Look at meLord
God, what isHelpFor Gods sake quickbut doesnt anyone hear me?...he lies
there

Wake upJust wake upDo not be deadmy belovedOnly do not be deadI love
you so. Our room is half liteverything is waiting the flowers give off a powerful
fragranceWhat should I dowhat should I only do, that he awake? Your dear
handSo cold? Does it not become warm at my breast? My heart is so hot from
waitingThe night is soon overYet you wanted to be with me this night. Oh! it is
broad dayAre you staying by day with me? The sun glows upon usyour hands lie
upon meyour kissesyou are mineyouJust look at me, beloved, I lie beside
youSo just look at meAh! How rigidHow frightful your eyes areThree days you
have not been to meBut todayso sureThe evening was so full of peaceI kept
looking and waitingOver the garden wall towards youit is so lowAnd then we
both waveNo, noit is not trueHow can you be dead? Everywhere you livedJust
now in the woodyour voice so near to my earAlways, always you were with
meyour breath upon my cheekyour hand upon my hairNot trueit is not true?
Yet your mouth just curved under my kissesYour blood even now is trickling with
gentle beatYour blood is still aliveOh! the broad red streakThe heart they have
hitI want to kiss itwith my last breathto let you go no moreTo look into your
eyesAll light, indeed, came from your eyesI grew dizzy, when I looked upon
youNow kissing you I kiss myself to death.

But so strange your eye is Where are you looking? Then what are you seeking? Is
someone standing there? But how was it the last time?...Was not that also then in your
look? No, only so distractedorand suddenly you took hold of yourselfAnd for
three days you were not with me no timeSo often you have not had time in these last
monthsNo, that really is not possiblethat really isAh! Now I rememberthe sigh
in half-sleeplike a nameyou kissed the question away from my lipsBut why did he
promise me to come today? I will not have itno, I will notWhy did they kill you?
Here before the houseDid someone discover you? No, no,my only
sweetheartnot thatOh, the moon staggersI cannot seeJust look at meAgain
you are looking there? Where is she thenthe witch the hussythe woman with the
white armsOh, you do love them, the white armshow you kiss them redOh,
youyouyou wretch, you liaryouHow your eyes evade me! Do you cringe for
shame? Have embraced her? Yes?...so tenderly and avidlyand I waitedWhere did
she run, when you lay in blood?...I want to drag her here by her white armssoThere
is no place here for meOh! not even the grace that I may die with youHow dearly,
how dearly I have loved youFar from all things I livedstrange to everythingI knew
nothing but youthis whole yearsince you took my hand for the first timeoh, so

69
warmnever before did I love anyone soYour smile and your talkI loved you so
dearlyMy sweetheartmy only darlinghave you kissed her often?...while I was
dying of longing. Have you loved her very much? Do not say yesYou smile
painfullyPerhaps you have also sufferedperhaps your heart called after herWas it
your fault?...Oh, I cursed youbut your pity made me happyI believedwas in
bliss

Beloved, beloved, the morning comeswhat should I do here alone?...In this endless
lifein this dream without limits and colorsfor my limit was the spot at which you
wereand all colors of the world burst forth from your eyesThe light will come for
allbut I alone in my night?...The morning parts usalways the morningSo hard you
kiss at partingagain an eternal day of waitingOh but you will awake no
moreThousand people march byI do not perceive youAll are livingtheir eyes
flameWhere are you? It is darkyour kiss like a fiery sign in my nightmy lips burn
and gleamtowards youOh, are you here? I was seeking

(Stanley)

70
 Photo by Edward Morgan 1974

Figure 11: Benjamin Britten (1913 1976) (Barnett)

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness
and of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied
love. The cruel beauty of nature, and everlasting beauty of monotony. (ThinkExist)

Our Hunting Fathers (1936)

Op. 8

Composer:

Benjamin Britten

Type:

Symphonic Cycle for High Voice and Orchestra

Duration:

27 minutes

Libretto:

W.H. (Wystan Hugh) Auden

Publishers:

Boosey & Hawkes, Music Publishers Limited, 1936

71
Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Norwich, England

September 25, 1936

St Andrew's Hall, Norfolk and Norwich Triennial Music Festival

Symphony: London Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Benjamin Britten

Artist: Sophie Wyss

Scoring:

2 fl (II=picc), 2 ob (II=ca), cl in B flat (=A), cl in E flat (=bass cl), alto sax, 2 bn-4

hn, 2 tpt in C, 2 trbn, bass trbn, tuba-timp, 2 perc (sd, td, cymb, bd, xyl, trgl,

tamb)-harp-str

Vocal Range:

G2 B4

Tessitura:

D3 A4

Voice:

Soprano

Justification:

Extremely low and high range; voice part must sustain difficult top tessitura with

volume, very full orchestration

72
Historical Significance:

Of the 20th century operas composed in the last 100 years, only a hand-full are

performed regularly. Benjamin Britten is regarded as one of those composers who have

combined all the elements of modern musical thinking into creating powerful artistic

conceptions that still have audience appeal. Benjamin Britten was born in 1913 and

started composing when he was five. He had the luxury of having supportive parents

who encouraged his musical expression and was only 31 when his first opera, Peter

Grimes, was produced. His music is a mixture of diatonic tonality with modal and

chromatic effects and orchestral color with musical elements which he uses to associate

certain motives, chords, keys, collections of pitches, timbres, etc. with characters, groups,

deep human emotions, physical imagery, and even humor. These works have a directness

of message and language which grip the imagination. This composers originality of

work allowed him to express values, concepts, and ideas in music as well. (White, 13,

112, 117)

Britten called this composition his real Opus One. Poetry such as this that

reflected his own feelings regarding mans inhumanity to man would become a recurring

theme in his later operas. Very difficult to sing and as challenging to play, this work is a

masterpiece of vocal and orchestral bravura. (Our Hunting Fathers)

Lyrics:

Prologue
They are our past and our future; the poles between which our desire unceasingly is
discharged. A desire in which love and hatred so perfectly oppose themselves, that we
cannot voluntarily move, but await the extraordinary compulsion of the deluge and the
earthquake.
Their affections and indifferences have been a guide to all reformers and tyrants.
Their appearances in our dreams of machinery have brought a vision of nude and
fabulous epochs.

73
O pride so hostile to our charity.
Bur what their pride has retained we may by charity more generously recover.

A) Rats Away!
I command all the rats that are hereabout
That none dwell in this place, within or without:
Through the virue of Jesus that Mary bore,
Whom all creatures must ever adore;
And through the virtue of Mark, Matthew, Luke and John,
All four Archangels that are as one;
Through the virue of Saint Gertrude, that maid clean,
God grant in grace
That no rats dwell in the place
That these names were uttered in;
And through the virtue of Saint Kasi,
That holy man who prayed to God Almighty
Of the scathes they did
His meadows amid
By day and by night.
God bid them flee and go out of every mans sight.
Dominus, Deus, Sabaoth, Emmanuel, great name of God,
Deliver this place from rats and from all other shame.
God save this place from all other wicked wights,
Both by days and by nights,
Et in Nomine Patris et Filii et Sancti Spiriti, Amen.

W.H. Auden

B) Messalina
Ay me, alas, heigh ho, heigh ho!
Thus doth Messalina go
Up and down the house a-crying,
For her monkey lies a-dying.
Death, thou art too cruel
To bereave her of her jewel;
Or to make a seizure
Of her only treasure.
If her monkey die
She will sit and cry:
Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie!

Anon.

C) Dance of Death
Whurret! Duty Beauty
Quando Timble

74
 Travel Trover
Jew Damsel
Hey dogs hey! Ware haunt hey!
Sith sickles and the shearing scythe
Hath shorn the fields of late,
Now shall our hawks and we be blithe,
Dame Partridge ware your pate!
Our murdering kites
In all their flights
Will seld or never miss
To truss you ever and make you bale our bliss.
Whurret! Wanton Sugar Mistress
Sempster Faver Minx
Callis Dover Sant
Dancer Jerker Quoy

Whurret! Tricker Crafty Minion

Dido Civil Lemmon
Cherry Carver Courtier
Stately Ruler German let fly!
O well flown, eager kite, mark!
We falconers thus make sullen kites
Yield pleasure fit for kings,
And sport with them in those delights,
And oft in other things.

T. Ravenscroft

Epilogue
Our hunting fathers told the story
Of the sadness of the creatures,
Pitied the limits and the lack
Set in their finished features;
Saw in the lions intolerant look,
Behind the quarrys dying glare,
Love raging for the personal glory.
That reasons gift would add,
The liberal appetite and power,
The rightness of a god.

Who nurtured in that fine tradition

Predicted the result,
Guessed love by nature suited to
The intricate ways of guilt;
That human company could so
His southern gestures modify

75
And make it his mature ambition
To think no thought but ours,
To hunger, work illegally,
And be anonymous?

W.H. Auden (Britten)

76
 Photo G.Schirmer, Inc.

Figure 12: Samuel Osborne Barber (1910-1981) (Lieberman)

I was meant to be a composer and will be I'm sure. Don't ask me to try to forget this
unpleasant thing and go play football - please. (age 9) (Inkpot)

Knoxville: Summer of 1915 (1947)

Op. 24

Composer:

Samuel Barber

Type:

For Voice and Orchestra

Commissioned by Eleanor Steber

Duration:

16 minutes

Libretto:

James Agee

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc.

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Boston, Massachusetts

April 9, 1948

Boston Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Serge Koussevitzky

Artist: Eleanor Steber

Scoring:

flute, (doubling piccolo), oboe (doubling English horn), clarinet, bassoon, 2 horns,

trumpet, optional triangle, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 F4

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Summer of 1915

Place:

Knoxville, Tennessee

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Synopsis:

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee in the time that

I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.

Samuel Barber

Justification:

Performed by:

Eleanor Steber, Leontyne Price, Eileen Farrell

On the lighter side but still can be performed by heavier voice

Historical Significance:

Samuel Barber began composing when he was seven years old and attended

Curtis School of Music at 14. Growing up in a well-to-do household, he was provided

many opportunities for his extraordinary talents to bloom. Possessing a beautiful

baritone voice, at one time he considered pursuing a professional singing career. This

love and understanding for vocal performance never left Barber; it served him well in his

creation of many vocal/orchestral works. While at Curtis, he met a young Italian-

American by the name of Gian-Carlo Menotti. They formed a deep relationship, both

professionally and personally, and spent many years together, traveling the world,

composing and collaborating on artistic endeavors. Barbers music has elements of neo-

romanticism; it is full of traditional harmonies and lush melodic lines that evoke an

immediate emotional response in his audience. Adagio for Strings, and his opera,

Vanessa (which won him a Pulitzer Prize) are two of his best known works. Although

Barber and Menotti were estranged at the time of Barbers death from cancer in 1981,

Gian-Carlo was at his bedside. (Wikipedia)

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 Knoxville, Summer of 1915 is an intimate moment of a quiet summer evening.

Barberss melodious jewel is nostalgic, peaceful, poetic; perfectly suited to James Agees

remembrance of his early childhood, lying on the lawn in the Southern summer heat,

drifting off to sleep under the stars. The music hovers between tenderness and anguish

and is intensely personal. Premiering on April 9, 1948, this lovely musical portrait that

captures the essence of the South, was a huge success and has enjoyed an immense

popularity ever since. (Kuenning)

Lyrics:

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee in that time that I lived
there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.

...It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and
talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession
of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing
a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people
in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking
casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched
milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless
amber.

A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and
raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on
past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small
malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen,
faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainting, lifting, lifts, faints
foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.

Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes....
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient
faces. The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my
eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all
lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there....They are
not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. The stars
are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very
near. All my people are larger bodies than mine...with voices gentle and meaningless like

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the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she
is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to
me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of
being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds
of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father,
oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and
those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home:
but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

James Agee

Copyright 1949 by G. Schirmer, Inc. Used by permission. (Barber)

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 Figure 13: Richard Strauss (1864-1949) (Wikipedia)

The human voice is the most beautiful instrument of all, but it is the most difficult to
play. (ThinkExist)

Vier letzte Lieder (1947/48)

Composer:

Richard Strauss

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra, set of four songs

Originally composed for Kirsten Flagstad

Duration:

18 minutes

Libretto:

1) Im Abendrot Joseph von Eichendorff

2) Frhling Hermann Hesse

3) Beim Schlafengehn Hermann Hesse

4) September Hermann Hesse

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Publishers:

Boosey & Hawkes, London

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

London, England

Royal Albert Hall

London Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Wilhelm Furtwngler

Artist: Kirsten Flagstad

Scoring:

4 flutes and piccolo, 3 oboes and English horn, 3 clarinets and bass clarinet, 3

bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, celesta, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

Db3 B4

Tessitura:

G3 G4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Four symphonic songs with the orchestration varied from one to the next,

creating a sumptuous, sensual, and serene cycle

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Justification:

Recorded by:

Kirsten Flagstad, Jessye Norman, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Wagners music lead to major 20th century musical developments and had a direct

influence on Richard Strauss, whose music was regarded as revolutionary as well. Born

in 1864, Richard began writing music when he was six and continued until he passed

away at the age of 85. Known for his tone-poems, Strauss found his artistic self,

particularly in the creation of shocking orchestral effects, and a more sophisticated use of

dissonance. His early opera, Salome, based on the play by Oscar Wilde, created such a

sensation when it premiered at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City in 1907, it was

closed after only one performance. Even so, Strauss knew he had discovered his own

musical voice, saying,

"I now comfort myself with the knowledge that I am on the road I want to take,
fully conscious that there never has been an artist not considered crazy by thousands of
his fellow men."

Strauss went on to create operas in a lighter social vein, but still full of complex

harmonies and 20th century musical elements and have become standard operatic

repertoire produced today in major opera houses in the world. (Botstein)

Strauss Four Last Songs were composed in 1948, just a year before he died; he

never heard them in a performance. The soprano voice held a profound fascination for

him. It is not surprising he would compose his final work for soprano and orchestra.

Kirsten Flagstad was his chosen soprano and would perform his last composition for its

premiere in London. Recorded by many dramatic sopranos, these symphonic songs are

84
a musical culmination of the genius of Richard Strauss and a stunning vehicle for a

memorable performance. (Freed)

Lyrics:

Vier letzte Lieder Four Last Songs

Frhling Spring
In dmmrigen Grften In dusky hollows
trumte ich lang I long dreamed
von dein Bumen und blauen Lften, of your trees and blue skies,
von deinem Duft und Vogelsang. of your fragrance and bird song

Nun liegst du erschlossen Now you stand revealed

in Gleiss und Zier in glitter and glory,
von Licht bergossen flooded with light,
wie ein Wunder vor mir. like a miracle.

Du kennst mich wieder, You recognize me,

du lockst mich zart, and gently beckon;
es zittert durch all meine Glieder my whole body trembles
deine selige Gegenwart! with your holy presence!

Hermann Hesse

September September
Der Garten trauert, The garden is in mourning:
khl sinkt in die Blumen der Regen. the rain falls cool among the flowers.
Der Sommer schauert Summer shivers quietly
still seinem Ende entgegen. on its way toward its end.

Golden tropft Blatt um Blatt Golden leaf after leaf

nieder vom hohen Akazienbaum. falls from the tall acacia.
Sommer lchelt erstaunt und matt Summer smiles, astonished, feeble,
in den sterbenden Gartentraum. in this dying dream of a garden.

Lange noch bei den Rosen For a long while, yet, in the roses
bleibt er stehn, sehnt sich nach Ruh, she will linger on, yearning for
peace,
langsam tut er and slowly
die mdgeword'nen Augen zu. close her weary eyes.

Hermann Hesse

85
Beim Schlafengehen
Nun der Tag mich md' gemacht,
soll mein sehnliches Verlangen
freundlich die gestirnte Nacht
wie ein mdes Kind empfangen.
Hnde, lasst von allem Tun,
Stirn, vergiss du alles Denken,
alle meine Sinne nun
wollen sich in Schlummer senken.
Und die Seele unbewacht
will in freien Flgen schweben,
um im Zauberkreis der Nacht
tief and tausendfach zu leben.
Hermann Hesse
Im Abendrot
Wir sind durch Not und Freude
gegangen Hand in Hand,
vom Wandern ruhen wir
nun berm stillen Land.
Rings sich die Tler neigen,
es dunkelt schon die Luft;
zwei Lerchen nur noch steigen
nachtrumend in den Duft.
Tritt her und lass sie schwirren,
bald ist es Schlafenszeit,
dass wir uns nicht verirren
in dieser Einsamkeit.
O weiter, stiller Friede!
So tief im Abendrot.
Wie sind wir wandermde;
ist dies etwa der Tod?
Joseph von Eichendorff (Strauss)
86
Going to Sleep
Now that day wearies me,
my yearning desire
will receive more kindly,
like a tired child, the starry night.
Hands, leave off your deeds,
mind, forget all thoughts;
all of my forces
yearn only to sink into sleep.
And my soul, unguarded,
would soar on widespread wings,
to live in night's magical sphere
more profoundly, more variously.
In the Glow of Evening
Through sorrow and joy
we have walked hand in hand;
let us rest now from wandering
in this quiet country.
Mountains slope all around us,
and the sky already darkens;
only two larks climb in the sky,
dreaming in the night.
Come in; let them flutter,
for it is already time to sleep;
let us not lose our way
in this loneliness.
Come nearer, gentle peace,
profound in the glow of evening!
How weary we are of wandering;
is this perhaps death?
1950 - 2004

87
 Figure 14: Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) (Classical Net)

The entire work should be bathed in an orchestral sound of the utmost sensuousness.
(Poulenc)

La Voix humaine (1958)

Composer:

Francis Poulenc

Type

Lyric Tragedy in one act

Originally composed for Denise Duvall

Duration:

40 minutes

Libretto:

Jean Cocteau

Publishers:

S. A. Editions, Ricordi, Paris, 1959

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Musical Time Period

20th Century

World Premiere:

Paris, France

February 6, 1959

Paris Opra-Comique

Salle Favart

Artist: Denise Duval

Scoring:

2 flutes, 1 piccolo, 1 English horn, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, 2 horns

in F, 2 trumpets in C, trombone, tuba, percussion, cymbals, xylophone, harp,

strings

Vocal Range:

C3 C5

Tessitura:

F3 D4

Role:

Elle

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Late 1950s

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Place:

A womans boudoir

Synopsis:

Elle (She) spends 40 minutes talking on the telephone, making the last call to her

lover who had kept her as a mistress but who now wants to move on, but also

dealing with the interruptions of an inept telephone company

Justification:

Performed by Catherine Malfitano, Denise Duval

Tessitura is comfortably in the middle range with occasional leaps to high notes

Can be sung by Mezzo-Soprano, Full Lyric Soprano, Spinto Soprano, or Dramatic

Soprano

Historical Significance:

A self-taught composer, Francis Poulenc was raised with music in his home; his

mother was an amateur pianist who shared with him the rudimentary components of

composition and when he was 18 he had his first major success. Poulencs music is so

melodic and original in scope that it is easily recognized when heard. Strong, precise

rhythms, lush and novel harmonies, tuneful progressions, this composers music bridged

the gap between popular style and modern elements. A member of Les Six, he strove

to eradicate Impressionism and Germanic elements from French music, along with other

compatriot artists. After the death of a dear friend, Poulenc turned back to his Catholic

faith. This was to be a decisive move in his composing; he became one of the most

prolific writers of religious choral works in this modern era. Poulenc excelled in many

genres of musical composition; chamber music, concerti, choral, opera, but only wrote a

90
few orchestral works. His opera, Dialogues of the Carmelites has become a standard

work in the international operatic literature today. Poulenc died of heart failure in his

beloved Paris in 1963. (Swartz, Wikipedia))

La Voix humaine was written with Denise Duval in mind as the heroine. She had

just premiered Blanche in Poulencs Dialogues of the Carmelites and he knew intimately

of her capability to move an audience dramatically and vocally. This is a harrowing

scene; a rejected woman living through feelings of loneliness and despair, leading to

suicidal thoughts. The orchestra acts as the lover on the other side of the conversation

and maintains the tension through pauses as if answering. Whispers, sobs, sighs, and

exclamations; all expressive elements dynamically of the human voice are needed to

express this womans anguish. However, Poulenc insisted each note is to be well-sung;

no sprechtstimme here. Another tour-de-force for any dramatic soprano, this staggeringly

theatrical piece ends with a final desperate act: she strangles herself with the telephone

cord. (Henry)

Lyrics:

Hello, hello...
No; no. Madame. -But this is a party line. Please hang up .But I was on the wire first ... If
you please, will you get off the line ! . . . Operator, please . . . Oh no. this is not Dr.
Schmid... 0-0-8. not 0-0-7... Hello! this is absurd .. .They keep ringing, I wonder why.

(She hangs up. her hand on the receiver. The telephone rings.)

Hello! ...But Madame. What do you want me to do? . . .What do you mean ? Not at all : .
. . Operator, please . . . would you kindly tell this lady to hang up.

(She hangs up. The telephone rings.)

Hello, it's you? Yesquite clearly... It was dreadful not to hear what you were saying
because of all those people . . . Yes ...yes ... no ... it just so happens ... I came back a little
while ago . . . Perhaps you called while I was out? . . . Ah ! . . . nono ...I went out for dinner
. . .with Martha ... It must be a little past eleven . . .Are you at home ? . . .Then take a look

91
at the clock in the hallway ... It's just as I thought . . . Yes, yes, cheri ... Last night? Last
night I thought I would go to bed early, but then I had trouble in falling asleep. I took a
pill... No...only one ... at nine o'clock ... I did have a bit of headache, but then it went
away. Martha came this morning, and we had breakfast together. I did some errands, and
then I carne directly home . . . I . . .What? . . . I'rn trying . . . Oh I think I've lots of courage . . .
And then? And then I got dressed for the evening, had a lovely time with Martha, came
home around eleven. She's really been an angel . . . She seems aloof, but she's really not.
Yes. you were completely right, as always . . . My red dress . . . My black hat . . . Yes, it's the
one you liked I still have it on... And you? You went out?... Or did you stay at home
tonight ? . . .What lawsuit ? Ah ! yes . . .Hello, cheri ... If we're cut off. you must call me
back right away . .". Hello ! No ... I'm still here . . .The bag?...Your letters and mine. Yes, you
can send for it when you like . . . it's not easy. I understand . . . Darling, you needn't
apologize. That's not at all strange. It is I I who am stupid . . . You are so nice . . . YOU are
so nice . . . Nor did II didn't think I had the courage...
Putting on an act? . . . Hello . . .Who? . . .You think I'm putting on an act? Me! .. .You know
me well. I am not the sort who would ever pretend ... Not at all ... I'm not angry. . .You will see
... I said: You will see. Tell me, do I sound like a person who has something to hide? ... No.
I made up my mind that I would be brave, and I will ... I got what I deserved. I was out to
be reckless, I was taking a chance Let me talk. Do not blame yourself. It was all my
fault. Yes, yes . . . You remember that Sunday in Versailles when I sent that wire? ...Ah!
...You see! ...It was I who said I wished to come. It was I who would not let you speak. It
was I who behaved as if I did not care... No... no... now you are unfair ...I...I remember
I called you first...A Tuesday...I'm quite sure. Tuesday, the twenty-third. You ought to
realize that I know those dates by heart. Your mother? But why? ... It is hardly worth the
trouble...I honestly don't know. Yes...perhaps...Oh no! certainly not right away. And
you ? .. .Tomorrow? ... I had no idea that it would be so soon.. .Well then, we'll
manageit's so simple... tomorrow morning I'll leave the bag with the janitor. Joseph
can come and pick it up tomorrow. Oh. I don't know. Maybe I'll stay awhile in the city.
Or I may decide to go away for a couple of days in the country, at Martha'sYes,
cheri... but of course, cheri... Hello .. What is wrong? ... Dearest, I am speaking loud...
And now do you hear me ?... I said: and now do you hear me? ... It's funny, I can hear
you as plainly as if you were right here beside me...Hello!... hello, I... Oh, it's really
absurd! Now I cannot hear a word... As if from afar, from far... Now can you hear? It's
each of us in turn... No. quite clearly... I can hear you better than before, but there is a
buzz in your phone. It doesn't sound like your telephone at all...

I can see yes, oh yes. (He makes her guess.) ...What scarf? .. .You have on the red one..
You have your sleeves rolled back a little... In your left hand? The receiver. And a
fountain pen in your right. You are drawing on the blotter, hearts and profiles and stars.
Ah, you smile! I have eyes tucked away inside my ears...

(She makes a mechanical gesture hiding her face.)

No. no cheri, oh please don't look at me now... Afraid?... No, I am not afraid... It's even
worse ... Oh darling, I'm no longer used, to sleeping alone... Yes ... yes... yes.. .I promise...
I promise You are so nice ... I do not know, I try not to look at myself, I do not dare

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any more to turn on the light in my dressing room. Last night, there I was suddenly face
to face with an old woman ... No, no! an old woman with hair so white, and a face full of
little wrinkles.. .You are too kind! But. cheri, a face that everyone enviesthat is worst of
all. That is for an actress ... I preferred it when you said: "Funny face! Where did you get
that funny face? ".. .Yes, my dear sir!... I was joking... Don't be silly...

How lucky that you are so awkward and that you love me. For if you did not love me
and were not so awkward, this telephone could easily become a terrible weapon. A
weapon that would leave no marks, nor make a noise... Me. naughty? .. .Hello!...
hello! cheri... Are you there? ...Hello, hello, operator.

(She rings.) Hello. Someone cut us off. (She hangs up. Silence. She takes the
phone.} Hello, it's you? ... No. no. operator. I was cut off... I don't know... 1
mean...yes .. just a moment... Auteuil seven-seven three, Hello!.. It's
busy...Operator, he's trying to call me back...Alright. (She hangs up. The telephone
rings.)

Hello! Auteuil seven-seven-three? Hello! It's you, Joseph?

... It's Madame... Monsieur and I we were disconnected... Not home? ... yes... yes...
hes not coming back tonight...How stupid of me! Monsieur must have telephoned
me from outside. We were disconnected, so I called his number my mistake.
Excuse me. Joseph. ..I will...Thank you...Good night. Joseph

(She hangs up, feeling almost ill. The telephone rings.)

Hello! Ah. cheri! it's you?.. .They cut us off... No, no. I was waiting. Someone rang,
I answered right away, but there was no one... I suppose so... Of course You are
sleepyit was kind of you to call againSo kind... (She is crying... a silence) No, I
am hereWhat? ... Forgive me...it's too sillyNothing... there's nothing
wrong...But I swear there's nothing wrong... Nothing's changed...Not at all. You're
mistaken...it is only that all this talk, this talk ...

(She weeps.) My darling, listen. I have never told you liesYes. I know. I know. I
believe you. I'm sure of it, dear... No. it isn't that... it's only that I lied to you
before... yes... on the telephone, just fifteen minutes, ago. I know well that it's too
late for my luck to return. But a lie won't bring me back my luck. Besides, I hate to
tell you a lie. I cannot lieI cannot lie to you, even for your own good... Oh.
nothing serious, mon cheri... I lied in describing the dress that I was wearing, also
when I said I had dinner with Martha... I've had no dinner, I'm not wearing my red
dress, only a coat over my nightdress, because I was waiting all evening for you to
call. And what with my staring at the phone, and sitting down, and jumping up and
pacing up and down the room, I was almost frantic! And so I put on my coat, I was
going out to take a taxi, to -wander underneath your windows ... stand there
waiting... ah, yes, stand waitingI don't even know what foryou are so right...
yes. I am listening... I shan't be foolish... ... and I will keep my head. I promise...
Right here... I didn't eat a thing... I simply couldn't...

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Last night I meant to take a pill that would put me to sleep. I thought that if I took
more than one, I'd sleep so much better. I thought that if I took them all I'd sleep
without a dream and never wake I'd sleep forever! (She weeps.)... And so I
swallowed twelve... in hot water... All in a lumpThen then I was dreaming, you
were going away. And then when I awoke I felt so happy, because it was just a
dream. But when I knew it was true, that I was alone, that my head was not against
your shoulder, then I knew I could not go on livingMy body felt cold and light,
and my heart was no longer beating, and death was slow in coming. Since I was in
terrible pain, after an hour I managed to phone Martha. I lacked the courage to die
alone... cheri... cheri... It was four o'clock in the morning. Finally she came, and
with her that doctor who lives in her house. I had a hundred and two. The doctor
wrote out a prescription, and Martha remained till tonight. I begged her to leave me
alone, since you had promised to phone me as soon as you were free I was afraid
they would try to keep us apart I'm alrightDon't you worry now(She weeps)

... Hello!...I thought they had cut us off... You're so kind. cheri... My darling - whom
I have hurt so very muchYes. speak. Say anything at all... I have suffered enough
to drive me mad; yet you have only to speak, and I feel well again, and can close my
eyes. You know, sometimes when we were in bed and my head was resting in its
usual place, pressed against your chest, I could hear your voice exactly as it

Hello! Why do I hear music?...I said: Why do I hear music? .. .Well then, you should
knock on the wall and complain if your neighbors play their gramophone so late at
night... It's useless. Anyhow, Martha's doctor is coming back tomorrow... Don't you
worry now... Of course... She will let you know what he saidWhat? ... Oh yes! so
much better. If you hadn't called tonignt I would have died...

(She paces up and down and her suffering makes her moan.)

... Forgive me, dear. I know you find this scene quite unbearable, and that you are
being very patient. But if you knew what torture I suffer. This wire the only bond
that still connects me with usMonday evening? I slept quite well. I went to bed
with the telephone... No, no. In my bed...Yes. I know. I'm being silly. But I kept the
telephone in my bed, in spite of it all, it is a link something that connects us... Only
because you are speaking, it's five years now that I've lived through you, that I've
spent my time waiting for you, thinking you were dead every time you were late I
could die at the thoughtand reviving the moment you appeared; and when you
were finally here, dying at the thought that you'd leave me. And now I can breathe
because I hear your voice...

But of course, my sweet darling, I slept. Oh indeed. I could sleep because it was only
the first timeThe first night you sleepWhat is really hard to bear is the second
nightlast night; and then the third tonight! And then day after day, doing what,
dear God? ... And... even if I'm able to sleep I still have to face the horror of dreams,
and awaking, and eating. and getting up. and getting: dressed, to go out to go out
94
where? ... Oh my darling, my sweet, all I've ever had to fill my life was you. Martha
has organized her life ...I'm alone. .. .

The last two days he has not gone out of the hallway... I have tried to call him; I've
tried to pet him. He won't even let me touch him. In fact, he almost bit me... Yes.
me! He frightens me, I swear. He won't eat a thing. He doesn't move. And when he
turns his eyes on me, I get gooseflesh all over.,. How do you expect me to know?
Maybe he thinks I have done you some harm... Poor little dog... I have no reason at
all to hold it against him. I can understand him so well. He loves you. He doesn't see
YOU any more, and so he thinks it's my fault.. .Oh yes. cheri. I understand. He's not
to blame. In spite of his intelligence he surely cannot guess the truth...

I don't really know darling! How d'you expect me to know? I am not myself.
Think of it: I tore up that package of photographs - ripped them just like that! and
didn't even notice. Even for a man it would have been a feat

Hello! hello! Madame. Will you hang up! But you cut in on our line, hello! Oh no.
Madame,.. But. Madame. we're not trying to be interesting, I can assure you... if you
really find us so silly, why are you wasting your time instead of hanging up?...
Oh!... Don't be angry...

At last! ...No, no. She just hung up, after having been so terribly nasty... You
sound upset..yes you are upset. I know your voice... But dearest, she must have
been a very sick woman, and she doesn't know you at all. Perhaps she believed you
were just like the others... Oh no. cheri, it is not at all the same. People think it's
either love or hatred. Once an affair is over, it's over. They know everything. YOU will
never make them understand... You will never make them understand that things are
not simple.., It's better to do the same as I: laugh at them all... and ignore them...

(She utters a stifled cry of sorrow.)

Oh! ... Nothing, I could swear that we were talking just the same as always. All
of a sudden I realized the truth... (Tears)... When we still saw one another, we
could still lose our heads, forget a broken promise, and take such chances. Our
love could conquer every doubt with a tender kiss, or with a wild embrace, just a
look could change everything. But what with this telephone between, what is
done is done...

Don't worry. No one ever tries to kill himself twice ... I would hardly know where
to buy a revolverCan you see me buying a revolver? ... Where would I find the
strength to think up a lie at this moment, my poor darling? ... I couldn't... I would
never have the courage. There are circumstances where a lie might be useful. If
you had lied to me, to make our separation seem less painful... I did not say you
were lying. I said: if you had lied and I knew about it if for example, you
were not at home, and you were to tell me ... No. no. cheri! Listen please... I
believe you ... Yesyour voice suddenly sounds angry. I meant only to say that if
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you told a lie out of kindness, and I had known that you did, it would only cause
me to love you more... Hello!...

hello! ...(She hangs up, murmuring very quickly:) Dear God make him call me
back. Dear God make him call me back. Dear God make him call me back Dear
God make him call me back Dear God make

(The telephone rings. She takes thereceiver.)

We were disconnected. I was saying that if you had lied out of the goodness of your
heart and I noticed you were lying, it would only cause me to love you more.., Of
courseYou are mad!... Oh my love... my dearest love...

(She winds the telephone cord around her neck.)

...I know well that we must, but it is dreadful NoI never could summon up the
courage... Yes. I have the illusion that I'm right besides you. And all at once, the cellars and
sewers, a whole city lies between us ...I have wound the cord around my neck... I can
feel your voice around my neck your voice surrounding my neck... They could
hardly cut us off - except by mistake...

Oh cheri! Oh how could YOU even imagine I'd think such an ugly thought? I am well aware
that this thing is more difficult for you more painful in every way than for me...
no... no ...To Marseilles? ... Oh listen, cheri. Since you will be in Marseilles at least
for a week, may I ask...I really would like... I would like it if you did not go to that
little hotel where we always stayed togetherYou are not angry? ...

Because the things I don't have to imagine do not exist. Or let's say that they exist in
some very vague kind of place that does not hurt so much... You understand?..
Thank you ... thank you. You are good. I love you

(She gets up and walks towards the bed with the telephone in her hand.)...

So here we are... I was about to say, out of habit, "I'll see you soon" . ... I doubt it...
Oh!... It's better... Much better...

(She lies down on the bed and clasps the telephone in her arms.)

...Oh darling... my sweet darling... I'll be brave. Let's make an

end. Go on. Hang up! Hang up quickly! I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you... love you...

(The telephone falls to the ground)

Translation by Joseph Machlis (Poulenc)

96
 Photo by G. Schirmer

Figure 15: Samuel Barber (1910-1981) (Lieberman)

"The universal basis of artistic spiritual communication by means of art is through the
emotions." (Questia)

Andromaches Farewell (1962)

Op. 39

Composer:

Samuel Barber

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the New York Philharmonic in celebration of its opening

season in Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

Originally composed for Martina Arroyo

Duration:

12 minutes

Libretto:

Text is from The Trojan Women by Euripides, translated by John Patrick

Creagh
97
Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

New York, New York

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

April 4, 1963

New York Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Thomas Schippers

Artist: Martina Arroyo

Scoring:

piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet, 2

bassoons, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in Bb, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion,

celeste, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 F4

Role:

Andromache, widow of Hector, Prince of Troy

Voice:

Soprano

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Time:

Just before dawn, during the Trojan War

Place:

An open space before Troy

Synopsis:

Troy has just been captured by the Greeks. All the women and children are held

captive and each Trojan woman has been assigned to a Greek warrior.

Andromache has been given as a slave-wife to the son of Achilles and has been

told she cannot take her little son with her. He is to be hurled over the battlements

of Troy. She bids him farewell.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Martina Arroyo, Leontyne Price

Historical Significance:

The only composer with the distinction of having two major works included in

this listing, Samuel Barber was a master at creating emotional musical monodramas for

the soprano voice. He remained true to his own talent; that of writing music that is

genuinely heartfelt and utterly sincere in order to communicate the text in a very personal

way. His instinctive feel for the human voice and its capabilities for expression and

beauty served him well in shaping Andromaches Farewell. A heart-wrenching scene,

one feels the deep anguish, and yet personal strength of this heroine through the poignant

and dramatic accompaniment. This work is scored for a large orchestra, but the

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combined effect of voice and instrument is never overwhelming; on the contrary, it is a

work that is stunning in its unified channel of human emotion. (Arnest)

Lyrics:

So you must die, my son,

my best-beloved, my own,
by savage hands and leave
your Mother comfortless,
Hectors valiant spirit, shield of thousands,
Is death to his own son.

My wedding day! it was my sorrow

that day I came to Hectors hours
to bear my son. He was to be
Lord of all Asia and not for Greeks to slaughter.

My boy, you are weeping.

Do you know then what awaits you?
Why do you hold me so?
clutch at my dress? (a small bird
seeking shelter under my wing.)
Hector cannot come back
with his brave spear to save you.
He cannot come from the grave
nor any of his princes.

Instead, from the height, flung down! oh pitiless!

head foremost! falling! falling!..........
Thus will your life end.

Oh dearest, embrace, sweet breathing of your body,

Was it for nothing that I nursed you, that I suffered?
consumed my heart with cares, all for nothing?

Now, and never again, kiss your Mother.

Come close, embrace me, who gave you life.
Put your arms around me, your mouth to mine.
And then no more.

You Greeks, contrivers of such savagery.

Why must you kill this guiltless child?

Helen! you they call daughter of God,

I say you are the spawn of many fathers:

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Malevolence, murder, hate, destruction
all the evils that afflict the earth.
God curse you , Helen, for those eyes that brought
hideous carnage to the fair fields of Troy.

Take him then, take him away,

break his body on the rocks;
Cast him down, eat his flesh if that is your desire
Now the Gods have destroyed us utterly,
And I can no longer
conceal my child from death.

Hide my head in shame;

Cast me in the ship,
as to that marriage bed
across the grave of my own son I come!

(Barber)

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 Photo: B&H/Jim Caldwell

Figure 16: Carlisle Sessions Floyd (1926 - ) (Blue)

I think anything that is expressed directly and as honestly as possible will last.
(BrainyQuote)

Flower and Hawk (1972)

Composer:

Carlisle Floyd

Monodrama for Soprano and Orchestra

Originally composed for Phyllis Curtin

Duration:

45 minutes

Libretto:

Carlisle Floyd

Publishers:

Belwin-Mills Publishing Corp. 1977

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Musical time period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Jacksonville, Florida

May 16, 1972

Director: Frank Corsaro

Conductor: Willis Page

Artist: Phyllis Curtin

Symphony: Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra

Scoring:

2 flutes, (II=picc) 2 oboes (II=corA) 2 clarinets (II=bcl) 2-4.2.1-timp-perc:SD/TD

tamb/susp.cym/crashcym/whip/bell/gong/chimes/vib/mar/xyl/glsp/cel-harp/strings

Vocal Range:

A#2 B4

Tessitura:

F3 G4

Role:

Eleanor of Aquitaine

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

1189

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Place:

Salisbury Tower, England

Synopsis:

Queen Eleanor of Aquitane is imprisoned in the Tower. She has been there for

almost 16 years because of a rebellion staged by her sons and herself against her

husband and their father, King Henry II. This scena has her recalling happier

times and reliving her memories, but finally sinking into hopelessness and

despair. Then the bells ring, announcing King Henrys death and her freedom.

Justification:

Performed by:

Phyllis Curtin

Historical Significance:

Composer Carlisle Floyd developed a love for music at an early age; his mother

was a pianist and started his lessons when he was 10. Early promise propelled him to

study at Converse College and then at Syracruse University with Ernst Bacon beginning

at the age of 16. A professorship at Florida State University allowed him dual careers:

teaching and composing. Most known for his operas, Floyd writes both libretto and

music and his style is lyrical and mostly conservative. Susannah, considered a dramatic

folk opera, was an instant success when it debuted with New York City Opera in 1956,

and is performed the world over today. In 1976 he left Florida State University and took

up residence in Houston as the co-director of Houston Grand Opera. He is considered a

fine teacher and conductor and his latest opera, Cold Sassy Tree, debuting in 2000, was

received with rave reviews. (Carlisle Floyd)

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 The dramatic monologue, Flower and Hawk was composed specifically for

Phyllis Curtin in 1972. Ms. Curtin had read a remarkable story about Eleanor of

Aquitaine and had given the book to Floyd, who was then inspired to create this master

work. Forty-five minutes long, this monodrama is fascinating, revealing the duality of

the heroines character; that of possessing qualities that represent the gentler, beautiful

heart and a strong, calculating mind. On view in the Louvre is her seal as Queen of

France and England, with a flower in one hand and a hawk in the other. At the heart of

this portrayal is a wide range of emotion and intensity, with passion and despair

throughout. The power in this piece is its glimpse into the indominatable character of this

remarkable woman. (Phyllis Curtin Interview)

Lyrics:

Fifteen yearsfive thousand, four hundred and eighty-three days

And now another day has passed.
Or have I lost count again?
Fifteen years shut away in this bleak room in this sun-starved country, England,
Shut away like some mad-woman, hidden from the world.
Fifteen years, fifteen years, of lonely exile, of lonely exile.
Does anyone remember me? Does anyone know I am still alive?
Will I ever be free again? Or will I die alone and be buried in some unmarked grave?
Will I ever go back home again? Will I ever see Aquitaine again?
Will I ever go back home? Will I ever be free again? Will this exile never end?

Have there been no messages today? Did the priest bring no news for me,
or the merchant from London who came at noon? Did no one send a message to me?
No one? No one?
If this is what lies ahead for me, then I no longer want to live, I would choose to die
instead!
It would be done so quickly: with this poison only a minute or two
and this endless waiting would be over.
I am so old now It would cheat death so little, so little.
I will close my mind to this wretched present time and place.
I will no longer notice this room, this wretched room.
For if I do, if I do, I will lose my reason or I shall destroy myself.
I will fix my mind on past happier times when I was free, when I was queen.

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I am to wed to Louis and am crowned Queen of France! Oh, what splendor! Oh what
grandeur! Flaming candles, great voiced choirs, processions of cardinals,
princes and kings while I sit here on the great high throne.
Your honor to us does you honor. Your honor to us does you honor.
Is my neck quite straight, my lord? I so abhor a crooked neck.
If one is born to wear a crown, ones neck should be straight and not bent like a goose.
A bent neck appears a judgment of God, saying one is unfit to rule.
Is my neck quite straight, my lord? I so abhor a crooked neck.
Ive carried a weight on my head all week to strengthen my neck to wear this crown,
and now I am no longer able to tell. Your honor to us does you honor.
What is it, my lord? Have you nothing to say?
The nuns all say I talk too much but they also say I am wise for my years.
I read and speak four languages and am very skilled at chess.
The holy fathers say I have an agile mind. I sew and knit and embroider quite well.
I dance and play the lute. Im often told I have a pleasing touch.
Im widely read in philosophy, in metaphysics and astronomy.
And at present, I am learning the arts of state-craft and diplomacy.
My lord, why do you stare at me? Do my accomplishments surprise you?
Or is my neck not straight? Is my neck not straight? Your honor to us does you honor.

Richard, oh my son, your words still pierce my heart. Will they never stop haunting me?
They hover at the edge of my mind like dark, menacing birds of death.
Your voice was hoarse, just a whisper; I could hardly hear what you said.
And then came those desolate words that I cannot erase from my mind.
Vanity, all life is vanityand living is a cruel jestthe struggle even to breathe is
mockery. You lay there dying, dying, with that hideous wound in your back,
gnawing and sucking your life away, while I implored you to live, implored you to live.
And you would not even struggle, you welcomed death.

Should I no longer struggle to live? Should I abandon all hope of being free again?
But I have struggled all my life, to shape my life, to remain free,
as I struggled against Louis many years ago in Antioch, struggled and won!
Unbind me, I command you! Release me, I demand it!
Unbind my hands, untie my feet!
Have these soldiers untie me. Order them to release me at once!
These ropes are cutting my flesh!
If I am still your queen and still Queen of France, I demand you release me at once!
I demand it! I demand it! At once!
How dare you seize me and bring me here? How dare you have me seized?
You, my husband and King! Tied, bound, and gagged like some wretched thief.
How dare you allow them to touch me: as my husband, how dare you do that?
And how dare you as the King of France?
Oh, Louis, you erred most grievously, and you will pay dearly for your mistake.
You will pay dearly, dearly!
I shall return to France with you: but once we are there, once we are there,
I intend to divorce you! On grounds of common blood, I intend to divorce you!

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Your face is stricken, my lord, and you are weeping.
I have no wish to wound you for I know you love me well.
But we are not suited, you and I, our natures are too diverse.
So let me go out of your life, unnoticed, and unmourned:
like a shadow that shrinks with the sun, leaving not even memory behind.
And that mild and gentle man sadly let me go and I was free again.
But if I had not struggledhad not struggled

Why would you not struggle? Why would you not fight to live?
Was there more I could have done to keep you alive? Was there more? Was there more?
More? I must find an answer. I must put my doubts to rest.

The sun has set and night is falling; darkness enshrouds the earth. All is quiet now.
Only the lidless eye of God is awake, and I am awake.
And if I lie awake, if I lie awake, Im afraid Ill abandon hope; I so fear despair,
I so fear a wakeful night. I will fix my mind on past, happier timeson past happier
times

Oh what happy times, years ago when my troubadour came to me at night,

many years ago at Poiters where I reigned over the most splendid court in Europe.
Maneuvers and ploys, gambits and schemes, alliances formed,
treaties signed and marriages arranged. Come in, my lord duke, please be seated.
You are seeking a bride for your son?
Your lands are to the north, are they not? And is your son sole heir to these lands? I see.
And what treaties are you bound by? And with whom do you seek alliances? I see, I see.
And what is the condition of your treasury? I see, I see. Is that in land or gold?
And who is your overlord, if I may ask? Oh yes, of course! The King of France!
From what you have told me, I would suggest the young Countess of Anjoulme.
And good day, my lord duke, to you.

What is it? My troubadour? Coming tonight? Then tonight cannot come too soon!
All day while I have held court, how I have yearned for the night and my troubadour,
the night when the Duchess has retired, the night that belongs to Eleanor:
no more treaties to ponder, no more accounts to read.
Hurry sun, now on your way West, my lover comes when the first stars appear tonight.
I will lie in my lovers arms and his voice and hands will caress me,
all night long in my lovers arms until the sun rises and combs the fields with light.
Hurry sun, on your way West. My lover arrives with the stars!

This room is cold now and cheerless and bleak and lonely. Does anyone remember me?
Does anyone know I am still alive? Anyone? Bring some wood for this fire!
There is a deep chill in here!
RosamondRosamondRosamondThe Kings darling
I am growing old. The words are bitter on my lips.
I have long refused to see the truth this cruel glass has shown to me.

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But now fair Rosamond, Henrys pretty young love, has forced this hateful truth on me. I
am growing old, I am growing old. My youth is gone and with it goes my husband, I
fear.
Who will comfort and solace me now that Ive looked in this glass?
Now that Ive seen its bitter truth, what will solace me now?
My lord, Henry, please come in. Wont you be seated? Then I shall also stand.
It has come to my ears that your mistress, Rosamond,
has been shown in my place at the English court with you. I hear this on every hand.
Are all these reports true? Then you are indeed a fool, Henry.
You are indeed a fool, to think Id endure such mockery. Ill not endure that, Henry.
Ill not endure that! Ill not be mocked as your queen!
My lord, Henry, wont you be seated? Then I shall also stand.
How could you so quickly forget the sons and daughters Ive borne you. Will you have
more? Will you have more children? I cant give you more;
I cant bear more children: my womb is barren now!
I loved you from the first, my lord;
with you, I found a man at last to match my spirit, ambition and fire.
And we forged an empire together: an empire form Scotland to the Pyrenees!
I love what we have made together; I love it as well as you do.
But I will shatter that empire, shatter it completely: your sons and I will tear it apart.
I will see it in ruins; see it in ruins before I allow you to mock me!
I beg you, Henry, dont force me to this; the stakes are too high for both of us!
Too high, too high! Whom shall it be, my lord? Your mistress or your queen?

Then I am no longer your wife or your queen: we are parted forever!

Leave nowleave at once Leave now, leave at once!
My nails are burning, burning, to get at your face!
Henry, you have broken my heart; you have made me old.
And for a long time after that I could find little reason to live:
my soul was sick with despondency.
Only when Richard died was I so close to despair.
Only when Richard diedwhen Richard

He was sinkingand the priest had not come. His life was ebbing away.
He was sinking, sinking, sinking, without a struggleand still the priest didnt come
Live, Richard, live, son! Live!
Absolve, Domine, animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omni vincul delictorum
Is the priest still not here? Live, Richard, live, son! Live! Live, son, live!
He is gone.
Richard, or Richard! Oh, my son, my son, my son!
Oh, Holy Mother of God, oh, Holy Mother of God,
receive my son unto thy bosom, receive my son.
Oh, Holy Mother of God, oh, Holy Mother of God,
love my son as I have loved him and grant him Paradise.
I ache, I ache. My heart is cut out of me.
I am an old and weary woman, already scarred by grief. Why should I suffer more?

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Why am I asked to bury still another child?
And why Richard, the dearest of all to me? I cannot bear this loss! God is cruel, God is
unjust! It is not right that I suffer more!
If only I might have died, if only I might have died instead of you, oh, my son, instead of
you. Oh, Holy Mother of God, love him as I have loved him and grant him Paradise.

Yes, of courseyes, of courseI see itI see it now. Richard welcomed death as I flee
it:
he yearned for death as I hunger for life. There was nothing more I could have done,
no way I could have saved him, for he was drawn to death and suffering
like a babe to its mothers breast, like a plant seeking the sun. May he find peace at last.
May this most cherished child find peace at last.
Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine: et lux perpetua luceat eis, et lux perpetua luceat
eis

Why are the bells tolling? What has happened? What is their news?
Why are the bells being rung?

Henrydead? God rest his soul and be merciful.

Then I amfreeI am free If Henry is dead, then I am free.
My exile is over and I am free, free at last! God be praised! Christ be praised! I can
wait now For I am free at last, at last!

(Floyd)

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 Figure 17: Grigorii Samuilovich Frid (1915 - ) (Wikipedia)

The Diary of Anne Frank (1969)

Composer:

Grigorii Frid

Type:

Opera monodrama

21 Scenes

Duration:

60 minutes

Libretto:

Libretto by Grigorii Frid after The Diary of Anne Frank

English translation by Alla Giomon and James Briscoe

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, New York

110
Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Moscow, Russia

1972

Symphony: Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra

Conductor: Andrei Tsjistiakov

Artist: Eva Ben Zvi

Scoring:

flute, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, percussion, piano, violin, violoncello, double

bass

Vocal Range:

A2 Cb5

Tessitura:

Eb3 G4

Role:

Anne Frank

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

June 12, 1942 August 1, 1944

Place:

Hidden rooms in the Secret Annex of Otto Franks office in Amsterdam

111
Synopsis:

A 13 year old girls inner-thoughts during their familys hiding from the Nazis in

occupied Amsterdam, starting with her 13th birthday and continuing for 2 years

until their capture

Justification:

The tessitura, and range; even though the character in this work is a 13 year old

girl, the opera is vocally appropriate for a dramatic soprano

Historical Significance

Grigorii Samuilovich Frid was born in St. Petersburg in 1915, the son of a pianist

mother and literary journalist father. Due to the civil war in that country, they fled again

and again; many relatives of the family were killed during the Stalin regime. They settled

in various Russian cities until they headed for Siberia where the father had been

banished. In Moscow, Frid finished his music studies and taught music theory and

composition at the Music School of the Conservatory, working simultaneously as a radio

composer. Frid was influenced musically by Berg, Schoenberg, and Shostakovich and

his writing tends to project the more Romantic elements of these composers musical

ideas. (Wikipedia)

In 1969, Frid read Anne Franks diary and began to write the libretto soon after.

He used excerpts from the original diary entries, choosing episodes in the young girls

life. The music conveys many emotions; often wistful, or full of anxiety, sometimes

threatening, sometimes dreamy, but always supporting the extraordinary mood of the

text. The angular, yet dance-like rhythmic portions of the accompaniment are

reminiscent of Shostakovich or Prokofiev. The first production was in Russia in 1972,

112
with another in 1977, before Frid smuggled the score to America where it has, since then,

achieved international acclaim. (Ferjutz)

Lyrics:

Translation by Alla Gomon and James Briscoe

1. Introduction

2. Birthday
On Friday I awoke at six oclock. And no wonder - my birthday, my birthday.
But never mind, that I must not get up so early, I had to keep quite still on my birthday
until six forty five.
I couldn't bear any longer. So I went right into the dining room, then started to unwrap
my presents. And you, my diary, I found you the first of all, that was my best gift on my
birthday.
Father and mother got me such fine presents, bunches of presents.
So long now, Im so happy that you are here with me!

3. School
Now its Sunday, its the twenty-first of June in the year nineteen forty-two.
Our whole class is frightened and trembling. Soon now, soon now the teachers meeting
will be held.
Old Mister Kepler the old Math master has for a long time been annoyed with me; he has
said that I chatter too much. But I told him that talking is a trait of women, a trait of
women. Mama talks as much as I, as much as I or more and what can one do about it?
You cant deny your very nature. Old Mister Kepler just chuckled at my reasons, then he
made such fun: "Quack-Quack, Mamselle Duckling!"
My class howled with laughter.

4. Conversations with Father

My father often stays at home now, often he stays at home now, my father may not go to
work now. How sad not to live a full life and to be unwanted.
Today, as he and I went walking, Papa told me all the plans about the "Hiding Place".
He said it would not be a good life in such a place, where the world would be cut away
far from us.
"We must escape the dreaded Fascist hand. That is why we must hide away, we must not
wait and let them capture us."
Oh, how I do wish this day were so far away, so far away!

5. Notice from the Gestapo

Today the eighth of July.
So many things have happened, it seems that the whole world turned over!
My Father opened up a notice from the Gestapo, and that means: Concentration Camp...
Mama went to see the Van Daans, to ask if now we should go to our hiding. To hide up in

113
the attic of my fathers warehouse. The van Daans and we are seven, we will be seven
there, we will be seven there....

6. Hiding Place
Saturday the eleventh of July. Our "Hiding Place".
Papa, Mama and Margot just cant get used to the sound of the tower, of the striking.
But I loved it from the start, so very pretty, especially at night.
Our secret Annex, is such an ideal hiding place. Its no matter that it is damp and leans to
one side, in all of Holland you wont find a better hiding place from the storm.
It is the silence, when I get so very frightened, especially, especially at night. I think we
shall never see the daylight. Never live to be free and get out of here, they will find us
and shoot us.

7. By the Window
I sit by the window and see the world go whirling by people scramble and disappear.
It is so strange to see how they run. How they hurry into darkness, hurry into
nothingness, my window opens just enough to let me wonder. This quarter near us is poor
working folk, the children so desperate.
Through the window there are many things to see: there are tulips, daffodils,
raindrops...and all hiding under black umbrellas.

8. I Was Told
Friday now, its October sixteen.
Now in the news they call for diaries to be published after the war and novels, too. I
wonder if its true, yes, Ill write a novel of my own "My hiding place".
How silly such a title how very bad, theyll think of some detective story, some Sherlock
Holmes! When the war is done, when we are free, they wont believe me if I write my
story and if I describe how we were forced to live.
Now we are all so frightened. Were told a worker in the warehouse beneath the attic
suspects we are hiding here. Who knows, if we can trust such a person or not...
They wont believe me, if I write my story and if I describe how we were forced to live.

9. Despair
The weight upon my heart presses always and pulls to a deep chasm.
A songbird am I with her song quiet, a songbird with no voice, how she struggles,
struggles, struggles never free to sing, never free to leave her cage, never.
"Oh freedom, oh freedom I cry deep inside. I want to, to breathe, to laugh out"!
But I know it, I will never be free. Im off to bed now; its all I can do to shorten the
hours of silence and fear of silence.

10. Recollection
When I think about my life, my life before Germans came to Holland, all was so ideal, all
is so distant. Another Anne was living inside me.
Now peace is gone, peace is no more, no more. So careless such a lighthearted child so
happy that Anne never will return.

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11. Dream
Last night deep a sleep, I had such a dream, such a nightmare. I saw her there before me.
My friend, my girlfriend Liess.
In silence and in tears exhausted, dressed in rags. Hope was gone, even in the darkness
she appeared, emaciated, a skeleton.
Her eyes, her eyes so sad. They stared at me, they reproached me, it was as if she spoke
to me:
"Anna, oh Anna, stay with me, dont abandon me! Take me away out of this torment."
I cannot help her now, I cannot help...I pray to God to save her, to give her peace, save
her; Oh dear God, support her, and bring her back to us!

12. Interlude music

13. Duet of the Van Daans

Today Ill describe a very common, very common squabble of Mrs. van Daan and her
husband.
"Dearie" that is what she calls him, "I do not know why the English stopped the
bombing?"
"Because the weather now is so bad, dont you see that?"
"Oh, Dearie, no the sky was lovely yesterday!"
"Ah, please dont say it, please dont repeat the same old thing!"
"Why cant a woman share her opinions just like men?"
"Stop it!"
"Why say Stop it?"
"Oh hell, just shut up! Idiot!"
"But now I know the Allies wont come, they wont come at all!"
"Stop it!"
"Why say Stop it? Why say Stop it?"
"Shut up your stupid blabber, your stupid pig snout! Someday Ill make you sorry, sorry
you were ever born! You God forsaken fool! I cant stand this nonsense! You should rub
your nose into your filth, rub it in rubbish."
The curtain falls on this drama.
I couldnt keep from laughing, laughing. I was laughing so hard!
Peter and Mama could not hold it back.

14. Robbers
Today the fourth of August nineteen hundred forty three.
A robber in the warehouse! Below us, just below us. The robber, who can it be, what can
he want?
But what if he tells the Gestapo that he heard us, just to save himself?

15. Recitative
One day Peter and I found a quiet place there in the attic we sat down together, on a box.
We were sitting very close, his hand found mine in the silence.
How lovely the trees coming out this year, sunlight calls us to come out a while, sky so

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blue, so blue, such crystal blue.
I long to go out and touch the world.

16. I Think of Peter

Late every night I lie awake and wonder, I wonder if he dreams of me. I think of his
earnest glance, tender glance, when our eyes meet, and of our fear to speak the truth: Of
love, future years, happiness, and then I think about not our sadness but of all the
wonders, of lovely nature, of life in the world, in spite of evil and fear, this world is still
beautiful.
And as for man he too is good at heart...
In life theres no pleasure in life, theres no beauty like greeting the morning and
knowing that nature is begging for you to come sing, and feeling the sun and watching
the moon, and loving each other, and caring for someone, and silently waiting.

17. At the Russian Front

We hear in the news the Russians are winning! At the Polish border they will come all
the Allies.
They take many captives. And now all the Nazi boys know about defeat.
Tralala la la la la hooray for freedom! All we hidden ones are in a happy mood. Any
moment now, well hear something wonderful that the Allies are at hand.
In Moscow shouting, in London theres laughter and in Washington they cheer like
thunder, I do not know why they make such noise like thunder cries and shouts laughter.
You could say they cant express any other way after all the joy of all the world.

18. Round-up
Knocking beneath us here. Its quiet again. Again knocking.
Terror. Theyre there walking Gestapo. In the warehouse beneath our hiding place...
We didn't dare to breathe, all you could hear was the frantic beating of seven hearts.
Steps, steps, theyre stopping at our stair, closer, closer, closer! Theyre at the cupboard
that hides our stair, oh, God!
Again they shake it, again..
Somethings falling down.
The steps, now they move away. We are burning with fever. And never since that very
night such a danger, danger, as on this night.
The Gestapo stood right at the cupboard, but nothing did they find, nothing did they find.

19. Solitude
Actually in youth all is far more lonely than old age. The young have passions ideals, the
old are far more practical and they know what they must do in life. But as for youth when
life is new.
It is hard to be so sure in times like these when we see all ideals collapse before us, when
all about is falsehood, justice is forsaken, happiness gone!
Ideals and dreams shining expectations cannot be still in our hearts, and if hope comes to
us, the horrible reality will destroy hope utterly...

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20. Passacaglia
Its a wonder that up to now I still have hope and keep my spirit high. I see how now the
world is becoming nothing but a desert.
Now the thunder of war is here, it threatens to find and destroy us it seems to me, that we
exist in a patch of sky, blue sky, between the black, hateful storm clouds.
But it is coming nearer and nearer, it will absorb us in our desperate struggle, struggle for
freedom How we shove and strangle each other.
We see how people down in the street struggle too, we see how hatred overcomes us all
and now the dark surrounds us, blackens us and separates like a, a curtain.
The darkness ever pressing on us ever like a wall moving to us to crash us. And now all I
can do is pray:
"Adonoi eluhenu, make our way open our path to freedom!"

21. Finale
Now the sun shines skies are clear and blue. One cant even take in the beauty. Each
morning I go to the roof to breathe deep the fresh air.
The roof has become my favorite place, I see before me canals like ribbons. Chestnuts
bare of leaves and the sparkling diamonds of dew. I see seagulls soaring in the blue sky
their wings seem like silver sails on the horizon.
I gaze out from my open roof top perch, from where I can see all of Amsterdam, a sea of
roofs that stretch out all the way to the horizon.
So long as I have this sunlight, so long as I have the earth and all nature that exists for
me, for me to love, I can never be sad!
Whenever you are put to trial, whenever you are lonely, unhappy go out and be unto
yourself
where its peaceful, where you can be unhindered. Alone with nature alone with God,
at last now I know nature makes our life whole, sufring she can send away, pain is gone
at natures hand.
And when I look up to heaven, then I can think that every cruelty someday must have an
end, and once again peace and love shall reign on earth.
But til that time we must keep our faith, our hopes and dreams.
We must hold to courage, tho the weak may fall, the strong endure to carry on. I am
prepared to sacrifice my life for the future.
And if the Lord wills that I should survive, I shall give my self to serve the world.
For now I realize that courage and loving kindness must be dearer now than ever! Power,
glory, that is as nothing. But a joyous heart will falter for a moment only, ever more hope
will awaken and hope will remain your hearts strength all your life.
So long as you can look up without fear to the heavens....

Translation by Alla Gomon and James Briscoe (Encompass New Opera Theatre))

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 Figure 18: John Eaton (1935 - ) (Schirmer)

I want the audience to be so involved in the sweep of the music. Because after all,
music, of all the arts, is that that most begins with the fundamental basis of the universe
itself. It begins with energy. And it begins with the very tissue of human and even
natural experience on every level. (Oteri)

Trumpet Voluntary (1991)

Composer:

John Eaton

Type:

Dramatic Soprano with Brass Quintet

Commissioned by the Chaucer Society for their Annual Convention in 1992

Duration:

8 minutes

Libretto:

Geoffrey Chaucer, from The House of Fame

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Publishers:

As yet unpublished, see composer for score

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

August 1, 1992

Scoring:

2 trumpets in Bb, trombone, French horn, tuba

Vocal Range:

Ab2 C#5

Tessitura:

E3 G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Synopsis:

This is a declamatory poem that necessitates a firm, strong voice to carry the text

over the trumpets, horn, trombone, and tuba.

Justification:

I chose the dramatic soprano voice primarily for the subject matter of the
Chaucer fragmentalso because it was to be accompanied (appropriately, again,
considering the subject matter) by brass quintet. I needed the thrilling quality and
weight of the dramatic soprano voice to soar over the brass instruments.
John Eaton

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 The highest note, C#5, may be too high for some dramatic sopranos, as ordinarily

the accepted top range is C5.

Historical Significance:

A winner of three Prix de Rome awards and two Guggenheim grants, American

composer John Eaton is internationally recognized as a composer of electronic and

microtonal music. Born in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania in 1935, Eaton immersed himself

with the new wave of 20th centurys innovative focus for composition and his recognized

talent allowed him to study under Milton Babbitt and Roger Sessions. He received his

BA and MFA degrees at Princeton University and is currently Professor Emeritus at the

University of Chicago, where he served as Professor of Music Composition from 1991

through 2001. His chamber, vocal, and orchestral music expand traditional tools of

composition through the use of microtonal scales; a fuller spectrum of notes per octave

than the usual twelve tones. A prolific composer, Eatons operas include Danton and

Robespiere, composed in 1978, The Cry of Clytaemnestra, a work with over 17

productions and counting, written in 1980, and The Tempest, created in 1985 and

commissioned by Santa Fe Opera. In 1990 he received the MacArthur genius award,

and has written numerous articles on new music, as well as the book Involvement with

Music: New Music since 1950. (Schirmer)

In 1991, Eaton composed Trumpet Voluntary for Dramatic Soprano and Brass

Quintet. This work was commissioned and performed for the Chaucer Society in Seattle,

Washington for their Annual Convention in 1992. An eight minute piece, the power of

this unique composition lies in the dual roles of both voice and brass to present an

artistically integrated message. (Schirmer)

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Lyrics:

Go to Aeolus the God of Wind

Go to Aeolus
In Thrace youll find him
Bid him bring his clarion so full of different sounds
The one, Clere Laudis or Shining Praise
And bid him bring his other horn
CalledSlanderwith which heroes defame
Those I wish, and give them shame.
Now take the one called Laud, and blow.
Let fame go easily and not too fast
Through out the world

Gladly lady and he brandished the trumpet of gold

And set itto his mouth and blew
East and west and south and north as loud as thunder,
That all was wonder, and with it went
The smell of balm and roses, balm and roses,

Then Aeolus took his trumpet

Black, of brass, and through every region went the sound
As swift as a pellet from a gun, and such smoke,
Came from that trumpets end
Black, blue, green and darkish red,
Black, blue green and darkish red

Geoffrey Chaucer
Translated by Anne Prescott (Eaton)

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 Figure 19: Michael Kemp Tippett (1905-1998) (Steenslid)

I am quite certain in my heart of hearts that modern music and modern art is not a
conspiracy, but is a form of truth and integrity for those who practise it honestly, decently
and with all their being. (BrainyQuote)

Byzantium (1989/90)

Composer:

Sir Michael Tippett

Type

Rhapsody for Soprano and Orchestra

Co-commissioned by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Carnegie Hall in

honour of their respective centennials

Originally composed for Jessye Norman to perform, but two weeks prior to the

performance, she cancelled. Faye Robinson stepped in to sing it in her place

Duration:

27 minutes

Libretto:

Poem by W. B. Yeats, 1930

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Publishers:

Schott & Co. Ltd, London

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Chicago, Illinois

Orchestra Hall

April 11, 1991

Chicago Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Sir Georg Solti

Artist: Faye Robinson

Scoring:

3 flutes (doubling 3 piccolos), 2 oboes, English horn, 3 clarinets in Bb (1st

doubling clarinet in Eb, 3rd doubling bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4

horns in F, 2 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, tuba, percussion, celeste, synthesizer,

2 harps, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 G4

Voice:

Soprano

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Justification:

Repeated octave jumps with loud, held upper notes. Tessitura high; must have

heavier voice with power and point to be heard over thick orchestral texture.

Historical Significance:

Sir Michael Tippett was born in London in 1905, a child of nine years at the

outset of World War I. This exposure to the effects of war on his country, the nations of

the world, and all of humanity, would shape what would soon become the main focal

points of his life; pacifism and music. After hearing of the 1938 pogrom against the

Jews, Tippett produced A Child of Our Time, an impassioned protest against the

conditions that make such persecution possible. It was this composition that would

bring notoriety to the new composer. A great humanitarian, Tippett was imprisoned for

being a conscientious objector in World War II and was incarcerated for three months.

After the war, he poured himself into the pacifist movement and served on the Council of

the Peace Pledge Union, and as Honorary President of that organization until his death in

1998. A knighthood and the Order of Merit were bestowed upon Tippett for his

contributions to the worlds musical repertoire, which were many, but he would

constantly interrupt his increasingly busy schedule of composition and performance to

speak about the importance of the relationship between, and the responsibility of, the

creative artist and humanity. (Wikipedia)

Ordinarily, Tippett would prefer to write his own libretto, but in the case of

Byzantium, his fascination with Yeats allowed for the creative path Tippett chose. In his

words:

My own attraction toByzantium, as a vehicle for composition, was twofold: firstly,

the crystalline intensity of the poem itself offered a challenge in setting its verbal imagery

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to music; secondly, I identified completely with its emphasis on the notion of artifacts,
enshrining values that can be set against the impermanence of the everyday world and the
complexities of the human beating heart.

The poem begins with a picture of the historical Byzantium that polarizes the unpurged
images of day against the star-lit dome of Santa Sophia (a fine example of an artefact, an
architects articulation of immense interior space). The poets own visionary state, after
he has metaphorically climbed the winding stair into the tower, is evoked in the second
stanza, through communication with an elemental spirit. In the third stanza, the poet
identifies as the citys principal symbol the golden bird, the miracle that is the antithesis
of nature (the bird doesnt sing in the poem, but it provided my setting with an obvious
musical focus). Dance is the focal point of the fourth stanza, a rite of purgation. Finally,
Yeats sees the world as also made up of such passionate images: while the poet (and in
this case, the composer) stands back from the welter of experience, from the vantage
point of Byzantium, he remains eternally fascinated by it as a mode of self-renewal the
images he uses (of the dolphin and the sea) themselves fresh images beget, and music
can do the same.
Michael Tippett

This work requires a powerful, strong soprano; it is a long, demanding role which

is more declamatory than lyrical, with a brutally high tessitura. The angular and

explosive vocal line with an orchestral accompaniment to match, enhance the complex

poetry and is another masterpiece for a dramatic soprano. Byzantium is a mesmerizing

exhibition of sensuous mystery which provides an opportunity for virtuosic display.

(Tippett)

Lyrics:

Byzantium

The unpurged images of day recede;

The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.

Before me floats an image, man or shade,

Shade more than man, more image than a shade;

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For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.

Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,

More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the starlit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.

At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit

Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,

Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

(Tippett)

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 Figure 20: Jeremy Beck (1960 - ) (New Music Jukebox)

Music and drama can create an intensely personal and even spiritual experience (in the
broadest sense of the term) for an audience, and it is this type of intimacy that moves me
the most. For all the irony to be found in much post-modern music, I have little interest
in anything which doesnt seek to make an emotional connection. Thats what drew me
to music way back when, what still draws me in to certain pieces, and what I strive to
create. (Beck)

Death of a Little Girl with Doves (1998)

Composer:

Jeremy Beck

Type:

A Symphonic Rhapsody for Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony Orchestra

Originally composed for Leslie Morgan and the Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony

Orchestra, Iowa

Duration:

35 minutes

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Libretto:

Jeremy Beck

Text based on the life and letters of sculptor Camille Claudel

Publishers:

Rental agent, The Edwin A Fleisher Collection of Orchestral Music at the Free

Library of Philadelphia, (215) 686-5313

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Cedar Falls, Iowa

February 5, 1999

Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony Orchestra

Acting Music Director: Jack Graham

Artist: Leslie Morgan

Scoring:

piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet, 2

bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, tuba,

timpani, 3 percussion, harp, piano, strings

Vocal Range:

G#2 A4

Tessitura:

F3 E4

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Role:

Camille Claudel

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Scene 1 1886

Scene II March 13, 1913

Scene III after some time in the Asylum

Scene IV - 1937

Place:

Scenes I, II Camilles studio in Paris

Scenes III, IV in the Asylum

Synopsis:

This operatic soliloquy is based on the life of French sculptor Camille Claudel

who lived from 1864 to 1943. The final 30 years of her life were spent in an

asylum. This work gives us snapshot instances of time where we get a glimpse of

the turmoil and loss in her life.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Rayanne Dupuis

full orchestrahas to tackle a wide range of expression and style: full operatic
temperament, parlando, ardent sentiment, speech, and word sound-play.
Comparison can be made with Britten, but in his 1930s phase(the masterly
Our Hunting FathersBarber Knoxville).
Rob Barnett

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Historical Significance:

A first-rate dramatic and lyrical composer, Jeremy Beck is on an exciting musical

path. He was born in 1960 and received degrees from Yale School of Music and the

Mannes College of Music where he studied with Lukas Foss, Jacob Druckman, Stephen

Jaffe and David Loeb. Awards, honors and grants have come from the American

Composers Orchestra, California Arts Council, the Los Angeles Chapter of the American

Composers Forum, the Kentucky Foundation for Women, Millay Colony for the Arts,

Meet the Composer, the Wellesley Composers Conference, Oregon Bach Festival, Iowa

Arts Council and the American Music Center. Becks opera The Highway was performed

by New York City Opera in May of 2000, as part of that companys Showcasing

American Composers series. This composers musical style incorporates continuous

melodic line, mildly dissonant harmonies, and is full of great beauty. One of his many

talents is his ability to clearly express his musical thoughts through the use of attractive,

convincing orchestration. (Jeremy Beck)

Death of a Little Girl with Doves is a compelling work. It is a fantasy, but Becks

libretto is taken from the tragic life of sculptress Camille Claudel. Claudel was an

accomplished artist in the late 1800s, an apprentice to Rodin. They became lovers, and

when the relationship dissolved, Claudel experienced terrible mental and physical

anguish. She was committed to an asylum against her will in 1913 and spent the next 30

years there until her death. This dramatic work is the mouthpiece to express her

triumphs, struggle and pain. The music is gripping; the forceful literary portrayal

persuasive and yet haunting. With Becks imaginative treatment of singing and speaking,

his fresh, ingenious use of orchestration, and his undeniable sense of emotional

130
connection, Death of a Little Girl with Doves is an overwhelmingly artistic experience.

(Jeremy Beck)

Lyrics:

I. In Paris
I share these thoughts only with you
My despair and anger, only with you
Please, I beg you, dont tell anyone -
Dont tell Maman, she would be so angry with me!
Please, I beg of you...

Dear Paul, dear brother!

Thanks for your letter
No, I am fine
Those people are liars!
Who told you Im broke, and living in rags?
My room is a studio, of course its a mess!
Im a sculptor - what do they expect?
That I should clean after cutting stone?
Who are they to judge me?
Silly fools and gossips!
Jealous women -
Frightened men.

Afraid of a woman who dares to be free!

Afraid of passion!
Afraid of me!
Who are they to judge this life that I have chosen?
A glorious life!
Shaping the clay, feeling the earth in my hands...

The joy of holding clay in ones hands...

caressing the earth
And this other soul,
Working with me,
passionate artist!
He understands,
Like no one has ever understood!
Oh, Paul!
Hes a good man, a great man -

Dont call me foolish!

Dont call me young!
Im already twenty-two!

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So what if hes older? So what if hes married?
We work together, thats all!
Im learning so much, so much from this Master,
this passionate artist - Rodin!

Ssh! Quiet!
Ssh! Quiet!
Keep this all to yourself
Useless to speak out
Better to act under cover
Dont show my letter to anyone
Beware of how they bribe you
Dont mention any names
Otherwise theyll threaten me

Ssh! Quiet!
Be quiet!
Not a word...

It is so pretty here, out in the country, at this estate -

I went for a walk in the gardens, such lovely flowers!
If you are good enough to come,
We shall be in paradise!
Ive thought about your latest work; I want you here to talk about it.
And Ive been painting - I cant wait to show you!
Each night I go to bed naked pretending that you are there
but when I wake up its not the same thing...

Rodin... Rodin... Rodin...

Rodin!
Rodin! That devil!
He cannot be trusted, and he cannot be stopped!
He steals from me! They all do!
They use me -
They have no ideas - nothing new!

Ssh! Quiet!
Keep this all to yourself
Useless to act under cover
That devil!
Raping my imagination!
Getting rich from my work!
They all make money!
Millions of francs!

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 The scoundrel takes advantage of us, of me, of you,
and makes himself quite a little bundle.
And when I fight against him, he uses you and Maman to whip me
(spoken)
I am like a cabbage that is gnawed on by caterpillars
As soon as I grow another leaf, they eat it.

Ssh! Quiet!
Millions of francs for the caster, millions for the merchants, millions for the dealers
Millions of francs for the Master,
Millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of
francs -

II.
It is March 10, 1913; another Monday in Paris. Two men force their way into Camille
Claudels studio, and bodily take her away by car. Unknown to Camille, it was her
brother Paul - esteemed writer, poet and diplomat - who applied for the medical
certificate, authorizing her internment in the asylum at Ville-vrard.

Dear Paul,
Its illegal! Criminal!
Ive been kidnapped - and I know by whom!
That devil, Rodin -
He wants his fame untarnished by me!

When I am out, once I am free

revenge will be mine!
Justice is no use -
What one needs is a pistol,
The only argument.
I have to stop him!

Paul, help me
Have me released - I must get out!
I know you will help me,
But please dont tell Maman...

Dear Paul!
Thanks for your letter -
Once I am out, Ill get back to work!
I have a lot of ideas
Here are some sketches

See? Three people listening to another behind a screen

I call it: The Gossipers!
Here is another group of three:

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A young girl huddled on a bench and crying while her parents look on, astonished.
La Faute... The Mistake...

III. In the Asylum

Monsieur:
I am taking the liberty of sending you the enclosed letter which I am sending to my
daughter Camille Claudel. It is an answer to her letters in which she accuses us of a lot of
things to which we are strangers, that is why my letter is so harsh. In your last health
bulletin, you told me that her persecution complex had diminished, and that she could be
let out of your establishment on a trial basis. According to the letters I have received
from her, I see that her ideas have not changed. Her state of mind is always the same,
always believing herself to be the victim of everything which is not in the slightest bit
true. It is she who has been her own executioner. It is impossible to believe she has a
healthy mind and that she can behave reasonably, no more so now than when she first
entered the home for mental patients in which, no longer able to cope with her
incoherencies, we had to place her ten years ago. If she were to leave you, she would
begin again immediately, I am certain, and would cause us the biggest problems. One
cannot allow freedom to those who suffer from a persecution complex without grave
danger because once back in their own surroundings, they would quickly resume old
ideas.

Dear daughter,
Your last letter is before my eyes and I cant imagine that you can write such horrors to
your mother. God alone knows what I will have suffered on account of my children!
How dare you accuse me of poisoning your father! You know as well as I do that he was
nearly 90 years old when he left us! How terribly he suffered, when he learned the truth
about your relations with that monster Rodin, and the disgraceful comedy you performed
for us on your visits. And I, I was naive enough to invite the Great Man, along with his
wife and you, his concubine! While you played the sweet innocent and were living with
him as a kept woman. I hardly dare write the words that come to mind! Lets stop here,
shall we? Your letter is nothing but a mass of slanders, each more odious than the next.
-I send you a kiss.

Dear Maman,
It has been so cold; I am numb.
These hands, which drew life from clay and from stone,
now shake, I can barely hold a pen...
I havent been warm all winter.
Tell me, how is Paul? Where is he now?

Mother, please come see me

Mother, please forgive.
Im frightened and lonely
I miss you and Paul...

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You treat me so harshly, your letters, so cold
If you could only see conditions here
Perhaps youd be moved
I still am your daughter.

You dont forgive me for being an artist

You dont forgive me for once being young...
For my freedom, for passion,
For Rodin!
Life was once a swirling wave of hope and light.

Please dont forget your little sculptor daughter

Please dont forget;
Forgive...

(small laugh)
Mother, your daughter is in prison - dont forget!
In prison with lunatics who yell all day,
spitting, making faces!
No place for me!
I was praying you would help me,
but unhappily I see now
you have always let yourself be manipulated
by those who wish me harm.
They had only one thing in mind, those people:
Get me out of Paris, grab my work, make themselves rich without any trouble!
And leading them all, Rodin!

Since the imagination, emotion, the new,

are part of a fine mind,
those thick brains need someone else to explore,
to feel!

All of this comes from Rodin -

Still jealous!
He keeps me in his clutches
from behind the Gates of Hell!

You say, God has mercy on the afflicted,

God is good!
Lets talk about your God!
A God who lets an innocent woman rot away
in an asylum!

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Forgotten!
Abandoned!
Where is your God?
Where is God?

IV.
I share these thoughts only
with you
My despair and anger, only
with you

Dear Paul, dear brother!

Thanks for your letter
No, I am fine
Those people are cruel - who cares what they say about me?
Gossips! Idiots!

You know what I do, when something unpleasant happens?

I take my hammer and I crush a statue!
A lot of executions have taken place!
You should see the pile of rubble!
Its a grand human sacrifice!

Where - are you?

I am waiting for the visit you promised last summer -
I know - Paris is so far away...

At this holiday time, I always think about Mother -

I never saw her again, not since the day you sent me here.
I remember her eyes, filled with sadness
(spoken)
I am thinking about the beautiful portrait I did of her
in the shade of our beautiful garden.
I remember a spirit of resignation over her face...

Its been twenty-four years since Rodin

and the dealers
sent me away, condemning me to a place
where they themselves should be!
Especially, Rodin!

They want me to die, forgotten, in rags!

An artist without any defense -
How could you believe their lies about me?
How could you be fooled?

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Ah, Rodin!
I knew you would come!
I knew you would keep your promise!

Do you like it? This painting? Its new!

Im not quite finished, still thinking of adding flowers, some flowers -
(he kisses her neck, she smiles)
(spoken)
Stop it! That tickles!
Do you like it? This painting?
I know, its not finished,
But can you feel how peaceful it is?
The doves surround her, protect the young girl...
Their wings caress, with tenderness...

Yes - I know, the colors are dark.

No, shes not sleeping.

(spoken)
Hmm?
I call it
Death of a Little Girl with Doves.

text 2001 by Jeremy Beck (Beck)

www.BeckMusic.org
CD available from www.innova.mu
Score available from The Edwin A. Fleisher Collection of Orchestral Music at the Free
Library of Philadelphia (215) 686-5313

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 Figure 21: Bongani Ndodana-Breen (1975 - ) (SA Composers)

I have been drawn more and more towards an African aesthetic within my art form,
which is music riddled with European conventions. In trying to make sense of a cultural
paradox, a new musical language emerges. I have learnt to trust my inner ear and
rhythmic instinct. This allows me to draw upon a greater reserve of musical concepts. In
drawing these two streams of music together (African and European), the hybrid outcome
is more easy to identify with. It is a mirror of the society I live in. (Bongani Ndodana)

Umuntu: Threnody and Dances (2001)

Composer:

Bongani Ndodana-Breen

Type:

Monodrama for Soprano and Celli

Commissioned by the National Arts Council of South Africa

Duration:

55 minutes

Libretto:

Written in total by Bongani Ndodana-Breen with the exception of Scene I, which

is from a poem by Wilfred Owen entitled, Be Slowly Lifted Up

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Publishers:

Presently unpublished, contact composer

Musical Time Period:

21st Century

World Premiere:

Durban, South Africa

March, 2001

Auditorium of the SABC Studios in Durban

Artist: Linda Bukhiosini

Scoring:

4 celli

Vocal Range:

B2 C5

Tessitura:

E3 G4

Role:

Nomzamo

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Present day

Place:

South Africa

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Synopsis:

Nomzamo (the main characters name) means One who strives in Xhosa (a group of
over eight million people living in South Africa). Nomzamo is a fictional character who
is a summation of all the women who have been victims of war in Africa, from the Congo
to Angola, from Mozambique to Uganda. I wrote this as a meditation on the civic/ethnic
strife in Africa and how it has affected women.
Bongani Ndodana-Breen

Justification:

This work has been performed by an accepted Dramatic Soprano today. Its

inclusion is based on its meeting all the criteria, personal perusal, and its

representation as an important cultural and historical work.

Historical Significance:

Composer and conductor Bongani Ndodana-Breen has written a wide range of

music encompassing symphonic work, opera, chamber music and vocal music. Groups

from around the world have performed his music. No less than nine organizations have

commissioned his compositions and he currently directs the Toronto-based

MusicaNoir/Ensemble Noir, which was the first Canadian classical music ensemble to

tour Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, and South Africa. Ndodana-Breen was awarded the

Standard Bank Young Artist Award for Music in 1998, one of South Africas most

prestigious arts prizes, which led to a commission for his opera-oratorio Uhambo that he

conducted at South Africas National Arts Festival. Following the premiere of his African

Kaddish for orchestra, led by German conductor Bernhard Gueller, Ndodana-Breen was

described as a wonder boy composer with a natural gift second to none by the Mail and

Guardian (Johannesburg, July 2001). Ndodana-Breen is a passionate advocate for the

140
music of our time. His own works are influenced by the lyricism and rhythms of Africa,

blended with an eclectic, post-modern approach to contemporary music. (SA Composers)

This work, Umuntu: Threnody and Dances, has explicit dramatic directions and

staging included in its score. The libretto is written in a stream of consciousness form of

a womans thoughts and experiences. When asked why he chose a string

accompaniment, the composer explained,

The blend of soprano and four celli is just a very gorgeous sound. The vocal line
moves from lyrical and smooth lines to angular, anguished melody. I quoted a lot of
Beethoven and Bach in No. VIII Interlude, and basically tear apart a fragment of Bachs
Brandenburg #3, symbolizing the looting and pillage of Africans by Colonial powers
from Europe.

In a musical review by Bernard Holland in the New York Times, Ndodanas

music is described as

airy, spacious, terribly complex but never convoluted has a lot to teach the
Western wizards of metric modulation and layered rhythms about grace and balance. He
reminds us that most of our notions about musical motion on the last century came in
their round-about way from Aftrica or Southeast Asia in the first place, and that Africans
tend to do it better than we do.

An important work representing music with a blend of cultural elements from

West and East, Umuntu: Threnody and Dances demonstrates that Ndodana is not a raw

talent; he is a talent and, at 31, possesses a clear and gentle voice of his own. (Holland)

Lyrics:

Prologue
You all wonder why I am here; I should be asking you the same thing. You see, this is
my mind; the inside of my mind. The doctors tell me its broken. They give me tablets
to drink, and the nurses slip in a little vodka, with a bribe, of course.
Since youre here, welcome. Welcome! Welcome to MY madness, my world filled with
a past that haunts memy world that is constant painfully constant and filled with my
waking vivid Dreams. The only difference is that my Dreams are true. Oh how I wish it
were otherwise.
My name is Nomzamo, the daughter of a great General, who freed my country from the
white man. He ruled until he diedthen our troubles began.

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I. Be Slowly Lifted Up
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse;
Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm,
And beat it down before its sins grow worse;
But when thy spell be cast complete and whole,
May God may God may may God may may God curse thee curse thee and cut thee from
our soul!

Wilfred Owen

II. A Deep Winter

It was a deep winter. The frost biting on our tired feet, numb from days of walking, my
child crying on my back. The Rebels were gaining on us. Baleka, Baleka Mfazi! The
Rebels were coming. Theyre gaining Ah! Spare my child and take me take me a child is
useless to your cause. But they took him away from my back and ran a knife through his
breast.
It was a deep winter. The frost biting and my hands dripping with my infants blood. I
could not find the tears to shed all I know is, once I had a baby boy I called him Africa.
I called him Africa. All was lost to me that winter. I shall never bear a son again again.
Oh a deep winter it was. When will these senseless wars end?

III. Lament on the Sudan (only Celli)

IV. Spirit of Sharpville

Comrades! Comrades! Here begins a prophets story. Remember Remember Remember
Remember Comrades Comrades what happened. Look Look Look recall the suffering.
We have become Orphans with no Fathers! Fathers! Fathers! Our Mothers are now
Widows Widows Widows. Our inheritance is naught, turned to strangers Our necks are
under persecution. We labor and have no rest. The joy in our heart has ceased, our
Dance is now turned to Mourning to Mourning Mourning Mourning. Has the world
forgotten us? Ha Haa Haaa Haaaa
I am the spirit of Sharpville the Daughter of its ill-fortune Daughter of Daughter of
Daughter of the Spirit of Spirit of Spirit of Sharpville.

Part II

V. Then the Children Scattered

Then our our children scattered like water running, exiled to all four corners of this
world.
The hearth was empty with no one to fetch water, wood, coal. Mothers and
Grandmothers left barren as if they had never given birth. hunger and shame gripped us
as our only hope of survival was our children. Children that served Idi Amin, Mobuto cut
from our lives and sacrificed to their demonic powers. May your Gods or the Demons

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that possessed you spare your awful souls from the fires that await you. Now the great
Satan will have some new tenants.

VI. General, Sir

General, Chief most excellent, supreme warrior and father of this great public, brave
warrior, brave warrior who jumps from battle to battle leaving fire in his wake. Most
excellent sir and great unequaled leader liberator great lion of Africa. Why do you let
children starve and die and how can you let children suffer from flies and worms draining
what life strength they had? May you may you may you may you may you choke choke
you infant murderer pig your gluttenous greed will be your end and may your seed be
cursed! For a hundred generations.
General sir our most most brave revered, great warrior. He who jumps from battle to
battle leaving fire in his wake!!!

VII. Father
Ah Ah Ah Father, General my leader Why do you haunt me Father? You, only you
alone spoil your fantasy or corrupt blood thirsty cruel power Father forgive your little
princes for being human, human Father forgive me for having a heart to care when
people suffer I am no monster I shared no part of your evil no part no part in all this.
Power corrupts the very hand that wields it. Greed, revenge and hatred bear not children
but evil evil You lay with my mother, but I am no daughter of yours. Go and rest your
grave and the demons that guard it await their master await.

VIII. Interlude The Smell of Blood

IX. Hymn

Part III

X. Legend
Legends say there once was a girl who was a prophet. She saw visions of the ancient
ones by a river. She saw what? She thought were those who have gone before us to that
other world
Thula thula thula thula Ndivile Ndivile Thula Sendivile Thula
She was called a prophet by all in her village. By her order all was reared and
slaughtered by a river. They feasted. Thula Thula Thula Ndivile Thula Thula
(sprechtstimme) Kill, kill all your cattle kill them and feast and feast. They slew all
cattle they had and harvested all crops they had Little did they know, the shadow figures
in the river were men ready to enslave them Thula Thula Thula Thula Ndivile Ndivile
Thula Ndivile Thula Ndivile

XI. After the Legend

And so you understand that my people have been easily led astray but not only by white
men masquerading as shapes but also they are fooled by the false prophets and their
greed. These prophets are false Theyre idols are made of clay False leaders love power
to them its life life Listen then with caution to their promises which are veiled in sweet

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deceit Take caution my people watch their eyes watch their mouths listen to their hearts
do they really care for the hungry and oppressed? The hungry and oppressed? Dance!
My people! Dance! For Peace! Dance! For Love! Dance! Children of Africa! Dance!
For Love!

Bongani Ndodana-Breen (Ndodana)

www.ensemblenoir.org

144
 Figure 22: William Elden Bolcom (1938 - ) (Wikipedia)

I knew I was going to be composing. It all makes sense in retrospect. But you don't
know while you're in the process of improvising your life. (ThinkExist)

Medusa (2002)

Composer:

William Bolcom

Type:

Monodrama for Dramatic Soprano and String Orchestra

Originally composed for Catherine Malfitano

10 Scenes

Duration:

45 minutes

Libretto:

Poem by Arnold Weinstein

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Publishers:

Edward B. Marks Music Company and Bolcom Music, not yet in print

Musical Time Period:

21st Century

World Premiere:

New York, New York

March 5, 2003

Carnegie Hall

Conductor: Dennis Russell Davies

Orchestra: Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra

Artist: Catherine Malfitano

Scoring:

5 Violin I, 5 Violin II, 4 Viola, 3 Violoncello, 2 Contrabass

Vocal Range:

G#2 C5

Sprechtstimme

Tessitura:

D3 G4

Role:

Medusa

Narrator

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

146
Time:

Greek Mythology

Place:

The entrance to the Underworld, on the side of the Western Ocean

Synopsis:

Medusa was a Gorgon, born beautiful and mortal. In one of Athenas temples,

she was raped by Poseidon, who was disguised as a horse. Athena was furious

and as punishment, turned Medusas hair into writhing snakes. Her appearance

was so fearsome that men who looked on her were turned into stone. However,

she was mortal, and Perseus was sent to kill her. He accomplished this by staring

into his shield and seeing her reflection instead of looking into her eyes, while

Athena guided his hand with the sword. After he beheaded her, her blood

produced two offspring: Chrysaor, and Pegasus, a winged horse.

Justification:

Scored specifically for Dramatic Soprano

Composed for Catherine Malfitano

Historical Significance:

Born in Seattle, Washington, in 1938, William Elden Bolcom was a bonafide

child prodigy; at the age of 11 he entered the University of Washington to study

composition and piano. Under tutelage with prominent pianists and composers, he

graduated with a doctorate in composition from Stanford University in 1964 and went on

to receive the 2me Prix de Composition at the Paris Conservatoire in 1965. Significant

awards throughout his career include the Marc Blitzstein Award in 1966 from the

147
Academy of Arts and Letters for his opera, Dynamite Tonite, a Pulitzer Prize for music in

1988 for 12 New Etudes for Piano, and 3 Grammy Awards in 2006 for his setting of

William Blakes Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. He has received

commissions from over 12 symphony orchestras, 10 organizations, and numerous soloists

and chamber music organizations world-wide. He is married to Mezzo Soprano Joan

Morris and together they have concertized for the past 30 years. (Wikipedia)

Medusa is an unparalleled work. From the moment of the first sound which is a

scratching technique in the bows, this music keeps the audience totally transfixed for 45

minutes. Medusa is introduced to us through horrific sound and eerie sprechtstimme.

This role is not for the feint of heart; one has to know how to deliver screams, whispers,

growls, chortles, wheezes, gasps, and still sing from a very low throaty chest register to a

high C (C5). The character portrayal and text delivery are all important for this work. To

quote Jay Nordlinger from The New York Chronicle,

The big news of this evening was the Bolcom work: Medusa, which is subtitled
Monodrama for Dramatic Soprano and String Orchestra. That is a tidy summing up of
the pieceBolcom composed this extraordinary Medusa with his longtime collaborator,
the writer Arnold WeinsteinWeinstein came up with a brilliant libretto on the Medusa
theme. As Bolcom says in his accompanying notes, I have tried to sail my musical boat
according to Weinsteins laid-out course a wild ride full of surprisesThe grand curve
of the work traverses Medusas early beauty, her horrifying transformation, and her
death, which again leaves beauty in its wake. The audience was reluctant to stop
applauding and to leaveBolcoms score grips and startles and amuses throughout,
qualifying as a triumph.

(Nordlinger)

Lyrics:

I. The Hag on the Crag

COME SEE THE MONSTER MEDUSA
I GUARANTEE SHELL PRODUCE A JOY
ANY MANS VISION CRAVES.
COME SEE HER NOSTRILS FLARE

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LIKE A PAIR OF OPEN GRAVES.
SEE THE TONGUE LAP THE LIZARD-SKIN CHIN,
SEE THE GUMS HANG IN FESTOONS
FORMING THE BARRACUDA GRIN
OF THE MEDUSA.
Come see the monster Medusa.
Look, listen and gasp at the serpents coiling in her curls, the adder and the asp.
Listen to the hissing, you dont know what youre missing till you hear reptiles reminisce
about dear desert days before their exile to the hair, the writhing crawling hair of the
Medusa.
SEE HER CRIES POLLUTE THE SKIES,
SEE HER CRUSTED EYES,
BLOOD RED
AS THOUGH A SEA-HAWK HAD BEEN FED
LIKE NOBODY YOU EVER KNEW.
LIKE NOTHING YOU DID EVER VIEW.
COME SEE THIS MONSTER MEDUSA.
THIS GRUESOME MUSE OF UGLINESS.
THIS DEFORMED ENORMITY
WHICH IN THE SWEET USED-TO-BE
IS NOT AT ALL WHAT SHE WAS
BEFORE THE FALL
OF THE MEDUSA. (ah ah)

11. In Athenas Temple

Time was, of all the vestal virgins in Athenas temple
Medusa was the most devoted and most lovely.
When the gold of her hair caught the light of the sun
Evryone was captured.
When she lit the lamps her face was crowned
With a beauty so profound
Young and old, shy and bold
Crowded round, enraptured.
Tongues of desire flickered in eyes,
Even the eunuchs tunics would rise;
One could safely say
No man came to the temple to pray
But to sing loves perennial psalm.
Cold and calm, she walked away.
Till one day the great god Neptune
Sang to her the same inept tune:
You dont mean to say
That you devote each day
To the virgin goddess
In that skimpy bodice.
And that floor-length sun-lit hair!

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Its unfair!
He also sang off key.
She responded respectfully:
I know this is the move men make
But a god must know my souls at stake.
As Athenas vestal virgin I
Would rather die than break my vow.
Neptune was more excited now.
Tender virgins like you, child,
Drive us Olympians wild, child,
With your exquisite golden hair,
Fairer than gold, and more rare, child.

III. The Rape

Suddenly with sinewy muscle and breath like flame
Neptune became a stallion and tore into the virgin on the pristine temple floor
While Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war,
Hid behind her shield
In divine disgust and jealously
As she watched the virgin yield
To the mighty lust of Neptune.
He triumphantly shook his mane
And giving his nose a snort
Returned to his myriad nereids
Corralled in his coral court.

IV. The Sentence

Envy burned Athenas reason.
She turned the child into a deformed woman
And ordered Vulcan:
Stop sulkin over the Venus and Mars affair
And forge me a pair of claws of brass
To replace the devoted hands
That lit votives to me.
Then she had Vulcan hammer our fangs for her mouth,
One going north, one going south.
And as for Medusas golden hair
Athena placed serpents there.
Now crawling, writhing creatures wreathed her pug-ugly features
But Athena knew that even then,
Men being men,
Theyd sooner hug
A sagging dug
Than spend a night alone.
So Athena put into Medusas glare
The stare that turned men to stone.

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V. The Expedition: Scena
Medusa, bewildered and ashamed
Of what she was blamed for,
Terrified that her family would be petrified by her look,
Marooned her lonely loathsome self
To a crag on the ocean shelf
And wondered and waited.
The goddess Athena was not mistaken:
Expeditions were undertaken.
Boats came, kept coming.
The twenty-four man-owar slumming to hear the hair hiss and the brass claws clack,
To see from afar
The raging stare of petrifaction ready to attack.
Even the farmer
In second-hand armor,
Sword and dagger,
Look at him swagger
Like bow-legged Hercules,
Ready to brave the seas
To see the Medusa.
Sail, sailor, dont be so slow,
Sail and see who runs the show.
Not the captain or admiral or
Surely no the man behind the oar,
While Neptunes down in his watery harem
Having an after-orgy snore.
Farmer, give your shield a shine
Youre a stoic, youre heroic,
Sail to me.
You are mine.

VI. The Storm

And Medusa called on the sea, that mother of all things,
To bring on a typhoon,
And a typhoon struck!
Ships went under, the sea went amuck!
The sky cracked open, fore and aft,
And port and starboard flew apart.
The wind was captain of the craft.
The rain was mater of the masters art.
The storm hit harder, a timber snapped.
Then one big wave slapped the whole fleet down.
Making a great sarcophagus of bones
Of men who became their own tombstones,

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Having looked into the eyes, the eyes
Of the Medusa.
Hear a lament of a hero for his life,
A faithless husband for his wife.
Hear the despair that rang through the air,
How it was music to Medusa of the hissing hair.
In the eternal necropolis below
Fish with eyes on the side of their head
Eternally watch a stone dead farmer
Watch the rust grow on second-hand armor.
Back home, a sweetheart of the fleet
In blissful ignorance embroiders a sheet;
On it is the face
Of the Medusa.

Part 2
VII. Interlude

VIII. After the Petrifaction: Scena

Thanks for the look, boys,
I needed that.
Orpheus, you had to look back.
Oedipus, you had to scour the country.
When will mens eyes ever learn to behave?
I need a well-deserved wash, now the water is quiet.
Neptune left behind a mess only gods can make. (Screams)
Looked at her writhing reflection:
Frightened frightening thing.
Poor scary thing herself was scared.
But I still have my hate to keep me hot.
Being screwed by a god and a goddess, and a stallion,
Puts a girl in a pretty bad mood.
When the fires on the distant shore die down,
Dawn coming in, all darkness done,
I for one must prepare
To blow your breath out with a stare.
How time passes since Im trapped in immortality!
Eternal life is too long to live without revenge.
When the fires on the distant shore die down,
Dawn coming in, all darkness done,
I for one must prepare
To blow your breath out with a stare, with a stare.
Climb aboard, hero, havent you heard:
Hunger is the new beauty?
Heres your chance, hero,
Meet the girl with the withering glance, hero!

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HERO, YOU ARE MINE!

IX. A Beating of Wings

A beating of wings. Whos there?
Not a normal sightseeing snoop
Swooping on the spit-white dawn.
Looks like a hero trolling for a dragon.
One look, hero, youll go under,
Amonument to make fish wonder.
Youre very formal, hero,
With your shield all a-shine, hero.
Youre divine, hero. I like you.
Dont look at me, not yet. Not yet.
I promise you ecstasy
Next to me.
Glide through me.
Slide through the slimy fog
To love.

X. Perseus
Lurking in the wings is a story
Common as Queen Annes lace:
A story of another god raping
Another pretty face.
Jove came to our heros mother
In a shower of gold
Of loving liquefaction.
(At least thats the tale she told.)
And Danae gave birth
To Perseus the fatherless
Who will offer Medusas head
To a king who will marry his mother.
(Any good son feels it his duty
To give his mother a King-sized bed.)
The gods are family.
Athena gave Perseus her shield.
Hermes gave him a sword
To slice off the head of Medusa
And a pouch to hold it in,
And the address of the cave
Where lived the three grey ladies
Who had the only remaining map
That led to the Medusa.
In a twilit cave the three grey ladies,
Dino, Enyo, and Perphrido,
Had one grey eye and one grey tooth among them:

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Dino, Enyo, and Perphrido.
One eye, one snaggle tooth they passed, they passed one to the other.
Persus flew down to the cave
Where he told the ladies his tale of woe.
Fatherless boy who yearns for legitimacy.
But how without Medusas head?
The grey ones wept,
Passing their one eye
To each other to share their tears.
They would show him the way
But the map had to stay.
But swift Perseus grabbed the one weeping eye
And refused to return it
Until the ladies gave him the map.
He swore hed bring it back.
Theyre waiting still.

XI. Perseus Approaches

With the pouch, magic sword, and map,
Perseus flew to Medusa.
Watch him circling around me.
Welcome, hero, have a seat.
Bite to eat?
My crustaceans cant be beat.
Have a drink.
Snap a sea-weed bubble.
Close your eyes,
Dont take the trouble to think.
FEEL!
My body still is finger lickin fine.
Its yours
Everything is yours, yours.
All the colors of the rainbow, yours
My thighs across the horizon, yours
My scaly gown of skin is yours.
The human heart that beats within is yours.
Breathe deep.
Dive in.
Love somehow lives in me.
Love I never knew could be
Till you flew by.
Take the knee-guards from your knees!
Take the breast-plate from your breast!
Let me breathe into your ear
Inspiration youre the first to hear.
Many have sailed,

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Tried me and failed,
Evry century or so,
Only to sink below.
But you, my wandring sea hawk,
Youll go home safe.
Ah! How gracefully
He circles to me!
Now, flying straight at me.
But with his back to me!
Looking in the mirror of his shield,
With his back to me!
Back-ward, back-ward,
Back-ward, with his sword
Beheading me!
Slicing through my neck,
Pouring my blood on the ground!
Pouring ly head into a swarming pouch,
Holding it high!

XII. Finale: Pegasus

Flying toward royalty,
The assassin disappeared with the swarming pouch held high
As it whispered:
WHAT A SHAME,
WHAT A SIN.
YOU AND ME,
WE COULD HAVE BEEN
HERO AND HAG,
TOP OF THE CRAG
WHAT A DRAG.
Then the dying Medusa
Heard the sound of the birth of Pegasus
Through her blood, out of the earth
Toward the sky.
From his hooves in the puffy clouds
And the snakes hissing in her hair.
From these, Athena invented the art of music.

Medusa by William Bolcom and Arnold Weinstein is 2002 by Edward B. Marks Music
Company and Bolcom Music. Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved. (Bolcom)

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 Figure 23: Thomas Pasatieri (1945 - ) (Koymasky)

(Speaking about his first opera, The Women)

The story came to me in a dream, full-fledged, everything. When I woke up from this
dream, I began to write the libretto. I worked twenty-four hours a day writing the libretto
and the music and then orchestrating it. I will never forget that, it was like a bolt of
lightning in my life. It was of a whole cloth, the way that it came to me, and I was
absolutely possessed. I had to write it. My belief is that it was sent to me because it was
meant to be the direction of my life. And I would have to say it was the turning point of
my life. (Blue)

Letter to Warsaw (2003)

Composer:

Thomas Pasatieri

Type:

Song Cycle for Soprano and Orchestra

Six texts and six orchestral interludes

Commissioned by Music of Remembrance

Originally composed for Jane Eaglen

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Duration:

70 minutes

Libretto:

Six texts by the Polish cabaret artist Pola Braun, composed while incarcerated in

the Warsaw ghetto and in the concentration camp Majdanek

Publishers:

As yet unpublished, but can be found at Theodore Presser Company,

Pennsylvania

Musical Time Period:

21th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

Benaroya Hall

Holocaust Remembrance Concert

May 10, 2004

Music of Remembrance Chamber Orchestra

Conductor: Gerard Schwarz

Artist: Jane Eaglen

Scoring:

flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, trumpet, piano, harp, violin, viola, 2 celli, double bass

Vocal Range:

C3 Bb4

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Tessitura:

D3 E4

Role:

Pola Braun

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Time:

During the Holocaust

Place:

Warsaw ghetto and Majdanek concentration camp

Synopsis:

Six powerful texts of one woman that opens a window to the emotional life of all

women trapped in the the Holocaust tragedy

Justification:

Originally composed for and performed by Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Thomas Pasatieri was born on October 20, 1945 in New York City. By the age of

10, he was an accomplished pianist and performer and was composing when he was 15.

At 16, he entered the Julliard School of Music with a scholarship for composing and was

that schools first recipient of a doctoral degree. He has created 17 operas, hundreds of

songs, many choral works, concerti and sonatas. Pasatieri has taught composition at

Julliard, The Manhattan School of Music, and Cincinnati College and Conservatory of

158
Music and was the Artistic Director at Atlanta Opera. In 1984 he moved to Los Angeles

to create his own film music production company entitled Topaz Productions, where

Pasatieri scored the music for Fried Green Tomatoes, Scent of a Woman, The Shawshank

Redemption, American Beauty, Erin Brockovich, Finding Nemo, and Angels in America.

(Koymasky)

Letter to Warsaw is a powerful score that echoes Pola Brauns poignantly written

account of her ordeal during the Holocaust. Commissioned by Music of Remembrance in

Seattle, Washington, this haunting 70 minute song cycle was written for Jane Eaglen to

premiere and the music is unsurpassed in its portrayal of grief, passion, and sorrow. Two

of the six poems in this song cycle, Jew and Tsurik, were written during Brauns period in

the Warsaw ghetto. The remaining four Mother, Letter to Warsaw, Ordinary Day and

Moving Day date from her incarceration in Majdanek concentration camp, where she

subsequently perished. Braun was a cabaret artist and sang her own songs, accompanying

herself on the piano, but the music was lost. Braun has found a soul-mate in Pasatieri; his

neo-romantic style of writing only enhances such a riveting text. In his words:

I was inspired by these poems, and their descriptions of a womans loss of

freedom and her home. Thats how it all began. I am so fortunate to have had such
incredible texts to set. (Friedman, Music of Remembrance)

Jane Eaglen, the dramatic soprano for whom this work was composed is quoted

by Melinda Bargreen from the Seattle Times as saying:

Its so beautifully written for the voiceHe really knows how to set words. And
what words! Lines like : Where will you lead us: to freedom, or to the gas? are so
simply set, so they have a tremendous amout of power. Nothing is exaggerated or over-
emphasized. The music allows the words to speak for themselves.

(Bargreen)

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Lyrics:

Letter to Warsaw

Jew
Tell me, dear mama, what does the word Jew mean?
Is it something shameful, some sort of disgrace?
Tell me, do Jews really wear long beards,
Tell me, do they sway when they pray?
Tell me, dear mama, is it a disgrace,
That I am such a little Jew?

A Jew, dear child, is suffering,

A Jew, dear child, is a bad fate,
A Jew, dear child, is worry,
A Jew must hold back every blow.
A Jew, dear child, is a hopeful heart,
A Jew is belief in the future, in better days to come,
A Jew never loses his courage,
He laughs, though his heart sometimes trembles.

Tell me, dear mama, why everyone sneers at him,

Why everyone laughs and sneers?
Tell me, are Jews good for nothing?
Tell me, have they never produced anything?
Tell me, dear mama, is it a disgrace,
That I am such a little Jew?

A Jew iswait, I know what to tell you,

Jew is a mighty word, believe me,
A Jew is very likely the only person,
Who knows truly bitter tears.

Tsurik a heym
You do not know Yiddish, Madam,
You dont know what it means, Madam,
When someone laments in this language.
You keep on asking Why? Madam
How can I explain this to you?
Either you understand or you dont.
Can I lend you my heart, Madam?
A person feels such things, after all.
When nostalgia takes hold of you,
Youll easily understand these words.

160
A heymmeans home.
Tsurikmeans back.
And someones secretly crying,
And a heart is fiercely pounding.
A heymis nostalgia,
Its a locomotives whistle,
Its a sign youre gladly returning,
That youre already returning home.

You dont know what it means, Madam,

To be an exile in a strange town,
How nice it is to be from Warsaw.
How can I explain this to you?
That someone from Lodz, Wohmja, Bejeshch,
Cannot get along here in Warsaw.

You came here from Zurawia,

But thats just a few streets away.
Those others roam here as if in a mad dream
Counting the days by the miles of tears.

A heymmeans home.
Tsurikmeans back.
And you want to share your sorrows,
Cry out your longing to someone.
Tsurik means to return.
A heymto your home
Where you no longer need to be sad,
Because youll begin to live anew.

Mother
Mre, Mother, Mutter in Polish means Mama.
In every language round the world the letter M is the same.
And everywhere around the world a mothers heart is the same
She always appears, comes running, when she hears a child cry, Mama.

Madame Janette tosses and turns in bed for the fifth year in a row,
Suffers from nervous shock before she drifts off, because her son fell in battle
Mistress Cripps strolls Hyde Park slowly and in dignified fashion,
Prayers flow from her colourless lips, because her son fell in battle.

Frau Schmidt generouosly showers strangers with financial gifts,

Shed like to help the children of others, because her son fell in battle.
And Mrs. no! I wont say who, sews and unsews fasteners,
Her scissors cut ever quicker as her thoughts wander back in time.

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To that day, when horrid fate insidiously and deceptively
Struck a cruel and staggering blow, because it took a child from its mother.
Whoever survived that terrible day, when the children were taken away,
Will for ever hear, sounding in her ears, that last frightful cry: Mama.

He who was not a witness to those horrid days, though greatly moved he might be,
Will think, What a terrible nightmare! walk away, and forget.
But Janette, Mistress Cripps, and Frau Schmidt will not forget their children,
A painful, bloody scar will remain for ever on their hearts.

And one certain lady faced a calamity greater than Janettes, Cripps or Schmidts,
Her son was taken by fate for one wordJewwritten on his birth certificate.
Every one of these four women experienced a great tragedy,
A Jewish woman, you see, suffers just like a German, French or English woman.

If suddenly these four ladies were to find themselves together,

Perhaps the nations of the world would no longer kill each other.
And if the mothers would take their place among the League of Nations,
Perhaps the cruel slaughter taking place in this world would finally see an end.

Because Mre, Mother, Mutter in Polish means Mama.

In every language round the world the letter M is the same.

Letter to Warsaw
I barely get lost in thought in the barrack,
Gazing out of the window through the mist of stubborn tears,
Before Im dreaming about Warsaw and the Vistula
And Im so sadI dont know whats wrong with me.

Just yesterday while drinking black coffee,

Black as my unbearable thoughts,
Someone came up to me: Give me your letter to Warsaw,
But hurry, Im leaving today.

Warsaw, what shall I write you?

Warsaw in ruins, Warsaw covered in blood,
Will I ever again hear the rhythm of your streets?
My native town, how sad I feel.

Warsaw, my dearest,
Is your song now a bullets whistle?
Proud city, endure your chains,
Place my letter next to your heart!

I yearn to fall upon the ruins of your streets,

Kiss your walls and embrace them warmly,

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My loving home-town,
City of my youth and first tremblings.
Oh, to return someday to Theatre Square
On the first sunny day of freedom!

Imaginejust several days later,

A letter from Warsaw was delivered to me,
A letter without address or addressee.
Written with tears under threat of enemy guns
Amid blazing fuses, grenades and bombs.
And in the letter were just a few words.

Faithful Warsaw awaits your return,

Stubborn and strong as its own cobblestones.
Though the misery of battle is immense,
Though the march of strangers shoes torments,
Neither fire nor the enemys labours,
Will destroy Warsaw obscured by tears,
Nor will a foreign placard stain these walls,
For beneath any placard are the same old stones.

You will mould bricks from the sweat of your own labour,
From these bricks the city will rise and take flight.
So dont give in to nostalgia
Drive sadness and angers shadow from your brow!
You will again return to Theatre Square
On the first sunny day of freedom.

I. An Ordinary Day
This is how my day began:
A headache in the morning,
Then those sundry rumours
And an ever-changing mood.
The strange apprehension
Mixed with serious panic,
Then dull resignation:
Why even bother? Whos it for?
Better, more talented souls have died,
And the world likewise didnt care.
Its really not a big deal,
If one more person isnt spared.
Even so, I dont want to die,
In fact, I really want to live.
Its just so dreadful knowing,
That there is no place to hide.
That youll neatly stand in rows of five

163
During the roll-call every day,
And youll simply go this way
To a known and certain end.
Yet something taps at the bottom of your heart,
Something still makes it stir,
Does not want to let you consider
Thoughts of a sudden death.
Something inside still gives you hope,
And your thoughts wander in circles:
Perhaps not all is lost?
Perhaps, after all, they wont have time?

II. Moving Day

We moved
Without furniture, packages, knick-knacks.
No one brought us bread and salt,
No one brought us flowers.
But who really cares about any of this?
Weve moved during this war
From Bielsko to Lwow, then Lodz;.
Were used to it by now
Ever since the war broke out
Used to this endless migration,
The constant variation.
Even so, though it might be senseless, may even be childish,
The mind does not want to adapt
To things new, strange and cold.
Small wonder, then, that a person
Walks around gloomy and cross,
All the more so since shes ill at ease,
And theres a drizzling rain outside.
And all the more so now
That we live so close to the highway
To which our fate
Has been inseparably joined.
And blind fate holds us tightly
As if in a spiders web
And one would only like to ask:
When must we move again?
Answer us fate,
And this time be true,
Where will you lead us:
To freedom, or to the gas?

III. Mourners Kaddish

Yis-gadal vyis-kaddash shmey raba, balma di vra kir-usei,

164
Vyam-likh malkhusei bhayeikhon u-v yomeikhon
u-vhayei dkhol beys Yisra-el,
baagala u-vi-zman kariv, vimru amen.

Yhei shmei raba mvarakh lalam u-lalmei almaya.

Yis-barakh vyishtabah vyispa-ar vyisromam vyisnasei

Vyis-hadar vyis aleh vyis-halal shmei dkudsha, brikh hu
Lela min kol birkhasa vshirasa, tushbhasa vnehemasa
Da amiran balma, vimru amen.

Yhei shlama raba min sh maya

Vhayim aleinu val kol Yisrael, vimru amen.

Oseh shalom bi-mromav, hu ya aseh shalom

Aleinu val kol Yisra-el, vimru amen.

May Gods name be exalted and hallowed throughout the world that He created, as is
Gods wish. May Gods sovereignty soon be accepted, during our life and the life of all
Israel. And let us say: Amen.

May Gods great name be praised throughout all time.

Glorified and celebrated, lauded and worshiped, exalted and honoured, extolled and
acclaimed may the Holy One be, praised beyond all song and psalm, beyond all tributes
that mortals can utter. And let us say: Amen.

Let there be abundant peace from heaven, with lifes goodness for us and for all Israel.
And let us say: Amen.

May the One who brings peace to His universe bring peace to us and to all Israel. And let
us say: Amen.

Texts by Pola Braun (c. 1910-1943) (Presser)

Warsaw ghetto, Majdanek concentration camp
English translation: Barbara Milewski

165
 Photo by Alex Cao

Figure 24: Bright Sheng (1955 - ) (Schirmer)

"I as an audience member want to be touched, moved or shocked. I want something to

happen to me. Coming out indifferent is tragic. (Spaner)

The Phoenix (2004)

Composer:

Bright Sheng

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra

Co-commissioned by The Seattle Symphony and The Danish National Symphony

Orchestra

Originally composed for Jane Eaglen

Duration:

23 minutes

Libretto:

Bright Sheng

Adapted from tale from Hans Christian Anderson

166
Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

21th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

Benaroya Hall

February 5, 2004

The Seattle Symphony

Conductor: Gerard Schwarz

Artist: Jane Eaglen

Scoring:

3 flutes (2nd doubling alto flute and piccolo 2, 3rd doubling piccolo 1), 2 oboes,

English horn, 3 clarinets in Bb (2nd doubling Eb clarinet, 3rd doubling bass

clarinet) 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in C, 2 trombones,

bass trombone, tuba, timpani, 4 percussion, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 B4

Tessitura:

G3 G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

167
Synopsis:

Narration about the mystical bird Phoenix, who dwells in Arabia, but flies around

the world giving the gift of music

Justification:

Originally composed for and performed by Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Proclaimed as a fresh voice in cross-cultural music, Bright Sheng has combined

the traditional elements of Western music with the flavor and beauty of Chinese folk

melodies. Born in 1955 in Shanghai, China, Sheng was studying piano with his mother

by the time he was four. Moving to New York in 1982, he pursued his education in

composition at Queens College and Columbia University, graduating with a Masters and

Doctorate, under the tutelage of Leonard Bernstein, among others. Receiving many

commissions for his compositions, he writes symphonic works, concerti, and chamber

works. In 2003, Santa Fe Opera presented the world premiere of Madame Mao, a two

act psychological portrait of Jiang Qing, Chairman Maos wife. Sheng has been a

member of the composition faculty at the University of Michigan since 1995 and now

serves there as Leonard Bernstein Distinguished University Professor of Music. In

addition to composing, Sheng enjoys an active career as a conductor, concert pianist, and

artistic director to orchestras and festivals. (Schirmer)

The Phoenix premiered in Seattle on February 5, 2004. The work is stunning; an

evocative instrument of shimmering beauty. The concept for the composition came from

two separate commissions, as described by the composer:

In the spring of 2003, I was approached by both the Seattle Symphony and
the Danish National Symphony Orchestra to write a new work for each orchestra.

168
The Seattle Symphony requested a work for voice and orchestra for the superb
soprano Jane Eaglen for the Symphony's centennial celebration; and the commission
from the Danish National Symphony Orchestra would be for the bicentennial birth
anniversary of Hans Christian Andersen. While perusing through Andersen's works,
I came upon a prose text called The Bird Phoenix. I was immediately drawn to the
thought of combining these two projects together. I was attracted not only to the
beautiful and beguiling narrative, but also moved by the profundity and the
grandiose portrayal of the mystical bird phoenix the bird of Arabia. I found
Andersen's interpretation of the bird to be illuminating in that it went far beyond the
traditional understanding of the legend. He had transformed the celebrated bird into
the muse of all artistic creation a bird of epic proportion and majestic inspiration,
and the muse of all peoples.
Bright Sheng

Sheng has captured the essence of the mystical bird in this composition. He does

not employ conventional harmony; dissonance and consonance live together in a

technique that has voice and instrument combine to become pure musical expression.

(Bargreen) In a critical review by Diane Wright of the Seattle Times at the premiere of

The Phoenix, she states,

It was an evening rich with musical imageryBright Shengs ode to musics

immortality. The Phoenix, set to a libretto inspired by Hans Christian Andersens
taleShengs music, a dialog of Eastern and Western sensibilities, is at times as highly
colored as Stravinsky, other times subtle and sinuous, with suggestions of birdlike sounds
from a large wind combination, expecially piccolo and oboe, and suspenseful vibrato and
pizzicato from the strings. And this work, which begins in the Garden in Eden, had both
those elements, rising and subsiding like flood tides. The audience was on its feet after
this modern masterpiece premiered and its sure to be part of Seattle Symphonys
repertoire for decades to come.

(Wright)

This work is stirring; its sounds ethereal and other-worldly. The long flowing

lines of the soprano voice soar above the lush instrumentation of the orchestration and

this work, as its own entity, is a symbol of the beauty found in music.

169
Lyrics:

The Phoenix

In the Garden of Eden, under the tree of knowledge, bloomed a rosebush. Here in
the first blossom, a bird was born her flight was as swift as the flashing of light,
and her plumage was as ravishing as her enchanting songs.

Yet when Eve plucked the apple from the tree, and she and Adam were expelled
from Paradise by the angel's flaming sword, a spark fell into the bird's nest, setting it
ablaze. The bird perished in the flames, but from one red hot egg deep inside the
nest, there fluttered aloft a new bird the one and only Phoenix! The legend tells us
that she dwells in Arabia and every hundred years she sets afire her own nest and
dies. But each time from the glittering egg, arises a new Phoenix, dashing into the
world.

She hovers around us, swift as light, sweet in song and resplendent in color. When
a mother sits by her baby's cradle, the bird rests on the pillow and her bright wings
form a glory around the baby's head. She flies through the houses of the poor and
brings rays of sunshine, leaving behind the perfume of violets. The Phoenix is not
only seen in Arabia. No, she soars through the glimmer of the northern lights across
the icy plains of Lapland. She dances among the yellow flowers in the short summers
of Greenland. And in the shape of a moth, she flies over the hymns of the miners
beneath the copper mountains of Fahlun and coal mines of England. On a leaf of a
lotus, she floats down the sacred waters of the Ganges and brightens the eyes of the
Hindu Girl.

The bird Phoenix! Do you not know her? The bird of Paradise, the holy swan of
songs! On the Thespian cart, she flapped her filthy black wings, disguised as a
chattering raven. Her red swan beak glided across the Icelandic harp. And she flew
through the halls of songtest in Wartburg. She sang the Marseillaise and you kissed
the beautiful feather as it fell from her wing.

She came in the splendor of Paradise. The Phoenix, the holy swan of songs, reborn
each century, created in flames to perish in flames! Your golden rimmed portrait
hangs in the palaces of kings, but you yourself, lost and lonely, wing around only
in the legend: the Phoenix of Arabia.

In the Garden of Eden, under the tree of knowledge, you were born. When the first
rose blossomed, God kissed you and called you your rightful name music.

Adaptation by Bright Sheng (Sheng)

170
 Figure 25: Stephen Paulus (1949 - ) (Blue)

"As a composer you have long stretches when you are writing and thinking and
cogitating and ruminating and finally it all comes together. Then you have a burst of a
few days to a few weeks, depending of whether it's a chamber work or an opera, when
there's this intense public activity. You go to rehearsals, interact with performers, talk to
the conductor, meet patrons and board members and you're expected to be able to speak
about your work. Then all of a sudden, you crawl back in your hole or wherever and go
back to writing music again." (Blue)

Erotic Spirits (2004)

Composer:

Stephen Paulus

Type:

Song Cycle for Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the Augusta Symphony Orchestra

Originally composed for Deborah Voigt

Duration:

25 minutes

Libretto:

Ancient texts of love taken from:

171
 1) Eros Sappho

2) Together we Celebrate Love - The Song of Songs

3) How Sweet Asklepiados

4) Loves Delicacy Sappho

5) Doing a Filthy Pleasure Is, and Short Petronius Arbiter

6) Alone, Lonely Tzu Yeh

7) Fireflies Isumi Shikibu

8) Late Evening Otomo No Yakamochi

Publishers:

As yet unpublished; contact composer

Musical Time Period:

21 Century

World Premiere:

Augusta, Georgia

September 11, 2004

First Baptist Church of Augusta

Augusta Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Donald Portnoy

Artist: Deborah Voigt

Scoring:

2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns in F, 2 trumpets in

C, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, 2 percussion, harp, strings

172
Vocal Range:

D3 C5

Tessitura:

G3 G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Synopsis:

8 different ancient love poems

Justification:

Originally composed for Deborah Voigt

Historical Significance:

Stephen Paulus has composed over 200 works for orchestra, chorus, chamber

ensemble, solo voice, keyboard and opera. Born in Summit, New Jersey, Paulus began

studying piano with his parents when he was 10, and at 13 he began composing. He

receives commissions from all over the world from organizations, symphony orchestras,

soloists. His choral works have been performed and recorded by some of the most

recognizable and distinguished groups in the United States, with his music being

represented on over 50 recordings. This composer is credited with nine operas to his

name to date, including The Postman Always Rings Twice which was the first American

production to be presented at the Edinburgh Festival. Commissions and performances

have come from such companies as Opera Theatre of St. Louis, Washington Opera,

Boston Lyric Opera, Florida Grand Opera, Berkshire Opera Company, Minnesota Opera,

173
and Fort Worth Opera. Paulus has been guest conductor at Aspen, Santa Fe,

Tanglewood, Aldeburgh and Edinburgh Festivals.

Paulus music has been described by critics as rugged, angular, lyrical, lean,

rhythmically aggressive, original often gorgeous, moving, and uniquely American. (Blue,

Arsis Audio) Pierre Ruhe of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution called the premeire

performance of Erotic Spirits with Deborah Voigt in Augusta, Georgia, as exhultant,

tranquil and pastoral.

Erotic Spirits was composed for Deborah Voigt, one of the foremost reigning

dramatic sopranos of our time. This piece was commissioned by the Augusta Symphony

Orchestra and debuted in Augusta on September 11, 2004, and then making its New York

debut May 3, 2006 with Deborah Voigt and ACO. This moving work is a set for eight

ancient poems addressing contrasting sentiments pertaining to different aspects of love

and longing. (Paulus)

Lyrics:

I. Eros
Eros seizes and shakes my very soul
Like the wind on the mountain
Shaking ancient oaks.

Sappho (6th Century B.C.E.)

II. Together We Celebrate Love

Give me all the kisses of your mouth.
Your love is better than wine.

Your body oils are fragrant,

your name pours from my tongue.
That is why I adore you.

Call me and I will follow,

and enter the chambers of a king.

174
Together we celebrate love,
a love more fragrant than wine.
Oh, how I adore you!

The Song of Songs (ca. 3rd Century B.C.E.)

III. How Sweet

Think how unspeakable sweet
the taste of snow at midsummer,

how sweet a kind spring breeze

after the gales of winter.

But as we all discover,

nothing's quite as sweet
as one large cloak
wrapped around two lovers.

Asklepiados (ca. 320 B.C.E.)

IV. Love's Delicacy

I love
Love's Delicacy.
Love offers me
This brilliant sun,
who greets me in my dreams
the virtue
of its beauty

Sappho (6th Century B.C.E.)

V. Doing a Filthy Pleasure Is, and Short

Doing a filthy pleasure is, and short;
And done, we straight repent us of the
sport:
Let us not rush blindly on unto it;
Like lustful beasts, that only know to do it;
For lust will languish, and that heat decay.
But thus, thus, keeping endless holiday,
Let us together closely lie and kiss,
There is no labour, nor no shame in this;
This hath pleased, doth please, and long

175
will please; never
Can this decay, but is beginning ever.

Petronius Arbiter (d. 66.C.E.)

Translation Ben Johnson

VI. Alone, Lonely

Bright moonlight shines through the trees.
In a rich brocade, the flowers bloom.

How can I not think of you-

alone, lonely, working at my loom.

Tzu Yeh (4th Century)

VII. Fireflies
When I think of you,
fireflies in the marsh rise
like the soul's jewels,
lost to eternal longing,
abandoning my body

Izumi Shikibu (970-1030)

VII. Late Evening

Late Evening finally comes:
I unlatch the door
and quietly await
the one

Otomo No Yakamochi (718-785) (Paulus)

176
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Arnold Schoenberg, Erwartung, Op.17. Retrieved on 6/23/2006 on the World Wide

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Bargreen, Melinda. Powerful score echoes Polish poets hopes and fears. The Seattle
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