NOTES
Roger Quilter (1877 – 1953)
Music, when soft voices die, Op. 25 No. 5
TEXT
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Text by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Roger Cuthbert Quilter was a British composer, best known for his art songs. Art songs are usually sung by one voice with piano accompaniment. They are often based on independent poems or texts. This particular art song is no different. Music, when soft voices die is a poem written by the English Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (17921822) in 1821. This poem was published after his wife, novelist Mary Shelley (1797-1851), discovered it after his death. Which seems very fitting as the poem suggests that love can survive any separation through the memory of the poem's speaker. Shelley was a favorite poet of Quilter, he greatly enjoyed Shelley’s wayward imagery. He set the poem in 1926 as part of six songs constituting the Op. 25 set.
Frederick Delius (1862 – 1934)
Twilight Fancies
TEXT
Prinsessen sad højt i sit Jomfrubur, Smågutten gik nede og blæste på Lur. ‘Hvi blæser du altid, ti stille, du Små,
det hæfter min Tanke, som vide vil gå, nu når Sol går ned, nu når Sol går ned.’
Prinsessen sad højt i sit Jomfrubur, Smågutten lod være at blæse på Lur. ‘Hvi tier du stille, blæs mere, du Små, det løfter min Tanke, som vide vil gå, nu når Sol går ned, nu når Sol går ned.’
Prinsessen sad højt i sit Jomfrubur, Smågutten tog atter og blæste på Lur. Da græd hun i Aftnen og sukkede ud: ‘O sig mig, hvad er det mig fejler, min Gud!’ Nu gik Solen ned, nu gik Solen ned.
Text by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
The princess looked down from her tower. Below her a young boy blew on his horn. ‘Oh, why all this playing? Be quiet, young boy. Don’t trouble my thoughts – they want to soar
As the sun goes down.’
The princess looked down from her tower. Below her the young boy stopped playing his horn. ‘Why are you so silent? Play on, young boy. Give wings to my thoughts – they want to soar
As the sun goes down.’
The princess looked down from her tower. Below her the boy began to play again. She wept in the twilight and sighed bitterly: ‘Tell me, O God, what I’m longing for?’ And the sun went down.
Translation by William Jewson
Frederick (or Fritz Theodor Albert) Delius was an English composer of German descent. He was one of the most distinctive figures in the revival of English Music at the end of the 19th century. Delius had a lifelong fascination with Norway, its people, the scenery and the literature. He even spent the summer of 1887 exploring its countryside. That year, he met the composer, Edvard Grieg (18421907). This long-standing friendship resulted in over half of Delius’s works to have a Scandinavian flavour. In 1871, Grieg set the text Prinsessen sad højt i sit Jomfrubur (‘The princess looked down from her tower’) or Prinsessen (‘The Princess’) to music. This text was written by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832-1910), a Norwegian writer. Delius set the same text to music but translated to english under the title, Twilight Fancies. Which was published in 1892 as part of Seven Songs from the Norwegian
George Frederic Handel (1685 – 1759)
‘Piangerò la sorte mia’ from Giulio
Cesare in Egitto, HWV 17
TEXT
Piangerò la sorte mia sì crudele e tanto ria finché vita in petto avrò.
Ma poi morta d'ogn'intorno il tiranno e notte e giorno fatta spettro agiterò.
Text by Nicola Francesco Haym
TRANSLATION
I shall weep over my cruel fate so long as there remains life in my breast.
But once I have perished, I shall become a ghost and torment that tyrant from all directions, day and night.
Translation by Andrew Schneider
The opera Giulio Cesare in Egitto was composed in 1724, with music by George Frideric Handel and a libretto by Nicola Francesco Haym. Inspired by real events, the opera is set between 48–47 B.C.: Julius Caesar pursues his enemy, Pompey, into Egypt, only to find him dead at the hands of Ptolemy, brother of Cleopatra and her competitor for the throne. Caesar is enraged, having agreed to strike peace with Pompey, leading him to seek revenge against Ptolemy. As he does this, the astute Cleopatra seduces the ruler of Rome in an attempt to increase her power and aid in her fight for succession. ‘Piangerò la sorte mia’ is an aria from Act III in which Cleopatra believes herself to have lost both her powerful position and her lover, Caesar, due to her brother’s actions. Immense grief and heartache are evident in the mournful melody of this piece, with its demanding passages and wide vocal range making emotional expression all the more challenging.
Benjamin Britten (1913 – 1976)
Selection from On this island, Op. 11
1. LettheFlorid MusicPraise
3. Seascape
4. Nocturne
TEXT
1. LettheFlorid MusicPraise
Let the florid music praise, The flute and the trumpet, Beauty's conquest of your face: In that land of flesh and bone, Where from citadels on high Her imperial standards fly, Let the hot sun Shine on, shine on.
O but the unlov'd have had power, The weeping and striking, Always; time will bring their hour: Their secretive children walk Through your vigilance of breath To unpardonable death, And my vows break Before his look.
3. Seascape
Look, stranger, at this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea.
Here at the small field's ending pause Where the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck And knock of the tide, And the shingle scrambles after the sucking surf, and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side.
Far off like floating seeds the ships Diverge on urgent voluntary errands; And the full view
Indeed may enter And move in memory as now these clouds do, That pass the harbour mirror And all the summer through the water saunter.
4. Nocturne
Now through night's caressing grip Earth and all her ocans slip, Capes of China slide away From her fingers into day And th'Americas incline Coasts towards her shadow line
Now the ragged vagrants creep Into crooked holes to sleep: Just and unjust, worst and best, Change their places as they rest: Awkward lovers like in fields Where disdainful beauty yields:
While the splendid and the proud Naked stand before the crowd And the losing gambler gains And the beggar entertains: May sleep's healing power extend Through these hours to our friend. Unpursued by hostile force, Traction engine, bull or horse Or revolting succubus; Calmly till the morning break Let him lie, then gently wake.
Text by W H Auden
The English composer, conductor, and pianist, Benjamin Britten, was a central figure in 20thcentury British music. His journey of composing started when he was only a child, and he would go on to compose operas that were considered the most significant English operas since those of Henry Purcell. On This Island is a group of songs with piano composed in 1937, setting five poems from W. H. Auden’s collection Look, Stranger! In these songs, Britten has taken inspiration from both Baroque music and 1930s dance music.
Francis Poulenc (1899 – 1963)
Selection from Airs chantés, FP46
1. AirRomantique
2. AirChampetre
3. AirGrave
1. AirGrave
TEXT
J’allais dans la campagne avec le vent d’orage, Sous le pâle matin, sous les nuages bas, Un corbeau ténébreux escortait mon voyage Et dans les flaques d’eau retentissaient mes pas.
La foudre à l’horizon faisait courir sa flamme Et l’Aquilon doublait ses longs gémissements; Mais la tempête était trop faible pour mon âme, Qui couvrait le tonnerre avec ses battements.
De la dépouille d’or du frêne et de l’érable
L’Automne composait son éclatant butin, Et le corbeau toujours, d’un vol inexorable, M’accompagnait sans rien changer à mon destin.
TRANSLATION
I walked in the countryside with the stormy wind, Beneath the pale morning, beneath the low clouds, A sinister crow followed me on my way And my steps splashed though the water puddles.
The lightning on the horizon unleashed its flame And the North Wind intensified its wailing; But the storm was too weak for my soul Which drowned the thunder with its throbbing.
From the golden spoils of ash and maple Autumn amassed her brilliant plunder, And the crow still, with inexorable flight, Without changing anything, accompanied me to my fate.
2. AirChampetre
TEXT
Belle source, je veux me rappeler sans cesse, Qu’un jour guidé par l’amitié Ravi, j’ai contemplé ton visage, ô déesse, Perdu sous la mousse à moitié.
Que n’est-il demeuré, cet ami que je pleure, O nymphe, à ton culte attaché, Pour se mêler encore au souffle qui t’effleure Et répondre à ton flot caché.
TRANSLATION
Lovely spring, I shall never cease to remember That on a day, guided by entranced friendship, I gazed on your face, O goddess, Half hidden beneath the moss.
Had he but remained, this friend whom I mourn, O nymph, a devotee of your cult, To mingle once more with the breeze that caresses you, And to respond to your hidden waters!
3. AirGrave
TEXT
Ah! fuyez à présent, malheureuses pensées!
O! colère, ô remords! Souvenirs qui m’avez les deux tempes pressées, de l’étreinte des morts.
Sentiers de mousse pleins, vaporeuses fontaines, grottes profondes, voix des oiseaux et du vent lumières incertaines des sauvages sous-bois.
Insectes, animaux, Beauté future, Ne me repousse pas Ô divine nature, Je suis ton suppliant
Ah! fuyez à présent, colère, remords!
TRANSLATION
Ah! begone now, Unhappy thoughts! O anger! O remorse! Memories that oppressed My two temples With the embrace of the dead.
Paths full of moss, Vaporous fountains, Deep grottoes, voices Of birds and wind, Fitful lights Of the wild undergrowth.
Insects, animals, Beauty to come –Do not repulse me, O divine nature, I am your suppliant.
Ah! begone now, Anger, remorse!
Text by Jean Moréas Translations by Richard Stokes
Francis Poulenc was a French composer and pianist of the 20th-century. He was part of the group “Les Six” who reacted against the Romantic style of Richard Wagner, and the Impressionist styles of Debussy and Ravel. Airs chantés, composed between 1927-28, are four songs for voice and piano, set to poems by Jean Moréas. Poulenc admitted in an interview that he did not like this poet and his texts but decided to set music to four of his sonnets as “a game, to tease his publisher and friend Francois Hepp.”
Edvard Grieg (1843 – 1907)
‘Ein Traum’ from 6 songs, Op. 48 No. 6
TEXT
Mir träumte einst ein schöner Traum: Mich liebte eine blonde Maid; Es war am grünen Waldesraum, Es war zur warmen Frühlingszeit:
Die Knospe sprang, der Waldbach schwoll, Fern aus dem Dorfe scholl Geläut Wir waren ganzer Wonne voll, Versunken ganz in Seligkeit.
Und schöner noch als einst der Traum Begab es sich in Wirklichkeit Es war am grünen Waldesraum, Es war zur warmen Frühlingszeit:
Der Waldbach schwoll, die Knospe sprang,
Geläut erscholl vom Dorfe her Ich hielt dich fest, ich hielt dich lang Und lasse dich nun nimmermehr!
O frühlingsgrüner Waldesraum!
Du lebst in mir durch alle Zeit Dort ward die Wirklichkeit zum Traum, Dort ward der Traum zur Wirklichkeit!
Text by Friedrich Bodenstedt
TRANSLATION
I once dreamed a beautiful dream: A blonde maiden loved me, It was in the green woodland glade, It was in the warm springtime:
The buds bloomed, the forest stream swelled, From the distant village came the sound of bells We were so full of bliss, So lost in happiness.
And more beautiful yet than the dream, It happened in reality, It was in the green woodland glade, It was in the warm springtime:
The forest stream swelled, the buds bloomed, From the village came the sound of bells I held you fast, I held you long, And now shall never let you go!
O woodland glade so green with spring! You shall live in me for evermore There reality became a dream, There dream became reality!
Translation by Richard Stokes
Ein Traum (‘A Dream’) is the final song in Grieg’s 6 songs, set to a poem by Friedrich Bodenstedt. The song reflects themes of love and fate, and has a representational transition from the delicate, dream-like opening to the passionate climax, blurring the line between dream and reality. Grieg balances the flowing nature of the vocal line and the emotional depth of the piano to create a rich and captivating soundworld.
Charles Gounod (1818 – 1893)
‘Faites-lui Mes Aveux’ from Faust
TEXT
Faites-lui mes aveux, Portez mes vœux, Fleurs écloses près d'elle, Dites-lui qu'elle est belle, Que mon cœur nuit et jour Languit d'amour!
Révélez à son âme
Le secret de ma flamme!
Qu'il s'exhale avec vous
Parfums plus doux!
Il cueille une fleur.
Fanée!
Il jette la fleur avec dépit
Ce sorcier que Dieu condamne
M'a porté malheur!
Il cueille une autre fleur qui s'effeuille encore.
Je ne puis sans qu'elle se fane
Toucher une fleur!
Si je trempais mes doigts dans l'eau bénite!
C'est là que chaque soir vient prier Marguerite!
Il trempe ses doigts dans le bénitier accroché au mur.
Voyons maintenant! voyons vite!
Elles se fanent! Non! - Satan, je ris de toi!
C'est en vous que j'ai foi;
Parlez pour moi!
Qu'elle puisse connaître
L'émoi qu'elle a fait naître,
Et dont mon cœur troublé
N'a point parlé!
Si l'amour l'effarouche,
Que la fleur sur sa bouche
Sache au moins déposer
Un doux baiser!
Text by Jules Barbier and Michael Carré
TRANSLATION
Confess to her for me, Give her my wishes, Flowers who bloomed at her side, Tell her she is lovely
And that night and day my heart
Pines for love of her!
Reveal to her soul
The secret of my flame!
Let it breathe out with you
Sweetest fragrances
He picks a flower Withered!
Alas This God-forsaken wizard
Has cast a spell on me! I cannot touch a flower
But it withers!
What if I dipped my hand in holy water?
He dips his hand in a holy-water font hanging on the wall.
This is where Marguerite Comes to pray every evening!
Now, quickly, let's see!
He picks a few flowers Do they wither?
looking at his flowers
No! Satan, I laugh at you! It is you that I trust.
Speak for me!
May she be acquainted with The passion she has roused And of which my troubled heart
Has not breathed a word. If love alarms her, May the flower know
How to drop on her mouth
A gentle kiss
This aria from Act II of Gounod's Faust is sung by the lovestruck Siébel, who confesses his feelings for Marguerite. The title, meaning ‘Make my confession to her’ , reflects Siébel's tender vulnerability. The aria’s graceful melody and lyrical charm contrast with the opera’s darker themes, showcasing Gounod's gift for expressive, heartfelt writing. The gentle, flowing accompaniment mirrors Siébel’s sincerity, while subtle shifts in harmony capture his emotional uncertainty, making this a poignant and endearing moment in the opera.
