 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is one of the most recognized names in Classical music. He wrote masterpieces in almost every genre and style of his time. He wrote over 40 songs in German, but there are only two French songs to his credit. In 1777, the 21-‐year-‐old Mozart met the Wendling family in Mannheim, Austria. The Wendlings were all musicians, and the women were quite taken with all things related to French culture. Mozart warns his father in a letter that he should expect a lot of kissing from the women, but to make sure not to smudge their makeup. The daughter, Elisabeth, selected two French poems for Mozart to set to music, and they were given to her as a gift upon their completion. In another letter to his father, Mozart claims that he used the songs as an exercise in the French style. He was on his way to Paris, against his father’s will, in search of fame and fortune. He never made it to France, but he did leave two charming little pieces. Although relatively simple and short, these two pieces demonstrate the drama and illustration that Mozart is so famous for. You can hear the birds singing their frivolous songs in Ouseaux si tous les ans, and in, Dans un bois solitaire, he captures the drama of the Lover’s encounter with Cupid and their ensuing conversation. Oiseaux, si tous les ans Oiseaux, si tous les ans Vous changez de climats, Dès que le triste hiver Dépouille nos bocages; Ce n'est pas seulement Pour changer de feuillages, Ni pour éviter nos frimats; Mais votre destinée Ne vous permet d'aimer, Qu'à la saison des fleurs. Et quand elle est passée, Vous la cherchez ailleurs, Afin d'aimer toute l'année. Dans un bois solitaire Dans un bois solitaire et sombre Je me promenais l'autr' jour, Un enfant y dormait à l'ombre, C'était le redoutable Amour. J'approche, sa beauté me flatte, Mais je devais m'en défier; Il avait les traits d'une ingrate, Que j'avais juré d'oublier. Il avait la bouche vermeille, Le teint aussi frais que le sien, Un soupir m'échappe, il s'éveille; L'Amour se réveille de rien. Aussitôt déployant ses aîles et saisissant Son arc vengeur, L'une de ses flêches, cruelles en partant, Il me blesse au coeur. Va! va, dit-‐il, aux pieds de Sylvie, De nouveau languir et brûler! Tu l'aimeras toute la vie, Pour avoir osé m'éveiller. You Birds, so Every Year You birds, so every year you change your climates as soon as the sad winter strips our groves. It isn't solely for a change of foliage or to avoid our foggy winter weather. But your destiny simply doesn't allow you to enjoy love beyond the season of flowers. For when she is gone, you look for another place to make an end of love every year. In a Lonely Forest In a lonely and sombre forest I walked the other day; A child slept in the shade, It was a veritable Cupid. I approach; his beauty fascinates me. But I must be careful: He has the traits of the faithless maiden Whom I had sworn to forget. He had lips of ruby, His complexion was also fresh like hers. A sigh escapes me and he awakes; Cupid wakes at nothing. Immediately opening his wings and seizing His vengeful bow And one of his cruel arrows as he parts, He wounds me to the heart. "Go!" he says, "Go! At Sylvie's feet Will you languish anew! You shall love her all your life, For having dared awaken me."  While he was one of the most recognized French composers of his time, Saint-‐Saëns has since slipped into relative obscurity. His vocal output was comparable in number to his contemporaries, but not in quality and innovation. Still, he plays an important role in the development of the mélodie as the teacher of Faure, and through Faure, Ravel. Although he lived at a time of great compositional change and development, his works are more classical than romantic. The voice and piano parts are not as interdependent and interactive as with later French composers. The voice and piano tend to move along simultaneously without much mingling and blending. However, these three songs do show the virtuosic pianist at work in his composing. Guitares et Mandoline is a poem written by Saint-‐Saens himself, and one can clearly hear the plucking and strumming of the stringed instruments in the tricky piano part. In La feullie de peuplier, the piano illustrates the trembling leaf that is the subject of the poem. Tournoiement is one of his most celebrated vocal compositions. We may never know if the composer wrote this opium-‐ induced episode from personal experience, but we are left with a convincing interpretation. Guitares et mandolines Guitares et mandolines Ont des sons qui font aimer. Tout en croquant des pralines Pépa se laisse charmer Quand, jetant dièses, bécarres, Mandolines et guitares Vibrent pour la désarmer. Mandoline avec guitare Accompagnent de leur bruit Les amants suivant le phare De la beauté dans la nuit. Et Juana montre, féline, (Guitare avec mandoline) Sa bouche et son oeil qui luit. Guitars and Mandolins Guitars and mandolins Cause you to fall in love. While crunching pralines, Pepe lets herself be charmed When, sounding sharps and flats, Mandolin and guitar Resound to disarm her. Mandolin and guitar Accompany with their sound Lovers who follow the beacon Of beauty in the night; And feline Juana flashes (Guitar and mandolin) Her gleaming eyes and mouth. La feuille de peuplier Feuille mobile et tremblante, Sur ta tige vacillante N'es-‐tu jamais en repos? On dirait qu'un vent de bise T'agite, à la moindre brise Qui se glisse dans les rameaux. Comme à la harpe d'Eole, Chaque zéphir qui s'envole Te ravit de tristes bruits; Quand sommeille la nature J'entends en cor ton murmure Dans le silence des nuits. Quand donc ta branche flexible Te verra-‐t-‐elle paisible? Quand donc se taira ta voix? Quand de ma tige arrachée J'irai sur l'herbe séchée Rejoindre mes soeurs des bois! The Poplar Leaf Mobile, trembling leaf, quivering on your stem, are you never at rest? The slightest breeze in the branches makes it look like the north wind is shaking you. Like Aeolus' harp, each zephyr draws sad sounds from you. When nature sleeps, I still hear your murmur in the night silence. When will your flexible branch ever see you at peace? When will your voice be silent? When I'm snatched from my stem and have joined my forest sisters on the dry grass! Tournoiement Sans que nulle part je séjourne, Sur la pointe du gros orteil, Je tourne, je tourne, je tourne, A la feuille morte pareil. Comme à l'instant où l'on trépasse, La terre, l'océan, l'espace, Devant mes yeux troublés tout passe, Jetant une même lueur. Et ce mouvement circulaire, Toujours, toujours je l'accélère, Sans plaisir comme sans colère, Frissonnant malgré ma sueur. Dans les antres où l'eau s'enfourne, Sur les inaccessibles rocs, Je tourne, je tourne, je tourne, Sans le moindre souci des chocs. Dans les forêts, sur les rivages; A travers les bêtes sauvages Et leurs émules en ravages, Les soldats qui vont sabre au poing, Au milieu des marchés d'esclaves, Au bord des volcans pleins de laves, Chez les Mogols et chez les Slaves, De tourner je ne cesse point. Soumis aux lois que rien n'ajourne, Aux lois que suit l'astre en son vol, Je tourne, je tourne, je tourne, Mes pieds ne touchent plus le sol. Je monte au firmament nocturne, Devant la lune taciturne, Devant Jupiter et Saturne Je passe avec un sifflement, Et je franchis le Capricorne, Et je m'abîme au gouffre morne De la nuit complète et sans borne Où je tourne éternellement. Delirium Without so much as a pause, I pirouette on my toe, Spinning, spinning, spinning, Like a withered leaf. As at the moment of death, The earth, the ocean and space Pass before my clouded eyes, Radiating the same light. And as I rotate round and round, I accelerate, Devoid of pleasure as of anger, Shivering despite my sweat. In caves a flood with foaming waves, Standing on inaccessible rocks, Spinning, spinning, spinning, I've not the slightest fear of collision. In the forests and along the coasts, Surrounded by savage beasts And their havoc-‐wreaking rivals, Soldiers brandishing their swords, In the centre of slave-‐markets, On volcano slopes awash with lava, In the land of Slavs and Mongols, I spin and spin unflaggingly. Adhering to laws that none can defer, The laws that the sun obeys in its course, Spinning, spinning, spinning, My feet no longer touch the ground. I soar aloft to the starry sky, I flit right past the silent moon, Past Jupiter and Saturn, Whirring on my way. And I shoot past Capricorn, And plunge into the dismal abyss Of absolute and boundless night, Where I spin and spin eternally.  Paul Verlaine is considered the founder of the “symbolist” movement in French poetry. Symbolist poets sought to invoke feelings and ideas through images, repeated words and sounds, and the cadence and sonority of language. They avoided outright statements and rhetoric, and they moved away from traditional poetic forms and rhyming schemes. Verlaine’s impact on French poetry was profound, and his output matched that of all of his great predecessors. Born in Metz, France in 1844, his first published poems appeared in a collection of contemporary poets in 1864. His first full volume of poetry was published later in the same year, and was funded by his cousin who was also the object of his affection. She married another man and died in 1867, which prompted the poet’s collection titled Fêtes Galantes. In it, Verlaine refrains from overt personal sentiments and references characters and images of the past. He evokes the characters and stories of the comedia dell’arte and the pastoral images of 18th Century painters such as Watteau. In 1869 he fell in love the much younger Mathilde Maudè and married her the following year. He expressed hopes that she would help him find meaning and direction in his otherwise unsteady life. Two short years later he abandoned Mathilde and their young son for his new lover, Arthur Rimbaud. A few months later, Verlaine shot and wounded Rimbaud with a revolver during an emotional dispute. He was forced to serve a two-‐year prison sentence, during which time he converted to Catholicism. However, it was during this time that Verlaine’s fame started to grow. For several years hence, Verlaine showed a sincerity of faith in his attempts at reconciliation and simple living, but he was ultimately unsuccessful as a “good Catholic.” By 1886 he had relapsed into drinking and debauchery. Although famous and recognized, he lived a sickly and desperate life until his death in 1896. Throughout the history of song literature, multiple composers have often been drawn to set the same poem. Although there are several examples in French repertoire, Mandoline by Verlaine, stands out. The poem is found in Fêtes Galante and was probably inspired by an Antoine Watteau painting like the one below. In these four famous settings of this poem, we see each composer’s unique approach to capturing the essence of the poem. I think that the sound of the strumming mandolin is probably what drew each of these composers to this particular poem. Each of them depicts the strumming in the piano part -‐ though none of them in the same way. Beyond this, there is very little similarity between the four songs. All four of the composers chose different forms for their respective songs. In Debussy’s version, written first in 1890, the opening melody returns for the fourth stanza. Faure (1891) and Dupont (1901) both choose to repeat the first stanza and music at the end of the song, while Hahn’s version, from 1892, is through composed. Interestingly, Debussy is the only one who doesn’t set the enjambment between the final two stanzas. This is probably due to the fact that he is more concerned with creating the setting and feel of the poem, and not as detailed with each individual word. Also, Dupont and Hahn both seem to pick up on some of the irony in the poem such as Damis’ “tender verses” for “heartless women.” They each set the word “tender” with chromatic harmonies that sound out of place. It is hard to miss the similarities between Faure’s opening line and Hahn’s. Since Faure’s was published first, it is possible that Hahn was quoting him and then quickly moving on to his own interpretation, which he felt was truer to the intent of the poem. Hahn’s chromatic lines and octave skips seem to give his piece a more frivolous nature, while Faure’s is more playful. Les donneurs de sérénades Et les belles écouteuses Échangent des propos fades Sous les ramures chanteuses. C'est Tircis et c'est Aminte, Et c'est l'éternel Clitandre, Et c'est Damis qui pour mainte Cruelle fait maint vers tendre. Leurs courtes vestes de soie, Leurs longues robes à queues, Leur élégance, leur joie Et leurs molles ombres bleues, Tourbillonent dans l'extase D'une lune rose et grise, Et la mandoline jase Parmi les frissons de brise. The givers of serenades And the lovely women who listen Exchange insipid words Under the singing branches. There is Thyrsis and Amyntas And there's the eternal Clytander, And there's Damis who, for many a Heartless woman, wrote many a tender verse. Their short silk coats, Their long dresses with trains, Their elegance, their joy And their soft blue shadows, Whirl around in the ecstasy Of a pink and grey moon, And the mandolin prattles Among the shivers from the breeze.  It is impossible to speak of mélodie without speaking of Claude Debussy. Debussy lacked the musical and artistic heritage that so many other great composers had. Born into a middle class family, his only “lucky” association was also perhaps his most prodigious one. His earliest piano teacher was Madame Mauté, Paul Verlaine’s mother-‐in-‐law. Here, the young Debussy was exposed to Verlaine’s poetry and his scandal. For much of his life Debussy had affairs with various married women, and one such affair eventually cost him the respect and camaraderie of most of the musical elite in France. From the beginning of his output, Debussy showed a great affinity for the mélodie. His earliest songs were written for his lover who was a much older woman. They are all written in a relatively high tessitura, and demonstrate his early practice of writing for a particular voice. In his middle period of composition, Debussy lowers the tessitura and begins to set the words and atmosphere of the poetry without the restraints of a particular voice-‐type. It was also during this period that he established a different sound palate for each different poet. By his final era of composing, Debussy had a wife and child to whom he was faithful. His poetic choices from this time seem to suggest he has come full circle and recognizes the errant ways of his youth. Debussy wrote two, three-‐song sets entitled Fêtes Galante. Both come from Paul Verlaine’s collection Fêtes Galante, published in 1869 but neither of the sets contains the same poetry. The first set comes from his middle period, and the second one was written later in his life. These songs demonstrate his unmatched ability to create a musical landscape to match the poetry. In En Sourdine, listen for the nightingale’s song woven into the texture of the piano part. In Clair de Lune, the “sad and beautiful” moonlight is inferred through a constant syncopation. Finally, in Fantoche the mischievous goings on of the commedia del’arte characters are echoed in a busy piano, and the Spanish flavor of the vocal line points to the briefly mentioned nationality of the lover. Fêtes Galante I En sourdine Calmes dans le demi-‐jour Que les branches hautes font, Pénétrons bien notre amour De ce silence profond. Fondons nos âmes, nos coeurs Et nos sens extasiés, Parmi les vagues langueurs Des pins et des arbousiers. Ferme tes yeux à demi, Croise tes bras sur ton sein, Et de ton coeur endormi Chasse à jamais tout dessein. Laissons-‐nous persuader Au souffle berceur et doux Qui vient, à tes pieds, rider Les ondes des gazons roux. Et quand, solennel, le soir Des chênes noirs tombera Voix de notre désespoir, Le rossignol chantera. Muted Calm in the half-‐day That the high branches make, Let us soak well our love In this profound silence. Let us mingle our souls, our hearts And our ecstatic senses Among the vague langours Of the pines and the bushes. Close your eyes halfway, Cross your arms on your breast, And from your sleeping heart Chase away forever all plans. Let us abandon ourselves To the breeze, rocking and soft, Which comes to your feet to wrinkle The waves of auburn lawns. And when, solemnly, the evening From the black oaks falls, The voice of our despair, The nightingale, will sing. Fantoches Scaramouche et Pulcinella, Qu'un mauvais dessein rassembla, Gesticulent noirs sous la lune, Cependant l'excellent docteur Bolonais Cueille avec lenteur des simples Parmi l'herbe brune. Lors sa fille, piquant minois, Sous la charmille, en tapinois, Se glisse demi-‐nue, En quête de son beau pirate espagnol, Dont un amoureux rossignol Clame la détresse à tue-‐tête. Marionettes Scaramouche and Pulcinella, brought together by some evil scheme gesticulate, black beneath the moon. Meanwhile, the learned doctor from Bologna slowly gathers medicinal herbs in the brown grass. Then his sassy-‐faced daughter sneaks underneath the arbor half-‐naked, in quest Of her handsome Spanish pirate, whose distress an amorous nightingale deafeningly proclaims. Clair de lune Votre âme est un paysage choisi Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques, Jouant du luth et dansant, et quasi Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques! Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune. Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur, Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune, Au calme clair de lune triste et beau, Qui fait rêver, les oiseaux dans les arbres, Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau, Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres. Moonlight Your soul is a chosen landscape charmed by masquers and revellers playing the lute and dancing and almost sad beneath their fanciful disguises! Even while singing, in a minor key, of victorious love and fortunate living they do not seem to believe in their happiness, and their song mingles with the moonlight, the calm moonlight, sad and beautiful, which sets the birds in the trees dreaming, and makes the fountains sob with ecstasy, the tall slender fountains among the marble statues!  Erik Satie was and is still an enigma in French music. His strange personality, actions, and compositions tended to either endear him to others or completely repulse them. To understand his influence we have only to look at those who were drawn to his works. At the premier of his dramatic symphony, “Socrate,” James Joyce, Paul Valéry, Igor Stravinsky, and Pablo Picasso were all in attendance. Satie’s impact on modern French Mélodie is rivaled only by that of Frances Poulenc and Les Six, a collection of six French composers who strove to move away from Wagnerian and impressionistic influences. “Trois Mélodie, 1916,” were written after Satie returned to school at age 39 to study composition. Many feel that these pieces represent some of his most mature vocal writings, surpassed only by “Socrate.” Ironically, the texts deal with very childish topics. “La statue de bronze,” is told from the perspective of a bronze frog, into whose mouth, children try to toss coins. “Daphénéo” is a conversation between two children, and it is a clever play on the French word Noisettier, which means “hazelnut tree.” If the first letter is removed, the word oisettier means, “bird tree.” “Le chapelier” is a short excerpt from Alice in Wonderland. La statue de bronze La grenouille Du jeu de tonneau S'ennuie, le soir, sous la tonnelle... Elle en a assez! D'être la statue Qui va prononcer un grand mot: Le Mot! Elle aimerait mieux être avec les autres Qui font des bulles de musique Avec le savon de la lune Au bord du lavoir mordoré Qu'on voit, là-‐bas, luire entre les branches... On lui lance à coeur de journée Une pâture de pistoles Qui la traversent sans lui profiter Et s'en vont sonner Dans les cabinets De son piédestal numéroté! Et le soir, les insectes couchent Dans sa bouche... The Bronze Statue The frog Of the barrel game Grows weary at evening, beneath the arbor... She has had enough! Of being the statue Who is about to pronounce a great word: The Word! She would love to be with the others Who make music bubbles With the soap of the moon Beside the lustrous bronze tub That one sees there, shining between the branches... At midday one hurls at her A feast of discs That pass through without benefit to her And will resound In the chambers Of her numbered pedestal! And at night, the insects go to sleep In her mouth... Daphénéo Dis-‐moi, Daphénéo, quel est donc cet arbre Dont les fruits sont des oiseaux qui pleurent? Cet arbre, Chrysaline, est un oisetier. Ah! Je croyais que les noisetiers Donnaient des noisettes, Daphénéo. Oui, Chrysaline, les noisetiers donnent des noisettes, Mais les oisetiers donnent des oiseaux qui pleurent. Ah!... Dapheneo Tell me, Dapheneo, what is that tree The fruit of which is weeping birds? That tree, Chrysaline, is a bird-‐tree. Ah! I believe that trees Produce hazelnuts, Dapheneo. Yes, Chrysaline, trees give hazelnuts, But bird-‐trees give weeping birds. Ah!... Le chapelier Le chapelier s'étonne de constater Que sa montre retarde de trois jours, Bien qu'il ait eu soin de la graisser Toujours avec du beurre de première qualité. Mais il a laissé tomber des miettes De pain dans les rouages, Et il a beau plonger sa montre dans le thé, Ça ne le fera pas avancer davantage. The Hatmaker The hatmaker is surprised to note That his watch is three days slow, Though he has taken care to grease it, Always with first-‐quality butter. But he allowed crumbs of bread To fall into its gears, And though he plunged his watch in tea, This will not advance it any further.