Magdalena KoΩená
Wednesday 8 May 2013 7.30pm, Hall
Maurice Ravel Histoires naturelles
Maurice Ravel Deux mélodies hébraïques
Maurice Ravel Chansons madécasses
interval 20 minutes
Joseph Haydn Arianna a Naxos
Béla Bartók Village Scenes
Esther Haase/DG
Magdalena KoΩená mezzo-soprano
Malcolm Martineau piano
Kaspar Zehnder flute
Tomá≈ Jamník cello
Programme produced by Harriet Smith; printed by Vertec
Printing Services; advertising by Cabbell (tel. 020 8971 8450)
Confectionery and merchandise including organic ice cream,
quality chocolate, nuts and nibbles are available from the
sales points in our foyers.
Please turn off watch alarms, phones, pagers, etc. during the
performance. Taking photographs, capturing images or using
recording devices during a performance is strictly prohibited.
1
If anything limits your enjoyment please let us know during
your visit. Additional feedback can be given online, as well as
via feedback forms or the pods located around the foyers.
Cherchez la femme ...
Cherchez la femme would seem
a starting point for tonight’s
programme, though not quite in the
way that Alexandre Dumas père
intended his readers to understand
the phrase when he coined it in
the middle of the 19th century. If
there are men behaving badly
because of women, that is not this
evening’s story. No, it’s within the
repertoire that we should chercher
la femme, with songs commissioned
by women, written for women
and about women. And, of course
sung by a mezzo-soprano.
Magdalena Kožená has always
felt a particular affinity for
Maurice Ravel’s mélodies. ‘With
him every note is in place: none
of them is superfluous, none is
missing. It’s incredible. At the
same time, Ravel likes playing
with the notes, with each phrase,
with each musical brush stroke.’
And for this composer, Kožená
might have continued, words
matter as much as music.
Ravel chose the handful of texts
that he composed into songs
with scrupulous care. If he began
as a symboliste, deeply under
the influence – like many of
his generation – of Stéphane
Mallarmé, in Histoires naturelles
(1906) he was searching for
something altogether more
textually astringent. This he found
in Jules Renard’s prose poems,
Histoires naturelles. Published in
1895, Renard’s collection was
a tease about the great 18thcentury scholarly work of the same
name in a massive 44 volumes
by the Comte de Buffon. ‘Buffon
described animals in order to give
pleasure to men’, Renard declared.
‘As for me, I would wish to be
pleasing the animals themselves.’
These poems certainly pleased
Ravel who chose five of Renard’s
portraits – a flight of four birds and
a grasshopper – to set to music.
The composer knew exactly what
he was doing; he was setting out
to cause a scandal, and for an
apparently temperate man he was
very good at causing scandals.
Indeed, the previous year his failure
to win the celebrated Prix de Rome
for the fifth time (for breaking the
compositional rules) had led to
public vilification of the jury, and
of Charles Lenepveu in particular
– a professor of composition at
Barbican Classical Music Podcast
Stream or download our Barbican
Classical Music Podcasts for
exclusive interviews with the world’s
greatest classical stars. Recent artists
include John Adams, Christophe Rousset, David Daniels,
Maxim Vengerov, Joyce DiDonato, William Christie and
many more.
2
Available on iTunes, Soundcloud and the Barbican website
the Paris Conservatoire who had
hoped to become the director of
that august institution. In the event it
was Ravel’s mentor Fauré who got
the job and his pupil the acclaim.
Now Ravel was about to break
the rules again. He decided to set
the five Renard prose poems as
spoken rather than sung French.
So the final ‘e’ to a word would
be silent and the rhythms were
the rhythms of speech, not at all
the revered prosody of traditional
French mélodie. Predictably, at
the first performance of Histoires
naturelles in January 1907 there
was the instant booing and whistling
that is reserved for the debuts of
so many musical masterpieces,
with traditionalists declaring that
Ravel’s songs were no better than
the kind of popular music served
up in the city’s café-concerts.
In the hubbub, what many in
the audience failed to hear was
Ravel’s exquisitely tuned irony. So
the peacock struts its stuff like a
princeling to a mocking version of
the rhythms of a French Baroque
opera, the swan dazzled by its
gliding beauty almost comes to
grief in a teasing end to its song, the
Programme note
And the woman? At its first
performance, Histoires naturelles
was sung by the soprano Jane
Bathori, who appeared regularly
with Ravel. ‘Le martin-pêcheur’
(The kingfisher) is dedicated to
the tenor Émile Engel, who would
marry Bathori in1908. But it’s
‘Le paon’ (The peacock) that is
dedicated to the future Madame
Engel. There’s something for
a biographer to ponder.
Alvina Alvi, a soprano with the
St Petersburg Opera, is the woman
connected to Deux mélodies
hébraïques, and she and Ravel
gave the first performance of
these songs in the Salle Malakoff
in Paris on 3 June 1914. They
had begun with an earlier Jewish
melody that Ravel had transformed
into a song for a competition in
Moscow in 1910 organised by
the Maison de Lied, which had
been established to stimulate a
typically 19th-century interest in
folk song among both audiences
and composers. Ravel wrote four
chants populaires, all of which
won first prize in the competition,
and a single Chanson hébraïque.
Although it would appear to have
been the least successful of the
songs in terms of prizewinning, it
seems to have encouraged Alvi to
ask the composer to harmonise
a further two Jewish melodies to
add to her concert repertoire.
Kaddish is the liturgical chant
sung in celebration of the glory of
God within synagogue services.
But it is also an essential part of
Jewish mourning rituals, serving as
a reminder that however painful
a person’s loss, God is still to be
magnified. If Ravel’s rapturous
setting of Kaddish is a hymn of faith,
‘L’énigme éternelle’ is completely
agnostic, the repetitive piano part
and the singer’s ‘tra-la-las’ seeming
to suggest that looking for meaning
in life is a fairly pointless exercise.
It is indeed a riddle wrapped in a
mystery inside an eternal enigma.
The woman to whom we should
be grateful for Ravel’s Chansons
madécasses is that great heroine
of 20th-century music, Elizabeth
Sprague Coolidge. Bartók’s Fifth
String Quartet, Britten’s First
Quartet, Copland’s Appalachian
Spring, Poulenc’s Flute Sonata,
Stravinsky’s Apollon musagète
and Schoenberg’s Third and
Fourth String Quartets are among
the works commissioned by this
American Maecena(s), although it
has to be said that she declined to
support the most musically radical
of early 20th-century American
composers, Charles Ives.
In 1925 Sprague Coolidge
commissioned a set of songs from
Ravel, but there was a condition.
While the composer could choose
his own texts, they should be
accompanied if possible by flute,
cello and piano. How Ravel, a
master of orchestration who had
recently completed his orchestral
version of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at
an Exhibition, must have relished
the challenge of writing for
such an unlikely combination.
There was a challenge too in
the three poems Ravel chose
from Chansons madécasses,
traduites en françois, suivies de
poésies fugitives, a collection of
supposedly traditional poetry from
Madagascar published in 1787 by
Évariste de Parny while the French
writer was living in India. In fact,
like James Macpherson’s Ossian,
Parny’s Chansons madécasses
were in all likelihood no older than
their author, the product of a lively
imagination rather than the work
of a genuine cultural antiquarian.
What probably caught Ravel’s
eye was their heady blend of the
erotic and the political. ‘Sporting
with Amaryllis’ in the sultry tropical
shade in a paradise lost – indeed
stolen, when the white man seized
it for himself – Parny, influenced
by Rousseau rather than the idea
of revolution, acknowledged the
politics in the preface to his poems.
‘The Madagascan princes are in a
constant state of hostility with one
another. The whole purpose of their
wars is to create prisoners who
can then be sold to the Europeans.
Without us, then, they would be
a joyful, peaceable people.’
In 1925 France was fighting an
insurgency in Morocco and Ravel
3
guinea fowl is dissonantly hysterical,
while the grasshopper meticulously
checks his pocket watch, locks
his front door and descends into
a subterranean tomb. Only the
kingfisher is allowed to be beautiful
as man and nature meet when
the bird perches on a fisherman’s
rod. By the end of this Histoire,
voice and piano are as one.
must have known how provocative
‘Aoua!’, the second of his chosen
poems would be. Sure enough,
at the first performance, when
the singer declared ‘Trust not the
whites, you that dwell on the shore’
the composer Léon Moreau – a
passionate Nationalist – leapt to
his feet, shouting ‘Disgusting words
which drag European colonial
policy through the mire while our
French soldiers are fighting in
Morocco’. Another Ravel scandal.
4
‘Nahandove’, the first song, is
deeply erotic. Both poet and
composer roll the name Nahandove
around their creative mouths as the
poet waits for her in the moonlight.
When she appears they make love
and then she is gone, leaving the
poet as hungry for this woman as
he was while waiting for her. From
the outset it is clear that Ravel’s aim
is to treat the voice as the fourth
instrument in a quartet with the flute,
cello and piano; as he said:
‘I believe the Chansons madécasses
introduce a new element, dramatic
– indeed erotic – resulting from
the subject of Parny’s poems. The
songs form a sort of quartet in
which the voice plays the role of the
principal instrument. Simplicity is
all-important.’ So the words lead.
As the author of the poems which
Ravel would transmute into his early
vocal masterpiece Shéhérazade,
Tristan Klingsor had written: ‘for
Ravel, setting a poem meant
transforming it into expressive
recitative, to exalt the inflections of
speech to the state of song, to exalt
all the possibilities of the word, but
not to subjugate it. Ravel made
himself the servant of the poet.’
In ‘Aoua!’ the drums of war – a
fierce ostinato beaten out on
the piano – banish the yearning
sensuality of the first song. There
are military fanfares from the
flute too, after the Madagascans
have taken up arms and
driven out the white man.
Then in ‘Il est doux’, peace returns,
a deliciously erotic peace, with
the poet half asleep in the late
afternoon under a shady tree as
women, accompanied by flute
and cello, sing and dance about
him. And then comes a gloriously
abrupt final line. As Magdalena
Kožená says, ‘It is Ravel’s … sense
of humour, whereby a particular
mood is abruptly shattered. The
best example of this is [this] third
song, in which an emotionally
incomparably dense atmosphere
is built up. So that the listener feels
something like a hot shudder at
the end. It is at this very moment
that the mood suddenly shifts to
one that could hardly be more
prosaic: “Allez, et préparez le
repas” [Go and prepare the meal].’
Ariadne’s diet in Haydn’s cantata
Arianna a Naxos is tears and more
tears. This abandoned woman,
beloved of composers since the
time of Monteverdi and the birth
of opera, has been dumped on
the island of Naxos by Theseus,
the Athenian prince whom she
helped to slay the Minotaur.
When Haydn came to London for
the first time in 1791 he brought
the score of his cantata with him
and it was ‘Dear Arianna’, as
the composer was wont to say,
that helped ensure the success of
his British debut. It was the talk
of the town after its first London
performance, given on 18 February
by the celebrated castrato Gasparo
Pacchierotti with the composer
himself at the keyboard. ‘The
[audience] speak of it in rapturous
recollection,’ the Morning Chronicle
reviewer told its readers. ‘It abounds
with such a variety of dramatic
modulations and is so exquisitely
captivating in its larmoyant [tearful]
passages, that it touched and
dissolved the audience.’ And the
British connection with Arianna
a Naxos continued. For, when
Nelson and Lady Hamilton visited
the Esterházy family in Austria,
Emma was so taken with Arianna
that she begged Haydn for a copy
of the work so that she herself
might sing it. Suitably unbuttoned,
no doubt, as she impersonated
the distraught classical heroine, a
woman who possibly had a better
idea about fidelity than Dear Emma.
In Arianna a Naxos Haydn doubles
the standard recitative-and-aria
structure of the concert scena to
create a work that falls into four
sections. Throughout, the piano
plays a vital role in the drama,
Programme note
An opening prelude sets a sombre
mood; then comes Ariadne’s
opening recitative, ‘Teseo mio ben,
dove sei tu?’. The heroine awakes
and longs for Theseus. In her first
aria, Ariadne does not appear to
understand her situation as she
begs the gods to return her lover
to her. The piano takes pity on
the abandoned woman as she
becomes increasingly distraught.
Then in the second recitative, ‘Ma,
a chi parlo?’, as she sees Theseus
out on the ocean sailing back to
Athens, the princess reaches the
end of her emotional tether. Yet,
while overwhelmed by her situation
Ariadne can still delude herself that
Theseus will return. In the final aria
‘Ah! che morir vorrei’ the almost
conventional wish to die gives way
to a volcanic fury, there in the Presto
that ends the work. But is there
also just a hint of resignation too?
We can only agree with Rossini
who announced that Arianna a
Naxos was a ‘prime example of
Haydn’s gifts as a vocal writer’.
Where should we look for the
woman in Béla Bartók’s Village
Scenes, five songs that celebrate
Slovakian village life, and in
particular rural weddings? The
evidence is circumstantial but
nevertheless compelling. In 1923 the
composer divorced his first wife and
married his young piano student
Ditta Pásztory. The following year
Bartók’s second son was born and
the proud father completed Village
Scenes. Was it perhaps a late
wedding present to his new wife?
Bartók had collected the melodies
from which he composed his five
songs almost a decade earlier
in Zólyom, a part of northern
Hungary where Slovakian was the
local language. As with all of his
fieldwork, the composer intended to
harvest this traditional country music
before it was lost for ever. However,
in time Bartók the composer would
profit from his work quite as much
as Bartók the musical ethnographer,
shaping his distinctive voice from
the material he had gathered on
his trips into the countryside. But, in
contrast to many of his European
contemporaries, for Bartók
folk music was simply a starting
point. As he noted in a lecture
in 1931, there were two ways of
arranging folk songs: ‘In one case,
accompaniment, introductory,
and concluding phrases are of
secondary importance, and they
only serve as an ornamental
setting for the precious stone:
the folk melody. In the second
case, the melody serves as a
“motto”, while that which is built
around it is of real importance.’
It is the second approach that
informs the five Village Scenes.
Bartók treats these traditional
melodies with great freedom,
often adding new melodic
material. Indeed, in ‘At the
bride’s’ and ‘Lullaby’ – the third
and fourth songs – he combines
two different Slovakian melodies
within each song. And the piano
is never relegated to the role of
accompanist but is always an
equal partner to the voice.
The first and last songs,
‘Haymaking’ and ‘Lads’ Dance’,
take us into and then out of general
village life – men at work in a way.
But the three songs at the heart of
Village Scenes are more personal,
indeed intimate. As Malcolm Gillies
writes in The Bartók Companion, ‘At
the bride’s’ and ‘Lullaby’ ‘express
the most profound personal
experiences in the lives of women:
marriage and motherhood.’
This short song-cycle, unified
by mood and tempo as well
as subject matter, does indeed
present one narrative of women’s
lives. But, as the rest of tonight’s
programme has shown, there are
other ways to chercher la femme,
and other places too, beyond the
wedding feast and the cradle.
Programme note © Christopher Cook
For texts, see page 6.
5
painting pictures, highlighting
Ariadne’s state of mind, hinting
at what the abandoned princess
may in time come to understand,
while also adding its own sorrowful
comments on the drama. But, as
with the Ravel settings that we have
heard this evening, the piano is
always at the service of the words.
Texts
Maurice Ravel (1875–1937)
Histoires naturelles
Le paon
Il va sûrement se marier aujourd’hui.
Ce devait être pour hier. En habit de gala, il était prêt.
Il n’attendait que sa fiancée. Elle n’est pas venue.
Elle ne peut tarder.
Glorieux, il se promène avec une allure de prince
indien et porte sur lui les riches présents d’usage.
L’amour avive l’éclat de ses couleurs et son aigrette
tremble comme une lyre.
La finacée n’arrive pas.
Il monte au haut du toit et regarde du côté du soleil.
Il jette son cri diabolique:
Léon! Léon!
C’est ainsi qu’il appelle sa fiancée. Il ne voit rien
venir et personne ne répond. Les volailles habituées
ne lèvent même point la tête. Elles sont lasses de
l’admirer. Il redescend dans la cour, si sûr d’être beau
qu’il est incapable de rancune.
Son mariage sera pour demain.
Et, ne sachant que faire du reste de la journée, il se
dirige vers le perron. Il gravit les marches, comme
des marches de temple, d’un pas officiel. Il relève sa
robe à queue toute lourde des yeux qui n’ont pu se
détacher d’elle.
Il répète encore une fois la cérémonie.
6
Le grillon
C’est l’heure où, las d’errer, l’insecte nègre revient de
promenade et répare avec soin le désordre de son
domaine.
D’abord il ratisse ses étroites allées de sable.
Il fait du bran de scie qu’il écarte au seuil de sa
retraite.
Il lime la racine de cette grande herbe propre à
le harceler.
Il se repose.
Puis, il remonte sa minuscule montre.
A-t-il fini? Est-elle cassée? Il se repose encore un peu.
Il rentre chez lui et ferme sa porte.
Longtemps il tourne sa clef dans la serrure délicate.
Et il écoute:
Point d’alarme dehors.
Mais il ne se trouve pas en sûreté.
Et comme par une chaînette dont la poulie grince, il
descend jusqu’au fond de la terre.
On n’entend plus rien.
Dans la campagne muette, les peupliers se dressent
comme des doigts en l’air et désignent la lune.
The peacock
He will surely get married today.
It was to have been yesterday. In full regalia he was
ready. It was only his bride he was waiting for. She has
not come. She cannot be long.
Proudly he processes with the air of an Indian prince,
bearing about his person the customary lavish gifts.
Love burnishes the brilliance of his colours, and his
crest quivers like a lyre.
His bride does not appear.
He ascends to the top of the roof and looks towards
the sun. He utters his devilish cry:
Léon! Léon!
It is thus that he summons his bride. He can see nothing
drawing near, and no-one replies. The fowls are used
to all this and do not even raise their heads. They are
tired of admiring him. He descends once more to the
yard, so sure of his beauty that he is incapable of
resentment.
His marriage will take place tomorrow.
And, not knowing what to do for the rest of the day,
he heads for the flight of steps. He ascends them, as
though they were the steps of a temple, with a formal
tread. He lifts his train, heavy with eyes that have been
unable to detach themselves.
Once more he repeats the ceremony.
The cricket
It is the hour when, weary of wandering, the black
insect returns from his outing and carefully restores
order to his estate.
First he rakes his narrow sandy paths.
He makes sawdust which he scatters on the threshold
of his retreat.
He files the root of this tall grass likely to annoy him.
He rests.
Then he winds up his tiny watch.
Has he finished? Is it broken? He rests again for a
while.
He goes inside and shuts the door.
For an age he turns his key in the delicate lock.
And he listens:
Nothing untoward outside.
But he does not feel safe.
And as if by a tiny chain on a creaking pulley, he
lowers himself into the bowels of the earth.
Nothing more is heard.
In the silent countryside the poplars rise like fingers in
the air, pointing to the moon.
Texts
Le cygne
Il glisse sur le bassin, comme un traîneau blanc, de
nuage en nuage. Car il n’a faim que des nuages
floconneux qu’il voit naître, bouger, et se perdre dans
l’eau. C’est l’un d’eux qu’il désire. Il le vise du bec,
et il plonge tout à coup son col vêtu de neige.
Puis, tel un bras de femme sort d’une manche, il le
retire.
Il n’a rien.
Il regarde: les nuages effarouchés ont disparu.
Il ne reste qu’un instant désabusé, car les nuages
tardent peu à revenir, et, là-bas, où meurent les
ondulations de l’eau, en voici un qui se reforme.
Doucement, sur son léger coussin de plumes, le cygne
rame et s’approche …
Il s’épuise à pêcher de vains reflets, et peut-être qu’il
mourra, victime de cette illusion, avant d’attraper un
seul morceau de nuage.
Mais qu’est-ce que je dis?
Chaque fois qu’il plonge, il fouille du bec la vase
nourrissante et ramène en ver.
Il engraisse comme une oie.
The swan
He glides on the pond like a white sledge, from cloud
to cloud. For he is hungry only for the fleecy clouds
that he sees forming, moving, dissolving in the water.
It is one of these that he wants. He takes aim with his
beak and suddenly immerses his snow-clad neck.
Then, like a woman’s arm emerging from a sleeve, he
draws it back up.
He has caught nothing.
He looks about: the startled clouds have vanished.
Only for a second is he disappointed, for the clouds
are not slow to return, and, over there, where the
ripples fade, there is one reappearing.
Gently, on his soft cushion of down, the swan paddles
and approaches …
He exhausts himself fishing for empty reflections and
perhaps he will die, a victim of that illusion, before
catching a single shred of cloud.
But what am I saying?
Each time he dives, he burrows with his beak in the
nourishing mud and brings up a worm.
He’s getting as fat as a goose.
Le martin-pêcheur
Ça n’a pas mordu, ce soir, mais je rapporte une rare
émotion.
Comme je tenais ma perche de ligne tendue, un
martin-pêcheur est venu s’y poser.
Nous n’avons pas d’oiseau plus éclatant.
Il semblait une grosse fleur bleue au bout d’une
longue tige. La perche pliait sous le poids. Je ne
respirais plus, tout fier d’être pris pour un arbre par
un martin-pêcheur.
Et je suis sûr qu’il ne s’est pas envolé de peur, mais
qu’il a cru qu’il ne faisait que passer d’une branche à
une autre.
The kingfisher
Not a bite, this evening, but I had a rare experience.
La pintade
C’est la bossue de ma cour. Elle ne rêve que plaies à
cause de sa bosse.
Les poules ne lui disent rien: brusquement, elle se
précipite et les harcèle.
Puis elle baisse sa tête, penche le corps, et, de toute
la vitesse de ses pattes maigres, elle court frapper, de
son bec dur, juste au centre de la roue d’une dinde.
Cette poseuse l’agaçait.
Ainsi, la tête bleuie, ses barbillons à vif, cocardière,
elle rage du matin au soir. Elle se bat sans motif, peutêtre parce qu’elle s’imagine toujours qu’on se moque
de sa taille, de son crâne chauve et de sa queue
basse.
Et elle ne cesse de jeter un cri discordant qui perce
l’air comme une pointe.
The guinea fowl
She is the hunchback of my barnyard. She dreams only
of wounding, because of her hump.
The hens say nothing to her: suddenly, she swoops and
harries them.
Then she lowers her head, leans forward, and, with all
the speed of her skinny legs, runs and strikes with her
hard beak at the very centre of a turkey’s tail.
This poseuse was provoking her.
Thus, with her bluish head and raw wattles,
pugnaciously she rages from morn to night. She fights
for no reason, perhaps because she always thinks they
are making fun of her figure, of her bald head and
drooping tail.
And she never stops screaming her discordant cry,
which pierces the air like a needle.
7
As I was holding out my fishing rod, a kingfisher came
and perched on it.
We have no bird more brilliant.
He was like a great blue flower at the tip of a long
stem. The rod bent beneath the weight.
I held my breath, so proud to be taken for a tree by
a kingfisher.
And I’m sure he did not fly off from fear, but thought
he was simply flitting from one branch to another.
Parfois elle quitte la cour et disparaît. Elle laisse aux
volailles pacifiques un moment de répit. Mais elle
revient plus turbulente et plus criarde. Et, frénétique,
elle se vautre par terre.
Qu’a-t-elle donc?
La sournoise fait une farce.
Elle est allée pondre son œuf à la campagne.
Je peux le chercher si ça m’amuse.
Elle se roule dans la poussière, comme une bossue.
Sometimes she leaves the yard and vanishes. She gives
the peace-loving poultry a moment’s respite. But she
returns more rowdy and shrill. And in a frenzy she
wallows in the earth.
Whatever’s wrong with her?
The cunning creature is playing a trick.
She went to lay her egg in the open country.
I can look for it if I like.
And she rolls in the dust, like a hunchback.
Jules Renard (1864–1910)
Translations © Richard Stokes
Maurice Ravel
Deux mélodies hebraïques
Kaddisch
Yithgaddal weyithkaddash scheméh rabba be’olmâ
Diverâ ’khire’ outhé veyamli’kh mal’khouté
behayyé’khön,
ouvezome’khôu ouve’hayyé de’khol beth yisraël
ba’agalâ ouvizman qariw weimrou: Amen.
Yithbara’kh Weyischtaba’h weyith paêr weyithromam
min kol bir’khatha weschiratha touschbehatha
wene’hamathâ daamirân ah! Be’olma ah!
We ïmrou: Amen.
Kaddish
May thy glory, O King of Kings, be exalted, O thou
who art to renew the world and resurrect the dead.
May thy reign, Adonaï, be proclaimed by us, the sons
of Israel,
today, tomorrow, for ever. Let us all say: Amen.
May thy radiant name be loved, cherished, praised,
glorified.
May it be blessed, sanctified, exalted, thy name which
soars
above the heavens, above our praises, above our
hymns,
above all our benisons. May merciful heaven grant us
tranquillity, peace, happiness. Ah! Let us all say:
Amen.
L’enigme éternelle
Frägt die Velt die alte Casche
Tra la tra la la la la
Entfert men
Tra la la …
Un as men will kennen sagen
Tra la la …
Frägt die Velt die alte Casche
Tra la la …
The eternal enigma
World, you question us:
Tra la tra la la la la
The answer comes:
Tra la la …
If you cannot be answered:
Tra la la …
World, you question us:
Tra la la …
Anonymous
Translations © Richard Stokes
weyithnassé weyithhaddar weyith’allé weyithhallal
8
scheméh dequoudschâ beri’kh hou, l’êla ule’êla
Texts
Maurice Ravel
Nahandove
Nahadove, ô belle Nahandove!
L’oiseau nocturne a commencé ses cris,
la pleine lune brille sur ma tête,
et la rosée naissante humecte mes cheveux.
Voici l’heure: qui peut t’arrêter,
Nahahndove, ô belle Nahandove!
Nahandove
Nahandove, oh beautiful Nahandove!
The night bird has begun to sing,
the full moon shines overhead,
and the first dew is moistening my hair.
Now is the time: who can be delaying you?
Oh beautiful Nahandove!
Le lit de feuilles est préparé;
je l’ai parsemé de fleurs et d’herbes odoriférantes;
il est digne de tes charmes.
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove!
The bed of leaves is ready;
I have strewn flowers and aromatic herbs;
it is worthy of your charms,
oh beautiful Nahandove!
Elle vient. J’ai reconnu la respiration
précipitée que donne une marche rapide;
j’entends le froissement de la pagne qui l’enveloppe;
c’est elle, c’est Nahandove, la belle Nahandove!
She is coming. I recognise the rapid breathing
of someone walking quickly;
I hear the rustle of her skirt.
It is she, it is the beautiful Nahandove!
Reprends haleine, ma jeune amie;
repose-toi sur mes genoux.
Que ton regard est enchanteur!
Que le mouvement de ton sein est vif et délicieux
sous la main qui le presse!
Tu souris, Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove!
Catch your breath, my young sweetheart;
rest on my lap.
How enchanting your gaze is,
how lively and delightful the motion of your breast
as my hand presses it!
You smile, oh beautiful Nahandove!
Tes baisers pénètrent jusqu’à l’âme;
tes caresses brûlent tous mes sens;
arrête, ou je vais mourir.
Meurt-on de volupté,
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove?
Your kisses reach into my soul;
your caresses burn all my senses.
Stop or I will die!
Can one die of ecstasy?
Oh beautiful Nahandove!
Le plaisir passe comme un éclair.
Ta douce haleine s’affaiblit,
tes yeux humides se referment,
ta tête se penche mollement,
et tes transports s’éteignent dans la langueur.
Jamais tu ne fus si belle,
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove! (...)
Pleasure passes like lightning;
your sweet breathing becomes calmer,
your moist eyes close again,
your head droops,
and your raptures fade into weariness.
Never were you so beautiful,
oh beautiful Nahandove!
Tu pars, et je vais languir dans les regrets et les désirs.
Je languirai jusqu’au soir.
Tu reviendras ce soir,
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove!
Now you are leaving, and I will languish in sadness
and desires.
I will languish until sunset.
You will return this evening,
oh beautiful Nahandove!
Aoua!
Méfiez-vous des Blancs,
habitants du rivage.
Du temps de nos pères,
des blancs descendirent dans cette île.
Awa!
Trust not the whites,
you that dwell on the shore!
In our fathers’ day,
white men came to this island.
9
Chansons madécasses
On leur dit: Voilà des terres,
que vos femmes les cultivent.
Soyez justes, soyez bons,
et devenez nos frères.
‘Here is some land,’ they were told,
‘your women may cultivate it.
Be just, be kind,
and become our brothers.’
Les Blancs promirent, et cependant
ils faisaient des retranchements.
Un fort menaçant s’éleva;
le tonnerre fut renfermé
dans des bouches d’airain;
leurs prêtres voulurent nous donner
un Dieu que nous ne connaissons pas;
ils parlèrent enfin
d’obéissance et d’esclavage:
Plutôt la mort!
Le carnage fut long et terrible;
mais, malgré la foudre qu’ils vomissaient,
et qui écrasait des armées entières,
ils furent tous exterminés.
Aoua! Aoua! Méfiez-vous des Blancs!
The whites promised, and all the while
they were making entrenchments.
They built a menacing fort,
and they held thunder captive
in brass cannon;
their priests tried to give us
a God we did not know;
and later they spoke
of obedience and slavery.
Death would be preferable!
The carnage was long and terrible;
but despite their vomiting thunder
which crushed whole armies,
they were all wiped out.
Awa! Awa! Trust not the whites!
Nous avons vu de nouveaux tyrans,
plus forts et plus nombreux,
planter leur pavillon sur le rivage:
le ciel a combattu pour nous;
il a fait tomber sur eux les pluies,
les tempêtes et les vents empoisonnés.
Ils ne sont plus, et nous vivons libres.
Aoua! Aoua! Méfiez-vous des Blancs,
habitants du rivage.
We saw new tyrants,
stronger and more numerous,
pitching tents on the shore.
Heaven fought for us.
It caused rain, tempests
and poison winds to fall on them.
They are dead, and we live free!
Awa! Awa! Trust not the whites,
you that dwell on the shore!
Il est doux
Il est doux de se coucher, durant la chaleur, sous un
arbre touffu, et d’attendre que le vent du soir amème
la fraîcheur.
It is sweet
It is sweet in the hot afternoon to lie under a leafy tree
and wait for the evening breeze to bring coolness.
Femmes, approchez. Tandis que je me repose ici sous
un arbre touffu, occupez mon oreille par vos accents
prolongés. Répétez la chanson de la jeune fille,
lorsque ses doigts tressent la natte ou lorsqu’assise
auprès du riz, elle chasse les oiseaux avides.
Come, women! While I rest here under a leafy tree, fill
my ears with your sustained tones. Sing again the song
of the girl plaiting her hair, or the girl sitting near the
ricefield chasing away the greedy birds.
Le chant plaît à mon âme. La danse est pour moi
presque aussi douce qu’un baiser. Que vos pas soient
lents; qu’ils imitent les attitudes du plaisir et l’abandon
de la volupté.
Singing pleases my soul; and dancing is nearly
as sweet as a kiss. Tread slowly, and make your
steps suggest the postures of pleasure and ecstatic
abandonment.
Le vent du soir se lève; la lune commence à briller au
travers des arbres de la montagne. Allez, et préparez
le repas.
The breeze is starting to blow; the moon glistens
through the mountain trees. Go and prepare the
evening meal.
10
Évariste de Parny (1753–1814)
interval: 20 minutes
Texts
Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
Arianna a Naxos
Theseus my beloved, where are you? I seem to have
you near me, but a flattering treacherous dream
deceives me. Already rose-coloured Dawn is rising
in the sky and Phoebus colours the grass and flowers
rising from the sea with his golden hair. Adored
husband, where have your footsteps led you? Perhaps
your noble ardour calls you to pursue wild beasts. Ah
come, my dearest, and I shall offer a more pleasing
prey to your snares. Clasp Arianna’s loving heart,
which adores you faithfully, with a firmer knot, and let
the torch of our love shine more beautifully. I cannot
bear to be apart from you for a single moment. Ah
beloved, I am already consumed with longing to see
you. My heart sighs for you. Come, my idol.
Aria
Dove sei, mio bel tesoro?
Chi t’invola a questo cor?
Se non vieni, io già mi moro,
Né resisto al mio dolor.
Where are you, my treasure?
Who stole you from this heart?
If you do not come, death is already mine,
nor do I resist my grief.
Se pietade avete, O Dei,
Secondate i voti miei;
A me torni il caro ben.
Dove sei? Teseo!
If you have pity, O gods,
fulfil my desires;
return my dear beloved to me.
Where are you? Theseus!
Recitative
Ma, a chi parlo? Gli accenti Eco ripete sol. Teseo non
m’ode, Teseo non mi risponde, e portano le voci e
l’aure e l’onde. Poco da me lontano esser egli dovria.
Salgasi quello che più d’ogni altro s’alza alpestro
scoglio: ivi lo scoprirò. Che miro? O stelle! Misera
me! Quest’è l’argivo legno, Greci son quelli. Teseo!
Ei sulla prora! Ah, m’ingannassi almen … No no, non
m’inganno. Ei fugge, ei qui mi lascia in abbandono.
Più speranza non v’è, tradita io sono. Teseo, Teseo,
m’ascolta Teseo! Ma oimè! Vaneggio. I flutti e il vento
lo involano per sempre agli occhi miei. Ah, siete
ingiusti, O Dei, se l’empio non punite! Ingrato! Perché
ti trassi dalla morte? Dunque tu dovevi tradirmi? E le
promesse, e i giuramenti tuoi? Spergiuro! Infido! Hai
cor di lasciarmi! A chi mi volgo? Da chi pietà sperar?
Già più non reggo: il piè vacilla, e in così amaro
istante sento mancarmi in sen l’alma tremante.
But to whom am I speaking? Only Echo repeats my
words. Theseus does not hear me, Theseus does not
answer me, and my words are carried away by the
wind and the waves. He must not be far from me.
Let me climb the highest of these steep rocks: I shall
discover him thus. What do I see? O heavens! What
a wretch am I! That is the wooden Argosy, those
men are Greeks. Theseus! He is on the prow! O may
I at least be mistaken … No, no, I am not mistaken.
He flees, he leaves me abandoned here. There is
no longer any hope for me, I am betrayed. Theseus,
Theseus, listen to me Theseus! But alas! I am raving.
The waves and the wind are stealing him from my
eyes for ever. Ah, you are unjust, O gods, if you do not
punish the infidel! Ungrateful man! Why did I snatch
you away from death? So you had to betray me? And
your promises and your oaths? Perjurer! Infidel! Have
you the heart to leave me? To whom can I turn? From
whom can I hope for pity? I can already bear no more:
my step falters, and in so bitter a moment I feel my
trembling soul weaken.
11
Recitative
Teseo mio ben, dove sei tu? Vicino d’averti mi
parea ma un lusinghiero sogno fallace m’ingannò.
Già sorge in ciel la rosea Aurora e l’erbe e i fior
colora Febo uscendo dal mar col crine aurato. Sposo
adorato, dove guidasti il piè? Forse le fere ad inseguir
ti chiama il tuo nobile ardor. Ah vieni, O caro ed
offrirò più grata preda a tuoi lacci. Il cor d’Arianna
amante, che t’adora costante, stringi con nodo più
tenace e più bella la face splenda del nostro amor.
Soffrir non posso d’esser da te diviso un sol momento.
Ah di vederti, O caro, già mi stringe il desio. Ti sospira
il mio cuor. Vieni, idol mio.
Aria
Ah! che morir vorrei
In sì fatal momento,
Ma al mio crudel tormento
Mi serba ingiusto il ciel.
Ah! how I should like to die
in so fatal a moment,
but the heavens unjustly keep me
in my cruel torment.
Misera abbandonata
Non ho chi mi consola.
Chi tanto amai s’invola,
Barbaro ed infidel.
Wretched and abandoned
I have no one to console me.
He whom I loved so much has fled,
barbarian and infidel.
Anonymous
Translation © Misha Donat
Béla Bartók (1881–1945)
12
Village Scenes
Pri hrabaní
‘Ej! HrabajΩelen, hrabaj
To zelenô seno!’
‘Ej! Ja by ho hrabala,
Nemán nakoseno.’
Haymaking
‘Rake it now, rake it now,
rake up the new-mown hay!’
‘Ai, I’d gladly rake it now,
if you’d mown some more.’
‘Ej! Hrabala, hrabala,
Čerta nahrabala;
Ej! Od vel'kého spania
Hrable dolámala.’
‘Ai, don't you stop raking now,
you have not done your work;
all because from sleepiness
you went and broke your rake.’
Pri neveste
Letia pávy, letia,
Ej, Drobnô peria tratia,
Dev∂a si ho sbiera
Mesto svojho peria.
At the bride’s
Proud the peacocks flutter,
Ai! shimmering fall their feathers,
a pretty maiden takes them,
fills the clean white pillows.
Sbieraj si ho, sbieraj,
Ej, Ved’ ti treba bude,
Janikovo li∂ko
Na nom líhat’ bude, ej, bude!
Take them, maiden, take them,
Ai! you’ll soon need these feathers,
for upon these pillows
will your lover’s head rest. Ai, just wait!
Texts
Wedding
Annie, in your boxes,
on the wagon carried,
there’s fine clothes and bedding:
all for when you’re married.
Hi-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji!
Ai-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!
A ztejto dediny
Na druhú dedinu
Ideme opá∂it’
Novotnú rodinu.
To the bridgegroom’s village,
fast as we are able,
there’ll we’ll drive, see his place,
get to know his people.
Kas√a je z javora,
Perina z pápera,
A to ≈várnô dev∂a
UΩ nemá frajera.
Finest maple casket,
pillow stuffed with feather,
Annie, pretty maiden,
now you have no lover.
Hi-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-ji!
Ai-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!
Ked’ nemá frajera,
Ale bude muΩa,
Nebude prekvitat’,
Ako vpoli ruΩa.
Now she has a husband,
though she’s lost a lover,
she shall not, like a rose,
fade away and wither.
RuΩa som ja, ruΩa,
Pok≥m nemám muΩa,
Ked’ budem mat’ muΩa,
Spadne so m√a ruΩa.
I’m a rose, a rose,
but only when I’m single.
When I have a husband,
petals drop and shrivel.
Teraz sa ty, An∂a,
Teraz sa oklame≈:
My pôjdeme domov
A ty tu ostane≈.
Say farewell, dear Annie,
say farewell and leave them:
off they go, full of joy,
you must not go with them.
HojΩe hoja hoj,
Heja hoja hojΩe hoj, etc.
Hey ahoy aho,
Ohey, heya hoya, ho, etc.
Ukoliebavka
Beli Ωe mi, beli,
Moj syn premilen≥!
Či ma bude≈ chovat’,
Ej, na moje starie e dni?
Lullaby
Darling, slumber, slumber,
darling little baby!
When your mother grows old,
will you then take care of her?
Budem, manko, budem,
K≥msa neoΩenim;
A ked’ sa oΩením,
Ej, potom vás oddelím.
I will take care of you, mother,
while I’m single;
but when I am married,
soon I’ll go off and leave you.
Búvaj Ωe mi, búvaj,
Len ma neunúvaj!
Čo ma viac unúva≈,
M, Menej sa nabúva≈.
Slumber, slumber, darling,
don’t give me more trouble,
soon you’ll quietly slumber,
mmm, darling, keep quiet, be still.
13
Svatba
A ty An∂a krásna,
UΩ vo voze kas√a,
Na kasni periny:
UΩ t’a vyplatili.
M, Belej Ωe sa, belej,
Na hori zelenej,
na hori zelenej,
M, V ko≈ielki bielenej.
Mmm, go into the greenwood,
wear your white shirt,
let your little white shirt twinkle,
mmm, through the dark green branches.
M, Ko≈elô∂ka biela,
Šila ju Mari≈ka,
Šila ju hodbábom
M, Pod zelen≥m hájom.
Mmm, your white shirt that twinkles,
our old Mary sewed it
for you in the green fields.
Mmm, she embroidered it with silk.
Beli Ωe mi, beli,
Moj andelík biely,
Len mi neuletej,
Ej, do tej ∂iernej ze emi!’
Darling, slumber, slumber,
baby, wee white angel,
don’t you ever leave me,
darling, never fly away!
Tanec mládencov
Poza bú∂ky, poza pe√,
Pod’Ωe bratu, pod’Ωe sem!
Poza bú∂ky a klady,
Tancuj ≈uhaj za mlady!
Lads’ Dance
Little oak tree grow up strong,
dance, young fellow, dance along!
Little oak tree breaks in two,
dance, while life is free and new!
Štyri kozy, piaty cap,
Kto vysko∂i, bude chlap!
Ja by som bol vysko∂il,
Ale some sa poto∂il.
Hey, old goat, old Billy dance,
if you can, stand up and prance!
I tried prancing ere I could,
tripped and tumbl’d, ’twas no good.
HojΩe, hojΩe od zeme,
Kto mi kozy zaΩenie!
A ja by ich bol zahnal,
Ale som sa vlka bál.
Now, my lad, the time has come,
get the goats and drive them home!
Yes, I’d gladly drive them if
old wolf hadn’t scared me stiff.
14
© Copyright 1927 by Universal Edition A.G. Wien/
UE 8712
He has appeared throughout
Europe, in North America and
Australia and at the Aix-en-Provence,
Vienna, Edinburgh, Schubertiade,
Munich and Salzburg festivals.
In 2003 she was awarded the title of
Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des
Lettres by the French Government.
Magdalena Kožená is well
established as a major concert
and recital artist and she has
appeared in prominent venues
in London, Paris, Brussels, Berlin,
Amsterdam, Vienna, Hamburg,
Lisbon, Prague, Copenhagen, Tokyo,
San Francisco and New York. She
has also performed at the Munich,
Salzburg, Lucerne, Schwarzenberg
Schubertiade, Aldeburgh and
Edinburgh festivals.
She has worked with leading
orchestras and conductors including
Myung-Whun Chung, Gustavo
Dudamel, Daniel Harding, Bernard
Haitink, Mariss Jansons, Charles
Mackerras, Sir Simon Rattle and
Robin Ticciati.
Malcolm Martineau was a
given an honorary doctorate at
the Royal Scottish Academy of
Music and Drama in 2004, and
appointed International Fellow of
Accompaniment in 2009.
Malcolm Martineau piano
Malcolm Martineau was born
in Edinburgh, read Music at St
Catharine’s College, Cambridge,
and studied at the Royal College of
Music.
Recognised as one of the leading
accompanists of his generation,
he has worked with many of the
world’s greatest singers, including
Sir Thomas Allen, Dame Janet
Baker, Olaf Bär, Barbara Bonney,
Ian Bostridge, Angela Gheorghiu,
Susan Graham, Thomas Hampson,
Della Jones, Simon Keenlyside,
Angelika Kirchschlager, Magdalena
KoΩená, Solveig Kringelborn,
Jonathan Lemalu, Dame Felicity Lott,
Christopher Maltman, Karita Mattila,
Lisa Milne, Ann Murray, Anna
Netrebko, Anne Sofie von Otter,
Joan Rodgers, Amanda Roocroft,
Michael Schade, Frederica von
Stade, Sarah Walker and Bryn Terfel.
Libor Svá∂ek
She is an exclusive artist with DG
and her most recent release, Love
and Longing, includes works by
Mahler, Ravel and Dvo∑ák. Among
other recent releases are Lettere
amorose, arias by Mozart, Gluck and
Myslive∂ek, a disc of French arias
and Gluck’s Paride ed Elena.
This season’s engagements include
appearances with Simon Keenlyside,
Magdalena KoΩená, Dorothea
Röschmann, Susan Graham, Michael
Schade, Thomas Oliemanns, Kate
Royal, Christiane Karg, Florian
Boesch and Anne Schwanewilms.
Russell Duncan
Magdalena KoΩená
mezzo-soprano
Magdalena Kožená was born
in Brno, studied at the Brno
Conservatoire and with Eva Blahová
at the College of Performing Arts
in Bratislava. She was awarded
several major prizes in both the
Czech Republic and internationally,
culminating in success at the Sixth
International Mozart Competition in
Salzburg in 1995.
Recording projects have included
Schubert, Schumann and English
song recitals with Bryn Terfel;
Schubert and Strauss recitals
with Simon Keenlyside; recital
recordings with Angela Gheorghiu,
Barbara Bonney, Magdalena
KoΩená, Della Jones, Susan
Bullock, Solveig Kringelborn and
Amanda Roocroft; the complete
Fauré songs with Sarah Walker
and Tom Krause; and the complete
Britten and Beethoven folk songs
and Poulenc mélodies, as well as
Winterreise with Florian Boesch.
Tomá≈ Jamník cello
Tomáš Jamník is a Czech cellist.
He has enjoyed successes at
several prominent competitions,
15
Esther Haase/DG
Her operatic roles have included
Octavian (Der Rosenkavalier),
Mélisande (Pelléas et Mélisande),
Lazuli, Nerone (L’incoronazione di
Poppea), Cherubino (The Marriage
of Figaro), Sesto (Giulio Cesare),
Carmen, Zerlina (Don Giovanni),
Idamante (Idomeneo), Dorabella
(Così fan tutte), Varvara (Katja
Kabanova) and the title-role in La
Cenerentola.
About the performers
About tonight’s
performers
including the 2006 Prague Spring
International Music Competition.
He has appeared at festivals such
as the Prague Spring, Ticino and
Styriarte Graz and in 2010 he
made his debut with the Prague
Philharmonia, playing Schumann’s
Cello Concerto, conducted by
Jakub Hr≤≈a. Highlights of the
following season included concerts
with the Czech Philharmonic
Orchestra and Eliahu Inbal,
Dvo∑ák’s Cello Concerto with the
Olomouc Symphony Orchestra
under Petr Vronský, concertos by
Saint-Saëns and Ho∑ínka with the
Pardubice Chamber Orchestra
and Marko Ivanović. He also
often collaborates with Czech
contemporary composers, including
Ond∑ej Kukal, Slavomír Ho∑ínka,
Marko Ivanović and Luboš Sluka.
Since 2010 he has been a
member of the Karajan Academy
in Berlin, under the auspices of
which he performs as member of
the Berliner Philharmoniker and
collaborates with other scholarship
holders in chamber concerts.
Since 1995 he has been active
as a chamber musician, notably
as a member of the Paul Klee
Ensemble. He has also given
numerous concerts as a soloist
and with well-known orchestras.
He is particularly associated with
groundbreaking programming,
both on CD and in concert,
which led to his appointment
as Music Director of the
Murten Classics Festival.
Kaspar Zehnder flute
Kaspar Zehnder was born in
1970 in Bern and studied flute
and conducting at the city’s
Sat 11 Jan 2014
Magdalena
Kožená/
Les Violons
du Roy
An evening of songs and arias
by Mozart and Haydn
Book now
barbican.org.uk
conservatory. He pursued
further studies with Aurèle
Nicolet in Basle and Siena.
As a conductor Kaspar Zehnder
works with leading orchestras
throughout Europe and since last
year has been Chief Conductor
of the Sinfonie Orchester Biel
Solothurn (Switzerland).