“Nineteenth Century French Song”
Chanson triste | Poem by Jean Lahor | |
Sad Song |
Dans ton coeur dort un clair de lune,
Un doux clair de lune d’été.
Et pour fuir la vie importune
Je me noierai dans ta clarté.
J’oublierai les douleurs passées, mon amour,
Quand tu berceras mon triste coeur et mes pensées
Dans le calme aimant de tes bras!
Tu prendras ma tête malade
Oh! qualquefois sur tes genoux,
Et lui diras une ballade,
Qui semblera parler de nous,
Et dans tes yeux pleins de tristesses,
Dans tes yeux alors je boirai
Tant de baisers et de tendresses
Que, peut-être, je guérirai...
One of the cornerstones of the French art song is the little body of work by Henri Duparc. Known almost exclusively for his songs, this eccentric composer worked only from 1867 to 1885, although he lived until 1933. In each of his sixteen songs he creates a sensuous yet ethereal world, a world laden with mystery, sadness, and yearning.
“Chanson triste,” or “Sad Song,” has for its text a poem by Jean Lahor, a Symbolist poet whose natural pessimism led him to Oriental philosophies and the conviction that all was vanity. This poem, despite its title and the predilections of its author, does offer the hope that perhaps love can cure the suffering poet.
The song opens with arpeggios in the tonic, C major for medium voice (E♭ in the original). From the second measure on, there is a little countermelody in the piano part created by the double-stemmed notes. It is difficult to bring these notes out because they are on weak beats; nevertheless they must be heard.
The voice begins simply with a melody that has the dominant tone (G) as its focal point. (The G under “lune d’été” is spun out for a remarkably long time.)
In your heart sleeps a beam of moonlight,
A sweet summer moonlight
And to flee this troublesome life
I would drown myself in your light.
The first of three vocal high points occurs on the E of “Je.” The crescendo which leads to this small climax is helped by the motion of the root notes of the left hand arpeggios, which should be somewhat prominent. Again the melody returns to a G.
The bridge passage in the piano brings us to a new key, E major, but this tonality soon yields to others. The voice and piano are still strong, and there is another crescendo.
I would forget past sorrows
Now there is a sudden p. The singer must resist the temptation to sing out on the F, because contrast is desired here:
My love, when you rock my sad heart and my thoughts
In the loving calm of your arms
The constantly shifting harmonies under the above lines permit no real tonal center to emerge, creating a feeling of restlessness and agitation.
The downward interval which begins the melodic line is heard now for the third time, in yet another key:
You will take my sick head
Oh! Now and then on your knees
A more obvious countermelody, and one that is much easier to play, appears under“tête malade .” This time, when the high note of the phrase comes, the F♯ under “Oh!,” a forte is not only allowed but requested. The countermelody in the piano part becomes more and more important until it finally emerges on its own (between “genoux” and “Et lui diras” and then again after “ballade”).
And recite a ballad
A ballad which will seem to. tell of us,
We have now returned to a clear C major tonality. The music is more serene, with less harmonic activity and agitation. One beautiful climax remains, at the F♮ under “Tant” (So many). This is the place which, in the first verse, required a subito p.
And in your eyes full of sadness
In your eyes then I shall drink
So many kisses and tendernesses
That perhaps I shall be cured...
The postlude continues the rocking motion and dominant-oriented melody. The inner voice, derived from the first countermelody, lends harmonic interest and touching chromatic intervals.
Romance de Mignon | Poem by Victor Wilder | |
Romance of Mignon |
Le connais-tu, ce radieux pays
Où brille dans les branches d’or des fruits?
Un doux zéphir
Enbaume l’air et le laurier s’unit au myrte vert.
Le connais-tu, le connais-tu?
Là-bas, là-bas, mon bien-aimé,
Courons porter nos pas.
Le connais-tu, ce merveilleux séjour
Où tout me parle encore de notre amour?
Où chaque objet me dit avec douleur:
Qui t’a ravi ta joie et ton bonheur?
Le connais-tu, le connais-tu?
Le connais-tu, ce radieux pays
Où brille dans les branches d’or des fruits?
Un doux zéphir
Enbaume l’air et le laurier s’unit au myrte vert.
Le connais-tu, le connais-tu?
Là-bas, là-bas, mon bien-aimé,
Courons porter nos pas.
Although the exact chronology of Duparc’s songs is a matter of conjecture, “Chanson triste,” “Sérénade,” “Soupir,” “Romance de Mignon,” and “Galop” were published simultaneously as Opus 2. Of these five songs only “Galop” deviates from the sensuous style usually associated with this composer.
“Romance de Mignon” closely resembles another Duparc song, “L’Invitation au voyage,” in its evocation of a vague, far-away place, “un radieux pays” (radiant land) where golden fruit shines in the trees and where everything speaks of love. It is also strongly reminiscent of the Goethe song “Kennst du das Land?” which may have inspired it. In “Romance,” however, as we learn in the second verse, this, alas, is a lost love.
The piano begins the song with upper register tonic chords (E major in the original key) and a melancholy melody, also in treble clef, though for the left hand. The harmonic scheme is a simple I–V for the first nine measures, but the suspensions at the beginnings of the measures on the dominant lift the pattern from banality. The overall effect—due largely to the high tessitura—is celestial and awestruck.
The melodic line echoes this persistent I–V scheme—in fact the first two lines of verse are sung on nothing but E or B, the tonic and the dominant notes. Again, one senses a breathless wonderment in this total lack of melodic or harmonic motion.
Finally, at “Un doux zéphir” (a gentle breeze), the I–V pattern yields to new material, but there is still very little sense of motion. The piano repeats a diminished chord for five bars while the voice sings a melodic fragment, which returns to its original note after a small stepwise ascent, first with a whole step plus a half step, then with a half plus a whole. The difference is subtle enough to be overlooked unless the singer emphasizes it dynamically. At “le laurier” (the laurel tree), the voice rises (in what for this song is a wide interval) to the top of the diminished chord (F♮), obviously the climax of the first verse. The tonic pedal point, which has been heard or implied under this entire five-bar section, continues while voice and upper chords move harmonically. The chromatic step at “vert” (green) is especially telling in this context, for it moves the music—including the bass-note—away from the tonic. The section ends with a repeat of the four note phrase described above transposed to the new key. The same subtle change (whole step plus half, to half step plus whole) requires the same special attention on the part of the singer.
After the vocal part has concluded the first verse as quietly as possible, a sudden crescendo in the piano interlude leads to a new mood and a new key. When the singer reenters it is with an affirmative V–I* melodic interval to the high G. This momentary flurry of excitement gives the song much-needed dynamic contrast, and indeed, the whole next section is full of big crescendos and sudden drops to pp. The vocal tessitura is higher, there are more chromatic intervals, and more musical tension is created. Nevertheless the section ends sadly, quietly, and in the original key. The words for the first half are:
Do you know it, this radiant land
Where golden fruits shine in the branches?
A soft gentle breeze
Scents the air and the laurel is joined to the green myrtle.
Do you know it, do you know it?
There, there, my beloved,
Let us hasten to bend our steps.
Musically the second half of the song is an exact repeat of the first. The first hint in the text that something is amiss is the word “encore,” “still” (“Où tout me parle encore de notre amour,” where everything still speaks of our love). From there on the poem is explicit—love and happiness are over.
The piano postlude serves to bring the tessitura down to the lower register of the keyboard—gone, too, is the celestial aura of wonderment of the opening bars.
Do you know it, this marvelous dwelling
Where everything still speaks to me of our love?
Where each object tells me with sadness:
Who has snatched from you your joy and your happiness?
Do you know it, do you know it?
Do you know it, this radiant land
Where golden fruits shine in the branches?
A soft gentle breeze
Scents the air and the laurel is joined to the green myrtle.
Do you know it, do you know it?
There, there, my beloved,
Let us hasten to bend our steps.
_________________
* In the original Flaxland edition the D♮ is inadvertently omitted. 242 • nineteenth-century french song
Sérénade | Poem by Gabriel Marc | |
Serenade |
Si j’étais, ô mon amoureuse,
La brise au souffle parfumé,
Pour frôler ta bouche rieuse,
Je viendrais craintif et charmé.
Si j’étais l’abeille qui vole,
Ou le papillon seducteur,
Tu ne me verrais pas, frivole,
Te quitter pour une autre fleur.
Si j’étais la rose charmante
Que ta main place sur ton coeur
Si près de toi toute tremblante
Je me fanerais de bonheur.
Mais en vain je cherche à te plaire,
J’ai beau gémir et soupirer.
Je suis homme, et que puis-je faire?. . .
T’aimer . . . Te le dire . . . Et pleurer!
This wistful Sérénade, with its gently rocking 6/8 rhythm, touches the heart with its simple beauty. Although the harmonic genius of its composer is apparent, it is less complex in its modulations than most of Duparc’s songs, relying for long stretches on alternating broken chords (I–III–V–I for the first six bars of stanza one and the opening of stanza two) and a melodic line derived from those triads. The first real move away from the tonic, under the words “Pour frôler,” takes us in orthodox fashion to the relative minor and its dominant (from G to E minor in the original key), but the last three measures of the first stanza contain the more typical chromatic, shifting tonalities which are Duparc’s wont.
The structure of the song is based on that of the text, a poignant poem by Gabriel Marc in four four-line stanzas. There is a key change (to E major) between the first two stanzas, but the transition is smoothed by the use of the dominant of the new key at the end of the first section. The second stanza begins with the same material as the first, merely transposed to the new key, but instead of the switch to the relative minor at the third line, we retain the E major tonality, leaving it for a beat or two but always returning. Only in the piano interlude between stanzas three and four do we actually modulate back to the original key. This is most appropriate to the text, which is a declaration of steadfastness and fidelity:
If I were, oh my love,
The perfumed breath of the breeze,
To brush your laughing lips
I would come, fearful and charmed.
If I were the bee which flies,
Or the seductive butterfly,
You would not see me, frivolous,
Leave you for another flower.
The music for the first two lines of the third stanza duplicates that of the opening lines, save for the inclusion of an extraneous note in three of the four chords (the pattern is repeated). These unexpected notes, C, C♯, and E respectively, color the basic I, III, V chords. Increased harmonic motion and a more active melodic line with higher top notes than previously encountered underscore the rising tension in the words of the third and fourth lines:
If I were the charming rose
That your hand places on your heart
So near you, all atremble,
I would wither with happiness.
Unlike the others, the final verse eschews the song’s characteristic melody, nor does the text begin “If I were,” as it had in the other stanzas. Instead, Duparc gives us a melodic line full of dramatic intensity created by the insistent Ds and Es under “J’ai beau gémir et soupirer.” Suddenly, after a rising arpeggio, the accompaniment breaks its flowing figure for the first time. A quiet chord sets off the despairing words (sung quasi recitativo according to the composer’s instructions) “Je suis homme, et que puis-je faire?” After this pitiful plaint the piano’s sixteenth note figure begins again. The final words, “T’aimer . . . Te le dire . . . Et pleurer!” are separated by long pauses for voice and piano. These two bars encapsulate the basic harmonic ideas of the song, after which the piano reiterates the G major tonality. The last verse reads:
But in vain I seek to please you,
Uselessly I lament and sigh.
I am a man, and what can I do?
Love you . . . Tell you . . . And cry!
Soupir | Poem by Sully-Prudhomme | |
Sigh |
Ne jamais la voir ni l’entendre,
Ne jamais tout haut la nommer,
Mais fidèle, toujours l’attendre,
Toujours l’aimer!
Ouvrir les bras, et, las d’attendre,
Sur le néant les refermer!
Mais encor, toujours les lui tendre
Toujours l’aimer.
Ah! ne pouvoir que les lui tendre,
Et dans les pleurs se consumer,
Mais ces pleurs toujours les répandre,
Toujours l’aimer . . .
Ne jamais la voir ni l’entendre,
Ne jamais tout haut la nommer,
Mais d’un amour toujours plus tendre
Toujours l’aimer. Toujours!
This must be one of the most touching songs ever written. Each phrase in the accompaniment is a sigh, each line of the poem a cry of pain. The exquisite harmonies, be they minor, major, diminished or augmented, all seem laden with sorrow—not even the last four measures, all in the major mode, alleviate the despair.
The poet, Sully-Prudhomme (1839-1907), was a scientist as well as a poet. This unusual combination of talents produced a lucid, transparent style, free of affectation. His poetry tends to be intimate, personal and direct.
The brief piano introduction sets the mood and announces the main harmonic devices to be used throughout the song: frequent pedal points on the dominant (F♯ for medium voice), the extension of a dominant-seventh chord by added thirds, and the building of chords by adding notes one at a time.
The singer’s first two lines are derived from dominant chords. Their downward curves well suit the heart-rending words:
Never to see her or hear her
Never to say her name aloud,
The accompaniment now moves to the tonic (B for medium voice, D in the original) but the melody still weaves its way around the dominant:
But faithful, always to wait for her, always to love her
To open my arms, and, weary of waiting,
To close them on emptiness,
But yet, always to offer them to her
Always to love her
There had been almost no harmonic motion under the first four lines, but under the next four there is constant modulation. Intense harmonic activity always creates a sense of excitement and tension, so a gentle climax on “Mais encor, toujours” (F♮) seems appropriate.
At the cadence we have a modulation to D major (the relative major) and a temporary cessation of harmonic motion. The intensity of the vocal line, however, increases:
Ah! only to be able to offer them to her,
And then be consumed in tears,
The harmonies under “pleurs se consumer” are particularly haunting, as is the plaintive chromatic passage for piano solo which follows. The repeated E in the melody is even more morose, and the A♮ of the next “Toujours l’aimer” tears at the heart.
But these tears always flow,
Always to love her . . .
Now the words and music of the beginning of the song return, with but a slight variation in the text:
Never to see her or hear her,
Never to say her name aloud,
But with a love ever more tender
Always to love her. Always.
The last “toujours” is little more than a heart-broken whisper.
Le Galop | Poem by Sully-Prudomme | |
The Gallop |
Agite, bon cheval, ta crinière fuyante,
Que l’air autour de nous se remplisse de voix,
Que j’entende craquer sous ta corne bruyante
Le gravier des ruisseaux et les débris des bois.
Aux vapeurs de tes flancs mêle ta chaude haleine,
Aux éclairs de tes pieds ton écume et ton sang.
Cours, comme on voit un aigle, en effleurant la plaine,
Fouetter l’herbe d’un vol sonore et frémissant.
Allons! Les jeunes gens, à la nage, à la nage,
Crie à ses cavaliers le vieux chef de tribu,
Et les fils du désert respirent le pillage,
Et les chevaux sont fous du grand air qu’ils ont bu.
Nage ainsi dans l’espace, ô mon cheval rapide,
Abreuve-moi d’air pur, baigne-moi dans le vent.
L’étrier bat ton ventre, et j’ai lâché la bride.
Mon corps te touche à peine, il vole en te suivant.
Brise tout, le buisson, la barrière ou la branche.
Torrents, fossés, talus, Franchis tout d’un seul bond.
Cours, cours, je rêve et sur toi, les yeux clos, je me penche,
Emporte, emporte-moi dans l’inconnu profond!
Since Duparc is best known for such exquisitely atmospheric songs as “L’Invitation au voyage,” “Chanson triste,” and “Soupir,” this con fuoco (fiery) evocation of a wild ride on horseback seems quite out of character for him. Later we shall encounter Duparc in a similar mood in “Le Manoir de Rosamonde,” whose tumultuous piano part also describes a galloping steed. In the song, “Le Galop,” the piano’s insistent chords and bravura chromatic scale fragments carry us on a headlong dash through woods, streams and plains.
The poem, written by scientist-poet Sully-Prudhomme (1839–1907) is in his usual straightforward, unaffected style. Hard, crackling sounds such as “crinière” and “craquer,” and sharp double s’s, as in “remplisse,” “ruisseaux,” and “frémissant” contribute to the relentlessly driving aura of the text. As is common among poets of the Parnassien school, Sully-Prudhomme uses a specific technical vocabulary: “l’étier” (the stirrup), “la bride” (the bridle), and the like. The last of the five four-line stanzas begins with the marvelously alliterative “Brise tout, le buisson, la barrière ou la branche.” In the last line the poet allows the philosophical overtones of his words to become clear, as the rider urges his horse to carry him ever onward “into the profound unknown.”
Duparc’s setting begins with a four-bar introduction in which the piano states its characteristic figure: repeated chords in one hand and a descending chromatic scale fragment in the other. This somewhat obvious device creates the desired excitement and forward motion, and Duparc uses it for the first two stanzas, most of the last stanza, the introduction and the postlude.
The melody begins with an agitated rising triad from the G minor tonic chord (the opening C♯ is merely a leading tone) and continues to adhere closely to the main key (see the solid V-I under “remplisse de voix”) until the modulation at the end of the stanza (“débris des bois”).
Toss your flying mane, good horse,
Let the air around us be filled with voices,
Let me hear crackling under your clattering hoof,
The gravel of the streams and the debris of the woods.
In the second stanza, the melodic leaps become wilder (a ninth under “aux vapeurs”) and more dramatic, as the words describe the beast becoming overheated from his exertions. The accompanying chords reflect the mounting tension with equally dramatic leaps in both hands. The dynamic peak in this generally loud section is at “Aux éclairs” after which there is a gradual diminuendo to a piano at the end of the stanza. This section is replete with modulations, ending on A minor.
The steam from your flanks mingles with your hot breath,
With the sparks from your feet, your foam and your blood.
Run as one sees an eagle, skimming over the plain,
Whipping the grass with a sonorous and trembling flight.
The third stanza begins with a sudden fortissimo and a change in the accompaniment. The vocal part has a dramatic octave drop, emphasized by an abrupt drop in dynamics to a piano. There is a rapid crescendo for the repeat of the ff Es at the second “Allons,” which is now harmonized in E major instead of A minor. Once again a crescendo accompanies the rising melodic line under “les jeunes gens, à la nage, à la nage.” Here the piano has simple chords, but at “Et les chevaux,” another dynamic high point, the piano begins a dotted rhythmic figure in imitation of the horse’s gallop.
Let’s go! Young men, into the water, into the water
The old chief of the tribe cries to the horsemen,
And the sons of the desert smell the plunder,
And the horses are mad with the great air they have drunk.
The fourth stanza is heralded by a key change (E major) and a change in style. While still marked “passionato,” the music is now more flowing, less disjointed than before, for the horse is now seen as swimming or flying through space. The rider drinks in the pure air and is bathed in the wind. Gradually the dynamics increase and the tumultuous race begins again, accompanied once more by dotted rhythms and disjointed chords. The bridge between the fourth and final stanzas brings us back to the original key and characteristic piano figure.
Swim thus in space, oh my swift horse,
Let me drink of the pure air, bathe me in the wind.
The stirrup beats your belly, and I have loosened the bridle.
My body scarcely touches you, it flies while following you.
Although based on the same tonic triad with which the vocal part begins, the melody for the final stanza is more dramatic because of its initial octave drop. This is, after all, the culminating section of this long melodrama! The stringendo marked at “Cours, cours” implies a headlong rush to the end, as the rider urges his horse on to greater and greater speed. The brief excursion into G major, begun at “toi, les yeux,” makes the return to G minor at “profond!” an effective finale. The diminuendo at the end does not necessarily imply any slackening of speed, although a tiny retard at the last measure might be appropriate.
Break everything, the brush, the barrier, the branch.
Torrents, ditches, embankments, crossed with a single leap.
Run, run, I dream and over you, eyes closed, I lean,
Carry me, carry me into the profound unknown.
L’Invitation au voyage | Poem by Charles Baudelaire | |
Invitation to the Voyage |
Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D’aller là-bas vivre ensemble,
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l’humeur est vagabonde;
C’est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu’ils viennent le bout du monde.
Les soleils couchants
Revêtent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D’hyacinthe et d’or;
Le monde s’endort
Dans une chaude lumière!
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupte!
This is a song full of the mystery and allure of never-never land. Baudelaire, author of its text, was so enraptured by the sentiments he himself had expressed in the poem that he later made a second version of it, a “prose-poem.” From this latter piece it would seem that Baudelaire had a specific place in mind, les Pays-Bas (the Lowlands, or Holland), but the music seems to describe some unearthly, unattainable paradise.
The piano opens with one of Duparc’s favorite harmonic progressions—the tonic minor to a II7 chord with a lowered fifth. These two chords alternate until measures eight and nine where we have a diminished II to a glorious tonic major. This unexpected modulation, accompanied by a rapid crescendo, is like the sun bursting through the haze.
The melodic line is derived from these harmonies. At first it rocks back and forth, then it soars up to its first climax at “ensemble.” The words to this point have been:
My child! my sister,
Think of the sweetness
Of going to live there together,
We now have a pedal point on A (the key is A minor for medium voice, C minor in the original) with harmonies shifting around this open A chord. The melody is based on the dominant (E).
To love in leisure
To love and to die
In the land which is so like you!
The predominant A and D chords yield to diminished chords on E momentarily (under “ressemble”), but the pedal point A continues.
The damp suns
Of these variable skies
For my spirit have the mysterious charms
Of your treacherous eyes,
Shining through their tears.
At this point we have the same melody and accompaniment we had at the first triumphant major chord, but now the composer demands a diminuendo instead of a crescendo, and the high E is soft and distant.
The constantly moving piano figure stops abruptly and long chords accompany the refrain:
There, all is order and beauty,
Luxury, calm, and sensuality.
Each line has but one single note—the tonic first and then the dominant, and the pedal point A chord rings through all eight measures. The effect is one of frozen beauty and complete stillness.
After the fermata, the piece begins again with the same musical material but new words:
See on these canals
The vessels sleep
Whose nature is vagabond;
A countermelody is now added to the piano part. This is the same melody given to the singer for “Aimer à loisir, Aimer et mourir,” and it makes a beautiful duet with the singer’s line.
It is to fulfill your least desire
That they come from the ends of the earth.
At the forte under “viennent,” the ever present A pedal point finally yields to a rather unanticipated B octave, the V of the E chord which is its resolution.
A new piano figuration ripples along under a fresh melodic line:
The setting suns
Once again clothe the fields
The canals, the whole city,
In hyacinth and gold;
The world sleeps in warm light
Under this last line the old familiar melodic fragment, which announces the A major climax, has been reintroduced. This time it is marked ff and the diminuendo does not begin until the next bar. From this resplendent return we never again lose the A tonality under the piano figure, nor is there much real harmonic movement in the figure itself. The refrain is heard again, this time even more quietly than before. The piano’s countermelody is now paired with these single note lines.
The composer warns against slowing down too much for the fade-out ending, because he has built in the ritard by increasing the value of the notes. The steady diminuendo from a pp to a ppp makes of the closing bars only the slightest whisper.
La Vague et la cloche | Poem by François Coppée | |
The Wave and the Bell |
Une fois, terrassé par un puissant breuvage,
J’ai rêvé que parmi les vagues et le bruit
De la mer je voguais sans fanal dans la nuit.
Morne rameur, n’ayant plus l’espoir du rivage . . .
L’Océan me crachait ses baves sur le front,
Et le vent me glaçait d’horreur jusqu’aux entrailles,
Les vagues s’écroulaient ainsi que des murailles
Avec ce rythme lent qu’un silence interrompt. . .
Puis, tout changea . . . la mer et sa noire mêlée sombrèrent. . .
Sous mes pieds s’effondra le plancher de la barque,
Et j’étais seul dans un vieux clocher,
Chevauchant avec rage une cloche ébranlée.
J’étreignais la criarde opiniâtrement,
Convulsif et fermant dans l’effort mes paupières,
Le grondement faisait trembler les vieilles pierres
Tant j’activais sans fin le lourd balancement.
Pourquoi n’as-tu pas dit, ô rêve, où Dieu nous mène?
Pourquoi n’as-tu pas dit s’ils ne finiraient pas
L’inutile travail et l’éternel fracas
Dont est fait la vie, hélas, la vie humaine!
Since this song was originally conceived for voice and orchestra, the pianist must make the accompaniment as orchestral as possible: the surging figure in the bass must be massive and sonorous; the frequent tremolos should remind one of a string section in full vibrato; the dynamic range must be wide with full rich fortes and whispered pianissimos. The composer’s instruction gives us the key word—“tumultuous.”
The title of the poem contains a word, “Vague,” which has two meanings in French: wave or billow, and uncertainty or vagueness. It is clear from the text that the poet is describing the waves of a wildly stormy sea, but the secondary connotation is there on a subconscious level. In fact in the last few lines, the poet does refer to the uncertainty of life itself.
The piano introduction begins with an E minor (original key) arpeggiated figure which suggests the stormy sea. The singer begins “simply and without nuance” as though telling a story:
Once, felled by a powerful brew,
I dreamed that midst the waves and the noise
Of the sea
A rush of thirty-second notes in the piano leads to a section full of foreboding. One is reminded, perhaps, of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Descent into the Maelstrom” (poets and musicians of this era were much smitten with and influenced by Poe’s eerie tales).
I rowed without signal lantern in the night
Mournful rower, having no more hope of (reaching) shore . . .
Another thirty-second note run leads us back to the original piano figure, but after four measures we have new material. The piano’s tremolo shimmers in a higher register for a moment, then a rapidly descending arpeggio and low register octaves bring us back into the deep. This agitated jumping from register to register exudes musical tension.
The melodic line often clashes with the ornaments in the piano part (under “crachait,” “sur,” “glaçait,” “jusqu’aux”), but becomes consonant with the main notes. There is a strange pedal point effect on F♯—the melody is derived at first from the diminished chord on F♯ and then from an F♯ triad. Both words and music are chilling:
The ocean spat its foam on my forehead
And the wind froze me with horror to my entrails,
At “horreur” the harmony moves to C♯:
The waves tumbled like walls
With that slow rhythm that a silence interrupts . . .
The rush of thirty-second notes has this time (under “Avec ce rhythm”) brought the ostinato chords and melody to B, the dominant. From the tremendous ff climax on “ainsi,” there has been a steady diminuendo, but the piano’s sweeping scales bring us back to ff.
Still on the one note—B—the singer continues his remarkable tale:
Then, everything changed . . .
Soft tremolos in the bass provide the barest of accompaniments:
The sea and its black whirl subsided
From an ominous pp we now have a tremendous crescendo:
Under my feet collapsed
“A pleine voix,” the instruction to the singer, means at full voice. Obviously here the singer must use all his forces to soar over the stormy piano part and bring out the excitement of this climactic moment. After this outburst piano and voice subside, and—in declamatory style (“déclamé”)—the singer intones on repeated notes, for the most part unaccompanied:
the floor of the boat. . .
A quick crescendo growling deep in the bass of the piano leads to the sudden pp of shimmering tremolo B and E chords.
There is a long suspenseful pause; then heavy (“lourd”) chords in the bass repeat their dark pattern for 18 consecutive measures. The singer continues his story:
And I was alone in an old bell tower,
Riding furiously on a swinging bell,
I gripped the bawler (bell) stubbornly,
Convulsive and closing my eyelids in the struggle,
The roaring made the old stones tremble,
So much did I ceaselessly quicken the heavy swinging.
Throughout this entire section there has been a steady buildup of sound and musical tension. One feels the bell swinging more and more wildly and more and more out of control. Now it is Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” that comes to mind.
The music for the next section is even more descriptive; the heavy chords continue the rocking motion, and the left hand crosses over to give us the bell’s pealing. The accompaniment becomes less noisy for the singer’s plaintive question:
Why didn’t you say, oh dream, where God is leading us?. . .
Why didn’t you say if it will not end
The useless work and eternal din
Of which life is made, alas, human life.
After all the sound and fury this song ends not with a bang but with a whimper. The pedal point on the dominant, so characteristic of Duparc, lasts for fourteen measures, after which it finally yields to the ominous harmonies first found in measures 15-19. The last few bars are, of course, in the tonic, E minor.
The harmonic structure of this extended song gives it a sense of cohesiveness; through its many changes of mood we feel the logical flow of musical ideas. Even the abrupt shift in text, from straight-forward narration to philosophical musing, does not disturb this overall structural unity.
Extase | Poem by Jean Lahor | |
Ecstasy |
Sur un lys pâle mon coeur dort
D’un sommeil doux comme la mort. . .
Mort exquise, mort parfumée
Du souffle de la bien-aimée. . .
Sur ton sein pâle mon coeur dort
D’un sommeil doux comme la mort. . .
It is a quiet, calm sort of ecstasy depicted in this song. There are no wild, tumultuous outbursts—it is an ecstasy of repose and fulfillment.
The piano opens on the dominant, but the bass note is the V of V, which makes the harmonic progression far from obvious. In fact the whole question of tonal center is of interest here, because it is not until the last few measures of the song that any one key becomes prominent enough to warrant being called its main tonality. Most of the emphasis is on the V of V (or the II) and the V, hardly any on the I, until the piano postlude.
As in so many songs by Duparc and Chausson, there are long pedal points, which need help from the middle pedal if they are to be sustained without blurring the chords above them.
Considering the length of the song, the piano prelude, interlude and postlude are quite long. In fact the voice appears in fewer than half the measures of the piece. When the voice does enter, it is with a highly chromatic melody of very narrow range:
On a pale lilly my heart sleeps
A sleep sweet as death . . .
In the next measure (“Mort exquise”) we finally hit the tonic (D major in the original key) for the first time. Here the singer’s line begins to take on more scope.
Exquisite death, death perfumed
With the breath of the beloved . . .
This phrase ends with an octave interval, which is an extremely wide and expressive one. The vocal line has become more ecstatic here, and the piano interlude continues this “carried away” feeling for a while, but the original quiet mood returns for the final verse. The harmony begins with a II chord instead of the V, but the melody is the same.
On your pale breast my heart sleeps
A sleep sweet as death. . .
The beautiful chord under “mort” (death) leads into the postlude, whose main function seems to be the belated establishment of the tonic. Lovely melodic fragments taken from the vocal line (particularly from “Mort exquise”) bring the song to a close.
Sérénade florentine | Poem by Jean Lahor | |
Florentine Serenade |
Etoile dont la beauté luit
Comme un diamant dans la nuit,
Regarde vers ma bien-aimée
Dont la paupière s’est fermée.
Et fais descendre sur ses yeux
La bénédiction des cieux.
Elle s’endort. . . Par la fenêtre
En sa chambre heureuse pénètre;
Sur sa blancheur, comme un baiser,
Viens jusqu’à l’aube te poser
Et que sa pensée, alors, rêve
D’un astre d’amour qui se lève!
This is a song of almost childlike simplicity which, in its use of uncomplicated triads in the upper registers of the piano, resembles many prayer settings. It is quite atypical of Duparc in its lack of harmonic complexity and its consistent peacefulness.
The piano begins with a melodic fragment in the left hand (E♭, D, C in the original key of F major) and tonic chords in the right. This little three-note tune crops up often in the piano part but is never given to the singer. It is particularly striking when it meets the end of the singer’s phrases at “bénédiction des cieux” and “qui se lève!” The singer has arrived at the tonic in both these spots, so the piano’s flatted 7th is unexpected. It should be stressed enough to make the interval clear and to allow for the decrescendo indicated by the composer.
The singer begins with a simple diatonic phrase:
Star whose beauty shines,
Like a diamond in the night,
Look at my beloved
Whose eyelids are closed,
The rhythm of “Regards vers ma bien-aimée/Dont la paupière s’est fermée,” the last two lines quoted above, has the gentle rocking effect of a lullaby. The piano has a sweet countermelody in the left hand, which begins with its characteristic three-note phrase.
And cause to descend upon her eyes
The blessings of the skies.
The next section is a bit more sophisticated harmonically. There is a beautiful minor-major cadence under “Elle s’en dort” and, at the end of that measure, an augmented chord. Nevertheless for Duparc this is simple stuff indeed!
She sleeps . . . Through the window
Enter her happy room
On her whiteness like a kiss,
Come, stay there till dawn
The piano’s poco piu forte chords, coming as they do in a relatively deep register of the piano, are somewhat startling. Perhaps it is the composer’s way of reminding us that he is thinking of earthly love after all.
And may her thoughts dream there
Of a star of love which rises.
Le Manoir de Rosamonde | Poem by Robert de Bonnières | |
The Manor of Rosamonde |
De sa dent soudaine et vorace,
Comme un chien l’amour m’a mordu . . .
En suivant mon sang répandu,
Va, tu pourras suivre ma trace . . .
Prends un cheval de bonne race,
Pars, et suis mon chemin ardu,
Fondrière ou sentier perdu,
Si la course ne te harasse!
En passant par où j’ai passé,
Tu verras que seul et blessé
J’ai parcouru ce triste monde.
Et qu’ainsi je m’en fus mourir
Bien loin, bien loin, san découvrir
Le bleu manoir de Rosamonde.
The cryptic title and last line of this song probably refer to legends concerning two Rosamondes. The first was the wife of a Lombard king who is said to have lived around 570 A.D. The Italian poet Alfieri (1749–1803), and the English poet Swinburne (1837–1909), both used this tale of romance and regicide as subject matter for long epic poems.
The second Rosamonde was the mistress of Henry II of England. Their romance inspired many tales, including that of a labyrinth through which King Henry had to find his way to reach her.
In Robert de Bonnières’ poem, the blue manor of Rosamonde seems to symbolize someone or something which the narrator seeks but, alas, never finds.
The piano opens on the dominant with an odd, hesitant rhythm. In measure three the bass line introduces the characteristic rhythmic figure, which clearly depicts a racing horse. In retrospect the first two bars seem to have been the horse pawing at the ground, getting ready to gallop away. The voice enters in an intensely dramatic style. The words “chien” and “mordu” are given special bite.
With its sudden and voracious teeth
Like a dog, love has bitten me
There is a long pause after this line, set off by the piano’s abrupt and dry (“sec”) chord which must be shorter than the singer’s last syllable. The piano interlude sets the horse in motion again and the singer reenters with a repeat of the music of the opening line:
By following the blood I shed,
Come, you will be able to follow my trail. . .
Another long pause and piano interlude reinforce the image of the racing steed. All these abrupt pauses create tremendous, angry tension.
Take a horse of good breed,
Leave, and follow my arduous path,
Bogs or lost trails,
Let the journey not weary you!
The section quoted above contains the climax of the song. A tremendous crescendo leads from “Prends un cheval” to the ff at “Fondrière.” Voice and piano remain at full forte through the ritard and the a tempo. Even after the fermata the piano reenters ff, but a decrescendo begins in the next measure and continues through the piano interlude and into the next section.
When the vocal line begins again it is soft and expressive. The rhythmic piano figure disappears and we have quietly supportive chords.
While passing where I have passed,
You will see that alone and wounded
I have traveled this sad world.
A less important crescendo lends strength to the G♭7 chord preceding “Et qu’ainsi.” The forte lasts for four bars and then there is a rapid decrescendo. These six measures contain the most beautiful and imaginative harmonies in the song.
And thus I have caused my own death
Very far away, very far away,
The tempo suddenly picks up again and the galloping rhythm re-turns, but only for one measure. After a two bar rallentando we have another a tempo, a long pause, and then a final a tempo. The hushed dynamics of the last seven measures, combined with the pauses and fitful tempos, create a long-ago and far-away effect, one quite appropriate for a mysterious legend. The singer almost whispers the last line:
without discovering
The blue manor of Rosamonde.
Testament | Poem by Armand Silvestre |
Pour que le vent te les apporte
Sur l’aile noire d’un remord,
J’écrirai sur la feuille morte
Les tortures de mon coeur mort!
Toute ma sève s’est tarie
Aux clairs midis de ta beauté,
Et comme à la feuille flétrie
Rien de vivant ne m’est resté;
Tes yeux m’ont brûlé jusqu’à l’âme,
Comme des soleils sans merci!
Feuille que le gouffre réclame,
L’autan va m’emporter aussi. . .
Mais avant, pour qu’il te les porte
Sur l’aile noire d’un remord,
J’écrirai sur la feuille morte
Les tortures de mon coeur mort!
The legacy bequeathed to the loved one in this last will and testament is one of anger and pain. The stormy piano part frequently clashes head on with the vocal line, the two rhythms indicated are agitated and at odds with one another; the mode is predominantly minor (the original key is C minor) with accidentals often used for dissonance.
The piano has two distinct roles in this song: to give harmonic background (all those tremololike sixteenth notes) and to supply one or two melodic lines, for this is really a duet. When the piano is alone, its melody (the upward stemmed notes) must ring out with all the fiery passion of a soloist; when the vocal line is sung, the two are almost equal partners—“almost” because, of course, the words must be heard.
The accompaniment opens with a C minor harmony spiced by the A♭; its melody begins at the end of measure one. The singer’s entrance is in the middle of a measure which immediately calls attention to the polyrhythm-—3/4 for the singer, 9/8 for the pianist. Since the singer’s melody rises from E♭ to F, while the piano’s falls from F to E♭, we have dissonance. Most of the dissonances created in this way throughout the song can be analyzed as suspensions; they are heard as the crossing of two melodic lines.
The poem begins:
So that the wind carries them to you
On the black wings of remorse,
I shall write on the dead leaf
The tortures of my dead heart!
There has been a steady crescendo throughout this section, culminating for the singer in the E♭ on “de mon coeur mort” The piano continues the crescendo—its melody now in octaves—for two-and-a-half measures more and then begins the decrescendo. The next section is slower, less tempestuous and somewhat soothing in its predominantly major harmonies:
All my vigor has been wasted
In the clear noontime of your beauty.
The piano’s melody sounds particularly lovely in the major mode at “de ta beauté” This aura of serenity persists a while longer:
And, as to the withered leaf
Nothing of life remains to me.
The words to the four lines quoted above are exhausted, depleted, resigned, but the music is tender and warm. This presents a problem for the interpreters. One is probably more likely to be influenced by the music than the text when performing the song. At least the two artists have the same material, for the two melodic lines have been in unison during these four lines.
At the final syllable of “reste” the C minor tonality and more rapid tempo bring back the angrier mood of the beginning:
Your eyes burned me to my soul,
Like merciless suns!
This last line is another climactic one. The vocal line is cut off abruptly for dramatic effect after “sans merci.” It is in fact the same G-E♭ vocal interval we had at the high point of the first section, but the harmonic underpinnings are completely different. The vocal line and piano melody, now in octaves in the bass, are still in unison, but the piano has rising chromatic octaves between melody notes which serve to build tension. The rise to G♭ in the vocal line, accompanied as it is by rushing chromatic scales, is the climax of this section. The words have been
Leaf which the whirlpool reclaims
The wind will carry me away too . . .
After a piano interlude full of dissonance-creating suspensions, we have musical material almost identical to the beginning of the song. The words are also similar:
But first, so that it carries them to you
On the black wings of remorse,
I shall write on the dead leaf
The tortures of my dead heart!
Once again we have the tremendous vocal climax on the last word, carried even further by the piano. The last seven-and-a-half bars subdue the passionate outburst, and the song fades away. The flatted II in the third bar from the end is an important harmonic touch, which should be heard even at the pp decibel level.
Phidylé | Poem by Leconte de Lisle |
L’herbe est molle au sommeil
Sous les frais peupliers,
Aux pentes des sources moussues,
Qui dans les prés en fleur
Germant par mille issues,
Se perdent sous les noirs halliers.
Repose, ô Phidylé!
Midi sur les feuillages
Rayonne et t’invite au sommeil.
Par le trèfle et le thym,
Seules, en plein soleil,
Chantent les abeilles volages;
Un chaud parfum circule
Au détour des sentiers,
La rouge fleur des blés s’incline,
Et les oiseaux, rasant de l’aile la colline,
Cherchent l’ombre des églantiers.
Repose, ô Phidylé!
Mais, quand l’Astre,
Incliné sur sa courbe éclatante,
Verra ses ardeurs s’apaiser,
Que ton plus beau sourire
Et ton meilleur baiser
Me recompensent de l’attente!
The words and music of this song evoke an atmosphere of ripe, languid sensuality. The heaviness one feels when the air is hot, still, and laden with flowery fragrance permeates the song. In the entire first section the singer scarcely moves from the tonic note (A♭ in the original, here analyzed in F♯, the key for medium voice)—and a relatively low note it is—and the slow quarter-note accompanying chords do nothing to disturb the sleepy tranquillity. The poem begins:
The grass is soft for sleeping
Under the cool poplars,
At the slopes of the mossy springs,
Which, in the blossoming meadows
Sending out thousands of offshoots,
Get lost in the black thickets.
A lovely enharmonic change (F♯-G♭) introduces the new key (E♭ major) and the next section. Although there is more motion in the piano part, which now has a nice little countermelody in whole notes, the vocal line is even more languid for the refrain:
Rest, Oh Phidylé
In the interlude the piano introduces a new melody, which continues with the singer, eventually (under “t’invite au sommeil”) resulting in a lovely duet in contrary motion.
Noon on the leaves
Shines and invites you to sleep.
Another key change and a change from eighth notes to triplets in the accompaniment announce the next section. Since the triplet figure immediately yields to sixteenth notes, which create the effect of increased movement, the instruction “a little faster” means that this section will sound considerably livelier than the first two. The frequent modulations found here add to the feeling of agitation.
Amid the clover and the thyme,
Alone in full sunlight,
Ever since Haydn’s “Creation,” composers have been unable to resist a glorious modulation to a full major chord at the word “light.” Duparc’s under “en plein soleil” is indeed glorious.
The flying bees sing;
Now, for the first time in the song, we have a crescendo to a fairly high dynamic level. The piano has an impassioned melody, which soars higher than the vocal line:
A warm perfume swirls around
The curve of the paths,
The red flower of the wheat droops,
And the birds, scraping their wings against the hillside,
Look for the shadow of the sweet-briar.
From the word “s’incline” (droops), there has been a steady diminuendo to calm things down again. The rhythmic figure in the accompaniment helps by going from sixteenth notes to triplets to eighth notes. All this is necessary preparation for the gentle refrain,
Rest, Oh Phidylé,
which is now repeated in the song’s original key. After a brief repetition of the piano’s melody from the first interlude, the refrain is heard again. Two gorgeous harmonic changes occur under the singer’s long B (“repose”); the melodic line then climbs chromatically on “Phidylé” until the dominant note (C♯) is reached. The third repeat of the refrain, which scarcely moves from che C♯, is sung pp—almost in a whisper. It is supported by a pedal point on C♯ in the bass, but there is also lovely chromatic filler in the accompaniment.
Whispering tremolos, which begin the next piano interlude, grow dynamically to a grand forte tonic chord. These few measures are much more effective in the orchestral version Duparc subsequently made of this song—perhaps he was already thinking of the orchestration when he wrote them. The voice enters “with warmth” and forte:
But when the Star descending
In its brilliant arc
Sees its ardors wane,
The star referred to here is, of course, the sun. These lines provide the text for an enormous climax. The melody is triumphant in its diatonic march up to F♯ (A♭ in the original key); the chords and tremolos are heavy and noble. A diminuendo sets in after the pianist’s rising line during “éclatante.”
Let your most beautiful smile
And your best kiss
Reward me, reward me for having waited!
There are several rapid dynamic swings in this last section, but the focal point is clearly the final crescendo to the forte on “l’attente.”
The piano postlude, all over an F♯ pedal point, is a steady diminuendo to a pp ending.
Lamento | Poem by Théophile Gautier | |
Lament |
Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe
Où flotte avec un son plaintif
L’ombre d’un if?
Sur l’if une pâle colombe,
Triste et seule au soleil couchant,
Chante son chant.
On dirait que l’âme éveillée
Pleure sous terre à l’unison
De la chanson.
Et du malheur d’être oubliée
Se plaint dans un roucoulement,
Bien doucement.
Ah! jamais plus près de la tombe
Je n’irai, quand descend le soir
Au manteau noir,
Ecouter la pâle colombe
Chanter, sur la branche de l’if,
Son chant plaintif!
The title of this song is its best description. From beginning to end it is mournful, grief-stricken. Its minor mode and descending chromatic melody are heavy with sorrow, as is its beautiful text.
There are many subtle touches in the poem that should be noticed. First, Gautier’s way of evoking the visual—the tomb is white, the tree creates a shadow, the dove is pale, the evening has a black cloak—there is no color anywhere, only chiaroscuro. Then there is the remarkable use of sounds—the onomatopoeia of “roucoulement” (“cooing”), with its soft vowel sounds, the inner rhymes of “tombe,” “l’ombre,” “colombe,” and the deliberate repetition of sound in “Chante son chant.”
Duparc chooses relatively simple means to set off this rich text. He also uses repetition most effectively: the melody in the opening two bars of the piano introduction becomes the vocal line under “L’ombre d’un if”; it subsequently appears unaltered for piano alone three more times, and in different keys twice again in the more animated section, and the singer has it five times in all. Since this is a short song, this creates an almost trancelike effect.
After the piano’s two-bar introduction the singer begins:
Do you know the white tomb
Where with a plaintive sound floats
The shadow of a yew-tree?
These lines are an example of what another poet of this era, Charles Baudelaire, called “Correspondances”: shadows float and produce sounds because
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité . . .
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent.
In a secret and profound unity
Perfumes, colors, and sounds correspond to one another.
The singer’s first measure is almost declamatory—he might be asking a fairly mundane question—but the falling interval on the somber word “tombe” prepares us for the increasingly emotion-charged melodic line, which culminates in the highly chromatic “L’ombre d’un if.” This phrase must be set apart by a little breathing space after “plaintif.”
The singer continues:
On the tree a pale dove
At the beginning of this line the piano sings a little duet with the vocalist and the mode changes to major: by the second measure, however, we are back in minor. The rise from D to E♭ in the next measure brings the first crescendo.
Sad and alone in the setting sun.
The modulation from the E♭ chord under “seul” to the D♭ minor, and B♭ minor chords under “couchant,” are especially beautiful.
Sings its song.
The music for the above line is our oft-repeated chromatic lament.
The second verse of the song uses the same music for the continuing text:
One would say that the awakened soul
Cries under the earth in unison
With its song,
And from the sorrow of having been forgotten
Complains with a cooing sound
Very softly.
The next section is marked “a little more animated,” and the piano part now has a sixteenth note figure, which always creates more movement. In a little stretto the piano has the chromatic figure, to which an inner voice has now been added. The syncopated melodic notes taken from the D minor arpeggio in the third measure add to the growing agitation, which gives rise to a huge crescendo. The singer’s entrance is strong and dramatic:
Ah, never more near the tomb
Shall I go, when evening falls
In black cloak,
“Au manteau noir” is sung to the familiar chromatic melodic fragment. A big decrescendo has brought the dynamic level down again, but the sense of agitation remains. Throughout this section the piano has a strong countermelody, which continues until the end in a primarily downward diatonic march. The singer continues:
To listen to the pale dove
Sing on the branch of the yew,
The rising line under “branche de l’if,” and the singer’s long pause which follows, set up the last few sad words:
Its plaintive song!
The piano postlude ends with a repeat of the opening two bars, bringing the song full cycle.
Elégie | Poem by Thomas Moore | |
Elegy |
Oh! ne murmurez pas son nom!
Qu’il dorme dans l’ombre,
Où froide et sans honneur repose sa dépouille.
Muettes, tristes, glacées, tombent nos larmes,
Comme la rosée de la nuit,
Qui sur sa tête humecte la gazon;
Mais la rosée de la nuit, bien qu’elle pleure,
Qu’elle pleure, en silence,
Fera briller la verdure sur sa couche
Et nos larmes, en secret répandues,
Conserveront sa mémoire fraîche et verte
Dans nos coeurs.
The text for this song is a prose translation into French of a poem (originally in English) by Thomas Moore on the death of Robert Emmet, a young Irish rebel who was hanged for treason after an abortive uprising. Moore, a friend and fellow student of Emmet, wrote this poem for Emmet’s grieving sweetheart. The text here given is a re-translation of the French prose.
As one might expect from the circumstances which inspired this song, we find here a dignified, philosophical aura. Although the song is in F minor (in the original key) the ending is F major, reflecting the solace offered by the poet.
The piano begins with an oft-repeated characteristic downward half step over the F7 chord. Each of the piano’s four introductory bars has this melodic pattern over varying harmonies, the last one preparing for the singer’s entrance by giving the first note of the vocal line:
Oh, breathe not his name!
Let him sleep in the shadow,
Where cold and without honor
Rest his remains.
The vocal line has the dominant (C) as its central note, but finally sinks to the tonic on the last syllable (“dépouille”). The rise on “et sans honneur,” the occasion for a crescendo and a decrescendo, is a moment of great intensity (“sans honneur” refers to the young man’s ignominious death).
The vocal line now has the two-note chromatic phrase found everywhere in the piano part. These short, choppy phrases have an intensity of their own, which mounts with each word:
Silent, sad, frozen, our tears fall
Like the night’s dew,
The high note under “tombent” (fall) is the climax of these measures. Calmer and sadder the voice continues:
Which moistens the grass over his head;
Triplet sixteenth notes in the accompaniment animate the tempo a little, but very little, for the next section.
But the night’s dew
Though it weeps, though it weeps in silence,
Will make the green over his bed glisten
The music under these last four measures, from “en silence” to “couche,” becomes quite fervent. A slight pulling back before the final crescendo and climax, on “sa mémoire,” is probably advisable.
And our tears, shed in secret
Will keep his memory fresh and green in our hearts.
The singer’s last syllable (“coeurs”) is on the tonic, but the accompanying chord’s dissonant-sounding suspension prevents its resolution to the major tonic from being an effective final cadence. This becomes the function of the brief coda, whose final chord is indeed a satisfying end to the song.
La Vie antérieure | Poem by Charles Baudelaire | |
Life of Former Days |
J’ai longtemps habité sous de vastes portiques
Que les soleils marins teignaient de mille feux,
Et que leurs grands piliers, droits et majestueux,
Rendaient pareils, le soir aux grottes basaltiques.
Les houles, en roulant les images des cieux,
Mêlaient d’un façon solennelle et mystique
Les tout puissants accords de leur riche musique
Aux couleurs du couchant refleté par mes yeux. . .
C’est là, c’est la que j’ai vécu dans les voluptés calmes
Au milieu de l’azur, des vagues, des splendeurs,
Et des esclaves nus tout impregnés d’odeurs,
Qui me refraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,
Et dont l’unique soin était d’approfondir
Le secret douloureux qui me faisant languir.
Like “La Vague et la cloche,” this song was originally conceived and written for voice and orchestra; only later did Duparc supply a piano part. Unlike most piano reductions, however, this accompaniment is very pianistic with nary an imitation-string-section tremolo.
The piano begins with a slow, steady march in the tonic (E♭ major in the original). This single measure pattern is repeated for the entire fourteen bars of the first section. The vocal line clings to the tonic scale with only two alterations, the brief chromaticism under “les soleils marins” and the flatted VII and VI under “grands piliers.” There is a prominent tonic triad (“majestueux”) and a well-prepared tonic ending to the section. This simplicity is quite remarkable for the era in general and Duparc in particular. The total absence of dynamic indications in this section, coupled with the lack of melodic and harmonic complications, is ample justification for a straightforward, uninflected delivery of the words:
I have long lived under vast porticos
Which the sea suns tinged with a thousand fires.
And which their grand columns, straight and majestic,
Rendered in the evening, like basalt grottos.
Suddenly everything changes: the vocal line develops more scope and greater dynamic range; the accompaniment imitates the surging of the ocean’s waves; the mode becomes minor and the whole atmosphere charged with emotion.
The billows, churning the reflections of the skies,
Mingled in a solemn and mystical way
The all-powerful chords of their rich music
With the colors of the sunset reflected by my eyes . . .
A tremendous crescendo has brought us to an ff at “mes yeux.” The piano, in which a strong countermelody has developed, carries the tempestuous outburst further. The pedal point on the dominant, which began after “accords,” yields to a powerful octave on the VII at “yeux.” This becomes a dominant seventh which leads to the next section in a virtuosic rush of arpeggios.
One has been led to expect the emergence of G as the new key for the next section, and indeed there is a G octave in the bass, but the right hand chord and vocal line are actually in the key of C. This becomes apparent at the third bar, under “vécu.” The tempo slows down considerably at the change of key; the voice remains very loud until the diminuendo under “les voluptés.”
It is there that I lived in calm voluptuousness
At this point there is an instruction from the composer: “almost at half voice and without nuance, as in a vision.” The deliberately monotonous line here is most conducive to the desired effect. The harmonies under “d’odeurs” and between “palmes” and “Et dont” are particularly beautiful. The countermelody in the piano part, under “Qui me rafraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,” should be as understated and lacking in nuance as the vocal line.
The words for this trancelike section paint a picture of exotic opulence:
Amid the azure (sky), waves, splendors
And nude slaves impregnated with perfumes
Who cooled my brow with palm leaves,
And whose only care was
A dramatic chord in the accompaniment and a slight pause by the singer add to the importance of the next word, and an enigmatic word it is. Like so many words, “approfondir” can have two virtually opposite meanings: to deepen or to investigate. Which do the slaves do, for
The painful secret which made me languish.
From “approfondir” to the end of the song, we are in the parallel minor. The piano postlude is doleful: three times rising arpeggios introduce falling chromatic melodic fragments, each one a little softer, a little slower, and a little sadder than the one before. Four bars before the end, the rising chromatic line in the bass with which the song began is heard again, but to quite different effect, for the prosaic major modality has been superseded by the mournful minor.
Au pays où se fait la guerre | Poem by Théophile Gautier | |
To the Land Where War Is Waged |
Au pays où se fait la guerre
Mon bel ami s’en est allé
Il semble à mon coeur désolé
Qu’il ne reste que moi sur terre.
En partant, au baiser d’adieu,
Il m’a pris mon âme à ma bouche . . .
Qui le tient si longtemps, Mon Dieu?
Voilà le soleil qui se couche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
Les pigeons sur le toit roucoulent
Roucoulent amoureusement,
Avec un son triste et charmant;
Les eaux sous les grands saules coulent. . .
Je me sens tout près de pleurer,
Mon coeur comme un lys plein s’épanche,
Et je n’ose plus espérer,
Voici briller la lune blanche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
Quelqu’un . . . monte à grands pas la rampe. . .
Serait-ce lui, mon doux amant?
Ce n’est pas lui, mais seulement
Mon petit page avec ma lampe . . .
Vents du soir, volez. Dites-lui
Qu’il est ma pensée et mon rêve,
Toute ma joie et mon ennui
Voici que l’aurore se lève,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
The text for “Au Pays où se fait la guerre” is a straightforward narrative poem by Théophile Gautier. With great dramatic flair, it describes the young woman whose lover has gone to war, her loneliness, her sadness, her short-lived hope when she hears someone mount the stairs, her desolation when she realizes it is only her page, her wish to send new thoughts to her lover on the evening breeze.
The poem consists of three stanzas, each ending with the two-line refrain:
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
And I all alone in my tower
I still await his return.
The eight lines preceding the refrain have the rhyme scheme abba cdcd, and each line consists of eight syllables. As we might suspect from this highly structured poem, Gautier, the link between the late romantic poets and the Parnassiens, found symmetry and formal structure basic ingredients of beauty.
Duparc’s setting of the poem is equally formal in concept. Each of the three stanzas is introduced by a heavy-hearted funereal figure which reminds one of a military cortège. This lends a strophic feeling to the song, even though there are some differences from one stanza to another. The overall harmonic scheme is also largely strophic, and as an additional unifying factor the introductory figure returns as a mournful postlude.
There are several places where the music is onomatopoeic, that is, imitative of extramusical sounds. Most obvious are the fluttery trills in the accompaniment where the cooing of amorous pigeons is described, and the tremolos to mark the woman’s excitement when she hears someone mounting the stairs.
The song has a very wide tessitura. In the key for mezzo-soprano (F minor) the range is from middle C to the A♭ almost two octaves above. Alternate melody notes are given if the lower range is unmanageable, in which case E above middle C is the lowest note.
The distinctive sound of Duparc’s harmonic style is heard, soon after the singer begins, in the measures “fait la guerre.” This same melodic line and chord progression are repeated in each of the three refrains, although in slightly different form in the last; still another example of the emphasis put on formal structure.
On the word “guerre” the vocal line sadly echoes the introductory figure. For the next six bars we have shifting harmonies over a pedal point on the tonic, with the melody staying within the tonic scale. Unexpected use is made of F major and C major chords. At “Il semble” a recapitulation of the music of the first line begins, but at “que moi sur terre” there is a modulation to C major. This comforting major tonality suggests the woman’s happy recollection of her lover’s kiss. Schubert uses this device in a similar way in “Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel.” An augmented chord under “baiser” leads to A minor, then to a diminished chord on the pedal point C. This progression is repeated, but instead of the diminished chord, a C7 prepares for the anguished forte chord which combines F minor and D♭ major (this may be analyzed as a D♭ with a major seven). The melody rises to A♭ at this climactic moment. When this chord returns softly four bars later, it is more mournful than tortured, and the melody reaches no higher than F. This leads us to the refrain. The words thus far are:
To the land where the war is waged
My lover has gone
It seems to my desolate heart
That I am alone on earth.
In leaving at the farewell kiss,
He took my heart from my lips . . .
What keeps him so long, my God?
Now the sun is setting
And I, all alone in my tower,
I still await his return.
The second stanza begins like the first, with the lugubrious introduction and rather simple melody. The accompaniment, however, now has an important countermelody. The trill figure in imitation of cooing pigeons has already been mentioned. Interestingly enough, under “Je me sens tout près de pleurer” (I feel myself close to tears), Duparc repeats the C major tonality found in the comparable place in the first stanza. This time the effect should be tender but somber. The dynamics must be very quiet, even for the D♭-F minor chord and high A♭ in the vocal part. The end of the stanza is slow and hushed, with a trancelike quality.
The pigeons on the roof coo
Coo amorously,
With a sad and charming sound;
The waters under the huge willows run . . .
I feel myself close to tears,
My heart like a blossoming lily overflows
And I no longer dare hope,
Now the white moon is shining,
Refrain
In the interest of dramatic intensity, the third stanza begins differently from the other two, with what might be called an interlude for voice and piano. At first there are diminished tremolos and the melodic fragment from the introduction, which is also made even sadder by the diminished melodic interval. The voice, as agitated as the tremolos, sings “Quelqu’un . . .” (Someone) and then pauses dramatically. The singer’s excitement mounts feverishly as she thinks it might be her lover, but the diminuendo in the piano part, and the return of the slow cortègelike figure from the original introduction make it clear that she will be disappointed. Even at this sad juncture Duparc reverts to C major at “page,” maintaining the harmonic pattern intact. This time the D♭-F minor chord and high A♭ in the melody at “Toute ma joie” are at full forte, the true climax of the song. The piano’s countermelody adds to the strength of this music, which continues at a high dynamic level almost to the very end. The piano part begins to fade before the vocal part and becomes quietly mournful for the postlude. The last stanza reads:
Someone bounds up the ramp.
Could it be he, my sweet lover?
It is not he, but only
My little page with my lamp.
Evening winds, fly. Tell him
That he is my thought and my dream,
All my joy and all my pain.
Now dawn rises,
Refrain
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