Natalie Dessay and Philippe Cassard
In Women’s Words, beloved French duo soprano Natalie Dessay and pianist Philippe Cassard give women the spotlight, whether as composers or as heroines of their own stories.
Tonight Natalie Dessay and Philippe Cassard celebrate the female perspective in art song and opera. The first half is devoted to three composers who were overshadowed by their eminent menfolk for far too long.
Despite her father’s (and, regrettably, her brother Felix’s) attempts to discourage her, as a woman, from pursuing music as a profession, Fanny Mendelssohn wrote more than 400 works. Her husband, the artist Wilhelm Hensel, was supportive, however, and Fanny continued composing, organising concerts and conducting her own choir until the day she died of a stroke, aged 42.
As precociously gifted children, she and Felix had known Johann Wolfgang von Goethe well; when she was about 14, her songs impressed him so much that he wrote a poem for her to set. She seems not to have obliged; but in Dämmrung senkte sich von oben (‘Dusk has fallen from above’) she treats his words with sensitivity, passion and harmonic daring.
After her death, the devastated Felix had several volumes of her songs published. For Op 10, he chose some of her most sophisticated creations, including Vorwurf (‘Reproach’), which offers almost Bachian resonances. ‘Suleika’, with its unpredictable phrase-lengths and subtle twists of harmony, was included in a Christmas album that Fanny created in 1836. The poem is by Marianne von Willemer – long misattributed to Goethe, who based the character Mignon in his West- Eastern Divan on her.
A child prodigy pianist, Clara Wieck was celebrated throughout Europe by her mid-teens. In 1840 she married Robert Schumann; following his tragic death in a mental hospital in 1856, she raised their seven surviving children alone. In her later years she was a revered piano professor and remained a close friend of Johannes Brahms.
Soon after their marriage, the Schumanns jointly created in 1841 a collection of their settings of Friedrich Rückert’s poems, including Clara’s Liebst du um Schönheit (‘If you love for beauty’), Warum willst du and’re fragen (‘Why enquire of others’) and Er ist gekommen in Sturm und Regen (‘He came in storm and rain’), which reveal her melodic gifts in full bloom. Sie liebten sich beide (‘They loved one another’) sets Heinrich Heine’s bittersweet story of undeclared love. But her Romance in A minor, Op 21, for solo piano, from a group of three composed in 1853, occupies a world of anxiety and anguish that belies the modest title.
Alma Mahler-Werfel, too, was torn between her own creative gifts and a man – her first husband, Gustav Mahler – who preferred her to support his. Just 17 of her songs survive, capturing the fervid, hot-house atmosphere of fin-de-siècle Vienna and also hinting at influences from Wagner and Schumann.
Tonight’s songs appear in a 1910 collection edited, at last, by Gustav, who had realised he was losing her affections.
Bei dir ist es traut (‘I feel warm and close to you’) matches Rainer Maria Rilke’s sentiments with suitably intimate music. In Laue Sommernacht (‘Mild summer night’), hope illuminates the darkness, though the final cadence is left unresolved. In meines Vaters Garten (‘In my father’s garden’), a poem by Otto Erich Hartleben, depicts three sisters dreaming that their beloveds must leave for war; Alma’s atmosphere progresses from innocence to dread.
We turn now to music by French male composers in which female characters take power into their own hands – whether over their lives or that of others.
Ernest Chausson, a friend of Gabriel Fauré and Henri Duparc, inherited serious money and was fearful of being thought a compositional dilettante. He was just beginning to gain confidence and repute when he was killed in a bicycling accident in 1899, aged 44. In Chanson perpétuelle (1898), evoking an abandoned, Ophelia-like woman contemplating suicide by water, the Symbolist poetry of Charles Cros merges ideally with Chausson’s melancholy music.
There’s no romanticisation about the gambling-addict protagonist of Francis Poulenc’s La dame de Monte Carlo. The composer set this Jean Cocteau monologue for his duo partner, the soprano Denise Duval, to sing in 1961. It reminded him, he wrote, of a time in the mid-1920s when he lived in Monte Carlo, observing ‘those old wrecks of women, light-fingered ladies of the gaming tables …’
For most of Claude Debussy’s enigmatic opera, based on Maeterlinck’s play Pelléas et Mélisande, the eponymous pair cannot declare their love: she is married to his elder brother. In ‘Mes longs cheveux’, Mélisande leans from a castle window, letting down her hair to envelop Pelléas, standing below, in what is by far the opera’s most sensual scene.
Chimène, heroine of Jules Massenet’s opera Le Cid (1885), has a good reason to weep in ‘Pleurez, mes yeux’: her beloved, Rodrigue, has killed her father in a duel. Later, however, Rodrigue will ask her to decide his fate; she forgives and marries him.
Finally the ‘Jewel Song’ brings us full circle to Goethe, on whose Faust Charles Gounod’s 1859 opera is based, if loosely. Faust has sold his soul to Mephistopheles in return for restored youth. Courting Marguerite, he sends her a casket of jewellery. Here she gazes, astonished, at her newfound glamour, culminating in a surge of joy.
© Jessica Duchen
Details
Programme and performers
Fanny Mendelssohn Dämmrung senkte sich von oben
Vorwurf
Suleika
Clara Schumann Liebst du um Schönheit
Sie liebten sich beide
Warum willst du and’re fragen
Er ist gekommen
Romance for piano in A minor, Op 21
Alma Mahler Bei dir ist es traut
Laue Sommernacht
In meines Vaters Garten
Ernest Chausson Chanson perpétuelle
Francis Poulenc La dame de Monte-Carlo
Claude Debussy ‘Mes longs cheveux’ from Pelléas et Mélisande
Jules Massenet Mélodie, Op 10 No 5
‘Pleurez mes yeux’ from Le Cid
Charles Gounod ‘Ah, je ris de me voir si belle’ from Faust
Natalie Dessay soprano
Philippe Cassard piano
Translations
Dämmrung senkte sich von oben
Dämmrung senkte sich von oben,
Schon ist alle Nähe fern,
Doch zuerst emporgehoben
Holden Lichts der Abendstern.
Alles schwankt ins Ungewisse,
Nebel schleichen in die Höh’,
Schwarzvertiefte Finsternisse
Widerspiegelnd ruht der See.
Nun am östlichen Bereiche
Ahn’ ich Mondenglanz und Glut,
Schlanker Weiden Haargezweige
Scherzen auf der nächsten Flut.
Durch bewegter Schatten Spiele
Zittert Lunas Zauberschein,
Und durchs Auge schleicht die Kühle
Sänftigend ins Herz hinein.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)
Vorwurf
Du klagst, dass bange Wehmut dich
beschleicht,
Weil sich der Wald entlaubt,
Und über deinem Haupt
Dahin der Wanderzug der Vögel streicht.
O klage nicht, bist selber wandelhaft,
Denkst du der Liebesglut?
Wie nun so traurig ruht in deiner Brust
Die müde Leidenschaft!
Nikolaus Lenau (1802–50)
Suleika
Ach, um deine feuchten Schwingen,
West, wie sehr ich dich beneide:
Denn du kannst ihm Kunde bringen
Was ich in der Trennung leide!
Die Bewegung deiner Flügel
Weckt im Busen stilles Sehnen;
Blumen, Augen, Wald und Hügel
Stehn bei deinem Hauch in Tränen.
Doch dein mildes sanftes Wehen
Kühlt die wunden Augenlider;
Ach, für Leid müsst’ ich vergehen,
Hofft’ ich nicht zu sehn ihn wieder.
Eile denn zu meinem Lieben,
Spreche sanft zu seinem Herzen;
Doch vermeid’ ihn zu betrüben
Und verbirg ihm meine Schmerzen.
Sag ihm, aber sag’s bescheiden:
Seine Liebe sei mein Leben,
Freudiges Gefühl von beiden
Wird mir seine Nähe geben.
Marianne von Willemer (1784–1860)
Dusk has descended from on high
Dusk has descended from on high,
All closeness has become distance now,
But risen first has
The Evening Star in beautiful radiance.
Everything reels into uncertainty,
Mists creep upwards;
Reflecting deep black darkness
The lake is at its rest.
Only in the eastern region
Do I sense the moon’s radiance and glow.
Hair-like branches of slender willows
Jest on the nearby water.
Amidst the play of moving shadows
Trembles Luna’s magic light,
And through the eye creeps coolness
Soothingly into the heart.
.
Reproach
You lament that fretful melancholy creeps
upon you,
As the woods lose their leaves,
And as above your head
Passes the train of migrating birds.
Do not lament! you too are fickle;
Do you recall love’s ardour?
How sadly now dwells
In your bosom passion exhausted!
.
Suleika
Ah, your moist wings,
I envy you, O west wind;
For you can bear him the message
Of how I suffer, parted from him!
The movement of your wings
Awakens in my bosom a quiet longing;
Flowers, eyes, woods and hills
Are damp with tears at your breath.
But your mild, gentle gusts
Cool the sore eyelids;
Ah, I should surely perish from grief,
Did I not hope to see him again.
Hurry then to my love,
Speak gently to his heart;
But do not sadden him
And hide my pain from him.
Tell him, but tell him modestly,
That his love is my life,
Joyful feeling of both
His closeness will give me.
Translations by Bettina Reinke-Welsh © Hyperion Records
Liebst du um Schönheit
Liebst du um Schönheit,
O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe die Sonne,
Sie trägt ein gold’nes Haar!
Liebst du um Jugend,
O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe den Frühling,
Der jung ist jedes Jahr!
Liebst du um Schätze,
O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe die Meerfrau,
Sie hat viel Perlen klar!
Liebst du um Liebe,
O ja, mich liebe!
Liebe mich immer,
Dich lieb’ ich immerdar!
Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866)
Sie liebten sich beide
Sie liebten sich beide, doch keiner
Wollt’ es dem andern gestehn;
Sie sahen sich an so feindlich,
Und wollten vor Liebe vergehn.
Sie trennten sich endlich und sah’n sich
Nur noch zuweilen im Traum;
Sie waren längst gestorben
Und wussten es selber kaum.
Heinrich Heine (1797–1856)
Warum willst du and’re fragen
Warum willst du and’re fragen,
Die’s nicht meinen treu mit dir?
Glaube nicht, als was dir sagen
Diese beiden Augen hier!
Glaube nicht den fremden Leuten,
Glaube nicht dem eignen Wahn;
Nicht mein Tun auch sollst du deuten,
Sondern sieh die Augen an!
Schweigt die Lippe deinen Fragen,
Oder zeugt sie gegen mich?
Was auch meine Lippen sagen,
Sieh mein Aug’, ich liebe dich!
Friedrich Rückert
Er ist gekommen
Er ist gekommen
In Sturm und Regen,
Ihm schlug beklommen
mein Herz entgegen.
Wie konnt’ ich ahnen,
Dass seine Bahnen
Sich einen sollten meinen Wegen?
Er ist gekommen
In Sturm und Regen,
Er hat genommen
Mein Herz verwegen.
Nahm er das meine?
Nahm ich das seine?
Die beiden kamen sich entgegen.
Er ist gekommen
In Sturm und Regen,
Nun ist gekommen
Des Frühlings Segen.
Der Freund zieht weiter,
Ich seh’ es heiter,
Denn er bleibt mein auf allen Wegen.
Friedrich Rückert
If you love for beauty
If you love for beauty,
O love not me!
Love the sun,
She has golden hair!
If you love for youth,
O love not me!
Love the spring
Who is young each year!
If you love for riches,
O love not me!
Love the mermaid
Who has many shining pearls!
If you love for love,
Oh yes, love me!
Love me always;
I shall love you forever!
.
They loved one another
They loved one another, but neither
Wished to tell the other;
They gave each other such hostile looks,
Yet nearly died of love.
In the end they parted and saw
Each other but rarely in dreams.
They died so long ago
And hardly knew it themselves.
.
Why enquire of others
Why enquire of others,
Who are not faithful to you?
Only believe what these two eyes
Here tell you!
Do not believe what others say;
Do not believe strange fancies;
Nor should you interpret my deeds,
But instead look at these eyes!
Are my lips silent to your questions
Or do they testify against me?
Whatever my lips might say;
Look at my eyes; I love you!
.
He came
He came
In storm and rain;
My anxious heart
Beat against his.
How could I have known
That his path
Should unite itself with mine?
He came
In storm and rain;
Audaciously
He took my heart.
Did he take mine?
Did I take his?
Both drew near to each other.
He came
In storm and rain.
Now spring’s blessing
Has come.
My friend journeys on,
I watch with good cheer,
For he shall be mine wherever he goes.
Translations © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber)
Bei dir ist es traut
Bei dir ist es traut:
Zage Uhren schlagen
wie aus weiten Tagen.
Komm mir ein Liebes sagen –
aber nur nicht laut.
Ein Tor geht irgendwo
draussen im Blütentreiben.
Der Abend horcht an den Scheiben.
Lass uns leise bleiben:
Keiner weiss uns so.
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926)
Laue Sommernacht
Laue Sommernacht: am Himmel
Stand kein Stern, im weiten Walde
Suchten wir uns tief im Dunkel,
Und wir fanden uns.
Fanden uns im weiten Walde
In der Nacht, der sternenlosen,
Hielten staunend uns im Arme
In der dunklen Nacht.
War nicht unser ganzes Leben
So ein Tappen, so ein Suchen?
Da: In seine Finsternisse
Liebe, fiel Dein Licht.
Otto Julius Bierbaum (1865–1910)
In meines Vaters Garten
In meines Vaters Garten –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
in meines Vaters Garten
stand ein schattender Apfelbaum –
Süsser Traum –
stand ein schattender Apfelbaum.
Drei blonde Königstöchter –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
drei wunderschöne Mädchen
schliefen unter dem Apfelbaum –
Süsser Traum –
schliefen unter dem Apfelbaum.
Die allerjüngste Feine –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
die allerjüngste Feine
blinzelte und erwachte kaum –
Süsser Traum –
blinzelte und erwachte kaum.
Die zweite fuhr sich übers Haar –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
sah den roten Morgentraum –
Süsser Traum –
Sie sprach: Hört ihr die Trommel nicht –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
Süsser Traum –
hell durch den dämmernden Traum?
Mein Liebster zieht in den Kampf –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
mein Liebster zieht in den Kampf hinaus,
küsst mir als Sieger des Kleides Saum –
Süsser Traum –
küsst mir des Kleides Saum!
Die dritte sprach und sprach so leis –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
die dritte sprach und sprach so leis:
Ich küsse dem Liebsten des Kleides Saum –
Süsser Traum –
ich küsse dem Liebsten des Kleides Saum. –
In meines Vaters Garten –
blühe mein Herz, blüh auf –
in meines Vaters Garten
steht ein sonniger Apfelbaum –
Süsser Traum –
steht ein sonniger Apfelbaum!
Otto Erich Hartleben (1864–1905)
I feel warm and close with you
I feel warm and close with you:
clocks strike hesitantly,
like they did in distant days.
Say something loving to me –
but not aloud.
A gate opens somewhere
out in the burgeoning.
Evening listens at the window-panes.
Let us stay quiet,
no-one knows us thus.
.
Mild summer night
Mild summer night: in the sky
Not a star, in the deep forest
We sought each other in the dark
And found one another.
Found one another in the deep wood
In the night, the starless night,
And amazed, we embraced
In the dark night.
Our entire life – was it not
Such a tentative quest?
There: into its darkness,
O Love, fell your light.
.
In my father’s garden
In my father’s garden –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
In my father’s garden
grew a shady apple tree –
Sweet dream –
grew a shady apple tree.
Three blond princesses –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
three wonderfully beautiful girls
slept beneath the apple tree –
Sweet dream –
slept beneath the apple tree.
The youngest of the three beauties –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
the youngest of the three beauties
blinked and hardly awoke –
Sweet dream –
blinked and hardly awoke.
The second ran her hand through her hair –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
Saw the red morning dream –
Sweet dream –
She said: ‘Don’t you hear the drums?
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
Sweet dream –
Brightly through the dawn?
My beloved is going to war
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
My beloved is going to war,
Kisses as victor the hem of my dress
Sweet dream –
Kisses the hem of my dress.
The third spoke, and spoke so quietly –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
The third spoke and spoke so quietly:
I kiss the hem of my beloved’s coat –
Sweet dream –
I kiss the hem of my beloved’s coat.
In my father’s garden –
blossom, O my heart, blossom –
In my father’s garden
stands a sunny apple tree –
Sweet dream –
stands a sunny apple tree.
Translations © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber)
Bois frissonnants, ciel étoile,
Mon bien-aimé s’en est allé
Emportant mon coeur désole.
Vents, que vos plaintives rumeurs,
Que vos chants, rossignols charmeurs,
Aillent lui dire que je meurs.
Le premier soir qu’il vint ici
Mon âme fut à sa merci,
De fierté je n’eus plus souci.
Mes regards étaient pleins d’aveux,
II me prit dans ses bras nerveux
Et me baisa près des cheveux.
J’en eus un grand frémissement.
Et puis je ne sais plus comment
II est devenu mon amant.
Je lui disais: ‘Tu m’aimeras
Aussi longtemps que tu pourras!’
Je ne dormais bien qu’en ses bras.
Mais lui, sentant son coeur éteint,
S’en est allé l’autre matin
Sans moi dans un pays lointain.
Puisque je n’ai plus mon ami,
Je mourrai dans l’étang parmi
Les fleurs sous le flat endormi.
Sur le bord arrivée, au vent
Je dirai son nom en rêvant
Que là je I’ attendis souvent,
Et comme en un linceul doré,
Dans mes cheveux défaits, au gré
Du vent je m’abandonnerai.
Les bonheurs passés verseront
Leur douce lueur sur mon front
Et les joncs verts m’enlaceront.
Et mon sein croira, frémissant
Sous l’enlacement caressant,
Subir l’étreinte de l’absent.
Charles Cros (1842–88)
Quivering woods, starlit sky,
My beloved has gone away,
Carrying off my desolate heart!
Winds, let your plaintive sounds,
Bewitching nightingales, let your songs
Tell him I am dying!
The first evening he came here,
My soul was at his mercy.
I cared no more for pride.
My eyes were full of love,
He took me in his strong arms
And kissed me on my brow.
I was seized by a great trembling;
And then, I no longer know how,
He became my lover.
I said to him: “Love me
As long as you can!”
Only in his arms could I sleep soundly.
But he, feeling his heart grown cold.
Went away one morning
Without me, to a distant land.
Since I no longer have my lover,
I shall die in the pond among
The flowers beneath the still water.
Halting on the edge, to the winds
I’ll speak his name, dreaming
That there I often awaited him.
And as if in a golden shroud,
With my flowing hair about me. to the will
Of the water I’ll abandon myself.
Past joys will shed
Their gentle light on my brow,
And the green rushes will entwine me.
And my breast shall believe, trembling
Beneath its enfolding arms,
It feels the absent one’s embrace.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (OUP)
Quand on est morte entre les mortes,
qu’on se traîne chez les vivants
lorsque tout vous flanque à la porte
et la ferme d’un coup de vent,
ne plus être jeune et aimée …
derrière une porte fermée,
il reste de se fiche à l’eau
ou d’acheter un rigolo.
Oui, messieurs, voilà ce qui reste
pour les lâches et les salauds.
Mais si la frousse de ce geste
s’attache à vous comme un grelot,
si l’on craint de s’ouvrir les veines,
on peut toujours risquer la veine
d’un voyage à Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo! Monte-Carlo!
J’ai fini ma journée.
Je veux dormir au fond de l’eau
de la Mediterranée.
Monte-Carlo! Monte-Carlo!
Après avoir vendu à votre âme
et mis en gage des bijoux
que jamais plus on ne réclame,
la roulette est un beau joujou.
C’est joli de dire: ‘je joue’.
Cela vous met le feu aux joues
et cela vous allume l’oeil.
Sous les jolis voiles de deuil
on porte un joli nom de veuve.
Un titre donne de l’orgueil!
Et folie, et prête, et toute neuve,
on prend sa carte au casino.
Voyez mes plumes et mes voiles,
contemplez les strass de l’étoile
qui mène à Monte-Carlo.
La chance est femme. Elle est jalouse
de ces veuvages solennels.
Sans doute ell’ m’a cru l’épouse
d’un véritable colonel.
J’ai gagné, gagné sur le douze.
Et puis les robes se decousent,
la fourrure perd des cheveux.
On a beau répéter: “Je veux”,
dès que la chance vous déteste,
dès que votre coeur est nerveux,
vous ne pouvez plus faire un geste,
pousser un sou sur le tableau
sans que la chance qui s’écarte
change les chiffres et les cartes
des tables de Monte-Carlo.
Les voyous, le buses, les gales!
Ils m’ont mise dehors … dehors …
et ils m’accusent d’être sale,
de porter malheur dans leurs salles,
dans leurs sales salles en stuc.
Moi qui aurais donné mon truc
à l’oeil, au prince, à la princesse,
au Duc de Westminster, au Duc,
parfaitement. Faut que ça cesse,
qu’ils me criaient, votre boulot!
Votre boulot? …
Ma découverte.
J’en priverai les tables vertes.
C’est bien fait pour Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo.
Et maintenant, moi qui vous parle,
je n’avouerai pas les kilos que j’ai perdus,
que j’ai perdus
à Monte-Carle, Monte-Carle, ou
Monte-Carlo.
Je suis une ombre de moi-même …
les martingales, les systèmes
et les croupiers qui ont le droit
de taper de loin sur vos doigts
quand on peut faucher une mise.
Et la pension où l’on doit
et toujours la même chemise
que l’angoisse trempe dans l’eau.
Ils peuvent courir. Pas si bête.
Cette nuit je pique une tête
dans la mer de Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo.
Jean Cocteau (1889–1963)
When you’re dead among the dead,
when you’re withering in the land of the living,
when everything kicks you out
and the wind slams the door shut,
when you’re no longer young and loved …
when behind a closed door
there’s nothing left but to drown
or buy a pistol –
Yes, gentlemen, that’s what’s left
for cowards and bastards.
But if the thought of suicide
makes you tremble like a leaf,
if you baulk at slashing your veins,
you can always take the gamble
of a trip to Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo! Monte Carlo!
I’ve done with life.
I want to sleep on the bed
of the Med.
Monte Carlo! Monte Carlo!
Having sold your soul,
and pawned your jewellery
once and for all,
roulette is a pretty plaything.
It’s fun to say: ‘I gamble’.
It makes your cheeks flush
and lights up your eyes.
Beneath your fine widow’s veil,
you’ve a fine widow’s name.
Such a title gives you pride!
Crazy, prepared, and wholly restored,
you take out your card at the casino.
Just look at my feathers and my veils,
behold the bejewelled star,
leading to Monte Carlo.
Luck is a woman. She’s jealous
of these solemn widows.
She no doubt took me for the wife
of a real colonel.
I won, won on the twelve.
Dresses then become unstitched,
fur loses its hair.
No matter how often you say: ‘I want’,
once fortune hates you,
once you’re highly strung,
you can no longer make a move,
push a coin on the board,
without luck beating a retreat
and changing numbers and cards
on the tables at Monte Carlo.
The scoundrels! The fools! The scabs!
They threw me out … threw me out …
They accuse me of being dirty,
of bringing misfortune to their saloons,
to their dirty stucco saloons –
I, who would have told them my trick
for free, to the Prince, the Princess,
the Duke of Westminster,
this must stop,
this has to stop, they screamed at me,
this business of yours! This business? …
My discovery –
I’ll deprive the green tables of it.
Serves Monte Carlo right. Monte Carlo.
And now, I who am talking to you,
I shan’t admit how many kilos I’ve lost
at Monte Carle, Monte Carle, or
Monte Carlo.
I am a shadow of myself …
The martingales, the systems
and the croupiers who have the right
to rap your knuckles,
when you’re about to pinch the stake.
And the money you owe at your digs,
and always the same wet night-shirt
drenched with anguish.
Let them pursue me. I’m not that stupid.
Tonight I’ll hurl myself head first
into the sea at Monte Carlo, Monte Carlo.
Translation © Richard Stokes
Mélisande
Mes longs cheveux descendent
jusqu’au seuil de la tour;
Mes cheveux vous attendent
tout le long de la tour,
Et tout le long du jour,
Et tout le long du jour.
Saint Daniel et Saint Michel,
Saint Michel et Saint Raphaël,
Je suis née un dimanche,
Un dimanche à midi …
Maurice Maeterlinck (1862–1949)
Mélisande
My long hair falls
to the foot of the tower;
my hair awaits you
the length of the tower
and all through the day,
and all day long.
Saint Daniel and Saint Michael,
Saint Michael and Saint Raphael,
I was born on a Sunday,
A Sunday at noon …
Translation © Erato/Warner Classics
Chimène
De cet affreux combat je sors l’âme brisée!
Mais enfin je suis libre et je pourrai du moins
Soupirer sans contrainte et souffrir sans
témoins.
Pleurez! pleurez mes yeux! Tombez triste rosée
Qu’un rayon de soleil ne doit jamais tarir!
S’il me reste un espoir, c’est de bientôt mourir!
Pleurez mes yeux, pleurez toutes vox
larmes! Pleurez mes yeux!
Mais qui donc a voulu l’éternité des pleurs?
O chers ensevelis, trouvez-vous tant de charmes
À léguer aux vivants d’implacables douleurs?
Hélas! Je me souviens, il me disait:
Avec ton doux sourire
Tu ne saurais jamais conduire
Qu’aux chemins glorieux ou qu’aux sentiers bénis!
Ah! Mon père! Hélas!
Pleurez! pleurez mes yeux! Tombez triste rosée, etc.
Louis Gallet (1835–98), Édouard Blau (1836–1906) and Adolphe d’Ennery (1811–99)
Chimène
I go to this terrible battle with a broken soul!
But finally I’m free and I can at least
sigh unconstrained and suffer without being
seen.
I weep! I cry my eyes out! Sad dew falls.
A sunbeam should never be quenched!
My hope is about to die!
I weep! I cry my eyes out! I weep!
But does anyone want to cry forever?
O dear buried father, is your bequest to me
that I must live in constant pain?
Alas, I remember what he told me
with his sweet smile:
You never know how to lead
as glorious or as blessed a life along such
paths!
Ah, my father! Alas, I weep!
I weep! I cry my eyes out! Sad dew falls, etc.
Translation © Delos
Marguerite
Ah! je ris de me voir
si belle en ce miroir!
Est-ce toi, Marguerite?
Réponds-moi, réponds vite!
Non! non! ce n‘est plus toi!
Ce n’est plus ton visage!
C’est la fille d’un roi,
qu’on salue au passage!
Ah! s‘il était ici!
S’il me voyait ainsi!
Comme une demoiselle
il me trouverait belle!
Achevons la métamorphose!
Il me tarde encor d’essayer
le bracelet et ce collier.
Dieu! c’est comme une main qui
sur moi se pose!
Ah! je ris de me voir
si belle en ce miroir, etc.
Jules Barbier (1825–1901) and Michel Carré (1821–72), after Goethe’s Faust
Marguerite
Oh, I can’t help laughing with pleasure
at seeing myself so pretty in the glass!
Can it be you, Marguerite?
Answer me, answer me quickly!
No, no, it’s no longer you!
It’s your face no longer!
It’s a king’s daughter,
to whom all bow as she passes!
Oh, if only he were here!
If he could see me like this!
Pretty as a lady
he would find me then!
Let’s complete the transformation!
Now I’m dying to try
the bracelet and the necklace!
Heavens! It’s like a hand being laid on
my arm!
Oh, I can’t help laughing with pleasure
at seeing myself so pretty in the glass, etc.
Translation by Peggie Cochrane © Decca
Artist biographies
Since the beginning of her career, Natalie Dessay has appeared on leading international stages, performing roles by Mozart (Blondchen, Queen of the Night and Pamina) and Richard Strauss (Fiakermilli, Zerbinetta and Sophie). During her career she has been a regular visitor to the Vienna State Opera, Metropolitan Opera, New York, La Scala, Milan, Barcelona’s Liceu, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, and Paris National Opera.
She is also fêted for her interpretation of French operatic repertoire,including such roles as Ophélie, Minka, Lakmé, Olympia, Juliette and Manon. She has also enjoyed great success in the bel canto repertoire, in La sonnambula and particularly in the titlerole of Lucia di Lammermoor, which she has sung at the Chicago Opera, Metropolitan Opera, Paris National Opera, and has recorded under Valery Gergiev’s baton.
Other highlights include Marie (La fille du régiment), directed by Laurent Pelly, at Covent Garden, the Vienna State Opera, Metropolitan Opera and Paris National Opera; Violetta (La traviata) in Tokyo, at the Aix-en-Provence Festival, Vienna State Opera and Metropolitan Opera; the title-role in Manon at the Théâtre du Capitole in Toulouse; and Handel roles with conductor Emmanuelle Haïm.
She also collaborates with Michel Legrand, with whom she has toured in Europe and South America and recorded two CDs. Philippe Cassard is her pianist for recitals: together they have given around 60 concerts on the most prestigious stages, including Carnegie Hall in New York, Jordan Hall in Boston, here at the Barbican, Suntory Hall in Tokyo, Vienna Musikverein, Tchaikovsky Hall in Moscow and Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris; next year they give a recital at the Wiener Staatsoper. They have released three albums together.
Natalie Dessay has been appointed a Kammersängerin by the Wiener Staatsoper.
She made an acclaimed theatrical debut in Howard Baker’s monologue Und at the Théâtre Olympia in Tours, subsequently performing it in many French cities as well as Théâtre des Abbesses and Dejazet in Paris. She has also performed Stefan Zweig’s La Légende d’une vie at the Théâtre Montparnasse.
Philippe Cassard has established a distinguished international reputation as concerto soloist, recitalist and chamber musician since giving a joint recital with Christa Ludwig in Paris in 1985. The same year he was a finalist at the Clara Haskil Competition and in 1988 he won the first prize at the AXA Dublin International Piano Competition.
His concerto appearances include performances with the BBC, Hungarian National, London and Royal Philharmonic orchestras, City of Birmingham and Danish Radio Symphony orchestras, English Chamber Orchestra and Orchestre National de France. He has worked with many conductors including Jeffrey Tate, Alexander Gibson, Vladimir Fedoseyev, Yan Pascal Tortelier, Raymond Leppard, Charles Dutoit, Armin Jordan, Marek Janowski, Emmanuel Krivine and Thierry Fischer.
His performances of the complete piano works of Debussy, giving four recitals in a single day, has received very enthusiastic press and media coverage. He has presented the cycle at Wigmore Hall, Dublin, Paris, Marseille, Lisbon, Sydney, Vancouver, Singapore and Tokyo. He is currently undertaking a series of recitals at Wigmore Hall under the title Debussy Perspectives. He also visits China, Australia and Canada regularly.
His regular collaborators include Donna Brown, Wolfgang Holzmair, Anne Gastinel, David Grima and the Chilingirian and Ysaye Quartets. He is Natalie Dessay’s exclusive recital accompanist; they have recorded two recital discs and performed at major venues worldwide, including Carnegie Hall in New York and the Bolshoi Zal in St Petersburg.
As a solo artist Philippe Cassard has recorded for a number of companies, among them DG, Hyperion, Harmonia Mundi and Accord-Universal. His discography includes Debussy’s complete piano works, Schubert’s sonatas, Impromptus, Moments musicaux and Klavierstücke, Brahms’s Klavierstücke, Op 116–19, Schumann’s Humoreske and Fantasiestücke, Op 12, chamber music by Beethoven and Janáček and songs by Fauré and Debussy. He has recently released a recording of Schubert piano duets with Cédric Pescia on Harmonia Mundi.
Philippe Cassard was Artistic Director of the Nuits Romantiques du Lac du Bourget Festival (1999–2007), and he recently celebrated his 400th programme on France Musique Radio dedicated to piano interpretation.
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