April 30 , 2021 6:00 P.M. Online - 3 - PROGRAM “O patria ... Di tanti palpiti” ...... ............ ................. .... .......Gioachino Rossini (1792 - 1868) from Tancredi *** From Frauenliebe und Leben ......... ... ......... .................. ..... ..Robert Schumann (1810 - 1856) Er, der Herrlichste von allen Du Ring an meinem Finger *** “Nobles Seigneurs, Salut!” ......... ...... ... ... ................. ...... Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791 - 1864) from Les Huguenots INTERMISSION Accompanied Poetry Reading: From Songs of Bilitis (translated) ............... ............... ...... ...... Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925) From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Pastoral Song The Rain Bilitis The Moon With Blue Eyes The River in the Forest Lykas Trois Chansons de Bilitis ......... ......... ... ..... ... ................. ........Claude Debussy (1862 - 1918) I. La flûte de Pan II. La chevelure III. Le tombeau des Naiades *** “Non so piu, cosa son, cosa faccio”. ... ... .................. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756 - 1791) from Le Nozze di Figaro *** An April Day.................. .................. .................. ... ........Florence B. Price (1887 - 1953) Beside the Sea The Heart of a Woman Night We Have Tomorrow * * * *** please hold your applause until the end of each set - 4 - Program Notes “ O patria ... Di tanti palptiti” is an aria from Tancredi , one of Gaetano Rossini’s many masterful operas. Tancredi is based on a tragedy by Voltaire, named Tancréde. The opera describes a pseudo - historic figure, Tancredi, from eleventh century Syracuse. The mostly - fictional opera describes a soldier who was exi led from Syracuse for many years, who returns with a vengeance and a plan to reconnect with his past love, Amenaide. This recitativo and aria, “o patria ... Di tanti palptiti” displays the moment when Tancredi breaks exile and anticipates reuniting with his love. For those who miss loved ones, their homeland, or life before COVID - 19, this piece is a reminder of the beautiful reunion that is certain to come. Frauen liebe und - leben ( Woman’s love and life ) is one of Robert Schumann’s most famous song cycles, and a beautiful example of German Lieder. These pieces display Schumann’s incredible marriage of poetry to music, as well as a literal marriage. This song cycle paints a beautiful portrait of a woman as she falls in love, and follows her through marriage and childbearing. The two pieces on this program, “Er, der Herrlichste von allen” and “Du ring an meinem Finger” portray the beginning of her journey. By centering a female story, Robert Schumann used his platform as a celebrated Romantic composer to diversify the stories being told at the time. Despite Schumann's intentions to highlight women , some modern critics find issue with the lack of women involved in the creation of this work, with the poet, Adelbert von Chamisso also being male. The audience is encouraged to come to their own conclusions on this issue. Les Huguenots is a French opera by Giacomo Meyerbeer, and a spectacular example of the grand opera genre. The aria, “Nobles Seigneurs, Salut!,” is a sampling of the spectacle included in Les Hugue nots . Despite its length and pageantry, “Nobles Seigneurs, Salut!” has very little to do with the plot of its opera. Urbain sings this aria to set up an announcement from the queen, but listeners will notice that Urbain does not actually reveal the importa nt announcement This charming and comedically extravagant (read:extra) aria serves as an entertaining pause from the action in the Les Huguenots Pierre Louÿs was a French poet and Grecian enthusiast, so much so that he changed the spelling of his surnam e from “Louis” to have a more Greek spelling. Louÿs was an advocate for sexual freedom, and wrote a book of poetry surrounding a fictional ancient Greek woman named Bilitis. In the book, Chansons de Bilitis ( Songs of Bilitis ), Bilitis accounts her many exp eriences including run - ins with Psappha (an alternate spelling of Sappho), and her multiple lovers, both male and female. The six poems included in this program are from “Bucolics in Pamphilia,” the first chapter of Louÿs’s masterwork. These poems will be read in English. This chapter displays Bilitis’ coming of age: from her childlike adventures in nature to the end of her first sexual relationship. These six poems are accompanied by excerpts from Musique de scène pour Les Chansons de Bilitis ( Stage music for The Songs of Bilitis ) by Claude Debussy. This work was explicitly created to accompany poetry readings from Songs of Bilitis Louÿs and Debussy were close friends up until Debussy’s marriage, so Debussy’s Musique de scène pour Les Chansons de Bilitis a long with his song cycle, Trois Chansons de Bilitis , were two of many projects Louÿs and Debussy discussed. Unfortunately, those two works were the only two that they finished. Debussy’s Trois Chansons de Bilitis is set to three poems from “Bucolics in Pam philia,” including the last poem in which Bilitis’ childhood and major - 5 - relationship have ended. This song cycle is one of the many incredible contributions Debussy made to the genre of French melodie. The three songs are each marked by their distinct moods , representing the beginning, middle, and end of a romantic relationship. “Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio” is one of the most well known arias from one of the most popular operas performed today, Le Nozze di Figaro. The opera is a delightful collaboratio n between composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and librettist Lorenzo da Ponte. Cherubino, a young page in the manor, sings this aria to express his sexual awakening and accompanying frustration. This aria comically presents the universal experience of puberty , with both vulnerability and relatability. It is difficult to overstate the importance of Florence Beatrice Price in North American music history. Not only was she a prodigy performer and composer, but she also became an incredibly successful music teache r, mentoring the famed Margaret Bonds. Price also went on to win the Wanamaker competition with her Symphony in E minor, which made her the first black female composer to have a symphony performed by a major orchestra in the United States. Price’s music na turalistically combines neo - Romantic musical style with contemporary American folk themes and stylings. The songs selected for this program include the theme of using the natural world to explain the struggles and beauty of life. The first song, “An April Day” is a simple and beautiful ode to spring. The second, “Beside the Sea” uses imagery of the ocean to address grief and loss. “The Heart of a Woman,” with poetry by Georgia Douglas Johnson, is the crown jewel of this song set. This poem's title also func tions as the title of Price’s (and Maya Angelou’s) biography ( The Heart of a Woman: The Life and Music of Florence B. Price ). “The Heart of a Woman” uses imagery of a caged bird to describe the difficulty of existing as a woman in the world. The last two p ieces, “Night” and “We Have Tomorrow” create an image of a new day breaking, bringing necessary hope for change and the future. Composed in these pieces lie references to Price’s experience at the intersection of gender and race that Rachel Steinke will no t be able to represent in her performance. - 6 - Texts & Translations “O patria ... Di tanti palpit i” “Oh homeland... Amid so much agitation” From Tancredi Librett o by Gaetano Rossi (1774 - 1855) Oh patria! Dolce e ingrata patria, alfine a te ritorno! Io ti saluto, o cara terra degli avi miei... Ti bacio! È questo per me giorno sereno; comincia il cor a respirarmi in seno. Amenaide! O mio pensier soave, solo dei miei sospir, de' voti miei celeste oggetto, io venni a lfin: io voglio, sfidando il mio destin, qualunque sia, meritarti o perir, anima mia! Tu che accendi questo core, tu che desti il valor mio, alma gloria, dolce amore, secondate il bel desio, cada un empio traditore, coronate la mia f é Di tanti palpiti, di tante pene, da te mio bene, spero merce. Mi rivedrai... Ti rivedrò... Nei tuoi bei rai mi pascerò. Deliri, sospiri, Accenti contenti! Sarà felice, il cor mel dice, il mio destino vicino a te. Oh homeland ! Sweet and harsh homeland , I return to you at last! I greet you, o h dear land of my ancestors ... I kiss you! This is for me a serene day; My heart is starting to breathe calmly in my chest Amenaide! Oh, my sweetest thought, My one and only desire, o f all my vows the heavenly object, I have come at last: I want, (While) challenging my destiny, However it might be, to be worthy of you o r to die, my soul! You who set this heart alight, You who gave me courage , Glorious soul, sweet love, Support my beautiful aspiration : May the impious traitor fall As my faith is crowned. Amid so much agitation , amid much so suffering, From you, my darling, I hope for mercy You shall see me again... I shall see you again... In your lovely eyes I will be nourished. Fantasies, sighs , Happy voices! My heart says that, by your side, My destiny shall be joyful. - 7 - Er, der Herrlichste von allen He, the most wonderful of all Poet ry by Adelbert von Chamisso (1781 - 1838) Er, der Herrlichste von allen, Wie so milde, wie so gut! Holde Lippen, klares Auge, Heller Sinn und fester Mut. So wie dort in blauer Tiefe, Hell und herrlich, jener Stern, Also er an meinem Himmel, Hell und herrlich, hehr und fern. Wandle, wandle deine Bahnen; Nur betrachten deinen Schein, Nur in Demut ihn betrachten, Selig nur und traurig sein! Höre nicht mein stilles Beten, Deinem Glücke nur geweiht; Darfst mich niedre Magd nicht kennen, Hoher Stern der Herrlichkeit! Nur die Würdigste von allen Darf beglücken de ine Wahl, Und ich will die Hohe segnen, Viele tausendmal. Will mich freuen dann und weinen, Selig, selig bin ich dann; Sollte mir das Herz auch brechen, Brich, o Herz, was liegt daran? He, the most wonderful of all, How gentle and good he is! Lovely lips, clear eyes, A bright mind and firm resolve. Just as there in the deep - blue distance That star gleams bright and brilliant, So does he shine in my sky, Bright and brilliant, distant and sublime. Wander, wander on your way, Just to gaze on your radiance, Just to gaze on in humility, To be but blissful and sad! Do not heed my silent prayer, Uttered for your happiness alone, You shall never know me, lowly as I am, You noble star of splendor ! Only the worthiest woman of all May your choice elate, And I shall bless that exalted one Many thousands of times. Then shall I rejoice and weep, Blissful, blissful shall I be, Even if my heart should break, Break, O heart, what does it matter? Du Ring an meinem Finger You ring on my finger Poet ry by Adelbert von Chamisso (1781 - 1838) Du Ring an meinem Finger, Mein goldenes Ringelein, Ich drücke dich fromm an die Lippen, Dich fromm an das Herze mein. Ich hatt ihn ausgeträumet, Der Kindh eit friedlich schönen Traum, Ich fand allein mich, verloren Im öden, unendlichen Raum. You ring on my finger, My golden little ring, I press you devoutly to my lips, To my heart. I had finished dreaming Childhood’s peaceful dream, I found myself alone, forlorn In boundless desolation. - 8 - Du Ring an meinem Finger Da hast du mich erst belehrt, Hast meinem Blick erschlossen Des Lebens unendlichen, tiefen Wert. Ich will ihm dienen, ihm leben, Ihm angehören ganz, Hin selber mich geben und finden Verklärt mich in seinem Glanz. Du Ring an meinem Finger, Mein goldenes Ringelein, Ich drücke dich fromm an die Lippen, Dich fromm an das Herze mein. You ring on my finger, You first taught me, Opened my eyes To life’s deep eternal worth. I shall serve him, live for him, Belong to him wholly, Yield to him and find Myself transfigured in his light. You ring on my finger, My golden little ring, I press you devoutly to my lips, To my heart. “Nobles Seigneurs, Salut!” “Noble Lords, Hello! ” From Les Huguenots Librett o by Eugène Scribe (1791 - 1861) and Émile Deschamps (1791 - 1871) Nobles seign eu rs, salut! Une dame noble et sage, Dont les rois seraient jaloux, M’a charg é de ce message, Chevalier s , pour l’un de vous. Sans qu’on la nomme, honneur ici Au gentilhomme qu’elle a choisi! Vous pouvez croire que nul seigneur N’eut tant de gloire ni de bonheur. Non, jamais! Ne craignez mensonge ou pi è ge , Chevaliers, dans mes discours. Or salut, que Dieu prot è ge vos combats, vos amours! Or salut, chevaliers! Dieu prot è ge vos amours! Noble lords, hello! A lady, noble and wise, Of whom kings would be jealous, Has charged me with this message, Gentlemen, for one of you. Without n aming the recipient, all honor is here Goes to the gentleman whom she has chosen! You can believe that no lord Has had such glory nor good fortune. No, never! Do not fear lies or trickery, Gentlemen, in my speech Now greetings, may God protect your com bats, your loves! Now greetings, may God protect your loves! - 9 - Accompanied Poetry Reading: Pastoral Song From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnassian Society I must sing a pastoral song to invoke Pan, god of the summer wind. I guard my flock and Selenis hers, in the round shadow of a trembling olive tree. Selenis is lying on the meadow. She gets up And runs about, or hunts for locust s, or gathers Plants and flowers, or washes her face in the fresh water of the brook. As for me, I pull wool from the white backs Of the lambs to decorate my distaff, and I spin. The hours linger. An eagle passes in the heavens. The shadow turns. We change the place of the basket of flowers and the jar of milk. I must sing a pastoral song to invoke Pan, god of the summer wind. The Rain From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnass ian Society The fine rain has moistened everything, Very gently and in silence. It still rains a little. I am going out under the trees. With naked feed, so as not to stain my sandals. The spring rain is delicious. The branches, Heavy with dam p flowers, have a perfume Which stuns me. Shining in the sun one sees The delicate skin of the bark of the trees. Alas, how many flowers on the ground! Pity The fallen flowers. They mus t not be scattered And mingled with the dirt, but saved for the bees. The beetles and the snails cross the road Between the little pools of water; I would not - 10 - Tread on them, nor fri ghten this gilded lizard Which stretches itself and blinks its eyelids. Bilitis From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnassian Society One woman wraps herself in white wool; Another dresses herself in silk and gold; Another covers herself with flowers, Green leaves and grapes. As for me, I only know hot to live when nude. My lover, take me as I am: without robe or Jewels or sandals. Here is Bilitis, all alone. My hair is black with its own black, a nd my Lips red with their own red. My curls float About me free and round, like feathers. Take me as my mother made me in a night Of love long past; and if I please you thus, Do not forget to tell me. The Moon With Blue Eyes From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnassian Society At night the hair of women blends with The willow branches. I walked to the Edge of the water. All at once I heard Singing. Then only did I realize that young Girls were there. I said to them: “Why are you singing?” They Answered: “To those who are returning.” The One awaited her father; the other, her brother; But she who awaited her lover was the most Impatient. They had woven for them crowns and Garlan ds, cut from the fronds of the palm trees And drawn from the water - lotus. Their arms About each other’s necks, they sang, one after The other. - 11 - I walked along the river sadly and all alon e ; But looking about me, I saw that behind the Great trees the moo n with blue eyes was Accompanying me. The River in the Forest From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnassian Society I bathed alone in the forest river. Without doubt I frightened the naiads, for I Scarecely saw them, far away under the Dark water I called them. In order to be quite like them, I wove behind my neck iris, black as my hair, With berries of the yellow wallflower. With a long, floating plant, I made for myself A green belt; and to see it, I pressed my breasts And leaned my head forwards a little. And I called: “Naiads! Naiads! Play with Me. Be kind .” But the naiads are transparent, And perhaps, without knowing it, I caressed Their airy arms. Lykas From “Bucolics in Pamphilia” Poetry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925), translated by the Parnassian Society Come, we will go into the meadows, Under the branches of the juniper trees. We w ill eat honey in the rushes. We Will make traps for locusts with the stems of Asphodels. Come, we will go to see Lykas, who guards the Flocks of his father on the shadowy slopes of Taurus. Surely he will give us some milk. Already I hear the sound of his flute. He is a very skillful player. Behold, here are the dogs, and the lambs, and he himself, leaning against the tree. Is he not beautiful as Adonis? - 12 - O Lykas, give us some milk. Here are some Figs from our fig trees. We are going to stay With you. Bearded she - goats, do not jump, Lest you excite the restless bucks. La flûte de Pan Pan’s flute Poet ry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925) Pour le jour des Hyacinthies, il m’a donné une syrinx faite de roseaux bien taillés, unis avec la blanche cire qui est douce à mes lèvres comme le miel. Il m’apprend à jouer, assise sur ses genoux; mais je s uis un peu tremblante. Il en joue après moi, si doucemen t que je l’entends à peine. Nous n’avons rien à nous dire, tant nous sommes près l’un de l’autre; mais nos chansons veulent se répondre, et tour à tour nos bouches s’unissent sur la flûte. Il est tard; voici le chant des grenouilles vertes qui commence a vec la nuit. Ma mère ne croira jamais que je suis restée si longtemps à chercher ma ceinture perdue. For Hyacinthus day he gave me a syrinx made of carefully cut reeds, bonded with white wax which tastes sweet to my lips like honey. He teaches me to play, as I sit on his lap; but I am a little fearful. He plays it after me, so gently that I s carcely hear him. We have nothing to say, so close are we one to another ; but our songs try to answer each other, and our mouths join in turn on the flute. It is late; here is the song of the green frogs that begins with the night. My mother will never believe I stayed out so long to look for my lost sash. La chevelure The Hair - tresses Poet ry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925) Il m’a dit: «Cette nuit, j’ai rêvé. J’avais ta chevelure autour de mon cou. J’avais tes cheveux comme un collier noir autour de ma nuque et sur ma poitrine. «Je les caressais, et c’étaient les miens; et nous étions liés pour toujours ainsi, par la même chevelure , la bouche sur la bouche, ainsi que deux lauriers n’ont souvent qu’une racine. He said to me: “ Last night I dreamed. I had your hair - tresses around my neck. I had your hair like a black necklace all round my nape and over my breast. “ I caressed it and it was mine; and w e were united thus forever by the same tresses, mouth on mouth, just as two laurels often share one root. - 13 - «Et peu à peu, il m’a semblé, tant nos membres étaient confondus, que je devenais toi - même ou que tu entrais en moi comme mon s onge.» Quand il eut achevé, il mit doucement ses mains sur mes épaules, et il me regarda d’un regard si tendre, que je baissai les yeux avec un frisson. “ And gradually it seemed to me, so intertwined were our limbs, that I was becoming you, or you were entering into me like a dream. ” When he had finished, he gently set his hands on my shoulders and gazed at me with a glance so tender, that I lowered my eyes with a shiver. Le tombeau des Naiades The tomb of the Naiads Poet ry by Pierre Louÿs (1870 - 1925) Le long du bois couvert de givre, je marchais; mes cheveux devant ma bouche se fleurissaient de petits glaçons, et mes sandales étaient lourdes de neige fangeuse et tassée. Il me dit: «Que cherches - tu?» — «Je suis la trace du satyre. Ses petits pas fourchus alternent comme des trous dans un manteau blanc.» Il me dit: «Les satyres sont morts. «Les satyres et les nymph es aussi. Depuis trente ans il n’a pas fait un hiver aussi terrible. La trace que tu vois est celle d’un bouc. Mais restons ici, où est leur tombeau.» Et avec le fer de sa houe il cassa la glace de la source où jadis riaient les naïades. Il prenait de grands morceaux froids, et les soulevant vers le ciel pâle, il regardait au travers. Along the frost - bound wood I walked; my hair across my mouth, blossomed with tiny icicles, and my sandals were heavy with muddy, packed snow. He said to me: “ What do you seek? ” “ I follow the satyr’s track. His little cloven hoof - marks alternate like holes in a white cloak. ” He said to me: “ The satyrs are dead. “ The satyrs and the nymphs too. For thirty years there has not been so harsh a winter. The tracks you see are those of a goat. But let us stay here, where their tomb is. ” And with the iron of his hoe he broke the ice of the spring where the naiads used to laugh. He picked up some huge cold fragments, and, r aising them to the pale sky, he gazed through them. “Non so piu, cosa son, cosa faccio” “I do not know wh o I am, or what I am doing” From Le Nozze di Figaro Librett o by Lorenzo Da Ponte (1749 - 1838) Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio, Or di foco, ora sono di ghiaccio, Ogni donna cangiar di colore, Ogni donna mi fa palpitar. I do not know who I am, or what I ’m doing , First I'm on fire, the n I am cold as ice, Every woman makes me blush, Every woman makes me tremble. - 14 - Solo ai nomi d'amor, di diletto, Mi si turba, mi s'altera il petto, E a parlare mi sforza d'amore Un desio ch'io non posso spiegar. Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio, Or di foco, ora sono di ghiaccio, Ogni donna cangiar di colore, Ogni donna mi fa palpitar. Parlo d'amore vegliando, Parlo d'amor sognando, All'acqua, all'ombra, ai monti, Ai fiori, all'erbe, ai fonti, All'eco, all'aria, ai venti, Che il suon de'vani accenti Portano via con se. E se non ho chi m'oda, Parlo d'amor con me! Simply the name of love, of pleasure , Upsets me , it stirs my chest! It forces me to speak of love A desire I can not explain. I do not know who I am, or what I ’m doing, First I'm on fire, the n I am cold as ice, Every woman makes me blush, Every woman makes me tremble. I speak of love while I'm awake, I speak of love while I'm dreaming, I speak to water , shade, mountains, Flowers, grass, fountains, echo, air, and the winds , The sound of my hopeless words are taken away with them. And if I do not have anyone ne ar to hear me I speak of love to myself! An April Day Poet ry by Joseph Seamon Cotter, Jr. (1895 - 1919) On such a day as this I think, On such a day as this, When earth and sky and nature’s world Are clad in April’s bliss; And balmy zephyrs gently waft Upon your cheek a kiss; Sufficient is it just to live On such a day as this. Beside the Sea Poet ry by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872 - 1906) If you could sit with me beside the sea today And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o’er and o’er I should not find the clouds so dim and gray And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore. If you could sit with me upon the shore today, And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old, I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray , Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold, so cold ! - 15 - If you could walk with me upon the strand today Abd tell me that my longing love had won thine own I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away And I could give back laughter for the oceans moan. T h e Heart of a Woman Poet ry by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 - 1966) The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn, As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on, Afar o’er life’s turrets and vales does it roam In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home. The heart of a woman falls back with the night, And enters some alien cage in its plight, And tries to forget it has dreamed of th e stars While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars. Night Poet ry by Louise C. Wallace (unknown) Night comes, a Madonna clad in scented blue. Rose red her mouth and deep her eyes, She lights her stars, and turns to where, Beneath her silver lamp the moon, Upon a couch of shadow lies A dreamy child, The wearied Day. We Have Tomorrow Poet ry by Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967) We have tomorrow Bright before us Like a flame. Yesterday A night - gone thing, A sun - down name. And dawn - today Broad arch above the road we came. - 16 -