恰巧这段时间我在翻看浦安迪（Andrew H.Plaks）的《红楼梦的原型与寓意（Archetype and Allegory in the Dream of the Red Chamber）》，浦安迪关于中西方文学的原型和神话的比较于我很有启发，也提供给我思考布莱系特理论与中国传统戏曲之间关系的一个新角度：
西方文学原型具有叙事性特征，当神话素材中的人物在之后的文学作品中再现时，“其主要目的是重温那些与他们名字相关的经历”。比如讲到赫拉克勒斯时，他所做的十二项任务要比直接评价他是怎样一个人更为关键（“不管他们的行为是失意的、得志的、还是下场凄惨的，他们做了什么，远比他们是什么更重要，这些行为在整个西方文学史中回响”）。
而中国文学原型却恰恰相反，往往是给人物定性，至于人物事迹的过程，则通常一笔带过。比如大禹治水、女娲补天等神话素材，往往都是没有细节的（“在后来的中国文学中，神话的本质上的非叙述使用，事实上是比较明确的，即通常对神话人物的反映就是指一个特殊品质或是与之相关的联系，而不是他们行动的任何细枝末节”）。
我认为，后者所体现的非叙事性本质也和中国传统戏曲的审美观息息相关：在戏曲中，角色的善恶忠奸是明明白白画在脸谱上的；一般而言，角色在上场后会自报家门、交代目的，所以故事的展开并不具有悬疑性质；至于战争等大事件更是以程式化的抽象动作一带而过。
而在西方现实主义戏剧中延续的前一种传统，则受到了布莱希特的挑战。布莱希特认为：演员不应当“成为”角色而应当“展现”角色；“科学时代”的观众，不应该沉浸在角色的际遇与情感之中，而是应该成为观察家，把感受升华为认识。
也正是站在这一立场上，布莱希特对西方传统戏剧注重悬念和冲突的“戏剧性”提出质疑，并借鉴中国传统戏曲中某些非叙述性元素加以革新。
Macbeth人生的转折点以及在权力的游戏中一连串杀戮的开端，是从杀害邓肯王开始的。然而，在整个第二幕中，弑君的过程却始终缺席（即使在第二幕第二场Macbeth事后的叙述中，也只有恐惧与反悔、幻听到的“Sleep no more”诅咒，并没有行为本身——正如Macbeth的台词“I am afraid to think what I have done”所揭示的对弑君行为的叙述的缺失）。而考虑到莎翁的其他作品其实并不缺少对重要的杀戮、酷刑场景的赤裸裸的描绘——比如奥赛罗掐死苔丝狄梦娜、葛罗斯特伯爵被刳眼等等——这似乎是《麦克白》相对特殊的地方。
在之前的博文里我曾提到，英国国家剧院2014年制作、Sam Mendes导演的《李尔王》采用了某种为剧本台词寻找现代意义上合理解释的“实证主义”诠释方法（布莱希特也许不会赞成这种处理方式。他的某篇文章也曾以《李尔王》中李尔诅咒他的大女儿为例，认为并不应该只表达李尔“有理由”去诅咒自己的女儿，而是表现这种诅咒同时也是“毫无道理”的。），然而邓导在这一版制作中却无意于此——《麦克白》剧本中某些令人困惑以及人设不统一之处，也只是以接近布莱希特所谓「突兀给出事件」的方式加以原本呈现。文本中这些矛盾的地方诸如：在第一幕第四场，邓肯王在被考特爵士背叛后，曾感慨自己的轻信，可他很快又毫无防范地给予Macbeth相同的信任，但如果说邓肯王是毫无机心的忠厚长者的话，又缘何在授予Macbeth考特爵士后，立马就册封了长子Malcolm为Cumberland王子，以老辣果断的政治手腕明确打消Macbeth继承王位的希望？ [3] 在第四幕第三场，Malcolm一直在试探Macduff的底线，他讲了“好色”“贪财”、甚至包括对贵族权利的肆无忌惮的侵犯，Macduff为何竟然都觉得可以妥协？个人认为，要想像Sam Mendes导演一样为上述问题给出合理的解释几乎是不可能的，这一方面和剧中“fair is foul, and foul is fair”之类的朴素辩证法有关（从一点来说，又可以把该剧和布莱希特对马克思主义、中国古代哲学朴素辩证法的研究联系起来），另一方面也有莎翁写作《麦克白》时处理历史素材所遇到的政治问题的因素 [3] ——邓导也想提醒观众去注意后者：他有意在剧中打断剧情发展，安排饰演Macbeth夫人的演员朗读一段关于Gunpowder Plot的史料 [4]，这种类似布莱希特剧作中interlude的处理，把观众从演员所表现的Macbeth的世界，拉到了莎翁创作《麦克白》的世界。
然而，布莱希特的“理想观众”仅仅认识过去的世界是不够的，对戏剧作品的批判立场应延续至当下。
邓导版本中Macbeth夫妇的现代装束，似乎也是时刻提醒着观众本剧某种母题在当下的延续。
当我们回头审视《麦克白》前半部分的「非叙事性」时，我们也应该清醒认识到：莎翁绝不可能依据布莱希特理论来创作，似乎也不大可能了解中国传统戏曲的表现方式（当然，如果我们仔细读浦安迪关于中国文学原型的论述，我们也会发现，这两种「非叙事性」虽然相似，但无法等同）。个人认为，莎翁在此之所以弱化戏剧性冲突和悬念，是因为人类面对欲望的母题更值得探讨。
在《麦克白》剧本中，Macbeth和Banquo恰好代表了对待诱惑和欲望的两种态度。
在第一幕中，两人共同面对女巫们的预言，Banquo被许诺的荣华富贵甚至不亚于Macbeth（“less than Macbeth, and greater…”）。
但即使莎翁有意通过褒扬Banquo的品质来奉承詹姆士一世，在他的角色塑造中，Banquo仍和绝大部分凡夫俗子一般，面对如此大的诱惑绝非毫不动心（我们可以从Banquo在第二幕的台词“merciful powers, restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose!”、以及在第三幕第一场期望女巫预言实现的台词中略见一斑）。
只不过，Banquo的自制力使他没有被这样的欲望所吞噬，避免了成为另一个Macbeth的悲剧。
在第四幕Malcolm和Macduff的对话中，这一母题再次出现：
Malcolm所列举种种自己天性中的罪恶，固然是夸大其辞的试探，但这是否也是某种程度的肺腑之言呢？这是否也是某种人类普适的原罪？ [5]
《麦克白》的后半部分与前三幕不同，又回到了西方文学原型的「叙事性」传统。
这一次，麦克白如何战败被杀有了详尽的铺陈，女巫预言的悬念（如“none of woman born shall harm Macbeth”、森林向Dunsinane移动）也直到最后才解开。 [6]
邓导的制作中也做了一些强化戏剧冲突的调整。
例如第四幕第二场Macduff母子被杀的一场戏，被安排成第三场中Ross向Macduff传达噩耗的戏中戏（这也有点像电影中的闪回镜头，此外，这一制作在人物内心独白时也让其他人物暂时“定格”，这也是电影电视等现代媒介反向影响戏剧后产生的表现技巧），让Macduff“亲眼目睹”悲剧的一幕，不仅更富张力，而且也让后面Macduff对Macbeth的愤慨更为顺理成章。
邓导在戏剧表现手法上的独到还体现在第三幕第四场Macbeth国王及王后那场宴请群臣的戏。
如果要按照现实主义的表演方法，以邓导的小剧团实在不足以表现这场盛宴的宏大场面。
然而，他却反其道而行之，做了一个更大胆的、精简到极致的安排：将Ross、Lennox等群臣的戏份全部删去，台上只留下饰演Macbeth夫妇的两位演员，同时又把台下的灯打开，让观众变成群臣，观赏Macbeth“见鬼”的荒诞表演。
此外，Banquo鬼魂的不在场又进一步加强了这一场戏原有的荒诞意味（我个人觉得，《麦克白》中这一场戏、第二幕第一场中Macbeth刺杀Duncan前见到匕首的幻觉、第五幕第一场中Macbeth夫人梦魇的戏都很有荒诞意味。这一场戏邓导安排台上两位演员对着空气说对白，也有点像荒诞派尤涅斯库的《椅子》）。
在Macbeth疯疯癫癫的台词中，甚至还挪用了一段和“sleep no more”互文相关的《哈姆雷特》文本：[7]
To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
“fair is foul, and foul is fair”就像这部剧其中一个“剧眼”，剧中Macbeth夫妇的人生也正是这句箴言的印证（从第一幕第二场中我们也看到了对Macbeth fair一面的刻画）。
在后续几场戏的文本中，关于人的外在表现与内在品质之间关系的话题，也隐隐约约呼应这一”剧眼“。
例如第一幕第四场中，Duncan在听到考特爵士的下场后，曾感慨“知人知面不知心”（“There’s no art / To find the mind’s construction in the face.”）然而，他却很快在Macbeth身上又犯了同样的错误，甚至会“爱屋及乌”称赞起Macbeth的城堡（见第一幕第六场。这一场戏也有个细节，Banquo有一段对白，表达了对在此筑巢的martlet鸟的称赞，这有点像中国传统文学作品里提到“海鸥”就象征着“忘机”，也是一种赞美城堡主人品质高尚的奉承话。有趣的是，身处同一个城堡，Banquo注意到了martlet，而Macbeth夫人却注意到了乌鸦——见第一幕第五场——这是否也是一种二人内在品质的外在表现？） [2]
如果从今天戏剧制作的职能分工来看，莎翁在当时并不单单只是一位编剧，而且也是戏剧导演。这意味着，他在创作时也应该会考虑到实际演出的效果。像第一场这种电闪雷鸣（舞台指示“thunder and lightning”）怪力乱神的处理也有剧场效果的考虑，提示观众肃静，表演即将开始。
（一些朋友对这一场戏简短的篇幅和某些不合常理的台词感到疑惑，我这里姑且开个脑洞：其实开头第一场的文本只保留了莎翁所认为的最重要的台词，当时三女巫的演员或许会被要求按照这份大致的指示即兴表演，甚至有可能为了迎合当时观众的趣味，还会搞些滑稽表演。）
从这一角度而言，这一场戏并不一定适合当下的剧场实践，所以邓导的版本做了删节也可理解。
[2] 此处我应有误读。第一幕第五场Macbeth夫人有一段台词：
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’
我之前误以为Macbeth夫人当时也听到乌鸦叫，由乌鸦这一凶鸟联想到“you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts”，末尾的“Hold, hold!”也从乌鸦的叫声联想而来，类似爱伦坡《乌鸦》中“Nevermore”的拟声双关，第二幕第三场Duncan被刺后Lennox说的“The obscure bird clamoured the livelong night.”应该也是指乌鸦叫。翔哥纠正说此处Macbeth夫人所说的“乌鸦”只是比喻报信人。
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?
而Macbeth也有顺其自然还是加速历史进程的纠结：
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, without my stir.
18年纪念性的演出还有塔霍和比诺什合作的纪念Barbara逝世二十周年舞台剧“Vaille que Vivre”。看之前恰好在影展上看了Mathieu
Amalric拍的Barbara传记片，还蛮喜欢Barbara唱的chanson，于是就买票去了。结果国内的巡演塔霍又不来，钢伴换了人，兴趣直接降了一半，比诺什女神唱得简直…难听哭（怪不得访谈里她提到，塔霍一开始只给她排了四首歌orz）与其说是去听Barbara的音乐，倒不如说听了一场法语朗诵，看了一场简约肢体剧…
The CUDA front end invoked by nvcc silently adds a lot of boilerplate code and translation unit scope objects which perform CUDA context setup and teardown. That code must run before any API calls which rely on a CUDA context can be executed. If your object containing CUDA runtime API calls in its destructor invokes the API after the context is torn down, your code may fail with a runtime error.
(gdb) bt
#0 0x00002aaab16695c0 in __cudaRegisterFatBinary () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#1 0x00002aaaaad3eee1 in __sti____cudaRegisterAll_53_tmpxft_000017c3_00000000_19_im2col_compute_61_cpp1_ii_a0760701() ()
at /tmp/tmpxft_000017c3_00000000-4_im2col.compute_61.cudafe1.stub.c:98
#2 0x00002aaaaaaba3a3 in _dl_init_internal () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#3 0x00002aaaaaaac46a in _dl_start_user () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#4 0x0000000000000001 in ()
#5 0x00007fffffffe2a8 in ()
#6 0x0000000000000000 in ()
再执行若干步，call stack就变成：
1234567891011
(gdb) bt
#0 0x00002aaab16692b0 in __cudaRegisterFunction () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#1 0x00002aaaaad3ef3e in __sti____cudaRegisterAll_53_tmpxft_000017c3_00000000_19_im2col_compute_61_cpp1_ii_a0760701() (__T263=0x7c4b30)
at /tmp/tmpxft_000017c3_00000000-4_im2col.compute_61.cudafe1.stub.c:97
#2 0x00002aaaaad3ef3e in __sti____cudaRegisterAll_53_tmpxft_000017c3_00000000_19_im2col_compute_61_cpp1_ii_a0760701() ()
at /tmp/tmpxft_000017c3_00000000-4_im2col.compute_61.cudafe1.stub.c:98
#3 0x00002aaaaaaba3a3 in _dl_init_internal () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#4 0x00002aaaaaaac46a in _dl_start_user () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#5 0x0000000000000001 in ()
#6 0x00007fffffffe2a8 in ()
#7 0x0000000000000000 in ()
1234567
(gdb) bt
#0 0x00002aaaaae8ea20 in atexit () at XXX.so
#1 0x00002aaaaaaba3a3 in _dl_init_internal () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#2 0x00002aaaaaaac46a in _dl_start_user () at /lib64/ld-linux-x86-64.so.2
#3 0x0000000000000001 in ()
#4 0x00007fffffffe2a8 in ()
#5 0x0000000000000000 in ()
(gdb) bt
#0 0x00002aaab1ab7440 in cuInit () at /lib64/libcuda.so.1
#1 0x00002aaab167add5 in () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#2 0x00002aaab167ae31 in () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#3 0x00002aaabe416bb0 in pthread_once () at /lib64/libpthread.so.0
#4 0x00002aaab16ad919 in () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#5 0x00002aaab167700a in () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#6 0x00002aaab167aceb in () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
#7 0x00002aaab16a000a in cudaGetDevice () at /usr/local/cuda/lib64/libcudart.so.8.0
...
#10 0x0000000000405d77 in main(int, char**) (argc=<optimized out>, argv=<optimized out>)
The simplest way to look at how nvcc compiles the ECS (Execution Configuration Syntax) and manages kernel code is to use nvcc’s --cuda switch. This generates a .cu.c file that can be compiled and linked without any support from NVIDIA proprietary tools. It can be thought of as CUDA source files in open source C. Inspection of this file verified how the ECS is managed, and showed how kernel code was managed.
Device code is embedded as a fat binary object in the executable’s .rodata section. It has variable length depending on the kernel code.
For each kernel, a host function with the same name as the kernel is added to the source code.
Before main(..) is called, a function called cudaRegisterAll(..) performs the following work:
• Calls a registration function, cudaRegisterFatBinary(..), with a void pointer to the fat binary data. This is where we can access the kernel code directly.
• For each kernel in the source file, a device function registration function, cudaRegisterFunction(..), is called. With the list of parameters is a pointer to the function mentioned in step 2.
As aforementioned, each ECS is replaced with the following function calls from the execution management category of the CUDA runtime API.
• cudaConfigureCall(..) is called once to set up the launch configuration.
• The function from the second step is called. This calls another function, in which, cudaSetupArgument(..) is called once for each kernel parameter. Then, cudaLaunch(..) launches the kernel with a pointer to the function from the second step.
An unregister function, cudaUnregisterBinaryUtil(..), is called with a handle to the fatbin data on program exit.
The obvious answer is don’t put CUDA API calls in the destructor. In your class you have an explicit intialisation method not called through the constructor, so why not have an explicit de-initialisation method as well? That way scope becomes a non-issue
Am brunnen vor dem tore da steht ein Lindenbaum;
门前有棵菩提树,生长在古井边
ich traumt' in seinem Schatten so manchen suBen Traum.
我做过无数美梦在它的绿荫间
Ich schnitt in seine Rinde so manches liebe Wort;
也曾在那树干上刻下甜蜜诗句
es zog in freud und Leide zu ihm mich immerfort
无论快乐和痛苦常在树下留连
Ich muBt auch heute wandern vorbei in tiefer Nacht,
今天像往日一样,我流浪到深夜
da hab ich noch im Dunkel die Augen zugemacht.
我在黑暗中行走,闭上了我的双眼
Und seinr Zweige rauschten,
好像听见那树叶
als riefen sie mir zu,
对我轻声呼唤
kommher zu mie,Geselle,hier findstdu deine Ruh!
同伴,回到我这里,来找寻平安!
Die kalten Winde bliesen mir grad ins Angesicht,
凛冽的北风吹来,直扑上我的脸
der Hut flog mir vom Kopfe,ich wendetemich nicht.
把头上帽子吹落我仍坚定向前
Nun bin ich manche Stunde entfernt von jenem Ort,
如今我远离故乡,转眼有许多年
und immer horich's rauschen;
但仍常听见呼唤
du fandest ruhe dort!
到这里寻找平安!
Der Jüngling an der Quelle
Language: German (Deutsch)
Leise, rieselnder Quell, ihr wallenden, flispernden Pappeln,
Euer Schlummergeräusch wecket die Liebe nur auf.
Linderung sucht' ich bei euch, und sie zu vergessen, die Spröde;
Ach! und Blätter und Bach seufzen: [Elisa! mir zu.]1
123456
The youth by the spring
Softly, trickling spring! Ye churning, rustling poplars!
The sounds of slumber you make will only awaken my love.
Balm was I seeking from you and to forget her indifference.
Ah, the brook and each tree sigh for my loved one, for thee.
Der Musensohn
Durch Feld und Wald zu schweifen,
Mein Liedchen wegzupfeifen,
So gehts von Ort zu Ort!
Und nach dem Takte reget,
Und nach dem Maaß beweget
Sich alles an mir fort.
Ich kann sie kaum erwarten,
Die erste Blum' im Garten,
Die erste Blüt' am Baum.
Sie grüßen meine Lieder,
Und kommt der Winter wieder,
Sing' ich noch jenen Traum.
Ich sing' ihn in der Weite,
Auf Eises Läng' und Breite,
Da blüht der Winter schön!
Auch diese Blüte schwindet,
Und neue Freude findet
Sich auf bebauten Höhn.
Denn wie ich bei der Linde
Das junge Völkchen finde,
Sogleich erreg' ich sie.
Der stumpfe Bursche bläht sich,
Das steife Mädchen dreht sich
Nach meiner Melodie.
Ihr gebt den Sohlen Flügel
Und treibt, durch Thal und Hügel,
Den Liebling weit von Haus.
Ihr lieben holden Musen,
Wann ruh' ich ihr am Busen
Auch endlich wieder aus?
In field and wood a-roaming --
I pipe my tune a-blowing
And dart from hill to dale (2)
And with my rhythm beating --
The pulse of life repeating
A chorus and a dance (2) from morn to night enhance.
And I can hardly wait then -
To see the blooming garden
The budding flowering trees -
My songs I play to greet them -
And though the winter meets them
My song comes from the dream (the dream) (2)
I sing around the hillsides --
Of winter's blooming kingdom
The beauty of her realm (2)
And then the ice is melted --
And joy, again, is felt there
Her bounty is alive ------ through all the countryside (2)
And when beneath the lime tree
The lads and lasses find me --
Their laughter fills the world.
The lads show off their feathers --
No matter what the weather
The lasses dance and twirl -- Oh, how they dance and whirl and twirl !
You spark my inspiration --
And nurture new creation
Your fav'rite far from home (2)
Oh, muses, dearest, kindest -
Whenever will I find rest?
Oh, shall you bring me home? (2) And I, no more to roam.
《十二首诗》节选，op.35 (Zwölf Gedichte von Justinus Kerner Op 35)
No.1：暴风雨之夜的快乐 (No 1: Lust der Sturmnacht)
The accompaniment rumbles between the hands in a way that recalls the oscillations of Schöne Wiege meiner Leiden from the Heine Liederkreis, Op 24. The tempo is faster of course because this is storm music where inn-sign and window rattle in the force of the wind. But the point of the song is that all this nasty weather is ‘draussen’ (outside) and that the narrator of the poem is cradled safely within the bosom of the family. Those with fortunate childhoods remember a sense of warm security as they were tucked up in bed, protected from the howling rain and wind. This poem translates childlike cosiness into adult exultation – a mood typical of Kerner, and of Schumann in 1840; the forces of nature are enlisted as supporting players in the poet’s ecstatic celebration of his domestic happiness. The ups and downs of the external storm only emphasize the warmth and stability of what lies safely within. So the song is not really what it appears to be at first glance or first hearing – a romanticized lowering landscape in the manner of the Eichendorff songs. Instead it attempts to depict something more abstract – the calm centre of the storm where the poet’s mental and physical rapture as a husband are counterbalances to the huffings and puffings of external influences. It was an apt poem for a newly married composer to choose to begin a cycle.
The key signature of E flat major shows us that Schumann symbolically discounts the grim weather from the outset. At the beginning (and for much of the song) the music, thanks to a slew of bristling accidentals, blusters in E flat minor. It would have been simple enough to preface the whole song with the six flats which signify this key, but this would have implied the victory of the forces of darkness over those of light. With only three flats at the core of the song the composer tells us that however violent the storm outside, his own state of mind remains calmly fixed in the radiance of the major key. The difficulty of Lust der Sturmnacht – particularly for the interpreters – is that the music gives out two messages at once, and it is usually the first and most obvious, the angry, stormy mood, which prevails. The vocal line is demanding and, as it curves to the top of its first phrase, high-lying and dramatic. The vitality of the piano writing encourages the pianist to launch into displays of temperament to mirror the vicissitudes of the weather which can easily seem furious rather than exultant.
After two lines of music (the poem’s first verse) we are led into the song’s inner sanctum: there is a significant change of mood as the veil of gloom lifts almost literally. Instead of growling left-hand fifths and octaves, the whole texture of the song lightens as the bass line ascends the stave and changes character completely. With these notes a curtain rises as if pulled upwards by the pianist’s left hand, revealing a bright and cosy scene of happiness. It is a scene such as this which the winter traveller glimpses through the window in Täuschung (Schubert’s Winterreise). ‘Ruht es sich so süss hier innen’ suddenly becomes bathed in a glow of F7 leading to B flat major, a gentle sighing tune which is repeated after a short piano interlude. Further musing excursions into E flat7 and A flat major at ‘all der goldne Himmelsschimmer’ restate the warmth and inner glow of a life where heaven is in the here-and-now of domestic happiness. For the poem’s third strophe the music becomes even more ethereal; now the sense of rapture has become so heady that the bass line floats further upward and takes shelter in the treble clef directly under the right-hand chords. The move into A flat major (the subdominant of the home key) has already led us into a musical region of intimacy and radiance, but as the accompaniment becomes further etiolated we are spirited beyond the living-room into the intimacy of the bedroom cushioned with the softest linen and the purest love (‘Halt’ mich fest in linden Armen!’).
It is time now for the song to change direction and return to the mood of the opening. Schumann uses the closing lines of the third strophe as a bridge passage back to the storm music. So strong is the magic of the human warmth surrounding the poet that he imagines spring in winter, the actual season an irrelevance to his mood. In his domestic happiness he experiences something like Goethe’s ‘Frühling übers Jahr’, spring the whole year through. Staccato semiquavers alternate between the hands with a flurry of activity suggestive of tiny buds pricking their way though the soil. First single A flats in the left hand tentatively exchange greetings with right-hand thirds; the right hand then descends and crosses over the left following the vocal line (‘Lenzesblumen aufwärts dringen’) in a courtship dance of delight. The voice then flirtatiously suddenly changes direction and moves up the scale (‘Wölklein ziehn und Vöglein singen’). With such a chase, and the rising of the vocal sap, more insistent pianistic left-hand octaves stampede in the opposite direction. Thus spring’s return is painted in an ever broader and richer spectrum of colour and movement. No sooner are we in the key of B flat at ‘Vöglein singen’ than we are off again, this time plunging back to E flat minor for a repeat of the song’s opening melody. Schumann parades the conflicting imageries of spring and winter before us side-by-side.
Once again we hear the stirring music of the opening and the poet seems to stand before us in all his glory. (It was always Schumann’s ability to somehow build up a portrait of his poets through his songs, and here we are introduced to Kerner in no uncertain terms.) Although the whole point of the song is that the poet is indoors when he sings it, there is something majestic about his utterance which reminds us of King Lear’s outdoor ‘Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drowned the cocks!’ Kerner is no dethroned king, but as one of Germany’s early exponents of natural medicine and other holistic therapies, he is an outsider, a free-thinking pioneer ahead of his time, well placed to defy the external elements as well as those elements in society which would accuse him of madness. Schumann’s uses a vocal trill, a device rare for him, on ‘Himmels helle’ (we hear this phrase twice) to mark the sheer delight which Kerner feels in the eye of the storm, and also his delight in the paradox which his poem describes. The major-key elation of the virtuosic final bars (one of Schumann’s more difficult postludes) unites the energy of the storm with the leaping heartbeat of personal exultation. Nature’s forces, no matter how forbidding their external manifestation, are harnessed to celebrate the joys of a fulfilled inner life.
Wenn durch Berg und Tale draussen
Regen schauert, Stürme brausen,
Schild und Fenster hell erklirren,
Und in Nacht die Wandrer irren,
Ruht es sich so süss hier innen,
Aufgelöst in selges Minnen;
All der goldne Himmelsschimmer
Flieht herein ins stille Zimmer:
Reiches Leben, hab’ Erbarmen!
Halt’ mich fest in linden Armen!
Lenzesblumen aufwärts dringen,
Wölklein ziehn und Vöglein singen.
Ende nie, du Sturmnacht, wilde!
Klirrt, ihr Fenster, schwankt, ihr Schilde,
Bäumt euch, Wälder, braus’, o Welle,
Mich umfängt des Himmels helle!
Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
This is certainly the most famous of all the Kerner settings and the most frequently encountered in recitals. It is not hard to see why. The song is something of a tonic, and was conceived as such by both composer and poet. Even the piano interludes ‘perk up’ in an enchanting way. The original title of the lyric was Frühlingskur (the concept of the ‘cure’ is alive and well today in a Germany where many are still addicted to ‘taking the waters’) and springtime is here presented as a great healer. This is made even clearer by Frühlingsmorgen, the poem which precedes this in Kerner’s Dichtungen (1834). In that poem, the season of gambolling lambs and singing larks is said to make the sickest heart blossom in the midst of its withering, giving it reason to sing with joy. Here are early signs of a Green Party; the poet shuns mankind in favour of nature’s awakening power, an ability to heal both psychically and physically. And by implication this also applies to the purity of what one eats, and of the herbal remedies scorned by conventional medicine. The marking ‘Einfach’ (‘simple’) implies that Schumann sees Kerner as connected to the source of nature and, as such, the music associated with his healing powers should be free of artificial flavourings.
The first signs of spring’s arrival are to be seen in the fledgling green of newly emerging grass. The key is G major and one recalls that the Andersen setting Märzveilchen (Op 40 No 1) is in this tonality. A feature common to the two songs is the interplay between the hands in the accompaniment: sighing quavers phrased away in the left hand, and panting little semiquavers pulsating off the beat. These pinpricks of sound represent the audacious act of flowers or plants making tiny holes in the earth’s surface in order to emerge into daylight. (Mendelssohn, in his G major duet Maiglöckchen und die Blümelein (1844), seems to have been influenced by Schumann.) Erstes Grün is utterly strophic, so we hear the same melody three times; the vocal line is always in G minor (representing winter gloom and depression) and the delicious interlude, which suggests a springtime roundelay, is in the major key.
Kerner’s words are set to music which, like so much else in Schumann’s nature mode, suggests folksong. It is the accompaniment which enriches and fills out the picture. A heart racing with feelings of fear and presentiment, certainly a heart unsettled by the winter blues, is suggested by the insistent chords off the beat which shadow the vocal melody almost throughout. The little fragmentary march on ‘Das von des Winters Schnee erkrankt’ (voice and piano suddenly coming together) provides a fleeting moment of connection with the march of awakening springtime in Schubert’s Trockne Blumen from Die schöne Müllerin. The following interlude (we hear it three times in all, including its appearance as the song’s postlude) is something new and original. It is partly rueful, partly celebratory. Traditionally, it is subject to pianists’ whimsical rubato where the tempo picks up in the manner of a spring lamb, at first slightly unsteady on its feet and then, as it gets into its stride, gaining confidence to hop and skip with impunity. This suggests the stirring of something long dormant, the rising of the sap perhaps, a half-forgotten sense of childlike delight awakened by the first blade of grass and the first ray of sunshine – winter’s chloroform negated by springtime’s chlorophyll. The interlude pivots around chromatically rising basses, but it begins in an innocent G major, and ends there too, high in the treble. This tonality is then immediately countermanded by the return of a G minor chord in the right hand, again followed by an accented D in the left – the knell of spring’s hopes which reminds us that, as yet, the new season is only a fantasy, and that winter still reigns.
The second and third verses of the poem perhaps suit the same music less well. Kerner’s poem was designed to reflect an increasing sense of delight in the second strophe, and Schumann forgoes this subtle change of mood in the interest of simplicity. There is, however, a sense of conspiracy and suspense on the second verse’s ‘Hier in des Waldes stillem Grund’. It seems that the music stems, so to speak, from that ground: voice and piano come together in prayer-like communion for the extraordinary ceremony of pressing the first green shoots ‘an Herz und Mund’. As he picks, and even tastes, the new green growth, Kerner reminds us that he was a naturopath. Once again the G major interlude – prancing plucked basses, starting slightly under tempo, then turning into a cheeky miniature czárdás. The last strophe seems both metaphorically eloquent as well as a practical comment on the efficacy of natural remedies for mankind’s ailments – in this case the stopping of palpitations. The interlude may here be shaped slightly differently by the pianist, less skittishly and more calmly to mirror the words ‘Macht, dass mein Herze stiller schlägt’. A sense of frustrated impatience and longing has been replaced by the glow of gentle fulfilment. This is reflected in the dreamy nature of the final cadence. At the crucial moment where the music has shifted back to G minor in earlier strophes, the piano dwells lovingly on a moment of suspended chromaticism before dropping with the utmost tenderness to three perfectly placed chords in G major. A gentle smile in music.
Du junges Grün, du frisches Gras!
Wie manches Herz durch dich genas,
Das von des Winters Schnee erkrankt,
O wie mein Herz nach dir verlangt!
Schon wächst du aus der Erde Nacht,
Wie dir mein Aug’ entgegen lacht!
Hier in des Waldes stillem Grund
Drück ich dich, Grün, an Herz und Mund.
Wie treibt’s mich von den Menschen fort!
Mein Leid das hebt kein Menschenwort,
Nur junges Grün, ans Herz gelegt
Macht, dass mein Herze stiller schlägt.
Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
This song, with its lilting 6/8 rhythm, is a very close relative of Der Knabe mit dem Wunderhorn heard earlier on this disc. Like Aus alten Märchen from Dichterliebe, it belongs to that list of songs of magic-carpet enchantment which Schumann of all the great Lieder composers seems to have been best qualified to conjure. He has a quixotic strain of sheer whimsy, and the ability to pursue it, with childlike curiosity, to the point of exact musical expression. This is quite simply a matchless quality, and one that we cherish.
On the other hand Schumann could sometimes go into this fairytale mode almost too automatically, and so it seems here. Kerner’s poem is deeper and more demanding than either Geibel’s salute to the youth of Des Knaben Wunderhorn or Heine’s vision of a rocking-horse land of dreams and fantasies. Kerner’s poem is not as great as Heine’s perhaps, but it asks for things other than a magic-carpet ride through the landscape. Unlike the Cupid-like putto of the Geibel setting, the narrator here remains a real person on the printed page of poetry. In the first strophe we hear of severed bonds (‘Zerissen, ach zerissen Ist manches teure Band’); this occasions a brief dalliance with G minor, but this twinge of musical regret seems brief to the point of being glib. In Schumann’s music he sounds relieved to be rid of old ties. In the second verse Kerner describes how he has often prostrated himself at wayside shrines; and in the last he rejoices in the strength of his relationship, declaring himself to be close to all earth and heaven as a result. Perhaps embarrassed by this strain of Swabian devoutness, Schumann simply misses the deeper import of this lyric; for once, he forgets to keep the poet in mind and we have to stretch our imaginations to believe that this light-hearted song (enchanting though it is in its own terms) refers to the same man whose love for his wife and family has given rise to Lust der Sturmnacht. In short, the music lacks the gravitas we have come to expect from the Kerner songbook.
This having been said, there is much to admire. One can scarcely blame Schumann, the artful arranger and shuffler of moods, for engineering a change of pace in his Liederreihe after the portentous strains of the Trinkglas song. And we have the relief of that change in full measure. The music dances and floats with cheeky insouciance; the composer instructs the accompanist to keep his piano part light and gentle. The ‘scoring’ of the song suggests pizzicato strings limned with the perky woodwind gallantry of bassoons. The key of the song is B flat major. In the second strophe there is a shift to F7 which colours the music of remembered prayer with a gently rueful hue and smoother rhythms; this is capped by a shift to A flat7 for ‘Ihr Bäume, ach, ihr Hügel’ where a note of longing and nostalgia temporarily casts a shadow over the landscape – although to no very serious effect.
And then it is back to the first rollicking melody despite the fact that the world is asleep, and another composer might have attempted something like the mood of Schubert’s Wandrers Nachtlied. Despite their silence in the poem, the birds are made to twitter merrily in the light staccato accompaniment. The composer is perhaps at his best in the next few lines which allow him to express a deliriously joyous sense of inner happiness and satisfaction which, together with the marking of ‘Bewegter’ (‘faster’) brims over into exultingly prancing triplets pushing the voice into a higher and more heroic tessitura. Schumann seems to have taken the word ‘Pfand’ in an archaic way as if the singer is carrying the colours of his fair lady at a joust. This may account for the piano writing here which, in the way the performers approach the heights as if they were hurdles or jumps, suggests the exhilaration and rough-and-tumble of a tournament. Indeed the whole thing may be taken to be a self-consciously medieval evocation of ancient minstrelsy; Die schöne Magelone of Brahms comes instantly to mind. In Schumann’s imagination Kerner is playing the part of a gallant lover rather than being himself. The postlude is infectious in its gaiety and energy: the twin worlds of sky and earth are depicted by a dancing B flat figuration that is first heard in the treble, and echoed an octave lower. The song always brings a smile, for it is, in truth, a cocky scherzo of almost irresistible charm. Like Heine’s Aus alten Märchen it vanishes like a drift of foam (‘Zerflieht’s wie eitel Schaum’); but we cannot chide Schumann too long for being superficial when he goes so deep elsewhere in the cycle.
Wohlauf und frisch gewandert
Ins unbekannte Land!
Zerrissen, ach zerrissen,
Ist manches teure Band.
Ihr heimatlichen Kreuze,
Wo ich oft betend lag,
Ihr Bäume, ach, ihr Hügel,
O blickt mir segnend nach.
Noch schläft die weite Erde,
Kein Vogel weckt den Hain,
Doch bin ich nicht verlassen,
Doch bin ich nicht allein,
Denn, ach, auf meinem Herzen
Trag’ ich ihr teures Pfand,
Ich fühl’s, und Erd und Himmel
Sind innig mir verwandt.
Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
This is a poem which contains Kerner’s entire credo in a single strophe. It is a catalogue of the poet’s reason for living, and when read on the printed page of the Dichtungen, it seems a joyful paean to the restorative powers of nature and of poetry (it is not clear here whether ‘Lied’ means ‘word’, ‘tone’ or both). Of course it is unthinkable that any of the things that Kerner names (apart from song which needs the human touch) should not exist, unless a nuclear catastrophe or environmental disaster (a silent spring devoid of birdsong – unimaginable to the nineteenth century) should devastate the planet. The questions are thus almost entirely rhetorical, and quite different from the more usual sort of poetic fancy which imagines the barrenness of a life devoid of love and its personal embodiment. Each of the poet’s lines is followed by an exclamation, and if we were to have heard Kerner read this poem he would almost certainly have adopted a bracing tone; even if he thought of this as a hymn, it was a rousing hymn of gratitude. This is quite different from the tentative and dreamy mood which Schumann chooses for his setting. The composer’s own temperament, his rueful smile and uncommunicative silences – even with Clara – somehow take musical shape here: there is something plaintive and helpless about the final cadence which tells us that were the dark clouds of depression to descend on Schumann’s personal life, all of these wonders of nature, as well as song itself, would be little consolation. There is also a gloomy prophecy in these words: a life without song would mean, in the case of Schumann, a life without the ability to compose music, and this was eventually to be his sad fate at the asylum in Endenich.
The difficulties of this song are not immediately apparent. It seems a simple enough single page of music, but singers are challenged by its lack of breathing space – the thoughts keep on coming, unpunctuated by a moment’s rest. No doubt Schumann was concerned to keep the music on the move because the whole poem is after all a single sentence governed by a succession of subjunctive clauses which pile up in an ever more urgent need to find a final verb. Schumann finds a melody which is touching in its humility; appoggiatura-like, it leans on many a bar line with all the pathos of a supplicant, but it is driven for ever forward by the words. The beseeching tone is varied with various melodic inflections which derive from the text: the vocal line suddenly jumps a starry octave for ‘sternerhellte Nacht’, and even higher for the mountain-climbing ‘Und du Gebirg’ voll ernster Pracht!’ (this little corner is one of the most awkward in the cycle from a vocal point of view). The setting of ‘Du Lied aus voller Menschenbrust’ is extraordinary – there is a ritardando during the word which is further complicated by ties and syncopations, piano doubling voice, as the music drops down the stave in thirds. This seems a perfect means of illustrating an emotional block, the off-beat stumbling over the word a metaphor for someone tongue-tied and confused. The last four bars of the song are marked ‘adagio’ and it is clear that the song was consciously conceived as a bridge-passage to Stille Tränen; perhaps this is one of the reasons why the brevity of the poem appealed to Schumann. The final question hangs in the air unanswered, and the music ends in the dominant of the relative minor. Schumann’s lack of knowledge about vocal practicalities is illustrated by the fact that from the point of view of the words the phrase ‘ach, was füllte noch In arger Zeit ein Herz mit Lust?’ should be sung in one breath. But the composer has set the words in such a way (the upturn of the final phrase for an elongated final ‘Lust’) that this is all but impossible. One would also think that Frage was the song least able to stand on its own in the cycle, ending as it does on an inconclusive note; but the Schumanns seem to have been very fond of it, and the composer had no qualms about writing out a separate copy of it as a present for Pauline Viardot in 1847.
Wärst du nicht, heil’ger Abendschein!
Wärst du nicht, sternerhellte Nacht!
Du Blütenschmuck! Du üpp’ger Hain!
Und du, Gebirg’ voll ernster Pracht!
Du Vogelsang aus Himmeln hoch!
Du Lied aus voller Menschenbrust,
Wärst du nicht, ach, was füllte noch
In arger Zeit ein Herz mit Lust?
Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
This is nothing less than an epic song, a real blockbuster. Schumann was proud enough of it to publish it as supplement to the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1841. Many more people want to sing it than are able to, and for the wrong reasons. It is a song that does not benefit from being lifted out of its context in the cycle. An artist of operatic possibilities is tempted to bawl it at full tilt; this tends to be a moving experience for everyone except the listeners. Even the accompanist can easily lose his head and make of the piano writing something anachronistically luscious – the debt to Chopin is obvious enough here, but there have been performances of Stille Tränen where the hapless singer is pitted against pulsations which would not be out of place in a Rachmaninov piano concerto.
If he had lived in modern times there seems no doubt that Schumann would have been able to mine a popular seam in his music and reach a wide audience. The panoramic breadth of this melody with its stirring sequences is proof enough of this. A film-music composer could orchestrate the tune just as it stands; someday this may happen, and thousands will hear Schumann’s music for the first time without realizing it. They will not learn of Kerner however, because the poem is dispensable to the music’s effect. Indeed, these words do not easily fit a musical conception which is easily rendered stirring and ecstatic rather than troubled and introverted. Lieder singers have to work particularly hard here in order to marry text and tone convincingly; it is simpler to relish the tune and forget the message behind it. Because Schumann wrote nothing else quite like it, it is a challenge to relate Stille Tränen to the rest of the composer’s song-writing oeuvre. One must remember that the song’s larger-than-life harmonic and melodic contours shelter a short poem entitled ‘Silent Tears’ – neither ‘Stirring Sobs’ nor ‘Joyous Paeans’ will do as a substitute. A great deal of the music is written within a piano dynamic and the song, very much a nocturne, ends on a hushed, rather than a triumphant, note.
Our grief comes out in dreams, despite attempts to hide it even from ourselves in the daylight hours. Kerner, as we have found elsewhere in this cycle, believes in the occult and the power of dreams, but he comes from a time more repressed and less self-aware than our own: his sleepers suppress and forget their dreams rather than interpreting them. Only the tears on their pillow are evidence of deep-seated and unresolved pain. We can see why the poem appealed to Schumann, not quite understanding his own depressions, convinced that ominous forces were ticking away slowly in his mind and body, undermining his chances of happiness. Who was to know his melancholy secret that he had contracted syphilis at the age of twenty-one? And how can any of us know the tortured hidden sadnesses of those who present a seemingly happy face to the world? This music should simmer from within, as if contained in a cauldron which is slow to come to the boil – the heat should not be turned up too soon. But it is this gradually building head of emotional steam which drives the music forward and gives the music its epic quality. (Despite the superscription ‘Sehr langsam’, the music is written alla breve and should never be allowed to become too slow.) Schumann, in an expansive mood not at all typical of his way with exquisite miniatures, seems to have been thinking of the collective sorrows of all mankind when he wrote it. This accounts for the unusually ambitious sweep of the music.
At the same time the healing and calming power of night and sleep has also to be given its due in order to calm the song down and keep it within the Lieder frame. Stille Tränen is, in some ways, Schubert’s Nacht und Träume writ large: similar long-breathed melodic lines, broad and starry, highly arched as the night sky, are spun over a piano ostinato which unfolds in the same register of the instrument in both songs. Also common to both settings is the slow-moving harmony; it is this which suggests the long span of sleep over many hours. The progress of the music from one sumptuous cluster of chords to another suggests a stately galleon cruising the vast oceans of the unconscious, taking soundings as it goes, and plumbing the infinitely resonant depths. It is these chords which both support, and sometimes rock, the raft of dreams; sometimes they signify the agonizing undercurrents, hidden and dark as slime. (The basses are effulgent and booming in the original key, even more cavernous in transposition.)
At the beginning the first thing we hear is three bars of C major. We roll through the plains of sleep, dallying in F (the subdominant), D minor–G7 and back to C major. The second strophe begins in the A flat, the key of the so-called Neapolitan sixth; the second half of the strophe shifts up a minor third to C flat major; with this bold modulation the song becomes truly thrilling in terms of its tessitura and grandeur of utterance. A shift to F7 enables the verse to end in B flat major. This introduces another stirring change – into the key of E flat major for the third strophe where the opening melody makes a reappearance a minor third higher. Schumann does not shy away from the consequences of turning the screw of tension tighter than he normally dares – the resulting high B flat on ‘Schmerz’ is ill-advised for most, but riveting when vocally possible. The harmonic twists of this strophe are adapted to end in C major, and this gives rise to one of the most thrilling of all Schumann’s interludes for piano. The epic tune emerges as a solo – as powerfully as the weak middle register of the piano will allow. The bass stave is awash with a remarkable left-hand trill – a Schubertian device to mirror the ominous; here it is as if the very mud of the ocean floor is bubbling, sending tidal waves to the surface (a stormy right-hand trill appears two bars later).
The composer decides to repeat the poem’s last two lines in a mood of mighty peroration. The interlude leads us into F major from where we can return to C major (via a massive 6–4/V cadence as hackneyed as it is effective). But the final word of the song ‘Herz’ is not harmonized in C major; there is instead a marvellous interrupted cadence on the second inversion of D7. It is here that Chopin’s fervid influence on Schumann’s piano writing is very apparent: the independence of the part-writing is particularly impressive (eloquent quavers erupt in the bass and then catch fire in the tenor register). All this is marked piano however and, unless the markings are ignored, this marvellous piano postlude is a sad let-down for those who seek to finish a blockbuster aria with a loud and triumphant orchestral tutti. An interplay of quintuplets between the soprano line and bass suggests a dialogue (between night and day? dreams and reality? the forces of good and evil? Robert and Clara?) and the song comes to rest in an unlikely way – an adagio bar, piano and resignedly calm. It is a quaver quintuplet deep in the bass that has the last word. The introverted wistfulness of this ending is the key to the whole. It encourages the serious Lieder performers’ attempts to keep the scale of the song within the confines of the Schumannian Lied. There is no doubt that the dividing lines between song and aria are strained here, but with care and taste they need not be demolished.
Du bist vom Schlaf erstanden
Und wandelst durch die Au’,
Da liegt ob allen Landen
Der Himmel wunderblau.
So lang du ohne Sorgen
Geschlummert schmerzenlos,
Der Himmel bis zum Morgen
Viel Tränen niedergoss.
In stillen Nächten weinet
Oft mancher aus den Schmerz,
Und morgens dann ihr meinet,
Stets fröhlich sei sein Herz.
Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
This is one of the most famous mélodies of all time, composed around 1870. It was Duparc’s special role in the history of French song to introduce a note of depth and seriousness into a genre that had been notably lacking such qualities during the Second Empire. The inspiration with this composer was Wagnerian (Duparc heard Rheingold in 1869) but his music distils Wagner’s visionary qualities into works of art of great concision and translucence. In this unquestionably French music there is no trace of the megalomania and pomposity that repelled Godard and other French anti-Wagnerians. Duparc embraced the Christian ideals typical of the César Franck circle as a whole; perhaps that is why the pagan resonances of Baudelaire’s ‘Luxe, calme et volupté’ are turned into music of unbelievable refinement—here is purity as well as decadence, rigour and sensuality. With Baudelaire and Duparc we traverse the landscapes of the Dutch East Indies; as in all such journeys, where imagination plays the largest part, we find ourselves flying beyond operatic sets of wood and canvas towards realms previously inaccessible to the French duo of singer and pianist. Decades earlier Schubert and Schumann had discovered those regions where the intimate fusion of great words and music worthy of them represents a special flowering of creative opportunity; with L’invitation au voyage French song comes of age and joins the German lied as something separate yet equal.
Mon enfant, ma sœur,
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.
La, 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 du 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 volupté!
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
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, sans découvrir
Le bleu manoir de Rosemonde.
Robert de Bonnières (1850-1905)
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With its sudden, voracious fangs,
love, like a dog, has bitten me …
Following my spilled blood,
come, you will be able to retrace my path …
Take a horse of good breed,
set out, and follow my arduous road,
—marsh, or lost pathway—
if the journey does not exhaust you!
Passing where I have passed,
you will see that, alone and wounded,
I have traversed this sorry world,
and that I thus went off to die
far, far away, without discovering
the blue domain of Rosemonde.
悲伤的歌 (Lamento)
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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’unisson
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,
Écouter la pâle colombe
Chanter, sur la branche de l’if
Son chant plaintif!
Théophile Gautier (1811-1872)
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Do you know the white tomb
where, with plaintive sound,
waves the shadow of a yew tree?
Upon the yew a pale dove,
sad and lonely in the setting sun,
sings its song.
One feels as if the awakened soul
weeps beneath the ground
in unison with the song,
and with unhappiness at being forgotten
laments, with a cooing sound,
very softly.
Ah, never again
shall I go near the tomb,
when the black-mantled evening falls,
to listen to the pale dove sing,
on the yew tree’s branch,
its plaintive song!
菲迪莱 (Phidylé)
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L’herbe est molle au sommeil sous les frais peupliers,
Aux pentes des sources moussues
Qui dans les prés en fleurs 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, un 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 récompensent de l’attente!
Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle (1818-1894)
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The grass is soft to sleep on beneath the cool poplars,
On the slopes of mossy springs
Which, in the flowery meadows, rise by a thousand outlets
And are lost beneath the dark thickets.
Rest, oh Phidylé.
The midday sun shines through the leaves
and invites you to sleep—
Alone amid the clover and the thyme
in the sun’s full light where the humming bees hover.
A warm fragrance pervades the winding paths;
the red flowers in the corn droop their heads,
and the birds, skimming the hillside with their wings,
seek the shade of the wild rose bushes.
Rest, oh Phidylé.
But when the sun, low on his shining curve,
sees his brilliance dimmed,
let your loveliest smile and most ardent kiss
reward my waiting!
The Tre sonetti di Petrarca were the direct result of Liszt’s sojourn in Italy during 1838–9; we learn that he and Marie d’Agoult read Petrarch and Dante together. The origins of the poetry are legendary: on Good Friday, 6 April, 1327, the great fourteenth-century poet Petrarch saw a woman named Laura in the church of Sainte-Claire d’Avignon, and his passion for her is celebrated in the 366 poems of his Rime sparse (Scattered rhymes, later known as Il Canzoniere / The Songbook). The songs—arias in all but name—exist in both a pre-Weimar version for tenor and a later revision for mezzo-soprano or baritone; we hear the virtuosic first version on this disc. The first sonnet, ‘Pace non trovo’, is packed with Petrarch’s characteristic oxymorons, antitheses, and dichotomies (staring without eyes, crying without voice, burning and freezing alike) that bespeak the paradoxes of love. For such imagery, Liszt begins with an agitated succession of his most advanced harmonies followed by extreme contrasts between dramatic-operatic outbursts and ecstatic lyricism, twice bidding the tenor reach for the D flat above high C. In ‘Benedetto sia ’l giorno’, Petrarch calls for multiple blessings on his first sight of Laura, his love for her, and his own thoughts and verses about her. Liszt moves from key to key, benediction to benediction, in his trademark restless, innovative way. ‘I’ vidi in terra angelici costumi’ tells of heavenly angels on earth and earth-shattering beauty in the person of Laura, whose harmonious being fills the air with sweetness. This celestial song, with its breathtaking harmonic shift just before the invocation of ‘Love! wisdom! valour, pity and grief’, ends quietly and reverently.
When Liszt and his mistress Marie d’Agoult travelled through Italy in 1837–9 (a fraught journey en route to the breach in their relationship after their son Daniel’s birth), they read Dante and Petrarch together. One result of Liszt’s immersion in Petrarch’s Rime sparse (Scattered rhymes, later known as Il Canzoniere / The Songbook) was the set of Tre sonetti di Petrarca, sketched in Italy and completed in their first version between 1842 and 1846 for publication in Vienna. The second version we hear in the present recording was recomposed for mezzo-soprano or baritone and had a long, post-Weimar gestation over nearly twenty years, before publication in 1883. Reversing the order of the first two songs from their original sequence, Liszt begins the set with ‘Benedetto sia ’l giorno’, in which Petrarch multiply blesses the memory of first seeing his muse Laura in the church of Sainte-Claire d’Avignon, his love for her, and his own poetry to her. Whether or not she actually existed is a matter of debate, with little evidence to go on, but his poetry brought a new sensibility into being, one that combines symbolic complexity, perfected form, elegance and allusiveness; these poems are among the richest portraits of the psychology of the lover in world literature. Liszt’s first version began with a lush piano introduction, followed by an aria in all but name; while the second version is more spare on its surface, it is filled with longing-drenched appoggiaturas and suspensions, with Liszt’s trademark tonal shifts as we move from one blessing to the next. Rich, even futuristic harmonies were Liszt’s wont from the beginning to the end of his life, and they are in evidence here. The prayerful harmonies at the end breathe blessing.
‘Pace non trovo’ is one of Petrarch’s most justly famed explorations of the paradoxical effects of love, the sonnet replete with oxymorons and antitheses: no peace but no war, freezing and burning simultaneously, flying and yet earthbound, staring without eyes, shrieking without voice, laughing and crying, life and death. The agitated beginning of the virtuosic first version returns, transposed and slightly varied, and so does the expressive melodic motif for the key-words ‘Pace non trovo’ (I find no peace), with its affective ‘drop’ at the verb. In both versions, we encounter Liszt the emancipator of the augmented triad, the composer who put its dissonant intensity and symmetrical structure to new uses. At the culmination of the sonnet, the persona tells Laura that he is in this tortured-rhapsodic state because of her: in the first version, these words unleashed harp-like arpeggiations and a melody that repeatedly soars to high A flat (in an ossia for the final phrase, a high D flat is called for), but the second time around Liszt avoids the sweet and settled cadence from before. Instead, he creates extreme attenuation and indeterminacy at the ‘end’. This state of being, the music says, will go on and on; if there is rapture in it, there is also fear, doubt and tension.
‘I’ vidi in terra angelici costumi’ is a complex variation on the traditional analogy of the beloved to angels in the heavens; her weeping and her words make the very heavens cease moving. The litany of Laura’s qualities—love, duty, courage, piety and sorrow—unleashed ecstasy in the first version, while here chords waft down from the treble register, darkening as they descend. When the heavens and the trees fall silent to listen to the music of Laura’s words, Liszt makes the piano fall silent, while the lush, offbeat sighs of longing in the earlier postlude become—typically for late Liszt—something far more spare.
Benedetto sia ’l giorno, e ’l mese, e l’anno,
E la stagione, e ’l tempo, e l’ora, e ’l punto
E ’l bel paese e ’l loco, ov’io fui giunto
Da’duo begli occhi che legato m’ànno;
E benedetto il primo dolce affanno
Ch’i’ ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
E l’arco e la saette ond’ i’ fui punto,
E le piaghe, ch’infino al cor mi vanno.
Benedette le voci tante, ch’io
Chiamando il nome di mia Donna ho sparte,
E i sospiri e le lagrime e ’l desio.
E benedette sian tutte le carte
Ov’io fama le acquisto, e il pensier mio,
Ch’è sol di lei, si, ch’altra non v’ha parte.
Petrarch (1304-1374)
Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra,
E temo, e spero, ed ardo, e son un ghiaccio:
E volo sopra ’l cielo, e giaccio in terra;
E nulla stringo, e tutto ’l mondo abbraccio.
Tal m’ha in priggion, che non m’apre, né serra,
Né per suo mi ritien, né scioglie il laccio,
E non m’accide Amor, e non mi sferra;
Né mi vuol vivo, né mi trahe d’impaccio.
Veggio senz’occhi; e non ho lingua e grido;
E bramo di perir, e cheggio aita;
Ed ho in odio me stesso, ed amo altrui:
Pascomi di dolor; piangendo io rido;
Egualmente mi spiace morte e vita.
In questo stato son, Donna, per voi.
Petrarch (1304-1374)
我在大地之上看到天使般的美德 (I' vidi in terra angelici costumi)
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I’ vidi in terra angelici costumi,
E celesti bellezze al mondo sole;
Tal che di rimembrar mi giova, e dole:
Che quant’io miro, par sogni, ombre, e fumi.
E vidi lagrimar que’ duo bei lumi,
Ch’han fatto mille volte invidia al sole;
Ed udì’ sospirando dir parole
Che farian gir i monti, e stare i fiumi.
Amor! senno! valor, pietate, e doglia
Facean piangendo un più dolce concento
D’ogni altro, che nel mondo udir si soglia.
Ed era ’l cielo all’armonia s’intento
Che non si vedea in ramo mover foglia.
Tanta dolcezza avea pien l’aer e ’l vento.
Petrarch (1304-1374)
Heimliche Aufforderung
Auf, hebe die funkelnde Schale empor zum Mund,
Und trinke beim Freudenmahle dein Herz gesund.
Und wenn du sie hebst, so winke mir heimlich zu,
Dann lächle ich und dann trinke ich still wie du...
Und still gleich mir betrachte um uns das Heer
Der trunknen Zecher [Schwätzer] - verachte sie nicht zu sehr.
Nein, hebe die blinkende Schale, gefüllt mit Wein,
Und laß beim lärmenden Mahle sie glücklich sein.
Doch hast du das Mahl genossen, den Durst gestillt,
Dann verlasse der lauten Genossen festfreudiges Bild,
Und wandle hinaus in den Garten zum Rosenstrauch,
Dort will ich dich dann erwarten nach altem Brauch,
Und will an die Brust dir sinken, eh du's gehofft [erhofft],
Und deine Küsse trinken, wie ehmals oft,
Und flechten in deine Haare der Rose Pracht.
O komm [komme], du wunderbare, ersehnte Nacht!
John Henry Mackay (1864 - 1933)
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The Lover's Pledge
Up, raise the sparkling cup to your lips,
And drink your heart's fill at the joyous feast.
And when you raise it, so wink secretly at me,
Then I'll smile and drink quietly, as you...
And quietly as I, look around at the crowd
Of drunken revelers -- don't think too ill of them.
No, lift the twinkling cup, filled with wine,
And let them be happy at the noisy meal.
But when you've savored the meal, your thirst quenched,
Then quit the loud gathering's joyful fest,
And wander out into the garden, to the rosebush,
There shall I await you, as often of old.
And ere you know it shall I sink upon your breast,
And drink your kisses, as so often before,
And twine the rose's splendour into your hair.
Oh, come, you wondrous, longed-for night!
Translation: John Bernhoff (1912)[5]
少女，这有什么用 (Wozu noch, Mädchen, soll es frommen (No 1 of Sechs Lieder aus Lotusblättern, Op 19))
The initial interplay of piano and voice perfectly establishes a mood of affectionate banter. A delicious step to A major (‘daß du liebst!’) launches us into the heart of the matter, interweaved with a figure suggestive of Der Rosenkavalier (or is it an echo of Till Eulenspiegel?) and gently mocking chords that anticipate the Falcon’s theme in Die Frau ohne Schatten. Already in this tiny song the mature opera composer can be heard.
Wozu noch, Mädchen, soll es frommen,
Daß du vor mir Verstellung übst?
Heiß froh das neue Glück willkommen
Und sag es offen, daß du liebst!
An deines Busens höherm Schwellen,
Dem Wangenrot, das kommt und geht,
Ward dein Geheimnis von den Quellen,
Den Blumengeistern längst erspäht.
Die Wogen murmelns in den Grotten,
Es flüsterts leis der Abendwind,
Wo du vorbei gehst, hörst du’s spotten:
Wir wissen es seit lange, Kind!
Adolf Friedrich von Schack (1815-1894)
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What is the purpose, my sweet,
Of trying to deceive me?
Bid your new bliss a joyful welcome
And say openly that you’re in love!
The quickened stirring of your breast,
The way your blushes come and go,
Have long since revealed your secret
To fountains and flower-sprites.
The waves murmur it in caverns,
The evening breezes whisper it,
Wherever you go, you hear them mocking:
We’ve known it a long time, child!
English: Richard Stokes
蔓延在我头上的黑发 (Spread over my head your black hair, op. 19, no. 2)
Breit' über mein Haupt (No 2 of Sechs Lieder aus Lotusblättern, Op 19)
In his next three sets of songs, Strauss concentrated – with the exception of one song to a translation of Michelangelo – on verses by the well known Munich poet Graf Adolf Friedrich von Schack. Breit’ über mein Haupt is distinguished by its high arching phrases, illustrative of the imagined spread of the beloved’s hair above the poet’s head, and the solemn and splendid harmonies with which they are underpinned.
Breit’ über mein Haupt dein schwarzes Haar,
Neig’ zu mir dein Angesicht,
Da strömt in die Seele so hell und klar
Mir deiner Augen Licht.
Ich will nicht droben der Sonne Pracht,
Noch der Sterne leuchtenden Kranz,
Ich will nur deiner Locken Nacht
Und deiner Blicke Glanz.
Adolf Friedrich von Schack (1815-1894)
Ich liebe dich Vier adlige Rosse (No 2 of Sechs Lieder, Op 37)
Composed in the same year as Ein Heldenleben, this enjoyably extravagant song shares with the tone poem the suitably heroic key of E flat, and is liberally supplied with fanfares and flourishes. In the piano version Strauss dispenses with an introduction, having the singer enter unaccompanied, as though summoning the piano’s orchestral forces by sheer strength of will (not to say vocal power). This dramatic stroke is, however, dispensed with in the orchestral version, for which Strauss added a brief prelude on wind and brass. The song has all the ardent momentum of an operatic scena, introducing a wide-sweeping new melody for the second section at ‘Steht silberbeschlagen’, later reprised in the piano’s lengthy postlude, a triumphant gallop into the jaws of death.
Vier adlige Rosse
Voran unserm Wagen,
Wir wohnen im Schlosse
In stolzem Behagen.
Die Frühlichterwellen
Und nächtens der Blitz,
Was all sie erhellen,
Ist unser Besitz.
Und irrst du verlassen,
Verbannt durch die Lande;
Mit dir durch die Gassen
In Armut und Schande!
Es bluten die Hände,
Die Füße sind wund,
Vier trostlose Wände,
Es kennt uns kein Hund.
Steht silberbeschlagen
Dein Sarg am Altar,
Sie sollen mich tragen
Zu dir auf die Bahr,
Und fern auf der Heide
Und stirbst du in Not,
Den Dolch aus der Scheide,
Dir nach in den Tod!
Detlev von Liliencron (1844-1909)
Befreit Du wirst nicht weinen. Leise, leise (No 4 of Fünf Lieder, Op 39)
Dehmel, not necessarily a good judge, expressed himself unsatisfied by Strauss’s setting of Befreit. But he did subsequently provide a clue to the question often raised as to the exact situation depicted by the poem. Apparently he had in his mind the image of a man speaking to his dying wife, but he also allowed for the possibility of a different interpretation involving the parting of two lovers. Whatever the case, Befreit is one of the greatest of Strauss’s songs, already in its piano part evoking the sonorous weight and emotional sweep of the Straussian orchestra, with its undertow of triplets and the figure of repeated brass-like chords that occasionally interrupts them. Continually anticipating the entry of the voice with a syncopated sforzato, like a momentary shudder in the earth’s foundations, this motif adds to the sense of impending change already established in the opening bars by the semitonal shift on the words ‘Du wirst nicht weinen’ and later with even greater effect at ‘Es wird sehr bald sein’. The long arching curves of the climax are worthy of the closing scene of an opera, and it is not surprising that the repeated phrase accompanying the words ‘O Glück!’ was later quoted by Strauss in Ein Heldenleben.
Du wirst nicht weinen. Leise, leise
wirst du lächeln und wie zur Reise
geb’ ich dir Blick und Kuß zurück.
Unsre lieben vier Wände, du hast sie bereitet,
ich habe sie dir zur Welt geweitet;
O Glück!
Dann wirst du heiß meine Hände fassen
und wirst mir deine Seele lassen,
läßt unsern Kindern mich zurück.
Du schenktest mir dein ganzes Leben,
ich will es ihnen wieder geben;
O Glück!
Es wird sehr bald sein, wir wissen’s beide,
wir haben einander befreit vom Leide,
so gab’ ich dich der Welt zurück!
Dann wirst du mir nur noch im Traum erscheinen
und mich segnen und mit mir weinen;
O Glück!
Richard Dehmel (1863-1920)
This justly famous song has much in common with the equally celebrated Traum durch die Dämmerung: a gently moving ostinato in the piano part, a companionable walk à deux through the landscape, and—a favourite device of Strauss’s—beginning in a different tonality from that in which he means to continue. In this case, the keyshift perfectly illustrates the contrast between sleeping and waking, and the step into the daylight, with the sharp key of D major again ideal for the densely foliated landscape here described. In a final magical touch Strauss chooses to repeat the two lines beginning at ‘Und ich geh’ mit Einer, die mich lieb hat’. Over a tonic pedal, to the same rhythmic pattern that has accompanied every bar of the song, the lovers walk hand in hand out of sight, and into the ensuing silence.
Nicht im Schlafe hab ich das geträumt,
Hell am Tage sah ich’s schön vor mir:
Eine Wiese voller Margeritten;
Tief ein weißes Haus in grünen Büschen;
Götterbilder leuchten aus dem Laube.
Und ich geh’ mit Einer, die mich lieb hat
Ruhigen Gemütes in die Kühle
Dieses weißen Hauses, in den Frieden,
Der voll Schönheit wartet, daß wir kommen.
Otto Julius Bierbaum (1865-1910)
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I did not dream it in my sleep,
In broad daylight I saw it fair before me:
A meadow full of daisies;
A white house deep in green bushes;
Statues of gods gleaming from the foliage.
And I walk with one who loves me,
My heart at peace, into the coolness
Of this white house, into the peace,
Brimming with beauty, that awaits our coming.
English: Richard Stokes
Cäcilie
Wenn du es wüßtest,
Was träumen heißt von brennenden Küssen,
Von wandern und ruhen mit der Geliebten,
Aug in Auge,
Und kosend und plaudernd,
Wenn du es wüßtest,
Du neigtest dein Herz!
Wenn du es wüßtest,
Was bangen heißt in einsamen Nächten,
Umschauert vom Sturm, da niemand tröstet
Milden Mundes die kampfmüde Seele,
Wenn du es wüßtest,
Du kämest[6] zu mir.
Wenn du es wüßtest,
Was leben heißt, umhaucht von der Gottheit
weltschaffendem Atem,
Zu schweben empor, lichtgetragen,
Zu seligen Höhn,[7]
Wenn du es wüßtest, wenn du es wüßtest,
Du lebtest mit mir.
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Cecilia
If you but knew, sweet,
what ‘tis to dream of fond, burning kisses,
of wand’ring and resting with the belov’d one;
gazing fondly
caressing and chatting,
could I but tell you,
your heart would assent.
If you but knew, sweet,
the anguish of waking thro' nights long and lonely
and rocked by the storm when no-one is near
to soothe and comfort the strife weary spirit.
Could I but tell you,
you’d come, sweet, to me.
If you but knew, sweet,
what living is, in the creative breath of
God, Lord and Maker
to hover, upborne on dove-like pinions
to regions of light,
if you but knew it, could I but tell you,
you’d dwell, sweet, with me.
第一遍读下来，我发觉文中对于本真派和浪漫派的定义是含糊不清的：“本真派”有时候指尊重乐谱的客观主义诠释理念，有时候又变成早期音乐演奏家，有时候又是说演奏家采用了古乐器和古乐技法；至于“浪漫派”，我也不清楚作者究竟想指演绎以浪漫主义为主的古典音乐核心曲目的演奏家，还是指主张高自由度、不必拘泥乐谱的音乐演绎派别。
对于前者而言， “本真”界定起来确实过于模糊，本真运动中的音乐家也有着各式不同的理念，很难划一个统一标准作为他们的共性：如果说是采用时代乐器和演奏方法吧？ 很多大佬就不遵守：例如Melkus就不用羊肠弦，而且采用现代标准音高和运用大量揉音（vibrato）； 号称play Bach in HIS way的Landowska，用的也是加了踏板的不那么“原汁原味”的harpsichord。如果说是遵照乐谱指示吧？不少古乐演奏大师偏偏还就喜欢改编原作、更改自己觉得谱面出错的地方、调整乐曲内部编排以符合个人审美。从这个角度而言，作者给出的本真派“信言不美”和浪漫派“美言不信”的说法也是站不住脚的（“信”和“美”本身在音乐诠释上也是模糊和多义的。个人甚至认为，在音乐诠释中并不存在所谓“信”与“不信”问题，各派别探索的只是诠释的各种可能性，并没有哪一种可能性是音乐诠释的唯一真实答案）。如果说是演奏早期音乐的话？“本真运动”在兴起之初其实就大量涉足演奏古典主义及其后的音乐作品（而非作者所称的“近来”），不过相当一部分属于相对“冷门”的作曲家（里面名气稍大的如博凯里尼、施塔米茨、戈赛克、几位巴赫等）的作品，确实有“农村包围城市”之感。
之所以先说古乐，是因为16年我从一个古乐小白成为了一个对古乐感兴趣的——小白XD。
恰好这年来魔都的古乐界大咖和名团不少，有Eggar和Academy of Ancient Music、Koopman和Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra、Savall和Hesperion XXI、William Christie和Les Arts Florissants、Herreweghe、Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra、The English Concert等，让我大饱耳福。其中Hogwood的团AAM和“蛋叔”Eggar那场和郑明勋的独奏会撞车了，我没去听；Herreweghe那场因为觉得曲目不太给力，Royal Flemish Philharmonic我又不了解，所以最后去听了Bicket指挥Pinock的团TEC——其实我还挺想去听赫老的音乐会的…哎，要是有朝一日能现场听赫老指挥圣乐或歌剧就好了…（对了，17年他还会回来魔都演贝四贝五…还有传言说他以后还会回来演当年因天朝某些你懂的原因而没演成的B小调）
和“声之花园”相似、采取歌曲串烧形式的，还有英国协奏团TEC的“Shakespears In Love”主题音乐会。尽管除了之前公布的Purcell仙后和Handel凯撒的选段以外，还多了Arne、Weldon、Johnson、Locke等人的作品，带来了一些惊喜，但TEC的这场演出却总体给人感觉平平。最后的加演也是醉，假声男高音Tim Mead和女高音Mary Bevan唱的是“茉莉花”，乐团演奏的却是Pachelbel卡农…我回去后听说隔壁Herreweghe的音乐会爆演了，真有点后悔没去听…
16年是莎翁年，与TEC一样采取莎翁主题的还有上海音乐厅Mini Festival的驻节乐团布里顿小交（Britten Sinfonia）。不过，布里顿小交的曲目除了Purcell的作品以外，都不是古乐——好吧，我承认在这一主题里加入布里顿小交有点乱入，不过他们的CEO David Butcher可是说他们是用HIP理念来演奏的——而是腐国近代作曲家Walton、Vaughan Williams、Tippet等人的作品，其中的亮点是最后那首Britten的“光亮”，这可能也是这部作品在国内的首演吧。相比之下，讲座要比音乐会更为精彩：主办方请来了Britten-Pears Foundation（就是以布里顿和他的好基友命名的基金会）的学术总监（Director of Learning）Lucy Walker女士和剑桥大学三一学院英国文学研究总监Adrian Poole教授，不仅讲了莎士比亚、兰波和布里顿，还从音乐和文学角度把这段腐国历史串起来。作为腐国音乐粉，这场讲座让我受益匪浅，也让我想到了一个问题：在腐国这么一个热爱文学的国度，是否有腐国作曲家创立或发展从文学衍生的音乐体裁呢？就像舒伯特之于lieder、舒曼之于钢琴套曲、李斯特之于交响诗？可我能想到的在腐国发扬光大的音乐体裁——如consort music——与文学并没有紧密的关联。虽然有不少腐国作曲家也写过艺术歌曲、也创作取材自莎翁作品的音乐，但不少欧陆作曲家也是如此啊，并不是前者的独特之处。于是，当时我便向Walker女士和Poole教授请教了这个问题，可是他们回答的却是：Purcell之后英国音乐一度没有令世界瞩目的发展，被黑成“音乐荒漠”——这并不能让我满意。我想，应该还是有这样的音乐体裁的，只是我听得少不知道罢了。于是过后我就在美帝知乎Quora上提了这个问题：Have British composers developed some unique music forms related to literature?，有位答主回答得挺好的，他举了两种体裁：清唱剧（oratorio）和从lute song发展而来的英国艺术歌曲（English art song）。如果有大神看到这个问题，还请不吝赐教~
16年来演奏全本巴赫小无的小提琴家除了“傻汉”，还有郑京和，两人一样都是只在一天晚上拉完，这对独奏家都是一个相当有难度的挑战。老实说，郑阿姨一开始的1001和1002并不理想：Fuga明显比较吃力，Presto拉得太快，以致音准、运弓都出了一些问题。这不禁让我为她暗暗担心，回想起上次在这里演奏巴赫大无的Gutman，怀疑上交小厅是不是“风水不利”，让演奏家无法在此顺利演奏巴赫大小无。好在接下来郑阿姨的状态好多了，打消了我的疑虑。郑阿姨的演奏比她在华纳的新录音要自由，并不完全遵照谱面（例如部分反复的段落被省略了）。虽然我之前已经在魔都听过一次郑阿姨演奏的Ciaccona，也听过她在迪卡、华纳的小无录音，但这次郑阿姨依然带来了一些新的诠释，这也让我佩服不已。在演奏最后一组奏鸣曲和组曲时，发生了一点意外：郑阿姨在演奏完1005的Fuga后，不得不停下来咳嗽了一会，当时底下有观众提议休息一会，她却回答道：“Have a rest? No!”便在停下来的地方卖了个萌，又继续演奏下去了。尽管身体不适的郑阿姨可能累了，1006的水准略有下滑，但我仍为这晚的音乐所感染、被阿姨的毅力所折服。最后粉丝冲上台熊抱阿姨和阿姨比了一个“心”向观众们致谢，成为了这场令人难忘的音乐会暖心的一幕。
15年错过了Ian Bostridge在魔都的recital，16年年初Ian Bostridge再次来沪，这次一同前来的还有著名的OAE（Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment），这场音乐会也让我成为了IB粉，希望以后能有机会现场听他唱艺术歌曲（据说IB去对岸唱“冬之旅”，好生羡慕…）。
年末上交的巴洛克音乐节请来了“学校”Scholl，我便去听了他和Karamazov的recital。感觉那天“学校”的状态不太好，而且雾霾也重，他在演唱的时候不得不时时清下嗓子，这在音效好的小厅听得一清二楚…不过捣烂、坎皮恩毕竟也是他拿手曲目，也不至于车祸。下半场“学校”把Brouwer作品换成了三首腐国民谣，包括了他最喜欢的The Wife of Usher’s Well、还有暗黑风的Lord Randall，最后安可了巴赫的Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring。之前对Karamazov并不了解，这次他的即兴演奏——尤其那段BWV1007——让我印象很深，看了下介绍，原来他还是切大嘴学生、曾救过Julian Bream的场，不得不在心里打出666了XD。
听完了今晚的音乐会，还是想再碎碎念一下这场由乐迷们耳熟能详的“厕公”——William Christie大师——和繁盛艺术古乐团（Les Arts Florissants）的第七版“Le Jardin des Voix”——“In an Italian Garden——L'Accademia d'Amore”。
首先还是要说说这次的曲目。繁盛艺术古乐团的官网介绍说，与一般先定好曲目、由演唱者去适应这套曲目的做法相反，他们是根据声之花园（Académie du Jardin des Voix）的年轻歌唱家们每个人的声音特点，去挑选能展现他们最佳表现的曲目，这无疑已经给选曲设定了一个初始hard模式。而根据每个歌唱家特点选出来的曲目还不能是一盘散沙，最好都和某一主题相关——像这一版的主题就是“意大利”和“爱情”——这又无形中增加了难度。最后敲定了曲目，编排顺序又是一门大学问：需要平衡几位演唱者的戏份，不能厚此薄彼；也得考虑演唱中间的休息，不能让一位演唱者连续唱太久；甚至乐团的休息也得考虑，例如最好不安排管乐连续演奏太久等等。光是打通了以上这些关卡，便已相当不易，更何况这次曲目还编排成一系列有内在关联又富有含义的歌曲串烧。
这里聊一点我个人粗略想到的：
第一首安排了Adriano Banchieri的"Già che ridotti siamo"，正好引入了男中音、女高音、女低音（其实是次女高音）、男高音、假声男高音和男低音六位歌唱家，就像一部戏剧前面一般有角色说明一样，这六位歌唱家开始扮演不同角色，而角色扮演与演唱的游戏又正好与Orazio Vecchi的"L'humore musicale"相呼应。（此外，Banchieri创办过“繁盛学院Accademia dei Floridi”，一开始选他的曲子可能也是有呼应乐团名字“繁盛艺术”的双关。当然，乐团其实是以夏庞蒂埃的同名歌剧命名的，所以这也许只是我过度联想了XD）
接下来，在Alessandro Stradella的Amanti olà olà的几首选曲中，又把话题引到了Orlando的传说，下面的选段出自Handel、de Wert和Vivaldi根据这一传说的不同文本编写的歌剧，也就毫不突兀了。后面几首从文本上看关联性弱一些，不过通过几位演唱者的表演，变成了因爱情而盲目嫉妒和对这些由爱生恨者的劝导。最后再回到Amore olà olà的其他选段，对前面的爱情主题做了一番颇具哲理的总结，同时又在上半场结束时回到了从最开始六位歌唱家的合唱。这样的设计真是颇具匠心！
而下半场“剧中剧”的创意更是我前所未见，相信看过的观众都心服口服，这里也就不罗嗦了。
这么高水准的编曲的确让人对Sophie Daneman和Paul Agnew的脑洞原创性钦佩不已（这次谢幕时，Daneman女士也来到了舞台上）！
在舞台表演方面，这场演出也是颇具亮点。首先是六位歌唱家都很入戏，甚至在下半场开场前，Renato Dolcini就已经在台上开始表演Cimarosa的L'impresario in angustie中倒霉的剧院经理。其次是歌唱家和指挥“厕公”、乐团之间的互动。“厕公”在上半场歌唱家们演唱无伴奏唱段时，还走到他们中间，打了一会酱油；下半场和Dolcini扮演的剧院经理之间的卖萌也给喜歌剧唱段增色不少。这样的互动让人觉得，乐团、指挥和歌唱家都是戏剧演出的一部分，他们的表演和演奏浑然一体。相比现代人所习惯的把乐团放到乐池、给舞台表演让位的瓦格纳“陋习”（乱黑一下瓦格纳XD），这样的表演也许更接近于戏剧原本的演出方式。最后，这次的道具设计也体现了制作人在细节上的深思熟虑。其中最引人注目的也许要算贯穿上下半场的那只箭了。它最早出现应该是在Amanti olà olà的宣叙调"Hor non fia chi paventi"，这正是丘比特的唱段。丘比特这位爱神对乱射箭什么的最喜欢了，被他射中的人常会备受爱情的煎熬，这也和上半场一系列爱情悲剧息息相关。箭是丘比特的化身，也是爱的象征，下半场在“剧中剧”提到“爱”时，箭这一道具又重新出现，从而呼应了主题之一的L'Accademia d'Amore。至于另一个主题Italian Garden，也有一处呼应的道具，那就是在演唱海顿的《歌女》时，饰演Apollonia的Lea Desandre所织的那匹意大利国旗三色布。
这里不得不再次为Sophie Daneman和Paul Agnew的创意拍案叫绝！
