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BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

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Page 1: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS
Page 2: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

BRITTEN OS 26161

‘SERENADE FOR TENOR SOLO. HORN AND STRINGS OPUS 31 (2430) LES ILLUMINATIONS FOR a

TENOR SOLO AND STRINGS OPUS 18 (22:00) PETER PEARS (tenor) BARRY TUCKWELL (horn)

BENJAMIN BRITTEN conducting

THE LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA (SERENADE) THE ENGLISH CHAMBER ORCHESTRA (ILLUMINATIONS)

Britten wrote Les Illuminations (Op. 18) during the years he spent in America (1939-1942). The cycle was completed in Amityville, N.Y. on October 25, 1939. It was first performed in London on January 30, 1940. The Serenade (Op. 31) was composed in 1943, in England, and first performed at the Wigmore Hall by Peter Pears and Dennis Brain (the artists for

whom it was written) on October 15, 1943. While in many respects these two remarkable works are

utterly opposed—there could hardly be a more vivid contrast between the nocturnal, midnight events of the Serenade and the brilliant, gaudy images of Les Iluminations—there are, nevertheless, many points of style which both cycles share in

common. Both works, of course, have their origin in Britten’s consistent interest in the set of songs, cycle of choral settings,

or song-cycle proper, an interest which dates back to such early pieces as A Boy was Born (Op. 3, choral variations), Our Hunting Fathers (Op. 8, symphonic cycle for high voice and orchestra), and On This Island (Op. 11, songs for high voice and piano). Op. 8 and Op. 11 were both composed to words by W.H. Auden, and it is notably significant that after 1937 (i.e. after the completion of Op. 11), and apart from a few occasional pieces and the choral and orchestral Baliad of Heroes (Op. 14, 1939), Britten completely turned away from his native language and indulged in two important European ‘stylizations’—the French Les Illuminations, and the Italian

Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo (Op. 22, 1940)—which were his only compositions for the solo voice (with relevant accompani-

ment) between 1938 and 1943. In 1942, Britten returned to

England, bringing with him, amongst other pieces, two choral works, A Ceremony of Carols (Op. 28) and the Hymn to St. Cecilia (Op. 27); and from this time onwards, he has never faltered in his devotion to the English tongue. The Serenade,

alongside the group of works mentioned above, most memor- ably marked the moment when Britten, home from his con- tinental explorations of Rimbaud and Michelangelo, once more undertook the responsible task of handling English poetry, a task he fulfilled in the Serenade with conspicuous

SUCCESS. In the sense that Les Illuminations was one of that group of

works in which Britten wrote himself out of his always potent

European stylistic leanings and into the character of the typically English composer we know today (the composer of

LINER: OS 26161

Gloriana, for instance), the cycle stands as an important

preparation for the later Serenade. There is, however, nothing

experimental about the earlier work’s style. As so often with Britten, the sheer technical accomplishment is dazzling (we may notice here the resemblances the virtuoso writing for

string orchestra bears to the youthful “Frank Bridge” Varia- tions for string orchestra, Op. 10; indeed, the latter’s introduc- tion and the initiating Fanfare of Les Illuminations are dis- tinctly related). We must notice, too, that Britten’s treatment of his French poet is as skillful as his treatment of, say Blake or Tennyson in the Serenade.

To the decisively Gallic qualities and inspirations of Les Illuminations the work’s elegance, its overt “‘stylishness”’, may be attributed; yet the cycle’s very “stylishness’’—almost separable from its musical style, which is typical Britten of this period—plays, in fact, a highly important role. Such were the esoteric complexities of Rimbaud’s eccentric poems—as he himself enlightens the public he addresses: “‘I alone hold the

key to this savage parade’’—that the only hope for their successful musical expression lay in the use of explicitly civi- lized (mannered, even), and immediately comprehensible, forms and styles. Britten’s neat structures, transparent textures and lucid harmonic diction illuminate, if they do not “ex- plain’’, Rimbaud’s //luminations.

Edward Sackville-West has suggested that Britten’s choice of certain of Rimbaud’s poems for his cycle reflects (in the sequence arranged by the composer) “‘a transition from one phase of life to another’’; and the order of the cycle’s events certainly supports such an interpretation. Fanfare (which sets Rimbaud’s brief ‘motto’ sentence quoted above) introduces the pageant-like and descriptive Villes; the eight, intense bars of Phrase break the mood, and with great tenderness lead into Antique, which gracefully fulfills the last phrase of its prede- cessor—‘‘and I dance’’. Royauté and Marine still belong to the

visionary world of Antique, despite their contrasted and con- trasting characters; Royauté evokes a subtly poised atmo- sphere of simultaneous pathos and comedy, while Marine catches the rotating motion of Rimbaud’s flashing images. Interlude (N.B. this favourite transitional device of the com-

poser) re-introduces the ‘motto’ and carries us on to the next stage of our journey: Being Beauteous, another private world,

the stability of which, however, is threatened by “‘dying groans

london Records Inc., 539 West 25th Street, New York, N. Y. 10001

and raucous music’’, and the Parade itself, where shadowy triplet figurations shape themselves into a grotesque march and, finally, the song discharges itself, with masterly dramatic and musical logic, into a last statement of the ‘motto’. After which—“‘Sufficiently seen...Sufficiently known... Suffi- ciently heard’’—it only remains for the profoundly-felt Départ to sum up the feelings aroused by “‘Departure in the midst of love and new rumours”’.

The manifold beauties of the Serenade are altogether more familiar than those of Les Illuminations; yet how original is

every familiar thing each time we hear it, and how character- istic of its composer. The magical Prologue and Epilogue for solo horn which enclose the songs remind us that Britten’s fondness for fanfares is two-sided; he writes fanfares invigor- ating and quasi-military (compare the first few bars of Les Illuminations) or, as here, gentle and beguiling. That the horn “frames” the six vocal nocturnes reminds us of other “frames” to Britten’s works that similarly lend depth and distance to the musical perspective—the commentary of the Male and Female Chorus in Lucretia, and Captain Vere’s Prologue and Epilogue in Billy Budd are two operatic instances. However well one may know the Serenade one never ceases to admire its felic- ities of thought and form which are, at the same time, always strictly functional. One thinks of the duet cadenzas for voice and horn in the Nocturne, and the thinned-out texture for the song’s second stanza which not only exactly meets the de- mands of the stanza but permits a contrastingly full flood of string tone for the last. One thinks of the manner in which Britten has superbly matched the imagery of Blake’s Elegy (the worm within the rose); the song (an unprecedented, lyrical recitativo) is itself embedded within an impassioned orchestral soliloquy. One thinks of the ingenuities of the fearsome Drige—an ostinato in the voice combined with a fugue for the strings and (eventually) horn. One thinks of the Hymn—is there another composer who can write so deft a vocal scherzo (though the horn, too, has a leading role)? Most of all, perhaps, one thinks of the Sonnet (the horn tacet), to whose conception the word sublime may be justly applied. This song finished, the horn, in Peter Pear’s words, “‘winds the ‘Serenade’ to stillness”’.

DONALD MITCHELL

etn hae pci pil tennant pI i

Page 3: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

LES ILLUMINATIONS

Fanfare

J’ai seul la clef de cette parade, de cette parade sauvage.

Villes

Ce sont des villes! C’est un peuple pour qui se sont montés ces Alleghanys et

ces Libans de réve!

Ce sont des villes! Des chalets de cristal et de bois se meuvent sur des rails et des

poulies invisibles. Les vieux cratéres, ceints de colosses et de plamiers de cuivre

rugissent mélodieusement dans les feux.

Ce sont des villes! Des cortéges de Mabs en robes rousses, opalines, montent des

ravines.

La-haut, les pieds dans la cascade et les ronces, les cerfs tettent

Diane. Les Bacchantes des banlieues sanglotent et la lune brile et hurle. Vénus entre dans les cavernes des forgerons et des ermites.

Ce sont des... Des groupes de beffrois chantent les idées des peuples. Des chateaux batis en os sort la musique inconnue.

Ce sont des villes! Ce sont des villes! Le paradis des orages s’effrondre. Les sauvages dansent sans cesse, dansent, dansent sans cesse la

Féte de la Nuit.

Ce sont des villes!

Quels bons bras, quelle belle heure me rendront cette région d’ou viennent mes sommeils et mes moindres mouvements?

Phrase

J’ai tendu des cordes de clocher a clocher; des guirlandes de

fenétre a fenétre; des chaines d’or d’étoile a étoile, et je danse.

Antique

Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies, tes yeux,

des boules précieuses, remuent. Tachées de lie brune, tes joues se creusent.

Tes crocs luisent.

Ta poitrine ressemble a une cithare, des tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds.

Ton coeur bat dans ce ventre oti dort de double sexe.

Proméne-toi, la nuit, la nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse,

cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.

INSERT: OS 26161

ILLUMINATIONS

Fanfare

I alone have the key to this parade, to this savage parade.

Towns

These are towns! This is a people for whom these illusory Alleghenies and

Lebanons reared themselves up!

These are towns! Chalets of wood and glass move on invisible rails and pulleys. The ancient craters, encircled by colossi and by vats of copper,

roar melodiously in the flames.

These are towns! Processions of Mabs in russet, opaline dresses rise from the

ravines.

Up there, Diana suckles the harts whose feet are in the waterfalls and the brambles.

Suburban Baechantes sob, and the moon burns and howls.

Venus enters the caves of the blacksmiths and hermits.

These are = 2: Groups of belfries give tongue to the thoughts of the peoples. From castles fashioned in bone comes unknown music.

These are towns! These are towns! The paradise of the storms collapses. The savages dance ceaselessly, dance, dance ceaselessly in the

Festival of Night.

These are towns!

What kind arms and what lovely hour will give me back that place whence come my slumbers and my slightest movements?

Strophe

I have stretched cords from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; chains of gold from star to star, and now I dance.

Antiquity

Graceful son of Pan! Under your brow crowned with little flowers and berries, your

eyes, precious balls, are looking around.

Stained with brown dregs, your cheeks grow hollow. Your fangs shine. Your breast is like a zither, tinglings run in your fair arms. Your heart beats in that belly where the dual sex sleeps. Walk abroad at night, at night, gently moving that thigh, that

other thigh and that left leg.

Page 4: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

If ever thou gav’st meat or drink, Every nighte and alle, The fire sall never make thee shrink; And Christe receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne’er gav’st nane, Every nighte and alle, The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thy saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,

Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule.

Hymn / Ben Johnson

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia’s shining orb was made, Heav’n to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short so-ever: Thou that mak’st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright.

Sonnet / Keats

O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom-pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine: O soothest Sleep: if so it please thee, close In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes, Or wait the “Amen” ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities. Then save me, or the passéd day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, Save from curious Conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiléd wards, And seal the hushéd Casket of my Soul.

Page 5: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

Royauté

Un beau matin, chez un peuple fort doux, un homme et une femme superbes criaient, criaient sur la place publique:

“Mes amis, mes amis, je veux qu’elle soit reine, je veux qu’elle soit reine! ”

“Je veux étre reine, étre reine, étre reine! ” Elle riait et tremblait. Il parlait aux amis de révélation, d’épreuve terminée. Ils se pamaient l’un contre l’autre. En effet, ils furent rois toute une matinée, ot les tentures car-

minées se relevérent sur les maisons, et tout l’aprés-midi, ot ils

s’avancérent du coté des jardins de palmes.

Marine

Les chars d’argent et de cuivre, Les proues d’acier et d’argent, Battent l’écume,

Soulévent les souches des ronces. Les courants de la lande,

Et les orniéres immenses du reflux,

Filent circulair’ment vers l’est, Vers les piliers de la forét,

Vers les fits de la jetée, Dont langle est heurté par des tourbillons ...tourbillons de

lumiére.

Interlude

J’ai seul la clef de cette parade, de cette parade sauvage.

Being Beauteous

Devant une neige, un Etre de beauté de haute taille. Des sifflements de mort et des cercles de musique sourde font

monter, s’élargir et trembler comme un spectre ce corps adoré; des blessures écarlates et noires éclatent dans les chairs superbes.

Les couleurs propres de la vie se foncent, dansent et se dégagent autour de la vision, sur le chantier.

Et les frissons s’élévent et grondent, et la saveur forcenée de ces effets se chargeant avec les sifflements mortels et les rauques musiques que le monde, loin derriére nous, lance sur notre mére de beauté, elle recule, elle se dresse.

Oh! nos os sont revétus d’un nouveau corps amoureux. O la face cendrée, |’écusson de crin, les bras de cristal! le canon

sur lequel je dois m’abattre a travers la mélée des arbres et de Vair léger!

Parade

Des drdles trés solides. Plusieurs ont exploité vos mondes. Sans besoin, et peu pressés de mettre en oeuvre leurs brillantes

facultés et leur expérience de vos consciences. Quels hommes mirs! Quels hommes mirs!

Des yeux hébétés a la fagon de la nuit d’été, rouges et noirs,

tricolorés, d’acier piqué d’étoiles d’or; des facies déformés, plombés, blémis, incendiés; des enrouements foldtres!

La démarche cruelle des oripeaux! Il y a quelques jeunes! O le plus violent Paradis de la grimace enragée! Chinois, Hottentots, Bohémiens, niais, hyénes, Molochs, vieilles

démences, démons sinistres, ils mélent les tours populaires, maternels, avec les poses et les tendresses bestiales.

Ils interpréteraient des piéces nouvelles et des chansons “bonnes filles.”

Maitres jongleurs, ils transforment le lieu et les personnes et usent de la comédie magnétique.

J’ai seul la clef de cette parade, de cette parade sauvage!

Royalty

One fine morning, amongst a gentle people, a man and a woman—proud creatures—were crying out in the public square:

“My friends, my friends, I want her to be Queen, I want her to be

Queen!”

“T want to be Queen, to be Queen, to be Queen!” She laughed and trembled. He spoke to his friends of revelation, of final proof. They rivalled each other in their rapture. Indeed, they became sovereigns for a whole morning, when the

scarlet hangings went up on the houses, and for the whole afternoon when they came from the palm gardens.

Seascape The carriages of silver and of copper, The prows of steel and of silver, Thrash the foam,

Stir up the bramble roots. The currents of the wasteland, And the immense tracks of the ebb-tide Flow in circles towards the East,

Towards the columns of the forest, Towards the piers of the jetty, Whose jutting corners are battered by whirlpools...whirlpools

of light.

Intermezzo

I alone have the key to this parade, to this savage parade.

Being Beauteous

Before a background of snow, a tall, beautiful Being. Hissings of death and circles of muffled music cause this adored

body to rise, to spread and to tremble like a spectre; scarlet and black wounds break out on the glorious flesh.

The true colours of life fuse, dance and separate around the vision of the stocks.

And tremors arise and growl, and the frenzied flavour of these effects charged with the mortal hissing and the raucous music which the world, far behind us, casts on our mother of beauty,

recoils and rears up. Oh! Our bones are re-clad in a new loving body.

The ash-gray face, the shield of horsehair, the crystal arms! The cannon on which I must subside through the tangle of trees

and soft air!

Parade

Downright knaves. Several have exploited your worlds. Having no needs, and seldom required to put into action their

brilliant faculties and their experience of your consciences. What mature men! What mature men! Eyes drugged like a summer night, red and black, tricolour, steel

dotted with golden stars; features deformed, livid, blemished, burnt; wanton huskiness!

The cruel bearing of the tawdry finery! There are some young people! Oh most violent paradise of the furious grimace! Chinese, Hottentots, Gypsies, fools, hyenas, Molochs, mad old

women, sinister demons, they mingle their popular, motherly tricks with animal poses and affections.

They would interpret new pieces and “‘good girl” songs. Master jugglers, they transform the place and the people and

make use of irresistible comedy.

I alone have the key of this parade, of this savage parade!

Départ

Assez vu.

La vision s’est rencontrée a tous les airs.

Assez eu.

Rumeurs des villes, le soir, et au soleil, et toujours. Assez connu.

Les arréts de la vie. O Rumeurs et Visions!

Départ dans l’affection et le bruit neufs.

Departure

Enough seen. The vision was met with in every tune. Enough had. Murmurs of the towns, of the night, and in the sun, and always. Enough known. The decrees of life. Oh Murmurs and Visions! Departure in new affection and noise.

BRITTEN: SERENADE OPUS 31 For tenor solo,horn & strings

Pastoral / Cotton The day’s grown old; the fainting sun Has but a little way to run, And yet his steeds, with all his skill, Scarce lug the chariot down the hill.

The shadows now so long do grow, That brambles like tall cedars show; Mole hills seem mountains, and the ant

Appears a monstrous elephant.

A very little, little flock Shades thrice the ground that it would stock; Whilst the small stripling following them Appears a mighty Polypheme.

And now on benches all are sat,

In the cool air to sit and chat,

Till Phoebus, dipping in the West, Shall lead the world the way to rest.

Nocturne / Tennyson The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long night shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory:

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Bugle, blow; answer, echoes, answer, dying.

O hark, O hear, how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Bugle, blow; answer, echoes, answer, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul And grow for ever and for ever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying;

And answer, echoes, answer, dying.

Elegy / Blake

O Rose, thou art sick;

The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed of crimson joy; And his dark, secret love

Does thy life destroy.

Dirge / (Anon. 15th cent.)

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art past, Every nighte and alle, To Whinnymuir thou com’st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gav’st hos’n and shoen, Every nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on; And Christe receive thy saule.

If hos’n and shoen thou ne’er gav’st nane, Every nighte and alle, The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;

And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinnymuir when thou may’st pass, Every nighte and alle, To Brig o’Dread thou com’st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o’Dred when thou may’st pass, Every nighte and alle, To Purgatory fire thou com’st at last: And Christe receive thy saule.

©1964, The Decca Record Company Limited, London . Exclusive U.S. Agents, London Records, Inc. New York, N.Y. 10001

Page 6: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

4ZAL.6257}

UST

BRITTEN: SERENADE, Op. 3! for Tenor Solo, Horn and Strings (24.30)

PETER PEARS late]

BARRY TUCKWELL with the strings of the

LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA conducted by

BENJAMIN BRITTEN

Page 7: BRITTEN : LES ILLUMINATIONS

er Rie La a lL Cp

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ZAL.77

2 USL BRITTEN: LES ILLUMINATIONS - for Tenor

and String Orchestra, Op. 18 (Poems by Arthur Rimbaud)

(1) Fanfare Vill ( - ( (4) Royauté (5) Marine (6) Interlude (7

(8) Parado (9) Départ (22

ttt) with the

ENGLISH CHAMBER ORCHESTRA conducted by

BENJAMIN BRITTEN