“I once saw the elves riding;
I heard the ring of their bells
And the sound of their horns.” 1
The magnificent piano featured in this recording was made in 1847 by Johann Baptist Streicher of Vienna. Upon first encountering it in 2018 we were struck by its beauty, and immediately seduced by the harmonic richness of its timbre, its vibrant, woody, deep and singing tones, as well as its rumbling bass, warm mids and ringing treble. The parallel strings (as on all instruments of the period) allow each of its registers to sing with clarity and precision, in a great variety of colors and characters, and without dryness. The materials used, the specific manufacturing processes and its Viennese mechanics make it an enveloping, lively and supportive instrument, whose contrasts wonderfully underlie the theatricality of the poems. The naturalness of its attack and resonance induce a free and generous phrasing that supports the vocal part in its musical and theatrical expression.
Our intuition of this piano’s poetic and expressive abilities, following a sensory rather than musicological approach, gave us the desire to explore on this instrument this dramatic and intense repertoire. We wanted to dive into the sounds of this piano, just as one plunges into a forest, and also to immerse ourselves in Germanic and Nordic mythology, between fantasy and supernatural: dark forebodings, disturbing encounters — elves, nymphs, witches, the siren Lorelei, the Erlking, and even Death himself.
Shortly before the birth of psychoanalysis, German romantic poetry and mythology offer us a view into the depths of the forest and its dangers as we probe our soul and our unconscious, in search of desire and in search of ourselves.
Marine Fribourg & Flore Merlin
“Elves dancing on the green riverbank”2
Rustling leaves under the light steps of elves and other goblins: the sixty-six Lyric Pieces for solo piano, by Edvard Grieg, published in ten volumes, are nourished by Norwegian folklore both musically and poetically. Also very influenced by German Romanticism, they wonderfully illustrate the composer’s art of concision.
A short piece in three time, fast and whirling, Alfedans [Elves’ dance], taken from the first volume (1867), alternates vigorous hammered chords and garlands of small notes scattered in opposing dynamics, evoking the mischievous vivacity of the elves. Of great formal simplicity, close to the scherzo in its character, the piece charms the listener with its melodic singularity born of bold alterations.
Grieg summons other sylvan creatures in Småtroll [Puck], a piece taken from the last volume (1901), by alternating a motif of breathless bass and a profusion of small, rapid then staccato notes in the right hand, punctuated by eloquent silences and strangely distorted leaps (augmented octaves).
A fire-breathing dragon flies around the roof 3
An early work by Felix Mendelssohn, Hexenlied Op.8 n°8 [Witches’ Song] (1824-1828) describes the wild night of dancing that awaits the witches and all the demonic creatures gathered around Beelzebub for the famous Walpurgis Night: a Sabbath night on Mount Brocken on the evening of the first of May. Faithful to the Berlin lieder model that he favoured, the composer adopted a very simple plan (varied strophic form) so as to direct the listener’s attention towards the poem by Ludwig Hölty, a precursor of Romanticism. The virtuoso piano part, full of sweeping tremolos, underlines the chromaticism of the melody, its ardent calls and furious cheers celebrating the arrival of spring.
Far removed from the faux folkloric simplicity (Volkston) of Mendelssohn’s lied, Carl Loewe‘s breathless Walpurgisnacht Op.2 No.3 [Walpurgis Night] treats the same subject, but in a form that unfolds according to the narrative (durchkomponiert), characteristic of the ballads Loewe specialised in. The piece features a dialogue between a mother and her frightened child, the latter gradually discovering that his mother has joined the witches’ Sabbath on a dark May night. The child’s extreme anxiety is expressed in a nimble piano motif in 32nd notes. The melodic formulas, which are similar for both characters, alternate between exaltation and anxiety, by passing incessantly between the major mode in forte (for the mother), and the minor mode in piano (for the child). As the anguish mounts, the repeated modulations become tighter and tighter, in a continuous accelerando, until they reach a saturation point. The piano motif suddenly becomes a rumbling tremolo, precipitating the revelation — « your mother was watching over the mountain!”. Shifting definitively into the major mode that characterises the mother, the piece ends joyously with the triumph of the witch.
“You shall never again leave this wood.” 4
In Herr Oluf Op.2 No.2 Lord Oluf (1821), from the same early opus, Carl Loewe also uses changes of tone and register for characterization, and illumination of the narrative. In Johann Gottfried Herder’s poem, Lord Oluf meets the daughter of the Erlking (King of the Alder Trees) on the banks of a river, while riding « late and far ». When he refuses to dance with her, preoccupied with his forthcoming wedding, the King’s daughter takes revenge and strikes him dead. In the morning, Oluf’s fiancée discovers his corpse. The story’s different episodes are underlined by the particularly virtuosic piano part, which begins by depicting the rapid ride followed by the leaping steps of the elves. It almost fades away when the song becomes closer to a recitative, in the plaintive dialogue between the dying lord and his mother. With great freedom, Loewe alternates sound textures and contrasting tempos, allowing the voice to explore a multitude of sound expressions.
Loewe’s Erlkönig op. 1 n°3 The Erlking (1818) on a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (which is inspired by that of Herder mentioned above), this time features the Erlking himself. As a father and son ride on a stormy night, the Erlking tries to seize the child, first by seduction – ascending melodic phrases in a major mode, delicate quivers in the high notes of the piano, suspended chord – then, as he resists, by force (sudden minorization, tense harmonies), until the child’s tragic death.
In Franz Schubert’s Der Tod und das Mädchen D. 531 Death and the Maiden (1817), based on a poem by Matthias Claudius, it is Death himself who finally approaches, as inescapable as the funeral march that opens and closes the song. Distraught, the young girl first tries to push away the odious skeleton (agitated and rapid phrases interspersed with nervous silences), but Death insists, between gravity and gentleness: on an almost recto-tono vocal line, she holds out her hand to him, since in his arms everyone finds rest, as the final majorization suggests.
“Oh, flee! You don’t know who I am!” 5
In the same fantastical spirit, we also find Waldesgespräch [Dialogue in the Forest], from the Liederkreis op. 39 (1840) by Robert Schumann, on poems by Joseph von Eichendorff. During a solitary ride in the forest (with the horn calls on the piano evoking the hunt), a traveler suddenly meets a young woman with a broken heart: it is Lorelei, the siren of the Rhine abandoned by her lover. The gentle swinging of the piano suddenly turns into jarring chords, while the sad young girl casts her curse on him: he will never leave the forest again!
Three years after Waldesgespräch, Clara Schumann-Wieck, for her part, set Heinrich Heine’s dark poem Lorelei to music, in a great river of sound, driven by a continuum of repeated quavers. The beautiful young girl attracts the boatman with her song, who, looking only at her, no longer sees the reefs on which his boat is smashed.
On the same text, Franz Liszt offers Marie d’Agoult (his partner) her own Lorelei, in the character of a dramatic ballad in six contrasting stanzas. After a dark introduction tinged with diminished seventh chords, Liszt constructs the music as close as possible to the story: tender barcarolle swing in a 6/8 bar for the stanzas that describe the peaceful course of the Rhine, harmonic tension underlining the birth of desire, sudden acceleration of the discourse (binary meter, panting eighth notes, chromatic rise, crescendo) culminating in a violent augmented sixth chord when the unfortunate sailor, caught up by the Lorelei, looks towards her instead of watching his boat. Finally, we find harmonic colours and the seductive turns of the barcarolle which conclude: “See what the Lorelei has done through her song.”
“She sings and laughs brazenly » 6
In contrast to the dangerous siren, the mischievous Nixe Binsefuss [Nymphe with reed feet] torments and threatens an old fisherman while pampering his daughter: since she is pious and good, the nymphe hangs a crown of reeds on the door for her as a wedding bouquet, and offers her a silver pike straight from the mythical Arthurian kingdom. Composed by Pauline Viardot-García in 1870 on a poem by Eduard Mörike, while she was living in Baden-Baden, the piece adopts the formal freedom of a Kunstlied [art song]. The quivering piano represents the fish in the trap, a long melisma dilating time when the nymph counts her prey relentlessly: the composer multiplies the atmospheres, suddenly passing from the greatest lyricism to a syllabic writing in Volkston. The regular return of a small ritornello of great harmonic simplicity gives the piece its unity.
“Until I find her, I’ll have no peace” 7
In Felix Mendelssohn’s Neue Liebe [New Love], a presto scherzando on a poem by Heinrich Heine from Lieder und Gesänge op. 19a (1834), a traveller encounters the elves and their queen riding through the moonlit forest (a cavalcade of dotted rhythms, staccato octaves on the piano). Filled with anguish, he asks himself in a final recitative interrupting the wild ride: “Is this the announcement of death, or that of a new love?”
Faithful to the varied strophic form of Kunstlied im Volkston, Felix Mendelssohn draws inspiration from a Swedish folk melody for the poignant Winterlied [Winter Song] from the same opus. In this sad song, which deploys a modal melodic line between major and minor, a mother tries to keep her child in the warmth of the home, while he only thinks of going into the forest to look for his lost sister. Winter passes, but neither child will ever return.
Extracted from the Sechs Gesänge op. 3, published in 1854, Liebestreu [Faithful Love] by Johannes Brahms on a poem by Robert Reinick stages another dialogue between a worried mother and her inconsolable child. Faithful to a love that we imagine to be unhappy, the son rejects all the attempts of the mother, who tries to make him forget the loved one, in an intense and painful exchange in canon, between song and bass line.
« When the silver moon sparkles between the bushes » 8
In contrast to this procession of frightening creatures is Robert Schumann‘s Waldszenen op. 83 [Forest Scenes]. Composed in 1849, these miniatures, imbued with an intimate lyricism in the manner of the Children’s Scenes op. 15, depict a forest walk in nine tableaux. From the Entrance into the forest to the Farewell, the listener wanders through a [Friendly landscape] (Freundliche Landschaft) or, on the contrary, a « When the silver moon sparkles between the bushes » 8
In contrast to this procession of frightening creatures is Robert Schumann‘s Waldszenen op. 83 [Forest Scenes]. Composed in 1849, these miniatures, imbued with an intimate lyricism in the manner of the Children’s Scenes op. 15, depict a forest walk in nine tableaux. From the [Entrance] (Eintritt) into the forest to the [Farewell] (Abschied), the listener wanders through a [Friendly landscape] (Freundliche Landschaft) or, on the contrary, a [Cursed Place] (Verrufene Stelle, minor mode and solemn overdotted rhythms). The journey is punctuated by poetic encounters (Einsame Blumen, [Lonely Flowers]) or wonderfully original ones (Der Vogel als Prophet, the [Prophet Bird] and its curious appoggiaturas). Hunters prowl (Jäger auf der Lauer [Hunter on the Lookout], a spirited piece swept by joyful triplets) and intone rustic airs (Jagdlied [Hunting Song], repetitive and hammered quavers, harmonization evoking horns), and we rest in the welcoming [Inn] (Herberge, a singing refrain in E flat major). (Verrufene Stelle, minor mode and solemn overdotted rhythms). The journey is punctuated by poetic encounters (Einsame Blumen, [Lonely Flowers]) or wonderfully original ones (Der Vogel als Prophet, the [Prophet Bird] and its curious appoggiaturas). Hunters prowl (Jäger auf der Lauer [Hunter on the Lookout], a spirited piece swept by joyful triplets) and intone rustic airs (Jagdlied [Hunting Song], repetitive and hammered quavers, harmonization evoking horns), and we rest in the welcoming [Inn] (Herberge, a singing refrain in E flat major).
“It was as if the sky
Had silently kissed the earth” 9
Alongside these pieces are three dreamlike lieder, bathed in the same stellar atmosphere intimately linking man and nature. Die Mainacht [May Night], a song of solitude of luminous sadness on a poem by Ludwig Hölty taken from Vier Gesänge op. 43 by Johannes Brahms (1868), portrays the affliction of a character lost in his memories, exacerbated by the beauty of nature revealed around him in the moonlight.
Another moonlight song taken from Liederkreis op. 39 by Robert Schumann (a poem by Joseph Eichendorff), Mondnacht illustrates the incredible fusion of sky and earth, in which the poet’s soul dissolves. A first gesture of ineffable beauty opens the work: from a pedal in the bass of the instrument emerges a simple arpeggio, four octaves above, which hurtles down the keyboard in a dizzying fall but remains at the same time curiously suspended, the harmony (on the dominant) seeming to hold back the passage of time. The soul can then “spread its wings widely”, in an unbroken phrase that one would never want to see end.
Influenced like her brother Felix by the Berlin school and Carl Friedrich Zelter, whose student she was, Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel casts the two stanzas of Goethe’s poem, Dämmrung senkte sich von oben [From up there the twilight falls], in a simple strophic form. Though the accompaniment remains very simple, even evoking the French romances of his friend Charles Gounod, the piece deploys a vocal line of great lyrical intensity, full of impulses and melismas, on luminous harmonies from which emerges the trembling image of the moonlight reflected through the branches in the water of the lake.
“And this is what Lorelei has done through her song.” 10
As a counterpoint to this eminently romantic programme, Marine Fribourg and Flore Merlin asked Benjamin Attahir, a French composer born in 1989, to take a contemporary look at the lied and Germanic mythology. Among the poems proposed, the composer chose one of the most emblematic, the Lore Lay by Clemens von Brentano, the origin of all the others. It is in Brentano’s novel Godwi oder Das steinerne Bild der Mutter [Godwi or the statue of the mother], published in 1801, that the mythical Rhine siren appears for the first time in literature. An epic poem, composed of twenty-six regular stanzas: the challenge for Benjamin Attahir was to span the quatrains, to find freedom beyond the constraint of crossed rhymes. Constructed in two vast passages, the second re-exposing the first in a new harmonic context, the work seems irrigated by the Rhine, itself illustrated by the meanderings on the piano that open the piece. Deeply lyrical, it deploys an essentially syllabic writing (one note per phoneme) from which emerge a few melismas. As if in a poetic echo to the instrument on which Flore Merlin plays, the piece finds its inspiration in Brahms’ Intermezzo op. 117 n°3. It is from there that Benjamin Attahir draws the harmonic material of his work over which hovers, at times, a subtle scent of tonal music within the chromatic whole.
Coline Miallier
1 : Neue Liebe – 2 : Herr Oluf – 3 : Hexenlied – 4, 5 : Waldesgespräch – 6 : Nixe Binsefuss – 7 : Winterlied – 8 : Die Mainacht – 9 : Mondnacht – 10 : Lore Lay
Herr Oluf (music: Carl Loewe – poem: Johann Gottfried Herder)
Herr Oluf reitet spät und weit,
Zu bieten auf seine Hochzeitleut’.
Da tanzten die Elfen auf grünem Strand,
Erlkönigs Tochter reicht ihm die Hand:
“Willkommen, Herr Oluf, komm tanze mit mir,
Zwei goldene Sporen schenke ich dir.
– Ich darf nicht tanzen, nicht tanzen ich mag,
Denn morgen ist mein Hochzeittag.
– Tritt näher, Herr Oluf, komm tanze mit mir,
Ein Hemd von Seiden schenke ich dir,
Ein Hemd von Seiden so weiß und fein,
Meine Mutter bleicht’s mit Mondenschein!
– Ich darf nicht tanzen, nicht tanzen ich mag,
Denn morgen ist mein Hochzeittag.
– Tritt näher, Herr Oluf, komm tanze mit mir,
Einen Haufen Goldes schenke ich dir.
– Einen Haufen Goldes nähme ich wohl,
Doch tanzen ich nicht darf noch soll.
– Und willst du, Herr Oluf, nicht tanzen mit mir,
Soll Seuch’ und Krankheit folgen dir!”
Sie tät ihm geben einen Schlag aufs Herz,
Sein Lebtag fühlt’ er nicht solchen Schmerz.
Drauf tät sie ihn heben auf sein Pferd:
“Reit’ hin zu deinem Fräulein wert!”
Und als er kam vor Hauses Tür,
Seine Mutter zitternd stand dafür:
“Sag an, mein Sohn, und sag mir gleich,
Wovon du bist so blaß und bleich?
– Und sollt ich nicht sein blaß und bleich?
Ich kam in Erlenkönigs Reich.
– Sag an, mein Sohn, so lieb und traut,
Was soll ich sagen deiner Braut?
– Sagt ihr, ich ritt in den Wald zur Stund,
Zu proben allda mein Roß und Hund.”
Früh Morgens als der Tag kaum war,
Da kam die Braut mit der Hochzeitschar.
Sie schenkten Met, sie schenkten Wein:
“Wo ist Herr Oluf, der Bräut’gam mein?
– Herr Oluf ritt in den Wald zur Stund,
Zu proben allda sein Roß und Hund.”
Die Braut hob auf den Scharlach rot,
Da lag Herr Oluf und war tot.
Lord Oluf
Lord Oluf rides late and far
to summon his wedding guests.
Elves are dancing on a green bank,
And the Erlking’s daughter offers him her hand.
« Welcome, Lord Oluf, come dance with me
and I will give you two golden spurs. »
– I cannot dance, I do not wish to dance –
for tomorrow is my wedding-day. »
– Come closer, Lord Oluf, come dance with me,
and I will give you a shirt of silk,
a shirt of silk so white and fine –
my mother bleached it with moonbeams! »
– I may not dance, I do not wish to dance –
for tomorrow is my wedding-day. »
– Come closer, Lord Oluf, come dance with me
and I will give you a heap of gold. »
– A heap of gold I would gladly take,
but I cannot and should not dance with you. »
– If you will not dance with me, Lord Oluf,
then plague and sickness will follow you! »
She dealt him a blow to the heart,
and all his life he had never felt such pain.
Then she heaved him up upon his horse:
« Ride home to your worthy lady then! »
And when he came to the door to his house,
his mother, trembling, stood before him.
« Tell me, my son, and tell me true,
Why are you so pale and sick?
– And should I not be pale and sick?
I was in the Erlking’s realm.
– Tell me, my son, so dear,
What should I tell your bride?
– Tell her that I rode to the wood just now,
To test my horse and hound. »
Early in the morning when day had hardly dawned,
his bride arrived with the wedding crowd.
They offered mead, they offered wine:
« Where is Lord Oluf, my bridegroom?
– Lord Oluf rode to the wood just now,
To test his horse and hound. »
The bride lifted up the cloth, scarlet red,
And there lay Lord Oluf: he was dead.
Neue Liebe (music: Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy – poem: Heinrich Heine)
In dem Mondenschein im Walde,
Sah ich jüngst die Elfen reiten;
Ihre Hörner hört’ ich klingen,
Ihre Glöcklein hört’ ich läuten.
Ihre weißen Rößlein trugen
Gold’nes Hirschgeweih und flogen
Rasch dahin, wie wilde Schwäne
Kam es durch die Luft gezogen.
Lächelnd nickte mir die Kön’gin,
Lächelnd, im Vorüberreiten.
Galt das meiner neuen Liebe,
Oder soll es Tod bedeuten?
New Love
In the moonlit forest
I once saw the elves riding,
I heard the ring of their bells
and the sound of their horns.
Their white horses with
golden antlers flew on
swiftly, like white swans
travelling through the air.
The queen nodded at me and smiled,
smiled, as she rode overhead.
Was it because of my new love?
Or does it mean death?
Hexenlied (music: Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy – poem: Ludwig Hölty)
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Und spendet uns Blumen zum Kranze!
Bald huschen wir
Leis’ aus der Thür,
Und fliegen zum prächtigen Tanze!
Ein schwarzer Bock,
Ein Besenstock,
Die Ofengabel, der Wocken,
Reißt uns geschwind,
Wie Blitz und Wind,
Durch sausende Lüfte zum Brocken!
Um Beelzebub
Tanzt unser Trupp
Und küßt ihm die kralligen Hände!
Ein Geisterschwarm
Faßt uns beim Arm,
Und schwinget im Tanzen die Brände!
Und Beelzebub
Verheißt dem Trupp
Der Tanzenden Gaben auf Gaben:
Sie sollen schön
In Seide gehn
Und Töpfe voll Goldes sich graben!
Ein Feuerdrach’
Umflieget das Dach,
Und bringet uns Butter und Eier!
Die Nachbarn dann sehn
Die Funken wehn,
Und schlagen ein Kreuz vor dem Feuer!
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Die Blumen erblühen zum Kranze,
Bald huschen wir
Leis’ aus der Thür,
Juchheisa zum prächtigen Tanze!
The witches’ song
The swallows are flying,
Spring prevails,
And gives us flowers for our wreaths.
Soon we will flit
Softly out of the door
And fly to the glorious dance!
A black goat,
A broomstick,
The oven fork, the distaff,
Snap us along swiftly
Like lightning and wind,
Through roaring winds to Brocken.
Around Beelzebub
Our coven dances
And kisses his clawed hands.
A bevy of ghosts
Seize us by the arm
Swinging torches in the dance.
And Beelzebub
Promises the coven
of dancers gifts upon gifts:
They will be beautiful
And walking in silk
They will dig up pots of gold.
A fire-breathing dragon
Flies around the roof
And brings us butter and eggs.
The neighbours then see
Sparks blowing
And they cross themselves against the fire.
The swallows are flying,
Spring prevails,
And flowers rival each other in blooming.
Soon we will flit
Softly out of the door.
Hail! To the glorious dances!
Walpurgisnacht (music: Carl Loewe – poem: Wilhelm Häring)
– Liebe Mutter, heut Nacht heulte Regen und Wind.
– Ist heute der erste Mai, liebes Kind!
– Liebe Mutter, es donnerte auf dem Brocken droben.
– Liebes Kind, es waren die Hexen oben.
– Liebe Mutter, ich möcht’ keine Hexen sehn.
– Liebes Kind, es ist wohl schon oft geschehn.
– Liebe Mutter, ob wohl im Dorf Hexen sind?
– Sie sind dir wohl näher, mein liebes Kind.
– Liebe Mutter, worauf fliegen die Hexen zum Berg?
– Liebes Kind, auf dem Rauche von heissem Werg
– Liebe Mutter, worauf reiten die Hexen zum Spiel?
– Liebes Kind, sie reiten auf ‘nem Besenstiel.
– Liebe Mutter, ich sah gestern im Dorf’ viel Besen!
– Es sind auch viel Hexen auf dem Brocken gewesen.
– Liebe Mutter, ‘s hat gestern im Schornstein geraucht.
– Liebes Kind, es hat einer das Werg gebraucht!
– Liebe Mutter, in der Nacht war dein Besen nicht zu Haus!
– Liebes Kind, so war er zum Blocksberg hinaus.
– Liebe Mutter, dein Bett war leer in der Nacht.
– Deine Mutter hat oben auf dem Blocksberg gewacht.
Walpurgis Night
– Dear Mother, the wind and rain howls tonight,
– It is the first of May, my child…
– Dear Mother, there’s thunder over the Brocken.
– Dear child, there are witches up there.
– Dear Mother, I don’t want to see any witches.
– Dear Child, you’ve seen them often enough.
– Dear Mother, but are there witches in our village?
– They’re even closer, my child.
– Dear Mother, how do they fly up to the mountain?
– Dear Child, on the smoke from the hot flax
– Dear Mother, how do they ride to their gatherings?
– Dear Child, they ride on broomsticks.
– Dear Mother, yesterday I saw many brooms in the village.
– There have also been many witches on the Brocken.
– Dear Mother, the chimney was smoking yesterday.
– Dear Child, someone needed to burn flax.
– Dear Mother, last night your broom was missing.
– Dear Child, it was over the Blocksberg.
– Dear Mother, your bed was empty last night.
– Your Mother was watching over the Blocksberg.
Winterlied (music: Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy – folkloric poem inspired by Swedish)
“Mein Sohn, wo willst du hin so spät?
Geh’ nicht zum Wald hinaus,
Die Schwester find’st du nimmermehr,
O bleib’ bei mir im Haus!
Da draußen ist’s so kalt, so rauh,
Und heftig weht der Wind;
Bist ganz allein im weiten Wald,
O bleib’ bei mir, mein Kind!
– O Mutter, Mutter, laß mich zieh’n,
Trockne die Trän’ im Blick,
Die Schwester find’ ich ganz gewiß
Und bring’ sie uns zurück.
Bis ich sie find’, ist doch kein’ Rast,
Ist doch kein’ Ruhe hier;
Den Schnee und Wind bin ich gewohnt,
Bald kehr’ ich heim zu dir.”
Die Mutter sah ihm lange nach,
Er ging zum Wald hinaus;
Der Wind ward still, die Nacht verging,
Doch er kehrt’ nicht zum Haus.
Und der Schnee zerschmolz, der Wind verweht,
Kam wieder Sonnenschein
Und Blüt’ und Blätter überall:
Die Mutter blieb allein.
Wintersong
“My son, where do you want to go so late?
Don’t go into the forest,
You’ll never find your sister,
O stay with me at home!
Outside it’s so cold, so raw,
And the wind blows fiercely.
You’ll be all alone in the wide forest,
O stay with me, my child!
– O Mother, Mother, let me go,
Dry the tears in your eyes,
I will certainly find my sister
And bring her back to us.
Until I find her, I’ll have no peace,
And certainly no rest.
I’m used to snow and wind,
I’ll come back to you soon.”
The mother watched him for a long time,
He went out into the forest.
The wind became still, the night passed,
but still he didn’t return.
And the snow melted, the wind vanished,
Sunshine came back
Along with all the blossoms and leaves:
The mother was left alone.
Waldesgespräch (music: Robert Schumann – poem: Joseph von Eichendorff)
– Es ist schon spät, es ist schon kalt,
Was reitst du einsam durch den Wald?
Der Wald ist lang, du bist allein,
Du schöne Braut! Ich führ dich heim!
– Groß ist der Männer Trug und List,
Vor Schmerz mein Herz gebrochen ist,
Wohl irrt das Waldhorn her und hin,
O flieh! Du weißt nicht, wer ich bin.
– So reich geschmückt ist Roß und Weib,
So wunderschön der junge Leib,
Jetzt kenn ich dich – Gott steh mir bei!
Du bist die Hexe Lorelei.
– Du kennst mich wohl – von hohem Stein
Schaut still mein Schloß tief in den Rhein.
Es ist schon spät, es ist schon kalt,
Kommst nimmermehr aus diesem Wald.
Conversation in the forest
– It is already late, it is already cold;
Why do you ride alone through the wood?
The wood is vast and you are alone,
You fair bride! I will lead you home.
– Great are the deceit and cunning of men,
My heart has broken for pain.
The forest horn strays here and there,
O flee! You do not know who I am.
– So richly decked are mount and lady,
So wondrously fair the young figure.
Now I recognize you – God stand by me!
You are the Witch Lorelei.
– You recognize me well – from the lofty cliffs
My castle gazes down into the Rhine.
It is already late, it is already cold –
You shall never again leave this wood.
Die Mainacht (music: Johannes Brahms – poem: Ludwig Hölty)
Wann der silberne Mond durch die Gesträuche blinkt,
Und sein schlummerndes Licht über den Rasen streut,
Und die Nachtigall flötet,
Wandl’ ich traurig von Busch zu Busch.
Überhüllet vom Laub, girret ein Taubenpaar
Sein Entzücken mir vor; aber ich wende mich,
Suche dunklere Schatten,
Und die einsame Thräne rinnt.
Wann, o lächelndes Bild, welches wie Morgenroth
Durch die Seele mir strahlt, find’ ich auf Erden dich?
Und die einsame Thräne
Bebt mir heisser die Wang’ herab.
Night of May
When the silver moon twinkles through the bushes,
And dusts the grass with its sleepy light,
And the nightingale pipes like a flute,
I wander mournfully from bush to bush.
Surrounded with leaves, a pair of doves coo
Their delight to me, but I turn away,
Seeking darker shadows;
And a solitary tear flows.
When – O smiling image that, like the red light of morning,
Shines through my soul – will I find you on earth?
And the solitary tear
Trembles more warmly on my cheek.
Liebestreu (music: Johannes Brahms – poem: Robert Reinick)
– O versenk’, o versenk’ dein Leid,
Mein Kind, in die See, in die tiefe See!
– Ein Stein wohl bleibt auf des Meeres Grund,
Mein Leid kommt stets in die Höh’.
– Und die Lieb’, die du im Herzen trägst,
Brich sie ab, brich sie ab, mein Kind!
– Ob die Blum’ auch stirbt, wenn man sie bricht,
Treue Lieb’ nicht so geschwind.
– Und die Treu’, und die Treu’,
‘S war nur ein Wort, in den Wind damit hinaus.
– O Mutter und splittert der Fels auch im Wind,
Meine Treue, die hält ihn aus.
Lovefaith
– Oh sink, sink your sorrow,
My child, in the sea, in the deep sea!
– A stone rests well at the bottom of the ocean,
Though my sorrow always comes to the surface.
– And the love that you carry in your heart,
Destroy it, destroy it, my child!
– If the flower also dies when one breaks it off,
True love is not so swift.
– And your constancy, your constancy,
It is only a word: into the wind with it!
– Oh, Mother, even if the rock splinters in the wind,
My constancy withstands it.
Mondnacht (music: Robert Schumann – poem: Joseph von Eichendorff)
Es war, als hätt’ der Himmel,
Die Erde still geküßt,
Daß sie im Blütenschimmer
Von ihm nun träumen müßt.
Die Luft ging durch die Felder,
Die Ähren wogten sacht,
Es rauschten leis die Wälder,
So sternklar war die Nacht.
Und meine Seele spannte
Weit ihre Flügel aus,
Flog durch die stillen Lande,
Als flöge sie nach Haus.
Moon night
It was as if the sky
Had quietly kissed the earth,
So that, glistening with blossoms,
She must only dream of him.
The breeze wafted through the fields,
The ears of corn waved gently,
The forests rustled faintly,
So sparkling clear the night.
And my soul stretched
Its wings out far,
Flew through the still lands,
As if flying home.
Dämmrung senkte sich von oben (music: Fanny Hensel-Mendelssohn – poem: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)
Dämmrung senkte sich von oben,
Schon ist alle Nähe fern;
Doch zuerst emporgehoben
Holden Lichts der Abendstern!
Alles schwankt in’s Ungewisse,
Nebel schleichen in die Höh’;
Schwarzvertiefte Finsternisse
Widerspiegelnd ruht der See.
Nun am östlichen Bereiche
Ahn’ ich Mondenglanz und Gluth,
Schlanker Weiden Haargezweige
Scherzen auf der nächsten Flut.
Durch bewegter Schatten Spiele
Zittert Luna’s Zauberschein,
Und durch’s Auge schleicht die Kühle
Sänftigend in’s Herz hinein.
Dusk has fallen from on high
Twilight sank from high above,
All that was near already is far,
Yet first is raised high
The fair light of the evening star!
Everything shakes with uncertainty,
A mist creeps slowly upward,
Darkness steeped in black
Is reflected calmly in the sea.
Now in eastern areas
I feel the moon’s brightness and glow,
Hair-like branches of slender willows
Play on the nearest tide.
Through the play of moving shadows
Trembles Luna’s magical shine,
And through the eye creeps cool air,
Softening the heart.
Nixe Binsefuss (music: Pauline Viardot-García – poem: Eduard Mörike)
Des Wassermanns sein Töchterlein
Tanzt auf dem Eis im Vollmondschein,
Sie tanzet ohne Furcht und Scheu
Wohl an des Fischers Haus vorbei.
“Ich bin die Nixe Binsefuß,
Und meine Fisch’ wohl hüten muß,
Meine Fisch’ die sind im Kasten,
Sie haben kalte Fasten;
Von Böhmerglas mein Kasten ist,
Da zähl’ ich sie zu jeder Frist.
Gelt, Fischermatz? Gelt, alter Tropf,
Dir will der Winter nicht in Kopf?
Komm mir mit deinen Netzen!
Die will ich schön zerfetzen!
Dein Mägdlein zwar ist fromm und gut,
Ihr Schatz ein braves Jägerblut.
Drum häng’ ich ihr, zum Hochzeitsstrauß,
Ein schilfen Kränzlein vor das Haus,
Und einen Hecht, von Silber schwer,
Er kommt von König Artus her,
Ein Zwergen-Goldschmids-Meisterstück,
Wer’s hat, dem bringt es eitel Glück:
Er läßt sich schuppen Jahr für Jahr,
Da sind’s fünfhundert Gröschlein baar.
Ade, mein Kind! Ade für heut!
Der Morgenhahn im Dorfe schreit.”
The Mermaid Rushfoot
The daughter of the water spirit
Danced on the ice in the full moon,
She laughed unabashedly,
Passing by the fisherman’s house.
« I am the maiden Rushfoot,
And I must tend my fish,
They are in a chest
With only cold food.
Of Bohemian glass is the chest,
So I can count them at any time.
« Really fisher-beast, you old fool,
Can’t you get into your head it’s winter?
Come with your nets,
I’ll tear them to shreds!
Sure, your girl is good and gentle,
And her boyfriend is a brave hunter.
So I will hang a wedding bouquet
Of reeds on the house,
And a pike made of silver,
which dates from the time of King Arthur,
A masterpiece from a dwarf-goldsmith
That brings luck to its keeper.
One can scale it year after year
And get 500 Groschen.
Farewell, my child, farewell for today.
The morning rooster is wailing in the village. »
Lorelei
music: Franz Liszt / Clara Schumann-Wieck – poem: Heinrich Heine
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei gethan.
Lorelei
translation: Patrick John Corness
I cannot tell you the reason why
I am feeling so sad,
Some tale they told in years gone by
Stays forever in my head.
The air is cool and dusk is near,
And calmly flows the Rhine.
The mountain peak looms bright and clear
In the evening sunshine.
Up above sits a maiden,
She’s the fairest of fair,
Her jewels sparkling all golden;
She’s combing her golden hair.
With her golden comb she keeps combing,
Singing a song meanwhile,
A melody all beguiling,
In haunting, beautiful style.
The sailor in his little skiff
Is seized by a wild torment;
He sees not the threatening cliff,
His gaze only upwards is bent.
Seems under the waves will be sinking
In the end sailor and boat;
And all because of her singing;
It’s the Lorelei’s fault.
Erlkönig
music: Carl Loewe – poem: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.
« Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?
– Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif?
– Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.
– Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ ich mit dir;
Manch’ bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand;
Meine Mutter hat manch’ gülden Gewand.
– Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?
– Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.
– Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.
– Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düsteren Ort?
– Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh’ es genau;
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.
– Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch’ ich Gewalt.
– Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids gethan! »
Dem Vater grauset’s, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in den Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war todt.
The Erl King
translation : Uri Liebrecht
Who’s riding this late through the night so wild?
It is the father with his child;
He holds the boy tightly in his arm,
He’s keeping him warm and safe from harm.
“My son, what’s making you hide your face?
– Father, don’t you see the Erl King giving chase?
The Erl King with his crown and his train?
– My son, the mists are forming again.
– My dear, dear child – come, come with me;
Wonderful games I’ll play with thee!
Many bright flowers grow there on the shore,
My mother’s gold dresses will fill you with awe.
– Oh, Father, my Father, cannot you hear
What the Erl King is whispering in my ear?
– Hush, my child, now do keep calm,
The wind in the leaves will do you no harm.
– Now, my fine lad, won’t you come with me?
My daughters will serve you most diligently.
My daughters love dancing the roundelay,
They’ll sing you to sleep at the end of the day.
– Oh Father, dear Father, can’t you see, over there,
The Erl King’s daughters in the shadows? Beware!
– My son, my boy, I see perfectly well
The old willow trees glowing grey in the dell.
– I love you, you enchant me, and now, of course,
Come. If you’re not willing I shall have to use force.
– Oh Father, dear Father, he’s taken hold of me;
The Erl King has done me a grave injury!”
Filled with dread, the father rides on at speed,
The infant now groaning in dire need,
With one last effort they reach the homestead,
But now the child in his arms was dead!
Der Tod und das Mädchen
Music: Franz Schubert – poem: Matthias Claudius
Das Mädchen
Vorüber! Ach, vorüber!
Geh wilder Knochenmann!
Ich bin noch jung, geh Lieber!
Und rühre mich nicht an.
Der Tod
Gib deine Hand, Du schön und zart Gebild!
Bin Freund, und komme nicht zu strafen.
Sei gutes Muts! ich bin nicht wild,
Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen!
The Death and The Maiden
Translation: Emily Ezust
The Maiden
It’s all over! alas, it’s all over now!
Go, savage man of bone!
I am still young – go, devoted one!
And do not molest me.
Death
Give me your hand, you fair and tender form!
I am a friend; I do not come to punish.
Be of good cheer! I am not savage.
You shall sleep gently in my arms.
Lore Lay (music: Benjamin Attahir – poem: Clemens Brentano)
Zu Bacharach am Rheine
Wohnt’ eine Zauberin
Sie war so schön und feine
Und riß viel Herzen hin.
Und brachte viel zu Schanden
Der Männer ringsumher;
Aus ihren Liebesbanden
War keine Rettung mehr.
Der Bischof ließ sie laden
Vor geistliche Gewalt
Und mußte sie begnaden,
So schön war ihr’ Gestalt.
Er sprach zu ihr gerühret:
« Du arme Lore Lay!
Wer hat dich denn verführet
Zu böser Zauberei?
– Herr Bischof, laßt mich sterben!
Ich bin des Lebens müd,
Weil jeder muß verderben,
Der meine Augen sieht!
Die Augen sind zwei Flammen,
Mein Arm ein Zauberstab
O legt mich in die Flammen,
O brechet mir den Stab!
– Ich kann dich nicht verdammen,
Bis du mir erst bekennt
Warum in deinen Flammen
Mein eignes Herz schon brennt.
Den Stab kann ich nicht brechen
Du schöne Lore Lay!
Ich müßte dann zerbrechen
Mein eigen Herz entzwei!
– Herr Bischof, mit mir Armen
Treibt nicht so bösen Spott
Und bittet um Erbarmen
Für mich den lieben Gott!
Ich darf nicht länger leben,
Ich liebe keinen mehr.
Den Tod sollt Ihr mir geben,
Drum kam ich zu Euch her!
Mein Schatz hat mich betrogen,
Hat sich von mir gewandt,
Ist fort von mir gezogen,
Fort in ein fremdes Land.
Die Augen sanft und wilde,
Die Wangen rot und weiß,
Die Worte still und milde,
Das ist mein Zauberkreis.
Ich selbst muß drin verderben,
Das Herz tut mir so weh;
Vor Schmerzen möcht ich sterben,
Wenn ich mein Bildnis seh.
Drum laßt mein Recht mich finden,
Mich sterben wie ein Christ,
Denn alles muß verschwinden,
Weil er nicht bei mir ist! »
Drei Ritter läßt er holen:
« Bringt sie ins Kloster hin!
Geh, Lore! – Gott befohlen
Sei dein berückter Sinn!
Du sollst ein Nönnchen werden,
Ein Nönnchen schwarz und weiß,
Bereite dich auf Erden
Zu deines Todes Reis’ »!
Zum Kloster sie nun ritten,
Die Ritter alle drei,
Und traurig in der Mitten
Die schöne Lore Lay.
« O Ritter, laßt mich gehen
Auf diesen Felsen groß,
Ich will noch einmal sehen
Nach meines Lieben Schloß.
Ich will noch einmal sehen
Wohl in den tiefen Rhein
Und dann ins Kloster gehen
Und Gottes Jungfrau sein.”
Der Felsen ist so jähe,
So steil ist seine Wand,
Doch klimmt sie in die Höhe,
Bis daß sie oben stand.
Es binden die drei Reiter
Die Rosse unten an
Und klettern immer weiter
Zum Felsen auch hinan.
Die Jungfrau sprach: « Da gehet
Ein Schifflein auf dem Rhein;
Der in dem Schifflein stehet,
Der soll mein Liebster sein!
Mein Herz wird mir so munter,
Er muß mein Liebster sein! »
Da lehnt sie sich hinunter
Und stürzet in den Rhein.
Die Ritter mußten sterben,
Sie konnten nicht hinab;
Sie mußten all verderben
Ohn Priester und ohn Grab.
Wer hat dies Lied gesungen?
Ein Schiffer auf dem Rhein,
Und immer hat’s geklungen
Von dem Dreiritterstein:
Lore Lay!
Lore Lay!
Lore Lay!
Als wären es meiner drei.
Lore Lay
Near Bacharach on the Rhine
Lived a sorceress.
She was so beautiful and fine,
And seduced many hearts.
And she brought many men
To shame all around her;
From her love’s bindings
There was no rescue.
The bishop wished to summon
Her for a spiritual accounting
He had to bless her,
For her figure was so beautiful.
He said to her calmly:
« You poor Lore Lay!
Who has led you into
Such evil witchcraft? »
« Lord Bishop, let me die!
I am weary of life,
Because all who my eyes see
Must be despoiled!
My eyes are two flames,
My arms a magic wand.
Oh, lay me down in the flames,
Oh, break your crosier on me. »
« I cannot condemn you to damnation,
Because you have admitted to me
Why my own heart already burns
In your flames.
I cannot break my crosier on you,
You beauteous Lore Lay!
Then would I break
My own heart in two! »
« Lord Bishop, do not mock
Poor me with such cruelty.
Then pray for my salvation
To your beloved God!
I must not live longer,
for I love no more.
Death that you can give me
is the reason I came to you!
My sweetheart has betrayed me,
Has turned away from me,
Is gone from me,
Gone to a foreign land.
My eyes so soft and wild,
My cheeks so red and white,
My words so still and mild,
These are my magic spells.
I must myself despoil,
My heart gives me such pain;
From pain I would die,
When I see my own image.
So let me find my right path,
To die like a Christ,
Then all must pass away,
Because he will not be with me! »
He fetched three knights:
« Bring her to a cloister!
Go, Lore Lay — God help
Your poor mind!
You shall become a nun,
A nun in black and white,
To become ready here on earth
For your final end! »
To the cloister they went
All three knights,
And sad in their company,
The beautiful Lore-Lay.
« Oh knights, let me go
To the top of this great cliff,
I would once more look on
My love’s castle.
I would once more look
Deep into the Rhine
And then go to the cloister
To become God’s bride. »
The cliff is so steep,
So precipitous is its wall,
And yet she climbed into the heights,
To stand there at the top.
The three knights
Tie their horses at the bottom,
And clamber up the heights
Towards the top of the cliff.
The maiden spoke: « There comes
a boat along the Rhine;
He that stands in the boat
Must be my love!
My heart will become merry,
As he must be my love! »
And so she leaned down
And leapt into the Rhine.
The knights must themselves die,
Not able to return;
They all had to perish
Without priest or grave.
Who has sung this song?
A sailor on the Rhine,
And always it has echoed
From the Three-Knights-rock:
Lore Lay!
Lore Lay!
Lore Lay!
As if these three were mine.
About the performers
Mezzo soprano Marine Fribourg and pianist Flore Merlin share their longstanding curiosity and appetite for chamber music, period instruments, and historically informed performance practice. They are passionate about the expressiveness of different languages and the evocative power generated by the interaction of text and music.
The two met in 2003 at the start of their musical studies, and since then have worked together on a number of projects: as a duo, in a choir, as course leaders, and as part of Damask vocal quartet, with piano, notably on the album O schöne Nacht, released in 2018.As a duo, they have created and performed three thematic, narrative programs of song, combining their dual passions of music and storytelling. The first program recounted the life of Andalusian poet Federico García Lorca, while the second portrayed the life of 19th century singer and composer Pauline Viardot. The third one is in your hands: after a joyous run of concerts featuring the scariest creatures from the woods of German Lieder, Forests of the Night is their first recording as a duo.
Thanks
We would like to thank Sylvie Brély and La Nouvelle Athènes for the loan of the Streicher piano, Jackie Schinzel and the Gargenville Town Hall for making the recording venue available, Océane, Quentin and Nicolas from Pianos du Vexin for their kindness and flexibility and for the care they took in tuning the piano, and the many donors who made this recording possible.
Credits
PRODUCTION 7 Mountain Records, The Netherlands
RECORDING PRODUCER, ENGINEERING AND POST-PRODUCTION Frerik de Jong (Kleinman Audio)
LINER NOTES Coline Miallier
ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS Sylvy Anscombe & Marine Fribourg
PHOTOS Aimery Lefèvre
ART PIECE Yara Dos Santos Carvalhal
PIANO TRANSPORTATION AND MAINTENANCE Les Pianos du Vexin
GRAPHIC DESIGN 7 Mountain Records
RECORDING LOCATION Les Maisonnettes, Gargenville (Lili & Nadia Boulanger’s house)
RECORDING DATE January 2025
