Programme — “Col piacer della mia fede“ from Arsilda, regina di Ponto (1716), “Vedro' con mio diletto” from Il Giustino (1724), “Da quel ferro che ha svenato” from Il Farnace (1727)

“Col piacer della mia fede“ from Arsilda, regina di Ponto (1716)

“Vedro' con mio diletto” from Il Giustino (1724)

“Da quel ferro che ha svenato” from Il Farnace (1727)

The extent of Vivaldi’s productivity for the opera house – he claimed to have composed 94 operas, although the scores of only 22 survive – is remarkable enough without taking into account his vast catalogue of concertos, church music and chamber works. It is still more remarkable bearing in mind that his first opera, Ottone in villa, was written as late as 1813, when he was 35. So Arsilda, regina di Ponto, which was first performed at the Teatro S. Angelo in Venice in 1716, is an early work in operatic terms. It was, however, a success in its day and an important factor in the revival of Venetian opera in the first half of the 18th century.

Of course, when operas were produced at such a rate – by a composer who, moreover, as a theatre impresario himself was well aware of their commercial value – there had to be a certain amount of writing to formula. As in his concertos, however, Vivaldi was resourceful in refreshing his own routines. Sung by a minor character, Nicandro (the soprano Prince of Bitinia), in the first act of Arsilda, regina di Ponto, “Col piacer della mia fede“ is a standard Vivaldi aria – a da capo construction set in a quick tempo and a major key, the outer sections modulating to the dominant and back again, the middle section acting as a development in the relative minor. Its individuality is in the characteristic rhythmic vitality generated from the beginning by the intrumental ritornello and sustained by the bravura semiquaver figuration and syncopations in the vocal line.

Il Giustino, written for the Teatro Capranica in Rome in 1724 – at roughly the half-way point in Vivaldi’s career as an opera composer – represents a clear advance on Arsilda. While there is routine in this work too, not least in material borrowed from earlier operas, “Vedro' con mio diletto” is an outstanding example of Vivaldi’s developing powers of expresssion. Anastasio, the recently crowned Emperor of Byzantium, is off to war to protect both his Empire and his bride, Arianna, from the advances of the “tyrant” Vitaliano. Instead of launching into the heroic aria one might expect from an Emperor at this point, Anastasio sings of his love for Arianna and his fear of losing her. Inevitably, it is another da capo aria but in this case a Larghetto set in the minor. Introduced and accompanied by throbbing quavers over a chromatically descending bass line, it is an intimate confession which limits the melismatic element in the vocal line to sensitive words like “cor” in the opening section (although the da capo might well be different) and “penando” in the middle. At the Teatro Capranic in 1724 Anastasio was performed by the mezzo-soprano castrato Giovanni Ossi.

The one aria in this group written for a female role and intended to be sung by a woman is Berenice’s wonderfully vindictive “Da quel ferro che ha svenato” from Il Farnace – which must have been one of the main reasons why the opera was such a success when it was first performed at the Teatro S. Angelo in Venice in 1727. Like “Col piacer della mia fede“ from Arsilda, Berenice’s aria derives its energy from the opening ritornello but, set in the minor and vividly coloured by dynamic contrasts, it is more dramatic in effect. It is also more discriminating in its choice of material for the vocal line – the opening octave leap, the phrase drawn from the instrumental part on each repetition of “il mio sposo,” the fierce syncopations on “crudeltà,” the liberated harmonies in the middle section. Determined on revenge though she clearly is at this point, the Queen of Cappadocia is finally persuaded to pardon her son in law, Pharnaces, King of Pontus, and to spare the life of her grandson.

Ernest Chausson (1855-1899)

Hébé Op.2 No.6 (1882)

Sérénade Op.13 No.2 (1887)

Le Colibri Op.2 No.7 (1882)

Les Papillons Op2 No.3 (1880)

In 1889, at the beginning of a period of disillusionment with the mélodie, Chausson declared his dissatisfaction with all the songs he had written up to that point, “except Hébé perhaps and 15 bars of Nanny.” Hébé is, in fact, unassailable in its perfection. Reflecting Louise Ackermann’s evocation of Hebe, goddess of youth and cupbearer to the gods, Chausson sets the poem in a Greek Phrygian D and retains modal purity by introducing not one accidental in the twelve lines of the song. If this discipline seems unduly severe in theory, in fact it is no obstacle to an eloquent expression of regret for lost youth by way of a four-note descending phrase which enters the piano part at about half-way through and the vocal part in the last line.

What Chausson didn’t like about his setting of Sérénade by Jean Lahor (Henri Cazalis) it is difficult to imagine unless it was the echoes of Wagner’s Wesendonk Lieder betrayed by the falling intervals of the short piano prelude and postlude. The word setting itself, however, as the pianist’s right hand winds itself in counterpoint round the vocal line, sometimes joining it in unison, is most exquisitely done. Le Colibri is more Wagnerian in concept than in sound, the humming bird symbolisng the association of love and death. After hovering in an exotically supple quintuple time over piano chords in an even rhythm, it sinks to its death on a sensual downward curve of linear figuration in the pianist’s right hand. The last stanza makes the metaphor entirely explicit. In Les Papillons Théophile Gautier’s butterflies, while they inspire the poet to evoke another dying kiss, carry on regardless, pausing only briefly to register his romantic gesture before resuming in the piano postlude the delightful fluttering motion that has been sustained almost throughout.

Joaquín Turina (1882-1949)

Poema en forma de canciones Op.19 (1918)

Dedicatorio

Nunca olvida

Los dos miedos

Las locas por amor

When Albéniz advised Turina to turn to Spanish folk music for his material, the younger composer was probably not altogether pleased. As a pupil of Vincent d’Indy at the Schola Cantorum in Paris – where he had been instructed in the worship of César Franck and the virtues of cyclic form – he had had just taken part in the first performance of his Piano Quintet Op.1 and this would not have been the kind of advice he wanted to hear. Albéniz was right, however. Although Turina retained his ambition to write in the conventional major forms, the Andalusian in him was asserting itself in his piano and chamber music even before his departure from the Schola Cantorum and his return to Spain in 1914.

By 1918, in the Poema en form de canciones, Turina had embraced “sevillanismo” wholeheartedly and with a completely convincing command of the idiom. That much is clear from the opening solo-piano piece, Dedicatorio, which begins with keyboard versions of a flamenco singer’s “Ay!” and a guitarist’s preludial strumming before presenting two melodies of authentic Spanish extraction (one of them recently featured in Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain). The prominent role of the piano extends into the actual songs with a fairly long introduction to Nunca olvida, establishing the gently swaying accompaniment to the thoughtful vocal line. Cantares is primarily a display of flamenco bravura for the singer while the piano’s main function is to provide an appropriate guitar-style framework at the begining and end of each stanza. In Los dos miedos, on the other hand, it supplies the passionately expressive interlude that represents what it is that has so radically changed the emotional situation between the beginning and the end. And in Las locas por amor it alone is awarded the cheerful tune that, reminiscent of Debussy though it is, so effectively reflects the carefree mood of the song.