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Russian Reflections Disc 5 (2016)
Composed in the same year as Tchaikovsky’s death and dedicated “to the memory of a great artist,” Sergei Rachmaninov’s Trio élégiaque captures an essential component of Russian musical identity. From Glinka to Shostakovich and beyond, Russia’s composers have depicted melancholia with both a dignified nobility and a devastating dolor. Yet through these composers’ empathy and perseverance, Russia’s musical lamentations likewise extol the indomitability of the human spirit, ultimately uplifting the listener from even the darkest despair. Evident in Mussorgsky’s chilling Songs and Dances of Death, these qualities likewise emerge in the music of Fauré and the Swiss-American composer Ernest Bloch.
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Selections
Élégie for Cello and Piano, op. 24 | Gabriel Fauré (6:02)
- Hyeyeon Park, Piano
- Keith Robinson, Cello
Nigun (Improvisation) from Baal Shem: Three Pictures of Hassidic Life for Violin and Piano | Ernest Bloch (7:10)
- Alon Goldstein, Piano
- Arnaud Sussmann, Violin
Pesni i plyaski smerti (Songs and Dances of Death) for Voice and Piano | Modest Mussorgsky (20:56)
Pesni i plyaski smerti (Songs and Dances of Death)
By A. A. Golenishchev-Kutusov (1848–1913)
Translation by Cori Ellison © 2016
Titles are bold
Kolïbel’naya
Stonet rebionok. Svecha dagaraya,
Tusklo mertzayet krugom.
Tzeluyu noch’, kolybel’ ku kachaya,
Mat’ ne zabylasya snom.
Ranhym raniokhon’ ko v dver’, ostorozhno,
Smert’ serdobol’ naya stuk!
Vzdrognula mat’, oglyanulas’ trevozhno…
“Polno pugat’ sya, moi drug!
Blednoye utro uzh smotrit v okoshko.
Placha, toskuya, lyubya
Ty utomilas’. Vzdremni ka nemnozhka,
Ya posizhu za tebya.
Ugomonit’ ty ditya ne sumela,
Slatsche tebya ya spoyu.”
“Tishe! Rebionok moi mechetsya, b’iotsya,
Dushu terzayet moyu!”
“Nu, da so mnoyu on skoro uimiotsya,
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Tschechki bledneyut, slabeyet dykhan’ ye…
Da zamolchi-zhe, molyu!”
“Dobroye znamen’ ye: stihnet stradan’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Proch’ ty proklyataya!
Laskoi svoyeyu sgubish’ ty radost’ moyu.”
“Net, mirnyi son ya mladentzu naveyu;
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Szhal’ sya, pozhdi dopevat’ hot’ mgnoven’ ye,
Strashnuyu pesnyu tvoyu!”
“Vidish’, usnul on pod tikhoye pen’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu!”
By A. A. Golenishchev-Kutusov (1848–1913)
Translation by Cori Ellison © 2016
Titles are bold
Kolïbel’naya
Stonet rebionok. Svecha dagaraya,
Tusklo mertzayet krugom.
Tzeluyu noch’, kolybel’ ku kachaya,
Mat’ ne zabylasya snom.
Ranhym raniokhon’ ko v dver’, ostorozhno,
Smert’ serdobol’ naya stuk!
Vzdrognula mat’, oglyanulas’ trevozhno…
“Polno pugat’ sya, moi drug!
Blednoye utro uzh smotrit v okoshko.
Placha, toskuya, lyubya
Ty utomilas’. Vzdremni ka nemnozhka,
Ya posizhu za tebya.
Ugomonit’ ty ditya ne sumela,
Slatsche tebya ya spoyu.”
“Tishe! Rebionok moi mechetsya, b’iotsya,
Dushu terzayet moyu!”
“Nu, da so mnoyu on skoro uimiotsya,
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Tschechki bledneyut, slabeyet dykhan’ ye…
Da zamolchi-zhe, molyu!”
“Dobroye znamen’ ye: stihnet stradan’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Proch’ ty proklyataya!
Laskoi svoyeyu sgubish’ ty radost’ moyu.”
“Net, mirnyi son ya mladentzu naveyu;
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Szhal’ sya, pozhdi dopevat’ hot’ mgnoven’ ye,
Strashnuyu pesnyu tvoyu!”
“Vidish’, usnul on pod tikhoye pen’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu!”
Lullaby
A child moans. A candle, burning low,
Casts a dim light.
All night, rocking the cradle,
The mother has not slept.
Very early, carefully,
Death, the heartbreaker, knocked.
The mother shivered and looked around anxiously.
“Fear no more, my friend!
Pale morning already peers in the window.
You’re weary
From weeping, grieving, and loving.
I’ll keep watch for you.
You failed to calm your child.
But I’ll sing more sweetly than you.”
“Quiet! My child is tossing restlessly,
Torturing my soul.
“Well, he will soon rest with me.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“His cheeks grow pale, his breathing weakens...
Be quiet, I beg you!”
“It’s a good sign—his suffering will end.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“Away, evil one!
Your caress will kill my joy.”
“No, I’ll bring your child peaceful dreams.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“Have pity! If just for a moment, stop singing
Your terrifying song!”
“See, he’s been lulled by my quiet song.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
Serenada
Nega volshebnaya, noch’ golubaya,
Trepetnyi sumrak vesny…
Vnemlet, poniknuv golovkoi bol’ naya
Shopot nochnoi tishiny.
Son ne smykayet blestyashchiye ochi,
Zhizn’ k naslazhden’ yu zoviot;
A pod okoshkom v molchan’ i polnochi
Smert’ serenadu poiot:
“V mrake nevoli surovoi i tesnoi,
Molodost’ vyanet tvoya.
Rytsar’ nevedomyi, siloi chudesnoi
Osvobozhu ya tebya.
Vstan’, posmotri na sebya: krasotoyu
Lik tvoi prozrachnyi blestit,
Tschioki rumyany, volnistoi kosoyu
Stan tvoi, kak tuchei obvit;
Pristal’ nyh glaz goluboye siyan’ ye,
Yarche nebes i ognya;
Znoyem poludennym veyet dykhan’ ye,
Ty obol’ stila menya.
Sluh tvoi plenilsya moyei serenadoi,
Rytsarya shopot tvoi zval.
Rytsar’ prishol za poslednei nagradoi.
Chas upoyen’ ya nastal.
Nezhen tvoi stan, upoitelen trepet.
O zadushu ya tebya
V krepkih ob’ yat’ yah; lyubovnyi moi lepet
Slushai…molchi…ty moya!”
Serenade
Magical rapture, deep-blue night,
Rustling shadow of spring...
With head bowed, the ailing girl listens
To the quiet nocturnal whisper.
Sleep does not veil her glowing eyes.
Life beckons her toward pleasure.
And beneath the window, in the night’s silence
Death sings a serenade:
“In the darkness of cruel bondage
Your youth is fading.
I, a mysterious knight,
Will free you with miraculous power.
Arise, look at yourself—
Your transparent face glows with beauty.
Your flushed cheeks, your wavy braids,
Your figure seem wrapped in a cloud.
The blue gleam of your keen eyes
Is brighter than heaven or fire.
Your breath is full of noonday heat.
You have seduced me.
My serenade enflamed your ears.
Summoned by your whisper,
The knight has come for his final reward.
The hour of bliss has arrived.
Your figure is soft, your trembling enchanting.
I will stifle you
In my strong embrace. Hear my murmurs of love—
Be still...you are mine!”
Trepak
Les, da polyany, bezlyud’ ye krugom;
V’yuga u plachet i stonet;
Chuyetsya, budto vo mrake nochnom,
Zlaya kovo to khoronit.
Glyan’! Tak i yest’! V temnote muzhika
Smert’ obnimayet, laskayet;
S p’ yanen’ kim plyachet vdvoiom trepaka,
Na uho pesn’ napevayet:
“Okh muzhichok, starichok ubogoi,
P’ yan napilsya, poplelsya domoi;
A myatel’ to, ved’ ma, podnyalas’, vzygrala,
S polya v les dremuchiy nevznachay zagnala.
Gorem, toskoy, da nuzhdoy tomimyi!
Lyag, prikorni, da usni rodimyi.
Ya tebya, golubchik moi, snezhkom sogreyu,
Vkrug tebya velikuyu igru zateyu.
Vzbei ka postel’, ty myatel’ lebyodka,
Gei, nachinay, zapevay, pogodka;
Skazku, da takuyu, chtob vsyu noch’ tyanulas’,
Chtob p’yanchuge krepko pod neyo zasnulos’.
Oi, vy lesa, nebesa, da tuchi,
Tem’, veterok, da snezhok letuchii,
Sveites’ pelenoyu, snezhnoy pukhovoyu
Yeyu, kak mladentsa, starichka prikroyu.
Spi, moi druzhok, muzhichok tschastlivyi,
Leto prishlo, rastsvelo! Nad nivoy
Solnyshko smeyotsa, da serpy gulyayut;
Pesenka nesyotsya, golubki letayut.”
Trepak
Forest and fields, desolation all around
The storm weeps and moans.
It seems like the Devil is burying someone
In the nighttime darkness.
And behold—it is so! In the darkness, there’s a peasant.
Death embraces him, caresses him.
Dancing a double trepak with the drunk,
She sings a song into his ear.
“Poor old peasant,
You drank yourself blind and took to the road.
But an old witch of a blizzard blustered up
Suddenly driving you from field to deep forest.
Though dogged by grief, suffering, and poverty
Lie down, take cover, fall asleep.
I’ll warm you with snow, my sweet,
I’ll strike up nice games around you.
Fluff your mattress, lovely snowstorm!
Hey, let’s go, sing on, blizzard!
Tell a tale that will last all night,
So that our drunken friend can sleep soundly.
O, forests, skies, and clouds,
Darkness, wind, and drifting snow,
Wave a mantle of soft down,
And I’ll cover the old man like a baby.
Sleep, my friend, happy peasant!
Summer has arrived, all is blooming. Over the grove,
The sun laughs, and sickles are humming.
A song rises, doves are flying.”
Polkovodets
Grokhochet bitva, bletschut broni,
Orud’ ya mednyye revut,
Begut polki, nesutsa koni
I reki krasnyye tekut.
Pylayet polden’, lyudi b’ yutsya!
Sklonilos’ solntze, boy sil’ nei!
Zakat bledneyet, no derutsya
Vragi vsio yarostney i zley!
I pala noch’ na pole brani.
Druzhiny v mrake razoshlis’…
Vsyo stihlo i v nochnom tumane
Stenan’ ya k nebu podnyalis’.
Togda ozarena lunoyu,
Na boyevom svoyom kone,
Kostey sverkaya beliznoyu,
Yavilas’ smert’ i v tishine,
Vnimaya vopli i molitvy
Dovol’ stva gordova polna,
Kak polkovodets, mesto bitvy
Krugom ob’ yekhala ona.
Na holm podnyavshis’ oglyanulas’,
Ostanovilas’, ulybnylas’,
I nad ravninoi boyevoy
Pronessya golos rokovoi:
“Konchena bitva! Ya vsekh pobedila!
Vse predo mnoy vy smirilis’ boitsy!
Zhizn’ vas possorila, ya pomirila,
Druzhno vstavaite na smotr, mertvetsy!
Marschem torzchestvennym mimo proidite,
Voiska moye ya khochu soschitat’.
Vzemlyu potom, svoi kosti slozhite,
Sladko ot zhizni v zemle otdykhat’!
Gody nezrimo proidut za godami,
V lyudyah itscheznet i pamyat’ o vas.
Ya ne zabudu! I gromko nad vami
Pir budu pravit’ v polunochnyi chas!
Plyaskoy, tyazholoyu, zemlyu syruyu
Ya pritopchu, chtoby sen’ grobovuyu
Kosti pokinut’ vo vek ne mogli,
Chtob nikogda vam ne vstat’ iz zemli!”
The Field Marshal
The battle rages, armor flashes,
And clanging weapons roar.
Regiments run, horses gallop,
And red rivers flow.
The midday sun glares. Men fight.
The sun descends. But the battle escalates.
Though twilight fades,
The enemies attack ever more fiercely and angrily.
Night has fallen on the battlefield.
The armies have dispersed in the gloom.
All is silent. And in the nocturnal fog,
Moans have risen to the sky.
Then, lit by the moon
On his battle steed,
His white bones glittering,
Death appeared. And in the silence,
Hearing the groans and prayers
With proud satisfaction
Like a field marshal,
Death rode through the battlefield.
Climbing to the hilltop, he gazed about,
He stopped and smiled.
And over the battlefield,
His fatal voice sounded—
“The battle is over! I have conquered all!
You have all made peace before me, warriors!
Life made you enemies,
but I have united you!
Pass by in a solemn march
I want to count my troops.
Then lay your bones in the earth, and in the ground,
Rest sweetly from life.
Year after year will pass unseen,
And people will forget you.
But I won’t forget! And I will lead a loud
Feast over you at midnight!
Dancing, I’ll stamp so heavily
On the damp earth
That your bones will never escape your grave.
And you will never rise from the earth!”
- Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
- Wu Qian, Piano
Trio élégiaque in d minor for Piano, Violin, and Cello, op. 9 | Sergei Rachmaninov (41:54)
- Alon Goldstein, Piano
- Arnaud Sussmann, Violin
- Paul Watkins, Cello
Artists
- Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
- Alon Goldstein, Piano
- Hyeyeon Park, Piano
- Keith Robinson, Cello
- Arnaud Sussmann, Violin
- Paul Watkins, Cello
- Wu Qian, Piano
Total Time: 1:16:08
Discs: 1
Price: $15.00
Year Recorded: 2016