Rachmaninov: Songs

r

s ongs

sergei r achmaninov (1873–1943)

songs

Six Songs Op. 4

1 No. 1 Oh, no, I beg you, do not leave! – О, нет, молю, не уходи! AB [1:48]

2 No. 2 Morning – Утро AV [2:11]

3 No. 3 In the quiet of the secret night – В молчаньи ночи тайной RP [2:36]

4 No. 4 Oh do not sing – Не пой, красавица! ES [4:41]

5 No. 5 Oh, my field – Уж ты, нива моя! ED [3:51]

6 No. 6 It wasn’t long ago, my friend – Давноль, мой друг DS [1:48]

Six Songs Op. 8

7 No. 1 The Water Lily – Речная лилея ED [1:19]

8 No. 2 My child, your beauty is like a flower – Дитя! Как цветок ты прекрасна RP [1:50]

9 No. 3 Meditation – Дума AB [3:28]

10 No. 4 The Soldier’s Wife (I fell in love) – Полюбила я на печаль свою … JG [2:05]

11 No. 5 A Dream – Сон DS [1:15]

12 No. 6 A Prayer – Молитва ED [2:45]

e velina d obraceva soprano

ekaterina siurina soprano

Justina g ringyte mezzo-soprano

daniil shtoda tenor

a ndrei b ondarenko baritone

rodion p ogossov baritone

a lexander v inogradov bass

i ain b urnside piano

Twelve Songs Op. 14

13 No. 1 I wait for you – Я жду тебя ED [1:38]

14 No. 2 The Little Island – Островок DS [2:06]

15 No. 3 How fleeting is delight in love – Давно в любви RP [1:24]

16 No. 4 I was with her – Я был у ней AB [1:30]

17 No. 5 Summer Nights – Эти летние ночи ED [1:58]

18 No. 6 You are so loved by all – Тебя так любят все AB [2:18]

19 No. 7 Do not believe me, friend – Не верь мне друг ED [1:30]

20 No. 8 Oh, do not grieve – О, не грусти! JG [2:53]

21 No. 9 She is as beautiful as midday – Она, как полдень, хороша AB [2:54]

22 No. 10 In my soul – В моей душе AV [2:43]

23 No. 11 Spring Waters – Весенние воды ED [2:01]

24 No. 12 It is time! – Пора! RP [1:25]

25 Were you hiccupping, Natasha? – Икалось ли тебе, Наташа? AB [1:45]

Total playing time (CD1) [55:56]

Twelve Songs Op. 21

1 No. 1 Fate – Судьба AV [6:51]

2 No. 2 By the Grave – Над свежей могилой AV [1:48]

3 No. 3 Twilight – Сумерки DS [2:06]

4 No. 4 The Answer – Они отвечали ES [1:48]

5 No. 5 Lilacs – Сирень ES [2:05]

6 No. 6 Fragment from Alfred Musset – Отрывок из А. Мюссе ED [1:39]

7 No. 7 How peaceful – Здесь хорошо ES [2:11]

8 No. 8 On the Death of a Songbird – На смерть чижика JG [2:34]

9 No. 9 Melody – Мелодия ED [3:21]

10 No. 10 Before the Icon – Пред иконой JG [3:24]

11 No. 11 I am not a prophet – Я не пророк ED [1:25]

12 No. 12 How pained I am – Как мне больно ES [1:52]

Fifteen Songs Op. 26

13 No. 1 The Heart’s Secret (There are many sounds) – Есть много звуков JG [2:13]

14 No. 2 All was taken from me – Всё отнял у меня RP [1:03]

15 No. 3 We shall rest – Мы отдохнем AV [2:17]

16 No. 4 Two Farewells – Два прощания ES/AV [3:49]

17 No. 5 Let us leave, my sweet – Покинем, милая DS [2:14]

18 No. 6 Christ is risen – Христос воскрес JG [2:33]

19 No. 7 To my Children – К детям JG [3:25]

20 No. 8 I beg for mercy – Пощады я молю! DS [1:15]

21 No. 9 I am alone again – Я опять одинок DS [1:55]

22 No. 10 At my window – У моего окна ES [1:59]

23 No. 11 The Fountain – Фонтан DS [1:30]

24 No. 12 Night is sorrowful – Ночь печальна DS [2:20]

25 No. 13 Yesterday we met – Вчера мы встретились RP [2:40]

26 No. 14 The Ring – Кольцо JG [2:41]

27 No. 15 Everything passes – Проходит все AB [2:01]

28 A Letter to K.S. Stanislavsky from S. Rachmaninov – Письмо К.С. Станиславскому от С. Рахманинова RP [3:14]

Total playing time (CD2) [68:32]

Fourteen Songs Op. 34

1 No. 1 The Muse – Муза DS [3:57]

2 No. 2 In the soul of each of us – В душе у каждого из нас AV [2:30]

3 No. 3 The Storm – Буря JG [2:21]

4 No. 4 A passing breeze – Ветер перелётный DS [3:04]

5 No. 5 Arion – Арион ES [2:46]

6 No. 6 The Raising of Lazarus – Воскрешение Лазаря AB [2:19]

7 No. 7 It cannot be! – Не может быть! JG [1:46]

8 No. 8 Music – Музыка JG [2:30]

9 No. 9 The Poet (You knew him) – Ты знал его RP [2:35]

10 No. 10 The Morning of Life (I remember this day) – Сей день, я помню DS [1:28]

11 No. 11 The Prophet – Оброчник AV [3:41]

12 No. 12 What happiness – Какое счастье ED [2:18]

13 No. 13 Dissonance – Диссонанс ED [5:39]

14 No. 14 Vocalise – Вокализ ES [3:37]

Six Songs Op. 38

15 No. 1 At night in my garden – Ночью в саду у меня ES [1:52]

16 No. 2 To her – К ней ES [2:21]

17 No. 3 Daisies – Маргаритки ES [2:35]

18 No. 4 The Pied Piper – Крысолов ES [2:38]

19 No. 5 Sleep – Сон ES [3:21]

20 No. 6 ‘A-oo’ – Ау ES [2:20]

Total playing time (CD3) [55:50]

This recording has been made possible by the contribution of Uri Liebrecht. As generous with his encouragement as with his resources, Uri has been a friend to this project on many levels. We are all in his debt. Habe Dank.

— Iain Burnside

Recorded in the Queen’s Hall, Edinburgh on 15-16 September, 12-13, 19-20 & 24

November 2012 and 11-12 January 2013

Producer/Engineer: Paul Baxter

24-bit digital editing: Adam Binks

24-bit digital mastering: Paul Baxter

Piano: Steinway Model D, Serial No. 588188 (2004)

Piano technician: Norman W. Motion

Photography © Delphian Records

Design: John Christ

Booklet editor: Henry Howard

Delphian Records Ltd – Edinburgh – UK www.delphianrecords.co.uk

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‘A shilling life’, as W.H. Auden wrote, ‘will give you all the facts.’ And at first glance the trajectory of Rachmaninov’s multifaceted career seems clear: composer, pianist and conductor in Russia before the Revolution; touring virtuoso after, living in increasingly comfortable exile, composing when circumstances permitted. The place of song within this career seems equally straightforward: everything on these CDs was written between 1890 and 1916. Once he left Russia he drew a line under this branch of his creativity. No more rustling cherry trees, no more spring water crackling under the ice. Rachmaninov had written his own script twenty years earlier in Op. 4, asking his beautiful Georgian girl to stop singing sad songs: ‘they recall in me another life, and a distant shore’.

That song, Oh do not sing, Op. 4 No. 4, is one of half a dozen that appear regularly in concert programmes outside Russia. This mighty handful has an unhealthy stranglehold, trotted out time and time again while other masterpieces languish on the shelf. One revelation of this recording project has been how consistently high the standard is within these 73 songs, and how even seemingly daunting pages of declamation carry within them Rachmaninov’s imaginative DNA.

Another revelation is the distance travelled from first song to last. For a composer repeatedly chided in his lifetime for musical

conservatism, these songs evolve remarkably from one collection to the next. Part of this journey is emancipation from Rachmaninov’s hero-worship of Tchaikovsky. The shadow of his friend and mentor falls heavily over Rachmaninov’s early songs, pervading their sensibility, poetic landscape, vocal inflections and pianistic texture. On occasion the homage is explicit: The Soldier’s Wife (I fell in love), Op. 8 No. 4 echoes the impassioned melismas of Tchaikovsky’s Was I not a blade of grass, Op. 47 No. 7, as well as its modal harmony. As Rachmaninov expands his choice of poet and of subject matter, his range of musical influence expands too. By the time we reach Op. 34 he has redefined what a Rachmaninov song can be. Instead of a conventionally shaped Tchaikovskian romance he offers both the epigrammatic, internalised The morning of life, Op. 34 No. 10 and Dissonance, Op. 34 No. 13, an epic, closely worked symphonic poem for Wagnerian soprano and orchestral piano.

Ah yes, the piano. How Rachmaninov chooses to use his own instrument is perhaps the most surprising component of this musical journey. If you expect one of the twentieth century’s iconic pianists to engage immediately his full panoply of keyboard colour, you may be disappointed. Back while he was still merely one of the nineteenth century’s emerging pianists, it took Rachmaninov time to experiment with accompanimental texture, to give himself permission to have fun.

His first published song establishes a template. Within a couple of bars of Oh, no, I beg you, do not leave, Op. 4 No. 1 the right hand is rocking in triplets, and it continues rocking, off and on, for much of the first CD.

What

liberates

Rachmaninov’s pianistic imagination is a move from generalised mood setting to visual trigger, away from Tchaikovsky, again, towards a more European concept of keyboard imagery. The floodgates open literally and metaphorically in Spring Waters, Op. 14 No. 11. The waters that flow so triumphantly through Rachmaninov’s hands are aquatic descendants of Schubert’s rauschendes Bächlein. He’s painting a picture. So blossoms shimmer in Melody, Op. 21 No. 9, waters gush in The Fountain, Op. 26 No. 11, flames crackle in The Ring, Op. 26 No. 14. His later songs feature two magnificent seascapes: The Storm, Op. 34 No. 3 and Arion, Op. 34 No. 5. Running parallel to this keyboard exuberance, meanwhile, is a new strand of austerity. In songs with a spiritual dimension Rachmaninov mortifies his pianistic flesh: hence the pared-down texture of Before the Icon, Op. 21 No. 10, the craggy magnificence of The Raising of Lazarus, Op. 34 No. 6. By the time we reach Op. 38 the interplay between voice and piano has reached a different level of subtlety. Significantly, Rachmaninov’s Op. 39 is his second set of Etudes-Tableaux : more pianistic richness, more painting of pictures.

What, meanwhile, of the voice? Or voices, rather – as even the most cursory glance at Rachmaninov’s songs shows that he writes not just from top to bottom, from high soprano to deep bass, but for different weights of voice too. Such is Rachmaninov’s fame as composer and pianist that it’s easy to overlook his career as a conductor. As an opera conductor he was ranked with Mahler, no less, so it comes as little surprise that he wrote for the human voice with such love and insight. Many songs reflect collaborations with particular singers. His friendship with Feodor Chaliapin was one of the central relationships of Rachmaninov’s life, lasting decades and ending only at the deathbed of the great bass. Anyone who doubts the composer’s sense of humour need only read accounts of what pranks the two friends got up to in their lifelong association. Chaliapin’s dramatic intensity inspired Rachmaninov as much as his cavernous voice: look at the Mussorgskian Fate, Op. 21 No. 1, his longest song, or the portrait of a messianic, Rasputin-like figure, The Prophet, Op. 34 No. 11. You can still hear recordings of other dedicatees: the elegant lyric tenor Leonid Sobinov inspired A passing breeze, Op. 34 No. 4; the light coloratura Antonina Nezhdanova won the exquisite wordless Vocalise, Op. 34 No. 14; while the dramatic soprano Felia Litvinne must have had lungs of steel to incur the terrifying vocal demands of Dissonance, Op. 34 No. 13. All six songs in Op. 38, the jewel

in the crown, went to a pupil of Litvinne’s, the young soprano Nina Koshetz. The flirtatious quality of their correspondence before touring with these songs, and Rachmaninov’s subsequent irritation when Koshetz disrupted the tour, suggest that her inspiration might have been more than musical. There is a faintly erotic undertone, too, to a more significant, earlier correspondence. In February 1912 Rachmaninov received a letter signed with the enigmatic pseudonym Re. Re ’s real identity was Marietta Shaginyan, a feisty young poet in her early twenties, though it would be some time before that was revealed, and more time before they finally met. Instead a bizarrely trusting relationship developed by letter, inevitably reminiscent of Tchaikovsky and Mme von Meck. A month after their initial contact Rachmaninov writes:

Dear Re, would you be angry with me if I asked you to do something for me? I need texts for songs. Couldn’t you suggest some that you consider suitable? It strikes me that Re must know a great deal in this field, perhaps even everything. Authors may be living or dead, only the things must be originals, not translations, and no more than 8 to 12 lines, 16 at the most. One more thing: the mood should be sombre rather than happy. I’m not so lucky with bright sounds! I await your answer …

Shaginyan’s personal, hand-picked selection duly arrived, together with scathing indictments of earlier poets who had served Rachmaninov well. Poor Glafira Galina was dismissed as a purveyor of doggerel, despite the elevation of her poems into some of Rachmaninov’s bestloved songs: How peaceful, Op. 21 No. 7, How pained I am, Op. 21 No. 12 and At my window, Op. 26 No. 10, masterpieces all. We have much, though, to thank Shaginyan for. She not only opened Rachmaninov’s eyes to new poetic vistas, but jolted him into action: Op. 34 was composed within months, using many of the poems she had selected. Op. 38, setting younger symbolist poets, would have been inconceivable without her influence. Her reward was not only the dedication but also the title of Op. 34’s sumptuous opening song: The Muse.

Rachmaninov was unfailingly meticulous about how he placed and ordered his songs. As they are usually regrouped for individual singers, and frequently – horror of horrors! –transposed, one easily loses sight of how each opus is crafted, rather in the manner of a Wolf Songbook. One of the joys of recording with these seven appropriate voices has been to see how beautifully one song flows into the next, whether through key or atmosphere. It also suggests answers to certain questions. Why does The Poet, Op. 34 No. 9 start in B flat but end in D? I’d suggest, to link from the

E flat chord that ends Music, Op. 34 No. 8. I’d suggest too that the single right-hand line that opens the following song, The morning of life, Op. 34 No. 10 leads us tenderly, and skilfully, into the enchanted land of A flat major nostalgia. Individually the songs are wonderful; join them up and you find a different magic.

As to A flat and its nostalgia, in the course of 73 songs certain patterns do emerge as to key associations. Compare earlier companion pieces in that same idyllic key, the evergreen Lilacs, Op. 21 No. 5 and the no less exquisite Let us leave, my sweet, Op. 26 No. 5. E flat minor, meanwhile, is mezzo terrain, the key of admonition and sombre reflection. D flat comes only twice, and is saved for special occasions: the magisterial opening to Op. 26, The Heart’s Secret, then Sleep, Op. 38 No. 5, a miracle of filigree pianism, of contrapuntal textures; older first cousin, surely, to the Paganini Rhapsody ’s famous eighteenth variation.

In addition to the complete published songs we have chosen two comic gems. Were you hiccupping, Natasha? is a light-hearted piece of courtship banter, complete with a sly quotation from Eugene Onegin, written while Rachmaninov was wooing his first cousin Natalya Satina. A Letter to K.S. Stanislavsky from S. Rachmaninov is

a later pièce d’occasion, written for the tenth anniversary celebrations of the Moscow Arts Theatre. Rachmaninov was stuck in Dresden, conducting, and unable to attend; so he sent this deliciously mock-formal letter of apology for Chaliapin to sing to the famous director at the party, as tributes were being read out. Instead of Onegin, this time the Russian equivalent of Happy Birthday is woven into the song.

However impressive this corpus of music may be, it’s hard not to speculate what might have been. What if Rachmaninov had chosen to write more songs at the time of his late mastery, the period of the Paganini Rhapsody and Symphonic Dances? What if, once he’d built his Swiss villa, a new, European Re had opened his eyes to French poetry? Or indeed, with his working knowledge of English, to Whitman? To Housman? Chaliapin singing a Shropshire Lad cycle by Rachmaninov? I’d have paid money to hear that. None of it was to be.

‘I sing,’ the last line goes, in Rachmaninov’s last Op. 38 song, ‘I search.’ The piano postlude ends not with a bang but a whimper, on a final, soft, ambivalent dissonance. A hundred years later it still waits to be resolved.

© 2014 Iain Burnside

1 О, нет, молю, не уходи! Op. 4 No. 1

О, нет, молю, не уходи!

Вся боль ничто перед разлукой, Я слишком счастлив этой мукой, Сильней прижми меня к груди, Скажи «люблю».

Пришёл я вновь, больной, измученный и бледный.

Смотри, какой я слабый, бедный, Как мне нужна твоя любовь …

Oh, no, I beg you, do not leave!

Oh, no, I beg you, do not leave! All pain is naught compared to parting, I’m so enraptured by this torment, Please hold me closer to your heart And say ‘I love you’.

I came again, tormented, ill and pale. See how I am weak and sad And how I need your love … New torments I await before me, Like kisses and caresses, I only ask of you in anguish: O, be with me and do not leave!

буду я, в молчаньи ночи тайной,

Коварный лепет твой, улыбку, взор случайный, Перстам послушную волос твоих густую прядь, Из мыслей изгонять, и снова призывать; Шептать и поправлять былые выраженья

Речей моих с тобой, исполненных

смущенья, И в опьянении, наперекор уму,

Заветным именем будить ночную тьму.

О, долго буду я, в молчаньи ночи тайной,

Заветным именем будить ночную тьму.

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (1820–1892)

In the quiet of the secret night

O, long will I, in the quiet of the secret night, Banish from my thoughts and call to memory again Your smile, beguiling words and gaze, your offhand gaze, Your tresses gentle to my touch; In whispers to improve the thoughts Of which we spoke, timid thoughts, And then in rapture, against all reason, With your cherished name awake the darkness of the night.

O, long will I, in the quiet of the secret night, With your cherished name awake the darkness of the night.

Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky (1866–1941)

Morning

тебя!» Шепнула дню заря И, небо обхватив, зарделась от

признанья, И солнца луч, природу озаря, С улыбкой посылал ей жгучие лобзанья.

А день, как бы ещё не доверяя, Осуществлению своих заветных грёз, Спускался на землю, с улыбкой утирая

Блестевшие вокруг ряды алмазных слёз …

M.L. Yanov (dates unknown)

‘I love you’ to the coming Day whispered Dawn Enveloping the sky, and blushed from her confession; A ray of sun, caressing nature, Smiled and sent forth its burning kisses. And Day, as if not yet believing

The realisation of his cherished dreams, Descended upon earth, gently wiping The sparkling rows of starry tears …

4 Не пой, красавица! Op. 4 No. 4

Не пой, красавица, при мне

Ты песен Грузии печальной;

Напоминают мне оне

Другую жизнь и берег дальний.

Увы, напоминают мне

Твои жестокие напевы

И степь, и ночь, и при луне

Черты далекой, бедной девы! …

Я призрак милый, роковой,

Тебя увидев, забываю;

Но ты поёшь, и предо мной

Его я вновь воображаю.

Oh do not sing

Oh do not sing, lovely one, in my presence Your melodies of sorrowful Georgia, They recall in me

Another life, and a distant shore.

Alas, your cruel song

Recalls in me

The steppe, the night, and in the moonlight

The features of a maiden, sad and far away!

I see you and forget

That dear and fateful vision

But you sing

And it comes to me anew.

Не пой,

красавица, при мне

Ты песен Грузии печальной; Напоминают мне оне

Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799–1837)

5 Уж ты, нива моя! Op. 4 No. 5

Уж ты, нива моя, нивушка,

скосить тебя с маху единого, Не связать тебя всю во единый сноп!

Уж вы, думы мои, думушки, Не стряхнуть вас разом с плеч долой, Одной речью-то вас не высказать!

По тебе-ль, нива, ветер разгуливал, Гнул колосья твои до земли, Зрелы зерна-все разметывал!

Широко вы, думы, порассыпались,

Куда пала какая думушка.

Там всходила люта печаль-трава,

Выростало горе горючее. А! А!

Count Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy (1817–1875)

6 Давно-ль, мой друг Op. 4 No. 6

Давно-ль, мой друг, твой взор печальный

Я в расставанья смутный миг ловил.

Чтоб луч его прощальный

Надолго в душу мне проник.

Sing not, O lovely one, in my presence Your melodies of sorrowful Georgia, They recall in me Another life, and a distant shore.

далекой

Я мчался грустною мечтой.

Желанья гасли … Сердце ныло …

Стояло время … Ум молчал …

Давно-ль затишье это было?

Oh, my field

Oh, my field, my beloved field, I cannot harvest you in one full sweep, I cannot tie you into a single sheaf!

Oh, my thoughts, my sad thoughts, I cannot cast you off my shoulders, I can’t express you in words alone!

Was it not over you, my field, that the wind blew ardently, Bent your grasses to the very earth, Blew your ripened seeds all around!

How widely you have scattered, O my thoughts, Where a sad thought fell, There grew the cruel grass of sorrow, Bitter grief appeared. Ah! Ah!

Но вихрь свиданья набежал …

Мы вместе вновь, и дни несутся, Как в море волн летучих строй,

И мысль кипит, и песни льются

Из сердца, полного тобой!

7 Речная лилея Op. 8 No. 1

Речная лилея, головку поднявши на небо

глядит;

А месяц влюбленный лучами уныло её

серебрит …

И вот она снова поникла стыдливо, к

лазурным водам;

Но месяц все бледный и томный как

призрак – сияет и там …

It wasn’t long ago, when wandering alone In an oppressive and an alien crowd, To you, longed for and distant I hurried in my melancholy dreams …

Desires were dying … my heart was heavy … Time stood … and thoughts were silent … Not long ago this stillness reigned, Then came the whirlwind of our meeting … We are again together, days rush by As in the sea the rows of flying waves

My thoughts are flowing and songs are pouring From my heart, inspired by you!

It wasn’t long ago, my friend

It wasn’t long ago, my friend, when your saddened gaze

I sought in parting’s anxious moments, So that its farewell ray Long in my soul would dwell.

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev (1825–1893), after Heinrich

Heine (1797–1856)

The Water Lily

A water lily, opening her petals, looks at the sky, The amorous moon sadly touches her with its silvery rays …

And when she turns shyly toward the blue waters The moon’s pale and languid reflection caresses her there …

Count Arseny Arkadyevich Golenishchev-Kutuzov (1848–1913)

8 Дитя! Как цветок ты прекрасна Op. 8 No. 2

Дитя! как цветок ты прекрасна, Светла, и чиста, и мила.

Смотрю на тебя, и любуюсь, И снова душа ожила …

Охотно б тебе на головку

Я руки свои возложил;

Прося чтобы Бог тебя вечно

Прекрасной и чистой хранил.

9 Дума Op. 8 No. 3

Проходят дни … проходят ночи;

Прошло и лето; шелестит

Лист пожелтевший; гаснут очи;

Заснули думы; сердце спит.

Заснуло всё … Не знаю я –

Живёшь ли ты, душа моя?

Бесстрастно я гляжу на свет, И нету слёз, и смеха нет!

И доля где моя? Судьбою,

Знать, не дано мне никакой …

Но если я благой не стою,

Зачем не выпало хоть злой?

Не дай, о Боже! как во сне

Блуждать … Остынуть сердцем мне.

Гнилой колодой на пути

Лежать меня не допусти.

My child, your beauty is like a flower

My child, your beauty is like a flower, Radiant, pure and sweet.

I look at you and admire you And my soul comes to life again …

I would gladly place my hands Upon your head, Asking God to keep you

Eternally fair and pure.

Чтоб мог я ближнего любить!

Страшна неволя, тяжко в ней!

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev, after Taras Hryhorovych Shevchenko (1814–1861)

10 Полюбила я на печаль свою … Op. 8 No. 4

Полюбила я, На печаль свою, Сиротинушку

But let me live, O my Creator, Give me to live in fullness of my heart! That I might praise Your wondrous world, That I might love my neighbour!

My bondage is fearsome! There is great burden in it.

Meditation Days pass … nights pass …

The summer is gone; The yellowed leaf is rustling; The eyes’ fire is fading; Thoughts have eased into slumber; The heart is asleep.

Everything is sleeping …

I know not whether you, dear soul, still live. Unmoved, I glance out at the world

With neither tears nor laughter!

And what is my lot?

None is given me by fate to know …

But if I am not to merit happiness, Then why has not an evil lot befallen me?

Let me not, O God, wander as in a dream …

Let not my heart grow cold.

Keep me from being without purpose, A decayed log by the roadside.

Бесталанного.

Уж такая доля

Мне выпала!

Разлучили нас

Люди сильные; Увезли его,

Сдали в рекруты …

И солдаткой я, Одинокой я, Знать, в чужой избе

И

состареюсь …

Уж такая доля

Мне выпала. А! А!

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev, after Taras Hryhorovych Shevchenko

The Soldier’s Wife (I fell in love)

I fell in love, To my sorrow, With a lonely And unlucky man. Such a fate

Befell me …

Powerful men Separated us, They took him away To be a lifelong soldier … And a soldier’s wife, All alone I’ll grow old In a stranger’s house. Such a fate

Befell me … Ah! Ah!

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev, after Heinrich Heine

Там ель качалась надо мной …

Но то был сон!

Семья друзей жива была.

A Dream

I too had a home, A beautiful one! There a fir tree swayed … But it was only a dream!

A family of friends Surrounded me With words of love … But it was only a dream!

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev, after Heinrich Heine

Молитва Op. 8. No. 6

A Prayer

O God, look down upon a sinner; I suffer much; my soul is wounded, My heart is torn by grief.

O, my Creator, my sin is great, I have transgressed more than anyone else on earth.

He was hot blooded, His love was pure, He kept it as a sacred trust, Concealed it in his heart, I knew of it … O my God! Forgive me, a sinner and in anguish.

I understood his torments; With a smile, a glance I could have healed him, But I did not pity him.

He languished for a while, With sorrow laden, And died distressed, O my God! O my Creator!

я больна душой.

Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev, after Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)

13 Я жду тебя Op. 14 No. 1

Я жду тебя! Закат угас,

И ночи тёмные покровы

Спуститься на землю готовы

И спрятать нас.

Я жду тебя! Душистой мглой

Ночь напоила мир уснувший,

И разлучился день минувший

На век с землей.

Я жду тебя! Терзаясь и любя,

Считаю каждыя мгновенья,

Полна тоски и нетерпенья.

Я жду тебя!

Maria Avgustovna Davidova (1863–?)

Hear my sinful prayer, For I am wounded in my soul.

I wait for you

I wait for you! The sunset has died, And night’s dark covers Are ready to descend And hide us.

I wait for you!

The night suffuses the sleeping world with fragrant mist, And this past day has said farewell to earth.

I am waiting! Tormented and in love I count each moment, Full of anguish and impatience I wait for you!

Томился долго, долго он, Печалью

14 Островок Op. 14 No. 2

Из моря смотрит островок, Его зеленые уклоны

Украсил трав густых венок, Фиалки, анемоны.

Над ним сплетаются листы, Вокруг него чуть плещут волны. Деревья грустны, как мечты, Как статуи, безмолвны.

Здесь еле дышит ветерок, Сюда гроза не долетает, И безмятежный островок

Konstantin Dmitriyevich Balmont (1867–1942), after ‘The Isle’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822) 15 Давно в любви Op. 14 No. 3

Давно в любви отрады мало:

Без отзыва вздохи, без радости слёзы; Что было сладко, горько стало, Осыпались розы, рассеялись грёзы.

Оставь меня, смешай с толпою!

Но ты отвернулась, а сетуешь видно, И всё ещё больна ты мною.

О, как же мне тяжко и как мне обидно!

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

The Little Island

There is a small island out in the sea, Its green slopes Are adorned by a wreath Of luxuriant grasses. Leaves interlace over the island, Waves barely splash. Trees are as sad as daydreams And silent as statues.

There breezes softly blow, Storms do not come, And this serene small island Sleeps and dreams.

16 Я был у ней Op. 14 No. 4

Я был у ней; она сказала:

«Люблю тебя, мой милый друг!»

Но эту тайну от подруг

Хранить мне строго завещала.

Я был у ней, на прелесть злата

Клялась меня не променять;

Ко мне лишь страстию пылать, Меня любить, любить, как брата.

Я был у ней; я вечно буду С ея душой душою жить.

Пускай она мне изменить, Но я изменником не буду.

Aleksey Vasilyevich Koltsov (1809–1842)

17 Эти летние ночи Op. 14 No. 5

I was with her

I was with her; she said: ‘I love you, my dear friend!’ But asked to keep her secret, To keep it as a sacred trust.

I was with her, she swore Never to trade out love for lure of gold, To love me with a burning passion, To love me as a brother.

I was with her; I will eternally Live as one with her soul, Though she be faithless, A faithless one I shall never be.

How fleeting is delight in love

How fleeting is delight in love, Sighs without answer, tears without joy, What was sweet has become bitter; Rose petals fell, dreams were dispersed. Leave me, let me merge with the crowd! But you turned away, saddened, it seems, Still wounded by me.

Ah, how burdened my heart, how painful!

Эти летние ночи прекрасныя,

Ярким светом луны озарённыя, Порождают тревоги неясныя,

Пробуждают порывы влюблённые.

Забывается скорбь необъятная,

Что даруется жизнью унылою, И блаженства края благодатные

Раскрываются тайною силою …

И открыли друг другу невластные

Над собою сердцамы влюблённыя, В эти летния ночи прекрасныя, Светом ярким луны озарённыя.

Daniil Maksimovich Rathaus (Ratgauz) (1868–1937)

Summer Nights

Beautiful summer nights, Resplendent in the light of the moon, Evoke vague anxieties, Awaken longings of love.

The immense sorrow

Of our desolate lives is forgotten And the graceful realms of happiness Are revealed to us mysteriously. We opened our hearts to each other, Helplessly in love, On that beautiful night in the summer, In the light of the moon resplendent.

18

Тебя так любят все Op. 14 No. 6

Тебя так любят все; один твой тихий вид Всех делает добрей и с жизнию мирит, Но ты грустна, в тебе есть скрытое мученье, В душе твоей звучит какой-то приговор; Зачем твой ласковый всегда так робок взор, И очи грустныя так молят о прощеньи, Как будто солнца свет, и вешние цветы, И тень в полдневный зной, и шопот по дубравам, И даже воздух тот, которым дышишь ты, Все кажется тебе стяжанием неправым?

You are so loved by all

You are so loved by all; your quiet look Warms everyone and reconciles with life; But you are sad, in you there is a hidden torment, And in your soul you hear a condemnation; Why is your tender gaze so timid, Your eyes so sad and beg forgiveness, As if the light of sun and flowers in the spring, And shade in midday heat and whispering woods, And even the very air you breathe All seem to you an undeserved gift?

20 О, не грусти! Op. 14 No. 8

О, не грусти по мне! Я там, где нет страданий

Забудь былых скорбей мучительные сны.

Пусть будут обо мне твои воспоминанья

Светлей, чем первый день весны.

О, не тоскуй по мне! Меж нами нет разлуки,

Я так же, как и встарь, душе твоей близка.

Меня попрежнему твои волнуют муки,

Меня гнетет твоя тоска.

Живи! ты должен жить!

И если силой чуда

Ты здесь найдёшь отраду и покой,

То знай, что это я

Откликнулась оттуда

На зов души твоей больной.

Oh, do not grieve

Oh, do not grieve for me! There is no suffering here, Forget the dreams and torments of sorrows past. Let your remembrances of me Be brighter than spring’s first day. Oh, do not grieve for me!

Between us there is no separation, For as of old I am close to your soul, I am still moved by your torments And feel your anguish. Live! You must live!

Не верь мне друг Op. 14 No. 7 Не верь мне друг, когда в избытке горя

Do not believe me, friend

Do not believe me, friend, when overwhelmed by grief

Aleksey Nikolayevich Apukhtin (1840–1893)

21 Она, как полдень, хороша Op. 14 No. 9

And if, with Heaven’s intercession, You find joy and peace, Then you will know that it is I Who answered from there the cry Of your wounded soul.

Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy

I say I do not love you any more! In ebb tide, do not think the sea capricious; It will return to earth, with love. And even now, impatient, with former passion filled, My freedom I will give to you again, As waves rush back with a returning murmur From far away to their beloved shore.

Она, как полдень, хороша, Она загадочней полночи.

У ней неплакавшия очи

И нестрадавшая душа.

А мне, чья жизнь борьба и горе, По ней томиться суждено. О!

Так вечно плачушее море В безмолвный берег влюблено.

Nikolai Maksimovich Minsky (Vilenkin) (1855–1937)

She is as beautiful as midday

She is as beautiful as midday, And more mysterious than midnight. Her eyes have not wept, Her soul has not suffered.

And I, whose life is grief and struggle, Am fated to yearn for her. O! Thus the eternally weeping sea Is in love with the silent shore.

Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy

моей душе Op. 14 No. 10

моей душе любовь восходит, Как солнце, в блеске красоты, И песни стройныя рождает, Как ароматные цветы.

В моей душе твой взор холодный То солнце знойное зажег.

Ах, если-б я тем знойным солнцем

In my soul

In my soul love rises

Like the sun in its brilliant beauty, And gives birth to melodious songs

As the sun brings forth fragrant flowers.

In my soul your cold gaze

Set afire this passionate sun. Oh! If I could with that passionate sun

Your cold gaze set afire!

24 Пора! Op. 14 No. 12

Пора! Явись, пророк! Всей силою печали, Всей силою любви взываю я к тебе!

Взгляни, как дряхлы мы, взгляни, как мы устали, Как мы безпомощны в мучительной

борьбе!

Теперь, иль никогда! … Сознанье умирает, Стыд гаснет, совесть спит. Ни проблеска

кругом, Одно ничтожество свой голос возвышает.

Semyon Yakovlevich Nadson (1862–1887)

Spring Waters

In the fields snow still lies, But torrents resound with the joy of spring, They surge and awaken the sleeping shore, Flowing, sparkling, proclaiming,

Proclaiming to all ends of the earth:

‘Spring comes, spring comes, We are heralds of spring, We are sent forth to say: Spring comes, spring comes!’

And the quiet, warm days of May

In a rosy, bright round dance

Crowd joyfully in spring’s steps.

25 Икалось ли тебе, Наташа?

Икалось ли тебе, Наташа, Когда шампанское я пил

Различных вкусов, свойств и видов, Разлучных возрастов и сил,

Когда в воронежских подвалах Я жадно поминал тебя,

Любя Наташу, поэтессу, Да и шампанское любя?

Здесь бьёт кастальский ключ, Питая небаснословною струёй;

Поэзия здесь вещь ручная;

It is time!

It is time! Come forth, O prophet! In sorrow And with love I call out to you!

See how we are feeble, how we are tired, How we are helpless in tormenting struggles! Now or never! … Thoughts are dying.

Shame dies, conscience sleeps, no ray of hope for us, And only the unworthy raise their voice.

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

Пять франков дай и пей, и пой!

Prince Pyotr Andreyevich Vyazemsky (1792–1878)

Were you hiccupping, Natasha?

Were you hiccupping, Natasha, When I was drinking the champagne

Of different tastes, attributes and classes, Of different ages and passions, When in Voronezh cellars

I greedily drank to you, Loving Natasha, poetess, Yea, and loving champagne too?

Here the Castalian key wells up Sustaining with an unfabulous stream, Poetry here is an everyday matter: Pay five francs, then drink and sing!

Nikolai Maksimovich Minsky

Судьба Op. 21 No. 1

С своей походною клюкой, С своими мрачными очами

Судьба, как грозный часовой, Повсюду следует за нами.

Бедой лицо её грозит, Она в угрозах поседела, Она уж многих одолела, И всё стучит, и всё стучит:

Стук, стук, стук! …

Полно, друг,

Брось за счастием гоняться!

Стук, стук, стук! …

Бедняк совсем обжился с ней:

Рука с рукой они гуляют, Сбирают вместе хлеб с полей, В награду вместе голодают.

День целый дождь его кропит,

По вечерам ласкает вьюга, А ночью с горя, да с испуга

Судьба сквоз сон ему стучит:

Стук, стук, стук! …

Глянь-ка, друг, Как другие поживают.

Стук, стук, стук! …

Другие праздновать сошлись

Богатство, молодость и славу,

Их песни радостно неслись,

Вино сменилось им в забаву:

Fate With her walking crutch And sombre eyes, Fate, like a stern watchman, Follows us. Her face forebodes misfortune, She has grown old in threats, Prevailing over many, And she continually knocks, continually knocks:

Tap, tap, tap! …

Enough, my friend, Give up pursuing happiness!

Tap, tap, tap! …

A poor man knows her well, For hand in hand they walk, They harvest fields together, As a result they hunger both.

Rain soaks him in the day, And evenings, blowing snow caresses him, And in his grief and fear, at night he hears Fate knocking in his sleep:

Tap, tap, tap! … Look, my friend, How others live, Tap, tap, tap! …

They celebrate their riches, Youth and fame. Their songs resound, And wine flows freely.

от злости, Судьба в окошко к ним стучит:

Стук, стук, стук! …

Новый друг

K

вам пришёл, готовьте место!

Стук, стук, стук! …

Но есть же счастье на земле!

Однажды, полный ожиданья, С восторгом юным на челе,

Пришёл счастливец на свиданье.

Ещё один он, всё молчит,

Заря за рощей потухает, И соловей уж затихает

А сердце бьётся и стучит:

Стук, стук, стук, Милый друг, Ты придёшь-ли на свиданье?

Стук, стук, стук! …

Но вот идёт она, И в миг любовь, тревога, ожиданье, Блаженство, всё слилось у них В одно безумное лобзанье!

Немая ночь на них глядит, Всё небо залито огнями.

А кто-то тихо за кустами

Клюкой докучною стучит:

Their feast proceeds in merriment, But suddenly, the guests grow pale … With a trembling hand, Fate spitefully knocks at their window:

Tap, tap, tap! …

A new friend

Came to your feast, prepare a place for her, Tap, tap, tap! …

But there is happiness on earth!

Once, full of expectation In youthful rapture

A lover came to meet his beloved.

He is still alone. All is silent. The sunset dims beyond the woods, The nightingale grows silent, His heart pounds and beats, Tap, tap, tap, Dear friend, Will you come to be with me?

Tap, tap, tap! …

She is coming, And all at once – love, anxiety, expectation Bliss – all flowed together Into one mad embrace!

Mute night watches them, The sky is filled with fiery lights And someone quietly, back of the bushes, Knocks with her persistent crutch:

Стук, стук, стук! … Старый друг

К вам пришёл, довольно счастья!

Стук, стук, стук! …

Aleksey Nikolayevich Apukhtin

2 Над свежей могилой Op. 21 No. 2 Я вновь один и вновь кругом

Все та же ночь и мрак унылый.

Tap, tap, tap! …

An old friend

Came to see you, enough of happiness! Tap, tap, tap! …

4 Они отвечали Op. 21 No. 4

Спросили они: «Как в летучих челнах

Нам белою чайкой скользить на волнах,

Чтоб нас сторожа недогнали?»

«Гребите!» Они отвечали.

Спросили они: «Как забыть, навсегда,

The Answer

Asked they: ‘How in fleeting boats Can we glide like white seagulls on waves So watchmen would not overtake us?’ ‘Row!’ They replied.

By the Grave

I am again alone; again, It is night; a gloomy darkness surrounds me.

Reflecting on my fate

Что в мире юдольном есть бедность, беда,

Что есть в нём гроза и печали?»

«Засните!» Они отвечали.

Спросили они: «Как красавиц привлечь

Asked they: ‘How can one forget, forever, This sorrowful world’s misfortunes and needs, Its sadness and storms?’ ‘Fall asleep!’ They replied.

Asked they: ‘How will beautiful girls

некого любить, Мне больше некому молиться!

3 Сумерки Op. 21 No. 3

Она задумалась. Одна, перед окном

Склонясь, она сидит и в сумраке ночном

Мерцает долгий взор; а в синеве

безбрежной

Темнеющих небес, роняя лучь свой нежный, Восходят звездочки безшумною толпой; И кажется, что там какой-то светлый рой

Таинственно парит и, словно

восхищенный, Трепещет над ея головкою склоненной.

Ivan Ivanovich Tkhorzhevsky (1878–1951), after Jean-Marie Guyau (1854–1888)

I stand by a fresh grave. What can I expect, why should I live, Why should I struggle and labour: I have no one to love, I have no one to adore!

Без чары: чтоб сами на страстную речь

Они нам в объятия пали?»

«Любите!» Они отвечали.

Lev Aleksandrovich Mey (1822–1862), after Victor Marie Hugo (1802–1885)

5 Сирень Op. 21 No. 5

Love us, without an illusion: and to our passionate words

They would be drawn into our embrace?’ ‘Love!’ They replied.

Twilight

She sits pensively, alone by the window. In the evening dusk, Her thoughtful look reflects The limitless blue of darkening skies. Stars silently rise In a luminous cloud

Which mysteriously ascends And dwells on her bowed head.

По утру, на заре, По росистой траве,

Я пойду свежим утром дышать;

И в душистую тень,

Где теснится сирень,

Я пойду свое счастье искать …

В жизни счастье одно

Мне найти суждено,

И то счастье в сирени живёт;

На зелёных ветвях,

На душистых кистях

Моё бедное счастье цветёт …

Lilacs

In the morning, at dawn

Through grass wet with dew, I will go to breathe the fresh air; In the fragrant shade

Where lilacs crowd

I will search for my happiness there … One happiness only

In my life I will find, And it dwells in a lilac bower; On green branches, In fragrant clusters, My meek happiness comes into flower …

Ekaterina Andreyevna Beketova (Krasnova) (1855–1892)

Semyon Yakovlevich Nadson

6 Отрывок из А. Мюссе Op. 21 No. 6

Что так усиленно сердце больное

Бьётся, и просит, и жаждет покоя?

Чем я взволнован испуган в ночи?

Стукнула дверь застонав и заноя …

Гаснущей лампы блеснули лучи …

Боже мой! Дух мне в груди захватило!

Кто-то зовет меня, шепчет уныло …

Кто-то вошел … Моя келья пуста,

Нет никого, это полночь пробило … О, одиночество,

Aleksey Nikolayevich Apukhtin, after Alfred Louis Charles de Musset (1810–1857)

7 Здесь хорошо Op. 21 No. 7

Здесь хорошо …

Взгляни, вдали

Огнём горит река;

Цветным ковром луга легли, Белеют облака.

Здесь нет людей …

Здесь тишина …

Здесь только Бог да я.

Цветы, да старая сосна, Да ты, мечта моя!

Glafira Adolfovna Galina (Einerling) (1870–1942)

Fragment from Alfred Musset

Why does my pained heart so intensely Beat, begging and thirsting for peace?

Why am I troubled, frightened in the night?

A door closed, groaning and sighing …

The lamp’s light flashed and died down …

Oh, my God! My spirit is faint!

Someone is calling me, whispering despondently …

Someone came in … But my room is empty, There is no one. It was midnight that struck …

Oh, loneliness! Oh, my distress!

За ласку нежную платил, И подлетал к руке приветной.

Но в свете страшно и любить:

Ему был дан дружок крылатый;

Чтоб милаго не пережить, Он

гробе скрылся от утраты.

On the Death of a Songbird

In this coffin my faithful siskin lies, Nature’s sweet creation, From earth’s peaceful province He flew away, as a fleeting dream. He lived on earth for love, And with a tender song, He returned our affection By flying up to a friendly hand.

But in this world one can be afraid to love: A winged friend was given to our siskin, But, so as not to survive his beloved, He stole away to the grave out of grief.

How peaceful

How peaceful …

Look there, in the distance

Shines the river like a flame; The fields lie like a flowered carpet.

Light clouds above us …

Here there are no people …

Here there is silence …

Here is only God, and I, Flowers, and an aging pine, And you, my dream.

Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky (1783–1852)

9 Мелодия Op. 21 No. 9

Я-б умереть хотел на крыльях упоенья, В ленивом полусне, навеянном мечтой,

Без мук раскаянья, без пытки

размышленья,

Без малодушных слёз прощания с землей.

Я-б умереть хотел душистою весною, В запущенном саду, в благоуханный день, Что-б купы темных лип дремали

надо мною, И колыхалася цветущая сирень.

Melody

When I die, would that it were on wings of rapture, In quiet somnolence, evoked by daydreams, No torments or regrets, no agonised reflections Or fainthearted tears of farewell to earth.

If I could only die in fragrant spring, In an old garden, on a sweet-scented day, With leafy arbours hushed above And flowering lilacs gently stirring …

Что-б

рядом бы ручей таинственным

журчаньем

Немую тишину тревожил и будил, И синий небосклон

торжественным

A brook’s mysterious murmur

Would waken and disturb the silence; The sky in solemn stillness

Of paradise eternal to me would clearly speak.

молчаньем

Об райской вечности мне внятно говорил …

Что-б не молился я, не плакал умирая, А сладко задремал, и чтобы снилось мне …

Что я плыву... плыву, и что волна немая

Беззвучно отдает меня другой волне …

Semyon Yakovlevich Nadson

10 Пред иконой Op. 21 No. 10

Она пред иконой стояла святою; Скрестилися руки, уста шевелились;

Из глаз ея слёзы одна за другою

По бледным щекам жемчугами катились.

Она повторяла все чьё-то названье,

И взор озарялся молитвенным светом;

И было так много любви и страданья,

Так мало надежды в молении этом!

Она преклонилась и долго лежала,

Прильнув головою к земле безответной,

Как будто в томленьи немом ожидала,

Что голос над нею раздастся приветный. Но было все тихо в молчании ночи, Лампада мерцала во мраке тревожном, И скорбно смотрели Спасителя очи На очи, просящия о невозможном.

Arseny Arkadyevich Golenishchev-Kutuzov

And I will not pray, nor weep when dying, But sweetly dream, and in that dream

A silent wave would carry And gently pass me on to another wave …

песней говорю, Бужу в нём искру Божью.

Aleksandr Vasilyevich Kruglov (1852–1915)

12 Как мне больно Op. 21 No. 12

I am not a prophet

I am not a prophet, nor a warrior am I, I am not a teacher of the world: By God’s grace I am a singer, The instrument I bear is a lyre. I perform the will of the Lord, I do not keep trust with a lie, I speak to hearts through a song, Waking in them the spark of God!

Before the Icon

She stood before the holy icon, Hands clasped, lips whispering, Glistening tears flowing Down her pale cheeks.

She repeated a name, many times, Her gaze brightened with prayerful light; There was much love and suffering, And so little hope in her prayer. She bowed down and remained thus, Touching her head to the silent earth, As if in quiet weariness she waited For a loving voice to be heard.

But the night was silent, The icon-lamp flame shone in the anxious darkness, And sorrowfully the eyes of the Saviour looked On the eyes of her asking for the impossible.

Как мне больно, как хочется жить …

Как свежа и душиста весна!

Нет! не в силах я сердца убить В эту ночь голубую без сна.

Хоть-бы старость пришла поскорей,

Хоть-бы иней в кудрях заблестел,

Что-б не пел для меня соловей,

Чтобы лес для меня не шумел,

Чтобы песнь не рвалась из души

Сквозь сирени в широкую даль,

Чтобы не было в этой тиши

Мне чего то мучительно жаль!

Glafira Adolfovna Galina

How pained I am

How pained I am, how I wish to live … How fresh and fragrant is spring!

No! My heart can’t be still On this moonlit, sleepless night.

If only old age would come soon, And frost in my hair would glisten, And the nightingale for me would not sing, And the forest to me would not murmur, And a song would not pour forth from my soul

Through the lilacs toward that expanse In this stillness tonight I would not About something be painfully sad!

звуков Op. 26 No. 1

Есть много звуков сердца глубин, Неясных дум, непетых песней много; Но заглушаеть вечно их во мне Забот немолчных скучная тревога. Тяжел ея непрошенный напор, Издавно сердце с жизнию боролось, Но жизнь шумит, как вихорь ломит бор, –Как ропот струй, так шепчет сердца голос.

Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy

Всё отнял у меня Op. 26 No. 2

отнял у меня казнящий Бог, Здоровье, силу, воли, воздух, сон.

тебя при мне оставил Он, Чтоб я Ему ещё молиться мог.

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

15 Мы отдохнем Op. 26 No. 3

Мы отдохнем! Мы услышим ангелов, мы

увидим всё небо в алмазах, мы увидим, как всё зло земное, все наши страдания

потонут в милосердии, которое аполнит

собою весь мир, и наша жизнь станет

тихою, нежною, сладкою, как ласка.

Я верую, верую... Мы отдохнем... Мы

отдохнем.

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860–1904), from Uncle Vanya

The Heart’s Secret (There are many sounds)

There are many sounds deep in my heart, Vague visions, many songs unsung, But they are always silenced in me By the tedious anxiety of unsilent cares. A burdensome and unwanted pressure –Long has my heart struggled with life, But life storms, as the wind of tempest breaks a forest, As a murmur of waters, so whispers my heart’s voice.

прощания Op. 26 No. 4

Так ты, моя Красавица, Лишилась вдруг

Two Farewells

How is it, my Lovely one

–

All was taken from me

All was taken from me by a punishing God, My health, my willpower, freedom and sleep. You alone He left to be by my side, So that I could still pray to Him.

ты

Разсталася, Прощалася?

Разсталась с ним

Я весело;

Прощалася,

Смеялася …

А он ко мне,

Бедня жечка,

Принал на грудь

Головушкой;

И долго так

Лежал, молчал;

Смочил платок

Горючими …

That you lost suddenly Two young men? Tell me now, How with the first one you Parted, Said farewell?

We shall rest

We shall rest! We shall hear the angels, we shall see the whole sky in diamonds, we shall see how all earthly evil, all our sufferings, will be submerged in mercy, which will fill the whole world, and our life will become tranquil, gentle, sweet, like a caress. I believe, I believe it shall be … We shall rest … We shall rest.

«Ну Бог с тобой!»

Промолвил мне;

Схватил коня

Поехал в путь –В чужих краях

Коротать век.

– I parted with him Merrily, Said farewell And laughed … And he, The poor one, Onto my breast laid His head; And long so Stayed, without a word; He wet his handkerchief With bitter tears … ‘Well, God be with you!’ He uttered, Mounted his steed, Went on his way, In alien lands To live alone.

ты над ним

Смеялася?

Его слезам

Не верила?

Скажи-ж теперь, Мудреная, Как ты с другим

Прощалася?

– And you did Laugh at him? His tears

Did not believe?

Tell me now, O clever one, How did you to the other one Say farewell?

– The other one was different … He did not weep, But even now I am still weeping. Oh, he embraced me So coldly, So distantly he spoke To me:

‘I will be gone, you see, But not for long, We’ll see each other yet And freely then We’ll weep.’

How can one’s heart Hear this farewell?

He waved his hand, Not bowing, Into my eyes Not looking, He raced his steed And sped away!

Aleksey Vasilyevich Koltsov

Whom will you

Remember

In your heart

My lovely one?

– The first one

I feel sorry for; But love I will The latter!

шумящий круг столицы.

Пора в родимый край, пора в лесную глушь!

Ты слышишь? нас зовёт на волю

из темницы

Весны победной шум и пенье птиц …

К чему-ж нам усмирять души

волшебные порывы?

Иль разлюбила ты желтеющия нивы, И рощи свежия, и хмурые леца,

Где, помнишь, мы вдвоем задумчиво

блуждали

В вечерний час, когда темнеют небеса, И молча бродит взор в тумане

спящей дали?

Arseny Arkadyevich Golenishchev-Kutuzov

Let us leave, my sweet

Let us leave, my sweet, the noisome life in the city, It is time to leave for home and forest glades!

Listen! We are called to flee our prison, Called by the sounds of spring and songs of birds …

Why should we still our souls’ enchanted yearnings?

Do you no longer love the ripening fields, Green groves, dark forests,

Where, remember, we roamed pensively In the evening hour, when skies darken, And silently our gaze wandered in the mist of sleeping distance?

Христос воскрес Op. 26 No. 6

«Христос воскрес» поют во храме; Но грустно мне … душа молчит. Мир полон кровью и слезами, И этот гимн пред алтарями Так оскорбительно звучит.

Когда-б Он был меж нас и видел, Чего достиг наш славный век, Как брата брат возненавидел, Как опозорен человек, И если б здесь, в блестящем храме «Христос воскрес» Он услыхал, Какими б горькими слезами, Перед толпой Он, зарыдал!

Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

19 К детям Op. 26 No. 7

Бывало, в глубокий полуночный час, Малютки, приду любоваться на вас; Бывало, люблю вас крестом знаменать, Молиться, да будет на вас благодать, Любовь Вседержителя Бога.

Стеречь умиленно ваш детский покой, Подумать, о том, как вы чисты душой, Надеяться долгих и счастливых дней Для вас, беззаботных и милых детей, Как сладко, как радостно было!

Christ is risen

‘Christ is risen!’ they sing in church. But I am sad … my soul is silent. The world is full of spilt blood and tears, And this hymn before the altars Sounds so offensive.

If only He were among us and saw What our glorious age has achieved, How brother came to hate his brother, How disgraced is man, And if, here in this resplendent temple, ‘Christ is risen’ He were to hear, With such bitter tears He would begin to sob before the crowd!

комнате жизни, кроватка пуста, В лампаде погас пред иконою свет … Мне грустно, малюток моих уже нет! И сердце так больно сожмется!

О, дети! В глубокий полуночный час, Молитесь о том, кто молился о вас, О том, кто любил вас крестом знаменать;

Молитесь, да будет и с ним благодать, Любовь Вседержителя Бога.

Now, when I come: it is dark everywhere, There is no life in this room, the small bed is empty, The light before the icon died down … I am sad, my little ones are gone! And my heart distressed!

Oh, children! In the still midnight hour Pray for him who prayed for you, For him, who blessed you with the sign of the cross, Pray that he too will receive grace And the love of Almighty God.

To my Children

Long ago, in the still midnight hour I would come to gaze upon you, my children; Long ago, I would bless you with the sign of the cross, And pray that with you would abide The grace and the love of Almighty God.

I watched tenderly over your innocent rest, And thought how pure you are in your soul, Hoping for a long, happy life

For you, my carefree, dear children. How sweet, how joyful it was!

20 Пощады я молю! Op. 26 No. 8

Пощады я молю! Не мучь меня, весна, Не подходи ко мне с болезненною лаской, И сердца не буди от мертвенного сна

Своей младенческой, но трогательной

сказкой.

Ты видишь, как я слаб, о, сжалься

надо мной!

Меня томит и жжет твой ветер

благовонный, Я дорого купил забвенье и покой, Оставь же их душе, страданьем

утомленной …

Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

I beg for mercy

I beg for mercy! Do not torment me, spring, Do not approach me with your pained caress, And do not wake my heart from deathly slumber With your childlike, but moving tale. You see how weak I am, Oh, take pity! I am parched and burnt by your fragrant wind, I dearly bought oblivion and peace, Leave them to my soul, by suffering wearied …

Aleksey Stepanovich Khomyakov (1804–1860)

одинок Op. 26 No. 9

Как светла, как нарядна весна! … Погляди мне в глаза, как бывало, И скажи: отчего ты грустна, Отчего ты так ласкова стала?

Но молчишь, ты, слаба, как цветок …

О молчи! Мне не надо признанья … Я узнал эту ласку прощанья …

опять одинок!

Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin (1870–1953)

окна Op. 26 No. 10

окна черемуха цветет, Цветет задумчиво под ризой

веткой свежей и душистой

трепещущих воздушных лепестков

радостно ловлю веселое дыханье,

сладкий аромат туманит мне сознанье,

песни о любви они поют без слов …

Glafira Adolfovna Galina

I am alone again

How bright, how elegant is spring! … Look into my eyes, as often before, And tell me: why are you so sorrowful, Why have you become so caring?

But you are silent – weak like a flower … Be silent then! I need no confession … I recognise this tenderness of farewell …

I am alone again!

к небу, он

Коснулся высоты заветной –

И снова пылью огнецветной

Ниспасть на землю осужден …

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

At my window

At my window a bird-cherry blossoms, Blossoms pensively in its silvery raiment …

And with its fresh and fragrant branch

It inclines and beckons …

Of its quivering, ethereal petals

I joyfully take in the cheerful breath, Their sweet fragrance obscures my consciousness,

And they sing love songs without words …

24

Ночь печальна Op. 26 No. 12

Ночь печальна, как мечты мои …

Далеко, в глухой степи широкой,

Огонек мерцает одинокий …

В сердце много грусти и любви.

Но кому и как разскажешь ты,

Что зовёт тебя, чем сердце полно?

Путь далек, глухая степь безмолвна, Ночь печальна, как мои мечты.

Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin

The Fountain

See, like a living cloud

The shining fountain swirls, How its moist spray Blazes and disperses in the sunlight.

A shaft of it, having risen toward heaven, Touched the longed-for heights –But it is destined to fall again, In fiery dust, to earth …

Night is sorrowful

Night is sorrowful, as my dreams are …

Far away, in the deep and spacious steppe Glows a solitary light …

In my heart there is much sadness and much love.

But to whom and how does one explain, What beckons, what fills one’s heart?

The path is long, the silent steppe remote, Night is sorrowful, as my dreams are.

Вчера мы встретились Op. 26 No. 13

Вчера мы встретились: она остановилась

Я также … Мы в глаза друг другу

посмотрели … О Боже! как она с тех пор переменилась, В глазах потух огонь, и щёки побледнели …

И долго на неё глядел я, молча, строго …

Мне руку протянув, бедняжка улыбнулась;

Я говорить хотел; она же ради Бога,

Велела мне молчать, и тут же отвернулась,

И брови сдвинула, и выдернула руку, И молвила: «Прощайте, до свиданья!»

А я хотел сказать: «На вечную разлуку

Прощай, погибшее, но милое созданье!»

Yakov Petrovich Polonsky (1819–1898)

26 Кольцо Op. 26 No. 14

Я затеплю свечу

Воску ярова, Распаяю кольцо

Друга милова …

Загорись, разгорись, Роковой огонь!

Распаяй, растопи

Чисто золото!

Без него для меня Ты не надобно;

Без него на рук

Камен на сердце.

Yesterday we met

Yesterday we met: she stopped And so did I … We looked into each other’s eyes … My God! How she has changed since then, Her eyes have lost their light, her cheeks were pale … And long I looked at her, silently, severely … She gave me her hand, sadly smiled, I wished to speak; but she implored me To be silent, turned away And frowned, took her hand from mine And said: ‘Farewell, goodbye!’

But I wished to say: ‘We part forever, Farewell, lost but dear soul!’

Что взгляну, то вздохну, Затоскуюся.

И зальются глаза

Горьким горем слёз.

Возвратится ли он?

Или весточкой

Оживит ли меня, Безутешную?

Нет надежды в душе …

Ты разсыпься же

Золотой слезой, Память милова!

Невредимо, черно

На огне кольцо,

И звенит по столу

Память вечную …

Aleksey Vasilyevich Koltsov

The Ring

I will light a candle

Of pure wax, Will undo the ring

Of my beloved …

Burn, burn fiercely, Fateful fire!

Undo and melt

This pure gold! Without my beloved I do not need you. Without the ring on my hand

My heart is heavy.

27

Проходит все Op. 26 No. 15

Проходит все, и нет к нему возврата.

Жизнь мчится вдаль, мгновения быстрей.

Где звуки слов, звучавших нам когда-то?

Где свет зари нас озарявших дней?

Расцвел цветок, а завтра он увянет.

Горит огонь, чтоб вскоре отгореть …

Идет волна, над ней другая встанет …

Я не могу веселых песень петь!

When I look at the ring, I sigh And grieve, Bitter tears Fill my eyes. Will he return?

Or with a word will he Gladden me, So inconsolable?

There is no hope in my soul … Then dissolve

Like a golden tear, The memory of my beloved!

Intact and blackened By the fire is my ring And falling on the table it knells Eternal memory …

Everything passes

Everything passes, and to the past there is no return. Life rushes on, faster than an instant.

Where are the sounds of words which once to us resounded?

Where is the light of dawn which brightened us?

A flower blossoms, tomorrow it will fade.

A fire burns, soon to die out …

A wave appears, another wave will rise above it … And joyful songs I cannot sing!

Daniil Maksimovich Rathaus

28

Письмо К.С. Станиславскому от

С. Рахманинова

Дорогой Константин Сергеевич, я поздравляю Вас от чистой души, от

всего сердца! За эти десять лет Вы шли всё вперёд и вперёд, и на этом пути Вы

нашли, «Синюю птицу!» Она Ваша лучшая

победа! Теперь я очень сожалею, что я не

в Москве что я не могу, вместе со всеми,

Вас чествовать, Вам хлопать, кричать

Вам на все лады: «Браво, браво, браво!»

И желать Вам многая лета, многая лета,

многая, многая лета! Прошу Вас передать

всей труппе мой привет, мой душевный

привет.

Ваш Сергей Рахманинов.

Дрезден, 14 октября 1908 г.

Postscriptum. Жена моя мне вторит.

Sergei Vasilyevich Rachmaninov (1873–1943)

A Letter to K.S. Stanislavsky from S. Rachmaninov

Dear Konstantin Sergeyevich, I congratulate you sincerely, from all my heart! These last ten years you moved forward, forward and forward, and on this path you have found ‘The Blue Bird’! It is your greatest victory! Now I am very sorry that I am not in Moscow, that I am not able, together with everyone, to honour you, to applaud you, to cry to you in all tones: ‘Bravo, bravo, bravo!’ And to wish you many years, many years, many, many years! I ask you to give to all the company my regards, my heartfelt regards.

Yours, Sergei Rachmaninov Dresden, 14 October, 1908.

PS My wife joins in my good wishes.

слабыми перстами, И гимны важные, внушенные богами, И песни мирныя фригийских пастухов.

С утра до вечера в немой тени дубов

Прилежно я внимал урокам девы тайной;

И

радуя меня наградою случайной,

Откинув локоны от милого чела,

Сама из рук моих свирель она брала.

Тростник был оживлен божественным

дыханьем

И сердце наполнял святым очарованьем.

Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin

2 В душе у каждого из нас Op. 34 No. 2

В душе у каждого из нас

Журчит родник своей печали;

Из ближних стран, из дальной дали

Ея приливы пробегали

В заветный миг, в блаженный час

В душе у каждого из нас.

The Muse

In my childhood she loved me

And handed me the flute of seven pipes; Smiling, she listened to me, And gently touching the soundholes of the hollow reed

With my weak fingers, I played already then Both solemn hymns inspired by the gods And songs of peaceful Phrygian shepherds.

From morn to evening in the groves’ mute shade, I heeded diligently the secret maiden’s words; And rejoicing me with unexpected favour, Having brushed back the curls from her sweet brow, She herself took the panpipes from my hands.

The reed was animated by divine breath And my heart filled with sacred enchantment.

In the soul of each of us

In the soul of each of us

Murmurs the wellspring of our sorrow; From nearby lands, from distant places Its waters surge

At that secret moment, that blessed hour In the soul of each of us.

Огнем страстей опалена

Душа не верит упоенью, Ни мимолетному влеченью, Ни безконечному забвенью

Не покоряется она, Огнем страстей опалена …

Моя любовь печаль моя,

ней солнца свет, в ней мрак неволи, В ней жизнь, в ней крик предсмертный

боли,

ней глубина паденья воли,

ней путь к вершинам бытия, Моя печаль любовь моя! …

(1868–1937)

3 Буря Op. 34 No. 3

Ты видел деву на скале,

одежде белой, над волнами, Когда, бушуя в бурной мгле.

Играло море с берегами,

Когда луч молний озарял

Её всечасно блеском алым, И ветер бился и летал

С её летучим покрывалом!

Прекрасно море в бурной мгле, И небо в блестках, без лазури;

Но верь мне: дева на скале

Прекрасней волн, небес и бури.

Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin

Burnt by the flame of passions, The soul does not believe the rapture; To enchantment fleeting Nor immense oblivion It does not surrender, Burnt by the flame of passions …

My love is my sorrow, In it there is the light of sun, the gloom of bondage, In it flows life, and sounds the cry of death, In it lies the depth to which the will can fall, In it leads a path to the heights of being, My sorrow is my love! …

4 Ветер перелётный Op. 34 No. 4

Ветер перелётный обласкал меня

И шепнул печально: «Ночь сильнее дня.»

И закат померкнул. Тучи почернели.

Дрогнули, смутились пасмурныя ели

И над темным морем, где крутился вал,

Ветер перелётный зыбью пробежал.

Ночь царила в мире. А меж тем далёко

За морем зажглося огненное око.

Новый распустился в небесах цветок,

Светом возрожденным заблистал восток.

Ветер изменился и пахнул мне в очи,

И шепнул с усмешкой: «День сильнее ночи!»

Konstantin Dmitriyevich Balmont

The Storm

I saw a maiden on a cliff, In white raiment, above the waves, When, surging in the stormy haze, The sea played with the shores; When lightning’s glow illumined her Continually with scarlet brilliance, And the wind soared and struggled With her flying veil!

Beautiful is the sea, in stormy haze, The sky in lightning streaks, sky without azure, But do believe me: the maid on the cliff Is more beautiful than waves, than heavens, than the storm.

5 Арион Op. 34 No. 5

Нас было много на челне: Иные парус напрягали,

Другие дружно упирали

В глубь мощны вёсла. В тишине, На руль склонясь, наш кормищик умный

В молчаньи правил грузный чёлн;

А я – беспечной веры полн

Пловцам я пел … Вдруг лоно волн

Измял с налёту вихорь шумный …

Погиб и кормщик и пловец!

Лишь я, таинственный певец,

На берег выброшен грозою.

Я гимны прежние пою,

И ризу влажную мою

Сушу на солнце под скалою.

Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin

A passing breeze

A passing breeze caressed me And whispered sorrowfully: ‘Night is more powerful than day.’

The sunset dimmed. Clouds darkened. Sombre firs shuddered and swayed. Over the dark sea, where waves wash ashore, A passing breeze flowed in a ripple. Night reigned in the world. But far away, Beyond the sea, a fiery eye was lit.

A radiant flower blossomed in the heavens, The east glowed with a renascent light. The wind changed, touched my face And whispered with a smile: ‘Day is stronger than the night!’

Arion

There were many of us in the bark: Some manned the sails, Others, as one, plunged the powerful oars Deep in the waters. In calm seas, Our wise helmsman, bent over the wheel, Guided the heavily laden bark. And I, trusting and carefree, Sang to the seafarers … Suddenly, the waves’ bosom Was crushed by a roaring whirlwind … The helmsman and the seamen perished. Onto the shore thrown by the storm, I sing the hymns I sang before, And my damp raiment I dry by the cliff, in the sun.

Apollon Apollonovich Korinfsky

7

6 Воскрешение Лазаря Op. 34 No. 6

Царь

Во

The Raising of Lazarus

O, my King and God! The word of power You had spoken in the time of yore –The bondage of the grave was shattered And Lazarus rose to life.

I pray the word of power will be sounded, That You will say ‘Arise’ to my soul, Dead, it will rise from the grave And will come forth into the radiance of Your light.

My soul will live, and the august voice

Ея хвалы раздастся глас, Тебе, сиянью

Отчей славы, Тебе умершему за нас!

Of its praise will resound, Praise to You, the radiance of our Father’s glory, to You, who died for us! It cannot be

Не

Она жива! … сейчас проснется …

Смотрите: хочет говорить, Откроет очи, улыбнется, Меня увидетвши, поймет, Что неутешный плачь мой значит, И вдруг с улыбкою шепнет:

«Ведь я жива! О чём он плачет!»

Но нет! лежит … тиха, нема, недвижна …

Apollon Nikolayevich Maykov (1821–1897)

It cannot be! It cannot be!

She is alive … now she will wake … Look: she is about to speak, Her eyes will open, she will smile, And seeing me, she will understand My grief, which no one can console, And then, with a smile, she will whisper:

‘I am alive! Why does he weep?’

But no! she lies … quiet, silent, still …

эти чудные звуки!

Захватила меня их волна …

Поднялась, подняла и неведомой муки

И

И

блаженства полна …

божественный лик, на мгновенье

Неуловимой сверкнув красотой,

Всплыл, как живое виденье

Над этой воздушной, кристальной

волной, И отразился, И покачнулся, Не то улыбнулся …

Yakov Petrovich Polonsky

9 Ты знал его Op. 34 No. 9

Ты знал его в кругу большого света

То своенравно-весел, то угрюм, Разсеян, дик иль полон тайных дум, Таков поэт – и ты презрел поэта!

На месяц вглянь: весь день, как облак тощий, Он в небесах едва не изнемог; Настала ночь, и светозарный бог, Сияет он, над усыпленной рощей!

How it hovers and grows, this wave of marvellous sounds!

It swept me away …

It rose, and filled with mysterious torment and with bliss, It lifted me up … And for an instant a divine image, A flash of elusive beauty

Glowed, like a living vision

Above this wave, ethereal and clear, And was reflected, And slightly moved, Perhaps it smiled … Perhaps it shed a tear …

The Poet (You knew him)

You knew him in society’s circles, Now wilfully lighthearted, now morose, Or lost in thought, unsociable, bearing a secret muse, Such is a poet – and you disdained a poet!

Glance at the crescent moon: all day, like a veiled cloud, It languishes in heaven; But night comes, and a light-bearing god, It shines above the grove, which has been lulled to sleep!

Не может быть! Op. 34 No. 7

день, я помню Op. 34 No. 10 Сей день, я помню, для меня

утром, жизненного дня. Стояла молча предо мною, Вздымалась грудь ея. Алели щеки как заря, Все жарче рдея и горя … И вдруг, как солнце золотое, Любви признанье молодое, Исторглось из груди ея, И новый мир увидел я!

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

Оброчник Op. 34 No. 11

Хоругвь священную подяв своей десной, Иду. И тронулась за мной толпа живая, И потянулись все по просеке лесной, И я блажен и горд, святыню воспевая.

Пою и помыслам неведом детский страх:

Пускай на пенье мне ответят воем звери, С святыней над челом, и песнью на устах, С трудом, но я дойду до вожделенной

двери.

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

The Morning of Life (I remember this day)

I remember this day, It was the morning of my life. Silently, she stood before me, Her breast rising, Her cheeks aglow like the dawn, Blushing and afire … Suddenly, as the golden sun, Love’s young confession Came from her breast, And a new world appeared before me!

голову закинь-ка, да взгляни:

Какая глубина и чистота над нами!

О, называй меня безумным! Назови, Чем хочешь: в этот миг я разумом слабею

И в сердце чувствую такой прилив любви, Что не могу молчать, не стану, не умею!

Я болен, я влюблён … Но, мучась и любя, О, слушай! о пойми! я страсти не

What happiness

What happiness: it is night, and we are alone!

The river is like a mirror, all glistening from starlight, And there, do toss your head, have a look: What distance and purity above us!

O, call me mad! Call me

What you will: at this moment my reason grows weak And in my heart I feel such a flood of love That I cannot keep silence, I will not be silent!

The Prophet

Lifting the holy banner in my arm

I walk. The multitude started moving after me, In slow procession, along the clearing in the woods. I am blessed and proud, hymning the holy things. I sing, and to my thoughts a child’s fear is unknown: If my hymn will be answered by a howl of animals, With holy banner over my head, and with a song on my lips, I will reach, though arduously, the longed-for portal.

скрываю, И я хочу сказать, что я люблю тебя, Тебя, одну тебя люблю я и желаю!

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

13 Диссонанс Op. 34 No. 13

Пусть по воле судеб я рассталась с тобой,

Пусть другой обладает моей красотой!

Из объятий его, из ночной духоты

Уношусь я далёко на крыльях мечты.

Вижу снова наш старый, запущенный сад:

Отражённый в пруде потухает закат, Пахнет липовым цветом в прохладе аллей,

За прудом, где-то в роще, урчит соловей …

Я стеклянную дверь отворила, дрожу, Я из мрака в таинственный сумрак гляжу …

Чу! там хрустнула ветка,

I ache, I am in love … But tormented and loving, O listen! O understand! I am not concealing my passion,

And I want to say that I love you, You, you alone I love and desire!

Dissonance

By the will of fate, I am parted from you, And another possesses my beauty! From his embrace, from the closeness of night I am carried far on the wings of my dream. Again do I see our old, overgrown garden, The sunset’s reflection dims in the pond, There’s a fragrance of lindens in the cool of the fields And beyond, in the grove, a nightingale sings … I open the glass door, I shiver, From a darkened house I gaze into the mysterious twilight …

Hark! a branch snapped, was it under your feet?

A bird shook its wings, was it you who startled it?

шелест шагов твоих тихо иду, Холодит мои члены то страсть, то испуг …

ты меня за руку взял, милый друг?!

ты осторожно так обнял меня!

Это твой поцелуй, поцелуй без огня. С болью в трепетном сердце, с волненьем

Ты не смеешь отдаться безумствам

любви, И, внимая речам благородным твоим,

I listen and anxiously wait, Then walk slowly toward the sound of your footsteps, My limbs are cold from passion or fear … You take me by the hand, dear friend? And embrace me so quietly!

Your kiss is a kiss without fire. Pained, anxious, impassioned, You dare not surrender to the maelstrom of love, And hearing your noble words, I dare not show my desire, I tremble and whisper: Oh, my beloved! Another possesses my wretched beauty!

From his embrace, from the closeness of night, I again fly away on the wings of my dream

To that garden, its darkness, to this bench, Where you first listened to my soul … I become one with your soul, My wretched beauty belongs to another. Vocalise

утро блеснет, Нежная девушка Зорька

Ивушке, плачущей горько, Слёзы кудрями сотрет.

Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (1880–1921), after Avetik Isahakyan (1875–1957)

16 К ней Op. 38 No. 2

Травы одеты перлами.

Где-то приветы грустные

Слышу, приветы милые …

Милая, где ты, Милая!

Вечера светы ясные, Вечера светы красные

Руки воздеты: жду тебя, Милая, где ты, Милая?

Руки воздеты: жду тебя,

В струях Леты смытую

Бледными Леты струями …

Милая, где ты, Милая!

At night in my garden

At night in my garden, A weeping willow laments, She can’t be consoled, My willow, sad willow tree.

Early morning will sparkle And Dawn, tender maiden, My willow’s tears, bitter tears, Will wipe with her tresses.

To her

Grasses are adorned with pearls. Somewhere, I hear calls, Sad calls, sweet calls … Sweet one, where are you, my sweet!

Clear lights of the evening, Radiant lights of the evening!

My arms are uplifted: I await you, Sweet one, where are you, my sweet?

My arms are uplifted: I await you, In the streams of Lethe forgotten By the pale streams of Lethe … Sweet one, where are you, sweet one!

Andrey Bely (Boris Nikolayevich Bugayev) (1880–1934)

Маргаритки Op. 38 No. 3

О, посмотри, как много маргариток И там, и тут, Они цветут, их много, их избыток. Они цветут.

лепестки трехгранные, как крылья, Как белый шолк.

Daisies

Oh, look, how many daisies Both here and there.

They blossom, they blossom in abundance.

Their three-edged petals are like wings, Like whitened silk.

The summer’s essence fills them! Joy of abundance

In their radiant multitude.

Готовь, земля, цветам из рос напиток, Дай сок стеблю …

О, девушки, О, звезды маргариток, Я вас люблю!

Igor Severyanin (Igor Vasilyevich Lotaryov) (1887–1941) 18 Крысолов Op. 38 No. 4

Я на дудочке играю, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля, И на дудочке играю, Чьи-то души веселя.

Я иду вдоль тихой речки, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля, Дремлют тихия овечки, Кротко зыблются поля.

Спите, овцы и барашки, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля, За лугами красной кашки Стройно встали тополя.

Earth, prepare a draught of dews for these flowers, Give life to their stalk …

Oh, maidens, O, stars of daisies, I love you!

Милой девушке приснится, Что ей душу отдал я.

И на нежный зов свирели, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля,

Выйдет словно к светлой цели, через сад, через поля.

И в лесу под дубом тёмным, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля,

Будет ждать в бреду истомном, В час, когда уснёт земля.

Встречу гостью дорогую, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля,

Вплоть до утра зацелую,

Сердце лаской утоля.

There a small house is hidden, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, A sweet maiden will dream That my soul I gave to her.

To the tender call of reed pipe, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, She will come as to a bright star, Through the garden, through the fields.

Under a dark oak, in the forest, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, She will wait in a languorous dream, At the hour when earth falls asleep.

I will meet the cherished guest, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, Till the morning I will kiss her, My heart quenched with caresses.

The Pied Piper

I am playing my pipe, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, I am playing my pipe, Making some souls merry.

I am walking along a quiet river, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, Gentle lambs doze, Fields softly wave.

Sleep, sheep and lambs, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, Beyond meadows of red clover Slender poplars rise.

И, сменившись с ней колечком, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля,

Отпущу её к овечкам, В сад, где стройны тополя.

Тра-ля-ля-ля!

Valery Yakovlevich Bryusov (1873–1924)

And, exchanging rings with her, Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, I will let her go, to the lambs, Into the garden, where poplars rise.

Tra-la-la-la!

Малый домик там таится, Тра-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля,

Fyodor Sologub (Fyodor Kuzmich Teternikov) (1863–1927)

Sleep

In this world there is nothing More desired than sleep, Sleep has enchantments And peace. On its lips Neither sorrow nor laughter, In its fathomless eyes Secret pleasures abound. It has wings, Wide wings, They are light, so light, As the midnight mist. How does it carry us, Whence and on what?

Its wings do not open And its body is still. ‘A-oo’

Your gentle laughter was a fleeting fairy tale, It enticed, as sounds of reed pipe entice into a dream, And so with a wreath, with verses I adorn you, Let us go, let us flee together to the mountainside.

Konstantin Dmitriyevich Balmont

All translations © Natalia Challis, from The Singer’s Rachmaninoff

But where have you gone?

Only the sounds of mountain tops resound. In midst of day, a flower lights the candle of another flower, And someone’s laughter entices me forever deeper.

I sing, I search, ‘A-oo, a-oo’ I cry.

Biographies

Born in Russia, Evelina Dobraceva studied accordion, conducting and teaching at the College of Music in her hometown of Syzran, graduating with a diploma in 1994. In 2000, she began studying voice at the Hanns Eisler Music College in Berlin, working with household names such as Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Thomas Quasthoff and Peter Konvitschny. Evelina received the highest level of scholarship from the German Republic in 2004 and again in 2006 and was prize winner at the Würzburg Mozart Competition in 2006. She is well known in theatres in Europe; her roles have included Micaela (Carmen ), Vitellia (La Clemenza di Tito ), Violetta (La Traviata ), Odabella ( Attila ), and Emma (Khovanshchina ).

Evelina will make her US debut in concerts with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra including one in Carnegie Hall, and also makes her Wigmore Hall debut, all in 2014. Evelina has worked with world renowned conductors such as Edward Gardner, Vladimir Jurowski and Fabio Luisi and has sung in prominent venues such as Philharmonie Berlin, Wiener Konzerthaus, Royal Festival Hall and St Paul’s Cathedral, London. Her discography includes Dargomizhsky’s Rusalka recorded with the Westdeutsche Rundfunkorchester conducted by Michail Jurowski and Britten’s War Requiem conducted by Jaap van Zweden and the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra.

Renowned for her sparkling soprano and charming stage presence, Ekaterina Siurina is already establishing herself as one of the leading sopranos of her generation. She regularly sings in top houses including Covent Garden, Wiener Staatsoper, Deutsche Staatsoper Berlin, Opera de Paris, the New York Met and the Salzburg Festival. Ekaterina’s calling card roles include Gilda (Rigoletto ), Ilia (Idomeneo ), Ann Trulove (The Rake’s Progress ), Adina (L’elisir d’amore ), Amina (La Sonnambula ), and Giulietta (I Capuleti e i Montecchi ). Ekaterina has worked with numerous conductors including Evelino Pidò, Daniel Oren, Philippe Jordan, Sir John Eliot Gardiner and Richard Bonynge. Her debut solo album Amore e Morte was released on Opus Arte recently and features songs by Verdi, Bellini, Donizetti and Rossini.

After initial studies at Lithuania’s Academy of Music and Theatre, Justina Gringyte joined the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama and London’s National Opera Studio. She is a former Samling Scholar and was a member of the Jette Parker Young Artists Programme in the 2011/12 and 2012/13 seasons. For the Royal Opera House Covent Garden, her roles have included Flora (La

Traviata ), Third Nymph (Rusalka ), Maddalena (Rigoletto ) in the Plácido Domingo Gala, Third Innocent (The Minotaur ), Albina (La Donna del Lago), Maddalena (Il Viaggio a Reims ), and Suzy (La Rondine ). In 2013–14, Justina returns to the Royal Opera House as Flower Maiden in Parsifal and makes house debuts with English National Opera as Maddalena (Rigoletto ) in a new production by Christopher Alden, and with Welsh National Opera as Fenena (Nabucco ). The production will be also be presented at the Savonlinna Festival. She will return to the Royal Opera House in 2014/15 as Maddalena.

Daniil Shtoda has been described as a ‘wunderkind’ with comparisons to Gedda, Wunderlich and other noted lyric tenors of the past. Daniil has appeared at many great venues such as Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Washington Opera, Aixen-Provence Festival, Théâtre du Châtelet Paris,, Metropolitan Opera New York, Royal Opera House Covent Garden, Gran Teatre del Liceu Barcelona, Concertgebouw Amsterdam, Verbier Festival, Carnegie Hall, San Diego Opera, Mozarteum Salzburg, Salzburg Festival, Teatro Carlo Felice Genoa, Bayerische Staatsoper München, Canadian Opera, the Edinburgh Festival, Wigmore Hall and St John’s Smith Square. He has recorded for EMI Classics and Deutsche Grammophon.

The young Ukrainian baritone Andrei Bondarenko has been a member of the Mariinsky Academy of Young Singers since 2007. Despite his young age he has already won prizes in many international competitions including the 2011 BBC Cardiff Singer of the World song prize, the 2006 International RimskyKorsakov competition and the first prize at the international vocal competition ‘Art in the 21st Century’ in Vorzel (Ukraine). He has recently given his role debuts as Billy in Billy Budd at the Mikhailovsky Theatre, St. Petersburg and as Eugene Onegin at the Bolshoi Theatre, Minsk. He will also sing the Count in Le Nozze di Figaro at Perm Opera, recorded on the Sony Classics label. He has also sung Yeletzky in Pique Dame with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Vladimir Ashkenazy. Andrei continues his relationship with Gary Matthewman after their successful collaboration at Carnegie Hall, giving recitals in England and Italy. Future seasons include the title role in Onegin at Glyndebourne Festival Opera as well as Cologne Opera. Andrei made his North American debut singing a solo recital in Carnegie Hall, New York (Weill Hall), he had his role debut as Pelléas in Pelléas et Mélisande at the Mariinsky Theatre under the baton of Valery Gergiev; his Glyndebourne touring Opera debut as Malatesta in Don Pasquale (conducted by Enrique Mazzola); and returned in summer 2012 to the Glyndebourne

Festival Opera to sing his first Marcello in La Bohème (Kirill Karabits). He sang in a new theatre/opera project by Michael Sturminger

The Giacomo Variations alongside John Malkovich and has toured with Larissa Gergieva in France, Switzerland, England and Scotland. Andrei took part in the Salzburg Festival Young Singers Project, where he worked intensively with Michael Schade and received masterclasses with Christa Ludwig, Marjana Lipovšek and Thomas Quasthoff. He has since appeared at the festival in Gounod Roméo et Juliette (Yannik Nézet-Seguin) and Le Rossignol (Ivor Bolton and the Mozarteumorchester Salzburg).

Born in Moscow, baritone

Rodion Pogossov joined the Lindemann Young Artist Development Program making his Carnegie Hall debut with the Metropolitan Opera Chamber Ensemble singing Stravinsky’s Renard under the inimitable baton of James Levine the following season. Now at the top of his career Rodion performs regularly in houses around the world including the Metropolitan Opera, where he has sung roles such as Guglielmo (Così fan tutte ), Figaro (Il Barbiere di Siviglia ) and Papageno (Die Zauberflöte ), and the Hamburgische Staatsoper where he recently sung Valentin (Faust ), Posa (Don Carlos ) and Figaro (Il Barbiere di Siviglia ).

He is also a wonderful recitalist; solo appearances have included performances at the Concertgebouw Amsterdam, St. John’s Smith Square, National Concert Hall Russia, Vara Konserthus Sweden, Suntory Hall, Tokyo and the Vancouver Recital Society. This season Rodion will also make his debut at the Wigmore Hall. Rodion has recorded for the prestigious EMI Debut Series and his solo recital disc, which includes songs by Rachmaninov, Mahler, Tchaikovsky and Grieg, received great acclaim. In the 2013/14 season Rodion will make his debut with LA Opera singing Papageno in Die Zauberflöte and in the forthcoming seasons will also sing his calling card role of Figaro (Il Barbiere di Siviglia).

Alexander Vinogradov made his debut at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow at the age of 21. Since then he has established a remarkable career and has won numerous prizes in international singing competitions. He is a regular guest at the Deutsche Staatsoper Berlin and he has also performed with the Royal Opera House Covent Garden, Dresden Semperoper, Teatro Teresa Carreño, Caracas, Opéra Bastille Paris, Palau de les Arts, Valencia, Teatro Real Madrid, Opera National de Paris, Théâtre du Châtelet, the City of London Festival, the Academy of St Martin in the Fields, Ravinia Festival, Baltimore Symphony and Chicago Symphony Orchestra as well as the

Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra, to name just a few. Recent concert highlights include the Glagolitic Mass with Sir Mark Elder and the Hallé Orchestra in San Sebastián, Shostakovich’s Thirteenth Symphony at Paris Opera with Philippe Yordan and Fourteenth Symphony with Vasily Petrenko and the Liverpool Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony with Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra and Shostakovich’s Song of the Forests with Fundación Principe de Asturias. Operatic highlights include Escamillo in Carmen at Royal Danish Opera and Opéra de Toulon, Don Basilio at Deutsche Staatsoper Berlin and Aalborg Kongres & Kultur Center, and Gremin (Eugene Onegin ) in Teatro Reggio di Torino.

As a recitalist he is much in demand having given recitals in Moscow, St Petersburg, Dresden, Berlin (Deutsche Staatsoper) and Jerusalem. He continues to work with Svetlana Nesterenko.

Interweaving roles as pianist and Sony Award-winning radio presenter with equal aplomb, Iain Burnside (‘pretty much ideal’ – BBC Music Magazine ) is also a master programmer with an instinct for the telling juxtaposition. His recordings straddle an exuberantly eclectic repertoire ranging from Schoenberg and Copland to Debussy and Judith Weir with a special place reserved for the highways and byways of English song,

as acclaimed recordings of Britten, Finzi, Ireland, Butterworth, Parry, Shaw and Vaughan Williams have all proved. He also enjoys a close association with Rosenblatt Recitals, both on stage and in the studio. For Guildhall School of Music and Drama Burnside has written and devised a number of highly individual theatre pieces. Lads in their Hundreds, an exploration of war songs, played in London and at the Ludlow Weekend of English Song. A Soldier and a Maker, based on the life of Ivor Gurney, was premiered at the Barbican Centre, transferring to the Cheltenham Festival. Journeying Boys, developed in association with the Royal College of Music, will be performed in November 2013 in the Milton Court Theatre. In demand as teacher and animateur, Burnside also works at the Jette Parker Young Artists Programme at the Royal Opera House, the National Opera Studio and the Royal Irish Academy of Music. The Shadow Side, a disc of contemporary Scottish song with soprano Irene Drummond, came out on Delphian in 2011 (DCD34099) to great critical acclaim, while 2012/13 saw similar praise for the release of The Airmen, featuring the songs of Martin Shaw, with Sophie Bevan, Andrew Kennedy and Roderick Williams (DCD34105), Insomnia: a nocturnal voyage in song with the baritone William Berger (DCD34116), and From a City Window, songs by Hubert Parry with Ailish Tynan, Susan Bickley and William Dazeley (DCD34117).

Also available on Delphian

The Airmen: songs by Martin Shaw (1875–1958)

Sophie Bevan soprano, Andrew Kennedy tenor, Roderick Williams baritone, Iain Burnside piano

DCD34105

Despite a compositional career spanning both World Wars, remarkably little is known about Martin Shaw’s music. It has yet to enjoy the revival of interest that has benefited the legacies of close friends such as Ralph Vaughan Williams and John Ireland. Shaw’s songs range from the whimsical and effervescent to the deeply melancholic, and will be a revelation to many. In rescuing these gems from obscurity, Iain Burnside and his firstclass singers have given new life to an unjustly neglected figure.

‘Their style is bold, diatonic and memorably melodic … These performances, with Burnside the immaculate accompanist, are exemplary’ — The Guardian, March 2012

The Shadow Side: contemporary song from Scotland

Irene Drummond soprano, Iain Burnside piano

DCD34099

For many years Irene Drummond has been the leading exponent of contemporary song in Scotland. With her partner Iain Burnside – peerless in this music – she offers here a fascinating snapshot of her repertoire. From the rarefied sparseness of James MacMillan to the sustained luminosity of Paul Mealor and the emotionally charged dramatic outbursts of John McLeod, The Shadow Side explores a world of half-lights and brittle intensity.

‘… soprano Irene Drummond at her most breathtakingly stellar and seductive’ — The Herald, June 2011

‘Iain Burnside shares the credit for performances of total focus’

— BBC Music Magazine, October 2011

Insomnia: a nocturnal voyage in song

William Berger baritone, Iain Burnside piano

DCD34116

For his solo debut on disc, William Berger has devised an ingenious sequence of seventeen songs describing a sleepless night experienced by a man who reflects on his love for an unnamed woman. From Viennese classicism to fin-de-siècle Romanticism, shadowy English pastoral to the contemporary worlds of Richard Rodney Bennett and Raymond Yiu, this wide-ranging programme is brought to nuanced life by an outstanding young baritone, while the indefatigable Iain Burnside provides lucid and imaginative accompaniment. Together, their performances capture the full gamut of nocturnal emotions.

‘plays out its chronological narrative … with logical and psychological inevitability. Berger sustains a magnetic affection throughout the varied sequence, aided by Burnside’s deft pianism’

— The Scotsman, July 2012

From a city window: songs by Hubert Parry (1848–1918)

Ailish Tynan soprano, Susan Bickley mezzo-soprano, William Dazeley baritone, Iain Burnside piano

DCD34117

Recorded in the music room of Hubert Parry’s boyhood home, Highnam Court in Gloucestershire, this disc sees three of our finest singers shed illuminating light on an area of the repertoire that has rarely graced the concert hall in recent times. As English song came into full flower at the turn of the twentieth century, Parry’s substantial contribution to the genre became buried. Iain Burnside and his singers rediscover what has been forgotten by historical accident – and what a treasure chest of song they have found!

‘The emotional range of these songs, almost faultlessly conceived in terms of textual rhythm, reminds us of just how expert a songwriter and pioneer of the English art Parry was’

— Gramophone, April 2013