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JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Prelude from Suite for Cello in D, BWV 1012 March 24, 2019: Edward Arron, cello Bach most likely composed his Six Suites for unaccompanied cello, BWV 1007–1012, while serving as Kapellmeister at the court of Prince Leopold in Cöthen between 1717 and 1723. Precise dating is difficult because they survive, not in Bach’s own hand, but in a copy made later in Leipzig by his second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach. It is likely that the Suites were written either for Christian Ferdinand Abel or Christian Bernhard Linigke, both accomplished cellists and Cöthen residents. Estimation of their performing abilities is, in fact, considerably enhanced by the mere idea that Bach may have written these substantial works for one or the other of them. Though appreciated in some circles, as Forkel’s 1802 Bach biography makes clear, the Suites fell into quasi-oblivion along with much of Bach’s music in the decades following his death. Bach’s celebrated biographer Philipp Spitta gave them their due for their “serene grandeur” in his monumental study (1873–80), but they remained little known by the general public until they were championed by Pablo Casals in the early twentieth century. Bach’s forward-looking exploration of the cello’s potential unfolds within the traditional configuration of the Baroque suite, which consisted of old-style dances in binary form—allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue—with a newer-style optional dance movement, or Galanterie, interpolated before the final gigue. These interpolated dances in his cello suites consist of minuets, bourrées, or gavottes, and he prefaced each of the Suites with a Prélude. Throughout, Bach’s contrapuntal genius shows in his ability to project multiple voices and implied harmonies with what is often considered a single-line instrument. The Sixth Suite is unusual in that it was written for a five-stringed instrument. Was it the violoncello piccolo? viola pomposa? cello da spalla? In any case, the fifth string would have sounded a fifth higher than A, the highest string on a four-stringed cello. Any performance problems in playing this work on today’s four-stringed instrument—different tone quality from playing higher on the A string than Bach would normally have written, certain awkward double stops, or rapid string crossings (bariolage) requiring an open E string—have long since been solved. The extensive Prelude immediately proclaims the virtuosic nature of this Suite—the cello plays almost constant triplets except for a passage near the end when Bach employs doubled note values. Specified dynamic markings, used sparingly in Bach’s time, call for quick juxtapositions of loud and soft. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 547 December 5, 2021: Paul Jacobs, organ Dating has proved extremely elusive for this remarkably masterful, surprisingly underperformed work. Scholars have proposed dates as early as c. 1719, which would mean post-Weimar (see note for BWV 532 for more about Weimar) when Bach was in Cöthen serving Prince Leopold as Kapellmeister, and as late as the 1740s in Leipzig (see note for Sinfonia from Cantata 29 for more about Leipzig), with some middle ground as “by 1725” (early Leipzig). The complexity of both movements and the parallels between them argue for Leipzig, but Bach’s mixture of originality, tradition, and scattered similarities to various works surely account for the differing opinions. Both the Prelude and the Fugue employ short pithy motives that give no hint of the spontaneous excursions that Bach spins out nor what scholar Peter Williams calls their “carefully planned finality.” Each of the first three bars of the Prelude offers a distinct shape that proves recognizable in many variations throughout. The leaping jagged middle idea provides the basis for the leaping pedal, which never takes up the other two shapes. Bach creates the finality that will have its parallel in the Fugue with dramatic chords and a final sustained low pedal note that all point to home. The Fugue subject also operates in one-bar segments, seemingly unfolding as a four-voice fugue with each manual responsible for two of the voices and a palpable absence of pedal. Unusual for Bach, he presents five slightly varied expositions with imaginative ways of linking them and the sheer number of times we hear the subject in myriad ways is stunning. Suddenly, two-thirds of the way into the fugue, the pedal thunders out in a fifth voice with the subject in longer note values (augmentation) while the other four voices perform miraculous strettos and inversions of the subject—pure contrapuntal wizardry. The coda takes place over the same low home pedal that Bach employed in the Prelude, now providing even grander finality by sustaining to the very end. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

SARAH CROCKER VONSATTEL, VIOLIN Violinist Sarah Crocker Vonsattel has been a member of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra since 2008. She previously held positions in the Detroit Symphony Orchestra and the Colorado Symphony. Sarah has appeared as soloist with the musicians of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, the Syracuse Symphony, and the Cleveland Institute of Music Orchestra, among others. Recent performances include appearances at Lake Tahoe Summerfest, the Dame Myra Hess Concert Series, the Bronxville Chamber Music Series, Downtown Music at Grace Church, the New Marlborough House Concerts, and the Syracuse Society for New Music. As a founding member of the Verklärte Quartet, Sarah was a Grand Prize Winner of the 2003 Fischoff National Chamber Music Competition, leading to concert tours in the U.S. and Italy with this ensemble. A proponent of new music, Sarah has appeared with the iO string quartet and the Talea Ensemble and can be heard on the Bridge Records label performing the music of Poul Ruders and Tod Machover. She has appeared as both performer and faculty member at festivals including the Orfeo International Music Festival (Italy), the Wellesley Composers Conference (Massachusetts), and the Musical Friends Academy (Tunisia). She holds a Bachelor of Music degree from the Cleveland Institute of Music, where she was a student of David Updegraff, and a Master of Music degree from the Juilliard School, where she studied with Ronald Copes and Naoko Tanaka. In her spare time, she enjoys distance running and traveling.

SUNDAY, MARCH 26, 2017 AT 3 PM Jerusalem String Quartet BUY TICKETS JERUSALEM STRING QUARTET ”Superlatives are inadequate in describing just how fine this playing was from one of the young, yet great quartets of our time.” – The Strad FEATURING ABOUT THE PERFORMANCE BUY TICKETS On March 26 , the elegant Jerusalem String Quartet will make its Parlance debut. Strad Magazine characterized this ensemble in glowing terms, saying, “Superlatives are inadequate in describing just how fine this playing was from one of the young, yet great quartets of our time.” The first half of their program will be a study in contrasts, journeying from the winged exuberance of Haydn’s “Lark” Quartet in D to the scorching passions of Beethoven ’s “Serioso” Quartet in F minor. After intermission, Dvořák ’s valedictory string quartet in G major will bring the afternoon to a jubilant, sunlit resolution. PROGRAM Joseph Haydn Quartet in D, Op. 64, No. 5 (“The Lark”) Program Notes Ludwig van Beethoven Quartet No. 11 in F minor, Op. 95 (“Serioso”) Program Notes Antonin Dvořàk Quartet No. 13 in G, Op. 106 Program Notes The Jerusalem Quartet performs Beethoven’s Quartet in G, Op. 18, No 2, mvt 1: The Jerusalem Quartet performs Beethoven’s Quartet in G, Op. 18, No 2, mvt 2:

ALBERT CANO SMIT, PIANO A musician who has been praised as “a moving young poet” (Le Devoir), Spanish/Dutch pianist Albert Cano Smit enjoys a growing international career on the orchestral, recital, and chamber music stages. Noted for his captivating performances, storytelling quality and nuanced musicality, the First Prize winner of the 2019 Young Concert Artists Susan Wadsworth International Auditions has appeared as a soloist with the Las Vegas Philharmonic, the San Diego Symphony, Montréal Symphony, the Colorado Music Festival Orchestra, Chamber Orchestra of the Triangle, Orquesta Filarmónica de Boca del Río, Barcelona Symphony, Catalonia National Orchestra, Manchester Camerata, Nottingham Youth Orchestra, and American Youth Symphony. Recital highlights have included his Carnegie Hall debut presented by The Naumburg Foundation, his Merkin Concert hall debut presented by Young Concert Artists, recitals at San Francisco’s Herbst Theatre, Paris’ Fondation Louis Vuitton (the performance was streamed live globally), the Kennedy Center’s Terrace Theater in Washington, DC, Germany’s Rheingau Music Festival, and return performances at the Steinway Society in San Jose. He has been in residence at France’s Festival de Musique de Wissembourg for seven years, a piano fellow at Bravo! Vail Music Festival and Tippet Rise Art Center, and has had his recital debut in Asia at Xiamen’s Banlam Grand Theater. Albert has been presented in recital by Festival Bach Montréal, University of Florida Performing Arts, the Krannert Center (Urbana, IL), and Matinée Musicale (Cincinnati, OH). He recently premiered Katherine Balch’s “Spolia” with flutist Anthony Trionfo taking them to the Morgan Library and Carnegie Hall. Recent recitals with Trionfo have included the Alys Stephens Center, Kravis Center, Evergreen Museum & Library, and others. Cano Smit is set to continue touring with violinist William Hagen, with whom he has recorded the CD “Danse Russe”. During the 22-23 season Albert will appear in recital and chamber music performances at Merkin Hall (New York, NY), the Cosmos Club (Washington, DC), the Crystal Valley Concert Series (Middlebury, IN), Friends of Music Concerts (Sleepy Hollow, NY), Artist Series Concerts of Sarasota (Sarasota, FL), and Abbey Church Events (Lacey, WA), and will also participate in the inaugural chamber music ensemble of YCA on Tour. He will appear as soloist playing Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 4 in G Minor with the Seattle Symphony (Seattle, WA), Gershwin’s Concerto in F with the Aiken Symphony (Aiken, SC), and Beethoven’s “Emperor” Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major with the Elgin Symphony (Elgin, IL). An advocate for new music, Albert has premiered numerous solo works on his recital programs, commissioned for him by Stephen Hough, Miquel Oliu, and Katherine Balch. He has given four hand performances with Jean-Yves Thibaudet at the Wallis Annenberg Center Hall and Zipper Hall, taken part in the Jupiter Chamber Players in New York and the Bridgehampton Chamber Festival, and performed with such artists as Gary Hoffman, Andrej Bielow, Thomas Mesa, and Lev Sivkov. As a chamber musician, he has collaborated with such ensembles as the Ebene, Szymanowski, Casals, Cosmos, Gerhard, and Verona Quartets, and has released an album of Austrian viola music for Champs Hills with Emma Wernig. Albert was First Prize winner at the 2017 Walter W. Naumburg Piano Competition. Additional special prizes at the 2019 Young Concert Artists International Auditions include The Paul A. Fish Memorial Prize, the Alexander Kasza-Kasser Concert Prize for support of his Kennedy Center debut, the Friends of Music Concert Prize (NY), and the Sunday Musicale Prize (NJ). Born in Geneva, Switzerland, Albert recently completed an Artist Diploma with Robert McDonald at the Juilliard School, where he was awarded the 2020 Rubinstein Prize for Piano. Early on, he studied music at Montserrat mountain’s Escolanía de Montserrat choir, where he sang as an alto. Later, he studied piano with Graham Caskie, Marta Karbownicka, and Ory Shihor. He is an alum of the Verbier Festival Academy and holds a BA in Piano Performance from the Colburn School, as well as a MM from the Juilliard School. He currently resides in New York City.

ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK (1841-1904) String Quartet No. 13 in G major, op. 106 March 26, 2017: Jerusalem String Quartet Dvořák endured three homesick years in New York as director of the National Conservatory of Music, with one blissful sojourn in his beloved Czechoslovakia for the summer of 1894. When he again returned home for the summer of 1895, nothing could persuade him to return to America, yet despite feeling “inexpressibly happy,” he was unable to compose anything new for several months. Then in a great rush in November and December he completed the G major Quartet, op. 106, followed by the A-flat major, op. 105. The Bohemian Quartet gave the first performance of Opus 106 in Prague on October 9, 1896. The G major Quartet shows the composer embarking on a new path, and one wonders what would have followed these last two quartets had he lived beyond sixty-three years. Would he have developed a “late” style by continuing to work in short fragmented motives instead of extended melodic lines, and let his building of these motives increasingly dictate his forms? Would he have made even more bold harmonic experiments? Here in one of Dvořák’s finest first movements, he creates a first theme area from brief gestures—repeated leaps, trills, oscillating descending triplets and alternating chords—and a second idea that one commentator aptly described as “a funny little unison bear-dance motive.” The second theme, though more lyrical, also consists of fragments, based on a repeating four-note motive. His harmonic explorations here and his transformation of materials as he develops and recapitulates show consummate skill. The slow movement is one of chamber music’s most beautiful. Dvořák treats his poetic main theme—which shows a remnant of American influence in its pentatonic configuration—in a series of rich, free variations, alternating major and minor modes as he loved to do. The freedom of his conception, shaped more by pauses and pacing than by cadential divisions, lends an originality to his form and allows him to build to a impressive climax. In the galloping scherzo, Dvořák delights in certain unexpected features, such as the crazy duet between viola and cello that serves as an accompaniment to a new statement of the main theme. Another surprise is the “false” trio, in which the lyrical pentatonic melody first presented by the viola shows a kinship with the second movement’s main theme. The “real” trio introduces a gently rocking pastoral theme, punctuated by trills and fleeting arpeggios. The finale begins with a slow anticipation of its jolly, syncopated main theme. With great structural freedom, Dvořák strings together a series of themes that includes a more extended exploration of his slow introduction, which in turn brings a chain of developmental reminiscences from his first movement. It is fascinating to see Dvořák making further developments across movements, rather than including a development section proper. He rounds out the movement with a lusty recall of his exuberant main theme. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

JOSEPH HAYDN (1732-1809) String Quartet in B-flat, Op. 76, No. 4 (“Sunrise”) October 17, 2021: Escher String Quartet When Count Joseph Erdödy commissioned the Opus 76 Quartets in 1796, Haydn had recently returned to Vienna from the second of his highly successful London visits. He had always composed with confidence, but a certain new boldness in his style may have come from the realization that the entire Western world considered him the greatest living composer. The six “Erdödy” Quartets show formal experiments (continued, as mentioned above, in his Opus 77 quartets) both within or instead of sonata-form movements, a new profundity in their extremely slow-paced Adagios, fast “modern” minuets—scherzos in all but name—and more weight and novel tonal approaches in their finales. In June 1797 Haydn played some or all of the quartets on the piano for Swedish diplomat Frederik Silverstolpe, who considered them “more than masterly and full of new thoughts.” The Quartets were completed in time for a September 1797 performance at Eisenstadt as part of the grand festivities surrounding the visit of the Viceroy of Hungary, Palatine Archduke Joseph. Count Erdödy’s rights to the Quartets precluded their being published until 1799. That year English music historian Charles Burney wrote to Haydn that he “never received more pleasure from instrumental music: [the Quartets] are full of invention, fire, good taste, and new effects.” The B-flat major Quartet exudes the composer’s supreme confidence and originality: in one of the greatest openings in chamber music, the lovely first violin melody rises out of a chord sustained by the three lower instruments in a wonderful sunrise effect that earned the Quartet its nickname. Several commentators have remarked on the feeling of growth that this idea initiates in the movement. The continuation of the main theme brings great contrast with an energetic idea that fosters all the fiery passages in the movement, including the remarkable fortissimo bursts that close the exposition and recapitulation. The second theme uses the “sunrise” idea of the opening but in a kind of mirror image—the cello plays a winding descent as the others sustain the chord. Throughout the movement one hears the kind of mastery that so impressed Beethoven as he began writing string quartets with his Opus 18 series. Haydn’s Adagio somberly explores the possibilities of its first five notes. For a major-mode movement, this is one of the most dark-hued in the repertoire and seems to create a direct link with the poetic slow movements of Beethoven’s later quartets. Delicate filigree erupts not merrily but poignantly and the great downward leaps at the ends of sections seem to release but not totally relieve built-up tension. The second half, which begins like the opening, exaggerates these qualities with more filigree and wider plunges. For his fast Menuetto Haydn takes a little repeated two-note slur and fashions two entire sections from it. The second much longer section includes a varied return to the first, signaled by the little repeated slur in the cello—a nice bit of humor. Partway through this return, the focus again shifts briefly to the cello, soon followed by the viola. The Menuetto ends with another subtle touch of humor as twice the upward arpeggio fails to resolve in its own register. The contrasting trio evokes a truly rustic atmosphere with its folklike drones in the manner of a musette or bagpipes. The finale is a little masterpiece based on what some suspect is an English folk tune heard on his travels, but which he treats to sophisticated bits of contrapuntal and rhythmic manipulations. The matching first and third sections surround a no less jolly minor-mode section that contains several impish surprises. Following the return of the opening section Haydn takes us on an extended whirlwind ride, suddenly picking up speed only to shift to yet a higher speed for a virtuosic thrill. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Romance No. 2 in F major, op. 50 September 24, 2017: Sean Lee, violin; Michael Brown, piano Beethoven may have written his two Romances for violin and orchestra as potential slow movements for an unfinished concerto (WoO 5), but in the end he published them as separate pieces. The F major Romance may date from as early as 1798. In German, Romanze designates a songlike instrumental piece (specifically in alla breve meter or “cut time”), of which the French Romance is a special subcategory used for violin concerto slow movements by composers such as Viotti. Beethoven’s sweetly “singing” Romances clearly show his familiarity with this French style. The F major Romance is especially famous for its high range and sweet melodic line, which may partly account for its being played more often than its companion in G. Beethoven interjects contrasting orchestral sections at the ends of thematic statements, characterizing them with majestic long-short rhythms. He creates a wonderful touch at the end when his accompaniment provides a double echo of the solo violin’s last three notes. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

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HECTOR BERLIOZ (1803-1869) Les nuits d’été, op. 7 April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano The origins and inspirations for some of the most ravishing songs in the repertory are somewhat obscure. Berlioz composed Les nuits d’été (Summer Nights)—originally for voice with piano—in 1840–41 following his dramatic symphony Roméo et Juliette . The date March 23, 1840, appears on a manuscript copy of “Villanelle” and the cycle of six songs was published in the summer of 1841, but Berlioz never mentions them in his letters around this time. These are love songs of the highest Romantic order—Romantic referring to the period that saw the rise of lieder, or mélodie in France, as the ideal genre to express the countless images of buoyant hope, insatiable longing, and heartbreak that permeated Romantic poetry. Were Les nuits d’été really inspired by Berlioz’s mistress, Marie Martin (stage name Recio), as many have claimed? Berlioz began seeing Marie around this time and she accompanied him on his travels of 1842–43. Well aware of her limitations as a singer—she lasted only one season at the Paris Opéra—he still wrote vaguely positive reviews of several of her performances. She was the most frequent performer of “Absence,” the fourth song in the cycle, which he orchestrated specifically for her. Yet the many references to past love affairs and separations in the cycle make it difficult to link the settings too specifically with Marie. And, one would almost rather attribute these gorgeous outpourings to any other inspiration, in view of his unhappiness under her tenacious, jealous hold and her insistence on performing on his concerts over his opposition. Perhaps it was simple admiration for the poems of his friend and fellow critic Théophile Gautier that inspired Berlioz to such heights. He selected six poems from Gautier’s La comédie de la mort (The comedy of death)—two of a lighthearted nature, which he positioned first and last, and four in a more melancholy vein. The composer provided his own title, drawn from the poet’s images of night. The first song, “Villanelle,” is clearly a “daylight” song, but it sets up the happiness that will later turn to despair. Images of night appear repeatedly in the interior songs, even though “summer nights” are not specifically mentioned. In “La spectre de la rose” the ghost of a rose returns nightly to haunt the dreams of a young woman who wore the flower to a ball. In “Sur les lagunes” (On the lagoons), night envelops the lamenting lover. “Au cimitière: Clair de lune” (At the cemetery: moonlight) explicitly occurs at night, but also includes lovely images of shade and sunset. In 1843 Berlioz orchestrated “Absence” as a kind of appeasement offering to Marie, and she performed this version several times. It was not until 1856, however, that he orchestrated another of the songs, choosing “Spectre de la rose” for a February engagement with mezzo-soprano Anna Bockholtz-Falconi. Ecstatic over the performance, publisher Jakob Rieter-Biedermann asked Berlioz to orchestrate the remaining songs. The new versions were published later that year, each dedicated to a different singer who had impressed him in roles he had written. One wonders how it struck Marie (whom he had married in 1854) to learn that her “Absence” had been dedicated to Madeleine Nottès, his Marguerite in Faust. The songs have been performed countless times since and have long since been considered among Berlioz’s finest creations. “Villanelle” owes its infectious merriment to the simplicity of its melody and to the lightly repeated chords in the winds—an effect Berlioz had commented on in the second movement of Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony. Especially effective are the ends of the second and third verses (the first contains the same musical phrase, but without tempo fluctuations.) In the second the music slows at “et dis moi de ta voix si doux ” (and say to me in your soft voice), then resumes in a rush with “toujours ” (always). The third verse’s lovely image of returning with strawberries picked in the wood doesn’t really warrant the slowing and speeding up, but we are happy to hear the device again. The atmosphere changes immediately for “Spectre de la rose,” which employs longer spun-out phrases and a delicate orchestral texture of solo muted cello, paired flute and clarinet, and muted violin and viola background. The haunting images of the poem are made more poignant by Berlioz’s touches of nostalgic sweetness. Leaps are employed with tender expressiveness, and he finds just the right orchestral touches, as in the string tremolos at “Ce léger parfum est mon âme ” (This faint perfume is my soul). He ends ingeniously in simple recitative as the poet bestows his epitaph with a kiss. “Sur les lagunes,” the only minor-mode setting, presents a dark mood with its mournful half-step motive and repetitive accompaniment figure, which suggests the undulating of a boat on water. The grief-stricken lover cries out in a dramatic descent at the end of each verse: “Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! ” (Ah, without love to depart on the sea!) The song ends on an unresolved harmony—at sea, as it were. “Absence” also dwells on bereavement, that of separation, with the most exquisite lingering over the opening phrase. This phrase, which opens the refrain and therefore returns twice, is haunting in its unusual harmonization and its straining upward. The refrain also contains one of the most agonizingly beautiful peaks anywhere, leading to and attaining the word “loin ” (far). The intervening episodes contribute to the drama by building in a chanting style, the second at a higher pitch level than the first. Gentle pulsation characterizes the opening and closing sections of “Au cimitière,” with subtle harmonic shifts between major and minor. The middle section becomes more agitated (verses 3 and 4), and Berlioz makes a fitting response to the poet’s words about music bringing back a memory. The ending contains some gently clashing dissonances to reflect the “chant plaintif ” (plaintive song). Berlioz exuberantly portrays the high spirits and exoticism of the poet’s “L’île inconnue” (Unknown isle). We also hear undulating waves and the breeze whipping up. A hint of reflection follows the sailor’s admission to his fair companion that the faithful shore of eternal love is little known. Anywhere else is fair game, suggests the cheerful conclusion as the wind picks up and the waves are set in motion again. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Les nuits d’été Villanelle Quand viendra la saison nouvelle, Quand auront disparu les froids, Tous les deux nous irons, ma belle, Pour cueillir le muguet aux bois. Sous nos pieds égrenant les perles, Que l’on voit au matin trembler, Nous irons écouter les merles Siffler. Le printemps est venu, ma belle, C’est le mois des amants béni; Et l’oiseau, satinant son aile, Dit des vers au rebord du nid. Oh, viens donc, sur ce banc de mousse Pour parler de nos beaux amours, Et dis-moi de ta voix si douce Toujours! Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses, Faisons fuir le lapin caché, Et le daim au miroir des sources, Admirant son grand bois penché, Puis chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises, En paniers enlaçant nos doigts, Revenons, rapportant des fraises Des bois. Le spectre de la rose Soulève ta paupière close Qu’effleure un songe virginal Je sais le spectre d’une rose Que tu portais hier au bal. Tu me pris encor emperlée Des pleurs d=argent de l’arrosoir, Et parmi la fête étoilée Tu me promenas tout le soir. O toi, qui de ma mort fut cause, Sans que tu puisses le chasser, Toutes les nuits mon spectre rose À ton chevet viendra danser. Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame Ni messe ni De Profundis. Ce léger parfum est mon âme Et j’arrive du paradis. Mon destin fut digne d’envie, Et pour avoir un sort si beau Plus d’un aurait donné sa vie. Car sur ton sein j’ai mon tombeau, Et sur l’albâtre où je repose Un poète avec un baiser Écrivit “Ci-gît une rose Que tous les rois vont jalouser.” Sur les lagunes: Lamento Ma belle amie est morte. Je pleurerai toujours; Sous la tombe elle emporte Mon âme et mes amours. Dans le ciel sans m’attendre Elle s’en retourna; L’ange qui l’emmena Ne voulut pas me prendre. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! La blanche créature Est couchée au cercueil. Comme dans la nature Tout me paraît en deuil! La colombe oubliée Pleure et songe à l’absent; Mon âme pleure et sent Qu’elle est dépareillée. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! Sur moi la nuit immense S’étend comme un linceul. Je chante ma romance Que le ciel entend seul. Ah, comme elle était belle, Et comme je l’aimais! Je n’aimerai jamais Une femme autant qu’elle. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer Absence Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée! Comme une fleur loin du soleil La fleur de ma vie est fermée Loin de ton sourire vermeil. Entre nos coeurs quelle distance! Tant d’espace entre nos baisers! O sort amer! O dure absence! O grands désirs inapaisés! Reviens, reviens, etc. D’ici lâ-bas que de campagnes, Que de villes et de hameaux, Que de vallons et de montagnes, À lasser le pied des chevaux! Reviens, reviens, etc. Au cimitière: Clair de lune Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe Où flotte avec un son plaintif L’ombre d’un if? Sur l’if une pâle colombe, Triste et seule au soleil couchant, Chante son chant: Un air maladivement tendre, À la fois charmant et fatal Qui vous fait mal Et qu’on voudrait toujours entendre; Un air comme en soupire aux cieux L’ange amoureux. On dirait que l’âme éveillée Pleure sous terre à l’unisson De la chanson Et du malheur d’être oubliée Se plaint dans un roucoulement Bien doucement. Sur les ailes de la musique On sent lentement revenir Un souvenir Une ombre, une forme angélique Passe dans un rayon tremblant En voile blanc. Les belles de nuit demi-closes Jettent leur parfum faible et doux Autour de vous, Et le fantôme aux molles poses Murmure en vous tendant les bras: Tu reviendras! Oh jamais plus, près de la tombe Je n’irai, quand descend le soir Au manteau noir, Écouter le pâle colombe Chanter sur la pointe de l’if Son chant plantif. L’île inconnue Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? La voile enfle son aile, La brise va souffler. L’aviron est d=ivoire, La pavillon de moire, Le gouvernail d’or fin. J=ai pour lest une orange, Pour voile une aile d=ange, Pour mousse un séraphin. Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? La voile enfle son aile, La brise va souffler. Est-ce dans la Baltique? Dans la mer Pacifique? Dans l’île de Java? Ou bien est-ce en Norvège, Cueillir la fleur de neige, Ou la fleur d’Angsoka? Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? Menez-moi, dit la belle, À la rive fidèle Où l’on aime toujours! Cette rive, ma chère, On ne la connaît guère Au pays des amours. Où voulez-vous aller? La brise va souffler. —Théophile Gautier Summer Nights Villanelle When the new season comes And the cold weather has gone, We will go together, my love, To pick lily-of-the-valley in the woods; Our feet scattering the pearls That we see trembling as morning dew, We will go and hear the blackbirds Sing. The spring has come, my love, It is the blessed season for lovers; And the bird, preening its wings, Sings songs from the edge of its nest. Oh come and sit on this mossy bank And talk of our happy love, And say to me in your soft voice: Always! Far, far away, our footsteps wandering, We’ll startle the rabbit from its hiding, And the deer, mirrored in the stream, Admiring its great antlers; Then back home, completely happy, content, Our fingers entwined, return Carrying baskets of wild Strawberries. The Specter of the Rose Lift up your eyelids That glow with a maiden dream. I am the specter of a rose Which you wore last night to the ball. You took me still moist From the silver tears of the watering can. And through the starry festivities You walked me with you all evening. Oh you who was cause of my death, Without your being able to escape it, Every night my pink specter Will come to dance at the head of your bed. But do not fear anything, I don’t ask for Mass or De profundis. This faint perfume is my soul And it is from paradise that I come. My destiny was one to be coveted; To have a fate so beautiful, Many would have given their lives. For my tomb is on your breast, And on the alabaster where I rest A poet with his kiss Writes: “Here lies a rose That all kings will envy.” On the Lagoons: Lament My fair one is dead. I will weep always. She has taken with her into the tomb My whole being and all my love. To heaven, without waiting for me She returned. The angel who drew her back Would not take me with her. How bitter is my fate. Ah, without love to depart on the sea! The white creature Sleeps in the coffin; And now all nature Seems to me in mourning. The forsaken dove Cries and dreams of the departed; My soul cries and feels As if cut in two. How bitter is my fate. Ah, without love to depart on the sea! All about me, the vast night Spreads like a shroud. I sing my song, And the sky alone hears it. Ah, how beautiful she was, And how I loved her! Never will I love A woman as much as she. How bitter is my fate! Ah, without love to depart on the sea! Absence Come back, come back my beloved. Like a flower away from the sun The flower of my life is closed up Away from your warm smile. What distance lies between our hearts; So great a gulf between our kisses; O bitter fate! O cruel absence! Mighty desires unsatisfied. Come back, etc. From here to there what plains lie between, What towns and villages. What valleys and hills, To tire the horses’ hooves. At the Cemetery: Moonlight Do you know the white gravestone Where floats with a plaintive song The shade of a yew tree? On the yew a solitary white dove, Sad and alone as the sun sets, Sings its song: A sickly sweet air At once enchanting and fatal, Which affects you unpleasantly And which one would like to hear always; Like a song sighed to heaven By an angel in love. One would say the awakened soul Weeps under the earth in unison With the song, And from grief at being forgotten Complains in a cooing Very softly. On the wings of music One feels slowly returning A memory A shade, an angelic form Passes in a shimmering ray, Shrouded in white. The beauties of the night, half-closed, Throw their weak and soft perfume Around you And the phantom in mellow poses, Whispers while stretching its arms toward you: You will come back! Oh never again, near the tomb Will I go, when evening descends In its black coat, To hear the pale dove Sing from the top of the yew Its plaintive song. The Unknown Isle Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? The sails are set, The breeze is getting up. The oar is ivory, The flag of silk, The helm of fine gold. For ballast I have an orange, For sail, an angel’s wing, For ship’s boy a seraph. Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? The sails are set, The breeze is getting up. Is it to the Baltic? To the Pacific Ocean? To the Island of Java? Or is it to Norway, To pick the snowflowers, Or the flowers of Angsoka? Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? Take me, the fair one replies, To the faithful shore Where love lasts forever. That shore, my dear, Is little known In the country of love. Where do you want to go? The breeze is getting up. Return to Parlance Program Notes

Amanda Maier (1853-1894) Piano Trio in E-flat October 15, 2023: Lysander Piano Trio During the all-too-short span of her life, Amanda Maier excelled in two male-dominated fields—as a solo violinist and as a composer. Although little is known about her childhood, clearly her musical talent was recognized early and she enrolled at age sixteen in the Kungliga Musikaliska Akademien in Stockholm. She became the first woman to earn the elite Musikdirektör diploma, receiving the highest possible grades in harmony, counterpoint, history and aesthetics, violin, organ, and piano. Her organ skills had merited her a place in the Academy’s even more exclusive Artistklass. Maier continued her education in Leipzig, studying violin with Engelbert Röntgen, concertmaster of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, and composition with conductor/composer Carl Reinecke and professor Ernst Friedrich Richter. She became a regular of the Röntgen household, participating in their many musical gatherings and eventually marrying Engelbert’s son Julius, who had become the love of her life. She also socialized and made music with many other renowned Leipzig musicians, including Clara Schumann and Edvard Grieg. Maier’s earliest surviving compositions, including the Piano Trio, date from this Leipzig period. The later 1870s also saw her performing and touring in an ensemble as a violinist, highlighted by a performance for King Oscar II in Malmö in 1876. The following year Maier returned home to Sweden, but after her father died, she returned to Leipzig where her life felt centered. The couple had to spend two years visiting between Leipzig and Amsterdam after Julius accepted a piano teaching position in the Dutch capital while she maintained her performing schedule in Leipzig and on tours in Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Russia. After their marriage in 1880 Maier settled in Amsterdam, and one year later their son Julius II was born, who was to become a violinist. The following year she suffered the first of three debilitating miscarriages, but in 1886 their second son Engelbert was born, who later became a cellist. Besides caring for her sons—whose early music education she oversaw—she continued to perform, though less frequently and rarely in public. Just after Engelbert was born, Maier fell ill with the lung disease that would plague her for the rest of her life. She also suffered from painful recurring eye trouble that often required her to wear dark glasses or a patch. Maier continued her musical activities during good spells between attacks, but they naturally lessened. When the devastated Röntgen wrote of her death to their good friends the Griegs, Edvard wrote back saying, “She was one of my favorites!” In the years after Maier’s death, concerts featured her works in Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Germany, and The Netherlands, but she and her music gently faded from public awareness. Since the 1990s, however, there has been a resurgence of interest in her music, with recordings and publications of works such as her Piano Quartet and Violin Concerto, which she had performed with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in one of the pinnacles of her career. Going back to late April 1874, the diaries of both Julius and Amanda had made copious mentions of the Piano Trio, showing great pride and that they consulted on compositional details. They gave the first of many private performances on May 20, 1874, with cellist Julius Klengel (cousin of Julius Röntgen) at the Röntgen’s Leipzig home. Amanda wrote home to one of her favorite professors at the Stockholm Academy about another performance on June 7, saying: Everything has gone as well as I could have wished, and I believe I have made significant progress. . . . I performed . . . Mendelssohn’s concerto, and, among other pieces, a Trio for piano, violin and cello that I have recently composed. My Trio has been well received and sounds wonderful; they say here in Leipzig that my music has a ‘national’ flavor—a Nordic one, that is—which seems to be all the rage here. Jumping forward more than 140 years, Maier’s great-grandson Reinier Thadiens, who was living in Southern France, saw a list of her “lost works” and found the manuscript of her Piano Trio in a pile of music he had inherited. He immediately notified Swedish cellist and scholar Klas Gagge, who published it in 2018 through the Swedish Musical Heritage project and the Royal Swedish Academy of Music. The world premiere—that is, the public premiere—took place on April 20, 2018, performed in Umeå, Sweden, by violinist Cecilia Zillacus, cellist Kati Raitinen, and pianist Bengt Forsberg. In the first movement, Maier immediately contrasts her forthright opening idea with a quiet phrase in Classic-era style. She proceeds not like Mozart or Haydn, however, but aligns with Schubert, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms—those Romantic composers with a classical bent. The expressive second theme is related to the first but has more harmonic instability. Her development section, which journeys through distant harmonies on a scheme similar to Schubert’s E-flat Trio, D. 929, reaches several dramatic peaks before the climax that launches the recapitulation. Taking some Romantic “liberties,” she waits until the coda to bring back her second theme in the main key. The dancelike outer sections of Maier’s Scherzo consist of miniature self-contained sonata forms, much like Brahms’s Scherzo in his Horn Trio of 1865. The songful contrasting central trio section is particularly lovely. Led off by a lyrical cello melody, the slow movement is particularly poignant, with considerable opportunities for contrapuntal intertwining between the violin and cello. The broad three-part form includes a shortened and varied return of the opening and coda. The finale blossoms quickly from a gentle but sprightly opening to surging phrases brimming with Romantic vigor. Maier was clearly aware of some Romantic composers’ cyclic procedures, shown in her recalling of the slow movement. Throughout Maier has delighted in modulating excursions, so it comes as no surprise that she introduces a false reprise before returning “home” for a rousing finish. Return to Parlance Program Notes

CLAUDE DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Danse sacrée et profane December 18, 2016: Mariko Anraku, harp; David Chan, concertmaster; Catherine Ro, violin; Dov Scheindlin, viola; Rafael Figueroa, cello Please refer also to the “private little war” in the notes for Ravel’s Introduction and Allegro. The customary double-action harp is fashioned with seven pedals, which can make each of the seven notes of the diatonic scale either flat, natural, or sharp. In 1897 the famous Paris instrument-making firm of Pleyel introduced a new chromatic harp, which contained a string for every half step, thus almost doubling the number of strings. In 1903 Pleyel invited Debussy to compose a test piece, which was to be used for a class that was being initiated in the new instrument at the Brussels Conservatory. The resulting work, Deux danses (Danse sacrée et profane ), for harp and string orchestra has long since become a beloved part of the repertoire, while the chromatic harp has become a museum piece. The work is now played on the double-action harp, a possibility Debussy had allowed for on the title page; he also transcribed it for two pianos. Debussy used the collective title Danses for the work, which contains two movements, both in triple meter and A-B-A form. The slow Danse sacrée was suggested to Debussy by a piano piece by his friend, composer and conductor Francisco de Lacerda, but also owes something to Erik Satie’s Gymnopédies , of which Debussy was fond enough to transcribe two for orchestra. A vague ritualistic atmosphere, imparted by its slow-moving modal sonorities, often in parallel octaves, accounts for the title “sacred dance.” Similarly, the suggestion of a lilting waltz, rather than any specific pagan scene, gives rise to the title Danse profane . © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes