Faculty: Laura Portune, soprano 1/8/25

Exsultate, jubilate, K. 165
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was 17 when he composed the three movement sacred motet, Exsultate, jubilate (Rejoice, be glad). He was on the last of three concert tours in Italy with his father, absorbing the Italian virtuosic style while producing his new opera, Lucio Silla. Mozart wrote the motet for the opera’s lead castrato, Venanzio Rauzzini, and premiered the piece in Milan in 1773.  Revisions of the instrumentation and text were done in 1779 or 1780. Although countertenors occasionally perform the piece, the motet is now typically sung by soprano and orchestra. The text of the work is anonymous, but there is speculation that the librettist was Rauzzini himself (Britannica.com). The work is full of joy and gladness. The first movement begins with a strong proclamation of rejoicing, using melismas to further the excitement; a recitativo speaking of good triumphing over darkness bridges into the second movement, a loving call to the Virgin Mary; and the final piece culminates in the exciting Alleluia in F major, with its climactic runs and high notes.  

LATIN

Exsultate, jubilate,
o vos animae beatae,
dulcia cantica canendo,
cantui vestro respondendo,
psallant aethera cum me.
Fulget amica dies,
jam fugere et nubila et procellae;
exorta est justis
inexspectata quies.
Undique obscura regnabat nox,
surgite tandem laeti
qui timuistis adhuc,
et jucundi aurorae fortunatae
frondes dextera plena et lilia date.
Tu virginum corona,
tu nobis pacem dona,
tu consolare affectus,
unde suspirat cor.
Alleluia!

ENGLISH

Rejoice, resound with joy,
O you blessed souls,
singing sweet songs,
In response to your singing
let the heavens sing with me.
The friendly day shines forth
both clouds and storms fled
For the righteous there has 
arisen an unexpected calm.
Dark night reigned before.
Arise, happy at last,
You who feared till now
And joyful for this lucky dawn,
Give garlands and lilies.
You, O crown of virgins,
grant us peace,
Console our feelings,
from which our hearts sigh.
Alleluia!

—English translation by Elizabeth Parcells

Der Hirt auf dem Felsen, D. 965
Franz Schubert (1797–1828)
Text by Wilhelm Müller and Helmina von Chézy

Der Hirt auf dem Felsen (The Shepherd on the Rock) was one of the last compositions by Franz Schubert in 1828 before his death at the age of 31. Schubert’s compositional style bridged the classical and romantic periods, which is evident in this three-section virtuosic Lied for voice, clarinet, and piano. The first section depicts a shepherd singing into the mountains with arpeggios that mimic a yodel, while listening to the return of echoes in the clarinet obligato; the second section turns to his grief of loneliness; the third section returns to the opening Bb major key in a hope of spring and reuniting with his love. This great work is sometimes referred to as a trouser cantata, since it is written for a soprano singing the part of the shepherd. Schubert wrote the piece in Italian operatic style for the great Anna Milder, the first Leonore (also a trouser role in disguise) in Beethoven’s opera, Fidelio. Schubert’s love of opera and dramatic emotional style is evident in not only the vocal line, but also in the virtuosity of the clarinet and piano. “In Der Hirt auf dem Felsen the sounds of Italian vocal display resound in a German-speaking setting of dramatic Hills and Valleys, and the folksong style native to his own country is suffused with the vocal virtuosity native to Rossini’s… something both old-fashioned and new-, partially grounded in Italian eighteenth-century bel canto, but also related to the German simplicity of the Singspiel, the whole tailored to the skills of a virtuoso clarinetist and a great German singing actress.” (Hyperion, Graham Johnson, 1990)

GERMAN

Wenn auf dem höchsten Fels ich steh',
In's tiefe Tal hernieder seh',
Und singe,

Fern aus dem tiefen dunkeln Tal
Schwingt sich empor der Widerhall
Der Klüfte.

Je weiter meine Stimme dringt,
Je heller sie mir wieder klingt
Von unten.

Mein Liebchen wohnt so weit von mir,
Drum sehn' ich mich so heiß nach ihr
Hinüber.

In tiefem Gram verzehr ich mich,
Mir ist die Freude hin,
Auf Erden mir die Hoffnung wich,
Ich hier so einsam bin.

So sehnend klang im Wald das Lied,
So sehnend klang es durch die Nacht,
Die Herzen es zum Himmel zieht
Mit wunderbarer Macht.

Der Frühling will kommen,
Der Frühling, meine Freud',
Nun mach' ich mich fertig
Zum Wandern bereit.

ENGLISH

When I stand on the highest rock,
Look down into the deep valley
And sing,

From away in the deep dark valley
The echo from the ravines
Rises up.

The further my voice carries,
The clearer it echoes back to me
From below.

My sweetheart lives far from me,
Therefore I long so to be with her
Over there.

Deep grief consumes me,
My joy has fled,
All earthly hope has vanished,
I am so lonely here.

The song rang out longing through the wood,
Rang out so longingly through the night,
That is draws hearts to heaven
With wondrous power.

Spring is coming,
Spring, my joy,
I shall now make ready to journey.

—English translation by Richard Stokes

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Op. 24
Samuel Barber (1910–1981)
Text by James Agee

American composer, Samuel Barber, was only 28 when he composed Knoxville: Summer of 1915, a beautiful extended work evocative of a summer day in the 1900’s based on the prologue of James Agee’s novel, A Death in the Family. Barber had been greatly moved by Agee’s book and drew upon the impending loss of his own father at the time of the composition, evident in the tender writing. Agee’s prose is set as a child narrator contemplating the wonder of a typical summer night with his family, full of sounds and experiences of the time. Barber’s musical elements juxtapose simplicity and calm with depictions of streetcars bellowing and locusts calling, setting a nostalgic and vulnerable scene of a child looking for meaning and place in the familiar of home. Barber dedicated the piece to the memory of his father, and there is much sentimental feeling around the child’s thoughts about his family, with long sweeping lines of heartfelt pleas: “May God bless my people. My uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father. Oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble and in the hour of their taking away.” Elenor Steber commissioned and premiered the piece with the Boston Symphony, and Barber later composed a piano reduction. “‘You see,’ Barber would later say in a radio interview, ‘it expresses a child’s feeling of loneliness, wonder, and lack of identity in that marginal world between twilight and sleep.’” (Sudip Bose, The American Scholar).

It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches
rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street
and the standing up into their sphere of possession 
of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars.

People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy,
breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt: a loud auto: a quiet auto:
People in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body,
talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, 
strawberry, pasteboard, and starched milk,
the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, Squared with clowns in hueless amber.

A streetcar raising into iron moan; stopping; belling and starting; stertorous;
rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan
and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past
the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it 
like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks;
the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts;
the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter; fainting, lifting lifts,
faints foregone; forgotten.

Now is the night one blue dew;
my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes.
Parents on porches: rock and rock.
From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.
The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the backyard my father and mother have spread quilts
We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there.
They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all.
The stars are wide and alive, they all seem like a smile of great sweetness, 
and they seem very near.
All my people are larger bodies than mine, with voices gentle and meaningless
like the voices of sleeping birds.

One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home.
One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me.
By some chance, here they are, all on this earth;
and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass,
in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night.
May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father,
oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

After a little I am taken in and put to bed.
Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her; and those receive me, who quietly treat me,
as one familiar and well-beloved in that home:
but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

“No word from Tom”
Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971)
The Rake's Progress
Libretto by W. H. Auden, Chester Kallman

Russian composer, Igor Stravinsky, wrote his English opera, The Rake’s Progress, based on 1700s paintings and engravings of the same name by English artist, William Hogarth. The opera closes his neoclassical period, with references Greek mythology and influences from Mozart and Bizet operas, complete with a moral epilogue. The story is the tale of Tom Rakewell, who is influenced by Nick Shadow — the devil in disguise — to seek a life of pleasure. Tom abandons his betrothed, Anne Truelove, in search of wealth, fame and adventure. The three-act opera culminates in Tom’s demise in an insane asylum, with the epilogue stating, "For idle hearts and hands and minds the Devil finds work to do.” In the aria, "No word from Tom," Anne fears that Tom is in danger and decides she must travel to London to save him. The piece follows a pattern of cavatina cabaletta with interspersed recitativo sections. Anne goes through a series of emotions within the musical elements: she laments being abandoned, invokes the moon for help and guidance, finds her resolve to leave, and then finds her strength to carry through with the decision to save Tom.  

No word from Tom
Has love no voice, can love not keep a Maytime vow in cities?
Fades it as the rose cut for a rich display?
Forgot! But no, to weep is not enough. He needs my help
Love hears, Love knows, Love answers him across the silent miles, and goes

Quietly, night. O find him and caress 
And may thou quiet find His heart, although it be unkind, Nor may its beat confess
Although I weep, it knows of loneliness

Guide me, O moon, Chastely when I depart And warmly be the same, 
He watches without grief or shame
It cannot be thou art a colder moon upon a colder heart

My father! Can I desert him and his devotion for a love who has deserted me?
No, my father has strength of purpose while Tom is weak 
and needs the comfort of a helping hand.
O God, protect dear Tom, support my father, and strengthen my resolve

I go, I go to him, Love cannot falter, Cannot desert
Though it be shunned Or be forgotten
Though it be hurt, If Love be love, It will not alter

O should I see My love in need 
It shall not matter What he may be

I go, I go to him, Love cannot falter, Cannot desert
Time cannot alter An ever-loving heart