UCL CHAMBER MUSIC CLUB CONCERT – THURSDAY 26th FEBRUARY 2009
Three operatic arias
George Frederick Handel (1685-1759)
Elizabeth Spencer – contralto; Roger Beeson – piano
‘Vile, se mi dai vita’ from Radamisto (1720)
Radamisto, son of the King of Thrace, is married to Zenobia; his sister Polissena is married to
Tiridate, the King of Armenia. Tiridate has become infatuated with Zenobia, and to gain her has
invaded Thrace. In this aria from Act III, Radamisto, having been caught attempting to rescue the
captive Zenobia, defies Tiridate’s threats of execution.
Vile, se mi dai vita,
Vile, se mi dai morte,
vedrai che l’alma forte
sempre ti sprezzerà.
Empio, non hai sì ardita
la destra senza gloria ?
Compisci la vittoria
con atto di viltà!
Base one, whether you give me life or death, you will see that my spirit is strong and will always
disdain you.
Impious one, is your dishonourable right hand not so bold? Complete your victory with an act of
cowardice!
‘Pena tiranna’ from Amadigi di Gaula (1715)
Dardano, Prince of Thrace, and the hero Amadigi are rivals for the love of Oriana, daughter of the
‘King of the Fortunate Islands’. This aria for Dardano from Act II, using the characteristic rhythms of
a sarabande, has been described as ‘an agonized expression of the pains of thwarted love.’
Pena tiranna io sento al core,
né spero mai trovar pietà.
Amor m’affanna, e il mio dolore
in tanti guai pace non ha.
Oppressive sorrow I feel in my heart, nor do I ever hope to find pity.
Love leaves me breathless, and in so many troubles my sadness will not have peace.
‘Vanne, sorella ingrata’ from Radamisto
In Act II, Radamisto reproaches Polissena for her failure to support him and their father against her
unfaithful and tyrannical husband Tiridate.
Vanne, sorella ingrata,
vanne e rapisci a morte
quel barbaro consorte
che te tradisce ancor.
Se mi vedrai morire,
e ne saprà gioire
quel tuo spietato cor.
Go, ungrateful sister, and snatch from death that barbarous husband who still betrays you – if you will
see me die and that pitiless heart of yours can rejoice at it.
Quintet in A minor for piano and strings, Op.84 (1918-19)
i. Moderato – Allegro
ii. Adagio
Edward Elgar (1857-1934)
iii. Andante - Allegro
Bronwen Evans, Michael Duchen – violins; Kathryn Lewis – viola; Robin Tyler – ’cello;
Roger Beeson – piano
Most of Elgar’s best-known music – the great orchestral and choral works – dates from the years
1899-1913. However, towards the end of the First World War, from the spring of 1918, he entered a
remarkable ‘late’ period of creativity. Within a year he had written three chamber works – the Violin
Sonata, String Quartet and Piano Quintet – and these were followed by the Cello Concerto in 1919.
The Quintet was the last of the chamber pieces to be completed, and Elgar dedicated it to the music
critic Ernest Newman.
The work was partly composed at Brinkwells, a cottage in Sussex, and a nearby landmark seems to
have provided a stimulus to Elgar’s imagination. Elgar’s friend the violinist W.H. Reed wrote: ‘The
strangeness of the place was created by a group of dead trees which, apparently struck by lightning,
had very gnarled and twisted branches stretched out in an eerie manner.’ A local legend associated
these with the transformed remains of a group of Spanish monks, settled there centuries earlier, who
were struck dead for indulging in ‘impious rites’.
The piano’s first four notes (set against a disturbing figure in the strings) are identical with the
beginning of the well-known plainsong melody Salve Regina, perhaps summoning up the memory of
monks and cloisters. In the Allegro a contrast is offered by the energetic, rather Brahmsian first
subject; the second themes, however (derived from the strings’ opening motif) has often been thought
to have a ‘Spanish’ flavour on account of its modal inflections and its instrumentation. The Salve
Regina idea reappears in a new guise before a powerful build-up to the recapitulation, and it comes
back again in the coda. Despite its moments of exhilaration, the movement does not shake off an
atmosphere of foreboding. Elgar himself commented: ‘it’s ghostly stuff.’
The Adagio provides some relief of tension. It is one of Elgar’s great slow movements, showing his
ability to create broad, shapely musical paragraphs and his carefully controlled and varied handling of
instrumental texture. There are also characteristic moments of hesitation in the onward flow.
The finale begins with a reminiscence of the first movement’s introduction, before moving into A
major with a theme marked ‘with dignity’. The curiously syncopated second theme has been
described by one writer a ‘polonaise-like’, and it introduces a disturbing chromatic element. The
music dies away into the predominantly hushed, mysterious development section, in which the Salve
Regina reappears together with a wistful echo of the ‘Spanish’ theme. The recapitulation brings back
the home key, but then moves away (in all three movements Elgar retains the broad outline of
classical sonata form, but, significantly, not the traditional key scheme). The key of A major is
eventually re-established, but almost until the end the stability that might be expected of a coda seems
to be under threat. However, impressive the final pages, this is certainly not Elgar in a
straightforwardly triumphant vein.