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Of course the pros and cons of a straightforward chronology across the entire set were carefully considered. Like many great song composers he tended carefully to isolate different strands of his creative as well as his private personality as if he were one of those authors capable of working on four novels at once, advancing each of them in turn, a chapter at a time, rather than concentrating on one book and finishing it.
Accordingly, the Hyperion Edition is arranged in four separate, self-sufficient programmes. These four discs can be listened to in any order; the sequence proposed here is only a personal suggestion. Disc 1 features a substantial appearance, recorded in , of Pierre Bernac—narrating rather than singing.
A bilingual English edition translated by Winifred Radford appeared in This disc is an anthology of feminine verse and childlike wonder.
In a BBC recording from , Bernac, then aged seventy-eight, commands a range of colour and depth of nuance with his speaking voice that recall his own matchless singing of this repertoire. The disc begins with a set of three songs to which the renowned painter Marie Laurencin contributes the first and last of the poems; she was the mistress of Guillaume Apollinaire, who wrote the middle poem himself.
Children are represented in four songs from in the music-hall tradition, and by Babar which the composer specifically dedicated to nine of his named younger relatives.
Poulenc was a homosexual man who adored women: Louise de Vilmorin and Marie-Blanche de Polignac, names that feature on this disc, both lifelong friends, were the kind of good-looking, glamorous women that Poulenc found irresistible.
As a young man he had hoped to marry his childhood friend Raymonde Linossier, but she turned him down and died soon afterwards, leaving him desperately unhappy.
During his life he had important relationships with men Richard Chanlaire, Raymond Destouches, Lucien Roubert, Louis Gautier as well as other more fleeting attachments. He first met Pierre Bernac as a colleague in but the pair, very different personalities in fact, fell out over the scabrous texts of Chansons gaillardes.
They met again in and became the most devoted of musical partners and confidants, but theirs was never a sexual friendship, and it was not a parallel relationship to that of Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears, their celebrated English contemporaries.
Such a claim could never be made, for example, about Benjamin Britten and the female characters in his operas. It seems likely that the songs that Poulenc wrote for women to sing, particularly those with texts by Louise de Vilmorin, had a measure of self-identification.
Vilmorin was more of a novelist by inclination, but the composer had encouraged her into becoming a poet. Her work enabled him to explore the feminine side of his nature—as if he were suddenly slim and beautiful, dressed by Lanvin and able to receive the gallant homage of a line of suitors.
Women singers have always found these songs supremely satisfying to sing, both emotionally and vocally Poulenc had become a real expert in writing for the singing voice soon after the establishment of his duo with Bernac. There is never the slightest sense that the composer is patronizing his female singers or writing down to them—rather is he grateful to them for voicing aspects of his own personality.
It is significant that shortly after Bernac retired from the concert platform in Poulenc established a duo with Denise Duval, a ravishingly pretty and extremely talented soprano for whom he wrote a number of works. Younger singers are indebted to her example in this repertoire, unmatched by any soprano of her generation.
The more urbane aspect of this important poet dominates the third disc in this set. He was born into a comfortable middle-class household in Saint-Denis, just outside Paris, on 14 December Three things jolted the young man out of the comfort-zone of a bourgeois existence: illness, war and love.
A sudden and severe pulmonary haemorrhage at the age of seventeen consigned him to months of enforced immobility at a sanatorium of Clavadel, near Davos, where he read deeply and widely; the crystalline Swiss mountain landscapes by which he was surrounded were later to influence his poems.
A young Russian student by the name of Helena Dmitrovnie Diakonova was a fellow-patient at the same institution. The Poulenc cycle that encompasses this experience from another viewpoint—Calligrammes to the poetry of Apollinaire—is also to be heard on this disc.
The poet had a lifelong hatred for possessive jealousy, believing rather in the innocence of desire; sexual liberty was a reflection of fraternal sharing and openness of heart. The work of the poet, like that of his close friend Picasso, has often been defined by the major female figures of his life—Gala, Nusch, Jacqueline and Dominique. It is the second of these, Nusch, who was often the inspiration of the poems that Poulenc chose for his settings.
Dictated by thought in the absence of all control by reason, outside all aesthetic or moral occupations, Surrealism rests on the belief in the superior reality of certain forms of associations, formerly neglected, and in the transcendent power of dreams released from any interference by thought.
It tends to destroy all other psychic mechanisms and to take their place in the resolution of the principal problems of life. The couple married in It is also the collection from which Poulenc took eight of the nine texts for his Tel jour telle nuit.
He often left Paris for sojourns in the mountains and by the sea, holidays that were facilitated by the family money that enabled him to survive in relative comfort. The poet died of a sudden heart attack on 18 November Both Apollinaire and Poulenc were deeply in love with Paris. They were also both enthusiasts of modernity and its everyday blessings and conveniences: both were able to find many things poetic that had formerly not been recognized as such.
Anything could be the subject of poetry—trains and trams, planes, posters, modern architecture, electricity, machines, cannon and shrapnel, any picturesque curiosity, any unexpected or outlandish juxtaposition.
This earthy eclecticism suited Poulenc, the musical magpie, the master of patchwork quilts, to a T; he gobbled up composers, Monteverdi to Malipiero, just as Apollinaire revered Villon to Verlaine, recycling them to his purpose.
Both artists were masters, in their own fields, of the audaciously allusive. In , the abandoned Angelica moved to France with her children; until the age of seven the young Wilhelm spoke only Polish and Italian. The upheavals Apollinaire later effected in French literature, and the insouciance and charm with which these were accomplished, were no doubt symptoms of his disrupted childhood and polyglot background because Apollinaire was naturalized only in , the greatest French poet of the early twentieth century was a citizen of France for only the last thirty-two months of his life.
In , at the age of seventeen, he was already as interested in anarchism as in the prevailing orthodoxy of symbolism—indeed he was destined to become the liquidator of symbolism a Debussy song to an Apollinaire text thus seems an impossible thought, although the two men died in the same year. Striking it lucky in the same year with Vicomtesse Milhau who needed a tutor for her daughter, Apollinaire was whisked off to Germany and discovered the Rhineland at the same time as initiating an affair with Annie Playden, English governess of the Milhau children, a relationship that was to drag on for three years.
In March he took in Prague, Vienna and Munich. He visited London see Hyde Park in the vain hope of persuading Annie to elope with him. During these years poems by Apollinaire appeared in various reviews and newspapers. The woodcuts were by Raoul Dufy, although the poet would have preferred Picasso. He was an associate of someone who had regularly stolen other artefacts from the museum. At the same time he sincerely professed himself a dyed-in-the-wool Parisian and patriotic Frenchman precisely because he was neither Parisian nor French; like an Indian-born writer bemoaning the end of the British aristocracy, he revelled in a nostalgia for a vieille France that another side of his nature sought to modernize by any and every means, even if his rampages might result in its destruction.
On the outbreak of war in he volunteered immediately but, as a Russian citizen, encountered a barrier of red tape. The following Easter he was sent to the front at Champagne; by November he had been promoted to sub-lieutenant in the 96th regiment and had experienced the horror of the trenches. On 17 March he suffered a head-wound from shrapnel at Berry-au-Bac and underwent a lengthy convalescence and sub-cranial surgery.
Although only thirty-six himself, he had already become the idol of a group of younger men who espoused the literary avant-garde—Breton, Tzara, Reverdy and Cocteau.
The poet, weakened by his illnesses, died of Spanish flu on 9 November An actual friendship between Apollinaire and Poulenc might have brought forth even greater things but, as in the case of Schubert and Goethe, we must be grateful for an inspired synthesis of words and music that personal contact could not possibly have improved. Of the forty-two tracks on this disc all but fourteen are devoted to the poetry of Guillaume Apollinaire, a poet we have already encountered in Calligrammes on disc 2.
However, these settings were so well liked by sopranos that they immediately entered the repertoire. We may be sure that this inveterate and suicidal gambler is a displaced Parisienne. It was entirely natural that Poulenc should have wanted to collaborate with this quicksilver spirit who was ruthlessly ambitious and whose talents seemed limitless.
Cocteau was everything and anything he needed to be: playwright, critic, novelist, draughtsman, stage decorator, film director, choreographer. Even in the early days we sense that what Cocteau had to offer the composer in terms of verbal inspiration was not enough. Compact Disc 4 — Fancy Songs — This is a disc for a finale, a dazzling gallimaufry of a programme with Poulenc as time-traveller and stylistic magician. The songs of Francis Poulenc—A personal memoir I experienced the coup de foudre of discovering Poulenc the song composer late in Felicity Lott and myself, fellow-students at the Royal Academy of Music, were simultaneously hooked and enraptured.
In the same year we took part in masterclasses given by Pierre Bernac at the British Institute of Recorded Sound; these were organized by the enchanting Winifred Radford, the soprano daughter of the great British bass Robert Radford. After her retirement she taught the French song class at the Guildhall School.
Winifred was a lifelong friend of the great baritone, and assisted him in the translation into English of his two books. Since then I have never wavered in my admiration for this great duo, who stand next to Pears and Britten in the performance of twentieth-century song. On a trip to Paris I stumbled across a music shop, long-since vanished, in the Rue Lamartine where I purchased second-hand scores of almost all the song collections at ten francs each, copies that serve me still.
Many years later I was moved to discover that Sir Lennox Berkeley, a personal friend of Poulenc, had written approvingly about this article in his diary. I visited her office in Yalding House, spread all the scores on the table, and asked her how many she knew. Today most of these titles would probably be familiar to music-lovers, but then it was not the case. These were arranged in biographical sequence and narrated by Elaine and myself; they were broadcast on Sunday afternoons between October and the end of January Gramophone records were used only in part: twelve British singers and eight accompanists, as well as a number of instrumentalists and The Nash Ensemble, were invited to contribute new performances of the songs.
The series enjoyed considerable critical success at the time and many appreciative letters from listeners. He had given the first performance of the work on French radio in June I remember his huge emotion and his nervousness in returning to Studio 2 in Maida Vale where he had worked so often with Poulenc himself. It is our performance from which reappears on the first of these four discs.
Cassell, who had earlier issued his celebrated The Interpretation of French Song, were not prepared to take on so specialized a study. That great patron of the arts Alice Tully of New York, an enormous Bernac admirer, contributed the funds to make this possible. Afterwards we were royally entertained at an elegant brasserie in the Avenue Montaigne, the Eiffel tower glistening in the background.
The name of the establishment, most appropriately, was Chez Francis. Rosine even allowed me to sleep in his bedroom in Noizay; this was intended to be, and was taken as, an enormous honour. As if I were listening to a selection of different Poulenc songs playing in my mind I was acutely aware of the nights of loneliness, anguish and melancholy passed in this room with a crucifix over the bed, and then suddenly ascetic thoughts as these would vanish in favour of the joyous rough and tumble of another kind of music.
It is things such as these that seep into the blood and somehow or other guide the fingers via the heart. Much more is now known about Poulenc the man since nearly forty years ago, when I first realized that the composer of the lightweight Mouvements perpetuels was also a great composer of songs, some of them as deeply moving and profound as any composed in the twentieth century. In the days of the BBC programmes I rushed in where only angels would have dared to tread.
The songs of Poulenc have brought untold joy and friendship into my life, beginning with my collaboration with Felicity Lott it was our shared love for the composer that perhaps sealed our partnership.
And now everything has come full circle with a musical scene peopled by younger singers, not yet born when we were at the beginning of our careers, and who are all in love with this music in the same way.
To paraphrase, and slightly alter, W H Auden on Edward Lear, singers have flocked to Poulenc like settlers, he has become a land.
At the same time it is inevitable that the performing traditions that go back to Bernac should have become ever more distant.