Program Notes

Johaness Brahms (1833-1897)

Schicksalslied, Op. 54 (1871)

Scored for chorus, pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, trumpets and horns, three trombones, timpani and strings

While on holiday in 1868, Johaness Brahms was introduced to the epistolary novel Hyperion by Friederich Höderlin. Brahms was so impressed that he jotted down some musical sketches on the spot. It was not until three years later, though, that the composer was able to complete the work, which he called Song of Destiny.

In the novel the young Hyperion, in the midst of the Greek’s struggle for independence from the Turks, is haunted by the contrast between the painful world around him and the glory of the past, reflects bitterly on the easy life of the ancient gods and their callous indifference to the sufferings of man.

The work is in two main sections. The first presents us with graciously beautiful, serene and carefree music. This is the domain of the gods and it was described by the French critic, Delaville, as how a Bach chorale would sound if it were harmonized by a stoic philosopher. In the second section, the peace is shattered by a stormy allegro representing buffeted humanity. The piece closes with an instrumental coda, which returns to the carefree bliss of the opening.

 

Ihr wandelt droben im Licht

Auf weichem Boden, selige Genien!

Glänzende Götterlüfte

Rühren Euch leicht,

Wie die Finger der Künstlerin

Heilige Saiten.

 

Schicksallos, wie der schlafende

Säugling, atmen die Himmlischen;

Keusch bewahrt

in bescheidener Knospe,

Blühet ewig

Ihnen der Geist,

Und die seligen Augen

Blicken in stiller

Ewiger Klarheit.

 

Doch uns ist gegeben,

Auf keiner Stätte zu ruhn;

Es schwinden, es fallen

Die leidenden Menschen

Blindlings von einer

Stunde zur andern,

Wie Wasser von Klippe

Zu Klippe geworfen,

Jahrlang ins Ungewisse hinab.

 

You wander above in the light

on soft ground, blessed genies!

Blazing, divine breezes

brush by you as lightly

as the fingers of the player

on her holy strings.

Fateless, like sleeping

infants, the divine beings breathe,

chastely protected

in modest buds,

blooming eternally

their spirits,

and their blissful eyes

gazing in mute,

eternal clarity.

Yet there is granted us

no place to rest;

we vanish, we fall -

the suffering humans -

blind from one

hour to another,

like water thrown from cliff

to cliff,

for years into the unknown depths.