Britten - Curlew River - a Parable for Church performance
Rzeka krzyczących ptaków - przypowieść przeznaczona do przedstawień kościelnych
Madwoman: Peter Pears
Ferryman: John Shirley-Quirk
Abbot: Harold Blackburn
Traveller: Bryan Drake
Voice of the Spirit: Bruce Webb
English Opera Group, Benjamin Britten, 1965/1989
"Rzeka krzyczących ptaków" Brittena jest 11. operą z 16, jakie napisał. Była pierwszym z trzech takich dramatów liturgicznych. Została napisana i przedstawiona w 1964 roku Orford Church w Suffolk i w tym samym kościele, w dwuletnich odstępach, wykonane zostały również dwa kolejne dramaty: The Burning Fiery Furnance i The Prodigal Son. Wszystkie trzy libretta napisał William Ploter, wszystkie trzy opery zrealizował scenicznie Colin Graham.
Inspiracją było japońskie przedstawienie teatru no Juro Motomasy pt. Sumidagawa, które Britten oglądał 11 lutego 1956 roku w czasie podróży do Tokio.
Libretto: Wczesnośredniowieczna Anglia. Znajdujemy się nad rzeką dzielącą dwa kraje - zachodni i wschodni, lecz dzieli ona również dusze, więc i przeprawa przez nią jak przepływaniem Styksu. Przewoźnik przyjmuje na prom pielgrzymów, podążających na drugi brzeg do świętego miejsca, którym stał się grób nieznanego chłopca. Przyjmie jeszcze Podróżnego, lecz czy dopuści Pomyloną Matkę, śpiewającą swe obłędne pieśni? Jej zachowanie jest niezrozumiałe, szalone są jej rozmowy z przelatującymi nad nią krzyczącymi Ptakami. Czym jest jej szaleństwo? Matka błądzi w poszukiwaniu uprowadzonego przez nieznanych złoczyńców 12-letniego synka. W czasie przeprawy promem z opowiadania Przewoźnika dowiadujemy się o prawdziwej historii. Mały umierający chłopiec został uprowadzony przez człowieka "bez serca i sumienia". Chłopiec był katowany i porzucony na brzegu rzeki. Jego grób stał się dla ludu miejscem świętym. Ludzie, patrząc na Pomyloną, znają już całą prawdę, ona sama poznaje ją w powolnej męce. Teraz wszyscy idą pomodlić się na grób dziecka, którego Duch ukazuje się oczom zebranych. Następuje przeistoczenie duchowe. Umysł Pomylonej traci swe szaleństwo, zostaje uleczona.
Opowieść otrzymuje ramy chorału gregoriańskiego (Te lucis ante terminum), śpiewanego przez nadchodzących, a potem odchodzących mnichów i przeora.
Wokalność utworu jest rozchwiana między surowym chorałem gregoriańskim a swobodnym prowadzeniem głosu.
Obsada: śpiewają tylko głosy męskie (również partia Pomylonej powierzona zostaje tenorowi)
Zespół instrumentalny: flet, waltornia, altówka, kontrabas, harfa, perkusja i organy.
Motyw waltorni (z altówką) zapowiada wejście Przewoźnika, kontrabas i harfa to Podróżny, flet to instrument (jej dusza, alter ego) Pomylonej, wyraża jej obłęd, krzyk Ptaków, a później towarzyszy Przemianie.
Powstała opera niepodobna do żadnej inne, "średniowieczny dramat" całkowicie nowoczesny.
Michał Bristiger [1980]
Przed końcem dziennej światłości
Prosimy, Stwórco wszechświata,
Ażebyś w swojej dobroci
Był Panem naszym i strażą.
Niech pierzchną senne widziadła
I nocne z nimi majaki!
Naszego wroga pohamuj,
By ciała się nie splamiły.
Najlepszy racz to dać, Ojcze,
I równy z Ojcem, Ty, Synu,
Co z Duchem, Dawcą radości,
Przez wieki wieczne panujesz.
---
Abbot: Good souIs, I would have you know
The Brothers have come today
To show you a mystery:
How in sad mischance A sign was given of God’s grace.
Monks: A sign of God’s grace.
Abbot: Not far away
Where, in our reedy Fens,
The Curlew River runs,
Not long ago,
Amid souls akin to you,
A sign was given of God’s grace.
Monks: A sign of God’s grace.
Abbot:
As candle-shine
In a dismal place,
A freshet spilt
In a desert waste,
As innocence
Outshineth guilt,
A sign was given
Of God’s good grace.
Abbot and Monks
(exhorting the congregation)
O pray for the souls of all that fall
By the wayside, all alone.
O praise our God that lifteth up
The fallen, the lost, the least.
Abbot
Belovèd, attend
To our mystery
(While the Madwoman and the Traveller leave the acting area with their Acolytes, the
Monks place benches to one side; then, with the Abbot, they sit on them, representing
a Chorus of Pilgrims in the ferry boat. The Ferryman is revealed. The Ferryman comes
forward.)
Ferryman
I am the ferryman.
I row the ferry boat
Over the Curlew,
Our wide and reedy
Fenland river.
In every season, every weather,
I row the ferry boat.
Abbot and Chorus
Between two kingdoms the river flows;
On this side, the Land of the West,
On the other, the Eastern fens.
Ferryman
Today is an important day,
Many people need the ferry
To reach the other bank.
There the folk are gathering
To pray before a grave,
As if it were a shrine.
A year ago today
There was a burial;
The river folk believe
Some special grace is there
To heal the sick in body and soul.
Today is an important day,
Mark this well, all of you!
(He sits in the boat. The Traveller approaches.)
Traveller
I come from the West-land, on a journey.
Far, far northward I must go;
Weary days of travel lie before me.
Abbot and Chorus
Far, far northward he must go;
Weary days of travel lie before him.
Traveller
Behind me, under clouds and mist,
Heaths and pastures I have crossed;
Woods and moorlands I have passed,
Many a peril I have faced;
May God preserve wayfaring men!
(The Traveller arrives at the ferry.)
Here is the bank of the Curlew River,
And now I have reached the ferry.
(The Ferryman prepares to cast off.)
I see the ferry boat about to leave.
Chorus: Between two kingdoms, O River, flow
On this side, the Land of the West, On the other, Dyke and marsh and mere,
The Land of the Eastern Fens.
Traveller
Ferryman! Have you a place for me,
A place for me in your boat?
(The Ferryman rises.)
Ferryman
Very well, sir. There is room for you.
Pray get in.
Ferryman:
But first may I ask you
What is that strange noise
Up the highway there?
Madwoman (off)
You mock me, you ask me
Whither I go,
How should I know?
Where the nest of the curlew
Is not filled with snow,
Where the eyes of the lamb
Are untorn by the crow,
The carrion crow—
There let me go!
Ferryman
May I ask, did you see
Who it is that is singing?
Traveller
Yes, the people were watching
A woman in the road
Who seems to be crazy.
They say she comes
From the Black Mountains.
The people were amused
When they heard her singing;
They all began laughing.
She is coming this way.
(The Madwoman appears.)
Ferryman
I will delay the ferry boat.
(The Traveller sits in the boat.)
Madwoman
Let me in! Let me out!
Tell me the way!
How can you say
Why the point of an arrow
Divideth the day?
Why to live is to warm
An image of clay
Dark as the day?
Let me in! Let me out!
I turn me away!
Ferryman
I will wait for the madwoman,
I should like to see her.
All (Traveller, Ferryman, Abbot, and Chorus)
She is coming this way!
We will wait for the madwoman.
We will delay the ferry boat!
We wish to see her.
We wish to hear her singing.
We will laugh at her
Crazily singing.
All
She wanders raving, and all alone.
(She arrives at the ferry and takes a few steps to the left, then to the right, as if dancing.)
Madwoman
Clear as a sky without a cloud
May be a mother’s mind,
But darker than a starless night
With not one gleam, not one,
No gleam to show the way.
All is clear but unclear too,
Love for my child confuses me:
Where is my darling now?
Shall I ask these travellers?
Abbot and Chorus: Or will they also laugh at her As she wanders raving, and all alone?
Madwoman
Does he know his mother’s grief?
(She falls to the ground.)
Abbot and Chorus
Dew on the grass
Sparkles like hope
And then is gone.
Madwoman
Dew on the grass
Sparkles like hope;
Dew on the…
It’s here, it’s gone!
(She sinks down.)
Abbot
Is she to pass her days
Complaining of their bitter taste?
Chorus
Dew on the grass
It’s here, it’s gone!
(The Madwoman raises her head and gazes into the distance.)
Madwoman
Near the Black Mountains
There I dwelt,
Far in the West,
There I was living
With my only child.
One day alas he vanished:
With silence every room was full,
Full of his absence,
Roaring like the sea!
My only child was lost,
Seized as a slave
By a stranger, a foreigner.
They told me he was taken
Eastward, eastward,
Along the drovers’ track
East, east, east.
Clear and unclear in mind
Eastward I wander on,
In longing for my son.
(She weeps.)
All
A thousand leagues may sunder
A mother and her son,
But that would not diminish
Her yearning for her child.
Traveller
Will her search be at an end
Here, at the Curlew River,
Now she has reached the Curlew River?
(The Madwoman rises.)
Abbot and Chorus
The river flowing between two realms—
On this side, the Land of the West,
On the other, the Eastern fens.
Madwoman
Ferryman, ferryman,
Let me get into your boat!
Ferryman
How can I take you in my ferry boat,
Unless you tell me
Where you have come from,
And where you are going?
Madwoman
I come from the Black Mountains!
Searching for, searching for
Someone…
Ferryman
So you come from the Black Mountains!
I tell you, Black Mountain woman,
Any fool can see
Your feet are wandering,
Your thoughts are wandering too.
Madwoman
Let me get into your boat!
Ferryman
I will not take you across the Curlew
Unless you entertain us with your singing!
Ferryman and Tenors
Unless you entertain us with your singing!
Traveller and Baritones
We want to hear you singing, crazily singing!
Abbot and Basses
Make us laugh with your singing,
Madwoman!
All
Show us what you can do!
Madwoman, sing!
Madwoman
Ignorant man!
You refuse a passage
To me, a noblewoman!
It ill becomes you
Curlew ferryman,
Such incivility.
Ferryman
The Black Mountain woman
Uses a high-flown way of talking!
Madwoman
Let me remind you
Of the famous traveller
Who once made a riddle
In this very place:
“Birds of the Fenland, though you float or fly,
Wild birds, I cannot understand your cry,
Tell me, does the one I love
In this world still live?”
(The Madwoman turns, watching the flight of the birds.)
Ferryman, there the wild birds float!
I see the wild birds fly!
What are those birds?
Ferryman
Those? They’re only common gulls.
Madwoman
Gulls you may call them!
Here, by the Curlew River,
Call them, I beg of you,
Curlews of the Fenland.
Ferryman
I beg your pardon.
Living in this famous place
I should have known
To call them
Curlews of the Fenland.
Madwoman
Instead of gulls.
Traveller
A traveller at this very place cried:
Madwoman
“Tell me, does the one I love
In this world still live?”
(The Madwoman makes as if to follow the birds.)
Traveller
Thinking of his lady love—
Ferryman
She too is seeking someone lost.
Searching for a son.
Traveller
—Yearning for a woman.
Traveller and Ferryman
Both derive from longing,
Both from love.
“Birds of the Fenland,” she will ask,
But answer they will not.
“Birds of the Fenland, though you float or fly,
Wild birds, I cannot understand your cry.”
Chorus
Birds of the Fenland, she will ask you too,
“Is the child I love
Still living?”
She will ask, and she will ask,
But answer they will not.
“Tell me, does the one I love
In this world still live?”
(Coming forward, the Madwoman goes up to the Ferryman and joins her hands in
supplication.)
Abbot and Chorus
Birds of the Fenland, she has heard you crying
There in the West, in the mountains, in her home.
How far, how very far,
Birds of the Fenland, comes this wandering soul.
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Ferryman, she begs of you
To let her come aboard.
She sees the boat is crowded,
But let her come aboard,
Let her come aboard!
Ferryman
This madwoman seems,
Though her mind may be wandering,
To know what she seeks.
Lady, be quick and come aboard!
And you too, traveller.
To navigate the ferry boat
Is not easy.
The river is glassy,
But the Devil himself
With strong-flowing currents
Can drag the boat aside,
And carry away
All who are in her.
Be careful and sit still.
God have mercy upon us!
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
God have mercy upon us!
(The Madwoman and the Traveller enter the boat.)
Ferryman
Hoist the sail!
(The Acolytes hoist the sail. The Ferryman plies his pole.)
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Curlew River, smoothly flowing
Between the Lands of East and West,
Dividing person from person!
Ah, ferryman,
Row your ferry boat,
Bring nearer, nearer,
Person to person,
By chance or misfortune,
Time, death or misfortune,
Divided asunder!
Traveller
What are all those people
Crowded on the other bank
Near that yew tree?
(The Ferryman stops poling.)
Ferryman
Today is an important day,
The people are assembling
In memory of a sad event.
I will tell you the story.
It happened on this very day a year ago. There was a stranger in my boat, a Northman, a
foreigner, a big man armed with a sword and a cudgel. He was on his way to take ship
to the North-land. (He poles once.) And not alone. There was a boy with him, a gentle
boy, twelve years old, maybe, and a Christian. The Heathen said he’d bought him as a
slave. The boy said nothing. I could see he was ill. Unused to travelling rough. (He poles
once.) Poor child. When we had crossed the river, he said he was too weak to walk, and
down he lay on the grass near the chapel. (He poles once.) The Heathen threatened him,
swore at him, struck him. He was a man without a heart, and we feared he would kill the
boy, but he left the boy where he was, and went on his way. (He poles twice.)
Abandoned by his master, the boy lay alone. The river people pitied him, took care of him.
But he grew weaker and weaker. We asked him who he was, where he was born. “I was
born,” he said, “in the Western Marches; from my pillow, when I first opened my eyes,
I could see the Black Mountains. I am the only child of a nobleman. My father is dead, I
have lived alone with my mother. Then, walking alone in our own fields, I was seized by
that stranger. He threatened to kill me…But there was no need: I know I am dying…
Please bury me here, by the path to this chapel. Then if travellers from my dear country
pass this way, their shadows will fall on my grave, and plant a yew tree in memory of
me.” He spoke these words calmly, like a man. Then he said a prayer:
“Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!”
And then he died.
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!
(The Madwoman weeps.)
Ferryman
The river folk believe
The boy was a saint.
They take earth from his grave
To heal their sickness.
They report many cures.
The river folk believe
His spirit has been seen.
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!
Ferryman
There may be some people from the West in this boat. Let them offer prayers that the
soul of that boy may rest in peace.
Traveller, Abbot and Chorus
Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!
(The Ferryman steers the boat to the bank.)
Ferryman
Look! While you were listening to my story, we have reached the bank. Lower the sail!
(The sail is lowered and the tomb is seen.)
Ferryman
Make haste there, all of you! Come, get ashore!
(The Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus leave the boat and approach the tomb. The Madwoman
remains in the boat.)
Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Curlew River, smoothly flowing
Between the Lands of East and West,
Dividing person from person.
Ah, Ferryman, row your ferry boat!
Bring nearer, nearer,
Person to person,
By chance or misfortune,
Time, death or misfortune,
Divided asunder!
Traveller
I’ll remain here today.
I cannot journey on today.
Though I never knew the boy
I’ll offer up a prayer for him.
Abbot and Chorus
Though he never knew the boy
He’ll offer up a prayer for him.
(The Ferryman turns and looks at the weeping Madwoman.)
Ferryman
Come along there, you crazy soul!
It’s time to land,
So get out of the boat.
Come along there,
Get out of the boat!
You must be soft-hearted
To weep at my story,
To weep so bitterly.
Make haste there, step ashore!
Madwoman
Ferryman, tell me,
When did it happen,
This story you have told us?
Ferryman
Last year, at this time,
On this very day, a year ago.
Madwoman
Ferryman, how old was the boy?
Ferryman
I told you, he was twelve.
Madwoman
What was his name?
Ferryman
But I told you all about him!
I told you what he was,
And how he came here.
Madwoman
Ferryman, pray tell me,
Tell me what his name was.
Ferryman
Oh how should I know?
His father was a nobleman
From the Black Mountains.
Madwoman
And since then have neither
Of his parents been here?
Ferryman
No one of his family.
Madwoman
Not even his mother?
Ferryman
Not even his mother!
Madwoman
No wonder no one
Came here to look for him!
He was the child
Sought by this madwoman.
Traveller
The boy was her child,
The child she was seeking!
He who died here
Was this poor woman’s child.
Ferryman
Who could have dreamed it?
The boy who died here! Her sad search is ended.
Is ended after months of weary searching.
Abbot
The madwoman was his mother!
Him she was seeking
Was not to be found.
Madwoman
Am I dreaming?
Is this a dream?
Chorus
He was her child!
She has found his grave here by the river.
She was his mother!
She has only found sorrow!
Is this a dream? Or is it true she was his mother?
(The Madwoman rises.)
Madwoman
O Curlew river, cruel Curlew,
Where all my hope is swept away!
Torn from the nest, my bird,
Crying in empty air.
Now the nest of the curlew is silent with snow,
And the lamb is devoured by the carrion crow…
The innocent lamb…
The heathen crow!
Good people, where shall I turn?
Tell me now!
Take me back…
Chain on my soul, let me go!
(She sinks down.)
O River Curlew, O curlew, cruel bird!
Abbot and Chorus
Here, where the Curlew
Separates for ever
On that side, the Land of the West,
And here, the Eastern Fens.
Here where the River
For ever divides them
Her sad search is ended.
Ferryman
Who would have guessed that
The boy was her child?
Traveller
This madwoman was his mother.
Ferryman
Lady, I pity you!
Traveller
I pity you!
Both
We pity you!
Madwoman
Let me in! Let me out! Let me in!
Ferryman
Your sad search is ended!
(The Ferryman and Traveller move to help the Madwoman out of the boat.)
Ferryman
Now let me show you
Where the boy is buried.
I beg you,
Please step this way.
Lady, come with me.
(The Ferryman leads the Madwoman to the tomb.)
This is the grave of your young child.
That his young soul may rest in peace,
We all can pray.
May Heaven receive it!
For his young soul’s repose, lady,
Your prayer is best.
Ferryman, Abbot and Chorus
Lady, let him guide you to the tomb,
The place where your wandering steps have brought you.
This is the grave of your young child.
That his soul may rest in peace,
We all can pray.
May Heaven receive it!
Madwoman (turning away from the tomb)
Hoping, I wandered on,
Hoping to find my son.
I have come alone
To the reedy land of Fens,
Where all is strange to me,
Only to learn
In all this earth, no road
Leads to my living son.
Hoping, I wandered on—
I have come to a grave!
Did I give birth to him
To have him stolen
And carried far away,
Here to the Eastern Fens
To end as dust by the road?
O, good people, open up the tomb
That I may see again
The shape of my child,
His face, his well-belovèd face!
(She claws hopelessly at the tomb, then sinks down weeping.)
Abbot and Chorus
He whose life was full of promise
Promised, and is gone.
She who feels her life is passing,
She is left alone.
Left alone, and weeping:
May her weeping cease!
(An Acolyte tolls the bell.)
Ferryman
What is the use of tears?
Whom can your weeping help?
No, rather say a prayer
That in the other world
The soul of your child
May rest in peace.
Madwoman
Cruel!
Grief is too great,
I cannot pray,
I am struck down.
Here, on the ground,
All I can do is weep.
Traveller
This is not right.
Lady, remember,
All of us here
May pray for your child:
But your prayer is best
To rejoice his young soul.
Madwoman
What you say is true:
I’ll say a prayer
For the soul of my lost child.
Deafened by his silence,
Roaring like the sea.
(She turns and faces the tomb.)
Abbot and Chorus
The moon has risen,
The river breeze is blowing,
The Curlew River
Is flowing to the sea.
Now it is night
And time to pray.
Madwoman
I pray with the others
Under the white light
Of the cloudless moon.
Ferryman
And her prayers go straight to Heaven.
Traveller
Her prayers go to Heaven.
Ferryman and Traveller
And, O, to the numberless
Holy and glorious
Saints and martyrs,
All the company
Holy and glorious
There in the blessèd
Abode of eternal
Peacefulness, happiness.
All angels, all martyrs,
All saints, pray for us.
Christ have mercy upon us.
(The Abbot and Chorus kneel, facing the tomb.)
Abbot and Chorus
Custodes hominum psallimus Angelos,
Naturae fragili quos Pater addidit
Caelestis comites, insidiantibus
Ne succumberet hostibus.
Nam quod corruerit proditor Angelus,
Concessis merito pulsus honoribus,
Ardens invidia, pellere nititur
Quos caelo Deus advocat.
(The Ferryman and Traveller kneel, facing the tomb. The Madwoman turns from the
tomb and gazes into the distance.)
Madwoman
From the river
I hear voices,
Like souls abandoned
Curlews are calling.
“Birds of the Fenland, though you float or fly,
Wild birds, I cannot understand your cry.
Tell me, does the one I love
In this world still live?”
Ferryman, Traveller, Abbot, and Chorus
Haec custos igitur pervigil advola,
Avertens patria de tibi credita
Tam morbos animi, quam requiescere
Quidquid non sinit incolas.
(The voice of the Spirit of the Boy is heard from inside the tomb.)
Spirit and the Rest
Sanctae sit Triadi Iaus pia jugiter…
Madwoman
I thought I heard
The voice of my child.
Spirit and the Rest
Cujus perpetuo numine machina…
Madwoman
I thought I heard him.
Praying in his grave.
Spirit and the Rest
Triplex haec regitur…
Ferryman
We also heard it,
Traveller
The voice of the child
Spirit and the Rest
…cujus in omnia…
Ferryman
We shall keep silent.
Traveller
Say your prayer alone, lady.
Ferryman
Say it alone.
Abbot, Chorus and Spirit
Regnat gloria saecula.
Now to the holy Three your praise
devoutly pour…
His glorious Godhead guides and
governs evermore…
This triple fame…
…to him ascribe we all our praise…
Who reigns through everlasting days.
(All except the Madwoman withdraw from the tomb.)
Madwoman
O but if only
I might hear it,
Hear his voice once again,
The voice of my son,
Hear the voice of my son!
Spirit
Amen.
(The Spirit of the Boy appears in full view above the tomb.)
All (except the Madwoman and Spirit)
Hear his voice!
See, there is his shape!
Madwoman
Is it you, my child?
(The Spirit circles slowly round the Madwoman, who appears transformed. He returns to
the tomb.)
Spirit (off)
Go your way in peace, mother.
The dead shall rise again
And in that blessèd day
We shall meet in Heaven.
Abbot and Chorus
Amen.
Spirit
God be with you all.
Ferryman and Traveller
Amen.
Spirit
God be with you, mother.
Mother (now freed from her madness)
Amen.
Spirit
Amen.
(The Mother now bows her head. The Monks come forward and hide her from view.
She, the Ferryman, and the Traveller resume their Monks’ habits. The Abbot comes
forward and addresses the congregation.)
Abbot
Good souls, we have shown you here
How in sad mischance
A sign was given of God’s grace.
Monks
A sign of God’s grace.
Abbot
A vision was seen,
A miracle and a mystery,
At our Curlew River here.
A woman was healed by prayer and grace,
A woman with grief distraught.
Monks
With grief distraught.
Abbot and Monks (exhorting the congregation)
O praise our God that lifteth up
The fallen, the lost, the least;
The hope He gives, and His grace that heals.
Abbot
In hope, in peace, ends our mystery.
(The Abbot moves away from the acting area, and the Monks, Acolytes, and
Instrumentalists form a procession after him.)
WhiteLightFestival.org
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Te lucis ante terminum,
Rerum Creator, poscimus,
Ut pro tua clementia,
Sis praesul et custodia.
Procul recedant somnia,
Et noctium phantasmata:
Hostemque nostrum comprime,
Ne polluantur corpora.
Praesta, Pater piissime,
Patrique compar Unice,
Cum Spiritu Paraclito,
Regnans per omne saeculum.
Amen.
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