Year of composition
Duration
Scored for
For vocal and instrumental ensemble: 12 voices - 2 violins - 2 violas - 2 cellos - double bass - piano
Publication information
Text(s)
Joseph Bédier (1864-1938)
Commentary
Commentary 1:
I have been asked to say a few words here about Le Vin Herbé (The Magic Potion). I’d rather talk about composing in general and add some remarks at the end on Le Vin Herbé. In fact there is nothing more difficult or even more dangerous than to speak about one’s own work. There can be no question of making judgements on its value so one can only talk about the making of, or try to describe the emotion, the feelings experienced during the composition process. Both methods are equally disastrous as I have sadly experienced. If you talk of technique then the listener finds you faultless, cold as a calculator, like some sort of mathematician who has strayed into the fine arts. It’s not that it worries me much, but I don’t like the idea that people could think of my music as an algebra problem, nor that it could be listened to with such a preconception. On the other hand, if you speak about the feelings that stimulated you during the composing, this gives the unfortunate impression of trying to gain the sympathy of unrepentant romantics, of those who think that a work of art falls from the sky, ready cooked on your plate, in a spasm of voluptuousness.
To be honest, all of that is in the composition: there is voluptuousness and much anxiety, there are gifts from heaven and problems solved with difficulty, note by note, using all one’s intelligence; there is also a sort of mathematics sui generis, where values are replaced by notes and functions by tonal relations. But the fundamental difference between music and mathematics is that the achievement in music is beauty, whereas in mathematics it is truth. Mathematical truth is unquestionable, it is inevitable; beauty, this sort of artistic truth, must be convincing. The only proof of success for an artist is the judgement of his own sensitivity, the adherence of his inner sense. It is this inner sense that controls and unifies everything; it has a presentiment for what must be and it orientates the research but does not contribute anything positive, only desires and judgement. On the one hand, positive contribution is a gift from heaven, often long sought after; on the other hand, it is the result of conscious research, of specifically technical work. Of course this is only an analysis: in reality these elements are entangled, and sometimes heaven’s gift is actually a technically precise brainwave. The real gifts from heaven are almost always exclusively musical values that have no particular feeling on their own, but have such a sense of richness that they can, somehow, serve all ends.
But as always, whether the source is direct inspiration or patient research, the musical data is weighed and checked by that other person inside us who accepts or rejects them. Thus while composing, the inner sense must be present at every moment and be as sharp as a knife; and above all, the sense of music will judge if a certain note in a certain place expresses what it should express, if such a harmonic progression gives the right impression of rising or falling, of advancing or pausing, if a certain musical movement conveys what is expected or manages to surprise. Yet in a work of long-term research, and especially a vocal work, the sense of music alone is not enough. The meaning of the text must be included as well as its own movement and its psychological aspect. The composer must find the balance between the at times contradictory elements of the different feelings. For it can happen that the musical movement needs to expand with the dramatic progression while precisely at this moment the text diminishes in intensity.
So at every moment the inner sense must control both the free gift as well as the conscious research. And the critical mood that we could expect here is not present, nor is it a cool mood: it is a passionate mood that must be merciless in judging all that is not absolutely to the point, whatever its origin. Here we can say that the composition demands all faculties in play, reasoning intelligence as well as the most extreme states of mind. But there is never proof of success other than the support of the other me, the sensitive one who says “That’s it” or “that’s not it”. And that is the composer’s great anxiety, for there are moments that the other doesn’t know how to reply, searching in vain for emotion, for conviction; there are moments too when he replies tirelessly “That’s not it”. Fortunately, there are also magnificent moments when he replies without any constraint “That’s it”, and that is a worthy reward for all the efforts made.
This lack of proof is one of the main reasons of the extreme susceptibility of artists in general, for they often need support from others to convince themselves. It is certainly necessary from time to time to receive unrestrained support, and especially to be able to find proof that one is not locked in one’s own world and that this kind of artistic truth inside us has value for others. For some fools have this sentiment of inner accordance and absolute truth to the highest degree, and it is good to be able to convince yourself that you are not one of that sort. The artist’s great joy, other than convincing his own inner critic, is to see that the sensitivity of others can be reached. It doesn’t need many; just a few suffice. The audience’s mark of success is certainly pleasant; it gently flatters one’s vanity, but in fact this proves little, other than a fleeting moment of confirmation in a certain hall in a certain town. While encouragement from a few people is essential: it’s the outward support, the final control of our inner control; even better, it is sharing with other minds, breaking the barrier of our eternal solitude.
But let’s get to Le Vin Herbé! If I have insisted on the fact that the inner feeling is the only and ultimate proof of success and not obedience to certain technical laws, it is because there are people who will have problems to adjust to my musical language in this work; these people find it difficult to believe that there is something here other than a pure intellectual game, or voluntary submission to certain arbitrary rules. And I would like to make it clear that if I followed the rather arbitrary rules of serial technique up to a point, I only considered them a source of enrichment and renewal, but following these rules never had value in itself for me. All rules are only intended to enrich a style, whether the classical rules of harmony and counterpoint or the new rules which can be followed at will or not. Using these rules of style is only a kind of elegance, a mental pleasure, which has neither value nor conviction. I will therefore not talk about the musical language used in Le Vin Herbé, nor the rules it follows. That is material to be studied in depth for a seminar. But I’d like to tell you in a few words why I wrote this piece and why I wrote it in this way.
In the spring of 1938 I had time on my hands as I had no plans for anything important, but I was drawn towards the myth of Tristan and Isolde. I was furthermore impressed after reading the novel by Charles Morgan, Sparkenbroke, which is permeated with this myth. It was then that Robert Blum asked me to compose a piece lasting about half an hour for his Madrigal choir of 12 professional singers and also for some instruments. The vocal parts should be for soloists, for choir as well as solo ensembles. He gave me a list of the singers with the characteristics of each voice. With my mind full of Tristan, I reread Bédier’s text and I realised that I would never find any text better suited to my plans. The fourth chapter, “Le Philtre” (Love-potion), could be used integrally and this was enough to fill the half hour required using ensembles and soloists. The instrumental part should be modest rather than secondary, like the scenery in a theatre play. As I had a choir, I decided to use it for a good deal of the recitatives, and also to use it as the accompaniment, of secondary importance, for some of the big solos, in particular when Branghien expresses the inevitable power of destiny. The text divided itself into scenes which determined the concise musical forms that are easy to grasp. And that is how Le Vin Herbé took its shape and form. Unlike any other prose, the extraordinary sense of rhythm of Bédier’s text served me well and gave me the right proportions and psychological flow. I was able to use the text in its entirety without any alterations, which is unequivocal proof of its absolute perfection.
Later I decided to add to this chapter another two chapters, La Forêt du Morois (Morois Forest), where the lovers decide to separate, and La Mort (Death), so that the piece would be rounded off covering the whole tragic story and would also be a full-length concert version able to fill a whole evening on its own. I felt that the atmosphere of this tale of love and death would improve by extending it, and that love alone was not enough, for it is death that brings peace after all the delights and anguish of passion. To enclose the work, I placed the prologue from Bédier’s novel at the beginning, and at the end the epilogue which, after the death of the lovers, places the story in its legendary past, yet linking it to our present-day feelings. To complete this talk, I can do no better than to cite the epilogue:
“My Lords, the good trouvères of yesteryear, Béroul, and Thomas, and his Lordship Eilhart, and master Gottfried, have told this tale for all who love, and for no others. They convey their respects to you through me. They pay tribute to those who are melancholic and those who are happy, the dissatisfied and the willing, the joyful and those in turmoil, all lovers. May they find consolation here for fickleness, injustice, unrequited love, sorrow, and all the pains of love!”
* Talk given by Frank Martin on the occasion of the second performance of the first part of Vin Herbé by the Madrigal Choir of Zurich on January 23, 1941.
Commentary 2:
In the spring of 1938 I had time on my hands as I had no plans for a new composition; but I was drawn towards the myth of Tristan and Isolde after reading the novel by Charles Morgan, Sparkenbroke, which was permeated with this myth. It was then that a Swiss-German colleague, Robert Blum, asked me to compose a piece lasting about half an hour for his Madrigal choir of 12 professional singers. He gave me a list of these singers with the characteristics of each voice. With my mind full of Tristan, I reread Joseph Bédier’s well-known novel based on old tales of the Middle Ages and I realised immediately that I would never find any text better suited to my plans. The fourth chapter, “Le Philtre” (Love-potion), could be used integrally and this was enough to fill the half hour required and it was ideal to be set for soloists and vocal ensembles.
Robert Blum made it possible for me to add 7 or eight instruments to the voices; I chose two violins, two violas, two cellos, one double bass and a piano for the instrumental part which should be modest rather than secondary, like the scenery in a theatre play.
As I had a choir, I decided to use it for a good deal of the recitatives, either in unison or harmonised, and also to use it as the accompaniment for some of the big solos, in particular when Branghien expresses the inevitable power of destiny. The text divided itself into scenes which determined the concise musical forms that were easy to grasp. And that is how Le Vin Herbé (at least the first part) took its shape and form. Unlike any other prose, the extraordinary sense of rhythm of Bédier’s text gave me the right proportions and psychological flow. I was able to use the text in its entirety without any alterations, which is unequivocal proof of its absolute perfection.
After the first performance I realised that I needed to add another two chapters to complete it: “La Forêt du Morois” (Morois Forest), where the lovers decide to separate, and “La Mort” (Death), so that the piece would be rounded off covering the whole tragic story, and would also be a full-length concert version which could be performed on its own. I felt that the atmosphere of this tale of love and death needed to be extended and that love alone was not enough, for it is death that brings peace, after all the delights and anguish of passion.
In 1941 I had finished the third part and completed the work by adding the Prologue and Epilogue that enclose Joseph Bédier’s novel. Robert Blum was thus able to give the first performance of the entire work with his madrigal choir in Zurich in April 1942. As far as the musical language of Le Vin Herbé is concerned, although it is focussed on almost constant chromaticism, it never denies what for me is the basis itself of music, that is, the functions of tonality. And I would like to make it clear that if I followed the rather arbitrary rules of serial technique, I only considered them a source of renewal; but following these rules never had value in itself for me.
All rules are only intended to enrich a style, whether the classical rules of harmony and counterpoint or the new rules which one can follow or not at will. Using these rules is only a kind of elegance, a spiritual pleasure, which has neither value nor conviction. The only thing to convince the performers first of all, then the audience, is that the composer is true to his most intimate sense of expression and to his musical construction. May hearing Le Vin Herbé convince a few listeners and may they relive “this beautiful tale of love and death”, sung by “the good trouvères of yesteryear” so splendidly transcribed into modern language by Joseph Bédier.
Record sleeve ABC Paramount. Westminster WST 232.
Commentary 3:
The first part of Le Vin Herbé was written during the summer of 1938 at the request of Robert Blum who asked for a piece of about 30 minutes for his Madrigal choir of 12 singers. I had long dreamt of writing a work based on the Roman de Tristan et Iseut (The Story of Tristan and Isolde) by Joseph Bédier and this was the occasion for it. The fourth chapter, entitled “Le philtre” (The Love-potion), was enough on its own, as the text was just right for the half hour granted to me and was perfect to set for soloists as well as vocal ensembles. I was also able to add some instruments to the voices and I chose 2 violins, 2 violas, 2 cellos, a double bass and a piano for this.
As I had a choir, I decided to use it for a good deal of the recitatives and also to use it as the accompaniment for some of the big solos, in particular when Branghien expresses the inevitable power of destiny. The text divided itself into scenes which determined the concise musical forms that are easy to grasp. And that is how the first part of Le Vin Herbé took its shape and form. Unlike any other prose, the extraordinary sense of rhythm of Bédier’s text gave me the right proportions and psychological flow. I was able to use the text in its entirety without any alterations, which is unequivocal proof of its absolute perfection.
After the first performance of this piece, I realised that I needed to lengthen it by adding to this chapter another two, the one of “La Forêt du Morois” (Morois Forest), where the lovers decide to separate, and the chapter of “La Mort” (Death), so that the work would be rounded off, covering the whole tragic story. I felt that the atmosphere of this tale of love and death needed to be extended and that love should not be presented alone, for it is death that brings peace, after all the delights and anguish of passion. In 1941 I had finished the third part and completed the work by adding the Prologue and Epilogue that enclose Joseph Bédier’s novel. Robert Blum was thus able to give the first performance of the entire work with his Madrigal choir in Zurich in April 1942.
As far as the musical language of Le Vin Herbé is concerned, although it is focussed on almost constant use of chromaticism, it never denies what for me is the basis itself of music, that is, the functions of tonality. And if I followed the rules of serial technique up to a certain point, I only considered them a source of renewal; as following rules never seemed to me to have any value in itself. All rules are only intended to enrich a style, whether the classical rules of harmony and counterpoint or the new rules which one can follow or not at will. Using these rules is only a kind of elegance, a spiritual pleasure for the composer; for the listener it has neither value nor conviction. The only thing which could convince the performers first of all, then the audience, is that the composer is true to his most intimate sense of expression and to his musical construction.
There is no better way of ending these few lines of introduction than by the first words of the epilogue: “My Lords, the good trouvères of yesteryear have told this tale for all who love. They convey their respects to you through me.”
In: Munich Festival, 1962
Premiere
Composition: part I 1938, parts II and III 1940-1941.
First performance of the first part (Le Philtre): Zürich, 16 April 1940. Madrigalchor Zürich; Robert Blum, conductor
World premiere of the entire work: Zürich, 28 March 1942. Madrigalchor Zürich, Robert Blum, conductor
Stage premiere Der Zaubertrank: Salzburg, 15 August 1948. Ferenc Fricsay, conductor
Recordings (selective list)
Steve Davislim, tenor - Tristan
Sandrine Piau, soprano - Iseut
RIAS Kammerchor
Scharoun Ensemble
Daniel Reuss, conductor
harmonia mundi s.a. ℗ + © 2007Steven Sharp, tenor - Tristan
Laura Danehower-White, soprano - Iseut
Cast, Chorus and instrumental Ensemble of I Cantori di New York
Mark Shapiro, conductor
NEWPORT CLASSIC NPD 85670 ℗ + © 2000 (FMS179)‘The Netherlands Chamber Choir 10 years of concerts’
James McLean, tenor - Tristan
Jane Leslie-McKenzie, soprano - Iseut
The Netherlands Chamber Choir
The Schönberg Ensemble
Eric Ericson, conductor
Radio Nederland Wereldomroep OCLC 32773205 ℗ 19-05-1984 + © 1991 (FMS085)Eric Tappy, tenor - Tristan
Nata Tuscher, soprano - Iseut
Member of the Stadtorchester Winterthur
Frank Martin, piano
Victor Desarzens, conductor
(Recording: 1961)
Jecklin-Disco JD 581/2-2 ℗ + © 1989 (FMS089)