BELA BARTOK . CANTATA PROFANA ------POR RITA AMODEI

..Bartok - Cantata profana, Sz. 94 Béla Bartók (1881-1945) ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Cantata profana, Sz. 94 (Die Zauberhirsche) (The Nine Splendid Stags) Written in 1930. György Lehel, conductor Orchester des Ungarischen Rundfunks und Fernsehens Chor des Ungarischen Rundfunks und Fernsehens Jósef Réti, tenor András Faragó, bass Released in 1964. Cantata Profana Once there was an old man, One, who treasured nine sons Fair and sturdy Seed of his own body, Nine fair, sturdy fellows Naught of work he taught them, Neither trade nor farming, Ploughing not, nor sowing, Naught of handling horses Nor the care of cattle. Only this he taught them: Hill and vale to wander Hunting the noble stag Through forest aroving, hey-yah! The bounded ahunting, hey! All nine sons and sturdy brothers Through forest aroving hunted. Farther still they wandered The hunted on and on Still longer and longer, until Deep lay a haunted bridge Wondrous stags had crossed it, Heedless on they followed Not knew where they wandered Lost in forest shadows, All were changed to stags Slender stags, enchanted rowing Through the forest Hey, at last the loving father Could abide no longer Straight he took his rifle And set forth to find them Hey, his nine fair children. On he roamed to where the bridge lay, Found where the wondrous stags had crossed it Nine enchanted stags he passed there Swiftly then their trail he followed Reached at last a cooling wellspring, Nine stags astanding. Falling on one knee, Hey, he sighted on the leader. Ai! But the largest stag gave answer Ai! Of all the sons the dearest, Ai! Called in answer to his father: "Dearest, loving father, Aim not at thy children! Or surely our antlers Must pierce thee and pin thee, Must hammer and hurl thee, Crashing valley to valley, And boulder to boulder, and mountain to mountain, Will dash thee, smash thee, slash thee Crashing cliff to crater, Flesh be paste and bones be powder, Naught but dust survive thee, Then the loving father Called unto his children, And grieving answered, pleading called unto his children: "Oh, my dearest loved ones, Oh, my darling children, Come, oh come, and follow home now, Come now, your sweet mother waits you. Come with me, my children, Your mother stands waiting, lonely, Loving, grieving, all to herself alone. The lanterns are lit. The tables are set The glasses are filled As glasses stand waiting, So does your mother stand, As wine in them brimming, So, too, your mother;s eyes." Yet again the leader, Dearest of all children Called aloud and answered thus Unto his father: "Dearest loving father, Go back, oh, go home now To our lonely, dear, sweet mother, But we cannot go! We shall never return, Because our antlers Cannot pass thy doorway, Only roam the forest groves; And our slender bodies Ne'er in clothes can wander, Only wear the wind and sun; And our dainty legs can Never stand the hearthstone, Nor tread but leafy mold; And our mouths no longer Drink from crystal glasses But only mountain springs." Once there was an old man, One, who treasured nine sons Fair and sturdy Naught of work he taught them, Neither trade nor farming, But only to wander as Nine huntsman ahunting. And farther, farther On and on they wandered. All were changed to stags then, There in the forest shadows. And so their antlers Cannot pass through doorways, Only roam the forest groves; Their slender bodies Ne'er in clothes can wander Only wear the wind and sun, Their dainty legs Can never stand the hearthstone, Only tread the leafy mold; Their mouths no longer Drink from crystal glasses Only from clear springs.