Mme. Schumann-Heink

              1907
SONG RECITAL
BY
Mme.Schumann-Heink

Figure


AT AUDITORIUM
WINONA LAKE, INDIANA
AUG. 13, 1907



Programme

I


a.
Arie From the Opera Mitrane
Rossi


b.
Du bist die Ruh }



c.
Wohin }
Franz Schubert


d.
Der Wanderer }






II


a.
Heimweh
Hugo Wolf


b.
Drie Zigeuner
Liszt


c.
Widmung
Schumann





III


a.
Sapphische Ode }

Brahms


b.
Six Hungarian Gypsy Songs (Cycle) }

Brahms




1. Ye Gypsies, Ho, Sound Your Harps.





2. High and towering Rima Stream.





3. Know Ye, when my Lov'd one is fairest of all bliss.





4. Roving God, Thou knowest how oft I've rued this.





5. Art thou thinking often now, Sweetheart.





6. Rosebuds Three.






IV


Prison Scene from The Prophet
Meyerbeer



FIDES—MME. SCHUMANN-HEINK





Accompanist
Mrs. Katherine Hoffman



Smith & Nixon Piano Used





I.

Aria from the Opera Mitrane

Ah! give me back that heart of thine,
Give me back all that love divine,
Give me back that heart I cherished,
Give me back that love that perished, By thee awaken'd.
Ever the same were my thoughts and thine.
Ever the same were thy will and mine.
Now why so cruel—so cruel?
Why hast thou from me departed?
Ever the same were thy thoughts and mine.
Ever the same were my will and thine.
And why, cruel one, and why, cruel one, and why,
Oh, why, hast thou from me departed?
Left me sad hearted.  From me departed?  Give me back that joy,
Which in loving me thy love imparted;
Give, ah, give it, give it back.
Give back once more that dear joy of yore;
Give it back that I might unite
My being with thine!
Ah! give it back, that love divine!



Du bist die Ruh

My sweet repose, my soothing peace,
Assuage my woes, ah! make them cease;
Reside with me mid joys and sighs,
Thy home shall be my heart and eyes.
Still all my woes to wake no more;
Behind thee close the noiseless door;
Bid grief and pain in haste depart;
Do thou remain to cheer this heart.
Shed o'er my sight thy glorious ray,
Come, heart's delight, come here and stay.



Wohin

I hear a streamlet gushing
From out its rocky bed,
Far down the valley rushing,
So fresh and clear it sped.
I know not why I pondered,
Nor whence the thought did flow;
E'en as he hastens downward
With my staff I, too, must go.
Still onward, but ever downward
And ever still by the stream,
Which with refreshing murmur
More bright and clear did gleam.
Must this, then, be my pathway?
Oh, streamlet, tell me where my path shall I find,
Thou hast with thy sweet murmur
Bewildered quite my mind.
Why speak I of a murmur?
No murmur can it be —
The nixies, they are singing
'Neath thy wave their melody.
Cease singing, my friends, cease murmuring
And blithely wander near.
I hear the sound of mill-wheels
In every streamlet clear.



Der Wanderer

I come here from my mountains lone.
The vale is dim — the sea doth moan.
I wonder still with pain and care,
And ever ask while sighing Where?
The sun to me seems dim and cold,
The flow'rs are pale and life seems old;
Their speech doth seem but empty sound,
And stranger I on foreign ground.
Where art thou, mine own dearest land?
I seek in vain thy far off strand!
That land, that land, so fresh and green
Where richest roses may be seen.
Where dwell the friends I love to see,
Where sleep the dead so dear to me;
That land where they my language speak—
Oh, land, where art thou?
I wander still in pain and care,
And ever ask with sighing Where?
A spirit voice doth whisper near,
There, where thou art not, all joy is there.




II.

Heimweh (Longing)

If to foreign lands you'd wander,
Make your sweetheart share your fate.
Others sing and leave the stranger
Quite alone and desolate.
Ye leafy crowns, what do you know
Of the olden times of glee?
Oh, my home beyond the mountains
Is so very far from me!
'Tis good to watch the stars that shone
When to my love I went before.
I like to hear the nightingale
That sang before my sweetheart's door.
The morning is a time of pleasure,
Then very early I depart
To mount the summit; from afar
I greet thee, Deutschland, from my heart!



Die drei Zigeuner

Gypsies three were lying one day,
By a willow reposing,
While I trudged on my weary way,
Tired, for daylight was closing.
One he played for himself alone,
Fiddling freely and blithely,
Fading light around him shor
Singing his ditty so blithely.
Puff'd the second his smoky rings,
Saw them vanish in musing,
Peaceful as tho' he'd gathered of things
All that were worth the choosing.
And the third one profoundly slept,
With his cymbal before him;
Over the strings a wind puff swept,
Lightly a dream pass'd o'er him.
Clad in tatters and shreds all three,
Patch'd with a tangle of stitches,
Mock'd at their lot, were proud and free,
Scorn'd the world and its riches.
Threefold rule they gave that day,
Wisdom's nothing beside 't;
Life is for sleep, for smoke, for play,
Nor forget to deride it.



Widmung

Thou art my soul, thou art my heart;
Thou both my joy and sadness art,
Thou art my world, where I am a mover,
My heav'n art thou, wherein I hover;
Thou art my grave, wherein I cast
Forever all my sorrow past;
Thou art my rest, my peace protecting;
Thou art from Heav'n my life directing.
Make me, by worth, thy love to own!
Thy glance to me myself hath shown!
Thou'rt ever round me hovering by,
My guardian sprite, my better I.
Thou art my soul, thou art my heart, etc.





III.

Sapphische Ode

Roses gathered I in the night by darkling way,
Sweeter breathed their fragrance than e'er by day;
Moving branches o'er me in fullness strewing,
Showers bedewing.
So thy kisses fragrance as naught has charmed,
Kisses caught by night from thy lips unharmed;
Thou, too, moved, moved by deepest feeling,
Dewy tears revealing.



Six Hungarian Gyspsy Songs (Cycle) Ho, there, Gypsy

Ho, there, Gypsy!  Strike, resounding ev'ry string,
And the song of the false and faithless maiden sing!
Ho, there, Gypsy!  Strike resounding ev'ry string,
And the song of the false and faithless maiden,
Let the strings all moan, lamenting, sorrow weeping,
Till the burning tears these cheeks so hot are steeping!



High and Towering Stream

High and towering Rima Stream,
How art thou so drear,
On thy shore I mourn aloud,
For thee, my dear!
Waves are rushing, waves are flying,
Rolling o'er the strand afar to me;
On the shore of Rima let me weep
For her eternally.



Know ye, when my lov'd one is fairest of all bliss?

Know ye, when my lov'd one is fairest of all bliss?
If her sweet mouth rosy, jest and laugh and kiss.
Maiden heart, mine thou art,
Tenderly, I kiss thee,
Thee a loving heaven made
Alone and but for me!
Know ye, when my lover the dearest is to me?
When in his fond arms, he enfolded me lovingly.
Dear, sweetheart, mine thou art,
Tenderly, I kiss thee,
Thee a loving heaven made
Alone and but for me!



Loving God, thou knowest how oft I've rued this

Loving God, thou knowst how oft I've rued this;
That I gave my lover once, a little kiss.
Heart's command to kiss him, how dismiss?
And long as I live I'll think of that first kiss.
Heart's command to kiss him, how dismiss?
And long as I live I'll think of that first kiss.
How in joy and pain, in him my thoughts delight.
Love is sweet, though bitter oft to rue,
My poor heart will hold him ever, ever true.
Love is sweet, though bitter oft to rue,
My poor heart will hold him ever, ever true.



Art thou thinking often now, sweetheart?

Art thou thinking often now, sweetheart, my love,
What thou once with holy vow to me hast sworn?
Art thou thinking often now, sweetheart, my love,
What thou once to me with holy vow hast sworn?
Trifle not, forsake me not,
Thou knowst not how dearly I love thee;
Lov'st thou me as I thee,
Smile of God shall crown thee graciously.



Rosebuds Three

Rosebuds three, all on one tree, ye blossoms so red;
That a lad a lassie woo, is not forbid!
Rosebuds three, all on one tree, ye blossoms so red;
That a lad a lassie woo, is not forbid!
Loving God, if that had been denied,
All the world, the beauteous world long since had died.
Single life's a sin beside!




IV.

Prison Scene (Act V) The Prophet FIDES, MME. SCHUMANN-HEINK

O! my cruel destiny!
Whither have you led me?
What, the walls of a prison,
They arrest my footsteps.
I am no longer free.
Bertha swore my son's death,
He denied his mother
On his head let the wrath
Of heaven fall.
Fall on the ungrateful son
Thy just anger.
No, no, have pity on him.
The ingrate abandons me,
But my heart is disarmed,
Thy mother pardons thee.
Yes, I am still a mother.
My beloved, Heaven on thee
Have pity, thou gavest the heart;
I have given my cares
That thou may'st be happy,
Now I would give my life,
And my soul exalted,
Will wait for thee in heaven.