I could not say for certain whether Tragödie is a song in three parts or a small cycle. We find it published in Romanzen und Balladen IV as number 3 (that is, not as numbers 3, 4 and 5), yet it is rare to hear it performed in its entirety, even in recordings (and we shall see why). In fact, the only song (or part) that is occasionally heard in recitals is the first.
I don't konw either whether Schumann intended it to be performed complete. We know that, at the time, when performances were mostly domestic, such matters were not important, but this song (or cycle) has a peculiar history, which I'll also try to explain.
So I thought that I could refer to Tragödie as a triptych: a triptych can be appreciated in parts, but it cannot be fully appreciated unless considered as a whole. And with that clarification made, let me begin to unravel the thread.
On 27 October 1841, Robert Schumann wrote in his diary that he had composed “Tragödie, with poem by Heine, for several voices and orchestra”, adding: “my first attempt at composition for voice with orchestra”. He mentioned the work a few more times in later entries, but did not publish it, and nothing more was heard of it until 1847, when he included it, as I have said, in Opus 64, in the version we know for voice and piano.
Tragödie is based on a poem by Heinrich Heine in three parts, first published in 1829 in a ladies’ annual, the Taschenbuch für Damen; one of those carefully produced publications, designed as gift objects, which gathered together readings thought suitable for their intended audience and spared them others deemed “less appropriate”. However odd this may sound to us now, it is worth noting that such volumes often contained the finest literature, and that men also read them. Robert Schumann, for instance, who used this first version for his work. Later, in 1834, Heine included the poem in the first volume of Der Salon, a series he conceived as a kind of literary magazine to publish his works of various genres. Finally, Tragödie appeared in Neue Gedichte (1844), as the last poem of the second part, Verschiedene.
The first song of the triptych, Entflieh mit mir und sei mein Weib [Flee with me and be my wife], is the best known. The poem gives voice to a man urging a woman to leave everything behind and flee with him. A difficult decision in any case, and all the more so in the early nineteenth century: if a young woman left home in such a way, without her parents’ blessing, it was highly likely she would never see them again, nor could she return to her village without being judged. Add to this the uncertainty of the future, and we can imagine her caution, however much she loved the man.
So he must deploy all his powers of persuasion, with a touch of emotional blackmail as well; to the poet’s hyperbolic imagery we add Schumann’s passion, and the result is one of those irresistible songs that draws you in, that you hear once and never forget. The first stanza is all fire (the composer marks it in the score, “Rasch und mit Feuer”, quick and with fire), and the lover urges ahead; in the second stanza he adopts a more persuasive, though equally impassioned tone, no doubt sensing his beloved’s hesitation. The poem ends here, but Schumann repeats the vehement first stanza.
Will he succeed in overcoming her reluctance? That we shall discover next week, for the post was becoming so long that I'll turn it into three shorter ones, to be published, if all goes well, over three consecutive weeks. For now, let yourself be carry along towards a new life by Entflieh mit mir und sei mein Weib, in the version by Florian Boesch and Malcolm Martineau.
Entflieh’ mit mir und sei mein Weib,
Und ruh an meinem Herzen aus!
In weiter Ferne sei mein Herz
Dein Vaterland und Vaterhaus!
Entflieh’n wir nicht, so sterb’ ich hier
Und du bist einsam und allein;
Und bleibst du auch im Vaterhaus,
Wirst doch wie in der Fremde sein.
Flee with me and be my wife,
and rest upon my heat;
in distant lands let my heart
be your fatherland and your parental home.
If we do not flee, I'll die here
and you will be lonely and alone;
and you will remain in your parental house,
but it will be like a foreign land to you.
(translation by Emily Ezust)
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