ABSTRACT

A Discussion of the Choral Music of Samuel Barber

Michael Berg, M.M.

Thesis Chairperson: Jean Boyd, Ph.D.

Within the world of music history, choral music seems to drop off of the map with

the end of the Baroque era, and only a handful of major works, such as masses and

oratorios, are typically studied in an academic setting. As a result, many exquisite pieces

are often largely neglected in many music history courses and textbooks, and it is my

firm belief that such a neglect is to our detriment. With that in mind, I have undertaken a

study of the published choral music of Samuel Barber (1910-1981). In this thesis, I

undertake a study of Barber’s music by observing stylistic techniques in his choral music,

particularly those techniques that remain consistent throughout his choral works.
 A Discussion of the Choral Music of Samuel Barber

by

Michael W. Berg, B.M.

A Thesis

Approved by the School of Music

___________________________________
William V. May, Jr., Ph.D., Dean

___________________________________
David W. Music, D.M.A., Graduate Program Director

Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of

Baylor University in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
of
Master of Music

Approved by the Thesis Committee

___________________________________
Jean Ann Boyd, Ph.D., Chairperson

___________________________________
Eric C. Lai, Ph.D.

___________________________________
Laurel E. Zeiss, Ph.D.

___________________________________
Wallace C. Christian, Ph.D.

Accepted by the Graduate School

August 2008

___________________________________
J. Larry Lyon, Ph.D., Dean

Page bearing signatures is kept on file in the Graduate School.

Copyright © 2008 Michael W. Berg

All rights reserved.

 TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS iv

DEDICATION v

CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION 2

CHAPTER TWO: SEARCHING FOR A VOICE - THE VIRGIN MARTYRS, LET 5

DOWN THE BARS, OH DEATH, AND GOD’S GRANDEUR

CHAPTER THREE: SEARCHING FOR BALANCE - A STOPWATCH AND AN 31

ORDNANCE MAP, REINCARNATIONS, AND PRAYERS OF KIERKEGAARD

CHAPTER FOUR: SEARCHING FOR MEANING - OPUS 42 AND THE LOVERS 77

CHAPTER FIVE: CODA 130

APPENDIX 135

BIBLIOGRAPHY 137

iii
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to the members of my committee, Drs.

Jean Boyd, Eric Lai, and Laurel Zeiss. Throughout my work on this project, they have

not only given me the benefit of their vast knowledge and keen intellects, but have also

demonstrated well-nigh limitless patience and encouragement.

iv
Soli Deo Gloria

v
 CHAPTER ONE

Introduction

Within the world of music, especially college-level music history, choral music

seems to vanish at the end of the Baroque era. True, major oratorios and masses are often

mentioned in history classes, but more modest works tend to fall by the wayside. This is

often simply a matter of judicious selectivity on the part of educators; given the limited

class time available, most tend to focus on larger works in order to fully develop the

students’ understanding of the given period. I do not presume to pass judgment on those

who make such decisions, for I fully understand how precious class time is in these

circumstances. However, the fact remains that choral music is often largely neglected in

all but its most grandiose incarnations in many music history courses and textbooks. As

understandable as this tendency may be, I believe that it is detrimental in that many

exquisite pieces go unnoticed and unappreciated by most students of music. Further, I

believe that studying smaller scale choral music can, along with song traditions and

instrumental chamber music, provide a more intimate glimpse into the stylistic

development of many composers.

With that in mind, I have undertaken a study of the published choral music of

Samuel Barber (1910-1981). I have in the past performed both choral and solo pieces by

Barber, and during my first semester here at Baylor (Fall of 2006) I researched evolving

trends within his song literature. In this thesis, I continue this study of Barber’s music by

observing stylistic techniques in his choral music, particularly those techniques that

2
remain consistent throughout his choral works. While Samuel Barber is not known

principally as a writer of music for the chorus, he did compose several enchanting pieces

for the vocal ensemble. These works, which span the length of his career, have not gone

unnoticed by critics and students of music, but they have rarely been discussed in any

considerable depth. It is my hope that the analyses provided in this thesis will help fill

this gap in Barber scholarship.

The primary focus of these analyses, as mentioned previously, is stylistic

continuity; there are several elements of Barber’s compositional style that remain

consistent throughout his choral output. Features such as harmonic language, structural

tendencies, and text setting are of particular interest to me and comprise a large part of

my observations. In order to provide historical background, I have included biographical

sketches that describe the general circumstances under which Barber composed each

piece, as well as brief biographies of the poets and writers whose texts he used, and often

adapted. I have also included information about commissions and first performances

where particularly important, but most of these works were simply composed on Barber’s

own volition; if no commission information is included, please assume that this is the

case. With this in mind, the primary purpose of this thesis is analytical, not biographical.

As such, I have attempted to keep these discussions fairly limited, and have provided

some bibliographical suggestions for interested readers.

In addition, I have limited the choice of pieces to published choral works

originally written for the independent choral ensemble. Barber wrote some choral pieces

which were never published and exist only in manuscript form; he also arranged many of

his own works in other genres for choral ensemble, and both of his operas include

3
numbers for chorus. While these works may provide fertile ground for further study, I

have chosen to eliminate them from this thesis in order to impose some semblance of

brevity on the discussions herein as well as to provide a more cohesive theme for my

research.

The resulting selections included in this study are arranged chronologically in

three chapters in order to provide a clear view of Barber’s growth as a composer. In the

first chapter, I discuss Barber’s first three choral pieces (The Virgin Martyrs, Let Down

the Bars, O Death, and God’s Grandeur) and highlight important trends that continue in

later works. In the second chapter, I demonstrate how the next two pieces (A Stopwatch

and an Ordnance Map and Reincarnations) illustrate the further development of these

trends which Barber synthesizes in his first large work for chorus, Prayers of

Kierkegaard. The final chapter begins with a discussion of the two pieces of Opus 42

(“Twelfth Night” and “To Be Sung On the Water”), which function as a stylistic bridge

of sorts between Prayers of Kierkegaard and The Lovers, Barber’s final choral piece and

the culmination of the stylistic trends described throughout this thesis. In closing, I

include a brief “coda” in which I warn against an overly systematic approach to Barber’s

music, citing his Easter Chorale as an example of a piece that simply does not fit into the

stylistic trends I describe in the main chapters of the thesis. Taken together, it is my hope

that these discussions adequately describe Samuel Barber’s choral works and engender in

the reader a desire to become more familiar with these pieces.

4
 CHAPTER TWO

Searching for a Voice

The Virgin Martyrs, Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, and God’s Grandeur

During the 1930s, Samuel Barber found himself struggling to define and come to

terms with his place in the musical world. In practical terms, this meant providing for

himself economically. Teaching “involved him too deeply,” thereby distracting him from

the work of composing, and performance opportunities were scarce; as a result, Barber

was forced to rely upon family members and wealthy friends such as Mary Louise Bok,

the founder of the Curtis Institute.1 In musical terms, this meant striving to find a

compositional style that could serve as his unique voice. The three choral pieces from

this time period, The Virgin Martyrs, Let Down the Bars, O Death, and God’s Grandeur

reflect the artistic and spiritual journey of these years in their musical construction as well

as their mystical themes. In this chapter, I will introduce technical and thematic features

of these three pieces that remain consistent throughout Barber’s later choral works.

In 1935, Samuel Barber withdrew to his aunt’s vacation house at the Pocono Lake

Preserve in Pennsylvania; while on this personal retreat from the demands of his daily

life, Barber began work on The Virgin Martyrs for four-part a cappella women’s voices.2

Published in 1939, this piece demonstrates many stylistic traits that remained with Barber

throughout his career, most notably the use of third-based chord progressions, paired

imitation, and motivic development. Whereas this is the only choral piece in which
1
Nathan Broder, Samuel Barber (New York: Schirmer, 1954), 23-27.
2
Ibid., 29.

5
Barber utilized a translated medieval poem, he would later use similar texts for his 1953

song cycle, Hermit Songs. The mystical and intimate nature of the poem represents a

common theme in many of Barber’s choral settings, even though this is the only text

written before the nineteenth century.

The text for this piece was originally written by Siegbert of Gembloux (1035-

1112), a Benedictine historian who lived in the Abbey of Gembloux in the Namur

province of Belgium. While his principal occupation was biography, during the latter

years of his life he became embroiled in the struggles between the empire and the papacy.

In the three treatises that he wrote regarding the conflict, he attacked many of Pope

Gregory VII’s actions as “unchristian and contrary to the Scriptures.”3 At another point,

he staunchly defended the right of priests to be married, a matter that the pope flatly

refused to acknowledge.4 “The Virgin Martyrs,” however, had little to do with such a

politically charged situation, and rather came as the result of his studies of the lives of the

saints, particularly those who gave their lives for the Church. The sheer fact that Barber

was familiar enough with the work to set it to music is a testimony to the translator,

Helen Jane Waddell (1889-1965). While a prolific writer and poet in her own right,

Waddell was known principally for her translations of medieval poetry, especially in her

books The Wandering Scholars (1927) and Medieval Latin Lyrics (1929), the latter of

which contains the translation of this poem:

Therefore come they, the crowding maidens,

Gertrude, Agnes, Prisca, Cecily,

3
Klemens Löffler, “Sigebert of Gembloux,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, Volume XIII, ed. Remy
Lafort, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/13783c.htm (accessed 2 April 2008).
4
Ibid.

6
 Lucy, Thekla, Juliana,
Barbara, Agatha, Petronel.

And other maids whose names I have read not,

Names I have read and now record not,
But their soul and their faith were maimed not,
Worthy now of God's company.

Wandering through the fresh fields go they,

Gathering flowers to make them a nosegay,
Gathering roses red for the Passion,
Lilies and violets for love.5

Both the poem’s three-stanza form and lack of a consistent rhyme scheme are true

to the original Latin; the first of the four-line stanzas names the maiden martyrs, the

second describes their devotion to God, and the third and final stanza recounts the blessed

state in which they gather flowers for their Lord. Barber’s setting of this poem is in “two

parallel sections, the second being merely a variant of the first,” as well as being

significantly shorter due to its containing only the third stanza; while many of Barber’s

choral pieces follow the form of the text more closely than this, it is not entirely unusual,

as we shall see in later works.6 Harmonically, The Virgin Martyrs is typical of Barber’s

music. The tonality revolves around C, both the major and minor modes, with a brief

excursion to the Eb Phrygian mode in the middle of the first section.7 This diversion is

short-lived, and C major reasserts itself with the closing text of the second stanza,

“Worthy now of God’s company” (see Example 1).

5
Helen Waddell, Medieval Latin Lyrics (London: Constable, 1935), 159.
6
Russell E. Friedewald, A Formal and Stylistic Analysis of the Published Music of Samuel Barber
(Ph.D. diss., State University of Iowa, 1957), 106.
7
Ibid., 108.

7
 Example 1. The Virgin Martyrs, measures 21-27.8 A third-based progression

from Eb to C.

This motion from C to Eb back to C not only represents a restrained harmonic digression

typical for Barber, but also serves as an example of a third-based chord progression, an

undulating sonorous pattern that remains a favorite tool throughout his works. This

progression is also highlighted in the animando imitative section at the beginning of the

work in which the paired voices move in lines that are based on similar third-based

progressions. The first moves from G major to A minor through chords that are a third

apart; the second moves from D minor back to G major in preparation for an authentic

cadence to C in the same manner.

Another feature that recurs throughout Barber’s oeuvre is represented within The

Virgin Martyrs, namely the use of a recurrent motto that is stated at the opening of the

piece. In this instance, the opening rhythmic motto (see both soprano parts in the

opening two measures of Example 2) resurfaces throughout “The Virgin Martyrs,” often

8
Samuel Barber, Complete Choral Music (Milwaukee, WI: G. Schirmer, 1979), 7. All subsequent
references to Barber’s choral scores are from this edition unless otherwise cited.

8
fragmented and usually in only one voice at a time; thus disguised, it provides a subtle

unity throughout the work (see Example 2 for two instances of this motive). Its

reiterations do not appear to be tied to any particular poetic idea, but rather simply

provide a continuous thread throughout the piece.

Example 2. Two instances of the rhythmic motive in The Virgin Martyrs.

A. The Virgin Martyrs, measures 1-3. The first iteration of the rhythmic motive.

B. The Virgin Martyrs, measures 27-32. A subsequent appearance of the rhythmic

motive.

9
 In his biography of Samuel Barber, Nathaniel Broder remarks that while this

piece is tasteful and eloquent, it “contains no unusual features” and therefore merits little

further consideration.9 This characterization of the piece is accurate, as Barber does little

that is unexpected; yet it is precisely this typical quality that makes The Virgin Martyrs

an important part of Barber’s output. It serves in many ways as a distillation of his choral

style, providing a summary of techniques and preferences that he utilized in different

fashions throughout his career. Viewed in such a light, this early piece becomes the

“opening motive” of Barber’s choral compositions as a whole, providing in minute detail

many of the recurrent musical themes that will be discussed through the course of this

thesis, particularly the use of third-based progressions and recurring motives to provide

unity.

Upon winning a scholarship from the American Academy in Rome in 1935,

Barber traveled to Italy with his companion Gian Carlo Menotti, where lodging was

provided as part of his winnings. The two of them began a leisurely sojourn across

Europe, during which they spent the summer months in the town of St. Wolfgang, near
9
Broder, 67.

10
Salzburg. The sparse cabin that they rented in the nearby woods provided an “idyllic spot

at the foot of a mountain”; thus surrounded by Alpine grandeur and serenity, Barber

composed several pieces, among them the song I Hear an Army, the String Quartet, op.

11, and Let Down the Bars, O Death, a choral setting of the eponymous poem by Emily

Dickinson (1830-1886).

A mystical aura surrounds the life and works of Emily Dickinson, held by many

to be “a model for all women poets who followed–an example of eccentricity, autonomy,

and rebellion.”10 As is often the case with artists thus elevated, approaching Dickinson’s

life can be a hazardous affair, one in which a reader must learn to avoid “the seductive

pitfalls of rumour and legend.”11 For instance, there is little evidence to support the

popular conception of her father as tyrannically cruel and her mother as pitiably weak;

they were both of devoutly conservative Puritan stock, but nonetheless committed

themselves to providing their daughter with an education at the Amherst Academy in

their hometown in Massachusetts, an education which was both thorough and progressive

for the time.12 Likewise, the fact that in her thirties Dickinson donned a uniform of

perennial white and withdrew from public contact is much debated and often

romanticized, with theories abounding as to the cause. Psychotic breakdown or romantic

rejection are two of the most frequently suspected culprits, but it is entirely possible that

she took up her solitude as a vehicle for her creativity, absorbing and transforming the
10
Wendy Martin, The Cambridge Introduction to Emily Dickinson (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press, 2007), 1.
11
Maria Stuart, “Dickinson, Emily, 1830-1886,” Literature Online, http://lion.chadwyck.com/
searchFulltext.do?id=BIO000656&divLevel=0&trailId=119D9AEBA5D&area=ref&forward=critref_ft
(accessed 2 April 2008).
12
Ibid.

11
Victorian custom of confining pregnant women from society “in order to give birth to her

poetry.”13

The truth is that the motives for her reclusion are unknown and unknowable,

regardless of the romanticized theories that proliferate around this mysterious decision; as

a result, it is infinitely more profitable to focus on the facets of her life that can be

concretely ascertained. Both her body of poetry and her correspondence reveal that, like

the Transcendentalists, she feared that “the country’s new focus on profit was replacing

personal craftsmanship and alienating people from their communities and natural

surroundings.”14 Consistent themes of death, love, and the intermingling of the two are

found throughout her poetry, as is an exhaustive and subtle knowledge of Scripture that

belies the common perception of Dickinson as a religious rebel.15 The interest in

Dickinson’s poetry and life has scarcely abated since the speedy publication of her works

after her death, and the genuinely mysterious nature of her life combines with her

fascinating poetic insight to ensure that this interest will not wane in the immediate

future. “Let Down the Bars, Oh Death,” like many of Dickinson’s poems, deals with the

notion of death as a positive force, a potential for ultimate rest, rather than a terrible and

loathsome fate:

Let down the Bars, Oh Death -

The tired Flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat
Whose wandering is done -

13
Martin, 19.
14
Ibid., 32.
15
Stuart.

12
 Thine is the stillest night
Thine the securest Fold
Too near Thou art for seeking Thee
Too tender to be told - 16

The two-stanza poem quoted above is striking in its simplicity and emotive

power. The rhythmic pattern of three stresses in the first, second, and fourth lines

contrasts with the four stresses in the third line, a common pattern that serves to unite the

two stanzas. Otherwise, they are markedly different in both tone and address; the first

lingers over the image of the “tired flocks” who seek their final resting place, while the

second extols the restful qualities of Death. Dickinson further emphasizes the yearning

quality of this second stanza by making it more “traditional” in its poetic mechanics. It

contains the poem’s only rhyme (fold / told), and the first and second groupings each

begin with the same word. This direct artfulness reinforces the speaker’s passionate

longing for the idyllic state of ultimate rest.

Example 3. Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, measures 10-13. The transition

between the A and B sections.

16
Emily Dickinson, The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. R.W. Franklin (Cambridge, MA: Belknap
Press, 1998), 972.

13
 In his SATB setting of this poem, Samuel Barber uses a variety of formal,

harmonic, and expressive techniques to emphasize the weariness that permeates

Dickinson’s text. Some of these methods are fairly obvious, such as the crescendo at the

end of the A section that blurs the end of the section by pressing toward the B section

(see Example 3). Other devices, such as frequent use of the plagal progression discussed

below, are more subtle. The overall effect of Barber’s arrangement is one of resigned

exhaustion; the speaker seems to long for death not only as an escape from tribulations

but also as an appropriate and well-earned repose.

Barber emphasizes this yearning quality in both the harmonic and formal aspects

of his setting. It is in rounded binary form with an abbreviated second A section

repeating the music and text of the first seven bars of the original A with little variation;

this recollection of the opening apostrophe emphasizes the theme of homecoming in the

poem as the music returns from its harmonic journey to the familiar chords of the A

section (compare Examples 4 and 5). The only true change in the music is the rhythmic

augmentation the second time around, perhaps representing either the weariness of the

“tired flocks,” the rest that they find in their homecoming, or both.

The A section, the text of which corresponds to the first stanza, is set in G minor,

while the B section, which corresponds to the second stanza, eventually settles on E

major after beginning with the parallel minor. Both the A and B sections maintain a

sense of tonal uneasiness, as neither is confirmed by an authentic cadence; in fact, there

are no “dominant” chords anywhere in the piece.

14
 Example 4. Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, measures 5-11. The final phrase of

the A section.

Example 5. Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, measures 22-30. The A1 section, the

final phrase of the piece.

This sense of instability, almost of hesitancy, within the harmonies is accentuated by the

cadences of each section. The A section ends with a shift from an Eb augmented chord to

the tonic, while both B and A1 end with plagal cadences (see Example 6 for the end of the

B section and Examples 4 and 5 for the ends of the A and A1 sections). Through these

somewhat uneasy harmonic patterns, Barber emphasizes again the restless yearning

imparted by the text.

15
 Example 6. Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, measures 17-21. The final phrase of

the B section.

Barber pays careful attention to the declamatory style of the poem, choosing to set

stronger syllables on stronger beats with longer note values, while unstressed syllables

fall on weaker beats with shorter note values. For example, the second phrase of the A

section contains three strong syllables interspersed with weaker ones; the stressed

syllables each fall on beat one of their respective measures, while the unstressed syllables

occupy the final eighth notes of theirs (see Example 4). While this style of declamatory

writing continues throughout the piece, the rhythm inherent in the text is not the only

facet of the poetry that Barber seeks to emphasize. He often brings out important words

with unusual harmonies: both the words “bleating” and “wandering” are emphasized with

augmented chords; the final cadence of the B section on the words “too tender to be told”

is accented with an F# added to the A minor chord. Barber also employs a subtle mimetic

pattern during both iterations of the phrase, “The tired flocks come in." Each concludes

with a new voicing of the G major chord that descends toward the bass, so that the parts

“come in” closer together as the phrase comes to a close (see Examples 4 and 5). Such

careful attention to the text emphasizes the weariness of Dickinson’s poetry to the point

16
that the quiet but powerful desire for rest that courses through the poem permeates the

music as well; like the motivic and harmonic qualities of The Virgin Martyrs discussed

previously, this attentiveness to the rhythmic and emotive aspects of the text is a quality

that remains consistent throughout Barber’s career.

The award from the American Academy in Rome was one of the first signs of

Barber’s growing fame. In the years immediately following, he received a number of

important commissions, including one from the Westminster Choir School to compose a

piece for their annual winter tour in 1938.17 For his text, Barber chose the poem “God’s

Grandeur” by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89), a British poet whose works were

already familiar to the young composer, as he had previously sketched plans for another

choral setting of one of Hopkins’s poems as well as composing a setting of Hopkins’s

poem, “A nun takes the veil,” in the Four Songs of 1937.

Like Barber, Gerard Manley Hopkins (1884-1889) was born into a privileged

home where his artistic gifts were valued and encouraged. His father was a maritime

insurance adjustor by trade, but enjoyed composing poetry himself, while his mother,

sister, and brothers were all skilled amateur artists or musicians.18 Surrounded with both

physical comforts and an environment that encouraged him to pursue his artistic gifts, it

is no surprise that the young Hopkins developed into a skilled poet during his early life.

He attended Balliol College at Oxford, where he responded to the liberal leanings of his

17
Barbara Heyman, Samuel Barber: The Composer and His Music (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1992), 179.
18
Matthew Campbell, “Hopkins, Gerard Manley, 1844-1889,” Literature Online,
http://lion.chadwyck.com/searchFullrec.do?id=1084&area=authors&forward=author&trailId=119D9B4370
D&activeMultiResults=authors (accessed 29 March 2008).

17
friends and professors by becoming increasingly conservative, especially in his religious

views . The result of this growing conservatism was an eventual conversion to

Catholicism, capped by his induction into the Jesuit order in 1888.19

The rigorous training of the Jesuits prevented Hopkins from continuing to write

poetry for some time, but the meditative exercises demanded by his new order certainly

fit with Hopkins’s mystical poetic style. In addition, his contemplations led him to

develop a new system of verse that explored innovative uses of punctuation and

diacritical marks that he labeled “sprung rhythm,” a technique designed to force the

reader to encounter the described object on its own terms. This emphasis on the idea of

“otherness” eventually became one of the central themes of Hopkins’s poetry, a centrality

that was magnified by his desperation over the plight of the destitute souls that he

encountered at every turn during his years of ministry throughout England and Ireland.

While most of his work was unpublished during his lifetime, his friends and colleagues

began to collect both his poetry and letters in the years following his death in 1889 in an

effort to preserve the intellectual and artistic legacy of the troubled priest. The English

poet laureate Robert Bridges finally published his collected manuscripts in 1918, a

collection which not only included poetry but incisive commentary and criticism on

English poetry and classical literature that proved to be highly influential to a number of

twentieth-century poets and artists.20

Hopkins wrote “God’s Grandeur” in the summer of 1877, one of nine sonnets

written while Hopkins was working in the countryside of Wales. The profound beauty of

19
Ibid.
20
Ibid.

18
his surroundings influenced the poet to incorporate more natural imagery into his poetry,

including “God’s Grandeur,” “The Starlight Night,” and “The Lantern out of doors,” than

had been present in his previous works. “God’s Grandeur,” the text of which can be

found below, deals with the exploitation of the natural world as a result of humanity’s

greed contrasted with Hopkins’s musings on the sustaining power of God:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And, for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.21

The sonnet is divided into two thematic stanzas: the first stanza, consisting of the

first two quatrains, describes the peril wrought by humanity’s carelessness; the second

stanza, consisting of the closing three couplets, gives voice to the amazing regenerative

power of nature and the constant presence of God in the person of the Holy Ghost. The

rhyme scheme is one of the conventional variants of the Italian style: a-b-b-a a-b-b-a c-d-

c-d-c-d. This poem also represents a short-lived interest in descriptive indentation that

Hopkins abandoned by the end of the year; in the manuscript of this poem, the b and d

21
Norman MacKenzie, ed., The Poetical Works of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Oxford, UK:
Clarendon Press, 1990), 139.

19
lines are indented, thus visually illustrating the structure of the poem.22 Hopkins makes

frequent use of internal rhymes, such as “bleared, smeared” in the sixth line, and “wears”

and “shares” in the seventh; he also uses frequent alliteration, pairing words like

“shining” and “shook” in the second line and “last lights” in the eleventh.23 These poetic

devices are found consistently in the texts Barber chose for his work, and the theme of

spiritual melancholy which pervades both this work in particular and Hopkins’s poetry as

a whole must have acted in concert with these attractive techniques to inspire the

composer in choosing to set this work for double chorus.

Barber’s setting of this poem begins with a fanfare on the sonnet’s first two lines.

This opening section is rendered in a double-period with four phrases of four bars each,

succeeded by a brief “coda” that brings the introduction to a close. In the first period, the

basses move downward in thirds, while the upper three voices fill in chords that begin

with triads but quickly shift to increasingly dissonant sonorities (see Example 7). The

second period begins transposed a whole step up, but uses the same voice-leading to

achieve an identical harmonic pattern. After the first phrase, however, the bass switches

between a C and an F#, finally coming to rest on a C major triad in measure 21 after a

four-bar phrase expansion that repeats the closing sonorities. The aforementioned bass

motion in thirds that characterizes this opening section calls to mind the third-based

progressions mentioned in connection with The Virgin Martyrs; such harmonic

movement is consistent throughout Barber’s choral output (see Example 7).

22
Ibid., lx.
23
Ibid., 139.

20
 Example 7. God’s Grandeur, measures 1-9.24 The opening fanfare of God’s

Grandeur.

The final section of the introduction begins with quieter dynamic markings than the

previous phrases, but retains the same descending third pattern present in its

predecessors. After meandering through several fairly dissonant chords, the section

comes to “rest” on a particularly unstable sonority, a G# diminished seventh chord with

24
Samuel Barber, God’s Grandeur (Milwauee, WI: G. Schirmer, 1994). All subsequent references
to the score of “God’s Grandeur” come from this edition.

21
an A# in the bass (see Example 8, measure 31). Barber uses the tension created by this

chord to propel the music forward into a dramatically contrasting section on the text of

the second line of the sonnet, “It will flame out.”

Example 8. God’s Grandeur, measures 31-34. The transition into the melismatic

passages on the text, “It will flame out.”

This new material features antiphonal polyphony that begins in the key of F#

major and quickly rotates through G# minor, C# major, and B major before returning to

the original tonic of the section; in both choirs, the basses hold long notes above which

22
the three upper parts sing allargando melismas (see Example 8). The somewhat

ponderous melismas build in volume and intensity, and the basses eventually abandon

their accompanimental role to join in the more active singing. As the section comes to a

close, the divided parts reunite (save for the altos) and ultimately come to rest on an F#

major chord in first inversion. During this second section, Barber reuses the text from the

beginning, thereby interrupting the flow of Hopkins’s poem. Given Barber’s carefulness

with his texts, such a displacement appears to be crucial to understanding the drama of

the setting; reusing the cataclysmic text, “it will flame out,” gives the impression that the

destruction wrought upon creation forces the speaker to reiterate the horror encapsulated

in those fatal words.

Example 9. God’s Grandeur, measures 42-47. The descending pattern that

marks the transition into the third section.

With the closing of the antiphonal melismas, Barber reintroduces the descending

thirds from the opening, this time with new text (the fourth line of the poem, “Why do

men then now not reck his rod?”) and a thinner texture (see Example 9). This textural

change is caused by the release of each voice after its first entrance in the section, an

23
effect that presages the emotional charge of the finale in “Anthony O’Daly,” a piece from

the Reincarnations set that will be discussed in Chapter Two. Here it acts as a transition

into the next stanza of the poem, which begins with a series of ascending glissandi that

accrete to form a B minor chord in measure 57.

At this point, the setting of the poem becomes notably more brisk, as fewer lines

are repeated with none displaced from the original sequence. The remainder of the

second stanza of the poem is rendered in alternating sections of full homophony (see

Example 10) and three-part homophony above a pedal in the bass (see Example 11).

Example 10. God’s Grandeur, measures 58-62. An example of the 4-part

homophonic texture.

Example 11. God’s Grandeur, measures 78-83. An example of the 3-part

homophonic texture with a bass drone.

24
The first two lines of the closing couplets are imitative, while the third line is set to a

variant of the accompanied three-part homophony shown in measures 78-83 above, with

the basses and tenors accompanying the rhythmically unified women’s voices to produce

a blended texture (see Example 12).

Example 12. God’s Grandeur, measures 127-132. The blended texture of the

third line of the second stanza.

The final 22 measures of the piece are devoted to the three closing lines of the

poem, for which Barber reuses the melismatic style found earlier in the piece. Other than

the key, now roughly centered on D major but eventually shifting to C major, the

principal musical difference is that Barber stretches the material for a longer span,

keeping the basses true to their fundamental role far longer than previously in order to

provide support for the acrobatics in the upper voices. The piece closes with a dramatic
b
VII – V – I cadence in C major made all the more emotionally pressing by the

25
decrescendo; as the music reaches the stability of the final triad, it fades into the distance,

becoming as ephemeral as the “bright wings” of the Holy Ghost described by the text.

Despite some powerful moments, “God’s Grandeur” is in many ways inferior to

much of Barber’s output. The remarkable restraint that characterizes so much of his

music, especially his choral music, is notably absent: he introduces new thematic and

harmonic content continually; the melismatic passages are somewhat overbearing; four

lines of text (the second and final three) receive an inordinate amount of attention,

thereby robbing much of the remainder of its import. Absent, too, is the prevailing tonal

center found in most of Barber’s music, and with it the subtle machinations of harmonic

expectation that typically accompany his deceptively simple settings. Here the harmonic

shifting is both blatant and constant, so that by the end of the piece it loses its typical

emotional impact by virtue of repetition. While there are individual ideas that are quite

stunning, notably the tense, dramatic introduction, the polyphonic setting of lines nine

and ten (“And, for all this, nature is never spent,” et cetera), and the receding final

cadence, “God’s Grandeur” nevertheless is not one of Barber’s most appealing choral

pieces. Regardless of its appeal, this piece does represent a transition of sorts in Barber’s

choral output. The intimate ambiance and traditional mechanics of his earlier two pieces

are here abandoned in favor of a broader compositional palette, a trend that will continue

in a more tempered fashion as Barber’s compositional voice continues to develop.

The three pieces discussed above share many features, both textually and

musically. All three of the poets were, to some degree, outcasts: Siegbert of Gembloux

locked in his futile war with the pope; Emily Dickinson bound by her self-imposed

withdrawal from the world; Gerard Manley Hopkins horrified by his impotence in the

26
face of the degradation of both his fellow man and the natural world. The poems that

Barber selected all deal with the supernatural in some sense, be it the mystical

contemplation of the martyrs, the restless longing for the embrace of death, or the

sorrowful, sustaining power of God. Musically, the first two are markedly different from

the third, but common bonds remain. Barber’s reluctance to use authentic cadences is

spelled out in all three pieces, as is his fondness for third-based chord progressions. The

first and third pieces exhibit his affinity for shifting textures, a trait which remains

constant throughout his choral output. While all three are markedly different in form,

they all demonstrate to some extent his talent for subtle variation. Lastly, the most

consistent feature of these early works, and the one that remains the most constant

throughout Barber’s career, is his concern for musical representation of his texts.

To address the issue of text setting, I would like to introduce two terms that, as far

as I know, are my own: “microtext-painting” and “macrotext-painting.” The former

refers to instances in which a composer pays particular attention to a single word or

phrase, such as using sharp dissonances to highlight painful or sorrowful words or

ascending melody lines to illustrate triumphant phrases; the descending lines in the

madrigal “As Vesta was Descending” by Thomas Weelkes (1575-1623) would be an

example of this technique. The latter refers to the manner in which a composer takes into

account the general “mood” of the work, using musical features to create an overall

ambiance. Examples of macrotext-painting include the incendiary “Dies Irae” of

Mozart’s Requiem, the luscious tenderness of Durufle’s Ubi Caritas, and the sighing

exhaustion of Barber’s Let Down the Bars, Oh Death.

27
 All three of the pieces discussed in this chapter involve both of these techniques

to some degree. For instance, in The Virgin Martyrs, Barber sets the text “Wandering

through the fresh fields go they, gathering flowers” to polyphonic music that indeed

seems to “wander,” depicting the maidens searching for and finding flowers in the lilting,

independent contrapuntal lines (see Example 13).

Example 13. The Virgin Martyrs, measures 29-37. The wandering of the Virgin

Martyrs: an example of microtext-setting.

This attention to the microtext is complemented by the quiet, meditative nature of

the setting as a whole, in effect, its “macrotext.” Measures ten and eleven of Example 3

show another instance of microtextual setting in “Let Down the Bars, Oh Death”: the

augmented harmony on the word “wandering” returns to the tonic on the word “done,”

succinctly representing both the travels and homecoming of the “tired flocks.” Finally,

“God’s Grandeur” is rife with instances of microtext-painting; two of the more apparent

instances are the charged, grandiose nature of the opening fanfare (Example 7) and the

28
setting of the text, “And for all this, nature is never spent.” The thickening contrapuntal

texture with which Barber illustrates this particular line of poetry echoes the poet’s

perception of Nature’s endless powers of regeneration (see Example 14).

Example 14. “God’s Grandeur,” measures 85-97. The endless energy of nature:

an example of microtext-painting.

29
In terms of the macrotext, Barber’s setting is in one sense too long and contains too many

contrasting sections to be considered unified in expressing one overall mood; all the

same, the overriding urgency and building tension do serve to express Hopkins’s distress

at the plight of God’s creation.

Diverse as the pieces discussed in this chapter may be, they are nevertheless

united both by poetic themes and stylistic tendencies that are common throughout much

of Barber’s oeuvre. As such, these three earliest choral pieces represent a starting point

for understanding Barber’s choral music, presenting an introduction to his musical

vocabulary that serves as a foundation for discussing his subsequent choral contributions.

In the next chapter, I will attempt to demonstrate that, over the next decade and a half, he

began to experiment with less conventional techniques while retaining his essentially

traditional approach to harmony and form.

30
 CHAPTER THREE

Searching for Balance

A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, Reincarnations, and Prayers of Kierkegaard

At first glance, the pieces discussed in this chapter share little in common. The

first, A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map (1939), is a strikingly original piece, especially

in instrumentation; additionally, its thematic content is politically and socially charged, a

trait that it shares only with God’s Grandeur within Barber’s choral works. The second,

the set Reincarnations (1936-40), is a return to Barber’s lyrical roots as a composer and

the more personal poetic content of both The Virgin Martyrs and Let Down the Bars, Oh

Death. The third, Prayers of Kierkegaard (1954), is both significantly later than the

other two and markedly different in tone, being both his first large-scale choral work and

the most overtly religious in theme. However, when taken as a group, these pieces

provide an important insight into Barber’s compositional development in that the third

piece represents a synthesis of the differing styles of the previous two; in addition, each

piece in this group in some fashion continues the stylistic trends discussed in the previous

chapter.

In 1939, Randall Thompson asked Barber to return to the Curtis Institute to

conduct the newly formed Madrigal Chorus, a position that Barber held for three years.

While in charge of the ensemble, Barber composed several pieces specifically for their

31
voices, including A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map.1 Stephen Spender wrote the poem

in 1939 as a response to the Spanish Civil War. Shortly thereafter, the poet gave it to

Samuel Barber as a token of their newfound friendship; within six months, Barber

finished his setting for four-part men and three kettledrums. 2 The piece was hailed by

one critic as “a strange and moving echo from the Spanish Civil War … a fine page of

choral technique that is modern, original, and expert.”3

The British poet Stephen Spender (1919-1995) was, in a sense, born to be a

literary figure. His family was moderately wealthy and very involved in the intellectual

life of England; his father was a journalist and biographer, while his uncle was the editor

of the Westminster Gazette.4 The enterprising young man set up his own miniature

printing press during his adolescence, with which he earned a modest income printing

labels for chemists. While attending the University College of Oxford, Spender put his

press to work printing the poetry and critical works of several of his friends, including

W.H. Auden, Louis MacNeice, and Christopher Isherwood. This group, dominated by

the forceful Auden, became known as the “Oxford Poets” and quickly became a powerful

force in British literary life. Critics and readers “welcomed Spender’s gentle lyricism in

contrast to Auden’s more acerbic and aggressive style,” but expressed concern that the

1
Barbara Heyman, Samuel Barber: the Composer and his Music (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1992), 180.
2
Ibid., 186.
3
Ibid., 187.
4
“Spender, Stephen, 1909-1995,” Literature Online,
http://lion.chadwyck.com.ezproxy.baylor.edu/searchFulltext.do?id=BIO002893&divLevel=0&trailId=119
DA7B5748&area=ref&forward=critref_ft/ (accessed 8 April 2008).

32
young poet was devoting too much time to criticism, editorial work, and sitting on

various committees to truly develop a unique poetic voice.5

In 1937, Spender attained an appointment as a delegate to the International

Writers’ Conference at Barcelona, where he witnessed the horrors of the Spanish Civil

War. In addition to instilling a deep commitment to pacifism in the young poet, the war

convinced him to broaden the previously intimate and personal themes of his poetry to

include political and social topics. By 1939, Spender had returned to England, where he

continued to participate in various causes and literary movements until his death in 1995.

Although his personal worldview was perennially left of the mainstream, Spender was

loved and appreciated by his people, earning the title of Commander of the British

Empire in 1962 and a knighthood in 1983.6

While known primarily as a poet, many of Spender’s most important works are

prose. The critical collection entitled The Destructive Element (1935) was hailed at his

death as “one of the few volumes of … Thirties literary criticism which is still worth

reading,” while his ideological musings in Forward From Liberalism (1936) provide a

poignant depiction of a soul torn between liberalism and socialism.7 Perhaps his most

important work of prose is his autobiographical memoir, World Within World (1951),

praised for its endearing honesty and candid insight. His collections of poetry, which

were published at regular intervals throughout his life, depict a shift in perspective and

priority. His earliest works are personal and naïve, while as he grew older, his poetry

5
Ibid.
6
Ibid.
7
Ibid.

33
became more pessimistic as well as politically charged. In his later years, he returned to

the gentler tone of his youth and “wrote movingly of what it is like to grow old, and see

younger generations usurping the active roles.”8

It was during the politically active stage of his life that Spender encountered

Samuel Barber, who was visiting London at the time.9 Like many of his poems during

the 1930s and 1940s, “A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map” (text below) is a blistering

indictment of militarism and the glorification of violence; Spender was so pleased by

Barber’s faithful reproduction of the spirit of the text that the two of them maintained an

active correspondence over the next several years.10 Using the moral and social outrage

of his newfound friend as inspiration, Barber composed a piece that expresses both the

horrors of the conflict and the shattering impact of the war on the individuals who

endured it:

A stopwatch and an ordnance map.

At five a man fell to the ground
And the watch flew off his wrist
Like a moon struck from the earth
Marking a blank time that stares
On the tides of change beneath.
All under the olive trees.

A stopwatch and an ordnance map.

He stayed faithfully in that place
From his living comrade split
By dividers of the bullet
Opening wide the distances
Of his final loneliness.
All under the olive trees.

8
Ibid.
9
Heyman, 186.
10
John Sutherland, Stephen Spender: A Literary Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 320.

34
 A stopwatch and an ordnance map.
And the bones are fixed at five
Under the moon's timelessness;
But another who lives on
Wears within his heart forever
Space split open by the bullet.
All under the olive trees.11

The poem is in three stanzas, each of which begins “A stopwatch and an ordnance

map” and ends “All under the olive trees”; Barber’s setting is likewise in three sections,

each of which begins and ends with similar material to emphasize the returning lines

while the center portion of each stanza is given more independent music. After a brief

introduction in which the kettledrum establishes a pattern of perfect fourths that remains

constant through much of the piece, the first section opens with a basic homophonic

choral motive called hereafter the “stopwatch motive” that returns with the beginning of

each stanza (see Example 1-A). This motive returns with the beginning of the second

section, but here a full measure of rest is inserted in the middle of the sentence and the

dynamic levels are drastically reduced (see Example 1-B). The final stanza likewise

begins with the stopwatch motive, but Barber sets it quite differently from either of the

previous occurrences: the durations are longer, the dynamics more forceful, and an

additional part is added in the baritone line (see Example 1-C). In this fashion, Barber

takes the opening motive and gives it varying emotive qualities. The interruption and

dynamic alteration that begin the second stanza provide an air of apprehensive

uncertainty, perhaps representing the soldier’s growing realization of the finality of his

comrade’s death. The final section begins with a forceful reminder of the immediacy of

11
Stephen Spender, Selected Poems (London: Faber and Faber, 1985), 71.

35
the brutal conflict, with longer note values and increased dynamics that could be

interpreted as representatives of the soldier’s death.

Example 1. Three Statements of the “Stopwatch Motive”

A. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 4-7. The first statement of the

“stopwatch motive.”

B. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 28-33. The second statement of the

“stopwatch motive.”

36
C. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 61-64. The third and final statement of

the “stopwatch motive.”

Barber treats the closing material of each stanza in a similar fashion, altering the

original chromatic polyphony slightly with the second and third iterations. The first

instance of what I have labeled the “olive tree motive” occurs in the first tenor in

measures 17-21, a sinuous line that descends from an F# to a C natural (see Example 2).

Example 2. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 17-27. The first

statement of the “olive tree motive.”

37
The second bass at first maintains a pedal on C, then takes up the motive while fragments

of it appear in the upper three voices. The second bass at first maintains a pedal on C,

then takes up the motive while fragments of it appear in the upper three voices. At the

end of the second verse, all four parts take up the olive tree motive, beginning with duets:

the second tenor and bass parts move in parallel octaves, while the first tenor and baritone

lines follow suit a measure behind (see Example 3, measures 49-50).

Example 3. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 45-55. The second

statement of the “olive tree motive.”

38
As before, the text is repeated, but this time the tenor parts double each other while the

bass and baritone lines each go their own way, offset by an interval of a minor sixth and

one measure of rhythmic displacement.

The final statement of this motive begins in the same manner as the first

statement, with the bass holding a pedal tone and the inner voices providing contrapuntal

accompaniment for the melody in the first tenor solo (see Example 4). The subsequent

statement of the text, however, is reminiscent of the second iteration. The bass and

baritone lines are separated by the same melodic distance of a minor sixth as before, as

well as a similar rhythmic displacement. The tenor lines again begin in unison, but the

second tenor line drops the motive in favor of accompanying material while a solo line

shadows the first tenor part. The piece closes with a sustained C major chord

underscored by a final iteration of the stopwatch motive in the second bass, a receding

echo of the violence witnessed by the speaker of the poem.

39
 Example 4. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 96-106. The final

statement of the “olive tree motive.”

With these common elements in mind, let us now turn to the internal features of

the three stanzas. In the first, Barber maintains the kettledrum’s quartal pattern until the

closing phrase, at which point it plays a pedal on C; he also briefly continues the opening

homophony before introducing the first polyphony of the piece on the text “And the

40
watch flew off his wrist.” During this phrase, the bass holds a pedal on C while the upper

three voices engage in imitative descending lines, thus microtextually depicting the man

falling to the ground, the downward trajectory of his watch, and the solidity of the

“ground” in its association with C, the home key of the piece (see Example 5). This

descending pattern continues in the two lower voices, both of which come to rest on C

before the closing olive tree motive.

Example 5. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 8-11. The second and

third lines of the first stanza.

41
 The musical material of the second stanza is dramatically different from that of

the first in response to the different tone of the text. At no point does the kettledrum

continue its quartal pattern from the previous section; rather it moves from glissandi that

introduce the new tonal center of Bb in the opening phrases to a major third pattern in the

middle, finally resting on a dominant pedal on F for the closing phrase of the stanza.12

The choral parts begin with a unison duet between the tenors, after which the second

basses take up an ostinato derived from the timpani pattern while the baritone part begins

an ascending line based on perfect fifths (see Example 6). The tenors, still in unison,

echo the baritone line a third above and a measure behind, joining it in the descent on the

final words of the penultimate phrase; the F in the bass serves as a pivot point connecting

the second and third stanzas, acting simultaneously as the dominant of Bb minor and the

subdominant of C major.13

Example 6. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, measures 38-44. Excerpt from

the second stanza showing the beginning of the ostinato in the bass.

12
Russell E. Friedewald, A Formal and Stylistic Analysis of the Published Music of Samuel Barber
(Ph.D. diss., State University of Iowa, 1957), 111.
13
Friedewald, 110.

42
 Spender unifies the poem by reusing imagery from the first two stanzas within the

final one: both the “moon” and the five o’clock hour are referenced in the first and final

stanzas, and the “bullet” from the second reappears in the third. In response to this

textual unity, Barber infuses the third section of his setting with musical ideas from the

previous sections. The second phrase, “And the bones are fixed at five,” recalls the

earlier phrase, “At five a man fell to the ground” in both its harmonic progression and

strident tone; the ensuing phrase, “Under the moon’s timelessness,” blends references to

the immediately preceding octave leap in the bass as well as the “olive tree” motive in the

upper three voices. As in the first section, the opening homophony is followed by

imitation, but the polyphony in this instance resembles that of the fifth phrase of the

second stanza both in its ascending nature and the disjunct motion. Before the final

statement of the “olive tree” motive, musical material from the second stanza reappears

on the text “split open by the bullet.”

While these references make up the bulk of the third stanza’s material, there are

unique elements as well. It is the only section of the piece in which Barber changes

meter; the prior two are consistently in common time throughout, while the third stanza

43
features both 3/2 and 5/4. The third stanza also contains the only notable section of rests

for the kettledrum, occurring during the fourth and fifth phrases, perhaps depicting either

the flow of battle away from the dying soldier or his slowing heartbeat. All the same, the

referential material is truly the soul of this final stanza, as Barber uses it to achieve the

same unity in his music with which Spender infused the poem. These references

combine with the recurring “stopwatch” and “olive tree” motives to provide continuity

throughout the work, a continuity that in turn connects this piece to the rest of Barber’s

choral repertoire. As we have already seen in The Virgin Martyrs, and as we shall see in

future works such as The Lovers (discussed in Chapter Three), Barber consistently uses

recurring melodic motives, rhythmic mottoes, and musicopoetic imagery to provide unity

within his pieces. Another feature of A Stopwatch that is consistent throughout his

oeuvre is his use of text painting, which will be discussed in conjunction with the next

piece, Reincarnations.

In addition to A Stopwatch, Barber also set three poems by James Stephens,

collectively called Reincarnations, for the Curtis Institute Madrigal Chorus. Although the

composer began working on the Reincarnations as early as 1936, he completed the

project in 1940 with the Madrigal Chorus of the Curtis Institute in mind. It is likely that

Barber’s infatuation with James Stephens was inherited from his uncle, Sidney Homer,

who used Stephens’ texts for some of his own work; in fact, Barber himself had

previously set some of the Irishman’s work for solo voice, namely “The Daisies (1927)

and “Bessie Bobtail” (1934).14 This new work appears in many ways to revert to an

14
Heyman, 182.

44
earlier mode of composition for Barber, as the poems are less politically charged than

either “God’s Grandeur” or “A Stopwatch” and the musical forms are more along the

intimate lines of his earliest works. However, in terms of musical complexity and depth,

these pieces reflect his growing maturity.

The Irish poet James Stephens (1882-1950) was born in the slums of Dublin. He

never knew his father, and at the age of six was abandoned by his mother to the

ignominious clutches of the Mearth Protestant Industrial School for Boys. This critical

event proved to be, as one might expect, of devastating import to the young child; the

image of his mother permeates his literary works, as do drastically unflattering images of

Christianity brought about by the harshness to which he was subjected at the Mearth

school.

Stephens eventually escaped the school and lived first as a vagrant, then as a

clerk, and eventually as a popular and prosperous traveling lecturer. Throughout his life

he was mocked for his small stature, which many claimed made him look and act like a

leprechaun; one of his friends, renowned author Oliver St. John Gogarty, claimed that his

lack of height enabled him to “cast off the conventions which bound ordinary people and

become a gleeman, the most lyrical spirit of his time.”15 This gleeful spirit endeared him

to the hearts of many across the United States and in his native Ireland, and also

permitted him to speak more freely than most about his commitment to Irish nationalism.

By the end of his life, he was a fixture on BBC broadcasts as well as the American

15
“Stephens, James, 1882-1950,” Literature Online Biography, http://lion.chadwyck.com.
ezproxy.baylor.edu/searchFulltext.do?id=BIO002896&divLevel=0&trailId=119DA7DB649&area=ref&for
ward=critref_ft (accessed 30 March 2008).

45
lecture circuit, and his literary works were well loved by readers across the Western

world.16

A common complaint of those who study Stephens’s life and work is that this

admiration for his literature has not historically been shared by either critics or

academics, those best equipped to ensure that his work endures. By contrast, his fellow

artists certainly held him in high esteem. For example, James Joyce once remarked that

if he died before completing Finnegan’s Wake, only Stephens was capable of finishing it

in his stead.17 Stephens’s personal good humor masked a sardonic wit that he often used

to parody other authors and, indeed, whole genres; for instance, many read his novel The

Charwoman’s Daughter as a mockery of both the Victorian romance novel in general and

the works of Oscar Wilde in particular. Other works include complex references to Irish

folklore, W.B. Yeats, and William Blake, the last of whom was one of the most important

influences on Stephens’s work as well as personal philosophy.18

When Samuel Barber began to compose Reincarnations, he chose three poems by

Stephens that dealt primarily with themes of love, loss, and yearning. The first, “Mary

Hynes” (text below), is in two parts, both of which contain three stanzas of four lines

each. The poet cannot seem to keep his composure as he details the beauty of his

beloved; the lines trip over one another in their haste to describe her loveliness, giving the

poem a distinctly breathless quality:

16
Ibid.
17
Ibid.
18
Ibid.

46
 (1)
She is the sky
Of the sun!
She is the dart
Of love!

She is the love

Of my heart!
She is a rune!
She is above

The women
Of the race of Eve
As the sun
Is above the moon!

(2)
Lovely and airy
The view from the hill
That looks down
Ballylea!

But no good sight

Is good, until
By great good luck
You see

The Blossom
Of the Branches
Walking towards you,
Airily!19

The second poem that Barber set, “Anthony O Daly” (text below), is a lament over the

death of an Irish folk hero in which Stephens paints a picture of grief so intense that the

entirety of Nature grinds to a halt. Unlike the boundless energy of “Mary Hynes,” this

mournful poem languishes in agony, closing at last by asserting that “there is nothing but

grief”:20

19
James Stephens, Collected Poems of James Stephens (New York: Macmillan, 1927), 45-46.
20
Ibid.

47
 Since your limbs were laid out
The stars do not shine!
The fish do not leap
In the waves!
On our meadows the dew
Is not sweet in the morn,
For O Daly is dead!
Not a word can be said!
Not a flower can be born!
Not a tree have a leaf!
Anthony!
After you
There is nothing to do!
There is nothing but grief!21

Finally, Barber selected “The Coolin” (text below), a wistful love-poem in which

the speaker urges his beloved to join him “under my coat,” coaxing her to come away

with him to a secluded place “where we will talk, until talk is a trouble, too.”22 The

gentle, lilting rhythm of the text belies the intensity with which the speaker entreats his

love, an intensity that breaks forth in the penultimate stanza as he exclaims: “What if the

night be black! Or the air on the mountain chill!”23 After this outburst, the speaker

subsides once more into gentle pleading, imploring his lover in murmuring tones:

Come with me, under my coat,

And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will.

And we will talk, until

Talk is a trouble, too,

21
Ibid.
22
Ibid., 51.
23
Ibid.

48
 Out on the side of the hill;
And nothing is left to do,

But an eye to look into an eye;

And a hand in a hand to slip;
And a sigh to answer a sigh;
And a lip to find out a lip!

What if the night be black!

Or the air on the mountain chill!
Where the goat lies down in her track,
And all but the fern is still!

Stay with me, under my coat!

And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Out on the side of the hill!24

The first of the Reincarnations seizes attention from the beginning, drawing the

listener into the music with a startling half-diminished seventh chord on the opening

word (see Example 7).

Example 7. “Mary Hynes,” measures 1-5. The opening of “Mary Hynes” – a

motive that returns throughout the piece.

24
Ibid.

49
The first five measures peal forth in jubilant homophony; the chord progression is

relatively simple with root-position chords within the key of C major until the final two

measures, in which Barber abruptly shifts to a B major chord. Upon repeating this text,

Barber employs a delightful textural device that complements the macrotextual

infatuation with Mary: the lines keep attempting to establish polyphonic independence,

but they continually mesh together again as if unable to resist the uncommon draw of her

loveliness (see Example 8).

This playful back-and-forth between parts continues until the next section, the

beginning of which contains the same text and basic musical material as the first; this

expansion of two stanzas into three sections can easily be seen as an inversion of the text-

music scheme of The Virgin Martyrs, in which Barber set three stanzas in two sections.

In the opening phrases of the second A section of “Mary Hynes,” the occasional

lengthening of a note or phrase, such as on the text, “She is the love of my heart,”

represents the only difference from the piece’s opening. While also similar in character,

50
the material of the latter portion of the A1 section is different in several ways, especially

in the longer phrases and broader ranges for the singers.

Example 8. “Mary Hynes,” measures 6-12. The parts come together, drawn by

Mary’s beauty.

As the stanza closes, Barber employs a sudden allargando and an equally abrupt

shift to Bb major to set up the final section, a B section that is as tender and tranquil as the

A sections are jubilant. Frequent hemiolas in all parts give the impression that the

speaker is struggling to stay within the newly acquired 3/4 meter; this struggle could be

due to breathlessness, repressed jubilation, or simply a representation of the “lovely and

51
airy” view described in the text. Once again, the appearance of the poem’s subject in the

last line serves as a unifying agent; the four parts return not only to homophony for the

description of “the blossom of branches,” but also to a stately quotation of the opening

motive. The piece then dies away with a sequence of chords that leads the harmony

gently back into the original key, C major (see Example 9).

Example 9. “Mary Hynes,” measures 57-66. The ending of “Mary Hynes,” with

a restatement of the opening motive in measures 59-61.

52
 In the second of the Reincarnations, “Anthony O Daly,” Barber abandons the

jubilant spirit of “Mary Hynes,” taking up a keening tone of grief more suitable for this

poem’s darker subject matter. He immediately establishes two of the primary musical

techniques that he uses throughout the first two sections, namely the descending motive

in the soprano, which becomes the piece’s principal thematic idea, and the E pedal in the

bass (see Example 10).

Example 10. “Anthony O daly,” measures 1-12. The melodic and

accompanimental patterns at the beginning of “Anthony O Daly.”

53
Barber sets this descending motive imitatively in the upper three voices throughout the

first A section, which includes the first ten lines of text. This imitation often yields

sharply dissonant results as when the tenors begin a major seventh below the sopranos on

the text, “On our meadows the dew does not fall” (see Example 11).

Example 11. “Anthony O Daly,” measures 18-21. The tenor’s dissonant line in

the fourth phrase of “Anthony O Daly.”

Barber’s setting of this funereal lament follows with the same AA1B form as

“Mary Hynes,” including textual repetition in the A1 section. In the second A section of

“Anthony O Daly,” Barber repeats the first seven lines of the text, this time with the

descending melody in the tenors and basses. The sopranos and altos sing the E pedal an

octave apart on the same rhythmic pattern that the basses had in the first section. The

higher range of this pedal along with the more intense dynamic level of the entire section

produces a feeling of increasing pain and grief that reaches its climax in the stringendo

transition between the second A section and the closing B section.

This final section begins with the piece’s one instance of full homophony. Barber

unites all four voices into one powerful paean, forging a climax of agonized grief. The

subsequent entrances of all four voices recall a similar passage in God’s Grandeur

54
wherein all parts enter one after another in a series of descending thirds. The strict

imitation in all four parts emphasizes the emotional paralysis brought on by the speaker’s

grief while the closing open fifth imitates the hollow hearts of those mourning the loss of

their beloved leader (see Example 12).

Example 12. “Anthony O Daly,” measures 63-81. The stringendo section and

subsequent descending thirds at the end of the A1 section.

55
 The third and final piece in this set is “tenderly lyrical, mimicking the gentle,

lilting rhythm of Stephens’s poetry.”25 While each of the three stanzas receives its own

musical material, the gently rocking rhythmic pattern in the opening phrase serves as a

unifying pattern throughout (see Example 13).

Example 13. “The Coolin,” measures 1-6. The rhythmic pattern established in

the opening measures.

25
Heyman, 185.

56
This homophonic section shows yet again Barber’s appreciation for third-based

progressions and chord changes; while the F major tonality is never truly in doubt, he

makes frequent use of A and D minor, with a surprising D major chord in the penultimate

measure. The second section begins with three-part men’s voices meandering from the

established key into that of A minor; eventually the tonality shifts to C, with both the

major and minor modes implied. In this way, Barber uses a third-based progression to

subtly settle into the dominant. He also begins to shift the texture between imitative

polyphony and homophony, an undulating instability that reflects the tender wooing

depicted in the text.

The third section begins with an abrupt return to homophony emphasized by the

first forte marking of the piece. These combine with frequent dissonant chords to give

the opening phrase a chilling effect that matches the description of the air on the

mountain (see Musical Example 14).

Example 14. “The Coolin,” 26-28. The return to homophony during the final

section.

The subsequent phrase returns to the polyphony introduced in the previous section,

eventually returning to the text and music with which the piece opened; thus the piece

57
ends with an abbreviated return of the opening material, a technique that has already been

noted as consistent through much of Barber’s choral repertoire.

In many ways, A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map differs greatly from the

Reincarnations set. The former is unique in its instrumentation, whereas the latter is

quite traditional; A Stopwatch exhibits a tone of social outrage, while the pieces within

Reincarnations are much more personal and intimate. Barber’s setting of Spender’s

poem juxtaposes the militaristic cadences of the timpani with sinuous chromaticism,

while his settings of Stephens’s works retain a lyrical voice throughout. However, both

are united by Barber’s intense attention to maintaining the integrity of the texts.

Examples of what I have termed microtext painting abound in both pieces. In A

Stopwatch, the percussive line in the bass on the text “split open by the bullet” (see

Example 6) clearly depicts the “splitting” that the bullet has produced, while the series of

descending lines in the first stanza depicts the fall of the soldier and the flight of his

watch described in the text (see Example 5).

Example 15. “The Coolin,” measures 23-25. The “sighing” music at the end of

the second section.

58
Likewise, Reincarnations features moments like the “airy” music at the end of “Mary

Hynes” and the music at the end of the second stanza of “The Coolin” that depicts the

“sighing” described in the text (see Example 15). At the same time, macrotextual setting

is equally prevalent, ranging from the blatant, such as the militarism of Stopwatch and the

lamentation of “Anthony O Daly,” to the subtle, such as the “occasional longer note

values on the word she” in “Mary Hynes,” depicting musically the speaker’s hopeless

infatuation.26

In addition to faithfully representing the images and moods of the texts, Barber

uses familiar structural and harmonic techniques in these pieces. Like the recurring

material in A Stopwatch, the unifying rhythmic pulses in both “Anthony O Daly” and

“The Coolin” and the statements of the opening motive in “Mary Hynes” serve as

unifying agents. All three pieces in the Reincarnations set utilize third-based

progressions in some fashion, a harmonic device that Barber uses throughout his choral

repertoire. While there are no instances of this progression in A Stopwatch, the perfect

fourths in the timpani are reminiscent of the plagal cadences so prevalent in Let Down the

Bars, Oh Death. As different as these pieces are from one another, they retain several

key characteristics of Barber’s style that serve to provide continuity with his past works

and, as we shall see, provide a foundation for his future endeavors.

Over the next decade, Barber wrote no choral music; when he returned to the

chorus in 1954 with Prayers of Kierkegaard, he maintained his keen sensitivity for the

text, while fusing the more modern quality of A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map with

the profoundly intimate and lyrical spirit of Reincarnations. Prayers of Kierkegaard

26
Heyman, 183.

59
reflects the mournfully contemplative state of Samuel Barber at the time. Confronted

with the impending death of his beloved uncle, Sidney Homer, and increasingly drawn to

what Heyman terms “monastic solitude,” Barber composed this large-scale religious

work presumably for the completion of a commission. However, the twelve years

between the grant of the commission and its execution argue that the composer’s

principal aim with this work was to relate in musical fashion the emotional turmoil within

his soul. A newfound interest in the works of the Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard

(1813-1855) provided Barber with a textual outlet for this turmoil, giving him the depth

of paired grief and spirituality that he sought to express in the music.

One of the most influential thinkers of the Nineteenth Century, Kierkegaard’s

unique view of Christianity was largely the product of his severe upbringing. His father,

a wealthy businessman, was deeply religious and plagued by intense guilt, “feelings of

melancholy and anxiety” that were communicated in his dealings with his family.27

Søren, the youngest son, reacted to the pressures of his upbringing by electing to study

theology at the University of Copenhagen in order to please his father. Once free from

the immediacy of his father’s dour influence, the young man began to dabble in more

worldly studies such as literature and contemporary philosophy and developed a lifestyle

in which he began “following pursuits sharply at variance with the austere precepts that

had been inculcated upon him at home.”28 This digression was short-lived, however, and

27
Patrick Gardiner, “Kierkegaard, Søren Aabye,” in Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. E.
Craig, http://www.rep.routledge.com.ezproxy.baylor.edu/article/DC044?ssid=235285568&n=1# (accessed
April 11, 2008)
.
28
Ibid.

60
by the time of his father’s death in 1838, the young Kierkegaard repented and returned to

theological studies.

After a brief engagement to the daughter of a civil servant in 1840, Kierkegaard

withdrew into his own version of “monastic solitude,” devoting himself to bachelorhood

in order that he might concentrate on developing his unique theological outlook

independent of any career within the Christian institutions of his homeland. Most of his

works were published under various pseudonyms, but in all of them he attacked worldly,

complacent Christianity, raising uncomfortable issues about the rigorous demands of

faith.29 One of his central assertions dealt with what he termed the “crucial inadequacies

of human reason” in the face of the divine, claiming, for instance, that the existence of

God could not be established through metaphysical reasoning, a point of view in direct

opposition to mainstream theological thought in Denmark during the 1840s.30 Shortly

before his death in 1855, he embarked upon a fervent crusade to denounce “the covert

worldliness and hypocrisy” that “permeated the clerical establishment,” reiterating his

stark view of the severity of the demands of true Christian faith.31 This severe view of

Christianity permeates the text of Barber’s Prayers of Kierkegaard, as does the

philosopher’s insistence upon an “anti-rational” approach to understanding God:

O Thou Who art unchangeable, Whom nothing changes,

May we find our rest
And remain at rest
In Thee unchanging.
Thou art moved
and moved in infinite love by all things:

29
Ibid.
30
Ibid.
31
Ibid.

61
the need of a sparrow, even this moves Thee;
and what we scarcely see,
a human sigh,
this moves Thee, O infinite Love!
But nothing changes Thee, O Thou unchanging!

Lord Jesus Christ

Who suffered all life long
that I, too, might be saved,
and whose suffering still knows no end,
This, too, wilt Thou endure:
saving and redeeming me,
this patient suffering of me
with whom Thou hast to do –
I, who so often go astray.

Father in Heaven,
well we know that it is Thou
that giveth both to will and to do,
that also longing,
when it leads us to renew
the fellowship with our Saviour and Redeemer,
is from Thee.
Father in Heaven, longing is Thy gift.
But when longing lays hold of us,
oh, that we might lay hold of the longing!
when it would carry us away,
that we might give ourselves up!
when Thou art near to summon us,
that we also in prayer might stay near Thee!
When Thou in the longing
dost offer us the highest good,
oh, that we might hold it fast!

Father in Heaven!
Hold not our sins up against us
But hold us up against our sins,
So that the thought of Thee should not remind us
Of what we have committed,
But of what Thou didst forgive;
Not how we went astray,
But how Thou didst save us!32

32
Samuel Barber, Prayers of Kierkegaard (New York: Schirmer, 1955), iv.

62
 In setting the Prayers, Barber used several different sources, including prayers

from Kierkegaard’s Journals no. 692 (1847) and 1030 (1850), Christian Discourses

(1848), and the theologian’s last sermon, “The Unchangeableness of God” (1855).33 The

composer “took liberties in fashioning the text to his musical needs: this he did by

reordering the sequence of lines, excising internal phrases, and substituting his own

translation for specific words.”34 The result of this careful attention to the text is a

beautiful progression of prayer that begins in worshipful adoration of the unchanging

Deity. This adoration calls to mind the speaker’s sinfulness, and the subsequent prayers

breathe a spirit of abject sorrow and heartbroken contrition. This leads into an expression

of longing for union with God, a longing fulfilled in the quiet surrender of the final

prayer. In this manner, Barber fashions a seamlessly cohesive text from several different

sources, an eclectic fusion that surfaces within the musical setting as well.

Critics such as Olin Downes and Paul Henry Lang hailed Barber’s Prayers of

Kierkegaard as one of his most stunning achievements, citing the variety of styles and

techniques used within as evidence.35 While this blending of diverse styles is certainly

masterful, it may easily be attributed to Barber’s study of the philosopher as much as any

broadening of his personal expressive palette. In his program notes for the premier

performance of Prayers, Barber observed that Kierkegaard “elaborated no philosophy

and was indeed the sworn enemy of philosophical systems”; with this basic premise in

33
Heyman, 350.
34
Ibid.
35
Ibid., 354-355.

63
mind, it is no wonder that Barber chose to compose his music with no overriding system

in place but rather responding almost spontaneously to the needs of the text.36

At the outset of the piece, he draws on medieval chant, a genre that moved him in

a profound manner that no other music could replicate, according to the composer in his

communications with his beloved uncle.37 As the piece progresses, he utilizes such

diverse stylistic features as antiphonal chorus, rich chromaticism, canonic polyphony, and

atonality, to name a few; yet none of these styles stands on its own. Each new device is

intimately tied to the spirit of the text, with the result that the music flows in an organic

fashion throughout the piece. Although the textual divisions and tempo markings suggest

four continuous sections, in reality the form of Prayers of Kierkegaard is much more

integral, and much more intimate, than such abrupt divisions would allow. While these

divisions make for a logical path of discourse, it is important to remember that the piece’s

overriding atmosphere is one of spontaneous prayer. This approach to composition was

decidedly contrary to the prevailing stylistic trends in art music composition during the

1950s, as many of his contemporaries were working within the strictly regulated process

of systematic serialism.

Marked “grave and remote,” the chant that begins the Prayers of Kierkegaard

evokes a sense of solemn introspection. Barber’s sensitivity to the flow of the text is

evident even in such sparse circumstances; indeed, the association of antiquity with

Gregorian chant contributes to the sense of changelessness that Kierkegaard describes, as

36
Ibid., 350.
37
Ibid., 349.

64
do the longer rhythmic values on the words “unchangeable,” “changes,” and

“unchanging” (measures two, three, and seven, Example 16).

Example 16. Prayers of Kierkegaard, Measures 1-21.38 The opening chant.

The elongated note on the word “rest” in the fourth measure is an example of microtext

painting, as is the comparatively swift motion in measures eight and nine on the text

“Thou art moved and moved in infinite love.” In the thirteenth measure, Barber

introduces a plaintive melodic gesture on the words “a human sigh” that will be used

elsewhere in this section as a source for development, a technique common in much of

his music.39 This introduction sets the mystical mood of the piece and provides a stylistic

connection with Barber’s previous works, most obviously with the microtext-painting

38
Samuel Barber, Prayers of Kierkegaard (New York: Schirmer, 1955), 1. All other references to
the score of Prayers of Kierkegaard are from this edition. Due to the length of this particular excerpt, I
have provided measure numbers every five measures in the form of circled numerals above the beginning
of the measure to which they refer.
39
Heyman, 351.

65
described above but also with the introduction of an important motive within the first few

bars.

The orchestra enters upon the conclusion of the chant, beginning quietly with

material derived from the music on the word “sigh” described above; the instruments

continue to crescendo up to the entrance of the full chorus in measure 27 on the text, “But

nothing changes Thee, O Thou unchanging!” As the chorus extols the immutability of

the Divine in the key of D major, the orchestral accompaniment fluctuates between F#

major and D minor. The resulting harmonic clash admirably depicts the contrast between

the permanence described in the text and the uncertainty of the human condition

illustrated in the accompaniment (see Example 17).

While Barber will pit the orchestra against the chorus again later in this section,

for now they come together in D Dorian as the tenors and basses repeat the opening text,

“May we find rest and remain at rest.” This repetition occurs in canonic polyphony with

music similar to that of the introductory chant; syncopated figures in the low strings,

piano, and harp provide a sparse accompaniment, while the clarinet and bassoon double

the voices. The sopranos and altos join the texture, but on different pitches than the tenor

and bass sections, which also change their starting notes after the first full iteration of the

text. Thus the music begins to “move” tonally as the chorus sings again the text, “Thou

art moved and moved in infinite love.”

This propels the music into another statement of the text, “But nothing changes

Thee, O Thou unchanging,” at which point Barber reintroduces the harmonic conflict

between the chorus and the orchestra.

66
 Example 17. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 30-34,40 The clash between the

chorus and the orchestra.

40
All instruments in this and subsequent references to Prayers of Kierkegaard are described
within this thesis at concert pitch.

67
 Example 18. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 59-61. The closing measures of

the first section.

Rising sextuplets in the orchestra propel the music towards its climax, an alternation of D

major and minor chords; these chords both restate the harmonic conflict that underpins

much of the first section of Prayers of Kierkegaard section and represent its closing

sonorities (see Example 18).

68
 The second section, which features a soprano soloist, begins with the low strings

quoting the choral part on the text, “But nothing changes Thee” from the previous

section. Immediately thereafter, the violins introduce a new accompanimental figure, a

gently flowing pattern of alternating triplets and eighth-notes (see Example 19). This

figure subsequently travels through other instruments in the orchestra as they accompany

the soprano solo.

Example 19. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 62-68. A quotation in the low

strings, and a new rhythmic pattern in the violins.

This solo is more akin to the opening chant than any of the subsequent choral

material in the first section as it is quite rhythmically flexible, a fluidity enhanced by the

consistently shifting meter. The first phrase of the soprano solo is identical to the oboe

solo that begins the section (see Example 20). Barber then develops this melody in the

soprano throughout the second section, responding to the text as evidenced in the final

line of the prayer, “I, who so often go astray” (see Example 21).

Example 20. Prayers of Kierkegaard, Oboe and soprano solos.

A. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 63-70. The oboe solo at the beginning of the

second section.

69
B. Measures 70-76. The soprano solo’s repetition of the preceding oboe solo.

Example 21. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 85-92 (Soprano and Horn solos).

The final phrase of the second section.

At this point, Barber utilizes sevenths and ninths to give the music a “straying” quality

which is reinforced by the echoing horn solo. This phrase, quite unlike the largely

conjunct and consonant preceding material, provides an instance of poignant microtext-

setting at the end of the second section, which draws to a close as the soprano repeats her

opening text, “Lord Jesus Christ,” with one final statement of the section’s opening

motive.

The third section of the Prayers begins with the chorus in quiet homophony on

the text, “Father in Heaven,” a texture that continues through the first several lines of

70
text. This material is reminiscent of Anglican chant in its parlando style, a style

reinforced by the constantly shifting meters (see Example 22).

Example 22. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 97-102 (Chorus). The opening

phrase of the third section on the text “Father in Heaven”; this material returns in many

places later in the work.

Barber reinforces the B major tonality of the section through repetition more than

functional harmony; the opening measure (see Example 22) is a good example of this, as

the B major triad at the end is approached by a movement from F major through A major.

With the text “But when longing lays hold of us,” the texture shifts from the

homophonic choral recitative into atonal polyphony, thus disturbing both the texture and

tonal center of the opening phrase (see Example 23).

Example 23. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 115-117. The first statement of

the atonal line.

The quasi-serialism of this passage was apparently unintentional, as Barber claimed to be

unaware of how near he came to writing a tone row until a reviewer pointed it out to

71
him.41 Intentional or not, the highly dissonant music quite effectively depicts the

yearning described in the text, providing yet another instance of microtext-painting

within Barber’s choral music.

Having thus stated the two main themes of this section, Barber introduces a

musical conflict similar to that in the first section, this time between textures and moods

rather than tonal centers. In measure 127, the bass and alto sections restate the opening

text, “Father in Heaven,” on a C major chord as the other sections restate the text, “But

when longing lays hold of us,” set in the same atonal polyphony as before. This

polyphony is punctuated at regular intervals by homophonic outbursts; at first quiet and

fragmented, these outbursts are eventually able to overtake the prevailing atonality,

returning to a predominantly homophonic texture in measure 140. This prominence,

however, is an uneasy one. The atonal theme continues in the orchestra beneath the

choral surface, while the chorus itself is divided into two groups that exchange short

passages of antiphonal material. The tempi of these passages steadily accelerate from 84

beats per minute in measure 160 to 160 beats per minute by the end of the section, an

acceleration that combines with a dramatic increase in chromaticism in all parts to propel

the music toward the end of the third section. As it approaches its frenzied climax, the

chorus sings the closing line of the section, “oh, that we might hold it fast.” They indeed

appear to be holding fast for dear life as the fourth section of Prayers of Kierkegaard

commences with a furious din in the orchestra.

This final section catapults forward out of the preceding material, commencing

with an orchestral fanfare in E minor that is based on the “Father in Heaven” material

41
Heyman, 353.

72
from the previous section (first seen in Example 22). For thirty-two measures, the

higher-register instruments of the orchestra elaborate on this theme at a breakneck pace

while the lower-register instruments practically blare out a bass line modeled on the

opening chant. This fanfare reaches its climax in measure 203, as the chorus enters in a

“frenzied” fashion with the text, “Father in Heaven” (see Example 24).

Thus achieving a moment of passionate catharsis, the music collapses inward to a

static open fifth in the ensuing measures, with only the timpani and bass continuing the

driving eighth-note pattern from earlier in the movement. The chorus reappears in a

similarly subdued fashion in measure 229, now split into three choirs that respond

antiphonally to one another. While the winds accompany the chorus for a few measures,

the most prominent instruments here are two bells, one of which is placed off-stage.

Heyman notes that “the bells were of special concern to Barber,” relating a detailed letter

to the artistic administrator of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in which Barber specifies

not only the “really distant effect” that he desired for the bells, but also the specific

instruments he would like to have for the debut performance.42 The increasingly quiet

chorus contributes to this “distant” feeling as well, fading gently into the closing chorale

in which Barber once again utilizes third-based progressions, with the harmony

fluctuating between the tonal centers of E major and C major. Sharing only “its modal

character and asymmetrical meter” with the preceding sections, the chorale represents a

final arrival of that peaceful rest that has been desired so intensely throughout the entire

work (see Example 25).43

42
Heyman, 354-55.
43
Ibid., 353.

73
 Example 24. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 203-206. The climax of the

fourth section’s opening fanfare.

74
 Example 25. Prayers of Kierkegaard, measures 239-43 (Chorus). The first line

of the closing chorale.

As the chorale draws to a close, the increasingly dense orchestral texture combines with

mounting dynamic levels to imply a coming apotheosis; however, such a climax is not

forthcoming, and the final chord dies away into silence instead of the expected

triumphant swell, similar to the ending of God’s Grandeur. In this fashion, Barber closes

his powerful and evocative musical introspection, having borne his audience through the

myriad states of religious contemplation and ultimately into a heartfelt peace in the midst

of the tumult.

In Prayers of Kierkegaard, Barber integrates distinctly twentieth-century

techniques with the Romantic-style lyricism for which he is generally known. One

instance of the former is the atonal polyphony used to depict the “going astray” in the

third section, while the latter is exemplified in such passages as the soprano solo in the

second section and the closing chorale. Throughout the piece Barber utilizes a broad

palette of compositional techniques in order to express the text as fully as possible. The

opening chant, the insistent D major triad on the word “unchanging,” and the dissonant

meanderings mentioned above all provide instances of microtextual setting. The

macrotext in this piece is somewhat more difficult to ascertain, due to the size of the

work and the attendant plethora of emotional themes; it could be argued that each of the

75
four sections has its own particular mood or theme that is portrayed in the music. On the

other hand, the extreme variance both between and within each section points to another

possibility, namely that Barber’s setting of these powerful words, the almost spontaneous

fashion in which different facets of mystical melancholy flow forth within the music, is

itself a macrotextual appreciation for Kierkegaard’s emphasis on immediate personal

response as opposed to systematic intellectualism.

As stated at the beginning of this chapter, grouping these three pieces together

may appear to be somewhat awkward. The first two were composed within a few years

of one another, while the final work was not premiered for more than a decade after the

completion of Reincarnations. The texts arc across a vast range of thematic material, as

innocent sensuality, spiritual sorrow, socially conscious outrage, and overwhelming grief

are all portrayed in the three works. On the surface, the musical styles of the three pieces

are as divergent as the themes of the texts. But if Prayers of Kierkegaard can be

considered to be a synthesis of earlier stylistic traits, then the two pieces discussed earlier

provide the best examples of the disparate factors combined within this monumental

work. Here can be found both the intimate voice of “The Coolin” along with the shrill

urgency of “Anthony O Daly,” the driving rhythmic quality of A Stopwatch and an

Ordnance Map along with the intricate counterpoint of “Mary Hynes.” It is this

successful, even masterful, fusion of previously far-flung techniques within the

monumental frame of Prayers of Kierkegaard that speaks to Barber’s maturation as a

composer.

76
 CHAPTER FOUR

Searching for Meaning

Opus 42 and The Lovers

The three pieces discussed in this chapter are Barber’s final choral compositions.

In composing the two pieces that comprise Opus 42, the composer further honed his

skills of motivic development and musical imagery, expanding on the musical techniques

used in his earlier pieces in order to imbue them with exquisite beauty. These two pieces

serve as intermediaries between Barber’s two large-scale choral works, Prayers of

Kierkegaard and The Lovers. The latter is the culmination of Barber’s choral style, as the

techniques that he developed throughout his career are used subtly and masterfully to

produce a vivid musical tapestry.

By nature a sensitive man, Samuel Barber was devastated by the failure of his

second opera, Antony and Cleopatra (1966), which he composed for the opening of the

new Metropolitan Opera House. Franco Zeffirelli, the librettist and director hired for the

event, had in mind a grand spectacle, a gala worthy of the opening of such a glorious

theatrical space. To that end, he planned complex staging for which he desired extensive

rehearsals including “twenty days to rehearse the Actium battle scene alone,” but the

event’s manager allotted the cast only twenty-five days total.1 This one instance can be

seen as a microcosm of the entire spate of the problems surrounding Antony and

Cleopatra, namely an overly grand vision paired with a lack, if not of resources, then

1
Barbara Heyman, Samuel Barber: The Composer and His Music (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1992), 444.

77
certainly of time. The opera was roundly criticized by critics and audiences alike, and

while it was later revised to great acclaim, the rancor with which his music was received

thrust Barber into a period of self-imposed seclusion that lasted many years.2

It was during this time, when he struggled with depression and alcoholism, that

Barber began refusing commissions altogether, determined to compose as he wished: “I

… now want to compose what I want on my own time, be it 48 preludes and fugues for

piccolo!”3 This period of artistic independence yielded not only one of his best-known

song cycles, Despite and Still (1968), but a pair of unaccompanied choral pieces,

“Twelfth Night” and “To Be Sung on the Water,” that are grouped together as his Opus

42. While these two pieces differ in their subject matter and musical construction, they

are both characterized by a yearning that is intensely expressed by Barber’s poignant

settings.

The text of the former piece, “Twelfth Night,” was written by Laurie Lee (1914-

1997), a native of the rural town of Slad in Gloucester, England. Despite the consistent

specter of hunger, Lee’s impoverished family was a happy one, and although he left his

home while still a teenager the peaceful rural village continued to provide “a fertile and

consistent garden of imagery for his poetry” throughout his life.4 In 1934, Lee traveled to

London, where he worked as a laborer and began writing poetry. This existence was

notably unsatisfactory for him, and after a year he elected to travel through Spain,

equipped only with a violin with which to earn a living and enough command of the

2
Ibid., 461.
3
Ibid., 463.
4
Donald Nally, “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus - Part
I,” Choral Journal 47, no. 4 (2006): 8.

78
Spanish language to request a glass of water. He eventually took part in the Spanish

Civil War on behalf of the loyalists, but repeated bouts with pneumonia sent him back to

London where he lived and worked through World War II. 5

While living in London, he began to write poetry with more vigor, participating in

the “general redirection of poetry in the early 1940s away from social protest or social

reportage towards a renewed emphasis on personal vision”; his works focused mainly on

themes of “love, nature and childhood” but he was eager to avoid the traps of “over-

sentimentality and luxuriant romanticism.”6 Three collections of his poetry were

published: The Sun My Monument (1944), The Bloom of Candles: Verses from a Poet’s

Year (1947), and My Many-Coated Man (1955). It is somewhat ironic that the third

collection won him the William Foyle Poetry Prize, only to become the last volume of

original poetry that he would ever publish. After his success as a poet, Lee began to

write a series of memoirs, the most successful of which was the second, Cider with Rosie

(1959); Lee commented that this work “was not a novel and not an autobiography… It

was not so much about me as about the world that I observed from my earliest years.”7

Its success was such that it rendered Lee independently wealthy, enabling him to return to

Slad with his family where he lived until his death in 1997.

Although it is included in all three of Lee’s published collections, Barber

discovered “Twelfth Night” (text below) in My Many-Coated Man, in which the poet

5
Petra Freeland, “Lee, Laurie,” Literature Online, http://lion.chadwyck.com.ezproxy.baylor.edu/
searchFulltext.do?id=BIO017571&divLevel=0&trailId=119DA8FEA5A&area=ref&forward=critref_ft
(accessed 22 April 2008).
6
Ibid.
7
Ibid.

79
recalls his impoverished but happy childhood with fondness. In this particular poem,

Barber found instances of themes that recur throughout Lee’s poetry: the interplay of

time and memory; the idea of death and rebirth, represented both by Christ’s birth and

rebirth and the seasonal renewal of the natural world; and a preference for assonance

(“sky birds fly,” “seems can green”) as opposed to end-rhyme.8 The central theme of

spiritual searching is a familiar one for Barber, and the blend of mystical and natural

themes recalls some of the composer’s earlier works, particularly God’s Grandeur:

No night could be darker than this night,

no cold so cold,
as the blood snaps like a wire,
and the heart's sap stills,
and the year seems defeated.

O never again, it seems, can green things run,

or sky birds fly,
or grass exhale its humming breath
powdered with pimpernels,
from this dark lung of winter.

Yet here are lessons for the final mile

of pilgrim kings;
the mile still left when all have reached
their tether's end: that mile
where the Child lies hid.

For see, beneath the hand, the earth already

warms and glows;
for men with shepherd's eyes there are
signs in the dark, the turning stars,
the lamb's returning time.

Out of this utter death he's born again,

his birth our saviour;
from terror's equinox he climbs and grows,

8
Nally, “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus - Part I,” 8-
12.

80
 drawing his finger's light across our blood--
the sun of heaven, and the son of God. 9

Barber’s setting of this text is principally homophonic with the occasional use of

polyphony highlighting particularly vivid passages, such as the animando return to the

opening idea in measure 39. The overarching tonality is A minor, but this remains

unconfirmed until a dominant pedal on E in measure 26, almost halfway through the 58-

measure piece; this suspension of the home key is achieved by presenting the opening

plagal sonorities as a false tonic and by consistently using an added second scale degree

on the cadences.10 While this is the first instance of such an extended tonal deception in

Barber’s choral music, the extended plagal section is reminiscent of Let Down the Bars,

Oh Death, in which he uses plagal progressions throughout the piece.

Example 1. Opus 42, “Twelfth Night,” Statements of the Opening Phrase.

A. Measures 1-3: The opening bars of the piece present an important motive.

9
Ibid., 19.
10
Ibid., 17-18.

81
B. Measures 39-43: The opening motive reappears at the beginning of the final stanza

(see measure 40).

Each of the five stanzas is set individually, but much of the material is connected

in both character and motive. For instance, the opening phrase is recycled throughout the

piece, two examples of which are shown in Example 1. The first stanza introduces not

only the motivic material that permeates this piece, but also certain consistent harmonic

techniques as well, such as the use of added ninths within chords (see the first chord in

measure 40). The second and third stanzas reiterate the opening motivic material, but it

is frequently altered to suit the text. For instance, the staccato markings in measure

thirteen underscore the “powdering” of the pimpernels in the second stanza (see Example

2). In this particular example, Barber combines two of the stylistic traits discussed within

this thesis. He provides structural continuity by using material introduced at the

beginning of the piece, but alters it to reflect the immediate meaning of the text, an

instance of “microtext-painting.”

82
 Example 2. Opus 42, “Twelfth Night,” measure 13. The staccato marks capture

the image of the “powdering” of the pimpernels.

In the fourth stanza, Barber utilizes chromatic chords and progressions as well as

halting rhythms to generate a sense of musical instability that reflects the hesitance of the

“waiting earth” and the “men with shepherd’s eyes” as they await the “lamb’s returning

time.” The composer segues into the final stanza by repeating the opening text of the

fourth stanza, “For see,” in ascending imitation that yields a sense of unbearable

anticipation through its impassioned dissonance (see Example 1-B); this is resolved with

the opening phrase of the new stanza, as the music cadences in A minor without

alteration or dissonance for the first time. The fifth stanza is the longest of the piece,

with fifteen measures devoted to the climactic resurrection of Christ. The dynamic

markings maintain a minimum level of fortissimo throughout, with frequent crescendos

marked. In addition, an “animando poco a poco” marking contributes to the sense of

catharsis that culminates with the exultant cry at the end of the stanza (see Example 3).

83
 Example 3. Opus 42, “Twelfth Night,” measures 53-58. The climax in the final

stanza.

84
Thus spent, the piece closes in quiet exhaustion, moving from F major to A minor in an

example of the third-based progression that Barber uses so frequently.

The opening material reappears in shortened form as a coda during the closing

measures, one of Barber’s most recognizable conventions in smaller pieces. In this case,

however, the repeating material is not only truncated, but is also transposed into two

different keys, namely A and E minor compared to the opening D minor. In addition, it is

fragmented both rhythmically and texturally, occurring in two different voices displaced

by three full beats. These subtle alterations reveal an increased interest in subtlety and

versatility, both of which traits are demonstrated in his setting of “To Be Sung on the

Water” by Louise Bogan (1897-1970).

In many ways, Bogan was defined by the disasters of her childhood. Her father

worked in a paper-mill, and her mother believed that she had married beneath herself; as

a result, she carried on numerous flagrant love affairs that resulted in frequently vicious

fights with her husband.11 The young Louise was confronted with jealousy,

contentiousness, and emotional abandonment at many points during her childhood, and

both her personal life and her poetry betray their influence.

At the age of thirteen, Bogan was sent to study at the Girl’s Latin School in

Boston due to her scholastic aptitude. It was here that her love of poetic expression

began to emerge, first modeled after the style of Swinburne and Morris, but eventually

finding a more lasting influence in the symbolists, especially Mallarmé. Upon leaving

the school, she began a series of disastrous love affairs and marriages that went hand-in-

11
Donald Nally, “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus -
Part II,” Choral Journal 47, no. 4 (2006): 20.

85
hand with her increasing success as a published writer; it was not until her late thirties

that she found peace in both her professional and personal lives due to a lasting

relationship with a still-anonymous electrician, a commitment to psychoanalysis, a full-

time position reviewing for the New Yorker, and a series of teaching positions in Seattle,

Ann Arbor, and Chicago.12 This newfound stability lasted until the end of her life, but

the bitterness of her youth consistently provided a source for poetic inspiration.

As early as 1912, Bogan had found “her note, the pure lyric note, as she often put

it, of ‘memory and desire.’”13 Her love of the symbolists gave her an acute attention to

the sonic qualities of her poetry, in particular the interplay of percussive consonants

against a background of soothing vowels. Thematically, as mentioned before, her work

focuses on issues of jealousy, abandonment, and bitterness in love, as in the excerpt

below:

My mother remembers the agony of her

womb
And long years that seemed to promise
more than this.
She says, “You do not love me,
You do not want me,
You will go away.”14

“To Be Sung on the Water” contains both the melancholy character so typical of

Bogan’s poetry and many of the technical approaches that she favored. Rhyme and half-

rhyme are interchanged subtly, and the gentle metric flow encapsulates the parting lovers

in a fragment of timeless sorrow. The first of the two stanzas is rendered in an a-b-a-b-a

12
Ibid., 21-23.
13
Elizabeth Frank, Louise Bogan: A Portrait (New York: Knopf, 1985), 416.
14
Louise Bogan, “Betrothed,” in The Blue Estuaries: Poems 1923-1968 (New York: Farrar,
Strauss and Giraux, 1968), 7.

86
scheme, the regularity of which is eroded with the second stanza’s expanded format (c-d-

d1-e-d-d-e). The smooth line of the vowels is frequently punctuated by S and T

consonants, “like an oar breaking the calm surface of the water.”15 These elements

combine to “demonstrate Bogan’s extraordinary economy and simplicity, capturing the

sound and rhythm of leisurely rowing in a minimum of words and a few, highly-

concentrated images”:16

Beautiful, my delight,
Pass, as we pass the wave.
Pass, as the mottled night
Leaves what it cannot save,
Scattering dark and bright.

Beautiful, pass and be

Less than the guiltless shade
To which our vows were said;
Less than the sound of the oar
To which our vows were made,
Less than the sound of its blade
Dipping the stream once more.17

Dedicated to Florence Kimball, Leontyne Price’s voice teacher and a close friend

of Barber, the intimate To Be Sung on the Water represents a distinctly different mood

from its chronological counterpoint, the more hymn-like Twelfth Night. While on the

surface the two pieces are quite dissimilar, they share a common thread of continuing

variation that is used in significantly different ways: whereas Twelfth Night presents and

develops a central motive, To Be Sung on the Water varies an ostinato throughout the

piece (see Example 4). The central difference is that the motivic development of the

15
Nally, “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus - Part II,”
24.
16
Ibid.
17
Ibid., 37.

87
former leads inexorably to climax, while the variations of the ostinato lead just as

inexorably back to its original form, robbing the piece’s climax of any lasting power and

denying relief from the sorrowful atmosphere created by the composer.

Example 4. Opus 42, “To Be Sung on the Water,” measures 1-2. The ostinato

presented first in the men’s voices.

This ostinato is the defining characteristic of the piece, and both its character and

usage are important to interpreting the work. The two-measure pattern occurs throughout

the piece on the text, “Beautiful, my delight,” the opening words of the poem.

Metrically, the first half of this line is a dactyl, while the second is an an apest; Barber

sets these unequal fragments to identical rhythmic patterns, which “creates an effect of

calmness … as if the musical pattern was involuntary.”18 At the same time, the first half

of the ostinato ends on a minor sixth between C and Ab (see Example 4, measure 1),

possibly implying the first inversion of the VI chord in C minor, while the second half

ends on a perfect fifth between C and G, implying the I chord. The relative instability of

18
Ibid., 26.

88
the first in comparison to the second emphasizes the natural rhythm of the words, while

the musically identical rhythm provides continuity and calmness.

As the piece commences, the tenors and basses begin with the ostinato, while the

sopranos and altos sing a melodic duet that utilizes the same basic rhythmic

characteristics as the ostinato. After three statements of the basic ostinato, Barber begins

to alter it as he expands the range of the women’s duet (see Example 5). While the

opening melodic line moved mostly in parallel thirds, here the basic distance is expanded

to a sixth while the upper range of the soprano is increased as well. This change in

melodic material corresponds to the first variations in the ostinato, such as the perfect

fourth in the previously static bass part in measure seven and the alteration of both the

text and the notes in measures eleven and twelve (see Example 5).

Example 5. Opus 42, “To Be Sung on the Water,” measures 7-12. The first

alterations of the ostinato.

89
In combination with the soprano and alto parts, these changes appear to initiate a

modulation to the dominant. This excursion to a new tonal center is short-lived,

however, as the ostinato immediately subsides to the lower register and closes with a

perfect fifth on C.

Example 6. Opus 42, “To Be Sung on the Water,” measures 13-18. The men and

women exchange the ostinato and the melody.

90
 As the second stanza begins, the tenors and basses exchange roles and material

with the sopranos and altos on a regular basis, altering the ostinato in the process (see

Example 6). Not only does this version of the ostinato contain no perfect fifths

whatsoever, but it also does not remain constant through even the first iteration.

The duets begin to trade roles with every line of text; this constant switching of ostinato

and melody combines with the increasing dynamic levels and the steadily increasing

range of the voices to lead the piece to its climax in measures 26-29 (see Example 7).

Example 7. Opus 42, “To Be Sung on the Water,” measures 26-31. The climax

achieved in the second section of the piece.

91
 At first, it appears that the resolution of this climax marks the end of the piece, as

the music seems to wind down immediately. The dynamic levels decrease steadily from

measure 30, and the sopranos close to a sustained G in measure 33. The ostinato in the

men’s voices slowly returns to its original form, and the alto line begins to repeat the

ostinato as well. What appears to be the final iteration of the ostinato in the men’s voices

slows via rhythmic augmentation (see Example 8, measure 35).

Example 8. Opus 42, “To Be Sung on the Water,” measures 34-5 (men’s voices).

The “final” appearance of the ostinato in the men’s voices.

But Barber is not yet done. As we have seen before in pieces such as A Stopwatch

and an Ordnance Map and Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, he frequently ends smaller

pieces with reiterations of their opening material; he uses this technique here by closing

with a section that at first appears to be a simple repetition of the first stanza. But after

92
repeating the first three lines of the first stanza, Barber segues seamlessly into the final

two lines of the poem, thus unifying the two stanzas with an extended fourteen-measure

coda that serves as a summary of the entire piece. This closing section repeats the

musical material of the first stanza, but reverses its pattern by contracting in both

dynamics and range until the final open fifth simply dies away. What in earlier pieces

seemed simply to be a habitual closing now serves a distinct purpose, one that fits in with

the relentlessness of this piece’s sorrowful mood. The decision to continue the piece past

the climax and bring the ostinato back into the texture gives the work a sense of

timelessness, “the feeling that this ostinato (again, these waves) began long before this

poem and will end well out of our sight.”19

In both of these pieces, Barber uses to some extent the techniques discussed in the

previous chapters. The motivic development in “Twelfth Night” is pervasive, and while

“To Be Sung on the Water” is fairly nondevelopmental in nature, the variations of both

the ostinato and the melodic line indicate that even here the composer uses familiar and

consistent material to give the piece cohesiveness. Microtext-painting is somewhat less

prevalent in these two pieces than in earlier works, but there are still instances. For

example, the music on the text “powdered with pimpernels” in “Twelfth Night” (see

Example 2) is directly representative of this scattered image, while the climactic music

that begins the final stanza appears to be “born again” out of the preceding confusion, just

as Christ is announced as rising “out of this utter death” (see Example 1-B). Microtext-

painting is even scarcer in “To Be Sung on the Water,” but certain lines are represented

19
Nally, “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus - Part II,”
28.

93
fairly directly; for instance, the final line of the first stanza, “scattering dark and bright,”

is depicted by the suddenly increased dynamics and somewhat agitated motion in the

tenors and basses (see Example 5). In addition, the ostinato can easily be interpreted as a

representation of the lapping of the waves and the constant dipping of the oars in the

water described in lines two, nine, and eleven of Bogan’s poem.

While individual lines and phrases are depicted musically, the emphasis in both

pieces appears to be on the macrotext. The motivic recurrence throughout “Twelfth

Night” can easily be seen as representative of Christ’s resurrection, while the harmonic

instability and poignant dissonances reflect the speaker’s sorrow at His death. The

ostinato in “To Be Sung on the Water” emphasizes the timelessness discussed previously,

while the introspective, meandering melody reflects the gentle musings of the speaker,

who cherishes these memories of happiness regardless of the sorrow that they engender.

These two vastly different pieces appear to share only their common year of

origin; in the spirit of artistic liberty mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, it appears

that at this point Barber simply wanted to write small-scale choral pieces. “Twelfth

Night” is highly structured and involves consistent thematic development, whereas “To

Be Sung on the Water” appears to roll forth in a dream-like state, paying only the

slightest attention to formal structure. The former’s mystical themes contrast greatly with

the intimately personal subject matter of the latter. Indeed, the only common strand

between the two, other than the performing forces involved, is an air of quiet sorrow that

is by no means unique to these two pieces within Barber’s choral oeuvre. Seen in the

context of that output as a whole, they seem to join together to look forward and

backward: the sorrowful spirituality of “Twelfth Night” recalls the musings of the

94
Prayers of Kierkegaard, while the bittersweet remembrance of lost love presages

Barber’s next and final major choral work, The Lovers.

In 1971, he accepted a commission for the Girard Bank of Philadelphia, despite

his recently proclaimed aversion to the proscriptive nature of working under commission.

He fulfilled their request by composing his second large-scale choral work, The Lovers,

which required a full orchestra along with the chorus and baritone soloist.20 The work is

based on Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda (1904-73), a

collection of intensely sensual poems, written in 1920, that chronicle a doomed love

affair from passionate inception to bitter unraveling. Barber’s friend Valentin Herranz

introduced him to these poems in 1970; their intensely personal and intimate nature

struck a chord with the composer, as he consistently sought to ground his compositions in

personal experience.21 While the audience at the premier, a predominantly conservative

group, “raised their eyebrows” over both the leftist politics of the poet and the explicitly

erotic imagery used throughout the work, their admiration for the music overcame these

reservations and The Lovers met with approval wherever it was performed, even

prompting one critic to avow that it represented Barber “at his very best.” 22

Pablo Neruda, originally named Ricardo Eliecer Neftalì Reyes (Neftalì to his

family and friends), was born in central Chile to an engineer whose work on Andean

railways ensured a comfortable, if not lavish, upbringing for his three children. Neftalì’s

schoolteacher, future Poet Laureate Gabriela Mistral, introduced him to the world of

20
Heyman, 476.
21
Ibid., 476-77.
22
Ibid., 479-82.

95
verse and encouraged him to pursue his own talents. At the age of sixteen, the young

poet changed his name “in part to avoid his father’s disapproval” of his poetic pursuits,

but also in honor of the Czech poet Jan Neruda, one of Mistral’s perennial favorites.23

The newly christened Neruda’s first major collection, Veinte poemas de amor y

una canciòn desesperade (“Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair”), was

immensely popular; their combination of often brutal eroticism and equally forceful

melancholy describe “the effects of passion and its loss in terms that speak to lovers

everywhere.”24 Commenting later on the violence of the love in Veinte poemas, Neruda

remarked that these poems were not “aimed at idealizing beauty or love, but the messy,

scented perceptions of lived loves–and lusts.”25 Their publication in 1924 thrust Neruda

into the public eye, a rising fame that eventually resulted in a series of civil appointments,

beginning with the post of Chilean consul to Rangoon, Burma in 1927. During the next

decade, he served as consul in Ceylon, Java, and Singapore, all the while experiencing a

growing sense of alienation from those around him, including his first wife, Maria

Antonieta Hagenaar. Residencia in la tierra (“Residence on Earth”), his 1935 collection

in two volumes, reflects this disassociation and the subsequent depression that gripped

him with imagery and techniques that reflect such works as T.S. Eliot’s Wasteland.26

23
Christina Garcìa, foreward to Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, by Pablo Neruda,
trans. W.S. Merwin (New York: Penguin, 2004), viii.
24
Sarah Johnson, “Neruda, Pablo, 1904-1973,” Literature Online, http://lion.chadwyck.com.
ezproxy.baylor.edu/searchFulltext.do?id=BIO008661&divLevel=0&trailId=119DA9279ED&area=ref&for
ward=critref_ft (accessed 18 April 2008).
25
Garcia, viii.
26
Johnson.

96
 This despondency met its end when Neruda experienced the horrors of the

Spanish Civil War. In 1934, he traveled to Madrid to have his Residencia published; in

addition to meeting his second wife, the painter Delia del Carril, he saw close friends

killed by the soldiers of General Franco. His third Residencia, published in 1947 but

written in the late 1930s, reflects the sublimation of his sorrow and alienation into anger

at the violence caused, in his eyes, by the evils of capitalism.27 Thus Neruda, like

Spender, became a political poet, waging a war of words on the side of socialism; unlike

Spender’s poetry, Neruda’s work did not suffer in the eyes of his audience, as his

political works of the 1940s were immensely popular. This immense popularity led to his

election as a communist senator in 1945, as well as his reception of the Chilean National

Prize of Literature that same year. Unfortunately, his deeply held and loudly proclaimed

convictions about the corruption of the Chilean government led to an order for his arrest

in 1947, after which he was forced to flee the country.

During his exile, Neruda’s poetry grew even more forceful and political. He

acknowledged what he described as “poetry’s duty to the common man,” and

subsequently stripped his verse of much of its esoteric quality, developing a far more

“transparent style” than his earlier works.28 This trend found its grandest expression in

his Canto General of 1950, in which he described his view of humanity’s unity with the

world and history. During his exile he met the woman who would eventually become his

third and final wife, Matilde Urrutia; his love for her inspired another set of poems, Los

versos del capitàn (“The Captain’s Verses”), published in 1952. While this collection

27
Ibid.
28
Ibid.

97
returned to the intimate, personal nature of his earlier works, the violent struggles

associated with sexual love were gone, replaced by Neruda’s belief in the necessary unity

between man and woman in the face of social injustice.

In that same year, Neruda was allowed to return to Chile, and he and Matilde

settled in Isla Negra on the coast. The representative government of Salvator Allende

treated Neruda as a national hero, and in turn the poet was grateful for the stability that

Allende’s government provided his beloved homeland. In a twist of bitter irony, Neruda

passed away in 1973 just as the Allende’s government began to fall: the poet was spared

the sight of his nation being torn by chaotic revolt once again, but lived long enough to

know that it was inevitable. Upon his death, eight volumes of previously unpublished

poetry were released. These final collections were intensely personal and reflective,

marking a return to the themes of sensual love for both his homeland and his beloved.

While he enjoyed all of Neruda’s work, Barber had to decide which particular

poems to set, in addition to choosing translations and cuttings of text. After carefully

considering his texts, he included only three poems in their entirety; for his English texts

he drew from translations by two different scholars, Christopher Logue and W.S.

Merwin, supplemented at times by his own translation. For instance, the poem used for

the first movement is represented in its entirety as translated by Merwin, while the second

is also included as a complete entity but in Logue’s translation. For the eighth

movement, “Tonight I can write,” Barber used Merwin’s translation, but omitted several

lines and substituted individual words, such as “infinite” for “endless.” 29 In addition to

carefully editing the words of the texts, Barber also rearranged the order of the poems;

29
Heyman, 479.

98
the original works are not arranged with any chronology in mind, and Barber wanted to

express the birth and death of this love affair within a more narrative framework. The

resulting texts weave a tapestry of evocative imagery from the violent lust of “Body of a

woman” to the sobbing grief of “We have lost even this twilight,” a tapestry that Barber’s

music colors in rich, luscious detail.

Musically, The Lovers is bound together by the opening motive of the

introduction. Based on the call of a songbird heard by the composer, this motive, referred

to subsequently as “the Lovers motive,” consists of an ascending perfect fourth followed

by a descending major third in the flute part.30

Example 9. The Lovers, Prelude, measures 1-7 (flute, clarinet, and oboe). The

first statements and alteration of the Lovers motive. 31

Barber uses this melodic fragment in a variety of ways, often inverting it or altering the

intervallic content. Indeed, there are times when it appears to have been stretched beyond

its limits or compressed into nothingness with only the basic contour remaining. And yet,

30
Ibid., 479-80.
31
Samuel Barber, The Lovers (New York: Schirmer, 1971), xx. All subsequent references to the
score or text of The Lovers are from this edition.

99
even in this guise it provides musical unity between the movements in a manner similar

to (if more extensive than) Barber’s use of motivic development in other pieces discussed

in this thesis. The orchestral introduction features it prominently and in multiple voices

at the outset, with the flute and clarinet stating it first, followed by a modified inversion

in the oboe (see Example 9). A few measures later, a quintuplet accompaniment in the

harp also utilizes a reordering of this motive; this pulsing undercurrent serves to highlight

the principal theme of the movement, a plaintive appassionato melody introduced

canonically, with the cellos echoing the first violins (see Example 10).

Example 10. The Lovers, Prelude, measures 16-19 (Harp, 1st violins, cellos). The

principal theme of the prelude, stated in the violins and cellos.

Beneath this soaring line, a new theme begins to emerge; first stated in the background in

the oboes, then in the clarinets, this idea, develops into the contrasting theme of the

introduction (see Example 11).

100
 Example 11. The Lovers, Prelude, measures 17-18 (Oboe and 1st Clarinet). The

contrasting theme of the introduction.

This secondary theme consists of two iterations of the Lovers motive, Eb-F-C and Eb-Ab-

F; its rhythmic drive is enhanced by the use of a wide battery of percussion instruments

whose variety of sounds give the first full statement a somewhat irreverent feel.

In the ensuing material, a struggle arises between the lyricism of the first theme

and the obsessively rhythmic drive of the second; this struggle is reminiscent of similar

techniques used in Prayers of Kierkegaard, although in this context the musical duel

reflects sexual tension rather than religious contemplation. The two ideas take turns

occupying the melody and the accompaniment, with the latter steadily gaining ground

against the increasingly feeble statements of the former. Barber achieves this effect by

first restating the primary theme with altered intervals that give it a frantic edge, then

utilizing fragments of it as a flippant accompaniment to the increasingly prominent

secondary theme.

Example 12. The Lovers, Prelude, measures 56-59 (strings). The apotheosis of

the primary theme of the prelude.

101
Material drawn from the secondary theme continues to build in intensity toward the

climax, at which point the primary theme is rendered in a grandiose apotheosis in the

strings (see Example 12). Even here, the opposing material is present in the

accompaniment, and as the climax fades away, the rhythmically pulsing theme reappears,

providing a direct segue into the first full movement, “Body of a woman”:

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,

you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant’s body digs in you,
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.
I was alone–like a tunnel, the birds fled from me,
and night swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance falls and I love you.

Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.

My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.32

More than any of the other poems within this work, “Body of a woman”

emphasizes the raw sexuality of the beloved, focusing on the speaker’s desire to an

almost obsessive degree. Barber reflects this obsession by basing the entire

monothematic movement on the secondary theme from the overture, which itself is an

expansion upon the Lovers motive. The orchestra maintains a strong rhythmic pulse

throughout the movement, providing a forceful backdrop for the baritone soloist (see

Example 13). The soloist himself opens with what amounts to a parallel period: the first

32
Barber, The Lovers, xx.

102
two four-measure phrases introduce the movement’s theme and ends it on E, the

dominant, while the second pair of phrases repeats the same general material with an

expansion at the end that moves the melody line to A, the tonal center of the movement.

Example 13: The Lovers, Movement I, measures 1-8 (full). The opening of the

first movement with material based on the prelude’s secondary theme.

The baritone line repeats this material for the remainder of the movement, with four

parallel periods occurring in all. This melodic fixation focuses attention on the carnal

nature of the text, mirroring the speaker’s carnal obsession with the body of his beloved.

The orchestra underscores this obsession with both its rhythmic ostinato and the recurring

statements of the secondary theme from the introduction; at first, these occur only

between the baritone’s periods, but toward the end they become more frequent,

punctuating each four-bar phrase as the movement dies away.

While the macrotext of this movement is expressed through the methods detailed

above, there are also many instances in which Barber utilizes microtext-painting. For

103
example, the text “birds fled from me” is accompanied by trills in the upper strings that

provide a mimetic rendering of birds in flight (see Example 14).

Example 14. The Lovers, Movement I, measures 21-2 (Baritone and strings).

The trills in the strings represent the birds that fly from the speaker.

In the closing period, the optional part for the baritone line on the text, “my shifting

road,” alters the original theme for the first time, musically depicting the “shifting”

described in the text (see Example 15).

Example 15. The Lovers, Movement I, measures 57-60 (Baritone). The “shifting

road” as depicted in the baritone line (upper part).

Other instances of microtext painting are more oblique, such as the extended range of the

phrase “And makes the son leap from the depth of the earth” and the dynamic decrease to

piano on the text “I was alone.” In short, Barber’s setting of this poem provides vivid

illustrations of the text at every turn, whether subtle or direct, a vividness that continues

primarily in the macrotext of the second movement, “Lithe girl, brown girl”:

104
 Lithe girl, brown girl,
The sun that makes apples,
And stiffens the wheat,
And splits the thongweed,
Made your body with joy.

Your tongue like a red bird

Dancing on ivory,
Your lips with the smile of water.

You stretch out your arms

And the sun grabs
At the loose black coils
Of your hair
As if water were falling.

Tantalize the sun if you dare,

It will leave
Shadows that match you everywhere.
Lithe girl, brown girl,
Nothing draws me towards you,
And the heat within you
Beats me home
Like the sun at high noon.

Knowing these things,

Perhaps through knowing these things
I seek you out.
Ah! Listening for your voice
Or the brush of your arms against wheat
Or your steps among poppies
Grown under water.

The second movement is a tripartite piece that features a men’s chorus with, as

Barber states at the beginning, “a few women’s voices.” The composer uses bongo

drums, whole-tone scales, and 5/8 meter to emphasize the exotic sensuality of the text

and provide a contemplative contrast to the forcefulness of the previous movement; while

A Stopwatch has several measures in 5/4, it is only occasional, and none of his other

choral pieces use of any of these devices. The opening and closing sections of “Lithe

105
girl, brown girl” are constructed in alternating passages of movement and suspension: in

the former, the men exchange the lively melody accompanied by a staccato figure in the

piano that is always mirrored in at least one of the other men’s lines; in the latter, the bass

voices join with the women to create an eerily open sonority while the tenors sing a new

line of text in an expressive, almost unmetered fashion (see Example 16).

Example 16. The Lovers, Movement II, measures 1-8 (Chorus). The opening of

the second movement.

The second of these suspended moments includes text from the subsequent stanza of

poetry, “You stretch out your arms,” thus blurring the boundary between the opening and

middle sections, providing a sense of continuity that might otherwise be lacking due to

the drastic change in character that occurs with the new material.

The middle section begins with the tenors and basses alternating rhythmically

active homophonic material in three and two parts, respectively. Harmonically, the vocal

106
lines move the harmony away from the previously established Bb minor through a series

of implied tonal regions, including B minor, E minor, and A minor, none of which are

confirmed by either traditional harmonic progressions or extended use. Throughout this

call-and-response section, the melody is presented in the accompaniment, but it cannot

gain the attention of the singers save for a brief moment at roughly the middle of the

section. This reappearance is short-lived, as the voices immediately split into three parts

and end the section with an energetic canon on the text “And the heat within you / Beats

me home / Like the sun at high noon.” The final bars of this section almost appear to be

an uneasy marriage of material from two pieces discussed earlier in this thesis: the two

tenor lines involve the same intervallic relationships as the “olive branch” motive from A

Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, while the bass line recalls the frantic buildup to the

closing section of “Anthony O Daly” (see Example 17).

Example 17. The Lovers, Movement II, measures 26-28 (Men’s Voices). The

men’s voices recall both A Stopwatch and “Anthony O Daly.”

In this movement, Barber begins to disguise this central motive, withdrawing it

from the foreground but using it to provide a subtle connection to the preceding music.

The bottom notes of the piano accompaniment spell out the motive in absolute pitch

(Bb-Eb-C), but the third beat must be transposed down an octave to achieve this (see

Example 18). The melody line utilizes a transposed inversion of the motive at the end of

107
the phrase on the text, “splits the thong-weed”; the tenor line at the end of the middle

section uses the same inverted version, but does so between two separate iterations of the

“beats me home” text. Thus, while Barber uses the Lovers motive from the introduction

within this movement, its presence is much more subtle here than in “Body of a woman.”

In addition, he foregoes any of the microtext-painting used in the previous movement,

preferring here to simply set the overall ambiance of the poem.

Example 18. The Lovers, Movement II, measures 1-2 (Piano). A subtle variation

of the Lovers motive in the opening piano part.

In the second movement, the men’s voices are the central performing force; ever

the lover of symmetry, Barber chooses to set the third movement for women’s voices.

“In the hot depth of this summer” (text below) is a delicate piece in which the women’s

voices move in gentle counterpoint against a smoothly rocking four-chord

accompaniment played by three-part cellos; these elements are punctuated by

instrumental interludes, marked liberamente, that emphasize the languid nature of the

movement as a whole:

In the hot depth of this summer

The morning is close, storm-filled.
Clouds shift: white rags waving goodbye,
Shaken by the frantic wind as it goes.
And as it goes the wind throbs over us
Whom love-making has silenced.

The tonality of this piece is F# minor throughout, but this tonal center is achieved more

through repetition than traditional cadences. At no point is there a dominant harmony,

108
and the tonic chord occurs on weaker beats throughout the piece, as demonstrated by the

cello parts in Example 19.

Example 19. The Lovers, Movement III, measures 1-4. The opening measures of

the third movement establish both the overall ambiance and the accompanimental

patterns used throughout the movement.

In this fashion, the tonal center is achieved in a manner consistent with the relaxed, even

exhausted nature of the text; the piece ends in the parallel major, but even this transition

is remarkably lacking in emphasis due to the decrescendo that marks the closing plagal

cadence. This erosion of the tonic is reminiscent of other pieces such as Twelfth Night

and Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, works that share the contemplative mood of “In the

hot depth.”

Barber sets the three couplets of this poem to music that varies in an almost

organic manner, responding to the poetic images that they relate; at no point does any

melodic idea contrast greatly with that which appears at the very beginning (see the voice

parts in Example 20). The rising figure in the first measure of the soprano line remains

the principal idea throughout the piece, while the altos maintain an undulating pulse

underneath the melody. Within this general motion, Barber is sensitive to the

opportunities for text-painting that Neruda’s poetry offers. For instance, at the beginning

of the second couplet Barber begins the soprano line out of place on the text “Clouds

109
shift”; further in the same couplet, the sopranos seem to be shaken by the same wind that

grips the clouds (see Example 20, measure 9). Pulsing dissonance marks the text, “the

wind throbs over us” (see Example 20, measure 12). Lastly, the two vocal lines join

together on a unison pitch at the very end, dying as one on the word “silenced.”

Example 20. The Lovers, Movement III, measures 9-12. Microtext-painting

occurs on the text “shaken by the frantic wind” and “the wind throbs over us.”

The trend of decreasingly obvious use of the Lovers motive continues in this

movement, with its direct statement occurring only rarely, such as in the soprano voice at

the beginning of the final couplet (see Example 20, measure 11). The bass notes of the

accompaniment figure represent an inversion of this motive in which the direction of the

third is altered (see Example 20); in other places, especially in the melody, the rising and

110
falling contour of the motive is traced without it being used directly. This movement

substitutes a deceptive simplicity at odds with the chromatic and rhythmic complications

of the earlier movement, and the quiet sorrow that it engenders with its repetitive

harmonies and aching dissonances can easily be interpreted as the beginning stages of the

lovers’ estrangement.33

In the fourth movement, “Close your eyes” (text below), the poetry returns from

its musings over the natural world and focuses again on the lovers themselves, a focus

that Barber recreates faithfully in the music:

Close your eyes wherein the slow night stirs,

Strip off your clothes. (O frightened statue!)
Like new-cut flowers your arms, your lap as rose.

Close your eyes wherein the slow light stirs,

Breasts like paired spirals,
Lap as rose, and rosy shadows in your thighs.
The slow night stirs within your eyes,
My quiet one.

Rainfall. From the sea a stray gull.

The rain walks barefoot through the street.
Leaves on the trees are moaning like the sick.

Though the white bee has gone

That part of me the world calls soul
Still hums and the world is not so wide
I cannot hear its bell
Turn in the spirals of grey wind.
My quiet one.
Strip off your clothes.
My quiet one.

The movement is bipartite with a brief coda that recalls the opening section, a familiar

trait of Barber’s music; the opening section itself features a gently rolling rhythm, a

33
Heyman, 478.

111
lyrical melody, and lush, dissonant harmonies that reflect the sensual nature of the text.

The text’s depiction of unbalanced sensuality is present from the outset, as the opening

accompaniment appears to be in two different keys.

Example 21. The Lovers, Movement IV, measures 1-6. The unbalanced tonality

at the beginning of the fourth movement.

112
The cello and bass clarinet are decidedly in D, and their quintal pattern suggests a I-V-ii-

V-I progression; however, the viola and 2nd violin revolve around the key of A major

while the tenors and first violins cannot decide whether they are in A major or F# minor

(see Example 21).

The dissonance created by the bitonality combines with persistent syncopation to

give the entire A section a feeling of uneasy sultriness. This unease continues as the

choral texture stretches from two to four-part men on the last line of text; the previously

straightforward harmonies begin to dissolve into chromaticism, a dissolution which

affords Barber the chance to utilize the third-based progression of which he is so fond,

moving in the last two chords from Eb major to G major (see Example 22).

Example 22. The Lovers, Movement IV, measures 14-17 (Chorus). Barber uses a

third-based progression between Eb and G in measure 17.

The altos and sopranos join in the second section, which marks a departure from

the studied sultriness of the opening. The chromatic tendencies revealed at the end of the

opening continue here, as no tonal center is allowed to establish itself; the chorus weaves

a nervous counterpoint that sinks in both dynamics and register against a backdrop of

chromatically offset triplets in the accompanying instruments. This decrease in volume

and register is short-lived, as the music begins to build toward a cacophonous climax on

the lines “I cannot hear its bell / Turn in the spirals of grey wind,” with a sharply

113
dissonant chord falling on the last word of the phrase. The section then closes with

another third-based progression on the same text as before, this time from Bb major to D

major; after a brief orchestral transition, the movement closes with a coda that quotes the

solo lines from the opening.

Example 23. The Lovers, Movement IV, measures 36-38. The altered Lovers

motive appears in many voices in the orchestra.

114
 The Lovers motive is used more often and more obviously here than in the

previous two movements, occurring first at the end of the opening melody line (see

Example 21, measure 3). As the piece progresses, it is used in its pure form with less

frequency, often stated with a tritone instead of a perfect fourth (see the first tenor part in

Example 22, measure 14, on the text “stirs within”). During the middle section the

motive is repeated in various forms throughout the texture, growing more forceful and

frantic until the end of the section (see Example 23). In the overarching plot of The

Lovers, this movement marks the speaker’s doomed attempt to recapture the original

passion that he experienced, a passion that is dwindling into tiresome fretfulness. The

underlying unease of this movement continues in the next, “The Fortunate Isles” in which

the speaker recalls a romantic escape that he and his lover shared.

The central feature of the fifth movement is the motion between the fourth scale

degree and the raised fifth, demonstrated in the flute and oboe parts in Example 24; this

generates a constant pattern of tension and release that simulates the motion of the boat

mentioned in the poem, “The Fortunate Isles” (text below):

Drunk as drunk on trementine

From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made out of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it–our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal–
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope

115
 Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles.
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

Example 24. The Lovers, Movement V, measures 1-3 (Flutes and Oboes). The

opening measures of the fifth movement establish an undulating pattern.

Unlike most of the previous movements, here the melodic ideas are not relegated solely,

or even principally, to the chorus. Soloists from both the orchestra and chorus state the

melodies while the chorus becomes part of the accompaniment, both on text and on the

syllable “ah.” This melodic material is never truly developed, but rather is restated in

various keys throughout the movement. As a result, the piece does not consist of

contrasting sections but rather repeated statements of the central thematic material, all

underscored by the augmented second motion described previously. This approach is

somewhat uncommon in Barber’s choral music, as most of his pieces involve some

semblance of development; the closest correlation would be with “To be sung on the

water” from Opus 42, in which the ostinato varies only slightly throughout.

The fifth movement of The Lovers draws on the opening motive as heavily as any

other in the piece, although in a modified form. In the spirit of the augmented interval

116
that pervades the movement, “The Fortunate Isles” features the Lovers motive based on a

tritone instead of a fourth, as in the cello part illustrated in Example 25 (below).

Example 25. The Lovers, Movement V, measures 14-15 (Cellos). The cello part

features a variation of the Lovers motive based on a tritone (A# - E - G).

In addition to such liberal use of this motive, Barber employs text-painting with virtually

every phrase of the poem. During the opening text, “Drunk as drunk on trementine,” the

tonic chords fall on the second pulse of the measure, implying an inebriated unsteadiness.

Example 26. The Lovers, Movement V, measures 20-26 (Chorus). Barber uses

microtext-painting to depict the texts “tangled together” and “drifted for months.”

The second section, featuring exchanges between the men and women, also illustrates

powerful text painting in both parts: the men’s line is indeed “tangled together” with its

dense harmonies, while the alto line appears to “drift,” if not for months, then at least for

several measures (see Example 26). Such attentiveness to individual imagery pervades

the fifth movement, providing a fascinating surface against which the lulling motion of

the harmonies plays a gentle lullaby. However, the ensuing movement, “Sometimes”

117
(text below), breaks the quiet spell cast by “The Fortunate Isles,” bringing us back from

peaceful remembrance into a bitter present:

Sometimes it’s like

You are dead when you say nothing.

Or you heard things I say, and

Could not be bothered to reply.

And your eyes, sometimes,

Move outside of you,
Watching the two of us, yes
As if
After you turned to the wall,
Somebody’s kisses stopped your mouth.

This movement is a paroxysm of suspicion and rage that is accompanied by

ostinatos in the cello and second violin (see Example 27).

Example 27. The Lovers, Movement VI, measures 1-4. The opening of the sixth

movement features ostinato patterns in the accompaniment.

Above this expansion of the opening motive, the baritone soloist sings a line rife with

chromatics and percussive rhythms that illustrate the ugly, violent nature of the poetry.

Whereas the previous movement featured the raised second scale degree in contrast with

the tonic, this one emphasizes motion back and forth between the first and the flat

second, a stunted motion that accents the obsessive choler of the speaker. Perhaps the

most inventive facet of this movement is the use of a whip as a percussion instrument at

118
the end of the piece. At any rate, the union between the speaker and his lover appears to

be fraying rapidly, leaving him to grieve the love that he has so recently lost, a grief that

manifests itself in the sixth movement, “We have lost even this twilight”:

We have lost even this twilight.

No one saw us this evening hand in hand
While the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window

the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountaintops.

I remembered you with my soul clinched

in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?

Who else was there?
Saying what words?
Why does the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you far away?

The book I read each night fell down,

And my coat fell down
Like a hurt dog at my feet.

Each dusk you drew further out,

Out where the dusk shifts, masking statues.

The formal organization of this movement is typical for Barber. An opening

section states the essential thematic content of the movement, then in a subsequent

section the preceding material undergoes various forms of development; finally, there is a

closing coda that refers to the opening. This form is shared with the fourth movement,

“Close your eyes,” and seems to combine with it to demarcate the central movements of

The Lovers in which the affair undergoes the cruel transformation from soaring passion to

bitter regret. Barber foregoes setting any of the specific imagery used in the poem,

119
choosing instead to emphasize the overall mood of aching sorrow with his somber

setting.

The opening section begins with a quotation from the introduction in which the

solo oboe plays a variation of the primary motive, while the alto flute immediately

responds (see Example 28).

Example 28. The Lovers, Movement VII, measures 1-5. The opening measures

of the seventh movement feature variations of the Lovers motive.

Three strophes follow, in which the vocal lines seem to be seeking the primary motive,

alluding to it constantly in the contour of the melody (see Example 29). The motive does

not surface in its exact form until the closing bars of the phrase, at which point the voices

abandon their strict imitation. Underneath the text, the tonal center of G# minor is

established by a pedal in the cello. This tonal center is weakened by the lack of any

dominant sonority in the accompaniment, as well as the repeated emphasis of A# and E in

the vocal lines against G# minor chords in the accompaniment.

Example 29. The Lovers, Movement VII, measures 6-9. Further variations of the

Lovers motive in the soprano and alto parts.

120
 The second section begins with an expanded version of the opening melody that

utilizes tritones and major sevenths to stretch the tonal stability that was just established

at the end of the opening, all accompanied by increasingly frenetic activity in the

orchestra. As the men join the texture, the chorus refuses to leave the confusion and

anger inherent in the text, “Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what

words?” The orchestra’s increasingly rhythmically active and chromatically charged

material adds to the overwhelming feeling of desperation, eventually leading into a

climactic sforzando in A minor (see Example 30).

Example 30. The Lovers, Movement VII, measures 28-33. The chorus and

strings at the climax of the seventh movement.

121
From here, the tenors and basses repeat the pattern begun at the opening of the second

section, with two-part imitation expanding into the full chorus. In contrast to previous

instances, this time the imitative pattern slows and dies away dynamically, and the

second section ends by slipping quietly back into G-# minor for the closing coda, a

restatement of the opening chorus part with the bass accompanying the soprano. Thus

the movement ends with uneasy sorrow brought about by one final statement of the A#-E

tritone hovering over the G# minor sonority in the orchestra.

In the eighth movement, “Tonight I can write” (text below), the speaker lingers

over the failed love affair, struggling to come to terms with the pain of his loss by

translating it into fragments of poetic thought. And yet, these fragments never take on a

life of their own, eventually returning the speaker’s thoughts to the memories that he is

trying to escape:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example: “The night is starry
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.”
The nightwind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great staring eyes?
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel
that I have lost her.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her?
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. Far away someone is dreaming.
Far away.
The same night that makes the same trees white.

122
 We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, it is true, but how much I loved her!
Another’s. She will be another’s. As she
was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, it is true, but maybe I love her . . .
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Even though this be the last pain that she cause me
and these the last verses that I write for her.

After an introduction reminiscent of recitative, Barber reintroduces both the rhythmic and

lyric themes from the opening of the work, alternating them beneath impassioned

outbursts from the baritone solo.

After an opening statement of the Lovers motive in the horns, a new

accompaniment figure is introduced in the strings (see Example 31, measure 4).

Example 31. The Lovers, Movement VIII, measures 4-6. The baritone and string

parts at the beginning of the eighth movement.

This rhythmically free figure, which becomes the basis for the final movement, contains

both the Lovers motive in the low strings and a third-based progression between C# minor

and A major.

123
 Over a sustained A major chord, the baritone sings his opening line, which acts as

punctuation throughout much of the piece (see Example 31, measure 5). He continues to

sing the opening line of Neruda’s poem, his meandering part imitating the seemingly

aimless drifting of the poetry by repeatedly latching onto new melodic ideas, only to

return to his opening statement time and again. The orchestra continues to state the colla

voce figure described above, emphasizing tonal centers closely related to A major such as

E and D.

In the final cadence of the opening, Barber takes the harmony through a third-

based progression once again, this time settling in C# minor as the key of the subsequent

section. In this new section, the lyric theme from the orchestral introduction of The

Lovers is reintroduced via imitation in the orchestra; stated first by a flute soloist, it then

ripples through the wind section with statements by the English horn, first clarinet, and

first bassoon (see Example 32).

Example 32. The Lovers, Movement VIII, measures 22-26. The lyrical theme

from the introduction reappears in the eighth movement.

124
The soloist and strings attempt to continue with material from the movement’s opening,

but give in to the impassioned melody as the baritone sings, “To think I do not have her.

To feel that I have lost her.” At this thought, the speaker seems to shake himself and

deny the importance of his loss; in response to this newfound bravado, Barber

reintroduces the rhythmic theme from the overture that eventually became the main idea

for the first movement, “Body of a woman.” In the ensuing material, the struggle that

marked the introduction is reborn, as the speaker alternates between sorrowful

reminiscence and repeated denials of his love for her. The two themes continue to play

back and forth, now directly tied to the denial and loss depicted in the text. The climax of

the movement echoes the apotheosis in the introduction (see Example 33).

Example 33. The Lovers, Movement VIII, measures 61-71. The climax of the

eighth movement recalls that of the introduction.

125
Having achieved this moment of catharsis, the passionate strains die away as the coda

recalls the descending fifth that marked the beginning of the movement; in this manner,

Barber begins the final movement, “Cemetery of kisses”:

Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,

still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
This was our destiny and it was the voyage of our longing.
And in it all our longing fell, in us all was shipwreck!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour that night enforces on all
timetables.
Forsaken like the wharves at dawn.
Oh farther than everything! Oh farther than everything!
It is the hour of departure. Forsaken!

The ninth movement of The Lovers contains two major sections based on identical

material. The descending sixteenth-note pattern introduced in the previous movement

126
(see Example 31, measure 4, violin part) provides the basis for the recurring material,

stated by the full chorus in the opening bars; the full theme returns on the text, “There is

still fire in your tombs,” providing a passionate moment in which Barber depicts the

poetic fire with the forceful chorus part (see Example 34).

Example 34. The Lovers, Movement IX, measures 5-7 (Chorus). Barber uses a

theme from the eighth movement in the choral part of the ninth.

This expanded version of the theme contains the Lovers motive stated directly in the

second measure of the tenor and referenced by the rising and falling contour of the

soprano line; throughout the movement, it surfaces in the accompaniment, but it does not

at any point dominate the musical texture to the degree that it has in prior movements.

The a cappella introduction establishes the tonal center of F minor, which is used

consistently throughout the piece; however, at times Barber weakens this center in order

to express the text. At the end of the first section, for instance, Barber emphasizes Db

127
minor, A minor, and Ab minor in rapid succession, emphasizing the “mad coupling of

hope and force” described by the speaker. The final chords of the first section establish

Eb minor as a new tonal center, one that is quite far indeed from the original key; this

suits the text of the transitional episode well, for it describes the “voyage of our longing.”

The lyrical theme that was used in the eighth movement to signify regret and loss

reappears briefly between the two phrases of the closing A section, stated first in the

soprano and subsequently imitated in the other voices of the chorus. As this melody dies

away, the final phrase begins, a desolate repetition of both the poetic imagery and

musical material from the previous A phrase. The chorus closes to a unison F on the

word “Forsaken,” but the orchestra expands to an F major chord with an added ninth. It

is difficult to say what Barber had in mind with this final sonority; perhaps he intended

his audience to believe that the speaker has finally purged himself of the pain and loss of

this failed love, or perhaps the faint dissonance of the added ninth signifies the last strains

of lingering regret. Regardless of his intentions, with this chord Barber concludes an

immensely powerful work that explores the raw emotive context of a shattered romance

with piercing insight.

Throughout The Lovers, Barber continues to use the stylistic techniques that I

have described in the previous pages of this thesis. The pervasiveness of the Lovers

motive throughout the piece is the most extensive instance of motivic development in

Barber’s entire choral repertoire. While he does not use third-based progressions as

extensively in this work as in previous pieces, they are certainly present, especially in the

fourth and final movements (for instance, see Example 22). Throughout my discussion

of The Lovers, I have endeavored to include examples of microtext-painting, such as the

128
trills that represent the birds in the first movement (see Example 14) and the passionate

outburst in the final movement on the text, “There is still fire in your tombs” (see

Example 34).

The macrotext of the piece in its entirety is the progression from raw sensuality to

regret and loneliness at the end, and every movement contributes in some fashion to this

overarching plot; in addition, each movement depicts its own macrotext through the

unique manner in which Barber sets each of the poems. From the violence of the first

movement, to the sensuality of “The Infinite Isles,” to the despair of “We have lost even

this twilight,” every movement encapsulates the poetry within, contributing to the overall

design of The Lovers while maintaining the individual flavor of each poem. The Lovers

is thus, in my opinion, the culmination of Barber’s choral style. In it he continues to use

the same techniques that we have observed throughout his other choral works, but uses

them on a larger scale, especially the text-painting and motivic development.

As stated in the introduction, Opus 42 acts as an intermediary between Prayers of

Kierkegaard and The Lovers, both thematically and musically. The same spirit of

religious melancholy that permeates the music and text of the Prayers is present in both

the music and the text of “Twelfth Night,” while the romantic regret of “To Be Sung on

the Water” is expanded upon in The Lovers. In terms of musical styles, these roles are

somewhat inverted; the spontaneous nature of Prayers of Kierkegaard is more closely

echoed by the introspective meanderings in “To Be Sung on the Water,” while the

motivic development in “Twelfth Night” is a microcosm of that which runs throughout

The Lovers.

129
 This continuity is crucial to understanding Barber’s choral output on the whole,

for while each of Barber’s choral pieces is unique, the stylistic language remains largely

intact throughout. The motivic development that Barber began to use in The Virgin

Martyrs, his first choral work, is present in “Twelfth Night”; the microtext-painting that

abounds throughout The Lovers is presaged in A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map.

These common threads of harmonic tendencies, motivic development, and devoted

attention to the images presented in the texts provide a foundation for a fuller

appreciation of Barber’s choral music, as well as possible elements for further research

into both this particular composer’s work and, I hope, the choral genre as a whole.

130
 CHAPTER FIVE

Coda

Throughout this thesis, I have demonstrated that certain stylistic traits remain

more or less consistent throughout Barber’s choral oeuvre and that his later works

represent a synthesis in many ways of more disparate elements of his earlier style. While

this is certainly true, I must caution against an overly systematic approach to Barber’s life

and compositions. Tracing definable elements of style can be quite helpful in

understanding any composer’s music for the purposes of scholarly research, performance,

or sheer enjoyment. And yet, there can arise a tendency to make too much of such an

approach. It is easy to forget that Barber was a complex person for whom the act of

composition was intimately tied to his life experiences; as a result, convenient systems

for explaining his music can often be misleading. Take, for instance, the example of the

Easter Chorale.

Written for the dedication of the bell-tower of the National Cathedral in 1964, the

Easter Chorale (text below) represents in many ways a departure from Barber’s typical

mode of choral composition. Every other piece discussed in this thesis is based on a text

by a well-known poet or cultural figure, while the man who wrote the text for this

chorale, Pack Browning, is all but anonymous; he appears to be a minor literary figure

who has edited some of Mark Twain’s work, but I have found no references to him

whatsoever in any scholarly source, much less any available accounts of this particular

poem. Additionally, the other choral pieces that were composed for specific events are

131
well chronicled, whereas I have been unable to locate information regarding this

dedication service.

The text of the Easter Chorale is appropriate solemn in nature for the occasion:

The morning light renews the sky.

Across the air the birds ignite
Like sparks to take this blaze of day
Through all the precincts of the night.
Alleluia! Alleluia! The fires of dawn refresh our eyes.
We watch the world grow wide and bright
And praise our newly risen Light.

The winter land receives the year.

Her smallest creatures rouse and cling
To swelling roots and buds that stir
The restless air to reel and ring!
Alleluia! Alleluia! The sounds of waking fill our ears.
We listen to the live earth sing
And praise our loving Source and Spring.1

Barber’s setting of this two-stanza poem is, of course, in the style of a chorale, consisting

largely of strophic homophony. As such, the religious overtones of this style can be seen

as depicting the “macrotext” of the piece, as can the steady increase in dynamic levels

through both verses; however, there are no instances of what I would call “microtext-

painting” anywhere in the piece. The two stanzas are set to identical music, with the only

changes being more forceful dynamics and optional brass and percussion parts in the

second stanza. Consequently, there are not “motives” that can be said to develop, and the

structural unity that arises from the repeating material is not a matter of complex motivic

reference, but simply the result of direct repetition. Unlike the Prayers of Kierkegaard,

the choral work that immediately precedes it, the Easter Chorale does not synthesize

1
Samuel Barber, Complete Choral Music (Milwaukee, WI: G. Schirmer, 1979), 83-87.

132
previously disparate elements into a new mode of composition; unlike the two works of

Opus 42, the choral works that immediately follow it, the chorale does not act as a

midway point between surrounding works with obvious connections to both. It is closest

to the Prayers in conception and theme, due to the religious nature of the text and the

chorale form, a form shared by the Prayers in the closing measures, but there the

similarities end.

In short, the longer you try to fit this piece into a trajectory of stylistic evolution

and continuity such as I have described in the preceding three chapters, the more

confusing it becomes. The answer to this dilemma is, I believe, to freely admit that “the

system” can never be the point. Understanding that certain compositional techniques

remain consistent throughout Barber’s choral works is helpful to any who are interested

in his music, as is the concept of stylistic synthesis that I have mentioned throughout this

thesis. The choral pieces of Samuel Barber invite such comparison and analysis, for most

of them do share many common traits. All the same, I believe that one cannot reduce

Barber’s music to a simple formula of stylistic development and continuity without losing

sight of the fact that he did not compose this music to be dissected, but to be enjoyed,

with or without the aid of research and analysis.

With that said, there are still many routes available for study and research both

within Barber’s music and the choral genre as a whole. A narrower focus on the choral

pieces is still possible, as there are some facets that I have only briefly discussed, such as

harmonic structure. In addition, comparing Barber’s choral music to his solo vocal

material could prove fruitful; of particular interest to me would be comparing his text-

setting methods in both styles, but other aspects such as motivic development or the

133
editing of texts could provide fertile ground for research. Discussing Barber’s choral

music within the context of twentieth-century choral literature as a whole would also be a

fascinating study, as there are several other composers whose choral literature could

potentially provide opportunities for research. In short, there are many opportunities for

the further study of both Samuel Barber’s music and choral literature in general, and it is

my sincere hope that students of music will avail themselves of these opportunities in the

future.

134
APPENDIX

135
 List of Works Discussed

The Virgin Martyrs, Siegebert of Gembloux, trans. Helen Waddell, 1935

Let Down the Bars, Oh Death, Emily Dickinson, 1936

God’s Grandeur, Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1938

A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map, Stephen Spender, 1904

Reincarnations, James Stephens, 1937-40

Prayers of Kierkegaard, Søren Kierkegaard, 1954

Easter Chorale, Pack Browning, 1964

“Twelfth Night,” Laurie Lee, 1968

“To Be Sung on the Water,” Louise Bogan, 1968

The Lovers, Pablo Neruda, 1971

136
 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barber, Samuel. Complete Choral Music. Milwaukee, WI: G. Schirmer, 1979.

–––. God’s Grandeur. Milwaukee, WI: G. Schirmer, 1994.

–––. The Lovers. New York: G. Schirmer, 1971.

–––. Prayers of Kierkegaard. New York: Schirmer, 1955.

Bogan, Louise. “Betrothed.” In The Blue Estuaries: Poems 1923-1968. New York:
Farrar, Strauss and Giraux, 1968.

Broder, Nathan. Samuel Barber. New York: Schirmer, 1954.

Dickinson, Emily. The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. R.W. Franklin. Cambridge, MA:
Belknap Press, 1998.

Frank, Elizabeth. Louise Bogan: A Portrait. New York: Knopf, 1985.

Friedewald, Russell Edward. “A Formal and Stylistic Analysis of the Published Music of
Samuel Barber.” Ph.D. diss., State University of Iowa, 1957.

Garcìa, Christina. Foreward to Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, by Pablo
Neruda, trans. W.S. Merwin. New York: Penguin, 2004.

Gardiner, Patrick. “Kierkegaard, Søren Aabye.” In Routledge Encyclopedia of

Philosophy, ed. E. Craig, http://www.rep.routledge.com.ezproxy.baylor.edu/
article/DC044?ssid=235285568&n=1# (accessed April 11, 2008).

Heyman, Barbara. Samuel Barber: The Composer and His Music. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1992.

Literature Online. http://lion.chadwyck.com/marketing/index.jsp (Accessed 29 March -

22 April 2008).

Löffler, Klemens. “Sigebert of Gembloux.” In The Catholic Encyclopedia, Volume XIII,

ed. Remy Lafort, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/13783c.htm (Accessed 2
April 2008).

MacKenzie, Norman, ed. The Poetical Works of Gerard Manley Hopkins. Oxford, UK:
Clarendon Press, 1990.

137
Martin, Wendy. The Cambridge Introduction to Emily Dickinson. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 2007.

Nally, Donald. “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical
Animus - Part I.” Choral Journal 47, no. 4 (2006): 8-19.

–––. “Barber’s Opus 42: The Poetry and the Music as Key to His Musical Animus - Part
II.” Choral Journal 47, no. 4 (2006): 20-37.

Spender, Stephen. Selected Poems. London: Faber and Faber, 1985.

Stephens, James. Collected Poems of James Stephens. New York: Macmillan, 1927.

Sutherland, John. Stephen Spender: A Literary Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2005.

Waddell, Helen. Medieval Latin Lyrics. London: Constable, 1935.

138