This charming and heart-lifting moment from the second act of Richard Strauss’s opera ‘Der Rosenkavalier’. The young noble, Octavian, is despatched to present a silver rose to Sophie, on behalf of the man she is betrothed to, but never seen. Sophie is sixteen, pretty, innocent and just out of convent school. She is to marry the noble, but boorish, Baron Ochs, whose fortune will save her family.
Octavian arrives to great fanfare and presents the silver rose, with due formality. Sophie takes it, and overwhelmed by the solemnity of the occasion and the beauty of the ceremony, is unable to conceal her emotions. They are heavenly, not earthly roses. Roses from Paradise. A greeting from Heaven. When has she ever been so happy. Octavian is bewitched. He hardly knows himself. It is a moment neither will forget till they die.
Strauss plays the innocence and beauty for all its worth in a duet of sublime beauty. Sophie captures it - ‘for this is time and eternity in one blessed moment’.
The moment passes and Sophie chatters on, like the child she is. Octavian can’t take his eyes off her.
Teresa Stich Randall is Sophie, Christa Ludwig Octavian.
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One of the most remarkable recitals I went to at Wigmore Hall was on 2 April 2001. The pianist was Joanna MacGregor and she was giving a recital of twentieth century works by Samuel Barber, George Crumb and Stravinsky. Ms MacGregor is not conventional - either in appearence or musicianship. She has long twisted, black hair. She wore a trouser suit. In the George Crumb piece you saw her dive into the belly of the piano to pluck and strum the strings inside.
In her prelude to Stravinsky’s Petrushka she plays a snatch of Russian melody (I missed the beginning). This is followed by a charming little waltz. Then you can hear her wind up a music box. The music box plays the Russian song. For a while she accompanies the music box on the piano. She falls silent and lets the music box run down. You hold your breath.
Then she thunders into Petrushka.
The effect is magical.
There is a moving encore.
An American couple had wandered in out of the rain and sat near me during the recital. I talked to them about it afterwards. They were as stunned as I was.
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This is a carry over from my other blog, where I have been running a series on moments in music where time seems to stand still. It is Gigli singing Caccini’s Amarilli mia bella. It’s in the top ten of your 100 Best Tunes – and rightly so. Gigli sings this lovely tune perfectly – romantically and inauthentically. At the end he sings Amarilli three times and falls away to the home note. You think it’s all over but it’s not – here time does stand still. It isn’t finished. He lifts his voice into his head and repeats Amarilli as if you weren’t expecting it – and you weren’t. It’s heavenly – and no-one does it quite like Gigli.
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