Les Roses d’Ispahan

Conductor Notes:

I really enjoyed bringing the beauty of Faure’s art songs to my singers in our “Romance” concert in June 2010. Months before I handed out Alan Raines’ arrangement, we all sang the solo song several times in unison, working with an artsong coach on interpretation. By the time I introduced this arrangement to them, they loved the melody and text. Raines’ arrangement is simple in that the sopranos still have the melody throughout, and the piano part is true to the original as well. The two lower voices simply provide vocal harmony. Most of the choral writing is homophonic, with just a few decorations to accentuate cadences or more intense spots in the song. We had our guest soprano soloist take the first verse by herself and another spot partway through.

Text:

Text: Charles Marie Rene Leconte de Lisle

Les roses d’Ispahan dans leur gaine de mousse,
Les jasmins de Mossoul, les fleurs de l’oranger
Ont un parfum moins frais, ont une odeur moins douce,
Ô blanche Leïlah! que ton souffle léger.
Ta lèvre est de corail, et ton rire léger
Sonne mieux que l’eau vive et d’une voix plus douce,
Mieux que le vent joyeux qui berce l’oranger,
Mieux que l’oiseau qui chante au bord d’un nid de mousse …
Ô Leïlah! depuis que de leur vol léger
Tous les baisers ont fui de ta lèvre si douce,
Il n’est plus de parfum dans le pâle oranger,
Ni de céleste arome aux roses dans leur mousse …
Oh! que ton jeune amour, ce papillon léger,
Revienne vers mon cœur d’une aile prompte et douce,
Et qu’il parfume encor les fleurs de l’oranger,
Les roses d’Ispahan dans leur gaine de mousse!

Translation:

The roses of Isfahan in their shawls of moss,
The jasmines of Mossoul, the orange blossoms,
Have a perfume less fresh, a scent less sweet,
O fair Leilah, than your soft breath!
Your lips are of coral, and your gentle laugh
Rings better than running water and with sweeter voice,
Better than the joyous breeze which rocks the orange tree,
Better than the bird which sings on the edge of its mossy nest.
O Leilah since their quick flight,
All kisses have fled from your sweet lips,
No fragrance lingers in the pale orange-tree,
Nor heavenly aroma on the roses in their moss.
Oh, may your young love, that fickle butterfly,
Return to my heart on a quick and gentle wing,
May it again perfume the orange blossom,
The roses of Isfahan in their shawls of moss!