In this and the next two posts, I hope, eventually, in some small way, to depict the three pillars of Beethoven’s only opera Fidelio. These are Florestan’s despair in captivity, all-conquering married love and fulfilled hope in freedom.
The language of music and the language of words are one and the same.
In longing loneliness his love still lives,
Tho’ spurn’d – such painful pangs – in darken’d gloom
By faith, whose terse pursuit of others gives
No quarter, not a space or sharing room
For heaven’s peace to spread its cloaking calm.
Deep prison, where sweet light is but a dream
Cast by thy face. O for a healing balm
To ease these tethers’ sores, a soothing cream!
Small hopes obsess as empty echoes cease.
In closing senses, sleep with nothingness relieves.
No dawn, no hand to smooth old age’s crease
Or lift the burden of the sighs he heaves.
Doubt rents the soul, to yield’s mistaken.
Love is Leonora, death, forsaken.