LA FAUVETTE DES GARDINS
GARDEN WARBLER / sylvia borin

 Full plot by Olivier Messiaen, translated to English

Composed at Petichet in the summer of 1970.

[Legend: in bold are the elements of nature (birds, plants, mountain/lake, as well as colors) that have their own themes in the piece.]

Between the helmeted wall of Obiou (in the South) and the Chamechaude sword (in the North), sit four lakes: this is the Matheyine in Dauphiné.  At the end of the great Laffrey Lake, at the foot of the Grand Serre mountain (to the East) the fields of Petichet bloom.

Exits June, enters July.  It is still dark.  The last waves of the great lake die out under the willows.  The Grand Serre mountain rests, with green stains under his bare grey head.  At around 4 a.m., the quail makes its call heard in a cretic rhythm.  The nightingale ends a stanza: distant and lunar notes, abrupt conclusion - strong and victorious, long rolls until you lose your breath.  The ash trees watch the passage to the reeds of the big lake.  In the middle of the meadow, the grayish alders stand next to the hazel trees.  

Then the dawn covers the sky, the trees, the meadow with pink (bottom p,4).  The big lake also turns pink.  A song of the garden warbler is hidden in the ash trees, the willows, the bushes, by the big lake.  First two tries appear, followed by a solo.  The little wren throws in some fast and strong notes, with a trill in the middle of its stanza.  The garden warbler sings again, in its limpid voice, always adding new features.

Five in the morning (top p. 12).  The arrival of the day draws the silver foliage of the alders, brightens the scent and the color of the mint, mauve, and green grass.  A blackbird whistles.  The woodpecker laughs loudly.  On the other side of the embankment, near Lake Petichet, a skylark rises in the sky, wrapping its jubilation around an acute dominant.  The garden warbler begins a new solo: his rapid vocalizations, his tireless virtuosity, the regular flow of his speech seem to stop the time… 

However, the morning is advancing (bottom p. 18), and here is a threat of  a thunderstorm.  The large Laffrey Lake is divided into green and purple bands.  Two finches respond with variants in their codetta.  Suddenly, a raspy, creaky, tangy voice rises in the reeds of the great lake, alternating the low rhythms and the high cries: it is the great reed warbler.  

But the sun has returned, and here is another voice, unexpected, wonderfully golden, rich in harmonics: it is a passing oriole, (bottom p. 21) who comes to eat cherries.

The garden warbler continues its solos, interrupted from time to time by the raucous croaks of crows, the harsh and dry alarms of the skinning shrike, the trembling cries of the black kite.  

The Grand Serre (top p. 29) contrasts the descent of its enormous mass with the elegant rise of the flight of chimney swallows.  Against the droop of the bald mountain there is still the movement of the undulations of the water.  The garden warbler tirelessly sings and chants.  A new contrast (bottom p. 44): the flight of the black kite and the sudden calm of the big lake.  The kite goes up and down, circling in large spirals in the sky, and the orbs of its flight tighten (the twists of the tail helping the movement of the wings), until it finally touches the water surface.  The sun spreads light and heat.  These are the best hours of the afternoon, and the large lake spreads its blue tablecloth with all blues (middle p. 47): peacock blue, azure, sapphire.  The silence is disturbed only by the finches, the bells of the goldfinch and the naive repeated note of the yellowhammer.  The heights of the mountains are green and golden…

Towards the evening (top p. 50), the garden warbler starts a solo again.  The lesser virtuoso black-headed warbler (blackcap) has a more brilliant refrain, with a flute, liquid tone.  After this refrain, the nightingale's voice rises, announcing the sunset.  The sky becomes red, orange, purple (p. 53, 2nd line).  The crow and shrike give the alarm, the last laugh of the woodpecker follows.  The night is coming (middle p. 54). 

Nine in the evening.  In the growing silence resounds the double call of the tawny owl, wild and terrifying.  The large lake is now dimly lit by moonlight.  The silhouettes of the alders are all black.  Everything sinks into the grandiose shadow of memory.  And the Grand Serre is still there, above the night...