Bardengesang auf Gibraltar: O Calpe! Dir donnert's am Fuße

Manuscript of the fragment

The Defeat of the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar during the Great Siege

Bardengesang auf Gibraltar: O Calpe! Dir donnert's am Fusse (K. Anh. 25 / 386d) is the title of a fragment for voice and piano composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1782 to celebrate the Great Siege of Gibraltar. The song's lyrics were written by the Austrian poet and bibliographer Michael Denis (1729–1800).

History

Mozart never visited Gibraltar and his homeland of Austria was not involved in the war between France, Spain and Britain which included the Great Siege. However, given that Mozart was Austrian, and that Gibraltar was originally taken in 1704 by the Grand Alliance of Powers on behalf of the Archduke of Austria, when the Great Siege came about between the same opponents as 80 years previously Austria was supportive of the defenders.

Furthermore, Mozart was not keen on the French but did have a fondness for the British and two of his English students were among his favourites.

In a letter of 28 December 1782 Mozart wrote:

…I am engaged in a very difficult task, the music for the bard's song by Denis about Gibraltar. But this is a secret, for it is a Hungarian lady who wishes to pay this compliment to Denis. The ode is sublime, beautiful, anything you like, but too exaggerated and pompous for my fastidious ears. But what is to be done? The golden mean of truth in all things is no longer either known or appreciated. In order to win applause one must write stuff which is so inane that a fiacre could sing it, or so unintelligible that it pleases precisely because no sensible man can understand it…

Lyrics

German

O Calpe! Dir donnert's am Fuße,
Doch blickt dein tausendjähriger Gipfel
Ruhig auf Welten umher.
Siehe! Dort wölket sich hinauf,
Über die westlichen Wogen her,
Wölket sich breiter und ahnender auf.
Es flattert, o Calpe! Segelgewölk!
Flügel der Hilfe!
Wie prächtig wallet die Fahne Britanniens,
Deiner getreuen Verheißerin!
Calpe! Sie wallt! Aber die Nacht sinkt!

Sie deckt mit ihren schwarzesten,
Unholdsten Rabenfittichen Gebirge,
Flächen, Meer und Bucht und Klippen,
Wo der bleiche Tod des Schiffers,
Kiele spaltend, sitzt.
Hinan!

Aus tausend Rachen heulen Stürme.
Die Fluten steigen an die Wolken,
Zerplatzen stürzend über Felsen.
Schon treiben von geborst'nen Schiffen
Der Feinde Trümmer auf den Wogen.
Hinan! Hinan!

Catalan

Oh, Calp! Trona als teus peus,
mentre el teu cim mil·lenari
observa serè el món al seu voltant.
Mira! Allí dalt, el cel s'ennuvola
sobre les onades de l'Oest;
els núvols són cada cop més amenaçadors.
Esbateguen, oh Calp –el mar, cobert de veles!–
ales de socors!
Que magnífica oneja la bandera de Britània,
la teva lleial protectora!
Oh, Calp! Sí, oneja! Però cau la nit!

Ella cobreix amb les seves més negres
i sinistres ales de corb, muntanyes,
planes, mars i badies; i esculls,
on la mort pàl·lida espera els navegants,
destrossant les quilles de les seves naus.
Endavant!

De mil goles sorgeix la tempesta.
La marea puja fins a tocar els núvols
i l'onatge espetega impetuós contra els esculls.
Ja van a la deriva sobre les onades
les restes dels vaixells enemics destrossats.
Endavant! Endavant!

English

Oh Calpe! There's thunder at your feet, but your ancient peak calmly looks upon the world around her.
Look! Clouds are forming across the western waves, growing wider and full of promise.

It flutters, oh Calpe! Clouds of sail! Wings of salvation! How grand flies Britannia's flag, your faithful Calpe! But night is falling. She covers mountains, plains, seas and bay and cliffs with her blackest unholy raven wings where the place sailor's death lives, smashing hulls. Go on! Thousand howling throats!

The shore is covered by a mighty army proudly showing their fiery mouths. A sea squadron, large in number, Spain and France united, with banners high are swimming in the bay; go forth, go forth, go forth!

Night! Storms! Enemy Ships! They come, masters of the sea, their breasts are cold, without fear, they are Albion's offspring.

You strive in vain, oh envious night! With your blackest ravens plumage to cover the high, daring venture! Will you hold out against the glimmer, which the bard's song pours over the high, daring ventue?

You cry in vain, oh wind's bride! In vain you rage, oh wave mountains! Up the rocks, down the rocks! Raging, the glory in her plumage carries Howe, the tamer of floods, his squadron of heroes through the world!

And you, mighty army on the shore! And you, threatening forest of France's and Spain's masts! In vain – they land, the Brits! They land!

With renewed strength stands the unbroken Rock and the fearsome Rock of rocks, he, the hero of Fingals land, in the gruesome, in the gruesome work of death always humand and humane, Elliott!

And now all friend in the embraces of similar brothers sent by the caring mother, after long absence, kissing the brother hero for strength. Oh, how they surround the glorious man, rapt in admiration. He did this – he suffered this! ‘through years – for the fatherland!

Hold on, oh song! These feelings sing I, the bard, not out in mortal strings! But I, the man, want to take the joy in my strings so that the big tree of humanity, which shades the earth, in my day too, with such shimmering eternities of valued fruit glows.

translation by Karl Grambow