This performance was originally scheduled for spring of 2020, marking seventy-five years since the end of World War II, seventy-five years since the liberation of the concentration camps, the end of one of the darkest periods in our history, and the year the world lost a voice of hope and light—the voice of Anne Frank. When the Nazis gained control of Germany, Anne and her family moved from Frankfurt to Amsterdam. For her 13th birthday in June 1942, Anne received a book that she would use as her diary. The family went into hiding in July 1942, for two years, until their capture by the gestapo in August 1944. They were sent to concentration camps. Anne and her sister Margot were transferred from Auschwitz to Bergen-Belsen, where they died, just weeks before British soldiers would liberate it on April 15, 1945. But rather than become one of those millions whose stories we may never know, Annelies Frank became known—to the world. Her diary, published in dozens of languages, has taken countless readers directly into her story—into her many observations, wise beyond her years; into her dreams and fantasies; into her fears; and, ultimately, into her almost miraculous optimism. Today Princeton Pro Musica presents the first major choral setting of the words of the diary: Annelies, by composer James Whitbourn and librettist Melanie Challenger.
Challenger’s libretto, a thoughtful curation of assorted diary entries arrayed in fourteen movements, is a work of art unto itself, teeming with Anne’s humanity. The entries she chose capture the dramatic, wrenching ups and downs of Anne’s situation. The libretto’s most urgent moments relay the episodes in which Anne fears that she and her family have been discovered in their hiding spot and will be captured: “Eight pounding hearts, footsteps on the stairs, a rattling on the bookcase. Suddenly, a couple of bangs. Doors slammed inside the house.” Other entries reveal her awareness of the devastating sadness and helplessness of the situation, buoyed by her empathy. She recounts a dream:
Last night, just as I was falling asleep, an old friend appeared before me. I saw her there, dressed in rags, her face thin and worn. She looked at me with such sadness. Anne, why have you deserted me? Help me, help me, rescue me from this hell! She symbolizes to me the suffering of all my friends, and all the Jews. When I pray for her, I pray for all those in need. Merciful God, comfort her, remain with her so she won’t be alone.
Other entries, like these from March 1944, convey Anne’s profound, unvarnished wisdom: “If you become part of the suffering, you’d be entirely lost;” “Beauty remains, even in misfortune. One who is happy will make others happy, one who has courage will never die in misery.” To relay the Frank family’s capture, and evoke the horrendous suffering and murder of millions, Challenger includes words from sources other than Anne’s diary: first a contemporary report, delivered simply, chillingly, as plainchant in the tenor and bass voices; and then passages from the Book of Psalms, and the Book of Lamentations.
The composer, James Whitbourn, says of the libretto: “Rarely have I found a text so compelling and the inspiration for so much thought, simply as a document in its own right. But as time went on, and as I worked on the score, I became more aware of Anne Frank as a contemporary person.” He had the opportunity to meet members of Anne’s family and noted:
These personal family links influenced the kind of piece it was destined to be, and at times it felt as though I were putting together the music for the family's memorial service. It was to be a commemorative work, not only for Anne Frank, but for those by whose side she lived, those she watched with penetrating eyes, and those voiceless millions who shared her fate.
Whitbourn’s music gives voice to Anne herself, and to those voiceless millions using a variety of choral and orchestral textures. The score calls for a full chorus as well as a small concertante ensemble—a chamber choir with a different, more transparent sound. The full chorus ports the weight of both the most dramatic scenes—near captures—and some of the most universal pronouncements. The concertante conveys some of the most simple, profound ideas. As for the soprano soloist, the multiple modes Whitbourn has created for her—different tempos, different registers—reflect the facets of Anne’s personality and perspective. She can be pensive, where the soprano sings in long phrases necessitating a mature vocalist. She can be playful, as when her delight at seagulls swooping outside her windows conjures a spinning waltz with the solo violin, or when she turns turning bath time into a music hall oom pah oom pah ditty. And her presence looms between her sung diary entries: the first time we hear the soprano she is offstage and sings a wordless vocalize. The orchestral textures, too, sharpen the image of Anne in the mind’s eye. A battery of percussion and trio of trombones heighten the more heart-pounding moments. At other times the texture is reduced to just soprano solo and piano, or a few strings. Gorgeous lyrical passages for solo instruments throughout convey the emotive context latent in the spaces between Anne’s lines.
This remarkable piece of music captures more than Anne’s words. In Whitbourn’s summation:
Annelies is a piece of musical portraiture, in which the essence of a young girl is portrayed in the fragile medium of the human breath. The particular portrait will be constructed in the minds of all who hear those sounds on this day and in this place. Through it, the wisdom and perception of Anne Frank is there to teach us all.
Reading and then hearing her words, her convictions amplified and broadcast through music, I realize that she was, and is, the very model of a young person, imbued with a sense of purpose, fueled by hope, ready to impugn indifference and inertia. That she is, above all, hopeful, links my heart to the promise of some of the heroically impassioned young women currently confronting our world’s injustices and threats head on, who, like Anne, express themselves with conviction beyond their years. The diary entry chosen for the last movement encapsulates both Anne’s hope and the hope she instills in her many readers: “I see the world being slowly turned into wilderness. I hear the approaching thunder, that one day will destroy us too. And yet, when I look at the sky, I feel that everything will change for the better.”
Anne would not live to see her own manifestation of that “blue sky.” Were she alive today, she’d celebrate her ninety-third birthday this June. Singing Anne’s words will never bring back the millions who were murdered then, and the publication of her diary did not directly prevent further genocides and atrocities in the seventy-seven years since she perished. But in a world where those who would deny the Holocaust have platforms for spreading lies and hate, and where propaganda is once again being deployed to vilify “others” and distract from the senseless violence, destruction, and murder unfolding before our very eyes, we must take every opportunity to read each other’s words, and see each other as individuals in a broader human community. On April 11, 1944, Anne wrote: “One day this terrible war will be over, and we’ll be people again, and not just Jews.” At their most potent, works of art can illuminate and amplify our individual humanity, engender empathy and understanding, and beat back the anesthetizing effect of the plural nouns of newscasts. Civilians, refugees, Jews, Ukrainians, and the heartless casualties: millions of individuals, each with loves, fears, and hopes. May we seek to see their humanity as closely as this work allows us to see Anne’s.
