All language subtitles for sSong.Of.Summer.Frederick.Delius.1968.1080p.BluRay.x264-GHOULS

(Eric Fenby)
I've always loved making up music.

Silent films gave me an opportunity
to develop this gift

and also earn a living.

I was brought up in Scarborough,
on the east coast of Yorkshire.

There are no musical conservatoires there
and I was largely self-taught.

My love of the moors helped me in this.

Up there, I could test my ear
on the natural sounds around me

and jot down the notes in a little book.

(Bleating)

(Mooing)

I could make out the overtones of the
waves, ebbing and flowing on the shore.

I was fascinated
by the sounds of the seagulls,

the rising thirds of their calls
differing, as they glided past.

It was because of this wonderful inner ear

that I was about to give up
my life at Scarborough

and leave home.

Tomorrow, I would be leaving for France.

I was about to embark
on a great adventure,

which was to change my entire life...

This was the first time
I'd been out of England.

I was now looking at the French
countryside, on my way to Bourron,

a tiny village station,
about an hour's run beyond Paris.

Mrs Delius, I presume?

Mr Fenby.

This is a pleasure.

I am delighted that you have
come out hereto help my husband.

We both appreciate your kindness
very much.

If only you can work together in...

in some way.

It will be so good for him.

Better than all the medicines in the world.

It is the dream of my life that
he will be able to compose again.

André, Ie bagage de monsieur.

How is Mr Delius?

Delius is fairly well.

He's still resting.

He will be brought down
for the evening meal.

You will meet him then.

You do play the piano?

Oh, yes.

Here we are.
We've lived here for over 30 years.

This is the music room...

where Delius has written
all his finest music.

- (Fenby) Delius?
- Yes.

That was taken a long time ago.

Your bedroom is through here.

I hope that you will be comfortable.

I will tell Delius that you have arrived,

and I'll call you when he's ready.

(Fenby) The atmosphere of the place
was somehow sinister

and I felt ill at ease.

What was I doing here?

Why had I come?

(Choral music)

Music had nearly led me into the church.

It had certainly converted me
to the Roman Catholic faith.

It had also led me here.

I was playing chess one night,
with my father,

when Mother turned on the wireless
for the news.

There was music.

But what music.

I listened, spellbound,

and later heard the announcer say
it was by Frederick Delius.

Later, I read articles
on Delius and his music

and learnt that
he was now blind and paralysed,

and unable to work anymore.

Apparently, there were several works
which he'd begun

and been unable to complete.

He could bear with his misfortune
if only he could finish these scores.

I remember how I walked for miles
on the cliffs,

reflecting on the helplessness of the man.

What delicacy of feeling was in his music.

What must such a sensitive nature
be suffering?

Can anything be done?

Of course I'd be willing to.

But how dare I presume such a thing?

It was preposterous.
I dismissed the idea.

During the next few weeks, the conceit
that I could help became an obsession.

It was always there

and in the end,
I couldn't sleep for it.

Finally, it conquered me and,
getting up in the middle of the night,

I wrote to Delius, offering my help
for three or four years.

I'd do anything to be the means
of his finishing that music.

How was it going to be done?

Well, God alone knew the answer to that.

I told no one
and waited anxiously for his reply.

It came, in the handwriting of his wife.

"Dear Mr Fenby,

"I'm greatly touched
by your kind and sympathetic letter

"and should love to accept your offer.

"Come here, by all means,
as soon as you can and see if you like it.

"This is a lovely spot.

"Just a quiet little village,
and our house is in a big garden,

"close to the river.

"But of course, we live very much alone
and you will, no doubt..."

Delius is waiting downstairs for you.

Thank you.

Here is Mr Fenby.

Come in, come in, Fenby.

I'm very glad to meet you.

Well, sir...

this is a great honour.

I'm very proud and privileged to come here

and it's very good of you to receive me
so kindly.

Did you have a pleasant journey?

Very pleasant, thank you, sir.

Now, Fenby, make yourself at home.

Use everything in your part of the house
as if it were your own.

My music, my music room.

Oh, but tell me about yourself.

Tell me a little about
your musical activities in Scarborough.

Well, lately, sir, I've earned my living as
relief organist at the Futurist Cinema.

Improvising to the films.

Mostly Laurel and Hardys.

Laurel and Hardys?

Yes, sir. They're comics.

- (Door opens)
- (Man speaks German)

(Chuckles)

(Speaks German)

(Replies in German)

I knew Scarborough,
when I was a boy.

We used to live at Bradford.

Do you know it? A filthy place.

Full of factories.
My father owned one.

Wool. I got away from it
as often as I possibly could.

- (Dishes crash)
- (Delius yelps)

In the holidays, we used to take a house
on the coast, at Filey.

I nearly got drowned on the brig once.

But I used to go over to Scarborough
for the cricket festivals,

and sit on the popular bank with a bottle
of ginger pop and my sandwiches,

watching the play.

Do they still have that German band
on the spa?

I know they've got
a fine symphony orchestra.

We actually have English music
there now.

"English music"?
Did you say "English music"?

What's that?
I've never heard of any.

(Speaks German)

- (Scraping of cutlery)
- (Mrs Delius) I hope you like spinach.

We grow all our own vegetables here,

but I look after the flowers,
they are my great joy.

(Speaks German)

- Edgar Wallace?
- Ja, la, fa-

(Delius speaks German)

Bruder, carry me away.

Don't worry about that. He often gets pain
at this time of the day.

Now, I must go to him. Excuse me.

(Fenby) My mind was now full of anxieties.

Would I settle?

Had I, generally, to accustom myself

to the conditions
of this strange household?

The complete isolation of the place

and seeing no one of my own age
for months at a time?

(Blinds are drawn open)

Monsieur Fenby.

Monsieur Fenby, I'eau chaude.

(Birdsong)

Oh, good morning.

How is Delius today?

He had a rather uneasy night. I...

had to call the man at three
to lift him into a...

different position.

He's with him now, reading aloud.

We take it in turns.

I always come into the garden
at eight-thirty.

After I've read him the letters,
I will always call you

and I will be able to tell you
what is going to happen during the day.

I always like to go and see
my little birch tree.

I planted it from a seed.

I always think that trees grow best

if you go talk to them
and look at them.

- Oh, yes. I, I...
- Delius will be brought down at...

half past ten.

You read to him and then,
at half past twelve,

we will have lunch.

- Punctually.
- Of course, yes.

Then, whilst I write my thunder letters
to the publishers,

he will sleep till teatime.

That's four o'clock. Now...

after that would be about the time
that he might most need you for work.

I see, yes.

Then, at seven o'clock,
we have the evening meal.

And then, perhaps, we might take Delius,
in his little carriage,

up the Marlotte road,
as far as the church.

Does Delius attend church?

NO. DO you?

Yes. I've been all my life.

I think it would be wisest
to keep that from Delius.

(Three bangs of a gong)

That's for you.

One for me, two for the man,
three for you.

Oh!

- Here I am, sir.
- Ah.

Now, Fenby, just read the headlines
of the Conf/nenfa/ Daily Mail.

I'll tell you if there's anything
I want to hear.

"The prime minister is planning a visit to
the United States..."

No!

"Miners meet today.
Trying to find a way to call off strikes."

No, no, no, no!
Are my feet touching?

- No, sir.
- Are my legs straight?

- Yes, sir.
- Well, then, go on, go on!

"The House of Commons is debating a bill
to decide..."

No, no, no, no! I hate conjectures.

Er...turn on the wireless.

There's usually a concert from Radio Paris
at this hour.

(Music plays)

Beethoven's Fifth.

Yes. Beethoven.

Now listen. Listen, my boy...

Scales, arpeggios.
Fillings, my boy. Fillings.

Don't bother your young head
about symphonies.

Beethoven, Bruckner, Mahler,
and that lot,

with their long, drivelling note-spinning.

It's a complete waste of time.

A few bars of sincerely-felt,
original music's worth whole pages

of that kind of drivel.

Throw it away!

Or out into the fields
and listen to the music of nature

and forget the immortals.

I finished with them years ago.

Now, Fenby, on my desk,
in the music room,

you'll find the orchestral score
of an unfinished work.

A poem of life and love.
(Groans)

- Sir.
- (Moans)

This rug is too heavy!
Take it away.

(Groans) I want you to look at the score
and tell me what you think of it.

Only straighten my legs.

(Groans)

(Groans)

Oh, well, well, well...

Get the Bruder.

(Bruder reads in German)

Delius would like you to read to him
for a little.

Certainly.

- (Knocks)
- (Delius) Don't knock, boy. Come in.

Don't ever knock, boy.
That's all, Bruder.

You'll find a Mark Twain over there.
Begin at chapter thirteen.

"The dinner hour drew near,

"yet, strangely enough, the thought
brought but slight discomfort to Tom,

"and hardly any terror,

"for the morning's experiences had
wonderfully built up his confidence..."

There's a crease in my pillow.
It's hurting my back.

(Means)

(Moans more intensely)

- (Door opens)
- Thank you, Mr Fenby. I'll manage.

All right, ducky. All right, ducky.

There we are. That's it.

That's it.

(Whispers) That's it.

"The dinner hour drew near,

"yet, strangely enough, the thought
brought but slight discomfort to Tom..."

"...After one in the afternoon, Tom,
resignedly undenuent the ordeal

"of being dressed for dinner.

"He found himself as finely clothed
as before, but everything different,

"everything changed,
from his ruff to his stockings."

"...Well, that had had its time.

"My suffering and my fellows' suffering,
what matter about them?

"Do I, then, strive after happiness?

"I strive after my work.

"Well. The lion hath come.

"My children are nigh.

"Zarathustra hath grown ripe,
mine hour hath come.

"This is my morning.

"My day beginneth.

"Arise now. Arise, thou great noontide.

"Thus spake Zarathustra

"and left his cave, glowing and strong,

"like a morning sun
coming out of gloomy mountains."

(Reads in German)

(Fenby) Weeks went by
in a changeless routine.

Delius was too ill to think about music.

The reading continued, day and night,
all round the clock.

There was a little church down the road
and I did manage to step in there,

from time to time.

It was a relief to hear a bit of music again.

Apart from this, my only recreation
was walks in the garden, with Jelka.

Nobody called on us...
and we called on no one.

Not even our neighbours.

(Three bangs of a gong)

Here I am, sir.
It's good to see you up.

I have a little tune in my mind
I want you to take down.

You'll find paper and pen on the table.

Ready, Delius.

J“ Ter, ter-ter... (Continues)

Hold it.

J“ Ter, ter-ter-ter... (Continues)

Hold it.

J“ Ter, ter-ter-ter... (Continues)

Hold it.

J“ Ter, ter-ter... (Continues)

Have you got that?
Now, sing it.

Delius... What key is it in?

A minor.

Well...l can't...

We'll try again.

J“ Ter, ter-ter... (Continues)

it would help if you called out the notes.
Then I could...

Oh, very well.

PA,B,C,B,C

PD,C,D

♪ A, C... ♪

Have you got that?

I'm afraid not, sir.

Well, try again.

J“ Ter, ter-ter... (Continues)

- Fred!
- Jelka, Jelka! That boy is no good.

He's too slow. He cannot even take down
a simple melody.

(Train engine chugs)

You missed lunch.

I was a bit upset.

I'm sure he understands.

He was wondering what you thought of
The Poem of L/fie and Love.

I can't possibly tell him
what I think of it.

It's so poor.

You must tell him exactly what you feel.

You are the only musician likely to be here
for some considerable time,

and though I have no technical knowledge
to know whether you are right or wrong,

I do believe in you.

You must forget your youth
and stand up to him!

Now, I will always stand by you.

No. No rug.

(Delius) I want you to tell me
exactly what you think of it.

Now, PW-

It starts off with clarinets and bassoons.

Frankly, I don't like that second chord.

I don't like the way
that fifth is doubled there.

Well, well, well.
Well, go on, then.

- Yes?
- I'll play that again for you.

Well, go on! Straight on!

I don't care for the way it's repeated.

The music seems to sag there.

Sag?

I like this bit here. English horn.

J“ Dee-dah-dah... (Continues)

Pizzicato.

Mm...bassoon.

Mm...n0w the horns.

(Hums)

Timpani.

And the woodwind takes it up here.
(Hums)

Ah, yes. I remember.

J“ Dum, dee, dee, dah, dah... (Continues)

I feel this is very weak here.

It's lacking in taste.

Seems to me...
I have to say...

I was looking at your Evenlyr
this morning, and this sort of thing

was done so much better there.

Well, well, well...

I...d0n't know, boy.

Play that bit again.

(Hums)

It's weak, this.

I can't get any enthusiasm
from music of this kind.

Weak? Weak? What do you mean?
That's enough.

- (Stops playing)
- Thank you.

Bruder! Bruder, carry me away!

(Knocking on door)

Come in.

Monsieur,
Monsieur Delius vous demande en bas.

Monsieur Delius.

- Here I am, sir.
- Ah...

Delius would like you to hear
some of his music.

Thank you.

(Orchestral music plays)

Oh, really, Jelka.

After all these years,
you don't know the difference

between the first side and the second.

I was so anxious to get the needle right.

(Mutters) It's so easily done.
Stupid lettering.

(Gramophone record crackles)

(Orchestral music plays)

Thank you, Delius.

Get the Bruder.

Tomorrow, if I'm feeling well enough,
I'll get the man to carry me upstairs.

To the music room.

And see if something can't be done
about that poem.

- Yes, Delius.
- And don't let the stove go out.

It was chilly in there today.

Fred would enjoy a dandelion salad.

Would you like a walk?

I've got a little fork for you.

- I'd like that.
- (Chuckles)

(Jelka) Today, we have a letter
from Universal Editions.

Delius's publishers. They want to do
a new edition of Hassan.

I've asked them to send the proofs.

Perhaps you could correct them.

- Send them back for us.
- I'd be delighted.

Wasn't Hassan
one of the last things Delius wrote

before he lost his sight?

Yes, he was...gradually...

losing the power of his hands but...

he was still able to see
to supervise these things.

Percy Grainger...

helped him with the orchestration
and some of the dance numbers.

Up in our cottage in Norway.

That was about the time
I was carting him all over Europe,

spending a small fortune trying to cure him.

There are times when
I would love Fred to hear his music again.

In the concert hall.

The last time...

Wiesbaden...

Gone there for a cure.

Isn't there anything that can be done?

Well, we're trying homeopathic remedies,

but these days, Fred doesn't care
if his music is played or not.

But I've been writing to Beecham.

Asking him,

why cam he record Paris?

And when is he going to do
The Songs of Sunset again?

I went through the Rad/o Times

and there is not a single piece of Delius
this week.

I said I've been through the Rad/o Times.

There's not a single piece
of Delius this week.

Fred and I used to pick primroses here.

Now then, Fenby.

Let's have that little tune that you liked.

The bit you picked out before.

It's immediately after that, it seems to me,
that the real trouble lies.

Now, begin where it starts, on the strings.

(Delius hums)

Mm...that's right.
(Continues to hum)

Then the clarinets come in.

Now...flute and clarinet, in octaves.

Two horns...

- ...and bass clarinet.
- Yes, yes, yes, yes. I remember.

Now, it's there.

I'm not happy about it,
from here onwards.

Now, we'd better have...

J“ Ta...ta...ta... (Continues)

Well, then...start them...on a quarter note.

- The quarter note! Quarter note, I said!
- That is a quarter note.

Oh...try again. Yes?

D sharp, E...
♪ Ta...ta...ta... ♪

But those aren't quarter notes.
Quarter notes are, surely, semiquavers.

You sang a crochet and a minim.

Quarter notes!
A quarter note is a crotchet!

Well...

Oh, I see.
That's the German nomenclature.

I was brought up the English way.

No, no, no, no! Not that way.
Now, D sharp to E,

first violins.

- (Fenby begins to play)
- Now, write that bit down.

- Ready, ready? Got it, got it?
- Yes, sir.

J“ Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta... (Continues)

(Fenby plays piano)

(Delius) No, no, no, no, no!

- (Delius) ♪ Ta, ta, ta... ♪
- (Fenby) ♪ Da, da... ♪

(Delius) Play it again!

(In unison) J“ Da, da...da, da, da... J“

(Delius) There! That's it!

What have you got in your bass?

It was along this road, Fenby,
that I contemplated all my finest works.

Now, then, Fenby... Where were
we from yesterday? Cellos and basses...

Yes, I think it should be an A,
cellos and basses.

Very good. Now, inner parts.

Get your violins a C sharp.

Yes, yes, yes, yes. Play it!

Yes. And, yes, the violas.
What have you got in the violas?

- Well, I've nothing there.
- Well, better get a B flat there.

Yes, yes, and play it like that.
Yes, yes, a little excitement.

Now, try and play it all.

Yes. Now take your C sharp to E,
second violins.

Yes, that's it.
Against F sharp and A.

Next bar, first violins.

Er...put a G there.

- Where does the G go?
- Divide your cellos. G in the first half.

Yes. A low A in the second.
Yes, yes.

Add a bassoon there.
Now, write that down.

Shouldn't the bass move a little there,
Delius?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no...

Put a pizzicato on the first beat, er...
No, better on the third beat.

Yes. Now, move your inner parts down
a semitone.

Bring the oboe in. Top A.

J“ Ter-ter-ter-ter! J“
Triplet on the first beat.

Yes, now play it all.

No, no, no!

- You forgot the pizzicato in the basses.
- Yes, yes, yes.

- That's it, Eric!
- Good.

Good!

(Music obscures speech)

(Jelka) Wonderful, Fred.

You can only persevere.

I am pleased with what we did today, Eric.
We must celebrate.

- Pauline, champagne.
- Oui, monsieur.

All right, Delius?

Thank you, Eric. Sit down.

What have you got there, Jelka?

- Brigg Fair, Fred.
- No, no, no. Not that one. Not tonight.

Play that record of the Revelers.
0/0' Man River.

(Jelka) Ah.

♪ Old Man River

♪ That Old Man River

J“ He must know something

J“ But don't say nothing

J“ He just keep rolling

J” He keep on rolling along

♪ Rolling along

J“ He don't plant taters

J“ He don't plant cotton

J“ And them that plants 'em

J“ ls soon forgotten

J” But Old Man River

J“ He just keeps rolling along

♪ Rolling along...

(Delius) Now, that is how the Negroes
used to sing, in Florida.

Oh, I loved Florida.

I was demoralised
when I left Bradford.

It was in 1884.

(Chuckles) And I was just about your age
when I sailed for America.

I wouldn't join my father in the wool
business and he wouldn't let me

be a musician.

So, I was packed off to grow oranges.

(Delius moans)

All right, ducky...

It was Thomas Ward who saved me.

He was an organist I met,
in Jacksonville.

And he taught me everything
I wanted to know about harmony

and counterpoint.

I didn't realise his sterling worth,
as a teacher,

until I went to Leipzig Conservatoire.

He came over to my orange plantation,
at Solano Grove,

and gave me lessons, and that was how
I came to write Appalachia.

Er...put it on, Jelka.

It wasn't all work.

At nights, we used to go out
with the Negro servants,

to shoot alligators in the creeks.

Oh, I got on very well with the Negroes.

I loved to hear them improvising
their songs with the...

real instinct for harmony.

I used to spend many an evening
on my verandah, smoking a cigar...

listening to their songs, across the woods,
from the next plantation.

And it was hearing them sing,

in these romantic surroundings,

I first felt the urge to express myself...

in music.

J“ ...rej0ice

J“ And echoes swell

J“ Across the mighty stream J“

Well, get the Bruder.

We won't wait for the Bruder to come
back, Fred.

- Eric and I will carry you up.
- Oh, no. You'd only drop me.

No, Fred. We'll manage.

All right.

Now, then. If you're ready,
we'll lift you.

Put your arms around our shoulders,
Delius.

(Jelka) That's it.

Up we go.

And make sure
that the bedroom door is open.

Last night it was closed. And to open it,
he used my head as a battering ram.

(Chuckles)

(Delius) Where's the sun?

There's a bit of cloud in the way.

But you said it was coming!
I don't feel it yet!

There'll be a break in the clouds soon.

When?

In about a minute.

You can understand the ancient Persians
worshipping the sun.

How still it is today.

Nature is wonderful.

It was through sitting and gazing
at nature, out in Florida,

that I gradually learnt the way in which
I should eventually find myself.

But it wasn't until years after
we'd settled down here

that I really found myself.

Nobody could help me.

Contemplation, like composition,
cannot be taught.

- What on Earth's that?
- Good morning, Fred.

- How are you today?
- Percy!

(Fenby) He's throwing a tennis ball.

Over the roof!

And trying to catch it on the other side. Go
and stop him before he breaks his neck!

(Roars)

- Who is it, Delius?
- That is Percy Grainger, Eric.

Sometimes, he composes...

No, no, n0...!

That's Percy Grainger.
Sometimes, he composes.

- How's your wife, Percy?
- She's gone off to Paris, to paint.

To paint? Well, if I know anything about it,
she'll paint, all right.

I didn't live in Paris for nothing.

And all my friends were painters.

Have you brought your arrangement oi
Song of the High Hills'?

- Yes, I've brought it, Fred.
- Well, you can play it to me tonight.

- If we ever get back...
- (Percy chuckles)

(Delius) Oh, thank you, Percy.

Thank you, Eric.

That was grand.

It took me right back to Norway,
and the mountains.

Oh, and that seven hours,
lugging up the mountain track.

(Jelka) Just before his sight failed,

Fred insisted upon
being carried up a mountain.

To see the sunset,
on the hills in the distance.

We knocked up a chair
on a couple of poles

and carried Fred up between us.

I was at one end and we had
this great Norwegian 0x at the other.

And remember how the big Norse 0x
sprained his wrist

and Jelka had to give him a hand?
(Chuckles)

And those enormous clouds that piled
themselves up near the top.

It seemed hopeless.

And then, suddenly...

They all drifted away.

And there was the most glorious sunset.

And going back, I slid down the
mountainside, on my backside!

Come on, Fenby. We've only just started.

I think it's marvellous,
what you're doing for Fred.

I tried to help him, once, in Norway.
With the Hassan music.

He could still see then.
But it was hopeless.

He hates repetition.
(Yelps)

And he can't explain himself,
as you've, no doubt, found out.

I'll tell you one thing:

if you ever get away from here,

you'll never want to hear another note
of Delius, as long as you live.

So long, Fenby.

By the time you get back,
I'll be gone.

(Percy whistles Country Gardens)

Good morning.

You're from next door.

I'm from Small Hythe. In Kent.

I'm from Yorkshire. Eric Fenby.

Do you like Jelka's house?

I should think you're her type.

Has she ever painted you?

Mrs Delius, you mean?

She doesn't paint.

She's far too busy with Delius.

There used to be
another painter here, too.

A woman.

A friend of hers.

They shared it.

- Do you go to church?
- Yes...

Do you know the curé?

I've seen him, at mass.

He used to live in our house.

Oh...

Did you know that he was a peeping Tom?

Jelka used to paint in the garden,
in the summer.

She's...f0nd of flowers.

And nudes.

There was a time
when there was a house full of them.

From Paris.

Models.

(Woman) Just imagine.
Delius and all those women...

And Jelka and her girlfriend,
both crazy about him.

Well, she got him, in the end.

And then it was too late.

(Three bangs of a gong)

Three. That's for me.

You wanted me, Delius?

Where have you been? I wanted to dictate
a progression for orchestra

and now I've forgotten it.

I'm sorry, Delius.
I was talking to the girl next door.

What are your intentions
towards this girl?

Marriage? Oh, she'll bring a fine dowry
with her, and a beautiful house.

Not to be sneered at, I admit.

But Delius...l hardly know the girl.

Well, you must never marry.
An artist should never marry.

He should be as free as the winds.

Oh, amuse yourself
with as many women as you like,

but for the sake of your art,
never marry one, it's fatal.

And listen...

If ever you have to marry, marry a girl
who's more in love with your art than you.

It's only from your art that you will find
lasting happiness in life,

not from love. Love is a madness.

(Delius) You're a fool if you ever marry.

Thank you for your advice.

And it's the same
with this church nonsense.

Fred, it's time for your rest.

I hear you've been going
to the local church.

I'll go and fetch the Bruder.

Well, if you must go to church,
go to the next village.

May I go now, sir?

(Fenby) Ooh, I regret
being the cause of that outburst.

It was really most embarrassing.

Oh, I'm used to that.

Eric, there are times when I wonder
if I can go on.

I've never stood in his way. I've always
given him the right conditions for work.

But he's so hard, so stern.

It must be his illness.

No...

No...

You should've known him
when he was well.

He'd come downstairs,
from the music room,

on Fridays.

During our early years here.

And...

he'd go off to Paris.

Sometimes he'd stay away for days.

I just had to stand by while
he enjoyed himself with other women.

There were...

terrible scenes with...

Abortions, everything.

But I knew that...

he'd always come back to me.

And he did.

I can't reconcile such hardness...

with such lovely music.

(Creaking)

(Murmuring)

Will you hear my confession, Father?

Eric, I've been thinking.

The sooner you throw away
those great Christian blinkers,

and get rid of all this religious humbug,
the better.

It has paralysed music all along.

Now, tell me, what Catholic ever wrote
a piece of music worth hearing?

But, Delius...

What about the romantic thing
that sprung from the very heart

of the Catholic church, plainsong?

Dull, my boy. Dull.

Well, how about Haydn's oratorio,
The Creation?

And that wonderful passage that begins,

"God created great..."

God? I don't know him.
And don't talk to me about oratorios.

Elgar wasted most of his life
writing long-winded oratorios.

He told me himself it was the penalty
of his English environment.

But he wasn't as bad as Parry.

He would've set the whole Bible to music,
if he'd lived long enough.

(Chuckles) To be a success in England,
you've got to be a second Mendelssohn.

He gave the public what they wanted.

O, Rest In The Lord.

My requiem has been played
in England only once.

J” Eternal...renewal

♪ Infinity on Earth

J“ Will return again

♪ Infinity on Earth

J“ Will return again

J“ Will return again J“

Only once.

(Chuckles) And then what a fiasco.

The press was outraged. They said it was
a pagan cry against Christianity.

(Chuckles) Christianity. I'm inclined
to think the whole thing a myth.

Human beings are incredible.
They'll believe anything to escape reality.

But one thing is certain,

English music will never be any good
till they get rid of Jesus.

(Signs)

(Delius groans)

Oh, my legs-H

Have you brought your notebook, Eric?

Yes, Delius.

Get it.

(Delius) Are you ready?

In a moment.

- Ready, then? Come on!
- Yes, Delius.

I want you to write down
a new opening to our poem.

And I don't like that title.

Call it...
Song of Summer.

I want you to imagine we're sitting
on the cliffs, in the heather,

looking out over the sea.

The sustained chord and the high string

suggest the clear sky and
the stillness and calmness of the scene.

Now, then. Seven-four in the bar.

Four plus three. Divided strings,
chord of D major.

A, D, F sharp.

The lowest note, the A,
strings and violas.

Now, Eric, you remember that figure
that comes in with the violins

when the music becomes
more animated...

- (Hums)
- Yes, Delius.

Well, I'm introducing it hereto suggest
the gentle rise and fall of the waves.

- Now, I want a semiquaver run-up...
- Right.

...in tones.

In the solo flute.

And from top D to A.

Now, three beats on the A,

and, then, come down again.

J“ Tee-uh, tee-uh J“

And hold it for the rest of the bar.

Now, the "tee-uh" figure is the same value

as that which comes later,
in the solo oboe passage.

Is the "tee-uh" in the flute G natural,
Delius?

- Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes...
- Right, right...

The flute figure suggests
a seagull flying by.

(Fenby)
This was our greatest achievement.

Whenever Delius was well enough,
we worked.

We finished a violin sonata,

two vocal works,

and several pieces for orchestra.

After four years,
it seemed as if my task was completed.

Now, Eric...

this is our biggest task.

Everything we've done, hitherto,
is just a preparation for this.

There are just some sketches I made
on billheads, in Norway, years ago.

Now, Jelka has written out
the words of the five movements.

You've got the words of the first poem.

- Yes.
- Well, then, get your score paper.

We shall want the biggest kind.

Yes, ready?

Thirty-two staves...

two flutes, two oboes,

English horn,

two B-flat clarinets.

Bass clarinet.

Three bassoons.

Double bassoon.

Four horns in F.

Three trumpets in C.

Three tenor trombones and tuba.

Timpani, harps.

First and second sopranos,
first and second altos.

First and second tenors,

first and second basses.

Four parts each.

And the strings.

Now, Eric...

read the words of the first poem.

"How sweet the silent, backward tracings.

"The wandering, as in dreams.

"The meditations of old times, resumed.

"Their loves, joys, persons, voyages...

"...apple orchards,

"the trees all covered with blossoms.

"Wheat fields, carpeted far and near,
in vital emerald green.

"The eternal, exhaustless freshness
of each early morning.

"The yellow, golden, transparent haze
of the warm afternoon sun.

"The aspiring lilac bushes.

With profuse purple and white flowers.

Now, Eric.

Are you ready?

- Yes, Delius.
- Four in a bar.

Cellos, chord of D.

No. An octave lower.

Now, on the third beat...

(Stutters) The third beat, voices.

On the third beat...

One, two...

J“ How sweet... J“

Second sopranos, top D.

J“ How sweet, how sweet... J“

Yes, that...that...that's it.

(Delius speaks German)

Eric, my dear boy.

I drink to your health.

(Speaks German)

I want to give you a memento
that you will always keep,

in memory of these years here with me.

Take...take this and wear it for me.

You have given me a new lease of life.

(Ticking)

Thank you, sir.

(Fenby) At the end of five years,
our work was finished.

And, on the understanding
that Delius was to send for me,

should he want to compose again,

I left for England to supervise the
publication of all the dictated works.

My sisters welcomed me home
with a party.

(Jazz plays)

After the party,
I suffered a nervous breakdown,

and for a time,
lost the use of both my legs.

Whilst I was recovering from this illness,
a telegram arrived from France.

"Please come at once.
I'm operated on tomorrow.

"Clinique Saint Joseph, F0ntainebleau."

"Jelka"

(Door clicks open)

Here I am, Delius.

Eric! Eric! Is it you, Eric?

Oh, lad, it's...it's good to have you back.

Come here. Come here...

Where are you?

Oh, what a catastrophe this is.

Jelka so ill
and here I am, left alone.

My man is so rough and uncouth.

I want you to sleep there, in Jelka's bed,
beside me.

Now, it'll be all right, Delius.

Us Yorkshire tykes'll pull through.

I saw Jelka at Fontainebleau.

She's all right.
She'll be home in a few days.

What would we have done
if she had died?

Twist my pyjama sleeve round,
there's a crinkle under my arm.

Will you read, lad?

Let's read Huckleberry Finn again.

"You don't know about me,

"without you have read a book
by the name of Tom Sawyer.

"But that ain't no matter."

"Next night, we stuck a picture
which Tom drawed in blood,

"of a skull and crossbones,
on the front door.

"And the next night, another one
of a coffin, on the back door.

- "I never see a family in such a sweat..."
- (Footsteps)

Pauline's here, Delius.

Merci...

(Pauline) Q3 ya?

Right, Delius...

- Is it too hot?
- Mm...

(Fenby) I read to Delius all day long
and most of the night.

(Delius moans)

(Fenby) His attacks occurred
with increasing regularity

and none of his usual medicines
and tablets relieved his suffering.

He slept hardly at all
and ate next to nothing.

The doctor became a regular visitor,
but his calls did little good.

He always went through the usual routine.

Then, he started giving Delius
morphine injections.

Although these relieved his pain
for a while,

he continued to grow weaker.

(Delius groans)

Delius would have no one else in the room,

so I was unable to visit Jelka
in the nursing home.

I heard that the operation
- it was for cancer -

had been successful
and that she would be home soon.

After a fortnight,
I was on volume nine of Mark Twain.

"Wherever the exiled Englishman
can find in his new home

"resemblances to his old one,
he is touched to the marrow of his being.

"A love that is in his heart
inspires his imagination

"and these allied forces
transfigure those resemblances

"into authentic duplicates
of the revered originals."

Delius...

Who do you think is here?

Jelka?

Pauline, you'd better send for the doctor.

- Le docteur.
- Oui, monsieur.

He's growing weaker.

(Delius cries out)

All right. All right, all right, all right.
All right.

(Delius moans)

All right, Jelka. I've sent for the doctor.
There's nothing else we can do.

Pauline will be with you in a few moments.

If...if you could just manage for tonight.
There's a nurse coming in the morning.

Monsieur Fenby, since you appear to be
the only responsible person in the house,

I must warn you...

that Monsieur Delius cannot be expected
to live for more than a few days.

You understand?

Surely he'll pull round again.
He's had a bad turn like this before.

I don't think so.

Anyway, when he becomes too restless,
you will send for me.

I'll give another injection of morphine.
There's nothing more I can do.

You understand?

Delius is full of life!

I know there's hope for him!

Monsieur Fenby,
there has been no hope for 30 years.

Your friend is dying. Of syphilis.

Monsieur Fenby.
Allez dormir, je vais rester avec Iui.

Monsieur Fenby. Monsieur Fenby!
Réveillez-vous. Réveillez-vous!

// va treks trés mat.

(Fenby) Delius...

Delius! This is Eric!

- He's still flickering...
- La dou/eur est l3.

His hand's growing cold.

(Pauline) I/estmon'?

(Doctofi Oui. II est mort.

(Birdsong)

(Announcer) 'The death occurred,
earlier today, at his home in France,

'of Frederick Delius, the composer.

'Born in Bradford, Yorkshire,
in 1863,

'Delius spent most of his days abroad.

'His chief inspiration,
throughout his life, was nature,

'no matter whether the scene
was England, France, Florida or Nonuay.

'But, like Wordsworth, he learnt to hear
in it the still sad music of humanity.

'After 1918, Delius gradually became
more and more subject

'to an illness which left him totally blind
and completely paralysed

'for the last years of his life.

'Despite these incredible handicaps,
he was still able to compose

"to within a few months of his death.

'In this, he was aided by his amanuensis,
Eric Fenby.

'Here is a moment
from one of his last works,

' A Song of Summer...'

(Music plays)

(Jelka sobs)