SCHUBERT & CHEMOTHERAPY

“That dire disease, whose ruthless power Withers the beauty's transient flower.” - Oliver Goldsmith

Vinca major, the white periwinkle is the birthday flower for today. It symbolises tender recollections and pleasant memories. Astrologically, the plant is ruled by Venus. The vinca is rich in alkaloids, making it poisonous, but this property has also made it useful in medicine, as it has yielded two important cancer-fighting drugs, vincristine and vinblastine. These are drugs that are now used routinely in many forms of cancer chemotherapy, especially as agents in the treatment of leukaemias, lymphomas, and testicular cancer.

This brings us to our word for the day, chemotherapy, which means:

chemotherapy |ˌkēmōˈθerəpē| noun
the treatment of disease by the use of chemical substances, esp. the treatment of cancer by cytotoxic and other drugs.
DERIVATIVES
chemotherapist |-pist| |ˈkimoʊˈθɛrəpəst|| noun
ORIGIN
Late 16th cent.: from French chimique or modern Latin chimicus, chymicus, from medieval Latin alchymicus, from alchimia + mid 19th cent.: from modern Latin therapia, from Greek therapeia ‘healing,’ from therapeuein ‘minister to, treat medically.

Franz Peter Schubert (1797–1828) born on this day, was an Austrian romantic composer. German lieder reached their greatest expression in his beautiful lyrical songs, especially in the great cycles Die Schöne Müllerin [Fair Maid of the Mill] (1823) and Die Winterreise [The Winter’s Journey] (1827). His symphonies are the final flowering of the classical sonata forms, and the Fifth (1816), Eighth (the Unfinished, 1822), and Ninth (1828) rank with the best orchestral music. His chamber works include the well-loved Quartet in D Minor (Death and the Maiden, 1824) and the Quintet in A Major (The Trout, 1819). Schubert also wrote stage music, choral music, Masses, and much piano music.

Unfortunately for Schubert, chemotherapy in his day was not highly developed and the drugs used in treating some common afflictions of the past were either ineffective or extremely toxic. Poor Schubert managed to contract syphilis after an unfortunate and disastrous encounter in 1822 and died at the age of 31 of this disease. Nowadays, syphilis can be treated effectively with a single injection of penicillin (or other chemotherapeutic agents, if you are allergic to penicillin).

Here is some stormy and emotionally charged music by Schubert, his famous “Erlkoenig”:




Text by by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Music by Franz Schubert
Wiki article on it here
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erlkonig

Der Erlkoenig

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

The Elf King

Who rides so late through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He holds the boy safe in his arm
He holds him safe, he keeps him warm.

"My son, why do you hide your face so fearfully?"
"Father, do you not see the Elf king?
The Elf king with crown and robe?"
"My son, it's a wisp of fog."

"You lovely child, come, go with me!
Nothing but beautiful games I'll play with you;
Many colourful flowers are on the shore,
My mother has many golden robes."

"My father, my father, can't you hear,
What the Elf king quietly promises me?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child;
It is the wind rustling in the dry leaves."

"Do you want to come with me, fine lad?
My daughters should already be waiting for you;
My daughters lead the nightly folkdance
And rock you and dance and sing."

"My father, my father, and can't you see there,
The Elf king daughters in the gloomy place?"
"My son, my son, I see it well:
It is the old grey willows gleaming."

"I love you, your beautiful form entices me;
And if you're not willing, I shall use force."
"My father, my father, now he takes hold of me!
The Elf king has wounded me!"

It horrifies the father; he rides swiftly,
Holding in his arms the moaning child.
He reaches the yard with great difficulty;
In his arms, the child was dead.