Music to Cure MSSunday, October 28, 2012 3-5 PM

Translations

Que fais-tu, blanche tourterelle? (What are you doing, white turtledove?), Roméo et Juliette - Charles Gounod

(Romeo's page guesses where his master has gone: he's with Juliet!)

Since yesterday I have sought my master in vain! Is he still in your home, my lords Capulet?Let us see if your worthy servants, at the sound of my voice, will dare to reappear this morning.

What are you doing, white turtledove, in this nest of vultures?  Some day, spreading your wings, you will follow love!  Among vultures, there has to be battle:  their beaks are sharpened to strike and thrust. Leave these birds of prey, turtledove who finds your joy in loving kisses.  Guard your beautiful one well!  Those who live will see: Your turtledove is going to escape you!  

A rock-dove, far from the green wood, attracted by love, has near this savage nest, I believe, sighed.  The vultures are at the hunt; their songs, which make Diana flee, resound loudly… Meanwhile, in their sweet intoxication, our lovers recount their tenderness to the stars of the night…   Guard your beautiful one well!  Those who live will see:  Your turtledove is going to escape you!  

Je veux vivre (I want to live), Roméo et Juliette - Charles Gounod

I want to liveIn this dream which intoxicates meStill for today;Sweet flame,I keep you in my soulLike a treasure!I want to live, etc.This intoxication of youthLasts, alas, only for one day!Then comes the hourWhen one weeps, The heart yields to love,And joy flees without return!I want to live, etc.Far from the sullen winterLet me slumberAnd breathe in the rose’s scentBefore plucking its petals.Ah! Sweet flame!Stay in my soulLike a sweet treasureFor a long time still!Ah! - Like a treasureFor a long time still.

Three folksongs - Benjamin Britten

Chansons de Bilitis (Songs of Bilitis) - Claude Debussy

Fully staged, in EnglishFriday, November 2, 8 PM

Sunday, November 4, 2:30 PM

Longwood OperaChrist Episcopal Church

1132 Highland Ave.Needham, MA

I. The Panpipe For the festival of Hyacinthus,he gave me a set of pipes madefrom well-cut reeds,fastened with white waxthat is sweet on my lips like honey.He teaches me to play, as I sit on his knees;but I am a little nervous.He plays them after me,so softly that I can barely hear him.We have nothing we need to say, we are so close to each other;but our songs wish to reply,and from time to time our mouthstouch on the instrument.It is late,here is the song of the green frogswhich begins at nightfall.My mother will never believethat I stayed so longlooking for my lost girdle.

II. The HairHe said to me: ‘Last night, I had a dream.I had your hair around my neck.I had your locks like a black collararound my neck and over my chest.I stroked them, and they were mine;and we were bound forever thus,by the same hair, mouth upon mouth,like two laurel trees which often have a single root.And little by little, it seemed to me,our limbs were so mingledthat I became your very self,or you entered into me like my own dream.’When he had finished,he gently put his hands on my shoulders,and he looked at me with such a tender look that I lowered my eyes with a shiver.

III. The Naiads’ Tomb

I was proceeding along the wood covered with frost;my hair in front of my mouthbloomed with little icicles,and my sandals were heavywith muddy packed snow.He said to me: ‘What are you looking for?’I am following the tracks of a satyr.His small cloven hoofprints alternate like holes in a white cloak.He said to me: ‘The satyrs are dead. The satyrs and the nymphs also.There has not been a winter so terrible these thirty years.The tracks which you see are those of a goat.But we remain here, where their tomb is.’And with the blade of his hoe he broke the iceon the spring where once the naiads laughed.He took up some large cold fragments,and lifting them toward the pale sky,he looked at them crosswise.[translation: Rebecca Burstein]

Quando m'en vo (When I go), La Boheme - Giacomo Puccini

When I go through the street by myself,

NotloB Parlour Concerts: Loring-Greenough House

12 South Street, Jamaica Plain November 1, November 8, December 8

https://sites.google.com/site/notlobmusic/

people stop and stare,and they gaze over all my beauty from head to foot;and then I savor the sharp desirethat flashes in their eyesand which, from the visible charms,can imagine the concealed beauties.So the scent of desire twines all around me; it makes me happy!And you who know, you who remember and are consumed,why do you avoid me so?I know it well: you don’t want to admit your sufferings,but you feel like you’re dying![translation: Rebecca Burstein]

Elle à fuit, la tourterelle (She has flown, the turtledove), Les Contes d'Hoffmann - Jacques Offenbach

Recit.:"She has flown, the turtledove" - Ah, memory too sweet, image too cruel! Alas, at my knees I hear him, I see him - I hear him, I see him...

Aria:She has flown, the turtledove, she has flown far from from you,But she is always faithful, and keeps her promise to you.My love, my voice calls you. Yes, all my heart is yours.She has flown, the turtledove, she has flown far from from you,

Dear newly-opened flower, for pity's sake, reply to meYou, who know if he still loves me, if he keeps his promise to me.My love, my voice implores you - ah! let your heart come to me!She has flown, the turtledove, she has flown far from from you.

Come Scoglio (As a rock), Cosi Fan Tutte - W.A. Mozart

Audacious men, leave this place!And let the unhappy breath of your vile wordsnot sully our hearts, our ears, and our love!Vainly do you or others try to seduce our hearts;the stainless faith which is ours now,we will know how to keep for them until death,in spite of the world and fate.

As a rock remains immoveableagainst the winds and storm,so my soul is ever strongin faithfulness and in love.In us is born that flamewhich pleases us, which consoles us,and death alone will be able to make my heart change its feelings.Ungrateful souls, respectthis example of constancy,and let a barbarous hopeno longer make you bold.[translation: Rebecca Burstein]

L'altra notte in fondo al mare (The other night into the depths of the sea), Mefistofele - Arrigo Boito

Margherita has been imprisoned for poisoning her mother (the result of giving her a potion that Faust, who appeared to her as a young gentleman courtesy of the devil, provided to help her sleep soundly while he seduced Margherita) and killing her illegitimate baby (the result of that seduction). She sings of her insanity and her coming execution.

The other night into the depths of the seathey threw my baby,now to drive me madthey say that I drowned it.

The air is cold,the prison gloomyand my sad soul,like the woodland sparrowflies, flies away.Ah! Have pity on me!

In funereal topor my mother has fallen asleepand to crown the horrorthey say that I poisoned her.

The air is cold . . .

Ritorna vincitor (Return victorious), Aida - Guiseppe VerdiAida, an Ethiopian princess enslaved in Egypt, loves Radamès, the captain of the Egyptian Guard, who has just been sent to lead the Egyptian troops into battle against her own people, the Ethiopians. The Ethiopian king, Amonasro, is invading Egypt in a desperate effort to rescue her. If she prays to the gods for the triumph of the Ethiopian army, she is betraying her lover; if she asks the gods of victory to smile upon Radamès, she is a traitress to her father. She finally pleads with the gods to have pity on her suffering.

Return victorious! . . .And from my lips came the wicked word!Conqueror of my father . . .of him who takes up arms for me . . .to give me again a homeland, a palaceand the illustrious name (of princess), which here (in Egypt) I am forced to hide!(Radamès), conqueror of my brothers . . . by consequence of which I may see him (Radamès), stained with their beloved blood,triumph in the applause of the Egyptian cohorts!And behind the chariot, a king . . . my father . . .with chains bound!Oh gods, obliterate the insane word (victorious)! Restore a daughter to her father’s bosom.Destroy . . . destroy the ranks of our oppressors!

Ah! . . . hapless me! What have I said?and my beloved? . . . Can I then forgetthis ardent love which, like a ray of sunshine, gladdened me, an oppressed girl reduced to slavery?Shall I invoke death on Radamès . . .on him that I love so much!Ah! Never was a heart on earth overcome by a more cruel anguish!The sacred names of father . . . of loverI cannot utter, nor remember . . .For the one . . . for the other . . .confused . . . trembling . . .I wish to weep . . . I wish to pray.But my prayer into blasphemy is turned . . .My tears are a crime and my sighs are guilty . . .In the dark night my mind is lost . . .and in this cruel anxiety I wish to die.Gods, have pity on my suffering!There is no hope for my grief . . .Fatal, terrible love, break my heart . . . make me die!

The Jewel Song, Faust - Charles Gounod

Oh God! What jewels! Is it a charming dream which dazzles me, or am I awake? My eyes have never seen richness like this! Do I dare to adorn myself only for one moment with these earrings? Ah, right here at the base of the box - a mirror! How can I help being a flirt?

Ah, I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror,Is it you, Marguerite, it is you?Answer me, answer me, answer quickly!No, no! it's no longer you!

No, no, it's no longer your face;It's the daughter of a king that one must bow to as she passes!Ah, if only he were here! If he should see me like this,like a lady, he would find me beautiful,

Let's complete the metamorphosis: I'm still slow to try on the bracelet and the necklace!God! it's like a hand placed on my arm! Ah, ah!Ah, I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror!Flute de Pan:Printed on the music:Assis a l’ombre de ce bois solitaire, o Pan, pourquoi tires-tu de ta flute ces sons delicieux?   (Anyte)Like many other French composers at the turn of the century, Mouquet favored subjects from Greek mythology.  Pan is the god of shepherds and flocks, fields, groves, wooded glens, mountain wilds, rustic music, and the season of spring.

Svegliatevi nel core (Awaken in my heart), Giulio Cesare - Georg Friedrich Händel

Laments are in vain. Now it is time, oh Sesto, to avenge your father.

Awaken in my heartThe wrath of an offended soulSo I may wreak upon a traitorMy bitter vengeance!The ghost of my fatherHastens to my defenseSaying, “From you, my sonFerocity is expected.”[translation: Rebecca Burstein]

Caro Nome (Dear name), Rigoletto - Guiseppe Verdi

Gualtier Malde . . . name of the man I love so much, be engraved in my enchanted heart!

Dear name which firstmade my heart beat,you must always remind meof the delights of love!When I think of you, my desirewill always fly to you,and until my last breath,dear name, it will be yours.[translation: Rebecca Burstein]

Along the Field - Ralph Vaughan Williams

We’ll to the Woods No More

We’ll to the woods no more.The laurels all are cut.The bowers are bare of bay that once the Muses wore.

The year draws in the day and soon will evening shut.The laurels all are cutWe’ll to the woods no more.Oh we’ll no more, no moreto the leafy woods away,to the high wild woods of laurel,and the bowers of bayno more.

Along the Field

Along the field as we came bya year ago my love and I.The aspen over stile and stone

was talking to itself alone.

“Oh who are these that kiss and pass?A country lover and his lass.Two lovers looking to be wed,and time will put them both to bed.But she shall lie with earth above And he beside another love.”

And sure enough beneath the tree,there walks another love with meand overhead the aspen heavesits rainy sounding silver leaves.And I spell nothing in their stir. but now perhaps they speak to her,and plain for her to understand,they talk about a time at handwhen I shall sleep with clover cladand she beside another lad.

In the Morning

In the morning, in the morning, in the happy field of hayOh, they looked at one another by the light of day,In the blue and silver morning on the haycock as they lay,Oh they looked at one another and they looked away.

Goodbye

Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers are lying on field and lane, with dandelions to tell the hours that never are told again.Oh may I squire you round the meads and pick you posies gay?‘Twill do no harm to take my arm- -You may, young man you may.

Ah spring was sent for lass and lad. ‘Tis now the blood runs gold,And man and maid had best be glad before the world is old.What flowers today may flower tomorrow but never as good as new.Suppose I wind my arm right round?-- Tis true, young man, tis true.

There’s many a lad, ‘tis shame to say, who only court to thieve.And once they bear the bloom away ‘tis little enough they leave.Then keep your heart for men like me and safe from trustless chaps.My love is true and all for you.--Perhaps, young man, perhaps.

Oh look in my eyes then , can you doubt?Why, ‘tis a mile from town.How green the grass is all about.We might as well sit down.Oh life, why is it like a flower, why must true lovers sigh?Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty.-- Goodbye, young man, goodbye!

Fancy’s Knell

When lads were home from labourat Abdon under Clee,a man would call his neighborand both would send for me.

And when the light in lancesacross the mead was laid,there, to the dancesI fetched my flute and played.

Ours were idle pleasuresyet oh content we were:the young to wind the measures,the old to heed the air.

And I to lift with playingfrom tree and tower and steep,the light delayingand flute the sun to sleep

The youth toward his fancywould turn his brow of tan.And Tom would pair with Nancyand Dick step off with Fan.

The girl would lift her glancesto his …. and both be mute. …Well went the dancesat evening, to the flute

Wenlock Edge was umberedand bright was Abdon Burf.And warm between them slumberedthe smooth green miles of turf.

Until from grass and cloverthe upshot beam would fadeand England overadvanced the lofty shade.

The lofty shade advances,I fetch my flute and play.Come lads and learn the dancesto praise the tune today.

Tomorrow, more's the pity,away we both must hie.To air, the dittyAnd to earth ….. I   With Rue My Heart is Laden

With rue my heart is ladenfor golden friends I had,for many a rose-lipped maiden for many a lightfoot lad.By brooks too broad for leapingthe lightfoot boys are laid.The rose-lipped girls are sleeping in fields where roses fade.

Santo di patria (Holy love of our country), Attila- Giuseppe Verdi

Holy, boundless love of our country!When the brave runlike lions to battle,your women, o barbarian,stay weeping in their wagons.But we Italian women,our chests girded with iron,on ground reeking with bloodyou will always see us fighting.

Have them give back my sword!(Oh sword!)

Now you have granted this to me,O high, divine justice!

CD: The Ash GroveFolk songs sung by Julie M. Poole

You have armed an oppressed people’s hatredwith the oppressor’s sword.Wicked blade, is your pointdestined for his heart?The hour of vengeance has come . . .It was appointed by the Lord.[translation: Rebecca Burstein]