Program Cantique Chanson Soleils couchants
1. 2. 3. 4.
The Voice Speak of Love The Wind and the Sea In the twilight hour
Nadia Boulanger (1887-1979)
Non so piĂš, cosa son Voi che sapete
I. II. III. IV. V.
Abschied von Frankreich Nach der Geburt ihres Sohnes An di KĂśnigin Elisabeth Abschied von der Welt Gebet
I. II. III.
Anzoleta Avanti la regata Anzoleta co passa la regata Anzoleta dopo la regata
Text s & Translations (1862-1949) À toute âme qui pleure, à tout péché qui passe, J’ouvre au sein des étoiles mes mains pleines de grâces.
To every soul that cries To every sin that passes I open myself to the stars My hands full of grace
Il n’est péché qui vive quand l’amour a parlé; Il n’est âme qui meure quand l’amour a pleuré...
There is no sin that lives When love has spoken There is no soul that dies When love has cried
Et si l’amour s’égare aux sentiers d’ici-bas, Ses larmes me retrouvent et ne s’égarent pas...
Elle a vendu mon coeur Pour une chanson: Vends mon coeur à la place, ô colporteur A la place de la chanson Tes chansons étaient blanches, La mienne est couleur de sang: Elle a vendu mon coeur, O colporteur, Elle a vendu mon coeur. En s’amusant Et maintenant chante mon coeur Sur les places, Aux carre fours, Tu feras pleurer Colporteur, En racontant mon grand amour Pendant qu’elle fera rire Les gens à sa noce venus En chantant la chanson pour rire, Pour qui elle a mon coeur vendu.
And if love separates itself From these paths, Its tears will find me again And will not stray from me.
She sold my heart For a song Sell my heart at the square, o dealer In the place of the song. Your songs were white, Mine is the color of blood: She sold my heart, O dealer, She sold my heart For amusement. And now my heart sings At the square, At the cross-roads, You will make the dealer cry, While recounting my great love. Meanwhile, she will entertain The people at her wedding In singing the song for laughs, For which she sold my heart.
(1844-1896) Une aube affaiblie Verse par les champs La mélancolie Des soleils couchants.
A weakened dawn Pours through the fields The melancholy Of setting suns.
La mélancolie Berce de doux chants Mon coeur qui s’oublie Aux soleils couchants.
Melancholy Rocks with gentle songs My heart that forgets itself With the setting suns.
Et d’étranges rêves, Comme des soleils Couchants, sur les grèves, Fantômes vermeils,
And of strange dreams Like suns Setting, on the shores, Vermillion shades,
Défilent sans trêves, Défilent, pareils A de grands soleils Couchants sur les grèves.
Passing without end Passing, the same As large suns Setting on the shores.
= Philip Lasser’s License of Love is a collection of four poems written by Paul Langley that depict the different facets of a romantic relationship. The Voice symbolizes the alluring trait of the lover and the desire to dwell in their presence forever. Speak of Love explores the “many faces” of love: splendor, secrets, pains, pleasures, and treasures. The Wind and the Sea is about the separation between the two lovers where life’s beauty means nothing when they are apart. In the Twilight Hour recounts the tragic end of the relationship on a particular evening when she “reached for [his] arms but found only air.” I fell in love with a voice Calm and deep and warm and strong In the voice, there was a soul Strong and calm and warm and deep For a moment I would live Under the shadow it could give Lazily slumbering Auburn notes would descend and softly bend that was hovering Deep and calm and warm and strong Oh! If only this could go on for long But pages turn and paper ends And the voice lies still And on me, silence descends.
Speak of love and all its splendor Enamored with its sound To all the flows we now surrender And love comes back around Reflect upon its many faces And all its colors abound Our hearts found out the secret places Where love is always found Behold its pains, behold its pleasures In awe before its holy ground We’ll take each day one of its treasures And make that we’d be crowned Accept love and trust its manner Though is methods sometimes confound We’ll stitch together its heraldic banner And proclaim we’re heaven bound Speak of Love
And the wind and sea meant nothing Nothing to me at all And the leaves in the spring and the leaves in the fall would mean nothing Nothing to me at all And the cliffs in the sunset sky An ochre colored painting where grey seagulls glide by As the port in the burgeoning night With its tinkling ropes and purpling lights Mean nothing to me Nothing to me at all Unless you’re there to share with me all
In the twilight hour, I looked to the sky But could no find the stars As when I stared in the mirror But saw only an undisturbed room I reached for your arms and found only air And the silence your presence once filled. I wanted to scream But heard only the clock ticking peacefully on the shelf; I wanted to cry. But as a field, in late August with no sign of rain Whispers its dryness through its tangled weeds I lay there silent in the twilight hour.
= In Mozart’s opera , the young page boy, Cherubino, sings about the strange feelings he experiences around women. In Non so più, Cherubino sings to Susanna about his “symptoms” and how he thinks about love all the time. He declares that if no one will listen to him, he will speak of love to himself. In the next act, Susanna pressures him to sing Voi che sapete; the song he wrote for the Countess for the Countess herself. Completely embarrassed and terrified, he begins to sing to the ladies asking them if his symptoms are symptoms of love. Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio, Or di foco, ora sono di ghiaccio, Ogni donna cangiar di colore, Ogni donna mi fa palpitar. Solo ai nomi d’amor, di diletto, Mi si turba, mi s’altera il petto, E a parlare mi sforza d’amore Un desio ch’io non posso spiegar. Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio, Or di foco, ora sono di ghiaccio, Ogni donna cangiar di colore, Ogni donna mi fa palpitar. Parlo d’amore vegliando, Parlo d’amor sognando, All’acqua, all’ombra, ai monti, Ai fiori, all’erbe, ai fonti, All’eco, all’aria, ai venti, Che il suon de’vani accenti Portano via con se. E se non ho chi m’oda, Parlo d’amor con me!
I do not know anymore what I am, what I do, One moment I’m on fire, the next moment I am cold as ice, Every woman changes my color, Every woman makes me tremble. At the very mention of love, of delight, I am greatly troubled, my heart stirs within my chest, It compels me to speak of love A desire I can not explain. I do not know anymore what I am, what I do, One moment I’m on fire, the next moment I am cold as ice, Every woman changes my color, Every woman makes me tremble. I speak of love while I’m awake, I speak of love while I’m dreaming, Water, shade, mountains, Flowers, grass, fountains, Echo, air, and the winds, Which carry away with them The sound of my vain words. And if I do not have anyone near to hear me I speak of love to myself!
Voi che sapete che cosa e amor, Donne, vedete, s’io l’ho nel cor, Quello ch’io provo, vi ridiro, E per me nuovo capir nol so. Sento un affetto pien di desir, Ch’ora e diletto, ch’ora e martir. Gelo e poi sento l’alma avvampar, E in un momento torno a gelar. Ricerco un bene fuori di me, Non so chi il tiene, non so cos’ e. Sospiro e gemo senza voler, Palpito e tremo senza saper, Non trovo pace notte ne di, Ma pur mi piace languir cosi. Voi, che sapete che cosa e amor Donne, vedete, s’io l’ho nel cor.
You who know what love is, Women, see whether it’s in my heart, What I am experiencing I will tell you, It is new to me and I do not understand it. I have a feeling full of desire, That now, is both pleasure and suffering. At first frost, then I feel the soul burning, And in a moment I’m freezing again. Seek a blessing outside myself, I do not know how to hold it, I do not know what it is. I sigh and moan without meaning to, Throb and tremble without knowing, I find no peace both night or day, But even still, I like to languish. You who know what love is, Women, see whether it’s in my heart.
= Schumann’s is made up of five texts written by Mary, Queen of Scots throughout her life. Freiherr von Vincke Gisbert translated the French and Latin texts into German. The first song “Abschied von Frankreich” depicts her departure from France, her childhood home, to return to Scotland as a young woman. She later married Henry, Lord Darnley and they had a son, James VI, who was taken away from her after birth “Nach der Geburt ihres Sohnes.” Shortly after, Darnley was murdered and Mary was remarried to James Hepturn, Earl of Bothwell. They were captured and imprisoned separately. Mary escaped Loch Leven but was detained the Carlisle Castle after crossing the Solway Firth. Mary then writes to her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I, “An die Königin Elisabeth” to plead for mercy and her freedom. For the next eighteen years, Mary moved to various English prisons. She soon realizes that death is the only freedom she has left “Abschied von der Welt.” In the last years of her life, she was put on trial for treason and Queen Elizabeth delayed the death warrant. When Elizabeth finally signed it, Mary was only given twelve hours to prepare for her death. “Gebet” was written in Latin a few hours before her execution on February 8, 1587.
Ich zieh dahin, dahin! Ade, mein fröhlich Frankenland, Wo ich die liebste Heimat fand, Du meiner Kindheit Pflegerin! Ade, du Land, du schöne Zeit. Mich trennt das Boot vom Glück so weit! Doch trägt’s die Hälfte nur von mir; Ein Teil für immer bleibet dein, Mein fröhlich Land, der sage dir, Des Andern eingedenk zu sein! Ade!
I am going away, away! Farewell, my happy France, Where I found the dearest homeland, You the guardian of my childhood! Farewell, O land, O happy time, The ship bears me far away from joy! Yet it takes but half of me; One part will be forever yours, My happy land, and it asks you Always to remember me! Farewell!
Herr Jesu Christ, den sie gekrönt mit Dornen, Beschütze die Geburt des hier Gebor’nen. Und sei’s dein Will’, lass sein Geschlecht zugleich Lang herrschen noch in diesem Königreich. Und alles, was geschieht in seinem Namen, Sei dir zu Ruhm und Preis und Ehre, Amen.
Nur ein Gedanke, der mich freut und quält, Hält ewig mir den Sinn gefangen, So daß der Furcht und Hoffnung Stimmen klangen, Als ich die Stunden ruhelos gezählt. Und wenn mein Herz dies Blatt zum Boten wählt, Und kündet, euch zu sehen, mein Verlangen, Dann, teurer Schwester, fasst mich neues Bangen, Weil ihm die Macht, es zu beweisen, fehlt. Ich seh’, den Kahn im Hafen fast geborgen, Vom Sturm und Kampf der Wogen festgehalten, Des Himmels heit’res Antlitz nachtumgraut. So bin auch ich bewegt von Furcht und Sorgen, Vor euch nicht, Schwester. Doch des Schicksals Walten Zerreißt das Segel oft, dem wir vertraut.
Was nützt die mir noch zugemess’ne Zeit? Mein Herz erstarb für irdisches Begehren, Nur Leiden soll mein Schatten nicht entbehren, Mir blieb allein die Todesfreudigkeit. Ihr Feinde, lasst von eurem Neid: Mein Herz ist abgewandt der Hoheit Ehren, Des Schmerzes Übermass wird mich verzehren; Bald geht mit mir zu Grabe Hass und Streit.
Lord Jesus Christ, whom they crowned with thorns, Protect this new born boy, And, if it be Thy will, let his race Long rule in this realm. And let all that is done in his name Be to Thy glory, praise and honour, Amen.
One thought alone gladdens and grieves me And dominates my mind, So that the voices of fear and hope resound, When sleepless I count the hours. And when my heart chooses this letter as messenger, Revealing how I long to see you, Then, dear sister, a new anguish seizes me, Because the letter lacks the power to prove it. I see the boat half hidden in the harbor, Held back by the storm and warring waves, And heaven’s serene face blackened by night. So am I likewise beset by cares and fear, Not of you, my sister. But the force of fate Often lacerates the sail in which we trust.
What use is the time still allotted me? My heart is dead to earthly desires, My spirit is severed from all but sorrow, The joy of death alone remains. Cease envying me, O enemies: My heart abjures all honour and nobility, Excess of anguish will devour me, Hatred and schism will soon be buried with me.
Ihr Freunde, die ihr mein gedenkt in Liebe, Erwägt und glaubt, dass ohne Kraft und Glück Kein gutes Werk mir zu vollenden bliebe.
O friends, who will remember me with love, Consider and believe that without power or fortune There is nothing good I can achieve.
So wünscht mir bess’re Tage nicht zurück, Und weil ich schwer gestrafet werd’ hienieden, Erfleht mir meinen Teil am ew’gen Frieden!
So do not wish for the return of happier days, And because I’ve been sorely punished here on earth, Pray that a share of eternal peace might be mine!
O Gott, mein Gebieter, ich hoffe auf dich! O Jesu, Geliebter, nun rette du mich! Im harten Gefängnis, in schlimmer Bedrängnis Ersehne ich dich; In Klagen, dir klagend, im Staube verzagend, Erhör’, ich beschwöre, und rette du mich!
O Lord God, I put my trust in Thee! O beloved Jesus, Rescue me In my harsh prison, in dire affliction I long for Thee; Lamenting I cry to Thee, despairing in the dust, Hearken, I implore Thee, and rescue me!
= Rossini’s narrates a Venetian boat race from the perspective of Anzoleta. Before the regatta, Anzoleta instructs her lover, Momolo, to stay focused and win the flag. As the regatta passes, she sees that Momolo is in second. Her heart begins racing and she vigorously cheers him to victory. After the regatta, Azoleta rewards her Momo with several kisses. She tells him that all of Venice knows he is the victor. These songs will be performed in the Venetian dialect translated by Francesco Maria Piave.
Là su la machina xe la bandiera, varda, la vedistu, vala a ciapar. Co quela tornime in qua sta sera, o pur a sconderte ti pol andar. In pope, Momolo, no te incantar. Va, voga d’anema la gondoleta, né el primo premio te pol mancar. Va là, recordite la to Anzoleta che da sto pergolo te sta a vardar. In pope, Momolo, no te incantar. In pope, Momolo, cori a svolar.
There on the “machina” is the flag, look, can you see it?, go for it! Come back with it tonight or else you can run away and hide. Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t gawp! Row the gondola with heart and soul, then you cannot help but win the first prize. Go, think of your Anzoleta, who’s whatching you from this balcony. Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t gawp! Once in the boat, Momolo, fly!
I xe qua, i xe qua, vardeli, vardeli, povereti i ghe da drento, ah contrario tira el vento, i gha l’acqua in so favor.
They’re coming, they’re coming, look, look at them, the poor things!, they row hard! ah, the wind is against them, but the tide is running their way.
El mio Momolo dov’elo? ah lo vedo, el xe secondo. Ah! che smania! me confondo, a tremar me sento el cuor.
My Momolo, where is he? ah! I see him, he’s the second, Ah! I’m in a fidget! I get confused, I feel my heart trembling.
Su, coragio, voga, voga, prima d’esser al paleto se ti voghi, ghe scometo, tutti indrio ti lassarà.
Come on, row!, row!, before you reach the pole, if you keep on rowing, I’ll lay a bet you’ll leave all the others behind.
Caro, caro, par che el svola, el li magna tuti quanti meza barca l’è andà avanti, ah capisso, el m’a vardà.
Dear boy, he seems to be flying, he’s beating the others hollow, he’s gone half a length ahead, ah, I understand: he looked at me.
Ciapa un baso, un altro ancora, caro Momolo, de cuor; qua destrachite che xe ora de sugarte sto sudor. Ah t’o visto co passando su mi l’ocio ti a butà e go dito respirando: un bel premio el ciaparà, sì, un bel premio in sta bandiera, che xe rossa de color; gha parlà Venezia intiera, la t’a dito vincitor. Ciapa un baso, benedeto, a vogar nissun te pol, de casada, de tragheto ti xe el megio barcarol.
Have a kiss!, another one!, dear Momolo, from my heart; rest here, for it’s high time to dry this sweat. Ah, I saw you when, as passing, you threw a glance at me and I said, breathing again: he’s going to win a good prize, indeed, the prize of this flag, that is the red one; the whole Venice spoke: she declared you the winner. Have a kiss, God bless you!, no one rows better than you, of all the breeds of gondoliers you’re the best.
Published on May 23, 2013