soirée rossiniana cecilia bartoli mezzo-soprano sergio ciomei piano donizetti

Soirée Rossiniana

Cecilia Bartoli mezzo-soprano

Sergio Ciomei piano

Barbican Hall

Wednesday 17 December 2008 at 7.30pm

The Barbican is provided by the City of London Corporation.

Find out first Why not download your Great Performers programmebefore the concert? Programmes are now available online five days in advance of eachconcert. To download your programme, find out full details of concerts, watch videos orlisten to soundclips, visit www.barbican.org.uk/greatperformers0809Due to possible last-minute changes, the online content may differ slightly from that of the printed version.

100% Programme text printed on 100% recycled materials.

RossiniLa regata veneziana BelliniL’AbbandonoIl fervido desiderioVaga lunaLa Farfalletta

BelliniDolente immagineMalinconia, ninfa gentileMa rendi pur contentoRossiniOr che di fiori adorno

RossiniBeltà crudeleCanzonetta spagnuolaLa danza

INTERVAL 20 minutes

DonizettiIl barcaioloAmore e morteLa conocchiaMe voglio fà ‘na casa

RossiniAriette à l’ancienneL’Orpheline du TyrolLa grande coquette

ViardotHavanaiseHai luli!GarcíaYo que soy contrabandistaMalibranRataplan

Please restrict applause to the end of each group of songs.

The first part of the concert lasts approximately 45 minutes,the second part approximately 35 minutes. Theperformance will end at approximately 9.00pm.

Barbican CommitteeChairmanJeremy Mayhew MBA

Deputy ChairmanJohn Barker OBE

Committee MembersChristine Cohen OBE

Andrew ParmleyMaureen KellettLesley King LewisCatherine McGuinessJoyce Nash OBE

Barbara Newman CBE

John Owen WardJohn RobinsKeith SalwayJohn Tomlinson

Clerk to the CommitteeStuart Pick

Barbican DirectorateManaging DirectorSir Nicholas Kenyon

Artistic Director Graham Sheffield

Commercial and VenueServices Director Mark Taylor

Projects and BuildingServices Director Michael Hoch

Finance Director Sandeep Dwesar

Personal Assistant to Sir Nicholas Kenyon Ali Ribchester

Head of MediaRelations Leonora Thomson

Barbican MusicDepartmentHead of MusicRobert van Leer

Executive ProducerVicky Cheetham

Music ProgrammersGijs ElsenBryn Ormrod

Associate MusicProgrammerChris Sharp

ProgrammingConsultantAngela Dixon

ProgrammingAssistantsAndrea JungKaty Morrison

Concerts PlanningManagerFrances Bryant

Music AdministratorThomas Hardy

Head of MarketingChris Denton

Marketing CampaignManagersBethan SheppardGreg Fearon

Marketing AssistantJessica Tomkins

Media RelationsManagers Alex WebbAnnikaisa Vainio

Media Relations OfficerRupert CrossAnna Omakinwa

Production ManagersEddie ShelterJessica Buchanan-BarrowAlison CooperJonathan MayesClaire CornsKate PackhamFiona Todd

Company ProductionManagerRachel Smith

Production CoordinatorCatherine Langston

Technical ManagersJasja van AndelIngo Reinhardt

Technical SupervisorsMark BloxsidgeSteve Mace

TechniciansMaurice AdamsonJason KewSean McDillMartin ShawTom Shipman

Associate ProducerElizabeth Burgess

Stage ManagersChristopher AldertonJulie-Anne Bolton

Stage SupervisorPaul Harcourt

Senior Stage AssistantsAndy ClarkeHannah Wye

Stage AssistantsAdemola AkisanyaMichael CaseyTrevor DavisonMartin ThompsonRobert ReaDanny Harcourt

Technical and StageCoordinatorColette Chilton

2

Notes

Soirée Rossiniana

Cecilia Bartoli mezzo-soprano

Sergio Ciomei piano

3

There’s a popular view that once Gioachino Rossini haddemonstrated his mastery of Parisian grand opera withthe first performances of William Tell in August 1829, andhad been all but promised a French State pension, thatwas it. The most famous composer of the age retiredfrom professional musical life to eat to excess, to enjoyabundant ill-health and to marry his Parisian mistressOlympe Pélissier. It’s true, says this version of Rossini’sbiography, that the promise of a diamond-encrustedsnuff-box and the machinations of an unscrupulouspublisher coaxed a setting of the Stabat mater from thecomposer, while the prospect of eternity may haveencouraged him to write that late masterpiece, the Petitemesse solennelle, but for the remaining three decades ofhis life after William Tell had first rocked musical Paris, themaestro forsook serious composition.

In a celebrated interview with Wagner, who was in Paristo prepare Tannhäuser for the Opéra, Rossini told theyounger composer that he was bone tired after writingoperas at breakneck speed for 17 years. (Some 40operas if you include reworkings and alternativeversions.) He also deplored contemporary standards ofsinging and mourned the disappearance of the castrato.Rossini might have added that a wise artist always senseswhen he is out of step with the times, and Europe wasriding on a flood tide of Romanticism, while he was verymuch an Enlightenment realist. Cynical even. Andcertainly not afraid to deploy a mordant wit. OfWagner’s music he is supposed to have said that it hadsome good moments, but some bad quarter-hours.

So what of the Soirées musicales and sets of Péchés devieillesse, those collections of songs that become everdarker as Rossini grows older? The traditional view is thatthey are mere salon music – slight pieces written to divertthe guests the composer and his new wife invited to theircelebrated Samedi Soirs. Most notably at the apartmenton the corner of the rue de la Chausée d’Antin and theboulevard des Italiens, where the composer made hisParisian home after he and Olympe had bid a finalfarewell to an Italy – and Bologna in particular – thatpleased them no longer. And where the composer hadalso buried his first wife, the singer Isabella Colbran.

These songs are, however, anything but occasional.Some may be slighter than others and some appear tobe little more than compositional callisthenics, butalongside the songs that bubble with irresistibleinconsequentiality are those that bury themselves deep inthe shadows. But they all belong to a distinct musicaltradition and to a particular cultural moment. Thetradition is about Italian song, with its emphasis on wordsfirst and music – above all, melody – second. Bellini andDonizetti, who also feature in Cecilia Bartoli’s SoiréeMusicale alongside their older contemporary Rossini, aredeft exponents of this particular art. The cultural momentis the creation of the French 19th-century salon.

The musical salon, a place for eager amateurs and, ifyou were sufficiently rich or famous, a venue to show offpress-ganged professionals, is one of 19th-centurysociety’s principal leitmotifs. There’s a picture in theManchester City Art Galleries painted in 1875 by James

Tissot called Hush. In the middle of a very grand room,crowned with an imperial chandelier, a young woman ispoised to play her violin. A sizeable audience hasalready taken its place, crowding down the stairs too, inthe hall beyond. The pianist sits ready. But the guests arestill talking, while in the foreground a couple of well-upholstered women – fans to the ready – even have theirbacks to the musicians. And is that the hostess, or perhapsthe girl’s mother, who leans forward, ready to hang onevery note once a hush has descended on the salon? Butwill it? Over a hundred years later that hapless violinist isstill waiting for the chit-chat to recede. She would havedone well to recall Algernon’s remark in The Importanceof Being Earnest when his aunt, Lady Bracknell,announces her forthcoming musical soirée. ‘… if oneplays good music, people don’t listen, and if one playsbad music, people don’t talk.’

Rossini and Olympe Pélissier didn’t invent the musicalsoirée, but when they moved to Paris for good in 1855they set a pattern for such social gatherings, building onthe tradition that the composer had established when hefirst lived there three decades earlier. Everyone whothought themselves to be anyone hoped to be on theguest list. Verdi, Boito, Auber, Meyerbeer, Gounod, Saint-Säens and Liszt (who was regularly persuaded toplay), all made their way on a Saturday night to thesecond-floor apartment on the corner of the rue de laChausée d’Antin. Delacroix was invited and GustaveDoré, who possessed a fine voice as well as prodigiousgifts as an engraver and illustrator, was a regular too.Anton Rubinstein and Pablo de Sarasate and the dancerMarie Taglioni all came to pay homage to the Rossinis –

and enjoy themselves too.

As they arrived, guests were required to hand in theirengraved invitations. Once through the vestibule theywould be received by Olympe in the salon itself. Therewas food, but never as lavish as might have beenexpected from a host who lived to eat and a hostess whowrote to a friend from Italy that she scarcely left thedining table. And some sources say that only a chosenfew were actually fed at all. Quite simply the choicestdelicacies on the menu were music and conversation,which often meant gossip. While Olympe queened it overthe salon proper, Rossini presided in a smaller roomwhere guests gathered to relish his wit and perhaps hisobscenities too. And then there was the music, allperformed to the highest standards and supervised bythe host himself.

These were the occasions for which Rossini wrote themusic later published as Péchés de vieillesse, a worthysuccessor to the Soirées musicales. And the semi-publicnature of the first performances of this music is areminder that conventional divisions between music forpublic and private occasions, between serious andoccasional music, and indeed between amateur andprofessional, belong to our own time rather than the 19thcentury. On first seeing Tissot’s painting Hush we have noway of knowing whether the violinist is the daughter ofthe house or a trained musician hired to entertain theguests. The line between a well-appointed drawing roomand a recital room begins to fade and we have no ideawhat they are going to play a Paganini Caprice or HomeSweet Home.

Notes

4

5

Notes

We know that the three canzonettas in Venetian dialectthat are grouped together as La regata veneziana weregiven their first performance at one of Rossini’s SamediSoirs. They were probably written in the late 1850s, with1858 being the most likely date, and subsequentlypublished in Volume 1 of the Péchés de vieillesse.Anzoleta – Angelina – is of course a mezzo-soprano, thecomposer’s favourite vocal type and she’s just asdetermined to get her man as that other iron-willedheroine, Rosina, in The Barber of Seville. In ‘Anzoletaavanti la regata’, Angelina urges her young gondolierMomolo to win the race and to bring her the prize flag.Then in ‘Anzoleta co passa la regata’ Momolo pullsaway into first place when he sees Angelina glittering inthe crowd. And his prize, when the race is won in the finalsong, ‘Anzoleta dopo la regata’? A kiss, as all Venicetalks about the boy who won the red flag.

At the beginning of the 19th century there werecompelling reasons for an ambitious Italian composer towrite songs. Musical status could only really be achievedin the opera house, and Italian opera was built onmelodic song. What Rossini in his old age deplored mostabout the new generation of opera composers was theabsence of melody in their work, and melody, always atthe service of the words and not the other way round,was the essence of the bel canto tradition.

There were practical considerations too: simple songsquickly written were a ready source of income as thepublic appetite for published music grew ever greaterthrough the 19th century: the bourgeois 19th century witha chicken in every pot and a piano in every parlour. AsJulian Budden has written of Bellini’s songs, ‘There is

nothing here of the German Lied. The poems areconventional; the accompaniments never exploit thepossibilities of the keyboard in the manner of Schubert orSchumann … certainly the operatic world is rarely faraway.’ Nor is there anything here, or in the songs ofDonzetti, that approaches the sophistication of theFrench mélodie. In this respect Lady Bracknell wasn’t farshort of the mark when she was planning the programmefor her proposed musical soirée. ‘French songs I can’tpossibly allow. People always seem to think that they areimproper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, orlaugh, which is worse.’

In defence of the seeming simplicity of these Italian songsyou could also argue that they are easy enough to beperformed by the gifted amateur and equally rewardingfor the professional artist. And let’s not forget that whathas come to be a pretty fixed boundary between thosewho make music for a living and those perform forpleasure was a great deal more fluid 150 years ago.

Bellini wrote L’Abbandono in Paris in 1835 at the end ofhis absurdly short life. Julian Budden suggests that it is asketch for his unfinished opera Ernani, with a librettobased on Victor Hugo’s play Hernani, now rememberedmainly for the riot at its first performance just five yearsearlier. If the introduction to L’Abbandono suggestsChopin’s First Ballade, then that is a reminder that thesetwo composers were closer than many critics will allow. Il fervido desiderio, which is all about lovers who can’twait, was composed for the Countess Sofia Voina beforeBellini left for Paris and is an elegant piece of musicalflattery for an aristocrat’s personal album. Vaga luna,which was also written before Bellini left Milan in search

Notes

6

of greater fame and fortune in France, turns a ratherconventional poem about the silvery moon into one ofthose unmistakable Belliniesque musical meditations,with each verse barely moving between intervals. LaFarfalletta is said to have been written when thecomposer was barely 12 years old, for a puppet show tobe staged by the incipient composer’s playmates.Dolente immagine, suffused with that particularlyBellinian melodic melancholy, dates from 1821 when thecomposer was at the Naples Academy, and sets a text byMaddalena Fumaroli, a pupil with whom the composeris supposed to have been in love, despite the strongdisapproval of the girl’s parents. If that is the case, why isit dedicated to another woman, Nicola Taura? By thetime that he reached Milan and scored a palpable hitwith Il pirata at La Scala, Bellini’s songs had found awilling publisher. Malinconia, ninfa gentile was issued byRicordi in 1829 as the first of Sei ariette. Ma rendi purcontento is the sixth and last of these elegant songscomplete with one of those long-limbed melodies thatonly Bellini can spin.

No Italian composer visited Paris without calling onRossini. In Paris ‘he is the musical oracle’, Bellini told afriend. The older composer had influence and friends inthe right places and he worked hard on behalf of hismusical compatriots, relishing Bellini’s success with I puritani in 1835, though warning the younger man notto be seduced by ‘German’ harmonies. Alas, there waslittle chance of that. By September of the same yearBellini was dead, a full 20 years before the Rossini andOlympe moved into the rue de la Chausée d’Antin.

The music played there on Saturday nights and whenRossini had first come to Paris in the 1820s could beearnest or playful, reflecting the composer’s owntemperament. (A modern diagnosis might be mild manicdepression, though when gloom dug its claws into thecomposer’s shoulder it took a lot of shifting). Rossini’searliest songs, which were written in Italy when he was ayoung man in a hurry to reinvent Italian opera, arealtogether more light-hearted. Or che di fiori adorno ispositively playful, a walk in the country, complete withbird calls in the piano part to make the listener smile.Beltà crudele was written in 1821 when Rossini was incharge of the San Carlo opera house in Naples. Thecomposer grew so attached to the melody for the songthat he used it twice more. Canzonetta spagnuola alsodates from Rossini’s Neapolitan years, with its Spanishtinges doffing a musical cap towards the profoundSpanish influence that permeates that city’s history. We’reback in Italy for La danza, a tarantella that scarcelypauses for breath

At the beginning of the 19th century it was customary forpublishers to issue ariette and canzonette by the half-dozen, complete with fanciful titles. Writing in 1837 to hisbrother-in-law Antonio Vaselli, Gaetano Donizetti makeslight of this kind of songwriting, mostly intended for thesalon. ‘I shall have to write 12 canzonette as usual, to get20 ducats for each, something that in past times I used todo while the rice was cooking.’ But the proof of the songis in the hearing and Donizetti usually cooks up a prettytoothsome vocal risotto. Be wary of taking the composerat his written word, says Julian Budden, these songs‘display a freshness of melodic invention, neat

Notes

7

craftsmanship and, above all, that inexhaustible formalresource that marks the best of his operas’.

INTERVAL 20 minutes

Il barcaiolo is both melodically inventive and neatlycrafted, with plenty of vocal business at the start and asoft ending to the song that allows the singer to displaythe full range of her voice. Amore e morte, in which youcan literally feel the chill of autumn, was published in acollection of three songs entitled Soirées d’automne àl’Infrascati. L’Infrascati is close to Naples and there’s anextrovert Neapolitan feel to many of Donizetti’s songs,reflecting the years that he spent in that city. La conocchiaand Me voglio fà ‘na casa were both published in 1837as Canzone napoletana, using traditional texts in localdialect.

And so to three more ‘Sins of Old Age’. Sins that canmake you smile too. Ariette à l’ancienne is from the thirdvolume of Péchés de vieillesse, and is an elegant exercisein style with a text by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. InL’Orpheline du Tyrol, which is described as a balladeélégie, the hapless orphan of the title is to be heardyodelling. A joke at the expense of Rossini’s William Tell?La grande coquette is from the second book of the sins, astorm of a song in which the magnetic allure of thecoquette ‘even made Pompadour tremble’.

Women as well as men had their salons in 19th-centuryParis. In the demi-monde the ‘grands horizontales’entertained their men friends with music and dancingand conversation. Look no further than Violetta’s party atthe beginning of Verdi’s La traviata or Flora’s rout in theSecond Act. Of course no respectable duchesse or

vicomtesse – or singer either, perhaps – would have beenseen there. They, too, had their Samedi Soirs. PaulineViardot, who had made her operatic debut in 1839, asDesdemona in Rossini’s Otello in London, presided overa music salon in the Boulevard Saint-Germain after she’dretired from the stage. She composed operettas, anopera based on the Cinderella story and over 100 songs.Given that Viardot was born a García – one of the greatSpanish opera families of the 19th century – perhaps herHavanaise can be said to have a more genuine Spanishlilt than many similar French musical excursions across thePyrenees. And the faster second section of the songcertainly keeps the singer on her toes. There’s a stylishsense of regret in Hai luli!, with piano keeping a tactfuldistance from a woman abandoned by her lover.

Vincente García was father of both Pauline Viardot andMaria Malibran – that other great 19th-century singer.García created the role of Count Almaviva in The Barberof Seville in Rome in 1816, while Malibran was also anotable Rossini exponent, singing in Otello, Il turco inItalia and La Cenerentola. Malibran also created thelead role in Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda and Bellini wrote anew version of his last masterpiece, I puritani, for her. Sosongs by father and daughter – García’s Yo que soycontrabandista, and Malibran’s Rataplan – bring us fullcircle in a programme that has abandoned the operahouse for the salon, bidding farewell to William Tell toembrace the sins of old age that were so elegantlyperformed in that second-floor apartment in the rue dela Chausée d’Antin where the very last of Rossini’sSamedi Soirs took place on the 26 Sept 1868.

Programme note © Christopher Cook

Texts and translations

8

Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868)La regata veneziana

1 Anzoleta avanti la regataLa 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 Anzoletache da sto pergolo te sta a vardar.

In pope, Momolo, no te ineantar.In pope, Momolo, cori a svolar!

2 Anzoleta co passa la regataI xe qua, i xe qua, vardeli, vardeli,povereti i ghe da drento,ah contrario tira el vento,i gha I’acqua in so favor.

EI mio Momolo dov’elo?ah lo vedo, el xe secondo.Ah! che smania! me confondo,a tremar me sento el cuor.

Su, coragio, voga, voga,prima d’esser al paletose ti voghi, ghe scometo,tutti indrio lassarà.

Caro, par che el svola,el Ii magna tuti quantimeza barca I’è andà avanti,ah capisso, el m’a vardà.

3 Anzoleta dopo la regataCiapa un baso, un altro ancora,cara Momolo, de cuor; qua destrachite che xe orade sugarte sto sudor.

Three songs in Venetian dialect

1 Angelina before the raceOver there the flag is flying,look, you can see it, now go for it.Bring it back to me this eveningor run away and hide.

Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t start gawping!Row the gondola with heart and soul,then you cannot help being first.Go on, think of your Angelinawatching you from this arbour.

Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t start gawping!Once in the boat, Momolo, go with the wind!

2 Angelina during the raceThey’re coming, they’re coming, look at them,the poor things, they’re nearly all in:ah, but the wind’s against them,but the tide’s running their way.

My Momolo, where is he?Ah, I see him, in second place.Ah! The excitement’s too much for me,my heart’s racing like mad.

Come on, keep it up, row, row,you must be first to the finish,if you keep on rowing, I’ll lay a betyou’ll leave all the others behind.

Dear boy, he’s almost flying,he’s beating the others hollow,he’s gone half a length ahead,ah, now I understand: he’s seen me.

3 Angelina after the raceHere’s a kiss for you, and another,darling Momolo, from my heart;now relax, because I mustdry the sweat from your body.


9

Ah t’o visto co passandosu mi I’ocio ti a butàe 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 traghetoti xe el megio barcarol.

Vincenzo Bellini (1801–35)L’AbbandonoSolitario zeffiretto,a che movi i tuoi sospiri? Il sospiro a me sol lice,ché, dolente ed infelice,chiamo Dafne che non ode I’insoffribil mio martir.

Langue in van la mammolettae la rosa el iI gelsomino;lunge son da lui che adoro,non conosco alcun ristorose non viene a consolarmicol bel guardo cilestrino.

Ape industre, che vagat:dosempre vai di fior in fiore,ascolta.Se lo scorgi ov’ei dimora,di’ che riedi a chi I’adoracome riedi tu nel seno delle rose al primo albor.

Il fervido desiderioQuando verrà quel dìche riveder potròquel che l’amante cortanto desia?

Ah, I saw you, as you passed,throwing a glance at me,and I said, breathing again:he’s going to win a good prize.

Indeed, the prize of this flag,the red one;all Venice is talking about you,they have declared you the victor.

Here’s a kiss, God bless you,no one rows better than you,of all the breed of watermen,you are the best gondolier.

AbandonmentLonely little breeze,why do you sigh?Sighs are meant for me alone,for, grieving and unhappy,I call on Daphnis, who does not hearmy unbearable suffering.

The violet, rose and jasminelanguish in vain;I am far from the one I adore,and have no reliefunless he consoles mewith the gaze of his light blue eyes.

Industrious bee, always flittingfrom flower to flower,listen.If you spy him,tell him to return to the one who adores him,as you return to the rosesat the first light of dawn.

The fervent desireWhen will that day arrivewhen I shall see once morewhat my loving heartso desires?

Please turn page quietly


10

Quando verrà quel dìche in sen t’accoglierò,bella fiamma d’amor,anima mia?

Vaga luna che inargentiVaga luna che inargentiqueste rive e questi fiori,ed inspiri agli elementiil linguaggio dell’amor;testimonio or sei tu soladel mio fervido desir,ed a lei che m’innamoraconta i palpiti e i sospir.

Dille pur che lontananzail mio duol non può lenir,che se nutro una speranza,ella è sol nell’avvenir.Dille pur che giorno e sera conto l’ore del dolor,che una speme lusinghierami conforta nell’amor.

La farfallettaFarfalletta, aspetta, aspetta,non volar con tanta fretta.Far del mal non ti vogl’io;ferma appagar il desir mio.Vo’ baciarti e il cibo darti,da’ perigli preservarti.Di cristallo stanza avraie tranquilla ognor vivrai.

L’ali aurate, screziateso che Aprile t’ha ingemmate,che sei vaga, vispa e snella,fra tue eguali la più bella.Ma crin d’oro ha il mio tesoro,il fancuillo ch’amo e adoro.E a te pari vispo e snellofra i suo’ eguali egli è il più bello.

Vo’ carpirti, ad esso offrirti;più che rose, gigli e mirtiti fia caro il mio fanciullo,

When will that day arrivewhen I shall press you to my breast,my beautiful loved one,my beloved?

Lovely moon, your silver lightLovely moon, your silver lightshines on these banks and these flowers,you inspire the elementsto the language of love;you alone are witnessto my ardent desire,and tell the one I loveof my beating heart and my sighing.

Tell her that distancecannot ease my pain,and that if I cherish one hopeit is for the future alone.Tell her too that day and nightI count the hours of pain,and that one tempting hopecomforts me in love.

Little butterflyLittle butterfly, wait, wait,don’t fly off so quickly.I don’t mean to harm you,stop and fulfil my wish.I want to kiss you and feed you,and save you from danger.You shall have a room of crystaland will always live in peace.

I know that April has adornedyour golden, speckled wings,that you are pretty, lively and graceful,the most lovely of all your kind.But my beloved has golden locks,the lad I love and adore.And he is as lively and graceful as you,the most handsome of all his kind.

I’m going to snatch you and offer you to him;let my lad be dearer to youthan roses, lilies and myrtles,


11

ed a lui sarai trastullo.Nell’aspetto e terso pettorose, e gigli ha il mio diletto.Vieni, scampa da’ perigli,non cercar più rose e gigli.Anonymous

Dolente immagine di Fille miaDolente immagine di Fille mia,perch́́sì squallida mi siedi accanto?Che più desideri? Dirotto piantoio sul tuo cenere versai finor.

Temi che immemore de’ sacri giuriio possa accendermi ad altra face?Ombra di Fillide, riposa in pace,è inestinguibile l’antico ardor.Maddalena Fumaroli

Malinconia, ninfa gentileMalinconia, ninfa gentile,la vita mia consacro a te;i tuoi piaceri chi tiene a vile,ai piacer veri nato non è.

Fonti e colline chiesi agli Dei;m’udiro alfine, pago io vivrò,né mai quel fonte co’ desir miei,né mai quel monte trapasserò.Ippolito Pindemonte

Ma rendi pur contentoMa rendi pur contentodella mia bella il coree ti perdono, Amore,se lieto il mio non è.Gli affanni suoi paventopiù degli affanni miei,perché più vivo in leidi quel ch’io vivo in me.Metastasio

and you will be his plaything.My darling has roses and liliesin the way he looks in his pure heart.Come, escape from dangerand look no more for roses and lilies.

Sorrowful likeness of my PhyllisSorrowful likeness of my Phyllis,why do you sit at my side so disconsolately?What more do you desire? I have poured out rivers oftears on your ashes.

Are you afraid that I shall forget my sacred vows?that I could be inflamed by another?Shade of Phyllis, rest in peace,my passion of old will never fail.

Melancholy, gracious nymphMelancholy, gracious nymph,I devote my life to you,whoever disdains your pleasuresis not born for true pleasures.

I asked the gods for springs and hills,they heard me at last, and I shall live content,I shall never desire to pass beyondthat spring or that mountain.

Only make happyOnly make happythe heart of my beautiful lady,And I will pardon you, love,If my own heart is not glad.Her troubles I fearmore than my own troubles,Because I live more in herThan I live in myself.



12

RossiniOr che di fiori adornoOr che di fiori adornosorride il colle, il prato,e dolce cosa intornogirsene a passeggiar.

Placidi ovunque spiranosoavi zeffiretti,s’odono gli augellettifra i rami a gorgheggiar.Anonymous

Beltà crudeleAmori scendete,propizi al mio core,d’un laccio, d’un fioredeh fatemi don.

Se Nice m’accoglie,ridente, vezzosa,le porgo la rosa,le dono il mio core.

Se vuol poi l’ingrata vedermi ramingo …Che dico? … ah la cingo col laccio d’amor.Anonymous

Canzonetta spagnuolaEn medio a mis colores, ay,pintando estaba un día, ay,cuando la musa mía, ay,me vino a tormentar, ay.

Ay, con dolor pues dejoempresa tan felizcual es de bella Nicelas prendas celebrar, ay.

Quiso que yo pintase, ay,objeto sobrehumano, ay,pero lo quiso en vano, ay,lo tuvo que dejar, ay.

Now adorned with flowersNow adorned with flowersand hills and meadows smile,and it is pleasantto stroll around.

Everywhere tranquil breezessoftly blow,and in the boughsthe little birds are heard warbling.

Cupids, descendto assist my heart’s designs;come, present me with a ribbon and a rose.

If Nice should welcome mewith smiles and caresses,I’ll give her the rose,I’ll give her my heart.

But if the cruel girl prefersto leave me all alone …what then? … I’ll bind her to me with a love-knot.

Surrounded by my coloursI was painting one daywhen my Muse came to torment me.

With sadness then I leftmy happy task of celebrating the charmsof the fair Nice.

My Muse asked me to depicta more spiritual subject;but she asked in vain,for I could not do so.


13

Ay, con dolor, etc.

Conoce la hermosura, ay,un corazón vagado, ay,mas su destin malvado, ay,le impide de cantar, ay.

Ay, con dolor, etc.Anonymous

La danzaGià la luna è in mezzo al mare,mamma mia, si salterà;l’ora è bella per danzare,chi è in amor non mancherà.

Già la luna è in mezzo al mare,mamma mia, si salterà.Presto in danza a tondo a tondo,donne mie, venite qua;un garzon bello e giocondoa ciascuna toccherà.Carlo Pepoli

INTERVAL 20 minutes

Gaetano Donizetti (1797–1848)Il barcaioloVoga, voga, il vento tace,pura è l’onda, il ciel sereno,solo un alito di pacepar che allegri e cielo e mar:voga, voga, o marinar.

Or che tutto a noi sorridein sì tenero momento,all’ebbrezza del contentovoglio l’alme abbandonar,voga, voga, or marinar.

Voga, voga, il vento tace, etc.

With sadness then I left, etc.

An inconstant heartmay know beauty, but its cruel destiny prevents it from singing.

With sadness then I left, etc.

The danceNow the moon is above the sea,mamma mia, how we’ll leap!The time is perfect for dancing,all those in love will be there.

Now the moon is above the sea,mamma mia, how we’ll leap!Quickly dance in a ring,my ladies, come here;every one shall havea handsome, lively lad.

The boatmanRow, row, the wind has stilled,the waves are clear, the sky serene,it seems that only a peaceful breezestirs the sky and sea:row, row, o boatman.

Now that everything smiles on usat this tender moment,I wish to abandon our soulsto a joyful ecstasy,row, row, o boatman.

Row, row, the wind has stilled, etc.



14

Ché se infiera la tempesta,ambidue ne tragge a morte,sarà lieta la mia sorte,al tuo fianco io vuo’ spirar:voga, voga, o marinar.L. Tarantini

Amore e morteOdi d’un uom che muore,odi l’estremo suon.Quest’appassito fioreti lascio, Elvira, in don.Quanto prezioso ei siatu déi saperlo appien.Nel dì che fosti miate lo involai dal sen.

Simboli allor d’affettoor pegno di dolor.Torna posarti in pettoquesto appassito fior.E avrai nel cor scolpito,se duro il cor non è,come ti fu rapitocome ritorna a te.G. L. Redaelli

La conocchiaQuann’a lo bello mio voglio parlare,ca spisso me ne vene lu golio,a la fenesta me mett’a filare,quann’a lo bello mio voglio parlare.

Quann’isso passa, po’ rompo lo filoe con ‘na grazia me mett’a priare,bello, peccarità, proitemillo,isso lu piglia, e io lo sto a guardare.E accossì me ne vao’mpilo mpilo a jemmè!Canzone napoletana

Me voglio fà ‘na casaMe voglio fà ‘na casa miez’ ‘o marefravecata de penne de pavune.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.

For if the tempest roars,and both of us are dragged down to death,my fate will be a happy one,for by your side I wish to die:row, row, o boatman.

Love and deathHear the last wordsof a man who is dying.I leave you this faded flower,Elvira, as a gift.You well knowhow precious it is.On the day that you were mineI stole it from your breast.

A symbol then of affection,now a token of grief.This faded flower returnsto rest in your breast.And you will have engraved on your heart,if your heart is not hardened,how it was stolen from youand how it returns to you.

The distaffWhen I want to speak to you my sweetheart,for I often feel the desire,I sit at my window and spin,when I want to speak to my sweetheart.

When he comes past, I snap the thread,and gracefully I ask,my dear, please hand it back to me,and as he picks it up, I just gaze after himAnd so this longing consumes me, day after day!

I want to build a houseI want to build a house surrounded by sea,made of peacock feathers.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.


15

D’oro e d’argiento li scaline faree de prete preziuse li barcune.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.

Quanno Nennella mia se va a affacciareognuno dice, mo’ sponta lu sole.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.Canzone napoletana

Gioachino Rossini Ariette à l’ancienneQue le jour me durepassé loin de toi!Toute la naturen’est plus rien pour moi.

Le plus vert bocagequand tu n’y viens pasn’est qu’un lieu sauvagepour moi sans appas.Jean-Jacques Rousseau

L’Orpheline du TyrolSeule, une pauvre enfant sans parentsimplore le passant en tremblant.‘Ah voyez mes douleurs et mes pleurs!Ma mère dort ailleurs sous les fleurs.’

L’humble enfant orpheline a bien faimet pour un peu de pain tend la main.‘Je chanterai mon vieux refrain:Ah, loin de mon doux Tyrol,mon coeur brisé prendra son vol.L’écho muet des boisn’entendra plus ma triste voix:Ah Dieu, j’espère en toi,prends pitié, prend pitié de moi!

Ma mère, ton adieu en ce lieum’inspire mon seul voeu au bon Dieu.À quinze ans tant souffrir c’est mourir,ne peux-tu revenir me bénir?Pourquoi le froid trépas et le glast’ont-ils saisie, hélas, dans mes bras?Ton coeur glacé ne m’entend pas:ah! la douleur et la faim

I shall make the stairs of gold and silver,and the balconies of precious stones.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.

When my Nennella leans outeveryone will say, now the sun has come out.Tralla la le la, tra la la la.

Ariette in the Old StyleHow the days seem long,When I am far from you!Nature herselfNow means nothing to me.

The greenest copseWithout youIs a mere wildernessAnd holds no charm for me.

The Tyrolean orphan girlAlone, a poor girl with no parentsTimorously begs from passers-by.‘Oh, see my pain and my tears!My mother sleeps, far away, beneath flowers.’

The humble orphan girl is hungryAnd holds out her hand for a little bread.’I shall sing my old song:Oh, far from the Tyrol that is dear to me,My broken heart takes flight.The silent echo of the woodsWill hear my sad voice no more:Oh Lord, my hope lies in you,Have pity, have pity on me!

Mother, your farewell from this placeCarries with it my prayer to the Good Lord.For me, just 15 years old, such suffering is death,Will you never return to give me your blessing?Why did the chill of death and the tolling knellSnatch you, alas, from my arms?Your frozen heart cannot hear me:Oh, grief and hunger Please turn page quietly


16

à mes tourments vont mettre fin;ma mère, je te vois,j’entends de loin ta douce voix: Ah! Dieu, j’espère en toi,prends pitié, prends pitié de moi!’Émilien Pacini

La grande coquetteLa perle des coquettesne fait que des conquêtesdans ses riches toilettesaux menuets de cour.Pour moi tournent les têtes,les coeurs sont pris d’amour,Et je crois même qu’un beau jourj’ait fait trembler Pompadour.

Dans une belle ivresseplus d’un marquis s’empresseà m’offrir sa tendresse...je les dédaigne tous.En vain chacun m’implore,me jure qu’il m’adore à genoux.Je veux que l’on m’admire,pour moi que l’on soupire;de l’amour que j’inspire,de ce brûlant déliremoi je ne sais que rire.Ma foi! tant pis pour eux!Malheur aux amoureux!

A plus d’une rivaleje fus souvent fatale;ma grâce triomphalea séduit maint galant,coquette sans égale,qu’on n’aime qu’en tremblant.On pleure, on se désoleaux pieds de son idole vainement.Avec indifférence.j’aime à voir la souffranced’un coeur sans espérance,en proie à la démenceimplorant ma clémence,mais sans me désarmernon, je ne veux jamais aimer.

Will soon end my suffering;Mother, I see you,In the distance I hear your sweet voice:Oh Lord, my hope lies in you,Have pity, have pity on me!’

T̀he great coquetteThe most magnificent coquetteconquers all in her pathwith her splendid robeswhile the minuet plays at court.For me, heads turnand hearts are captured.I believe that one fine day,I even made Pompadour tremble.

In the flower of intoxication,More than one lord hastens To make love to me,But I hear none of them.In vain does each implore me,Swear on his knees his love for me. I want to be admired,and sighed for;but this love they feel for me,this burning frenzy,it just makes me laugh.Heavens, too bad for them!Let lovers be miserable!

More than one rivalhas been crushed by me;My magnificent gracehas melted the heart of many a young knight.For I am the coquette of all coquettesthat men must love, trembling.They cry and lamentat the feet of their idol in vain.Coldly,I like to watch the tormentof a heart of hope. driven to madness,begging for mercy.But I do not yield;no, I will never love.


17

Brillants Seigneurs, muguets de cour,pour vous jamais d’amour.et si vous me faites la cour,n’espérez nul retour.pour vous jamais d’amour!Émilien Pacini

Pauline Viardot (1821–1910)HavanaiseVente niña conmigo al marque en la playa tengo un bajel,Bogaremos a dos en élque allí sólo se sabe amar.Ay rubita si tu supieras,Ay rubita si supieras … Ah! Ah!Vente niña, etc.Ay ay ay rubita, dame tu amar.

Sur la rive le flot d’argentEn chantant brise mollement,Et des eaux avec le ciel purSe confond l’azur!Sois moins rebelle.Ô ma belle, la mer t’appelle!Ah! viens, viens, viens!À ses chants laisse-toi charmer!Ah, viens, c’est là qu’on sait aimer, etc.

Sois, ma belle, moins rebelle,Laisse-toi charmer,Oui, laisse-toi charmer,Ô belle!C’est en mer que l’on said aimer, etc.

Rubita, ay vente conmigo al mar,Bogaremos a dos en él,Que allí sólo se sabe amar!Vente rubita, vente rubita,Vente al mar, al mar!Louis Pomey

Great rulers or courtly fops,there will never be love for you;and if you come a-courting me,Expect nothing as your reward;I shall never love you.

Come with me, my child, to the sea,for on the shore I have a boat;we shall row it together,for only there do people know how to love.Ah, my fair one, if only you knew,if only you knew … Ah, ah!Come with me, my child, etc.Ay ay, my fair one, give me your love.

Upon the bank the silver wavegently breaks up while singing,and the waters and the pure skymerge in the azure distance!Be less stubborn.O my fair one, the sea calls you!Ah! come, come, come!Let yourself be charmed by its song, come,it is there that people know how to love.

O my fair one, be less stubborn,let yourself be charmed,yes, let yourself be charmed,o my fair one!It is at sea that people know how to love …

Fair one, come with me to the sea,we shall row together,for only there do people know how to love.Come, my fair one, come,come to the sea!



18

Hai luli!Je suis triste, je m’inquiète,Je ne sais plus que devenir,Mon bon ami devait venir,Et je l’attends ici seulette.Hai luli! Hai luli!Où donc peut être mon ami?, etc.

Je m’assieds pour filer ma laine,Le fil se casse dans ma main …Allons, je filerai demain;Aujourd’hui je suis trop en peine!Hai luli! Hai luli!Qu’il fait triste sans son ami!, etc.

Si jamais il devient volage,S’il doit un jour m’abandonner,Le village n’a qu’à brûler,Et moi-même avec le village!Hai luli! Hai luli!À quoi bon vivre sans ami?, etc.Xavier de Maistre

Manuel del Pópulo Vicente García (1775–1832)Yo que soy contrabandinsta:caballo from the monodrama ‘El poetacalculista’

El PoetaYo que soy contrabandistay campo por mi respeto,a todos los desafiopues a naide tengo mieo.Ay, ay, ay, jaleo muchachos,¿quién me merca algún hilo negro?Mi caballo está cansaoy yo me marcho corriendo.¡Ay, ay, ay, ay, que viene la ronday se movió el tiroteo!Ay, ay, caballito mío, caballo mío, careto,ay, jaleo, ay, jaleo, que nos cojen.¡Ay, sácame de este aprieto!¡Ay, caballito, jaleo,ay, caballito, jaleo!Anonymous

Willow-waleyI am sad, I am anxious,I don’t know what’s to become of me,my true friend was to have come,and here I wait all lonesome.Willow-waley! Willow-waley!Where can he be, my lover?, etc.

I sit myself down to spin my wool,the thread breaks in my hand …Come, I will spin tomorrow;today I’m too full of sorrow!Willow-waley! Willow-waley!How sad it is without my lover!, etc.

If ever he turns fickle,if one day he is to desert me,the village only has to burn down, and I with the village!Willow-waley! Willow-waley!What’s the point of living without a lover?, etc.

The PoetI’m a smugglerand I do as I please,I defy one and all,because I fear no one.Ah, ah, ah, here’s trouble, boys, who’ll buy my fine tobacco?My horse is worn out,and I set off at a run. Ah, ah, ah, ah, for the patrol’s on its way and the shooting’s begun!Ah, ah, my little horse, my white-faced horse, ah, here’s trouble, they’re catching us. Ah, get me out of this scrape!Ah, little horse, here’s trouble, ah, little horse, here’s trouble!


19

Maria Malibran (1808–36)RataplanRataplan, tambour habile, rataplan, pataplan, pataplan, rataplan, matin et soir,rataplan, plan par la ville, rataplan, plan plan, plan plan,je vais toujours tambour battant – Rrrrrrrrrrran plan plan pataplan pataplan, etc.

Aux plaines des pyramides j’ai mené tambour battant, ranpataplan pataplan pataplan, les français de gloire avides à la victoire en chantant, mais au sort toujours docile me voilà dans mes foyers, devenu tambour de ville, de tambour de grenadiers.

Rataplan, etc.

Et quand de quitter la terre enfin ce sera mon tour, ranpataplan pataplan pataplan, je désire qu’on m’enterre à côté de mon tambour ; quand des anges les trompettes sonneront le jugement, je pourrai de mes baguettes faire un accompagnement, plan plan plan plan.

Rataplan, etc.Anonymous

RatatatRatatat, the skilful drummer, ratatat, ratatat, ratatat, ratatat, morning and night,ratatat, tat through the town, ratatat, tat-tat, tat-tat,do I march, always beating my drum – Rrrrrrrrrrrat tat tat, ratatat, ratatat, etc.

To the plains of the pyramidsI led to victory, beating my drum, ratatatat, ratatat, ratatat,the French troops hungry for glory, singing as they went, but obeying my fate as ever,here I am back home,the town drummer now,the grenadier drummer.

Ratatat, etc.

And when my time finally comesto leave this earth behind, ratatatat, ratatat, ratatat,I want to be buriedalongside my drum;when the angelic trumpetssound the last judgement,I’ll be able to accompany themwith my drumsticks,tat tat tat tat.

Ratatat, etc.

Barbican CentreSilk Street, London EC2Y 8DS

Administration 020 7638 4141 Box Office 020 7638 8891

Great Performers Last-Minute ConcertInformation Hotline 0845 120 7505

www.barbican.org.uk

Programme produced by Harriet Smith; printed by Sharp Print Limited; advertising by Cabbell (tel. 020 8971 8450)

Please make sure that all digital watch alarms and mobile phones are switched off during the performance. In accordance with the requirements of the licensingauthority, sitting or standing in any gangway is not permitted. Smoking is notpermitted anywhere on the Barbican premises. No eating or drinking is allowed in the auditorium. No cameras, tape recorders or any other recording equipmentmay be taken into the hall.

Translations by Avril Bardoni, Charles Bourne, Kenneth Chalmers, Susannah Howe and Barbara Miller. All texts and translations reprinted with kind permission from the Decca Music Group.

About the performers

20

Cecilia Bartolimezzo-soprano

For more than two decadesCecilia Bartoli has been aleading classical artist, viaperformances in operahouses and concert hallsaround the world and throughher best-selling and criticallyacclaimed recordings, whichin recent years have centredaround the rediscovery ofneglected repertoire.

Herbert von Karajan, Daniel Barenboim and NikolausHarnoncourt were among the first conductors withwhom Cecilia Bartoli worked. Since then, she hasdeveloped regular partnerships with renownedconductors, pianists and orchestras, most recentlyperiod-instrument ensembles including the Akademie fürAlte Musik, Les Arts Florissants, Concentus Musicus Wien,Freiburger Barockorchester, Il Giardino Armonico,Kammerorchester Basel, Les Musiciens du Louvre,Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and Orchestra LaScintilla. Increasingly, she is involved with orchestralprojects for which she assumes overall artisticresponsibility.

Cecilia Bartoli’s stage appearances include theMetropolitan Opera, New York, Royal Opera House,Covent Garden, La Scala, Milan, Bavarian State Operaand the Zurich Opera House. Most recently, her roleshave included Rossini’s Fiorilla (Il turco in Italia),Cleopatra (Giulio Cesare) and the title-roles in Semeleand Halévy’s Clari.

She is currently focusing on the 19th century, and inparticular the legendary singer Maria Malibran, whose200th birthday earlier this year she celebrated with nofewer than three concerts in one day, alongside artistssuch as Lang Lang, Vadim Repin, Adám Fischer andMyung-Whun Chung. Her Malibran album, Maria,received two Grammy nominations.

Among Cecilia Bartoli’s many awards are an Italianknighthood, the Italian Bellini d’Oro prize and honorarymembership of the Royal Academy of Music.

Sergio Ciomei piano

The Italian organist andharpsichordist, Sergio Ciomei,graduated in piano in 1984.He then went on to study withMuriel Chemin, Piero Rattalinoand András Schiff, winningseveral piano competitions,which helped to launch hiscareer. He also studiedharpsichord (with ChristopheRousset and J. W. Jansen) andfortepiano (with Andreas

Staier and Laura Alvini). From 1989 to 1994 he wasassistant to Frans Brüggen and Kees Boete in runningBaroque courses at the Accademia Chigiana in Siena.

As a pianist and harpsichordist, Sergio Ciomei gives solorecitals worldwide, as well as performing as a memberof Europa Galante and Triple Concordia. He has playedunder the direction of Frans Brüggen, Fabio Biondi andDavid del Pino Klinge and has performed in such venuesas the Berlin Philharmonie, the Auditorium Nacional inMadrid, the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris and theTheatre Universidad Santiago de Chile.

He began working with Cecilia Bartoli in 2001, and hasappeared with her at many major European venues.

Sergio Ciomei’s discography includes solo, chamberand orchestral appearances on several labels; thosewith Triple Concordia and Europa Galante have beenparticularly well received.

soirée rossiniana cecilia bartoli mezzo-soprano sergio ciomei piano donizetti

Documents