feb 19, 20, 21 feb 19, 20, 21

feb 19, 20, 21
Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest
Sibelius: The Tempest, Incidental Music: Ariel’s Songs
Ariels første sang
Kom herhid paa gule Sand,
Haand i Haand, Allemand;
naar I nejet har og kysset, —
Havets vilde Larm er dysset, —
træder flink med lette Fjed;
Aander, synger Koret med.
Hør, hør! Vov, vov!
Hunden gjøer; Vov, vov!
Kykkeliky!
Hør, hør, hvor kjæk og kry
Hanen galer højt i sky,
højt i Sky! Kykkeliky!
Ariels anden sang
Fem Favne dybt har din Fader sin Bo
Koraller af hans Ben er skabt;
til Perler blev hans Øjne to;
slet Intet af ham er spildt eller tabt;
hver Del har Havet forvandlet brat
alt til en kostelig, sjælden Skat.
Havfruer ham hædre med Klokkeklang;
nu klinger den, hør:
— Ding, Dang, Ding Dang .—
Ariels tredje sang
Medens trygt I snorke her,
er den vaagne Morder nær,
tager Tiden i agt.
Hvis I livet frelse vil
op af Søvnen! se vel til!
vaagn op! vær paa Vagt!
Vær paa Vagt.
Ariels fjerde sang
Før du drage kan dit Vejr,
sige “kom” og raabe “her”!
let paa Taa skal En og Hver
trippe, hoppe, være nær, —
Mester, har du saa mig kjær?
Ariels femte sang
Med Bien drikker jeg af Krus,
Konvallens Bæger er mit Hus,
mens Uglerne tude, der har jeg mit Ly;
jeg sadler op en Flagermus
og rider saa lystelig Sommer i By,
hvor Blomster i Klynge paa Grenene gro
skal jeg leve med Lyst i min luftige Bo.
Ariel’s First Song
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Curtsied when you have, and kissed
The wild wawes whist,
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark! Bow-wow!
The watch-dogs bark: Bow-wow!
Cock-a-doodle doo!
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-doo.
Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest
Lilli Paasikivi, who was engaged as soloist for these concerts, has been forced to withdraw
for health reasons. We are pleased to announce that mezzo Heather Johnson has
graciously agreed to step in on short notice to sing both of the works on this program.
Please note that the Shakespeare texts being read in these performances of Sibelius’
The Tempest were selected by Joe Dowling himself, rather than Osmo Vänskä, as is
incorrectly stated of page 43 of Showcase.
Heather Johnson, mezzo
Minnesota native Heather Johnson, now welcomed for her Minnesota Orchestra debut,
is acclaimed for both opera and concert performances throughout North America and
in Europe.
Recent, upcoming: Her engagements this season include singing in Salome for her
Dallas Opera debut, the world premiere of Jeremy Howard Beck’s The Long Walk
Home with Opera Saratoga and The Rake’s Progress with Boston Lyric Opera. In recent
seasons she has appeared with American Ballet Theater, Virginia Opera and Baltimore
Concert Opera, and at the Moab, Tanglewood and Napa Valley music festivals. Locally
she sang Rosina in The Barber of Seville with Mill City Summer Opera.
Ariel’s Second Song
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them—ding-dong, bell.
Additional highlights: She has sung with the Metropolitan Opera, Boston Lyric
Opera, Sarasota Opera and New York City Opera, and she has performed in concert
with the Boston Pops Orchestra, Virginia Symphony and New York Choral Society.
More: lombardoassociates.org, heatherjohnsonmezzo.com.
Ariel’s Third Song
While you here do snoring lie,
Open-eyed conspiracy
His time doth take:
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake! Awake!
Ariel’s Fourth Song
Before you can say, “Come” and “go”,
And breathe twice and cry, “so, so!”
Each one, tripping on his toe,
Will be here with mop and mow.
Do you love me, Master? no?
Ariel’s Fifth Song
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
– Texts excerpted from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest
GE-1415-106 Tempest insert, Feb 19-21.indd 1
feb 19, 20, 21
Texts and Translations
Berlioz: Les nuits d’été (Summer Nights)
Villanelle
Villanelle
Le printemps est venu, ma belle;
c’est le mois des amants béni;
et l’oiseau, satinant son aile,
dit ses vers au rebord du nid.
Oh! viens donc, sur ce banc de mousse
pour parler de nos beaux amours,
et dis-moi de ta voix si douce:
“Toujours!”
Spring has come, my lovely;
this is the month most blessed by lovers;
and the bird, preening its wings until they are like satin,
recites its lines at the edge of its nest.
Oh! Come then onto this mossy bank
to speak of our beautiful loves,
and tell me in your voice so soft:
“Forever!”
Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses,
faisant fuir le lapin caché,
et le daim au miroir des sources
admirant son grand bois penché,
puis chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises,
en panier enlaçant nos doigts,
revenons, rapportant des fraises
des bois.
Far, so far away, we stray from our path,
setting to flight the hiding rabbit
and the buck admiring in the mirror of the water
its great lowered antlers;
then homeward we shall go, content and at ease,
entwining our fingers together like baskets;
and we shall return home carrying
wild strawberries!
Quand viendra la saison nouvelle,
quand auront disparu les froids,
tous les deux nous irons, ma belle,
pour cueillir le muguet aux bois;
sous nos pieds égrénant les perles,
oue l’on voit au matin trembler,
Nous irons écouter les merles
siffler.
When the new season arrives,
when the cold is gone,
together we will go, my lovely,
to gather lilies of the valley in the woods;
strewing beneath our feet the pearls
we see trembling each morning,
we shall go to listen to the blackbirds
singing.
2/17/15 9:42 AM
feb 19, 20, 21
Le spectre de la rose
Soulêve ta paupière close
qu’effleure un songe virginal;
Je suis le spectre d’une rose
que tu portais hier au bal.
Tu me pris encore emperlée
des pleurs d’argent de l’arrosoir,
et, parmi la fête étoilée,
tu me promenas tout le soir.
Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest
The Ghost of the Rose
Open your closed eyelid
which is gently brushed by a virginal dream!
I am the ghost of the rose
that you wore last night at the ball.
You took me when I was still sprinkled with pearls
of silvery tears from the watering-can,
and, among the sparkling festivities,
you carried me the entire night.
Ô toi qui de ma mort fus cause,
sans que tu puisses le chasser,
toutes les nuits mon spectre rose
a ton chevet viendra danser.
Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame
ni messe ni De Profundis;
ce léger parfum est mon äme,
et j’arrive du du paradis.
O you, who caused my death:
without the power to chase it away,
you will be visited every night by my ghost,
which will dance at your bedside.
But fear nothing; I demand
neither mass nor De Profundis;
this mild perfume is my soul,
and I’ve come from Paradise.
Mon destin fut digne d’envie,
et pour avoir un sort si beau,
plus d’un aurait donné sa vie,
car sur ton sein j’ai mon tombeau,
et sur l’albâtre où je repose
un poëte avec un baiser
écrivit: “Ci-gît une rose
que tous les rois vonlt jalouser.”
My destiny is worthy of envy;
and to have a fate so fine,
more than one would give his life
for on your breast I have my tomb,
and on the alabaster where I rest,
a poet with a kiss
wrote: “Here lies a rose,
of which all kings may be jealous.”
Sur les lagunes
On the Lagoons
Ma belle amie est morte:
je pleurerai toujours;
sous la tombe elle emporte
mon âme et mes amours.
Dans le ciel, sans m’attendre,
elle s’en retourna;
l’ange qui l’emmena
ne voulut pas me prendre.
Que mon sort es amer!
Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer!
My beautiful love is dead,
I shall weep always;
into the tomb, she has taken
my soul and my love.
Without waiting for me,
she has returned to heaven.
The angel which took her there
did not want to take me.
How bitter is my fate!
Ah! without love, to go to sea!
La blanche créature
Eest couchée au cercueil.
comme dans la nature
tout me paraît en deuil!
La colombe oubliée
pleure et songe à l’absent;
mon âme pleure et sent
qu’elle est dépareillée.
Que mon sort est amer!
Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer!
The white creature
is lying in the coffin;
how all in Nature
seems bereaved to me!
The forgotten dove
weeps and dreams of the one who is absent;
my soul cries and feels
that it has been abandoned.
How bitter is my fate!
Ah! without love, to go to sea!
Sur moi la nuit immense
s’étend comme un linceul;
je chante ma romance
que le ciel entend seul.
Ah! comme elle était belle,
Et comme je l’aimais!
Je n’aimerai jamais
une femme autant qu’elle.
Que mon sort est amer!
Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer!
Above me the immense night
spreads itself like a shroud;
I sing my romanza
that heaven alone hears.
Ah! how beautiful she was,
and how I loved her!
I will never love
another woman as much as I loved her;
How bitter is my fate!
ah! without love, to go to sea!
GE-1415-106 Tempest insert, Feb 19-21.indd 2
Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest
feb 19, 20, 21
Absence
Absence
L’île inconnue
The Unknown Isle
Entre nos coeurs quelle distance!
Tant d’espace entre nos baisers!
Ô sort amer! ô dure absence!
Ô grands désirs inapaisés!
Between our hearts such distance!
Such space between our kisses!
O bitter destiny! O harsh absence!
O great, unappeasable desires!
D’ici là-bas que de campagnes,
que de villes et de hameaux,
que de vallons et de montagnes,
a lasser le pied des chevaux!
Between here and there what lands,
what cities and hamlets,
what valleys and montains,
to exhaust the feet of horses!
L’aviron est d’ivoire,
le pavillon de moire,
le gouvernail d’or fin;
j’ai pour lest une orange,
pour voile une aile d’ange,
pour mousse un séraphin.
The oar is made of ivory,
the flag is of silk,
the helm is of fine gold;
I have for ballast an orange,
for a sail, the wing of an angel,
for a deck boy, a seraph.
Dites, la jeune belle!
où voulez-vous aller?
La voile enfle son aile,
la brise va souffler!
Say, young beauty,
Where do you wish to go?
The sail swells,
The breeze will blow.
Est-ce dans la Baltique,
dans la mer Pacifique,
dans l’île de Java?
Ou bien est-ce en Norwége,
cueillir la fleur de neige,
ou la fleur d’Angsoka?
Is it to the Baltic?
To the Pacific Ocean?
To the island of Java?
Or is it well to Norway,
to gather the flower of the snow,
or the flower of Angsoka?
Dites, la jeune belle,
où voulez-vous aller?
—Menez-moi, dit la belle,
á la rive fidèle
où l’on aime toujours.
—Cette rive, ma chère,
on ne la connaît guère
au pays des amours.
Say, young beauty,
Where do you wish to go?
—Lead me, says the beauty,
to the faithful shore
where one loves always!
—This shore, my darling,
we hardly know at all
in the land of Love.
– Poetry by Pierre-Jules Théophile Gautier,
1838; modified slightly by Hector Berlioz
– Translation © 2015 by Emily Ezust,
[email protected]
Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aimée!
Comme une fleur loin du soleil,
la fleur de ma vie est fermée,
loin de ton sourire vermeil.
Au cimetière; Clair de lune
Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe,
où flotte avec un son plaintif
l’ombre d’un if?
Sur l’if une pâle colombe,
triste et seule au soleil couchant,
chante son chant:
Return, return, my beloved!
Like a flower far from the sun,
the flower of my life is shut,
far from your rosy smile!
In the Graveyard; Moonlight
Do you know the white tomb
where floats with plaintive sound,
the shadow of a yew?
On the yew a pale dove,
sad and alone under the setting sun,
sings its song:
Un air maladivement tendre,
à la fois charmant et fatal,
qui vous fait mal,
et qu’on voudrait toujours entendre;
un air, comme en soupire aux cieux
a’ange amoureux.
An air sickly tender,
at the same time charming and ominous,
which makes you feel agony
yet which you wish to hear always;
an air like a sigh from the heavens
of a love-lorn angel.
On dirait que l’âme éveillée
pleure sous terre à l’unisson
de la chanson,
et du malheur d’être oubliée
se plaint dans un roucoulement
bien doucement.
One would say that an awakened soul
is weeping under the earth in unison
with this song,
and from the misfortune of being forgotten,
moans its sorrow in a cooing
quite soft.
Sur les ailes de la musique
on sent lentement revenir
un souvenir;
Une ombre, une forme angélique,
passe dans un rayon tremblant,
en voile blanc.
On the wings of the music
one feels the slow return
of a memory.
A shadow, a form angelic,
passes in a trembling ray of light,
in a white veil.
Les belles-de-nuit demi-closes,
jettent leur parfum faible et doux
autour de vous,
et le fantôme aux molles poses
murmure en vous tendant les bras:
“Tu reviendras?”
The beautiful flowers of the night, half-closed,
send their perfume, faint and sweet,
around you,
and the phantom of soft form
murmurs, reaching to you her arms:
“You will return!”
Oh! jamais plus, près de la tombe,
je n’irai, quand descend le soir
au manteau noir,
ecouter la pâle colombe
chanter sur la pointe de l’if
son chant plaintif!
Oh! never again near the tomb
shall I go, when night lets fall
its black mantle,
to hear the pale dove
sing on the limb of the yew
its plaintive song!
Dites, la jeune belle,
où voulez-vous aller?
La voile ouvre son aile,
la brise va souffler!
Say, young beauty,
where do you wish to go?
The sail swells,
the breeze will blow.
2/17/15 9:42 AM