Sunday 8 November 2009 7.30pm
Union Chapel
Les Arts Florissants
Paul Agnew director
Miriam Allan soprano
Hannah Morrison soprano
Maud Gnidzaz soprano
Anne Maugard mezzo-soprano
Sean Clayton tenor
Lisandro Abadie bass
Nanja Breedijk harp
Massimo Moscardo archlute
Jonathan Rubin theorbo
Florian Carré harpsichord
Paul Gély
Monteverdi Sixth Book of Madrigals
These concerts are part of a series of programmes
between London and Paris co-produced by the Barbican
Centre, the Salle Pleyel and the Cité de la Musique on the
occasion of the 30th anniversary of Les Arts Florissants.
introduction
Les Arts Florissants at 30
What a difference a generation makes. In the past 30 years, the world of Baroque music-making has been transformed.
Musicians had for a while been acquiring the skills of playing old instruments and rediscovering former playing styles, but it
was only during the 1970s that these made a major impact on the wider public. Of course there had been pioneers before
this: a whole generation of enthusiasts and researchers had explored old repertory, and Arnold Dolmetsch had played his
clavichord in candlelit London drawing rooms to the delight of George Bernard Shaw and Percy Grainger. But this was
essentially an esoteric activity – until a new generation of players and conductors launched themselves into the re-creation of
Baroque ensembles in the 1970s.
William Christie’s achievement with his French group Les Arts Florissants from 1979 onwards has been an outstanding part of
this revival, for it grew out of a repertory that many had thought inaccessible – the distant world of the French Baroque, with
its rich and dense texts, its complex ornamentation and rhetoric, and its unfamiliar emotional language. What Christie and
his young ensemble achieved in spectacular fashion was to show how, when performed with penetrating understanding and
vivid communication, this music could be made as available and exciting as any on offer. From Charpentier (who gave the
ensemble its name) and Lully through to Rameau, Les Arts Florissants lit up this music and brought it to life with unparalleled
success.
Christie’s ensemble has moved from the French Baroque into Handel and Purcell, Monteverdi and Landi, and beyond that to
Haydn and Mozart. It has gained a huge following for its fresh insights into Haydn’s The Creation and Monteverdi’s Vespers,
and its staged operas here at the Barbican – the fantastical, video-dominated production of Rameau’s Les Paladins and Luc
Bondy’s severely intense staging of Handel’s Hercules – have been among the highlights of our output.
So it is appropriate that this anniversary season celebrates the historic achievement of Les Arts Florissants with opera
(Purcell’s immortal Dido and Aeneas), oratorio (Handel’s rarely performed Susanna) and the French choral motets that the
group has made its own. And it is also entirely typical of its work with younger artists that for two of these anniversary
concerts, William Christie hands the baton on to directors of the next generation, Jonathan Cohen and Paul Agnew. Like the
great music of the past, Les Arts Florissants will continue to reinvent itself as it looks towards the next 30 years.
Nicholas Kenyon
Managing Director
2
programme note
Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643)
Sixth Book of Madrigals (pub. 1614)
1
2
3
4
5
Lamento d’Arianna
Zefiro torna
Una donna fra l’altre
A Dio, Florida bella
Sestina (Lagrime d’Amante al
Sepolcro dell’Amata)
6 Ohimè il bel viso
7 Qui rise, o Tirsi
8 Misero Alceo
9 Batto, qui pianse Ergasto
10 Presso un fiume tranquillo
Monteverdi published eight volumes of madrigals. As the
first appeared in 1587 and the last in 1638, they spanned
almost his entire creative life. The variety in the scoring is of a
piece with the development in his style, from late
Renaissance to early Baroque: in the first four books,
Monteverdi writes for five voices unaccompanied; Book 5
(1605) sees the introduction of a part for basso continuo,
while the last two books include duets and trios, with or
without instruments.
Book 6, which we are hearing this evening, was published in
1614, by which time Monteverdi was working in Venice as
maestro di cappella at St Mark’s, a post which he held until
his death. However, the contents date from the period
between 1607 and 1612, a time of great unhappiness for the
composer.
Monteverdi joined the musical establishment of the
Gonzaga court in Mantua in 1589 as a string player, being
promoted to maestro di cappella – after an earlier
disappointment – in 1601. His employer was Vincenzo I, a
music-loving prince with an eye for beautiful women who
was almost certainly the eventual model for the unnamed
Duke in Verdi’s Rigoletto. In February 1607 Monteverdi had
a success (and made musical history) with his opera L’Orfeo,
performed in the ducal palace; but in September his wife
died in Cremona, where the couple and their children were
staying with the composer’s father.
The grief-stricken widower was reluctantly persuaded to
return to Mantua, where he was required to compose music
to celebrate the wedding of Duke Vincenzo’s eldest son,
Francesco. The performance of Monteverdi’s second opera,
L’Arianna, duly took place on 28 May 1608 (followed a week
later by Il ballo delle ingrate), but in the meantime disaster
had struck. Caterina Martinelli, for whom Monteverdi had
written the part of Arianna (Ariadne), sickened and died.
Arriving from Rome in 1603, aged about 13, she had lived
with the Monteverdis for three years as their lodger.
Profoundly depressed and ill – he hated Mantua’s noxious
climate – Monteverdi retreated to Cremona. His request for
honourable dismissal was refused. On his return to Mantua
his salary was increased, but in 1612, when Francesco
Gonzaga succeeded his father, Monteverdi was dismissed,
along with his brother Giulio Cesare and other artists. It is not
surprising, then, that the tone of Book 6 is largely grim.
The score of L’Arianna – like that of all Monteverdi’s later
operas except two – has been lost. All that remains are two
versions of Ariadne’s scena: one for solo voice and continuo
without the choral interpolations of the original; and this
arrangement as a madrigal for five voices that opens
3
programme note
Book 6. The Cretan princess Ariadne laments her fate, having
been abandoned on an island by Theseus. The first part is
beautifully symmetrical. Monteverdi creates a dissonance in
the very first bar, as the two sopranos clash with the bass.
When the other two voices enter, descending and ascending
phrases are combined to produce an effect of great intensity.
The lower three voices continue with the second phrase, to be
followed by a partial repetition of the opening; the second
phrase is taken up by all five voices, leading to a full repeat of
‘Lasciatemi morire’. Unwise though it is to look for
connections between a creative artist’s inner life and the
outside world, it is hard not to see this as an outpouring of
Monteverdi’s own grief at the loss of his wife. In Part 4, the
predominantly contrapuntal texture is abandoned in favour
of vigorous chordal passages, as Ariadne demands the
death of Theseus; but she immediately regrets this outburst,
telling her absent love that ‘my tongue spoke, yes, but not my
heart’. (Classicists, and those who have seen Strauss’s opera
Ariadne auf Naxos, will remember that Bacchus soon turns
up to sweep her off her feet.)
‘Una donna fra l’altre’ (‘A woman among the others’)
introduces a lighter note. It is the first of the set to be
described as concertato, that is to say ‘with continuo
accompaniment’. Solo tenors represent the woman and the
narrator at the start, succeeded by passages for two and
three voices. All five voices come together for the last two
stanzas, with a return to old-fashioned counterpoint. The
words of ‘A Dio, Florida bella’ are by the contemporary poet
Giambattista Marino, the author of half the madrigals in
Book 6 and several in Book 7. Florida and Flora are lovers,
parting at daybreak after spending the night together.
Monteverdi illustrates Marino’s quaint simile in the first verse,
downward and upward scales representing the arrow.
Equally vivid is the syncopated description of sighs, kisses
and words. After a further dialogue, the lovers’ farewells are
taken up by the whole ensemble.
The libretto of ‘Lamento d’Arianna’ was written by
Monteverdi’s friend, Ottavio Rinuccini. For ‘Zefiro torna’
(‘Zephyr returns’) the composer turned to Petrarch, the great
poet of the 14th century. The lover sings of the joys of spring,
with skittish melismas for the sopranos on the words ‘tempo’
and ‘ciel’. Then both mood and metre change: his beloved is
dead, and the meaning of ‘ciel’ is no longer ‘sky’ but
‘heaven’. At the end, the descending arpeggios of ‘sono un
deserto’ (‘are as a wilderness’) lead to a remarkable
passage where the overlapping voices give the impression of
a steadily rising scale.
The heart of Book 6 is the ‘Sestina’, the ‘Lament of a lover at
the tomb of his beloved’. The beloved in question is Caterina
Martinelli, the singer who had died. There is no reason to
suppose that the lover is to be identified with Monteverdi: but
he surely loved her, as a virtual member of his family and, no
doubt, as his pupil. The first part begins in an understated
way with a chant; an intensification at ‘Ahi lasso’ is followed
by dissonances at the word ‘tormentato’, but overall the
mood is restrained.
4
INTERVAL
If Monteverdi felt constrained by the repetitions of Scipione
Agnelli’s sestina – the last word of each line in the first stanza
programme note
recurs in all the following stanzas – there is no sign of it: in
fact, in his repetition and alternation of lines he avoids any
sense of monotony. Part 2 contrasts the whole ensemble with
two of the lower voices stating, restating and restating again
the last line in a chain of suspensions. Part 3 begins and ends
with chanting, the central polyphonic section taking up the
long notes of ‘prima che Glauco’.
Similar alternations of chordal and contrapuntal passages
are to be heard in the remaining three sections. The
emotional temperature rises in Part 5, Glauco’s cries of
‘Ohimè’ (‘Alas’) voiced by the two sopranos. There is a
similar effect in Part 6 where the bereaved lover calls his
beloved by name for the first time; but here Monteverdi racks
up the tension by repeating ‘Ahi Corinna’ a tone higher. The
ending is a prayer for repose; but one feels that Glauco will
remain inconsolable.
For the next in the set, Monteverdi returned to Petrarch. Like
all the others, except for the two laments and the last
madrigal of all, ‘Ohimè il bel viso’ (‘Alas, the fair face’) is a
sonnet. As in the last part of the ‘Sestina’, the sopranos sing
‘Ohimè’ and then repeat it a tone higher. In the second
stanza, Monteverdi’s inventiveness is quite brilliant: the three
lower parts take ‘il dolce riso’ (‘the sweet smile’) while the
sopranos sing a fivefold ‘Et ohimè’ in dissonant descending
phrases, before all come together for ‘Alma real’ (‘Regal
spirit’).
The remaining four madrigals are all concertato. ‘Qui rise, o
Tirso’ (‘Here she smiled, O Thyrsis’) features duets and trios,
separated by a refrain for the five voices. Thyrsis’s laughter is
depicted by a dotted rhythm that recurs for other key words.
The solo writing is imitative, voice tumbling over voice, in
marked contrast to the chordal repetitions of ‘O memoria
felice, o lieto giorno’ (‘Oh happy memory, oh joyful day’).
‘Misero Alceo’ (‘Unhappy Alceus’) recounts another
separation: but whereas the lovers in ‘A Dio, Florida bella’
were merely parting after a night of passion, here the nymph
and the shepherd are bidding each other farewell, perhaps
for ever. Lidia’s words are given to the ensemble, after which
a solo tenor takes the part of Alceo, his phrases underpinned
by an angular ground bass that is heard three times.
In ‘Batto, qui pianse Ergasto’ (‘I yield, Ergasto cried’),
Monteverdi makes the most of the chance to represent
following – or fleeing – in rapid movement for the ensemble.
In the second stanza, the shepherd Ergasto’s reproaches are
given to the two sopranos. His subsequent silence – always a
tricky thing for a composer to depict – is conveyed in
repeated chords, all five voices singing at the bottom of their
register. At the word ‘L’empia’ – ‘the cruel one’ – Monteverdi
piles on the harmonic agony before thoroughly enjoying
himself with vivid illustrations, notably of ‘cade’ – ‘falling’.
For the last in the volume, ‘Presso un fiume tranquillo’ (‘Beside
a tranquil river’), Monteverdi adds two voices to the texture.
This enables him to have his standard quintet for the
narration, with an additional soprano and tenor for the
dialogue between Eurillo and Philena. Half the madrigal is
taken up with the final couplet: the lovers introduce it with
vigorous roulades on ‘guerre’ (‘battles’), immediately
followed by a gentle ‘pace’ (‘peace’). They are joined by the
other voices; then all seven combine for the last line, bringing
the piece – and the book – to a sonorous conclusion.
Programme note © Richard Lawrence
5
text and translation
1 Lamento d’Arianna
Part 1
Lasciatemi morire.
E chi volete voi che mi conforte
in così dura sorte,
in così gran martire?
Lasciatemi morire.
Ariadne’s Lament
Let me die.
How should I find comfort
in this cruel fate,
in this great suffering?
Let me die.
Part 2
O Teseo, o Teseo mio!
Sì, che mio ti vo’ dir, che mio pur sei,
benché t’involi, ahi crudo, a gli occhi miei.
Volgiti, Teseo mio,
volgiti, Teseo, o Dio!
Volgiti indietro a rimirar colei
che lasciato ha per te la patria e ‘l regno,
e ‘n quest’arene ancora,
cibo di fere dispietate e crude,
lascerà l’ossa ignude.
O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
se tu sapessi, o Dio,
se tu sapessi, ohimè, come s’affanna
la povera Arianna,
forse, forse pentito
rivolgeresti ancor la prora al lido.
Ma con l’aure serene
tu te ne vai felice ed io qui piango.
A te prepara Atene
liete pompe suberbe, ed io rimango
cibo di fere in solitarie arene.
Te l’un e l’altro tuo vecchio parente
stringeran lieto, ed io
più non vedrovvi, o madre, o padre mio.
O Theseus, O my Theseus!
For I will call you mine, since mine you remain,
although, alas, cruel one, you vanish from my sight.
Turn back, my Theseus,
turn back, Theseus, oh God!
Turn back and look again on her
who for you left her fatherland and her kingdom,
and now on these shores,
a prey to merciless and cruel beasts,
will leave her bare bones.
O Theseus, O my Theseus,
if only you knew, Oh God!
If only you knew, alas,
how poor Ariadne suffers,
perhaps you would repent
and turn your prow back to this shore.
But with gentle breezes blithely
you sail away, while here I weep;
for you Athens prepares
sumptuous celebrations, and I remain,
a prey to cruel beasts on a deserted shore.
Each of your old parents in turn
will joyfully embrace, while I shall never
see again either my mother or my father.
Part 3
Dove, dov’è la fede
che tanto mi giuravi?
Così ne l’alta sede
tu mi ripon de gli avi?
Son queste le corone
onde m’adorni il crine?
Questi li scettri sono?
Where, where is the fidelity
that so often you swore to me?
Is it thus that you restore me
to my ancestors’ exalted throne?
Are these the crowns
you place upon my brow?
Are these the sceptres,
6
text and translation
Queste le gemme e gli ori?
Lasciarmi in abbandono
a fera che mi stracci e mi divori?
Ah Teseo, ah Teseo mio!
Lascerai tu morire,
in van piangendo, in van gridando aita,
la misera Arianna,
ch’a te fidossi e ti die’ gloria e vita?
Part 4
Ahi, che pur non risponde!
Ahi, che più d’asp’è sordo a’ miei lamenti!
O nembi, o turbi, o venti,
sommergetelo voi dentro a quell’onde!
Correte, orche e balene,
e de le membra immonde
empiete le voragini profonde!
Che parlo, ahi! che vaneggio?
Misera, ohimè, che chieggio?
O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
non son quell’io che i feri detti sciolse:
parlò l’affanno mio, parlò il dolore;
parlò la lingua sì, ma non già il core.
these the jewels and the gold?
To leave me, abandon me
to be torn apart and devoured by beasts?
Ah Theseus, my Theseus,
will you leave to die,
weeping in vain, vainly calling for help,
poor Ariadne, who trusted you
and gave you life and fame?
Alas, still he does not answer!
Alas, deafer than an adder is he to my laments!
O clouds, tempests, gales,
Plunge him beneath those waves!
Hasten, monsters and whales,
with his foul limbs
fill the chasms of the deep!
But what am I saying? Ah, am I mad?
Wretched woman, alas, what am I asking?
O Theseus, O my Theseus,
It was not I, no, not I,
who uttered these terrible words:
my grief spoke, and my despair;
my tongue spoke, yes, but not my heart.
Ottavio Rinuccini (1562–1621)
Zefiro torna
Zefiro torna, e ‘l bel tempo rimena,
e i fiori e l’erbe, sua dolce famiglia,
e garrir Progne e pianger Filomena,
e primavera candida e vermiglia.
Zephr returns
Zephr returns and brings back the sweet season
and grasses and flowers, his sweet companions,
and twittering swallows and lamenting nightingales,
and spring, white and rosy.
Ridono i prati, e ‘l ciel si rasserena;
giove s’allegra di mirar sua figlia;
l’aria e l’acqua e la terra è d’amor piena;
ogni animal d’amar si racconsiglia.
The meadows smile, the sky is blue once more;
Jove gazes upon his daughter with delight;
Earth, air and water are filled with love,
every creature renews its courtship.
Ma per me, lasso, tornano i più gravi
sospiri, che dal cor profondo tragge
quella ch’al ciel se ne portò le chiavi;
But for me, alas, the heaviest sighs return,
rising from the depths of my heart,
drawn by the one who took its key with her to heaven;
Please turn page quietly
7
text and translation
e cantar augelletti, e fiorir piagge,
e ‘n belle donne onesti atti e soavi
sono un deserto, e fere aspre e selvagge.
And birdsong and the meadow flowers,
and the sweet actions of fair and honest women
are as a wilderness and cruel wild beasts.
Francesco Petrarca (1304–74)
Una donna fra l’altre
Una donna fra l’altre onesta e bella
vidi nel coro di bellezza adorno
l’armi vibrar, mover il piede intorno,
feritrice d’amor, d’amor rubella.
A woman among the others
Among the others, a woman sincere and fair
I saw, dancing in a group of lovely women,
and her dancing was like a dagger poised
to wound with love, set hearts afire.
Uscian dal caro viso auree quadrella,
e ‘n quella notte che fe’ invidia e scorno
col sol de’ suoi belli occhi al chiaro giorno,
si rese ogni alma spettatrice ancella.
From her sweet face issued perfumed darts
and that night her shining eyes rivalled
and put to shame the light of day;
she enslaved the heart of all who saw her.
Non diede passo allor che non ferisse,
né girò ciglio mai che non sanasse,
né vi fur cor che ‘l suo ferir fugisse;
She took no step that did not wound,
gave no glance that did not heal,
and not a single heart escaped injury;
non ferì alcun che risanar bramasse,
né fu sanato alcun che non languisse,
né fu languente alfin che non l’amasse.
none of the wounded wished to heal,
none who were healed did not languish,
none languished who did not love at last.
Anonymous
A Dio, Florida bella
‘A Dio, Florida bella, il cor piagato
nel mio partir ti lascio e porto meco
la memoria di te si come seco
cervo trafitto suol lo strale alato.’
Farewell, fair Florida
Farewell, fair Florida, my wounded heart
I leave with you as I go, and take with me
your memory, as a wounded stag carries
in his side the wingèd arrow.
– Caro mio Floro a Dio, l’amaro stato
consoli amor del nostro viver cieco
Che s’el tuo cor mi resta il mio vien teco
Com’augellin che vola al cibo amato.’
My dear Floro, farewell; may Love bring comfort
for the bitterness of our cheerless lives,
for if your heart stays with me, mine flies to you
as a bird flies to its favourite nourishment.
8
text and translation
Così sul Tebro a lo spuntar del sole
Quinci e quindi confuso un suon s’udia
Di sospiri, di baci e di parole.
Thus over the Tiber, as the sun came up,
confusedly here and there was heard the sound
of sighs, of kisses and of words.
‘Ben mio rimanti in pace, – e tu ben mio
vattene in pace e sia quel ch’el ciel vuole.
A Dio Floro – dicean – Florida, a Dio.’
My love, stay here in peace. And you, my love,
go in peace, and let come what may.
Farewell, Floro (they said), Florida, farewell.
Giambattista Marino (1569–1625)
Sestina (Lagrime d’Amante al Sepolcro dell’Amata)
Sestina (Lament of a Lover at the tomb of his
beloved)
I
Incenerite spoglie, avara tomba
Fatta del mio bel Sol, terreno Cielo,
Ahi lasso! l’ vegno ad incinarvi in terra.
Con voi chius’è ‘l mio cor a marmi in seno,
E notte e giorno vive in foco,in pianto,
In duolo, in ira, il tormentato Glauco.
Remains reduced to ashes, ungenerous tomb
become the earthly Heaven of my fair Sun,
Alas, I kneel before you on the ground.
My heart is with you within, enclosed by marble,
And day and night tormented Glaucus
is consumed by fire, tears, grief and rage.
II
Ditelo, O fiumi, e voi ch’udiste Glauco
L’aria ferir di grida in su la tomba,
Erme campagne – e’l san le Ninfe e ‘l Cielo:
A me fu cibo il duol, bevanda il pianto,
– Letto, O sasso felice, il tuo bel seno –
Poi ch’il mio ben coprì gelida terra.
Tell, O rivers, and you who heard Glaucus
rending the air with cries upon her tomb,
deserted meadows, Nymphs and Heaven, you know
that grief has been my food, tears my drink,
and since the ice-cold earth covered my beloved,
your fair bosom, O blessed stone, has been my bed.
III
Darà la notte il sol lume alla terra
Splenderà Cintia il dì, prima che Glauco
Di baciar, d’honorar lasci quell seno
Che fu nido d’Amor, che dura tomba preme.
Nel sol d’alti sospir, di pianto,
Prodighe a lui saran le sfere e ‘l Cielo!
The Sun will illuminate the earth by night
and the Moon will shine by day, before Glaucus
will cease to kiss and honour that breast where once
love nestled, now crushed by the unyielding tomb;
nor shall the spheres and Heaven itself be content
with lavishing deep sighs and tears upon it.
Please turn page quietly
9
text and translation
IV
Ma te raccoglie, O Ninfa, in grembo ‘l Cielo,
Io per te miro vedova la terra
Deserti I boschi e corer fium’il pianto.
E Driadi e Napee del mesto Glauco
Ridicono i lamenti, e su la tomba
Cantano i pregi dell’amante seno.
But Heaven will receive you, O Nymph, in its embrace!
Now, with you gone, the earth for me is empty,
the woods deserted, and the rivers flow with my tears.
Dryads and wood nymphs repeat the laments
of unhappy Glaucus, and over the tomb
sing of the beauty of the beloved’s breast.
V
O chiome d’or, neve gentil del seno
O gigli della man, ch’invido il cielo
Ne rapì, quando chiuse in cieca tomba,
Chi vi nasconde? Ohimè! Povera terra
Il fior d’ogni bellezza, il Sol di Glauco
Nasconde! Ah! Muse! Qui sgorgate il pianto!
O golden tresses, soft and snow-white beast,
o hands like lilies, which Heaven out of envy
snatched away, enclosing them in the dark tomb.
Who keeps you concealed? Alas, paltry earth
has covered the flower of all beauty,
Glaucus’s sunshine! Ah, Muses, let your tears flow here!
VI
Dunque, amate reliquie, un mar di pianto
Non daran questi lumi al nobil seno
d’un freddo sasso? Eco! L’afflitto Glauco
Fa risonar ‘Corinna’: il mare e ‘l Cielo,
Dicano i venti ogn’or, dica la terra
‘Ahi Corinna! Ahi Morte! Ahi tomba!’
So, beloved remains, shall these my eyes
not shed a sea of tears upon the noble bosom
of a cold stone? Afflicted Glaucus makes the sea
and the Heavens resound with cries of Corinna!
And constantly the winds and the earth repeat:
Alas, Corinna! Alas for death! Alas for the tomb!
Cedano al pianto
I detti! Amato seno
A te dia pace il Cielo,
Pace a te, Glauco
Prega, honorato tomba
E sacra terra.
Let words give way
to tears! Beloved breast,
may Heaven grant you repose,
Glaucus prays for your repose
to the revered tomb
and the hallowed earth.
Scipione Agnelli (?1593–1653)
Ohimè il bel viso
Ohimè il bel viso, ohimè il soave sguardo,
Ohimè il leggiadro portamento altero,
Ohimè il parlar ch’ogni aspro ingegno e fero
Faceva humile, ed ogni huom vil gagliardo.
Alas, the fair face
Alas, the fair face, alas, the gentle glance,
alas the graceful and noble bearing,
alas, the voice that humbled arrogance
and cruelty, and made all cowards brave!
Et ohimè il dolce riso onde usci ‘l dardo
Di che morte, altro ben già mai non spero;
And alas the sweet smile whence issued that dart
which was my greatest joy in this world:
10
text and translation
Alma real, dignissima d’impero,
Se non fosse fra noi scesa sì tardo.
regal spirit, most worthy of an empire,
but that it came down to us too late.
Per voi convien ch’io arda e ‘n voi respiro,
Chi’ pur fui vostro; e se di voi son privo
Via men d’ogni sventura altra mi duole.
I must burn with love and sigh for you,
for I was yours, and having lost you
cannot be grieved by any other misfortune.
Di speranza m’empieste e di desire
Quand’io parti’ dal sommo piacer vivo;
Ma ‘l vento ne portava le parole.
With hope and desire you filled me
when from my highest bliss I parted;
but the wind carried away my words.
Francesco Petrarca
Qui rise, o Tirsi
Qui rise, o Tirsi, e qui ver me rivolse
Le due stelle d’Amor la bella Clori;
Qui per ornarmi il crin, de’ più bei fiori
Al suon de le mie canne un grembo colse.
O memoria felice, o lieto giorno.
Here she smiled, O Thyrsis
Here fair Clori smiled, O Thyrsis, and here
she turned upon me those two stars of Love;
here, to the sound of my pipes, she picked
a lapful of pretty flowers to bedeck my hair.
Oh happy memory, oh joyful day!
Qui l’angelica voce e le parole,
C’humiliaro i più superbi Tori;
Qui le Gratie scherzar vidi, e gli Amori
Quando le chiome d’or sparte raccolse.
O memoria felice, o lieto giorno.
Here spoke the angelic voice and the words
that tamed the fiercest bulls;
here I saw the Graces sport, and the Cherubs,
when she bound her long golden hair.
Oh happy memory, oh joyful day!
Qui con meco s’assise, e qui mi cinse
Del caro braccio il fianco, e dolce intorno
Stringendomi la man, l’alma mi strinse.
Here she sat with me, and here about my waist
she put her dear arms, and when she gently
pressed my hand, it was my heart she pressed.
Qui d’un bacio ferimmi, e ‘l viso adorno
Di bel vermiglio vergognando tinse.
O memoria felice, o lieto giorno.
Here with a kiss she wounded me, and confusion
brought a charming blush to her fair cheek.
Oh happy memory, oh joyful day!
Giambattista Marino
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text and translation
Misero Alceo
Misero Alceo, del caro albergo fore
gir pur convienti, e ch’al partir t’apresti.
‘Ecco Lidia, ti lascio, e lascio questi
poggi beati, e lascio teco il core.
Unhappy Alceus
Unhappy Alceus, from this dear retreat
you must go, and must prepare to depart!
Now I leave you, Lydia, and I leave
these blessed hills, and I leave my heart with you.
Tu, se di pari laccio e pari ardore
meco legata fosti e meco ardesti,
fa’ che ne’ duo talor giri celesti
s’annidi e posi, ov’egli vive e more.
If you are bound to me by the same ties
and burn with the same passion,
then let my heart in those two heavenly orbs
make its nest, to live there and die.
Sì, mentre lieto il cor staratti a canto,
gli occhi lontani da soave riso,
mi daran vita con l’umor del pianto.’
While close to you this heart should die happy,
far away from your sweet smile, my eyes
must sustain me with the dew of tears.
Così dise il pastor dolente in viso.
La ninfa udillo, e fu in due parti intanto
l’un cor da l’altro, anzi un cor sol, diviso.
Thus spoke the shepherd, his face expressing sadness.
The nymph listened to him; and thus were two hearts
separated, or rather one heart was divided into two.
Giambattista Marino
Batto, qui pianse Ergasto
Batto, qui pianse Ergasto, ecco la riva
ove, mentre seguia cerva fugace,
fuggendo Clori il suo pastor seguace,
non so se più seguiva o se fuggiva.
I yield, Ergasto cried
I yield, Ergasto cried, here is the bank
where, while Clori chased the fleeing doe,
her devoted swain followed her
or fled – I know not which.
Deh, mira! – egli dicea – se fuggitiva
fera pur saettar tanto ti piace,
saetta questo cor che soffre in pace
le piaghe, anzi ti segue e non le schiva.
See, said he, since hunting the fugitive beast
brings you such pleasure, aim your arrows
at my heart, which in silence bears its wounds,
indeed follows you, and does not evade them.
Lasso, non m’odi?’ E qui tremante e fioco
e tacque e giacque. A questi ultimi accenti
l’empia si volse e rimirollo un poco.
Alas, you hear me not? Here, trembling and pale,
he fell silent, fainting. At these last words
the cruel one turned and gazed at him awhile.
Allor di nove Amor fiamme cocenti
l’accese. Or chi dirà che non sia foco
l’umor che cade da duo lumi ardenti?
Then once again Love’s searing flames
were kindled. Who, then, can deny that it is fire,
the humour falling from two ardent eyes?
Giambattista Marino
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text and translation
Presso un fiume tranquillo
Presso un fiume tranquillo
disse a Filena Eurillo:
‘Quante son queste arene
tante son le mie pene,
e quante son quell’onde,
tante ho per te nel cor piaghe profonde.’
Beside a tranquil river
Beside a tranquil river
Eurillo said to Philena:
As many as these grains of sand
are the pains I suffer;
as many as those ripples
are the deep wounds you inflict on my heart.
Rispose, d’amor piena,
ad Eurillo Filena:
‘Quante la terra ha foglie,
tante son le mie doglie,
e quante il cielo ha stelle,
tante ho per te nel cor vive fiammelle.’
Filled with love, Philena
replied to Eurillo thus:
As many as the leaves on the earth
are the sorrows from which I suffer;
as many as the stars in the sky
are the flames you cause to burn in my heart.
Dunque con lieto core
soggionse indi il pastore:
‘Quanti ha l’aria augelletti
siano i nostri diletti,
e quant’hai tu bellezze
tante in noi versi Amor care dolcezze.
And so, with happy heart,
the shepherd added:
As many as the birds in the sky
may our delights be;
and as many as your beauties
may the sweet joys be that Love bestows on us.
– Sì, sì, con voglie accese
l’un e l’altro riprese:
Facciam, concordi amanti,
pari le gioie ai pianti,
a le guerre le paci:
se fur mille i martir, sien mille i baci.’
Yes, yes with kindled desire,
the one replied to the other:
let us, lovers in agreement,
make our joys equal to our plaints,
our reconciliations equal to our battles,
and let a thousand kisses heal a thousand pains.
Giambattista Marino
Translations by Mary Pardoe. Reproduced with permission from
Naïve Records.
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about the performers
About tonight’s performers
Pascal Gély
Hippolyte et Aricie at the Palais
Garnier under William Christie. He has
returned to the Opéra National de
Paris in Rameau’s Platée, Les Boréades
and Les Indes galantes. Other operatic
performances include appearances at
the Aix-en-Provence Festival, Opéra de
Lyon, Zurich Opera and Netherlands
Opera.
Paul Agnew director/tenor
Paul Agnew was born in Glasgow and
read Music as a Choral Scholar at
Magdalen College, Oxford. As an
outstanding interpreter of Baroque
and Classical repertoire he works
regularly with the world’s leading early
music groups and conductors,
including William Christie, Marc
Minkowski, Ton Koopman, John Eliot
Gardiner, Philippe Herreweghe and
Emmanuelle Haïm, both in concert and
in opera.
A leading exponent of the French
Baroque haute-contre roles, he made
his critically acclaimed Paris opera
debut singing the title-role in Rameau’s
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Equally in demand on the international
concert platform, engagements have
included performances with the Berlin
and Liverpool Philharmonic
orchestras, City of Birmingham
Symphony Orchestra, Orchestra of the
Komische Oper Berlin, Orchestra of
the Age of Enlightenment, Les Arts
Florissants and Gabrieli Consort and
Players, as well as regular
appearances at the BBC Proms and
the Edinburgh and Lufthansa Baroque
festivals.
Recent highlights include the role of
Renaud in Lully’s Armide at the Théâtre
des Champs-Élysées conducted by
Christie, the title-role in Lully’s Thésée,
Britten’s The Turn of the Screw at the
Opéra de Bordeaux and Handel’s
Acis and Galatea in his debut at the
Royal Opera House, Covent Garden.
He made his conducting debut with Les
Arts Florissants in the 2006/7 season,
bringing a new dimension to his
longstanding relationship with the
ensemble. He has since conducted it in
Vivaldi’s Vespers and a programme of
Handel odes and anthems. Next year
he conducts Domenico Scarlatti’s
Stabat mater and other works of the
Italian Baroque in Caen, Salzburg and
Martigues.
Paul Agnew’s discography includes
Monteverdi’s Vespers, Charpentier’s
La descente d’Orphée aux Enfers and
Rameau’s Grands Motets with Les Arts
Florissants; Beethoven Lieder, Berlioz’s
L’enfance du Christ, Sally Beamish’s In
Dreaming and, most recently,
Rameau’s Dardanus. His
performances as Abaris (Les
Boréades), Platée and in Les Indes
galantes have been released on DVD.
about the performers
Les Arts Florissants
The renowned vocal and instrumental
ensemble Les Arts Florissants was
founded in 1979 by William Christie,
and takes its name from an opera by
Marc-Antoine Charpentier.
Since the acclaimed production of Atys
by Lully at the Opéra Comique in Paris
in 1987, it has been in the field of opera
where Les Arts Florissants has found
most success. Notable productions
include works by Rameau (Les Indes
galantes in 1990 and 1999, Hippolyte
et Aricie in 1996, Les Boréades in 2003,
Les Paladins in 2004), Charpentier
(Médée in 1993 and 1994), Handel
(Orlando in 1993, Acis and Galatea in
1996, Semele in 1996, Alcina in 1999,
Hercules in 2004 and 2006), Purcell
(King Arthur in 1995, Dido and Aeneas
in 2006), Mozart (The Magic Flute in
1994, Die Entführung aus dem Serail at
the Opéra du Rhin in 1995) and
Monteverdi (Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria
at Aix-en-Provence in 2000, revived in
2002, L’incoronazione di Poppaea in
2005, and L’Orfeo at the Teatro Real
de Madrid in 2008).
Les Arts Florissants has an equally high
profile in the concert hall, giving
concert performances of operas
(Zoroastre and Les fêtes d’Hébé by
Rameau, Idomenée by Campra,
Jephté by Montéclair and L’Orfeo by
Rossi), as well as secular chamber
works (Actéon, Les plaisirs de
Versailles and La descente d’Orphée
aux Enfers by Charpentier and Dido
and Aeneas by Purcell) and sacred
music (grands motets by Rameau,
Mondonville and Desmarest) and
Handel oratorios.
ensemble has been artist-in-residence.
Les Arts Florissants also tours widely
within France, and is a frequent
ambassador for French culture
abroad, regularly appearing at the
Brooklyn Academy, the Lincoln Center
in New York, the Barbican Centre and
the Vienna Festival.
Les Arts Florissants receive financial
support from the Ministry of Culture and
Communication, the City of Caen and the
Région Basse-Normandie. Their sponsor is
Imerys. Les Arts Florissants are artists in
residence at the Théâtre de Caen.
The ensemble has an impressive
discography of over 70 CD recordings,
most recently Haydn’s The Creation. Its
most recent DVD is Il Sant’Alessio by
Stefano Landi, filmed at the Théâtre de
Caen, where, for the past 15 years, the
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 licensing authority, sitting or standing
in any gangway is not permitted. Smoking is not permitted anywhere on the Barbican premises.
No eating or drinking is allowed in the auditorium. No cameras, tape recorders or any other
recording equipment may be taken into the hall.
Barbican Centre
Silk Street, London EC2Y 8DS
Administration 020 7638 4141
Box Office 020 7638 8891
Great Performers Last-Minute Concert
Information Hotline 0845 120 7505
www.barbican.org.uk
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