A WORLD OF LYRICS
By Donald Pippin
MOZART
THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO
It’s the day Figaro and Susanna are getting married, or is it? Not if Count Almaviva
gets his way. Lord of the castle where the two are employed as servants, he too has
his eye on Susanna. A nobleman born with a sense of total entitlement, he is long
accustomed to getting what he wants. Can two lowly servants dare take him on?
Figaro welcomes the challenge, probably unaware that he is starting a national
revolution:
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You cut the measure,
But I give the beat.
Five easy lessons!
I’ll be the teacher.
My courses feature
Counts on their toes.
Five easy lessons!
Learn the fandango,
Jota and tango
From one who knows.
Alert! Alert! Be nimble,
Nimble, nimble, nimble . . .
Watch and be wary,
Eye out for trouble,
Sly and discreet.
Never shall Figaro
Fall in defeat,
In rank defeat.
First to confound him,
Tease him and taunt him,
Turn him around till
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He’s where I want him.
Nor shall I stop till the plot is complete.
Never shall Figaro admit defeat.
Nor shall I stop till all’s complete.
On with the dance!
Allow me the pleasure.
You cut the measure,
But I give the beat!
Old Dr. Bartolo, also eager to thwart the marriage, has reasons of his own for
wanting to get back at Figaro:
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How this stirs the manly senses.
Overlooking past offences,
Disregarding past offences,
I consider beneath contempt.
But with cunning calculation,
Perfect timing, care and caution,
We can manage.
Here’s a case of litigation,
Calls for caution, calculation,
Guile and gamble, courage ample,
But I’ll follow to the finish.
The odds are weighty against a lady,
Potential scandal,
But the challenge I’ll attempt.
Books of legality, fuss and formality,
Records I’ll comb for the fine technicality.
Matter semantic, outmoded, pedantic,
With wit I’ll exploit to further the cause,
I’ll fight to further our worthy cause.
All in Seville know old Doctor Bartolo,
And I warn Figaro, beware my claws,
My sharpened claws!
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Cherubino, the very young page boy, is a ball of confusion, a tinder box constantly
on the verge of combustion, a leaf tossed about in a perpetual whirlwind …
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With the girls I’m a ball of confusion;
With a woman I fall all apart.
Words of love and desire and affection
Stir my pulse and enflame my complexion,
And I’ve no choice,
But then must give voice
To that yearning,
That sweet hunger dwelling deep in my heart.
I forget who I am, where I’m going,
Back and forth, hot and cold, never knowing.
With the girls I’m a ball of confusion;
With a woman I fall all apart.
Love, only love while waking;
Love, only love while sleeping.
I cry aloud to mountains,
To flowers, fields and fountains,
To echo, breeze and zephyr.
My am’rous song floats ever
And fades in the distant air.
With none around to hear me,
With none around to hear me,
Just to myself I sing of love -Even if no one’s there!
Obviously not the sort that stays out of trouble for long, he is soon sent off most
unwillingly to join the army. Figaro bids the boy farewell, but can’t resist pointing
out a few differences between the easy, luxurious, leisurely life he is leaving, and the
rugged new life he is headed for:
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March away from the laughter and banter
Of the darling, the court cavalier.
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Feast no more on a diet of dainties;
Leave behind masquerades and cotillions,
Conversation of sparkle and brilliance,
As you head for a soldier’s career.
Say goodbye to fair complexion,
Pretty phrases, soft affection
And secret embraces.
Time to throw off the role of the lover,
The despair of the fair and the bonny.
Drop the role of the young Don Giovanni;
Say goodby to the court cavalier.
Into battle goes the dandy,
Sword at side and pistol handy,
Beard unshaven, pack on shoulder,
Weather freezing, getting colder,
New fiasco by the minute,
Leather purse but nothing in it.
Little need for velvet breeches
In the swamps and frozen ditches.
Ice and sweat upon your forehead,
Toil abundant, diet frugal,
Blare of trumpet, call of bugle;
Round your head the bullets whistle
As you plod through thorn and thistle
Toward the enemy frontier.
Say goodbye to silk and satin,
Sparkling wine, foods that fatten.
Dainty hands, smiling faces,
Tender words and secret embraces.
Time to throw off the role of the lover;
Play no longer the fair young enchanter.
March away from the laughter and banter
Of the lad whom the girls all adore.
Cherubino’s off to glory,
Cherubino wins the war!
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The Countess grieves over the marriage that has gone awry and the love that seems
to have faded:
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Heed and comfort my lonely sigh.
Ah, restore that lost devotion,
Or relent and let me die.
Cherubino calms down enough to compose a love song for the Countess, or is it for
Susanna? Or for any woman in sight?
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What curious fever has me in tow?
What sweet vibration stirs in my heart?
What sudden tempest tears me apart?
Comes an excitement full of desire!
Now I am freezing, now all afire;
Pleasure unclouded, then bitter pain.
Chill turns to fever, then ice again.
Ever pursuing, ever in flight,
Yet what I follow fades out of sight.
I shake and tremble, repine and sigh
Without intending or knowing why.
I find no quiet by night or day,
But may this torment not go away!
Have you the answer I long to know?
What curious fever has me in tow?
Fuming, the Count begins to suspect that all is not going well in his courtship of
Susanna. Worse yet, that he is being taken for a ride -- and by two mere servants
who can’t seem to grasp the fact that they are so vastly inferior:
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To play the jilted lover
While he enjoys the prize!
The girl for whom I hunger
To a lowly menial plighted,
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My passion unrequited
While in his arms she lies!
Oh, no! I’ll stop the marriage.
The rites shall be prevented.
None but a fool dares flourish
And thrive while I’m tormented.
To hold me up for ridicule
And cast my rank aside.
Only determination
For the reward of vengeance
Provides a consolation
To pacify my pride, my manly pride,
And cheer my tortured heart.
The Countess, reduced to conspiring with her servant and friend Susanna in a plot
to shame the Count and bring him to his senses, sadly recalls past days of happiness.
But perhaps the spark can be reignited:
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Youthful season of tender sighs?
Gone forever, taken for granted,
Love replaced by futile lies.
Though the burst of joy has altered
Into tears of bitter pain,
As in days serene and sheltered,
Why does my own love remain?
Now unwanted, why does my own love remain?
Are they over, those hours enchanted,
Youthful season of tender sighs?
Gone forever, ignored, unwanted,
Love replaced by futile lies.
May I hope for but a moment
That my tears are not in vain,
That my constancy shall conquer
And his heart be mine again!
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Figaro rages in disillusion upon learning that his beloved Susanna has actually
consented (or so he thinks) to a secret rendezvous with the Count,:
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Get rid of stupid fantasies,
Observe them open-eyed.
Did you believe them angels?
A fool to trust your senses!
But look with cleaner lenses
Before the knot is tied.
They’re masters of sorcery
To lure and enthrall.
They’re sirens whose melody
Is fatal to all;
A temptress who turns away
The moment she’s beckoned,
A comet whose afterglow
Survives but a second.
Like roses that prickle
Or doves full of malice,
A fly is less fickle,
A serpent less callous.
A man-eating tiger
Is not too unlike her,
And woe to the so and so under her spell,
Caught under the spell.
But what is the use going further?
The rest you know only too well,
But only too well.
In the garden after twilight, mid balmy evening breezes, Susanna, presumably
waiting for the Count’s arrival, sings the most tender of love songs. Though no one
else is present, she alone, and we, know to whom the song is addressed. The Count
would not be pleased.
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Yield to the call of joy and beauty blended.
The moon is hid, the stars blow out their candles;
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Dark the sky and below, serene and tranquil.
Here waters murmur, stirred by playful breezes;
Whispers waken the heart from drowsy languor.
The air is sweet, with fragrant flowers scented;
All is set for the play of love’s caresses.
Come, my beloved, while nature in sleep reposes.
Come, beloved! Your forehead I would crown
With a garland of roses.
A glorious finale brings all the multiple threads together. After a good many
misdirections and unforeseen complications, the Count and the Countess are
reconciled, and Figaro and Susanna have good reason to hope that their marriage
will be the happiest that ever graced the face of the earth.
At last, all contented, we share our delight.
From a day at odds, tormented,
Full of follies and caprices,
Love at last unites the pieces,
Putting former woes to flight.
Sing out, hosanna! Be happy, be merry!
And a joyful toast to those that marry’
Figaro and his Susanna
Let us celebrate tonight.
All in chorus, let us celebrate tonight!
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DON GIOVANNI:
Leporello, Don Giovanni’s beleaguered servant, has a thankless job:
Out in weather cold and wet,
Often down on hands and knees.
I am all for changing places;
Servant work is not for me;
Toil is not my cup of tea.
No, no, no, no!
This work is not for me.
Why should he hold all the aces?
While he makes a gallant entry
I’m stuck outside playing sentry,
The lowly sentry.
I am all for changing places;
Servant work is not for me;
Toil is not my cup of tea.
No, no. no. no. no. no.
This work is not for me.
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Don Giovanni, after seducing then jilting Donna Elvira, has abruptly disappeared.
Still undaunted, she goes searching to find him:
A helpless prey of passion,
By love was I misled,
Flattered, and then betrayed.
Oh, let him run for cover,
Turn from the tears I’ve shed!
I’ll find the faithless lover
And see my pain repaid.
She is soon to learn some jarring facts when Leporello shows her a massive volume,
no less than a meticulous catalogue of Giovanni’s innumerable conquests:
I’ve a list of the beauties discarded,
And the loves he has left broken-hearted.
Look it over, peruse it with me --Alphabetic, from A down to Z.
In Verona, six hundred and forty,
Down for Dresden, two hundred eleven;
France and Turkey, a mere ninety seven.
Ah, but in Spain, ah! Here already
Are one thousand ---- plus
One, two, three.
Rank or station doesn’t matter;
All are portions on his platter,
Under twenty, over eighty,
Chamber maid or leading lady,
Service rendered to the gender,
Stout or slender, high or low . . .
He’s a man without a bias,
Cold or torrid, fair or florid,
Diabolical or pious,
Plain or pretty, dull or witty,
Service rendered to the gender,
Stout or slender, high or low.
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Armed with weapons for each encounter,
Phrases tailored for town or country,
Pale is sweeter, dark profounder --Thus he captures all and sundry.
Beauty comes in varied sizes;
All dimensions fan the fire.
Tall and stately tantalizes,
But the tiny, teeny tiny, teeny tiny
Rate even higher.
Age he favors unresisting;
More inclusive thus grows the listing.
But the pride of this old sinner
Is the budding rank beginner.
Rich or poor, naïve, mature,
Or be she harridan or goddess,
Be she harpy, harridan or goddess,
If she’s wearing skirt or bodice
See my master set to go.
Don Giovanni on the go!
The master of seduction, inspired by challenge, is smoothly at work on Zerlina,
a pretty peasant girl already on her way to the church to get married to Masetto:
Not far away, in splendor,
We there shall blend as one.
I would, and yet I wonder . . .
Your words that flow like wine,
So soothing, smooth and tender,
Are spoken perhaps in fun.
For you alone I’ve waited . .
Masetto’s claim is stronger.
For greater heights you are fated.
Can I resist much longer, resist much longer?
Darling! Darling! Melting in soft surrender . . .
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As one, we go invited
Along a pathway lighted
By love and love alone.
By love! By love!
So hand in hand, as one,
We’re off to lands unknown
Of love and love alone.
Donna Elvira, overhearing, delivers a fiery warning to Zerlina:
Be off or pay the cost!
Go back the way you came!
Oh, flee a monster lost
To shame and decency.
Oh, heed a word of warning:
From my misfortune learn.
Before too late, return
To peace and sanity,
Run, run from danger!
Be off or pay the cost!
Go back the way you came!
Oh, flee a monster lost
To shame and decency.
Don Ottavio blissfully reflects on his love for Donna Anna:
When she rejoices,
My day is mended.
When she’s in sorrow,
I’m in despair.
Mortal, mortal despair.
She need but sigh
For me to suffer;
In grief or anger,
Her tears I share.
When she is smiling,
I walk on air.
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Giovanni, buoyant as ever, plans a party which will no doubt add a good many
more names into the infamous book:
Wine by the gallon,
Beer for the hearty.
Call for a party
Into the night.
Serve by the way a
Ton of paella;
More pretty lasses
You can invite.
Round up an orchestra;
Fill up the glasses.
Light up the castle;
Offer the masses
Razzle and dazzle.
Let’s do it right.
Lovemaking after
Feasting and laughter.
Beauty galore
I’ll not overlook.
And by tomorrow,
Not three or four more,
I’ll have a score more
Names in the book.
Zerlina has been spared the hapless fate of countless predecessors, but clearly she
has some explaining to do to Masetto, her ill-used fiance. Luckily, she knows just
how to go about it . . .
Prove your honor; pounce upon her
Like the lion on the lamb.
With display of manly muscle
Turn a tiff into a tussle.
Ah, but then, serene again,
Receive a kiss with more to come . .
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Ah, a twinkle you’re concealing,
You start to waver. I have a feeling
The storm is over.
Arm in arm, the quarrel mended,
Peaceful, carefree and contented.
We shall revel night and day,
Lamb and lion joined in play.
Giovanni continues his insatiable pursuit of the female sex, unaware that the lady he
is serenading is none other than Donna Elvira, the determined lady he has been
trying so hard to shake off:
By merely gazing down,
Relieve a lonely sigh.
Denied the healing spark
Of your consoling eye,
In doubt and lost in dark,
Forlorn, I long to die.
Those lips as ripe as cherry,
Sweeter than melody,
Hold a magical power
Transforming love’s despair.
Be kind, relieve a plight
All throbbing lovers share;
Shower me again with light
More dear than fire and air.
Despite knowing full well that she has been deceived, insulted and ridiculed, Donna
Elvira, to her own amazement, cannot extinguish the flame that still burns:
Leaving heartache, remorse and pain,
Tears of grief, revulsion and pain.
Though discarded, cast out unwanted,
Why do sparks of love remain?
Why, oh why do sparks of thwarted love remain?
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He seduced and then betrayed me,
His lies unrepented,
Passion turning to scorn and disdain,
To scorn and cold disdain.
He seduced and then betrayed me;
He’s left me tormented,
Seeking the answer I search for in vain,
Seeking the answer, though searching in vain,
Now discarded, cast out unwanted,
Why do sparks, oh why do sparks of love remain?
Why, oh why do sparks of thwarted love remain?
Oh, why? Oh, why?
Donna Anna cold, indifferent? So her devoted but frustrated lover is given to
wonder, fearful that their hoped for union is being sacrificed to her all-consuming
drive to find and punish her father’s killer. Seldom if ever does an anxious lover
receive such a sublime reassurance ...
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Yours forever, I’m yours alone.
Though the sanction and seal of marriage
For a while we must postpone.
For a little while we must postpone.
Bear with calm this time of trial.
In despair we call on courage.
Far, oh far from cold and cruel!
Yours forever, I’m yours alone.
Facing calmly a time of trial,
In despair we call on courage.
Surely with the help of heaven
Brighter days again will dawn.
Softer, kinder, and hallowed by heaven,
Brighter days again will dawn.
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COSI FAN TUTTE (The Way of Women)
An argument heats up between two naively idealistic young soldiers and their older
(and of course wiser) friend: are their sweethearts made of marble-like perfection or
are they made of flesh and blood like everybody else? It soon turns into a wager:
As true as she’s lovely, as faithful as fair.
Guglielmo:
Distrust Fiordiligi? You’re out of your mind!
A model of virtue and beauty combined.
Don Alfonso:
Though balding and graying, I know what I’m saying.
So take my suggestion and end this debate
Before it’s question of caution too late.
The two grief-stricken sisters wave goodbye to their lovers as they sail away,
presumably into battle, but in fact intending to return in disguise, each to woo the
other’s sweetheart. Their real motive, I suspect, is the one that has always governed
youth: they simply want to prove to the old man that he’s a fool.
O powers elemental,
Benignly escort them
Home safely to shore.
Dorabella, devastated by their departure, takes on the role of tragic heroine:
Stand farther off! My grief may be contagious.
Bar and lock all the windows.
Gross is the daylight. How I loathe the very air,
Hate my own being! What reprieve from despair,
What consolation? Leave me here alone, in lamentation.
O mortal agony of love denied me:
Prolong thy fury and let me die.
O let me die!
Bereft and desolate, in fire and thunder
I’ll storm the universe and tear asunder
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The oak from mountain top
In haunting, piercing cry.
Despina, their no-nonsense maid-servant, urges the ladies to lighten up. With
their sweethearts gone, why not take advantage of their absence and have a little
fun? No doubt this is what the boys are doing already:
Believe a man? Trust a soldier?
Expect for love to last?
Heaven help us, you’re living in the past!
Ever in motion,
April leaves fluttering,
Waves of the ocean,
Even the weather
Turns less than a man.
Vows of fidelity, rapturous gazes,
Flowers and flattery, warmed over phrases:
These are their calling card
Since time began.
All they see in us
Is their own reflection;
Soon as they win us
They turn their affection.
Kindness and pity are strictly taboo.
Sooner is sympathy found in a zoo.
Men are no good, but come, ladies, repay it!
Master the rules of the game as they play it.
Shame on the girl who is simple and true:
Do unto them as they do unto you.
Love is a holiday, over by dark;
Follow the leader and love is a lark!
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Fiordiligi, high on a pedestal, vehemently rebukes an unexpected suitor:
Vainly pounded by wind and water,
Thus my heart, secure mid tempest,
Firmly is grounded on faithful love.
In my soul a torch is lighted,
Source of strength and consolation.
Only death, not separation,
Shall subdue that sacred flame.
Go! Break off this audacious intrusion;
Recognize true love requited;
Taunt me not with vain delusion
That could render only shame.
Naive Ferrando basks in the certainty that his beloved Dorabella will remain
forever true as the stars above:
A balm that erases
The doubts of despair.
The heart that is nourished
On love’s winged potion
Sips nectar ambrosian
That’s borne on the air,
A nectar ambrosian
That’s borne on the air.
Despina shames the sisters for their negligence in mastering the feminine arts of
flirtation:
And the sorcery that entices
With the power cast by the eyes.
She’s accomplished at maneuvers
That enflame the bashful wooer,
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And familiar with no fewer
Than a thousand alibis.
No one knows better when time to flutter,
When to be boss and when to be butter;
When with a glance
To enkindle romance,
And then shut a lover up
With a smooth cover-up,
Ever surprising, ever disguising.
This Queen of Sheba
Travels in splendor;
Legions attend her,
Bursting with pride.
Her rule is granted,
And all enchanted
Flock to her side.
(Now the seed’s planted,
Watch them come flying,
Gratefully crying:
Bravo, Despina!
O what a guide!
Brilliant Despina!
O what a guide!)
In languorous mood, the amorous strangers revel in their pursuit, happily confident
that it will fail:
At her pillow tell my yearning;
Round her slumbers, languidly turning,
Murmur into her drowsy ear.
Bear the message of my longing;
Serve as soft and soothing chorus.
Tell of buds that blossom for us;
Whisper dreams of rapture near.
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Fiordiligi, shocked and ashamed of her own frailty, has a searching moment
of repentance and resolve:
Somber shadow, forever cover,
Hide my secret in dead of night.
For my guilt I’ll make atonement
With a zeal that burns forever;
With remorse, I shall endeavor
To absolve this odious blight,
Shame and horror brought to light.
Have I known myself so little?
Is my heart so false and frail?
Darling, I shall earn acquittal
With a fire that shall not fail.
Clearly, they are playing with fire, and Dorabella is the first to be consumed.
Guglielmo has thrown himself wholeheartedly into the game and actually succeeded
in melting her resistance. Considering that he has just delivered a devastating blow
to his friend, his aria is surprisingly light hearted. As a wise man once put it: “The
good Lord always sends us the strength to bear the misfortunes of others.”
Do allow me to be frank:
If your lovers find you wanting
You have no one else to thank.
Of the sexes you’re the foremost;
I declare it to one and all.
You’re the gender I adore most,
Summer, winter, spring and fall.
But -- your taste for taunting, taunting, taunting
Nearly drives me up the wall.
O the times I’ve raise the banner,
Led the charge to your defense,
And in no uncertain manner
Sallied forth with evidence!
But -- your taste for taunting, taunting, taunting
Puts the laugh at my expense.
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You’re enchanting, you’re adorable,
You have got me in a bind.
You’re delicious, sweet and lovable;
Never say that I am blind.
But . . . but . . . but . . . your taste for taunting, taunting
Leaves me lagging far behind.
You’re the gender I adore most.
Ever friendly, I have put you first and foremost.
I’ve defended, sung your praises to the sky.
But . . . but . . . but . . . your taste for taunting, taunting!
If your lovers find you wanting
I can think of no reply.
You’re my favorite of the sexes
But the problem that perplexes
Is to find the reason why,
O why? O why?
Where to find the reason why?
Don Alfonso, having won the wager, placates the disillusioned lovers, urging them
not to seek perfection but to accept women just as they are:
Caprice or vice, it’s all in how you take it.
You chastise them for changing . . .
I beg to differ.
It’s the law of life and they can’t break it.
The lover who withdraws in disillusion
Has but one thing to blame:
His own confusion.
Young and elderly,
Both the beldam, the beauty,
In their hearts are the same:
COSI FAN TUTTE!
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THE ABDUCTION FROM THE SERAGLIO
(or Yanked from the Harem))
Constanza, along with two friends, Americans all, is being held captive in Turkey on
a trumped up charge, at the mercy of a powerful local chieftain who can rightly
claim “The law is what I say it is.” Needless to say, he has his own designs upon her
and wants to keep her close by for as long as possible. Despite all, she boldly makes
it clear that she is in love with someone else:
How it happened . . . luck or fate? , , ,
Who is to say?
But I knew it . . . I was certain . . .
This was real, and forever.
For I gave to him my heart;
All I have I gave away.
But the wheel of fortune shifted;
Many miles now lie between us.
Hope is gone; my tears remain.
In the dark I reach for shadows;
Through desert I wander.
The nights grow longer;
Wide awake, I call in vain;
In despair, I call in vain.
Love was sudden . . . out of nowhere . . .
New and strange, but not a dream.
How it happened . . . luck or fate? , , ,
Who is to say?
But I know it . . . I am certain . . .
I am his and he is mine,
And my love I’ll not betray.
Separation changes nothing;
Never mind those miles between us.
Far away, I feel him near;
Even now he’s here beside me.
Across land or water
His arms enfold me:
I shall call no more in vain.
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Blondie, also detained, attempts to enlighten surly, fanatical Osmin about the
modern woman:
A girl might well be flattered
By courtesies in kind.
Our standards now have lifted;
We claim an equal basis,
Not soft and pretty phrases
But a meeting of the mind.
From pampered pet to partner,
The ladder we’ve ascended;
As nature clearly intended,
We journey side by side.
The role of doll or diva
We’ve willingly discarded;
Through waters still uncharted
The ship of love must glide.
Those days of lace and lavender
Have faded and departed;
Through waters still uncharted
The ship of love must glide.
Separated from the man she loves, helpless and confused, Constanza has reached
her lowest point, doubting even the reality of her own feelings.
Grief and chaos
Rage in bitter warfare
Since the day that shattered my existence.
My dearest! . . . Where are the pleasures and the joys,
The life we planned together?
All has changed completely . . .
Now it seems so distant.
Day and night, I weep,
And search my heart for love.
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And spreads a blanket
That conceals the truth I knew.
Was my love a dream that dies?
Just a dream?
Was my love a mere charade?
Like the rose deprived of water,
Like the frozen grass of winter,
I am cold and void of life;
My heart has turned to stone.
Since that sudden separation,
Here I wander through the dark;
Through a lonely wood I walk.
Birds are silent, flowers withered . . .
Through a darkened wood I wander,
Lost, uncertain and alone.
Where now to turn?
Oh, was it love?
That rush of rapture I can’t remember,
For it seems so far away,
So remote and far away . . .
Like the rose deprived of water,
Like the frozen grass of winter,
I am cold and void of life;
My heart has turned to stone.
Since that sudden separation,
Here I wander through the dark;
Through a lonely wood I walk.
Birds are silent, flowers withered . . .
Through a darkened wood I wander,
Lost, uncertain and alone, all alone.
24
Blondie gets the happy news that Belmonte has already come running to
their rescue:
This adventure we’ll survive –
He will bring us back alive.
I am most enthusiastic --Order steps however drastic.
Now to hurry, go inform her
Help is just around the corner.
Seventh heaven I foresee,
Back at home, alive and free.
Not a moment can I linger;
Off I go at once to bring her
Welcome news so unexpected,
Just as we were most dejected,
Just as we were down and so dejected.
Sound the trumpet, raise a cheer;
Just in time the troops appear.
Sound the trumpet, raise a cheer, raise a cheer.
What a pleasure, what delight!
Better days are now in sight.
I’m ecstatic, I enthuse
At the happy, happy news.
But I mustn’t keep her waiting.
Tidings so exhilarating
Will encourage, lift her spirit.
She will jump for joy to hear it.
In a moment she will be
Just as jubilant as me.
I shall carry out instruction.
Right away I’m off to let her
Know that life is looking better,
Get her ready for abduction,
Get her ready for the grand abduction.
Count your blessings while you can --This at least is not Iran.
25
Wave the banners, give a shout:
By tomorrow we’ll be out!
Cry Hosanna! Praise the Lord!
Blow the whistle, all aboard!
What a pleasure, what delight!
Days ahead are looking bright.
I’m ecstatic, I enthuse
At the happy, happy news,
The happy news!
Pedrillo, though hardly cut out for the role of hero, rises to the occasion:
We must act at any cost;
He who hesitates is lost.
Do I weaken? Do I waver?
Does it call for someone braver?
No! Too late for turning back.
I’m ready for the bold attack . . .
Yet I cannot resist the thought:
What will happen if we’re caught?
Will I make it? Does it matter
That my teeth begin to chatter?
No! The girls we have to free!
The dirty work is up to me.
No! They must go free!
And it is mainly up to me,
The dirty work is up to me.
Yet, however bold and brave,
My own skin I’d like to save.
As the lionhearted hero, ha!
As the lionhearted hero,
I’d be rated close to zero.
Yet, no matter what the cost,,
We must act or all is lost.
To the rescue! To the rescue!
26
Risking the danger of being arrested himself, Belmonte is undeterred, inspired by
his love for Constanza:
And redeem the days of futile pain.
Present dangers fade to nothing
When you’re sheltered in my arms again,
Safely sheltered in my arms again.
Ah, my darling! I have found you!
Stay forever in my keeping;
Prison walls are made for leaping.
In the end may love prevail.
Love will yet prevail.
Hand in hand how can we fail?
Even more sweet the compensation
Following loss and separation;
After storm the sun appears.
Rekindled, the sun appears,
Shedding light on phantom fears.
Midnight arrives, the time planned for the escape. Pedrillo signals to the captive
girls with a song that tells a highly pertinent story:
QuickTime™ and a
decompressor
are needed to see this picture.
Fair as the dawn, her cheek was pale;
Pounding the door to no avail,
Forlorn, she sighed and wept.
Forlorn, she sighed and wept.
Galloping up, a gallant knight
Then heard her tearful plea.
Stirred to a frenzy by her plight,
Drawing his sword, prepared to fight,
He vowed to set her free.
He vowed to set her free.
“Wait for the dark, and then to work!”
Said he, “We’ll not delay.
Dodging the snags and snares that lurk,
Stealing around the tyrant Turk,
27
I’ll take you far away.
I’ll take you far away.”
Twelve o’clock sharp, the sky is black;
The knight is at her side.
Pity the Turk! Next day he’s back,
Ready to launch a new attack --The door is open wide.
The door is open wide.
The four of them caught red-handed, Osmin has his moment of triumph:
Pleasure more than I could hope:
Forty lashes, then the rope.
I’ll be dancing, I’ll be singing
While the two of you are swinging,
Just the sight I long to see,
Hanging from the gallows tree.
Here’s to lasting satisfaction!
Put the charmers out of action.
I would like to see the likes of these
Slowly twisting in the breeze.
Sly and slick, the artful Yankee,
Always up to hanky-panky --Now at last it would appear
From you we have no more to fear.
Hallelujah! I’ve a notion
This will bring a big promotion.
I’ll be sheriff when we’re through
And I owe it all to you.
As you dangle, as you swing,
Bear in mind the joy you bring.
I’ll be sheriff when we’re through
And I owe it all to you.
28
Though he has just cause to seek revenge, the Pasha, impressed by their fortitude
under duress, chooses magnanimity:
BELMONTE
QuickTime™ and a
decompressor
are needed to see this picture.
But my delight I’ll not disguise
When we can wave goodby to Turkey.
A man of heart and head combined
With some relief we leave behind.
CONSTANZA
Your verdict fills me with emotion;
You put us ever in your debt,
Though I shall be more grateful yet
When we are safe across the ocean.
My admiration I’ll convey
From seven thousand miles away.
PEDRILLO
With execution round the corner
I shut my eyes and hold my breath,
For when it comes to life or death,
I very much prefer the former.
To my relief, I‘m still around
Instead of six feet underground.
BLONDIE
For exploration I’ve a mania,
Air, sea or land, no matter what.
But for my next vacation spot
Give me Vermont or Pennsylvania.
I am no longer overawed
By the delights of life abroad.
29
THE MAGIC FLUTE:
Papageno, the bird catcher, reveals his secret -- he’d rather be out catching pretty
girls:
My service ever in demand,
My fame has spread across the land.
My pipes I play, my snares I set,
Then lure the birds into my net,
And how my eyes light up with pride
To see my feathered friends inside.
A merry man, I earn my pay
By catching birds, hip hip hooray!
My service ever in demand
My fame has spread across the land.
And yet despite my great success,
One secret hope I must confess:
Though birds provide my daily bread,
Pretty girls I’d like to catch instead.
From dozens I would choose the one
To love and share a life of fun.
No squirming captive in a net,
I’d make of her a pampered pet.
My bride-to-be I shall entice
With candied sugarplums and spice.
And then we’ll sing a song so sweet
No pair of turtledoves can beat.
30
On seeing a picture of the Queen of the Night’s lovely daughter who has recently
been kidnapped, Prince Tamino is inspired to rescue her at any cost:
A vision of beauty and divinity
That fills my heart with light and air.
What name to give this new emotion,
This blend of passion and devotion?
What is the fire that stirs in me,
Burning with fierce intensity?
The name is love! Yes, love alone!
True love, true love! Yes, love alone!
Now, now to search until find her!
Oh, for a moment to behold her
Beside me, breathing,
Face to face to gaze upon.
Close to my heart I shall enfold her,
And with loving arms around her,
Then claim her evermore my own.
As he sets out on his perilous journey, three mysterious ladies present
Tamino with a magic flute “whose gentle tone suffices to help one out in time
of crisis:”
This tone can pacify the devil,
Turn mountain peaks and valleys level;
The sad of heart find fresh delight
And day is born of darkest night.
Ah! A priceless treasure
With soothing tone from heaven sent,
Spreading peace and gentle light
In a world of discontent.
They also provide him with an indispensable escort:
The journey calls for three convoys,
Our fairest, best and brightest boys.
The winding road you will b e shown;
Heed their advice and theirs alone.
31
Malevolent yet somewhat pitiable Monostatos covetously eyes the captured sleeping
beauty that he has been watching over:
Starved for love, yet strong and able,
Why alone am I denied?
Am I not a man of feeling,
Also made of flesh and blood?
When the hope of love comes stealing,
Must I nip it in the bud?
Yes, my waiting game is over;
Now alert and wide awake,
Quite as worthy as another,
What I want I mean to take.
Starry night is made for loving,
Not for caution and delay.
Watchful moon, if disapproving,
Kindly look the other way.
The Queen of the Night rises in wrath at her daughter’s reluctance to carry out a
small request:
In rage and despair your mother cries.
I want him slain,
And turn to you, my daughter,
To plunge the deadly dagger.
By your own hand, this day Sarastro dies,
Or not again shall I call you child of mine.
Ah! No beloved child of mine.
My one and only daughter I disown.
Rise! Rise! Rise!
God of vengeance, do as I ordain.
32
A contrasting message from Sarastro:
The lost that blindly wander
Are shown the lighted path.
Here guided by a loving hand,
We journey toward a higher land.
Within these halls of wisdom
Where side by side we strive,
No slave of hate can enter
Nor seed of vengeance thrive.
Until a person longs to learn
The name of man he’s yet to earn.
To the end, Papageno has one thing alone on his mind:
Is paradise aplenty
And all I ask of life.
In feasting and dancing we’ll revel,
And worries can go to the devil.
A banquet of laughter and mirth
For us will be heaven on earth.
A bride of barely twenty,
And Papageno’s wife,
Is paradise aplenty
And all I ask of life.
By batches of beauties surrounded,
A dozen a day I have counted.
But what is the good of it all
If none of them come to my call?
A bride of barely twenty,
And Papageno’s wife,
Is paradise aplenty
And all I ask of life.
33
In pining a person is wasted;
His beer and his beef go untasted.
To go from starvation to bliss,
I need nothing more than a kiss,
No more than a kiss.
ROSSINI
THE BARBER OF SEVILLE
Buoyant, exuberant Figaro will be the first to tell you that he is a man of multiple
talents, not only as barber, but also surgeon, vet, gardener, marriage broker,
problem solver and daily newspaper:
Rested and rollicking, ready to go!
Nice day!
Scaling the ladder up to the top!
Hand it to Figaro, bravo, Bravissimo! Bravo!
Versatile, vigorous, much in demand, hi ho!
Favored by fortune and blessed by the gods,
Bound for success, overcoming the odds.
Scissor and razor ready when needed,
I am stampeded, run to the ground.
Ever at home with curler and comb,
A finer profession is not to be found.
A generous ration of free conversation
I give on occasion, trimming the hair.
Soaping or lathering, I am for gathering
Gossip and news for others to share.
Higher rewards come with the client;
Gentlemen cordial, ladies compliant.
People pursuing me, hailing, yoo-hooing me!
Gender or station no limitation.
34
Shorten the beard, heighten the color!
Service outstanding they are demanding.
Falling all over, the public is calling;
So highly regarded, the barber bombarded.
Customers clamoring, hounding and hammering,
Ever so eager, O Figaro, Figaro, Figaro!
A mob! A rush! A riot!
Enough! Be quiet!
Such great demand for my noble art.
But have a heart! One at a time!
Figaro … yes, sir! Figaro … Ay, ay!
Figaro here, Figaro there,
Figaro high, Figaro low,
Figaro up, Figaro down!
Quick on the trigger, with vision and vigor,
I’m man of the hour, the talk of the town.
High over all, even bigger than Figaro,
Destiny favors the day of the dynamo.
Business booming, flowers are blooming,
Flowers are blooming, opening out.
Welcome the barber, up and about.
Man of renown, I’m talk of the town!
Rosina is held captive by her tyrannical guardian, confined behind closed doors in a
room that she is never allowed to leave unescorted, jealously spied upon every
minute, but that does not prevent her from hearing a voice serenading her from
outside her balcony window. Instinct tells her that this is her man:
To the heart the arrow flew
From Lindoro, who drew the bow.
Dear Lindoro will be mine!
I’m determined, it shall be so!
Though the doctor will say no,
I have got a trick or two.
He will have to let me go
Or a battle will ensue.
35
Dear Lindoro will be mine!
I’m determined, it shall be so!
Prone to surrender,
Let love take over –
Yes, on the whole I am
A meek and gentle lamb.
I wait and watch the world go by.
BUT! If you cross my path,
If you provoke my wrath,
The cat will scratch, the fur will fly.
I have the wherewithal,
A hidden arsenal
Of secret weapons to apply,
Strategic traps to lay,
A pack of cards to play
Till in the end I have my way.
I tend to acquiesce,
To yield and follow,
To nod and answer yes
With lowered eyes,
BUT! If you collide with me,
The other side of me,
The sleeping tiger will arise.
I have the wherewithal,
A hidden arsenal
Of secret weapons to apply,
Strategic traps to lay,
A pack of cards to play
Till in the end I have my way.
After the trap is laid,
I have my way.
After the cards are played,
I have my way.
36
Slippery, slimy Don Basilio rhapsodizes on the effectiveness of slander, rumor and
insinuation:
Subdued and gentle,
Incidental idle chatter,
Featherweight, of little matter,
Start with flimsy, distant whispers overheard.
Piano, piano, undercover,
Sotto voce, quiet rumor
Bolstered by insinuation,
Enters into circulation.
Rumor, first absurd and silly,
Gains momentum as it travels willy nilly.
Starting out in tiny ripples,
Soon the volume doubles, triples
And the murmur hits the firmament,
Expanding with each word.
From a subtle innuendo
To a gradual crescendo,
Like the galloping of horses,
On the course it gathers forces,
With a hammer stroke of thunder
Tearing giant oaks asunder,
Flashing, crashing, little wonder
That it freezes to the bone.
Bursting out and overflowing,
With a fury ever growing,
Building up to an explosion,
Like a storm upon the ocean,
Like a tempest or tornado,
Like a charging light brigade, oh
See the monster fully grown!
Lo, the poor unhappy victim,
After calumny has kicked him,
Mutilated, devastated,
Left to struggle on his own.
37
Irascible old Dr. Barolo rightly suspects that his ward Rosina is up to mischief:
In the role of your adviser,
I would urge you to be wiser
And adopt a better line.
Candy wrapped in writing paper?
Quill and ink to draw a flower?
Blistered finger? I daresay! With bleeding!
Smarter measures you’ll be needing
To deceive these eyes of mine.
Why the piece of paper gone?
Why the balcony at dawn?
What the hell is going on?
Secrets I cannot condone;
Fairy tales I have outgrown.
Foolish girl, now don’t deny it!
Oh, you’ll be gaining nothing by it;
I am hardly deaf and blind.
Speak, my angel, don’t be distant.
You can tell me … it’s entre nous.
You are silent? Still persistent?
Stubborn girl, I’m far from through.
Here’s what I intend to do.
Little lady, in the future
When the doctor goes a gadding,
Nosy servants I am adding
To survey and supervise.
Let a person leave or enter,
Put me through another wringer,
Even lift a little finger,
You will meet a dozen eyes.
Poor Rosina, oh so proper!
Broken hearted, desolated,
Will remain incarcerated
Till I wish it otherwise.
No, a doctor versed in science
You cannot make a laughing stock.
Though you dare display defiance,
I’m the one that can turn the lock.
38
LA CENERENTOLA (CINDERELLA)
Angelina, mockingly nick-named Cinderella by her two sparkling but spiteful
sisters, sings a pensive song while doing her daily chores:
Searching far, he found three maids,
Each of a mind to be his own.
What to do?
Spurning beauty, spurning pride,
He in the end chose for his bride
Simple innocence, gentle modesty,
And a heart forever true.
Few but Cinderella would find anything nice to say about her stepfather, Don
Magnifico, who is not only vain and foolish, but also cruel and overbearing, Ever
hopeful despite having squandered the family fortune, he has an astonishing dream
that clearly foretells prosperity just around the corner:
Superdonkey, like Apollo!
Further marvels are soon to follow . . .
But the dream’s interpretation . . .
What great omen has it sent us?
Ah, what clue, what explanation
For this message so momentous?
Festive chimes and bells are booming?
Better days ahead are looming.
Feathered wings? You and you!
Flying upward? Fortune blooming.
But the ass . . . who could it be?
Ah, the finger points to me!
Who’s the donkey? Plain as daylight
In a mirror of crystal glass:
Obviously I am the ass.
39
Dandini, the servant posing as prince, and vice-versa – the two of them come calling,
with an important announcement:
Now winding up the affair that I debated
Before so devastated:
Home at last from travels, educated,
I find Papa capitulated
And to the graveyard already relegated.
He, expiring, stipulated
That to preserve the royal line I must get mated,
Or have all confiscated.
So my invitation to the ball is circulated.
If I find a tasty catch, my hook is baited;
For me that fish is fated.
I said it, I said it! Though it’s all so complicated . . .
DON MAGNIFICO: He even speaks like Dante!
Reporting back to Prince Ramiro, Dandini sizes up the two silly sisters -on the quiet, and off the record,
Both are full of affectation,
Hard as nails, cold as ice.
They are lazy and malicious,
Hard as nails, cold as ice.
Silly, shallow, vain and vicious -Otherwise they’re very nice.
Casting off disguise, Dandini delivers a stunning blow to Don Magnifico’s grandiose
ambitions:
Not to stand on ceremony,
As a prince I’m but a phony.
And the true prince comes to town today,
So it’s time I throw the mask away.
With a sigh of resignation
I resume my old vocation.
Meet Dandini, groom and lackey!
Meet Dandini, prince of valets!
Master barber, just the man for you -Have a haircut, shave and shampoo.
40
Confusion reigns in the Magnifico household:
Strain increases, tension heightens;
As we tug, we knot retightens.
Groping, grappling, still more baffling.
Each solution starts unraveling.
Raptly wrestling with this riddle,
In the middle, I’m entrapped.
True love leads to the quintessential happy ending:
Like a song, a dream, a winter’s
Tale, my sorrows all have flown.
THE ITALIAN GIRL IN ALGERIA
The downtrodden women of Algeria have the privilege of listening daily to
wholesome, time-honored words of wisdom:
Woman’s lot is to serve and suffer;
Ask not why, for God’s ordained it.
Learned men have well explained it:
Sorrow purifies the soul.
Mustafa reinforces the message, with his own egregious slant:
No absurd extreme is past her.
All would play the prima donna
And forget who’s lord and master.
How they strut,
They swagger, but
They do not sway the Bey.
41
Taken captive and sold into slavery, young Lindoro, a native-born Italian, can do
little but sigh and suffer, while longing for his adored Isabella, his hopes of ever
seeing her again reduced to almost, but not quite, zero:
The torment for a lover
To gaze across the sea!
One hope relieves the darkness:
Some day again I’ll be free.
Though captive and lonely
Mid languid desert breezes,
One comfort, one only,
Repairs the broken pieces.
I dream of my darling
Whose heart belongs to me.
Isabella, the Italian girl, is not as far away as Lindoro supposes. But having bravely
set forth to rescue her beloved, she too has met with disaster. Her ship has capsized
in a storm at sea. Cast ashore, friendless, penniless -- a stranger in a hostile land,
she now finds herself surrounded by a menacing band of cutthroats. For a
moment, but only a moment, the Italian girl is out of her depth:
With despair, dismay and panic,
For in truth I am much afraid . . . .
No more tears of self-indulgence!
Danger thrives because we fear it.
I have still a spark of spirit.
After all, they’re only men -Not exactly a lion’s den.
A woman’s arsenal can topple nations
And I have weaponry for all occasions.
I overcome with just a smile,
A saucy glance, a sultry sigh!
Afric or Ottoman,
Greek, Turk or Tuscan,
There’s not a man
Can do what one of us can.
42
In one way all akin,
Jet black or pale of skin,
Be they but masculine
They need the feminine
And yield the right of way
When I go by.
Reunited with Isabella, Lindoro’s future lights up::
My darling I recover
And hope soars up again.
The suffering was worth it.
The savor of this moment
Is more than fair repayment
For weeks of trial and pain.
I find my Isabella
And all is right again.
The mighty Mustafa is finding the outspoken Italian girl a good deal more than he
had bargained for:
You dance me round a circle!
But pushed too far, a Turk’ll
Stand up and show some spunk; he
Will not be made a monkey.
You think you’re so much smarter,
But these are my domains;
The fire of Turk and Tartar
Is burning in my veins.
After rounding up her fellow countrymen and firing up their patriotism, Isabella
leads the rescue as they sail off for Italy:
Soon to see my native valley.
Blind to danger, love shall rally,
Rouse out hearts to win the day.
43
COUNT ORY
Count Ory, an unscrupulous, lusty young nobleman, willing to go to any lengths in
amorous pursuit of the beautiful Countess, sequestered in the nearby castle, sworn
to forego the company of men till her brother returns from the crusade. However,
she might make an exception to an old, wise hermit, such as he now advertises
himself to be. His first task is to win over the crowd:
My work has long been noted
For most remarkable results.
Abroad at times I wander
To seek, observe and ponder.
A servant dedicated
To exalted exploration,
My skills are celebrated
In the most exclusive cults.
Tired of canes and crutches?
You long for higher places?
You men would wed a duchess?
In such do I excel.
I concentrate on cases
That call for softer touches,
The way to sweet embraces,
And wedding bells as well.
You want to hold the aces?
All this and more I can do.
I light the light for you, and you.
Adviser and physician,
A man above suspicion,
I ply a secret art
Known to heal the lonely heart.
No overnight sensation,
No mad impersonator,
No peddler of salvation,
I offer what you need.
No shady operator,
My service comes guaranteed.
44
A cantankerous old professor has been sent by the Count’s overbearing father to
track down his unpredictable son:
A bloody spy, a private eye!
Ah, what a slap in the face
For years of serving His Grace!
From my high plateau,
Forced to stoop so low!
I’m a scholar, a professor,
Accustomed to No, sir! and Yes, sir!
Now long of tooth and short of breath,
Pursuit of youth will be my death.
I huff and puff to stay apace,
But never quick enough for His Grace.
I stall, I stammer, to no avail;
He is the hammer and I’m the nail.
Because their husbands and brothers are off slaughtering heathen in the Middle
East, the wives and sisters left behind are fair game to playboy predators like Count
Ory. The Countess, however, receives a letter with unexpected news:
Dear sister, just a line:
The long crusade is finished!
In numbers undiminished
We sail from Palestine.
Through grimy dirt and mud
We fought the battle well.
With swords now red with blood,
We felled the infidel.
As God and fate direct us,
We head for native ground.
In two days time expect us
At home safe and sound.
Count Ory takes the news with characteristic aplomb:
Despite a change of weather,
The chase I shall renew.
To get my act together,
A day will have to do.
45
Though Count Ory has been exposed as the wily rascal that he is, the Countess
and her ladies, secluded inside the castle, are under the illusion that all is safe
and secure as they retire for the night:
Here life gently flows
Unruffled and sweet.
We breathe repose
In these quiet quarters,
Safe from the snare
Of man’s deceit.
Unknowingly, they are in for a rough night. A storm is brewing outside, while a
chorus of nuns, whose hoarse voices are no doubt the result of exposure to the
elements, plead for shelter:
O kind lady, hear us!
We’re wet, cold and weary,
Our way long and dreary,
The goal far from sight.
May heaven repay you!
Let warm pity sway you
And grant us, we pray you,
Shelter for the night.
The rugged nuns are inside the castle and ready for a party. In search of drink,
Rambaud, Ory’s right-hand man, makes a late night search:
The atmosphere was eerie,
My corner dark and dreary,
In need of hibernation,
I settled down to doze.
But suddenly awaking,
A flash of inspiration!
Here was an undertaking
That brought me to my toes.
In search of lubrication
I start my exploration
In worthy emulation
Of valiant Count Ory.
46
Roaming around at random,
Ready to meet a phantom,
I enter first a chamber –
What amazing things I see!
No drink alas, alack! But
A zither, lute and sackbut,
No idle bric-a-brac, but
A spinning wheel and loom.
On to an inner sanctum
With scrolls that reach the ceiling,
The paneled shelves revealing
A cloistered reading room.
On to a banquet table,
I take a rest from roaming,
But despite a careful combing
I find no bill of fare.
Resuming cloak and dagger,
I turn a rusty handle,
Proceed by lighted candle
To stagger down a stair.
Surely a captive maiden
Is guarded by a giant,
But undeterred, defiant,
I continue to explore.
Down to the bottom level.
No sign of captive maiden;
Instead, a cellar laden
With barrels on the floor,
A dark and dismal dungeon
Inhabited by spiders –
A warning to outsiders
To leave while all is well.
The object of my mission!
This sort of ammunition
Puts an army in condition
To slay the infidel.
47
Here is the pride of nations!
Italian, French and Spanish,
There’s fuel enough to banish
Your cares to kingdom come.
In short, champagne and sherry,
The best of beer and brandy,
And forty barrels handy
Of fine old-fashioned rum.
I hesitate no longer.
Intent upon the booty,
I obey the call of duty
And make a bold attack.
The nations soon surrender;
The barrels yield their plenty,
And drink enough for twenty
I hoist upon my back.
I pick the finest to bring the boys.
A sudden noise!
I hold my breath.
The sound approaches,
Each minute stronger;
It’s suicidal to linger longer.
Off like an arrow!
Now life or death!
They cry out, a robber!
A robber! Arrest him!
My heart is pounding,
My feet are bounding.
I’m not inclined to look behind.
So now at our leisure
We open the treasure
I bring from down below.
All hail to the hearty!
Get set for a party
And let the liquid flow!
48
DONIZETTI
THE ELIXIR OF LOVE
Poor, educationally challenged Nemorino! Hopelessly in love with dazzling Adina,
who can actually read and write – a gift, it seems, that some are born with, some
are not:
Though for pity I implore her,
I get nothing but disdain.
She has mastered reading and writing;
Long division for her is sugar candy.
But my schooling is so scanty
I can only sigh in vain.
Such a darling, yet so distant,
Brightly shining, a star far above me.
Though I long for her to love me,
Empty-handed I remain.
49
In the course of her reading, Adina comes across the intriguing story of Tristan and
Isolda – several decades, be it noted, before it caught the attention of Richard
Wagner. It sounds like just what Nemorino needs:
No ray of hope she offered,
Either in whole or in part.
Hope was around the corner.
A friendly, wise magician,
Noting his sad condition,
Went to his shelves to find
An elixir expressly designed
To ignite the lady’s frozen heart.”
What potential in the potion
For the awkward and the shy!
Jungle passion, raw emotion
From a bottle you can buy.
“A drop he’d barely swallowed
When sparks of lightning followed.
Behold! Isolda smolders!
The fire’s begun to blaze.
Isolda, cold no longer,
Yearns to enfold her lover.
Days of disdain are over,
Conquered by true devotion,
And for the amazing potion
Our hero sings daily rounds of praise.”
What potential in the potion
For the awkward and the shy!
Jungle passion, raw emotion
From a bottle you can buy.
Doctor Dulcamara, philanthropist, wonder-worker and super-salesman, has an
astonishing array of potions and elixirs, satisfaction guaranteed:
A servant of humanity,
A friend who never fails you,
A man devoid of vanity.
I conquer all that ails you.
50
To further my philanthropy
I travel night and day.
So come and buy, come buy from me,
A bargain by the way.
Why even mention pay?
Not only offers aid for you
But kills off rats and roaches.
The claim corroborated,
Confirmed and validated.
I pass around the document
For each and all to see.
This bottle offers benefit;
By tasting now and then of it
A man well in his eighties
Who’s given up on ladies
Soon is the proud progenitor
Of a dozen on his knee.
And stronger than a stevedore
Of twenty two or three.
And here’s a soothing syrup
Designed to brace and cheer up.
Decrepit widows sipping it
Go skipping off with glee.
You women, spry though elderly,
Whose playful eye still twinkles
With my exclusive recipe
Erase unwanted wrinkles.
You gorgeous girls, I daresay,
Would salvage your complexion.
You lads would hear the fair say
“You suit me to perfection.”
Come, purchase youth and beauty
For the pittance that you pay -Today is bargain day!
51
You owe yourself a duty,
A ticket of admittance
To eternal youth and beauty
For the pittance that you pay.
So overcome your malady;
Improve your personality,
Combat unkind reality.
Rejuvenate … reinvigorate …
When down with laryngitis, hepatitis
Or St. Vitus,
Not to mention hypertension,
Here’s the bottle that you need.
Perhaps you have a tendency
To alcohol dependency.
Your waist is getting bigger,
You have lost your vim and vigor,
Work and play are going poorly
And you’re balding prematurely,
The need is urgent surely
For a friend to intercede.
So purchase, purchase, one and all!
You toddlers from the nursery,
You codgers facing surgery,
You can’t afford delay.
Oh, yes! A bargain by the way.
You barely have to pay.
On the road I’ve weathered crisis,
Seldom resting, often walking.
You are asking what the price is?
How much money are we talking? …
I’ll explain: for this outstanding
Vintage from another era,
Throughout Europe I’m demanding
Never less than thirty lire.
But ’tis known to every yokel,
Native born, my roots are local.
Thus, although you’ll think me jesting,
Only three I’m now requesting.
52
So with each and every purchase –
Be it noted and recorded –
Every buyer goes rewarded
With a profit in the clear.
---For a friend so wise and gifted,
For a doctor fair and square,
We extend a grateful prayer.
---I’m inspired, indeed uplifted
When I breathe my native air.
Wonder of wonders! Doctor Dulcamara’s stock actually include the genuine,
original potion administered to Tristan. Furthermore, it actually works, as testified
later on by a furtive tear detected in the eye of Adina, following a heavy dose of the
miraculous elixir:
Telling of pain and jealousy
Proud lips could not reveal.
Deep in my heart, now I know:
Longing, she loves me!
One tear has told me all.
O for a moment close to her,
Answering fire with fire!
Breathing a sigh in harmony
As wonder prolongs the spell.
The throbbing of her heart to feel and hear!
A smile to wipe away the furtive tear!
Heaven at last so near,
Granting in full my sole desire.
Doctor Dulcamara departs in well-deserved triumph:
Guarantee of smoother sailing,
Certified by Aristotle.
Daily those of note proclaim it
Good for nose or throat – you name it –
53
Kidney, lung or liver trouble,
Down the list from A to Z.
It will soothe your howling baby,
Renovate worn out libidos,
Stimulate affection, maybe
Give protection from mosquitoes.
Good for pimples, for carbuncles,
For dispatching wealthy uncles.
For the newly wedded couple
’Twill assure fertility.
Lucky people, thus in leaving
I bequeath to you a treasure.
With a purchase you’re achieving
Longer life and lasting pleasure.
Be of cheer and stay light-hearted;
Spread the riches here imparted.
Now and then you may remember
Dulcamara far away.
DON PASQUALE
Don Pasquale, an elderly but well-to-do bachelor, has impulsively decided to get
married, mainly to spite his recalcitrant nephew Ernesto. Malatesta, Pasquale’s
doctor and also a friend of Ernest’s, has obligingly picked out the perfect bride
who, oddly enough, happens to be the very girl that Ernesto wants to marry.
QuickTime™ and a
decompressor
are needed to see this picture.
Skin smooth as alabaster,
No budding rose surpassed her;
Hair to compare with ebony,
A smile to melt the heart ,,,
Soft, innocent, a melody
Borne gently on the zephyr,
Her charm composed of modesty
And love that flows forever.
Kind hearted, chaste and pious,
A comfort as years go by us,
Naïve, and yet so amorous
Her eyes enslave the heart.
54
At the heretofore unlikely prospect of becoming a bridegroom and lover, Pasquale
undergoes a burst of springtime rejuvenation:
Fire of virility, crackling and burning,
Glows with the rapture of springtime returning.
Wrinkles and dentures
Plague me no longer.
Ripe for adventures
I go forth to conquer.
Come, love, provide us the best of finales
With a half dozen of tiny Pasquales.
I see with clarity me with posterity
Laughing and bouncing,
Three on each side.
Such an amount of ’em
Now I lose count of ‘em.
Oh for the joys that start with a bride.
Unaware that his presumed friend has been acting entirely on his behalf, Ernesto is
angry, hurt and disillusioned:
Then, trusting and believing, ah!
I find not friend but fiend.
With such a load of sorrow
How can I face tomorrow?
Hope is a lie that flatters;
I’m at the bitter end.
Admittedly, the real Norina does not entirely fit Malatesta’s rhapsodic description:
With graceful art she plays a part
That changes as she chooses ---
55
An arching glance from eyes that dance,
A tear that rarely loses;
With light finesse a hint of “yes”
That sets the heart astir.
If I may be quite candid,
A frown is heavy handed.
A wan nuance of nonchalance
The wise and fair prefer.
A stratagem that I condemn
Without the right inflexion
Is pining and whining --They soon become a bore.
A sultry mood while being wooed
A man cannot ignore;
But pining and whining
Will only shut the door.
Though some may malign us
For being flirtatious,
I count it ungracious
To count it a minus:
The world is a stage!
I rise to a fury, but never can nurse it;
A laugh will disperse it
And gone is the rage.
I live for delight --- a little bit odd,
But my heart is all right.
An ingénue can overdo,
But if you choose to err, choose
The subtle smile so versatile
It compensates for virtues --A secret entre nous.
But frankly, just between us,
One must laugh a bit at Venus.
56
Norina and Malatesta conspire to outwit the Don with a mock marriage:
NORINA
By love inspired, ever inside me,
Ah, beloved! Your fire will guide me.
I shall dance and play the devil;
Plots and pranks will be a revel.
Love will tell me what to do
When the uncle starts to woo.
MALATESTA
My regard for you and Ernesto,
My fond affection, requires no manifesto.
As you dance to my direction
Don Pasquale plays buffoon.
Turn the fiction to perfection
For Pasquale’s honeymoon.
Out to save you and Ernesto,
The time is short, the beat is presto!
Presumably man and wife, Pasquale’s vision of marital tranquility is abruptly
shaken up. But now comes the ultimate outrage:
Surrender, be tender, compliant,
Remember your gout.
To bed now, be docile,
My darling old fossil.
May ague not plague you --Your wife’s going out!
--- Divorce!! I’ll divorce you!
What gout and what ague?
Not bedtime, instead time
To force you about.
(As total disaster
What wife has surpassed her?)
The devil come take you,
I’m down but not out!
57
From the rapturous duet sung by the two lovers in the final act, we may infer that
the scheme was a success, resulting amazingly enough in an outcome that leaves
everybody happy.
DUET:
Rain that restores the myrtle,
Sheer happiness pours on my heart.
One tender smile will refreshen
And lift my spirit’s oppression.
Joy I find only near you,
Torment when far apart.
LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR
Late at night in the garden, Lucia avoids looking at the fountain directly, as if
reminded of a past scene of passion and violence, an omen of her own uncertain,
hazardous future.
Castle and forest lay covered.
Over the fountain as pale as death,
Moonlight and shadow hovered.
Faintly I heard a doleful cry
Borne on the breeze of night.
Before me, oh before my very eye
There stood a figure, ghostly in robes of white.
Vainly she tried to speak to me,
Though from her lips no word sounded,
And with her hand she beckoned me
Into the dark that surrounded.
Motionless, there she briefly stood,
Then faded into air.
Ah, see the fountain red with blood,
That ran so clear before!
58
Waiting to meet her lover, the menacing omen is quickly forgotten in the rapturous
glow of anticipation:
Two hearts together woven,
We swore eternal love.
Forgotten then were tears of woe,
Gone the days of despair.
Near him, I rise to heaven,
Transported to realms above.
Thwarted by a ferocious long lasting hostility between their families, not unlike the
plight of Romeo and Juliet, the lovers are forced to meet secretly. But Edgardo has
now been summoned to go overseas on a state mission. Who knows how long he will
be gone? Their parting is painful yet filled with a tender ecstasy as they exchange
pledges of eternal love, little knowing what lies ahead.
On scented air a tender breeze
Will float my yearning and sorrow.
From distant shores my sad lament
Will echo across the water.
Remember then the vow we made
And pity my despair.
Gaze on this constant pledge of love
And shed a lonely tear.
Persuaded by forged evidence and intercepted letters that Edgardo has turned
unfaithful, Lucia’s disillusion is complete:
My dreams and devotion in ruin now lie.
The death knell has sounded;
I seek but to die.
That heart so unfaithful
I trusted and lost.
59
Her brother Enrico seasons recrimination and rebuke with a sprinkling of
sympathy:
To fail your own blood for a lecher and scoundrel!
But praise be to heaven, you’re spared the full cost;
That heart so unfaithful consider well lost.
Begging her to marry the one man who can save him from ruin, his plea turns into a
threat:
Should you fail me by refusing,
Sure destruction is bound to follow.
Worst of all, I die dishonored
For the axe falls on my head.
In your dreams, pursued and haunted,
You will see my headless body,
And the axe still warm and bloody
Then will dangle above your bed.
Edgardo returns just in time to witness Lucia’s marriage to another man. Later
that night, kind-hearted Raimondo, her spiritual adviser, interrupts the gala party
with a horrifying description of a grisly scene:
From her chamber where Lucia
With her husband had retired
Came an outcry, a groan of anguish,
Like a man in mortal struggle.
In alarm, I ran to discover
Such a sight to freeze the veins, ah!
There Arturo, his body lifeless,
Cold and silent, lay drenched in blood.
And Lucia, with dripping hands,
Still held the knife of execution.
She stared at me.....
The eyes were vacant....
“Where’s my husband?” she said. “ Edgardo?”
Then upon her clouded features
Broke a tiny distant smile.
60
Overcome, her reason wanders,
And her mind is far astray.
Demented! Insane!
In madness and close to death, Lucia drifts into a sweet serenity:
But where the soul reposes
There I shall wait, my love.
After our journey closes,
We shall find peace above.
Like Lucia, Edgardo also dies in serene anticipation of a joyful reunion:
Turn to me a smile forgiving,
For I shall follow,
Now my worldly task is done.
Mortal hurt and human anger
We shall here endure no longer.
Torn apart while ’mong the living,
There above, we shall dwell ever one.
LUCREZIA BORGIA
The friendship of two young soldiers, one of whom is unknowingly the son of the
notorious and abhorred Lucrezia Borgia, was cemented on the battlefield:
Beyond the pursuit of victory,
Death itself I was fighting.
Except for my brave Gennaro,
There would my tale have ended;
Fearless in face of danger,
He lifted me from the dead.
61
Later the roles were turned around;
His was the life in peril.
Danger has forged our destiny,
Welded together as brothers.
“And you will perish together,”
Thundered a voice of warning.
Croaking this fateful message,
A man in black strode by.
“Beware the Borgias, O come not near!”
Gravely these words he uttered.
“Fear above all Lucrezia.
Deal with Lucrezia, you die!
Herself born into a nest of vipers and scorpions, Lucrezia protected her newborn
son by secreting him away from his dangerous relatives. Not till nearly twenty years
later does she dare come to seek him out. On a dark, deserted byway in Venice, she
finds him – sleeping:
The sleep I long for!
At peace, may his soul be shielded
From the remorse I suffer –
Dark nights of horror,
Haunted and tormented.
Even while tenderly gazing at the beloved son whom she has not seen since infancy,
she cannot forget the nightmare that her life has become, both as victim and
persecutor. God forbid that he should find out
All I dared ever hope or imagine
I see imprinted upon his features.
Granted but one joyful moment,
Let me marvel and admire.
Tell him not my tale of horror;
His contempt I could not bear.
62
Take from me that bitter harvest:
His disdain and my despair.
Should I wake him? No, I dare not!
Nor reveal my covered face.
Still weeping for joy and sadness,
I must dry these many tears.
Her meeting with a young man late at night in a deserted corner of Venice does not
escape the ever vigilant eye of Duke Alfonso, her husband, who immediately jumps
to an obvious conclusion. All-powerful, favored by fortune, he plays many roles -lion, tiger, wolf, serpent. He now assumes the role of dishonored husband, hungry
for vengeance.
My appetite I satisfy
When lesser mortals cringe and cower.
A fortress and a citadel,
My home is not a hovel.
No need have I to qualify
For popular approval. No!
An heir to rank and privilege,
No man has mounted higher.
By right divine, I claim as mine
The place that all desire.
By right divine, I claim as mine
The royal purple that all desire.
Having cut Lucrezia to the quick with a school boy prank, Gennaro and his buddies
attend a party from which none of them will emerge alive. But the night is young.
Drink up!
That regardless of change in the weather,
Our garden is bursting with flowers.
63
So drink up, and with friendship and laughter
Celebrate the delights of today;
Time enough for lamenting hereafter
When December is somber and gray.
Heated lovers, why wait till tomorrow
When the sputter and sparkle have dwindled?
In the ash you may find to your sorrow
That the fire cannot be rekindled.
So drink up, and with friendship and laughter
Celebrate the delights of today;
Time enough for lamenting hereafter
When December is somber and gray.
VERDI
MACBETH
Eagerly awaiting her husband’s return from victory on the battlefield, Lady
Macbeth receives a letter written en route to which her reaction is immediate,
passionate, and blood-chilling:
And stifle paltry scruples,
You ministers of murder,
Unsex me! My milk
Turn to gall of direst cruelty.
O night, draw your curtain;
Conceal the deed in darkness.
May voices from heaven
Impede not the fatal dagger,
The dagger that plunges
Not heeding the rivers of blood,
The gushing rivers of blood.
64
Once the seed of ambition has been implanted, Macbeth, backed by his equally
ambitious wife, is irresistibly compelled to take matters into his own hands, despite
deep misgivings and vivid hallucinations:
Is this a dagger I see before me,
The handle pointed toward me?
If you are there in fact,
Come, let me clutch you.
You elude me . . . yet still I see you.
That in my mind I’ve followed over and over?
Hallucination!
There, on the blade a smear of blood slowly spreading!
No sword, and yet I see it . . .
My bloody purpose gives it form and dimension,
An airy nothing,
For my eyes are outweighed by the other senses . . .
Now over one half the world nature is dead
And dreams take over.
Quietly, the assassin creeps like a ghost
Through the halls of the castle.
Comes the hour when witches commune with Satan.
Firm, solid earth, hear not my steps
That tell my presence.
Fate has spoken; the grisly bell has sounded.
Hear it not, drowsy Duncan, childlike in slumber.
’Tis the knell that summons you to heaven or to hell.
No sooner is the gruesome deed accomplished than horror takes over – the
realization that he will never again know a moment of peace:
Your head will be pillowed
On briars and nettles.
Lie down, and remember
Sleep itself you have murdered.
Your eyes will stay open
Through long nights ahead.
65
His Lady replies:
For high aspirations
Be bolder, be braver!
The task barely started,
Too tender, soft-hearted,
You falter, you waver,
Recoil from the dead.
Wading in blood, compelled to wade still deeper lest Banquo and his offspring
inherit the throne so brutally come by, Lord and Lady Macbeth, King and Queen of
Scotland, more experienced in crime, have gone beyond panic and revulsion:
Come, draw a curtain;
Hide us from heaven.
Good things of day let night tear apart,
And blind be the dagger that stabs at the heart.
On a lonely forest path, as shadows lengthen and daylight dwindles, Banquo and his
young son uneasily head for home.
Son, I warn you, stay closer!
The place so dark, so deserted . . .
I feel though know not why
Death and danger lurking,
Formless visions of horror
Born of suspicion.
Well I recall the night
The night that saw King Duncan slain.
Fear, like a nest of scorpions,
Has spewed out deadly poison.
Terror that feeds on fantasy
Has called forth spectres I fend off in vain.
Fear reinforced by despair has called forth spectres
I brush aside in vain.
66
I wrestle in a cloud of fear and despair,
Of naked fear and despair.
Like her husband, Lady Macbeth lives in a hell from which sleep allows no respite.
Long past midnight in a darkened room, she appears, holding a lighted taper -asleep, yet walking, speaking disconnected though all too revealing fragments of
guilt and anguish, her eyes wide open, staring, yet seeing nothing …
One . . . two . . . now time to do it!
Go ahead! Are you afraid?
And you call yourself a soldier!
I call you coward!
The king is sleeping.
Ah, but who would have thought
The old man had so much, so much blood?
Who would have thought?
The Thane of Fife had a wife . . .
Where is she now?
Oh, these hands! Drenched in blood . . .
And am I never to see them clean again?
The stench of blood, ever present . . .
And all the perfumes,
All the many, many perfumes of Arabia
Will not sweeten this hand, this little hand,
No balm can sweeten this hand. Ay, me!
Be off, be off! Put on your night clothes.
Look not so pallid.
Banquo’s safely dead and buried;
From the grave he’ll not return, he’ll not return.
To bed, to bed now . . . What is done cannot be undone.
Someone’s knocking! Banquo is buried.
Give me your hand and look not so pale.
A little water soon will clear us.
Come on to bed, away . . .
The honored soldier turned murderous tyrant sorrowfully surveys the barren,
meaningless desert that his life has become:
But I have lived long enough.
I now grow weary; the leaf has withered.
67
Warm friendship and simple pleasures
I’m never again to know.
Welcoming smiles, banter and mirth -These pleasures have ended, replaced long ago.
In death to lie unlamented!
A grave no tears shall water,
Ah! Curses, abhorrence and loathing
Become my legacy.
Only the fruits of fear -Hatred and fury,
Curses, abhorrence and loathing,
But none to mourn for me.
No tear will fall in sorrow for me.
My only reward, scorn and mockery,
And a curse on the day that I was born.
No mournful tear, only disdain and fury,
And sorrow that I was ever born.
RIGOLETTO
After a somber prelude, the party is in full swing at the palace of the Duke of
Mantua, a man who has encountered few obstacles in his debonair romp through
life:
On my platter the rule is variety.
Doing duty to beauty in full array,
I can lend my love for only a day.
Hating both himself and the world, Rigoletto, the deformed court jester, reflects
upon his servile relationship with the Duke with a blend of envy and contempt:
Malevolent! Misanthropic!
Both man and nature have produced a monster.
A hunchback, ugly and crooked!
A jester, trading in venom . . .
68
Look at my fine employer -Youthful, successful, easy-going, handsome -He will say as he dozes,
Make me laugh! Entertain me!
And like a dog, I do it.
Entrusting his newly found daughter Gilda to the care of his servant Giovanna, he
has ample reason for caution. The daughter of a lowly buffoon can be assaulted,
even kidnapped, with impunity:
From her bower keep away
The howling wind, the driving rain.
From the prowling beast of prey
That comes to plunder and devour
You will shield her until restored
To her father’s arms again.
Passing himself off as an humble student named Gualtier Malde, the mellifluous
Duke knows exactly how to penetrate the heart of vulnerable Gilda:
A secret garden few dare to enter.
Love is transcendent, a halo of glory -The rest is shadow, a mere passing story.
Close to divinity, ours is the portal
That opens paradise, the mystery of life immortal . . .
After he departs, she can only blissfully repeat the cherished name of her beloved:
Stirs a shy delight unknown
To the child I was before.
On the wings of sweet desire
To my love I long to fly,
There to give my life entire
Till I breathe a final sigh.
69
Upon realizing that his daughter has been kidnapped and that he himself has been
tricked into lending a hand, Rigoletto confronts the Duke’s cronies, but quickly
crumbles:
For a profit you’d sell off your sisters.
Dangle gold, and nothing is sacred.
But my daughter is dear beyond a price.
Give her to me! You refuse at your peril.
I will fight tooth and nail, single handed.
Fortified by the need of my daughter,
I am stronger and sharper than steel . . .
Ah! You win . . . I’m weeping . . .
On my knees, now I plead for your pardon.
To an old man, return his only daughter.
Such a kindness will cost you nothing,
Not so much as a farthing,
And my daughter is dearer
Than all the world to me . . .
Knowing beyond doubt that the Duke is a rake, a liar and a scoundrel, nonetheless
Gilda willingly sacrifices her life to save his. As usual, the Duke has the final say:
Ruled by caprices,
Each a mere weathervane
Spun by the breezes,
Shifting and turning,
Loving, then spurning,
Burning, then freezing,
Taunting and teasing,
Fair but most pleasing
Seen from afar . . .
Though I would credit all
Women with beauty.
Mozart once said it all:
Cosi fan Tutte.
70
Pity the worshipper
Prone to surrender;
Shame on the featherbrain
Stung by that gender.
Though I deplore them.
Try to ignore them,
Still I adore them
Just as they are.
LA TRAVIATA
A small but lively party is in progress at Violetta’s elegant apartment in
Paris, courtesy of a certain rich Baron:
At ease in a garden of beauty still ours,
Embellished with sweet buds of May.
Love on! Explore sheer ecstasy
Found only by shy lovers,
When one rare moment uncovers
What eyes alone convey.
Sing on! To the passionate rapture inspired
By the wine turning night into day.
Young, naïve Alfredo, relatively new to the city, makes a passionate declaration of
71
love which Violetta laughs off with a fair warning:
Nonetheless, the possibility of lasting love has struck a deep chord:
Would love on such a level be so unwelcome?
Groping, grasping, I hardly know the answer.
No man before has stirred the fire.
Oh, joy I dared not hope for!
To love the man who loves me.
Can I spurn such a blessing
For the vast and empty desert
Where long I’ve wandered?
From the vineyards of Provence, where there is much concern and little uncertainty
as to what is right and what is wrong, Germont, Alfredo’s father, comes to plead
with Violetta to abandon the unseemly relationship that has unfolded at the expense
of his daughter, Alfredo’s younger sister, whose future happiness will be blighted if
not destroyed by her brother’s breach of the social code:
Now is her hope of happiness
Imperiled by her brother.
Loved by the young man she adores,
Soon they embark on marriage.
What can he do but break a bond
So stained by scandal and dishonor.
72
Must they forego felicity?
Are they to love in vain?
Oh, hear a father’s plea!
For now my daughter’s fate
Is in your hands, not mine.
Germont is far from realizing the magnitude of the sacrifice that he is demanding
and that she tearfully agreed to. But he is there when his son returns, to offer what
consolation he can:
Have you wandered far astray
From the land of olive trees?
From the blue of Southern skies
What has stolen you away?
What has stolen you away
From the blue of Southern skies?
In your grief, remember where
Simple pleasures yet remain.
Past the winter of despair
See the orchards bloom again.
Come with me there!
Destitute, lonely, ravaged by consumption, Violetta knows that she is near the end,
as she anxiously waits for the return of Alfredo, who has been told the truth about
her magnanimous sacrifice:
Too late! I’m waiting, still waiting . . .
And my days are numbered.
73
Oh, how the bloom has faded!
But the Doctor sounded cheerful, even hopeful . . .
Ah! I know better.
All hope I must abandon.
Farewell, youth and beauty!
Long gone are the roses.
My love far away,
By the past we are parted.
Alone, here I lie,
Pale and weak, broken hearted.
Here lonely . . . forlorn . . .
Ah! Turning unto heaven, my soul I surrender.
Oh, father! In Thy mercy, allow me to enter.
Ah! Soon total, total dark!
My fire burns low, my end draws near . . .
Alfredo arrives in time for one blissful moment before the renewed flicker of hope is
extinguished:
Far away from shallow splendor, we’ll start all over,
New realms of rapture there to discover.
Arm in arm, we’ll wander through greener meadows,
Where flowers blossom and skies are fair.
FALSTAFF
At his somewhat seamy residence known to the drinking public as The Garter Inn,
Sir John Falstaff reprimands his two underlings, Bardolph and Pistol:
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You have led me to ruin,
Costing a fortune just to keep you in service.
You guzzler! Often we weave and wander
Roam from tavern to tavern nightly,
Guided by that flaming nose of yours
There burning ever brightly.
But what you save me in oil
You spend on sack and sherry.
Thirty years I’ve watered
That massive over-ripened berry.
Waiter! Some more of the finest!
All I’ve got you’ve devoured.
A Falstaff worn and wasted
Is overlooked and undervalued.
By birth a noble,
I inspire tongues in chorus
To acclaim a girth so global.
(patting his abdomen)
Here is my kingdom
And here I reign.
Two spunky married women, Alice Ford and Meg Page, plot revenge on the
presumptuous fat knight who has been wooing them simultaneously with identical
love letters.
The tankard, the barrel!
As dashing young lover
In purple apparel,
His heyday is over.
A flounder, a whopper! A would-be wife-swapper,
A whale of a fellow, professedly smitten,
Cast up from the ocean to land in Great Britain.
Pistol warns Mr. Ford of the impending threat:
To put it briefly,
Old Falstaff’s plan is chiefly
To sneak into your house
There to make out with your spouse.
Though around your gold he hovers,
First he’ll plough beneath your covers.
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Dr. Caius opts for caution:
After careful close analysis
I can hardly help from wondering
If a doctor’s diagnosis
Would endorse the risk you run.
Though averse to mere paralysis,
Till you’re double sure that Alice is
In a cloud of wine and roses,
I suggest you hold the gun.
With these two I’m also acquainted.
What a lot! A motley crew!
No, sir, not exactly sainted,
Both are knaves and rascals, too.
Ford, posing as a Mr. Brooke, new to Windsor, presents his plight to Falstaff,
hoping to lure him into a trap. Unsuccessful so far in seducing the charming Alice
Ford ….
My fervor matters little.
I plead, but still no kisses.
The gold I’ve spent, though vital,
I’ve squandered to my sorrow
While hoping still that, despite all,
She’ll yield to me tomorrow.
In vain! Naught can persuade her!
My passion barely noted,
Rejected, but still devoted,
I sadly serenade her.
His plan is bold though bizarre:
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By nature meek and humble,
I’m met with stern resistance.
Her icy frown and flashing eyes declare,
“Sir, keep your distance!”
But if you make her tumble,
You clear the way for me.
The wall then has to crumble.
And so? What do you say?
Alone, after discovering that his wife has apparently succumbed already to
Falstaff’s advances, he is in torment:
A nightmare? Or is it real?
Two ramlike horns upon my forehead have sprouted.
A dream, no? Mister Ford! Mister Ford!
Sleeping? On your toes! Rise! Sleeping?
Your wife corrupted, her vows invalidated,
Both your bed and your honor contaminated!
Messages bandied, their planning completed;
I am swindled and cheated,
And still they tell us
That the man who is jealous
Is demented.
All over town, scorn and disdain,
The knowing smile, idle banter, sly insinuation …
Why did I marry? The torture!
Women! All lusting!
Only a fool remains blindly trusting.
Sooner I’d trust my beer to a German,
Sooner a bone before a starving spaniel,
Or stake my life upon a lottery
Than trust a wife left alone …
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Still smarting from the assault upon their good sense, the ladies out for vendetta are
just warming up. In the offing, a midnight rendezvous in nearby Windsor Forest, a
known habitat for goblins, fairies, imps and elves, all eager for mischief and ready
to be pressed into service.
The curtain up, the comedy commences.
Now is the time for laughter that cleanses,
Laughter that topples the braggart that swaggers,
An arsenal loaded with darts but no daggers.
Neighbors united! With chuckles and chortles,
Join the brigade of fun-loving mortals
Storming the portals of pomp and of pride.
Be merry! Discreet or outrageous,
The joy is contagious
And spreads far and wide. Alert!
Falstaff, in somber mood, reflects upon this wicked world:
World of riff raff! World of corruption! All rotten!
---Bring a pitcher. Make it hot, make it mellow.--Outrageous! So after long years of service,
A cavalier, a fearless fighter,
I’m folded up and stuffed into a basket
With a foul load of linen
And tossed into the river,
Discarded like a litter of defective puppies.
Had not my belly saved me,
Ballooning like a buoy, I’d have gone under,
Soaked in water, swollen and bloated.
World of scum! Garden gone to seed,
Where now is virtue?
Go, old Sir John,
Go, go, old and unwanted,
To death just around the corner.
With me, the last remains of manhood
Will vanish from the earth.
I was so close to winning!
The worst day yet! I just get fatter
While my hair keeps thinning.
In his youth, on the other hand …
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Way back in Norfolk, the darling of the Duke.
Serving as page, I was trim as a sparrow.
Quick on the mark and bright as a lark,
I was swift as an arrow.
Days of my youth, sweet May in all its glory!
Days full of love, too fleet and transitory.
Then I was slender. Oh, yes! I was nimble
Small enough to fit snug inside of a thimble.
Light as a feather, spry as a beetle,
Slim, I could slip through the eye of a needle.
Anne, as Queen of the Fairies, addresses her subjects:
Hurry, before the moon is down,
Elves of the night, assemble!
You dancers, follow the music
That guides our fairy throng.
Magic and grace are blended
When dance adorns the song.
Swarming around Falstaff, the elves take over:
A rare opportunity
To hassle and humble him.
Adopting a stronger line,
We’ll turn him to jelly
By forming a conga line
Across his big belly.
You flies and mosquitoes
Of swamp and of jungle,
This mass of libidos
Is yet to cry uncle.
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Alice, Meg and Quickly join the fray:
Smacking and whacking him,
Keep on attacking him;
Innocent frolic’ll
Turn diabolical.
His folly fully exposed, Falstaff handles his own defense:
Fools that they are!
For I’m not only witty in myself,
But I create the wit in others.
Yes, I supply the salt that seasons the pudding,
The zest and flavor
You lesser mortals can savor.
All is summed up in a fugue:
Full of clamor and clatter, idle chatter,
Whether gloomy or jolly.
Lowly or mighty, fickle and flighty,
We jesters are prone to bicker and brawl.
Ah, but the question yet festers:
Who will laugh last of all?
Now and hereafter,
Matter for laughter.
STANISLAW MONIUSZKO
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HALKA
Jontek ruefully looks back over many years of unrequited love for Halka:
Through the old man’s withered heart
The winter wind blows cold …
Seeking hidden treasures of the wild -A prize to give my queen.
I found the most reclusive flowers,
By careless eyes unseen.
From village fairs I brought you trinkets
Envied by disdainful girls,
Rings and bracelets made of colored glass -For us they passed for pearls.
Proud and free, I envy no one;
Nonetheless, I’m only human.
For the unmanly tears I’ve shed,
Dear Halka, you’re to blame!
As the bud becomes a blossom,
As the egg becomes a swan,
Halka, you’ve become a wonder
I can only gaze upon.
Time is moving, all is changing, nothing stays the same.
For the bounder you preferred
My dream went down in flame.
Life goes on and all’s forgiven;
You are still my earth and heaven.
To relieve your weight of sorrow
I would walk through fire,
Through the raging fire.
THE HAUNTED MANOR
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As the Polish army disbands after celebrating a temporary victory, Frederick and
Stefan, brothers, in a burst of patriotic fervor, vow to remain permanently single.
Weeping wives and howling babies must not stand in their way when duty summons
– a not unlikely prospect in a country surrounded by powerful and aggressive
neighbors:
Called into service, no mere spectator,
Ready for war, I’m determined to stay unwed,
To live and die a bachelor.
I’ll then be free to come when needed,
To heed the call of bugle, drum and fife,
Unencumbered and unimpeded
By moans and groans of a home-loving wife.
Many decades of incessant warfare have left a chronic shortage of marriageable
men. Even for Georgina – young, beautiful, charming and rich, but isolated in a tiny
rural community, far away from the busy world, prospects for finding an agreeable
husband are bleak. But one can dream …
Or a knight in shining armor
Knocks upon my door,
Or perhaps a gallant hero
Will at times appear,
But with chances close to zero,
Days and nights are drear,
Oh, so cold and drear!
Living lone and isolated
Loath to look ahead,
Like too many women, fated
To live and die unwed,
Filled with longing fierce and cruel
Of a soul on fire,
Where to find the fabled jewel
Fashioned by desire,
Sorrow and desire?
Oh, enough of this self-pity!
I’ve no cause to fret.
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Still considered young and pretty,
All’s not over yet.
I am through with feeling sorry!
I can wait, and I’ll not surrender yet.
Love will happen, what’s the hurry?
It could be tonight.
What a waste of time to worry!
All will turn out right.
Like her sister, Anna is also puzzled and vexed at the brothers’ apparent resolve
to remain bachelors:
Two grown-ups, free and independent,
Vow to live and die unmarried.
Though the evidence is scanty,
Hear it from their dear old Auntie,
Sending shivers of alarm:
Called upon to save the nation,
Weeping women, howling babies
Overrule the call to arms.
I admire their dedication,
Yet it seems to me slightly crazy.
Put to the question, my answer’s easy:
My friends, you’ve lots to learn
About us Polish women!
Proud, arm in arm, as partners in courage,
To save our country we both hear the call.
Must women pine like the captive sparrow,
Caged and confined in boundaries so narrow?
Or like the rabbit that flees in terror,
Scampering off to a quiet place to hide?
Not I! Not I!
No captive sparrow, no frightened rabbit,
But a woman armed with pride.
The Marshal, their genial father, reveals the secret of how the age-old manor
acquired its macabre reputation:
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He prayed for a daughter and prayed so hard,
Alas! The good Lord gave him nine.
Came time for Daughter One to wed –
A stunning beauty, as were all.
One day a suitor came to call … And so?
--- “Come in, sir” I assume she said.
When later suitors came to woo,
Two, Three and Four got married, too.
So four were down, yet five to go … So?
---They one by one did not say no.
From far and wide, when mothers found
No husbands left to go around,
Their anger grew to such a pitch …
---They barely knew which one was which.
In state of shock, so out of humor,
They spread about a blood curdling rumor.
Revenge they wanted!
Soon word got out that the house was haunted.
Persistent whispers rose to a clamor:
Lo and behold! The haunted manor!
OFFENBACH
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ORPHEUS IN THE UNDERWORLD
The shocking truth is that Orpheus and his wife Eurydice loathe each other. While
he dallies with a nymph, she eagerly listens to the wooings of a simple shepherd lad:
Just a green shepherd lad,
In true Arcadian fashion,
My work is tending bees
And poetry’s my passion.
The rustic life is mine,
Its plain and simple boys.
Oh, the stars ever shine
On us bucolic boys:
Spry ponies and placid cows
In fields forever sunny.
Lambs frolicking on the green
As larks and linnets sing, ah!
Lads crowning the village queen
In lusty rites of spring.
How sweet the joys, the wholesome joys
Of country boys!
The rustic life beneath the tree,
The life for me!
Shy shepherd and buxom lass
Exchanging bashful glances,
Folk grouping upon the grass
For rounds and morris dances.
Wool-gathering, idle dreams
Within a sheltered grove, ah!
Where olive or willow seems
To whisper vows of love,
Secret vows of love.
How sweet they joys, etc.
.
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Upon learning that her shepherd boy is no less than Pluto, god of the underworld,
currently vacationing on earth, Eurydice has no qualms about joining him when he
returns to his dark abode. Enticed by his endearments and promises, she blissfully
breathes her last:
A sigh, a letting go of breath,
Then yielding to a soft embrace.
I travel toward a friendly shore
Where none can weep and none can mourn.
And close to him that I adore,
In death I find a life reborn.
Public Opinion, a formidable lady with powerful weaponry, demands that Orpheus
himself go down to the underworld to bring back his “beloved” Eurydice:
Behind the scenes I wield the power
From inner circles to outer space.
My counsel only fools dismiss’n
When I speak, the mighty listen.
Hold on, husband! Make no move
Until you know that I approve.
Rebellious poet, expect no mercy!
I shall haunt you and hunt you down.
With bad reviews and controversy
I’ll drive you sniveling out of town.
On the road, though not by choice,
Day and night you’ll hear my voice:
Hold on, husband! Make no move
Until you know that I approve.
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Bored on Olympic Heights, that exclusive residential area of the gods, weary of
endless blue skies, the overbearing hand of father Jupiter, and above all, the
incessant diet of nectar and ambrosia, the gods are in revolt. Even lovely Venus puts
her exquisite foot down: “I have had it up to here. Give me beef and a pint of beer.”
The bully bosses us about.
Turn upon him, kick him out.
Arise! For freedom we unite!
Gods, to a man, stand up and fight.
Jupiter is assailed from all sides:
With many wives I wonder wryly
If you would score so well that way.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Jupiter, seducer and producer of the show;
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! On the go for ladies, O the pagan dynamo!
By all accounts a cad and coward.
So you became a horny bull!
And though Europa you deflowered,
It was a sleazy stunt to pull.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Jupiter the conqueror, the idol of the Greek.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Thunder wielder, wonder worker, hero so to speak.
As Leda lay beside the water,
A regal swan came floating by –
But we can make the story shorter
If you relate the rest, not I.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Jupiter, the super stud, the universal sham.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! What a great impersonator, what a hunk of ham.
To win a nymphet – say, who is she?
There came a monster from the sea.
Though she suspected something fishy,
It ‘s clear enough for you and me.
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Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! What a cast of characters! A classic repertoire!
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! What a fishy wishy washy customer you are.
Examine these disguises rightly –
What is the message they convey?
Your ugly mug is so unsightly
You can succeed no other way.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Antiquated, overrated, bawdy and bizzare.
Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! What a trooper, Jupiter, the would be superstar.
Neglected, lonely and restless, Eurydice is beginning to think that Hades – like so
many highly publicized places – is vastly overrated:
How long can he go on ignoring
A girl who came such a long way?
My spirits are sinking, not soaring.
I notice in fact with dismay,
My husband looks better each day.
A word of advice to you ladies:
Think twice before coming to Hades.
Think again! Think again!
So eager to please as a lover,
He promised to show me around.
But now that the novelty’s over,
He’s nowhere in hell to be found.
They say I have gone to the devil
Where sinners and satyrs abound.
Believe me, it’s not such a revel.
A word of advice to you ladies:
Think twice before coming to Hades.
Think again! Think again!
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John Styx, Pluto’s butler and her appointed watchdog, recalls the glory of his days
on earth when he was King of Arcadia:
By pomp and wealth was I surrounded,
With an army at my command.
Gone is the crown that once I wore.
Yet only one lack have I lamented:
You were not mine to adore.
Were I yet king in dazzling splendor,
You would be queen upon the throne;
All I possessed to you I’d render,
And I would worship you alone.
I’ve nothing left now in my coffer,
And yet, undaunted, I implore:
Receive the one gift I have to offer –
A heart that loves you all the more.
At a boisterous party hosted by Pluto, culminating in the wildly uninhibited cancan, it becomes increasingly evident that Offenbach’s vision of the inferno differs
markedly from Dante’s:
A toast to our infernal host!
’Tis here the high and mighty mix
And mingle by the Styx;
O welcome all to Hades,
The boozer and his buddies,
And unescorted ladies.
The infidel, the ne’er-do-well
Are both at home in hell.
Short and fat, long and lean,
Parasite, libertine! Welcome all to the scene.
For both the rascal and the rogue
The Underworld is quite the vogue.
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Here meet your long departed kin
That feast upon the fruits of sin.
For young and old that like it hot,
It’s quite the perfect spot,
The place for you!
LA BELLE HELENE
Calchas, high priest of the thunder, receives a personal letter delivered by a white
dove from the isle of Cythera, home of Venus, marked URGENT:
A youth of twenty, fair of form,
A shepherd lad by trade,
From Venus of the waves shall come
And turn to you for aid.
Though young in years he is, I claim,
A man of taste supreme;
In gratitude, I’ve promised him
The woman of his dream.
Helen’s the fairest of the land;
On this have all agreed.
Calchas will take the two in hand
And say to both: proceed.
Help out the lad; observe benignly.
Love and kisses, Yours Divinely.
Prince Paris tells what really happened that momentous day on Mt. Ida in that most
exacting of beauty contests:
Goddesses three upon Mt. Ida
On a point could not agree.
Which of us claims the crown of beauty?
Who is the fairest of the three?
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Oh, you simple lads, beware!
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Thus with charm they bait the snare.
Through the woods a youth approaches,
Handsome, bold, with sparkling eye.
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In his hand he bears an apple –
I myself can testify. Ah!
Wait, they cry! Young man, a moment!
Gaze upon us and compare.
Then present the golden apple
To the one you find most fair.
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Oh, you simple lads, beware!
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Thus with charm they bait the snare.
Said the first, I’m chaste Minerva,
None so modest, none so wise.
These are merits that deserve a
Valid claim upon the prize.
Evohe! The heavenly ladies!
Oh, you simple lads, beware!
Said the next, my name is Juno,
Unsurpassed in rank and fame.,
Both of them as well as you know
I have far the greater claim.
Evohe! The heavenly ladies!
Oh, you simple lads, beware!
Ah, but the third, the third was silent,
For she spoke but with her eyes.
And the apple went to Venus.
’Twas to her I gave the prize,
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Oh, you simple lads, beware!
Evohe! Heavenly ladies!
Thus with charm they bait the snare.
Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, has long been plagued by Venus,
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goddess of love, who seems to regard Helen as her own special protégée. But enough
is enough. Weary of her long, losing battle, Helen begs the goddess to lay off:
My varied past we need not dwell on –
The list of lovers does go on.
I’m warm of heart, but just between us,
My generosity would be a flaw,
Except that I am ruled by Venus.
Not I but she lays down the law.
Venus, pray tell why you always compel
Me to comply, though I try to defy Providence.
Venus, why me? What particular glee
Can you derive putting down,
Putting down my defense?
We ladies would be chaste and proper,
A husband’s honor to uphold.
But fate conspires to pull the stopper –
A tiresome tale too often told.
For example, take my mother’s story –
Would you suspect a snow white bird,
Or fear its motives amatory?
The consequence you all have heard.
Venus, O say, why go out of your way
To drive your true devotee,
Devotee to despair?
Venus, explain what amusement you gain
In catching me unaware,
Unaware in your snare.
Alas, beset by shame and scandal,
We ladies lose by all the odds.
Though men are hard enough to handle,
’Tis surely sin to fight the gods.
You see how I put up a struggle,
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Yet all my efforts go for naught.
The gods observe and merely chuckle.
The trap is sprung, the prey is caught.
Venus, what next? Am I just oversexed?
What fatal lure evermore, evermore draws me on?
Venus, for me, go back into the sea!
Return, return to your shell’n
Leave Helen alone.
Despite Helen’s determination to defy Venus, when bold, handsome Prince Paris
comes onto the scene and shows up late at night in her bedchamber, how could she
know it was not a dream?
Born of the midnight stars that hover,
Fated to end at break of day.
Savor the rapture too soon to be over.
A dream of love too sweet to stay.
A dream that dawn will snatch away.
King Menelaus returns from travels prematurely to find his wife in the arms of
Prince Paris and to receive some invaluable advice:
Will show good breeding before proceeding
And send his wife a friendly tip.
And thus prepared, a scene is spared,
And she awaits with sighs of bliss.
In that way can the married man,
The married man, the married man
Receive a fond and tender kiss.
But if perchance with no advance
He barges in despite the lock,
So impolite, it serves him right
If he becomes the laughing stock.
The only cure for such a boor
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Is from the treatment known as shock!
So I advise the man that’s wise,
The man that’s wise, the man that’s wise
To give at least a gentle knock.
Under her husband’s persistent questioning, Helen’s patience snaps:
No! Though my prince who shall be nameless
Would melt a heart of stone.
Sent to me, a gift from Venus,
And yet I fought, I held my own.
He complains, accusing and screaming,
All because one night I was dreaming.
What would he say, mon Dieu, if I were wide awake?
Were it for real and not a marvelous mistake?
Paris reappears in the guise of an aged priest sent by Venus:
My mode is not the minor but the major.
’Tis not for me the somber look and doleful cry;
Salute me with a shout to raise the rafters high.
For life and love are in
When Venus wears the crown!
Ah! Hip hooray, sing away,
Ever glad, ever gay!
I hear that weighty schools of stern philosophy
Make much of Adam’s fall and frown on levity.
These learned men I find entirely in the wrong.
That man is wise that laughs and sings a joyful song.
For life and love are in
When Venus wears the crown!
LA VIE PARISIENNE
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The entire crew at the train station is on hand to issue a warm greeting:
But travelers, a word first of all from the crew:
Visitors, folk that come daily and nightly,
Go easy, have fun, above all travel lightly.
Only one item you’ll need on this trip -Just a spirit for sport, fun and good-fellowship.
Things heavy and weighted are rated here taboo.
Celebrate the spirit of eighteen sixty two!
The unleashed Swedish baron anticipates running wild in the jungles of Paris:
I plan to spend a short vacation
And take my own unguided tour.
Three months and then my stay is over,
And does not that appear to you
A paltry time indeed to cover
All the forbidden things to do?
I want to gorge and guzzle, feast away!
I’m for a gorgeous orgy, hip hooray!
Carry the word to Metella:
If only once I’ll live for just today.
I was sheltered by a zealous father,
A man of firmly old-fashioned views.
He might have spared himself the bother,
For now I’m out and on the loose.
Till marriage I remained a virgin,
Believing pleasure was a crime.
But now I need but little urgin’
To make up all that wasted time.
I want to gorge and guzzle, feast away!
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I’m for a gorgeous orgy, hip hooray!
Carry the word to Metella:
If only once I’ll live for just today!
The glover and the bootmaker, native Parisians both, resolve a weighty dispute:
The hand I embellish. --- I favor the foot.
I grace my profession. --- I serve the elite.
My glove is the fashion. --- My boot you can’t beat.
We flower, we blossom, we’re both in demand.
Our fortune we owe to the foot and the hand.
You’ll never go wrong if your money is put
Upon those two trusties, the hand and the foot.
The household servants prepare for a rapid change of status:
Pomp and splendor we can render -Servants need but look and learn.
As we serve them, we observe them
Ever present on display,
For the idle man of title
Never takes a holiday.
Addle-pated, feather weighted,
All important number one!
Every quirk and silly smirk
We can portray, but all in fun.
The pert Parisienne taking a walk is a unique tourist attraction:
She does not stint a passing hint
Of charms too often left unseen.
Her sail full set, the bright soubrette
Is armed to meet the grand occasion.
No effort spared, she goes prepared
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To meet the manhood of the nation.
The men that flock the avenue
Then feel their pulses start to knock,
She sashays by, frou frou frou frou,
Her pointed toe goes toc toc toc.
Quite unconcerned, with nose upturned,
She looks to neither left nor right,
And ’twould appear she does not hear
The sound of praise her hips invite.
So unswerving, she san hardly see
The trail of devotees behind.
Twould be unchic to take a peek,
Presuming she were so inclined.
The Baroness, obviously on a more elevated level, returns from a dazzling evening
at the opera:
A magic thrill beyond compare,
I can declare
That I have seen Paree at last!
The ladies jeweled and attired
As in a land of fairy tales,
And each attended and attired
By an entourage of handsome males.
I’d barely found my way inside,
Self-satisfied,
For here and there some turned to see,
When at my left two ladies sat
So gorgeous that
They drew the eyes away from me.
Both of rare beauty almost eerie,
A sparkle not to be believed,
“Oh, who are they?” was my inquiry,
And here’s the answer I received:
We label one a fille de joie
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And her boudoir
Has been compared to an army tent.
The other’s everything refined,
Of noble mind,
A lady born of high descent.
Examine both, observe and study;
From the facade search out the heart.
And then select the noble lady,
And tell us which one is the tart.
In each I found the same exquisite features,
Nor did their costume offer clues.
They were in fact so alike, these lovely creatures,
I’d not a notion which to choose.
For a stab, not entirely ready,
Although I’d pondered hard and long,
I cried, “Yes, there’s the noble lady!”
Wouldn’t you know, I guessed it wrong!
And all the while, Rosina’s
Pert cavatina
Poured out and ended on a trill.
The house rose and cheered, captivated,
Intoxicated
By The Barber of Seville.
I had my own little taste of glory,
For as I left the crowded hall,
With rapture still ablaze and starry,
I heard someone say, “By Jove!
She’s loveliest of all!”
I cannot yet believe my eyes
To realize
All I’d hoped for has been surpassed.
A magic thrill beyond compare,
I can declare
That I have seen Paree at last!
I’ve seen Paree at last!
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The headwaiter at a stylish restaurant gives some tips on high to rise in the
profession:
He has to know when not to know
The gentleman that’s on a spree.
The judge that all poor devils fear
With a floozy may perchance appear.
You close your eyes, you close your eyes.
It’s not the time to fraternize.
And should the door at times resist,
Be wise and turn the other way.
The foolish waiter will insist
And risk the wrath of our gourmet.
It’s your to cater, not to cavil,
And when you have to come back later,
You close your eyes, you close your eyes.
It’s not the time to fraternize.
You close your eyes!
The glamorous, volatile actress Metella, a true-born Parisienne, clearly a lady who’s
been around, introduces the Baron to the seductive lure of the Left Bank, where
youth, intoxicated by love and champagne, rides over the top, where life begins at
midnight and fortunes are squandered in a flash:
Look around!
The place that mothers cry in vain
Is the ruin of their sons, a place of dread,
Where father’s hard-earned cash
Goes shooting down the drain,
Where daughter’s daily bread
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Is squandered in a flash.
The midnight hour is near;
Attend, and you shall hear.
As carriages empty, the passageway fills.
Young dandies and ladies, both equally smart,
Come seeking adventure, excitement and thrills.
The flower of youth, a varied bouquet
Of blonde and brunette, with splashes of red,
The plush and the plain, naive and blase,
They flock here to savor the banquet outspread.
Some are bold and brassy,
Others pretend -- oh,
Who’s the shy lassie
That hides in the hall?
Adagio at first, then rapid crescendo,
The overture builds to a wild bachanale.
Laughter and dance!
Champagne poured in quantities!
Couples crowd on the floor with space getting scarce.
A few gather round the piano that accompanies;
A grim game of chance
Is unfolding upstairs.
And the noise ascends, the tempest mounts higher
As youth in full frenzy rides over the top.
Is it pleasure or pain, this fury and fire,
This fever that burns as if never to stop?
But all things must end; it’s long after four.
The sparkle and sport have turned bleary-eyed.
Some stand half-asleep, others sprawl on the floor;
With yawns and long faces the revels subside.
Pale morning arrives, and welcome the dawn!
The stragglers remain, but gone is the glee.
The gallant full of swagger looks ashen and drawn;
The pert little number is gasping for tea.
The candle burnt out, they leave Mt. Parnasse,
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Hung over alike by love and champagne.
The street sweeper stops and stares as they pass,
And he cries, “Oh, joy! To be young again!
“Oh, joy! Oh, joy! To be young again!”
THE BANDITS
Young farmer Fragoletto receives an unwelcome visit from the bandits, and winds
up more than satisfied:
I greeted you with some dismay,
And a smile I had to force.
But then your daughter came in view
And a sudden thrill ran through me.
Whole-heartedly I welcomed you
For having brought her to me.
We were both then well satisfied;
You had plenty to plunder
While my own eyes were occupied
In amazement and wonder
At your wonderful daughter,
Your wonderful, wonderful, wonderful daughter.
How well you knew your way about,
So thorough in your stealing.
My house and barn you emptied out,
Leaving me the floor and ceiling.
My father’s watch, my feather bed,
My silver plate and platter,
My Sundays suit – you went ahead,
You got the lot – no matter!
We are both now well satisfied;
You have plenty of plunder
And while you were thus occupied
I was stealing your thunder,
Your wonderful, wonderful, wonderful daughter.
What does it feel like to fall in love? Fiorella knows:
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One day we met, I started to tremble,
And never have days been the same again.
A glow entered my heart to stay
And I knew -- can you deny?
This could be only, only love,
Yet who knows the reason why?
We met briefly that day and inside me
Something awakened and came to life.
He smiled at me, and with no more to guide me
I knew that some day I’d be his wife.
A glow entered my heart to stay
And I knew -- can you deny?
This could be only, only love,
Yet who knows the reason why?
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS
(Carnival in Venice)
Villainous Malatromba reveals a hitherto unsuspected playful side:
That quietly began to change
Into a tree of golden pears.
I had a dream, a lovely dream;
I wandered down a marble hall
That turned into a mountain stream
Above a splashing waterfall.
Amid the woods, a green retreat
Hid well away from probing eyes.
Upon a bending willow seat
A lonely lover sobs and sighs.
But not for long he grieves alone –
His lady’s kisses soon suffice;
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The willow seat becomes a throne
Of emeralds in paradise.
I had a dream so sweet and strange,
A place where sea and mountain meet.
I perched upon a silver swan
That said, “We’re off to Babylon.”
I had a dream the other night
That with my lady love I lay;
We sprouted wings, took off in flight,
And landed on the milky way.
PERICHOLE
Fed up with hunger and the scant rewards of street-singing, Perichole writes a
painful letter to her beloved Piquillo:
But too long we’ve struggled together,
Too long we’ve been ragged and poor.
No use to deny or delay it -The words I must wring from my heart.
The time has come -- how can I say it?
Perhaps we’ll do better apart.
Can lovers remain fond and tender
When forced to go hungry to bed?
Who can embrace in shared surrender
When craving a morsel of bread?
I am weak, and only human.
I had hoped with my final breath
To bear out my pledge as a woman,
My hand in yours unto death . . .
So our dreams lie torn now in tatters . . .
I know it well . . . what can I do?
Within my own heart where it matters,
Forever I’ll belong to you.
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O my darling! I share your sorrow,
And can find no words to console.
Far apart though we be tomorrow,
Think kindly of your Perichole.
An odd looking man can be seen roaming the busy streets of Lima. A master of
disguise, who would guess that it was the eccentric but all powerful Viceroy, ruler
of the land? Answer: just about everybody.
Discard my crown, disown my castle
To make a stealthy getaway.
On the town with a stack to squander,
Alert and in disguise I go.
At large and known to none, I wander
Incognito, incognito.
A bore to be a courtly king
Without a fling philandering
Incognito!
With whiskers, cloak and smoky glasses,
At liberty and on my own,
I comb the street for lively lasses
That hanker for a baritone.
On the prowl, with purpose single,
I would play the Romeo,
And with the ladies mix and mingle
Incognito, incognito!
I’d waste away and die at court
Without a taste of spice and sport -- Incognito!
Unexpectedly winding up in the Viceroy’s palace, Piquillo pays tribute to women:
Come, make a frank and free confession,
And tell me what you cherish most.
O women! Dear women! Goddesses all!
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Long may they reign victorious
Until the stars from heaven fall.
Men out for power, melancholy,
Look down on love as mortal sin.
It’s we good fellows, hail and jolly,
That carry off the heroine.
O women! Dear women! Goddesses all!
Long may they reign victorious
Until the stars from heaven fall.
Now here’s a test for those inclined:
Stop every man that happens by;
Inquire of each what’s on his mind.
Nine out of ten will then reply,
O women! Dear women! Goddesses all!
Long may they reign victorious
Until the stars from heaven fall.
O long may they reign!
The letter, occurring in Act I, is of course by no means the final chapter. Reunited
after a bizarre series of circumstances, we find Perichole in a mood of high impatience with her less than brilliant lover, and for that matter with the male sex in
general:
Invited to a grand salon,
Instead of acting your own age,
Must you take over center stage?
To raise a row at my expense
While I pursue your good alone!
So help me God!
Your head is solid bone, bone, bone.
You men, you men!
My God, you men are dense!
So help me, men are dense!
Our only chance you nearly spoil,
And throw a scene for all to see.
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Good Lord! My blood begins to boil -Have you no confidence in me,
To overturn my strategy?
Go back, and show a grain of sense,
A tiny bow before the throne.
So help me God!
Your head is solid bone, bone, bone.
You men, you men!
My God, you men are dense!
So help me, men are dense!
Oh, you men are dense!
Her words are far sweeter when she visits him in his dungeon cell and brings with
her a plan for getting him out:
Men of the world, those on the rise,
Would cast you in a dreadful light.
As for skill, or a trace of talent,
To put it plainly, you’re a mess.
For charming manners, smooth and gallant,
You draw a blank. Nonetheless . . .
You are all that I want,
I’m ashamed to confess.
I adore you and live only for your caress.
You are all that I want,
You’re the rogue I adore!
In your arms I desire nothing more.
THE PRINCESS OF TREBIZONDE
Tremolini introduces the fabulous wax museum:
Eve and Adam, for a starter,
Ready for the fatal bite;
Joan of Arc is made a martyr
In the panel on the right.
Lucky folk, we offer here a
Look at wise old Socrates;
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Turning to another era,
Faust and Mephistopheles.
Something special for the ladies;
Timeless in its poetry -Tuneful Orpheus in Hades
Leading back Eurydice.
Connoisseurs have showered praises
On the stunning Salome.
Shorn of seven veils, she gazes
Sternly at a covered tray.
On a scale of ten to zero
’Tis the latter that he earns.
Hardly a hero, crazy Nero
Fiddles while the city burns.
Leaving half of Europe littered,
Shaggy Attila the Hun –
Rugged, yes, but all considered,
Not the perfect gentleman.
Now we reach the star attraction –
This we cannot go beyond:
We present with satisfaction
THE PRINCESS OF TREBIZONDE!
Fiery, feisty old Prince Casimir is a bit sensitive about his age:
What folderol do you imply?
Oh, your nerve is colossal!
Are you suggesting, sir, that I
Am a crusty old fossil?
How many wrinkles do you see?
Are my cheeks not still ruddy?
What idiot would think of me
As an old fuddy-duddy?
Oh, look again before you say
I’m just a man of yesterday.
Still in the pink and feeling great,
Who’d ever think me sixty-eight?
A dynamo, a man of clout,
Yes, I can throw my weight about.
A thoroughbred with steady gaze,
My better days lie well ahead.
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At the height of my power,
My seed in full flower,
I am man of the hour …
Zanetta tells the story of the Middle Eastern princess, turned to wax by her jealous
husband:
In Trebizonde, so I’ve been told,
A fair Princess did once reside;
She satisfied her husband well,
A model wife he showed with pride.
When dandies tried to catch her eye.
Without a wink she sashayed by;
The polka and the fandango
She kept for Kind Rhotamago …
It happened at the winter ball.
She met a Russian officer
And arm in arm, ’tis said by all,
Till dawn they danced a pas de deux.
The jealous king to wrath was stirred;
He soon began to see the light.
His wife replied, “But how absurd!
You know how cold I am at night.”
The king then waved a magic wand;
His wayward wife he turned to wax.
No man nor match in Trebizonde
Can now reheat that heart so lax.
Zanetta delivers the epilogue:
I never thought, I must confess,
That I’d become the real Princess.
But as we draw the curtain down,
The circus girl puts on the crown.
A foolish tale, but tender, too;
The final word we leave to you.
Remember, please, for all our flaws,
Our pleasure comes with your applause.
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BLUEBEARD
Bluebeard, the merry widower whose many marriages have all ended in sudden
disaster, is game for another try:
Not again, not again! Oh, so fair and so gentle!
What implacable destiny follows the days of my life?
Through some caprice of fate, bizarre and accidental,
I’ve lost my latest wife . . .
Never out of sorts or sickly,
My first wife died oh so quickly -No one knows the reason why.
Oh, my second was a jewel,
But again the gods were cruel.
How I suffered!
Yes, I had a healthy cry.
Then the grave as quickly swallowed
Up the three or four that followed,
Barely time to say goodbye.
Thus without a word of warning,
Once again I’m into mourning,
Ready for another try . . .
It makes perfect sense …
New loves galore
I live to explore,
Which leaves but one recourse;
For I take the fine
Conservative line
And frown upon divorce.
Once again Bluebeard rushes to the palace with the sad story of his latest loss:
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Milady! O Milady! I bring a tale of woe,
For I lost my wife but half an hour ago.
Seated at the saddle, poised and dignified,
She smiled, little knowing it would be her final ride.
How dark was the forest, though brilliant the night!
She said, “I am certain no storm is in sight.”
She waved to my window; when still within view
There came without warning a bolt from the blue.
Struck down amid thunder, she tumbled and cried:
“Oh, help! I am dying!” So doing, she died.
The blow you can imagine. I cried, “Oh, what a shame!
Yes, I fear that my marriage will never be the same.”
I’ll place her in the grave with flowers and laments;
But as wise men often tell us, we live in the present tense.
To wax philosophic, each mortal must die.
The crux of the matter, ’twas her and not I . . .
THE TALES OF HOFFMANN
Who is she? Not exactly a person. Call her a guiding force, a caretaker, a tyrannical
taskmistress, a not always reliable source of inspiration -- in short, the Muse, with
whom Hoffmann has enjoyed a fitful relationship that has left her somewhat
disgruntled. Too often neglected, slighted, ignored, cast aside for more vivid
attractions, still she is by no means ready to write him off as a lost cause. On the
contrary, after having observed his romantic disasters with ever growing exasperation, she is more than ever determined to claim him exclusively for her own.
Though truth may dwell on lonely heights,
The Muse, in radiant apparel,
Is sometimes met on misty nights
Residing in a barroom barrel.
Unwilling to capitulate,
For Hoffmann here I watch and wait,
A poet-dreamer (choose the order)
Whose glass is seldom filled with water.
Once grateful for my inspiration,
Now heedless of my righteous wrath,
Again he takes the downward path
That leads to loss and desolation.
Infatuated, he pursues
The prima donna, not the Muse.
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Rejected, no, I’ll not surrender!
My lyre becomes both sword and shield,
And heaven help the brash contender
That braves me on the battlefield.
But not content with idle bluster,
More subtle means I’ll have to muster.
The hapless hero I’ll attend
As young Nicklausse, his faithful friend.
And thus, of neither sex, but neuter,
I’ll snatch him from the star’s embrace,
And hasten his return to grace
By rounding up a rival suitor.
The Councilor Lindorf will do,
And look! He enters, right on cue.
The Councilor Lindorf, something of a creep, preens himself on his own diabolical
but surprisingly successful approach to seduction:
But never say die till it’s over,
Till it’s over . . .
Approaching love a colder way,
The devil’s part I choose to play.
To woo my darling, I rely
Upon a stern, hypnotic eye.
From Satan I derive the art
Of firing up the heart.
In pursuit, I persevere
And prevail by using fear -- naked fear!
On the Grand Canal in Venice, possibly the most romantic spot on earth, the night
is warm, the gentlest of breezes ripples the water and the stage is set for melodrama:
Shielding bliss from probing light,
O tender night of love!
Friendly dark must yield to dawn;
Too soon the song is over.
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Time for caution later on
When dark must yield to dawn.
O warm and gentle breeze,
With the kiss of a lover
As we together glide
On a smooth flowing tide,
Whisper low, whisper low . . .
Satanic Dapertutto plots to seduce the seducer with a diamond . . .
Sparkling stone, power lies
In fanning the flames of desire.
Tantalize, dazzle her eyes,
And lure my moth to the fire . .
Hoffmann, ever driven by passion, has a moment of painful self-realization:
A haunting phantom fraught with pain
Along a path so often fatal,
Reason cries to me: not again!
Fortune’s favors I blindly squander,
Drunk on dreams that lure me on.
Searching ever, still I wander
On winding paths that lead to parts unknown . . .
After four disasters in love, the Muse comes to Hoffmann’s rescue:
Have you forgot your faithful friend
Whose calming hand has dried away your many tears?
The Muse, who causes sorrow to ascend
In dreams and reveries to higher spheres?
Am I then nothing? No! Let passion’s storm
Subside in vigorous and lyric line.
The lover dies; the poet finds new form.
And thus reborn, live on. Hoffmann, be mine!
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Hoffmann gives a passionate response before falling asleep in a drunken stupor:
Or breathe on the smoldering spark
And renew my source of light.
Muse, hereafter I’m yours alone!
SMETANA
THE BARTERED BRIDE
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Spring has done it again, bursting out with irrepressible, intoxicating
abandon. Magic is in the air. It’s holiday time in Bohemia, time to celebrate:
Come along, the mood is merry;
See the budding peach and cherry.
Love that hovers in the air
Beckons to the young and fair.
Season full of hope and rapture,
Youth and beauty in their glory,
Days of bliss beyond recapture!
Time unfolds a darker story:
Love begins to flicker,
Bored wives boss and bicker,
Husbands turn to liquor.
Now’s the time, sweet lads and lasses,
Green and tender, young and fair.
Live your life before it passes;
Breathe the magic in the air.
114
Kezal, an enterprising marriage broker, rhapsodizes on the merits of a young
man whom he is trying to foist upon the parents of Marenka, our heroine:
A farm of fifty fertile acres he’ll inherit.
Serene and sunny, he’s lots of money
And charm to spare.
Sweet as candy, mild as bread and water,
Made in heaven for your lovely daughter,
He’s the answer to a mother’s prayer.
A prize example, a peerless model,
He doesn’t gamble, stay up late or hit the bottle.
His form perfection,
His clear complexion beyond compare.
Man of vigor, strong and sturdy,
Over twenty, under thirty,
Disposition sweet and pleasant,
Not a yokel, not a peasant,
Seldom rough and never rowdy,
Says “hello” instead of “howdy”,
Not a loner, not a hermit –
Ask a neighbor to confirm it.
Keeps the closet neat and tidy;
Mass on Sunday, fish on Friday.
Gentle as a lamb or kitten,
Warmer than a woolen mitten,
Knows and does his duty,
Never morose or moody,
He’s a father’s pride and joy.
Firm and resolute, bountiful to boot,
But deep inside,
A starry-eyed and simple boy.
The boys in the barroom, beer in hand, are living it up::
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A swallow is followed
By vigor and zest.
The barley that ferments and mellows
Turns all into jolly good fellows.
Jenik, a newcomer in town, has the audacity to suggest that life offers something
even better than beer:
In time, you will sing a softer, sweeter song,
And turn to love for inspiration richer
Than ever found in foaming pitcher.
Kezel, the marriage broker, points out the wisdom of choosing wealth over love:
Till the eyes are clear,
Every wife is sheer
Beauty in motion.
By a law unwritten,
Foolish men are smitten
With a purring kitten’s velvet paws.
Horror all the greater
When the tiger later
Bares its sharpened claws.
Till the wheel is spun
And the prize is won,
Love is play and fun,
Pleasure and delight.
Sad to say, but soon
Past the honeymoon,
There’s a change of tune
And of appetite.
Love is bound to lose -Take it from me.
Wiser men would chose
Income and property.
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Ever alert for a commission, he just happens to know a rich widow:
Hogs and horses, coach and carriage –
Yours of course, assuming marriage.
Bypassing details, we leap to the triumphant conclusion:
Love emerges all the stronger.
Wedding bells benignly peeling
Usher in a time of healing.
You that come from far and wide,
Share it with the Bartered Bride!
THE TWO WIDOWS
Carolina, a widow, owner of a large estate in the fertile heartland of Europe, is
perfectly happy with things just as they are, unencumbered by husband or lover:
Queen of an entire domain,
Served by all and sundry.
Time to sew or time to reap,
Mow lawns, trim the borders,
Shoe the horses, sheer the sheep,
I give all the orders.
Prima-donna of the dairy,
Autocrat of sty and stable,
My cuisine is legendary
And my brew a thing of fable.
Famous for my bees and honey,
Healthy flocks, and flax and linen,
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When the sky’s serene and sunny
I’m the happiest of women.
Who is better off than I?
Weigh the evidence presented,
Think it over, then reply:
Tell me, lives there widow more contented?
Think it over, then reply:
Who is more contented?
Lives there widow more contented than I?
At the county fair I star,
Winning all the glory.
My displays are best by far
In each category.
Then my name is in the news,
Sometimes half a column,
And I comfort those who lose
In words wise and solemn.
I complain and pay my taxes,
Read the journals, barely noting
How the market wanes and waxes;
Ever first in line for voting.
I speak out on matters local,
Claim the mayor’s but a novice
And the governor a yokel.
Throw the rascals out of office!
Who is better off than I? etc.
Unlike her cousin, Anezka, also a widow, suffers and longs for love, though
seemingly determined to say no:
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Costly is that promise I am keeping.
Sworn forever, ever I deny
Love where alone my happiness could lie.
.
Harsh! O Goddess! For you grant another
That fulfilling bliss I could have kept . .
Sunlight sweet and sky unclouded,
Blossoms where the seedling sprouted.
What a joy this life would be,
But for love and jealousy!
Day of bright festivity!
All is mirth and revelry.
Gift that knows not rank nor merit;
None so poor that they may share it.
Multi-colored scene!
World of blue and green,
Fields of golden grain,
Gardens after rain.
North to south and west to east,
A bountiful, abundant feast.
Rare and radiant lovely day!
I, alone outside, am not to enter.
Looking on, I am my own tormentor.
Though the feast awaits with table spread,
I refuse it, for my soul is dead.
Sick at heart in my lonely passion.
Wretched widow, miserable woman!
Where, oh where? What comfort have I left,
Lost in this world of love bereft?
Ladislav, an available tenor, has his own story to tell of love that remains elusive:
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Drawn by a hidden power I must obey,
I cannot choose but hunt the gentle doe,
And in pursuit find all my joy and woe.
Alone through tangled wood
The worn hunter, sore of foot,
Quickens his pace as in anguish he chases
The nymph of his heart’s delight.
Marvel to see!
No longer nymph but timid doe,
Transformed, she’s off in flight.
As friend, not foe, he hunts the doe,
Goes searching the forest for the lovely fawn.
All in vain is his cry
For the doe is swift and shy,
So he stumbles on.
But unavailing is the plea
Lost in the night.
He plods through wind and rain,
Through harsh, barren terrain.
In sunless forest he smothers his sorrow
When suddenly in burst of light,
What does he spy?
The gentle doe glides fleetly by.
God bless that wondrous sight!
“Stay, gentle doe so long I’ve sought,
Long hoping, hunting for you only.
Oh leave me not to waste and rot
Lost in the forest, dark and lonely.”
But all in vain, all in vain!
And unavailing is his plea unto the night.
Though coming from different directions, all reach the same conclusion:
All of us victim, peasant or poet,
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Who would refuse it? Who would forgo it?
BIZET
CARMEN
Carmen pays tribute to the waywardness of love:
Call it back, and it’s off in flight;
You point, it flies the other way.
Flatter, threaten, or beat your breast,
No tears will make that bird obey.
When it’s ready to leave the nest,
Nor you nor I can make it stay.
That’s love! A wayward child, a gypsy too,
You men will meddle only if you dare.
Be cold to me, I burn for you,
But when I smolder, O you men, beware!
Taken prisoner by surprise,
The startled bird will spread its wings;
Try to hold it and off it flies,
But when you want it least, it clings.
See it circle and circle round,
So often sought but seldom found.
Hold it fast and it flies away;
When wanted least, it’s there to stay.
That’s love! A wayward child, a gypsy too,
You men will meddle only if you dare.
Be cold to me, I burn for you,
But when I smolder, oh you men, beware!
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The smugglers find a point of agreement::
Whether to cheat, deceive or rob,
Women you want doing the job.
Sly, discreet and talented all
They’ve got the goods to make a haul.
Don Jose’s all-compelling. all-consuming passion for Carmen has already
jeopardized his career and sent him to prison. As we know, far worse is yet to
come. Tossed from her hand, he caught a flower that has changed his life forever.
Tossed from your hand I caught a flower
That I have kept through lonely hours.
The color fades, the bloom is gone,
And yet the fragrance lingers on.
In the drab confinement of a prison
I would gaze, and tears would glisten;
As I inhaled, I only knew
That in the dark I breathed of you.
At times I cursed, at times I hated,
Now lost in despair, now elated.
I then would ask what god of wrath
Had chosen you to cross my path.
Ah, but what a fraud! What a liar!
All along I burned with desire,
With only pain to feed upon,
A single wish, one hope alone:
Carmen I’ll see again, be with again!
Ah, from the moment you reentered,
One tiny gesture, and as before,
Wholly, completely I surrendered.
My love, be mine as I am yours, forevermore!
Carmen, my love, my all!
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Escamillo, the superb toreador, makes a spectacular entrance. Carmen, beware!
To war and sport, come lift a glass of wine.
One like the other, by blood related,
On the field or in the ring,
It’s life on the line.
Holiday! Inside the great arena
The places fill, crowds pouring in --Roughshod and rowdy, eager and ready
For the gaudy spectacle of glory
Waiting to start.
People stamping, and others storming
As if to tear the place apart.
All gathered for the game of courage
And display of my noble art.
Go on! Be ready! Give all you’ve got!
Toreador, take over!
Somewhere among the sea of sparkling eyes
One dark pair shining bright
Foretells a sweeter prize.
Yes, later on, love will be yours tonight.
Then a gasp of awe and wonder!
A sudden silence, and tremors fill the air.
What all have waited for!
What all anticipate!
See the bull come lunging from the gate
Into the glare,
Breathing fire and thunder,
Harassed and taunted,
Bringing down the picador,
One horse goes under.
Tension increases.
Leaping, lurching back and forth,
The bull lunges again.
In blinding rage but still undaunted,
It lashes out though stain
Of blood is on the sand.
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Cowards run from the heat of crisis;
I advance with sword in hand.
Go on! Be ready! Give all you’ve got!
Toreador, take over!
Somewhere among the sea of sparkling eyes
One dark pair shining bright
Foretells a sweeter prize.
Yes, later on, love will be yours tonight.
The cards convey a somber message:
However hard to take, however dark or strange,
The cards do not deceive.
If fate intends for you a pleasant road ahead,
With skies serene and clear,
Lay out the friendly cards without dismay or dread;
Your joy will reappear.
But if the book says otherwise, your fate is sealed.
Ask not the reason why.
Reshuffled twenty times, the cards will never yield,
Again they say, “You die!”
Again! Again! Death, only death.
Desperate to rescue Don Jose from a fatal course that will inevitably lead to ruin,
Micaela ventures alone to the smugglers’ isolated mountain hideout:
I tell myself there is no danger near.
Oh, what to do but pretend to be braver?
For deep inside, I am shaking with fear.
Far from my home, unaided,
On a path unexplored.
With faith I persevere.
You will provide the courage needed,
And lead me by the hand, O Lord.
Face to face, I’ll meet the deceiver
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Who’s caught him in her fatal snare.
From her shameful arms I’ll deliver
My only love, my one despair.
A wild animal, mesmerizing …
Ah! Let me not be shy or weak!
No, no! Freely, firmly, I must speak,
No mincing and no compromising.
O Lord, I pray, watch over me.
TSCHAIKOWSKY
EUGENE ONEGIN
Late at night, lonely Tatiana bares her soul in a desperate, impulsive,
heart-wrenching but risky letter to Eugene Onegin:
Oh, let me hope, however blindly!
Oh, let me taste the wine of rapture!
I down the fatal draft, sweet potion
That wakens longing and desire.
His face, his form I cannot flee;
Onward my tempter beckons me.
I follow where my tempter beckons me …
To you I write .... and why say more?
Does not the fact speak plain enough?
My heart I place within your power
To crush to bits with a rebuff.
Yet if you feel, however slight,
A drop of pity for my plight,
You’ll not disdain this darkest hour.
In vain I’ve struggled at concealing,
Vowed never to confide
The pain past hope of healing,
Bitter shame, loss of pride.
Within my heart until it turned to dust
My secret I would hide, forever buried.
But ah! The tempest tears apart my very soul;
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This raging fire has spread beyond control.
For good or ill, I must! I must express my feeling.
Our distant door why did you choose to cross?
At peace, in quiet isolation,
I never would have felt the loss,
Nor shed a tear of thwarted passion.
Once past the years of green emotion,
I would be satisfied --- who knows? --In course of time to wed another,
To live content as wife and mother,
As tranquil as the river flows.
Absurd! No, none could have nor even claim
What I cannot call my own.
Decreed by fate, the will of heaven,
My heart and soul are yours alone.
No, all my life for you I’ve waited;
Since time first began have I been yours.
By God on high was I created
To love you as long as life endures …
Are you my hope and preservation,
Or evil serpent of temptation?
Resolve my doubt, oh love, reply!
Oh, tell me if I go misguided,
My dream a fair but phantom lie,
If we must tread on paths divided.
Be as it may, my hopes and fears,
My life entire I’ve here imparted.
Do not betray these burning tears.
On you I now rely
To keep my secret guarded …
A word from you decides my fate;
That single word I now await,
The hope that heals my heart,
Or ends my dream in desolation.
I close, but dare not even read.
Oh, be not angry or disgusted!
In fear, and yet in faith, I plead:
Receive the heart I’ve here entrusted.
Onegin’s response is polite, not unkind, but cold. To Tatiana, devastating.
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You wrote to me .... wherefore deny it?
A sincere, naive and innocent confession
Of idealistic youthful passion.
Your letter gratefully I read,
In fact with feelings long thought dead,
Emotions that were merely sleeping.
But pretty praise is not my aim;
As you were frank, I’ll be the same,
With perfect candor quite in keeping.
Without reserve I’ll speak my mind;
You then may judge, if so inclined …
My will to increase the population,
I would not hesitate a jot.
Then I should be well satisfied
To seek no further for a bride.
But such delight I leave untasted,
That joy so foreign to my soul.
On me is your perfection wasted;
I play a less deserving role.
For us, the path would lead to sorrow
I neither choose to beg nor borrow.
Though love’s a blessing, so we’re told,
Through custom does the heart grow cold.
No, not a pathway strewn with roses,
For once the ecstasies are past,
The dull remains alone will last.
The dreams of love, like any other,
No earthly power can restore.
Love I can offer as a brother,
A wiser brother,
And yet who knows? Perhaps still more.
Accept advice meant not unkindly;
In future, learn to love less blindly.
Be careful! Be cautious!
You may come to harm.
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Olga, her placid sister, is subject to no such torments:
Nor gazing from a darkened window
To sigh at cruel destiny.
What time for sorrow
When each tomorrow
A radiant dawn relights the sky?
Of even temper,
May or December,
A fortune favored child am I.
My life is sweet, the days serene and fair.
To take in all, too short the hours.
For every seed of hope that flowers
My heart provides sunlight and air.
On a cold winter morning, soon to face Onegin to a senseless duel, the poet Lenski
foresees his own death:
In vain I seek the mystery.
No matter! What’s to be will be.
Should death enfold me in his keeping,
Or should the bullet pass me by,
God wills it --- thus to live or die,
A time for waking and for sleeping.
He sends the dawning ray of light;
He sends the shrouded dark of night.
The morning star in sparkling splendor
Again will crown the plains beneath;
Perhaps by nightfall I shall enter
The cold and solemn halls of death
Wherein the youthful poet’s lyric
Outlives him but a meager hour,
So soon the world forgets.
But you, you, Olga? . . .
If to my grave you come to lay a flower.
To shed a tear or pay a duty,
Remember: one who loved here lies,
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Whose song forever glorifies
The wonder of your mortal beauty.
Remember then the love I bear,
My hope, my blessing and reward!
Oh, crystal light! Oh, breath of air!
Exalted, cherished and adored!
Oh, come to me, and here abide
Forevermore!
I call to you, my darling and my bride!
Oh, come! Oh, come!
Turn not away but here my call:
My sacred bride, my life, my all!
Oh, hope! Oh, youth!
Oh, where have you departed?
Oh, warmth of spring,
Forever and forever gone!
Having killed his friend, guilt-stricken Onegin returns from travel abroad still
vainly seeking distraction:
Eternal boredom! Social glitter, bustle and excitement
Only enflame still further the past I can’t forget.
At twenty six, I still pursue
A shallow life that’s all too leisured.
Uprooted, minus wife and home,
Abroad in foreign towns I roam,
Aimless, but pausing not to ponder,
My stabs at work a total loss.
Possessed by a constant urge to wander,
I bear a strange and lonely cross.
It drove me on. My native land and
My own estate I soon abandoned.
From each familiar hedge and tree
A bleeding corpse stared back at me.
In travel, searching and exploring
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In vain for solace and relief,
I soon discovered to my grief
That novelty itself is boring.
Homeward returning, here I skip
To a ballroom, barely off the ship.
p
A devoted husband pays tribute to Tatiana:
It takes the young in summer’s rage
And taps alike on ripened age.
Those who know not its full extent
Are robbed of life’s most fragrant scent.
The range and depth of my devotion
Are wider, deeper than the ocean.
Ill-starred, my ship had run aground.
My dearest Tanya then I found.
The sun emerged, the clouds retreated;
In her, my purpose and my goal I saw completed.
Mid worldly cunning, affectation,
Mid smiles intended to deceive,
The promises of short duration,
The hearts worn lightly on the sleeve;
Mid hypocrites that pass for pious,
Mid solemn bores that petrify us,
Mid flirts that vie for the response
Of rich and elderly gallants;
Mid verdicts callous, cold and cruel,
Of ugly vanity and spleen.
Mid rancors hid behind a screen
Of shallow talk and verbal duel,
Tatiana’s virtues shine the more,
A star refulgent, ever glowing,
A star I worship and adore.
Toward her and paradise
I bear a cup that’s overflowing.
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THE QUEEN OF SPADES
The coveted secret of the three winning cards has a sinister history:
But soon at the table her losses were such
One had to conclude she was losing her touch.
Germain heard a cry of dismay:
“God help me! I’m ruined!
My gold I’d regain, winding up in the black,
If only I had crucial knowledge I lack.
A sequence of three cards could save me!”
Observing her beauty, the Count, deeply stirred,
Was quick to respond to the cry overheard.
A master of magic and skilled in black art,
His tone was celestial as strains of Mozart.
“My dear, I can teach you to play.
O Countess! Dear Countess!
The cards you require I shall whisper to you
For merely the price of a brief rendezvous.
The sequence of cards that can save you . . .”
She shuddered, protested, “How dare you suggest? . . .”
But on second thought . . . you’ve by now surely guessed . . .
On leaving his chamber next day, as implied,
The coveted knowledge she’s stored up inside.
“You gamblers, get out of my way!”
She promptly recovered the loot she had lost,
Now Queen of the table – we won’t mention the cost.
For three cards, the three cards, three only!
The sequence in time to her husband was told,
And then to a lover enamored of gold.
But soon came a warning as if from the dead,
A stern apparition that solemnly said,
“O Countess, take warning, beware!
You will die when a passionate stranger appears,
Demanding, beseeching in tears of despair,
You will die holding on to your secret:
Three cards!
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Spellbound by the hypnotic eyes that have bored into her soul, Lisa is won over by
the sheer intensity of the mysterious stranger’s passion. Surely this is the grand
romance that she has always dreamed of, something far greater than anything
heretofore offered by the secure but stifling little world that has held her confined
and captive. Fearful yet willing to risk everything, she waits for him at midnight by
the river bank:
Far from the shelter of hearth and home.
What lies ahead for a soul in flight?
Either rebirth or eternal night.
On flows the river, so cold and black,
Swirling below, bound for the sea,
Blindly impelled to its destiny.
Onward and onward! There’s no turning back.
Wild is the sky, not a star in sight.
Searching, I find no guiding light.
Ah! Fiercer by far than the wind and rain,
How can I run from the storm within?
Confident that he holds the winning cards, Ghermann recklessly plows ahead:
Where right and wrong are youthful dreams,
Where trust and candor are for sale
And daily toil a fairy tale.
Today the luck is mine;
Your turn may come tomorrow;
Till then, go beg or borrow.
So lift a glass and pour the wine!
What lies ahead? You die!
No need to whine or shed a tear;
For one and all the goal is clear:
The wise, the gifted and the brave
Return to dust inside the grave.
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MASSENET
MANON
Manon Lescaut, still in her teens, hungry for life, has her first brief taste of freedom.
Released from the iron grip of her stern family, she is bound much against her will
for what she envisions as a juvenile prison, guarded by ferocious watch dogs in
human shape, with massive walls, locked doors and barred windows, otherwise
known as a convent
Although pleasing, how it dazzles me.
Free as a bird, though not for long –
Pleasure and panic seem to collide.
With mixed feelings, I am overcome -Excitement, fluster and confusion.
Till now I’ve never been away from home.
The whistle blew, the carriage rattled,
Eyes open wide, I soon would see
Tiny towns, giant trees, vast meadows!
A merry crowd packed inside –
Ah, cousin! I was overcome –
My first full day away from home.
Villages I saw whizzing past me …
The countryside that I adore.
So happy, I nearly forgot
The convent I was headed for,
The place of dread that lay ahead.
The amazing new world full of wonder!
Now do not laugh, but swept away
I even thought that like a swallow,
I, too, could fly to paradise.
Absurd, but true! Then, a moment later.
I broke down in tears, sobbing in despair.
All of a sudden,
I was laughing, laughing hard! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Elated, yet who could tell me why?
I beg you try to understand;
Forgive a girl still green.
My first fleeting taste of liberty!
With strange feelings, I’m overcome.
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A mix of rapture and confusion …
Till now I’ve never been away from home.
The sight of three gorgeously attired young ladies plays into Manon’s fatal
weakness:
What gorgeous gowns those three are wearing!
And the jewels so dazzling, the style so refined!
See! Even the youngest attired
In the latest from Milan or Paris –
Frills that I have so long been denied.
For shame, Manon! Beware the devil!
Idle dreams you must learn to ignore.
Leave behind your taste for trifles
When you pass through the convent door.
For shame, Manon! Say no, Manon!
Down with desire, down with the devil!
Yet … am I to blame?
My very soul now set on fire,
I must, I’m bound to feed the flame.
Ah, to live for pleasure and delight,
Allowed to love and dream at leisure!
Ah, too late, Manon! No more to revel,
Left alone but nowhere to hide.
For shame, Manon! Say no, Manon!
Down with desire, down with the devil!
Haunted by the spectre of poverty, Manon receives an offer she can’t resist, even
though it means goodby to love:
I can’t! But I must! Now or never!
To betray my only love!
I know that he will suffer,
So I brood and go back and forth …
No, no! Shallow and unworthy of love,
The voice of temptation is luring me on.
As I try to resist, it cries,
“Manon, you will have jewels!
Diamonds fit for a queen!”
Me, a toy made of tinsel,
Flimsy and fragile at best,
Yet … even I shed tears now already flowing,
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Mourning lost dreams of yesterday.
Will new pleasures bring consolation
For the love I cast away?
Goodby, our pretty little table.
At times our entire universe.
To most, some junk to be discarded;
To crazy lovers, a hallowed shrine.
Goodby, our pretty little table.
Here late at night, with candle glowing,
A single glass our lips would share,
Lips searching and reaching for kisses.
Poor wounded friend who loved me so!
Goodby, our pretty little table. Goodby …
Betrayed by Manon, Des Grieux has tried manfully but unsuccessfully to erase her
image from his mind:
After pain, after tears,
Lead me to peace at last.
Though I drank from a vial
Poisoned with blood of anger,
Memories still too sweet
Rise from a blighted past.
Fade away and taunt me no more!
Please, no more!
What does life hold in store
With its false facade of glory?
Though I try to erase
Her image from my mind,
Even the name …
My curse, my obsession … all for naught.
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When the lovers are eventually reconciled and reunited, Manon is riding high. With
the world at her feet, everything seems to be going her way.
And for making love,
Perchance sublime romance!
Before the curtain closes,
Hurry, hurry! Come take the chance!
Come join the dance!
Springtime of revelry and fun!
Chime in, and happily surrender
To life and love at twenty one.
Come on!
In vain, the broken hearted lover
Wonders where it went,
So soon, too soon to learn,
When youth is over,
Long may you be waiting
For love’s return.
While playful, amorous and tender,
Young, grateful just to be alive.
Store up fond pleasures to remember
When twenty one turns forty five.
She has played a dangerous game and angered the wrong man, a rich and powerful
nobleman who does not take rejection lightly. She is now bound for a real prison to
await trial as a thief and prostitute, and from there …
Torn apart, I have lost him forever;
My own folly has brought him to ruin.
Cold and hard, total strangers will haul us away
To face a future bathed in tears.
PUCCINI
LA BOHEME
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While searching the floor of a moonlit garret for a lost key, Rodolfo’s hand
“accidentally” touches Mimi’s:
With just a candle,
No point in looking further.
But we’re in luck, for the moon will be shining,
Due any moment to peer through my window.
Be patient for a little.
We can talk a while together,
And heart to heart,
Share and get to know each other.
Shall we?
But how to start? I am a poet.
My occupation? Writing.
How do I manage? Somehow!
I’m often short of money,
But I have poems to squander
Like the lord of the manor.
In dreams and gorgeous fantasies.
In castles built of air,
I am a multi-millionaire.
Unwarned, I now discover
That my heart has been plundered
By two gentle eyes that sparkle.
My dreams, my treasured jewels,
Stolen while I stand gazing.
Goals and idle ambitions
Gone in a flash of light!
The loss has been my blessing:
Replacing the frenzy and fever,
New hope has taken over.
But enough of my story! Do tell me yours.
By what name shall I call you? I long to hear. . . .
Mimi complies:
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My story’s short and simple.
With needle, thread and a thimble
I embroider … Quiet and contented,
I sew my lilies and budding roses.
I’m most at home with flowers
And their magical beauty
That speaks to me of love, of joy and springtime,
Of dreaming and the stuff that dreams are made on.
I suppose some would laugh and call it childish,
But you wouldn’t? …
I’m often called Mimi, though I can’t say why.
I live alone, and cook my simple supper,
Attending mass but rarely, yet to our Lord I pray.
Though alone, not unhappy,
And from my tiny garret window overlooking Paris
I see clear sky.
When ice and snow are thawing,
When days begin to mellow,
Mine is the warming kiss of April, so tender!
Mine are the first rays of sunshine!
I watch as the rose starts to open
Slowly petal by petal.
How sweet to breathe the perfume of a flower!
The flowers I fondly sew, my embroidered flowers
Are dear, but have no fragrance.
Aside from this, my life is unexciting.
I am simply a neighbor
Dropping by to interrupt your writing.
Musetta, a born flirt, while following her native bent, is wickedly aware that the
man she really wants, despite a recent quarrel, is looking on most attentively and
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glowering. Unfazed, by ignoring him entirely she shamelessly applies a well-tested
tactic for winning him back.
I stroll about at leisure.
Eager, with eyes aglow,
Men look me up and down, top to toe.
The unspoken longing, the subtle interplay,
Like champagne, I sip and savor,
And slowly magnetize the would-be lover,
Overcome with desire.
The surging fire, the ignited ember
Of throbbing fever I live to inspire!
You know as well,
With so much to remember,
So many times tormented --However hard you try to stay away,
You will return, come what may.
To spare Rodolfo the pain of watching her slowly die, Mimi resolves to leave him …
To my secluded corner there I’ll return alone
To weave unscented roses
With colors made of thread.
No rancor, only farewell..
One final favor:
Go, gather up a few beloved belongings -Inside my basket, a locket and a golden cross,
My prayer book as well.
Whatever else you find,
Just wrap in a bundle.
I shall send for it later.
Also, folded in tissues,
My pretty little bonnet . . . .
You may . . . .You may
Prefer to keep it to remember our love.
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No rancor. No, no, only farewell.
MADAME BUTTERFLY
Navy Lieutenant Pinkerton glories in his role as the enterprising Yankee,
exploring this quaint, remote little country known as Japan:
Eager for enterprise,
However risky.
Where luck or chance decrees
He throws out his anchor -Some punch or whiskey? -Where luck or chance decrees
He throws out his anchor,
And on the open seas
He braves the storm
To dominate and conquer.
On land his time is wasted
If a plum or a peach
Is left to go untasted
He is much drawn to a young, pretty, charming geisha named Cio Cio San and in
fact is about to marry her, so to speak:
I’m still undecided what to call it:
One thing for sure,
She’s sweet and demure,
Skin of pure alabaster,
Fine as a glass figure
Spun by a master.
Such an enchanting
Dear little creature!
Pining and panting,
Much I could teach her!
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Sheer as the gold
Of the sun when it rises,
Lo and behold!
She is full of surprises.
No figurine on a silk-covered screen,
No doll made of glass, she could pass for a queen.
I must have my Butterfly! My heart has spoken -A pity if her fragile wings get broken.
Shortly after the picturesque wedding, Pinkerton takes sail for America. Though
three years have gone by, Butterfly remains supremely confident that he will return
any day, as he promised:
On the far horizon,
And then his ship of splendor!
As the flags are waving,
Proudly it enters the harbor
To the sound of cannon fire.
Homeward comes my hero!
I’ll not go down to greet him, no, no!
I’ll wait here on the hill overlooking.
Too excited, I’ll wait, never mind how many hours,
For he remembered.
Emerging from the distant crowded city,
No bigger than a needle,
I see a man slowly climbing.
Is it he? Is it he?
And as he draws still closer,
I can hear! I can hear
As he cries, “Butterfly,
My love, where are you?”
Silent, I dare not answer,
But stay a while in hiding,
Though partly teasing, in part afraid
To die of joy to see him.
Uneasily he looks around and calls, “Butterfly!
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My Oriental blossom! My delicate verbena!”
And other pretty names that I found so charming.
It will happen exactly as I told you.
So put aside your fears,
For my own faith remains
Unshaken!
When his ship is spotted sailing into the harbor, Butterfly is ecstatic, her faith
justified. With her loyal servant Suzuki, she fills the room with flowers to greet her
homecoming husband::
I want to drown in the shower
That cools my burning forehead.
Flowers! Flowers to fill the room
Like sparkling stars that fill the night.
Fill the room with jasmine,
Peach and cherry, too,
Every bud that blooms
Upon the stem of bush or bough.
Now is the time to breathe
And bathe in the fresh smell of spring.
I’ll weep no longer
Now that the wait is over.
From soil I’ve watered with tears
Scatter bouquets of flowers
Welcoming love’s return.
Balmy April blooms again
In the fragrant air.
Pelt him with rays of color!
For love’s return prepare, prepare!
Adorn the halls, fill the baskets,
Leave no surface bald and bare.
Where he will tread, spread a carpet,
Spread a carpet sweetly scented,
Lilies, roses, violets blended.
Balmy April blooms again.
To welcome love unchanging,
Scatter bouquets of roses,
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Of violets and lilac,
Flowers of every hue.
While waiting through the long night, Butterfly sings to her sleeping baby:
You play with angels,
She wrestles with despair.
But where you are, her heart is there.
Sleep on, my little one . . .
Broken hearted, Butterfly says goodbye to her baby, whom Pinkerton and his new
wife are taking with them to America:
Made of lilies and roses.
May you never, never know
Your mother died out of love for you
And your sparkling eyes,
And so that later on,
Across the ocean,
You will not live tormented
Because your mother
Gave you away to a stranger.
My love, sent down from heaven,
Stare long and hard, my baby.
May you some day remember
How she smiled as she held you
As the last tender traces
Linger on.
Goodbye, my darling!
My blessed angel, goodbye!
Go . . . play . . . play.
TOSCA
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Tosca, the actress at her most seductive, declares her passion for Cavaradossi, the
painter:
A hiding place only lovers can enter,
Our very own, to all the world unknown -There you and I shall be alone.
Gazing up, in silent wonder,
Listen! We can hear
In the music of the stars
A clustered chorus calm and clear.
Come, breathe the scent of summer
That fills the meadows.
Befriended
By phantoms of the night, hand in hand we shall wander,
As playful breezes render
A caress warm and tender
To palpitating lovers
On the verge of surrender.
As dormant fields reawaken
And the sea warns of far distant thunder,
Beyond the moon, chaste goddess of desire,
Ah, you vaulted stars, rain down your sparks of ecstasy!
Tosca’s heart consume with fire!
Cavaradossi reciprocates:
That outshines your own eyes of umber?
Deep in their glow I’ve found
My inspiration, my soul and center -Eyes that in love are tender,
In wrath a flash of fire.
No other eyes in the world can outshine
Your beautiful dark eyes.
The tyrant Scarpia, chief of police, gloats unapologetically:
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Than entice with caresses.
I get no pleasure
From strolling in a garden bathed in moonlight,
Whispering drivel.
And serenades beneath a lady’s window
Are not my cup of tea.
Likewise for “Hearts and Flowers”
And the cooing of turtledoves.
Hungry, I see what I want and pursue it.
After gorging, I leave the table -Time for new diversion.
God created beauty galore
In wine and in women.
I long to taste
All of the fruits of our bountiful Maker.
Forced to watch her beloved being tortured, Tosca pleads to God, “Why do you turn
away?”
No malice I bear to anyone living.
When none were watching,
Often I’ve aided the ragged and hungry.
Ever a faithful servant,
My humble vows of devotion
I have offered up to God.
And on his altar I’ve placed
Flowers from a grateful heart.
When now my hour is darkest,
O why, dear God of Mercy?
O why, dear Lord, do you now turn away?
Jewels of mine have graced Our Lady’s mantle.
I’ve raised my song to sparkling stars
That glorify the heavens.
In my dark hour of need
O why, O why, almighty God?
Dear father, why do you now turn away?
Cavaradossi, in despair, soon to face the firing squad, recalls past rapture:
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A rustle in the garden,
And I heard quiet steps coming toward me.
She entered like a goddess,
We embraced in the shadows,
A thousand kisses and prolonged caresses!
My trembling fingers
Removed the attire that veiled her naked splendor.
But now my dream of love is gone forever.
In shock I awaken
To die in desolation,
Despair and desolation,
When I have never had so much to live for,
So much to live for.
MANON LESCAUT
Manon Lescaut, from a dreary provincial town and a strict father, presumably
headed, much against her will, for a convent, instead arrives in Paris in the arms of
a lover, expecting to indulge in the gloriously romantic life of a starving Bohemian
in a cold attic. However, she soon discovers that poverty is not as glamorous as one
might hope, even in Paris, and before too long, she forsakes her penurious lover for
a rich though elderly banker. We next meet her in a sumptuous apartment
surrounded by everything that money can buy. But having cast aside love for
luxury, she is beginning to have second thoughts:
Yet a silence like the chill of death
And the stillness of a frozen winter.
Not long ago I melted in his caresses
And tasted rapture,
His lips so tender,
His heart and soul a burst of fire!
But now – poor old Geronte!
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Even the lowly hovel
I now remember fondly –
Joyful, secluded, safe and sound,
Where like innocent children
We played at life and love.
LA RONDINE ((The Swallow)
“Doretta’s Dream”, a song wherein the dreamer, a young, innocent girl, rejects the
riches offered by a powerful king in favor of true love:
Try as I will to explain, it is still unclear.
Lo, behold! The king while passing whispered with a sigh,
“Make me your lover! Gold I can offer,
Jewels and splendor!
“Ah, lovely creature! So fair, so tender!
No cause have you to fear.
Cry surrender
And your pangs of doubt will disappear.”
“No!” she answered, unpersuaded.
“True love cannot be traded,
And neither gold nor silver
Feed the starving heart.
Magda, who in fact has succumbed to a similar temptation, takes over the song:
Have you heard what next occurred in our Doretta’s dream?
Who could forget how they met and they danced all night,
Or the wonder and delight of kisses long and sweet,
Bursting with fire, born of desire,
Enkindled by passion?
Love in flower! Fire of rapture!
What music can recapture
The tenderness conveyed
When lips of lovers meet?
Ah! I’ve been dreaming all my life!
Who cares for pomp and power
When roses are in flower
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And the skies are fair?
Of love, dream on!
For I may find it there.
The song reignites smoldering embers. She recalls a brief episode from a good many
years ago that has often come back to haunt her: a memorable night when, in a
mood of reckless adventure, she escaped from the eagle eye of her stern, straightlaced old Auntie and took off by herself to a wildly romantic place in Paris called
Bullier:
In the crowded confusion
Of a night at Bullier!
How I came? There I was!
How I left? Ask me not!
Unseen, someone sang to a rhythm subdued but insistent,
And the voice in the dark of the night
Seemed to say to me:
For honeysweet smiles and caresses
You’ll pay later on with your tears of despair.”
Seated after rounds of dancing,
I was happy though exhausted.
So dry and thirsty,
Yet my soul with delight was brimming over.
Doors opened, life grew larger
As my small world expanded …
Returning to Bullier to relive the past, the dream indeed seems to come true. Magda
meets a young man unspoiled by the glamorous but corrupt city:
Present and past misfortunes melt into sunlit skies.
Sorrows vanish swift as the swallow flies.
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Magda says goodbye to her wealthy banker:
As you stumbled through a barren desert?
Never found food and shelter
After long privation?
Can I refuse the gift that heaven offers?
Face up to it! Our tawdry game is over.
Understand and forgive me.
You are hurt and I am sorry,
But love allows no stepping backward.
I shall follow my star!
After several weeks of rapturous bliss on a hillside overlooking the Mediterranean,
Ruggero, the naïve young man, paints a glowing picture of their future life together,
married, with house and kids:
A house and barn surrounded by a meadow,
Sheltered by hills that catch the glow of morning,
Fading only when dusk has spread its shadow.
Our simple house that may seem like any other
Tender love will transform into a palace.
There hallowed by the spirit of my mother,
We’ll live untouched by the curse of greed or malice.
Then some day, just a little later maybe,
I see us both in thrall and overpowered,
Turned captive by the cooings of a baby.
As it sleeps, angels smiling down from heaven
Will provide loving guidance and protection,
With a shower of blessings on the tiny dreamer.
Make it so! Make it so!
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Magda knows, to her sorrow, that thus idyllic life can never be. Because of her
contaminated past, she can be his lover, his mistress, but not his wife, not the
mother of his children:
You will in time recover;
Peace will emerge from sorrow.
Go back home to a calmer, brighter future ….
No rest for the swallow
Whose flight continues,
Headed homeward,
Where no golden dreams dare follow.
LEHAR
THE MERRY WIDOW
Anna Glavari, brought up in poverty, now the richest woman in Europe, already
known as the merry widow, arrives in Paris to an acclaim that she takes with a
healthy grain of salt:
Would I be quite so glamorous
Without my bank account?
Your inner fire I seem to stir –
With what are you in love?
My beauty, charm and character,
Or none of the above?
Now of course I could be wrong,
But I fear the reverse:
The power of your song
Is inspired by my purse.
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What magic do you see in me?
A vision of romance?
Or is your passion possibly
More focused on finance?
With chivalry you vie for me.
I have to wonder which
Would still repine and sigh for me
Had I not struck it rich?
Count Danilo, also from the tiny country of Pontevedro, is now a confirmed
Parisian. But how can you take work seriously when the city offers so much by way
of diversion and delight?
Each government communiqué
I stick into the files unread.
’Twould never do to overdo –
A little time one must keep free.
I go to work at half past two
And have been known to stay till three.
Until I get a healthy raise,
Official parties I protest;
I know a dozen better ways
To entertain the foreign guest.
When bored with waiting on the great,
With kissing hands and rubbing brass,
The dull routine I delegate
And go to join the leisure class.
The darkened boulevards invite
A man to stroll into the night,
To float upon the winding stream
That carries you to Chez Maxim.
Those jewels of the nations
With spicy reputation,
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Do-Do, Margot, Gigi,
Lulu, Frou Frou, Fifi –
The girls who gather nightly
For camaraderie.
The darlings of my dreams
Assemble at Maxim’s –
Those captivating creatures
Put down by prudes and preachers,
Do-Do, Margot, Gigi,
Lulu, Frou Frou, Fifi –
Whom natives term politely
Café society.
Anna and Danilo meet again by chance. What has become of their former passion?
I rallied from the blow,
So here we are today.
A world for you and me
Was never meant to be;
There’s not a lot now left to say.
The past is over,
The rift beyond repair;
Dissolved forever
The dream we used to share,
The love you whispered,
The life that might have been.
The second chance
Will never come again.
No reason to recall the days gone by;
Never shall I waste a sigh.
Then we were young and still immature;
Youth is an ill that time will cure.
We were naïve in trusting fate,
But saw the light before too late.
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The intoxication of Paris takes over:
Days of springtime, wine and rapture.
As the twirling progresses, the dancing floor spins
To the silken caresses of violins.
On a tide flowing on with the dance.
You’re a-twirl in a world ever thrilling,
Filled with the lilt of romance.
To a tune sweeter yet than before,
Arm in arm with the girl I adore,
With a smile, with a sigh,
In a spell, you and I
Are alone on a crowded floor.
Amid the glitter, Anna recalls an old folk tale of thwarted love:
Back home we tell a fairy tale,
A story some remember well,
About a phantom forest maid;
Her name was Vilya, so ’tis said.
A nymph known as Vilya
With hair spun of gold.
Beheld by a hunter
That strayed from the field,
Alas! Little wonder
His fate then was sealed.
Passion heretofore denied
No longer could the young man hide.
Vale and hill
Echo to his love song still.
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Love I would follow through water and fire.
Vilya, O Vilya! I call, I implore,
Come and be mine evermore.
The wood nymph extended
Her hand with a wave
That beckoned the hunter
To come to her cave.
The lad was so stirred
That he wept with delight.
In rapture he kissed
Unaware of his plight.
Weary of his simple charms,
She vanished leaving empty arms.
Vale and hill
Echo to his love song still.
Vilya, O Vilya, my life, my desire!
Love I would follow through water and fire.
Vilya, O Vilya! I call, I implore,
Come and be mine evermore.
Ardent Camille makes a final plea to Valencienne, a married woman who,
despite her feelings, is determined to remain a proud, irreproachable wife:
Full as the rose in flower,
My love perfumes the day.
It carries me to islands
Where music fills the air,
A land of golden sunshine
Because you’re always there.
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That paradise enchanted
Am I to wave goodbye?
The rose so newly planted
Can you allow to die?
I beg a parting favor:
O darling! Grant to me
One parting kiss to savor
For all eternity.
There fearlessly we can embrace,
Tasting delicate delights denied.
Friendly dark will hide
Joy that no tongue will tell..
Come, open paradise again
With a tender kiss, and then –
Farewell!
In operetta, despite the perils of romance, the mix-ups and misunderstandings, the
agonies of uncertainty, you can always be assured of one thing -- a happy ending.
The Merry Widow is no exception.
Hearts are beating,
Both repeating, “Love me, too.”
Ev’ry sigh unspoken
Sends a message through,
Tells of two in harmony,
A dream come true.
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JANACEK
THE CUNNING LITTLE VIXEN
The feisty little vixen urges the browbeaten hens to stand up for their rights:
Sisters, sisters! Why let him feed you garbage?
Helpless hens in a harem.
Who does the labor? Who gets the profit?
Stand up to him! Agitate!
Too long you’ve suffered oppression.
Demand freedom now!
Come the revolution, cry
Down with roosters! Down with tyrants!
HENS: (aghast)
No more roosters? No more roosters?
VIXEN:
Why do you put up with him?
Shoving you aside, he gorges on grain,
And only when he has stuffed himself
He offers you a bite.
COCK: (with rising anger)
Don’t be taken in!
Trumpeting rights and equality,
She’s out to destroy the family.
HENS:
Clearly! Clearly! Clearly!
VIXEN:
I refuse to tolerate
Spineless reactionaries!
I’ll dig a hole and die in it -- Goodbye!
The forester reminds the dryly pedantic parson of his youth, long gone:
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Way back from yesterday -Sweet time of plenty! -Spry as bees and birds at play,
You, too, were twenty.
However hard we pray,
Spring soon is over.
Bones ache and teeth decay;
Arteries harden.
Comes winter, cold and gray;
Bare is the garden.
Lovers grow old and pass by as strangers.
The embittered parson recalls his ill-fated attempt to help out Terynka, the
treacherous gypsy girl:
“Trust and follow the path of virtue.”
Hogwash! Some classical author probably.
Never mind! Whoever said it was mistaken.
That lesson I paid for dearly.
To me they entrusted homeless Terynka.
For her I opened doors of enlightenment,
Made her a Christian.
Pastor and pupil, daily we prayed together.
Those warm, glowing eyes!
Pools of fervor and piety!
Deep as the sea itself.
Down in that darkness lurked
Devils of every known variety.
Pregnant, though of course unmarried -Who the father might have been
She would not or could not say.
Rumor was rampant, all pointed in my direction.
I had to face an angry mob
Shouting obscenities -She allowed it to happen.
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Thus rewarded
For a life of pious dedication!
“Memnestho aner agathos einai.”
I quote from Xenophon,
I believe verbatim.
Much impressed by the handsome fox, the vixen tells him her story:
At the Forester’s lodge I was an adopted daughter,
Family member, nurtured and educated.
I got to know -- people!
And by and large felt ashamed of them.
Pitiful! True, the Forester was kind and friendly,
And often affectionate.
But I found his wife impossible!
And jealous to the max.
She scolded him incessantly.
Even when not around,
She’d call in her children
To pester and pick on me.
Once when I bravely tried to fight back,
She shouted: “Just wait! Some day I’ll skin you,
Turn you into a nice fur muff.!”
Once half dead with hunger,
I stole some chickens.
Both with stick in hand came running,
Cursing and swearing.
Unbowed, I held my ground,
I cried: “Why, why be so stingy?
You have more than enough,
And I, nothing at all.
I’m too proud for begging;
What does that leave but taking?
Strike! Punish! Strike! Punish!
But then beware! I’ll get back at you!”
War was on! Action followed.
Too eager, too hasty, they were thrown off balance.
The coast was clear. I ran to the forest,
Dank and dark as the deep dead of night,
Yet there I slept serenely.
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Equally charmed, the fox assures the vixen of his honorable intentions:
Understand,
I am unlike other young foxes.
For me it is not the body but the soul,
Your soul that I adore.
Take my word:
Unlike your average fellow
Who would charm, then abandon you,
My love is true, forever and ever.
Why this hesitation?
Come and sit closer to me.
Trust me! Trust me!
Weep only tears of happiness.
Answer! Answer!
VIXEN: Yes! Yes!
The little foxcubs that eventually follow play a singing game:
Little fox, oh guard your sack
From the badger at your back.
Little fox from Africa
Carries pepper, paprika.
Little fox, watch out! Beware
Of the hedgehog and the hare.
The Forester returns to his beloved forest, some years later:
Armies of mushrooms!
Tiny soldiers in uniform,
Wearing hats chestnut colored,
Trim as country girls.
Is it real or am I dreaming?
My fantastic forest! The same familiar trees
As when we first came exploring together,
She so impertinent, and I so in love!
We, too, went mushroom gathering,
Probing deep into the murky forest,
Often back with empty hands,
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Too much in love to notice;
Coming back instead
With an overflow of treasured kisses.
Wedding bells that day were ringing!
We were young, and wedding bells were ringing!
He sits down, his gun resting on his knees.
These pesky flies! Without them, I’d be dozing in no time.
Yet I feel at home
Here at dusk when the forest starts coming alive.
A forest forever youthful,
Each round of the sun a new beginning.
Forest imps and fairies
Soon will return for a springtime
Of glorious revels and rapture.
Starting all over, back to undertake new miracles,
Once more they will scatter dew and sunlight
That turn into blossoms:
Honeysuckle, phlox and marigold.
Children and parents, other folk passing by,
Will stop to gaze in awe and wonder,
And may recognize
God’s own heaven, right here!
DONALD PIPPIN --- ENGLISH VERSIONS
AUBER
HAYDN
Fra Diavolo
The Apothecary
The Budding Soprano
BACH
The Coffee Cantata*
JANACEK
The Cunning Little Vixen
BELLINI
Norma
LECOCQ
The Daughter of Madame Angot
BIZET
Carmen
LEHAR
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Doctor Miracle*
Don Procopio
The Merry Widow
MASCAGNI
Cavalleria Rusticana*
CHABRIER
An Education Incomplete*
L’Etoile
MASSENET
Manon
Romeo and Juliet
CIMAROSA
The Secret Marriage
MOZART
Bastien and Bastienne*
Cosi fan Tutte
Don Giovanni
The Magic Flute
The Marriage of Figaro
Yanked from the Harem
DONIZETTI
Anne Boleyn
Betly*
The Daughter of the Regiment
Don Pasquale
The Elixir of Love
La Favorita
Lucia di Lammermoor
Lucrezia Borgia
Maria Padilla
Mary Stuart
Robert Devereux
The Tutor in a Tangle
(L’Ajo nell’ Imbarazzo)
MUSSORGSKY
Marriage Russian Style*
NICOLAI
The Merry Wives of Windsor
OFFENBACH
The Bandits
Le Belle Helene
Bluebeard
The Bridge of Sighs
The Cat Turned into a Woman*
The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein
Marriage by Lantern*
von FLOTOW
Martha
GOUNOD
The Doctor in Spite of Himself
Romeo and Juliet
OFFENBACH (cont.)
The New Woman (Genevieve)
Orpheus in the Underworld
La Perichole
The Princess of Trebizonde
The Tales of Hoffmann
La Vie Parisienne
PERGOLESE
The Maid Promoted
(La Serva Padrona)
VERDI
Ernani
Falstaff
King for a Day
Luisa Miller
Macbeth
The Marauders
Oberto
Rigoletto
Stiffelio
La Traviata
PUCCINI
La Boheme
WAGNER
No Love Allowed
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Madame Butterfly
Manon Lescaut
La Rondine
Tosca
(Das Liebesverbot)
von WEBER
Abu Hassan*
Der Freischuetz
ROSSINI
The Barber of Seville
La Cenerentola
Count Ory
The Italian Girl in Algiers
MONIUSZKO
Halka
The Haunted Manor
SCHUBERT
The Wedding Roast (Trio, Op. 104)
FOR YOUNG AUDIENCES
Alice in Operaland
Cinderella
The Escape
A Mini Magic flute
SMETANA
The Bartered Bride
The Two Widows
STRAVINSKY
The Soldier’s Tale
von SUPPE
My Fair Galatea*
TCHAIKOVSKY
Eugene Onegin
The Queen of Spades
TELEMANN
Pimpinone*
*one-act
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