Recital: Allyson Bennett '22 MM, Soprano

Sommi Dei

Sommi Dei che i giuramenti de’ mortali custodite:
Numi, voi che i tradimenti disvelete e li punite,
Il mio talamo oltraggiato vendicate per pietà.

Ma che bramo! …ma che spero?...
Da me sgombra o rio pensiero.
Ah! quel cor che m’ha ingannato
La vendetta a me non dà.

Te solo invoco, possente Amore.
Mira: del foco, che m’arde il core;
Favilla il barbaro in sen non ha.
Se Nume sei, se tanto puoi,
Muoviti: i miei son torti tuoi;
Con ambi è reo d’infedeltà.

Felice Romani

Highest Gods

Highest Gods who keep the oaths of mortals:
Gods, you who unveil and punish betrayers,
Avenge my insulted bridal bed out of pity.

But what I long for! …but what I hope for?...
Free me from thought or heal me.
Ah! Revenge does not give me
That heart which deceived me.

I invoke only you, mighty Cupid.
Take aim: for the fire, which burns my heart;
Favilla the savage doesn’t have it in hers.
If you are Gods, if you can,
Move: mine are your wrongs;
With both of us he is guilty of infidelity.

Translation by Allyson Bennett

Chanson triste

Dans ton cœur dort un clair de lune,
un doux clair de lune d’été,
Et pour fuir la vie importune
Je me noierai dans ta clarté.

J’oublierai le douleurs passées,
Mon amour,
quand tu berceras mon triste cœur et me pensées
Dans le calme aimant de tes bras!

Tu prendras ma tête malade
Oh! Quelquefois sur tes genoux,
et lui diras une ballade
qui semblera parler de nous,

Et dans tes yeux pleins de tristesses,
Dans tes yeux alors je boirai
tant de baissers et de tendresses
que peut-être je guérirai…

Jean Lahor


Lamento

Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe,
Où flotte avec un son plaintif
L'ombre d'un if?

Sur l'if une pâle colombe,
Triste et seule au soleil couchant,
Chante son chant.

On dirait que l'âme éveillée
pleure sous terre à l'unisson
de la chanson,

Et du malheur d'être oubliée
se plaint dans un roucoulement
bien doucement.

Ah! jamais plus, près de la tombe,
Je n'irai, quand descend le soir
au manteau noir,

Écouter la pâle colombe
chanter sur la branche de l'if
son chant plaintif!

Théophile Gautier


La Fuite

Kadidja:
Au firmament sans étoile
la lune éteint ses rayons,
La nuit nous prête son voile,
Fuyons, fuyons!

Ahmed:
Ne crains-tu pas la colère
de tes frères insolents,
Le désespoire de ton père,
De ton père aux sourcils blancs?

Kadidja:
Que m’important mépris, blâme,
Dangers, maledictions,
C’est en toi que vit mon âme,
Fuyons, fuyons!

Ahmed:
Le cœur ne manque, je tremble,
Et dans mon sein traverse
de leur kandjar il me semble
sentir le contact glace!

Kadidja:
Née au désert ma cavale,
Sur les blés dans les sillons,
Volerait, des vents rivale,
Fuyons, fuyons!

Ahmed:
Au désert infranchissable,
Sans parasol pour jeter
un peu d’ombre sur le sable,
Sans tente pour m’abriter…

Kadidja:
Mes cils te feront de l’ombre,
Et la nuit, la nuit nous dormirons
sous mes cheveux, tente sombre,
Fuyons, fuyons!

Ahmed:
Si le mirage illusoire
nous cachait le vrai chemin,
Sans vivres, sans eau pour boire,
Tous deux nous mourrions demain…

Kadidja:
Sous le bonheur mon cœur ploie,
Si l’eau manque aux stations,
Bois les larmes de ma joie,
Fuyons, fuyons!

Théophile Gautier

Song of Sadness

In your heart sleeps moonlight,
a gentle moonlight of summer,
And to escape this troublesome life
I will drown myself in your light.

I’ll forget past sorrows,
My love,
when you cradle my sad heart and my thoughts
in the calm loving embrace of your arms!

You’ll take my depressed head
Oh! On your lap sometimes,
and tell it a ballad
that will seem to speak of us,

And from your sorrowful eyes,
I will then drink from your eyes
so many of your kisses and so much of your tenderness
that perhaps I will be healed.




Lament

Do you know of the white tomb,
Where a plaintive sound floats,
The shadow of a yew?

On the yew is a pale dove,
Sad and lonely in the setting sun,
Sings its song.

One would say an awakened soul
is weeping in unison
with the song beneath the earth,

And from the sorrow of being forgotten
it complains in a coo
very gently.

Ah! Never again will I go near the tomb,
When the night falls
in its black cloak,

To hear the pale dove
sing on the limb of the branch of a yew
its mournful song!




Flight

Kadidja:
In the starless sky
the moon extinguishes its rays,
The night lends us its veil,
Let’s flee, let’s flee!

Ahmed:
Don’t you fear your
insolent brothers’ anger?
The despair of your father,
Your father with white eyebrows?

Kadidja:
What do I care about scorn, blame,
dangers, curses?
It’s you that lives in my soul.
Let’s flee, let’s flee!

Ahmed:
My heart is failing, I tremble,
And in my breast I seem
to feel the icy touch
of their dagger penetrating!

Kadidja:
My mare, born in the desert,
Over the wheat, through the fields,
Would fly on the winds of our enemies,
Let’s flee, let’s flee!

Ahmed:
To the impassable desert,
Without an umbrella to cast
a bit of shadow on the sand,
Without a tent to shelter me…

Kadidja:
My eyelashes will make some shade for you,
And at night, at night we’ll sleep
under my hair, a dark tent.
Let’s flee, let’s flee!

Ahmed:
If the illusory mirage
hid from us the true path,
Without food, without water to drink,
We would both die tomorrow…

Kadidja:
My heart overflows with happiness,
So, if the oasis should lack water,
Drink my tears of joy.
Let’s flee, let’s flee!

Translations by Allyson Bennett

Má píseň zas mi láskou zní

Má píseň zas mi láskou zní,
když starý den umírá;
a chudý mech kdy na šat svůj
si tajně perle sbíra.

Má píseň v kraj tak toužně zní,
když světem noha bloudí;
jen rodné pusty dálinou
zpěv volně z ňader proudí.

Má píseň hlučně láskou zní,
když bouře běží plání;
když těším se, že bídy prost
dlí bratr v umírání.


Když mne stará matka

Když mne stará matka zpívat učívala,
podivno, že často, často slzívala.
A ted' také pláčem snědé líce mučím,
když cigánské děti hrát a zpívat učím!


Široké rukávy

Široké rukávy a široké gatě
volnější cigánu nežli dolman v zlatě.
Dolman a to zlato bujná prsa svírá;
pod ním volná píseň násilně umírá.

A kdo raduješ se, tvá kdy píseň v květě,
přej si, aby zašlo zlato v celém světě!


Dejte klec jestřábu

Dejte klec jestřábu ze zlata ryzého;
nezmění on za ni hnízda trněného.

Komoni bujnému, jenž se pustou žene,
zřídka kdy připnete uzdy a třemene.

A tak i cigánu příroda cos dala:
k volnosti ho věčným poutem, k volnosti ho  
     upoutala.    

Adolf Heyduk 

My song rings to me with love again

My song rings to me with love again,
when the old day dies;
and when the poor moss
secretly gathers pearls into its guise.

My song rings so longingly into the country,
when my foot wanders through the world;
only through the vastness of my native puszta
does my voice flow freely from my bosom.

My song sounds loudly with love,
when the storm hurries through the flatland;
when I am glad, that from lingering in misery,
my brother dying is free.


When my old mother

When my old mother taught me to sing,
it’s strange, that she often, often cried.
And now I also tire my cheeks,
when gypsy children play and sing, I teach!


Wide Sleeves

Dressed in wide sleeves and wide trousers
The gypsy feels freer in than in dolman and gold.
The gold and dolman constrict his breast;
His free song dying underneath.

And he who feels true joy when his song blooms,
Wish that all the gold in the world would go extinct!


Give a hawk a cage

Give a hawk a cage made of pure gold;
he will never exchange his thorny nest for it.

To a wild horse, which gallops through the puszta,
you’ll seldom hitch a bridle and stirrup.

And so also to a gypsy nature has given something,
nature has eternally bonded him with freedom.


Translations by Allyson Bennett