Wednesday 17 December 2008 at 7 .

30pm

Soire Rossiniana
Cecilia Bartoli mezzo-soprano Sergio Ciomei piano
Rossini La regata veneziana Bellini LAbbandono Il fervido desiderio Vaga luna La Farfalletta Bellini Dolente immagine Malinconia, ninfa gentile Ma rendi pur contento Rossini Or che di fiori adorno Rossini Belt crudele Canzonetta spagnuola La danza Donizetti Il barcaiolo Amore e morte La conocchia Me voglio f na casa Rossini Ariette lancienne LOrpheline du Tyrol La grande coquette Viardot Havanaise Hai luli! Garca Yo que soy contrabandista Malibran Rataplan
Please restrict applause to the end of each group of songs.

INTERVAL 20 minutes

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

Barbican Hall
The Barbican is provided by the City of London Corporation.

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Barbican Committee Chairman Jeremy Mayhew MBA Deputy Chairman John Barker OBE Committee Members Christine Cohen OBE Andrew Parmley Maureen Kellett Lesley King Lewis Catherine McGuiness Joyce Nash OBE Barbara Newman CBE John Owen Ward John Robins Keith Salway John Tomlinson Clerk to the Committee Stuart Pick Barbican Directorate Managing Director Sir Nicholas Kenyon Artistic Director Graham Sheffield

Commercial and Venue Services Director Mark Taylor Projects and Building Services Director Michael Hoch Finance Director Sandeep Dwesar Personal Assistant to Sir Nicholas Kenyon Ali Ribchester Head of Media Relations Leonora Thomson Barbican Music Department Head of Music Robert van Leer

Executive Producer
Vicky Cheetham Music Programmers Gijs Elsen Bryn Ormrod Associate Music Programmer Chris Sharp

Programming Consultant Angela Dixon Programming Assistants Andrea Jung Katy Morrison Concerts Planning Manager Frances Bryant Music Administrator Thomas Hardy Head of Marketing Chris Denton Marketing Campaign Managers Bethan Sheppard Greg Fearon Marketing Assistant Jessica Tomkins Media Relations Managers Alex Webb Annikaisa Vainio Media Relations Officer Rupert Cross Anna Omakinwa

Production Managers Eddie Shelter Jessica Buchanan-Barrow Alison Cooper Jonathan Mayes Claire Corns Kate Packham Fiona Todd Company Production Manager Rachel Smith Production Coordinator Catherine Langston Technical Managers Jasja van Andel Ingo Reinhardt Technical Supervisors Mark Bloxsidge Steve Mace Technicians Maurice Adamson Jason Kew Sean McDill Martin Shaw Tom Shipman Associate Producer Elizabeth Burgess

Stage Managers Christopher Alderton Julie-Anne Bolton Stage Supervisor Paul Harcourt Senior Stage Assistants Andy Clarke Hannah Wye Stage Assistants Ademola Akisanya Michael Casey Trevor Davison Martin Thompson Robert Rea Danny Harcourt Technical and Stage Coordinator Colette Chilton

Notes

Soire Rossiniana
Cecilia Bartoli mezzo-soprano Sergio Ciomei piano

Theres a popular view that once Gioachino Rossini had demonstrated his mastery of Parisian grand opera with the first performances of William Tell in August 1829, and had been all but promised a French State pension, that was it. The most famous composer of the age retired from professional musical life to eat to excess, to enjoy abundant ill-health and to marry his Parisian mistress Olympe Plissier. Its true, says this version of Rossinis biography, that the promise of a diamond-encrusted snuff-box and the machinations of an unscrupulous publisher coaxed a setting of the Stabat mater from the composer, while the prospect of eternity may have encouraged him to write that late masterpiece, the Petite messe solennelle, but for the remaining three decades of his life after William Tell had first rocked musical Paris, the maestro forsook serious composition. In a celebrated interview with Wagner, who was in Paris to prepare Tannhuser for the Opra, Rossini told the younger composer that he was bone tired after writing operas at breakneck speed for 17 years. (Some 40 operas if you include reworkings and alternative versions.) He also deplored contemporary standards of singing and mourned the disappearance of the castrato. Rossini might have added that a wise artist always senses when he is out of step with the times, and Europe was riding on a flood tide of Romanticism, while he was very much an Enlightenment realist. Cynical even. And certainly not afraid to deploy a mordant wit. Of Wagners music he is supposed to have said that it had some good moments, but some bad quarter-hours.

So what of the Soires musicales and sets of Pchs de vieillesse, those collections of songs that become ever darker as Rossini grows older? The traditional view is that they are mere salon music slight pieces written to divert the guests the composer and his new wife invited to their celebrated Samedi Soirs. Most notably at the apartment on the corner of the rue de la Chause dAntin and the boulevard des Italiens, where the composer made his Parisian home after he and Olympe had bid a final farewell to an Italy and Bologna in particular that pleased them no longer. And where the composer had also buried his first wife, the singer Isabella Colbran. These songs are, however, anything but occasional. Some may be slighter than others and some appear to be little more than compositional callisthenics, but alongside the songs that bubble with irresistible inconsequentiality are those that bury themselves deep in the shadows. But they all belong to a distinct musical tradition and to a particular cultural moment. The tradition is about Italian song, with its emphasis on words first and music above all, melody second. Bellini and Donizetti, who also feature in Cecilia Bartolis Soire Musicale alongside their older contemporary Rossini, are deft exponents of this particular art. The cultural moment is the creation of the French 19th-century salon. The musical salon, a place for eager amateurs and, if you were sufficiently rich or famous, a venue to show off press-ganged professionals, is one of 19th-century societys principal leitmotifs. Theres a picture in the Manchester City Art Galleries painted in 1875 by James

Notes

Tissot called Hush. In the middle of a very grand room, crowned with an imperial chandelier, a young woman is poised to play her violin. A sizeable audience has already taken its place, crowding down the stairs too, in the hall beyond. The pianist sits ready. But the guests are still talking, while in the foreground a couple of wellupholstered women fans to the ready even have their backs to the musicians. And is that the hostess, or perhaps the girls mother, who leans forward, ready to hang on every note once a hush has descended on the salon? But will it? Over a hundred years later that hapless violinist is still waiting for the chit-chat to recede. She would have done well to recall Algernons remark in The Importance of Being Earnest when his aunt, Lady Bracknell, announces her forthcoming musical soire. if one plays good music, people dont listen, and if one plays bad music, people dont talk. Rossini and Olympe Plissier didnt invent the musical soire, but when they moved to Paris for good in 1855 they set a pattern for such social gatherings, building on the tradition that the composer had established when he first lived there three decades earlier. Everyone who thought themselves to be anyone hoped to be on the guest list. Verdi, Boito, Auber, Meyerbeer, Gounod, Saint-Sens and Liszt (who was regularly persuaded to play), all made their way on a Saturday night to the second-floor apartment on the corner of the rue de la Chause dAntin. Delacroix was invited and Gustave Dor, who possessed a fine voice as well as prodigious gifts as an engraver and illustrator, was a regular too. Anton Rubinstein and Pablo de Sarasate and the dancer Marie Taglioni all came to pay homage to the Rossinis

and enjoy themselves too. As they arrived, guests were required to hand in their engraved invitations. Once through the vestibule they would be received by Olympe in the salon itself. There was food, but never as lavish as might have been expected from a host who lived to eat and a hostess who wrote to a friend from Italy that she scarcely left the dining table. And some sources say that only a chosen few were actually fed at all. Quite simply the choicest delicacies on the menu were music and conversation, which often meant gossip. While Olympe queened it over the salon proper, Rossini presided in a smaller room where guests gathered to relish his wit and perhaps his obscenities too. And then there was the music, all performed to the highest standards and supervised by the host himself. These were the occasions for which Rossini wrote the music later published as Pchs de vieillesse, a worthy successor to the Soires musicales. And the semi-public nature of the first performances of this music is a reminder that conventional divisions between music for public and private occasions, between serious and occasional music, and indeed between amateur and professional, belong to our own time rather than the 19th century. On first seeing Tissots painting Hush we have no way of knowing whether the violinist is the daughter of the house or a trained musician hired to entertain the guests. The line between a well-appointed drawing room and a recital room begins to fade and we have no idea what they are going to play a Paganini Caprice or Home Sweet Home.

Notes

We know that the three canzonettas in Venetian dialect that are grouped together as La regata veneziana were given their first performance at one of Rossinis Samedi Soirs. They were probably written in the late 1850s, with 1858 being the most likely date, and subsequently published in Volume 1 of the Pchs de vieillesse. Anzoleta Angelina is of course a mezzo-soprano, the composers favourite vocal type and shes just as determined to get her man as that other iron-willed heroine, Rosina, in The Barber of Seville. In Anzoleta avanti la regata, Angelina urges her young gondolier Momolo to win the race and to bring her the prize flag. Then in Anzoleta co passa la regata Momolo pulls away into first place when he sees Angelina glittering in the crowd. And his prize, when the race is won in the final song, Anzoleta dopo la regata? A kiss, as all Venice talks about the boy who won the red flag. At the beginning of the 19th century there were compelling reasons for an ambitious Italian composer to write songs. Musical status could only really be achieved in the opera house, and Italian opera was built on melodic song. What Rossini in his old age deplored most about the new generation of opera composers was the absence of melody in their work, and melody, always at the service of the words and not the other way round, was the essence of the bel canto tradition. There were practical considerations too: simple songs quickly written were a ready source of income as the public appetite for published music grew ever greater through the 19th century: the bourgeois 19th century with a chicken in every pot and a piano in every parlour. As Julian Budden has written of Bellinis songs, There is

nothing here of the German Lied. The poems are conventional; the accompaniments never exploit the possibilities of the keyboard in the manner of Schubert or Schumann certainly the operatic world is rarely far away. Nor is there anything here, or in the songs of Donzetti, that approaches the sophistication of the French mlodie. In this respect Lady Bracknell wasnt far short of the mark when she was planning the programme for her proposed musical soire. French songs I cant possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. In defence of the seeming simplicity of these Italian songs you could also argue that they are easy enough to be performed by the gifted amateur and equally rewarding for the professional artist. And lets not forget that what has come to be a pretty fixed boundary between those who make music for a living and those perform for pleasure was a great deal more fluid 150 years ago. Bellini wrote LAbbandono in Paris in 1835 at the end of his absurdly short life. Julian Budden suggests that it is a sketch for his unfinished opera Ernani, with a libretto based on Victor Hugos play Hernani, now remembered mainly for the riot at its first performance just five years earlier. If the introduction to LAbbandono suggests Chopins First Ballade, then that is a reminder that these two composers were closer than many critics will allow. Il fervido desiderio, which is all about lovers who cant wait, was composed for the Countess Sofia Voina before Bellini left for Paris and is an elegant piece of musical flattery for an aristocrats personal album. Vaga luna, which was also written before Bellini left Milan in search

Notes

of greater fame and fortune in France, turns a rather conventional poem about the silvery moon into one of those unmistakable Belliniesque musical meditations, with each verse barely moving between intervals. La Farfalletta is said to have been written when the composer was barely 12 years old, for a puppet show to be staged by the incipient composers playmates. Dolente immagine, suffused with that particularly Bellinian melodic melancholy, dates from 1821 when the composer was at the Naples Academy, and sets a text by Maddalena Fumaroli, a pupil with whom the composer is supposed to have been in love, despite the strong disapproval of the girls parents. If that is the case, why is it dedicated to another woman, Nicola Taura? By the time that he reached Milan and scored a palpable hit with Il pirata at La Scala, Bellinis songs had found a willing publisher. Malinconia, ninfa gentile was issued by Ricordi in 1829 as the first of Sei ariette. Ma rendi pur contento is the sixth and last of these elegant songs complete with one of those long-limbed melodies that only Bellini can spin. No Italian composer visited Paris without calling on Rossini. In Paris he is the musical oracle, Bellini told a friend. The older composer had influence and friends in the right places and he worked hard on behalf of his musical compatriots, relishing Bellinis success with I puritani in 1835, though warning the younger man not to be seduced by German harmonies. Alas, there was little chance of that. By September of the same year Bellini was dead, a full 20 years before the Rossini and Olympe moved into the rue de la Chause dAntin.

The music played there on Saturday nights and when Rossini had first come to Paris in the 1820s could be earnest or playful, reflecting the composers own temperament. (A modern diagnosis might be mild manic depression, though when gloom dug its claws into the composers shoulder it took a lot of shifting). Rossinis earliest songs, which were written in Italy when he was a young man in a hurry to reinvent Italian opera, are altogether more light-hearted. Or che di fiori adorno is positively playful, a walk in the country, complete with bird calls in the piano part to make the listener smile. Belt crudele was written in 1821 when Rossini was in charge of the San Carlo opera house in Naples. The composer grew so attached to the melody for the song that he used it twice more. Canzonetta spagnuola also dates from Rossinis Neapolitan years, with its Spanish tinges doffing a musical cap towards the profound Spanish influence that permeates that citys history. Were back in Italy for La danza, a tarantella that scarcely pauses for breath At the beginning of the 19th century it was customary for publishers to issue ariette and canzonette by the halfdozen, complete with fanciful titles. Writing in 1837 to his brother-in-law Antonio Vaselli, Gaetano Donizetti makes light of this kind of songwriting, mostly intended for the salon. I shall have to write 12 canzonette as usual, to get 20 ducats for each, something that in past times I used to do while the rice was cooking. But the proof of the song is in the hearing and Donizetti usually cooks up a pretty toothsome vocal risotto. Be wary of taking the composer at his written word, says Julian Budden, these songs display a freshness of melodic invention, neat

Notes

craftsmanship and, above all, that inexhaustible formal resource that marks the best of his operas.

INTERVAL 20 minutes
Il barcaiolo is both melodically inventive and neatly crafted, with plenty of vocal business at the start and a soft ending to the song that allows the singer to display the full range of her voice. Amore e morte, in which you can literally feel the chill of autumn, was published in a collection of three songs entitled Soires dautomne lInfrascati. LInfrascati is close to Naples and theres an extrovert Neapolitan feel to many of Donizettis songs, reflecting the years that he spent in that city. La conocchia and Me voglio f na casa were both published in 1837 as Canzone napoletana, using traditional texts in local dialect.

vicomtesse or singer either, perhaps would have been seen there. They, too, had their Samedi Soirs. Pauline Viardot, who had made her operatic debut in 1839, as Desdemona in Rossinis Otello in London, presided over a music salon in the Boulevard Saint-Germain after shed retired from the stage. She composed operettas, an opera based on the Cinderella story and over 100 songs. Given that Viardot was born a Garca one of the great Spanish opera families of the 19th century perhaps her Havanaise can be said to have a more genuine Spanish lilt than many similar French musical excursions across the Pyrenees. And the faster second section of the song certainly keeps the singer on her toes. Theres a stylish sense of regret in Hai luli!, with piano keeping a tactful distance from a woman abandoned by her lover.

Vincente Garca was father of both Pauline Viardot and Maria Malibran that other great 19th-century singer. Garca created the role of Count Almaviva in The Barber And so to three more Sins of Old Age. Sins that can make you smile too. Ariette lancienne is from the third of Seville in Rome in 1816, while Malibran was also a volume of Pchs de vieillesse, and is an elegant exercise notable Rossini exponent, singing in Otello, Il turco in Italia and La Cenerentola. Malibran also created the in style with a text by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. In LOrpheline du Tyrol, which is described as a ballade lead role in Donizettis Maria Stuarda and Bellini wrote a lgie, the hapless orphan of the title is to be heard new version of his last masterpiece, I puritani, for her. So yodelling. A joke at the expense of Rossinis William Tell? songs by father and daughter Garcas Yo que soy La grande coquette is from the second book of the sins, a contrabandista, and Malibrans Rataplan bring us full storm of a song in which the magnetic allure of the circle in a programme that has abandoned the opera coquette even made Pompadour tremble. house for the salon, bidding farewell to William Tell to embrace the sins of old age that were so elegantly Women as well as men had their salons in 19th-century performed in that second-floor apartment in the rue de Paris. In the demi-monde the grands horizontales la Chause dAntin where the very last of Rossinis entertained their men friends with music and dancing Samedi Soirs took place on the 26 Sept 1868. and conversation. Look no further than Violettas party at the beginning of Verdis La traviata or Floras rout in the Programme note Christopher Cook Second Act. Of course no respectable duchesse or

Texts and translations Gioachino Rossini (17921868) La regata veneziana 1 Anzoleta avanti la regata La su la machina xe la bandiera, varda, la vedistu, vala a ciapar. Co quela tornime in qua sta sera, o pur a sconderte ti pol andar. In pope, Momolo, no te incantar. Va voga danema la gondoleta, n el primo premio te pol mancar. Va l, recordite la to Anzoleta che da sto pergolo te sta a vardar. In pope, Momolo, no te ineantar. In pope, Momolo, cori a svolar! 2 Anzoleta co passa la regata I xe qua, i xe qua, vardeli, vardeli, povereti i ghe da drento, ah contrario tira el vento, i gha Iacqua in so favor. EI mio Momolo dovelo? ah lo vedo, el xe secondo. Ah! che smania! me confondo, a tremar me sento el cuor. Su, coragio, voga, voga, prima desser al paleto se ti voghi, ghe scometo, tutti indrio lassar. Caro, par che el svola, el Ii magna tuti quanti meza barca I and avanti, ah capisso, el ma vard. 3 Anzoleta dopo la regata Ciapa un baso, un altro ancora, cara Momolo, de cuor; qua destrachite che xe ora de sugarte sto sudor.

Three songs in Venetian dialect 1 Angelina before the race Over there the flag is flying, look, you can see it, now go for it. Bring it back to me this evening or run away and hide. Once in the boat, Momolo, dont start gawping! Row the gondola with heart and soul, then you cannot help being first. Go on, think of your Angelina watching you from this arbour. Once in the boat, Momolo, dont start gawping! Once in the boat, Momolo, go with the wind! 2 Angelina during the race Theyre coming, theyre coming, look at them, the poor things, theyre nearly all in: ah, but the winds against them, but the tides running their way. My Momolo, where is he? Ah, I see him, in second place. Ah! The excitements too much for me, my hearts racing like mad. Come on, keep it up, row, row, you must be first to the finish, if you keep on rowing, Ill lay a bet youll leave all the others behind. Dear boy, hes almost flying, hes beating the others hollow, hes gone half a length ahead, ah, now I understand: hes seen me. 3 Angelina after the race Heres a kiss for you, and another, darling Momolo, from my heart; now relax, because I must dry the sweat from your body.

Texts and translations Ah to visto co passando su mi Iocio ti a but e go dito respirando: un bel premio el ciapar. S, un bel premio in sta bandiera, che xe rossa de color; gha parl Venezia intiera. la ta dito vincitor. Ciapa un baso, benedeto, a vogar nissun te pol, de casada de tragheto ti xe el megio barcarol. Vincenzo Bellini (180135) LAbbandono Solitario zeffiretto, a che movi i tuoi sospiri? Il sospiro a me sol lice, ch, dolente ed infelice, chiamo Dafne che non ode Iinsoffribil mio martir. Langue in van la mammoletta e la rosa el iI gelsomino; lunge son da lui che adoro, non conosco alcun ristoro se non viene a consolarmi col bel guardo cilestrino. Ape industre, che vagat:do sempre vai di fior in fiore, ascolta. Se lo scorgi ovei dimora, di che riedi a chi Iadora come riedi tu nel seno delle rose al primo albor. Il fervido desiderio Quando verr quel d che riveder potr quel che lamante cor tanto desia? Ah, I saw you, as you passed, throwing a glance at me, and I said, breathing again: hes going to win a good prize. Indeed, the prize of this flag, the red one; all Venice is talking about you, they have declared you the victor. Heres a kiss, God bless you, no one rows better than you, of all the breed of watermen, you are the best gondolier.

Abandonment Lonely little breeze, why do you sigh? Sighs are meant for me alone, for, grieving and unhappy, I call on Daphnis, who does not hear my unbearable suffering. The violet, rose and jasmine languish in vain; I am far from the one I adore, and have no relief unless he consoles me with the gaze of his light blue eyes. Industrious bee, always flitting from flower to flower, listen. If you spy him, tell him to return to the one who adores him, as you return to the roses at the first light of dawn. The fervent desire When will that day arrive when I shall see once more what my loving heart so desires? Please turn page quietly
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Texts and translations Quando verr quel d che in sen taccoglier, bella fiamma damor, anima mia? Vaga luna che inargenti Vaga luna che inargenti queste rive e questi fiori, ed inspiri agli elementi il linguaggio dellamor; testimonio or sei tu sola del mio fervido desir, ed a lei che minnamora conta i palpiti e i sospir. Dille pur che lontananza il mio duol non pu lenir, che se nutro una speranza, ella sol nellavvenir. Dille pur che giorno e sera conto lore del dolor, che una speme lusinghiera mi conforta nellamor. La farfalletta Farfalletta, aspetta, aspetta, non volar con tanta fretta. Far del mal non ti voglio; ferma appagar il desir mio. Vo baciarti e il cibo darti, da perigli preservarti. Di cristallo stanza avrai e tranquilla ognor vivrai. Lali aurate, screziate so che Aprile tha ingemmate, che sei vaga, vispa e snella, fra tue eguali la pi bella. Ma crin doro ha il mio tesoro, il fancuillo chamo e adoro. E a te pari vispo e snello fra i suo eguali egli il pi bello. Vo carpirti, ad esso offrirti; pi che rose, gigli e mirti ti fia caro il mio fanciullo,
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When will that day arrive when I shall press you to my breast, my beautiful loved one, my beloved? Lovely moon, your silver light Lovely moon, your silver light shines on these banks and these flowers, you inspire the elements to the language of love; you alone are witness to my ardent desire, and tell the one I love of my beating heart and my sighing. Tell her that distance cannot ease my pain, and that if I cherish one hope it is for the future alone. Tell her too that day and night I count the hours of pain, and that one tempting hope comforts me in love. Little butterfly Little butterfly, wait, wait, dont fly off so quickly. I dont mean to harm you, stop and fulfil my wish. I want to kiss you and feed you, and save you from danger. You shall have a room of crystal and will always live in peace. I know that April has adorned your golden, speckled wings, that you are pretty, lively and graceful, the most lovely of all your kind. But my beloved has golden locks, the lad I love and adore. And he is as lively and graceful as you, the most handsome of all his kind. Im going to snatch you and offer you to him; let my lad be dearer to you than roses, lilies and myrtles,

Texts and translations ed a lui sarai trastullo. Nellaspetto e terso petto rose, e gigli ha il mio diletto. Vieni, scampa da perigli, non cercar pi rose e gigli. Anonymous Dolente immagine di Fille mia Dolente immagine di Fille mia, perchs squallida mi siedi accanto? Che pi desideri? Dirotto pianto io sul tuo cenere versai finor. Temi che immemore de sacri giuri io possa accendermi ad altra face? Ombra di Fillide, riposa in pace, inestinguibile lantico ardor. Maddalena Fumaroli Malinconia, ninfa gentile Malinconia, ninfa gentile, la vita mia consacro a te; i tuoi piaceri chi tiene a vile, ai piacer veri nato non . Fonti e colline chiesi agli Dei; mudiro alfine, pago io vivr, n mai quel fonte co desir miei, n mai quel monte trapasser. Ippolito Pindemonte Ma rendi pur contento Ma rendi pur contento della mia bella il core e ti perdono, Amore, se lieto il mio non . Gli affanni suoi pavento pi degli affanni miei, perch pi vivo in lei di quel chio vivo in me. Metastasio and you will be his plaything. My darling has roses and lilies in the way he looks in his pure heart. Come, escape from danger and look no more for roses and lilies.

Sorrowful likeness of my Phyllis Sorrowful likeness of my Phyllis, why do you sit at my side so disconsolately? What more do you desire? I have poured out rivers of tears on your ashes. Are you afraid that I shall forget my sacred vows? that I could be inflamed by another? Shade of Phyllis, rest in peace, my passion of old will never fail.

Melancholy, gracious nymph Melancholy, gracious nymph, I devote my life to you, whoever disdains your pleasures is not born for true pleasures. I asked the gods for springs and hills, they heard me at last, and I shall live content, I shall never desire to pass beyond that spring or that mountain.

Only make happy Only make happy the heart of my beautiful lady, And I will pardon you, love, If my own heart is not glad. Her troubles I fear more than my own troubles, Because I live more in her Than I live in myself.

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Texts and translations Rossini Or che di fiori adorno Or che di fiori adorno sorride il colle, il prato, e dolce cosa intorno girsene a passeggiar. Placidi ovunque spirano soavi zeffiretti, sodono gli augelletti fra i rami a gorgheggiar. Anonymous Belt crudele Amori scendete, propizi al mio core, dun laccio, dun fiore deh fatemi don. Se Nice maccoglie, ridente, vezzosa, le porgo la rosa, le dono il mio core. Se vuol poi lingrata vedermi ramingo Che dico? ah la cingo col laccio damor. Anonymous Canzonetta spagnuola En medio a mis colores, ay, pintando estaba un da, ay, cuando la musa ma, ay, me vino a tormentar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo empresa tan feliz cual es de bella Nice las prendas celebrar, ay. Quiso que yo pintase, ay, objeto sobrehumano, ay, pero lo quiso en vano, ay, lo tuvo que dejar, ay.
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Now adorned with flowers Now adorned with flowers and hills and meadows smile, and it is pleasant to stroll around. Everywhere tranquil breezes softly blow, and in the boughs the little birds are heard warbling.

Cupids, descend to assist my hearts designs; come, present me with a ribbon and a rose. If Nice should welcome me with smiles and caresses, Ill give her the rose, Ill give her my heart. But if the cruel girl prefers to leave me all alone what then? Ill bind her to me with a love-knot.

Surrounded by my colours I was painting one day when my Muse came to torment me. With sadness then I left my happy task of celebrating the charms of the fair Nice. My Muse asked me to depict a more spiritual subject; but she asked in vain, for I could not do so.

Texts and translations Ay, con dolor, etc. Conoce la hermosura, ay, un corazn vagado, ay, mas su destin malvado, ay, le impide de cantar, ay. Ay, con dolor, etc. Anonymous La danza Gi la luna in mezzo al mare, mamma mia, si salter; lora bella per danzare, chi in amor non mancher. Gi la luna in mezzo al mare, mamma mia, si salter. Presto in danza a tondo a tondo, donne mie, venite qua; un garzon bello e giocondo a ciascuna toccher. Carlo Pepoli With sadness then I left, etc. An inconstant heart may know beauty, but its cruel destiny prevents it from singing. With sadness then I left, etc.

The dance Now the moon is above the sea, mamma mia, how well leap! The time is perfect for dancing, all those in love will be there. Now the moon is above the sea, mamma mia, how well leap! Quickly dance in a ring, my ladies, come here; every one shall have a handsome, lively lad.

INTERVAL 20 minutes
Gaetano Donizetti (17971848) Il barcaiolo Voga, voga, il vento tace, pura londa, il ciel sereno, solo un alito di pace par che allegri e cielo e mar: voga, voga, o marinar. Or che tutto a noi sorride in s tenero momento, allebbrezza del contento voglio lalme abbandonar, voga, voga, or marinar. Voga, voga, il vento tace, etc. The boatman Row, row, the wind has stilled, the waves are clear, the sky serene, it seems that only a peaceful breeze stirs the sky and sea: row, row, o boatman. Now that everything smiles on us at this tender moment, I wish to abandon our souls to a joyful ecstasy, row, row, o boatman. Row, row, the wind has stilled, etc.

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Texts and translations Ch se infiera la tempesta, ambidue ne tragge a morte, sar lieta la mia sorte, al tuo fianco io vuo spirar: voga, voga, o marinar. L. Tarantini Amore e morte Odi dun uom che muore, odi lestremo suon. Questappassito fiore ti lascio, Elvira, in don. Quanto prezioso ei sia tu di saperlo appien. Nel d che fosti mia te lo involai dal sen. Simboli allor daffetto or pegno di dolor. Torna posarti in petto questo appassito fior. E avrai nel cor scolpito, se duro il cor non , come ti fu rapito come ritorna a te. G. L. Redaelli La conocchia Quanna lo bello mio voglio parlare, ca spisso me ne vene lu golio, a la fenesta me metta filare, quanna lo bello mio voglio parlare. Quannisso passa, po rompo lo filo e con na grazia me metta priare, bello, peccarit, proitemillo, isso lu piglia, e io lo sto a guardare. E accoss me ne vaompilo mpilo a jemm! Canzone napoletana Me voglio f na casa Me voglio f na casa miez o mare fravecata de penne de pavune. Tralla la le la, tra la la la. For if the tempest roars, and both of us are dragged down to death, my fate will be a happy one, for by your side I wish to die: row, row, o boatman.

Love and death Hear the last words of a man who is dying. I leave you this faded flower, Elvira, as a gift. You well know how precious it is. On the day that you were mine I stole it from your breast. A symbol then of affection, now a token of grief. This faded flower returns to rest in your breast. And you will have engraved on your heart, if your heart is not hardened, how it was stolen from you and how it returns to you.

The distaff When I want to speak to you my sweetheart, for I often feel the desire, I sit at my window and spin, when I want to speak to my sweetheart. When he comes past, I snap the thread, and gracefully I ask, my dear, please hand it back to me, and as he picks it up, I just gaze after him And so this longing consumes me, day after day!

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

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Texts and translations Doro e dargiento li scaline fare e de prete preziuse li barcune. Tralla la le la, tra la la la. Quanno Nennella mia se va a affacciare ognuno dice, mo sponta lu sole. Tralla la le la, tra la la la. Canzone napoletana Gioachino Rossini Ariette lancienne Que le jour me dure pass loin de toi! Toute la nature nest plus rien pour moi. Le plus vert bocage quand tu ny viens pas nest quun lieu sauvage pour moi sans appas. Jean-Jacques Rousseau LOrpheline du Tyrol Seule, une pauvre enfant sans parents implore le passant en tremblant. Ah voyez mes douleurs et mes pleurs! Ma mre dort ailleurs sous les fleurs. Lhumble enfant orpheline a bien faim et pour un peu de pain tend la main. Je chanterai mon vieux refrain: Ah, loin de mon doux Tyrol, mon coeur bris prendra son vol. Lcho muet des bois nentendra plus ma triste voix: Ah Dieu, jespre en toi, prends piti, prend piti de moi! Ma mre, ton adieu en ce lieu minspire mon seul voeu au bon Dieu. quinze ans tant souffrir cest mourir, ne peux-tu revenir me bnir? Pourquoi le froid trpas et le glas tont-ils saisie, hlas, dans mes bras? Ton coeur glac ne mentend pas: ah! la douleur et la faim I shall make the stairs of gold and silver, and the balconies of precious stones. Tralla la le la, tra la la la. When my Nennella leans out everyone will say, now the sun has come out. Tralla la le la, tra la la la.

Ariette in the Old Style How the days seem long, When I am far from you! Nature herself Now means nothing to me. The greenest copse Without you Is a mere wilderness And holds no charm for me.

The Tyrolean orphan girl Alone, a poor girl with no parents Timorously begs from passers-by. Oh, see my pain and my tears! My mother sleeps, far away, beneath flowers. The humble orphan girl is hungry And holds out her hand for a little bread. I shall sing my old song: Oh, far from the Tyrol that is dear to me, My broken heart takes flight. The silent echo of the woods Will hear my sad voice no more: Oh Lord, my hope lies in you, Have pity, have pity on me! Mother, your farewell from this place Carries with it my prayer to the Good Lord. For me, just 15 years old, such suffering is death, Will you never return to give me your blessing? Why did the chill of death and the tolling knell Snatch you, alas, from my arms? Your frozen heart cannot hear me: Oh, grief and hunger Please turn page quietly
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Texts and translations mes tourments vont mettre fin; ma mre, je te vois, jentends de loin ta douce voix: Ah! Dieu, jespre en toi, prends piti, prends piti de moi! milien Pacini La grande coquette La perle des coquettes ne fait que des conqutes dans ses riches toilettes aux menuets de cour. Pour moi tournent les ttes, les coeurs sont pris damour, Et je crois mme quun beau jour jait fait trembler Pompadour. Dans une belle ivresse plus dun marquis sempresse moffrir sa tendresse... je les ddaigne tous. En vain chacun mimplore, me jure quil madore genoux. Je veux que lon madmire, pour moi que lon soupire; de lamour que jinspire, de ce brlant dlire moi je ne sais que rire. Ma foi! tant pis pour eux! Malheur aux amoureux! A plus dune rivale je fus souvent fatale; ma grce triomphale a sduit maint galant, coquette sans gale, quon naime quen tremblant. On pleure, on se dsole aux pieds de son idole vainement. Avec indiffrence. jaime voir la souffrance dun coeur sans esprance, en proie la dmence implorant ma clmence, mais sans me dsarmer non, je ne veux jamais aimer.
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Will soon end my suffering; Mother, I see you, In the distance I hear your sweet voice: Oh Lord, my hope lies in you, Have pity, have pity on me!

The great coquette ` The most magnificent coquette conquers all in her path with her splendid robes while the minuet plays at court. For me, heads turn and hearts are captured. I believe that one fine day, I even made Pompadour tremble. In the flower of intoxication, More than one lord hastens To make love to me, But I hear none of them. In vain does each implore me, Swear on his knees his love for me. I want to be admired, and sighed for; but this love they feel for me, this burning frenzy, it just makes me laugh. Heavens, too bad for them! Let lovers be miserable! More than one rival has been crushed by me; My magnificent grace has melted the heart of many a young knight. For I am the coquette of all coquettes that men must love, trembling. They cry and lament at the feet of their idol in vain. Coldly, I like to watch the torment of a heart of hope. driven to madness, begging for mercy. But I do not yield; no, I will never love.

Texts and translations Brillants Seigneurs, muguets de cour, pour vous jamais damour. et si vous me faites la cour, nesprez nul retour. pour vous jamais damour! milien Pacini Pauline Viardot (18211910) Havanaise Vente nia conmigo al mar que en la playa tengo un bajel, Bogaremos a dos en l que all slo se sabe amar. Ay rubita si tu supieras, Ay rubita si supieras Ah! Ah! Vente nia, etc. Ay ay ay rubita, dame tu amar. Sur la rive le flot dargent En chantant brise mollement, Et des eaux avec le ciel pur Se confond lazur! Sois moins rebelle. ma belle, la mer tappelle! Ah! viens, viens, viens! ses chants laisse-toi charmer! Ah, viens, cest l quon sait aimer, etc. Sois, ma belle, moins rebelle, Laisse-toi charmer, Oui, laisse-toi charmer, belle! Cest en mer que lon said aimer, etc. Rubita, ay vente conmigo al mar, Bogaremos a dos en l, Que all slo se sabe amar! Vente rubita, vente rubita, Vente al mar, al mar! Louis Pomey Great rulers or courtly fops, there will never be love for you; and if you come a-courting me, Expect nothing as your reward; I shall never love you.

Come with me, my child, to the sea, for on the shore I have a boat; we shall row it together, for only there do people know how to love. Ah, my fair one, if only you knew, if only you knew Ah, ah! Come with me, my child, etc. Ay ay, my fair one, give me your love. Upon the bank the silver wave gently breaks up while singing, and the waters and the pure sky merge in the azure distance! Be less stubborn. O my fair one, the sea calls you! Ah! come, come, come! Let yourself be charmed by its song, come, it is there that people know how to love. O my fair one, be less stubborn, let yourself be charmed, yes, let yourself be charmed, o my fair one! It is at sea that people know how to love Fair one, come with me to the sea, we shall row together, for only there do people know how to love. Come, my fair one, come, come to the sea!

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Texts and translations Hai luli! Je suis triste, je minquite, Je ne sais plus que devenir, Mon bon ami devait venir, Et je lattends ici seulette. Hai luli! Hai luli! O donc peut tre mon ami?, etc. Je massieds pour filer ma laine, Le fil se casse dans ma main Allons, je filerai demain; Aujourdhui je suis trop en peine! Hai luli! Hai luli! Quil fait triste sans son ami!, etc. Si jamais il devient volage, Sil doit un jour mabandonner, Le village na qu brler, Et moi-mme avec le village! Hai luli! Hai luli! quoi bon vivre sans ami?, etc. Xavier de Maistre Manuel del Ppulo Vicente Garca (17751832) Yo que soy contrabandinsta: caballo from the monodrama El poeta calculista El Poeta Yo que soy contrabandista y campo por mi respeto, a todos los desafio pues a naide tengo mieo. Ay, ay, ay, jaleo muchachos, quin me merca algn hilo negro? Mi caballo est cansao y yo me marcho corriendo. Ay, ay, ay, ay, que viene la ronda y se movi el tiroteo! Ay, ay, caballito mo, caballo mo, careto, ay, jaleo, ay, jaleo, que nos cojen. Ay, scame de este aprieto! Ay, caballito, jaleo, ay, caballito, jaleo! Anonymous
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Willow-waley I am sad, I am anxious, I dont know whats to become of me, my true friend was to have come, and here I wait all lonesome. Willow-waley! Willow-waley! Where can he be, my lover?, etc. I sit myself down to spin my wool, the thread breaks in my hand Come, I will spin tomorrow; today Im too full of sorrow! Willow-waley! Willow-waley! How sad it is without my lover!, etc. If ever he turns fickle, if one day he is to desert me, the village only has to burn down, and I with the village! Willow-waley! Willow-waley! Whats the point of living without a lover?, etc.

The Poet Im a smuggler and I do as I please, I defy one and all, because I fear no one. Ah, ah, ah, heres trouble, boys, wholl buy my fine tobacco? My horse is worn out, and I set off at a run. Ah, ah, ah, ah, for the patrols on its way and the shootings begun! Ah, ah, my little horse, my white-faced horse, ah, heres trouble, theyre catching us. Ah, get me out of this scrape! Ah, little horse, heres trouble, ah, little horse, heres trouble!

Texts and translations Maria Malibran (180836) Rataplan Rataplan, tambour habile, rataplan, pataplan, pataplan, rataplan, matin et soir, rataplan, plan par la ville, rataplan, plan plan, plan plan, je vais toujours tambour battant Rrrrrrrrrrran plan plan pataplan pataplan, etc. Aux plaines des pyramides jai men tambour battant, ranpataplan pataplan pataplan, les franais de gloire avides la victoire en chantant, mais au sort toujours docile me voil dans mes foyers, devenu tambour de ville, de tambour de grenadiers. Rataplan, etc. Et quand de quitter la terre enfin ce sera mon tour, ranpataplan pataplan pataplan, je dsire quon menterre ct de mon tambour ; quand des anges les trompettes sonneront le jugement, je pourrai de mes baguettes faire un accompagnement, plan plan plan plan. Rataplan, etc. Anonymous

Ratatat Ratatat, the skilful drummer, ratatat, ratatat, ratatat, ratatat, morning and night, ratatat, tat through the town, ratatat, tat-tat, tat-tat, do I march, always beating my drum Rrrrrrrrrrrat tat tat, ratatat, ratatat, etc. To the plains of the pyramids I led to victory, beating my drum, ratatatat, ratatat, ratatat, the French troops hungry for glory, singing as they went, but obeying my fate as ever, here I am back home, the town drummer now, the grenadier drummer. Ratatat, etc. And when my time finally comes to leave this earth behind, ratatatat, ratatat, ratatat, I want to be buried alongside my drum; when the angelic trumpets sound the last judgement, Ill be able to accompany them with my drumsticks, tat tat tat tat. Ratatat, etc.

Translations by Avril Bardoni, Charles Bourne, Kenneth Chalmers, Susannah Howe and Barbara Miller. All texts and translations reprinted with kind permission from the Decca Music Group.
Programme produced by Harriet Smith; printed by Sharp Print Limited; advertising by Cabbell (tel. 020 8971 8450) Please make sure that all digital watch alarms and mobile phones are switched off during the performance. In accordance with the requirements of the licensing authority, sitting or standing in any gangway is not permitted. Smoking is not permitted anywhere on the Barbican premises. No eating or drinking is allowed in the auditorium. No cameras, tape recorders or any other recording equipment may be taken into the hall. Barbican Centre Silk Street, London EC2Y 8DS Administration 020 7638 4141 Box Office 020 7638 8891 Great Performers Last-Minute Concert Information Hotline 0845 120 7505 www.barbican.org.uk

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About the performers Cecilia Bartoli mezzo-soprano For more than two decades Cecilia Bartoli has been a leading classical artist, via performances in opera houses and concert halls around the world and through her best-selling and critically acclaimed recordings, which in recent years have centred around the rediscovery of neglected repertoire. Herbert von Karajan, Daniel Barenboim and Nikolaus Harnoncourt were among the first conductors with whom Cecilia Bartoli worked. Since then, she has developed regular partnerships with renowned conductors, pianists and orchestras, most recently period-instrument ensembles including the Akademie fr Alte Musik, Les Arts Florissants, Concentus Musicus Wien, Freiburger Barockorchester, Il Giardino Armonico, Kammerorchester Basel, Les Musiciens du Louvre, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and Orchestra La Scintilla. Increasingly, she is involved with orchestral projects for which she assumes overall artistic responsibility. Cecilia Bartolis stage appearances include the Metropolitan Opera, New York, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, La Scala, Milan, Bavarian State Opera and the Zurich Opera House. Most recently, her roles have included Rossinis Fiorilla (Il turco in Italia), Cleopatra (Giulio Cesare) and the title-roles in Semele and Halvys Clari. She is currently focusing on the 19th century, and in particular the legendary singer Maria Malibran, whose 200th birthday earlier this year she celebrated with no fewer than three concerts in one day, alongside artists such as Lang Lang, Vadim Repin, Adm Fischer and Myung-Whun Chung. Her Malibran album, Maria, received two Grammy nominations. Among Cecilia Bartolis many awards are an Italian knighthood, the Italian Bellini dOro prize and honorary membership of the Royal Academy of Music.
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Sergio Ciomei piano The Italian organist and harpsichordist, Sergio Ciomei, graduated in piano in 1984. He then went on to study with Muriel Chemin, Piero Rattalino and Andrs Schiff, winning several piano competitions, which helped to launch his career. He also studied harpsichord (with Christophe Rousset and J. W. Jansen) and fortepiano (with Andreas Staier and Laura Alvini). From 1989 to 1994 he was assistant to Frans Brggen and Kees Boete in running Baroque courses at the Accademia Chigiana in Siena. As a pianist and harpsichordist, Sergio Ciomei gives solo recitals worldwide, as well as performing as a member of Europa Galante and Triple Concordia. He has played under the direction of Frans Brggen, Fabio Biondi and David del Pino Klinge and has performed in such venues as the Berlin Philharmonie, the Auditorium Nacional in Madrid, the Thtre des Champs-lyses in Paris and the Theatre Universidad Santiago de Chile. He began working with Cecilia Bartoli in 2001, and has appeared with her at many major European venues. Sergio Ciomeis discography includes solo, chamber and orchestral appearances on several labels; those with Triple Concordia and Europa Galante have been particularly well received.