Rochers vous etes sourds, vous n'avez rien de tendre
Ces voeux que tu faisois et dont j'estois charmée
Rocks you are deaf / you have nothing tender about you / And, unmoved / You listen to me here. // The ungrateful one about whom I complain / is also a rock / but, alas, he has fled / in order not to listen to me.
Those vows that you made / and by which I was captivated / what has become of them / You Cowardly and False Lover? // Alas, I did love you / always so tenderly / Was that a reason / for not being loved anymore.
Si l'amour vous soumet a ses loix, inhumaines,
Si l'objet de vos feux ne merite vos peines
If love subjects you / to its laws, inhumane / choose then in loving / someone full of charms: // at least wear fine fetters / and then if you must die / die a beautiful death…
If the object of your fire / isn't worth your troubles / while in the power of love / don't make any promises: // at least wear fine fetters / and then if you must die / die a beautiful death…
Laissez durer la nuit, impatiente Aurore,
Let the night linger, / impatient Dawn, / It helps me hide / my secret sorrows, / And I have not yet / shed enough tears; // For my suffering, alas! / are any nights too dark? / Since my Shepherd left this beautiful place, / Ah! I cannot bear / the intense brightness of day; / Let me weep, then, / in the protection of the shadows / for as long as my love wishes.
Parmy le verd naissant, et les charmants ombrages
Amid the burgeoning green / and the lovely shade / Flora sparkles in our groves, / Born with the flowers / are a thousand new desires. / All inspire love, / All provide for pleasures; // But, Shepherdess, I feel / that such a lovely season / cannot please me without you, / And it is you who gives / to the new season / All it has for me / that is sympathetic and sweet.
Ne crains point le serein, Sirene de mon ame,
Do not fear the serenity / Siren of my soul / The air has no effect / on your divinity. / Immortal light, / restrain your brilliance a little, / It takes only one beam/ for a long summer day: // What am I saying? She is leaving / I see her as in a sleep: / Farewell brightness of the skies, / Since Cloris, their unparalleled wonder, / Has no ears, / nor has the earth eyes.
Con la candida man, la man ardita,
With the sweet hand, the burning hand, Love is tying strings to his heart, strings which hurts and presses. // I feel with great pain in the wound, as if the soul has been raped form the heart. With a pull, what are you doing? Strings, what are you doing? You are kissing the belt and the punishment you adore.
Che rumore Sento fuore? Hora sì, Pazzarello, sei tu quello
(Answer from the window)
What a noise I hear outside? Is that you, you crazy, are you the one that kills me with you screaming night and day? // Do not be offended, dearest Aminta, False rumour will spread among your family, which are guarding you night and day: As in the most eager heart, so Sweetly Sighing, Reasoning, wanting to say: Dearest Aminta, if you were.
Quand une ame est bien atteinte, Elle n'est jamais sans crainte,
Rien n'est si rare en tendresse, Qu'une sincere Maistresse,
When a soul is really smitten / it is never without fear / without suffering and without longings: // Suspicions or uneasiness, / troubles its sweetest pleasures; / All groan and all sigh, / in Love's realm, / and yet this realm, / grows ever larger.
Nothing is so lacking in affection / as an honest mistress, / whose feelings depend on what she sees: // Everyone hastens in turn / to whoever is the most faithless; / This is common parlance, / of those who are afraid to love, / and yet the wisest / succumbs to the Love's flames.
Due labra di rose fan'guerr' al mio core.
Two red lips are fighting my heart. And the proofs of love are sweet rests. They happen to laugh. In death they trust. Flee, flee my heart, who is waiting for more. Ah what a sparkle! is every smile on those lips, Ah what a sparkle!
Ah, Rinaldo e dove sei? Pur da me partir potesti,
Ahi chi sen vola lunge da me,
Dunque il bel foco che t'arse già,
Ah, che spargo indarno gridi
E voi moli incantate,
Ah Rinaldo where are you? / You could then leave me / Not even my suffering, neither my tears / can stop your steps. / And this is the mercy / that you give me; / Ah Rinaldo, where are you?
Ah, you are then flying far away from me / and I remain here alone / I remain ridiculous, after a broken promise / Stay Rinaldo, Oh my God, / If your trust is dead / I am dead as well.
So the beautiful fire has already been turned out / the loan is broken / the wound has become hard ice / Oh, come back, my love / If your trust is dead / I am dead as well.
Ah, I cry out in vain / you who remain will be part of my death / over my beloved, my treasure. / Disappear, go away, flee from me…
And you enchanted powers / that on the run wont put down your feet / Disappear, go away, flee from me…
Vorrei scoprirti un di con la piaga
I would like to discover you one day. The arrow is causing a wound in my heart. But while I hide my desires, I suffer only for my deeds, since a beautiful sky is a sea of troubles. In such a painful state, during continuous sighs, there is no peace. He who speaks in pain, is being silent.
Un ferito Cavaliero di polve di sudor di sangue asperso
Piangi del Cielo il torto, piangi Regina, ohimè, Gustavo è morto."
"Datemi per pietade un che m'uccida….
Dunque l'invitto regnator dell Orse
Chi mi chiamò felice incauta lingua errante,
Dunque il Rè Goto invendicato resta di chi gli die la morte.
Mà che vaneggio, ohimè,
Non mi lusinghi più l'esser
De perche più riserbo quest'alma allo schernir dell'empie stelle.
Ma se gl'ultimi accenti d'un infelice misera che more,
Facciano i prieghi miei che tù fatto superbo
Misero, mà, che prò per questo il mio Signor già non vivrà.
Qui tacque e flagellata dal duol mosse le piante
A wounded knight, covered in dust, in sweat, in blood, abandons his exhausted horse, I don't know if his foot is sliding or if he's kneeling in front of the Swedish Queen. He is saying:
" The Austrian and the Goth are firmly kept by the God of War, I was wounded and I came here to die so that the murdered King can have the blessing of you tears. Cry for the unfair heaven. Cry Queen, Alas, Gustavo is dead."
A hundred virgins are loosing up their blond curls. They cover the face and with this dismal news the Queen burst in to painful cries
" Give me out of mercy, someone to kill me.
Oh, my master and king, who has taken you away from me? Barbarous and proud sword that made his blood pour into a warm flood, ah, then why not take mine as well. The Ruler of the Bears is bending his head under the sword of death, and I won't see him again, since he put down his helmet and martial strength, I won't enjoy our love, he will never again love me. Give me one who can kill me, ah, for pity’s sake.
The one who calls me happy, is a wrongly careless tongue. If I can become so unhappy in such a single instance, Ah, you untruthful Fortune, I thought that your good had diminished, but not completely fallen. Ah, death, Ah, treacherous fate, give me for pity’s sake, one who can kill me…
Alas, among all the swords can’t I obtain even one sword, but what am I saying, what words do I speak? Thus the King of the Goths does remain unavenged againts the one who gave him death. Arise, arise my strong people, Swedes, Goths and Biarmi who, from the Baltic Sea to the freezing Rhine, conquer every people, terror of the world and lightening of war: submerge the earth with floods of blood, may every town burn at your hands, may every province burn; kill, wound, do not forgive the wicked ones: the ferocious German, the crude Spaniard, the audacious Italian, do not speak of peace.
But what am I’m raving, alas, a grief-stricken widow, abandoned and alone lost among enemies, to whom death has left only life; with my lord killed, who will take up the fight? Give me one who can kill me, ah, for pity’s sake.
I no longer flatter myself that I’m a queen, for she’s not a queen who fears being led into servitude. Thus the royal blood of the Gothic empire, without it’s pride, will know how to patiently suffer the bitter yoke of foreign slavery. Oh, why do I keep this soul, in the face of the mockery of the wicked stars?, Ah, my dear maidens, may the most faithful of you run me through, give me, for pity’s sake, one who can kill me.
But if these last words of an unhappy, miserable who’s dying, can awaken the pity with the heavens, oh, Cruel Captain, who makes trophies of my pains, may my prayers make you, now in your pride, gird your sword against your own lord; then may you, wayward rebel, flee the talons of the Royal Eagle without faith, without honour, without counsel and may you finally be killed, poor, infirm, and naked, by the raw iron of a common soldier. Misery, but to what end? For all this, my lord will not come back to life. Give me one who can kill me, ah, for pity’s sake.
Here she is silent and overcome with pain, moved by tears, and in fury she walks as a madwoman, looks upon Fortune and with a haughty smile she says: Let the one who has laid his hopes in the Empire, and trusts the Realm, feel my disdain.
Il faut partir, adorable Amarante (poem on back of the booklet):
Go where fate leads you,
Recorded August 2003
Recording Producer: Drew Minter
Cover Photo: © Ferdinando Villa
© 2004 Elisabeth Belgrano