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Mesaj  Admin Bir C.tesi Şub. 05, 2011 3:53 pm

Véronique Gens (born April 19, 1966, Orléans, France) is a French soprano. She has spent much of her career recording and performing Baroque music.

Gens studied at the Conservatoire de Paris and won first prize of the school. Her debut in 1986 was with William Christie and his Les Arts Florissants. She has since worked with Marc Minkowski, René Jacobs, Christophe Rousset, Philippe Herreweghe, and Jean-Claude Malgoire.

While she started out as a Baroque specialist, she has become in demand for roles in Mozart operas, and an interpreter of songs by Berlioz, Debussy (see also Beau Soir), Fauré and others. Her numerous recordings include many works by Mozart and Purcell, as well as Joseph Canteloube's Chants d'Auvergne and Berlioz' Nuits d'Ete.


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Mesaj  Admin Bir C.tesi Şub. 05, 2011 4:12 pm

Veronique Gens(soprano)
Claudio Monteverdi
Lamento di Arianna
Emmanuelle Haim (conductor)
Le Concert d'Astree (L'Arianna-1608)

Lasciatemi morire!
E chi volete voi che mi conforte
in così dura sorte,
in così gran martire?
Lasciatemi morire!

O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
sì che mio ti vo dir,
chè mio pur sei,
benché tinvoli, ahi crudo!
a gli occhi miei.

Volgiti, Teseo mio,
volgiti, Teseo, o Dio!
Volgiti indietro a rimirar colei
che lasciato ha per te
la patria e il regno,
en queste arene ancora,
cibo di fere dispietate e crude,
lascierà lossa ignude.

O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
se tu sapessi, o Dio!
Se tu sapessi, ohimè!, come saffanna
la povera Arianna,
forsi forsi pentito
rivolgeresti ancor la prora al lito.
Ma, con laure serene
tu te ne vai felice,
et io qui piango.
A te prepara Atene
liete pompe superbe,
et io rimango
cibo di fere in solitarie arene.
Te luno e laltro tuo vecchio parente
stringeran lieti,
et io più non vedrovi,
o madre, o padre mio!

Dove, dove è la fede,
che tanto mi giuravi?
Così ne lalta sede
tu mi ripon de gli avi?
Son queste le corone
onde madorni il crine?
Questi gli scettri sono,
queste le gemme e glori?
Lasciarmi in abbondono
a fera che mi strazi e mi divori?
Ah Teseo, a Teseo mio,
lascierai tu morire,
in van piangendo,
in van gridando aita,
la misera Arianna
che a te fidossi e ti diè gloria e vita?

Ahi, che non pur risponde!
Ahi, che più daspe è sordo amiei lamenti!
O nembi, o turbi, o venti,
sommergetelo voi dentra quellonde!
Correte, orche e balene,
e delle membra immonde
empiete le voragini profonde!

Che parlo, ahi! Che vaneggio?
Misera, ohimè! Che chieggio?
O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
non son, non son quellio,
non son quellio che i feri detti sciolse:
Parlò laffanno mio, parlò il dolore;
Parlò la lingua sì, ma non già l core.

Let me die,
and who do you think can comfort me
in such harsh fate,
in such great suffering?
Let me die.

Oh Theseus, my Theseus
I still want to call you mine,
cruel one, even though
you flee from my eyes.

Turn back, my Theseus,
turn back Theseus, oh God!
Turn back to gaze on her
who abandoned
her country and kingdom just for you,
and who will leave her bare bones
on these sands as food for fierce and merciless animals.

Oh, Theseus,
if you only knew, oh god!
Alas, if you only knew the terrible fear
poor Ariadne is suffering,
perhaps you would relent
and point your prow back to the shore.
But, you leave with joy
on gentle breezes,
while I lament here.
Athens is preparing
joyful proud ceremonies for you,
and I remain
food for beasts on these lonely sands.
You will joyfully embrace
Your happy aged parents
but, oh mother, oh father,
I will never see you again.

Where is the faithfulness
that you swore to me so much?
Is this how you set me on the high throne
of your ancestors?
Are these the crowns
with which you adorn my locks?
Are these the sceptres,
the jewels and the gold:
to leave me, abandonned
for the wild beast to tear and devour?
Ah, my Theseus,
will you leave to die,
weeping and calling in vain for help,
wretched Ariadne,
who trusted you and
gave you glory and saved your very life?

Alas, he doesn't even answer!
Alas, he is deafer than a snake to my cries!
Oh clouds, storms, winds!
bury him beneath those waves!
Hurry, you whales and sea monsters,
and fill your deep whirlpools
with his filthy limbs!

But What am I saying? Why do I rage so?
Alas, wretch that I am, what am I asking for?
Oh, my Theseus,
it is not I, no, I am not the one
who uttered those terrible words;
It was my beathless fear and pain that spoke;
my tongue may have spoken, but not my heart.


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