Mia madre aveva una povera ancella - Otello

He seemed so to me.                                                    

He bid me get into bed and await him. 

                                                                                   

Emilia, I pray you,                                            

Lay out my spotless wedding garment

On my bed.                                                     

Listen! If I must die before you              

Bury me with one of those veils.                       

I am so desperately wretched.                                      

My mother had a poor servant girl                   

She was beautiful and in love

Her name was Barbara;

She loved a man but he abandoned her,

She sang a song;

The song of the willow.                                     

Take down my hair.                                         

This evening I have haunting memories 

Of that lullaby.                                    

"She wept, singing in the lonely heath                 

The sad girl wept.                                            

O Willow! Willow!  Willow!                                          

She sat bowing her head on her breast!                       

Willow! Willow! Willow!

Let’s sing! Let’s sing!                                          

The willow shall be my funeral garland."           

Hurry; Othello will be here soon.                      

"The streams flowed between the flowering banks               

She lamented that broken heart,                           

And the heart flowed out, from the eyes        

The bitter wave of tears,                           

Willow! Willow!  Willow!

Let’s sing! Let’s sing!                                          

The willow shall be my funeral garland."           

"The birds flew down from the dark branches            

Towards that sweet song.                                 

And her eyes wept so bitterly

That even the rocks were moved to pity."                                             

Put on this ring.                                    

Poor Barbara!                                                  

She would end her story with this simple line:    

"He was born for his own glory, I for love."

Listen. I hear a lament. Be quiet.                       

Who knocks on the door?                                

"I to love him and to die                                   

Let’s sing! Let’s sing!                                          

Willow! Willow! Willow!”

Emilia, farewell.                                                

How my eyes burn!                                          

It presages weeping.

Goodnight.                                                      

Ah! Emilia, Emilia, farewell!

Barbara Frittoli as Desdemona in Verdi's Otello.

Florence, 2003. Conductor: Zubin Mehta.          

Largo al factotum – Il Barbiere di Siviglia

Make way for the city’s factotum.
Make way! La la la la la la la LA!
Early to his shop, it’s already dawn.
Early! La la la la la la la LA!
Ah, what a beautiful life, what a lovely pleasure
for an excellent barber!

Ah, bravo Figaro!
Bravo, well done!
Bravo! La la la la la la la LA!
Truly a most fortunate man!
Bravo!

Ready to do everything, night and day
Always moving about.
It’s the best abundance for a barber,
A more noble life, no, it cannot be found.
La la la la la la la la la la la la la!

Razors and combs
Pointers and scissors,
at my command
Everything is here.

Here are the tools,
Then, the trade
with the ladies, with the gentlemen.

Everyone asks for me, everyone wants me,
women, guys, elderly, young girls:
Here is the wig, there is a beard.
Here a leech, there a ticket.

Figaro...
Alas, what a fury!
Alas, what a crowd!
One at a time,
please!...

Figaro! I’m here.
Hey, Figaro! I’m here.

Figaro here, Figaro there…
Figaro up, Figaro down…

Swift, I’m as quick as the lightning:
I am the city’s jack of all trades.

Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, very good;
Fortune will not fail you.

Tito Gobbi as Figaro in Rossini's Barber of Seville.

Film 1946.

Ah, per sempre – I puritani

Ah, I’ve lost you forever,
My flower of love, oh my hope;
Ah! The life ahead of me
Will be full of sorrow!
When I wandered for years and years
Under the power of misfortune,
I defied grief and disaster
In the hope of your love.

Lovely, blessed dream,
Of peace and contentment,
Change my fate,
Or change my heart.
Oh! What a torment
On the day of my grief,
The sweet memory
Of a tender love.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky sings an aria from Bellini's I Puritani.

Moscow, 1991.

Vissi d'arte - Tosca

I lived for art, I lived for love,
I never hurt a living soul!
With a secretive hand
I helped every misfortunate soul I encountered.

With sincere faith
My prayer always
Ascended to the holy shrines.
With sincere faith
I always gave flowers on the altar.
In the hour of pain
Why, why, Lord,
Why do you reward me like this?
I gave jewels for Madonna’s mantle,
And I gave a song to the stars, to the heavens,
that smiled full of beauty.
In the hour of grief
Why, why, Lord,
Ah, why do you reward me like this?

Mezzo Elena Obraztsova sings the soprano aria, "vissi d'arte" from Puccini's Tosca.

Tokyo, 1980.

Sono andati? - La Boheme

Mimi

Are they gone? I was pretending to sleep
So I could be alone with you
I have so many things that I want to say to you
Or just one, but it’s as big as the sea
As deep and infinite as the sea
You are my love and my whole life ...

Rodolfo
Ah, Mimì, my beautiful Mimì!

Mimì
Am I still beautiful?

Rodolfo
As beautiful as the dawn.

Mimì
You made the wrong comparison.
You meant: as beautiful as a sunset.
"They call me Mimì,
They call me Mimì
I don’t know why."

Rodolfo
He returned the swallow and the chirps to the nest.

Mimì
My bonnet, my bonnet!
Ah! Do you remember when
I came here, that first time, there?

Rodolfo
I remember it!

Mimì
The light had gone out…

Rodolfo
You were so upset!
And then you lost the key.

Mimì
You were looking so hard for it.

Rodolfo
Looking and looking.

Mimì
My dear sir,
I can tell you now:
You found it very quickly.

Rodolfo
I was helping destiny.

Mimì
It was dark and you could not see me blushing
"What a cold little hand
If you warm it up!..."
It was dark and you took my hand.

Placido Domingo and Mirella Freni in the final act of Puccini's La Boheme.