Eclatante Amarante A portrait of the French Singer Anne Chabanceau de la Barre (1628-1688) Elisabeth Belgrano, voice Lucas Harris, lute, theorbo Carlene Stober, viola da gamba Jennifer Ellis, voice
Spellbinding....Superb... Santa Fe New Mexican, 2005
Special gratitude to Ferdinando Villa and Esha Chiocchio for providing the beautiful photographs for the CD.

1	Rochers vous etes sourds - Plainte d'Ariane Michel Lambert (c.1610-1696)
2	Si l'amour vous soumet à ses loix Michel Lambert
3	Allemande Angelo Michele Bartolotti (c. 1615- c.1681)
4	Sarabande Angelo Michele Bartolotti
5	Laissez durer la nuit Sebastien Le Camus (c.1610-1677)
6	Parmy le verd naissant Sebastien Le Camus
7	Courante Pierre Chabanceau de La Barre (1592-1656)
8	Ne crains point le serein (Serenade) Constantijn Huygens (1596-1687)
9	Con la candida man (Aria) Constantijn Huygens
10	Che rumore sento fuore? ( Risposta dalla finestra) Constantijn Huygens
11	Quand une ame est bien atteinte (Passacagle) Joseph Chabanceau de La Barre (1633-1678)
12	Courante Angelo Michele Bartolotti
13	Sarabande Angelo Michele Bartolotti
14	Due labra di rose * Joseph Chabanceau de La Barre
15	Ah, Rinaldo, e dove sei? – Plainte d'Armide Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632-1687)
16	Vorrei scoprirti * Luigi Rossi (ca. 1597-1653)
17	Un ferito Cavaliero – Queen Maria Eleonora's lament on the death of King Gustav Adolf Luigi Rossi

Rochers vous etes sourds

Rochers vous etes sourds, vous n'avez rien de tendre
Et sans vous ebranler vous m'ecoutez icy.
L'ingrat dont je me plains est un rocher aussy,
mais helas il s'en fuit pour ne me pas entendre.

Ces voeux que tu faisois et dont j'estois charmée
que sont ils devenus Lache et perfide Amant?
Helas t'avoir aimé toujours si tendrement
Etoit ce une raison pour n'etre plus aimée.

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

Si l'amour vous soumet a ses loix, inhumaines,
choisessez en aimant un objet plein d'appas:
portez au moins de belles chaines
et puis qu'il faut mourir, mourez d'un beau trepas.

Si l'objet de vos feux ne merite vos peines
sous l'empire d'amour ne vous engages pas:
portez au moins de belles chaines
et puis qu'il faut mourir, mourez d'un beau trepas.

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

Laissez durer la nuit, impatiente Aurore,
Elle m'ayde à cacher mes secrettes douleurs, 
Et je n'ay pas encore Assez versé de pleurs; 
Pour ma douleur, helas! est il des nuits trop sombres?
Depuis que mon Berger quitta ce beau sejour,
Ah! je ne puis souffrir, le vif éclat du jour;
Laissez-moy donc pleurer à la faveur des ombres
Autant que voudra mon amour.
Autant que voudra son amour.

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

Parmy le verd naissant, et les charmants ombrages
Flore brille dans nos boccages, Il naist avec les fleurs
mille nouveax desirs, Tout inspire l'amour,
Tout dispose aux plaisirs;
Mais, Bergere, je sens qu'une saison si belle
Ne sçauroit me plaire sans vous,
Et c'est vous qui donnez à la saison nouvelle
Tout ce qu'elle à pour moy de sensible et de doux.

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 (Serenade)

Ne crains point le serein, Sirene de mon ame,
L'air ne fait point d'effort sur ta divinité.
Luminaire immortel, arreste un peu ta flame,
Il n'en faut qu'un rayon pour un grand jour d'esté:
Que di-je? Elle s'en va, je la voy qui sommeille:
Adieu clarté des cieux, Puis que Cloris, leur unique merveille,
N'a point d'oreille, la terre n'a point d'yeux.

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 (Aria)

Con la candida man, la man ardita,
Ch'Amor soverchio spinse Filli,
nel suo bel sen ferimmi e strinse.
Io ch'al dolce doler della ferita
Mi sentij l'anima dal cor, dal cor rapita,
Con un finto che fai? Filli che fai?
Baciai la sferza e'l castigo l'adorai.

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? ( Risposta dalla finestra)

Che rumore Sento fuore? Hora sì, Pazzarello, sei tu quello
Che m'uccidi Co'tuoi stridi Notte e dì?
Non t'offenda, Caro Aminta, Voce spinta D'ira finta
Tra parenti Troppo attenti, Attenti Notte e di:
Che nel seno Il più sovente Dolcemente Sospirando
Ragionando Vò così: Caro Aminta, Fosti qui!

(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 (Passacagle)    

Quand une ame est bien atteinte, Elle n'est jamais sans crainte,
Sans douleur, & sans desirs:
Les soupçons, ou la contrainte, Troublent ses plus doux plaisirs;
Tout gemit, & tout soûpire, Dans l'empire des amours,
Et cependant cét empire, S'accroist tous les jours.

Rien n'est si rare en tendresse, Qu'une sincere Maistresse,
Dont le cœur répond aux yeux:
Tour à tour chacun s'empresse à qui trompera le mieux;
C'est la le commun langage, De ceux qui craignent d'aymer,
Et cependent le plus sage, Se laisse enflamer.

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

Due labra di rose fan'guerr' al mio core.
E provi d'amore dolcezze ripose.
Savien che ridano. A morte fidano.
Fuggi, fuggi mio cor, che più s'aspetta.
In quel labro ogni riso, ahi! che saetta!

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?

Ah, Rinaldo e dove sei? Pur da me partir potesti,
Nel mio duol, ne i pianti miei, posson far ch'il passo arresti.
Questa è la mercé, ch'à me tu dei.

Ahi chi sen vola lunge da me,
Ed io qui sola Scherno rimango di rotta fè.
Ferma Rinaldo, oh dio
Se morta è la tua fè, morta son'io.

Dunque il bel foco che t'arse già,
ceduto ha i loco a duro ghiaccio di ferita.
Deh torna, Idolo mio.
Se morta è la tua fè, morta son'io.

Ah, che spargo indarno gridi
voi che soste, ond'io mi moro.
Del mio ben, del mio tesoro.
Ciechi d'amore custodi infidi
Sparite, Svanite, Fuggite da me…

E voi moli incantate,
Ch'al fuggitivo non arrestase il pié.
Sparite, Svanite, Fuggite da me…

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

Vorrei scoprirti un di con la piaga del cor lo stral che mi ferì.
Ma celando l'ardore, soffro solo a miei danni.
Per un ciel di bellezze, un mar d'affanni.
E in si penoso stato tra continui sospiri non si da pace.
Quel che parl il dolor la lingua tace.

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

Un ferito Cavaliero di polve di sudor di sangue asperso
l'anhelante corsiero lassa, ne sò s'a i piè cade ò s'inchina de la Sveta Regina. Dice: "L'Austriaco e'l Goto incerto Marte è periglioso stringe
io trafitto colà qui a morir vegno, acciò del pianto tuo
gl'estrèmi ufficij habbia l'ucciso Rè.

Piangi del Cielo il torto, piangi Regina, ohimè, Gustavo è morto." 
Sciolser cento Donzelle i biondi crini in un diluvio d'óro,
si percossero il viso e à si funebre aviso
esclamò la Regina con dolorose strida:

"Datemi per pietade un che m'uccida….
O mio Signore e Rè chi mi t'hà tolto.
barbara e fiera spada che il suo sangue spargesti in caldo rio,
deh, che non spargi il mio.

Dunque l'invitto regnator dell Orse
sotto il ferro di morte il capo inchina,
et io no'l vedrò più, deposto l'elmo e'l martial rigore,
gioir del nostro amore e più non m'amerà.
Datemi un che m'uccida, ahi per pietà….

Chi mi chiamò felice incauta lingua errante,
se mi fece infelice un solo istante.
Ahi bugiarda Fortuna, del tuo favor fallace
scender credevo io ben, ma non cadere.
Ahi morte ahi sorte infida, datemi per pietade un che m'uccida….
Ahimè, frà tante spade non inpetro una spada,
ma chè dico, che parlo? 

Dunque il Rè Goto invendicato resta di chi gli die la morte.
Sù sù mia gente forte Sveti,Goti e Biarmi
che dal Baltico mare al Reno algente debellaste ogni gente,
terror del Mondo e fulmini di guerra,
sommergete la terra fra diluvij di sangue,
arda per le man vostre ogni cittade ogni Provincia abbrugi,
uccidete, ferite, non perdonate agl'empi,
Al Germano feroce, al crudo Ibero, all'Italico audace
non si parli di pace!

Mà che vaneggio, ohimè,
vedova afflitta, abbandonata e sola,
frà nemici smarita, à cui morte lasciò solo la vita.
Ucciso il mio Signor, chi pugnerà?
Datemi un che m'uccida, ahi per pietà….

Non mi lusinghi più l'esser Regina , nò
che Regina non è chi teme esser condotta in servitù.
Dunque il sangue Real del Goto Impero
potrà privo di fasto patiente
soffrire di straniero servaggio il giogo acerbo.

De perche più riserbo quest'alma allo schernir dell'empie stelle.
Ah mie care donzelle mi trafigga di voi chi m'è più fida.
Datemi per pietade un che m'uccida….

Ma se gl'ultimi accenti d'un infelice misera che more,
ode il Cielo pietoso, oh Capitan crudele,
che de le doglie mie formi i trofei.

Facciano i prieghi miei che tù fatto superbo
contro il proprio Signor la spada cinga.
Poi protervo rubello dell'Aquila Real fugghi l'artiglio
senza fè, senz'honor, senza consiglio
& t'uccida alla fine, povero infermo e nudo
d'un gregario Guerriero il ferro crudo.

Misero, mà, che prò per questo il mio Signor già non vivrà.
Datemi un che m'uccida, ahi per pietà…."       

Qui tacque e flagellata dal duol mosse le piante
e furiando errò qual forsennata
mirò Fortuna e con sorriso altero Disse:
"Provi il mio sdegno, chi le speranze sue ponne l'Impero,
e si fida del Regno."

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,
It's time to leave, beloved Amaranth
From afar, like a wandering star,
You will shine in the middle of the night;
For myself, I wish to have the honor
Of following your steps unto death,
And to sing your praises everywhere,
Since through your voice,
As those of angels,
You will govern all.

Recorded  August 2003
Church of the Redeemer, Boston

Recording Producer: Drew Minter
Recording Engineer: Frank Cunningham
Editing & Mixing: Elisabeth Belgrano, Lucas Harris & Scott Cadenasso
Mastering: John Scherf

Cover Photo: © Ferdinando Villa
Liner Photo: © Esha Chiocchio (inspired by Charles Le Brun's Expressions of the Passions, 1668)

© 2004 Elisabeth Belgrano