PUCCINI

MANON LESCAUT

When Des Grieux, the studious young seminarian, first sees Manon, it is love at first sight:

DES GRIEUX:

No girl I’ve seen before

Comes close in beauty.

To whisper, “I love you”

I’d scale the mountain top and slay the dragon.

“Manon Lescaut they call me . . .”

Even these simple words stir my spirit

Like balmy summer breezes

That touch the tender leaves with sly caresses

And a soft melting sigh.

Long may their melody continue

Pouring balm on my soul!

Long may that fountain flow on and on!

“Manon Lescaut they call me . . .”

Oh, fountain of love, flow on and on!

Horrified by her intention, however reluctantly, to enter a convent, he urges her to disobey her father’s orders and find her own life -- with him:

DES GRIEUX: (enraptured)

Gazing into your eyes, so deep, so tender

I see a spark of longing and desire,

The smoldering of love, ah!

Let us ride on the waves of passion

That sweep us toward new shores.

I love you, I love you!

Say yes, and in that moment

We enter realms of bliss eternal.

MANON:

Born plain and simple,

I’m not what you imagine;

No hidden sparks, but only what you see,

Soon drawn into a land of living death.

DES GRIEUX:

Love will illuminate your night of despair!

And your beauty will sparkle,

Spreading joy and delight.

My delectable darling!

Ah! More than a dream,

My supreme inspiration!

Manon succombs, but soon finding the life of poverty unendurable, she casts aside her lover for a rich but elderly banker. Though surrounded by newly acquired luxury, she is already beginning to have second thoughts:

Here, soft and silken tapestries,

Gilded chairs, Persian carpets . . .

Yet a silence like the chill of death,

And the stillness of a frozen winter.

Not long ago I melted in his caresses

And tasted rapture,

His lips so tender,

His heart and soul a burst of fire!

But now -- Poor old Geronte!

Even the lowly hovel

I now remember fondly --

Joyful, secluded, safe and sound,

Where like innocent children

We played with life and love.

Irresistably drawn back to the girl who has abandoned him, Des Grieux takes a hard look at the truth:

DES GRIEUX: (with intense passion)

Ah, Manon!

It’s the same song and dance as before.

Still just as flighty!

Still just as foolish!

You are like two different people,

The one sincere and loving,

Kind, sweet and gentle,

Blessed with all of the graces,

Warm, generous and charming,

Tender as your caresses.

Then, the other - - blindly infatuated

With luxury, with dazzle and glitter.

Me, no better - -

Your adoring slave and victim,

Plunging downward into chaos,

Dung swirling in a sewer.

See the squalid hero of the gaming table,

Daily trading honor for money,

Desperate for you!

(from the depths)

The future looks even darker . . .

Can I sink lower than this?

MANON: (utterly contrite)

I’m truly sorry.

So much I’ve made you suffer!

But I’ll be better.

Those foolish days are over.

I swear it . . . I swear it . . .

Despite all, when she faces deportation as a common convict, he pleads to be taken on board as well:

You take on board my soul, my center,

Leaving a cold, empty desert

Endlessly stretching before me.

How could I not go mad?

But hear me!

Hire me out as a menial,

Lowest among the lowly,

And I’ll be overjoyed.

Let me serve you.

Out of desperate need I implore you!

Every breath in my body

I offer unstinting,

But take me along.

I beg you, allow me to sail

And I shall serve you well.

Touched by this passionate plea, the Captain has a bluff but kind reply.

CAPTAIN:

To populate America

Fellow wants to be deported . . .

I’d say . . . I’d say . . . What the hell?

Come, matey, time we started!

Distraught with terror, fever and fatigue, Manon is alone in the desert while Des Grieux goes searching for food and water, and as the sky darkens:

MANON:

Worn out . . . alone, and left in torment . . .

Around me, desolation . . .

I fear the setting sun,

The coming darkness,

The encroaching shadows . . .

I die alone in this wasteland of desert . . .

Cruel but just, ah!

I, too vain, too flighty,

Now terrified of shadows . . .

Ah, but I don’t want to die!

I’m not ready yet to die!

Slowly the curtain closes . . .

Here I arrived, believing I had found a haven,

A place of welcome

Where the door stood open.

Instead, my accursed beauty

Stirred up the storms of passion

From which again I’m forced to flee.

My shameful past of lies and deceit

Is reawakened,

And like a vengeful ghost

Returns to accuse me.

Ah! The vultures circle round me!

Now all is over . . .

I shall find peace

Only in the sleep of death.

No! Don’t let me die!

I don’t want to die!

I am not ready yet to die!

My love, where are you?