Che Gelida Manina

From La Bohème

by

Giacomo Puccini

More operas have been composed in Italy than in any other country or culture. Not surprising, therefore, that the very word is Italian. Opera means work (in this context, work of art, of music, etc.) Cf. Spanish obra, which has the same range of meanings.

Che gelida manina! Se la* lasci riscaldar.
Cercar... Che giova! Al buio non si trova.
Ma per fortuna e una notte di luna,
E qui la luna l'abbiamo vicina.

Aspetti, signorina, le diro con due parole.
Chi sono? Chi son? E che faccio e come vivo?
Vuole? Chi son? Chi son? Sono un poeta.
Che cosa faccio? Scrivo. E come vivo? Vivo.

In poverta mia lieta scialo da gran signore
Rimi ed inni d'amore.
Per sogni e per chimere e per castelli in aria
L'anima ho milionaria.

Talor del mio forziere ruban tutti
I gioielle due ladri: gli occhi belli.
V'entrar con voi pur ora ed i miei sogni usati,
Ed i bei sogni miei tosto si dileguar!

Ma il furto non maccora, poiche...
Poiche voi ha preso stanza la speranza.
Or che mi conoscete parlate voi.
Deh, parlate. Chi siete? Vi piaccia dir?

*From Che through la: The most beautiful monotones in all music—nine in a row, possibly a record.

Sounds so trivial. A cold little hand the inspiration for such grand music? Mmm... To those who have fallen in love, a light touch of the beloved's hand sparks more voltage than Benjamin Franklin's fabled kite. Puccini... An Italian... Their music as flamboyant as their gestures. Is my Italian friend swatting and warding off a swarm of hornets? Uh uh... Just mentioning how he had to hang from a strap in the speeding, careening, crowded bus that lurched on for ten meters beyond his stop before screeching to a jolting halt. Nothing new about that... but they love open air street theater.

Synopsis

It is Christmas Eve on Paris's left bank. Rodolfo is at home writing when a stranger knocks at the door. It is Mimi, a neighbor, who needs to borrow a match to relight her candle. Mimi is barely out the door when she realizes she has lost her key. As they search for it, Rodolfo's hand touches hers.

What a Cold Little Hand

How cold your little hand is! May I warm it for you?
Look for it? No use trying! We wont find it in the dark.
Luckily, it's a moonlit night,
And we have the moon right here next to us.

Wait, mademoiselle, I'll tell you in two words who I am.
Who I am and what I do,
How I make my living. O.K.?
Who am I? What am I? I'm a poet.
What do I do? I write! And what do I live on? I just live!

In my carefree poverty I'm a great lord
Who squanders arias and couplets of love.
And as for dreams, illusions and castles in the air,
I have the mindset of a millionaire!

All of my fortress's jewels could be stolen
By two thieves: beautiful eyes.
And now I've met you, all my past dreams,
My sweetest dreams, have quickly slipped away.

But this theft matters not, for because of it
Hope's sweet canticle has captured me!
And now that we have met, tell me,
Oh, tell me who you are. Will you please?

—Translation: Wendell Hall

Chile's acclaimed opera star Ignacio Gómez

portrait of Puccini

Portrait of Giacomo Puccini

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