#sabine devieilhe
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<3
#sabine devieilhe#hamlet opera#ambroise thomas#opheliaâs scene is one i really really find to be so pretty#Spotify
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French Soprano Sabine Devieilhe sings FaurĂ©'s AprĂšs un rĂȘve with pianist Alexandre Tharaud.Â
In sleep made sweet by a vision of you I dreamed of happiness, fervent illusion, Your eyes were softer, your voice pure and ringing, You shone like a sky that was lit by the dawn... (x)
#Sabine Devieilhe#opera tag#gabriel fauré#alexandre tharaud#just heard her Met debut as Sister Constance in Dialogues of the Carmelites#and I heard her at Wigmore Hall when I was in London#a shining star#a gift of a voice and a gift of knowing how to use it#especially in her native language#can't wait to devote my life to her rip me
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congratulations you get to continue witnessing me post about this revival
#opera#opera tag#dialogues des carmélites#dialogues of the carmelites#met opera#sabine devieilhe#ailyn pérez#poulenc#francis poulenc#Youtube
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HÀndel - Cantate Italiane - Le Consert D'Astrée
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#youtube#music#baroque music#18th century#orchestra#vocal#sabine devieilhe#lea desandre#georg friedrich hÀndel
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Rameau: Pour jamais l'amour nous engage
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Rameau's opera Les Indes Galantes (1735) consists of four independent stories told one after the other. The 2nd one called "The Incas of Peru" is about a Spanish officer and an Inca princess who fell in love with each other--but the Inca high priest loves her too! To convince her to marry him he causes an earthquake and tells her it's a divine sign that she ought to choose him. But the Spaniard intervenes and reveals that it was all just a trick.
This is where the linked video starts, the finale. The sweethearts sing of their love, simultaneously the priest sings of his rage. [I love this clash of emotions that you can hear in the music. The duet is affectionate yet at the same time (!) the priest's outburst are so angry. The music conveys two very different feelings simultaneously and it still works somehow.] The earthquake causes the volcano to erupt and the villainous priest is crushed by its fiery rocks.
Phani (the Inca princess), Carlos (the Spanish officer) Love binds us forever. No, no, nothing compares to my bliss. Ah! My heart has well earned The fate that it shares with you.
Pour jamais, lâamour nous engage. Non, non, rien nâest Ă©gal Ă ma fĂ©licitĂ©. Ah ! Mon coeur a bien mĂ©ritĂ© Le sort quâavec Vous il partage.
Huascar (the Inca high priest) No, no, nothing compares to my rage. I am a witness of their bliss. Must my aggrieved heart Be beyond vengeance of so cruel an outrage?
Non, non, rien nâĂ©gale ma rage. Je suis tĂ©moin de leur fĂ©licitĂ©. Faut-il que mon coeur irritĂ© Ne puisse ĂȘtre vengĂ© dâun si cruel outrage ?
#music#classical music#baroque music#french baroque#rameau#inca#opera#polyphony#trio#Sabine Devieilhe#Alexandre Duhamel#arte#Youtube
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Simon Rattle e Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks - Idomeneo
Foto ©BR/Astrid Ackermann Sir Simon Rattle ha iniziato la sua prima stagione da Chefdirigent della Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Continue reading Untitled
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#andrew staples#canto#chor des bayerischen rundfunks#critica#elsa dreisig#herkulessaal#idomeneo#kozena#linard vrielink#mĂŒnchen#mozart#opera#sabine devieilhe#simon rattle#symphonieorchester des bayerischen rundfunks#tareq nazmi
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Sabine Devieilheâs âThe Wrath of Hellâ was heavenly
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a little treat for me personally
#carlo vistoli and sabine devieilhe you understand#you. younderstand#favourite characters#opera#HĂ€ndel#Vistoli#Devieilhe#PTOLEMIES#Youtube
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beware the sapphire peak - chapter 1.
aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.
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you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series. (this will likely be about 3 parts)
@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!
content: smut, angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory
to death we dance - salem's heir âą the flower duet - sabine devieilhe & marianne crebassa
âYou were nearly late, miss,â one of the butlers murmured in your ear. âThe musicâs just started.âÂ
âThere is a quote about being fashionably late, isnât there?â you mused, taking his gloved hand as he helped you up the steps.Â
It was a banquet for your fatherâs business, a celebration of having struck gold (oil) and turning a huge profit. Or, in your words, an excuse for the high and mighty to get plastered and dance the night away. Your fist clenched upon the train of your dressâ a lovely evening gown in eggshell white, with hand embroidered lilacs and lavender petals on it, spindling up your bodice like a trellis. Your usually somewhat unruly hair was tamed into a braided and pinned up-do, with an expensive broach poked into the bun of hair in the shape of a falling wisteria branch.Â
Your father was the first to greet you, peeling away from the gaggle of portly oil barons. He kissed your cheek. âYou look lovely tonight, my dear. A vision in purple, I must say.â
You smiled back at him. âYes, well, you all but wringed my arm to get me to attendâ and you shall hold up your end of the bargain⊠right?â you hummed softly, batting your eyelashes.Â
He let out a small sigh, nodding. âI will send your manuscript to the publisherâ the editor in chief is here tonight, if youâd care to mingle. Amongst⊠many other eligible bachelors, I might add.âÂ
Your father had spent the better part of the last three years gently trying to pair you up with a suitor for marriage. He was a patient man, as he had droned on about so many times before, but his patience was waning. You were twenty-one years old, and apparently, that was a ghastly sightâ to be twenty-one and unmarried with no promising prospects.Â
Of course, you couldnât care less. You were more focused on finishing your manuscript in that timeâ you had a knack for writing and reveled in works of fiction that tended to lean to the darker sides of things. It had finally reached a point you were somewhat happy with, and had convinced your father to chat up his well connected colleagues so you may be able to send the first draft to a publisher.
The price for that, however, was to entertain suitors. At a gala. Dressed and primped like a Thanksgiving turkey. It was all so dreary to youâ the ladies stared at you and whispered, citing you as the dreary one.Â
Breaking away from your father with a tiny smile, you began to mingleâ as well as you could, anyhow. You were awkward and a bit sheltered and it showed. However, once you said who your father was, dollar signs would flash in the eyes of the men you were speaking with, and they would push forward in the conversation. You werenât ugly by any means and could become a good wife to some young entrepreneurâ but you didnât want that.
You were about fed up with it all three hours later, your nails clinking against the glass of champagne you were nursing for the better part of thirty minutes. Your look of slight annoyance managed to stave off any other wanton suitorsâ until another man approached you. You had exchanged some glances with him during the night, but you didnât recognize him. He was tall, exceedingly taller than any of the other men there. His blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in hue, was cinched at the nape of his neck in a clean ponytail, falling between his shoulder blades. He was in a custom-fitted three piece black and green suitâ you could tell from how perfectly it was hugging him, in all the right places.
A familiar heat came to your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to you with an intent in his pale blue eyesâ eye? One of them, you noted as he came closer, was slightly off-color from the other and moved a bit slower. Likely fake, you thought. The light casted over the planes of his face, chiseled as it was, illuminating the slightly raised, puckered skin near the fake eye in a distinctual scar. He looked just like the perfect inspiration for a protagonist in one of your novelsâ or mayhaps an antagonist. He seemed to skim the line between the two in appearance alone.
Curious.
âMy lady,â he greeted as he finally broke the air of silence between you, his arms placed behind him in a very calculated manner. âAre you enjoying yourself this evening?â he asked then, a brow perked. His accent wasnât Americanâ that you knew for certainâ likely something European.Â
âAs much as I can, sir,â you responded coolly, despite being caught slightly off guard by his sudden and overwhelming presenceâ a dark cloud in a perfectly tailored suit. âI hope that theâŠâ you cleared your throat, trying to sound a little more confident than you likely were. âThe⊠event is to your liking.â you mustered a smile, diverting your gaze to your champagne, hoping there may be the secrets to being a good conversationalist somewhere within the bubbles.
He chuckled, the sound low and husky. It caused a shiver to go up your spine. âThe event is well and fine, my lady. Are you⊠the proprietor of the gala tonight? I wouldnât expect a beautiful thing such as yourself to plan something like this.â
You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. He was complimenting you and insulting the party at the same time. âNoâ I am not. Iâd never choose such⊠dreary musicians for an event like this. Theyâre playing for a wake rather than a partyâ that would be my fatherâs doing.â you slipped it into the conversation, that this was your fatherâs party, trying to gauge if this handsome stranger was after what all of the others were.
Surprisingly, his expression, smooth and cool with the barest hint of a smile perking at his naturally upturned lips, didnât change. âDreary,â he repeated, âMelancholic, gloomy, monotonous, vapidâ all good words to describe the state of affairs.â
âYou have quite the expansive vocabulary, MisterâŠâ your voice trailed off, an inadvertent way to ask for his name.
âTargaryenâ Aemond Targaryen. And you?â he reached his hand out to shake yours â how incredibly formalâ as you returned your own name with a wide-eyed stare.
âTargaryen. As in⊠the ancient bloodline? Descended from dragons, close to royalty, Dragonstone estate Targaryen?â you asked, mouth slightly agape. From what you knew of them, they were as close to the height of English royalty, real royalty, as there was in the current year, 1902. Their wealth alone, minus all of the titles, made your fatherâs look like a pissant trust fund.Â
âThe very same. Youâre familiar with my family?â
âEhmâ familiar, more so Iâve heard of you all. Your familyâs name comes up quite often in my fatherâs social circles. And I am quite nosy.â
âAnd what do you think?â
âAbout⊠your family? Mr. TargaryenââÂ
âCall me Aemond.â
âAemondâ I donât really know much besides the height of your prestigeâ and your familyâs estate, Dragonstone. My father brought me back some photographs of it from his trips over the pond. Itâs quite beautiful.â
âYour father brought you pictures of our home?â
âN-not just yours! I collect photographs of old estates, mostly ones from Europe. I like to use them for inspiration for my⊠stories. Iâm a writerâ a novice, mostly.â
âA writer? Have you published anything I might know?âÂ
âOh, God noââ you laughed, covering your face slightly with your hand. âIâve not yet been published. I actually sent my manuscript to⊠or will be sending one to a publisher soon. Hopefully.â
âWhat do you like to write?â he asked then, leaning a bit closer to you as if he was actually enjoying conversing with you. âRomance? Childrenâs fables?â he teased softly, his one eye gleaming. He was quite handsome, you thought.
âI like horrorâ mysteries, gothic fiction. Iâm quite enamored with the⊠macabre and weird,â you admit. âI hope that doesnât frighten you.âÂ
Aemond grinned, his teeth shining, canines pronounced against his thin lips. âOh, yes, it does frighten me. But, all good horror stories should frighten their readers, yes? I expect youâre a fan of Vampyre? Perhaps Dracula?âÂ
âBoth are good. My favorite, however, is Frankenstein. Mary Shelley is a genius. The Castle of Otranto is also wonderful and the pioneer of the genre. I remember trying to read it when I was younger and being scared of the dark hallways at night. Later on in life, those dark hallways enthused me enough to write about themâ hence my⊠fascination with old houses.â
âOld homes certainly do have their fair share of secrets, donât they?â he paused, straightening his lapel slightly before leaning back in towards you. âAnd do you believe what they say? That Maryâs husband wrote it and published it under her name?â
Your brows knit together in slight irritation. âOf course not. Why would he need to do such a thing? I hope you donât mind me saying, but men already have enough advantages as isâ publishing under a womanâs name instead might be considered a disadvantage.â
âWill you be publishing under your own name?âÂ
You blinked, taking a sip from your champagne. It was something you considered and went back and forth upon. âI havenât decided. I have a pseudonym ready just in case.â
âDo tellâ so I know what name to look for on the shelves within a year.âÂ
God, was he ever charmingâ and without even trying, really. He was well-spoken with a voice that was soft and almost whispery. It made butterflies bubble in the pit of your stomachâ now that was a feeling you werenât familiar with. âDorian Gray.â
âCheeky woman.â he mused. âFancy a dance, Miss Gray?â
â... I suppose I could be swayed.â
â
Your dance together, to say the least, was a successâ it started monthâs worth of courting after. Aemond took you on the most splendid nights out, wining and dining you like you were a gorgeous, interesting debutante. It was exhilarating to say the least and made you feel⊠truly wantedâ especially since his family was exceedingly wealthy, your fatherâs wealth couldnât have attracted him.Â
He took you to the theater, out to wondrous restaurants, and bought you various gifts like jewelry, writing supplies and outfits to wear when you went out.
It all felt very much like a dream to youâ something beyond your usual, weary routine that had hardly ever changed since your mother died when you were eight years old. Youâd recused into yourself then, the dark hallways that scared you so fiercely just before her death now seemed welcoming. You thrived in the dark, like a moth.Â
But now, you felt something more akin to a butterfly, bathing in the sunâs light.Â
It wasnât a great surprise when Aemond asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your father, who had harped you for years to get married, was suddenly apprehensive.Â
He pulled you aside, arm around you. âDo you like this boy, dear?â
âY-yes, fatherâ very much so.â
âIâll be honest, sweetheart. Iâm not exactly keen on letting my only daughter go off with⊠some manââÂ
âHe isnât just some man, father! Heâs a TargââÂ
âDonât interrupt,â he chastised firmly. âIâve had my people look into his family furtherâ itâs a whole mess, issues with succession, backstabbing, incest, the whole nine yards,â he took a measured breath. âBut Iâve heard nothing but good things about⊠Aemond. But⊠youâd be so far away. Youâd be off living in the annals of England, a whole boatâs ride away.â
âThis is what you wanted, father! For me to marry, for me to be happy! This is the happiest Iâve been in⊠so long. You must see that?â
The creases in your fatherâs forehead relaxed as he regarded you for a long moment, before turning to Aemond, who was waiting patiently off to the side. He let go of your shoulder and walked to your beau, staring at him sternly. âWill you treat her right? Give her everything she deserves and more?â
Aemond perked up slightly, rubbing the side of his forefinger with his thumb in a seemingly nervous gesture. âOf course, sir. Iâll give her everything I have and more. She will be regarded as a Ladyâ the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall, and she wouldnât be treated with any less respect than a Lady deserves.â
Your fatherâs gaze narrowed, taking it all into careful thought. â... very well. You have my blessing, son. But, one whiff of even a tear from her eye on your account, and your nads are forfeit. I may not be as well-off as your family, but Iâve got a lot of friends in a lot of places.â
âÂ
The marriage was a quick affair, as your father, and now Aemond, knew you had no patience for pomp and frills. Aemond gave you a beautiful ring with an absolutely gigantic sapphire inlaid in the center, citing it as a family heirloom from centuries past. Your father saw you off onto the boat, bawling his eyes out. Youâd never seen your father cryâ not once.Â
As husband and wife, you both agreed to wait to celebrate your wedding night until you arrived in England at his familyâs estate to your marital bed.
The trip overall was a little under a weekâs time upon a luxurious liner, where you both enjoyed champagne and each otherâs company. You craved your husband, and he craved you in the same, but you each wished to keep your agreement intact. But it was increasingly hard, as you held one another close each night and his need for you was clearly pressed to your lower back.
Dragonstone Hall was a few hours' carriage ride north of the port and was nestled upon a high-ridged cliff. It was as gorgeous as the pictures had depicted, even moreso. It was ancient, imposing against the skyline and mingling to the clouds, where sea birds and ravens alike swirled above the towering watch towers that were supported by stone walls with vines grasping to them like lifelines.Â
It was gorgeous, gothic and most definitely hauntedâ a perfect place for a woman of horror such as yourself.Â
Aemond helped you out of the carriage, a hand placed upon your waist as he guided you beyond the gates. Your eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the scenery like a breath of fresh air. Tears threatened to spill over suddenly, as you were just overwhelmed with everything going on. You were married to someone you loved, who loved youâ and were the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall.Â
âSomething wrong, my love?â Aemond whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your lobe.
âN-noâ Iâm just⊠very happy.â
He wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, clearing your vision. You glanced up at one of the windows on the third story of the castle. Someone was staring back at you.
A lady. Her hair was red, her skin almost translucent.Â
You mustâve been imagining it, surely. Looking to another window, another visage appeared.
Anotherâ this time with dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes ghastly and bloodshot. She was practically see through.Â
You pressed closer to Aemond, blinking profuselyâ it mustâve been the exhaustion from the nights on the boat catching up to you. Once you rubbed your eyes, you looked back; the figures were gone.Â
As you approached the main door of the estate, another face caught your eye.Â
Another womanâ with dark hair and sullen, emerald eyes. They pierced through you like two heavy jewels, making goosebumps prickle atop your arms. She wasnât ghastly or undeathly like the other two, and when you rubbed your eyes, she was still there.
She was still there, very much a living person in the flesh, with flowing blood and a beating heart. And she was beautiful.
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#aemond x fem!reader#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond fandom#my writing#beware the sapphire peak#alysmond#alys rivers#alys rivers x aemond#alys rivers x reader#alys rivers x reader x aemond targaryen
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Title:Â The Magic Flute
Rating:Â NR
Director:Â Florian Sigl
Cast: Jack Wolfe, F. Murray Abraham, Niamh McCormack, Ellie Courtiour, Cosima Henman, Amir Wilson, Rolando Villazón, Tedros Teclebrhan, Waldemar Kobus, Greg Wise, Luyanda Unati Lewis-Nyawo, Iwan Rheon, Stéfi Celma, Robin Gooch, Sabine Devieilhe
Release year:Â 2022
Genres:Â fantasy, adventure
Blurb:Â A 17-year-old travels from London to the Austrian Alps to attend the legendary Mozart Boarding School. There, he discovers a centuries-old forgotten passageway into the fantastic world of Mozart's The Magic Flute.
#the magic flute#nr#florian sigl#jack wolfe#f murray abraham#niamh mccormack#ellie courtiour#cosima henman#2022#fantasy#adventure
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When justice comes at last to this world and I am made Intendant of an opera house, I will make them do Don Carlos in French with an all-French cast. Benjamin Bernheim, Sabine Devieilhe, Stéphane Degout, Gaelle Arquez, maybe throw some nasty old man makeup on Francois Lis as the Inquisitor. What I lack is a Philip, and a just world.
#the sheer ACTING#this would not be the definitive don carlos or anything but it would be interesting to me personally#five act version of course#don carlos#opera tag
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Fine settimana.
Oggi Ăš iniziato il fine settimana di riposo che non riposo un cazzo in realtĂ , quindi non si puĂČ chiamare riposo. Ma stamane svegliato abbastanza tardi dopo aver passato una notte in bianco che puĂČ capitare, mia figlia mi dice che le Ăš arrivata una lettera dall'Italia, azz. L'ambasciata invita mia figlia alle votazioni per le elezioni europee di Giugno, al che mia figlia mi dice "Io non ne so niente", le spiego che se vuole puĂČ andare se no niente. Tutto questo perchĂ© lei Ăš nata in Italia, a differenza di mio figlio che Ăš nato qua, eh si un pĂČ di casino con gli spostamenti. La cosa perĂČ non mi sorprende, qualche anno fa mandarono le schede per le votazioni a casa e dopo aver votato le abbiamo rimandate all'ambasciata, ma perchĂ© per le europee a me non le hanno mandate? Mistero. Il vero mistero fu nel 2006 quando mandarono la carta elettorale sempre a mia figlia che perĂČ all'epoca aveva 4 anni, questo perchĂ© all'epoca il caro berlusconi voleva che tutti votassero a qualsiasi etĂ , cose da Cetto Laqualunque.
In questi giorni le temperature sono altissime, oggi ci sono stati 26°, praticamente come a Catania, infatti la fortuna Ăš che domani andiamo a prendere un partita di legno, sembra che ci tocca fare qualche viaggio, oltre a dover andare a dare una mano tra un viaggio e l'altro alla fattoria, diciamo un bel fine settimana di riposo che pensavo di passare tra musica e relax che so con il libro, che sta per finire, sull'amaca; ma a quanto pare non sarĂ cosĂŹ, quindi pazienza dovrĂČ aspettare un paio di settimane per questo programmino gustoso.
Sono stato nello studio oggi Ăš faceva abbastanza caldo per suonare, mi sono messo a ripulire e ordinare il pc, spesso registro cose inutili, ma non si sa mai perchĂ© comunque tra le registrazioni qualcosa di valido si trova sempre, andrĂČ a suonare piĂč tardi quando la temperatura Ăš scesa, nel frattempo mi incanto con la voce sublime di Sabine Devieilhe
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Sabine Devieilhe â Handel: Il Trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno: "Pure ...
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#youtube#music#baroque music#opera#18th century#orchestra#vocal#georg friedrich hÀndel#sabine devieilhe
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Handel: "Giulio Cesare", V'adoro, pupille" - Sabine Devieilhe - Paris
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current career goal is to possess even a fraction of the supreme vocal quality of badass coloratura soprano bitches like natalie dessay and diana damrau and kiri te kanawa and patricia janeÄkovĂĄ and sumi jo and leontyne price and sabine devieilhe and montserrat caballĂ© and of course the OG maria callas. and if youâre telling me you havenât heard their magnificent voices then do yourself a favor and get on youtube and LISTEN TO THEM NOW
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since im talking about opera i also really really love sabine devieilhe her cadenzas and trills are soooo nice
#zenith.txt#im not a huge fan of the opera this song comes from for Reasons but her rendition of air des clochettes/the bell song was lovely#everyone should go listen its on youtube! her coloratura is very very impressive i love how easy and effortless she makes it look
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