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(In the opera “La Bohème”, four impoverished students 
share a Paris apartment. Rodolfo falls in love with Mimi, 
a seamstress who is dying of tuberculosis. With money 
at an all-time low, Rodolfo’s friend, the philosopher 
Colline, decides he must pawn his overcoat in order to 
buy medicine for Mimi. In this aria (“Vecchia Zimarra”), 
he takes leave of his dearly-loved garment.)

Listen to me, old friend 
of sixteen years, and counting: 
it's you who must ascend 
- alone - the sacred mountain, 

while I stay on the plain. 
You know you have my thanks: 
whether we'll meet again, 
triumphant in the ranks 

of the righteous, I don't know. 
You never bent your back 
to any rich man, though 
we often felt the lack 

of life-sustaining sous. 
These pockets, gaping, worn, 
have borne their fill of booze 
when we caroused till dawn. 

Poets and thinking men 
found shelter from the storm 
in here. I don't know when 
you failed to keep me warm. 

Our hands abrade and age 
the very book they cherish: 
it's time to turn the page, 
for even love must perish. 

Farewell, you care-worn sleeves, 
buttons, I know by heart. 
And see, your master grieves, 
for now the teardrops start.

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