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Alessandro Stradella It is interesting to note that Alessandro Stradella (1639–1682) did not follow the trend of his contemporaries to specialise in only one or two musical genres. On the contrary, his 312 extant compositions include all the sacred and secular baroque genres: there are operas and oratorios, motets and madrigals, prologues and intermezzos, chamber arias, duets and a terzet, sonatas for one, two or three solo strings and basso continuo as well as for concertino-concerto grosso ensemble, a prose drama with music, and an enormous number of cantatas for one or more solo voices accompanied either by continuo solo or a larger group of instruments. What is more, Stradella contributed to the definition of several of these genres. He is not only credited with writing the first instrumental concerto grosso, for example, but with employing the genre’s instrumentation in sacred and secular cantatas and in a motet. Many of his works feature accompanied recitative, ignored by other composers of the time, and two of his operas offer early examples of mad scenes. Alongside these elements of individual works, there are other precocious musical features that are distinctive traits of his compositional style in general. Perhaps the foremost example is his excellence in counterpoint, a technique employed with great skill in all his vocal and instrumental music, which results in lively and original exchanges between the diverse parts. In addition to this, there is his unusually profound understanding of tonality, which allows him, much more than his contemporaries, to enrich his music with frequent modulations and to create chord progressions that sound surprising to this day. But perhaps it is Stradella’s insight into the texts of his vocal music that set him most apart. While other composers, both before and after him, drew attention to single words through dissonance or melodic ornamentation, Stradella’s settings, despite using this technique, are more closely and continuously tied to the text. Throughout his vocal compositions, accents always fall on stressed syllables, the sentiments behind the text are expressed by appropriate musical settings, important words are repeated, and the composer shifts from simple recitative to a more melodic style, such as arioso recitative, when the text demands a different treatment. In short, Stradella interprets each text as a literary and musical dramatist, so that the words, phrases and overall meaning of his dramatic vocal music can be interpreted fully and understood unambiguously. One must regret that, at only 42 years of age, this unique composer, a cultured and lively aristocrat, was murdered by an assassin for reasons which are still unclear. Carolyn Gianturco
Claudio Astronio 2
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The Solo Arias of Alessandro Stradella The popularity of Alessandro Stradella’s arias during his lifetime is evident, indicated clearly by the fact that copies of these works found their way into a diverse range of collections in nearly every country of Western Europe, as well as England and the United States. A number of the composer’s works were found in the Biblioteca Estense of Modena; it is likely that the manuscripts came from the composer himself, through his half-brother, who offered music to Francesco Il d’Este, the Duke of Modena and Reggio, following the composer’s tragic death in 1682. The arias probably came to be located in the Biblioteca Estense as a result of a trade with a Genoese nobleman in 1688, who traded copies of Stradella’s works for copies of music already in the Duke’s library. The Dukes of Modena were probably also responsible for the Stradella pieces in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, since Francesco V d’Este took to Vienna what he considered his family’s private collections. Stradella manuscripts owned by the Venetian bibliophile Jacopo Soranzo (1686–1761) eventually found their way to the Bodleian Library in Oxford and the Biblioteca Nazionale in Turin. The important Stradella autographs and other manuscripts in the Biblioteca Marciana, Venice, were probably left in the city by the composer or sent by him to Polo and Girolamo Michiel. Both Handel and Burney acquired Stradella manuscripts which are now in the British Library, London, and Christ Church, Oxford; other music acquired by Viscount Fitzwilliam is now in Cambridge. Many works in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, were taken there from Italy by Napoleon as spoils of war. One interesting collection found in the Newberry Library in Chicago is an oblong album of Italian arias, duets, and cantatas, mainly by Stradella; according to the catalogue description it was formerly part of the library of Madame de Pompadour, mistress to Louis XV of France. For the most part, Stradella’s arias deal with love and the human experience, using a happy marriage of poetry and music. The composer experienced this subject at first hand; while in Venice in 1677 he was hired by a powerful nobleman, Alvise Contarini, to teach music to his mistress, Agnese Van Uffele. She and Stradella began an affair, and fled Venice for Turin, with Contarini following less than a month later. Agnese entered the convent of S Maria Maddalena, and Stradella S Domenico. They married on 10 October 1677, after
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Contarini’s instruction to the archbishop that if they did not marry she must take the veil. However, as Stradella left the convent after signing the contract, he was attacked by two would-be assassins, who left him for dead in the street. Despite severe wounds, the composer recovered, resolved his differences with Contarini, and left for Genoa. There his life came to an end in 1682, when he was stabbed to death by an unknown assassin. Rumours circulated that the murder had been arranged by Giovanni Battista Lomellino, who was jealous after discovering that an actress whom he had aided, following her pregnancy and abandonment, preferred Stradella to him. Clearly Stradella knew the trials and tribulations of love, the experience of which is encapsulated in his solo arias. Some arias dramatise the pleasure and exhilaration of falling or being in love. ‘Mio cor, che si fa?’ is an amusing warning to the lover’s own heart, cautioning that flirting is a dangerous game that can lead to lost freedom. The heart in ‘Chi avesse visto un core’ has physically escaped the poet’s body to follow after the fair beauty Phyllis, henceforth spending its blissful days amidst her bright eyes. On the other hand, in ‘Cara e dolce Libertà’ the poet willingly offers his freedom as a precious gift to his beloved Phyllis who, as innocent as she is sweet, returns his love. Whoever claims that love brings torment (‘Chi mi disse ch’Amor dà tormento’) is mistaken – for having experienced true love the poet now makes up for lost time by making love day and night. The poet of ‘Chi non porta amor nel petto’ proclaims that anyone not in love cannot know true delight, while in ‘Delizie, contenti’ the poet, sated with desire in the arms of his beloved, longs for the ‘little death’. In ‘Dell’ardore che ‘l core’ lovers are warned not to be timid before the presence of beauty, but rather to love with boldness and passion. This is the responsibility of the lover of ‘Il mio core per voi, luci belle,’ whose heart must be on call to adore the beauty of his beloved’s fair eyes at any time. Not surprisingly, many arias focus on the beauty, physical attributes, or behaviour of the beloved. In ‘Quanto è bella la mia stella’ we encounter Stradella at his most intimate, erotic, and idiosyncratic; his setting is delightfully surprising, employing the minor mode, unusually wide vocal leaps and unpredictable turns of phrase. The subject’s glances are the focus of ‘Ogni sguardo che tu scocchi,’ a light-hearted and amorous aria, while in ‘Begl’occhi, il vostro piangere’ the beloved’s eyes can either break a stone through weeping or create perfect
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happiness in laughter. A darker note is struck in ‘Le luci vezzose’, where the subject’s eyes shoot darts that wound the poet’s breast – and yet he longs for more as the endless torments he suffers are sweet. This obsessive fidelity in the face of abuse is taken to the extreme in ‘“Fedeltà!” sinché spirto in petto avrò’: it matters not whether she is faithless, treacherous, changeable, flirtatious, vain, contemptuous, or severe – the poet will always return for more. Love’s chains, pangs, and harshness provide inspiration for the next group of arias. The lover of ‘Adorata libertà’ will not give up his ‘beloved freedom’ without a fight, for he knows that love has prepared for him a thousand snares. By contrast, in ‘Bel tempo, addio!’ the poet has already been ensnared by love, and thinks back wistfully to happier times before his heart was betrayed. In ‘Deh, vola, o desio’, suffering is the normal state of the lover, who sends Desire and Grief to ask the lady for mercy and relief on his behalf, while in ‘Il mio cor, ch’è infelicissimo’ the poet’s enchained heart pleads for mercy – though wounded by his goldenhaired beloved’s gaze, he hopes one day that she will have pity on his grief. The poet of ‘Pensier ostinato’ voices similar thoughts, questioning if it is possible to change his beloved’s harshness, while the repeated bass line of a basso ostinato accompaniment symbolises his obsessive thoughts. Other arias explore the darker side of love. In ‘Al rigor di due tiranni’ the poet’s heart is tortured in turn by the splendour of Cupid and the scourge of jealousy. As a symbol of torture, Stradella introduces a 14 bar basso ostinato in B minor, comprised of two motives – a descending third and semitone broken up by rests and a cadential passage – organised in a 4-bar pattern and treated to motivic fragmentation, repetition and sequential extension. The masochistic lover of ‘S’Amor m’annoda il piede’ revels in servitude to his proud and faithless beauty – and even wishes the shackles were heavier, the pains more acute, and the flames of love hotter. Love cruelly forces the poet of ‘Se di gioie m’alletta il sereno’ to experience pain disguised as joy, and a hell of eternal suffering disguised as heaven. The eyes, the source of the poet’s joy or sorrow, are once again the focus in ‘Avete torto’; the beloved’s charming glances may shoot golden shafts to alleviate his suffering, or fervent sparks to immolate him. ‘Chi vuol libero il suo piè’ advises would-be lovers to flee beauty, for the poem’s subject takes cruel pleasure in seeing her lover suffer in the flames of love, while ‘Da Filinda aver chi può’ focuses wholly on the lady’s pride and the sadistic satisfaction that she takes in her lover’s
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sufferings. Especially delicious are the arias of rage or spite, in which the lover rails against love in general or the beloved in particular. The poet of ‘È pazzia l’innamorarsi’ warns of the folly of falling in love, for Cupid promises ‘false hopes, true afflictions, a hundred well-concealed deceits, short laughter and long lamentation’. In ‘Non fia mai, ah no, ch’io speri’ the lover responds to infidelity with disdain in a musical tour-de-force – demanding flexible coloratura from the singer and nimble fingers from the accompanist. ‘Speranze smarrite’, in which the spurned lover expresses ‘lost hopes of just revenge’, displays a decidedly operatic quality. The passion extends to the accompaniment, where the continuo stirs together three ostinato motives into an angry brew that boils over in the instrumental ritornello. ‘Ti lascierò’ drips with spite and righteous indignation, expressing the confrontation of a false lover with their crimes; any listener who has experienced the pain of a broken heart will look forward to the refrain of ‘I will leave you’, and savour every histrionic note of the impassioned coloratura. The dissolution of love’s bonds is the subject of two arias. In ‘Pria di scior quel dolce nodo’ the lover cautions his beloved Phyllis to think carefully before releasing his heart, for it may never return to bear new chains. This outcome is dramatized in ‘Parti, fuggi dal mio seno’ where the poet sends Cupid away, for his forsaken heart is now hardened against the archer’s poisoned darts. In ‘Avrò pur d’aspettar più?’ the poet longs for love’s return after Phyllis has abandoned him for a ‘lame shepherd’. In a similar way, the poet of ‘Torna, Amor, dammi il mio bene’ pleas for the return of love; the hopeful coloratura of the refrain is balanced by the melancholic uncertainties of the episodes, all of which are accompanied by a walking bass in the continuo. Each poignant return of the exhortation ‘Return, love, give me my life’ presents the possibility of renewed love. A handful of Stradella’a arias were composed for the Rome performances of Cavalli’s Il Giasone (text by Cicognini), where it was performed at the Teatro Tordinona from 24 January 1671, under the title Il novello Giasone. ‘Che mi giovan le vittorie’ and ‘Delizie, contenti’ are substitute arias for the character of Giasone in Act I, Scene 3, whereas ‘Destatevi, o sensi’ was a new aria composed for the character of Isifile in Act II, Scene 14. ‘Dormite, occhi, dormite’ was also new, composed for Giasone in Act III, Scene 14, during which an on-stage violin is woven into the plot. The comic servant Demo, sent by his master
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to kill Giasone, plays the violin in order to cause Giasone to fall asleep – and therefore make him susceptible to attack. Once Giasone is asleep, Demo considers breaking the violin over his head in a recitative (not included here). In addition to those composed for Il Giasone, the aria ‘Deh, frenate i furori, astri crudeli’ seems to have been intended as a substitute aria for another opera that has yet to be identified. Here, a recurring five-bar pattern in the continuo stands as a symbol of the beloved’s ‘tyrannous ardour’. Though separated from us by more than three centuries, the musical creations of Stradella and his unknown poets speak to us today with a thoroughly modern voice. Through inspired performances, their emotional depth and musical freshness may be revealed fully to the 21st century. John S. Powell
The Bassetto ‘Simone Cimapane’ A few years ago, Alessandro Palmeri found and restored a rare violoncello that originated in the second half of the seventeenth century. A large instrument, almost a ‘bassetto’ or a ‘basso di violino’, it was made in Rome in 1685 by Simone Cimapane, a musician and builder of string instruments. Cimapane is known to have performed with Arcangelo Corelli and his name appears in the ‘Societá del Centesimo’ that was created by the members of ‘Congregazione di Santa Cecilia’ in Rome in 1688. He is also mentioned in the lists of musicians employed by Cardinal Pamphili. It is likely that Simone Cimapane was father of Bartolomeo, a double bass player who was active in Rome during the time of Corelli. At least two further members of the family were also active musicians, a violin player and a singer. This instrument was played in the orchestra of Arcangelo Corelli and is considered an object of historical importance, part of Italian musical heritage.
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Editions of the arias used in this recordings were prepared for publication by John S. Powell in the Edizione Nazionale dell'Opera Omnia di Alessandro Stradella (Edizioni ETS, Pisa, 2008-10; Series IV, vols. 1-3): General Editor Carolyn Gianturco.
Recorded 7–10 March 2011, Haus St. Benedikt of the Kloster Muri Gries, Bolzano Sound engineer: Davide Corsato, by Matteo Costa eng. Studio Editing: Davide Corsato Mastering: Matteo Costa Instrumental care and technical assistance: Romano Danesi Logistic and production manager: Andrea Gallesi Artistic direction: Lugi Azzolini, Ugo Orrigo Italian Harpsichord, after Grimaldi by Tony Chinnery, Vicchio Positive Organ by Giorgio Carli, Pescantina Claudio would like to thank: the Benediktiner Kloster Muri Gries and the Haus St. Benedikt for their hospitality, Pater Urban Stillhard OSB for his kind assistance, Andrea Gallesi and Ugo Orrigo for their cooperation, Carolyn Gianturco for her musicological support and love for Stradella. These CDs have been realised with the support of Assessorato alla Cultura in lingua italiana della Provincia Autonoma di Bolzano
& 2011 Brilliant Classics
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È pazzia l’innamorarsi, per un’almaAmor non fa: falsa speme e veri affanni, ben in ombra e cent’inganni, breveriso, lunghi pianti sono i vanti di quest’empia deità. È pazzia l’innamorarsi, per un’almaAmor non fa.
It is folly to fall in love, Love does no good to fine souls: false hopes and true afflictions, a hundred well-concealed deceits, short laughter and long lamentation are the boasts of this evil deity. It is folly to fall in love, Love does no good to fine souls.
Mio cor, che si fa? Mi dice il pensiero ch’un dì prigioniero Amor ti farà. Avverti ch’un guardo, per scherzo o per gioco, si cangia in un dardo ch’ha tempre di foco. So che giri intorno a un volto con pretesto di scherzare, sta in cervel ch’il lacrimare tocca a te se ci sei colto. Guarda bene, io lo so che tu stai tra ’l «sì» e ’l «no». Non ti stringer le catene, che le pene pagherai, piangerai la perduta libertà. Mio cor, che si fa?
My heart, what are you doing? My reason tells me that one day Love will take you prisoner. Beware! for a look, in jest or in play, changes into a dart that is tempered with fire. I know you are flirting pretending it’s a game, remember that you will weep if you are caught. Take care, I know you are suspended between ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Don’t tighten your chains, for with pains you will pay, you will mourn your lost freedom. My heart, what are you doing?
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Che mi giovan le vittorie se di me trionfa Amore? Son cadute le mie glorie, vinco un mostro e perdo il core. Che mi val di Frisso e d’Elle trionfante aver la palma se mi rende un’aurea pelle sciolto il piede e schiava l’alma?
Of what use are victories if Love triumphs over me? Crumbled are my glories, for I conquer a monster, yet I lose a heart. What use is it to bear the triumphant palm over Phrixus and Helle if a golden complexion makes my feet free, yet enslaves my soul?
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«Fedeltà!» sinché spirto in petto avrò griderò! Sia fida o incostante l’adorata mia beltà, che costante il mio amor sempre sarà. «Fedeltà!» Fato che stabile mi cinse al sen laccio sì nobile di servitù, ancor ch’instabile quasi balen, qual fronda mobile varia sii tu, no, non avrà virtù far che cangi il mio amor sue fide tempre, sempre mi sdegnerai t’amerò sempre! Fastosetta, superbetta, fai pur prova del tuo orgoglio; sii ritrosa, orgogliosa, dispettosa, amarti voglio senza speme di pietà. «Fedeltà!»
‘Fidelity!’ I shall cry for as long as I have strength in my breast! It matters not if my adored beauty is treacherous or inconstant, my love will always be constant. ‘Fidelity!’ The destiny that so firmly attached my heart to such a noble snare of servitude (though you are unstable and changeable, like momentary flashes or rustling leaves), no, will not have the strength to make my love change its trusty character, for you will always scorn me if I always love you! Provocative, vain, continue to make a show of your pride; be aloof, proud and mischievous, for I aim to love you even without hope of mercy. ‘Fidelity!’
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Più ch’i vezzi i disprezzi armi son di tua beltà; più ch’amore il rigore il tuo sdegno amar mi fa. «Fedeltà!»
More than your charm, it is your contempt that is the weapon of your beauty; more than love, it is your severity and disdain that makes me love. ‘Fidelity!’
Adorata libertà, dal mio core non partir, che se parti, ogni gioir da me rapido sen va. Dal mio core non partir, adorata libertà. Tiene in pronto le catene cruda spene per ridurmi in servitù, ma se meco è tua virtù, soggiacere al suo martir mai quest’alma mirerà. Dal mio core non partir, adorata libertà. Con la frode Amor congiunto in un punto mille lacci preparò, ma sue brame schernirò se tua luce splenderà, fida scorta al mio desir.
Beloved freedom, do not leave my heart, for if you leave, all joy shall swiftly desert me. Do not leave my heart, beloved freedom. Cruel hope keeps ready the chains to reduce me to slavery, but if your power is with me, this soul shall never seek to submit to its torture. Do not leave my heart, beloved freedom. With trickery Love, converging in one place, has prepared a thousand snares, but I shall scorn his designs if your light shall shine, O trusty companion to my desire.
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Parti, fuggi dal mio seno, vola, vola perfidissimo arcier; segua chi vuole il tuo rigido tenor, che ’l mio cor, fatto diamante, già costante ai tuoi dardi saldo sta e mai più non amerà. Che quest’alma, questa salma, tu più infetti di veleno non è dover: parti, fuggi dal mio seno, vola, vola perfidissimo arcier.
Be off, leave my heart, fly, fly far away, most treacherous archer; let whoever wants to follow your strict rule, but my heart, now hard as diamond, though faithful once, is proof against your darts and never more will love. Let this soul, this body no longer be infected with your poison: be off, leave my heart, fly, fly far away, you most treacherous archer.
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Il mio cor, ch’è infelicissimo, serve e adora un bel crin d’or, che catena e laccio al cor strinse, ahimè, purtroppo asprissimo nel tuo regno, Amor crudel. Ma sia pur severa a me la beltà, ch’amando il rigor non temo, no no. Quel guardo ch’il cor nel seno piagò, avrà del mio duol un giorno pietà. Vuol ch’io speri il mio desio, sperar voglio in servitù. Sol mercé chiede il cor mio: non più pene, Amor, non più.
My heart, which is most unhappy, serves and adores a golden-haired beauty, which has bound my heart in chains and snares and is unfortunately, alas, most cruel in your domain, cruel Love. But let beauty be harsh with me, for, since I love, I do not fear the rigour. The gaze that wounded the heart in my breast will one day have pity on my grief. My desire wants me to hope, I want to hope for servitude. My heart asks just for mercy: no more torments, Love, no more.
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Pria di scior quel dolce nodo ch’il tuo cor al mio legò, Filli mia, pensaci bene, ch’a provar nuove catene non so poi se tornerò. Non mi dir cotanto ardita ch’io non miri tua beltà, che, sebben sei la mia vita, questa ancor senza te pur viverà, poiché del mal d’amore se ne sta male, sì, ma non si muore. Se tu non vuoi ch’iot’ami, son d’accordo con te: si rompino i legami, e ’l cor che ti donai ritorna a me. S’io vissi senza core allor che, tutto ardore, costante t’adorai, se lo rendi al mio sen non more mai.
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Before untying that sweet knot that bound your heart to mine, O Phyllis, think carefully, for I do not know if I will then return to bear new chains. Do not say so boldly that I do not admire your beauty, because, even though you are my very life, yet I will survive without you, since with the pain of love one suffers, but one does not die. If you do not wish me to love you, I agree with you, let the bonds be broken, and give me back the heart I gave you. If I lived without a heart when, ardently and constantly I adored you, if you return it to my breast it will never die.
10 Begl’occhi, il vostro piangere fa mite ogni rigor: potrebbe un sasso frangere, non ch’ammollir un cor. Bei lumi, il vostro ridere raddoppia ogni seren: vuol ogni doglia ancidere e far perfetto il ben.
Fair eyes, your weeping makes all rigour mild: it could break a stone, and also soften a heart. Fair eyes, your laughter doubles all serenity: it wishes to kill all grief and make happiness perfect.
11 Se di gioie m’alletta il sereno, cieca talpa mi rende il rigor; se m’aggiro dell’onde nel seno, nuovo Tantalo forma il mio cor, e vuol con duolo eterno ch’in sembianza di ciel provi l’inferno. Per trafigger quest’alma più crudo,
If a clear sky fills me with joy, the cold makes me an unseeing mole; if I roll in the bosom of waves, my heart becomes a new Tantalus and wishes that I should experience a hell of eternal suffering disguised as heaven. To pierce this soul
mascherato di gioia è il dolor; m’arde il core l’arciero ch’è nudo, ma di gelo esser deggio all’ardor se più crudel la sorte per sentiero vital mi guida a morte.
pain is more cruelly masked as joy; the naked archer burns my heart, but I must be as ice to fire if fate leads me by a path of life to death.
12 Cara e dolce Libertà, tanto bella sarai più quanto lungi a te sarà l’ombra sol di servitù. Canto il ver, ma non dic’io ch’al servir di bella dama ve si adatti il canto mio, quando, amata, ella riama. Perché, in caso sì felice, chi tal sorte goderà – ahi, ch’a pochi goder lice – così meco canterà. Se sì dolci son le pene che dispensa Amor quaggiù, baciar vuo’ quelle catene che m’han posto in servitù. O mia serva Libertà, mai tu dolce fosti più, che quando a Filli mia, quanto innocente più, tanto più bella, ti offersi in dono, in vittima, in ancella.
Dear, sweet Freedom, the fairer you shall be, the further you are from the mere shadow of servitude. I sing the truth, but I cannot say that my song is suited to the serving of a fair lady, when she, being loved, returns that love. Because, in such a happy state, he who enjoys such a fate – ah, that few are allowed to enjoy – will sing with me. If the aches that Love dispenses down here are so sweet, I wish to kiss those chains that have put me in servitude. O my servant Freedom, never were you sweeter than when to my Phyllis, who is as fair as she is innocent, you offered yourself as gift, as victim, and as handmaid.
13 Deh, frenate i furori, astri crudeli ché, se i cieli han sempre instabili l’implacabili lor giri, nell’oceano de’ martiri il mio core ha eterno moto; e con vagante nuoto, mentre brama trovar tranquillo porto,
Nay, put an end to your wrath, cruel stars, for while the implacable rotations of the heavens are always unstable, in this ocean of suffering my heart has eternal motion; and with its erratic swimming, it finds itself engulfed in the waves of desire,
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tra i flutti del desio si trova assorto. Da naufragio così fiero l’abbattuto mio pensiero tenta invan sottrar le piume, che dall’onda il rio volume con mortifera tempesta della speme i vanni arresta, e con penoso incarco alle ruine mie disserra il varco. Se dal vostro ardor tiranno, empie sfere lusinghiere, solo affanno sperar si dovrà, no, pietà del mio dolore dal rigore di cruda beltà ottener giammai potrà. Fuggirò l’aspra contesa, o con bellica difesa impugnarò per arrestarvi i teli. Deh, frenate i furori, astri crudeli!
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while it hopes to find a tranquil haven. From such a terrible drowning my prostrate thoughts vainly try to rescue its feathers, since the cruel bulk of the waves with deadly turbulence blocks the wings of hope, and with anguished suffering opens the gates to my own ruin. If from your tyrannous ardour, O cruel caressing eyes, one can only hope for torment, no, pity for my pain can never result from the severity of evident beauty. I shall flee from the bitter struggle, or with warlike defence I shall fight to resist your darts. Nay, put an end to your wrath, cruel stars!
14 Non fia mai, ah no, ch’io speri nell’amor d’un infedele. V’ingannaste, o miei pensieri, s’il mio amor tradì il crudele, ché spietato nel mio amore fosti tu: ora il mio sdegno per vendetta, con rigore, proverai d’Amor nel regno.
Let me never, ah no, put my trust in the love of someone unfaithful. You were deceived, o my thoughts, if the cruel one betrayed my love, since you were pitiless when I loved: now you will suffer my disdain as revenge, most harshly, in Love’s kingdom.
15 S’Amor m’annoda il piede, come dunque fuggirò? Da quel cor che non ha fede libertà non spero, no. Sian pur dure le catene, creschin sempre le mie pene,
If Love ties my foot, how then shall I flee? From that faithless heart I do not hope for freedom, no. Let the chains be ever so heavy, let my pains ever grow,
ch’in servitù costante gode ognora languend’un core amante. Lo stral ch’io porto al core d’un bel guardo colpo fu. Più non curo il mio dolore, vivo lieto in servitù. Il mio cor, già fatto audace, sprezz’ognor l’ardente face, che, per un vago oggetto, ogn’incendio d’Amore è gioia a un petto. 16 Le luci vezzose volgetemi, o Clori: di piaghe amorose non temo i rigori. Un seno costante ch’ognor vive amante d’Amor nell’impero, del ciglio severo non cura gli strali: saettatemi, sì, impiagatemi pure a tutte l’ore, ch’io contento vivrò nel mio dolore. Quell’onda del mio pianto che in seno ha ricetto, è gloria, è sol vanto delfido mio petto. Son cari i sospiri, son dolci i martiri che soffro ad ognora s’il cor che v’adora mirarvi potrà. Stringa Amor del bel crin l’auree catene, che contento vivrò nelle mie pene.
for a loving heart always enjoys languishing in slavery unyielding. The dart I bear in my heart was shot by a proud eye. No longer do I mind the pain, I am happy in slavery. My heart, now audacious, despises still the burning torch, for when the object of one’s love is fair, every flame of Love is a joy. Turn to me, O Clori, your bewitching eyes: I do not fear the rigours of loving wounds. A loyal breast that is always in love and lives in the empire of Love, cares not about the darts of the harsh brow: transfix me, yes, go on and wound me at every moment, for I shall happily live in my distress. The flow of weeping that I hold in my breast is glory, it is the only boast of my trusting breast. The sighs are dear, the endless torments that I suffer are sweet if the heart that adores you May Love tighten the snares of hair so fair, for I shall live happily in my torments.
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17 Quanto è bella la mia stella e la diva che al core mi sta. Graziosetta, vezzosetta, notte e giorno morire mi fa. Pallidetta, leggiadretta, tutta brio bizzarra sen va.
How fair is my star, and the goddess who is in my heart. Winsome, beckoning, night and day I die for her. Pale, lovely, all joyful and bizarre she goes.
18 Ogni sguardo che tu scocchi è saetta a questo cor: sulle ciglia di quegl’occhi pose l’arco il dio d’amor. may gaze on you.
Every glance you cast is an arrow into my heart: on the lashes of those eyes the god of love has laid his bow.
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Al rigor di due tiranni sta soggetto un cor geloso: vuol ciascun ch’ei si condanni al tormento più penoso, ma non so se peggio sia o la face di Cupido o il flagel di Gelosia.
To the severity of two tyrants is subject a jealous heart: each wishes it to be condemned to the harshest torment, but I do not know which is the worse: whether the splendour of Cupid or the scourge of Jealousy.
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Da Filinda aver chi puo? un effetto di pietà, se in liceo di crudeltà la tirannide imparò? Sgorghi pur pupilla amante tutto un cor disciolto in onda: quel rigor che la circonda vedrà sempre più costante pompa far di ferità. Ogni oggetto più diletto d’altrui gioia è sua noia. Lieta gode allor che mira chi delira, e d’esserne cagion vanto si dà.
Who can expect an act of pity from Filanda, if she learned tyranny in the school of cruelty? It matters not to her if a loving eye pours out its whole heart in waves of tears: with increasing regularity the rigour that surrounds her will pride itself of cruelty. Every dearest object of another’s joy is tedium to her. She happily exults when she sees one who suffers, and boasts of being the cause.
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Speranze smarrite di giuste vendette, tornate al mio core! Di sdegno e d’orrore, di strali e saette armate, venite dal regno d’Amore.
Lost hopes of just revenge, come back to my heart! With contempt and horror, with darts and lightning bolts armed, come from the kingdom of Love.
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Chi mi disse che Amor dà tormento non avea di Cupido la pratica, o servia qualche dama lunatica col cervello più lieve del vento. Or ch’il cielo per questo contorno d’un amante ha il mio cor provveduto, per rimettere il tempo perduto fò l’amore di notte e di giorno.
Whoever told me that Love brings torment had no experience of Cupid, or else he served some inconstant lady with a brain that was lighter than the wind. Now that heaven has provided my heart with this gift of a lover, to make up for lost time I make love all night and day.
Pensier ostinato, pensando, che speri? Se pensi cangiare pensier a un ingrato, hai van lo sperare, hai foll’i pensieri!
Persistent thought, by thinking, what are you hoping to gain? If you think you can change the mind of one who is ungrateful, your hope is vain, your thoughts are insane!
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Il mio core per voi, luci belle, nott’e giorno riposo non ha, poiché il fato lassù, nelle stelle, vuol che adori la vostra beltà.
For you, fair eyes, my heart has no repose either night or day, since fate up there, among the stars, wants me to adore your beauty.
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Dell’ardore che ’l core distempra, il martire l’ardire mi tempra, e Cupido il cor fido richiede, lungi da rio timore ardire e fede. Il tremare e ’l gelare davanti a beltade è viltade d’amanti, et indegno è di pegno d’affetto chi di fedele Amor fa tomba il petto. Quella face vivace ch’incende, arde poco se ’l foco non splende. Chi non osa non posa in amore, e chi non trova ardir non prova ardore.
Audacity tempers the suffering of the ardour that distempers my heart, and Cupid calls for a trusting heart, with audacity and faith rejecting dire fear. The trembling and freezing in the presence of beauty is but a cowardice of lovers, and unworthy of the pledge of affection is he who turns his breast into the tomb of faithful love. That brilliant torch that ignites, burns little if the fire does not sparkle. He who dares not has no repose in love, and he who finds no audacity feels no ardour.
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Chi vuol libero il suo piè fugga ognor vaga beltà, che mendace è la sua fé. E per prova il cuor lo sa, che tra catene e tra le pene senza ristoro chi tanto adoro si prende a gioco di vedermi languir d’amor nel foco. Fugga ognun, fugga su su, quel bel crin che ingannò, che d’amor la servitù senza pianti esser non può; e tra sospiri e tra martiri languisce il cuore nel grave ardore di fiamme ardenti, e gode la crudel de’ miei tormenti.
He who wishes his foot to be free must constantly flee fair beauty, for its faith is deceitful. And by experience my heart knows it, for among chains and among sufferings without solace, she whom I adore takes pleasure in seeing me languish in the fire of love. Everyone must flee, come now, flee those fair locks that deceive, since the servitude of love cannot exist without tears; and among sighs and among agonies the heart languishes in the intense ardor of burning flames, and the cruel one delights in my torments.
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Delizie, contenti che l’alma beate, fermate fermate; su questo mio core, deh, più non stillate le gioie d’amore. Delizie mie care, fermatevi qui; non so più bramare, mi basta così. In grembo agli amori, fra dolci catene morir mi conviene; dolcezza omicida
O delights and pleasures that bless the soul, stop, stop; I pray, no longer distil the joys of love on this heart of mine. O dear delights, stop here; I can desire no more, it is enough. It is best for me to die in the throws of love among these sweet fetters; a murderous sweetness
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amorte mi guida in braccio al mio bene. Delizie mie care, fermatevi qui; non so più bramare, mi basta così.
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guides me towards death in the arms of my love. O dear delights, stop here; I can desire no more, it is enough.
10 Chi non porta amor nel petto dir non sa cos’è dolcezza, né assaggiar può quel diletto che recar sa una bellezza.
Anyone who does not carry love in his breast cannot say what sweetness is, nor can he taste the delight that beauty knows how to bring.
11 Chi avesse visto un core tutto lacero e ferito, che da me se n’è fuggito per seguir vaga beltà, me lo torni, per pietà! E che sì che c’indovino, il mio cor dove ha ricetto – dirlo vuo’ che son costretto. Perdonatemi pur, luci gioconde, rendetemelo, su, ch’in voi s’asconde!
If anyone has seen a heart all ragged and wounded, that escaped from me to follow a fair beauty, could he return it to me, for pity’s sake! And yet I can guess where my heart abides – I will say it, for I am forced. Excuse me, O joyful eyes, return it to me, please, for it hides in you!
Sdegnando il proprio seno, per goder più lieta sorte, benché stretto fra ritorte, del mio petto sen fuggì, né di lui nova s’udì. Pur mi dice un tal pensiero: «Vedi là gl’occhi di Filli: fra sue lucide pupille, ivi men’il suo cor placidi giorni, né creder ch’al tuo sen mai più ritorni».
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Rejecting its own breast to enjoy a more blissful fate, though confined by chains it fled from my chest and no further news was heard of it. And yet a thought tells me this: ‘See there Phyllis’s eyes: there, midst her bright pupils, your heart spends its peaceful days; I doubt that it shall ever return to your breast’.
12 Dormite, occhi, dormite. E voi, noiose cure, nascondetevi pure nel centro del mio seno, che non vedrete almeno tuttele furie a tormentarvi unite. Fuggite, occhi, fuggite in più fosco soggiorno gli odiosi rai del giorno, e se interna guerra talora vi disserra, al pianto soll’egre pupille aprite. 13 Deh, vola, o desio, ritrova il mio bene, palesa le pene che prova il cor mio, né si nieghi mercede a chi pria di morir mercé richiede. Deh, vanne, o dolore, e narra a chi adoro che brama ristoro un’alma che more, che a penoso languire ben può darsi il penar, ma no il morire.
Sleep on, my eyes, sleep on. And you, tiresome cares, please conceal yourselves in the middle of my breast, so that at least you will not see all the furies united to torment you. Escape, my eyes, escape within a gloomier abode the odious rays of the day, and if at times an internal war should erupt, open your weak pupils to tears alone. Nay, fly, O desire, retrieve my love, and reveal the sufferings that my heart feels, and do not deny mercy to one who appeals for mercy before dying. Nay, go, O grief, and tell the one I adore that a dying soul desires relief, for in suffering languishment one may accept the suffering, but not death
14 Avete torto, occhi miei cari, d’essermi avari d’un sol conforto. Dai vezzosi vostri giri men severi o più sereni, se spandete aurei baleni, darò tregua ai miei martiri. Ma, se ingrati a’ miei desiri, i bei rai di vostre stelle
You are wrong, O eyes so dear to me, to deny me even one comfort. If from your charming glances you shoot golden shafts that are less severe or more serene, I may give my sufferings some respite. But if, contrary to my wishes, the fair rays of your stars,
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in girar torbidi aspetti arderanno i miei diletti, con le fervide faville rimarrò tra fiamme assorto. Se vi move ira o pietade, vaghi rai, pur mi piacete, ma con l’una m’uccidete se con l’altra m’avvivate. Dunque, o stelle amiche, siate di pietà fulgide scole, ch’è prodigio di mia sorte il mirar, nunzie di morte, due comete in faccia al sole che lo fan pallido e smorto. 15 Ti lascierò, e a poco a poco l’acceso foco estinguerò. Ti lascierò, e dal mio petto il vago oggetto scancellerò. Ti lascierò, e ’l laccio forte delle ritorte lo spezzerò. In libertà il fido core d’un fido amore trionferà. E tu, crudele, che le querele or più non odi del mio sen costante, godi, deh, godi pur novello amore, godi, deh, godi pur novello amante. 24
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giving murky looks, shall burn my delights, with those fervent sparks I shall be enveloped in flames. Whether anger or pity moves you, fair rays, yet still you delight me, but while with one you kill me, with the other you revive me. Hence, O friendly stars, be shining examples of pity, for it is the marvel of my fate to watch two comets, messengers of death, facing the sun, making it look pale and dull. I will leave you, and little by little the burning fire I will extinguish. I will leave you, and from my breast the fair object I will erase. I will leave you, and the strong bond of reprisals I will break. In freedom the faithful heart of a faithful love will triumph. And you, o cruel one, who the complaints of my faithful heart no longer hear, enjoy, yes, enjoy, your new love, enjoy, yes, enjoy your new lover.
E se tu credi, infida, con le lusinghe tue cellar le frodi d’un amor mendace, se giusto sdegno del mio core è guida, sappi che le tue brame io schernirò. Ti lascierò!
And if you think, o faithless one, that with your flattery you can hide the deceit of a false love, then know that if righteous indignation guides my heart, I will mock your desires. I will leave you!
16 Torna, Amor, dammi il mio bene. In sì dura lontananza, l’esca sol della speranza al dolor viva mi tiene. Se del ciel contro lo sdegno non ritrovo alcun sostegno, la mia vita a un fil s’attiene. Torna, Amor, dammi il mio bene. 17 Destatevi, o sensi, risvegliati, onore! Si fugga la vita, si incontri la morte e solo si pensi all’ira, al furore. Risvegliati, onore, destatevi, o sensi! S’atterri, s’uccida l’indegno Giasone, ch’a unre traditore pietà non conviensi!
Return, Love, give me my beloved. In such a difficult separation, only the nourishment of hope keeps me alive to pain. If against the frowns of heaven I can find no support, my life hangs on a thread. Return, Love, give me my beloved. Arouse yourselves, O senses, wake up, honor! Flee life, encounter death and think only of anger and fury. Wake up, honor, arouse yourselves, O senses! May the unworthy Jason be crushed and killed, for pity is not fitting for a treacherous king!
18 Avrò pur d’aspettar più? È passato più d’un giorno: sarebb’ora di ritorno; né la candida bandiera di mattino o pur di sera comparir non veggio, su: avrò pur d’aspettar più? Se del nettare d’Amore
Will I have longer to wait? More than a day has passed: it is time for a return. I see the white flag appear neither in the morning nor in the evening. Come now: will I have longer to wait? If once I had the luck 25
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di godere ebbi fortuna, e felice ebbi la cuna nel tuo sen, Filli crudele, or perché non sei fedele a colui cui mostri fé? Ma per zoppo pastor tu lasci me. Avrò flemma ancora un dì per sperar nuova mercé? Ma già scorre, e pure, oimè, comparir nol veggio, su. 19 Bel tempo, addio! Son fatto amante d’un bel sembiante: questo misero cor non è più mio. Contenti e risi, da me divisi, non tornerete più: questo misero cor tradito fu. Perduta libertà, sempre ti piangerò, ma sempre invano che, tiranno inumano, Amor sen riderà, e, dispietato, intanto formerà del mio pianto, per trafiggermi il sen, velen più rio.
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to enjoy the nectar of Love, and happily I cradled myself in your breast, now why, cruel Phyllis, are you not faithful to the one to whom you showed faith? Instead you abandon me for a lame shepherd. Will I have the composure to hope for new mercy yet another day? But it is already over, and still, alas, I do not see it appear. Come now! Fair times, farewell! I have become the lover of a fair countenance: this wretched heart is no longer mine. O happiness and laughter, now separated from me, you shall no longer return: this wretched heart has been betrayed. Lost freedom, I shall always bewail you, though always in vain. Since Love, that inhuman tyrant, will laugh about it and will mercilessly turn my tears into a harsher poison, to pierce my breast.
Susanne Rydén
Martin Oro
Lisandro Abadie Photo: P. Kornfeld
Rossella Croce
Hedwig Raffeiner
Pietro Prosser
Translations by Hugh Ward-Perkins and Arthur Whellens.
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