Monteverdi: Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda (3/3) - Hollweg, Schmidt, Equiluz

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Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda, SV 153
dramatic cantata (from Book 8 of Madrigals)

Composed by Claudio Monteverdi
Text: Torquato Tasso "Gerusalemme Liberata", XII, 52-62; 64-68

In this recording:

Testo: Werner Hollweg, tenor
Clorinda: Trudeliese Schmidt, soprano
Tancredi: Kurt Equiluz, tenor

Concentus Musicus Wien,
conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt

Teldec, 1984


"To tell the truth, before this radical version of Harnoncourt's, the Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda had not really been brought to life on disc, despite two or three gratifying versions which gave us the illusion that we were seeing clearly or that a veil had been pierced to reveal, more or less, the true genius of Monteverdi's engagement in the 'representative' genre. In fact, Harnoncourt was the first to see in the Combattimento a drama needing the whole of opera's armoury in order to come to life. For him, there is no demarcation line between Orfeo, L'Incoronazione di Poppea and this theatrical cantata (or madrigal). [...] Thus, he chooses for the recitation of the Testo -a role played by a staggering and raving Werner Hollweg -abrupt spoken effects directly borrowed from Sprechgesang." - Roger TELLART

Rest of the article in English:
http://www.goldberg-magazine.com/en/d...

Original article in French:
http://www.goldberg-magazine.com/fr/d...


Translation of this part, by John Hoole:

64
But now behold the mournful hour at hand,
in which the fates Clorinda's life demand.
Full at her bosom Tancred aim'd the sword;
the thirsty steel her lovely bosom gor'd:
the sanguine current stain'd with blushing red
th'embroider'd vest that o'er her arms was spread.
She feels approaching death in every vein;
her trembling knees no more her weight sustain;

65
but still the Christian knight pursues the blow,
and threats and presses close his vanquish'd foe:
she, as she fell, with moving voice address'd
the prince, and thus preferr'd her dear request;
some pitying angel form'd her last desire,
where faith, and hope, and charity conspire!
On the fair rebel Heaven such grace bestow'd,
and now in death requir'd the faith she ow'd.

66
'Tis thine, my friend! I pardon thee the stroke.
Oh let me pardon too from thee invoke!
Not for this mortal frame I urge my prayer,
for this I know no fear, and ask no care:
no, for my soul alone I pity crave;
oh cleanse my follies in the sacred wave!
Feebly she spoke; the mournful sounds impart
a tender feeling to the victor's heart;
his wrath subsides, while softer passions rise,
and call the tear of pity from his eyes.

67
Not distant far, adown the mossy hill
in gentle murmurs roll'd a crystal rill:
there in his casque the limpid stream he took;
then sad and pensive hasten'd from the brook.
His hands now trembled, while her helm he rear'd,
ere yet the features of his foe appear'd;
he sees! he knows! and senseless stands the knight!
Oh fatal knowledge! Oh distracting sight!

68
Yet still he lives, and rous'd with holy zeal,
prepares the last sad duty to fulfill.
While from his lips he gave the words of grace,
a smile of transport brighten'd in her face:
rejoic'd in death, she seem'd her joy to tell,
and bade for heaven the empty world farewell.