Pamela Dellal, mezzo soprano

 

uncommon intelligence, imagination and textual awareness...
PDme

 

 

Il Pianto della Madonna – Claudio Monteverdi

Aquilino Coppini (?)

Il Pianto della Madonna
Iam moriar mi Fili.
Quis nam poterit mater consolari
in hoc fero dolore; in hoc tam duro tormento?
Iam moriar mi Fili.
Mi Jesu, O Jesu mi sponse,
mi dilecte, mea spes, mea vita,
me deferis heu, vulnus cordis mei.
Respice Jesu mi, precor,
respice matrem tuam
quae gemendo pro te pallida languet,
atque in morte funesto in hoc tam dura
et tam immani Cruce, tecum petit affigi.
Mi Jesu, O Jesu mi, O potens homo, o Deus,
cuius pectores, heu, tanti doloris
quo torquetur Maria;
miserere gementis, tecumquae extinta sit,
quae per te vixit.
Sed promptus ex hac vita discendis O mi Fili,
et ego hic ploro;
tu confringes infernum hoste victo superbo,
et ego relinquor, preda doloris, solitaria et mesta.
Te Pater almus, te que fons amoris suscipiant laeti,
et ego te non videbo.
O Pater, O mi sponse!
Haec sunt promissa Archangeli Gabrielis?
Haec illa excelsa sedes antiqui Patris David?
Sunt haec regalia sceptra quae tibi cingant crines,
haec ne sunt aurea sceptra et fine regnum –
affigi duro ligno
et clavis laniari atquae corona?
Ah Jesu mi, en mihi dulce mori.
Ecce plorando, ecce clamando rogat te misera Maria,
nam tecum mori est illi gloria et vita.
Heu, Fili, non respondes,
heu, surdus ad flectus atquae quarellas,
O morso, o culpa, o inferne,
esse sponsus meus mersus in undis velox,
O terrae centrum aperite profundum
et cum dilecto meo quoque absconde.
Quid loquor? Heu quid spero, misera?
Heu iam quid quero?
O Jesu mi, non sit quid volo,
sed fiat quod tibi placet.
Vivat mestum cor meo pleno dolore,
pascere Fili mi, Matris amore.

Lament of the Madonna
Now let me die, my Son.
How can a mother be consoled
in this fierce pain; in such harsh torment?
Now let me die, my Son.
My Jesus, o Jesus my spouse,
my delight, my hope, my life,
You inflict alas, a wound upon my heart.
Look upon me Jesus, I pray,
look upon Your mother
who, pale and groaning, languishes for You,
and in Your brutal death on the harsh
and monstrous cross, asks to be nailed with You.
My Jesus, O my Jesus, O powerful man, O God,
the suffering of whose breast, alas!
tortures Mary;
take pity on her, let her die with You,
who lived for You.
But You depart quickly from this life, O my Son,
and I weep here;
You break through hell, defeating the proud enemy,
and I, a prey to sorrow, am left alone and sad.
You the gentle Father, You the joyous ones will nourish at the fount of love, but I will not see You again,
O Father, O my beloved!
Is this the promise of the Archangel Gabriel?
This the high throne of our forefather David?
This the royal crown that binds your hair,
this the golden sceptre and kingdom –
to be fixed to the hard cross,
pierced with nails and a crown of thorns?
Ah my Jesus, it would be sweet to die.
Behold, how weeping and crying wretched Mary calls you,
for to die with you is glory and life.
Alas, my son, you do not reply,
alas, you are deaf to my tears and complaining,
oh anguish, o evil, o hell itself,
for my betrothed to be submerged in turbulent waters,
o may the deep abyss of the earth
open to consume me also with my beloved.
What am I saying?, Alas what can I hope for, wretched as I am? Alas, what do I seek?
Oh my Jesus, not as I desire,
but may it be as it pleases You.
Let my heart live in sadness, full of grief,
To nourish my Son with a mother's love.

© Pamela Dellal