Barbara Strozzi - Il Lamento

Helena Poczykowska - mezzosoprano
Andrzej Zawisza - harpsichord

www.helenapoczykowska.com


By the harsh Rhone
lies the unhappy body
of the great Knight of France;
And, though his body is not permitted
to return to his beloved Paris
for full burial honors,
with only his cold shade
the sad youth follows Louis.
Henry the Fair (like an overcast sun);
the rose of his charming cheeks
are changed to pallid violets
and the gold of his hair
is stained with fatal frost;
his eyes are livid, his mouth flaccid,
and upon his milky breast his blood flows .

"Oh God, for what reason"
(it seems that the ghost speaks)
"were you so hasty
to pronounce as a disloyal criminal
that servant so pleasing to you?
While yet, Emperor of France,
you attempt to earn
the title of Just.
Even if my failing was worthy of punishment,
alas, together with raging Envy,
you sacrifice me as a victim to anger.
"I do not call myself innocent;
too much I erred,
too much I betrayed myself,
believing the enticements
of smiling fortune.
I do not call myself innocent.
A great air of favor
is made hateful by the memory
of such foolish errors.
A fog of oblivion
was the cause of my downfall.
"But what am I saying? You, Sire, ah, who couldn't see
it? You alone, believing too much in my loyalty,
made me in your Royal court
a target for envy and deserving of death.
"While about my devoted neck
you stretched your gracious arm,
you also offered ruin;
you drew near to me the sword and the trap.
When you diverted yourself,
enjoying pleasant games with me,
you also ignited the fuse
of the courtiers' mines to hidden flame.
That flying ball,
struck by your arm and mine,
ought to have told, oh God,
of my inconstant fortune.

'When you delighted
in hunting the fleeing deer with me,
the innocent animal
torn by dogs
prefigured my state,
exposed to the bites of hound-like people.
I do not condemn my King of any other fault
than of excessive Love.
"With five illustrious honors
my name was distinguished;
but of my titles industrious deceit
bestowed the sixth upon my head
that of traitor.
Envy wished that,
if found guilty,
I be excluded from pardon,
and that I fall instantly dead.
She knew how to use my blood
to make the streets purple with her triumphs.
"While I ventured too high
in the favor of my King,
fortune behind my feet
grew weary of following.
Whence I have learned, alas,
how from everything to nothing is a tiny step."

Louis, at these words
that, pleading, ask for pardon,
fearfully trembles,
and gazes on the face of the dead youth;
while the King, with his tears,
shows his regret for his haste.
Paris trembles and the Seine grows troubled.
(translation Pamela Dellal)