The Cappella de’ Turchini, who take their name from one of four music conservatories functioning in Naples during the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, have chosen a sacred opera by Provenzale as their contribution to a projected 50-CD survey of Neapolitan music. Francesco Provenzale was among the very first Neapolitan composers to write opera. His earliest secular drama, Il Ciro is, perhaps, the least unknown and was performed in Naples in 1653. Cavalli added to it a prologue and some arias for a performance in Venice the following year. La colomba ferita, on the other hand, is the earlier of two sacred operas, both with librettos by Giuseppe Castaldo, performed within two months of each other in 1672.
On the strength of the evidence provided by this lively and entertaining piece, consisting of a Prologue and three acts, Provenzale was a true precursor of the interludes and comic operas that were later to become such prominent features of Neapolitan style and musical life. There are wonderfully comic scenes here, such as that which takes place between Scacci, Calabrese (two servants) and Eurillo (a page-boy) at the end of the First Act. Indeed, musically, it is almost as much a light opera, with its pervasive buffo element, as a serious one. Dinko Fabris, who has provided a useful accompanying essay, likens these characters and their humour to the Commedia dell’arte tradition – a good analogy. Such scenes are, however, counterbalanced by allegorical ones in which the humour is of a different variety. Central to the plot is Rosalia, the wounded dove of the opera’s title, who loves Christ and wishes to marry him, but who is constantly deflected from the path to happiness by a cunning demon, deft in matters of disguise. Eventually, she gets the better of him and the opera concludes with Rosalia awaiting her ascent to heaven.
The performance is splendid. These singers, all of them Italian, are masters and mistresses in the art of declamation and the conductor, Antonio Florio, keeps the dramatic pace moving briskly. Gloria Banditelli is an affecting, warmly coloured Rosalia, while Daniela del Monaco, who takes no fewer than four of the roles, is a constant delight. The four tenors are excellent, too, and Giuseppe Naviglio, the single baritone, is skilled in projecting the character of the buffoon, Calabrese. The orchestra of violins, cello, gamba, violone, recorders and a rich complement of continuo instruments is stylish if, at times, a little rough-edged. Provenzale’s score, as I have already intimated, is captivating and embraces a wide range of emotions. There are few if any dull moments here. In short, this disc is a winner and, for me, at least, a real discovery. Strongly recommended.'