Opera Seria in Theory and Practice: Alessandro Pepoli’s “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole sul

melodramma detto serio” (1790) and His Libretto for Paisiello’s I giuochi d’Agrigento (1792)

JOHN A. RICE

This is part of a longer text, commissioned in 1988 as an introduction to a projected facsimile edition of a manuscript score of Paisiello’s I giuochi d’Agrigento. I completed and submitted the essay in the early 1990s, but it remained unpublished. Lightly revised, it was posted on Academia.edu in October 2015.

For subsequent discussions of the material presented here see Francesca Gatta, introduction to a facsimile of Alessandro Pepoli’s Meleagro and its accompanying “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole” (Modena: Mucchi, 1995); Andrea Chegai, L’esilio di Metastasio: Forme e riforme dello spettacolo d’opera fra Sette e Ottocento (Florence: Le Lettere, 1998); and Lorenzo Mattei, “Il battesimo della Fenice: Paisiello e i Giuochi di un conte drammaturgico,” introductory essay to I giuochi d’Agrigento: Partitura dell’opera in facsimile (Milan: Ricordi, 2007).

On 16 May 1792 the newly-constructed Teatro La Fenice in Venice opened its doors for the first time.1 Designed and built especially for the performance of opera seria and ballet, La Fenice maintained into the nineteenth century Venice’s long and rich tradition of serious opera, a tradition that had produced such diverse masterpieces as Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea (1642), Handel’s Agrippina (1709), Hasse’s Artarserse (1730), and Sarti’s Giulio Sabino (1780). For the inaugural opera the Società della Fenice, itself only recently formed, commissioned a new serious opera with poetry by Count Alessandro Pepoli and music by Giovanni Paisiello. To perform the work the Società assembled a cast that included three of Italy’s finest singers: the musico Gasparo Pacchiarotti, the prima donna Brigida Banti, and the tenor Giacomo David. In the opera they presented, I giuochi d’Agrigento, we can see clearly the interaction of tradition and innovation so typical of late eighteenth-century Italian serious opera, and how this interaction contributed to the vitality of the genre.

                                                                                                               1 On the construction and early history of La Fenice see Nicola Mangini, I teatri di Venezia, Milan: Mursia, 1974, 165–76; and Thomas Bauman, “The Society of La Fenice and Its First Impresarios,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 39 (1986), 333–54. Bauman’s perceptive treatment of the inaugural opera (pp. 336–40) was the starting point for the present essay, which has benefited much from his research and insights.

  2  

The life of the Venetian nobleman Count Alessandro Pepoli (1757–96) was as colorful as it was brief. According to the poet Angela Veronese, who knew him personally,

Count Pepoli was one of these phenomena which nature from time to time provides to give an idea of vices and virtues in bizarre mixture. In a word he was a new Alcibiades: poet in the comic, tragic, and lyric genres, master swordsman, dancer, musician, man of letters, publisher, horseman, lover of debauchery, of the fine arts, of luxury, of women. Perhaps in another century he would have passed for a philosopher; in ours he passed for a madman. I do not know which of his so many passions was most fatal to him. He died in the flower of his years, lamented by many, but principally by his creditors.2

Personal connections may have helped Pepoli win the invitation to provide the libretto for the inaugural opera. Among the subscribers to a six-volume collection of his spoken dramas issued in the late 1780s were many members of the Venetian nobility, the same group that formed the membership of the Società della Fenice.3 Those who subsidized Pepoli’s publishing venture were likely to have supported his selection as La Fenice’s inaugural poet. But there was another reason to choose him. He had recently argued, enthusiastically and at length, for a revitalization of opera seria, a genre that, he said, was potentially “the supreme accomplishment of the human spirit in the arts of delight.” What better time to give him a chance to put his ideas into practice than the inauguration of a magnificent new theater?                                                                                                                2  Il conte Pepoli era uno di que’ fenomeni che di tratto in tratto offre la natura per dar un’idea di vizi e virtù bizzarramente accozzati: in una parola egli era un nuovo Alcibiade; poeta comico, tragico, lirico, maestro di scherma, danzatore, musico, letterato, tipografo, cavallerizzo; amante degli stravizzi, delle belle arti, del lusso e delle donne. Forse in altro secolo sarebbe passato per un filosofo; nel nostro passava per un pazzo. Non so quale delle sue tante passioni siagli stata la più fatale. Egli morì sul fior degli anni, compianto da molti, ma principalmente da’ suoi creditori” (Versi di Aglaia Anassillide aggiuntevi le notizie della sua vita scritte da lei medesima, Padua: Crescini, 1826, 35; quoted in translation, used here, by Dennis Libby, “Italy: Two Opera Centres,” The Classical Era, ed. Neal Zaslaw, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1989, 52). For an introduction to Pepoli’s life and works see Peter Müller, Alessandro Pepoli als Gegenspieler Vittorio Alfieris: Ein literarischer Wettstreit im Settecento, Munich: W. Fink, 1974. Müller’s treatment of Pepoli as an opera librettist is weak, as it almost has to be after beginning with the following sentence: “Mit dem Ende der melodramatischen Aktivität Metastasios am Wiener Hof beginnt ein Nidergang der italienischen Oper (p. 102). Equally uninformed is his explanation for the term “dramma per musica” being applied to I giuochi d’Agrigento: “Das Stück wird als ‘dramma’ bezeichnet, weil es neben den Verspartien auch Prosaabschnitte enthält und einen positiven Ausgang hat” (p. 108). (There is of course no prose in Pepoli’s libretto, except for the stage directions.) A more useful discussion of Pepoli as librettist is Thomas Bauman, “Alessandro Pepoli’s Renewal of the Tragedia per musica,” I vicini di Mozart, ed. Maria Teresa Muraro, 2 vols., Florence, 1989, I, 211–20. 3  Teatro del Conte Alessandro Pepoli, 6 vols., Venice: Carlo Palese, 1787–88.

  3  

Pepoli as Operatic Reformer Pepoli’s “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole sul melodramma detto serio,” first published in 1789, is an outspoken essay of some fifty pages in which he criticized the state of Italian serious opera.4 He published it together with his tragedia per musica Meleagro, a work he presented to the public as an illustration of his ideas for the reform of opera seria. In pairing a reformist tract and a sample libretto he imitated Francesco Algarotti, who had published an illustrative Ifigenia in Aulide along with his Saggio sopra l’opera in musica of 1755. Pepoli blamed the defects of opera seria on the pervasive influence of Metastasio, a “Metastasiomania” that produced countless ineffective imitators of the poeta cesareo and caused composers to set his librettos over and over, with the drama each time subjected to “a barbarous surgical operation that . . . left it mutilated and deformed.5 There is a paradox here that affects much of Pepoli’s operatic thought. Although he criticized Metastasio’s librettos, he also admired them. His praise of Metastasio, even though it is followed by a “but,” is sincere: “Metastasio is a great man. He raised melodrama to a level higher than any of his predecessors; but . . .”6 Pepoli’s criticism of the poor imitations of Metastasio and of the clumsy revisions that Metastasio’s librettos underwent reinforces an admiration for the poeta cesareo also apparent in the libretto he later wrote for La Fenice, as we shall see. Aware of the close relation between Metastasian opera and French spoken drama, Pepoli knew that he would have to expose weaknesses in French drama if he was to expose weaknesses in Metastasio. Comparing ancient Greek tragedy to modern French tragedy, he found the latter lacking:

The former had music, spectacle, and dance; the latter has no music, no dance, and only rarely spectacle. They both excite emotion, but we do not know that the more modern of the two genres has ever produced in spectators the amazing effects that we read about the ancient one. Neither the ghost of Nino in Semiramide [i. e. Voltaire’s Sémiramis], nor the death of Seid in Maometto [Voltaire’s Mahomet], nor the heart of Coucy in Gabriella [Belloy’s Gabrielle de Vergy] has caused spontaneous abortions among French ladies, as did the famous Eumenides of Aeschylus among the Athenians. The one had no need to cause its characters to fall in love to make them interesting; the other, at least up until now, has had to.7

                                                                                                               4  Meleagro, tragedia per musica in tre atti del Conte Alessandro Pepoli, preceduta da una lettera del medesimo sul melodramma detto serio, Venice: Stamperia Curti, 1789; second ed., 1790. References in this essay are to the second edition. Bauman focuses on Pepoli’s “Lettera” in “Alessandro Pepoli’s Renewal of the Tragedia per Musica.” 5 Metastasio stesso ripetuto senza economia migliaja di volte non produce più effetto sulle nostre scene musicali, e divenuto di già troppo lungo e troppo uniforme per esser ha bisogno in ogni suo dramma d’una barbara operazione chirurgica, la quale, ignorantemente per lo più, gli ritagli le carni, gli recida dei membri, e lo renda inultilmente così mutilato e diforme (“Lettera,” 19–20). 6  Metastasio è un grand’uomo. Ha portato il melodramma a un grado molto più alto de’ suoi predecessori; ma . . . (“Lettera,” 19). 7  La prima avea musica, spettacolo, e ballo; la seconda non ha musica, non ha ballo, e rare volte ha spettacolo. Producono commozione ambedue, ma non si sa che la moderna fra queste abbia

  4  

“Let us forget French ideas, although they are beautiful,”8 concluded Pepoli; our concept of tragedy should be shaped by Greek, not French drama. He went on to argue that opera seria was in its origins inspired by Greek tragedy. Here he had in mind not Metastasian opera seria but opera in general, and its origins among the Florentine humanists of the late sixteenth century. He urged a return to what had inspired the invention of opera:

Opera seria was certainly born from Italy’s womb; it was conceived at a time when Greek literature flourished in Italy. It cannot therefore have any other basis than Greek literature, since the human spirit can modify and add, but it cannot create on impulse. I am therefore not mistaken if I find, amid the deformity of present-day music drama, traces of its sublime Greek origin. To bring it back to its origin, to bring it nearer, by means of comparison, to its origin, making it worthy of it by stripping it of incongruous accretions and errors that insult the eyes of philosophy, will be a project that is certainly beyond my powers; but it is surely worthy of the powers of others and of my own efforts.9

Pepoli proposed Calzabigi’s librettos as models for the genre that he called tragedia per musica, in order to distinguish it from the Metastasian dramma per musica. “His tragedies contain . . . the seeds of what is truly beautiful in this noble and magnificent genre.”10 Calzabigi’s Alceste is “not inferior, if not indeed superior to that of Euripides.”11 To compare Calzabigi and Metastasio Pepoli invoked a male-female dichotomy. Metastasio was a great poet, but he owed his popularity primarily to his appeal to women: “this name that is sacred to the muses, and more sacred still to the fair sex.”12 Where both poets had treated the same subject, as in Metastasio’s Ipermestra and Calzabigi’s Le Danaidi, Pepoli found Metastasio’s libretto to be the work of “un ingegno gentile,”

                                                                                                               mai prodotto negli Spettatori gli effetti portentosi, che leggiam dell’antica. Nè l’ombra di Nino in Semiramide, nè la morte di Seid nel Maometto, nè il cuore di Coucy in Gabriella hanno fatto mai abortire le Dame francesi, come lo fecero dell’Ateniesi le famose Eumenidi d’Eschilo. L’una non avea bisogna d’introdurre l’amore ne’ suoi personaggi per essere interessante, l’altra, finora almeno, lo ha avuto (“Lettera,” 5). 8  Scordiamo le idee francesi, benché pur belle (“Lettera,” 5). 9  L’opera seria è nata certamente in grembo dell’Italia, è stata immaginata in quel tempo, in cui fioriva massimamente nella medesima la greca letteratura. Non può dunque aver avuto altra base, che quella, giacchè lo spirito umano puù modificare ed aggiungere, ma non creare di slancio. Non errerò pertanto nel trovare fra le deformità del presente dramma musicale i vestigj della sublime origine greca. Richiamarlo a questa origine, avvicinarlo alla medesima colla guida del paragone, renderlo degno di essa collo sbandirne le aggiunte incongrue, e gli errori indecenti all’occio della filosofia, sarà un progetto superiore sì alle mie forze, ma certamente meritevole dell’altrui, e della mia occupazione (“Lettera,” 6–7). 10  Le sue tragedie per musica rinchiudono . . . i semi del vero bello in questo sì nobile, e magnifico genere (“Lettere,” 20). 11  non inferiore, se non anzi superiore a quella d’Euripide (“Lettera,” 20). 12 Questo nome sacro alle Muse, e più sacro ancora al bel sesso (“Lettera,” 13).

  5  

Calzabigi’s “un ingegno robusto.”13 He called the critic Stefano Arteaga to task for preferring Metastasio’s “sentimental tenderness” to “the strong, masculine features of Calzabigi’s tragic muse.”14 How did Pepoli reconcile his allegiance to Greek tragedy on the one hand and his admiration for Calzabigi’s librettos on the other? It turns out that he conceived of Greek tragedy as a dramatic genre very close to Calzabigian music drama:

In ancient spectacle the beauties of declamation were intertwined with those of music, scenery, and dance. The choruses were all sung, but it is probable that among these one or two soloists sang, with responses of the full chorus. Their length in every one of the Greek tragedians renders my idea likely. Outside of the choruses, the actors too sang at various times, in my opinion. This is indicated to me clearly by the verses that are shorter than the normal iambic trimeters, verses that occur at moments of highest passion and most moving lamentation. Mattei, despite what enemies of reform say about him, correctly discovered an approximation of our musical duets and trios. And I have easily discovered dialogues between the chorus and the protagonist which must have been sung by both the former and the latter, if one wishes to think the best of a people [i. e. the ancient Athenians] who loved and recognized the best too much [to have accepted anything else].15

Following in the tradition of operatic reform that extended back to Algarotti’s Saggio, Pepoli argued for a restoration of serious opera to the grandeur and nobility of ancient drama. His argument is to some extent circular, since his conception of Greek tragedy seems to have been shaped by his knowledge of Calzabigi’s librettos. Urging the integration of ballet and chorus into the framework of opera seria, the omission of the secondary characters and amorous intrigues so much a part of Metastasian drama, and the

                                                                                                               13 Le Danaidi presentano delle situazioni nuove e sublimj; e l’Ipermestra del poeta cesareo, a fronte delle medesime, non è che l’opera d’un ingegno gentile paragonata con quella d’un ingegno robusto (“Lettera,” 21). 14 Non so comprendere come il sempre fino, e spesso ragionevole Arteaga, dotato com’egli è d’una fantasia veramente spagnuolo, vale a dire forte, e vivace, abbia preferito l’apologia delle svenevoli tenerezze Metastasiane, a quella dei tratti solidi, e maschili della Melpomene di Calsabigi (“Lettera,” 21). 15 Nell’ antico spettacolo erano le bellezze della declamazione intrecciate con quelle della musica, della decorazione, e del ballo. I cori poi erano tutti cantati, ma è molto probabile, che fra questi cantassero per lo più o uno o due soli colle risposte del coro pieno. La loro lunghezza in ciascheduno de’ tragici greci rende troppo verisimile la mia idea. Oltre i cori cantavano anche varie volte, a mio credere, i personaggj; e me lo accennano chiaramente i versi più corti dei soliti giambi trimetri, versi, che avevano luogo nel punto della passione più riscaldata, e della più interesssante lamentazione. Il Mattei, checchè ne dicano i nemici della novità di sistema, ben giustamente rilevò nelle greche tragedie un’approssimazione ai nostri musicali duetti, e terzetti. Io pure ho rilevato con facilità in molti luoghi delle medesime i dialoghi vibrati fra il coro e il protagonista, i quali dovevano assolutamente cantarsi dall’uno, e dall’altro, se vuolsi il meglio supporre in un popolo troppo amante, e conoscitore del meglio (“Lettera,” 9). “Il Mattei” is Saverio Mattei; Pepoli refers here to his “Nuovo sistema d’interpetrare i tragici greci con la traduzione di certi squarci di recitativi, di arie, e di duetti di Euripide,” in Saverio Mattei, Saggio di poesie latine ed italiane colla dissertazione del nuovo sistema d’interpetrare i tragici greci, vol. 2, Naples: Stamperia Simoniana, 1774, 161–268.

  6  

cleansing of operatic language of Metastasio’s pretentiously literary poetry (“le frasi romanzesche, seicentistiche, Marinesche”16), he showed himself to be less a serious scholar of Greek literature than an enthusiastic follower of Calzabigi, whom he happily called “my friend and, so to speak, my teacher.”17 What, besides “Metastasiomania,” was responsible for the failure of Italian librettists and composers to adopt Calzabigi’s methods and consequently responsible for the “almost irremediable agony of present-day Italian music”?18 Pepoli blamed the impresarios: “The ignorance and even more the poverty and the avarice of the mercenary impresarios is the cause of the decadence, or rather the never-ending infancy of the Italian musical theater.19 Impresarios were unwilling to support operatic reform because—according to Pepoli—it cost more to put on a Calzabigian tragedia per musica than a Metastasian dramma per musica. The composer of tragedia per musica deserved a higher fee than the composer of an ordinary opera:

Tragedie per musica demand, for example, an intensity of application greater than is customary in the composer, who must always make them more energetic, with constant effort and with the passionate imitation of song. Since they require greater application, they must offer greater recompense. The idea of increasing fees is strange and fatal to the impresario. Furthermore, composers like Gluck are rare, and to express these tragedies well one needs a Gluck.20

The choruses and dances necessary in a tragedia per musica also increased its expense; so did its demands for varied and spectacular scenery:

The choruses and the dances interwoven with the chorus require a larger number of persons, in other words of salaries, or at least a greater lavishness of costumes and a more inconvenient variety of wardrobes; I mean inconvenient only to the impresario. Here is another perceptible blow to that soul born insensitive to reason and sensitive only to self-interest. The same can be said of theatrical scenery, which multiplies fatally in such a system.21

Pepoli quoted from an imaginary dialogue between an impresario and an enlightened philosopher: “‘Why this novelty,’ he [the impresario] exclaims. ‘For your own good.’                                                                                                                16 “Lettera,” 16. 17 Amico mio, e per così dire, maestro (“Lettera,” 7). 18 L’agonia quasi irremediabile della musica italiana presente (“Lettera,” 19). 19 L’ignoranza, e più ancora la povertà, e l’avarizia degl’impresarj venali sono . . . la causa della decadenza ovvero sia della costantissima infanzia del teatro musicale italiano (“Lettera,” 22). 20 Le tragedie per musica esigono, per esempio un’insistenza d’applicazione maggiore del solito nel maestro che deve renderle sempre più energiche col soccorso incessante, e coll’imitazione appassionata del canto. Esigendo un’applicazione maggiore, è necessaria per questo una maggior ricompensa. L’idea dell’accrescimento nella medesima è strana, e mortale all’impresario: di più, i Gluck sono rari, e per ben esprimere queste tragedie vi vogliono dei Gluck (“Lettere,” 22–23). 21 I cori, e i balli intrecciati coi cori, domandano un maggior numero di persone, vale a dire di paghe, o per lo meno un lusso maggiore di abiti, e una varietà più incommoda di vestiarj; dico incommoda al solo impresario. Ecco un altro colpo sensibile a quell’anima, che pur troppo è nata insensibile alla ragione, e sensibile al solo interesse. Dicasi il medesimo delle decorazioni teatrali, che in un tale sistema si moltiplicano fatalmente (“Lettera,” 23).

  7  

‘Was opera not good as it was before?’ ‘No,’ answers the philosopher. But the impresario blesses Metastasio, and does not understand the philosopher.”22 But with this line of argument, Pepoli failed to consider by far the greatest expense of all: the fees demanded by singers of the first rank. The production of a Metastasian dramma per musica with a cast that included famous singers would probably cost much more than the production of a Calzabigian music drama without such singers. Near the end of his essay Pepoli issued an ominous warning. If “il metodo Calsabigiano” were not adopted by Italian librettists and composers, Italian music would be in danger:

I tell you that Italian music is lost if good sense does not stand up and vigorously defend it . . . Gluck, Jommelli, and Traietta are dead; Sacchini Sarti, and Piccinni, two of whom are still alive, the other [Sacchini] recently deceased, were forced to move to countries more intelligent and more just. Paisiello and Guglielmi, who remain with us, need poets; and these poets either do not write or do not exist. None of the best poets dares to challenge Metastasio’s fame.23

Modesty prevented Pepoli from offering his services directly here, but clearly he was signaling his availability, his eagerness to collaborate with the best Italian composers of his day in a noble attempt to restore Italian opera to pristine greatness. And, as if in answer to his implied offer, soon after Meleagro and its accompanying letter were published, the call came from the Società della Fenice. Pepoli was commissioned to write the inaugural libretto for La Fenice, and he was given control of the production and the staging of the opera, according to a note in the printed libretto: “The direction and the inception of the production is by the author of the drama.”24 If in Meleagro Pepoli had opportunity “to challenge Metastasio’s fame” on the printed page, I giuochi d’Agrigento was his opportunity to do so on the stage. In this work we might expect to find his theories put into practice: a tragedia per musica based on “il metodo Calsabigiano.” But I giuochi d’Agrigento is more complicated—more Italian—than that. It is indebted to Calzabigi in many ways. But Pepoli, like so many reform-minded poets before him, was unable to banish the pervasive influence of Metastasio.

                                                                                                               22 Perchè questa novità? esclama egli. — Per tuo meglio. — Non andava bene l’opera come prima? — No, responde il filosofo. Ma l’impresario benedice Metastasio, e non intende il filosofo (“Lettera,” 23). 23 Così è; se il buon senso non sorge a vigorosamente soccorrerla, io vi dico che la musica italiana è perduta . . . I Gluck, i Giomelli, i Trajetti sono morti; i Sacchini, i Sarti, i Piccini, due fra essi viventi, l’altro di fresco rapito, furono astretti a passare in climi più intelligenti, e più giusti. I Paesielli, i Guglielmi, che ancora ci restano, han bisogno di poeti, e questi poeti o non iscrivono o non ci sono. Niuno dei migliori vuol esporsi a lottare contro la fama di Metastasio (“Lettera,” 50). 24 La direzione, e l’invenzione dello spettacolo è dell’autore del dramma (I giuochi d’Agrigento dramma per musica del conte Alessandro Pepoli da rappresentarsi nell’apertura del nuovo teatro detto La Fenice, Venice: Stamperia Curti, 1792, 6).

  8  

The Plot Pepoli set his drama in Agrigento, a Greek city on the southern coast of Sicily. In an argomento prefixed to his libretto, he explained that many years before the action takes place, Eraclide, King of Agrigento, learned that the only way to propitiate the anger of Zeus was to sacrifice his infant son Alceo. He assigned the task to Cleomene, high priest of Zeus. The god instructed Cleomene to expose Alceo on the slopes of Mount Etna, and promised him that Alceo’s fate would be revealed on the wedding day of Egesta, Alceo’s sister and daughter of Eraclide. Alceo, duly abandoned on Etna, was found by the husband of the nurse of Clearco, the infant son of the king of Locris, a Greek city in southern Italy (Magna Graecia). Clearco had recently died, and the nurse replaced the dead prince with Alceo, who grew up believing that he was Clearco, heir to the throne of Locris, and that Aspasia, daughter of the king, was his sister. Alceo/Clearco nevertheless

The libretto published for the first production of I giuochi d’Agrigento at the opening La Fenice (Venice, 1792): the façade of the new theater and the title page

  9  

fell in love with Aspasia. Fleeing his supposedly incestuous attraction to her, he reached Agrigento, where athletic games were about to take place. Act 1 opens with a celebration of the victory of Alceo/Clearco (who is referred to as Clearco through most of the libretto, and will be so called in the following synopsis) in the Agrigentan Games. Clearco’s prize is the hand of Egesta. He does not wish to accept this prize, since he is still in love with Aspasia. (One wonders why he entered the competition in the first place, since Pepoli’s argomento implies that the prize was well publicized in advance.) Moreover, the possibility of marrying Egesta horrifies him even though he is unaware of the source of his horror: that she is his sister. King Eraclide refuses to take no for an answer; he orders that preparations be made for the wedding. A sudden storm interrupts the victory celebration. Princess Aspasia and her retinue escape a shipwreck and reach the Sicilian coast, followed by Filosseno, prince of Locris. In act 2 we see that Aspasia’s arrival in Agrigento has reawakened Clearco’s feelings of guilt and confusion. With an earthquake Zeus interrupts the wedding of Clearco with Egesta. Filosseno brings Clearco a letter from his nurse, in which she reveals that he is not Clearco but a foundling. Relieved of his fear of incest, the young man is now certain that his unknown origins will keep him from marrying Aspasia. He withdraws to bewail his fate in solitude. Zeus intervenes again in act 3 to set things straight. Through the high priest Cleone he reveals Clearco’s true identity; he is Prince Alceo, who he joyfully embraces his father Eraclide. A double wedding (Alceo-Aspasia, Egesta-Filosseno) fulfills Zeus’s promise that Alceo’s fate would be revealed on the wedding day of Egesta and brings the opera to a happy conclusion. Allegorical Content Thomas Bauman has made the intriguing suggestion that Pepoli’s libretto comments allegorically on events surrounding the construction of the Teatro La Fenice. An architectural competition for the design of the new theater erupted in controversy when the architect Pietro Bianchi, one of the finalists, protested the judges’ decision to adopt the plan of Giannantonio Selva. The controversy, which soon spilled into the streets, squares, and cafés of Venice, was finally resolved by a decision to award the monetary prize to Bianchi but to build the theater according to Selva’s plan. Bauman finds echoes of these events in Pepoli’s libretto:

Perceptive Venetians must have noticed the interesting parallel to be found between Clearco—who wins the contest but loses the prize (Egesta), only to be granted much greater felicity in the end with the removal of encumbrances to his marrying Aspasia—and the young architect Selva, who also won a contest but was denied the 300-zecchini prize for his design, only to be recognized in the end as the chosen architect of La Fenice, whose lustrous and distinguished career Pepoli launched. Hopeless addicts of this habit of searching for emblems may even have rejoiced that the place Eraclide abandoned his child is described as a “selva.” At the symbolic level, then, Pepoli’s drama could be

  10  

interpreted not as simply another upper-class looking glass, but as a topical commentary on current civic and theatrical events.25

Use of Chorus Much in Pepoli’s libretto bears witness to his admiration for Calzabigi. Most obvious is the profusion of choruses. A drama without choruses, perfectly acceptable to Metastasio and his followers, was unthinkable for Pepoli. Choruses of men, of women, and of both men and women together are on stage for much of the opera. Their identities change often: people of Agrigento, priests of Zeus, Egesta’s handmaidens. Like Calzabigi, Pepoli often combined chorus with solo song. There is in fact only one independent choral number in I giuochi d’Agrigento without some part for at least one major soloist (“Ve come pallido,” a chorus of priests in act 1). Pepoli justified this practice in his “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole” with a reference to ancient drama: “The ancient theater offered the beauties of declamation interwoven with those of music, scenery, and dance. The choruses were completely sung, but it is likely that within these choruses in general one or two soloists sang, in alternation with the full chorus.”26 One way in which Pepoli integrated soloists and chorus was in a simple A-B-A form, with a chorus followed by a solo, and then a return to the chorus. This symmetrical structure is especially effective in scenes in which the action does not move forward, as, for example, during the celebration of Clearco’s athletic victory at the beginning of the opera. After a recitative in which Elpinore, director of the games, congratulates Clearco, a chorus consisting of the men of Agrigento (tenors and basses) enters, singing in praise of the victor: “Della zefiria Locri.” Clearco responds, singing of his happiness and pride (“Dolce di gloria”), and the chorus repeats its praise, completing a strong musical unit in the form A-B-A. CORO Della zefiria Locri Viva il reale atleta Che il suo vigor provò. CLEARCO Dolce di gloria è il suono A un cor sublime e forte; Amica alfin la sorte Oggi sperar potrò. CORO Della zefiria Locri Viva il reale atleta Che il suo vigor provò. (Nel finire di questo CORO gli atleti muti e

confusi partono, esprimendo con vari gesti il loro dispetto e rossore.) (act 1, scene 1)

                                                                                                               25 Bauman, “The Society of La Fenice and Its First Impresarios,” 339. 26 Nell’antico spettacolo erano le bellezze della declamazione intrecciate con quelle della musica, della decorazione, e del ballo. I cori poi erano tutti cantati, ma è molto probabile, che fra questi cantassero per lo più o uno o due soli colle risposte del coro pieno (“Lettera,” 9).

  11  

The A-B-A pattern could easily be expanded to A-B-A-C-A, a kind of choral rondo in which B and C are sung by a soloist. Pepoli used this structure in the solemn temple scene in act 2. The chorus “Là dall’eterne sfere,” an elaborate prayer, begins with two quatrains for a chorus of priests and continues with two quatrains for Clearco; then the first of the two choral quatrains is repeated, sung now by only part of the chorus of priests together with a chorus of Agrigentan women. After Clearco sings two more quatrains, the first quatrain of the chorus returns, sung by all the choral forces together, to bring the number to a close. CORO Là dall’eterne sfere di sacerdoti Ascolta, o nume, i voti, Che regi e sacerdoti Alzan tremendo a te. Fa che propizio annodi Due lieti cori Imene; Fa che cessar le pene Possan del nostro re. CLEARCO Gran dio che de’ mortali Leggi nel sen gli affetti, Ah tu delitti e mali Discaccia ognor da me. Tu che vedesti i danni D’un cieco afflitto core, Fa che di tanti affanni Amor gli dia mercè. Parte del CORO de’ Là dall’eterne sfere sacerdoti col CORO Ascolta, o nume, i voti, delle donne agrigentini Che regi e sacerdoti Alzan tremendo a te. CLEARCO I dolci antichi errori Sgombra dall’alma mia; E fa che eterna sia La marital mia fè. Ah, se di mille onori Il mio valor fregiasti Fa che ne’ suoi contrasti Amor dia legge a se. CORO di tutti Là dall’eterne sfere

Ascolta, o nume, i voti, Che regi e sacerdoti Alzan tremendo a te. (act 2, scene 6) Pepoli used the chorus as a frame for a solo in a different way in the number that opens act 2, “Fortunati naviganti.” Here the Agrigentans express their joy at the arrival of Filosseno and his fellow Locrians, saved from shipwreck. The first part of the chorus is followed by a passage for Filosseno; then the chorus returns, now expanded to include the Locrians as well as the Agrigentans, with new words that serve to conclude the entire scene.

  12  

CORO d’agrigentini Fortunati naviganti Salvi alfin scendeste al lido; Ah mai più quel flutto infido Non vi torni a innamorar. FILOSSENO Mesti, pallidi, tremanti, Noi la morte avemmo in faccia; Ma finita è ogni minaccia, Ma possiamo respirar. CORO d’agrigentini Lieti dunque l’are andiamo e di locresi Di ghirlande a coronar. Cento a porgere voliamo Negri tori al dio del mar. (act 2, scene 1) Yet another way in which Pepoli brought soloist and chorus together was by having the chorus enter in the middle of an aria. Later in act 2, after Zeus has interrupted the wedding ceremony with an earthquake, King Eraclide expresses his horror and confusion in the aria “Sul mio capo è ognor sospesa.” The chorus enters well into the aria, commenting, in an aside, on the king’s distracted state. The chorus then addresses the king directly (“Ah signor”); he responds: “Figlia . . . amici.” Pepoli envisaged the number ending with the chorus alone on stage: ERACLIDE Sul mio capo è ognor sospesa Degli dei la mano ultrice; Odian questi un re infelice, Strazian questi un genitor. CORO (Cento larve par ch’ei veda, A parte. Fa pietade il suo terror.) Ah signor, non darti in preda A sì barbaro dolor. ERACLIDE Figlia, amici, invan cercate Di calmar l’affanno mio; Sol potrà l’eterno oblio Render pace a questo cor. Parte ERACLIDE seguito da EGESTA e

FILOSSENO CORO Cento larve par ch’ei veda, Fa pietade il suo terror. Parte il CORO d’uomini, e donne

agrigentine (act 2, scene 6)

Like Calzabigi, Pepoli used choruses to hold together large-scale scenic tableaux. One such tableau opens the opera: the celebration of Clearco’s victory in the games. The chorus in A-B-A form, “Della zefiria Locri,” in which the B-section is sung by Clearco, has already been discussed and quoted. Following this chorus, King Eraclide announces, in recitative, Clearco’s prize and, in an aria, he expresses his joy over the wedding of daughter to Clearco (“Vedrò ridente il sole”). The chorus enters again, now expanded to include the women of Agrigento as well as the men, with a third rendition of “Della

  13  

zefiria Locri.” The chorus thus serves two architectural functions: as a frame for Clearco’s first vocal appearance, and as a frame for the entire opening scene. More elaborate is the tableau built by Pepoli out of the storm at sea later in act 1; and again the chorus serves as a means of unifying the tableau. King Eraclide, looking forward happily to the wedding of his daughter to Clearco, is interrupted in the middle of a recitative by the sound of thunder. In his aria “Il ciel fiammeggia e tuona!” he tells his subjects to flee the storm; the chorus joins in, echoing Eraclide’s words, as the king himself leaves the stage: ERACLIDE Il ciel fiammeggia e tuona! Il mar minaccia e freme! Ah pronta m’abbandona La mia felicità. Compagni andiam; si fugga; Crescendo il nembo va. Parte. CORO di tutti Compagni andiam; si fugga; Crescendo il nembo va. Partono tutti chi quà, chi là con vari movimenti di terrore. Seguita e cresce il rumore della tempesta. (act 1, scene 5) A change of scene follows, described in detail in the stage directions:

Seashore. Tempest with thunder and hail. One sees a little fleet of six vessels from Locris tossed by the waves. Five of these are separated from the main boat, where Aspasia is, together with part of her suite. This boat soon loses its mast, and is about to founder in view of the audience. Finally the hail stops, the thunder dies down, but the sea remains rough. Many men and women of Agrigento arrive on the scene, who at the sight of the almost sinking ship sing the following chorus.27

In the chorus “Mira il legno, che naufrago, errante,” the words of the Agrigentans on shore are interwoven with those of Aspasia in her foundering boat, praying to the gods for salvation. The chorus comments on the gradual diminution of the storm and, in the solo that follows, Aspasia makes a dramatic appearance on the shore. The chorus serves here as a link between Eraclide’s scene, in which the storm approaches, and the storm scene itself, giving the audience the impression of continuous action. Spectacle The storm is one of two scenes in Pepoli’s libretto in which natural and supernatural effects contribute to spectacle on a grand scale and which constitute another link between                                                                                                                27 Spiaggia di mare. Tempesta con tuoni e grandine. Vedesi una piccola flotta di sei vascelli LOCRESI agitata dall’onde. Cinque di questi vengono divisi dal principale, dov’è ASPASIA con PARTE DE’ SUOI. Resta il medesimo in breve spazio di tempo privo d’alberi e prossimo a perire a vista del pubblico. Finalmente cessa la grandine, diminuiscono i tuoni, ma sussiste l’agitazione del mare. Vengono alla spiaggia molti UOMINI, E DONNE AGRIGENTINE, che alla vista del quasi naufragante bastimento intuonoo il seguente CORO (I giuochi d’Agrigento, 18).

  14  

I giuochi d’Agrigento and the librettos of Calzabigi and other reform-minded dramatists. The other such scene, set in the temple of Zeus, reminds one of similar scenes in Gluck’s Alceste. Pepoli calls for scenery depicting the interior of the temple, with a statue of Zeus and an altar on which a fire is burning. After a prayer sung in versi sciolti by the high priest Cleone, Eraclide arrives with Clearco and Egesta, and preparations for the wedding begin. The long and elaborate prayer sung by a chorus of priests in alternation with Clearco, “Là dall’eterne sfere,” has already been described above. Just as the wedding is about to begin, according to Pepoli’s stage directions, “the temple shakes and is swallowed up in sudden darkness, all of which is accompanied by the muffled sound of subterranean thunder.”28 Terrified, the soloists launch into a septet, “Trema il tempio!” Pepoli’s storm in act 1 and his earthquake in act 2 must have added much to the expense of producing I giuochi d’Agrigento. In his Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole Pepoli cited the poverty and stinginess of impresarios as reasons for the sorry state of serious opera in Italy. When one reads of the spectacular scenic effects demanded in I giuochi d’Agrigento, one can understand why impresarios generally preferred Metastasian opera to opera conceived according to the “metodo Calsabigiano.” Metastasian Elements An abundance of choruses; solo song interrupted by chorus and surrounded by chorus; large-scale scenic tableaux in which chorus and soloists alternate; spectacular and expensive scenic effects: all these are clearly more typical of Calzabigi than of Metastasio. Yet Pepoli put the “metodo Calsabigiano” to work in a drama that in many ways reflects Metastasian tradition. The story itself could be that of a Metastasian drama. The idea of a king’s son, abandoned as a baby, growing up believing that he is someone else, is one of Metastasio’s favorite dramatic formulas. The confusion leads in several of his librettos to the possibility that incest has occurred or might occur. These devices were of course not new with Metastasio, who could have found inspiration, above all, in the plays and epic poems of the Italian Renaissance and Baroque. Guarini’s Il pastor fido (published in 1590) ends with the revelation that Mirtillo is the long-lost son of the priest Montano. Speroni’s tragedy Canace (published in 1546) and, under its influence, Tasso’s Il re Torrismondo (1587) both explore incestuous relationships. In Tasso’s tragedy the protagonist, secretly married, learns that his wife is also his sister. Mistaken identity caused by the switching or renaming of babies plays just as important a role in several Metastasian dramas as it does in the plays of Oscar Wilde. Demetrio offers one of the simpler variations on the theme. The young hero Alceste, apparently a soldier of humble birth, courts Cleonice, queen of Syria; Alceste’s true identity—he is Demetrio, son of the previous king of Syria—is proven in the opera’s final scene by means of a letter written by his father before he died. In Demofoonte Metastasio explored a more complicated situation involving two mistaken identities. Timante, believed to be the son of King Demofoonte, and Dircea, believed to be the daughter of Matusio, are united in a secret marriage; they have                                                                                                                28 Nell’atto di giurare vedesi tremare il tempio, ed ingombrarsi d’improvvisa caligine. Tutto ciò accompagnato da un tuono sordo e sotterraneo (I giuochi d’Agrigento, 51).

  15  

produced a son. Matusio informs Timante that Dircea is not in fact his daughter, but Demofoonte’s (again, a letter is presented as evidence). In a scene that echoes Tasso’s Il re Torrismondo, Timante is horrified by the apparent incest that he has committed with Dircea. His suffering ends a few scenes later with the further revelation that he is not Demofoonte’s son, but Matusio’s. I giuochi d’Agrigento seems to be indebted to Demofoonte in the depth with which it explores the feelings of a man who believes himself to be guilty of an incestuous passion. Clearco’s agony, indecisiveness, and inability to explain his situation to anyone, resemble Timante’s feelings. I giuochi d’Agrigento is linked to Metastasio’s Olimpiade by several similarities, of which the background of athletic games is only the most obvious. In both dramas the hero, by winning the games, gains the hand of a princess. Clearco, like Megacle in Olimpiade, refuses his prize, though for a different reason. Megacle and Aristea love one another. Megacle’s friend Licida, who once saved Megacle’s life, is infatuated with Aristea, unaware that he is really her brother. Probably inspired by the penultimate canto of Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, where Ruggiero, disguised as Leone, fights for and wins the hand of his beloved Bradamante so that Leone might marry her, Metastasio has Megacle enter and win the Olympic competition under Licida’s name, so that Licida might marry Aristea. In I giuochi d’Agrigento Pepoli gave the incest-motive a new twist: Clearco, unaware that he is Egesta’s sister, turns down the prize because he loves Aspasia, whom he mistakenly believes is his sister. Both Olimpiade and I giuochi d’Agrigento explore the conflicting emotions stirred up by the sight of a close relative unrecognized as such. On seeing Clearco, Egesta feels a strong attraction to him; she feels emotions new to her: “Io sento per lui mille nel seno / Dolci incogniti affetti.” But when she hears that she is to marry him she is horrified, and yet she cannot understand her confusion. She asks in an aside: “Ciel! d’onde viene / Il turbamento mio?” (act 1, scene 4). Her words echo those that Metastasio gave to King Clistene in Olimpiade, in a scene reminiscent of act 5 of Guarini’s Il pastor fido. Clistene, about to order Licida put to death, feels an inexplicable affection for the son he does not recognize; he sings an aria, “Non so donde viene / Quel tenero affetto,” that inspired composers from Pergolesi to Mozart to write some of their most touching melodies. As if to underline the ties between his drama and those of Metastasio, Pepoli used names associated with Demofoonte and Olimpiade. The name Alceo (alias Clearco), reminds one of the River Alfeo, referred to several times by Metastasio in Olimpiade, that flows past Olympia. Metastasio mentioned Clearco in Olimpiade as a famous Spartan athlete. Pepoli’s Egesta may have reminded eighteenth-century audiences of Egisto, the name that Licida takes after Megacle passes himself off as Licida. When, near the beginning of act 3 of I giuochi d’Agrigento, Cleone reads the letter from Clearco’s nurse that begins “D’Aristocle non sei / Figlio,” eighteenth-century listeners must have been reminded of the letter from Dircea’s mother read near the beginning of act 3 of Demofoonte, which begins “Non di Matusio è figlia.” Those who missed the parallel at first might have thought of it when they learned that Pepoli’s letter, like Metastasio’s, is signed “Argia.” Clearco’s nurse has exactly the same name as Dircea’s mother. Pepoli’s plot, his dramatic situations, and his characters’ names are not the only parts of his drama that remind us of Metastasio. Much of I giuochi d’Agrigento is constructed along Metastasian lines, with stretches of dialogue in blank verse (versi

  16  

sciolti) leading up to exit-arias. Scenes 3 and 4 of act 1 could easily have been written by Metastasio: the first is entirely in the seven- and eleven syllable blank verse that Metastasio used for dialogue; it continues in scene 4, which ends with an exit-aria for Egesta, “So che tacer dovrei.” One aspect of Pepoli’s use of blank verse, however, differs from Metastasio’s: its brevity. I giuochi d’Agrigento has 546 lines of blank verse; Olimpiade has more than twice that many, 1213. Whenever one of Metastasio’s librettos was revised for a new musical setting in the second half of the eighteenth century, it was almost always shortened, and the most common way to shorten a Metastasian libretto was by reducing the number of versi sciolti. The relatively small amount of blank verse in Pepoli’s libretto reflects the late eighteenth century’s preference for less recitative than Metastasio called for. One can see how Pepoli achieved brevity in a scene that otherwise has much in common with a scene in Olimpiade. In act 1, scene 2 Eraclide congratulates Clearco for winning the Agrigentan Games, embraces him, thinks of his own lost son, and announces that Egesta will be Clearco’s prize: O d’egregia fortezza, E di chiare virtù principe adorno, Vieni al mio seno. (abbracciando Clearco) Il mio perduto figlio Trovi Eraclide in te. Sappia il mio regno Che tua la man d’Egesta Oggi sarà. La mia promessa è questa. In these six lines Pepoli compressed much the same material as Metastasio expressed in the first eleven and a half lines of recitative in the analogous scene in Olimpiade (act 2, scene 6), as Clistene addresses Megacle and announces that Aristea will be his prize: CLISTENE Giovane valoroso, Che in mezzo a tanta gloria umil ti stai, Quell’onorata fronte Lascia ch’io baci e che ti stringa al seno. Felice il re di Creta, Che un tal figlio sorti! Se avessi anch’io Serbato il mio Filinto, Chi sa, sarebbe tal. (ad Alcandro) Rammenti, Alcandro, Con qual dolor tel consegnai? Ma pure . . . ALCANDRO Tempo or non è di rammentar sventure. (a Clistene) CLISTENE (È ver.) (a Megacle) Premio Aristea Sarà del tuo valor. Egesta’s aria “So che tacer dovrei,” with its place after a scene in blank verse, its two neat quatrains, its gentle lyricism and elegant brevity, is Metastasian in function, form, and content: So che tacer dovrei Quel che spiegar non so, Ma invan celar vorrei

  17  

Il duol che m’agitò. Pur de’ timori miei Giusta ragion non ho. Ah! voi parlate, o Dei, Se il labbro mio nol può. Parte. Even the grammatical organization of Pepoli’s aria—its opening “So che . . .” and a subsequent “Ma”—reminds one of Metastasio: So che per gioco Mi chiedi amore; Ma poche lagrime, Poco dolore Costa la perdita D’un infedel. (Demetrio, act 2, scene 9) In another exit-aria, Aspasia’s “Che vi veci avverse stelle,” the character’s confusion and desperation are expressed in words— Parti . . . Ah! nò . . . t’arresta . . . addio . . . Senti . . . oimè! . . . fuggi . . . che fai? —that remind us of Metastasio’s Didone: Vado . . . ma dove? . . . oh Dio! Resto . . . ma poi . . . che fo? (Didone abbandonata, act 3, scene 20) Pepoli, who preached a rejection of Metastasian opera, was more conciliatory to Metastasio in practice. Did he deliberately choose to imitate certain aspects of Metastasio’s dramas so as to bring the differences between his approach to opera seria and Metastasio’s into sharp relief? (This was presumably one of Calzabigi’s motives in using the same story for Le Danaidi that Metastasio had used for Ipermestra.) Was Pepoli forced by circumstances beyond his control (the Società della Fenice, the censors, the singers, the composer, public taste) to stop short of a full-scale implementation of his ideas? Or was Pepoli Metastasian in spite of himself, an unwitting victim of the Metastasiomania he had so bitterly deplored? Probably a combination of these factors forced Pepoli to work out a compromise between theory and practice. Despite the pugnacious tone of the “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole,” Pepoli may have been wary of causing offense after his experience with a libretto he wrote in the late 1780s for the musico Luigi Marchesi. Apparently eager to star in an opera incorporating such reformist elements as numerous choruses and a tragic ending, Marchesi proposed to Pepoli the death of Hercules as the subject of an “opera a cori . . . con morte obbligata,” as Pepoli put it in an amusing dialogue that serves as a preface to the libretto. Dennis Libby, using that dialogue as a primary source, reconstructed the story of Pepoli’s aborted collaboration with Marchesi:

  18  

Pepoli had responded [to Marchesi’s commission] with a tragedia per musica in the most ponderous and solemn classicizing manner of the over-enthusiastic disciple of Calzabigi that he then was. Marchesi was appalled. There were too many choruses; Marchesi’s rondò was in his death scene in act 3 rather than in the second where convention required it. Worse, since Hercules was dying, Pepoli had directed that the rondò be sung sitting. Finally, Marchesi had approved of ending the opera with an apotheosis in the French manner, in which he would appear with Jupiter in a cloud, but as the perverse Pepoli wrote the scene, he was given nothing to sing. In the ensuing battle of wills, Pepoli’s only concession was to allow Marchesi to sing his rondò standing (supported by attendants), but this was his only substantial concession. Marchesi turned elsewhere for another libretto on the same subject; this was eventually given in Venice in 1791. Pepoli in the meantime published his rejected libretto, which was never set to music, together with a satire on Marchesi in the form of a dialogue between an ignorant, vain, unreasonable castrato and a high-minded librettist (who is, however, not above a few pointed references to his opponent’s “neutered” condition).29

Pepoli warned his audience on the title page of I giuochi d’Agrigento not to expect a radical departure from tradition by calling his libretto not a tragedia per musica (the term he used in the “Lettere ad un uomo ragionevole” to refer to Calzabigian music drama) but a dramma per musica (a term long associated with Metastasian serious opera). A further sign of compromise: the libretto, by giving the titles of the ballets (to be presented by the great dancer and choreographer Onorato Viganò) as Amore e Psiche and Divertimento campestre, made it clear that these ballets would have nothing to do with Pepoli’s drama; and indeed Pepoli made no provision for dance in his libretto, despite having urged in his “Lettera” that dance be integrated into operatic drama. But Pepoli was unwilling to make a more explicit acknowledgment of his debt to Metastasio. In a note preceding the first edition of the libretto he boasted that the story was entirely a product of his imagination; somewhat pedantically he quoted Aristotle to justify this break with the tradition of basing tragedies (and serious opera librettos) on existing stories. Did he imagine that any opera-goer would miss the parallels between his libretto and Metastasio’s Demofoonte and L’Olimpiade? In an exchange of letters published shortly after the first performance of I giuochi d’Agrigento he defended his libretto by rejecting any comparison with Metastasio. Those who made such comparisons, he wrote, did not consider that “neither my system nor that of my friend Calsabigi was ever similar to Metastasio’s, as I have stated elsewhere”; and here he cited in a footnote his “Lettera ad un uomo ragionevole.”30 Thus Pepoli stood by his theory, even as he defended a libretto in which the spirit of Metastasio can be sensed on almost every page. He seems not to have realized, or perhaps preferred to ignore, that the Metastasian plot of his drama, his exploitation of dramatic devices closely associated with Metastasio, his use, through much of the opera, of the traditional technique of two-strophe exit arias alternating with dialogue in blank

                                                                                                               29 Libby, “Italy: Two Operatic Centers,” 57, with reference to Pepoli’s La morte d’Ercole, Venice, 1790. 30 [Alessandro Pepoli and Francesco Boaretti], Due lettere sul dramma per musica intitolato I giuochi d’Agrigento, pamphlet without date, publisher, or place publication, but evidently published soon after the premiere of I giuochi d’Agrigento in May 1792), 5–6.

  19  

verse, his use of the term “dramma per musica,” and his willingness to keep ballet separate from the opera invited audiences to compare I giuochi d’Agrigento with some of Metastasio’s finest dramas. Even Francesco Boaretti, the literary figure to whom Pepoli sent his defense, and whose letter in response he published along with his own, could not resist the temptation to make the comparison: “I certainly cannot hide the fact that my reading of this second act (because I do not know it from the theater) evoked for me the kind of tender feeling that Metastasio evokes in his great scenes.”31

                                                                                                               31 Io non posso certamente dissimulare, che la lettura di questo secondo atto (come io non ne so di Teatro) me destò un tenero sentimento analogo a quelli che desta Metastasio nelle sue grandi scene (Due lettere, 19).