Splendour, excess, spectacle: Pietro Antonio Cesti’s Il pomo d’oro was unique even at its premiere in 1668—and at the same time an almost unperformable undertaking. The enormous scale, the multitude of roles and, not least, the absence of the music for two acts – only the libretto has survived – have made the opera legendary over time. On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Innsbrucker Festwochen, Ottavio Dantone has reconstructed the missing parts from fragments and other works by Cesti, allowing this festive opera to be heard in its entirety for the first time since its premiere – magnificently staged by Fabio Ceresa and his team.

Over two consecutive evenings, the Festwochen not only evokes the pomp and spectacle that characterised Baroque opera in general – none more so than Il pomo d’oro– but also portrays on stage the origins of what was perhaps the most famous war of antiquity.

All the Olympian deities were invited to the wedding of the beautiful sea nymph Thetis to the mortal Peleus. Only one was left out: Eris, the goddess of discord. In her wounded anger, she devised a prank: she threw a golden apple into the banquet hall, inscribed with the fateful words “To the fairest.” Juno, Venus, and Pallas Athena immediately claimed the apple for themselves, sparking a contest in which divine dignity swiftly gave way to all-too-human vanity. Paris, deemed the most beautiful of all mortals, was appointed by Jupiter to arbitrate the dispute over Il pomo d’oro. Thus began the judgement that shapes Cesti’s opera over two evenings: intrigues, rivalries, and amorous entanglements unfold in sparkling scenes, while behind all the pomp, the shadow of the coming catastrophe – the Trojan War – is already looming.

Yet the opera is far more than a mere display of mythological grandeur. Amidst gods, heroes, and allegories, flashes of comedy appear time and again. The Olympians reveal themselves to be delightfully human and wonderfully “ungodly,” their jealousy, self-praise, and petty malice lending the work an almost cabaret-like wit. Il pomo d’oro thus moves between two intertwined planes—heavenly splendour and earthly life—whose shifting relationship drives the drama.

Historical background

Il pomo d’oro was commissioned in 1666 to celebrate the marriage of Leopold I and the Infanta Margherita Teresa of Spain. As her arrival in Vienna was delayed and the court theatre on the Cortina not yet completed, the performance was postponed. It was initially planned for the winter of 1667/68 to mark the birth of their son Ferdinand Wenzel; following his early death in January 1668, the festivities were naturally cancelled. The opera finally premiered on 12 and 13 July 1668, in honour of Margherita’s birthday, and was staged once more – a week later – for the final time.

Leopold, a passionate musician, composed the music for Act II, Scene 9, and Act V, Scene 5 himself; Johann Heinrich Schmelzer provided the ballet music. The remaining music was written by Cesti, who had become imperial court conductor in 1665 after appointments at the Sistine Chapel and, earlier, as music director of Archduke Ferdinand Karl’s private orchestra in Innsbruck. The stage sets by Burnacini were later engraved in copper by Matthäus Küsel and published in several editions of the libretto. The names of those who appeared in the premiere are unknown, with the exception of one – “Vincentino”, a castrato who sang the role of Venus. The librettist Francesco Sbarra, who had already collaborated with Cesti in Innsbruck, wrote in the afterword to the lavishly printed libretto:

    “The music, performed by the foremost virtuosi of this century and composed by Signor Cavalier Cesti, His Majesty’s Honorary Kapellmeister, who always proved himself unrivalled in his compositions, contributed greatly to its success.”

With its five acts and prologue, no fewer than 47 roles in the unabridged original version, and a total duration of more than eight hours – presented by the Innsbrucker Festwochen, as at the premiere, over two consecutive evenings – Il pomo d’oro stands as the very epitome of the Baroque court opera. Its demands eclipse almost all other Italian operas of the 17th century; even Lully’s elaborate spectacles for Louis XIV require no greater resources. The diversity of the instrumental ensemble, the blend of comic and serious elements, the arias and ensembles, the stage machinery and scenic effects – all make this opera worthy of the Olympian status it has held in operatic history since Guido Adler’s publication in the Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich (Monuments of Music in Austria) at the end of the 19th century.

What more fitting work could there be to mark the 50th anniversary of the Innsbrucker Festwochen der Alten Musik? And where else, if not here – and under the musical direction of Ottavio Dantone – could the “unperformable” be brought to life once more?