Walking towards the Romanian Athenaeum for an opera performance supposed to start midweek at 22:30, I was wandering what made Fabio Biondi select this specific Handelian opus and not a better known one. After all, the Enescu Festival’s public – that Biondi knows well after his many visits here – doesn’t necessarily need to discover hidden Baroque gems but should be exposed to more 18th-century operatic masterpieces. I found my answer in an interview that Biondi gave to the local press where he claimed to have selected Silla not only for the beautiful music but also for its brevity. Even so, quite a number of seats were vacant in this beautiful, fresco-decorated auditorium, holding 600-700. Even more were empty a couple of hours later.
Silla was composed in 1713 and was probably performed only once during Handel’s lifetime. The opera’s story is based on the life of the Roman consul and general Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix as described in Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. Placed in Handel’s operatic canon between Teseo and Amadigi di Gaula (the latter opus reusing most of the music from Silla), it is not considered one of Handel’s major works. If the orchestral music often bears the imprint of Handel’s brilliant style, the arias have nothing special, being mostly unable to capture the characters’ inner conflicts and giving the impression of incomplete development. The librettist, Giacomo Rossi, created a plot whose parts don’t gel well together and include more inconsistencies than similar Baroque scenarios. Not only does the libretto take significant liberties with historically accepted facts (as did Mozart’s later opera on the same subject), but the actions taken by various dramatis personae – especially Silla – seem difficult to justify. During almost the entire narrative, the main character is portrayed as a ruthless dictator and a compulsive seducer, chasing simultaneously two women: Flavia, the wife of the tribune Lepido, and Celia, in love with Claudio, a Silla antagonist. The dictator seems ready to kill friend or foe in order to satisfy his whims. His abrupt repentance is totally unexplained, even if it follows a brush with death. As implausible is the behaviour of his wife, Metella, both unbelievably supportive while witnessing Silla’s infidelities, and ready to lie in order to protect his perceived enemies. Overall, it’s a convoluted story, and the public’s interest in it was definitely not helped by the decision to provide neither a simultaneous translation nor leaflets with the text.