Programme Note

At the 2025 International Festival, we have commissioned a series of expert essays to help you Dive Deeper into your Festival experience.

This essay on Mozart's La clemenza di Tito connects contemporary mistrust in politics with Leopold II's reign and considers whether an allegorical opera can restore trust.

Sweet Little Lies: Getting to the truth in La clemenza di Tito

Last year, the National Centre for Social Research revealed that trust in the national government was at an all-time low. 58% of respondents to the Centre’s 41st British Social Attitudes report said they ‘almost never’ trust politicians of any party to ‘tell the truth when they are in a tight corner.’ 

In 1790, Leopold II faced a similar level of mistrust and tension. He had inherited the Habsburg throne from his brother, Joseph II, and with it a monarchy in crisis: the unpopular Austro-Turkish War, threats of rebellion from both Bohemia and Hungary, revolt in the Netherlands, and the knock-on effects of the French Revolution. He moved quickly to consolidate power. Part of this consolidation took place in three separate coronation festivities: the first as Holy Roman Emperor, the second as King of Hungary, and the third, in September 1791, as King of Bohemia. Each of these moments was its own act of theatre and spectacle, opportunities to reaffirm, as musicologist John A. Rice writes, ‘the strength and resilience of enlightened absolutism.’ 

It was for the final coronation that a Prague impresario enlisted Mozart to help with the spectacle, commissioning from the composer La clemenza di Tito, based on a popular libretto by Pietro Metastasio that had been set several dozen times before Mozart. It was an especially apt choice for Leopold, who became known posthumously as ‘the German Tito.’

The Plot and the Lie that Starts it All

Metastasio’s plot, based in part on early historian Suetonius, revolves around Emperor Tito, his confidante Sesto, and Vitellia – the daughter of the emperor overthrown by Tito’s father, and the object of Sesto’s unrequited affections. While the title focuses on Tito’s clemency, the heart of this opera is Sesto caught between competing versions of the truth. 'He steals a kingdom that Heaven intended for me… He deceived me and seduced me' Vitellia tells Sesto in the opening scene, while trying to convince Sesto to assassinate Tito on her behalf. 

Titus was described by Suetonius as the sort of ruler ‘who would rather be killed than kill.’ Mozart’s Tito (adapted from Metastasio by librettist Caterino Mazzolà) fits this expectation when he finally does enter, a head burdened by the crown who says being a ruler means he is 'compelled to prefer the truth, however bitter, over a seductive lie.'

When he decides to make Servilia his bride, only for Servilia to respond that she loves another, he is delighted to see ‘the unsullied face of truth’ to the point where he suffers no insult at her refusal. 'If only every heart before the throne were as honest as this one, it would be a joy to rule.'

Indeed, it’s Vitellia’s tendency towards lies versus honesty that lead to the attempt on Tito’s life. Having been released from her obligation to Tito, Servilia tells Vitellia that the throne may still be destined for her. Believing them still to be engaged, Vitellia takes this honest encouragement as a bitter insult. Her final plea to Sesto for an insurrection is the most seductive of her manipulations: Know that I loved Tito until now. He kept you from taking my heart.

When Truth Becomes a Threat

When, in the second act, we learn that Tito has survived, that Sesto accidentally stabbed a co-conspirator, and that the co-conspirator named Sesto as the orchestrator of the failed coup d’état, the truth becomes a threat for the main characters. 

Vitellia fears being found out. Tito fears that one of his closest friends could have turned on him and refuses to accept the evidence against Sesto. Sesto, caught between his loyalties to Vitellia and Tito, abdicates the truth entirely, begging instead for death.  

Yet it isn’t Vitellia’s eventual honesty that saves Sesto. Yes, she confesses to Tito that she was the real force behind the attempt on his life, explaining that the act was prompted by her mistaking the emperor’s goodness for love (another seductive lie preferred over a bitter truth). But Tito had already resolved to pardon Sesto, preferring to earn his subjects’ loyalty through love versus fear.  

The further irony, however, is in the truth of the real Titus Vespasian. As cultural historian Werner Wunderlich notes, for all of the praise heaped on Titus by historians, Romans ‘looked with fear upon the cruel conqueror and destroyer of Jerusalem as another Nero.’ Titus’s lasting image, as presented in Clemenza, was his own doing. Aware of the trail of corruption and brutality he had left in his wake, he took great pains to rehabilitate himself – not out of service to the people, but to ensure that his historical legacy would be a generous one.  

Legacy, Lies, and Lasting Lessons

This is the foundational dishonesty at the core of Clemenza, and one that has been perpetuated throughout history and politics. In this sense, Mozart’s opera was a part of Leopold’s own campaign, both in how it compares him to Titus and, via the failed coup, cautions those who would challenge his divine right. 

It’s the sort of truth we still expect from a politician placed in a tight corner.  

© Olivia Giovetti, 2025