Author of nine of Verdi’s opera librettos, Francesco Maria Piave wrote La Traviata based on Alexandre Dumas fils’ stage version of his novel La Dame aux camélias. The frank and socially aware novel in which money played a central role was reworked by Dumas into a stage drama that opted for lighter scenes more characteristic of vaudeville. For the opera, Piave adopted the basic structure of the play but stripped Violetta of Marguerite’s procative side, thus reinforcing the sacrificial force of Verdi’s heroine.

Staging *Ercole amante* by Antonia Bembo at the Paris Opera more than three centuries after its premiere is both a major and an exhilarating event. The work itself is a fascinating example of Baroque spectacle, populated by gods and goddesses, lovers and tyrants, and unfolding across a myriad of settings, from “a chamber in the palace” to “a tower in the middle of the sea” and even “the Underworld.” Baroque staging calls for constant scene changes and continuous movement—trapdoors, flying machinery, a profusion of costumes—and dance plays a central role.

The story of Ercole amante draws very freely on episodes from both the Greek and Roman traditions of the Hercules myth, in which extraordinary strength, courage, ingenuity, and sexual prowess are among the qualities typically attributed to the hero. Here, however, we encounter him at the end of his life, his triumphs now far behind him and, despite his status and power, confronted with the rejection of a young woman. Antonia Bembo composed her opera to a libretto by Francesco Buti—the same text used by her teacher and mentor Francesco Cavalli for the opera commissioned by Cardinal Mazarin on the occasion of the marriage of Louis XIV fifty years earlier.

Is there a difference between two operas based on the same libretto, written fifty years apart—one by a man, the other by a woman? In the hands of Antonia Bembo, composing five decades after Cavalli, at a time when the aging Sun King was seeing his brilliance fade, this story feels both more relevant and more provocative.

While Ercole amante features ancient deities and a mythological imagination, the heart of the drama could not be more human—or more modern. We encounter a man of immense power whose years of glory are now behind him; enraged that he cannot seduce a woman half his age who, moreover, is betrothed to his own son. He embodies a very recognizable form of absolute male dominance and a sense of omnipotence, and it is not difficult, even today, to find equivalents of this aging, voracious, lecherous, and coarse “Ercole.” The opera thus engages with issues of consent, privilege, and power imbalance that our own time has yet to fully resolve.

Antonia Bembo’s biography, insofar as it can be reconstructed, also provides a particularly illuminating reference. Fleeing Venice for Paris to escape a violent and unstable marriage, she embodies the resilience, resistance, and perseverance required of women to survive in a male-dominated, patriarchal, hierarchical, and deeply constraining world. Like so many remarkable women of her time, it was her innate talent and exceptional skills that offered her a path to emancipation from the obedience, constraints, and expectations imposed on her as a woman. And for a stage director working in an art form that can often appear as an impenetrable male stronghold, the very fact that the composer is a woman brings a welcome breath of fresh air.

The female characters in Ercole amante are brilliantly drawn, both complex and ambivalent, ranging from Iole, a strong, pragmatic, and fearless heroine, to Juno, the goddess of love and marriage—who despises Hercules and supports Iole’s love for Hyllus, which is far more appropriate to her age. Deianira, once Hercules’ young wife in earlier mythological accounts, appears here as a woman who has been worn down, abandoned, and mistreated, while Venus, the goddess of love, regards coercion as a perfectly acceptable form of romantic conquest.

Beyond questions of gender and power, Ercole amante unfolds a genuine sense of joy, playfulness, and imagination, as well as striking musical virtuosity. This virtuosity is matched by its staging ambitions: Cavalli conceived his opera for the vast Salle des Machines at the Tuileries, a flagship of the technological innovations of its time. Antonia Bembo’s opera belongs to the same world of theatrical spectacle: had it been performed, it too would have required the full range of the most advanced technical devices of its era.

In this production, we retain the fundamental principles of Baroque staging while placing them within a resolutely contemporary and luminous imaginary world. We play with perspective, decorative abundance, scene changes, movement, danced interludes, and visual tableaux.

The sets draw on the imagery of the Louvre and Versailles, with their marble floors, French formal gardens, and sculptures—along with the famous Versailles elevator—as well as the more austere architecture of the Opéra Bastille, one of François Mitterrand’s “Grands Projets,” born in a time of great optimism, ambition, and faith in the arts.

The opera unfolds all the expected locations of such a spectacle—gardens, royal tombs, nuptial temples, as well as the “sleeping scene,” one of the most cherished motifs of Baroque theatre, often depicted by painters such as Giulio Carpioni, providing the pretext for gatherings of semi-nude figures abandoned to languid sensuality.

The costumes are inspired by Baroque ideas, blending historical garments and inventions, with a rich palette, experimental materials, and a strong sense of spectacle. The technical innovations of Baroque stagecraft find their contemporary counterpart here in modern technologies such as video, projections, and digital animation.

There is a real joy in rediscovering women artists of the 18th century who not only created but also managed to flourish, and whose voices asserted themselves collectively. The fact that they were overlooked, or even erased during a more regressive 19th century, makes this process of rediscovery more challenging—but also all the more valuable. We will undoubtedly continue to uncover other works by women composers from the 18th century and beyond, alongside the emergence of a new generation of female voices finding their place within a sometimes still resistant male stronghold. Ercole amante by Antonia Bembo is a dazzling, vibrant, ingenious, and inspiring treasure. The door is opening.