THE name of the great dramatic poet, whose memoir we are about to sketch is so connected with the history of music, that it cannot be thought out of place in the biographical department of our work. We might almost plead his having been a musician as well as poet, were it necessary; but no excuse can be required for mixing with the lives of professors that of a genius to whose productions—which have called forth the talents of the greatest composers—the art itself is so much indebted.

PIETRO TRAPASSI was born at Rome on the 6th of January, 1698. His family, though at the time of his birth reduced to the straits of indigence, had for many years enjoyed, as opulent citizens, the freedom of the town of Assisi, the immunities of which were confined to thirty of the inhabitants only. But the times became altered, and Felice, the father of our bard, unable to procure a subsistence in his native place, enlisted into the ranks of the regiment of Corsi, and shortly afterwards married Francesca Galasti of Bologna. At the fulfilment of his service as a soldier, Felice found himself possessed of a small pittance which he had gained, while in garrison, by devoting his leisure hours to the laborious task of an amanuensis. With this he entered into partnership with a shopkeeper at Rome, in the petty trade called in Italy L’Arte bianca, or pastrycook. Succeeding tolerably in this undertaking, he was now enabled to place his two eldest sons, Leopoldo and the subject of this memoir, at a small grammar school, where the latter soon displayed that talent and enthusiasm for poetry, which so eminently distinguished his after life. ‘Before he was yet ten years old,’ says his biographer Dr. Burney, ‘he had the power of making verses extempore on any subject, and it was no unusual sight to see his father’s porch surrounded in the evening, after school hours, by admiring groups listening to the poesy of a child. During one of these tuneful fits, when Pietro was in his happiest mood, the celebrated lawyer and critic, Gravina, happened to pass by his father’s door, and was no less struck with the youth of the poet, than with the softness, yet brilliancy of his verse, the smoothness of his measure, and the sprightliness of his wit, which he employed, all’ improvvista, upon the people and objects that surrounded him. Drawing near, Gravina expressed his admiration, and offered him some money; the firm but polite refusal of his donation increased his admiration for the little bard, and he instantly formed the resolution of adopting him as his son. Pleased with this idea, he instantly solicited the consent of his parents; and as there was nothing humiliating, nothing unkind, in his proposal, Felice gladly complied. The next morning Pietro was consigned to the care and patronage of Gravina, who changed his name to Metastasio, as ?etastas?? (mutatio) seemed at once to include his family appellation and his situation as an adopted child.

And now having changed his name, Gravina applied himself to the more difficult task of altering, or at least improving, the bias of Metastasio’s mind. For this purpose he destined him to the study of the law as a profession, wishing rather that he should become an orator than a poet. This at first may appear strange; but Gravina well knew that, although the meed of praise may be the poet’s, wealth and affluence are still strangers to his door, and that, in Rome, riches are only to be acquired by the followers of the church and law.

Although Metastasio’s time was principally employed in the dry study of edicts and decrees, he was encouraged by his patron in the perusal of the best models of the ancient poets; and, at the early age of fourteen, we find him producing his tragedy of Giustino,—really an astonishing work for so mere a boy. After the appearance of this drama, written completely in the Grecian style, Gravina appears not only to have allowed, but even to have encouraged, his pupil’s adoration of the Muse; and when Metastasio was eighteen years old, we find Gravina accompanying him to Naples, for the express purpose of singing with the most celebrated improvvisatori of the day. No sooner had he appeared than he became a universal favourite. Nothing was heard of but the graces and dignity of his elocution, the inspiration of his expressive countenance, and the delightful harmony of his verse, which his hearers carried away in their memory like the dying cadence of a thrilling melody. Still with his poetical pursuits did he continue to study the law; and, to secure an opening into the only other road to preferment, entered into one of the minor orders of priesthood.

Two years after his arrival at Naples he had the misfortune to lose his patron, who died in 1718, in the fifty-fourth year of his age, leaving behind him a character more celebrated for his great classical learning, than for his poetry, upon which however he most prided himself; but the protection which he afforded to Metastasio does more honour to his memory than all the productions of his own pen. It has been a generally received opinion, that, however deeply his loss was deplored by our poet, the death of Gravina was a great benefit to his future fame, for it is supposed that, had he lived, his advice would have cramped his pupil’s ideas, disposed to all the pathos and beauty of passion and nature, with the rules and imitations of the Greek drama. Certain it is, however, that Metastasio mourned over his patron as a son; nor was his gratitude at all diminished, when by Gravina’s will, signed in 1718, he found himself sole master of all his property, consisting of 15,000 crowns, a superb library, and a small estate in the kingdom of Naples. The generosity of our poet’s disposition, however, soon ran through this possession; and two years after Gravina’s death, all that remained to him was an inconsiderable landed estate. Finding it, therefore, necessary to court some other genius than the Muse, he placed himself under the care of Paglietti, a man described as made up wholly of law, a bitter enemy to poetry, one who hated the sound of rhyme, and the very sight of a poet, and who was mercilessly intolerant of the slightest deviation from worldly prudence. For one year Metastasio applied himself with so much diligence to the labours imposed upon him by Paglietti, that he appears to have disappointed his suspicions, and even to have gained his confidence; but at the end of that time, we find him again sacrificing to the Muse his contract with the law. First appeared an Epithalamium, written at the request of the Countess of Althau, who likewise prevailed upon him to write the drama Endymion.

Under the patronage of the Viceroy of Naples, appeared Gli Orti Esperidi, (the Gardens of the Hesperides.) The drama was written during the hours devoted by Paglietti to the poet’s rest, and under the express promise that it should be kept a profound secret from the inexorable lawyer. His next drama was Angelica, of which the plot is taken from Ariosto. The Gardens of the Hesperides, which was played at Naples, was universally admired, and by none more than by the Signora M. Benti Bulgarini, better known by her prima-donna name of the Romanini. She was the first singer of her day, and played the part of Venus in that opera; and so delighted was she with its beauty, that she rested not until she had obtained an introduction to the author. On seeing him, the Romanini expressed at once her admiration and esteem, and warmly pressed him to renounce at once the dry study of the law, take up his abode under her husband’s roof, and devote his whole time, his whole energies, to the delights of friendship and the inspiration of the Muse. Adoring as he did, devoted as he was to poesy, who could at once resist the enthusiastic bent of his own mind, the seducing praise of flattering beauty?—certainly not Metastasio. Short was the struggle in his mind between Paglietti and the Romanini: willingly he accepted the offer, and from this time the courts of law were forgotten by him in the plaudits of the theatre.

His Didone Abandonnata was written at the request of the Romanini, to whom the poet is perhaps indebted for some of the finest dramatic incidents and effect. The celebrity which this opera obtained caused it to be set to music by the best composers for all the theatres of Italy, and consequently brought the author a large pecuniary reward, besides the extension of a name already widely spread. During his residence at Rome, whither he repaired with the Romanini in 1727, he finished several operas, the Semiramide, Artaserse, Egio, Alessandro nel Indie, and the Catone in Utica, all of which were received with high praise; but barren praise appears to have been all his reward—small indeed were his pecuniary gains.

Upon his first arrival at Rome, Metastasio, willing to repay the obligations under which he lay to the Bulgarini, took a house for the reception of the two families of the Bulgarini and Trapassi, and prevailed upon the Romanini to place herself, as more conversant with domestic affairs, at the head of his establishment. Upon these terms they lived till, in 1729, receiving an invitation from the court of Vienna, he repaired to Germany as coadjutor to Apostolo Zeno, the imperial laureate. This offer was the more gratifying as it came upon the recommendation of Zeno himself, who had enjoyed his post unrivalled for eleven years, and before the time of Metastasio, had written the best lyrical drama his country’s language could boast. No small praise, therefore, is due to his generosity in thus forwarding the views of a poet, whose works, he must have foreseen, would speedily eclipse his own. Nor was the yearly stipend of 3000 florins at all to be despised by Metastasio. At Rome he had almost suffered under the pressure of poverty, and often was obliged to have recourse to the munificence and generosity of his friend. To her, when he left Italy, he entrusted the entire charge of his affairs, together with a small sum left to her guidance for the temporary support of his father.

Of his reception at the court of Charles VI., we have a most gratifying account written by the poet himself to a friend at Rome, and the Emperor appears to have been much pleased on finding that Metastasio was of a grave moral character, and in that possessing principles congenial to his own. For the next three years, in his correspondence with the Romanini, we possess almost an autobiography of the bard, as his letters to her were frequent, and contained the account of his occupations, of his pleasures, and his pains. In 1734, he had the misfortune to lose this inestimable counsellor and friend. The Romanini in that year died at Rome, to the last manifesting the truth of her attachment, by bequeathing to him, after the death of her husband, the whole of her wealth, amounting to about 25,000 crowns. Metastasio, however, always abiding by the strictest rules of honour and probity, declined in toto this generous gift, which he transferred altogether to her husband, and this sacrifice, for great sacrifice it was, must be considered highly honourable to the poet’s heart. As to the exact nature of the connexion subsisting between him and Romanini, it must for ever remain a conjecture, and a mere conjecture—whether it was Platonic, or of a tenderer kind, who can pretend to determine? Metastasio, it is true, lived under the same roof with her, both at Rome and Naples, but so did her husband; and the very kind and familiar manner in which the poet writes to the husband, expressing his friendship for the wife, to the wife of his kindliness to the husband, and the sincerity with which he expressed to him his condolence and affliction for her death, would, in any other country but Italy, be thought sufficiently indicative of conjugal happiness. But there, Dr. Burney observes, the female singers generally find it convenient to have a nominal husband, who will fight their battles, and contend with the impresario or manager. And we shall not perhaps be judging too uncharitably of the Romanini, should we incline to the belief that her affection for Metastasio had more in it of the love of woman, than of Platonic attachment. But whether the poet’s friendship for Bulgarini were true or not, his grief for the death of his wife was deep, unfeigned, and lasting. In a letter to him expressing his condolence, he writes: ‘Oppressed by the afflicting news of the death of poor Marianna, I know not how to begin this letter. The tidings are so intolerable to me on so many accounts, that I can devise no means to diminish the acuteness of my sufferings, and therefore I trust you will not accuse me of want of feeling, if I am unable to suggest to you any consolation for your loss, as I have hitherto been totally unequal to finding any for myself.’ Again, to a friend at Rome: ‘I am now placed in the world as in a populous desert, and in that kind of desolation in which a man, if he were transported in his sleep to China or Tartary, would find himself on waking, among people of whose language, inclinations, and manners, he was quite ignorant.’ To his brother, too, he writes: ‘Poor Marianna never will return, and the rest of my life must be wretched, insipid, and sorrowful.’

At what age the Romanini died is unknown, but having attained to the eminence of first singer at Genoa in the year 1712, she was probably much older than Metastasio. The manner of his life at Vienna was but little varied by other events than the production and success of his works. In 1735, he wrote the operas L’Olimpiade and Demofoonte, the oratorio of Giuseppe riconosciuto, and the canzonet La Liberta. In 1734, besides his usual occupations, he was obliged to produce, in the greatest haste, an entertainment for music, to be performed by the archduchesses, and at the same time to assist, direct, and instruct them. ‘They have acted and sung like angels,’ writes the poet, ‘and it was truly sacrilege that the whole world was not permitted to admire them.’ As a return for his trouble, Metastasio was presented with a valuable snuff-box, valued at 40l., and of the most exquisite workmanship. This dramatic entertainment was called ‘Le Grazie vendicate.’ In the same year, too, he produced, on the Emperor’s birthday, the Clemenza di Tito. Both operas were set by Caldara, the state composer. In 1735, he wrote, by command of the Empress Elizabeth, an operetta, with three characters only, to be played by the two archduchesses, and a lady of the court; it was called Le Cinesi, and intended as an introduction to a Chinese ballet. In the same year he produced Il Palladio conservato, and Il Sogno di Scipione, pieces written for the celebration of the Empress’s name-day. They are a kind of birth-day odes; but the fulsomeness of praise is delicately disguised in a dramatic form. In 1736 his Temistocle appeared, set by Caldara; but while this was being performed, he was required to write the opera of Achille in Sciro, in the short space of eighteen days, to grace the nuptials of the Archduchess Teresa with the Duke of Lorrain. The drama of Ciro riconosciuto was the production also of this year. In 1737–38–39, nothing new of any note emanated from his pen. In 1740, however, his muse was more propitious; for, besides the opera Zenobia, and the oratorio Isacco, he wrote Il Natale di Giove, and the opera Attilio Regolo for the natal day of Charles VI.; but, as that prince shortly after died, it was laid aside till 1750, when it was set by Hasse for the court at Dresden.

Between the years 1740 and 1745, we find but two complete dramas written by Metastasio, Antigono and Ipermestra, the former of these written expressly for the court of Dresden. They were both set to music by Hasse, who ranked high in the favour of the poet as a composer and as a man of genius. His correspondence with the celebrated Farinelli began in 1747. Many of the poet’s letters, breathing affection and confidence, were written to the great singer at Madrid, where, for two successive reigns, he enjoyed the greatest favour. The blessings of peace, after a seven years’ war, produced the opera Il Re Pastore; this was followed by L’Eroe Cinese. In 1756, at the request of Farinelli, he wrote for the court of Spain an opera, Nitteti, which, under the direction of Farinelli, was played with the utmost splendour. The three last operas written by Metastasio were, Il Trionfo di Clelia, in 1762; Romolo ed Ersilia, in 1765; and Il Ruggiero, 1771: the first was performed at Vienna, on the delivery of Isabella, first wife of the Emperor Joseph II.; the second at Inspruck, on the marriage of the grand Duke of Tuscany with Maria, infanta of Spain; and the last at Milan, on the nuptials of the Archduke Ferdinand, with the Princess of Modena; and this finished the dramatic labours of the bard. His other poetical works, which are very numerous, are all replete with elegance, and every beauty of numbers which the language of Italy so sweetly supplies. Of his prose writings, the extracts from Aristotle’s Poetics, and the Ars Poetica of Horace, are the principal. In all his writings the principles of religion and morality are all so chastely preserved, that the extreme of delicacy, the utmost vein of prudery cannot find a sentiment to offend or alarm; and his private life corresponded well with his writings, as he was always found prompt to discourage all tendency to license, to show himself the avowed enemy of disrespect to the ordinances of morality and religion. This being his universal character, the respect in which he was held at Vienna was extreme, while strangers of all ranks were eager to seek his company, attracted by the fame of his genius. Such were the firmness and constancy of his friendships that death could alone dissolve them. The Princess di Belmonte Pignatelli, the Countess d’Althau, who patronized him in his early youth, Count Canali, Baron Hagen, and Count Perlas, who spent all their evenings with him at Vienna during their lives, Farinelli, his correspondent for fifty years, Algarotti, and his brother Leopoldo—all these affections were sincere, and for ever planted in his heart.

On the 1st April, 1782, in the eighty-fourth year of his age, Metastasio was seized with a fever, which, for some time, made him delirious; soon after he recovered his senses, and received the apostolic benediction, which was sent him by the pope, Pius VI. On the 12th, his disease terminated fatally—Metastasio was no more. Though his years had reached eighty-four, his faculties to the time of his death were perfectly entire, and Dr. Burney found him, at the age of seventy-two, looking like a man of fifty, and the handsomest person of his age he had ever seen. On his features were painted genius, goodness, and propriety. He was cautious and modest in his intercourse, and so polite, that he never was known to contradict in his life any body in conversation. Lamented, deplored with the tears of sincerity by all who knew him, Metastasio was interred at Vienna on the 14th April. The last sad offices were performed with splendour by his grateful heir, Joseph Martinez, in despite of the wish of the departed, who had forbidden any pomp.

Metastasio, by all his biographers, is described as eminently the poet of love, and, in general, happy in pourtraying noble and amiable sentiments. It is astonishing with how much ease he moves in lyric poetry, and with what artless language he unites the brightest ornaments of a poet’s fancy. In all his works he stands high; in his operas, unrivalled.