Between endless pleasures and quick distractions, that of Semele (1744) is a mythical affair (the loves between the Theban princess and Zeus, from whom Dionysus will be born) that unravels like a case of mundane chronicle. The father of the gods could very well be a ruler, a powerful earthling who cheats on his wife with a girl from a good family (who is, moreover, herself engaged). The gossip reaches the ears of the divine consort by the mouth of the chatty messenger Iris, and vengeance cannot fail, even inconveniencing the Sleep himself, lest, stung on the edge of vanity and ambition, the young lover should overstep his bounds, not demand the epiphany of Jupiter in his divine splendor, so blazing as to reduce the poor mortal to ashes. The moth came too close to the flame. The mythology reads like satire of manners, as current in the 18th as in the 21st century, and not only in the parts of Buckingham Palace. It is shrewd chronicling of scandals and the powerful that also becomes a moral precept, not so much against the sovereigns, untouchables, but toward ordinary mortals who think they are overstepping their bounds, intoxicated by fatuous illusions and foolish vanity. Deep down, however, we cannot help but recognize the same flaws in humans, even in the divine, when seen without the dazzling pomp of gold and lightning: Händel’s pen, in painting characters and affections is truly relentless.