Phaeton's Downfall and Afterwards: Love, Ambition and Magic in António
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1 Phaeton’s Downfall and Afterwards: love, ambition and magic in António José da Silva’s last puppet opera Dr. Juliet Perkins King’s College London We start with Ovid, because we must, because so many poems, plays and operas are based on Metamorphoses. The boastful youth, goaded by the taunts of Io’s son Epaphus that he has an over-inflated image of his father, seeks confirmation from his mother, Clymene, that he is the son of Phoebus. Swearing by the sun that it is so, she encourages the boy to seek him out. At the palace of the Sun, the god acknowledges Phaeton and promises him anything he wants. Arrogantly, rashly, Phaeton asks to be allowed to drive the sun chariot for a day. Phoebus cannot take back his promise, sworn on the River Styx, so reluctantly lets his son mount the chariot, giving what advice he can on steering the right course and controlling the fiery steeds. It is not long before the horses sense that their load is too light and go out of control. Phaeton panics among the heavenly constellations, the chariot’s crazy careering parches, scorches and frazzles the earth and its inhabitants – a clear case of global warming. At the Earth Mother’s despairing plea to stop this torture, Jupiter kills Phaeton with a thunderbolt and his corpse plunges into the River Eridanus in Italy. The Hesperian naiads bury him and Clymene seeks out his grave; Phoebus goes into eclipse. Phaeton, therefore, is not metamorphosed. It is his sisters, the Helíades, who are changed into poplar trees and whose tears of grief are turned into amber. His relative Cycnus, equally distraught, 1 2 pours out his lament along the banks of the Eridanus and is changed into a swan (Ovid, 2004: 43-66). The story of Phaeton, like that of Icarus, lends itself to a moralizing interpretation: that of pride coming before a fall. This perspective comes into view more or less at the same time as the allegorizing of myth, such as that seen in George Sandys’ 1632 translation of Metamorphoses (Ruthven, 1976: 26-27). We can see the insistence of this trait in the Baroque literature and drama that preceded the Portuguese version under discussion here, Precipício de Faetonte. Its author, António José da Silva, whom the Portuguese still distinguish by the epithet, ‘the Jew’, was Brazilian born but came to Lisbon as a child in 1712, when his New Christian family was summoned to appear before the Inquisition on charges of heresy. Generally identified with a lawyer of the same name who studied at Coimbra University, he is attributed with eight serio-comic operas, performed by puppets, which were first put on in Lisbon between 1733 and 1738, Precipício de Faetonte being the last. In October 1737, he was arrested by the Inquisition and held in prison for two years until being sent to the stake in 1739, found guilty of relaping into Judaism. He was a librettist of undeniable and irrepressible talent. For five of his plots, he drew on the inexhaustible supply of Classical myths, already translated or adapted for the stage by other writers, principally Spanish.1 Imbued with the hybrid norms of the Spanish comedia, that is, the tragicomic inheritance of Lope de Vega and the mythological zarzuela of Calderón de la Barca, Da Silva presented the Lisbon public also with a hybrid genre, operas in Portuguese, combining spoken dialogue with musical items such as arias, duets, ensembles and recitative, in which mythological rulers and heroes, bearing a strong likeness to the 1 An example is his use of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz’s Amor es más laberinto. See Perkins, 2001: 130-47. 2 3 Portuguese king and court, are both mocked and helped by their servants through the labyrinth of love, to a happy outcome. Although the zarzuela was, by the early eighteenth century, very Italianate, it cannot be assumed that Spanish music theatre was his sole source. His librettos have reflections of seventeenth-century Italian opera, that is, before the reforms in drama carried out by Zeno and Metastasio (Brito, 1989: 107). The obvious conduit for this knowledge must have been the Roman-trained composer, António Teixeira, who wrote the score for at least four of the operas. This dual provenance, Spanish and Italian, of the precursors to Da Silva’s Precipício de Faetonte may be traced a little more closely, albeit briefly here. In his study of the Phaeton myth in Spanish literature, Antonio Gallego Morrell shows how in Garcilaso de la Vega’s hands the youth became the symbol of mad audacity and of impossible love (Morrell, 1961: 37). These aspects are picked up by Calderón de la Barca, in his Comedia famosa, El hijo del Sol, Faetón. Along with the complicated stage machinery, music and singing, came that indispensable ingredient of the cape- and-sword comedy, the love intrigue. The rivalry that Ovid sketched, of Epaphus and Phaeton, is constructed by Calderón into rivalry in love, with jealousy one of the hinges of the action (Morrell, 1961: 47-48). Also, although Calderón’s plethora of nymphs and sirens do not feature in the puppet opera (partially no doubt because of the technical limitations), there is one Calderonian personage – referred to in dialogue but who does not appear on stage – who features prominently in the Portuguese work, the magician Fíton (Calderón de la Barca, 1770: n.p.). If we turn to opera, we see that from its earliest days, circa 1600, the plots were drawn from the Ancient World. Thus, myth and opera have always gone hand in hand. Originally exclusive to a courtly environment, opera was intended to provide not only 3 4 spectacular audio-visual entertainment but also a message and a resolution of conflict. In the words of Manfred Bukofzer: The libretti also clearly indicated the courtly purpose in their themes as well as in their form. Heroes of mythology or ancient history were shown in the stereotyped conflict between honor and love as thinly disguised allegories of the ruling monarch, especially so in France. The customary prologues addressed the ruler directly in the so-called licenza which established the link between the occasion and the topical action. Since the hero represented the monarch, a tragic ending would not have corresponded to the bienséance so that the tragedy was usually brought to a happy ending by the sudden appearance of a deus ex machina. (Bukofer, 1977: 395) The differences between the court opera, commercial (or public) opera and middle-class (or comic opera), and how they evolved cannot be traced here, but two aspects may be signalled (Bukofzer again): The libretti of both the court and commercial operas presented not individual characers but fixed psychological types driven by two affections: ambition and love. […] Since Monteverdi’s Poppea the commercial opera preferred characters taken from history to the mythological heroes of the court opera. […] Whether gods or heroes, they always behaved like Venetians of the seventeenth century. (Bukofzer, 1977: 396) Donald Jay Grout’s engaging introduction to Alessandro Scarlatti’s operas gives several pointers to what we can see in Da Silva’s work. First, elements of pastoral and comedy were common ingredients in the serious drama, with the comic scenes coming at certain definite spots, at the end of acts; second, as far as the personages are concerned, there are three distinct social classes –and here I cite elliptically: 1) rulers – kings, princes, generals, chieftains – always shown as wielding despotic power over everyone else in the cast […]; 2) courtiers, ministers, and confidants, male or female, all belonging to what may be called the middle noble status, some of them loyal to their ruler, some treacherous, as might be required for weaving of the plot; 3) servants, who in turn are of two separate classes: (a) attendants, usually faithful and devoted to their immediate superiors, and (b) at the bottom of this social ladder a pair of servants, typically a man (usually a bass) and a woman or boy, who appear only sporadically in the serious portions of the opera but who always have the comic scenes wholly to themselves. […] Within the group of the serious characters, there are always at least two pairs of lovers; the comic servants will make still a third pair […] Disguises are an indispensable feature of these operas; without them, the whole plot would fall to pieces before it ever got started and they are always perfectly impenetrable.[…] As for the happy ending, all the couples are finally sorted out. This consummation is usually brought about […] by the last-minute intervention of the ruler, in an exemplary act of renunciation inspired by pity and greatness of soul. The well-known figure of the ‘magnanimous tyrant’ in these dramas is not an arbitrary or merely fashionable 4 5 convention: it is a symbol. The king, in the social hierarchy of Scarlatti’s time, was the secular representative of God. It was in high conformity to that divine model that he should be represented as displaying his mighty power chiefly in the showing of mercy and pity. […]. (Grout, 1979: 7-9) As we shall see, Da Silva echoes this basic format, and cast list, but his purposes were satiric. Within the boundaries of the love intrigue, the librettos as a group are full of ambiguous hints and criticism of tyranny, rigid class distinctions, arbitrary justice and social mores, offset by unambiguous ribaldry. The targets of his satire in fact hark back to the power relations contemporaneous with early opera seria, even though he is writing in the eighteenth century.