1

Phaeton’s Downfall and Afterwards:

love, ambition and magic in António José da Silva’s last puppet

Dr. Juliet Perkins

King’s College London

We start with Ovid, because we must, because so many poems, plays and 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,

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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 , duets, ensembles and , 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.

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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 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

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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 , even though he is writing in the eighteenth century. Reinhard Strohm, whilst pointing out that there always had been a solid alliance between opera and political absolutism, characterizes the change: ‘the dramma per musica aimed at social modelling rather than the self- glorification of power as it had done in the preceding century, but in representing rulers who conformed to general human norms, it helped to legitimize their actual power’

(Strohm, 1997: 6). This question is relevant to Da Silva’s attitude towards D. João V, his court and ministers, who were his covert targets.

In Portugal, opera began to be introduced only in the 1730s, following in the footsteps of musical entertainments on mythological subjects performed at court and in the private houses of the nobility. From Manuel Carlos de Brito’s chronological table of intermezzi, zarzuelas, fiestas armónicas and serenatas, comedias and other types of spoken drama with music, performed in the first half of the eighteenth century, we see nothing but mythological titles (for example, Fabula de Acis y Galatea, Fabula de

Alfeo y Aretusa, Atis & Cybelle, Triunfos de Ulysses & Gloria de Portugal, Il sacrifizio di Diana, Le nozze di Baco e d’Arianna). The first opera to be performed at Court was the comic La pazienza di Socrate, in 1733, whilst it would take till December 1735 for there to be the first public performance of an opera seria (Farnace, composed by

Gaetano Maria Schiassi) (Brito, 1989: 123-30). By this time, Da Silva’s third puppet

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opera, and his first on a mythological theme, was nearing the end of its season of

performances (Monfort, 1972: 584).

In terms of sources for Precipício de Faetonte, apart from Calderón, I am not

prepared to rule out (as does José Oliveira Barata) a French influence, in the shape of

Quinault’s for Lully’s Phaeton (Barata, 1998: 105). This tragedy, performed in

1683, could serve if not as a model, at least as a reference point. But Barata’s

suggestion of Melchor Fernández de León’s Ycaro y Dedalo as a source is apposite, as

may also be Villamediana’s Fabula de Faetón.2 These works, like Calderón’s, end with

Phaeton’s death.

Evidence that the theme of Phaeton’s downfall was going the rounds in Da

Silva’s day comes in two contemporary poems by Tomás Pinto Brandão, a sonnet and a

romance, both titled ‘Ao despenho de Phaetonte’, in his Pinto Renascido, Empennado e

Desempennado: Primeiro Voo, first published in Lisbon in 1732. Both have the

information, ‘foy assumpto Academico’, thus linking their composition to a session of a

literary academy (Brandão, 1753: 23 and 306-08).

All of Da Silva’s libretti on mythological themes steered an ambiguous path between legitimizing and criticizing power. Far from this being due solely to the writer’s ambiguous and Janus-like position in a slippery world of arbitrary justice and religious conformity (a view well argued in Silveira, 1992: 51-75), one might contend that he is working to disrupt, if not break, the ideological alliance between opera and political absolutism to which Strohm refers. Critical opinion has suggested that his

librettos display Enlightenment thinking and bourgeois values, expressed by

marionettes who could freely speak what actors could not (Furter, 1964: 51-75).

2 Although I have not yet studied León’s work in depth, I can vouch for its having a bearing on Da Silva’s Labirinto de Creta: it also begins with a shipwreck, and soon afterwards, Dedalo tells his story to Periandro and Pindaro, in rather the same terms as the Portuguese Dédalo narrates his to Teseu and his servant, Esfuziote (León, 1704: 456-58).

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However, although puppet theatre elsewhere in Europe was connected with subversion, freedom of expression and bourgeois aspirations, this was not yet the case in 1730s

Portugal. Nor is it clear from the scores that the musical items serve a parodic function in relation to Italian opera seria (the view of Carvalho, 1993: 35-36). We have no information about the Puppet House audience but we can be sure that it included sections of the nobility, among them the intelligent and cultured Francisco Xavier de

Meneses, fourth Count of Ericeira.3 And there would hardly be any point in providing subplots featuring servants if there were no members of the lower orders present to enjoy their native and salty wit.

In order to appreciate the particular changes that Da Silva makes to the myth, it is helpful to put oneself in the theatre, reading the ‘Argumento’ at the start of the libretto while waiting for the curtain to rise. Typical audience bait, it sketches out the situation, identifies the love intrigue, but gives no hint of the final outcome:

Tages, irmão de Tirreno, rei de Itália, usurpa este reino, o qual pertence a Egéria, ninfa do Erídano e filha de Tirreno. Faetonte, filho do Sol e reputado por filho de um pastor de Tessália, vendo o retrato de Egéria, rendido lhe tributa o seu amor; e, para melhor o dar a conhecer a Egéria, sai de Tessália e se ocupa na Itália em acções do agrado desta ninfa; por cuja causa sai de Tessália o mágico Fíton em seguimento de Faetonte, para o desviar deste amor, porquanto ainda neste tempo ignorava Faetonte o seu verdadeiro pai, e Fíton lhe receava a ruína, quando o chegasse a conhecer. Estabelecido Faetonte nos agrados de Egéria, esta, para restaurar o reino pelas acções daqueles que a pretendiam, para este fim usa ocultamente prometer a mão de esposa a Mecenas e a Faetonte, em que consistem os maiores lances desta história. – Albano, príncipe de Ligúria, pretende ser esposo de Ismene, filha de Tages. Este, quando Faetonte se declara filho do Sol, o pretende para esposo de Ismena e para o de Egéria a Albano, os quais fingidamente se declaram amantes com a ferida dos zelos. Aparece Apolo e declara a Faetonte por seu filho. Este lhe pede faculdade para girar na carroça do Sol. Resiste Apolo: porém, instando Faetonte, lho concede, e este, depois, à vista de Egéria, se vê precipitado no Erídano. – O mais se verá no contexto da história. (Silva, 1958: 93)

[Tages, brother of Tirreno, King of Italy, usurps this kingdom, which belongs to Egéria, nymph of the Eridanus and Tirreno’s daughter. Faetonte, son of the Sun and reputed to be a Thessalian shepherd’s son, sees the portrait of Egéria and is smitten with love. In order to get to know Egéria better, he leaves Thessaly and in Italy sets about getting into the good graces of the nymph. For that reason, the magician Fíton leaves Thessaly in pursuit of Faetonte, to divert him from that love, because at that time Faetonte still did not know who his real father was, and Fíton feared his ruin when he came to know her. With Faetonte established in Egéria’s good favour, she, in order to be restored to her kingdom through the actions of those wooing her, to this end secretly promised her hand in marriage to Mecenas and to Faetonte, which constitutes the critical moments of this story. Albano, Prince of Liguria, hopes to be the husband of Ismene, daughter of Tages. When Faetonte

3 Evidence is found in the Évora Diário, 4 February 1738. BPE Cod. CIV/1-8 d. See Perkins, 2004: 67.

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declares himself to be the sun of the Sun, Tages puts him forward as the betrothed of Ismene, and Albano as the betrothed of Egéria; they, pricked by jealousy, secretly declare their love. Apolo appears and declares Faetonte to be his son. The latter begs to be allowed to drive the sun chariot. Apolo resists. However, at Faetonte’s insistence, he grants this to him, and Faetonte, then, witnessed by Egéria, is dashed headlong into the Eridanus. The rest will be seen in the context of the story.]

Leaving behind this plot summary, there are several aspects that differentiate Da Silva’s

approach to the myth. First, he adjusts it to a typically operatic world, where the characters

are driven by the affections of love, jealousy and ambition. Second, the climactic episode of

Phaeton’s chariot ride receives sketchy treatment here and is subordinated to the love

intrigue. Third, this Phaeton gets a second chance and is brought back to life. Fourth, he ends

up marrying Egéria, the usurped heiress to the throne of Italy who, in a version of the rex restitutus motif, is given back her kingdom.4 Fifth, he introduces extra characters, a pair of

suitors for the daughter and niece of Tages, a pair of servants, and a magician.

In common with the ‘Argumentos’ of the other mythological operas, there is no

indication of the role played by the servants, nor that they will provide the humour. This is

perhaps appropriate in the case of Precipício de Faetonte for it is the most serious of the

eight. There looms over it an atmosphere of uncertainty that is unsettling. Magic is not a

benign or comic force, but associated with danger.

The curtain rises on a pastoral setting by the banks of the River Erídanus, with Faetonte

telling Egéria that despite his status as a shepherd, he believes he is destined for greater

things. Warming to this display of ambition, she then tells him her story and enlists his help

in assassinating Ismene, usurper of her throne and of Prince Albano, formerly her suitor, who

has rejected her now that she is disinherited.

The mainspring of the confusions to come is Faetonte’s servant, the gracioso Chichisbéu.

Following his madman of a master to Italy but losing him in the woods around the Erídanus,

4 This motif featured previously in Labirinto de Creta, where a defeated King Minos is handed back his kingdom by a magnanimous Theseus. The restitution of Minos’ kingdom is also seen in Amor es más laberinto (see Perkins, 2001: 130-47).

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he stumbles across the clothing and book of magic discarded by the magician, Fíton, also in

Italy in pursuit of Faetonte, and wishing to remain anonymous. No sooner has Chichisbéu put on the clothes and poked his nose inside the book than the King’s soldiers arrive with their general, Mecenas. They take him for the famous magician they have heard is in Italy and are

pursuing. However, the fact that the servant is taken as a magician means that he cannot the

conquer the heart of Egéria's maidservant, Chirinola. During the course of the action, it is

only she who maintains an aversion to and distrust of magic, and their wooing is comically

hampered by her disbelief in Chichisbéu’s real identity. For Chirinola, magic and witchcraft

are not proof of love but of unreliability. In accordance with the more seria nature of this

opera, the gracioso is more passive in Faetonte than in the previous operas. Despite being the

instigator of the confusion, Chichisbéu is less the agent of the action than an observer; he is

even the plaything of fate, given that no one will believe him when he says that he is not the

magician. He merely adds comedy to a situation full of doom but is unable to prevent it. King

Tages, Prince Albano and Mecenas, on the other hand, are happy to consult Chichisbéu and

take his pronouncements at face value, especially when it suits them.

Serious consequences come from the King’s gullibility. Believing the magician, he

also believes in marvels. Just as his daughter and Albano are about to be wed in the temple of

Hymen, the altar flame goes out. Dismissing Albano’s pretty conceit of an explanation (that

the brightness of his love outshines Hymen’s light) and Chichisbéu’s comical explanation,

that the wick has run out (Silva, 1958: 159), the King then allows the latter to give the real

explanation in private. By now, Chichisbéu has realized that, as the magician upon whose

interpretations people depend, he is in danger. Thus he explains that the flame going out was

a sign that Apolo wanted Faetonte to be his son-in-law. The King justifies his change of mind

about the best husband for his daughter to Faetonte in these terms:

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como o obedecer aos deuses é primária obrigação de um monarca, mal poderei resistir aos mudos preceitos de Apolo, teu pai: pois é sua vontade que Ismene seja tua esposa, e não de Albano (Silva, 1958: 165)

[as obedience to the gods is a monarch’s primary obligation, I can hardly resist the silent precepts of Apollo, your father: since it is his wish that Ismene become your wife and not Albano’s]

With these, and many similar lines of dialogue, the message comes over loud and clear

that mortals are subject to the gods. Within the context of Portugal’s absolutist regime,

these clichéd sentiments reach out further: the whimsical yet God-fearing Tages bears

comparison with D. João V. With this critical stance, Da Silva turns the ideological

base of opera – its alliance with political absolutism – against itself. The rejected

Albano swears to counter the King’s ambition, which has ruined his chance of

happiness, by his own princely force: ‘[…] se me usurpaste a ventura com a esposa

injustamente, eu justamente te arrancarei com o ceptro a ambição;’ [if you have

unjustly usurped my happiness and my wife, I shall justly wield my sceptre to tear your

ambition from you] (Silva, 1958: 169).

The confusions pile up, as Chichisbéu then admits he made up the story that

Faetonte was the son of the Sun. As far as he knows, Faetonte is still a shepherd. This

gives hope to Albano that his previous betrothal will stand, and he can marry Ismene.

The latter berates Faetonte for driving a wedge between her and Albano, and moralizes

that ‘o muito voar nao é meio eficaz para subir, mas motivo infalível para um

ambicioso se abater.’ [soaring flight is not a good way of rising, rather a sure means for

an ambitious man to be brought down] (Silva, 1958: 184) Now it is the turn of the King

to ask Albano’s forgiveness for his injustice and restore Ismene to him.

Thinking that he is acting in the best interests, Fíton betrays Faetonte by

informing Tages that the youth is merely a shepherd. Faetonte draws a dagger on the

magician, which concentrates his mind wonderfully, so that he admits that he really is

the son of Apolo, and urges him to call upon his father. This he does. It is noteworthy

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that their dialogue here, when Faetonte asks for the privilege of driving the sun chariot,

to the dismay of Apolo, uses phrases from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Also of interest is

the fact that it is in recitative, which in Spanish musical theatre was reserved for the

dialogue of the gods.5 Apolo’s palace is revealed, and he makes a descent on a cloud (a

‘glory’) to which Faetonte ascends. The only witness to this is Fíton.

Just as Faetonte is admiring the view from his celestial vantage point in the

chariot, and spotting the waters of the Erídanus to which Egéria has retired in sorrow,

he finds that the horses have got out of control. Not surprisingly, he thinks, since they

are guided by his own unhappiness. The sun chariot is hit by the thunderbolt, and

Faetonte falls into the arms of Egéria. She hopes that her tears will wash out the stain of

his inconstancy, so is horrified to find that he is dead. With Faetonte’s death, Fíton has nothing to hide so he reveals his own identity to the King, explains that Faetonte is

Apolo’s son and describes how he was taken heavenwards in great majesty in order to drive the sun chariot.

Fíton laments that all his wisdom and knowledge could not prevent Faetonte’s

misfortune but rather provoked the downfall he tried to prevent. He reassures the King

that Apolo will not punish his insulting Faetonte, with the remark that punishment

presupposes the awareness of guilt. This is a revealing comment in the light of Da

Silva’s own experience, languishing in prison without being charged until such time as

the Inquisition built up a case against him.6 As I have argued elsewhere, he had had

plenty of experience of the Inquistion’s legal processes, and of civil law, before his

arrest, and worked similar hints into his previous operas (Perkins, 1998: 1227-33).

Indeed, Fíton’s confidence in Apolo is answered by the appearance of the god.

Not surprisingly, the confused scenario resulting from the twists and turns of the plot,

5 See Stein, 1993. 6 It is tempting to see this remark as having been written after his arrest in October 1737, but the Inquisition records do not reveal whether he had access to writing materials in the Estaus prison.

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the capricious and ambitious nature of King Tages, the actions of the hapless

Chichisbéu, can only be resolved by the deus ex machina. Unlike Ovid’s Phoebus,

powerless to help his son, this Apolo grants his son, already a demigod, a new life,

resusscitating him in order to unite him with Egéria. But more awaits Faetonte than

being metamorphosed into the husband of a river nymph. Apolo dispenses the good

fortune politically, by decreeing that Ismene marry Albano to reign over Liguria, whilst

Faetonte and Egéria will reign over Italy and the Eridanus. The King, once again, has to

accept the god’s precepts, and confirm the rights of Egéria in the succession. His

apologies to Faetonte for offences caused are accepted with suitable graciousness.

Da Silva, then, has taken advantage of myth’s everlasting elasticity (a phrase by

J.A. Symonds, cited in Ruthven, 1976: 4) to adapt a story of failure to an absolutist age.

However, it is not the monarch who restores order through his magnanimity (an ironic broadside, perhaps at D. João V’s nickname of ‘Magnanimous’), but the god Apolo who restores the rightful heiress to her throne. The heavens have shown themselves to be just after all, and Apolo acts in conformity with his attributes of harmony, reason and justice, Enlightenment qualities all (Perkins, 2004: 118).

Far from the over-ambitious, failed protagonist of Quinault’s tragedy,

Calderón’s comedia and Villamediana’s Fábula, this Faetonte has made the inverse

journey from that of his mythical predecessor: from the abyss of humbleness, to the

glory of being enthroned by Apolo and divinizing monarchy. Nothing could be further

from Ovid’s story, nor from the Baroque tendency to moralize the myth, than this

restoration of Faetonte’s life and fortune. But as it is the happy ending to an opera, the

final chorus stresses marriage. Faetonte shines in glory as a bridegroom. Although the

comedia would obviously provide the model in this respect, the abovementioned

Spanish works do not provide the ideological approach, rather the dramatic structure,

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characters and portions of dialogue. My conclusion is that Da Silva looked elsewhere for his inspiration. My recent findings in relation to his Anfitrião, ou Júpiter e Alcmena

support the hypothesis that an Italian opera lies behind his innovations. Among

Alessandro Scarlatti’s operas is one entitled Il Fetonte. When I can lay my hands on the

libretto, that is where I shall search next.

Bibliography

Manuscript sources:

BNL COD 1380

BPE Cod. CIV/1-8d.

Printed sources:

Barata, José Oliveira (1998), História do Teatro em Portugal (Séc. VIII): António José

da Silva (o Judeu) no Palco Joanino, Algés: Difel.

Brandão, Tomás Pinto (1753), Pinto Renascido, Empennado, e Desempennado:

Primeiro Voo, 2nd edn, Lisbon; 1st pub. 1732.

Brito, Manuel Carlos de (1989), ‘A Música Profana e a Ópera no tempo de D. João V.

Vários factos e alguns argumentos’, Claro-Escuro. Revista de Estudos Barrocos, 2-3

(May-Nov.), pp. 105-18.

Bukofzer, Manfred F. (1977), Music in the Baroque Era, London: J.M. Dent & Sons,

reprint; 1st pub. 1947.

Calderón de la Barca, Pedro (1770), Comedia famosa. El hijo del Sol, Faeton [c.1638],

Madrid.

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Carvalho, Mário Vieira de (1993), Pensar é Morrer, ou O Teatro de São Carlos,

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