The Spanish Lamento: Discourses of Love, Power, and Gender in the Musical Theatre (1696–1718)

by

Maria Virginia Acuña

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of PhD Musicology Graduate Department of Music University of Toronto

© Copyright by Maria Virginia Acuña 2016

The Spanish Lamento: Discourses of Love, Power, and Gender in the Musical Theatre (1696–1718)

Maria Virginia Acuña

Doctor of Philosophy

Graduate Department of Music University of Toronto

2016 Abstract

Weeping male characters dominated lamenting scenes in the mythological zarzuela during the tumultuous years surrounding the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14).

Always played by a woman en travesti, the lamenting male became a stock character in this musical genre, entertaining audiences while allegorically reflecting Madrid’s elite at the turn of the eighteenth century. This dissertation uncovers an as yet unexplored proliferation of male laments in staged drama of the period while addressing a cross-dressing phenomenon in the zarzuela, an aspect that has until now received little attention.

Extant zarzuelas from the period 1696–1718 form the core of the dissertation. I explore lamenting traditions in this repertory in relation to contemporary cross-dressing practices, and to contemporary philosophical, literary, gender, and medical discourses.

Among the numerous male laments occurring in this repertory, I identify two types: Cupid’s laments, and their allegorical representation of the Spanish monarch and of his struggle for power, and male amorous complaints as a manifestation of philosophical perceptions about love. Finally, discourses of gender inequality are revealed in the analysis of the few female laments appearing in the genre. I suggest that a proliferation of male lamentos during this

ii period is symptomatic of the political tensions felt at court. Moreover, I contend that the male lyrical voice that had long dominated the tradition of amorous suffering found a safe conduit for theatrical and lamenting expression in the female performer. Women’s voices and bodies softened the dangerous overtones of feminization carried in the male lamento, thus allowing the lamenting male to become widely accepted. An examination of the zarzuela and its laments helps bring a rich literary, theatrical, and musical tradition into the mainstream while illuminating an under-explored period in the history of Spanish music.

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Acknowledgments

As I write these lines, I am overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude for many people who have accompanied me in the course of writing this dissertation. I am incredibly grateful to my advisors, Caryl Clark and Sanda Munjic, two brilliant scholars and exceptional human beings. I would like to thank Caryl, who provided me with an intellectually inspiring research environment over the years and who has offered me no end of encouragement and motivation. I thank Sanda for introducing me to amorous theories and to the literature of suffering love, and for providing unfailing assistance, guidance, and constructive criticism.

Thank you both for pushing me to work hard, for challenging me, and for inspiring me, while also offering so much warmth, kindness, and support. I would also like to thank the other members of my advisory committee, Sherry Lee and Mary Ann Parker, for their comments, recommendations, and stimulating conversations. Thanks also to Gregory Johnston for his thoughtful observations and suggestions. A special thanks to Elizabeth Le Guin from The

University of California Los Angeles who was a thorough, generous, and insightful reader of this dissertation as its external examiner. Also, I wish to thank my undergraduate and master’s advisor at The University of British Columbia, Gregory Butler, for always supporting me in my choice to research Spanish theatre music and for encouraging me to apply to PhD programs.

I would like to acknowledge the financial support received from The University of

Toronto in the form of a doctoral fellowship and a doctoral completion grant, and from the

Social Sciences Research Council of Canada in the form of a Joseph Armand Bombardier

Canada Graduate Student Doctoral Scholarship. The archival research that informs this

iv dissertation was conducted under the auspices of the American Musicological Society and the

School of Graduate Studies at The University of Toronto. I am grateful for the opportunity they gave me to travel to Portugal and Spain.

During the course of my archival work in Évora and Madrid, several archivists offered their assistance. In particular, I would like to thank José Chitas and Maria Jacinta

Penha Canelas at the Biblioteca Pública de Évora and Victoria Mas García in the Sala

Barbieri in the Biblioteca Nacional de España.

Several colleagues in Spain welcomed me to the field with open arms during my early years of doctoral research: Paulino Capdepón Verdú, Juan José Pastor Comín, Antonio

Martín Moreno, Gordon Hart, María Asunción Flórez, and Álvaro Torrente. Thank you all for sharing your knowledge with me and for supporting me in my research. A special thanks to María Asunción Flórez for so many stimulating conversations.

I am grateful to friends and colleagues that supported me in various stages of this dissertation: Adana Whitter, Mark Atherton, Kamila Pelka, Tatiana Ramírez, Martin Ritter,

Cary García, Kimberley Beck, Christina Hutten, Mary-Claire Gervasoni, Erin Scheffer, and

Lysianne Boulva. Thank you for patiently listening to me talk about my research, for offering me your company and support, for checking in to make sure that I was surviving deadlines as well as other stressful moments of graduate school, and for understanding my moments of absence. Thanks also to Christina Hutten for proofreading my music transcriptions and to

Kamila Pelka for offering editorial suggestions of my manuscript. Any remaining errors are, of course, my own.

I would like to thank my mother and father, Eleonora Michalko and Marcelo Acuña, and my sister, Gabriela Sismann, for their never-ending support throughout this project and for always being my biggest allies. I love you all more than I can say.

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I owe a special thank you to my loving husband, Macklin McFadyen Hill, who, as always, has been a pillar for me to lean on. Thank you for encouraging me to keep working all those times that I felt defeated and for always believing that I could do this. This project would not have been possible without your love and support. Thanks also to our wonderful son, Liam, who arrived at the beginning of this dissertation, making it even more challenging to complete, but whose hugs, kisses, and laughter kept me sane throughout this project.

This dissertation is dedicated to you both.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments ...... iv

Table of Contents ...... vii

List of Tables ...... ix

List of Musical Examples ...... x

List of Figures ...... xiii

List of Appendices ...... xiv

Introduction Reconstructing the Lamento in the Spanish Mythological Zarzuela ...... 1

Chapter 1 The Early Zarzuela and the Rise of the Spanish Lamento ...... 26

1 Introduction ...... 26 1.1 Behind the Scenes: Origins and Creators ...... 28 1.1.1 The Fiesta Cortesana ...... 29 1.1.2 The Zarzuela ...... 33 1.1.3 The Solo Tonada ...... 35 1.2 The Early Lamento in Spanish Theatre ...... 37 1.2.1 Lamenting Nymphs in the Early Zarzuela ...... 42 1.2.2 Lamenting Male Deities (Venir el amor al mundo) ...... 55 1.3 The Stage: Theatre Companies and Performers ...... 62 1.3.1 Theatre Troupes and the Tercera Dama (Third Lady) ...... 62 1.3.2 Female and Transvestite Performance ...... 65

Chapter 2 Omnia Vincit Amor?: Love, Cupid, and Allegories of Monarchic Misgivings ...... 74

2 Introduction ...... 74 2.1 Performance History: Productions and Female Performers ...... 84 2.2 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music ...... 91 2.2.1 The Stage: Pedagogy and Power under the Guise of Cupid ...... 91 2.2.2 The Audience: Power and Gender Subtexts in Cupid’s Laments ...... 137

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Chapter 3 “With Tears I Complain about Thee”: Male Amorous Complaints and Lovesickness ...... 141

3 Introduction ...... 141 3.1 Performance History ...... 152 3.1.1 Performance Spaces, Patrons and Audiences ...... 152 3.1.2 Female Performers and Performances of Masculinity ...... 157 3.2 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music ...... 163 3.2.1 The Stage: Discourses of Lovesickness and Social Hierarchies ...... 163 3.2.2 The Audience: Character Identification with the Lamenting (Fe)Male ...... 208

Chapter 4 The Beloved’s Lament: Female Chastity, Beauty, and Jealousy ...... 218

4 Introduction ...... 218 4.1 Silenced Voices ...... 226 4.1.1 The Appropriation of Female Suffering ...... 229 4.2 The Beloved’s Lament ...... 234 4.2.1 Performance History ...... 235 4.3 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music ...... 240 4.3.1 The Stage: Songs of Death and Transformation ...... 240 4.3.2 The Audience: Discourses of Female Vice and Virtue ...... 261

Conclusion Parody and Popularity of the Lamento ...... 263

5 Introduction ...... 263 5.1 Acis y Galatea (1708) ...... 264 5.1.1 Introduction ...... 264 5.1.2 The “Effeminate” Shepherd: The Inversion of Order in Acis y Galatea ...... 267 5.2 Epilogue ...... 279

Bibliography ...... 283

Appendices ...... 297

viii

List of Tables

Table 1 List of zarzuelas and their laments examined in this dissertation, including names and gender of the lamenting characters, number and types of laments per work, and the recipient for each work...... 6

Table 2 Third ladies specializing in the sung roles of leading mythological characters (period 1698–1711). Documented roles; male characters are emphasized...... 160

Table 3 Lamenting characters that appear in the zarzuelas examined in this dissertation. Special emphasis placed on the female lament...... 226

Table 4 Formal structure, key and metre in all the laments-estribillos or arias da capo-- discussed in Chapters 2 through 4...... 260

ix

List of Musical Examples

Example 1 Callisto's lament "Ay, desdichada...! in Alfeo y Aretusa (ca. 1670) ...... 46

Example 2 Oenone's lament "Peces, fieras, aves" in Los juegos olímpicos (1673) ...... 52

Example 3 Cupid's lament "Oíd mi gemido" in Venir el amor al mundo (1679) ...... 60

Example 4 Cupid’s "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo: Affective musical devices (Voice, vihuela de arco, continuo, mm. 1-9) ...... 102

Example 5 Cupid's "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo: Affective musical devices (Voice and continuo, mm. 59-64) ...... 103

Example 6 Cupid's "Ay, de mí" in Salir el amor del mundo: Repetitio (Voice and continuo, mm. 104-111) ...... 107

Example 7 Cupid’s "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto" in Apolo y Dafne (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-8) ...... 119

Example 8 Cupid’s "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto" in Apolo y Dafne: Pausa, descencio and repetitio (Voice and continuo, mm. 29-39) ...... 120

Example 9 Cupid's recitado "Valedme pero en vano" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Pausa (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-9) ...... 127

Example 10 Cupid's "Cuántos teméis al rigor" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Emphasis on "llorad" ("cry") (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 17-34) ...... 131

Example 11 Timantes’s "Frondoso laurel" in Selva encantada de amor: Sequential passage built on descending fifths (Violins, vihuela de arco and continuo, mm. 1-16) ...... 168

Example 12 Timantes’s "Frondoso laurel" in Selva encantada de amor: Repetitio, desencio, pausa and contrasting minor keys (Voice, vihuela de arco and continuo, mm. 55-65) ...... 169

x

Example 13 Argelao's "Ni soto, ni playa" in Selva encantada de amor: Rhythmic pattern, pausa, and emphasis on the words "Etna" and "lloro"(Voice and continuo, mm. 1-10) ...... 175

Example 14 Argelao's "Ni soto, ni playa" in Selva encantada de amor: Descending fifths and cadence (Voice and continuo, mm. 10-25) ...... 176

Example 15 Joante's "Si el susto, si el ansia" in Apolo y Dafne: Appogiatura figures in the vocal line, rests and bass rising by thirds (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-9) ...... 182

Example 16 Joante's "Si el susto, si el ansia" in Apolo y Dafne: Descending fifths and harmonic progressions (Voice and Continuo, mm. 9-23) ...... 184

Example 17 Jupiter's "Yo no puedo" in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Pausa, poetic metre and emphasis on the word "pesar" (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-8) ..... 195

Example 18 Jupiter's "Yo no puedo" in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Descending melodic lines, chromaticism and textual repetition (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 20-21) ...... 197

Example 19 Jupiter's "Auras suaves" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Descending fifths (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 68-77) ...... 207

Example 20 Jupiter's "Auras suaves" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Chromatic descents (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 84-92) ...... 207

Example 21 Daphne's "Adiós, selvas, adiós" in Apolo y Dafne (Voice, A4, violins and continuo, mm. 1-11) ...... 243

Example 22 Daphne's "Adiós, selvas, adiós" in Apolo y Dafne: Tonicizations, chromaticism and supension (Voice, A4, violins and continuo, mm. 23-39) ...... 245

Example 23 Clythie's "Ay, de mí santos cielos" in Hasta lo insensible adora: "Deeply felt" arioso section (Voice and continuo, mm. 38-44) ...... 249

Example 24 Scylla's "Ondas, riscos" in Veneno es de amor la envidia: Descending tetrachord (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-6) ...... 256

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Example 25 Scylla's "Ondas, riscos" in Veneno es de amor la envidia: Emphasis on key dramatic words (Voice, violins, and continuo, mm. 1-6) ...... 258

Example 26 Polyphemus’s “Dulce Galatea” in Acis y Galatea (Voice and continuo, mm.1-3) ...... 271

Example 27 Acis's "Quédate en paz, o divina Galatea" in Acis y Galatea (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-11) ...... 275

Example 28 Acis's "Quédate en paz, o divina Galatea": Use of pausa (Voice and continuo, mm. 12-15) ...... 276

xii

List of Figures

Figure 1 Mercury's costume. Francisco de Herrera the Younger, Los celos hacen estrellas, opening scene, act 2 (Detail) [Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 13217 Han.] ...... 69

Figure 2 Male outfit including a penacho and traje de toneletes in La fiera, el rayo y la piedra (Detail) [BNE, Mss/14614, Fol. 119] ...... 71

Figure 3 Carlos II y su madre ante el Alcázar (Print) [BNE, IH/5380/16] ...... 93

Figure 4 Formal analysis of Cupid's "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo. ... 100

Figure 5 Formal analysis of Cupid's "Ay, de mí" in Salir el amor del mundo...... 105

Figure 6 Verbatim transcription of the lament "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto." Text setting, musical sections, indications in the manuscript, and affect...... 117

Figure 7 Comparative analysis of the text of "Cuantos teméis al rigor" in all the extant sources...... 125

Figure 8 Formal structure of “Dulce Galatea” ...... 271

Figure 9 "Dulce Galatea": Text setting ...... 272

xiii

List of Appendices

Appendix 1 List of Documented Zarzuelas for the Period 1696–1718 ...... 292

Appendix 2 Description of the Sources ...... 302

Appendix 3 Transcriptions ...... 317

xiv 1

Introduction Reconstructing the Lamento in the Spanish Mythological Zarzuela

Spreading across seventeenth-century Europe like an unstoppable force, Italian opera found its way into the courts outside of Italy, including that of Madrid. Spain did not remain immune to the new style of fully sung theatre, yet it continued to privilege its own tradition of spoken drama. Thus, the new foreign genre was only partially adopted. The genre of the zarzuela—Spain’s quintessential form of music theatre—emerged as a compromise between the deep-rooted Spanish tradition of the spoken word and the new Italian type of dramma in musica.1

Myth, music, text, and drama merged to form the court genre of the mythological zarzuela in the mid-seventeenth century. In subsequent decades, the zarzuela underwent a series of changes as composers and dramatists—foremost among them Sebastián Durón

(1660–1716), Antonio Literes (1673–1747), José de Cañizares (1676–1750) and Antonio de

Zamora (1665–1727)—experimented with the genre. Under the patronage of the Habsburg monarch Charles II (r. 1665–1700) through the early reign of the Bourbon king Philip V (r.

1700–46) and the period associated with the growing internal tensions associated with the

War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14), the mythological zarzuela continued to be written

1 In the winter of 2010, during my first term as a PhD student at the University of Toronto and also shortly after presenting my first paper presentation on the composer Sebastián Durón in Spain, I attended my first zarzuela in Madrid: La del Soto del Parral (1927), performed at the Teatro de la Zarzuela. Accustomed to the traditional silence perceived in opera houses around the world, I was surprised to hear the audience in the theatre quietly sing along to well-known songs in the zarzuela. The elderly man sitting next to me, in particular, had a nice tenor voice and sang with such pride that I could not help but feel moved by his joy. Indeed, he was not alone; many Spaniards in the theatre were singing or tapping their hands or feet. This genre is, without a doubt, an emblem of Castilian culture within Spain, and of Spanish culture in general outside of Spain.

2 in two acts, alternating spoken dialogue with sung sections. Yet, while characters continued to interact in a pastoral and amorous setting, greater emphasis was placed on the depiction of extreme emotion and manifested through a proliferation of laments. The female lament, which had attained a prominent role in the early zarzuela, was eclipsed by one that peaked in the productions of zarzuelas between 1696 and 1718: the male lamento. Soon, every work in the genre during this period featured a climactic male lament, and in every case, a female actor-singer performed the role of the lamenting male character. This dissertation— interdisciplinary in nature—explores developments and transformations in theatrical lamenting traditions in the zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century in relation to cross- dressing practices, and to philosophical, medical, literary, and gender discourses.

Over the past few decades, research on the Spanish mythological zarzuela has expanded considerably. Spanish musicologist Emilio Casares Rodicio, who created the

Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales (ICCMU), has played an instrumental role in reconstructing the history of the zarzuela by editing the first dictionary on the genre as well as a great number of previously unpublished seventeenth- and eighteenth-century zarzuelas.2

The “Colección Música Escénica Española” of Ars Hispana, in addition, has also recently published the first modern editions of a few mythological zarzuelas from the turn of the eighteenth century.3 Spain has also produced an extensive music literature in the form of historical surveys of both the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries and of conference

2 Emilio Casares Rodicio, ed. Diccionario de la zarzuela: España e Hispanoamérica (Madrid: ICCMU, 2006). Zarzuelas and other staged dramas appear in the “Series A. Música Lírica” in the “Colección Música Hispana” published by ICCMU.

3 Ars Hispana makes all its editions available online. http://arshispana.com/publicaciones.htm

3 proceedings on musico-theatrical genres of the period.4 Yet, in spite of a few recent articles on the mythological zarzuela, there continues to be a gap in our understanding of the zarzuela that is, for the most part, due to the lack of in-depth studies on the genre.5 With two exceptions—William M. Bussey’s book on zarzuelas of the period 1700–1770 (1980) and

Louise Stein’s book chapter on early seventeenth-century zarzuelas (1993)—there are no comprehensive studies on the genre in either the English or the Spanish language.6 This obvious lacuna, particularly evident in Anglo-American music scholarship, helps explain why English-speaking music students and professors alike hesitate upon hearing the word

“zarzuela” in the context of early-modern music history. While many musicologists express interest in learning more about this genre and the rich cultural environment in which it

4 The most important history surveys are those by José López-Calo, Historia de la música española, 3: Siglo XVII (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1983); María Asunción Flórez, Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el Siglo de Oro (Madrid: ICCMU, 2006); and Antonio Martín Moreno, Historia de la música española, 4: Siglo XVIII (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 2006). The following conference proceedings contain valuable studies on theatre music including the zarzuela: Rainer Kleinertz, ed. Teatro y música en España: Siglo XVIII (Kasser: Reichenberger, 1996); Emilio Cásares Rodicio, and Álvaro Torrente, eds. La ópera en España e Hispanoamérica, vol 1 (Madrid: ICMMU, 1999); Malcolm Boyd, and Juan José Carreras, eds, La música en España en el Siglo XVIII (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), Paulino Capdepón and Juan José Pastor Comín, eds. Sebastián Durón (1660–1716) y la música de su época (Vigo, Galicia: Editorial Academia del Hispanismo, 2013).

5 The most recent articles on the zarzuelas of Durón, for example, appear in Sebastían Durón (1660– 1716) y la música de su época.

6 William M. Bussey’s French and Italian Influence on the Zarzuela: 1700–1770 (Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1980) explores the genre of the zarzuela through the lens of nationalism and its assessment of foreign versus local music practices. Chapter 2, “Foreign influence on the zarzuela during the late baroque,” includes a discussion of a few works by Durón and Literes explored throughout this dissertation. While Bussey’s book remains a valuable source for English-speaking readers, it presents two problems: first, the information regarding primary sources is out-dated, and second, the book contains several typos and errors that may confuse or misguide the reader (e.g., Juan Hidalgo: “Ay, infeliz!” is not from the zarzuela Los celos hacen estrellas, but rather from “Calderón’s opera Celos aun del aire matan, see p. 19). Louise K. Stein’s groundbreaking book Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods: Music and Theatre in Seventeenth-Century Spain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), in contrast, provides an insightful discussion of the early zarzuela and of other short musical plays of the early seventeenth century through 1690. Stein’s innovative and exhaustive research on Spanish music greatly inspired my interest in Spain’s early music theatre as an undergraduate student. Stein’s work on the zarzuela, as well as Antonio Martín Moreno’s exciting research on Sebastián Durón, in part led me to pursue a master’s degree in musicology at The University of British Columbia where, under the direction of Professor Gregory Butler, I completed a thesis entitled “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Composer Sebastián Durón (1660–1716).”

4 emerged, no recent secondary sources are available on this or any other musical aspect of

Spain at the turn of the eighteenth century. The same is true of the Spanish lamento. Because most existing literature focuses mainly on presenting a critical narrative of the history of

Spanish theatre music by examining lesser-known pieces and composers, the lament—which lies at the core of the mythological zarzuela—has not been studied in detail.

There is no entry for the term “lamento” in the Diccionario de música española e hispanoamericana, and what little literature there is on the subject is almost exclusively concerned with the seventeenth century.7 Louise Stein has examined several laments in seventeenth-century Spanish staged works.8 María Asunción Flórez, in her study of seventeenth-century Spanish music theatre, mentions a few of the same laments discussed by

Stein but does not go further in her analysis.9 Mila Espido-Freire’s article on the seventeenth- century lament, in contrast, constitutes perhaps the only study to focus specifically on this topic of inquiry.10 None of these authors, however, examine the laments that appear in the

7 The Diccionario de la música española e hispanoamericana, edited by Emilio Casares Rodicio, José López Calo, and Ismael Fernández de la Cuesta (Madrid: Sociedad General de Autores y Editores, 2000) with circa 30.000 entries, began as a project in 1988 between the Instituto de las Artes Escénicas y Música del Ministerio de Cultura and the Sociedad General de Autores de España. As Emilio Casares Rodicio states, the purpose of the dictionary was to “write a history of music in Spain and Latin America which would end the ignorance surrounding the Spanish and Latin American musical heritage, and its almost null presence on the international stage as well as its minimal diffusion.” (“era escribir una historia de la música en España e Hispanoamérica que permitiese acabar con el desconocimiento del patrimonio musical español e hispanoamericano, y, en consecuencia, su casi nula presencia internacional y su mínima difusión.”) See http://congresosdelalengua.es/valladolid/ponencias/activo_del_espanol /3_la_difusion_de_la_musica/casares_e.htm

8 Louise K. Stein, “La plática de los dioses,” in Pedro Calderón de la Barca: La estuatua de Prometeo, a critical edition by Margaret Rich Greer with a study of the music by Louise K. Stein, 13-92 (Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 1986) and Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods.

9 Flórez, Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias.

10 Mila Espido-Freire, “Los lamentos hispanos como tópicos semánticos,” in Campos interdisciplinares de la musicología, vol. II, ed. Begoña Lolo, V Congreso de la Sociedad Española de Musicología, Barcelona, 25-28 de Octubre de 2000, 1137-1153 (Madrid, Sociedad Española de Musicología, 2001). Espido-Freire’s article summarizes the characteristics of the Spanish lament and discusses those that appear in the works by court dramatist Juan Bautista Diamante (1625–87).

5 zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century, when male lamentos are at their peak. Thus, the gap in our knowledge of the zarzuela—the most important Spanish musico-theatrical genre of the turn of the century—also includes the lament, arguably one of the most dramatic and exploited musical scene in the zarzuela.

The purpose of this study is to examine a little-studied period in the history of Spain, piecing together, through detailed archival and analytical work, selected mythological zarzuelas from the turn of the eighteenth century and their laments. It begins with Sebastián

Durón’s first zarzuela for the court (1696) and ends with Antonio Literes’ last zarzuela for the public theatre (1718) immediately before the theatres underwent radical administrative reforms.11 The year 1718 further delimits this study as it roughly coincides with the death of the most influential composer of the time, Sebastián Durón (d. 1716), as well as with the end of an era shaped by ongoing wars, including the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14) and the War of the Quadruple Alliance (1718–20). Together with a new generation of composers in Madrid, the beginning of a new political era in Spain signals a change in the dramatic content and musical style of staged dramas of the period.12

In my master’s thesis entitled “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of

Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660–1716),” I explored the intersection of politics and music as well as the reception of Spanish music of this period

11 The seventeenth-century system of leasing the public theatres ended in 1719, thus affecting, among other things, the type of repertory performed. See Donald Curtis Buck, “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres during the Reign of Philip V,” Ph.D. diss. The University of Texas at Austin, 1980, 90.

12 José de Nebra (1702-68) is the most prominent Spanish composer of theatre music of his generation. Some of his works are discussed in Bussey’s French and Italian Influence on the Zarzuela: 1700-1770.

6 both outside and within Spain.13 Building on that study, this dissertation examines artistic and performance practices of Madrid at the turn of the eighteenth century through the lens of the lamento. It investigates Spanish music, theatre, and literature, as well as the discourses of love, power, social hierarchies, and gender articulated in the lament. Here, I examine sixteen laments that appear in nine zarzuelas of the period: Salir el amor del mundo (1696), Selva encantada de amor (ca. 1698), Apolo y Dafne (between 1701–04), Hasta lo insensible adora

(1704), El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710), Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1711), Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705; rev. 1711), Acis y

Galatea (1708), and Jupiter y Semele (1718) (See Table 1). These nine works represent almost the entire extant corpus of zarzuelas composed between 1696 and 1718. Other zarzuelas of the period survive in fragments only, and in many cases, the music is lost (See

Appendix 1: List of Documented Zarzuelas for the Period 1696–1718).

Table 1 List of zarzuelas and their laments examined in this dissertation, including names and gender of the lamenting characters, number and types of laments per work, and the recipient for each work.

Chapters TITLE LAMENTING NUMBER OF RECIPIENT AND in this CHARACTER LAMENTS AND AUDIENCE dissertation THEMES

2 Salir el amor del mundo MALE TWO: Charles II (1696) (Cupido) Defeat

2-4 Apolo y Dafne MALE THREE: The King? (between 1701–04) (Cupido & Defeat Joante) Lovesickness

FEMALE Transformation (Daphne)

13 This thesis explores the idea of political decadence vis-à-vis music and aims to explain why Durón’s music—and Spanish music of this period in general—was disregarded for so long both outside and within Spain. See María Virginia Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660–1716),” M.A. thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2010.

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3 Selva encantada de amor MALE TWO: Count of Oñate (ca. 1698) (Timantes & Argelao) Lovesickness

3 El imposible mayor en MALE ONE: The King? amor le vence amor (Jupiter) Lovesickness (ca. 1705)

2-3 Las nuevas armas de MALE TWO: The King? amor (ca. 1705) (Cupido & Defeat Jupiter) Lovesickness

4 Jupiter y Semele (1718) MALE TWO: Teatro de la Cruz (Jupiter) Semele’s death (Public theatre)

4 Veneno es de amor la FEMALE ONE: The Queen? envidia (ca. 1705) (Scylla) Transformation

4 Hasta lo insensible adora FEMALE ONE: Queen Maria Luisa (1704) (Clythie) Love and Jealousy

5 Acis y Galatea (1708) MALE TWO: Philip V (Polyphemus & Lovesickness Acis) Acis’s Death

Building on the existing scholarship on Spanish music and on the Italian operatic lament from which the Spanish theatrical lamento derives, the current study contributes to the field of musicology by advancing our knowledge of an exciting yet often overlooked period of Spanish music history. After all—and contrary to what is commonly understood about

Spain and Spanish music—Spain did not exist in isolation and was certainly not on the periphery of Europe’s cultural and artistic development. As in most other ruling European courts, patronage and cultural renewal were of great importance in the court in Madrid throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This is also true during the challenging years surrounding the Habsburg-Bourbon dynastic change in the early eighteenth century.

Looking into this period of political unrest, this study broadens our current understanding of the seventeenth-century Italian lament by expanding the frame of lamenting theatrical practices in a close cultural and geographical area. Namely, it introduces different traditions from those practiced in the Italian peninsula: first, this dissertation addresses an as yet unexplored cross-dressing phenomenon in the zarzuela, one in which female performers

8 interpret the role of lamenting males; and second, it uncovers a proliferation of male laments in staged drama of the period, an aspect that has until now r. Likewise, this study contributes to the field of Spanish literature by expanding our knowledge of theatre cross-dressing practices and deepening our understanding of the role of suffering love in the genre. Both play a significant part in the lamenting theatrical practices and discourses of the Spanish mythological zarzuela. An examination of the zarzuela and its laments helps bring a rich literary, theatrical, and musical tradition into the mainstream while illuminating a little- understood period in the history of Spanish music.

The Spanish Lamento within the existing literature of Music

Music scholars have long noted that the Spanish lamento blends Italian musical practices with autochthonous musical and theatrical traditions. One of the most distinctive features of the early seventeenth-century Italian lament that found its way into Spain is the ostinato descending tetrachord pattern.14 As Stein and Espido-Freire point out, this formula was used in Spain during the second half of the seventeenth century and, as this study will show, it continued into the early eighteenth century. Laments appearing in the staged dramas of the period 1650–1718—that is, from the creation of the mythological zarzuela to the year that delimits this study—sometimes feature a descending tetrachord in the bass line, but more often—and departing from Italian traditional practices—the pattern appears in the vocal line.

Originally set as coplas and estribillos (stanzas and refrains), Spanish laments also appear in

14 In her seminal article on the early Italian lament (1608-1660), Ellen Rosand describes the typical features of the genre, and in particular, its most distinctive musical feature: the ostinato descending tetrachord pattern. Ellen Rosand’s article has influenced all subsequent research on this topic: “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament.” The Music Quarterly 65, no. 3 (July, 1979): 346-59. Her most recent definition of the genre appears in Ellen Rosand. "Lamento." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed April 15, 2016, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/subscriber/article/grove/music/15904.

9 the form of Italian arias or ariettas towards the turn of the eighteenth century.15 A distinct characteristic throughout this period, one that is intimately connected to the long established tradition of spoken theatre in Spain, is the use of musical rhetorical devices to foreground the text, such as pausa and repetitio (pause and repetition).16 Particularly, the device of pausa becomes strongly associated with the lament as it becomes increasingly pronounced, to the point of exaggeration. Musical rests depicting sighs are used in the vocal line to single out specific words by isolating them from the vocal melody or to fragment an affective word by inserting rests within its syllables. This and other musical rhetorical devices are employed in conjunction with chromaticism, dissonances, slowly descending melodic phrases, suspensions, and various descending intervals. Also throughout the period, the lamento often appears in conjunction with the literary topos of the invocation. The invocation-lament, which Stein identifies in her study of seventeenth-century Spanish theatre music, persists in the mythological zarzuela of the early eighteenth century. A common feature in many invocations, the descending fifths sequence is used to move the deities it invokes. The perfect and consonant harmony allows the lamenting character to be in tune with the universe that surrounds him or her and to address the higher beings it invokes (i.e., deities, the elements) by using their own perfect and consonant language.17

15 The prevalent musical genre in seventeenth-century theatre music is the tonada, a type of song that consists of estribillos (refrains) and coplas (stanzas). While the first is usually in ternary metre, the latter is in common time.

16 The first Spanish musical treatise to discuss rhetorical figures is Pedro de Ulloa’s Música universal o principios universales de la música, published in 1717. The principal musico-rhetorical figures that Ulloa cites are: pausa, repetitio, gradatio, complexio, causa finalis, contrapositio, ascensio, descensio, circulatio, fuga, assimilatio, and abruptio repentino. See Pedro de Ulloa, Música universal o principios universales de la música (Madrid: Imprenta de Música Bernardo Peralta, 1717), 96-97.

17 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 240-43.

10

In addition to examining the lament at the turn of the eighteenth century, this study expands our understanding of the Spanish lament tradition by bringing into the Spanish sphere approaches from Italian opera scholarship, including the collaboration between performers and composers and issues of gender representation. Tim Carter and Emily

Wilbourne, for example, have established a possible working relationship between the composer and the performer of the lament. Both suggest that Monteverdi may have written the Lamento d’Arianna in collaboration with, or at least influenced by, Virginia Andreini, the singer and commedia dell’arte actress hired to sing the role. Andreini’s impressive dramatic skills may well have prompted Monteverdi to compose the famous lament.18 Suzanne Cusick,

Anne MacNeil, Susan McClary, and Wendy Heller, in contrast, discuss aspects of gender in relation to the lament.19 Cusick’s reading of Arianna’s lamento as indicative of female submission to patriarchal precepts is particularly enticing. According to Cusick, Arianna’s lament—as well as those by other lamenting female characters in early Italian operas—may be understood as the painful moment in which the character renounces her “self” so that she

18 Tim Carter, “Lamenting Ariadne?,” Early Music 27, No. 3, Laments (Aug., 1999): 395-405; Emily Wilbourne, “Reviving Arianna (1608): Claudio Monteverdi, Virginia Andreini, and the Popularization of Opera,” a paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Musicological Society in San Francisco, 2011. Wilbourne’s paper was particularly inspiring, and it marked a pivotal point in my approach to the Spanish laments. For the first time, I began to wonder who was performing these laments in Spain and what influence, if any, they had on the relatively sudden proliferation of male laments.

19 Suzanne G. Cusick, “Re-Voicing Arianna (And Laments): Two Women Respond,” Early Music 27, No. 3, Laments (Aug., 1999): 436-38+441-45+447-49 and “‘There Was Not One Lady Who Failed to Shed a Tear’: Arianna’s Lament and the Construction of Modern Womanhood,” Early Music 22, No. 1, Monteverdi II (Feb., 1994): 21-32+35-38+41-43; Anne MacNeil, “Weeping at the Water’s Edge,” Early Music 27, No. 3, Laments (Aug., 1999): 406-17; Susan McClary, “Constructions of Gender in Monteverdi’s Dramatic Music,” Cambridge Opera Journal 1, no. 3 (Nov., 1989): 203-23; Wendy Beth Heller, “Chastity, Heroism, and Allure: Women in the Opera of Seventeenth-Century Venice” Ph.D. dissertation (Brandeis University, 1995) and Emblems of Eloquence: Opera and Women’s Voices in Seventeenth-Century Venice” (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

11 can assume “her proper destiny in the marriage ideology of early modern Europe.”20

McClary notes that, indeed, women become the primary lamenters in Italian operatic traditions. The male lament probably fell out of use after Monteverdi’s Orfeo—the first

Italian lament in the operatic style—as it was considered effeminate and inappropriate for a man to express such extravagant pain. McClary suggests that “Monteverdi’s depiction of

Orfeo may well have precipitated a crisis of gender representation for the musical scene” and that “the ‘mistake’ was rarely repeated.”21 This hypothesis is particularly suggestive because, in Italy, male singers—both castrati and integri (non-castrated singers)—performed the roles of lamenting males.22 In Spain, however, castrati were not allowed to sing in the theatre. In fact, men did not perform sung roles in staged mythological dramas of the period. According to convention, female actor-singers performed all sung male roles. So while the male lament may seem have fallen out of favour in Italy for whatever reason during the seventeenth century, male laments flourished in the Spanish zarzuela from the turn of the eighteenth century. Notably, female performers sang the roles of all lamenting male characters. In addition to the work of these Italian opera scholars, María Asunción Flórez’s invaluable research on Spanish performers of the period has also greatly inspired my own research on

20 Suzanne G. Cusick, “‘There Was Not One Lady Who Failed to Shed a Tear’: Arianna’s Lament and the Construction of Modern Womanhood,” Early Music 22, No. 1, Monteverdi II (Feb., 1994): 35-36.

21 McClary, “Constructions of Gender in Monteverdi’s Dramatic Music,” 217.

22 It is important to note that in Italy both castrati and integri (non-castrated singers) performed male roles, including that of the lamenting male. This, of course, opens a new and fascinating debate regarding notions and discourses of masculinity in Italian opera, which unfortunately goes beyond the scope of this dissertation.

12 the Spanish female actor-singers specializing in laments during the period examined in this dissertation.23

In the zarzuela, female actor-singers played the roles of all mythological characters and thus—according to convention—they also sang all newly composed music, including lamentos. Mortal characters, as Stein demonstrates, spoke their lines and, at times, they sang a pre-existing popular tune to a new text. They did not, however, sing newly composed music, including laments.24 Traditionally, the first and second ladies (damas) and men

(galanes) in the theatre companies performed the spoken roles of the leading mortal characters, whereas the third and fourth ladies performed the sung roles of all deities, regardless of gender. As the zarzuela developed towards the end of the century and the presence of music increased, laments began to proliferate, as performed by “third ladies” or terceras damas. As their stature increased, they also acquired significant praise and fame. In many cases, the terceras damas were the “big ticket” stars in the zarzuela. During this period,

I have identified at least three third ladies specializing in the sung roles of leading mythological characters, and particularly, of lamenting male deities: Teresa de Robles, Paula

Maria, and Manuela de la Cueva. In this study, I explore the possibility that their vocal skills and their fame—as well as the Spanish theatrical practice of cross-dressing—may have contributed to the cultivation of the lament.

23 María Asunción Flórez’s extensive research on performers appears in her two books, Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el Siglo de Oro and Músicos de compañía y empresa teatral en Madrid en el siglo XVII (Kassel: Reichenberger, 2014), as well as in several bibliographical entries in the Diccionario Bibliografico Español (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2009).

24 In Songs of mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, Stein stresses this distinction between the immortal characters that sing newly composed music (e.g., recitatives) and the mortal characters that speak their lines or sing pre-existing popular tunes to new text.

13

Cross-dressing in the mythological zarzuela is another aspect that has been overlooked in musicological studies as well as in Spanish literary studies. While trouser roles in the spoken plays (comedias) of the Spanish Golden Age have been a common subject of inquiry in literature and theatre studies, the same roles in the mythological zarzuela have not received equal attention. Melveena McKendricks’s seminal study of women in Spanish

Golden Age theatre and society, for example, examines women dressed as men and other variants of the mujer varonil, a term used among Hispanists to describe the woman that transgresses social norms.25 According to McKendrick, the mujer varonil appropriates characteristics that are culturally ascribed to men and thus defies social and gender roles with her behaviour (for example, by refusing to marry) or by dressing as a man and disguising her female identity (for example, to be close to the man she loves).26 With a few exceptions, literary scholars continue to explore variations of the mujer varonil in the Spanish comedias of the two greatest dramatists of the seventeenth century—Lope de Vega (1562–1635) and

Calderón de la Barca (1600–81)—and of their contemporaries. In general, research centres on both the roles of female characters that adopt the identity of a male but invariably reveal their true nature at some point before the end of the play, and the performers playing these roles.

Almost exclusively, the leading lady in the theatre company, the primera dama (first lady),

25 Melveena McKendrick’s book Woman and Society in the Spanish Drama of the Golden Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974) expands on previous research on the subject including that of Carmen Bravo-Villasante. See La mujer vestida de hombre en el teatro español (Siglos XVI-XVII), (Madrid: Revista de Occidente, 1955).

26 In the preface of her book, McKendrick defines the mujer varonil in the following terms: “[she is] the woman who departs in any significant way from the feminine norm of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. She can take the form of the mujer esquiva who shuns love and marriage, the learned woman, the career woman, the female bandit, the female leader and warrior, the usurper of man’s social role, the woman who wears masculine dress or the woman who indulges in masculine pursuits. The cloak of varonilidad covers a wide range of behaviour and intention….but each variant marks a noticeable deviation from contemporary Spanish norm,” ix.

14 performed the role of the mujer varonil. Among the female actors of the era who specialized in this type of role were Francisca Baltasara, Manuela Escamilla, and Maria de Navas.27 Yet, the female performers who interpreted male roles in the zarzuela and in other mythological plays with music have been ignored. No studies on this type of role exist, perhaps because it does not fit the description of the conventional mujer varonil as it has been described and understood thus far: she is neither the first nor the second lady, but the third or fourth lady

(tercera or cuarta dama) in the company; she does not speak her lines like her female counterparts but sings her part; and her true female identity is never revealed, simply because cross-dressing is not a plot device in the zarzuela but rather a trait ingrained in the genre. This third lady, however, is key to understanding the figure of the lamenting male in Spanish music theatre as well as the discourses of male suffering that are articulated in the zarzuela.

As I will argue, the acceptance of the lamenting (fe)male—as well as the proliferation of this figure—depended precisely upon the performance practice of cross-dressing. The female performer mitigated the feminizing overtones of the lamenting male character, thus protecting Spanish masculinity.

To a greater or lesser extent, all of the laments discussed throughout this dissertation articulate this same view: love (the passion) is depicted as a source of pain, and Love (the character) is portrayed either as the embodiment of such passion or as an allegorical representation of the Spanish monarch. In order to analyze the laments as both a literary and a musical genre in the selected zarzuelas, I classify them according to three types: Cupid’s laments; male amorous complaints and lovesickness; and female laments. My analysis draws from the musicological and literary studies discussed above, as well as on recent studies on

27 Lola González, “La mujer vestida de hombre. Aproximación a una revisión del tópico a la luz de la práctica escénica” Aiso, Actas VI (2002): 907.

15

Spanish literature, love, and gender, such as those by literary scholars Rosilie Hernández-

Pecoraro, Michael Soloman, Robert Folger, and Sanda Munjic. Rosilie Hernández-Pecoraro, for example, notes that Spanish pastoral texts, like conduct manuals, “address […] social anxieties and instruct their readers, both men and women, on proper gender roles.”28 For his part, Michael Solomon explores the medieval notion of lovesickness in relation to two

Spanish texts and establishes a connection between lovesickness, always experienced by males, and misogyny.29 Robert Folger analyzes the concept of male lovesickness, or amor hereos, in Spanish sentimental fiction and also explores its use for parodic purposes in one of the most influential works written in the seventeenth century: Miguel de Cervantes’ Don

Quijote.30 Finally, Sanda Munjic discusses the representation of male amorous suffering as a misogynous exercise of power in her study on late medieval and early modern Spanish literature.31 In particular, Munjic’s thought-provoking reading of male amorous suffering within the literature of suffering love has greatly inspired the present study. Here, I aim to expand this fascinating area of literary scholarship by exploring the discourses of amorous suffering in the zarzuela through the same lens of lovesickness and gender inequality.

* * *

28 Rosilie Hernández-Pecoraro, Bucolic Metaphors: History, Subjectivity and Gender in the Early Modern Spanish Pastoral (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 65.

29 Michael Solomon, The Literature of Misogyny in Medieval Spain: The Arcipreste de Talavera and the Spill (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997).

30 Robert Folger, Images in Mind: Lovesickness, Spanish Sentimental Fiction and Don Quijote (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina, 2002) and “Cárceles de amor: ‘Gender trouble’ and male fantasies in fifteenth-century Castille,” in Bulletin of Spanish Studies LXXXIII, no. 5 (2006): 617-35.

31 Sanda Munjic, My Sweet Enemy: The Politics of Amorous Suffering in Late Medieval and Early Modern Spanish Literature (The University of Toronto Press, Forthcoming).

16

Throughout this dissertation, I aim to answer the following research questions: What is the significance of this emphasis on the lament during the period 1696-1718? Why do male characters sing laments and why are these male laments performed by women? Finally, what did the audience make of this lamenting (fe)male?

As a point of departure, I take into account the changing artistic context and political climate of the period 1696-1718, when zarzuelas and their laments were are at their peak.

Various political and cultural factors contribute to the literary and musical changes in the genre towards the late seventeenth century. These include the arrival of two foreign wives for

Charles II (1661–1700)—first, Marie Louise of Orléans in 1679, and following her death,

Maria Anna (Mariana) of Neuburg in 1690—as well as the arrival of foreign musicians in their respective entourages, and later the arrival of the new Bourbon King, Philip V, his wife

Maria Luisa Gabriela de Saboya, and their own musicians. Another factor is, of course, the emergence of a new generation of dramatists and composers, such as José de Cañizares and

Sebastián Durón, which sets out to expand the horizons of Spanish drama while balancing tradition and innovation. Sebastián Durón (1660–1716)—the greatest Spanish composer of the day—is unarguably the most important figure in Madrid’s musical scene during this period, and his contribution to the development of theatre music, and particularly of the zarzuela, has been widely acknowledged.32

Although Durón seems never to have left Spain after being appointed court musician in 1691, his later compositions confirm that he was, indeed, influenced by the new foreign compositional styles that were making their way into Spain through the court. No surviving accounts attest to the direct influence of a particular musician or compositional work on

32 I discuss the life and works of this composer in my Master’s thesis, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660–1716),” 32-44.

17

Durón, yet the presence of non-Spanish musicians at the court as well as the foreign music scores that circulated in Madrid at the time help explain how Durón was exposed to musical styles and genres developed outside of Spain. For instance, the famous Italian castrato opera singer Mateo Sassano, known as Matteuccio (1667–1737), and the archlute player Pietro

Ugolino were among the non-Spanish music figures at court during the final years of the reign of Charles II.33 In the early years of the reign of Philip V, French musicians and composers, including Henry Desmarets (1661–1741), came to the Spanish capital and Italian operas by another of Durón’s contemporaries, Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725), began to circulate in Madrid.34 The importation of musicians and music manuscripts, together with the changing musical taste of the ruling class, help explain why Durón’s compositions embrace a more pan-European or international style during his last compositional period, particularly in his theatrical works. For example, while Durón’s earlier laments (ca 1696) are set in the traditional Spanish form of tonadas, his later laments (ca 1705) are usually cast in the form of

Italian arias da capo.35 For these and other such innovations, Durón was accused, years after

33 Not much is known about Matteuccio’s stay in Madrid. Stephanie Klauk discusses his connection to Mariana of Neuburg in “Durón y el entorno musical de Mariana de Neoburgo” in Sebastián Durón (1660–1716) y la música de su época, 151-55, and Martha Feldman mentions Matteuccio in The Castrato: Reflections on Natures and Kinds (Oakland CA: University of California Press, 2015). A description of the singer’s voice, for example, is provided in note 10 in page 332. 34 As José María Domínguez demonstrates, there was “a cycle of reception of Neapolitan music” in Madrid that followed two phases. The first phase began with “the diffusion of the fame” of a select group of Neapolitan musicians, including Scarlatti, during the final years of the reign of Charles II. The second phase, which began following the establishment of the Bourbon dynasty, “involved the transmission to Madrid of the music as performed by [the select group of Neapolitan virtuosos].” See “‘Comedias armónicas a la usanza de Italia’: Alessandro Scarlatti’s music and the Spanish nobility c. 1700” Early Music. XXXVII, No. 2 (2009): 201- 214.

35 One such example is Amor’s lamento “Cuantos teméis el rigor” in the zarzuela Las nuevas armas de amor, examined in Chapter 2. Both extant music manuscripts, in fact, refer to the type of aria as “Italian” [“Arieta Ytaliana’ in BNE, M/2276 and “Area Ytaliana” in CLI/2-6 no. 1].

18 his death, of polluting Spanish music with a foreign style.36

While the gradual change in music aesthetics, as well as the cultural intersection between Madrid and other courts, certainly had an impact on Spanish musical compositions, these factors alone do not fully explain the proliferation of laments in the zarzuelas by Durón and his contemporaries. These laments, as I argue, are not merely manifestations of

“Italianization,” but rather a reflection of the growing political tensions of the era. Like

Hernández-Pecoraro, who reads the pastoral novel “as a genre well suited to narrativize and symbolically resolve many of the social, economic and cultural tensions and contradictions of the period,”37 I see the mythological zarzuela, which describes the same bucolic world of the pastoral novel, as a genre that mirrored seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Spain. Hence, in this imaginary world where fiction mimicked reality and where characters represented real- life higher-ranking figures, the lamenting (fe)male in the zarzuela reflected the concerns and anxieties of Madrid’s male ruling classes.

Indeed, the recurring figure of the lamenting male in the zarzuela emerges during a period of anxiety and instability, beginning with the decline of the Spanish Habsburg reign and followed by the War of the Spanish Succession. With the exception of a few female laments, almost every work in the genre during this period features a climactic male lamento, sung by a male character that is momentarily emasculated or feminized. As a rule, the lamenting male is not a mortal but rather a high-ranking deity that functions as an allegorical representation of the king or of the Spanish ruling class in general. This hypothesis is further

36 Durón’s reputation as a composer was damaged when he became the focus of the polemic against foreign musical influence published by Fray Benito Feijoo’s “Música de los Templos” in 1726. See Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music,” particularly pages 45- 55.

37 Hernández-Pecoraro, Bucolic Metaphors, 26.

19 reinforced when examining the audience for whom these works were intended. Most male laments appear in zarzuelas dedicated to and performed for the monarch or for a male of the high nobility; in other words, they are intended for a male recipient and for his predominantly male entourage (e.g., Salir el amor del mundo, Selva encantada de amor, and Acis y

Galatea). Female laments, in contrast, are not only fewer in number but they also generally appear in zarzuelas dedicated to the Spanish Queen (e.g., Los celos hacen estrellas, Fieras de celos y amor, and Hasta lo insensible adora).

The large number of male lamentos—especially in comparison to female laments— appears to articulate a crisis of masculinity affecting Spanish men and, in particular, the ruling classes. In this study, I argue that the pre-existing tradition of the suffering male, which has roots in earlier literary works as well as social, philosophical, and medical traditions, is drawn upon increasingly as a reflection of Spain’s socio-political turmoil.

During this crucial time, both Charles II (the last Spanish Habsburg) and his successor, Philip

V (the first Spanish Bourbon king), faced grave internal and external political pressures.

While the first was sick and weak and almost incapable of ruling, the latter was a foreigner who struggled to maintain the loyalty of his new Spanish subjects. Both monarchs ruled in a court and a nation long split into different political factions, and both fought to maintain their position of power within the realm and on the European stage.38 The general malaise and the tensions felt at court, I suggest, appear to be encapsulated in the theatrical male lament. The figure of the lamenting male, however, only materialized on the theatrical stage because of the established Spanish theatre practice of cross-dressing. I contend that the lamenting male,

38 I discuss the tense political situation at court during the final years of the reign of Charles II in “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660-1716),” pp. 23-30, and also in Chapter 2, section 2.2.1, in this dissertation where I also describe the tension at court during the early years of the War of the Spanish Succession.

20 which became an archetype in the mythological zarzuela, would never have proliferated in the hands of a male performer. The dangerous overtones of male weakness, effeminacy, and feminization would have been utterly rejected if articulated through a male voice and body.

As was the case in Italy, as McClary suggests, the male lamento would have been cast aside had it been performed by a male. But with women assuming the roles of feminized men, the overtones of male weakness were mitigated and thus Spanish masculinity was safeguarded.

The acceptance and the popularity of the lamenting (fe)male depended precisely on the performance practice of cross-dressing.

With the exception of a few treatises on Spanish theatre written by supporters and enemies of the theatre, there are no surviving accounts of how the audience reacted to specific performances during this period.39 Likewise, there are no surviving documents that explain the proliferation of laments, particularly of male laments, in the genre of the zarzuela.

Thus, using primary and secondary sources (e.g., treatises on Spanish theatre, royal decrees, modern music and literary studies), I attempt to answer questions pertaining to “reception,” or more specifically, of an audience’s possible reaction to the lamenting (fe)male.

My analysis of seventeenth-century writings on Spanish theatre serves as a point of departure to discuss the possible reaction of the audience. To begin with, these texts reveal concerns with loss of virility or masculinity in relation to theatre content and practices. These

39 These treatises include those by Padre Juan de Mariana, “Tratado contra los juegos públicos” in Biblioteca de Autores Españoles desde la formación del lenguaje hasta nuestros días. Obras del Padre Mariana, Tomo 2 (Madrid, Atlas, 1950), “Aprobación de Fray Manuel de Guerra y Ribera” in Sexta parte del célebre poeta español don Pedro Calderón de la Barca (Madrid, Juan Sanz, 1715), El buen zelo, o examen de un papel con nombre de el reverendissimo P.M. Fr. Manuel de Guerra y Ribera… (Valencia: en casa de Sebastián de Cormellas, 1683), Ignacio de Camargo, Discurso teológico sobres los teatros y comedias de este siglo (Lisboa: Imprenta de Miguel Manescal, 1690), and Francisco Bances Candamo, Theatro de los theatros de los passados y presente siglo, Prólogo, edición y notas de Duncan W. Moit (London: Tamesis Books, 1970).

21 worries, articulated in the works of theatre detractors such as Juan de Mariana (1609) and

Ignacio de Camargo (1689), derived in part from the profession of the male actor but also from men attending theatre productions. In the opinion of these two priests, men—whether actors or mere spectators of a play—risked wasting or losing their male attributes of strength and wit by engaging in either of these practices.40 The mix of genders on the stage, moreover, seems to have been another cause for concern, as seeing or performing the role of a male lover exposed men to the danger of lust and even effeminacy.41 Yet, while these writings formed part of an ongoing dialogue in which Spanish priests of different orders articulated their support or their rejection of the theatre, they do not seem to have had a direct impact on court theatre productions during the latter part of the seventeenth century. During this period, court musico-theatrical genres, including mythological zarzuelas on amorous subjects featuring weeping male characters, continued to be produced. In view of the concerns with effeminacy described above, it may be possible that, at the time, these mythological representations of amorous love by performers of the same gender (i.e., a woman and a woman in travesti) may have been intended as a way to help preserve male virility.

Spanish theatre-goers, moreover, had long been fascinated with cross-dressing and gender ambiguity, especially since the first trouser roles in the early seventeenth-century comedia.42 Revealing hidden parts of the female anatomy, men’s attire exposed the legs of

40 Mariana, “Tratado contra los juegos públicos,”428-29; Camargo, Discurso teológico, 77-78, 116. 41 “Aprobación de Fray Manuel de Guerra y Ribera” in Sexta parte del célebre poeta español don Pedro Calderón de la Barca (Madrid, Juan Sanz, 1715), n.p. 42 Cross-dressing practices, however, date from the late sixteenth century. Before 1587, when women were finally granted permission to perform, male actors played all female roles. In the sixteenth century, for example, the influential actor and director, Lope de Rueda, was well known for his transvestite roles, such as that of the negra (the black woman). According to Sidney Donnell, “audiences in Rueda’s day were probably accustomed to witnessing characters transform before their very eyes,” and this constituted an exciting aspect

22 female performers, eliciting delight from excited male viewers as well as harsh criticism.

Indeed, this practice was frequently censored through royal decrees during the reign of Philip

IV (r. 1621–65). During the reign of Charles II (r. 1665–1700), in contrast, there seems to be no evidence of any decrees or censorship of this type. Indeed, it is possible that (fe)male deities may have revealed part of their legs to the audience during this period and into the reign of Philip V.

In addition to the sensual quality of the female body, the female voice was most likely preferred for its aesthetic and symbolic value. The higher sounding voices of women playing the roles of deities pleased the listener, while also helping differentiate the realm of the gods from the world of the mortals.43 The high-pitched sound of the female voice, moreover, seems to have been preferred as the chosen medium for theatrical lamenting. The analysis of extant manuscripts of zarzuelas produced during this period reveals that lamentos were all written in soprano clef and were therefore intended for a female performer, but not the castrato, who, although sharing the same vocal register, did not perform on the Spanish stage during this period.

for the audience. See Feminizing the Enemy: Imperial Spain, Transvestite Drama, and the Crisis of Masculinity (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2003), 79. 43 “El tono de voz de las actrices-cantantes, mucho más agudo, diferenciaba a través de la música el plano superior de los personajes inmortales frente al mundo inferior de los simples mortales.” Carmen Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de Reyes: El teatro palaciego en el reinado de Carlos II: discurso leído el día 26 de febrero de 2006 en la recepción pública de la Exca. Sra. Doña Carmen Sanz Ayán y contestación por el Excmo. Sr. Don José Alcalá-Zamora y Queipo de Llano (Madrid, Real Academia de la historia, 2006), 122.

23

Chapter 1, “The Early Zarzuela and the Rise of the Spanish Lamento,” provides background information to the reader unfamiliar with Spanish music and theatre practices.

Following an overview of the development of Spanish theatre music in the mid-seventeenth century, I turn to a consideration of the early Spanish lament under the dramatists Pedro

Calderón de la Barca (1600–81), Juan Bautista Diamante (1625–87), Agustín de Salazar y

Torres (1642–75), and Melchor Fernández de León (d. ca. 1685) and the composers Juan

Hidalgo (1614–85) and Juan de Navas (1647–1709). I then look at the venues—royal as well as public spaces—where the zarzuelas were produced and the various theatre companies engaged in performing in these various locations. I discuss hierarchies among the performers in relation to the practice of cross-dressing, as well as the reactions of the audience— including theatregoers and detractors of the theatre—regarding female performers and trouser roles.

Chapter 2, “Omnia vincit amor?: Love, Cupid, and Allegories of Monarchic

Misgivings,” focuses on Cupid and his laments as an allegorical representation of the Spanish monarch and of the contemporary struggle for power. In my analysis, I touch upon two concomitant factors that may have informed these laments: first, the established practice of mythological plays for didactic purposes and the identification of mythological characters with royal figures, and second, the palpable weakness and the struggle for power of both monarchs, specifically, Charles II’s glaring physical and mental limitations and Philip V’s struggle during the early years of his reign. I examine the text and music in Cupid’s laments in three selected works—Salir el amor del mundo (1696), Apolo y Dafne (between 1701–04), and Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1711)—and explore the political subtexts in them, while suggesting that the figure of the lamenting Cupid mirrors the political conflicts of the era.

24

In Chapter 3, “‘With Tears I complain about Thee’: Male Amorous Complaints and

Lovesickness,” I consider the laments of other male characters and analyze their social overtones. After introducing the contemporary understanding of love and its dualistic nature, either as a destructive force (passion) or as a source for male improvement (Neo-Platonic love), I look at love, passion, and gender implications in different types of early modern

Spanish texts including medical, literary, and musical texts. Through the analysis of four selected zarzuelas—Selva encantada de amor (ca.1689), Apolo y Dafne, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710), and Las nuevas armas de amor—I show that these male amorous complaints and laments are heir to the same Spanish literary tradition informed by the contemporary perception of love as a disease. The same notion of female inferiority (fickleness, disdain, cruelty) is present in contemporary plays, albeit in a subtle manner. I contend that this type of amorous lament constituted an aesthetically fascinating subgenre for the audience and also that strong cultural undertones drove its increase in popularity.

The suffering of women and female lamenting traditions together form the subject of

Chapter 4: “The Beloved’s Lament: Female Chastity, Beauty and Jealousy.” Here, I explore female lamenting in Apolo y Dafne, Hasta lo insensible adora (1704), and Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705; rev. 1711), all sung by female characters that are transformed—into a laurel tree, a sunflower, and a sea monster, respectively—towards the end of the play. I suggest that within the overarching Spanish male discourse of the day, which basically dictated “women should be silent,” women were rarely permitted to express their distress or their suffering. When they do so within the zarzuela, their suffering appears to be caused not by males, but rather by their own female attributes and vices (i.e., beauty and jealousy) or by those of a female counterpart. I also look at Júpiter y Semele (1718) as emblematic of two

25 very common patterns in the mythological zarzuela: first, the exhibition of a female lack of agency and, second, the appearance of male laments as an example of the appropriation of female suffering and of male dominance in the discourses of suffering love.

In the concluding section of this study, I summarize my thesis findings while looking briefly at one final zarzuela, Acis y Galatea (1708). Here, I argue that this work—the most frequently revived zarzuela in the early eighteenth century—owed its success to its status as a parody of the mythological zarzuela and its laments. Namely, theatrical and literary conventions, as well as gender roles, are reversed in an attempt to mock a highly popular and formulaic genre.

Three appendices supplement this study. Drawing from primary and secondary sources, Appendix 1 recreates the zarzuela performance calendar for the period 1696–1718.

Appendix 2 provides a description of the sources used in the present study, and Appendix 3 includes full transcriptions of the laments discussed throughout the dissertation.

26

Chapter 1 The Early Zarzuela and the Rise of the Spanish Lamento

Zarzuela. It is not a comedia, but only Zarzuela. No es comedia, sino sólo a little fable, una fábula pequeña in which, by imitating the Italian style, en que, a imitación de Italia, there is singing and acting… se canta, y se representa…

Excerpt from Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s zarzuela El laurel de Apolo (Apollo’s Laurel, 1657) 1 Introduction

In 1657, court dramatist Pedro Calderón de la Barca presented a new kind of play to King Philip IV and his entourage. In order to prepare the audience for the drama about to be staged, Calderón had a character named Zarzuela describe the work in its opening loa (the introduction of the play). The peasant girl Zarzuela explained that the play was not a comedia—in other words, it was not a three-act play that mimicked real life while combining comic and dramatic elements—but a fable in imitation of the Italian favola in musica, Italy’s early form of opera. Thus, this new type of theatre inspired by Italian operatic models was a “little fable” that drew from ancient myths and combined spoken lines with sung sections. Towards the end of the loa, Zarzuela announced the title of the play: El laurel de Apolo (Apollo’s Laurel).44

Adopting the name zarzuela, Calderón’s newly developed genre would flourish during the 1670s and 1680s. During this period, zarzuela texts were cast in one or two acts alternating spoken dialogue with sung sections. Their plots featured mythological

44 The presence of the god of music Apollo justified the more prominent role of music in the play, allowing both playwright and composer to experiment with the new genre. The subject of the play was, of course, not coincidental. The same subject was also used in early Italian experiments in accompanied monody in theatre music eventually leading to the development of early opera: Dafne (Florence, 1597).

27 and mortal characters interacting in a pastoral and amorous setting, but according to theatre conventions, mortals traditionally spoke their lines while deities sang theirs to newly composed songs. Also following theatre conventions, female actor-singers performed the sung roles of all mythological characters, regardless of gender. Lamenting nymphs began to appear in the genre but were soon eclipsed by a new type of character that emerged towards the end of the century, one that nearly monopolized the lamenting scenes in the productions of zarzuelas between 1696 and 1718: the lamenting male.

Always performed by women in male attire, this figure became a stock character in a genre that entertained while mirroring Madrid’s elite at the turn of the eighteenth century.

As I will suggest in the following two chapters, this theatrical figure materialized only because of an established theatre practice of cross-dressing. The female voice and body softened the dangerous overtones of feminization carried in the male lamento, thus allowing the lamenting male character to become widely accepted.

This chapter explores the laments that appear in the early zarzuela from its origins in the 1650s through the 1680s, laying the foundation and context for the case studies discussed in Chapters 2 through 4. First, it provides an overview of the development of the genre and its characteristics including staging, music, and literary texts. Second, it looks at the earliest manifestations of the lament in the zarzuela in selected case studies.

The chapter concludes with a discussion of Spanish theatrical companies and theatre practices including cross-dressing, as well as the reactions of the audience regarding female performers and trouser roles.

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1.1 Behind the Scenes: Origins and Creators

In 1651, the same year in which he was ordained as a priest, playwright Pedro

Calderón de la Barca (1600–81) made a shift in his career and began working exclusively for the court, after having written plays for both court and public theatres (corrales) for nearly three decades. During his early career, Calderón wrote comedias, a type of Spanish play that had largely been systematized and defined by the dramatist Félix Lope de Vega

(1652–1635) in his Arte nuevo de hacer comedias en este tiempo (The New Art of making

Comedies in this Time, 1609). Lope de Vega’s new genre, which derived from the comedia antigua (old comedia) and developed to a great extent in response to the demands of the Spanish public, emerged as a compromise between the old precepts defended by the Academia de Madrid (Academy of Madrid) and the taste of the

Madrileños attending the public theatres (corrales) in their city. While some Aristotelian precepts were maintained, such as the element of verisimilitude, novel changes were introduced. The new comedia was now written in three acts or jornadas; it combined the genres of tragedy and comedy, and it was based on popular themes, especially that of honour.45 Following the conventions established by his predecessor, Calderón developed

45 “Los casos de honra son mejores, porque mueven con fuerza a toda gente…” (“Cases of honor are better because they strongly move all people…”). See Félix Lope de Vega, “Arte nuevo de hacer comedias en este tiempo” in Juan Manuel Rozas, Significado y doctrina del Arte Nuevo de Lope de Vega (Madrid, Sociedad General Española de Librería, 1976), 191-92. The literature on the theme of honour is extensive. See, for example, Américo Castro, Semblanzas y estudios españoles (Princeton, N.J., 1956), in particular pp. 330-46; Gustavo Correa, “El doble aspecto de la honra en el teatro del siglo XVII” HR, XXVI (1958): 99-107, Renato Barahona, “Between Ideals and Pragmatism: Honor in Early Modern Spain,” in Approaches to teaching Early Modern Spanish Drama, edited by Laura R. Bass and Margaret R. Greer, 39-44 (New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 2006) and also Sex Crimes, Honour, and the Law in Early Modern Spain: Vizcaya, 1528-1735 (Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 2003). For characteristics of the comedia nueva see Chapter 3 in Melveena McKendrick, Theatre in Spain 1490-1700 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989).

29 two new types of court plays with music based on mythological subjects: the fiesta cortesana (courtly celebration) and the zarzuela.46

1.1.1 The Fiesta Cortesana

During the second half of the seventeenth century, the theatre at court became a centre for experimentation and development of new musico-theatrical genres that combined Spanish traditions with Italian practices. Two operas—Celos aun del aire matan and La púrpura de la rosa47—were composed during this period; yet, the leading genres that developed at court were the fiesta cortesana (literally, courtly celebration, but often referred to as mythological drama or semi-opera48) and the zarzuela. According to

Louise Stein, “Calderón drew on three principal types of theatre in developing the new genre [of fiestas cortesanas]: the Lopean comedia, the earlier court masques and spectacle plays, and the new genre of Italian opera.”49 The influence of the comedia is clear in the formal structure of the fiesta cortesana—the genre is in three acts, with a short farce play (mojiganga) between the first and second act, and a dance (baile)

46 For an example of Calderón’s early dramas with music, such as El mayor encanto amor (1635), see N.D. Shergold, A History of the Spanish Stage from Medieval Times until the End of the Seventeenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), 280-84, and Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 104-12.

47 These operas have been fully discussed by Louise K. Stein in “Opera and the Spanish Political Agenda,” Acta Musicologica 63, no. 2 (April-December 1991): 125-67 and in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 187-257; and more recently by Flórez in Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el siglo de oro, 290-350.

48 Stein refers to Calderón’s fiestas cortesanas as semi-operas in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 126-86. For the sake of clarity, I will henceforth refer to these works as fiestas cortesanas (courtly celebrations) since this term and its short form fiesta were used when referring to this type of drama during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

49 Louise K. Stein, “La plática de los dioses,” 28. For a discussion of earlier court masques and spectacle plays, see pages 16-27.

30 between the second and third acts as established by Lope—as well as in the special attention to the element of verisimilitude in the play. From the earlier court masques and spectacle plays, the new genre derived its allegorical and mythological content. The

Italian influence, in contrast, is particularly evident in the visual aspects of the new genre and in the importation of a number of operatic musical techniques, in particular the stile recitativo and the lamento. These elements basic to modern Italian theatrical music of the time were for the most part introduced by a series of stage designers and engineers brought to court during the reign of Philip IV (1621–65), particularly Baccio del

Bianco.50

Throughout his career in Madrid and until his death in 1657, del Bianco exerted control over the visual aspect of theatrical productions at court while also trying to influence Spanish musical taste by introducing the Italian stile recitativo51 and the Italian lamento. The first Spanish play to use the Italian recitative style was Calderón’s fiesta cortesana La fiera, el rayo, y la piedra (1652), a three-act mythological play derived

50 The first collaborative work between Spaniards and Italians is the pastoral eclogue La selva sin amor produced for the Madrid court in 1627. The Bolognese lutenist and theorbo player Filippo Piccinini, the Florentine stage designer Cosimo Lotti, the Tuscan embassy secretary Bernardo Monanni, and Madrid’s own playwright Félix Lope de Vega combined forces to present a work in the Italian style, for which only the text has survived. The work, described by Monanni as a “little play in the Florentine style with machines,” seems to have consisted mainly of recitative. No further works in this style were produced until the second half of the seventeenth century. See Stein, “Opera and the Spanish Political Agenda” Acta Musicologica 63, no. 2 (April-December 1991): 126-27.

51 Stein, “Opera and the Spanish Political Agenda”: 127 and Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 134. As the recitative style had been used on one occasion only—in Lope’s La selva sin amor (1627)—it would perhaps be more accurate to say Bianco was trying to reintroduce the recitative style after a hiatus of twenty years. During this period, Bianco counted on the help of another Italian – the papal legate and opera librettist, Giulio Rospigliosi, who was in Madrid from 1644 to 1653 and who most likely engaged in literary discussions with the Spanish dramatist. Stein observes that although “we know little about Rospigliosi’s literary activities in Spain, ‘the influence of Spanish drama is apparent’ in the libretti that he wrote after his return to Rome in the spring of 1653.” See Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 133.

31 from the comedia but featuring elements of Italian operatic music and spectacle. As Stein demonstrates, the use of recitative in the new genre was only allowed for the conversations of the gods, since mortal characters—in accordance with the convention of verisimilitude in the comedia—spoke their lines, thus reflecting the manner in which men and women conversed in real life.52 The first lamento in the Italian style, in contrast, appeared shortly after Calderón’s La fiera, el rayo, y la piedra. In a letter, Baccio del

Bianco claimed to have convinced the court dramatist Luis de Ulloa y Pereira and the composer Juan Hidalgo to include a lamento for the nymph Canens in the fiesta cortesana Pico y Canente (1656): “The poet, at my request, [wrote] a lament [for the moment when Canens] is transformed into a cloud, and the composer composed, at my counsel, something quite Italian.”53

These fiestas cortesanas produced at the sumptuous theatre of the Buen Retiro

Palace during the 1650s are prime examples of lavish staged dramas intended to display the wealth and power of the royal family.54 Special attention was placed on the visual

52 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 132,136. According to the conventions of the time established by the dramatist Félix Lope de Vega, the story had to be credible. This requirement applied to the plot as well as to the language used by each character. See lines 269-93 in Lope de Vega, “Arte nuevo de hacer comedias en este tiempo,” 190. Within the world of the mythological fiesta cortesana, music was used in such a way that it would truthfully reflect life on earth and in heaven. Mortal characters spoke their lines and occasionally also sang popular songs (this is an example of diagetic music; the characters in the play ‘hear” another character sing). Deities, in contrast, communicated with songs that reflected the harmony in the universe or the “music of the spheres.” While mortals could hear other mortals talk and sing, they could not hear the deities converse, as the gods’ speech was in recitative, a foreign language to all mortals. Thus, within the “real” world of the mythological play, each member in the two main groups of characters—mortals and deities—reflected the element of verisimilitude so important to the comedia by communicating in a manner ‘true’ to life within the story.

53 “Il poeta, dietro mia petizione distese un lamento mentre si convertiva in nube et il musico compose alli mia consigli cosa assai italiana.” Quoted in Stein, “La plática de los dioses,” 49. Translation mine. For the full citation, see pages 49-50.

54 The construction of the Buen Retiro Palace, one of the king’s part-time residences, culminated in the early 1640s, and it included the first permanent, indoor theatre for the Spanish royalty, known as the

32 aspects of the plays that could create the impression of abundance and prosperity. As

Sánchez del Peral y López suggests, Philip IV (1621–65) showed great interest in the latest and most innovative technologies allowing for the production of spectacular theatrical works that would both glorify his image and conceal Spain’s political and financial troubles in the mid-seventeenth century. To create this illusion, the monarch relied on the expertise of a series of Italian engineers that he brought, one by one, to the

Madrid court: the Neapolitan Giulio Cesare Fontana, the Florentines Cosme Lotti and

Baccio del Bianco, and the Roman Antonio Maria Antonozi.55

Alongside this opulent type of musico-theatrical genre, a more “modest” one in comparison was developed. The new genre was less costly as it did not require the same elaborate staging and visual effects—although machines were sometimes used—and could be performed in smaller venues such as the monarch’s hunting lodge or the Hall of

coliseo of the Buen Retiro Palace. Since the palace was destroyed in the early nineteenth century during the Napoleonic invasions, all the descriptions of the Buen Retiro are based on plans, inventories, invoices, epistolary accounts, and other documents. For a discussion of the palace’s theatre, see María Asunción Flórez, “El Coliseo del Buen Retiro en el siglo XVII: teatro público y cortesano,” Anales de Historia del Arte 8 (1998): 172, and Jonathan Brown and J. H. Elliott, A Palace for a King: The Buen Retiro and the Court of Philip IV (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980). The coliseo was designed in the Italian fashion by the Florentine engineer Cosme Lotti (d. 1643). The use of machinery, which allowed for all sorts of spectacular visual effects, became the theatre’s principal attraction. A few of the mechanisms used for the productions of mythological staged dramas include pulleys or winches used to make objects and people appear to descend from Heaven or to fly away, trap doors used to make things rise into view or sink, and the bofetón, a mechanism “that rotated or sprang open to make characters seem to appear or disappear as if by magic.” See Margaret Rich Greer, “General Introduction,” in Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s La Estatua de Prometeo, a critical edition by Margaret Rich Greer, with a study of music by Louise K. Stein (Kassel: Reichenberger, 1986), 6.

55 Juan Ramón Sánchez del Peral y López, “Antonio María Antonozi, ingeniero de las comedias del Buen Retiro (1657-1662). Nuevos datos para la bibliografía de un inventor de ‘maravillosas apariencias’,” Archivo Español de Arte, LXXX, 319, (2007), 262. To a great extent, Spain’s troubles in the mid-seventeenth century stemmed from the aftermath of the Thirty Years’ War (1617-47).

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Plays of the Alcázar of Madrid, the monarch’s residence. Sharing features with the comedia and the fiesta cortesana, the genre would become known as the zarzuela.

1.1.2 The Zarzuela

The earliest definition of the term zarzuela appeared in Sebastián de Covarrubias y Orozco’s dictionary entitled Tesoro de la lengua castellana (1611). The entry appeared in the old Spanish spelling, ‘çarçuela,’ under which Covarrubias indicated “Name of the place” (“Nombre del lugar”).56 The “place” Covarrubias referred to was the monarch’s hunting lodge near Madrid, known as Çarçuela (Zarzuela) due to the many bramble bushes (çarças or zarzas in modern spelling) that surrounded the building. Staged plays, such as Calderón’s El laurel de Apolo introduced above, were performed to entertain the monarch during his stay at the Zarzuela, but they were much less spectacular than the fiestas cortesanas performed at the sumptuous halls or theatres of the Alcázar or the Buen

Retiro Place.57 These small-scale staged mythological works eventually received the name zarzuela. The first definition of the genre, as we know it today, did not appear until

1737 when the Diccionario de autoridades defined it as “Staged drama, in the style of the

Spanish comedia, with only two acts. So named since the first one of its kind [El laurel de Apolo] was performed at the Royal Site known as Zarzuela.”58

56 Sebastián de Covarrubias y Orozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española según la impression de 1611, con las adiciones de Benito Remigio Noydens, ed. Martín de Riquer (Barcelona: S.A. Horta, 1943).

57 The character Zarzuela introduced in the opening paragraph of this chapter is, in fact, an allegorical representation of the Zarzuela royal hunting lodge.

58 “Representación dramática, a modo de comedia española, con sólo dos jornadas. Llamase assi por haberse hecho la primera en el Real Sitio, que llaman de la Zarzuela.” Cited in Flórez, Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el siglo de oro, 267. Unless otherwise noted, all translations of this source are mine.

34

Neither Calderón nor his contemporaries left a clear definition of the genre and, in most cases, seventeenth-century dramatists referred to these small-scale works as fiestas or comedias rather than zarzuelas. In a few cases, however, the genre was described in the text of the loa that preceded each zarzuela, such as that in El laurel de Apolo, quoted at the beginning of this chapter. Court playwright Melchor Fernández de León also attempted to articulate the characteristics of the new genre in Venir el amor al mundo

(1679). In the introduction to his play, Fernández de León explained that aside from its singing, dancing and acting, the novelty in the work lay in its short duration:59

Mas con una novedad But with a novelty, que es tan breve su poema, whose text is so short que no es mas que una jornada; it is no longer than one act, y en ella se representa, and in it there is acting, se canta y baila también. singing, and dancing as well.

María Asunción Flórez observes that there was no real distinction between the first zarzuelas in the mid-seventeenth century and the fiestas cortesanas, as both court genres combined spoken dialogue with sung sections. She concludes that the three principal characteristics of the zarzuela are its brevity (one or two acts as opposed to the three acts of the fiesta cortesana or the comedia), its plots based on fables (fábulas), and its inspiration taken from Italian models (modelos italianos).60 The Italian “models”

Flórez refers to surely have more to do with the pastoral/mythological texts than with the music. Like Louise Stein, I would suggest that the early zarzuela “made little room for

59 Original quotation cited in Ibid., 266.

60 Ibid., 266-68.

35 imported musical genres” and that it was, “in a sense, anti-operatic.”61 Indeed, the early works in the genre did not include the operatic musical techniques that so commonly appeared in the fiestas cortesanas.

Early zarzuelas did not employ the stile recitativo to the same extent as the fiestas cortesanas, and they did not include any Italianate laments, such as Canens’s lamento in

Pico y Canente (1656), considered below. During the early years of the genre examined in this chapter, laments were cast in the typically Spanish form of tonadas.

1.1.3 The Solo Tonada

Derived from the polyphonic Spanish tonada, the solo tonada became one of the most important vocal genres in seventeenth-century Spain.62 This new type of song—also referred to as tono, solo humano, solo tono—was greatly favoured in theatre music and so its characteristics were to a great extent determined by the dramatic action in the theatrical works for which tonadas were composed.

Each section in a two-part tonada is characterized by different melodic features and serves a distinct dramatic purpose. The estribillo (refrain) section is traditionally set in triple metre and is distinguished by its simple melodies, which are usually syllabic and

61 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 288. 62 The polyphonic tonada (also known as tono) is a song for three or four voices in a homorhythmic or contrapuntal style that adheres to the tradition of sixteenth-century compositions. Its musical form is similar to that of the villancico and the romance, two genres that are mainly strophic in the sixteenth century. In the seventeenth century, their strophic sections—the coplas—are combined with a refrain or estribillo. Likewise, the same changes alter the originally strophic form of the tonada. Each section in these three vocal genres is assigned its own music and metre: while the stanzas (coplas) are strophic and in duple metre, the newly added section of the refrain (estribillo) is in triple metre, thus providing contrast in the musical composition.

36 diatonic, by its dactylic rhythms, and by its pervasive use of hemiola and syncopation.63

In contrast, the strophic coplas (stanzas) are traditionally set in duple metre and often feature, as Stein observes, “a declamatory, sequential melody accompanied by a rhythmically regular but active bass line.”64 Regarding the function of each section, Stein notes that, in general, the coplas in duple metre are descriptive while the estribillos in triple metre contain “the central affective message of the scene…”65 Based on the analysis of the theatre music of Juan Hidalgo (1614–85), the leading Spanish composer of the time as well as Calderón’s main collaborator, Stein concludes that “in Hidalgo’s practice, the strophes set descriptive texts and the refrain contains what is directly, subjectively emotional…”66 Indeed, in early Spanish lamentos cast as tonadas, the estribillo in triple metre conveys “the central affective message of the scene.” In a sense, the estribillo forms the heart of the lament.

Because of inconsistencies and lack of specifications in most seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century manuscripts, it is not possible to know with certainty if the

63 Both José López-Calo and Stein describe these features in the estribillo. See José López-Calo, Historia de la música española, 3: Siglo XVII (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1983), 171, and Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 312.

64 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 312. Stein refers to the coplas as a type of solo song or air when they are not accompanied by an estribillo.

65 Ibid.

66 Ibid., 294. Flórez agrees with Stein with respect to the expressive limitations of the coplas as these often fail to communicate more than one affect, in particular in those songs in which the text alludes to a different affect in each stanza yet the music remains the same. Yet, she also notes a few exceptional instances in which strophic coplas can be used affectively, conveying for example, a sense of melancholy to a musical piece. For example, Flórez describes Endemión’s tonada (which consists of coplas without an estribillo) in the fiesta cortesana Triunfos de amor y fortuna (1658) by Juan Hidalgo and the dramatist Antonio de Solis as follows: “El compás, en compasillo, y la ausencia de síncopas confieren a la obra un ritmo más sosegado, conforme al carácter melancólico de la melodía. La tesitura más central, y por ello menos brillante que la de la tonada de Amor—abarca desde el Mi3 al Fa4—contribuye también a acentuar el carácter melancólico de la escena…” In Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias, 35 and 256.

37 estribillo is to be repeated after each copla or if it should only be performed at the beginning and at the end, allowing all the coplas to be sung uninterruptedly. In these sources, the term tonada—originally used to denominate a bi-sectional song with coplas and estribillos—may also refer to a solo song that consists of either a series of coplas or an estribillo. Hence, a manuscript may identify a series of coplas as a tonada. The inconsistencies in the use of terminology employed in the manuscripts of the period have lead to problems in taxonomy, and thus some modern authors may refer to the coplas as

“airs in common meter,” and to the estribillos as “solo songs in triple meter.”67 For the purpose of clarity, I will henceforth refer to such solo songs as tonadas and, in discussing each lament in this chapter, I will indicate whether they contain one or both of the sections whenever appropriate.

1.2 The Early Lamento in Spanish Theatre

The first lamento ever to appear in a Spanish mythological drama produced for the Habsburg court was, as Italian stage engineer Baccio del Bianco claimed in his letter,

“quite Italian.” Indeed, the lament in question featured characteristics identified with

Italian laments of the period, but it also included, as will be noted below, musical devices associated with Spanish laments. In order to understand the melding of Italian and

Spanish traditions (hence, Bianco’s assessment of the lament as something “quite” and not “entirely” Italian), let us now briefly consider the characteristics associated with each one of the two styles.

67 See Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 311-12.

38

In her seminal article on the early Italian lament (1608-1660), Ellen Rosand describes the typical features of the genre:

Librettists imposed greater formality on the lament through the use of more strong, metered and rhymed texts in which especially affective lines often occurred as refrains. And composers interpreted these texts with greater freedom, repeating or otherwise enhancing the most affective words or phrases through melodic sequence, dissonance, or textual conflicts, and often providing an overall tonal coherence in order to create structural self-sufficiency.68

As Rosand demonstrates, Italian librettists and Italian composers highlighted the lament by differentiating it from other solo sections, namely arias. The poetic text was traditionally cast in lines of eleven and/or seven syllables while the music was conceived with great freedom. Therefore, the music in an Italian lament is not derived from a fixed form such as that of an aria, as an aria would have proved, in Rosand’s words,

“inappropriate to the expression of the uncontrolled passion of a lament.”69 A distinctive musical feature of the Italian lament that Rosand is quick to note is the ostinato descending tetrachord pattern. As Stein and Espido-Freire point out, this formula was adopted in Spain during the second half of the seventeenth century and, as I will show throughout this study, it continued to be used well into the eighteenth century.

Espido-Freire classifies the Hispanic laments of the second half of the seventeenth century into two groups: cultured laments (lamentos cultos), which are typical of court genres such as the zarzuela, opera, and fiestas cortesanas; and semi-cultured laments

(lamentos semi-cultos), which appear in the comedia.70 “Cultured laments” are newly

68 Ellen Rosand’s article, “The Descending Teatrachord: An Emblem of Lament,” has influenced all subsequent research on this topic. See page 347 for the above citation.

69 Ellen Rosand, Opera in Seventeenth-Century Venice: The Creation of a Genre (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 363.

70 Espido-Freire, “Los lamentos hispanos como tópicos semánticos,” 1140.

39 composed pieces produced specifically for the text provided by the librettist; the “semi- cultured” laments, in contrast, are based on pre-existing melodies that are re-used with a new text. The musical characteristics mentioned above best describe the newly composed

“cultured” laments that appear in the staged mythological works produced at court and for a cultured audience. Espido-Freire summarizes the most important features in the cultured lament as follows: first, most begin with a monosyllable “Oh” or “Ay” or with a vocative; second, certain words that express pain or death appear fragmented or with musical rests interspersed with music; third, there is no narrative, only the lyrical expression of pain; and finally, this type of lament is usually sung by a mythological character such as a nymph, a god or a semi-god in a pastoral scene.71 (Recall that in accordance to the conventions of verisimilitude of the comedia, mortal characters spoke their lines and thus expressed their pain in speech in all mythological dramas).

The first Spanish lamento in the Italian style written at Bacio del Bianco’s request is Canens’s “Crédito es mi decoro,” found in Act III of Luis de Ulloa y Pereira’s fiesta cortesana Pico y Canente (1656). By requesting this specific lament, the Italian stage engineer helped bring into the Spanish court Italian theatrical conventions regarding the gender of the lamenting character—traditionally, a woman in Italian opera—as well as aspects regarding the scene, the text and the music.72 Ulloa y Pereira and Hidalgo surely followed Bianco’s advice (as Bianco’s letter suggests that he seemed satisfied with the

71 Ibid., 1141-42.

72 As McClary observes, women became primary lamenters in seventeenth-century Italian operatic traditions. See “Constructions of Gender in Monteverdi’s Dramatic Music,” 217. The existing literature on Italian laments of the era is provided in the Introduction, “Reconstructing the Lamento in the Spanish Mythological Zarzuela,” at the beginning of this dissertation.

40 lament), yet they did so by melding novelty with their own local practices. Stein notes that Canens’s lament follows the theatrical conventions of the time in that it represents a highly dramatic point in the play that occurs right before the final resolution of the plot.73

Regarding its music, the author states:

The use of the “Ay” to begin each verse might be emblematic of a Spanish lament, in conjunction with the particularly vivid text painting at the words “morir,” [to die] “cantando,” [singing] “muero.” [I die.] …The musical settng is a graphic representation of the text and the action on the stage; as the lament progresses and the nymph becomes weaker, the melodic line and the bass line are punctuated by more and more frequent rests, illustrating Canente’s gasps for air, especially in the last verse “Ay, apenas respiro…,” [“alas! I can barely breathe…,”] when several words of the text are broken into syllables and repeated. … The effectiveness of the setting as a whole is increased by the use of unexpected harmonic shifts and chromaticism.74

Stein draws attention to several distinct aspects of the lament: the use of the monosyllable “Ay,” which is found in Spanish cultured laments, the emphasis on key dramatic words such as “to die” (morir), and the use of rests and chromaticism, among other devices, to highlight the affect of lament. The “graphic representation of the text” that Stein alludes to refers to the use of musical rhetorical devices to foreground the text, which is a distinct characteristic throughout this period, one that is intimately connected to the long-established tradition of spoken theatre in Spain.

There is no descending tetrachord in Hidalgo’s music; however, a distinctly

Italian feature in his setting of Ulloa’s text is the open structure. While the music manuscript reads: “Accomp.to a las coplas, son 5o” (Accompaniment for the coplas, there are 5”), indicating that music should accompany five poetic coplas (or strophes), the form of the music is not strophic. Hidalgo did not cast the lament in strophic coplas (as they would appear in a tonada, for example) but presented them in a freer musical structure, as

73 Stein, “La plática de los dioses,” 49, 50.

74 Ibid., 57. Translations between brackets are mine.

41 were the Italian laments of the time.75 This particular aspect of “Crédito es mi decoro” differentiates Canens’ lamento from the laments appearing in the mythological zarzuela.

During the period 1670-1680 when the lament became standardized in the zarzuela, all weeping characters in the genre sang laments cast as Spanish tonadas.

Ulloa’s Pico y Canente represents one of the numerous fiestas cortesanas that were produced for the court between 1656 and 1665, the year in which Philip IV died.

That year, the regent queen would prohibit the production of comedias until her son,

Charles II (1661–1700), attained the age of majority and was able to enjoy theatrical productions. When theatres finally re-opened in the early 1670s, several court dramatists adopted and developed the genre of the zarzuela and, gradually, the sung lament gained an important position in the genre. Perhaps influenced by Bianco and the Italian operatic conventions he had brought with him, dramatists and composers continued to write laments for female characters. Indeed, weeping nymphs sang most, if not all, of the laments appearing in the genre during the 1670s and 1680s. Yet towards the end of the century, the lament reversed to its more “natural” state in the male character. As I will show throughout this study, the male lyrical voice that had traditionally dominated the discourses of amorous suffering, melancholy, and lovesickness eventually resurfaced in the mythological zarzuela, nearly monopolizing all lamenting scenes. Only now, female performers played the roles of all lamenting male characters.

75 Stein sates that this recitative falls under the category of the “recitative soliloquy,” a definition proposed by Margaret Murata in “The Recitative Soliloquy,” Journal of the American Musicological Society XXXII (1979), 45-73.

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Beginning with Callisto’s lament, the following section explores representative female laments in the early zarzuela and concludes with a discussion of the first lament for a male character that appeared in the genre.

1.2.1 Lamenting Nymphs in the Early Zarzuela

Lamenting nymphs did not proliferate in the early zarzuela immediately following

Ulloa y Pereira, Hidalgo, and Bianco’s joint effort the to produce the first Spanish theatrical lament. Rather, laments for female characters in the genre were used occasionally, perhaps even with caution, shortly after the theatres re-opened in 1672. The new royal audience now comprised by a strict and fervently religious queen mother and her frightful son, Charles II, surely changed the atmosphere at court, impacting the staged dramas that were performed in the royal theatres.

The first zarzuela produced for the court of Charles II was Juan Vélez de Guevara

(1611–75) and Juan Hidalgo’s Los celos hacen estrellas (Jealousy creates stars, 1672), a play that sought to provide light entertainment while avoiding a heavily charged political or pedagogical agenda.76 The play retold the myth of the beautiful nymph Io and her lustful suitor Jupiter, who hides the nymph from his jealous wife, Juno, by turning Io into

76 Perhaps it is the overall simplicity in the work that makes Sabik judge it as a “banal zarzuela.” See Kazimierz Sabik, “El teatro mitológico en la corte de Carlos II (Texto y escenografía),” in Diálogos hispánicos de Amsterdam 8/III. El teatro español a fines del siglo XVII: Historia, cultura y teatro en la España de Carlos II. Vol. III, Representaciones y fiestas, edited by Javier Huerta Calvo, Harm den Boer and Fermín Sierra Martínez (Amsterdam: Editorial Rodopi, 1989), 777. For a description of the music in this zarzuela, see Jack Sage, “La Música de Juan Hidalgo”, en Juan Vélez de Guevara, Los celos hacen estrellas, eds. J.E. Varey and N.D. Shergold (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1970), 169-223, and Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 289-97. Flórez, who also discusses this zarzuela, considers the vocal abilities of the performers in the production and provides insightful observations regarding the roles they may have performed. See Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el siglo de oro, 269-89, particularly, pp. 270-74.

43 a cow. (Eventually, Io is transformed into a star, hence the title of the zarzuela.)77 Yet despite the suffering inflicted upon them, none of the two leading female characters sings a lament in the work.78 A line in the libretto hints at a possible explanation for the simplicity in the play as well as its overall lack of intense drama. In the second act, Argos states: “a celebration [i.e., a zarzuela] that unsettles, is no celebration for me” (que no es fiesta para mi, fiesta que desacomoda). This line suggests that neither Vélez de Guevara nor Hidalgo intended to risk upsetting the queen mother or her son who, after all, had not attended a zarzuela in several years. Perhaps not wishing to disturb the royal audience,

Guevara and Hidalgo omitted scenes with potential to “unsettle” royal spectators, and so the dramatic possibilities of the lament went unexplored.

Hidalgo’s first lament for a zarzuela was composed around the same time as Los celos hacen estrellas.79 Only this zarzuela was not performed for the queen and her son but for a grandee of Spain on the occasion of his wedding.80 The lament in question—

Callisto’s “Ay, desdichada”—appeared in Juan Bautista Diamante’s (1625–87) Alfeo y

Aretusa (1672). The play explores the subject of love in the lives of two pairs of lovers:

77 For a complete transcription of the libretto, including a study of the work, see Juan Vélez de Guevara, Los celos hacen estrellas, eds. J.E. Varey and N.D. Shergold (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1970).

78 There is, nevertheless, a spoken male lament in the second act of the zarzuela. Ynaco, King of Argos, appears alone on the stage to lament the loss of his beautiful daughter Io, who has mysteriously disappeared (in fact, she has just been transformed into a cow). Unaware that he is being observed, Ynaco launches into a sorrowful soliloquy (Vélez de Guevara, Los celos hacen estrellas, 97).

79 Hidalgo may have written a lament for an earlier zarzuela, but I have not come across any other zarzuelas with sung laments prior to Alfeo y Aretusa in my research. This lament may also be the first lament to ever appear in the genre.

80 Flórez states that the zarzuela was performed on the occasion of the Constable of Castile’s marriage to María de Benavides in Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el siglo de Oro, 266.

44

Alpheus and Arethusa, and Jupiter and the nymph Callisto (in Spanish, Calixto).81 Lola

Josa and Mariano Lambea describe Callisto’s lament as follows:

In Alpheus and Arethusa, the most touching scene is the judgment of the nymph Callisto, [who is] a victim of the gods and [is also] pursued by the lustful Jupiter. The other nymphs attend the punishment of the young nymph, [and remain] insensitive to [Callisto’s] pain and loneliness, as she sings "Ah, wretched who" [...] In her lament, Callisto cries on the account of her cruel fate […].82

Instead of presenting the lament in an open structure, as he had done for Canens’s lament in Ulloa y Pereira’s fiesta cortesana of 1656, Hidalgo set this piece as a tonada with coplas and estribillo. Stein states that this song

presents a perfect example of the standardization of the two-part tonada. The estribillo (…) clearly exhibits the characteristic devices of the lament, while the music for the solo coplas shows little attention to the principal affect of the scene.83

Indeed, the estribillo in triple metre carries the emotional weight of the lamento.

Consisting of two lines only, the poem begins with the characteristic “Ay” that signals the beginning of a cultured lament: “Ay, desdichada de quien/es su delito su desgracia”

("Alas, wretched [she], whose/ crime is her misfortune"). Hidalgo places a strategic musical rest in the melody after the interjection “ay” to create a musical representation of

81 My analysis of the play, including its lament, is based on Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 312; Sabik, “El teatro mitológico en la corte de Carlos II,” 777; and Lola Josa and Mariano Lambea’s analysis and transcription of the lament: “19. ¡Ay, desdichada,…” Tono a solo humano, música de Juan Hidalgo, letra de Juan Bautista Diamante: http://digital.csic.es/bitstream/10261/30967/1/Ay%20desdichada%20de%20quien%20es%20su%20delito.P DF (accessed April 1, 2011).

82 “En Alfeo y Aretusa la escena más conmovedora es el juicio a la ninfa Calixto, víctima de los dioses y perseguida por el lujurioso Júpiter. Las otras ninfas asisten al castigo de la joven, insensibles a su pena y soledad, cantadas en “¡Ay, desdichada de quién!” […] En su lamento, Calixto llora por su destino cruel […].” Josa and Lambea, “19. ¡Ay, desdichada,…”. Translation mine.

83 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 312.

45 a sigh. The melodic line mainly moves by step, thus conveying the nymph’s sadness and lack of energy. By repeating the word desdichada (wretched), Hidalgo places a rhetorical emphasis on the affect of the lament. Moreover, the largest leap in the vocal line—an interval of a fifth—appears before the last repetition of the word desdichada, thus underscoring the nymph’s suffering and conveying a sense of drama to the piece

(Example 1). While the estribillo presents no narrative but only the lyrical expression of pain, the coplas serve to communicate some of the events that have taken place in the story thus far. In the five coplas in duple metre that follow the estribillo, Callisto addresses the other nymphs and appeals to their compassion as she tells them of the events that have unfolded thus far, including Jupiter’s wrongdoing.

46

Example 1 Callisto's lament: "Ay, desdichada...! in Alfeo y Aretusa (ca. 1670) 84

Callisto’s lament has more to do with a call for justice than with the immediacy of death or transformation as in Canens’s case or with amorous suffering as we will see in the next two zarzuelas.85 Her call for justice, however, is still somehow linked to the passion of love, for her lament occurs as a result of the love and lust that she unwillingly arouses in Jupiter.

84 Excerpt taken from Lola Josa and Mariano Lambea’s transcription of the lament: “19. ¡Ay, desdichada,…” Tono a solo humano, música de Juan Hidalgo, letra de Juan Bautista Diamante.

85 Her lament is almost reminiscent of those that appear in Hispanic epic texts in which women utter complaints after having been unjustly accused of a moral crime or after having been offended physically and/or emotionally. For more on this subject, see Mercedes Vaquero, “Presentación de quejas y lamentos en voz de mujer de la épica hispana” The Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 86, n. 1 (2009): 12-25.

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The zarzuelas Los juegos olímpicos (The Olympic Games, ca.1672) by Agustín de

Salazar y Torres (1642–75) and Endemión y Diana (Endymion and Diana, ca.1676) by

Melchor Fernández de León (d. circa 1685)86 present another type of sorrowful song.

Both derive from amorous suffering and both, as will be noted below, appear in conjunction with the topic of the invocation. These works include other literary topoi that are commonplace in medieval courtly love texts and Renaissance amorous pastoral poetry and thus share several similarities. First, these two zarzuelas begin by presenting the antagonism between two goddesses—Pallas and Venus in Los juegos olímpicos, and

Diana and Venus in Endemión y Diana—the first symbolizing virtue and chastity, and the latter embodying sensual love.87 Second, in both zarzuelas, a mortal character falls in love with the portrait of a beautiful woman: Prince Corebo carries a portrait of the nymph

Cassandra in Los juegos olímpicos, and Endemión carries a portrait of Diana in Endemión y Diana.88 Third, a lovelorn figure—a nymph in both cases—sings a lament about amorous suffering.89

86 I have consulted the following editions of these two works: Agustín de Salazar, “Los juegos olímpicos” in Colección de las mejores comedias de los antiguos poetas españoles (Buchanan Collection, Vol. 18); and Melchor Fernándex de León, “Endemión y Diana” in Parte Quarenta y Dos de Comedias Nuevas, nunca impressas, escogidas de los mejores ingenios de España (Madrid: Roque Rico de Miranda, 1675) (Buchanan Collection, Comedias Nuevas, parte 42), both located at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto. All quotations and further references to these works are to these editions, and all translations are mine.

87 Cassandra (Pallas’ priestess) explains that Pallas is both the inventor of Music and Arms and is also opposite to Love (represented by Cupid and Venus). “…Palas/ es igualmente inventora de la Musica, y las Armas;/ y contraria del Amor,/ que este requisito basta/ a declarar la Deidad,/ pues es consecuencia clara;/ que deidad no puede ser/quien no es del Amor contraria…”

88 The theme of falling in love with the image of a mysterious woman is recurrent in courtly love poetry. These women—always of noble origin—are idealized to the extent that they are viewed as goddesses or creatures that are not from this earth. In Los juegos olímpicos, in fact, one of the characters comments that the woman in the portrait (Cassandra) is so beautiful that “she cannot be human.”

89 This type of lament is explored in depth in Chapter 4 of this dissertation.

48

In Los juegos olímpicos, Oenone, nymph of the River Xanthus, is in love with the mortal Paris.90 The scene of the lament begins with Oenone and a group of nymphs singing by the River Xanthus. The nymphs sing of Cupid and Pallas, and later march to

Pallas’ Temple, leaving Oenone by herself:

Enone. Sola me han dexado, y solo Oenone: I have been left alone, and only mis pesares me acompañan; my sorrows accompany me; ay ausente Paris! Tú oh, absent Paris! You, sagrada fuente, que bañas sacred fountain, that wash plantas y flores (pues saben plants and flowers (for flowers and plants de amor las flores, y plantas) know of love) pues a mis ansias asistes, since you witness my longings, suspende el curso de mis ansias. suspend the flow of my [tears].

Following these verses, Oenone breaks into song. She sings five poetic strophes (coplas) in which she compares the course of the river to her tears while using words commonly used in instances of great pain (dolor, ansias, males, lamento, tormento, and llanto /pain, longing, woes, lament, torment, and weeping). Written in a different poetic metre, the sixth and final strophe is set as an affective estribillo. In it, Oenone addresses the four elements that Cupid controls—air, water, earth, fire—by calling out to fish, birds, seas, valleys, flowers, and seeking their compassion:

90 Oenone (Enone) explains that she and Paris grew up together on the Island of Tenedos but were separated when her father, Priest of Pallas, took her with him to Troy.

49

Enone. Pezes, fieras, y aves, Oenone. Fish, beasts, and birds, sentid mis males; feel my woes; plantas, flores, peñas, plants, flowers, rocks, llorad mis quexas; weep my complaints; montes, valles, ríos, mountains, valleys, rivers, oid mis suspiros; hear my sighs; oid, sentid, llorad, hear, feel, cry, pues Amor reina because Love reigns en riscos, y flores, in cliffs, and flowers, en plantas y peñas, in plants and rocks, en montes, y ríos, in mountains and rivers, en aves, y fieras. in birds, and beasts.

Oenone’s lament differs from Callisto’s both in its text and in its music. While

Callisto’s is a two–part song with an affective section (the estribillo) and a descriptive one (the coplas), Oenone’s poem links two distinct poetic traditions—the lament and the invocation—in one of its sections: the estribillo. For this type of Song, Stein has coined the term “lament-invocation,” which, significantly, is a recurring type of lament in seventeenth-century Spanish mythological dramas. In these invocations, the character invokes the four elements (air, fire, water, and earth) by addressing different parts in nature (flowers, rivers, mountains, etc.). The distraught lover seeks their compassion but, ultimately, wants to be rid of his or her pain in order to experience the same peaceful harmony that reigns in the universe. The most recognizable musical feature of the lament- invocation, as Stein demonstrates, is the harmonic movement around the circle of fifths, particularly the sequence of descending fifths.

According to Stein, the melodic descent around a circle of fifths “seems to have been associated with the perfection of celestial or universal harmony, the ever-present

50

‘consonant’, but never audible musica mundana.”91 Spanish composers and dramatists— including Juan Hidalgo, Calderón de la Barca, and their contemporaries—may have been familiar with Athanasius Kircher’s well-known music treatise, Musurgia Universalis

(1650), in which the Jesuit polymath describes the sympathetic, or consonant, harmony of the universe. Each spiritual and material component of the universe corresponds to one out of ten sets of enneachords. As Kircher explains:

Nature […] arranges the various enneachords in the world so that all are in tune with the celestial enneachord, and when one set is going, all the rest will resonate…In a word, if you combine concordant strings in nature you will produce concordance effects: if discordant ones, discords will result.92

In a lament-invocation, the descending fifths sequence—due to its perfect intervals as well as the natural order of keys it outlines—seems to be interpreted as a vehicle for communication with divine entities. The lamenting character is able to be in tune with the universe that surrounds her (or him) and to address the elements using their own perfect and consonant language. By the same token, he or she can move and arouse pity in the deities or in the elements it invokes.

Oenone’s song is therefore a two-part lament in which each section is highly distinctive: an affective invocation—the estribillo, “Peces, fieras, aves”—and a set of five descriptive coplas. The anonymous composer (possibly Juan Hidalgo?) chose to highlight the estribillo and so, he disregarded the emotional poetic content of the coplas including their heavily charged words—pain, longing, weeping, and so forth. (It could be argued

91 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 240.

92 Cited in Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 241.

51 that, to a certain extent, the music of the coplas does not reflect the content of the text.93)

The estribillo employs several musical devices associated with laments—such as dissonances and descending melodic lines—and also with invocations, namely, “a strong harmonic pattern with reference to the keys as ordered in the circle of fifths.”94 Unlike

Callisto’s, Oenone’s lamento does not begin with the monosyllable “Ay,” but rather with an address to the creatures of the earth followed by the imperative “sentid” (“feel”), and later “llorad” (weep) and “oid” (hear). The melodic line moves at times by step, but mostly it moves by intervals of thirds, fourths, fifths, and even a few dramatic octaves. In a sense, Oenone’s lament is more dramatic. The leaps in the vocal melody are somewhat exaggerated or extravagant, perhaps reflecting the irrationality of love that has altered the nymph’s emotional state, as well as the harmony of the four elements.95 Finally, while this lament does not employ textual repetition as a rhetorical device, the use of repetitive leaps, in particular the minor thirds to call out the creatures of the earth, conveys a sense of emphasis and urgency. Example 2.

93 Stein suggests that “[the coplas section] is simply an extended sequence, in which the central motive (running eighth-notes falling and rising tetrachord) was possibly the musical rhetorical equivalent to the textual image of the flowing river in the first quatrain. The coplas are composed in the same syllabic, sequential melodic style (in duple metre) used in so many other strophic tonadas or declamatory airs.” Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 287.

94 Ibid., 287.

95 The idea of love’s power over the elements, which dates back to classical antiquity, is found in Plato’s Symposium where Eryximachus describes the power of Love over the elements as follows: “When those factors I mentioned a short while ago—hot, cold, dry, and wet—are under the influence of moderate Love [this is the love that is good, the celestial love as he explains earlier], there is harmony between them and they blend into a temperate climate. They bring rich harvests, and health not only for plants, but also for men and all other animals…But when the other Love, the brutal one, gains control over the weather, then they cause widespread destruction and harm.” In Plato, Symposium, trans. by Robin Waterfield (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 23.

52

Example 2 Oenone's lament "Peces, fieras, aves" in Los juegos olímpicos (1673) 96

Like Oenone, Fílida feels the pangs of love in Fernández de León’s zarzuela

Endemión y Diana. Hoping to escape her pain, she decides to become one of Diana’s nymphs, for which she is required to take a vow of chastity. Fílida is administered the sacred rites and is asked to guard the torch (antorcha) in Diana’s temple. The torch, which symbolizes Diana’s and her nymph’s purity, must be protected at all time. Fílida

96 Excerpt taken from Stein’s transcription in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 518.

53 agrees to stay and guard the flame; Diana and her nymphs exit the scene leaving Fílida alone to express her concealed pain. She speaks 23 verses in which she both narrates the events that have led her to the temple of Diana and expresses her heartbreak. She speaks of her love for Endemión, of how she followed him to the Island of Acaya, and of her fear of profaning Diana’s temple with the fire that still burns in her heart. Then she turns to the torch and utters the words: “Oh, you, to whom I can confess my grief, listen to the voice of my sorrows.”97 At this point, she sings her song of sorrow:

Cantando. Antorcha brillante Singing. Bright torch, imagen constante constant image de mi desventura, of my misfortune, pues si tu luz dura, for if your light shines on, tan siempre encendida, always burning, siempre te está costando la vida. it will always cost you your life. […] […] El daño introduces You cause damage entre lo que luzes, where you shed light, mi dolor no cesa, my pain does not cease aun siendo pavesa, even [turned into] cinder, porque se eterniza because, to my own grief, para mi mal, aun la debil ceniza. even the faint ash becomes eternal. … …

Fílida’s song is addressed to Diana’s torch, symbol of purity and chastity. The poetic text, moreover, reveals that although Fílida’s is not a lament-invocation, it is reminiscent of one. Like the nymph Oenone, Fílida invokes an external agent to feel, and sympathize with, her pain. While Oenone calls out to the four elements,98 Fílida

97 “O tu, a quien es bien compare [sic. “contare”]/ mi pena, escucha puesta / es la voz de mis pesares.”

98 In most lament-invocations, the lamenting character invokes the elements, which are usually commanded or disturbed by Love (Cupid). This theme appears in many zarzuelas. For example, in Venir el amor al mundo (Love comes to the world), Cupid arrives in Cyprus and causes chaos by disturbing the four elements. The four elements—wind, water, air and fire— are not only connected to Cupid (and the passion of love), but also to the four humors in the human body. According to Galen, once the humors were

54 addresses Diana’s torch, governed by the element of fire. In her song, the element of fire seems to waver between symbolizing Diana’s chastity and Fílida’s sensual love.99 It thus seems that the poet’s intention was to create a scene for the character to lament, as well as to provide the composer with an emotional text reminiscent of lament-invocations.

However, for whichever reason, the composer did not heighten this dramatic moment with the use of music. A seventeenth-century source held at the Biblioteca Nacional de

España (M/3881) confirms that the six hexasyllabic stanzas of the song were set as strophic coplas that lack the stock musical figures and devices normally associated with the lament.100 Yet, within the context of the early zarzuela, Fílida’s song of sorrow may be understood as an evocation of the lament in the figure of the weeping nymph.

Indeed, the laments appearing in the Spanish zarzuela of the period (as well as in all other staged mythological dramas) are mostly reserved for female characters.101 As I

disturbed, the person fell ill. The disturbance of the four elements traditionally symbolizes that a character in the play is experiencing the passion of love.

99 The connection between the element of fire and amorous love (amores), lust (lujuria) and concupiscence (concupiscencia) are described by Ignacio Camargo in Discurso theologico sobre los theatros y comedias de este siglo: en que por todo genero de autoridades, en especial de los santos padres de la iglesia, y doctores escolasticos, y por principios solidos de la theologia, se resuelve con claridad la question, de si es, ò no, pecado grave el ver comedias, como se representan oy en los theatros de España (En Lisboa: En la Emprenta de Miguel Manescal, impressor del Santo Oficio, 1690), 84, and 89. Henceforth, I will use modern spelling—Discurso teólogico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo— when referring to this source. Camargo’s treatise on Spanish theatre appears throughout this study for two reasons: first, it was written only a few years before Durón’s first zarzuela and thus is relevant to the period discussed in this dissertation; second, it summarizes the views of Spanish conservative observers on theatre practices throughout the seventeenth century.

100 For more on this and other settings of this song, see Luis Robledo Estaire, Tonos a lo divino y a lo humano en el Madrid barroco (Madrid, Editorial Alpuesto, 2004), 46, 53-54, 85-87.

101 A female lament appears, for example, in the opera Celos aun del aire matan (1661). See Stein, Songs of mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 243.

55 suggested above, the association between lamenting traditions and female characters may have been brought into Spain in the 1650s with the introduction of the Italian lamento.

Towards the end of the 1670s, however, the male lament so commonly found in medieval and early modern Spanish literary texts crops up in the mythological zarzuela and gains momentum. The first male lamento to be written in the genre seems to have been Cupid’s

“En este arpón tirano,” which appears in another zarzuela by Fernández de León: Venir el amor al mundo (Love Comes to the world, 1679).

1.2.2 Lamenting Male Deities (Venir el amor al mundo)

On November 19, 1679, and at the age of eighteen, Charles II married his first wife, Marie Louise d’Orléans.102 A month later, the zarzuela Venir el amor al mundo was performed at court on the occasion of the queen mother’s birthday. Due to the title of the zarzuela and of the themes explored in the work—sensual versus ideal love—it would seem that Fernández de León’s work may have also been intended for the newly wedded monarch. Venir el amor al mundo reflected the philosophical and religious views on love of the time and therefore served, much like a conduct manual, to teach the young and inexperienced monarch how to conduct himself in an appropriate manner, both morally and religiously, with his future wife.103 The king’s marriage was, of course, a matter of state for two main reasons: first, as Flórez observes, “the love between the royal couple

102 In 1679 and at the age of eighteen, Charles II married his first wife, Marie Luise d’Orléans (María Luisa). The marriage took place by proxy in October of 1679 and in person on the 19th of November of the same year.

103 The zarzuela Love comes to the world was first performed in December of 1679, one month following the royal wedding in Madrid. Performed as part of the celebrations for the Queen mother’s birthday, Love comes to the world may well have been written for the newly wedded monarch, as the work explores the passion of love in great depth. In 1689, María Luisa passed away without having produced an heir, and a few months later, the king wedded Mariana of Neuburg.

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[was seen as] the basis of the harmony of the kingdom,”104 and second, the union was meant to ensure the continuity of the Spanish Habsburg lineage.

Fernández de León’s story retells the origins of erotic love—embodied in the figure of the capricious deity, Cupid—and its nefarious effect on mortal men and women.

It begins with a celebration on the Island of Cyprus in which the islanders sing and dance, and describe the bucolic paradise in which they live. Their state of peaceful bliss is shattered by the arrival of Venus and her son, Cupid. Venus shows great distress as she gives the Cypriots a detailed account of Cupid’s origins and of the passions he harbours.

She then explains that she has brought Cupid to their bucolic island so that, with their help, he will learn how to moderate his violent temperament with dancing, music, celebration, and through the benevolent effect of consonance, harmony, and gentleness.

Everyone agrees to help, but Cupid does not want help: he wants to create chaos. The deity of love disturbs the harmony of the island by controlling the four elements—air, fire, earth, and water—and by shooting arrows at the women and men who, one by one, begin to succumb to the passion of love. Cupid continues to torment the islanders, but he accidentally stabs himself and begins to feel the symptoms of love. He then slips into a climactic lamento. As all other works in the genre, this zarzuela ends with a celebration.

In this case, a universal sense of happiness is achieved when the two deities restore harmony to the island.

While the text of the zarzuela has come down to us in three original sources, the music does not survive in its entirety.105 The extant lament, attributed to court composer

104 “…el amor entre la pareja real, base de la armonía del reino y reflejo de la armonía celestial que sostiene el universo…” Flórez, Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias, 165.

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Juan de Navas (1647–1709), was most likely composed for a revival of the zarzuela in

1689,106 and not for its premiere in 1679. (If this is so, then the surviving music of the lament was in fact composed ten years after the first performance of the work and years after the death of Fernández de León, Calderón, and Hidalgo.107) The extant lament is remarkable for three reasons: first, it is written for a male character (although still for a female voice); second, it is not cast as a traditional Spanish tonada such as Callisto’s or

Oenone’s laments, but rather cast as a tonada that is expanded through the use of two recitados, one preceding the coplas, and one preceding the estribillo; and finally, there is a change in the use of metre that does not adhere to the traditional use of metre in the coplas and the estribillos. These remarkable musical innovations in Cupid’s lament confirm the hypothesis that it was composed for a later revival, when— following the death in 1685 of the influential composer Juan Hidalgo—a younger generation of composers began to expand the musical horizons of the zarzuela.108

105 First distributed as an unbound manuscript (suelta) in the seventeenth century, the text appeared in two early eighteenth-century editions of Spanish plays. See Antonio Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo” in Salir el amor del mundo by Sebastián Durón (Málaga: Sociedad española de musicología, 1979), 81.

106 Date suggested by Stein in her discussion of the lament in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 315-17 and 523-24. Venir el amor al mundo was also revived in 1694, 1697, and 1698.

107 While the original lament seems not to have survived, three early editions of the text indicate that the zarzuela did, indeed, include a sung lament. See: Melchor Fernández de León, “Venir el amor al mundo” in 1) Comedias Varias, Tomo IX [Buchanan Collection: Arboleda, A de. El Catholico Perseo, San Jorge], 2) Comedias españolas, v. 24 [Buchanan Collection: Comedias españolas v. 24]; and 3) Comedias nuevas, parte 48, escogidas de los mejores ingenios de Espana. Dedicadas al señor D. Pedro de larreatigui y Colon, Cavallero del Orden de Alcantara, Colegial Mayor… (Madrid: Por Francisco Martinez Abad, 1704) [Buchanan Collection: Comedias nuevas, parte 48].

108 In fact, the very presence of the first recitative confirms that the extant lament was composed for the revival of the work (in 1689 or even later) as the poetic text—a seguidilla—was surely intended to be a dance-like song and not a recitado.108 Traditionally, the poetic seguidilla is set as a musical seguidilla:

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Cupid’s song, as it appears in Stein’s transcription, is divided into four sections: recitado, coplas, recitado, and estribillo.109 In the first recitative, which is in duple metre,

Cupid speaks of the properties of his arrow and of how he will shoot the Cypriot Glauco with it. Cupid then sings seven coplas in triple metre as he prepares to shoot the mortal, but he accidentally stabs himself. While coplas were usually in duple metre, in this piece the composer set them in triple metre for the purpose of providing contrast with the recitatives that precede and follow this section. In the second recitative, Cupid addresses the elements, nature, and the creatures that live in it. While this type of section—an invocation to the elements—had commonly been set as an estribillo (as in Oenone’s lament), here it is set as a recitative in duple metre.

The last segment of the song is the core of the lament. Beginning with the imperative “oíd” (“hear [my moan]”), the section is set as an estribillo in triple metre in which Cupid beseeches the elements and the creatures to feel his pain. The text is laden with nouns full of affective meaning, such as gemido, llanto, tormento and lamento

(moan, cry, torment, lament). The word “lamento” appears in all extant literary sources as well as in a Madrid music manuscript (BNE, M/2478), yet it is replaced with the word

“voz” (voice) in the Barcelona manuscript used by Stein in her transcription (Biblioteca

a quick dance in a major key and in triple metre.108 This unexpected setting—a recitative in duple metre— may very well be proof that a younger and more innovative composer (Juan de Navas) wrote the extant lament, while the first setting was possibly composed as a musical seguidilla.

109 In Songs of mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, Stein transcribes the lament from the manuscript deposited in the Biblioteca de Catalunya (Barcelona), Mus. Ms 738/62. I have consulted a second primary source located at the BNE which indicates three sections only: estribillo, coplas, and second estribillo (segundo estribillo). BNE, M/2478, Fols. 29r.-30r.]. The two settings of this lament are deserving of further analysis.

59 de Catalunya-Mus. Ms 738/62). Curiously, this is the only alteration in the Barcelona text.110 The transcription below is based on the text as it appears in the three original sources and in the manuscript held at the Biblioteca Nacional de España.

Cupido: Cupid: En este arpón tirano In this tyrant harpoon, Recitado fiero peligro fierce danger, (Seguidillas) escándalo ligero light scandal (duple metre) de los sentidos of the senses, despedido del arco fired from the bow seré en tu pecho in your chest el que llegue a vengarme I will have my revenge ¡valedme cielos! Oh heavens!

Pues violentando la cuerda While forcing the string Coplas (7) del arco por dar a su of this bow to give the (triple metre) fuga mayor rendimiento flight [of this arrow] more power entre mi propia prisa he I rushed and fell caído y con mis flechas and with my own arrows herido me veo I see myself wounded. […] […]

Aves, flores, pezes, brutos, Birds, flowers, fish, beasts, Recitado montes, valles, riscos, ceños, mountains, valleys, cliffs, frowns, (duple plantas, fuentes, rios, mares, plants, fountains, rivers, seas, metre) astros, signos y luceros planets, signs and stars

Oid mi gemido, Hear my moan, Escuchad a mi voz [lamento], Listen to my voice, [lament] atended a mi llanto, hearken to my cry, mirad mi tormento Look at my torment Estribillo Pues soy el amor For I am love (triple y de mi muero. and of me I die. metre)

110 I find this textual variation quite intriguing. Is it possible that Cupid’s song was performed outside the theatre and for an audience (i.e., the Barcelona court) that may not have necessarily shared Madrid’s particular taste for laments? Further research on this lament and on the musical taste in Barcelona may help shed light on the Barcelona source.

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As Stein notes, the estribillo—the core section of the Cupid’s song— includes all the hallmarks of the lament: the use of triple metre, the vocative “Oid” (“hear”), and the emphasis on highly dramatic words such as llanto, tormento, and muero (tears, torment, and [I] die). Among the characteristic musical devices of the lament are the “long tied notes for the principal words that become dissonant through suspension or bass movement”, as well as “a descending melodic line and descending melodic bass line for the last line of the text (‘Pues que soy el amor’), and … the use of a descending tetrachord in the final measures of the melody.”111 Example 3.

Example 3 Cupid's lament "Oíd mi gemido" in Venir el amor al mundo (1679)

111 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 316. The excerpt presented in this chapter is taken from Stein’s transcription in Ibid., 524.

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Like all other laments discussed thus far, Cupid’s lament was developed for soprano voice, as women performed the sung roles of both male and female deities in all

Spanish mythological genres (fiestas cortesanas, opera, and zarzuela). The aesthetic preference for the female voice may well have been linked to its symbolic potential within the plays. Carmen Sanz Ayán suggests, for example, that the high female voice may have been used to differentiate “the superior plane of the immortal characters from the inferior world of the simple mortals.”112 Yet, by the time these mythological genres developed, trouser roles had already become popular in the genre of the comedia, and the female body in male attire had long been the object of fascination for most theatregoers.

The practice of cross-dressing in courtly mythological dramas derived from that of the comedia, so while women’s voices symbolized the heavens while pleasing the ear, their

112 “El tono de voz de las actrices-cantantes, mucho más agudo, diferenciaba a través de la música el plano superior de los personajes inmortales frente al mundo inferior de los simples mortales.” Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de Reyes, 122.

62 bodies also pleased the eye. This practice, of course, triggered heated debates regarding the morality of both plays and performers.

In the following section, I provide a brief overview of the theatre practices that shaped the zarzuela and its lamenting roles, including the controversial and highly popular trouser roles of the era.

1.3 The Stage: Theatre Companies and Performers

1.3.1 Theatre Troupes and the Tercera Dama (Third Lady)

Two Madrid theatre troupes were responsible for all the performances in the city: they both performed for the king, the high nobility, and the common people.

Accordingly, to each of these three different audiences corresponded a performing space: palaces, private residences, corrales (public theatres), or city streets. Extremely versatile and talented, the comediantes (performers) in these troupes performed every theatrical genre of the period, from spoken to half or entirely sung plays, and from farces to serious works. Thus, the compañia teatral (theatre group) that presented a mythological zarzuela for the monarch was the same one that performed a comedia in the corral or an auto sacramental in the city streets.

A council responsible for the formation of the Madrid theatre companies (junta de formación de compañías) would put together two troupes at the beginning of each year.113 While in some years there were major changes in the companies, such as the appointment of a new autor (manager-director), in most years the changes were minor. A given performer in one company could switch to the other without losing his/her status or

113 Buck, “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres”, 113.

63 position, or he/she could move up (or down) the ladder in one of the companies.

Traditionally, each troupe had an autor, six female and six male performers, and one or more stand-ins (sobresalientes), as well as musicians.

Each of the six female and male performers had a specific role and hierarchal status in the company. The primera dama (first lady) and her male counterpart, the primer galán (first leading man), were the stars in the company and thus traditionally assumed the leading roles in the comedias. The segunda dama (second lady) and her male counterpart, the segundo galán (second leading man), were the “supporting actors” of the era. In the plays, they performed the roles of characters closely related to the protagonists such as a cousin, a friend, or a lady in waiting. While these somewhat

“heroic” characters were young and belonged to the upper class, the roles played by the tercera dama (third lady) and the tercer galán (third leading man) were the exact opposite: they were comical rustic characters (graciosos), most often a servant of the protagonist. The lower social status of these characters allowed them to enjoy more freedom than their noble counterparts: they could tell jokes, they could dance, and they could sing. In fact, terceras damas and their male counterparts were the best singers of their time. While all comediantes could sing, the third lady in particular always outshone her peers. Fourth, fifth and sixth damas and galanes played secondary roles that included, for example, servants, peasants, and old men (barbas).114

In the half-spoken, half-sung zarzuelas, the first and second damas and galanes traditionally performed the spoken roles of the protagonists, while the third, and

114 While there are old men (barbas) in the comedias as well as in other Spanish genres of the period, there are no roles of old women.

64 sometimes fourth ladies, would play the sung roles of both female and male deities or semi-deities (i.e., nymphs). Women, therefore, performed all serious sung roles, while men only sang when performing the role of the gracioso. Towards the end of the century, the presence of music increased to the point that, in some cases, the text was divided almost equally between spoken and sung lines. Thus, third ladies specializing in singing not only gained increased participation in these works, but they also acquired significant praise and fame. In many cases, the third ladies were the “big ticket” stars in the zarzuela.

The terceras damas, like most comediantes of the era, usually belonged to families of actors from whom they learned the trade. In some cases, a senior member of the family would pass down his or her expertise to a younger and less experienced family member. In other cases, performers developed or adjusted their talents to the types of roles that were becoming popular. For example, Teresa de Robles, who belonged to a well-known dynasty of actors, the Escamilla family, gradually became an expert in trouser roles in the zarzuela, as the genre began to privilege male lamenting roles during the late reign of Charles II.115 It would also appear, as Catalina Buezo argues, that

Robles’s specialization in trouser roles was passed down from her aunt, Manuela de

Escamilla, who in turn had learned these roles from her own father, Antonio de

Escamilla.116

115 Robles began her career as a child in the company of her grandfather, Antonio de Escamilla, in the year 1675, and rose to third lady in 1683. She retained this position throughout her career and was, without a doubt, one of the most famous terceras damas of her era. She retired sometime between 1710 and 1720. For more biographical information, see María Asunción Flórez Asensio, “Teresa de Robles” in Diccionario Bibliografico Español, Vol. XLIII (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2009), 696.

116 Catalina Buezo argues, very convincingly, that Antonio de Escamilla replaced Juan Rana, from whom he learned the specialization of cross-dressing, and later passed down his experience to his daughter, Manuela, and to his granddaughter, Teresa. Catalina Buezo, “Mujer y desgobierno en el teatro breve del

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The specialization of actors in late seventeenth-century Spain was by no means a new trend, but rather a trait intrinsic to the profession. Since the first Spanish theatre troupes in the sixteenth century, performers had been associated with specific roles for which they received recognition. In the sixteenth century, Lope de Rueda (1510-65), for example, specialized in playing female roles; in the seventeenth century, the comedian

Cosme Pérez (1593–1672), also known as Juan Rana, was famous for playing the comical roles of rural mayor or cuckold husband as well as effeminate male characters; and in the early eighteenth century, Manuela de Torres became well-known for playing religious roles in the genre of comedias de santas.117 As I will show throughout this dissertation, at least four terceras damas can be associated with trouser roles, and specifically, with lamenting male characters: Teresa de Robles, Paula Maria, Manuela de

Labaña, and Manuela de la Cueva. These transvestite roles, as well as the participation of women in Spanish theatre, triggered a vast array of responses, including fear, fascination and, rejection.

1.3.2 Female and Transvestite Performance

In order to end the controversial practice of male to female cross-dressing in late sixteenth-century Spain, the state finally allowed women to perform on the stage in the

siglo XVII: El legado de Juan Rana en Teresa de Robles, Alcalde gracioso y “autora” de comedias” in Teatro y Poder, VI y VII Jornadas de Teatro (Burgos: Universidad de Burgos, 1996).

117 For Lope de Rueda, see Donnell, Feminizing the Enemy, 57, for Juan Rana, see Peter Thompson, The Triumphant Juan Rana: A Gay Actor of the Spanish Golden Age (Toronto, University of Toronto, 2006), and for Manuela de Torres, Buck, “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres, ” 166.

66 year 1587.118 In a sense, women were allowed on the stage to remedy the apparent feminization of young men and its potentially dangerous effects on the audience. The authorization, however, did not succeed in silencing theatre detractors, who now objected to the very existence of female performers. The conundrum of who should play female roles presented no satisfactory solution. On the one side, males who wore female clothes on the stage were believed to seduce the male gaze; on the other, female performers were, for the most part, viewed as dishonest women who threatened to corrupt the souls of men.

The debates regarding female performers became even more heated during the early seventeenth century with the emergence of female cross-dressing as a plot device in the Spanish comedia. Trouser roles became highly popular in the comedias by Lope de

Vega and his contemporaries, and audiences in the public theatre avidly waited for the moment in which a female character would suddenly appear disguised as a man.119 In these plays, the reversal of gender roles as well as the eroticism derived from cross- dressing constituted an element of fascination to most theatregoers. Revealing hidden parts of the female anatomy, the male attire exposed the legs and feet of female performers, thus attracting large crowds of excited male viewers as well as harsh criticism.

118 According to Donnell, there is a drastic change of attitude towards male to female cross- dressing, and while this practice had been employed for decades, “ostensibly in order to preserve public morality and prevent lust in sixteenth-century audiences—[it] suddenly turned into a vilified sign of lunacy and depravity.” Feminizing the Enemy, 67. See also, pps. 57, 67, and 99.

119 See McKendrick’s seminal study of the mujer varonil, Woman and Society in the Spanish Drama of the Golden Age. According to McKendrick, Lope de Vega “realized that the mujer varonil was a dramatic type of great theatrical impact, capable of endless variations and possessing enormous popular appeal. So he made her one of his stock characters….the mujer varonil then became a stock character of the Golden Age drama as a whole,” 310.

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Despite the debates, the state did not prohibit women from performing. It did, however, reiterate the rules and regulations established in the 1580s intended to preserve women’s modesty.120 In 1641, Philip IV instructed that “married directors and actors bring with them their wives, and women may not perform or travel in companies unless married and, being so, accompanied by their husbands,” and in 1644, he reminded the theatre troupes that “no woman, although she be a girl, dance alone,” and “that no woman who is not married may dance, sing, or perform, as has been ordered.”121 Yet, due to the general disobedience of these and other rules, all theatres were shut down in 1646 and remained closed until 1650. Only three years after the theatres reopened, the king re- stated the dress regulations for female performers and indicated that male disguises should be “differentiated only from the waist up”:

…no woman will wear male clothing on the stage, yet if the performance requires that she play these [male] roles, … it shall be done in such a manner that [female] legs and feet will not be revealed under any circumstances, and they shall be covered with the dresses or clothing that [actors] normally wear, or with a robe, so that the clothing will be differentiated only from the waist up…122

120 The state’s decision to license female actors was partially informed by the financial gains that women brought to the theatre since, as Sydney Donnell explains, “female performers drew bigger crowds and thus brought more revenue.” As a percentage of the profit that each company made went towards funding the Madrid hospitals, the more money they made, the more they could donate to hospitals. Large percentages helped reduce the crown’s expenses. See Feminizing the Enemy, 70-71.

121 Translation of the quotation in Thomas O’Connor, Love in the “Corral”: Conjugal Spirituality and Anti-Theatrical Polemic in Early Modern Spain (New York: Peter Lang, 2000), 104

122 Full original citation: “Quando permiti que volviesen las comedias (que se avian suspendido por los desordenes y relaxacion de trajes y representaciones que se avian experimentado) fue con orden precisa que eso se executase con atencion muy particular a la reformacion de los trajes y a la decencia de las representaciones que se avra de observar, de suerte que no hubiese ni en lo uno ni en lo otro cosa alguna que ofendiese la publica honestidad. Y porque he entendido que en esto se faltaba gravemente en las partes donde se representa, y que los trajes no son con la moderacion y ajustamiento que se debe, os ordeno que envieis ordenes a la Corona en todo aprieto (de suerte que se observen precisa y indispensablemente), que ninguna mujer pueda salir al teatro en habito de hombre, y que si hubiese de ser preciso para la representacion , que hagan estos papeles, sea con traje tan ajustado y modesto, que de ninguna manera se le descubran las piernas ni los pies, sino que esto este siempre cubierto con los vestidos o trajes que ordinariamente usan, o con alguna sotana, de manera que solo se diferenzie el traje de la cintura arriba, imponiendoles las penas que os pareciere y disponiendo que inviolablemente se execute en las que

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Quite likely, these rules did not apply to court mythological dramas, including the zarzuela, in which cross-dressing is not a plot device but rather a feature ingrained in the genre. If these dress regulations were ever observed in Calderón’s early works in the genre performed only four years after the decree of 1653, they seem to have been disregarded after the king’s death in 1665. A watercolour of the stage set of a zarzuela produced for Charles II—Vélez de Guevara and Hidalgo’s Los celos hacen estrellas

(1672), shown below—suggests rather strongly that female comediantes may have, in fact, exposed their legs to the royal audience when dressed as male deities.

The watercolour in question depicts the opening scene of the second act, in which

Mercury charms Argos with his singing voice in order to steal the cow that Argos is guarding (recall Io’s earlier transformation into this cow).123 The scene depicts the two characters in two different positions: to the right of the painting, we see Argos, played by a man, half asleep and lying against a rock, and to the left, Mercury, played by a woman, standing in contrapposto, leaning toward Argos and revealing a fully uncovered leg.

While both are males, they are conspicuously different: Argos reveals an unambiguously

contravinieren al cumplimento de la orden referida.—Rubricado de la real mano de S.M.’’Madrid, a primero de enero de 1653.”—Al vicecanciller de Aragon. Transcribed in Cotarelo y Mori, Bibliografia de las controversias sobre la licitud en Espana….(Madrid: Rev. de Archivos, Bibl. Y Museos, 1904), 635. Translation and emphasis are mine.

123 The surviving score of Mercury’s song in the second act, “De las luces que en el mar” set in soprano clef, provides further confirmation that a female actor-singer played the role. While the extant libretto does not indicate the name of the comediante that performed the part, the opening loa and the final mojiganga at the end of the play list all the actors that participated in the production, The members of the cast that appear in the Loa and Mojiganga are Manuela de Escamilla, Bernarda Manuela, Antonio de Escamilla, Alonso de Olmedo, Manuela de Borja, Francisco Pérez, and Jerónimo de Heredia. The score, the libretto, and the watercolours appear in the same source: Vélez de Guevara, Los celos hacen estrellas, representación en dos jornadas [Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 13217 Han.]

69 male figure distinguished by his bare chest and broad shoulders, and Mercury exhibits a more feminine body type with his small round shoulders and round abdomen (Figure 1).

Figure 1 Mercury's costume. Francisco de Herrera the Younger, Los celos hacen estrellas, opening scene, act 2 (Detail) [Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 13217 Han.]

This watercolour appears in the manuscript of Los celos hacen estrellas prepared for the Spanish Infanta, (1651–73), Maria Theresa, at the request of her husband, the

Emperor Leopold I.124 The manuscript now held in the Österreichische

Nationalbibliothek in Vienna [Cod. 13217] contains the text and the music for the zarzuela as well as five watercolours by the Spanish court painter, Francisco Herrera el

Mozo. As Varey and Shergold suggest in their study of the manuscript and the zarzuela,

124 During her years at the imperial court in Vienna, Margarita Teresa appears to have requested frequently that her husband ensure Spanish music be sent to her. The manuscript of Vélez de Guevara’s zarzuela Los celos hacen estrellas was one of several works prepared for her. See J. E. Varey and N. D. Shergold, “Introducción” in Juan Vélez de Guevara’s Los celos hacen estrellas (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1970), cvii.

70 the watercolours date from the same period in which the zarzuela was produced for the

Madrid court, possibly before March 28, 1673, when a payment was made for the binding of the manuscript.125 What Varey and Shergold do not mention, however, is whether

Herrera’s watercolours might depict the costumes worn in the production of 1672. Quite possibly, the watercolour of Mercury and Argos described above captures the appearance of the (fe)male deities in the mythological zarzuela of the era, or at least in this exceptional case. For if women did not expose their legs dressed in male attire, then

Herrera’s depiction of a female performer playing Mercury would have possibly been censored or critiqued, or may have even offended the female recipient of the manuscript.

From this perspective, then, the painted scene of Mercury and Argos suggests that the clothing regulations of the public comedia did not apply to the zarzuela and that male attires were not, as Philip IV had ordered, “differentiated from the waist up” during the reign of Charles II.

Neither did these strict clothing regulations seem to have been observed in times of Charles II’s successor, Philip V. A document pertaining to the performance of the zarzuela Vengar con el fuego el fuego in the year 1703 suggests that parts of the female body were exposed to the public when female comediantes wore male attire. The document indicates that the female actor Sabina Pascual played the role of a leading male

(galán) and wore a plumed hat (penacho) and a skirt-type garment traditionally worn by wealthy or aristocratic men (traje de toneletes).126 Falling slightly above the knee, this

125 Ibid., liv.

126 “Doc. 2. Relación de la representación de la zarzuela Vengar con el fuego al fuego 1703/ Compañía de Villaflor/ En diez y nueve de diziembre del año pasado de mil setez[iento]s y tres hizo mi compañía con la de Chavarria la fiesta de Vengar con el fuego el fuego echa de Antonio de Zamora; La loa

71 garment would expose part of the actress’s legs. A very similar—if not identical—type of outfit appears in the manuscript of a 1690 revival of Calderón’s fiesta cortesana La fiera, el rayo y la piedra127 (Figure 2). The male garment shown here provides visual evidence of women’s exposed legs when actresses wore male clothing.

Figure 2 Male outfit including a penacho and traje de toneletes in La fiera, el rayo y la piedra (Detail) [BNE, Mss/14614, Fol. 119]

nueva del dho inxenio, la mus[i]ca de la loa, la hizo Dn. Joseph de Torres, nueva. Savina Pasqual hizo el galan en esta comedia y vistiola de traxe de toneletes y penacho; Paula María de pieles y traxe de ninfa. Las demas señoras de la compañía de ninfas.” The document is transcribed in Begoña Lolo Herranz “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V durante la Guerra de la Sucesión, entre 1703-1707,” Recerca Musicologica XIX (2009), 179. (Emphasis mine.) It is possible, however, that the traje de toneletes may have been worn with a skirt rather than with pants.

127 Title page: Fiesta de la comedia que mandó ejecutar, en el Real Palacio de Valencia, el Excelentísimo Señor Don Luis de Moscoso Ossorio, Hurtado de Mendoza, Sandoval, y Roxas; Conde de Altamira, ... Virrey y Capitán General del Reyno de Valencia [Biblioteca Nacional de España, Mss/14614]. The revival, which was dedicated to the King and his consort, Mariana de Neuburg, took place in the Royal palace in Valencia on Sunday, June 4, 1690. I do not wish to suggest that a female actor performed this particular character in Calderón’s work. Rather, I use this painting to show the reader what a female character dressed in male garments looked like during this period and how much of her body was revealed to the audience.

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During the reign of Philip V when the zarzuela reached its height in popularity, in contrast, it is possible that the costumes used in the public theatres were the same that were used in the court productions, as there are no documented clothing regulations during this period to suggest otherwise. If so, then these potentially extravagant and provocative divine costumes—along with the spectacular stage effects—would have helped contribute to the popularity of the genre in Madrid’s public theatres during the early eighteenth century. Moreover, critiques to Spanish theatre regarding its context and its practices during this period, such as those by Ignacio de Camargo, strongly suggest that female performers en travesti revealed “to the male gaze” parts of the female body that, in Camargo’s views, “nature [had] intended to be kept away from view.”128

* * *

By making reference to the costumes worn by female performers, I aim to provide a wider context for the interpretation of the lamenting (fe)male, a highly complex figure due to the multiple levels of contradictions s/he presents. As I will show throughout this study, what the audience saw in the lamenting male was a female performer playing the role of a male character momentarily feminized when singing his lament. In so doing, the audience may have also observed a somewhat eroticized female body while listening to a female voice sing the lines of a male character that were written by higher-ranking

Spanish men and were intended for the Spanish elite.

128 Camargo, Discurso teologico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo, 90-91. Full citation provided in page 213 of this dissertation.

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Indeed, the established practice of cross-dressing in Spanish theatre led in part to the emergence of the male lamento. The figure of the lamenting male, I suggest, would not have proliferated in the hands of a male performer, as the male viewer would have identified with the lamenting character due to the performer’s gender. In this type of allegorical theatre where characters mirrored the Spanish monarch as well as Madrid’s ruling classes, the identification with a weak and feminized male character would have triggered anxiety and perhaps even precipitated a crisis in masculinity. I would argue that, due to the genre’s allegorical nature, the figure of the lamenting male long described in amorous theories became reinterpreted in the zarzuela. The male lyrical voice that had long dominated the tradition of amorous suffering found a safe conduit for theatrical and lamenting expression in the female performer. Providing separation between the male viewer and the allegorical character, the female body softened the dangerous overtones of feminization carried in the male lament.

The following chapter explores the socio-political context in which male laments began to proliferate in the zarzuela. Against the backdrop of the decline of the Spanish

Habsburg reign and the subsequent War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14), I explore the discourses of weakness and waning power in Cupid’s laments.

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Chapter 2 Omnia Vincit Amor?: Love, Cupid, and Allegories of Monarchic Misgivings

High above a cloud will open from which Love will descend on a resplendent throne with his bow and arrow. 2 Introduction Descending from the sky on a radiant throne, Cupid made his theatrical debut on the Spanish stage in 1614 capturing the imagination of the Habsburg court. Aside from introducing classical mythological figures for the first time in Spanish theatre, Lope de

Vega’s play El premio de la hermosura (The prize of beauty) presented the nine-year-old prince and future Philip IV in the role of Cupid.129 Speaking his lines, the young prince/deity exhibited strength as well as wisdom beyond his years and ruled supreme over the mortals. Shortly after his brief speech in the first act, the flawless deity exited the scene never to return in the play. The unprecedented as well as sensational appearance of the young prince as the god of love surely struck the royal audience. Ingrained in the contemporary imagination, the association between Cupid and Philip IV—and later by extension, with Charles II and Philip V—would be exploited in the years to come.130

129 “Abrirase en lo alto una nube, de donde baxa el amor sentado en un trono de resplandor con su arco y fleche," Félix Lope de Vega, “El premio de la hermosura” in Decimasexta parte de las Comedias de Lope de Vega Carpio, procurador fiscal de la camara apostolica (Madrid: por la viuda de Alonso Martin, 1621), Fol. 6r. [BNE R.Micro/9094.] Translation mine. Unless otherwise noted, all translations in this chapter are my own. As Sebastian Neumeister explains, Lope’s play—a tragicomedia—was the first to introduce pagan deities in the royal theatre. The play was performed at the park of the Lerma Ducal Palace, for which a portable stage was erected. In Mito clásico y ostentación: Los dramas mitológicos de Calderón (Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2000), 32.

130 The association between mythological characters and royal figures in the staged drams produced in European courts during this period has been widely acknowledged. For a detailed introduction to this fascinating topic, see Chapter 1, “Feasts, Allegories and Politics,” in Kristiaan P. Aercke, Gods of Play: Baroque Festive Performances as Rhetorical Discourse (New York: State University of New York Press, 1994).

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Only at the turn of the eighteenth century, Cupid’s flaws and struggles for power would become a recurring motive in the mythological zarzuela.

Spanish dramatists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, including Lope de

Vega, drew their mythological dramas and their depiction of deities from translations of classical myths and contemporary Spanish mythological manuals.131 Yet, wishing to praise the youthful prince in El premio de la hermosura, Lope purposely ignored the unfavourable depiction of Cupid as it appeared in Pérez de Moya’s Philosophia Secreta

(Secret Philosophy, 1585), the only published Spanish mythological manual at the time.

Discussing Cupid’s appearance, the Andalusian mathematician, writer, and mythographer

Juan Pérez de Moya (1513-97) stated that Cupid was depicted as a child because children were “foolish as their age prevent[ed] them from having knowledge.”132 To this he added that Cupid represented a “type of love [that was] foolish because when it affect[ed] men, including those who [were] wise and prudent, it push[ed] them to make foolish mistakes.”133 Pérez de Moya went on to explain that love was “mad and without reason”

(loco y sin razón) and that Cupid had wings to signify that he could be everywhere at once affecting all men. This deity carried arrows to suggest that carnal love created

131 Sebastian Neumeister, Mito clásico y ostentación, 86. Neumeister also refers to “colecciones” (collections) as another source of inspiration for Spanish poets, yet he does not specify which collections he refers to.

132 Juan Pérez de Moya, Philosophia secreta. Donde debaxo de historias fabulosas, se contiene mucha doctrina provechosa a todos estudios. Con el origen de los Idolos, o Dioses de la Gentilidad. Es materia muy necesaria para entender poetas y historiadores (Zaragoza: Miguel Fortuno Sanchez, 1599), Fol. 166 v. The mythographer describes Cupid’s appearance as follows: “Pintanle moço, o niño, desbarbado, desnudo, con alas, ceñido un aljaba de saetas, y un arco, …; los ojos tapados con una venda que le priva la vista…” (“he is depicted as a young boy or a child, beardless, naked, winged, carrying arrows in his quiver, and a bow…his eyes are covered with a bandage that prevents him from seeing.”)

133 “los niños son necios, porque segun la edad no pueden aver complimiento de saber. El amor assi es necio, porque los hombres, en quiē assienta, aunque ellos en si mesmo sean sabios y prudentes, hazenles cometer grandes errores, como si del todo fuessen necios.” Ibid.

76 wounds that made the lover experience pain and agitation, leading him to feel fear and suspicion. To indicate that carnal love was without reason (entendimiento), Cupid was depicted blindfolded.134

Other early discussions of Cupid in Spanish sources appear in the first and most influential translation of Ovid’s Metamorphosis by Jorge de Bustamante (published in

1545 and repeatedly reprinted throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries),135 and in Baltasar de Victoria’s Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad, a second authoritative

Spanish mythological manual published in two parts in 1620 and 1623. Expanding on

Pérez de Moya’s description, the Salamancan author and mythographer Baltasar de

Victoria was the first to comment on Cupid’s omnipotence and to introduce the words

“monarchy” and “empire” when alluding to the deity’s domains:

Finally, the jurisdictions of all gods have been narrowed and limited…Only for love are there no limits, nor appraisal of his empire and monarchy. At sea and on land, and even in the high heavens, his power and dominion are recognized, as Ovid said. [...] Love reigns over all gods, and his empire, and dominion are above everything else.136

Victoria concluded his description of Cupid with Virgil’s maxim, Omnia vincit amor

(“Love conquers all”), well-known among the early modern circle and echoed again

134 Ibid., fols. 167r.-170r.

135 José María Cossío speaks of the positive reception of Bustamante’s translation and mentions the editions of 1545,1546, 1550, 1551, 1557, 1565, 1574 (Evora), 1574 (Seville), 1577, 1595, 1662, 1645, 1664 in Fábulas mitológicas de España I (Madrid: Lavel, 1988), 58.

136 “Al fin todos los Dioses tenían sus jurisdicciones estrechadas, y limitadas… Solo para el amor no ay limite, ni tassa en su Imperio, y monarquia. En mar, y en tierra, y hasta el los altos Cielos se entiende su poder, y señorio, como lo dixo Ovidio.[…] Amor sobre los Dioses todos reyna,Y en ellos tiene Imperio, y señorio.” Baltasar de Victoria, Segunda parte del Teatro de los Dioses de la gentilidad. (Barcelona: Juan Pablo Marti, 1702), 400.

77 some six decades later in an expansion of and third part to Victoria’s influential treatise:

Juan Bautista Aguilar’s Tercera parte del Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (1688).137

Aguilar’s treatise was the first to dedicate an entire chapter to the god of love.138

His extensive section on Cupid built on the work of his Spanish predecessors and on other authoritative yet diverse figures including Plato, Aristotle, Ovid, Saint Augustine, and Ficino. Synthesizing both views on Cupid— the powerful force and the destructive or

“foolish” child—Aguilar acknowledged love’s supremacy but was quick to warn the reader that Cupid and his friend Idleness (Ociosidad) wandered through the world and that Cupid’s arrows found easy targets in those who were unproductive. Aguilar then informed the reader that Cupid—and the passion he embodied—could be defeated with

“honest recreation” (honesta recreación).139 In line with the earlier mythological manuals, Aguilar’s was intended to impart a sense of morality, as well as to instruct all manner of men including theologians, mathematicians, orators, historians and philosophers.140

137 Juan Bautista Aguilar, Tercera parte del Teatro de los Dioses de la gentilidad. Escriviala curioso el R. P. Fr. Juan Bautista Aguilar, letor... (Barcelona: Imprenta de Juan Pablo Marti, por Francisco Barnola Impressor, 1702), 242.

138 In his introduction, Aguilar explained that he dedicated an entire chapter to Cupid because Victoria did not say much about him: “…el R.P. Fray Balthasar de Vitoria…calló del Amor mucho.” See “Breve introduccion, a esta nueva, tercera parte, del teatro de los dioses, de la gentilidad,” in Aguilar, Tercera parte del Teatro de los Dioses de la gentilidad, n/p. In fact, Victoria discussed Cupid as a subheading in a chapter on another deity.

139 Ibid., 254-56.

140 See “Aprobación del R.P.M.F Joseph Marti,” in Ibid., n/p. Pérez de Moya’s treatise, as its lengthy subtitle suggests, was intended to explain the doctrinal teachings encapsulated in the fabulous stories of the ancients and to help elucidate the works of past poets and historians: Secret Philosophy. Where under fabulous stories, many useful doctrines to all studies are contained. With the origin of the Idols or Gods of the Gentiles. It is very necessary subject to understand poets and historians.

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All these treatises, in addition to the Spanish translations of Ovid’s

Metamorphosis and of a few other ancient mythological tales, formed the core foundation from which seventeenth and eighteenth century Spanish mythological dramas with music developed. Court dramatists adapted their depiction of Cupid according to the occasion of the work and the audience for which the play was conceived. While in his first mythological play Lope portrayed Cupid as an all-powerful youthful deity rather than a

“foolish” child, in a later work, El amor enamorado (comedia, 1625–35), the author presented him as a pitiful lover consumed by his passion for Sirene.141 Cupid was also presented as being in love in two dramas based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche:

Antonio de Solis’ Triunfos de amor y fortuna (comedia, 1658)142 and Calderón’s Ni amor se libra de amor (comedia, 1662).143 And he appeared as a secondary character in several plays including Calderón’s El laurel de Apolo (zarzuela, 1657) and Fieras afemina amor

(comedia, 1672), Vélez de Guevara’s Los celos hacen estrellas (zarzuela, 1672), and

Fernández de León’s Endemión y Diana (zarzuela, ca. 1676).144 Yet at the turn of the

141 Lope de Vega Carpio, El amor enamorado, comedia famosa. (En Madrid: en la Imprenta del Reyno, 1637), Fols. 198 r.-219 v. [BNE, T/55349/2] Acts 1-2 are based on Ovid’s myth of Apollo and Daphne. Cupid falls in love with Sirena in Act 3. In this act, there seems to be a brief spoken lament- invocation: Cupid’s “Que tal venganza he dado?/ aves, fieras, pastores, /venid a ver a Amor enamorado…” [Fol. 214 r.].

142 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 284 and 516.; and Flórez, Musica teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias en el siglo de oro, 244.

143 Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 512.

144 These conclusions are drawn after reading the mythological plays in Pedro Calderón de la Barca, El Laurel de Apolo [Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto-Buchanan Collection Pamphlets 0518]; Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Fieras afemina amor. Teatro del Siglo de Oro. Ediciones Críticas. Edited by Edward M. Wilson (Kassel: Edition Reincherberger, 1984); Juan Vélez de Guevara, Los celos hacen estrellas, representación en dos jornadas [Österreichishe Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 13217 Han.]; Melchor Fernández de León, Melchor. “Endemión y Diana” in Parte Quarenta y Dos de Comedias Nuevas, nunca impressas, escogidas de los mejores ingenios de España (Madrid: Roque Rico de Miranda, 1675)

79 eighteenth century, at the same time as or slightly later than Aguilar’s treatise that gave renewed emphasis to the description of Cupid, a new form of representation of the god of love appeared in three mythological zarzuelas written for the Spanish monarch: Salir el amor del mundo (1696), Apolo y Dafne (between 1701–04), and Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710). As I will demonstrate, Cupid—now played by a female performer—is depicted as a warrior at battle with other deities. For the first time, Cupid sings laments, all of which are about defeat.

* * *

Scholars have long studied the use of allegory in the court mythological plays with music performed in seventeenth-century Spain. In the field of Spanish literature,

Margaret Rich Greer and Sebastian Neumeister discuss the discourses of power and doctrinal teachings in court theatrical music, specifically in the operas and mythological comedias (or fiestas cortesanas) of the leading court dramatist of the time, Pedro

Calderón de la Barca (1600–81).145 In the field of musicology, Louise Stein demonstrates that Calderón’s two operas served as political propaganda intended to display the wealth and power of the Spanish Habsburgs.146 Yet, little has been said about the discourses of

[Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto-Buchanan Collection: Comedias Nuevas, parte 42].

145 Margaret Rich Greer, The Play of Power: Mythological Court Dramas of Calderón de la Barca (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), and Neumeister, Mito clásico y ostentación.

146 See “Opera and the Spanish Political Agenda,” and Chapter 5: “Opera, Spanish Politics, Spanish Conventions” in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods.

80 power and the pedagogical content in the zarzuelas, particularly those produced after

Calderón’s death when Cupid becomes a leading dramatic figure.

Often regarded with contempt by scholars, the zarzuelas revolving around the character of Cupid have been deemed as “inconsequential.” For example, literary scholars Kazimierz Sabik and Danièle Becker agree that seventeenth-century zarzuelas, in particular those produced during the last third of the century, are either plays with philosophical and moral themes or shallow plays intended solely for entertainment. The latter group encompasses plays that Sabik describes as “superficial and inconsequential mythological theatre intended simply to amuse the public,” written by dramatists such as

Melchor Fernández de León.147 Sabik, therefore, implicitly includes zarzuelas on the subject of Cupid such as Fernández de León’s Love comes to the world (Venir el amor al mundo), which, as discussed already in Chapter 1, I interpret as a pedagogical play intended for Charles II. Becker, in contrast, is explicit in her assessment of the zarzuelas on the subject of Cupid, suggesting two classifications for the zarzuelas according to their context: “zarzuelas grandes” (big zarzuelas) for those works with numerous characters and with plots that recall those of the operatic world and the “zarzuelas cortas” (short

147 Full citation: “…entre los dramaturgos presentados existen importantes diferencias: un teatro mitológico superficial, intranscendente, destinado exclusivamente a divertir al público lo representan Juan Vélez de Guevara, Pablo Polope y, en menor medida, Melchor de León, que logra más musicalidad y lirismo que otros en sus versos, es verdad que excesivamente repetitivos y facilones. A diferencia de éstos, los autores pertenecientes al segundo grupo—Diamante, Salazar, Lanuza y Bances Candamo—,ofrecen en sus comedias-fiestas o zarzuelas—dentro de las convenciones inherentes al género—contenidos filosóficos, reflexión psicológica, enfoque didáctico-moralizador (principalmente a través de sus personajes alegóricos) y crítica social (puesta en boca de graciosos). ” See Sabik, “El teatro mitológico en la corte de Carlos II (Texto y escenografía)”, 789.

81 zarzuelas), characterized by their “inconsequential plots which revolve around the exploits of Cupid.”148

The consensus in musicological sources regarding the quality and the purpose of zarzuelas that feature Cupid runs parallel to that in Spanish literature. In 1979, Antonio

Martín Moreno stated that Sebastián Durón and José de Cañizares’ zarzuela on the subject of Cupid, Salir el amor del mundo (1696), was a “celebratory play for the court with an inconsequential plot.”149 More than three decades later, Martín Moreno’s early assessment of this zarzuela is echoed in Fernández San Emeterio’s review of the first recording of this work: “The plots [of Venir el amor del mundo and Salir el amor del mundo] are parallel, seemingly responding to the dictates of the Court, which at the time was interested in mythological, escapist entertainments, with little ethical or doctrinal content...”150 As I argue, however, re-contextualizing the zarzuelas on the subject of

Cupid with regard to their historical and political circumstances is an important step in beginning to understand the character’s allegorical significance within the zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century.

148 “Estas zarzuelas [cortas] solo se diferencian de las demás por lo intranscendente de su tema, que gira en torno a las hazañas del niño Cupido.” Danièle Becker, “El teatro lírico en tiempos de Carlos II: comedia de música y zarzuela,” in Diálogos hispánicos de Amsterdam 8/III. El teatro español a fines del siglo XVII: Historia, cultura y teatro en la España de Carlos II. Vol. II, Dramaturgos y géneros de las postrimerías, edited by Javier Huerta Calvo, Harm den Boer and Fermín Sierra Martínez (Amsterdam: Editorial Rodopi, 1989), 428.

149 “…de una Fiesta palaciega de argumento intrascendente a la vez que atractivo y en el que predomina lo musical sobre lo visual, [y que] …refleja un mundo irreal muy alejado de la España decadente de finales del siglo XVII.” See Antonio Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo”, p. 85.

150 Gerardo Fernández San Emeterio, Online review of Salir el Amor del mundo. Ensemble “El Mundo”, dir. Richard Savino, 2010. http://www.zarzuela.net/cd/cdmag/cdmag115.htm (Feb., 16, 2012)

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In this chapter, I discuss the figure of Cupid as an allegorical representation of the king during a time of great political turmoil, beginning with the decline of the Spanish

Habsburg dynasty and ending with the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14).

Drawing from previous studies on the use of allegories in Spanish theatre, this chapter expands our understanding of the significance of Cupid, particularly concerning his laments. Margaret Rich Greer, for example, suggests that Cupid may be an allegorical representation of the monarch in Calderón’s comedia Las fortunas de Andrómeda y

Perseo (1653). She establishes a connection between Jupiter and Philip IV and notes that the dramatist modifies the original myth by having the character of Jupiter momentarily appear disguised as Cupid. If Philip IV’s “royal debut [in 1614] was still common knowledge among many courtly theatre goers, [this alteration to the story] could explain the use of the Cupid disguise in this play and the fact that Calderón has him revert to this attire for his final celestial appearance.”151 In her study on court plays during the late seventeenth century, Spanish historian Carmen Sanz Ayán suggests that the association between Cupid and the monarch most likely persisted during the reign of Philip IV’s son,

Charles II (r. 1665–1700). In discussing Calderón’s Fieras afemina amor (ca. 1672),

Sanz Ayán concludes that in this play “Charles II… would have been represented by the god Amor.”152 So while the association between Cupid and the Spanish monarch has

151 Rich Greer, The Play of Power, 98.

152 “Carlos II…estaría representado en realidad por el dios Amor. Esta significación era plausible ya que el personaje de Cupido había sido asumido por los príncipes niños en los escenarios palaciegos. Por ejemplo Felipe IV lo hizo con nueve años en Lerma, los mismos que tenía Carlos II cuando presenció esta fiesta teatral.” Carmen Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de los Reyes, 36. In this play the tension between Venus and Hercules represents the struggle for power between Queen Mariana de Austria and Juan José de Austria (Charles II’s half brother). See Margaret Rich Greer, “The Play of Power: Calderón’s Fieras afemina amor and La estatua de Prometeo,” Hispanic Review 56, no. 3 (Summer, 1988): 319-41, and Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de los Reyes, 36.

83 been observed in earlier Spanish dramatic works, the same linkage has not been made in later mythological zarzuelas.

The association between the figure of Cupid and the king persisted as an allegory during the reign of Charles II and also later, during the early reign of the first Bourbon king, Philip V. While the figure of the deity of love was initially used to convey instruction to the weak and lacking Spanish monarch, Charles II, (e.g., Salir el amor del mundo, 1696), it later became the embodiment of Philip V and his struggle for power during the War of the Spanish Succession (e.g., Apolo y Dafne [ca.1701–04] and Las nuevas armas de amor [ca. 1705; rev. 1710]). In each of these zarzuelas presented for the

Spanish monarch at court, Cupid is confronted with a deity—Diana, Apollo, and Jupiter, respectively— and laments his defeat after failing to maintain his grip on power. In this light, the zarzuelas on the subject of Cupid can be viewed as musico-literary documents that attest to the monarch’s position in his kingdom, as well as among his contemporary early modern European rulers, during a crucial time in the history of Spain. As I argue, the unprecedented portrayal of weakness projected in Cupid’s laments became possible due to the established practice of cross-dressing in Spanish theatre. The female voice and body of the third lady playing Cupid mitigated the undertones of effeminacy carried in the lamento.

I begin by looking at the venues, the occasions for these productions, the historical context in which they were produced, and the third ladies that may have played the role of Cupid in these three zarzuelas. In the remainder of the chapter, I examine the texts of these plays and their musical settings, including how they communicate pedagogic messages and bear on discourses of (waning) power. Musical examples help

84 elucidate the main points; full transcriptions are included in Appendix 3. I conclude the chapter by exploring power and gender subtexts in Cupid’s laments, while arguing that the discourse of waning power, and of Cupid’s emasculation embodied in the lament, is softened by the choice of terceras damas for the role of Cupid.

2.1 Performance History: Productions and Female Performers

The occasions for which court zarzuelas and other musico-theatrical genres were conceived are commonly outlined in the loa that preceded each play. Partly sung and partly spoken, the loa introduced the zarzuela, the performers, the characters, and the occasion for the work.153 The extant loa for Salir el amor del mundo clearly states that the work was written to celebrate the monarch’s birthday. The loas for Apolo y Dafne and

Las nuevas armas de amor, in contrast, have not survived. Yet, as these three works are thematically linked—they all emphasize the figure of Cupid, an allegory for the monarch, while underlining the character’s struggles for power—it seems highly likely that Apolo y

Dafne and Las nuevas armas de amor were also written for the Spanish king.

Salir el amor del mundo was performed in November of 1696 on the occasion of

Charles II’s thirty-sixth birthday.154 Because it was conceived as a small-scale work, it was most likely performed in the Hall of Plays (salón de comedias) of the monarch’s

153 N. D. Shergold and J. E. Varey have identified the principal celebratory dates—mainly birthdays and name days of members of the royal family—during the reigns of Philip IV and of Charles II in Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España I, Representaciones Palaciegas: 1603-1699. Estudios y Documentos (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1982), 17.

154 The hypothesis regarding the work’s premiere—based on the extant sections of the loa—is further discussed in Appendix 2: Description of the sources. This zarzuela also ended the mourning period for the death of the king’s mother, Mariana of Austria (d. May 16, 1696).

85 residential palace, the Alcázar of Madrid. Only one performance, a revival, of Salir el amor del mundo has been documented: the production by the company of Juan de

Cárdenas in the salón de comedias of the Alcázar Palace on July 1, 1698.155

Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04), in contrast, was premiered at the court of Philip V sometime in the early eighteenth century. A few musical novelties such as the use of the oboe and the appearance for the first time of the word “aria” in a Spanish score, suggest that Apolo y Dafne was written after Salir el amor del mundo, since this instrument and terminology are associated with later works. As Raúl Ángulo Díaz demonstrates, other novelties in the music—such as the use of black notation for triple metres and key signatures with an increased number of sharps or flats—place this zarzuela among

Durón’s later works, between 1701 and 1706, the year in which Durón was sent into exile.156 To this I would add that the emphasis on the figure of Cupid and the theme of power explored in the zarzuela—particularly, Cupid’s struggle to maintain his position of power among the mortals and deities as well as his fight with Apollo—seem highly allegorical of Philip V’s active position during the War of the Spanish Succession.

The same theme and the same emphasis on Cupid appear in Las nuevas armas de amor. The play, produced by the company of José de Prado at the Teatro del Príncipe in

155 Shergold and Varey, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España I, 259.

156 Raúl Angulo Díaz, “Introducción” in Apolo y Dafne (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2014), 12-14. I suggest the dates 1701-04 for this zarzuela because I believe that Apolo y Dafne was written before Durón’s mature works: El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710), Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1711), and Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705; rev. 1710). Aside from the reasons that Ángulo Díaz provides, I see differences among Durón’s laments. In his three mature works, Durón wrote laments in aria da capo form, while in Apolo y Dafne, he wrote Cupid’s lament in the form of a tonada. This seems to suggest that Apolo y Dafne was written after Salir el amor del mundo—in which he also wrote a lament for Cupid in the form of a tonada—but before his more mature works.

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November 1711, may well have been a revival of a zarzuela produced for the court before

Durón was sent into exile for political reasons in 1706.157 Whether a premiere or a revival, in my analysis I examine the production of the Teatro del Príncipe within the historical context of 1711. Intended as a highlight of the season, this large-scale production attracted large crowds of avid spectators, thus proving successful and financially rewarding despite the unrest caused by the ongoing war.158

None of the extant manuscripts or theatre records provides any information regarding the performers who played the role of Cupid (or of any other roles) in these three zarzuelas. Based on what little and fragmented information has survived in several sources of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, it is possible, however, to piece together parts of the puzzle and form a hypothesis regarding the role of Cupid, the character with whom this chapter is concerned. As noted in Chapter 1, each performer had a specific role within the theatrical company. While the leading ladies (primeras and segundas damas) and their male counterparts (the galanes) specialized in dramatic roles that were entirely spoken, other members of the company, namely the terceras damas

(third ladies), specialized in less serious or comic roles that required some singing. This is particularly true of the Spanish comedia. In the mythological zarzuelas, however, the third lady could also assume dramatic roles of male or female deities, while the first and second ladies performed the spoken roles of mortals. This would not have been a surprise for the average theatregoer since women had been performing trouser roles in Spanish

157 In 1706, Durón appears to have sided with the Habsburg contender for the Spanish crown, and for this he was sent into exile. For more, see Acuña, “Politics and foreign influence in the development of Spanish court theatrical music with a study of composer Sebastián Durón (1660-1716)”, 34-36.

158 Libro de cuentas of the Teatro del Príncipe (AVM 1-379-1).

87 theatre for several decades. So while in Italy, castrati performed the roles of deities, in

Spain, women assumed these roles.159 Female performers, in particular the terceras damas (third ladies), were the preferred choice for the male deities—including the role of

Cupid—in the mythological fiestas cortesanas, operas, and zarzuelas.

One of the few musico-theatrical works of the time that indicates the names of the third ladies and their roles is Lorenzo de las Llamosas’s three-act comedia, Destinos vencen finezas, performed in 1698 for the monarch’s thirty-seventh birthday. This play, which is based on the story of Dido and Aeneas, was a large-scale production for which two companies joined forces to cover all the roles. Maria de Navas, primera dama for the company of Carlos Vallejo and the most famous female actor of the day, played the role of Dido, which is entirely spoken. The sung roles of the deities were performed by the terceras damas of the company of Carlos Vallejo—Teresa de Robles (Venus) and Paula

Maria (Juno)—and of the company of Juan de Cárdenas—Manuela de Labaña

(Mercurio) and Manuela de la Cueva (Cupido).160 These four female actor-singers also

159 As noted in the introduction, castrati were not allowed to perform on the theatre stage in seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Spain. Yet, like in the Italian Peninsula, castrati singers performed liturgical music in Spain, as women were not allowed to sing in the church. It also seems that while this practice may have been accepted in the ecclesiastical circle, it was received with distrust and even rejection by the popular audience. This may explain, at least in part, why castrati singers did not perform on the theatre stage, especially in Madrid’s two public theatres or corrales. María Asunción Flórez cites two sources of the period that suggest that many did not enjoy the sound of the castrati or the falsetto voice. According to the priest José Alcázar, listeners once asked the falsetto singer Alfonsiris to go sing by himself where “no-one could hear him.” See Música teatral en el Madrid de los Austrias durante el siglo de oro, 426, and for a discussion of the castrati in Spain (known as capones), see pp. 424-2 and also Ángel Medina, Los atributos del capón. Imagen histórica de los cantores castrados en España (Madrid: ICCMU, 2001). 160 The list of characters and the actors portraying them is included in a late seventeenth-century edition of the play which has been digitalized by the Biblioteca de la Universidad de Sevilla (Signatura A 250/101 (09): http://fondosdigitales.us.es/fondos/libros/4996/2/destinos-vencen-finezas/ The cast is as follows: Dido, María de Navas; Juno, Paula María; Venus, Teresa de Robles; Mercurio, Manuela de la Baña; Cupido, Manuela de la Cueva; Eolo, Miguel Ferrer; Ascanio, Juana de Olmedo; Olimpo, Sacerdote, Carlos Vallejo; Eneas, Gregorio Antonio; Acates, Juan de Cardenas; Lidante, Principe de Numidia,

88 appear in the cast of another work, the zarzuela by Marcos de Lanuza, Conde de Clavijo,

Jupiter y Yoo, Los cielos premian desdenes (1699) for which, unfortunately, the music has not survived.161 Teresa de Robles played Jupiter, Paula Maria, Juno, Manuela de la

Cueva, Mercurio, and Manuela de Labaña, Yoo. The loa of one last work, the zarzuela

Celos vencidos de amor (1698), also by Lanuza and with music possibly by Durón, reveals that three of these third ladies—Teresa de Robles, Paula Maria, and Manuela de la Cueva—were included in the cast, although there is no indication as to what parts they played in the zarzuela.162

In view of these documented roles, it seems reasonable to suggest that the role of

Cupid in Salir el amor del mundo (1696) and in Apolo y Dafne (ca.1701–04) was performed by one of the terceras damas of the companies of Carlos Vallejo or Juan de

Cárdenas. Moreover, the surviving documentation regarding the 1698 revival of Salir el amor del mundo states that Cárdenas was responsible for the production, and as companies rarely shared their repertory, it is more than likely that Cárdenas also premiered the work in 1696.163 Cárdenas’s wife, Paula María, was surely among the cast.

Margarita Ruano; Yarbas, Rey de Getulia, Manuel Ángel; Anarda, Infanta, Isabel de Castro; Lidora, Josefa Laura; Deisobon, Hypolito de Olmedo; Lisidas, Francisco de Castro.

161 Most likely Durón wrote the music, since he was the main composer of theatrical music for the court at the time. The entire cast of Jupiter y Yoo appears in Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo”, 88.

162 Ibid.

163 According to Buck, “Rarely was one play performed by both companies; each play in a company’s repertory was considered to be the property of that company or of its author. Thus there was a high degree of audience identification of company and repertory.” See “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres,” 64.

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In all probability, she performed the role of a deity since she had already achieved the position of tercera dama, which she would maintain throughout her career.164

A central role in both works, that of Cupid may very well have been developed with the vocal and dramatic abilities of these third ladies in mind. The circle of dramatists and composers at court was small, and so was the circle of actors that performed both at court and in the public theatres. Undoubtedly, dramatists and composers were familiar with the potential of each performer, and consequently, they developed roles that would match the skills of their contemporary artists. In developing the role of Cupid, I shall argue, the creators of each zarzuela were thinking of a handful of skilled performers who could sing this dramatic role and, in particular, the climactic laments. Although there are very few descriptions of female actor-singers for this period, a few documents and contemporary accounts convey important information about three female actor-singers of the day: Manuela de la Cueva, Teresa de Robles, Manuela de Labaña.

Manuela de la Cueva retired in 1710 and, most likely, did not participate in any of the productions between 1710 and 1718 that are discussed in this study. During the late seventeenth century, however, she seems to have been one of Charles II’s preferred singers. A notation in the manuscript of the zarzuela Celos vencidos de amor reveals that

Charles II requested that a tonada for viola de amor and viola de arco be written for

Manuela de la Cueva, who in the play performed the role of Apollo. As Juan José

Carreras argues, this points to the importance of the vihuela de amor in the court of

164 By 1693, Paula María had risen to the position of tercera dama in Damián Polope’s company. See María Asunción Flórez Asensio, “Rojas, Paula María” in Diccionario Biográfico Español, Vol. XLIV (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2009), 214-16.

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Carlos II.165 To this I would add that the notation in the manuscript also reveals that

Manuela de la Cueva was a skilled performer and a favourite of the time.

Early eighteenth-century critics claimed that Teresa de Robles “played terceras damas for which she always received great applause, particularly for [her] music…”166 and that Manuela de Labaña was “very celebrated for her music and [that she was] the best there [was] on the stage...”167 Indeed, Labaña’s impressive vocal skills may have been the reason for her having to leave her company for a day in order to sing in a zarzuela produced by Vallejo. A court document reveals that Labaña, a tercera dama in the company of Juan de Cárdenas, was cast in Vallejos’ 1700 revival of Júpiter y Dánae performed at the court.168 Although there is no evidence regarding what role she played, there is little doubt that she sang the role of a deity.

To a greater or lesser extent, all four terceras damas—Paula María, Manuela de la

Cueva, Manuela de Labaña, and Teresa de Robles—performed male roles throughout their careers. Manuela de la Cueva and Teresa de Robles, in particular, seem to have

165 “Apareció Apolo en una Tramoya; y aviendo mandado su Magestad se hiziesse una tonada para Manuela de la Cueva, que le representaba, a fin de que se acompañasse con la viguela de amor, se le hizo la siguiente, en la qual no hubo mas instrumentos que el referido.”” Quoted in Carreras, “Conducir a Madrid…Destinos vencen finezas,” 126. Carreras points to this passage—a notation that appears in the manuscript of the zarzuela Celos vencidos de amor—to underline the importance of the vihuela de amor in the court of Carlos II.

166 “hizo terceras damas en las que se ha conservado siempre con mucho aplauso, y en particular por la musica…” Extracted from Teresa de Robles’ biography as it appears in an early eighteenth-century source transcribed by N. D. Shergold and J. E. Varey in Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, II. Genealogía, origen y noticias de los comediantes de España (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1985), 495. Unless otherwise noted, all translations of this source are mine.

167 “muy zelebrada por la música y por la mexor que ai oy en las tablas.” In Ibid, 501.

168 Document 2-457-1 in Shergold and Varey, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XI, Teatros y comedias en Madrid: 1699-1719. Estudios y Documentos (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1986), 209.

91 excelled in these parts. A detailed analysis of the documented roles performed by

Manuela de la Cueva in the zarzuelas of the period 1696–1708 indicates that she performed male roles almost exclusively (see Table 2 in Chapter 3).169 Teresa de Robles, in contrast, not only performed male roles in mythological zarzuela, but also became expert in playing male roles in the genre of the mojiganga (short farce). As Buezo demonstrates, Teresa de Robles performed—countless times—the comical role of governor (gobernante or alcalde) in the late seventeenth-century mojiganga.170

Regardless of which of these female actor-singers performed the role of Cupid in each of the three zarzuelas discussed in this chapter, she would have been one of the best singers of her time. The role of Cupid required great vocal dexterity as well as a superb talent to portray the highly dramatic and climactic laments.

2.2 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music

2.2.1 The Stage: Pedagogy and Power under the Guise of Cupid

“Cupid and Idleness always go together”

Two zarzuelas based on the subject of Cupid were produced for Charles II: Venir el amor al mundo (Love comes to the world, 1679), which was performed shortly after the king’s marriage to Marie-Louise d’Orléans (see Chapter 1); and Salir el amor del mundo (Love leaves the world, 1696), written on the occasion of the monarch’s birthday

(considered below). It is no coincidence that both works depict Cupid as an unruly and

169 The roles include: Cupido (Destinos vencen finezas, 1698), Apolo (Celos vencidos de amor, 1698), Mercurio (Jupiter y Yoo, 1699), Alfeo (Amor es quinto elemento), Apolo (Hasta lo insensible adora, 1704) and Neptuno (Áspides ay que son basílicos, 1704).

170 Buezo, “Mujer y desgobierno en el teatro breve del siglo XVII” 107-19.

92 capricious child who needs to be schooled because, throughout his entire reign, Charles II

(r. 1665–1700) was also the subject of continuous instruction. Continually receiving advice from his mother, his wife, the grandees of Spain, and his ministers, the king was constantly being pulled in a multitude of different directions. His weakness and sickly disposition were such that his contemporaries came to the conclusion that he was

“bewitched.” And so, the last member in a long line of intermarriages within the Spanish

Habsburg family would forever be remembered as Carlos II, “El hechizado” (Charles II,

“The Bewitched”).

Several historians have studied Charles II’s physical and mental health. Henry

Kamen states that “[Charles II] was unable to walk until over four years old, because his legs were too weak to support him,” that he showed “early signs of rickets,” and that “at the age of nine he could neither read nor write…”171 José Calvo Poyato, who has analyzed Charles II’s cognitive and emotional development, argues that the monarch’s religious education was so stern that Charles II was “dominated by scruples of conscience” that terrorized him throughout his life.172 Likewise, Pedro Gargantilla claims that Charles II was taught to fear women to such an extent that he would turn his head in order to avoid the gaze of a woman.173 Indeed, the monarch’s strict religious education is

171 Henry Kamen, Spain in the later Seventeenth-Century 1665-1700 (London and New York: Longman,1980), 21.

172 “ Como era habitual entre los reyes de España el cargo [de la educación de Carlos II] se encomendó a un dominico, fray Pedro Alvarez Montenegro, quien moduló la consciencia del regio penitente de forma rigurosa. Si tal era su objetivo consiguió un éxito completo, convirtiéndolo en una persona dominada por escrúpulos de consciencia que aterrorizaron aquella débil personalidad durante el resto de su vida,” José Calvo Poyato, Carlos II el Hechizado y su época (Madrid: Editorial Planeta, 1991), 62.

173 Pedro Gargantilla, Enfermedades de los Reyes de España: De la locura de Juana a la impotencia de Carlos II el Hechizado (Madrid: La esfera de los libros, 2005), 417.

93 confirmed in a print from the year 1671 included in a book with instructions on how to educate young princes (i.e., Charles II) dedicated to the regent queen, Mariana of Austria

(see Figure 3).174 While the top half of the picture reveals the façade of the Alcázar palace, the bottom half constitutes the focus of the work. It shows a young Charles II sitting next to his mother (who is dressed as a nun175) and between the two of them, a plate with the inscription: “Fear of God, reverence for parents, love for the subjects”

(“Temor a Dios, reverencia a los padres, amor a los vasallos”).176

Figure 3 Carlos II y su madre ante el Alcázar (Print)

174 Carlos II y su madre ante el Alcázar (Charles II and his mother before the Alcázar) (Print). Biblioteca Nacional de España, IH/5380/16; and Pedro González de Salcedo, Nudricion real: reglas o preceptos de cómo se ha de educar a los reyes mozos desde los siete a los catorce años… (Madrid, Bernardo de Villa-Diego, 1671) [Biblioteca Nacional de España, R/15175].

175 In España en 1700 ¿Austrias o Borbones? (Madrid: Arlanza Ediciones, 2001), Ricardo García Cárcel and Rosa María Alabrús Iglesias suggest that the queen suffered from depression, and that following her husband’s death, she was seen in the palace dressed as a widow or as a nun. See page 55.

176 The proverb in the middle—CONFIDIT IN EA COR VIRI SUI—can be roughly translated as “Her husband has full confidence in her.” It grants the regent Queen the authority to educate her child in the absence of the deceased king. The bottom inscription reads: “ Royal teachings to the queen, our lady” (NUDRICION REAL A LA REINA, N. Sa), alluding to the title of a book in which the print appears.

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In discussing the fears and limitations of Charles II, Sanz Ayán emphasizes the negative effects of the monarch’s shortcomings on the court, particularly the conflicts it created among ministers who disputed the control over the monarch. Sanz Ayán argues that the king’s limitations gave rise to a type of theatre intended to both instruct and influence the young monarch.177 As the staged dramas presented to the monarch could potentially influence his actions, members of different factions and with different political agendas competed for the management of court productions. Likewise, the works of court dramatists such as Francisco Bances de Candamo, Antonio de Zamora, and José de Cañizares tend to betray the librettists’ political affiliations.178 Rather than articulate discourses of power as was customary during the reign of Philip IV, most staged dramas were now tailored for a young king who needed to obtain as much instruction and guidance as possible.

José de Cañizares and Sebastián Durón’s Salir el amor del mundo (1696) served as a continuation to the story of Cupid’s arrival in the world retold in Fernández de

León’s Venir el amor al mundo (1679).179 The action in the zarzuela begins in the gardens of the goddess of chastity, Diana, who desperately wishes to capture Cupid and lock him away for good. With the help of three other gods —Apollo, Mars, and Jupiter—

177 Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de los Reyes, 19.

178 For example, Bances de Candamo’s overt political opinions as well as his not-so subtle criticism of the monarch in his plays were the reason for his dismissal from the court.

179 Part of the following analytical study of Salir el amor del mundo was presented in the form of a conference paper presented at the McGill Music Graduate Students’ Society Symposium (Montreal, March 9, 2012) and later at the 8th Congress of the Sociedad Española de Musicología (Logroño, Spain, September 8, 2014). A final version of the paper was published in 2013: María Virgina Acuña, “Muera Cupido!”: Una lectura sobre la filosofía del amor en Salir el amor del mundo (c. 1696),”in Musicología global, musicología local, edited by Pilar Ramos López, Javier Marín López, Germán Gan Quesada y Elena Torres Clemente (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Musicología, 2013), 2157-2169.

95 she succeeds, and Cupid is finally banished from the world. At first glance, the two zarzuelas present striking similarities regarding the depiction of Cupid and the passion he represents, as well as the final message in the work. In both zarzuelas, Cupid is portrayed as young undisciplined gods who spreads chaos, rather than instil harmony in the land he rules. Cupid’s presence disrupts the harmony and the bucolic peace of the lands he visits; his arrows inflict lovesickness and other passions such as jealousy. He is cruel and treacherous and stops at nothing to subdue his victims. Likewise, the passion of love is depicted as source of destruction, an illness, and a type of madness that compromises the exercise of reason, enslaving its victims. Finally, in both zarzuelas, Cupid accidentally stabs himself in the end and is defeated.

Cañizares’s libretto recapitulates the orthodox religious and philosophical notions of love as a destructive force portrayed in Fernández de León’s zarzuela. A significant departure from the first work, however, is the emphasis on the subject of ignorance. The element of ignorance is used to qualify all things connected to or surrounding love. For example, Cupid’s arrows are forged with “the fire of ignorance”180 and Cupid attempts to shoot Diana with an “ignorant angry arrow.”181 In addition, the plot includes a character that embodies ignorance, the comical Momo who follows and helps Cupid throughout the entire zarzuela.182 At one point, Momo declares: “because I serve a madman, I show that

180 “De cuantos yerros forjo/el fuego de la Ygnorancia,[…]” (Second act, lines 620-21). All textual and musical excerpts of Salir el amor del mundo are taken from Martín Moreno edition of the zarzuela: Sebastián Durón and José de Cañizares, Salir el amor del mundo, zarzuela en dos jornadas. Trancripción y estudio de Antonio Martín Moreno (Málaga: Sociedad Española de Musicología, 1979).

181 “ygnorante fleche airada” (Act II, 758);

182 Although the character of Momo is not unique here (he appears in Vélez de Guevara and Hidalgo’s zarzuela Los celos hacen estrellas), in this work he is much more developed and has greater

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I am Ignorance.”183 The implications of the statement are unmistakable: love is mad or irrational (a passion) and anyone who obeys love is a fool. Furthermore, love only finds its victims among foolish people as Momo explains: “But, in order to suffer severe extravagant affections, how would lovers be made if there were no fools […]?”184

While Cupid and Momo are depicted as foolish and irrational characters, Cupid’s adversaries represent four ideal virtues: Jupiter is endowed with strength (poder), Mars with courage (valor), Apollo with wit and science (ingenio y ciencia) and Diana with aloofness (esquibez). The aloofness of Diana is symbolic of her chastity, in other words, of her rejection of mundane pleasures and sensual love. The attributes of Apollo, in contrast, are in direct opposition to the irrationality and ignorance of his opponents.

Apollo embodies wit and science, which can be understood as reason, enlightenment, and knowledge. Significantly, the last few lines of the zarzuela stress the antagonism between the characters and mark the dichotomy between knowledge and ignorance as well as rationality and passion:

Apolo: Tu sombra y yo reflejo conocerás así que Son distantes polos tu ocaso y mi cenit. Amor: Ay de mí, que de mi oscurecer se forma tu lucir!

Apolo: You are shadow and I am light; you will see That your twilight and my zenith are distant poles. Cupid: Woe is me, for from my dimming is formed your shining!

participation. Momo appears once again, a year later, in Zamora and Durón’s comedia Muerte en amor es la ausencia (1697).

183 “entrando a serbir a un loco,/ muestro que soy la Ygnoranzia.” (Act I, 316-17).

184 “Mas, para sufrir seueros/melindres estrauagantes,/¿cómo hazer podía amantes/si no hubiese majaderos,[…]?” (Act I, 318-21).

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Played by a third lady in José de Cárdenas’ company, the heavily charged character of Cupid sings two laments in this zarzuela. The first, “Sosieguen, sosieguen,” is introduced by a spoken verse in which the god of love, who has asked the zagales

(shepherds) and Momo to leave him alone, is finally able to complain and express his pain:

Amor Ya se fueron, y pues ya Cupid They have left, and my pain, puede a solas esplicarse can finally now be expressed, mi dolor sin que me culpen without [anyone] blaming me la flaqueza de quejarme, for being weak and complaining, (Act I, 386-90)

Two important ideas pertaining to the lament as a musical and literary genre, and to the cultural values of the time, can be drawn from the above passage. The first has to do with the long-established theatrical convention that the character has to lament alone.

Practically a prerequisite for the lament, this feature is commonplace in contemporary

Italian opera as well as in earlier Spanish laments (such as Oenone’s lament in Los juegos olímpicos and that of Fílida in Endemión y Diana discussed in Chapter 1). The second, perhaps less explicit in foreign or earlier Spanish lamentos, has to do with the concept of honour, which was deeply ingrained in the mindset of the Spanish people and the literature of the time.185 Displaying sorrow or grumbling about pain in public was seen as a weakness that could potentially tarnish a man’s reputation. While a woman’s honour depended largely on her capacity to protect her virginity, male honour relied upon

185 For the theme of honour in the comedia and for the existing literature on this subject, see page 28, footnote 45.

98 showing strength and virility, and upon being in control of what in the contemporary imagination were feminine or boyish emotions. Thus, in this zarzuela Cupid’s pain is twofold: he is tormented, but he must conceal his torment.

The entire scene is written in versos de arte menor, that is, with lines of two to eight syllables. The spoken verse is written in octosyllabic lines, and the three sections of the lament (A, B, and C) are divided into two types of verses: hexasyllabic for the estribillo186 and the coplas, and octosyllabic for the recitado. Unlike the Italian lament, at the time written in versi sciolti (a metre that alternates heptasyllabic and hendecasyllabic lines) and thus differentiated from the rest of the libretto,187 here the lamento is fully integrated into the poetic metrical scheme of the entire literary work. Clearly, it was not the dramatist’s intention to stray from the Spanish traditional poetic metres, not even for the sake of this exceptionally emotional section within the zarzuela. It is the setting of the text that turns the lamento into a climactic scene. The formal structure of the lament, the musical rhetorical devices, the use of dissonances, chromaticism, brief modulations, and the instrumentation, all contribute to highlighting the piece within the zarzuela.

Cast as a tonada with recitative in ABCA form (Figure 4), the lament begins with a slow estribillo (refrain) in the key of D minor and in triple metre. The piece is scored for voice notated in soprano clef (clave de do en primera), biguela de arco (its counterpart is the Italian viola da gamba), and continuo. In the A section, the slow

186 Unlike Martín Moreno who has transcribed the text y sirban los males de alibio en los males as one dodecasyllabic line, I have broken it into two hexasyllabic lines because I believe that this stanza, as well as the spoken one that precedes it and the three that follow it (coplas), is hexasyllabic and that the entire lament is in versos de arte menor.

187 Rosand, “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament,” 364.

99 estribillo, Cupid tries to comfort and calm himself now that he has successfully escaped from the Gods that have been chasing him:188

Sosieguen, sosieguen, May the timid hardships, descansen, descansen, the sad toils, las timidas penas, quiet down, quiet down, los tristes afanes, rest, rest, y sirban los males and may pains de alivio en los males. serve to soothe pains. (First act, lines 391-95)

Three fast-paced coplas (stanzas) in duple metre and in the key of F major form the B section, which conveys a different mood. Here, Cupid’s initial grief swiftly changes into a contrasting affect that can be understood as rage or despair (ira and desesperación) as he describes his qualities and denounces the deities that have betrayed him.189 Up to this point, the tonada resembles most tonadas of the time. But, before the usual return of the estribillo, Durón draws our attention to the piece by including a recitado in D minor and in common metre in which Cupid speaks of his fatigue and desire to sleep. Ellen

Rosand has noted in her study of Venetian opera, that sleep, common for a lamenting character in these operas, “is a conventional consequence of any extreme emotional exertion.”190 Indeed, this Venetian operatic convention appears sporadically in the

188 I gratefully acknowledge Sanda Munjic for her suggestions regarding this and other translations throughout this chapter and this dissertation.

189 In Música Universal o principios universales de la música (1717), Ulloa describes twelve passions: amor, deseo, deleite, odio, fuga, dolor, esperanza, audacia, ira, desesperación, temor, mansedumbre (love, desire, delight, hatred, fugue, pain, hope, courage, anger, despair, fear, gentleness). In page, 44.

190 Rosand, Opera in Seventeenth Century Venice, fn. 16, 374.

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Spanish zarzuela of this period, and this scene is one such example.191 Having been confronted by the gods and later chased by all, Cupid hides in the forest to rest. Finally, after the recitado comes the estribillo.

Figure 4 Formal analysis of Cupid's "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo. Estribillo Copla No.1 Copla No. 2 Copla No. 3 Recitado Estribillo (Refrain (Stanza No.1) (Stanza No.2) (Stanza No.3) (Recitative) (Refrain)

D minor F Major D minor D minor

Sosieguen, No soy yo No soy yo En fin, no soy Pero, ya que Sosieguen, sosieguen aquel fiero… quien al yo de… a la fatiga… sosieguen sacro…. A B C A

The expression of sorrow in the lament is conveyed in the slow estribillo and recitado in two ways. First, it is depicted through the use of a number of musical rhetorical devices commonly used in representations of sadness or pain, such as descensio and pausa, both described in the first Spanish musical treatise to deal with musical rhetoric: Pedro de Ulloa’s treatise Música Universal o principios universales de la música (1717).192 According to Ulloa, descensio served to express affects such as depression (depresión), while pausa expressed “tearful affects” (afectos llorosos).

Cupid’s slow descending melodic lines (descensio), so commonly found in the laments of the period, convey the sinking mood of the character, and the breaks in the vocal lines through the use of rests (pausa), sometimes in the middle of a verse or even in the middle

191 Other examples of sleep scenes in the zarzuela appear in Apolo y Dafne and in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor.

192 Pedro de Ulloa, Música universal o principios universales de la música (Madrid: Imprenta de Música Bernardo Peralta, 1717), 96-97.

101 of a word, create the impression that the character is either crying, sighing, or gasping for air. Second, the depiction of great sorrow is manifested in the use of other devices, including dissonances, chromaticism, and brief modulations. The opening lines of the estribillo—Sosieguen, sosieguen, descansen, descansen—include many of these devices.

Set to a descending musical phrase (descencio), each of these two lines is preceded, followed, and separated by two consecutive quarter-note rests (pausa). (Other quarter- note and full-measure rests appear throughout the entire estribillo, and thus each poetic line in this section is intensified.) A series of brief tonicizations of scale degrees rising by a tone (mm. 3-5) further underscores the opening line. The brief dissonances and the chromatic tones that result from the rapid modulations, such as the F# and the G against the F in measure 4, reflect the tension in the scene as well as the character’s distress and despair.193 Example 4.

193 I have discussed this lament in my master’s thesis and in a published article. See María Virginia Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660-1716),” Master’s thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2010, 75-76, and “Violencia y desesperación: la utilización de los afectos en las obras de música teatral de Sebastián Durón,” in Sebastián Durón (1660-1716) y la música de su tiempo, ed. Paulino Capdepón, and Juan José Pastor Comín (Vigo, Galicia: Editorial Academia del Hispanismo, 2013), 142.

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Example 4 Cupid’s "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo: Affective musical devices (Voice, vihuela de arco and continuo, mm. 1-9) 194

The dramatic recitado is built on the same stock devices associated with laments that appear in the estribillo. Particularly striking is the setting of the four opening lines:

Pero ya que a la fatiga √ But since the tired heart tan rendindo el pecho yace, √ is so surrendered to fatigue, que un desa√lien√to pal√ pita √ that despondency throbs en cada temor que late, √ with every beating fear, … …

Each of the four poetic lines is separated by a rest in the vocal line (pausa) and is set to a descending melodic phrase (descencio). Three rests that fragment the words “desaliento”

(“despondency”) and “palpita” (“throbs”) further emphasize the third poetic line, as noted by the check marks in the above poetic excerpt. The use of pausa here, used to underscore these two words, is also reminiscent of the musical technique of word painting, which continues to appear—albeit sporadically, or at least in a less obvious manner—in the zarzuelas of this period. In conjunction with these musico-rhetorical

194 All excerpts of Salir el amor del mundo are taken from Antonio Martín Moreno’s transcription and edition of the zarzuela. For the entire transcription of the lament see Appendix 3.

103 devices, the harmonic progression in the first few measures of the recitado includes chromatic alterations, such as the Eb minor chord in measure 62 and the F# in measure

64 (which also shifts the tonality of D minor to D major in that measure only), and the emotional 4-3 suspension on the word “la-te” (lit. “beats”) in measure 64. Example 5.

Example 5 Cupid's "Sosieguen, sosieguen" in Salir el amor del mundo: Affective musical devices (Voice and continuo, mm. 59-64)

The abrupt turn to a slow tempo in section A, as well as the musical devices employed in the opening measures of the estribillo and later in the recitado, would have brought the action in the zarzuela to a halt and would have created a moment of introspection for both the performers (the third lady playing Cupid and the musicians) and the audience. A last significant feature of the piece is the use of the vihuela de arco

(biguela de arco in the manuscript). Nowhere else in the zarzuela is this instrument

104 used,195 and here it appears in the estribillo and in the coplas (but not in the recitado).

The melody played by the vihuela, albeit not an identical repetition of the vocal line, creates the illusion of an echo. And while it mimics the vocal line in both sections (A and

B), it has a heightened dramatic effect in the slow estribillo. Cupid has been left alone to lament, and the vihuela, imitating Cupid’s voice, highlights his loneliness with its melancholy line (See Example 4 above).

The second and final lament in the zarzuela, “Ay de mí, ay de mí!” (“Woe is me, woe is me!), appears towards the end of Act 2 after Cupid has finally been caught. In the first act, the four deities destroyed Cupid’s arrows while he was asleep, and in the second,

Cupid’s new arrows prove to be useless. Not only does the deity fail to harm his adversaries but he also injures himself with his own arrow. Humiliated and having lost all power, Cupid implores the gods for mercy, but as they refuse to listen, he now begs the deities to allow him to complain: “since only to complain alleviates the pain, allow me to complain” (“…pues no alibia mi dolor sino la queja, dejadme quejar,” verses 1034-36).

Like the first lamento, the noun and the verb “complain” (queja/quejar) announce the beginning of Cupid’s song of sorrow. But “Ay de mí, ay de mí!” differs from the first lamento in one important way: it is conceived as a section for five characters and it is set for solo and choir.

Cañizares wrote two types of verses for this lament. The first is a non-metrical stanza in versos de arte menor sung by Cupid in which every line ends with an accentuated syllable (versos agudos): ¡Ay de mí, ay de mí,/ que en el frenesí,/ de tanto

195 Aside from the vihuela de arco used here, the instrumentation of Salir el amor del mundo includes, violines, clarín (a small high-pitched trumpet), and timbal (drum).

105 pesar,/ solo sirve el animar,/ de conocer al morir! (lines 1039-43). The second is a series of stanzas in heptasyllabic lines that the deities and Cupid take turns singing. Most of these lines also end with an accentuated syllable.196 The versos agudos (in which the last word in every line is naturally accented on the last syllable) are cleverly used to highlight many dramatic words in the text, such as frenesí, pesar, morir, desdén, infeliz, herir (frenzy, grief, death, disdain, unhappy, hurt). Here Cupid is not left alone to lament.

Not only do the deities accompany him, but they also sing part of his lament. Their role here is to inform Cupid what will happen to him (he will be locked up) as well as to underscore their own power and their own superior attributes.

The first stanza sung by Cupid is cast as an estribillo. The following stanzas are cast as four coplas, each of which is sung by a different deity. Part of the estribillo returns at the end of each copla; the deities repeat together (in a choral a4) “Ay de tí!”

(Woe is you!), while Cupid responds “¡Ay de mí!” (Woe is me!) and sings two new poetic lines as a variation of his estribillo. See Figure 5.197

Figure 5 Formal analysis of Cupid's "Ay, de mí" in Salir el amor del mundo. Estribillo Copla No.1 Copla No. 2 Copla No. 3 Copla No. 4 Refrain Stanza no. 1 Stanza no. 2 Stanza no. 3 Stanza no. 4

Cupid: “Ay de mí…” Diana: “El bronze Marte : “Contra Jupiter: “El brazo del Apolo : “Tú sombra + del desdén…”) Cupido muestre…” poder…” y yo reflejo…” choral echo: “¡Ay de tí!”

196 In a verso agudo, the stress in the last word in the line is on the last syllable. For example, in the stanza in footnote 58, the second line ends with the word “frenesí.” In this word, the stress is on the last syllable: fre-ne-sí.

197 Modified version of Table 1 in Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660-1716),” 76.

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+ + + + choral interjection: choral interjection: choral interjection: choral interjection: “¡Ay de tí!”* “¡Ay de tí!” “¡Ay de tí!” “¡Ay de tí!” + + + + Cupid: “Ay de mí…” Cupid: “Ay de mí…” Cupid: “Ay de mí…” Cupid: “Ay de mí…” + choral echo (“¡Ay de tí!”)

A + a B (+a’+ A’) B’ (+a’+ A’) B (+a’+ A’) B (+ a’ +A’)+ a

* the choral interjections are three beats long, in dactylic rhythm, and on the words: “¡Ay de tí!” (Woe is you!)

The musical depiction of intense sorrow is conveyed in the same ways as in the first lament: through the use of a minor key (in this case A minor), chromaticism, and musical rhetorical figures such as descensio, pausa, but also repetitio (repetition) also described in Ulloa’s treatise. Like “Sosieguen, sosieguen,” the estribillo carries most of the dramatic weight in this lamento. “Ay de mí, ay de mí!” (as well as “Sosieguen, sosieguen”) adheres to the Spanish conventional practice that assigns most of the narrative of the events to the coplas while the emotions are projected in the estribillo. By repeating the estribillo at the end of each copla, Durón further emphasizes Cupid’s doomed fate. The use of repetitio reaches a climax towards the end of the lamento. Here the composer repeats the words “¡Ay de mí!” and “Ay de tí!” up to four times on an eight-measure-long harmonic progression that expands the tonic through the use of dominant and subdominant chords until it finally reaches a conclusive ending on the tonic chord of A minor in the last measure.198 (Example 6). Following this lament, the zarzuela concludes with both Cupid and Ignorance locked together in a cave.

198 [Fol. 44r] in the manuscript, and mm. 104-110 in Martín Moreno’s transcription.

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Example 6 Cupid's "Ay, de mí" in Salir el amor del mundo: Repetitio (Voice and continuo, mm. 104-111)

The ending of this zarzuela is both unique and confounding. All other mythological dramas of the period, regardless of Cupid’s actions, conclude with a celebration of Love, not with his defeat. While Cupid may sometimes be represented as a reckless child at the beginning of a play, towards the end he is transformed into an almighty deity (e.g., Venir el amor al mundo). This symbolizes the restoration of harmony as well as the transformation of a mundane type of love into a spiritual one. In this zarzuela, however, Cupid never comes to represent the ideal type of love. Diana banishes him from the world, and all the characters celebrate his departure. It would seem then that the play carries a pedagogical subtext for the recipient of the work, one that, as I suggest, is revealed after re-examining Aguilar’s mythological manual, Tercera parte del

Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (1688), introduced at the beginning of this chapter.

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There are two striking parallels between Aguilar’s manual and Salir el amor del mundo: the first has to do with the uncanny likeness between Cupid’s friend, Idleness, and Cañizares’ Momo; the second with the virtues that are celebrated. Like Cupid and

Idleness, Cupid and Momo always “go together.”199 In fact, they appear together in the opening of Act 1, and they are even locked up together in a cave at the end of the play.

While Momo is undoubtedly the embodiment of ignorance, he is also unproductive. At no point is he engaged in any purposeful activity; he is content with simply following his friend, the unruly and irrational Cupid. The negative attributes of these two characters are sharply contrasted with the virtues of the deities Diana, Apollo, Mars, and Jupiter, also celebrated in Aguilar’s manual. In his treatise, Aguilar explains that Minerva, Diana, and the Muses can defeat Cupid precisely because they enjoy “honest recreations”

(recreaciones honestas). Reconstructing an imaginary dialogue between Cupid and his mother, Venus, Aguilar explains why the deity of love cannot defeat these goddesses:

Minerva, goddess of wisdom and war, is more powerful than Apollo because she never ceases to fight Cupid; the Muses are engaged in their studies, and Diana, goddess of chastity, occupies her time hunting.200 Reminiscent of the ideal virtues of both heroes and rulers encapsulated in the formula “sapientia et fortitude,” or in its variants “courage and wisdom” and “armas y letras” (“pen and sword”),201 these virtues are also exhibited by

199 “Son Amor, y Ociosidad muy unos con estrecho lazo de afectos, y como tan amigos van Amor, y Ociosidad casi siempre juntos.” In Aguilar, Tercera parte del Teatro de los Dioses de la gentilidad, 255.

200 Aguilar, Tercera parte del Teatro de los Dioses de la gentilidad, 254-55.

201 In Chapter 9, “Heroes and Rulers,” in European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages (Princeton University Press, 1953), Ernst Robert Curtius traces the ideal virtues of heroes as well as the formulas used to convey these ideal attributes of rulers from early antiquity through the modern era.

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Cupid’s adversaries in the zarzuela: strength (poder), courage (valor), wit and science

(ingenio y ciencia).

The subtext in the work thus seems to suggest that the author, as well as those responsible for the production of this zarzuela (be it ministers or aristocrats), intended to teach the patron of the work, on occasion of his birthday, a lesson in moral rectitude and regal conduct. Here, Cupid is not presented as a flawless and almighty youthful deity as he is, for example, in Lope de Vega’s work El premio de la hermosura (1614). Rather, he is depicted as a “foolish” and destructive child who needs instruction and guidance.

These negative attributes of Cupid, as well as the chaos he stirs up, seem emblematic of the king’s many limitations and the political turmoil they triggered at court. What was expected of him, in contrast, is articulated in the princely virtues of the other deities in the play: strength, courage, and wisdom. By banishing Cupid from the world, those responsible for the commissioning of the zarzuela (i.e., court officials, grandees or ministers) seemed to be symbolically purging the king of his “bewitchment” making way for a new era of prosperity.

Departing from this gloomy depiction of Cupid and of the Spanish sovereign, the following two zarzuelas show the deity of love in a more favourable light. In Apolo y

Dafne and Las nuevas armas de amor, Cupid is a triumphant and all-powerful sovereign.

“Love reigns above all gods”

While Salir el amor del mundo was conceived as a pedagogical work, Apolo y

Dafne (ca. 1701–04) and Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1711) reflect the monarchy’s struggle for power during the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14).

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Unlike Salir el amor del mundo, these two zarzuelas culminate with the glorification of

Cupid— an allegory of the Spanish monarch—who against all odds overcomes adversity and triumphs over his opponents.

Apolo y Dafne—by the composers Sebastián Durón (Act 1) and Juan de Navas

(Act 2) and an anonymous librettist—appears to be the first zarzuela of the period based on a pre-existing myth to conspicuously emphasize the figure of Cupid while underlining the character’s struggles for power. The work represents one of the many adaptations of

Ovid’s fable that appeared in Spain—and elsewhere in Europe—in the form of poems and sonnets (such as those by Garcilaso and Quevedo), and of staged works (such as those by Lope de Vega and Calderón de la Barca).202 Based on the contemporary understanding of the myth, these literary works were deeply influenced by early translations of Ovid and other Spanish mythological treatises. The first and most influential translation of the myth in early modern Spain was that by Jorge de

Bustamante, published in 1545. The myth can be summarized as follows: Apollo kills the serpent Python and brags to Cupid about his feat. He mocks the god of love by stating that Cupid’s arrows cannot kill beasts for they only serve to ignite the flames of lascivious and dishonest love. Offended by Apollo’s arrogance, Cupid punishes the god by shooting two arrows: one that is sharp and made of gold, and one that is dull and made of lead. With the first one, which induces love, he strikes Apollo. With the second one,

202 Mary E. Barnard analyses Garcilaso’s sonnet “A Daphne ya los braços le crecían” and Quevedo’s three Apollo and Daphne poems in The Myth of Apollo and Daphne from Ovid to Quevedo: Love, Agon and the Grotesque (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1987), chapters 4 and 5 respectively. Ángel Valbuena Briones’ two articles, “El tema de Apolo en tres comedias de Calderón” and “El tema del laurel de Apolo en Calderón,” represent the best studies on the subject of Calderón’s dramatic works on the fable of Apollo and the nymph. Lope de Vega’s comedia on this subject is entitled El amor enamorado (1630).

111 which induces hatred, he strikes the beautiful nymph Daphne. So while Apollo burns with uncontrollable passion, the nymph utterly despises him. Daphne flees from the ardent god and calls on her father, the River God Peneus, to help her remain chaste.

Peneus answers her plea by turning the nymph into a laurel tree.203

This same version appears in Pérez de Moya’s Philosophia Secreta (1585) and in

Baltasar de Victoria’s Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (1620), both repeatedly reprinted throughout the seventeenth century.204 The first of these two influential mythological treatises provides a naturalistic interpretation of the myth (sentido natural) and its morality (moralidad), stating that, “with this fable the ancients intended to praise chastity.”205 While the second manual also highlights the importance of the virtue of chastity, it includes a study of the virtues of the laurel tree as well as references to songs, sonnets and other works on the subject of Apollo and Daphne, including those by

Garcilaso and Petrarch.206

Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s zarzuela El laurel de Apolo (1657), introduced in

Chapter 1, was the first play with music to develop this myth as well as the most current drama on the subject at the turn of the eighteenth century. El laurel de Apolo was often

203 Bustamante’s 1595 translation, Ovidio, Las transformaciones de Ovidio en lengua española, repartidas en quinze libros con las allegorias al fin dellos y sus figuras para provecho de los Artifices (Anvers: En casa de Pedro Bellero, 1595), is available through Google books at: http://books.google.ca/books?id=t5kIvNQPlwAC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad= 0#v=onepage&q&f=false) For Apollo and Daphne, see pp. 12-14.

204 Pérez de Moya’s Philosophia Secreta (1585) was reprinted in 1599, 1611, 1628 and 1673; Baltasar de Victoria’s Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (1620) was reprinted in 1646, 1657, 1673, 1676, 1702 and 1737.

205 “Por esta fabula quisieron los antiguos loar la castidad…” Pérez de Moya, Philosophia, 147v.

206 “Capitulo XIV. De Dafne” in Baltasar de Victoria, Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (Madrid: Imprenta Real, 1676), Libro V, 588-97.

112 revived at court, and so both the audience and the creators of staged plays (dramatists and composers) were aware of Calderón’s philosophical reworking of the drama and, particularly, of his focus on reason versus passion. Literary scholar Ángel Valbuena

Briones has repeatedly noted that in this play “Calderón stresses the importance of the triumph of reason over the passions.”207 Indeed, Calderón is faithful to Bustamante’s translation in his retelling of the myth but alters the story by adding stock characters inherited from the Spanish comedia—the gallant male, the lady, the shepherds and the comic characters (galán, dama, pastores, and graciosos)—and by assigning to all of them a distinct role in the debate of reason versus passion. One such example is the lengthy opening dialogue between Daphne and her two mortal suitors. Setting the tone for the entire work, the dialogue revolves around the reason/passion dichotomy. Each one of the two mortal suitors incarnates an opposite side of the love spectrum, so while Zéfalo personifies reason and the quest for wisdom, Silvio exemplifies the lover consumed by his passion: 208

207 “Calderón subraya la importancia del triunfo de la razón sobre las pasiones.” Valbuena Briones, “El tema de Apolo en tres ‘comedias’ de Calderón,” 238 and “El tema del laurel de Apolo en Calderón,” 21. Valbuena Briones states: “La obra se basa en un sistema de opuestos, con dualidad de funciones, que confiere a la acción singular dinamismo. El eje de este sistema conflictivo es la oposición: Apolo-Cupido. El desprecio de amor versus amor sensual obtiene una serie de variantes hasta lograr la concordia final en el amor trascendente. La división binaria sirve para reunir a los personajes en dos grupos, de acuerdo con la fidelidad al concepto de desdén o amor.” In “El tema del laurel de Apolo,” 21.

208 Calderón, Famosa Comedia, El Laurel de Apolo. Fiesta zarzuela… 1664. Fols. 188r-188v.

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Zef. Yo, Hermosa Dafne, nací Zef. I, beautiful Daphne, was born mas al estudio inclinado, more inclined to studies, than to love… que al amor… […] […] Negué una, y otra deidad I renounced one and another deity de amor, y de Venus, y solo of love, and of Venus, and only en las cátedras de Apolo in Apollo’s teachings mantuve mi libertad did I maintain my freedom […] […] Silv. Yo mas ciencias no aprendí, Silv. I did not learn other sciences que el arte de amor, si fue than of the art of love. Whether it was en mejor libro no se, a better book I do not know, pero presumo que sí; but I presume it was; […] […]

The dialogue then continues with a highly reflective conversation between the same two characters in which they debate whether it is more difficult to conceal love or to pretend to love, alluding to the philosophical question of being and appearance so commonly discussed in the literature of the time.209

Both El laurel de Apolo (1657) and Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04) share similarities. Both are intended to instil the importance of rational constraint and domestication of passion that is common in so many dramatic works of the time. They also share the same dogmatic assumption that the fulfillment of love is to be found in the ascent of the spiritual ladder, thus reflecting influential Neoplatonic views on love propagated during the Renaissance.210 This ascent—which begins at the lower stage of

209 El ser y el parecer in Spain and l’être et le paraître in French literature.

210 Sears Jayne provides a valuable introduction to Renaissance Neoplatonism in his introduction to Commentary on Plato’s Symposium on Love, English translation by Sears Jayne (Dallas, Texas: Spring Publications, Inc., 1985). 1-19. Jayne summarizes Ficino’s treatise on Neoplatonic love as follows: “the cosmos consists of a hierarchy of being extending from God (unity) to the physical world (multiplicity). In this hierarchy every level evolves from the level above it in a descending emanation from God and desires to rise to the level above it in an ascending return to God. The desire to return to one’s source is called love, and the quality in the source, which attracts this desire is called beauty. The human soul, as part of the hierarchy of being, is involved in this process of descent from God and return to God; in human beings the desire to procreate inferior beings is called earthly love, and the desire to rise to higher levels of being is

114 earthly (sensual) love and moves up to a higher stage of heavenly (transcendent) love—is reflected, for example, in the behaviour of the characters, particularly of Apollo.

Valbuena Briones observes that in Calderón, Apollo’s spiritual transformation undergoes a three-stage process that begins with disdain, moves on to physical desire, and ends with transcendent love.211 The same transformation is seen in Durón and Navas’ zarzuela. In fact, a Neoplatonic vision of love is also evident in the final scenes of both works where all characters now praise Cupid after having understood divine love.

Yet, while both zarzuelas articulate a Neoplatonic vision of love, Apolo y Dafne introduces a novelty by reallocating much of the text and the dramatic action to the character of Cupid. In this zarzuela, Cupid is assigned the first monologue in the play

(fol.2r. Amor: “Zagales a quien mi culto”), while in Calderón’s work his first solo does not appear until the second act.212 In Durón and Navas, Cupid is present in a great number of scenes, and he is assigned many musical numbers that include solos, duets, or choral sections. Compared to El laurel de Apolo, Cupid’s role is conspicuously prominent

called heavenly love. Human love is therefore a good thing because in both of its phases, descending and ascending, it is part of a natural cosmic process in which all creatures share.”, 7. (italics mine)

211 “La transformación espiritual de Apolo pasa por tres etapas: la del desdén, la de amor físico y la de amor trascendente.” In “El tema del laurel de Apolo,” 21.

212 See Segunda jornada, pp. 396-97 in Pedro Calderón de la Barca, “Famosa Comedia, El Laurel de Apolo. Fiesta zarzuela, transferidad al Real Coliseo del Buen Retiro,” in Comedias del célebre poeta español Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca,…, que saca a la luz Don Juan Fernandez de Apontes….Tomo Sexto, 377-412 (Madrid: Imprenta del Supremo Consejo de la Inquisición, 1761). The 1664 edition of the zarzuela is in one act only, and Cupid’s first solo appears in fol. 198r. See “Famosa Comedia, El Laurel de Apolo. Fiesta zarzuela, transferidad al Real Coliseo del Buen Retiro,” in Tercera parte de comedias de D. Pedro Calderon de la Barca (Madrid: Domingo Garcia Morrás, 1664).

115 in Apolo y Dafne.213 Moreover, Cupid’s highly dramatic lament in the first jornada underscores the theme of the struggle for power in the work. In no other earlier literary texts or plays on the myth of Apollo y Daphne does Cupid sing a lament.

The text of Apolo y Dafne, as it appears in the only surviving manuscript, begins with the arrival of Cupid in Thessaly rather than with Apollo’s victory as in the original myth or with the philosophical dialogues that open Calderón’s zarzuela. Cupid has come at the request of the islanders who have implored the deity to save them from the beast lurking in the forests. Cupid agrees to help in exchange for total control over the island.

Not only does he want the islanders to worship him but he also wishes to be adored in

Apollo’s temples. Agreeing to worship Cupid, the islanders turn their back on Apollo.

But when Apollo finds out that he has been betrayed, he becomes enraged and swears to destroy Cupid. Following a series of secondary events, the two deities finally meet toward the end of the act. In midst of their struggle, the beast appears and Apollo manages to kill it. With this victory, Apollo regains his power on the island.

Cupid’s lament “Murió la fiera y yo he muerto” (“The beast has died and I have died”) begins after Apollo defeats Cupid by killing the Serpent Python and leaving the god of love in shame. The struggle, and of course the lament, is a variation on the original myth. As noted above, Ovid begins his account of the myth with Apollo bragging about

213 Based on his analysis of an early edition of El laurel de Apolo, Everett Hesse identified eight musical numbers: 1.chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses, 2.musical dialogue between Apolo and Cupid, 3.chorus of nymphs and solo by Apollo, 4.Rustic song and dance, 5.solo of Iris, accompanied by double chorus, 6.dialogue partly sung and partly spoken between Apollo and Daphne, 7.chorus of shepherds with a shepherdess singing a seguidilla, 8.final chorus. Cupid appears in only one musical number. See Everett W. Hesse, “The two Versions of Calderón’s El laurel de Apolo” Hispanic Review 14, no. 3 (Jul., 1946): 233. Louise Stein also discusses Calderón’s zarzuela in Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 261-67.

116 having killed the serpent, and at no point do the two deities compete to kill the beast. In this zarzuela, the moment of defeat receives great attention.

For the scene, the anonymous librettist devised a three-part lament similar to

Cupid’s solo lament “Sosieguen, sosiguen” in Salir el amor del mundo (recall that

Cupid’s lament is cast in ABCA form [estribillo-coplas-recitado-estribillo]). Each of the three sections of the lament conveys a single affect (different in each case) and has its own poetic metre. The first section projects the affect of despair and combines octosyllabic with hexasyllabic lines. The affect of vengeance in the second section is depicted in three heptasyllabic quatrains, while the affect of rage in the third section is expressed in a seven-line hexasyllabic stanza. Although the use of different poetic metres provides variety and helps reflect the changing moods in the piece, the entire lamento is written in verses of arte menor within traditional poetic norms of seventeenth-century

Spanish dramatic versification.

Reflecting the thematic divisions in the poetry, the composer Sebastián Durón set the lament in ABCA form.214 The A section, conceived as a slow and dramatic estribillo in ternary form, is then followed by two contrasting sections, 1) three-fast paced coplas in common metre marked “Vivo” (“lively”) conveying the affect of revenge, and 2) a final section in ternary metre (possibly an estribillo segundo or a second refrain) marked

“Airado” (“enraged”) and followed by the return of the estribillo. See Figure 6.

214 Although the return of A at the end of the third section is not indicated in the manuscript, the estribillo would have been repeated at the end, as this seems to have been common practice (noted for example in “Sosieguen, sosieguen”). Most likely, the copyist omitted this section in haste or perhaps because it was well understood that the estribillo would be repeated.

117

Figure 6 Verbatim transcription of the lament "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto." Text setting, musical sections, indications in the manuscript, and affect. Text Text Setting and Musical Indications in the Manuscript Section [BNE M/2208] and Affect

Murió la fiera y yo he muerto Section A: Estribillo in Despacio (slowly) Ay infelice de mí! triple metre Affect of Despair Ella al arpón que el pecho le ha abierto y yo con el tiro mas duro y mas cierto, que tarde esperé que presto sentí. Ay infelice de mí Ay ay ay infelice de mí! 1. Adonde Santos Cielos Section B: Coplas in duple Vivo (lively) he de ir si ya me infama metre Affect of Revenge con tan nuevo desprecio mi propia tolerancia.

2. Yo que vine aplaudido a librar con mis ansias a Tesalia del riesgo desairado en Tesalia,

3. Ocultarme resuelvo hasta que mi venganza pueda sanear el golpe que mi deidad ultraja. Y guárdense montes Section C: Final stanza in Airado (enraged) y guárdense fieras triple metre Affect of Rage y guárdense plantas de mi ira, mi furia mi ardor y mi saña que aún quedan arpones de amor en la aljaba.

As established by convention, the estribillo (section A) is the heart of the lament.

The section describes Cupid’s humiliation. To him, the death of the serpent symbolizes the loss of his honour and his power and thus, represents his own death:

Murió la fiera y yo he muerto The beast has died and I have died. Ay infelice de mi Woe is me! Ella al arpón It [died] by the harpoon que el pecho le ha abierto that opened its chest. Y yo, con el tiro And, having a more accurate mas duro y mas cierto, and severe shot, que tarde esperé I waited too long que presto sentí. [and] felt too quickly. Ay infelice de mi. Ah, woe is me! Ay ay ay infelice de mi. Ah, woe is me!

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Although the lack of an exemplar of the libretto makes analysis of the text difficult, it is still possible to infer from Durón’s manuscript that he altered the text for dramatic purposes. The words and lines in bold in the above transcription are most likely repetitions intended for rhetorical purposes. Without these repetitions, the internal consonant rhyme of the text on the words muerto, abierto, cierto, appearing in every other line as they do, is more coherent. The following presents a hypothetical reconstruction of the original text of the estribillo:

Murió la fiera y yo he muerto (8) Ella al arpón (6) que el pecho le ha abierto (8) Y yo, con el tiro (6) mas duro y mas cierto, (6) que tarde esperé (6) que presto sentí. (6) Ay infelice de mi. (8)

The estribillo begins in C minor and in triple metre and, like the other sections of the lament, is scored for soprano, two violins (notated in alto clef), and basso continuo.

The opening section of this lament, comprising lines one and two in the transcribed text, features several musical rhetorical devices: passus duriusculus (chromaticism), pausa and descensio, also found in the first musical example discussed in this chapter.

The vocal melody in Cupid’s lament begins with a descending semitone on the word murió (“[the beast] died”) (m.2) that moves from C on the last beat of m. 1 to a B- natural on the downbeat of measure 2, occurring over a tonic to dominant harmony. The minor second motion, commonly associated with depictions of sadness, serves in establishing the sombre mood for the estribillo and enables the performer to lean into the

119 descent emphasizing its mournful quality.215 Durón also highlights another word derived from “to die” (“Yo he muerto,” I have died) as well as the word “wretched” (infelice) with leaps of a descending fifth (mm. 4 and 7). Each of these two poetic lines is set to a slowly descending melody (descencio). The word “Ay” at the beginning of the second poetic line (presumably added by Durón) is highlighted through the use of pausa. The second line begins with a rest on the downbeat (m. 5) in the vocal line, which precedes the word “Ay” (“Alas!”). A second rest in the vocal line, this time on the next downbeat

(m.6), follows this interjection and precedes the words infelice de mí. These breaks in the melodic line intensify the affect of despair and convey the impression that the character is in such a state of distress that he is sighing or even gasping for air. Example 7.

Example 7 Cupid’s "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto" in Apolo y Dafne (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-8)

The rhetorical device of pausa employed in the opening section continues throughout the estribillo. In fact, Durón exploits this rhetorical figure by combining it with another: repetitio. Not only is the last line of the estribillo “Ay, infelice de mí!” repeated, but it also includes internal repetitions. The interjection “Ay,” which is repeated

215 An earlier Spanish treatise on music, Pedro de Cerone’s El Melopeo (1613), introduced in Chapter 3 in this dissertation, refers to the interval of the minor second and the semitone as “effeminate.”

120 two times, is in each instance preceded by a pausa (mm. 29-34). These two rhetorical figures are supplemented with a third device: descencio. Without exception, the melodic contour of each poetic line descends by a leap of a fifth or a third, or by step. Example 8.

Example 8 Cupid’s "Murió la fiera y yo he muerto" in Apolo y Dafne: Pausa, descencio and repetitio (Voice and continuo, mm. 29-39)

Two contrasting sections—B and C—follow the highly dramatic estribillo.

Section B is comprised of three lively coplas. In the first, Cupid is ashamed of what has happened and wonders where to go (A donde Santos Cielos…); in the second, he looks back on his arrival in Thessaly and while at first he was received with great applause (Yo que vine aplaudido…), now he is scorned by all, as the islanders have gone back to worshipping Apollo. In the third, he decides that he will hide (Ocultarme resuelvo…) until he can carry out his revenge. Aside from the obvious change in mood conveyed by the key of C Major, the coplas in section B project the new affect of revenge by

121 mimicking Cupid’s agitation and by maintaining a constant air of tension. Cupid’s nervousness is conveyed through the recurring ascending and descending leaps of an octave that appear five times in each copla (mm. 40, 42, 45, 49, 51, 54, 58, 60, 63). The feeling of tension created by the anticipation of Cupid’s revenge is musically represented by the 4-3 suspension that appears at the end of every copla. Indeed, the strophic nature of the copla helps reinforce the new mood through the cyclical repetition of specific melodic and harmonic gestures intended to portray the choleric affect of vengeance.216

The third section of the lamento, section C, also expresses an irascible affect. Here, Cupid calls out to the elements and warns them to beware of him, as he still keeps arrows in his quiver. His music also features the same large leaps of an octave (mm. 69, 75, and 82) present in the coplas, as well as small leaps that outline the tonic triad (mm. 78-80). The lament concludes with the return of the dramatic estribillo, thus reinforcing the affect of sadness.

From this point onwards, the zarzuela does not depart significantly from the original myth except for the fact that Cupid remains a prominent character in Act 2 and that there continues to be an emphasis on the affect of sorrow (exemplified in two new laments—Joante’s amorous complaint “Si el susto, si el ansia” and Daphne’s sorrowful farewell to the world “Adiós, selvas, adiós”—examined in Chapters 3 and 4, respectively). Cupid punishes Apollo by making him fall desperately in love with Daphne only to lose her when she is transformed into a laurel tree. The treatment of Cupid’s victory at the end of the play, however, differs slightly from that in Calderón’s earlier

216 Ulloa classifies the passions into 3 general affects: Alegria, Remission, and Misericordia. He explains that if Alegria is not moderated, it can engender choleric affects, including that of vengeance. Ulloa, Musica universal, 44.

122 work. While Calderón places less emphasis on the aspect of Apollo’s defeat and more on his spiritual transformation, the librettist of Apolo y Dafne underscores Apollo’s submission to Cupid:

Apollo: Islanders, before Cupid speaks of his triumph it is necessary that I first attest to them. You were wrong in ceasing to worship him and in not acknowledging him as the most powerful god and the strongest of all deities. For I who crushed the beast, […] know that Love only is to long live and long reign.217

The play ends with the restoration of harmony on the island and with all the characters praising the almighty god of love.

A similar sequence of events—one that begins with Cupid’s defeat and his lament and concludes with his final triumph and glorification—appears in the plot of the zarzuela Las nuevas armas de amor (Love’s New Weapons). Although Cañizares’ story includes a few well-known mythological characters derived from the Greco-Roman tradition, it is unclear whether the zarzuela was inspired by another work, or if it was simply the product of the dramatist’s imagination. As in other mythological works, events unfold and characters interact in three different hierarchical strata that converge and diverge at different times throughout the play. The first and the highest of the planes, that of the deities, includes the characters of Cupid, Jupiter, and Diana. The second and third

217 “Apolo: Isleños antes que llegue/ Amor a explicar sus triunfos,/ es bien que yo los confiese/ hicisteis mal en quitarle/ sus aras y en no tenerle/ por el Dios más poderoso/ y por el numen más fuerte./ Pues yo que postré la fiera, […] conozco que solo Amor/ es razón que viva y reine.” [II jornada, fol. 75r.]

123 levels correspond with two established social ranks in the world of the mortals: the higher serious characters, which are usually well bred or belong to the nobility—Anteo, Astrea,

Zéfiro and Sirene; and the lower comical characters, often servants or shepherds, represented here by Silvio, Enareta, and Títere. One last type that appears sporadically in the zarzuela is that of the wise old man. In this zarzuela, this character is Jupiter’s priest,

Palemón, who embodies the connection between the mortals and the deities.218

The action takes place on the bucolic island of Cyprus. Palemón has summoned the inhabitants of Cyprus, and in a lengthy monologue he narrates the story of how the god of love gained power over the island and the islanders.219 Palemón’s detailed description of Amor paints the deity as a destructive force from which all wish to escape.

The priest tells the Cypriots that their prayers have been answered, that Jupiter has come to save them, and that they have been freed from Love (¡Ya estáis libres de Amor!). A new scene in which Jupiter confronts the god of love interrupts the celebration of the mortals. The two deities struggle. Jupiter pushes Cupid to the ground, snatches his quiver and disappears.

Humiliated and unable to rise, the deity of love slips into a lament. His lamento

“Cuantos teméis al rigor,” which differs in its formal structure from those in the first two

218 The only other zarzuela from this period that includes such a character is Selva encantada de amor (ca. 1698), examined in Chapter 3. An earlier work that features this type of character is Calderón’s El laurel de Apolo.

219 Joseph de Cañizares. Zarzuela nueva intitulada Las nuevas armas de Amor (Biblioteca Histórica Municipal, Tea 1-51-13), 5-6. I would like to thank Gordon Hart who generously shared with me his transcription and edition of the text of Las nuevas armas de amor from his unpublished thesis of 1974. His enthusiasm for my project and his willingness to share his expertise has been a great source of inspiration for this chapter. Hart’s edition and transcription of both text and music were used for the first performance of the zarzuela in North America (Feb. 2013): http://www.orchestraofnewspain.org/images/Nuevas-Armas-de-Amor-Duron-OrchestraNewSpain.pdf (accessed May 19, 2014).

124 zarzuelas, is representative of Durón’s mature style, when the composer’s works began to embrace a more pan-European or international style.220 Rather than being cast as a variation of the traditional coplas and estribillo, this lament is conceived in two parts: a recitado followed by an Italian aria da capo. The poem begins with a sextet in which lines of 7 and 11 syllables with the rhyme scheme aabbcc alternate, rather than with a stanza in versos de arte menor (lines of under 8 syllables). Here, as in Apolo y Dafne,

Cupid also equates his defeat with his own death:221

(¡Valedme, cielos!) (Heaven, help me!) Valedme, pero en vano. Help me, but in vain. Pues a la injuria, muerto de un tirano For Love, killed by a tyrant’s offense el Amor, entre míseros gemidos, with miserable groans ecos desfallecidos, [and] faint echoes, de su fin las exequias solemniza: solemnizes his funeral rites, si aun ese cabe en el que ya agoniza. if even that can be done in agony.

Having prepared the audience for the piece about to take place, the third lady playing Cupid would then have delivered a sorrowful song; indeed, one of the most dramatic laments ever performed at the Spanish court:

A. Quantos teméis el rigor Those of you who fear rigor llorad conmigo, llorad. Cry with me, cry. B. Pues en muriendo el Amor For with Love’s death ha de reinar la impiedad. i mpiety will reign. A. Quantos teméis el rigor Those of you who fear rigor llorad conmigo, llorad. Cry with me, cry.

220 For a summary on Durón’s compositional style, see pages 14-16 in the Introduction to this dissertation.

221 Excerpt taken from José de Cañizares, Las nuevas armas de amor (Biblioteca Nacional de España, Mss/17448/9), Fols. 9r.-9v.

125

The text of this octosyllabic six-line stanza is identical in both extant musical manuscripts and in two of the three surviving librettos. The third libretto (BMM, Tea 1-

51-13), however, includes a completely different text with the same dramatic content.

None of these five sources refer to this musical section as an aria da capo, but rather as an

Italian area or arietta, an area, or a “sad arietta” (Arietta triste). See Figure 7.

Figure 7 Comparative analysis of the text of "Cuantos teméis al rigor" in all the extant sources. Musical Manuscripts Librettos (Madrid) (Evora) (Madrid) BNE, M/2276 CLI/2-6 n.o 1 BNE, BNE, BMM, Mss/17448/9 Mss/ 15079 Tea 1-51-13

[16v] despo Al unisonus [15v] [Fol. 9r.] [p.18]

Arieta Ytaliana Area Ytaliana Ariet. triste Ariet. triste Are. Quantos temeis al rigor Quantos temeis el rigor Quantos temeis el Quantos temeis el Ha fiero homicida, llorad conmigo llorad llorad conmigo llorad rigor rigor ha Dios inhumano; llorad llorad llorad llorad llorad llorad Llorad conmigo, Llorad conmigo, llorad me dejas con vida llorad [17r] conmigo llorad llorad conmigo llorad llorad pues en muriendo el al ver que es en llorad llorad conmigo llorad llorad conmigo pues en muriendo el amor vano llorad llorad amor ha de reinar la que pueda alentar? Que en muriendo el amor Pues en muriendo el amor [fol. 9v.] impiedad [this stanza is A de Reynar, a de reynar Ha de reinar ha de reinar ha de reinar la Quantos temeis el repeated] la ynpiedad la impiedad impiedad rigor llorad conmigo Pues ya sin arpones [17v.] [17r] Quantos temeis el llorad habrá corazones a de Reynar, a de reynar ha de reinar ha de reinar la rigor llorad conmigo que de mis influjos la ynpiedad impiedad llorad. se logran burlar.

Gordon Hart suggests that the arietta may have been omitted in the third libretto in order to reduce the foreign musical elements to a minimum.222 While this may be the case, it is equally plausible that the arietta may have been added perhaps at the request of the composer Sebastián Durón, who by now had developed a distinct compositional style in his laments. Indeed, there may be other reasons for its inclusion, among them, the audience’s preference for these dramatic numbers or the availability of a performer

222 Gordon Hart, “Una zarzuela recuperada: Las nuevas armas de amor de Sebastián Durón 1660- 1716),” in Sebastián Durón (1660-1716) y la música de su época, ed. Paulino Capdepón and Juan José Pastor Comín (Vigo, Galicia: Editorial Academia del Hispanismo, 2013), 89.

126 specialized in singing laments. Conversely, the arietta may have been omitted in the third libretto due to the unavailability of a tercera dama that could perform the piece.

Whatever the case, the discrepancies between the two libretti held at the Biblioteca

Nacional and the third libretto housed in the Biblioteca Municipal hint at more than a single production of the work.

Durón’s dramatic recitado, “Valedme pero en vano,” faithfully reflects the depth of emotion in Cañizares’s sextet. Scored for soprano, two violins (notated in alto clef), and basso continuo, it opens with a sustained Eb major chord in the violins and the bass that accompanies the first two poetic lines (mm.1-3). As Jupiter has just pushed Cupid to the ground and has taken his arrows after a violent struggle, this sustained chord creates an interesting effect: that time—and the action in the story—has stopped so that Cupid can lament. Durón uses every resource in his musical repertoire to portray the character’s affect of despair and highlights key dramatic words through the use of descending large leaps, chromaticism, tonicizations, and musical rhetorical figures that are now greatly emphasized. The first key word, “muerto” (dead) in measure 2, is underlined as it is arrived at through a leap of a descending octave (Eb4- Eb5). The second key word,

“amor” (love), is stressed in two ways: first, its second syllable (that is naturally accented: “a-mor”) is set to a G major chord in first inversion in the downbeat of m. 4

(which is also the chord that follows the opening sustained Eb major chord); second, the

B natural in the bass of this chord is a chromatic alteration that accentuates the word and signals the beginning of a series of tonicizations on the words “entre míseros gemidos”

(mm. 4-6). The word “gemidos” (groans), the third key word, is further highlighted through saturation by the figure of pausa. While Durón had interjected musical rests

127 between two words (see, for example, measure 5 and 9 in “Sosieguen, sosieguen” and measures 5 and 6 in “Murió la fiera y yo he muerto”), here he inserts rests between the syllables of a single word. As a result, the word “gemidos”, and later also the fourth key word “desfallecidos” (dying) in mm. 8-9, is fragmented. Durón’s use of sigh motives is, in this instance, extreme. This use of pausa is undoubtedly the most striking aspect of

Cupid’s recitado. Example 9.

Example 9 Cupid's "Valedme pero en vano" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Pausa (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-9)

128

The fifth and last key word to which the composer draws attention is “agoniza” in the last three measures of the recitado (mm. 14-16). In Spanish agonizar can mean “to end” or “to become extinguished,” a synonym for dying.223 Durón’s dramatic musical setting is intended to reflect Cupid’s death—a figurative one, of course, as he has not been wounded but has simply lost his arrows. Set on a descending melodic line

(descensio), the word is emphasized not by coloring it through a change of harmony, but by stripping it, thus conveying Cupid’s loss of vitality. The thinner texture resulting from the silencing of the violins in mm. 15 and 16 and the longer note values in the melodic line (as opposed to the quarter notes in the beginning) portray in musical terms the slow expiration of Cupid’s life. Undoubtedly, Durón’s dramatic setting of Cañizares’ text provided the tercera dama playing the role with the opportunity to give rein to an intensity in her singing and gestures that would surely have moved the audience.224

The aria “Cuantos teméis al rigor,” indicated as an Italian arietta or aria (Arietta

Ytaliana and area Ytaliana) in the musical manuscripts and as an aria or arietta in the libretti, is scored for voice, violins playing in unison, and basso continuo. Section A begins in C minor and in triple metre, while section B, also in triple metre, begins on the relative major. Lines one and two of the stanza (“Those of you who feel rigor, cry with

223 According to the modern definition provided by the Real Academia Española. See “Agonizar” in www.rae.es

224 An invaluable source for the study of gestures in eighteenth-century Spanish theatre is Fernando Doménech Rico, Guadalupe Soria Tomás, and David Conte Imbert, eds. La expresión de las pasiones en el teatro del siglo XVIII: El ensayo sobre el origen y naturaleza de las pasiones, del gesto y de la acción teatral, de Fermín Eduardo Zeglirscosac y sus fuentes de referencia: Lessing, Le Brun y Engel (Madrid: Editorial fundamentos, 2011). While an exploration of gestures in theatre music would be fascinating, it constitutes a separate subject in itself and is beyond the purview of this study.

129 me, cry with me”) form section A, and lines three and four (“For with Love’s death, impiety will reign”) section B. Durón lengthened the short text by repeating the second and fourth lines while adding several internal repetitions of the word “llorad” (cry) and of the fragment “ha de reinar” (will reign). The figure of repetitio, in combination with pausa and descencio, is used throughout the piece in several different ways.

The A section opens with the violins playing the main melody in unison (mm.1-

8). The melody is divided into two phrases: “a”, a sort of antecedent that begins on the tonic and ends on the dominant (mm.1- 4) and “b”, its consequent, which begins and ends on the tonic (mm. 5-8). Two quarter-note rests in measure 5 (pausa) separate the two phrases, each outlining a descending melodic line (descencio). The voice enters in measure 8 repeating the melody introduced by the violins (mm.8-15). After the exposition of the melody in the violins and the voice, Durón develops the A section by presenting fragments of the melody (“b” in the vocal line in mm. 12-15 and in the violins in mm. 15-18), by expanding it through the use of descending fifths in sequence (mm. 18-

22) and finally by concluding the section with a harmonic progression ending with a perfect authentic cadence (mm. 24-33). The most emotional passage in A occurs during the repetition of the second line in the stanza “Cry with me” in mm. 17-24. After this line has been presented in mm.12-15, the composer repeats the word “llorad” three times (in bold and italics in the excerpt below) before going on to state the entire line two more times (in italics):

130

A. Quantos teméis el rigor Those of you who feel rigor llorad conmigo, llorad. Cry with me, cry. Llorad, llorad, llorad, Cry, cry, cry, llorad conmigo, llorad. Cry with me, cry with me. llorad conmigo, llorad. Cry with me, cry.

Each of the three statements of the word “llorad” is set to a two-note melodic figure of a descending minor third. Rhythmically, the first of the two is a quarter note and the second a dotted half note. The emphasis on the dotted half note (on the downbeat each time) mimics the natural accentuation of the word “llo-rad” on the second syllable.

The large leap between the second and the third statements adds dramatic intensity to

Cupid’s plea for sympathy. The passage is further emphasized as it is built on a sequence of descending fifths (C-F-Bb-Eb-A), which as noted in Chapter 1, is traditionally associated with lament-invocations.225 Finally, in addition to the aforementioned devices, the echoes in the violin of the two-note melodic descending figure (illustrating Cupid’s falling tears) as well as the rests (symbolizing Cupid’s sighs and sobbing) in both melodic lines underline a moment of heightened intensity in the lament. This is a dramatic moment to which the female performer would likely have adapted her facial expression, posture, and gestures. Example 10.

225 Lament-invocations will be further examined in Chapter 3, as they so often appear in amorous complaints and depictions of lovesickness.

131

Example 10 Cupid's "Cuántos teméis al rigor" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Emphasis on "llorad" ("cry") (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 17-34)

Section B, shifting to the relative major, begins with the third line of the poetic text “Que en muriendo el Amor” (“For with Love’s death”). The fourth and last line of text “ha de reinar la impiedad” (“impiety will reign”) constitutes the focus of attention, as it is extended through full and fragmentary textual repetition. Durón expands the phrase

“ha de reinar, ha de reinar la impiedad,” which he later repeats. Presented in conjunction with the figure descencio, these repetitions are elaborated on a sequence of descending fifths (mm. 40-45) or presented in conjunction with melodic repetition through the echoes

132 in the violins (in different registers) in measure 47. Concluding with a half cadence on G major, this section is followed by the return to A, the section describing Cupid’s tears, thus reinforcing the affect of sorrow.

As if waking up from a sorrowful dream or a trance, Cupid frees himself from his deep sadness and vows to avenge his honour. Here is where the most interesting aspect of

Cañizares’s myth occurs. Up to this point, the story had not deviated from other myths or from the contemporary understanding of how deities (and mortals) interacted with one another. In an unprecedented turn of events, Cupid now invokes his lifelong adversary,

Diana, for help. The goddess of chastity, also unexpectedly, lends him three arrows that induce three different effects on the victims: disenchantment, distrust, and contempt

(desengaño, desconfianza, and desprecio). With these arrows Cupid shoots Astrea (loved by Jupiter and Prince Anteo) and Sirene (loved by Zéfiro) and later recruits Anteo for help. Cupid promises the prince that he will make Astrea love him in return for his service, an offer that Anteo cannot refuse. In the meantime, the women express their pain and discomfort after being wounded by Cupid’s new arrows.226

Unaware of Cupid’s new alliance with Diana and Prince Anteo, and believing he has rightfully earned the love and admiration of the Cypriots, Jupiter is shocked by the hostility he now encounters on the island: Astrea refuses his advances, Anteo and Diana declare war on him, and the islanders no longer worship him. The islanders celebrate

Jupiter’s defeat and praise Cupid, who rewards the two leading couples by putting an end to their grief. The zarzuela ends with the marriages of Anteo and Astrea, and Zefiro and

226 Joseph de Cañizares. Zarzuela nueva intitulada Las nuevas armas de Amor (Biblioteca Histórica Municipal, Tea 1-51-13), 5-6.

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Sirene, while everyone praises Cupid and his new weapons. As in Apolo y Dafne, the god of love no longer represents a destructive force (passion) but has evolved to embrace a virtuous and divine (Neoplatonic) love that everyone in the play has come to worship.

Love, War, and Alliances

Gordon Hart has correctly observed that the plot’s structure relies on “triangular relationships among the characters” from which three themes emerge: power, love, and humour.227 The theme of power first appears among the three deities and later among

Jupiter, Cupid, and the mortal, Anteo. The second theme is manifested in the love triangle between Astrea, Jupiter, and Anteo, and the last theme, humour, is apparent in the relationship between the three graciosos, Títere, Silvio, and Enareta.228 While these three underlying themes undoubtedly propel the action in the story, there is a fourth that has passed unperceived. I would like to suggest that another important motif is manifest in another triangular relationship between the characters involved in the struggle for power, and that is, the alliances among characters. The first alliance between Cupid (god of erotic love) and Diana (goddess of chastity) arouses great interest. Not only is it unprecedented, but it also breaks with the centuries-long tradition of associating these two characters with two opposite and irreconcilable forces. The second alliance between

Cupid and Anteo, is less unusual, but as it appears in conjunction with the first alliance, it reinforces the existing theme of the “political” alliances that emerge for the mutual benefit of some characters (Cupid, Anteo, Diana) and the fall of another (Jupiter). Thus,

227 Hart, “Una zarzuela recuperada,” 91, 92.

228 Ibid.

134 one cannot help but wonder if Cañizares had any underlying motives for choosing to break such a strong literary tradition as well as a long-established cultural identification.

Quite possibly, Cañizares had political motivations, as the parallels between the zarzuela and political events transpiring in the early eighteenth century—and particularly in

1711—are more than coincidental. Likewise, the emotional vulnerability of the Spanish monarch, Philip V, during the early years of his reign may also have served as a source of inspiration. Afflicted by a mental illness that historians have labeled as bi-polar disorder, the monarch suffered from moments of great depression. During these spells of melancholy, he refused to see anyone and seemed to rely solely on his wife.229 In a sense,

Philip V—like Cupid—needed the support of a woman to overcome life’s hardships.

By 1711, the War of the Spanish Succession had been affecting everyday life inside Spain and elsewhere in Europe for almost a decade. The two invasions of Madrid by the Archduke Charles and his troops in 1706 and 1710, for example, had a direct impact on aspects such as the devotional and artistic life of the city.230 News of the war also kept people in Madrid extremely alert to any changes in the shift of power caused by

229 Historian Henry Kamen, for example, discusses the monarch’s mental illness in his fascinating study, Philip V: The king who reigned twice (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011). See pp. 105-06 and 121-22.

230 Buck has noted a few of the repercussions of these invasions on the devotional and artistic life of the city: “After the invasion of Madrid by the Archduke and his forces (June 25, 1706), the king appropriated the money reserved for the Corpus festivities in order to supplement the war effort, and left the Ayuntamiento unsupported in financing this aspect of theatrical production. […] [The autos sacramentales] were no longer part of the religious processions for Corpus, using the large carts and outdoor stages; …. Instead, the autos were staged in the corrales themselves, and became a regular feature of the theatrical calendar,” in “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres,” 243-44. The invasion of 1710 had a direct impact on the plays that were performed during the fall season, causing revenue losses and declining attendance. Buck has observed that the recovery in revenues and attendance began with the carnival productions in 1711. See page 72. It is precisely during this carnival season that the zarzuela Veneno es de amor la envidia is produced. This work as well as its lament will be discussed in Chapter 4 of this dissertation.

135 the outcome of battles as well as the creation of new alliances. In fact, the entire war revolved around the formation of alliances. Initially led by England and the United

Provinces, the Grand Alliance that declared war on Louis XIV in 1702 would later recruit other forces including the Dutch, the German, and the Portuguese.231

But it was in 1711 that two old rival nations—France and England—became allies to defend their common interests. Following the deaths of Louis XIV’s son and heir, the

Grand Dauphin (April 14, 1711), and of the Holy Roman Emperor Joseph I (April 17,

1711), new problems regarding the succession of the French crown and the Holy Roman

Empire caused the delicate balance of power in Europe to shift prompting the formation of new coalitions. Holy Roman Emperor Joseph I left his title to his brother the Archduke

Charles, contender to the Spanish crown, who was crowned Emperor in October 1711.

The fear that the Austrian Habsburgs would become a much too dominant force if

Charles gained possession of Spain was one of the factors that forced Louis XIV of

France and Queen Anne of England to enter a period of negotiations. After years of enmity the king of France and the queen of England deliberated on the preliminaries of a peace accord during the summer months and into early October 1711. (These early negotiations would eventually result in the Treaty of Utrecht signed in 1713.)232

Although it is hard to determine to what extent the people of Madrid were kept abreast of the latest developments in the war, it is quite likely that they were aware of this new alliance (as well as others), having been informed through news pamphlets or privy to

231 Henry Kamen, The War of Succession in Spain 1700–15 (London: Weidenfelt and Nicolson, 1969), 4-9.

232 John A. Lynn, The Wars of Louis XIV: 1667–1714 (New York: Routledge, 1999), 342.

136 rumours or speculations. Whatever the case, in this light the parallels between Cupid and

Diana’s partnership presented in a zarzuela performed in late November after the negotiations between Louis XIV and Queen Anne of England are highly suggestive.233 In this reading of the zarzuela Louis XIV’s identification with Cupid is only convincing if there is a close political relationship between the Spanish and French Bourbon kings.

Though Cupid may be presented here as an allegorical stand-in for the Spanish king's grandfather, Louis XIV, Cupid’s struggles and final victory in the play continue to symbolize those of Philip V. The final celebration in the play, the praises for the god of love, and the reestablishment of peace and order in the realm are all symbolic of Philip V and his own reign.

The emphasis on the character of Cupid and on the theme of power in Apolo y

Dafne and in Las nuevas armas de amor, as well as in Salir el amor del mundo, is so remarkable that it seems almost impossible not to view parallels between the stage and the monarch’s real-life political struggles at the turn of the eighteenth century.

Established as a space for moral instruction, discourses of power, and entertainment, the stage provided the opportunity for higher-ranking Spanish men (court dramatists, court composers, and various noble patrons) to mirror the current state of affairs. It allowed them to express their worries, to reflect on the monarch’s plight, and to provide a sort of solution or a wishful happy ending—encompassed in the highly allegorical maxim

“Omnia vincit amor”—to all the political turmoil surrounding the crown. When

233 Other theatrical works produced during the War of the Spanish Succession can be interpreted as allegorical representations of the war. One such example is Durón’s opera La guerra de los gigantes (ca. 1702). See Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music,” 40, 41.

137 performed for a live audience, however, the apparent political and allegorical discourses in these works acquired new layers of complexity. Namely, the sight and sound of the lamenting (fe)male added new dimensions to the character of Cupid.

2.2.2 The Audience: Power and Gender Subtexts in Cupid’s Laments

When the Spanish audience first caught sight of Cupid on the stage in 1614, they surely marvelled at the young, all-powerful and, more importantly, flawless creature that reigned above all mortals and deities, and who—to everyone’s pleasant surprise—was embodied by the nine-year old prince and future king of Spain, Philip IV. A little over eighty years later and following several more depictions of Cupid on the stage, the

Spanish audience now witnessed the most melodramatic portrayal of Cupid ever presented to the public. What the audience at the turn of the eighteenth century observed was an overemotional and imperfect deity who, after struggling for power, failing, and mourning his defeat, would or would not ultimately be transformed into the quintessential ideal of peace, harmony, and supreme power. What they saw was not the king, but a cross-dressed woman playing the role of a vulnerable Cupid deprived of the strength of his arrows.

In all three plots, Cupid either loses his arrows or his arrows fail him.234 If the arrows are understood as phallic symbols and signifiers of Cupid’s power and masculinity, then Cupid is repeatedly being emasculated in these plays. Certainly, the

234 In Salir el amor del mundo, Cupid is confronted by four powerful deities who wish to banish him from the world. Unable to escape or defeat them, Cupid laments his fate not once, but twice. Humiliated and stripped of his arrows and thus, his power, Cupid accepts his downfall and is banned from the world forever. In Apolo y Dafne and in Las nuevas armas de amor, Cupid is also crushed by his foes: in the first zarzuela, Cupid’s arrows fail him and, as a result, he is unable to kill the serpent Python and is defeated by Apollo; in the latter, Jupiter takes away his arrows leaving him defenseless and in shame.

138 theme of weakness and emasculation in connection to the loss of power resonated with the monarch's struggles at the turn of the eighteenth century. Long before the last two decades of the reign of Charles II, Spain had lost its hegemony in the occidental world and its future was uncertain. Not only was the monarch sick and unable to rule, he had also not been able to produce an heir in over two decades of marriage and with two different wives, a fact that may well have led to unspoken doubts regarding his virility.

The court was divided into different factions that disputed the control over the weak monarch who, from all sides, was continually receiving advice. Subsequently, during the early years of his reign, Philip V made an effort to gain the loyalty of his subjects and to unify a court and a nation long split into different political factions, most importantly, the defenders of the Habsburgs and the supporters of the Bourbons. Aside from fighting to maintain his crown in his own realm, the king went into battle to preserve his position as supreme ruler of Spain on the European stage. Homesick and dispirited during the first years of his reign, Philip V projected an ambivalent image of strength and melancholy that must have concerned his new subjects, even those most faithful to him.

In these zarzuelas where Cupid mirrored the Spanish monarch, Cupid did not serve as a symbol of masculinity but rather as a reflection of the king’s attributes, including his virility. When the deity of love became momentarily effeminized in the lament, the sobbing character functioned as a reflection of the king’s permanent limitations (i.e., Charles II’s weakness and sickly disposition) or temporary struggles

(i.e., Philip V’s depression and military struggles), while articulating the concerns of

Madrid’s high-ranking male classes. These concerns, as well as the possible critique of

139 the monarch implied in these works, found a safe conduit for theatrical and lamenting expression in the female performer.

Indeed, the startling discourses of waning power and weakness—and particularly of Cupid’s emasculation—were softened by the choice of terceras damas for the role of

Cupid. Whereas the female voice may have been preferred due to its symbolic potential to differentiate the higher plane of the deities from the lower plane of the mortals, as Sanz

Ayán suggests, the female body also helped safeguard the monarch’s virility.235 The presence on the stage of singers such as Manuela de la Cueva, Paula María, or Teresa de

Robles, ingeniously divided the viewer’s attention between the dramatic action and the visual aspect of the performance. Adding to the distraction were the divine costumes of the performer that may have exposed part of the actress’s legs. Most likely, the performer playing Cupid in these zarzuelas would have worn a similar costume to that shown in

Figure 1 (Mercury’s costume in Los celos hacen estrellas [1672]), with the addition of a pair of wings. No doubt, the costume contributed to the overall illusion while reassuring the male viewer of his own masculinity.

* * *

The contemporary concern and fascination with effeminacy and cross-dressing are revealed to an even greater extent in a different type of male lament whose popularity peaked during this period: the amorous lament. In the following chapter, I explore an intriguing aspect of early modern Spain, one in which the notions of love and gender are

235 Sanz Ayán, Pedagogía de Reyes: El teatro palaciego en el reinado de Carlos II, 122. Sanz Ayán’s views are presented in Chapter 1 in this dissertation.

140 coloured by religious, philosophical, and medical views. Afflicted by amorous suffering or amor hereos, the dying male lover becomes a recurrent archetype on the Spanish theatrical stage.

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Chapter 3 “With Tears I Complain about Thee”: Male Amorous Complaints and Lovesickness

You see this meadow of verdure, Ves aquí un prado lleno de verdura, you see this thicket, ves aquí un’ espesura, you see this clear water, ves aquí un agua clara, which were dear before, en otro tiempo cara, to whom with tears I complain about thee… a quien de tí con lágrimas me quejo… Excerpt from Garcilaso de la Vega’s Eclogue 1 (Publ. 1543)236 3 Introduction

Tears, bucolic nature, a beautiful woman, and a shepherd dying for love; these are the quintessential ingredients of renaissance pastoral poetry, and Garcilaso de la Vega’s bucolic eclogues encompass them all. The words in the epigraph form part of Salicio’s sorrowful song directed to his beloved, Galatea, partway through the eclogue. Here, the shepherd evokes the pastoral environment and the elements of nature in which he confides his pain. Gone are the days when the meadows, the trees, and the rivers constituted the bucolic paradise where he lived before loving Galatea. Stripped of their aesthetic qualities, these elements of nature have now become the primary witnesses of

Salicio’s torment. But this male lament is not simply about mourning the loss of the beloved. It is also about the cruelty, the inconstancy, and the cold nature of the beautiful woman whose refusal to reciprocate his love is causing the shepherd’s death.237 Indeed,

236 All excepts are extracted from Garcilaso de la Vega, Poesías castellanas completas, edited by Elias L. Rivers, 3rd edition (Madrid: Editorial Castalia, 1996). Unless otherwise noted, all translations of this source—and elsewhere in this chapter—are mine.

237 This is evident in Salicio’s words: “I am dying” (“Estoy muriendo…” line 60, p. 131), “I am paying for love with my death,” (“…en pago del amor yo estoy muriendo,” line 96, p. 133), etc. The

142

Salicio’s opening lines—“Oh, harder than marble to my complaints/ and to the fire with which I burn/ colder than snow, Galatea”—set the tone for the entire song.238 The metaphor in these lines is self-explanatory: amorous love and disdain are associated with the elements of heat and cold, respectively. Likewise, it can be inferred from this passage that while the male body is hot, female nature is cold.239

The association of the four attributes—hot, cold, wet, dry—with the human temperament and with gender was by no means new to early modern Spanish thinking.

treatment of the beloved as a disdainful mistress is, as Yvonne Jehenson explains, “a conventional pastoral topos.” In “The Pastoral Episode in Cervantes’s Don Quijote: Marcela Once Again,” Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 10.2 (1990): 15-35, the author shows the extent of this particular convention in her reading of the Marcela episode in Cervante’s Don Quijote. The author explores how “Cervantes subtly undermines the conventions of the pastoral genre and has [the character] Marcela explode traditional literary codes,” 17. In “The Absence of the Absence of Women: Cervantes's Don Quixote and the Explosion of the Pastoral Tradition,” Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 18.1 (1997): 24-45, Rosilie Hernández Pecoraro examines ideological and gendered constructions in the pastoral genre. Discussing Garcilaso’s Eclogue I introduced above, the author uncovers discourses of gender inequality in the pastoral genre, where women are often silenced or are absent: “Salicio’s lament and Garcilaso’s poetic achievement are…direct results of Galatea’s, the female subjects’s, absence from the pastoral space. Galatea’s absence is a necessary precondition for Salicio’s lament and Garcilaso’s pastoral eclogue.” 27.

238 “¡Oh, más dura que mármol a mis quejas/ y al incendio fuego en que me quemo/ más helada que nieve, Galatea!” Lines 57-59, page 131.

239 Leonard Forster explores the associations between the male hot body and the cold female nature in Petrarchan poetry in The Icy Fire: Five Studies in European Petrarchism (London: Cambridge UP, 1969): “The commonplace of love as a fire is of course very ancient, and Petrarch used it extensively. The flames became a shorthand symbol for love itself…Petrarch compares himself to a salamander living in the flames of love and the icy heart of the lady is endlessly worked out (even to the extent that the chilly lady induces a feverish cold in the lover.),” 16-17 (emphasis mine). In sixteenth-century Spain, the dissemination of Petrarchism (that is, the “rereading, reinterpreting, and re-appropriating Petrarch’s work”) was linked to Garcilaso de la Vega and Juan Boscán. In Orphans of Petrarch: Poetry and Theory in the Spanish Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), Ignacio Navarrete states “Garcilaso’s sonnets reveal a close reading of Petrarch’s poetry, as many of his poems take as a point of departure a line, a phrase, or an image sometimes deeply embedded in a Petrarchan text,” 70. One such example is the aforementioned oxymoron of men’s firey bodies and women’s cold nature in Garcilaso’s Eclogue I.

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These associations, which date back to Ancient Greece, found their way into early modern Europe through the transmission and circulation of philosophical, religious, and medical texts that articulated these views. Bernardo de Gordonio’s influential Lilio de medicina (Book of medicine), printed in the early fourteenth century and translated from

Latin into Spanish in 1495, summarizes ancient and medieval doctrines of the four humours, their qualities, and their elements. Gordonio’s chapter on amor heroes describes the symptoms of lovesickness while alluding to this doctrine. Differentiating the male from the female body, Gordonio asserts: “this disease affects men more than it does women because men are hotter and women are colder.”240 The excerpt below summarizes Gordonio’s views as well as the pre-modern notion of love as a disease:241

240 The full quotation from which this line has been extracted is the following: "This disease affects men more than it does women because men are hotter and women are colder, and this can be seen in the male animals that have intercourse with fury and impetus. So, as men are hotter, they revel more in intercourse than women, who in turn revel in the male sperm and their own.” Original quotation: “…esta enfermedad viene más a los varones que a las mujeres, porque los varones son mas calientes y las mujeres más frías, y esto se ve en los machos de los brutos animales que con furia e ímpetu se mueven a realizar el coito. Por eso los varones, porque son más calientes, se deleitan en el coito mucho más y las mujeres se deleitan mucho más en el esperma del varón y en el suyo propio.” In Bernardo de Gordonio, Lilio de medicina, edited by Brian Dutton and María Nieve Sánchez (Madrid: Arcos libros, 1993), 527-28. Mary F. Wack examines the theories on lovesickness and traces their transmission from classical antiquity into the medieval and early modern period in Lovesickness in the Middle Ages: The Viaticum and its commentaries (Philadelphia: University Press, 1990). Michael Soloman’s fascinating chapter, “Sexual pathology and the etiology of lovesickness,” in The Literature of Misogyny in Medieval Spain, pp.49-64, examines medieval mental disorders and diseases related to sex, including amor hereos. In Images in mind, Robert Folger dedicates a lengthy chapter to the reconstruction of the concept of lovesickness in the context of faculty psychology while tracing the manifestation of lovesickness in medieval and early modern vernacular texts [pages 19-81].

241 The term pre-modern in this case refers to the period ranging from classical antiquity through the seventeenth century.

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Love that is called hereos is melancholy Amor que se llama hereos es solicitud melancólica triggered by the love for women […] por causa de amor de mujeres. [...] And [the lover’s] judgment and reason are so Y está tan corrompido su juicio y razón corrupted that he continuously thinks of her […] que continuamente piensa en ella […] It is called hereos because rich and noble men are Se dice hereos, porque los ricos y los nobles afflicted with this passion […] suelen caer o incurrir en esta passion [...] The prognosis is that if the hereos do not heal, they El pronóstico es que si los hereos no se curan, will either fall into mania or die […] caen en mania o mueren [...]

Four excerpts from Bernardo de Gordonio’s Lilio de medicina, “Del amor que llaman hereos”242

Only one of the two faces of love—its destructive aspect—is represented in these two accounts. This particular notion of love persisted in Spain throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries alongside the other face of love formulated in Renaissance Neo- platonic writings about love. Castiglione’s influential Libro del Cortegiano (1528), translated into Spanish in 1534, contributed to the spread of the Neoplatonic notion of love in Spain. Imparting knowledge to its readers, the Cortegiano not only discussed the virtues of the perfect courtier but also how spiritual love offered a path to salvation and transcendence. So while men could remain in the lower stage of an inferior and often destructive and sinful type of love—carnal or sensual love—they could also ascend the spiritual ladder and achieve communion with God. The precepts discussed in the book inspired contemporary writers beyond the realm of literature, including the music sphere and the theatre.

One such musical work inspired by early modern theories of passions is Pedro

Cerone’s musical treatise El Melopeo or “El músico perfecto” (“The perfect musician”), dedicated to Philip III of Spain and published in 1613. Heavily influenced by

Castiglione’s “perfect courtier,” the treatise sought to form the “perfect musician” by

242 Ibid., Libro II, capitulo xx: Del amor que llaman hereos, 520, 521, 523.

145 teaching Spanish male musicians about body posture, virtues, and good manners.243

Introducing a few Neoplatonic views expressed in Castiglione’s work, Cerone’s treatise also articulated—in a very explicit way—notions of masculinity and femininity in music, such as the “effeminate minor second” or “semitone,”244 the “effeminate flat note”

(bemol afeminado) and the “manly natural note” (becuadro varonil).245 In the author’s mind, the effeminate is synonym of “weakened and sickly,” (debilitada y enferma). The so-called effeminate descending motion of a minor second—particularly a flat note— appears to mimic the descent in the spiritual ladder, because of its association with lower or inferior attributes.246 The same notions of the descent and ascent in the spiritual ladder were articulated in Spanish theatre of the seventeenth century, including the genre of the zarzuela. Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s zarzuela El laurel de Apolo (1657), discussed in the previous chapter, is one such example. Focusing on the philosophical debate of reason versus passion, Calderón shows the spiritual transformation of his characters

243 “….la concordia, la compostura del cuerpo, y la correspondencia de las virtudes y buenas costumbres, es consonancia y harmonía musical…” in Pedro Cerone, El Melopeo: Tractado de Musica Theorica y Pratica. Vol. 1 (Bologna: Forni Editore, 1969), 1142.

244 “Noten que esta Segunda es muy afeminada, por no decir debilitada y enferma, por ser de Semitono: que siendo de Tono, sin duda saldrá el paso mas lleno, mas alegre y harmonioso, como en… [el próximo ejemplo],” Ibid., 620. (italics are Cerone’s)

245 “…Ven pues aquí ser verdad lo que decimos, que la señal de bemol tiene bajada la nota; y la de becuadro, subida. Son pues contrarias estas dos señales en los efectos; porque tanto es el bemol afeminado, cuanto el becuadro varonil. El cual becuadro según su efecto, de lo remiso hace intenso, y de lo suave áspero; mas el bemol obra al contario, porque de lo duro hace blando, y de lo recio y áspero hace manso y suave.” Ibid., 714. (italics are Cerone’s) In her study on music in Early Modern England, Kirsten Gibsons also observes that “Building on medieval writings, masculine music was commonly associated in Renaissance music theory with natural keys not adorned with chromatic inflection and with solid, open intervals whereas effeminate music was associated with chromatic inflection and small intervals, particularly the semitone.” In “Music, Melancholy and Masculinity in Early Modern England,” Masculinity and Western Musical Practice, eds. Ian Biddle and Kirsten Gibson (Burlington, VT.: Ashgate, 2009), 57.

246 Other Spanish musical treatises of the early modern era, such as Pedro de Ulloa’s Musica universal (1717) and Pablo Nasarre’s Escuela musica segun la practica moderna (1723) continue to draw on the theories of the passions to explain the properties of music.

146 rather than exploiting their emotional potential as later zarzuelas do (e.g., Apolo y Dafne

[ca. 1701–04]).

By the late seventeenth century, the two aspects of love—as a destructive or a spiritually transforming force—continued to coexist in the Spanish imagination.

Gordonio’s book maintained its place among the authoritative medical manuals of the time, and its views on lovesickness or “amor heroes” were reiterated in various Spanish medical works, including Murillo y Velarde’s book on “hypochondriac melancholy” first published in 1672.247 The notion of love as a passion of the soul and as a destructive force that must be tamed with reason resonated in several treatises on Spanish theatre, including Ignacio de Camargo’s Discurso theologico sobre los theatros y comedias de este siglo (Madrid,1689; Lisbon, 1690). Synthesizing the ancient Greco-Christian belief that regarded love as a passion of the soul, Camargo viewed love248 as the most dangerous of all passions, which he described as “sensual love” (amores),

“lasciviousness” (lascivia) or “concupiscence” (concupisencia).249 It is precisely this

247 Thomas de Murillo y Velarde, Aprobacion de ingenios y curacion de hipocondriacos, con observaciones, y remedios muy particulares (Zaragoza: Diego de Ormer, 1672) [Biblioteca Nacional de España, USOZ/1329]

248 “… estos crueles, y irracionales afectos de la ira, y de la venganza, que aunque malos, y pestíferos, no son los mas contagiosos…el universal estrago, y perversión de las costumbres, que se ve en los hombres de este siglo, [es en especial el que] toca a las delicias. Y a la profanidad, y lascivia, a la flojedad, y al regalo.” Camargo, Discurso teólogico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo, 114. E. Ruth Harvey’s seminal study The Inward Wits. Psychological Theory in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (London: The Warburg Institute, 1975) investigates the transmission of the theories of the passions of the soul from classical antiquity into the medieval period, while examining influential scholars such as Avicenna and Thomas Aquinas, the latter frequently appearing in Camargo’s work (as seen in the quotation on female cross-dressing at the end of this chapter).

249 In his 1613 dictionary, Covarrubias provides a one-sided definition of love: “Amores, siempre se toma en mala parte, por los amores lascivos, que son los que tratan los enamorados.” (Amores, is always understood in its bad sense as lewd loves, which are those that people in love deal with.”) See Sebastián de Covarrubias Horozco, “Amor” in Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, eds. Ignacio Arellano y Rafael Zafra (Universidad de Navarra, 2006).

147 notion of love as a destructive force that dominates the thematic of the mythological zarzuelas of the turn of the eighteenth century. The philosophical dialogues of Calderón are slowly overshadowed by a greater emphasis on the depiction of extreme emotion, which is manifested through a proliferation of laments in zarzuelas by later authors.

Eclipsing the weeping nymphs of the zarzuelas of the period 1670–1680 (Chapter 1), sobbing male characters suffering from love, such as Salicio, take on a prominent role in the zarzuela from the turn of the eighteenth century.

This chapter examines five lamenting male characters suffering from the passion of love in four selected zarzuelas—Selva encantada de amor (ca.1689), Apolo y Dafne

(ca. 1701-04), El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710) and Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710).

* * *

By opening this chapter with two excerpts—one literary and one medical—I try to recreate in the reader’s mind an intriguing aspect of early modern Spanish culture, one in which the notions of love and gender are coloured by religious, philosophical, and medical views. In particular, I attempt to share some of the excitement that I felt when I was first introduced to Garcilaso and Bernardo de Gordonio, as well as to other Spanish literary texts and treatises on the subject of love and lovesickness, and which later led me to become fascinated with the lamento as a literary and a musical genre. The insightful and thought-provoking studies on early modern Spanish literature, love, and gender, such as those by literary scholars Michael Solomon, Robert Folger, and Sanda Munjic are not

148 only a great source of inspiration, they also provide a launching place for the following analysis.250 Like Solomon, Folger and Munjic, I am interested in amorous suffering and gender representations within the literature of suffering love. Much of the present chapter aims to expand this area of scholarship by discussing unexamined late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century zarzuelas against the same backdrop of philosophical thought and gender roles.

In Chapter 2, I argued that the character of Cupid—an allegorical representation of the monarch—embodied the monarch’s struggle for power during a time of great political instability and turmoil at the turn of the eighteenth century. When he lamented, the sobbing character functioned as a reflection of the king’s limitations and struggles, while articulating the concerns of Madrid’s high-ranking male classes. These concerns were safely articulated through the female performer, as the female voice and body of the third lady playing Cupid mitigated the undertones of effeminacy carried in the lamento.

In this chapter, I turn my attention to male amorous suffering and argue that, like the lamenting Cupid, the figure of the lamenting male lover proliferated because a third lady played this type of role. In the pastoral world of the mythological zarzuela where characters mirrored Madrid’s ruling classes, a feminized male character played by a man may have triggered concerns and anxiety regarding Spanish masculinity. As Kirsten

Gibson observes, masculinity in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries

250 The following books are introduced in the Introduction and are made reference to throughout Chapters 3 and 4: Michael Solomon, The Literature of Misogyny in Medieval Spain; Sanda Munjic My Sweet Enemy: The Politics of Amorous Suffering in Late Medieval and Early Modern Spanish Literature; and Robert Folger, Images in Mind: Lovesickness, Spanish Sentimental Fiction and Don Quijote.

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was defined in relation to ‘effeminacy’, which was widely understood in literature of the period as a ‘naturally’ effeminate state of weakness, passivity, changeability, deceptiveness, unrestrained emotion, excess, sensuality and embodiment, self indulgence and, perhaps more importantly, a lack of self-control and reason.251

Thus, the male lyrical voice that had long dominated the tradition of amorous suffering became reinterpreted in the zarzuela, finding a safe conduit for theatrical and lamenting expression in the female performer. The female voice and body reminded the viewer that there were no ‘effeminate’ men on the stage but rather women playing the roles of male lovers momentarily feminized when lamenting.

While the cultivation of male laments represent a novelty in staged drama of the period, it also reflects a “return” to a common literary topos, that of the suffering male lover and of the cruel and beautiful unattainable woman. As I will show, this type of lament is heir to the Spanish literary tradition informed by the contemporary perception of love as an overwhelming passion that, if unbridled, could turn into a disease. Likewise, the same notion of female moral and emotional inferiority—fickleness, disdain, and cruelty—is present in these plays. I use the terms amorous complaint and amor hereos (or its English equivalent of lovesickness),252 to describe two different manifestations of male amorous suffering. The term “amorous complaint” describes the expression of suffering love of a man for a woman, even if that love has never been consumated.

251 Gibson, “Music, Melancholy and Masculinity in Early Modern England,” 42. Gibson’s fascinating book chapter explores “the way in which melancholy and music were figured and understood as potential effeminizing agents” in early modern England.

252 In the Anatomy of Melancholy (first published in 1621), English scholar Robert Burton referred to amor hereos, or the pathologized condition of suffering love, as “love-melancholy” and also “heroicall melancholy”, which he described as “a disease or melancholy vexation or anguish of mind, in which a man continually meditates of the beauty, gesture, manners of his mistris, and troubles himselfe about it.” Ibid,. 60.

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Specifically, it describes the male’s straightforward or implicit accusations of the woman’s infidelity, coldness, cruelty and so forth, regardless of whether or not they may be founded. What is important is that the male lover strongly believes that he has been wronged or that he deserves to be loved. Little does it matter if the woman does not know him or if she has no interest in his affection. All the same, she is both idealized for her beauty and condemned for either her action or her inaction. The term amor hereos encompasses strong social connotations, as it is a disease that affects—in the words of

Gordonio and his contemporaries—“rich and noble men.” Hence, the terms “amor hereos” and lovesickness describe the expression of pathologized suffering love experienced by males in higher hierarchical positions, be it noble or rich mortal men, or deities. Although it can be argued that the terms “lovesickness” and particularly, the medieval term “amor hereos” are out-dated by the eighteenth century, I use them both for two reasons. First, late seventeenth-century Spanish medical treatises continue to employ the term itself or a variation of it. Murillo y Velarde’s book on hypochondriac melancholy, for example, classifies “erotic” or “heroic (derived from hereos) love” as a subtype of melancholy (“El herotico afecto, o amor, es genero de melancholia, llamase vulgarmente heroico…”).253 Second, the manner in which unrequited, suffering love and lovesickness are described in these zarzuelas is almost indistinguishable from how it is described in earlier amorous and medical literature. All male characters in this chapter experience symptoms associated with amorous suffering—tears, sadness, and an overall desire for or thoughts of death—that are identical to those felt by Garcilaso’s Salicio and

253 Murillo y Velarde, Aprobacion de ingenios y curacion de hipocondriacos, 137.

151 by other lamenting males of medieval and early modern Spanish literature, such as

Leriano (Cárcel de amor [1492]), and Sireno (Los siete libros de la Diana [1561]).

Deeply consumed by the passion of love, all of these males, including those discussed in this chapter, lose their male attributes and begin to exhibit “inferior” female characteristics. These include excess of emotion and irrationality,254 both linked to the malady of love.

I begin by providing an overview of the performance history of each work including the occasions for which they were produced, venues of performance, and the female performers that may have interpreted these male roles. In the remainder of the chapter, I examine select zarzuelas and their laments while exploring the discourses of lovesickness and the social and gender hierarchies they articulate. Finally, moving away from the performers, I turn my attention to the spectators and explore the cultural undertones of the lament. I argue that this type of male lament—manifesting suffering love or amor hereos—achieved a status of privilege within the zarzuela and gained wide acceptance because a female actor-singer, a tercera dama, performed this type of role.

My analysis, informed by both primary and secondary sources that discuss the malady of love and its representation in Hispanic literary texts, expands upon previous studies in

254 Ruth Mazo Karras traces the origins of masculine moderation and female excess to Aristotelean teachings while discussing their influence on medieval learning centres in From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe (Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 83-95. In The Renaissance Notion of Women (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), Ian Maclean uncovers attitudes towards women in the Renaissance and their origins in classical antiquity and the Middle Ages. Macleans’s reading of numerous pertinent sources provides evidence to the notion of female inferiority and female lack of reason and excess of emotion. As the writer explains, a common belief was that “The effect of the uterus on the mind weaken[ed] rationality and increase[ed] the incidence and violence of passions in women,” 42.

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Spanish literature and contributes to a fascinating yet little explored area of Spanish music scholarship.

3.1 Performance History

The two groups of zarzuelas discussed in Chapters 2 and 4 include works that were written for either the court or the public theatre. The group examined in this chapter differs from the others in that it includes the only exemplar of a zarzuela produced for a private patron. Written for the Count of Oñate, Selva encantada de amor presents a unique opportunity for comparing zarzuelas performed in the three most important theatre spaces in Madrid: the court, the private, and the public theatres. In the pages that follow, I situate these works within their historical context, first looking at the venues and the audiences for which they were intended, and then at the performing theatre companies and the terceras damas that may have interpreted the roles of lamenting male characters.

Some observations regarding similarities and differences between these works will be provided throughout this chapter.

3.1.1 Performance Spaces, Patrons, and Audiences

Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04), Las nuevas armas de amor (c, 1705; rev. 1710) and

El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705; rev. 1710) were most likely premiered at the court of Philip V sometime between 1701 and 1706, before the composer Sebastián Durón was sent into exile. As I have suggested in Chapter 2, Apolo y

Dafne and Las nuevas armas de amor were written for the Spanish monarch, as both use the figure of the Cupid as an allegoric representation of the king who, at the time, was struggling to maintain his grip on power during the War of the Spanish Succession. El

153 imposible mayor en amor le vence amor also features Cupid as a prominent character but here, Cupid does not lament. However, the zarzuela develops the same theme of the struggle for power that appears in the Apolo y Dafne and Las nuevas armas de amor, only now, Cupid defeats his rival (Jupiter) with an arrow that induces great passion. While there is no extant documentation that may confirm the date of the premiere of this zarzuela, the recurrent theme of power seems allegorical of the monarch’s uncertain position among his contemporary early modern European rulers. Most likely, all three zarzuelas were premiered at the theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace. Two of them—Las nuevas armas de amor and El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor—were later transferred to the public theatre.

Selva encantada de amor (ca. 1698), in contrast, was intended for a private patron outside the court. The extant manuscript of this zarzuela includes the full text and music for the entire work—Acts I and II, the “Baile armonioso” between the first and second acts, and the “Baile del órgano and fin de fiesta” at the end of Act II—as well as references to the occasion for which the zarzuela was produced. The title page dedicates the zarzuela to the Count of Oñate on the occasion of his birthday (“a los Años del

Excelentísimo Señor Conde de Oñate”) and, as Raúl Ángulo Díaz and Antoni Pons Seguí have observed, the final number (the “Baile de órgano”) praises the count’s wife and four children, and alludes to Shrove Tuesday.255

255 Raúl Ángulo Díaz and Antoni Pons Seguí, “Introducción” in Sebastián Durón, Selva encantada de amor (Murcia, Raúl Ángulo Díaz, 2009), 12. Based on these references, Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí have identified the Tenth Count of Oñate, Don Iñigo Manuel Vélez Ladrón de Guevara y Tasis (1642- 1699), who had three children, as the recipient of the work. (His son and successor, the XI Count of Oñate, Diego Gaspar Ladrón de Guevara y Tassis (d. 1725), could not have been the recipient, as he never had any children.) What these authors do not mention, however, is why the text speaks of four children when the

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The exact date of the performance of the zarzuela is somewhat more challenging to discern because the count’s date of birth remains unknown, making it impossible to match his birthday with the year with which it coincided with Shrove Tuesday.

Nonetheless, there can only be three possible dates for the performance of Selva encantada de amor: February of 1697, the year after Durón’s first theatrical work for the court, Salir el amor del mundo (November 1696), which Oñate may well have attended;

February of 1698, the year in which Durón composed the Christmas villancicos for the countess of Oñate;256 or March of 1699, before the count’s death on November 5,

1699.257 There are no records of a second performance of the work.

Like all court zarzuelas, Selva encantada de amor was intended for an equally cultured, albeit smaller, audience probably comprised of family members as well as guests within the same hierarchical status as the Oñate family. Although the count’s residence was spacious enough to include a chapel (where Durón’s Christmas villancicos were performed in 1698), it is quite likely that there was no theatre and that a portable stage was erected for the performance of the zarzuela.258 This assumption is supported by

count only had three. The fourth child might well have been the count’s daughter in law, María de la Cerda y Aragón, whom Diego married in 1694.

256 Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí, “Introducción,” 13.

257 The dates for Shrove Tuesday—Feb. 19, 1697; Feb. 11, 1698; and March 3, 1699—appear in Eleanor Selfridge-Field, The Calendar of Venetian Opera, A New Chronology of Venetian Opera and Related Genres, 1660-1760 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 654.

258 In A History of the Spanish Stage from Medieval Times until the end of the seventeenth century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), N.D. Shergold provides some interesting descriptions of a few plays performed on stages that were erected for those specific productions and which were later dismantled. See for example, pages 253, 276, and 281.

155 the few indications in the manuscript and in the text itself. While the deities in court mythological dramas could appear to descend from the sky with the help of an elaborate system of pulleys and winches, for example, here the gods simply “enter.” Clearly, the limitations of the venue account for the lack of machinery, but they also help explain why this particular mythological play revolves around mortal characters rather than deities.

While the focal point in Apolo y Dafne, Las nuevas armas de amor, and El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor lays on the gods themselves, their doings and their emotions, here the storyline centers on the actions and the emotions of the mortal male protagonists who evidently do not need the support of any visual effects. Finally, despite the limitations of the venue, the focus on mortal characters seems more suitable for the occasion. The strong association between deities and royal figures, as noted in Chapter 2, may have rendered the focus on deities inappropriate outside of the court or the public theatre (to which many court mythological works were transferred after being premiered for the monarch).

Corresponding with the demands of the mythological zarzuela, the public venues in which El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (rev. 1710) and Las nuevas armas de amor (rev.1711) were staged included all the necessary machinery to allow for special effects and the change of scenery.259 Some of the visual effects that these two works called for are described in the extant manuscripts of the zarzuelas. For example, in Act II of El imposible mayor Jupiter, Danaë and Cupid appear on a cloud that is pulled across the stage (Ahora pasan Jupiter, Danae y el Amor en una nube lloviendo oro….), and in

259 These two zarzuelas—both by Cañizares and Durón—were most likely first performed at court during the early years of Philip V’s reign and before the composer Sebastián Durón went into exile in 1706.

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Las nuevas armas, also in Act II, Diana appears on a cloud that is lifted up from under the stage (… va subiendo por debajo del tablado un solio de nubes con una luna grande, en que vendrá sentada en medio Diana…).260 Certainly, these stage effects, which apealed to everyone in the audience regardeless of gender or social status, made the zarzuela one of the most anticipated performances of the theatrical season.261

Las nuevas armas de amor, as noted in the previous chapter, was performed at the

Teatro del Príncipe during the second half of the 1711–12 season, when most large-scale productions were presented to the public. In contrast, El imposible mayor was premiered at the Teatro de la Cruz during the first half of the 1710–11 season, following the traditional autos sacramentales of Corpus Christi. The irregularity of presenting a new large-scale production during the first half of the season can be interpreted as a strategy adopted by the theatre administrators either to seduce an audience that was fearful of the war yet avid for a new spectacle or to distract them from the escalating tensions of the war. Whatever the case, their efforts were successful. The zarzuela opened at the Teatro

260 The indications are quoted from Martín Moreno, “Introducción” in Sebastián Durón, Francisco de Bances Candamo and José de Cañizares, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor, XLIII, and José de Cañizares, Las nuevas armas de amor (BHM, Tea 1-51-13),10, respectively.

261 During the early eighteenth century, two or three zarzuelas were presented in Madrid’s two public theatres—Teatro de la Cruz and Teatro del Príncipe—in every calendar year. The theatrical year was divided into two seasons or temporadas, spring and fall, and zarzuelas were usually scheduled in the latter. While revivals of seventeenth-century plays were performed throughout the entire theatrical year, the contemporary works were reserved as the highlights of the season. These were primarily large-scale productions of comedias de magia (plays with a magic component) and zarzuelas, both of which called for elaborate staging and special effects thus guaranteeing to attract large crowds of avid spectators. As a rule, they were performed during the second season (in the fall), particularly during the months of October and November (and before the Christmas plays in December) and around or during Carnival (and before Shrove Tuesday, which marked the end of the season). See Buck, “Theatrical Production in Madrid’s Cruz and Príncipe Theatres during the Reign of Philip V”, 143, 304, and 152. Regarding the works by Calderón, Buck explains that “The calderonian repertory was the stock-in-trade of these actors; they knew the plays thoroughly, and beginning the season with plays well-known by actor and public alike avoided all the uncertainties of mounting a new production.” Ibid., 177

157 de la Cruz on Thursday, the 24 of July of 1710, and only three days later, the troops of the Spanish Bourbon king clashed with forces of the Austrian contender, the Archduke

Charles, in the battle of Almenar (Catalunya).262 The zarzuela nonetheless ran until

August 3, and it took the illness of one comediante—and not the war—for one of the scheduled performances to be cancelled.263

3.1.2 Female Performers and Performances of Masculinity

Apolo y Dafne and Selva encantada de amor are two of a very few zarzuelas entirely sung throughout, and the only two of their kind discussed in this dissertation.264

Since no single company had more than three or four terceras damas specializing in sung roles, the many entirely sung roles—seven in the former and eight in the latter— presented a challenge to the theatre company charged with mounting a production of this type. The documented casts of a few theatrical productions suggest that there were two ways in which the roles could be covered. The first was by collaborating with another company, as Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí have argued:

262 The short battle ended with the retreat of the king’s troops and the victory of the archduke, who gained control over the Kingdom of Aragón. The Austrian contender for the Spanish Crown would later make a second entrance in Madrid in the month of September. After briefly occupying the city, he would be forced to leave.

263 Teatro de la Cruz, Libro de producto y gastos (1710-11) (Archivo de la Villa, 1-361-3), see 26 de Julio de 1710. : “El dia 2 no se repto por estar mala María Theresa” (“There was no performance on the 2nd [of August] as María Theresa was ill”)

264 To my knowledge the only other surviving zarzuela of these characteristics is Coronis. While some scholars have attributed the work to Sebastián Durón, others remain sceptical of the attribution. The analysis of the text in the extant musical manuscript of Selva encantada de amor reveals that there are no missing dramatic sections. Moreover, the manuscript suggests that the music was played uninterruptedly, without any additional (sung or spoken) sections in between any of the musical numbers. For a more detailed analysis of the musical continuation in Selva encantada de amor, see Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí, “Introducción,” 4-5.

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The reason for this is that a single theatre company would perform the zarzuelas that were partially sung while the zarzuelas that were sung entirely needed the collaboration of the two existing theatre companies in Madrid. Each company had about three actresses who specialized in sung 265 roles in addition to the actresses that performed comical roles and also sang.

With this statement, the authors seem to imply that all of the terceras damas in both companies would have participated in these fully sung zarzuelas. In other words, the collaboration was 50-50. While this could have certainly been the normal practice, it is equally plausible that only one third lady would have been hired, as for example when the tercera dama Manuela de Labaña left her company for one day only to perform with the company of Vallejo in the 1700 court revival of Júpiter y Danae.266 The remaining roles would have thus been assumed by the company’s first, second or even fourth ladies, which leads to a second hypothesis of how these roles were covered. As I will show in my analysis of Veneno es de amor la envidia (Chapter 4), first ladies could perform sung female roles including their laments in exceptional cases. Albeit not as experienced or musically talented as their third lady counterparts, the fourth ladies could sing secondary or less demanding roles. For instance, the fourth lady Margarita Ruano played the role of

Prince Lidante, which is partly sung and partly spoken, in the mythological comedia

Destinos vencen finezas, introduced in the previous chapter.267 It seems safe to assume

265 “La razón de esto es que las zarzuelas parcialmente cantadas solían ser representadas por una sola compañía teatral y las zarzuelas íntegramente cantadas precisaban la colaboración de las dos compañías teatrales existentes en Madrid. Cada compañía disponía de unas tres actrices especializadas en papeles cantados, además de las actrices que interpretaban a los graciosos y que también cantaban.” Ibid., 3. Translation mine.

266 Document 2-457-1 in Shergold and Varey, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XI indicates that the company of Juan de Cárdenas was not able to perform at the corral “por causa de aver ydo Manuela de Labaña, dama de su compañia, con la de Carlos Vallejo a representar a a SS.MM. en su Real Palacio.” See p.209.

267 Ruante was a fourth lady in the company of Agustín Manuel in the year 1698, when the comedia Destinos vencen finezas was first performed. See Shergold and Varey, Fuentes para la historia del

159 that, if a single company performed Selva encantada de amor without any collaboration, the first, second or fourth ladies would have covered the secondary roles. The main and more dramatic ones, in particular those of Argelao and Timantes, both of which include a lament, would have been reserved for the more experienced terceras damas.

Tracing the terceras damas of the era is an important step in helping us better understand the lamenting male characters in the zarzuelas, as composers and librettists most likely tailored their laments for these performers. At the turn of the eighteenth century, the third ladies specializing in sung roles who were at the height of their careers were Teresa de Robles, Manuela de Labaña, Paula María, and Manuela de la Cueva.268

When I introduced these third ladies in Chapter 2, I suggested that it was quite possible that any one of these performers could have played the leading role of Cupid in the zarzuelas Salir el amor del mundo, Apolo y Dafne, and Las nuevas armas de amor. I would now like to suggest that it is equally possible that the roles of Timantes and

Argelao—and of all other lamenting male characters in this chapter—were performed by these terceras damas. Table 2 synthesizes all the information discussed thus far regarding these female actor-singers and their documented roles while adding new information regarding their roles in other zarzuelas as well as in one opera of the period (1698–1711).

teatro en España, II, 482. When not singing solo parts, fourth ladies could also sing ensemble pieces. Josefa de Cisneros, Juana Laura, and Angela de Labaña, for example, appear in the choirs of both Destinos vencen finezas and Jupiter y Yoo. For the cast of Destinos vencen finezas, see Llamosas, Comedia Destinos vencen finezas. (s.l.:1698?), 2. (Biblioteca de la Universidad de Sevilla, A 250/101 (09).), page 2, and for the cast of Jupiter y Yoo, see Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo”, 87-88.

268 See Chapter 2 for their roles in the comedia Destinos vencen finezas (1698) and in the zarzuela Jupiter y Yoo (1699).

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Blank spaces signal plausible participation; question marks indicate that the performer’s participation is documented (but no role is indicated), and x’s show that the performer in question did not participate because she was not a member of that particular company.

Companies seem to have only collaborated in productions intended for the court or for private patrons.269

Table 2 Third ladies specializing in the sung roles of leading mythological charatcers (period 1698-1711). Documented roles; male characters are emphasized.

Teresa de Paula María de Manuela de la Manuela de Robles Rojas Cueva Labaña

Destinos vencen Venus Juno CUPIDO MERCURIO finezas (1698)

Celos vencidos de Role? Role? APOLO amor (1698)

Jupiter y JUPITER Juno MERCURIO Yoo Yoo (1699)

Amor es quinto HERCULES Clizie ALFEO elemento (1701)270

Vengar con el fuego MALE Possibly 2 female MALE al fuego CHARACTER? roles CHARACTER? (1703)271 (“salio de traje”) (“salio de traje”)

269 The names Juana de Orozco and María Theresa appear as two separate entries in the accounting book of the Teatro de la Cruz for the season 1710-11, which lists the expenses of Joseph de Prado’s production of El imposible mayor. These performers do not appear during the period 1696–1706 when the zarzuelas examined in Chapters 2 and 3 were premiered at court. For this reason, I have decided not to include their bibliographical information in this chapter. In all probability, Durón neither met them nor composed a lament for them.

270 The names of the cast appear in an original libretto [Libretto, BNE Mss/14071-1] transcribed in Ángulo Díaz, “Introducción” in Apolo y Dafne, (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2014), 17. María Isabel González Roncero proposes the year 1701 for the zarzuela. See “Las zarzuelas de Zamora (1665–1727): Índice y Comentario” Dieciocho 34.1 (Spring 2011), 134.

271 The original cast of this zarzuela, as it appears in AGP Administrativa, Leg. 712 bis/96, is transcribed in Lolo Herranz, “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V durante la Guerra de la Sucesión”: 179-80.

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Hasta lo insensible Possibly 2 female X APOLO adora roles (1704)272

Aspides ay que son Possibly 2 female X NEPTUNO basilicos (1704)273 roles

Todo lo vence amor (Stand-in) (Stand-in) (1707)274

Decio y Eraclea X DECIO Eraclea (opera, 1708)

Acis y Galatea ACIS X Galatea (rev.1710)275

El imposible Third lady Third lady Third/Fourth lady Third/Fourth mayor… (position at the (position at the (position at the time lady (ca.1701-06) time time of the premiere) (position at the time of the premiere) of the premiere) of the premiere) Las nuevas armas… Third lady Third lady Third/Fourth lady Third lady (ca.1701-06) (position at the (position at the (position at the time (position at the time of time of of time of of the premiere) of the premiere) of the premiere) of the premiere)

To a greater or lesser extent, all of these third ladies performed male roles throughout their careers. De la Cueva and Robles, in particular, seem to have excelled at these parts. From the list of documented roles provided in this table, it appears that

Manuela de la Cueva performed male roles almost exclusively. Teresa de Robles, who performed both female and male roles, was in fact an expert in trouser roles in another

272 This cast is discussed in Chapter 4.

273 The original cast of this zarzuela, as it appears in AGP Administrativa, Leg. 712 bis/96, is transcribed in Lolo Herranz, “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V durante la Guerra de la Sucesión”: 179-80.

274 Labaña and Robles were stand-ins. See Alemany and Varey, El teatro palaciego en Madrid: 1707–1724. London: Tamesis, 2006), 51. Manuela de Labaña and Teresa de Robles “entraron a suplir la segunda vez que se hizo a sus majestades”

275 This cast is discussed in the Conclusion.

162 theatrical genre: the Spanish mojiganga, a short farce play.276 Quite possibly, these two women, who specialized in trouser roles and were also praised for their vocal skills, were frequently cast in the roles of lamenting males.

The information regarding the position of the aforementioned singers within their companies is mostly incomplete or contradictory, and it does not, by any means, lead to any conclusive evidence apropos the type of roles they performed. Not much is known, if anything, about their age or their appearance, and there are no surviving portraits of any of these women. All that we know with any certainty is that the third and fourth ladies were skilled singers whose position within the company, as with any theatrical company in any given time and place, was achieved by their individual strengths and, at times, also by seniority. However, given the specialization of actors in Spanish theatre as noted in

Chapter 1, it seems safe to assume that within the category of third and fourth ladies there were different singers specializing in different roles. So while some may have exceled in comical roles, focusing primarily on the comical character of the graciosa, others may have outshone their peers playing serious or histrionic characters.

The vocally skilled terceras damas specializing in serious or histrionic characters would have performed the dramatic roles of the deities (both female and male) and, particularly, the roles of lamenting male characters. Furthermore, they may have also performed the serious mortal characters in the exceptional cases of the fully sung zarzuelas. It is in this very small group of performers in each company that we encounter a female singer-actor who is unsurpassed in her ability to embody dramatic male figures.

276 Buezo, “Mujer y desgobierno en el teatro breve del siglo XVII,” 107-19.

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While embodying the strength of a god, she can reveal man’s frail nature and his proneness to amorous love and lovesickness. She can become Garcilaso’s Salicio or any other mortal or immortal lover that is consumed by passionate love. Through her gestures, through her voice and, in short, through her body, a long-established literary and cultural archetype of the dying male lover comes to life.277

The following section explores male amorous laments in the zarzuela. The analysis of the plots and the texts—two of which have been introduced in the previous chapter—will uncover male discourses of love as a source of suffering and illness.

Articulating strong discourses of social and gender hierarchy, these laments triggered different reactions in male and female audiences.

3.2 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music

3.2.1 The Stage: Discourses of Lovesickness and Social Hierarchies

A common topos in these zarzuelas, the rivalry between the two male lovers serves to heighten the drama and to reflect the intensity of the fierce and ardent love that these men are experiencing.278 All four male lovers in the selected works—Argelao,

Timantes, Joante, and Jupiter—succumb to the passion of love and compete for the beloved. The way in which they become victims of love and how they experience the symptoms of lovesickness, however, varies according to their social status and hierarchy.

277 For gestures in theatre music, see La expresión de las pasiones en el teatro del siglo XVIII.

278 An early modern Spanish treatise on love, Alfonso de Madrigals’s Breviloquio de amor e amiçiçia signals love as the most “fierce and impetuous” of all passions, and states that a man’s love will become even more fierce and impetuous if another man tries to compete for the woman that he loves. See Pedro M. Cátedra, ed. Tratados de amor en el entorno de Celestina (Siglos XV-XVI) (Madrid: Sociedad España Nuevo Milenio, 2001), 19.

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I will begin by examining two types of mortal male lovers— the nobleman and the shepherd –in Selva encantada de amor and Apolo y Dafne. As these two entirely sung zarzuelas are an anomaly in the genre, they provide a unique opportunity to explore the male laments of mortal characters.

Lamenting mortal male males

Argelao, Timantes, and Joante are all inventions of the dramatists. The shepherd

Joante in Apolo y Dafne, as noted in the previous chapter, is a variation of Ovid’s myth and of Calderón’s zarzuela on the subject. Prince Argelao and the shepherd Timantes make their first (and last) appearance in Selva encantada de amor, a work that does not seem to be based on any particular myth. This zarzuela, nonetheless, includes many common literary topoi of medieval and renaissance amorous literature, as well as of other amorous zarzuelas, including Fernández de León’s Endemión y Diana, Salazar y Torres’

Los juegos olímpicos (considered in Chapter 1), Candamo-Cañizares’ El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (discussed below), and Zamora’s Veneno es de amor la envidia

(examined in the subsequent chapter). The most conspicuous themes appearing in the opening scenes of Selva encantada de amor and of the four aforementioned plays are: the storm,279 the shipwreck, and the quest of an unknown woman whose beauty and perfection have captivated the heart of a noble young man.280

279 In “El imaginario barroco y la poesía de Quevedo: de monarcas, tormentas, y amores,” Calíope 5, number 1 (1999), Lia Schwarts discusses the different meanings of this topos during Classical antiquity and the Renaissance. The author states that in classical poetry, the relation between the shipwreck and the lover became a metaphor for the danger of drowning in the deep waters of the amorous passion [page 29].

280 These topoi may remind the reader familiar with courtly love poetry of the troubadour Jaufré Rudel (ca.1125-1148) and his love poems (or cansós). Having fallen in love with the countess of Tipoli

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Selva encantada de amor (Enchanted forest of love) opens with a shipwreck.

After being hit by a violent storm, Prince Argelao’s ship crashes into the shores of an island. Unaware of their whereabouts, Argelao (the galán) and his servant Rústico (the gracioso) spot the shepherd Timantes who, believing no one is watching, has began singing an amorous complaint about a beautiful woman named Arminda:281

Leafy laurel, Frondoso laurel, snowy jasmine, nevado jazmín, Est. purple carnation, purpúreo clavel, if, in the meadow, si acaso en el prado dawn has found you, el Aurora te halló, it is because it heard pues ella escuchó my blissful love mi empleo dichoso and my unhappy fate, y mi suerte infeliz, weep with me, conmigo llorar, laugh with me. conmigo reir,

through the many accounts of other travellers, he wrote about his love for a woman he had never met in poems such as “Quan lo rius de la fontana” (“When the river of the fountain”): “…Amors de terra lonhdana,/ per vos totz lo cors mi dol…” (“Love from far away, because of you my whole heart aches…”). Rudel finally decided to embark on a ship to Tipoli to meet his beloved. Unfortunately, he fell ill on the ship, and upon his arrival in Tipoli, he died in the countess’ arms. See Carlos Alvar, Poesia de Trouvadors, Trovers, Minnesinger: (de principios del siglo XII a fines del siglo XIII). Versión española y antología de Carlos Alvar. Edición Bilingue (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1999), 93-97. Inspired by Jaufré Rudel’s life and poems, Kaija Saariaho’s wrote the opera L’amour de loin (2000).

281 Excerpt taken from Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí’s transcription in Sebastián Durón, Selva encantada de amor, 29-30. All translations of this source are mine.

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If you have seen that beautiful Arminda Si visteis que Arminda bella has copied the peaceful dawn, al alba copió apacible, Cop. but [alas], so terribly, pero terrible she has made my cruel fate harder, hizo más duro el rigor de mi estrella, for because of her pues que por ella today my fatal misery has increased, hoy se aumentó mi desdicha fatal, weep with me. conmigo llorad.

If you have seen beautiful Arminda’s Si visteis de Arminda Hermosa sovereign sweetness la soberana dulzura when she ensures cuando asegura life to the carnation and splendour to the rose, vida al clavel y esplendor a la rosa, as her disdain pues desdeñosa [and] her hardness I once deserved, ya su rigor esa vez merecí, laugh with me. conmigo reír.

If you have seen ... Si visteis… But, who is it? Pero ¿quién es?

In the same manner as Garcilaso’s Salicio, Timantes invokes the elements of

nature to which he confides his pain. The poem explores the contrasting effects that

Arminda’s beauty has on nature and on the shepherd’s emotions. Shifting from happiness

to sadness, Timantes idealizes the nymph’s beauty, which he compares to the sunrise and

the roses, while blaming her for his suffering and accusing her of being disdainful

(“desdeñosa”). Arminda is described as an omnipotent being capable of, for example,

“giving life and splendour to the flowers” (“vida al clavel y esplendor a la rosa”) while

bringing the shepherd closer to his death (“por ella hoy se aumentó mi desdicha fatal”).

By positioning himself as a pitiable lover, Timantes seeks to move the elements but also,

in a subtle manner, to coax them into sympathizing with him, and not with the heartless

nymph.

Timantes’s pitiful invocation to the elements, from which he seeks compassion

and empathy, observes many of the musical conventions of the lament-invocation

introduced in Chapter 1, such as the use of triple metre, slow descending melodic lines,

167 long tied notes, suspensions, dissonances, and sequential passages built on descending fifths (discussed below). The use of triple metre here, however, is not restricted to the estribillo alone; rather, it is used in both estribillo and coplas, thus differentiating

Timantes’s lament from Cupid’s solo laments discussed in Chapter 2, as well as from most other Spanish laments of the time (the reader my recall that while the estribillo is usually set in triple metre, the coplas are generally set in 4/4). As a result, the metre in

Timantes’s amorous complaint faithfully reflects the single mood articulated in the text.

There are no contrasting emotions but one distinct unchangeable mood in the character.

The piece is scored for voice notated in soprano clef, vihuela de arco, and continuo. Like Cupid’s “Sosieguen, sosieguen” in Salir el amor del mundo, discussed in the previous chapter, Timantes’s lament is the only piece in this zarzuela that is written for this particular instrument, suggesting that this number was intended as one of the musical highlights of Selva encantada de amor. The first stanza—consisting of 10 hexasyllabic verses—is cast as a slow ternary estribillo (mm. 1-31) in the key of F Major.

Following the initial chord progression I-V-I (mm. 1-5) is a descending fifth sequence—

A-D-G-C-F-Bb—underlying lines 2, 3 and 4 of the text (mm. 6-13). A common feature in many invocations, this recurrent harmonic motif based on perfect intervals is used to move the entities it invokes. The perfect and consonant harmony allows Timantes to be in tune with the universe that surrounds him and to address the elements using their own

(perfect and consonant) language. Example 11.

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Example 11 Timantes’s "Frondoso laurel" in Selva encantada de amor: Sequential passage built on descending fifths (Violins, vihuela de arco and continuo, mm. 1-16)

While Timantes uses consonance to establish a connection with the outer world, his inner turmoil is expressed through the use of brief dissonances on climactic words derived, for example, from unprepared dissonant intervals between the voice and the vihuela, as on the word “rigor” (“severity”) in m. 46, or through dissonances deriving from suspensions in the vocal line (and also in the vihuela) in both estribillo and coplas.

Most of these suspensions appear in the final two lines of the estribillo (“conmigo llorar, conmigo reir”) and in the final line in copla 1 and 2 (“conmigo llorad” and “conmigo reir,” respectively). The first two lines mentioned, translated as “weep with me, cry with me,” form part of the opening hexasyllabic stanza set as an estribillo. These lines are echoed—one at a time—in the final verse of each copla: “weep with me” in copla 1, and

“laugh with me” in copla 2. Although each copla is structured as a verse formed of 7 lines following the scheme abbaacc, its final line functions as a half refrain that gives cohesion to the poem as a whole and also reinforces Timantes’s appeal for empathy.

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Moreover, the last line in each copla is further emphasized through common musico- rhetorical devices already noted in the laments discussed in the previous chapter— repetitio, descencio, and pausa—as well as fragmented textual repetition, suspensions, and long tied notes. In copla 1, the line “weep with me” is repeated in a minor key, thus adding to the shepherd’s emotion appeal. Example 12.

Example 12 Timantes’s "Frondoso laurel" in Selva encantada de amor: Repetitio, desencio, pausa and contrasting minor keys (Voice, vihuela de arco and continuo, mm. 55-65)

Timantes’s lament comes to an end when the stranded foreigners interrupt him to ask where they are. The shepherd tells them that they are on the island of Cypress but refuses to speak any further when he hears voices announcing that Armida is approaching. As he catches a glimpse of the nymph, Argelao recognizes her. She is the woman of the portrait that he found; the woman whose image he fell in love with; the

170 woman for whom he has crossed oceans. But this woman has just overtly admitted to having no interest in love; moreover, she has never met either of the two men. Yet, they both introduce themselves to the beautiful and unattainable mortal woman, who they now elevate to the status of a nymph:

Argelao: I, sovereign nymph, Argelao: Yo ninfa soberana, ray of Venus, arrow of Diana, rayo de Venus, flecha de Diana, am Prince of Epirus, soy príncipe de [E]piro, Argelao is my name, Argelao es mi nombre, my inclination is for hunting mi inclinación la caza for the martial doctrine that it disguises, por la marcial doctrina que disfraza since a prince that is thirsty for glories que a un príncipe sediento de las glorias strives for victories even in diversion… aun en la diversión busca victorias… But, Alas! Pero, ay de mí! As one day I found my own ruin que ya encontré mi ruina in a foreign portrait un día en una copia peregrina that in the leafy bushes que entre la yerba ufana […] […] the goddess hid from harshness, la diosa la escondió de los rigores, […] […]

Timantes: …shepherd of these banks, Timantes: …pastor de estas riberas I give my voice to the wind and the zephyr, al Aura doy y al Çéfiro mis voces, and in quick echoes—quick echoes— que en los ecos veloces—ecos veloces— it departs with sadness and returns with infaustas van y vuelven lisonjeras. delight. La causa de mi mal es que de Arminda The cause of my malady is that la sinrazón adoro, I adore Arminda’s cruelty, mas con tanto decoro yet with such decorum que aún no aspiran mis bienes that [I] do not aspire a lograr la piedad de sus desdenes. to obtain pity from her disdain.

These confessions reveal as much about love as they do about each man’s social status. Like most sons of the nobility, Argelao’s education includes pastimes such as hunting, which when practiced regularly, serves to train the body and mind for war, and to keep the individual from sinking into idleness. Moreover, this pastime may have been

171 seen as useful for the moment of the amorous conquest.282 Argelao’s determination and eagerness to triumph in the art of love are manifested in both his speech and in his actions: having found a portrait of Arminda, the Prince embarked on an expedition to find a woman he had never met. The shipwreck and Arminda’s refusal to reciprocate his affection do not subdue the young prince’s passion for the nymph or for amorous conquest. Timantes, on the other hand, exhibits characteristics that are opposite to

Argelao’s and proper to his own social status: he is a shepherd, and as such, he is more docile and naïve. Timantes has not been raised to hunt, to use weapons or to care for material possessions, but to be in tune with what cannot be touched. He is presented as a humble and an ethereal individual that is in harmony with nature (“Al aura doy y al cefiro mis voces”). He does not see Arminda as a conquest nor does he believe he is worthy of her love. He is satisfied with wandering in the forest and proclaiming his love for the nymph to nature (as in his opening amorous complaint). It is evident in these lines that the position of each individual within society determines how these two men experience and react to sensual love.

After their declarations of love, both men realize that they are in love with the same woman and so the rivalry begins. Making matters even worse, Cupid followed by

Pallas, goddess of war, appears and declares war to the mortals. The two deities explain what has caused this war: Jupiter has taken Cupid’s arrows at the request of the mortals

282 An early and extremely influential manual for the male lover that equates—in a playful manner—the conquest of women with hunting practices is Ovid’s Ars amatoria, a well-known work in Spain that is made reference to, either directly or indirectly, in many medieval and early modern literary texts. Ovid creates this association, for example, in the following lines: “I am no liar to claim that my art [of love] has come from Apollo [God of War]” or “First, my raw recruit, my inexperienced soldier, take some trouble to find the girl whom you really can love.” See page 106 in Ovid’s The Art of Love, translated by Rolfe Humphries (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1957).

172 and now the god of love wants revenge. The deities cast a love spell on the islanders that enhances pre-existing emotions making them now unbearable: Argelao feels the fire of jealousy (celos), Timantes the pain of distrust (desconfianza) as he feels more than ever undeserving of the nymph’s love, and Arminda, who had initially rejected love as well as any kind of attention to or mention of her beauty, now feels even more anger, more harshness (rigores) and disdain.

The difference between the two male lovers becomes even more pronounced during the second act.Timantes once again wanders into the woods, only this time in search for help. Deep in the woods, the shepherd finds the magician Dicteo, the only person capable of breaking Cupid’s spell. After hearing about the enchantment that has fallen on the island, Dicteo promises to help. But while Timantes has tried to find a remedy to the general malady, Prince Argelao sinks further into despair and sings a lament:

Neither grove or beach Ni soto, ni playa, Estr. Not mountain nor jungle Ni monte, ni selva, may rid themselves librarse resuelva of the Etna [volcano] that I cry, del Etna que lloro, if on beaches, in jungles, si en playas, en selvas, in forests and groves en montes y sotos I wither the grass, las yerbas marchito, I flood the trees, los troncos inundo, I swamp the fountains las fuentes anego, I blaze the flowers. las flores agosto.

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That cheerful fountain, Esa fuente risueña, tear of that ridge, lágrima de ese risco, bathes the foliage baña de ese lentisco of the shrub it desires la pompa que desea when my pain teaches it to cry. cuando a llorar en mi dolor se enseña.

Coplas That exquisite flower, Esa flor primorosa, eagerness of the morning, afán de la mañana, tends the cot with a scarlet red tiende el catre de grana where the month of May lies, donde el mayo reposa, but my pain destroys the useless rose. pero mi mal fallece inútil rosa.

The trunk that used to be El tronco que solía the birds’ trunk, ser tronco de las aves, my grave sighs a mis suspiros graves have tired its shady foliage, yede su pompa umbría, and that which offended the dawn, y el que al alba obligó, ya ofende al día. now offends the day.

The poem, also cast as a tonada with estribillo and coplas, revolves around Prince

Argelao’s agony and the damaging effect that his pain has on nature. In the opening lines, the powerful imagery of the Etna Volcano, which is used to convey the lover’s burning passion and never-ending tears, symbolizes the magnitude of Argelao’s suffering. The torment is such that it can destroy and alter the natural course of the elements: Argelao’s fire can whither the grass and blaze the flowers; his tears can flood the trees and swamp the fountains, and his sighs can turn the trees away from the nesting birds. Moreover, the imagery of the burning volcano resonates with a more subtle yet deeply engrained notion of masculinity, one that is articulated, for example, in Gordonio’s account of amor hereos: the association of heat with the male body (as opposed to the cold female body and nature). Thus, Argelao’s gender and status among the nobility seemingly condemn him to the passion of love in its highest manifestation. He is a victim of amor hereos, the illness that causes death or mania if left untreated.

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Contrary to what occurs in Timantes’s lament where the emotional component in the music is divided rather equally between the estribillo and the coplas, in Argelao’s song the affective musical devices are reserved for the estribillo, which is, traditionally, the core of the lament. Scored for voice notated in soprano clef and continuo, the piece opens with one hexasyllabic stanza set as an estribillo in triple metre in the key of CM/m

(mm. 1-25) that is followed by three stanzas—formed by four heptasyllabic lines and one hendecasyllabic line with ABBAA rhyme scheme— set as coplas in common metre (mm.

26-33). The first three poetic lines of the estribillo are set to a repeating rhythmic pattern of one eighth note followed by two quarter notes, with each rhythmic statement being preceded and followed by a silence (pausa). Disrupting the continuity in each poetic line, the pattern divides lines 1 to 3 into two equal parts (mm. 1-7). This setting is intended to convey Argelao’s lack of energy and of air, as he needs to pause to breathe in the middle of each phrase. Moreover, it emphasizes line number four in the poem “del Etna que lloro” (“the Etna that I cry”), which is set as an uninterrupted melodic line. Within this fourth line, two words are stressed: first, the word “Etna” set on a startling G minor chord; and second, the word “lloro” (“I cry”), with a 7-6 suspension in the vocal line and on an inversion of the same G minor chord that resolves in A in measure 10. Finally, the word “lloro” is further emphasized as it set on long notes. Example 13.

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Example 13 Argelao's "Ni soto, ni playa" in Selva encantada de amor: Rhythmic pattern, pausa, and emphasis on the words "Etna" and "lloro"(Voice and continuo, mm. 1-10)

While the opening poetic lines feature a few of the most common music devices found in Spanish laments, in particular the use of pausa and descencio, as well as a distinct emphasis on affective words such as “lloro,” the closing poetic lines are set to a sequence of descending fifths. Lines 5 and 6 (“if on beaches, in jungles,/ in forests and groves”), set in imitation of the aforementioned rhythmic pattern, are followed by a sequence of descending fifths that begins on E in measure 14 and merges into a perfect authentic cadence (mm. 23-25) that ends the estribillo (Example 14.). Common in most invocations, the descending sequence is used, in this instance, not because Argelao’s piece is an invocation, but because the poetic text is reminiscent of one. While Argelao is alluding to the elements (soto, playa, monte, playas, selvas, etc), he is not invoking them for assistance or pity. He is listing the elements to express the magnitude of his torment.

The idea here is that Argelao’s pain is so extreme that it cannot be contained within his

176 own body, and as it transcends his physicality, it has the power to affect nature: “I wither the grass,/ I flood the trees,/ I swamp the fountains/ I blaze the flowers.” Seeking to depict the overwhelming intensity of amorous passion, the stanza describes lovesickness in its higher manifestation. The three subsequent stanzas set as coplas, on the other hand, do not inform the listener of any new emotions or of any changes; they simply develop what has been stated in the estribillo. Thus, the music in the coplas does not reflect any new striking emotions.

Example 14 Argelao's "Ni soto, ni playa" in Selva encantada de amor: Descending fifths sequence and cadence (Voice and continuo, mm. 10-25)

When compared to Timantes’ amorous complaint, Argelao’s lament reveals even more differences between the two men. Argelao, unlike the shepherd, does not invoke the

177 elements of nature for sympathy. He is not humble in his pain, and he is certainly not asking for empathy, as when Timantes beseeches the elements to feel his emotions with the words “weep with me” and “laugh with me.” Here, Argealo is simply informing nature that his pain will affect everything. There is, indeed, a sort of arrogance or self- importance in Argelao’s words, one that can be attributed to his higher social class.

Likewise, this seeming arrogance can be understood as a manifestation of one of the symptoms of amor hereos, irrationality, as well as of the prognosis of the illness itself: madness, which in this case includes delusional fantasies of power. This difference in behaviour is furthermore manifested in the dialogue following Argelao’s lament.

Timantes has just overheard the prince’s expression of sorrow and remarks on the difference between the two men:

Timantes: … in both one is the wound Timantes: … en entrambos [yet] it is strange that una es la herida, there are different complaints. extraño que haya quejas distintas. I seek the way in which to alleviate [the pain], Yo busco en el medio you suffer [the pain] con que se alivia, to the point of making it eternal. tú la padeces y aún la eternizas.

This leads to a short dialogue in which the two men discuss how to love. Argelao’s insistence on loving with intensity despite the consequences (“He who feels more, worships with more gracefully”/ “Quien siente mas, venera mas airoso”) resonates with the discourse of amor hereos. Corrupting judgement and reason, this illness of the brain leads the lover to devote himself to his beloved; he thinks of nothing but the woman that

178 he loves, and he is incapable of understanding what people may say to him.283 Prince

Argelao, whose aristocratic lineage allows him to experience the full extent of amorous suffering, simply cannot understand the shepherd’s point of view. He is content with his pain, which he “makes eternal,” thus revealing the paradox of love in his reluctance to heal.

Rather than dwell in pain, Timantes saves the islanders by invoking the magician,

Dicteo, who frees them all from their suffering. The play ends with the restoration of harmony and with the characters celebrating their regained freedom as well as Count

Oñate’s birthday.284

While Selva encantada de amor features two contrasting mortal male characters,

Apolo y Dafne includes a single mortal male character: the shepherd Joante.285 Like his peer Timante, Joante experiences love in a sort of ethereal manner. Joante wanders through the forest uttering his love for Daphne to the elements of nature, but at no point does he confess his feelings to the nymph. Yet, in the shepherd’s imagination, Daphne is cruel for not reciprocating his love:

283 In Gordonio’s words, the lover “thinks of her continuously and neglects [other] things that he should be doing, to such an extent that if he talks to someone, he will not understand [what he is being told] as he keeps thinking of her.” (Full original citation: “Y está tan corrompido su juicio y su razón que continuamente piensa en ella dejando de hacer lo que debe hasta el punto de que si habla con alguno no le entiende, porque está pensando en ella continuamente.” Gordonio, Lilio de medicina, 520-21.

284 The zarzuela reaches its end with a sudden storm that takes the islanders by surprise. Fearful for their lives, they beg the gods for mercy. As Cupid and Palas are not moved by the humans’ plea for compassion, the islanders now invoke Jupiter and ask him to return Cupid’s weapons to their rightful owner. Jupiter sends the magician to restore harmony on the island, and Dicteo’s torch of knowledge and science frees the islanders from love’s enchantment. Dicteo returns Cupid’s arrows on the condition that Cupid will only use them with decorum.

285 A synopsis of this play has been provided in Chapter 2. In order to avoid unnecessary repetition, the present discussion will be confined to the character of Joante and to the manifestation of lovesickness.

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Joante: Oh Daphne, whom in vain Joante: Ay Dafne, que en vano my love worships, te idolatran mis finezas so disdainful you are pues tan desdeñosa te muestras that even hope seems to be que aun es la esperanza another irreverence. otra irreverencia.

Joante passively and humbly accepts his fate—conditioned by his status—to love the nymph from afar. Incapable of battle or conquest and devoid of any hope, he does not posses the courage to confront his beloved with his feelings. At first he suffers in silence, and later reveals his feelings to Daphne’s friend, Sirene, unaware that the latter is in love with him:

Joante: It is true, Sirene, Joante: Es verdad Sirene that I will confess to you, que he de confesarte that I adore Dafne’s 286 que de Dafne adoro loving perfection las prendas amables … … Sirene: Stop, and let us discuss something else. Sirene: Déjalo y otra cosa se trate. Who, heavens, allows Quien cielos consiente such great torment tormento tan grande that [ignoring] her jealousy como que en sus celos they speak to her face to face. cara a cara le hablen.

Joante’s participation in Durón’s first act—from which the above excerpts have been extracted—is almost nonexistent, as the attention revolves around the character of

Cupid and his struggle with Apollo, as noted in Chapter 2. Nevertheless, his presence fulfills a stereotypical role within pastoral and amorous literary genres, and specifically, within the mythological zarzuela on amorous subjects: that of the mortal male lover who

286 I have chosen to translate line four of this excerpt—“las prendas amables” as: “loving perfection” rather than “loving garments.” There are several meanings for the word “prenda(s)” in the Spanish language, but I believe the line refers to Daphne’s “parts,” or perfect parts or qualities (as in the saying “hombre de prendas.”). See “Prenda” in Covarrubias, p. 595, and in the Diccionario de la Lengua Española de la Real Academia Española online (www.rae.es).

180 is consumed by the passion of love. Within this literary convention, this character worships and idealizes a beautiful woman (Daphne) while accusing her of being disdainful (as noted in the first excerpt provided). But also within these conventional literary practices, this character must at some point utter an amorous complaint or lament.

It is precisely because of this strong tradition that in Navas’s second act, Joante momentarily moves to the foreground in order to sing the amorous lament: “Si el susto, si el ansia.”

As noted in the synopsis provided in Chapter 2, Cupid takes revenge on the mortals and on Apollo by shooting arrows at everyone that he encounters. Among his many victims is the shepherd Joante whom he meets offstage. Together with the audience, the other characters of the play learn about the shepherd’s misfortune through

Joante’s detailed account of his encounter with the vengeful god:

If the fear, if the longing, Si el susto, si el ansia the grief, the drowning, la pena, el ahogo, Estr. allow me, shepherds, me deja zagales to breathe; formar un aliento, hear my complaints, oíd de mis quejas hear my longing, oíd de mis ansias hear in my echoes oíd de mis ecos the cruelties of a god crueldades de un dios that posts war que publica guerra in heaven and on earth, en cielo y en tierra from earth to heaven. de tierra y a cielo.

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No sooner had dawn embroidered Apenas el alba bordó the morning esta mañana Coplas with purple and scarlet de púrpura y grana the grass in the ground, la yerba del suelo I went out like everyone else salí como todos to give offerings a dar holocaustos to the [divine] statue al gran simulacro that occupies this temple. que ocupa ese templo.

Thessaly knows already Ya sabe Tesalia that seeing Cupid que viendo a Cupido defeated by Apollo de Apolo rendido prostrated and restrained postrado y sujeto [Thessaly] gave [Apolo le dio sus hogueras Cupid’s] bonfires en fe de que ha sido by virtue of palabra que todos the promise that they all a Apolo le dieron. made to Apollo. […] […] [más coplas van por esta] [more coplas go here] [linea ininteligible en el mansucrito] [illegible line in the manuscript] que al venir descuidado as I walked carelessly, de flechas armado armed with arrows delante le veo he appears in front of me diciéndome aleve saying perfidiously: “traitor shepherd pastor de esta selvas of this forest, así venga amor this is how [Cupid] de amor los desprecios. avenges contempt for love.”

The poem of the lament begins with a stanza formed by eleven hexasyllabic lines that are thematically divided into three parts. The opening four lines (1-4) describe

Joante’s distress after encountering Cupid; the three middle lines (5-7) are an emotional appeal to the other characters of the play, and finally, the last four lines (8 to 12) denounce Cupid’s cruelty. This stanza is cast as the estribillo of a two-part tonada scored for voice notated in soprano clef and continuo. As this section encompasses the core of the lament, I will turn my attention to the analysis of the estribillo, allowing the reader interested in the coplas to refer to Appendix 3 for the full transcription of the piece.

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Signalled with the indication “Joante very broken and slowly” (Joante muy partido y despacio), the estribillo opens in A minor and in triple metre. The opening four lines, which describe Joante’s emotional state following his encounter with Cupid, are set to a bass that is rising by thirds (A minor in measure 1, CM in measure 4, EM in measure

6, GM in measure 8). Four statements of a sigh figure in the voice rising by step illustrate

Joante’s increasing anguish as he reveals his distress to the shepherds. Then the voice part drops down for a final statement of the sigh figure on dominant harmony. The sudden fall and the overall arc of the voice part descending through a diminished seventh at the end of the phrase serve to depict Joante’s sinking heart (mm. 1-5). The use of the rests (pausa) following each statement and disrupting the continuity of each poetic line, which is consequently divided into two equal parts, is comparable to that in the opening lines of Argelao’s lament, discussed above. As in Argelao’s “Ni soto, ni playa,” the purpose of this type of setting is to convey in musical terms that lovesickness has weakened the male lover and that he is now sighing or gasping for air. Example 15.

Example 15 Joante's "Si el susto, si el ansia" in Apolo y Dafne: Appogiatura figures in the vocal line, rests and bass rising by thirds (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-9)

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Each of the three middle poetic lines (5-7), which form the shepherd’s emotional appeal to his counterparts, begins with the verb “hear” (oíd): “hear my complaints,/ hear my longing, hear my echoes.” This type of repetition—a rhetorical figure called anaphora— lends the word emphasis and conveys the idea of urgency in Joante’s plea. Although the shepherd is not addressing the elements or the deities, Joante’s supplication is, in fact, a type of invocation in which the character requests attention and sympathy from his peers

(the zagales). Surely with this idea in mind, the composer Juan de Navas set these three lines to a harmonic progression that is strongly associated with the invocation: the sequence of descending fifths. Within it, we also encounter the two common musico- rhetorical figures of descencio and pausa, as a rest precedes each descending poetic phrase in the vocal line. The remainder of the stanza (lines 8-11), in which Joante denounces Cupid’s cruelty, is set to a harmonic progression that emphasizes the words

“God” (referring to Cupid) and “war.” The word “God” (“dios”) is set to the first chord following the sequence of descending fifths: a GM chord that functions as vii of A minor, but also as V of CM (iii), to which it moves in measure 19, thus accentuating the word

“war” (“guerra”). The estribillo ends shortly after with an imperfect authentic cadence that resolves in the first measure of the coplas. Example 16.

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Example 16 Joante's "Si el susto, si el ansia" in Apolo y Dafne: Descending fifths and harmonic progressions (Voice and Continuo, mm. 9-23)

Several eight-line stanzas of six syllables are cast as the coplas, which present a new mood described in the manuscript as “lively” (vivo).287 The coplas are narrative, and they do not develop the affective mood established in the estribillo. They simply inform the listeners of events that have taken place in the story but which have not been staged.

Finally, the last copla merges into a new musical number, a “Tonada viva con puntillos”

287 The indication in the extant manuscript “más coplas van por esta” (more coplas go here) points to missing verses, but it is not possible to know how many stanzas were omitted.

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(“Lively tonada with dotted figures”) in common metre. Joante sings the first stanza in this number where he concludes his narration by accusing Cupid of unjustly shooting him with a deadly arrow:

Y disparando injusto And, shooting unjust un arpón en el viento an arrow in the wind, me introdujo en la vida he introduced into my life el mal de que me muero. the pain of which I die.

The remaining stanzas in this tonada con puntillos are passed on to other characters and, once again, Joante joins the group of minor characters. The shepherd never gains the nymph’s love but he does, nonetheless, find love at the end of the zarzuela when he is paired up with a character that is more equal to him in status than the beautiful and unattainable nymph: Daphne’s friend, Sirene. Although it may seem to the modern reader that Joante has been forced to marry or settle for someone he did not love initially, to the contemporary audience the marriage between Sirene and Joante at the end of the zarzuela would have been a satisfactory resolution to the play in more than one way. The marriage would have symbolized the re-establishment of harmony on the island (an allegory for the realm), in the souls of the characters (no longer afflicted by the destructive passion of love), and the restoration of social order between the different classes (key for succession, wealth, and prosperity). All of this, of course, while praising Cupid who has been transformed into an almighty deity that represents an ideal (Neoplatonic) type of love.

The zarzuelas Selva encantada de amor and Apolo y Dafne provide a unique opportunity to explore the ways in which both composer and librettist portrayed, through the sung amorous lament, the conventional literary character of the suffering male lover.

In every case, the lover is downgraded from masculine to feminine, reflecting the

186 contemporary notion that amorous love feminized men and that once affected by it, the male lover would begin to show female characteristics such as weakness, excess of emotion, and irrationality. These texts vividly describe the character’s overwhelming emotions with words such as pena, ansia, and dolor (grief, longing, pain) and the behaviour they ensue: weeping and complaining. Matching the words in the text, the musical setting is highly affective. The descending lines, the gaps in the vocal melody, the dissonances, the minor keys, and the flat notes were all associated with traits that were clearly far from the patriarchal male ideal of strength, valour, and rationality. So while the amorous lament provides an emotional outlet for a male character to voice his suffering and to protest his beloved’s behaviour, it also illustrates the character’s temporary loss of virility.

In the following two zarzuelas, the leading mortal male characters continue to behave in accordance to the same cultural and literary conventions but here, as in most zarzuelas, the leading males (the galanes) speak their lines and do not sing laments. The following section explores how amorous suffering is manifested in male deities, while paying special attention to the amorous lament.

Lamenting immortal male characters

El imposible mayor en amor, le vence amor (The most impossible thing in love is overcome by love, ca. 1705; rev. 1710) is based on the myth of Danaë and Jupiter, which appears, not in Ovid, but in Horace’s Odes.288 While Horace’s poem only recounts the

288 Spanish translations of Horace’s Odes were available in print in the seventeenth century. For the myth of Danaë and Jupiter, see Ode XIII in Horacio, Horacio español : esto es obras de Q. Horacio Flacco traducidas en prosa española e ilustradas con argumentos, epitomes y notas en el mismo idioma:

187 encounter between the mortal and the deity, Baltasar de Victoria’s Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (1620), introduced in Chapter 2, discusses the myth in greater detail. The story, in Victoria’s account, begins with King Acrisius locking up his virgin daughter,

Danaë, in a tower in order to escape the oracle’s prophecy: that he would die at the hands of his daughter’s son. But while Danaë is in the tower, Jupiter becomes attracted to her extreme beauty, and with Venus’s aid, he finds a way to infiltrate the mortal’s prison.

Adopting the form of a golden rain, he arrives in her lap and impregnates her. Later, the princess and her infant son, Perseus, are put into a wooden boat and thrown into the sea, but they are saved when the local fishermen of the island of Apulia find them. Danaë marries the king of Apulia and her son grows strong and courageous and, one day, the prophecy is finally fulfilled when Perseus kills his grandfather, Acrisius.289

While both sources would have been available to Candamo and Cañizares,290 the dramatist(s) chose to recount only one episode in the story of Danaë: the moment she becomes the object of Jupiter’s infatuation. This segment of the story, however, is altered in three important ways: first, through the incorporation of new characters that are

parte primera poesias liricas , trans. Anisson y Posuel (León, 1682), 175-78. Edition available through Google Books: http://books.google.ca/books?id=S79xsQGBPGsC&pg=PP7#v=onepage&q&f=false (accessed Sep.10, 2014)

289 See Chapter 25, “De los amores que tuvo Jupiter con Danae” in Baltasar de Victoria, Primera parte del Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad (Madrid: imprenta Real, 1676), pp. 172-177. Edition available through Google Books: http://books.google.es/books?id=OzXEER6WAWcC&dq=baltasar%20de%20vitoria%20teatro%20de%20l os%20dioses%20de%20la%20gentilidad&hl=es&pg=PR4#v=onepage&q=Danae&f=false (accessed Sept. 10. 2014)

290 Since the literary authorship of El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor cannot be established with any certainty, this dissertation refers to the text as the Candamo-Cañizares libretto. See Appendix 2: Description of the Sources.

188 archetypal in the Spanish early modern theatre tradion, including galanes, and graciosos; second, by replacing the character of Venus by that of Cupid, who was by far the more important of the two as well as the most recurrent mythological character in Spanish theatre of the time; and third and more importantly, by transforming the almighty Jupiter into the archetype of the suffering male lover. So while in Homer’s ode Jupiter simply takes what he wants (that is, Danaë), in the zarzuela Jupiter’s omnipotent image is altered to such an extent that he is almost unrecognizable. Here, Jupiter loses his masculine attributes as he assumes the role of the dying lover who cries, moans, and laments.

The play begins with the topoi of the storm and the shipwreck, which, within the context of the mythological amorous zarzuela discussed thus far, represented the unruly passions of the soul and the alteration of order in the world, respectively. In these works, the shipwreck signalled the beginning of a series of turbulent events that would ultimately be resolved with the triumph of reason and the restoration of social and political order. Likewise, a tempest leads Prince Lisidante’s vessel to crash into the shores of Phoenicia, thus marking the beginning of the sequence of events that makes up the story in this zarzuela. Lisidante has arrived in Phoenicia, land of his long time enemy,

Acrisius, and also of a beautiful woman he has never met yet who has unequivocally captured his heart: Acrisius’ daughter, Danaë. Torn between hate and love, Lisidante confesses his love for Danaë to his friend and captain of his guard, Celauro. The prince takes out of his pocket a portrait of Danaë, and while he praises her exceptional beauty, he also equates her with poison and with his own destruction:291

291 Antonio Martín Moreno, “Libreto,” in Sebastián Durón, Francisco de Bances Candamo and José de Cañizares, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Zarzuela en dos jornadas (Madrid: Instituto

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Celauro, my confident Celauro, mi confidente you have been. For a long time you have heard me has sido. Mucho ha que me oyes grieve for the divine suplicar por el divino owner of the splendours dueño de los esplendores of this painting, in whose light de esta copia, en cuyas luces two suns shine for eyes. arden por dos ojos dos soles. (He shows Celauro a portrait) (Muéstrale un retrato a Celauro) This is Danaë; this is Acrisius’ Esta es Dánae; ésta es de Acrisio daughter; fate has made me hija, que el hado dispone cherish poison, que yo acaricie el veneno, [and] worship harpoons; que yo halague los arpones; for I know that within her pues cuando sé que está en ella lies the venom to drown me, el tósigo que me ahogue, the steel to hurt me … el acero que me hiera…

Following Celauro’s advice, Lisidante decides to conceal his identity and go into the city to meet Acrisius’ beautiful daughter. Lisidante tells the king and his entourage that he is the captain of Prince Lisidante’s ship and that the prince has drowned at sea.

Believing him, Acrisius allows Lisidante to stay with him while he announces that the hunt will begin. Here is where Danaë’s second mortal suitor is revealed: Polidectes, a captain of Acrisius’ army. In an aside, both Polidectes and Lisidante secretly voice their love for Danaë, who is described, once again, as a perfect and unattainable creature that is cruel and elusive (esquiva):

Complutense de Ciencias Musicales, 2005), XXVI. Unless otherwise noted, all excerpts analyzed in this chapter are extracted from the above source.

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Polidectes [Aparte] Polidectes [Aside] (¡Oh, duro pecho, (¡Oh, inflexible heart, sólo a crueldades made for cruelties y a rigores hecho, and harshness only, véngueme amor love, avenge me de condición tan dura! of such a hard condition! Lisidante [Aparte] Lisidante [Aside] (¡Borrón del sol (A blur of the sun only fue el sol de su pintura! was the sun in her painting! ¡Oh, perfecta mujer, ¡Oh, perfect woman, copiada y viva, painted and alive te adoro Hermosa, I adore you, beautiful, y te venero esquiva). and worship you, elusive).

Throughout the zarzuela, it becomes increasingly evident that the two mortal men experience their love for Danaë in accordance with their social status and hierarchy. A military captain, but more importantly, a subject of the king, Polidectes loves the king’s daughter from a distance. Aware of his lower social class, he finds comfort in serving his beloved, even if he repeatedly accuses her of cruelty:

I am the first to obey ¡El primero que obedece to the sound of your voice for tu acento soy yo, pues soy I am a magnet to your disdain! el imán de tus desdenes!

Polidectes’ behaviour somewhat resembles that of the shepherds Timantes and

Joante, discussed above, as he assumes the role of the undeserving lover that is so commonly undertaken by the shepherds in many mythological zarzuelas. He never confesses his love for Danaë to anyone, and he never fights for her love. He does, however, fight to save her from Juno’s wrath when he joins Lisidante’s army towards the end of the zarzuela. Polidectes is a trained soldier and his loyalty towards his beloved surpasses any type of rivalry or enmity with Lisidante: he takes up arms to save her even

191 when that means that he will lose Danaë to the prince. Unmarried and alone, he promises in the final scene to continue to worship Danaë for the rest of his days:

Although I lose Danaë as a wife, Yo, aunque como esposa pierdo as a deity a Danaë, como deidad I will worship her alone la adoraré sin que sea and nothing else. otro mi objeto.

While Polidectes never states or even hints that he is dying for love (after all, his social status does not allow him to suffer from amor hereos), Prince Lisidante alludes to his own death in the first act when he performs the part of the suffering lover. In the second act, the prince moves from passion to action as he assumes the role of Danaë’s saviour and summons an army to rescue the princess. In both acts, Lisidante’s behaviour is governed by a set of norms that is proper to his rank: as a noble man he is prone to amor hereos, and he is also predisposed for battle. Moreover, his character is slightly more developed throughout the zarzuela than the character of Polidectes, as Lisidante outranks his mortal peer. But there is a third character that falls in love with Danaë and overshadows both mortal men. This character is positioned at the top of all hierarchical ladders, both in the world of the mortals and in the realm of the gods. He is the supreme deity Jupiter, and his passion for the female mortal will be on par with, and may even surpass in intensity, the amor hereos experienced by the highest-ranking mortal men.

Jupiter falls victim of the passion of love as a result of a confrontation with Cupid.

Following the introduction of the mortal characters at the beginning of the first act, a battle scene takes place in the realm of the gods. Cupid and Jupiter are engaged in a heated discussion over which of the two is the most powerful deity. Jupiter believes that

192 he is the “absolute monarch” (absoluto monarca) and as such, he has nothing to fear, not even Cupid’s arrows. Alluding to the old and contemporary notion of the power of will over the passions, Jupiter claims that the gods who feared Cupid “loved because they wanted to love,” but that he does not fear Cupid since he does not wish to love.292 In other words, Jupiter believes that by consciously willing not to love, he will be spared of that particular passion. The god of love laughs and warns Jupiter that his arrogance will soon be the cause of his ruin. He shoots Jupiter with a golden arrow that induces great love and suffering, and then he takes his leave. In vain Jupiter asks Cupid not to go, and slowly but surely, Jupiter begins to feel the effect of Cupid’s poisonous arrow:

Hear me…listen to me…wait…await! Oye…escucha…aguarda….espera! disloyal perfidious fementido desleal Recit. traitor, for, but… alas! traidor, pues, mas…¡ay de mí! What is this cruel and tenacious asp ¿qué áspid cruel y tenaz that bites the chest es éste que muerde el pecho [and] whose venom cuyo tósigo se va is slowly taking over reason? poco a poco apoderando Without voice, my chest del sentido racional? without air, because of this weariness Sin uso la voz, el pecho I cannot escape pain, sin aliento, a tanto afán nor can I form an echo. ni puedo el dolor huir, ni acierto un eco a formar.

292 “¡Habrán amado porque habrán querido!/Yo, temerte no espero/¡pues yo no adoro/porque no quiero!” (“They may have loved because they wanted to/ I do not intend to fear you / as I do not love/because I do not wish to!”) Martín Moreno, “Libreto,” XXVIII.

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I cannot such pain resist, because of this feeling Yo no puedo a tal pesar Aria even my voice fails me. resistir, pues, del sentir,

da aún la voz viene a faltar.

capo Oh, deceitful Cupid, If only I could reduce you ¡Oh, Cupido fementido, to pieces with my arms! en pedazos con mis brazos But, if I am not able to die, te pudiera reducir! how will I be able to kill? Mas, si no acierto a morir, ¿cómo acertaré a matar?

The text of Jupiter’s lament is divided into two sections: the first is a twelve-line stanza that is subdivided into an octave and a quatrain, and is set as a recitative. With the exception of the first hendecasyllabic line, all verses are octosyllabic. The octave includes two important figures of speech—exclamatio and interrogatio—that are commonly used in soliloquys, invocations or, as in this case, laments. Jupiter addresses Cupid, his long-time foe now absent from the scene, which he accuses of being false, disloyal and treacherous.

Jupiter’s rage reaches a sudden halt as the venom in Cupid’s arrow makes its way into the deity’s body. With words beginning to fail him, he moans: “¡Ay, de mí!” (line 3). This exclamation is followed by a rhetorical question in which Jupiter wonders what is happening to him (lines 5-8). In the quatrain, Jupiter describes the first few symptoms of lovesickness, including the loss of reason (manifested through the loss of speech) and the experience of physical pain.

Set as an aria da capo indicated as “aria grave” in the Évora manuscript (see

Appendix 2 for a description of the sources), the second section of the lament consists of two octosyllabic stanzas: one tercet with rhyme ABA (section A) and one quintain (section B). In the first three-line stanza, Jupiter realizes that he is overcome by an affliction that he cannot escape. Shifting to a new mood, the second stanza conveys the deity’s frustration. Once again, the same figures of speech used at the beginning of the lament are used here to recount, first, Jupiter’s anger (“Oh, deceitful Cupid, if only I could reduce you to pieces with

194 my arms!”) and second, his bewilderment, as he realizes he will not be able to defeat his foe

(“But, if I am not able to die, how will I be able to kill?”).

The recitative is scored for voice notated in soprano clef and continuo in the recitative, and also for violins in the aria da capo. The first section of the poem is cast as a recitative in common metre that begins on the dominant of B minor, and ends on the dominant of D minor, the key that opens the aria da capo. The overall harmonic structure of this section reflects the rapid changes in Jupiter’s body by shifting to different keys through tonicizations, modulations and by juxtaposing minor and major harmonies and triads, all in the span of eighteen measures. The affect of sorrow is particularly evident in two instances: first, in the long tied note on the word “ay” (mm.4-5) set as a descending melodic line and preceded by a rest, and second, in the broken vocal melody in lines 7-10, and particularly exaggerated in line 9. While there are rests elsewhere in the vocal line, they are used to reflect the ellipses in the poetry (lines 1 and 3). In lines 7 to 10, on the other hand, the rests break up each poetic line into two or three sections. The use of pausa, reflected in the excerpt below, is intended to convey a sense of extreme weakness as well as the symptom of breathlessness, one of the tell-tale signs of the malady of love:

… poco a poco √ apoderando del sentido √ racional? Sin uso √ la voz, √ el pecho sin aliento,√ a tanto afán … (lines 7-10)

The same musical device is exploited in section A of the aria da capo, and as a result, the poetic metre is altered. Rather than set the first three verses to reflect the metre of an octosyllabic three-line stanza, the composer’s setting results in a quatrain, in which all the lines are fragmented:

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Yo √ no√ pue-√ do √ a tal √ pesar resistir √ pues√ del sentir √ aun la voz √ viene √ a faltar.

Moreover, lines 1 and 2 in the new poetic metre—“Yo no puedo a tal pesar resistir” (“I cannot such pain resist”)—are set as a single fragmented melodic line that is it later echoed by the first violin, thus reinforcing the new rhythmic structure of the verse. This alteration of the poetic metre through the use of rests, in conjunction with the musical accentuation of the words in this line, serves to highlight the important words: pesar (pain) and resistir (resist).

The words that precede “pesar” are on the offbeat, while the naturally accentuated syllable (in bold) in the word pe-sar is set to a quarter note on the downbeat in measure 4. Rather than being followed by a rest, this note quickly moves up by one whole step to a longer figure, a dotted quarter note on E, which underscores the word “resistir.” Example 17.

Example 17 Jupiter's "Yo no puedo" in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Pausa, poetic metre and emphasis on the word "pesar" (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-8)

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The above excerpt also illustrates the use of another musical device commonly associated with the affect of lament: the descending tetrachord. The four syllables in the words “yo no pue-do” are set to four half notes that are preceded and followed by a rest. These four notes—

D-C#-C-B—trace a chromatic descent that is reminiscent of the chromatic descending tetrachord commonly found in Italian operatic laments. In this example, however, this figure appears in the vocal line rather than in the bass as is more normal in Italian compositions of this kind. But the use of this figure in the vocal line is equally effective, as Jupiter’s sinking mood and helplessness are illustrated in the character’s own voice. A few measures later, the word—viene (comes)—is set to four notes that trace another chromatic descent through a minor third: F-E-Eb-D (mm. 14-15).

Section B in the aria da capo (mm. 17-31) conveys the affect of lament through stock musical devices such as descending melodic lines, chromaticism, and textual repetition, which can appear either in isolation or combined into a single line, as in measures 20-21

(Example 18). In addition, this section contains the most emotionally charged word in the entire amorous lament, including the recitative: morir (to die). Aware of his immortality,

Jupiter realizes that although Cupid’s arrow has inflicted more pain that he has ever known, it cannot kill him because he is a deity. Yet, the very mention of death implies that Jupiter feels despair. Reflecting this idea, the music seems to slow down, as the word is underscored

197 through a long tied note and is also emphasized through a descending melodic line, chromaticism, repetition and finally, by ending on a Phrygian half cadence (mm. 24-26).

Following this moment of seeming stillness, the melody picks up with quick and shorter note values that are repeated together with the text and which illustrate Jupiter’s agitation as he begins to understand that he cannot defeat Cupid (mm. 26-31). And so, he sinks back into the affect of sorrow with the return to section A.

Example 18 Jupiter's "Yo no puedo" in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Descending melodic lines, chromaticism and textual repetition (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 20-21)

Although the lament allows Jupiter to channel his anguish and frustration, it does not succeed in appeasing his malaise as the deity continues to voice his discomfort. Jupiter lies down to rest after his emotional lament, and in his sleep he begins to rave about his malady.293 Delirious, confused, and tormented, the once omnipotent deity is unable to let go of the pain that holds sway over him.

293 As noted in the previous chapter, sleep scenes usually follow instances of great emotional strain such as laments.

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No, gentle [and] adored ¡No, apacible adorado malady, do not leave me!; mal, no me dejes!; for the relief of your absence que es mas daño el alivio is more pain. de que te ausentes. May the pain that heals ¡Pene y mas pene the sufferer un dolor a quien sana grieve again and again! lo que padece!

Stay away, relief No te acerques, alivio no, stay away; no, no te acerques; safer is the wound más segura es la herida, as it hurts less. pues menos duele. Go, then, go away!, ¡Vete, pues, vete!, For it is not right to be flattered Que no es bien que me halague by that which offends me. lo que me ofende. what offends me.

The above lines are intended to convey the depth of Jupiter’s illness while describing the quintessential symptom commonly associated with the malady of amor hereos: the manifestation of irrationality. Here, this type of insanity is displayed, first, in Jupiter’s nonsense words, as he states that pain can heal the wounded (lines 5-7); and second, in the deity’s reluctance to heal. In the same way as the noblemen Argelao before him, Jupiter does not welcome relief to his torment, and in fact, he chooses to perpetuate the amorous pain.

Jupiter’s inordinate behaviour becomes even more pronounced after Danaë, who finds him asleep in the woods, wakes him up from his slumber. Jupiter’s reaction upon seeing the princess is in line with that of any mortal man who is suffering from lovesickness, as he surrenders completely to his beloved: “And so at your feet, this victim, the God of all gods, offers [to you] his life and his death.”294 Jupiter addresses the princess by calling her “fairest nymph” (“hermosísima ninfa”), thus assigning to the mortal the status of a semi-deity of the utmost beauty. But while he idealizes and worships this woman he has just met, he also holds

294 “Y pues a tus plantas/ por víctima ofrece/ el Dios de los dioses/ su vida y su muerte.”

199 her accountable for his suffering. Like all the male lovers examined in this chapter, Jupiter complains about the beloved’s cruelty, which is derived from her inaction, as she does not reciprocate, right then and there, the deity’s ardent passion:

Oh, my dearest! Knowing that Ay, mi bien! Que sabiendo this impatient wound que esta herida impaciente that burns my heart, que el corazón me abrasa, you alone can heal, solo tu sanar puedes, refusing the remedy el negarte al remedio, is blame-worthy merciless es culpable rigor harshness. inclemente.

Jupiter’s declaration of love is interrupted when his wife, Juno, arrives. Enraged with jealousy, she decides to punish Jupiter’s beloved. Juno tells the mortals that Danaë has offended the Gods with her beauty and so she must be locked up in a tower from which she can only be freed if someone can produce a shower of gold.

Having relinquished all power and assuming the position of the victim—of Cupid, of lovesickness, of Danaë’s cruelty, and of his wife’s jealousy—Jupiter continues to lament his fate throughout the second act. Here, he discovers that the mortal Lisidante is gathering an army to rescue the princess from her prison because he is also in love with her. The deity burns with jealousy, and his torment in exacerbated. Torn between his amorous pain and his frustration at his wife’s “inopportune” rage, he moans his fate:

Another [man] adores what I adore Otro adora lo que yo adoro another man loves it and I ignore it. otro lo ama yo lo ignoro. Let the sky fall down on me! ¡Caiga el cielo sobre mí! For between Juno’s pues entre el rigor de Juno, inopportune severity inoportuno and the tears of a lover’s sorrow y el pesar que amante lloro, this pain alone I felt. sólo este dolor sentí. Another [man] adores what I adore Otro adora lo que adoro, another man loves it and I ignore it. otro lo ama y yo, lo ignoro. Let the sky fall down on me! ¡Caiga el cielo sobre mi!

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Seeing that he cannot escape his torment and that he cannot help his beloved, Jupiter surrenders to Cupid and begs him for help and forgiveness. The deity of love feels compassion and promises to help the distressed lover by creating clouds and a shower of gold in which Jupiter, transformed into liquid, can penetrate Danaë’s guarded and inaccessible prison.295 And so, aided by Cupid, Jupiter frees the princess, albeit without her consent:

“Either voluntarily, or by force, my love will make you come [with me]…” (“O voluntaria, o por fuerza, /consiga mi amor que vayas…”). Jupiter has regained his power and his virility.

The zarzuela concludes with one last alteration to the myth intended to tone down the theme of the rape and the strong and direct sexual overtones in Jupiter’s metamorphosis. The rain of gold, as Mary Bly argues in her study of the literary representation of the myth, carried erotic associations for “its liquid properties, its fertility (evidence in the birth of

Perseus), and its suggestive arrival in Danaë’s lap.”296 So rather than stage or even hint at the carnal union of these two characters, the Candamo-Cañizares story ends with Jupiter abducting the mortal and turning her into a deity. This way, the consummation of their relationship is metaphorical, as well as spiritual rather than carnal. The choices that the two mortal suitors make once they realize that they have lost their beloved are also representative of these two contrasting approaches to love: Polidectes sides with spirituality when he choses to worship Danaë for the rest of his days, and Lisidante chooses earthly love, as he marries

Danaë’s cousin, Filida. This ending serves to re-establish harmony in heaven and on earth as

295 “Amor: Ven Júpiter, que ufano/ tu pena compadezco./ Mañana, aún no del alma, el fulgor soñoliento/ esparcirá en los campos/sus tempranos reflejos,/cuando, habiendo exprimido/el afir con mi fuego la dorada substancia/ de su precioso cuerpo,/ conduciré en las nubes/sus tesoros. Jupiter: En ellos/ mi bulto transformado,/ ver a mi Dánae pienso…” Martín Moreno, “Libreto,” XXXVII-XXXVIII.

296 Mary Bly, “Bait for the imagination: Danaë and Consummation in Petrarch and Heywood,” Comparative Literature Studies 32, No. 3 (1995), 343.

201 well as political and social order. Lisidante and Filida’s marriage ends the war and creates a political alliance between their respective nations. Also, and perhaps more significantly,

Lisidante is assigned a partner that shares his same status and wealth, thus illustrating the contemporary notion of social stratification and order. The deities return to their realm and continue to interact with their own kind (Danaë has been transformed into a goddess and so has earned a place among the deities), the higher ranking mortals either marry within their social class or take a spiritual path, and the lower ranking mortal characters (the graciosos), in this case Selvagio and Siringa, marry or stay married within their group.

The social and gender hierarchies that are woven into this zarzuela are also present in

Las nuevas armas de amor, a collaborative work between the same dramatist and composer

(Cañizares and Durón), produced by the same theatrical company (Prado), and premiered in the public theatre the year following the success of El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor. As noted in the plot summary of Las nuevas armas de amor provided in Chapter 2, there are three different planes in which the characters interact: the higher plane of the deities

(Cupid, Jupiter and Diana) and two planes within the world of the mortals, one for the serious and higher-ranking mortal characters (Anteo, Astrea, Zéfiro, and Sirene), and one for the lower-ranking and comical characters (Silvio, Enareta, and Títere). Although this work differs from El imposible mayor in that it revolves around the themes of power and of political alliances, it does depict the contemporary understanding of love and lovesickness in the same manner, albeit in much less detail. Here, there are two males, Prince Anteo and

Jupiter, in love with the same woman: Astrea. Both behave in accordance to their gender and hierarchical position, and both assume the role of the victim within the amorous relationship.

The two lovers are revealed in act one, following the battle between Cupid and

Jupiter, which results in Jupiter taking Cupid’s weapons and Cupid lamenting his fate (See

202 the discussion of Cupid’s lament, “Valedme cielos/ Cuantos teméis al rigor” in Chapter 2).

Prince Anteo has arrived in the island of Cyprus and after seeing Astrea, he succumbs to the passion of love. Captivated by her beauty and perfection, he realizes that he cannot return to his ship and that he has become a prisoner of this beautiful woman: “(To Títere) Now you remind me that I am a prince, when the love for a beautiful shepherdess has turned me into a shepherd? (“Aora de que soy me acuerdas/ príncipe, quando el amor/ por una zagala vella/pastor me hizo?”). Like Prince Argelao, his noble counterpart in Selva encantada de amor, Anteo describes his passion as an uncontrollable fire. In this case, however, the element of heat in his body, embodied in the image of a bonfire (“hoguera”), is contrasted with the cold water of the ocean. There seems to be a double entendre when Anteo juxtaposes heat (his body) and cold (the water in the sea, but also Astrea?), the implication being that while the sea is cold, so is Astrea’s body and female nature:

I saw Astrea and could not Vi a Astrea y volver no pude return to the sea; as [my] soul, blinded by al mar; y es que el alma, ciega her light, did not dare de su luz, no se atrevió, seeing how contrary they were viendo que contrarios eran to join such water with a unir con tanto cristal the fire of such a bonfire. el fuego de tanta oguera.

Anteo is not assigned many more lines in which he can express the characteristic discomfort of the ailing male lover, as his character is both subordinated to the primary male love,

Jupiter, and is also later transformed into an instrument of Cupid’s revenge when he becomes the deity’s ally at the beginning of the second act. Jupiter’s suffering, on the other hand, is slightly more developed. Although his character is not transformed to the same extent of El imposible mayor, en amor le vence amor, it is nevertheless tailored to conform to the pattern of generic behaviour exhibited in all male lovers: he accuses his beloved of cruelty and, very importantly, he reveals his pain in an amorous lament.

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The almighty Jupiter becomes powerless in love when Cupid, borrowing Diana’s arrows, shoots Astrea with an arrow that causes her feelings to change. While she had corresponded Jupiter’s affection at the beginning of the play, now she cannot reciprocate the deity’s love. All the same, Jupiter’s reaction is to condemn the beautiful mortal for her disdain. As he flies on an eagle that slowly descends from heaven, he addresses Cupid (who is absent from the scene) and sings to Astrea (who is listening) and, very confidently, assures them both in a quasi-threatening manner that he will not be defeated by his foe, and that he will not stop adoring his heartless beloved:

Although Love, Amor, aunque quiera, bloody tyrant, tirano sangriento, may wish to injure with treacherous herir con aleves [and] alien weapons, arpones ajenos. in vain you tire yourself En vano te cansas as there is in my chest pues no hay en mi pecho no place for the wound, ni lugar donde quepa la herida, nor is there reason that will embrace this affect. ni razón que embarace el afecto.

As of now, sovereign Astrea Ya, soberana Astrea … … You will not succeed, tyrant, No has de lograr, tirana, in scolding my respect escarmentar la fe de mi respeto; for who adores you entirely que quien toda te adora will know how to worship your contempt. aún sabrá idolatrar los desprecios. […] […]

Little does he care that Astrea cannot feel as she did before; he simply refuses to listen. While she explains that she is adverse to the idea of love, he tries to coax her into surrendering to love. After a lengthy spoken dialogue in which the two characters attempt to convince each other, Jupiter uses a last-resort tactic. Hoping he will finally succeed in moving his beloved, he sings a persuasive amorous lament:

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Gentle winds Auras suaves que plantas sopláis, that blow the plants why do you not seethe por que no bullís and explain to her my love? y mi amor le explicáis?

Coplas Beautiful flowers Flores hermosas that spread aroma, que aroma esparcís, por que no exaláis why do you not exhale and tell her about my love? y mi amor le decís?

Canorous fountains Fuentes canoras that run through the meadows, que el prado corréis, why do you not trill por que no trináis and argue my loyalty? y mi fe encarecéis?

What do you await, what do you want? ¿Qué aguardáis, qué queréis? Tell her about my ailment, Contádle mi mal, Estribillo tell her about my love, decídle mi bien, because [even] if her hardness, que por su rigor, did not kill me, I would [still] die. si no me matara, me muriera yo.

Set as a lament-invocation, the poem is a request for help whose main objective is to arouse sympathy rather than provide an emotional outlet for the distraught lover. Jupiter is not alone in the scene, as when he voices his pain in the amorous lament “Yo no puedo” in El imposible mayor. It is not a moment of introspection in which the distressed character sees himself as a victim or seeks to alleviate and explain (to himself and to the audience) his excruciating anguish; in this lament, Jupiter intends to manipulate the listener—the elements, the beloved, and the audience—by casting himself as a victim. Although it cannot be said that he is feigning his pain, he is certainly using it to his advantage in order to obtain what he wants: Astrea’s love. But whether exaggerated or genuinely represented, Jupiter’s lament- invocation provides yet another example of the archetype of the suffering male in the zarzuela.

The music of this lament-invocation observes many of the musical devices that were associated with this type of song, such as slow descending melodic lines, long tied notes, dissonances, suspensions, pausa, repetitio, all of which have been examined earlier in this

205 chapter. There are two very distinguishing aspects in this setting worth noting. The first has to do with the unusual beginning of Jupiter’s song. The piece, scored for voice notated in soprano clef, two violins, and continuo, begins with three slow coplas in triple metre, rather than with a slow estribillo in triple metre followed by faster coplas in triple or common metre

(as in the three laments sung by the above mortal male characters, as well as in Cupid’s laments discussed in Chapter 2). Also, the first chord in the coplas, the DM, does not establish the tonic but rather functions as a dominant chord that moves to the key of G minor, albeit briefly, in measure 2. This opening harmonic movement characterizes the entire section of the coplas, as the harmony constantly moves between three main areas: G minor, D major

(V/Gm), and A major (V/V or V/DM). This harmonic movement fulfills two main functions: first, it conveys a feeling of suspense—in the sense of “uncertainty” because the harmony never fully resolves but also in the sense of “being suspended” as the melody seems to emanate from the mouth of a deity and float in the heavens; and second, it is reminiscent of a stock musical device used in invocations: the sequential descending fifths. Here, however, the fifths are achieved through ascension (rather than descent), but the underlying intention is the same: the perfect ordered harmony achieved through the natural order of keys is used as a perfect language with which to invoke the universe, the elements, the winds, the flowers, and the fountains. Similarly, the unusual choice of the ascending sequence may well be the composer’s way of depicting this seemingly different type of lamenting male. Unlike the previous male lovers in this chapter, Jupiter seems less overwhelmed by the excruciating experience of amor heroes, and more distressed over losing power over Astrea as well as over Cupid, his long-time foe.

The second interesting aspect in the setting of Jupiter’s poem is the abundance and the juxtaposition of musical devices associated with laments and invocations, particularly in the

206 estribillo. While sequences of descending fifths are usually identified with invocations where the character begs to the deities, the elements, or his mortal peers for assistance or pity (as in laments 1-3 in this chapter), the descending tetrachord seems to be synonymous with laments, such as Jupiter’s introspective lament, “Yo no puedo” (lament 4 in this chapter). Here, we find descending fifths as well as four-note chromatic descending lines in the melody that are reminiscent of the descending tetrachord in Italian operatic laments and also, of Jupiter’s lament in El imposible mayor. The first two lines of the estribillo (“What do you await? What do you want?” in m. 68-72) are set to a sequence of descending fifths (D-G-C-F-Bb) that moves to dominant harmony and resolves in the tonic of G minor in measure 76 (Example

19). A few measures later, the highly affective last line in the poem “si no me matara, me muriera yo” (“[even] if it did not kill me, I would die”) includes four notes—C-B-Bb-A—that trace a chromatic descent on the word “matara” (kill). A second descending melodic line appears on the words “me muriera yo” (“I would die”), also emphasized through a 4-3 suspension on the dominant chord of D major that resolves in the tonic in measure 92.

(Example 20). But rather than stop here, with a harmonically conclusive ending and with a clearly delivered message, Jupiter repeats this last line twice, only a fourth below this time, and now ending on the dominant rather than on the tonic. This inconclusive ending, together with the abundance and juxtaposition of musical devices in the affective estribillo, may be understood as an attempt on the composer’s part to illustrate either the character’s agony or his exaggerated and cunning attempt to manipulate the listener, particularly, his beloved.

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Example 19 Jupiter's "Auras suaves" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Descending fifths (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 68-77)

Example 20 Jupiter's "Auras suaves" in Las nuevas armas de amor: Chromatic descents (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 84-92)

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Unable to move Astrea, Jupiter decides to take her away from Cyprus in the hope that her feelings will revert to the way they once were. But he is refrained from doing so, as

Cupid and his two allies, Prince Anteo and the goddess Diana, appear and declare war to him.

Following a series of peripheral events that include a lover’s quarrel between the secondary characters, the zarzuela ends with the traditional happy ending of re-established harmony and social order, and marriage that is characteristic of so many productions for the court and the public theatre. What is interesting here is that, with the exception of Jupiter, every character celebrates their regained status or achievement: the two mortal couples, Prince Anteo and

Astrea, and Zefiro and Sirene, are joined in matrimony, the graciosos stay married, although in a pun line they ask to be “unmarried,” and finally, Cupid and his ally, Diana, celebrate their victory when Cupid recovers his old weapons and is reinstated as the highest deity of the island of Cyrus. This depiction of Cupid as an almighty deity—an allegorical representation of the Spanish king—may be understood as a metaphorical celebration of the monarch’s triumph over adversity, which is represented in his lament earlier in the play.

3.2.2 The Audience: Character Identification with the Lamenting (Fe)Male

While there are no surviving accounts of how the audience reacted to these performances during this period, the cross-dressing phenomenon in the mythological zarzuela reveals an aural predilection for the female singing voice. In addition to this aesthetic preference, the high voice was likely favoured for its symbolic potential, as it aided in establishing hierarchical distinctions within the plays. In the zarzuela, as well as in all other

Spanish mythological staged dramas of the period, the female high tessitura helped convey the higher plane in which the deities existed, thus differentiating it from the lower realms inhabited by the mortals. In zarzuelas that include mortal lamenting males (such as Selva

209 encatada de amor and Apolo y Dafne), the higher female voice distinguished the afflicted or refined lover—a shepherd or a nobleman—from non-lamenting males (such as the magician

Dicteo, performed by a male actor-singer in Selva encantada de amor).297 These sonic implications, however, do not fully explain a more complex phenomenon underlying these gendered roles. Specifically, the auditory aspect in these plays does not fully explain why—if men had traditionally dominated the discourse of melancholy, lovesickness, and amorous suffering for centuries—the creators of these zarzuelas designated women to communicate this primarily masculine discursive practice. This peculiar choice of female performers, I will suggest, is intrinsically connected with the audience’s ability or, more precisely, lack thereof to identify with the (fe)male lamenting character.

Seventeenth-century writings on Spanish theatre reveal that local clergy was concerned about the negative impact that the comedias may have on the spectator. In particular, they expressed apprehension over the possible reaction of the audience to characters who, in their opinion, behaved immorally. In his 1689 treatise, Ignacio de

Camargo claimed that one of the biggest dangers of the Comedia was that, “the viewers, according to their own gender, imagine themselves, pretend to be, and represent themselves in those dishonest images.”298 In other words, he referred to the danger of identification between audience members and immoral characters on the stage. As an example, Camargo discussed the negative consequences following the identification of the theatre-goer with a dishonest female character that cried and complained about a man who did not want to return

297 Dicteo’s lines are written in tenor clef. All other characters are written for female voices and in soprano clef.

298 Camargo, Discurso teológico, 127: “Y a cada uno según su sexo se figura, se finge, y se representa en aquellas torpes imagenes”

210 her “lascivious” love. He stated that while male viewers would identify with the male character, female viewers would identify with the dishonest female character.299 Other writers of the era, including Guerra y Ribera and the anonymous author of El buen zelo, discussed the possible adverse effects of watching a deity behave in a reprehensible manner in a staged drama. Specifically, they considered the consequences of the representation of the myth of Jupiter and Danaë.300 Those who opposed the theatre believed that Jupiter’s indecent conduct towards Danaë would lead young men in the audience to believe that they, too, could behave in such a manner. Yet, while most writers on the theatre discussed this specific myth, they did not refer to contemporary Spanish plays on the subject, in which women would have played the role of Jupiter (e.g., El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor). Rather, they were citing views on the theatre espoused by the highly influential Christian theologian and philosopher, Saint Augustine (AD. 354-430).301

Conservative Spanish theologians, in particular, were greatly influenced by Saint

Augustine, whose negative opinion of the theatre they shared. Their writings, as well as those by the supporters of the theatre, reveal that Spanish theologians were—to a greater or a lesser degree—concerned that the viewer may identify with the lower emotions experienced by a character, such as Jupiter. This example, as well as Camargo’s discussed above, suggests that the identification only took place between viewers and characters of the same gender.

299 Ibid, 127-28.

300 Guerra y Ribera, “Aprobación,” p. 15 and 19, and El buen zelo, 36. 301 Saint Augustine believed that the representation of lower emotions (e.g. grief, sexual love) in the theatre should be avoided as it would have a dangerous effect on the viewers. In his Confessions, he described his impression after watching a staged drama in his youth. Specifically, he referred to the negative effect of watching in his youth the myth of Jupiter and Danaë, who is impregnated by the lustful deity in the form of a golden shower. For a discussion of Saint Augustine’s views on theatre, see Simo Knuttilla, Emotions in Ancient and Medieval Philosophy (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 165-67.

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In the following pages, I suggest that while women may not have identified with weeping male characters due to the character’s gender, male theatre-goers may well have identified with the lamenting male character. Yet, female performers in these roles helped mitigate the negative aspect of this type of performance, particularly the dangerous overtones effeminacy.

The female audience: The mujer varonil vis-à-vis the lamenting (fe)male in the zarzuela

By the late seventeenth century, female theatregoers were well acquainted with the practice of female to male cross-dressing in Spanish theatre, particularly, in the genre of the comedia where cross-dressing is an important part of the plot device. Melveena McKendrick suggests that, to a woman who enjoyed the privilege of attending one of these plays, watching another woman perform a male role was as appealing as it was cathartic. As she argues in her seminal study of the mujer varonil—a term used among Hispanists to describe the woman that transgresses social norms, including the woman who wears masculine dress—female to male cross-dressing provided female spectators with

the pleasure of vicarious freedom and adventure. Through her, for an hour or two, they became brave, daring, resourceful; they met men on their own ground, competed as equals, and often beat them at their own game. They could, under the guise of masculinity, extort the admiration and respect of men, then with a flourish reveal their sex and earn even greater respect and admiration. […] the woman theatre-goer could identify herself with the spirited woman she was watching on stage, and this alone would be sufficient to explain the fascination the mujer varonil held for the woman in the audience. She represented a form of female catharsis.302

According to McKendrick, the mujer varonil deviated from normative or socially accepted female behaviour. Rather than accept her subordinated position within the patriarchal gender hierarchy of the day, this defiant and unruly woman challenged

302 McKendrick, Woman and Society in the Spanish Drama of the Golden Age, 320.

212 conventions and transgressed social norms. Her main transgression lay in the fact that she now had voice and agency. Usurping male authority, she articulated thoughts and experiences emotions that were reserved to men. As McKendrick suggests, the female theatregoer identified with both the character and the gender of the mujer varonil, and from this identification derived her excitement. Through empathizing with this strong and rebellious female figure in the comedia, the female viewer experienced a world that was denied to her.

Despite focusing on the mujer varonil within the Spanish comedia while overlooking the mythological plays, McKendrick’s insight into the female reception of the mujer varonil in the comedia serves an invaluable point of departure to further our understanding of cross- dressing both as a object of fascination and as the subject of a theatrical practice.

McKendrick’s mujer varonil was conceived for a first or second lady (primera or segunda dama) specializing in this kind of role; her dialogues were not sung but spoken, and at some point in the play, her true female identity would invariably be revealed. The woman dressed as a male character in the mythological zarzuela, on the other hand, does not fit the characteristics of McKendrick’s mujer varonil: she is most often a tercera dama; she sings most, if not all, of her lines, and her true female identity is never revealed at the end of the play. And here lies the main distinction between the zarzuela and the comedia with regards to cross-dressing: in the comedia the actress is pretending to be a man within the play; in the zarzuela she is playing the part of a man from beginning to end.

This significant difference between these two types of trouser roles may have altered the way in which the female viewer perceived the cross-dressing phenomenon in the mythological theatre. While she may have identified with both the gender of the performer and of the character of the mujer varonil, as McKendrick suggests, she might not have empathized with the lamenting (fe)male in the zarzuela. The gender of the performer was the

213 same as the female viewer’s, yet the character’s was not. Indeed, seventeenth-century sources suggest that the identification only took place between viewers and characters of the same sex. Quite possibly, the male character’s gender drew a wedge between the lamenting lover and female audience members, and so, women in the audience were unable to fully experience—through the phenomenon of identification—the character’s doings and emotions.

The male audience: Control over the lamenting (fe)male

The first and most evident attraction for male onlookers may have been the erotic pleasure derived from viewing parts of the female body that were normally hidden from sight. Quite possibly, the male costumes of lovesick deities (Jupiter) and mortals (Timantes,

Argelao, and Joante) would have revealed parts of the female anatomy normally hidden from sight. The lamenting male characters in these works would probably have worn an outfit similar to that depicted in Figure 1 (Mercury) or Figure 2 (a galán). In this attire, the actress may have revealed the contour of her legs and her ankles, thus arousing excitement among the male audience. This collective excitement surely exacerbated the complaints of theatre detractors such as Ignacio Camargo who, in this treatise of 1689, publicly condemned female performers who dressed as men provoking lust:

And what is frequently used in comedias, and is greatly immodest, is women dressed as men which is a bad thing, as the Angelic Doctor [Thomas Aquinas] teaches [us], and which also provokes lust [...] For what is more indecent and more provocative than seeing a woman like this—who was on the stage first as a beautiful woman, groomed and affected—suddenly enter dressed as a graceful and a gallant man, offering to the male gaze her body, which nature intended to 303 be kept away from view?

303 Full quotation: “Y lo que es cosa muy usada en las comedias, & no menos inmodesta, las mujeres se visten de hombres, lo cual (…) es cosa de suyo mala, como enseña el Doctor Angélico, y que provoca a lascivia […] Que cosa mas torpe, y provocativa, que ver a una mujer de esta cualidad, que estaba ahora en el tablado, dama hermosa, afeitada, y afectada, salir dentro de un instante vestida de galán airoso, ofreciendo al registro de

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Aside from entertaining and providing a spectacle to the naked eye, these roles carried multiple layers of meaning for the male audience, two of which are interconnected and which, I believe, prevail over all other layers: they signified male anxiety and paradoxically, they also provided relief. Quite likely, male audience members identified with the male character on the stage, but the performer’s gender helped mitigate the negative aspect of this type of tearful performance.

Over and over again, with every lamenting male lover, the male spectator would watch a “peer” lose his masculine attributes as he succumbed to the passion of love and began experiencing great suffering. He would witness the frightening transformation of a character, who devoid of his manliness, began to exhibit womanish behaviour and characteristics, such as weakness, irrationality, excess of emotion, and passivity. This character, in addition, would sing laments laden with musical devices and sounds that were associated with extreme passion as well as with effeminacy, including those discussed in the laments above: chromaticism, sudden flat notes, descending melodic lines, and so forth. The male spectator was constantly reminded, whether he was aware of it or not, of his responsibility to maintain his position within society. By showing him the fragility of his own gender and by dismantling constructions of normative masculinity, the lamenting male encouraged the male viewer to obey the precepts of manliness.

The obsessive recurrence of this unwanted, despised yet also feared type of character in these texts denotes the extent of the underlying anxiety felt by men at the time. This

los ojos de tantos hombres todo el cuerpo, que la naturaleza misma, quiso que estuviese siempre casi todo retirado de la vista?” See Camargo, Discurso teologico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo, 90-91.

215 anxiety, produced for the most part by the pressures of a patriarchal society where masculinity was defined in relation to effeminacy and femininity, was more than likely exacerbated by the socio-political turmoil that defined this critical era in the history of Spain.

For the main recipient of the work, the male spectator (particularly those belonging to higher social classes), the tension and the anxiety began to be experienced only when and if the spectator identified with the character on the stage. Conversely, by identifying with the male lover, the male spectator could also experience a much-wanted relief from societal pressures.

As Kenneth MacKinnon suggests in his study on gender, spectacles, and spectatorship,

“perhaps the appeal to men of the sensitive outsider [...] is that he permit[ted] them a fantasy escape from patriarchal roles.”304 Thus, if only for a few hours, the male spectator could enjoy a moment of fictitious freedom where he was allowed to drop his guard. But whichever way the male onlooker chose to identify with his lamenting “peer” on the stage—whether he saw this figure as a threatening reminder of his own vulnerability or as an opportunity to evade his reality—he was, nevertheless, safe and reassured of his own masculinity because a woman—and not a man—played the part of the suffering lover. The female body was a constant reminder of the illusion.

By externalizing the anxiety, and perhaps more importantly, by projecting the fear of feminization unto the female body, males (the creators of these zarzuelas and their recipients alike) regained a sense of mastery over their own masculinity, as well as over the female gender. The traditionally male discursive practice of melancholy and lovesickness was transferred to female performers playing lamenting male characters so that—when the weakness or the effeminacy of the character reflected back at the male audience—it would do

304 Kenneth MacKinnon, Love, Tears, and the Male Spectator (Madison: [N.J]: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2002), 53.

216 so from a safe and unthreatening distance. Moreover, the use of the female body to provide separation between the character and the male viewer symbolized the extent of male control over the female performer as well as its gender.

* * *

As I have shown through my analysis of the laments that encompass the bulk of this chapter, the figure of the suffering male lover, recurrent in medieval and early modern

Spanish literary texts, became a stock character in the mythological zarzuela from the turn of the eighteenth century. Known by everyone in the audience, this character came to be expected. It is precisely because a woman performed this type of role that the figure of the lamenting male achieved a status of privilege within the zarzuela and gained wide acceptance. Neither the lamento nor the lamenting male would have proliferated in Spain had a man been performing this type of role. These roles were received favourably because they were reserved for women, specifically, for only a handful of terceras damas. The audience would have come to expect, and perhaps even highly anticipate, these performances from third ladies such as Manuela de Labaña, Manuela de la Cueva, Teresa de Robles or Paula

María. In short, the acceptance depended greatly upon the fact that the representation of suffering love and lovesickness was both circumscribed and controlled and that, without fail, the dying lover would ultimately be reinstated to his privileged position within the gender and social hierarchy of the day. In these plays, the male lover normally regains reason and thus recognition or a reward (e.g., the hand of his beloved), while the beautiful yet “cruel” and “treacherous” female beloved is forced to accept a fate determined by men.

Within this overarching male discourse in which women were either perfect or perfidious, and in which they were held responsible for men’s destruction, it is not surprising

217 that women are rarely given a chance to defend their position or to voice their tribulations.

Fortunately, there are a few exceptions. In the next chapter, I will turn my attention to the representation of the suffering of women and to the female lament.

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Chapter 4 The Beloved’s Lament: Female Chastity, Beauty, and Jealousy

“Let women be silent, for when she speaks, more than devotion, she provokes lust in herself and in others.”305 4 Introduction

The presence of female actors in seventeenth-century Spanish theatre generated intense moral controversy, particularly with respect to the status of women vis-à-vis their male counterparts. Two issues repeatedly addressed in the writings of all the detractors of the theatre concerned the role of women in society and their inherent capacity to corrupt and destroy males. Perpetuating the deeply ingrained notion that women’s bodies and voices could pervert men, Jesuit priest Ignacio de Camargo urged the male readers of his Discurso

Teológico (1698) to turn their eyes and ears away from all beautiful women, including maids, female dancers, and even virtuous ladies.306 A woman’s beauty, he argued, posed great danger due to its ability to ignite the fire of lust in the hearts of men. A woman’s voice, as the above quotation indicates, could “provoke lust in herself and in others,” even when speaking of “devout” or “saintly things” (cosas santas y devotas). Thus, women should neither participate in public activities nor speak in front of men. Chaste, silent, and out of sight, virtuous women should be confined to a private and quiet existence.307

305 “Calle (la mujer) porque cuando habla, mas que a devoción, provoca a lujuria a sí, y a los otros.” Camargo, Discurso teólogico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo, 78. Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Camargo’s Discurso Teologico are mine.

306 “No mires a la mujer voluntariosa, y inconstante: no sea que caigas en sus lazos. No asistas a la mujer danzadora, no la oigas: no sea que perezcas en su eficacia. No mires a la doncella, porque no tropieces, y caigas en su hermosura. Aparta tu semblante de la mujer compuesta, y aliñada, y no mires curiosamente la hermosura ajena: muchos han padecido por la hermosura de la mujer: y de esto arde, como fuego, la concupiciencia.” Ibid., 77.

307 Camargo’s views on women’s position in society echoes, in many ways, two influential works regarding the subject that appeared in sixteenth-century Spain: Juan Luis Vives’ De institutione feminae

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Despite the disapproval of conservative observers such as Camargo, women continued to perform on the public stage not only because the state had authorized them to do so, but also because female performers guaranteed large audiences and revenue. Playwrights and theatre directors—all predominantly male—tailored their works for a largely male audience that awaited with great anticipation the sight of a female performer, yet expected a sense of moral conduct in the play.308 Codes of moral conduct abound in seventeenth-century

Spanish theatre, particularly in the comedia and in courtly dramas with music. Reflecting patriarchal values of the time, female honour became a recurrent theme in Spanish plays. In this male literary tradition, women were strongly encouraged to obey precepts established by men in order to preserve their place in society. Whereas a female character was allowed to

christianae (1523) and Luis de León’s La perfecta casada (1583). León, for example, advised the reader that “the good wife must make up her mind that she is to walk about in her own house […] and because she is always to be present at home, for that reason she is never to walk abroad,” while Vives stressed the importance of conduct and virtue, stating that “in a woman, no one look[ed] for eloquence, great demonstrations of skill or ingenuity […] and that only one thing [was] required of her, and that [was] her chastity.” Quoted in Hernández- Pecoraro, Bucolic Metaphors, p. 62, and Donnell, Feminizing the enemy, p. 59, respectively. An excellent discussion on women’s position in the patriarchal societies that ruled from antiquity through the early modern period is provided in Margaret L. King and Albert Rabil Jr., “The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: Introduction to the series” in María de Guevara, Warnings to the Kings and advice on restoring Spain, edited and translated by Nieves Romero-Díaz (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), ix-xxvii; also in Cissie Fairchilds’ Women in Early Modern Europe, 1500-1700 (London: Pearson Education, 2007), particularly Part II, “Women and the Family,” in which the author discusses the categories according to which contemporaries defined women in early modern Europe; and in Constance Jordan’s Renaissance Feminism: Literary Text and Political Models (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), especially Chapter 1, “The terms of the debate,” in which the author provides background information regarding “the use of Scriptural authority to justify man’s authority and power over women” pertinent to Camargo’s discussion. Jordan provides as an example of Scriptural authority I Timothy 2:12-14: “I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence”, 25. (emphasis mine)

308 This is true for all genres with the exception of carnavalesque genres that celebrated the reversal of order.

220 briefly contravene deep-rooted rules of social order, at the end of the play she had to assume her subordinated role in the hierarchy of gender.309 In a sense, she was silenced.

Towards the end of the seventeenth century, the dominant male literary tradition—as one of the central venues for the expression of society’s attitudes towards gender—remained largely unchanged in Spanish theatre. This was so despite the rather recent emergence of female writers—such as María de Zayas (1590-1661)—who responded to the ruling literary voices. Challenging the exercise of discursive violence against women, Zayas objected to a well-established literary convention: plots ending with marriage, which according to Patsy

Boyer, represented to a male audience “a celebration of masculine triumph”, “the male conquest of the female (otherwise called ‘social order restored’)” or, in other words, “the happily ever after.”310 Zayas defied the societal male notion of marriage symbolizing one of two happy resolutions for virtuous women (the other being entering a convent), and systematically rejected this type of ending in her novellas.311 Yet despite the success of

Zayas’ novellas, which included alternative endings for their female characters, the dominant

309 An example unruly behaviour by females in the comedia is the mujer vestida de hombre (the women dressed as a man). In these plays, the female protagonist defies social and gender roles but only momentarily, as she reveals her true gender at the end of the play, thus conforming to patriarchal precepts. Lola González lists several comedias of this type—including Amor, ingenio y mujer, Afectos de odio y amor, and La hija del aire— in “La mujer vestida de hombre,” 910.

310 H. Patsy Boyer, “Introduction” in María de Zayas’s The Enchantments of Love: Amorous and Exemplary Novels, transl. by H. Patsy Boyer (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), xxv.

311 As Alicia Yllera explains “María de Zayas quiebra la convención de la novela breve española, rehuyendo sistemáticamente el final feliz en boda, sobre todo en la segunda parte.” See “Introducción” in María de Zayas, Parte segunda del sarao y entretenimiento honesto [Desengaños amorosos] ed. Alicia Yllera, sixth edition. (Madrid: Cátedra, 2006), 19 and also 45. Marriages, as well as convents, were—from the male perspective—the only two reasonable alternatives available to virtuous women, especially when questions had been raised regarding their honour. In order to maintain a respectful position in society, women would accept (either willingly or unwillingly) one of these two conditions.

221 literary tradition remained unaltered, as exemplified in the zarzuela.312 In this pastoral/mythological genre dominated by male playwrights, two similar alternatives continued to be offered to female characters. Women must either submit to their suitors’ advances by agreeing to marriage or by succumbing to their lust or renounce their female body. Through the process of metamorphosis, women may then be turned into a type of vegetation or a monster. Rarely does the libretto of a zarzuela create the opportunity for a female character to express her pain. More frequently than not, female characters remain silent while another character steps into the spotlight and sings about suffering love. In these plays, the suffering of the female protagonist tends to be overshadowed by another character.

Within this overarching cultural tradition of silencing women in their real lives as well as in their fictional ones, there are few zarzuelas in which women are allowed to participate in the traditionally male discursive practice of suffering love. When they do, their laments do not entirely escape the traditionally established male dominance over the female voice. Most often, a female character in a zarzuela will blame her suffering on herself or on a female counterpart, but rarely on a male character. In these works female beauty and jealousy, rather than male cruelty, are responsible for the suffering of women, and as such, they form the basis of the beloved’s lament.

* * *

In this chapter I identify three extant zarzuelas from the beginning of the eighteenth century that include female laments: Hasta lo insensible adora (1704), Apolo y Dafne (1701-

04), and Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705). As there are no literary or musicological

312 Boyer explains “Zayas’ novellas became instant best sellers in Spain and remained so for two hundred years, rivalled only by Cervantes’ novellas in popularity.” See “Introduction,” xii.

222 studies of these works or their laments, which form an intriguing exception to the traditional emphasis on male suffering in the zarzuela of the period,313 I provide a reading of these three works that builds on my discussion of male laments in Chapters 2 and 3 of this dissertation.

Here, I aim to answer the following question: if males traditionally dominated the discourse of amorous suffering as exemplified in the zarzuela of the period 1696-1718, and if female silence signalled chastity, then why do women voice their pain in laments in these three works?314 The answer to this question lies in the recipient to whom these laments were addressed.

To a greater or lesser extent, the mythological zarzuelas that include these female laments were most likely intended for a female recipient at court: the queen consort.

Strategically placed within pastoral works that provided a source of entertainment while mimicking reality, these laments carried implicit pedagogical values that were meant to strengthen notions of female virtue and conduct. As Wendy Heller notes regarding seventeenth-century Venetian opera, female laments “provided the ideal opportunity for […] reinforcing appropriate models for female behaviour.”315 According to Venetian operatic conventions, as Heller suggests, laments were reserved for virtuous women; licentious

313 Two valuable secondary sources that discuss primary sources pertaining to these zarzuelas are Louise Stein’s article “Un manuscripto de música teatral reaparecido: “Veneno es de amor la envidia” Revista de musicologia, Vol. 5, no. 2 (julio-diciembre 1982): 225-233, in which the author announces the recently discovered manuscript of Veneno es de amor la envidia and provides a description of both the manuscript and the sections in the work; and Begoña Lolo Herranz’ article “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V durante la Guerra de la Sucesión” in which the author reveals newly discovered primary sources, including theatre records, pertaining to the premiere of Hasta lo insensible adora. See pp. 172 and 180.

314 Ann Rosalind Jones discusses the ideological pressures that limited women’s actions and behaviour in early modern Europe in The Currency of Eros: Women’s Love Lyric in Europe, 1540-1620 (Bloomington, IN: 1990), particulary in her section on marriage manuals, pps. 20-28.

315 Wendy Beth Heller, “Chastity, Heroism, and Allure: Women in the Opera of Seventeenth-Century Venice” Ph.D. dissertation (Brandeis University, 1995), 301.

223 women, in contrast, did not lament.316 Similar conventions are revealed by my analysis of the three zarzuelas referred to above. In Apolo y Daphne, which features two male laments considered in Chapters 2 and 3, Daphne’s lament serves to highlight the virtuous nature of the heroine while stressing the importance of female chastity. Hasta lo insensible adora

(1704), and Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705), in contrast, include a female lament arising from jealousy. In themselves, the two laments do not reveal much about female virtue.

Yet, when the mythological zarzuela is understood as a type of theatre in which fictional characters mirror real-life beings (the king, the Spanish nobility, etc.), as I have argued, then it becomes clear that female laments, like their male counterparts, acted as vehicles for moral discourse. Here, the two laments derived from jealousy were likely intended as a reminder that female virtue should be preserved by controlling extreme jealousy, a passion that, indeed, is linked to female nature in most Spanish staged dramas of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.

In this chapter I add to, and expand upon, previous readings on the theme of jealousy in Spanish theatre, specifically, Stein’s interpretation of this issue in Calderón de la Barca’s opera del aire matan (Jealousy, even of the air, can kill, 1661). Based on the myth of Procris and Cephalus, Celos aun del aire matan was one of two operas produced to celebrate the

Peace of the Pyrenees and the marriage of the Spanish Infanta to Louis XIV of France.317

316 In her dissertation, Heller argues that during the forty-year period in which seventeenth-century Venetian operatic conventions hardened, “librettists and composers transformed the women of legend and history into more acceptable models of female behaviour, suppressing the rhetorical prowess of their most volatile and threatening heroines, and reserving musical eloquence for the lamenting, virtuous women.” See ix. Heller expands on her research on this topic in Emblems of Eloquence: Opera and Women’s Voices in Seventeenth-Century Venice” (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

317 In her study on these two operas, Stein identifies several layers of meaning in Calderón’s works. The first opera of the pair, La púrpura de la rosa (The blood of the rose), is based on the myth of Venus and Adonis. Here, Stein suggests that the work may have been intended to warn Louis XIV of the dangers of the hunt and spousal neglect, as the character Adonis, who represents the French King, dies because he leaves his

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Stein rightly observes that this work may have been intended to warn the new bride of the dangers of jealousy. What the audience witnessed was enough to instil fear in any female spectator: A woman (Procris) hides in the woods to spy on her husband (Cephalus), as she mistakenly believes him to be with another woman, but she is shot to death by her husband who mistakes her silhouette behind the bushes for that of a wild animal. Taking into account the groom’s philandering nature, this interpretation of the myth seems all the more plausible, especially since the first of Louis XIV’s string of illicit affairs during his marriage to the

Infanta began shortly after the wedding.318

While infidelity was not an issue in María Luisa Gabriela de Saboya’s marriage to

Philip V (nor in Mariana de Neuburgo’s marriage to Charles II for that matter), the theme of jealousy in the courtly zarzuela, nonetheless, served as a reminder of the dangers of spousal distrust while reinforcing notions of female virtue and behaviour.319 I would argue that the same implicit warnings regarding excessive jealousy intended for the Spanish Infanta in 1661 continued to appear in other staged dramas, including Hasta lo insensible adora (1704) and

Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705); only these were now meant for, and dedicated to, the queen consort.

wife to go hunting. Aside from the fact that Louis XIV enjoyed hunting, Stein argues that the “association between Adonis and the Sun King is confirmed […] by the explanation of the story given by Pérez de Moya, the most widely read of the Spanish mythographers.” She explains that Pérez de Moya’s mythological manual “states that ‘Adonis is meant to represent the Sun, the most lustrous and beautiful of celestial bodies.’” Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods, 216.

318 Ibid., 224-25.

319 As Kamen notes, Philip V not only loved his wife deeply, but he also deepened on her in moments of great depression. See Philip V: The king that reigned twice, 105-06 and 121-22. Charles II, in contrast, seems to have suffered from impotence, making infidelity on his part highly unlikely. See Chapter 2, section 2.2.1.

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In order to better understand the significance of these three laments, I contextualize the three zarzuelas in which they appear as a distinct category within the group of extant works in the genre analyzed thus far. I begin by discussing zarzuelas in which female characters are traditionally silenced in three distinct ways: first, by concluding with the marriage of female mortal characters to men of the nobility regardless of whether or not these women love their suitors (Filida in El impossible mayor en amor le vence amor and Astrea in

Las nuevas armas de amor), second, by transforming female semi-deities into a tree, plant, or monster (Daphne and Clythie in Apolo y Dafne and Hasta lo insensible adora, respectively, or Scylla in Veneno es de amor la envidia) or by depriving them of any form of existence

(Semele in Júpiter y Semele), and third, by either disregarding their pain (Danaë in El imposible mayor en amor) or by reassigning their suffering to another character. Whereas in some cases, the female protagonist remains silent while a secondary female character, usually a maid, voices her sadness (Selva encantada de amor), in other cases, a male character usurps her right to lament by emblazoning his own pain in a sorrowful song (Jupiter in Júpiter y

Semele) thus confirming my views that male characters continue to dominate the discourse of suffering in the late mythological zarzuela. While male characters lament in eight out of the nine zarzuelas discussed throughout this dissertation, female characters lament in only three

(Table 3).

Following this examination, I analyze the three unusual female laments that appear during this period. Reflecting social values and literary conventions of the time, as well as reinforcing male-authored literary conventions, these zarzuelas convey lessons for female conduct and virtue.

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Table 3 Lamenting characters that appear in the zarzuelas examined in this dissertation. Special emphasis placed on the female lament.

Chapters Title First jornada Second jornada Female Suffering

2 Salir el amor del Cupid Cupid n/a mundo

2-4 Apolo y Dafne Cupid Joante Daphne Daphne’s lament: Transformation (Chastity)

3 Selva encantada de Timantes Argelao Armida: Deprived of a lament. Her amor maid sings for her.

3 El imposible mayor en Jupiter Jupiter Danae: Deprived of a lament. amor… 2-3 Las nuevas armas de Cupid Jupiter Astrea: Deprived of a lament. amor

4 Jupiter y Semele Jupiter Jupiter Semele: Deprived of a lament.

4 Veneno es de amor la -- Scylla Scylla’s lament: Transformation envidia (Jealousy and Beauty)

4 Hasta lo insensible Clythie Leucothoë Clythie’s lament: Leucothoë adora Jealousy Deprived of a lament. 5 Acis y Galatea Acis Acis Galatea: Deprived of a lament.

4.1 Silenced Voices

In the mythological zarzuela, male characters conspicuously, and repeatedly, steal the spotlight, specifically where lamenting is concerned. As Sanda Munjic so elegantly puts it, male characters monopolize the “symbolic capital of suffering love”, and in so doing, they exercise power over female characters and over the female gender.320 While Munjic’s refers to late medieval and early modern Spanish literature, her reading may also be applied to the mythological zarzuela, for its study reveals the same imbalance of power between the male lover and his beloved. Indeed, all female characters are stripped of power in the zarzuela.

320 See “Introduction” in Sanda Munjic’s My Sweet Enemy: The Politics of Amorous Suffering in late Medieval and Early Modern Spanish Literature, forthcoming with the University of Toronto Press, 1-24. I am grateful to Sanda Munjic for sharing with me this unpublished manuscript.

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In these mythological dramas, women’s actions are subordinated to patriarchal societal rules and expectations, which privilege masculine domination. Mirroring patriarchal values of the time, female characters must preserve their honour at all cost. They must also obey their fathers as well as their husbands; and while they are allowed to speak, they must do so in moderation, as excess of speech may lead to doubts about their chastity. In these zarzuelas, women obey patriarchal figures and marry for the sake of guaranteeing or preserving peace, prosperity, and the continuation of the lineage. Such is the case of the secondary character Filida (Danaë’s cousin) in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor. In this work, Prince Lisidante marries Filida (his second choice after Danaë) because the marriage will ensure a peaceful bond between his realm and that of Filida’s uncle, King

Acarius. The fact that Filida feels affection for Lisidante is both insignificant and purely coincidental. Yet, Filida’s fate is far happier than that of her cousin. Danaë must remain silent while her fate is decided by two male characters: first, her father locks her up in a tower, and then Jupiter takes her away from the tower by force while also raping her (the rape is implied in the text, as noted in Chapter 3). Likewise, Astrea in Las nuevas armas de amor is forced to accept a man against her will, albeit in a less violent manner. Cupid shoots Astrea with an arrow of disdain that makes her despise her beloved, Jupiter, and later gives her hand in matrimony to Prince Anteo. At no point is she allowed either to challenge Cupid’s decision or to mourn her fate. So while the prince is delighted, Astrea is baffled:

Cupido: Anteo, Principe de Egnido, Cupid: May Anteo, Prince of Egnido logre la mano de Astrea be given the hand of Astrea in matrimony Anteo: Noble suerte. Anteo: Noble luck. Astrea: Extraña dicha.321 Astrea: Strange bliss.

321 Cañizares, Las nuevas armas de amor, 44.

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While women’s voices are generally suppressed in these zarzuelas, a female character’s expression of sorrow may sometimes be transferred to a female counterpart. A convention in Spanish theatre, a lovelorn noble woman may ask a maid or a servant to sing for her.322 In this way, she is entertained with music while she redirects suppressed feelings to a confidant. A sort of complicity between the lady and her maid is established, as the maid becomes the medium through which her mistress projects unspoken emotions. This convention appears in Selva encantada de amor. While Arminda’s two male suitors, Argelao and Timantes, are allowed to vocalize their suffering in amorous laments, Arminda must withhold her feelings. Arminda complies with the patriarchal rules that impose silence upon her and asks her maid, Laureta, to ease her pain by singing a song about impious love:

Arminda: Laureta Arminda: Laureta Laureta: Señora mia Laureta: Madam Arminda: Para divertir mi mal Arminda: To amuse my troubles repite con voz suave repeat softly la letra que explica de amor la impiedad, the poem that speaks of love’s ungodliness, y canta, por si este oculto and sing, so that this hidden esquivo tirano afán [and] elusive tyrant yearning se alivia.323 will be eased.

In every zarzuela discussed thus far, male characters exercise power over their female counterparts by setting rules of behaviour and by voicing their own suffering while females remain silent. Female characters are not usually allowed to voice their pain. This occurs regardless of whether the female role is sung or spoken. Unlike the roles of Danaë, Astrea,

322 This convention is found in several staged mythological dramas including Llamosas’ three-act comedia, Destinos vencen finezas (introduced in Chapter 3) in which Dido asks her maid to sing for her and also in Acis y Galatea (considered in Chapter 5), where Tisbe sings for her lovelorn mistress, Doris.

323 Excerpt taken from Ángulo Díaz and Pons Seguí’s transcription in Sebastián Durón, Selva encantada de amor, 53. All translations of this source are mine.

229 and Filida, which are entirely spoken, Arminda’s is entirely sung, yet she does not sing a lament. Silenced and deprived of agency, Arminda is portrayed as a cruel and heartless woman who victimizes her two suitors, and so her emotions are relegated to second place.

Her two mortal suitors, Timantes and Argelao, in contrast, monopolize the symbolic capital of suffering love with their respective amorous laments.324 Indeed, these two lamenting characters embody the trend in staged mythological dramas of the period that allots the symbolic power of suffering love to men. Likewise, this tendency is emphasized to an extreme in José de Cañizares and Antonio de Literes’ zarzuela Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en la fineza (1718).

4.1.1 The Appropriation of Female Suffering

Júpiter y Semele o El Estrago en la fineza premiered at the Teatro de la Cruz, where it was scheduled to run for fourteen days, between the 9th and the 23rd of May 1718.325

324 I borrow Sanda Munjic’s brilliant phrase, which she uses to describe the implications in the position of the suffering male in early modern Spanish amorous literature. I believe, like Munjic, that male characters in these works appropriate the pain in amorous relationships in order to exert control and domination over females. See Introduction to My Sweet Enemy, 1-24.

325 The theatre records indicate that there was no performance on the 16 of May due to the celebrations of the Virgen de la Novena, patron of the Spanish actors: “en el dia 16 no hubo comedia porque hicieron su fiesta de la Novena.” (AVM 1-3791-1). Clearly, this would have been anticipated and taken into account when scheduling the production. Two unexpected events, however, cut the production short: the birth of the Infanta María Ana and the illness of first lady Sabina Pascual, who played the spoken role of Semele. As a result, the zarzuela played for nine days only: “ En el dia 12, y 13, y 14 no hubo comedia por las fiestas que se hicieron al nacimiento de la Infant Da María Ana que Dios guarde muchos años” (11 de marzo) and “… en el dia 17 y 18 no hubo comedia por estar mala Sabina Pascual, primera dama” (15 de marzo) (AVM 1-3791-1). Thus it is not surprising then that a few months later Júpiter y Semele was performed again, this time at the Teatro del Príncipe. While five performances had been called off in May, none were cancelled in November. The zarzuela ran for fourteen consecutive days, from the 3rd to the 16th of November 1718. Unfortunately, nothing is known about the tercera dama that played the role of the lamenting deity, Jupiter. Among the emerging third and fourth ladies specializing in sung roles were a relatively unknown singer, Francisca de Borja (d. 1720), and Manuela de Labaña’s daughter, Francisca de Castro, who went on to become one of the best singers of her time. As Francisca de Castro seems to have specialized in male roles—she sang the leading roles of Aníbal in Las amazonas de España (1720), Medoro in Angélica y Medoro (1722), and Teseo in La hazaña mayor de Alzides (1723)— it is possible that she may have sung the role of Jupiter in Cañizares’ zarzuela. For more on Francisca de Castro and the roles she performed, see Document number 32. 1720 (j). Sobre la representacion de Las amazonas de España a SS.MM. (22 de abril), in López Alemany and Varey. Fuentes para la Historia del Teatro

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Cañizares adapted the myth of Jupiter and Semele for the theatre by omitting certain aspects of the story and by adding new characters to the story. In Ovid's account —as well as in

Balthasar de Victoria’s influential mythological manual—Jupiter is a lustful deity who seduces and impregnates the beautiful princess Semele.326 His jealous wife, Juno, vows to destroy Semele as well as the unborn baby. Juno appears disguised as one of Semele’s closest ladies-in-waiting and tricks Semele into believing that her lover is merely a mortal man pretending to be a deity. She then tells Semele that if she wants to be sure of Jupiter’s identity, she must make him swear to shed his mortal disguise and to reveal himself to her in all his godly splendour. Semele follows Juno’s advice and, after making Jupiter swear that he will grant her anything she asks, she makes her request. Jupiter is horrified but is unable to retract his vow. As he appears to Semele in all his splendour, his luminous rays burn her alive. Jupiter then takes the unborn child from her womb and plants it in his thigh so that the child will continue to live until fully formed. A few months later, a son is born.327

The disturbing aspect of the taking of the unborn child out of Semele’s dead body in the myth is omitted in Cañizares’ libretto. In addition, the storyline is slightly altered so that the text may include stock characters of the Spanish comedia: mortals, which include serious characters of the nobility (galanes, damas), comical characters of lower social classes

en España, XXXII, El Teatro Palaciego en Madrid: 1707-1724. Estudios y Documentos (London : Tamesis, 2006), 111; Document number 42. 1722 (m). Sobre la representacion a SS.MM. de Angélica y Medoro (7 de abril), in Ibid., 173; and Document number 48. 1722-23 (l). Sobre la representaciones de La hazaña mayor de Alcides, in Ibid., 212. López Alemany and Varey provide the location for the original documents: Archivo de la Villa de Madrid (AVM), Secretaria, 2-68-2.

326 See Ovidio, Las transformaciones de Ovidio en lengua española (Anvers: En casa de Pedro Bellero, 1595), fol. 45v-46v and Chapter XXVI: “De Baco” in Balthasar de Victoria, Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad, Primera parte (Madrid, Imprenta Real, 1676), 178-79. 327 Semele’s and Jupiter’s son is Bacchus.

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(graciosos), and deities. These two changes are to be expected in any staged work on the subject: the first due to its indecorous imagery, the second owing to theatrical conventions.

Indeed, an earlier setting of the drama—Juan Bautista de Diamante’s court zarzuela Júpiter y

Semele (publ. 1670)—includes these same alterations.328 What Diamante does not incorporate in his text is a lament of any kind, since early mythological zarzuelas did not exploit the lament; in fact, they placed greater emphasis on the debate of reason versus passion.329 Diamante includes philosophical dialogues in his zarzuela and uses music to embellish the text rather than to add drama.330 Both Semele and Jupiter sing, yet neither one laments. In Cañizares and Literes’ zarzuela, in contrast, Semele neither sings nor laments.

Jupiter, on the other hand, sings not one but two laments.

Both lamentos appear in the second act: in the first one, Jupiter bids farewell to

Semele; in the second, he mourns her death. While the second lament may well be expected in a zarzuela of this period—a death certainly justifies an outburst of emotion—the first one is purposely added to underscore Jupiter’s suffering, and perhaps also to satisfy the audience’s taste for lamentos and instances of high drama. Here, Jupiter swears to grant

Semele anything she wishes but when she asks him to appear in his true god-like form, he becomes silent. Semele begs him to speak, and so Jupiter speaks of his despair and of her impeding death in a mournful recitative. In horror, Semele interrupts the deity to ask what he means, but Jupiter does not respond. He simply concludes his recitado stating that he no

328 Juan Bautista Diamante, “Jupiter y Semele, fiesta que se representó a sus magestades en la Zarzuela” in Comedias de F. Don Juan Bautista Diamante del abito de San Juan, prior y comendador de Moron (Madrid: Andres Garcia de la Iglesia, 1670).

329 Recall this traditional emphasis, which is articulated in the philosophical dialogue between Zéfiro and Silvio in Calderón’s El laurel de Apolo, discussed in Chapter 2. 330 See Juno and Venus’s philosophical dialogue on the passions of the soul in Ibid., 99.

232 longer has the heart to remain in her presence. Disregarding Semele’s fear and bewilderment,

Jupiter begins to sing his own farewell lament:

Adiós, dueño hermoso, Goodbye, my beautiful lord, adiós, que es forzoso goodbye, for it is imperative perder esos lazos, to lose the ties tus brazos me da; of your embrace; mas no quiero tus brazos, I do not want your embrace que a tal despedida since this farewell le aumentan la herida, only deepens the wound y ya sus dulzuras and the sweetness [of your embrace] le son embarazos. becomes a burden.

Cañizares’ text is comprised of nine lines in versos de arte menor (here, in lines of 6 and 7 syllables) that are thematically divided into two sections. In the first four lines of his lament, “Adiós, dueño hermoso,” Jupiter bids farewell to his beloved arguing that they must break off their relationship, and in lines five through nine, Jupiter refuses to accept Semele’s embrace stating that it would only deepen the wound caused by their parting. What is particularly striking about the text is the use of a masculine noun and a masculine adjective in the opening line. Jupiter speaks to his beloved using the noun and adjective, dueño hermoso

(beautiful lord), rather than a feminine alternative, dueña hermosa (beautiful mistress), which would be more appropriate to address his female beloved, Semele.331 The use of masculine, therefore, creates a sort of ambiguity regarding the object-addressee in Jupiter’s speech.332 It

331 The use of the masculine noun “dueño” can be traced to a literary convention dating back to medieval courtly love lyric. In The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition. 1936 (Reprint, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), Clive Staples Lewis explains that courty love “is a service of love closely modelled on the service which a feudal vassal owes to his lord. The lover is the lady’s ‘man’. He addresses her as midons, which etymologically represents not ‘my lady’ but ‘my lord.’ The whole attitude has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love,” page 3. While this convention is present in Jupiter’s lament, the use of the word “dueño,” I suggest, creates ambiguity regarding the object-adressee. Moreover, it reinforces notions of male dominance in the literature of love. 332 The analysis of this text is greatly inspired by a passage in Sanda Munjic’s My Sweet Enemy, in which the author cleverly analyzes the gender implications in Góngoras’s poem, “Muera, enemiga amada.” See “Introduction” to My Sweet Enemy.

233 almost seems as if Jupiter is addressing either his own masculine self or the emotion of love

(“amor” is a masculine noun in the Spanish language) rather than his female beloved. As a result, the attention of the listener shifts from the female victim/beloved to the suffering male lover, and Jupiter successfully monopolizes the symbolic capital of suffering love.

Jupiter’s “Adiós, dueño hermoso,” as well as his second lament “Semele mas ya murió,” is set as an aria da capo in ternary metre and in a minor key that is preceded by an emotional recitative.333 Rather than respect the poetic division in the aria da capo (section A: lines 1-4 and section B: lines 5-9), Literes slightly distorts the thematic unity in the text by including line 5 in the first section. He then proceeds to repeat this line almost to the point of exaggeration in order to heighten Jupiter’s despair. Consequently, section A—traditionally the most dramatic section in the da capo form—is considerably expanded. The affect of lament is further enhanced through the use of traditional musical devices associated with lamentos such as descending fifth sequences (mm. 14-28 and 29-32) and dissonances resulting from brief tonicizations (mm.36-39), passing tones or suspensions (m.32), which are also employed in Jupiter’s final lament. (Appendix 3.)334

Cañizares and Literes’s zarzuela Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en la fineza exemplifies a longstanding convention in the literature of suffering love that cast male lovers as victims within an amorous relationship while also privileging male laments over female suffering. In this work, Jupiter not only killed Semele, but he also overshadowed her pain

333 “Adios, dueño hermoso” is set as an aria da capo with obbligato oboe (and two violins) in the key of D minor. Jupiter’s second lament, “Semele, mas ya murió,” is an aria da capo in E minor. It is scored for voice, accompanied by two flutes and two violins. 334 As the focus of this chapter is the suffering of women—and not the suffering of males, which is amply discussed in Chapters 2 and 3—I circumscribe the discussion of Jupiter’s two laments. Rather than include musical examples in the body of the text, I provide a transcription of “Adiós, dueño hermoso” considered above in Appendix 3.

234 with his extravagant suffering. Yet, what the eighteenth-century audience witnessed was a tragic outcome that nonetheless conformed to Spaniards’ gender expectations. Assuming her subordinated role in the hierarchy of gender, Semele died a painful but quiet death.335

4.2 The Beloved’s Lament

Female amorous laments in the mythological zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century are not the norm, but the exception. Like Munjic, who examines the literary tradition of suffering love in early modern Hispanic texts, I would also argue that in the mythological zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century “the participation of female voices in the suffering love tradition hardly challenges men’s appropriation of the symbolic capital of suffering love.”336 The three female laments considered below—Daphne’s farewell song,

“Adiós, selvas, adiós,” Clythie’s lament, “Ay de mi, santos cielos,” and Scylla’s “Ondas, riscos”—owed much of their existence, I suggest, to their function as vehicles for female instruction.

Unlike the lamenting male, always performed by a woman en travesti in the zarzuela, weeping female characters were all played by different women in the theatre company. In fully-sung zarzuelas and in zarzuelas in which female characters speak and sing (e.g., Apolo y

Dafne and Veneno es de amor la envidia, respectively), the first lady of the company would likely have performed the leading female role (Daphne and Scylla, respectively), regardless of whether or not the role included a lament. In the more traditional zarzuelas that include both spoken and sung female roles, the first lady would have played the entirely spoken role,

335 Other staged dramas on the subject of Jupiter and Semele produced elsewhere in Europe, such as Handel’s Semele (1743), include a lament to be sung by Semele at the moment of her death. Semele’s lament is Handel’s work, “Ah, me! Too late I now repent,” reflects different theatrical conventions from those in Spain. 336 Munjic, “Introduction” in My Sweet Enemy, 24.

235 while the third lady would have performed the sung role of a female deity or nymph (e.g.,

Hasta lo insensible adora).

4.2.1 Performance History

On September 17, 1704, the queen consort María Luisa Gabriela de Saboya turned sixteen and, as was customary in the Spanish court, the royal birthday was celebrated with a play. For this occasion, Juan Bautista Chavarría’s company performed José de Cañizares and

Antonio Literes’337 zarzuela Hasta lo insensible adora. Chavarría’s three leading female performers— Teresa de Robles, María de Navas, and Manuela de la Cueva—played the roles of the three protagonists: the nymphs Clythie and Leucothoë, and the deity Apollo. While it is clear from a recently discovered court document that Manuela de la Cueva performed the role of Apollo, the same document simply states that Teresa de Robles and María de Navas appeared as “nymphs.”338 Taking into account the bibliographical information on these performers provided throughout this study, it can be assumed that the third lady Teresa de

Robles, who was highly acclaimed for her vocal skills, performed the role of Clythie, which is partly spoken, partly sung and which includes a sung lament. Thus, the role of Leucothoë,

337 It is also possible that Sebastián Durón may have written the music for Hasta lo insensible adora. For a discussion of the authorship of this zarzuela, see Appendix 2: Description of Sources. 338 This document, recently discovered by Begoña Lolo Herranz, lists the names of the performers in this production. It tells us that 1) Theresa de Robles and María de Navas appeared as nymphs, 2) Manuela de la Cueva appeared “dressed as Apollo,” 3) Ysabel de Castro appeared “dressed as Diana,” and 4) X Beatriz Rodriguez and Ana Ypolita appeared as nymphs. The order in which the performers are introduced reflects their status within the theatre company as well as indicating the primary and secondary roles in the play. See document 4 “Lista de las fiestas de la compañía de Juan Bautista Chavarría” in Lolo Herranz “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V durante la Guerra de la Sucesión, entre 1703-1707,” 181. Lolo Herranz’s invaluable discovery of documentation pertaining to court productions during the early years of the war has shed light on an obscure period in the history of Spanish theatre.

236 which is entirely spoken, would have been assigned to the first lady, María de Navas.339 It also comes as no surprise that the third lady Manuela de la Cueva, as the document reveals, performed the role of Apollo, since she seems to have specialized in male roles (see Chapter

3, Table 2).340

Almost ten years after its court premiere, the zarzuela Hasta lo insensible adora was revived for the public theatre, first by Chavarría’s successor, José de Prado, and later by the company of José de Garcés. Prado’s revival at the Teatro de la Cruz was scheduled for the spring season (the first of the two seasons) of the theatrical year 1713-14. It ran for thirteen days, from May 16 to May 28, 1713. Álvarez’s revival took place six years later at a different theatre, the Teatro del Príncipe, where it ran four days only, from February 6 to February 9,

1717. While there are no records indicating names of performers in the leading roles in either of these two revivals, it is possible that the third lady, Manuela de Labaña, would have performed the role of the lamenting nymph Clythie in both revivals.

During the season 1713-14, the only documented third lady in Prado’s company is

341 Manuela de Labaña, a singer who was both “celebrated for her music” and deemed “the

339 María de Navas, who I briefly introduced in my Introduction as well as in Chapter 2, was the most famous first lady (primera dama) of the time. Interestingly, she was an expert in trouser roles in the genre of the comedia.

340 Aside from the role of Apollo in this zarzuela, she performed at least two other male roles in the early eighteenth century: Alfeo in Amor es quinto elemento and Neptuno in Áspides ay que son basílicos. The names of the performers and the roles they played in Amor es quinto elemento were discovered by Angulo Díaz in the libretto held at the Biblioteca Nacional de España, Mss/14071-1, “Introducción” in Apolo y Dafne, 17. The names of the performers and the roles they played in Áspides ay que son basílicos appear in document 4 “Lista de las fiestas de la compañía de Juan Bautista Chavarría” in Lolo Herranz “El teatro con música en la corte de Felipe V,” 181. So far, I have only been able to confirm the roles that Manuela de la Cueva performed in seven mythological plays with music. Six out of seven (listed above and in Table 2) are male roles. Only one is a female role: Eraclea in the opera Decio y Eraclea (1708). The names of the performers and their roles in this opera appear in Ángulo Díaz, “Introducción” in Apolo y Dafne, 19. Ángulo Díaz takes the information from the libretto held at the Biblioteca Nacional de España, R/38907. The few female roles Manuela de la Cueva performed constitute an exception.

341 Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, 358.

237 best there [was] on the stage.”342 In fact, Labaña seems to have become a star in Prado’s company during this period. She alone received monetary gifts as well as payments during the summer months when the company did not perform (at least in the year 1713). These exclusive payments to Labaña suggest that Prado regarded her as a highly valued member of the company.343 More than likely, Manuela de Labaña performed the dramatic role of Clythie in the first revival (May 16-28, 1713) as well as in the second revival of the zarzuela

(February 6-9,1717). The second revival was not presented by Prado but by the company of

José de Garcés, with whom Labaña was now working.344

As is the case with the revivals referred to above, there are no records indicating the names of the performers that participated in Antonio de Zamora and Sebastián Durón’s zarzuela Veneno es de amor la envidia. In fact, there is no information whatsoever regarding its premiere, which most likely took place during the early years of Philip V’s reign and before the composer Sebastián Durón was sent into exile in 1706. In 1711, Prado mounted a production of the first documented revival for the public theatre of the zarzuela. Presented at the Teatro de la Cruz, Veneno es de amor la envidia was intended as one of the highlights of

342 Labaña is introduced in Chapter 2, Section 2.1 in this dissertation. 343 The list of expenses for Prado’s production of La mujer de Peribañez at the Teatro de la Cruz includes a gift of 120 reales for Manuela de Labaña: “Gastos de oy 21, yncluso 99 reales que costo el regalo de Manuela Labaña: 120.” See May 14, 1713 in AVM 1-386-1. Two months later, a document dated July 8, 1713, indicates that Manuela de Labaña will be paid time-and-a-half for each day that she does perform in the summer months, as she is one of the most valuable members in the company: “Acordose que a Manuela de Labaña, por la temporada del verano que no representa, se la de a peso y medio al dia, atendiendo a la utilidad que se reconoze a que no falte parte tan prinzipal.” See Shergold and.Varey, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España XI, 176. The original document is deposited in Archivo de la Secretaria, Archivo Municipal de Madrid, 1-499-22.

343 Flórez Asensio, “Manuela de Labaña” in Diccionario Bibliografico Español, Vol. XXVIII (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2009), 529. 344 After a one-year hiatus due to health reasons, Labaña did not go back with Prado but instead, she returned to the stage by joining Garcés’ company as third lady for the season 1716-1717. See Flórez Asensio, “Manuela de Labaña” in Diccionario Bibliografico Español, Vol. XXVIII (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2009), 529.

238 the theatrical year, and so it was performed during Carnival in the second half of the 1710-11 season. Attracting large crowds of spectators eager for elaborate staging, special effects, and magic, Veneno es de amor la envidia ran for sixteen consecutive days: from January 21 to

February 5, 1711.

It is unclear which female performers filled the position of tercera dama during the season 1710-11 when Veneno es de amor la envidia was produced, as the extant documentation points to three different third ladies: Manuela de la Cueva,345 Manuela de

Labaña,346 and Paula María.347 Certainly, any of these three talented and experienced singers could have performed any of the three sung roles—Circe, Scylla, and Apollo—in this zarzuela. A line in the libretto, however, suggests that the role of the lamenting nymph Scylla was not performed by the third lady but rather by the first lady in Prado’s company. As

Scylla is slowly transformed into a sea monster that is half dog/half fish, the comical character Tritón reassures the distressed characters in the play that only the “first lady” will become a dog: “De que sirbe/hazer tantos espabientos,/sera la primera dama/ que sea convertido en perro” (“What is the point of making a fuss, it will be the first lady who will be

345 Although it is commonly believed that Chavarría and de la Cueva retired in 1710, two expenses listed in the theatre records for the season 1710-11 suggest that they were both actively working during this period. The first is a payment made to Manuela de la Cueva on October 21, 1710: “De una comedia, a Cueba: 24.” The second is a payment made to “Joseph Cho” on December 25, 1710. Although Chavarría’s first name is Juan and not José (or Joseph), the payment still seems to refer to Chavarría. There is no other male (or female) member in the company at the time whose last name begins with “Ch”. The incorrect spelling of the name may simply be a mistake made by the scribe. The payments appear in Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, pages 172 and 174, respectively.

346 Manuela de Labaña appears sporadically throughout this period, but she continues to be associated with Prado. 347 A payment made to Paula María on July 16, 1710 that appears in Prado’s expenses suggests that Paula María may have joined Prado, either in whole or in part, during the theatrical year 1710-11. See Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, p. 168.

239 turned into a dog”).348 Tritón could have easily used another word—such as “ninfa”

(nymph)—rather than the term “dama” (lady). Like dama, the word ninfa is a two-syllable word that fits perfectly in the poetic metre in the lines. The fact that he refers to Scylla as the first lady leaves no room for ambiguity: he is alluding to the first lady in the theatrical company, Manuela de Torres.349

This piece of information hiding in the libretto sheds light on Spanish theatre practices of the period. It would thus seem that in zarzuelas in which all female characters spoke and sang, such as Veneno es de amor la envidia, the first lady of the company performed the leading female role, even when it included a lament. Hence, the distribution of the remaining leading roles in this zarzuela would have been as follows: the sorceress Circe would have been assigned to the second lady and Apollo to the third lady, who traditionally performed the sung roles of male deities. By inference, this same practice may be applied to fully sung zarzuelas, such as Apolo y Dafne. In this enigmatic zarzuela of which we know nothing about (other than the names of its two composers, Durón and Navas), the primera dama would have performed the role of Daphne, while two terceras damas (or alternatively, a third and a fourth lady) would have sung the lamenting roles of Cupid and Joante, examined in Chapters 2 and 3, respectively. If so, then either María de Navas or Manuela de Torres— two first ladies of the period (1701-05)—may have sung the role of the tragic nymph,

Daphne.

348 Antonio de Zamora, Veneno es de amor la envidia [BNE Mss/19258], p. 145.

349 It is impossible to know with any certainty if the role of Scylla was developed for this particular actress. In fact, the first lady in Prado’s company until December 1710 had been the renowned actress María de Navas, who had experience with sung roles. But Navas left Madrid before finishing her appointment with Prado, and so Torres took the position of first lady within the company. If the play was indeed premiered between 1702-1706, then the role of Scylla would have been developed with Navas vocal abilities in mind.

240

4.3 The Theatrical Experience: Words and Music

Of the three zarzuelas discussed in this section, only Apolo y Dafne includes more than one lament. In fact, Apolo y Dafne is the only extant zarzuela of the period to include three laments, making it the work with the most laments in the genre. Each lament is tailored to a different type of lamenting character, all of which are examined in this dissertation: sobbing Cupids, lamenting male lovers, and weeping females. The most dramatic lament in terms of its musical and textual treatment is Cupid’s “Murió la fiera, y yo he muerto.” As I suggest in Chapter 2, this zarzuela was intended to reflect the political unrest of the era as well as Philip V’s role during the War of the Spanish Succession. The fact that Cupid—an allegorical representation of the monarch—is reserved for this highly climactic and equally suggestive scene in the first act of the zarzuela is rather telling. The lamenting male shepherd,

Joante, does not add much to the story but rather fulfills the stereotype of the lamenting lover.

Finally, Daphne sings a farewell song at the moment of her transformation into a laurel tree.

That this character has a lament is, to a great extent, owing to the fact that this zarzuela was entirely sung, leaving the composer with no other alternative than to compose a lament for her. Whatever the case, this female lament formed part of the allegorical and pedagogical agenda present in most pastoral genres, including that of the zarzuela. Strengthening notions of female virtue and behaviour, Daphne’s farewell song served as a reminder to the queen and her entourage that chastity was a highly esteemed and cherished possession, one that justified sacrifice and even death.

4.3.1 The Stage: Songs of Death and Transformation

Female chastity: The case of Daphne

241

Fleeing her impassioned suitor, Daphne invokes the elements and her father, the river god Peneus, to help her remain chaste. Responding to Daphne, Peneus grants his daughter her wish, but he warns that she will only escape her tormentor if she ceases to be who she is (solo mudando tu especie a otra especie). Rather than protest the lack of a third and more joyful alternative, Daphne seems relieved. In the recitative that immediately precedes the lament, the nymph welcomes her fate, while experiencing both happiness and sorrow:

O feliz yo y desdichada Oh happy and wretched me pues para que de ser deje For in order to stop este tormento esta ansia this torment, this worry, este pesar esta muerte this pain, this death, he de pasar a no ser I will cease being [what I am] siendo otro ser diferente. and become a different being […] [...]

As her transformation begins during this recitative, Daphne describes the metamorphosis: her hair slowly turns into green branches that spread into the sky and her body becomes trapped under the growing brown bark (Verdes ramas mis cabellos/ por el espacio se extienden/ del aire y parda corteza/ rústico viril silvestre/ me aprisiona.) Then, before she is fully transformed, Daphne sings her sorrowful farewell to the world.

Perhaps intending not to eclipse Cupid’s impressive lament in the first act, the anonymous librettist and the composer Juan de Navas did not create an innovative and overly dramatic song for Daphne. Instead, they devised a scene reminiscent of Calderón’s (and

Hidalgo’s?) earlier lament-invocation in El laurel de Apolo, in which the nymph beseeches the elements for help:350

350 Calderón’s zarzuela has been discussed in length in Chapter 2.

242

Dafne. Dioses, cielo, luna, estrellas. Daphne. Gods, sky, moon, stars. Montes, mares, prados, fuentes. Mountains, seas, meadows, fountains. Troncos, riscos, plantas, flores. Logs, cliffs, plants, flowers. Dadme amparo. Give me shelter.

In Calderón’s early zarzuela, Daphne does not sing any of these lines, as the sung roles are reserved for the deities, Apollo and Cupid. Thus, Daphne addresses the elements in speech, and a choir (musica) immediately echoes each one of her lines.351 Juan de Navas’ lament-invocation in Apolo y Dafne is built on the same formula: the nymph bids farewell to the elements (here, in song), and a choir repeats her words:

Goodbye, forests, goodbye Adiós selvas, adiós (Goodbye, forests, goodbye) (Adiós selvas, adiós) Goodbye, nymphs, goodbye Adiós ninfas, adiós (Goodbye, nymphs, goodbye) (Adiós ninfas, adiós) Goodbye, fountains, goodbye Adiós fuentes, adiós (Goodbye, fountains, goodbye) (Adiós fuentes, adiós) Goodbye, mountains, goodbye Adiós montes, adiós (Goodbye, mountains, goodbye) (Adiós montes, adiós) Goodbye, lights, goodbye Adiós luces, adiós (Goodbye, lights, goodbye) (Adiós luces, adiós) Goodbye, people, goodbye Adiós gentes, adiós (Goodbye, people, goodbye) (Adiós gentes, adiós) As Daphne, without dying, Que Dafne sin morir ends and dies. acaba y muere. (As Daphne, without dying, (Que Dafne sin morir ends and dies). acaba y muere).

Set for solo voice, choir (A4) and two violins, Daphne’s song of farewell, “Adiós, selvas, adiós” is written in triple metre like most laments. While the piece is notated in the

351 A printed edition of the zarzuela indicates: Todo esto se ha de representar, huyendo ella, y deshaciéndose de él siempre que la alcance, sin llegar a la lucha. See Pedro Calderón de la Barca, El Laurel de Apolo (Barcelona [17--]) [University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library: Buchanan Collection Pamphlets 0518]

243 key of F major (with one flat key only), the tonic seems to shift from F major to Bb major throughout the piece, thus creating a sense of harmonic instability that cleverly depicts the transformation of the nymph’s body as it changes into a laurel tree. The lament opens with a descending sequence associated with lament-invocations precisely because Daphne is addressing the elements in her environment (forest, fountains, mounts, lights) as well as her peers (nymphs and people). As she bids farewell to each one of them, there are echos of each phrase that she sings: first, a four-part choral echo, and then one for the two violins. The echo gives the piece an overall feeling of mysticism that cleverly heightens the moment of

Daphne’s transformation. Example 21.

Example 21 Daphne's "Adiós, selvas, adiós" in Apolo y Dafne (Voice, A4, violins and continuo, mm. 1-11)

244

The final two lines in the poetic text—que Dafne sin morir, acaba y muere—contain the only emotional words in the stanza and are emphasized in the music, accordingly. The first of the two lines is set to a C minor scale, which appears briefly in the lament for the sole purpose of creating dramatic contrast with the preceding musico-poetic phrases. Its minor key in conjunction with the brief tonicization and the chromatic B natural in the word morir (“to die”) further accentuate the affect of lament (mm. 26-27). The last line of the text employs a suspension, another device commonly used to highlight moments of dramatic intensity. The nymph’s last word, muere (“[Daphne] dies”) is set on a 4-3 suspension in F major. Daphne’s last phrase does not resolve or end conclusively nor does the echo in the choir. The harmonic progression in the final phrase concluding as it does with the aforementioned suspension—

D6-Bb6-Eb-FM—conveys a sense of tonal ambiguity and a complete lack of any sense of resolution, as the bass line reaches the tonic of F by whole-tone steps (Db-Eb-F) (Example

22). So while the listener is left expecting the music to continue on, the piece ends here. A new musical number in which Apollo discovers what has happened follows. Rather than

245 mourn his loss or the nymph’s death, he decides to assign new functions to the tree, including that of glorifying his own triumphs. Through her demise, the male deity regains power and assumes control.

Example 22 Daphne's "Adiós, selvas, adiós" in Apolo y Dafne: Tonicizations, chromaticism and supension (Voice, A4, violins and continuo, mm. 23-39)

Although Daphne’s death and transformation seem to be downplayed when Apollo suddenly assumes the leading role in the story (which would have seemed perfectly natural to an eighteenth-century connoisseur of the genre), the discourse of female virtue would nonetheless have remained in suspension. No doubt, Daphne’s sacrifice and lament strengthened notions of female virtue and behaviour in the minds of both male and female observers.

246

Two additional female laments appear during this period, both seemingly caused by— and perhaps more importantly, blamed on—the attributes or the doings of the female protagonist herself or of another female character. In the zarzuelas Hasta lo insensible adora and Veneno es de amor la envidia considered below, female beauty and jealousy bring about the heroine’s downfall.

Female jealousy and beauty: The case of Clythie

Performed on the occasion of the young queen’s birthday, Hasta lo insensible adora

(1704) retold the myth of Apollo, Leucothoë, and Clythie in an agreeable and delicate manner, thus purposely deviating from Balthasar de Victoria's more barbaric treatment of the myth in his influential Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad, introduced in Chapter 2. In

Victoria's version, Apollo takes the appearance of Leucothoë’s mother in order to enter the princess’ chambers. Once there, he reveals his true identity, and he “contrives a way to enjoy his love by force” (“y supo dares [sic] tan buena maña que gozo de sus amores aldo por fuerza.”)352 Victoria explains that all amorous relationships are “difficult” in the beginning, so while Apollo had to force himself on the princess at first, in his subsequent visits he is well received.353 When Apollo’s lover, the nymph Clythie, hears about Apollo’s infidelity, she denounces the princess’s misconduct. Her father, the King Orcamo, punishes his daughter’s disobedience by burying her alive. Saddened by his beloved’s death, Apollo punishes Clythie by rejecting her, while turning Leucothoë into an incense plant so that, when she burns, they

352 Balthasar de Victoria “Chapter XVI: De Clycie, y Leucotoe” in Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad, Primera parte, pp. 603-606 (Madrid, Imprenta Real, 1676), 603.

353 “Y aunque al principio lo fuesse (que siempre los principios son dificultosos) despues acudia Apolo al puesto, y era muy bien recibido…” Ibid., 604.

247 can reunite when she soars into the sky. Scorned and consumed by grief, Clythie ceases to eat or drink and dies. Yet, after her death, Clythie is transformed into a sunflower that always turns in the direction of the sun, Apollo, wherever he goes.354

In his libretto, José de Cañizares amended the story by adding and omitting characters in order to fulfill the well-established conventions of the genre calling for three hierarchical social structures: a higher plane of the deities (Apollo and Diana) and two lower planes within the world of the mortals, one for the serious and higher ranking characters (the galanes Danteo and Endemión and the nymphs Clythie, Leucothoë, and Asteria), and one for the lower ranking comical characters (Bato, Florilla, and Clarín). In terms of the plot, he made Apollo not rape but fall in love with Leucothoë in a dream, and he made Leucothoë reciprocate his affection. In this manner, Leucothoë, no longer a princess but one of Diana’s nymphs, was seen to have broken her vow of chastity. Cañizares’ Clythie, in contrast, remained the same jealous and raging female character described in the original myth.

Contrary to what is recounted in Victoria’s mythological manual, Diana hears about the nymph’s misconduct from Clythie and punishes Leucothoë by having her tied to a tree and shot dead with an arrow. The play ends with a happy resolution, here suggested by the metamorphosis of both female characters.

As noted in both accounts of the myth, the theme of chastity is central to the story.

After all, had Leucothoë preserved her chastity, she would not have precipitated Clythie’s fury and destructive jealousy. Yet, the focus of the allegorical story presented to the queen is not Leucothoë’s chastity, but rather Clythie’s transformation from a gentle nymph into a furious and irrational creature. This may account for why she is assigned a lamento. In

354 Ibid.

248 contrast, Leucothoë did not earn one, perhaps due to her immoral behaviour. In the role of

Clythie, Theresa de Robles must have moved the audience with the character’s touching lamento.

Clythie’s lament, “Ay de mí, santos cielos,” represents a departure from the original myth as it appears in Ovid and Victoria. Since there are no explicit or implied laments at any point in the myth, the fact that Cañizares chose to write this particular lament is rather significant. He did not, for instance, reserve the lament for the moment of the nymph’s death or transformation. Instead, he deliberately chose to highlight the pain and jealousy felt by

Clythie upon discovering Apollo’s interest in the beautiful Leucothoë. Cañizares’ text cleverly describes Clythie’s changing and contradicting emotions as she oscillates between rage and pain, alternating promises of revenge with words of deep sorrow:355

Tonada Woe is me, heavens, Tonada Ay de mi Santos cielos I die knowing that I do not die. que me mata el saber que no me muero. do. Recit. What is this, my pride, Rezit Que es esto altivez mia I, to see my sovereignty ill treated? yo ver ajada mi soberanía? I, to suffer from such treacherous injuries? yo sufrir de un aleve tal injurias? How can it be that the fiery volcano of my fury como el volcán ardiente de mis furias turns his portrait to dust en atomos desecho yet does not escape my heart? su retrato no arranca de mi pecho? O perfidious Apollo! O fementido Apolo! […] […] crying For I am still wondering, llora pues aun dudándolo estoy, whether I no longer am who I was, o no soy yo la que fui, or have I forgotten what I am. o he olvidado lo que soy. Seas, mountains, flowers, lights, Mares, montes, flores, luzes, Heavens, fish, moon and sun, Cielos, pezes, luna y sol, either help me achieve my revenge O seguidme a lograr mi venganza or help me feel my pain. O ayudadme a sentir mi dolor.

355 Apuntes A—Fols. 18v.-19r,

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The lament is conceived in four parts in the key of FM/m: a slow estribillo, a recitado, arioso in nature, indicated in the score as “deeply felt between recited and sung”

(muy sentido entre recitado y cantado) and a faster second estribillo reminiscent of lament- invocations (“Seas, mountains, etc.). Despite some typical musical devices associated with the lament—i.e., the dissonances and the chromatic notes used to highlight the words “I die”

(me muero, mm. 13-14 and 20) and the descending sequence associated with lament- invocations (mm. 33-42)—Clythie’s song does not include any moments which "stir the heart" such as those appearing in later laments included in Durón’s mature works (e.g., Las

Nuevas armas de amor, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor, and Veneno es de amor la envidia considered below). Nonetheless, one meaningful section in the text is highlighted:

“either I am no longer who I was/ or I have forgotten what I am” in lines 14-15 in the transcription. Here, the composer set the text to a declamatory “deeply felt” arioso that sets these poetic lines apart from the rest of the text. Example 23.

Example 23 Clythie's "Ay, de mí santos cielos" in Hasta lo insensible adora: "Deeply felt" arioso section (Voice and continuo, mm. 38-44)

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The words in the arioso suggest that Clythie’s anger and jealousy are so great that they have the power to transform her. The text also seems to imply (as well as anticipate?) that the events that will take place following Clythie’s lament—the nymph’s revenge and subsequent loss of Apollo’s affection and, to a certain extent, her own death and transformation—are the direct result of the Clythie’s inability to control her rage and jealousy. Choosing to highlight these words, the composer Antonio Literes helped reinforce this section in the text, and as a result, Clythie’s lament reproduced and promoted warnings regarding the dangers of extreme female jealousy. Like the Spanish Infanta before her, the queen consort was reminded of the dangers of spousal distrust and female misconduct.

Perhaps those behind the production (quite likely, all higher-ranking men) believed it their responsibility to offer guidance to the young and, therefore, inexperienced wife of Louis V.

Also concealed in the plot are male literary conventions that cleverly steer any responsibility away from male characters. In this play, Clythie’s anger and vengeance are redirected to her female rival, rather than to her unfaithful lover, and so the blame and the pain remain within the circle of the two women. The subtext in the story therefore suggests that female jealousy is responsible for other women’s suffering. Similarly, the zarzuela

Veneno es de amor la envidia ascribes the suffering of Scylla to a female character.

The case of Scylla

Sometime before he was sent into exile for political reasons, Sebastián Durón composed the zarzuela Veneno es de amor la envidia in collaboration with court dramatist

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Antonio Zamora.356 While the extant theatre records of the Teatro de la Cruz note its premiere for the public theatre in 1711, there are no records indicating the date and the occasion for its earlier court premiere. However, three features in the play suggest that

Veneno es de amor la envidia may have been intended for a female recipient at court. First, the two protagonists in the play are female (Circe and Scylla), a rather unusual choice of characters in the zarzuelas of the period that traditionally incorporate one or more leading male protagonists. Only one zarzuela discussed in this dissertation features two leading females—Hasta lo insensible adora—a play written for the queen consort. All other zarzuelas including one or more leading males were—or at least seem to have been— intended for a male recipient. Second, the plot revolves around the theme of female jealousy, which, as I have argued, traditionally features only in works dedicated to the queen. In fact, an earlier work on the same myth of Circe and Scylla—Francisco Bances Candamo’s zarzuela Fieras de celos y amor (1690)357—was performed for, and dedicated to, two royal female figures, Mariana de Neoburg and Mariana of Austria.358 Finally, the presence of a dramatic female lament within the zarzuela, a type of theatre that systematically silences female characters in order to privilege lamenting male characters, suggests that the scene was indeed conceived for a female honoree. Hence, it would appear that Veneno es de amor la

356 In 1706, Durón appears to have sided with the Habsburg contender for the Spanish crown, and for this he was sent into exile. For more, see Acuña, “Politics and foreign influence in the development of Spanish court theatrical music with a study of composer Sebastián Durón (1660-1716)”, 34-36. 357 It would seem that the zarzuela was performed on the 26th of July, 1690, and that the company of Agustin Manuel de Castilla was responsible for the production. See Fuentes VI, p. 291.

358 The zarzuela was performed on the occasion of the name day of both the queen and the queen mother. See Fancisco Bances Candamo, “Zarzuela Fieras de Zelos y Amor. Fiesta que se represento a sus majestades, en celebridad del nombre de las augustisimas reynas de España, madre y reynante, Doña Mariana de Austria, y Doña Mariana de Neoburg,” in Poesias comicas: obras posthumas, Vol. 2 (Madrid: Por Blas de Villa- Nueva, 1722) [BNE 3/23671.vol.2] The music of the zarzuela has not survived.

252 envidia was performed for the queen María Luisa, perhaps on the occasion of her birthday or name day, between 1702 and 1706.

For the subject of his new zarzuela, Zamora chose the well-known story of the beautiful nymph Scylla, retold in earlier Spanish accounts of the myth in Jorge de

Bustamante’s translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Pérez de Moya’s and Balthasar de

Victoria’s mythological manuals. These three earlier accounts presented slight variations on the myth, but in all of them, Scylla was portrayed as the victim of a sorceress filled with raging jealousy: Circe in Ovid and Victoria, and Amphitate in Pérez de Moya. The malevolent spell the sorceress cast on the nymph was described in all three sources. In Ovid,

Scylla was turned into a reef after being half-devoured by rabid dogs while bathing in the sea; in Pérez de Moya's account she became a sea monster, and in one of Victoria’s different accounts of the myth, she was turned into a half-woman/half-canine monster.359 It is precisely this last transformation that Zamora chose to stage in his play. But before Scylla’s final transformation, he developed the love triangle between the nymph, the sorceress and the sea deity, Glaucus, described in Ovid and Victoria.

Antonio de Zamora’s libretto is conceived for the stock characters of the Spanish zarzuela, including deities, higher ranking mortals (leading men or galanes and leading ladies) and comical characters or graciosos. Glaucus is no longer a deity, but Scylla’s noble mortal suitor. A fourth male character, the nobleman Anteo, is added to complicate the original love triangle between Scylla, Circe, and Glaucus. Two paternal figures that have

359 “de medio cuerpo arriba, representa mujer hermosa pero de alli abajo cenida esta de perros y lamenta Escila biforme con su gran trabajo.” See Balthasar de Victoria, Teatro de los dioses de la gentilidad, Primera parte. (Madrid, Imprenta Real, 1676), 384. For the other accounts of the myths see Pérez de Moya, Philosophia secreta (Madrid, Por la viuda de Alonso Martin, 1628); Ovidio, Las transformaciones de Ovidio en lengua española (Anvers: En casa de Pedro Ballestero, 1595.), Fols. 202v-205r.

253 little significance in the earlier accounts of the myth now appear in the story: Foreo, and the

Sun God Apollo, Scylla’s and Circe’s respective fathers. The addition of these two figures reproduces the patriarchal social structures typical of early modern Spain, where a single woman (e.g., Scylla) could be seen in public and could even interact with a suitor (e.g.,

Glaucus) without losing her respectability, if accompanied by a male figure of authority such as her father (Foreo).

The play begins with a spectacular scene in which Circe and Apollo are seen to descend from the sky in a resplendent chariot pulled by four white horses.360 On the island,

Circe meets and falls in love with the nobleman Glaucus. Upon hearing that he loves the beautiful nymph Scylla, Circe is overwhelmed with uncontrollable rage and jealousy. At this point, a sudden storm leads a ship to crash into the reef.361 Symbolizing the unruly passions of the soul and the alteration of order in the world, the storm and shipwreck signal the beginning of a series of turbulent events triggered both by Circe’s jealousy and by the arrival of a second nobleman (Anteo). Scylla uses Anteo hoping to arouse jealousy in Glaucus that will lead to discord between Glaucus and his beloved as well as a fight with Anteo. Having succeeded in her plan, Circe then looks for Scylla, who she finds bathing in the sea. As she casts a spell on the nymph, Circe utters the words: “May she, whose beauty once was

360 In the title page in the music manuscript: “Por el perfil de un medio monte, que abra al lado diestro vaya poco a poco un carro luziente, tirade de queatro caballos blancos, en qie biene Apolo y Circe y cantan”, Mss/19254, n.p., and Mss/14941, p. 1. 361 Usually in connection with the theme of the quest of a mysterious and beautiful woman, the literary topoi of the storm and the shipwreck appears in other zarzuelas considered in this dissertation; e.g., Selva encantada de amor and El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor, discussed in Chapter 3.

254 exquisite, now become a monster.”362 And so, the play ends with Scylla’s dramatic lament and transformation.

Before the zarzuela closes with the nymph’s lament, Circe openly discloses to her father the reason for her malicious spell. In a recitative she attributes her cruel actions to her female nature: “This is Apollo, to be a woman and to be jealous” (Esto es Apolo ser mujer y estar celosa).363 Then she conveys a moral lesson to the islanders. Alluding to her own jealousy and envy of Scylla’s beauty and also to Glaucus’ (mistaken) jealousy of Anteo,

Circe reveals to all that jealousy and envy will infest and destroy love: “To infest love, envy is the poison of love” (que para infestar amor, veneno es de amor la envidia).364 This idea becomes a maxim that is repeated in the closing chorus (A4) that ends the play. In this way, a code of conduct is conveyed from the stage to the royal viewers. Yet, while both a female and a male character have erred in feeling envy and jealousy, the play redirects the audience’s attention once again to a woman: Scylla. In her lament, the nymph—like Circe before her— alludes to her female nature and condition, which she blames for her misfortune: “born to be beautiful, I was born to be havoc” (naciendo a ser hermosura, a ser estrago nací). The words imply that she alone, or at least her beauty, is to blame for her downfall. In this way, two female characters are ascribed, or seem to assume, all fault and responsibility: one for her jealousy and one for her beauty.

362 “Como de mi magia las artes han hecho que en sus aguas pase a ser monstruo la que era portento.” Mss/19254, p.138. 363 Mss/19254, p.139. 364 “Aria con violines y violon punteado” in Mss/19254, pp.149-151. The text for Circe’s aria is “Cuando de los celos lidia/la envidia tema el favor/que para infester amor/veneno es de amor la envidia”

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In the final scene of the zarzuela, Scylla—now half dog and half sea monster— appears within the circle of a reef 365 and sings her highly dramatic lament, designated as an

“aria patetica” in the libretto.366 Written as two octosyllabic tercets with the rhyme scheme aab-ccb, the text of the lament is conceived as a traditional lament-invocation. In the first of the two tercets, Scylla addresses the elements of nature begging her surroundings (and perhaps indirectly, also the deities and the universe) to have pity on her. In the second, she blames her beauty for her own destruction:

Ondas, riscos, peces, mares, Waves, cliffs, fish, oceans, Si os apiadan mis pesares, If my sorrow moves you, tened lástima de mi. Pity me. Pues en igual desventura, For with equal misfortune, naziendo a ser hermosura born to be beautiful, a ser estrago nací. I was born to create havoc.

Set as an aria da capo for voice, two violins, and continuo, the lament is written in common metre and in the highly dramatic key of C minor. Unlike the only two other arias da capo that appear throughout this dissertation (Amor’s lament “Cuantos teméis al rigor” and

Jupiter’s lament “Yo no puedo”367), this aria is not preceded—at least not in the music manuscript—by a recitative.368 A recitative sung by the lamenting character would have prepared the audience for the dramatic moment about to take place. Instead, Scylla’s song of sorrow opens almost immediately with one of the most dramatic musical devices associated

365 Descubrese un pedazo de mar y en medio de el un peñasco en cuio concabo estara Scila y canta. BNE Mss/19254, p. 153. 366 BNE Mss.14941, fol. 36 r.

367 In Las nuevas armas de amor and El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor, respectively. 368 A recitative appears in an early eighteenth century libretto held in the Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid (BNE Mss. 14941, Fol, 36 r.).

256 with the lament: the descending tetrachord. Effectively establishing the lamenting mood of the piece, the tetrachord appears in the bass as well as in the vocal line. In both, it is stretched out so that there is only one note per measure: in the downbeat of the bass line and in the second beat of the vocal line. The bass line is embellished through a series of tonicizations

(Cm-V/GM-GM—Bbm-V/FM-FM, and so forth) and as a result, Scylla’s melody languidly descends by semitone through a perfect fourth, from C to G (mm. 3-6). A rest that further accentuates the affect of lamenting precedes every word she utters. Scylla’s sorrowful song is conspicuously emphasized through the use of passus duriusculus, descensio, and pausa.

Example 24.

Example 24 Scylla's "Ondas, riscos" in Veneno es de amor la envidia: Descending tetrachord (Voice, violins and continuo, mm. 1-6)

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The second tercet in the poem, set as Section B in the aria da capo, moves to the relative major. In this section, Scylla declares her sorrow while blaming her own beauty for her misfortune. The focus of attention in this section is on the dramatically charged words

“desventura” and “estrago” (“misfortune” and “havoc”). Both words are underscored through dissonances that arise from suspensions: a 7-6 suspension on the leading tone triad of EbM in measure 16, and a 4-3 suspension on the dominant seventh of EbM in measure 19. Because these suspensions appear on chords leading to the tonic, the tension is prolonged, thus dragging out the two climactic words in the lament. The poetic and musical phrase “For with equal misfortune, born to be beautiful, I was born to be havoc” concludes with a final prolongation on the word “nací” (“[I] was born”), on a held G in the vocal line (mm. 20-22).

Example 25.

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Example 25 Sylla's "Ondas, riscos" in Veneno es de amor la envidia: Emphasis on key dramatic words (Voice, violins, and continuo, mm. 15-22)

Although Zamora’s lamento represents both an alteration of the original myth as well as an innovation when compared to earlier works on the subject without laments (e.g., Fieras de celos y amor [1690]),369 it is not unusual during a period when lamentos proliferated in the

369 I draw this conclusion after reading the printed version of the play as it appears in Fancisco Bances Candamo, “Zarzuela Fieras de Zelos y Amor. Fiesta que se represento a sus majestades, en celebridad del nombre de las augustisimas reynas de España, madre y reynante, Doña Mariana de Austria, y Doña Mariana de

259 genre. Still, there is something intriguing about this piece. Compared to the other female laments examined in this chapter, Scylla’s “Ondas, riscos” is the most varied and perhaps the most accomplished in its use of musical devices associated with laments. In fact, when compared to all other laments discussed in this dissertation, Scylla’s lament emerges as one of the most powerful Spanish laments ever written for any character, regardless of gender.

What makes this piece unique is that, in a sense, it does not follow the common musical conventions associated with most Spanish laments of the era, such as the frequently used descending fifths sequence or the use of ternary metre that is found in every lament. Of all the laments discussed thus far, it is the only one written in common metre, and the only aria da capo not introduced by a recitative (see Table 9). The opening is also unique because the descending tetrachord pattern appears in both the vocal and the bass line, and not, as in

Jupiter’s lament discussed in Chapter 3, solely in the vocal line. Moreover, this figure appears in the first poetic tercet, which is the invocative section in the poetry (Waves, fish, cliffs, oceans, etc.), traditionally set to a sequence of descending fifths. Yet here, there is no such figure. In fact, this recurrent harmonic figure does not appear at all in Scylla’s lament. These unique musical aspects beg the question: Why in this lament?

No doubt, Scylla’s “Ondas, riscos” represents an example from Durón’s mature compositions. His synthesis of local and foreign traditions results in a rich musical palette.370

Neoburg,” in Poesias comicas: obras posthumas, Vol. 2 (Madrid: Por Blas de Villa-Nueva, 1722) [BNE 3/23671.vol.2] In fact, Bances Candamo adjusted the tragic ending of his story by turning Scylla into a star so that “tragedy [would] end in celebration” (para que acabe lo tragico en lo festivo). See Ibid., 179.

370 Durón’s earlier theatrical works and laments tend to adhere to local musical practices. For this reason, laments are normally cast as estribillos in ternary metre that reflect and foreground the text with the use of music-rhetorical devices such as, and in particular, pausa and repetitio (e.g., Salir el amor del mundo). His later works are more adventurous as they adopt Italian affective modes of representation while retaining Spanish

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In this light, Scylla’s lament is representative of the very pinnacle of Durón's compositional style. It might even be considered a sort of “swan song,” as this may well have been his last composition for the theatre.371

Table 4 summarizes key musical elements in the laments discussed in Chapters 2 through 5, including aspects such as formal structure, metre, and key.

Table 4 Formal structure, key and metre in all the laments-estribillos or arias da capo-- discussed in Chapters 2 through 4. LAMENT FORM KEY AND METRE OF THE ESTRIBILLO OR ARIA CH.2 Amor: “Sosieguen, sosieguen” ABCA No. 1 (Salir el amor del mundo) Est-Copl-Recit-Est. Estribillo: D minor-Triple metre

CH.2 Amor: “Ay de mi, ay de mi!” Estribillo-Coplas Estribillo: A minor- Triple metre No. 2 (Salir el amor del mundo) CH.2 Amor: “Murió la fiera y yo he muerto” ABCA No. 3 (Apolo y Dafne) Est.-Coplas-2nd estr-Est. Estribillo: C minor- Triple metre

CH.2 Amor: “Cuantos teméis al rigor” (Las nuevas Recit. and Aria da Aria: C minor-Triple metre No. 4 armas de amor) capo

CH.3 Timantes: “Frondoso laurel” Estribillo-Coplas Estribillo: F Major-Triple metre No. 5 (Selva encantada de amor)

CH.3 Argelao: “Ni soto, ni playa” Estribillo-Coplas Estribillo: C M/m-Triple metre No. 6 (Selva encantada de amor)

CH.3 Joante: “Si el susto, si el ansia” (Apolo y Estribillo-Coplas Estribillo: A minor-Triple metre No. 7 Dafne)

CH.3 Jupiter: “Yo no puedo” Recit.-Aria da capo Aria da capo: D minor- Triple metre No. 8 (El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor)

CH.3 Jupiter “Auras suaves que soplais” (Las Coplas-Estribillo Estribillo: G minor-Triple metre No. 9 nuevas armas de amor)

CH.4 Jupiter: “Adiós, dueño hermoso” (Júpiter y Recit.-Aria da capo Aria da capo: D minor-Triple metre No. 10 Semele)

traditions (e.g., Las nuevas armas de amor). For more on Durón’s compositional style, see Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Sudy of the Composer Sebastián Durón,” pps. 45-95. 371 It is my hope that future research and the discovery of pertinent documents from the era as yet undiscovered, will help us to contextualize and better understand this exceptional lament.

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CH.4 Jupiter-“Semele, ya murio” Recit.-Aria da capo Aria da capo: E minor-Triple metre No. 11 (Júpiter y Semele)

CH.4 Dafne: “Adiós selvas, adiós ninfas” (Apolo y Estribillo? for solo F Major/BbM-Triple metre No. 12 Dafne) voice and A4

CH.4 Clizie: “Ay de mi, santos cielos” ABCD Estribillo: F M/m-Triple metre No. 13 (Hasta lo insensible adora) Est-Recit-Arioso- 2ndEstr CH.4 Scila: “Ondas, riscos” Aria da capo Aria da capo: C minor-Common No. 14 (Veneno es de amor la envidia) metre

4.3.2 The Audience: Discourses of Female Vice and Virtue

The female laments from the period 1696-1718 reflected conflicting gender ideologies common in the era, which are revealed at different levels of performance. On the large scale, for example, the sight of women on the stage clashed with the views of conservatives such as Camargo, who urged that women remain out of the public eye. The female voice articulating—and more importantly, monopolizing—the moral discourses conveyed in the zarzuela conflicted with the notion of danger in hearing a woman speak.372

Finally, within the world of the lament largely dominated by males, the weeping female character voiced her affliction at a time when female eloquence was equated with promiscuity, and female silence with chastity. Against these patriarchal narratives, how were these opposing cultural and literary-theatrical positions negotiated in the female lament?

As I have shown throughout my study of the female lament in this chapter, these exceptional pieces form part of the same agenda of reflecting, promoting, and reinforcing values in a genre whose pastoral world allowed for entertaining while instructing its viewers.

In the same way that Cupid’s laments served to admonish the king’s poor behaviour or to mirror his struggle for power and that the amorous complaint reflected long-held notions on

372 Camargo, Discurso teólogico sobre los teatros y comedias de este siglo, 78.

262 love while reinforcing gender and social hierarchies, the female lament conveyed to the female audience a lesson of female conduct and virtue. In all three cases, the underlying discourses in these lamentos reflected social values of the day stemming from a society dominated by males. In this way female lamenting characters transgressed notions that imposed silence on women (both real and fictional) for the purpose of delivering patriarchal ideologies regarding female behaviour to all female recipients at court, and in particular, to the queen consort. The weeping voices of Daphne, Clythie, and Scylla reminded their audience that female chastity was a highly-praised virtue, that jealousy posed a threat to both marriage and female virtue, and that female beauty—which posed a threat to men, in

Camargo’s view—could also lead to a woman’s destruction. Female modesty was yet another condition for virtuous women.

* * *

The social, literary and musical conventions that inform the mythological zarzuela of the period—in particular as regards love, power, and gender—continue to be exploited during the early eighteenth century. In the next and last section of this study, I look briefly at one final zarzuela, Acis y Galatea (1708). This work—the most often revived mythological zarzuela in the early eighteenth century—owed its success to its identity as a parody of the genre. In it, theatrical and literary conventions as well as gender roles are reversed in an attempt to mock the highly popular and formulaic lamenting characters in the zarzuela.

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Conclusion Parody and Popularity of the Lamento 5 Introduction

In spite of the arguments laid out thus far, the reader may still wonder whether the lamento was, as I have suggested, a driving force in the mythological zarzuela as well as a fashionable and crowd-pleasing expression of sorrow. Likewise, a question that may arise from this study is whether there were laments in other Spanish theatrical genres of the period.

A comparative study between the zarzuela and the fiesta cortesana or opera—one yet to be undertaken—would certainly broaden the picture of Spain’s musical scene at the turn of the eighteenth century. My research, nonetheless, leads me to believe that while most mythological dramas of the period included one or two laments, operas and fiestas cortesanas did not exploit the lamento to the same extent as the zarzuela. The fiesta cortesana Destinos vencen finezas (1698) introduced in Chapter 2, for example, includes a short lament sung by

Dido’s lady-in-waiting, Anarda, in which the character seeks to move the deity of love with her “sad voice,” yet neither the song nor the scene are conceived as a climactic piece within the play.373 The same occurs in Sebastián Durón’s opera, La guerra de los gigantes, produced for a private patron and performed sometime between 1701 and 1706. Palante receives a death wound and sings a sorrowful but brief arietta that is incorporated into a dialogue scene between Palante and his nemesis, Minerva.374 In contrast with the lamentos

373 The lament in question is Anarda’s estribillo “Ay, ciego amor! Ay, dulce fuego!” in the opening scene of act 3. See Comedia, Destinos vencen finezas (Madrid: Imprenta de Musica,1698), 57-58. [BNE R/9348] 374 The arietta appears in Scene V in the opera. I have discussed this arietta in my master’s dissertation, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660–1716).” See pages 39-40 and 77-79.

264 that appear in the zarzuela, neither of these two songs interrupts the action in order to delve in depth into the character’s extreme emotion of pain. In the zarzuela, the lamento emerges as a crowning section in the genre, with which it eventually becomes intrinsically associated.

This two-part concluding section begins by examining Acis y Galatea (1708), a zarzuela that represents an anomaly in the genre, as its two laments do not fall within any of the lamenting categories considered in this dissertation. Yet, Acis y Galatea merits special discussion because, as I suggest, it attests to the popularity of the lament in the zarzuela.

Finally, this section presents closing remarks regarding the findings of my thesis.

5.1 Acis y Galatea (1708)

5.1.1 Introduction

On 19 December 1708, Philip V turned twenty-five and, for the occasion, a new play was presented at court: the zarzuela Acis y Galatea by Antonio Literes and José de Cañizares.

The monarch himself, who was already familiar with the myth, may well have requested the theme of the zarzuela. As a young prince in the French court, he surely attended one of the many revivals of Lully and Campistron’s heroic pastoral Acis et Galatée, which had been produced for, and dedicated to, Philip’s father, the Dauphin of France.375 A second work that may have influenced the choice of this particular myth was George Frideric Handel’s cantata

Aci, Galatea e Polifemo, written for the wedding of a member of the Neapolitan nobility and completed on June 16, 1708.376 Given the monarch’s ties with the Kingdom of Naples—a

375 In “La recepción de Met. 13, 75-987 en libretos de opera” in Minerva 26 (2013), 249, María Consuelo Álvarez and Rosa María Iglesias suggest that the king commissioned this work “with the intention of emulating Lully and Campistron’s work.” The French play was premiered on September 6, 1683.

376 Handel’s cantata appears to have been written for the 5th Duke of Alvito, Tolomeo Saverio Giuvo, on the occasion of his marriage to Princess Beatrice Tocco di Maltemiletto. The marriage took place in 1708, yet no performance date has been recorded. See George Frideric Handel Collected Documents, Vol. 1, 1609-

265 viceroyalty of Spain—it seems plausible that Philip V may have become aware of this particular work. Whatever the case, Literes and Cañizares’ rendition of the myth, unique in its own right, became an instant success.

Through the analysis of Acis y Galatea, this section expands on my summary findings regarding the lamento in the mythological zarzuela, while also adding to the existing literature on this particular zarzuela. Acis y Galatea includes all the hallmark features of the zarzuelas from the turn of the eighteenth century: first, weeping male characters represented here by Acis and his adversary, Polyphemus; second, struggles for power noted in the rivalry between the two male lovers—Acis and Polyphemus; third, suffering love in the character of

Polyphemus and also in the secondary characters of Doris and Glauco; and finally, female jealousy experienced here by Doris, Acis’s former lover.377 These features appear, of course, within the context of an allegorical genre. Literary scholar María del Rosario Leal Bonmati suggests that the union between Acis and Galatea may be seen as an allegory of that of the

Spanish monarch and the queen consort, María Luisa.378 Iara Luzia Rodriguez, in contrast, views the characters of Polyphemus and Galatea as allegorical representations of the Austrian contender for the Spanish crown, Archduke Charles, and King Philip V, as well as of their

1725, edited by Donald Burrows, Helen Coffey John Greenacombe and Anthony Hicks (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 146-47.

377 Acis loved Doris before loving Galatea. Jealous of Galatea and seeking to punish Acis, Doris tells Polyphemus where to find the two lovers. When he does, the giant kills Acis. According to Álvarez and Iglesias, this aspect of the story may have been inspired by Circe’s jealousy in another of Ovid’s myths: Circe and Scylla. In “La recepción de Met. 13, 75-987 en libretos de opera,” 249. This myth, which appears in Veneno es de amor al envidia, is discussed in Chapter 4.

378 María del Rosario Leal Bonmati, “Introducción” in José de Cañizares’ Acis y Galatea (Madrid : Iberaomericana, 2011), 114.

266 rivalry during the War of the Spanish Succession.379 These allegorical connections, in

Rodriguez’s opinion, are a manifestation of the underlying theme of power in the work, one that, as I have noted throughout this dissertation, becomes a recurrent theme in the zarzuelas of the period. Leal Bonmati and Spanish musicologist Luis Antonio González Marín discuss the theme of passionate love versus ideal (Neoplatonic) love in Cañizares’ libretto.380 Both have also observed the use of parody in Acis y Galatea, for example in giving a recitado to a comical character (rather than in a deity)381 and through the satirizing of the giant

Poliphemus (considered below). None of these authors, however, have suggested that this zarzuela may have been conceived as a parody, not simply of the myth, but of the genre including its laments. Here, I contend that Acis y Galatea was, in fact, developed as a parody of the mythological zarzuela and also, that the parody relied mostly on inverting gender order

379 “Nesta zarzuela há tantos elementos de consagração a Felipe V, e, de propaganda política, encontradas de diferentes maneiras, como por exemplo, na caracterização dos personagens: Galateia, incorporando uma figura boa, amorosa e piedosa, representando Felipe V, enquanto Polifemo, assustador e orgulhoso, simulando o candidato austríaco ao trono,” Iara Luzia Rodriguez, “Acis y Galatea: reflexos da Guerra de Sucessão Enspanhola na zarzuela de Cañizares-Literes de 1708,” Per Musi, No. 31 (2015) (Online journal, accessed February 15, 2015). Although I do share with the author the opinion that this zarzuela may have reflected the political conflicts of the era, I do not believe that Galatea was used as an allegory of the Spanish monarch, as there are no indications in this work of such an association. More importantly, there are no precedents in Spanish theatre for linking the monarch with a female character. As I have shown in Chapter 2, Cupid was more commonly associated with the monarch. It may be possible, however, that the monarch was also associated with other male deities. If, indeed, Galatea represented a royal figure, she would have personified the queen consort, who according to Henry Kamen, “displayed maturity and fortitude beyond her years” and “was [also] well respected by her subjects and even the king in France.” As Philip V was so dependent on her, it may be possible that the heroic and brave figure of Galatea represented the queen, while the weaker Acis symbolized the Spanish monarch, who suffered from depression and bi-polar disorder, as noted in Chapter 2. See Kamen, Philip V, 92-94 for the bond between Philip V and Marie Louise and for a description of the latter’s virtues.

380 Luis Antonio González Marín, “Introducción” in Antonio Literes’ Acis y Galatea, Zarzuela en dos jornadas, edited by Luis Antonio González Marín (Madrid: ICCMU, 2002), XI and XXIII, and Leal Bonmati, “Introducción,” 114.

381 “At the beginning of Act II, an amusing dialogue is established between Momo and Tisbe the comical characters. Tisbe, disguised as divinity, sings some very short recitatives while Momo replies in speech, taking the old convention of La plática de los Dioses (Dialogues of the Gods) as a joke.” Translation by Yolanda Acker in Luis Antonio González Marín, “Introducción” in Antonio Literes’ Acis y Galatea, Zarzuela en dos jornadas, edited by Luis Antonio González Marín (Madrid: ICCMU, 2002), XXII.

267 and on blatantly feminizing the character of Acis. Moreover, I suggest that the two unusual lamenting scenes in the work attest to the popularity of the lament within the genre of the zarzuela.

5.1.2 The “Effeminate” Shepherd: The Inversion of Order in Acis y Galatea

“Wretched, miserable, effeminate shepherd,” yells the one-eyed giant Polyphemus, as he reaches for the frightened Acis.382 Fearful for his life, Cañizares’ Acis tries to escape from his rival, the giant Polyphemus, who is also in love with the beautiful nymph Galatea. Yet,

Cañizares’ frightened shepherd hardly resembles the traditionally courageous and somewhat heroic figure depicted in earlier Spanish works on the subject. A brave Acis appears on the

Spanish stage in 1630 in the court comedia El Polifemo y la Circe. Risking his life to save his beloved Galatea from Polyphemus, Acis gallantly confronts the vicious Cyclops and even threatens to kill him if he lays a hand on Galatea.383 In Bances de Candamos’ Fieras de celos y amor (1690)—the first zarzuela to develop the myth of Acis and Galatea—Acis overcomes his fear of the giant and expresses his eagerness to fight the Cyclops in order to defend his beloved’s honour. Displaying great bravery, he states: “Tired of fear, I am avid for danger.”384 Similar depictions of a gallant yet tragic Acis appear in other Spanish literary genres such as the lyrical poems of Carillo y Sotomayor (La fábula de Acis y Galatea, 1611)

382 Original quotation: “Infeliz, miserable, afeminado pastorcillo”.

383 See El Polifemo y la Circe (Mira de Amescua, Pérez de Montalbán, Calderón de la Barca) [BNE Res/83. Fol. 26r] In the second jornada, the lustful Polyphemus is about to take Galatea to his cave by force when suddenly Acis appears and stops him: “Matarete yo primero” (I will kill you first)).

384 “cansado ya del temor/ansioso estoy del peligro.” Fancisco Bances Candamo, “Zarzuela Fieras de Zelos y Amor. Fiesta que se represento a sus majestades, en celebridad del nombre de las augustisimas reynas de España, madre y reynante, Doña Mariana de Austria, y Doña Mariana de Neoburg,” in Poesias comicas: obras posthumas, Vol. 2 (Madrid: Por Blas de Villa-Nueva, 1722), 176. [BNE 3/23671.vol.2] This zarzuela develops two myths: that of Circe and Scylla, discussed in Chapter 4, as well as that of Acis and Galatea.

268 and Luis de Góngora (La fábula de Polifemo y Galatea, 1613).385 Yet, Cañizares altered the character of Acis together with several gender conventions in the zarzuela. In his play,

Acis—the leading male character—is a mortal, but he is not played by a primer galán (the company’s first leading male), as was the custom in Spanish theatre.386 Instead, a third lady—Paula María—plays the role, and thus the mortal character speaks but also sings newly composed songs, contrary to established conventions.387 By breaking these conventions, both dramatist and composer were able to ridicule Acis, whom they labelled an “effeminate” shepherd, something that is rarely—if ever—heard in a zarzuela. This adjective used to describe the leading male character in the play—strictly speaking the galán, but played by a woman—was used, I suggest, for comedic purposes. Further, another theatrical convention is broken: the role of Polyphemus is cast for a male performer, and so, for the first time ever in a zarzuela, a man sings a male lament.

Cañizares’ libretto also plays with the reversal of gender roles for comedic purposes.

Two alterations to the myth, in particular, would have certainly hinted at the satirical nature of Cañizares’ work to any Spanish theatregoer of the early eighteenth century. First, a topos in the mythological zarzuela—one that is compounded by medieval courtly love and renaissance lyric—is ironically twisted: that of the suffering male in love with the image of a

385 For a synopsis of the myth in Spanish early modern literature, see Leal Bonmati. “Introducción” in José de Cañizares’ Acis y Galatea, 30-53.

386 For example, male performers played the leading male roles of the following mortal characters: Glauco in Veneno es de amor la envidia, Anteo in Las nuevas armas de amor, and Lisidante in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor.

387 Recall that in Spanish theatre of the period, male characters speak their lines while deities sing. In exceptional cases, all characters will sing their lines (e.g., Selva encantada de amor and Apolo y Dafne).

269 beautiful and unattainable woman.388 Rather than have Acis fall in love with a portrait of his beloved, like his mortal counterparts in Selva encantada de amor, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor, and Veneno es de amor la envidia, Cañizares has the nymph—that is, the beloved—fall in love with a painting of the shepherd instead.389 This reversal of gender role, in which the female character acquires the role of the lover and the male lover the role of the beloved, is further accentuated in a second variation in the story. In Ovid’s myth, once the amorous relationship between the characters is established, Galatea rests on Acis’ lap, but in Cañizares, it is Acis who rests on his beloved’s lap.390 This switch suggests that Galatea has assumed the role of the protector, traditionally associated with strong and powerful males, whereas Acis, symbolically, has become the one in need of protection. In other words, by surrendering his power and his body to the care of Galatea, Acis becomes the protected figure commonly associated with female characters.391 Most likely, the audience would have responded to these reversals of convention either with bewilderment or with laughter.

Parody is conspicuously present, above all, in one of the zarzuela’s two laments:

Polyphemus’s satirical amorous complaint “Dulce Galatea.” As Leal Bonmati demonstrates,

Polyphemus’s lament is not a novelty in the work of Cañizares and neither is the dramatists’ burlesque depiction of the giant. Polyphemus’s lament, which Leal Bonmati traces back to

388 This topos is discussed in Section 3.2.1: “The Stage: Discourses of Lovesickness and Social Hierarchies.”

389 See pages 169 and 170 of Leal Bonmati’s transcription of Cañizares’ text. Galatea’s spoken soliloquy “Que ha de llorar quien suspire” is followed by an arietta, “Muda copia, que estrella enemiga,” in which the nymph sings to the portrait. This alteration to the myth does not appear in any other Spanish texts during this period.

390 Leal Bonmati also notes this reversal of order in “Introducción,” 34.

391 In most staged mythological works, female characters in distress are saved by male figures. Such is the case of Daphne in Apolo y Dafne, and of Danaë in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor. Rarely, if ever, does a female character rescue a male character in mythological works.

270 classical antiquity, also appears in early modern Spanish serious or dramatic works (e.g.,

Cristóbal de Astillejo, Luis de Góngora, and Antonio Lopez de Vega) as well as satires (i.e

Carrillo Solórzano).392 Yet, while Leal Bonmati concludes that Cañizares’s work recapitulates both “the cultured and the burlesque poetic tradition of the myth,”393 she does not remark on the implications of this lament within the genre of the zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century. As I will show, Polyphemus’s lament is satirical for two reasons: first, its music and text setting are used, in a very obvious manner, to satirize the character, and second, it mocks the theatrical conventions of the era by having a man sing the role of the lamenting male, rather than a female performer.

Polyphemus’s song represents an unprecedented satirical rendition of the amorous laments frequently found in the genre of the zarzuela. The Cyclops is in love with Galatea who in turn despises the giant because of his unattractive appearance and his vulgarity, contrasted with Acis’s handsomeness and refinement. Like all males suffering from unrequited love in the zarzuela, the giant mourns his fate in a lament in which he both idealizes and blames his beloved for his misfortune. While he sings, he casts a trident that he intends to offer to the beautiful, yet cruel and ungrateful Galatea.394 The hammering and forging of the metal that take place simultaneously as he laments negatively affect the giant’s ability to sing. As a result, Polyphemus’s amorous complaint becomes a comical scene, both visually and audibly.

392 Ibid., 28-33. Leal Bonmati also notes that Polyphemus appears as a galán in a staged work—an anonymous loa—that was published in the early eighteenth century. See page 45.

393 “En difinitiva, AG [Cañizares’ Acis y Galatea] recoge fundamentalmente la tradición poética culta y burlesca del mito…” Ibid., 52. 394 Symbolizing a “sceptre” in the Cyclops’ imagination, this offering represents Polyphemus’ total submission to his beloved.

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The text of Polyphemus’s lament is set as a tonada, whose three coplas are followed by the estribillo (Figure 8). Cast in the key of F Major and in triple metre, the lament is characterized by melodic disjunction in the vocal line mirroring the giant’s hammering as well as his overall coarseness. The character’s boorishness is further accentuated in the melody and the text, which are intentionally rendered dull and monotonous. The opening line is particularly amusing as the giant’s first words—dulce Galatea (sweet Galatea)—are devoid of any sweetness or smoothness: the word “sweet” is set on an abrupt descending fourth that is followed by a rough mono-syllabic and mono-rhythmic line. Example 26.

Figure 8 Formal structure of “Dulce Galatea” F Major / Triple Metre Copla No.1 Estribillo Copla No. 2 Estribillo Copla No. 3 Estribillo

Dulce Ay, tirano Como a heroica Ay, tirano Muévante mis Ay, tirano Galatea… dueño! reina… dueño! ansias… dueño!

Example 26 Polyphemus’ “Dulce Galatea” in Acis y Galatea (Voice and continuo, mm.1- 3)

Furthermore, the text is set in such a way that the music metre does not match the natural stress of the words in the poem, making Polyphemus’s speech even more unrefined

(Figure 9). In the opening line, for example, the wrong syllables are accentuated in the word

“Galatea,” which is naturally stressed in the third syllable (Ga-la-te-a). Literes sets the first

272 and last unstressed syllables in the word to the downbeat of measure 2 and measure 3, respectively (Ga-la-te-a). (Example 26). So when Polyphemus addresses his beloved, his unmelodious singing provokes shock rather than inspire love or compassion. Within the context of a satirical piece, this type of setting only made Polyphemus and his low-pitched male voice sound even more comical, particularly for an audience used to the high pitched voices of women singing heart-stirring laments.

Figure 9 "Dulce Galatea": Text setting Text Music Setting English Translation Naturally accentuated syllables Syllables stressed in the music are underlined (in bold) Copla #1 Copla #1 Copla #1

Dulce Galatea, Dulce Galatea, Sweet Galatea, pues Amor me ha hecho pues Amor me ha hecho for Love has made me de tu hermosa ira de tu hermosa ira the unhappy object infeliz objeto. infeliz objeto. of your beautiful wrath.

Estribillo Estribillo Estribillo

Ay, tirano dueño, Ay, tirano dueño, Alas, tyrant lord, más duro que el bronce Más duro que el bronce harder than bronze es tu ingrato pecho, Es tu ingrato pecho, is your ungrateful [heart], puesto que le ablando Puesto que le ablando for I soften it y no le enternezco. Y no le enternezco. but I do not make it tender.

The lament is further satirized in that it is followed shortly afterwards by another comical scene in which the one-eyed giant tries to improve his ugly appearance by wearing ribbons and a plumed hat (penacho de plumas). Three annotations in the manuscript describe the giant’s comical transformation: 395

(Le ponen unas Cintas) (le dan un espejo)

395 A plumed hat is shown in Figure 2, Chapter 1.

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(Entre cuatro ciclopes habrán ido vistiendo a Polifemo de gala, y teniendo el espejo, se pone un penacho de plumas, de suerte que ha de quedar mas horroroso que antes).396

(They place bows on him) (they give him a mirror) (Between four Cyclops they will have dressed up Polyphemus, and holding a mirror [Polyphemus] puts on a plumed hat so that he will look more dreadful than before)

Acis’s tragic lament, in contrast, is full of emotion, refined and devoid of comedic elements. Yet, Acis’s “Quédate en paz, oh divina Galatea,” also departs from conventional dramatic lamenting scenes by male characters in the zarzuela. First, a mortal male character sings a lament, traditionally only allowed to a deity. Moreover, Acis also sings a lament at the moment of his death, which is extremely unusual. In all of the zarzuelas discussed in this dissertation, only one character dies, and that is Semele in Júpiter y Semele (1718). As she is burned to death, the mortal female character complains but does not sing a true lament. Her suffering, as noted in Chapter 4, is appropriated by a male deity. Finally, Acis sings a lament that is unlike any of the laments from zarzuelas of this period. The character’s mournful song is, in fact, the only lament that is devoid of a recognizable formal structure normally associated with laments. It is neither a tonada or an estribillo nor an aria da capo but, as indicated in the music manuscript, a melodic “recitado,” which somewhat resembles the freer

Italian lamentos sung by female charatcers.397 Perhaps Literes intended to create a lament that was more “feminine’ in nature and thus more in line with Cañizares’s unusual description of the shepherd. Significantly, it appears to be the only lament of its kind in the zarzuelas of the period.

396 Excerpt taken from Luis Antonio González Marín’s transcription in Antonio Literes’ Acis y Galatea, Zarzuela en dos jornadas, 114. Translation mine.

397 Such as Canente’s Italianate lament written at the request of Bacio del Bianco, examined in Chapter 1.

274

Having been violently struck by the trunk of a tree that Polyphemus has pulled out of the ground in rage, Acis senses his impending death and so he sings a mournful lament to his beloved:

Quédate en paz o divina Be at peace, oh divine Galatea, que los hados Galatea, for the fate that que me usurpan lo que vivo takes possession of my life no podrán lo que idolatro. cannot take away what I worship. Eterna el alma y eterno The eternal soul and the eternal el amor que te consagro love that I offer thee llevo conmigo, pues, yo. I take with me, for I, Mas, ay, que al fiero obstinado But, alas, for the voice of the fierce [and] Tesón √ que me ahoga√ va √ obstinate tenacity that overwhelms me tan poco a poco √ faltando little by little begins to fail me la voz √ que del eco quiere and so these lips wish to form formar otro acento el labio a sound with the eco of that voice y el paraxismo, el delirio, and the paroxysm, the delirium el frenesí y el letrago, the frenzy, the lethargy que no pudiendo más I can no longer struggle, yet I battle forcejo, aunque mas batallo, to resist what I feel, resistir a lo que siento, speaking suffocates me. me sofoca lo que hablo. Goodbye, my dearest. Adiós mi bien.398

In the song-like recitado, which opens in the key of B minor and in common metre, the shepherd comforts the nymph by making the solemn promise that death will not disrupt his love for her, and that his devotion will remain eternal and unchanging. This particular section in the lament is quite striking, as Acis’s words are set to a sequence of descending fifths (mm.

6-10)—normally associated with lament-invocations (recall the significance of the circle of fifths as emblematic of the perfection of celestial or universal harmony). Yet, in Acis’s lament there is no invocation. The use of this recurrent melodic sequence in this context may

398 Excerpt taken from Luis Antonio González Marín’s transcription in Antonio Literes’ Acis y Galatea, Zarzuela en dos jornadas, XLVII. Translation mine.

275 therefore be understood as an allusion to the celestial harmony traditionally evoked in the lament-invocation. As such, it illustrates Acis’s perfect and harmonious love while reinforcing his promise of eternal love. So while Polyphemus’s unrefined lament symbolizes the lower stage of earthly, sensual love, Acis’ conveys the higher stage of heavenly love. Leal

Bonmati’s reading of the theme of love in the zarzuela reinforces this interpretation.

According to her, the two heroic lovers embody the ideal or “authentic love that obeys reason and [thus] constitutes true matrimony—an allegory of the union of Philip V with the queen

María Luisa—while Polyphemus’s love is passionate, possessive—monstrous—and does not represent true love”399 Example 27.

Example 27 Acis's "Quédate en paz, o divina Galatea" in Acis y Galatea (Voice and continuo, mm. 1-11)

399 Leal Bonmati, “Introducción,” 114. Translation mine.

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As his life slowly starts to fade away, the shepherd’s voice begins to fail him. Like his contemporary Sebastián Durón, the composer Antonio Literes inserts rests in the vocal melody to convey the idea that the character is gasping for air (mas ay que al fiero obstinado tesón que me ahoga va tan poco a poco faltando la voz). Only these rests do not break up a single word, as in Durón. As noted in the transcription above, the rests in the vocal line appear between words (Example 28). In vain, Acis tries to resist death. Succumbing to his tragic fate, he bids his beloved Galatea farewell.

Example 28 Acis's "Quédate en paz, o divina Galatea": Use of pausa (Voice and continuo, mm. 12-15)

The performers playing these roles further reinforced the unusual gender attributes of

Acis and Polyphemus, both visually and aurally. Antonio Cuellar’s surviving libretto for the production of 1710 (Appendix 2) indicates that the well-known tercera dama Paula María performed the part of Acis while José Garcés, autor and primer galán of the theatre troupe played the role of Polyphemus.400 The roles played by these two performers served to emphasize parody and inversion of order in the zarzuela. While Paula María would have traditionally been seen performing female and male deities, here she played the role of a

400 According to Cassiano Pellicier, José Garcés was a talented actor that played first galán until his death at the age of 85. See Tratado histórico, parte segunda, page 61. The rest of the cast appears as shown: Galatea, Diosa marina,Teresa de Robles, Glauco, Dios del Mar, María Teresa la Dentona, Tindaro, Pastor, Juan Alvarez, Doris, Napea, Sabina Pascual, Tisbe, Graciosa, Paula de Olmedo, Momo, Gracioso, Beatriz Rodríguez, Telemo, Barba, Pedro Carrasco.

277 mortal character. And while José Garcés would have normally been seen performing the spoken roles of gallant mortal characters, here he sang the part of the mythical giant,

Polyphemus. These same performers would also have appeared in the premiere of the zarzuela on December 19, 1708, when it was performed at court on the occasion of the king’s birthday.

Quite likely, this satirical zarzuela was intended to amuse a young monarch distraught by the war. A comical rendition of a popular myth, especially one he would have known from his years at the French court, would have helped divert his attention from the current state of affairs. It is precisely the monarch’s and the court’s familiarity with the well-known myth that allowed dramatist and composer to play with stereotypes and parody. For the Spanish court insiders such as ministers, grandees, and members of the nobility, in contrast, the work poked fun at a favourite, even though formulaic, genre on amorous subjects that combined comedy with drama while exploiting representations of extreme emotion—encapsulated in the lamento—as well as the histrionic talent of Spanish female actor-singers. Polyphemus’s and Acis’s highly unusual laments—in the first case due to its satirical nature, and in the second owing to the fact that a mortal character sings at the moment of his death—may be viewed as indicators of the popularity –perhaps even the excessive use—of the lamento within the genre.

Acis y Galatea, which was the most popular and most often revived zarzuela of the early eighteenth century,401 owed its fame, I would argue, to having provided the stories, spectacular effects, and performers that the audience loved, but also by infusing the work with a great deal of humour. A factor that may have contributed to the work’s success is the

401 First produced for the court in 1708, the zarzuela was transferred to the public theatre in 1710 and later revived in 1713, 1714, 1721, 1725, and 1727.

278 emphasis on reversal of character traits, leading to the unusual distribution of spoken and sung lines, specifically those of Acis. Louise Stein and José Máximo Leza interpret this phenomenon as “a breakdown in the convention that reserved elaborate solo song for the deities and supernatural characters” that may hint at a transformation in the genre.402 Rather than signalling an evolutionary change in the zarzuela, I suggest that this “breakdown” results from the satirical nature of the work and its emphasis on the reversal of character traits. For the first time in a partly sung, partly spoken zarzuela, a mortal male character sings a lament, and this lament is unconventional. Subsequent works in the genre that revert to and reinforce tradition—such as Júpiter y Semele (1718) discussed in Chapter 4—support my view that the

“anomalies” in Acis y Galatea were intended by librettist and composer and understood as such by the audience, as satirical comments on the conventions and cultural undertones articulated in the genre. With its two atypical laments, Acis y Galatea points to what was the most exploited and anticipated musical scene in the zarzuela.

Acis and Galatea was accessible to everyone. Its playfulness spoke to the cultured elite as well as to the unrefined lower classes, both of which had enjoyed cross-dressing, gender ambiguity, and reversal of order on the stage for several decades, beginning with the comedia and culminating in the zarzuela. By dismantling traditions, Cañizares’s and Literes’s play provided a much-needed dose of humour that helped bring together Madrid’s angst- ridden population during a crucial time in the history of Spain. Underlying the work, naturally, was the driving force of a highly fashionable and cultivated expression of sorrow: the lamento.

402 Louise K. Stein and José Máximo Leza, “Opera, genre, and context in Spain and its colonial colonies” in The Cambridge Companion of Eighteenth-Century Opera, eds. Anthony R. DelDonna and Pierpaolo Polzonetti (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 252.

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5.2 Epilogue

This project originated in my desire to examine a little-studied period in the history of

Spain through the lens of the lamento, a climactic musical scene in the mythological zarzuela that peaked in popularity at the turn of the eighteenth century. My initial impression that male lamentos proliferated during the early eighteenth century was confirmed based on the existing literature on early seventeenth-century Spanish laments, discussed in Chapter 1. Yet no existing literature in music, Spanish literature, or theatre studies helped explain why so many lamenting male characters—all sung by women—dominated lamenting scenes in the zarzuela during the period 1696–1718.

Hoping to uncover the meaning and the function of these lamenting (fe)male characters, this dissertation has explored the developments and transformations in theatrical lamenting traditions in the zarzuela at the turn of the eighteenth century in relation to philosophical, medical, literary, and gender discourses, and to cross-dressing practices.

Chapter 1 provided background information regarding Spanish musical and theatrical traditions of the era that informed the zarzuela and its lamenting practices, laying the foundation and context for the case studies examined in Chapters 2 through 4. In this dissertation, and particularly throughout these three core chapters, I have suggested that the

Spanish theatre practice of cross-dressing determined to a great extent the transformation of the lamento into a highly climactic and well-anticipated musical scene within the zarzuela.

Aside from pleasing the male gaze with their costumes, (fe)male lamenting characters helped mitigate the overtones of effeminacy conveyed in the male lament. I have also contextualized the lamentos, and the zarzuelas in which they appeared, within a broader socio-political and historical context. By so doing, I have shown that the pre-existing tradition of the suffering male, which had roots in earlier amorous theories, became drawn upon increasingly as a

280 reflection of Spain’s socio-political turmoil beginning with the decline of the Spanish

Habsburg dynasty and the subsequent years of the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–14).

In Chapter 2, I discussed the figure of Cupid as an allegorical representation of the

Spanish monarch during the tumultuous years surrounding the war. Through a careful reading of selected zarzuelas on the subject of Cupid, I identified the theme of loss of power underlying all of Cupid’s laments, while also remarking on the undertones of weakness and effeminacy carried in these laments. I suggested that when he lamented, the sobbing character of Cupid functioned as a reflection of the king’s permanent or temporal limitations, while articulating the concerns of Madrid’s ruling classes. The concerns expressed through the theatrical re-enactment of loss of power, moreover, were safely conveyed through the female performer—the tercera dama—playing the role of Cupid. The startling discourse of waning power and weakness articulated in the lament were mitigated by the choice of a woman for the role of Cupid. While pleasing the male gaze, the female voice and body softened the dangerous associations between loss of power and effeminacy (or emasculation) appearing in the Cupid’s lament.

Chapter 3 further developed these ideas regarding cross-dressing within a slightly different context, that of the suffering male lover. I argued that in the pastoral world of the mythological zarzuela where characters mirrored Madrid’s ruling class, a feminized lamenting male character would likely have triggered anxiety regarding Spanish masculinity if performed by a man. I contended that the male lyrical voice that had traditionally dominated the discourse of amorous suffering in the realm of literature (informed by longstanding medicinal and philosophical tradition) became reinvented in the zarzuela. The lamenting Cupid, in this sense, represents a variation of such reinterpretation. And so, women were chosen to convey male discourses of amorous suffering. The female voice and body

281 provided separation between the male viewer and the lamenting male character, while mitigating the feminizing overtones in the lament. My reading of selected zarzuelas from the period revealed discourses of male amorous suffering and lovesickness informed by literary, philosophical and medical theories of the passions. Moreover, the notions on love conveyed in these amorous laments, as I showed, articulated social and gender hierarchies, as well as discourses of gender inequality. In all of these zarzuelas on amorous suffering, female characters appear to be idealized for their beauty and/or condemned for their cruelty. Also, in all of these works, they are forced to remain silent and hence do not sing a lament of their own.

The suffering of women was explored in Chapter 4. Here, I discussed the almost null participation of women in the discourses of suffering love articulated in the zarzuela, while re-stating my views that male characters nearly dominated the lamenting scenes in the mythological zarzuela from the period. I suggested that, unlike lamenting (fe)male characters that were intended for a primarily male audience, the lamenting female character was developed for a female audience, namely the queen consort. I also suggested that the few female lamenting characters appearing in the genre transgressed the traditional views that imposed silence on women, both real and fictional, for the purpose of conveying pedagogical values meant to strengthen notions of female virtue and conduct. Within these female laments, moreover, the discourse of blame traditionally appears in connection to the female character herself or to a female counterpart. The subtexts in all of these laments and their respective zarzuelas suggest that—rather than male cruelty or unrequited love—female beauty and jealousy are to blame for the suffering of women.

Finally, the discussion of Acis and Galatea in this concluding section helped summarize theatrical and musical practices and also review the discourses of love, power,

282 and gender articulated in the genre, while demonstrating the lament’s crucial role in the

Spanish mythological zarzuela.

283

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Appendices

Appendix 1 List of Documented Zarzuelas for the Period 1696-1718

In the following two tables I have tried to recreate, as accurately as possible, the zarzuela calendar for the period 1696-1718, which begins with Sebastián Durón’s first work in the genre and ends with the last zarzuela that appears in the last Libro de cuentas of the Príncipe and Cruz Theatres. I have compiled the information in Tables 1 and 2 from a number of sources, including music manuscripts, librettos, first printed editions, theatre records, and modern studies on Spanish composers, theatrical works, and theatres of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Most zarzuelas premiered during this period have been included; however, some may have been accidentally omitted.

Table 1: Zarzuelas performed for the court and for the nobility during the last years of the reign of Charles II (1696-1700) and during the first years of the reign of Philip V. Shaded rows denote works examined in this dissertation. Year Zarzuelas and Authors Venue and Theatre Company

1696 Salir el amor del mundo Salón Dorado of the Alcazar Palace (?) (Cañizares/Durón) Carlos Vallejo or Juan de Cardenas (?)

1698 Celos vencidos de amor y de amor el Salón Dorado of the Alcazar Palace (?). mayor triunfo Carlos Vallejo or Juan de Cardenas (?) (Marcos de Lanuza/ Music by Durón?) Music Lost ca. 1698 Selva encantada de amor Residence of the Count of Oñate (Unknown dramatist/ Durón) Carlos Vallejo and/or Juan de Cardenas

1699 Jupiter y Ioo. Los cielos premian Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace desdenes. Carlos Vallejo and Juan de Cardenas (Marcos de Lanuza/ Music by Durón?) Music Lost ca. 1698 Coronis Performed for either the court or for a member of (Dramatist unknown/ Music by Durón?) the nobility Carlos Vallejo or Juan de Cardenas ca. 1701- Apolo y Dafne Salón Dorado of the Alcazar Palace (?) 04 (Benavides?/ Durón and Navas) Carlos Vallejo and/or Juan de Cardenas

298

1703 Vengar el fuego con el fuego Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Zamora/ Unknown composer) Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor

1704 Las amazonas (revival) Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (A. Solís y Rivadeneira/ Unknown Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor composer)

1704 Hasta lo insensible adora Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Cañizares/Literes) Juan Bautista Chavarría

1704 Aspides hay basilicos Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Zamora/ Unknown composer) Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor

ca. 1705? El imposible mayor en amor le Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace vence amor Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor (Cañizares/Durón)

ca. 1705? Veneno es de amor la envidia Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Zamora/ Durón) Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor

ca. 1705? Las nuevas armas de amor Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Cañizares/Durón) Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor

1707 Todo lo vence amor Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Zamora/ Literes) Juan Bautista Chavarria and Manuel Villaflor

1708 Acis y Galatea Theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace (Cañizares/Literes) José Garcés and Juan Bautista Chavarría

Table 2: Zarzuelas performed at the public theatres of Cruz and Príncipe during the first two decades of the reign of Philip V Charles II. Titles include revivals of 17th century zarzuelas (font weight, normal), premiers and revivals of 18th century zarzuelas (font weight, bold) performed by each theatre company during the period 1708-1719, including dates, venues, librettists and composers. Shaded boxes denote works that are examined in this dissertation. Season Prado Garcés/ Álvarez

1708-09 ------

1709-10 ----- January 17-28, 1710 (Príncipe) Acis y Galatea (Cañizares-Literes)

1710-11 July 24-August 3, 1710 (Cruz) ----- El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (Candamo-Cañizares/Durón)

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Season Prado Garcés/ Álvarez

January 22-Feb-6, 1711 (Cruz) Veneno es de amor la envidia (Zamora/Durón)

1711-12 May 29-August 1 (Cruz) July 22-August 2, 1711 (Príncipe) Los juegos olímpicos (revival) Antes difunta que ajena (Dramatist unknown/ Literes)403 Music lost Nov. 25-Dec.1, 1711 (Príncipe) Las nuevas armas de amor (Cañizares/Durón)

January 29-Feb. 2, 1712 (Príncipe) Feb. 14-16 (Príncipe) Amar sin saber a quien404 También se ama en el abismo (revival) (Flores?/music anonymous) Music lost

1712-13 ------

1713-14 October 6-9, 1713 (Príncipe) May 6-9, 1713 (Príncipe) Venir el amor al mundo (revival) Acis y Galatea (revival)

November 23-30 (Cruz) May 16-28, 1713 (Cruz) No basta en amor lo fino Hasta lo insensible adora (Salvó?/ Manuel Ferreira and Navas)405 (Cañizares/ Literes) Music lost

403 The account book indicates the payment made to Antonio Literes for the music of the zarzuela: July 30, 1711: “a Literes por la música: 240.” See Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, 185. 404 The account book of the theatre clearly indicates that this theatrical work is a “Zarzuela.” It is interesting to note that the piece was only performed five days, which is unusual as most new zarzuelas ran for a week or ten days. Perhaps this zarzuela is a reworked version of Lope de Vega’s play Amar sin saber a quien (published in 1635) or perhaps the word ‘zarzuela’ was entered by mistake. The Biblioteca Nacional de España houses a five-page manuscript attributed to Antonio de Flores that could be part of the missing libretto (BNE, Sala Cervantes, MSS/14513/12). 405 The account book indicates two payments: one to Manuel Ferreira for the music of the zarzuela and the other to Juan de Navas for the music of the contradanza: Nov., 26, 1713: “a Manuel Ferreyra que yzo la música para esta zarzuela: 200…” Dia 29 “De la contradanza, a Navas, 30…” See Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, 232. An exemplar of the libretto is located in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala Cervantes, MSS/16644).

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Season Prado Garcés/ Álvarez

January 9-14, 1714 (Cruz) October 12-22, 1713 (Cruz) Los juegos olímpicos (revival) A igual poder y favor sólo vencer puede amor.406 (Libretto and music anonymous) Music lost

1714-15 ----- July 30-August 1, 1714 (Príncipe) Acis y Galatea (revival)

Aug. 29- Sept. 1, 1714 (Príncipe) También se ama en el abismo (revival)

1715-16 Feb. 6-10, 1716 (Cruz) Oct. 5-15, 1715 (Príncipe) De su amante se corona quien sabe El veneno en la hermosura amar y perdona (Flores)408 (Cañizares/ Composer unknown)407 Music lost Music lost

1716-17 ----- April 19-22, 1716 (Cruz) También se ama en el abismo (revival)

May 18-24, 1716 (Príncipe) La fineza en el delito (Salvo y Vela/ Composer unknown409) Music lost

May 28-30, 1716 (Príncipe) Los juegos olímpicos (revival)

Dec. 11-14, 1716 (Príncipe) Los juegos olímpicos (revival)

Feb. 7-9 1717 (Príncipe) Hasta lo insensible adora (revival)

1717-18 ------

406 A manuscript copy of the (anonymous) libretto is housed in the Biblioteca Municipal de Madrid. See Ibid., 380. 407 Ibid., 64. 408 Ibid. 409 Ibid., 65. The manuscript for the zarzuela’s fin de fiesta (its closing section) is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala Cervantes, MSS/14088)

301

Season Prado Garcés/ Álvarez

1718-19 ----- May 9-23, 1718 (Cruz) El estrago en la fineza (Cañizares/Literes)

Nov. 3-16, 1718 El estrago en la fineza (revival)

Jan. 16-19, 1719 (Cruz) Los juegos olímpicos (revival)

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Appendix 2 Description of the Sources

Reconstructing the zarzuelas from the period 1696–1718 was both exhilarating and challenging, as it involved tracing surviving documents in several archives and libraries as well as in two different countries. While in a few cases the manuscript of a zarzuela would include both text and music (e.g., Apolo y Dafne [Chapters 2, 3 and 4], Selva encantada de amor [Chapter 3], and Veneno es de amor la envidia [Chapter 4]), in other cases music and text survived in two different manuscripts. An elevator ride from the Sala Barbieri to the

Sala Cervantes in the Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid or a twenty-minute walk to the

Biblioteca Histórica de Madrid was required to piece together music and text of Salir el amor del mundo (Chapter 2) and Las nuevas armas de amor (Chapters 2 and 3). A flight from

Madrid to Évora (Portugal), in contrast, was required to match the surviving librettos in

Madrid of El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (Chapter 3), Hasta lo insensible adora

(Chapter 4), and Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en al fineza (Chapter 4) with their respective music scores located in the Biblioteca Pública de Évora.

Salir el amor del mundo (1696)

The zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo survives in a music manuscript and a libretto, both of which are housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala Barbieri, M/2298 and

Sala Cervantes, Mss/17203, respectively). The first description of the manuscript appeared in a 1946 catalogue of the Biblioteca Nacional by Spanish musicologists Higinio Anglés and

José Subirá. More than three decades later, the description is reproduced in Antonio Martín

Moreno’s 1979 transcription and edition of the zarzuela, which is, coincidentally, the first

303 modern edition of a theatrical work by Sebastián Durón.410 Bound in leather and secured by metal clasps, the manuscript is characterized by the neatness, legibility and attractiveness of appearance seen in other late seventeenth century musico-theatrical works such as Coronis

(BNE, M/1339) or Selva encantada de amor (BNE, M/2211). Its title page clearly attributes the work to the composer Sebastián Durón but does not mention the name of the dramatist.411

The libretto, on the other hand, does not include the name of the composer or the dramatist.

Spanish historian, librarian and archivist Antonio Paz y Melía attributed the libretto to José de Cañizares in an early catalogue of the Biblioteca Nacional published at the end of the nineteenth century. Having worked in the library of the Duque of Osuna, where the libretto was first found, and perhaps being familiar with Cañizares’ handwriting, Paz y Melía confidently identified Durón’s literary collaborator. This attribution has been widely accepted.

Neither the libretto nor the extant manuscript indicate a date for the production of this zarzuela. Verses 57-60 in the extant sections of the loa (a short piece that introduces the play), however, clearly state that the work is intended to celebrate Charles II’s birthday as well as his recovery from illness: “Charles, may time celebrate/ your convalescence, your years counting for its empire.”412 Based on these lines and on other pertinent documentation

410 “SALIR EL AMOR DEL MUNDO. FIESTA CANTADA. ZARZUELA EN DOS JORNADAS. Pap., 45 fols. numerados, 20, 5x 28, 1 cms., 9 pautados, fines del siglo XVII. Un volume apaisado, caja 20 x 25 cms., una hoja de guarda al principio y dos al final mas 45 fols. numerados recientemente; partitura de voces, violins, clarín, “viguela de arco” en algún número, [timbales] y acompañamiento. Encuadernación de la época en piel, con cantos y adornos dorados y broches metálicos. Contiene…” In Antonio Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo,” in Salir el amor del mundo, mundo (1696), Zarzuela en dos jornadas, transcripción y estudio de Antonio Martín Moreno (Sociedad Española de Musicología, 1979), 88. 411 Title page: “FIESTA/QUE SE HIZO A SUS MAG.DES/SE INTITULA/SALIR EL AMOR DEL MUNDO/DEL MAESTRO/DON/SEBASTIAN DURON.” 412 “Carlos, tu mejoría/celebre el tiempo,/tus edades contando/por sus inperios.” Antonio Marín Moreno has transcribed the sung verses of the loa, extracted from the only surviving musical score (BNE

304 regarding the monarch’s health, Martín Moreno has concluded that Cañizares and Durón’s

Salir el amor del mundo was most likely first performed in 1696.413 Martín Moreno’s hypothesis can also supported by other relevant documentation that provides evidence of the theatrical works produced for the monarch’s birthday in the years 1695 (Amor procede amor), 1697 (Muerte en amor es la ausencia), and 1698 (Destinos vencen finezas). Salir el amor del mundo was clearly not produced in any of these years, thus making the year 1696 all the more possible for its premiere.414

Selva encantada de amor (Between 1697–1699)

The only extant manuscript of the fully-sung zarzuela Selva encantada de amor is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala Barbieri, M/2211). Like Salir el amor del mundo, the manuscript was conceived as a memento or as a gift rather than for the use of musicians and performers, as is the case of the manuscript of Apolo y Dafne. The handwriting is neatly and meticulously set forth, and the folios are decorated with fillets that frame the text area and embellished with the addition of a few key words (such as the

M/2283, described in Appendix 2 in this dissertation) as well as the entire libretto in Sebastián Durón, y José de Cañizares, Salir el Amor del Mundo: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas, edited by Antonio Martín Moreno (Málaga: Sociedad Española de Musicología, 1979).

413 Martín Moreno, “La zarzuela Salir el amor del mundo,” 85-87. I have summarized Martín Moreno’s views in master’s thesis. See María Virginia Acuña, “Politics and Foreign Influence in the Development of Spanish Court Theatrical Music with a Study of Sebastián Durón (1660-1716),” (Master’s thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2010), 37-38.

414 For the documents pertaining to the productions of 1695, 1697 see Margaret Rich Greer, and J. E. Varey, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XXIX. El teatro palaciego en Madrid: 1586-1707. Estudios y documentos. (London: Tamesis Books Limited, 1997), 228; and for the production of 1698 see the title page of Destinos vencen finezas in the digitalized copy of the 1699 edition of the play (Biblioteca Nacional de España, R/9348). Moreover, as it has been widely accepted, Salir el amor del mundo was Durón’s first theatrical work for the court, a work that the composer could not have written any earlier than 1695 or any later than 1698.

305 sections within the work, the names of the characters and some indications) in red ink. The title page, also in red ink, reads: “Zarzuela intitulada Selva encantada de Amor/ Compuesta por Dn, Sebastian Duron a los Años/ Dl Exmo, Sr, Conde D Oñate” (“Zarzuela entitled

Enchanted Forest of Love/ Composed by Don Sebastian Duron to the Years of His

Excellency, Count of Oñate.”). As custumery with other late seventeenth-century zarzuelas, the music manuscript includes the name of the composer but omits the name of the dramatist.

This zarzuela has recently become available in a modern edition with a study by Raúl Ángulo

Díaz and Antoni Pons Seguí.415

Apolo y Dafne (Between 1701–04)

To date, there are no surviving exemplars of the libretto of Apolo y Dafne and the only known music manuscript of the zarzuela is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España

(Sala Barbieri, M/2208). The manuscript of this zarzuela attributes the first act to the court composer Sebastián Durón and the second to his coeval, Juan de Navas, but omits the name of the dramatist. Unlike other musico-theatrical manuscripts of the same time period including Salir el amor del mundo,416 Apolo y Dafne is written in three different hands that alternate throughout the work.417 The indication “este violin empieza en este compas=ojo= aqui” (“this violin begins in this measure=attention=here”) and the several hands in this manuscript seem to suggest that M/2208 is a copy of the autograph manuscript (now missing)

415 Raúl Ángulo Díaz and Antoni Pons Seguí, eds., Sebastián Durón’s Selva encantada de amor (Murcia, Raúl Ángulo Díaz, 2009).

416 Such as the manuscripts of the zarzuelas Selva encantada de amor (BNE, M/2281), Coronis (BNE, M/1339), Las nuevas armas de amor (BNE, M/2276), and Veneno es de amor la envidia (BNE, Mss/ 19254).

417 First jornada: Fols. 1r-17r, hand #1 (appears only once); Fols. 18r-19r, hand #2 (neatest handwriting-darkest ink); Fols. 19v-22v, hand #3 (ink usually faded); Fols. 23r-26r, hand #2; Fols. 27r-34v, hand #3. Second Jornada: Fols. 35r-50v, hand #3; Fols. 51r-81v, hand #2.

306 that was prepared in haste for the performance of the zarzuela. Another possibility is that

M/2208 contains and compiles two separate autograph manuscripts of Apolo y Dafne: Act 1 by Durón, and Act 2 by Navas. Whichever the case, the many inconsistencies in the spelling of the words as well as the overall untidiness of the document, which includes inkblots and ink fading or bleeding through the paper, hinder the readability of the manuscript. To make matters even more confusing, an appended front page reveals a fourth and a fifth hand, added at a much later date, that have entered the title of the work and two different numbers of jornadas.418 The many hands in this manuscript, which lead to contradictions, inconsistencies and disorder, as well as the omission of the author of the libretto’s name, may partly explain the general disregard of this zarzuela by both music and literary scholars. Furthermore, it may explain the disagreement among scholars regarding the number of acts in the zarzuela (two or three?),419 and the literary authorship of the work (Juan de Benavides, Antonio de Zamora, or anonymous?).420

418 Hand 4 reads: “Apolo y Dafne/ zarzuela en 3 jornadas, / del Maestro Duron”. Hand 5 has corrected the number of jornadas to 2 and has added between square brackets: “y del Mtro. J. Navas”. The same two hands appear again in Fol. 51r, where Hand 4 writes “3ra jornada” and Hand 5 adds between square brackets: “continua la 2a jornada”.

419 For example, while Antonio Martin Moreno identifies two jornadas in Apolo y Dafne in “Sebastían Durón (1660-1716), compositor de música teatral,” in Sebastían Durón (1660-1716), y la música de su tiempo. eds. Capdepón, Paulino and Juan José Pastor Comín: 15-66 (Vigo, Galicia: Editorial Academia del Hispanismo, 2013), 34, José Pastor Comín identifies 3 jornadas in this zarzuela in another chapter in the same book. See footnote 7, José Pastor Comín, “La Guerra de los Gigantes de Sebastián Durón,” 101.

420 Musicologists Martín Moreno and Pastor Comín have named Juan de Benavides as the literary collaborator without providing any supporting evidence for this assertion. See Martín Moreno “Sebastían Durón (1660-1716), compositor de música teatral,” 34, and footnote 7 in Pastor Comín, “La Guerra de los Gigantes de Sebastián Durón,” 101. Literary scholar María Isabel González Rocero has proposed Antonio de Zamora as the possible author of this zarzuela in “Las zarzuelas de Antonio de Zamora (1665-1727): Indice y comentario,” Dieciocho 34.1 (Spring, 2011): 127-61, 128. Finally, an online encyclopaedia of Spanish music states that the libretto of Apolo y Dafne is anonymous. http://www.musicadehispania.net/2013/04/duron-sebastian-1660- 1716.html (accessed March 24, 2014)

307

There is no date associated with the production of this zarzuela. Although Apolo y

Dafne was most likely intended for the court of Philip V (see Chapter 2), the work may have also been produced for Charles II for three reasons. First, this zarzuela is one of the very few theatrical works of this period to include oboes. As Juan José Carreras has argued, the oboe enjoyed popularity in the court in the 1690’s, especially because Queen Mariana, Charles II’s second wife, favoured this instrument. To date, the only other staged work of which we have an exact date of composition that includes oboes in its instrumentation is Lorenzo de las

Llamosas’ comedia Destinos vencen finezas, performed on November 6, 1698, on the occasion of Charles II’s 37th birthday.421 Second, Apolo y Dafne is one of the few entirely sung zarzuelas of the period. Two other entirely sung zarzuelas are the anonymous Coronis, of which not much is known, and Durón’s zarzuela Selva encantada de amor, discussed in

Chapter 3. As the latter is dedicated to the Count of Oñate it is possible to estimate an approximate date of composition: 1698 or 1699. A hypothesis worth considering is that these three works were written during the same period, after Durón’s first zarzuela in 1696 and before the death of Charles II on November 1, 1700. Perhaps composers and dramatists were experimenting with the genre due to their own artistic interests or perhaps they were acting upon the request of a particular patron. Finally, this work is inspired by an earlier zarzuela based on the same myth: Calderón’s, El Laurel de Apolo (1657). Exceptionally popular during the reigns of Philip IV and of Charles II, the work was revived on several occasions—

421 The complete work, including the music by Juan de Navas, was published in Madrid in 1699. (Biblioteca Nacional de España, R/9348). As far as I have been able to verify, Coronis (ca.1700) is the only zarzuela that includes oboes in its instrumentation. The manuscript, possibly by Durón and by an unidentified dramatist, is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (M/1339). This work has not been included in the case studies in this dissertation as there is no information of any kind regarding this anonymous zarzuela. Moreover, it does not appear to be connected to any previous or later musico-theatrical works. Any analysis of this work would thus rely entirely on the music and the text of the only surviving copy of the work, and it would be nearly impossible to situate in within a historical context.

308 at least three times for the court, in 1678, 1691, and 1695 and once for the public theatre in

1696.422 It is possible that the anonymous dramatist(s) and the composers (Durón and

Navas) of Apolo y Dafne relied on the familiarity of the audience with Calderón’s work in order to highlight the novelties in their own zarzuela (oboes, arias, and so forth). The recipient of the work and the cultured audience it was intended for would have had to be familiar with the myth and particularly, with Calderón’s adaptation in order to appreciate

Durón and Navas’ reworking of the myth.423 There are no documented revivals of the work.

During the course of this dissertation, and only a few months after I finished transcribing the entire text of the zarzuela as well as the music of its three laments, a modern edition of Apolo y Dafne with a study by Raúl Ángulo Díaz was published by Ars Hispana

(2014).424 Ángulo Díaz’s transcription of Cupid’s lament differs slightly from mine, specifically in the use of rests in the vocal line that follow the interjection “Ay.” While I transcribe the puntos (dotted notes or silences) as rests in the vocal line, Ángulo Díaz’s

422 Shergold and Varey, Teatros y comedias en Madrid… Vol. 1, 176, 292, 296, 297, and Teatros y comedias en Madrid… Vol. 2, 304.

423 I also believe it is precisely because of this subject matter, that the work could not have been written for a private patron such as a count, as the strong association between deities and royal figures may have rendered this work inappropriate outside of the court or the public theatre (As we shall see in the discussion of Selva encantada de amor written for the Count of Oñate, the focus of the work lies on the doings of the mortal characters). Moreover, Apolo y Dafne is the only-known collaboration of the two most prominent court composers of the time, as well as the only-known collaboration of two court composers in this time period. The recipient would have had to be a high court figure in order to merit such an important collaboration and also justify the great effort involved in the production of the zarzuela, which included depriving both composers from working on other tasks. Thus, it would seem that the only person with the authority to monopolize the effort and time of these two court composers was the monarch himself or his consort.

424 I presented preliminary findings of my research in a paper entitled “Expectation and Experimentation in the Zarzuela Apolo y Dafne” at two different conferences: the Pacific Northwest Chapter of the American Musicological Society (Unversity of Victoria, Victoria, B.C., March 2014) and the Canadian University Music Association (St Catherines, Ontario, Brock University, May 2014). A revised version of the findings in this paper appers in Chapter 3 of this dissertation.

309 transcribes them as dotted notes (mm. 6, 25, 30, 31). See for example, Ángulo Díaz’s transcription of measure 5-7:

I transcribe the puntos in the extant manuscript as rests for two reasons: 1) first, the rests in the vocal line depict in musical terms the use of the colon in the poetic text (“ay, de mi”)425 and 2) they are representative of Durón’s compositional style and his use of the musico- rhetorical figure of pause (pausa), examined in Chapters 2 and 3.

El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (revived in 1710)

The zarzuela El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor survives in a libretto and in a music manuscript. While the first is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala

Cervantes, Mss/14879), the latter is located in Portugal, in the Biblioteca Pública de Évora

(CLI/2-3). Both manuscripts attribute the text to José de Cañizares, but the music manuscript alone indicates the name of the composer Sebastián Durón. It is interesting to note that in the libretto a second handwriting has added the name of Cañizares and later crossed it out and written “Candamo” [Fol. 1r.], referring to the dramatist Francisco Bances Candamo (1662-

1704). In his edition and transcription of this zarzuela, Antonio Martín Moreno has suggested that Candamo may have written the work in collaboration with Durón before his

425 The text in the manuscript does not, for the most part, include the punctuation that would have appeared in the text or libretto. The exclamation “Ay” would surely have been followed by a colon in the original text.

310 death in 1704 and that the libretto was later appropriated by José de Cañizares after Durón was sent into exile in 1706.426 Since the literary authorship of El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor cannot be established with any certainty, this dissertation refers to the text as the

Candamo-Cañizares libretto.

Las nuevas armas de amor (revived in 1711)

Las nuevas armas de amor survives in several sources: two music manuscripts, three exemplars of the libretto, and one manuscript of Jupiter’s tonada “Amor, aunque quieras”

(Act 2). The first music manuscript is housed in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Sala

Barbieri, M/2276), the second in the Biblioteca Pública de Évora, Portugal (CLI/2-6 n.o

1),427 and Jupiter’s tonada in the Biblioteca de Catalunya (M. 737/41). Also bound in leather, with metal clasps, and featuring gilded ornaments, the Madrid music manuscript is similar in appearance to that of Salir el amor del mundo. Likewise, the title page only identifies the composer Sebastián Durón but not the dramatist. The text is attributed to José de Cañizares in the Évora manuscript and in all three exemplars of the libretto.428 The librettos are all found in Madrid: one full-text manuscript (first and second jornadas, Mss/15079) and a partial one

(first jornada, Mss/17448/9) in the Biblioteca Nacional; and a second full text in the

426 Antonio Martín Moreno, “Introducción” in Sebastián Durón, Francisco de Bances Candamo and José de Cañizares, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Zarzuela en dos jornadas (Madrid: Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales, 2005), xi-xiii.

427 The Biblioteca Pública de Évora was founded in 1804 by the archbishop of Évora, Frei Manuel do Cenaculo Vilas Boas. While some of the books in the library belonged to the personal collection of the archbishop, the origin of the manuscripts seems to be unknown. Most likely, they belonged to his private collection. The musical catalogue of the library was first published in 1977: José Augusto Alegría, Biblioteca Pública de Évora, Catalogo dos Fundos Musicais (Lisboa, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian,1977). 428 It has also been suggested, but without any supporting documentation, that Cañizares wrote this zarzuela in collaboration with Antonio de Zamora. See Héctor Urzáis Tortajada, Catálogo de autores teatrales de siglo XVII. Vol. I (A-LL) (Fundación Universitaria Española: Madrid, 2002), 223 and 731.

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Biblioteca Histórica Municipal (Tea 1-51-13).429 The Madrid music manuscript, along with the three librettos, has been studied and edited by Gordon Hart in an unpublished thesis of

1974. Hart’s findings appear in a recently published article that was initially presented as a conference paper at the first International symposium on Sebastián Durón (Ciudad Real,

Castilla la Mancha, 2010). His transcription was used in the modern premier of this zarzuela by the Orchestra of New Spain.430

Veneno es de amor la envidia (revived in 1711)

Characterized by the same neatness, legibility and attractiveness of appearance that is seen in other manuscripts conceived as gifts or mementos, the extant musical and literary manuscript of Veneno es de amor la envidia is held in the Biblioteca Nacional de España,

Mss/19254. Its title page, which includes the names of both dramatist and composer, reads:

VENENO ES DE AMOR LA EMBIDIA/ LA POESIA/ DE DON ANTONIO DE

ZAMORA/ LA MUSICA/ DE DON SEBASTIAN DURON.

The literary text survives in two other sources also held in the Biblioteca Nacional de

España: as a manuscript libretto (Mss. 14941) and as a zarzuela contained within a collection of plays by Antonio de Zamora (Mss. 14771). There are a few discrepancies between the libretto and the two other sources that require further analysis before any attempt to explain the reason(s) for these differences. One difference, however, must be mentioned in the

429 See Gordon Q. Hart, “A study and edition of the zarzuela Las nuevas armas de amor, libretto by José de Cañizares, music by Sebastián Durón,” (master’s thesis, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, 1974) and “Una zarzuela recuperada,” 87-98. 430 Grover Wilkins, music director. Premiered in Dallas City, in February 2013. For more on this production, visit: http://www.orchestraofnewspain.org/past_seasons.aspx

312 present study: that pertaining to Scylla’s lament. Only the libretto includes a recitative sung by Scylla before her lament [Fol. 36 r.]:

Rezitado Ya cielos, que irritado Cumplió en su influjo su crueldad el hado, Pues muero en mi tormento Sirba de queja aun el postrer aliento De quien nacio con tan contraria suerte Que sufre su vida acaso de su muerte.

This difference suggests that there was more than one production of the work, and that in one of them, the recitative was either added or omitted for any number of reasons that may include, for example, the performer’s vocal skills or the musical taste of the audience.

Hasta lo insensible adora (1704)

The zarzuela Hasta lo insensible adora survives in four extant sources: a music manuscript held in the Biblioteca Pública de Évora (CLI/2-2) and three librettos, two held in the Biblioteca Histórica Municipal (Tea 1-34-6 [A and B]) and one in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Mss/14951). While all four sources attribute the text to José de Cañizares, only two sources indicate the name of the composer, but in each case, a different name is given.

While the music manuscript (BPE CLI/2-2) attributes the work to Antonio de Literes, the libretto held at the Biblioteca Nacional de España (MSS/14941) names Sebastián Durón as the composer.

Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en la fineza (1718)

While the music of Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en la fineza survives in a music manuscript held in the Biblioteca Pública de Évora (CLI/2-5), the only surviving text to date is held in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (T/24552). The text is not a manuscript libretto

313 but rather a seventy page-long edition of the zarzuela published by Juan Verguer in

Barcelona in the year 1733.431 Not only does this printed edition attest to the popularity of the work, but it also indicates that zarzuelas were purchased for domestic reading and performances.

Acis y Galatea (1708)

Like Las nuevas armas de amor, Acis y Galatea survives in several sources: two music manuscripts and three exemplars of the libretto. While the music score held at the

Biblioteca Pública de Évora (CLI/2-4) is for voice and continuo, the score housed in the

Biblioteca Nacional de España is for voice, instruments and continuo. Both attribute the text to José de Cañizares but only one—the Madrid manuscript—indicates Antonio Literes as the composer. All three librettos are located in Madrid; one is held in the Biblioteca Histórica of

Madrid (Tea 1-5-12), and two in the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Mss/14605/6 and

Mss/15207). The latter two name Cañizares but not the composer, and only one—

Mss/14605/6—includes the entire cast of a production: that of the 1710 performance of the zarzuela. This manuscript, known as the Cuellar manuscript, along with all other surviving librettos is examined in María del Rosario Leal Bonmati’s recent study and edition of Acis y

Galatea.432 A modern edition of both music and text transcribed by Antonio González Marín has been published by the Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales.433

431 “BARCELONA: En la Imprenta de Juan/ Veguer, Año 1731./ Vendese en su casa en la Plaza de san Iayme.” See page 70.

432 This study is introduced in Chapter 5.

433 González Marín, Antonio, ed., Antonio Literes and José de Cañizares’s Acis y Galatea: zarzuela en dos jornadas (Madrid: Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales, 2002).

314

Lamentos of zarzuelas found in other sources

Amor’s “Sosieguen, sosieguen” (Salir el amor del mundo)

Cupid’s lament in the first jornada of Salir el amor del mundo appears in two early eighteenth century manuscripts. The first is the Tabla de tonos held at the Biblioteca

Nacional de España (M/2478), a manuscript that contains over one hundred solo songs

(tonos) of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as well as poems, most of which describe the political unrest of the turn of the century.434 Although the manuscript remains an anonymous work, the dedication evident in the transcriptions in terms of its neat presentation and its varied and eclectic content, seems to suggest that the compilation was meant for posterity and as a compendium of the artistic and political highlights of the period. While many of these tonos include both text and music, some appear in their literary form alone since, as the anonymous scribe indicates, many of the poems can be sung to a pre-existing melody already incorporated in the manuscript. Such is the case of Cupid’s lament (Fol.

133r.) The estribillos and coplas are transcribed, yet the recitado is omitted in this manuscript. This seems to suggest that the manuscript was prepared for domestic use and for non-professional singers that were more accustomed to singing the traditional and popular

Spanish forms of coplas and estribillos rather than the more cultured and, to a certain extent,

“foreign” forms developed at court such as the recitado.

434 “Tabla de Los Tonos que contiene este Libro Puestos en zifra de Arpa,/ todos los quales, tienen sus coplas consecutivas aellos, debaxo de las zifras,/ como se bera por los folios siguientes, no tiene este libro pasacalles, ni tanidos,/ porque de ellos ay Libro aparte; y este solo es de tonos, adbirtiendo que des/pues delos que están en zifra entran muchas coplas de distintos tonos y otras/ muchas curiosidades que se beran en el por los folios que están sentados.” (BNE M/2478)

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The second source is the Livro de rusitados de Alexandre de Lima held at the

Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (Manuscript PBA-82). Lima’s manuscript contains fourteen

Spanish and Portuguese solo songs, all of which include a recitatative.435 Cupid’s full lament

(estribillo, coplas and recitative) appears under the title “Cantata Humana de tiple que dis

Sosiguen, sosieguen. Duron” (“Secular cantata for soprano […] “Sosieguen, sosiguen” [by]

Durón”). Thus, it appears that Cupid’s lament was also performed as a chamber piece.

Jupiter’s lament “Auras suaves” (Las nuevas armas de amor)

The text—though not the music—of Jupiter’s amourous lament in Las nuevas armas de amor appears in the Tabla de tonos held at the Biblioteca Nacional de España (M/2478), described above. It begins and ends with the text of the estribillo, and each copla is followed by the estribillo. Thus, the form of the piece appears as follows: Est + Copl. 1+ Est + Copl. 2

+ Est + Copl. 3 + Est. This form presents an alternative manner of performace of the lament

(recall the sequence coplas + estribillo in the music manuscript, BNE M/2276).

Jupiter’s lament “Yo no puedo” (El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor)

Autograph manuscripts seem to have circulated and even changed hands with great frequency. The accounting book of the Teatro de la Cruz (1710–12) lists an interesting expense: “Se me deve 60 reales que pague por el traslado de la musica de la zarzuela por aver

435 The manuscript includes fourteen solo songs under the following titles: Cantata Solo Alva Soberana. Andre da Costa; Solo com Recitado Dexame tirano dios; Recitado q’ dis Ai de mi, Santos Cielos. Duron; Recitado q’ dis A fuego i a sangre mi infelise suerte. Humano; Cantata Sola q’ dis Ai infelise me moria De D. Jaime de latte; Risitado q’ dis Este desasoziego de D. Francisco Joze Coutinho; Cantata humana con recitado que dis Montes Gigantes del Marques de Cabrera; Cantata Sola humana Al apacible sombra. Del maestro D. Sebastian Duron; Recitado q’ dis Amante estrelha mia; Cantata Humana de tiple que dis Sosiguen, sosieguen. Duron; Cantata so que dis Lauzensia me condena Andre da Costa; Cantata humana q dis Depues quell pensamiento De D. Jaime de latte; Solo recitado q’ dis Al son de la cadencia; Solo recitado q’ dis Monstruo …del Maestro Rabaza de Barcelona.

316 pedido don Joseph de Torres el original”436 (“I am owed 60 reales for transferring the music of the zarzuela as Don Joseph de Torres requested the original”.) Although there are no further references regarding this transaction, it is quite possible that the “music” transferred to Torres was in fact the autograph manuscript or a copy of Durón’s El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor. A composer, organist and music theorist, José de Torres y Martínez

Bravo (1665-1738) was also the first music publisher in Spain. Quite possibly, Torres requested Durón’s manuscript for a publication, but there is no evidence that the work was ever published.

The lament “Yo no puedo” in the first act of the zarzuela (discussed in Chapter 3), on the other hand, seems to have been published by Torres, who appropriated the work by omitting Durón’s name. The musicologist José Subirá (1882-1980) located a printed copy of the lament in the archives of the aristocratic House of Alba, which he documented as:

Zarzuela nueva intitulada, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor. Yo no puedo, etc. Don

Joseph de Torres. Con privilegio en Madrid. En la imprenta de música, 6 papeles, número

621. Martín Moreno believes that the copy did not survive the 1936 fire in the House of

Alba,437 but Juan José Carreras’ recent research shows that the lament does survive.

Carrereas discusses this loose manuscript in a recent article that includes a facsimile copy of the title page.438

436 Varey and Davis, Fuentes para la historia del teatro en España, XVI, 102. 437 Martín Moreno, “Sebastían Durón (1660-1716), compositor de música teatral,” 45.

438 Juan José Carreras ,“José de Torres and the Spanish musical press in the early eighteenth century,” Eighteenth century music 10/1 (March 2013): 7-40.

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Appendix 3 Transcriptions

Chapter 2: Omnia Vincit Amor?: Love, Cupid, and Allegories of Monarchic Misgivings

1) Cupid’s “Sosieguen, sosieguen” in Salir el amor del mundo (1696). Sources: BNE M/2298 and Antonio Martín Moreno’s transcription in Sebastián Durón, y José de Cañizares, Salir el Amor del Mundo: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas (Málaga: Sociedad Española de Musicología, 1979), 91-98.

318

319

320

321

322

323

324

2) Cupid’s “Ay, de mí” in Salir el amor del mundo (1696). Sources: BNE M/2298 and Antonio Martín Moreno’s transcription in Sebastián Durón y José de Cañizares, Salir el Amor del Mundo: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas (Málaga: Sociedad Española de Musicología, 1979), 138- 47.

325

326

327

328

329

330

331

332

3) Cupid’s “Murió la fiera y yo he muerto” in Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04) Sources: BNE M/2208 and Raúl Ángulo Díaz’s transcription in Apolo y Dafne (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2014), 182-85.

333

334

335

4) Cupid’s “Valedme pero en vano” in Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705) Sources: BNE M/2276 and BPE CLI/2-6 no. 1

336

337

5) Cupid’s “Cuantos teméis al rigor” in Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705) Sources: BNE M/2276 and BPE CLI/2-6 no. 1

338

339

Chapter 3: “With Tears I complain about Thee”: Male Amorous Complaints and Lovesickness

1) Timantes’s “Frondoso Laurel” in Selva encantada de amor (ca. 1689) Sources: BNE M/2211 and Raúl Ángulo Díaz’ and Antonio Pons Seguís’ transcription in Selva encantada de amor (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2009), 101-103.

340

341

342

343

2) Argelao’s “Ni soto ni playa” in Selva encantada de amor (ca. 1689) Sources: BNE M/2211 and Raúl Ángulo Díaz and Antonio Pons Seguís’ transcription in Selva encantada de amor (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2009), 162-63.

344

345

3) Joante’s “Si el susto, si el ansia” in Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04) Sources: BNE M/2208 and Raúl Ángulo Díaz’s transcription in Apolo y Dafne (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2014), 224-25.

346

347

348

4) Jupiter’s “Oye, escucha/Yo no puedo” in El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor (ca. 1705) Sources: BPE CLI/2-3 and Antonio Martín Moreno’s transcription in Sebastián Durón, El imposible mayor en amor le vence amor: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas (Madrid: ICCMU, 2005), 56-59.

349

350

351

352

353

354

5) Jupiter’s “Auras suaves que sopláis” in Las nuevas armas de amor (ca. 1705) Sources: BNE M/2276 and BPE CLI/2-6 no. 1

355

356

357

358

359

360

Chapter 4: The Beloved’s Lament: Female Chastity, Beauty and Jealousy

1) Jupiter’s “Adiós, dueño hermoso” in Júpiter y Semele o El estrago en la fineza (1718). Sources: BPE CLI/2-5

361

362

363

364

365

2) Daphne’s “Adiós, selvas, adiós” in Apolo y Dafne (ca. 1701–04) Sources: BNE M/2208 and Raúl Ángulo Díaz’s transcription in Apolo y Dafne (Fundación Gustavo Bueno: Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 2014), 277-79.

366

367

368

3) Clythie’s “Ay, de mí, santos cielos” in Hasta lo insensible adora (1704) Sources: BPE CLI/2-2

369

370

371

4) Scylla’s “Ondas, riscos” in Veneno es de amor la envidia (ca. 1705) Sources: BNE Mss/19254

372

373

374

Conclusion: Parody and Popularity of the Lamento

1) Polyphemus’s “Dulce Galatea” in Acis y Galatea (1708) Sources: BNE M/2210, BPE CLI/2-4, and Luis Antonio González Maíín’s transcription in Antonio Literes, Acis y Galatea: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas (Madrid: ICCMU, 2002), 111-12.

375

376

377

2) Acis’s “Quédate en paz, oh divina Galatea” in Acis y Galatea (1708) Sources: BNE M/2210, BPE CLI/2-4, and Luis Antonio González Marín’s transcription in Antonio Literes, Acis y Galatea: Zarzuela en dos Jornadas (Madrid: ICCMU, 2002), 177-79.

378