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The Seven Veils of Salomé

Article  in  Translator · February 2014

DOI: 10.1080/13556509.2003.10799144

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 THE SEVEN VEILS OF SALOMÉ:
A Study of Wilde´s Play in Portuguese Translation1

“Art thou afraid of me, Jokanaan, that thou wilt not look at me?” (Wilde, 1954:346)

Salomé, it seems, is condemned to walk forever veiled. Like the Western

stereotype of a woman from the Arab world, she must don the chador and lower her
gaze, guarding to herself the dark mysteries with which she is reputedly endowed.
Throughout Wilde’s play, the characters are forever warning each other against
looking at her: “You must not look at her,” says the Page to the Young Syrian (Ibid,
320), repeated later by Herodias to Herod (Ibid.330), while Jokanaan, like a tele-
evangelist, shrieks out, “Daughter of Sodom, come not near me! But cover thy face
with a veil… and get thee to the desert…” (Ibid, 327). The fear, it would appear, is
not entirely unfounded. Indeed, those that do look upon her (the idealistic young
Syrian, who is in love with her, and lecherous old Herod, who desires her) suffer
dreadful fates, the first dying at his own hand, and the second, forced to an act of great
profanity that brings dreadful consequences in its wake.
Salomé the play has had much the same fate as Salomé the character. In
England, no one would look at it at all. It was banned in 1892 by the Lord
Chamberlain’s Examiner of Plays, denied public performance for nearly forty years,
and until very recently was scorned by all the creators of the canon, relegated to the
final pages in collections of plays, and ignored by critics and teaching institutions as
one of Wilde’s minor works, unworthy of attention.i Like its author, imprisoned in
1895 for “gross indecency”, it seems to have been a victim of the hypocrisy of the late
Victorian establishment, a society which was above all unwilling to confront its own
demons, finding it easier to project them onto convenient scapegoats such as women,
foreigners, and sexual “deviants”. And of course, Salomé the character falls into all
three of these categories, making her a prime target for establishment suspicions, and
a natural icon for the subversive periphery.

1
This is a postprint of an article published in The Translator 9 (1), 2003. 1-38.
DOI:10.1080/13556509.2003.10799144.

1
 But, if England was the repudiating Jokanaan to Salomé, then the rest of
Europe was its Herod, voyeuristically salivating over the scandal. The play became a
great success all over the Continent, undergoing numerous productions and being
translated into a wide variety of languages: Walter Ledger’s 1909 bibliography of
translations, cited by Donohue (1997:119), lists versions in German, Czech, Greek,
Italian, Hungarian, Polish, Russian, Spanish, Catalan, Swedish and Yiddish. Today, it
is certainly one of Wilde’s most popular and well-known works outside of Britain.
However, we can safely assume that Salomé, dangerous as she is perceived to
be, is not allowed to go naked in a foreign land. She has to be veiled, in accordance
with the norms and practices of the host culture, revested and domesticated to make
her acceptable to local tastes. The process of domestication is multi-faceted, but the
primary veil is clearly one which the audience or reader cannot even usually see,
namely the translation, which often seems so light and airy that it gives the illusion of
being transparent. But Salomé is being hidden, even when she seems at her most
brazen. For even the most aware and conscientious translator is at the mercy of his/her
conditioning, and the very process of interpretation is essentially a rewriting of the
text according to the norms and expectations of the target culture. Thus, the Salomé
we encounter abroad is often a very different lass from the one who was banned from
London in 1892.
In Portugal, Salomé has danced in exactly seven veils - seven translations,
executed between 1910 and 1992, which makes it the most translated of Wilde’s plays
in Portuguese.ii Some of these veils are fairly thin, like gauze; others are thick
brocades, heavily ornamented with elaborate figures, which, if one looks closely,
seem to us vaguely familiar, reminiscent of something else we once read somewhere.
The translations came too late to be included in Walter Ledger’s
bibliography, and have been largely ignored by more recent studies of the play (due,
no doubt, to Portugal’s perceived peripheral status on the world stage). Even a work
like Wilde: Salomé by William Tydeman and Steven Price, which aims to study the
stage history of the work and its various transformations around the world, makes no
mention of Portuguese renditions. This paper, therefore, attempts to fill in this lacuna.
I am interested here in what the Portuguese saw when they looked at Salomé,
and how their view of the play compares to the version that so scandalized Britain and
led to its virtual annihilation in that country for so many years. Was it the same play
that was presented to the Portuguese public, or were its contours so altered through

2
mediation that it was experienced as something else entirely? In the absence of
detailed information about the various stage and operatic productions, my main source
of information will be the texts themselves, whose linguistic fabric will be scrutinized
in an attempt to determine just how much of Wilde’s creation the
readership/audiences actually saw through the veils.

Wilde’s Version of the Salomé Story

The play is based upon the Bible story of the girl who danced for Herod and
was rewarded with the head of John the Baptist, as presented in Matthew 14 and Mark
6. However, in the hands of Wilde, the original tale has undergone a considerable
transformation. It becomes a perverse psychosexual drama, redolent with fin-de-siècle
decadence, in which the tragedy is precipitated by lust – Salomé’s for Jokanaan, and
Herod’s for Salomé. Wilde has altered some of the narrative elements of the original,
for, in his version, Herodias, Salomé’s mother, does not instigate the killing to avenge
Jokanaan’s denigration of her, as she does in the Bible; instead it is Salomé herself
who is responsible for the act. Moreover, as Salomé has been promised a reward in
advance, she dances in order to take revenge, thus representing an important alteration
to the sequencing of the story.
Wilde originally wrote this play in French, and there is considerable
controversy over his reasons for this. Some critics (such as Kerry Powell cit.
Tydeman & Price,1996:12) hold that he did so to escape censorship in Britain, since
laws were generally more liberal towards dramatic works in foreign tongues; and still
more believe that it was in order to attract the actress Sarah Bernhardt to the leading
role (Ibid, 12). Although both of these factors may have contributed to his decision, I
myself feel that it is more likely that he wanted to identify with the group of
Symbolist and Decadent writers with whom he fraternized in Paris, and indeed, the
play is distinctly French in character (an aspect that will be explored further in the
section on ‘Symbolist and Decadent Elements in Salomé’). iii
The play was translated into English by Wilde’s lover, Lord Alfred Douglas,
but there is some evidence that Wilde collaborated extensively in this translation.
Donohue (1997:122) states:

3
 The Mathews and Lane English edition indicated no translator on the title
page, but bore Wilde’s dedication ‘To My Friend Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas
the Translator of My Play’. Wilde had asked Douglas to make the translation,
but was evidently not satisfied with the results and so became a reluctant
collaborator, introducing some changes into Douglas’s draft “to the point
where it became his own once more”.

My own analysis of the two texts would support this hypothesis. The English version
seems to reveal as much, or even more, of Wilde’s artistry as the French (see below).
For this reason, I have chosen here to treat the English version not as a translation but
as one of two ‘originals’.
In England, the play rapidly became the symbol of all that was subversive, due
partly of course to Wilde’s own scandalous reputation, but also through having been
appropriated quite early on by feminists, homosexuals and the artistic avant-garde.
The first English production to appear on a proper stage was organized by Adeline
Bourne, a prominent suffrage supporter, in 1911, and “featured Bourne as a blatantly
political princess… Bourne’s portrayal of an emancipated virago put viewers in mind
of ‘a twentieth-century Suffragette attempting an entrance into the House of
Commons or asking for Mr Winston Churchill’s head on a charge sheet’” (Kaplan,
1997:256). A wartime version of the play (J.T. Grein’s 1918 production) caused
hysteria, due according to Kaplan (Ibid, 256) to “the conjunction of Maud Allan’s
sensuality, recent losses on the Western Front, and Grein’s Dutchness – which to
myopic eyes looked suspiciously German”; while an article appearing in the
Imperialist newspaper in April 1918 “suggested that the list of subscribers to a private
performance of Oscar Wilde’s Salomé might contain the many names of the
47,000”,iv this being a reputed list seized by British spies of elements of British
society that were sympathetic to the enemy. More recently it has been interpreted as a
covertly homosexual text, containing certain symbols that only members of the
Parisian gay world would have understood.v
If these connotations accruing to the play caused it to be shunned in England,
it is interesting to speculate about the reasons for its astonishing popularity on the
Continent. Certainly, sections of the French intelligentsia deliberately supported
Wilde so as show themselves to be more enlightened than their English counterparts
(Tydeman & Price, 1996:26). But elsewhere, it is likely that the play was, to a large

4
extent, domesticated for local consumption, and the extent to which this took place
can only be estimated after an intensive study of the translations in question.

Chronology
The French version was composed in 1891, and in 1892, Sarah Bernhardt
began work on a London production of the play, until this was ended by the decision
of the Lord Chamberlain’s Examiner of Plays to ban it (on the grounds of prohibition
against portraying Biblical characters on stage, a law that dated from Henry VIII’s
prohibition of Mystery Plays). In 1893, it was published in Paris and London
simultaneously (in French), and the following year, the English version came out,
with the famous illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley. In 1895, Aurélien Lugné-Poe’s
Théâtre de l’Oeuvre in Paris staged the first public performance, and following this,
there were various other productions all over Europe, though frequently under the
threat of censorship. The most noteworthy of these early productions was Max
Reinhardt’s in Berlin 1902-4 in a translation by Hedwig Lachmann, which was seen
by Richard Strauss. The composer was reputedly spellbound by the work, and
resolved immediately to set the piece to music (Masó, 1983:11), developing the opera
bearing the same name that, from 1905, swept around Europe causing a sensation
wherever it opened. Indeed, it may be largely due to the opera that Salomé has
become such a canonical work. For while the play was dogged by censorship and
restrictions almost everywhere, the opera managed largely to escape, due no doubt to
the fact that the words, in opera, were considered to be unessential, and indeed, were
often delivered in a language other than that of the audience.

Symbolist and Decadent elements in Salomé

One of the reasons for England’s refusal to acknowledge Salomé may be that
the play seemed utterly alien to an English audience. As Donohue (1997:123)
observes:

Salomé must have seemed to them almost a betrayal; the idiom was too
unfamiliar, too threatening, and Wilde’s models, dramaturgical and
characterological, were too far afield from the West End repertoire of drama

5
 and comedies of modern life and romantic costume plays, peopled by upper-
class Londoners or their surrogates.

This was due largely to his venture into Symbolism, a movement which had very few
representatives in the English literary tradition. Wilde was certainly very familiar
with the works of Mallarmé, Claudel, Maeterlinck etc, and counted among his
personal acquaintances in Paris Stuart Merrill, a minor Symbolist poet, who was for a
time acting as manager to Paul Fort, the force behind the Théâtre d’Art, considered to
be “o templo da dramaturgia simbolista” (Rebello,1979: 9).vi In fact, this theatre had
projects to stage Salomé, and although the production never came off, the theatre that
finally did play host to the première, Lugné-Poe’s Théâtre de l’Oeuvre, was (initially,
at any rate) considered to be its successor.
There is little doubt about Salomé’s credentials as a Symbolist piece.
According to Styan (1981:36):

The play… bore the Symbolist stamp richly enough. The leit-motifs of colour
and symbol were vivid in the white moon and red blood, and the play was
built up musically with incantatory repetitions, paralysing silences and
alternating shouts and whispers. Moreover, Salomé’s strongest moments on
the stage were powerfully ritualistic, as when the strong black arm of the
King’s executioner rises slowly from the cistern, lifting Jokanaan’s head on its
silver platter, or when the King’s guards rush down upon Salomé and crush
her beneath their shields.

The play also possesses the static, dream-like quality typical of Symbolism. It
is set, not in a concrete time and place, as in a Naturalist work, but in a mythical
region somewhere in the hazy Orient, and its texture is built up of intricately
intertwining patterns of repetitions and echoes that operate on the verbal, visual and
musical levels. The symbolism is complex, involving colours, numbers, flowers,
minerals etc, all of which insistently hint at the existence of some spiritual realm
operating behind and beneath the material, and which is ultimately fearsome. Death
lurks not far away, sensed by certain characters as a vast winged presence like “a bird,
a huge black bird that hovers over the terrace” (Wilde, 1954:339).

6
 It is the ominous nature of the spiritual dimension that links this play (as of
course most Symbolist work) so closely to Decadence. For the characters are all
morally bankrupt, existing only as cannabalistic appetites that vie with each other for
dominion, typical of the fin-de-siécle disillusionment. The femme fatale is of course a
stock character of the time, and Salomé is an archetype. In fact, she was a very
common theme amongst writers and artists of this period, and versions of her story
were circulating by Mallarmé, Flaubert and Huysman, Gustave Moreau, etc, all of
which Wilde certainly knew.

The French and English Texts

A very old, beautifully bound edition of the French text was used for the
preparation of this paper, bearing a handwritten dedication on the first page “to
Senhora D. Amélia Rey Colhaço Robles Monteiro”,vii dated 19th April 1926. It was
published by the Théâtre d’Arte in Paris, the avowedly Symbolist theatre group that
had planned but never managed to organize the very first production of the play. The
edition itself is undated. However, as the editor’s introduction lists all the French
editions of the play up to then (and describes public response to the production in
France), we can at least situate it between 1908 and 1926.
The English text comes last in a collection of Wilde’s Plays published by
Penguin in the series ‘Penguin Plays’, first in 1954 and then reprinted successively. It
also contains a list of the cast who took part in the production by The New Stage Club
at the Bijou Theatre in London, on 10 and 13 May 1905. The translation is attributed
to Lord Alfred Douglas.
The most important aspect that we notice when we compare the French and
English versions of the play is the remarkable difference in the range of language
used. While the vocabulary and syntax of the French text are remarkably un-erudite,
rarely rising above the norm of everyday usage, the English is rich, literary and
archaic, employing a lexis that is heraldic, mythical and Biblical (eg. smite, dwell,
beseech, accursed, foretold, gainsay, avail, befall, charger etc), and a syntax that
makes use of forms from an earlier phase in the language (eg. the personal pronoun
thou; prepositions forth, unto; adverbials peradventure, therein; verbal inflections ‘-
eth’, ‘-est’; archaic modal usages “must needs”, “I would but look”; subjunctives
“cursed be thou”, and latinate inversions, such as “rejoice not thou” and “fill thou my
cup”).

7
 In the English version, characters are defined to a certain extent according to
their spoken style. Iokanaan, in particular, uses a heavily prophetic Biblical language,
which removes him entirely from any connection with everyday life, while the minor
characters engage in dialogue that, for the most part, sounds quite modern and
pragmatic. Herod and Herodias also use archaic forms, but which sound Renaissance
rather than Biblical (eg. “Wherefore dost thou tarry?”; “There be some who say…”),
while Salomé alters her style as she gradually loses her girlish innocence during the
course of the play, becoming progressively more literary and archaic.
The French text, on the other hand, is remarkably undifferentiated stylistically.
For example, when Herod says, “Do not rise, my wife, my queen, it will avail thee
nothing. I will not go within till she hath danced”, the French text says, “Ne te lève
pas, mon épouse, ma reine, c’est inutile. Je ne rentrerai pas avant qu’elle ait dansé”.
This is even more noticeable when we compare a speech of Iokanaan:

After me shall come another mightier that Après moi viendra un autre encore plus
I. I am not worthy so much as to unloose puissant que moi. Je ne suis pas digne
the latchet of His shoes. When He même de délier la courroie de ses
cometh, the solitary places shall be glad. sandales. Quand il viendra, la terre
They shall blossom like the lily. The eyes déserte se réjouira. Elle fleurira comme
or the blind shall see the day and the ears le lis. Les yeux des aveugles verront le
of the deaf shall be opened. The new-born jour, et les oreilles des sourds seront
child shall put his hand upon the dragon’s ouvertes… Le nouveau-né mettra sa main
lair, he shall lead the lions by their manes. sur le nid des dragons, e mènera les lions
(p321) par leurs crinières. (p50)

Of course, this is entirely understandable when we remember that Wilde composed

the text in a language that was not his own. His French was generally considered by
native speakers to be good, but quirky and foreign-sounding, and we know that the
play underwent corrections from his friends Stuart Merrill, Marcel Schwob, Adolphe
Retté and Pierre Louÿs (Tydeman & Price 1996:17; Donohue, 1997:122). Merrill
asserts, “He wrote French as he spoke it, that is to say with an air of whimsicality,
which, if it gave spice to his conversation, would have produced a deplorable effect in
the playhouse…” (cit. Tydeman & Price, 1996:18). Consequently, we must assume

8
that his French was not quite finely tuned enough for him to have departed from the
neutral unmarked style that is employed in this text.
For this reason, I would assert that the English version better serves Wilde’s
aims than does the purported ‘original’. As a Symbolist work, he would have wanted
to have created a sense of distance between the audience and the scene on the stage, a
sense that the action is somehow taking place in a dreamy mythical realm far from the
banalities of mundane life; and the English version achieves this through the use of a
style that is markedly archaic. Indeed, many of the erudite linguistic features from
Biblical and Heraldic texts would not have been altogether accessible to an
audience/readership of the day, which would have given the text a slightly opaque
quality.

The Portuguese Versions

These translations are remarkably different from each other, as will be seen. Each
was studied in relation to its source text (it was generally possible to determine
whether the text is based on the English or the French version by linguistic analysis,
when this information was not explicitly given), and then they were all compared with
each other in relation to certain features considered to be of especial interest.

A) João do Rio (1908):

This translation is in fact Brazilian, but is included here because it appears to have
been the text by means of which the Portuguese first became acquainted with the play.
It was used for the most famous (possibly only) early production in Portugal, by the
Rey Colaço Robles Monteiro Company in 1926, and is mentioned in the introduction
to the 1945 Rodrigues translation (p.10) as one of two preceding versions.
It was published in 1908 by H.Garnier, Livreiro-Editor in Rio de Janeiro and
Paris, and is presented as a “Dramatic Poem in One Act”, a genre definition which to
a certain extent colours the work (the French text labels it as “Drame en un acte”). It
is not entirely clear whether it follows the French or the English version, for in places,
it departs considerably from both ‘originals’; nevertheless there are stylistic features
that suggest the English might underlie the translation, and for this reason, English
has been taken as the language of confrontation. The translator appears to have been
well-known on his own account, for the book is presented as part of a series of works
by the same person, a list which includes the translations of two other works by Oscar

9
Wilde (Lady Windermere’s Fan and Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the
Young), and of a work about this author (Oscar Wilde by Harborough Sherard),
alongside a series of original writings, literary and non-literary. The translation is
prefaced by a brief biography of Oscar Wilde (authorship not given), followed by an
8-page text by Gomez Carrillo entitled ‘Como Oscar Wilde sonhou Salomé’, which
claims to be a true account by a friend of Wilde’s of the process involved in the
conception of Salomé, but which clearly involves fictional devices (dialogue is
presented as in a novel, for example) which undermine its authenticity. The play itself
is illustrated with 10 of Aubrey Beardsley’s famous black and white drawings (one is
missing for some reason).
The most striking feature about the translation in general is the way in which
Wilde’s sharp and often shocking contours have been softened, presumably to bring
the narrative more in line with audience expectations. For example, in Salomé’s
description of the various foreigners present at the party, near the beginning of the
text, the Egyptians are described as having “long nails of jade” (p322), which is
rendered as “longos turbantes de jade” (p27. literally “long turbans of jade”), thus
making these minor characters conform to the stereotype of the Oriental and removing
the rather shocking aspect of their visual appearance.
Iokanaan’s harrowing prophecies have also been distanced. Shortly after
Salomé’s entrance, he shrieks out: “The Lord hath come. The Son of Man hath come.
The centaurs have hidden themselves in the rivers, and the sirens have left the rivers,
and are lying beneath the leaves of the forest” (p323). The tenses are important here,
because, during the course of the play, these prophecies (mostly of doom) come true,
as the unseen spiritual dimension underlying the action gradually asserts itself.
However, João do Rio chooses not only to soften Iokanaan’s tone into that of a
benevolent spiritual advisor, but also locates the coming of the Lord in the future, and
the submission of the centaurs and nymphs in some vague general present, thus
reducing the immediacy and emotional intensity of the prophecy: “Cuidado. Vae
chegar o Deus! Está proximo o Filho do Hómem. Os centaurs occultam-se nos rios e
as nymphas, deixando os ribeiros, deitam-se nas florestas” (pp27-28).
The softening is even more noticeable in the area of characterization. Salomé
is distinctly sweeter and more innocent in this text than in Wilde’s, and Iokanaan
more sympathetic. Herod and Herodias, on the other hand, become the villains of the

10
piece (just as they are in the Bible version, of course). For example, when Salomé first
comes on stage, she is fleeing the attentions of the Tetrarch that bother her:

I will not stay. I cannot stay. Why does the Tetrarch look at me all the while
with his mole’s eyes under his shaking eyelids? It is strange that the husband
of my mother looks at me like that. I know not what it means (p322).
Here she appears the young virgin, so innocent that she does not even recognize lust
when she sees it. However, this impression is rapidly contradicted when she suddenly
adds, “In truth, yes, I know it” (“Au fait, si, je le sais”), thus revealing herself to be in
fact more knowledgeable than she appears. This addendum has been omitted
completely from João do Rio”s translation, with the important effect that Salomé is
left sweet and innocent (and thus a victim of more worldly forces).
This impression of innocence is also reinforced by Salomé’s own discourse. In the
English and French texts, when she is trying to persuade the soldiers to allow her to
see Iokanaan, she expresses her wish in four different ways, which rapidly lose their
initial politeness, turning imperious and powerful:

Je voudrais bien lui parler I would speak with him.

Je veux lui parler. I desire to speak with him.
Je le veux. I will speak with him.
Faites sortir le prophète. Bring forth the prophet.
(p61) (p324)

Thereafter she repeats, “Bid him come forth” (Dites-lui de venir”) twice, and, when
she does not get her way, growls ominously, “You keep me waiting!” (“Vous me
faites attendre”). In contrast, João do Rio”s Salomé begins in a much more girlish,
frivolous tone (“Seria capaz de falar-lhe”, p30), passes through “Desejo falar-lhe”,
“Quero”, and “Tragam à minha presença essa propheta”, and, instead of the imperious
“You keep me waiting”, mutters petulantly, “Estou quasi a depender da vossa
vontade!” (“I’m almost dependent on your will”). This aspect will be discussed in
more detail in the section on Modal Sequences.
Iokanaan too is much less fierce in this text than in either of the ‘originals’.
The English translation gives him the emaciated appearance of the ascetic (“How
wasted he is! He is like a thin ivory statue”, p.326), which is considerably stronger

11
than the French (“Comme il est maigre aussi. Il ressemble à une mince image
d”ivoire”, p. 68). João do Rio, on the other hand, removes any reference to thinness
whatsoever, making him white and statuesque: “Como é branco! É como uma estatua
de marfim…” (p.35, “How white he is! He is like a marble statue”).
His discourse, also, loses ferocity in the translation. When he is railing against
Herod, he calls out, “Bid him come forth, that he may hear the voice of him who hath
cried in the waste places and in the houses of kings” (p325), which is translated as
“Mandou que eu saisse porque póde ouvir aquelle cujos gritos repercutem nas praças
publicas como nos palacios reaes?” (“Did he order me to come out because he could
hear him whose cries echo in the public squares as in the royal palaces?”, p.33). The
transformation of the harsh imperative into a tentative interrogative has removed all of
Iokanaan’s certainties and power. Here we no longer have the terrible, fierce prophet
who is afraid of no one, not even the king, but rather an uncertain young man, who is
rather surprised to find that his words may have been heeded.
The interaction between Iokanaan and Salomé is also altered considerably by
João do Rio. In the English and French versions, her attempts at seduction are harshly
repudiated by the prophet, who tries to escape her gaze, refusing to look at her:

Who is this woman who is looking at me? I will not have her look at me.
Wherefore doth she look at me with her golden eyes, under her gilded lids? I
know not who she is. I do not wish to know who she is. Bid her begone. It is
not to her that I would speak. (p326)

In João do Rio, however, it becomes the first stage of a gentle courtship between two
equally shy young people:

Quem é esta mulher que tanto olha para mim? Não queria os olhos seus sobre
os meus olhos postos. Com que fim suas doiradas pupillas movem-se
docemente sob as palpebras não, deixando os meus passos? (p.36,“Who is that
woman that looks at me so? I didn’t want her eyes on mine. Why do her
golden pupils move sweetly beneath eyelids, leaving my steps?”)

12
In particular, the choice of the Imperfect tense in the verb ‘queria’ suggests that
Iokanaan’s resolve is failing, reinforced by the insertion of the adverb ‘docemente’
(‘sweetly’).
When Salomé replies to him, in the English and French texts, she uses a
metaphor that reveals the rather morbid, intoxicated nature of her attraction for the
prophet: “Speak again, Jokanaan. Thy voice is wine to me” (p326). Once again, João
do Rio cleans up the text, substituting a conventional metaphor taken from the
discourse of romantic love: “Fala mais, Iokanaan. Tua voz é para os meus ouvidos
uma estranha música.” (p37, “Speak again, Jokanaan. Your voice is to my ears a
strange music”).
Later, after the beheading, a certain subliminal notion of purity is still
maintained by João do Rio. As Salomé picks up the disembodied head, she is
triumphant: “Ah! Thou wouldst not suffer me to kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan. Well! I
will kiss it now. I will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe fruit” (p346). But in the
Brazilian version, this shrillness almost entirely disappears: “Tu não quizeste que eu
beijasse a tua bocca, Iokanaan. Pois, vou beijal-a agora! Hei de mordel-a com os
meus dentes como se morde um fructo verde” (p81, “You didn’t want me to kiss your
mouth, Jokanaan. So, I am going to kiss it now! I shall kiss it with my teeth as one
bites a green fruit”). It is the choice of verbs that largely creates this effect (‘vou
beijar’, ‘hei-de morder’ are much milder emotionally than the English ‘I will’), not to
mention the transformation of the ripe fruit into a green one (which is in keeping with
the general infantilisation of Jokanaan, mentioned above).
Herod, on the other hand, is possibly a more repulsive character in the João do
Rio version than in the English or French. When Salomé at the beginning describes
him as looking at her “with his mole’s eyes under his shaking lids” (p322) it is not
entirely clear what she means: is she suggesting that his eyes are small and beady? Or
that they are blind in some way? Joaõ do Rio chooses to interpret this in a different
way: “Porque me olha o Tetrarcha, com aquelle olhar vermelho sob as sobrancelhas
convulsas?” (p26, “Why does the Tetrarch look at me with that red look beneath
convulsing eyebrows?”) In this portrait of Herod, his unattractiveness has been
exacerbated. His eyes now appear to be bloodshot, such as might result from over-
drinking, late nights at parties or unbridled lust, while the choice of ‘convulsas’
suggests a much more severe loss of control than in the English.

13
 Herodias, also, does not come off well in this translation. In the English and
French versions, she is by no means an attractive character, but nevertheless has a
kind of terse, no-nonsense attitude and a control of language that contrasts with the
slobbering terrified spinelessness of Herod. Here, however, she is reduced to a
mindless hysteric. During the altercation between the king and queen, when Herod
rebukes her for having brought up her daughter to be disobedient, Herodias retorts:
“My daughter and I come of royal race. As for thee, thy father was a camel driver!
He was also a robber!” (p332). The terseness of this accusation reveals the truth
behind the words, and when Herod cries out “Thou liest!”, she replies smugly,
confident that her words have hit home, “Thou knowest well that it is true.” In the
João do Rio version, there is no chance that these words could be true. They are
reduced to a torrent of mindless abuse, in which the expressive function has taken
over completely from the referential: “Eu e minha filha descendemos de uma família
real. Quanto a ti, teu pae era um camello, um patife, um ladrão” (p.49, “My daughter
and I are descendants of a royal family. As for you, your father was a camel, a
scoundrel, a thief”).
Finally, I would like to look briefly at João do Rio’s treatment of Herod’s final
speech. In both the English and the French, we have above all, a sense of foreboding,
the feeling that Herod is aware that he has finally overstepped the limits, and that the
ominous shadowy doom that has, until how, hovered in the background like an
invisible black bird, is now about to make its presence felt:

Ah! There speaks the incestuous wife! Come! I will not stay here. Come, I
tell thee. Surely some terrible thing will befall. Manasseh, Issachar, Ozias, put
out the torches. I will not look at things, I will not suffer things to look at me.
Put out the torches! Hide the moon! Hide the stars! Let us hide ourselves in
our palace, Herodias, I begin to be afraid. (p347).

As we have seen, there has been a sense throughout the play that it is somehow
dangerous to look directly at things, and the characters constantly hope to escape
doom by averting their gaze. Of course, what they are trying to avoid is the gaze of
God. As decadent, fin-de-siècle creations, these characters are aware of their own lack
of moral fibre, and desperately fear the awful Judgement that will befall them and
which Jokanaan has been predicting since the beginning. This final speech of Herod’s

14
has a terrible force. As the culmination of the threads of symbolism that have been
woven into the whole text, and the ultimate fulfilment of the prophecies, it puts a final
confirmation upon the existence of a spiritual dimension hinted at throughout. It must
have had a terribly unsettling effect upon audiences who believed themselves to be
committed to a godless view of the universe, such as the post-Darwin Victorians
(possibly a reason why they, like Herod, refused to look).
João do Rio, as usual, sanitizes the speech and removes its more perturbing
features. To begin with, he refuses to be explicit about the incest, the crime that was
perhaps at the root of the corruption, and Herod calls Herodias “a mulher do meu
irmão” (“my brother’s wife”), which sound more like a disclaimer of kinship than an
admission of guilt. Then he continues:

Não quero ficar, vem! anda! Vão se dar coisas terríveis… Mananeh, Issachar,
Ozias, apaguem as tochas. Não quero que ninguem me veja! Apaguem as
tochas! A lua esconde-se! Escondem-se as estrellas! Escondamo-nos no
palácio, Herodias! Começo a ter medo… (p84, “I don’t want to stay, come!
Let’s go! Terrible things are going to happen…Mananeh, Issachar, Ozias, put
out the torches. I don’t want anyone to see me! Put out the torches! The moon
is hiding! The stars are hiding! Let us hide in the palace, Herodias! I begin to
be afraid…”)

Once again the use of ‘quero’ to translate the English ‘will’ weakens the force of the
intention behind the words. But more important is the omission of “I will not look at
things”. This is a key line in the original, linking Herod with Iokanaan, who refused
to look at Salomé, and revealing that he is finally heeding the warnings that were
given him throughout the play. Refusing to look is therefore, in a sense, an admission
of guilt and of vulnerability, a submissive lowering of the eyes before the mighty
powers that rule the universe and which are about to avenge the hubris that has led
these characters to consider themselves up to now untouchable. João do Rio”s
omission of this line, and his changing of “things” to “ninguem” (“no one”),
effectively strips the speech (and therefore the play, given its place in the whole) of its
spiritual force. Herod becomes a naughty boy who is hiding from punishment; but the
punishment he fears is man-given, not divine.

15
 Consequently, in the hands of this translator, Wilde’s fearsome indictment of
an immoral society that is ultimately at the mercy of a dark and powerful supernatural
force, diminishes in range and potency to the level of a mildly shocking drama that
possesses all the ingredients (love, scandal, political manoeuvring, black and white
characterization) to become a popular sensation.

B) Alexandre Souto (1910):

This translation was published by the Officinas do «Commércio do Porto» in 1910,
and does not seem to have been well known. It is not mentioned in the introduction to
the 1945 Rodrigues translation (see above), and is difficult to find in the Lisbon
National Library due to being wrongly catalogued (a mistake which is compounded in
the volume Tradução em Portugal, which mentions the work but lists the translator as
Alexandre Santos.
Although not specifically identified in the edition, this translation is clearly
based upon the English version rather than the French, as can be seen if we compare
the passage near the beginning in which Salomé describes the atmosphere in the
banqueting hall:

…há gregos de Smyrna de …Greeks from Smyrna … e des Grecs de Smyrne

cara pintada e cabellos with painted eyes and avec leurs yeux peints et
frisados envoltos em painted cheeks, and frizzed leurs joues fardées, et leurs
cordas entrelaçados; hair curled in twisted coils, cheveux frisés en spirales,
egypcios subtis e and silent, subtle et des Égyptiens,
silenciosos de mantos Egyptians, with long nails silencieux, subtils, avec
rusticos, longos pregos no of jade and russet cloaks, leurs ongles de jade et
cabello; e romanos brutaes and Romans brutal and leurs manteaux bruns, et
e maldictos com seu coarse, with their uncouth des Romains avec leur
dialectos extranhos (p9) jargon… (p322) brutalité, leur lourdeur,
leurs gros mots… (p56)

The rather unfortunate misinterpretation of “nail” as “prego” (carpenter’s nail) rather

than “unha” (fingernail) indicates without a doubt that the text was based on the

16
English, an assumption that is reinforced by the rendering of “russet” as “rústico”
(rustic), a confusion that could only be due to the phonological similarity between the
two words.
What is most noticeable at first glance about this version is that it has been
divided into scenes (the scene changes each time a new character comes on stage),
and that the stage directions are much more elaborate than they are in either of
Wilde”s versions. For example, the precise placings of the actors are indicated at the
beginning (“Three groups: First and second soldier; the young Syrian and Herodias’
Page; the Nubian and the Cappadocian. The group of the young Syrian and Herodias’
Page are on the wall at the back, which gives onto the banqueting hall, observing what
is happening there”) and throughout, we are constantly given indications of whom the
characters are addressing and with what tone of voice (eg. “Directed at the Syrian” or
“Smiling”). This would seem to indicate that the translation was executed for a
particular production (although I have as yet been unable to find any evidence of a
production that took place around this time) and also makes the characterization more
explicit. For example, we are told that Salomé speaks “imperiously” when she orders
Iokanaan to be brought from the cystern, that she is “irritated” when she has to wait,
and that she smiles as she is cajoling Narraboth into giving her way. Generally, these
indications would seem to be in keeping with the impression we have of the
characters from the English text, but occasionally it becomes a little too explicit (as in
when we are told that Salomé is “desesperada” (desperate) as says, “Hei-de beijar-te a
bôcca! Hei-de beijar-te a bôcca!” (p20, “I will kiss your mouth! I will kiss your
mouth”).
The most noticeable feature about the translation is that it is much more
naturalistic than the originals are. This operates firstly on the level of register, which
is often more down-to-earth than the high-flown language of the English. For
example, at the beginning, the First Soldier says about the Jews, “I think it is
ridiculous to dispute about such things” (p319), which is presented here as an
elliptical expletive, “Que pueris e que ridículo!” (p4, “How childish and how
ridiculous!”). Then Herodias says to Herod: “Tu já mergulhaste muita vez em ondas
de sangue” (p36, “You have already dived many times into waves of blood”) which
uses the colloquial form “muita vez” for ‘many times’ instead of the standard “muitas
vezes”.

17
 Even more noticeable is the way the translator has avoided the many
repetitions (which are a hallmark of this play and designed to sound incantatory and to
remove the action to some mythical realm) in the interests of realistic cohesion.
There are a number of examples of this. At the very beginning, the First Soldier says,
“The Tetrarch has a sombre look”, to which the Second Soldier replies, “Yes; he has a
sombre look” (pp319-320), a repetition which of course would not be natural in any
of the languages studied here. Souto replaces the given information with a pronoun, in
a very informal-sounding phrase: “Que sombrio está o tetrarcha.”/“Já notei isso
mesmo” (p4, “How sombre the tetrarch looks” / “I’ve noticed that”). In the section
where Salomé is declaring her love to Jokanaan, and asks to touch first his body and
then his hair and then to kiss his lips, to be systematically repudiated on each score,
the ritualistic repetition in the original is very important. Together with the vocabulary
of her metaphors, the effect is incantatory, deliberately reminiscent of the language of
the Song of Songs. Souto, however, reduces this effect considerably. Firstly Salomé
says “Amo o teu corpo” (“I love your body”); then, “o que me encanta são os teus
cabello” (“What enchants me is your hair”), followed by “O que eu desejo é a tua
bocca” (“What I desire is your mouth”, pp17-18).viii
Elsewhere, the translator achieves naturalistic cohesion by other means, such
as the deliberate repetition of a key word in the exchange between Salomé and the
First Soldier on p12: “É impossível, Princeza, o tetrarcha não quer que ninguem lhe
falle…”/ “Mas quero eu” (“It’s impossible, Princess, the tetrarch doesn’t want anyone
to talk to him…”/ “But I want to”). This technique is repeated on the next page with
the Young Syrian: “Princeza, não posso….não posso.” / “Narraboth, poderás…”
(“Princess, I can’t…I can’t….” / “Narraboth, you could….”). It is noteworthy that in
the English, a deliberately different modal verb is used to emphasize the imposition of
Salomé will upon the young man’s fear: “Princess, I cannot, I cannot”; “You will do
this thing for me, Narraboth” (p325); which echoes the French: “Princess, je ne peux
pas, je ne peux pas”; “Vous ferez cela pour moi, Narraboth” (pp64-65).
Apart from these changes, which have clearly been in the interests of an
increased naturalism, there are a few lexical alterations in this translation that I find
baffling. For example, each time the original text refers to “doves” (usually to
describe the white hands or feet of the Princess), this translation uses “cysnes” (swan
(pp7/9/36/42). And the “ivory” used to describe Iokanaan´s body is translated twice
(pp.16/17) as “ébano” (ebony), which of course is black, not white. The only

18
explanation I can think of for these alterations (apart from the possibility that the
translator made a mistake, of course) is that they were determined by some
practicalities of production. Could it be that the actor who was to play Jokanaan was
black, for example? (Or that the actress playing Salomé had big feet?)

C) António Alves (1920):

This version was published by Livrarias Aillard e Bertrand, Lisbon, in 1920, as part of
a series entitled “Portuguese Anthology”, which consists entirely of canonical
Portuguese authors like Alexandre Herculano, Frei Luis de Sousa, Guerra Junqueiro
etc. The cover is very striking, bearing a colourful reworking of Gustave Moreau’s
famous painting L’Apparition by someone called Moraes, details of which are
reproduced on the first and last pages of the text. In fact, this cover, which is lurid and
sensationalistic, completely losing all the ambiguous subtleties of the original in
sharp, clearly-defined lines, seems to be somewhat out of tune with the tone of the
translation, which is, as we shall see, decidedly restrained. Apart from this, the edition
contains no other information.
This translation appears to be quite well-known, as it is cited both in Tradução
em Portugal Vol.V, and in the introduction to the 1945 Rodrigues translation as being
one of two preceding versions (see above). It does not state explicitly whether it is
based on the English or the French, but an analysis of the text would seem to suggest
that it is closer to the latter (eg. his choice of vocabulary often reflects the French
word underlying it, such as “tripudiam” (p44), prosterna-te (p50) and “cambalaia”
(p53), while his rendering of the description of the Greeks at the banquet, quoted
above, gives: “Há gregos de Smyrna com olhos pintados, faces carminadas e cabelos
frisados em espiral…”.
The most noticeable characteristic of this translation is the elevated nature of
the style. Unlike the two translations examined up to now, this one uses “vós” as the
form of address between almost all characters (the only exception being between
Iokanaan and Salomé, and briefly in the altercation between Herod and Herodias,
reflecting the French); and the lexis is consistently erudite or archaic (eg.
“soturno”,”donzéis”, “mancebo”, “se maculou”, “scismar”, “ensanderceram”,
“carrancudo”, “poltrão”, “vaticinar”, “chafurdar”).
There is also a tone of politeness in the characters’ descriptions of each other.
When Salomé flees the Tetrarch’s attentions at the beginning of the play (“Elle a l’air

19
très ennuyèe”, p55), this translation says, “Tem um ar indisposto” (p24, “She looks
indisposed”), which is restrained in comparison with the terms chosen by the other
translators (“perturbada”, “incommodada”, aborrecida”, and even “excitada”,
respectively “perturbed”, “bothered”, “annoyed” and “excited”). Iokanaan is
described as delicate (“Que magro que ele é também. Parece uma delicada figura de
marfim,” p40, literally “How thin he is too. He seems like a delicate marble figure”),
which represents a semantic overlay to the French “mince”; and the passage about
Herod’s mole-like eyes, quoted above, makes him into a fluttery short-sighted old
man (“aqueles olhos de toupeira a pestanejar constantemente, p.25; literally, “those
mole’s eyes constantly blinking”).
The most interesting alteration, to my mind, is when Salomé is demanding the
head of Iokanaan, and is told by Herod not to listen to her mother. She replies, “C’est
pour mon propre plaisir” (p125), a choice of word which, in this context, is redolent
with perverse sexuality. Most of the translators have chosen to use the literal
equivalent (“prazer” in Portuguese, “pleasure” in English), and two (Rio and
Machado) have chosen “desejo”, which is conveniently ambiguous, containing both
the sense of mere volition and sexual desire. Alves, however, deliberately chooses to
ignore the sexuality and opts to translate the phrase as: “é por a minha própria
vontade” (p99, “it’s for my own will”), which sanitizes it considerably.
In short, this translation of the play is above all restrained, polite and slightly
prudish. Salomé has here been dressed in the elegant attire of the upper classes, as
befits her venture into the Portuguese canon (as indicated by the inclusion of this play
in the series “Portuguese Anthology), and is perhaps being presented as such as the
Portuguese response to the somewhat popularist João do Rio translation.

D) Manuel Cabral Machado (1945):

The edition used for the preparation of this paper was published in 1945 by the
Editorial Gleba in Lisbon, and contains, alongside Salomé, a version of Lady
Windermere’s Fan by a different translator. The back cover points to the interest of
this publishing company in foreign fiction: the series ‘Famous Novels’ consists
entirely of foreign authors (13 in total), including Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian
Gray, while a second series entitled ‘Tales and Novellas’ includes Lord Arthur
Savile’s Crime and Short Stories by Wilde (we are told at the end of the introduction

20
that other volumes containing the remaining theatrical works of Oscar Wilde are in
preparation).
Despite the fact that Tradução em Portugal Vol. V dates this translation as
1908, there is reason to believe that this is a mistake: for one, the language is
considerably more modern than would be expected from an earlier text, and secondly,
the editors begin their introduction with a claim that would be unusual to find in a
second edition, namely that they are doing an important service to belles letters by
launching this translation onto the market (p9).
Once again, the edition does not tell us which version was used as a basis for
the translation, but it is likely to be the French, judging from the language (eg. the
passage about the foreigners at the banquet is noticeably close to the French: “gregos
de Esmirna, com os olhos pintados, as faces coloridas e os cabelos frisados em
espirais… (p22).
Apart from an unidentified Art Nouveau-style drawing on the cover of a very
Egyptian-looking Salomé holding up the bearded head of John the Baptist to be
kissed, there are no other illustrations, or superficial distinguishing features, except
that Jokanaan is identified as “John the Baptist (Iokanaan), the Prophet”.
Like the Alves translation, this one has also quite a high, archaic register of
language. Whilst keeping closely to the French version, we have phrases in which the
lexis is decidedly more elevated, such as: “Parece uma princezinha que ostenta uma
gaza flava”(pp13-14) (“Elle ressemble à une petite princesse qui porte un voile jaune”
(p44) ), a pattern which is repeated throughout the text with words like “mancebos e
donzelas”, “turba”, “se arreceia”, “infecunda”, and “sorumbático”. (When he makes
Salomé say to the head of Iokanaan, near the end, “a tua língua…era como uma
serpente vermelha a ejacular venenos..” (p80, “your tongue…is like a red serpent
ejaculating poison”) , we assume that the verb has been chosen for its high register
and not for its sexual connotations!). Syntactically there is a frequency of conditional
and future tenses, typical of high register, and the characters also address each other
largely as “vós”.
This is one of two translations published in 1945, which is decidedly odd,
since almost half a century has by now elapsed since the original scandal, the last
production in Portugal (of either play or opera) was two decades ago and the next (of
the opera) would not be for another ten years. The question of why Salomé should

21
have been so popular as to warrant two translations at this point in time perhaps
deserves further investigation.

E) Armindo Rodrigues (1945):

This translation claims to be the third version of Salomé to be published in
Portugal, quoting the João do Rio and the António Alves as its predecessors (p10). It
is published by Portugália in Lisbon, and contains a brief introduction, giving some
information about the trial of Wilde and the reception of this play in other countries.
Its contains several pen and ink drawings by a certain Paulo Ferreira which were
executed in Romantic style, with long sweeping lines, and images of moonlight,
sweeping curtains and curving balustrades etc.
The translation claims to be based on the French, and purports to be faithful to
the original. Indeed, it adheres closely to the French version, and is equally unmarked
in style, with the exception of a preponderance of superlatives and diminutives (eg.
“languoríssimos”, “perigosíssima”, “misteriosíssima”, “tristíssimo”, “labiozinhos”,
“cidadezinha” etc). Interestingly, like the João do Rio and Souto translations, it uses
“tu” throughout as the form of address, even when the royal family are being
addressed by servants. This might suggest that the translation is not in fact
Portuguese at all, but once again Brazilian, a hypothesis that is supported by phrases
using Brazilian-type grammatical structures such as “…que me está fitando.” (p33)
and by the title of the introduction (´Nota Preliminar dos Editores Portuguese”),
which would suggest some previous publication outside the country.

F) Manuel Rosa (1983):

This translation is in fact based upon Richard Strauss’ opera libretto in German, and is
published by Editorial Notícias as part of a series called ‘Immortal Operas’. The book
contains, beside the text, presented in parallel with the German, a great deal of
information about the opera. The introduction discusses the biography and works of
Richard Strauss; the development of the myth of Salomé from its historical and
Biblical beginnings, through Oscar Wilde’s adaptation to various intersemiotic
translations into painting as well as music. There is also an interesting critical essay
about Wilde’s play, followed by a discussion of how it has been translated into music.
Finally, there is a discussion of some of the productions of the opera, a chronology of

22
Richard Strauss, and a short illustrated account of the various productions in Portugal.
The plot is also briefly summarized in the form it is likely to take in the programmes.
Strauss’ German libretto, upon which the Manuel Rosa translation is based,
drew upon Wilde’s French version and also upon a previous German translation of the
play by Hedwig Lachmann, and although it is very recognisably Wilde, contains some
important alterations. For a start, it is considerably pared down, in relation to the
original. Several of Wilde’s characters were deleted (Tigellinus, the Nubian), and
other minor characters had their parts reduced. Any information deemed irrelevant to
the central plot was eradicated, such as the discussions of religion, the allusions to
Caesar and the King of Cappadocia etc, and many of the verbal elaborations and
repetitions were reduced considerably.ix
Naturally, therefore, the Rosa translation into Portuguese follows these
changes, and the result is a text which seems to be more intense than the others for
having the ‘comic’ relief omitted. Clearly, too, the translator was restricted by the
fact that the words had to have a certain rhythmic shape in order to accompany the
music, and this must have had an influence on his syntax; indeed, certain lines seem
to be somewhat truncated and elliptical (for example, in the description of the moon
on the opening page; “Como uma pequena princesa/ cujos pés fossem pombas
brancas, /…./ Como uma mulher/ que estivesse morta” (p63, “Like a little
princess/whose feet are white doves/.../ Like a woman/ that is dead”)
In terms of lexis, this translation seems more intense and passionate than the
others, which will no doubt be because of its connections to German Romanticism.
For example, the phrase “elle a l”air très ennuyèe” (p55) is rendered as “está muito
excitada” (p66, “she is very excited”); Salomé’s declaration of love to Iokanaan uses
the word “apaixonada” (the only text besides Rodrigues to do so – the others
generally prefer “enamorada”, ou “amo”); Iokanaan is described as “emaciado” (p76,
“emaciated”); and when Salomé informs Herod that she is not being manipulated by
her mother with regards to her prize, she says, “Para meu próprio prazer é que desejo”
(p107, “It is for my own pleasure that I desire it”), a phrase which gains in intensity
through using two strong lexical words instead of one or the other.
According to Gil (1983: pp48-52), the opera was performed in Portugal five
times, in the São Carlos Theatre in 1909, 1953, 1956, 1975 and 1979 (with a single
performance in the Coliseu in 1975). However, it is highly unlikely that any of these
performances were in Portuguese. The 1909 performance was by an Italian company

23
and sung in Italian (Vieira de Carvalho, undated), as was the fashion at that time,
while the subsequent ones were likely to be in German, as the Wagnerians gained
more prestige,x and also judging by the names of the cast (Gil, 1983:pp.48-52). In any
case, the Portuguese translation of the libretto had not yet been done, although there
existed a great many summaries of the plot in Portuguese during the first half of the
twentieth century.xi

G) Isabel Barbudo (1992):

This slim modern edition of the play was published by Editorial Estampa in 1992.
The introduction gives information about Wilde and the creation and reception of this
play, and the whole is illustrated with Aubrey Beardsley’s famous black and white
drawings. The translation was based on the French, because (the translator states) she
wanted to get as close as possible to the work as originally conceived by Wilde, and
also because the similarities between Portuguese and French meant that a close
rendition would be feasible (p15).
Indeed, the translator has followed the French text closely, adopting a slightly
archaic, literary style in the syntax, with “vós” as the main form of address (though
modulating to “tu” when the French text does so), and making use of many Future and
Conditional tenses. The lexis, however, is not especially marked, and, like in the
French, falls into the middle range in terms of register.
This translation is clearly the most transparent of Salomé’s veils that we have
examined, xii and there is very little that one can comment about it. However, what is
interesting is that the gauze-like texture of the language has been compensated for on
stage. In 2000, this translation was used in a production of Salomé by the Focus
Theatre Company in the Taborda Theatre, Lisbon, a production that was heavily
opaque in its treatment. Not only did it have only four actors, who were masked and
dressed alike, and who changed roles half-way through, but it also made use of
Brechtian distancing techniques, such as static poses, averted gaze, and sudden loud
noises or flashes to shatter illusion. It was clearly an attempt to update the story and
make it comment upon modern society and culture. At one point, Herod dons an army
jacket, and with his little moustache and stiff poses, becomes the stereotype of the 20th
century dictator. And, contrary to previous productions of the play which attempted
to suppress the more obvious homosexual elements (by having the Page played by a
woman, for example),xiii this production heightened them, having the dance executed

24
in silhouette by Salomé and Herodias locked in an embrace, with Herod and Jokanaan
engaging in erotic movements together.

Forms of Address in the Various Versions of Salomé

One of the more interesting aspects of the translations is the way in which
different translators have managed interpersonal address between the characters (see
Fig. 1 for an overview of the forms used). The French text is quite subtle in this
respect. It is clear that the alternation between the “vous” and “tu” forms are
supposed to reflect, not so much social status, but emotional distance or proximity
between the characters, for in many cases, this fluctuates during the course of the
action. For example, Herod and Herodias normally address each other as “vous”, but
when they start to bicker (p90), they slide almost imperceptibly into “tu”, only to
revert to the former form once they have resumed their composure:

“HERÓDIAS: Ma fille e moi, nous descendons d”une race royale. Quant à toi,
ton grand-père gardait des chameaux! Aussi, c”était un voleur!
HÉRODE: Tu mens!
HERÓDIAS: Tu sais bien que c”est la verité.

Herod also calls Salomé “vous”, but on three occasions slides into “tu”: firstly,
immediately following the passage quoted above in which he appears to have lost his
temper; secondly following the dance, when he is delighted by her charms and ready
to give her anything: “Toi, je te paierai bien. Je te donnerai tout ce que tu voudras.
Que veux-tu, dis?” (p123) following which he returns to the “vous” form with horror
of her request, and tries to persuade her to change her mind, moving gradually back
into “tu” as his offers become more and more compelling (pp133-135).
Salomé uses “tu” each time she addresses Jokanaan, presumably because she
desires intimacy with him. Jokanaan, on the other hand, initially refuses to address her
directly at all, preferring to speak of her in the 3rd person: “Qui est cette femme qui
me regarde? Je ne veux pas qu”elle me regarde…. Dites-lui de s”en aller” (p70). Then
he moves into “vous” as he finds himself effectively obliged to respond to her
solicitations, eventually descending into “tu” in a kind of desperation when she
refuses to leave him alone: “Je ne veux pas te regarder. Je ne te regarderai pas. Tu es
maudite, Salomé, tu es maudite” (p80).

25
 Similarly, the Young Syrian, who usually addresses Salomé very reverently
with “vous”, passes into “tu” as his attempts to persuade her to desist with Jokanaan
take on a tone of desperation: “Princesse, princesse, toi qui es comme un bouquet de
myrrhe, toi que es la colombe des colombes, ne regarde pas cet homme, ne le regarde
pas!” (p77). And, likewise, Salomé, who normally uses “vous” with the servants,
moves to “tu” when she tries to persuade the Page to help her get Jokanaan’s head:
“Viens ici. Tu as été l’ami de celui qui est mort, n’est-ce pas?” (p138)
All of the above examples indicate, therefore, that Wilde is manipulating the
forms of interpersonal address very deftly in order to indicate emotional proximity.
The characters move into “tu”, either when they want something and are cajoling
another into giving them their wish, or when they lose their self-control and become
angry at the provocations of one of the others. Consequently, a study of the way these
forms of address have been translated provides important insight into the way the
characters have been perceived.
The English version, despite the limitations of the language in this respect,
manages to follow the French very closely. Of course, the imperative form does not
contain any marker of person in English, and therefore these instances are impossible
to assess; but elsewhere, there is an attempt to create the same effect by the use of the
archaic “thou/thee” to contrast with “you” (representing “tu” and “vous”
respectively).
As far as Portuguese is concerned, one would expect that, since the language
possesses a very finely differentiated system of forms of address, subtler even than the
French, the translators would all have attempted to reproduce the modulations of the
original. This is not the case, however. Isabel Barbudo and António Alves are the only
translators who attempt to follow the original in this respect, moving between “vós”
and “tu” more or less in line with the French (although Barbudo is loathe to allow
Herod to address Tigellinus, the visitor from Rome, as “tu”). Manuel Machado uses
“vós” throughout, with the exception of Salomé’s attempted seduction of Jokanaan,
which uses “tu” (it is noticeable that he fails to make the intra-character modulations
between forms, thus, for him, form of address is a mark of social status rather than as
indication of emotional proximity between characters). Manuel Rosa employs “vós”
when the principal characters are addressing servants or vice versa, but uses “tu”
elsewhere (which would also seem to imply a social attitude to forms of address, and
may of course have been influenced by the German); and the other three use “tu”

26
almost entirely throughout. This latter pattern is curious, because, on the one hand, it
results as a kind of emotional levelling, destroying the subtle distinctions of tone that
Wilde took such pains to create, and on the other, has the effect in Portuguese of
putting the servants on the same social level as the royal personages.
One explanation may be that at least one of these texts (João do Rio) is
Brazilian (and the Rodrigues version may also be too, as suggested above). In
Brazilian, forms of address are considerably different from in European Portuguese,
and it may be that the “tu” form had the same effect as the “vós” in European
Portuguese. This would be consistent with the otherwise quite formal tone of the rest
in both translations. The Alexandre Souto version is more of a puzzle, however, since
this one is definitely Portuguese and was executed very early. Could it be that the
translator had some revolutionary, democratizing agenda in his ubiquitous use of
“tu”? This would be consistent with his stylistic naturalism and low register, and of
course, the translation would have been executed on the eve of the Republic (he does
briefly break the pattern, however, when the Servants address Salomé, first using the
modern 3rd person “a princeza” (p13), then passing to “vós”).

Modal sequences in Salomé

One of the most interesting aspects of the play lies in the way Wilde
manipulates verbal modality in sequences in which Salomé asserts her iron will with
ever-increasing force. The first of these sequences has already been cited in my
discussion of the João do Rio translation, consisting of her attempts to persuade the
soldiers to allow her to speak to Jokanaan. The second sequence follows on
immediately afterwards in her targeting of the Young Syrian as the most likely
candidate to fulfil her wishes. The third sequence is with Jokanaan, when she is
asking him to let her touch his body/hair, kiss him etc, which I have linked with her
triumphant statement after the prophet has been decapitated, “Ah! Thou wouldst not
suffer me to kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan” (p346). And lastly, we have her demands for
the head of Jokanaan, after the dance.
The first sequence (see Fig.2 for overview), in the French, makes use of the
verb “vouloir”, passing from the conditional through the present tense to the
imperative, becoming progressively more elliptical. The English uses the modal verbs
“would” followed by ““will”, interposed with “I desire”, which makes it somewhat
stronger than the French since “will” is more than an expression of simple volition; it

27
also presupposes that the speaker has the power and determination to enforce that
wish. Not only this, the French noticeably uses the intonation for an interrogative on
the second rendering (as indicated by the presence of a question mark) although it is
unsupported by a structural interrogative; the English on the other hand, is already a
command. The João do Rio version is altogether more deferential, with the use of
“seria capaz de” followed by “desejo”, which makes the following “quero” sound like
a petulant schoolgirl stamping her foot. The imperative that follows is dignified, as if
the little girl had suddenly decided to make use of her rank to achieve her aim. The
Alexandre Souto version is altogether different. Here there is no modulation at all,
simply the rather brusque “quero” repeated three times, followed by the use of the
verb “buscar” for the command (a verb which is nowadays reserved for dogs). Only
slightly higher register is the Armindo Rodrigues, which begins with the Imperfect
“gostava”, then uses “quero” twice, followed also by “buscar”. All of the other
translations make more of an attempt to differentiate, making use of the
conditional/imperfect/present transitions, which in Portuguese have register
connotations, as well as moving between the verbs “desejar”, “gostar” and “querer”.
The second sequence demonstrates very similar policies on the part of the
respective translators. The English continues to be much more imperious and
commanding from an early stage than the French; while the French uses an
interrogative for the first three forms, the English passes into the affirmative after the
first. Once again, the use of “will” is important, and, depending on the amount of
stress given to the modal by the actress, may be interpreted either as a command, in
which Salomé is asserting her will in a quite brutal fashion, or as a prediction for the
future. To my mind, it would be appropriate, during staging of this play, for the stress
on the “will” to be gradually increased, accompanied by a progressively more
assertive intonation patterns, thus achieving through phonological means the subtlety
of progression that is manifested structurally in the French.
As for the Portuguese translations, João do Rio’s repetition of “És tu”
continues to make Salomé sound like an innocent little girl, and her “faz-me a
vontade”, further down the sequence, is cajoling in the extreme. Alexandre Souto
omits one of the repetitions, presumably in the interests of naturalness, and repeats
twice “visto que sou eu que t’o peço”, which gives a slightly different slant. All the
translators with the exception of Rodrigues use the future tense, which is perhaps
slightly more distancing in Portuguese than it is in French, and most of them maintain

28
the interrogative form until the 4th utterance. Rodrigues chooses the present, which is
more immediate and urgent, but includes the questioning intonation, which to a
certain extent must compensate.
The third sequence is, in both originals, deliberately repetitious. Salomé asks

to touch first Jokanaan’s body, then his hair and then to kiss his mouth, and when she

is refused she repeats the final request seven times,xiv alternating the “let me” formula

with the “I will.” All the translators used “deixa-me” for the first of these, and

maintained the repetitions, except Souto, who varies the formula between “deixa-me”

and “quero”, and deliberately completes each phrase in a different way. This is in

keeping with the other stylistic characteristics that we have noticed of this translator,

namely an attempt to make this incantatory ritualistic discourse naturalistic and

referential. The variations of the second part of this sequence are interesting. As can

be seen in Fig. 1, the French uses a simple Future tense, which the English renders

with “will”. Although on a superficial level, these would appear to be the same, in

reality the English is much more loaded, for whilst the French is temporal, therefore a

prediction of kinds, the English modal may be interpreted as prediction, intention or

as a kind of compulsion or obligation, depending largely on how it is pronounced.

The Portuguese translators all differ as to their interpretations of the mood behind the

form. Rio and Rosa opt to interpret it as an expression of volition (“quero”), Alves,

Rodrigues and Barbudo introduce an element of compulsion (“hei-de”), while Souto

and Machado alternate between the temporal prediction (“beijarei”) and the

compulsive “hei-de” form, thus giving priority to the semantic aspect over the

rhythmic patterning.

The later phrase “Tu n’as pas voulu me laisser baiser ta bouche” is also softer
in French than in English, due to the rather circuitous use of three verbs. Rodrigues
and Rosa are faithful to the French and do the same; Barbudo and Alves reduce the
formula to the verbs “deixar” and “beijar”; whilst Rio prefers “querer” and “beijar”;

29
and Machado and Souto include slightly more authoritarian sounding verbs
(“consentir” and “permitir” respectively).
The final sequence, the demand for Iokanaan’s head, similarly begins as a
polite request, which gradually becomes less delicate, ending as a raw imperative. The
French version is noticeably less graded than the English, beginning with the not-
overly-polite Present Tense (“je veux”) that passes to “je demande”, which is
repeated. The English, on the other hand, begins on a higher register (“I would that
they presently bring…”), and splits the second form into “I ask of you…” followed by
the much more imperious “I demand…”. Of the Portuguese versions, the Rosa version
is the most differentiated, beginning with “Desejaria…”, and passing through “peço-
te” and “exigo” (maybe because of its German antecedents),xv whereas most of the
others begin with “Quero” and pass to “Peço” (Barbudo, like Rosa, includes the
intermediary stage of “Exigo”).
Each of these four passages is interesting in terms of characterization. Under
the trappings of socialization and politeness, Salomé clearly has a will of iron, and she
is determined to get what she wants at any cost. The gradual move from polite request
to brute command in the sequences is a kind of unveiling of the Speech Act; the
grammatical, lexical and phonological trappings of register are gradually removed,
until we are left with an expression of raw animal appetite, one which ultimately
becomes cannabilistic. Undoubtedly, it is this that the other characters fear in her.

Productions in Portugal
Salomé was certainly very well known in Portugal in the first decades of the
20th century. This was partly due to the scandal surrounding it, but also, of course, to
its association with some of the most fashionable figures in the cultured world,
ranging from Sarah Bernhardt and the French Symbolists, to Max Reinhardt and, of
course, Richard Strauss. The introduction to Manuel Machado’s translation gives us
some important information about its reception: it is described as “perhaps the most
overwhelmingly successful work that has emerged from the pen of an extraordinary
writer”, and it is claimed that “of all his work, we could say that none have achieved
(and this is a merely short theatrical scene) the success, in terms of both Art and
Scandal, of this immortal Salomé” (my translation). It is clearly given precedence
over Lady Windermere’s Fan in this edition, being presented first, and with twice as
many words devoted to it in the introduction.

30
 Like anything that is fashionable, however, the play rapidly became
popularized and abridged in order to reach a wider audience. To a large extent, João
do Rio’s translation, the one which appears to have been the most famous in the first
decades, is exactly that; as we have seen, the cutting edges of the play have all been
smoothed down to bring it more into line with popular perceptions. This is the version
that the Lisbon audience would have seen when, in 1926, it was produced for the first
time by Amélia Rey Colaço in a single performance at the Politeama, together with
L’alba, il giorno, la notte (Hora Imaculada) by Nicodemi. To all intents and
purposes, this performance was a great success. According to the newspaper Século
of 19th April 1926, tickets were in great demand. Press reviewsxvi following the
performance were all very favourable The Diário de Lisboa of 20th April claimed:

Salomé was a beautiful piece of theatre. Raul Lino had designed an admirable
set of lines, suggestive of colour – colour with warm musical associations.
Amelia Rey Colaço gave an enthusiastic presentation of the Salomé that Wilde
had suggested, ardent, cruel, bloodthirsty and voluptuous. Her conception of
the tragedy may not have been the most perfect nor the most ideal. However, it
was reverent, with a chaste and incorruptible choreographic gravity (my
translation).

The reference to the “musical” colours is no doubt due to the immense

popularity that Strauss’ opera had in Portugal before the play was even performed.
As mentioned above, an Italian company brought it to the São Carlos Theatre in 1909,
and statistics provided by Mário Vieira de Carvalho (undated) show it to be in third
place for that year in terms of number of performances (after The Barber of Seville
and Madame Butterfly). This version, as we have seen, was also in a sense ‘abridged’
in relation to Wilde’s original, and the Portuguese audience (who mostly would have
been unable to follow the Italian libretto) had only access to an even more abridged
version, namely the summary in the programme. The programme of the 1909
performancexvii summaries the play in terms that are clearly sensationalist, and which
are attempting to capitalize on the public’s appetite for scandal. Salomé (referred to
throughout as a “Hebrew virgin”, which could only have increased the level of sexual
titillation) is described as living “o terrível drama entre os espasmos da sua carne
perturbada pela mais monstruosa luxuria” (“the terrible tragedy between the spasms

31
of her flesh perturbed by the most monstrous lust”). We are told that the banquet she
flees from is an “orgy”; that the Young Syrian is, right from the beginning, “agitated,
convulsed”, and, when she sets eyes on Iokanaan (referred to throughout as “the
Prophet”), “bebe lentamente um filtro de paixão mortal nos olhos negros do Propheta,
todas as palavras que elle profere commovem as suas mais intimas libras, queimam-
lhe o sangue nas veias…” ( “slowly drinks a filter of mortal passion in the black eyes
of the Prophet, all the words she utters move his most intimate balance, burn the
blood in his veins…”). The whole tragedy is summed up as “o triumpho da luxuria” (a
triumph of lust), which leaves us with no doubts as to what this opera represented for
the Portuguese opera-going public, who, as Vieira do Carvalho points out
(undated:143-145), were more interested in displaying themselves and in gossip and
scandal than in serious art.
The next production of the opera was not until 1953 by the German and
Austrian Company, and was sung in German. In this case, the programme summary is
a great deal more sombre and serious. We assume that, by this time, the Wagner cult
described by Vieira do Carvalho had instigated some sense of artistic reverence into
the audience, and it is possible that the connections between Strauss and Wagner in
fact gave the opera Salomé a new lease of life with a different kind of public. In any
case, the opera was performed again at the São Carlos a mere three years later, and
then again in 1975.
I have been unable to find any evidence of other productions of the play (as
opposed to the opera) until 1994, when a British company brought it to Lisbon.
However, it seems once again to be in vogue, because, not only did it play for a month
in the Taborda Theatre in Lisbon in 2000, there was another production in January
2001 by the company “A Gaveta”. Could it be that this fin-de-siècle play somehow
appeals to a society in transition, one that is unbalanced, unsure of its values,
hesitating before it moves forward into another phase? In any case, it is interesting
that the major productions of this play have all coincided with important social or
political changes: 1909 – the eve of the implantation of the Republic; 1926 – the start
of the Estado Novo; 1975 – the Revolution; and again at the turn of the Millennium!)

The influence of the play on the Portuguese literary system

As we have already seen, the Salomé theme was extremely popular at the end
of the 19th century, and a great many writers and artists created their own versions of

32
the tale, often very different from each other. In Portugal, it was no exception.xviii Of
the various Salomés that appeared here, the most notable are Eugenio de Castro’s
poem of 1896, and an unpublished fragment by Fernando Pessoa. Whilst the former
clearly owes more to the Bible story and to Flaubert than to Wilde (despite the fact
that Eugenio de Castro would certainly have been aware of Wilde’s work), the latter
is not developed enough to allow us to identify any clear influence. Nevertheless,
Morão (2001: 40) refers to a number of versions of the Salomé story published in
Orpheu (usually of mediocre quality), which provide a “textual corpus that reminds us
more of Mallarmé and Oscar Wilde than the narrative model of Flaubert; for the
modernists, the interior landscape of the self mattered more than any concrete
episode…”

Conclusion
Salomé evidently created quite a stir in Portugal. It was clear that her name
was a byword in the early decades of the twentieth century, and the play has passed
into Portuguese literary mythology as a major work of a major British writer, a very
different situation from the almost total anonymity it has suffered in Britain. But, as
this study has revealed, the Salomé that has walked in Portugal has always been very
heavily veiled, so much so that it has been rare to catch a glimpse of so much as her
fingernail. As far as productions were concerned, it appears that, before 2000, the
Portuguese audience had only one small chance to catch Wilde’s text in its
undergarments (the opera version, of course, had so much overlay, having been
abridged by Strauss, translated into German, translated from this into Italian, and
subordinated to the musical and visual semiotic systems, that it was scarcely Wilde at
all). And Amelia Rey Colaço’s production provided only a very brief tantalising
glimpse, since there was only ever a single performance.
Those who did make it to that performance appear to have been satisfied that
they had seen the real thing. They were clearly unaware that this Salomé had been
dressed in more acceptable clothing by João do Rio’s translation, as described above.
As we have seen, this translation has smoothed the hard edges off the play, whilst
retaining all the ingredients necessary to ensure commercial success; as such, it was a
long way from being the “Salomé that Wilde suggested”.
Those who did not manage to make it to the play had to satisfy their
voyeurism by reading the script, but here too, they would not have got very close to

33
the original. Each of the translators has dressed Salomé to suit the epoch: thus, she
was flamboyant, attractive and superficial in the Brazilian version, “naturalized” in
the early years of the Republic, then upgraded and dignified during the Estado Novo.
It is only in the more recent translations that she has been free enough to start
discarding her veils, and indeed the (1992) Barbudo version is about as flimsy a veil
as it is possible to get.
However, as the translation veil becomes more transparent, the production
itself takes over the role of mantle, using its multiple semiotic codes to rewrite the
play in line with modern expectations. This, I would say, is not just a comment upon
the Focus production; there would seem to be a general tendency nowadays for
theatre companies to impose radical new interpretations upon older works (especially
those deemed canonical) in order to make them relevant to modern society. Although
the trendy young directors of these productions would probably not like the metaphor,
it is as if a disapproving chaperone has felt obliged to compensate for the play’s state
of undress by handing over a shawl for her to put over herself!
It is for this reason that I continue with my claim that Salomé is condemned to
walk forever veiled, despite the increased “transparency” of the more recent
translations. For it would seem that when one of the protective mechanisms fails,
society has others with which to compensate, with which to ensure that dangerous
subversive Otherness is not allowed to parade itself in shameless nudity.
What is it cultures fear in the Other that drives them to such acts of
repression? What was it in Salomé that caused it to be driven into the dark in
England? Perhaps the answer to both these questions lies in the immortal words of
another Victorian gentleman. It is “Nature red in tooth and claw” that all societies fear
most, uncontrolled animal appetites that threaten to overturn the forces of law and
order, and leave the weak and vulnerable to be cannibalized by predatory unsocialized
others. Salomé the character is prepared to go to any lengths to get her way, and she
has power behind her, the raw animal power of her personality allied to social power
conferred by her station. She is thus very dangerous indeed, and it is no wonder that
the other characters warn each other against her. Salomé the play represents the
subversive element in society, the rule of the libido, the law of the jungle, which, to
the English, was an uncomfortable itch within the national psyche that had to be
suppressed, and to the Portuguese, was the foreign Other, morbidly attractive,

34
demonically exciting, and who could be appreciated with voyeuristic delight provided
that it was from a safe distance.
In a godless society, the Id runs riot. The world of the play is essentially
godless, and it is reasonable to assume that Salomé will be popular in eras of spiritual
crisis. At these times, the disillusionment underlying the text finds an echo in the
“real” world outside, and together they throw up a great cry of despair that Tennyson
encapsulated so well:

“O life as futile, then, as frail!

O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer or redress”
Behind the veil, behind the veil”
(from In Memoriam, Canto LVI)

Bibliography

Primary Texts:
Wilde, O. Salomé (Théâtre d”Art, Paris), undated
“Salomé” tr, Lord Alfred Douglas in Oscar Wilde: Plays (Penguin), 1954
Salomé tr. João do Rio, (Garnier, Rio do Janeiro), 1908
Salomé tr. Alexandre Souto (Officinas do «Commercio do Porto»), 1910
Salomé tr. António Alves (Aillaud e Bertrand, Lisbon), 1920
Salomé tr. Manuel Machado (Edições «Gleba», Lisbon), 1945
Salomé tr. Armindo Rodrigues (Portugália, Lisbon), 1945
Salomé tr. Manuel Rosa (Editorial Notícias, Lisbon), 1987
Salomé tr. Isabel Barbudo (Editorial Estampa, Lisbon) 1992

Secondary Texts
Barata, J.O. (1991) História do Teatro Português, Universidade Aberta: Lisbon

Cansinos-Assens, R. (1920) Salomé en la literatura, Editorial América: Madrid

Donohue, J. (1997) “Distance, death and desire in Salomé” in The Cambridge

Companion to Oscar Wilde, ed. Raby, P., Cambridge University Press: Cambridge

35
Gil, M.L. (undated) “Salomé em Portugal” in Salomé: Richard Strauss, ed. Pires, F.
Editorial Notícias: Lisbon

Gonçalves Rodrigues, A.A. A Tradução em Portugal, Vol. V 1901-1930

Julien, N. (1996) The Mammoth Dictionary of Symbols, Robinson: London

Kaplan, J. (1997) “Wilde on the stage” in The Cambridge Companion to Oscar Wilde
ed. Raby, P.,Cambridge University Press: Cambridge
Masó, G.B. (1987) Introduction, Analysis and Commentary in Salomé: Richard
Strauss, Gil, M.L. Editorial Notícias: Lisbon

Matos Sequeira, G. (1955) História do Teatro Nacional D. Maria II 1846-1946

Lisbon

Morão, P. (2001) Salomé e outros mitos: o feminino perverso em poetas portugueses

entre o fim-de-século e orpheu, Edições Cosmos: Lisbon

Pavão dos Santos, V. (ed), (undated) A Companhia Rey Colaço Robles Monteiro,
1921-1974, Secretario de Estado de Cultura: Lisbon

Pires, F. (ed) (1987) Salomé: Richard Strauss, Editorial Notícias: Lisbon

Raby, P. (ed.) (1997) The Cambridge Companion to Oscar Wilde, Cambridge

University Press, Cambridge

Rebello, L.F. (1978) Dicionário do Teatro Português, Preto Editora: Lisbon

Rebello, L.F. (1979) O Teatro Simbolista e Modernista, Biblioteca Breve: Lisbon

Riley, J. (1992) The Tarot Book, Weiser, Maine

36
Styan, J.L. (1983) Modern Drama in Theory and Practice Vol 2: Symbolism,
Surrealism and the Absurd, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge

Tydeman, W. & Price, S. (1996) Wilde: Salomé, Cambridge University Press,

Cambridge

Vieira de Carvalho, M. (undated) Pensar é Morrer ou O Teatro de São Carlos: na

mudança de sistemas sociocomunicativos desde fins do séc. XVIII aos nosso dias,
Imprensa Nacional: Lisbon

i
Donohue (1997:119-120) states: “English literary and dramatic criticism ignored the work even more
thoroughly than it did the rest of Wilde’s writings…As late as 1977 Rodney Shewan could observe that
Salomé was ‘seldom at present taken seriously’”.
ii
The Portuguese National Library contains 5 versions of Lady Windermere’s Fan, 4 versions of The
Importance of Being Earnest, 3 of An Ideal Husband, and 2 of A Woman of No Importance. No
translations of any of these works are listed in Tradução em Portugal Vol V, 1900-1930.
iii
Isabel Barbudo, in the introduction to her 1992 translation claims that his choice of French was a
discursive strategy copied from Maurice Maeterlinck. This is supported by a statement by Wilde’s
friend Wilfred Blunt in one of his diaries: “Wilde told us he was writing a play in French to be acted in
the (Comédie) Française. He is ambitious of being a French Academician” (cit. Tydeman & Price,
1996:15), and by Wilde himself who said in an interview published in 1892, “I have one instrument
that I know I can command, and that is the English language. There is another to which I have listened
all my life, and I wanted to touch this new instrument to see whether I could make any beautiful thing
out of it” (cit. Donohue, 1997:p.118).
iv
Barker, Pat, in a historical endnote to her novel ‘The Eye at the Door’ (1993).
v
As a comment on Wilde’s remark that Beardsley was “the only artist who, besides, myself, knows
what the dance of the seven veils is, and can see that invisible dance”, Elaine Showalter has argued that
the dance Beardsley has seen “is the dance of gender, the delicacy and permeability of the veil
separating masculine from feminine, licit from illicit desire” (cit. Donohue 1997:p123).
vi
In fact, the French version of the play used in this work was published by the Théâtre d’Art, some
time between 1907 and 1926. Tydeman and Price (1996:p26) state: “Paul Fort’s Théâtre
d’Art…regarded itself as ‘totally symbolist’, and in 1891 was the first to stage L’Intruse and Les
Aveugles by Maurice Maeterlinck. Only Maeterlinck seemed able to negotiate the inevitable
contradiction of Fort’s purism: a symbolism which privileged aesthetic mood and scenic design over
the corporeal presence of the actor, who was frequently reduced to a static, dimly lit reciter of verse,
could not in any serious sense be termed dramatic. Fort’s self-defeating project soon collapsed for
reasons which also informed much of the early criticism of Wilde’s Salomé, of which Max Beerbohm
quipped, ‘I almost wonder Oscar doesn’t dramatise it’”.
vii
This was of course the actress whose theatre company produced Salomé at the Politeama on this very
date.
viii
It must be noted, however, that the English version, on which this translation is based, is not so
rigorous about rigidly repeating structures at this point, unlike the French, which insists on ‘je suis
amoureuse…’ three times.
ix
A detailed description of the changes made by Strauss is given in Tydeman & Price, 1996:p123-125.

37
 x
Vieira de Carvalho (undated: pp143-212) describes the conflict in Portuguese society between those
opera-goers who preferred the Italian style of opera (generally conservatives, with a tendency towards
French positivism) and the Wagnerians, who represented the modern and intellectual cultured.
xi
The National Library and Museum of Theatre in Lisbon contain several different summaries of the
opera (‘argumento’). These may well have functioned much as the Readers’ Digest Condensed Books
do today, bringing the work to a readership that would otherwise not have the patience or concentration
to read through the entire work. The sheer number of them also testifies to the immense popularity of
Salomé.
xii
I am aware that I am using the terms ‘transparent’/’opaque’ in practically the opposite sense to the
way they are used in contemporary translation studies. In this paper, ‘a transparent translation’ is one
which enables us to see the original text beneath it.
xiii
In the Lugné-Poe première of the play, the part of the page was played by Suzanne Desprès. ‘When
the Page bemoans the Young Syrian’s death with the words, ‘Il était mon frère et plus qu’un frère’, the
actress spoke ‘so exquisitely that no-one dreamed, charmed as one was, that this was the dangerous
passage’, (Tinan cit. Tydeman & Price 1996:p29). In the opera, the part of the page is sung by a
contralto, ‘a role which Strauss was always to insist be played by a woman’. Idem. p123.
xiv
I believe it is not by chance that there are seven repetitions. Seven is an important number in this
play (there are of course seven veils), and, in Biblical mythology, it is also the number of sin. In the
Biblical Revelation of St John (which Wilde was surely echoing in this play), seven is both the number
of divine abundance and of punishment (Julien, 1996:p374). In the Tarot, seven represents something
‘hidden; a hesitation, or pausing; inability to go forwards’, which would not only seem to describe the
universe of this play, but also the fin-de-siècle experience (Riley, 1992:p68).
xv
This translation in fact includes comments about linguistic features of the German text, and this
linguistic grading is specifically mentioned with regards to Modal Sequence A (p.69)
xvi
Press cuttings kindly supplied by the Museum of Theatre, Lisbon.
xvii
Programmes kindly provided by the Museum of Theatre, Lisbon.
xviii
The various versions of the story have been presented and studied in detail by Paula Morão (2001).

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