OTELLO PER MINORENNI AL FESTIVAL VERDI DI PARMA

#OthElokuu

Locandina del Festival Verdi 2015

Il Festival Verdi è comiciato. Titolo d'apertura: Otello (1887) di Giuseppe Verdi su libretto di Arrigo Boito basato sulla celebre tragedia di William Shakespeare (1604). Di certo un'opera non facile da trasmettere ai bambini. Non sono riuscita ad avere un biglietto per le prove, ma ho trovato all'ultimo un loggione, solo per me. Però non rinuncio a raccontare questa incredibile storia e a far ascoltare la potenza di quest'opera di Verdi maturo ad Antonio e Giacomo, anche perchè quest'anno il Teatro Regio ha una ricchissima stagione per bambini (rassegna Regio Young) all'interno della quale ci sono una serie di spettacoli e iniziative dedicate a Verdi: Verdi Young, un Otello messo in scena per bambini con pupazzi, attori e cantanti del Conservatorio di Parma (PVM --Piccoli Viaggi Musicali-- ovviamente ci sarà!) e una originale rassegna parallela all'opera Altra Opera in cui c'è un altro spettacolo dedicato all'Otello, "Othello... la H è muta", che ha tutta l'aria di essere molto particolare. 

Materisle di studio in nostro possesso con... il fazzoletto!

ATTO I: E così ho cominciato a raccontare a Giacomo, che è il più ghiotto di avventure, la storia di Otello, il "cioccolatte" come lo chiamava Verdi! (non copiatelo, perchè oggi lo insulterebbero tutti accusandolo di razzismo), cioè il moro,  mettendo intanto un DVD alla TV (Dir. Riccardo Muti, Teatro alla Scala 2001 - io c'ero!!! - con un Placido Domingo ancora squillante, regia di Graham Vick con meravigliosi ricchissimi costumi di Franca Squarciapino e le scene di Ezio Frigerio; invece nei video vi propongo l'edizione del 1976 diretta da Kleiber). Il suo interesse è stato subito altissimo, grazie all'arrivo della nave con cui si apre l'opera: siamo a Cipro... (giusto per rispolverare le conoscenze geografiche chiariamo con una cartina dove si trova:)

... è sera, davanti al castello di Otello, nuovo governatore dell'isola. È in corso una terribile tempesta e Otello è su una nave. Giacomo subito capisce: verrà inghiottito dalle acque? La folla osserva la nave e prega. Non tutti però. C'è un uomo molto cattivo, che si chiama Jago, che pensa a come vendicarsi perchè Otello gli ha preferito Cassio nel ruolo di capitano. Otello riesce a toccare terra e tutti lo festeggiano. Anche Otello li incita ad esultare per le sue vittorie:

Durante la festa Jago fa ubriacare Cassio e lo incita a provocare Roderigo (che ama segretamente Desdemona, la moglie di Otello)... tra i due si intromette Montano con la spada, ma viene ferito da Cassio. Otello si infuria e degrada Cassio (che così a sua volta ha un motivo per odiare Otello). Otello incontra la sua amata Dedemona e i due si ritirano teneramente avvinti.

ATTO II: All'interno del castello. Jago vuole fare di tutto per rovinare la vita a Otello. Spinge Desdemona a chiedere ad Otello il perdono per Cassio. A Otello, Jago dice di aver visto Cassio parlare con Desdemona... e insinua ad Otello la gelosia! Otello aveva regalato a Desdemona un fazzoletto come simbolo del loro amore. (Giacomo ritorna a seguire la storia grazie a questo elemento concreto... difficile per lui capire il meccanismo della gelosia. Cerco di spostare la sua attenzione sul fazzoletto...). Desdemona perde il fazzoletto. Jago se ne impossessa e lo va a nascondere nella stanza di Cassio. Jago continua a far crescere in Otello la gelosia: ormai Otello è convinto che Desdemona lo tradisca con Cassio, ma manca ancora la prova tangibile.

Giacomo davanti a Otello in DVD

ATTO III: Otello chiede a Desdemona di mostrargli il fazzoletto regalatole da lui. Desdemona ovviamente non lo trova, avendolo perso. Jago induce Cassio a raccontare le sue conquiste amorose... e fa credere a Otello che Cassio sta raccontando della sua relazione con Desdemona. Cassio ha in mano il fazzoletto! Otello giura di uccidere Desdemona, ancor più quando gli ambasciatori giungono per portare la notizia che Otello deve tornare a Venezia e sarà sostituito a Cipro da Cassio...

E qui Giacomo, che ogni tanto guarda la TV mentre gioc con i LEGO, identificando spesso la parola "Fazzoletto" nelle arie di Placido Domingo ha un'uscita a dir poco esilarante: "Ma lui pensa sempre al fazzoletto!" e ride. In un attimo ha colto l'assurdità della situazione: la gelosia che arriva al punto di desiderare la morte di chi si ama, per colpa di una falsa storia costruita su un fazzoletto!

ATTO IV: Desdemona è inquieta. Si prepara alla notte con la sua ancella Emilia (che è la moglie di Jago... ). Prega e aspetta Otello. Egli giunge colmo d'ira. Dopo averla baciata tre volte, la soffoca col cuscino. Giunge Cassio che intanto ha ucciso Roderigo (che, sempre spinto da Jago, avrebbe invece dovuto uccidere Cassio) e a seguire tutti gli altri personaggi dell'opera. Emilia svela l'intrigo architettato da Cassio e Otello non può fare altro che uccidersi con un pugnale baciando per l'ultima volta la sposa innocente e roso dal rimorso.



È una vera tragedia! Non può finire bene! Ma i bambini, come abbiamo sempre detto e ripetuto adorano le tragedie molto più delle commedie!

Oggi ho fatto trovare a Giacomo, dopo l'asilo, un fazzoletto e gli ho detto che si tratta proprio di quello che Otello ha regalato a Desdemona... ovviamente lui ci ha creduto e non lo molla più!

Dopo questo ripasso a misura di bambino, sono pronta a rappresentare PVM alla prima di Otello al Teatro Regio alle 19.30 in loggione, in cui incontrerò altri "amici" di PVM: Federica Fanizza di Riva del Garda, che ha invitato PVM ad una presentazione ufficiale a Riva del Garda, Stefania Carrani, prof. di violino a Piacenza (ricordate?)... e un paio di amici della Barcaccia, la nota trasmissione per amanti della lirica di Radio Tre.

Al Cafè del Regio non manca l'affettatrice per il prosciutto:

L'affettatrice del Regio di Parma

Un Otello è sempre un'emozione. Inoltre, so che mentre io mi godo lo spettacolo dal vivo, a casa, a seguire la diretta TV su TV PARMA, ci sono Antonio e Giacomo e sono certa che Giacomo avrà raccontato il "suo" Otello al papà e ad Antonio. 

Giacomo e Antonio seguono la diretta TV

Il loggione è gremito; è tradizione antica quella delle "prime" in loggione a Parma. Sulla Gazzetta di Parma, il giorno dopo, c'è sempre la cronaca di ciò che accade tra gli appasionati prima, durante e dopo l'opera...

Il loggione affollato

Dentro al loggione...

Questa volta ho avuto l'onore di stringere la mano e scambiare qualche parola con una vera "istituzione" del loggione del regio: il signor "Gigetto", che non ne perde una di rappresentazione e dice la sua con competenza su tutto e su tutti in dialetto parmigiano. Uno spettacolo nello spettacolo che ancora oggi per fortuna esiste e aiuta a mantenere ancorato alla memorabile tradizione il Teatro regio di Parma, che barcolla, ma per ora non cade, nonostante ci si mettano tutti (i politici) a tentare di abbatterlo insieme a tutta la cultura musicale italiana che in ambito operistico è la prima nel mondo.

Gigetto e il giornalista della Gazzetta con taccuino

E che sia la prima nel mondo lo testimonia il nutrito gruppo di coreani che mi ritrovo a fianco e alle spalle, raccolti in formazione compatta per sostenere il debutto nella parte del protagonista del loro connazionale Rudy Park, che con coraggio ha accettato il delicato ruolo dopo il forfait di ben altri due tenori. L'orchestra, diretta dal Maestro Daniele Callegari, s'impone immediatamente con un volume sonoro notevolissimo (per alcuni eccessivo... "io suonerei ancora più forte" ha commentato a fine I atto, ad alta voce con la tipica "r" moscia parmigiana, un loggionista alla mia destra) accresciuto dalla raccolta atmosfera del regio di Parma, che mi mancava dopo l'ampiezza per me eccessiva della Staatsoper viennese. Il sipario si apre sulle scene di Pier Luigi Pizzi, artista di grande esperienza e sempre elegante e raffinato, che ha curato anche regia e costumi. Scene vuote, geometriche, minimaliste, con mura, tavolini, porte e trono dagli angoli retti e tutti sulla tonalità del beige/giallo ocra tranne le porte marroni scuro del III e IV atto e gli alberi scuri nel II atto, adornati da luccicanti foglioline dorate e il letto a baldacchino della magnifica scena/quadro finale. Mi è piaciuto tutto di questa regia, anche i costumi avevano la leggerezza di veli color pastello (giallo, bianco, rosa chiaro, arancione in diverse sfumature) e tra di essi spiccavano alcuni costumi viola: fatto curioso perchè in teatro il viola è colore scaramanticamente da sempre evitato. Nere le figure dei personaggi-pedine di Jago, lui stesso in nero, con tute stile motociclisti in pelle, che spiccavano tra gli acquarelli degli altri personaggi. Più sontuoso il doge. Curati anche i dettagli: il fazzoletto decorato, le acconciature, i fiori, gli arredi scenici e le armi. Giusti i movimenti delle masse e anche quelli dei protagonisti, mai eccessivi ma nemmeno immobili in proscenio. Peccato che la figura di Otello a causa della corporatura massiccia del cantante unita ai tratti somatici e alla capigliatura orientali lo abbiano reso più "Samurai" (anche se coreano e non giapponese) che Moro, soprattutto nel finale, armato di sciabola. Il loggione non ha gradito la regia, ma sul fattore scenico non ho paura di dissentire: ne capiscono di voci e di musica, ma quanto a scene/regia/costumi non sono altrettanto credibili. Mi sento più esperta io, anche grazie agli studi fatti in Università e ai seminari che ho seguito per anni tenuti da Maestri indiscussi della regia.

Delicatissima la Desdemona di Aurelia Florian, notevolmente migliorata dal punto di vista tecnico e a mio avviso ingiustamente buata dal loggione a fine spettacolo. Park ha fatto del suo meglio, scritturato all'ultimo e buttato sul palco di un Teatro che su Verdi non perdona ha avuto molto coraggio e nessuno alla fine ha osato sottolineare la scarsa duttilità della sua potente voce, che ha cantato nello stesso modo da inizio a fine opera, senza mai riuscire a utilizzare le mezze voci che le parti liriche dell'opera richiederebbero. Tuttavia il mezzo vocale è notevole e l'intonazione corretta, ottimo il fraseggio, certamente con l'esperienza potrà migliorare in espressività e soprattutto ha molta strada da fare per quanto riguarda l'interpretazione da attore. I suoi movimenti, i suoi sguardi, i contatti con Desdemona... tutto troppo "rigido" e di conseguenza poco coinvolgente. Un Otello di cui, da donna, non ci si innamora. Il povero Marco Vratogna, Jago, è stato il più criticato dal loggione. Sicuramente è inciampato lui stesso sul "fazzoletto" che crea da secoli problemi seri ad Otello nella trama e a lui ha giocato un brutto tiro in una breve frase del III atto ("Il fazzoletto"...) in cui la voce gli si è spezzata provocando un sonoro dissenso del loggione. A parte quell'inciampo non ho trovato la sua prova a tal punto catastrofica da giustificare i "BUUU" piovuti dall'alto, anzi, aveva una bella presenza scenica ed era perfettamente nel ruolo del "cattivo"... ma dobbiamo sempre pensare che questi signori loggionisti hanno alle spalle un'esperienza decennale di spettacoli, anche di un'epoca ormai ahimè lontana in cui il teatro e il mondo dell'opera avevano i mezzi per essere l'eccellenza. Oggi questi cantanti sono sballottati di teatro in teatro per poter guadagnare cifre dignitose e forse si dedicano meno allo studio paziente, fanno meno gavetta e pochissime prove ormai in quasi tutti i teatri, sempre per lo stesso motivo: NON CI SONO SOLDI! Perchè ormai il mondo va nella direzione del profitto e basta; la cultura fine a se stessa pare non abbia più alcun senso e a testimoniarlo sono i dibattiti degli ultimi tempi sul Liceo Classico, che ormai viene scelto da quattro gatti nostalgici del bel tempo che fu...

I bambini del Coro

I bambini del Coro di Voci Bianche sono stati fin troppo bravi, se pensiamo all'educazione musicale (IL NULLA) che c'è nelle nostre scuole.

Solidissimo il Coro del Teatro del Maestro Faggiani, che come sempre è stato ineccepibile. Al loro posto dignitosamente tutti gli altri. 

Per concludere: con i tempi che corrono un Otello così è più che dignitoso. È un segnale di speranza per una rinascita dei tesori che fanno dell'Italia uno dei paesi culturalmente più ricchi al mondo. Verdi è il nostro orgoglio e al Teatro regio di Parma lo sanno. Otello resta una delle opere più belle di Verdi e una delle più affascinanti in assoluto. 

Applausi finali

Il Cast schierato visto dalla mia postazione

IL LIBRETTO

A ciò contribuisce anche il superlativo libretto di Arrigo Boito su quale, da letterata, vorrei soffermarmi proponendovi alcuni versi che io trovo particolarmente belli. Il libretto di Boito non declassa Shakespeare (in Macbeth i versi di Maffei sono di livello molto inferiore), anzi mantiene la vivacità lessicale e la musicalità del verso. L'italiano di Boito è una meravigliosa lettura che procede insieme alla musica di Verdi in un continuo intreccio per cui l'uno arricchisce di significati l'altra e viceversa. Il lessico fa venire nostalgia dell'antica ricchezza della nostra lingua oggi così inaridita e impoverita. 

JAGO: "Suvvia, fa' senno, aspetta l'opra del tempo. A Desdemona bella, che nel segreto dei tuoi sogni adori, presto in uggia verranno i foschi baci di quel selvaggio dalle gonfie labbra".

OTELLO: "Venga la morte! E mi colga nell'estasi di questo amplesso il momento supremo!"

JAGO (il monologo): "Credo in un Dio crudel che m'ha creato simile a sé e che nell'ira io nomo. Dalla viltà di un germe o di un atòmo vile son nato. Son scellerato perchè son uomo; e sento il fango originario in me. Sì! Questa è la mia fé! Credo con fermo cuor, sì come crede la vedovella al tempio, che il mal ch'io penso e che da me procede, per il mio destino adempio. Credo che il giusto è un istrion beffardo, e nel viso e nel cuor, che tutto in lui è bugiardo: lagrima, bacio, sguardo, sacrificio ed onor. E credo l'uom giuoco d'iniqua sorte dal germe della culla al verme dell'avel. Vien dopo tanta irrision la Morte. E poi? E poi? La morte è il nulla. È vecchia fola il ciel."

OTELLO: "Più orrendo d'ogni orrenda ingiuria dell'ingiuria è il sospetto. "

JAGO: "Seguia più vago l'incubo blando; con molle angoscia; l'interna imago quasi baciando, ei disse poscia: il rio destino impreco che al Moro ti donò. E allora il sogno in cieco letargo si mutò"

Otello: "E tu... come sei pallida! E stanca, e muta, e bella. Pia creatura nata sotto maligna stella. Fredda come la casta tua vita e in cielo assorta."

LA MUSICA

La musica si esprime in tutta la sua violenza e si fa grido, da subito, quando siamo letteralmente invasi dalle acque della tempesta contro cui lotta Otello. Improvvisi schianti sonori che inondano platea e palchi con un'irruenza inaudita nelle precedenti opere di Verdi. E forse per questo non è da criticare la lettura veemente di Callegari di ieri sera. Grandioso anche il finale del III atto. Potenza che diviene dissolvenza nei momenti lirici con archi in tremolo e flebili fili di fiati. Il discorso musicale si fa unico, non più suddiviso in Arie e Cablette... Verdi vira verso l'"odiato" ma stimato Wagner, pur restando assolutamente Verdi e fa uso del "declamato melodico" che sempre più caratterizza le opere avvicinandosi al Novecento. Raffinatissime le scelte timbriche: emergono il violoncello, i contrabbassi, l'oboe, i flauti, i corni ... sempre a sottolineare atmosfere o stati d'animo particolari. 

Otello e Desdemona

Particolare dell'interno del Regio

PER GUARDARE L'OTELLO DIRETTO DA MUTI ALLA SCALA CLICCA QUI: https://youtu.be/zIVFSW25h1o

PER L'OTELLO DIRETTO DA MUTI A SALISBURGO CLICCA QUI: https://youtu.be/jfzdhNpr2U4

Otello nell'illustrazione di Gabriele Clima

Otello fa parte di uno dei tre bellissimi libri di Cristina Bersanelli e Gabriele Clima dedicati all'Opera e rivolti ai bambini. Avevamo già parlato di "FILTRI E POZIONI ALL'OPERA" quando abbiamo analizzato "L'Elisir d'amore" di Donizetti: Filtri e Pozioni. 
I libri sono editi da Curci Young e li trovate in libreria a 16 euro l'uno. 

Questo volume si intitola "KATTIVISSIMI ALL'OPERA" e raccoglie le storie di altre 5 opere (Macbeth e Otello di Verdi, Tosca e Turandot di Puccini, Don Giovanni di Mozart), raccontate dalla parte dei cattivi. E ovviamente non poteva mancare Jago, che noi conosciamo ormai assai bene e che cattivo, anzi "kattivissimo" certamente è.

Jago

Jago si presenta: "Onesto e leale: così tutti mi vedevano. Invidia la mia?" e racconta del suo odio nei confronti di Cassio, che come ricorderete aveva ricevuto da Otello il titolo di Capitano che Jago riteneva di meritare al suo posto. E, inoltre, dice di odiare Otello in quanto straniero e lo invidia per la bella moglie Desdemona. Nel libro, Jago (come tutti gli altri kattivissimi) ha anche una Carta d'Identità con tanto di segno zodiacale, ovviamente Gemelli (un segno doppio, giusto?):

Iago vuole rovinare la vita all'odiato Otello, si sente chiamato dal destino a farlo. Sa qual è il punto debole di Otello: è Desdemona, la bella moglie di cui è gelosissimo. Con astuzia Jago fa credere a Otello che Desdemona lo tradisce con Cassio... e gli bastò un fazzoletto:

... che per Otello aveva un significato particolare, era un pegno d'amore. Lo rubò dalle mani di Emilia, sua moglie e ancella (dama di compagnia) di Desdemona. E poi lo mise in casa di Cassio: ecco la prova tangibile del tradimento costruita ad arte! E infatti Otello va su tutte le furie e il suo immenso amore per Desdemona si tramuta in feroce odio fino ad arrivare ad ucciderla in un modo spietato:

Jago ha anche predisposto un agguato per sbarazzarsi di Cassio, ma tale piano fallisce e Cassio sopravvive. Così qualcosa va storto e Jago viene smascherato. otello scopre di aver ucciso un'innocente e non gli resta che uccidersi.

Al termine del libro c'è una pagina dedicata ai compositori delle opere scelte in questa raccolta e un CD AUDIO che contiene i racconti intervallati da alcuni brani delle opere.

La nostra selezione di carte

Inoltre, ci sono delle bellissime CARTE GIOCO con cui ci siamo divertiti un mondo Giacomo ed io. Abbiamo ritagliato tutte le carte dai tre libri (li abbiamo tutti!) e abbiamo scelto solo quelle dei personaggi che Giacomo conosce (Elisir d'amore, Otello, Don Giovanni, Tosca, Turandot, Tristano e Isotta) e, semplificando un po' le regole, abbiamo fatto avvincenti sfide. Ogni personaggio ha infatti un punteggio relativamente alla sua FORZA, alla sua ASTUZIA e alla sua BONTA'. Di volta in volta, a turno abbiamo messo sul tavolo una carta dicendo ad alta voce "Ti sfido con... " e scegliendo il valore più alto della carta. L'avversario doveva rispondere con una carta con un valore più alto. Il vincitore incassava le due carte. Ovviamente... ha vinto Giacomo!

Le 6 carte di Otello

Ecco un'immagine dell'avvincente sfida:

Ascoltiamo Jago nell'Otello di Verdi interpretato da Leo Nucci:

Marco e Giacomo nel palco del Regio

PVM torna al Teatro per bambini: Teatro Regio di Parma per l'ultimo appuntamento di VerdiYoung: "Otello", una produzione dello stesso teatro e di "Zazì", Laboratorio Creativo per Bambini: http://www.zazi.it/:  "Il Gioco dell’Opera", l’opera raccontata ai bambini delle Scuole dell’Infanzia. La regia e il testo sono di Veronica Ambrosini, i costumi del Teatro Regio di Parma e gli interpreti sono Allievi del Conservatorio Arrigo Boito di Parma, nella classe della Prof.ssa Donatella Saccardi.

Prima uscita con le nostre magliette, che hanno suscitato un certro interesse, anche grazie al fatto che eravamo ben in sei ad indossarle: Antonio, Giacomo ed io e Marco, Valeria e la loro mamma, carissimi amici di PVM, Grazie!:

Le magliette di PVM

Le abbiamo indossate prima di entrare nel foyer all'ingresso, dove è iniziato lo spettacolo, che poi si è spostato nella sala del Teatro Regio e nei palchi, utilizzando la metà della platea più distante dal palco e, al posto del palco, il corridoio che separa i settori delle poltrone.

"Gli arancioni" di PVM guardano e ascoltano  Jago

L'attrice travestita da Jago (regista e ideatrice dello spettacolo, Veronica Ambrosini) fa accomodare tutti gli spettatori all'ingresso: bimbi a terra davanti e geniotori dietro: già questa scelta ci piace! E la sua frase "Voi mettetevi lì vicino agli arancioni" ci è piaciuta ancora di più: significa che siamo riusciti a farci notare. Speriamo di acquistare nuovi lettori e fan! Veronica dimostra subito grandissima presenza scenica e capacità di coinvolgere ed interagire con il pubblico di bambini. Ci spiega cos'è un Teatro, un Capo Comico, un Melodramma, chi è Giuseppe Verdi... cosa c'è: la Musica! Tutto in pochissimi minuti con linguaggio semplice, voce impostata e chiara, gesti che catturano l'attenzione.

Antonio e Valeria entrano nel palco

Ci invita poi ad accomodarci nei nostri posti a sedere, siano essi in platea o nei palchi. Giacomo e Marco con me nel Palco 11, Antonio e Valeria con Stefania nell'ordine sotto...

Antonio e il Burattino/Attore Cassio nel palco a fianco!

...fortunati! Avranno il pupazzo Cassio proprio a fianco del loro palco! "Era vicinissimo!" mi ha raccontato Antonio... "Giacomo avebbe avuto paura, tremavano le gambe anche a me": Evviva il teatro!

Marco e Giacomo

A parte Jago, che non ha un alter ego di cartapesta, tutti gli altri personaggi hanno un corrispondente burattino gigante, in cui gli attori infilano l'avambraccio muovendo la bocca e il capo, mentre le braccia sono manovrate dall'altra mano libera. Il burattino poggia in terra su di  un bastone, altrimenti sarebbe pesante da sostenere per l'intero spettacolo. I personaggi (compreso Jago) hanno anche un cantante corrispondente, che intona alcuni dei passi più famosi dell'Opera: il duetto Otello/Desdemona del finale del I atto; l'Aria in cui Jago  esprime la sua fiolosofia; quella della disperazione di Otello e la canzone del salice di Desdemona. I cantanti sono accompagnati da un pianoforte verticale suonato dal Maestro Simone Savina.

Antonio, Valeria e mamma Stefania sotto di noi

 Dopo una seconda breve presentazione da parte di Jago, lo spettacolo vero e proprio ha inizio: arriva da lontano (dal palcoscenico reale) una nave, è Otello, che rischia il naufragio, ma miracolosamente si salva e approda a Cipro.

Otello è un burattinone nero con capelli tipo rasta e una bocca enorme. Cassio è presentato come il più idiota dei personaggi (giustamente... tra lui e Otello è una bella lotta!), che all'inizio è ubriaco (vi ricordate che Jago lo ha fatto bere per farlo reagire violentemente in duello e farlo così declassare da Otello! Jago, infatti, odia Otello perchè non lo ha fatto Capitano, preferendogli Cassio e tutto nasce da questa volontà di rivalsa da parte di Jago).

I burattini/attori si muovono nei corridoi della platea, ma in più di un'occasione entrano in un palco del teatro. Ci si sente così "dentro" lo spettacolo. I bambini guardano meravigliati di qua e di là girandosi sulle poltrone seguendo le voci. Idea bellissima e molto ben realizzata.

Otello nel palchetto

Si arriva velocemente al duetto d'amore, seguito da una divertente scenetta dei burattini con tre baci di Desdemona a Otello. Devo dire che le scene "extra", cioè quelle non fedeli alla storia di Shakespeare o del libretto di Arrigo Boito (guarda a caso il Conservatorio di Parma è intitolato proprio a lui!), sono tutte divertentissime, al momento giusto, mai volgari e molto bene interpretate. Complimenti vivissimi alla Compagnia Zazì! Una bella scoperta per me e per PVM: non li avevamo mai visti, ma ora non vogliamo perderci più nessuno dei loro spettacoli dedicati all'Opera! Hanno già prodotto anche Trovatore e Rigoletto... speriamo ci sia occasione di riverderli... "all'opera!".

Chiedo perdono per i video rubati, ma rendono l'idea della bellezza dello spettacolo! Anche se sono di pessima qualità.

Otello e Desdemona, duetto "Già nella notte densa" - Atto I



Gli allievi del Conservatorio hanno fatto del loro meglio. Sapete sicuramente che Otello è una delle opere più complesse da affrontare. I ruoli non sono certo stati scritti per studenti. Complimenti dunqye anche ai ragazzi (tutti Coreani) che hanno il coraggio di mettersi alla prova con pagine così ardite.

Jago "Credo in un Dio crudel" - Atto II


Ricapitolando... Otello ama Desdemona. Jago odia Otello. Emilia è la moglie di Jago e ancella di Desdemona (le è fedele ed è buona non come il marito!). In questo breve spezzone il dialogo tra Cassio ed Emilia: Cassio vuole chiedere a Desdemona di perdonarlo per aver ferito, da ubriaco, in un duello Montano, cosa che ha fatto infuriare Otello...



Jago trama contro Otello mettendogli in testa il sospetto che Desdemona lo tradisca con Cassio. Per fare questo utilizza un fazzoletto caduto dalle mani di Desdemona, che viene da lui messo tra le mani di Cassio come prova tagibile del tradimento di Desdemona.

Otello vede dal palco Desdemona con Cassio...

L'espediente del fazzoletto, che noi avevamo identificato come elemento concreto per fare capire la storia a Giacomo, viene utilizzato in modo importante anche dagli attori della Compagnia Zazì. Viene aggiunta anche una scena (che ho trovato esilarante), alla fine, quando Desdemona piange disperata per aver perso il fazzoletto e aver mandato in collera il marito, Emilia offre a Desdemona il suo fazzoletto, che è rosso e con la faccia di Topolino! "Prendi questo e risolviamo subito il problema..." le dice, porgenole il fazzoletto... "È anche nuovo!", aggiunge...

E alla fine dello spettacolo la nostra amica Valeria si è fatta mostrare da Emilia Pupazzo/attrice il fazzoletto di Topolino.

Valeria e Antonio tra i pupazzi

Alla fine si sceglie di non rappresentare la doppia morte di Desdemona e Otello (che si suicida) per non impressionare troppo i bambini. Ovvio che Giacomo e Marco l'hanno subito notato... si aspettavano lo spargimento di sangue finale dal petto di Otello. Unica piccola delusione... spesso noi adulti ci facciamo troppi problemi su morti e creature spaventose: i bambini sono molto più sadici e macabri di quello che si possa immaginare... condivido comunque la precauzione della regista/autrice, meglio evitare le proteste di qualche genitore troppo impressionabile (i cui bambini, invece, sarebbero probabilmente stati felici nel vedere la maglietta bianca di Otello macchiarsi di pomodoro al penetrare del pugnale nelle sue carni...).

Trionfo meritatissimo, applausi e "Bravi!" a cui PVM si unisce senza le riserve dello spettacolo precedente (Il viaggio di Milo e Maya), del quale questo è senza dubbio (a nostro unanime giudizio) di livello molto superiore da tutti i punti di vista. Un modo intelligente di avvicinare i bambini al mondo dell'opera, forse ancora più efficace della formula pensata dal Teatro alla Scala. Se solo questi attori avessero a disposizione mezzi musicali maggiori (ad esempio un pianoforte a coda e qualche strumento in più) la magia raggiungerebbe l'apice. È giusto sfruttare questo tipo di spettacoli come "palestra" per studenti/cantanti. Anche loro, sostentuti da un accompagnamento più corposo, potrebbero essere più sicuri, anche se hanno tutti fatto la loro parte dando il massimo (e il risultato è stato sinceramente di buon livello) già con il solo pianoforte verticale. Bravi! agli allievi della Prof.ssa Donatella Saccardi.

È una gioia uno spettacolo così. È la prova che il teatro, se "usato" bene, se "fatto" bene, ha ancora un potere infinito sui bambini. È un 3D naturale, in diretta, senza bisogno di occhiali e di costosi apparecchi video. Bastano 5 euro per assistere allo spettacolo... e poi vedere il bellissimo Teatro Regio, stare in compagnia di amici e/o farsene di nuovi con cui condividere queste belle esperienze, e conoscere un capolavoro della storia della letteratura teatrale (l'Otello di Shakespeare) e un capolavoro dell'Opera Lirica (l'Otello di Giuseppe Verdi su libretto di Arrigo Boito tratto da Shakespeare, appunto...)!

Qui potete vedere le immagini della prima messinscena di questo spettacolo dell'Ottobre 2009: https://flic.kr/s/aHsjovU5HF

 

JOHANNA KOIVUNEN - A Clinging Embrace

A Clinging Embrace 

A Study of the Female Rapist in Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Johanna Koivunen, Stockholms universitet

I want to bring attention to the feminist research on Ovid, and the Metamorphoses in particular. One big influence in the field was Amy Richlin’s essay collection Pornography and Representation in Greece and Rome (1992). Richlin wrote herself in it about Ovid’s female characters in the essay “Reading Ovid’s Rapes”. According to Richlin, “even in his lifetime critics found his poetry disturbing because of the way he applied his wit to unfunny circumstances” (1992: 158). Richlin introduces her essay with those words in order to ask the question “how [are we] to read texts, like those of Ovid, that take pleasure in violence” (1992: 158). In her essay she discusses the problems of doing a feminist reading of such a text without dismissing it or praising it wrongly. Her essay reviews possible solutions to this question, and because it is polarising as well as methodological it has inspired feminst research into Ovid since then, and its explicit interest in rape is useful to this paper. 
However, more recent discussions of Ovid’s women and feminism focus less on the dated view of pornography (Alison Sharrock, another authority in the field, points out that the texts in Richlin’s essay collection include many different aspects of sex and label it all pornography [1998: 184-85]), and are turned to a broader gendered study of many examples of “queer” characters. 
In the Metamorphoses there are a number of women that have what Richlin describes as “excessive desire” (1992: 166). They include women who desire unions that are either problematic (like Medea in book 7 and Scylla in book 8) or incestous (like Byblis in book 9 and Myrrha in book 10), out of which only two get who or what they want through more or less open means (Medea and Myrrha). But, among those 50 rapes, there is only one female rapist, who, in addition, appears in “the only rape scene in the Metamorphoses that involves explicit physical contact” (Richlin 1992: 165). It is in the story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus in book 4 (verses 285-388). Hermaphroditus has appeared in the recent scholarship on Ovid that focuses the queer or gendered readings on various gender-transgressive characters. Hermaphroditus is of interest here because in Ovid’s hands, Hermaphroditus becomes both male and female when a man and a woman fuse, and is not born that way (although this is not clear-cut, as pointed out by Georgia Nugent [qtd. in Zajko 2009: 188] and Robinson 1999: 217). The research has mainly been interested in what it is that emasculates Hermaphroditus, his dual gender and whether the union is successful or not (for example Romano 2009, Robinson 1999 and Zajko 2009). Such research does not ignore Salmacis, but as of yet, Salmacis has not been treated with the research-attention she deserves. There are a number of aspects that make her an interesting subject to study.  
Victoria Rimell in her book Ovid’s Lovers (2006) is interested in the desiring subject. Her grasp of desire is, according to Spentzou “triggered by the conflicting energies and irreconcilable tendencies of the Ovidian selves” (Spentzou 2009: 391). The desiring subject is not only looking for an Other to fulfill them in a Lacanian sense (like Narcissus) but is also actively looking and the gaze has a “self-realizing potential” (like Medusa) (Spentzou 2009: 391). These looking, desiring subjects stare at their victims and become victimised, and also reveal the relational subject that comes about in a relationship with others as well as itself. The point of using the Gorgon’s way of looking – Rimell finds her off-spring throughout Ovid’s writing – is that “subjects become objects, victors become victims, interiors become exteriors” (Spentzou 2009: 392). This is one aspect in which Salmacis is interesting: there are  few female desiring subjects in the Metamorphoses and even fewer of those that act in any way against the will of their desired object. But desire is, in Rimell’s study not “just … a bland, incessant game of absence and lack but also … a collision of creative energies and convictions” (2006: 21). Desire, in a poem such as the Metamorphoses, is one of the driving forces. Because of this, desiring subjects are allowed to voice their adventure to a larger extent.
The story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus is told by one of three sisters in a spinning-room as they entertain themselves with needlework; they are too “good” to take part in the wild orgies and stay inside to dutifully and modestly keep their hands busy with weaving and spinning. But modest as they are, “the wild, transgressive, erotic nature of the tales which the women tell to lighten the work raises problems and contradictions in their self-presentation as too respectable for Bacchic inspiration” (Sharrock 2002: 213). The aspect of storytelling, gender and subjectivity is important in Ovid’s writing, and yet another aspect that informs Salmacis’ story and can help explain why it is different from the other rape scenes in the Metamorphoses.
There are, in summary, many fruitful modes of reading put forward in the last thirty years of Ovidian scholarship that are generated by gender studies. With this in mind I want to read the story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, which is interested in all of this: rape, desire, and storytelling. In addition to the above mentioned scholars, I have used readings and analyses of Ovid’s works by Don Fowler, on presence and communication (2000), Philip Hardie on narrative and desire (2002), and Alison Keith, on sexuality and gender (2009). 

Method and Aim 

The danger of misreading and misunderstanding is, according to Spentzou, stressed by Ovid’s stories, despite all the possible readings they present (often retelling an already-told story in a different way or with a different conclusion) (2009: 387). Spentzou claims “choosing the wrong reading is disastrous,” (which, in the poem itself, Narcissus and Cephalus do) (2009: 388). The danger or misunderstanding is present on all levels, from the character to the reader: “the author does not determine meanings and the reader has the responsibility and must face the consequences of deciding on the meaning of the text” (Spentzou 2009: 388). And this has to be done on a text full of “silences, gaps, and narrative seduction” (Spentzou 2009: 386). One solution to such a problem is to read the passages that are filled-in and undress the narrative seduction (or the seductress), i.e. to use the passages that are more explicit to see what they reveal, and engage with the narrator’s motivations and possible desires. Thus, turning to Salmacis is an essential venture, because her story is unusually explicit. 
I aim in this paper to study the story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus in depth. In particular, I want to study Salmacis and her identity as a female rapist. Previous research has remained at the study of the Salmacis’ emasculating environment, whether she acts like a male rapist, and if she fails as she does. I am interested in all of these things, but would like to see how she relates to the other characters she is like, i.e., is she like other nymphs, other rapists or other desiring subjects. In order to do so I plan to use a comparative study of what I call a “prototypical” rape scene and Salmacis’ rape scene. What I refer to as a prototypical rape scene is an attempt to find a generic rape scene from the Metamorphoses, which is one committed by a man unto a powerless woman.  I will compare how the rapists and their victims are depicted, in what environment they appear, how the rape is portrayed and what the story results in. In addition to this comparative analysis, I will look at Salmacis’s story from some of the aspects mentioned in the above theoretical background: her desire and the narrative framework. This will help me see what allows rape to take a center stage in this poem.

 Instead of reviewing Ovid’s construction of masculinity or femininity, or whether his writing can be viewed as feminist in any way, Rimell asks “about relationality, about the desiring subject in Ovidian poetry as being-in-relation” (2006: 4). She focuses on the most dialectical work of Ovid, the double Heroides, where lovers write each other letters. But this view can certainly be extended to his other works (and she does this as well), where desiring subjects never act alone, even when their desire is one-sided. She comments on “Ovid’s fascination with communication between lovers, and with doubling, interaction, competition and exchange more generally” (2006: 8) and says that it culminates in Heroides. But much of Ovid’s writing 8 is about relationships, connection, love and so on. I would like to extend the idea of communication between subjects desiring each other (as in Heroides) to communication between desiring subjects of his stories, via doubling, interaction and exchange. There is, I think, more exchange of approach, characterisation and action between Salmacis and Zeus than between Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, or Zeus and any of his ladyloves (Europa, Danae, Leda, Callista, and so forth).

THE FEMALE RAPIST: SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS 

The story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus is told by Alcithoe to her sisters as they sit inside and weave during a festival to Bacchus. Her two sisters go first and tell the stories of Pyramus and Thisbe and Clytie and Helios. When it is Alcithoe’s turn, she begins by mentioning a couple of stories she won’t go into: a nymph, angry at a shepherd who pursues her, transforms him into a stone; Sithon, who was both man and woman; Celmis who went mad; the Curets born out of rain; and Smilax and Crocus, lovers who were turned into the eponymous flowers. Instead she chooses a story “dulci ... novitate” (a lovely novelty) (4.284). It is about Salmacis, a nymph who lives alone in the forest, who prefers resting and grooming herself over hunting with Artemis, like the other nymphs. She sees the young man Hermaphroditus, son of the obvious gods, coming to the pond she lives by. She falls instantly in love, he tells her to go away, she hides and when he goes swimming she is overcome and rushes to him. As she clings to him, she begs the gods that they may be united. The gods grant her wish, they are joined in body and soul and Hermaphroditus leaves the pond both male and female. He responds by praying to the gods that they poison the water so everyone who enters it will be like him. This is an alternative origin story to Hermaphroditus’ dual gender. It is the only occasion of a woman explicitly raping someone in the Metamorphoses and it is the most explicit sex scene in the poem (Richlin 1992: 165). 
Before I delve into the story itself, I want to bring attention to the narrator of the story. When Alcithoe has finished, Bacchus notices that they blatantly ignore his festival and in punshisment their looms and fabrics are turned into climbing plants and they are turned into bats: “conatae … loqui minimam … vocem / emittunt peraguntque leves stridore querelas” (trying to speak they emit the smallest sound and finish their small complaints with a high-pitched sound) (4.412-13). They are punished for ignoring one god, Bacchus, despite choosing to honour another goddess, ie Athena (“nos … quas Pallas, melior dea, detinet” [we keep to Pallas, who is a better goddess] [4.38]). Their punishment is targeted to their speaking and storytelling: they are not explicitly silenced, as many others are in the Metamorphoses, but it is made certain that no one will be able to understand their talking. Many characters, and women in particular, are transformed, and often these leave a trace in the world as a reminder of their disappearance – Myrrha’s tears become the myrrh oil (a perfume), Philomela and her sister are remembered as sweet-singing birds, and laurel-leaves from Daphne adorn Apollo’s head. The Minyeides, however, are turned into creatures that must hide in the dark (“lucem … perosae / nocte volant” [detesting the light, they fly at night] [4.414-15]) and will not be heard by anyone but themselves. Either what they do or what what they tell stories of is not something worth honouring. 
Below I will look at the story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus. Alcithoe’s sisters also tell stories of desiring women and failed unions (Pyramus and Thisbe famously die together and dye the cherry tree’s berries red; Clytie is in love with Helios and Helios with her, but he ignores her. She sits watching the sun for days until she transforms into a flower that follows the sun). But Salmacis is something entirely different from them. Below I look at the following aspects: the rape, the rapist, the victim and the surroundings and compare them to the story of Europa. I have also included the transformation as its own aspect in order to view the story’s conclusion.

I. Non Nota Dianae (the Rapist) 

Salmacis is the name of the nymph and of the pond the story revolves around. (The water is described with a number of different words. For simplicity’s sake I will call it “a pond” in English. The words in Latin are: fons, stagnum, unda, aqua, latex and lympha.) The line between the nymph and the water is vague and this will become apparent in a number of ways. The first mention of Salmacis is of the pond. The story will explain how the water came to be “infamis,” (notorious) (4.285) and how and why it effeminises, “quare male fortibus undis / … enervet” (why it wrongly effeminises with powerful waves), and softens, “remolliat,” whoever touches it (4.285-86). The narrator tells us that the water is famous, “vis est notissima fontis” (the power of the pond is famous) (4.287). Since this is the prelude to the story, it seems like the pond is the main character of the story, rather than the nymph or Hermaphroditus. However, I believe it is too simple to separate the nymph from the water, and that in the end we have to talk about the nymph-as-the-water. 
Salmacis the nymph enters in verse 302, after Hermaphroditus and the pond have been introduced. She is “nympha … sed nec venatibus apta nec arcus / flectere quae soleat nec quae contendere cursu” (a nymph who was not apt to hunt deer, nor used to bend her bow or compete by running) (4.302-3). Despite being a nymph she is none of the things that a typical nymph is, suggesting she is less than or not really a nymph. More important though: she is “sola … Naiadum … non nota Dianae” (the only naiad not known to Artemis) (4.304). The Leader of the Hunt does not recognise her.
Her sisters, the naiads, have told her to pick up her spear and quiver and combine her relaxation with hunting. When these “shoulds” are said (verses 4.306-7), they are spoken by the naiad sisters. The narrator coolly relates almost word-for-word that she does not pick up her spear and quiver nor combine her relaxation with hunting. The entire characterisation of Salmacis points out where she is not like other nymphs, but refrains from any outright moralisations. This narrator has this in common with the Loves of Zeus narrator: they report what happens without judging too much, except with occasional nods to the readers to alert them to pay attention. 
Salmacis spends her time bathing her “formosos … artus” (beautiful limbs) (4.310). She combs her hair with “Cytoriaco … pectine” (a Cytorian boxwood comb) (4.311) and watches herself in the water, as if peering in a mirror: “spectatas consulit undas” (she consults the observed waves) (4.312). This is one indication that the water is an extension of her. This is made clearer when she is described “nunc perlucenti circumdata corpus amictu / mollibus aut foliis aut mollibus incubat herbis” (now, draping her body with a transparent dress, she lies on soft leaves or soft herbs) (4.313- 14). She is dressed in clothing that is, like the pond, “perlucens”. The pond is “lucentis” (clear) (4.297) and “perspicuus”(transparent) (4.300) and you can see all the way to the bottom, just like you can see all the way through Salmacis clothing. Moreover, she, like the pond, lies amid “foliis” and “herbis”. She is a clear and see-through entity in a lush environment. Salmacis the nymph and Salmacis the pond are more or less the same – if not the same being, at least the same kind of being. Keith writes about Salmacis and her close link to the environment in her essay on sexuality and gender in Ovid’s poetry. She notes that “classical poets repeatedly feminize and sexualize the landscapes in which they set male action” (2009: 361). She also notes some similarities between Salmacis the pond (lymphae [4.298]) and Salmacis the nymph (nympha [4.302]): both are uniquely uncustomary – the pond uncustomarily empty of vegetation and the nymph uncustomarily uninterestered in nymph-acitivities –, their transparency of water and clothing, and Salmacis’ use of the pond to mirror herself (Keith 2009: 361-62). Thus Salmacis and the environment are made the same, and the environment is feminised along with Salmacis. 
However, the feminisation of Salmacis is less straight-forward. Matthew Robinson notes that “even before their combination into one androgynous being, both Hermaphroditus and Salmacis are playing the male and female part” (1999: 218). This refers not only to the fact that Salmacis has the aggressive role in the union. Salmacis is clearly different from the typical nymphs, all of whom are very innocent and feminine in their company of only women. But she appears to be more feminine than them, because she rejects the less-feminine actions of the Hunt’s naiads – actions of active women who reject love and sex – while she embraces actions more typically female and passive. This is perhaps why she is not known by Artemis and not part of the Hunt: she has an interest in sex and Artemis is usually blind to that (for example, see the story of Callisto in book 2, who is raped by Zeus and then rejoins the Hunt: its leader, because she is innocent or virginal, [“et, nisi quod virgo est, poterat sentire Diana” (if she had not been a virgin, Artemis could have sensed it) (2.451)] is the only one among the naiads who does not realise what has happened to Callisto when she becomes pregnant). It is remarkable to use the most girly and innocent of the gods to compare Salmacis to: Salmacis is at once not girl enough to hunt with the others, but more feminine than those naiads, as well as both more innocent (picking flowers rather than killing animals) and less innocent than them, because she is not known by Artemis herself, innocent virtue personified. In this setting, the Hunt’s naiads are like the young bulls Taurus-Zeus appears among. Salmacis, like Zeus in his romances, becomes the most sexual being in a surrounding of asexual beings. Finally, several of her actions prior to engaging with Hermaphroditus are that of a sexual object, for example bathing. The flower-picking is not only preferred over hunting, it also, according to Keith, places her alongside nymphs about to be raped and women about to be married in epic poetry (2009: 363). But when she meets her lover, she is not “plucked” like these other women, but acts according to the male rapist of so many myths (Keith mentions both Zeus and Hades [2009: 363]) (for this idea, also see Robinson 1999: 217-18). Salmacis bends the tropes of femininity and nymphs and makes her difficult to predict, to Hermaphroditus’ disadvantage. 
When Salmacis has seen Hermaphroditus, before she approaches him, she makes sure she is beautiful “nec tamen … / quam se composuit, quam circumspexit amictus / et finxit vultum et meruit formosa videri” (not until she has composed herself, inspected her dress and modified her face and deserves to be seen as beautiful) (4.317-19). This may be compared to Zeus’s transformation into a bull. The same word is used to describe them, “formosus” (Salmacis was also said to bathe her “formosos … artus” earlier [4.310]). However, Taurus is by the narrator called formosus, while Salmacis is by the narrator said to be making sure she deserves to be seen as formosa when she is about to approach her victim. She is aware of and ready for being objectified. Hidden, she looks upon Hermaphroditus as he undresses and goes for a swim. She sees his naked body and 

placuit ... cupidine formae 
... exarsit: flagrant quoque lumina nymphae,
non aliter quam cum puro nitidissimus orbe 
opposita speculi referitur imagine Phoebus (4.346-49) 

(she enjoys it … she burns with desire for its beauty: the eyes of the nymph also burn, not unlike when the most shining Phoebus with his pure orb is reflected in the mirror’s opposite image) 
Despite the close link she has with the water, she burns, she is on fire. This brings to mind the previous story told by the Alcithoe’s sister, where the Sun, also known as Phoebus, falls in love with the maid Leucothoë (Helios comes to Leucothoë dressed as her mother and rapes her [“ille / vim tulit invitae” (he took me unwillling with force) in her own words (4.238-39)], after which Leucothoë is punished  by being buried alive, away from the eyes of the sun). But the sun is translated into her element by being mirrored in the water. Salmacis is here likened to other rapists and her gazing at her object of desire is in itself an action, and one transformative since it is like the sun’s “gazing” – that is, able to burn. 
As soon as Hermaphroditus has jumped into the water, Salmacis is moved to action. Fowler reads Salmacis impatience and inability to wait, her “vixque moram patitur” (and she is hardly able to wait) (4.350), as “hardly a female characteristic, but much more a mark of the male” (2000: 163). It is also recognised in the words that describe Zeus’s desire: “vix iam, vix cetera differt!” (now, he can hardly postpone the rest) (2.863). In addition, Fowler finds her “whole attitude towards Hermaphroditus, and in particular her instantaneous move from spying to attempted possession, … one we can recognize as male” (2000: 163). But this is not the action of men only, as there are women throughout the Metamorphoses who act and are not willing to spy, such as Myrrha, Byblis, Medea, and Scylla. (May I also bring up the perhaps most famous spy of the Metamorphoses: a man, Actaion, who watches the Hunt bathe in book 3, and is "deerly" punished for it?) What brings them together is their burning desire. This is an action of a desiring subject. We notice this because what motivates both Zeus and Salmacis is “sperata voluptas” and “sperata gaudia” (hoped-for joy) (4.368) respectively. They are not happy with what they have: they are explicitly looking forward to what comes next. And along with Salmacis, I turn to the desired object, Hermaphroditus.

II. Flowers and Ivory (the Victim) 

Hermaphroditus is a “puerum natum” (boy child born) of Hermes and Aphrodite (4.288), “cuius erat facies, in qua materque paterque / cognosci possent” (in whose appearence both mother and father could be recognised) (4.290-91). We may assume he is beautiful with those parents. We do not find out his name until after he has transformed, but we are told that he carries the name of both his parents. I think he shares this aspect with Europa: she is made important as the mother of a famous Cretan dynasty, Kings Minos and Rhadamanthys, and we find out who she is only then. Similarly Hermaphroditus is made important once he is this male and female creature, not before, and thus we are given his name later. He has grown up on the mountain Ida with naiads and leaves it to eagerly discover the world and unknown places, and enjoys it (“gaudebat” [4.295]). One such place is the pond where Salmacis lives. Hermaphroditus is in other ways not as anonymous as Europa is, but we find out most about him through the eyes of Salmacis. When she sees him, she approaches and and says to him that he is “credi / esse deus” (believed to be a god) (4.320-21), like Cupid, and that his parents, brothers and sisters, she supposes, must be “beati” (happy) (4.322), “felix” (lucky) (4.323) and “fortunata” (fortunate) (4.323) (Cupid actually being his half-brother). His would-be wife is “longe cunctis longeque beatior” (far more happy than the rest) (4.325). Thus, Hermaphroditus is desirable in the eyes of Salmacis but she does not tell him so directly, but thinks how it would be to be someone close to him. She is not yet entirely able to “objectify” him, but rather objectifies his relatives and herself, since she would like to be his wife. 
When Salmacis has spoken her first words of love, Hermaphroditus acts like any pursued love-interest should: “pueri rubor ora notavit / (nescit enim quid amor), sed et erubuisse decebat” (the blush marked the boy’s face [for he did not know what love is], but to blush became him) (4.329-30). He blushes and the discomfort looks well on him. Richlin comments on this trope in Ovid’s writing: “the display of the woman’s body and fear to her rapist-to-be … often precedes her rape” (1992: 162). Hermaphroditus, however, does now show fear, but discomfort and a lack of understanding: he is so innocent he does not know of or recognise love. While he is in many way likened to the female rape victim, he is not frightened but rather ashamed, which is both a comment on his probable advantage in strength, and that the inequality between them, or between sexual aggressor and victim, is founded on lack of knowledge. This is similar to what was found between Taurus-Zeus and Europa: while the assailant obviously had the upper hand in strength, he made a point of ridding himself of it, and what had Europa commit to being victimised was her lack of understanding of the situation.
But now, the narrator has begun to describe Hermaphroditus in various objectifying ways. The colour of his blush is like “aprica pendentibus arbore pomis / aut ebori tincto … aut sub candore rubenti, / cum frustra resonant aera auxiliaria, lunae” (apples hanging on a sunny tree or painted ivory or the moon’s whiteness become red when, in vain, copper gongs resound to help) (4.331-333). It is an apple lit by sunshine (ripe and ready to be picked), painted ivory (a beautiful thing unnecessarily painted, ie gilding the lily) and the moon reddening with the total eclipse, an omen believed to be painful to the moon, and which was driven away with noises of beaten copper gongs (Björkeson 2015: 401n332-33) – an ominous simile, understood as a a cry for help, and a colour not pleasing but meant to be driven off. This means that the colouring is not only viewed in a positive light. Additionally, according to Robinson, these similies evoke both male and female characters in Metamorphoses, for example Narcissus, Lavinia, and Menelaus, and even “the moon was thought to be bisexual” (1999: 219n50). This predicts Hermaphroditus’ transformation, or suggests it is not only his union with Salmacis that makes him dual-gendered. 
Hermaphroditus is allowed to explicitly express his uninterest (in contrast with Europa). He says “desinis, an fugio tecumque ... ista relinquo” (stop, or I run away and leave this with you) (4.336). He threatens to leave the pond (ista) as well as the nymph, and partakes in mixing up pond and nymph. Despite this, he does not realise that the threat of the nymph does not go away just because the nymph does. When he is left alone, he removes “mollia ... velamina” (the soft clothing) from “tenero … corpore” (the tender body) (4.345). Note, that Hermaphroditus’ body is already tender (soft, or young) before he jumps into the water. Again, it appears that he already has the femininity within. In the water he shines like “eburnea si quis / signa tegat claro vel candida lilia vitro” (ivory figurines or white lilies, if someone covered them with clear glass) (4.354-55). He is again likened to ivory, but this time only covered by glass (which was said to make ornaments more beautiful [Björkeson 2015: 401n355-56]), clearly preferable to being painted red, and to a white lily. A white lily in water brings a water-lily to mind and this, I think, is how the water works: already he is more linked to the water and to its femininity. When he was on land and more ready to resist Salmacis, he was likened to an apple in a treetop. This alerts us to the importance of the environment, which is what I will examine next.

III. Temperie Blandarum Captus Aquarum (the Environment) 

The pond is described in detail when Hermaphroditus finds it and it is at once remarkable to him: “stagnum lucentis ad imum / usque solum lymphae” (a pond with clear water all the way to the bottom) (4.297-98). The pond is crystal clear without any kind of growth: “non illic canna palustris / nec steriles ulvae nec acuta cuspide iunci” (neither marshy reeds nor barren sedge or rush with sharp points) (4.298-99). The water is “perspicuus” (transparent) (4.300). However it is surrounded by lush vegetation: “vivo / caespite cinguntur semperque virentibus herbis” (surrounded by living grass and always vigorous herbs) (4.300-1). This is familiar from the story of Europa: the larger surroundings are fertile and alive, but the most central location is not fertile but is empty of life (Taurus was a stud bull in a herd of young bulls, grazing on a beach full of herbs and plants). The infertile midst is a decoy for the danger it poses to the victim who enters it. However, the pond is not as indifferent to its visitors as those young bulls are: the pond has the ability to transform the swimmer. 
When Hermaphroditus believes he is left alone in “vacuis ... herbis” (empty herbs) (4.341), he dips his feet in “adludentibus undis” (playing waves) (4.342) and the environment mirrors his mood. He is “temperie blandarum captus aquarum” (captured by the temperature of the coaxing water) (4.344) and the water is personified as an enticing being (acting as Salmacis in her absence). When Hermaphroditus jumps into the water, it is “in latices.... in liquidis ... aquis” (in the water … in the watery liquid) (4.353-354) and he “translucet” (shines) (4.354) – immediately taking on properties of the water. 
As mentioned before, water is an element controlled by women. It is, Rimell writes, arousing as well as sexually threatening for men (2006: 187). The woman bathing is a common trope in Latin literature (Rimell 2006: 187), but in Metamorphoses it is a dangerous area. Salmacis’s pond is not only her domain, but an extension of her, and Hermaphroditus commits himself to the danger when going in the water. But he, like Europa, enters this freely because he does not know the implication of the water. Thus, because of his lack of knowledge, he commits himself to the rape.

IV. Sperata Gaudia Nymphae (the Rape) 

The desire to take action begins with “visumque optavit habere” (she wishes to hold the one she has seen) (4.316) when Salmacis catches sight of Hermaphroditus. If there is someone else, Salmacis agrees that “mea sit furtiva voluptas” (my pleasure may be secret) (4.327): the idea that she will respect someone in her position, but not the object of her desire, removes agency from her victim: she will not listen to what he says, but to whom he belongs. Otherwise, she thinks that “thalamum … ineamus eundem” (we would enter into the same bedroom) (4.328) which is a more equal action than what it turns out to be – however, she prophetically speaks the truth since they will enter any bedroom together when they are one. When she has spoken to Hermaphroditus she begs and begs him for “sororia saltem / oscula” (at least a sister’s kiss) (4.334-35) and she brings her arms around his neck. Afraid he will leave she says “loca ... haec tibi libera trado” (I hand over this place for free to you) (4.337). She then “simulat ... discedere … / ... respiciens ... / delituit flexumque genu submisit” (pretends to walk away, … looking back, … hides and lowers herself, bending, to her knees) (4.338-40). As she hides she is at her most submissive, on her knee, but this is only her pretence. As Fowler has pointed out, Salmacis is one of the women who “want to be there, not merely to look on and watch and talk” (2000: 159). She is a desiring subject bound to act. Consequently, when she has seen Hermaphroditus naked she can hardly put it off anymore, “vix iam sua gaudia differt” (now hardly postponing her joy) (4.350) (echoing similar words spoken of Zeus). At this point she says “vicimus et meus est!” (we have won and he is mine) (4.356). This means two things: when Hermaphroditus enters the water he has already “lost” – Hermaphroditus is now Salamcis’ possession. In addition, notice the plural of vicimus – it may be the common humble plural, but this is the only time Salmacis uses the plural of herself. It is very much as if she and the pond are speaking together: she and the pond have won and now he belongs to her. In response, she removes her clothes and enters the pond. 
Up until this point the story shares the narrative of the prototype story: the scene is set, the rapists have gotten the victims where he/she wants them, without protection, in an environment chosen by them (for both Zeus and Salmacis, it’s in the water, even if the level of the victim’s vulnerability is different. Taurus makes sure he is in control of Europa in the water while Salmacis is in control of the water). The narrator of Europa’s story stops and we will have to guess to understand what happens next. It is not difficult to guess and the narrator has given us plenty of clues. But the female narrator, Alcithoe, continues and does not shy away from saying what goes on in the gaps. 
I read the rape scene from the moment Salmacis has gone into the water until she has begged the gods that they be united, imposing the transformation immediately after her words: we can no longer speak of Salmacis as her own subject. The scene is between verses 358-372. Over these fifteen verses, there are 21 predicates, 8 of which Salmacis is directly the subject, and 4 of which she is the subject indirectly in a couple of similes. 4 are spoken by Salmacis when she prays. 5 of the predicates have Hermaphroditus as a subject (1 passive). Salmacis’ first 4 predicates and the passive predicate speak of her actions as forceful. Hermaphroditus is the object of them: tenet, carpit, subiectat, tangit (holds, plucks, holds from under and touches) (4.358-60). 11 For every one of these verbs except subiectat, Hermaphroditus is unwilling: pugnantem (tenet) (fighting), luctantia (oscula carpit) (struggling kisses), invita (pectora tangit) (unwilling chest). The final predicate here, “hac ... circumfunditur illac” (he is poured over from here and there) (4.360) demonstrates that he does not stand a chance of getting away, despite “nitentem contra elabique volentem” (struggling against and wanting to flee) (4.361). Salmacis is evidently the aggressor and Hermaphroditus is obviously unwilling – the narrator offers no doubt about it. 
What follows then is a couple of similes. Salmacis is the subject of the main clauses (implicat, solent … intexere, continet [entangle, have the habit of covering, and holds fast] [4.362-67]) as a snake, ivy, and octopus respectively. The snake simile is perhaps the most interesting: as in other similar scenes, the male is portrayed as an eagle (here “regia … ales” [royal winged one] [4.362]) and the female as the snake he catches (Richlin 1992: 164). But this snake entangles itself in the eagle’s head, feet and wings when it has lifted into the air. As the bird of prey, Hermaphroditus is the subject of sustinet and rapit (restrains and carries off) (4.362-63): forceful and predatory words and actions. But Hermaphroditus the eagle accidently caught a snake able to fight back and Salmacis as the snake is the subject of the following verbs, alligat and implicat. The simile, according to Richlin, keeps the gendered descriptions but turns them around in this moment with reversed gender roles (1992: 166). Rimell reads the snake as Medusa hovering in the background (2006: 17, 29). Medusa is certainly someone who caught would be able to fight back: just by looking at her victim (or they seeing her), they are dead. The following two similes show, I think, the experience of being dominated by Salmacis. The ivy covers the long tree trunk completely, and the many-limbed octopus holds its caught enemy under water (another image of a Gorgon and her many-tentacled head [Rimell 2006: 93]): it seems as if Salmacis must have more than two arms. And the environment study has already showed that she does: she is in fact the pond itself. 
Hermaphroditus then makes an attempt to be released. He is the subject of the predicates perstat and denegat (resists and denies) (4.368-69). But Salmacis takes over as the subject of premit and inhaerebat (presses and clings to) (4.369-70), like the octopus and the ivy, and at last, says her prayer to the gods, which will be her final mode of attack. Her words are what seals the deal for her. She says to him that it is no good to fight because he will not be able to flee (once again with a prophetic strain to her words). Then she begs the gods that they “ita ... iubeatis” (order it so) (4.371) and that they will not be separated again. Her wish is granted by the gods and Hermaphroditus is neither released nor held against his will. They transform. 

V. Mixta Duorum Corpora (the Transformation) 

After this we can no longer speak of Salmacis the nymph, or a rape scene. What follows is the transformation of Hermaphroditus and his prayer. The transformation is described thus: “mixta duorum / corpora iunguntur” (a mix of two bodies is united) (4.373-74) where the two appear to take equal place and then “faciesque inducitur illis / una” (one appearence is put on them) (4.374-75) – they are still plural but in one shape. The transformation is compared to a tree grafted onto another tree, which “crescendo iungi pariterque adolescere cernit” (by growing they are united and appear to mature together) (4.375). It is true that both trees grow, but they will remain separated species, which makes their union perhaps less like Salmacis’ and Hermaphroditus’ (or reveals what their union is like in truth). The simile, though, says that they appear to grow old at the same time. The transformation goes on with the odd description: “complexu coierunt membra tenaci” (the limbs unite in a clinging embrace) (4.377). It seems to describe the rape rather than the transformation, by using the verb coeo and calling it a clinging embrace – Salmacis love is in every way a clinging embrace. Now “nec duo sunt sed forma duplex, nec femina dici / nec puer ut possit, neutrumque et utrumque videntur” (they are not two but of double form, and could be called neither woman nor man, and seems to be neither and both) (4.378-79). They are now a true merging of male and female, equally Salmacis and Hermaphroditus. Or are they? 
Into the water, “liquidas undas” (the liquid waves) (4.380), Hermaphroditus went as a “vir” (male) (4.380), and came up “semimarem” (half-male/hermaphrodite) with “mollita ... / membra” (soft limbs) and “non iam voce virili” (now without a male voice) (4.381-82). He prays to his parents that “quisquis in hos fontes vir venerit, exeat inde / semivir” (whoever comes into this pond as a man, will leave as a half-man) and that he will “mollescat” (grow soft) with the touch of the water (4.385-86). The softening is the most important aspect of his loss of manliness. But even as he speaks, Salmacis has no part in him. He speaks of his experience and what happened to him in the water. The aspect of Salmacis he wears is the softer limbs and the not-male-nor-female face, and this is the exact aspect he wants to imbue the water with. Salmacis is found not in him but in the pond. Finally, while Hermaphroditus keeps his name – already a mix of a man and a woman’s – it is the pond that will wear Salmacis’ name. 
The gods answer Hermaphroditus’ prayer as well. Both parents are “motus … nati rata verba biformis / fecit” (moved by the two-formed child they make his words true) (4.387-88) and “incesto fontem medicamine tinxit” (tinge the pond with polluting medicine) (4.388). The water is tinged – probably no longer as crystal clear as it was when Hermaphroditus found it – with incesto medicamine. Incestus refers to anything unclean and impure – that may be what it means, the no longer clear water – but it also carries the meanings sinful, defiled and in violation of religious laws. And these damning attributes Hermaphroditus’s parents apply to him.
 In this episode, the narrator does follow the action one step closer. But compared to Europa, it is the rapist who disappears. The victim is able to leave, however traumatised or transformed, but with a voice. Georgia Nugent concludes similarly “Hermaphroditus remains ... what he already is—and that is a male subject, always fully conscious of himself as such” (qtd. in Fowler 2000: 159). Salmacis, and the other desiring women in similar position to Salmacis, are very verbal and have a living interiority. Of these – Myrrha, Medea, Byblis, and Scylla – Salmacis is the one with the smallest amount of spoken lines. But she, when she loses the ability to speak herself, has taken over someone else’s interiority. Europa is never anything but her body and her reproductive abilities. But Salmacis becomes one with her victim and gets to keep on making victims. Salmacis is a powerful rapist in this way. I want to suggest it is not Salmacis who is punished here, but the sisters who tell the story of Salmacis.

CONCLUSION

 I have compared two rapists from the Metamorphoses. Zeus is a repeat offender and represents a more typical description of a rapist in comparison to Salmacis, who stands out as the only female rapist in the Metamorphoses. However, the fact that Salmacis is a female rapist matters little: she is not made more masculine because of her actions, but remains, and is emphasised as, feminine. They share many traits such as being in control, not specifically in terms of strength, but in information. They are able to manipulate various circumstances, for example the environment and their appearance, which gives the victims a sense of security and has them “walk into the trap”. Most important, though: they are the narrative force of their story, not only subjects but actors. This is of course a necessity in making a rapist a rapist: being willing to act upon their desires even when their objects do not consent. But the narrative is not only willing to follow them, but also willing to present the actions with them in the centre. As Hardie says of the narrative in the Metamorphoses, in his Lacanian reading of it: “desire is the moving force of all signifying processes and is perpetually propelled forward as the desire for something else” (2002: 67). Rimell theorised similarly, but added that it is not, here, a desire for something lacking but a desire that opens up creativity and communication (2006: 21, Spentzou 2009: 391). Desire becomes the same thing as narrative force. Their victims also share traits: both are innocent to a fault. They are made complicit in their own rape by being unaware of what their actions mean. Apart from this, they take up little room in the narrative. We know almost nothing of Europa and despite knowing a little bit more of Hermaphroditus, it is less than what we know about Salmacis. I have noted similarities in the environment: there is one layer of infertility (the young bulls, the Hunt’s naiads and the pond’s lack of growth) in an otherwise fertile and living setting (the lush beach and the pond’s surrounding growth). The environment works to express the character’s interiority as they wander around it. We also have the proximity to water, which predicts what should happen. Europa should, like women in her position, be abandoned on the beach by her leaving hero, but she is instead taken away. Salmacis should, like nymphs, be discovered in her hidden grove and risk being raped, but instead she does that. The environment, more than anything, gives the victims a false sense of security. The environment mirrors and emphasises the characters’ various feelings and motives and if the stories’ victims knew better how to read environment, or knew of others like them, they could have used the environmental clues as warnings.
The rape scene’s representation is the most significant difference between these stories. Between Europa and Zeus-Taurus it is not shown at all and it all takes place in the gap between books 2 and 3. Between Hermaphroditus and Salmacis it is depicted – if not the actual sex than at least the overpowering. This is where I think the gender matters. The narration follows more closely in order to depict how the overpowering takes place. Of course Zeus is a god and male and his strength is obvious. Salmacis is not necessarily as strong, but we find she has means of overpowering her victim, despite his struggles, without much difficulties, and despite being portrayed as very feminine and carefree, even lazy. 
Another thing the depiction of the rape offers is more empathy with the victim and their situation. Showing the rape scene gives the victim an ability to resist and, if not successfully, at least show that he or she is unwilling. Europa appears to invite the rape and since we are not allowed to see the rape itself we cannot see her reactions when she realises what is about to happen. She is afraid as she leaves but she cannot even wave for help, because she is in a position of holding on to her rapist. Hermaphroditus is not only allowed to vocally reject Salmacis, but struggle against her and exact a revenge. Depicting the rape might be gruesome, but it is a purging of the victim’s apparent complicity in the rape. 
Finally, I would like to bring up the results of these rapes. A narrative obsessed with characters, how they are linked, and desire, will not tell stories for nothing. The narrative will bring about more of what it is interested in: characters and their creative desires. The result of Zeus-Taurus’s rape is Europa’s children, the Cretan royal dynasty. This cycle spans parts of book 8 of the Metamorphoses and brings about several stories of desire and action (for example about Scylla, Pasifaë, the Minotaur...). Still Zeus is able to keep desiring others and keep creating stories. Europa’s brother is brought to look for her and incites other chains of events (another royal dynasty and another narrative cycle to follow its generations). The result of Salmacis’ rape is similar. Hermaphroditus walks away with Salmacis in his mind and his old eagerness for the world (the transformation does not appear to have changed him much) and that combination should bring about stories. Salmacis also becomes the pond that is now inbued with the effeminising poison, which will transform anyone who enters the pond: Salmacis, like Zeus, will keep on violating victims that happen upon her. We do not hear of these possible stories, though, because their narrator was silenced and turned into a bat along her sisters. Their narrator was the opposite of an active desiring subject, who spurned Bacchus in order to sit inside and tell her sisters stories. 
What has been shown in this paper is that desiring subjects are actors, regardless of gender and power. The characters that move this complicated narrative forward are characters that desire things and act upon their desires, to their detriment or luck. Other superficially powerless desiring subjects, like Medea and Myrrha, are allowed to voice their stories, but Salmacis is more desiring and more explicit than any of them. Despite them often being silenced in the end, we hear their voices in the poem because they want something and dare to take it.

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