Roberto Calasso
The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony
These things never happened, but are always
ACCLAIM FOR ROBERTO CALASSO’S THE MARRIAGE OF CADMUS AND HARMONY
“Vivid … a serious entertainment meant to leave the reader with some lingering sense that what seemed remote and forgotten is very much a part of his own very different world.”
— The New York Times Book Review
“Calasso draws on a vast array of variant myths and stories and molds them into a single text … which may be one of the most comprehensive and comprehensible modern attempts at re-creating this vanished world. Part narrative, part meditation, this marvelously engrossing work plunges the reader right into the thick of the mythological action.… Calasso’s concise, straightforward style of storytelling untangles the most complicated plots.… A work of power and grace.”
— Christian Science Monitor
“Strange and alluring … gnomic and down to earth, colloquial and abstract, brilliantly focused and digressive … [A] provocative celebration of the Greek myths.”
— Newsday
“The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony is a masterpiece, in the original sense of that word.… His style skims over the sea of myth with the swiftness and grace of the goddess on her half-shell.… A wonderfully fashioned work of art.”
— John Banville, Irish Times
“Roberto Calasso’s aim in his startling and beautiful book is to make us understand, once more, the necessity of myth, not just as fable and fantasy but as a way of comprehending our own nature.… It will be read and re-read not as treatise but as story: one of the most extraordinary that has ever been written of the origins of Western self-consciousness.”
— Simon Schama
“The Greeks would have recognized Roberto Calasso as one of their own … in the same way as they would have recognized Ovid.… This is the kind of book that comes out only once or twice in one’s lifetime.”
— Joseph Brodsky
“Learned, sensuous, dazzlingly intelligent … The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony reads like a novel packed with violent, erotic, multifariously beautiful or resonant stories, held together by a lucidly unsentimental authorial voice. There is no neo-classical flummery here, just the workings of an exhilaratingly vigorous intellect and a vivid appreciation of the world of appearances.… Calasso set himself a formidable task.… He has succeeded absolutely.”
— Lucy Hughes-Hallet, The Sunday Times (London)
“An affirmation of what still lives in the heritage of the Greek religion, this book is not a scholarly treatise but a celebration by a visionary working in the tradition of Ovid — not just to tell us what the myths are but to teach us how to think in myths’ terms, how to look up at a sky and see more than astronomical data and intimidating light-years of empty space.”
— Chicago Tribune
“The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony transcends scholarship, literature and even history.… Mr. Calasso … is a worthy successor of the great mythologists of the past: Homer, Pindar, Euripides, Ovid, Fraser, Robert Graves.”
— Washington Times
I
(photo credit 1.1)
ON A BEACH IN SIDON A BULL WAS APING a lover’s coo. It was Zeus. He shuddered, the way he did when a gadfly got him. But this time it was a sweet shuddering. Eros was lifting a girl onto his back: Europa. Then the white beast dived into the sea, his majestic body rising just far enough above the water to keep the girl from getting wet. There were plenty of witnesses. Triton answered the amorous bellowing with a burst on his conch. Trembling, Europa hung on to one of the bull’s long horns. Boreas spotted them too as they plowed through the waves. Sly and jealous, he whistled when he saw the young breasts his breath had uncovered. High above, Athena blushed at the sight of her father bestraddled by a girl. An Achaean sailor saw them and gasped. Could it be Tethys, eager to see the sky? Or just some Nereid with clothes on her back for a change? Or was it that trickster Poseidon carrying off another wench?
Europa, meantime, could see no end to this crazy sea crossing. But she guessed what would happen to her when they hit land again. And she shouted to wind and water: “Tell my father Europa has been carried off by a bull — my kidnapper, my sailor, my future bedmate, I imagine. Please, give this necklace to my mother.” She was going to call to Boreas too, ask him to lift her up on his wings, the way he’d done with his own bride, Oreithyia, from Athens. But she bit her tongue: why swap one abductor for another?
But how did it all begin? A group of girls were playing by the river, picking flowers. Again and again such scenes were to prove irresistible to the gods. Persephone was carried off “while playing with the girls with the deep cleavages.” She too had been gathering flowers: roses, crocuses, violets, irises, hyacinths, narcissi. But mainly narcissi, “that wondrous, radiant flower, awesome to the sight of gods and mortals alike.” Thalia was playing ball in a field of flowers on the mountainside when she was clutched by an eagle’s claws: Zeus again. Creusa felt Apollo’s hands lock around her wrists as she bent to pick saffron on the slopes of the Athens Acropolis. Europa and her friends were likewise gathering narcissi, hyacinths, violets, roses, thyme.
All of a sudden they find themselves surrounded by a herd of bulls. And one of those bulls is dazzling white, his small horns flashing like jewels. There’s nothing in the least threatening about him. So much so that, though shy at first, Europa now brings her flowers to his white muzzle. The bull whines with pleasure, like a puppy, slumps down on the grass, and offers his little horns to the garlands. The princess makes so bold as to climb, like an Amazon, on his back. At which, the herd moves discreetly away from the dry riverbed and off toward the beach. With a show of nervousness, the bull approaches the water. And then it’s too late: the white beast is already breasting the waves with Europa up on top. She turns to look back, right hand hanging on to a horn, left leaning on the animal’s hide. As they move, the breeze flutters her clothes.
But how did it all begin? Shortly before dawn, asleep in her room on the first floor of the royal palace, Europa had had a strange dream: she was caught between two women; one was Asia, the other was the land facing her, and she had no name. The two women were fighting over her, violently. Each wanted her for herself. Asia looked like a woman from Europa’s own country, whereas the other was a total stranger. And in the end it was the stranger whose powerful hands dragged her off. It was the will of Zeus, she said: Europa was to be an Asian girl carried off by a stranger. The dream was extremely vivid, as though happening in broad daylight, and on waking Europa was afraid and sat silent on her bed for a long time. Then she went out, the way she always did, with her friends. They walked down to the mouth of the river, and Europa wandered about between the roses and the breaking waves, her golden basket in one hand.
A blondish bull appeared in the meadow, a white circle on his forehead. The animal had a sweet scent, which drowned the smell of the flowers. He came up to Europa and licked her neck. She stroked him, at the same time drying the saliva that dribbled freely from the animal’s mouth. The bull knelt down in front of her, offering her his back. And the moment she climbed up, he made a dash for the sea. Terrified, Europa looked back toward the beach, shouted to her friends, one arm waving in the air. Then, already out in the waves, she hung on to a big horn with one hand and held the hem of her tunic up tight against her breast with the other. Behind her, the tunic billowed out in a purple sail.