Every mention of her name brings fascination and intrigue, chaos and devastation. She is Salome, daughter of Herodias, the young girl whose name has reverberated through the centuries in visual art, literature, music, and film. Though previously unnamed in the Gospel of Mark, her wickedness becomes legend, and she is revisited by writers and subsequently given the name that will define her forever. Salome is a troubled figure, sympathetic to some and antagonistic to others. She is a vibrant example of unmasked desire, manipulation, and scorn, while also bearing a childlike innocence. Her story means something different for every artist who has immortalized her, each identifying with her in new ways. This essay will examine five instances in which her story is manifest, exploring differences in the varied iterations of her tale. Each version of this grotesque tale hosts a new tone, and renewed meaning is given to Salome and her dance.
The Gospel of Mark is the foundational work which first introduces us to the figure of Salome. She is, like most women in biblical texts, unnamed. Despite the brief nature of her mention, she garners the fascination of writers, artists, and poets for centuries to come.
For when Herodias’ daughter came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will grant it.” And he promised, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half my kingdom.” And she went out, and said to her mother, “What shall I ask?” And [her mother] said, “The head of John the baptizer.” And she came in immediately with haste to the king, and asked, saying, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.
In this short passage, the young Salome is at once child and executor, reflecting the twisted will of her mother. Philosopher René Girard responds to this juxtaposition of modes in his 1984 article “Scandal and the Dance: Salome in the Gospel of Mark”. He writes,
“Something very odd happens here, or rather, does not happen. Salome has no desire to formulate. Young people are supposed to desire a thousand foolish and impossible things, but Salome has nothing to say. Her silence expresses, I think, something essential about the gospels’ conception of desire. Contrary to what Freud believes, to what we all believe, there is no preordained object of desire. Children in particular have to be told what to desire. Unlike the sultry temptress of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the Salome of the gospel is really a child.”
Salome’s childlike lack of will submits to the will of her adult caretakers. Her lack of desire becomes a mirror of her mothers’ desire for John’s death in a concept Girard calls, “mimetic desire” – in which one wants something because someone else does. Salome’s imitation of her mother is not the only example in which the concept of mimetic desire plays out in the Gospel of Mark. It is shown in Herod Antipas’ desire and ultimate acquisition of his brother’s wife, Herodias – for which the couple is condemned by John the Baptist. This is the sentiment that amasses bloodthirsty resentment for the prophet on the part of Herodias, and the fearful Herod throws John the Baptist into prison more for protection from his wife’s influence than for punishment. In this seminal version of Salome, she is more an innocent victim of the atrocities and dangerous sentiments around her. Salome unfortunately does not yet have a will of her own to separate her fate from her mothers’ desire.
In Elizabeth Shüssler Fiorenza’s 1992 essay “Miriam – Leading the Dance”, the author examines the ways in which women have sought to reinterpret the androcentric nature of biblical writings in a way that respects their own interests. She outlines a series of approaches in biblical interpretation that are used to reinforce the strength and power of overlooked female characters. Her third approach involves a concept known as ‘Imaginative Identification’. This strategy actualizes biblical stories with greater emphasis on the presence and contribution of women. By imagining a more realistic and involved portrayal of women, the reader receives a more nuanced idea of how the women in antiquity would have reacted to biblical narratives. Fiorenza employs Imaginative Identification to reimagine the story of Salome’s mother Herodias. Fiorenza gives Herodias a fair reckoning – exploring her true opinions, her morality, her assertiveness, and her thoughts on the patriarchal world that surrounds her. Fiorenza seems to defend the real woman that was Herodia, an educated woman who did marry the Tetrarch in 34 AD. Fiorenza defends Herodias’ right to be human – she had thoughts, dreams, and passions, and reasoning behind her beliefs. She felt protective of her daughter. Through Herodias, Fiorenza points out the Gospel of Mark’s factual errors, such as his inability as Tetrarch to give away “half of his kingdom” to Salome. In Firoenza’s reimagining, Herodias is given humanity. She scrutinizes how the Gospel writers turned Salme into a literary tool used to undermine a woman’s true character.
“Yes, I did historically exist, and I was the wife of Herod; but, though the name is the same, the facts have been changed to protect the guilty. I am the victim of a patriarchal world that has refused me voice and showered me with accusations, and, for centuries, I have been condemned by Bible readers for a crime I never committed. Like women before and after me, my story has never been heard.”
By defending Herodias, Fiorenza also absolves Salome of the sins that were assigned to her by Biblical authors. Fiorenza makes the case that both women were wronged by the patriarchal society they found themselves in, subject to centuries of misinterpretation.
The version of Salome that is perhaps the most well-known today is that of Oscar Wilde’s 1891 play, written in French after the authors’ sojourn abroad. The play, banned by the English government for what was considered obscenity, found more success in France where Wilde’s flawed french gave the work a charm that lent itself well to the decadence. Wilde’s play is ultimately what popularized Salome in art. It expands on the Gospel of Mark’s original story, giving Salome more of a central role. As Emily Ells writes in her 2010 essay “Wilde’s French Salome”, “[Wilde] takes the daughter of Herodias away from her mother’s shadow, gives her a name and puts her into the lime-light by casting her in the title role and endowing her with a mind and a voice of her own.” In this play, Salome not only has a will and her own desire, but an iron fist which she uses to punish those who do not give her what she wants. She uses her power and influence to persuade others to adhere to her wishes and she is ruled by her quickly changing emotions. The Salome of Oscar Wilde’s play is a rebellious adolescent, who simultaneously flaunts and abhors her own innocence, choosing to ruin it by shedding the blood of the one who rejected her. Using flowery, seductive language she beckons men to bend to her will. Salome is written in a way that is so exaggerated, so stylized, that she becomes an aesthetic icon of death.
In Richard Strauss’ operatic version of Wilde’s play, first performed in 1905, most of the original language used in the play is kept intact. The music adds a level of drama and fluidity to the words, and the sense of repetition present in the original play is elongated and elaborated on in the opera. The instances of repetition help the intensity of the scenario grow, while the music builds an impending sense of doom. For example, in the beginning when the Page and Narraboth are remarking on the uncanny beauty of Salome and the moon, they repeat themselves several times to drive home one’s infatuation and the other’s anxiety. Following the Syrian’s demise, Herod repeatedly mentions the wind blowing and bringing a bad omen, but Herodias claims it is nothing. In the original play, the repetition gives the text “ a highly artificial and ritualistic feel, which has been compared to both a fairy tale or nursery rhyme.” (Bennett, 2019) In the opera, this repetitiveness provides a musical score that envelopes the audience in a blanket of passion and fear, where the impending sense of misfortune grows steadily with the music. Salome is sung by a soprano, reaching notes that denote beauty and girlishness, while simultaneously damning Jochanaan in impudent language for his rejections. There is a high level of insanity to her vocalizations, as they fluctuate as quickly as her flighty emotions; there is also a marked obsessiveness to her voice, as it pierces through the music attempting impetuously to seduce. Jochanaan on the other hand has a fairly steady voice, it remains constantly within the same several octaves – rising with his emotions and releasing only when necessary. He is clad in a dirty cloth and his arms are chained upwards. He writhes and struggles to be free of the maddening words of Salome, but ends up only collapsing. He is framed noblely, appearing as a victim of cruelty and prodding curiosity. Salome, barefoot and dressed in an ethereal white gown, resembles the moon and is the image of virginity and purity. One gets the sense that she longs for the same type of freedom that the moon possesses, and her desire for this freedom eventually manifests itself into an obsession with Jochanaan – for that is what he represents for her. Not so much goodness or sex, but freedom of thought.
The 1923 silent film Salome, directed by Alla Nazimova again reinterprets the age-old tale, using Wilde’s play as primary inspiration. This version, with a cast of entirely gay and bisexual actors, amplifies the original queerness of the Wilde play. The film is long for the era, at an hour and twelve minutes, with carefully orchestrated still shots to allow the viewers reflection on each characters’ psyche. The actors orbit around each other like slow moving planets. There is a marked science fiction quality to the movie – a feeling of isolation – making one believe the characters are stuck in an island outside of time. In Nazimova’s film, Salome is enveloped as much in romance as in bloodlust. Her emotions, inner conflicts, and passions come through as honestly as her desire for destruction.
The story of Salome has entranced humanity’s collective imagination since the Gospel of Mark, sparking numerous contributions to art, music, and literature. Is she a misguided child, as she is originally written in the Gospel of Mark? Or did she have personal reasons for demanding the head of John the Baptist, such as in Wilde’s work? In every instance that she is reimagined, Salome represents something more than a villain. She exemplifies the complex nature of sexuality and adolescence. Is she an archetype capable of representing all women? Perhaps not, but she does embody a fierce independence and a desire to be free of all restraint that many women have felt to some extent. Time has proven her story to be infinitely modern, and she has truly become an icon of our imaginations.
Bibliography:
- Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schussler. “Miriam: Leading the Dance.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 22, no. 2 (2006)
- Wilde, Oscar. Salome. Wrocław: Forbidden Erotic Classics, 2005.
- Richard Strauss’ Salome. Directed by Richard Strauss. Performed by Erika Sunnegårdh. Strauss – Salome BOLOGNA 2010. October 9, 2019. Accessed May 7, 2021. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFbbc8itl98&t=1934s.
- Alla Nazimova’s Salome 1923. Performed by Alla Nazimova. Salome (1923) – from Oscar Wilde’s Play – Silent with Clean English Intertitles. August 27, 2012. Accessed May 7, 2021. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkMq_Cs3OUs&t=1842s.
- Girard, René. “Scandal and the Dance: Salome in the Gospel of Mark.” New Literary History 15, no. 2 (1984): 311-24. Accessed May 2, 2021. doi:10.2307/468858.
- Eells, E. (2010). Wilde’s French Salomé. Cahiers Victoriens Et édouardiens, (72 Automne), 115-130. doi:10.4000/cve.2729
- Bennett, K. (2019). The musical power of SALOME: Strauss TRANSLATES WILDE. Translation Matters, 1(2), 43-61. doi:10.21747/21844585/tma3
Melanie Pozas Wolf 