Orpheus and Eurydice
Rachel Lofgren
The man travels down the tunnel with his head held high in pride, and a deep sadness in his eyes. He pays no attention to the swirling mists that cling to his feet and clothes, nor to the lanterns on the wall that cast a sickly yellow light all about him. He and the lyre on his back do not seem to heed the fact that they have no place in this dank tunnel.
As he walks, the stone tunnel grows wider and wider before eventually opening out into a large cavern. As he steps from the tunnel, the man looks around himself as if to get his bearings. Taking a deep breath, he walks out of the tunnel into the seemingly empty cavern.
As he places his foot on the earth before him, her image cold, lifeless eyes - flashes into his head for just an instant.
The cavern becomes a riverbank when the man steps into it. The water is dark and brackish, and he can see floating bits of…something swirling just off the shore. The man with the lyre looks up and down the river before him, but it flows to the horizon on either side. Glancing quickly behind him, the man walks forward to the edge of the river.
“Charon! I have come to seek passage across the River Styx!” the man shouts. His voice falls flat in the mist.
“My ferry has no room for living souls,” a whisper like dead leaves rustling pours out from the fog-shrouded river.
The man nods once, as if expecting that. He pulls the lyre from its case on his back, and quickly and deftly tunes it. The small music of the strings rings through the air, filling the cavern with beauty.
“Orpheus,” the voice whispers. “She is gone, you cannot help her.”
The man–Orpheus–pays no attention to these words. He finishes with his lyre and takes a small breath. Brushing his fingers across the strings, Orpheus begins to play.
A young man sat in a forest dappled green and gold with sunlight, a lyre on his lap. He was quite handsome, and had an air about him that suggested he knew this. He pulled the instrument off his lap and held it in his hands. He sat on his rock for a long moment, just looking at the lyre. Finally he began to play.
The tune was lilting and sad at first and the trees around the young man wilted. But it quickly picked up pace and was soon lively and joyful. As the man played, he added his voice, and the result was wonderful. All around him, the trees sprang to life and danced about. The man leapt off his rock and danced with them, weaving in and out of their branches, his voice and lyre creating magic.
Unseen from the shadows outside the ring of dancing trees, a young woman watched. Her eyes were full of excitement and wonder as they followed the man through his dance. She saw what fun he was having, and decided she wanted to join him. So she picked up her skirts and danced into the melee, spinning circles around the man. The musician, if he was startled, showed no sign. He did not miss a beat in the music, only altered the tune slightly to accommodate this strange woman.
The pair made quite a lovely sight, dancing with the trees. He was tall and slender, his feet sure and graceful upon the ground. She was beautiful, with her long hair streaming around her as she whirled and spun. Her laughter filled the air and joined with the music the man was creating. The trees formed as the perfect complement to the couple, with their green leaves and dancing branches.
When at last the pair stopped dancing, the sun was long since down and the stars out. When the man stilled his lyre, the trees crept back to their places and were once again still. The girl sat upon the rock, unable to wipe the grin from her face.
“May I trouble you for your name?” the musician asked, sitting beside the girl.
“Only if I may have yours in return,” she replied.
“Orpheus.”
“And I’m Eurydice.”
The Underworld echoes with a haunting melody eased from the lyre in Orpheus’ hands. The ferryman slowly paddles a small boat to the shore. He stands in the back, tall and terrible to behold. He wears a robe of grey, and the edges seem to become a part of the fog that his boat cuts through. His head is hidden by a deep hood, shadowing his face and features.
“Orpheus, I cannot help you,” the ferryman whispers from his boat.
The man with the lyre ignores Charon and goes on playing. He glances at the boat for a moment, and a jolt of fear courses through him; the ferryman is moving forward in his boat, toward Orpheus. The musician’s hands waver on the strings, and the music falls apart, the space suddenly full of silence.
After a long moment, Orpheus reaches into his robe and pulls out two small golden coins, which he holds out to Charon, saying, “I have fare for a passage.”
“I cannot take your coins, mortal. The Unseen One does not permit living souls into his realm.”
“I am no mere mortal. I am the son of Apollo, god of music, and of Calliope, Muse of epic poetry. Hades is mine own uncle, and though the Lord of the Underworld does not hold his family in the same respect that his brother Zeus does, I will not be denied the right to enter his domain.” At the Sky Lord’s name, faint thunder rumbles in the distance. Orpheus smiles.
Charon stares at the musician before him for an interminable amount of time before finally nodding and saying, “You have convinced me, son of Apollo.”
Orpheus hands over the coins and climbs into the boat. “I would like you to take me directly to Pluto,” he states, holding his breath. The tradition was that whenever a living being was admitted to the Underworld, he had to find his own way through. By requesting passage straight to Hades himself, Orpheus was putting himself into very real danger.
The ferryman pauses in his act of pushing his long oars into the water. Orpheus feels a breath of icy wind upon his back, and he hears a noise like rattling bones. He looks behind him at Charon, and realizes with a shiver that the ferryman is laughing.
“You are foolish, singer, but I will acquiesce, if only to see you fall the farther in your audience with the son of Kronos.”
At these words, Orpheus quails at the task before him, asking himself how he thought he would succeed. But at the flash of her image – flowing auburn tresses grown still – his resolve hardens and he tells himself that he will succeed.
His ride in Charon’s boat is short. Orpheus has barely time to turn back around before they arrive. The ferryman stops the boat and Orpheus clambers out onto the shore, careful not to touch any of the water. “Farewell, Singer,” Charon rasps. Orpheus ignores him and steps away from the riverbank, farther into the Underworld than any mortal had ever traveled.
Within only a few steps Orpheus catches sight of something towering high above him. As he gets closer, he sees that it is an enormous throne. It is empty and Orpheus feels small standing before it. Taking a shaky breath he pulls out his lyre and sets his fingers upon the strings.
He slowly teases a soft melody from the instrument, the music echoing all around him. As he plays, it gets louder, and soon he adds his voice. He sings of a beautiful woman, and the love they shared. His voice is sure and strong, and he is lost in the story his music is weaving. He tells of a wedding and joyful celebrations. His voice lifts as Orpheus recalls how happy he had been. But the music abruptly turns dark and melancholy, and Orpheus sings of tragedy and death, of a love lost.
When he is done, and returns from memories – her laughter mixing with his – back to the Underworld. He looks up to the throne, and is unsurprised to see Hades sitting there. Orpheus remains silent, waiting for the ruler of the dead to speak.
In the silence there is a horrible screeching noise coming from above. Orpheus turns his eyes upward, and sees the three Furies circling in the air. Even from the ground he can see the tears glinting on their faces.
“You have created tears in my Furies,” Hades says. Orpheus remains quiet. “However, I cannot help you. Her soul now belongs to me.”
“I am not the first to come to you with this request. There have been others, and they have succeeded,” Orpheus states. “And I am better than them.”
Hades nods. “Yes, but they have shown their worth by traveling through my realm of their own power. You have tricked and charmed your way to my throne.”
Orpheus is about to respond, but out of the shadows behind Pluto’s throne approaches a figure cloaked in deepest purple. As it comes closer, Orpheus sees that it is a woman.
“My Lord,” she says. “I have just come from the fields of punishment. It seems as though this young musician has enchanted them all out of their deeds!”
“Persephone, have you come to plead another mortal man’s case?” Hades asks, a hint of reproach coloring his voice.
“I am merely reporting to you that Sisyphus sits upon his rock, and Tantalus cares not for his thirst.”
Hades is quiet at these words, contemplating Orpheus. “It seems you are truly no mere mortal,” he says finally. “I will give you back Eurydice’s soul.” Orpheus’s heart lifts at these words, and he feels a happiness he has not felt in three long years. “On one condition.”
“Anything you desire, it is yours,” Orpheus promises.
“You may lead her back to the world, as long as you do not look back upon her until you are both out of my domain.”
“Yes, anything!” Orpheus cries. “Where is she?”
Hades lifts his left hand, and a wraith appears before Orpheus. It is the shadowy likeness of his love Eurydice. Orpheus reaches out to her, but his hand falls through her, and he loses his balance, stumbling forward.
“Just start walking, and she will follow,” Persephone says. “But do not look back until you are in the light of the world again, or she will once again belong to Hades.”
Orpheus nods, and begins to walk away, in the direction that Persephone is pointing.
The journey back through the Underworld is long and silent. Orpheus is prickling with a dying need to look at Eurydice, if only to ascertain that she is still with him. But he refrains and keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. As he walks, he can make out a growing pinpoint of light before him in the distance. He feels hope blossoming within him, and he quickens his pace. Soon he is running, and the light is growing faster.
He reaches it in moments, and steps into it, out of the dark shadowy world of Death. As he feels the sunlight and warmth upon his face, Orpheus turns to share his joy with Eurydice.
But she is still within the Underworld, and Orpheus watches in horror as she starts to slowly fade away. He reaches his hand out to her, and she does the same in return. For just a brief moment, he is able to feel the skin of her fingers upon his own, and Orpheus is happy. But in the next instant Eurydice fades completely, leaving Orpheus with only her whispered “Farewell…” as solace.
As he walks, the stone tunnel grows wider and wider before eventually opening out into a large cavern. As he steps from the tunnel, the man looks around himself as if to get his bearings. Taking a deep breath, he walks out of the tunnel into the seemingly empty cavern.
As he places his foot on the earth before him, her image cold, lifeless eyes - flashes into his head for just an instant.
The cavern becomes a riverbank when the man steps into it. The water is dark and brackish, and he can see floating bits of…something swirling just off the shore. The man with the lyre looks up and down the river before him, but it flows to the horizon on either side. Glancing quickly behind him, the man walks forward to the edge of the river.
“Charon! I have come to seek passage across the River Styx!” the man shouts. His voice falls flat in the mist.
“My ferry has no room for living souls,” a whisper like dead leaves rustling pours out from the fog-shrouded river.
The man nods once, as if expecting that. He pulls the lyre from its case on his back, and quickly and deftly tunes it. The small music of the strings rings through the air, filling the cavern with beauty.
“Orpheus,” the voice whispers. “She is gone, you cannot help her.”
The man–Orpheus–pays no attention to these words. He finishes with his lyre and takes a small breath. Brushing his fingers across the strings, Orpheus begins to play.
A young man sat in a forest dappled green and gold with sunlight, a lyre on his lap. He was quite handsome, and had an air about him that suggested he knew this. He pulled the instrument off his lap and held it in his hands. He sat on his rock for a long moment, just looking at the lyre. Finally he began to play.
The tune was lilting and sad at first and the trees around the young man wilted. But it quickly picked up pace and was soon lively and joyful. As the man played, he added his voice, and the result was wonderful. All around him, the trees sprang to life and danced about. The man leapt off his rock and danced with them, weaving in and out of their branches, his voice and lyre creating magic.
Unseen from the shadows outside the ring of dancing trees, a young woman watched. Her eyes were full of excitement and wonder as they followed the man through his dance. She saw what fun he was having, and decided she wanted to join him. So she picked up her skirts and danced into the melee, spinning circles around the man. The musician, if he was startled, showed no sign. He did not miss a beat in the music, only altered the tune slightly to accommodate this strange woman.
The pair made quite a lovely sight, dancing with the trees. He was tall and slender, his feet sure and graceful upon the ground. She was beautiful, with her long hair streaming around her as she whirled and spun. Her laughter filled the air and joined with the music the man was creating. The trees formed as the perfect complement to the couple, with their green leaves and dancing branches.
When at last the pair stopped dancing, the sun was long since down and the stars out. When the man stilled his lyre, the trees crept back to their places and were once again still. The girl sat upon the rock, unable to wipe the grin from her face.
“May I trouble you for your name?” the musician asked, sitting beside the girl.
“Only if I may have yours in return,” she replied.
“Orpheus.”
“And I’m Eurydice.”
The Underworld echoes with a haunting melody eased from the lyre in Orpheus’ hands. The ferryman slowly paddles a small boat to the shore. He stands in the back, tall and terrible to behold. He wears a robe of grey, and the edges seem to become a part of the fog that his boat cuts through. His head is hidden by a deep hood, shadowing his face and features.
“Orpheus, I cannot help you,” the ferryman whispers from his boat.
The man with the lyre ignores Charon and goes on playing. He glances at the boat for a moment, and a jolt of fear courses through him; the ferryman is moving forward in his boat, toward Orpheus. The musician’s hands waver on the strings, and the music falls apart, the space suddenly full of silence.
After a long moment, Orpheus reaches into his robe and pulls out two small golden coins, which he holds out to Charon, saying, “I have fare for a passage.”
“I cannot take your coins, mortal. The Unseen One does not permit living souls into his realm.”
“I am no mere mortal. I am the son of Apollo, god of music, and of Calliope, Muse of epic poetry. Hades is mine own uncle, and though the Lord of the Underworld does not hold his family in the same respect that his brother Zeus does, I will not be denied the right to enter his domain.” At the Sky Lord’s name, faint thunder rumbles in the distance. Orpheus smiles.
Charon stares at the musician before him for an interminable amount of time before finally nodding and saying, “You have convinced me, son of Apollo.”
Orpheus hands over the coins and climbs into the boat. “I would like you to take me directly to Pluto,” he states, holding his breath. The tradition was that whenever a living being was admitted to the Underworld, he had to find his own way through. By requesting passage straight to Hades himself, Orpheus was putting himself into very real danger.
The ferryman pauses in his act of pushing his long oars into the water. Orpheus feels a breath of icy wind upon his back, and he hears a noise like rattling bones. He looks behind him at Charon, and realizes with a shiver that the ferryman is laughing.
“You are foolish, singer, but I will acquiesce, if only to see you fall the farther in your audience with the son of Kronos.”
At these words, Orpheus quails at the task before him, asking himself how he thought he would succeed. But at the flash of her image – flowing auburn tresses grown still – his resolve hardens and he tells himself that he will succeed.
His ride in Charon’s boat is short. Orpheus has barely time to turn back around before they arrive. The ferryman stops the boat and Orpheus clambers out onto the shore, careful not to touch any of the water. “Farewell, Singer,” Charon rasps. Orpheus ignores him and steps away from the riverbank, farther into the Underworld than any mortal had ever traveled.
Within only a few steps Orpheus catches sight of something towering high above him. As he gets closer, he sees that it is an enormous throne. It is empty and Orpheus feels small standing before it. Taking a shaky breath he pulls out his lyre and sets his fingers upon the strings.
He slowly teases a soft melody from the instrument, the music echoing all around him. As he plays, it gets louder, and soon he adds his voice. He sings of a beautiful woman, and the love they shared. His voice is sure and strong, and he is lost in the story his music is weaving. He tells of a wedding and joyful celebrations. His voice lifts as Orpheus recalls how happy he had been. But the music abruptly turns dark and melancholy, and Orpheus sings of tragedy and death, of a love lost.
When he is done, and returns from memories – her laughter mixing with his – back to the Underworld. He looks up to the throne, and is unsurprised to see Hades sitting there. Orpheus remains silent, waiting for the ruler of the dead to speak.
In the silence there is a horrible screeching noise coming from above. Orpheus turns his eyes upward, and sees the three Furies circling in the air. Even from the ground he can see the tears glinting on their faces.
“You have created tears in my Furies,” Hades says. Orpheus remains quiet. “However, I cannot help you. Her soul now belongs to me.”
“I am not the first to come to you with this request. There have been others, and they have succeeded,” Orpheus states. “And I am better than them.”
Hades nods. “Yes, but they have shown their worth by traveling through my realm of their own power. You have tricked and charmed your way to my throne.”
Orpheus is about to respond, but out of the shadows behind Pluto’s throne approaches a figure cloaked in deepest purple. As it comes closer, Orpheus sees that it is a woman.
“My Lord,” she says. “I have just come from the fields of punishment. It seems as though this young musician has enchanted them all out of their deeds!”
“Persephone, have you come to plead another mortal man’s case?” Hades asks, a hint of reproach coloring his voice.
“I am merely reporting to you that Sisyphus sits upon his rock, and Tantalus cares not for his thirst.”
Hades is quiet at these words, contemplating Orpheus. “It seems you are truly no mere mortal,” he says finally. “I will give you back Eurydice’s soul.” Orpheus’s heart lifts at these words, and he feels a happiness he has not felt in three long years. “On one condition.”
“Anything you desire, it is yours,” Orpheus promises.
“You may lead her back to the world, as long as you do not look back upon her until you are both out of my domain.”
“Yes, anything!” Orpheus cries. “Where is she?”
Hades lifts his left hand, and a wraith appears before Orpheus. It is the shadowy likeness of his love Eurydice. Orpheus reaches out to her, but his hand falls through her, and he loses his balance, stumbling forward.
“Just start walking, and she will follow,” Persephone says. “But do not look back until you are in the light of the world again, or she will once again belong to Hades.”
Orpheus nods, and begins to walk away, in the direction that Persephone is pointing.
The journey back through the Underworld is long and silent. Orpheus is prickling with a dying need to look at Eurydice, if only to ascertain that she is still with him. But he refrains and keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. As he walks, he can make out a growing pinpoint of light before him in the distance. He feels hope blossoming within him, and he quickens his pace. Soon he is running, and the light is growing faster.
He reaches it in moments, and steps into it, out of the dark shadowy world of Death. As he feels the sunlight and warmth upon his face, Orpheus turns to share his joy with Eurydice.
But she is still within the Underworld, and Orpheus watches in horror as she starts to slowly fade away. He reaches his hand out to her, and she does the same in return. For just a brief moment, he is able to feel the skin of her fingers upon his own, and Orpheus is happy. But in the next instant Eurydice fades completely, leaving Orpheus with only her whispered “Farewell…” as solace.