What Love Inspires: The Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou

 

 

What can we do when we are motivated by love?

I recently had the great good fortune to see the Broadway production of “Hadestown.” This inspires me to revisit the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, to explore of the power of love to sustain and inspire us.

 

Transcript of What Love Inspires: The Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice

Hello, and welcome to Myth Matters, storytelling and conversation about mythology and what myth can offer us today. I’m your host and personal mythologist Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours, you are part of this story circle. 

I recently had the great good fortune to see the Broadway production of “Hadestown.” This award-winning musical is a retelling of the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. The myth is rich territory for an exploration of the mysteries of love, and the power of love to sustain and inspire us. 

Today, I want to tell you the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice and reflect on a few of the ways this myth has been shaped by artists and storytellers over the centuries. In my opinion, Anais Mitchell and her collaborators in the production of “Hadestown” stayed true to the myth and skillfully spun it to speak to our times. It’s worth pausing in our engagement with the story, to consider the connections between love and storytelling, and how humans, as “storytelling animals,” return over and over again, to narratives that help us grapple with questions of love and the kaleidoscope of ideals and concerns we serve, through the acts that love inspires.

Before I move to the story, I want to say a couple of words about From Adversary to Ally. This is my new 9-week online workshop, designed to help you transform your relationship to the inner critic. The inner critic is an aspect of self that arises in childhood. It’s part of our inner psychic community.

Like many of the members of that inner psychic community, whether you see them as voices or complexes or some combination, if you don’t ever stop to consciously understand and engage in that relationship, it can become very dysfunctional. It can cause a lot of problems in life and you also miss out on the opportunity that it represents as an intimate and powerful resource, an aspect of self that can be a very valuable ally. 

I’m offering this course because I think we owe it to ourselves and to each other, to bring as much consciousness as we can to our evolution as individuals, as part of our contribution to the evolution of human culture. This workshop begins this Sunday, September 18th and registration is open until the end of the day of Friday, September 16th. 

If you haven’t heard about this before, or you haven’t made a trip to the Mythic Mojo website to take a look at the details of From Adversary to Ally, I hope you will go and check it out. See what rises up in you. Are you called to do this kind of work right now? 

And now back to our story for today, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.  

Orpheus, we are told, was the most famous poet and musician who ever lived. He was called the “father of songs” and it was said that although the god Hermes invented the lyre, Orpheus perfected it. When Orpheus lifted up his voice, flocks of birds flew about over his head and the fish leaped high from the dark-blue sea. His songs set the trees and stones in motion. Some say that Apollo, the god of music (who first put the lyre into human hands), was his teacher.

Orpheus was a primary figure in the Orphic mystery cult that predates this story. Of course, we don’t really know the origin of the story. This story was known to the Greeks but was especially popular with the Romans and was told by Virgil and Ovid in the first century BCE.

The version of this myth that I’ll tell you today is influenced by Ovid.

I invite you to relax and listen to the story. Let your imagination roam and take you where you need to go right now. If a detail or moment in the story snags your attention or feels significant, make a note. This can open up the meaning that this story holds for you right now. 

Orpheus and Eurydice

A story is like a river. You can wade into the flow at any point and emerge at another, upstream or down. The river of story is different every time you dive in. And who is to say which drop of water is the first, or the last?

When did this story of Orpheus and Eurydice begin? Was it the day that Orpheus and Eurydice first met? Or maybe the moment Orpheus sang his first song and charmed every being within the sound of his voice. With the invention of the lyre perhaps, or the birth of Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry, whom many say was Orpheus’s mother.

Orpheus was one of the Argonauts, who rowed with Jason and the other Greek heroes on the fleet ship Argo to the land of Colchis, to steal the Golden Fleece. They were successful. But on their way home the men passed near the Sirens. Those man-eating harpies were horrible to look at but they had silver tongues and sang golden honey melodies. The Siren’s song was bewitching. No one who heard it could resist coming fatally close. But when the ship Argo approached the Sirens perched on their sharp rocks, Orpheus also sang, loudly and more beautifully. His glorious music drowned out the Siren’s call. Orpheus brought the Argo and its crew through safely.

When he returned from this journey, Orpheus settled in Thessaly. There he met the enchanting Eurydice. She was an oak nymph, graceful and slender as a sapling. She had a beautiful face and a lovelier heart. Orpheus loved her deeply and she was equally enamored of Orpheus.

They were a happy couple without a care or need in the world. On the day that they were married, Orpheus sang joyful songs to his bride while she danced through the meadows full of flowers. The birds joined in. The trees bowed down their branches and showered them with sweet fruit. But not long after, some say it was on their very wedding day, a lusty satyr accosted the beautiful Eurydice. 

The young woman ran away through the tall grass. She was so intent on escaping her attacker that she didn’t see the viper until it struck on her the heel. The poison sped quickly to her heart. Within moments, Eurydice was dead.

Friends found the body in the tall grass. At first Orpheus did not believe them, could not believe them, would not believe them. But when he saw his beloved still and cold he understood that he was now alone. Eurydice was gone. 

Orpheus sat down and wept. He lamented and played such sad and mournful songs that the nymphs urged him to follow her, to go down into the underworld. “Appeal to Persephone and her lord,” they counseled, “surely your music will melt their hearts.”

Orpheus picked up his lyre, with a faint glimmer of hope in his heart. He went to a deep cave, a crack in the earth that was known to be one of the ways down.

It was a long, long walk down, down into the gloomy realm of the dead. The air was cold and dry. Nothing stirred. There was no sign of life. No other living human being had attempted the trip before.

Finally, Orpheus came to the river Styx, the river of hatred, upon which the Gods made their most solemn oaths. When Charon the ferryman saw Orpheus he held up his hand. “You may not cross,” he said. “This is not a ride for the living. Go back to the sun-lit world where you belong and wait until our lord summons you. That day will come soon enough, you can rest assured.”

Orpheus began to sing. He sang of Eurydice’s beauty, her sweetness, and their love. He sang of his grief. As he sang, he got onto the ferry and Charon silently poled them both across the dark waters. The ferryman may have felt a flush of warmth in the cavity that once held his heart.

When the ferry reached the far bank, Cerberus, the three-headed hound of hell, was waiting. It was said that Cerberus wagged his tail in greeting at those meant to arrive on this shadowy shore. He might even nuzzle your bloodless hand. But he was vicious to all interlopers. 

Cerberus snapped his strong jaws at Orpheus and lashed his tail. But Orpheus’s sweet voice could subdue every form of wildness and it calmed the savage dog. In a few moments Cerberus lay down and rested his three heavy heads on his paws.

Orpheus walked on, plucking a simple melody and humming softly to bolster his courage. Phantom forms, the dim images of the dead, came near and shuffled along behind him, listening, with their hearts full of yearning.

At last Orpheus came to the shadowy hall where Hades and his queen, the goddess Persephone, sat on their mighty thrones. Here they gave orders, received offerings, welcomed the new arrivals, and oversaw the final judgment of all souls.

When he saw Orpheus Hades said, “Who are you and how did you get down here? Someone will have hell to pay for this!”

Orpheus knelt down on trembling legs before the pair. “I seek my wife,” he said. “She stepped upon a viper and was killed in her youth, long before her rightful time. I love her dearly and cannot go on without her, try as I might. Love has won.”

Then Orpheus began to sing. He sang about the meadows and the moment he first saw his bride. He sang about her smile and the sweet scent of her hair, fragrant as the flowers that she picked for their table. And he sang about grief, about what it is like to suddenly be alone, in a desolate world reduced to mists and shadows, without purpose or meaning or hope or love. Without love, the force that makes the world go round.

His haunting song filled the great hall and echoed throughout the underworld. Sisyphus sat down on his stone. Tantalos forgot hunger and thirst. The Furies were awe-struck and the judges of the dead wept. Everyone who heard the song was deeply moved. Some say the great queen even shed a tear and that Hades himself had to turn his face away lest he betray the contents of his heart.

Orpheus’s song was complete and the last note hung in the air. “We all shall take this way,” he said, at last “Our final home is here; the great and mighty, the small and pitiful, the virtuous and the evil. This is the end for all that is mortal… for me, and for Eurydice. I ask you only this great lord, lend her to me for a while longer.”

Hades was silent. Persephone took his hand and squeezed it ever so slightly, her eyes on the face of Orpheus. Perhaps she could still hear his melody echoing in her heart. “You may have your wife” Hades said at last, “on one condition. You will go first and she will follow behind. You must not turn around. You must not look back until you are both above ground in the bright light of the sun or she will fall back into the depths once again, for good.” 

At these words Eurydice emerged from the dark depths of the hall and Orpheus wept at the sight of her sweet face. The two lovers set off at once with Orpheus in the lead and the pale Eurydice following behind. 

Several times he thought he heard her stumble. Their upward path was dark and steep. But he dared not look. The pair trudged along in unbroken silence through the mists. It was a very long way and after a while it seemed to Orpheus that he had not heard and sensed anything from the woman following for quite some time. 

No one, Orpheus knew, returned from the Underworld. Hades was not known for his mercy. Was it possible that he had been duped? What if, what if, Eurydice his beloved, was not walking behind him after all? What if he made the whole trip only to discover….

Orpheus thought he could just make out the first glimmers of sunlight ahead. The end of the journey was so near and yet he could not bear it, if he had come all this way alone. Doubt seized his heart and squeezed it, and filled it, until he had to turn so slightly… just a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure…

“Orpheus, I love you,” cried Eurydice as he reached out to grab her arm, to clasp her to him. But she slipped beyond his grasp into the abyss and was gone. 

Some say that Orpheus tried to find his back into the depths again, to make another plea. But it was no use. Orpheus lived out the rest of his days, with only the memory of Eurydice and his song. 

Did he accept his loss, or was Orpheus bereft and despairing in the sunlit living world? Some say he stopped worshipping all of the gods but Apollo, patron of music. Or maybe he worshipped the sun. Some say that he rejected the love of women, some say he turned his back on Dionysus, and for one or both of these reasons, was torn apart and thrown into the sea. 

Some say that his lyre and his head, still singing, floated over the waves to the island of Lesbos, where a shrine was built in his honor. The muses they say, took his lyre to heaven.

Why did Orpheus fail in the final moments? Did he doubt Eurydice’s silent presence? Mistrust Hades? Or did he lose confidence in the power of his gift, in the marvelous song that he gave to the royal underworld pair, in particular Persephone, who still spent part of her life in the sweet, sunlit world of life-generating love that Orpheus described. 

The story that I’ve just told, is much like Ovid tale. It’s a love story. It’s a story of a love so deep and complete, that its loss can’t be endured, and of the efforts of an artist to express that love in a way that could even move the dead in the underworld. For Ovid, Eurydice’s death is tragic because she’s so young. And he’s the one who gives us this beautiful image, one that has been reworked by artists so many times: the image of a music so beautiful that it moves the hearts of the dead. 

In Pandora’s Jar, Natalie Haynes tells the stories of women in some of our better-known Greek myths. She talks about Eurydice. The Romans gave us the story, she observes. Virgil first wrote a version in 29 BCE, and she notes that in Virgil’s version, he doesn’t tell the story of this gorgeous song request. Most of Virgil’s story is about the descent. It’s not about the coming up and the test and the failure. It’s about the experience of the going down. For Virgil, the fact that Orpheus as a living man made this descent is by far the most interesting part of the myth. He wants to tell us what Orpheus saw and encountered along the way.

Ovid doesn’t want to duplicate Virgil and Ovid was very interested in love. His writings, his poems are almost exclusively about the trials and tribulations of lovers and the power of love to bring out both the best and the worst in us. So, we see that Virgil and Ovid both gave us versions of the story that reflected their interests, and yet it must be admitted that this is what storytellers do. Also, the Greek sources that they mined for the story may not have provided them with very much. 

According to Natalie Haynes, the first known mention of the myth of Orpheus, and Eurydice appears in a play by Euripides from 438 BCE, about another woman who goes into the underworld and is rescued, Alcestis. This story, in brief:

Admetus, her husband, is told that he is going to die,and he’s offered the opportunity to escape his death if he can find someone else who will take his place. He prevails upon his parents and others and, gee, what a big surprise, everyone that he talks to values their life as much as he values his own. In the end, it is his wife Alcestis who willingly volunteers to die in place of her husband. This may be the source of that phrase, “to love more than life itself.” 

Alcestis is rescued by Heracles. The hero comes to visit Admetus. He discovers what Alcestis has done and out of respect for this act of heroism on her part, he offers to go to Hades and bring her back, and he is allowed to do this. 

Now, you have to wonder, did Alcestis want to come back? Would you want to come back to a man who loved himself so much that he let you die for him? Who was willing to trade your life to save his own. The heroism of Alcestis is meant to highlight the cowardice on the part of her husband, his fear of going down, of making that trip to the underworld. 

This debate about bravery and courage and love and death that is constellated around the myths of Alcetis and  Orpheus and Eurydice also appears in Plato’s Symposium. A group of guests are sitting around debating the nature of love and Phaedrus, who is one of the men in attendance, says that Orpheus failed because he was a coward. That he went down there and Hades and Persephone said “No, if you love her so much, why don’t you die or at least just wait for your death, and then you’ll meet her in the underworld?” You know that that is inevitable. 

If the Greeks and the Romans give us a story of Alcestis and Admetus, Orpheus and Eurydice, that are stories of love, but also stories about heroism and bravery, and the mysteries of the underworld journey, what does Anais Mitchell give us in her version today?

In “Hadestown,” Mitchell introduces us to a world that is out of balance. The essential harmony between Hades and Persephone, which isa harmony between the underworld and the life that must be supported on our plane, has been disrupted. As a result, the human beings and everything that’s living in the above world is suffering. 

Poverty is a big part of the picture. And poverty is an important motivator in the relationship between these two realms and ultimately, in a choice, yes a choice, that Eurydice makes. She makes a bargain with Hades despite her love for Orpheus. 

It’s a beautiful update, I think, to this myth, and the concerns of our time, and it leaves intact the failure. Orpheus’ failure,and the question of how far love can take us.

Is it possible that Orpheus makes this journey because he loves and also that he must fail because he loves? In the interstices of these different versions that I’ve shared with you, Natalie Haynes observes that Heracles succeeds. And he doesn’t love the woman that he rescues. Is it possible that he succeeds because he is less anxious, because he wouldn’t have been, couldn’t have been susceptible, to the type of doubt that plagued Orpheus? A doubt that was born from the same love that motivated him and gave him the courage to make the journey? 

It’s an interesting question. Does love –should love– real love, good love, strong love, true love, guarantee our success? Or is there something else at work in this story and in our relationship to it? 

I’m not giving anything away to tell you that the message in “Hadestown,” a message that I feel is true to every version of these stories, in its own way, is this: there is something in the story itself, in telling and retelling, and telling again, the stories of the efforts that we make, through love and for love, that heals the world and sustains us. We may fail on a personal level. We will suffer loss and we may not be able to turn that around. And yet what we attempt to do through love can and does heal our world. 

I’ve posted a link to the “Hadestown” tour dates on my Mythic Mojo website. If you have a chance to see the show, I really hope you will. I think that you’ll love it too.

Before we part ways, I want to give a big welcome to new subscribers: Leslie, Terry, Simon, Noreen, Cozy, Ugonna, and Darah. Welcome! 

If you’re new to Myth Matters, I invite you to head over to the Mythic Mojo website, where you can get on the email list, find a transcript of this episode and the links I’m mentioning, and find information about my other offerings, like From Adversary to Ally. 

You’ll also find  the link to Myth Matters on Patreon. I am very grateful to the patrons and supporters of this podcast. Thank you everyone! There are some benefits to patrons and you’ll find all of those details if you click the link. 

If we have a better understanding of our need for myth, and all that our old stories offer, we can live more satisfying lives. We can inhabit a better story and create a more beautiful, just and sustainable world.

And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Thank you so much for listening. Take good care of yourself, and until next time, happy mythmaking and keep the mystery in your life alive.

Links:

“Hadestown” upcoming tour dates

Pandora’s Jar: Women in Greek Myths by Natalie Haynes

From Adversary to Ally, transform your inner critic workshop