Heroes: Volume II of Mythos

O RPHEUS AND E URYDICE So great was his fame that when Jason gathered a crew for the Argo and his quest for the Golden Fleece, he knew he had to have Orpheus on board. But more of Jason later. For now, all we need to know is that the gods rewarded Orpheus for his bravery and loyalty in this adventure with the gift of love, in the shape of the beautiful EURYDICE. As might be imagined, the wedding was quite an affair. All the Muses attended. THALIA entertained with comedy sketches; TERPSICHORE led the dances. Each of the other sisters also delighted the guests with examples of their own particular art. But a strange and uncomfortable incident clouded the happy event in the minds of many who witnessed it. Among the guests was Orpheus’s half-brother HYMEN, a son of Apollo and the Muse URANIA. A minor deity of song (he gave us the word ‘hymn’) Hymen served as one of the Erotes (the young men in the love god Eros’s retinue), with a special responsibility for weddings and the marriage bed. Our words ‘hymen’ and ‘hymenal’ also derive from him. His presence at his half-brother’s wedding was natural and a great compliment, but for some reason – jealousy perhaps – Hymen failed to bless the union. The torch he bore spluttered and smoked, causing everyone to cough. The atmosphere was so acrid that even Orpheus was unable to sing with his accustomed sweetness of tone. Hymen soon departed the feast, but the cold unfriendliness of his presence left a taste in the mouth quite as unpleasant as that of the black smoke from his torch. Orpheus and Eurydice, this dark note quite banished from their minds, set up a happy house together in Pimpleia, a small town that nestled in the valley below Olympus, close to the Pierian Spring, sacred to the Muses. It was Eurydice’s misfortune, though, to catch the eye of ARISTAEUS, a minor god of bee-keeping, agriculture and other country crafts. One afternoon, on her way home from the market, she took a shortcut through a water meadow. In the distance she could just hear her beloved Orpheus strumming his lyre as he tried out a new and lovely song. Suddenly Aristaeus burst out from behind a poplar tree and bore down upon her. Frightened, she dropped the bread and fruit she was carrying and fled wildly, zigzagging across the fields. Aristaeus pursued her, laughing. ‘Orpheus! Orpheus!’ Eurydice cried. Orpheus put down his lyre. Was that his wife’s voice? ‘Help me, help me!’ screamed the voice. Orpheus ran towards the sound. Eurydice wove this way and that, trying to escape the remorseless Aristaeus, whose hot breath she could feel on her neck. In her blind panic she stumbled and fell into a ditch. Aristaeus closed in, but by now Orpheus had appeared and was running towards them, shouting. Aristaeus knew an angry husband when he saw one and turned away, disappointed. As Orpheus reached the scene he heard Eurydice cry out again. The ditch into which she had stumbled was the home of an adder which struck out angrily, sinking its fangs into her heel. Orpheus reached her side in time to see her sink back in mortal agony. He took her in his arms. He breathed into her, sang softly into her ear, begging her to return to him, but the venom of the viper had done its work. Her soul left her body. The cry that escaped from Orpheus struck horror and fear into the whole valley. The Muses heard it, the gods on Olympus heard it. It was the last sound they were to hear from Orpheus for some time. His mourning was as absolute and unwavering as could be. He put his lyre aside. He would never sing again. He would never smile again, compose a lyric again, so much as hum again. What life was left to him would be spent in pain and anguished silence. The town of Pimpleia was given over to lamentation, grieving more over the loss of Orpheus’s music than the life of Eurydice, well-loved as she had been. The nymphs of the woods, waters and mountains fell into mourning too. Even the gods of Olympus pined and fretted at the drying up of the music. Apollo went to visit his son. He found him sitting in the porch, gazing out across the very fields where Eurydice had met her end. ‘Come now,’ said Apollo. ‘It’s been more than a year. You can’t mope like this for ever.’ ‘Watch me.’ ‘What would persuade you to pick up your lyre again?’ ‘Only the living presence of my beloved wife.’ ‘Well …’ a thoughtful frown appeared on the golden god’s smooth brow. ‘Eurydice is in the underworld. The gates are guarded by Cerberus, the three-headed hound of hell. No one but Heracles has ever penetrated the underworld and returned, and even he didn’t come back up with a dead soul. But if anyone can do it, you can.’ ‘What are you saying?’ ‘Why not go and get her?’ ‘You just said, “No one has ever penetrated the underworld and returned.” ’ ‘Ah, but no one has ever had the power you have, Orpheus.’ ‘What power?’ ‘The power of music. If anyone could tame Cerberus and charm CHARON the ferryman, it is you. If anyone could melt the hearts of Hades and Persephone, it is you.’ ‘You really think …?’ ‘Have faith in what music can do.’ Orpheus went into the house and retrieved his lyre from the dusty cupboard into which he had thrust it. ‘String it with these,’ said Apollo plucking from his head twenty-four golden hairs. Orpheus restrung the lyre and tuned it. Never had it sounded more beautiful. ‘Now go, and come back with Eurydice.’