chapter

ORPHEUS & EURYDICE

Cast

Apollo God of light and music

Orpheus Talented musician

Calliope Orpheus’ muse mother

Melpomene Muse of tragedy

Clio Muse of history

Urania Muse of astronomy

Thalia Muse of comedy

Erato Muse of love poetry

Rock A rock

River A river

Tree A tree

Eurydice Beautiful maiden

Hermes Messenger god

Hades Lord of the Underworld

Satyr Half-man, half-goat

NARRATOR: It was no wonder that Orpheus could sing as well as he could. After all, his father was Apollo, the god of poetry and music, and his mother was one of the nine eternal muses. With genes like that, Orpheus was destined for greatness. His mother and her sister-muses raised him on the heights of Mt. Parnassus, which wasn’t quite as ritzy as Mt. Olympus, but it worked well enough for a group of unmarried free-spirits on a budget. Every day the Muses danced and danced and danced—that’s how they inspired mortal art, by dancing—until Helios’ last rays passed from the sky. Some might (and did) call this lifestyle boring, but it was what amused the muses.

When Orpheus was nearly 3 years old, the god Apollo appeared on Mt. Parnassus, and after winking at a few of the dancing muses, presented his young son with a shining lyre.

APOLLO: This is the lyre. It holds more power than any shield or sword—and can pierce man’s heart just as deeply. Use it well.

NARRATOR: The tiny boy took the lyre and plucked its six strings with his chubby fingers. New music—notes never heard before on Earth—sprang forth.

CALLIOPE: Sisters, our dancing is paying off! My son will be the greatest musician who ever lived! (murmuring of the muses)

NARRATOR: Orpheus took to the lyre like other boys took to running or wrestling. His songs were the most beautiful ever heard, and as the muses danced and danced, he played and played—his notes keeping the exuberant beat. Fifteen years passed in this manner. It was then that his aunt Melpomene, the muse of Tragedy, who had become somewhat tired of always jigging and frolicking, piped up.

MELPOMENE: (annoyed) Calliope, dear, would it be possible to get your son to slow his tempo? My feet have been numb for the last 6 months. I don’t want to wear them out. We are dancing for eternity here.

CALLIOPE: Orpheus, dear, you know we never tire of your wonderful music, but why don’t you play something slower? Something somber? All of your songs happily bounce and leap, but your tempo is exhausting.

ORPHEUS: But mother, I have never felt sadness. How can I play an emotion I’ve never felt? I’ve lived here with you and my eight dancing aunts my whole life. What do I have to be sad about?

MELPOMENE: (shocked) What? There’s plenty of tragedy around! War, famine, death! Suicide, fratricide, matricide, insecticide! Haven’t you heard? The world is full of misery!

MELPOMENE: Oh, brother. That’s it. Enough is enough. Calliope, it’s about time you sent that boy down into the world—the real world. He’s not a god! He’s a mortal!

MELPOMENE: Well, he should know. The boy’s nearly 18 years old. You can’t keep him up here in la-la land forever—fattening him up on nectar and ambrosia! He needs to go down and see what the real world’s like.

NARRATOR: The other muses, whose feet had also blistered because of Orpheus’ happy harping, chimed in.

URANIA: Astronomy! On Earth you can look up to the night sky and study the stars!

MELPOMENE: May the Fates save the boy! We’re talking about romantic love. That’s more than love for your mother.

MELPOMENE: Go to Earth and find a girl. Maybe she’ll break your heart, and then your music will know true depth.

NARRATOR: Calliope was furious at her sister for giving such advice, but the mention of love had stirred Orpheus’ heart. If he were truly a mortal, his place was on the Earth. And, besides, this eternal dancing did tend to get a bit old.

NARRATOR: And so Orpheus left the mountain top. The muses each unclasped one hand to wave goodbye but continued their considerably slower dancing. As he lost sight of them, Orpheus noticed tears on his mother’s cheeks.

While the boy made his way down the mountainside, he sang an I-don’t-know-where-I’m-going-but-I-can’t-wait-to-get-there ditty. It was an upbeat song, of course, about his quest for love. There was no path to speak of on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus, but as Orpheus sang and walked in step, the rocks politely rolled to the side and made way before him.

ROCK: Best of luck to you, Mr. Orpheus. When you find love, don’t take it for granite.

NARRATOR: Soon Orpheus saw a turgid mountain stream gushing down the slopes, blocking his way. He continued to sing, and it was no surprise to him that the stream stopped flowing for him, and he walked across its dry bed.

RIVER: Best of luck to you, Mr. Orpheus. Don’t let the world drown your enthusiasm.

NARRATOR: And further down, where the forest began, tangled trees had grown up through the rock, making it impossible to pass. Orpheus kept walking and kept singing. The trees heard his song, unwrapped themselves from one another, untangled their thickets, and let the boy pass.

TREE: Bravo, Mr. Orpheus! If anyone or anything gets in your way, we’ll tear them limb from limb!

NARRATOR: By the time he reached the bottom of the mountain, Orpheus had already learned a valuable lesson about the world: Rocks, streams, and trees make really bad jokes. More disturbing than the puns was the fact that he had no idea where to go next. He had set out on a quest to find love, yet no one had explained to him where love lived or how love worked.

ORPHEUS: Does it just happen . . . like lightning? Or is slow and steady like the growth of a tree?

NARRATOR: Orpheus did not have to walk far until he saw someone sitting on a large rock in the midst of a field. It was a girl. She had raven-black hair pinned behind her ears and was watching a few tufts of sheep nibble on the grass.

ORPHEUS: I’ve come to Earth to find love. My songs can move stone, divert streams, and bend mighty trees.

EURYDICE: Sure. Why not? I’ve just been sitting here watching sheep all day.

NARRATOR: Orpheus began to play an I-have-found-the-love-of-my-life tune, and something inside the girl’s mind shifted. Up until then she had seen only a boy—one who seemed a little off in the head. Now she was looking upon someone she loved.

NARRATOR: The girl jumped from the rock into the surprised arms of Orpheus and planted on his lips a first kiss of magnitude 10.

NARRATOR: The current of their love threatened to sweep the two young people away, so marriage followed quickly. Eurydice—that was the girl’s name—made all of the arrangements, and Orpheus sang a I’m-getting-married-and-I’m-happy-about-it melody. During the marriage ceremony, the god Hymen appeared among the shadows, holding aloft a burning torch.

EURYDICE: Orpheus, look. This is a good sign. There is the god Hymen, come to bless our marriage. My sister will be so jealous. He never showed up at her wedding, and, as it turns out, her husband already had a wife in another village.

NARRATOR: But instead of burning cleanly, the god’s torch started to smoke. It smoked so much that it stung the eyes of the guests and caused the bride to cough.

NARRATOR: Yet after the god had disappeared and Orpheus had struck up his lyre with a never-mind-bad-omens song of celebration, the lighthearted spirit of the wedding returned.

Each day of their married life, Eurydice went to the meadow where they had first met to watch her sheep. Orpheus went with her and sang a sheep-watching song. At the sound of his lyre, the sheep would clump up or scatter just as he desired.

In the fall, a nearby village requested that Orpheus come and sing for them. They’d been hit by a plague, and their hearts needed revival. Orpheus agreed to go and sing them a cheer-up-and-heal-up tune, so Eurydice went to the meadow alone during his absence.

EURYDICE: Watching these sheep is so much harder without my wonderful husband. Thanks to his lyre music all I had to do was leave them alone, and they came home, wagging their tails behind them.

NARRATOR: Eurydice realized that she was talking to herself and dissolved into a reverie, which further dissolved into a noonday nap. This is why she did not notice the mischievous goat-man who tender-hoofed his way up to her rock.

NARRATOR: It should be a testament to Eurydice’s beauty that the goat-man mistook her for a nymph, because it is the sole job of goat-men to pursue nymphs day and night. This is one reason why they’re frowned upon in polite society. (The other is that they don’t wear pants.)

When Eurydice awoke with the shadow of a wormy goat-man hovering over her, she let out a shriek.

NARRATOR: Not in the mood to debate terminology, the maiden jumped from the rock and tore through the tall meadow grass.

NARRATOR: This is exactly what the goat-man had hoped she would do. Goat-men love a chase. Although the girl ran with all her speed, he clipped and clopped along at her heels.

SATYR: (amorously) My sweet, my sweet! Let us end this ridiculous charade! You know you want the goat-man.

NARRATOR: Unfortunately, in their chase, the maiden stepped upon a very poisonous snake slinking in the proverbial grass. (Everyone has been told that snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them, and this is supposed to be comforting. Yet, in most cases, humans don’t have fangs and bite when frightened—while snakes do.) This snake sunk its fangs into Eurydice’s tender ankle.

NARRATOR: The snake, which was about to have cardiac arrest over its terror of humans, slithered away, and Eurydice fell into the grass. The poison worked quickly.

SATYR: Whoa! I’ve never seen an ankle swell up that quickly! Is that oozing pus? (nervously) Uh . . . well . . . I’d better be going now.

EURYDICE: Get back and help me! This is all your fault, you stupid goat-man!

NARRATOR: When Orpheus returned to the meadow from his journey, he did not see Eurydice where she normally perched on her rock. He searched the meadow until he saw the sheep gathered in a clump around her fallen body. The girl’s lips were blue, and her ankle was grossly swollen. He held her tenderly in his arms.

ORPHEUS: (between tears) Please! Don’t call me names, my love, or I will die!

NARRATOR: With that Eurydice’s irritated soul sank down into the Underworld. It is said that Orpheus cried enough tears to make their own salty river. He had found love only to lose it. His songs, which had up till then brought mirth, were now haunting dirges for Eurydice. He wandered the countryside—his body thin and his eyes sunken from fasting—playing his languid laments. Although their tone had changed, his tunes still held power. To those villages who wanted rain, his music brought drought; to those whose homes were nearly flooded by spring rains, dismal deluges accompanied his dreary notes. Each day he sang for the night to come quickly; he forbade the stars to shine and told the darkness to linger past the dawn. Those who heard him approaching—men and women who once welcomed him—closed their windows tight and snuffed their lamps, so he would pass on and take his gloom elsewhere. His lamenting at last reached the ears of Olympus and moved the hearts of the mightiest of the immortals. One night as Orpheus staggered forward mumbling and plucking with bleeding, feeble fingers, a dark form blocked his path. The bard paused in his song.

HERMES: (booming) Mortal Orpheus! I am come from high Olympus to tell you to stop your mourning!

ORPHEUS: (angrily) Why do you gods care if I mourn? You are the ones who created my suffering! I want all of the gods, all of the mortals, and even the Earth herself to suffer—as I suffer!

HERMES: Creepy. But, pray tell, what is the source of your suffering? Why do you sing?

ORPHEUS: For my lost love, Eurydice! Taken from me in the blossom of youth! (begins to sing again) Eurydice! Eurydice!

HERMES: Please! No more! Your music has had its desired effect among the immortals. It has even sobered Dionysus—and that takes some doing. So you’re mourning for your love. That’s tough, it really is, but there are other fish in the sea. Take my father Zeus for example. I can’t tell you how many mortal women he’s incinerated . . . or flattened . . . or mutilated . . . or turned into bears. But, you know, he doesn’t let it get him down! He gets right back out there—and usually the same day. (pause) Hmmm. Okay. Maybe he isn’t the best example.

ORPHEUS: I could never find another love like Eurydice! She was my sun! My goddess! My very life!

HERMES: Hmmm. I never thought of that. You could kill yourself—but that’s too stagey. But listen, the gods have sent me with a suggestion for you.

HERMES: Of course we do. As the poets say: Death is not the end, just an intermission.

HERMES: Yes, Orpheus, the gods are telling you to go to hell. Hades! The Underworld! Take your golden lyre, go to Hades himself, and melt his heart with your music. It just might work. Your songs have all of us on Olympus absolutely depressed. I promise. Zeus hasn’t had an affair in weeks, Dionysus hasn’t touched a drop of wine, and Hebe can’t bear to bear her cup. If we want a drink, we have to get it ourselves! It’s barbaric!

HERMES: Listen to me, my boy, you have the greatest weapon of all. I should know; I invented it. That lyre right there is stronger than any sword or shield. They may pierce the body, but music pierces the soul!

HERMES: That’s the spirit! You’ll find a foul-smelling cave to the west. Follow it down. It goes into the Underworld. Hades is filled with all types of creepies and crawlies, but your music will keep them at bay. Farewell, Orpheus!

NARRATOR: As the messenger god disappeared, Orpheus steadied his nerves by playing a prepare-to-do-the-impossible serenade upon his lyre and struck out toward the foul-smelling cave. Within the depths he faced many frightening specters, but his melody was stronger than them all. When the musician neared, the six eyes of Cerberus moistened with tears, his three snouts sniffed, and three necks bowed submissively as he whimpered to the side of the path. When Orpheus came to the banks of the river Styx and beheld Charon, the miserly boatman, leaning heavily upon his oar, a song of sorrow was the only toll he had to pay. As Charon poled the singing boy across the river, he shook his head. Orpheus was the only passenger he had ferried without a coin. At last Orpheus came before the grim god Hades, whose eyes—like those of an insect—held no feeling of any kind.

HADES: Since you have made it this far, you may play, mortal. But, be warned: My heart is made of stone.

NARRATOR: Yet as Orpheus played his love-is-love-even-in-Hades anthem, something hitherto unseen in the Underworld happened. A bit of sediment slowly collected in the corner of Hades’ eye. It formed into a tear-shaped deposit on the god’s grey cheek. Then the Earth—above and below them—shook with a deep tremor, and a crack like a pick on stone was heard. It was the sound of Hades’ heart breaking.

HADES: Very well. Take your love. Her spirit will follow you out. But you cannot look on her face until you are both fully in the light of your father Apollo—the Earth-light—once again. If you do, she will return to me. Light to light; shade to shade.

NARRATOR: The god’s finger flicked and crumbled the newly-formed stalactite from his eye.

As he walked back to the surface, Orpheus sang a love-is-not-swallowed-up-in-death chorus. The guardians of the Underworld—as before—did not hamper his progress, but bowed in acknowledgement of his supreme gift.

Orpheus knew he could not look behind him, but as he drew nearer and nearer to the surface, he became more and more eager to know for certain that the spirit of Eurydice followed behind. When he crossed back over the Styx in Charon’s ferry, he tried to gauge whether or not the craft seemed burdened with the weight of three—or only two. When he passed before the glittering eyes of Cerberus, they tracked his progress but never even once glanced behind him to where his Eurydice supposedly followed. Doubt redoubled its gnawing at his heart.

NARRATOR: The end of the tunnel appeared like a lamp in the darkness. He was nearly home free. The very moment his foot crossed the threshold of light, he whirled anxiously around. She was there, behind him in the tunnel—shimmering on the air like a mirage. There was a look of sadness on her face, a look of disappointment, as if he had forgotten her birthday.

NARRATOR: Then he saw what she saw. Although he stood in the light of the world, she still stood in the darkness of the Underworld.

NARRATOR: Orpheus lunged out toward her, but his arms embraced only air. The spirit of the girl bowed its head and, to the music of Orpheus’ staccato sobs, faded out.

DISCUSS

What is Orpheus’ main flaw? Explain.
What do you think happened to Orpheus after the events of this story?
As this story shows, music is a powerful weapon. How is music powerful in your own life?
What power or prestige is given to those who are musically talented in society? Why do you think this is so?

ANALYZE

Some have said that the myth of Orpheus illustrates that love is more powerful than death. But it is not necessarily Orpheus’ love that earns him entrance into the Underworld, but rather his ability to express his love through music. Is the theme of the story more about the power of love or the power of music? Explain.

WRITE

If Orpheus lived in your society, how would his life have been different? Pretend that Orpheus became a famous musician in modern time. Write his story as it would happen today.

PRESENT

Bring a song that means something to you to your class. Play the song, and explain its significance.

VIEW

View the film Black Orpheus (1957), directed by Marcel Camus, which modernizes the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. In this version of the myth set in Brazil, Orfeo (Orpheus) is a musically talented streetcar conductor who falls for Eurydice during Carnivale, the Brazilian equivalent of Mardi Gras. When Eurydice dies unexpectedly, Orfeo consults with a voodoo priestess to find out how to bring her back from the dead.

The idea of a second look, one last glance, is a powerful one. A similar story to Orpheus’ exists in the Bible, when Lot’s wife turns back to look at Sodom and Gomorrah as the cities are being destroyed for their sins. For her defiance of the angels’ command, Lot’s wife is turned into a pillar of salt (see Genesis 19:26). In addition, Robert Browning (1812–1889) wrote about the mistaken look back of Orpheus in his poem “Eurydice to Orpheus," reprinted here:

But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!
Let them once more absorb me! One look now
Will lap me round for ever, not to pass
Out of its light, though darkness lies beyond:
Hold me but safe again within the bond
Of one immortal look! All woe that was,
Forgotten, and all terror that may be,
Defied—no past is mine, no future: look at me!

DISCUSS

Who is the speaker in this poem?
Why is the speaker’s request contradictory to the original myth?
What is the meaning of the poem?

The Muses

The muses were nine eternal beings who inspired every form of Greek art. Artists invoked the aid of the muses before they began any artistic project. Both the Iliad and the Odyssey begin with an invocation for the muses to make the work divinely inspired. The muses made their home on Mt. Parnassus. The muses and their offices were as follows: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (love poetry), Euterpe (lyric poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), Polyhymnia (songs to the gods), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), and Urania (astronomy). Many modern words come from the muses: amuse, music, and museum are a few.

The story of Orpheus can be viewed in more than one way. In one regard, it is a story about the power of love because a man loves enough to brave the terrors of death in order to recover the soul of his lost bride. But in another regard, it is a story about the power of music. It is not Orpheus’ love itself that allows him to (temporarily) regain his love; it is his ability to artistically express his love that ultimately brings success. The message of this myth is that music moves us all—even the gods.

Since music was invented, it has maintained a strange power over the human soul. Defining what is actually music and what is noise has been an ongoing debate. Surely you have heard someone comment, “That’s not music!" Apparently, there is a boundary between what is and what is not music. Music could be defined as the combination of musical notes and lyrics. But rap music is often lyrics only, is spoken in a certain rhythm, and uses musical notes sparingly. Other types of music, such as most classical pieces, are simply instrumental and have no need for lyrics.

To make things even more complicated, there are people who listen to “music" that sounds more like the destruction of an electric guitar via sledgehammer. Not to mention the “lyrics," which are yelled so loudly that it is debatable whether or not they are actual words. Is this still music?

To fully capture the meaning of music, it must be given a broader definition: Music is something that speaks to your soul. If the hitting-a-guitar-with-a-sledgehammer-whilst-screaming-indecipherable-words type of music moves you, it must be accepted as music—even if it is not everyone’s cup of tea. Just remember: For some people, accordion music speaks to their soul. There are many different genres of music—country, rap, reggae, soft rock, hard rock, alternative rock, techno, bluegrass, southern gospel, scream-o, and so on—because there are many different types of souls out there to speak to.

DISCUSS

What is your favorite type of music? Explain.
Are there any types of noise that you would not classify as music? Explain.
Why does music change from generation to generation? Parents often disapprove of the music their children listen to. Why do you think this is so?
Describe a time when a certain song moved you.

Creature Feature: Pan and the Satyrs

Pan is the patron god of shepherds and, because of this association, is often represented as half-man, half-goat. He plays upon the reed pipes or syrinx, named for a nymph who transformed into a reed to escape him. Pan is considered to be the source of a fear that creeps up on those who are alone in the wilderness called panic. Satyrs, woodland spirits who were the brothers of the nymphs, eventually became associated with Pan and took on his characteristics. Therefore, satyrs are often pictured as having the haunches and horns of a goat. They are the devout followers and constant companions of the god Dionysus and are known for their crude and unpredictable behavior. Satyr plays were a type of play performed in ancient Greece characterized by their low-brow antics that parodied popular myths. For these plays, the chorus, which was typically dressed as men, wore anatomically correct satyr costumes.

The Greeks, too, believed that music nurtured the soul and considered musical education one of the highest pursuits that young men could undergo. Even the hero Heracles, who had obviously honed his physical strength, was also expected to cultivate his character by learning to play the lyre. Heracles, the epitome of impatience, was not cut out for music, and when Lycus, his elderly music teacher, ridiculed his horrible technique, Heracles cracked the old man’s skull open with his lyre. Some ancient Greeks believed in the spirituality of music so deeply that they swore that the universe moved to a certain type of music. Each layer of atmosphere created a different note when celestial bodies moved through it, and the whole world swayed to the “music of the spheres."

Music in ancient Greece was obviously much different than modern music. The lyre, a six-stringed harp, was one of very few instruments used. (Ironically, the term lyrics, meaning the words of a song, comes from the instrument, the lyre.) Two other common instruments were the Greek flute, which is very similar to a modern clarinet, and the shepherd’s pipe, which we typically refer to as a pan flute. The instrumental portion of a musician’s performance always took a back seat to the words. Greek music was first and foremost poetry. It is believed that even the Iliad and the Odyssey were chanted to the accompaniment of background music like some kind of ancient rap.

The development of music over the centuries has caused this Greek lyric-focused approach to flip-flop. If asked, most people would now say lyrics are secondary to the accompanying tune. Not that the words are unimportant; they are just no longer the main focus of the music. To honor the Greek ideal, the next time you listen to a song, pay special attention to the lyrics and see if there is something there that you have been missing.

Most of the love stories found in Greek mythology end tragically. This may be a reflection of the many hardships faced and customs practiced in ancient times. Disease and death were much more frequent than they are now—many people died young. Fathers arranged the marriages of their daughters, and “true love" rarely entered into their matchmaking. Maybe the Greeks as a whole enjoyed tragic love stories more than the happy endings modern audiences have come to expect because their love existed in a much more limited world.

Ultimately, Orpheus and Eurydice are denied a happy ending, but at least they are not alone. Pair after pair of lovers finds its love limited by circumstance and fate. Below are three love-myths: one happy, one tragic, and one bittersweet. Each says something different about love.

In Babylon, two families lived under a single roof, their two living quarters separated by a single wall. A boy of one family, Pyramus, fell desperately in love with Thisbe, a girl of the other. Apparently, being neighbors had made enemies out of their parents. When Pyramus and Thisbe announced their love, both sets of parents objected and forbade the couple from seeing one another. This only made the love of Pyramus and Thisbe grow stronger. The teenagers discovered a fault in the wall that separated the two living spaces. While their parents slept, the lovers would sneak to the wall and whisper words of passion through the crack.

After weeks of secret meetings, they decided they could stand their separation no longer and agreed to run away together. Pyramus instructed Thisbe to meet him at the Tomb of Ninus, a local landmark, after nightfall. From there they would escape into happiness. The night came, and Thisbe stole silently from her home. She arrived at the tomb. Something stirred in the darkness of the mulberry bushes, but it was not Pyramus. She saw two glowing eyes. The girl turned to flee, and as she did, a lioness (for that is what was hiding in the bushes) moved toward her. Thisbe’s cloak caught upon a branch. The lioness licked its blood-stained muzzle and crept closer. Jerking violently, Thisbe tore from the branch, leaving her outer cloak behind. The girl disappeared into the night, and the lioness, who had a full belly from a recent kill, curiously examined the cloak, nuzzling it with her bloody muzzle. After the lioness lost interest, she sauntered back into the night.

Pyramus arrived soon after. He had been delayed by his parents, who questioned where he was headed at such a late hour. When he found that Thisbe was not there to meet him, he desperately searched the thicket. What he found there forced him to his knees: Thisbe’s bloody cloak and the pawprints of a lion. The pieces of the puzzle formed quickly in his mind. The lion had mauled Thisbe and dragged her body away to its den. In a frenzy, Pyramus drew forth his dagger and, calling out the name of Thisbe, drove it into his breast.

You might guess what happened next. Thisbe returned to the tomb, suspecting the lioness was now gone. There she found Pyramus, dead by own hand, his blood staining the ground and bushes. As she interpreted the scene before her, she took up the dripping dagger that had pierced her lover’s heart and plunged it into her own.

The blood of the two lovers had been spilt on the fruit of the nearby mulberry tree. As a testament to Pyramus and Thisbe, the gods turned the white berries of the mulberry tree eternally red.

Frequently, Zeus would take it upon himself to journey through the mortal world rewarding the kind and punishing the evil. On this particular trip, he took his clever son Hermes along and disguised them both as penniless travelers. The first country they journeyed through was very inhospitable. When they knocked on doors to ask for food and shelter, they were denied. Only one household showed them hospitality. Philemon, an elderly country farmer, and Baucis, his wife, let the disguised gods sit next to their warm fire while they prepared dinner. But when Baucis went to fetch the goose for dinner, she could not catch it. No matter how quickly she moved, it was always quicker. She returned inside, exhausted. Philemon asked where the goose was, but she only motioned for a drink. To his astonishment, the old man realized that the pitcher he and the strangers had drunk empty was now completely full. The elderly couple whispered to one another. There could be only one explanation for these things: Their guests must be gods. Zeus and Hermes happily admitted that this was so and thanked Baucis and Philemon for their generosity. There was a flash of light, and the couple’s humble dwelling was transformed into a magnificent temple. All of the land around them, where their neighbors’ houses had been, lay covered in water. Zeus asked Baucis and Philemon to serve in his temple the rest of their days. In return for this, he said, he would grant them one request, and they immediately agreed to his arrangement. As for their request, they asked to never be separated from one another—to die at exactly the same moment. Zeus consented to this noble wish. After years of happy servitude, the time came for Baucis and Philemon to die. As their souls slipped down into the Underworld, their bodies changed forms, turning into two trees that grew from a single trunk.

Pygmalion was the greatest sculptor on the isle of Cyprus. From his earliest days, he had no use for women, scorning them for their simple-minded ways. Because he was surrounded by imperfect women, he decided to use his art to create the perfect woman. His statue was a labor of love. He sculpted its delicate features with the greatest care. As he worked, the statue became more and more lifelike, and Pygmalion began to fantasize: What if she really did come to life? Oh, how he would love her! His frenzied work led to what his friends considered insanity. He would bring the statue gifts, dress it in clothes, and lay with it beside him, cradling it in his arms. When his masterpiece was complete, Pygmalion realized that he had truly made the perfect woman, but he wept for he knew she would never live. The goddess Aphrodite saw the love that the sculptor put into his creation, and in recognition of his talents, she breathed life into his stone maiden. When Pygmalion returned to his workshop one day, he noticed that the statue’s skin felt warm, and its chest moved with breath. With a cry he realized that his statue had come to life. Now it would be his wife, the beautiful Galatea.

DISCUSS

What does each story say about the nature of love?
What similarities exist between the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet?
Why is it significant that Baucis and Philemon turn into two trees that share a single trunk?
How is the sculptor Pygmalion similar to Orpheus?

LISTEN

Listen to the song “Love Hurts" performed by the band Nazareth. What does this song have to say about love?

WRITE

Write your own ode to love.

ANALYZE

As you have learned, most Greek love stories had tragic endings. Do most modern love stories tend to have happy or tragic endings? Think about Hollywood, a movie-making machine that cranks out dozens of love stories every year. Yet Hollywood caters to its audience and frequently shows us what we want to see. Think about romantic movies. Which type of ending do you think modern society prefers, and what does this tell you?

Even though the terms Hades and Hell are used interchangeably, the two places have little in common. In the Greek Underworld, there were no consuming flames, and in fact, it was described as a cold place, rather than hot. And it wasn’t just the wicked who went there—everyone did; there was no escaping it. Immortal judges saw to it that the deceased got just what they deserved. Greeks who were kind and generous might spend eternity plucking a lyre by a dark river or wandering through the Plain of Asphodel (named for asphodel, the unattractive gray weed that covered it). Definitely not an exciting fate, but better than the alternative (as you will see).

No one—not even the greatest of heroes—seemed to enjoy being dead. Achilles, who during his lifetime considered dying young an easy price to pay for long-lasting fame, regrets his foolish life when he says, “Better to be a slave and see the sun, than be the greatest king in Hades." On the other hand, those who filled their lives with wickedness had even crueler fates awaiting them—eternal punishments that were sadistic reflections of their crimes. Sisyphus, a mortal who had ratted on one of Zeus’ affairs, was forced to roll a boulder up a steep hill, only to lose his grip before the summit was reached. Time and time again the boulder rolled back to the bottom of the hill, and Sisyphus would start his ascent once again. Tantalus, a man who murdered his son and served him as a dish to the gods, was forced to stand knee deep in a pool of water with a fruit-bearing branch hanging just out of his reach. No matter how thirsty or how hungry he became, he could never bend down and drink of the water or reach up and partake of the fruit. (Tantalus gives us the word tantalize for obvious reasons.)

In their typical way, the Greek myth-makers made the afterlife seem as real and concrete as possible by giving it location and geography just like any other spot on the map. For starters, it was called the Underworld because it was literally under the world. Getting there was no big chore. The Greeks knew which caves ran deep enough to actually penetrate Hades. Getting out was the hard part. Yet hero after hero—Heracles, Psyche, Orpheus, Theseus, and even Odysseus—visited there for various errands and returned to tell about it.

As for the geography of the Underworld, the Greeks knew it was intersected by several rivers. As the first and most famous of the rivers, the Styx formed the boundary between the world above and the world below. It had magical powers as well. Its waters were responsible for Achilles’ near-perfect coating of invincibility. When the gods wanted to swear an oath, they swore on the Styx, and then there was no going back on their word or they suffered a horrible fate. Charon, the aged boat-man of the Underworld, ferried the dead across the Styx. One could not pass without the coin or coins (placed under the tongue) that signified a proper burial. Those souls not properly buried could not pass. Some said they would be forced to wander for eternity; other said they had to wait for 100 years to cross the river. Either way, wandering or waiting, it was not a desirable end.

If a mortal, trespassing where no mortal should, was wily enough to get past the boat-man, there were plenty of other guardians to bring the trip to a quick end. Cerberus, the three-headed hell hound, attacked those who trespassed. There were also the Furies, tormenting demons of guilt whose eyes wept blood. Down in Tartarus, the deepest and darkest pit of Hades, chained Titans groaned, still suffering Zeus’ wrath. In the midst of this dark land lay the hall of Hades, where the Lord of the Underworld sat on his throne, stone-faced, with his queen, Persephone, beside him. Only one thing was ever said to melt his frozen heart: the magical lyre-playing of Orpheus.

Certainly all of these elements worked together to make the Underworld an unfriendly place, one that only the noblest and most adventurous could navigate. The geography given to it by the Greeks made it easy for the Roman poet Virgil to lead his hero Aeneas into the depths. Virgil’s poem The Aeneid, in turn, inspired a medieval Italian poet named Dante Alighieri to write about his own excursion into the afterlife. By Dante’s time, the Underworld had gotten quite a bit hotter, undergone a name change, and was under new management. Dante made sure to take plenty of notes on the changes.

DISCUSS

How is the Greeks’ concept of the afterlife different than what most people believe today? Explain.

READ

Read a canto of Dante’s Inferno. How are the punishments that Dante witnesses in Hell inspired by the Greek concept of the Underworld? Explain.

DRAW

Using the geographical details given in this section, draw a map of the Underworld as the Greeks imagined it.

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

As a part of their burial ritual, Greeks placed one or two obols (coins) in the mouth (or sometimes hand) of the deceased. This way when the spirit reached Charon, the aged boatman of the Underworld, he or she would have the required fee.

Immediately after his failure, Orpheus tried to re-enter the Underworld, but this time his songs had no effect. He had already had his one chance to save Eurydice. Miserable from the loss of his one and only love, it is said that Orpheus swore off the fair sex. If he could not have Eurydice, he would have no other woman.

It was during this time that the worship of the wine-god Dionysus was becoming widespread in Greece. Maenads were his female followers, infamous for performing all kinds of crazed, horrific rituals. (The word maenad can be translated as “raving one.") Working themselves into a “divinely inspired" frenzy (probably through the help of plenty of wine), the maenads ran as a pack through the wilderness, wearing deer pelts and bearing pinecone-tipped scepters. In some of their ceremonies, they ripped apart living animals. In one famous story, they even ripped apart Pentheus, a wicked king. Maenads were also known for their incredible lust. According to the myth-makers, encountering these frenzied women was both frightening and dangerous.

As Orpheus wandered through the forest, he stumbled upon a maenad ceremony. The crazed women turned from their rituals and approached him lustily, but when he rejected their advances, they began to hurl rocks and sticks at him. Orpheus struck his lyre, and their projectiles fell harmlessly to the ground. The maenads became so enraged that they rushed forward and—amid frenzied howling—tore the musician limb from limb. Wrenching his head loose, they threw it into the nearby river along with his lyre. Hearing of his death, the Muses came and buried what remained of Orpheus’ body, yet they could not find his head. The head had floated downstream and, although it was no longer attached, began to prophecy. Likewise, the lyre continued to play all the way down to the sea. The people of Lesbos who later discovered Orpheus’ head established it as an oracle. Any who wished to know the future could come and listen to the prophetic words of the talking head. Meanwhile, the soul of Orpheus had at last found happiness; it was reunited with Eurydice in the Underworld.

Not long after the goddess Athena had invented the Greek flute (which was played like a modern clarinet), the other goddesses mocked her, saying that because the instrument caused her cheeks to puff out, she looked completely ridiculous. In anger, Athena threw the instrument away. It was found by the satyr Marsyas, who immediately took to the flute and mastered it. He became quite renowned for his talent, and one day he rashly challenged Apollo, the God of Music himself, to a contest. The rules were simple: Apollo would play his lyre, and Marsyas would play his flute. The muses would act as the judges, and whoever produced the most pleasing music would be the winner. As for the fate of the loser, the winner could do with him what he willed.

The contest began, and the musical skills of the god and the satyr seemed nearly equal—that is, until Apollo played a crafty trick. In order to one-up Marsyas, the god flipped his lyre upside down and, without missing a beat, continued to play as gracefully as before. He challenged the satyr to do the same with his instrument. Obviously, Marsyas could not, and Apollo won the contest. In one of his cruelest moments, Apollo tied the satyr to a tree and flayed him for daring to challenge a god. The woodland nymphs cried many tears over the satyr’s death, and these were said to have formed a river that bears the name Marsyas.

DISCUSS

Is this a suitable end for a brilliant musician like Orpheus? Explain.

FUN FACT

Some myth-makers said that Orpheus used knowledge from his visit to the Underworld to enlighten others, teaching them that death was only a waiting period before souls were reincarnated. This led to the formation of the Orphic cult, a mystery cult. Mystes, the name for members of such a cult, is the Greek word for “close-mouthed." Those initiated into the mysteries were not allowed to speak of them or they would suffer terrible consequences. In Eleusis (a small town near Athens), Demeter and Persephone had their own mystery cult, which taught life after death. Members of both cults stuck to their oaths so closely that today we know next to nothing about them.