The Story Of Orpheus And Eurydice

The deeds of the immortal gods were told and sung at every fireside in
Greece; and among these hero-tales there was none more popular than the
story of how Apollo built for Neptune the famous wall of Troy. Many
musicians would have been glad to perform a similar service for the
mere fame that it would bring them, but they feared that the attempt to
imitate Apollo would only result in failure and ridicule. So no mortal
ever presumed to say that he could make rocks and stones obedient to
the spell of his music. There was, however, one musician, Amphion,
king of Thebes, who was anxious to prove that his playing was equal
to Apollo's, but knowing how unwise it was to vie with an immortal,
he determined not to test his skill publicly, but to carry out his
cherished plan at night, when men were dreaming in their beds. He was
eager to build a high wall around Thebes, and to build it as Apollo
did the wall of Troy; so when the sun set, and darkness crept over the
earth, Amphion stood just outside the city gates and began to play
on his lyre. Immediately the stones rose from the ground and moved
rhythmically into their places in the wall, which soon rose strong and
high--a firmer defense than any that could be built by men's hands.

Another famous musician was Arion, who won not only praise for his
great skill in playing, but also much wealth. Whenever a contest
was held in which a prize of money was given, Arion was usually a
competitor; and, as his music was really finer than that of most
players, he easily won the reward. Once he was returning from a
festival in Sicily whither many musicians had gone on account of the
rich prize; and as he had come off victor, he was leaving the foreign
shores well-laden with gold. Unfortunately he happened to embark on
a ship owned by pirates who had heard of his great wealth, and were
plotting to seize whatever part of it he had on board. As the easiest
way to do this was to kill him, the pirates began to bind him with
ropes that he might not be able to struggle when thrown over-board.
Arion calmly accepted his fate, but begged the brutal crew to allow
him to play once upon his lyre before going to his death. To this
the pirates consented, and when the wonderful music filled the air,
a school of dolphins swam toward the ship and kept close beside it,
charmed by Arion's playing. Feeling sure that there was some magic in
the music, the pirates hastened to throw the player and his lyre into
the sea without waiting to bind him; but Arion did not drown as they
had expected, for a friendly dolphin caught him on its back and swam
with him to the shore, where he landed in safety. When in the course of
time Arion died, the gods placed him, together with his lyre and the
kindly dolphin, in the sky as constellations.

The most famous of all musicians, except the one who played in the
shining halls of Olympus, was Orpheus, son of Apollo and of the muse
Calliope. When he was a mere child, his father gave him a lyre and
taught him to play upon it; but Orpheus needed very little instruction,
for as soon as he laid his hand upon the strings the wild beasts crept
out of their lairs to crouch beside him; the trees on the mountain-side
moved nearer so that they might listen; and the flowers sprang up in
clusters all around him, unwilling to remain any longer asleep in the
earth.

When Orpheus sought in marriage the golden-haired Eurydice, there
were other suitors for her hand, but though they brought rich gifts,
gathered out of many lands, they could not win the maiden's love, and
she turned from them to bestow her hand upon Orpheus who had no way to
woo her but with his music. On the wedding day there was the usual
mirth and feasting, but one event occurred that cast a gloom over the
happiness of the newly-married pair. When Hymen, god of marriage, came
with his torch to bless the nuptial feast, the light that should have
burned clear and pure began to smoke ominously, as if predicting future
disaster.

This evil omen was fulfilled all too soon, for one day when Eurydice
was walking in the meadow, she met the youth Aristæus, who was so
charmed with her beauty that he insisted upon staying beside her to
pour his ardent speeches into her unwilling ears. To escape from these
troublesome attentions, Eurydice started to run away, and as she ran
she stepped on a poisonous snake, which quickly turned and bit her. She
had barely time to reach her home before the poison had done its work,
and Orpheus heard the sad story from her dying lips. As soon as Mercury
had led away the soul of Eurydice, the bereaved husband hastened to the
shining halls of Olympus, and throwing himself down before Jupiter's
golden throne, he implored that great ruler of gods and men to give
him back his wife. There was always pity in the hearts of the gods for
those who die in flowering time, so Jupiter gave permission to Orpheus
to go down into Hades, and beg of Pluto the boon he craved.

It was a steep and perilous journey to the kingdom of the dead, and
the road was one that no mortal foot had ever trod; but through his
love for Eurydice Orpheus forgot the dangers of the way, and when he
spoke her name, the terrors of the darkness vanished. In his hand he
held his lyre, and when he arrived at the gate of Hades, where the
fierce three-headed dog Cerberus refused to let him pass, Orpheus stood
still in the uncertain darkness and began to play. And as he played the
snarling of the dog ceased and the noise of its harsh breathing grew
faint. Then Orpheus went on his way undisturbed, but still he played
softly on his lyre, and the sounds floated far into the dismal interior
of Hades, where the souls of the condemned labor forever at their
tasks. Tantalus heard the music, and ceased to strive for a drop of the
forbidden water; Ixion rested a moment beside his ever-revolving wheel;
and Sisyphus stood listening, while the rock which he must roll through
all eternity fell from his wearied arms. The daughters of Danaüs laid
down their urns beside the sieve into which they were forever pouring
water, and as the mournful wailing of Orpheus's lyre told the story of
his lost love, they wept then for a sorrow not their own. So plaintive,
indeed, was the music, that all the shadowy forms that flitted
endlessly by shed tears of sympathy for the player's grief, and even
the cheeks of the Furies were wet.

When Orpheus came before the throne of Pluto, that relentless monarch
repulsed him angrily as he attempted to plead his cause, and commanded
him to depart. Then the son of Apollo began to play upon his lyre,
and through his music he told the story of his loss, and besought the
ruler of these myriad souls to give him the single one he craved. So
wonderfully did Orpheus play that the hard heart of Pluto was touched
with pity, and he consented to restore Eurydice to her husband on
condition that as they went out together from the loathed country of
the dead he should not once turn his head to look upon her. To this
strange decree Orpheus gladly promised obedience; so Eurydice was
summoned from among the million shadow-shapes that throng the silent
halls of death. Pluto told her the condition on which her freedom was
to be won, and then bade her follow her husband.

During all the wearisome journey back to earth, Orpheus never forgot
the promise he had made, though he often longed to give just a hurried
glance at the face of Eurydice to see whether it had lost its sadness.
As they neared the spot where the first faint glimmerings of light
filtered down into the impenetrable darkness, Orpheus thought he heard
his wife calling, and he looked quickly around to find whether she
was still following him. At that moment the slight form close behind
him began to fade away, and a mournful voice--seemingly far in the
distance--called to him a sad farewell.

He knew that no second chance would be given him to win his wife from
Pluto's hold, even if he could again charm the three-headed Cerberus
or persuade Charon, the grim ferryman, to take him across the river.
So he went forlornly back to earth and lived in a forest cave far
from the companionship of men. At first there was only his lyre to
share his solitude, but soon the forest creatures came to live beside
him, and often sat listening to his music, looking exceedingly wise
and sorrowful. Even in his sleepless hours, when he fancied he heard
Eurydice calling, he was never quite alone, for the bat and owl and
the things that love the darkness flitted about him, and he saw the
glow-worms creep toward him out of the night-cold grass.

One day a party of Bacchantes found him seated outside the cave,
playing the mournful music that told of his lost love, and they bade
him change the sad notes to something gay so that they might dance.
But Orpheus was too wrapped up in his sorrow to play any strain of
cheerful music, and he refused to do as they asked. The Bacchantes were
half maddened by their festival days of drinking, and this refusal so
enraged them that they fell upon the luckless musician and tore him to
pieces. Then they threw his mangled body into the river, and as the
head of Orpheus drifted down the stream, his lips murmured again and
again "Eurydice," until the hills echoed the beloved name, and the
rocks and trees and rivers repeated it in mournful chorus. Later on,
the Muses gathered up his remains to give them honorable burial; and it
is said that over Orpheus's grave the nightingale sings more sweetly
than in any other spot in Greece.