In the midst of grocery store aisles decked in pink, red, and lace, among all the epically romantic films advertised with swells of orchestral triumph, between bouquets of roses and sprays of baby’s breath—from amidst all these commercial representations of romance and relationships comes a story. Or rather, two stories. Whether we embrace the syrupy sweetness of the holiday or fight it tooth and nail, the stories still surface. They are comedy and tragedy, the yin and yang of relationships. In one, he gets the girl. In the other, he sits alone in an empty apartment.
Here’s one of my favorites.
This is an old story. Like, ancient Greek myth old. It’s about two people who fall in love. Their names are Orpheus and Eurydice. Right after their wedding, Eurydice is taking a stroll alone in the fields. A snake bites her ankle and kills her with its venom. Orpheus is understandably crushed. He decides to go to the Underworld and bargain with Hades and Persephone, the god and goddess of said realm. He convinces them of his love for Eurydice with song (he’s a famous musician), and they decree that the pair may leave the Underworld and return to life if and only if Orpheus can lead Eurydice out of the Underworld without turning back to look at her.
Orpheus sets out, elated at his good luck. He hears Eurydice’s footsteps behind him the whole way up, and he just makes it out of the mouth of the cave when suddenly he is struck with what Virgil calls “a sudden mad desire” and is “vanquished of resolve.” He looks back at Eurydice. Thunder rolls and she is pulled back into the Underworld, gone forever. Orpheus roams the earth for seven years singing and grieving until a group of Maenads attacks and kills him.
The end.
If you were hoping for a sugary-Valentine’s-Day-approved love story, look elsewhere. I prefer the tragedies. Deal with it. Sorry.
I love Greek mythology to begin with because of its universal themes and the many ways it has been interpreted in music and art and other writing. This story strikes a particular chord, and I’m not quite sure why I know why, but I’m not eager to admit it.
I like the story because I know how Orpheus feels. He often gets a bad rap in analyses of the myth. Academics High school students think he’s stupid or impatient or has short-term memory issues. Poor Orpheus is criticized for getting overeager, for looking back at the thing he loves most in the world.
I don’t blame him. So often I find myself working toward something great. My Eurydice follows me and I can feel my progress. I’ve worked hard to convince Hades to let me succeed, and I’ve almost reached the goal. But just as I step out into the light, I’m plunged into doubt. What if Eurydice’s not there anymore? What if I’m not meant to reach this goal? What if I did something wrong along the way? What if I’ve become overconfident in my abilities? What if…
I look back. I can’t help it. That little seed of doubt grows quickly, and I just have to make sure Eurydice is still following. My loss of faith Faith is my downfall.
The kicker is that it’s all Orpheus’ my fault. Virgil writes these heartbreaking lines for Eurydice when her husband turns to her. She knows it’s all over.
“Orpheus! what ruin hath thy frenzy wrought/On me, alas! and thee?/Dark sleep closes my swimming eyes. And now farewell:/with enormous night I am borne away.”
As the thunder rolls and I watch that job, that friendship, that opportunity to do something kind slip away into the Underworld, I know how Orpheus feels. A moment’s waver cost him dearly.
He and Eurydice don’t get a second third chance. And the truth is, a lot of times we don’t either. Sorry, no happy ending here. Just some advice: trust your Eurydice.
P.S. for an awesome rendition of the Orpheus and Eurydice story, check out Anais Mitchell’s folk opera album, Hadestown.
Abby Zwart (’13) teaches high school English in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She spends her free time making lists of books she should read, cooking, and managing the post calvin.
