by Jean Cocteau
ORPHEUS. I’m not afraid of her.
HEURTEBISE. Good-by, Orpheus. I’ll be waiting for your return.
ORPHEUS. I may be gone for a long time.
HEURTEBISE. Long… for you. For us it will be only a matter of seeing you walk in and walk out again.
ORPHEUS. I can’t believe the mirror’s really like water. Well, here goes.
HEURTEBISE, as Orpheus moves toward the mirror. Lead with your hands!
Walking with his hands outstretched in front of him, Orpheus plunges into the mirror.
ORPHEUS. Eurydice!…
He disappears from view.
Heurtebise remains alone, kneeling in front of the horse’s empty stall. There is a knock at the door.
HEURTEBISE. Who ìS it?
VOICE. The postman. I have a letter for you.
HEURTEBISE. Orpheus isn’t home.
VOICE. What about his wife?
HEURTEBISE. She’s not home either. Slip the letter under the door.
Someone slides a letter under the door.
VOICE. Where did they go?
HEURTEBISE. Nowhere. They’re asleep.
THE ACT CURTAIN FALLS SLOWLY
AND
IMMEDIATELY RISES AGAIN
HEURTEBISE. Who is it?
VOICE. The postman. I have a letter for you.
HEURTEBISE. Orpheus isn’t home.
VOICE. What about his wife?
HEURTEBISE. She’s not home either. Slip the letter under the door.
VOICE. Where did they go?
HEURTEBISE. Nowhere. They’re asleep.
Orpheus steps out of the mirror.
ORPHEUS. Are you still here?
HEURTEBISE. Quick, tell me what happened.
ORPHEUS. My friend, you’re an angel.
HEURTEBISE. Not at all.
ORPHEUS. Oh, yes, you are, a real angel. You’ve saved the day for me.
HEURTEBISE. And Eurydice?
ORPHEUS. Look!
HEURTEBISE. Where?
ORPHEUS. In the mirror. One, two, three.
Eurydice steps out of the mirror.
HEURTEBISE. Eurydice!
EURYDICE. Yes, it’s me, the first woman whose husband’s love was strong enough to wrest her from the dead.
ORPHEUS. “Lady Eurydice shall return from the underworld.” And we thought the horse was talking nonsense.
EURYDICE. Careful, dear. Remember your promise. Yòu are never to mention that horse again.
ORPHEUS. What was I thinking of?
EURYDICE. And you know, Heurtebise, he found the way all by himself, didn’t hesitate one second. Wasn’t it ingenious of him to think of putting on those rubber gloves?
HEURTEBISE. Yes, wasn’t it ingenious?
ORPHEUS, quickly. The important thing was to get there, no matter how.
He starts to face Eurydice.
EURYDICE. Watch out!
ORPHEUS. Oh dear!
He freezes.
HEURTEBISE. What’s wrong?
ORPHEUS. Nothing important, really. At first I thought I couldn’t stand it, but with a little caution we’ll make out.
EURYDICE. We’ll soon get used to it.
HEURTEBISE. Used to what?
ORPHEUS. I made a pact with them. They let me bring Eurydice back from the underworld, but I must never look at her. If I look at her, she’ll disappear.
HEURTEBISE. That’s terrible!
EURYDICE. Now don’t you discourage my husband!
ORPHEUS, pulling Heurtebise in front of him. Let him talk. He won’t discourage me. We went through the same thing. You can imagine how upset we were after making the pact — because we had to make it, no matter what. But it is feasible. Not easy, but feasible. Certainly it’s better than going completely blind.
EURYDICE. Or losing a leg.
ORPHEUS. YOU see, we had no choice.
EURYDICE. And there are certain advantages. Orpheus will never see me grow old and wrinkled.
HEURTEBISE. Bravo! Then all I have to do is wish you good luck.
ORPHEUS. You’re not leaving?
HEURTEBISE. I suddenly feel as if there is one person too many in this room. You must have lots to tell each other.
ORPHEUS. After lunch. The table is set. I’m hungry. You’re too much a part of this affair not to have lunch with us.
HEURTEBISE. Are you sure your wife won’t object to a third person at the table?
EURYDICE. Not at all, Heurtebise.
Weighing her words.
My travels have changed the face of the earth for me. I’ve learned a lot, and I’m ashamed of what I was. From now on I intend to be a model wife. Orpheus and I will be living one long honeymoon.
ORPHEUS. Eurydice, remember your promise! You’re not supposed to mention the moon again.
EURYDICE. Oh dear, it was my turn to forget. Let’s eat lunch! Heurtebise, you sit here, on my right. Sit down, please. Orpheus, across the table.
HEURTEBISE. Not where he can see you!
ORPHEUS. By the gods, I’m glad we invited you, Heurtebise. I’ll sit on your left with my back turned. So what, I’ll hold the plate on my knees.
Eurydice serves them.
HEURTEBISE. I’m dying to hear about your trip.
ORPHEUS. It’s not easy to put into words. I still feel like a man just out of the hospital after a major operation. I vaguely remember reciting one of my poems to stay awake, and then there were all those disgusting beasts dozing away. Then a big black pit. Then there I was, talking to a lady who wasn’t there. She thanked me for her gloves, though. A kind of surgeon took them from me and showed me the way out. He said that Eurydice would follow me and that I was not, under any circumstances, to look at her. I’m thirsty!
He picks up his glass and turns around.
EURYDICE AND HEURTEBISE. Watch out!
EURYDICE. What a scare! Darling, without turning around, just feel my heart pounding.
ORPHEUS. This is ridiculous. Maybe I should bandage my eyes.
HEURTEBISE. I’d advise you not to do that. It’s against the rules. If you cheat, you lose everything.
ORPHEUS. You can’t imagine the effort it takes to carry out those stupid rules.
EURYDICE. But darling, if you’d just stop mooning …
ORPHEUS. There’s that moon again! You might as well call me nuts.
EURYDICE. Orpheus!
ORPHEUS. Save the moon-talk for your old playmates.
Silence.
HEURTEBISE. Orpheus!
ORPHEUS. I’m a priest of the sun.
EURYDICE. Not any more, my dear.
ORPHEUS. As you like. Anyway, don’t mention the moon in my house again.
Silence.
EURYDICE. If you knew how insignificant all this talk is about the sun and the moon.
ORPHEUS. It’s beneath you, I suppose.
EURYDICE. If only I could find the words to …
ORPHEUS. It seems to me that for someone who can’t find the words you’re using an awful lot of them.
Eurydice starts to cry. Silence.
HEURTEBISE. Now you’ve made her cry.
ORPHEUS. You stay out of this.
He swings around.
EURYDICE. Don’t!
HEURTEBISE. Careful!
ORPHEUS. It’s her own fault. She’d make the dead sit up and wail.
EURYDICE. I should have stayed dead.
Silence.
ORPHEUS. As for the moon! If I let her go on about that, you know where we’d be. It’d be the horse affair all over again.
HEURTEBISE. Don’t exaggerate …
ORPHEUS. So I’m exaggerating?
HEURTEBISE. Yes.
ORPHEUS. Well, what if I am exaggerating.
He swings around.
EURYDICE. Watch out!
HEURTEBISE, to Eurydice. Don’t cry. Orpheus, you are going to spoil everything.
ORPHEUS. Well, what if I am exaggerating! Who started it?
EURYDICE. Not me.
ORPHEUS
. Not you! Not you!
He swings around again.
EURYDICE AND HEURTEBISE. Careful!
HEURTEBISE. You’re a dangerous man, my friend.
ORPHEUS. Correct. And in that case the best thing for me to do is to leave you alone.
He rises. Eurydice and Heurtebise grab his coat and prevent him from leaving.
EURYDICE. Darling …
HEURTEBISE. Orpheus …
ORPHEUS. No , no. Let me go.
HEURTEBISE. Be sensible.
ORPHEUS. I’ll be anything I want.
EURYDICE. Don’t leave me.
She tugs on his coat. He trips, loses his balance, turns, and stares at her. He cries out. Terrified, Eurydice rises to full height. On her face we read horror. The light dims as Eurydice slowly collapses and disappears. The lights come up again.
HEURTEBISE. It was inevitable.
ORPHEUS, pale, weak, forcing a kind of carefree attitude. Oof! Now I feel better.
HEURTEBISE. What did you say?
ORPHEUS, with the same fake nonchalance. Now we can breathe freely.
HEURTEBISE. He’s out of his mind.
ORPHEUS, covering his discomfort with anger. A man has to be firm with women, show he can get along without them. Otherwise, they lead you around by the nose.
HEURTEBISE. Are you trying to say that you looked at her on purpose?
ORPHEUS. How else would I look at her?
HEURTEBISE. But you lost your balance; it wasn’t your fault you turned your head. I saw it happen.
ORPHEUS. I lost my balance on purpose. I turned my head on purpose. And don’t contradict me.
Silence.
HEURTEBISE. You don’t expect me to congratulate you, I hope.
ORPHEUS. I can do without your congratulations. I’m quite capable of congratulating myself for having looked my wife in the face. Well, it’s better than staring at other men’s wives, isn’t it?
HEURTEBISE. Is that intended for me?
ORPHEUS. Take it any way you like.
HEURTEBISE. You’re unfair, Opheus. I never made love to your wife and she would never have permitted it. She was a perfect lady. You didn’t realize it until you lost her for the first time, and now you’ve lost her again — stupidly, tragically lost her, lost yourself, killed her when she was already dead, played with life and death as if you were playing just another game. Because she is dead, twice dead. And she won’t come back again.
ORPHEUS. That’s what you think!
HEURTEBISE. That’s what I think.
ORPHEUS. Did you ever see a woman leave the table, swearing she’d never come back, who didn’t return meek as a lamb in time for dessert?
HEURTEBISE. I’ll give you five minutes to come to your senses.
Orpheus throws his napkin on the floor. Rises. Walks around the table. Looks at the mirror, crosses to the door, and picks up the letter.
ORPHEUS, opening the letter. What’s this?
HEURTEBISE. Bad news?
ORPHEUS. I can’t read it. It’s written backward.
HEURTEBISE. That’s an old trick to disguise the writing. Hold it up to the mirror. Now, read what it says.
ORPHEUS, holding letter in front of the mirror and reading. “Dear Sir: Excuse me if I choose to remain anonymous, but someone should inform you of the danger you’re in. Aglaonice has discovered that if you translated into French your sentence about Lady Eurydice returning from the underworld and take the first letter of each word, the result is a four-letter sentiment which may be construed as an insult to the judges of the poetry contest. By translating your sentence into French and capitalizing the initial letters, Aglaonice has convinced the judges that you are a phony. She has roused half the women in town against you. In fact, there is a crowd of raving females on its way to your house now. The Bacchantes are with them, fanning their anger, screaming for your head. If you want to save yourself, you must hide from them. There’s not a minute to lose. An unknown friend… ”
HEURTEBISE. I don’t believe a word of it.
In the distance, we hear wild rhythms of drums beating.
ORPHEUS. Listen …
HEURTEBISE. Drums.
ORPHEUS. Their drums. Eurydice was right. The horse was bait in a trap they set to catch me.
HEURTEBISE. They can’t string up a man for a word.
ORPHEUS. The word’s only an excuse. Their hate runs so deep it’s a religion to them. Aglaonice was waiting for her chance and now she’s got it.
HEURTEBISE. The drums are coming nearer.
ORPHEUS. Why didn’t I see that letter before? How long has it been on the floor?
HEURTEBISE. It’s my fault, Orpheus. The postman slipped the letter under the door while you were traveling in the underworld. I was so excited by your wife’s return that I forgot to tell you about it. Do what the unknown friend advises: hide yourself.
ORPHEUS. It’s too late.
The horse magic has completely disappeared. Orpheus is a changed man.
HEURTEBISE. You can hide in the caves behind the house. I’ll tell them you’re away on a trip.
ORPHEUS. It’s no use, Heurtebise. It’s no use trying to avoid the inevitable.
HEURTEBISE. I’ll save you despite yourself.
ORPHEUS. I won’t let you.
HEURTEBISE. But it makes no sense.
ORPHEUS. The mirror is solid now. It read the letter for me. There’s only one thing left for me to do.
HEURTEBISE. What’s that?
ORPHEUS. Join Eurydice.
HEURTEBISE. But you can’t do that again.
ORPHEUS. Oh, yes, I can.
HEURTEBISE. And even if you do find her, it will be the same old quarrel all over again.
ORPHEUS, ecstatic. Not in the place she’s calling from.
HEURTEBISE. Look at your face, it’s contracted with pain. I won’t let you throw yourself away like this.
ORPHEUS. It’s those drums! Those drums! They’re coming for me, Heurtebise. They’ll soon be here.
HEURTEBISE. You’ve done the impossible before.
ORPHEUS. The impossible is what I’ve lived for.
HEURTEBISE. You’ve survived other conspiracies.
ORPHEUS. But I’ve never fought to the last drop of blood.
HEURTEBISE, his face illuminated with a supernatural joy. Orpheus, you frighten me …
ORPHEUS. What thoughts does the marble think while the sculptor chisels its veins to make a masterpiece? The marble thinks: someone’s striking me, destroying me, insulting me, breaking me — I’m doomed to die. The marble is wrong to think those thoughts. It’s life that’s chipping away at my veins, chiseling a new form, Heurtebise. She’ll make me into a work of art. It’s my duty to let her hammer away — without trying to understand. Make myself hard. Accept the blows as they come, try to help her, work along with her, but let her finish the task herself.
HEURTEBISE. Watch out for the stones!
Stones come crashing through the windows.
ORPHEUS. Glass! Luck’s on my side. I’ll have the image I’ve always dreamed of.
A stone breaks the mirror.
HEURTEBISE. The mirror!
ORPHEUS. Oh no, they mustn’t break the mirror!
He rushes onto the balcony.
HEURTEBISE. They’ll cut you to pieces.
ORPHEUS, on the balcony, back to the audience, he leans on the balustrade. Ladies!
Drum roll.
Ladies!
Drum roll.
Ladies!
Drum roll.
Orpheus moves left on the balcony, out of view. His voice is drowned in the noise of drums. A shadow moves across the stage. Heurtebise covers his face and kneels.
Suddenly an object comes hurtling through the window. It is Orpheus’ head. It falls to the floor and rolls toward the footlights. Heurtebise lets out a feeble cry. Drums fade in the distance.
ORPHEUS’ HEAD, the voice of a wounded man. Where am I? It’s dark in here. My head aches. My whole body hurts. I must have
fallen off the balcony. I must have fallen from way up high, way up high … Where’s my head? Oh, of course, that’s what’s talking — my head. But where is it? Where’s my head? Eurydice! Heurtebise! Help! Put on the lights, Eurydice, I can’t see my legs. I can’t feel my head any more. They’ve gone, both of them — no head, no body. I’m empty now, empty all over. Help! Help! Somebody wake me up! Eurydice!
A moan.
Eurydice … Eurydice … Eurydice …
Eurydice steps out of the mirror. She stands motionless.
EURYDICE. Did you call me, darling?
ORPHEUS’ HEAD. Is that you, Eurydice?
EURYDICE. It’s me.
ORPHEUS’ HEAD. Where’s the rest of me? Where did I put my body?
EURYDICE. You mustn’t get upset. Just give me your hand.
ORPHEUS’ HEAD. Where’s my head?
EURYDICE, taking an invisible body by the hand. There, hand in hand. Now, walk. You mustn’t be afraid. Just come along with me …
ORPHEUS’ HEAD. But where’s my body?
EURYDICE. Next to mine, pressed close. Now that you can’t see me any more, I can take you back with me.
ORPHEUS’ HEAD. But my head, Eurydice … my head … where did I put it?
EURYDICE. Forget your head, darling. You’ll never have to worry about your head again …
Eurydice leads the invisible body through the mirror and disappears.
A knock at the door. Silence. Heurtebise looks up but does not answer. Knocks. Still no answer.
COMMISSIONER’S VOICE. Open in the name of the law.
HEURTEBISE. Who’s there?
COMMISSIONER’S VOICE. The police. Open the door or we’ll force our way in.
HEURTEBISE , I’m coming.
He moves quickly to Orpheus’ head. Picks it up. Places the head on the pedestal and then opens the door wide so that it covers the pedestal from view. It is at this moment that the actor playing Orpheus substitutes his own head for the papier-mâché replica. The Commissioner enters, followed by his clerk.
COMMISSIONER. Why didn’t you answer the first time I knocked?
HEURTEBISE. But. Judge, I…
COMMISSIONER. Commissioner, please.
HEURTEBISE. But, Commissioner, I’m a friend of the family… I was still recovering from the shock …
COMMISSIONER. Shock? What shock?
HEURTEBISE. I was alone with Orpheus when it happened.
COMMISSIONER. When what happened?
HEURTEBISE. The murder … When Orpheus was murdered by the Bacchantes.