Orpheus bowed, once to Hades, once to Persephone, lifted his head and smiled a half-smile at the hovering Furies, turned and walked away. Hades gestured. And as Orpheus walked through the fields of Tartarus, Eurydice fell into step behind him. He did not see her. He thought she was there, he was sure she was there. He thought he could hear her footfall, but the black grass was thick; he could not be sure. But he thought he recognized her breathing—that faint sipping of breath he had heard so many nights near his ear; he thought he heard her breathing, but the air again was full of the howls of the tormented, and he could not be sure.
But Hades had given his word; he had to believe—and so he visualized the girl behind him, following him as he led. And he walked steadily, through the Field of Asphodel toward the gates of Tartarus. The gates opened as he approached. Cerberus was still asleep in the middle of the road. He stepped over him. Surely he could hear her now, walking behind him. But he could not turn around to see, and he could not be sure because of the cry of vultures which hung in the air above the river Styx like gulls over a bay. Then, on the gangplank, he heard a footfall behind him, surely…Why, oh why, did she walk so lightly? Something he had always loved, but he wished her heavier-footed now.
He went to the bow of the boat and gazed sternly ahead, clenching his teeth, and tensing his neck until it became a thick halter of muscle so that he could not turn his head. On the other side, climbing toward the passage of Avernus, the air was full of the roaring of the great cataracts that fell chasm-deep toward Styx, and he could not hear her walking and he could not hear her breathing. But he kept a picture of her in his mind, walking behind him, her face growing more and more vivid with excitement as she approached the upper air. Then finally he saw a blade of light cutting the gloom, and knew that it was the sun falling through the narrow crevasse which is Avernus, and that he had brought Eurydice back to earth.
But had he? How did he know she was there? How did he know that this was not all a trick of Hades? Who calls the gods to judgment? Who can accuse them if they lie? Would Hades, implacable Hades, who had had the great Asclepius murdered for pulling a patient back from death, would that powerful thwarting mind that had imagined the terrain of Tartarus and the bolts of those gates and dreamed a three-headed dog—could such a mind be turned to mercy by a few notes of music, a few tears? Would he who made the water shrink always from the thirst of Tantalus and who toyed with Sisyphus’ stone, rolling it always back and forth—could this will, this black ever-curdling rage, this dire fancy, relent and let a girl return to her husband just because the husband had asked? Had it been she following him through the Field of Asphodel, through the paths of Tartarus, through the gates, over the river? Had it been she or the echoes of his own fancy—that cheating mourner’s fancy, which, kind but to be cruel, conjures up the beloved face and voice only to scatter them like smoke? Was it this, then? Was this the final cruelty? Was this the torment Hades had promised? Was this the final ironic flourish of death’s scepter, which had always liked to cudgel poets? Had he come back without her? Was it all for nothing? Or was she there? Was she there?
Swiftly he turned, and looked back. She was there. It was she. He reached his hand to take her and draw her out into the light—but the hand turned to smoke. The arm turned to smoke. The body became mist, a spout of mist. And the face melted. The last to go was the mouth with its smile of welcome. Then it melted. The bright vapor blew away in the fresh current of air that blew through the crevasse from the upper world.
Narcissus and Echo
OF ALL THE NYMPHS of river and wood, a dryad named Echo was the best beloved. She was not only very beautiful and very kind, but had a haunting musical voice. The other dryads and naiads and creatures of the wood begged her to sing to them and tell them stories—and she did. She was a great favorite of Aphrodite, who used to come all the way from Olympus to chat with Echo and listen to her tales. Being goddess of love, she was especially concerned with gossip—which is mostly about who loves whom and what they are doing about it. And Echo kept her entertained as no one else could.
Aphrodite said, “All the world asks me for favors, Echo. But not you. Tell me, is there not someone you would wish to love you? Some man, boy, god? Just name him, and I will send my son Eros, who will shoot him with his arrow and make him fall madly in love with you.”
But Echo laughed and said, “Alas, sweet Aphrodite, I have seen no man who pleases me. And gods are too fickle. Man and boy—I look at them all very carefully—but none seems beautiful enough to match my secret dream. When the time comes, I shall ask your help—if it ever comes.”
“Well, you are lovely enough to demand the best,” said Aphrodite. “On the other hand, the best happens only once. And who can wait so long? However, I am always at your service.”
Now Echo did not know this, but at that moment the most beautiful boy in the whole world was lost in that very wood, trying to find his way out. His name was Narcissus, and he was so handsome that he had never been able to speak to any woman except his mother. For any girl who saw him immediately fainted. Of course this also gave him a very high opinion of himself. And as he went through the woods, he thought:
“Oh, how I wish I could find someone as beautiful as I. I will not be friends with anyone less perfect in face or form. Why should I? This leaves me lonely, true, but it’s better than lowering myself.”
So he walked along the path, but he was going the wrong way, getting more and more lost. In the other part of the wood Echo had just said farewell to Aphrodite, and was coming back to the hollow tree in which she lived. She came to a glade in the forest and there saw something that made her stop in astonishment and hide behind a tree. For whom did she see but Zeus himself—king of the gods, lord of the sky. He was leaning on his volt-blue lightning shaft, holding a river nymph by the shoulder, and she was smiling up at him.
“Well,” said Echo. “He’s at it again. Won’t Aphrodite enjoy hearing about this!”
But then her attention was caught by something else. She turned to see a tall purple-clad figure moving through the trees toward the glade. She recognized Hera, queen of the gods, jealous wife of Zeus, and she realized that Hera must have heard of what Zeus was doing, and was coming to catch him. And so the kind-hearted nymph hurried forward and curtsied low before Hera, saying, “Greetings, great queen. Welcome to the wood.”
“Hush, fool!” whispered Hera. “Don’t say a word! I am trying to take someone by surprise.”
“This is a proud day for us,” said Echo, thinking swiftly, “to be visited by so many gods. Just two minutes ago, Zeus was here looking for you.”
“Zeus? Looking for me? Are you sure?”
“The great Zeus. Your husband. He asked me whether I had seen you. Said he had heard you were coming this way, and he wished very much to meet you. When I told him I had not seen you, he flew off looking very disappointed.”
“Really? Can it be so? Zeus looking for me? Disappointed? Well—miracles never cease. Which way did he go?”
“Oh—toward Olympus.”
“Thank you, child,” said Hera. “I’ll be going too.”
And she disappeared.
In the meantime Zeus, hearing voices, had hidden himself and the river nymph in the underbrush. When Hera left, he came out, and to thank Echo he gave her a shining blue sapphire ring from his own finger.
Hera, having returned to Olympus, found that Zeus was not there. She realized that something was wrong and sped back to the forest. The first thing she saw was Echo admiring a large sapphire ring that burned on her finger like a fallen star. Hera recognized the ring and immediately understood that the nymph had tricked her in some way and had been given the ring as a reward.
“Wretched creature!” she cried. “I know what you have done. I see the gift you have been given. And I would not have it said that my husband is more generous than I. So I too shall reward you for what you have done. Because you have used your voice for lying, you shall never be able to
say anything to anyone again—except the last words that have been said to you. Now try lying.”
“Try lying,” said Echo.
“No more shall you meddle in high concerns—no more shall you gossip and tell stories and sing songs—but endure this punishment evermore…”
“Evermore…” said Echo, sobbing.
And Hera went away to search for Zeus. And the nymph, weeping, rushed toward her home in the hollow tree. As she was going she saw once again the dazzling brightness that was the face of a god and she stopped to see. It was no god, but a lad about her own age, with yellow hair and eyes the color of the sapphire Zeus had given her. When she saw him, all the grief of her punishment dissolved and she was full of a great laughing joy. For here was the boy she had been looking for all her life, as beautiful as her secret dream—a boy she could love.
She danced toward him. He stopped and said, “Pardon me, but can you show me the path out of the wood?”
“Out of the wood…” said Echo.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m lost. I’ve been wandering here for hours, and I can’t seem to find my way out of the wood.”
“Out of the wood…”
“Yes. I’ve told you twice. I’m lost. Can you help me find the way?”
“The way…”
“Are you deaf, perhaps? Why must I repeat everything?”
“Repeat everything…”
“No, I will not! It’s a bore! I won’t do it!”
“Do it…”
“Look, I can’t stand here arguing with you. If you don’t want to show me the way, well then, I’ll just try to find someone who can.”
“Who can…”
Narcissus glared at her and started away. But she came to him and put her arms around him and tried to kiss his face.
“Oh, no—none of that!” said Narcissus, shoving her away. “You’re just like all the rest of them, aren’t you? They faint, and you say stupid things. Stop it! You can’t kiss me.”
“Kiss me…”
“No!”
“No…”
And she tried to kiss him again. Again he pushed her aside. She fell on her knees on the path and hugged his legs and lifted her lovely tear-streaked face to his, trying to speak. But she could not.
“No!” he said. “Let go! You can’t hold me here. I will not love you.”
“Love you…”
He tore himself from her grip and strode away. “Farewell,” he called.
“Farewell…”
She looked after him until he disappeared. And when he was gone, she felt such sadness, such terrible tearing grief, such pain in every part of her, that it seemed she was being torn apart by white-hot little pincers, torn flesh from bone. And since she could not speak, she said this prayer to herself:
“Oh, Aphrodite, fair goddess, you promised me a favor. Do me one now. Hear me though I am voiceless. My love has disappeared, and I must disappear too, for I cannot bear the pain.”
And Aphrodite, in the garden on Olympus, heard this prayer—for prayers do not have to be spoken to be heard. She looked down upon the grieving nymph and pitied her and made her disappear. Her body melted into thin cool air, so that the pain was gone. All was gone…except her voice, for Aphrodite could not bear to lose the sound of that lovely story-telling voice. The goddess said, “I grant you your wish—and one thing more. You have not asked vengeance upon the love that has betrayed you. You are too sweet and kind. But I shall take vengeance, nevertheless. I decree now that whoever has caused you this pain will know the same terrible longing. He will fall in love with someone who cannot return his love—and will forever desire and never achieve.”
But Narcissus knew nothing of this—of Echo’s grief nor Aphrodite’s vow. He wandered the forest path, thinking, “All these girls who love me on sight—it’s too bad I cannot find one as beautiful as I. For until I do, I shall not love. And all their loving will be only vexation to me.”
He sat down on the bank of a river to rest. Not a river really, but a finger of the river—a clear little stream moving slowly through rocks. The sun shone on it; it became a mirror, holding the trees and the sky upside down, and a small silver trembling sun. And Narcissus, looking into the stream, saw a face.
He blinked his eyes and looked again. It was still there—the most beautiful face he had ever seen. As beautiful, he knew, as his own, but with a nimbus of light behind it so that the hair was blurred and looked long—like a girl’s. He gazed and gazed and could not have enough of it. He knew that he could look upon this face forever and still not be satisfied. He put out his hand to touch her. The water trembled and she disappeared.
“A water nymph,” he thought. “A lovely dryad—daughter of the river god, no doubt. The loveliest of his daughters. She is shy. Like me, she can’t bear to be touched. Ah—here she is again.”
The face looked at him out of the stream. Again, very timidly, he reached his hand. Again the water trembled and the face disappeared.
“I will stay here until she loves me,” he said to himself. “She may hide now, but presently she will recognize me too. And come out.” And he said aloud: “Come out, lovely one.”
And the voice of Echo, who had followed him to the stream, said, “Lovely one…”
“Hear that, hear that!” cried Narcissus, overjoyed. “She cares for me too. You do, don’t you? You love me.”
“Love me…”
“I do—I do—Finally I have found someone to love. Come out, come out—Oh, will you never come out?”
“Never come out…” said Echo.
“Don’t say that, please don’t say that. Because I will stay here till you do. This, I vow.”
“I vow…”
“Your voice is as beautiful as your face. And I will stay here, adoring you forever.”
“Forever…”
And Narcissus stayed there, leaning over the stream, watching the face in the water, watching, watching…sometimes pleading with it to come out, hearing its voice answer. Coaxing, begging, looking.…Day after day he stayed there, night after night, never moving, never eating, never looking away from the face. He stayed there so long that his legs grew into the bank of the river and became roots. His hair grew long, tangled, leafy. And his pale face and yellow hair became delicate yellow and white petals—the flower Narcissus, which lives on the riverbank and leans over watching its reflection in the water.
And there you can find it till this day. And in the woods too, when all is still, you will sometimes come upon Echo. And if you call to her in a certain way, she will answer your call.
Eros and Psyche
THERE WAS A KING who had three daughters, and the youngest, named Psyche, was so beautiful that Aphrodite grew jealous and began to plan mischief.
“I’ll teach that little upstart,” she said to herself. “How dare she go around pretending to be as beautiful as I? When I get through with her, she’ll wish she’d been born ugly as a toad.”
She called her son Eros to her and said, “Son, your mother has been insulted. See that castle down there? In a bower there, a maiden lies asleep. You must go pierce her with one of your arrows.”
“While she is asleep? What good will it do?”
“No good at all. Just evil, which is exactly what I plan for her.”
“But she can fall in love only with the one she is looking at when the arrow pierces her. Why bother when she is asleep?”
“Because if you scratch her with the arrow while she sleeps, she will form a passion for the first one she sees when she awakes. And I will take care to supply her with someone very special—the castle dwarf, perhaps. Or the gardener, who has just celebrated his hundred-and-second birthday. Or a donkey—yes that’s possible too. I haven’t decided. But you can be sure it will be someone quite undesirable. Her family will be surprised.”
“This is a cruel trick, Mother.”
“Oh, yes—it’s meant to be cruel. I tell you the girl has irritated me. Now be off and do your work.”
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Obediently, Eros flew down to the castle. He made himself invisible and flew through the window into the girl’s chamber. He stood looking at her.
“She is very beautiful,” he thought. “Too beautiful for her own safety, poor girl.”
He leaned over her, holding his dart so as to delicately scratch her shoulder. But he must have made some sound, for she opened her eyes then and looked straight into his, although she could not see him. And her huge black brilliant eyes startled him, so that the dart slipped and he scratched his own hand. He stood there feeling the sweet poison spread in his veins, confused, growing dizzy with joy and strangeness. He had spread love, but never felt it; shot others, but never been wounded himself. And he did not know himself this way.
The girl closed her eyes and went to sleep again. He stood looking at her. Suddenly she had become the most wonderful, the most curious, the most valuable thing in the world to him. And he knew that he would never let her come to any harm if he could prevent it. He thrust his dart into his quiver and flew back to Olympus.
When he told his mother what had happened, she fell into a rage and ordered him out of her sight. She then flung a curse upon Psyche. She cast an invisible hedge of thorns about her, so that no suitor could come near. The beautiful young princess became very lonely and very sad. Her father and mother could not understand why no one offered to marry her.
Now the gods often quarrel, but Olympus had never seen such a feud as now flared between Aphrodite and her son.
“How dare you torment the girl like that?” he said to his mother. “So long as you keep this spell upon her, I will do no business of love. I will shoot no one with my arrows. Your praises will not be sung. And without praise you will dry up and become a vicious old harpy. Farewell.”
And indeed Eros refused to shoot his arrows. People stopped falling in love with one another. There was no praise for Aphrodite; her temples stood empty, her altars unadorned. No marriages were made, no babies born. The world seemed to grow old and dull in a day. Without love, work died. Farmers did not plough their fields. Ships crawled listlessly on the seas. Fishermen scarcely cast their nets. Indeed, there were not many fish to catch, for they had sunk sullenly to the very bottom of the sea. And Aphrodite herself, goddess of love and beauty, found herself wasting in the great parching despair that came off the earth like a desert wind.
Heroes, Gods and Monsters of the Greek Myths Page 7