Stories of Orpheus: an archive
Georgics (29BC)
He stopped, and for a moment wasn’t thinking—no!— Eurydice was his again and on the brink of light, and who knows what possessed him
but he turned back to look. Like that, his efforts were undone, and the pacts he’d entered”
with that tyrant had dissolved. Three peals of thunder clapped across that paludal hell.
“What,” she cried, “what wretched luck has ruined me—and you, O Orpheus,
what burning need? Look, cold-hearted fate is calling me
again; sleep draws its curtain on my brimming eyes.
And so, farewell, I’m carried off in night’s immense embrace,
and now reach out my hands to you in vain—for I am yours no more."
‘So she spoke, and suddenly, like wisps of smoke, she vanished
in thin air. She watched him for the final time, while he,with so much still to say, attempted to cling on to shadows.
No longer would the ferryman permit him crossthe marshy pool that lay between them. What was left for him to do? Where could he turn, his wife now taken
twice from him? Would any wailing move the shades—or please the gods?
Already she was making her stiff way across the Styx.
From OWC, translated by Peter Fallon
Metamorphosis (AD8)
In deadly silence the two of them followed the upward slope;
the track was steep, it was dark and shrouded in thick black mist.
Not far to go now; the exit to earth and the light was ahead!
But Orpheus was frightened his love was falling behind; he was desperate
to see her. He turned, and at once she sank back into the dark.
She stretched out her arms to him, struggled to feel his hands on her own,
but all she was able to catch, poor soul, was the yielding air.
And now, as she died for the second time, she never complained
that her husband had failed her—what could she complain of, except that he'd loved her?
She only uttered her last 'farewell', so faintly he hardly
could hear it, and then she was swept once more to the land of the shadows.
....
Orpheus wanted to cross the Styx for a second time,
but his pleas were in vain and the ferryman pushed him away from the bank.
From Penguin Classics, translated by David Raeburn
consolation of philosophy(AD524 or 525)
‘ Happy the man whose eyes once could
Perceive the shining fount of good;
Happy he whose unchecked mind
Could leave the chains of earth behind.
Once when Orpheus sad did mourn
For his wife beyond death’s bourn,
His tearful melody begun
Made the moveless trees to run,
Made the rivers halt their flow,
Made the lion, hind’s fell foe,
Side by side with her to go,
Made the hare accept the hound
Subdued now by the music’s sound.
But his passions unrepressed
Burned more fiercely in his breast;
Though his song all things subdued,
It could not calm its master’s mood.
Complaining o f the gods above,
Down to hell he went for love.
There on sweetly sounding strings
Songs that soothe he plays and sings;
All the draughts once drawn of song
From the springs the Muses throng,
All the strength o f helpless grief,
And o f love which doubled grief,
Give their weight then to his weeping,
As he stands the lords beseeching
O f the underworld for grace.
The triform porter stands amazed,
By Orpheus’ singing tamed and dazed;
The Furies who avenge men’s sin,
Who at the guilty’s terror grin,
Let tears o f sorrow from them steal;
No longer does the turning wheel
Ixion’s head send whirling round;
Old Tantalus upon the sound
Forgets the waters and his thirst,
And while the music is rehearsed
The vulture ceases flesh to shred.
At last the monarch of the dead
In tearful voice, “ We yield,” he said:
‘ Let him take with him his wife,
By song redeemed and brought to life.
But let him, too, this law obey,
Look not on her by the way
Until from night she reaches day.”
But who to love can give a law?
Love unto love itself is law.
Alas, close to the bounds of night
Orpheus backwards turned his sight
And looking lost her twice to fate.
For you the legend I relate,
You who seek the upward way
To lift your mind into the day;
For who gives in and turns his eye
Back to darkness from the sky, Loses while he looks below
All that up with him may go.’
OWC, translated by Betty Radice. The Latin version can be found here: https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2008.01.0678
Sir Orfeo (late 1300 or early 1400)
The king seyd, 'Sethen it is so,
Take hir bi the hond and go;
Of hir ichil tahtow be blithe.'
He kneled adoun and thonked him swithe.
His wiif he tok bi the hond,
And dede him swithe out of that lond,
And went him out of that thede—
Right as he come, the way he yede.
From The Middle English Breton Lays
Robert Henryson, Orpheus and Eurydice (late 1400)
'Eruidices than be the hand thow tak,
And pass thi way, bot undirneth this pane:
Gife thow turnis, or blenkis behind thy bak,
We sall hir haif forewir till hell agane.'
Thoocht this was hard, yit Orpheus was fane,
And on thay went, talkand of play and sport,
Till thay almost come to the outward port.
Thus Orpheus, with inwart lufe repleit,
So blindit was with grit effectioun,
Pensyfe apon his wyf and lady sueit.
Remembrit nocht his hard conditioun,
Quhat will ye moir? In schort conclusioun,
He blent bakwart and Pluto come annone,
And on to hell with hir agane is gone.
Poems of Robert Henryson, Teams Middle English Texts Series
Orphee 1950
Orpheus: I'll follow her all the way to Hades.
Heurtebise: We're not asking that much of you,
O: Heurtebise, I want to join Eurydice.
H: You don't have to beg me. I'm offering it to you. (putting his hands on Orpheus' shoulders). Orpheus, look me in the eys. Is it Eurydice you want to join, or Death?
O (looking away): Both of them. ..
H:...and if you could, you'd cheat on one with the other....
O (rushing toward the mirror): Let's hurry.
H: I congratulate myself on no longer being alive
From the script of Orphee by Jean Cocteau
