Narrator: He floats alone upon the wine-dark sea. He looks around for his love, but she is not there. He calls her name
Orpheus: Eurydice, Eurydice.
Narrator: There is no reply. For reasons he does not understand, this distresses him mightily. He begins to cry; salt tears run down his face, mingling with the salt of the waves. It comes to him then that he must be dreaming, and he smiles.
Morpheus: Orpheus.
Orpheus: Father?
Narrator: And his father is there. Morpheus Lord of Dreams, stands above the wave tops and looks down upon his son.
Morpheus: You should wake soon. It is, after all, your wedding day.
Orpheus: Oh.
Narrator: The young man and his father walk in a moonlit garden. Orpheus is dressed in a white robe. Morpheus in black with a ruby clasp fastening his cloak.
Orpheus: I have had a strange dream, Father. I was floating on the sea, calling my wife's name. What does it mean?
Morpheus: Am I a hedge wizard, that I should interpret your dreams for you?
Orpheus: N-no
Morpheus: Dreams are composed of many things, my son. Of images and hopes, of fears and memories. Memories of the past, and memories of the future...
Orpheus: You're saying I was dreaming of the future? Something that has not yet happened?
Morpheus: Perhaps.
Orpheus: I'm your son. Why won't you tell me what you know?
Morpheus: Because you are my son.
Orpheus: But...
Morpheus: Now wake, boy. I will see you at your wedding.
Orpheus: But Father ... Just tell me.
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Narrator: The cottage is small with mud walls washed white with lime. Orpheus sleeps naked on a pile of skins laid over a rough frame.
Aristaeus: Orpheus? Orpheus? Orpehus?
Narrator: Aristaeus Agreas enters through the open door on hairy haunches and goat's feet. He is in his early 40s more fawn than Satyr with little horns and just slightly pointed ears.
Aristaeus: Orpheus? You were crying out in your sleep. Orpheus?
Orpheus: Hmm? I am sorry, Aristaeus.
Aristaeus: Not to worry, lad. Reminds me of my wedding day. I was terrified.
Orpheus: You were married? I didn't know.
Aristaeus: Her name was Autonoe. She was lovely.
Orpheus: What happened to her?
Aristaeus: She died. Many years ago.
Orpheus: Oh. I'm sorry.
Aristaeus: It was a long time ago. People die. You get over it. It's part of life.
Orpheus: Yes, I suppose it is.
Aristaeus: Right, get dressed. You're getting married. Here. Your best tunic
Orpheus: Thank you.
Aristaeus: You'll want your toroise shell noisemaker.
Orpheus: It's a lyre, Aristaeus. And I will make beautiful music with it to sing to my bride.
Aristaeus: Hmm. You ready?
Orpheus: Yes.
Narrator: Orpheus and Aristaeus leave the cottage. It's a beautiful, sunny day in Ancient Greece. Flowers are in blossom and small, brightly coloured birds sing on the trees.
Aristaeus: It's been ages since I went to a wedding. Roast ox, eh?
Orpheus: No. No living thing is to die at my wedding, Aristaeus. I do not hold with sacrifice.
Aristaeus: It is good to sacrifice before you wed. But you will have wine?
Orpheus: Of course, my friend, and dancing.
Aristaeus: That's good. It wouldn't be a proper wedding, without wine and dancing. But there ought to be a sacrifice...
Orpheus: No - ha
Narrator: They reach the path which leads up the hill towards the temple.
Aristaeus: She's a very beautiful woman.
Orpheus: Yes.
Aristaeus: You're very lucky.
Orpheus: I know.
Narrator: The temple, small and rectangular is lined with white columns. Little bushes decorate its gardens, where a group of people have gathered, talking to the priest.
Calliope, Orpheus' mother, looking no older than a bride herself, walks down to meet them. She wears a short green kirtle and a ring of flowers in her hair.
Calliope: Orpheus. My son. I am so... proud of you. This is a wonderful day. I'm so pleased.
Orpheus: Mother. Thank you. I'm so happy. This is my new friend, Aristaeus. He's a farmer. Aristaeus, this is my mother, Calliope.
Aristaeus: My lady.
Calliope: Sir.
Aristaeus: You're his mother? You don't look--
Calliope: Old enough? How sweet of you.
Orpheus: Mother? Will Father be here?
Calliope: Well ... Ah!
Oneiros: I would not miss my son's wedding, Orpheus.
Orpheus: Hello, Father.
Narrator: Morpheus wears a black robe pinned to one naked white shoulder by the ruby clasp.
Oneiros: And the girl? Your wife-to-be? Where is she?
Eurydice: I am here, Oneiros. I would not be late on this day.
Narrator: Eurydice is beautiful. Dark-haired with a broad white streak at the parting. She wears a white dress.
Oneiros: Greetings, Eurydice.
Eurydice: I am pleased to see you. And you too, my darling.
Orpheus: Eurydice. My Eurydice. Oh, my love.
Calliope: They're such a sweet couple. Isn't she gorgeous Aristaeus?
Aristaeus: Aye, she is. She reminds me of my wife, on our wedding day.
Teleute: Well, here we all are. Isn't this nice?
Narrator: Death approaches smiling sweetly, an elegant black robe off her shoulders, her hair long and her sigil the ankh, on a long chain about her neck.
Teleute: I like weddings. Especially family weddings, that makes it sort of special somehow, doesn't it, brother?
Oneiros: I was not certain you would come, my sister.
Teleute: Oh, it's not just me... It's all of us.
Orpheus: Darling Eurydice. Let me introduce you to my uncles and aunts.
Eurydice: Oh! How lovely that they've all come.
Orpheus: My aunt Teleute.
Narrator: Death smiles. She wears her ankh sigil as earrings as well as on a pendant at her breast.
Teleute: I wish you both well.
Orpheus: My aunt Aponoia.
Narrator: Despair, grey, naked, disfigured with scars, lower teeth jutting, one eye milky, does not have a face that readily smiles.
Aponoia: I, too, wish you both well.
Orpheus: My aunt Mania.
Narrator: Delirium is young and fidgety. One side of her head was shaved the other half long and ragged.
Mania: Yeah. Uhh. Well... You know... I nearly got married, but that was a long time ago. It never happened. Maybe that was my fault I don't know. Shit happens.
Narrator: One of her eyes is blue. The other green. She wears a ragged fishnet kiton.
Mania: You're both okay. Good luck.
Orpheus: My uncle-aunt Epithumia.
Narrator: Desire wears a tunic cut to expose their left breast.
Epithumia: Love. Isn't it wonderful? I wish you well.
Orpheus: My uncle Olethros.
Narrator: The entity called Olethros is huge, wearing bull-headed shoulder pads, full armour and a helmet, which conceals much of his face. A full beard is visible through its vertical slit. Olethros grins hugely, showing his teeth.
Olethros: So you're marrying my favourite nephew, eh, lassie? Go you both well, children.
Orpheus: And last, my uncle Potmos.
Narrator: Destiny is garbed as ever in a hooded road with his great book chained to one wrist.
Potmos: I greet you, Eurydice, on the day of your wedding.
Orpheus: Uncle? Won't you wish us well?
Potmos: I am Destiny. I am Potmos. I do not wish; I know. What must happen will happen. That is the way of it. But the priest awaits you, children. Your wedding begins.
Narrator: Upon the hill in front of the temple pillars, the priest of Hymen, a white-haired man in a white gown, stands in front of a burning copper brazier in the open air. On the other side of the brazier, stand Orpheus and Eurydice with flowers in their hair, roses, the wild marjoram.
The Priest: We call upon Hymenaeus, lord of marriage, to watch over these two people in their lives, which will henceforth be lived as one... Heart to heart and body to body, until the sundering of death. You may embrace her, Orpheus.
Orpheus: My love.
Eurydice: My love.
Calliope: How lovely Oneiros.
Oneiros: I am happy for them.
Aristaeus: Hmm.
Calliope: You look thoughtful Aristaeus. Does the sight displease you?
Aristaeus: Huh? No, not at all, dear lady. The bride is ... is as beautiful as the day.
Narrator: It is evening in the temple garden. The wedding feast is over. The revels have begun. And Aristaeus' wineskin is empty.
Aristaeus: More wine. Where's another skin of wine?
Orpheus: Over here Aristaeus.
Narrator: The Endless have all departed, save Morpheus and Death. Neither of whom are dancing. The only other exception is Orpheus, who sits accompanying the musicians of his lyre. A pile of full wineskins by his son.
Orpheus: Here Aristaeus. Help yourself.
Aristaeus: Thank you, dear friend.
Narrator: Death seated nearby watches Aristaeus nearly drain the wineskin in go.
Aristaeus: Oh... Good.
Orpheus: Well? Are you enjoying the wedding, my friend?
Aristaeus: Assuredly. It's wonderful. You aren't dancing?
Orpheus: I am content to make music, Aristaeus. But you dance. Enjoy yourself.
Aristaeus: Most assuredly dear boy.
Orpheus: I will see nothing but happy faces on my wedding day.
Teleute: I see nothing else, nephew.
Orpheus: My other uncles and aunts, Teleute, I wish they could also have stayed for the party.
Teleute: They had things to do, Orpheus.
Orpheus: But you stayed.
Teleute: I also have things to do, my nephew.
Orpheus: My wife. My love. My wife. Is she not wonderful? Look at her dancing. She's so alive.
Teleute: Yes, she is.
Eurydice: Doesn't he play the lyre well, Aristaeus? My husband is so clever. Later, he will sing to us. Have you ever heard him sing?
Aristaeus: My Lady ... Eurydice... There's something I have got to tell you. Something very private. I have a problem. Can we go somewhere and talk? Won't take long. Honest.
Eurydice: Oh, well...
Aristaeus: It won't take long. Honestly.
Eurydice: Of course, we can talk, Aristaeus. I hate to think of anyone being troubled on my wedding day. I will do what I can to help. But we cannot be long.
Aristaeus: A few moments, and no more, lady. I'll meet you in the grove, around the back. An' thank you. Thank you.
Oneiros:No, Calliope.
Calliope: Oh, come on, Oneiros.
Oneiros: Who is that?
Aristaeus: Just I. Aristaeus. Business to ... attend to.
Calliope: Just this once. Dance with me.
Oneiros:I do not dance Calliope. Not even with you, my wife.
Calliope: Not even on your son's wedding day?
Oneiros: As I said: I do not dance.
Narrator: Aristaeus waits on a quiet lawn set aside from the field of revels.
Eurydice: I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, Aristaeus. Now, tell me, what's your problem? How can I help you?
Aristaeus: There's something I want, and I can't have it, and I'm going to take it anyway. That's my problem.
Eurydice: I ... I think you've drunk a little more than is good for you, Aristaeus. What do you need from me? OH!
Aristaeus: You. I want you.
Eurydice: You're joking, right? You're drunk. Please--- let go of my arm. Aristaeus
Aristaeus: I want you.
Eurydice: --- You're hurting me. Please!
Aristaeus: It's been so long since I had a woman.
Eurydice: Please. The wine has scattered your wits.
Aristaeus: I want you...
Eurydice: No!
Aristaeus: Please come back!
Eurydice: Leave me alone.
Narrator: Eurydice runs panicking away from the temple grounds towards the forest.
Aristaeus: I wasn't going to hurt you! Truly!
Eurydice: Go away!
Aristaeus: I'm drunk. I didn't... I didn't mean it.
Narrator: She does not see the snake before she treads on it.
Eurydice: Oh, no...
Narrator: The snake defends itself as snakes will.
Aristaeus: Please... You won't tell anyone... will you? Eurydice? Oh... OH!!
Orpheus: ... And we're the same age. To the day. Isn't that a wonderful coincidence? It shows that we were meant for each other, two hearts beating as one...
Teleute: Orpheus?
Orpheus: Yes, Aunt Teleute?
Teleute: Nothing.
Aristaeus: Orpheus! ORPHEUS!!!
Orpheus: There's something wrong.
Aristaeus: Orpheus! Orpheus!
Orpheus:Eurydice?
Aristaeus: I am so so sorry, my friend. I meant nothing by it. I meant no harm.
Orpheus: Has something happened, Aristaeus? Has something happened to Eurydice?
Aristaeus: Orpheus.
Orpheus: Has something happened to Eurydice?! Aunt Teleute? ... Oh, no. No no no. NO!!!
Eurydice: Oh, hello.
Teleute: Hello.
Eurydice: Your Orpheus' aunt ... I think I can hear Orpheus crying. What's happened?
Teleute:Eurydice ... You have to come with me now.
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Narrator: The smoke from Eurydice's pyre drifts skyward in the windless summer air. Orpheus sees it high above, looking down from the clifftop. But he finds it easy to ignore. Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions too huge to be felt. Orpheus is sitting on a rock. He concentrates instead on the correct fingering of the song of the gate, on playing each note exactly, finely on his lyre. The tune weaves itself around him, intricate and strange, like a song from a dream. It occurs to him that he has never played it so well, and he takes a distant pride in this. And when he is ready, when the music is a part of him, he begins to sing, constructing the gate with his voice and the notes of his lyre.
Before him, the view fades in the glow of a shining light. Not sunlight, but a vision he is creating with his song. It is a gateway appearing in the air. Through the gateway, the light is grey and strange, while around its edges is the blue sky and the smoke from the pyre, and the distant fields and woods and streams. But through the gate can be seen a far country. The Dreaming and the castle of his father.
In this era, Morpheus's castle is a huge Grecian palace, a mass of temples and statutory. At the front of the building, many hundreds of steps run down to a lake and either side of the steps is a tower. And at the top, an arch over the main entrance. On top of the left-hand tower is a Gryphon. Over the arch is a huge dragon-like Wyvern. On the right a beautiful winged horse, the Hippogriff. These are the guardians of the gate. Orpheus climbs the steps, holding his lyre. The Guardians watch unmoving.
The Gryphon: Who is it, Wyvern?
The Wyvern: It's the boy-child.
The Gryphon: Ask him what he wants.
The Wyvern: You ask him what he wants, The Gryphon.
Orpheus: I have come to see my father.
The Gryphon: Enter, then, boy. Your father is here.
The Hippogriff: Orpheus. We have heard of your loss; you have our sympathies also.
Orpheus:
I do not need your pity, Hippogriff.
The Hippogriff: It was freely given, boy. You should not scorn it.
Orpheus: Don't pity me.
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Narrator: Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams stands upon a parapet high up on his palace, gazing out over his domain. He does not turn around.
Oneiros: You should have gone to her funeral.
Orpheus: Why?
Oneiros: To say goodbye.
Orpheus: I have not yet said goodbye to Eurydice.
Oneiros: You should. You are mortal: it is the mortal way. You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life.
Narrator: Morpheus puts a hand on his son's shoulder.
Oneiros: And at times the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on. She is dead. You are alive. So live.
Orpheus: She is alive in the Underworld.
Oneiros: So?
Orpheus: So, will you help me to gain her back from the Underworld, father? Will you go to Hades and Kore, and plead my case?
Oneiros: You are talking foolishness, my son. I will hear no more of it.
Orpheus: But father--
Oneiros: No more.
Orpheus: Very well, then. No more. I am no longer your son.
Oneiros: Orpheus! Come back here. Now.
Orpheus: No.
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Narrator: Orpheus, sitting over his lyre in the blazing sunshine on the clifftop raises his head slowly, waking. A butterfly drifts past. The gate has gone, but below him, Euridice’s funeral pyre still burns, the smoke rising towards him.
Orpheus: Eurydice.
Narrator: He walks to the very edge of the cliff to the sheer drop. He looks down. A light breeze blows his hair and robe and smudges the smoke of the pyre. He could dash himself to death on the rocks below. It would be so easy.
Olethros: Suicide, hey, laddie?
Orpheus: Mm?
Olethros: You think that’s your wisest course?
Narrator: Standing near him on the cliff edge, imposing, impressive, immovable wearing his helmet is Destruction.
Orpheus: Yes. Yes, I do, Olethros. We can not be together alive. We can be together in the Underworld. Cold, and pale and immobile, but together. Together we will whisper in the shallow voices of the dead. Together we will wait in the darkness and in the end, but together, we will drink from the waters of Lethe and bring forgetfulness.
Narrator: Destruction, towering over the young man, lifts both his arms and removes his helmet.
Olethros: That is the stupidest thing I have heard in centuries. Hahaha.
Narrator: The face he reveals has wide, strong features and a grin that reveals large, white, perfect teeth.
Olethros: Oh, Orpheus, you’re a strange child. Hahaha.
Narrator: Destruction is a presence one would not wish to face in any kind of fight. Nor when celebrating afterwards. To attempt to out drink, out eat, out curse, or out swithe either.
Olethros: I think you were more in love with the idea of your dead love than you ever were with the girl herself.
Orpheus: Take that back! You will take that back, or I will …
Olethros: Calm down. Or I will throw you up in the air and catch you, as I did when you were a mite smaller.
Orpheus: You wouldn’t dare.
Olethros: Hahaha. Try me, lad. Just try me. Now you’ve spoken to your father, I take it.
Orpheus: Yes. He was no help.
Olethros: Oh, he’s a dark one your father. He does care for you, though.
Orpheus: He has a strange way of showing it.
Olethros: Aye. But that’s his way. He’s set in his ways.
Orpheus: Olethros, what can I do? She’s gone. She’s dead. I do not want to live without her.
Olethros: Mm. Well, you’re a romantic fool, eh but that’s no surprise. You get that from your father. Death is hardly my province. Have you talked to your aunt about this?
Orpheus: Teleute?
Olethros: Aye.
Orpheus: What can she do for me?
Olethros: Well … she can do whatever she wants to boy. There will be conditions, but then, there always are.
Orpheus: I … don’t know how to see her. I mean, she just turns up when she wants to. Where do I find her? What do I do?
Olethros: Hmm. Well, you have a few alternatives. For example: you could die. You’d see her then. Of course, you won’t get much chance to talk, but you’ll see her. You could be born … but you people never remember that particular conversation with her. I don’t know why not. You just don’t. Or you could go to her house.
Orpheus: She has a house?
Olethros: She has lots of things. Although she seldom has much use for them. You should see her floppy hat collection. But yes … she has a house.
Orpheus: Will she be there?
Olethros: She is everywhere. She will be there.
Orpheus: How do I get to her?
Olethros: You ask your uncle Olethros to send you there. And you ask me very nicely. Hahahah!
Orpheus: Will you? Please?
Olethros: Aye.
Narrator: Destruction stands up straight, flexing his arms. He reaches out as if pointing at a rocky outcrop some ten feet away from them.
Olethros: Through there.
Narrator: The fiery explosion Destruction has caused hangs in the air, frozen in time.
Orpheus: Will she see me?
Olethros: Oh, aye, she’ll see you. Sooner or later. She sees everyone. Go on. Walk into the portal.
Narrator: Orpheus, his lire tucked under his arm, walks into the brightly shining heart of the frozen explosion.
Olethros: Go on lad!
Narrator: And disappears from view.
Olethros: Mmm.
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Orpheus: By Zeus. What kind of house is this?
Narrator: Orpheus is in a room. A room with objects and furniture entirely alien to him, but which would be found in most one-room apartments of the late twentieth century. It’s the kind of place that a person might dash into, change their clothes, and dash out of. Maybe grabbing an hour or two sleep while doing so. The walls are painted white. On one of them hangs a photo of The Endless, the whole family; Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair and … Delight. The sweet twelve-year-old with long blonde hair before she became Delirium.
Orpheus: Aunt Mania?
Narrator: Still carrying his lyre, Orpheus walks around the room. He is very puzzled by the old armchair with the large and battered teddy bear on it.
Orpheus: Why?
Narrator: He stares at the small glass bowl on the table with a goldfish swimming in it, and the tube of goldfish food nearby. He picks up something from the floor.
Orpheus: What manner of snake shed this skin.
Narrator: He is still peering at the stocking when the door opens.
Teleute: Hmm. If I had known I was going to have company, I would have tidied the place up.
Orpheus: Aunt Teleute?
Narrator: Death stands, leaning against the door frame, dressed in black jeans with pointy boots and a thin black t-shirt. The clothes are unfamiliar to him. The silver ankh, heavy eyeliner and jet-black hair are not.
Teleute: Hey, Orpheus. Looking for something?
Orpheus: Yes. You, I think.
Teleute: Well like I said the place isn’t really in any state for visitors, but you’re here now. Make yourself comfortable. Umm, are you okay?
Orpheus: I do not know. I do not think so. This place is so strange to my eyes.
Teleute: Yeah? Well, this is how I like it. But if it makes things easier, I can glitz it all up a bit. Get it closer to the kind of thing you’d expect to see. Hold on a sec. There.
Narrator: Both the apartment and Death are transformed. She is now wearing a black gown, confected of leather, silk and black lace, with high gloves and a flounced hem.
Teleute: Is that any better?
Orpheus: Perhaps … I … I do not know.
Narrator: The room has become a hall, lined with slabs of polished and veined black marble, decorated with an elaborate fountain.
Teleute: So, you made it here. I’m impressed. What do you want?
Orpheus: A wedding gift. To replace the one, you took from me.
Teleute: It was her time to go, Orpheus. People die. It’s okay. It happens. Go on with your own life. You have many things to do. Many songs to play and to sing.
Orpheus: Not without her. Give her back to me, Teleute.
Teleute: I wish I could. She’s not mine anymore. She’s in the Underworld. That’s where you people go. She’s in Hades’ Realm.
Orpheus: Then I will go there, and I will bring her back.
Teleute: That isn’t going to happen. You don’t go to the Underworld without dying first.
Orpheus: But heroes and gods visit the Underworld. Herakles chained Cerberus …
Teleute: Listen, idiot. You can’t go to the Underworld and come back alive. Not if you’re mortal. And Herakles was full of it. He just got dead drunk for a couple of weeks in Phrysia and told everyone he’d been to the land of the dead.
Orpheus: Uncle Olethros said you could do it. He said you can do anything. He said there were rules, but you could do it.
Teleute: Your uncle Olethros has a big mouth. You know that?
Orpheus: You can do it, then?
Teleute: Hm. Did anyone ever tell you you’re a lot like your father in some ways? Yeah. Yeah, you could go to the Underworld. You could even come back. All that has to happen is that I agree never to take you. But there’s a catch. Rules.
Orpheus: I don’t care about the rules. There are always rules. All I care about is Eurydice.
Teleute: Look me in the eyes, Orpheus. … Okay. If that’s what you want. You got it.
Orpheus: I … I thank you, Teleute.
Teleute: Yeah. I hope it works out for you.
Orpheus: But don’t you know? I thought you could foretell the future.
Teleute: I don’t need to know the future. When the future’s over, then it’s me … Okay. Show’s over. Get out of here. Go home.
Orpheus: But …
Teleute: Go to Taenarum, in the south of Hellas. There is a gate there that will take you to the Underworld.
Orpheus: But …
Teleute: Go home, Orpheus. Go home.
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Narrator: And Orpheus is standing on top of the clifftops again. There is no sign of Death or Destruction. The pyre is burned to nothing.
Orpheus: To Taenarum then.
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Narrator: There were no songs sung nor tales told of Orpheus's journey to Taenarum; or if there were they are lost to us today. A hard time he has of it. He travels, on foot, by land through the wild country and the few sparse towns of the older days. From Thrace to Macedonia, to Thessaly (where the witches gnaw the flesh from men's faces for their spells, and pull down the moon for their own purposes); from there to Delphi (where he speaks to the Pythia, although the oracle she gives him is no longer recorded; and he receives a gift.
Orpheus: Gracious thanks for this gift. Good Oracle.
Narrator: He passed through Thebes, and through Corinth. He escapes the darkness that waits for him in the heart of Corinth, fleeing through Arcadia. Always he walked south, with his lyre in his hand, depending on the charity and friendship of his fellows; and he was unusual in this: that he will not raise his fist to his fellows, and he carried no weapons. This in a time when all men were warriors.
Orpheus: Peace be with you, friend.
Narrator: It was cold winter when Orpheus comes to Taenarum, the southernmost village in Europe. One league south of the village is a promontory.
A rocky causeway out into the sea. As chill clouds cover the sky, Orpheus walks out from the shore. The waves blowing high and spraying across the narrow path. He fights to stay upright against the forces of the wind and water. Protecting the streams of his lyre with this robe. At the end of the promontory is a deep cavern from which foul and noisome vapours rise. And it is this cavern that is popularly supposed to be the gateway to the underworld.
Orpheus descends into the crack in the Earth. He scrambles over rock formations, squeezing between stalactites and stalagmites. Turning a corner, he stands on a high jutting slab of rock in a low cavern.
Orpheus: Gods.
Narrator: He is a tiny figure high above a huge underground lake. The lake is dark and wet and lonely and empty. There is a winding path of many steps down the rock face to the ink-black waters. He descends.
Orpheus arrives at the bottom of the steps on the shore of the underground sea. A boat comes towards him, poled by an old man, naked, but for a cloth tied at his waist. He is stringy and lean, with a white beard and white hair on his pale chest. His deep-set eyes are red.
Charon: You are not dead.
Orpheus: I have come to speak to your Lord and Lady. Will you take me to them?
Charon: Oh so? What have you brought for me?
Orpheus: A sprig of mistletoe; a gift from the Oracle at Delphi.
Charon: The bough of gold. Aye, that is a payment for the living, though it's rarely I've seen it. From the dead I would take a penny, to ferry them across the Styx. Very well. Enter.
Narrator: Orpheus enters the water and boards Charon's Vessel.
====================================
Charon: Is that yours? The lyre?
Orpheus: Yes.
Charon: Will you play it for me? It has been long since I heard music...
Orpheus: As you will.
Narrator: Sitting in the stern of the boat, Orpheus plays. The cave is dark. But the water glows with phosphorescence in the boats wake. It is reflected in the tears which run down the old man's face.
Orpheus: Ferryman? Is something wrong? Have I offended you?
Charon: Don't stop.
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Narrator: The journey complete, they approach the far shore.
Orpheus: How will I cross the river when I return?
Charon: If you return, then you will leave by another path.
Orpheus: Oh, well thank you.
Charon: Mortal man?
Orpheus: Yes?
Charon: Beware of the dog.
Orpheus: Dog... yes.
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Narrator: Orpheus struggles through pitchy mire and sluggish pools. The hem of his robe is heavy with mud. There seems to be no living thing in this place. But then ... he hears it. The shadow on the wall is huge. More wolf than dog with three huge heads. Orpheus thinks quickly. The great dog beguiled lies down and sleeps. Orpheus walks past as quietly as he can, as quickly as he dares.
Orpheus enters an underground cavern that stretches out for leagues ahead of him. In the distance, he can make out two tall, dark rectangles. In the space between stand hundreds of silent white naked people, up to their knees in mud, lonely, thin and bloodless, stretching away towards the huge structures. Orpheus walks through this quiet multitude of the dead. They stare at him without interest, unmoving.
At last, he stops, a tiny figure and the foot of the two tall structures. Now he sees that they are thrones, upon one sits Hades, upon the other, Persephone. They tower over him, wearing dark robes. Their skin textured as if made of granite. Hades is brooding and bearded. Persephone is a tall thin woman, her face pale, her features regular, but with something dark and twisted in her eyes and at the corner of one side of her mouth. They looked down at Orpheus with as much interest and compassion as one might stare at an insect.
Orpheus: King Hades, Queen Persephone. I greet you.
Hades: Well, well, well. Orpheus. The balladeer. Have you a song for us, then, little mortal man?
Orpheus: Yes. Yes, I do.
Narrator: Now Orpheus raises the lyre to his breast and prepares to sing. He brushes the strings with his fingers. His eyes closed, singing with his heart.
Orpheus: I sing of only two things: love and time.
Narrator: The dead begin to move towards him, lifting up their heads.
Orpheus: I journeyed to this world below, to which all born as mortals must descend in time.
Narrator: Orpheus stands between the thrones in the cold below the Earth.
Orpheus: I came to plead with you, great King, great Queen.
Narrator: Hades and Persephone look down with a strange ambivalence.
Orpheus: I sing an honest song, and I will tell the truth, unvarnished, and in my own way.
Narrator: The ghosts are crying.
Orpheus: I came because my wife was killed before her days in lands above were due to end.
Eurydice disturbed a serpent and it poured its poison deep into her precious veins.
Narrator: The weeping ghosts of the dead are pushing in around him.
Orpheus: I was not strong enough to bear my grief. Love was too strong for me, and dragged me down. The power of love is strong in lands above. And love is known here too, if all the tales of passion, aye, and rape so long ago have any truth or honesty to them. They say you two were bound as one by love. I beg you, by these silent realms, to weave again the destiny, of one who died too soon.
Narrator:Ixion's Wheel stands still with wonder
Orpheus: For we the living will be yours one day
Narrator: The vultures cease to gnaw Tityus's liver.
Orpheus: And all we hope and feel and touch and dream, all we hold dear, will wither and be gone.
Narrator: Tantalus makes no effort to satisfy his hunger or thirst.
Orpheus: For at the end, with pennies on our eyes, we die, and rot.
Narrator: Up on a high crag, the furies weep and hate.
Orpheus: And then, as hollow ghosts, we'll dwell below: our last, our final home. Oh King, oh Queen. My wife, like all the rest, will soon be yours. I ask you for a gift, a tiny boon. I ask you for her life, and only for a short span on this earth. But if you cannot grant that, then I wish not to return to lands that see the sun. And you may have my life as well as hers
Narrator: Orpheus lowers his lyre. Hades and Persephone look down at him thoughtfully. He is alone now. The ghosts are gone.
Persephone: Thou hast made the Furies weep, Orpheus.
Orpheus: My lady? My lord?
Hades: A nice offer, but pointless. Thou dost not belong here, mortal.
Orpheus: Give me my bride and I will leave this place.
Persephone: Thou hast made the Furies cry, Orpheus. They will never forgive thee for that.
Hades: Thou art disrupting my perfectly ordered world, Orpheus. So be it. But there are conditions. There are rules. There are always rules. None leave the Underworld by the way they came to it.
Orpheus: So I have learned.
Hades: There is a path that leads upwards. Follow that path and do not deviate from it.
Orpheus: Thank you, lord.
Hades: Now leave. Go thou back to the world above, and Eurydice shall follow thee as thy shadow. But halt not, speak not, turn not to look behind thee, till ye both have left our kingdom and gained the upper air of your native Thrace. And then, and only then, shall she be thine. Do not look back.
Orpheus: But... but Thrace is many hundreds of leagues away...
Persephone: No. All lands lie above the Underworld. Now, go, little man.
Orpheus: I ... thank you, Lord Hades, Lady Persephone.
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Narrator: And so left that place and the dark laughter of Hades and Persephone followed him for many leagues. After some hours, the last echoes of the laughter die away, and Orpheus walks in silence. He can hear his heart beating. He can hear his sandaled feet padding on the dirt. He crosses the silent River Styx, walking across a bridge of stone. He hears the blood in his ears rushing like a dark torrent. Behind him, he hears nothing.In obedience to Hades' command, he keeps his eyes fixed on the gloom ahead of him. He remembers Hades' laugh as he walks in the silence.
As the hours pass, the conviction grew that he was alone. That there is no one behind him. And in the end, daylight—cold, distant daylight lies ahead of him just steps away.
Orpheus: Yes. But ...
Narrator: Alone. He knows he is alone. He has been the butt of Hades' joke. And he-- And he... He looks back.
Orpheus: Oh?
Eurydice: Orpheus? My love?
Narrator: Eurydice is behind. Following him, reaching out her arms.
Orpheus: Eurydice?
Eurydice: I ...
Narrator: And as he looks, the flesh and blood living reality of her, her arms falling to her sides. Her head lowered. She fades away, a ghost once more.
Orpheus: No. No!
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Narration: It is summer now. A hare hops through the wilderness, its ears pricked up. It hears the music. It is drawn to the sound. A wolf passes by on one side. A stag on the other. Also beguiled. The hare. The wolf and the deer move to join a ring of other animals around Orpheus who sit on a tree stump under a cherry tree. Around him, completely relaxed are rabbits, boars, a cheetah, a bear, even a unicorn. Birds are perched in the trees, listening.
Orpheus's hair is wild with a grey streak at each temple. His clothes are ripped and ragged. He is thin, his eyes staring fixedly ahead. In one ear, he wears a simple loop of gold.
There is a shape in the air nearby. A form which wasn't there before. It resolves into his mother, Calliope, who stands next to him.
Calliope: Orpheus? Orpheus.
Orpheus: You scared them. You scared my friends.
Calliope: Orpheus? It's me.
Orpheus: I know it's you, Mother. You scared my friends.
Calliope: I--I'm sorry.
Narration: Orpheus is not meeting his mother's concerned gaze.
Calliope: How are you?
Orpheus: Fine. And you?
Calliope: Fine. Well, no. No, I'm not fine. Your father and I... Have you seen him, recently?
Orpheus: I have not seen him.
Calliope: Oh. He and I... Well... It's been difficult. We had an argument. After you... After you went to the Underworld. He told me of the talk that you two had before he left. He should have talked to the gods of the Underworld for you. They respect him. They... Sometimes I think they even fear him. But no. I walked out on him. I have told him I will see him no longer. I...think I have hurt his pride.
Orpheus: So neither of us is speaking to him. He is not one to forget a slight. Nor to forgive. Do you still love him?
Calliope: I do not know. I do not think so.
Orpheus: Is that my fault?
Calliope: It's been coming for a long time. He cannot share anything; any part of himself. I thought I could change him. But he does not change. He will not. Perhaps he cannot.
Orpheus: I do not wish to talk of him. Or to talk to you, my mother.
Calliope: You should leave the wilderness, Orpheus. It would do you good to be among people.
Orpheus: People hurt you. People leave. I stay here. Mother? When I returned from the other place, do you know what I did?
Calliope: No.
Orpheus: I tried to kill myself.
Calliope: Oh...
Orpheus: I should have listened to Teleute. She told me. Only two kinds of people go to hell. Those who are dead already... And those like me.
Calliope: Orpheus--I came for a reason.
Orpheus: So?
Calliope: I came to warn you: the Bacchanti are coming. You must leave this place. Go somewhere else.
Orpheus: I do not care about the Bacchanti.
Calliope: They are dangerous, my son. Maenads. The Sisters of the Frenzy. And they are coming here.
Orpheus: I do not care about the Bacchanti.
Calliope: Hum ... Goodbye, Orpheus.
Narrator: Calliope kisses Orpheus and he is standing on his own. She has gone.
Orpheus: Goodbye, Mother.
Narrator: The light grows colder. The sky, a dark grey. There is movement in the undergrowth beyond the Glade. The Maenads run towards him. Dozens of them. Women of all ages from teenage years to past middle age. Some are naked. Some wear panther skins or leopard skins loosely draped. Several hold a heavy stick, the thyrsus, covered with ivy. Some carry carved wooden fallacies. All have ivy wreathed into their hair. One has a lion cub giving suck at her breast like a baby. Orpheus realises his predicament. The women are possessed by the god. Priestesses of Dionysus, lost in a perpetual ecstasy. A Dionysiac frenzy. Their skins are stained with berry juices. Some of them have dried blood on their chins. Others on their thighs. These are the Bacchanti. Some of them eat as they run, messily from bunches of grapes. Others drink from wineskins. They are all drunk on wine and on the presence of their god. To follow Dionysus is four parts worship, six parts possession. In the lead is the Priestess of Bacchus.
Bacchae: Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o!Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o! Euan! Euan! Eu-o-oi-oi!
The Priestess of Dionysus:
We are the Bacchae, join us in our worship.
Bacchae #1: Drink wine with us.
Bacchae #2: Make love with us.
Bacchae #3: Eat raw flesh with us.
Bacchae #4: Rejoice with us.
Orpheus: I...women...ladies...I am sorry. I will not--cannot--take part in your rituals. I will not make love with you. There is only one woman I have loved. To whom I could have given my love, and she is gone. Leave in peace. Please.
The Priestess of Dionysus: We are the beloved of Dionysus, simple man. You do not give. We take.
Orpheus: No...
The Priestess of Dionysus: Take him!
Orpheus: No!
The Bacchante: Euan! Euan! Eu-oi-oi-o!
Narrator: Clubbed by the priestess,Orpheus has fallen to his knees. The women strike him with their heavy wooden sticks, ripping off his robe. One sinks her teeth into his arm. Then they are all over him and he disappears under the frenzied mob. They tear him apart. One of them, grinning, laughing hysterically holds his genitals above her head. A hand with sharp fingernails and superhuman strength in the mania of the God pushes its way into Orpheus's chest. Blood fountains out. Another frenzied Maenad, her hands bloody to the elbow, eats Orpheus's heart, raw and pulsing and slippery in her hands. She sinks her teeth into it, a messy wreck of blood. Another chews through his neck, her teeth busy severing arteries and flesh. A Bacchante smashes Orpheus's lyre against the tree, splintering it. Another woman, draped in his intestines, pleasures herself with his severed hand. The Priestess holds up Orpheus's head. She kisses his mouth passionately. Orpheus's eyes are open. A young girl, her head thrown back, drinks the blood that's dripping from the ragged neck. It runs down her face and chin. The Priestess throws the head into the air. Its trails blood in a curving arc behind it and lands on the grass. It rolls down the hill to the riverbank, and it falls into the water.
Orpheus's head floats down the Hebrus River towards the sea. The mouth is open. The last expression on his face was of abject fear. But now the eyes open and he calls out.
Orpheus: Eurydice! Eurydice!
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Narrator: The head of Orpheus is washed up onto a beach. The eyes are closed. Waves gently lap at the torn and severed neck. A snake winds across the sand, edging over to Orpheus. Its mouth is open. Its fangs ready to bite. A black leather boot descends on the snake. It rides pinioned. Then the boot is lifted and the snake bolts for cover. Orpheus opens his eyes and looks up at the owner of the boot.
Orpheus: Father?
Narrator: Morpheus stands on the beach, looking down at the head.
Morpheus: Hello, Orpheus. You were unwise to seek favours of Death.
Narrator: Morpheus picks up Orpheus's head, holding it to the torn neck tenderly.
Morpheus: But you have made your own errors. It was your own life.
Narrator: Morpheus carries his son's head towards an outcrop of rock.
Morpheus: I have come to say goodbye. It seemed the proper thing to do.
Narrator: Morpheus puts the head down on a flat ledge. Orpheus looks up at his father helplessly.
Morpheus: I have visited certain priests on this island, in their dreams. They will find you, soon, and care for you. I will not see you again.
Orpheus: But father...
Morpheus: "Father" Did you not say you were no longer my son?
Orpheus: Please. Father. Help me. Help me to die.
Morpheus: Your life is your own, Orpheus. Your death, likewise always, and forever your own. Farewell. We shall not meet again.
Orpheus: Father! Father! Come back! Please... Father...
Narrator: Orpheus watches as his father walks away; unable to turn his head, even if he wanted to. The Lord of Dreams walks away slowly, pace by pace, through the sand and the foam. Orpheus watches through tear-stung eyes until he is out of sight. His father never even tries to look back.
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