Just over here weeping with the Fates for Orpheus
- Lauren Winder
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read
When was the last time a piece of art truly moved you?
For me, it was last night watching Season 2 of Sandman, an incredible story wrought by none other than one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, whose skill at blending soul-stout myth that lives within our collective consciousness with fresh, modern interpretations sets the imagination and heart ablaze.
But before we delve into Gaiman's brilliant take, let's journey back to Orpheus' ancient roots. BTW, this whole post has spoilers if you've not yet seen Sandman or know of the Orpheus myth.
Orpheus is the archetypal bard.
Orpheus, the legendary Thracian poet and musician, was often cited as the son of the Muse Calliope (the muse of epic poetry) and either the god Apollo (the god of music, poetry, and light) or King Oeagrus. His defining characteristic was his unparalleled musical talent. He played the lyre with such divine skill that he could charm not just wild beasts and birds, but also trees, rocks, and rivers, bending them to his will. Even the most hardened hearts and fiercest deities were said to melt at his melodies. His music was literally considered a force of nature.
His most famous tale, and the one Gaiman so beautifully reinterprets, revolves around his beloved wife, Eurydice. Their happiness was tragically cut short when she died from a venomous snakebite (in some versions, while fleeing the unwanted advances of Aristaeus, a shepherd).
Grief-stricken beyond measure, Orpheus undertook a journey no mortal had ever successfully completed: he descended into the Underworld itself.
The bard's desperate journey to the Underworld.
His music paved his way. He charmed Charon, the ferryman of the dead, to cross the Styx without paying. His melodies lulled the three-headed dog Cerberus to sleep. Even the Furies (Erinyes), goddesses of vengeance whose very presence drove men mad, were said to weep at his sorrowful song.
Finally, he stood before Hades and Persephone, rulers of the Underworld, and pleaded for Eurydice's return. Moved by his grief and his soul-wrending music, they agreed, but with one crucial condition: he must not look back at her until they had both fully emerged into the light of the upper world.
As they neared the exit, doubt or an overwhelming desire to confirm her presence, or perhaps simply the sheer impatience of love, caused Orpheus to glance back. Just as he did, Eurydice, still a shade, was pulled back into the darkness forever, fading from his sight a second, agonizing, final time. Forever.
This moment of tragic failure has been interpreted countless ways: a testament to human fallibility, the unyielding laws of death, or the inherent doubt in a desperate heart.
Orpheus's lasting legacy.
After this second loss, Orpheus lived in inconsolable grief, shunning the company of women and often wandering in the wild, his music now a lament. His end was equally tragic; he was torn apart by the Maenads (Bacchantes), frenzied female followers of Dionysus, enraged either because he spurned their advances, preached a different religion (often associated with Apollo), or because his mournful music displeased them.
Even after his death, his head, floating down the Hebrus River, continued to sing, and his lyre was placed among the stars as a constellation.
Beyond the myth, Orpheus inspired a significant religious movement known as Orphism, which flourished in ancient Greece. Orphics believed in the transmigration of the soul, the divinity of the human spirit, and the need for purification through asceticism and ritual to escape the "cycle of rebirth," offering a more optimistic view of the afterlife than traditional Greek religion.
The myth of Orpheus has resonated across millennia, profoundly influencing Western literature, art, music, and philosophy. From ancient Greek tragedians to Roman poets like Ovid and Virgil, through the Renaissance operas of Monteverdi and Gluck, and countless modern retellings, Orpheus embodies the power of art, the depth of grief, and the eternal human quest to conquer death for love.
Neil Gaiman's Sandman beautifully taps into this ancient lineage, weaving the core tragedy and the stunning power of Orpheus's song into the very fabric of his fantastical universe. By making Orpheus the son of Dream, Gaiman adds another layer of poignant irony, as the lord of stories witnesses his own kin's most heartbreaking tale.
In the Netflix adaptation, there's a moment that made me weep for its beauty:
It's the part of the tale where Orpheus, stricken by grief from the tragic death of his new wife, accepts immortality from Death herself to travel into the underworld and beg for his beloved from Hades and Persephone. They ask him to sing a song. This is what comes from his soul, in Greek, which so moves the Furies, they weep:
I sing you a song of love
About my fair Eurydice
Who last night in the world above
Took my hand and married me
Eternal love we both professed
We danced until she fell upon
A serpent lying in its nest
And all at once my love was gone
I know our mortal lives are brief
And that I should be grateful
To the gods, in spite of all my grief
But love has brought me here to you
To ask what no sane man would dare
And beg you to her soul restore
So she may leave and we may share
A lifetime or an hour more
Here's the clip:
And some blessed soul posted this extended mix on YouTube, if you're as taken with this as I am:
This is the kind of beauty that makes me feel most alive. Enriched with the ancient stories woven into belief and understanding about the human condition, the music cries out to stir the very souls of the once-living. I need tissues.