Orpheus was born with music in his soul. His father was Apollo, the god of music and light, and his mother was Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry. From a young age, Orpheus was given a golden lyre. When he played, trees pulled up their roots to dance, and rivers changed their course to listen. He was the greatest musician in all Greek mythology stories.
Orpheus spent his days wandering the forests of Thrace. It was there he saw Eurydice, a wood nymph of singular beauty. Unlike the fleeting attractions of other gods, Orpheus didn't just desire her; he composed symphonies for her. Eurydice fell in love not with his fame, but with his gentle heart.
Their wedding day was meant to be a celebration of light. However, Hymenaios, the god of marriage ceremonies, arrived with a torch that refused to burn brightly. It sputtered and smoked, filling the eyes of the guests with tears. It was a dark omen in ancient myths, predicting that this happiness would not last.
After the ceremony, Eurydice went walking in the tall grass with her nymph companions. She was spotted by Aristaeus, a minor god of beekeeping and shepherds. Aristaeus was struck by her beauty and, ignoring her marriage, tried to force his attentions on her.
Terrified, Eurydice ran. She didn't look where she was stepping; she only wanted to escape Aristaeus. She ran through the meadow, her heart pounding. This specific detail—that she died fleeing from another—adds a layer of tragedy often missed in shorter mythology stories.
Hidden in the thick grass lay a venomous viper, disturbed by her running feet. The snake struck, sinking its fangs into Eurydice’s ankle. She cried out once, fell to the ground, and the poison stopped her heart before Orpheus could even reach her side.
When Orpheus found her body, he did not speak. He picked up his lyre. The song he played was so heartbreaking that the pale nymphs wept in their fountains. The wind stopped blowing. For the first time in history, the world fell completely silent to mourn the death of the musician's wife.
Orpheus realized that grief would not bring her back. "I will do what no mortal has done," he whispered. "I will walk to the Kingdom of the Dead and ask for her back." He traveled to the cavern of Taenarum, the dark mouth of the Underworld.
He reached the banks of the River Styx, where the ferryman Charon waited. Charon usually demanded a coin and only took the dead. Orpheus had no coin, and he was breathing. Instead of payment, Orpheus played a melody. Charon, mesmerized, allowed the living man to step onto his boat.
At the gates of hell stood Cerberus, the monstrous three-headed dog. The beast snarled, ready to tear the intruder apart. Orpheus changed his tune to a lullaby. The savage heads of the dog lowered, their eyes closed, and the beast fell into a deep sleep, letting the musician pass.
As Orpheus walked through the asphodel fields, the shades of the dead drifted toward him. They were drawn to the warmth of his music. For a brief moment, they remembered what it felt like to be alive. He was bringing life into the land of death.
The power of Orpheus’s music was so great that it stopped the eternal punishments of Tartarus. Sisyphus sat on his rock to listen. Tantalus forgot his thirst. The Furies, the goddesses of vengeance who had never cried, shed their first tears. This scene highlights why Orpheus is unique in Greek mythology.
Finally, Orpheus stood before the diamond throne of Hades and his Queen, Persephone. The King of the Dead looked down with cold, black eyes. "Why are you here, mortal?" Hades demanded. "Why do you disturb the silence of my realm?"
Orpheus did not fight. He sang. He sang of the short time Eurydice had lived, of the unfairness of the snake, and of the love that burns brighter than death. He reminded Hades of his own love for Persephone, referencing the story of the seasons.
The song ended. The Underworld was silent. Persephone was weeping openly. Even Hades, whose heart was made of stone, felt a crack in his armor. He could not refuse such a pure request. He called for the soul of Eurydice to be brought forward.
Eurydice appeared, limping slightly from the snake bite. She looked pale but beautiful. "You may take her," Hades proclaimed. "But there is one rule. You must walk in front. She will follow. You must not look back at her until you both stand in the light of the sun. If you look back, she returns to me forever."
Orpheus thanked the gods and turned. He walked up the steep, dark path. He strained his ears. He could not hear Eurydice’s footsteps because she was a ghost. Doubt began to whisper in his ear. Is she really there? Did Hades trick me? Am I walking alone?
The journey was long. The air grew thinner. Orpheus wanted to speak to her, to hold her hand, to make sure she was safe. But he held his gaze forward. He was fighting his own human nature—the desire to verify what we love.
Suddenly, Orpheus saw the beam of sunlight ahead. He stepped out of the cavern, bathed in the warmth of the upper world. Overcome with relief and joy, he turned around to say, "Look, Eurydice, we made it!" But he turned too soon. Eurydice was still a few steps behind, still in the shadow of the cave.
Orpheus saw her for a split second. Her arms reached out. "Farewell," she whispered, a sound like a sigh. She was pulled backward, dissolving into mist. Orpheus tried to grab her, but his hands grasped only empty air. She died a second time, not by a snake, but by his love. Broken, Orpheus eventually died of grief, but legend says his spirit finally found her in the Elysian Fields, where they walk together today.
