TRICKLE DOWN, OLYMPUS

New Publication

2009-03-24T08:28:00.000-07:00

Over a year ago I self-published Trickle Down, Olympus, which included twenty-five of my Reader's Theater plays. Since that time, I have also submitted some of my newer plays to possible publishers. One company, Prufrock Press, agreed to publish my material. The new book is called Mythology for Teens, a part of Prufrock's "For Teens" series. It includes six plays accompanied by six chapters that discuss many topics ranging from Heroes and the Battle of the Sexes to War and National Identity. It also features numerous illustrations (also created by me). If you are interested in purchasing this book or even reading a few sample pages, click here.

The Judgment of Paris (Sample Play)

2008-03-02T17:02:00.000-08:00

The Judgment of Paris

CAST

Eris Mischievous Goddess of Discord

Paris Exiled Prince of Troy

Aphrodite Goddess of Love

Hera Queen of the Gods

Athena Goddess of Wisdom

Zeus Ruler of the Gods

Helen Most Beautiful Woman in the World

Narrator: On the great mountain of Olympus, nothing was a more exciting event than a wedding. And this day a great crowd had gathered from around the world (and beneath it) for the union between Thetis, a sea nymph, and Peleus, a mortal.

Thetis had been the desire of many a god, but none had ever taken her as their bride, for a terrible prophecy haunted the one whom she married: a child of hers was destined to be greater than his father.

Zeus had greatly desired this nymph, but did not wish a son to be born greater than he. It was the same with Poseidon, Ares, Apollo, and the rest. So it was decided that she should marry a mortal and be done with it.

Zeus: Greetings, guests—gods, goddesses, nymphs, dryads, naiads, centaurs, and the like. We are gathered here today to witness a grand ceremony. The son of these two will be legendary. I have foreseen it. So, let us drink to the happy couple.

(cheers from the crowd)

Narrator: While this was a happy occasion, not everyone in attendance was pleased to be there. Eris, the goddess of Discord, was up to no good. She loved nothing more than to cause trouble.

Eris: (evilly) Fools. Happy for nothing. Let’s see them sort this one out.

Narrator: As the guests laughed and capered, Eris pulled forth from her pocket a golden apple. Engraved upon it were the words:

Eris: For the Fairest (laughs) This should get them going.

Narrator: Careful not to draw attention to herself, she placed the apple among the gifts for the newly-wedded couple.

It did not take long for Aphrodite to notice it there.

Aphrodite: (cooing) What a marvelous apple! And look, it’s engraved: (reading) To the Fairest. Someone has obviously placed this gift here for me.

Athena: And how can you be so sure?

Aphrodite: (snidely) Well, it’s obviously not here for you.

Athena: (angrily) And why wouldn’t it be?

Aphrodite: (giggling) Beauty is not commonly associated with manliness.

Athena: I ought to box your ears.

Hera: Ladies, ladies, I have a simple solution to this problem: I am the Queen of Heaven, so, therefore, the apple would naturally be for me.

Aphrodite: Oh, please. This is foolishness. The apple is mine.

Hera: Kindly unhand that apple. You’re tarnishing it.

Athena: There’s no telling where you’ve been.

Hera: Under the nearest man surely.

Aphrodite: The fact that you despise me for my own advantages with men should be proof enough that I am the fairest. Do not blame me, Hera, that your husband finds you undesirable. And, Athena, what man would want to spend time with you unless he felt love for one of his own gender?

Athena: Why you—

Hera: Tramp!

Aphrodite: Cow!

Athena: Tart!

(sounds of female squabbling)

Narrator: Now, since this was going to be no easy discussion and the guests started to feel a bit awkward, the wedding disbanded. The wedded couple left, their day ruined. Eris laughed to herself. Her plan had worked perfectly.

Time to the gods is but the blink of an eye, and as the goddesses argued, much time passed.

Thetis and Peleus conceived a son. He truly was to be greater than his father—the greatest warrior Greece had ever seen. To insure his safety, Thetis took him—as a boy—into the dark Underworld to where the Styx twists like a dark snake.

There, holding him by the heel, she dipped him into the waters. This river had magical powers. It would bestow upon the boy invulnerability. No sword or spear would ever pierce his blessed skin. But foolish Thetis forgot to dip the heel by which she held him, and through this, her son, Achilles was doomed.

Back on Olympus, impervious to the constraints of time, the argument was still raging. Finally, Zeus had had enough.

Zeus: (angrily) Ladies! This bickering must stop! The apple belongs to no one! My head will split open if you do not stop.

Athena: Oh, Father, I have been insulted. What is a headache to my pride?

Zeus: Silence! I would not take my headaches so lightly if I were you. It was from one of their kind that you were born. And my wife, you are the Queen of Heaven—start acting like it!

Hera: And you are a husband. Perhaps you should start acting like one of those!

Zeus: Don’t make me angry. You shall regret it. And sister—born of the sea foam—this argument does not flatter you. Where is the love in this?

Aphrodite: (coyly) Brother, don’t speak of things you know nothing about.

Zeus: (yelling) I have had enough! This fighting must cease!

Hera: Then, husband, you must choose between us. You must decide who is the fairest: the wife, the sister, or the daughter?

Athena: I agree.

Aphrodite: You are a good judge of beauty, brother.

Hera: (hatefully) A little too good at times…

Zeus: I will do no such thing. How could I choose between you? You have said it. You are my wife, my sister, and my daughter. Such a choice would anger two and please only one. I cannot win.

Athena: Then find us a judge or we shall come to blows, and all the earth shall feel our conflict.

Zeus: (sighing) I will do what you ask.

Hera: Good—now be off!

Zeus: Hmph. Women.

Narrator: Zeus looked down upon the Earth. Where would he find a suitable judge? This contest must be fair. Three of the mightiest goddesses were involved. Only the most adept connoisseur would appease them.

There was a kingdom that was dear to Zeus’ heart—the great kingdom of Troy. Wise king Priam lived there, and he had amassed great wealth through wise ruling, but he was old, and his heart no longer pulsed with life as young ones did.

He had fifty children—among them many strapping sons. Foremost of all was the great Hector. But, to Zeus, he seemed too serious—and married. What do married men know of love?

Zeus: Here we are.

Narrator: Zeus’ eye peered into the Trojan countryside. One son of Priam lived apart. As a baby, this boy had been prophesied to bring about the destruction of Troy. Since he was a good man, Priam did not have the heart to put the boy to death—and sent him into exile instead.

Here his young son, Paris, lived as a shepherd. He was a great lover—a fond playmate of the river nymphs who lived nearby.

Zeus: He will be my judge. (clearing his throat) Ladies!

Hera: Have you found us a judge, husband?

Zeus: I have chosen Paris, Prince of Troy.

Athena: Does he know his women?

Zeus: He is a great lover. He has loved many of the local river nymphs.

Hera: A man after your own heart.

Aphrodite: Let us go to him at once.

Zeus: Take care. I love this land of Troy. Do nothing to harm it—do not poison it with your jealousy.

Narrator: The three goddesses disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

In Troy, Paris sat on a rock, humming softly to his sheep. There was a loud clap of thunder (clap of thunder), and the three goddesses stood before him.

Athena: Mortal prince, do not fear. We are goddesses from Olympus, come with a task for your noble mind.

Narrator: Terror-stricken, Paris fell to his face.

Paris: I will do whatever you wish.

Hera: We have been having a bit of a disagreement, young Trojan. We wish you to settle it.

Paris: What do I know?

Aphrodite: Beauty, silly.

Athena: Judge between us. We will each present ourselves in our best light, and you, Paris, will decide once and for all who is the fairest between us.

Paris: I will try.

Narrator: Paris was frightened but sat himself back on the rock and waited for his next order.

Hera: I am Queen of Heaven. I shall go first.

Narrator: There was a flash, and Hera reappeared—furs dripping from her naked shoulders. Her skin was milky white and her eyes piercing. She was stunning. She drew forward to Paris and leaned in. She smelled of fine wine.

Hera: (quietly) Young prince, choose me in this contest, and I will make it worth your while. I will make you a lord of Europe and Asia—power beyond your wildest dreams. I know power, and I know how to get it. Choose me if you are wise.

Aphrodite: What are you saying up there?

Athena: You have had time enough.

Hera: I am finished.

Narrator: She backed away from Paris—her eyes never leaving his.

Athena: Now, it is my turn.

Narrator: There was a fluttering sound in the air. Athena appeared, as she never had before. Her helmet was gone. Her hair was piled into great amber mounds on top of her head—a shining robe clothed her lithe body—her virgin beauty shone forth. Paris was speechless.

She, too, advanced toward him and leaned in. She smelled of a grassy meadow—fresh and breathtaking.

Athena: Trojan prince, choose me in this contest. I will offer you victory—victory over the Greeks. They have envied your treasures. What can prevent them from taking them? Think of your family. I am the Goddess of War. It is in my power. Glory comes to the victorious warrior.

Hera: What lies are you telling the boy?

Aphrodite: Your time is up. It is my turn now.

Athena: I am finished.

Narrator: She retreated, her lips parted in a celestial smile.

The fragrance of nectar drew Paris’ gaze. Aphrodite was advancing. Flowers were dancing through her hair. She wore a gossamer gown that shifted and flowed as if it were weightless. Her face was the most glorious thing Paris had ever seen. Truly, she was the Goddess of Love.

She advanced and leaned in, her cherry lips whispering in his ear.

Aphrodite: Don’t be fooled by the others. They are dried up and foolish. I can see what you truly want. What else would any young, handsome boy such as yourself want? Love. It’s what I do. Gorgeous Prince, if you chose me, I shall give you the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world. I swear it by the Styx.

Narrator: Paris’ heart stopped. His desire did not rest with glory or power—but with love.

Aphrodite felt this, and she smiled smartly as she backed away.

Athena: I hope you did not promise something that you cannot deliver.

Aphrodite: On the contrary.

Narrator: Excited—forgetting that he was in the presence of immortality—Paris jumped up—

Paris: I have made my decision.

Hera: Remember, boy, we are powerful—to offend us would have great consequences.

Narrator: But it did not matter to the Trojan Prince. He had found the desire of his heart.

Paris: I choose Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.

Athena: (angry) Fool! I knew you were worthless! I will remember this when you call upon my name! May your kingdom crumble!

Narrator: With that, Athena disappeared in a huff.

Hera: I curse your marriage, Trojan whelp. Whatever future you have, I will do all in my power to make it a sad one.

Narrator: Hera, too, was gone in the blink of an eye.

Only Aphrodite was left, holding a golden apple—a smile of triumph on her face.

Aphrodite: You have made a wise choice, Paris of Troy, and I will bestow my reward on you. Prepare yourself. I will return momentarily to take you to your prize.

Paris: Thank you! Thank you!

Narrator: As swiftly as she could, Aphrodite flew back to Mt. Olympus to announce her victory to Zeus. But he had already heard.

Zeus: Aphrodite, I hear from my infuriated wife and daughter that you have won the competition.

Aphrodite: (beaming) I have!

Zeus: Hopefully, you did not promise the boy something out of your means.

Aphrodite: No, no. It was a stroke of brilliance really. What else would a great lover want than the most beautiful woman in the world?

Zeus: (pausing) Oh, foolish Aphrodite. Tell me you did not.

Aphrodite: Why? What harm is there in that?

Zeus: Do you know who this girl is?

Aphrodite: Not offhand…

Zeus: She is my daughter, Helen—Helen of Sparta.

Aphrodite: So?

Zeus: (annoyed) Aphrodite, she is already married.

Aphrodite: I don’t see the big problem with this. Affairs happen all the time. You should know that. Don’t be so uptight.

Zeus: Her husband is King of Sparta. He does not take sharing his wife lightly.

Aphrodite: (flippantly) The affairs of mortals do not trouble me. What do I care? I must keep my promise.

Zeus: I will not let you keep this promise. It will start a war.

Aphrodite: (confused) I have sworn by the Styx…

Zeus: Fool! (sigh) Go; carry out your brainless errand. I fear I have doomed this boy and his kingdom with this burden.

Aphrodite: Remember, Brother, Love conquers all.

Zeus: No, it doesn’t.

Narrator: Aphrodite reappeared in the Trojan countryside. Paris jumped up from the perch where he had been anxiously waiting.

Paris: I thought maybe you weren’t coming back.

Aphrodite: Don’t be silly. Now, come to me. Hold on.

Narrator: A great cloud started to envelope the world around them—the sun was blotted out—and Paris got the sensation he was flying.

Aphrodite: Have you ever heard of Helen of Sparta? She’s Zeus’ daughter. (whispering) He took her mother in the shape of a swan.

Paris: If she is half as beautiful as you, I shall be pleased.

Narrator: The world materialized about them. They were in the foyer of a great hall. A humongous feast was going on through the half-opened doors.

Aphrodite: She is upstairs—asleep. Her husband, Menelaus—

Paris: She’s married?

Aphrodite: Don’t worry. She’s terribly unhappy. As I was saying, her husband, Menelaus, is an ugly, hulking man—very undesirable. You will have no trouble wooing her—handsome as you are!

Paris: But…

Aphrodite: I have fulfilled my promise. Thanks for choosing me.

Narrator: The cloud reappeared, and she was gone. Paris’ pounding heart soon overcame his reservations, and he bolted up the stairs to Helen’s room.

He found the beautiful girl asleep on her bed—golden hair, rubious lips. She was everything promised. Paris was overcome with passion. He leaned over and whispered into her ear.

Paris: Helen, awake. Your love is here.

Helen: (waking up) What? Oh! Who are you?

Paris: I am Paris, Prince of Troy. There is no time to explain. You must come with me.

Helen: Where?

Narrator: Helen had no idea where this handsome young lad had come from, but she was strangely excited.

Paris: To Troy—you are to become my princess!

Helen: But Menelaus—my husband—

Paris: Come away with me. Forget him.

Narrator: The urgency in his voice repelled and drew her in at the same time. Could she just leave her oaf of a husband? What would the repercussions be? He did not love her. Would he really miss her?

Paris: Quickly—quickly—or we will be discovered.

Helen: All right, handsome prince. I will come with you—if you truly love me.

Paris: How could I not? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever set eyes on.

Narrator: At that, Helen smiled and allowed Paris to draw her into his arms. He carried her at a run to the balcony overlooking the cold courtyard.

Paris: Aphrodite! We need your help once more! Bear us away to our new home.

Narrator: And far away, the voice of Aphrodite answered.

Aphrodite: I shall, young fair one.

Narrator: Once again, Paris was shrouded in a beautiful cloud—with his newly claimed bride—and borne away to his home country.

High above the gods watched with dissatisfaction—all except Aphrodite.

Athena: Brainless! Do you not know what you have started?

Aphrodite: It will blow over.

Athena: Paris will be reunited with his father, King Priam. He will have no choice but to protect his son.

Aphrodite: I can protect his son.

Hera: Can you? We shall see about that. You and your twittish ways have angered me against these Trojans. I will send all of Greece after your two lovers.

Athena: As will I. It is not right what you have done!

Aphrodite: You two don’t frighten me. Paris is brave and beautiful. He will fight for Helen.

Hera: He will die for her, and I shall laugh as the crows pick his bones.

Aphrodite: Are you so sure? Do not forget that the God of War shares my bed.

Athena: Among many others— but you will be outmatched. All of Olympus will soon be in an uproar.

Hera: This time, Whelp, you have bitten off more than you can chew.

Aphrodite: We’ll just see about that.

Hera: (playfully) What do you think, Athena? Will the Mighty Aphrodite be remembered as the fairest of them all or the destroyer of many?

Athena: The goddess of death, I say.

Hera: Let the battle begin then. I am ready.

Narrator: And so the chain of events was set into motion. The greatest war of man was about to begin. The face that would launch a thousand ships had been taken, the fairest city ever built would soon be under attack, thousands would die—

Athena: And to think, it all began with a simple apple.

Oedipus Rex (Sample Play)

2008-03-02T14:54:00.000-08:00

OEDIPUS REX

(For this play I took some liberties with Sophocles. I condensed some sections and combined a few characters for coherence. Many events that were only alluded to in Sophocles' version are played out in real time here. This should not be used as a play-by-play substitution for the original play but rather my own re-working and interpretation of the mythical events.)

CAST

Oedipus Young Prince

Jocasta Queen of Thebes

Teiresias Blind Prophet of Thebes

Laius /Old Man King of Thebes

Polybus King of Corinth

Servant Servant to Polybus

Shepherd Servant to Laius

Sphinx Supernatural Creature

Guard Watchman of Thebes

Creon Brother of Jocasta

Maidservant Servant of Jocasta

Oracle Oracle of Delphi

Narrator: In the midst of a howling storm, Jocasta, the Queen of Thebes, gave birth on the darkest night of the year. Grouped about her in a sweaty bundle, her maidservants attended her, dabbing her fiery face, and ushered her wailing son into the world. Shaking hands finally held him aloft for the bleary-eyed mother to see.

Maidservant: (frightened) She is weak—she may not even live to see the dawn. This child is cursed to be born on such a night.

Jocasta: (weakly) The King—tell the King—his son is born…

Narrator: The maidservant jerked her head toward the door, and a young midwife left to carry out the Queen’s orders. She gazed sadly at her mistress. Jocasta was nearly a child herself, barely sixteen—the King a man of thirty. It would be a pity if a royal mother died at such a young age.

Flashes of lightning ticked off the seconds until Laius the King came bursting into the stifling room. He had been eagerly awaiting the birth, the birth of his heir. The maidservant displayed his child to him, and he took it into his arms.

Laius: (anxiously) A boy?

Maidservant: Yes, Your Majesty.

Laius: (overjoyed) Praises to Zeus! Oh, my young pretty, you have done your husband well.

Narrator: He put a hand to her streaked face.

Jocasta: (weakly, in a delirium) Yes. Laius. Laius. Don’t go. Don’t go.

Maidservant: (grimly) The Queen is not well. She has lost much blood. She may not survive this night.

Narrator: The King looked to his feeble wife—his joy washing away.

Laius: (softly) You cannot die, my wife. You’ve just brought our happiness into the world. You must live—live to see this blessing of ours grow into a—(startling boom of thunder)

Narrator: Laius stopped in mid-speech. A flash of lightning had silhouetted the dark form standing near the doorway—a new arrival to the birthing chamber.

Jocasta: (frightened) Laius!

Laius: (angrily) Who’s there? How dare you enter our royal quarters! Explain yourself at once!

Narrator: The wiry frame of a man stood forward. In a smooth motion he threw his muddy traveling cloak back from his shoulders. Darkness shrouded him once again.

Laius: (enraged) Speak, spy! What is your purpose here? Speak! Or we will burn the words out of you. What have you seen?

Narrator: Yet another flash from the skies lit the face of the stranger. Overflowing their sockets were two bulging eyes, a milky glaze across pale irises.

Teiresias: (coyly) See? I see nothing in this world, my king. But in the next, I see much.

Narrator: The King and his young wife stared in horror. The child let out a shriek.

(wail of a child)

Teiresias: Silence that child. I am sent from my master with a message for you.

Laius: You will make no orders here. What master would you have higher than me? I am the king, and there can be no higher.

Teiresias: Not so. I serve Lord Apollo, Your Majesty.

Narrator: These words caught Laius by the throat. Olympus had sent his man with the news of Apollo, God of Prophecy, upon his lips.

Laius: (nervously) Forgive me. Your master is surely higher than I. What news do you have for me? Will my wife die from this birth?

Teiresias: Do not forget your place in the world, King. The gods see and direct all. (pause) Your wife will die because of the birth of your son—but not for many years hence.

Jocasta: (terrified) Laius, what does he mean?

Teiresias: (angrily) Were you not warned about this child? Were you not told what an ambomination he would be to your country?

Laius: (hesitantly) Warned? Well, yes. But that was years ago. I am a King—I must have a son! Who will rule after me?

Teiresias: The jackals and the dark creatures of night will rule after you, Laius King. The Oracle spoke then, and the Oracle speaks now. If Laius shall have a son, that son will slay him.

Jocasta: No!

Teiresias: But I have said only half, my lady. If Jocasta shall bear a son from Laius, that son will come to share her bed—in unholy love.

Narrator: The Queen cried out in fright and fell back upon her bed in a swoon.

Laius: (yelling) Silence! Do not speak those words! I forbid it!

Teiresias: I speak as I am commanded. These words have been spoken before, but you chose not to listen. They fly from my lips once again—one final warning against this child.

Laius: (forcefully) Leave immediately, or I will have you gutted—your head stuck on a pole.

Teiresias: I am quite safe from your threats. Lord Apollo keeps me close to his side. You have heard his words. Heed them.

Narrator: A lightning bolt—one much bigger than the others—shook the walls of the chamber. When the flashing subsided, the blind man was gone—vanished without a trace. The serving women rushed to the Queen, while the King looked at the wriggling child in his arms.

Jocasta: (reviving) What can we do? What can we do? Our baby—our baby.

Narrator: Laius rounded angrily upon the servants.

Laius: (determined) Leave us at once! Forget what you have seen and heard here this night, or I shall put out your eyes and cut your ears from your heads.

Narrator: The serving women fled terrified. They had witnessed the cruelty of Laius before. As she darted past, the King caught the final maidservant by the arm and pulled her close.

Laius: (hissing) Fetch me the shepherd. Tell him it is time to prove his loyalty to his king.

Maidservant: (stammering) Yes—yes—my lord.

Narrator: Freed from his grip, the woman dashed into the corridor. Laius turned and lowered his newborn son into his wife’s pleading hands. Frantically, Jocasta searched the face of her husband.

Jocasta: (frantically) Is it true? What can we do?

Laius: (angrily) Quiet, Woman! I’m trying to think!

Jocasta: (whimper)

Narrator: Gritting his teeth, Laius clinched his hair within two fists. He turned, quickly, and ripped a dagger from his belt.

Laius: (sternly) Now do exactly as I command. Hold up the child!

Jocasta: (crying out) Laius! No!

Laius: (loudly) Do as I say!

Narrator: The frightened girl raised her child up into the air. The King moved closer—dagger in hand.

Laius: (ceremoniously) Child born on this hateful night, you are no longer the heir of Thebes. I curse you as the gods have cursed you. You are no son of mine.

Narrator: Spitting upon the infant, he seized its two tiny, kicking feet and pushed the point of the dagger through each. Blood gushed forth, and the child wailed.

(wailing child)

Laius: He will show these scars forever. They will show that he was born a commoner, an illegitimate—no son of the king. The King shall have no son.

Narrator: In the darkness the royal sheep-herder entered, panting and frightened.

Shepherd: (out of breath) You sent for me, Your Majesty?

Narrator: The King turned—the wailing, blood-stained child in his arms.

Laius: Take this boy into the wilderness and leave him on the mountain of Kithairon to die.

Narrator: Horrified, the servant looked up to his master.

Shepherd: (stammering) But—but—Your Majesty. Who is this child?

Laius: You need know nothing more. Do as I say—or you will find your neck stretched by the executioner’s rope.

Narrator: The shepherd took the screaming infant into his arms and backed slowly from the chamber. The Queen began to weep, and the King held his head to hers.

Laius: (whispering) Shhhhhhh. Forget that child. He died in the womb. Stillborn. Forget him. His memory will fade soon enough.

Narrator: And so in the midst of a tempest as the Earth had never seen, the baby was carried into the wilderness by loyal hands. The kind shepherd had known as soon as he had taken the bundle into his arms that he would not be able to leave it to die. And as he pushed through the battering rain into the wilderness, he had been formulating a plan.

The night sky lit up like noon for a moment. The jagged peak of Kithairon towered above.

Shepherd: (to the baby) Tonight, the gods are angered. But you do not fear them, little one. The heavens have crashed, but you haven’t made a sound.

Narrator: The rough man stopped and looked down into the bundle he shielded from the rain.

Shepherd: If you do not fear the gods, why should I fear a king? We’ll find you a home and tell your wicked parents that you have died. It will be our little secret.

Narrator: Soon the storm subsided, and the thin glow of dawn broke the horizon. On one of the many mountain paths, the shepherd happened upon a traveler.

Shepherd: Which way are you headed, Brother?

Servant: I return to Corinth. I serve the King there.

Shepherd: Take this child for me. Thebes is no place for him. Find him a good home. Living with me in the wilderness is no fate for such a child.

Narrator: The traveling servant saw the shepherd’s urgency, and he agreed to take the child.

Shepherd: I cannot thank you enough. (to the child) Goodbye, little one. I wish you all the happiness in the world.

Narrator: The Corinthian servant bore the child back to his homeland. Upon his return, he was greeted with horrific news. A sudden plague had taken the life of the newborn prince. The King of Corinth, the servant’s master, sat brooding and mourning the loss of his son.

Servant: (meekly) Sire, I know your loss is great, but I believe the gods have given you a second chance. A stranger in the wilderness gave me this child, an orphan, and told me to find it a good home. Will you take it as your own and forget your grief?

Narrator: King Polybus marveled at such a coincidence and at once declared the intervention of Olympus. He accepted the baby as his own son and named him prince of the realm.

Polybus: But his feet have been wounded. What trials this child has already suffered. We shall call him Oedipus for his swollen feet. Relax, Little Oedipus, your troubles are over.

Narrator: Years passed.

The child Oedipus experienced the happiest of days that any child could. He was kept completely ignorant of the royal adoption, which had so changed his fate.

The child with the swollen feet soon grew into a young man, and when he reached eighteen years of age, he prepared for the ancient ritual of manhood.

Oedipus: (confidently) Father, I am ready.

Polybus: To do what, my son?

Oedipus: To go to Delphi, of course. To visit the Oracle.

Polybus: It’s a long road. Are you sure you’re up to it? You can always go next year, you know.

Oedipus: I’m ready to hear my fate and become a man.

Polybus: Your mother and I will miss you terribly. I remember my own journey to the Oracle, you know. Be careful, and hurry home.

Oedipus: I will.

Narrator: The journey from Corinth to Delphi proved uneventful. Excitement fueled each and every of Oedipus’ steps. When he at last climbed the crooked mountain that housed the Oracle’s cave, his heart beat in furious anticipation.

Oedipus: (cautiously) Hello? Is anyone in there?

Narrator: Inside the cave turned into a cavern, and Oedipus cautiously made his way into its mouth. The air soon became cool, and hissing mist rose from the cracked floor.

Oracle: (booming voice) Enter, Young Man.

Narrator: A young woman was seated on a tall, metal stool ahead in the darkness.

Oedipus: (nervously) It is I, Oedipus.

Narrator: He winced at his own words.

Oracle: (quiet laugh) Swollen foot. I know your name—and its meaning.

Oedipus: I am the Prince of Corinth. I’ve come to hear my fortune.

Oracle: (slyly) Fortune would be an odd word for a future such as yours.

Oedipus: (scared) What do you mean?

Oracle: (grimly) All ahead is darkness—darkness of mind—darkness of thought.

Oedipus: (nervously) For me? Are you serious? This is Oedipus.

Oracle: (dry laugh) Everyone always expects happiness. Not everyone can be happy. I don’t deal in lies—only Truth. Now listen closely. Once it is said, I will speak no more. (pause) Oedipus, you are destined by high Olympus to commit two horrible sins. You shall murder your father—and marry your mother.

Narrator: The heart of the young man went cold.

Oedipus: (weakly) No. No. There must be some mistake. (pleading) It’s—it’s only a prophecy. It can be changed—right? Oh please tell me it can be.

Narrator: Robed priests appeared from nowhere and seized Oedipus by either arm. As they pulled him toward the cavemouth, he continued to cry out.

Oedipus: (yelling) Tell me it can be changed! Tell me, please!

Narrator: But the Oracle only closed her eyes and bowed her head. She had spoken.

It was hours before the boy moved again. He lay upon the mountain, stunned, listening to the wind rip through the crags. When he did finally rise, he did so completely against his will. Gasping for breath, he turned and vomited among the bushes. He turned his red-rimmed eyes heavenward.

Oedipus: (decidedly) If this truly is my fate, I will undo it.

Narrator: With weary, halting steps, he descended the mountain. At its base, two paths stretched out before him. One lead to a home that he could no longer return to. The other—into the wild, the unknown.

Oedipus: Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Mother. You won’t understand, but at least you will be saved from your wretched son.

Narrator: Oedipus struck out—down the unknown path—fleeing fate with the words of the Oracle burning in his mind.

Slow steps broke into a run, and at last he fought back tears. He ran and ran until his sides ached as if they would split open. Then he lay down in the dirt and remained still. The hot summer sun beat down upon him, and the bright, white light consumed his mind until he knew nothing else.

Old Man: (yelling) Halt! What is going on here? Stop! Stop!

Narrator: Oedipus opened his weary eyes. Through the swirling dust, he saw an old man on a horse snarling down at him. The boy sat up.

Old Man: (angrily) Get out of the road, you miserable peasant!

Narrator: Oedipus rose as the old man glared at him fiercely. Behind him there followed a group of servants.

Old Man: (sarcastically) Sorry to interrupt your nap. It’s hard enough to get our caravan down this road without riff-raff lying across it.

Narrator: Heat rushed to Oedipus’s face.

Oedipus: (dangerously) Watch it, old man. You’re dealing with someone who is cursed—a murderer.

Narrator: The old man roared with laughter.

Old Man: (loud laugh) We are certainly frightened. We should have ridden over you when we had the chance. (forcefully) Now, Trash, move—or we will move you ourselves.

Narrator: Immediately, anger thrilled through every vein of the boy’s body.

Oedipus: (roaring) I will not!

Old Man: (coldly) Very well.

Narrator: The man pulled a knotted whip from his satchel, raised it up into the air, and brought it swiftly down toward Oedipus’s face.

(cry of pain, whip-crack)

The boy ran forward, avoiding the blow. Seeing nothing beyond his own rage, he barreled into the side of the old man’s horse. (neigh of a horse)

Old Man: (crying out) Ah!

Narrator: The force of the blow knocked the old man from his mount. Flailing his arms madly, he fell—pitching to the side—landing hard upon his neck.

Oedipus: (yelling in a frenzy) Ha! Who controls the road now, you old buzzard!

Narrator: Oedipus seized the abandoned whip from the man’s limp hand and turned upon the servants.

Oedipus: (yelling) Who’s next?

Narrator: Terrified, the remaining travelers fled.

Oedipus: (yelling) That’s right! Run, Cowards! Run from the cursed one!

Narrator: Oedipus seethed with satisfaction as he saw the last of them disappear down the road.

Oedipus: Your friends have abandoned you, old man.

Narrator: The boy turned back to the fallen form. It remained motionless—its head turned at an odd angle. The riderless horse nuzzled its master.

Oedipus: (breathlessly) Gods. I killed him. I killed him.

Narrator: He stared at the whip in his hand and then threw it to the ground.

Oedipus: She was right. If I’m capable of this—I’m a monster.

Narrator: A sudden fear burned inside of him. Fear of himself. Fear of the deed done by his own hand. He did all he knew how to do: he fled.

Oedipus traveled for days, haunted by his dreams and hunted by phantoms. He took no notice of where his feet led him. Landscapes rose and fell. So it was no surprise that he did not happen to see that the roadside fields soon became barren, and he no met no more travelers. Even the shining whiteness of the bones that littered the roadway escaped his notice.

It took the towering form of the Sphinx blocking the road to stir his attention.

Sphinx: (otherworldly) Halt, mortal.

Narrator: Oedipus looked up from his daze, but his eyes remained bleary. The most bizarre creature he had ever seen was seated beside the road.

The head of a woman was gazing imperiously down at him. That is where the creature’s womanhood ended. The body and furry haunches of a lion drew the various parts together: the wings of an eagle and the tail of a snake.

The Sphinx was leisurely licking her paw upon her bed of bones.

Sphinx: You’re awfully calm for being in the presence of a monster.

Oedipus: (daze-like) I could say the same for you.

Sphinx: I have killed a hundred men. Their bones litter the roadways. Do you not fear me?

Oedipus: (numbly) I fear only myself.

Narrator: A smile of intrigue passed over the Sphinx’s womanly face.

Sphinx: Perhaps you wish to die. Is that why you’ve sought me out?

Oedipus: Kill me if you must. Rid the world of the cancer you see before you.

Sphinx: Don’t be too hasty, mortal man. I don’t kill for the sake of killing. I’m actually a very civilized creature. I believe in giving everyone a sporting chance.

Oedipus: (sarcastic) How noble. A civilized monster.

Sphinx: I will give you the same chance I have given everyone else who happened to pass this way. The chance to solve my riddle.

Oedipus: Riddles are for children. What if I refuse to play?

Narrator: The Sphinx smiled at him.

Sphinx: (beastlike) Then I shall eat you—slowly—one end at a time.

Oedipus: I’ll play your little game. At least if I lose, my misery will come to an end.

Sphinx: (happily) That’s the spirit. I’m also very fair. If on the off chance you actually win, I will voluntarily forfeit my own life. Here is my riddle:

Narrator: The Sphinx cleared her throat and spoke in a resonating boom.

Sphinx: What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?

Narrator: The wind lazily whipped up the dirt around them.

Oedipus: How much time do I have to answer the question?

Sphinx: As long as my patience holds out.

Narrator: Though he did not will it, Oedipus’s mind began to move and click.

Oedipus: (absentmindedly) Perhaps she does not mean only one day. There is a morning and an evening to life.

Sphinx: (growing impatient) Your time is running out.

Oedipus: Life changes many creatures. Many creatures walk on two legs, and many creatures walk on four legs. But three legs—there is the riddle.

Sphinx: (screaming) Enough of your babbling! Do you know the answer or not?

Oedipus: Of course, that’s it.

Sphinx: (angrily) My patience is growing thin!

Oedipus: Man. The answer is man. We crawl in the morning of our lives, we walk on two legs in our prime, and when we are old we walk with a cane.

Narrator: Oedipus smiled in spite of himself, and he looked almost surprised to see the Sphinx still standing beside him. A bizarre light had come into her eyes, and she shrieked. (hellish shriek)

With huge swoops of her wings and a gust that pushed Oedipus to the ground, she took to the air, howling and wailing. She didn’t fly far, but climbed high and then fell, fell down into the faraway sea—extinguishing her own life.

Oedipus: (understated) Huh. I guess she was a civilized monster after all.

Narrator: A sudden corner was turned in Oedipus’s mind. He felt his spirits revive. He still held the power to put the past behind him.

As he continued on the path, he noticed for the first time that nothing was growing for miles around. The Sphinx had brought a curse upon the land.

At last a set of shining city walls gleamed in the distance. They shone out like hope—a new start. When Oedipus neared the massive gate, he found it bolted against him.

Guard: (shouting) Who’s there?

Oedipus: (shouting) A traveler!

Guard: There have been no travelers on this road for months! The Sphinx has killed them all.

Oedipus: Let me in! I have killed the Sphinx.

Narrator: The guard looked down at the boy in shock. He turned to his fellow guards and conversed in hushed tones.

Guard: (hesitantly) Very well. Come inside. We shall take you to Creon, and he will decide what to do with you.

Narrator: The gigantic doors opened. Oedipus was taken roughly by either arm and escorted into the city.

Oedipus: Everyone seems a bit on edge here. What city is this?

Guard: You are in Thebes, Stranger. You have come at our darkest hour.

Narrator: Soon Oedipus found himself the royal hearing hall. The Creon they had spoken of was a thin, serious man wrapped in a black robe. He looked at Oedipus distrustfully.

Creon: (suspicious) Are you a spy? Tell only the truth.

Oedipus: No, Sir. As I told the guards, I am a traveler.

Creon: If you are a traveler, where did you come from?

Oedipus: I came here from Delphi.

Creon: (snorting) Impossible! There is a monster who kills any who travel on that road!

Oedipus: Not anymore. I have destroyed it.

Creon: (disbelief) You? How?

Oedipus: I solved its riddle.

Creon: Since when do man-eating beasts ask riddles?

Oedipus: This one did, and it threw itself into the sea when I won its game.

Creon: A foolish claim to make, young man. We will be able to confirm your story soon enough. If we find that you are lying, we will put you to death.

Oedipus: Has the monster caused all this paranoia?

Narrator: Creon looked at Oedipus coldly.

Creon: (slowly) Our king is dead. Killed by roadside thieves.

Oedipus: He must have been a foolish man to travel with such a creature at large.

Creon: (coldly) He went by a secret path that rejoins the road to Delphi. He was seeking the Oracle. But I owe you no explanations. What is done is done. Until we have checked out your little story, you shall be a prisoner.

Oedipus: (angrily) What right do you have to keep me prisoner?

Creon: I am in charge here now. The Queen is my sister, and I rule until a new king shall be chosen. Take him away.

Narrator: Oedipus spent many days in the Theban jail. Creon dispatched men to verify his tale. No trace of the creature could be found. The news spread through the city that the mysterious stranger had slain the monster.

It was Creon himself who came to free Oedipus from his cell.

Creon: I have to apologize for doubting you, young man.

Oedipus: I understand your doubt. I can hardly believe it myself.

Creon: The people are overjoyed. They sing your praises. I have also been charged to tell you that they wish to make you their king.

Oedipus: (shocked) Me? Why?

Creon: You have saved us. I am the people’s humble servant. If they wish you to rule them, I will not stand in their way.

Narrator: Oedipus could barely believe it. Was this truly his good fortune? Had he escaped his destiny at last?

Oedipus: (happily) I accept.

Creon: There is one thing you should know. In order to legitimize your claim to the throne, we ask that you marry our queen. Her time of morning for her husband has ended, and she is still young enough in years.

Oedipus: May I meet her first?

Creon: Certainly.

Narrator: The Queen pleased Oedipus. He was surprised at her beauty. True, she was some years older, but she had worn her years well. There was still life and love within her.

Oedipus became the King of Thebes, and it seemed that he had in fact escaped the foul prophecy of his past. With Jocasta, his new wife, he was exceedingly happy. And once again the years passed by like a breeze.

Together they raised a royal family, two boys and two girls, each with the vibrant glow of life in their eyes. Oedipus all but forgot his past, and the darkness that had threatened to consume it. Thebes loved their king, and it seemed that a happy ending would be had after all.

Then came the drought. The skies refused to give up their rain, crops failed, and the people began to starve. Only the gods could be the source of such a misfortune.

Oedipus: Send a man to Delphi at once. Ask the Oracle what must be done to remedy this problem.

Narrator: It was strange, but he barely remembered the words she had spoken to him so long ago. All he knew was that they were spoken in error. He had proved them false.

A messenger was dispatched and returned in haste. The Oracle had spoken: the murderer of the old king must be found and put to death. Then, and only then, the skies would give forth rain once again.

Jocasta: (joyfully) Thank the gods! They are crying out for justice at last!

Oedipus: I was told of Laius’s death when I came here. I’ll send out the soldiers to search the highways. Any bandits there must be put to death—then we will have rain.

Narrator: This news relieved Oedipus. It seemed an easy solution. He called for Creon.

Oedipus: Creon, brother. Do the men who traveled with Laius when he was murdered still live?

Creon: I am sure they do, my lord. If you remember, it happened shortly before you arrived here in Thebes.

Oedipus: Do you remember their names? May we question them?

Creon: They were servants and slaves. They barely understood what they saw happening.

Oedipus: (angrily) There must be some way of solving this riddle! The gods would not leave us with a way out.

Creon: There is man who wanders near Thebes—a blind man, who is said to have the sight of the gods.

Jocasta: (excitedly) Teiresias! Of course. He will tell us what we need to know.

Oedipus: Summon him. Let us put an end to this mess.

Narrator: Word was sent out through Thebes: Teiresias must be brought before the King. The old blind man came soon enough, led there by a young boy. He stood proudly before the throne.

Teiresias: (old voice) What does King Oedipus wish to know of the gods?

Oedipus: Teiresias, Dephi has sent us a message: Thebes must find the man who murdered Laius the former king. Only then will our land be healed.

Teiresias: This land will never be healed while you sit upon the throne, my lord.

Oedipus: (in shock) What did he say?

Jocasta: (angrily) How dare you speak to the King in such a way?

Narrator: The old man began to laugh a cruel laugh.

Teiresias: (mockingly) You fools. Do you not see?

Creon: (angrily) Do you mock your king?

Teiresias: I mock those who deserve it. Come, boy. We must leave.

Narrator: The old man turned to go.

Jocasta: (loudly) Stop! Tell us what we want to know!

Narrator: The old man stopped and turned.

Teiresias: What can the past hold but sadness? Why dig up things long buried? Let your kingdom die and perhaps you will live.

Oedipus: (coldly) Tell us, or I will have you put to death.

Teiresias: (slowly) I do not fear you, but do you not fear my words?

Oedipus: (firmly) Nothing you say can shake us.

Teiresias: Very well. I know the man whom you seek, King. He is here in this very room.

(loud gasping)

Oedipus: (yelling) Where, Teiresias? Where?

Teiresias: The man you seek is yourself. You yourself killed the king—or do you not remember?

Narrator: They all froze, and Jocasta was the first to break the silence.

Jocasta: (laugh) The old fool! I see his game now! He’s making a joke.

Creon: (angrily) Lies! Oedipus never met Laius! Who has bribed you to say such treachery?

Teiresias: (sadly) I expected as much. Fools refuse to see the Truth.

Oedipus: (slowly) I can assure you, noble seer—I have never killed anyone.

Narrator: Teiresias smiled.

Teiresias: You tried to run—and now you try to lie. But nothing can save you. Do you forget so soon, an old traveler, who attempted to break you with his whip?

Narrator: The stomach of Oedipus sank into his feet.

Oedipus: (stunned) But—but—that man was no king. He was a dusty traveler on the road to Delphi.

Teiresias: Would a king wear his crown on such a journey?

Creon: (figuring it out) That’s true. He was going to see the Oracle.

Oedipus: (numbly) But I didn’t know.

Teiresias: You still fail to see the whole picture, my lord.

Jocasta: (angrily) What do you mean? What other treason would you dare utter here, you madman?

Teiresias: My lady, you of all people should have seen the similarities. You should have looked at Oedipus and seen him as what he truly is—your and Laius’s son.

Narrator: The queen laughed a strange laugh—half snort, half shriek. Oedipus only turned pale.

Jocasta: (ranting) Impossible! Our child was cast into the wilderness. Laius pierced his feet to mark him for death.

Narrator: Teiresias nodded grimly.

Teiresias: I remember the night very well, my lady. Perhaps we should ask the king. Sir, what marks do you bear upon your feet?

Oedipus: (numbly) Two scars. (realizing) But my father was the King of Corinth.

Teiresias: The shepherd who was sent with you into the wilderness took pity on you. If only if he had killed you as he had planned. His mercy has cursed you.

Creon: (angrily) You lie!

Teiresias: I expected such disbelief. I have sent for the shepherd. He dwells near the mountain still. He will be here soon enough to verify my story.

Oedipus: But I was no shepherd’s son! I was raised as a prince! How do you explain that?

Teiresias: That kind shepherd gave you to a passing traveler to take into Corinth. That man presented him to his lord, the king of Corinth, who adopted you as his son.

Narrator: Immediate grief washed over Oedipus’s face as the truth broke in upon him. Jocasta stared at him in wordless horror.

Oedipus: (in disbelief) How could I have known? How could I have known?

Jocasta: (softly) Then it was true. Our child did murder his father—and—and—married—

Narrator: She looked to Oedipus with white, trembling lips.

Jocasta: (whispering) Forgive me. (yelling) Gods! What have I done?

Narrator: Crying to the heavens and tearing her gown, Jocasta rushed from the room.

Oedipus: (crying out) Jocasta, no!

Teiresias: (loudly) You can fight it no more. You have fought it since you were born. Accept it—accept your curse!

Oedipus: (screaming) No! No!

Narrator: Oedipus dashed after his fleeing wife, grasping blindly at her flowing robes. She rushed into her chambers, and the door slammed into his face.

Oedipus: (yelling) Jocasta!

Narrator: He began to throw himself against the door—a madman—attacking it with all his might.

Oedipus: (wailing) Open the door! Open the door!

Narrator: When at last the door splintered and he broke through, he immediately hid his eyes in horror. Dangling from the ceiling from a twirling rope was the body of his Queen. Her eyes pale and looking heavenward.

Oedipus: (weakly) No—no—no. Why have you done this to me?

Narrator: He stumbled forward and fell to the floor beneath her suspended feet. His hand grasped something cold. It was a brooch pin, fallen from her now broken neck.

Oedipus: (angrily, insane) Why? Why? Why should a man live in such a world? Why should I see such a monstrosity? My wife and mother dead before my very eyes? And all because of me. I have been blind—blind! Now, I will be blind forever.

Narrator: Releasing the point of the pin, he drove it sharply into each of his eyes. Blood poured down his cheeks, and sobs racked his body.

Rushing up on the grisly scene, Creon appeared in the doorway and gasped at the horror before him.

Creon: (calling out) Teiresias! Oh gods! Teiresias! Come and tell me what I should do! The Queen is dead, and the King has gone mad.

Narrator: The blind man was already there—placing a calm hand on Creon’s shoulders.

Teiresias: Pick him up. Wash him. And send him away. Thebes is yours again. Let it be healed.

Narrator: Creon turned to the prophet in confusion.

Creon: This man is my brother. Surely I owe him more than that.

Teiresias: You have asked, and I have told you. Listen to the will of the gods.

Creon: But his children…

Teiresias: His daughters will go to him and care for him when they are older and ready to accept their parents’ sin. Until then, Oedipus will roam the countryside—blind and forgotten.

Creon: I don’t know.

Teiresias: He did not listen to the gods. Will you ignore their commands as well?

Narrator: Creon paused.

Creon: Very well. I will send him into the desert.

Teiresias: It is what must be done.

Narrator: The servants were sent for, and they came timidly into the horror of that place. They took down the body of the Queen and bandaged the wounds of the King.

Creon: (sadly) I mourn for such a wretched man.

Teiresias: (quietly) Do not mourn too loudly, King Creon. Sadness will be no stranger to your own home. Farewell—until our next meeting.

Narrator: And so the stooped and bandaged form of Oedipus was led away and left again to the will of the wild. He walked blindly now with broken steps, running his fingers over parched lips, trying to remember his former life. He would wander alone for many years, cursed and eternally spurned by the gods—until they finally took pity and allowed him to pass beneath the earth, where his wearied soul at last could find rest. HeHe

Write-to-Learn

2008-02-17T18:15:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I was a presenter at the Missouri English teacher conference (Write-to-Learn). I presented on using Readers Theatre in the classroom to fully engage students and improve their writing. It was a bit nerve-racking, but it turned out all right. We read aloud one of my plays and talked about how it differed from simply reading a story. Then I passed out short, dialogue-free excerpts from fairy tales and had the participants write their own beginning to a RT play. I received quite a few positive comments and sold nine books. So all-in-all, I guess it was a success.

Sample Play: Eros and Psyche Part II

2008-02-12T11:18:00.001-08:00

Eros and Psyche:

Absence Makes the Heart Go Yonder

CAST

Eros/Voice The Young God of Love

Psyche A Beautiful Mortal Princess

Aphrodite Goddess of Love and Beauty

Zephyr The West Wind

Zeus Lord of Olympus

Reed A Talking Reed

Ant Queen Leader of an Ant Colony

Charon Aged Ferryman of the Underworld

Hades Lord of the Underworld

Persephone Queen of the Underworld

Narrator: Vibrant flashes of midnight lightning illuminated the form of a tortured young god winging his way through the dim sky. Finding his destination, he made his way into the golden portals of Mount Olympus. The flight had done little to take his mind off what he had just lost, and his shoulder still throbbed where his love had let fall the tiniest bit of wax. Making his way to his humble chamber, he paused for a moment. A light was blazing within.

Aphrodite: (coldly) Come in, my son.

Narrator: His mother was there—curled up on a mound of cushions—waiting for his return.

Eros: (blankly) Hello, Mother.

Aphrodite: (miffed) Hello, Mother? Is that all you have to say for yourself? You’ve been a busy boy…and I think it’s about time you came clean—tell me, what have you been up to?

Eros: Look! Now is not the time!

Narrator: She sprang from the couch and flew hotly into his face.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Now is the perfect time. Perhaps you would like to tell me what you’ve been doing for the last six months! What do you have tucked away in the mountains for yourself?

Eros: (angrily) I don’t want to talk about it!

Aphrodite: Oh, we are going to talk about it, young man! When I give you an order, I expect you to keep it!

Eros: (yelling) Yes! I disobeyed you, Mother! There! Are you happy? You told me to ruin her life, but I couldn’t. I fell in love with her. Go ahead! Tell me what a mistake that was. (softening) I already know.

Narrator: Through his sudden reply, she perceived his grief, and a look of joy surged over the Love Goddess’ face, but remembering her motherly duties, her features quickly dissolved into a look of utmost sorrow.

Aphrodite: (fake pity) My baby boy! Come to your mother. Did that evil girl break your heart?

Eros: (spitefully) What do you know about love?

Aphrodite: Me? What would I know about it? (laughs) I invented love, my son.

Eros: (quietly) No, you didn’t. You only perverted it.

Aphrodite: (angrily) How dare you! Don’t take your teenage frustrations out on me, you brat. You just got a taste of your own medicine. How many times have you set a man’s heart ablaze for a woman you knew he would never have?

Eros: (sadly) Never again. I didn’t know what pain I caused.

Aphrodite: Ha! Love makes people so bloody noble. Go ahead! Sulk! When this pity party is over, let me know. There’s work to be done. Life will go on.

Narrator: She angrily gathered her robes and stalked from his room; Eros fell down wearily upon his couch.

Leagues below, through the eddies of time and space, Psyche sat alone upon the mountaintop—weeping. It was there that her old helper, Zephyr the West Wind, found her once again.

Zephyr: (clears throat) My lady.

Narrator: She took her hands from her face and looked up to the slightly-transparent little man floating above her.

Zephyr: (soothingly) Hush now. All is not lost.

Psyche: (through sobs) What shall I do? He is gone! He doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ve ruined everything!

Zephyr: Did you ever wonder why he kept himself a secret from you?

Psyche: He is a god, and I am a mortal.

Zephyr: That may be a part of it, but remember who his immortal mother is: Aphrodite. There is no other goddess capable of more spite than she. He was protecting you from her. She sent him to ruin you, you know. But because of his love, he could not.

Psyche: That may be, but it does me no good now.

Zephyr: You let me carry you once before. Allow me to again. Let me take you to her.

Psyche: (surprised) To the goddess?

Zephyr: Who else? Plead your case to her. Grovel at her feet. Aphrodite is so full of vanity—she will give you her blessing if she feels she has triumphed over you.

Psyche: Will she allow me to see her son?

Zephyr: If we succeed, it shall be as if none of this had ever happened.

Psyche: (cheerfully) Oh, thank you, Zephyr. You have given me hope. You must care for Eros very much.

Zephyr: (shrugging) Eh. I do this for you, girl. I can’t stand to see a beautiful maiden cry. Now, come.

Psyche: Like this? I’m a mess. I can’t go before Aphrodite like this.

Zephyr: Trust me. The worse you look, the better she will like you.

Narrator: Saying nothing more, he scooped her up in his arms and began to soar high into the clouds. She clung tightly to him, as the world disappeared below—shrouded in white.

Psyche: I have never been to Mount Olympus.

Zephyr: Neither have I. Just watch your step. The Olympians are a spiteful bunch.

Narrator: A wispy curtain was pulled away before them, and there a mountain appeared—floating among the clouds. Psyche gasped, and Zephyr flew her in closer—and sat her down within a hanging garden.

Zephyr: Stay here. I will go before you and announce you.

Narrator: The wind god flew into the palace, and it was quiet for a while. A sudden clanging drew the girl’s attention and a shaken Zephyr rocketed back into sight.

Zephyr: She’s a bit angry with me for bringing you here, but she will see you. Good luck, my dear.

Psyche: Thank you!

Narrator: Turning to face the corridor, she faltered—at its end sat the most fearsome mother-in-law the world had ever seen—a powerful goddess, bent on her destruction. And here was she, mortal Psyche, coming to beg her forgiveness and that of her son.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Aphrodite: Come, my girl. Don’t dilly-dally in doorways. I can’t stand anyone who dilly-dallies.

Narrator: The otherworldly chamber was hung with draperies that shimmered and changed color, and on a raised platform in its midst sat the imperious Aphrodite—a cool smile of satisfaction on her lips.

Aphrodite: So…you have come to grovel.

Psyche: I…well, yes, your majesty.

Narrator: The goddess paused.

Aphrodite: I’m waiting.

Narrator: Psyche sank impotently to the floor and stretched herself out upon it.

Psyche: Oh immortal creator of Love and Beauty…I come to beg your pardon—

Aphrodite: (angrily) I should think so, you little tramp. Taking advantage of darling boy like that! Using your so-called good looks to lure him in! Don’t think for an instant I didn’t know what your little game was.

Psyche: Forgive me, your majesty.

Aphrodite: Why should I? Causing a rift between me and my only son—well, my only immortal one anyway. You nearly killed him with that nasty burn. Right now, he has taken to bed…we hope he will survive it.

Psyche: (frightened) Is he well? I didn’t mean to—

Aphrodite: Silence! And keep groveling until I tell you to stop. As I was saying, the pain that this situation has caused me must be atoned for. What shall you do for me?

Psyche: I will do any—

Aphrodite: (yelling) Did I say you could speak? (quieter) Now, I have devised three tasks. If you complete these three tasks, I will consider forgiving you. They are dangerous tasks, and ones of great importance. If you fail at any, you may never see my son again. Do you accept these tasks? (pause) Why do you not answer?

Psyche: You told me not to.

Aphrodite: Don’t be stupid. Of course, I want you to answer.

Psyche: I accept.

Aphrodite: (happily) Marvelous! Marvelous! I hoped that you would. Why not begin immediately? You may rise. No more groveling. You have work to do.

Narrator: Psyche rose, and the Goddess of Love gleefully clapped her hands. There was a flash of light in the air. The girl looked about her and realized they were no longer on Mount Olympus, but on a barren plain.

Aphrodite: Psyche, dear. Here is your task.

Narrator: The goddess pointed to an enormous pile of seeds at her feet.

Aphrodite: Within this pile is every kind of seed: flax, wheat, poppy, millet…and— silly me—I mixed them all up. I will return at nightfall, and by the time I return, you must have sorted all these seeds. Not even one may be misplaced. If you succeed at this task, you shall move onto the next.

Psyche: (weakly) But this is impossible.

Aphrodite: My, you are a smart one. Well, you better get started—there are seeds to sort. Farewell! (gleeful laugh)

Narrator: Psyche knelt beside the pile of seeds. This would be what would keep her from the greatest love of her life? Part of her wanted to quit—give up—concede defeat, but another part refused. Anything was possible.

Narrator: Several hours later, the noon sun beat down on the cursed plain. Psyche had been hunched over the pile now forever—her back ached, her eyes burned with pain, and the tiny seeds continued to fall through her fingers. She had managed to separate a small pile from the larger, but this had taken her half the day. In her mind she could already hear Aphrodite laughing.

Psyche: Oh, Eros. Why did I doubt you?

Narrator: Determination settled back into her—her lip strengthened—and with a renewed furvor, she returned diligently to her task. To her dismay, she noticed a new color of seeds in the pile below her—black, tiny ones she had not made out before.

Psyche: Oh, gods! How many of these have I missed up until now. Is Aphrodite adding more as I go? That must be her plan. What a cheat! (pause) But wait! They’re moving! Moving seeds?

Narrator: And indeed, it did seem that the pile had come alive with a thousand mobile specks. The girl hastily pulled her hand from the heap—but there, perched upon the end of her finger was a lone mite. It began to speak to her.

Ant Queen: (tiny voice) Handsome maiden! We have heard of your sorrow. The West Wind has told us of your misfortune, and we ants have come to help.

Narrator: Sure enough—looking beyond the speaker, she saw the army of ants industriously carrying seed after seed from the mix.

Psyche: (overjoyed) Thank you! I don’t know how I deserve such a favor.

Ant Queen: You do this task out of love, and there is no greater cause.

Psyche: The Goddess who put me to this task will return at nightfall. Will you be done by then?

Ant Queen: Of course, my dear. We ants never take a break. We love to work—it is our function!

Psyche: How shall I ever repay you?

Ant Queen: There is no need! We only help because we can.

Narrator: Returning the Ant Queen to her hill of workers, Psyche watched in wonder as the pile slowly diminished into many smaller mounds. The sun was setting as the final loads were being carried to their appropriate destination.

Psyche felt the tickling of the Queen upon her hand once again and raised her to her level.

Ant Queen: Our day’s work is done.

Psyche: I shall never forget this. I will never look down on those smaller than I—today you accomplished something that a giant creature like me never could.

Ant Queen: You have learned your lesson well then! Good luck, Princess Psyche.

Narrator: Once on the ground, the Queen lead her victorious troops away in a single-file line—singing an ant song of victory.

It was then that the orange rim of the sun finally disappeared behind the bleak horizon. No soon had this happened, than a murky fog encircled the startled girl.

Stepping forth from the mist, appeared the snarling Aphrodite.

Aphrodite: (angry) Impossible! You could not have done this on your own!

Psyche: (stubbornly) I didn’t say I did. The smallest creatures of the world have helped me. You never said anything about getting assistance.

Narrator: The Love Goddess opened her mouth to speak, but found her words stolen away. She closed her mouth with a snap.

Aphrodite: So that’s your game, is it? Well, Missy, the next two tasks will be so arduous that they’ll make your head spin.

Psyche: I am ready. Bring them on.

Aphrodite: (laugh) Ha! Cocky to the last.

Narrator: The mists around them grew thicker, and its cold, gray fingers grasped Psyche. She felt herself being pulled away through the air.

When the swirls subsided, she was standing on the edge of a meadow with a swift stream running through its midst. On the opposite hill, a herd of golden sheep were grazing.

Aphrodite placed a hand upon her shoulder, and her venomous voice hissed in her ear.

Aphrodite: (quietly) You know, you’re really starting to impress me. I thought you would have given up by now.

Psyche: Never.

Aphrodite: My task is a simple one. See those sheep there? I desire some of their wool. Nothing sleeps better than a bed filled with golden wool. Fetch some for me.

Narrator: The Princess looked to the cruel goddess with a look of unbelief.

Psyche: Is that it?

Aphrodite: Cross my heart.

Psyche: Very well.

Narrator: Psyche pulled up the hem of her tunic and quickly forded the stream. The golden sheep continued to graze—not knowing or not caring that she was approaching. Searching on all sides for some sign of a trap, Psyche continued forward. The nearest sheep was grazing listlessly on a clump of lush grass.

She reached forward to grasp its wool.

(hellish bleat)

With startling agility the creature turned, and barring its razor-sharp teeth lunged for the girl’s outstretched hand.

Psyche: (screams) Ah!

Narrator: She snatched it back—centimeters to spare—and turning upon her heel, dashed madly back across the stream to safety.

Heaving desperate breaths, she turned to see the sheep return to its peaceful grazing. It was then that she noticed the bones—lying inconspicuously among the tall grass.

The malicious laughing of Aphrodite floated to her ear.

Aphrodite: Did I fail to mention—Psyche, dear—that those are man-eating sheep. (evil laugh)

Psyche: (angrily) You—you…

Aphrodite: A deal’s a deal. Goodbye, Love. Try to not to die. It would be quite embarrassing to be killed by such cuddly creatures.

Narrator: As the form of Aphrodite dissipated once again, Psyche knew this was exactly the goddess’ plan. Her mind was reeling. How long had it been since she had eaten or drank? She felt weak.

She padded her way to the edge of the stream, and began to lower her cupped hands below the surface.

Voice: (anxiously) Don’t do it!

Narrator: The Princess paused. Had she heard that—or had her wits finally left her?

Voice: There is always hope.

Psyche: Excuse me?

Voice: Don’t do it. You can still beat her. Whatever you do—don’t drown yourself. It’ll solve nothing.

Psyche: I wasn’t going to. I was just going to get a drink.

Voice: Well, that’s a relief. I’ve seen plenty of fools try to get some of that golden wool. They either get their jugular bit through by a ravenous bit of mutton—or give up and kill themselves right in this stream. It’s so dramatic.

Narrator: Psyche continued to search for the source of the voice.

Psyche: Where are you?

Voice: I’m here. Right beside you.

Narrator: Near her face, a reed was swaying slightly in the breeze.

Reed: Yes, you’re not imagining it. A reed is talking to you.

Psyche: Well, you may not believe this, but it’s not the strangest thing to happen yet.

Reed: Really? You can’t believe how good it is to hear that. Most people just stare at me like they’ve just seen a god.

Psyche: (sadly) Hmmm. I guess most people don’t see one of those very often.

Reed: Since you’re not going to kill yourself, let me give you some more advice. You seem like a nice girl, and I doubt you’ve got any selfish motive for wanting that wool. I don’t usually do this, but I’ll tell you how to get you some. But, first, you have to promise not to tell anyone you actually got it.

Psyche: No problem.

Reed: The last thing I want is a thousand people traipsing around on my bank and offing themselves in the shallows. One dead body can stink this place up for weeks.

Here’s the trick: those sheep are nasty creatures. They can skeletize a grown man in sixty seconds. Trying to get close enough to touch them is by far the stupidest way to approach it. What you do is wait for the sheep to come down for their daily drink. You know sheep—they have one brain between the whole herd. When they come to the water all together there’s always a ton of their fleece that gets caught on those briars over there—probably enough to satisfy your immortal friend. Wait until they’re gone, grab it, and you’re good.

Psyche: I never would have thought of that! That’s brilliant!

Reed: I am the only talking reed for a reason.

Narrator: And so Psyche took the advice of her new friend. The sheep came to the water soon enough, and after they had gone, numerous tiny tufts were left in the riverside brambles. The girl collected these quickly.

Psyche: Thanks, Reed. I’ll never forget this. (loudly) Aphrodite! Aphrodite! I have completed your task!

Narrator: The atmosphere crackled, and a glaring goddess appeared. Psyche stretched out her hands—filled of golden clumps. Scowling, Aphrodite slapped the wool from the girl’s grip.

Aphrodite: (coldly) Fool! This is not about fleece—or seeds—or love. This is about you and me.

Narrator: The Olympian maid began to grow—her pristine features became transparent, and the ugliness of jealous rage shone forth from her contorted countenance.

Aphrodite: (deep with hatred) I will destroy you if it’s the last thing I do! You will never have my son!

Narrator: Bending violently to the ground, she ripped the reed up by its stalk and snapped it in half.

Aphrodite: Do you think I’m stupid? I know that you have had help.

Narrator: She flung the pieces of the reed in the maiden’s face.

Aphrodite: (calming) That is why—for your final task—I will send you to a place where no one would dare help you—even if they could.

Narrator: Psyche felt her heart grow cold.

Aphrodite: This stream flows many miles—toward those mountains—there is its mouth. Behind those waters lies a cave—an entrance—to death.

Psyche: (breathlessly) Hades.

Aphrodite: If you a truly willing to die for love, you will journey into the Underworld—down to the depths where Persephone sits. You will take this box.

Narrator: An ornately carved box appeared in Psyche’s cold hands.

Aphrodite: Tell her to put some of her beauty in this box and return it to me.

Narrator: There was a stillness in the air as these words resounded home.

Psyche: If this is done, will you allow me your son?

Aphrodite: (coldly) I swear it by the Styx. But I trust I will never see your face again.

Psyche: But the Underworld is so deep—only a few have been—

Aphrodite: A deal is a deal, Psyche dear. There is always one surefire route into Hades.

Narrator: Aphrodite’s eyes flashed as she drew her slender finger across her throat.

Aphrodite: Don’t rule it out…just yet.

Narrator: And then she was gone. Psyche was alone. Far away, the black hills loomed like stormclouds on the horizon. She looked blankly down to the box in her hand.

To her own surprise, she felt her feet start a weary plod.

The Underworld was a place where few had dared to travel. Even the bravest of men quaked at the horrors it held. But Psyche—a defenseless maiden—continued to walk.

Time passed. Before her now was the black pool—an ebony cave behind it lead into nothingness. Ignoring this terror, the girl eased into the shallows. Numbing cold took the feeling from her limbs.

As she started to take the dark plunge into the depths, a stir of wind caught her hair, and turning she saw floating on the surface of the pool—among the ripples—a cake. And upon it, slightly indented into its tender crust, a small coin.

She looked heavenward.

Psyche: Thank you, Zephyr.

Narrator: She took them into her hand.

It cannot be told how terrifying and deep the Land of Hades runs. Nightmare terrors lurking on every side—fear a constant companion and goad. As the light of the world disappeared, a new light appeared—a sickly light—the light of the grave—and it drew Psyche ever downward on a doomed path.

Not long on her journey, she perceived rabid snarling ahead. The Guard of Hell lurked just ahead—the beast of legend—Cerberus.

Psyche: Thank you, Zephyr—for this cake. I hope it may be useful.

Narrator: Three grotesque heads lifted as the maiden rounded the corner. Drool dripped from insatiable jaws, and powerful limbs jerked quickly to rip her apart.

(hellish growl)

Never thinking it would actually succeed, she took the coin and placing it safely in her mouth, threw the cake. It bounced a meter away. The three muzzles turned, and in an instant were upon it.

Psyche dashed quickly by.

A dark river came next—flat and motionless. Transparent human shells lined the banks and did not turn when they felt a living thing walking amongst. Beached upon the bank was the shallow craft of Charon—and the immortal boatman himself stood inside it—leaning on his crooked staff.

Charon: (hissing) Life has passed the Gates of Death. Tell me, foolish maiden. What do you seek below?

Psyche: I seek Death and his queen.

Charon: Then I shall ferry you—provided you can pay the price.

Narrator: She drew closer, and the boatman reached a gnarled hand to her lips. Her mouth opened—his sandy fingers found the single coin held there.

He beckoned her aboard and poled the craft away from the shore.

The boat did not dip nor bob—but floated as if on nothing.

With a thud it hit the other side.

Charon: You are doomed. I am the only way across this river—one that an escape must ford. And you have given me your only coin. Unwise girl, you are lost.

Narrator: Psyche turned her back to these words. They were not new to her. They had been echoing in her head since her descent.

A black palace lay ahead—clawing its way up from the rock. Whispers surrounded her and flew before her—crying her to their king.

When she came at last to stand before the Lord and Lady of Death, they sat unmoved.

Hades: (unemotionally) Tell me, mortal. Why did you risk such a journey to our realm?

Narrator: The Ruler of the Underworld and his queen sat on twin thrones—their faces made of the same stone.

Psyche: Love. Love has brought me here.

Hades: Love. Love has no place in Death. Here love is dried up.

Psyche: I have brought it here with me—in my heart.

Hades: You are mistaken. When the body dies, love dies with it. You have entered this place, and you may never leave.

Narrator: Under the stony glance of Hades, Psyche felt her soul weakening. She turned frantically to Queen Persephone.

Psyche: (pleading) Please, my Queen. Help me. Give me some of your beauty. Surely your heart has not frozen in this deep place. Some love must live there.

Hades: Do not trouble yourself with her. She is as immovable as the earth.

Psyche: (frantically) Please! You were once young! You were once in love! Remember it now! Remember the Spring! Forget this wintery place—only for a moment!

Narrator: The eyes of Persephone remained unchanged.

Hades: (forcefully) We tire of your whining! She will give you none of her beauty.

Narrator: At that moment the hand of the Queen—a hand that seemed as if it had been carved into her lap—suddenly raised.

Persephone: Please, Husband. Let me keep my own counsel on what I will and will not do.

Hades: I…I…

Persephone: Girl—I will grant this request—for Love. Take this beauty—I hope it will do more for you than it has for me—a prisoner here in this cavernous cell. Now—Go—and Love.

Narrator: The pale light of the Underworld faded—and Psyche felt herself grow warm again. She was no longer in that dismal place, but standing on the banks she had so recently left.

In her hand she still clutched a jeweled box.

Psyche: (surprised laugh) I can’t believe it.

Narrator: Bringing a triumphant hand to her lips, she began to call for the return of her adversary. But then a sudden, appalling thought entered her mind.

Psyche: Did it really happen? Or I have I been standing here the entire time—out of my mind?

Narrator: The closed lid of the box cut off all proof from her sight.

Psyche: (to herself) What if she comes, and I open this to only air? Could this all be part of her trick? A hallucination? How could I have gone into Hades?

Narrator: I would be simple enough to prove—to herself. With trembling fingers, she began to inch the lid of her treasure open.

A shriek escaped it—accompanied by a blue gust of vapor—as the Beauty of Persephone fled from the box—free from its prison. Psyche slammed it down as quickly as she could, but she was too late—it was already gone.

She fell to her knees—defeated—and her face pitched forward to the grass. She knew no more.

Voice: (faraway) Psyche! Psyche!

Narrator: It was a faraway voice—echoing like rain on a roof.

A face materialized before her—golden skin, the bluest eyes. It was a face she did not dare to believe.

Eros: Psyche! Come back to me!

Narrator: It was him. He was actually cradling her in his arms.

Psyche: (weakly) I…I…tried so hard.

Eros: (joyfully) You succeeded! You did it. You showed how much you truly loved me. Oh, Psyche, I knew you did.

Psyche: But the beauty—I opened the box.

Narrator: She raised up—they were still in the valley. The empty treasure chest beside her.

Eros: Forget that! You did something much greater than that.

Psyche: But your mother?

Eros: Nevermind her. I was foolish to hide you away from her—and you’ve had to pay the price. But I’m going to make it all up to you—starting now.

Psyche: How—I…

Narrator: The Love God lifted her—and kept lifting—she became weightless in his arms. Higher and higher—through shreds of noonday clouds.

When they reached their destination, it was a place she had been before—long ago. But it was in a larger hall of that grand palace on Mount Olympus—and sitting upon an enormous throne of immeasurably size sat the Lord of the Gods himself.

Eros: (emotionally) Zeus! I ask your help. I hold in my arms the woman that I love.

Narrator: Zeus stared at the two lovers somewhat uninterestedly.

Zeus: I see that.

Eros: But, O Zeus, she is a mortal, and I am a god. My mother would never agree to our marriage.

Zeus: A god fooling around with a mortal is one thing—but marriage? It’s most irregular.

Narrator: A pink poof appeared in the midst of the proceeding, and an irate sniffing sound—much like choking was heard.

Aphrodite: (raging) Never! NEVER! NEVER!

Narrator: Zeus angrily wafted Aphrodite’s fluorescent fumes away from his face.

Zeus: I take it that you disapprove of this marriage, Sister?

Narrator: The Love Goddess stared wildly at her son and pointed a rasping claw.

Aphrodite: This ingrate! This boy! Has gone against his mother’s wishes—and carried on an affair with this hideous hussy of a girl! (incredulous laugh) Carrying on with a mortal! Who has heard of such immorality?

Zeus: (annoyed) I have for one. Perhaps you have forgotten that I have had a few… trysts with Earthwomen.

Aphrodite: (stumbling over herself) Well…that’s different. You’re…Zeus.

Zeus: And—let’s see. There was someone else who has been known to “go slumming” with the mortals. Oh, yes. I remember—you, my dear sister.

Aphrodite: (shocked) I never…

Zeus: (slyly) Perhaps we should call up a Mr. Anchises—or a Mr. Adonis perhaps. Do these names ring a bell?

Aphrodite: I was young and stupid! Who hasn’t made a few dumb mistakes?

Zeus: My point exactly.

Aphrodite: (fuming) The fact remains: a mortal cannot marry a god!

Narrator: There was a pause as the goddess hammered this truth home.

Zeus: Precisely right, Aphrodite. A mortal cannot marry a god.

Aphrodite: See! I told you, you little maggots!

Zeus: That is why I shall just have to make Psyche a goddess.

Aphrodite: WHAT?

Narrator: The two young lovers leaped at this pronouncement.

Eros: Thank you, Zeus! Oh thank you! I shall never forget this!

Zeus: Aphrodite, before you, you have the most valiant of earthly women. This child has braved task after task and even descended into the Underworld to receive your approval. If you cannot give her yours, I shall give her mine.

Aphrodite: But…But…

Zeus: Hebe! Come here at once! Bring the Cup of Ambrosia.

Narrator: The Love Goddess watched numbly as the Cupbearer of the Gods brought forth the holy vessel.

Zeus: Come, my child.

Narrator: Psyche—reluctantly leaving the embrace of her love—stepped forward to receive the draught. The cup was put to her lips, and as the heavenly liquid warmed her throat everlasting life rushed through her.

Aphrodite watched with disgust as a silvery illumination began to encase the beautiful maiden.

When this had finished, Zeus smiled triumphantly.

Zeus: So, my two lovebirds. You have been equally matched. Eros—the Greatest of Hearts—and Psyche—the Strongest of Souls. Live together in happiness forever. And that’s an order.

Narrator: In a whirlwind of passion, the two embraced—their divine essences mingling in a divine crescendo of adoration.

Zeus turned a sly glance on his heaving sister.

Zeus: Come now, Aphrodite. Be a good sport. You’ll soften in time. Soon the place will be crawling with children. And—think—who else will be the apple of those youngsters eyes other than their beloved old Grandma?

Aphrodite: (insane) Grandma? (ear-piercing shriek) Ahhhhhhhh!

Zeus: (sigh)

Narrator: Uninterrupted in their bliss, Eros and Psyche stared into one another’s eyes—barely daring it to be true.

Eros: For ever?

Psyche: Forever.

Eros and Psyche Part I (Sample Play)

2007-10-03T20:18:00.000-07:00

Note: This is the latest play I have completed and does not appear in the book. It's a classic tale of love and loss that closely parallels Beauty and the Beast. If you enjoy this first part, please leave a comment. If asked, I will post the second installment. Please feel free to copy and use in your classroom.

Eros and Psyche:

A Story of Love Between Heart and Soul

CAST

Eros The Young God of Love

Psyche A Beautiful Mortal Princess

Aphrodite Goddess of Love and Beauty

King Psyche’s Father

Sister One Psyche’s Conceited Sister

Sister Two Psyche’s Other Conceited Sister

Zephyr/Voice The West Wind

Servant An Invisible Servant

Narrator: Even though the gods of Olympus were created higher than we mortals, it should not be assumed that they are above our human weaknesses. Vanity and Greed run as freely there as they do on Earth. In fact, if their divine actions are watched closely enough, one would see that they were the ones who invented and perfected such feelings, leaving us only to mimic what we see happening on high.

Of all the deathless Olympians, there is one that stands out above the others in this respect—one known for her cruel temper and scathing jealousy. Aphrodite, the proclaimed Goddess of Love and Beauty, can be as equally filled with Hatred and Ugliness. Frantically watching for one whose looks might rival her own, she keeps an ever eye upon the world. And if that poor maiden ever dares to be born, it spells her doom.

In a far, mountainous kingdom, a king had three daughters. While his eldest two were as humanly beautiful as possible, the third and youngest, Psyche, seemed to glow with the glories of the immortals. No one could look upon her without the breath being stolen from his lips. She appeared as a goddess among women and was praised wherever she went. And so began her troubles.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Eros! Eros!

Narrator: In the billowy halls of Olympus, the Goddess of Love was storming. Her forever golden hair and fallen loose of its tie and spilled sloppily to her shoulder, and her gown fluttered where she had furiously torn its sash. Although her face would never lose its youthfulness, something aged and cracked could be seen brewing underneath—something fearful of its own demise.

Eros: (surprised) Mother! What’s going on here?

Narrator: The god Eros, glided quickly into the room—his feet calmly defying gravity. Side by side, they looked more like brother and sister than mother and son.

Aphrodite: (hurriedly) It’s about time! I’ve been yelling for nearly five minutes.

Eros: (sarcastically) Sorry to keep you waiting. I do have a life of my own, you know!

Aphrodite: (snottily) Yes, your life is soooo hectic. You sleep until noon—and when I do ask you for something, it’s like pulling teeth.

Eros: Maybe if you weren’t such a busybody, you would have more time to yourself, too.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Busybody? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be an aging Goddess of Beauty? There are thousands of women down there—all trying to get the better of me!

Eros: Mother, you look the exactly the same as you did the day you were born.

Aphrodite: Bah! Beauty is its own creature. Beauty pales over time. Men grow tired of the same delicate features, porcelain skin…ruby red lips…

Narrator: She absentmindedly began to stroke her own limbs.

Aphrodite: I remember the moment I sprang from the sea foam, I was praised. They flocked about me—to admire my glory. “How radiant is Aphrodite,” they said. “The sun barely compares to her glow.”

Narrator: Eros sulkingly rolled his eyes at his mother’s reminiscences. Her trips down memory lane were a daily annoyance.

Aphrodite: But now, now what do they say?

Narrator: The god opened his mouth to answer.

Aphrodite: I’ll tell you what they say. Every time some new tart comes along who doesn’t look like the wrong end of a boar hog, they starting praising her with, “Why she’s as glorious as Aphrodite!” The insolence! Ingrates! Oh, yes, my son—people have changed. They have forgotten their goddess—but I will remind them and destroy anyone who gets in my way!

Eros: (sarcastically) Will you be getting to the point of all this soon?

Narrator: She rounded angrily on her divine son.

Aphrodite: (angrily) The point is that there just happens to be a new mortal who is trying my patience. Some upstart princess whose looks people are proclaiming equal to my own. I won’t hear of such blasphemy.

Now, listen and listen carefully: I will not stand for this. She must be ruined.

Eros: (sigh) Is this in my job description? I thought I was supposed to use my arrows to bring love, not pain.

Aphrodite: Ha! Love is Pain. You’re bound to figure that out soon enough. Now, fly down to Earth. Psyche is her name. You’ll be able to spot her easily enough—she’ll be the one all the fools will be bowing down to.

Eros: (emotionless) What should I do once I find her?

Aphrodite: (growing happy now) Cause her to fall in love with the vilest man you can find—someone completely hideous. Ha! Look for a shepherd—they’re usually grotesque.

That will shame her! She will be the laughing stock of her kingdom. Perfect. Perfect. And once that is done no one will mention her splendor ever again. (evil laugh)

Narrator: Her son began to float his way out of the chamber.

Eros: (sadly) And he’s off. Eros, the god of gloom and doom.

Aphrodite: (absentmindedly) Be careful, Darling. Remember, Mother loves you.

Narrator: Glaring back at the flippant goddess, he eased quickly down through the night sky.

The stars winked out at him, socketed in the dark air, and he wondered when he would find love, real love—not the cheap infatuation he doled out with his flimsy arrows. When would he cease to be his mother’s lackey and hold worth of his own? The stars did not reply, and he flew on.

Far below, the object of his pursuit, the princess Psyche was wearily returning to the chamber she shared with her two elder sisters. It had been a tiring day.

A crowd of would-be suitors had amassed during the gate early that morning, and she had spent hours being showered by compliment after compliment. One man had even fallen to his knees declaring her “the newfound divinity of every man’s heart”.

Upon Psyche’s entrance, her two sisters looked snakily up from their weaving.

Sister One: (snottily) My, my. Look who it is. Our darling little sister.

Sister Two: (snottily) Have you finished greeting all your admirers? By the way, when will the Psyche Day parade be? We definitely want to attend.

Psyche: (tiredly) You know, I didn’t ask them to come.

Sister One: Of course, you didn’t. That’s the wonder of it all. They just showed up to admire such a fine specimen of a girl.

Sister Two: (sarcastically) It’s sad to think that no one will want us trolls after seeing a prize such as you.

Sister One: (sarcastically) But think—when they take Psyche to Olympus and make her one of the gods, we shall be able to go visit her! What excitement! Maybe we can be your serving maids!

Sister Two: A fantastic idea, sister. (cruel laughing)

Narrator: Psyche gave her sisters a scowl.

Psyche: (angrily) You two are just jealous.

Narrator: The two taunters quickly lost what little pleasantness their speech had feigned before.

Sister One: (angrily) Jealous of what? You being auctioned off like a piece of meat?

Sister Two: Don’t think your looks will bring you happiness, dear. Father will marry you off to the first old coot who throws riches at him. Then you’ll be miserable the rest of your life.

Psyche: (defensively) Father would never do that!

Sister One: Wouldn’t he? Think! Our kingdom is a poor one. A rich husband for you would be just the thing to keep it safe.

Sister Two: Surely you’re ready to sacrifice your happiness for your kingdom, aren’t you, sister?

Psyche: I…I…I…

Sister One: You would have no choice. See? It is you who should envy us—our humble looks don’t put such a burden on our backs.

Narrator: As they spoke, Psyche’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran away from the cruel barbs of her sisters to the corner where she spent her nights.

It was there that Eros found her—sobbing uncontrollably. He had come to see this beauty for himself before he consigned her to the love of a brute. The god floated above her shaking form—invisible to human eyes.

Eros: (to himself) Why does she weep and hide her face? Come, girl. Show me your charms.

Narrator: As if in reply, Psyche raised her head from the cushions and stared directly into the eyes of Eros. A sudden force slammed into his gut. Before him was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen.

Psyche: (angrily) Why do they have to be so nasty? I didn’t ask to be born this way! Ooooh! I hate you! This is all your fault.

Narrator: The god rebounded in shock.

Eros: Me? I…uh. I only…uh…

Narrator: Psyche launched her tear-covered cushion at him, and as it harmlessly passed through his immortal body, he realized that she was not speaking to him—but to her reflection in the mirror upon the wall behind.

Psyche: Most girls would ask to look like this, but they’re fools. It’s brought me nothing but misery.

Narrator: At once, the god’s mission was forgotten. His only desire became to console this tormented creature—her tears of despair only made her even more desirable. He moved to materialize, to make himself known, and then he remembered…

Eros: (despairingly) I am a god. She is a mortal. We could never be together. Mother would drive her to madness—or worse.

Narrator: To his surprise he felt his heart suddenly breaking. How many times had he caused this sensation in others, all at his mother’s command? Yet he now felt the power of his own arrows—such suffering as he had never done. This was his reward, his payback for so much anguish.

He knew one thing: he could cause this lovely damsel no more hurt. He dissolved into the night, as quickly as he had come—his task unfinished.

Eros: (angrily) I will do her bidding no longer!

Narrator: Despair—the same despair that Psyche had felt—coursed through him now. He had seen the love of his life, but it had been a temptation only. She could never be his.

Then a sudden thought struck him—one that he had dared not think—and inside his mind it formed into a plan.

Eros: (to himself) Could it work? I must ask Apollo—he will speak the Truth. If it can be, he shall tell me.

Narrator: The course of the young god’s flight veered toward Olympus. His cousin, Apollo, the God of Truth received him there, and together they hatched a brilliant scheme—one that would allow Eros to have the desire of his affection.

King: (in pain) Woe and grief! Daughters! Come to me at once!

Narrator: A week later, Psyche’s father, the elderly King, burst into his children’s chamber room distraught. He stumbled to its midst and fell to his knees. His three daughters ran to him.

Sister One: (shocked) Father! What has happened?

King: (through tears) Oh, gods! The Oracle of Apollo has sent word from Delphi. A terrible prophecy! Zeus, help me! I can barely utter the words.

Sister Two: What is it? What is it?

Narrator: Psyche felt fear rising up in her throat. The red-lined eyes of her father turned upon her, and with trembling lips he muttered his message.

King: The Oracle has spoken. Olympus is furious. My daughter has set herself up to be as beautiful as those who dwell there—an unforgiveable sin. And unless we wish our kingdom to be destroyed, we must take Psyche to the holy mountain—and—and—

Sister One: And what, Father?

King: He will come to her…to be her husband.

Sister Two: Who, Father? Who will come?

King: A terrible beast! A winged serpent! Oh, my daughter. Forgive me.

Narrator: He fell feebly to Psyche’s feet and cried aloud.

King: I cannot resist the will of the gods. They will destroy us if we disobey.

Narrator: As these words had reached her, Psyche’s heart froze. Her sisters stared at her anxiously. They were not thrilled as she had expected them to be. The same terror that was in her was in their faces as well.

Psyche: (numbly) Then I have no choice. I must go…to be the bride of the beast.

Narrator: Dawn broke, and wailing was heard in the streets of the kingdom. Black cloths were draped from every balcony. The word had spread quickly: the beloved princess Psyche was to be sacrificed to the gods. They had made her stunning, and they had come to reclaim her beauty.

Resigned to her fate, a solemn precession led her up the mountain. The King tore his beard as he marched, beseeching the soul of his departed wife to forgive his actions. Her two sisters had stayed behind—sheepish and confused. Even for all their jibes, they had never hoped for Psyche to suffer such a fate.

As for the sacrifice herself, spirit had left her. She prepared herself for nothingness, an arid place where joy would only be a memory.

Psyche: (numbly) At least an end will come.

Narrator: For all their weeping and gnashing of teeth, none were brave enough—when the time came—to go against the will of the gods. They left her there—alone on the mountain to await her monstrous bridegroom.

Psyche sat silently upon a rock and watched the black procession make its way back down the winding path.

A thin mountain rain began to fall—soaking her through. She closed her eyes, and a faraway sound reached her ears—wind, growing louder and louder, until it was almost upon her—her serpentine husband come to claim his bride.

Voice: Come.

Narrator: The strange voice behind her caused no surprise, and neither did she marvel when an unseen force lifted her from the rock—drawing her up, higher than she had ever been. Caring not to look upward, she set her glassy eyes on the ground far below.

Sudden daylight drew her attention, and ahead in their path the clouds had parted. Perched atop a spindly peak—shining like the noonday sun—was a glorious palace.

Psyche: (gasp) This is the home of a serpent?

Narrator: She finally dared to look over her shoulder.

To her shock, it was no winged beast that carried her, but what seemed to be an irritated little man.

Psyche: You aren’t a snake!

Zephyr: (insulted) Of course, I’m not, you silly girl. I’m Zephyr, the West Wind.

Psyche: They told me a giant serpent was coming to take me away.

Zephyr: Who did? Those fools with the tambourines? They were making such a racket, I thought about blowing them off the cliff.

Psyche: Then who is to be my husband?

Zephyr: The master of that golden hall there. He just happens to be a friend of mine, and I owe him a favor or two.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be wasting my time carting inquisitive young girls from mountaintop to mountaintop.

Psyche: Is he a winged serpent?

Zephyr: I’ve never heard him called that before, but you mortals have your own way of looking at things.

He did tell me to tell you that he would be along shortly. You’ll find the spirits of the house ready to accommodate your every need.

You do know what a spirit is, don’t you?

Psyche: (defensively) Yes.

Zephyr: Good. I was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice.

Narrator: They were very near the golden courtyard, and the West Wind swooped down low and set Psyche neatly upon the front step.

Zephyr: All ashore. Now, when your husband shows up, don’t rattle him to death with all those questions of yours. I don’t want to have to make another trip back here.

Now, if you’ll excuse me—I’m late for a storm in Athens.

Narrator: Before she could utter a response, the little man dissipated into nothing—a faint breeze playing across her cheek.

She turned to face the gigantic doors. With the slightest pressure from her fingers, they pushed back—swinging fully open.

Behind them stretched a long hall—hushed as a tomb. The princess began taking timid steps down its length.

An unexpected voice at her shoulder caused her to jump.

Servant: Welcome, Mistress.

Narrator: Turning to see only air, she waited for the voice to speak again.

Servant: We are here—though you cannot see us. We are the spirits of the house. We serve the master—your husband.

Psyche: (confused) Uhhh…how nice.

Servant: The Master has commanded us us to give to you whatever you may ask.

Psyche: I see. Tell me, what kind of being is he?

Servant: Oh, he is the kindest of masters.

Psyche: Can you tell me what he looks like?

Servant: As we are invisible to you, he is invisible to us. His goodness is all that we see.

Psyche: Hmmmm. Very well.

Servant: Is there anything you desire?

Psyche: Well, yes. I guess I could use a bath. And perhaps some dinner?

Servant: It is already prepared. The Master will arrive tonight—in darkness.

Narrator: Psyche quickly acclimated herself to her otherworldly surroundings.

The voices spoke calmly to her, and objects floating of their accord—lifted by invisible hands.

In the back of her mind the fearful question whether or not this were actually happening crept into her mind. Insanity was bad enough, but what if it were worse? Was this death? Had she died upon that mountaintop?

As night fell, the phantom voices called her to the sleeping chambers. There she lay down—amid silken sheets— to await her mysterious husband. Sleep—as if another spell of the house—defied her will and soon overcame her.

She awoke much later. The room was pitch black, and she felt that someone or something was very near.

Psyche: (frightened) Who is there?

Eros: (lovingly) Your husband.

Narrator: Psyche started as the voice spoke in her ear. She felt his touch upon her arm.

Eros: Do not be afraid.

Psyche: Show yourself!

Eros: (sadly) I cannot.

Psyche: I don’t understand. You tell me not to be afraid, but you are the one who hides. I have left my home and my family to come to this place. And yet I am forbidden to see my husband’s face?

Eros: You can never gaze upon me, Psyche. Your love is all I desire, and you would never truly love me if you were to see my true nature.

Psyche: How can you know that? This secrecy is more repulsive than any appearance could be!

Eros: I shall keep you here, and we shall spend each night as husband and wife. But when the day comes, I must everyday be gone from your sight.

Psyche: (angrily) It’s unfair! If you make me a prisoner here, you must at least give me some right…

Eros: This is the way that it must be. You must learn to live with this curse as I have. Trust me, Psyche.

Narrator: Her arguments dwindled under his constant resolve, and so her life began its mysterious routine.

Psyche would spend her days idly—always attended by the spirits of the house, and in the blackness of midnight her husband would return to her and caress her in that hour—then be gone by the dawn.

By some other enchantment, even as they touched she could never tell his true form. It shifted beneath her fingers— refusing to be identified.

He loved her true enough—his attentions showed it, and over time, the absence of his appearance ceased to concern her.

Whatever he may be—whether giant serpent or even a bodiless spirit—Psyche grew quickly to return his love.

Though she had nightly companionship, her days were lonely affairs. The servants were no great conversationalists, and she longed to speak to her family once again.

Psyche: Spirit, can I ask you a question?

Servant: Certainly, my lady.

Psyche: I know that I am never to leave this place, but might a message be sent to my family to let them know that I still live?

Servant: I shall be done as you wish, my lady. We shall send them a vision of this place in a dream and beckon them here. But know that they can only stay for the course of a day. Before the sun sets, they must be gone.

Psyche: But…very well. Call them to me. I miss them terribly.

Narrator: It may perhaps seem odd that Psyche so greatly missed those who had left her alone and dejected on the mountainside, but a desire for human companionship had grown up within her, and seeing them again became the object of her thought.

A week later—muddied and worn—her father and sisters arrived. They stood before the portal, gaping at the grandeur of the mystical palace. Psyche rushed to meet them, greeting them warmly, and ushering them into her golden hall.

King: (hesitantly) My dearest girl! It is so good to see you alive—I never dreamed it would happen—but are you sure it is safe?

Psyche: (overjoyed) Of course, Father, of course. This is where I have lived these many months!

Narrator: As she led them deeper into the glistening passageways, the good-natured smiles of her sisters began to slump down into scowls of jealousy. These glories were beyond their wildest dreams—and they envied them.

Psyche: We shall go in and feast to celebrate your arrival.

Sister One: Feast? Who exactly is preparing this feast?

Psyche: The servants, of course.

Sister Two: Servants? I see no servants.

Psyche: Please, sisters. It’s complicated. There are many servants here—I can’t even say how many—only you can’t actually see them.

Sister One: You can’t see them?

Sister Two: (snickering) That is a problem.

Narrator: The King gave his eldest two daughters a nervous glance.

Psyche: No, you don’t understand. Please. Don’t think I’m crazy. I’m really not.

Sister One: Is your husband here…or is he invisible as well?

Psyche: (hurt) You’re mocking me now.

King: Dearest, look at this from our point of view. This is all so strange. We thought we would never see you again, but here you are in this mysterious palace where everything seems to be under a spell.

Psyche: I cannot explain it either, Father.

Sister Two: What about your husband? Perhaps he can explain it to us.

Narrator: Psyche looked to her feet.

Psyche: I’m afraid that’s out of the question.

Sister One: Out of the question? Psyche, dear. We’re not afraid. Bring the beast forward.

Sister Two: We’re sure his hideousness must have been exaggerated.

Psyche: He’s not hideous…I mean…

Sister One: If he’s not hideous, then there can be no objection to his meeting us.

Psyche: It’s just that…

Sister Two: Psyche, we are not judgmental people. If your husband is ugly, just come out and say it.

Psyche: I… I just don’t know.

King: What do you mean, my dear?

Narrator: Her answer came in a rush of sobs.

Psyche: (crying) I have never seen him—and I can never see him. He comes at night, and I cannot look upon his face. Oh gods, I am married to a beast.

Narrator: The two sisters looked at one another slyly, and then rushed to Psyche’s side to comfort her.

Sister One: (soothingly) Such pain, sweet one. He is causing you such pain.

Sister Two: What an irrational rule! Not seeing your own husband! How can he do this to you?

Psyche: Oh, it’s not so bad—I just—

Sister One: Not so bad? It’s a crime!

Sister Two: He must be hiding something.

Psyche: No, he’s kind—and gentle.

Sister One: That’s what he wants you to think.

Sister Two: There is only one way to make this agony stop, sweet sister.

Sister Two: End the mystery.

Sister One: Yes. You must look upon his face.

Psyche: No, I cannot. I have sworn not to. I will be banished.

Sister One: How could he banish one who loves him so deeply? It is obviously a trick to keep you in ignorance.

Psyche: No.

Sister Two: If he is a beast, you must escape immediately.

Psyche: But how can I?

Sister One: We brought this to protect us on our journey—now it may save you from your fate.

Narrator: She pulled a gleaming knife from the folds of her cloak.

Psyche: You can’t be serious. He’s my husband.

Sister Two: What kind of husband? An animal who keeps you in a cage?

Psyche: He loves me!

Sister Two: What a way to show it!

Sister One: Look. If he is a man, then you may live your life happily—but if he is a monster, you must kill him—and flee—before he does the same to you.

Psyche: (weakly) I can’t…I…

Narrator: Her eldest sister turned Psyche’s face toward her own.

Sister One: Do not shame our family, sister. I will have no blood-relation of mine being the whore of a fiend. Do you want that for yourself?

Narrator: Psyche shook her head in sorrow.

Sister One: Then look upon the face of your husband—or it shall destroy your mind.

Narrator: The visit was concluded swiftly after. Cold resolve had frozen Psyche’s mind. Before, looking upon her husband had mattered little—now it was everything and would determine her future.

Gripping the knife tightly beneath her gown, she saw her family off with bland formality. Her sisters smirked with satisfaction. They had marred her dreamland—rocking its foundations with quaking of doubt.

Making her way to the bedchamber, Psyche perched on the edge of the bed—staring solemnly at the little lamp that had always sat on the nearby table. Her knuckles grew white about the handle of the knife. The lamp had never been lit. Tonight it would be.

Soon the sun finished its journey across the sky—and darkness engulfed her.

Eros: Psyche, my love.

Narrator: He was there—her phantom mate. Tonight she remained silent—cold and ungiving.

When she finally perceived that he had succumbed to sleep, she stood and took the lamp in her trembling hands. She lit its flame and— holding her blade high—ready to strike— turned its light upon the slumbering form of her lover.

What she saw there drove a spear through her heart. Gracefully asleep in the half-empty bed, was the most glorious youth she had ever seen. Golden curls built around the handsome features of a god—his eyes closed in the serene sleep of love.

Psyche: (almost crying) Oh, forgive me, my love.

Narrator: It was then, as she leaned over him, that a tiny bit of oil fell from her lamp and landed upon his perfect shoulder. His golden lashes flew open, and his eyes flew quickly from knife, to lamp, to bride.

Eros: (shocked) Psyche! What are you doing?

Narrator: Psyche’s weapon fell from her hand as her mouth moved in speech that refused to come.

Eros: (hurt) Is this all I mean to you? I told you never to look! Why did you not trust me? You betrayed me.

Psyche: I…I…I…

Narrator: He flew up from the bed, and his strained face searched her own for meaning.

Eros: (growing angry) What if I had not looked as I do? Would you have driven the point through my heart?

Psyche: No! It’s not like that!

Eros: (enraged) Silence! You have broken our vows—spat upon them!

The spell is undone! This palace will fade away, and you will be alone once again! But I suppose that is what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Psyche: No!

Eros: Foolish girl. Love cannot live where there is no trust. You have ruined the one thing in life that has brought me true happiness. Go. Go back to your people. I can stand the sight of you no longer.

Psyche: No…I can undo it.

Narrator: He turned away his head.

Eros: There is nothing you can do now. Go back to your valley, and forget that you once loved Eros, the immortal son of Aphrodite.

Narrator: With his words the lamp was snuffed—the world blotted out.

Psyche cried out in pain and clutched blindly at nothing.

It may have been hours or seconds before the shining chariot of the sun rose above the faraway peaks. But no gilded walls reflect its radiance from the mountaintop. The palace was gone—evaporated. And where it had been, a shaking girl was hunched upon a broken rock—her face hot with tears.

2007-09-08T21:55:00.000-07:00

The Following is the Table of Contents for Trickle Down, Olympus

TALES FROM THE GREEKS AND ROMANS

The Tale of Perseus

The Story of Atalanta or the Woman Who Could

The Golden Fleece: The Voyage of Jason Part I

The Golden Fleece: The Voyage of Jason Part II

The Judgment of Paris

The Iliad: The Trojan War Part I

The Iliad: The Trojan War Part II

The Death of Agamemnon: The Cursed House of Atreus

The Aeneid: The Journey of Aeneas Part I

The Aeneid: The Journey of Aeneas Part II

The Aeneid: The Journey of Aeneas Part III

The Aeneid: The Journey of Aeneas Part IV

Ovid’s Metamorphoses: The Envy of the Gods

LE MORTE D’ARTHUR (TALES of KING ARTHUR)

The Begetting of Arthur

The Tale of the Two Swords

The Bride of the King

Du Lac and Le Fay: Friend and Foe

The Loves of Launcelot

Return of the Misbegotten

The Death of Arthur

TALES of the NORSEMEN

The Building of the Wall

Freya the Bride

Mimir’s Well or How Odin Found Wisdom

Tyr the One-Handed

The Death of Balder

SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIALS

The Ballad of Bellerophon

The Lamentable Tale of Oedipus

The Trojan War: Helen of Sparta

The Trojan War: Iphigenia

The Trojan War: Ancient Draft-Dodging

The Trojan War: The Trojan Horse

The Trojan War: The Myrmidons

The Trojan War: The Adultery of Mars and Venus

The Trojan War Game

Ancient Greece Game

The Trojan War: Trojan Find-It

Le Morte D’Arthur: Merlin the Boy

Le Morte D’Arthur: The Fate of Launcelot and Guinevere

Introduction

2007-09-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

Gone are the days when priests sat in the oak groves of Dodona—listening for the words of Zeus amid the rustling of the leaves. No oracle sits upon the tripod of Apollo muttering the prophecies of the Light God. Those that hoped for the return of Arthur, the Once and Future King, have despaired and disappeared. Magic has vanished from the earth, sealed up with Merlin in his rocky tomb. Ragnarok has come and gone. And we—we are only left with our world, one far less spectacular and far more empty than the world of the past.

The world of the ancients was a brutal place—filled with disease and death, war and famine—the horsemen of the Apocalypse a daily fare. But through those times of uncertain life and shortened love there was wonderment and enchantment, beauty and hope conveyed through tales and their tellings. These stories give us a glimpse of ancient times and an understanding of the course of lore that wound its way down to us through the ages. The myths of Greece, taken into Rome by force, were adopted there and mixed with their own. Marching their culture into the far reaches of the earth, the tales of the conquering Romans found union with the Celtic people of the British Isles. Warriors from the North flooded into the same lands, bringing their own sagas. All were preserved—unblurred— into one culture, a culture that was created from a variety of influences and eventually gave way to our own. We are no longer Greek, Roman, Celtic, or Norse. Those ancient cultures have faded away, but their words remain.

Where history fails, myth and legend thrive—putting a human face on a dim, far-off time. These are the stories that were prized by the ancestors of the Western world. These are the stories shouted on the decks of pitching Viking ships, passed from lip to ear in the shadows of the Acropolis, and used to rally faltering knights on the eve of a bloody battle. These stories mattered—and still do.

Drink them up. They are the Ambrosia and Nectar of the soul. Olympus is still shining in the past, its stories still coursing through the veins of the world. Let the past affect the present and form the future. So, trickle down, Olympus, trickle down.

Birth of a Book

2007-09-06T11:10:00.000-07:00

From the Preface

The ancient Greeks believed that order originally sprang from Chaos. “Chaos” would be the perfect word to describe my first two semesters teaching high school mythology. Shocking—a class that I had thought would be “fun” and “easy” to teach actually had turned upon me—turned into a pit of drudgery, a nine-headed nightmare—something to contend with. The only thing I had with which to battle this monster of teenage apathy was ninety-nine stale copies of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology.

Never daring to snuff at the many strides Ms. Hamilton made toward getting these timeless stories into the hands of modern readers, I do have to admit that I find her writing a bit tedious. And when I say tedious, I actually mean excruciating. It’s like swallowing sawdust. But what can one expect? If you set out to make an encyclopedia of myth, it ends up reading like one. “Old Edith”, as my student came to call our illustrious author, has even comment on her stories’ lack of entertainment value: “One does not ask how entertainingly the author has retold the stories, but how close he has brought the reader to the original.” I beg to differ. I ask, “How entertertainly?”, and I know the answer, “Not very.” The ancient peoples who enjoyed these wonderful stories did not find them informational; they found them a constant source of entertainment.

So the second dilemma became: Can you succeed in using a book against its purpose? Is it possible to make something that is meant to be no fun, fun? I tried, and sadly I failed—I failed a whole year of students. Somewhere these poor unfortunates are going through their lives unaffected by the stories I hold so dearly to my heart. I had wanted to show them what I saw in them, but I did not. After those dismal months, I decided to re-equip.

It would be much more exciting and perhaps appropriate to say that the Muses appeared to me in a golden cloud, but the idea to turn a story into a play was born more out of desperation than anything. I remember how close to tanking I actually was. I had already decided if this new approach didn’t work, didn’t inject one little shred of life into the subject matter, I would be forced to become a robot—one of those teachers who acknowledges the fact that there is no way that the material they teach can ever, ever connect with their students. Needless to say, it did work. It did more than work, it succeeded—wildly. So I did it again and again and again. Story after story became play after play. Soon the whole curriculum was filled with plays, and for once the students were engaged, the students were learning, and the students were enjoying what they read.

Since then, I have never looked back. The number of plays has grown—encompassing Le Morte D’Arthur and the Tales of the Norsemen, two wonderful cycles that I eagerly brought along. The class that this text is imbedded in has never been the same. “Old Edith” is still there, our ever-illustrious source, but her presence is used more as a looming threat than anything else. “Shall we read the play or the book?” I ask slyly. “The play! The play!” they shout. I smile.

Now it is yours to use. Use it for education, of course, but never forget its primary function: to entertain. If these stories are allowed to lose that ability, they will shrivel up and die in the minds of tomorrow, and that would be the greatest tragedy of all. For those who lack a background in the convoluted world of Greek and Roman mythology, I have included a glossary that gives needed background information on major characters. Also included is a pronunciation key of every person or place whose gargantuan name could possibly frighten the reader. Rounding it out are thirty pages of supplemental materials that I strongly suggest using in conjunction with the plays; these range from original worksheets to games designed to engage the entire classroom.
This book has transformed the way I teach and the way I think about teaching. Words are not meant to be merely read, but experienced—and these twenty-five plays are my gateway to that idea. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.