Stories are stories, but er some people like to categorize them.
Some people talk of myths, which are stories of the imagination from long ago.
And we have legends, which are myths with a grain of truth in them like the legends of King Arthur.
And then we have folk tales, which we might call local legends.
I am going to give you now a myth from Greek mythology.
The Greeks had gods for just about everything.
This is the story of god Apollo and the god Hades of the underworld.
And this is the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.
Now Orpheus, as you may know, was probably the most famous player of the lyre, a beautiful Greek instrument.
And he was given a lyre by his father, the god of the sun, Apollo, and he played so beautifully upon that lyre.
He could charm the fiercest beasts of the forest.
Even the trees and the rocks would gather around to listen to it.
The streams would stand still so that they might hear the playing of the lyre and the singing of Orpheus.
He could charm the fiercest men, but, of course, he could charm the most beautiful women.
But he charmed the hearts of the most beautiful of them all, Eurydice.
And Eurydice fell in love with Orpheus and Orpheus fell in love with her.
And they agreed that they would marry.
But the happiness was short lived.
For on the very day of their wedding, even as she was dancing at the wedding feast, a snake came slithering through the grass.
Bit her upon the heel and Eurydice died on her wedding day.
But her soul went winging down into the underworld, the kingdom of Hades, where in the imagination of the ancient Greeks all dead souls went.
And Eury_ Eurydice was gone.
Orpheus realised that he could not live without her, but he decided that he would go down into the underworld himself and ask Hades, give him back Eurydice.
Now, no human had ever been down into the underworld, but so sweetly did he play upon the lyre that the ferry man carried him across the river between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
So sweetly did he play that the great beast who guarded the gate way to the underworld, a great three headed dog, Cerberus, lay down at his feet and allowed him to pass.
And so he went into the underworld and played his way through those dark caverns.
And the souls of the dead who flittered and fluttered about him, they didn’t stop him, they allowed him through.
And so he played his way until he came to the great chamber, where upon a black throne sat the god of the underworld, Hades.
And before him Orpheus plucked the sweetest tune from his lyre.
Sang the sweetest song, saying that, if he could not have Eurydice back he would prefer to stay down in the underworld himself with her.
To be with her dead rather than without her alive.
And when he finished his playing Hades looked at him and said, 'Orpheus, you have moved even my hard heart.
Yes, I will give you Eurydice back.
Now you go back the way you came and she will follow you.
But as you go, you must promise me you will not stop.
You will not speak.
Above all you will not look back.
Because, if you look upon the face of Eurydice before you reach the upper world she will disappear and you will never see her again.
Promise me that.
'
'I promise,' said Orpheus and turned and began to make his way back through those dark caverns.
And as he went behind him he could hear, nothing.
No sound of footsteps.
No sound of breathing.
No rustle of garments.
Was she there.
Was she following.
How he longed to turn but he remembered his promise.
But he fixed his eyes on that distant glimmer of light marked the gate way from the underworld.
Still, no sound.
Was she there.
He resisted the temptation to turn until the very last moment when on the very threshold between dark and light, between death and life he turned.
And she was there like a shadow following him in the darkness, form and shape, his bride.
'Eurydice.
'
He cried and reached out to take her in his arms but his arms passed only cold air.
The sigh like the dying of a breeze, she disappeared back into the shadows.
Orpheus had broken his promise.
Never again did he look on the face and form of Eurydice.
Never again did his lyre play so sweetly.
Never again did he raise his voice in song.
But Eurydice and Orpheus live on in the story I have told you.
And if you happen to go to Lesbos, the Greek island of Lesbos, listen.
Listen for the nightingales.
For it is said that in his memory, for he is buried there, the nightingales of Lesbos sing more sweetly than anywhere else in the whole wide world.