Eurydice: The Most Beautiful Corpse – Matti Schönbrunn

Both Orpheus Descending written by Tennessee Williams and Sarah Ruhl’s Eurydice retell the classic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. In both cases, the most skillful artist in the world enters the realm of the dead to retrieve his wife, Eurydice. She is the central character of the former play and the character of interest of this article. While the two plays adapt the story in different ways, as will be discussed later, they both contain either a clear reference to or a quite literal translation of Eurydice, the woman at the mercy of Orpheus’ rescue.

This dynamic of the lovers has been discussed in multiple ways, be it through scientific discussion and research or meditation on the topic in a contemporary play, book or poem. This article strives to contribute not only to the ongoing discussion about Orpheus and Eurydice’s relationship, but also far wider discussions on women’s agency, feminist perspectives and gender theory.

In that strife additionally lies the interest in multi-faceted sources and angles which are used to gain a greater understanding of the aforementioned discussions. For the wider context, the differing and numerous sources and perspectives have illuminated that the power dynamics and cases of dependency discussed have to be considered in a framework of oppression or exploitation. In order to grasp the goal of the arguments which are going to be made, one has to look at the discussed material not as single instances of a myth but rather as interconnected stories, rooted in a larger discourse around topics like female agency.

This transitions into the reason behind this article: the interest in the character of Eurydice. In most plays and myths, books and poems, Eurydice is presented as a helpless figure in need of rescue, even though more modern adaptations have nearly done away with Eurydice’s dependency on Orpheus. This structure led to a question that is primarily concerned with comparison, which will be the main modus operandi. It might be easier to understand why, more often than not, Eurydice seems to end up dependent on Orpheus if one can get a grasp of the underlying structure and compares the differing adaptations of the myth. This is also the reason for the previous paragraph, as »if [history] is not to be reduced to a discontinuous series of instantaneous mechanical equilibria between agents who are treated as interchangeable particles, one must reintroduce into it the notion of capital« (Bourdieu 15). One must reintroduce the notion that some groups have historically held power over other groups, and through no mode of operation can that notion be made clearer than through comparison. Therefore, this article will look at both plays in a comparative manner and analyze them with regard to the following research question: To what extent do Tennessee Williams’ Orpheus Descending and Sarah Ruhl’s Eurydice give their respective versions of Eurydice agency?

A Definition of (Female) Agency

The concept of agency has to be defined before it can be discussed. Without delving into any philosophical discussion: »agency is understood as the capacity to perform intentional actions. It assumes that there is an agent who is in possession of capacities and intentions, who is able to self-identify« (Zaharijević 23). In order to not ignore the commitments of the introductory part, agency can not only be understood as an action »in a discontinuous series of instantaneous mechanical equilibria between agents who are treated as interchangeable particles« (Bourdieu 15), but must also be introduced to the interconnectivity of actions. A few words regarding female agency are necessary, as in theory there should be no difference to male or female agency. In practice though, while male agency has been promoted throughout history, female agency has been restricted.

In effect, this quote illuminates the narrative inherent to this article, which is best understood as: If collective action is necessary for change, then the circumstance which should be changed cannot be a mere accumulation of individual acts, it subsequently has to be systemic. This system may be better understood by some examples, ranging from the beginning of civilization when »[w]omen were the first private property« (Fehr 5) to our modern day and age like »in Switzerland [where] we find an 18.4 percent pay gap between women and men; in Germany, a 21.6 percent pay gap; and in France, a woman must work 54 days more than a man to make an equal salary (2011)« (Neuenfeldt 18-19). In short: Female agency is not to be highlighted in an arbitrary fashion, but because of deeply entrenched structures in our societal conception of women.

In modern media, there have been female heroines who have shaped our understanding of female agency as well as the female gender. This is a byproduct of female representation, as gender is performed constantly even by the simple act of representation: »What then is the social doing of gender? It is more than the continuous creation of the meaning of gender through human actions […]. We claim that gender itself is constituted through interaction« (West and Zimmermann 129). The avid reader might quickly recognize this as Judith Butler’s concept of ›performing gender‹ and it is through this concept that the actions of Eurydice and her versions can be understood as female. All of the Eurydices perform their gender through their decisions, which in turn shape our understanding of the agency of female characters.

A Negative Example of Female Agency

In order to establish a better understanding of female agency specifically, it seems helpful to present some examples which might further illuminate the concept. While discussing negative, unproductive or flawed examples of female agency, one must distinguish between female agency and representation/depth of female characters. Very successful female characters can have little to no agency and still be an interesting meditation on a topic, whereas very poorly written female characters can have a great amount of agency. In short, just as the famous Bechdel test is not a guarantee for a well-written work of art, agency is not a prerequisite for a thought-provoking discussion on gender roles.

It seems obvious to choose another Greek myth as an example: the rape of Persephone, specifically Homer’s version in his Hymn to Demeter, translated and commented by Helene P. Foley. This choice will stay relevant, as there are some comparisons drawn to this myth and that of Orpheus and Eurydice. First and foremost, this story is one of many named a ›rape‹. The implications this single fact has for the whole of Greek mythology, the fact that there is such a category as a ›rape‹, paints a fairly clear picture of female agency and representation in this kind of literature. It underlines the previous assumption that the cases of oppression and manipulation are not single instances but connected by a system of exploitation and, in this case, rape. On a semiotic level, rape can represent the ultimate power held over one individual and can thus be understood as »an express of hostility toward the objects of his lust« (Bryden and Grier 184). Women were and are still seen as objects for satisfying needs, later discarded and even punished for a crime – if not the most terrible crime – they are the victim of, just like Io, Europa, Atalanta, or Persephone and her mother Demeter.

Homer’s adaptation of the myth describes Persephone as Demeter’s »slim-ankled daughter whom Aidoneus seized; Zeus, heavy-thundering and mighty-voiced, gave her, without the consent of Demeter« (Foley 2). The first details we attain of Persephone are that she is quite literally ›given‹: She is an object of dispute throughout the myth, wanted by her uncle Aidoneus/Hades, her mother as well as her father, Zeus. This is in turn not a story about the wrongdoings of Hades or Zeus, as they are not punished but merely negotiated with. Demeter’s wrath forces Hades and Zeus to arrange a better deal for the object with the name ›Persephone‹. Thus, this must be taken as a story about »[t]he girl« (2), a child being viewed as an object and being taken. Persephone’s youth is further illustrated by Lincoln: »That Persephone is a young girl on the verge of womanhood […] is clear from the texts in which her myth is related. Her byname korë is virtually synonymous with parthenos, ›maiden, virgin‹« (Lincoln 224). The only conscious decision Persephone can make are screams: »She screamed with a shrill voice, calling on her father, the son of Kronos highest and best« (Foley 2). The irony of the situation is stressed by Lincoln: »Kore’s plight is stressed […] she is described as ›unwilling‹ (aekousarì)[…]. Finally, there is the bitter irony: caught in a trap set by Zeus, it is to Zeus whom Kore calls for assistance« (Lincoln 225).

This dichotomy between Persephone’s actions and the trap laid out for her are especially interesting, as the myth limits Persephone’s agency in two major ways which are interesting to female agency. First, Persephone is only shown in a passive role: She is not the one capturing but the one being captured. The only resistance to that capture is an outcry for help which signifies her ›lack‹ of agency. Thus, she does not possess the ability to act on her own. Secondly, Persephone is governed by a system of power which has been, either in the broader context of Greek mythology, or even in the smallest unit of a myth, against her: Her only action is crying out for help to that one person that has doomed her. Persephone finds herself in a world where her father is known for rape and scheming, finds herself in one of his plots. The truly negative aspect of her agency stems from the single fact that, from the beginning, she had no say in the outcome of the story, as the following quote reveals: »Zeus, heavy- thundering and mighty-voiced, gave her, without the consent of Demeter« (Foley 2).

A Positive Example of Female Agency

To search for positive examples of female agency in Greek literature proved difficult. Thus, this article will concern itself with an originally Greek corpus, although through the perspective of a newer retelling. The number of modern retellings of Greek texts is enormous. It is interesting to see how we can develop ideas and angles unknown to the ›original‹ authors of those texts and then implement them so seemlessly. A retelling of the Odyssey from Penelope’s point of view can be a meditation on the constant double standard that women had and have to endure daily (The Penelopiad, Margaret Atwood 2005).

Christa Wolf’s Kassandra will serve as a positive example for female agency. From the first few lines of the text, a major difference can already be established: Kassandra, it seems, is the narrator of her own story.¹ This changes the whole structure of the myth, as it is no mere outcry of a maiden being taken away anymore. This is a long and complex retelling of an older corpus through the victim’s point of view. In this reinvention of the original myth, Wolf gives the character of Cassandra agency on a meta-level:

Thus, Cassandra holds agency through her knowledge, whereas Persephone is not aware of the structures surrounding her, crying out to the forces which doom her.

This narrative power is then coupled with Cassandra’s foresight. In an ironic twist, Persephone’s naivety about her kidnapping is contrasted with Cassandra’s expanding awareness of the danger to come. She is not only more active than Persephone, but also knowledgeable about the oppressive system surrounding both of them. Cassandra’s knowledge might also be interpreted as a meta-commentary on agency: Someone who is able to predict actions and who can contemplate the free will of these actions might be a good perspective to reflect on action itself and what it truly means to be able to act.

Cassandra’s ability to act is even apparent through a sheer numerical comparison between both characters. Whilst Persephone »screamed with a shrill voice« (Foley 2), Cassandra can save lives: »sie also hinderte, ihr und meiner Kinder Leben den gleichgültigen Elementen zu lassen« (Wolf 8). At the same time, the latter contemplates the impact of her choice, further elaborating on the fact that she is keenly aware of the patriarchal system surrounding her: »und sie statt dessen wahnwitzigen Menschen überantwortete« (8).

The final argument to be made about the positivity of Cassandra’s agency is that of her ultimate fate. Like Persephone, who is taken against her will, Cassandra is forced to sleep with Agamemnon and eventually gets killed, which makes her subject to rape and death as well. Unlike Persephone however, Cassandra’s ability grants her agency through criticism. While both of their fates end in an unsatisfactory outcome for their female roles, Cassandra’s wit is cleverly implemented to think about the system condemning her. One might even go so far as to imply that without the tragic ending, this retelling of the story would lose its core point, that of a critical assessment of the misogynistic and war-blinded culture of the Greeks: »Wolf zeigt dann auch im Text, wie das Prinzip des Kampfes in Wahrheit die Frau als Opfer voraussetzt, da die kämpferische Energie des Mannes sich der Nutzbarmachung der Kraftquelle Frau verdankt« (Keller 155). This is an assessment which is also made by Cassandra.

Eurydice as a Figure

The second point of interest for this article concerns the representation and characterization of Eurydice in Ovid’s Metamorphoses,² as this source is vital to understanding newer adaptations. Even before discussing the aforementioned source, some thought should be spent on the core structure of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Quickly summarized, the tale has the basic outline of Eurydice’s death as »[a] serpent bit her ankle, and she was gone« (Ovid 234), which is followed by Orpheus’ descent into the underworld, when he »[d]ared to descend to Styx, passing the portal« (234). Afterwards, he confronts Hades and Persephone: »came to the king of that sad realm, and to Persephone, his consort, and he swept the strings, and chanted« (234). This leads to the joint ascent as »he must not […] turn back his gaze, or the gift would be in vain. They climbed the upward path« (235-236) and finally culminates in Orpheus’ failure.

Eurydice’s part is thus that of the helpless woman in need of rescue, commonly also known as the ›damsel in distress‹: »the female operates as a means for masculine realization by creating the conflict between love, which is embodied by, and directed toward the lady, and chivalry, the rules of conduct set and followed by men« (Kolsal 26). While the quoted line is concerned with the Arthurian legend, it is quite easy to draw parallels to the depiction of values allocated to female members of society and male self-understanding in ancient Greece:

In summary, the very structure of the myth is to be viewed as problematic in the context of female agency, as it presupposes a power dichotomy which is, from the start, stacked against Eurydice. One might argue that »the rules of conduct set and followed by men« (Kolsal 26) are a rather fit description of Greek mythology as a whole: a realm defined and dominated by men.

Eurydice receives little to no mention in Ovid’s recount of the myth. The first allusion to her is a functionalization, as she is referred to as »the bride« (Ovid 234). Thus, she is already connected to the traditions of wedlock. Ovid’s version even starts with Orpheus calling out to »Hymen« (234), the god of marriage. In this connection to marriage, a great dependency on Orpheus can be seen as Eurydice is, quite literally, the counterpart to Orpheus and »the Aristotelian claim« (Kolsal 26) comes up again: Only through marriage can Eurydice be considered a worthy human being. Also, this emphasis on marriage will stay relevant, as it will be examined numerous times, especially in Ruhl’s depiction of the myth.

Eurydice’s death, as will be discussed later, is not only a major part of the myth but also her character’s agency: Does she choose to die? Or is she killed unwillingly, portraying a more passive role? In Ovid’s text, the choice is taken away from her as »[a] serpent bit her ankle, and she was gone« (234). This establishes her character as a victim instead of a heroine – a model of victimization which will permeate throughout her whole characterization, since she is the one in need of rescue.

This idea also creates a sense of fragility surrounding Eurydice. In the text, she is »limping a little from her late wound« (235), causing Orpheus to be »afraid that she might falter« (236) and to turn around which, of course, robs him of his own agency to a slight extent, lightening the weight of his mistake and burdening Eurydice at the same time. Her second death then is the total annihilation of anything resembling her agency. This will stay true for the adaptations to come:

Eurydice does not voice any complaints to her second death, as it is now associated with her faltering; the only complaint worth mentioning being Orpheus’ loss. In addition, like Orpheus, we can hardly hear Eurydice in this version of the myth, her voice only being briefly mentioned at the end of the story. Prior to her second death, singing to the king and queen of the underworld, Orpheus draws an interesting parallel to his story and that of Hades and Persephone:

He directly compares his love for Eurydice to a planned abduction and rape of »a young girl on the verge of womanhood« (Lincoln 224) and in doing so, »Orpheus for his own purposes characterizes it as a marriage based on love […], urging the couple to identify with his plight« (Ovid 461).

Although this comparison might be a bit disturbing, it actually calls to attention some similarities of Eurydice and Persephone. Both characters are given or taken by Hades who is managing them like resources, observable in quotes like »or the gift [that is Eurydice] would be in vain« (236) or »[a]gainst her will Hades took her« (Foley 4). Besides that, both of them cry out at the tragic turn of their respective myth, try to leave the underworld but are unable to, and ultimately both of them are in the middle of a conflict of higher powers governing them and making decisions on their behalf.

To summarize this short analysis of one of the oldest tellings of the myth in regards to female agency: The structure of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice does not warrant female agency at all; instead, it promises quite the contrary. An author interested in creating a modern and/or feminist retelling of the given text should aim to change or at least be critical of the core dynamics of the myth. They should think critically about its many older versions which work with a deeply patriarchal system stacked against the female roles of its text, diminishing their agency and limiting their understanding of their surroundings.

Eurydice in »Orpheus Descending«

Orpheus Descending, first presented on Broadway on March 17th, 1957, is a rewritten version of Tennessee Williams’ play Battle of Angels. It adapts the story of Orpheus and Eurydice in an unconventional way, as its main plot centers around their time in hell rather than their joint time before death. Reading this play as a one-to-one comparison of the plot of the ›original‹ myth would not be productive, as there could be an argument made for three Eurydices rather than one: »and [Orpheus] drives three local Eurydices to the diversified extremes of mysticism, nymphomania and embittered hope« (Lee 311). This article will consider only one of these three possible Eurydices due to several reasons that will become apparent when discussed, but also because of the direct romantic connection between Val and Lady who are this version’s Orpheus and Eurydice.

In her first appearance on stage, Lady is described as:

This description fits neatly with the idea that Eurydice’s »growing years were taken« (Ovid 235), but it also puts a twist to that idea in coupling it with trauma and stress. As the reader later learns, Lady has already lost her life and that of her unborn child once: »I lost my life in it, yeah, I lost my life in it, three lives was lost in it, two born lives and one not…« (Williams 59), meaning the life of her father, her way of life until this point as well as the life she was carrying. This memory already conveys a lot of information regarding her unwanted death, which is alluded to in the play through the words »death don’t come when you want it, it comes when you don’t want it!« (35). Readers also gain knowledge of her relationship to her father – »I want [Jabe] to see [my father’s] wine garden come open again when he’s dying!« (59) – and her relationship with her new husband, Jabe, »who bought [her] at a fire sale« (23) and »burned [Lady’s father] out, house and orchard and vines« (51). Jabe is often ascribed sickly or deathly features as he fights cancer and, in the history he has with Lady, represents »Mr. Death« or the role of Hades (65), which is emphasized by saying that »[Jabe] is death’s self, and malignancy« (65).

Lady is motivated by revenge for her father, but also the freedom that Val imagines for her. When he is telling her about the birds and their freedoms, she replies with: »I sure would give this mercantile store and every bit of stock in it to be that tiny bird the color of the sky for one night to sleep on the wind and – Float!« (23) This quote illustrates her desire to distance herself from the materialistic boundaries of her day-to-day life, a recurring theme for many versions of Eurydice.

On a more numerical level, Lady is able to do many things in and around the store: giving commands and decorating, buying and hiring, expelling someone from the store premises and even protecting Val from death. All of these instances describe her potential for action which effectively inverts the aforementioned power dynamic of Orpheus and Eurydice. However, if the store is understood as this version’s underworld and literally Hades’ lair, then it is to be questioned whether Lady is truly free in her decisions. She herself is keenly aware of her position in the store and through the course of the story even discovers that her husband killed her father: »Did you hear what [Jabe] said? He said ›We‹ did it, ›WE‹ burned – house – vines – orchard« (51). This gives her a better understanding of the system that is surrounding her.

Yet, it is due to that understanding that she is constantly defying and resisting the given order as best as she can. She waits for Carol, even if she is someone disliked and ostracized by the community. The whole act of building the confectionery as a symbolic revival of her father’s orchard is an act of defiance towards Jabe and eventually »her face [is full] with all the passions and secrets of life and death in it now, her fierce eyes blazing, knowing, and still defying« (65). Arguably, Lady not only fulfills the role of Eurydice as a ›damsel in distress‹ but also the role of ›the goddess of spring‹, namely Persephone, trying to revive her father’s orchard as well as the corrupted community surrounding her.³

Eurydice in »Eurydice«

In Sarah Ruhl’s play Eurydice (2003), »the emphasis has shifted from the musician who invades the Underworld to rescue his dead wife to the wife herself« (Weales 608), which proves itself true on some levels. Starting with the paratextual level, the play does not present a fairly expected ›Orpheus in the Underworld‹ or many variations of that title but a simple Eurydice. This title already indicates the focal shift from one character to the other. Simultaneously, it raises the expectation that the viewer is going to learn more about the character of Eurydice. In addition to that, her name is listed first under ›CHARACTERS‹, a placement which accentuates her importance even more.

In the play, the first character to speak is Eurydice, as opposed to Orpheus who stays mute for more than one page of the play, and only communicates via gestures. Thus, she could be considered his voice, which is a role that establishes a great codependency: Orpheus is not able to talk without Eurydice; she is the one who voices the thoughts he is not able to communicate on his own. Counting the instances of her agency, the viewer sees her educating herself as she »read a book today« (Ruhl 4) and gets herself some water.⁴ She also denies an offer by the lord of the underworld who asks her »So would you like to accompany me to this interesting affair?« (18) to which Eurydice replies »No, thank you« (18) and, later on, outsmarts him when saying »Close your eyes, then! [Hades] closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. She takes the letter from his breast pocket. She slips under him and opens the door to the stairwell« (30). These are only a few selected examples among many instances in the text, through which the viewer gets the impression that Eurydice is free to act on her own. This notion also holds true for her death which she herself is responsible for: »She runs, trips and pitches down the stairs, holding her letter« (31). In Ruhl’s adaptation, Eurydice’s death is unwanted but self-inflicted. The point of her death neatly leads to the restrictions she faces in the play.

Eurydice is described »as though [she is] a little too young and a little too in love« (2) which is interpreted by critics as »[a]n indecisive young woman who seems uncertain about the books she reads« (Chirico 315). Thus, there are a lot of questions asked by Eurydice throughout the play which are then answered by the other (male) characters. This establishes a teacher-student dynamic. For instance, her father teaches her to speak again, Hades tells her how »a real man« (Ruhl 30) should have »broad shoulders like me« (30) and, finally, Orpheus shows her his gifts, teaches her about music and how to clap a rhythm.

Furthermore, Eurydice is often both emotionally and physically restricted by the men surrounding her. It can be seen in Hades who »blocks the doorway« (30) and is thus the actual cause of her death, even though the play does not acknowledge it. Orpheus is passively forcing his behavior onto Eurydice as he is »always taking a shower when the guests arrive so he doesn’t have to greet them. Then [she has to] greet them« (17). Additionally, he emotionally pressures her to accept his proposal: »I think so. ORPHEUS: You think so? EURYDICE: I wasn’t thinking. I mean–Yes. Just: Yes« (12). Finally, her father is often believed to be the reason for her staying in the underworld: »Although she loves Orpheus, Eurydice regrets leaving her father in the underworld« (Chirico 317) and ultimately chooses »to stay with her recently dead father« (Weales 609).

Comparing the Plays

One of the core aspects in comparative literature is that of ›Influence‹ (Corbineau-Hoffmann 103) which is used to describe the following: »Ein interner Kontakt [oder auch: Einfluß], hat der Definition nach ein weiteres Werk zur Folge und betrifft nur jene Rezipienten, die selbst Autoren, ›Dichter‹, sind« (103). This idea proves important for these two plays, as through comparing how both plays adapt the ›original myth‹ one might gain a better understanding of their respective views on female agency. The closer the text gets to Ovid’s representation without in turn criticizing the underlying worldview, the less female agency is given to Eurydice. Additionally, it might be interesting to observe the differing takes of both plays on the same material.

Adaptation of the Myth

This part of the article will amount to a list of choices the respective writer made regarding adaptation. Both texts describe their version of Eurydice as young since »Eurydice […] should be played as though [she is] a little too young« (Ruhl 2) and Lady’s »girlish softness emerges again and she looks ten years younger« (Williams 11). Thus, both versions stay true to the Ovidian idea that her youthful years were taken – a decision which seems to hold two core reasons. Firstly, one idea of the original myth could be interpreted as Eurydice dying too soon which motivates Orpheus to seek her in the world of the dead. Secondly, Eurydice is often depicted as ›unknowing‹, while Orpheus is able to lead her out of the underworld and has knowledge about the rules of the Gods. Eurydice’s frequent description as younger thus serves the purpose of presenting her as lesser than Orpheus.

Based on the words »death don’t come when you want it, it comes when you don’t want it!« (35), Williams’ version of the character does not choose to die. Meanwhile, Ruhl’s version dies by accident – or, more accurately, because she was pursued as »[s]he runs, trips and pitches down the stairs, holding her letter« (Ruhl 31) – which reaffirms Ovid’s telling again and does not give Eurydice a choice regarding her own death. Eurydice’s death is a focal point of the myth’s basic outline, and with that position comes a certain importance. Subsequently, it seems confusing why Ruhl’s retelling fails to give Eurydice a choice. Of course, this choice would preferably not consist of two male partners but of principles – namely that of commitment, which is represented by the marriage to Orpheus, and freedom, which is illustrated by the ›interesting‹ conversations Eurydice promises herself in the underworld.

Ruhl decides to give Eurydice the choice of rebirth which is showcased in the following scene: »EURYDICE: Orpheus? HE TURNS TOWARDS HER, STARTLED« (83). Opposed to this, William’s protagonist desperately longs for her version of Orpheus which is demonstrated through begging »NO, NO, DON’T GO…. I NEED YOU!!! […] TO LIVE…. TO GO ON LIVING!!!« (Williams 46). The latter, thus, more closely resembles Ovid’s version of the tale. Ruhl’s choice to actually grant Eurydice agency is very much needed because it presents her as being able to shape the course of her own life, whereas William’s decision to let Lady long for a choice stays consistent with the environment that has been set up to that point.

Both versions die for their father, both formulate their memories through their father. Williams’ adaptation could have worked with either a mother or a father figure, as the character only holds relevance for the development of the plot. In contrast to this, Ruhl’s version features the father as a way of coping with feelings of loss since she »wrote Eurydice in honour of her father, who died too young. For her, Eurydice is in some respects a manifestation of her desire to experience more conversations with him« (Coronis 302).

In general, some roles do not have to be open for any member of the cast, if that role only ›works‹ with a certain cast member in mind. As the role of mentor in the underworld could not have been played by her mother, this leads to some rather problematic conclusions: Her father has to teach Eurydice how to live. This set role in the play then creates the implication that Eurydice’s choice to stay in the underworld is taken from her, as her ability to make that decision is only possible through her father. It is also worth mentioning that through this inclusion of the father figure, Eurydice becomes more three-dimensional, as she now possesses memories, as opposed to Ovid’s account where this is not the case.

Lastly, while Lady gets to act only within the boundaries of her shop and is ultimately restricted by Jabe, Eurydice is free to do whatever she wants. However, Lady is aware of the system restricting her, whereas Eurydice seems oblivious to any allusion to the patriarchal system, which is observable through her repeating misogynist thoughts like: »A wedding is for daughters and fathers. The mothers all dress up, trying to look like young women. […] They stop being married to each other on that day« (Ruhl 17).

The Two Eurydices

What follows now is an attempt to give a definitive answer on the question of female agency. Each adaptation is faithful to Ovid, because they end in tragedy. There will not be a freed Eurydice, nor will there be an independent one. The core structure, as shown earlier, forbids a writing which has those goals of equality and agency.

To answer the question of how well these two versions navigate the given framework, it can be said that both add onto Eurydice’s character and relations, and both give her a voice which can denounce and describe her surroundings – far more than Ovid’s writing is willing to grant. In these retellings, Eurydice truly becomes a character and not just a MacGuffin to be retrieved out of Hades.

Ultimately, both versions of Eurydice are in a conflict between two men. As shown previously, this likely has to do with the adaptation of the ›original‹ myth. Williams’ Lady is torn between the revenge for her father and love and sexual realization embodied by Val, since »[t]hrough her sexual relationship with Val, Lady Torrance has attained reality and meaning in life« (Blackwell 13). Ruhl’s Eurydice has to choose either her father or Orpheus, whom she is unsure of. No matter who they choose, both versions are dependent on a man in their (after-)lives, as Lady literally exclaims: »NO, NO, DON’T GO…. I NEED YOU!!! […] TO LIVE…. TO GO ON LIVING!!!« (Williams 46). Meanwhile, Ruhl’s Eurydice is also heavily reliant on her father to teach her to live again, which could be read as the father’s intention as he »forces his daughter to marry a man she does not love [which] tightens his own hold on her, since it ensures that she will always love him and never really leave him« (Finney 108).

To put it bluntly, these two characters are restricted and oppressed in far more ways than they are free and have agency of their own. There could have been many ways in which these two versions of Eurydice had more say in their lives. Yet, nearly all of their actions are linked to the men surrounding them, granting them no possibility of acting on their own authority. Ironically, the plays let themselves be categorized into the dichotomy previously established by the examples of female agency. Ruhl’s Eurydice can act in a limited space but is unaware of any patriarchal system and thus closer connected to ›the rape of Persephone‹. In contrast, Williams’ Lady is far more restricted in her actions but is aware of her misogynist surroundings.

Conclusion

Throughout this paper, the different versions of Orpheus and Euryidce’s myth have been analyzed in order to find out to which extent the female characters are given agency. It has become evident that any non-critical adaptation of this myth presents major issues in regards to female agency. Both of the plays compared adapt the restrictions which Eurydice has to face in her world, namely her inability to escape a choice between two men as well as her background, which ties her whole existence to a mythized father figure. As these limitations are not viewed through a critical lens, since both plays fail to use these boundaries set by a larger patriarchal narrative as a means of liberating the two Eurydices, it is not possible to talk about two female agents, but rather two passive female roles. However, as there is only a low grade of one-to-one adaptation, both texts are able to talk about feminist topics, like the trauma of abusive relationships, the process of maturing into an adult woman and the act of defiance against an oppressive system. Therefore, both texts are competent enough to form their own thoughts about the myth’s core ideas of dependency, love and redefining borders.

Ultimately, it is clear that through the more critical view of Orpheus Descending’s character Lady, the play is able to present a more positive example of female agency than Eurydice. There, the protagonist Eurydice could theoretically act on her own, but is constantly seen in an inferior position to the men teaching or manipulating her. This stands in stark contrast to Lady, who is able to both openly defy the given order and to question the structures surrounding her. In the end, the readers of the two plays leave Eurydice where she has been even prior to Ovid’s recount of the myth: in the realm of powers unknown to her, quietly struggling against most certain death.