0799OrpheusDeath_Waterhouse

John William Waterhouse, 1847-1917. "Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus." Painting. 1900. Private Collection, Britain.

Variant or replica. c. 1900. J. Henderson Coll., Britain.

Variant? ("The Head of Orpheus.") c. 1900. Don Carlos Sena Collection.

It is perhaps no surprise that, as an author of fairy tales—many of which were, in their original conceptions, rather macabre—I am drawn to retellings that focus on the dismemberment of Orpheus by the Maenads. I love stories like the Brothers Grimm’s “The Seven Ravens,” in which a girl matter-of-factly chops off one of her fingers to use as a key; blasé morbidity is, to me, a thrilling aspect of many myths and fairy tales.

The story of Orpheus has been depicted in numerous paintings and sculptures, by artists like Titian, Poussin, and Rodin—many highlighting Orpheus and Eurydice’s anguished final embrace, Orpheus’s performance of music, or his fateful glance back. Artistic depictions that focus on Orpheus’s decapitation by the Maenads appear less frequently, but the ones that do appeal to me for the same reason as the Grimms’ severed finger: the morbid is portrayed with a casual lack of morbidity. In “Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus,” two lit-up nymphs marvel at Orpheus’s head drifting by in the water. They’re the sublime glow in the dark; he’s a dull crystal ball, an abandoned childhood plaything sent down the river. The gruesomeness is not the shocking thing in such depictions—what’s shocking, what strikes you down, is beauty, which is more rare. - Rachel Arons, The New Yorker.