I am fascinated by etymology: the study of the origin of words and the way in which their meanings have changed throughout history. The Little Oxford Dictionary of Word Origins is one of the most-well-thumbed books on my shelf.

While I was writing my novel Aphrodite’s Tears, which draws upon the mythology of the Ancient Greek civilisation, it struck me how many words in modern use are derived from those myths (see https://hannahfielding.net/staging/1129/derived-from-greek-mythology/).

One of those with a very clear root in mythology is ‘echo’, which, according to a dictionary definition, we use to mean a sound or sounds caused by the reflection of sound waves from a surface back to the listener. Tragedy abounds in the Greek myths, but I have always thought that Echo’s story is the most tragic of them all.

Echo was a nymph (a minor female nature deity) who lived on Mount Cithaeron. She lived a peaceful life until she got on the wrong side of Hera, wife of Zeus. The king of the gods was a philanderer, and he especially enjoyed the company of nymphs. This did not sit well with Hera, who was the goddess of women, marriage, family and childbirth.

When Hera came down to Earth, intent on catching her adulterous husband in the act, Zeus ordered Echo to divert Hera’s attention. Echo did her best, distracting Hera with lengthy chats and piling on the flattery. But Hera soon saw Echo’s motives, and she was furious that this nymph was protecting her husband.

As was the habit for the Greek deities, Hera channelled her fury into vengeance. She laid a curse on Echo, so that the nymph could no longer indulge in long conversations designed to deceive. Indeed, Echo could no longer speak for herself at all, but only utter the last words spoken to her.

At this point in the myth, we meet another character who has inspired a modern term: narcissist. Narcissus was a mortal man, a hunter, and he was very handsome – and didn’t he know it! One day he was out hunting when Echo saw him, and at once she experienced a coup de foudre – love at first sight. Narcissus sensed Echo’s presence as she followed him, and he called out, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Who’s there?’ was all poor Echo could say in response.

‘Come here,’ said Narcissus.

‘Come here,’ repeated Echo.

When no one emerged from the trees, Narcissus thought the person must have gone the wrong way, and he called, ‘This way, we must come together.’

At this, Echo stepped into the light, saying with hope, ‘We must come together.’

She rushed to Narcissus and flung her arms around him. But Narcissus was appalled, and he shoved her away, saying, ‘Hands off! May I die before you enjoy my body.’

Echo was heartbroken, and could do nothing but turn and flee. From that day on, she haunted lonely spots and pined for her love.

This was not the last time she would see her beloved Narcissus. Tragedy abounds in the Greek myths, and so does retribution. Nemesis, goddess of revenge, learned of Echo’s heartbreak and Narcissus’s cruel rejection, and she decided to teach the vain human a lesson. On a hot summer’s afternoon, she lured him to a pool to drink. When Narcissus leaned over the pool, he saw a man there – young, virile, beautiful. Coup de foudre – love at first sight. It did not occur to Narcissus that he had fallen for his own reflection.

‘Echo and Narcissus’ (John William Waterhouse, 1903)

Narcissus remained at that pool, gazing at himself, for a very long time, slowly wasting away. His final words, to himself in the pool, were, ‘Oh marvellous boy, I loved you in vain, farewell.’ And Echo, who had been watching, and longing, and wishing, could say nothing but, ‘Farewell.’

With her love gone forever, Echo too slowly wasted away. She faded, quietly and slowly, until all that remained of her was her voice.

Poor Echo: cursed for following her king’s orders; robbed of her right to a voice, a mind of her own; capable of great love, but unable to express it; shunned, rejected; alone.

For me, though, the most poignant part of the tale is Echo’s demise. Narcissus was consumed by passion, becoming, ultimately, the beautiful narcissus flower. Echo, though, simply faded from existence. Such a haunting end to this myth; I can’t quite decide whether it is terribly sad to fade in this way, or actually a rather beautiful form of surrender.