The Love of Apollo
I
Like his father, Jupiter, the young Apollo was not content to stay
always in the shining halls of Olympus, but spent many days wandering
over the broad lands of Greece in search of adventure, or for the sake
of some maiden's love. There were many fair ones among the daughters
of men, and they were wont to look with favor upon the beautiful young
god who came down from the high heavens to woo them. Each morning as
he drove across the sky the fiery horses that were harnessed to the
chariot of the sun, some maiden gazed with longing at the splendor
above her, and prayed that the radiant Apollo might look kindly upon
her. Seldom did these prayers go unanswered; but sometimes the heart of
the god was untouched by the devotion so freely offered, and the maiden
pined away over her hopeless love.
Such a one was Clytie,[11] who worshiped the glorious sun-god, and
longed in secret for his love; but in spite of her tears and sighing
she met with only coldness in return. Each day she rose before the dawn
to greet Apollo as soon as his chariot appeared in the heavens, and all
day long she watched him until the last rays of light were lost behind
the hills. But the young god felt no sympathy for her sorrow, and the
unhappy Clytie grew so pale and sick with longing that Jupiter in pity
changed her into a sunflower, that she might always stand watching the
course of the sun, and turn her face forever toward him, no matter
where his beams might shine.
II
The great beauty of Apollo[12] usually assured his success whenever
he stooped from his high estate to love the maidens of the earth; but
once he was repaid for his hard-heartedness to poor Clytie, and failed
in his wooing when he sought the love of the beautiful wood-nymph
Daphne. He was wandering one day in the forest when he came suddenly
upon Daphne as she was gathering flowers, and her beauty and grace
so charmed him that he desired her love above everything else in the
world. Not wishing to frighten her, he stood still and softly spoke her
name. When the nymph heard his voice, she turned quickly and looked at
him with the startled eyes of some wild forest-creature. Surprise and
fear held her for a moment while Apollo spoke again gently and begged
her not to be afraid, for he was no hunter nor even a rude shepherd.
But Daphne only shrank away, fearful of his eagerness; and when Apollo
grew bolder and ventured to draw near, she turned and fled through the
forest. Angered at this rebuff, the god followed her, and though the
nymph ran swiftly she could not escape from her pursuer, who was now
more than ever determined to win her.
[Illustration: Apollo and Daphne]
In and out among the trees she darted, hoping to bewilder him into
giving up the chase; but Apollo kept close behind, and little by little
gained on her flying feet. Wearied but unyielding, Daphne now hurried
her steps toward the stream at the edge of the forest, where she knew
that she would find her father, the river-god Peneus. As she neared the
stream she cried aloud to him for help; and just as Apollo had reached
her side and his outstretched hand was on her shoulder, a rough bark
began to enclose her soft body in its protecting sheath; green branches
sprouted from the ends of her uplifted arms; and her floating hair
became only waving leaves under the grasp of the god's eager fingers.
Apollo stood dismayed at this transformation, and when he saw a laurel
tree rooted in the spot where, but a moment ago, had stood a beautiful
living maiden, he repented of his folly in having pursued her and
sat for many days beside the river, mourning her loss.
Thus it was that the laurel became the favorite tree of Apollo; and
when the god returned sadly to Olympus, he decreed that whenever poet
or musician or any victor in the games was to be crowned with a garland
of leaves, those leaves were to be taken from the laurel tree in memory
of Daphne.
III
In one of the flower-filled meadows of sunny Greece, there played
all day a golden-haired boy named Phaëton,[13] who was the pride and
delight of his mother Clymene, a stately maiden whom Apollo had once
wooed and won. The boy was willful and headstrong, but beautiful as
a young god; and his mother, in her foolish pride, often reminded
him how favored he was above all other children in being the son of
Apollo. Each morning she led him to a place where he could see the sun
rise, and told him that his father was just then harnessing the fiery
steeds to his golden-wheeled car, and would soon be leaving his palace
of burnished gold to drive across the heavens, bringing daylight to
the darkened earth. She told him of Apollo's great beauty, and of his
wonderful music, and of his high position among the gods, because his
chariot was nothing less than the glorious sun. Phaëton never tired of
hearing these stories, and it was no wonder that he became very proud
of his divine parentage, and boasted of it among his playmates. The
children only laughed at his wonderful tales, and to convince them he
grew more arrogant in his bearing, until they, angered by his continued
boasts, bade him give some proof of his claims or else be silent. This
Phaëton could not do; so they taunted him with his godlike appearance,
and sneered at his pretensions until the boy, roused to action by their
repeated insults, ran to his mother, and begged her to tell him whether
he might not speak to his wonderful, but unknown father, and obtain
from him some proof to silence the children's tongues.
Clymene hesitated to send the child on the long necessary journey,
but yielding at last to his entreaties, she showed him the way to his
father's palace. It was night when Phaëton set out, and he was obliged
to travel quickly if he wished to reach his journey's end before the
sun-car left the golden portals of the east. The palace of the sun
was marvelously wrought, and the light from its golden columns and
glittering jeweled towers so dazzled the eyes of Phaëton that he was
afraid to draw near. But remembering the taunts of his playmates, he
grew bolder, and sought out his father to beg the boon for which he had
traveled so far and wearily. When Apollo, from his ivory throne, saw
the boy approaching, he welcomed him kindly and called him by the name
of son. Hearing this, Phaëton lost all fear, and told his father how
the children had refused to believe Clymene's stories, and had taunted
him because he could not prove the truth of his mother's claim.
The lofty brow of Apollo grew cloudy as he listened to Phaëton's words,
and he promised to give the boy the proof he desired by granting him
any favor he might ask. Instantly Phaëton demanded that he be allowed
that very day to drive the sun-chariot; for when those on the earth saw
him in that exalted place, they could no longer refuse to believe that
he was indeed the favored child of Apollo. Dismayed at this unexpected
request, the sun-god sought to persuade Phaëton to ask some other boon,
for he knew that no hand but his own could guide the four winged horses
that were harnessed to the golden sun-car. But the boy was determined
to carry out his plan; and with all the willfulness of a conceited
child, he refused to heed his father's warnings. As Apollo had sworn
by the river Styx--the most terrible of all oaths--to grant Phaëton's
request whatever it might be, he was obliged to fulfill his promise;
and very reluctantly he led the boy to the portals of the palace, where
the impatient horses already stood pawing the ground.
Phaëton gazed at the sun-car in delight, for it was all of gold--except
the spokes of the wheel, which were of silver--and the body of the
chariot was studded with chrysolites and diamonds that reflected the
sun's dazzling brightness. The impatient boy sprang into the chariot
and seized the reins in his hands, while his father bound on his head
the blazing sun rays; but before the journey was begun, Apollo poured
over him a cooling essence, that his skin might not be shriveled by
the burning heat of the sun, and gave him careful instructions how to
handle the restless steeds. Phaëton but half listened to these words,
and fretted to be off on his triumphant course; so Apollo ordered the
gates to be thrown open, and the sun-car dashed out into the heavens.
For a while all went well, for the boy remembered his father's caution
about using a whip on the fiery horses; but as the day wore on he
became reckless, and forgot everything but his own proud triumph.
Faster and faster he drove, flourishing his whip, and never heeding
in what direction the maddened horses sped. Soon he lost his way and
the chariot came so close to the earth that its fierce heat dried up
the rivers and scorched the ground and shriveled up all vegetation,
even turning the natives in that part of the country brown,--which
color they are still to this very day. Smoke rose up from the charred
and blackened earth, and it so clouded the eyes of the now terrified
Phaëton that he could not find his way back to the path of the sun and
drove wildly far away from the earth. This caused terrible disaster,
for under the sudden cold all growing things withered, and the blight
of frost settled over all the land.
Then a great cry arose from the people of the earth when they saw their
country laid waste; and though Jupiter was fast asleep on his golden
couch he heard the cry, and started up in surprise. What _could_ be
happening on the earth that the sound of human wailing should break in
upon the silence of his dreams! One glance was sufficient for him to
see the smoke rising from the burnt-up land and to realize the cause
of all that useless destruction; for far across the heavens--like a
vanishing comet--Phaëton was madly driving the flaming chariot of the
sun. Angered at the sight of a mere boy presuming to take upon himself
so great a task, Jupiter seized one of his deadliest thunderbolts and
hurled it at the unhappy youth, whose scorched body was immediately
dashed from its lofty seat and sank into the calm waters of the
Eridanus River.
Clymene mourned her son's untimely death, and gathered his remains from
the river that they might have honorable burial. Phaëton's dearest
friend, Cycnus, continued to haunt the river's edge, looking for any
relic of his favorite that might chance to rise to the surface of the
water. In recognition of this devotion the gods changed him into a swan
that might stay forever on the river and plunge his head fearlessly
into the clear waters to search for some scattered fragments of his
unfortunate friend.
[Illustration: Niobe]