Phaëthon
Clymene bore a son, named Phaëthon, who grew up a handsome and stately
youth. His father was Phoebus (Apollo), the Sun-god. Once, when he
boasted of his heavenly descent, his companions laughed at him. Shame
and anger filled the youth's heart and he resolved, upon the advice of
his mother, to ask the Sun-god himself if he were not his father. After
wandering through Ethiopia and India, he at last reached Apollo's
palace. Lofty columns, some made of solid gold, others of fire-colored
rubies, dazzled him. Their splendid pediments were made of polished
ivory and the folding door of lustrous silver, the work of the artistic
divinity, Hephaestus. There too were to be seen upon the billows of the
sea the horn-blowing Triton, near him gray Proteus, whose office it is
to protect the sea god's seals, and Doris, with her daughters, the
Nereids.[7] Some of these sea maidens were represented as sitting upon
the rocks and drying their green hair, others, riding upon dolphins.
Above them was the arching firmament.
Phaëthon approached the palace, but for a spell remained in the hall at
a distance, for the brilliancy which emanated from the sparkling crown
of his progenitor blinded him. Apollo, with a purple robe flowing from
his shoulders, sat upon a golden throne gleaming with jewels. To the
right and left of him stood the year, the month, the day, and the hours.
Golden-tressed Spring was adorned with a wreath, and Summer, with
sheaves of corn. Autumn carried a red basket with golden grape clusters
on her head, and Winter could be recognized by his icy beard and silver
hair.
Apollo, delighted with the sight of his blooming son, said: "What is it,
Phaëthon, that has brought you here?"
"Divine father," replied the son, "they mock at me when I call you
father. Give me some proof that I am your son."
Thereupon Apollo took his sparkling crown from his brow, called his son
to him, and embracing him said: "What your mother has told you is true.
I am Apollo, your father. That you may know it beyond all question, ask
anything of me. Whatever it may be, it shall be granted. I promise you
this by the Stygian Lake, the dark waters of the underworld; and such a
vow, as you well know, is inviolate for us deities."
Hardly had his father finished speaking before Phaëthon, with sparkling
eyes, replied: "I pray you let me drive your sun-chariot and winged
steeds for one day."
How Apollo regretted his vow! With mournful visage he shook his head and
spoke. "Woe is me that I must keep my promise. Had I not made it, your
wish would not have been granted. But now I can do no more than warn
you. The fulfilment of your wish will result in dreadful dangers. What
you desire is so great a task that your youth and strength are not equal
to it. You, a mortal, wish to be immortal. None of the Olympian gods
themselves would undertake such a task. It is known to them as to
mortals that I alone can drive the sun-chariot. Zeus himself, mightiest
of the gods, who holds the thunderbolts in his hand and rules over
heaven and earth, would not dare to drive it. Learn now the dangers
which threaten you. Only with the greatest exertion can the freshly
harnessed steeds climb the upward morning-path. It is a fearful sight to
gaze down from the summit of the sun-course. My own heart trembles when
I reach that spot. Then the path descends, growing more and more steep.
To accomplish it needs a sure hand. Thetis herself, who awaits me in the
waves, looks up anxiously, fearing I may not be able to make the
downward plunge. And this is not all you must learn. The heavens revolve
around you constantly, and the high stars weave in circles. The goal
must be firmly kept in sight in spite of the furious oscillation and you
must not deviate from the course. Oh son, ask yourself seriously if you
can do this. Think of this, too. Far otherwise will the sky appear to
you than it does from the earth. You will not journey to cities nor to
groves with lofty temples, but you will encounter apparitions of wild
animals, at sight of which the blood of a mortal will turn to ice. How
can you manage these ungovernable fire steeds which I can hardly bridle,
so great is their strength? Therefore, oh son, abandon your wish. There
are so many things in heaven and earth better worth the asking which I
can give you. The granting of your wish means your destruction."
The deity's warnings were useless. Phaëthon repeated his request. As
Apollo was bound by his vow, he led the youth to the sun-chariot, which
was a gift from Hephaestus. The axles were golden, as well as the shafts
and the rims of the wheels, but the spokes were of solid silver. The
shafts and the harness glittered with chrysolite and other precious
stones. While Phaëthon was gazing at the chariot in astonishment, Eos
opened the purple door leading to the halls in which the flowers of
heaven at all times bloom. The stars disappeared, the morning star, last
of the gleaming choir, faded and finally was lost to view. When Selene
(Luna) had sunk beneath the sea, Apollo summoned the blessing-giving
Hours whose duty it was to harness the steeds to the sun-chariot. With
light step the rosy divinities betook themselves to the hall, loosed the
white steeds from their marble cribs, filled with ambrosia, led them to
the chariot, and placed their trappings on them while Apollo besmeared
his son's face with a sacred ointment so that he should not be blinded.
Then he placed the sparkling crown upon his beautiful tresses and said
with a sigh: "Since I cannot dissuade you, at least take this advice to
heart. Do not urge the horses with the goad, for they go swiftly enough,
but hold the reins securely, try to restrain their fiery snorting and
govern them safely. Avoid the South as well as the North Pole and keep
to the course indicated by the ruts of the wheels. Observe further that
it is necessary sky and earth should be equally warm. Go neither too
high nor too low, lest you burn either the heavenly mansions or the
dwellings on earth. May Fortune help you in all other things, so now
take the reins and think of my advice. It would be vastly better for you
to desist from your ruinous folly that I to-day, as usual, may furnish
light for men and gods."
During these last words the headstrong youth mounted the chariot and
took the reins from the hands of his sorrowful father. The neighing of
the steeds filled the atmosphere. They champed their bits and stamped.
When Phaëthon pulled the reins they flew with the chariot. They soon
outran the swift winds, clove asunder the morning clouds, and the vast,
immeasurable universe lay before Phaëthon's gaze. The chariot swung from
side to side as the load was too light. When the steeds noticed this,
they took to wild flight and left the usual course. The youth was
overcome by fear. How could he find the course again? Not once but many
times he sought to free the tangled reins. Upward went the chariot. When
Phaëthon looked upon the height of the sky, a panic seized him, his
knees trembled, and all grew dark before his eye. Now he repented that
he had not heeded his father's warnings, but it was too late. He was
hurled about like a dismasted vessel in raging waters. He knew not what
to do. He had already traversed a great part of the sky, but endless was
the expanse which still lay before him. In despair he looked ahead and
behind. He still held the reins, but he no longer made any effort to
direct the steeds. A great terror awaited him as he suddenly beheld
frightful apparitions above him. Terrified by them, the steeds ran still
farther from the course, dragging the swaying, cracking chariot after
them. The elevated plains of earth took fire. Broad fissures appeared in
the ground, the forest disappeared in a furious sea of flame, and a
luminous dust arose from the meadows and harvest fields. Cities and
their people were destroyed. Fiery clouds swept over places teeming with
life shortly before. The mountains were masses of seething fire.
Phaëthon, gazing about, saw nothing but flames. Higher and higher they
rose, and at last the sun-chariot was surrounded by clouds of hot
moisture. Phaëthon no longer knew where he was. Then, so says the myth,
the terrified nymphs fled, mourning over their fountains and waters
destroyed by fire. The earth became such a vast chasm that the glare of
the fire was reflected in Tartarus and the gods of the underworld were
terrified. The sea itself retreated from its shores, its bed rose,
islands appeared where there had been none, fishes and seals lay dead
upon the banks. The sea nymphs fled with Doris and Nereus to a cool
grotto, where the air was so glowing that Poseidon had to plunge in
water the arm with which he raised his trident to try and hurl Phaëthon
down.
When Zeus beheld what was happening he pitied the dying world. With a
thunderbolt he killed the audacious charioteer. A lock of his hair,
taking fire, floated down like a falling star. The terrible bolt
frightened the steeds. The chariot broke and axles, spokes, and
fragments of the wheels flew in all directions.
Phaëthon fell into the river Eridanus and the naiads of the stream came
to bury his body. Apollo, who had seen all that happened to his son,
sorrowfully veiled his face.[8]