The Love of Apollo (Audiobook)

VII The Love of Apollo 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 favour 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 a longing at the splendour 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 Clyte, who worshipped 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 Clyte 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. The great beauty of Apollo 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 Clyte, 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. 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 a 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. In one of the flower-filled meadows of sunny Greece, there played all day a golden-haired boy, named Phaeton, 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. Phaeton 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 Phaeton 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 tongs. 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 Phaeton 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 marvellously wrought, and the light from its golden columns and glittering jewelled towers so dazzled the eyes of Phaeton 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 travelled 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 Sun. Hearing this, Phaeton lost all fear, and told his father how the children had refused to believe Clymene's story, 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 Phaeton's words, and he promised to give the boy the proof he desired, by granting him any favour he might ask. Instantly Phaeton 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 favoured child of Apollo. Dismayed at this unexpected request, the Sun-god sought to persuade Phaeton 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 Phaeton's request whatever it might be, he was obliged to fulfil his promise, and very reluctantly he led the boy to the portals of the palace, where the impatient horses already stood, pawing the ground. Phaeton gazed at the Sun-car in delight, for it was all of gold, except the spokes of the wheel, which were silver, and the body of the chariot was studded with chrysalites 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 shrivelled by the burning heat of the sun, and gave him careful instructions how to handle the restless steeds. Phaeton but half listened to these words, and fretted to be off on this 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 shrivelled up all vegetation, even turning the natives in that part of the country brown, which colour 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 Phaeton 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 all over 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 realise the cause of all that useless destruction, for far across the heavens, like a vanishing comet, Phaeton 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. Clymenie mourned her son's untimely death, and gathered his remains from the river, that they might have honourable burial. Phaeton's dearest friend, Sickness, continued to haunt the river's edge, looking for any relic of his favourite that might chance to rise to the surface of the water. In recognition of his devotion, the gods changed him into a swan that might stay for ever on the river, and plunge his head fearlessly into the clear waters to search for some scattered fragments of his unfortunate friend.