Part 3 (2/2)

Prior.

The terrified girl paid no heed to promises or entreaties, but sped on until her strength began to fail, and she perceived, that, notwithstanding her utmost efforts, her pursuer was gaining upon her. Panting and trembling, she swerved aside, and rushed down to the edge of her father's stream, calling out loudly for his protection. No sooner had she reached the water's edge, than her feet seemed rooted to the ground. A rough bark rapidly inclosed her quivering limbs, while her trembling hands were filled with leaves. Her father had granted her prayer by changing her into a laurel tree.

[Ill.u.s.tration: APOLLO AND DAPHNE.--Bernini. (Villa Borghese, Rome.)]

Apollo, coming up just then with outstretched arms, clasped nothing but a rugged tree trunk. At first he could not realize that the fair maiden had vanished from his sight forever; but, when the truth dawned upon him, he declared that from henceforth the laurel would be considered his favorite tree, and that prizes awarded to poets, musicians, etc., should consist of a wreath of its glossy foliage.

”I espouse thee for my tree: Be thou the prize of honor and renown; The deathless poet, and the poem, crown; Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn, And, after poets, be by victors worn.”

Ovid (Dryden's tr.).

This story of Apollo and Daphne was an ill.u.s.tration of the effect produced by the sun (Apollo) upon the dew (Daphne). The sun is captivated by its beauty, and longs to view it more closely; the dew, afraid of its ardent lover, flies, and, when its fiery breath touches it, vanishes, leaving nothing but verdure in the selfsame spot where but a moment before it sparkled in all its purity.

[Sidenote: Cephalus and Procris.]

The ancients had many a.n.a.logous stories, allegories of the sun and dew, amongst others the oft-quoted tale of Cephalus and Procris. Cephalus was a hunter, who fell in love with and married one of Diana's nymphs, Procris. She brought him as dowry a hunting dog, Lelaps, and a javelin warranted never to miss its mark. The newly married pair were perfectly happy; but their content was viewed with great displeasure by Eos (Aurora), G.o.ddess of dawn, who had previously tried, but without success, to win Cephalus' affections, and who now resolved to put an end to the bliss she envied.

All day long Cephalus hunted in the forest, and, when the evening shadows began to fall, joined his loving wife in their cozy dwelling. Her marriage gifts proved invaluable, as Lelaps was swift of foot, and tireless in the chase. One day, to test his powers, the G.o.ds from Olympus watched him course a fox, a special creation of theirs; and so well were both animals matched in speed and endurance, that the chase bade fair to end only with the death of one or both of the partic.i.p.ants. The G.o.ds, in their admiration for the fine run, declared the animals deserved to be remembered forever, and changed them into statues, which retained all the spirited action of the living creatures.

In the warm season, when the sun became oppressive, Cephalus was wont to rest during the noon hour in some shady spot, and as he flung himself down upon the short gra.s.s he often called for a breeze, bidding it cool his heated brow.

”A hunter once in that grove reclin'd, To shun the noon's bright eye, And oft he woo'd the wandering wind, To cool his brow with its sigh. While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum, Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, His song was still, 'Sweet air, oh come!' While Echo answer'd, 'Come, sweet air!'”

Moore.

Eos heard of this habit, and was fully aware that he merely addressed the pa.s.sing wind; nevertheless she sought Procris, and informed her that her husband was faithless, and paid court to a fair maid, who daily met him at noonday in the forest solitudes. Procris, blinded by sudden jealousy, gave credit to the false story, and immediately resolved to follow her husband.

The morning had well-nigh pa.s.sed, and the sun was darting its perpendicular rays upon the earth, when Cephalus came to his usual resort, near which Procris was concealed.

”Sweet air, oh come!” the hunter cried; and Procris, cut to the heart by what she considered an infallible proof of his infidelity, sank fainting to the ground. The rustle caused by her swoon attracted Cephalus' attention. Under the mistaken impression that some wild beast was lurking there, ready to pounce upon him, he cast his unerring javelin into the very midst of the thicket, and pierced the faithful bosom of his wife. Her dying moan brought him with one bound to her side; ere she breathed her last, an explanation was given and received; and Procris died with the blissful conviction that her husband had not deserved her unjust suspicions, and that his heart was all her own.

There are, of course, many other versions of these selfsame myths; but one and all are intended to ill.u.s.trate the same natural phenomena, and are subject to the same interpretation.

Apollo's princ.i.p.al duty was to drive the sun chariot. Day after day he rode across the azure sky, nor paused on his way till he reached the golden boat awaiting him at the end of his long day's journey, to bear him in safety back to his eastern palace.

”Helios all day long his allotted labor pursues; No rest to his pa.s.sionate heart and his panting horses given, From the moment when roseate-fingered Eos kindles the dews And spurns the salt sea-floors, ascending silvery the heaven, Until from the hand of Eos Hesperos, trembling, receives His fragrant lamp, and faint in the twilight hangs it up.”

Owen Meredith.

[Sidenote: Clytie.]

A fair young maiden, named Clytie, watched Apollo's daily journey with strange persistency; and from the moment when he left his palace in the morning until he came to the far western sea in the evening, she followed his course with loving eyes, thought of the golden-haired G.o.d, and longed for his love. But, in spite of all this fervor, she never won favor in Apollo's eyes, and languished until the G.o.ds, in pity, changed her into a sunflower.

Even in this altered guise, Clytie could not forget the object of her love; and now, a fit emblem of constancy, she still follows with upturned face the glowing orb in its daily journey across the sky.

”No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her G.o.d when he sets The same look which she turn'd when he rose.”

Moore.

[Sidenote: Apollo and Marsyas.]

A young shepherd, lying in the cool gra.s.s one summer afternoon, became aware of a distant sound of music, so sweet, so thrilling, that he fairly held his breath to listen. These weird, delightful tones were produced by Minerva, who, seated by the banks of a small stream, was trying her skill on the flute. As she bent over the limpid waters, she suddenly beheld her puffed cheeks and distorted features, and impetuously threw the instrument into the water, vowing never to touch it again.

”Hence, ye banes of beauty, hence! What? shall I my charms disgrace By making such an odious face?”

Melanippides.

The sudden break in the entrancing music caused the youth, Marsyas, to start from his abstraction and look about him. He then perceived the rejected flute sailing gently down the stream past his feet. To seize the instrument and convey it to his lips was the work of an instant; and no sooner had he breathed into it, than the magic strain was renewed. No recollection of his pastoral duties could avail to tear Marsyas away from his new-found treasure; and so rapidly did his skill increase, that he became insufferably conceited, and boasted he could rival Apollo, whom he actually challenged to a musical contest.

Intending to punish him for his presumption, Apollo accepted the challenge, and selected the nine Muses--patronesses of poetry and music--as umpires. Marsyas was first called upon to exhibit his proficiency, and charmed all by his melodious strains.

”So sweet that alone the south wind knew, By summer hid in green reeds' jointed cells To wait imprisoned for the south wind's spells, From out his reedy flute the player drew, And as the music clearer, louder grew, Wild creatures from their winter nooks and dells, Sweet furry things with eyes like starry wells, Crept wanderingly out; they thought the south wind blew. With instant joyous trust, they flocked around His feet who such a sudden summer made, His eyes, more kind than men's, enthralled and bound Them there.”

H. H.

The Muses bestowed much deserved praise, and then bade Apollo surpa.s.s his rival if he could. No second command was necessary. The G.o.d seized his golden lyre, and poured forth impa.s.sioned strains. Before p.r.o.nouncing their decision, the Muses resolved to give both musicians a second hearing, and again both strove; but on this occasion Apollo joined the harmonious accents of his G.o.dlike voice to the tones of his instrument, causing all present, and the very Muses too, to hail him as conqueror.

”And, when now the westering sun Touch'd the hills, the strife was done, And the attentive Muses said: 'Marsyas, thou art vanquished!'”

Matthew Arnold.

According to a previous arrangement,--that the victor should have the privilege of flaying his opponent alive,--Apollo bound Marsyas to a tree, and slew him cruelly. As soon as the mountain nymphs heard of their favorite's sad death, they began to weep, and shed such torrents of tears, that they formed a new river, called Marsyas, in memory of the sweet musician.

[Sidenote: Apollo and Pan.]

The mournful termination of this affair should have served as a warning to all rash mortals. Such was not the case, however; and shortly after, Apollo found himself engaged in another musical contest with Pan, King Midas' favorite flute player. Upon this occasion Midas himself retained the privilege of awarding the prize, and, blinded by partiality, gave it to Pan, in spite of the marked inferiority of his playing. Apollo was so incensed by this injustice, that he determined to show his opinion of the dishonest judge by causing generous-sized a.s.s's ears to grow on either side of his head.

”The G.o.d of wit, to show his grudge, Clapt a.s.ses' ears upon the judge; A goodly pair, erect and wide, Which he could neither gild nor hide.”

Swift.

Greatly dismayed by these new ornaments, Midas retreated into the privacy of his own apartment, and sent in hot haste for a barber, who, after having been sworn to secrecy, was admitted, and bidden to fas.h.i.+on a huge wig, which would hide the deformity from the eyes of the king's subjects. The barber acquitted himself deftly, and, before he was allowed to leave the palace, was again charged not to reveal the secret, under penalty of immediate death.

But a secret is difficult to keep; and this one, of the king's long ears, preyed upon the poor barber's spirits, so that, incapable of enduring silence longer, he sallied out into a field, dug a deep hole, and shouted down into the bosom of the earth,-- ”'King Midas wears (These eyes beheld them, these) such a.s.s's ears!'”

Horace.

Unspeakably relieved by this performance, the barber returned home. Time pa.s.sed. Reeds grew over the hole, and, as they bent before the wind which rustled through their leaves, they were heard to murmur, ”Midas, King Midas, has a.s.s's ears!” and all who pa.s.sed by caught the whisper, and noised it abroad, so that the secret became the general topic of all conversations.

[Sidenote: Orpheus and Eurydice.]

As Apollo had frequent opportunities of meeting the Muses, it is not to be wondered at that he fell a victim to the charms of the fair Calliope, who, in her turn, loved him pa.s.sionately, and even wrote verses in his honor. This being the state of her feelings, she readily consented to their union, and became the proud mother of Orpheus, who inherited his parents' musical and poetical gifts.

”Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops, that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.

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