Apollo and Daphne
The slime with which the world was covered by the waters of the Deluge produced and excessive fertility, which called forth every variety of production, both bad and good. Among the rest, Python, an enormous serpent, the terror of the people, crept forth and lurked in the caves of Mount Parnassus. Apollo slew him with his golden arrows – weapons that had not before been used against any but the feeble animals, hares, wild goats and such game. In commemoration of this illustrious triumph, the Shining Lord instituted the Pythian Games in which the victor in feats of strength, swiftness of foot, or in the chariot race was crowned with a wreath of beech leaves, for the laurel was not yet sacred to Apollo.
Daphne was Lord Apollo’s first love. It was not brought about by accident that she should have been either, by instead by the malice of Eros. Apollo saw a boy playing with bow and arrow and seeing that it was Eros and being himself elated with his recent victory over the Python, he said to him, “What have you to do with warlike weapons, boy? Leave them for hands worthy of them! Behold the conquest I have won by means of them over the vast serpent that stretched his poisonous body over the vaster plains! Be content with your torch, child, and kindle up your flames where you will, but presume not to meddle with my weapons.”
Aphrodite’s son heard these words and rejoined, “Your arrows may strike all things else, Apollo, but mine shall strike you!” So saying, he took his stand on a rock of Parnassus and drew from his quiver two arrows of different marksmanship, one to excite love, the other to repel it. The former was of gold and sharp pointed; the latter blunt and tipped with lead. With the leaded shaft he struck the nymph Daphne, the daughter of the river Peneus, and with the golden one Apollo, straight through his heart. Forthwith the Bright Lord was seized with love for the maiden, and she with abhorrence for such things. Her delight was in woodland sports and in the spoils of the chase. Lovers sought her, but she spurned them all, ranging the woods and taking no thought of Eros or of Aphrodite. Her father would tell her that she owed him grandchildren, but she would, even as her beauty was tinged with blushes, throw her arms about his neck and say, “Dearest father, grant me that I might always remain unmarried and always like unto Artemis.” Eventually, he consented, abandoning all thought that she should marry and be a mother.
And yet Apollo loved her, and longed to obtain her, but who gives oracles to the world was not wise enough to look into his own fortunes. He saw her hair flung loose over her shoulders, and said, “If so charming in disorder, what would it be like arranged?” He saw her eyes bright as stars; he saw her lips and was not satisfied with only seeing them. He admired her hands and arms, naked to the shoulder, and whatever was hidden from view he imagined more beautiful still. He followed her; she fled, swifter than the wind, and delayed not a moment at his entreaties. “Stay,” Said he, “Daughter of Peneus, I am not a foe. Do not fly from me as a lamb flies the wolf, or a dove the hawk. It is for love I pursue you. You make me miserable for fear you will fall and hurt yourself on these stones, and I should be the cause. Pray run slower, and I will follow slower. I am no clown, no rude peasant. Zeus is my father and I the Lord of Delphos; I know all things, present and future; I am the Lord of Song and Lyre! My arrows fly true to the mark, but alas! An arrow more fatal than mine has pierced my heart! I am the Lord of Medicine, and know the virtues of all healing plants, and yet alas! I suffer a malady that no balm can cure!”
The nymph continued her flight, and left his pleas half uttered, and yet even as she fled she charmed him. The wind blew her garments and her unbound hair streamed loose behind her. The Bright Lord grew impatient to find himself not suited to her, and, sped by Eros, gained upon her in the race. It was like a hound pursuing a hare, with open jaws ready to seize, while the feebler animal darts forward, slipping from the very grasp. So flew the Ancestor and the virgin – he on the wings of love and she on those of fear.
The pursuer was the more rapid however, and gained upon her, and his panting breath blew upon her hair. Her strength began to fail and ready to sink she called upon her father, “Help me, Peneus! Open the earth to enclose me, or else change my form which has brought me to this!”
Scarcely had she spoken when a stiffness seized her limbs; her bosom began to be enclosed in a tender bark; her hair became leaves; her arms became branches; her foot stuck fast in the ground as a root; her face became a tree-top, retaining nothing of its former self but its beauty, and Apollo stood amazed. He touched the stem and felt the flesh tremble under the new bark and knew he was defeated. “Since you cannot be my wife,” Said he, “Let us then be friends. I shall laud you as my tree. I will wear you as my crown; I will decorate with you my harp and quiver. When there is triumph you shall be woven into wreaths for the victor’s brow, and, as eternal youth is mine, you shall be always green and your leaf know no decay.”
So saying, Lord Apollo bowed to her and the nymph, now changed into a laurel tree, bowed her head in return.
All Works are © Original Author
(OC Author - Gillian Smart, after the Greek Myth)