“It was not brought about by accident, but by the malice of Cupid. The frustration of the gods is inevitable and cruel as Sun God learned…”
One day the Sun god, Apollo saw the boy, Cupid, playing with his bow and arrows full; and being himself, prideful with his recent victory over Python, he said to him,
“What have you to do with warlike weapons, saucy boy? Leave them for hands worthy of them, Behold the conquest I have won by means of them over the vast serpent who stretched his poisonous body over acres of the plain! Be content with your torch, child, and kindle up your flames, as you call them, where you will, but presume not to meddle with my weapons.”
Venus’s boy heard these words, and replied,
“Your arrows may strike all things else, Apollo, but mine shall strike you.”
So wise Cupid, climbed upon the rock of Parnassus, and drew two arrows of from his quiver. Each arrow had its own usage, and were made for this express purpose. The first was an arrow that would make anyone fall in love, but the second arrow, were anyone to be shot by it, then the one who was shot with the former arrow would only ever be someone to spite and resent. The love arrow was made of gold and was crafted to be very sharp. The second arrow was made with a rounded head, so as to be blunt, and was made of lead. So, angry Cupid, nocked his lead arrow and aimed for the nymph Daphne, who was the daughter of the river god Peneus. Then turning with a smile, he aimed the arrow love at proud Apollo, an sot him straight through the heart. Immediately Apollo was overtaken with love for an obsessive love of Daphne, and upon seeing the lusty greed in his eyes, she immediately was appalled and quite afraid of the love-struck god. 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 Cupid nor of Hymen. She, hating the thought of marriage as a crime, with her beautiful face tinged all over with blushes, one day threw her arms around her father’s neck, and said,
“Dearest father, grant me this favour, that I may always remain unmarried, like Diana.” He consented, but at the same time said,
“Your own face will forbid it.”
Apollo loved her, and longed to obtain her; and he who gives oracles to all 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 if arranged?”
He saw her eyes bright as stars; he saw her heart shaped 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; and 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 should 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. Jupiter is my father, and I am lord of Delphos and Tenedos, and know all things, present and future. I am the god of song and the lyre. My arrows fly true to the mark; but, alas! An arrow more fatal than mine has pierced my heart! I am the god of medicine, and know the virtues of all healing plants. Alas! I suffer a malady that no balm. can cure!”
The nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered… And even as she fled she charmed him. The wind blew her garments, and her unbound hair streamed loose behind her. The god grew impatient to find his wooings thrown away, and, sped by Cupid, 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 god and his temptation- he on the wings of love, and she on those of fear. The pursuer is the more rapid, however, and gains upon her, and his panting breath blows upon her hair. Her strength begins to fail, and, ready to sink, she calls upon her father, the river god:
“Help me, Peneus! open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger!” She found herself saying though in her mind and heart she felt differently.
Scarcely had she spoken, when a stiffness seized all 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, Apollo stood amazed. He touched the stem, and felt the flesh tremble under the new bark. He embraced the branches, and lavished kisses on the wood. The branches shook under his lips.
“Since you cannot be my wife,” said he, “you shall assuredly be my tree. I will wear you for my crown; I will decorate with you my harp and my quiver; and when the great Roman conquerors lead up the triumphal pomp to the Capitol, you shall be woven into wreaths for their brows. And, as eternal youth is mine, you also shall be always green, and your leaf know no decay.”
The nymph, now changed into a Laurel tree, bowed its head in graceful acknowledgment. At last he had her, but was it really her?
This is the tragedy and beautiful melancholy of the chase of Daphe by the one who would love her…
History & Facts
That Apollo should be the god both of music and poetry will not appear strange, but that medicine should also be assigned to his province, may. The poet Armstrong, himself a physician, thus accounts for it:
“Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,
Expels diseases, softens every pain;
And hence the wise of ancient days adored
One power of physic, melody, and song.”
The story of Apollo and Daphne is often alluded to by the poets. Waller applies it to the case of one whose amatory verses, though they did not soften the heart of his mistress, yet won for the poet wide-spread fame:
“Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain.
All but the nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion and approve his song.
Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He caught at love and filled his arms with bays.”
The following stanza from Shelley’s “Adonis” alludes to Byron’s early quarrel with the reviewers:
“The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;
The obscene ravens, clamorous o’er the dead;
The vultures, to the conqueror’s banner true,
Who feed where Desolation first has fed,
And whose wings rain contagion: how they fled,
When like Apollo, from his golden bow,
The Pythian of the age one arrow sped
And smiled! The spoilers tempt no second blow;
They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them as they go.”