Читать книгу Tales of Ancient Greece - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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In a sunny corner of Greece there once dwelt a lovely nymph called Clymene. She had a golden-haired son, Phaeton, and when the yellow sunshine played on his hair, she would laugh and say:

“See how your father caresses you, Phaeton!”

“Is my father then the great sun-god?” asked the little boy. “Is it he who drives the golden sun-chariot across the sky each day?”

“It is indeed he,” answered Clymene. “You may well be proud of such a father, Phaeton.”

The boy was pleased to think that his father was a god. He ran out to tell his playmates. At first they believed him, and listened in wonder. But as the days went by and Phaeton boasted more and more of his wonderful father, his friends became tired.

“Show us some proof that he is indeed your father!” they cried. “We do not believe you, Phaeton. You are a boaster!”

White with anger, the boy ran to his mother.

“They say that the great Apollo is not my father!” he said. “Mother, let me go to him, and ask him to show these unbelievers that I am indeed his son.”

“You shall go,” said Clymene fondly. “I will tell you the way, and you shall set forth to-morrow.”

The next day the boy set out on his long journey. Eagerly he set his face to the east, where the great sun-chariot appeared each morning. Day after day he walked steadily towards Apollo’s palace, eager to meet his father and embrace him.

At last he arrived, and stood marvelling at the wonderful palace, whose pillars glittered with gold and precious stones, whose ceilings were of ivory, and whose doors were of gleaming silver.

The boy climbed the golden steps to the throne-room, and stopped on the threshold, dazzled by the brightness within. Apollo sat on his glittering throne, with his crown of gleaming sun-rays on his bright head.

Seeing the boy, he took off his crown, and laid it aside, bidding the youth come near him.

“I am your son,” said Phaeton proudly. “I come to greet you, oh my father. My playmates scoff at me, and say that I am not your son. I would have you prove it to them, so that I may not feel shame before them.”

“You are indeed my son,” said Apollo, holding out his arms to the boy, who gladly went to them. “I am your father and all the world shall know, for I will prove it to every one. Ask me any boon you wish, and I will grant it.”

“Father, grant that I may drive your sun-chariot to-morrow!” cried Phaeton, delighted to hear what his father said. “Then when my friends on the earth below see me holding the reins, they will look up in wonder and say: ‘See! There is Phaeton in his father’s chariot! Now we know that he spoke the truth.’ ”

A frown darkened the god’s forehead, and he shook his head.

“Ask me anything but that, Phaeton, my son,” he said. “The horses cannot be guided by any hand but mine. Even stern Jupiter, chief of all the gods, dares not drive my chariot. You do not know what you ask. Choose another boon, and I will grant it.”

“I will have nothing else,” said the wilful boy, beginning to pout and frown. “A god cannot break his word, my father, and I hold you to yours. Let me drive the sun-horses.”

Nothing that Apollo could say would make the boy change his mind, and at last the sun-god gave his consent.

“You will kill yourself,” he said. “You are foolish to pay no heed to my warning, but since you will not choose any other boon, I cannot help but grant your wish. See, dawn is near at hand, and the gates of heaven are opening. It is time to mount the sun-chariot, and set forth on the journey through the heavens.”

Apollo led his son to the gleaming chariot. The four horses were harnessed to the chariot-pole, and eagerly they pawed the ground, and champed their bits, anxious to be off.

Phaeton leapt into the car and took the reins, whilst Apollo gave him solemn warning.

“Drive along the middle way of the sky,” he said, “for the middle course is the safest. If you go too low, you will set the mountain-tops on fire, and if you go too high you will lose your way among the stars. Do not use the whip, for the horses need holding in rather than urging on. Even my strong hand is hardly powerful enough to grasp the reins firmly. As for yours, my son, I fear that it will never hold in such fiery horses—leap down now, I pray you, and let me take your place. It is not too late to change your mind.”

But the proud boy would not heed his father’s warning. He shook the reins impatiently, and the horses leapt forward. In a moment they were gone.

At first Phaeton remembered all his father had told him. He held the reins tightly, and called the horses by name. But soon the fiery animals felt that the hand holding them was not the strong one to which they were accustomed. They pulled at the reins, and Phaeton could not hold the horses back.

Phaeton could not hold the horses back.

Then they ran wild among the stars, leaving the road they knew, and plunged madly here and there. Phaeton was terrified, and the people on the earth below gazed upwards in horror, frightened to see the sun travelling out of his usual course.

The boy pulled at the reins with all his might. He tried to call to the horses, but so great was his fear that he could not remember their names. He dropped the reins, and sank to his knees, holding fearfully to the chariot, which was rocking from side to side.

Then the sun-horses left the stars, and plunged downwards towards the earth. The chariot grazed the mountain-tops and set them on fire. So great was the heat that rivers were dried up, seas grew less, and trees withered and died. Nearer and nearer to the earth went the chariot, and all the people cried out in fear.

The fruitful ground was scorched and withered in great stretches, which became deserts that remain to this day. The people of Africa were burnt black with the awful heat, and never did their skin return to its rightful colour. They have remained black for all time.

The terrified people fell upon their knees and prayed to Jupiter to save them. All their crops were destroyed, and every blade of grass was withered. The very lakes boiled and seethed with the heat, and here and there the earth itself cracked and groaned.

Jupiter heard the cries from the frightened people. Rising from his couch, he looked out through the heavens to see what the tumult was about. When he saw the smoking earth, and caught sight of the sun-chariot plunging downwards, he knew that only he could save the world.

He took a thunderbolt, and hurled it fiercely at the chariot. It struck Phaeton on the shoulder, and he fell to earth, his hair ablaze.

Then the sun-horses shook off their yokes, and broke loose. They galloped off to find their stalls in the sky, and that day night came early, for the sun shone no more after noonday.

In vain Clymene and Apollo grieved for their foolish little son. He was slain by the thunderbolt, and fell into the river Eridanus. His friend Cygnus dived in to find him, and at last pined away in sorrow. He was turned into a swan, and for many a year swam up and down the waters, mourning for the golden-haired Phaeton.