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CHAPTER XXXVI
DÆDALOS, A HERO OF INVENTION
Dædalos was a native of Athens and descended from one of the most ancient kings of Attica. It was he who constructed the labyrinth in which King Minos of Crete locked up the monster Minotaur. Dædalos was the greatest artist of his time and was master of many useful crafts. He produced wonderful pieces of work in a great many places of the world.
His statues were so cleverly made that they were taken for living beings. It was thought that they could see and walk about. For while the artists before him sculptured their statues with closed eyes, with their hands crossed over their breasts, and their feet turned sidewise, Dædalos made statues with open eyes, outstretched arms, and feet pointing forward into space.
Dædalos had Talos for a disciple, a clever and intelligent youth, who, though but a mere boy, had invented several tools of great usefulness. One day, finding the jaw-bone of a snake he began to cut a piece of wood with it. It was hardly sharp enough to answer his purpose, so he constructed a saw of iron on the same plan.
Dædalos was so jealous of the boy that he pushed him off from the Acropolis and the lad died of the injury. When Dædalos saw what he had done he went to Talos, but found him dead, so he hurried to bury him. He was surprised in the act and brought before the court which met on the hill called Areopagus. He was condemned to death by the court, and in order to save himself he fled to Crete.
At that time Minos was king in Crete. He received the famous artist very kindly and held him in great honor. There Dædalos did many fine works for Minos besides the famous labyrinth for the Minotaur.
After he had stayed some time in Crete he wanted to go away. But Minos did not wish to let him go, and when Dædalos concealed himself, the king searched for him everywhere and gave the order that no ship should take him away from the island.
The ingenious Dædalos then meditated a plan of flight. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Minos may watch the sea and the land, but he cannot watch the air. That is still free. I will make me wings and fly away.”
Dædalos constructed two large wings and fastened them to his body with wax. Moving them with his arms and hands he was able to fly like a bird. He made another pair of wings for his son Ikaros, fastened them to the boy’s body and taught him how to move them. Then he instructed Ikaros to keep close to him and not to fly too high lest the wax should be melted by the heat of the sun, nor to keep too near the surface of the sea, as he might dip his wings into the water and render them too heavy for flight.
After he had given this advice, he flew up first and his son followed. Away they went, cutting through the air like two eagles, and soon the high mountains of Crete were left far behind them. Below them the wide sea stretched out its great expanse. The sailors looked up from their boats and wondered what these strange beings were.
They flew over fields where farmers were ploughing, and the farmers gazed up with astonishment. But Dædalos and Ikaros flew on and on, heedless of all that was going on below. The fishermen forgot to take in their fish and the farmers forgot to urge their oxen on with the goad, but kept gazing into the sky until the flying people were out of sight.
At first Ikaros kept close in the wake of his father, but when his confidence grew stronger he rose up higher. He forgot his father’s advice and flew very high into the air. Up, up to the sun as nearly as he could go. The wax melted. The wings parted and fell to pieces, and Ikaros was precipitated like a stone into the sea.
Dædalos missed the boy in a short time and turned back to look for him. He could not see him anywhere, so he called: “Ikaros, Ikaros, my son, where art thou?” But Ikaros made no answer. Dædalos flew about in great agony, and at last he saw the wings of his son floating on the surface of the sea.
Then Dædalos knew that his beloved Ikaros was drowned. He descended to an island and searched the cliffs, and at length he found the body of Ikaros, which the waves had washed ashore. With tears and lamentations Dædalos buried his only son, and thus was he punished for the death of his disciple, Talos. And the sea in which Ikaros was drowned was called the Icarian Sea from that time.
CHAPTER XXXVII
PHAETHON, A HERO OF BAD FORTUNE
Helios, the god of the Day, had a famous son whose name was Phaethon. Helios drove the chariot of the Sun through the heavens, and Phaethon played by the sea-shore where his mother lived. She was a daughter of Old Ocean and had many daughters of her own. Phaethon grew to be a youth of great promise, but he had one fault, an excessive conceit.
When he had grown to be a young man he left his mother’s home and went to his father to receive the more manly instructions which belong to those of heavenly descent. When he reached the wonderful palace of Helios, which was built of gold and precious stones, he sat down and rested near the glittering columns, his self-pride growing with the thought of being one of the heirs to such an estate.
He rose and entered the silver gates which shone like mirrors. He found Helios in the palace surrounded by a flood of light, sitting on a throne shaped out of an emerald. To the right and left of Helios stood Hemera (the Day), Men (the Month), Etos (the Year), the Æones (the Seasons), and at equal distance from one another the Horæ (Hours), and Ages unnumbered. There also stood Spring adorned by a wreath of flowers, Summer with ears of grain in his hands, Autumn laden with juicy fruits, and Winter with his white hair.
Phaethon halted in awe. But Helios, as soon as he perceived him, welcomed him to his palace. He took the crown of golden rays from his own head lest its dazzling splendor should blind the eyes of Phaethon, and then called him to come nearer.
Phaethon approached with fear and trembling, but Helios called him his son and reassured him with endearing words. When Phaethon’s eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the blinding splendor, Helios said to him with fatherly love: “What has brought my dear child into the heavenly palace of his father? Surely this is hardly the place for anyone who is accustomed to the cool earth.”
Phaethon answered: “Oh, my royal father, I am very unhappy. I am the subject of much gossip and derision. People taunt me because my father lives in the heavens and does not abide in our home on earth. They say that I am not thy son at all, and I have come to thee to get the proof from thee that I am really thy son.”
Now if Helios had lived upon earth everything would have been burned up in the light of his glittering rays, but he felt sorry for his son and said: “Thou art my dear son, indeed. I would gladly leave this palace to come and abide in thy home by the sea. But I must drive the chariot of the Day. Even the gods are not exempt from duty.”
Then said Phaethon: “If thou art indeed my father, thou wilt grant me the boon which I ask of thee.” “Ask what thou wilt,” replied Helios, “and I swear to thee by the waters of the Styx, that I will give it to thee.”
Then Phaethon made answer: “Let me drive thy chariot for one day and all these people who despise me will see that I am thy son.”
Helios was dismayed when he heard the audacious and unexpected demand of his son.
“What words hast thou spoken, my dear Phaethon!” he said. “Thou dost ask for thine own destruction. Thou dost request a thing that no one of the gods would dare to undertake, not even Zeus himself. No one but myself is able to drive my chariot.”
But Phaethon would not be persuaded. “Thou dost not love me, my father,” he said with tears. “I see that thou dost not love me. If thou didst thou wouldst let me have thy chariot in order that the whole world might see that I am indeed thy son.”
“Foolish boy,” responded Helios, “just because I love thee shall I let thee destroy thyself? Ask any other boon but this.”
“Nay, I want the chariot and nothing else,” replied Phaethon.
Helios was stricken with grief, but he had bound himself by the Great Oath of the Gods, which cannot be broken. He took Phaethon by the hand and led him to his chariot and placed him in it.
The chariot was a wonderful piece of workmanship done by Hephæstos. The seat and axle were made of gold. Golden also were the tires of the wheels and the spokes were of silver.
While Phaethon was yet gazing with wonder at the glittering chariot of his father, the rosy-fingered Dawn opened the dazzling gates of the East, the stars, one after another, set – last of all the Morning Star, and the light of the Moon died out.
Helios ordered the Hours to harness up his immortal steeds, which were always fed on nectar and ambrosia. The Hours brought the horses up from the stables and yoked them to the chariot. While this was done Helios anointed the face of his son with heavenly oil, lest he might be scorched by the fiery rays. Then he placed his radiant crown upon Phaethon’s head, and sighing bitterly, gave his son this parting advice:
“My son, do not touch the horses with the whip, but hold on to the reins with all thy might. The horses are impetuous and thou wilt find it hard to hold them. Keep them well in hand when making the ascent as well as in the descent. First thy course is steeply upward, and on the other side it descends rapidly.
“Do not go near the earth lest thou burn it, and do not rise too high or thou wilt set fire to the heavens. The twilight is waning. Go, my son, for mortals are looking for the light of Helios. At the last moment I pray thee to change thy mind and hand the reins to me.”
But the son, exulting with joy, gathered up the reins, and taking leave of his disconsolate father, boldly drove off.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE DEATH OF PHAETHON
The horses darted forward to their long race, and their first few leaps brought them above the highest mountains. Before the eyes of the youth the whole extent of land and sea lay outstretched.
The deer already had left their shelters and gone up on the heights. All nature seemed to awake. The quiet woods resounded with the songs of the birds, which seemed to greet the rising sun. Glittering dewdrops hung on the leaves and flowers and shone like diamonds with the light of Helios. Hares and rabbits left their hiding-places and came forth for food. Bees flew humming from flower to flower, gathering their precious sweets. The shepherd led forth his bleating flocks into the green pastures, the farmer plodded off into the fields with his rural tools. Smoke began to rise from the cottage chimneys.
Only the owls and other night-birds, unable to bear the light of the sun, flew back to their lonely hiding-places, and a few timid flowers closed their petals, but the sun-flowers turned their faces with joy toward the rising sun. Phaethon was entranced by the sight of the glorious beauty of awakening nature.
The horses soon perceived that they were not held by the powerful hands of Helios; they also felt that they were not drawing their accustomed burden, and as a ship that does not carry the necessary ballast is tossed about by the waves, so the chariot was jolted through the air, rising and falling as if it were empty.
The horses strayed from their path. Phaethon tried to rein them in. He did not know the way and was not strong enough to curb the restive steeds. They ran this way and that, to right and left, under the uncertain guidance of their new driver.
On they flew. They were near the middle of the sky where the road was steepest. Phaethon looked down from the tremendous height upon the earth. He became dizzy; his hands trembled and his knees knocked together. He let the reins go loose; the horses darted forward like arrows. He pulled them back, and they plunged and stood on their hind feet. He wanted to speak to them, but he did not know their names.
Overcome at last by fear, he threw the reins down on the backs of the horses and clung to the chariot. Having no guidance whatever the horses now started on a wild race. They approached the earth and turned everything into a desert; woods and meadows, cities and villages were burnt to ashes. The rivers were dried up and the sea was boiling.
Again the chariot was borne up to an immeasurable height and the earth was relieved of the terrible heat. But now the firmament was in danger of being destroyed by fire. Curses and prayers rose to heaven from the suffering people on earth, and cries of fright resounded through Olympos.
Zeus heard the sighs and wailings and cries, and to save the world from destruction he hurled his thunder-bolt at the unfortunate Phaethon, who fell from the dizzy heights to earth. With tears and lamentations his mother searched for the body of her wayward son. She found him near the mouth of a great river which had been burned dry.
There she buried him, and the sisters of the unfortunate youth shed bitter tears over his grave. They could not bear to go away from the tomb and leave him lying there alone, so they remained kneeling and motionless until Zeus took pity on them and changed them into weeping willows. Even then they kept on weeping, but their tears were dried by the sun and carried away by the streams into the great sea, where they became jewels of amber.
Kyknos, too, a friend of Phaethon’s, mourned his loss and could not be comforted; so Zeus, in kindness, changed him into a swan. Helios, in his fatherly grief, refused to drive the chariot of the Sun any longer, and the earth was left in darkness for a whole day. But the gods entreated him to take the reins again and men prayed for light, and from that time on the Sun has kept its true course through the heavens, under his wise guidance.
