The earliest and most natural form of idolatry was the worship of the heavenly bodies, and especially the sun, whose splendor, light, heat, and salutary influence upon all nature were regarded as the supernatural and independent powers of a deity. Hence the ancient myths ascribed personality, and intelligent activity, to the god of day, whom they worshiped under the name of Phœbus Apollo. They, however, attached to the history and worship of Apollo many things not connected with his original character as the source of light.
Delphi was a principal place of their religious solemnities, and from an early day the site of a temple dedicated to Apollo. The first was destroyed by fire; but in the time of the Pisistratidæ a much more gorgeous one was built, and, through a long period of their national history, was a center of potent influences that did much to fashion the character of the people. Its wealth became immense, and was computed at ten thousand talents. In the neighborhood of Delphi the Pythian games were celebrated in the third year of every Olympiad, and in honor of Apollo’s victory over the terrible Pythian serpent. On these occasions the celebrated Amphictyonic Council, whose sessions were usually held at Thermopylæ, met at Delphi, and the grave senators had the oversight of the games, prescribed rules for the contestants, and directed in the distribution of prizes.
The shrine of the god at Delos, his birthplace, was also greatly renowned. It was situated at the foot of Mount Cynthus, but the whole island was sacred. The same divinity had beside a great number of less celebrated temples and shrines, not only in Greece, but also in Asia Minor, and wherever Greek colonies were extended. The rites observed in these sacred places were, in general, more seemly than the ceremonial of their worship paid to some other of their gods, and may be counted among the educational forces that improved the social and political condition of the commonwealth. He granted them a prophetic dispensation, and the responses given by his oracles raised their hopes, or, if unfavorable, caused alarm. The supposed medium of the communications, a priestess, who ministered at the altar, was esteemed an important personage. The inspiration, when the conditions were favorable, often induced what seemed an ecstatic state of mind, bordering on madness, causing strange contortions of countenance, and incoherent utterances, understood by none except those who claimed to be inspired as interpreters, and even their rendering of the responses was often in enigmas, or terms of such double meaning as admitted an explanation in accordance with the events that followed. The convulsions of the priestess were, perhaps, real, but possibly brought on partly by the chewing of laurel leaves, and partly by gaseous vapors that issued from a cleft in the rock, beneath the sacred tripod.
The concept or image of this god Apollo, as expressed by both poets and artists, was their highest ideal of human excellence and beauty; a tall, majestic body, of exquisite symmetry, and having the vigor of immortal youth. Some of his statues, still extant, are described as marvels of excellence in their line, and those who can not have access to the originals will find copies more or less perfect, in almost any considerable collection having specimens of ancient art. One of the most celebrated of all ancient statues, on account of the completeness of the sculptor’s work, is the “Apollo Belvidere.” It was found at Antium in 1503, purchased, and placed in a part of the Vatican[1] called Belvidere. In proportions and altitude it is a noble figure; naked, or but slightly clad, and in every feature suggestive of the highest perfection of art. It seems to represent the great archer just after discharging his arrow at the Python, and shows his manly satisfaction and assurance of victory.
The legendary history of this god, whose worship was much celebrated by both Greeks and Romans, recites, among other things of interest, the memorable circumstances of his friendship for Hyacinthus, and his great love for Daphne. The legends will not lose all their interest, though it will be impossible to print them entire.
Hyacinthus was a beautiful youth of noble parentage, for whom the great Apollo manifested ardent friendship. He accompanied him in his sports, led the dogs when he went to hunt, followed him in his excursions on the mountains, and for him neglected his lyre and his arrows. As they one day played quoits together, Apollo heaving aloft the heavy discus,[2] with his great strength sent it high and far. Hyacinthus watched its flight through the air, and, excited with the sport ran to seize it, eager, in turn, to make his throw. Alas! in its rebound from the earth, it struck him a fatal blow. Apollo, pale and anxious, sustained the fainting youth, and sought, in vain, to heal the mortal wound. As some fair lily, whose stalk has been broken, turns its limp flowers toward the earth, the head of the dying boy, too heavy for its shattered support, fell over on his shoulder; and the friendly god, lamenting deeply, said: “O hapless youth! thou diest, robbed of a life so pleasant, and I the cause. But thou shalt be immortal still. My lyre shall celebrate our love; and as a beautiful, fragrant flower, thou shalt dwell with me forever; the inscriptions on thy leaves[3] shall proclaim my sorrow.” Even as he spoke the blood that stained the grass disappeared, and a hyacinth, of hues more beautiful than Tyrian purple, sprang from the spot, and shed its sweet fragrance there. “Beloved, though dead, thou shalt still live; and, with every returning spring the flowers that henceforth bear thy name shall revive the memory of thy virtues, and of thy sudden departure to the home of the immortals.”
Apollo and Daphne.—The beautiful Daphne (dawn) was Apollo’s first love. This was nature, if the myth is interpreted astronomically. The sun pursues the dawn that flees before his brighter effulgence. But in this love affair, Cupid, as he is wont, becomes an exciting cause, and with his arrow pierced the lover’s heart. It was on this wise: Apollo once, exulting in his own recent victory over the monster Python, saw the rogue, Cupid, playing with his bow, and called to him saying: “What have you to do with such warlike weapons? Leave them for hands more worthy of them, and, child as you are, do not meddle with my arms.”
The taunting words vexed the son of Venus, and, to avenge himself he resolved that even the conquering Apollo should feel the keen point of his little dart, and confess a wound that would be difficult to heal. So he quickly drew from his quiver two arrows of different make and metal, one to excite love, the other to repel it. With the latter, a blunt, leaden shaft, he struck the nymph Daphne, daughter of the river god Peneus. The other he thrust through the heart of Apollo, who, thus smitten, forgot his victories, and was at once seized with passionate love for the beautiful nymph, while she, delighting in woodland sports and the pleasures of the chase, had no desire to leave them. Her father wished to see her wedded, but now, more than ever, she hated the thought of marriage, and, blushing, earnestly besought her sire, saying: “Dearest father, grant me this favor, that I may always remain a maiden, like the fleet huntress Artemis.”
He consented, but at the same time, in praise of her rare beauty, said: “Child, your own face will forbid it.” Apollo dearly loved her and longed to claim her as his own, but his suit was in vain. She had no love to answer his, and turned from him. Stung by her indifference, yet enthralled by her charms, he followed, but her flight was swifter than the wind, and she delayed not a moment at his entreaties. “Stay,” he cried, “daughter of Peneus, stay. Do not fly from me as a lamb from the wolf, or a dove from the hawk. I am not a foe. For love I pursue thee; and the fear that you may suffer injury in your rapid flight makes me miserable. You know me not. I am not a clown to be avoided and despised. Jupiter is my father, and gives me to know the present and future. They reverence me at Delphi and Tenedos as the god of prophecy, of song, and of the lyre. I carry weapons. At the twang of my bow the arrow flies true to its mark. But Cupid’s darts have pierced me, and the distress of heart is insupportable. I know the virtue of all the healing plants, and minister to others, but myself suffer this malady that no medicine can cure. Pity, and—” … The nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered. But even as she fled, her airy robe and unbound hair flung loose on the wind, she charmed him yet more. Impatient that his suit did not prevail, he quickened his speed, and the distance between them grew less. She eluded his grasp only as a panting hare escapes from the open jaws of the hound.
So flew Apollo and Daphne; he on wings of love, she on wings of fear. The very breath of the more powerful pursuer reaches her delicate person; her strength fails, and, ready to sink, she cries to her father: “Help me, Peneus! Let the earth open to receive me, or change my form that has brought me into this trouble!” She spoke, and, at his will, the metamorphose was instant. A tender bark enclosed her form; her limbs became branches, her hair leaves; her feet were rooted in the ground, and her head became a symmetrical tree top, graceful to look upon, but retaining nothing of its former self save its beauty. Apollo stood amazed. He embraced with his arms the still palpitating, shrinking trunk, and lavished many kisses on the delicate branches that shrank from his lips. “You shall, assuredly, be my tree; and I will wear you for my crown. With you will I decorate my harp and my quiver. Conquerors shall weave from your branches wreaths to adorn their brows; and, as immortality is mine, you, too, shall be always green, and your leaf shall suffer no decay.” The nymph, thence a beautiful laurel tree, bowed her head in acknowledgment, and the god was content.