But when he went back and told his friends, “My father is Phœbus Apollo, the god of the Sun,” Epaphus and the others only scorned him and laughed at him the more. “You’ve caught your bragging from your mother,” said they. “You’re her son, anyhow, whoever your father may be.”
When Clymene heard this, she felt terribly offended. “Then I will prove my words,” said she. “Go to the Palace of the Sun and enter boldly. There you will see the Sun-god in all his glory. Demand of him to declare you to be his son openly before all the world, so that even the sons of Jupiter shall hang their heads for shame.”
If Apollo had been still banished upon earth, of course Phaëthon could have found him very easily. But the nine years of banishment were over now, and the only way to find the god of the Sun was to seek him in his palace above the sky. How Phaëthon managed to get there I have never heard; but I suppose his mother was able to tell him the secret way. You may imagine the glorious and wonderful place it was—the House of the Sun, with the stars for the windows that are lighted up at night, and the clouds for curtains, and the blue sky for a garden, and the Zodiac for a carriage-drive. The sun itself, as you have heard, is the chariot of Apollo, drawn by four horses of white fire, who feed on golden grain, and are driven by the god himself round and round the world. Phaëthon entered boldly, as his mother had told him, found Apollo in all his glory, and said:—
“My mother, Clymene, says that I am your son. Is it true?”
“Certainly,” said Apollo, “it is true.”
“Then give me a sign,” said Phaëthon, “that all may know and believe. Make me sure that I am your son.”
“Tell them that I say so,” said Apollo. “There—don’t hinder me any more. My horses are harnessed: it is time for the sun to rise.”
“No,” said Phaëthon, “they will only say that I brag and lie. Give me a sign for all the world to see—a sign that only a father would give to his own child.”
“Very well,” said Apollo, who was getting impatient at being so hindered. “Only tell me what you want me to do, and it shall be done.”
“You swear it—by Styx?” said Phaëthon.