...is in his developed form the most characteristically Greek of all the gods. He is also, from the picturesque beauty with which Hellenic art and literature surrounded him, perhaps the best known today, and it was a commonplace with those writers, such as Swinburne, who loved to contrast Hellenism with Christianity, to draw a sharp antithesis between him and Christ.
That idea has mediaeval antecedents; Apollon (which is of course the actual Greek form of Apollo’s name) was sometimes a synonym for the Devil or Satan in western Latinity.
Apollo has no Roman equivalent or parallel, although here and there in Italy, as elsewhere, he is identified with a local deity, such as the god worshipped on Mt. Soracte, and the somewhat obscure figures of Semo Sancus Dius Fidius and of Veiouis seem to have been influenced by him. He also is identified with the sun by many theorists; this was a popular doctrine among ancient theologians from the fifth century b.C. onwards, but has really nothing to recommend it, save the fact that they both are archers.
Apollo’s developed type in art is well known; his is the ideal male figure, which has reached its full growth, but still has all the suppleness and vigour of youth. He generally holds either a lyre or a bow. While all Greece worshipped him, and references to him are almost as numerous as those to Zeus himself, his most famous shrines in Greece proper were Delphoi on the mainland and the holy island of Delos; in Asia Minor he had many shrines, the best known being Klaros, Branchidai and Patara.
In discussing his attributes and functions, it is well to start from his title Lykios, or Lykeios, which is admitted on all hands to be very ancient. The question is, whether it means ‘Lykian’ or ‘Wolf-god.’ The former alternative has been vigorously supported especially by Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, who has pointed out that he is the son of Leto, who is identical with the Lykian goddess Lada; that he was much worshipped in Asia Minor, including Lykia; that he was commonly called Letoides, ‘son of Leto,’ suggesting the Lykian social institution of matriliny, or counting descent through the female side; that in Homer he sides with the Trojans and against the Achaeans.
These and other arguments have convinced several scholars, such as M. P. Nilsson; but there are good counter-arguments too. The identity of Leto and Lada is not certain; and worship in Asia Minor need mean no more than that the Ionian Greeks brought Apollo there, as they did Poseidon; and the occasional Oriental features in Apollo’s cult, such as his connexion with the number seven, which Nilsson stresses (his birthday was the seventh of the month, for instance), cannot be proved to be very early. If he sides with the Trojans, that is no more than Ares does, who is certainly not from Asia Minor; and he is invoked on several occasions by Greeks in a formula which bears every sign of being ancient, along with Athena and Zeus. The epithet Letoides proves nothing, for many of the sons sf Zeus have such epithets; Hermes, for example, and Dionysos are often spoken of as ‘son of Maia’ and ‘son of Semele’. On the other hand, we have positive facts of Apolline cult to indicate strongly that he came, not from the east, but from the north, notably the ancient route of the Hyperborean offerings, and the fact that the great procession of the Stepteria at Delphoi went northwards, not improbably following the route by which the first worshippers of the god came to that shrine, although in reverse direction.
The Hyperboreans, of whom all manner of fables are told, are nevertheless real enough to send actual and visible offerings to Delos by a route passing through real country, in historical times, as described by Herodotos. The name looks as if it meant ‘beyond or north of the North Wind,’ and so the ancients took it, and described how, far north, there dwelt a highly virtuous people who worshipped Apollo; but the probability is, that they were a race or clan of some kind living on an ancient route (the amber trade-route?) which led north from Western Greece, who reverenced, presumably, Apollo in one of his earlier forms. Their name has been ingeniously explained as meaning ‘those who carry around or over’ in Macedonian or some allied tongue; it is thus equivalent to the name Perferees by which certain traditional guardians of the offerings and their bearers were called.
One might therefore fall back on the meaning ‘wolf-god’, which the ancients themselves gave to the epithet, although we need not suppose some of them right in taking it to mean simply ‘slayer of wolves.’ But the real implications of Apollo as ‘wolf-god’ are unknown; they seem indeed to have been substantially forgotten before the age of Greek writing began (or never to have been known amongst those who wrote).
Altogether, since Apollo’s name apparently is not Greek, or at least, no reasonably certain Greek etymology has yet been found for it (the association with the Greek word apollumi—kill; destroy; ruin; lose—was only an ancient folk-etymology), we may suppose that the invaders, on their way into Greece, found and adopted him, no one can say where or when.
Be Apollo’s development in early times what it may, when we find him in Greek written sources, from Homer down, he is a very definite and glorious figure. He is the patron of medicine, of music, particularly that of the lyre, and of archery; he never quite loses his connexion with flocks and herds; and he is the true and unerring prophet, who knows infallibly the will of his father Zeus and who may, on his own terms, reveal it to mankind. His prophecies are, almost without exception, on the side of that advanced morality which he championed in defending Orestes against the Erinyes.
His birth is described in the file about the goddess Artemis. Like the wonder-child he was, he began his adventures immediately, and his first act, or nearly so, was to take vengeance upon Python. According to sundry versions of this tale, Apollo himself, on going to Pytho (Delphoi), his future abode, found his way barred by a formidable dragon (a female and nameless in the earliest account), which he slew with his arrows. Another version of the story names this creature Python, and yet another says that it persecuted Leto before the birth of her children, which it tried to prevent.
As the constant and perfectly credible tradition of Delphoi represents the place as having formerly been an oracle of Earth, and as the serpent is a chthonian animal, this slaying has been thought by some to be an etiological story about with the taking over of the shrine. Certainly Python is closely interwoven vith the traditions and ritual of the place in historical times. For example, the ritual of the great festival held every eight years and known as Stepteria included a curious pantomime in which a lightly constructed house was burned down. This was called the ‘palace of Python.’ Then a handsome and well-born young Delphian, obviously personating the god (if not originally incarnatng him) made a show of going into exile, and did actually go, with attendants and much ceremony, a long journey by the sacred Pythian Way through Thessaly to the Vale of Tempe, where he was purified and whence he returned crowned with laurel, Apollo’s own plant and a great purger of magical ills. Whatever all this curious ritual may really mean, there is no doubt that the ancients connected it with the slaying of Python, who according to some had fled north- wards sore wounded and pursued by the young god, whereas the greater part were of opinion that Apollo, like any other slayer, was obliged to go into at least temporary exile and be purified.
At the great Pythian games, one of the leading ‘events’ was a contest in flute-playing. The subject was a descriptive piece, intended to represent the combat between the god and the monster. The other great features of Delphoi, besides scores of less note, were the omphalos and the tripod. The former means here ‘central point ’, and we are fortunate enough to possess what is almost certainly the holy thing itself, recovered by the French excavators. It is a block of stone, roughly conical, showing traces of a stucco coating, and pierced through from top to bottom by a piece of iron shaped something like the blade of a knife. On the stone are a few archaic letters, which if they are Greek at all spell the word gas (‘Earth’s,’ i.e., ‘the property of the goddess Earth’) together with a character somewhat resembling a capital E, which we know to have been an ancient symbol at Delphoi.
All this accords very well with the tradition that the oracle once belonged to Earth (where would she give oracles so appropriately as at her own centre?) and the E-shaped character resembles known Cretan hieroglyphs, again according with a tradition that there was an ancient connexion between Delphoi and Crete. For anything we know to the contrary, the shrine may once have belonged to a Minoan- Mycenaean goddess, later identified by the Greeks with their own Ge.
The ancient belief concerning this most venerablemonument we have in the words of one of the most famous of Apollo’s priests, Plutarch, who says that two eagles were sent, one from each extremity of the earth, and met at that very spot. Some said, however, that they were not eagles (the birds of Zeus) but swans or ravens (Apollo’s birds). In art, we have numerous representations of the omphalos, often with the eagles on it, and it is referred to again and again as the seat of Apollo. Occasionally we find Python coiled around it.
The tripod was still more the seat of prophecy, if possible. On it sat the Pythia, or prophetess who gave the oracles. Apparently the idea was that, her body being thus lifted clear of the ground, the holy influence of the god could come beneath and enter her; a semi- rationalizing tale stated that a certain vapour came out of a cleft in the ground and passed into her. The Pythia was originally, it is said, a young virgin; but an impious wretch having violated her, it was decided that in future only old women should be employed.
Not infrequently since classical times the Pythia has been compared with another figure, the Sibyl, with whom she has in reality nothing whatever to do. The oldest form of the tale seems to be simply, that there was a woman named Sibylla, a native of the village of Marpessos in the territory of Troy, although the more important town of Erythrai tried to claim her as its own, and there was much controversy on the subject in antiquity. This Sibylla won the favour of Apollo, to whose service she was much devoted, and he inspired her to give marvellous and infallible, if rather riddling, prophecies. The meaning of her name, which is probably Oriental, is quite obscure. These oracles, of which an ever-increasing number was in circulation, were very popular.
They were extant in many places, and consequently many towns claimed to be the birthplace of their author; in the end, as Sibylla was taken to be a common noun, a whole series of Sibyls sprang up, some with personal names, such as Herophile or Phyto; there were, besides the original Marpessian, Phrygian, Erythraian or Hellespontine Sibyl, the Delphic (a sister of Apollo, by some accounts) and the Sibyl of Sardes, according to one of the briefest lists, while finally we get what may be described as the orthodox list of Varro, which gives ten —the Persian, the Libyan, the Delphan, the Kimmerian (who, being located in Italy, seems to be the same as the Cumaean), the Erythraian (Herophile), the Samian (Phemonoe), the Cumaean (Amalthaia, the authoress of the celebrated Sibylline oracles of Rome), the Hellespontine (i.e., the Erythraian or Marpessian over again), the Phrygian (again the Marpessian), and finally the Tiburtine (the result of an attempt to find a Greek equivalent for the local goddess Albunea; hence the name ‘Sibyl’s Temple’ quite unjustifiably given to one of the most famous ruins in Tivoli). To this must be added the Jewish or Babylonian Sibyl usually identified with the Marpessian-Erythraian, who is in some ways the most famous of all, since the collection of Sibylline oracles which we have—obviously late forgeries, containing Jewish and Christian propaganda disguised as ancient revelations—are in her name.
The centuries intervening between the Dorian invasion and the rise of the full classical civilization were a time of great religious upheavals. From them survive several names, not only of prophetesses like Sibyl, but also of prophets, such as Bakis, whose oracles were very popular during the Peloponnesian War, and Epimenides of Crete. No doubt many of these persons never existed, but perhaps some of them did, and had in some cases a more than merely local reputation.
There is no reason why we should suppose either the Sibyl or the Delphic prophetess to have been frauds. The modern interest in spiritism, shamanism, ‘tarantism,’ and the like, has made everyone familiar with the fact that certain persons can, voluntarily or otherwise, pass into an abnormal (or ‘para-normal’) condition in which they speak, or even write, more or less intelligibly, without necessarily being conscious of it at the time or remembering it afterwards. Apollo no doubt found many of these ab-normal or para- normal persons to serve him in all sincerity. Futhermore, what the inquirer at Delphoi or one of his other shrines took away with him was not the actual words of the seer, but an edited official record (called a chresmos), generally in indifferent hexameters, couched for the most part in very riddling and obscure language, so that if the apparent sense of the prophecy proved false, the god (i.e., his cultic officiants) could always take refuge behind another interpretation.
Another early adventure of Apollo was the slaying of Tityos, who tried to violate Leto. Tityos’ punishment in the house of Hades is described in the file about punishment of sinners, q.v.
A healer himself, Apollo was the father of the god of medicine, Asklepios (the name was corrupted into Aesculapius on Latin lips when, in 293 b.C., Rome imported the god to heal a stubborn pestilence). On the subject of this deity’s original nature there is controversy. No one doubts that he was worshipped in historical times as a god; the question is whether he was originally god or hero. Fortunately this delicate point need not be decided in order to tell his legend.
Apollo loved Koronis, daughter of Phlegyas; but she played him false with a mortal lover, one Ischys of Arkadia. Apollo was warned of her perfidy by his faithful messenger the crow (Pindar characteri- stically omits this and makes him know by his own divine omniscience). He therefore sent Artemis to take vengeance on her, or (in Ovid’s version) himself shot down the culprit. But his love for Koronis overcame him when it was too late; he turned the crow, which had hitherto had white plumage, into the black bird it still is, and, seeing that he could not bring Koronis to life again, tried at least to save her unborn child. In this he was successful; and the infant was handed over to the care of Cheiron the good Centaur. Under his able tuition Asklepios learned medicine, and soon brought the art to the very highest state of perfection. By his wife (variously named Epione, Xanthe, etc., in various authors) he had a curiously mixed family, corresponding to his own mixed nature as a deified hero, or heroized god. Homer knows of two sons, Podaleirios and Machaon, sturdy epic heroes with nothing hieratic about them, who took part in the campaign against Troy, and, havig inherited their father’s skill in some measure, were invaluable as surgeons. Alongside these come several pale and shadowy figures, with no legends, or none of any account. Such are Hygieia (Health), Iaso (Healing), Panakeia (Cure-all), Asklepios’ daughters, and a child-deity, Telesphoros (Accomplisher) who was worshipped along with him.
But Asklepios’ zeal for healing all manner of ailments carried him too far. When Hippolytos died, Artemis besought him to restore her favourite to life. When to her persuasions was added the cogent argument of a huge fee, he exerted his skill to the utmost, and succeeded brilliantly. His interference with the established order of nature was too much, however, for Zeus, who promptly dispatched Asklepios to the lower world with a thunder bolt.
Apollo was furious at the death of his son, but did not dare attempt vengeance on his mighty father. He therefore consoled himself by killing the Kyklopes who had made the thunderbolt. Having thus become guilty of bloodshed within his own divine clan, he suffered the usual penalty according to Greek law, namely banishment for a year to be the serf of a mortal man. His sentence was made as easy as might be by putting him under the rule of a man eminently just and kindly, Admetos king of Pherai. The latter’s cattle throve and increased prodigiously, and he did not omit to show his gratitude and respect towards his mysterious thrall. Apollo was grateful, and sought to do Admetos further service. On inquiry of the Moirai, he discovered that his temporary master had but a short time to live; but he so far softened their hearts with wine that they consented to allow Admetos a longer life if he could induce ayone to die in his stead.
On hearing how matters stood, Admetos sought a substitute. All, even his father and mother, refused, save his wife Alkestis. The fatal day arrived, and Alkestis died. Admetos, however cowardly his conduct may appear to us, and indeed to the best-known teller of the tale in antiquity, Euripides, was probably quite justified, in the opinion of those among whom the legend was current, by the greater value of a man as compared to a woman; the idea of the equality of the sexes (which, like most modern ideas, is classical Greek) had not yet been developed. He now went on to add to his blameless conduct a deed of outstanding devotion to a sacred duty. In the very beginning of his mourning for Alkestis, he received a visit from Herakles, on his way to win the mares of the Thracian Diomedes. The claims of hospitality could not be ignored; pretending that no member of his familyy was dead, but only a sojourner under his roof, he welcomed the hero and bade the servants see to his comfort. Herakles, however, found out the real state of affairs, and took measures to put matters to rights. According to popular belief, Thanatos, the death-daimon, literally carried off the dead, much as Charos is represented as doing in modern Greek folklore. Going to the tomb, Herakles awaited the coming of this messenger from the lower world, and when once he came, set upon him and compelled him to let go his prey. Alkestis was thus revived, and brought back safely to her home.
Apollo was generally more or less unhappy in his loves. According to a pretty, if not very early tale, his sacred plant, the laurel (daphne), was once a girl whom he wooed. She was daughter of a river, Ladon in Arkadia or Peneios in Thessaly, or of Amyklas, the son of Lakedaimon and Sparte, two very unsubstantial worthies after whom the district and the city were said to be named. A true follower of Artemis, she wanted no lovers, but soon found one in Leukippos son of Oinomaos king of Pisa, who disguised himself as a girl to be near her. Apollo, who was jealous, put it into Daphne’s mind to bathe with her companions; Leukippos was thus found out and killed by the virgin huntresses. But his own addresses were equally unwelcome; Daphne fled from him, and finding that he was overtaking her, prayed Zeus, or Earth (her mother, in some accounts), or Peneios to rescue her; she thereupon was changed into a laurel.
A very old tale of the rivalry of Apollo and a mortal has in later accounts a rather pretty and romantic development. Euenos, son of Ares by a mortal woman, had a daughter Marpessa, of whom Homer knows that she married Idas and Apollo carried her off, and that Idas, ‘the mightiest of men that in those days were,’ bent his bow against the god himself. How much more of the legend Homer knew, we cannot say; but later authors tell it more or less as follow. Marpessa was carried off by Idas, hotly pursued by Euenos. Poseidon, however, had given Idas a winged team, and although Euenos drove after them until he reached the river Lykormas, he then, in despair, killed his horses and drowned himself; the river was ever afterwards called Euenos in memory of him. Idas went to Messene, and Apollo, who all the while had been a suitor for Marpessa’s hand, now carried her off in his turn. God and mortal fought for their bride, but Zeus intervened and bade her choose between them. She preferred Idas, because Apollo was immortal and might leave her when she grew old.
Yet another ill-fated passion of Apollo was for Kassandra (or Alexandra), daughter of Priam of Troy. On her he showered his favours, including the gift of prophecy; but in the end she would not yield to him. Now no god can recall his gifts; but Apollo took measures to render her powers a curse rather than a blessing, for while she always foretold truly, this doom was on her and her people, that she should never be believed. Hence her warnings against the dangers threatening Troy fell on deaf ears.
Besides her prophecies, the following events make up Kassandra’s career. At the time of the fall of Troy she was unmarried. Taking refuge in the temple of Athena in Ilion, she was dragged from the image of the goddess and violated by Aias the Lokrian. For this sacrilege his people, the Lokrians of Opus, were obliged yearly to send certain virgins of their noblest families (the Hundred Houses) as temple-servants to Athena; if they were caught on the way to the temple by the people of Ilion, they were put to death; if they reached it, they performed the duties of the meanest slaves, apparently for life. This is no piece of mythology but historical fact, for we have both literary and inscriptional evidence of the sending of these unfortunate girls to Ilion, and the term of the penance, a thousand years, expired somewhere near the beginning of the Christian era. Her story goes on to say that Kassandra was assigned to Agamemnon as his share of the booty, and was murdered with him by Klytaimestra.
The rather late story of Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl appears to be partly modelled on the legend of Kassandra. According to Ovid, he would have made her immortal if she would have yielded to him. As it was, he bade her choose whatever she liked, and she asked to live as many years as she held grains of dust in her hand. Too late, she realized that she had not asked to continue young, and as she still would not grant the god her favours, she gradually shrivelled up till, towards the end of her life of a thousand years (the number of the grains of dust), she was, according to the popular account, reduced to a tiny thing which was hung up in a bottle and could only answer the children who asked ‘Sibyl, what do you want?’ with the words ‘I want to die.’
More fortunate was Apollo’s love for Kyrene, daughter of Hypseus, the son of the river Peneios, and a Naiad, Kreusa daughter of Earth. Kyrene was a huntress, a sort of local Artemis, and when Apollo first saw her she was wrestling, single-handed and unarmed, with a lion. His admiration for her courage turned to passionate love, and snatching her up, he carried her in a golden chariot from Mt. Pelion to that district in Africa which still bears her name. There she became the mother of Aristaios, a rustic deity, the inventor of various country labours and pastimes, such as bee-keeping, olive-growing, and hunting or some kinds of hunting. He is best known from a single episode; he had a violent passion for Eurydike, wife of Orpheus, and pursued her; in trying to escape from him she trod on a viper, from the bite of which she died. Her sister Dryads took revenge upon Aristaios by making all his bees die; he then had recourse to his mother for advice. According to Vergil, she in turn referred him to Proteus, who, when Aristaios managed to catch him, explained the cause of the trouble. The Nymphs were consequently appeased, and a new swarm gotten from the decaying carcass of a bullock. This belief was apparently common, and not confined to the Greeks; the fact underlying it is the existence of a fly, Eristalis tenax, which lays its eggs in carrion, where they hatch out, and closely resembles a bee in outward appearance.
A fervent lover, Apollo was not less vigorous in his hate, although it was by no means always on his own account that he exercised his terrible powers. His defence of his mother’s honour against Tityos is described in the file about punishment of sinners, q.v. The case of Niobe was less to the credit of the divine trio concerned, but shows, by what is to our ideas (and those of the Greeks of the classical epoch) its injustice, a survival of the old principle of collective responsibility, the same which, in the case of the early Hebrews, for instance, caused the execution not only of Achan but of all his household. Niobe, daughter of Tantalos, had seven sons and seven daughters (or six of either sex, or ten). In an evil moment, she boasted that she was far superior to Leto, who had but two children. Thereupon Apollo and Artemis drew their bows, the former slaying the boys and the latter the girls. Niobe, thus bereft, wept over her dead children until she turned into a pillar of stone, from which the tears continued to flow, and in this shape she was shown to the curious in later times on Mt. Sipylos.
Two famous musical contests are said to have taken place, one between Apollo and Pan, the other against Marsyas. The first story runs as follows. Pan challenged Apollo to a contest. Tmolos, the deity of the mountain of that name, acted as judge, and the divine performers played in turn (the story is told prettily by Ovid, grandly by Shelley). Tmolos decided in favour of Apollo; Midas king of Phrygia dissented, whereat Apollo transformed his ears into those of an ass, as an appropriate punishment. The king was exceedingly ashamed, and contrived to wear his turban so as to cover the deformity. His barber, however, was perforce privy to the secret, and having his profession’s usual vice of garrulity, was ready to burst for lack of some one to confide it to. At last he dug a hole in the gound and whispered it into that. Unfortunately, reeds grew up from the spot, which every time the wind blew through them whispered audibly ‘King Midas has asses’ ears.’ There is a variant according to which Midas was judge between Apollo and Marsyas and voted for the latter; the sequel is the same.
According to Pindar, Athena took a hint from the wild lamentations, mingled with the hissing of their snaky hair, raised by the surviving Gorgons at the death of Medusa, and imitating that complex sound, invented the aulos (the principal wind-instrument of Greek antiquity, a kind of dual-barrelled oboe). Later accounts add that she disliked her own invention, because it distorted her face unbecomingly when she played, and that therefore she threw it away. Marsyas the satyr picked it up, to her great annoyance, and to his own perdition, as it turned out. For, undeterred by the thrashing which Athena gave him for not leaving the aulos alone, he became so proficient in playing it as to challenge Apollo himself to a contest of musicianship. The god agreed, on condition that the victor might do as he chose to the vanquished, and having won by his divine skill, he flayed Marsysas alive. From his blood, or the tears which the satyrs and other lesser daimones shed for him, sprang the river which bore his name.
I will remember and not be unmindful of Apollo who shoots afar. As he goes through the house of Zeus, the gods tremble before him and all spring up from their seats when he draws near, as he bends his bright bow. But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in thunder; and then she unstrings his bow, and closes his quiver, and takes his archery from his strong shoulders in her hands and hangs them on a golden peg against a pillar of his father’s house. Then she leads him to a seat and makes him sit; and the Father gives him nectar in a golden cup welcoming his dear son, while the other gods make him sit down there, and queenly Leto rejoices because she bare a mighty son and an archer. Rejoice, blessed Leto, for you bare glorious children, the lord Apollo and Artemis who delights in arrows; her in Ortygia, and him in rocky Delos, as you rested against the great mass of the Cynthian hill hard by a palm-tree by the streams of Inopus.
How, then, shall I sing of you who in all ways are a worthy theme of song? For everywhere, O Phoebus, the whole range of song is fallen to you, both over the mainland that rears heifers and over the isles. All mountain-peaks and high headlands of lofty hills and rivers flowing out to the deep and beaches sloping seawards and havens of the sea are your delight. Shall I sing how at the first Leto bare you to be the joy of men, as she rested against Mount Cynthus in that rocky isle, in sea-girt Delos—while on either hand a dark wave rolled on landwards driven by shrill winds—whence arising you rule over all mortal men?
Among those who are in Crete, and in the township of Athens, and in the isle of Aegina and Euboea, famous for ships, in Aegae and Eiresiae and Peparethus near the sea, in Thracian Athos and Pelion’s towering heights and Thracian Samos and the shady hills of Ida, in Scyros and Phocaea and the high hill of Autocane and fair-lying Imbros and smouldering Lemnos and rich Lesbos, home of Macar, the son of Aeolus, and Chios, brightest of all the isles that lie in the sea, and craggy Mimas and the heights of Corycus and gleaming Claros and the sheer hill of Aesagea and watered Samos and the steep heights of Mycale, in Miletus and Cos, the city of Meropian men, and steep Cnidos and windy Carpathos, in Naxos and Paros and rocky Rhenaea—so far roamed Leto in travail with the god who shoots afar, to see if any land would be willing to make a dwelling for her son. But they greatly trembled and feared, and none, not even the richest of them, dared receive Phoebus, until queenly Leto set foot on Delos and uttered winged words and asked her:
“Delos, if you would be willing to be the abode of my son Phoebus Apollo and make him a rich temple-; for no other will touch you, as you will find: and I think you will never be rich in oxen and sheep, nor bear vintage nor yet produce plants abundantly. But if you have the temple of farshooting Apollo, all men will bring you hecatombs and gather here, and incessant savour of rich sacrifice will always arise, and you will feed those who dwell in you from the hand of strangers; for truly your own soil is not rich.”
So spake Leto. And Delos rejoiced and answered and said: “Leto, most glorious daughter of great Coeus, joyfully would I receive your child the farshooting lord; for it is all too true that I am ill spoken of among men, whereas thus I should become very greatly honoured. But this saying I fear, and I will not hide it from you, Leto. They say that Apollo will be one that is very haughty and will greatly lord it among gods and men all over the fruitful earth. Therefore, I greatly fear in heart and spirit that as soon as he sees the light of the sun, he will scorn this island—for truly I have but a hard, rocky soil—and overturn me and thrust me down with his feet into the depths of the sea; then the great ocean will wash deep above my head forever, and he will go to another land such as will please him, there to make his temple and wooded groves. So, many- footed creatures of the sea will make their lairs in me, and black seals will make their dwellings in me undisturbed, because I lack people. Yet if you will but dare to swear a great oath, goddess, that here first he will build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, then let him afterwards make temples and wooded groves amongst all men; for surely he will be greatly renowned.
So said Delos. And Leto sware the great oath of the gods: “Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above, and dropping water of Styx (this is the strongest and most awful oath for the blessed gods), surely Phoebus shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you he shall honour above all.”
Now when Leto had sworn and ended her oath, Delos was very glad at the birth of the far-shooting lord. But Leto was racked nine days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont. And there were with her all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rhea and Ichnaea and Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses save white-armed Hera, who sat in the halls of cloudgathering Zeus. Only Eilithyia, goddess of sore travail, had not heard of Leto’s trouble, for she sat on the top of Olympus beneath golden clouds by white- armed Hera’s contriving, who kept her close through envy, because Leto with the lovely tresses was soon to bear a son faultless and strong.
But the goddesses sent out Iris from the well-set isle to bring Eilithyia, promising her a great necklace strung with golden threads, nine cubits long. And they bade Iris call her aside from white-armed Hera, lest with her words she might afterwards turn her from coming. When swift Iris, fleet of foot as the wind, had heard all this, she ran; and quickly covering all the distance she came to the home of the gods, sheer Olympus, and forthwith called Eilithyia out from the hall to the door and spoke winged words to her, telling her all as the goddesses who dwell on Olympus had bidden her. So she moved the heart of Eilithyia in her dear breast; and they went their way, like shy wild-doves in their going.
And as soon as Eilithyia the goddess of sore travail set foot on Delos, the pains of birth seized Leto, and she longed to bring forth; so she cast her arms about a palm tree and kneeled on the soft meadow while the earth laughed for joy beneath. Then the child leapt forth to the light, and all the goddesses raised a cry. Straightway, great Phoebus, the goddesses washed you purely and cleanly with sweet water, and swathed you in a white garment of fine texture, new-woven, and fastened a golden band about you.
Now Leto did not give Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, her breast; but Themis duly poured nectar and ambrosia with her divine hands, and Leto was glad because she had borne a strong son and an archer. But as soon as you had tasted that divine heavenly food, O Phoebus, you could no longer then be held by golden cords nor confined with bands, but all their ends were undone. Forthwith Phoebus Apollo spoke out among the deathless goddesses:
The lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me, and I will declare to men the unfailing will of Zeus.
So said Phoebus, the long-haired god who shoots afar, and began to walk upon the wide-pathed earth; and all the goddesses were amazed at him. Then with gold all Delos [was laden, beholding the child of Zeus and Leto, for joy because the god chose her above the islands and shore to make his dwelling in her; and she loved him yet more in her heart.] blossomed as does a mountain-top with woodland flowers.
And you, O lord Apollo, god of the silver bow, shooting afar, now walked on craggy Cynthus, and now kept wandering about the islands and the people in them. Many are your temples and wooded groves, and all peaks and towering bluffs of lofty mountains and rivers flowing to the sea are dear to you, Phoebus, yet in Delos do you most delight your heart; for there the long-robed Ionians gather in your honour with their children and shy wives: mindful, they delight you with boxing and dancing and song, so often as they hold their gathering. A man would say that they were deathless and unageing if he should then come upon the Ionians so gathered. For he would see the graces of them all, and would be pleased in heart gazing at the men and well-girded women with their swift ships and great wealth. And there is this great wonder besides-and its renown shall never perish—the girls of Delos, hand-maidens of the Far-shooter; for when they have praised Apollo first, and also Leto and Artemis who delights in arrows, they sing a strain telling of men and women of past days, and charm the tribes of men. Also they can imitate the tongues of all men and their clattering speech; each would say that he himself were singing, so close to truth is their sweet song.
And now may Apollo be favourable—and Artemis! and farewell all ye maidens. Remember me in after time whenever any one of men on earth, a stranger who has seen and suffered much, comes here and asks you: “Who do you think, girls, is the sweetest singer that comes here, and in whom do you most delight?” Answer then, each and all, with one voice: “He is a blind man, and dwells in rocky Chios: his lays are evermore supreme.” As for me, I will carry your renown as far as I roam over the earth to the well-placed cities of man, and they will believe also; for indeed this thing is true. And I will never cease to praise far-shooting Apollo, god of the silver bow, whom rich-haired Leto bare.
The ‘Homeric’ Hymn to Pythian Apollo
O Lord, yours is Lykia and Meonia the lovely 180 and Miletos, too, the enchanting city by the sea, and you again greatly rule over wave-washed Delos. The son of glorious Leto goes to rocky Pytho, playing his hollow lyre, and wearing garments divine and fragrant; his lyre 185 struck by the golden plectrum gives an enchanting sound. Thence, fleet as thought, he leaves the earth for Olympos and goes to the palace of Zeus and the company of the other gods. Forthwith the immortals take interest in his song and lyre, and all the Muses, answering with beautiful voices, 190 hymn the divine gifts of the gods and the hardships brought upon men by the immortal gods. Men live an unresourceful and thoughtless life, unable to find a cure for death and a charm to repel old age. And the fair-tressed Graces and the kindly Seasons 195 and Harmonia and Hebe and Aphrodite, the daughter of Zeus, dance, each holding the other’s wrist. Among them sings one, neither ugly nor slight of stature but truly of great size and marvelous aspect, arrow-pouring Artemis, Apollon’s twin sister. 200 And with them play Ares and keen-eyed Argeiphontes; Phoibos Apollon, his step high and stately, plays the lyre, enveloped in the brilliance from his glittering feet and well-woven garment.
And Leto of the golden tresses and Zeus the counselor 205 rejoice in their great souls as they look upon their dear son playing among the immortals. How shall I match the hymns already sung in your honor? Or am I to sing of you as wooer and lover of maidens, sing how, wooing the daughter of Azas, you raced 210 against godlike Ischys Elationides, possessed of good horses, or against Phorbas sprung from Triops or against Ereutheus? Or in the company of Leukippos’ wife, you on foot and he with his horses? He surely was as good as Triops Or am I to sing how at first you went all over the earth, 215 seeking the seat of an oracle, O far-shooting Apollon?
To Pieria you first descended from Olympos and made your way past sandy Lektos and the Ainianes and Perrhaiboi; and soon you reached Iolkos and set foot on Kenaion in Euboea, renowned for ships; 220 you stood on the Lelantine plain, but it did not please your heart to build a temple with wooded groves. From there, O far-shooting Apollon, you crossed Euripos and went along a sacred green mountain, and leaving you came to Mykalessos and grassy-bedded Teumessos. 225 Then you arrived at the forest-covered abode of Thebe; no mortal as yet lived in sacred Thebe, and at that time there were no paths or roads yet throughout the wheat-bearing plain of Thebe, but forests covered it. Thence, O splendid Apollon, you went onward 230 to reach Onchestos, the fair grove of Poseidon, where a new-broken colt, vexed as he is at drawing the beautiful chariot, slows down to breathe, as its noble driver leaps down from the chariot and goes his way; and the horses for some time rattle the empty chariot, free from their master’s control. 235 And if they should break the chariot in the wooded grove, the horses are taken away but the tilted chariot is left behind. For such is the ancient custom: they pray to the lord while to the god’s lot falls the custody of the chariot.
You soon left that place, O far-shooting Apollon, 240 and then reached the beautiful streams of Kephissos which pours forth its fair-flowing water from Lilaia. And, O worker from afar, you crossed it and many-towered Okalea, and thence you arrived et grassy Haliartos. You set foot on Telphousa, where the peaceful place 245 pleased you, and so you built a temple with wooded groves. Standing very close to her you spoke these words: “Telphousa, here I intend to build a beautiful temple to be an oracle for men who will always bring to me here unblemished hecatombs; 250 and as many as dwell on fertile Peloponnesos and on Europe and throughout the sea-girt islands will consult it. It is my wish to give them unerring advice, making prophecies inside the opulent temple.”
With these words Phoibos Apollon laid out the foundations, 255 broad and very long from beginning to end; Telphousa saw this and with anger in her heart she spoke these words: “Lord Phoibos, worker from afar, I shall put a word in your heart, since you intend to build a beautiful temple in this place, to be an oracle for men who will always 260 bring there unblemished hecatombs. Yet I will speak out, and you mark my word in your heart. The pounding of swift horses and mules watering at my sacred springs will always annoy you, and men will prefer to gaze upon 265 the well-made chariots and the pounding, swift-footed horses than upon the great temple and the many possessions therein. But please listen to me—you are a lord better and mightier than I, and your power is very great—build at Krisa beneath the fold of Parnassos. 270 There neither beautiful chariots will rattle nor swift-footed horses will pound about the well-built altar. But to you as lepaieon the glorious races of men will bring gifts, and with delighted heart you will receive beautiful sacrificial offerings from those dwelling about.”
275 With these words Telphousa swayed his mind, so that hers alone, and not the Far-shooter’s should be the glory of the land. You soon left that place, O far-shooting Apollon, and reached the city of the Phlegyes, those insolent men, who dwelt on this earth, with no regard for Zeus, 280 in a beautiful glen near the lake Kephisis. From there you went rushing to a mountain ridge, and you reached Krisa beneath snowy Parnassos, a foothill looking westwards, with a rock hanging above it and a hollow and rough glen 285 running below it. There the lord Phoibos Apollon resolved to make a lovely temple and spoke these words:
“Here I intend to build a beautiful temple to be an oracle for men who shall always bring to this place unblemished hecatombs; 290 and as many as dwell on fertile Peloponnesos and on Europe and throughout the sea-girt islands will consult it. It is my wish to give them unerring advice, making prophecies inside the opulent temple.” With these words Phoibos Apollon laid out the foundations, 295 broad and very long from beginning to end; and on them the sons of Erginos, Trophonios and Agamedes, dear to the immortal gods, placed a threshold of stone. And the numberless races of men built the temple all around with hewn stones, to be a theme of song forever. 300 Near it there was a fair-flowing spring, where the lord, son of Zeus, with his mighty bow, killed a she-dragon, a great, glutted, and fierce monster, which inflicted many evils on the men of the land—many on them, and many on their slender-shanked sheep; for she was bloodthirsty. 305 And once from golden-throned Hera she received and reared dreadful and baneful Typhaon, a scourge to mortals. Hera once bore him in anger at father Zeus, when indeed Kronides gave birth to glorious Athena from his head; and mighty Hera was quickly angered 310 and spoke to the gathering of the immortal gods:
“All gods and all goddesses, hear from me how cloud-gathering Zeus begins to dishonor me first, since he made me his mindfully devoted wife, and now apart from me gave birth to gray-eyed Athena, 315 who excels among all the blessed immortals. But my son, Hephaistos, whom I myself bore has grown to be weak-legged and lame among the blessed gods. I took him with my own hands and cast him into the broad sea. But Thetis, the silver-footed daughter of Nereus, 320 received him and with her sisters took him in her care. I wish she had done the blessed gods some other favor! O stubborn and wily one! What else will you now devise? How dared you alone give birth to gray-eyed Athena? Would not I have borne her—I, who was called your very own 325 among the immortals who dwell in the broad sky? [325a Take thought now, lest I devise some evil for you in return!] And now, I shall contrive to have born to me a child who will excel among the immortals. And to our sacred wedlock I shall bring no shame, nor visit your bed, but I shall pass my time 330 far from you, among the immortal gods!”
With these words she went apart from the gods very angry. Then forthwith mighty cow-eyed Hera prayed and with the flat of her hand struck the ground and spoke: “Hear me now, Earth and broad Sky above, 335 and you Titans from whom gods and men are descended and who dwell beneath the earth round great Tartaros. Harken to me, all of you, and apart from Zeus grant me a child, in no wise of inferior strength; nay, let him be stronger than Zeus by as much as far-seeing Zeus is stronger than Kronos.” 340 Thus she cried out and lashed the earth with her stout hand. Then the life-giving earth was moved and Hera saw it, and her heart was delighted at the thought of fulfillment.
From then on, and until a full year came to its end, she never came to the bed of contriving Zeus, 345 nor pondered for him sagacious counsels, sitting as before on her elaborate chair, but staying in temples, where many pray, cow-eyed, mighty Hera delighted in her offerings. But when the months and the days reached their destined goal, 350 and the seasons arrived as the year revolved, she bore dreadful and baneful Typhaon, a scourge to mortals, whose aspect resembled neither god’s nor man’s. Forthwith cow-eyed, mighty Hera took him and, piling evil upon evil, she commended him to the care of the she-dragon. 355 He worked many evils on the glorious races of men, and she brought their day of doom to those who met her, until the lord far-stooling Apollon shot her with a mighty arrow; rent with insufferable pains, she lay panting fiercely and writhing on the ground. 360 The din was ineffably awesome, and throughout the forest she was rapidly thrusting her coils hither and thither; with a gasp she breathed out her gory soul, while Phoibos Apollon boasted: “Rot now right here on the man-nourishing earth; you shall not ever again be an evil bane for living men 365 who eat the fruit of the earth that nurtures many and will bring to this place unblemished hecatombs, nor shall Typhoeus or ill-famed Chimaira ward off woeful death for you, but right here the black earth and the flaming sun will make you rot.”
370 Thus he spoke boasting, and darkness covered her eyes. And the holy fury of Helios made her rot away; hence the place is now called Pytho, and people call the lord by the name of Pytheios, because on that spot the fury of piercing Helios made the monster rot away. 375 At last Phoibos Apollon knew in his mind why the fair-flowing spring had deceived him. So in anger against Telphousa he set out and quickly reached her and, standing very close to her, uttered these words: “Telphousa, you were not destined, after all, to deceive my mind 380 by keeping this lovely place to pour forth your fair-flowing water. The glory of this place will be mine, too, not yours alone.” Thus spoke the lord, far-shooting Apollon, and pushed down on her a cliff, and with a shower of rocks he covered her streams; then he built himself an altar in the wooded grove, 385 very close to the fair-flowing stream, and there all men pray calling upon him as the Telphousian lord, because he shamed the streams of sacred Telphousa.
And then indeed Phoibos Apollon pondered in his mind what kind of men he should bring in to celebrate his rites 390 and be his ministers in rocky Pytho. As he pondered these thoughts, he descried a swift ship on the wine-dark sea; there were many noble men on it, Cretans from Minoan Knossos, who for the lord make sacrificial offerings and proclaim the decrees 395 of Phoibos Apollon of the golden sword, whatever he may say when he prophesies from the laurel below the dells of Parnassos. To sandy Pylos and its native dwellers they sailed in a black ship for barter and goods, and Phoibos Apollon went to meet them at sea 400 and, looking like a dolphin in shape, he leaped on the swift ship and lay on it like some great and awesome monster. And it entered no man’s mind to know who he was as he lunged about and shook the timbers of the ship. They sat on the ship, afraid and dumbfounded, 405 and neither slacked the sheets throughout the hollow black ship nor lowered the sail of the dark-pronged keel. But as they had fixed its direction with oxhide lines, so they sailed on; for a rushing south wind pressed the swift ship on from behind.
First sailing past Maleia 410 and then past the land of Lakonia, they reached a sea-crowned city, a place of Helios who gladdens mortals, Tainaron, where always graze the long-fleeced sheep of lord Helios and are the tenants of the delightful place. They wanted to put the ship to shore there and land 415 to contemplate the great portent and see with their eyes whether the monster would remain on the deck of the hollow ship or leap into the briny swell which teems with fishes. But the well-wrought ship did not obey the helm, and off the shore of fertile Peloponnesos 420 went her way as the lord, far-shooting Apollon, easily steered her course with a breeze. She traversed her path and reached Arene and lovely Argyphea, and Thryon, the ford of Alpheios, and well-built Aipy, and sandy Pylos and its native dwellers. 425 She sailed past Krounoi and Chalkis and Dyme and splendid Elis, where the Epeioi are lords. When she was headed for Pherai, exulting in the tail wind sent by Zeus, from under the clouds the lofty mountain of Ithake appeared, and Doulichion and Same and wooded Zakynthos.
430 But when the shore of Peloponnesos was behind her, and there loomed in the distance Krisa’s boundless gulf, which cuts off from the mainland the fertile Peloponnesos, there came, decreed by Zeus, a great and fair west wind rushing down vehemently from the clear sky, so that the ship 435 might soon traverse in speed the briny water of the sea. Then they sailed back toward the dawn and the sun, and the lord Apollon, son of Zeus, was their leader until they reached the harbor of conspicuous Krisa, rich in vineyards, where the seafaring ship grounded on the sands. 440 And there the lord, far-shooting Apollon, leaped from the ship, like a star at midday, as flashes of light flew about and their brilliance touched the sky. Through the precious tripods his sanctuary he entered, to light a flame with his gleaming shafts, 445 enveloping all of Krisa in light; and the wives and fair-girded daughters of the Krisians raised a cry at the radiance of Phoibos, for he instilled in them great fear.
From there, swift as thought, he took a flying leap back into the ship, in the form of a strong and vigorous 450 man in his prime, his mane covering his broad shoulders. And with loud voice he uttered winged words: “Who are you strangers and whence do you sail the watery paths? Is it perchance for barter, or do you wander idly over the sea like roaming pirates 455 who risk their lives to bring evil upon men of other lands? Why do you sit thus in fear, neither going out to shore nor stowing the tackle of your black ship? Such indeed is the custom of men who work for their bread, whenever on their black ship they come to land 460 from the sea, worn-out with toil, and straightway a longing for sweet food grips their hearts.” Thus he spoke and put courage in their breasts, and the leader of the Cretans spoke to him in answer:
“Stranger, since in no wise do you resemble a mortal 465 in build or stature, but rather look like the deathless gods, a hearty hail to you, and may the gods grant you good fortune. Now speak the truth to me that I may know well. What folk is this, what land, what mortals live here? With other designs in mind we sailed over the vast sea 470 to Pylos from Crete, whence we boast our race to hail. Now against our will we have sailed here in our ship, on another course and another path, and long to go home; but some immortal has brought us here against our will.” And far-shooting Apollon addressed them and answered:
475 “Strangers, up to now you dwelt about Knossos with its many trees; now you shall no longer be on the homeward journey, bound for your lovely city, your beautiful homes and dear wives, but you shall keep my opulent temple which is honored by many men. 480 I am the son of Zeus and proudly declare I am Apollon. I brought you here over the vast and deep sea, entertaining no evil thoughts, but here you shall have my opulent temple, which is greatly honored by all men, and you shall know the will of the immortals, by whose wish 485 you shall be honored forever to the end of your days. But come and obey at once whatever I say: First slack the oxhide lines and lower the sails, and then draw the swift ship onto the land, and out of the well-trimmed keel take tackle and possessions, 490 and make an altar upon the beach of the sea; then light a fire on it and offer white barley, and, standing round the altar, say your prayers. Since I, at first on the misty sea in the form of a dolphin, leaped onto the swift ship, 495 so pray to me as Delphinios; the altar too, shall be called Delphinian and be forever conspicuous. After that have your meal by the swift black ship, and pour libations to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympos. But when you have rid yourselves of desire for sweet food, 500 come with me, singing the hymn Iepaieon, until you reach the place where you shall keep my opulent temple.”
So he spoke, and they readily heard him and obeyed. First they lowered the sails and slacked the oxhide lines, and by the forestays brought the mast down to the mast-holder. 505 Then they themselves landed on the beach and drew the swift ship from the sea onto the land, and high onto the sand, and spread long props underneath. There, on the beach of the sea they made an altar, then lighted a fire on it, and with offerings of white barley 510 they prayed, as he ordered, standing round the altar. They then had their meal by the swift black ship and poured libations to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympos. And when they rid themselves of desire for food and drink, they set out to go, and the lord Apollon, son of Zeus, led the way, 515 his step high and stately, and with the lyre in his hands played a lovely tune. The Cretans followed him to Pytho, beating time and singing the Iepaieon in the fashion of Cretans singing a paean when the divine Muse has put mellifluous song in their hearts. 520 They walked up the hill unwearied and soon reached Parnassos and the lovely place where he was destined to dwell honored by many men; he led them there and showed them the sacred sanctuary and opulent temple. But their spirit was roused in their dear hearts, 525 and the leader of the Cretans addressed him and asked:
“Lord, since far from our dear ones and our fatherland you have brought us—for thus it pleased your heart—how are we now to live? This we bid you tell us. This charming place does not abound in vineyards or meadows 530 from which we may live well and be in the service of men.” And Apollon, the son of Zeus, smiled on them and answered: “Foolish men and poor wretches you are for preferring cares and toilsome hardships and straits for your hearts. Put in your minds the word I will speak to set you at ease: 535 With a knife in his right hand let each one of you slaughter sheep forever, and there will be an abundance of them brought to me by the glorious races of men. But guard my temple and receive the races of men gathered here, and especially my direction... [lacuna]... 540 Your word or deed shall be vain and wantonly insolent, as is the custom of mortal men; then you shall have other men to command you, and by force be your masters forever. I have told you everything; do keep it in your mind.”
545 And so, son of Zeus and Leto, farewell, and I shall remember you and another song, too.