A retelling from Ovid’s Metamorphosis
When Phaeton was growing up, his mother told him that his true father was Helios, who is the sun (as the sun-god, Helios is responsible for driving the great Chariot across the sky that daily brings the warm sun to us). As Phaeton grew older he found he needed to know for sure if he was the son of a god….
One day he approached Helios’ throne and asked was it true and if it was, could he have special token of fatherly love to prove to his friends. So Helios rashly promised:
“As a sure proof, make some request, and I,
whate’er it be, with that request comply”….
And so,
“The youth transported, asks, without delay,
To guide the sun’s bright chariot for a day.”
And Helios repented of his rash promise and tried to dissuade Phaeton – “rash was my promise, rash is thy desire… You ask a real mischief, Phaeton”. But Phaeton would not be persuaded otherwise and probably the more Helios told him how dangerous it was the more he wanted a go! So finally Helios had no choice but to fulfil his promise and so to lead him towards the Chariot and let him mount the golden vehicle. Morning should be coming.
And Phaeton wouldn’t listen to his advise but eagerly lept up and sped away. At first it was amazing – driving the chariot of the sun! – but he began to notice that the chariot was going off-course and he couldn’t pull it back – he was too light,too weak and too inexperienced, to control the mighty Chariot…
“Soon as the steeds perceive it, they forsake
Their stated course, and leave the beaten track.
The youth was in a maze, nor did he know
Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
Nor would the horses, had he known, obey.”
Things were looking bad, and worse still, when poor Phaeton looked down he saw the details of the earth and seas far too close and bright. Young and scared he had little time to think about how his father had been right, but only wished that none of this was happening. First the chariot goes too high – “now all the horrors of the heav’ns he spies – ” then it goes to low so that “th’ astonished youth, where-e’er his eyes could turn, beheld the universe around him burn: the world was in a blaze.”. He couldn’t do anything, except watch the horses and burning chariot run out of control towards the earth.
Of course, the earth couldn’t handle the sun so close; animals died or stayed underwater and large parts of the seas boiled and dried up – deserts were born. (They say that he flew perticularly close to Africa, where the people’s skin was burnt dark)
Poor, foolish Phaeton was sure he was going to die, thinking:
“If you, great king of Gods, my death approve,
And I deserve it, let me die by Jove…“If Heaven and Earth, and sea, together burn,
All must again into their chaos turn.
Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate,
And succour Nature, ere it be too late.”
And the gods knew that this had to be stopped and Helios, the sun-god who was responsible for this, struck his sun from the chariot, which broke apart from the impact, and scattered bits around the earth.
Phaeton was a falling star, plummeting, dead, to earth, where he was buried with this epitaph:
“Here he, who drove the sun’s bright chariot, lies;
His father’s fiery steeds he could not guide,
But in the glorious enterprize he died.”
Phaeton’s earthly mother and sisters mourned and searched the earth until they found his tomb, where “All the long night their mournful watch they keep, And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep.” After four long months, his sisters found they could not move if they tried, being rooted to the ground and transformed into trees from the neck down.
“And now their legs, and breasts, and bodies stood
Crusted with bar, and hard’ning into wood;
But still above were female heads displayed”
Their mother, when she saw, this, tried to pull the leaves and bark from her but they stopped her, saying, “Forbear; A wounded daughter in each tree you tear”! And with that the bark spread to cover their faces so that they were indistinguishable from the natural trees around them, except that:
“The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
Which, harden’d into value by the sun,
Distill for ever on the streams below:
The limpid streams their radiant treasure show,
Mixt with sand: whence the rich drops convey’d
Shine in the dress of the bright Latin maid.”
—http://www.sacred-texts.com/cla/ovid/meta/meta02.htm
