This is a chapter of Once Upon A Time: Children’s Stories From The Classics by Blanche Winder.
One dark night, a prince, young and handsome, but very worn and weary, lay fast asleep beside a fountain in a wood. The trees waved softly above him; the stars shone like distant jewels; and the sound of the water mingled with the soft stirring of the breeze. But the prince, whose name was Bellerophon, moved uneasily in his sleep. He was dreaming not of the scents and the dews of the forests, but of a horrible monster that the king of the country had ordered him to go and kill, a beast even worse than the Minotaur, for it had a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a dragon’s tail, and it breathed fire every time it opened its enormous mouth.
Poor Bellerophon had not done anything to deserve such a task, but the king’s daughter, who was the queen of another country, disliked him and had plotted to get rid of him. As a result of her plot, he had been commanded to go and slay the monster, of which everybody in the country was terribly afraid. He did not think he could possibly do this, but he was brave and had made up his mind to try. While thinking of the best way to begin, he sat down by the fountain and fell asleep. Then, overhead, came the gleam of wings among the stars — wings that stretched out far, far wider than an eagle’s, and that shone, silver and beautiful, under the crescent moon. The wings belonged, not to a great bird, but to a white horse! Round and round this beautiful creature flew, now circling high above the sleeping prince’s head, now poised in the air like an enormous, glittering hawk. Never was there such a sight on any mountain as that of this bright, winged steed, hanging, starry and wonderful, between the shadowed forest and the silver-studded, purple-blue sky of night.
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It was Pegasus, the fairy horse of the Shining People themselves. Presently he dropped, with silent hoofs, upon the mossy rock, and trod lightly across the violets and thyme, his great wings folded and smooth. Even as he stepped toward the fountain, so noble, so graceful, so serene in his easy strength, the prince’s dream changed. Instead of the monster which had been troubling his sleep, he thought he saw one of the immortal ladies standing by his side, none other than Athena herself, with her kind, blue eyes, and her encouraging smile. In her hand she held a golden bridle, and she stooped and laid it near him on the grass. Then, waving her hand to him, she flew away, and he awoke.
But it could not have been merely a dream! For there, beside him, lay the golden bridle; and, stepping through the starlit forest, came the beautiful, silver-winged horse!
Then Bellerophon knew why Athena had given him the golden bridle. Many a time before had he tried to catch Pegasus, but had always failed. Now, smiling to himself, he watched the guttering creature move toward the fountain, bend his fine head and drink. As he drank, the prince drew silently near, bridle in hand. Then, with a bound, he sprang upon the horse’s back and slipped the golden bit into his open mouth. In a moment, Pegasus knew the feel of it and realized that the bridle of the Shining People lay upon his neck. Those reins he had never tried to shake off nor to resist, and immediately he spread his silver wings, rose from the ground, and, carrying Bellerophon on his back, floated away with him, up, up, up toward the stars.
What a triumph for Bellerophon! How wonderful to ride through the air, the breeze from the great, sweeping wings fanning his face. He drew the golden reins through his fingers, and Pegasus snorted softly, arching his gleaming neck as he flew. Then, with gentle hands, the prince turned the horse’s head toward the dark valley where, among tangled thickets, the monster lurked for the helpless men and women who formed its prey. The silver-winged horse swept downward in answer to Bellerophon’s hand and heel. With a roar of rage and a red glare of fire, the great beast sprang from the thicket and tried to drag the prince from his fairy steed. But Pegasus shot upward again, and Bellerophon fitted an arrow to the bow that he carried slung across his shoulders. Straight and true, he shot the arrow into the creature’s shaggy hide; then another, and another and another, while the monster bellowed and leaped uselessly into the air, lashing the ground with its tail. The fight was over at last, and the beast sank down and died. When it had drawn its last fiery breath, and lay there in stillness, nothing but smoke coming from its jaws, Bellerophon gently guided Pegasus to earth, sprang from the horse’s back, and cut off the horrible creature’s tail and head. Then the horse of the Shining Ones carried him back to the king’s palace, where he gave the dragon’s tail and its lion-like head to the monarch in proof of his victory.
Another hero there was in those days who once traveled in the sky, but came to a sad end through his rashness. This was Phaeton, the son of Apollo himself. Phaeton’s mother was a sweet, young woman, who was very proud of her son and of his wonderful father. But the lad’s school friends would not believe that he was the child of Apollo and teased him and laughed at him until he began himself to think that it could not be true. So, to convince him, his mother told him to go and find Apollo in his palace on Olympus, and ask the great immortal to acknowledge him as his son.
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Off, then, went Phaeton, and climbed the rocky path until he reached the top of the mountain. There stood the palace of Apollo, on high pillars, with bright, silver gates. Phaeton entered boldly, but when he saw his father seated on a great throne sparkling with emeralds, rainbow lights flashing around him, and a dazzling crown on his head, the young man covered his eyes with his hands, for he could not face the radiance. With bowed head, he told his father who he was; and instantly the immortal put off his crown and, bidding his son draw near without fear, stooped and embraced him. Then he swore that he would grant any request the youth might make, and what do you think foolish Phaeton asked for?
He asked that he might, for a whole day, drive the chariot of the sun in his father’s place!
Apollo was startled and dismayed. But he would not break his word. Warning his boy of the terrible risk and danger, he ordered the chariot and horses of the sun to be brought forth. Out from the stables, then, beautiful nymphs led the shining horses and the jeweled car; and Aurora, the lady of the dawn, opened the gates that led from the palace onto the wide silences of the sky. Pointing to that strange, deep space, without any roads or paths, Apollo gave his son many more warnings: told him of the giddy heights, of a serpent that wriggled among the stars, and of the steep hill that he must drive down at the journey’s end. Then he placed his own crown on Phaeton’s head and gave the reins into his hands. With a great bound, the horses set swiftly off.
Then, indeed, Phaeton knew how rash he had been. The horses soon felt the uncertain hand upon the shining reins and began to take the car where they would. All among the wonders of the sky, they galloped madly; and Phaeton, when he saw the strange and terrible creatures, was simply frightened out of his wits. There was a black scorpion among them, with a great long tail; and there were two bears that looked as white and cold as ghosts. But cold they were no longer when the chariot dashed by, far out of its track, its horses trampling the air into sparks, and shaking out fire from their manes, onto the hills below. At last, the mountains broke into flames, and the people who were near were scorched black and turned into black people on the spot. The fishes fled into the coolest corners of the rocks, and the sea nymphs crept into the far, green shadows of the deep caves.
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What would have happened to the world is more than anyone can say if Zeus, seeing what was happening, had not thrown a great thunderbolt from Olympus straight at Phaeton, as he sat terrified in the chariot, clinging to its rocking sides, his reins loose on the horses’ backs. The thunderbolt hurled him from the car, and down, down, down he fell, his very hair in flames, like a beautiful falling star, right into a deep, cool river. And there he lay among the water lilies, with the fire that was burning him put out at last.
So poor Phaeton perished, and the horses of Apollo galloped wildly back to their stables behind the doors of the dawn. For a whole day, Apollo wept over his boy’s death; and the sun chariot remained at home in the palace yard. But the people on the earth were only too glad to have twenty-four hours of quiet sleep in the stillness that followed that terrible day of heat. And when Apollo had recovered from his grief, he set out once more upon his wonderful journey, his horses stepping lightly through the pearly mists of morning, and answering faithfully to their own master’s hand upon the reins.