Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and listen wherever you listen to podcasts. This episode is brought to you by the blue floor of the sky. Tonight we'll read the myth about a love triangle between mortals, Idis and Mark Pesah and the ancient Greek god Apollo. It is taken from a book of myths compiled by Jean Lang and published in 1914. Apollo, the radiant god of the sun, poetry, and prophecy, was among the most revered of the Olympian deities. As the favored son of Zeus, King of the gods, he had direct access to his father's wisdom and, at times, shared divine insights with humankind. Yet, despite his celestial nature, Apollo was no stranger to earthly emotions. His heart was often stirred by love, longing, and, when spurned, jealousy. This tale is one of passion and rivalry, of a mortal man daring to challenge a God for the love of a woman. Marpezza, known for her beauty and grace, found herself at the center of this struggle, caught between the affections of a powerful deity and the devotion of a courageous suitor. When Apollo, in all his divine splendor, sets his sights on her, he expects to claim her without question. But Idis, bold and resolute will not relinquish his beloved so easily. Even the might of the gods cannot always dictate the course of the human heart.

Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now take a few deep breaths. by day while the sun-god Apollo drove his chariot in the high heavens and turned the blue-green a G and C into the semblance of a blazing shield of brass, Idis and Marpezza sat together in the trees' soft shades, or walked in shadowy valleys where violets and wild parsley grew, and where Apollo rarely dain't to come. At even tide, when, in royal splendor of purple and crimson and gold, Apollo sought his rest in the western sky. Idus and Marpissa wandered by the seashore, watching the little wavelits softly kissing the pebbles on the beach. Or climbed to the mountain side, from whence they could see the first glimpse of Diana's over crescent and the twinkling lights of the plighties breaking through the blue canopy of the sky. While Apollo sought in heaven and on earth the best means to gratify his imperial whims, Idis, for whom all joys had come to mean but one, sought ever to be by the side of Marpezza. Shadowy Valley, murmuring sea, lonely mountainside, or garden where grew the purple amaranth and where roses of pink and amber yellow and deepest crimson dropped their radiant petals on the snowy marble paths. were the same two Idis, paradise for him, where Marpezza by his side, without her dreary desert. More beautiful than any flower that grew in the garden was Marpezza. No music that Apollo's loot could make was a suite in the ears of Idus as her dear voice. Its music was ever new to him, a melody to make his heart more quickly, Throb. New, too, ever was her beauty.

For him, it was always the first time that they met. Always the same fresh ravishment to look in her eyes. And when two Idis came the knowledge that Marpezza gave him love for love. He had indeed one happiness so great as to draw upon him the envy of the gods. The course of true love never did run smooth, and like many and many another father since his day, Evanos, the father of Marpeza, was bitterly opposed to a match where the bridegroom was rich only in youth, in health, and in love. His beautiful daughter naturally seemed to him worthy of something much more high. Thus it was an unhappy day for Marpezza I as she sat alone by the fountain which dripped slowly down on the marble basin and dreamed of her lover, Aides, a polo himself. Let by Caprice, noiselessly walked through the rose bushes, whose warm petals dropped at his feet as he passed, and be held a maiden, more fair than the fairest flower that grew. The home of bees, the drip, drip of the fountain, these lulled her mind and heart and soothed her daydreams. And Marpeza's red lips curved like the bow of Aros. Smiled as she thought of Ides, the man she loved. Apparently Apollo watched her. This queen of all the roses was not fit to be the bride of a mortal man. Marpezo must be his. Two evanos, Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used to having his imperial wishes denied, nor was Evenow's anxious to do so. Here indeed was a match for his daughter. No insignificant mortal, but the radiant sun god himself, and to Marpezza he told what Apollo wished, and Marpezza shily looked at her reflection in the pool of the fountain and wondered if she were indeed beautiful enough to win the love of a God. Am I in truth so wondrous fare? She asked her father, fair enough to be a match with Apollo himself, proudly answered Evenos. And joyously, Marpeza replied, ah, then I am happy indeed, I would be beautiful for my Itis's sake. But there was to be no more pleasant dallying with Itis in the shadowy wood or by the seashore. In the rose garden, Apollo took his place and charmed Marpezza's ears with his music,

while her eyes could not but be charmed by his beauty. The God had no doubt sorfears.

Only a little time he would give her, for a very little only would he wait. And then undoubtedly, this mortal maiden would be his. Her heart conquered, as assuredly as the rays from his chariot conquered the roses, whose warm crimson petals they strewed at his feet. Yet, as Marpezza looked and listened, her thoughts were often far away, and always, her heart was with Idus. When Apollo played most exquisitely to her, it seemed that he put her love for Idis into music. When he spoke to her of his love, she thought, thus and thus did I to speak. And a sudden memory of the human lads halting words brought to her heart a little gush of tenderness made her eyes sparkle so that Apollo gladly thought soon she will be mine. all this while. I disgeemed and plotted and planned away, in which he could save his dear one from her obterate father and from the passion of a God. He went to Neptune, told his tale, and begged him to lend him a winged chariot in which he could fly away with Marpeza. Neptune good-naturedly consented, and when Idis flew up from the seashore one day, like a great bird that the tempests have blown inland. Marpezza joyously sprang up beside her lover, and swiftly they took flight for a land where in peace they might live and love together. no sooner did Evanos realize that his daughter was gone.

Then... love together. No sooner did Evanos realize that his daughter was gone, then, in furious anger against her and her lover, he gave chase. One has watched a hawk in pursuit of a pigeon or a bird of the moors and seen it. A little dark speck at first, gradually growing larger and more large until it lengthed it dominated and conquered its prey, swooping down from above like an arrow from above. So at first it seemed that Evenos must conquer Idus and Marpeza in the wing chariot of Neptune's landing, but onwards Idus drove the chariot ever faster and faster. Until before the eyes of Marpeza, the trees of the forest grew into blurs of blue and brown, and the streams and rivers as they flew past them were streaks of silver. Not until he had reached the river did the angry father own that his pursuit had been in vain. the swift flowing stream flew the chariot driven by Idus.

But Evanu... Over the swift flowing stream flew the chariot driven by Idus, but Evanus knew that his horses fled with white foam, pumping each breath from hearts that were strained to breaking point. No longer could go on with the chase. The passage of that deep stream would destroy them. The fierce water would sweep the weary beast down in its impelling current, and he with them. Evenos, with a great cry, leaped into the river. Over his head, close the eddies of the peat, brown water. Onwards, triumphantly, drove Idis. But soon he knew that a greater than Evenos had entered in the

chase, and that the jealous sun-god's chariot was in pursuit of the wing's car of Neptune. Luckily, it gained on him.

Soon it would have swept down on him.

A hawk indeed this time striking surely. But even as Apollo saw the white face of Marpezza and knew that he was the victor, a mighty thunderbolt that made the mountain shake, and rolled its echoes through the lonely fastnesses of a thousand hills was sent to earth by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-accode, their came from Olympus, the voice of Zeus himself, let her decide, he said. Apollo, like a white flame blown backward by the wind, withheld his hands that would have seized from Idus the woman who was his heart's desire. And then he spoke, and while his burning gaze was fixed upon her and his face in beautiful fury was more perfect than any exquisite picture of her dreams. His voice was as the voice of the sea as it calls to the shore in the moonlit hours, as the bird that sings in the darkness of

a tropic night to its longing mate. Marpezza, he cried.

Marpezza will thou not come to me.

No woe nor trouble.

Never... Marpezza will thou not come to me, no woe nor trouble. Never any pain can touch me. Yet wo indeed was mine when first I saw thy fairest face, for even now does thou hasten to sorrow, to darkness.

Thou art but mortal, thy beauty is short lived. Thy love for mortal man shall quickly fade and die. Come to me, Marpezza, and my kisses on your lips shall make thee immortal. Together we shall bring the sunbeams to a cold dark land. Together shall we coax the spring flowers from the still dead earth. Together we shall bring to men the golden harvest and deck the trees of autumn in our livery's of red and gold. I love thee, Marpeza, not as mere mortal loves do I love thee. Come to me, Marpezza, my love, my desire. When his voice was silent, it seemed as if the very earth itself, with all its thousand echoes, still breathed his words. Marpezza, my love, my desire. Abashed before the gods and treaties stood idus, and the heart of Marpezza was torn as she heard the burning words of the beautiful Apollo still ringing through her head and saw her mortal lover. Silent, white-lipped, gazing first at the God and then into her own pale face. At length, he spoke. After such argument, what can I plead, or what pale promise make? Yet since it is unwomen to pity rather than to aspire, a little I will speak. My lovely then, not only for thy body packed with sweet of all this world, that cup of of brimming June, that jar of violet wine set in the air, That pale-est rose sweet in the night of life. Nor for that stirring-puzzum all besieged by drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair, nor for that face that might indeed provoke invasion of old cities. No, nor all thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep. Nor for this only do I love thee, but because infinity upon the broods and thou art full of whispers and of shadows, thou menest what the sea has driven to say so long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell, thou art what all the winds have uttered not, what the still-night suggesteth to the heart. Thy voice is like to music heard air-birth, some spirit loot touched on the spirit's sea. Thy face remembered is from other worlds It has been dyed for, though I know not when. It has been sung of, though I know not where. It has the strangeness of the luring west, and of sad sea horizons.

Beside thee, I am aware of other times and lands, of birth far back, of lives in many stars, A beauty-loan and like a candle-clear in this dark country of the world. That art my woe, my early light, my music dying. Then, I,です, in the humility that comes from perfect love, drooped low his head and was silent. In silence, for a minute stood the three, a God, a man, and a woman. And from on high, the watching stars looked down and marveled. And Diana stayed for a moment the course of her silver car to watch, as she thought, the triumph of her own invincible brother. From man to god, past the eyes of Marpeza, and back from god to man, and the stars forgot to twinkle, and Diana's silver-mained horses pawed the blue floor of the sky. Impatient at the firm hand of the mistress on the reigns that checked their eager course.

More pets? firm hand of the mistress on the reins that checked their eager course. Marpezza spoke at last in low words that seemed to come remembered from other worlds. After all the joys he offered her, she thanked Apollo.

What grander fate for mortal woman than to rule the sunbeams? To bring bliss to the earth and to the sons of men? more could mortal woman crave than the gift of immortality, shared with one whose power ruled the vast universe, and whose still had stooped to lay the red roses of his passionate love at her little human feet. And yet, and yet, in that sorrow-free existence that he promised, might there not still be something awanting to one who had once known tears. Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss, then were he indeed to give her the gift of immortal life? What value were life to one whose beauty had withered as the leaves in autumn, whose heart was tired and dead? What uglier fate than this to endure an endless existence in which no life was yoked to one whose youth was immortal, whose beauty was everlasting. Then did she turn to Idus? Who stood as one who awaits the judgment of the judge in whose hands lies the power of meeting

out life or death. Thus she spoke. But if I live with Ides, then we too, on the low earth shall prosper, hand in hand, in odors of the open field, and live in peaceful noises of the farm, and watch the pastoral fields burned by the setting sun. And he shall give me passionate children, not some radiant God that will despise me quite, but clambering limbs and little hearts that air. So shall we live? and though the first sweet sting of love be passed, the sweet that almost venomous, though youth with tender and extravagant delight, the first and secret Kiss by Twilight Hedge, The insane farewell repeated oar and oar, Pass off their shall succeed a faithful peace, Beautiful friendship, tried by sun and wind, Durable from the daily dust of life. The sun-god frowned as her words fell from her lips. Even now, as she looked at him, he held out his arms. Surely, she only played with this poor mortal youth. To him, she must come, this rose who could own no lesser God than the sun God himself. But Marpeza spoke on. And thou beautiful God, in that far time, when in thy setting sweet thou gaze us down on his grey head, will thou remember then that once I pleased thee that I once was young? So did her voice cease, and on the earth fell sudden darkness. For two Apollo had come the shame of love rejected, and there were those who sent that to the earth that

night there came no sunset, only the so-and-darkness that told of the flight of an angry God. Yet, later, the silver moonbeams of Diana seemed to greet the dark earth with a smile, and in the winged car of Neptune,itis and more peasant, sped on greater than the gods.

In a perfect harmony of human love, that feared not time, nor pain, nor death himself.