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Now let’s get to the hot mess that is Apollo swooning over another ill-fated love interest.
This one is peak tragic romance meets Apollo being an annoying jock with zero self-awareness. My retelling is a popular version of the myth based on Ovid, Lucian, and other sources.
Let’s do this.
Apollo, god of music, poetry, prophecy, healing, and—importantly for this story—SPORTS, has a new favorite mortal.
His name is Hyacinthus (but let’s just call him Hyacinth because I keep typing that anyway), and he’s the prince of the Spartans, and he is stupid hot. Like, otherworldly, “this man might not be real” gorgeous.
Apollo, who has always had bad luck with love (see Daphne), is obsessed. He takes Hyacinth under his wing, teaching him music, poetry, and—because Apollo is also a champion athlete—discus throwing.
He totally ignores Delphi and abandons all his Olympian duties. He’s too busy showing his new boyfriend off to everyone. And everyone is impressed and duly happy for Apollo.
Except for Zephyrus, the god of the West Wind—who, despite being the bearer of cool breezes, has absolutely no chill.
Because Zephyrus has a massive crush on Apollo’s boyfriend. He’s all “Hey Beautiful, I can sweep you off your feet!”
But Hyacinth barely notices him.
Everyone else looks pretty dull when compared with the literal god of the sun.
Zephyrus seethes with the fury of a lover scorned.
So Apollo and Hyacinth spend their days being obnoxiously adorable—playing music, making out, and flexing at each other like a pair of jocks in love. Ugh, so annoying.
One day, Apollo invites his boyfriend to play a game of “I’m a god and you’re a mortal but let’s see who throws the discus farther.” They get “well stripped and gleaming with rich olive oil” (an actual quote from Ovid) for this one. Hyacinth is all “Show me what ya got, baby. Throw that discus.”
And Apollo, being Apollo, absolutely launches the thing. Like, full god-tier power.
Hyacinth, determined to impress his godly boyfriend, SPRINTS after it, trying to catch it. And really, c’mon, dude—your boyfriend just essentially hurled that thing into the stratosphere. You ain’t catching it.
Zephyrus sees his chance and is like BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE WIND BITCH!
He hurls a gust of wind at the discus.
It veers off-course. It descends from the stratosphere, and—
CRACK.
It smashes into Hyacinth’s skull.
Apollo: “OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”
Hyacinth drops. Blood spills into the earth. Apollo immediately drops to his knees, trying everything—healing magic, divine CPR, straight-up begging. But even though he’s the god of medicine, he can’t heal this. Hyacinth ded. Even Apollo can’t cure death.
Apollo is furious. He manages to lodge an arrow in the West Wind, and chases Zephyrus into the mountains before turning around to try and preserve something of his lost love.
Apollo refuses to let Hades take Hyacinth’s body to the Underworld. Instead, he transforms his spilled blood into a new flower—the hyacinth—so he’ll live on forever. (Actually, it was probably an iris, as author Madeline Miller points out.)
That’s one version of the myth. You can read more about it over at Theoi (and don’t miss the sexy wind-on-dude action on the Greek vases over there).
Another (hilarious) version does away with Zephyrus entirely and just has Apollo accidentally hurling a high-speed death frisbee at his boyfriend’s head. Oops.
A few other elements that occur throughout the myth are:
In some early stories, Hyacinth and Daphne were siblings. (There’s our boy Apollo, devastating entire families with his fatal attraction.)
Thamyris was a dude who also loved Hyacinth, and gets the credit for being the first gay man because of it. But Hyacinth didn’t notice him because APOLLO. (So wouldn’t Hyacinth also be the first gay man? Wouldn’t Thamyris just be the first gay man in unrequited love? And what about Apollo and Zephyr? I guess they don’t count because they’re gods.)
The leaves of the hyacinth were said to have markings that spelled out the mourning cry “AI AI.” But what the Greeks were calling a hyacinth was probably a different flower by our definitions.
There was a huge Spartan festival called the Hyacinthia. Now, the Spartans were notoriously pious. Despite their love for battle, they were always post-poning marches and things because they had to honor one of their gods. And even considering all their festivals, the Hyacinthia was a BIG DEAL for them. They worshipped Hyacinth as a hero.
Lucian (a satirist) gives Apollo a hilarious conversation with Hermes about this whole mess. It basically goes:
HERMES, sighing deeply: Okay Apollo… why are you crying?
APOLLO, sobbing hysterically: It’s my love!
HERMES: Oh, that’s bad. Look, I know things didn’t work out with Daphne, but—
APOLLO: No, no, not Daphne, I’m totally over her! I’m talking about Hyacinth! He’s dead!
HERMES, rolling his eyes: What happened this time?
APOLLO: I accidentally threw a frisbee at his head and he died!!!! IT WAS SO BAD DUDE!!
HERMES, struggling not to laugh: Oh my.
APOLLO: There was SO MUCH BLOOD!!! It was all Zephyr’s fault!
HERMES: Sure, sure.
APOLLO: Why are you smirking at me, you jerk? I’m in fucking pain here!
HERMES: Look, man . . . you gotta get over this. It’s kinda stupid.
APOLLO: Stupid? You’re my brother, aren’t you supposed to, you know, comfort me? I’m not being stupid!
HERMES: No, you totally are. You fell for a mortal, bro. What did you think was gonna happen?
I’m guessing Apollo thought he’d turn Hyacinth immortal, because why not? But the Fates decreed otherwise.
*
Seeking Meaning in the Chaotic Tragedy of Life… and in this myth
You know me. I’m nearly always down to get Jungian.
But my intuition says this myth is simple, and doesn’t require in-depth analysis.
Sure, we’ve got Apollo—an archetype associated with ego consciousness and intellect. It’s hard to escape the concept of the ego when I write about him.
And we’ve got Hyacinth, the literal embodiment of youth, beauty, and perfection.
(The Ancients were all about the beauty and perfection of youth. They had an obsession with it—not so different from us today.)
But these two symbols basically interpret the myth for me.
Life is fucking fleeting.
Hyacinth represents everything good about life—everything worth being, keeping, loving, expressing. He is all joy, all talent, all intelligence, the best of life’s achievements in the perfect package of a finely honed young male physique at the peak of its strength.
And he dies right at the height of his glory.
It’s tragic as hell.
Sometimes we watch Hyacinth die quickly, all of an accidental moment. Other times, we watch him die slowly. He wilts, losing his grace, strength, and intellect. That’s tragic, too. One of the ancient sources compares Apollo’s attempts to revive Hyacinth to picking a flower, watching its blossom wilt and droop, and trying desperately to put it back on the stem. It ain’t gonna go.
It fucking hurts, this mortality thing. The ego hates that shit.
But there’s no stopping it.
In the Ancient World, the direction of west symbolized death. That’s where the sun sets. Where Apollo goes to rest the day, and cedes the world to his sister and to night. So yeah, the West Wind comes for everyone in the end. And not even Apollo his-glorious-damn-self, with all his knowledge and his medicine, can stop it.
Considering that, it makes sense that the Hyacinthia was one of the Spartans’ most sacred festivals. The people who specialized in war honored the fleeting nature of life.
Maybe there’s more to this myth. If you see it, or if you have a different interpretation, drop it in the comments. Your thoughts are welcome.
Love,
L.