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The Little Flower Girl

T housands of years ago in the ancient city of Athens there was a little flower girl whom all citizens had drawn her into their hearts. No one knew whence she came, for she would appear each sunny morning on a ray of dawn. At the close of the day she would ride the pink stretches of sunset and fade into the shadows of dusk. So lovely in her manner was this little girl that citizens of all walks of life had commented at one time or another that she must have been born of the gods. So lovely to look at was she that many said she was more beautiful than the freshly picked flowers she would generously offer them with dancing eyes and a pearly smile. Her hair was brighter than the golden daffodils that graced her handsome basket that they say was woven in Ithaca by the loyal Penelope herself. Her skin was whiter than the snowy lilies she gathered by the stream of nymphs. Her eyes were more sparkling than the bluest hyacinths she grew in the fabled garden of Hyacinthus.

When she approached the temples, many claimed they had actually seen smiles across the stone faces of the many statues of the gods she would grace with her freshly made wreaths. All of the Athenians had sworn that they had heard a lyre play and the singing of the Muse whenever she would approach the gleaming Parthenon and place the choicest lily from her basket before the city's most beloved goddess, Athena, who was worshiped for her passion for justice.

One day in front of the graceful statue of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, the little flower girl was gently twisting the long stems of daffodils to form a lovely golden wreath. When done she asked a tall boy to climb up onto the smooth marble pedestal and place the wreath upon the head of the goddess. As the little flower girl looked up to admire the golden crown, Aphrodite from Mount Olympus looked down and was pleased with what the child had done. So pleased was she that she jumped into her ivory chariot, tapped the reins to signal a silvery horse to descend from the home of the gods.

When the beauty-goddess softly landed in the city's square framed by majestic temples, she was disappointed that no one paid any attention to her arrival. Instead the Athenians were gathered admiringly round the little flower girl who was happily and charitably handing out flowers to them. Not only had they not noticed the goddess, they did not even seem to notice the crown upon her statue. "Some day of flattery this is!" she snickered under her breath. "No wonder Athena so often walks among them invisible, lest they mock her for her silly helmet, shield and spear."

The goddess moved through the crowd and saw close up how beautiful indeed was this child. Aphrodite was proud until she observed that the Athenians were admiring the child more than the flowers she was handing them. Aphrodite's soft emerald eyes rolled to the murky seaweed green of envy. The goddess moved in even closer to the girl and then heard an old woman say to the child, "My dear, the golden crown of daffodils on the head of our goddess of beauty belongs upon your golden head!"

Aphrodite was so enraged by the woman's remark that she abruptly turned on her heels and headed for her chariot. Her long white silky robe was swirling in the winds of her mean emotions.

The little girl in disbelief looked at the old woman. "Oh, no!" cried the girl with an embarrassed smile. "It is because of the very charm of our beautiful goddess that you say that. Aphrodite makes us see beauty in everything and in everyone."

The goddess did not hear the girl's answer; nor, so swept up in envy, would it have mattered. She cracked a whip across the flanks of her silvery horse and it lunged skyward. She then wrenched back on the rein, and the chariot hovered momentarily over the child. From the tip of her long slender finger the jealous goddess released a bolt of anger at the little girl's heart. To the horror of the citizens, the child in a puff of green smoke disappeared before their shocked, bulging eyes. Only the basket of flowers remained.

The old woman went to the basket and retrieved a lily and held it to her heart. Later at home she would press it into her scroll of myths in memory of the child. Others too took flowers to remember her by, for they feared they would never again see their precious little flower girl. A wise old man took the basket home with him. The next day he went to see the city's most famous sculptor. He asked the sculptor to make a statue of the little flower girl. The sculptor was delighted, for he had often seen her, and her loveliness was alive in his memory.

Months later, on the day the city was to celebrate the goddess of beauty, the sculptor unveiled a marble image of the little flower girl. Hundreds of Athenians gathered and were happy to see the lovely statue; yet they were sad too. Even though the pure white marble was as white as her pearly skin, it could not emit her living radiance. The wise old man approached the new statue and placed before it the handsome basket, and the old woman came forth to fill it with fresh hyacinths, daffodils and lilies, though not of the highest quality that the little flower girl would have mysteriously gathered.

Aphrodite descended from her resting crag at Olympus to revel in her day of honor. When she saw the statue of the little flower girl, her eyes fired green heat of envy before the red flame of rage erupted over the insult. She looked up to the great mountain in the clouds and shrilled to her husband, the god of crafts. Instantly Hephæstus went to work at his anvil and forged a heavy iron hammer. Then he tossed it down into her hand. With hideous shrieks and unladylike grunts and crunching swoops, she smashed the statue to white sand. Swirling round, her robe trailing wildly in the fury, she roared in disgust at the Athenians and hurled the hammer into the crowd. Fortunately the citizens scattered unharmed. She tossed the flowers to the winds of insults and climbed into her chariot. She bolted for Mount Olympus to sulk away her day of honor.

The crowd gathered round the mound of dust, whose prior shape had been briefly their source of joy. The proud sculptor was now bent over weeping over a handful of marble dust he had gently scooped up. All of the Athenians began to moan and weep for their living joy.

Athena, the city's most honorable spirit, observing the scene below, took pity on her loving Athenians who were now so steeped in sadness. She took up her shield and spear and strode toward Hephæstus' workshop, behind which she knew she would find her jealous sister.

Aphrodite was sitting on a crag, her knees up. She was still steaming from rage, glaring down upon the weeping city. She cried out with venom, "Yea, weep your heart out─O sentimental mankind! Yea, weep for a child of your fancy. Yea, turn against me in whom you once rejoiced in the true beauty of myself whom you now ignore!"

Athena approached and heard. She said to her sister, "I once thought that in you, my dear sister. There indeed was true beauty. So much beauty and so gracious were you that I had nothing but admiration and love for you. Never once was I jealous of your beauty and your extraordinary ability to love. Never once did I resent the affection and praise showered upon you by our family of deities and humanity. Too, I was sensible enough to thank our blessings for the beauty you brought forth to the world. And so too do my Athenians count their blessings for the beauty and love you have sent to my fair city. Yes, their love of beauty and sense of love itself with your help brought forth that lovely flower girl. Yes, that child is as much your doing as theirs. For you inspired them to appreciate all beauty. And yet here you sulk like a spoiled little child unable to accept your very own gift to the world. You gave and then cruelly took away."

Aphrodite's hard look dissolved from her sister's wise words. Her soft emerald eyes returned as she glanced up and said, "You say, you once thought of me as true beauty, but no longer?"

"Alas, that's true. For how can there be beauty in you when you loathe it in others?" Aphrodite flared with momentary anger, and said, "That's simply not true!" Her anger subsided and she said softly, "Why, I love you and see in you a beauty far superior to mine, for you have the beauty of reason."

"Oh?...And am I to think that because you are beautiful you cannot be reasonable?" Athena asked, showing disappointment. Then thrusting the spear harmlessly, she added, "Must I threaten to scar you with my spear before you release the dear little girl from your powers of jealousy?"

Aphrodite flinched, then giggled. "Oh, dear Athena, though you are known for your stern justice, you could not harm a hair on my head." She brushed aside the spear, gently removed her sister's helmet and kissed her on the cheek. "As always your words ring of truth. Indeed, I am acting as a spoiled child in being envious of another, especially of that dear, sweet child." Taking her sister's hands in hers. Aphrodite with contrition in her heart and shame in her glance, confessed, "Yea, 'tis true; I did create her for your loving people to remind them daily that there resided love and beauty in their own hearts."

Athena smiled with compassion and said, "Then why when they expressed what was in their hearts, were you upset so?"

"I honestly don't know—oh, I suppose you would call it a childish temper of envy—yet somehow I suspected the people would react as they had."

"Ah, is it not rare among deities, my darling Aphrodite!" Athena inferred, touching her sister's damp cheek. "Don't you see? It is the ageless dilemma of affection for the created or the creator."

Aphrodite looked askance then lowered her lids in shame. "Yea, I do see. Thus envy rode the horns and broke the natural flow of reason you had given them to resolve it."

"Indeed, for they would have seen that the Mover and the Moved are one and the same."

Aphrodite hugged her sister and felt the heartbeat of Athena's heart tirelessly pumping the sweet liquid of justice to the valleys of man. She stepped away and looked into her sister's honey-brown eyes. Aphrodite's glacial heart once more admitted the warm flow of love for humankind. She stroked her sister's long soft hair that matched the honey color of her eyes. "Oh, Athena, it is you who are truly beautiful!" Then she giggled. "But why, must you wear that silly armor?"

"Only to guard against the fanciful whims of my darling but unpredictable sister," Athena snapped, then burst a chuckling smile.

Aphrodite laughed heartily. Then said seriously, "Still, I am not so spoiled that I cannot see my errant ways when you challenge me with your unrelenting wisdom."

She swirled round on the edge of the crag and a cloud of green appeared; it swooped down the mountain side onto the city and landed on the empty pedestal but for the mound of white sand. The dark green cloud brightened to her sister's honey gold across the tear-filled eyes of the Athenians below. Suddenly their eyes dried and popped from a gusty wind centrifuging round the swirling cloud sucking up the marble dust. The dust of love and beauty forged an arch of flowers, upon which glowed the brightest rays that Aphrodite could urge from Apollo. The Athenians gasped in wonder and anticipation as flower petals of every description wafted out to them from the floral arch. They cheered, cried, hugged and shook hands when out stepped the little flower girl─her skin as warm and radiant as the lily she had presented to Athena's image, her eyes as blue as proud petals from the garden of Hyacinthus. And her hair was as bright as Apollo's rays; even more so because Aphrodite had crowned her with a wreath of golden daffodils.