Daphnis and Chloe

by Longus

  Now that their ships were filled with all kinds of plunder, they decided not to sail further but to make the voyage home, fearing both the weather and the enemy. So they sailed away and had to work hard at the oars because there was no wind. As for Daphnis, when it was quiet again, he went down to the plain where they used to graze the flocks, but did not see the goats and the sheep and could not find Chloe. Everything was deserted, and the pipes that Chloe liked were lying thrown on the ground. Crying out loudly and wailing pitifully, he ran to the beech tree where they used to sit, then to the sea in order to see her, and then to the Nymphs, where she had fled when she was being pursued. There he threw himself down on the ground and blamed the Nymphs and called them traitors:

  ‘Chloe was snatched away from you, and you could bear to see this? She wove garlands for you, she poured libations of new milk for you, she dedicated these very pipes here to you. No wolf has ever seized a goat of mine, but enemies have snatched away the flock and the girl who used to look after it with me, and they will skin the goats and slaughter the sheep, and Chloe will live in the city from now on. How can I walk back to my father and my mother without the goats, without Chloe, without any work? I have nothing to look after. I’ll lie down here and wait for death or another war. And you, Chloe, do you feel the same way? Do you remember this plain and these Nymphs – and me? Or are you at least comforted by the sheep and the goats that were captured with you?’

  As Daphnis said these words, a deep sleep took him away from his tears and his pain, and the three Nymphs seemed to stand before him, tall women and beautiful, semi-naked and barefoot, their hair loose, just like the statues. At first, they seemed to take pity on Daphnis; then the eldest spoke and encouraged him: ‘Don’t blame us, Daphnis. We care for Chloe more than you do. We cared for her even when she was a child, and we saw to her nurture when she was lying in this cave. Even now, we are seeing to her well-being: she will not be carried off to Methymna to become a slave and she will not become a part of the enemy’s loot. And that Pan there who stands beneath the pine tree, whom you never honoured with so much as a flower, we asked him to be Chloe’s protector. He is accustomed more to the military than we are and he has left his country home to fight in many wars, and when they attack him, the Methymneans will see that he is no soft enemy. Don’t wear yourself down with your anxieties, but get up and show yourself to Lamon and Myrtale, who are lying on the ground thinking that you also are part of the plunder. Chloe will come back to you tomorrow with the goats and the sheep, and you will pasture your herds together and play the pipes together. Love will take care of the rest for you.’

  Daphnis saw and heard these things, and leaped up from his sleep, and weeping tears of pleasure and grief, he kneeled down before the statues and promised that if Chloe were saved, he would sacrifice the best of the she-goats. He ran to the pine tree where the statue of Pan stood, goat-limbed, horned, holding pipes in one hand and a frisky he-goat in the other, and he knelt down before him too and prayed for Chloe and promised to sacrifice a he-goat, and it was only at sunset that, with difficulty, he put a stop to his tears and prayers. He picked up the leaves he had cut and went back to the farm to Lamon’s family, relieved them of their sorrow and filled them with joy, and ate some food and fell asleep, crying softly, and he prayed to see the Nymphs again in a dream, prayed for the day to come quickly, the day on which they had promised him Chloe. Of all nights, that one seemed to him the longest. But what happened in the night was this.

  After the general of the Methymneans sailed for ten stades, he wished to give his soldiers a rest because they were weary from their raiding. So he decided on a promontory that stretched out over the sea in the form of an extended crescent inside of which the sea afforded a calmer anchorage than any harbour. He anchored the ships here in deeper water so that none of the peasants might do any harm from the land, and he let the Methymneans go out to indulge their pleasures in peace. Since they had an abundance of all things because of their plunder, they drank, they played and they held a victory festival as it were. The day had just come to a close, and the night was putting an end to their pleasures, when suddenly the whole earth seemed to be blazing with fire, and they heard the dashing and crashing of oars as if a large fleet was about to attack. Someone shouted the call to arms, someone else yelled out for the general, some thought they were wounded and others lay down as though they had died. It was as if they were seeing a night-time battle, but with no enemy there.

  The night that passed was like this, but the day that followed was more frightful than the night. Daphnis’ he-goats and she-goats had flowering ivy on their horns, and Chloe’s rams and ewes howled like wolves. And she herself could be seen, crowned with pine. Many incredible things happened in the sea itself. The anchors remained stuck in the deep when men tried to raise them; the oars shattered when they were lowered for rowing; and dolphins, leaping out of the brine, struck the ships with their tails and loosened the bolts and timbers. Above the steep cliff that was under the headland, the sound of pipes was heard, not the pleasant sound that comes from pipes, but the terrifying din of war trumpets. They were thrown into confusion and ran to their arms and called upon their enemies, though they could not see any. They prayed that night would return, so that they might obtain a truce. Those who had any intelligence saw clearly that all the things that had happened, the apparitions and the sounds, were the work of Pan, who was angry with the sailors for some reason, though they couldn’t understand why, since they hadn’t pillaged any sanctuary of Pan – then at midday, when the general fell asleep, thanks to divine intervention, Pan himself appeared to him and spoke as follows:

  ‘You are the most impious and irreverent of men – why did you dare to commit such insane, reckless actions? You have filled these lands and fields of mine with war, you have driven away the herds of cows and sheep and goats that were in my care, you have torn from the altars a virgin whom Love wishes to place at the heart of a story, you showed no shame before the Nymphs as they looked on, nor before me. You will not see Methymna again if you sail away with your loot, nor will you escape these pipes that panicked you. I will drown you and turn you into food for fish unless you, very quickly, restore Chloe to the Nymphs and the flocks to Chloe, goats and sheep both. Get up and take the girl ashore with the animals I mentioned, and I myself will guide you by sea and guide her by land.’

  Bryaxis, the general, was very greatly disturbed. He leaped up and summoned the captains of the ships and ordered them to search immediately for Chloe among the captives. They found her shortly and brought her into his presence; she had been sitting down, with the crown of pine on her head. He considered this sign a confirmation of what he had seen in his dream, and brought her to land in his own flagship. As soon as she disembarked, the sound of the pipes was heard again from the rock; it was not, as before, the sound of war and horror, but was rather the pastoral tune that leads flocks to pasture. The sheep ran down the gangway slipping on their horned hooves and the goats ran as well, but more boldly, since they were used to steep rocks.

  All these animals stood around Chloe in a circle, like a chorus, skipping and bleating and showing signs of their pleasure; but the goats of the other shepherds and the sheep and the cattle remained in their place in the hold of the ship, as though the melody had not entranced them. Everyone was struck with amazement and cried out for Pan – but then something even more amazing than these things was seen in both the elements. Before the Methymneans had raised their anchors, the ships set sail, and a dolphin leaped out of the sea and led the flagship, while the sweet sound of pipes guided the goats and sheep, though no one saw the piper, and sheep and goats went forward together and grazed, evidently pleased by the melody.

  It was roughly the time for the second grazing when Daphnis, looking out from a high rock, saw the flocks and Chloe. He cried out loudly ‘Nymphs and Pan!’, ran down to the plain, embraced Chloe and collapsed in a faint. Chloe’s kisses and warm embraces slowly restored his li
fe to him, and then he went to their old oak tree and sat by the trunk and asked how she had escaped from so many enemies. She told him everything: the ivy on the goats, the howls of the sheep, the pine flowering on her head, the fire on land, the noise at sea, the two kinds of piping (one warlike, the other peaceful), the frightful night, and how the music guided her back on the road though she did not know the way. Daphnis recognized his dream of the Nymphs and the work of Pan in this, and he himself told her all that he had seen, all that he had heard, and how he was saved by the Nymphs when he was on the verge of death. And then he sent Chloe to fetch Dryas and Lamon and their families and the materials for a sacrifice. In the meantime, he took the best of the she-goats and crowned it with ivy, just as it had appeared to the enemy, and pouring an offering of milk on its horns, he sacrificed it to the Nymphs, and then he hung up the carcass, skinned it and made a dedication of the hide.

  After Chloe and the others arrived, he lit a fire, boiled a part of the meat, roasted the remainder, and then he presented the first portions to the Nymphs and poured a bowl of sweet new wine as an offering. He spread out a bed of leaves, and then gave himself over to food and drink and play, and at the same time he kept an eye on the flocks so that no wolf might attack them and imitate the enemy’s work. They also sang some songs to the Nymphs, the compositions of shepherds from long ago. When night came, they slept in the field, and on the following day they directed their minds to Pan. They crowned the leader of the goats with pine and led him to the pine tree, and they poured offerings of wine, celebrated the god, and then sacrificed the goat, hung it up, and skinned it. And they boiled and roasted the flesh and set it on leaves in a nearby meadow, and they fixed the skin with its horns on the pine tree by the statue, a dedication made by rustics to a rustic god. They made an offering of the first portions of the flesh, and poured offerings from a larger bowl. Chloe sang, Daphnis played the pipes.

  They reclined afterward and began to eat. The cowherd Philetas approached, bringing, by chance, some small garlands to Pan and clusters of grapes on vines with the leaves still on them, and he was followed by his youngest son, Tityrus, a boy with red hair, bluish green eyes and pale skin, and also high-spirited, who walked along bouncing lightly like a kid. So they leaped up and together they garlanded Pan and they hung the vines on the foliage of the pine. Then they made the others recline nearby and drink together, and like old men when they are quite drunk, they told each other many stories, how they went grazing when young, how they escaped all those pirate raids; someone boasted that he had killed a wolf, and someone else (actually, this was Philetas’ boast) that in playing the pipes he was second only to Pan.

  So Daphnis and Chloe pleaded with him in every way to share his skill with them and to play his pipes, since they were celebrating a god who enjoyed pipes. Philetas answered that he was short of breath because of old age, but he still promised to play and took up Daphnis’ pipes. But these were too small for his great skill, and were suitable rather to be blown on by a boy, with a boy’s mouth. So he sent Tityrus to fetch his own pipes from his farm, which was ten stades away. The boy threw off his coat and set off at a run, just like a fawn, while Lamon meanwhile promised them that he would relate the story of the pipes which a Sicilian goatherd had sung to him for the cost of a goat and pipes:

  ‘These pipes were, in the old days, not an instrument but rather a beautiful girl who had a lovely, melodious voice. She used to graze her goats, play with the Nymphs or sing, as she does now. When she was grazing, playing and singing, Pan approached her and tried to persuade her to do what he desired by promising that all her she-goats would give birth to twins. But she laughed at his love and said that she would not accept a lover who was neither fully goat nor fully human. Pan gave chase and attempted to take her by force. Syrinx fled Pan and his violence; she fled and grew tired of fleeing, and so hid among reeds, and then disappeared into a marsh. Pan angrily cut down the reeds, but did not find the girl. Then he understood her suffering and invented the instrument: he bound together reeds of unequal length, because their love was also unequal, and blew into the reeds. So what was once a beautiful girl has now become a set of melodious pipes.’

  Lamon had just stopped narrating his tale and Philetas was thanking him for telling a story that was sweeter than song, when Tityrus arrived, bringing his father’s pipes, a large instrument of large reeds, and decorated with bronze where the reeds were joined with wax. It felt like the very thing that Pan first put together. So Philetas rose and sat upright in a chair, and tried to see, first, if he could blow through the reeds; then, when he saw that his breath raced through unhindered, he blew on them with full force and vigour. You might have imagined that you had heard many flutes playing together, so great a sound did his pipes make. Little by little, he reduced his force and changed to a sweeter melody and showed every skill in pastoral music; he piped a tune suitable for a herd of cows, another proper to goats, and a third that pleased the sheep. The music for the sheep was sweet, for the cows loud, and for the goats sharp. In a word, his one set of pipes imitated all pipes.

  The others lay there, hushed, delighted. But Dryas stood up and asked him to play a Dionysian tune and danced a dance of the harvest for them. First, he danced like a man picking the grapes, then like someone carrying the baskets, then someone treading the vines, then filling the jars, then drinking the sweet new wine. All these Dryas danced so gracefully and so vividly that they thought they were looking at the vines and the press and the jars and Dryas actually drinking.

  So then he was the third old man to win acclaim, this time for his dancing, and he kissed Chloe and Daphnis, who got up quickly and danced Lamon’s story. Daphnis imitated Pan, and Chloe Syrinx. He begged and urged, and she smiled and feigned indifference; running on tiptoe to give the impression of having hooves, he pursued her, and she gave the appearance of being tired by running away. Then Chloe hid in the wood as if this was the marsh, and Daphnis took Philetas’ large pipes and played a mournful song, like a lover, then a seductive song, like a seducer, then an exhortation, like a searcher. Philetas was amazed and leaped up, kissed him, and kissing him again, gave him the pipes as a gift, praying that Daphnis too would leave them with an equally worthy successor.

  Daphnis dedicated his own pipes, a small set, to Pan, and kissed Chloe, as though he had found her after a chase that was real, and he drove away his flock, piping beneath the darkening sky. Chloe also drove away her flock, guiding them by the tune of the pipes. The goats walked close to the sheep, and Daphnis walked near Chloe, so that they took their fill of each other until nightfall. And they agreed to drive down their flocks earlier the next day: and so they did, coming at daybreak to the pasture and offering salutations to the Nymphs and to Pan. Then they sat under the oak tree, and they piped, kissing and embracing each other and lying down together. But they did nothing more, and got up again. Then they turned their minds to food and drank wine mixed with milk.

  As the result of all this, they grew hotter and bolder, and they competed with each other in a contest of love, and in little time they progressed to swearing oaths of fidelity. Daphnis went to the pine tree and swore by Pan that he would not live alone without Chloe, not even for a single day, and Chloe went into the cave and swore by the Nymphs that all she desired was to be with Daphnis in life and death. But such was Chloe’s simplicity (she was a girl) that when she left the cave, she asked him for a second oath, saying, ‘Daphnis, Pan is a god of love and is unreliable: he was in love with the Nymph Pine, he was in love with Syrinx, but he never stops troubling the Dryads and annoying the Nymphs who guard the flocks. If you are careless about keeping your oaths, he will be careless about punishing you, even if you should go to more women than there are reeds in the pipes. Swear to me by this herd of goats and by that she-goat that nurtured you that you will not leave Chloe behind as long as she remains faithful to you. But if she wrongs you and the Nymphs, then shun her, loathe her, kill her like a wolf.’ Daphnis was pleased at her la
ck of trust. He stood in the middle of the herd and, holding a he-goat in one hand and a she-goat in the other, swore that he would love Chloe as she loved him, and that if she preferred another man to Daphnis, he would kill himself instead of her. She was thrilled and trusted him: she was a girl and a shepherd and she believed that, for shepherds and goatherds, goats and sheep were proper gods.

  Book 3

  When the Mytileneans learned of the attack made by the ten ships, and when some people from the fields informed them about the plundering, they thought that the outrages of the Methymneans were intolerable, and decided to take arms against them as quickly as possible. They enrolled three thousand soldiers and five hundred cavalry and sent them under the command of the general Hippasus, by land, since they were hesitant to hazard the sea in winter.

  He set out but did not raid the fields of the Methymneans, nor did he seize the flocks or plunder the farmers and shepherds of their other possessions, because he thought such actions suited a pirate more than a general. He made directly for the city itself, hoping to smash through the gates while they were unguarded. He was about a hundred stades short when he was met by a herald offering the terms of a truce. The Methymneans had learned from their captives that the Mytileneans did not know about the things that had happened, and that farmers and shepherds had taken action against young men who had treated them outrageously. They began to regret their action against a neighbouring city as hasty rather than sensible, and they were ready to give back all their spoils and to resume safe relations by land and sea. Hippasus sent the herald on to Mytilene, although he had been appointed a general with full powers, and himself pitched camp about ten stades from Methymna and waited for orders from his city. After two days, a messenger arrived with orders for him to take back the plundered goods and come home without doing any harm. Given a choice between war and peace, they found peace more profitable.