by Longus
In this estate whilst a goatherd named Lamon was tending his herds in the fields, he found a little child whom one of his she-goats was suckling. There was here a dense thicket of brakes and brambles covered with intermingling branches of ivy, whilst, underneath, the soil was carpeted with soft fine grass upon which the infant was lying. To this spot the she-goat often betook herself, abandoning her own kid and remaining with the child, so that it was not known what had become of her. Lamon, who was grieved to see the kid neglected, watched the dam’s movements, and one day when the sun was burning in his meridian heat he followed her and saw her softly enter the thicket, stepping carefully over the child so that she might not injure it, whilst the babe took hold of her udder as if this had been its mother’s breast. Greatly surprised and advancing close to the spot, Lamon discovered that the infant was a male child with well proportioned limbs and handsome countenance, and wearing richer attire than seemed suited to such an outcast; for its little mantle was of fine purple and fastened by a golden clasp, whilst near it lay a small knife with a handle of ivory.
At first Lamon resolved to leave the infant to its fate, and only to carry off the tokens which had been left with it; but he soon felt ashamed of showing himself less humane than his goat, and at the approach of night he took up the infant and the tokens, and, with the she-goat following him, went home to Myrtale his wife.
Myrtale, who was astonished at the sight, asked if goats now gave birth to babes instead of kids; whereupon her husband recounted to her every particular of the discovery, saying how he had found the child lying on the grass and the goat suckling it, and how ashamed he had felt at the idea of leaving the babe to perish. His wife declared that it would have been wrong to do so, and they thereupon agreed to conceal the tokens and to adopt the child. They employed the goat as his nurse, affirmed on all sides that he was their own offspring, and in order that his name might accord with their rustic condition they called him Daphnis.
Two years had elapsed, when Dryas, a neighbouring shepherd, met with a similar adventure whilst tending his flock. In this part of the country there was a grotto called the Grotto of the Nymphs, which was hollowed out of a large rock rounded at the summit. Inside there were statues of the Nymphs carved in stone; their feet bare, their arms also naked, their hair flowing loosely upon their shoulders, their waists girt, their faces smiling and their attitudes similar to those of a troop of dancers. In the deepest part of the grotto a spring gurgled from the rock, and its waters spreading into a copious stream refreshed the soft and abundant herbage of a delightful meadow that stretched before the entrance, where milkpails, transverse flutes, flageolets and pastoral pipes were suspended — the votive offerings of many an old shepherd.
An ewe of Dryas’s flock, which had lately lambed, frequently resorted to this grotto, raising apprehensions that she was lost. The shepherd, to prevent her straying in future and to keep her with the flock, as previously, twisted some green osiers so as to form a noose, and went to seize her in the grotto. But upon his arrival there he beheld a sight far contrary to his expectation. He found his ewe presenting, with all the tenderness of a real mother, her udder to an infant, which, without uttering the faintest cry, eagerly turned its clean and glossy face from one teat to the other, the ewe licking it as soon as it had had its fill. This child was a girl and, in addition to the garments in which it was swathed, it had, by way of tokens to ensure recognition, a head-dress wrought with gold, gilt sandals, and golden anklets.
Dryas imagined that this foundling was a gift from the Gods and, inclined to love and pity by the example of his ewe, he raised the infant in his arms, placed the tokens in his bag, and invoked the blessing of the Nymphs upon the charge which he had received from them; and when the time came for driving his cattle from their pasture, he returned to his cottage, and related all the circumstances of his discovery to his wife, exhibiting the foundling and entreating her to observe secrecy, and to regard and rear the child as her own daughter.
Nape (for so his wife was called), at once adopted the infant, for which she soon felt a strong affection, being stimulated thereto, perhaps, by a desire to excel the ewe in tenderness. She declared herself a mother, and in order to obtain credit for her story, she gave the child the pastoral name of Chloe.
Daphnis and Chloe grew rapidly, and their comeliness far exceeded the common appearance of rustics. The former had completed his fifteenth year and Chloe her thirteenth, when on the same night a vision appeared to Lamon and Dryas in a dream. They each thought that they beheld the Nymphs of the grotto, where the fountain played and where Dryas had found the little girl, presenting Daphnis and Chloe to a young boy of very sprightly gait and beautiful mien, who had wings on his shoulders, and who carried a little bow and some arrows in his hand. The urchin lightly touched the young people with one of his shafts, and commanded them to devote themselves to a pastoral life. To Daphnis he gave the charge of goats, whilst to Chloe he committed the care of sheep.
When this vision appeared to the shepherd and the goatherd they were grieved to think that their adopted children should like themselves be destined to tend animals. From the tokens found with the infants, they had augured for the latter a better fortune, and in this expectation they had brought them up in a more delicate manner, and had procured for them more instruction and accomplishments than usually fall to the lot of shepherds’ offspring.
It appeared to them, however, that with regard to children whom the Gods had preserved, the will of the Gods must be obeyed; and, each having communicated his dream to the other, they repaired to the grotto, offered up a sacrifice to the companion of the Nymphs, ‘the winged boy,’ with whose name they were unacquainted, and then sent the youth and maiden forth into the fields, having, however, first instructed them in their pastoral duties. They taught them for instance, whither they should guide their herds before the noon-day heat, whither they should conduct them when it had abated, — at what time it was meet to lead them to the stream, and at what hour they should drive them home to the fold. They showed them also in which instances the use of the crook was required, and in which the voice alone would suffice.
The young people received the charge of the sheep and goats with as much exultation as if they had acquired some powerful sovereignty, and felt more affection for their animals than shepherds usually feel: for Chloe reflected that she owed her preservation to an ewe, and Daphnis remembered that a she-goat had suckled him.
It was then the beginning of spring. In the woods and meadows, and on the mountains the flowers were blooming amid the buzzing murmurs of the bees, the warbling of the birds, and the bleating of the lambs. The sheep were skipping on the slopes, the bees flew humming through the meadows, and the songs of the birds resounded among the bushes. All nature joined in rejoicing at the springtide, and Daphnis and Chloe, young and susceptible as they were, imitated whatever they saw or heard. Hearing the carols of the birds, they sang; at sight of the playful skipping of the lambs they danced; and in imitation of the bees they gathered flowers, some of which they placed in their bosoms, whilst with others they wove chaplets which they carried as offerings to the Nymphs.
They tended their flocks and herds together, and carried on all their avocations in common. Daphnis frequently collected such of the sheep as had strayed, and if a goat ventured too near a precipice Chloe drove it back. Sometimes one took the entire management both of the goats and the sheep, whilst the other was engaged in some amusement. Their sports were of a childish, pastoral character; Chloe would neglect her flock to roam in search of day-lilies, the stalks of which she twisted into traps for locusts; while Daphnis often played from morn till eve upon a pipe, which he had formed of slender reeds, perforating them between their joints, and securing them together with soft wax. The young folks now often shared their milk and wine, and made a common meal of the food which they had brought from home as provision for the day; and the sheep might sooner have been seen to disperse and browse apart, than Daphnis
to separate himself from Chloe.
Whilst they were thus intent on their childish amusements, Love devised a scheme to interrupt their sports. Frequent depredations had been made among the neighbouring flocks by a she-wolf, who had carried off a large number of lambs as food for the whelps which she had but lately dropped. Upon this the villagers assembled by night and dug several pits, six feet in width and twenty-four in depth. The greater part of the loose soil dug out of these pits was carried to a distance and scattered about, the remainder being spread over some long dry sticks which were laid across the mouth of the pits, so that the spot might have a level and natural appearance as previously. But the sticks were weaker than straws, so that if merely a hare should run over them they would break and reveal the fact that there was but a show of soil and no firm ground. The villagers dug many of these pits both in the mountains and in the plains, but the wolf scented the snare, and they were unable to catch her. Many of their own goats and sheep, however, were killed by falling into these pits, and Daphnis himself very narrowly escaped death.
It happened as follows: two he-goats, belonging to his herd, were jealous of one another, and at last engaged in fight, butting at each other so violently that one of them had a horn broken, and ran away in great pain, bellowing loudly. The victor pursued as fast as the other fled, as if determined not to leave his foe in peace; and Daphnis, vexed to see that his goat’s horn was broken and that the conqueror was not content with having thus injured him, took up his crook, and darted after the pursuer. Daphnis hurried on in such hot wrath and the goat fled in such trepidation, that neither of them observed what lay in their path, and they both fell into one of the pits, the goat first and Daphnis afterwards. This was the means of preserving the latter’s life, the animal serving him as a support in his fall. Poor Daphnis, at the bottom of the pit, began to lament his sad mishap with tears, anxiously hoping that some one would pass by, and draw him out. Chloe, who had observed the accident, hastened to the spot, and finding that her companion was still alive, she called a cowherd from an adjacent field to come to his assistance. The herdsman obeyed the summons, but upon looking for a rope for the purpose of drawing Daphnis out, none was to be found: upon which Chloe unfastened the cord which bound her hair, and gave it to the herdsman who let one end of it down to Daphnis. Then the herdsman and Chloe, holding the other end of the cord, placed themselves at the edge of the pit, and pulled as strongly as they could, whilst Daphnis climbed up as well as he was able, and at last was extricated from his prison.
They then drew up the unfortunate goat, who had had both his horns broken by the fall, thus suffering a just punishment for his revengeful persecution of his defeated fellow-combatant; and they gave him to the herdsman as a reward for his assistance and agreed between themselves that, if the family at home should inquire after the animal, they would say that he had been carried off by the wolf.
After this they returned to their goats and sheep, and finding them browsing quietly and orderly, they sat down at the foot of an oak tree and began to examine whether Daphnis had received any injury. They found no hurt or blood upon him, but there was a quantity of mud and dirt about his hair and indeed his whole person, and he thought it would be best to cleanse himself, lest Lamon and Myrtale should suspect what had befallen him. Accordingly, he proceeded with Chloe to the spring, in the grotto of the Nymphs, and, having given her his tunic and scrip in charge, repaired to the water’s edge to wash his hair and person.
His locks were as black as ebony and fell upon his neck which the sun had tanned; but one might have imagined that it was the shadow of his hair that thus darkened the colour of his skin. As Chloe looked at him it occurred to her that he was very handsome; and as this idea had never occurred to her before, she attributed his comeliness to the effects of the bath. She washed his back and shoulders for him, and whilst she did so, his skin seemed to her to be so fine and soft that more than once, unobserved by him, she touched herself, doubting which of them had the softer and more delicate skin.
As it was getting late when they left the grotto, the sun being already very low, they drove their goats and sheep homeward, and from that time forth, the one longing in Chloe’s mind was to see Daphnis bathe again. When they returned on the morrow to the pasture, Daphnis, seated under an oak as usual, played his pipe and looked at his goats, which were lying down, listening apparently to the strains. Chloe, seated near him, could see her sheep browsing, but she more frequently turned her eyes upon Daphnis, who was playing the pipe; and, as she gazed at him, she again found him very handsome. Thinking it was the music that now gave him a comely look, she took the pipe from him and played upon it in hopes that by doing so she herself would appear beautiful. Finally, she urged him to bathe again, and whilst he bathed she watched him and could not abstain from touching his skin. Then, on her way homeward in the evening, she thought of him admiringly; and that thought was the beginning of love.
Daphnis soon became the only person whom she thought of and cared for, and everything spoke of him to her. This simple maid, brought up in the fields, and ignorant even of the very name of love, could not have expressed what she felt, but her heart was heavy, and, despite herself, her eyes very often filled with tears. She spent days without taking food and nights without obtaining sleep; she laughed and wept by turns; she would doze and suddenly awake with a start; she would turn pale and immediately afterwards her cheeks became suffused with a blaze. A cow stung by a dunfly is not so distracted as she was. From time to time she fell into a sort of reverie, and when she was quite alone she would reason thus:
“I am ill, and yet I do not know my complaint. I suffer, and yet I bear no wound. I feel afflicted, and yet I have not lost any one of my sheep. I burn, although I am seated in the deep shade. How many times have the brambles torn my skin and yet I did not cry? How many bees have pricked me with their stings and yet I was soon cured? Thus that which has now wounded me in the heart must be keener than all those! It is true that Daphnis is handsome, but he is not the only one that is comely. His cheeks are rosy, no doubt, but so are the flowers; he sings, but so do the birds. And yet after seeing the flowers and hearing the birds I no longer think of them as I think of him. Ah! Would that I were his pipe so that I might touch his lips! Would that I were his little kid that he might take me in his arms! O cruel fountain that hast rendered him so handsome, canst thou not beautify me as well? O Nymphs! You leave me to die — me, whose birth you witnessed, and whom you beheld living here among you! But when I am gone, who will make you garlands and nosegays, and who will take care of you, my little lambs? And you, also, my pretty locust, whom I caught with so much trouble? Alas! What does it now avail that you should chirp in the noontide heat? Your song can no longer lull me to rest beneath the grottoes; Daphnis has robbed me of sleep!”
Thus did the suffering maiden speak and sigh, trying to understand what fire it was that she experienced, but unable even to tell its name.
However, Dorcon, the herdsman, who had extricated Daphnis and the goat from the pit, a young fellow upon whose chin the first down was just sprouting, had already, on the occasion of that meeting, become enamoured of Chloe, and his passion for her increased day by day. Paying little heed to Daphnis, who seemed to him but a child, he resolved to try everything — presents, artifice, and, if need were, even force — to win her; and he was the more determined, since he already knew the meaning of love. He first made presents to them both. To Daphnis he gave a shepherd’s pipe, the nine reeds of which were secured together with metal instead of wax — and to the maiden, a fawn’s skin, covered with white spots, such as is worn by the Bacchantes, and suitable for Chloe to throw over her shoulders. Then, thinking that such gifts sufficed to make both of them his friends, he began to neglect Daphnis, but brought some fresh present to Chloe every day. Sometimes he would give her cheeses made of cow’s milk, sometimes ripe fruit, sometimes garlands of fresh flowers, or birds which he had captured in their nests. On one occasion even he presen
ted her with a goblet, gilded at the edges, and on another with a little calf from the mountains.
She, simple and unsuspecting, being totally unaware that all these gifts were but a lover’s baits, accepted them willingly, and allowed it to be seen that she was greatly pleased with them; but her pleasure consisted less in possessing them than in being able to share them with Daphnis.
Now, one day Daphnis — it was written that he also should experience the torments of love — quarrelled with Dorcon. They disputed as to which of them was the better-looking of the two, and it was agreed that Chloe, who was present, should judge between them, a kiss from her to be the victor’s prize.
Dorcon was the first to speak.
“I,” he said, “am taller than Daphnis. I keep oxen, whilst he keeps goats; and just as an ox is more valuable than a goat, so is a herdsman, like myself, superior to a goat-herd. My skin is as white as milk, my hair as golden as ripe wheat; I am as fresh as the leaves in spring. And no wonder, for it was my own mother, not an animal, that suckled me when I was a babe. Daphnis is short and puny, with no more beard than a woman, whilst his body is as tawny as a wolf’s skin. By living, too, among his goats, he has contracted a goatish smell. And, besides, he is a mere goat-herd, so poor that he has not even enough means to keep a dog of his own. It is said — and I really believe it — that he was suckled by a goat; and, being a goat’s suckling, it is no marvel if he has a goatish look.”
Thus spake Dorcon, and Daphnis replied: “Yes, like great Jove, I was suckled by a goat, and I keep goats; and my goats are more healthful than this man’s oxen will ever be. I lead my goats to pasture, but I have not their smell about me; nor does Pan smell like a goat though there be more of the goat in his nature than aught else. For sustenance I am content with milk, cheese, hard bread, and light wine, the usual food of such rustics as we are; and whilst I share it with you, Chloe, I have no thought as to what the rich man may eat. I have no beard, it is true, nor, for the matter of that has Bacchus any beard. I am dark, too, but so is the hyacinth. And Bacchus is superior to the Satyrs, and the hyacinth is preferred to the lily. This man is red-haired like a fox, white-skinned like a town-wench, and he will soon be as bearded as a he-goat. If it be I whom you kiss, Chloe, you will kiss my lips, but if it be he, you will kiss those bristles which are sprouting about his mouth. Remember, shepherdess, that an ewe suckled you with her milk, and yet you are none the less fair.”
