On the subject of the Pantomimic dance, common to Greece and Italy, see Dict. of Greek and Rom. Antiq. p. 713.
[BOOK III.]
When the inhabitants of Mitylene heard of the descent made by the ten vessels, and had been informed by some coming from the spot of the plunder which had been carried off, they were of opinion that such an injury on the part of the Methymnæans was insufferable, and immediately raised a force of three thousand infantry and five hundred cavalry, which they put under the command of Hippasus with orders, that he should lead his men by land, and not embark them on board of ship, as a voyage in the winter season would be dangerous.
The general began his march, but he did not lay waste the country of the enemy, nor did he plunder the possessions of the husbandman, or of the shepherd, thinking such petty warfare suitable to a captain of a banditti, rather than to the leader of an army. He hastened his march in order to reach the gates of the city and attack the inhabitants while they were off their guard. When his troops approached within eleven miles of the city, a herald came out to them with proposals for a truce. The Methymnæans had discovered from the prisoners, that the citizens of Mitylene were ignorant of the beginning of the affray,[1] and that the insolence of their own young men had drawn upon them the vengeance inflicted by the herdsmen and shepherds. They repented, accordingly, of having acted precipitately rather than prudently towards a neighbouring city, and were desirous to restore all their plunder, in order that friendly intercourse by sea and land might be restored. Although Hippasus had full powers given him of acting as he thought proper, he ordered the herald to proceed to Mitylene, while he pitched his camp about a mile from the enemy's city, and waited for the answer of his fellow-citizens. In two days a messenger arrived with orders for him to refrain from any act of hostility, to receive the restored booty, and to return home; for since the declaration of peace or war rested on the decision of the people, they considered peace far preferable.
Thus did the war between Methymne and Mitylene begin and end in an equally unexpected manner.
Winter, however, was more formidable to Daphnis and Chloe, than war had been. On a sudden heavy falls of snow blocked up the roads, and shut up the cottagers within doors. Impetuous torrents rushed down from the mountains, the ice thickened, the trees[2] seemed as though their branches were broken down beneath the weight of snow, and the whole face of the earth had disappeared except about the brinks of fountains and the borders of rivers.
No one led his flocks to pasture, or even ventured to stir from home; but lighting large fires, at cock-crowing, some employed themselves in twisting ropes, some in weaving goats' hair, and some in making snares and nets to catch birds. At the same time they took care to supply the oxen in their stalls with chaff, the goats and sheep in their cotes with leaves, and the hogs in their styes with holm-berries and acorns.
As every one was of necessity confined within-doors,[3] most of the labourers and shepherds were glad at having an interval of release from their wonted labours, and immediately after their morning-meal lay down, and enjoyed a lengthy sleep, winter appearing to them more pleasant than the summer, the autumn, or even the spring. But Daphnis and Chloe cherished in their memory the pleasures, of which they were now deprived,—their kisses, their embraces, and their happy meals together. They passed nights of sleeplessness and sorrow, and looked for the return of spring as a restoration to life after an interval of death. It was painful to them, if chance threw in their way a scrip, from which they had eaten, or a vessel from which they had drunk, or if they happened to cast their eyes on a pipe, now thrown aside with neglect, which had once been bestowed and received as a token of love. Frequent were their prayers to the Nymphs, and to Pan, to deliver them from their troubles, and once more to let the sun shine upon them and their herds, and while thus engaged they also endeavoured to devise some scheme, by which they might obtain a sight of one another. Chloe was quite at a loss, and could not contrive any plan, successfully, for her reputed mother was always sitting near her, teaching her to card wool and to turn the spindle, and touching upon the subject of marriage.
Daphnis, however, had greater quickness of invention, and more leisure than the maiden, and hit upon the following scheme for getting a sight of Chloe. Two lofty myrtle trees and an ivy grew before Dryas's cottage, and indeed under the very cottage itself. The ivy grew between the myrtle trees, throwing out on either side, its sprays like a vine, and forming an arbour by intermingling its leaves with theirs. The berries hung down in thick clusters, and were as large as grapes. Numbers of winter birds flocked thither from want of food elsewhere; such as blackbirds, thrushes, wood-pigeons, starlings, and a variety of others, which live on berries. Daphnis filled his scrip with some honeyed cakes, and quitted his home under pretence of going to catch some of these birds. To remove all suspicion of his real design he carried with him plenty of birdlime and snares. The distance was little more than a mile, but the frost and the snow, which had not yet melted, rendered the road very toilsome. To LOVE, however, all things are passable—fire, and water, and even Scythian snows. Having soon arrived at the cottage, he shook the snow from his legs and feet, set the snares, spread the birdlime, and seated himself in the arbour watching the birds, but thinking of Chloe. So many were very soon caught, that he had abundance of occupation in collecting them together, killing and plucking them. In the mean time, not a man, not a maiden, not even a domestic fowl came out of the cottage: the whole family were shut up and close around the fire. Daphnis was now utterly at a loss what to do, and thought that he had come at an unlucky time. He determined to knock at the door if he could find any pretext, and began to consider what would appear most plausible. "What, if I say that I want a light to kindle our fire? they will reply 'you have neighbours within a stone's throw of your cottage.' What, if I request something to eat?—'your scrip is full of victuals.' What, if I ask for some wine?—'you have but lately got in the vintage.' What, if I exclaim that a wolf has been pursuing me?—'where are the traces of his feet?' What, if I tell them I came to snare birds?—'why not go home again, if you have had sport enough?' Shall I at once say that I have come to see Chloe? Ah! who will venture to make such a bold avowal to the father and mother of the maiden? My pleas will be all exhausted and I shall be reduced to silence. Since none of these excuses will pass free from suspicion, it were better to hold my tongue. It seems decreed by the Fates that I shall not see my Chloe during the winter; I must wait with patience until the spring."