[71] The same comparison occurs in Aristænetus, Β ii. Ep. I:—"γυνὴ ἔoικε λειμῦνι, καὶ ὅπερ ἐκείνῳ τὰ ἄνθη, τοῦτό γε τaύτῃ τὸ κάλλος."
[BOOK II.]
Previous to this, however, Satyrus and I, praising our mutual tact, proceeded to the maiden's chamber, under the pretext of hearing her performance on the harp, but in reality because I could not bear her to be out of my sight, for however short a space. The first subject of her song was, the engagement between the lion and the boar, described by Homer;[1] afterwards she chose a tenderer theme, the praises of the rose.
Divested of its poetic ornaments,[2] the purport of the strain was this: Had Jove wished to impose a monarch upon the flowers, this honor would have been given to the rose,[3] as being the ornament of the earth, the boast of shrubs, the eye of flowers, imparting a blush to the meadows and dazzling with its beauty. The rose breathes of love, conciliates Venus, glories in its fragrant leaves, exults in its tender stalks, which are gladdened by the Zephyr. Such was the matter of the song. For my part, I seemed to behold a rose upon her lips, as though the calyx of the flower had been converted into the form of the human mouth. She had scarcely ended when the supper hour arrived. It was then the time of celebrating the Festival of Bacchus, "patron of the vintage,"[4] whom the Tyrians esteem to be their god, quoting a legend of Cadmus which attributes to the feast the following origin:—Once upon a time, mortals had no such thing as wine, neither the black and fragrant kind, nor the Biblian, nor the Maronæan,[5] nor the Chian, nor the Icarian; all these they maintain came originally from Tyre, their inventor being a Tyrian. A certain hospitable neatherd (resembling the Athenian Icarius, who is the subject of a very similar story) gave occasion to the legend which I am about to relate. Bacchus happened to come to the cottage of this countryman, who set before him whatsoever the earth and the labours of his oxen had produced. Wine, as I observed, was then unknown, like the oxen, therefore, their beverage was water.
Bacchus thanked him for his friendly treatment and presented to him a "loving cup,"[6] which was filled with wine. Having taken a hearty draught, and becoming very jovial from its effects, he said:—"Whence, stranger, did you procure this purple water, this delicious blood? It is quite different from that which flows along the ground; for that descends into the vitals, and affords cold comfort at the best; where as this, even before entering the mouth, rejoices the nostrils, and though cold to the touch, leaps down into the stomach and begets a pleasurable warmth."[7] To this Bacchus replied, "This is the water of an autumnal fruit, this is the blood of the grape,"[8] and so saying, he conducted the neatherd to a vine, and squeezing a bunch of grapes said, "here is the water, and this is the fountain from whence it flows." Such is the account which the Tyrians give as to the origin of wine.
It was, as I before said, the festival of this deity which was being celebrated. My father anxious to do everything handsomely, had made grand preparations for the supper, and there was set in honor of the god, a magnificent goblet of crystal,[9] in the beauty of its workmanship second only to that of the Chian Glaucus.[10] Vines seemingly growing from within encircled it, and their clusters hung down all around; as long as the goblet remained empty each grape appeared unripe and green; but no sooner was the wine poured in than each grape began to redden, and assumed the hue of ripeness; and among them was represented Bacchus himself as dresser of the vineyard. As the feast went on, and the good wine did its office, I began to cast bold lawless glances at Leucippe; for Love and Bacchus are two very potent deities, they take possession of the soul[11] and so inflame it that it forgets every restraint of modesty; the one kindles in it a flame, and the other supplies fuel for the fire, for wine may truly be called the meat and drink of love. The maiden also became gradually emboldened so as to gaze at me more fixedly. In this manner, ten days passed on without anything beyond glances being interchanged between us.
At length I imparted the whole affair to Satyrus, requesting his assistance; he replied, "I knew it all before you told me, but was unwilling that you should be aware of the fact, supposing it your wish to remain unobserved; for very often he who loves by stealth hates the party who has discovered his passion, and considers himself to have received an insult from him. However," continued he, "fortune has provided for our contingences,[12] for Clio, Leucippe's chambermaid, has an understanding with me, and admits me as her lover. I will gradually buy her over to give us her assistance in this affair; but you, on your part, must not be content with making trial of the maiden merely by glances; you must speak to her and say something to the point, then take a farther step by touching her hand, squeezing her fingers, and fetching a deep sigh; if she permits this willingly, then salute her as the mistress of your affections, and imprint a kiss upon her neck." "By Pallas, you counsel wisely," was my reply, "but I fear me, I shall prove but a craven wrestler in the school of love."
"The god of love," said he, "has no notion of craven-heartedness; do you not see in what warlike guise he is equipped? He bears a bow, a quiver, arrows, and a lighted torch, emblems all of them, of manhood and of daring. Filled, then, as you are with the influence of such a god, are you a coward and do you tremble? Beware of shewing yourself merely a counterfeit in love. I will make an opening by calling away Clio, as soon as an opportunity occurs for your having a private conversation with Leucippe." With these words he left the room; excited by what he had said, I was no sooner alone, then I used every endeavour to collect my courage for the approaching interview. "Coward," said I, "how long wilt thou continue silent? Thou, the soldier of such a warlike 'god, and yet a craven.' Dost thou intend to wait until the maiden comes to thee of her own accord?" Afterwards I proceeded, "and yet fool that thou art, why not come to thy senses? Why not bestow thy love upon a lawful object? Thou hast another maiden in this house; one possessed of beauty. Be content with loving her, and gazing upon her; her it is permitted thee to take to wife." My purpose was almost fixed; when from the bottom of my heart Love spoke in reply and said; "Rash man, darest thou to set thyself in array and to war with me—me, who have wings to fly, arrows to wound, and a torch to burn? How, prythee, wilt thou escape? If thou wardest off my shafts, how wilt thou avert my fire? and even supposing thy chastity should quench the flame, still I can overtake thee with my wings."[13]
While engaged in this soliloquy, the maiden unexpectedly made her appearance; I turned pale, and the next moment became crimson; she was quite alone, not even Clio accompanied her; in a very confused manner, and not knowing what else to say, I addressed her with the words, "Good morrow, fair mistress;" sweetly smiling, she shewed by her countenance that she comprehended the drift of my salutation, and said, "Do you call me your mistress?" "Indeed I do, for one of the gods has told me to be your slave, as Hercules was sold to Omphale." "Sold, if I remember, by Mercury," rejoined she, "and Jove employed him in the business;" this she said with an arch smile. "What nonsense," rejoined I, "to trifle so, and talk of Mercury when all the while you understood my meaning."[14] While one pleasantry led on to another and so prolonged our conversation, fortune came to my assistance.