At length, seeking a sweet medicine for love, he disclosed to bushybreasted Pan in words full of passion the unsleeping constraint of his desire, and craved advice to defend him against love. Horned Pan laughed aloud, when he heard the firebreathing torments of Bacchos, but, a luckless lover himself, heartbroken he pitied one unhappy in love, and gave him love-advice ; it was a small alleviation of his own love to see another burnt with a spark from the same quiver :
“We are companions in suffering, friend Bacchos, and I pity your feelings. How comes it that bold Love has conquered you too ? If I dare to say so, Eros has emptied his quiver on me and Dionysos ! But I will tell you the multifarious ways of deception in love.
“Every woman has greater desire than the man, but shamefast she hides the sting of love, though mad for love herself ; and she suffers much more, since the sparks of love become hotter when women conceal in their bosoms the piercing arrow of love. Indeed, when they tell each other of the force of desire, their gossip is meant to soothe the pain and deceive their voluptuous longings. And you, Bacchos, must wear a deceptive blush of pretended shame to carry your love along. You must keep an unsmiling countenance as if through modesty, and stand beside Beroe as if by mere chance. Hold your nets in hand, and look at the rosy girl with pretended amazement, praising her beauty ; say that not Hera has the like, call the Graces less fair, find fault with the good looks of both Artemis and Athena, tell Beroe she is more brilliant than Aphrodite. Then the girl when she hears your feigned faultfinding, stands there more delighted with your praise ; more than mountains of gold she would hear about her rosy comeliness, how her beauty surpasses all the friends of her youth. Charm the maiden to love with a meaning silence. Let your eyelids move, send wink and beck towards her. Open your hand and slap your brow without mercy, and show your feigned amazement by prudent silence. You will say, fear restrains you in the presence of a modest maid ; tell me, what will a lonely girl do to you ? She shakes no spear, she draws no shaft with that rosy hand ; the girl’s weapons are those eyes which shoot love, her batteries are those rose-red girlish cheeks. For lovegifts to be treasures for your bride, do not display the Indian jewel, or pearls, as is the way of mad lovers ; for to get love, your own handsome shape is enough — to touch your beautiful body is what women want, not gold !
“I need no other testimony — what gifts did Selene take from softhaired Endymion ? What love-gift did Adonis produce for Cypris ? Orion gave no silver to Dawn ; Cephalos provided no delectable wealth ; but the only one it seems who did offer handsome gifts was Hephaistos, being lame, to make up for his unattractive looks, and then he failed to persuade Athena — his birthdelivering axe did not help him, but he missed the goddess he wanted.
“But there is a stronger charm for wedded union, which I will teach you if you like. Twang the lyre which was dedicated to your Rheia, the delicate treasure of Cypris beside the winecup. Pour out the varied sounds together, voice and striker ! Sing first Daphne, sing the erratic course of Echo, and the answering note of the goddess who never fails to speak, for these two despised the desire of gods. Yes, and sing also of Pitys who hated marriage, who fled fast as the wind over the mountains to escape the unlawful wooing of Pan, and her fate — how she disappeared into the soil herself ; put the blame on the Earth ! Then she may perhaps lament the sorrows and the fate of the wailing nymph ; but you must let your heart rejoice in silence, as you see the honeysweet tears of the sorrowing maid. No laugh was ever like that, since women become more desirable with that ruddy flush when they mourn. Sing Selene madly in love with Endymion, sing the wedding of graceful Adonis, sing Aphrodite herself wandering dusty and unshod, and tracking her bridegroom over the hills. Beroe will not run away from you when she hears the honeyhearted lovestories of her home. There you have all I can tell you, Bacchos, for your unhappy love ! Now you tell me something to charm my Echo.”
Having said his say, he dismissed the son of Thyone comforted. Then Dionysos put on a serious look, the trickster ! and questioned the maiden about her father Adonis, as a friend of his, as a fellow-hunter among the hills. She stood still, he brought a longing hand near her breast, and stroked her belt as if not thinking what he did : but touching her breast, the lovesick god’s right hand grew numb. Once in her childlike way, the girl asked the son of Zeus beside her who he was and who was his father. With much ado he found an excuse, when he saw before the portals of Aphrodite the vineyard and the bounteous harvest of the land, the dewy meadow and all the trees ; and in the cunning of his mind, he made as if he were a farm-labourer and spoke of wedding in words that meant more than they said :
“I am a countryman of your Lebanon. If it is your pleasure, I will water your land, I will grow your corn. I understand the course of the four Seasons. When I see the limit of autumn is here, I will call aloud — Scorpion is rising with his bounteous plenty, he is the herald of a fruitful furrow, let us yoke oxen to the plow. The Pleiads are setting : when shall we sow the fields ? The furrows are teeming, when the dew falls on land parched by Phaethon.’ ” And in the showers of winter when I see Arcturos close to the Arcadian wain, I will exclaim — At last thirsty Earth is wedded with the showers of Zeus.’ As the spring rises up, I will cry out in the morning — ‘Your flowers are blooming, when shall I pluck Lilies and roses ? Just look how the iris has run over the neighbouring myrtle, how narcissus laughs as he leaps on anemone ! ’ And when I see the grapes of summer before me I will cry — ‘The vine is in her prime, ripening without the sickle : Maiden, your sister has come — when shall we gather the grapes ? Your wheatear is grown big and wants the harvest ; I will reap the crop of corn-ears, and I will celebrate harvest home for your mother the Cyprus - born instead of Deo.’
“Accept me as your labourer to help on your fertile lands. Take me as planter for your Foamborn, that I may plant that lifebringing tree, that I may detect the half-ripe berry of the tame vine and feel the newgrowing bud. I know how apples ripen ; I know how to plant the widespreading elm too, leaning against the cypress. I can join the male palm happily with the female, and make pretty saffron, if you like, grow beside bindweed. Don’t offer me gold for my keep ; I have no need of wealth — my wages will be two apples and one bunch of grapes of one vintage.”
All this he said in vain ; the girl answered nothing, for she understood nothing of the mad lover’s long speech.
But Eiraphiotes thought of trick after trick. He took the hunting-net from Beroe’s hands and pretended to admire the clever work, shaking it round and round for some time and asking the girl many questions — “What god made this gear, what heavenly art ? Who made it ? Indeed I cannot believe that Hephaistos mad with jealousy made hunting-gear for Adonis !
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