The Re-Telling & Re-Visioning of Daphoene / Daphne / Pasiphae

By Scott Michael Potter

Compelling love stories abound in both Greek and Roman Mythology, often involving friction or despair, and none offer more than Apollo and Daphne for artists whose love is nature and especially trees. Out of the many approaches to the Daphne story, two main branches pervade most poets’ and authors’ working material. According to Ovid, in the Metamorphoses:

Apollo’s first love was elusive Daphne,
The child of Peneus, kindly tyrant of the river,
Nor did the god pursue the girl by chance—
The cause was Cupid’s anger at Apollo:
Still heated by his conquest of the snake,
Phoebus saw Cupid wind a tight-strung bow,
‘Who is this lecherous child,’ said he, ‘who plays
With weapons and is not a man?’ (Book I 43)

Thus, one can see the first main approach: Apollo falls in love with the nymph Daphne, daughter of the river-god Peneus, through an argument with the younger version of the god Eros: Cupid. The fact that this intense revilement felt by Daphne for Apollo and equally as passionate love felt by Apollo for Daphne occurs immediately after the serpent Python dies at the bow and arrow of Apollo—thereby saving the Olympians from the Titans—fueling the boasting and ensuing barbs hurled Cupid’s way, tells us that even the mighty gods are fallible and susceptible to the power of love. The bow and arrow, often seen as analogous to consciousness, which explains Apollo as the god of consciousness, once placed in Cupid’s hands speaks to a different sort of consciousness: that of awareness of the heart. Apollo and Daphne both fall prey to the intelligence of the heart, at either ends of the pendulum so as to better foment. In this version it is Peneus who transforms Daphne, placing the emphasis of action on masculine energy and passivity on feminine energy.

The second approach, places Daphne in similar peril to Apollo’s lustful advances, but differs in that Mother Earth transforms her and the motivation behind Apollo’s desire seems more placed in jealousy than maddening golden-tipped-arrow-Cupid love. In The Greek Myths, Robert Graves sums Apollodorus (i. 7. 9), Plutarch (Agis 9), Hyginus (Fabula 203), Pausanias (viii. 20. 2; x. 5. 3), Parthenius (Erotica 15), and Tzetzes (On Lycophron 6), with the following storyline:

k. Apollo was not invariably successful in love. […] he pursued Daphne, the mountain nymph, a priestess of Mother Earth, daughter of the river Peneius in Thessaly; but when he overtook her, she cried out to Mother Earth [1] who, in the nick of time, spirited her away to Crete, where she became known as Pasiphae. Mother Earth left a laurel-tree in her place, and from its leaves Apollo made a wreath to console himself.

l. His attempt on Daphne, it must be added, was no sudden impulse. He had long been in love with her, and had brought about the death of his rival, Leucippus, son of Oenomaus, who disguised himself as a girl and joined Daphne’s mountain revels. Apollo, knowing of this by divination, advised the mountain nymphs to bathe naked, and thus make sure that everyone in their company was a woman; Leucippus’s imposture was at once discovered, and the nymphs tore him to pieces (78).

Graves rightly re-places the active masculine energy with feminine and masculine, the transformative element only possible through Mother Earth, not only a divine river. Graves here follows the interpretation of Daphne’s parents as both being divine, which move highlights her identification as a nymph to be a later development.

In the following excerpt from Myths of the Greeks and Romans, Michael Grant potentially confuses the issue more, through sentence structure, which could suggest to some that Apollo changed Daphne into the laurel tree. “DAPHNE, river-nymph (Naiad), daughter of river Peneus (or Ladon), loved by Leucippus disguised as a woman (who was slain by the nymphs) and by Apollo, who at her request changed her into a bay-tree. The subject of many paintings” (388). On the other hand, Ernst and Johana Lehner ascribe to Athene working the transformation, because Daphne was her attendant; “Her prayers were answered, and at the point of being overtaken by Apollo, Athene transformed her into the laurel tree (Daphne laureola)” (67). Once again, the manner in which one conveys the story portends the perceptions of the story by readers and listeners.

Carl Kerenyi, in The Gods of the Greeks, tells the story of Daphne utilizing Mother Earth as the transformer, instead of Peneus, and in this version, one can see that Daphne, as the daughter of Mother Earth and the river-god Ladon or Peneios (Peneus), being transformed into the laurel tree fits better with her origin, in the following fashion:

Apollon’s first love was Daphne, which is the name of the laurel. It was told that Daphne was a daughter of the river-god Ladon and of Earth. Other storytellers said that her father was the river-god Peneios, lord of the Vale of Tempe in Thessaly. She was a wild virgin like Artemis, who herself, as Daphnaia or Daphnia, had her own sacred laurel-trees. Daphne was loved not only by Apollon but also by a youth named Leukippos, ‘he of the white steed’, or ‘the white stallion’. Leukippos disguised himself as a girl in order to be allowed to accompany Daphne. Whilst bathing, however, he was discovered by her girl companions. The result was that he either died or disappeared. Daphne, pursued by Apollon, begged Mother Earth to save her, and was turned into a laurel, which thereafter was the god’s favourite tree, a branch of which he wore as a wreath. A tree which, like most trees, is naturally bisexual, affords, of course, the most perfect example of the uniting of the two sexes (140-41).

Kerenyi’s suggestion of a uniting of the two sexes, in this form of the myth, points toward a reuniting of the sexes and harkens back to the myth of soul mates [2]. The idea of uniting the two sexes predominates in ancient myth and is often represented by the wedding of the divine brother and sister. Also, the connection between Leukippos or Leucippus and the animal the white steed or stallion, knits an even tighter net, especially if one follows the line of logic that Daphne becomes Pasiphae, who eventually mates with the white bull (Kerenyi 110), thereby normalizing her inclination toward bestiality. The comparison to Artemis, Apollo’s sister, bears interest as well, as this points out a Freudian argument of incest in myth, as in Apollo desires his sister Artemis and finds a suitable replacement in Daphne. This also could explain a deeper motivation for Apollo to declare the laurel tree as sacred, that his sister, Artemis (or Daphnia)—with a name very similar to Daphne’s—too has sacred laurel tree groves.

Whenever the story of Daphne falls from the pages of a book, like leaves from the laurel—rarely—Apollo plays center role and all things enact upon Daphne. Whether it be love, lust, persecution (as in her dear Leucippus being killed by the nymphs), chase, or, finally, transformation, Daphne yet breathes, heart beating through the din of overt hushing of her story or translation. Regardless of century or millennia, Daphne remains in the shadows.

Ovid crafts a more personal and living Daphne, but in the midst of beautiful verse describing her flight from Apollo through “green-deep forest,” we see Daphne begging: “Father, make me an eternal virgin” (Book I 44). More praise for Daphne’s beauty precedes overly abundant boasting and pledges by Apollo during the chase, fear urging Daphne faster, hope goading Apollo closer, until Daphne reaches the shores of Peneus and

Called, ‘Father, if your waters still hold charms
To save your daughter, cover with green earth
This body I wear too well,’ and as she spoke
A soaring drowsiness possessed her; growing
In earth she stood, white thighs embraced by climbing
Bark, her white arms branches, her fair head swaying
In a cloud of leaves; all that was Daphne bowed
In the stirring of the wind, the glittering green
Leaf twined within her hair and she was laurel (Book I 46).

As Horace Gregory translates Ovid above, Rhoda Hendricks, too translates the great poet, with slight differences. Nevertheless, as Hendricks’ ending somehow sets better, she shall conclude the story according to Ovid:

Her feet, just a moment ago so swift, clung to the ground in dull roots, and her head turned into a treetop. Her beauty alone remained unchanged. Phoebus Apollo loved her even in this shape and said to her, “At least, since you cannot be my wife, you will indeed be my tree. My hair, my lyre, my quiver will always bear you, O laurel, as adornment (54).

Although the boughs of Daphne’s laurelled story change slightly from poet to author, others infrequently examine the motivation behind the creation of the myth. If one accepts the moving of Daphne, formerly known as Daphoene (“the bloody one”), from Tempe to Crete, after the Hellenic capture of Tempe, and her ensuing name change to Pasiphae, a Moon-goddess, then one also must look at the connection, examined in The White Goddess, between “Hera, Pasiphae, and Ino [, …] all titles of the Triple-goddess, the interdependence of whose persons was symbolized by the tripod on which her priestess sat” (Graves 182). This connection with Daphne, albeit as Pasiphae the Moon-goddess, as a sort of Kore or triple-goddess bears further researching as it shall provide another possible underlying ‘grid work’ to Greek Mythology (especially for structuralists in the vein of Levi-Strauss). It furthermore serves to extend the rationale for Apollo’s chase and Cupid’s choice of Daphne [3], to begin with—not simply because she was a virgin, she was a triple-goddess and as a Moon-goddess, particularly savory for Apollo, a sometimes Sun-god.
Speaking of savory, no assessment of Daphne would be complete without a reference to the natural and enduring aspect of Daphne, especially this one by Laura Martin in The Folklore of Trees and Shrubs: “Laurel, bay laurel, or sweet bay are all names for the ancient plant Laurus nobilis, or the noble or renowned laurel, symbolic of glory. The ancient Romans cooked with it, bathed in it, and crowned their heroes with wreaths made from its branches” (115). Cooking, bathing or adorning oneself with/in Daphne yields wonderful results, but does not belie the reason Daphne and Apollo became involved.

In The Greek Myths, Graves offers an alternative—and not well-received—view of the motivation behind the Daphne/Apollo myth’s creation and relatively entrenched mode of worship that allegedly travels to Crete from Tempe with the following account:

[Apollo’s] pursuit of Daphne the Mountain-nymph, daughter of the river Peneius, and priestess of Mother Earth, refers apparently to the Hellenic capture of Tempe, where the goddess Daphoene (‘bloody one’) was worshipped by a college of orgiastic laurel-chewing Maenads […]. After suppressing the college—Plutarch’s account suggests that the priestesses fled to Crete, where the Moon-goddess was called Pasiphae […]—Apollo took over the laurel which, afterwards, only the Pythoness might chew. Daphoene will have been mare-headed at Tempe, as at Phigalia […]; Leucippus (‘white horse’) was the sacred king of the local horse cult, annually torn to pieces by the wild women, who bathed after his murder to purify themselves, not before […] (81).

Looking a bit closer, above, we see deeper connections in the attraction between Daphne (the mare-headed one) and Leucippus (‘white horse’), and extrapolating upon this horse connection, one could also see how Pasiphae (as King Minos’s wife) would be attracted to a white bull, that leads to the birth of the Minotaur. The bathing contradiction, however, whether or not the nymphs/women bathed before or after Leucippus’s mangling, only serves to discredit whatever version one chooses to disbelieve.

The poignant story of unrequited love and of transformation, of woman (nymph) into evergreen, a self-perpetuating tree that outlives the glory of Apollo, continuing to nourish and flavor life, that is what captivates attention. Not the subtle differences between parents, although as a nymph Daphne must have had one immortal parent [4], or who did the transforming: Zeus, Mother Earth—Gaia or Hera—Athene or Peneus, nor where Daphne might have gone, if indeed Apollo were fooled into believing she was the laurel tree. “[…] poets, if they proved to be his [Apollo’s] faithful and industrious servants, he rewarded with a garland of laurel—in Greek, daphne. The connexion of poetry with laurel is not merely that laurel is an evergreen and thus an emblem of immortality: it is also an intoxicant” (Graves 391). Poems, myths or stories that sing from within our hearts, whose bows caress the heart-strings of our love symphonies, that begin and end in ironic tragedy, that speckle the arms with goosebumps when imagined, that fuel creativity to melancholy: this is what makes us sit still and listen.

I, Daphne (Laurel) am Daphoene am Pasiphae

Please enter the grove: these the treasure trove, the Constellation of laurel trees…

For in the myths of the tree constellation, “To be treeful is being mindful of being stoneful!” This first quote I give gingerly to the biographer chewing his fingernails at an overloaded stack of parchment; as he states; “It’s high time someone got your story right! How could one ask for more than to be forever immortalized—well as long as the bay laurel avoids extinction—in the form of a beautiful tree?” Yes, a tree, one whose leaves adorn the locks of competitive men, the very like responsible for the murder of my first and only love: Leucippus, that aspect makes me sick! So, the storytelling begins, and, he a quick study, and I, a fast talker, the story rages on to the wee morning hours, nearer my bedtime. Yawn…

Yes, there was this thing between Apollo and I, quite blown out of proportion. The true story of he and I romping together in affectionate trysts and then me dumping him, since he seemed to always call me Daphnaia and not Daphoene, did not sit well with the Olympians or their biographers. So, I took a siesta. Yet, not long did I dawdle before priestesses of Apollo chewing on my leaves and finding them quite intoxicating, tore limb from trunk, in orgiastic furor, of men too similar to the supreme meddler: Apollo!

Soon after, Apollo outlaws all chewing of laurel by any but the Pythoness—his private priestess. The damage works its way into the local lore, and, priestesses, at my constant sighing boughs, singing sweet (not so innocent) nothings in their ears, form cults to worship a more worthy deity—Daphoene, later known as Daphne!

Yes, here you should quiver and shake in fear, for I am Daphoene the Bloody One, as well my title proves deserving. Merely entering a sacred grove of laurel trees does not assure you of my protection either, for Artemis, wild sister (and soul mate of mine) of despicable Apollo, too grows her own laurel trees in honor of her older name: Daphnaia. Although our cozy agreement results in mutual protection most often, if Apollo you offend, then shun laurels by any means, unless I should bow to you first, treetop inclining your way. Should you be a man whose scruples cry in shame, then you too, come my way and allow me one more tearing turn at Daphoene!

Alas, as my legend grows, others, especially men and gods, find me threatening and after some Olympian Council or other, my status as Daphoene—a Moon-goddess—effects a decree relegating me to wood or mountain nymph, my choosing. The fact that Gaia and I were once sisters conveniently warps into Gaia as my mother, which detail irks me not, nor her; we find it all too amusing. And the confusion over whether the river-god Peneus or river-god Ladon impregnated Gaia to create me, equally as preposterous, for Air courted Day and filled her womb with Daphoene. Thus my true siblings: Mother Earth, Sky and Sea willingly attest to at any request.

You could assume my mood rather dark, when Daphne and nymph rank filed upon my sinewy shoulders. Sea, Sky and Mother Earth console and cajole me into acceptance; for this now my fate too shall change. Their prophetic words, scuttling about the laurel bark, found Pasiphae, as a challenge to the pecking order of the day, men and gods—pah! A quick move from Tempe to Crete, and suddenly women flock to me—Pasiphae—as moths to the moon on a stick.

Living and thriving in relative anonymity as Pasiphae in Crete, overshadowed by Minos, then Daedalus and finally the Minotaur, my sweet ravenous child, nevertheless, my Moon-goddess cult of laurel munching priestesses continues on, even after others suggest none should view me as a goddess! What do they know? Why shouldn’t a nymph borne of Gaia or Hera and Ladon or Peneus (but we know the truth) make her mark on the panoply of senseless deities who condone such behavior as Apollo and the other gods indulge constantly?

No, my love of the earth, sea, sky, and of the river puts me not at odds with mother or father, and questions of who really are my parents should be directed to the bibliographer. One moment it suits me to operate as sweet, virgin Daphne, the next as a bloody terror, and then in an instant, particularly when colors flee, Pasiphae rules the roost. That bibliographer will have nightmares—and speaking of mares, often, when the grass waves just so, in the winds of Leucippus’s kisses, I wear the head of a mare and gallop through his caresses.

What really irks me, though, is my story has so long been tarnished by ridiculous notions of helplessness and peevishness, so that the real me flourishes only amongst the priestesses who recall. I used to run wild among the forests, much as Artemis, and we raced one another many an afternoon, when she would confide in me about what an ass her brother was. Back then, when inhibitions knew me not, I was Daphoene (others attached the “bloody one” moniker). Only when Cupid, somewhat envious of my freedoms Artemis would advise, shot me with a lead arrow did I come to despise, detest and even hate Artemis’s brother, who before I thought a grotesque, albeit winsome, philanderer.

Fleeing fastly, running swiftly, literally flying on my feet, none of these were foreign to me during the pre-laurel days. Hermes would sometimes joke that not even he could keep up with me. Outrunning Apollo was no big deal. So then, the huge question others always ask: Why did you let Apollo catch up to you? Truth is, the last session with my Buddhist instructor left me pondering the whole ‘accept your fate’ line of logic, and sad but true, I probably chose a poor time to live that motto.

When I realized what a timely error I had made, escaping Apollo and his stiff yearning, simply left the equation of my day. Conveniently for me, my pseudo-father lay sprawled out before me, and my pseudo-mother lay firm beneath, and at my beck or call they do protect, so I asked, not pleaded, that they do something about this clod chasing me. Of course parents will be parents, and instead of asking me first, Do you mind being transformed into a laurel tree? they acted on impulse. Conflicts form the major part of each Olympian day; it would not be farfetched to assume my pseudo-parents desired to miss one more, especially one related to harming Apollo.

Many who read of my myth do not know that, yes, I did become the laurel tree and felt what it is to have sap instead of blood, branches and roots as a substitute for limbs, bark versus skin, leaves instead of hair, and a rough tree exterior where my smooth face once shone. Yet, a laurel tree could not contain me, not that my pseudo-mother (sister) would ever allow one of her children to remain so rooted while a pervert climbs all over her, slobbering misplaced emotions on my precious bark, as my heartbeat slowly fades into the time or cycles, that the earth keeps.

No, my mother, my sister playing her role (Oscar!), determined to protect her baby, nymph, fooled Apollo into thinking he held me in his embrace, spiriting me away to Crete instead, a remote enough location to evade detection. As in a witness protection program, my pseudo-mother also filed for a name change. While Apollo was busy filing for the official name change from Daphoene to Daphne, which name suited his tree better than the bloody one, mother received the confirmation that Pasiphae was now my legally binding forename, along with better news. Instead of being a simple wood or mountain nymph, a dryad or oread that any god could capture on a whim, although I would retain vestiges of that former position, now I would be a part of a triple-goddess with Hera (my surrogate mother) and Ino (my aunt—which many don’t know, shh…). Overjoyed, I ran through the woods of Crete, outracing Artemis who joined at our invitation delivered by Hermes.

As Pasiphae, the triple-goddess, the Moon-goddess, shining on everything evening, at times lasting into the day, my powers rise hundredfold; with increased power comes awareness, so that I do not assume too much. As Daphoene, the ‘bloody one,’ I care little for mortals and revel instead in the exploration of immortal family, my siblings: Mother Earth, Sea and Sky. As Daphne, the laurel, sex fills my days, despite the virgin rumor. Nowadays, and this is for that late biographer, my phases shift between evening illuminator and daytime protector and nourisher, for truth be told, I relish mortals using my leaves to embellish their cooking. Ever returning to bloody and laurel, I waver in the mirror of my moon-splashed silver pseudo-father, words rustling in my psyche like the evergreen whispers I send all my fair lovers (being immortal is forever): “Please enter the grove: these the treasure trove, the Constellation of laurel trees…”

Notes

[1] Mother Earth, in pertaining to Daphne, was depicted as either Gaia or Hera, depending on the author and/or scholar.

[2] The Platonic myth whereby our four-armed/legged, two-headed selves were separated by Zeus bolts.

[3] A Freudian might not suggest a more appealing choice than a virgin Moon-goddess that shares a similar name to one’s sister-goddess, should a sun-god harbor desires for that sister-goddess. For Apollo to feel such strong compulsion at Cupid’s arrowy behest for Daphne speaks to incestualness at some level within Ovid and others both before and during his epoch, not only because of the striking similarity between Artemis (Daphnaia) and Daphne’s names, but also in their sacred connection with the laurel tree. That all three, Apollo, Artemis and Daphne (in her various forms) find their priestesses at some point chewing on laurel leaves for divinatory practices speaks to another interconnection among them not yet fleshed out by scholars. Apollo, one could say, in his enflamed desire for Daphne, realized his harbored and secret desire for his sister. Such a connection between them also points backward as a referent to divine brother sister couples such as Osiris and Isis, which by Ovid’s time certainly had lost favor as an acceptable metaphor for oneness becoming twoness becoming oneness or of coniunctios.

[4] “Later Gaia, on her own or by various lovers, bore many other children. Most of these were also monsters, but not all. For example, one of her daughters was the lovely wood nymph Daphne […]” (Allan & Maitland 25).

Works Cited

Allan, Tony and Maitland, Sara. Titans and Olympians: Greek and Roman Myth. Cons. Dr. Michael Trapp. Amsterdam: Time Life Books, 1997.

Grant, Michael. Myths of the Greeks and Romans. New York: Penguin Books USA Inc., 1995.

Graves, Robert. The Greek Myths: Volume 1. Rev. Ed. New York: Penguin Putnam Inc., 1960.

--. The Greek Myths: Complete Edition. New York: Penguin Putnam Inc., 1992.

--. The White Goddess: a historical grammar of poetic myth. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1975.

Hendricks, Rhoda A. Classical Gods and Heroes: Myths as told by the Ancient Authors. New York: William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1978.

Kerenyi, Carl. The Gods of the Greeks. New York: Thames and Hudson Inc., 2000.

Lehner, Ernst and Johana. Folklore and Symbolism of Flowers, Plants and Trees. New York: Tudor Publishing Company, 1960.

Martin, Laura C. The Folklore of Trees and Shrubs. Chester: The Globe Pequot Press, 1992.

Ovid. The Metamorphoses. Trans. Horace Gregory. New York: New American Library, 2001.

Posted by john at July 6, 2005 04:17 PM