  ActÆon was the son of the hunt-loving deity, AristÆus, and AutonoË, daughter of Cadmus. When he had passed the childhood age he was taken to the woody mountain of Pelion by the wise centaur, Chiron, and trained as a robust hunter. It was his greatest pleasure to hunt in the valleys and mountains. One day he hunted with some jovial companions in the forests of Mount CithÆron until midday, when it grew so hot that he rested in the cool shade of the trees. While reposing, he called his companions to him and said: “We have game enough. Our steel and traps are drenched with blood. Let us end hunting for to-day. When the sun rises in the morning we will resume the joyous sport.” Thus he spoke and dismissed his willing companions. Then he went with his hounds deeper into the forest to find a cool, shadowy spot where he could sleep through the heat of the noon and rest his wearied limbs. He reached a valley full of fir trees and lofty cypresses, called Gargaphia, which was sacred to Artemis. Deep in a corner of the valley he found a leafy grotto. The rocky arch seemed to be the product of human skill, but was the work of nature. A stream murmured gently along, whose clear water, bordered by green turf, broadened out into a wide pool. This was the spot where the goddess, tired with the chase, bathed her sacred limbs. She was in the grotto, attended by her nymphs, one of whom took her hunting spear and bow. Another relieved the goddess of her cloak, and two of them unloosed her sandals. The beautiful Crocale, cleverest of them all, fastened her tresses together in a knot. Then her attendants filled urns with water and poured it over the goddess. While the goddess was thus enjoying her bath, ActÆon approached through the bushes by an untrodden way. Evil destiny led him to the sacred haunt of Artemis’ grotto. Unsuspecting any harm, he entered, delighted to have found such a cool resting place. When the nymphs beheld a man, they cried aloud and crowded about their mistress to conceal her with their bodies; but being a head taller, the goddess towered above them all. Her glowing face wore a wrathful look, and her eyes were sternly fixed upon the intruder, who stood motionless, surprised, and dazzled by the wondrous sight. It would have been better for the unfortunate ActÆon had he fled at once, for the goddess suddenly bent her head, dipped up water with her hand, sprinkled it over the face and hair of the youth, and said in a threatening tone: “What thou hast seen, now tell to men, if thou canst.” Hardly had the last word been uttered when unspeakable distress seized him. Swiftly he dashed off, and in his running was amazed by his speed. The unfortunate one did not notice that antlers sprang from his head, that his neck was longer, that his ears were pointed, his arms changed to legs, and his hands to hoofs. His limbs were covered with a dappled skin. He was no longer a man, but had been changed by the wrathful goddess to a stag. As he fled, he saw his image mirrored in the water. “Woe is me,” he would have cried, but his voice was mute and no word escaped from his groaning breast. He could only utter a sigh of despair. Tears poured from his eyes, but not upon human cheeks. Only his heart, his old recollection, remained. What should he do now? Return to his grandfather’s palace? Conceal himself in the depths of the forest? While thus torn by the conflicting emotions of fear and shame, his hounds saw him. The whole pack, fifty in number, rushed upon the imaginary stag. Eager for their prey, they chased him over mountain and valley, jagged rocks and yawning abysses. Thus the despairing one, himself the hunted, fled over well-known regions where he had often hunted wild animals. Twice he would have turned and cried, “Spare me! I am ActÆon.” But he was speechless. Baying furiously, the leader of the pack overtook him and seized him by the neck, while all the others rushed upon him and tore him with their sharp teeth. The victim groaned heavily; no stag ever groaned that way, and yet it was not a human groan. Like one praying he fell upon his knees, and in mute anguish turned his face towards his assailants. At this instant his companions, hearing the baying of the hounds, came up. With their usual call they incited the hounds and then shouted for their master, whom they believed was not far away. “ActÆon,” rang through the forest, “where art thou? Come and behold this wonderful capture.” Thus they cried as the unfortunate victim was killed by the spears of his own friends. After ActÆon had thus wretchedly perished, his hounds began to miss their loved master. Baying and whining, they sought the lost one everywhere, until at last they came to Chiron’s cavern. Chiron made a bronze image of ActÆon so much like him that it deceived them. When the hounds saw it they sprang upon it, licked the hands and feet, and acted as joyfully as if they had found their real master again. |
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