Chapter VII: Artemis

Artemis was the goddess of the woods. She was the daughter of Zeus and of the goddess Leto, who had gone through many troubles before Artemis was born. For Zeus had married the beautiful Leto secretly, and when Hera heard of it she was very angry, and drove her away from Mount Olympus. Leto took shelter on the earth, but Hera commanded the earth to deny her rest, and whenever she lay down it began to tremble under her and quaked horribly. She fled like a hunted deer from one end of the world to the other, till after long wanderings she came to the floating island of Delos over which the earth had no power, and here at last she could rest. The island was not fixed to the bottom of the sea, and the waves played roughly with it and tossed it about, so the sea-god Poseidon, who was sorry for Leto, caused four granite pillars to spring up and hold it fast, and ever since that time it has stood perfectly still. Leto had two children, a boy and a girl, and Zeus named them Apollo and Artemis. After the children were born, Hera became kinder, and allowed Leto to come back to Mount {24} Olympus, and desired the earth to give her rest wherever she wished. The island of Delos was ever afterwards held in great esteem by the Greeks, and they came from long distances in beautifully decked ships to honour the island by offering sacrifices upon it.

Artemis was a glorious goddess, and she chose the woods for her dominion, and the chase for her occupation. She delighted in wandering through the forests with the nymphs who attended her, killing wolves and wild-boars. But she was kind to the tame animals that she met, and stroked and petted them. Her favourite creatures were some beautiful hinds, and she punished anyone who killed them. Artemis towered a head above all her nymphs, and she was also easily to be recognised by her godlike beauty, and by her golden bow and quiver of golden arrows. In the evening she often laid aside her weapons and danced in the moonlight with her maidens; their light footsteps did not even bend the grass, only the next morning, traces of them could be seen in the dew. Often too, when the chase led them past a clear forest lake overshadowed by sweet-smelling trees, they undressed and bathed in the pleasant pool, and the nymphs splashed about in the water and had all kinds of games. Artemis did not marry, for she said she would neither be the wife of a god nor of a man, but would always have her home in the forest among her nymphs.

There was once a hunter named Actaeon, who loved hunting better than anything else, and who honoured Artemis, the goddess of the chase, above all other gods and goddesses. He had fifty splendid hounds who were very fond of their master, and in the morning when he came out of his house they used to crowd {25} round him barking for joy and licking his hands; he had given each of them a special name, and he patted them and talked to them as if they could understand him. They always went out hunting with him, and chased the wild animals which he shot with his arrows. One day Actaeon was out hunting, and it was so hot that about noon he gave his dogs a rest and let them go to sleep, whilst he himself strolled about among the cool bushes looking for a spring where he might quench his thirst. Presently he heard a splashing of water and the laughter of maidens' voices, and going a little nearer, he pushed aside the branch of a tree and beheld the glorious goddess and her nymphs in the bath. He could not turn away his eyes, and for a little while Artemis did not notice him, but when she looked up and saw the hunter who had so forgotten himself, her eyes filled with anger at his having dared to watch her. She raised her beautiful hand, and in a moment Actaeon was changed into a stag with long light feet and branching horns, but still able to think like a man. He shuddered and rushed away to the place where he had left his dogs; they awoke, but they did not know him, and gave chase to him. He tried to make them understand by looking back and calling to them, but no words would come out of his mouth, only a sound like the cry of a stag, and at last they overtook him and tore him to pieces. Thus he was miserably killed by his own dogs, as a punishment for not having turned away his eyes when he came upon the severe goddess at her bath. The dogs wandered for a long time through the forest looking for their master, pining {26} because they could not find him, and refusing to eat. But there was a skilled artist who took pity on them, and he made an image of clay so exactly like Actaeon, that the dogs thought it was their master himself, and were comforted.

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