The stag of Œnoe was sacred to Diana; and no wonder, for besides
being so swift that no horse or hound could follow it, it had brazen
feet and horns of pure gold. Of course this labor was not so dangerous
as the others, but apparently more utterly impossible.
Impossible as it was, however, Hercules had to try. Had he been
ordered to bring the stag to Mycenæ dead, he might perhaps hope to
catch it with an arrow; but his orders were to bring it alive. So,
having started it from its lair, he followed it with his utmost speed
and skill. At first he tried to run it down; but the stag was not only
the swifter, but had as much endurance as he. Then he tried to drive
it to bay, but it always managed to escape out of the seemingly most
hopeless corners. He tried to catch it asleep; but his slightest and
most distant movement startled it, and off it raced again. All the
arts of the deer-stalker he put in practice, but all in vain. And thus
he hunted the stag of Œnoe, scarce resting day and night for a
whole year. It looked as if he were to spend the rest of his life in
pursuing what was not to be caught by mortal man; and the worst of it
was that, while there was real use in destroying wild beasts and
monsters, like the lion and the Hydra, his present labor, even if it
succeeded, would be of no use at all.
Still it had to be attempted; and I suppose you have guessed that he
succeeded, and that it was in some wonderful way. Well--he did succeed
at last, but it was not in a wonderful way at all. It was just by not
giving in. One of the two had to give in, and it was not Hercules. One
day he managed to drive the stag into a trap and to seize it by the
horns.
As he was returning to Mycenæ, dragging the stag, he met a tall and
beautiful woman, dressed for the chase, and carrying a bow and quiver.
As soon as her eyes fell upon the struggling stag she frowned
terribly.
"What mortal are you," she asked, "who have dared to lay hands on my
own stag, the stag sacred to me, who am Diana? Loose it, and let it
go."
Hercules sighed. "I would do so gladly, great goddess," he answered;
"but it is not in my power."
"Not in your power to open your hand?" she asked, in angry surprise.
"We will soon see that," and she seized her stag by the other horn to
pull it away.
"It goes against me," said Hercules, "to oppose a goddess; but I have
got to bring this stag to Mycenæ, and neither gods nor men shall
prevent me, so long as I am alive."
"I am Diana," she said again, "and I command you to let the stag go."
"And I," said he, "am only Hercules, the servant of Eurystheus, and
therefore I cannot let it go."
"Then I wish," said Diana, "that any of the gods had so faithful a
servant as Eurystheus has! So you are Hercules?" she said, her frown
changing to a smile. "Then I give you the stag, for the sake of the
oracle of my brother Apollo. I am only a goddess; you are a man who
has conquered himself, and whom therefore even the gods must obey."
So saying, she vanished. And the stag no longer struggled for freedom,
but followed Hercules to Mycenæ as gently and lovingly as a tame fawn.