Diana
I
During the childhood of Apollo and Diana the goddess Latona lived
happily on the island of Delos, and forgot all her early misfortunes in
the joy of her children. As they grew up she boasted of their strength
and beauty to all who came to the shores of Delos, and no village or
hamlet--however small--but had heard of Latona's children. When Grecian
mothers put their little ones to bed at night, they told wonderful
tales of an island far out at sea where a brother and sister lived who
were fairer than all the flowers in the meadows; and maidens, sighing
for a loveliness greater than their own, wove garlands to adorn the
shrines of those two who walked the earth in all their immortal grace.
Latona was proud of her children's fame, and boasted of it far and
wide. Few mothers cared to dispute her claim, and these spoke only in
whispers; but there was one, bolder than the rest, who openly laughed
at the goddess's boast and taunted her with having but _two_ such
children whom she could praise. This was Niobe, a Grecian princess and
the mother of fourteen children,--seven sons and seven daughters,--all
of them fair and strong and godlike in spite of their mortal birth.
When Niobe learned that the people in her kingdom were loud in their
praises of Latona's children, and were neglecting to honor her own
splendid sons and daughters, she was very angry and ordered all the
statues of Apollo and Diana to be destroyed; for the people, in their
devotion to beauty, had set up many in the temples and the market
place. Then she bade a messenger go tell the goddess what had been
done, and show her in what contempt the mother of fourteen children
held her who had but two.
When Latona received the message she was so enraged at the insult that
her desire for revenge knew no bounds. She called Apollo and Diana to
her side and commanded them to go forth and slay the children of Niobe.
It was easy for Apollo to accomplish his part of the cruel task, for he
met the seven sons of Niobe hunting, and slew them so quickly that not
one of the brothers had time to ask what he had done to merit the god's
wrath. The daughters of Niobe were in the palace with their mother; but
this did not daunt the young Diana, who put seven sharp arrows in her
quiver, and, bow in hand, went forth to complete Latona's revenge.
She found the maidens seated at Niobe's side, weaving, and one by one
the remorseless goddess shot them down in spite of their mother's
heart-broken cries for mercy. Finding that her entreaties were in vain,
and seeing six of her daughters lying dead beside her, the distracted
Niobe sought to shield the remaining one with her own body while she
prayed wildly to the gods to spare her this one child. But the gods
were deaf to her cries, and Diana, fitting the last arrow to her bow,
shot the maiden as she cowered in her mother's arms.
Over her fallen body the wretched Niobe wept so long that the gods at
last felt pity for her grief, and changed her into stone. This statue
was placed by a running stream, and ever afterward the waters were fed
by the tears that continued to course down the cheeks of the stone
image; and travelers came from foreign lands to gaze on this marvel of
a devoted mother who could not cease from mourning for her children
even when turned into stone.
II
Though the goddess Diana[14] spent most of her daylight hours in
hunting, it was not often that she exercised her skill to such cruel
purpose as was shown in the case of poor Niobe. Wherever the wild deer
roamed, and the pathless forest knew no touch of woodman's ax, there
Diana, fleet-footed and tireless, followed the chase. As soon as the
flaming chariot of the sun threw its first streak of light across the
hills, the goddess donned her short tunic, and, armed with her golden
bow and quiver, set out with her band of nymphs for the day's hunt. At
noontide, wearied with the chase, she sought out some secluded spot
where the mountain stream ran clear, and where the foliage hung round
her like a curtain.
[Illustration: Diana of Versailles]
On a certain day, when she and her maidens were enjoying the refreshing
coolness of the water, they heard a slight rustle among the trees,
and looking around, perceived a young hunter watching them. This was
Actæon, who had himself been following the deer since daybreak, and had
been drawn to this spot by the noise of running water. As he neared
the stream he heard sounds of girlish laughter, and this so roused
his curiosity that he hastily put aside the branches to see who the
merrymakers might be. Great was his dismay when he recognized Diana and
her nymphs; but before he could disappear among the bushes the goddess
saw him, and catching up some water in her hand, she threw it into his
face, crying: "Go now, if you can, and say that you have seen Diana at
her bath."
The moment these words were spoken Actæon felt a queer change coming
over him, and he stared in horror at his hands and feet, which were
becoming hoofs, and at his skin, which was rapidly changing into a
deer's hide. Antlers grew out of his head, he dropped on all fours,
and found himself turned into a stag. Before he quite realized what
had befallen him he heard the baying of hounds, and knew that his only
safety was in flight. He dashed off through the bushes, but the dogs
were on his track. Before he had gone far the pack had overtaken him,
since he knew no lore of the wild things by which they elude their
enemies, and were snapping and snarling at his throat. Deprived of his
human voice he could not cry for help, and in a moment the hounds had
torn him into pieces. So was Diana avenged.
III
There was another young hunter who encountered Diana and her maidens
in the woods, but he met with a kinder fate at the hands of the
goddess than did poor Actæon, whose only fault had been a most natural
curiosity.
The fleet-footed Diana was no more ardent in the chase than was the
hunter Orion, who roamed the forest all day with his faithful dog,
Sirius. One morning, as he rushed eagerly through the woods in
pursuit of a deer, he came suddenly upon the seven Pleiades,--nymphs
of Diana,--who were resting after a long and arduous hunt begun at
daybreak. Charmed with their beauty, Orion drew nearer, but the
maidens, terrified at his outstretched arms, fled away through the
forest. Undaunted by the remembrance of Actæon's fate, the hunter
pursued the flying nymphs, determined that so much beauty should not
escape him. Seeing that he was gaining on them in spite of their swift
feet, the maidens called upon Diana for help, and were at once changed
into seven white pigeons which flew up into the heavens before Orion's
astonished eyes. Sometime later these same Pleiades became seven bright
stars, and were set as a constellation in the sky, where they have
remained ever since.
Orion continued to hunt from early dawn until nightfall without any
misfortune overtaking him on account of his impetuous love-making.
On the contrary his ardor evidently found favor with the goddess
Diana, for one day, when he unexpectedly met her alone in the forest,
she smiled graciously upon him and offered to share the day's sport
with him. Perhaps it was the beauty of the young hunter as well as
his boldness that charmed the goddess; but however that may be, she
continued to meet him in the forest, and they hunted together hour
after hour until the twilight began to fall. Then Diana knew that she
must leave her lover and mount her silver moon-car.
When Apollo learned of his sister's affection for the young hunter,
he was very angry, for Diana had refused the love of the gods, and
had begged of Jupiter the right to live unwed. The sun-god determined
therefore to put an end to Orion's wooing. So he waited at the shadowy
portals of the west until Diana, her nightly journey over, descended
from her silver car and threw the reins on the necks of her wearied
steeds. Then Apollo spoke to his sister of her hunting, and praised
her skill with the bow. Presently he pointed to a tiny speck that was
rising and falling on the crest of the waves a long distance away, and
bidding her use this as a target, he challenged her to prove her skill.
Diana, suspecting no treachery, fitted an arrow into her bow and let
it fly with unerring aim. Great was her distress when she learned what
her brother's trickery had led her to do; for it was no floating log
or bit of seaweed that her arrow had pierced, but the body of Orion.
Apollo had seen the hunter go each morning to the ocean to bathe, and
he thought this an easy way to dispose of the unworthy lover.
Diana mourned Orion[15] many days; and to keep his memory honored she
placed him and his faithful dog, Sirius, in the sky as constellations.