Diana and Acteon

Can it be considered a sin to lose one’s way in the woods? An error, perhaps, but surely not a sin. Yet Acteon was punished for just such an error.

He had spent the morning hunting with his friends. In the noonday heat, as the sun approached its height, they laid aside their weapons and blood-soaked nets. “We have done well for today, my friends,” he said. “Let us rest now, and meet again at dawn tomorrow when we will see what quarry awaits us.” And so each man wandered off to find some cool resting-place in the quiet of the forest.

Now on the side of that mountain there was a valley named Gargáphië where a clear spring of water flowed out from a cave so beautifully shaped it looked as if an artist had conceived its perfect proportions. Covered with soft foliage, a grassy sward stretched out from the beautiful pool beneath the spring.

Diana, goddess of the hunt, knew and loved this grotto, and on this day, had come to bathe in the secluded spot after hunting with her nymphs. There, beside the cooling spring, the women stripped off their hunting clothes, and filled huge jars with water which they poured over each other and their mistress.

Acteon, now wandering aimlessly through the wood, came upon the glade and, drawn by curiosity, or by fate, pushed through the encircling underbrush. Suddenly the nymphs saw a man staring at them. They screamed, tried to cover their bodies, and drew in a circle to hide their goddess’ nakedness.

Diana, seeing Acteon, blushed and turned away her breasts, wishing she could reach her arrows to slay the intruder, but all she had to hand was water. Throwing some at Acteon, she cried, “Now tell of having seen me naked, if you can ever tell a tale again!”

And with that, she made antlers spring from his forehead, turned his hands into feet, his arms into legs, lengthened his neck, and covered his body in dappled fur. Then one more change: she poured panic into his veins. He turned and ran, amazed at his own swiftness. Glancing in the pool, he saw his new bestial shape. “My god!” he tried to cry, but all that came from his mouth was a hoarse groan. Where should he run? Back to the palace? Further into the woods?

As he hesitated in terror, his hunting dogs caught sight of him. Tracker and Blackfoot, Wildfang and Climber, Tiger the halfbreed, Harpy from Sparta, and Thrasher from Crete, dog after dog they pursued him. Acteon darted this way and that, through the paths and openings he knew so well. But three of the hounds circled round a shortcut, and suddenly one of them had sunk its sharp fangs into his ankle, another was at his thighs. As he collapsed to his knees, the whole pack descended on him.

His friends, hearing the baying and the commotion, came running to watch the dogs attack the stag. They shouted encouragement to the hounds. They called to Acteon, wondering where he was. Why was he not here to witness this magnificent kill? (If only he had been somewhere else!) But the dogs kept tearing at his flanks, and even as he tried to cry to his friends, to his hounds who had loved him, the dogs fastened their jaws on him, and tore to pieces this apparent deer, who was in fact their master.

Only when life itself was wrenched from him was Diana’s anger appeased.

Further info:
Diana - wikipedea