All these maidens were as untamed and free of heart as the wild
creatures they loved to hunt, and whoever molested them did so at his
peril. None dared trespass in the home of Diana and her nymphs, not
even the riotous fauns and satyrs who were heedless enough to go
a-swimming in the river Styx, if they had cared to venture near such a
dismal place. But the maiden goddess laid a spell upon their unruly
wits, even as the moon controls the tides of the sea. Her precincts
were holy. There was one man, however, whose ill-timed curiosity
brought heavy punishment upon him. This was Actaeon, a grandson of the
great king Cadmus.
Wearied with hunting, one noon, he left his comrades and idled through
the forest, perhaps to spy upon those woodland deities of whom he had
heard. Chance brought him to the very grove where Diana and her nymphs
were wont to bathe. He followed the bright thread of the brook, never
turning aside, though mortal reverence should have warned him that the
place was for gods. The air was wondrous clear and sweet; a throng of
fair trees drooped their branches in the way, and from a sheltered
grotto beyond fell a mingled sound of laughter and running waters. But
Actaeon would not turn back. Roughly pushing aside the laurel branches
that hid the entrance of the cave, he looked in, startling Diana and
her maidens. In an instant a splash of water shut his eyes, and the
goddess, reading his churlish thought, said: "Go now, if thou wilt, and
boast of this intrusion.
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