Diana and Actaeon

Now Thebes stood strong; now Cadmus might have seemed
Blessed in his exile. He had won for bride
The child of Mars and Venus. Add besides
From such a glorious wife a dynasty,
So many sons and daughters, grandsons too,
Dear links of love, by now indeed young men.
But yet in truth one ever must await
A man's last day, nor count him fortunate
Before he dies and the last rites are paid.
In his prosperity a grandson first
Was source of Cadmus'sorrow, whose young brow
Sprouted outlandish antlers and the hounds
His hounds, were sated with their master's blood.
Though, if you ponder wisely, you will find
The fault was fortune's and no guilt that day,
For what guilt can it be to lose one's way ?

Upon a mountainside, whose woodland coverts
Were stained with many a kill of varied game,
The shining noon had narrowed all the shade
And midway at his zenith stood the sun.
Then young Actaeon was content; he called
His comrades as they roamed the lonely woods:
'Come, friends, our nets are wet, our javelins
Drip with our quarries' blood; today has brought
Success enough; tomorrow, when the dawn
On saffron wheels leads on another day,
We'll start our work again; now the sun shines
Half-way upon his journey and his rays
Crack the parched countryside. Take up your nets;
Here let us end the work in hand.' The men
Obeyed his words and rested from their toil.

There was a valley clothed in hanging woods
Of pine and cypress, named Gargaphie,
Sacred to chaste Diana, huntress queen.
Deep in its farthest combe, framed by the woods,
A cave lay hid, not fashioned by man's art,
But nature's talent copied artistry,
For in the living limestone she had carved
A natural arch; and there a limpid spring
Flowed lightly babbling into a wide pool, I
ts waters girdled with a grassy sward.
Here, tired after the hunt, the goddess loved
Her nymphs to bathe her with the water's balm.

Reaching the cave, she gave her spear and quiver
And bow unstrung to an attendant nymph;
Others received her robes over their arms;
Two loosed her sandals more expert than these
Crocale tied the hair loose on her shoulders
Into a knot, her own hair falling free.
Then Nephele and Hyale and Rhanis
And Phiale and Psecas brought the water
In brimming jars and poured it over her.
And while Titania bathed there in the pool,
Her loved familiar pool, it chanced Actaeon,
The day's hunt finished, idly wandering
Through unknown clearings of the forest, found
The sacred grove--so the Fates guided him--
And came upon the cool damp cave. At once,
Seeing a man, all naked as they were,
The nymphs, beating their breasts, filled the whole grove
With sudden screams and clustered round Diana
To clothe her body with their own. But she
Stood taller, a head taller than them all;
And as the clouds are coloured when the sun
Glows late and low or like the crimson dawn,
So deeply blushed Diana, caught unclothed.
Her troop pressed close about her, but she turned
Aside and looking backwards (would she had
Her arrows ready!) all she had, the water,
She seized and flung it in the youngman's face,
And as the avenging downpour drenched his hair
She added words that warned of doom:
'Now tell You saw me here naked without my clothes,
If you can tell at all!'With that one threat
Antlers she raised upon his dripping head,
Lengthened his neck, pointed his ears, transformed
His hands to hooves, arms to long legs, and draped
His body with a dappled hide; and last

Set terror in his heart. Actaeon fled,
Royal Actaeon, and marvelled in his flight
At his new leaping speed, but, when he saw
His head and antlers mirrored in a stream,
He tried to say 'Alas!'--but no words came;
He groaned--that was his voice; the tears rolled down
On cheeks not his--all changed except his mind.
What should he do ? Go home, back to the palace,
Or stay in hiding in the forest ? Shame
Forbade the first decision, fear the other.

While thus he stood in doubt his hounds had seen him.
Blackfoot and Tracker first gave tongue, wise
Tracker, A Cretan hound, Blackfoot of Spartan breed;
Swift as the wind the rest came rushing on:
Glance, Glutton, Ranger (all from Arcady),
Fierce Rover, sturdy Stalker, moody Storm,
Flight unsurpassed for speed, Hunter for scent,
Bold Woodman lately wounded by a boar,
Dingle a slender bitch sired by a wolf,
Snatch with two pups, gaunt Catch from Sicyon,
And Shepherd, once a guardian of her flock;
Spot, Gnasher, Tigress, Courser, Lightfoot, Strong,
Black-coated Sooty, Blanche with snowy hair,
Wolf and her nimble brother Cyprian,
Huge stalwart Spartan, Tempest never tired;
Clinch, his dark forehead crowned with a white star,
Nigger; rough-coated Shag; a couple of hounds
Born of a Cretan sire and Spartan dam,
Fury and Whitetooth; Barker, noisy bitch;
And many more too long to tell. The pack,
Hot in pursuit, sped on over fells and crags,
By walls of rock, on daunting trails or none.
He fled where often he'd followed in pursuit,
Fled his own folk, for shame! He longed to shout
'I am Actaeon, look I am your master!'
Words failed his wiil; their baying filled the sky.
Blackhair bit first, a wound deep in his haunch;
Next Killer, Climber fastened on his shoulder.
These started late but cut across the hills
And gained a lead. They held their master down

Till the whole pack, united, sank their teeth
Into his flesh. He gave a wailing scream,
Not human, yet a sound no stag could voice,
And filled with anguished cries the mountainside
He knew so well; then, suppliant on his knees,
Turned his head silently from side to side,
Like arms that turned and pleaded. But his friends
With their glad usual shouts cheered on the pack,
Not knowing what they did, and looked around
To find Actaeon; each louder than the rest
Calling Actaeon, as though he were not there;
And blamed his absence and his sloth that missed
The excitement of the kill. Hearing his name,
He turned his head. Would that he were indeed
Absent! But he was there. Would that he watched,
Not felt, the hounds' (his hounds') fierce savagery!
Now they are all around him, tearing deep
Their master's flesh, the stag that is no stag;
And not until so many countless wounds
Had drained away his lifeblood, was the wrath,
It's said, of chaste Diana satisfied.

As the tale spread views varied; some believed
Diana's violence unjust; some praised it,
As proper to her chaste virginity.
Both sides found reason for their point of view.

Ovid wrote this poem in 19 B. C in Rome. Now look at pages 262-263 in The Beak of the Finch. How could Ovid's poem be a acknolwledgement of the influence of certain human activities on the character of certain species?