ently within the precinct of Hippolytus, a curious festival of stone-throwing was held in honour of these maidens, as the Troezeni-
ans called them; and it is easy to show that similar customs have been practised in many lands for the express purpose of ensuring
good crops. In the story of the tragic death of the youthful Hippolytus we may discern an analogy with similar tales of other fair but
mortal youths who paid with their lives for the brief rapture of the love of an immortal goddess. These hapless lovers were prob-
ably not always mere myths, and the legends which traced their spilt blood in the purple bloom of the violet, the scarlet stain of the
anemone, or the crimson flush of the rose were no idle poetic emblems of youth and beauty fleeting as the summer flowers. Such
fables contain a deeper philosophy of the relation of the life of man to the life of nature--a sad philosophy which gave birth to a
tragic practice. What that philosophy and that practice were, we shall learn later on.
3. Recapitulation
WE can now perhaps understand why the ancients identified Hippolytus, the consort of Artemis, with Virbius, who, according to
Servius, stood to Diana as Adonis to Venus, or Attis to the Mother of the Gods. For Diana, like Artemis, was a goddess of fertility
in general, and of childbirth in particular. As such she, like her Greek counterpart, needed a male partner. That partner, if Servius is
right, was Virbius. In his character of the founder of the sacred grove and first king of Nemi, Virbius is clearly the mythical prede-
cessor or archetype of the line of priests who served Diana under the title of Kings of the Wood, and who came, like him, one after
the other, to a violent end. It is natural, therefore, to conjecture that they stood to the goddess of the grove in the same relation in
which Virbius stood to her; in short, that the mortal King of the Wood had for his queen the woodland Diana herself. If the sacred
tree which he guarded with his life was supposed, as seems probable, to be her special embodiment, her priest may not only have
worshipped it as his goddess but embraced it as his wife. There is at least nothing absurd in the supposition, since even in the time
of Pliny a noble Roman used thus to treat a beautiful beech-tree in another sacred grove of Diana on the Alban hills. He embraced
it, he kissed it, he lay under its shadow, he poured wine on its trunk. Apparently he took the tree for the goddess. The custom of
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physically marrying men and women to trees is still practised in India and other parts of the East. Why should it not have obtained in ancient Latium?
Reviewing the evidence as a whole, we may conclude that the worship of Diana in her sacred grove at Nemi was of great importance and immemorial antiquity; that she was revered as the goddess of woodlands and of wild creatures, probably also of domestic cattle and of the fruits of the earth; that she was believed to bless men and women with offspring and to aid mothers in childbed; that her holy fire, tended by chaste virgins, burned perpetually in a round temple within the precinct; that associated with her was a water-nymph Egeria who discharged one of Diana's own functions by succouring women in travail, and who was popularly supposed to have mated with an old Roman king in the sacred grove; further, that Diana of the Wood herself had a male companion Virbius by name, who was to her what Adonis was to Venus, or Attis to Cybele; and, lastly, that this mythical Virbius was represented in historical times by a line of priests known as Kings of the Wood, who regularly perished by the swords of their successors, and whose lives were in a manner bound up with a certain tree in the grove, because so long as that tree was uninjured they were safe from attack.
Clearly these conclusions do not of themselves suffice to explain the peculiar rule of succession to the priesthood. But perhaps the survey of a wider field may lead us to think that they contain in germ the solution of the problem. To that wider survey we must now address ourselves. It will be long and laborious, but may possess something of the interest and charm of a voyage of discovery, in which we shall visit many strange foreign lands, with strange foreign peoples, and still stranger customs. The wind is in the shrouds: we shake out our sails to it, and leave the coast of Italy behind us for a time.
II. Priestly Kings
THE questions which we have set ourselves to answer are mainly two: first, why had Diana's priest at Nemi, the King of the Wood, to slay his predecessor? second, why before doing so had he to pluck the branch of a certain tree which the public opinion of the ancients identified with Virgil's Golden Bough?
The first point on which we fasten is the priest's title. Why was he called the King of the Wood? Why was his office spoken of as a kingdom?
The union of a royal title with priestly duties was common in ancient Italy and Greece. At Rome and in other cities of Latium there was a priest called the Sacrificial King or King of the Sacred Rites, and his wife bore the title of Queen of the Sacred Rites.
In republican Athens the second annual magistrate of the state was called the King, and his wife the Queen; the functions of both were religious. Many other Greek democracies had titular kings, whose duties, so far as they are known, seem to have been priestly, and to have centered round the Common Hearth of the state. Some Greek states had several of these titular kings, who held office simultaneously. At Rome the tradition was that the Sacrificial King had been appointed after the abolition of the monarchy in order
to offer the sacrifices which before had been offered by the kings. A similar view as to the origin of the priestly kings appears to have
prevailed in Greece. In itself the opinion is not improbable, and it is borne out by the example of Sparta, almost the only purely
Greek state which retained the kingly form of government in historical times. For in Sparta all state sacrifices were offered by the
kings as descendants of the god. One of the two Spartan kings held the priesthood of Zeus Lacedaemon, the other the priesthood
of Heavenly Zeus.
This combination of priestly functions with royal authority is familiar to every one. Asia Minor, for example, was the seat of various great religious capitals peopled by thousands of sacred slaves, and ruled by pontiffs who wielded at once temporal and spiritual authority, like the popes of mediaeval Rome. Such priest-ridden cities were Zela and Pessinus. Teutonic kings, again, in the old heathen days seem to have stood in the position, and to have exercised the powers, of high priests. The Emperors of China offered public sacrifices, the details of which were regulated by the ritual books. The King of Madagascar was highpriest of the realm. At the
great festival of the new year, when a bullock was sacrificed for the good of the kingdom, the king stood over the sacrifice to offer prayer and thanksgiving, while his attendants slaughtered the animal. In the monarchical states which still maintain their independence among the Gallas of Eastern Africa, the king sacrifices on the mountain tops and regulates the immolation of human victims; and the dim light of tradition reveals a similar union of temporal and spiritual power, of royal and priestly duties, in the kings of that delightful region of Central America whose ancient capital, now buried under the rank growth of the tropical forest, is marked by
the stately and mysterious ruins of Palenque.
When we have said that the ancient kings were commonly priests also, we are far from having exhausted the religious aspect of
their office. In those days the divinity that hedges a king was no empty form of speech, but the expression of a sober belief. Kings
were revered, in many cases not merely as priests, that is, as intercessors between man and god, but as themselves gods, able to
bestow upon their subjects and worshippers those blessings which are commonly supposed to be beyond the reach of