{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/eurip/bacchan.htm","path":"cla/eurip/bacchan.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/bacchan.htm","text":"The Bacchantes\nBy Euripides\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDramatis Personae\nDionysus\nCadmus\nPentheus\nAgave\nTeiresias\nFirst Messenger\nSecond Messenger\nServant\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nBefore the Palace of Pentheus at Thebes. Enter DIONYSUS.\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDIONYSUS Lo! I am come to this land of Thebes, Dionysus' the son\nof Zeus, of whom on a day Semele, the daughter of Cadmus, was delivered\nby a flash of lightning. I have put off the god and taken human shape,\nand so present myself at Dirce's springs and the waters of Ismenus.\nYonder I see my mother's monument where the bolt slew her nigh her\nhouse, and there are the ruins of her home smouldering with the heavenly\nflame that blazeth still-Hera's deathless outrage on my mother. To\nCadmus all praise I offer, because he keeps this spot hallowed, his\ndaughter's precinct, which my own hands have shaded round about with\nthe vine's clustering foliage.\nLydia's glebes, where gold abounds, and Phrygia have I left behind;\no'er Persia's sun-baked plains, by Bactria's walled towns and Media's\nwintry clime have I advanced through Arabia, land of promise; and\nAsia's length and breadth, outstretched along the brackish sea, with\nmany a fair walled town, peopled with mingled race of Hellenes and\nbarbarians; and this is the first city in Hellas I have reached. There\ntoo have I ordained dances and established my rites, that I might\nmanifest my godhead to men; but Thebes is the first city in the land\nof Hellas that I have made ring with shouts of joy, girt in a fawn-skin,\nwith a thyrsus, my ivy-bound spear, in my hand; since my mother's\nsisters, who least of all should have done it, denied that Dionysus\nwas the son of Zeus, saying that Semele, when she became a mother\nby some mortal lover, tried to foist her sin on Zeus-a clever ruse\nof Cadmus, which, they boldly asserted, caused Zeus to slay her for\nthe falsehood about the marriage. Wherefore these are they whom I\nhave driven frenzied from their homes, and they are dwelling on the\nhills with mind distraught; and I have forced them to assume the dress\nworn in my orgies, and all the women-folk of Cadmus' stock have I\ndriven raving from their homes, one and all alike; and there they\nsit upon the roofless rocks beneath the green pine-trees, mingling\namongst the sons of Thebes. For this city must learn, however loth,\nseeing that it is not initiated in my Bacchic rites, and I must take\nup my mother's defence, by showing to mortals that the child she bore\nto Zeus is a deity. Now Cadmus gave his sceptre and its privileges\nto Pentheus, his daughter's child, who wages war 'gainst my divinity,\nthrusting me away from his drink-offerings, and making no mention\nof me in his prayers. Therefore will I prove to him and all the race\nof Cadmus that I am a god. And when I have set all in order here,\nI will pass hence to a fresh country, manifesting myself; but if the\ncity of Thebes in fury takes up arms and seeks to drive my votaries\nfrom the mountain, I will meet them at the head of my frantic rout.\nThis is why I have assumed a mortal form, and put off my godhead to\ntake man's nature.\nO ye who left Tmolus, the bulwark of Lydia, ye women, my revel rout!\nwhom I brought from your foreign homes to be ever by my side and bear\nme company, uplift the cymbals native to your Phrygian home, that\nwere by me and the great mother Rhea first devised, and march around\nthe royal halls of Pentheus smiting them, that the city of Cadmus\nmay see you; while I will seek Cithaeron's glens, there with my Bacchanals\nto join the dance. (Exit DIONYSUS., Enter CHORUS.)\nCHORUS From Asia o'er the holy ridge of Tmolus hasten to a pleasant\ntask, a toil that brings no weariness, for Bromius' sake, in honour\nof the Bacchic god. Who loiters in the road? who lingers 'neath the\nroof? Avaunt! I say, and let every lip be hushed in solemn silence;\nfor I will raise a hymn to Dionysus, as custom aye ordains. O happy\nhe! who to his joy is initiated in heavenly mysteries and leads a\nholy life, joining heart and soul in Bacchic revelry upon the hills,\npurified from every sin; observing the rites of Cybele, the mighty\nmother, and brandishing the thyrsus, with ivy-wreathed head, he worships\nDionysus. Go forth, go forth, ye Bacchanals, bring home the Bromian\ngod Dionysus, child of a god, from the mountains of Phrygia to the\nspacious streets of Hellas, bring home the Bromian god! whom on a\nday his mother in her sore travail brought forth untimely, yielding\nup her life beneath the lightning stroke of Zeus' winged bolt; but\nforthwith Zeus, the son of Cronos, found for him another womb wherein\nto rest, for he hid him in his thigh and fastened it with golden pins\nto conceal him from Hera. And when the Fates had fully formed the\nhorned god, he brought him forth and crowned him with a coronal of\nsnakes, whence it is the thyrsus-bearing Maenads hunt the snake to\ntwine about their hair. O Thebes, nurse of Semele! crown thyself with\nivy; burst forth, burst forth with blossoms fair of green convolvulus,\nand with the boughs of oak and pine join in the Bacchic revelry; dor;-thy\ncoat of dappled fawn-skin, decking it with tufts of silvered hair;\nwith reverent hand the sportive wand now wield. Anon shall the whole\nland be dancing, when Bromius leads his revellers to the hills, to\nthe hills away! where wait him groups of maidens from loom and shuttle\nroused in frantic haste by Dionysus. O hidden cave of the Curetes!\nO hallowed haunts in Crete, that saw Zeus born, where Corybantes with\ncrested helms devised for me in their grotto the rounded timbrel of\nox-hide, mingling Bacchic minstrelsy with the shrill sweet accents\nof the Phrygian flute, a gift bestowed by them on mother Rhea, to\nadd its crash of music to the Bacchantes' shouts of joy; but frantic\nsatyrs won it from the mother-goddess for their own, and added it\nto their dances in festivals, which gladden the heart of Dionysus,\neach third recurrent year. Oh! happy that votary, when from the hurrying\nrevel-rout he sinks to earth, in his holy robe of fawnskin, chasing\nthe goat to drink its blood, a banquet sweet of flesh uncooked, as\nhe hastes to Phrygia's or to Libya's hills; while in the van the Bromian\ngod exults with cries of Evoe. With milk and wine and streams of luscious\nhoney flows the earth, and Syrian incense smokes. While the Bacchante\nholding in his hand a blazing torch of pine uplifted on his wand waves\nit, as he speeds along, rousing wandering votaries, and as he waves\nit cries aloud with wanton tresses tossing in the breeze; and thus\nto crown the revelry, he raises loud his voice, \"On, on, ye Bacchanals,\npride of Tmolus with its rills of gold I to the sound of the booming\ndrum, chanting in joyous strains the praises of your joyous god with\nPhrygian accents lifted high, what time the holy lute with sweet complaining\nnote invites you to your hallowed sport, according well with feet\nthat hurry wildly to the hills; like a colt that gambols at its mother's\nside in the pasture, with gladsome heart each Bacchante bounds along.\"\n(Enter TEIRESIAS.)\nTEIRESIAS What loiterer at the gates will call Cadmus from the house,\nAgenor's son, who left the city of Sidon and founded here the town\nof Thebes? Go one of you, announce to him that Teiresias is seeking\nhim; he knows himself the reason of my coming and the compact I and\nhe have made in our old age to bind the thyrsus with leaves and don\nthe fawnskin, crowning our heads the while with ivy-sprays. (Enter\nCADMUS.)\nCADMUS Best of friends! I was in the house when I heard thy voice,\nwise as its owner. I come prepared, dressed in the livery of the god.\nFor 'tis but right I should magnify with all my might my own daughter's\nson, Dionysus, who hath shown his godhead unto men. Where are we to\njoin the dance? where plant the foot and shake the hoary head? Do\nthou, Teiresias, be my guide, age leading age, for thou art wise.\nNever shall I weary, night or day, of beating the earth with my thyrsus.\nWhat joy to forget our years?\nTEIRESIAS Why, then thou art as I am. For I too am young again, and\nwill essay the dance.\nCADMUS We will drive then in our chariot to the hill.\nTEIRESIAS Nay, thus would the god not have an equal honour paid.\nCADMUS Well, I will lead thee, age leading age.\nTEIRESIAS The god will guide us both thither without toil.\nCADMUS Shall we alone of all the city dance in Bacchus' honour?\nTEIRESIAS Yea, for we alone are wise, the rest are mad.\nCADMUS We stay too long; come, take my hand.\nTEIRESIAS There link thy hand in my firm grip.\nCADMUS Mortal that I am, I scorn not the gods.\nTEIRESIAS No subtleties do I indulge about the powers of heaven.\nThe faith we inherited from our fathers, old as time itself, no reasoning\nshall cast down; no! though it were the subtlest invention of wits\nrefined. Maybe some one will say, I have no respect for my grey hair\nin going to dance with ivy round my head; not so, for the god did\nnot define whether old or young should dance, but from all alike he\nclaims a universal homage, and scorns nice calculations in his worship.\nCADMUS Teiresias, since thou art blind, I must prompt thee what to\nsay. Pentheus is coming hither to the house in haste, Echion's son,\nto whom I resign the government. How scared he looks I what strange\ntidings will he tell? (Enter PENTHEUS.)\nPENTHEUS I had left my kingdom for awhile, when tidings of strange\nmischief in this city reached me; I hear that our women-folk have\nleft their homes on pretence of Bacchic rites, and on the wooded hills\nrush wildly to and fro, honouring in the dance this new god Dionysus,\nwhoe'er he is; and in the midst of each revel-rout the brimming wine-bowl\nstands, and one by one they steal away to lonely spots to gratify\ntheir lust, pretending forsooth that they are Maenads bent on sacrifice,\nthough it is Aphrodite they are placing before the Bacchic god. As\nmany as I caught, my gaolers are keeping safe in the public prison\nfast bound; and all who are gone forth, will I chase from the hills,\nIno and Agave too who bore me to Echion, and Actaeon's mother Autonoe.\nIn fetters of iron will I bind them and soon put an end to these outrageous\nBacchic rites. They say there came a stranger hither, a trickster\nand a sorcerer, from Lydia's land, with golden hair and perfumed locks,\nthe flush of wine upon his face, and in his eyes each grace that Aphrodite\ngives; by day and night he lingers in our maidens' company on the\nplea of teaching Bacchic mysteries. Once let me catch him within these\nwalls, and I will put an end to his thyrsus-beating and his waving\nof his tresses, for I will cut his head from his body. This is the\nfellow who says that Dionysus is a god, says that he was once stitched\nup in the thigh of Zeus-that child who with his mother was blasted\nby the lightning flash, because the woman falsely said her marriage\nwas with Zeus. Is not this enough to deserve the awful penalty of\nhanging, this stranger's wanton insolence, whoe'er he be?\nBut lo! another marvel. I see Teiresias, our diviner, dressed in dappled\nfawn-skins, and my mother's father too, wildly waving the Bacchic\nwand; droll sight enough! Father, it grieves me to see you two old\nmen so void of sense. Oh! shake that ivy from thee! Let fall the thyrsus\nfrom thy hand, my mother's sire! Was it thou, Teiresias, urged him\non to this? Art bent on introducing this fellow as another new deity\namongst men, that thou mayst then observe the fowls of the air and\nmake a gain from fiery divination? Were it not that thy grey hairs\nprotected thee, thou shouldst sit in chains amid the Bacchanals, for\nintroducing knavish mysteries; for where the gladsome grape is found\nat women's feasts, I deny that their rites have any longer good results.\nCHORUS What impiety! Hast thou no reverence, sir stranger, for the\ngods or for Cadmus who sowed the crop of earth-born warriors? Son\nof Echion as thou art, thou dost shame thy birth.\nTEIRESIAS Whenso a man of wisdom finds a good topic for argument,\nit is no difficult matter to speak well; but thou, though possessing\na glib tongue as if endowed with sense, art yet devoid thereof in\nall thou sayest. A headstrong man, if he have influence and a capacity\nfor speaking, makes a bad citizen because he lacks sense. This new\ndeity, whom thou deridest, will rise to power I cannot say how great,\nthroughout Hellas. Two things there are, young prince, that hold first\nrank among men, the goddess Demeter, that is, the earth, calf her\nwhich name thou please; she it is that feedeth men with solid food;\nand as her counterpart came this god, the son of Semele, who discovered\nthe juice of the grape and introduced it to mankind, stilling thereby\neach grief that mortals suffer from, soon as e'er they are filled\nwith the juice of the vine; and sleep also he giveth, sleep that brings\nforgetfulness of daily ills, the sovereign charm for all our woe.\nGod though he is, he serves all other gods for libations, so that\nthrough him mankind is blest. He it is whom thou dost mock, because\nhe was sewn up in the thigh of Zeus. But I will show thee this fair\nmystery. When Zeus had snatched him from the lightning's blaze, and\nto Olympus borne the tender babe, Hera would have cast him forth from\nheaven, but Zeus, as such a god well might, devised a counterplot.\nHe broke off a fragment of the ether which surrounds the world, and\nmade thereof a hostage against Hera's bitterness, while he gave out\nDionysus into other hands; hence, in time, men said that he was reared\nin the thigh of Zeus, having changed the word and invented a legend,\nbecause the god was once a hostage to the goddess Hera. This god too\nhath prophetic power, for there is no small prophecy inspired by Bacchic\nfrenzy; for whenever the god in his full might enters the human frame,\nhe makes his frantic votaries foretell the future. Likewise he hath\nsome share in Ares' rights; for oft, or ever a weapon is touched,\na panic seizes an army when it is marshalled in array; and this too\nis a frenzy sent by Dionysus. Yet shalt thou behold him e'en on Delphi's\nrocks leaping o'er the cloven height, torch in hand, waving and brandishing\nthe branch by Bacchus loved, yea, and through the length and breadth\nof Hellas. Hearken to me, Pentheus; never boast that might alone doth\nsway the world, nor if thou think so, unsound as thy opinion is, credit\nthyself with any wisdom; but receive the god into thy realm, pour\nout libations, join the revel rout, and crown thy head. It is not\nDionysus that will force chastity on women in their love; but this\nis what we should consider, whether chastity is part of their nature\nfor good and all; for if it is, no really modest maid will ever fall\n'mid Bacchic mysteries. Mark this: thou thyself art glad when thousands\nthrong thy gates, and citizens extol the name of Pentheus; he too,\nI trow, delights in being honoured. Wherefore I and Cadmus, whom thou\njeerest so, will wreath our brows with ivy and join the dance; pair\nof grey beards though we be, still must we take part therein; never\nwill I for any words of thine fight against heaven. Most grievous\nis thy madness, nor canst thou find a charm to cure thee, albeit charms\nhave caused thy malady.\nCHORUS Old sir, thy words do not discredit Phoebus, and thou art\nwise in honouring Bromius, potent deity.\nCADMUS My son, Teiresias hath given thee sound advice; dwell with\nus, but o'erstep not the threshold of custom; for now thou art soaring\naloft, and thy wisdom is no wisdom. E'en though he be no god, as thou\nassertest, still say he is; be guilty of a splendid fraud, declaring\nhim the son of Semele, that she may be thought the mother of a god,\nand we and all our race gain honour. Dost thou mark the awful fate\nof Actaeon? whom savage hounds of his own rearing rent in pieces in\nthe meadows, because he boasted himself a better hunter than Artemis.\nLest thy fate be the same, come let me crown thy head with ivy; join\nus in rendering homage to the god.\nPENTHEUS Touch me not away to thy Bacchic rites thyself! never try\nto infect me with thy foolery! Vengeance will I have on the fellow\nwho teaches thee such senselessness. Away one of you without delay!\nseek yonder seat where he observes his birds, wrench it from its base\nwith levers, turn it upside down, o'erthrowing it in utter confusion,\nand toss his garlands to the tempest's blast. For by so doing shall\nI wound him most deeply. Others of you range the city and hunt down\nthis girl-faced stranger, who is introducing a new complaint amongst\nour women, and doing outrage to the marriage tie. And if haply ye\ncatch him, bring him hither to me in chains, to be stoned to death,\na bitter ending to his revelry in Thebes. (Exit PENTHEUS.)\nTEIRESIAS Unhappy wretch! thou little knowest what thou art saying.\nNow art thou become a raving madman, even before unsound in mind.\nLet us away, Cadmus, and pray earnestly for him, spite of his savage\ntemper, and likewise for the city, that the god inflict not a signal\nvengeance. Come, follow me with thy ivy-wreathed staff; try to support\nmy tottering frame as I do thine, for it is unseemly that two old\nmen should fall; but let that-pass. For we must serve the Bacchic\ngod, the son of Zeus. Only, Cadmus, beware lest Pentheus' bring sorrow\nto thy house; it is not my prophetic art, but circumstances that lead\nme to say this; for the words of a fool are folly. (Exeunt CADMUS\nand TEIRESIAS.)\nCHORUS O holiness, queen amongst the gods, sweeping on golden pinion\no'er the earth! dost hear the words of Pentheus, dost hear his proud\nblaspheming Bromius, the son of Semele; first of all the blessed gods\nat every merry festival? His it is to rouse the revellers to dance,\nto laugh away dull care, and wake the flute, whene'er at banquets\nof the gods the luscious grape appears, or when the winecup in the\nfeast sheds sleep on men who wear the ivy-spray. The end of all unbridled\nspeech and lawless senselessness is misery; but the life of calm repose\nand the rule of reason abide unshaken and support the home; for far\naway in heaven though they dwell, the powers divine behold man's state.\nSophistry is not wisdom, and to indulge in thoughts beyond man's ken\nis to shorten life; and if a man on such poor terms should aim too\nhigh, he may miss the pleasures in his reach. These, to my mind, are\nthe ways of madmen and idiots. Oh! to make my way to Cyprus, isle\nof Aphrodite, where dwell the love-gods strong to soothe man's soul,\nor to Paphos, which that foreign river, never fed by rain, enriches\nwith its hundred mouths! Oh! lead me, Bromian god, celestial guide\nof Bacchic pilgrims, to the hallowed slopes of Olympus, where Pierian\nMuses have their haunt most fair. There dwell the Graces; there is\nsoft desire; there thy votaries may hold their revels freely. The\njoy of our god, the son of Zeus, is in banquets, his delight is in\npeace, that giver of riches and nurse divine of youth. Both to rich\nand poor alike hath he granted the delight of wine, that makes all\npain to cease; hateful to him is every one who careth not to live\nthe life of bliss, that lasts through days and nights of joy. True\nwisdom is to keep the heart and soul aloof from over-subtle wits.\nThat which the less enlightened crowd approves and practises, will\nI accept. (Re-enter PENTHEUS. Enter SERVANT bringing DIONYSUS bound.)\nSERVANT We are come, Pentheus, having hunted down this prey, for\nwhich thou didst send us forth; not in vain hath been our quest. We\nfound our quarry tame; he did not fly from us, but yielded himself\nwithout a struggle; his cheek ne'er blanched, nor did his ruddy colour\nchange, but with a smile he bade me bind and lead him away, and he\nwaited, making my task an easy one. For very shame I said to him,\n\"Against my will, sir stranger, do I lead thee hence, but Pentheus\nordered it, who sent me hither.\" As for his votaries whom thou thyself\ndidst check, seizing and binding them hand and foot in the public\ngaol, all these have loosed their bonds and fled into the meadows\nwhere they now are sporting, calling aloud on the Bromian god. Their\nchains fell off their feet of their own accord, and doors flew open\nwithout man's hand to help. Many a marvel hath this stranger brought\nwith him to our city of Thebes; what yet remains must be thy care.\nPENTHEUS Loose his hands; for now that I have him in the net he is\nscarce swift enough to elude me. So, sir stranger, thou art not ill-favoured\nfrom a woman's point of view, which was thy real object in coming\nto Thebes; thy hair is long because thou hast never been a wrestler,\nflowing right down thy cheeks most wantonly; thy skin is white to\nhelp thee gain thy end, not tanned by ray of sun, but kept within\nthe shade, as thou goest in quest of love with beauty's bait. Come,\ntell me first of thy race.\nDIONYSUS That needs no braggart's tongue, 'tis easily told; maybe\nthou knowest Tmolus by hearsay.\nPENTHEUS I know it, the range that rings the city of Sardis round.\nDIONYSUS Thence I come, Lydia is my native home.\nPENTHEUS What makes thee bring these mysteries to Hellas?\nDIONYSUS Dionysus, the son of Zeus, initiated me.\nPENTHEUS Is there a Zeus in Lydia, who begets new gods?\nDIONYSUS No, but Zeus who married Semele in Hellas.\nPENTHEUS Was it by night or in the face of day that he constrained\nthee?\nDIONYSUS 'Twas face to face he intrusted his mysteries to me.\nPENTHEUS Pray, what special feature stamps thy rites?\nDIONYSUS That is a secret to be hidden from the uninitiated.\nPENTHEUS What profit bring they to their votaries?\nDIONYSUS Thou must not be told, though 'tis well worth knowing.\nPENTHEUS A pretty piece of trickery, to excite my curiosity!\nDIONYSUS A man of godless life is an abomination to the rites of\nthe god.\nPENTHEUS Thou sayest thou didst see the god clearly; what was he\nlike?\nDIONYSUS What his fancy chose; I was not there to order this.\nPENTHEUS Another clever twist and turn of thine, without a word of\nanswer.\nDIONYSUS He were a fool, methinks, who would utter wisdom to a fool.\nPENTHEUS Hast thou come hither first with this deity?\nDIONYSUS All foreigners already celebrate these mysteries with dances.\nPENTHEUS The reason being, they are far behind Hellenes in wisdom.\nDIONYSUS In this at least far in advance, though their customs differ.\nPENTHEUS Is it by night or day thou performest these devotions?\nDIONYSUS By night mostly; darkness lends solemnity.\nPENTHEUS Calculated to entrap and corrupt women.\nDIONYSUS Day too for that matter may discover shame.\nPENTHEUS This vile quibbling settles thy punishment.\nDIONYSUS Brutish ignorance and godlessness will settle thine.\nPENTHEUS How bold our Bacchanal is growing! a very master in this\nwordy strife!\nDIONYSUS Tell me what I am to suffer; what is the grievous doom thou\nwilt inflict upon me?\nPENTHEUS First will I shear off thy dainty tresses.\nDIONYSUS My locks are sacred; for the god I let them grow.\nPENTHEUS Next surrender that thyrsus.\nDIONYSUS Take it from me thyself; 'tis the wand of Dionysus I am\nbearing.\nPENTHEUS In dungeon deep thy body will I guard.\nDIONYSUS The god himself will set me free, whene'er I list.\nPENTHEUS Perhaps he may, when thou standest amid thy Bacchanals and\ncallest on his name.\nDIONYSUS Even now he is near me and witnesses my treatment.\nPENTHEUS Why, where is he? To my eyes he is invisible.\nDIONYSUS He is by my side; thou art a godless man and therefore dost\nnot see him.\nPENTHEUS Seize him! the fellow scorns me and Thebes too.\nDIONYSUS I bid you bind me not, reason addressing madness.\nPENTHEUS But I say \"bind!\" with better right than thou.\nDIONYSUS Thou hast no knowledge of the life thou art leading; thy\nvery existence is now a mystery to thee.\nPENTHEUS I am Pentheus, son of Agave and Echion.\nDIONYSUS Well-named to be misfortune's mate!\nPENTHEUS Avaunt! Ho! shut him up within the horses' stalls hard by,\nthat for light he may have pitchy gloom. Do thy dancing there, and\nthese women whom thou bringest with thee to share thy villainies I\nwill either sell as slaves or make their hands cease from this noisy\nbeating of drums, and set them to work at the loom as servants of\nmy own.\nDIONYSUS I will go; for that which fate forbids, can never befall\nme. For this thy mockery be sure Dionysus will exact a recompense\nof thee-even the god whose existence thou deniest; for thou art injuring\nhim by haling me to prison. (Exit DIONYSUS, guarded, and PENTHEUS.)\nCHORUS Hail to thee, Dirce, happy maid, daughter revered of Achelous!\nwithin thy founts thou didst receive in days gone by the babe of Zeus,\nwhat time his father caught him up into his thigh from out the deathless\nflame, while thus he cried: \"Go rest, my Dithyrambus, there within\nthy father's womb; by this name, O Bacchic god, I now proclaim thee\nto Thebes.\" But thou, blest Dirce, thrustest me aside, when in thy\nmidst I strive to hold my revels graced with crowns. Why dost thou\nscorn me? Why avoid me? By the clustered charm that Dionysus sheds\no'er the vintage I vow there yet shall come a time when thou wilt\nturn thy thoughts to Bromius. What furious rage the earth-born race\ndisplays, even Pentheus sprung of a dragon of old, himself the son\nof earth-born Echion, a savage monster in his very mien, not made\nin human mould, but like some murderous giant pitted against heaven;\nfor he means to bind me, the handmaid of Bromius, in cords forthwith,\nand e'en now he keeps my fellow-reveller pent within his palace, plunged\nin a gloomy dungeon. Dost thou mark this, O Dionysus, son of Zeus,\nthy prophets struggling 'gainst resistless might? Come, O king, brandishing\nthy golden thyrsus along the slopes of Olympus; restrain the pride\nof this bloodthirsty wretch! Oh! where in Nysa, haunt of beasts, or\non the peaks of Corycus art thou, Dionysus, marshalling with thy wand\nthe revellers? or haply in the thick forest depths of Olympus, where\nerst Orpheus with his lute gathered trees to his minstrelsy, and beasts\nthat range the fields. Ah blest Pieria! Evius honours thee, to thee\nwill he come with his Bacchic rites to lead the dance, and thither\nwill he lead the circling Maenads, crossing the swift current of Axius\nand the Lydias, that giveth wealth and happiness to man, yea, and\nthe father of rivers, which, as I have heard, enriches with his waters\nfair a land of steeds.\nDIONYSUS (Within) What ho! my Bacchantes, ho! hear my call, oh!\nhear.\nCHORUS Who art thou? what Evian cry is this that calls me? whence\ncomes it?\nDIONYSUS What ho! once more I call, I the son of Semele, the child\nof Zeus.\nCHORUS II My master, O my master, hail!\nCHORUS III Come to our revel-band, O Bromian god.\nCHORUS IV Thou solid earth!\nCHORUS Most awful shock!\nCHORUS VI O horror! soon will the palace of Pentheus totter and fall.\nCHORUS VII Dionysus is within this house.\nCHORUS VIII Do homage to him.\nCHORUS IX We do! I do!\nCHORUS Did ye mark yon architrave of stone upon the columns start\nasunder?\nCHORUS XI Within these walls the triumph-shout of Bromius himself\nwill rise.\nDIONYSUS Kindle the blazing torch with lightning's fire, abandon\nto the flames the halls of Pentheus.\nCHORUS XII Ha! dost not see the flame, dost not clearly mark it at\nthe sacred tomb of Semele, the lightning flame which long ago the\nhurler of the bolt left there?\nCHORUS XIII Your trembling limbs prostrate, ye Maenads, low upon\nthe ground.\nCHORUS XIV Yea, for our king, the son of Zeus, is assailing and utterly\nconfounding this house. (Enter DIONYSUS.)\nDIONYSUS Are ye so stricken with terror that ye have fallen to the\nearth, O foreign dames? Ye saw then, it would seem, how the Bacchic\ngod made Pentheus' halls to quake; but arise, be of good heart, compose\nyour trembling limbs.\nCHORUS O chiefest splendour of our gladsome Bacchic sport, with what\njoy I see thee in my loneliness!\nDIONYSUS Were ye cast down when I was led into the house, to be plunged\ninto the gloomy dungeons of Pentheus?\nCHORUS Indeed I was. Who was to protect me, if thou shouldst meet\nwith mishap? But how wert thou set free from the clutches of this\ngodless wretch?\nDIONYSUS My own hands worked out my own salvation, easily and without\ntrouble.\nCHORUS But did he not lash fast thy hands with cords?\nDIONYSUS There too I mocked him; he thinks he bound me, whereas he\nnever touched or caught hold of me, but fed himself on fancy. For\nat the stall, to which he brought me for a gaol, he found a bull,\nwhose legs and hoofs he straightly tied, breathing out fury the while,\nthe sweat trickling from his body, and he biting his lips; but I from\nnear at hand sat calmly looking on. Meantime came the Bacchic god\nand made the house quake, and at his mother's tomb relit the fire;\nbut Pentheus, seeing this, thought his palace was ablaze, and hither\nand thither he rushed, bidding his servants bring water; but all in\nvain was every servant's busy toil. Thereon he let this labour be\nawhile, and, thinking maybe that I had escaped, rushed into the palace\nwith his murderous sword unsheathed. Then did Bromius-so at least\nit seemed to me; I only tell you what I thought-made a phantom in\nthe hall, and he rushed after it in headlong haste, and stabbed the\nlustrous air, thinking he wounded me. Further the Bacchic god did\nother outrage to him; he dashed the building to the ground, and there\nit lies a mass of ruin, a sight to make him rue most bitterly my bonds.\nAt last from sheer fatigue he dropped his sword and fell fainting;\nfor he a mortal frail, dared to wage war upon a god; but I meantime\nquietly left the house and am come to you, with never a thought of\nPentheus. But methinks he will soon appear before the house; at least\nthere is a sound of steps within. What will he say, I wonder, after\nthis? Well, be his fury never so great, I will lightly bear it; for\n'tis a wise man's way to school his temper into due control. (Enter\nPENTHEUS.)\nPENTHEUS Shamefully have I been treated; that stranger, whom but\nnow I made so fast in prison, hath escaped me. Ha! there is the man!\nWhat means this? How didst thou come forth, to appear thus in front\nof my palace?\nDIONYSUS Stay where thou art; and moderate thy fury.\nPENTHEUS How is it thou hast escaped thy fetters and art at large?\nDIONYSUS Did I not say, or didst thou not hear me, \"There is one\nwill loose me.\"\nPENTHEUS Who was it? there is always something strange in what thou\nsayest.\nDIONYSUS He who makes the clustering vine to grow for man.\nPENTHEUS (I scorn him and his vines!)\nDIONYSUS A fine taunt indeed thou hurlest here at Dionysus!\nPENTHEUS (To his servants) Bar every tower that hems us in, I order\nyou.\nDIONYSUS What use? Cannot gods pass even over walls?\nPENTHEUS How wise thou art, except where thy wisdom is needed!\nDIONYSUS Where most 'tis needed, there am I most wise. But first\nlisten to yonder messenger and hear what he says; he comes from the\nhills with tidings for thee; and I will await thy pleasure, nor seek\nto fly. (Enter MESSENGER.) Messenger.\nPentheus, ruler of this realm of Thebes! I am come from Cithaeron,\nwhere the dazzling flakes of pure white snow ne'er cease to fall.\nPENTHEUS What urgent news dost bring me?\nMESSENGER I have seen, O king, those frantic Bacchanals, who darted\nin frenzy from this land with bare white feet, and I am come to tell\nthee and the city the wondrous deeds they do, deeds passing strange.\nBut I fain would hear, whether I am freely to tell all I saw there,\nor shorten my story; for I fear thy hasty temper, sire, thy sudden\nbursts of wrath and more than princely rage.\nPENTHEUS Say on, for thou shalt go unpunished by me in all respects;\nfor to be angered with the upright is wrong. The direr thy tale about\nthe Bacchantes, the heavier punishment will I inflict on this fellow\nwho brought his secret arts amongst our women.\nMESSENGER I was just driving the herds of kine to a ridge of the\nhill as I fed them, as the sun shot forth his rays and made the earth\ngrow warm; when lo! I see three revel-bands of women; Autonoe was\nchief of one, thy mother Agave of the second, while Ino's was the\nthird. There they lay asleep, all tired out; some were resting on\nbranches of the pine, others had laid their heads in careless ease\non oak-leaves piled upon the ground, observing all modesty; not, as\nthou sayest, seeking to gratify their lusts alone amid the woods,\nby wine and soft flute-music maddened.\nAnon in their midst thy mother uprose and cried aloud to wake them\nfrom their sleep, when she heard the lowing of my horned kine. And\nup they started to their feet, brushing from their eyes sleep's quickening\ndew, a wondrous sight of grace and modesty, young and old and maidens\nyet unwed. First o'er their shoulders they let stream their hair;\nthen all did gird their fawn-skins up, who hitherto had left the fastenings\nloose, girdling the dappled hides with snakes that licked their cheeks.\nOthers fondled in their arms gazelles or savage whelps of wolves,\nand suckled them-young mothers these with babes at home, whose breasts\nwere still full of milk; crowns they wore of ivy or of oak or blossoming\nconvolvulus. And one took her thyrsus and struck it into the earth,\nand forth there gushed a limpid spring; and another plunged her wand\ninto the lap of earth and there the god sent up a fount of wine; and\nall who wished for draughts of milk had but to scratch the soil with\ntheir finger-tips and there they had it in abundance, while from every\nivy-wreathed staff sweet rills of honey trickled.\nHadst thou been there and seen this, thou wouldst have turned to pray\nto the god, whom now thou dost disparage. Anon we herdsmen and shepherds\nmet to discuss their strange and wondrous doings; then one, who wandereth\noft to town and hath a trick of speech, made harangue in the midst,\n\"O ye who dwell upon the hallowed mountain-terraces! shall we chase\nAgave, mother of Pentheus, from her Bacchic rites, and thereby do\nour prince a service?\" We liked his speech, and placed ourselves in\nhidden ambush among the leafy thickets; they at the appointed time\nbegan to wave the thyrsus for their Bacchic rites, calling on Iacchus,\nthe Bromian god, the son of Zeus, in united chorus, and the whole\nmount and the wild creatures re-echoed their cry; all nature stirred\nas they rushed on. Now Agave chanced to come springing near me, so\nup I leapt from out my ambush where I lay concealed, meaning to seize\nher. But she cried out, \"What ho! my nimble hounds, here are men upon\nour track; but follow me, ay, follow, with the thyrsus in your hand\nfor weapon.\" Thereat we fled, to escape being torn in pieces by the\nBacchantes; but they, with hands that bore no weapon of steel, attacked\nour cattle as they browsed. Then wouldst thou have seen Agave mastering\nsome sleek lowing calf, while others rent the heifers limb from limb.\nBefore thy eyes there would have been hurling of ribs and hoofs this\nway and that; and strips of flesh, all blood-bedabbled, dripped as\nthey hung from the pine-branches. Wild bulls, that glared but now\nwith rage along their horns, found themselves tripped up, dragged\ndown to earth by countless maidens' hands. The flesh upon their limbs\nwas stripped therefrom quicker than thou couldst have closed thy royal\neye-lids. Then off they sped, like birds that skim the air, to the\nplains beneath the hills, which bear a fruitful harvest for Thebes\nbeside the waters of Asopus; to Hysiae and Erythrae, hamlets 'neath\nCithaeron's peak, with fell intent, swooping on everything and scattering\nall pellmell; and they would snatch children from their homes; but\nall that they placed upon their shoulders, abode there firmly without\nbeing tied, and fell not to the dusky earth, not even brass or iron;\nand on their hair they carried fire and it burnt them not; but the\ncountry-folk rushed to arms, furious at being pillaged by Bacchanals;\nwhereon ensued, O king, this wondrous spectacle. For though the ironshod\ndart would draw no blood from them, they with the thyrsus, which they\nhurled, caused many a wound and put their foes to utter rout, women\nchasing men, by some god's intervention. Then they returned to the\nplace whence they had started, even to the springs the god had made\nto spout for them; and there washed off the blood, while serpents\nwith their tongues were licking clean each gout from their cheeks.\nWherefore, my lord and master, receive this deity, whoe'er he be,\nwithin the city; for, great as he is in all else, I have likewise\nheard men say, 'twas he that gave the vine to man, sorrow's antidote.\nTake wine away and Cypris flies, and every other human joy is dead.\nCHORUS Though I fear to speak my mind with freedom in the presence\nof my king, still must I utter this; Dionysus yields to no deity in\nmight.\nPENTHEUS Already, look you! the presumption of these Bacchantes is\nupon us, swift as fire, a sad disgrace in the eyes of all Hellas.\nNo time for hesitation now! away to the Electra gate! order a muster\nof all my men-at-arms, of those that mount fleet steeds, of all who\nbrandish light bucklers, of archers too that make the bowstring twang;\nfor I will march against the Bacchanals. By Heaven I this passes all,\nif we are to be thus treated by women. (Exit MESSENGER.)\nDIONYSUS Still obdurate, O Pentheus, after hearing my words! In spite\nof all the evil treatment I am enduring from thee, still I warn thee\nof the sin of bearing arms against a god, and bid thee cease; for\nBromius will not endure thy driving his votaries from the mountains\nwhere they revel.\nPENTHEUS A truce to thy preaching to me! thou hast escaped thy bonds,\npreserve thy liberty; else will I renew thy punishment.\nDIONYSUS I would rather do him sacrifice than in a fury kick against\nthe pricks; thou a mortal, he a god.\nPENTHEUS Sacrifice! that will I, by setting afoot a wholesale slaughter\nof women 'mid Cithaeron's glens, as they deserve.\nDIONYSUS Ye will all be put to flight-a shameful thing that they\nwith the Bacchic thyrsus should rout your mail-clad warriors.\nPENTHEUS I find this stranger a troublesome foe to encounter; doing\nor suffering he is alike irrepressible.\nDIONYSUS Friend, there is still a way to compose this bitterness.\nPENTHEUS Say how; am I to serve my own servants?\nDIONYSUS I will bring the women hither without weapons.\nPENTHEUS Ha! ha! this is some crafty scheme of thine against me.\nDIONYSUS What kind of scheme, if by my craft I purpose to save thee?\nPENTHEUS You have combined with them to form this plot, that your\nrevels may on for ever.\nDIONYSUS Nay, but this is the compact I made with the god; be sure\nof that.\nPENTHEUS (Preparing to start forth) Bring forth my arms. Not another\nword from thee!\nDIONYSUS Ha! wouldst thou see them seated on the hills?\nPENTHEUS Of all things, yes! I would give untold sums for that.\nDIONYSUS Why this sudden, strong desire?\nPENTHEUS 'Twill be a bitter sight, if I find them drunk with wine.\nDIONYSUS And would that be a pleasant sight which will prove bitter\nto thee?\nPENTHEUS Believe me, yes! beneath the fir-trees as I sit in silence.\nDIONYSUS Nay, they will track thee, though thou come secretly.\nPENTHEUS Well, I will go openly; thou wert right to say so.\nDIONYSUS Am I to be thy guide? wilt thou essay the road?\nPENTHEUS Lead on with all speed, I grudge thee all delay.\nDIONYSUS Array thee then in robes of fine linen.\nPENTHEUS Why so? Am I to enlist among women after being a man?\nDIONYSUS They may kill thee, if thou show thy manhood there.\nPENTHEUS Well said! Thou hast given me a taste of thy wit already.\nDIONYSUS Dionysus schooled me in this lore.\nPENTHEUS How am I to carry out thy wholesome advice?\nDIONYSUS Myself will enter thy palace and robe thee.\nPENTHEUS What is the robe to be? a woman's? Nay, I am ashamed.\nDIONYSUS Thy eagerness to see the Maenads goes no further.\nPENTHEUS But what dress dost say thou wilt robe me in?\nDIONYSUS Upon thy head will I make thy hair grow long.\nPENTHEUS Describe my costume further.\nDIONYSUS Thou wilt wear a robe reaching to thy feet; and on thy head\nshall be a snood.\nPENTHEUS Wilt add aught else to my attire?\nDIONYSUS A thyrsus in thy hand, and a dappled fawnskin.\nPENTHEUS I can never put on woman's dress.\nDIONYSUS Then wilt thou cause bloodshed by coming to blows with the\nBacchanals.\nPENTHEUS Thou art right. Best go spy upon them first.\nDIONYSUS Well, e'en that is wiser than by evil means to follow evil\nends.\nPENTHEUS But how shall I pass through the city of the Cadmeans unseen?\nDIONYSUS We will go by unfrequented paths. I will lead the way.\nPENTHEUS Anything rather than that the Bacchantes should laugh at\nme.\nDIONYSUS We will enter the palace and consider the proper steps.\nPENTHEUS Thou hast my leave. I am all readiness. I will enter, prepared\nto set out either sword in hand or following thy advice. (Exit PENTHEUS.)\nDIONYSUS Women! our prize is nearly in the net. Soon shall he reach\nthe Bacchanals, and there pay forfeit with his life. O Dionysus! now\n'tis thine to act, for thou art not far away; let us take vengeance\non him. First drive him mad by fixing in his soul a wayward frenzy;\nfor never, whilst his senses are his own, will he consent to don a\nwoman's dress; but when his mind is gone astray he will put it on.\nAnd fain would I make him a laughing-stock to Thebes as he is led\nin woman's dress through the city, after those threats with which\nhe menaced me before. But I will go to array Pentheus in those robes\nwhich he shall wear when he sets out for Hades' halls, a victim to\nhis own mother's fury; so shall he recognize Dionysus, the son of\nZeus, who proves himself at last a god most terrible, for all his\ngentleness to man. (Exit DIONYSUS.)\nCHORUS Will this white foot e'er join the night-long dance? what\ntime in Bacchic ecstasy I toss my neck to heaven's dewy breath, like\na fawn, that gambols 'mid the meadow's green delights, when she hath\nescaped the fearful chase, clear of the watchers, o'er the woven nets;\nwhile the huntsman, with loud halloo, harks on his hounds' full cry,\nand she with laboured breath at lightning speed bounds o'er the level\nwater-meadows, glad to be far from man amid the foliage of the bosky\ngrove. What is true wisdom, or what fairer boon has heaven placed\nin mortals' reach, than to gain the mastery o'er a fallen foe? What\nis fair is dear for aye. Though slow be its advance, yet surely moves\nthe power of the gods, correcting those mortal wights, that court\na senseless pride, or, in the madness of their fancy, disregard the\ngods. Subtly they lie in wait, through the long march of time, and\nso hunt down the godless man. For it is never right in theory or in\npractice to o'erride the law of custom. This is a maxim cheaply bought:\nwhatever comes of God, or in time's long annals, has grown into a\nlaw upon a natural basis, this is sovereign. What is true wisdom,\nor what fairer boon has heaven placed in mortals' reach, than to gain\nthe mastery o'er a fallen foe? What is fair is dear for ave. Happy\nis he who hath escaped the wave from out the sea, and reached the\nhaven; and happy he who hath triumphed o'er his troubles; though one\nsurpasses another in wealth and power; yet there be myriad hopes for\nall the myriad minds; some end in happiness for man, and others come\nto naught; but him, whose life from day to day is blest, I deem a\nhappy man. (Enter DIONYSUS.)\nDIONYSUS Ho! Pentheus, thou that art so cager to see what is forbidden,\nand to show thy zeal in an unworthy cause, come forth before the palace,\nlet me see thee clad as a woman in frenzied Bacchante's dress, to\nspy upon thy own mother and her company. (Enter PENTHEUS.) Yes,\nthou resemblest closely a daughter of Cadmus.\nPENTHEUS Of a truth I seem to see two suns, and two towns of Thebes,\nour seven-gated city; and thou, methinks, art a bull going before\nto guide me, and on thy head a pair of horns have grown. Wert thou\nreally once a brute beast? Thon hast at any rate the appearance of\na bull.\nDIONYSUS The god attends us, ungracious heretofore, but now our sworn\nfriend; and now thine eyes behold the things they should.\nPENTHEUS Pray, what do I resemble? Is not mine the carriage of Ino,\nor Agave my own mother?\nDIONYSUS In seeing thee, I seem to see them in person. But this tress\nis straying from its place, no longer as I bound it 'neath the snood.\nPENTHEUS I disarranged it from its place as I tossed it to and fro\nwithin my chamber, in Bacchic ecstasy.\nDIONYSUS Well, I will rearrange it, since to tend thee is my care;\nhold up thy head.\nPENTHEUS Come, put it straight; for on thee do I depend.\nDIONYSUS Thy girdle is loose, and the folds of thy dress do not hang\nevenly below thy ankles.\nPENTHEUS I agree to that as regards the right side, but on the other\nmy dress hangs straight with my foot.\nDIONYSUS Surely thou wilt rank me first among thy friends, when contrary\nto thy expectation thou findest the Bacchantes virtuous.\nPENTHEUS Shall I hold the thyrsus in the right or left hand to look\nmost like a Bacchanal?\nDIONYSUS Hold it in thy right hand, and step out with thy right foot;\nthy change of mind compels thy praise.\nPENTHEUS Shall I be able to carry on my shoulders Cithaeron's glens,\nthe Bacchanals and all?\nDIONYSUS Yes, if so thou wilt; for though thy mind was erst diseased,\n'tis now just as it should be.\nPENTHEUS Shall we take levers, or with my hands can I uproot it,\nthrusting arm or shoulder 'neath its peaks?\nDIONYSUS No, no! destroy not the seats of the Nymphs and the haunts\nof Pan, the place of his piping.\nPENTHEUS Well said! Women must not be mastered by brute force; amid\nthe pines will I conceal myself.\nDIONYSUS Thou shalt hide thee in the place that fate appoints, coming\nby stealth to spy upon the Bacchanals.\nPENTHEUS Why, methinks they are already caught in the pleasant snares\nof dalliance, like birds amid the brakes.\nDIONYSUS Set out with watchful heed then for this very purpose; maybe\nthou wilt catch them, if thou be not first caught thyself.\nPENTHEUS Conduct me through the very heart of Thebes, for I am the\nonly man among them bold enough to do this deed.\nDIONYSUS Thou alone bearest thy country's burden, thou and none other;\nwherefore there await thee such struggles as needs must. Follow me,\nfor I will guide thee safely thither; another shall bring thee thence.\nPENTHEUS My mother maybe.\nDIONYSUS For every eye to see.\nPENTHEUS My very purpose in going.\nDIONYSUS Thou shalt be carried back,\nPENTHEUS What luxury\nDIONYSUS In thy mother's arms.\nPENTHEUS Thou wilt e'en force me into luxury.\nDIONYSUS Yes, to luxury such as this.\nPENTHEUS Truly, the task I am undertaking deserves it. (Exit PENTHEUS.)\nDIONYSUS Strange, ah! strange is thy career, leading to scenes of\nwoe so strange, that thou shalt achieve a fame that towers to heaven.\nStretch forth thy hands, Agave, and ye her sisters, daughters of Cadmus;\nmighty is the strife to which I am bringing the youthful king, and\nthe victory shall rest with me and Bromius; all else the event will\nshow. (Exit DIONYSUS.)\nCHORUS To the hills! to the hills! fleet hounds of madness, where\nthe daughters of Cadmus hold their revels, goad them into wild fury\nagainst the man disguised in woman's dress, a frenzied spy upon the\nMaenads. First shall his mother mark him as he peers from some smooth\nrock or riven tree, and thus to the Maenads she will call, \"Who is\nthis of Cadmus' sons comes hasting to the mount, to the mountain away,\nto spy on us, my Bacchanals? Whose child can he be? For he was never\nborn of woman's blood; but from some lioness maybe or Libyan Gorgon\nis he sprung.\" Let justice appear and show herself, sword in hand,\nto plunge it through and through the throat of the godless, lawless,\nimpious son of Echion, earth's monstrous child! who with wicked heart\nand lawless rage, with mad intent and frantic purpose, sets out to\nmeddle with thy holy rites, and with thy mother's, Bacchic god, thinking\nwith his weak arm to master might as masterless as thine. This is\nthe life that saves all pain, if a man confine his thoughts to human\nthemes, as is his mortal nature, making no pretence where heaven is\nconcerned. I envy not deep subtleties; far other joys have I, in tracking\nout great truths writ clear from all eternity, that a man should live\nhis life by day and night in purity and holiness, striving toward\na noble goal, and should honour the gods by casting from him each\nordinance that lies outside the pale of right. Let justice show herself,\nadvancing sword in hand to plunge it through and through the throat\nof Echion's son, that godless, lawless, and abandoned child of earth!\nAppear, O Bacchus, to our eyes as a bull or serpent with a hundred\nheads, or take the shape of a lion breathing flame! Oh! come, and\nwith a mocking smile cast the deadly noose about the hunter of thy\nBacchanals, e'en as he swoops upon the Maenads gathered yonder. (Enter\nSECOND MESSENGER.)\nSECOND MESSENGER O house, so prosperous once through Hellas long\nago, home of the old Sidonian prince, who sowed the serpent's crop\nof earth-born men, how do I mourn thee! slave though I be, yet still\nthe sorrows of his master touch a good slave's heart.\nCHORUS How now? Hast thou fresh tidings of the Bacchantes?\nSECOND MESSENGER Pentheus, Echion's son is dead.\nCHORUS Bromius, my king! now art thou appearing in thy might divine.\nSECOND MESSENGER Ha! what is it thou sayest? art thou glad, woman,\nat my master's misfortunes?\nCHORUS A stranger I, and in foreign tongue I express my joy, for\nnow no more do I cower in terror of the chain.\nSECOND MESSENGER Dost think Thebes so poor in men?(*, * Probably\nthe whole of one iambic line with part of another is here lost.)\nCHORUS 'Tis Dionysus, Dionysus, not Thebes that lords it over me.\nSECOND MESSENGER All can I pardon thee save this; to exult o'er hopeless\nsuffering is sorry conduct, dames.\nCHORUS Tell me, oh! tell me how he died, that villain scheming villainy!\nSECOND MESSENGER Soon as we had left the homesteads of this Theban\nland and had crossed the streams of Asopus, we began to breast Cithaeron's\nheights, Pentheus and I, for I went with my master, and the stranger\ntoo, who was to guide us to the scene. First then we sat us down in\na grassy glen, carefully silencing each footfall and whispered breath,\nto see without being seen. Now there was a dell walled in by rocks,\nwith rills to water it, and shady pines o'erhead; there were the Maenads\nseated, busied with joyous toils. Some were wreathing afresh the drooping\nthyrsus with curling ivy-sprays; others, like colts let loose from\nthe carved chariot-yoke, were answering each other in hymns of Bacchic\nrapture. But Pentheus, son of sorrow, seeing not the women gathered\nthere, exclaimed, \"Sir stranger, from where I stand, I cannot clearly\nsee the mock Bacchantes; but I will climb a hillock or a soaring pine\nwhence to see clearly the shameful doings of the Bacchanals.\" Then\nand there I saw the stranger work a miracle; for catching a lofty\nfir-branch by the very end he drew it downward to the dusky earth,\nlower yet and ever lower; and like a bow it bent, or rounded wheel,\nwhose curving circle grows complete, as chalk and line describe it;\ne'en so the stranger drew down the mountain-branch between his hands,\nbending it to earth, by more than human agency. And when he had seated\nPentheus aloft on the pine branches, he let them slip through his\nhands gently, careful not to shake him from his seat. Up soared the\nbranch straight into the air above, with my master perched thereon,\nseen by the Maenads better far than he saw them; for scarce was he\nbeheld upon his lofty throne, when the stranger disappeared, while\nfrom the sky there came a voice, 'twould seem, by Dionysus uttered-\n\"Maidens, I bring the man who tried to mock you and me and my mystic\nrites; take vengeance on him.\" And as he spake he raised 'twixt heaven\nand earth a dazzling column of awful flame. Hushed grew the sky, and\nstill hung each leaf throughout the grassy glen, nor couldst thou\nhave heard one creature cry. But they, not sure of the voice they\nheard, sprang up and peered all round; then once again his bidding\ncame; and when the daughters of Cadmus knew it was the Bacchic god\nin very truth that called, swift as doves they dirted off in cager\nhaste, his mother Agave and her sisters dear and all the Bacchanals;\nthrough torrent glen, o'er boulders huge they bounded on, inspired\nwith madness by the god. Soon as they saw my master perched upon the\nfir, they set to hurling stones at him with all their might, mounting\na commanding eminence, and with pine-branches he was pelted as with\ndarts; and others shot their wands through the air at Pentheus, their\nhapless target, but all to no purpose. For there he sat beyond the\nreach of their hot endeavours, a helpless, hopeless victim. At last\nthey rent off limbs from oaks and were for prising up the roots with\nlevers not of iron. But when they still could make no end to all their\ntoil, Agave cried: \"Come stand around, and grip the sapling trunk,\nmy Bacchanals! that we may catch the beast that sits thereon, lest\nhe divulge the secrets of our god's religion.\"\nThen were a thousand hands laid on the fir, and from the ground they\ntore it up, while he from his seat aloft came tumbling to the ground\nwith lamentations long and loud, e'en Pentheus; for well he knew his\nhour was come. His mother first, a priestess for the nonce, began\nthe bloody deed and fell upon him; whereon he tore the snood from\noff his hair, that hapless Agave might recognize and spare him, crying\nas he touched her cheek, \"O mother! it is I, thy own son Pentheus,\nthe child thou didst bear in Echion's halls; have pity on me, mother\ndear! oh! do not for any sin of mine slay thy own son.\"\nBut she, the while, with foaming mouth and wildly rolling eyes, bereft\nof reason as she was, heeded him not; for the god possessed her. And\nshe caught his left hand in her grip, and planting her foot upon her\nvictim's trunk she tore the shoulder from its socket, not of her own\nstrength, but the god made it an easy task to her hands; and Ino set\nto work upon the other side, rending the flesh with Autonoe and all\nthe eager host of Bacchanals; and one united cry arose, the victim's\ngroans while yet he breathed, and their triumphant shouts. One would\nmake an arm her prey, another a foot with the sandal on it; and his\nribs were stripped of flesh by their rending nails; and each one with\nblood-dabbled hands was tossing Pentheus' limbs about. Scattered lies\nhis corpse, part beneath the rugged rocks, and part amid the deep\ndark woods, no easy task to find; but his poor head hath his mother\nmade her own, and fixing it upon the point of a thyrsus, as it had\nbeen a mountain lion's, she bears it through the midst of Cithaeron,\nhaving left her sisters with the Maenads at their rites. And she is\nentering these walls exulting in her hunting fraught with woe, calling\non the Bacchic god her fellow-hunter who had helped her to triumph\nin a chase, where her only prize was tears.\nBut I will get me hence, away from this piteous scene, before Agave\nreach the palace. To my mind self-restraint and reverence for the\nthings of God point alike the best and wisest course for all mortals\nwho pursue them. (Exit SECOND MESSENGER.)\nCHORUS Come, let us exalt our Bacchic god in choral strain, let us\nloudly chant the fall of Pentheus from the serpent sprung, who assumed\na woman's dress and took the fair Bacchic wand, sure pledge of death,\nwith a bull to guide him to his doom. O ye Bacchanals of Thebes! glorious\nis the triumph ye have achieved, ending in sorrow and tears. 'Tis\na noble enterprise to dabble the hand in the blood of a son till it\ndrips. But hist! I see Agave, the mother of Pentheus, with wild rolling\neye hasting to the house; welcome the revellers of the Bacchic god.\n(Enter AGAVE.)\nAGAVE Ye Bacchanals from Asia\nCHORUS Why dost thou rouse me? why?\nAGAVE From the hills I am bringing to my home a tendril freshly-culled,\nglad guerdon-of the chase.\nCHORUS I see it, and I will welcome thee unto our revels. All hail!\nAGAVE I caught him with never a snare, this lion's whelp, as ye may\nsee.\nCHORUS From what desert lair?\nAGAVE Cithaeron-\nCHORUS Yes, Cithaeron?\nAGAVE Was his death.\nCHORUS Who was it gave the first blow?\nAGAVE Mine that privilege; \"Happy Agave!\" they call me 'mid our revellers.\nCHORUS Who did the rest?\nAGAVE Cadmus-\nCHORUS What of him?\nAGAVE His daughters struck the monster after me; yes, after me.\nCHORUS Fortune smiled upon thy hunting here.\nAGAVE Come, share the banquet.\nCHORUS Share? ah I what?\nAGAVE 'Tis but a tender whelp, the down just sprouting on its cheek\nbeneath a crest of failing hair.\nCHORUS The hair is like some wild creature's.\nAGAVE The Bacchic god, a hunter skilled, roused his Maenads to pursue\nthis quarry skilfully.\nCHORUS Yea, our king is a hunter indeed.\nAGAVE Dost approve?\nCHORUS Of course I do.\nAGAVE Soon shall the race of Cadmus-\nCHORUS And Pentheus, her own son, shall to his mother-\nAGAVE Offer praise for this her quarry of the lion's brood.\nCHORUS Quarry strange!\nAGAVE And strangely caught.\nCHORUS Dost thou exult?\nAGAVE Right glad am I to have achieved a great and glorious triumph\nfor my land that all can see.\nCHORUS Alas for thee! show to the folk the booty thou hast won and\nart bringing hither.\nAGAVE All ye who dwell in fair fenced Thebes, draw near that ye may\nsee the fierce wild beast that we daughters of Cadmus made our prey,\nnot with the thong-thrown darts of Thessaly, nor yet with snares,\nbut with our fingers fair. Ought men idly to boast and get them armourers'\nweapons? when we with these our hands have caught this prey and torn\nthe monster limb from limb? Where is my aged sire? let him approach.\nAnd where is Pentheus, my son? Let him bring a ladder and raise it\nagainst the house to nail up on the gables this lion's head, my booty\nfrom the chase. (Enter CADMUS.)\nCADMUS Follow me, servants to the palace-front, with your sad burden\nin your arms, ay, follow, with the corpse of Pentheus, which after\nlong weary search I found, as ye see it, torn to pieces amid Cithaeron's\nglens, and am bringing hither; no two pieces did I find together,\nas they lay scattered through the trackless wood. For I heard what\nawful deeds one of my daughters had done, just as I entered the city-walls\nwith old Teiresias returning from the Bacchanals; so I turned again\nunto the and bring from thence my son who was slain by Maenads. There\nI saw Autonoe, that bare Actaeon on a day to Aristaeus, and Ino with\nher, still ranging the oak-groves in their unhappy frenzy; but one\ntold me that that Agave, was rushing wildly hither, nor was it idly\nsaid, for there I see her, sight of woe!\nAGAVE Father, loudly mayst thou boast, that the daughters thou hast\nbegotten are far the best of mortal race; of one and all I speak,\nthough chiefly of myself, who left my shuttle at the loom for nobler\nenterprise, even to hunt savage beasts with my hands; and in my arms\nI bring my prize, as thou seest, that it may be nailed up on thy palace-wall;\ntake it, father, in thy had and proud of my hunting, call thy friends\nto a banquet; for blest art thou, ah! doubly blest in these our gallant\nexploits.\nCADMUS O grief that has no bounds, too cruel for mortal eye! 'tis\nmurder ye have done with your hapless hands. Fair is the victim thou\nhast offered to the gods, inviting me and my Thebans to the feast\nAh, woe is me first for thy sorrows, then for mine. What ruin the\ngod, the Bromian king, hath brought on us, just maybe, but too severe,\nseeing he is our kinsman!\nAGAVE How peevish old age makes men! what sullen looks! Oh, may my\nson follow in his mother's footsteps and be as lucky in his hunting,\nwhen he goes quest of game in company with Theban youthsl But he can\ndo naught but wage war with gods. Father, 'tis thy duty to warn him.\nWho will summon him hither to my sight to witness my happiness?\nCADMUS Alas for you! alas! Terrible will be your grief when ye are\nconscious of your deeds; could ye re. for ever till life's close in\nyour present state, ye would not, spite of ruined bliss, appear so\ncursed with woe.\nAGAVE Why? what is faulty bere? what here for sorrow?\nCADMUS First let thine eye look up to heaven.\nAGAVE See! I do so. Why dost thou suggest my looking thereupon?\nCADMUS Is it still the same, or dost think there's any change?\nAGAVE 'Tis brighter than it was, and dearer too.\nCADMUS Is there still that wild unrest within thy soul?\nAGAVE I know not what thou sayest now; yet methinks my brain is clearing,\nand my former frenzy passed away.\nCADMUS Canst understand, and give distinct replies?\nAGAVE Father, how completely I forget all we said before!\nCADMUS To what house wert thou brought with marriage-hymns?\nAGAVE Thou didst give me to earthborn Echion, as men call him.\nCADMUS What child was born thy husband in his halls?\nAGAVE Pentheus, of my union with his father.\nCADMUS What head is that thou barest in thy arms?\nAGAVE A lion's; at least they said so, who hunted it.\nCADMUS Consider it aright; 'tis no great task to look at it.\nAGAVE Ah! what do I see? what is this I am carrying in my hands?\nCADMUS Look closely at it; make thy knowledge more certain.\nAGAVE Ah, 'woe is me! O sight of awful sorrow!\nCADMUS Dost think it like a lion's head?\nAGAVE Ah no! 'tis Pentheus' head which I his unhappy mother hold.\nCADMUS Bemoaned by me, or ever thou didst recognize him.\nAGAVE Who slew him? How came he into my hands?\nCADMUS O piteous truth! how ill-timed thy presence here!\nAGAVE Speak; my bosom throbs at this suspense.\nCADMUS 'Twas thou didst slay him, thou and thy sisters.\nAGAVE Where died he? in the house or where?\nCADMUS On the very spot where hounds of yore rent Actaeon in pieces.\nAGAVE Why went he, wretched youth! to Cithaeron?\nCADMUS He would go and mock the god and thy Bacchic rites.\nAGAVE But how was it we had journeyed thither?\nCADMUS Ye were distraught; the whole city had the Bacchic frenzy.\nAGAVE 'Twas Dionysus proved our ruin; now I see it all.\nCADMUS Yes, for the slight he suffered; ye would not believe in his\ngodhead.\nAGAVE Father, where is my dear child's corpse?\nCADMUS With toil I searched it out and am bringing it myself.\nAGAVE Is it all fitted limb to limb in seemly wise?\nCADMUS (*, * One line, or maybe more, is missing)\nAGAVE But what had Pentheus to do with folly of mine?\nCADMUS He was like you in refusing homage to the god, who, therefore,\nhath involved you all in one common ruin, you and him alike, to destroy\nthis house and me, forasmuch as I, that had no sons, behold this youth,\nthe fruit of thy womb, unhappy mother! foully and most shamefully\nslain. To thee, my child, our house looked up, to thee my daughter's\nson, the stay of my palace, inspiring the city with awe; none caring\nto flout the old king when he saw thee by, for he would get his deserts.\nBut now shall I be cast out dishonoured from my halls, Cadmus the\ngreat, who sowed the crop of Theban seed and reaped that goodly harvest.\nO beloved child! dead though thou art, thou still shalt be counted\nby me amongst my own dear children; no more wilt thou lay thy hand\nupon my chin in fond embrace, my child, and calling on thy mother's\nsire demand, \"Who wrongs thee or dishonours thee, old sire? who vexes\nthy heart, a thorn within thy side? Speak, that I may punish thy oppressor,\nfather mine!\"\nBut now am I in sorrow plunged, and woe is thee, and woe thy mother\nand her suffering sisters too! Ah! if there be any man that scorns\nthe gods, let him well mark this prince's death and then believe in\nthem.\nCHORUS Cadmus, I am sorry for thy fate; for though thy daughter's\nchild hath met but his deserts, 'tis bitter grief to thee.\nAGAVE O father, thou seest how sadly my fortune is changed.(*, *\nAfter this a very large lacuna occurs in the MS.)\nDIONYSUS Thou shalt be changed into a serpent; and thy wife Harmonia,\nAres' child, whom thou in thy human life didst wed, shall change her\nnature for a snake's, and take its form. With her shalt thou, as leader\nof barbarian tribes, drive thy team of steers, so saith an oracle\nof Zeus; and many a city shalt thou sack with an army numberless;\nbut in the day they plunder the oracle of Loxias, shall they rue their\nhomeward march; but thee and Harmonia will Ares rescue, and set thee\nto live henceforth in the land of the blessed. This do I declare,\nI Dionysus, son of no mortal father but of Zeus. Had ye learnt wisdom\nwhen ye would not, ye would now be happy with the son of Zeus for\nyour ally.\nAGAVE O Dionysus! we have sinned; thy pardon we implore.\nDIONYSUS Too late have ye learnt to know me; ye knew me not at the\nproper time.\nAGAVE We recognize our error; but thou art too revengeful.\nDIONYSUS Yea, for I, though a god, was slighted by you.\nAGAVE Gods should not let their passion sink to man's level.\nDIONYSUS Long ago my father Zeus ordained it thus.\nAGAVE Alas! my aged sire, our doom is fixed; 'tis woful exile.\nDIONYSUS Why then delay the inevitable? Exit.\nCADMUS Daughter, to what an awful pass are we now come, thou too,\npoor child, and thy sisters, while I alas! in my old age must seek\nbarbarian shores, to sojourn there; but the oracle declares that I\nshall yet lead an army, half-barbarian, half-Hellene, to Hellas; and\nin serpent's shape shall I carry my wife Harmonia, the daughter of\nAres, transformed like me to a savage snake, against the altars and\ntombs of Hellas at the head of my troops; nor shall I ever cease from\nmy woes, ah me! nor ever cross the downward stream of Acheron and\nbe at rest.\nAGAVE Father, I shall be parted from thee and exiled.\nCADMUS Alas! my child, why fling thy arms around me, as a snowy cygnet\nfolds its wings about the frail old swan?\nAGAVE Whither can I turn, an exile from my country?\nCADMUS I know not, my daughter; small help is thy father now.\nAGAVE Farewell, my home! farewell, my native city! with sorrow I\nam leaving thee, an exile from my bridal bower.\nCADMUS Go, daughter, to the house of Aristaeus,(*, * Another large\nlacuna follows.)\nAGAVE Father, I mourn for thee.\nCADMUS And I for thee, my child; for thy sisters too I shed a tear.\nAGAVE Ah! terribly was king Dionysus bringing this outrage on thy\nhouse.\nCADMUS Yea, for he suffered insults dire from you, his name receiving\nno meed of honour in Thebes.\nAGAVE Farewell, father mine!\nCADMUS Farewell, my hapless daughter and yet thou scarce canst reach\nthat bourn.\nAGAVE Oh! lead me, guide me to the place where I shall find my sisters,\nsharers in my exile to their sorrow! Oh! to reach a spot where cursed\nCithaeron ne'er shall see me more nor I Cithaeron with mine eyes;\nwhere no memorial of the thyrsus is set up! Be they to other Bacchantes\ndear!\nCHORUS Many are the forms the heavenly will assumes, and many a thing\nthe gods fulfil contrary to all hope; that which was expected is not\nbrought to pass, while for the unlooked-for Heaven finds out a way.\nE'en such hath been the issue here. (Exeunt OMNES.)\nTHE END","title":"The Bacchantes, By Euripides","type":"page"}