Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Dramatis Personæ
Euripides (480 or 485–406 B.C.). The Bacchæ.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Lines 1200–1691
CHORUS
Some MaidensO hounds raging and blind,Up by the mountain road,Sprites of the maddened mind,To the wild Maids of God;Fill with your rage their eyes,Rage at the rage unblest,Watching in woman’s guise,The spy upon God’s Possessed.A Bacchanal
Who shall be first, to markEyes in the rock that spy,Eyes in the pine-tree dark—Is it his mother?—and cry:“Lo, what is this that comes,Haunting, troubling still,Even in our heights, our homes,The wild Maids of the Hill?What flesh hare this child?Never on woman’s breastChangeling so evil smiled;Man is he not, but Beast!Loin-shape of the wild,Gorgon-breed of the waste!”All the Chorus
Hither, for doom and deed!Hither with lifted sword,Justice, Wrath of the Lord,Come in our visible need!Smite till the throat shall bleed,Smite till the heart shall bleed,Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echîon’s earth-born seed!Other Maidens
Tyrannously hath he trod;Marched him, in Law’s despite,Against thy Light, O God,Yea, and thy Mother’s Light;Girded him, falsely bold,Blinded in craft, to quellAnd by man’s violence holdThings unconquerableA Bacchanal
A strait pitiless mindIs death unto godliness;And to feel in human kindLife, and a pain the less.Knowledge, we are not foes!I seek thee diligently;But the world with a great wind blows,Shining, and not from thee;Blowing to beautiful things,On, amid dark and light,Till Life, through the trammellingsOf Laws that are not the Right,Breaks, clean and pure, and singsGlorying to God in the height!All the Chorus
Hither for doom and deed!Hither with lifted sword,Justice, Wrath of the Lord,Come in our visible need!Smite till the throat shall bleed,Smite till the heart shall bleed,Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echîon’s earth born seed!LEADER
Appear, appear, whatso thy shape or nameO Mountain Bull, Snake of the Hundred Heads,Lion of Burning Flame!O God, Beast, Mystery, come! Thy mystic maidsAre hunted!—Blast their hunter with thy breath,Cast o’er his head thy snare;And laugh aloud and drag him to his death,Who stalks thy herded madness in its lair!Enter hastily a MESSENGER from the Mountain, pale and distraught.
MESSENGER
Woe to the house once blest in Hellas! WoeTo thee, old King Sidonian, who didst sowThe dragon-seed on Ares’ bloody lea!Alas, even thy slaves must weep for thee!LEADER
News from the mountain?—Speak! How hath it sped?MESSENGER
Pentheus, my king, Echîon’s son, is dead!LEADER
All hail, God of the Voice,Manifest ever more!MESSENGER
What say’st thou?—And how strange thy tone, as thoughIn joy at this my master’s overthrow!LEADER
With fierce Joy I rejoice,Child of a savage shore;For the chains of my prison are broken, and the dread where I cowered of yore!MESSENGER
And deem’st thou Thebes so beggared, so forlornOf manhood, as to sit beneath thy scorn?LEADER
Thebes bath o’er me no sway!None save Him I obey,Dionysus, Child of the Highest, Him I obey and adore!MESSENGER
One can forgive thee!—Yet ’tis no fair thing,Maids, to rejoice in a man’s suffering.LEADER
Speak of the mountain side!Tell us the doom he died,The sinner smitten to death, even where his sin was sore!MESSENGER
We climbed beyond the utmost habitingsOf Theban shepherds, passed Asopus’ springs,And struck into the land of rock on dimKithaeron—Pentheus, and, attending him,I, and the Stranger who should guide our way,Then first in a green dell we stopped, and lay,Lips dumb and feet unmoving, warilyWatching, to be unseen and yet to see.A narrow glen it was, by crags o’ertowered,Torn through by tossing waters, and there loweredA shadow of great pines over it. And thereThe Maenad maidens sate; in toil they were,Busily glad. Some with an ivy chainTricked a worn wand to toss its locks again;Some, wild in joyance, like young steeds set free,Made answering songs of mystic melody.But my poor master saw not the great bandBefore him. “Stranger,” he cried, “where we standMine eyes can reach not these false saints of thine.Mount we the bank, or some high-shouldered pine,And I shall see their follies clear!” At thatThere came a marvel. For the Stranger straightTouched a great pine-tree’s high and heavenward crown,And lower, lower, lower, urged it downTo the herbless floor. Round like a bending bow,Or slow wheel’s rim a joiner forces to,So in those hands that tough and mountain stemBowed slow—oh, strength not mortal dwelt in them!—To the very earth. And there he set the King,And slowly, lest it cast him in its spring,Let back the young and straining tree, till highIt towered again amid the towering sky;And Pentheus in the branches! Well, I ween,He saw the Maenads then, and well was seen!For scarce was he aloft, when suddenlyThere was no stranger any more with me,But out of Heaven a Voice—oh, what voice else?—’Twas He that called! “Behold, O damosels,I bring ye him who turneth to despiteBoth me and ye, and darkeneth my great Light.’Tis yours to avenge!” So spake he, and there came’Twixt earth and sky a pillar of high flame.And silence took the air, and no leaf stirredIn all the forest dell. Thou hadst not heardIn that vast silence any wild things’s cry.And up they sprang; but with bewildered eye,Agaze and listening, scarce yet hearing true.Then came the Voice again. And when they knewTheir God’s clear call, old Cadmus’ royal brood,Up, like wild pigeons startled in a wood,On flying feet they came, his mother blind,Agâvê, and her sisters, and behindAll the wild crowd, more deeply maddened then,Through the angry rocks and torrent-tossing glen,Until they spied him in the dark pine-tree:Then climbed a crag hard by and furiouslySome sought to stone him, some their wands would flingLance-wise aloft, in cruel targeting.But none could strike. The height o’ertopped their rage,And there he clung, unscathed, as in a cageCaught. And of all their strife no end was found.Then, “Hither,” cried Agâvê; “stand we roundAnd grip the stem, my Wild Ones, till we takeThis climbing cat-o’-the-mount! He shall not makeA tale of God’s high dances!” Out then shoneArm upon arm, past count, and closed uponThe pine, and gripped; and the ground gave, and downIt reeled. And that high sitter from the crownOf the green pine-top, with a shrieking cryFell, as his mind grew clear, and there hard byWas horror visible. ’Twas his mother stoodO’er him, first priestess of those rites of blood.He tore the coif, and from his head awayFlung it, that she might know him, and not slayTo her own misery. He touched the wildCheek, crying: “Mother, it is I, thy child,Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echîon’s hall!Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befallThrough sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!”But she, with lips a-foam and eyes that runLike leaping fire, with thoughts that ne’er should beOn earth, possessed by Bacchios utterly,Stays not nor hears. Round his left arm she putBoth hands, set hard against his side her foot,Drew … and the shoulder severed!—not by mightOf arm, but easily, as the God made lightHer hand’s essay. And at the other sideWas Ino rending; and the torn flesh cried,And on Autonoë pressed, and all the crowdOf ravening arms. Yea, all the air was loudWith groans that faded into sobbing breath,Dim shrieks, and joy, and triumph-cries of death.And here was borne a severed arm, and thereA hunter’s hooted foot; white bones lay bareWith rending; and swift hands ensanguinèdTossed as in sport the flesh of Pentheus dead. His body lies afar. The precipiceHath part, and parts in many an intersticeLurk of the tangled woodland—no light questTo find. And, ah, the head! Of all the rest,His mother hath it, pierced upon a wand,As one might pierce a lion’s, and through the land,Leaving her sisters in their dancing place,Bears it on high! Yea, to these walls her faceWas set, exulting in her deed of blood,Calling upon her Bromios, her God,Her Comrade, Fellow-Render of the Prey,Her All-Victorious, to whom this dayShe bears in triumph … her own broken heart!For me, after that sight, I will departBefore Agâvê comes.—Oh, to fulfilGod’s laws, and have no thought beyond His will,Is man’s hest treasure. Aye, and wisdom true,Methinks, for things of dust to cleave unto