Bacchae

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 541 sections

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Would that I could go to Cyprus, the island of Aphrodite, where the Loves, who soothe
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mortals’ hearts, dwell, and to Paphos, fertilized without rain by the streams of a foreign river flowing with a hundred mouths. Lead me there, Bromius, Bromius, god of joy who leads the Bacchae,
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to Pieria, beautiful seat of the Muses, the holy slope of Olympus. There are the Graces, there is Desire; there it is
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lawful for the Bacchae to celebrate their rites.
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The god, the son of Zeus, delights in banquets, and loves Peace, giver of riches,
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goddess who nourishes youths. To the blessed and to the less fortunate, he gives an equal pleasure from wine that banishes grief. He hates the one who does not care about this:
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to lead a happy life by day and friendly night and to keep his wise mind and intellect away from over-curious men.
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What the common people think and adopt, that would I accept.
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Pentheus, we are here, having caught this prey
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for which you sent us, nor have we set out in vain. This beast was docile in our hands and did not withdraw in flight, but yielded not unwillingly. He did not turn pale or change the wine-dark complexion of his cheek, but laughed and allowed us to bind him and lead him away.
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He remained still, making my work easy, and I in shame said: Stranger, I do not lead you away willingly, but by order of Pentheus, who sent me. And the Bacchae whom you shut up, whom you carried off and bound in the chains of the public prison,
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are set loose and gone, and are gamboling in the meadows, invoking Bromius as their god. Of their own accord, the chains were loosed from their feet and keys opened the doors without human hand. This man has come to Thebes
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full of many wonders. You must take care of the rest.
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Release his hands, for caught in the nets he is not so swift as to escape me. But your body is not ill-formed, stranger, for women’s purposes, for which reason you have come to Thebes.
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For your hair is long, not through wrestling, scattered over your cheeks, full of desire; and you have a white skin from careful preparation, hunting after Aphrodite by your beauty not exposed to strokes of the sun, but beneath the shade.
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First then tell me who your family is.
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I can tell you this easily, without boasting. I suppose you are familiar with flowery Tmolus.
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I know of it; it surrounds the city of Sardis.
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I am from there, and Lydia is my fatherland.
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Why do you bring these rites to Hellas?
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Dionysus, the child of Zeus, sent me.
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Is there a Zeus who breeds new gods there?
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No, but the one who married Semele here.
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Did he compel you at night, or in your sight?
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Seeing me just as I saw him, he gave me sacred rites.
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What appearance do your rites have?
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They can not be told to mortals uninitiated in Bacchic revelry.
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And do they have any profit to those who sacrifice?
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It is not lawful for you to hear, but they are worth knowing.
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You have counterfeited this well, so that I desire to hear.
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The rites are hostile to whoever practices impiety.
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Are you saying that you saw clearly what the god was like?
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He was as he chose; I did not order this.
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Again you diverted my question well, speaking mere nonsense.
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One will seem to be foolish if he speaks wisely to an ignorant man.
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Did you come here first, bringing the god?
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All the barbarians celebrate these rites.
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Yes, for they are far more foolish than Hellenes.
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In this at any rate they are wiser; but their laws are different.
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Do you perform the rites by night or by day?
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Mostly by night; darkness conveys awe.
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This is treacherous towards women, and unsound.
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Even during the day someone may devise what is shameful.
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You must pay the penalty for your evil contrivances.
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And you for your ignorance and impiety toward the god.
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How bold the Bacchant is, and not unpracticed in speaking!
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Tell me what I must suffer; what harm will you do to me?
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First I will cut off your delicate hair.
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My hair is sacred. I am growing it for the god.
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Next give me this thyrsos from your hands.
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Take it from me yourself. I bear it as the ensign of Dionysus.
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We will guard your body within, in prison.
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The god himself will release me, whenever I want.
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Yes, when you call him, standing among the Bacchae.
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Even now he see my sufferings from close by.
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Where is he? He is not visible to my eyes.
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Near me; but you, being impious, do not see him.
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To attendants Seize him; he insults me and Thebes!
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I warn you not to bind me, since I am in my senses and you are not.
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And I, more masterful than you, bid them to bind you.
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You do not know why you live, or what you are doing, or who you are.
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I am Pentheus, son of Echion and Agave.
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You are well-suited to be miserable in your name.
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Go. To attendants Shut him up near the horse
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stable, so that he may see only darkness. To Dionysus Dance there; and as for these women whom you have led here as accomplices to your crimes, we will either sell them or, stopping their hands from this noise and beating of skins, I will keep them as slaves at the loom.
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I will go, for I need not suffer that which is not necessary. But Dionysus, who you claim does not exist, will pursue you for these insults. For in injuring us, you put him in bonds.
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Daughter of Acheloüs,
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venerable Dirce, happy virgin, you once received the child of Zeus in your streams, when Zeus his father snatched him up from the immortal fire and saved him in his thigh,
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crying out: Go, Dithyrambus, enter this my male womb. I will make you illustrious, Bacchus, in Thebes, so that they will call you by this name.
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But you, blessed Dirce, reject me with my garland-bearing company about you. Why do you refuse me, why do you flee me? I swear by the cluster-bearing
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delight of Dionysus’ vine that you will have a care for Bromius.
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What rage, what rage does the earth-born race show, and Pentheus,
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once descended from a serpent—Pentheus, whom earth-born Echion bore, a fierce monster, not a mortal man, but like a bloody giant, hostile to the gods.
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He will soon bind me, the hand-maid of Bromius, in chains, and he already holds my fellow-reveler within the house, hidden in a dark prison.
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Do you see this, O Dionysus, son of Zeus, your priests in the dangers of restraint? Come, lord, down from Olympus, brandishing your golden thyrsos,
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and restrain the insolence of the blood-thirsty man.
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Where on Nysa, which nourishes wild beasts, or on Corycian heights, do you lead with your thyrsos the bands of revelers?
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Perhaps in the deep-wooded lairs of Olympus, where Orpheus once playing the lyre drew together trees by his songs, drew together the beasts of the fields.
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Blessed Pieria, the Joyful one reveres you and will come to lead the dance in revelry; having crossed the swiftly flowing Axius he will bring the
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whirling Maenads, leaving Lydias, giver of wealth to mortals, the father who they say fertilizes the land of beautiful horses with
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fairest streams.
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within Io! Hear my voice, hear it, Io Bacchae, Io Bacchae!
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Who is here, who? From what quarter did the voice of the Joyful one summon me?
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Io! Io! I say again; it is I, the child of Zeus and Semele.
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Io! Io! Master, master! Come now to our company, Bromius.
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Shake the world’s plain, lady Earthquake!
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Oh! Oh! Soon the palace of Pentheus will be shaken in ruin. —Dionysus is in the halls.
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Revere him. —We revere him! —Did you see these stone lintels on the pillars falling apart? Bromius cries out in victory indoors.
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Light the fiery lamp of lightning!
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Burn, burn Pentheus’ home!
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Oh! Oh! Do you not see the the fire, do you not perceive, about the sacred tomb of Semele, the flame that Zeus’ thunderbolt left?
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Cast on the ground your trembling bodies, Maenads, cast them down, for our lord, Zeus’ son, is coming against this palace, turning everything upside down.
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Barbarian women, have you fallen on the ground
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so stricken with fear? You have, so it seems, felt Bacchus shaking the house of Pentheus. But get up and take courage, putting a stop to your trembling.
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Oh greatest light for us in our joyful revelry, how happy I am to see you—I who was alone and desolate before.
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Did you despair when I was sent to fall into Pentheus’ dark dungeon?
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How not? Who was my guardian, if you met with misfortune? But how were you freed, having met with an impious man?
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By myself I saved myself easily, without trouble.
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Did he not tie your hands in binding knots?
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In this too I mocked him, for, thinking to bind me, he neither touched nor handled me, but fed on hope. He found a bull by the stable where he took and shut me up, and threw shackles around its knees and hooves,

Perseus Greek. CTS URN tlg0006.tlg017.perseus-eng2. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: Available under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Source.