Bacchae

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 541 sections

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which his mother happened to take in her hands, she fixed on the end of a thyrsos and carries through the midst of Kithairon like that of a savage lion, leaving her sisters among the Maenads’ dances. She is coming inside these walls, preening herself
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on the ill-fated prey, calling Bacchus her fellow hunter, her accomplice in the chase, the glorious victor—in whose service she wins a triumph of tears. And as for me, I will depart out of the way of this calamity before Agave reaches the house.
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Soundness of mind and reverence for the affairs of the gods is best; and this, I think, is the wisest possession for those mortals who adopt it.
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Let us honor Bacchus with the dance, let us raise a shout for what has befallen
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Pentheus, descendant of the serpent, who assumed female attire and the wand, the beautiful thyrsos—certain death—and a bull was the leader of his calamity.
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Kadmean Bacchae, you have accomplished a glorious victory, but one that brings woe and tears. It is a noble contest to cover one’s dripping hands with the blood of one’s own son.
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But, for I see Pentheus’ mother Agave coming home, her eyes contorted, receive the revel of the god of joy!
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Asian Bacchae—
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Why do you excite me, oh?
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I am bringing home from the mountain a
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freshly cut tendril to the house, blessed prey.
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I see it and will accept you as a fellow reveler.
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I caught this young wild lion cub without snares,
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as you can see.
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From what desert?
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Kithairon—
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Kithairon?
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Slew him.
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Who struck him?
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The honor is mine first.
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I am called blessed Agave in the revels.
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Who else?
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Kadmos’—
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Kadmos’ what?
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His other offspring took hold of this beast after me, after me. This is a lucky catch!
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Share in the feast then.
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What? I share in the feast, wretched woman?
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The bull is young; his cheek is just growing downy under his soft-haired crest.
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Yes, his hair looks like a wild beast’s.
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Bacchus, a wise huntsman,
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wisely set the Maenads against this beast.
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Our lord is a hunter.
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Do you praise me?
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I praise you.
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Soon the Kadmeans—
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And your son Pentheus, too—
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Will praise his mother who has caught this lion-like prey.
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Extraordinary.
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And extraordinarily caught.
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Are you proud?
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I am delighted, for I have performed great—yes, great—and notable deeds on this hunt.
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Now show the citizens, wretched woman, the booty which you have brought in victory.
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You who dwell in this fair-towered city of the Theban land, come to see this prey which we the daughters of Kadmos hunted down,
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not with thonged Thessalian javelins, or with nets, but with the fingers of our white arms. And then should huntsmen boast and use in vain the work of spear-makers? But we caught and
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tore apart the limbs of this beast with our very own hands. Where is my old father? Let him approach. And where is my son Pentheus? Let him take a ladder and raise its steps against the house so that he can fasten to the triglyphs this
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lion’s head which I have captured and brought here.
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Follow me, carrying the miserable burden of Pentheus, follow me, slaves, before the house; exhausted from countless searches, I am bringing his body, for I discovered it in the folds of Kithairon,
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torn apart; I picked up nothing in the same place, and it was lying in the woods where discovery was difficult. For some one told me of my daughters’ bold deeds, when I had already come within the walls of the city on my return from the Bacchae with old Teiresias.
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I turned back to the mountain and now bring here my child who was killed by the Maenads. For I saw Autonoe, who once bore Actaeon to Aristaeus, and Ino with her, still mad in the thicket, wretched creatures.
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But some one told me that Agave was coming here with Bacchic foot, and this was correct, for I see her—no happy sight!
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Father, you may make a great boast, that you have born daughters the best by far of all
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mortals. I mean all of us, but myself especially, who have left my shuttle at the loom and gone on to greater things, to catch wild animals with my two hands. And having taken him, I carry these spoils of honor in my arms, as you see,
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so that they may hang from your house. You father, receive them in your hands. Preening yourself in my catch, call your friends to a feast. For you are blessed, blessed, now that we have performed these deeds.
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O grief beyond measuring, one which I cannot stand to see,
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that you have performed murder with miserable hands. Having cast down a fine sacrificial victim to the gods, you invite Thebes and me to a banquet. Alas, first for your troubles, then for my own. How justly, yet too severely,
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lord Bromius the god has destroyed us, though he is a member of our own family.
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How morose and sullen in its countenance is man’s old age! I hope that my son is a good hunter, taking after his mother’s ways, when he goes after wild beasts
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together with the young men of Thebes. But all he can do is fight with the gods. You must admonish him, father. Who will call him here to my sight, so that he may see how lucky I am?
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Alas, alas! When you realize what you have done
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you will suffer a terrible pain. But if you remain forever in the state you are in now, though hardly fortunate, you will not imagine that you are unfortunate.
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But what of these matters is not right, or what is painful?
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First cast your eye up to this sky.
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All right; why do you tell me to look at it?
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Is it still the same, or does it appear to have changed?
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It is brighter than before and more translucent.
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Is your soul still quivering?
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I don’t understand your words. I have become somehow
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sobered, changing from my former state of mind.
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Can you hear and respond clearly?
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Yes, for I forget what we said before, father.
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To whose house did you come in marriage?
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You gave me, as they say, to Echion, the sown man.
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What son did you bear to your husband in the house?
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Pentheus, from my union with his father.
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Whose head do you hold in your hands?
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A lion’s, as they who hunted him down said.
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Examine it correctly then; it takes but little effort to see.
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Ah! What do I see? What is this that I carry in my hands?
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Look at it and learn more clearly.
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I see the greatest grief, wretched that I am.
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Does it seem to you to be like a lion?
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No, but I, wretched, hold the head of Pentheus.
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Yes, much lamented before you recognized him.
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Who killed him? How did he come into my hands?
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Miserable truth, how inopportunely you arrive!
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Tell me. My heart leaps at what is to come.
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You and your sisters killed him.
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Where did he die? Was it here at home, or in what place?
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Where formerly dogs divided Actaeon among themselves.
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And why did this ill-fated man go to Kithairon?
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He went to mock the god and your revelry.
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But in what way did we go there?
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You were mad, and the whole city was frantic with Bacchus.
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Dionysus destroyed us—now I understand.
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Being insulted with insolence, for you did not consider him a god.
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And where is the body of my dearest child, father?
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I have traced it with difficulty and brought it back.
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Are its joints laid properly together?
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What part did Pentheus have in my folly?
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He, like you, did not revere the god, who therefore joined all in one ruin, both you and this one here, and thus destroyed the house and me,

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.