The Bacchae of Euripides

So in those hands that tough and mountain stem Bowed 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 high It 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 suddenly There 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 despite Both 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 stirred In all the forest dell. Thou hadst not heard In that vast silence any wild thing'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 knew Their God's clear call, old Cadmus' royal brood, Up, like wild pigeons startled in a wood, On flying feet they came, his mother blind, Agave, and her sisters, and behind All 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 furiously Some sought to stone him, some their wands would fling Lance-wise aloft, in cruel targeting. But none could strike. The height o'ertopped their rage, And there he clung, unscathed, as in a cage Caught. And of all their strife no end was found. Then, "Hither," cried Agave; "stand we round And grip the stem, my Wild Ones, till we take This climbing cat-o'-the-mount! He shall not make A tale of God's high dances!" Out then shone Arm upon arm, past count, and closed upon The pine, and gripped; and the ground gave, and down It reeled. And that high sitter from the crown Of the green pine-top, with a shrieking cry Fell, as his mind grew clear, and there hard by Was horror visible. 'Twas his mother stood O'er him, first priestess of those rites of blood. He tore the coif, and from his head away Flung it, that she might know him, and not slay To her own misery. He touched the wild Cheek, crying: "Mother, it is I, thy child, Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echion's hall! Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befall Through sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!" But she, with lips a-foam and eyes that run Like leaping fire, with thoughts that ne'er should be On earth, possessed by Bacchios utterly, Stays not nor hears. Round his left arm she put Both hands, set hard against his side her foot, Drew . . . and the shoulder severed!--Not by might Of arm, but easily, as the God made light Her hand's essay. And at the other side Was Ino rending; and the torn flesh cried, And on Autonoe pressed, and all the crowd Of ravening arms. Yea, all the air was loud With groans that faded into sobbing breath, Dim shrieks, and joy, and triumph-cries of death. And here was borne a severed arm, and there A hunter's booted foot; white bones lay bare With rending; and swift hands ensanguined Tossed as in sport the flesh of Pentheus dead. His body lies afar. The precipice Hath part, and parts in many an interstice Lurk of the tangled woodland--no light quest To 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 face Was 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 day She bears in triumph . . . her own broken heart! For me, after that sight, I will depart Before Agave comes.--Oh, to fulfil God's laws, and have no thought beyond His will, Is man's best treasure. Aye, and wisdom true, Methinks, for things of dust to cleave unto! [_The_ MESSENGER _departs into the Castle_. CHORUS. _Some Maidens._ Weave ye the dance, and call Praise to God! Bless ye the Tyrant's fall! Down is trod Pentheus, the Dragon's Seed! Wore he the woman's weed? Clasped he his death indeed, Clasped the rod? _A Bacchanal._ Yea, the wild ivy lapt him, and the doomed Wild Bull of Sacrifice before him loomed! _Others._ Ye who did Bromios scorn, Praise Him the more, Bacchanals, Cadmus-born; Praise with sore Agony, yea, with tears! Great are the gifts he bears! Hands that a mother rears Red with gore! LEADER. But stay, Agave cometh! And her eyes Make fire around her, reeling! Ho, the prize Cometh! All hail, O Rout of Dionyse! [_Enter from the Mountain_ AGAVE, _mad, and to all seeming wondrously happy, bearing the head of_ PENTHEUS _in her hand. The_ CHORUS MAIDENS _stand horror-struck at the sight; the_ LEADER, _also horror-struck, strives to accept it and rejoice in it as the God's deed_. AGAVE. Ye from the lands of Morn! LEADER. Call me not; I give praise! AGAVE. Lo, from the trunk new-shorn Hither a Mountain Thorn Bear we! O Asia-born Bacchanals, bless this chase! LEADER. I see. Yea; I see. Have I not welcomed thee? AGAVE (_very calmly and peacefully_). He was young in the wildwood: Without nets I caught him! Nay; look without fear on The Lion; I have ta'en him! LEADER. Where in the wildwood? Whence have ye brought him? AGAVE. Kithaeron. . . . LEADER. Kithaeron? AGAVE. The Mountain hath slain him! LEADER. Who first came nigh him? AGAVE. I, I, 'tis confessed! And they named me there by him Agave the Blessed! LEADER. Who was next in the band on him? AGAVE. The daughters. . . LEADER. The daughters? AGAVE. Of Cadmus laid hand on him. But the swift hand that slaughters Is mine; mine is the praise! Bless ye this day of days! [_The_ LEADER _tries to speak, but is not able_; AGAVE _begins gently stroking the head_. AGAVE. Gather ye now to the feast! LEADER. Feast!--O miserable! AGAVE. See, it falls to his breast, Curling and gently tressed, The hair of the Wild Bull's crest-- The young steer of the fell! LEADER. Most like a beast of the wild That head, those locks defiled. AGAVE (_lifting up the head, more excitedly_). He wakened his Mad Ones, A Chase-God, a wise God! He sprang them to seize this! He preys where his band preys. LEADER (_brooding, with horror_). In the trail of thy Mad Ones Thou tearest thy prize, God! AGAVE. Dost praise it? LEADER. I praise this? AGAVE. Ah, soon shall the land praise! LEADER. And Pentheus, O Mother, Thy child? AGAVE. He shall cry on My name as none other, Bless the spoils of the Lion! LEADER. Aye, strange is thy treasure! AGAVE. And strange was the taking! LEADER. Thou art glad? AGAVE. Beyond measure; Yea, glad in the breaking Of dawn upon all this land, By the prize, the prize of my hand! LEADER. Show then to all the land, unhappy one, The trophy of this deed that thou hast done! AGAVE. Ho, all ye men that round the citadel And shining towers of ancient Thebe dwell, Come! Look upon this prize, this lion's spoil, That we have taken--yea, with our own toil, We, Cadmus' daughters! Not with leathern-set Thessalian javelins, not with hunter's net, Only white arms and swift hands' bladed fall. Why make ye much ado, and boast withal Your armourers' engines? See, these palms were bare That caught the angry beast, and held, and tare The limbs of him! . . . Father! . . . Go, bring to me My father! . . . Aye, and Pentheus, where is he, My son? He shall set up a ladder-stair Against this house, and in the triglyphs there Nail me this lion's head, that gloriously I bring ye, having slain him--I, even I! [_She goes through the crowd towards the Castle, showing the head and looking for a place to hang it. Enter from the Mountain_ CADMUS, _with attendants, bearing the body of_ PENTHEUS _on a bier_. CADMUS. On, with your awful burden. Follow me, Thralls, to his house, whose body grievously With many a weary search at last in dim Kithaeron's glens I found, torn limb from limb, And through the interweaving forest weed Scattered.--Men told me of my daughters' deed, When I was just returned within these walls, With grey Teiresias, from the Bacchanals. And back I hied me to the hills again To seek my murdered son. There saw I plain Actaeon's mother, ranging where he died, Autonoe; and Ino by her side, Wandering ghastly in the pine-copses. Agave was not there. The rumour is She cometh fleet-foot hither.--Ah! 'Tis true; A sight I scarce can bend mine eyes unto. AGAVE (_turning from the Palace and seeing him_). My father, a great boast is thine this hour. Thou hast begotten daughters, high in power And valiant above all mankind--yea, all Valiant, though none like me! I have let fall The shuttle by the loom, and raised my hand For higher things, to slay from out thy land Wild beasts! See, in mine arms I bear the prize, That nailed above these portals it may rise To show what things thy daughters did! Do thou Take it, and call a feast. Proud art thou now And highly favoured in our valiancy! CADMUS. O depth of grief, how can I fathom thee Or look upon thee!--Poor, poor, bloodstained hand! Poor sisters!--A fair sacrifice to stand Before God's altars, daughter; yea, and call Me and my citizens to feast withal! Nay, let me weep--for thine affliction most, Then for mine own. All, all of us are lost, Not wrongfully, yet is it hard, from one Who might have loved--our Bromios, our own! AGAVE. How crabbed and how scowling in the eyes Is man's old age!--Would that my son likewise Were happy of his hunting, in my way, When with his warrior bands he will essay The wild beast!--Nay, his valiance is to fight With God's will! Father, thou shouldst set him right. . . . Will no one bring him hither, that mine eyes May look on his, and show him this my prize! CADMUS. Alas, if ever ye can know again The truth of what ye did, what pain of pain That truth shall bring! Or were it best to wait Darkened for evermore, and deem your state Not misery, though ye know no happiness? AGAVE. What seest thou here to chide, or not to bless? CADMUS (_after hesitation, resolving himself_).