The reading starts at the title “THE BACCHAE” on page 368.
368THE BACCHAE
OF EURIPIDES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
DIONYSUS, THE GOD; son of Zeus and of the Theban princess SemelêCADMUS, formerly King of Thebes, father of SemelêPENTHEUS, King of Thebes, grandson of CadmusAGÂVÊ, daughter of Cadmus, mother of PentheusTEIRESIAS, an aged Theban prophetA SOLDIER OF PENTHEUS’ GUARDTWO MESSENGERSA CHORUS OF INSPIRED DAMSELS, following Dionysus from the East
“The play was first produced after the death of Euripides by his son, who bore the same name, together with the ‘Iphigenia in Aulis’ and the ‘Alcmaeon,’ probably in the year 405 B.C.”
The background represents the front of the Castle of PENTHEUS, King of Thebes. At one side is visible the sacred Tomb of Semelê, a little enclosure overgrown with wild vines, with a cleft in the rocky floor of it from which there issues at times steam or smoke. The God DIONYSUS is discovered alone.
Dionysus
BEHOLD, God’s Son is come unto this landOf Thebes, even I, Dionysus, whom the brandOf heaven’s hot splendour lit to life, when sheWho bore me, Cadmus’ daughter Semelê,Died here. So, changed in shape from God to man,I walk again by Dircê’s streams and scanIsmenus’ shore. There by the castle sideI see her place, the Tomb of the Lightning’s Bride,The wreck of smouldering chambers, and the greatFaint wreaths of fire undying—as the hateDies not, that Hera held for Semelê.Aye, Cadmus hath done well; in purityHe keeps this place apart, inviolate,His daughter’s sanctuary; and I have setMy green and clustered vines to robe it round.Far now behind me lies the golden groundOf Lydian and of Phrygian; far awayThe wide hot plains where Persian sunbeams play,The Bactrian war-holds, and the storm-oppressedClime of the Mede, and Araby the Blest,And Asia all, that by the salt sea liesIn proud embattled cities, motley-wiseOf Hellene and Barbarian interwrought;And now I come to Hellas—having taughtAll the world else my dances and my riteOf mysteries, to show me in men’s sightManifest God.And first of Hellene landsI cry this Thebes to waken; set her handsTo clasp my wand, mine ivied javelin,And round her shoulders hang my wild fawn-skin.For they have scorned me whom it least beseemed,Semelê’s sisters; mocked my birth, nor deemedThat Dionysus sprang from Dian seed.My mother sinned, said they; and in her need,With Cadmus plotting, cloaked her human shameWith the dread name of Zeus; for that the flameFrom heaven consumed her, seeing she lied to God.Thus must they vaunt; and therefore hath my rodOn them first fallen, and stung them forth wild-eyedFrom empty chambers; the bare mountain sideIs made their home, and all their hearts are flame.Yea, I have bound upon the necks of themThe harness of my rites. And with them allThe seed of womankind from hut and hallOf Thebes, hath this my magic goaded out.And there, with the old King’s daughters, in a routConfused, they make their dwelling-place betweenThe roofless rocks and shadowy pine-trees green.Thus shall this Thebes, how sore soe’er it smart,Learn and forget not, till she crave her partIn mine adoring; thus must I speak clearTo save my mother’s fame, and crown me hereAs true God, born by Semelê to Zeus.
370Now Cadmus yieldeth up his throne and useOf royal honour to his daughter’s sonPentheus; who on my body hath begunA war with God. He thrusteth me awayFrom due drink-offering, and, when men pray,My name entreats not. Therefore on his ownHead and his people’s shall my power be shown.Then to another land, when all things hereAre well, must I fare onward, making clearMy godhead’s might. But should this Theban townEssay with wrath and battle to drag downMy maids, lo, in their path myself shall be,And maniac armies battled after me!For this I veil my godhead with the wanForm of the things that die, and walk as Man.
O Brood of Tmolus o’er the wide world flown,O Lydian band, my chosen and mine own,Damsels uplifted o’er the orient deepTo wander where I wander, and to sleepWhere I sleep; up, and wake the old sweet sound,The clang that I and mystic Rhea found,The Timbrel of the Mountain! Gather allThebes to your song round Pentheus’ royal hall.I seek my new-made worshippers, to guideTheir dances up Kithaeron’s pine-clad side.
[As he departs, there comes stealing in from the left a band of fifteen Eastern Women, the light of the sunrise streaming upon their long white robes and ivy-bound hair. They wear fawn-skins over the robes, and carry some of them timbrels, some pipes and other instruments. Many bear the thyrsus, or sacred Wand, made of reed ringed with ivy. They enter stealthily till they see that the place is empty, and then begin their mystic song of worship.
371Chorus
A Maiden
From Asia, from the dayspring that uprises,To Bromios ever glorying we came.We laboured for our Lord in many guises;We toilèd, but the toil is as the prize is;Thou Mystery, we hail thee by thy name!
Another
Who lingers in the road? Who espies us?He shall hide him in his house nor be bold.Let the heart keep silence that defies us;For I sing this day to DionysusThe song that is appointed from of old.
All the Maidens
Oh, blessèd he in all wise,Who hath drunk the Living Fountain,Whose life no folly staineth,And his soul is near to God;Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise,As he worships on the Mountain,And where Cybelê ordaineth,Our Mother, he has trod:
His head with ivy ladenAnd his thyrsus tossing high,For our God he lifts his cry:“Up, O Bacchae, wife and maiden,Come, O ye Bacchae, come;Oh, bring the Joy-bestower,God-seed of God the Sower,Bring Bromios in his powerFrom Phrygia’s mountain dome;To street and town and tower,Oh, bring ye Bromios home!”
372Whom erst in anguish lyingFor an unborn life’s desire,As a dead thing in the ThunderHis mother cast to earth;For her heart was dying, dying,In the white heart of the fire;Till Zeus, the Lord of Wonder,Devised new lairs of birth;
Yea, his own flesh tore to hide him,And with clasps of bitter goldDid a secret son enfold,And the Queen knew not beside him;Till the perfect hour was there;Then a hornèd God was found,And a God with serpents crowned;And for that are serpents woundIn the wands his maidens bear,And the songs of serpents soundIn the mazes of their hair.
Some Maidens
All hail, O Thebes, thou nurse of Semelê!With Semelê’s wild ivy crown thy towers;Oh, burst in bloom of wreathing bryony,Berries and leaves and flowers;Uplift the dark divine wand,The oak-wand and the pine-wand,And don thy fawn-skin, fringed in purityWith fleecy white, like ours.
Oh, cleanse thee in the wands’ waving pride!Yea, all men shall dance with us and pray,When Bromios his companies shall guideHillward, ever hillward, where they stay,The flock of the Believing,The maids from loom and weavingBy the magic of his breath borne away.
Page 372 ends mid-sentence; the reading runs on to its end on page 373.