The Greek Plays

by The Greek Plays- Sixteen Plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles

  Glory, Thebes, for suckling Semele!

  Wear wreaths of ivy,

  luxuriant city,

  with lovely berries of greenbriar vines!

  Deck yourselves in garlands: oak or fir,

  110

  turning to Bacchants, worshippers of Bacchus.

  Dress in dappled fawn skin, knotted up

  with tufts of white-haired wool.

  Be reverent as you wave the wild wand.*16

  Now the whole world will dance together:

  any leader of the dance is god.

  To the mountain! To the mountain! Every woman in the land

  has left her shuttle, left her loom, infected

  by the sting of gadfly Dionysus.

  antistrophe 2

  120

  Secret caves,

  home to the Spirit Boys,*17

  holy Cretan haunts where Zeus was born,*18

  where the triple-turbaned frenzied crowd

  discovered how to play the kettledrum,

  tapping the round of tight-stretched skin for me.*19

  Taut with ecstasy, they mix the beat

  with the sweet exhalation of the pipe:

  give mother Earth the drum, and let her mark

  the rhythm for the Bacchants’ shrieks of joy.

  130

  Here are the wild Goat Men, gone mad,

  performing in the mother goddess’ cult.*20

  All the women join the dance,

  the ritual every other year:*21

  all the women Dionysus loves.

  epode

  Sweet delight! when from among the cantering crowd,

  down to the ground a worshipper collapses,

  wearing the holy deerskin tunic,

  hunting the blood of the slaughtered goat, the loveliness

  of eating fresh raw flesh, new-killed,*22

  and rushing to the eastern mountains,

  140

  and our leader is the Lord of the Rumbling Thunder! Shout his name!

  Earth flows with milk, earth flows with wine,

  earth flows with honeyed nectar.*23

  Bacchus lifts aloft and shakes

  the fiery flare of the pine-wood torch

  from the giant fennel wand,

  like smoke from Syrian incense,

  herding the ones who are lost from the circle

  with running and dancing

  and weaving and wailing,

  150

  tossing his delicate hair in the sky.

  Now amid the maenads’ wailing, hear him roar:

  Come to me, Bacchants,

  Come to me, Bacchants,

  with glittering gold, from Lydian rivers,*24

  sing to the glory of Lord Dionysus,

  beat on your timpani, deep-booming kettledrums,

  call glory to him, god of joy, god of noise, cry triumph!

  as they do in Phrygia, call and shout and whoop,

  160

  as sonorous flutes ring out the holy music,

  a sound of holy joy

  that rises with us

  as we rush to the hills,

  to the hills! *25

  Like a filly running

  beside her mother in the pasture,

  we maenads leap and bound,

  kicking our feet in our joy.

  (Enter Tiresias, blind and hobbling on a stick, led by a boy.)

  170

  TIRESIAS: Open the door! Call Cadmus from the house:

  Cadmus, Agenor’s son, who came from Sidon,

  to found this citadel, the town of Thebes.*26

  Go in, boy, tell him that Tiresias

  is here for him. He knows why I have come.

  (The boy goes in.)

  I am old and he is older, but we plan

  to carry wands and dress ourselves in skins

  and wrap fresh ivy wreaths around our heads.

  (Cadmus emerges from the palace.)

  CADMUS: My dearest friend! Here at my house! What pleasure

  to hear your voice; your words always make sense.

  180

  Look, I have my costume on already,

  for Dionysus—since he is my grandson,

  and has revealed himself a god on earth.

  We must give him glory, all we can.

  Where should I go and dance and stamp my feet,

  and shake my gray old hair? We both are old;

  Tiresias, teach me. You have deeper knowledge.

  I’ll never tire, by night or day, of tapping

  my Bacchic stick on the ground. In all our joy,

  we have forgotten we are old.

  TIRESIAS: I feel the same.

  190

  I, too, feel young, and I will try to dance.

  CADMUS: Shall we take a chariot to the mountain?

  TIRESIAS: That’s not the way to glorify the god.*27

  CADMUS: Then shall I nanny you—though we’re both old?*28

  TIRESIAS: With magic ease the god will lead us there.

  CADMUS: Are we the only citizens to worship?

  TIRESIAS: Yes: only we have sense. The rest have none.

  CADMUS: We’re wasting time. Come on now, take my hand.

  TIRESIAS: Look here, take mine, let’s link our arms together.

  CADMUS: Since I am human, I respect the gods.

  200

  TIRESIAS: Our cleverness is nothing to their power.

  We have traditions from our ancestors,

  as old as time itself, immune to reason,

  however cleverly you try to argue.

  Why, you may ask, am I so unembarrassed

  to wear a wreath and dance, in my old age?

  The god makes no distinction. Young and old

  must dance together, everyone the same.

  He wants us all to honor him together,

  and no one is excused from joining in.

  CADMUS: (looking offstage)

  210

  Tiresias, I’ll be your eyes for you,

  interpreting my vision into words.

  I see Pentheus rushing to the palace,

  Echion’s son,*29 whom I made king of Thebes.

  He looks so flustered. What is going on?

  (Enter Pentheus.)

  PENTHEUS: I happened to be out of town; I’m back.

  I hear strange news, new trouble in our city.

  They say our womenfolk have left their homes

  for these fake Bacchic rites. They skip and dance

  up on the shady mountains, worshipping

  220

  this whatshisname, this new “god,” Dionysus.

  Apparently their gatherings involve

  huge vats of wine,*30 and one by one, those girls

  slink off alone to serve some man with sex.

  They say this craziness is for the god,

  but they like Aphrodite more than Bacchus.*31

  I have arrested some of them; my men

  have them in chains, hands bound, in the common jail.

  The ones that got away, I’ll hunt them down,

  out of the mountain: Ino and Agave,

  230

  and cousin Actaeon’s mother, Autonoë.*32

  I’ll dress them up in nets of iron, and stop

  all of this Bacchic wickedness, right now.

  They say a stranger has arrived in town,

  a wizard of some kind, from Lydia,

  with perfume in his hair and yellow curls,

  eyes dark as wine—his aphrodisiac charms.

  He spends all day and night with teenage girls

  making them perform his ritual chants.

  If I catch him here, inside this house,

  240

  I’ll stop him waving wands and tossing his hair:

  I’ll slice his neck and cut his head right off.

  This fellow says that he’s that Dionysus,

  who once got sewn up into Zeus’s thigh,

  when thunderbolts had burnt him, with his mother,

&
nbsp; because she lied that she had lain with Zeus.

  Whoever he is, this foreigner deserves

  to hang for such outrageous wickedness.

  But here’s another strange surprise: Tiresias

  the prophet, dressed in multicolored skins,

  250

  and my mother’s father—what a laugh!

  —acting all Bacchic with a fennel-wand.

  Father, it’s embarrassing to see you

  old but not wise. Why not shake off that ivy?

  Make your hand free, Grandfather! Drop the wand!

  You talked him into this, Tiresias.

  You want to introduce this new divinity

  to profit from new trade in prophecies.

  Your white hair saves you; were it not for that

  I’d chain you up with all those maenad women,

  260

  for introducing wicked mystery rites.

  Festivals with sparkling wine and women

  are an unhealthy cult, in my opinion.

  CHORUS: What blasphemy! Have you no shame, strange Greek,*33

  before the gods, and Echion, your father,

  and Cadmus, who once sowed the earth-born men?

  TIRESIAS: If a clever man has solid facts,

  it isn’t hard to speak impressively.

  Your tongue is fluent and you sound so smart,

  but there is no true wisdom in your words.

  270

  Authority and rhetoric may come

  from pride; but only wise men help their city.

  And he, this new divinity you laugh at:

  no words can tell how great he will become

  throughout the land of Greece. Young man, there are

  two basic human needs. Goddess Demeter

  —in fact the earth, but call her what you like—

  feeds mortal men on dry and solid food.*34

  Then came the son of Semele, who found

  the liquid counterpart, the juice of grapes,

  280

  his gift of pain-relief to suffering souls.

  The flowing vine, drunk to the full, provides

  sleep and forgetfulness from daily pain,

  nor is there any other cure for trouble.

  This god is poured as offering to the gods,

  so through this god comes human happiness.

  And yet you mock him, laughing at the tale

  that he was sewn inside the thigh of Zeus?

  Let me enlighten you. Zeus caught him up,

  the fetus-god out of the thunder’s fire.

  290

  Hera yearned to throw him out of heaven,

  but Zeus outwitted her; gods make smart plans.

  He pulled a piece of the encircling sky,

  a pawn to save his spawn from Hera’s envy.*35

  As time went by, humans began to say

  he was sewn up in Zeus’s leg—a story

  developed from a pun, because he served

  as pledge to Hera—god to goddess captive! *36

  This god can tell the future, too. Inspired

  by Bacchic madness, frenzy brings foreknowledge.

  300

  Possessed in body by the god’s full power,

  the maddened worshippers tell what’s to come.

  He also has affinities with Ares.*37

  For even troops drawn up by rank and armed

  are seized by fear before hand touches lance.

  This, too, is frenzy brought by Dionysus.

  One day you’ll see him on the rocks of Delphi,*38

  leaping across the plain between the hills,

  pine torch in hand and brandishing the thyrsus,

  all over Greece. Believe me, Pentheus,

  310

  be not so sure that force rules human lives,

  or that your thoughts make sense. No, understand:

  accept the god into your land and pour

  libations, wear his wreath, belong to him.

  The god will not force women to be chaste:

  Chastity always lies within one’s nature.

  It is inside us. Look to that. For even

  in Bacchic ecstasy a temperate woman

  will keep her purity still undefiled.

  Remember, you yourself are glad when crowds

  320

  throng at the gates to magnify the name

  of Pentheus. He, too, in my opinion,

  delights in being honored. Cadmus and I,

  though mocked by you, will dance in ivy crowns,

  a pair of grays but ready still to dance;

  You can’t tell me to fight against the god.

  Such insanity! Your mind seems drugged,

  but now no drug could cure your mental illness.

  CHORUS: Old man, your words show due respect to Phoebus,*39

  and also honor the great God of Thunder.

  330

  CADMUS: Dear boy, Tiresias gives good advice.

  Stay home with us, don’t live outside our ways.

  You’re drifting up into the air; your senses

  make no sense. What if you’re right, and he

  is not a god? You still should say he is.

  White lies can bring our Semele the glory

  of having borne a god, which glorifies

  us all. Remember Actaeon, how he died?

  His darling dogs, whom he himself had fed,

  ripped him apart in the hills, and ate him raw,

  340

  because he boasted he could hunt with hounds

  better than Artemis. Don’t share his fate!

  Come, here’s an ivy wreath. Praise god with us.

  PENTHEUS: Get your hands off me! Do your raving elsewhere!

  Don’t smear your silliness on me. I’ll find

  that man, the one who taught you this stupidity

  and punish him.

  (to the slave attendants) One of you, run, go quickly

  to his headquarters where he watches birds:*40

  Pry it up with tridents, levers, crowbars,

  turn the whole thing upside down, destroy it,

  350

  and cast his garlands to the wind and air.

  That’s the way I’ll sting him most of all.

  The rest of you, quick, run through town and catch

  the girly foreigner, who brings that new

  infection to our women, taints our beds.

  If you catch him, bring him here in chains:

  let him be stoned! He’ll see a bitter end

  to introducing Bacchus into Thebes.

  TIRESIAS: You don’t know what you’re saying. You have turned

  from craziness to total loss of wits.

  360

  Well, Cadmus, let us go, and let us pray,

  for this man’s sake, despite his savage ways,

  and for the city: may the god refrain

  from action. Bring your ivy staff, and come;

  try to help me get up there, and I’ll help you.

  If we old men fall down, it’s a disgrace;

  but still, let’s go; Bacchus is son of Zeus

  and we must be his slaves. Cadmus, I hope

  Pentheus will not bring sorrow to your house

  despite his name.*41 This is not prophecy,

  but based on facts. A fool says foolish things.

  (Cadmus and Tiresias exit, leaving Pentheus onstage alone.)

  strophe 1

  370

  CHORUS:*42 Holiness, queen of the gods,

  Holiness, gliding on golden wings

  above the earth,

  do you see what Pentheus is doing?

  Do you see his unholy

  blasphemy to Bacchus, God of Rumbling Thunder,

  son of Semele, the first of godly powers,

  first of the blessed gods for pure, sweet joy?

  His worshippers are crowned with loveliness. This is his gift:

  uniting us in dancing,

  380

  laughing as the
wild pipes play,

  taking all our pains away,

  when grape clusters sparkle

  at the feasts of gods,

  or men in ivy garlands

  gather at their festivals:

  the wine-bowl circles sleep around the men.

  antistrophe 1

  Misfortune is the end

  of tongues unbridled

  and thoughtless folly.

  But lives of quietness

  390

  and common sense

  are stable and unswayed;

  they keep homes safe.

  Those who live in far-off heaven, above the air,

  still see what mortals do.

  Thinking thoughts above the human,

  acting wise—that isn’t wisdom.

  Life is short. If, in our little span,

  we seek ambitious goals,

  we’ll miss what lies to hand.

  400

  These are the habits of insanity,

  the plots of wickedness,

  in my opinion.

  strophe 2

  If only I could go to Cyprus,

  Aphrodite’s Island,

  home of Desires, that cast a spell

  on mortal hearts,

  or Paphos, which the hundred mouths

  of the distant foreign Nile

  make fruitful without rain.*43

  410

  Or take me to Pieiria, the Muses’ lovely home,

  holy slope of Mount Olympus,*44

  take me there, Lord of the Rumbling Thunder.

  Lord of our rituals, Lord of our worshipping cries,

  there live the Graces, there is the home of Longing.

  There, by right, we acts as maenads,

  performing celebration.

  antistrophe 2

  The god, the son of Zeus,

  delights in festivals,

  loves Peace that brings prosperity,

  420

  protector of our children, nurturing goddess.

  To rich and poor alike

  he gives the joy of wine,

  the cure for pain.

  Our god hates those who do not share our goals:

  we aim for happiness our whole life long,

  by light of day and lovely night, and we reject

  people who act too wise, the arrogance

  of those who try to be superior.

  430

  As the masses, simple people,

  think and act and live:

  so let me be.

  (Enter Servant with the god Dionysus in disguise, captured and bound.)

  SERVANT: The hunt is over, Pentheus! We caught

  the prey you sent us for, we got our prize.

  This animal is tame, he has not tried

  to run; he held his hands out willingly.

  His face looks just the same, not pale but bright

  like wine. He smiled and let us tie him up