The Greek Plays
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that nourishes the fertile Theban harvests.
Like soldiers they invade the villages
that lie beneath Cithaeron’s rocky crags:
creating chaos everywhere, they turn
Erythrae upside down;*68 they kidnap babies
out of their homes, and grab bronze pots and iron;
balanced on their shoulders; not one topples
however high the pile. Around their hair,
flames lick but never burn them. Villagers
grew angry and began to arm themselves
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against the maenads; terrible, my lord!
The men’s sharp swords got not a drop of blood;
the women hurled their thyrsuses, and hit,
wounding their enemies and routing them.
Such things could not have happened without a god.
Returning to the place from which they came,
they used the streams the god had sent for them
to wash away the blood. Snakes came and licked
the last drops clean away from their bright cheeks.
So then, my lord, whoever this god may be,
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accept him into Thebes. He has great powers,
including this, as I have heard: they say
he gives us wine which takes away our pain.
Without the gift of wine, there’d be no sex,
nor any other pleasure for mankind.
CHORUS: I’m frightened to speak freely to a king;
but still, I will speak out. This Dionysus
is just as good as any other god.
PENTHEUS: The maenads’ shocking actions catch like fire:
they’re spreading closer, to the shame of Greece.
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No time to hesitate. Go, and assemble
all our troops down at the southern gate:
the infantry with heavy shields and light,
the cavalry on their fleet-footed horses,
the archers, fingers poised upon the string;
we’ll run those Bacchants down. It’s just too much
that I be treated in this way by women!
DIONYSUS: Though you hear my words, you still ignore them,
Pain-theus.*69 Though you did me wrong, I’ll speak.
Do not raise your arms against the god.
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Peace, now. Don’t try to move the holy women
from the hills. The Thunderlord won’t let you.
PENTHEUS: Still scolding me? You just escaped from jail:
be careful or I’ll punish you again!
DIONYSUS: Better to worship him, that’s my advice.
A mortal ought to sacrifice to god,
rather than rage and kick when you’re spurred on.
PENTHEUS: I’ll sacrifice by slaughtering the women;
I’ll wreak havoc on the mountain. They deserve it!
DIONYSUS: You’ll end up running, all of you: you’ll blush
to see the maenads’ wands defeat bronze shields.
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PENTHEUS: The stranger is impossible! We tussle,
But no, no matter what, he won’t be quiet.
DIONYSUS: Well, sir, you have the chance to make things right.
PENTHEUS: Should I enslave myself to my own slave girls?
DIONYSUS: I’ll bring the women here; no need of arms.
PENTHEUS: No end to it! He keeps on trying to trick me.
DIONYSUS: A trick? What if I’m using my brains to save you?
PENTHEUS: You plotted with them, to preserve your rites.
DIONYSUS: I plotted, yes; I plotted with the god.
PENTHEUS: Slaves, bring weapons here. And you: be quiet!
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DIONYSUS: Wait!
You want to see them gathered on the hill?
PENTHEUS: I’d pay a pile of gold to see that sight.
DIONYSUS: Really? Why do you have this sudden craving?
PENTHEUS: I would be shocked to see them drunk—so awful!
DIONYSUS: But you would like to see what may disgust you?
PENTHEUS: Well, yes, if I can hide behind the fir trees.
DIONYSUS: They’ll track you down, even if you try to hide.
PENTHEUS: You’re absolutely right, that’s clearly true.
DIONYSUS: Then shall I lead you? Do you want to try it?
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PENTHEUS: Yes, please: right away! I just can’t wait.
DIONYSUS: Quick then: here’s a dress. You put it on.
PENTHEUS: What? Will my status change, from man to woman?
DIONYSUS: If they catch you as a man, they’ll kill you.
PENTHEUS: You’re right. You’ve always had such good ideas.
DIONYSUS: Dionysus taught me everything.
PENTHEUS: How can I best follow your advice?
DIONYSUS: Come inside with me, I’ll get you dressed.
PENTHEUS: Dressed—in a woman’s dress? I feel ashamed.
DIONYSUS: Don’t you want to watch the maenad show?
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PENTHEUS: I do! But how exactly must I dress?
DIONYSUS: I’ll pull a flowing wig over your head.
PENTHEUS: What’s the second item in my outfit?
DIONYSUS: A floor-length dress, and band around your hair.
PENTHEUS: And what accessories will you add to these?
DIONYSUS: A spotty deerskin cape, and a thyrsus wand.
PENTHEUS: But I could never put on women’s clothes.
DIONYSUS: If you fight the Bacchants, blood will spill.
PENTHEUS: That’s true. I first must go and spy on them.
DIONYSUS: Smarter than hunting wrong by doing wrong.
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PENTHEUS: What if I should be seen when leaving town?
DIONYSUS: We travel secret paths. I’ll lead the way.
PENTHEUS: Anything, just don’t let the maenads mock me.
We’ll go inside. I’ll plan things for the best.
DIONYSUS: So be it. Anyway, I’m all prepared.
PENTHEUS: I’ll go inside, I guess. Maybe I’ll arm
and march against them, or adopt your plans.
(Exit Pentheus.)
DIONYSUS: (to the Chorus)
The man is heading for the net: he’ll go
to where the maenads are, where he will die.
Lord Bacchus, now the work is yours. You’re near.
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We’ll make him pay: but you first drive him mad,
out of his mind; insert a dizzy madness.
If he were sane, he’d never do it; veering
away from sanity, he’ll strip for me.
I want him to be laughed at by the Thebans:
I’ll lead him through the city in a dress,
after those dreadful threats he made before.
But I will fashion Pentheus in the dress
he’ll wear to go to death, a trip to slaughter,
killed at his mother’s hands. He’ll recognize
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the true god, Dionysus, son of Zeus,
most dreadful and most gentle to mankind.
strophe
CHORUS: Will my white feet ever dance
in the night-long Bacchic dances?
Will I throw my head back, neck exposed,
to the night air wet with dew,
like a fawn, leaping, laughing,
in the green joy of the meadow,
when she discovers freedom from the terror of the hunt,
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escapes the guards around the woven nets,*70
and the huntsman barks, “Hold back!”
to hounds that strain to run.
Struggling, swift she dashes, like the storm-winds; out she bursts,
over the meadow down there by the river,
full of joy in the wild with no people, and joy at the lushness
of the shadows in the woods.
What is wisdom? Or what better gift
>
can gods give mortals than to hold
an upper hand
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above the enemy’s head?
We always want the best.*71
antistrophe
The strength of gods
is slow but sure.
It straightens out the kinks
of human folly, human pride,
human madness, failure
to worship the divine.
Cunningly they hide
as Time runs his slow race.
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They hunt the heretic.
Never set your plans or thoughts above the laws.
Small the price
of faith in the power
of whatever is holy.
Believe in tradition,
both lawful and natural.
What is wisdom? Or what better gift
can gods give mortals than to hold
an upper hand
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above the enemy’s head?
We always want the best.
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One kind of happiness is to survive
a storm at sea, and reach the shore in safety.
Another is to triumph over hardship.
Another is surpassing other people,
moving up in wealth and strength and power.
Or one can hope; there are so many hopes.
Some human hopes succeed
and others fail.
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But a truly happy life
is happiness day by day.
DIONYSUS: (calling to the palace)
You there! So keen to see, so keen to get
things you should never ask for: Pentheus!
Come out before the palace, let me see you,
dressed as a woman, as a frenzied maenad,
the mirror image of your aunt and mother.
(Pentheus comes out, dressed in women’s clothes.)
Ah, it’s you. Just like a Theban princess!
PENTHEUS: I seem to see two suns, and Thebes itself,
the seven-gated citadel, looks double,
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and you, my leader, you look like a bull:
I think I see horns growing on your head.
You’ve changed into a bull—or were you always?
DIONYSUS: The god is near now: earlier he was hostile,
but now he’s on our side. Now you can see.
PENTHEUS: How do I look? How is my posture? Is it
like my aunt’s or mother’s way of standing?
DIONYSUS: When I look at you, it’s them I see.
But this curl of yours is out of place,
slipped from where I fixed it in your headband.
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PENTHEUS: I dislodged it when I tossed my hair back,
dancing in the palace, maenad-style.
DIONYSUS: Then let me fix it. I’ll take care of you.
I’ll put your hair in place. Lift up your head.
PENTHEUS: I’m all yours now: go on, you can arrange it.
DIONYSUS: Your belt needs tightening, your pleats are crooked;
so let me straighten them, down to your ankles.
PENTHEUS: I think it’s rumpled here, by my right foot;
but on the other side, my skirt hangs smooth.
DIONYSUS: You’ll say I am your best friend, when you see
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to your astonishment, the maenads sane.
PENTHEUS: Should I lift my thyrsus in my right hand,
or the left, to look more like a Bacchant?
DIONYSUS: The right, and stamp your right foot keeping time.
I’m glad you’ve lost the mind you used to have.
PENTHEUS: Then can I lift the peaks of Mount Cithaeron
upon my shoulders with the maenad girls?
DIONYSUS: You could, should you so wish. Your former thoughts
were sick, but now you’re thinking as you should.
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PENTHEUS: Shall I bring crowbars? Or just set my back
to lift the mountain up with my bare hands?
DIONYSUS: No: do not destroy the holy places,
caves of the nymphs, and grottoes sweet with Pan-pipes.
PENTHEUS: Yes; brute force is not the way to win
against these girls. I’ll hide behind the trees.
DIONYSUS: You’ll find the perfect place to hide and spy,
sneaking to watch the maenads secretly.
PENTHEUS: Yes! I can see them in the bushes now,
like mating birds, enmeshed in nets of love.
DIONYSUS: No wonder that you want to go and watch.
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Perhaps you’ll catch them: or they’ll catch you first.
PENTHEUS: Parade me through the midst of Thebes in triumph;
I am the only man who dares to go.
DIONYSUS: Alone you suffer for your town, alone;
there are indeed more toils awaiting you.
Follow me: I will guide you there in safety,
but someone else will bring you back.
PENT.: My mother!
DIONYSUS: They’ll watch you, like a show.
PENT.: That’s why I’m going.
DIONYSUS: You will be carried—
PENT.: Ah, you’ll make me soft!
DIONYSUS: In your mother’s arms.
PENT.: You’re spoiling me!
DIONYSUS: A kind of spoiling.
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PENT.: Well, I do deserve it.
(Exit Pentheus.)
DIONYSUS: Terrible man: your sufferings will be terrible,
a tale whose fame will stretch to heaven’s height.
Agave and your sisters, Cadmus’ daughters,
reach out your arms! I bring you this young man
for a great competition,*72 which I’ll win,
as will the Thunder god. Now time will tell.
strophe
CHORUS: Go! Go! Go to the mountains, swift she-dogs of Frenzy,
go where the daughters of Cadmus are gathered
for their rituals, and sting them to madness;
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rouse them against this maddened man who spies
on maenads—this fake woman in a dress.
As he watches from the smooth or craggy rock
his mother first will see him
and call out to the women:
“Who is following our footsteps, maenads?
Who is coming to the mountain, to the mountain?
We are Cadmus’ daughters, we are mountain runners. Who is he?
Who is his mother? Not a woman made of blood.
He’s the child of a lioness
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or a Libyan Gorgon’s son.
Let Justice walk in brightness with a sword
to stab right through the throat
of the man who has no god, no law, no righteousness,
the earth-born son of Echion.
antistrophe
The man of unjust mind and lawless passion
sets out with crazy cunning and perverted purpose
against your worship, Bacchus,
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and your mother’s.
Death waits for no excuse. It teaches us restraint,
and how to moderate our minds to things divine.
If you want a painless life, live as a mortal should.
I have no quarrel with cleverness; I love
to hunt it down. But other things are greater;
plain to see. What a life, to live for beauty
by day and through the night
in piety and reverence, rejecting
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law without morality. Honor the gods.
Let Justice walk in brightness with a sword
to stab right through the throat
of the man who has no god, no law, no righteousness,
the earth-born son of Echion.
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Come, Bacchus! Show yourself to us,
as bull
or many-headed snake,
or fire-breathing lion.
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Come with smiling face, and throw
a net around that maenad hunter,
a net of death to make him fall
at the hands of the herd of your people.
SECOND MESSENGER: Long ago, the old king came from Sidon
to sow the earth-born serpent sons: this house
was happy once, as every Greek could say.
But now, although I am a slave, I weep for you.*73
CHORUS: What is the news? Is it about the maenads?
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MESSENGER: Pentheus is dead, the son of Echion.
CHORUS: O Lord of Thunder, now you are revealed a mighty God!*74
MESSENGER: What are you saying? What’s this? Woman, surely
you can’t be happy at my master’s downfall?
CHORUS: Ah, joy, cry freedom! I am a foreign woman and I sing a foreign song.
Cry freedom! I need no longer tremble at my bonds!
MESSENGER: You don’t think Thebes has men
CHORUS: My lord is Dionysus, Dionysus!
Thebes has no power over me.
MESSENGER: I can understand your feelings, women:
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but it’s ugly to take pleasure in misfortune.
CHORUS: The wicked man is dead! He died on his wicked quest!
Tell me, tell me, tell me, how did he die?
MESSENGER: We left the settlements of Thebes behind,
and crossed the streaming river Asopus.
We reached the craggy slopes of Mount Cithaeron,
the king and I—I followed Pentheus,
but the stranger was our guide to find the sight.
First we settled in a grassy valley
just creeping quietly and saying nothing,
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so as to see but not be seen ourselves.
The glen was bound by cliffs and wet with streams;
the pine trees cast thick shadows. There the maenads
sat working with their hands, quite happily.
Some were twining ivy round their sticks
to make them into magic wands again.
Others were singing rounds of Bacchic songs,
like glad young ponies free from painted yokes.
A crowd of women! But poor Pentheus
could hardly see them, and he said, “From here,
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stranger, I cannot see these maenad fakes.
I need to get up higher, into the pine tree,
to see exactly what disgusting things
they’re doing now.” The stranger then performed
a miracle! I saw it! Reaching up
he took a pine tree’s highest branch, and brought it
down, down to the shadowy earth, curved in a circle