Dio. O, ye Barbarian women. Thus prostrate in dismay;
Upon the earth ye've fallen! See ye not as ye may,
How Bacchus Pentheus' palace In wrath hath shaken down?
Rise up! rise up! take courage—Shake off that trembling swoon.
Chor. O light that goodliest shinest Over our mystic rite,
In state forlorn we saw thee—Saw with what deep affright!
Dio. How to despair ye yielded As I boldly entered in
To Pentheus, as if captured, into that fatal gin.
Chor. How could I less? Who guards us If thou shouldst come to woe?
But how wast thou delivered From thy ungodly foe?
Dio. Myself myself delivered With ease and effort slight.
Chor. Thy hands had he not bound them In halters strong and tight?
Dio. 'Twas even then I mocked him: He thought me in his chain;
He touched me not nor reached me; His idle thoughts were vain!
In the stable stood a heifer Where he thought he had me bound;
Round the beast's knees his cords And cloven hoofs he wound,
Wrath-breathing, from his body The sweat fell like a flood,
He bit his lips in fury, While I beside who stood
Looked on in unmoved quiet.
As at that instant come,
Shook Bacchus the strong palace, And on his mother's tomb
Flames kindled. When he saw it, on fire the palace deeming,
Hither he rushed and thither. For 'Water, water,' screaming;
And every slave 'gan labor, But labored all in vain,
The toil he soon abandoned. As though I had fled amain
He rushed into the palace: In his hand the dark sword gleamed.
Then as it seemed, great Bromius—I say but, as it seemed—
In the hall a bright light kindled. On that
he rushed, and there,
As slaying me in vengeance, Stood stabbing the thin air.
But then the avenging Bacchus Wrought new calamities;
From roof to base that palace In smouldering ruin lies.
Bitter ruing our imprisonment, With toil forespent he threw
On earth his useless weapon. Mortal, he had dared to do
'Gainst a god unholy battle. But I, in quiet state,
Unheeding Pentheus' anger, Came through the palace gate.
It seems even now his sandal Is sounding on its way;
Soon is he here before us, And what now will he say?
With ease will I confront him, Ire-breathing though he stand.
'Tis easy to a wise man To practice self-command. {651}
Blank verse is resumed as Pentheus enters, and meets his escaped prisoner who calmly confronts him. As Pentheus begins to threaten, Dionysus advises him first to hear the messenger even now entering from Cithaeron. An elaborate Messenger's Speech describes the miraculous life of the Maenads as they lie on the mountains, careless but not immodest. At the touch of their thyrsus the rock yields dew and the soil wine; their fingers lightly scraping the soil draw streams of exquisite milk, and honey distils from their ivied staffs. A city-bred agitator stirred up the herdsmen to confront them, but the phrensied women drove the men before them, and tore the herds to pieces; like a flock of birds they skimmed along the land, and all gave way before them.
And what they threw across their shoulders, clung
Unfastened, nor fell down to the black ground,
No brass, nor ponderous iron; on their locks
Was fire that burned them not.
Then god-given fountains washed off the stains of their toil, and their serpents licked them clean. Even the Messenger advises submission to so mighty a god, dispensing such gifts.
Pentheus breathes nothing but defiance, and issues orders for the whole military force of Thebes to assemble. He is bewildered by the stranger, who doing or suffering still holds his peace. In long-drawn parallel verses Dionysus gradually assumes the friend, and—still warning the king that he is on the side of the god—insinuates into the mind of Pentheus the idea of visiting the scene, disguised in the feminine robes of the revellers. As the king retires to prepare, Dionysus proclaims that he is fallen into the net, and vengeance shall first deprive him of sense and then destroy him. {868}
CHORAL INTERLUDE III
As the crisis comes nearer the Chorus long for the moment of escape—the sensation of the hart that has leaped the net and with storm-wind haste escaped the hunter's pursuit and reached the silent shadow of the old hospitable wood. VICTORY IS THE JOY OF JOYS. Slow and true are the avenging deities, with printless foot hounding the impious along their winding path: for law is old as oldest time. VICTORY IS THE JOY OF JOYS. Happy the sailor in port, he whose race is o'er: hopes hover over thousands, but
Happiness alone is his
That happy is to-day. {928}
EPISODE IV
Pentheus appears from the palace of Cadmus in disguise as a Maenad. Infatuation has become a phrensy: he sees double, Dionysus seems a bull, his eyes penetrate into distance and perceive his mother and her comrades. Unconscious of the laughter of Dionysus he adjusts his feminine dress and practices the Maenad step. Irony is added: