And what good bring they to the worshipper?
Dionysus.
Good beyond price, but not for thee to hear.
Pentheus.
Thou trickster! Thou wouldst prick me on the moreTo seek them out!
Dionysus.
His mysteries abhorThe touch of sin-lovers.
Pentheus.
And so thine eyesSaw this God plain; what guise had he?
Dionysus.
What guiseIt liked him. 'Twas not I ordained his shape.
Pentheus.
Aye, deftly turned again. An idle jape,And nothing answered!
Dionysus.
Wise words being broughtTo blinded eyes will seem as things of nought.
Pentheus.
And comest thou first to Thebes, to have thy GodEstablished?
Dionysus.
Nay; all Barbary hath trodHis dance ere this.
Pentheus.
A low blind folk, I ween,Beside our Hellenes!
Dionysus.
Higher and more keenIn this thing, though their ways are not thy way.
Pentheus.
How is thy worship held, by night or day?
Dionysus.
Most oft by night; 'tis a majestic thing,The darkness.
Pentheus.
Ha! with women worshipping?'Tis craft and rottenness!
Dionysus.
By day no less,Whoso will seek may find unholiness.
Pentheus.
Enough! Thy doom is fixed, for false pretenceCorrupting Thebes.
Dionysus.
Not mine; but thine, for denseBlindness of heart, and for blaspheming God!
Pentheus.
A ready knave it is, and brazen-browed,This mystery-priest!
Dionysus.
Come, say what it shall be,My doom; what dire thing wilt thou do to me?
Pentheus.
First, shear that delicate curl that dangles there.
[He beckons to the soldiers, who approachDionysus.
Dionysus.
I have vowed it to my God; 'tis holy hair.
[The soldiers cut off the tress.
Pentheus.
Next, yield me up thy staff!
Dionysus.
Raise thine own handTo take it. This is Dionysus' wand.
[Pentheustakes the staff.
Pentheus.
Last, I will hold thee prisoned here.
Dionysus.
My LordGod will unloose me, when I speak the word.
Pentheus.
He may, if e'er again amid his bandsOf saints he hears thy voice!
Dionysus.
Even now he standsClose here, and sees all that I suffer.
Pentheus.
What?Where is he? For mine eyes discern him not.
Dionysus.
Where I am! 'Tis thine own impurityThat veils him from thee.
Pentheus.
The dog jeers at me!At me and Thebes! Bind him!
[The soldiers begin to bind him.
Dionysus.
I charge ye, bindMe not! I having vision and ye blind!
Pentheus.
And I, with better right, say bind the more!
[The soldiers obey.
Dionysus.
Thou knowest not what end thou seekest, norWhat deed thou doest, nor what man thou art!
Pentheus(mocking).
Agâvê's son, and on the father's partEchîon's, hight Pentheus!
Dionysus.
So let it be,A name fore-written to calamity!
Pentheus.
Away, and tie him where the steeds are tied;Aye, let him lie in the manger!—There abideAnd stare into the darkness!—And this routOf womankind that clusters thee about,Thy ministers of worship, are my slaves!It may be I will sell them o'er the waves,Hither and thither; else they shall be setTo labour at my distaffs, and forgetTheir timbrel and their songs of dawning day!
Dionysus.
I go; for that which may not be, I mayNot suffer! Yet for this thy sin, lo, HeWhom thou deniest cometh after theeFor recompense. Yea, in thy wrong to us,Thou hast cast Him into thy prison-house!
[Dionysus,without his wand, his hair shorn, and his arms tightly bound, is led off by the guards to his dungeon.Pentheusreturns into the Palace.
Chorus.
Some Maidens.
Acheloüs' roaming daughter,Holy Dircê, virgin water,Bathed he not of old in thee,The Babe of God, the Mystery?When from out the fire immortalTo himself his God did take him,To his own flesh, and bespake him:"Enter now life's second portal,Motherless Mystery; lo, I breakMine own body for thy sake,Thou of the Twofold Door, and seal theeMine, O Bromios,"—thus he spake—"And to this thy land reveal thee."
All.
Still my prayer toward thee quivers,Dircê, still to thee I hie me;Why, O Blessèd among Rivers,Wilt thou fly me and deny me?By His own joy I vow,By the grape upon the bough,Thou shalt seek Him in the midnight, thou shalt loveHim, even now!
Other Maidens.
Dark and of the dark impassionedIs this Pentheus' blood; yea, fashionedOf the Dragon, and his birthFrom Echîon, child of Earth.He is no man, but a wonder;Did the Earth-Child not beget him,As a red Giant, to set himAgainst God, against the Thunder?He will bind me for his prize,Me, the Bride of Dionyse;And my priest, my friend, is takenEven now, and buried lies;In the dark he lies forsaken!
All.
Lo, we race with death, we perish,Dionysus, here before thee!Dost thou mark us not, nor cherish,Who implore thee, and adore thee?Hither down Olympus' side,Come, O Holy One defied,Be thy golden wand uplifted o'er the tyrant in his pride!
A Maiden.
Oh, where art thou? In thine ownNysa, thou our help alone?O'er fierce beasts in orient landsDoth thy thronging thyrsus wave,By the high Corycian Cave,Or where stern Olympus stands;In the elm-woods and the oaken,There where Orpheus harped of old,And the trees awoke and knew him,And the wild things gathered to him,As he sang amid the brokenGlens his music manifold?Blessed Land of Piërie,Dionysus loveth thee;He will come to thee with dancing,Come with joy and mystery;With the Maenads at his hestWinding, winding to the West;Cross the flood of swiftly glancingAxios in majesty;Cross the Lydias, the giverOf good gifts and waving green;Cross that Father-Stream of story,Through a land of steeds and gloryRolling, bravest, fairest RiverE'er of mortals seen!
A Voice Within.
Io! Io!Awake, ye damsels; hear my cry,Calling my Chosen; hearken ye!
A Maiden.
Who speaketh? Oh, what echoes thus?
Another.
A Voice, a Voice, that calleth us!
The Voice.
Be of good cheer! Lo, it is I,The Child of Zeus and Semelê.
A Maiden.
O Master, Master, it is Thou!
Another.
O Holy Voice, be with us now!
The Voice.
Spirit of the Chained Earthquake,Hear my word; awake, awake!
[An Earthquake suddenly shakes the pillars of the Castle.
A Maiden.
Ha! what is coming? Shall the hallOf Pentheus racked in ruin fall?
Leader.
Our God is in the house! Ye maids adore Him!
Chorus.
We adore Him all!
The Voice.
Unveil the Lightning's eye; arouseThe fire that sleeps, against this house!
[Fire leaps up on the Tomb of Semelê.
A Maiden.
Ah, saw ye, marked ye there the flameFrom Semelê's enhallowed sodAwakened? Yea, the Death that cameAblaze from heaven of old, the sameHot splendour of the shaft of God?
Leader.
Oh, cast ye, cast ye, to the earth! The LordCometh against this house! Oh, cast ye down,Ye trembling damsels; He, our own adored,God's Child hath come, and all is overthrown!
[The Maidens cast themselves upon the ground, their eyes earthward.Dionysus,alone and unbound, enters from the Castle.
Dionysus.
Ye Damsels of the Morning Hills, why lie ye thus dismayed?Ye marked him, then, our Master, and the mighty hand he laidOn tower and rock, shaking the house of Pentheus?—But arise,And cast the trembling from your flesh, and lift untroubled eyes.
Leader.
O Light in Darkness, is it thou? O Priest, is this thy face?My heart leaps out to greet thee from the deep of loneliness.
Dionysus.
Fell ye so quick despairing, when beneath the Gate I passed?Should the gates of Pentheus quell me, or his darkness make me fast?
Leader.
Oh, what was left if thou wert gone? What could I but despair?How hast thou 'scaped the man of sin? Who freed thee from the snare?
Dionysus.
I had no pain nor peril; 'twas mine own hand set me free.
Leader.
Thine arms were gyvèd!
Dionysus.
Nay, no gyve, no touch, was laid on me!'Twas there I mocked him, in his gyves, and gave him dreams for food.For when he led me down, behold, before the stall there stoodA Bull of Offering. And this King, he bit his lips, and straightFell on and bound it, hoof and limb, with gasping wrath and sweat.And I sat watching!—Then a Voice; and lo, our Lord was come,And the house shook, and a great flame stood o'er his mother's tomb.And Pentheus hied this way and that, and called his thralls amainFor water, lest his roof-tree burn; and all toiled, all in vain.Then deemed a-sudden I was gone; and left his fire, and spedBack to the prison portals, and his lifted sword shone red.But there, methinks, the God had wrought—I speak but as I guess—Some dream-shape in mine image; for he smote at emptiness,Stabbed in the air, and strove in wrath, as though 'twere me he slew.Then 'mid his dreams God smote him yet again! He overthrewAll that high house. And there in wreck for evermore it lies,That the day of this my bondage may be sore in Pentheus' eyes!And now his sword is fallen, and he lies outworn and wanWho dared to rise against his God in wrath, being but man.And I uprose and left him, and in all peace took my pathForth to my Chosen, recking light of Pentheus and his wrath.But soft, methinks a footstep sounds even now within the hall;'Tis he; how think ye he will stand, and what words speak withal?I will endure him gently, though he come in fury hot.For still are the ways of Wisdom, and her temper trembleth not!
EnterPentheusin fury.
Pentheus.
It is too much! This Eastern knave hath slippedHis prison, whom I held but now, hard grippedIn bondage.—Ha! 'Tis he!—What, sirrah, howShow'st thou before my portals?
[He advances furiously upon him.
Dionysus.
Softly thou!And set a quiet carriage to thy rage.
Pentheus.
How comest thou here? How didst thou break thy cage?Speak!
Dionysus.
Said I not, or didst thou mark not me,There was One living that should set me free?
Pentheus.
Who? Ever wilder are these tales of thine.
Dionysus.
He who first made for man the clustered vine.
Pentheus.
I scorn him and his vines!
Dionysus.
For Dionyse'Tis well; for in thy scorn his glory lies.
Pentheus(to his guard).
Go swift to all the towers, and bar withalEach gate!
Dionysus.
What, cannot God o'erleap a wall?
Pentheus.
Oh, wit thou hast, save where thou needest it!
Dionysus.
Whereso it most imports, there is my wit!—Nay, peace! Abide till he who hasteth fromThe mountain side with news for thee, be come.We will not fly, but wait on thy command.
[Enter suddenly and in haste a Messenger from the Mountain.
Messenger.
Great Pentheus, Lord of all this Theban land,I come from high Kithaeron, where the froreSnow spangles gleam and cease not evermore. . .
Pentheus.
And what of import may thy coming bring?
Messenger.
I have seen the Wild White Women there, O King,Whose fleet limbs darted arrow-like but nowFrom Thebes away, and come to tell thee howThey work strange deeds and passing marvel. YetI first would learn thy pleasure. Shall I setMy whole tale forth, or veil the stranger part?Yea, Lord, I fear the swiftness of thy heart,Thine edgèd wrath and more than royal soul.
Pentheus.
Thy tale shall nothing scathe thee.—Tell the whole.It skills not to be wroth with honesty.Nay, if thy news of them be dark, 'tis heShall pay it, who bewitched and led them on.
Messenger.
Our herded kine were moving in the dawnUp to the peaks, the greyest, coldest time,When the first rays steal earthward, and the rimeYields, when I saw three bands of them. The oneAutonoë led, one Ino, one thine ownMother, Agâvê. There beneath the treesSleeping they lay, like wild things flung at easeIn the forest; one half sinking on a bedOf deep pine greenery; one with careless headAmid the fallen oak leaves; all most coldIn purity—not as thy tale was toldOf wine-cups and wild music and the chaseFor love amid the forest's loneliness.Then rose the Queen Agâvê suddenlyAmid her band, and gave the God's wild cry,"Awake, ye Bacchanals! I hear the soundOf hornèd kine. Awake ye!"—Then, all round,Alert, the warm sleep fallen from their eyes,A marvel of swift ranks I saw them rise,Dames young and old, and gentle maids unwedAmong them. O'er their shoulders first they shedTheir tresses, and caught up the fallen foldOf mantles where some clasp had loosened hold,And girt the dappled fawn-skins in with longQuick snakes that hissed and writhed with quivering tongue.And one a young fawn held, and one a wildWolf cub, and fed them with white milk, and smiledIn love, young mothers with a mother's breastAnd babes at home forgotten! Then they pressedWreathed ivy round their brows, and oaken spraysAnd flowering bryony. And one would raiseHer wand and smite the rock, and straight a jetOf quick bright water came. Another setHer thyrsus in the bosomed earth, and thereWas red wine that the God sent up to her,A darkling fountain. And if any lipsSought whiter draughts, with dipping finger-tipsThey pressed the sod, and gushing from the groundCame springs of milk. And reed-wands ivy-crownedRan with sweet honey, drop by drop.—O King,Hadst thou been there, as I, and seen this thing,With prayer and most high wonder hadst thou goneTo adore this God whom now thou rail'st upon!Howbeit, the kine-wardens and shepherds straightCame to one place, amazed, and held debate;And one being there who walked the streets and scannedThe ways of speech, took lead of them whose handKnew but the slow soil and the solemn hill,And flattering spoke, and asked: "Is it your will,Masters, we stay the mother of the King,Agâvê, from her lawless worshipping,And win us royal thanks?"—And this seemed goodTo all; and through the branching underwoodWe hid us, cowering in the leaves. And thereThrough the appointed hour they made their prayerAnd worship of the Wand, with one accordOf heart and cry—"Iacchos, Bromios, Lord,God of God born!"—And all the mountain felt,And worshipped with them; and the wild things kneltAnd ramped and gloried, and the wildernessWas filled with moving voices and dim stress.Soon, as it chanced, beside my thicket-closeThe Queen herself passed dancing, and I roseAnd sprang to seize her. But she turned her faceUpon me: "Ho, my rovers of the chase,My wild White Hounds, we are hunted! Up, each rodAnd follow, follow, for our Lord and God!"Thereat, for fear they tear us, all we fledAmazed; and on, with hand unweaponèdThey swept toward our herds that browsed the greenHill grass. Great uddered kine then hadst thou seenBellowing in sword-like hands that cleave and tear,A live steer riven asunder, and the airTossed with rent ribs or limbs of cloven tread,And flesh upon the branches, and a redRain from the deep green pines. Yea, bulls of pride,Horns swift to rage, were fronted and asideFlung stumbling, by those multitudinous handsDragged pitilessly. And swifter were the bandsOf garbèd flesh and bone unbound withalThan on thy royal eyes the lids may fall.Then on like birds, by their own speed upborne,They swept toward the plains of waving cornThat lie beside Asopus' banks, and bringTo Thebes the rich fruit of her harvesting.On Hysiae and Erythrae that lie nursedAmid Kithaeron's bowering rocks, they burstDestroying, as a foeman's army comes.They caught up little children from their homes,High on their shoulders, babes unheld, that swayedAnd laughed and fell not; all a wreck they made;Yea, bronze and iron did shatter, and in playStruck hither and thither, yet no wound had they;Caught fire from out the hearths, yea, carried hotFlames in their tresses and were scorchèd not!The village folk in wrath took spear and sword,And turned upon the Bacchae. Then, dread Lord,The wonder was. For spear nor barbèd brandCould scathe nor touch the damsels; but the Wand,The soft and wreathèd wand their white hands sped,Blasted those men and quelled them, and they fledDizzily. Sure some God was in these things!And the holy women back to those strange springsReturned, that God had sent them when the dayDawned, on the upper heights; and washed awayThe stain of battle. And those girdling snakesHissed out to lap the waterdrops from cheeksAnd hair and breast.Therefore I counsel thee,O King, receive this Spirit, whoe'er he be,To Thebes in glory. Greatness manifoldIs all about him; and the tale is toldThat this is he who first to man did giveThe grief-assuaging vine. Oh, let him live;For if he die, then Love herself is slain,And nothing joyous in the world again!
Leader.
Albeit I tremble, and scarce may speak my thoughtTo a king's face, yet will I hide it not.Dionyse is God, no God more true nor higher!
Pentheus.
It bursts hard by us, like a smothered fire,This frenzy of Bacchic women! All my landIs made their mock.—This needs an iron hand!Ho, Captain! Quick to the Electran Gate;Bid gather all my men-at-arms thereat;Call all that spur the charger, all who knowTo wield the orbèd targe or bend the bow;We march to war!—'Fore God, shall women dareSuch deeds against us? 'Tis too much to bear!
Dionysus.
Thou mark'st me not, O King, and holdest lightMy solemn words; yet, in thine own despite,I warn thee still. Lift thou not up thy spearAgainst a God, but hold thy peace, and fearHis wrath! He will not brook it, if thou frightHis Chosen from the hills of their delight.
Pentheus.
Peace, thou! And if for once thou hast slipped thy chain,Give thanks!—Or shall I knot thine arms again?
Dionysus.
Better to yield him prayer and sacrificeThan kick against the pricks, since DionyseIs God, and thou but mortal.
Pentheus.
That will I!Yea, sacrifice of women's blood, to cryHis name through all Kithaeron!
Dionysus.
Ye shall fly,All, and abase your shields of bronzen rimBefore their wands.
Pentheus.
There is no way with him,This stranger that so dogs us! Well or illI may entreat him, he must babble still!
Dionysus.
Wait, good my friend! These crooked matters mayEven yet be straightened.
[Pentheushas started as though to seek his army at the gate.
Pentheus.
Aye, if I obeyMine own slaves' will; how else?
Dionysus.
Myself will leadThe damsels hither, without sword or steed.
Pentheus.
How now?—This is some plot against me!
Dionysus.
WhatDost fear? Only to save thee do I plot.
Pentheus.
It is some compact ye have made, wherebyTo dance these hills for ever!
Dionysus.
Verily,That is my compact, plighted with my Lord!
Pentheus(turning from him).
Ho, armourers! Bring forth my shield and sword!—And thou, be silent!
Dionysus(after regarding him fixedly, speaks with resignation).
Ah!—Have then thy will!
[He fixes his eyes uponPentheusagain, while the armourers bring out his armour; then speaks in a tone of command.
Man, thou wouldst fain behold them on the hillPraying!
Pentheus(who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, simply speaks the thoughts thatDionysusputs into him, losing power over his own mind).
That would I, though it cost me allThe gold of Thebes!
Dionysus.
So much? Thou art quick to fallTo such great longing.
Pentheus(somewhat bewildered at what he has said).
Aye; 'twould grieve me muchTo see them flown with wine.
Dionysus.
Yet cravest thou suchA sight as would much grieve thee?
Pentheus.
Yes; I fainWould watch, ambushed among the pines.
Dionysus.
'Twere vainTo hide. They soon will track thee out.
Pentheus.
Well said!'Twere best done openly.
Dionysus.
Wilt thou be ledBy me, and try the venture?
Pentheus.
Aye, indeed!Lead on. Why should we tarry?
Dionysus.
First we needA rich and trailing robe of fine-linenTo gird thee.
Pentheus.
Nay; am I a woman, then,And no man more?
Dionysus.
Wouldst have them slay thee dead?No man may see their mysteries.
Pentheus.
Well said!—I marked thy subtle temper long ere now.
Dionysus.
'Tis Dionyse that prompteth me.
Pentheus.
And howMean'st thou the further plan?
Dionysus.
First take thy wayWithin. I will array thee.
Pentheus.
What array?The woman's? Nay, I will not.
Dionysus.
Doth it changeSo soon, all thy desire to see this strangeAdoring?
Pentheus.
Wait! What garb wilt thou bestowAbout me?
Dionysus.
First a long tress dangling lowBeneath thy shoulders.
Pentheus.
Aye, and next?
Dionysus.
The saidRobe, falling to thy feet; and on thine headA snood.
Pentheus.
And after? Hast thou aught beyond?
Dionysus.
Surely; the dappled fawn-skin and the wand.
Pentheus(after a struggle with himself).
Enough! I cannot wear a robe and snood.
Dionysus.
Wouldst liefer draw the sword and spill men's blood?
Pentheus(again doubting).
True, that were evil.—Aye; 'tis best to goFirst to some place of watch.
Dionysus.
Far wiser so,Than seek by wrath wrath's bitter recompense.
Pentheus.
What of the city streets? Canst lead me henceUnseen of any?
Dionysus.
Lonely and untriedThy path from hence shall be, and I thy guide!
Pentheus.
I care for nothing, so these BacchanalsTriumph not against me! . . . Forward to my hallsWithin!—I will ordain what seemeth best.
Dionysus.
So be it, O King! 'Tis mine to obey thine hest,Whate'er it be.
Pentheus(after hesitating once more and waiting).