Enter SECOND MESSENGER.
SECOND MESSENGER
O house, so
prosperous once through Hellas long ago, home of the
old Sidonian
prince, who sowed the
serpent's crop of earth-born men,
how do I mourn thee! slave though I be, yet still the sorrows of his
master touch a good slave's heart.
CHORUS
How now? Hast thou fresh
tidings of the Bacchantes?
SECOND MESSENGER
Pentheus, Echion's son is dead.
CHORUS
Bromius, my king! now art thou appearing in thy might divine.
SECOND MESSENGER
Ha! what is it thou sayest? art thou glad, woman, at my master's
misfortunes?
CHORUS
A stranger I, and in foreign tongue I express my joy, for now no
more do I cower in
terror of the chain.
SECOND MESSENGER
Dost think Thebes so poor in men?[*]
[* Probably the whole of one iambic line with part of another is
here lost.]
CHORUS
'Tis Dionysus, Dionysus, not Thebes that lords it over me.
SECOND MESSENGER
All can I
pardon thee save this; to exult o'er
hopelesssuffering is sorry conduct, dames.
CHORUS
Tell me, oh! tell me how he died, that
villainschemingvillainy!
SECOND MESSENGER
Soon as we had left the homesteads of this Theban land and had
crossed the streams of Asopus, we began to breast Cithaeron's heights,
Pentheus and I, for I went with my master, and the stranger too, who
was to guide us to the scene. First then we sat us down in a
grassyglen, carefully silencing each footfall and whispered
breath, to see
without being seen. Now there was a dell walled in by rocks, with
rills to water it, and shady pines o'erhead; there were the Maenads
seated, busied with
joyous toils. Some were wreathing afresh the
drooping thyrsus with curling ivy-sprays; others, like colts let loose
from the carved chariot-yoke, were answering each other in hymns of
Bacchic
rapture. But Pentheus, son of sorrow,
seeing not the women
gathered there, exclaimed, "Sir stranger, from where I stand, I cannot
clearly see the mock Bacchantes; but I will climb a hillock or a
soaring pine
whence to see clearly the
shamefuldoings of the
Bacchanals." Then and there I saw the stranger work a
miracle; for
catching a lofty fir-branch by the very end he drew it
downward to the
dusky earth, lower yet and ever lower; and like a bow it bent, or
rounded wheel, whose curving
circle grows complete, as chalk and
line describe it; e'en so the stranger drew down the mountain-branch
between his hands, b
ending it to earth, by more than human
agency. And
when he had seated Pentheus aloft on the pine branches, he let them
slip through his hands
gently, careful not to shake him from his seat.
Up soared the branch straight into the air above, with my master
perched thereon, seen by the Maenads better far than he saw them;
for
scarce was he
beheld upon his lofty
throne, when the stranger
disappeared, while from the sky there came a voice, 'twould seem, by
Dionysus uttered-
"Maidens, I bring the man who tried to mock you and me and
my
mystic rites; take
vengeance on him." And as he spake he raised
'twixt heaven and earth a dazzling
column of awful flame. Hushed
grew the sky, and still hung each leaf throughout the
grassy glen, nor
couldst thou have heard one creature cry. But they, not sure of the
voice they heard,
sprang up and peered all round; then once again
his bidding came; and when the daughters of Cadmus knew it was the
Bacchic god in very truth that called, swift as doves they dirted
off in cager haste, his mother Agave and her sisters dear and all
the Bacchanals; through
torrent glen, o'er boulders huge they
bounded on, inspired with
madness by the god. Soon as they saw my
master perched upon the fir, they set to hurling stones at him with
all their might, mounting a commanding
eminence, and with
pine-branches he was pelted as with darts; and others shot their wands
through the air at Pentheus, their
hapless target, but all to no
purpose. For there he sat beyond the reach of their hot endeavours,
a
helpless,
hopelessvictim. At last they rent off limbs from oaks and
were for prising up the roots with levers not of iron. But when they
still could make no end to all their toil, Agave cried: "Come stand
around, and grip the
sapling trunk, my Bacchanals! that we may catch
the beast that sits thereon, lest he divulge the secrets of our
god's religion."
Then were a thousand hands laid on the fir, and from the ground
they tore it up, while he from his seat aloft came tumbling to the
ground with lamentations long and loud, e'en Pentheus; for well he
knew his hour was come. His mother first, a priestess for the nonce,
began the
bloody deed and fell upon him;
whereon he tore the snood
from off his hair, that
hapless Agave might recognize and spare him,
crying as he touched her cheek, "O mother! it is I, thy own son
Pentheus, the child thou didst bear in Echion's halls; have pity on
me, mother dear! oh! do not for any sin of mine slay thy own son."
But she, the while, with foaming mouth and wildly rolling eyes,
bereft of reason as she was, heeded him not; for the god possessed
her. And she caught his left hand in her grip, and planting her foot
upon her
victim's trunk she tore the shoulder from its
socket, not
of her own strength, but the god made it an easy task to her hands;
and Ino set to work upon the other side, r
ending the flesh with
Autonoe and all the eager host of Bacchanals; and one united cry
arose, the
victim's groans while yet he
breathed, and their
triumphant
shouts. One would make an arm her prey, another a foot with the sandal
on it; and his ribs were stripped of flesh by their r
ending nails; and
each one with blood-dabbled hands was tossing Pentheus' limbs about.
Scattered lies his
corpse, part beneath the
rugged rocks, and part
amid the deep dark woods, no easy task to find; but his poor head hath
his mother made her own, and fixing it upon the point of a thyrsus, as
it had been a mountain lion's, she bears it through the midst of
Cithaeron, having left her sisters with the Maenads at their rites.
And she is entering these walls exulting in her
huntingfraught with
woe,
calling on the Bacchic god her fellow-
hunter who had helped her
to
triumph in a chase, where her only prize was tears.
But I will get me hence, away from this piteous scene, before
Agave reach the palace. To my mind self-re
straint and
reverence for
the things of God point alike the best and wisest course for all
mortals who
pursue them.
Exit SECOND MESSENGER.
CHORUS
Come, let us exalt our Bacchic god in choral
strain, let us loudly
chant the fall of Pentheus from the
serpentsprung, who assumed a
woman's dress and took the fair Bacchic wand, sure
pledge of death,
with a bull to guide him to his doom. O ye Bacchanals of Thebes!
glorious is the
triumph ye have achieved,
ending in sorrow and
tears. 'Tis a noble
enterprise to dabble the hand in the blood of a
son till it drips. But hist! I see Agave, the mother of Pentheus, with
wild rolling eye hasting to the house;
welcome the revellers of the
Bacchic god.
Enter AGAVE.
AGAVE
Ye Bacchanals from Asia
CHORUS
Why dost thou rouse me? why?
AGAVE
From the hills I am bringing to my home a tendril
freshly-culled, glad guerdon-of the chase.
CHORUS
I see it, and I will
welcome thee unto our revels. All hail!
AGAVE
I caught him with never a snare, this lion's whelp, as ye may see.
CHORUS
From what desert lair?
AGAVE
Cithaeron-
CHORUS
Yes, Cithaeron?
AGAVE
Was his death.
CHORUS
Who was it gave the first blow?
AGAVE
Mine that
privilege; "Happy Agave!" they call me 'mid our
revellers.
CHORUS
Who did the rest?
AGAVE
Cadmus-
CHORUS
What of him?
AGAVE
His daughters struck the
monster after me; yes, after me.
CHORUS
Fortune smiled upon thy
hunting here.
AGAVE
Come, share the banquet.
CHORUS
Share? ah I what?
AGAVE
'Tis but a tender whelp, the down just sprouting on its cheek
beneath a crest of failing hair.
CHORUS
The hair is like some wild creature's.
AGAVE
The Bacchic god, a
hunterskilled, roused his Maenads to
pursuethis
quarry skilfully.
CHORUS
Yea, our king is a
hunter indeed.
AGAVE
Dost approve?
CHORUS
Of course I do.
AGAVE
Soon shall the race of Cadmus-
CHORUS
And Pentheus, her own son, shall to his mother-
AGAVE
Offer praise for this her
quarry of the lion's brood.
CHORUS
Quarry strange!
AGAVE
And
strangely caught.
CHORUS
Dost thou exult?
AGAVE
Right glad am I to have achieved a great and
glorioustriumphfor my land that all can see.
CHORUS
Alas for thee! show to the folk the booty thou hast won and art
bringing hither.
AGAVE
All ye who dwell in fair fenced Thebes, draw near that ye may
see the
fierce wild beast that we daughters of Cadmus made our prey,
not with the thong-thrown darts of Thessaly, nor yet with snares,
but with our fingers fair. Ought men idly to boast and get them
armourers' weapons? when we with these our hands have caught this prey
and torn the
monster limb from limb? Where is my aged sire? let him
approach. And where is Pentheus, my son? Let him bring a
ladder and