Euripides - The Bacchae (Scene V & Interlude V) lyrics

[Enter Second Messenger, one of Pentheus' attendants] SECOND MESSENGER: How I grieve for this house, in earlier days so happy throughout Greece, home of that old man, Cadmus from Sidon, who sowed the fields 1270 to harvest the earth-born crop produced from serpent Ophis. How I now lament— I know I'm just a slave, but nonetheless . . . CHORUS [They sing or chant their responses to the Messenger] Do you bring us news? Has something happened, something about the Bacchae? SECOND MESSENGER: Pentheus, child of Echion, is dead. [1030] CHORUS: O my lord Bromius, Now your divine greatness is here made manifest! 1280 SECOND MESSENGER: What are you saying? Why that song? Women, how can you now rejoice like this for the d**h of one who was my master? CHORUS LEADER: We're strangers here in Thebes, so we sing out our joy in chants from foreign lands. No longer need we cower here in fear of prisoner's chains. SECOND MESSENGER: Do you think Thebes lacks sufficient men to take care of your punishment? 1290 CHORUS: Dionysus, oh Dionysus, he's the one with power over me— not Thebes. SECOND MESSENGER: That you may be forgiven, but to cry aloud with joy when such disasters come, women, that's not something you should do. [1040] CHORUS: Speak to me, tell all— How did d**h strike him down, that unrighteous man, that man who acted so unjustly? 1300 SECOND MESSENGER: Once we'd left the settlements of Thebes, we went across the river Asopus, then started the climb up Mount Cithaeron— Pentheus and myself, I following the king. The stranger was our guide, scouting the way. First, we sat down in a gra**y meadow, keeping our feet and tongues quite silent, so we could see without being noticed. [1050] There was a valley there shut in by cliffs. Through it refreshing waters flowed, with pines 1310 providing shade. The Maenads sat there, their hands all busy with delightful work— some of them with ivy strands repairing damaged thyrsoi, while others sang, chanting Bacchic songs to one another, carefree as fillies freed from harness. Then Pentheus, that unhappy man, not seeing the crowd of women, spoke up, "Stranger, I can't see from where we're standing. My eyes can't glimpse those crafty Maenads. 1320 [1060] But up there, on that hill, a pine tree stands. If I climbed that, I might see those women, and witness the disgraceful things they do." Then I saw that stranger work a marvel. He seized that pine tree's topmost branch— it stretched up to heaven—and brought it down, pulling it to the dark earth, bending it as if it were a bow or some curved wheel forced into a circle while staked out with pegs— that's how the stranger made that tree bend down, 1330 forcing the mountain pine to earth by hand, something no mortal man could ever do. He set Pentheus in that pine tree's branches. [1070] Then his hands released the tree, but slowly, so it stood up straight, being very careful not to shake Pentheus loose. So that pine towered straight up to heaven, with my king perched on its back. Maenads could see him there more easily than he could spy on them. As he was just becoming visible— 1340 the stranger had completely disappeared— some voice—I guess it was Dionysus— cried out from the sky, "Young women, I've brought you the man who laughed at you, [1080] who ridiculed my rites. Now punish him!" As he shouted this, a dreadful fire arose, blazing between the earth and heaven. The air was still. In the wooded valley no sound came from the leaves, and all the beasts were silent, too. The women stood up at once. 1350 They'd heard the voice, but not distinctly. They gazed around them. Then again the voice shouted his commands. When Cadmus' daughters clearly heard what Dionysus ordered, they rushed out, running as fast as doves, [1090] moving their feet at an amazing speed. His mother Agave with both her sisters and all the Bacchae charged straight through the valley, the torrents, the mountain cliffs, pushed to a god-inspired frenzy. 1360 They saw the king there sitting in that pine. First, they scaled a cliff face looming up opposite the tree and started throwing rocks, trying to hurt him. Others threw branches, or hurled their thyrsoi through the air at him, sad, miserable Pentheus, their target. [1100] But they didn't hit him. The poor man sat high beyond their frenzied cruelty, trapped up there, no way to save his skin. Then, like lightning, they struck oak branches down, 1370 trying them as levers to uproot the tree. When these attempts all failed, Agave said, "Come now, make a circle round the tree. Then, Maenads, each of you must seize a branch, so we can catch the climbing beast up there, stop him making our god's secret dances known." Thousands of hands grabbed the tree and pulled. They yanked it from the ground. Pentheus fell, [1110] crashing to earth down from his lofty perch, screaming in distress. He knew well enough 1380 something dreadful was about to happen. His priestess mother first began the slaughter. She hurled herself at him. Pentheus tore off his headband, untying it from his head, so wretched Agave would recognize him, so she wouldn't k** him. Touching her cheek, he cried out, "It's me, mother, Pentheus, your child. You gave birth to me at home, in Echion's house. Pity me, mother— [1120] don't k** your child because I've made mistakes." 1390 But Agave was foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling in their sockets, her mind not set on what she ought to think—she didn't listen— she was possessed, in a Bacchic frenzy. She seized his left arm, below the elbow, pushed her foot against the poor man's ribs, then tore his shoulder out. The strength she had— it was not her own. The god put power into those hands of hers. Meanwhile Ino, her sister, went at the other side, 1400 ripping off chunks of Pentheus' flesh, while Autonoe and all the Bacchae, [1130] the whole crowd of them, attacked as well, all of them howling out together. As long as Pentheus was still alive, he kept on screaming. The women cried in triumph— one brandished an arm, another held a foot— complete with hunting boot—the women's nails tore his ribs apart. Their hands grew bloody, tossing bits of his flesh back and forth, for fun. 1410 His body parts lie scattered everywhere— some under rough rocks, some in the forest, deep in the trees. They're difficult to find. As for the poor victim's head, his mother [1140] stumbled on it. Her hands picked it up, then stuck it on a thyrsus, at the tip. Now she carries it around Cithaeron, as though it were some wild lion's head. She's left her sisters dancing with the Maenads. She's coming here, inside these very walls, 1420 showing off with pride her ill-fated prey, calling out to her fellow hunter, Bacchus, her companion in the chase, the winner, the glorious victor. By serving him, in her great triumph she wins only tears. As for me, I'm leaving this disaster, before Agave gets back home again. The best thing is to keep one's mind controlled, [1150] and worship all that comes down from the gods. That, in my view, is the wisest custom, 1430 for those who can conduct their lives that way. [Exit Messenger] CHORUS: Let's dance to honour Bacchus, Let's shout to celebrate what's happened here, happened to Pentheus, child of the serpent, who put on women's clothes, who took up the beautiful and blessed thyrsus— his certain d**h, disaster brought on by the bull. You Bacchic women 1440 [1160] descended from old Cadmus, you've won glorious victory, one which ends in tears, which ends in lamentation. A noble undertaking this, to drench one's hands in blood, life blood dripping from one's only son. CHORUS LEADER: Wait! I see Agave, Pentheus' mother, on her way home, her eyes transfixed. Let's now welcome her, 1450 the happy revels of our god of joy!