January 10

Where Love Lies Waiting

King Pantheus of Thebes contended against Dionysus, the God, for the adoration of the Theban women. The god was winning by bewitching the women when the king interceded. Euripides tells the story in a masterpiece of Greek drama.

Read from Euripides' THE BACCHÆ Vol. 8, pp. 368-372

THE BACCHÆ

OF EURIPIDES

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Dionysus, The God; son of Zeus and of the Theban princess Semelê.

Cadmus, formerly King of Thebes, father of Semelê.

Pentheus, King of Thebes, grandson of Cadmus.

Agâvê, daughter of Cadmus, mother of Pentheus.

Teiresias, an aged Theban prophet.

A Soldier of Pentheus’ Guard.

Two Messengers.

A Chorus of Inspired Damsels, following Dionysus from the East.

  “The play was first produced after the death of Euripides by his son, who bore the same name, together with the Iphigenia in Aulis and the Alcmaeon, probably in the year 405 B.C.”

  The background represents the front of the Castle of PENTHEUS, King of Thebes. At one side is visible the sacred Tomb of Semelê, a little enclosure overgrown with wild vines, with a cleft in the rocky floor of it from which there issues at times steam or smoke. The GodDIONYSUS is discovered alone.

DIONYSUS

BEHOLD, God’s Son is come unto this land

Of heaven’s hot splendour lit to life, when she

Of Thebes, even I, Dionysus, whom the brand

Who bore me, Cadmus’ daughter Semelê,

Died here. So, changed in shape from God to man,

I walk again by Dirce’s streams and scan

Ismenus’ shore. There by the castle side

I see her place, the Tomb of the Lightning’s Bride,

The wreck of smouldering chambers, and the great

Faint wreaths of fire undying—as the hate

Dies not, that Hera held for Semelê.

  Aye, Cadmus bath done well; in purity

He keeps this place apart, inviolate,

His daughter’s sanctuary; and I have set

My green and clustered vines to robe it round.

  Far now behind me lies the golden ground

Of Lydian and of Phrygian; far away

The wide hot plains where Persian sunbeams play,

The Bactrian war-holds, and the storm-oppressed

Clime of the Mede, and Araby the Blest,

And Asia all, that by the salt sea lies

In proud embattled cities, motley-wise

Of Hellene and Barbarian interwrought;

And now I come to Hellas—having taught

All the world else my dances and my rite

Of mysteries, to show me in men’s sight

Manifest God.

              And first of Helene lands

I cry this Thebes to waken; set her hands

To clasp my wand, mine ivied javelin,

And round her shoulders hang my wild fawn-skin.

For they have scorned me whom it least beseemed,

Semelê’s sisters; mocked my birth, nor deemed

That Dionysus sprang from Dian seed.

My mother sinned, said they; and in her need,

With Cadmus plotting, cloaked her human shame

With the dread name of Zeus; for that the flame

From heaven consumed her, seeing she lied to God.

  Thus must they vaunt; and therefore bath my rod

On them first fallen, and stung them forth wild-eyed

From empty chambers; the bare mountain side

Is made their home, and all their hearts are flame.

Yea, I have bound upon the necks of them

The harness of my rites. And with them all

The seed of womankind from hut and hall

Of Thebes, bath this my magic goaded out.

And there, with the old King’s daughters, in a rout

Confused, they make their dwelling-place between

The roofless rocks and shadowy pine trees green.

Thus shall this Thebes, how sore soe’er it smart,

Learn and forget not, till she crave her part

In mine adoring; thus must I speak clear

To save my mother’s fame, and crown me here

As true God, born by Semelê to Zeus.

  Now Cadmus yieldeth up his throne and use

Of royal honour to his daughter’s son

Pentheus; who on my body hath begun

A war with God. He thrusteth me away

From due drink-offering, and, when men pray,

My name entreats not. Therefore on his own

Head and his people’s shall my power he shown.

Then to another land, when all things here

Are well, must I fare onward, making clear

My godhead’s might. But should this Theban town

Essay with wrath and battle to drag down

My maids, lo, in their path myself shall be,

And maniac armies battled after me!

For this I veil my godhead with the wan

Form of the things that die, and walk as Man.

  O Brood of Tmolus o’er the wide world flown,

O Lydian band, my chosen and mine own,

Damsels uplifted o’er the orient deep

To wander where I wander, and to sleep

Where I sleep; up, and wake the old sweet sound,

The clang that I and mystic Rhea found,

The Timbrel of the Mountain! Gather all

Thebes to your song round Pentheus’ royal hall.

I seek my new-made worshippers, to guide

Their dances up Kithaeron’s pine clad side.  

[As he departs, there comes stealing in from the left a band of fifteen Eastern Women, the light of the sunrise streaming upon their long white robes and ivy-bound hair. They wear fawn-skins over the robes, and carry some of them timbrels, some pipes and other instruments. Many bear the thyrsus or sacred Wand, made of reed ringed with ivy. They enter stealthily till they see that the place is empty, and then begin their mystic song of worship.

CHORUS

A Maiden

From Asia, from the dayspring that uprises,

  To Bromios ever glorying we came.

We laboured for our Lord in many guises;

We toiled, but the toil is as the prize is;

  Thou Mystery, we hail thee by thy name!

Another

Who lingers in the road? Who espies us?

  We shall hide him in his house nor be bold.

Let the heart keep silence that defies us;

For I sing this day to Dionysus

  The song that is appointed from of old.

All the Maidens

Oh, blessèd he in all wise,

  Who hath drunk the Living Fountain,

    Whose life no folly staineth,

      And his soul is near to God;

Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise,

  As he worships on the Mountain,

    And where Cybele ordaineth,

      Our Mother, he has trod:

      His head with ivy laden

        And his thyrsus tossing high,

          For our God he lifts his cry;

      “Up, O Bacchæ, wife and maiden,

          Come, O ye Bacchæ, come;

    Oh, bring the Joy-bestower,

    God-seed of God the Sower,

    Bring Bromios in his power

          From Phrygia’s mountain dome;

      To street and town and tower,

            Oh, bring ye Bromios home.”

Whom erst in anguish lying

  For an unborn life’s desire,

    As a dead thing in the Thunder

      His mother cast to earth;

For her heart was dying, dying,

  In the white heart of the fire;

    Till Zeus, the Lord of Wonder,

      Devised new lairs of birth;

        Yea, his own flesh tore to hide him,

          And with clasps of hitter gold

          Did a secret son enfold,

      And the Queen knew not beside him;

          Till the perfect hour was there;

      Then a hornèd God was found,

      And a God of serpents crowned;

      And for that are serpents wound

          In the wands his maidens bear,

      And the songs of serpents sound

          In the mazes of their hair...