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EURIPEDES' BACCHAE

ACT 1 PALACE GARDEN AT THEBE

Here I now stand, son of Zeus

on Theban soil.

I, Dionysus.

I, Dionysus, whom Semele,

daughter of Cadmus,

once bore, delivered by lightning.

I have taken upon me the likeness of a mortal man

and come here to the springs of Dirce

and the water of Ismene.

For making Thebes the first place in Greece

to tremble under my shouts,

I had a special reason:

My mother's sisters,

they of all people,

spread a rumor that I, Dionysus,

was not the son of Zeus at all.

Semele, they said, had conceived by a mortal man

and Cadmus got her to blame it all on Zeus.

Zeus, they shouted far and wide,

took her life because she lied about him.

Therefore I have, with the spread of my frenzy

chased them from the palace here

and up into the mountain

and forced them to bear the insignia of my rites.

The insignia of my rites.

Yes, all the women of Thebes

I have driven up there to join the daughters of Cadmus

on smooth rocks in the shade of pine trees.

Now this proud city shall feel to its foundations

that it is excluded from my dance and my rites,

for I shall avenge the insult to the virtue of Semele

and shall appear to them as a god

and the son of Zeus.

Cadmus has now transferred power

to his grandson Pentheus.

Pentheus, who impudently disputes my divinity

and excludes me from his liberations

and never mentions me in his prayers.

So now I shall show him

and all his people

that I am born a god.

Oh women,

you who departed from Thmolos,

the stronghold of Lydia,

in festive processions which I have led

through the barbarian kingdoms,

you with whom I shared both pilgrimage and repose.

Now I go to Cithaeron

Cithaeron

Cithaeron

Cithaeron, to the Bacchae,

and there on the mountain I will join in their dances.

Come here then, come here to our act of worship.

Let all be silent!

And listen reverently to our perpetual song

the hymn of praise to Dionysus.

Oh, happy is she who, dedicated to the rite of the gods,

sanctifies herself

and, rejoicing, teaches her soul

to become one of the Bacchae in the dance of the god,

to be united, purified.

Their throng in the mountains:

who in the orgies

given us by the great mother, Cybele,

ivy-wreathed and with thyrsus lifted,

may hymn and serve Dionysus!

Come Bacchae, come! Come Bacchae! Come Bacchae, come!

Come!

The god of revelry,

divine-borne Dionysus,

come with him from the mountains of Phrygia

to the wide streets of Greece.

Bring now here our god of revelry.

Yes, bring here

he whom his mother bore prematurely

and expelled from her from her womb in dreadful torments of childbed,

struck by a flash of lightning sent on the wing by Zeus:

the stroke of lightning that took her life.

And in the room where he was born

his father, son of Chronus, took him

and hid him safely in his thigh with golden buckles

so that Hera could not see it.

Then he gave birth, when fate so decreed,

to a god with bull's horns

and crowned him with snakes he had plaited.

Ever since that day, Maenads have worn wild serpents twined in their hair.

Thebe, nurse of Semele, crown yourself with ivy wreaths!

Teeming with lush greenery and ripe fruits,

abandon yourself completely to Bacchus.

Soon all the land will dance,

and then the Reveler will lead his procession to the mountain.

To the mountain

where the women live,

the host of women who broke away,

fled from shuttle and loom,

stung by Dionysus.

He is the god of happiness

in the mountains

where he darts ahead of his boisterous retinue

and casts himself to the ground

in his sacred fawn-skin costume

hunting for the blood of the he-goat

and the delicious raw flesh,

darting away towards the mountains of Phrygia and Lydia!

Yes, the Reveler leads us! Evohee!

Evohee! Evohee! Evohee!

The soil flows with milk,

flows with wine,

flows with the nectar of bees!

And smoke rises like the heavy incense of Syria

when the god raises his torch

and, with his thyrsus on high,

quickly spurs his retinues

and inflames them with dances and leapings

and with shrill cries to egg them on

and casts his silk-soft locks

towards the sky,

as a reply to their evohee the call comes:

Oh, come Bacchae, come Bacchae!

Sing in a shining Lydian mode

to me, Dionysus,

clamoring with fast drums!

Give an evohee of rejoicing for your jubilant god.

Raise your Phrygian shout triumphant

while the sacred flute twines

its sacred voice about your steps

as you wander to the mountains,

to the mountains!

And, happy as the foal

grazing with the mare in the meadow,

the Bacchae dance and bound in swift, untrammeled leaps.

Ask Cadmus to come out.

Go thou and say that he is wanted by Teiresias the seer.

He will doubtless know already why I am here

and what we old men have agreed on!

Ah, dear friend, I quickly recognised your voice,

the wise voice of a wise man!

Look, I am ready and I have everything with me for the rite.

Say, Teiresias, you who have gathered so much wisdom:

as one old man you will have to instruct another.

I feel that I could go on striking with this staff day and night.

Oh, how splendid it is to forget one's age.

I feel the same, youth boils within me

and now I wish to dance.

Come then, and we will take the chariots up there to the mountains!

I think it would seem disrespectful to the god.

Must I in my old age lead another old man?

Oh, the god will lead us up there, and without effort.

Are we the only ones here in the city proposing to dance?

We are the only sensible ones in a city of fools.

Now we must hurry: come, let me take your hand.

Here it is, take it, hold it firmly and do not let it go.

I venerate the gods.

I know that I am mortal.

We do not speculate about the spiritual.

The tradition we have inherited from our fathers

can never be overturned by arguments of sophists,

for it is as ancient as time itself.

People I think will say that I ought to be ashamed

to, at my age, crown myself with ivy for the dance.

But our god does not distinguish between young and old,

for in his dance all are of equal worth.

He wants everyone to pay tribute to him together,

and in his ritual

there is neither rank nor age.

There comes Pentheus, rushing like mad.

What a state he's in! I wonder what he wants?

Before I reached home

reports came to me

that our women are leaving their homes

and rambling about in flocks in the forests on the mountain

in false rites where they dance

to worship their new-found god

Dionysus - whoever that may be.

There are said to be full jars of wine everywhere among them.

Then before long they sneak off in various directions to remote places

where they give themselves to lustful men.

They say there is a stranger here,

a wizard from Lydia

with blond and scented hair

and white-shimmering complexion

and eyes glittering with the power of Aphrodite.

Bring him here

and I'll cut his throat!

But what have we here? One more miracle:

Teiresias, the seer in person

in fawn-skin!

But who is with him? My own grandfather

dressed up like a Bacchant.

What a sight you are!

How can a man of your age have so little sense?

You, the father of my mother!

Take off that ivy wreath

and stop waving your thyrsus about!

Throw it away!

Teiresias,

you have shamed my grandfather.

You believe

that if you can launch this god,

it will mean another source of income for you,

but if it weren't for your gray hairs

you would now be in chains among the Bacchae

as a punishment for spreading illegal doctrines.

When a reasonable man

has something wise to say,

it's not difficult for him

to give a beautiful speech.

You, on the other hand, speak fluently

and sound wise, but what you say

lacks any reason.

Their god is a seer:

ecstasy and the Bacchic frenzy hold a prophetic power.

The day will come

when you yourself will see him running

in torchlight

over the meadow of the twin peaks

and shaking his thyrsus

like one of the greatest

of the Grecian gods.

Pentheus,

hear me!

Your power is built on strength;

it is not strength alone

that rules the world.

If your thoughts are diseased

then abandon your thoughts.

Hail this god and make your sacrifice.

Dance and crown yourself!

My son, what Teiresias says is right.

Now do the same as us, and do not breach the ancient custom.

Your brain is fugitive, your words are air.

But let us say that you are right:

suppose that Dionysus is no god at all.

Then tell a lie and pretend to believe,

for if Semele acquires the name of a god's mother, it will be an honor,

you understand, for the whole family.

Now then, let me put the ivy wreath on you.

Don't touch me!

Now then, join with the two of us and worship this god.

Go to your Bacchic orgies,

and don't palm off your madness onto me!

But the rascal of a prophet, who has misled you,

him, we will punish!

Quickly, someone, run to the place of sacrifice

where this birdwatcher usually goes

and overturn his bench.

Take tridents and iron crowbars. Smash everything you see.

Turn the whole thing upside down!

Let strips of prophecy fly off in the wind!

That penalty, for sure, will smart more than any other.

Then, go out and search the whole city

until you catch the girlish stranger

who is infecting the women with this new madness.

As soon as you have him, put him in chains and bring him to me.

He'll be sentenced to death by stoning.

Then we'll see a different kind of Bacchic dance in Thebes!

The fool!

He no longer knows what he's saying.

He was off balance just now, but now he is out of his senses.

Come Cadmus, quickly, we must pray,

both for him, raw as he is,

and for our city,

so that the god does not decide to avenge himself.

Take your ivy staff, try to support me

and so we will hold each other up,

for it will not look well

if both of us old men fall down.

Have you heard what Pentheus says?

How he blasphemes,

how he insults the god of Revelry, born of Semele,

he who loves to be among the beautiful wreaths of the feast,

to be the foremost among all the joyful ones?

It is he who is entitled to lead the dance,

to laugh with the playing of the flute,

he who subdues all our sorrow

whenever the flow of the grape sparkles

at a banquet dedicated to the god.

In the shade of the ivy

the wine pitcher sweeps humankind into slumber.

To Cyprus I would like to go,

the island that gave birth to Aphrodite,

the island where lived the Erotes

who gently bind the hearts of men!

To Pharos, where the barbarian river with a hundred mouths

makes rainless crops to grow!

To the land of eternal beauty!

Up to Pieria, the home of the sacred slope of Olympia!

Take me there now, Reveler, Reveler,

the evohee god of Bacchanalia!

There are the Graces, there Desire,

there we may worship our god in freedom.

Our god, he who is the son of Zeus,

he brings the joy of festivals.

He loves Peace

and bestows upon us prosperity

and the joy of youth.

He gives, equally to rich and poor,

the profound and lighthearted joy of the vine which banishes grief.

He hates everyone

who neglects, from the light of day

to the friendly night, to dedicate their life to happiness,

and avoids the company of those who believe themselves superior!

That which the simplest people believe and practice,

I want myself to follow!

Mission accomplished, Lord.

Here is the quarry you gave us orders to trap for you.

The animal was remarkably docile.

He didn't try to escape but held out his own hands to be tied up.

He didn't turn pale,

just smiled at us and asked us to capture him and bring him to you.

I was embarrassed by him being so dignified.

"Stranger," I said, "Don't suppose that trapping you was my idea.

I'm only obeying the King's orders."

And you know, those Bacchae

that you had arrested and chained up in prison?

They've disappeared far out into the country.

They are leaping about and shouting for the Reveler, their god.

The chains simply fell from their legs.

The bolts were pulled clear and the door opened,

and yet no mortal had touched it.

I only know that fellow has come to fill our city with miracles.

The rest is your problem.

Yes, stranger, you're not bad-looking.

That goes over well with the women

you came here for.

Look at the locks

hanging down over his cheek!

That's not the look of a wrestler.

It has the scent of love.

And you're white-skinned, too.

But of course, if you want to entrap Aphrodite with your beauty,

you must take care not to get sunburned.

But tell me now, first and foremost: where do you come from?

Do you know where Tmolus is, the mount of a thousand flowers?

I know it, the one that encircles Sardis.

That's where I come from: Lydia is my native land.

The rites you bring here, where did you learn them?

I was initiated by Dionysus himself, the son of Zeus.

Did he come to you in a dream, or was it daylight?

Eye to eye, I received his rituals.

These rituals, tell me, what are they all about?

That may not be revealed to the uninitiated.

And if you observe them, what do you gain by it?

You gain everything!

But nothing for your ears.

Do you practice your cult by night or by day?

Mostly by night. There is a scared power in darkness.

And plenty of pitfalls for women! It's unhealthy.

Some behavior can be just as unhealthy in broad daylight!

He's a cheeky fellow, this son of Bacchus! And he has a ready tongue.

Tell me, what will my punishment be?

What are you going to do with me?

First I will cut your lovely hair off.

My hair is sacred. It is consecrated to the god himself.

Then we'll keep your beautiful body in prison.

And the god will release me whenever I wish.

Yes, of course, whenever you shout among the Bacchae!

He is here now.

He sees all that is happening to me.

Where? I can't see any god here.

He is where I am.

Godless, you see him not.

No!

Seize the fellow! He's mocking both me and Thebes!

No, don't tie me up. You are fools if you do.

I have more power than you. Tie him up, I say.

What are you saying? What are you doing? Do you know who you are?

Pentheus, born of Agave, fathered by Échion!

That name condemns you to a ghastly fate.

Off to the stable!

Tether him to a log!

You can sit as you please and stare in the darkness.

Then we'll see if you can dance!

The women you had with you, your accomplices, we'll put up for auction.

He has shown

that he is a son of the earth,

scion of the dragon,

this Pentheus conceived by Échion.

Son of the earth,

more a monster than mortal,

like a bloodthirsty giant

dueling with gods;

he who soon ensnares the servant of the Reveler

and already holds a prisoner in his house

in the dark hiding place,

my comrade in the retinue of Bacchus.

Do you see, son of Zeus?

Do you see your preachers, Dionysus,

how they fight against oppression?

Come and help us,

you who have lifted up your golden thyrsus on Olympia,

come and restrain this madman in his blood-lust!

Ho! Do you hear my voice when I call?

Ho, Bacchae! Ho, Bacchae!

What was that call to me?

Who did it come from?

Dionysus?

Ho! I call again:

I am the son of Semele and Zeus!

Ho! Ho! Sovereign! Sovereign come!

We are here. Come in our circle,

come in our dance.

Reveler!

Reveler!

Earthquake spirit, let the earth tremble!

Soon the whole building of Pentheus

will collapse in the tremor!

Do you see how the beam there

high up on the column collapses and falls?

Hear how the Reveler

makes his war cry ring through the palace!

Blaze now, torch that was lit by the lightning!

Burn it now, burn the whole house of Pentheus!

Cast yourselves to the ground, Maenads,

cast yourselves down in terror!

For the sovereign attacks the palace, he smashes it to pieces!

He is the son of Zeus!

Women from distant Asia,

what storm of terror

has struck you to the ground?

Did you feel that Bacchus himself

set Pentheus' great palace trembling?

Arise.

Calm yourself, expel your panic:

there, tremble no more!

Did you really give up hope

when you saw me taken away,

condemned to be fettered, shut up in Pentheus' dark prison?

How did you escape from the clutches of the atheists?

I freed myself, by my own strength.

It was easy.

Had not Pentheus tied your hands where you sat?

Indeed, he thought he tied me up.

That was when I had my revenge.

Though he was so sure of it

he didn't even touch me.

He saw a bull in the stable they had taken me to,

and that was what he tried to tether.

He tied the knees and hooves together

bitten to pieces, dripping with sweat, panting with rage,

he struggled to tether the beast.

Myself, I stood there in peace quite close by

and enjoyed the spectacle.

Suddenly it seemed to him that I had escaped,

so he ran indoors for a ghastly iron sword

which he flailed about him with.

Then Bacchus, the god of Revelry...

well, I suppose it was him...

sent an enchanted will-o'-the-wisp dancing across the courtyard.

Pentheus threw himself upon it,

certain that it was me he was beheading.

The stranger has escaped.

What now?

There he is! How can you suddenly turn up like this?

But didn't I tell you I would be released?

By whom? You're always finding something new to say.

By him who weighs down the vines

with grapes for us.

Have all the city gates closed!

Oh, don't you think the gods

can get over them?

You seem to know everything, except what you ought to know.

The most important thing I have known ever since I was born.

But find out first what that fellow over there wants with you,

for he has come here with news from the mountains.

Pentheus, sovereign lord of the land of Thebes...

You've got us here anyway. We have no intention of escaping.

I come from the slopes of Cithaeron,

from wide open spaces perpetually glistening with untouched snow.

What are you in such a hurry to tell me?

I have seen the Bacchae who fled from here

barefoot, driven by madness like a swarm of arrows.

And what they are doing up there, King,

let me tell you. The whole city is more than miraculous.

But tell me first, can I speak freely about all that is happening

or must one be more discreet?

I know that you have a hot temper, King,

and that your wrath is...

of the most regal kind.

Speak out!

Whatever you say, I will not punish you.

Wrath cannot strike those who do their duty.

I had just taken my herd to the uppermost pasture among the rocks.

It was the hour

at which the first rays of the sun begin to warm the soil.

Then I spotted something.

Three different sets of women, one led by Autonae,

one by your mother, Agave, and then the third by Ino.

And they were all sleeping,

some with their backs against a pine tree,

others on oak leaves on the bare ground,

but decently and chastely,

for they were nothing like what you said before

when you talked about them having orgies of love

in the forest and being drunk on wine and flute music.

We herdsmen had gathered to talk about what we had seen.

We all felt it was more than miraculous,

and one among us who usually hangs around in the city

and is always full of talk said to the rest of us,

"Look here, you people who live among the mountains of the god,

shall we try and capture Agave, Pentheus' mother

and take her back home from the Bacchic dance?

The king would thank us."

It sounded like a good idea,

so we concealed ourselves in ambush in the thickets.

It was time.

They began flailing their thyrsi and getting into ecstasy.

Agave happened to dance right next to me.

My first thought was to catch her,

and I leaped out of the thicket where we were hiding,

but she screamed:

"Ho, my fast-footed hounds, look at the men, they are after us!

Come, follow me, follow me

bring your thyrsi and come!"

If we hadn't fled we would have been torn to pieces by the Bacchae.

Then they went for the cattle which were grazing there in the pasture.

They hadn't a weapon between them, but you should have seen!

One of them lifted a lowing cow, full of milk, with her bare hands.

A few took our heifers and tore them apart while still alive, bit by bit,

so that there were legs and hooves flying in all directions

and gobbets of flesh hung from the fir trees,

dripping with blood.

The bulls turned angry and lowered their horns to charge.

Almost at once they were pulled to the ground

by a thousand hands of women who tore the flesh from them,

and it was all over in less time than it takes you, King, to blink

and shield your royal pupil with your eyelid.

Then they threw themselves just like a flock of birds.

They swarmed over the plain where Aesopos flows through

the fields which all Thebes lives on.

In Hysíai and Érythrai, in the lee of Cithaeron,

they poured in like an invading enemy,

devastating everything before them and carrying off the children,

and the loot which they took on their shoulders

suspended in air without anything holding it.

Nothing fell to the ground, neither copper nor iron.

Fire appeared in their hair, and yet they were not burned.

The villagers saw red, knowing they were plundered

and by Bacchae at that, so they took to arms.

Another wonder!

Where the spears struck the women,

no blood came,

but their own thyrsi

gave the men great wounds

as soon as they nudged them,

so that the women put the men to flight.

It shows that there was a god taking a hand in things.

Lord, whoever he may be, this god, receive him in Thebes

for his power is tremendous, everybody says so.

One special thing I have heard:

they say that it was he who gave us the vine which deadens sorrow.

And what would love be without wine?

What would be left for us down there?

We tremble to speak

freely before the tyrant,

but we will still say frankly

what we think:

Dionysus

is a god as great as any other.

Now the frenzy of Bacchus is burning

at the gates

and threatens to make us a disgrace

to all of Greece.

I will wait no longer.

Run to the Electra Gate!

Give orders for my infantry

to march out with shields,

every man I have, my fast-riding cavalry,

my javelin troops

and everyone who can twang a bow-string,

for now we attack the Bacchae!

No, things will have gone too far the day

we let ourselves be humiliated by women.

So, you refuse to take me at my word,

Pentheus.

But although you have treated me so badly,

I say to you,

do not take up arms against a god.

Do you want me to lock you up once more?

If I were you,

I would sacrifice

rather than kick at his whip,

a mortal against a god!

He shall have a blood sacrifice

when all these women are slaughtered

as they deserve

in the clefts of Cithaeron!

They will put your men to flight!

How shameful when the copper shields

flee before the thyrsi of women!

Is there no getting rid of this stranger?

Whatever one does, he will not be silenced.

My friend, there is still time

to settle this matter.

How?

By becoming the slave of my own slave women?

You would like to see them

up there in the mountains, wouldn't you?

Yes, of course, let it cost me all the gold in the world.

Really? Do you desire it so strongly?

I know it would torment me to see them drunk.

And you are eager to see what torments you.

Yes! I will sit in silence, hidden well away beneath a fir tree.

They will track you down even if you hide.

Then I will show myself openly.

Thank you for telling me.

Shall I take you there? Are you ready to go?

Yes come, come, let's hurry. What are you waiting for?

First you must have a linen dress to wear.

What are you saying? Must I change from man to woman?

They will kill you if you come there as a man.

Of course, you're right again. You truly do know everything.

Dionysus himself has taught us how to go about such things.

This is brilliant! But what are we to do?

Come, we'll go into your palace and I'll dress you.

Dress me? In women's clothing? No, it will be too shameful.

So you no longer want to see the Maenads?

What are you going to put on me?

I will untie your hair

to let it right down.

And then, after that,

what are you going to put on me?

A full-length mantle gown and a kerchief about your hair.

And will there be more besides that?

A thyrsus in your hand, and a fawn-skin.

No! Never will I put on women's clothing!

Fighting with the Bacchae costs blood.

True! I'll start by spying on them.

Rather that than drive out evil with evil.

How can I get through the city without anyone seeing me?

We'll go by deserted streets. I'll show you.

Anything rather than be mocked by the Bacchae!

Now, I'll go inside and make my decision.

Of course, as you please.

I'm at your service.

Now I go.

Either I will lead my people in battle

or else I will do as you have proposed.

Women!

Now I shall adorn Pentheus for his journey to Hades

in the costume he is to wear

when he descends there,

slain by his own mother.

He shall learn to know the son of Zeus,

Dionysus,

born wholly divine,

wholly divine,

for mankind,

infinitely fearful,

infinitely compassionate.

What is our wisdom?

And what is the best

thing that gods give us?

Putting one's victorious hand

to the head of an enemy in vengeance?

No, an eternal friend:

that is the true good.

Happy is he who has escaped the tempests of the ocean

and come into harbor.

Happy is he who rises above the vicissitudes of fate.

Here on earth, each has his allotted timespan.

Power and wealth are ever changing.

A thousand hearts bear within them a thousand hopes.

Some lead to the downfall of humanity,

others point the way to success.

He who can enjoy the brief day's happiness,

him I call fortunate.

Come, you who are in such a hurry to see what is forbidden,

who long to go where you do not wish to,

come, Pentheus, come,

come forward and let us see you

dressed up as one of the Bacchae

in women's clothes,

you who wish to spy on your own mother

and the women who accompany her!

Now you look just like one of Cadmus' daughters.

What is this? I think I see two suns

and the whole of Thebes,

the city of seven gates.

I see double!

And me, what do I look like?

You, as I stand here now, do I resemble Ino?

Her sister? What? My mother?

Come here and I'll tidy your hair, it's all ruffled.

I expect that happened when I shook my head just now.

I was dancing a little Bacchic dance in there.

Since I am here to serve you, I will attend to the matter.

Stand still, head up.

Yes of course, do as you please. I'm in your hands.

Your girdle is loose, so your mantle is falling down.

Look, look how the folds are covering your foot.

How glad I am to see you so transformed!

Do you think I will be strong enough to lift the whole of Cithaeron,

the Bacchae and everything on my shoulders?

Of course you can, if you want to.

Earlier your mind was darkened;

now it is just as clear as it should be.

Now lead me straight through all the lands of Thebes.

I alone have courage to do what I dare.

Follow me! Someone else will bring you home again.

My mother, or...

And you will be an example to everybody.

That is my aim.

You will be carried home...

In regal majesty.

...in the arms of your mother.

How you spoil me.

Yes, I'll spoil you

in my way.

And I deserve it.

INTERMISSION 5 minutes

Who is Dionysus?

The god of wine, the joy of life, surrounded by paintings, Bacchae,

on red-figured Greek vase paintings.

A bearded man, with ivy and vine clusters in his hair,

with the thyrsus staff in his hand,

and a pine cone, the fertility symbol at the top:

this is how he is often portrayed in Greek art about 400 years before Christ.

Here he appears on a wine bowl, with a vine in one hand,

with the other he hands a drinking horn to one of his followers.

Here Dionysus is pouring wine on an altar.

He has a wreath of ivy in his hair.

To his other side is the thyrsus.

This was Dionysus: the god of intoxication, ecstasy, orgies,

he who led his entourage of drunken bacchae in ecstatic dances

which culminated in the sacrifice of a living animal

which was torn apart and eaten up by women, who also drank the blood.

In this way, one took the powers of the sacrificed animal and its god.

The same concept is seen in the Christian communion:

the wine, the blood of Christ;

the wafer, his body

which we drink and eat.

Thus Dionysus was the god of ecstasy

that was believed to have come from Asia, Egypt, the deserts of Syria

to Greece. The opposite of Apollo, the god of reason and sense.

Both were worshipped in Delphi,

Dionysus during the winter when Apollo was gone,

like opposites that needed each other.

The mask plays were born from the Dionysus story:

the Greek drama, the music of flutes.

He often walked the earth disguised, as gods usually do.

Here is another image of Dionysus

which better matches the figure in Euripides' <i>Bacchae</i>:

a face that could be both a man's and a woman's,

strong and soft at the same time,

with full lips and a faraway gaze

under bunches of grapes and ivy leaves.

Infinitely terrible and with infinite compassion,

as it is said about Dionysus in the drama.

A double nature, a god with two faces, as seen in the Janus figures.

A god capable of anything, loving

with the trait of one who would come after him, Christ,

but also annihilating, destructive, vindicatory,

so far from the Greeks' marble white, the symbol of sense, moderation.

That which is in all of us, subconsciously, secretly,

down in the depths of the oceans

and which we are not aware of, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde,

that which makes ordinary people do things that no one would expect:

heinous acts of violence, great works of art,

all that which wells up from the dark springs.

Freud called it the subconscious,

he who drew so much from the Greek tales and dramas.

The "Dionysian," it could also be called.

And now the play continues.

ACT II PALACE GARDEN - THE SAME NIGHT

Hasten now,

swift bitches of frenzy,

teem into the mountains where the daughters of Cadmus dwell!

Pour into them your wrath

against this frenzied man disguised as a woman,

the spy who would see the dance of Maenads!

The mother is the first to spot her son as he spies down from a rock or tree.

She warns the Maenads with her cry:

What man is this who has come to the mountains,

has come to the mountains?

Step forth, now, Justice,

let everyone see your sword!

Drive it into his throat,

the blasphemer of the law,

the oppressor of the god,

the son of Échion,

his earth-born son!

He abuses justice,

he tramples on every law,

he makes war, Bacchus,

against you and your mother, against your mysteries!

His entire soul is black with madness,

seeking to conquer

the unconquerable by force!

Step forth, now, Justice,

let everyone see your sword!

Drive it into his throat,

the blasphemer of the law,

the oppressor of the god,

the son of Échion,

his earth-born son!

Wisdom of the gods is found

in the inevitability of death.

A modest life is safe from anguish.

Worldly erudition I abhor.

My joy is to seek far greater values,

those which everybody sees:

to turn towards that which is good

each night and day,

to reject everything that violates a law,

and thus to spend my whole life

in purity and praise of the gods.

Don't forget Pentheus!

Step forth, now, Justice,

let everyone see your sword!

Drive it into his throat,

the blasphemer of the law,

the oppressor of the god,

the son of Échion,

his earth-born son!

Oh house that once spread its happiness over Greece,

the house of the old man,

his home which in this soil

let the teeth of the dragon germinate to earthly harvest,

I weep.

Although I am an ordinary slave, I bemoan your fate.

Pentheus is dead.

To rejoice at misfortune is not beautiful, women!

Tell us now and say, what death did he die?

We had left the villages of Thebes behind us

and continued on the other side of Aesopos,

up between the boulders on the steeps of Cithaeron.

It was Pentheus and me,

yes, I wanted to accompany my king,

and then the stranger who showed us the way.

First we came to a valley

and hid in the grass as quietly as possible

just whispering to each other.

We wanted to be able to see without being seen.

It was a valley with steep cliffs all around,

streams of clear, fresh water,

and fir trees which gave shade,

and there, we saw several of the Maenads.

They were quietly busying themselves about their tasks.

Some were wrapping their thyrsi in fresh creepers,

others were just like foals let out of harness,

and they sang their Bacchic hymn in clear echoes to each other.

But Pentheus did not see the mad throng of women.

"You, stranger," he said,

"the place you have chosen is wrong, we can't see any lascivious women here.

But if I climb up the rock or the fir tree,

I will have an excellent view of the whole disgraceful scene."

That was when the stranger began working his miracles.

I saw it myself: how we grasped the top of a fir tree

and pulled, and he pulled it down fully to the black earth!

And the fir tree was bent in a curve,

as when an archer draws his bow:

he pulled top down to the ground

with his bare hands.

No mortal could do that!

He put Pentheus in the uppermost branches.

Then he gently let go, so that the king would not be thrown off

until it was standing straight, with Pentheus astride the top of it.

He had barely got into position up there when I noticed

that the stranger was gone.

There came a voice from the sky,

which must surely have been Dionysus himself shouting:

"Hear me, women, here is the man who mocked you and me and abuses my rites!

Punish him now!"

And while he was speaking, a sacred fire shone

and threw a bridge of light between sea and sky.

Everything stood still.

The forest restrained its whispering,

and the leaves were not moved.

Even the animals were completely silent.

The women stood petrified, looking in all directions.

They had heard his cry but not the words.

Then he cried again.

And now, as soon as they heard that it was the god commanding them,

the daughters of Cadmus sprang up, swift as a flock of pigeons

and rushed off as fast as their feet would carry them,

Agave, Pentheus' mother and her sisters, and all the Bacchae.

One leap and they were over the stream and rocks,

such was the fury with which the god inspired them.

They tore great branches from an oak tree.

They tried to grub up his tree by the roots.

But no matter how they pulled and shoved, they got nowhere.

Then Agave screamed,

"Hear me!

Bacchae, Bacchae!

Gather round the trunk, grasp it,

for we shall capture the beast that is sitting there

lest our mystery be betrayed."

And a thousand hands grasped the trunk

and pulled it right up out of the soil!

From the top high up where he was sitting, Pentheus fell

and crashed straight onto the ground,

screaming all the way.

He screamed, for now he understood that his end was near.

His mother came like a priestess of death

to begin taking his life.

He tore off his kerchief so that his unfortunate mother

would recognise him and spare him.

He stroked her cheek.

"It is I, mother," he said.

"I, Pentheus. I, your own son.

Mother, forgive me, for I know that I have done wrong, but

do not take your own child's life."

She just looked at him, with wild eyes far beyond all reason.

She was foaming at the mouth and heard nothing:

she was possessed by the god.

She grasped his left arm in both hands,

took purchase on his chest with her foot,

and wrenched his arm off at the shoulder.

Ino tore the flesh from him on the other side,

and then came Autonoë and the whole horde of women

who went on tearing him to pieces.

His mother got ahold of his head.

She thought it was the head of a lion,

carried it like a hunting trophy over Cithaeron.

She is on her way here, rejoicing in her capture.

She shouts to the god, her comrade of the chase,

her friend in victory,

he who will soon be drowning her cries of victory in tears.

To be moderate and to venerate the gods in humility:

that is after all the supreme good

and safest too, I believe, for us mortals.

Let us in Bacchus praise

dancing, celebrating with great shouts

the fall of Pentheus,

the progeny of dragon and earth,

the fool who blindly put on a woman's dress

and the glorious thyrsus

his staff of Hades.

A bull it was that led him

to his death!

Quiet!

Quiet, there I see her running towards the palace:

Agave, mother of Pentheus,

with madness in her eyes.

Bacchae, come with me!

You rouse us to dance?

From the mountains I bring

a newly cut creeper to adorn my house,

the most splendid prize from the hunt!

I see. Join my retinue!

The small cub

of a wild and bloody lion

I trapped without snares.

In what desolate tract was that?

The mountains of Cithaeron.

The mountains of Cithaeron?

It was the death of him.

And who smote the animal?

I struck first!

Happy you, Agave!

In the retinue of the god

that is what I am called.

Were there others with you?

Yes, the children of Cadmus.

No, what are you saying?

His daughters followed.

They came and touched the animal!

A successful hunt!

Join my festival!

Festival? Oh, no!

The calf is young.

He blossomed a while ago,

and the down shone so handsomely

on his cheek below the hair.

And soon the children of Cadmus will…

and Pentheus, my son

...pay tribute to their mother.

For I captured the child of the lion!

A remarkable catch!

In a remarkable way!

Are you happy now?

I rejoice!

And visible and great

is the deed I have performed!

Yes, great is my deed!

Oh, born to misfortune, show your trophy to the people,

the quarry you have brought home.

You who live in Thebes

of the beautiful towers,

come here and see!

Here I have the beast which we trapped and killed,

we the daughters of Cadmus,

not with nets,

not with leather-bound spears of Thessaly,

no, all of this we did with our white hands.

Where is my aged father? He must come here.

And Pentheus, where is he?

I want him to put a ladder against the wall

and climb up

so that he can nail the trophy right at the top,

the lion's head I have brought home from the hunt.

Here is his body.

I labored to gather it,

for the pieces were strewn

in the clefts of Cithaeron

and far inside the thickets

so that one could not see them.

No two pieces of it

were in the same place.

Father, you can boast far and wide

that you have begotten

the boldest and best daughters

of any mortal here on earth!

I speak of us all

but all of myself

that went straight from the shuttle

to deeds of heroism,

a big game hunt with bare hands!

Look, here I have the prize!

I brought it with me

so that it could be nailed up on the wall

of your palace.

Here father, take it in your hands.

Be proud of your daughter.

Gather our friends for a feast

to celebrate the hunt!

How happy you are!

Yes, happy to have this deed of ours to take pride in!

Oh, daughter!

When you suddenly see what you have done

you sorrow will be terrible.

But if you remain as you are now,

well, happy you may not be,

but you will still be spared knowing that you aren't.

What is this sorrow?

What is it now that is so terrible?

First you must lift your eyes to heaven.

I do so now.

What do you want to look at heaven for?

Is it still the same?

Has it changed, do you think?

It seems clearer and brighter than before.

Are you still possessed?

I don't understand it,

but it feels as if my reason has returned.

Something feels changed.

Are you prepared to listen to me?

Can you answer?

Oh, father, I cannot remember what we said before.

Your husband had a son by you.

What was his name?

Pentheus! My husband lay with me, I had a son.

Whose head are you holding in your hands?

The head of a lion!

Ask my hunting companions!

Look straight at it!

It will only take a moment.

What is this?

What do I hold in my arms?

Look at it properly now and you will recognize it.

I see! Wretched me! An infinite pain!

Do you really think it is a lion's head?

No, it is Pentheus!

It is his head I am holding!

Which we wept for long before you recognized it.

Who killed him?

How did this get into my hand?

Tell me! My heart cannot wait any longer!

You have killed him yourself, you and your sisters!

Where did he die? In the palace? Or where?

In the very place where Actaeon was torn apart by his hounds.

Cithaeron?

But what was Pentheus doing there?

He wanted to ridicule the god and your Bacchic dance.

But we? How did we come to be in Cithaeron?

You were possessed!

The whole city was in a Bacchic frenzy!

Dionysus has destroyed us.

Now I understand.

You abused him!

You denied his divinity!

His body,

the body of my son whom I love,

where is it, father?

Pentheus!

What fault was my madness of his?

Listen to me!

I am your great god Dionysus,

the son who was born of Semele

here in Thebes to Zeus!

I return to the city of seven gates

which insulted me

and denied my divinity and my dance!

Now it will harvest the fruits

of all its impudent insanity:

the royal house deposed,

every street trembling in fear

when Thebes repents

too late

its atheism and blindness!

Now for the tribulations which await the people of Thebes:

barbarians shall expel them

from their city

and scatter them in slavery in many cities.

Agave, Ino and Autonoë

shall immediately vanish from Thebes

and in exile atone the murder

which stains their hands.

Now, Cadmus, you shall hear what awaits you.

You'll be turned into a dragon

and your wife into a serpent.

Together on an ox cart,

an oracle tells,

the pair of you will lead an immense army of barbarians

and lay waste to many cities.

But when, finally, you attempt to plunder

the temple of the Loxian oracle,

the whole of your army will be crushed

and will turn back in defeat.

This I say, a god

begotten by no mortal:

I am the son of Zeus, Dionysus!

Mercy, mercy, Dionysus!

We have done you wrong.

Too late!

While there was time you would not acknowledge me.

But gods should not take vengeance!

That's what humans do!

Your fate was determined long ago by Zeus.

No, father. Judgment has been passed upon us.

We must go into exile.

Yes, why put off the inevitable?

My child,

such a heavy darkness

it is we are entering.

Farewell, my home.

Farewell, my native city.

In despair

I leave you,

driven away

from my home.

Go then, my child.

Go up to the mountain

where he went to die,

the son of Aristaius.

Father, I weep for you.

And I weep, my child,

I weep for you,

for your sisters and you.

What a vile punishment

Dionysus the ruler called down

upon you and your house!

What a vile insult

I was subjected to

when the Thebans refused to worship

my name!

Farewell, my father.

Poor daughter, farewell.

You are far from the happiness

I wished for you.

Where are my sisters?

Oh, take me to them,

my fellow voyagers to a foreign land.

I want to go far away,

where Cithaeron can never

see me again,

and where Cithaeron can never

meet my gaze,

and where nothing will remind me

of thyrsus and dance.

Let that be the concern of other Bacchae.

In many guises the god appears,

and often it is the will of the gods to frustrate our hopes,

for nothing turns out as we expected.

The path of the unexpected

is trodden by a god.

This is what our play set out to show.