The Bacchae of Euripides Part 9

Aye, and next?

DIONYSUS.

The said Robe, falling to thy feet; and on thine head A 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 go First 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 hence Unseen of any?

DIONYSUS.

Lonely and untried Thy path from hence shall be, and I thy guide!

PENTHEUS.

I care for nothing, so these Baccha.n.a.ls Triumph not against me! . . . Forward to my halls Within!--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_).

Well, I will go--perchance To march and scatter them with serried lance, Perchance to take thy plan. . . . I know not yet.

[_Exit_ PENTHEUS _into the Castle_.

DIONYSUS.

Damsels, the lion walketh to the net!

He finds his Bacchae now, and sees and dies, And pays for all his sin!--O Dionyse, This is thine hour and thou not far away.

Grant us our vengeance!--First, O Master, stay The course of reason in him, and instil A foam of madness. Let his seeing will, Which ne'er had stooped to put thy vesture on, Be darkened, till the deed is lightly done.

Grant likewise that he find through all his streets Loud scorn, this man of wrath and bitter threats That made Thebes tremble, led in woman's guise.

I go to fold that robe of sacrifice On Pentheus, that shall deck him to the dark, His mother's gift!--So shall he learn and mark G.o.d's true Son, Dionyse, in fulness G.o.d, Most fearful, yet to man most soft of mood.

[_Exit_ DIONYSUS, _following_ PENTHEUS _into the Castle_.

CHORUS.

_Some Maidens._

Will they ever come to me, ever again, The long long dances, On through the dark till the dim stars wane?

Shall I feel the dew on my throat, and the stream Of wind in my hair? Shall our white feet gleam In the dim expanses?

Oh, feet of a fawn to the greenwood fled, Alone in the gra.s.s and the loveliness; Leap of the hunted, no more in dread, Beyond the snares and the deadly press: Yet a voice still in the distance sounds, A voice and a fear and a haste of hounds; O wildly labouring, fiercely fleet, Onward yet by river and glen . . .

Is it joy or terror, ye storm-swift feet? . . .

To the dear lone lands untroubled of men, Where no voice sounds, and amid the shadowy green The little things of the woodland live unseen.

What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour Or G.o.d's high grace, so lovely and so great?

To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever?

_Others._

O Strength of G.o.d, slow art thou and still, Yet failest never!

On them that worship the Ruthless Will, On them that dream, doth His judgment wait.

Dreams of the proud man, making great And greater ever, Things which are not of G.o.d. In wide And devious coverts, hunter-wise, He coucheth Time's unhasting stride, Following, following, him whose eyes Look not to Heaven. For all is vain, The pulse of the heart, the plot of the brain, That striveth beyond the laws that live.

And is thy Faith so much to give, Is it so hard a thing to see, That the Spirit of G.o.d, whate'er it be, The Law that abides and changes not, ages long, The Eternal and Nature-born--these things be strong?

What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour Or G.o.d's high grace so lovely and so great?

To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever?

LEADER.

Happy he, on the weary sea Who hath fled the tempest and won the haven.

Happy whoso hath risen, free, Above his striving. For strangely graven Is the orb of life, that one and another In gold and power may outpa.s.s his brother.

And men in their millions float and flow And seethe with a million hopes as leaven; And they win their Will, or they miss their Will, And the hopes are dead or are pined for still; But whoe'er can know, As the long days go, That To Live is happy, hath found his Heaven!

_Re-enter_ DIONYSUS _from the Castle_.

DIONYSUS.

O eye that cravest sights thou must not see, O heart athirst for that which slakes not! Thee, Pentheus, I call; forth and be seen, in guise Of woman, Maenad, saint of Dionyse, To spy upon His Chosen and thine own Mother!

[_Enter_ PENTHEUS, _clad like a Baccha.n.a.l, and strangely excited, a spirit of Bacchic madness overshadowing him_.