The Bacchae (1220-1279)

torn apart; I picked up nothing in the same place, and it was lying in the woods where discovery was difficult. For some one told me of my daughters’ bold deeds, when I had already come within the walls of the city on my return from the Bacchae with old Teiresias.

I turned back to the mountain and now bring here my child who was killed by the Maenads. For I saw Autonoe, who once bore Actaeon to Aristaeus, and Ino with her, still mad in the thicket, wretched creatures.

But some one told me that Agave was coming here with Bacchic foot, and this was correct, for I see her—no happy sight!

Father, you may make a great boast, that you have born daughters the best by far of all

mortals. I mean all of us, but myself especially, who have left my shuttle at the loom and gone on to greater things, to catch wild animals with my two hands. And having taken him, I carry these spoils of honor in my arms, as you see,

so that they may hang from your house. You father, receive them in your hands. Preening yourself in my catch, call your friends to a feast. For you are blessed, blessed, now that we have performed these deeds.

O grief beyond measuring, one which I cannot stand to see,

that you have performed murder with miserable hands. Having cast down a fine sacrificial victim to the gods, you invite Thebes and me to a banquet. Alas, first for your troubles, then for my own. How justly, yet too severely,

lord Bromius the god has destroyed us, though he is a member of our own family.

How morose and sullen in its countenance is man’s old age! I hope that my son is a good hunter, taking after his mother’s ways, when he goes after wild beasts

together with the young men of Thebes. But all he can do is fight with the gods. You must admonish him, father. Who will call him here to my sight, so that he may see how lucky I am?

Alas, alas! When you realize what you have done

you will suffer a terrible pain. But if you remain forever in the state you are in now, though hardly fortunate, you will not imagine that you are unfortunate.

But what of these matters is not right, or what is painful?

First cast your eye up to this sky.

All right; why do you tell me to look at it?

Is it still the same, or does it appear to have changed?

It is brighter than before and more translucent.

Is your soul still quivering?

I don’t understand your words. I have become somehow

sobered, changing from my former state of mind.

Can you hear and respond clearly?

Yes, for I forget what we said before, father.

To whose house did you come in marriage?

You gave me, as they say, to Echion, the sown man.

What son did you bear to your husband in the house?

Pentheus, from my union with his father.

Whose head do you hold in your hands?

A lion’s, as they who hunted him down said.

Examine it correctly then; it takes but little effort to see.