A summary and analysis
of the play by Euripides
In the Bacchae, Pentheus, king of Thebes, seeks to
put down the new worship of Dionysus, which is turning the heads
of his female subjects. The offended god persuades him to dress
himself in the garb of a Bacchante, that he may pry into the
sacred mysteries. Then, disguised as a stranger, he leads him
to the mountains, and placing him on the topmost branch of a
tall pine, delivers him into the hands of the Maenads, the female
devotees of Bacchus, who tear him limb from limb. A slave, who
had accompanied the king, thus in part tells the story:
- A voice,
- The voice of Dionysus, seemingly,
- Was heard from heaven: "Lo,
I have brought," he said,
- "Maidens, the man who mocks
at you and me
- And at my mysteries; take your
revenge."
- Thus as he spake, he made o'er
earth and sky
- To spread a fiery blaze of awful
light.
- Silence was in the heavens,
in the green glen
- Not a leaf whispered, and all
beasts were still.
- The women, that had scarcely
heard the voice,
- All started to their feet and
gazed around;
- Again the call was uttered.
Knowing, then,
- That Bacchus summoned them,
the Theban maids,
- As swift as is the flight of
fleetest dove,
- Agave, the king's mother, at
their head,
- With both her sisters and the
Maenads all,
- Came coursing on along the torrent's
bed.
- Beneath the crags they bounded,
frenzy-driven.
- When, sitting on the tree, my
lord they spied,
- They first climbed up on a commanding
rock,
- And from that vantage cast huge
stones at him
- Or pelted him with branches
from torn pines,
- While others hurled their wands
like javelins
- At their doomed quarry; but
they struck him not,
- Fain as they were, for high
above their reach
- In desperate plight sat the
ill-fated king.
- At last with branches torn from
oaks in place
- Of crow-bars, they the roots
strove to upheave.
- But when they found their efforts
all in vain,
- Agave cried, "Come close
around the tree
- And pull, ye Maenads; let us
catch the beast
- Mounted thereon, that he may
ne'er divulge
- Our mysteries." Then with
countless hands they grasped
- The pine, and with main force
uprooted it.
- Pentheus, from where he sat
on high, fell down,
- A parlous fall, and fast his
piteous cries
- Poured forth; too well he knew
destruction near.
- His priestess mother led the
murderous work,
- Falling upon him.
The following is the song of the Bacchae as they proceed to
the revels in which Pentheus is to meet his death:
- O, when through the long night,
- With fleet foot dancing white,
- Shall I go dancing in my revelry,
- My neck cast back, and bare
- Unto the dewy air,
- Like sportive fawn in the green
meadow's glee?
- Lo, in her fear she springs
- Over th'encircling rings,
- Over the well-woven nets far
and fast,
- While swift along her track
- The huntsman cheers his pack,
- With panting toil, and fiery
storm-wind haste.
- Where down the river-bank spreads
the wide meadow,
- Rejoices she in the untrod solitude;
- Couches at length beneath the
silent shadow
- Of the old hospitable wood.
-
- What is wisest, what is fairest,
- Of gods' boons to man the rarest?
- With the conscious conquering
hand
- Above the foeman's head to stand.
- What is fairest still is dearest.
-
- Slow come, but come at length,
- In their majestic strength,
- Faithful and true, the avenging
deities;
- And chastening human folly,
- And the made pride unholy,
- Of those who to the gods bow
not their knees.
- For hidden still and mute,
- As glides their printless foot,
- The impious on their winding
way they hound.
- For it is ill to know,
- And it is ill to do,
- Beyond the law's inexorable
bound.
- 'Tis but light cost in his power
sublime
- To array the godhead, whosoe'er
he be;
- And law is old, even as the
oldest time,
- Nature's own unrepealed decree.
-
- What is wisest, what is fairest,
- Of gods' boons to man the rarest?
- With the conscious conquering
hand
- Above the foeman's head to stand.
- What is fairest still is rarest.
-
- Who hath 'scaped the turbulent
sea
- And reached the haven, happy
he!
- Happy he whose toils are o'er,
- In the race of wealth and power!
- This one here and that one there
- Passes by, and everywhere
- Still expectant thousands over
- Thousand hopes are seen to hover,
- Some to mortals end in bliss;
- Some have already fled away.
- Happiness alone is his
- That happy is to-day.
The play exhibits the tumultuous enthusiasm of the Bacchanalian
worship with great impressiveness and realism. The stubborn unbelief
of Pentheus, his infatuation and fearful punishment by the hand
of his own mother, form a daring picture. The stage-effect must
have been extraordinary. Imagine the chorus with flying hair
and garments, tamborines and cymbals in their hands, as the Bacchae
are represented on bas-reliefs, storming into the orchestra,
and executing their inspired dance amidst the din of music, which
in other cases was quite unusual, as the choral odes were performed
with no other accompaniment than that of a flute, and with a
solemn step. On this occassion, indeed, such luxuriance of ornament,
which Euripides everywhere seeks, was
quite in place. When, therefore, certain critics rank this piece
very low, they do not seem rightly to know what they would have.
Wild as the play is, it exhibits a certain harmony and unity
of composition, qualities of rare occurrence in Euripides, together
with abstinence from all foreign matter, so that the effects
and motives all flow from one source and tend to one purpose.
Purchase The Bacchae
¹ This essay was originally published in The
Drama: Its History, Literature and Influence on Civilization,
vol. 1 ed. Alfred Bates. (New York: Historical Publishing
Company, 1906), pp. 215-219. |