Bakkhai Read online

  Lord,

  come down from Olympos,

  shake your thyrsos

  and crush

  the hybris

  of this wrongminded man!

  O

  Dionysos,

  where are you?

  Roving the mountains?

  Lost in a dreamy afternoon

  on Mount Olympos

  where Orpheus

  once

  taught the trees to walk

  and the animals to dance to his tune?

  O blessed Pieria,

  Dionysos reveres you.

  Dionysos is coming,

  he is not far to seek.

  Leading his Bakkhai

  river by river,

  he will cross the Axios,

  a speedy river,

  he will cross the Lydias,

  a river whose waters

  (so I have heard)

  make the ground rich and the horses sleek.

  Dionysos [from offstage]: IO! Hear me! Hear my voice!

  O Bakkhai! O Bakkhai!

  Bakkhai:

  Who is this? Where does this Dionysos-voice come from?

  Dionysos:

  IO! I call again,

  I, son of Semele, son of Zeus.

  Bakkhai:

  IO master! Master come to us! Bromios! Bromios!

  Dionysos:

  Spirit of earthquake, shake the floor of the world!

  Bakkhai:

  A! A! Soon Pentheus’ house will be broken apart!

  The god is all through the house.

  Worship him!

  Yes! But oh —

  look the stones are sliding off the roof!

  Listen,

  Dionysos lifts his cry inside the house —

  Dionysos:

  Light this blaze! Make Pentheus’ house a conflagration!

  Bakkhai:

  A! A! See that fire?

  Those flames surrounding Semele’s tomb?

  Throw yourselves to the ground, Bakkhai!

  Our king is turning the house upside down —

  [enter Dionysos]

  Dionysos:

  Okay ladies, up we get,

  no more crouching,

  no more sobbing.

  I guess you saw Bakkhos topple Pentheus’ house?

  Bakkhai:

  O wild great light of your voice, is it you?

  What joy to see you! I was so lonely!

  Dionysos:

  You lost heart

  when you saw me go into the big dark interior?

  Bakkhai:

  Of course I did! You are my only shelter.

  How did you escape?

  Dionysos:

  Easily.

  Bakkhai:

  But he tied your hands with ropes.

  Dionysos:

  Just between you and me,

  I had a bit of fun with him and his ropes.

  He thought he tied me up you see, but he hadn’t laid a hand on me —

  he got hold of a bull that was stabled there,

  poor creature trying to eat its dinner.

  That’s where the ropes went,

  he wrapped that bull from stem to stern —

  hard work! he was panting and sweating and biting his lip.

  I sat by and watched quietly.

  It was just then Bakkhos shook the house

  and sent up a flame on Semele’s tomb.

  Pentheus panicked,

  fancied his house was on fire,

  started running back and forth shouting orders

  about buckets and water,

  put every servant to work,

  total waste of time.

  Then it suddenly struck him I might escape.

  He dropped his bucket,

  grabbed a sword

  and raced inside.

  Where,

  as it seems to me,

  but this is just one man’s opinion,

  Bromios fashioned a simulacrum of me.

  Pentheus leapt upon it, stabbing the air,

  slaughtering me.

  Then Bromios added injury to insult —

  he did bring down the house!

  Dashed it.

  Smashed it.

  Disarticulated it.

  To bits.

  So much for trying to put me in jail.

  The great warrior sank to the ground exhausted.

  Man against god: never works.

  I made my exit peacefully.

  No idea what Pentheus is up to now.

  Oh, here comes someone, I bet it’s him.

  What will he say? I wonder.

  No matter how hot he blows,

  I’ll be my

  simple

  smiling

  self.

  A wise man is a well-tempered man.

  [enter Pentheus]

  Pentheus:

  Ghastly day. That stranger escaped me!

  though I secured him with stout ropes.

  Here’s the man! What’s going on?

  How did you get yourself out here?!

  Dionysos:

  Take a breath, Pentheus.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  Pentheus:

  What about the ropes, the knots?

  I tied you up myself!

  Dionysos:

  I believe I mentioned someone would release me?

  Pentheus:

  Someone like who? You’re always trying to sound so mysterious.

  Dionysos:

  The one who bestows grapes and vines and wines on humankind.

  Pentheus:

  Ah yes, that welcome contribution to society.

  Dionysos:

  You don’t approve?

  Pentheus:

  Lock the doors! Bar the gates! Close the city down!

  Dionysos:

  Why bother? Doors don’t stop gods.

  Pentheus:

  Oh stop being so wise. Where does it get you?

  Dionysos:

  Can’t do it, wisdom is my nature.

  Where does it get me? Well, we’ll see.

  But here comes a man you should listen to.

  He’s down from the mountains with special news.

  I’ll wait.

  [enter Herdsman]

  Herdsman:

  Pentheus, king of Thebes,

  I’ve come from Mt Kithairon

  where the peaks are always white with snow.

  Pentheus:

  Important news?

  Herdsman:

  Those Bakkhai, those hysterical women, I’ve seen them!

  The ones who went flying from their houses barefoot!

  I need to tell you the strange things they’re doing — beyond strange!

  Can I speak freely?

  I’m nervous of your quick temper, sir,

  your kingly sensitivity.

  Pentheus:

  Say what you like, you’re safe.

  It wouldn’t be decent to blame a law-abiding man, would it.

  But the stranger your report of Bakkhic doings,

  the more I’ll punish that fellow

  who indoctrinated them

  into this whole dubious Dionysian business.

  Herdsman:

  Well, so

  we’re driving our cattle uphill to pasture,

  it was just at sunrise,

  when I see three groups of those women —

  three circles —

  one with Autonoe,

  another surrounding Agave your m
other,

  a third with Ino.

  Lying fast asleep.

  They were all so still.

  Some had leaned their backs against the pine trees,

  some had pillows made of piles of leaves.

  Calm as buttons on a shirt.

  You told us to look out for drunkenness,

  wild music,

  wantoning through the woods —

  there was none of that.

  But you know, cattle are noisy, shuffling and mooing,

  your mother starts awake, yells that yell of hers

  to rouse the Bakkhai

  and they spring straight up,

  rubbing the sleep from their eyes

  yet somehow instantly organized — I was impressed.

  Young women, old ones, girls unwed,

  they shook out their hair and fastened their fawnskins,

  with snakes that slid up to lick their cheeks,

  some (new mothers who’d left their babies at home)

  cradled wolf cubs or deer in their arms and suckled them,

  others were wreathing their heads with ivy and oak and bryony.

  One took a thyrsos and struck a rock. Clear water gushed out.

  Another pierced the ground to make wine flow — gift of a god —

  and those who desired it scratched the earth and got white milk,

  while from many a thyrsos

  sweet honey was dripping.

  If you’d been there,

  if you’d seen what I saw,

  you’d be offering prayers to this god you denounce.

  So we gathered together,

  we cowherds and shepherds,

  to discuss these bizarre goings-on

  and up gets one of the drovers who knew how to talk.

  You mountain men (he addresses us)

  how about we go hunt down Agave?

  Pluck Pentheus’ mother from her Bakkhic revels

  and do a favour for the king?

  It seemed a good idea.

  We set ourselves in ambush there in the thickets

  and at a certain moment the women began to whirl and stamp

  and call out Iakkhos! Bromios! Son of Zeus!

  until the entire mountain streamed with sound

  and every animal was racing —

  no part of the place was not in motion.

  And as it happened Agave came swerving past me —

  I leapt at her,

  she screamed

  O my running dogs! O my swift hounds!

  men are hunting us down!

  Follow me now!

  That thyrsos in your hand

  is a weapon,

  use it!

  We fled.

  They would have torn us limb from limb.

  They did attack our herds: you could have seen

  a woman pull a calf to pieces as it bellowed alive in her bare hands!

  Others were ripping apart full-grown heifers —

  there were ribs and hooves scattered up and down,

  chunks of flesh dripped from the pine trees, blood everywhere.

  Proud angry bulls stumbled to the ground under the hands of girls

  who clawed the meat off them

  quicker than you could wink your royal eye.

  Then all of a sudden they took off like a flock of birds

  to the fields below, along the river, beneath Kithairon.

  Two villages there.

  The women fell on them like a ransacking army,

  tore the place to shreds,

  stole the children from the houses,

  and carried off all the plunder they could pile on their shoulders

  without dropping a thing.

  And you know, their hair was on fire yet it didn’t burn.

  Now the villagers got angry.

  And here was a sight right terrible to see.

  For their sharpened weapons drew no blood at all

  while those of the women — !

  You know a thyrsos can make quite a wound.

  So the men fled.

  Some god engineered the whole thing, is my guess.

  Anyway, the women went back up the hill where they started,

  to fountains made by their god.

  They washed their hands

  and let the snakes

  lick the blood from their cheeks.

  Whoever this daimon is, sir, welcome him to Thebes.

  People say he is important.

  Extremely important.

  They say he gave the gift of wine to men:

  why, without wine we’ve no freedom from pain.

  Without wine there’s no sex.

  Without sex

  life isn’t worth living.

  [exit Herdsman]

  Bakkhai:

  I fear speaking freely to the king.

  Still, it must be said.

  Dionysos is inferior to no god.

  Pentheus:

  This Bakkhic insanity is catching like wildfire.

  What a disgrace! People watch us and laugh.

  It’s no time to shrink back —

  go to the gates of the city.

  Call out every man who can carry a shield,

  ride a horse,

  hurl a spear

  or fit an arrow to the bowstring:

  we’re going to make war on the Bakkhai.

  It is beyond endurance — to suffer all this at the hands of women!

  Dionysos:

  You’re the type of person who listens

  yet you do not hear.

  You’ve used me badly

  yet I warn you,

  don’t take up arms against a god.

  Stay quiet.

  Bromios will not endure you driving the Bakkhai from his mountain.

  Pentheus:

  Don’t lecture me!

  You escaped prison, be happy with that.

  Or shall I throw you back in jail?

  Dionysos:

  I’d offer worship to this god,

  rather than rage at him, mortal against god.

  Pentheus:

  Worship, good idea! I’ll worship a big bloody pile of Bakkhic women!

  Dionysos:

  No, in fact they’ll make you turn and run,

  these women with their homemade weapons,

  they will shame you.

  Pentheus:

  Oh why am I entangled in this hopeless conversation?

  The fellow never stops talking!

  Dionysos:

  Oh come on, there’s still a way to make things right.

  Pentheus:

  How? Submit to my inferiors?

  Dionysos:

  I’ll bring the women here myself. No weapons.

  Pentheus:

  This is some trick, some plan, some stratagem.

  I don’t trust you.

  Dionysos:

  Why not? My plan is simply to save you.

  Pentheus:

  You’ve dreamed this up in collaboration with those women —

  so they can keep carousing forever.

  Dionysos:

  Well, in collaboration with a god anyway.

  Pentheus:

  Bring me my sword! I’ll make you stop talking!

  Dionysos:

  Aah.

  Then how about this. Would you like to see

  what the women are up to on that mountain?

  Pentheus:

  Oh I’d give anything for that.

  Dionysos:

  You’re suddenly avid. Can you say why?

  Pentheus:


  Of course it would pain me to see women crazy with drink.

  Dionysos:

  But a pain mixed with pleasure perhaps.

  Pentheus:

  Exactly. I can sit quiet by a pine tree.

  Dionysos:

  Hiding? But if you hide they’ll smell you out.

  Pentheus:

  Good point. I’ll stay in the open.

  Dionysos:

  Then let’s go. Are you ready?

  Pentheus:

  Ready! Don’t waste any more time!

  Dionysos:

  First you must put on women’s clothes.

  Pentheus:

  Why? Change myself to a woman?

  Dionysos:

  If they see a man there, you’re dead.

  Pentheus:

  Another good point. You’re sharp.

  Dionysos:

  Dionysos taught me everything I know.

  Pentheus:

  So how do we go about this?

  Dionysos:

  I’ll come into the house and dress you myself.

  Pentheus:

  Dress me as a woman? I’m too embarrassed!

  Dionysos:

  Lost your appetite? No more spying on maenads?

  Pentheus:

  What kind of women’s dress did you have in mind?

  Dionysos:

  Well, first I’ll give you long flowing hair.

  Pentheus:

  Then what? Jewellery?

  Dionysos:

  Then a dress to your ankles. And a binding for your hair.

  Pentheus:

  Anything else?

  Dionysos:

  A thyrsos of course. And a fawnskin.

  Pentheus:

  No, I can’t do it. Dress as a woman. No.

  Dionysos:

  Well, if you simply

  march up the mountain and make war on them,

  you’ll cause a blood bath.

  Pentheus:

  True. I need to reconnoitre first.

  Dionysos:

  Now you’re thinking. No point hunting trouble with trouble, is there?

  Pentheus:

  But how shall I get through town unseen?

  Dionysos:

  I know a back way.

  Pentheus:

  The important thing is, those women must not laugh at me.

  Let’s go inside, I’ll decide what to do

  Dionysos:

  Fine. I’m ready, whatever you choose.

  Pentheus:

  Either make war on them or listen to you.

  [exit Pentheus into palace]

  Dionysos:

  Ladies, the man is in the net!

  He’s on his way to the Bakkhai,

  he’ll pay the ultimate price.

  Dionysos, the rest is up to you.

  You’re close to us now,

  you’re very close.

  It’s time to punish Pentheus: first

  craze his brain,

  send a scamper of madness into it —

  otherwise he’ll never put on women’s clothes.