The Bacchae Prologue: Dionysus at his mothers shrine by Euripedes Lyrics
DIONYSUS
I have come home to Theban soil where I was born
Dionysus, son of Zeus. My human mother was Cadmus’ child
Semele, who felt the dazzling light of heaven’s fire
that forced my birth.
For now I’ve laid aside the form of god
and taken that of man;
and here I stand at the springs of Dirce
and the waters of the Ismenus
near the old palace where my mother was struck by lightening.
I see her grave among the ruins of her house.
I see the smoke that still rises
from the living flames of Zeus’s fire–
an undying witness to Hera’s hatred
of my mother.
But I praise Cadmus, who hallowed this ground, his daughter’s
sacred shrine. As my tribute I have wrapped it all around
with lush shoots of the clustering vine.
I left the rich, golden lands of Lydia and Phrygia
and journeyed through the sun-blasted Persian plateaus,
the walled cities of Bactria, the miserable land of the Medes,
blessed Arabia, and all the coasts of Asia, the salty
shores that team with towered cities where Greeks mingle
freely with Barbarians.
I set those people dancing first and taught my mysteries
there, and now return to Greece, to this city,
where I shall reveal myself to mortals as a god.
So Thebes is the first Hellenic city I’ve taught to shout
“Ololu!” I fastened fawn skin to the women’s flesh
and put my thyrsus in their hands--
the ivy-covered shaft.
My mother’s sisters–who have no right–deny that
Dionysus is born of Zeus. Instead, they say, Semele
was taken to bed by some local man and blamed
the paternity on Zeus! Cadmus, they say, devised
the clever story to cover up her sin.
And so, they say, Zeus killed her, for saying
she was married to him.
“She lied, she died.
She wasn’t Zeus’s bride!”
They gloat like that.
But I’ve stung them with madness.
Driven from their homes, they now live on the mountains,
out of their minds, forced to bear the apparatus of my ecstasies.
In fact, the whole female tribe of Cadmeius–all the women–
I have driven from their homes.
The royal daughters of Cadmus mingle with the throng;
They sit beneath the silver firs on bare rock ledges.
For this city, uninitiated still, must learn
against its will the ways of Bacchus.
And they will know that I defend my mother
and show myself to humans–
the god she bore to Zeus.
Now Cadmus has given up the power and the glory
of his throne to Pentheus, his other daughter’s son,
who wages holy war against the gods–and me.
He never spills a drop of wine in offering to me.
He shuns my name; you never hear me mentioned
in his prayers. These are the reasons I will reveal
myself to him, and all the Theban children,
as god by birth.
After that I plant my foot in another land,
once my worship is established here,
and there reveal myself anew.
But if the city of Thebes attempts in anger
to drive my Bacchae from the mountains with force of arms,
I will join my army of the Maenads.
These are the reasons–I remind you one more time–
I have exchanged my true form and taken on
the image of a mortal man.
But you O devotees, who followed me from Tmolus,
the sacred Mountain of Lydia,
come my sisters, Asian women,
my companions at the table and on the march.
Take up the instrument native to Phrygian soil,
mother Rhea’s invention and mine. Gather round
the royal house of Pentheus and strike the kettle drum
so Cadmus’ city may see. And I will meet my Bacchae
at Citheron’s woods to join them in the dances.
I have come home to Theban soil where I was born
Dionysus, son of Zeus. My human mother was Cadmus’ child
Semele, who felt the dazzling light of heaven’s fire
that forced my birth.
For now I’ve laid aside the form of god
and taken that of man;
and here I stand at the springs of Dirce
and the waters of the Ismenus
near the old palace where my mother was struck by lightening.
I see her grave among the ruins of her house.
I see the smoke that still rises
from the living flames of Zeus’s fire–
an undying witness to Hera’s hatred
of my mother.
But I praise Cadmus, who hallowed this ground, his daughter’s
sacred shrine. As my tribute I have wrapped it all around
with lush shoots of the clustering vine.
I left the rich, golden lands of Lydia and Phrygia
and journeyed through the sun-blasted Persian plateaus,
the walled cities of Bactria, the miserable land of the Medes,
blessed Arabia, and all the coasts of Asia, the salty
shores that team with towered cities where Greeks mingle
freely with Barbarians.
I set those people dancing first and taught my mysteries
there, and now return to Greece, to this city,
where I shall reveal myself to mortals as a god.
So Thebes is the first Hellenic city I’ve taught to shout
“Ololu!” I fastened fawn skin to the women’s flesh
and put my thyrsus in their hands--
the ivy-covered shaft.
My mother’s sisters–who have no right–deny that
Dionysus is born of Zeus. Instead, they say, Semele
was taken to bed by some local man and blamed
the paternity on Zeus! Cadmus, they say, devised
the clever story to cover up her sin.
And so, they say, Zeus killed her, for saying
she was married to him.
“She lied, she died.
She wasn’t Zeus’s bride!”
They gloat like that.
But I’ve stung them with madness.
Driven from their homes, they now live on the mountains,
out of their minds, forced to bear the apparatus of my ecstasies.
In fact, the whole female tribe of Cadmeius–all the women–
I have driven from their homes.
The royal daughters of Cadmus mingle with the throng;
They sit beneath the silver firs on bare rock ledges.
For this city, uninitiated still, must learn
against its will the ways of Bacchus.
And they will know that I defend my mother
and show myself to humans–
the god she bore to Zeus.
Now Cadmus has given up the power and the glory
of his throne to Pentheus, his other daughter’s son,
who wages holy war against the gods–and me.
He never spills a drop of wine in offering to me.
He shuns my name; you never hear me mentioned
in his prayers. These are the reasons I will reveal
myself to him, and all the Theban children,
as god by birth.
After that I plant my foot in another land,
once my worship is established here,
and there reveal myself anew.
But if the city of Thebes attempts in anger
to drive my Bacchae from the mountains with force of arms,
I will join my army of the Maenads.
These are the reasons–I remind you one more time–
I have exchanged my true form and taken on
the image of a mortal man.
But you O devotees, who followed me from Tmolus,
the sacred Mountain of Lydia,
come my sisters, Asian women,
my companions at the table and on the march.
Take up the instrument native to Phrygian soil,
mother Rhea’s invention and mine. Gather round
the royal house of Pentheus and strike the kettle drum
so Cadmus’ city may see. And I will meet my Bacchae
at Citheron’s woods to join them in the dances.