See also the forty-fifth, where Pentheus binds the bull instead of stronghorn Lyaios.
When Bromios had spoken, the nymph rushed from the house possessed by joyous madness, that she might see Actaion as bridegroom seated beside the Archeress ; along with her as she hastened swift as the wind sped Agaue to the mountain, with staggering steps, unveiled, frenzied, the sting of the Cronian whip flogging her wits, while she poured out these heedless words from her maddened lips : “I rebel against that ridiculous Pentheus, to teach him what a bold Amazon is Agaue the daughter of Cadmos ! I too am chockfull of valour. If I like, I will tame all Pentheus even with my bare hands, and I Mill destroy his well-armed host with no weapon in my hand ! I have a thyrsus ; ashplant I want not, no spear I shake — with viny lance I strike the spear-shaking man ! I wear no corselet, but I will tame the man who wears the best. Shaking my cymbals and my tambour which I beat on both sides I magnify the son of Zeus, I honour not Pentheus. Give me the Lydian drums — why do ye delay, ye hours of festival ? I will come to the hills, where Mainads, where women of like years, join the hunt of hunting Lyaios. O Dionysos, I am jealous of Cyrene lionslayer ! Spare me Bromios, O thou rebel against heaven — spare him, O Pentheus ! I will come at speed into the hills, that I too may sing Euios and twirl a dancing foot. No longer I refuse the rites of grapegod Bacchos, no longer I hate the Bassarids’ dance ; but I too stand in awe of Dionysos, offspring of the bed incorruptible, bathed by thunderbolts from Zeus on high. Swift will my shoes go, as I carry nets beside the Archeress, no longer the skeins of Athena.”
So crying she flew away, a new skipping Mimallon, practising the Euian leap of the winepress, calling Euoi to Bacchos and lauding Thyone — aye, and she called to Semele, wife of Zeus the highest, and loudly sang the brightness of those bridal lightnings.
Then there was great dancing on the hills. The rocks resounded all about, a thousand new noises rolled round the land of sevengate Thebes ; the one concordant chorus of the singers filled Cithairon with heavy-echoing din ; the dewy salt sea roared ; one could see trees making merry, and hear voices from the rocks. Many a maiden ran out of her room to foot it in the dance, when the pipe of horn tootled through its drilled holes, and the double blows on the raw hide made the girls go mad, and drove them from their well-built halls to be Bacchants in the wilderness of the lofty mountains. Many a maiden driven crazy shook her hair loose and rushed with stormy shoe from her chamber, leaving loomcomb and Athena with her craft, cast away the veil unheeded from her hair, mingled with Bassarids — and lo ! Aionian turned Bacchant !
Teiresias built an altar to Protecting Dionysos and sacrificed there, that he might prevent the defiance of Pentheus and avert the wrath of Lyaios yet unappeased ; but his prayers were in vain, since the thread of Fate was there. The wise seer called Semele’s father also, that they might share the dance of Dionysos. With heavy feet ancient Cadmos danced, crowning his snowy hair with Aonian ivy, and Teiresias his old comrade wheeled a sluggish foot, beating a Phrygian revelstep for Mygdonian Dionysos ; so he joined the eager efforts of Cadmos hastening to the dance, and supported his old arm on a pious fennel stalk. Pentheus the hothead saw old Teiresias and Cadmos there together, and looking askance at them cried out —
“Why this madness, Cadmos ? What god do you honour with this revel ? Tear the ivy from your hair, Cadmos, it defiles it ! And drop that fennel of Dionysos, the deluder of men’s wits ! Take up the bronze of Athena Oncaia, which makes men sane. Foolish Teiresias to wear that garland ! Throw these leaves to the winds, that false chaplet on your hair. Take up rather the Ismenian laurel of your own Phoibos, instead of a thyrsus. I respect your old age, I honour the hoary locks that witness to the years of your life, as old as theirs. But if this old age and this your hair did not save you, I had twisted galling bonds about your hands and sealed you up in a gloomy cell.
“I understand what is in your mind. You have a grudge against Pentheus, and you make a man into a bastard god by lying oracles — that Lydian impostor has bribed you by promising plenty of gold from the famous golden river. But you will say, Bacchos has invented the wine-fruit. — Yes, and what wine always does is to drag drunken men into lust ; what wine does is to excite an unstable man’s mind to murder. But he wears the shape and garments of Zeus his father! — Golden robes are what Lord Zeus wears, not fawnskins, when he thunders in the heights among the Blessed ; when Ares fights with men, he carries a spear of bronze, not a thyrsus of vineleaves in his hand ; Apollo is not horned with bull’s horns.” Was it a River that wedded Semele ? did the bride bear a horned bastard to her bullhorned husband ? But you will say, Brighteyes Pallas Athena marches to battle with men, holding the spear and shield that were born with her. . . . Then you should hold the aegis of your father Cronides.”
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