inpia turba probat factum; tum denique Bacchus
(Bacchus enim fuerat), veluti clamore solutus 630
sit sopor aque mero redeant in pectora sensus,
'“quid facitis? quis clamor?” ait “qua, dicite, nautae,
huc ope perveni? quo me deferre paratis?”
“pone metum” Proreus, “et quos contingere portus
ede velis!” dixit; “terra sistere petita.” 635
“Naxon” ait Liber “cursus advertite vestros!
illa mihi domus est, vobis erit hospita tellus.”
per mare fallaces perque omnia numina iurant
sic fore meque iubent pictae dare vela carinae.
dextera Naxos erat: dextra mihi lintea danti 640
“quid facis, o demens? quis te furor,” inquit “Acoete,”
pro se quisque, “tenet?1 laevam pete!” maxima nutu
pars mihi significat, pars quid velit ore susurro.
obstipui “capiat” que “aliquis moderamina!” dixi
meque ministerio scelerisque artisque removi. 645
increpor a cunctis, totumque inmurmurat agmen;
e quibus Aethalion “te scilicet omnis in uno
nostra salus posita est!” ait et subit ipse meumque
explet opus Naxoque petit diversa relicta.
tum deus inludens, tamquam modo denique fraudem 650
senserit, e puppi pontum prospectat adunca
et flenti similis “non haec mihi litora, nautae,
promisistis” ait, “non haec mihi terra rogata est!
quo merui poenam facto? quae gloria vestra est,
si puerum iuvenes, si multi fallitis unum?” 655
iamdudum flebam: lacrimas manus inpia nostras
ridet et inpellit properantibus aequora remis.
per tibi nunc ipsum (nec enim praesentior illo
est deus) adiuro, tam me tibi vera referre
quam veri maiora fide: stetit aequore puppis 660
haud aliter, quam si siccam navale teneret.
illi admirantes remorum in verbere perstant
velaque deducunt geminaque ope currere temptant:
inpediunt hederae remos nexuque recurvo
serpunt et gravidis distinguunt vela corymbis. 665
ipse racemiferis frontem circumdatus uvis
pampineis agitat velatam frondibus hastam;
quem circa tigres simulacraque inania lyncum
pictarumque iacent fera corpora pantherarum.
exsiluere viri, sive hoc insania fecit 670
sive timor, primusque Medon nigrescere toto
corpore et expresso spinae curvamine flecti
incipit. huic Lycabas “in quae miracula” dixit
“verteris?” et lati rictus et panda loquenti
naris erat, squamamque cutis durata trahebat. 675
at Libys obstantis dum vult obvertere remos,
in spatium resilire manus breve vidit et illas
iam non esse manus, iam pinnas posse vocari.
alter ad intortos cupiens dare bracchia funes
bracchia non habuit truncoque repandus in undas 680
corpore desiluit: falcata novissima cauda est,
qualia dividuae sinuantur cornua lunae.
undique dant saltus multaque adspergine rorant
emerguntque iterum redeuntque sub aequora rursus
inque chori ludunt speciem lascivaque iactant 685
corpora et acceptum patulis mare naribus efflant.
de modo viginti (tot enim ratis illa ferebat)
restabam solus: pavidum gelidumque trementi
corpore vixque meum firmat deus “excute” dicens
“corde metum Diamque tene!” delatus in illam 690
accessi sacris Baccheaque sacra frequento.’
‘Praebuimus longis’ Pentheus ‘ambagibus aures,’
inquit ‘ut ira mora vires absumere posset.
praecipitem, famuli, rapite hunc cruciataque diris
corpora tormentis Stygiae demittite nocti!’ 695
protinus abstractus solidis Tyrrhenus Acoetes
clauditur in tectis; et dum crudelia iussae
instrumenta necis ferrumque ignesque parantur,
sponte sua patuisse fores lapsasque lacertis
sponte sua fama est nullo solvente catenas. 700
Perstat Echionides, nec iam iubet ire, sed ipse
vadit, ubi electus facienda ad sacra Cithaeron
cantibus et clara bacchantum voce sonabat.
ut fremit acer equus, cum bellicus aere canoro
signa dedit tubicen pugnaeque adsumit amorem, 705
Penthea sic ictus longis ululatibus aether
movit, et audito clamore recanduit ira.
Monte fere medio est, cingentibus ultima silvis,
purus ab arboribus, spectabilis undique, campus:
hic oculis illum cernentem sacra profanis 710
prima videt, prima est insano concita cursu,
prima suum misso violavit Penthea thyrso
mater et ‘o geminae’ clamavit ‘adeste sorores!
ille aper, in nostris errat qui maximus agris,
ille mihi feriendus aper.’ ruit omnis in unum 715
turba furens; cunctae coeunt trepidumque sequuntur,
iam trepidum, iam verba minus violenta loquentem,
iam se damnantem, iam se peccasse fatentem.
saucius ille tamen ‘fer opem, matertera’ dixit
‘Autonoe! moveant animos Actaeonis umbrae!’ 720
illa, quis Actaeon, nescit dextramque precanti
abstulit, Inoo lacerata est altera raptu.
non habet infelix quae matri bracchia tendat,
trunca sed ostendens dereptis vulnera membris
‘adspice, mater!’ ait. visis ululavit Agaue 725
collaque iactavit movitque per aera crinem
avulsumque caput digitis conplexa cruentis
clamat: ‘io comites, opus hoc victoria nostra est!’
non citius frondes autumni frigore tactas
iamque male haerentes alta rapit arbore ventus, 730
quam sunt membra viri manibus direpta nefandis.
talibus exemplis monitae nova sacra frequentant
turaque dant sanctasque colunt Ismenides aras.
The godless crew applauded Lycabas. Then at last Bacchus—for it was he—as if aroused from slumber by the outcry, and as if his wine-dimmed senses were coming back, said: ‘What are you doing? Why this uproar? And tell me, ye sailor-men, how did I get here and whither are you planning to take me?’ ‘Be not afraid,’ said Proreus, ‘tell me what port you wish to make, and you shall be set off at any place you choose.’ ‘Then turn your course to Naxos,’ said Liber; ‘that is my home, and there shall you find, yourselves, a friendly land.’ By the sea and all its gods the treacherous fellows swore that they would do this, and bade me get the painted vessel under sail. Naxos lay off upon the right; and as I was setting my sails towards the right Opheltes said: ‘What are you doing, you fool? what madness—’ and each one for himself supplied the words—‘holds you? Take the left tack.’ The most of them by nods and winks let me know what they wanted, and some whispered in my ear. I could not believe my senses and I said to them: ‘Then let someone else take the helm’; and declared that I would have nor part nor lot in their wicked scheme. They all cried out upon me and kept up their wrathful mutterings. And one of them, Aethalion, broke out: ‘I’d have you know, the safety of us all does not depend on you alone!’ So saying, he came and took my place at the helm and, leaving the course for Naxos, steered off in another direction. Then the god, in mockery of them, as if he has just discovered their faithlessness, looked out upon the sea from the curved stern, and in seeming tears cried out: ‘These are not the shores you promised me, you sailor-men; and this is not the land I sought. What have I done to be so treated? And what glory will you gain if you, grown men, deceive a little boy? if you, so many, overcome just one?’ I was long since in tears; but the godless crew mocked my tears and swept the seas with speeding oars. Now by the god himself I swear (for there is no god more surely near than he) that what I speak is truth, though far beyond belief. The ship stands still upon the waves, as if a dry-dock held her. The sailors in amaze redouble their striving at the oars and make all sail, hoping thus to speed their way by two fold power. But ivy twines and clings about the oars, creeps upward with many a back-flung, catching fold, and decks the sails with heavy, hanging clusters. The god himself, with his brow garlanded with clustering berries, waves a wand wreathed with ivy-leaves. Around him lie tigers, the forms (though empty all) of lynxes and of fierce spotted panthers. The men leap overboard, driven on by madness or by fear. And first Medon’s body begins to grow dark and his back to be bent in a well-marked curve. Lycabas starts to say to him: ‘Into what strange creature are you turning?’ But as he speaks his own jaws spread wide, his nose becomes hooked, and his skin becomes hard and covered with scales. But Libys, while he seeks to ply the sluggish oars, sees his hands suddenly shrunk in size to things that can no longer be called hands at all, but fins. Another, catching at a twisted rope with his arms, finds he has no arms and goes plunging backwards with limbless body into the sea: the end of his tail is curved like the horns of a half-moon. They leap about on every side, sending up showers of spray; they emerge from the water, only to return to the depths again; they sport like a troupe of dancers, tossing their bodies in wanton sport and drawing in and blowing out the water from their broad nostrils. Of but now twenty men—for the ship bore so many—I alone remained. And, as I stood quaking and trembling with cold fear, and hardly knowing what I did, the god spoke words of cheer to me and said: ‘Be of good courage, and hold on your course to Naxos.’ Arrived there, I have joined the rites and am one of the Bacchanalian throng.”
Then Pentheus said: “We have lent ear to this long, rambling tale, that by such delay our anger might lose its track. Ye slaves, now hurry him away, rack his body with fearsome tortures, and so send him down to Stygian night.” Straightway Acoetes, the Tyrrhenian, was dragged out and shut up in a strong dungeon. And while the slaves were getting the cruel instruments of torture ready, the iron, the fire—of their own accord the doors flew open wide; of their own accord, with no one loosing them, the chains fell from the prisoner’s arms.
But Pentheus stood fixed in his purpose. He no longer sent messengers, but went himself to where Cithaeron, the chosen seat for the god’s sacred rites, was resounding with songs, and the shrill cries of worshippers. As a spirited horse snorts when the brazen trumpet with tuneful voice sounds out the battle and his eagerness for the fray waxes hot, so did the air, pulsing with the long-drawn cries, stir Pentheus, and the wild uproar in his ears heated his wrath white-hot.
About midway of the mountain, bordered with thick woods, was an open plain, free from trees, in full view from every side. Here, as Pentheus was spying with profane eyes upon the sacred rites, his mother was the first to see him, first to rush madly on him, first with hurled thyrsus to smite her son.
“Ho, there, my sisters, come!” she cried, “see that huge boar prowling in our fields. Now must I rend him.” The whole mad throng rush on him; from all sides they come and pursue the frightened wretch—yes, frightened now, and speaking milder words, cursing his folly and confessing that he has sinned. Sore wounded, he cries out: “Oh help, my aunt, Autonoë! Let the ghost of Actaeon move your heart.” She knows not who Actaeon is, and tears the suppliant’s right arm away; Ino in frenzy rends away his left. And now the wretched man has no arms to stretch out in prayer to his mother; but. showing his mangled stumps where his arms have been torn away he cries: “Oh, mother, see!” Agave howls madly at the sight and tosses her head with wildly streaming hair. Off she tears his head, and holding it in bloody hands, she yells: “See, comrades, see my toil and its reward of victory!” Not more quickly are leaves, when touched by the first cold of autumn and now lightly clinging, whirled from the lofty tree by the wind than is Pentheus torn limb from limb by those impious hands. Taught by such a warning, the Thebans throng the new god’s sacred rites, burn incense, and bow down before his shrines.
Heinsius: Pro se quisque ‘tenet?’; Burman ‘persequiturve timor’; MSS pro se quisque timet