The first messenger and the hinge

Pentheus comes out furious — the priest has slipped his cell, the prison is wrecked, the eastern knave is at the door again. The priest, unmoved, tells him to set a quiet bearing on his rage. They argue line by line. Then a herdsman runs in from the mountain. He asks whether to tell the whole tale or leave the strange part out. Pentheus tells him to tell everything.

The first messenger speech is one of the longest in Greek tragedy. The herdsman saw three bands of women asleep beneath the trees — Autonoe, Ino, Agave at the head. They woke at the queen's cry and rose in swift ranks; girt their fawn-skins with snakes; nursed wolf-cubs; struck the rock with their wands and brought up springs of water, wine, and milk; the reed-wands ran with honey. Then the herdsmen tried to seize the queen. The women turned. With empty hands they fell on the cattle — bulls torn limb from limb, flesh hanging on the pines — burst into villages, broke iron, carried fire in their hair. Armed villagers could not touch them. He ends with a plea: receive this god.

Pentheus orders his army out. The priest warns him quietly not to lift a spear against a god. Pentheus tells him to be quiet. Then the priest changes register. You would gladly look on them at their prayers on the mountain. Pentheus, without thinking, answers yes — though it cost me all the gold of Thebes. The hinge. From that line on Pentheus is no longer in command of the conversation. He agrees to be dressed in a long robe, a wig, a fawn-skin, and led by the priest in secret. He goes back into the palace. Alone, the priest tells the chorus: the lion walks into the net.