A chapter of the book 'Dionyzos' by the Dutch writer Louis Couperus, it is my favourite part and I couldn't

find any English translation of his book thus I took the trouble to translate and organize it.
Louis Couperus is a superb writer who can mould the stiff Dutch language into fluent poetic lines and uses
words and create new ones as only true poets can.
Oh Minyas why as somber as the sky
of the morning itself, frowns your forehead,
beneath the flash of your helmet and your
black plume, which is waving dark?
Why thou come to me with heavily armed
military, or is it just to raise me in triumph,
on your gleaming shields, and change
your lances into Thyrsi?
Wilt thou, that I command my fauns
to stack grapes on your steely shields
as on platters wide; wilt thou lift up
your helmets and drink from them
stunned of my new joy;
wilt thou, that with a single hint with
my Agave-flower baton a miracle vine
will shoot out from the splitting earth,
between both our powers, and I show you,
that I am the most powerful?
But, suspicious, and frowning the brows,
beneath the flash of his helmet and swaying of
the black plume, Minyas did not answer, the
ruler of Orchomenos, the divine Dionysus;
and his archers fired the arrows at the
dancing satyrs and struck them, until the
howling of fierce goat legs rose up
lamenting of pain, and their blood flowed
together with the blood of grapes.
Fury took possession of Dionysus.
He threw himself out of his chariot,
he swung on Ampelos' shoulder, and,
suddenly unrecognizable, he was dreadful.
Those following, all stared at him.
His soft smiling, beautiful lads-face,
had turned into a pale, tragic, tight cruelly
mask-grin, his brass blonde locks were
squirming up, equal to Medusa's serpents,
shuddering around his head.
His violet eyes, hard as steel, stared to Minyas,
and his otherwise always smiling lips,
blushing voluptuous of desire,
became a tronie part of his countenance -- whole,
he screamed, foamy, unintelligible sounds.

A shiver passed visible along his body,

like a fever, which ran over his limbs.
His veins swelled on his glorious body,
and his fingers clutched as tiger claws.
Now roaring like an animal, he spurred Faun,
his dearest friend, cruelly the heel in the flanks,
but not wrathful Faun, rushed burden-beast willingly,
forth with the raging god.
And all who followed him, the god Dionysus
in fury satyrs and fauns on panthers and lions,
the nymphs of Nysa, Bacchant-recreated,
the mortals, Daphnis, Chloe,
Pan's-sons big and small all,
who followed Dionysus, lit on their own
fury divine, even dragging on Silenus
on whiten donkey, who brayed among
tiger cats, the philosopher and master,
drunk and furious for who withstood
his godly apprentice!
And the same fury gave each one a so
sudden divine power, now throwing themselves
on Minyas' warriors, that the wall of copper shields
trembled and broke under the assault,
fleeing to all sides, distantly flashed the copper lances.
The satyrs, foaming like animals -- wild,
fell upon the fleeing warriors, pitched their claw-nails
in the eyes, and the flaccid flesh, tore
shrieking the bodies apart and stirred up their
lions and panthers, who hunted down who tried to flee.
Shrieking under the gloomy sky of gray clouds,
in where between the gods looked down upon,
surrounded the beast-coat clothed Bassarids,
the Bacchantes furious, nymphs of Nysa,
Minyas' own bodyguard,
heedless of arrow sting or axe cut, and their cruel rage,
crying, dancing, circled the whole selection of warriors,
in whom they struck their nails into.
They were no longer nymphs.
They were tigresses and tiger-cats.
Zeus, angered at those who withstood his son,
gathered darkened clouds, hurled his lightning,
and the thunder roared through the heavens, the gods,
trembling with fear, reverently moved away from the
supreme god, father of Dionysus: frowning in clouds
Zeus remained alone, looking down upon Minyas in anger.
And suddenly he saw this: Dionysus,

his son, unrecognizable the beautiful lad

in rage, throwing himself on Minyas: like a lion
that throws itself on a bull, him in the
wide neck and withers heavy without hesitation
pulling out its claws, ready to tear apart.
Dionysus, like a wild lion, roared, and
pitched his nails into Minyas' eyes.
The king uttered an inhuman cry and was blind.
But not was Dionysus satisfied, and he yelled:
Minyas who resisted me, blind Minyas,
never were you able to see well! Because always
you have considered yourself to be your own ideal
of a man and a king, but blinded you already were,
before I blinded you, because you have always been
a vine! Minyas, Minyas, see now? Eye than to see!
Are your legs not two vines? Is your torso
not a bunch, and are your arms not gnarled
vines? Drips the must not out of your orbits,
like my scorned wine flows out of deep
bowls! Minyas, are you a man? Minyas,
are you a king and ruler of Orchomenos?
Or are you a vine? Are you a vine?
Wait, squeeze shall Dionysus you -- empty!
And glaringly threw Dionysus for the second time
himself on the king, striking his nails in the flaccid flesh.
Look! Dionysus cried in triumph. Behold now, eye
to see now! You are spilling wine from everywhere!
O, excessive grapevine!
Under the onslaught of the raging god,
became insane the unfortunate king.
A vine? Am I a vine? he howled.
Oh, Dionysus, am I a vine? Are
all my warriors than vines too? An axe,
an axe! Here I cut them off, the vines of Dionysus,
so that I shall plant them in my kingdom!
And, blind, in streaming blood, he hit with
the axe ferocious around him, and slew his
own warriors...
Still frowning was Zeus, alone, wroth in clouds,
and he casted his lightning ahead, and
thunder roared through the heavens...
But at Minyas' dead body awoke from frenzy
Dionysus, and cried woefully:
Oh, unfortunate one,
why not accepted the joy!

Another part from his book:

Strijd is het leven!
Niet de bloedige strijd, dien vuurt Ares aan, maar de lachende strijd met onverwinnelijke macht!
De lachende strijd is het leven! Te gaan lachende voor zich uit, zelfbewust van onoverwinnelijkheid:
te gaan, lachende, wouden en steden door, zeen over en dwars door hemelen, en te heersen langs zijn
triomftocht
dat is het leven, dat is leven! Het ogenblik te overheersen, dat is het leven!
Wat zal ik geven om de minuut, die voorbij is!
Het verleden dompelt achter weg; het heden zal het lachende ogenblik zijn, dat ik lachende overheers,
en de toekomst zal zijn de lange weg, dien ik neem op mijn zegekar, de wereld door, de wijde, wijde
wereld door, overwinnende heel de wereld!
Battle is life!
Not the bloody battle, who Ares inflames, but the laughing battle with invincible power!
The laughing struggle is life! To go laughing ahead, confident in invincibility: to go, laughing, through
forests and cities, crossing seas and straight through heavens, and to rule alongside its triumphal march...
that is the life, that is life! The wink-moment to rule, that is life!
What shall I care about the minute, which has passed!
The past immerses behind away; the present will be the laughing eye-gaze (moment), that I will laughingly
rule, and the future will be the long way which I take on my triumphal chariot, the world through, the wide,
wide world, conquering the whole world...!

Translated by Sjoerd Heeger