Lucian Bacchus 1

[1] When Dionysus led his host against the men of Ind (surely there is nothing to prevent my telling you a tale of Bacchus!), he was held at first in such contempt, they say, by the people there, that they laughed at his advance; more than that, they pitied him for his hardihood, because he was certain to be trampled under foot in an instant by the elephants if he deployed against them. No doubt they heard curious reports about his army from their scouts: “His rank and file are crack-brained, crazy women, wreathed with ivy, dressed in fawn-skins, carrying little headless spears which are of ivy too, and light targes that boom if you do but touch them”—for they supposed, no doubt, that the tambours were shields. ‘A few young clodhoppers are with them, dancing the can-can without any clothes on; they have tails, and have horns like those which start from the foreheads of new-born kids.

[1] When Dionysus invaded India—for I may tell you a Bacchic legend, may I not?—it is recorded that the natives so underrated him that his approach only amused them at first; or rather, his rashness filled them with compassion; he would so soon be trampled to death by their elephants, if he took the field against them. Their scouts had doubtless given them amazing details about his army: the rank and file were frantic mad women crowned with ivy, clad in fawn-skins, with little pikes that had no steel about them, but were ivy-wreathed like themselves, and toy bucklers that tinkled at a touch; they took the tambourines for shields, you see; and then there were a few bumpkins among them, stark naked, who danced wildly, and had tails, and horns like a new-born kid’s.