Cover

Sémiramis

By Voltaire

Translation by William F. Fleming

Dramatis Personæ

Sémiramis.

Arsaces, or Ninias.

Azema, a Princess of the Family of Belus.

Assur, a Prince of the Family of Belus.

Oroes, High Priest.

Otanes, a Favorite of Semiramis.

Mitranes, Friend of Arsaces.

Cedar, Friend of Assur. Guards, Magi, Slaves, Attendants.

This was produced in 1748 and a burlesque upon it was played at Fontainebleau.

ACT I.

The scene represents a large peristyle, at the bottom of which is the palace of Sémiramis. Gardens with fine hanging terraces, raised above the palace: on the right hand the temple of the magi, and on the left a mausoleum adorned with obelisks.

SCENE I.

Arsaces, Mitranes.

[Two slaves at a distance carrying a coffer.]

Arsaces: Once more, Mitranes, thou beholdest thy friend, Who, in obedience to the royal mandate In secret sent, revisits Babylon, The seat of empire; how Sémiramis Imprints the image of her own great soul On every object! these stupendous piles, These deep enclosures, where Euphrates pours His tributary waves; the temple’s pride, The hanging gardens, and the splendid tomb Of Ninus, wondrous monuments of art! And only less to be admired than she Who raised them! here, in all her splendid pomp, More honored than the monarchs of the East, Arsaces shall behold this glorious queen.

Mitranes: O my Arsaces, credit not the voice Of Fame, she is deceitful oft, and vain; Perhaps hereafter thou mayest weep with me, And admiration on a nearer view May turn to pity.

Arsaces: Wherefore?

Mitranes: Sunk in grief, Sémiramis hath spread o’er every heart The sorrows which she feels; sometimes she raves, Filling the air with her distressful cries, As if some vengeful God pursued her; sits Silent and sad within these lonely vaults, Sacred to night, to sorrow, and to death, Which mortals dare not enter; where the ashes Of Ninus, our late honored sovereign, lie: There will she oft fall on her knees and weep: With slow and fearful steps she glides along, And beats her breast besprinkled with her tears: Oft as she treads her solitary round, Will she repeat the names of son and husband, And call on heaven, which in its anger seems To thwart her in the zenith of her glory.

Arsaces: Whence can her sorrow flow?

Mitranes: The effect is dreadful: The cause unknown.

Arsaces: How long hath she been thus Oppressed, Mitranes?

Mitranes: From the very time When first her orders came to bring Arsaces: Arsaces: Me, saidst thou?

Mitranes: You, my lord: when Babylon Rejoicing met to celebrate thy conquests, And saw the banners thy victorious arm Had wrested from our vanquished foes; when first Euphrates brought to our delighted shore The lovely Azema, from Belus sprung, Whom thou hadst saved from Scythian ravishers, Even in that hour of triumph and success, Even in the bosom of prosperity, The heart of majesty was pierced with grief, And the throne lost its lustre.