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.

Arsaces: Azema Was not to blame; she could not be the cause Of sorrow or distress; one look from her Would soothe the wrath of gods: but say, my friend, Sémiramis is still a sovereign here, Her heart is not forever sunk in grief?

Mitranes: No: when her noble mind shakes off the burden, Resumes its strength, and shines in native lustre, Then we behold in her exalted soul Powers that excel whatever flattery’s self Hath e’er bestowed on kings; but when she sinks Beneath this dreadful malady, loose flow The reins of empire, dropping from her hand; Then the proud satrap, fiery Assur, guides The helm and makes the nations groan beneath him: The fatal secret never yet hath reached The walls of Babylon: abroad we still Are envied, but, alas! we mourn at home.

Arsaces: What lessons of instruction to weak mortals, When happiness is mingled thus with woe! I, too, am wretched, thus deprived of him Whose piercing wisdom best could give me council, And lead me through the mazes of a court. O I have cause to weep: without a father, Left as I am to all the dangerous passions Of heedless youth, without a friendly guide, What rocks encompass and what shoals affright me!

Mitranes: I weep with thee the loss of him we loved, The good old man; Phradates was my friend; Ninus esteemed and gave to him the care Of Ninias, his dear son, our country’s hope: But O! one fatal day destroyed them both, Father and son: to voluntary exile Devoted, long he lived: his banishment Was fortunate to thee, and made thee great: Close by his side, in honor’s glorious field, Arsaces fought, and conquered for his country: Now, ranked with princes, thy exalted virtue Claims its reward by merit all thy own.

Arsaces: I know not what may be my portion here: Perhaps, distinguished on Arbazan’s plains With fair success, my name is not unknown: On Oxus’ banks to great Sémiramis, When vanquished nations paid the homage due, From her triumphant cars she dropped a ray Of her own glory on Arsaces’ head: But oft the soldier, honored in the field, In courts neglected lies, and is forgotten. My father told me in his dying hour The fortune of Arsaces here depended Upon the common cause; then gave to me These precious relics, which from every eye He had preserved: I must deliver them To the high priest, for he alone can judge, And know their value: I must talk with him In secret, touching my own fate, for he Can best conduct me to Sémiramis.

Mitranes: He seldom sees the queen: in solitude Obscure he lives: his holy ministry Engrosses all his care; without ambition, Fearless, and void of art: is always seen Within the temple, never at the court: Never affects the pride of rank and title, Nor his tiara near the diadem Immodest wears: the less he seeks for greatness, The more is he admired, the more revered: I have access to every avenue Of his retirement in this sacred place, And can this moment talk to him in secret; Ere day’s too far advanced I’ll bring him hither.

SCENE II.

Arsaces: [Alone.] Immortal gods! for what am I reserved? Make known your will: why did my dying father Thus send me to the sanctuary, me A soldier, bred amidst the din of arms? A lover, too? How can Arsaces serve The gods of the Chaldæans?—Ha! what voice From yonder tomb in plaintive accents strikes My frighted ear, and makes my hair to stand On end with horror! Near this place I’ve heard The spirit of Ninus dwells—again it shrieks— It shocks my soul—Ye dark and dreary caves, And thou, the shade of my illustrious master, Thou voice of heaven, what wouldst thou with Arsaces?

SCENE III.

Arsaces, Oroes, the High Priest, the Magi Attending Him, Mitranes.

Mitranes: [Speaking to Oroes.] He’s here, my lord, and waits to give you up Those precious relics.

Arsaces: Most revered father, Permit a soldier to approach your presence, Pleased to fulfil a father’s last command, One whom you deigned to love; thus at your feet, Obedient to his will, I here resign them.

Oroes: Welcome! thou brave and noble youth! that God Who governs all, and not a father’s will, Guided thee here: Phradates was my friend; Dear is his memory to me; thou shalt know Perhaps hereafter how I love his son: Where are the gifts he sent me?

Arsaces: [The slaves deliver the coffer to two of the magi, who place it on an altar.]

Here, my lord.

Oroes: [Opening the coffer, bowing reverentially to it, and seeming greatly affected.]

Ye sacred relics! do these eyes at length Behold you! O, I weep for joy to press These monuments of woe, whilst tears recall My solemn oath: Mitranes, let no ear Profane disturb our holy mystery: We would be private. [The magi retire.] Mark this seal, Arsaces: ’Tis that which to the laws of Ninus gave Their public force, and kept the world in awe: The letter, too, which with his dying hand He wrote: Arsaces, view the wreath that crowned His royal brows, and his victorious sword: The vanquished Medes and Persians felt its power: It comes at last to vindicate its master, And to revenge him; useless instrument Against base treachery, and destructive poison, Whose mortal—

Arsaces: Heaven! what sayest thou?

Oroes: The dread secret Hath long been hid in darkness from the eyes Of men within the sepulchre; the shade Of Ninus, and offended heaven, long time Have raised their voice in vain, and called for vengeance.

Arsaces: It must be as thou sayest: for know, but now, Even on this spot, I heard most dreadful groans.

Oroes: It was the voice of Ninus.

Arsaces: Twice the noise Affrighted me.

Oroes: ’Twas he: he calls for vengeance.

Arsaces: He has a right to ask it: but on whom?

Oroes: On the vile murderers, whose detested hands Had of the best of sovereigns robbed mankind; No tracks are left behind of the base treason, But all with him lies buried in the tomb: With ease might they deceive the sons of men, But not the all-seeing eye of watchful heaven, Which pierces the deep night of human falsehood.

Arsaces: O would to heaven this feeble hand had power To punish crimes like these! I know not wherefore, But when I cast my eyes towards you tomb, New horrors rise: O might I not consult That venerable shade, the inhabitant Of those dark mansions?

Oroes: No; it is forbidden: An oracle severe long since denounced The wrath of heaven against whoe’er should press Into this vale of tears, inhabited By death and the avenging gods: await With me, Arsaces, for the day of justice: Soon will it come, and all shall be accomplished: I can no more: sequestered from the world, I pray in secret to offended heaven, Which, as it wills, commissions me to speak, Or close my lips in silence: I have said All that I dare, and all I ought: be careful Lest in these walls a word, or look, or gesture, Betray the secret which the god by me Hath trusted with thee; for on that depends His glory, Asia’s welfare, and thy life. Approach, ye magi, hide these sacred relics Beneath the altar. [The great gate of the palace opens, Assur appears at a distance, surrounded by attendants and guards on every side.] Ha! the palace opens: The courtiers crowding to the queen: behold The haughty Assur with his servile throng Of flatterers round him! O almighty power! On whom dost thou bestow thy bounties here? O monster!

Arsaces: Ha! what meanest thou?

Oroes: Fare thee well: When night shall cast her sable mantle o’er These guilty walls, I’ll have more converse with thee, Before the gods: revere them, my Arsaces, For know, brave youth, their eyes are fixed on thee.

SCENE IV.

Arsaces, Mitranes, in the front of the stage, Assur, Cedar, with attendants, on one side.

Arsaces: His words are dreadful; they affright my soul: What horrid crimes! and what a court is here! How little known! my royal master poisoned, And Assur, but too well I see, suspected!

Mitranes: Assur is sprung of royal race, and claims The deference due to his authority: He is the favorite of Sémiramis, And thou, without a blush, mayest pay him homage.

Arsaces: Homage to him!

Assur: [To Cedar.] Ha! do my eyes deceive me, Or is Arsaces here without my

order? Amazing insolence!

Arsaces: What haughtiness!

Assur: [Advancing.] Come hither, youth: what new engagements here Have

brought you from the camp?

Arsaces: My duty, sir, And the queen’s orders.

Assur: Did the queen send for you?

Arsaces: She did.

Assur: But, know you not, with her commands You should have asked for mine?

Arsaces: I know not that, And should have thought the honor of her crown Debased by such a mean submission to thee: My lord, you must forgive a soldier’s roughness, We are bad courtiers: bred up in the plains Of Arbazan and Scythia, I have served Your court, but am not much acquainted with it.

Assur: Age, time, and place, perhaps, may teach you, sir. What would you with the queen? for know, young man, Assur alone can lead you to her presence.

Arsaces: I come to ask my valor’s best reward, The honor still to serve her.

Assur: Thou wantest more, Presumptuous boy! I know thy bold pretences To Azema, but that thou wouldst conceal.

Arsaces: Yes: I adore that lovely maid: her heart Would I prefer to empire: my respect, My tenderest love—

Assur: No more: thou knowest not whom Thou art insulting thus: what! join the race Of a Sarmatian to the demigods Of Tigris and Euphrates! mark me well: In pity to thy youth I would advise thee Ne’er, on thy peril, to Sémiramis Impart thy insolent request; for know, Rash boy, if thou shouldst dare to violate The rights of Assur, ’twill not pass unpunished.

Arsaces: I’ll go this instant: thou hast given me courage: Thus threatenings always terrify Arsaces: Thou hast no right, whate’er thy power may be, To affront a soldier who has served his queen, The state, and thee: perhaps my warmth offends; But thou art rasher than myself, to think That I would bend beneath thy servile yoke, Or tremble at thy power.

Assur: Perhaps thou mayest; I’ll teach thee what a subject may expect For insolence like this.

Arsaces: We both may learn it.

SCENE V.

Sémiramis, at the farther end of the stage, leaning on her women.

Otanes, Assur, Arsaces, Mitranes, in the Front.

Otanes: [Advancing.] My lord, the queen at present would be private: You must retire, and give her sorrows way: Withdraw, ye gods, the hand of vengeance from her!

Arsaces: How I lament her fate!

Assur: [To one of his attendants.] Let us begone, And study how we best may turn her griefs To our advantage. [Sémiramis comes forward, and is joined by Otanes: Otanes: My royal mistress, be yourself again, And wake once more to joy and happiness.]

Sémiramis: O death! when wilt thou come with friendly shade To close these eyes that hate the light of day? Be shut, ye caves; horrible phantom, hence! Strike if thou wilt, but threaten me no more. Otanes, is Arsaces come?

Otanes: Ere morn Rose on the temple, madam, he was there.

Sémiramis: That dreadful voice, from heaven or hell I know not, Which in the dead of night so shakes my soul, Told me, my sorrows, when Arsaces came, Would soon be o’er.

Otanes: Rely then on the gods, And let the cheerful ray of hope dispel This melancholy.

Sémiramis: Is Arsaces here? Methinks, when I but hear his name, my soul Is less disturbed, and guilt sits lighter on me!

Otanes: O! quit, forever quit the sad remembrance: Let the bright days of great Sémiramis, Replete with glory, blot one moment out That broke the chain of thy ill-fated nuptials: Had Ninus driven thee from his throne and bed, All Babylon with thee had been destroyed; But happily for us, and for mankind, That wanted such distinguished virtues, you Prevented him; and fifteen years of toil, Spent in the service of thy country, lands Desert and waste made fertile by thy care, The savage tamed, and yielding to the laws, The useful arts, obedient to thy voice, Uprising still, the glorious monuments Of wealth and power, the wonder of mankind, And the loud plaudit of a grateful people, All plead thy cause before the throne of heaven; But if impartial justice hold the scale, If vengeance is required for Ninus’ death, Why thus should Assur brave the angry gods, And live in peace? He was more guilty far Than thou wert, yet the ruthless hand that poured The fatal draught never shakes with fear: he feels No stings of conscience, no remorse affrights him.

Sémiramis: Our duties different, different is our fate: Where ties are sacred, crimes are heavier far: I was his wife, Otanes, and I stand Without excuse; my conscience is my judge And my accuser: but I hoped the gods, Offended at my crimes, had punished me Enough, when they deprived me of my child; Hoped my successful toils, that made the earth Respect my name, had soothed the wrath of heaven: But months on months have passed in agony Since this dire spectre hath appalled my soul: My eyes forever see him, and my ears Still hear his cries: I get me to the tomb, But dare not enter: trembling I revere His ashes, and invoke his honored shade, Which only answers me in dismal groans. Some dread event is nigh: perhaps the time Is come to expiate the offence.

Otanes: But thinkest thou The spirit of thy lord hath left indeed The mansions of the dead, and stalks abroad? Ofttimes the soul, by powerful fancy led, Starts at a phantom of its own creation; Still it beholds the objects it has made, And everything we fear is present to us.

Sémiramis: O no! it was not the wild dream of fancy By slumber wrought, I saw him but too well: The stranger, Sleep, had long withheld from me His sweet delusions; watchful as I stood, And mused on my unhappy fate, a voice Close to my bed, methought, cried out, “Arsaces!” The name revived me: well thou knowest, long time Assur has pierced this heart with deadly grief: I shudder at his presence, and the blushes That show my guilt increase my punishment, Hate the reproachful witness of my shame, And wish I could—but wherefore should I add To crimes like mine fresh guilt? I sought Arsaces To punish Assur, and the thought of him Awhile relieved me! but in the sweet moment Of consolation, sudden stood before me That minister of death, all bathed in blood, And in his hand a falchion: still I see, Still hear him: comes he to defend, or punish? ’Twas at that very hour Arsaces came. This day was fixed by heaven to end my sorrows, But peace is yet a stranger to my soul, And hope is lost in horror and despair: The load of life is grown too heavy for me, My throne is hateful, and my glories past But add fresh weight to my calamities. Long time I’ve hid my sorrows from the world And blushed in secret, fearful to consult That reverend sage whom Babylon adores: I would not thus degrade the majesty Of sovereign power, or let Sémiramis Betray her fears before a mortal’s eye, But I have sent to Libya’s sands in secret There to consult the oracle of Jove: As if removed from man, the God of truth Had hid in desert plains his will divine. Alas! Otanes, that dread power which dwells Within these lonely walls, hath long received My fears and adorations; at his altars My gifts were offered, and my incense rose; But gifts and incense never can atone For crimes like mine: to-day I shall receive Answers from Memphis.

SCENE VI.

Sémiramis, Otanes, Mitranes.

Mitranes: An Egyptian priest Is at the palace gate, and begs admittance.

Sémiramis: Then will my woes be ended, or complete. Let us begone, and hide from Babylon Her queen’s disgraceful sorrows: let Arsaces Be sent to me: soon may his presence calm This storm of grief, and soothe my troubled soul!

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Arsaces, Azema

Azema: To thee, Arsaces, this great empire owes Its lustre, I my liberty and life. When vanquished Scythia, thirsting for revenge, From its wild desert rushed indignant forth, And bore down all before it; when my father, Oppressed by numbers, fell, and left me there A hapless slave; then, armed with thunder, thou, Piercing their dark retreats, didst break my chains, And give me ample vengeance on my foes. Thou wert my great deliverer, Arsaces, And in return I give thee all my heart; I will be thine, and only thine; but O! Our fatal passion will destroy us both: Thy generous heart, too open and sincere, Believed that gallant deeds, and fair renown In arms, would gain thee honors in a court; And, fearless of success, thou bringest with thee A hero’s fierceness and a lover’s heart. Assur is incensed: alas! thou dost not know him: He is too powerful for us; he rules all At Babylon; and much, I fear, abuses His fatal influence o’er Sémiramis: He is thy great inexorable—rival.

Arsaces: Ha! does he love thee?

Azema: No; that savage mind, Subtle and dark, a foe to every virtue, Insensible to love and every charm But those ambition boasts, could never feel A real passion for me: but he knows That Azema is descended from the race Of our Assyrian kings, and soon may claim My right of empire here, as next the throne; And therefore means to blend his interest here With mine, and gain the sceptre for himself: But if the youth whom Ninus had decreed, Even from my infant years, to be my husband, The son of great Sémiramis, and heir Of Babylon, were living now, and here Would offer me his heart and half his empire, By love I swear, and by thy precious self, Ninias should sue in vain, and see me quit A throne with him for banishment with thee. Even Scythia’s bleak inhospitable plains Would yield a sweet asylum to our love; For they would echo my Arsaces’ name, And sound his praise; those barren wilds, where first Our passion grew, would be to me a court, Nor should I cast a thought on Babylon. But much I fear this subtle statesman means To carry his resentment further still: I’ve searched his soul, and know the blackness of it: Or I mistake, or guilt sits lightly on him; Already he is jealous of thy glory, He fears, and hates thee.

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