Francesca of Rimini | |
From the | |
‘The land where I was born sits by the seas, | |
Upon that shore to which the Po descends, | |
With all his followers, in search of peace. | |
Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, | |
5 | Seized him for the fair person which was ta’en |
From me, and me even yet the mode offends. | |
Love, who to none beloved to love again | |
Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, | |
That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. | |
10 | Love to one death conducted us along, |
But Cainá waits for him our life who ended: ’ | |
These were the accents utter’d by her tongue. – | |
Since I first listen’d to these souls offended, | |
I bow’d my visage, and so kept it till – | |
15 | ‘What think’st thou?’ said the bard; when I unbended, |
And recommenced: ‘Alas! unto such ill | |
How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies | |
Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!’ | |
And then I turn’d unto their side my eyes, | |
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. | |
20 | And said, ‘Francesca, thy sad destinies |
But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, | |
By what and how thy love to passion rose, | |
So as his dim desires to recognise?’ | |
25 | Then she to me: ‘The greatest of all woes |
Is to remind us of our happy days | |
In misery, and that thy teacher knows. | |
But if to learn our passion’s first root preys | |
Upon thy spirit with such sympathy, | |
30 | I will do even as he who weeps and says. |
We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, | |
Of Lancilot, how love enchain’d him too. | |
We were alone, quite unsuspiciously. | |
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue | |
35 | All o’er discoloured by that reading were; |
But one point only wholly us o’erthrew; | |
When we read the long-sigh’d-for smile of her, | |
To be thus kiss’d by such devoted lover, | |
He who from me can be divided ne’er | |
40 | Kiss’d my mouth, trembling in the act all over. |
Accursed was the book and he who wrote! | |
That day no further leaf we did uncover. — | |
While thus one spirit told us of their lot, | |
The other wept, so that with pity’s thralls | |
45 | I swoon’d as if by death I had been smote, |
And fell down even as a dead body falls.’ |
Stanzas (‘When a man hath no freedom’) | |
When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, | |
Let him combat for that of his neighbours; | |
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome, | |
And get knock’d on the head for his labours. | |
5 | To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan, |
And is always as nobly requited; | |
Then battle for freedom wherever you can, | |
And, if not shot or hang’d, you’ll get knighted. |
SARDANAPALUS
A Tragedy
TO
THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE
A STRANGER PRESUMES TO OFFER THE HOMAGE OF A LITERARY VASSAL TO HIS LIEGE LORD, THE FIRST OF EXISTING WRITERS, WHO HAS CREATED THE LITERATURE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY, AND ILLUSTRATED THAT OF EUROPE. THE UNWORTHY PRODUCTION WHICH THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO INSCRIBE TO HIM IS ENTITLED SARDANAPALUS.
PREFACE
In publishing the following Tragedies I have only to repeat, that they were not composed with the most remote view to the stage. On the attempt made by the Managers in a former instance, the public opinion has been already expressed. With regard to my own private feelings, as it seems that they are to stand for nothing, I shall say nothing.
For the historical foundation of the following compositions the reader is referred to the Notes.
The Author has in one instance attempted to preserve, and in the other to approach, the ‘unities;’ conceiving that with any very distant departure from them, there may be poetry, but can be no drama. He is aware of the unpopularity of this notion in present English literature; but it is not a system of his own, being merely an opinion, which, not very long ago, was the law of literature throughout the world, and is still so in the more civilised parts of it. But ‘nous avons changé tout cela,’ and are reaping the advantages of the change. The writer is far from conceiving that any thing he can adduce by personal precept or example can at all approach his regular, or even irregular predecessors: he is merely giving a reason why he preferred the more regular formation of a structure, however feeble, to an entire abandonment of all rules whatsoever. Where he has failed, the failure is in the architect, – and not in the art.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ | |
Men | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
ARBACES | |
BELESES | |
SALEMENES | |
ALTADA | |
PANIA | |
ZAMES | |
SFERO | |
BALEA | |
Women | |
ZARINA, | |
MYRRHA | |
Women composing the Harem of | |
Attendants, Chaldean Priests, Medes, | |
Scene – a Hall in the Royal Palace of Nineveh. | |
In this tragedy it has been my intention to follow the account of Diodorus Siculus; reducing it, however, to such dramatic regularity as I best could, and trying to approach the unities. I therefore suppose the rebellion to explode and succeed in one day by a sudden conspiracy, instead of the long war of the history. | |
Act I | |
SCENE I | |
A Hall in the Palace. | |
SALEMENES | |
He hath wrong’d my sister, still he is my brother; | |
He hath wrong’d his people, still he is their sovereign, | |
And I must be his friend as well as subject: | |
5 | He must not perish thus. I will not see |
The blood of Nimrod and Semiramis | |
Sink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years | |
Of empire ending like a shepherd’s tale; | |
He must be roused. In his effeminate heart | |
10 | There is a careless courage which corruption |
Has not all quench’d, and latent energies, | |
Repress’d by circumstance, but not destroy’d – | |
Steep’d, but not drown’d, in deep voluptuousness. | |
If born a peasant, he had been a man | |
15 | To have reach’d an empire: to an empire born, |
He will bequeath none; nothing but a name, | |
Which his sons will not prize in heritage: — | |
Yet, not all lost, even yet he may redeem | |
His sloth and shame, by only being that | |
20 | Which he should be, as easily as the thing |
He should not be and is. Were it less toil | |
To sway his nations than consume his life? | |
To head an army than to rule a harem? | |
He sweats in palling pleasures, dulls his soul, | |
25 | And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not |
Health like the chase, nor glory like the war – | |
He must be roused. Alas! there is no sound | |
[ | |
To rouse him short of thunder. Hark! the lute, | |
The lyre, the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings | |
30 | Of lulling instruments, the softening voices |
Of women, and of beings less than women, | |
Must chime in to the echo of his revel, | |
While the great king of all we know of earth | |
Lolls crown’d with roses, and his diadem | |
35 | Lies negligently by to be caught up |
By the first manly hand which dares to snatch it. | |
Lo, where they come! already I perceive | |
The reeking odours of the perfumed trains, | |
And see the bright gems of the glittering girls, | |
40 | At once his chorus and his council, flash |
Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels, | |
As femininely garb’d, and scarce less female, | |
The grandson of Semiramis, the man-queen. – | |
He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him, | |
45 | And tell him what all good men tell each other, |
Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves. | |
Led by the monarch subject to his slaves. | |
SCENE II | |
[ | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
pavilion over the Euphrates | |
Be garlanded, and lit, and furnish’d forth | |
For an especial banquet; at the hour | |
Of midnight we will sup there: see nought wanting, | |
5 | And bid the galley be prepared. There is |
A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river: | |
We will embark anon. Fair nymphs, who deign | |
To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus, | |
We’ll meet again in that the sweetest hour, | |
10 | When we shall gather like the stars above us, |
And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs; | |
Till then, let each be mistress of her time, | |
And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha, choose, | |
Wilt thou along with them or me? | |
MYRRHA | |
15 | SARDANAPALUS |
It is the curse of kings to be so answer’d. | |
Rule thy own hours, thou rulest mine – say, wouldst thou | |
Accompany our guests, or charm away | |
The moments from me? | |
MYRRHA | |
20 | SARDANAPALUS |
Is to contribute to thine every wish. | |
I do not dare to breathe my own desire, | |
Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still | |
Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others. | |
25 | MYRRHA |
Save in beholding thine; yet — | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier | |
Which ever rises betwixt thee and me. | |
MYRRHA | |
30 | Of council; it were better I retire. |
SALEMENES | |
well: let her retire. | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
SALEMENES | |
And your most faithful vassal, royal lord. | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
35 | Till midnight, when again we pray your presence. |
[ | |
[ | |
Myrrha! I thought | |
MYRRHA | |
Thou didst not say so. | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
I know each glance of those Ionic eyes, | |
Which said thou wouldst not leave me. | |
MYRRHA | |
40 | SALEMENES |
How darest | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson | |
Like to the dying day on Caucasus, | |
Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows, | |
45 | And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness, |
Which will not see it. What, in tears, my Myrrha? | |
SALEMENES: | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
50 | SALEMENES |
SARDANAPALUS | |
I am a monarch. | |
SALEMENES | |
MYRRHA | |
I pray, and thou, too, prince, permit my absence. | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
55 | Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect |
That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose | |
An empire than thy presence. | |
[ | |
SALEMENES | |
Thou wilt lose both, and both for ever! | |
SARDANAPALUS | |
I can at least command mself who listen | |
60 | To language such as this: yet urge me not |
Beyond my easy nature. |