The Works of Lord Byron

"If we carry back the epocha of Venetian freedom to the establishment of the government under which the republic flourished, we shall find that the date of the election of the first Doge is 697; and if we add one century to a thousand, that is, eleven hundred years, we shall find the sense of the prediction to be literally this: Thy liberty will not last till 1797.' Recollect that Venice ceased to be free in the year 1796, the fifth year of the French republic; and you will perceive that there never was prediction more pointed, or more exactly followed by the event. You will, therefore, note as very remarkable the three lines of Alamanni, addressed to Venice, which, however, no one has pointed out:

Se non cangi pensier, l'un secol solo
Non conterà sopra, 1 millesimo anno

Tua liberta, che va fuggendo a volo.'

notion that he COULD have been introducea, since there has been nothing I have so carefully avoided as any kind of intercourse with his countrymen,-excepting the very few who were a considerable time resident in Venice, or had been of my previous acquaintance. Whoever made him any such offer was possessed of impudence equal to that of making such an assertion without having had it. The fact is, that I hold in utter abhorrence any contact with the travelling Engish, as my friend the Consul-General Hoppner, and the Coun tess Benzoni, (in whose house the Conversazione mostly frequented by them is held,) could amply testify, were it worth while. I was persecuted by these tourists even to my riding-ground at Lido, and reduced to the most disagreeable circuits to avoid them. At Madame Benzoni's I repeatedly refused to be introduced to

Many prophecies have passed for such, and many men them;-of a thousand such presentations pressed upon have been called prophets for much less."

If the Doge's prophecy seem remarkable, look to the above, made by trifles publicly, if the impudence of this "sketcher"

Alamanni two hundred and seventy years ago.

me, I accepted two, and both were to Irish women. I should hardly have descended to speak of such had not forced me to a refutation of a disingenuous and gratuitously impertinent assertion;so meant to THE author of "Sketches Descriptive of Italy," &c. be, for what could it import to the reader to be told one of the hundred tours lately published, is extremely that the author "had repeatedly declined an introduc anxious to disclaim a possible charge of plagiarism tion," even had it been true, which, for the reasons I from "Childe Harold" and "Beppo." He adds, that have above given, is scarcely possible. Except Lords still less could this presumed coincidence arise from Lansdowne, Jersey, and Lauderdale; Messrs. Scott, "my conversation," as he had repeatedly declined an Hammond, Sir Humphry Davy, the late M. Lewis, W introduction to me while in Italy. Bankes, Mr. Hoppner, Thomas Moore, Lord Kinnaird, Who this person may be, know not; but he must his brother, Mr. Joy, and Mr. Hobhouse, I do not re. have been deceived by all or any of those who "repeat-collect to have exchanged a word with another Englishedly offered to introduce" him, as I have invariably man since I left their country; and almost all these I refused to receive any English with whom I was not had known before. The others-and God knows there previously acquainted, even when they had letters were some hundreds-who bored me with letters or vis. from England. If the whole assertion is not an inven-its, I refused to have any communication with, and shall tion, I request this person not to sit down with the be proud and happy when that wish becomes mutual.

SARDANAPALUS.

A TRAGEDY.

TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOËTHE

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.

throughout the world, and is still so in the more civilized parts of it. But "Nous avons change 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, On the attempt made by the Managers in a former or even irregular predecessors: he is merely giving a instance, the public opinion has been already expressed. reason why he preferred the more regular formation of a With regard to my own private feelings, as it seems structure, however feeble, to an entire abandonment of all that they are to stand for nothing, I shall say nothing. rules whatsoever. Where he has failed, the failure is in For the historical foundation of the following compo- the architect,-and not in the art. sitions, 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 In this tragedy it has been my intention to follow the that with any very distant departure from them, there account of Diodorus Siculus; reducing it, however, to may be poetry, but can be no drama. He is aware of such dramatic regularity as I best could, and trying to the unpopularity of this notion in present English litera- approach the unities. I therefore suppose the rebellion ture; but it is not a system of his own, being merely an to explode and succeed in one day by a sudden conspira. opinion, which, not very long ago, was the law of literature cy instead of the long war of the history.

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:
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;
Ho must be roused. In his effeminate heart
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

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
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,
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

[Sound of soft music heard from within.
To rouse him short of thunder. Hark! the lute,
The lyre, the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings
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
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,
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,
And tell him what all good men tell each other,
Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves,
Led by the inonarch subject to his slaves.

SCENE II-Enter SARDANAPALUS effeminately dressed, his head crowned with flowers, and his robe negligently flowing, attended by a train of women and young slaves.

Sar. (speaking to some of his attendants.) Let the 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 naught wanting.
And bid the gallery 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
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?
Myr.

My lord

Myr. Thou didst not say so.

Sur.

Great king,

But hou lookedst it; I know each glance of those Ionic eyes, Which said thou wouldst not leave me. Myr. Sire! your brotherSal. His consort's brother, minion of Ionia! How darest thou name me and not blush?

Sar.
Not blush
Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimsor
Like to the dying day on Caucasus,

Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows,
And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness,
Which will not see it. What, in tears, my Myrrha ?
Sal. Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one
And is herself the cause of bitterer tears.

Sar. Cursed be he who caused those tears to flow!
Sal. Curse not thyself-millions do that already.
Sar. Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember
I am a monarch.
Would thou couldst !

Sal. Myr.

My sovereign, pray, and thou, too, prince, permit my absence. Sar. Since it must be so, and this churl has check'd Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect

That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that
Of blood and chains? the despotism of vice-
The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-
The negligence-the apathy-the evils
Of sensual sloth-produce ten thousand tyrants,
Whose delegated cruelty surpasses
The worst acts of one energetic master,
However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
The false and fond examples of thy lusts
Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap
In the same moment all thy pageant power
And those who should sustain it; so that whether
A foreign foe invade, or civil broil

Distract within, both will alike prove fatal:
The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer;
The last they rather would assist than vanquish.
Sar. Why what makes thee the mouth-piece of the
people?

Sal. Forgiveness of the queen, my sister's wrongs;
A natural love unto my infant nephews;
Faith to the king, a faith he may need shortly,
In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line;
Also, another thing thou knowest not.

Sar. What's that?

Sal.

Sar.

I love to learn.

Sal.

Sar.

Virtue.

To thee an unknown word,

Sar. I understand thee-thou wouldst have me go Forth as a conqueror. By all the stars

Which the Chaldeans read-the restless slaves
Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes,
And lead them forth to glory.
Sal.

Wherefore not?

And how many

Left she behind in India to the vultures?
Sal. Our annals say not.
Sar.

Then I will say for them-
That she had better woven within her palace
Some twenty garments, than with twenty guards
Have fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens,
And wolves, and men-the fiercer of the three,
Her myriads of fond subjects. Is this glory?
Then let me live in ignominy ever.

Sal. All warlike spirits have not the same fate.
Semiramis, the glorious parent of

A hundred kings, although she fail'd in India,
Brought Persia, Media, Bactria, to the realm
Which she once sway'd-and thou might'st sway.
Sar.
I sway them--

Yet speak it; That they will need her sword more than your sceptre. Sar. There was a certain Bacchus, was there rot? I've heard my Greek girls speak of such-they say

Not know the word! Never was word yet rung so in my earsWorse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet; I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else.

Sal. To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice. Sar. From whom?

Sal. Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen Unto the echoes of the nation's voice.

Sar. Come. I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient, As thou hast often proved-speak out, what moves thee? Sal. Thy peril.

He was a god, that is, a Grecian god,

An idol foreign to Assyria's worship,

Who conquer'd this same golden realm of Ind
Thou prat'st of, where Semiramis was vanquish'd.

Sal. I have heard of such a man; and thou perceiv's) That he is deem'd a god for what he did.

Sar. And in his godship I will honour him-
Not such a man. What, ho! my cupbearer!
Sal. What means the king?
Sar.

To worship your new god And ancient conqueror. Some wine, I say.

Enter Cupbearer.

Sar. (addressing the Cupbearer.) Bring me the golden goblet thick with gems,

Which bears the name of Nimrod's chalice. Hen
Fill full, and bear it quickly. [Exit Cupbearer.
Sal.

Is this moment
A fitting one for the resumption of
Thy yet unslept-off revels?

Re-enter Cupbearer, with wine.

Sar. (taking the cup from him) Noble kinsman If these barbarian Greeks of the far shores And skirts of these our realms lie not, this Bacchus Conquer'd the whole of India, did he not?

Sal. He did, and thence was deem'd a deity Sar. Not so:-of all his conquests a few columns Which may be his, and might be mine, if I Thought them worth purchase and conveyance, are The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed, The realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke. But here, here in this goblet is this title

To immortality-the iminortal grape
From which he first express'd the soul, and gave
To gladden that of man, as some atonement
For the victorious mischiefs he had done.
Had it not been for this, he would have been
A mortal still in name as in his grave;
And, like my ancestor Semiramis,
A sort of semi-glorious human monster.
Here's that which deified him-let it now
Humanize thee; my surly, chiding brother,
Pledge me to the Greek god!

Sa'.
For all thy realms
I would not so blaspheme our country's creed.
Sar. That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero,
That he shed blood by oceans; and no god,
Because he turn'd a fruit to an enchantinent,
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear her danger; opens a new world
When this, the present, palls. Well, then I pledge thee
And him as a true man, who did his utmost
In good or evil to surprise mankind.

[Drinks.

Sal. Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour?
Sar. And if I did, 't were better than a trophy,
Being bought without a tear. But that is not
My present purpose: since thou wilt not pledge me,
Continue what thou pleasest.
(To the Cupbearer.)

Boy, retire.

[Exit Cupbearer. Sal. I would but have recall'd thee from thy dream: Better by me awaken'd than rebellion.

Sar. Who should rebel? or why? what cause? pretext?

I am the lawful king, descended from

A race of kings who knew no predecessors.
What have I done to thee, or to the people

That thou shouldst rail, or they rise up against me?
Sal. Of what thou hast done to me, I speak not.
Sar.

Thou think'st that I have wrong'd the queen: is 't not
Sal. Think! Thou hast wrong'd her!
Sar.

I own thy merit in those founded cities,
Built for a whim, recorded with a verse
Which shames both them and thee to coming ages.

Sar. Shame me! By Baal, the cities, though well buil
Are not more goodly than the verse! Say what
Thou wilt 'gainst me, my mode of life or rule,
But nothing 'gainst the truth of that brief record
Why, those few lines contain the history
Of all things human; hear-"Sardanapalus,
The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes,
In one day built Anchizius and Tarsus.

Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip."*
Sal. A worthy moral, and a wise inscription,

For a king to put up before his subjects!

Sar. Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set u
edicts-

"Obey the king-contribute to his treasure-
Recruit his phalanx-spill your blood at bidding-
Fall down and worship, or get up and toil."
Or thus--" Sardanapalus on this spot
Slew fifty thousand of his enemies.
These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy."
I leave such things to conquerors; enough
For me, if I can make my subjects feel
The weight of human misery less, and glide
Ungroaning to the tomb; I take no licence
Which I deny to them. We all are men.

Sal. Thy sires have been revered as gods—
Sar.

And death, where they are neither gods nor men
Talk not of such to me! the worms are gods;
At least they banqueted upon our gods,
And died for lack of farther nutriment.

In Just

Those gods were merely men; look to their issue

I feel a thousand mortal things about me,

But

so ?

But nothing godlike, unless it may be
The thing which you condemn, a disposition
To love and to be merciful, to pardon
The follies of my species, and (that's human)

Alas!

Patience, prince, and hear me. To be indulgent to my own.
She has all power and splendour of her station,
Sal.
Respect, the tutelage of Assyria's heirs,
The doom of Nineveh is seal'd.-Wo-Wo
The homage and the appanage of sovereignty.
To the unrivall'd city!
I married her as monarchs wed-for state,

And loved her as most husbands love their wives.
If she or thou supposedst I could link me
Like a Chaldean peasant to his mate,
He knew nor me, nor monarchs, nor mankind.

Sal. I pray thee, change the theme: my blood disdains
Complaint, and Salemenes' sister seeks not
Reluctant love even from Assyria's lord!
Nor would she deign to accept divided passion
With foreign strumpets and Ionian slaves.
The queen is silent.

Sar.
And why not her brother?
Sal. I only echo thee the voice of empires,
Which he who long neglects not long will govern.
Sar. The ungrateful and ungracious slaves! they

murmur

Because I have not shed their blood, nor led them
To dry into the desert's dust by myriads,

Or whiten with their bones the banks of Ganges;
Nor decimated them with savage laws,
Nor sweated them to build up pyramids,
Or Babylonian walls.

Sal.
Yet these are trophies
More worthy of a people and their prince
Than songs, and lutes, and feasts, and concubines,
And lavish'd treasures, and contemned virtues.

Sar. Or for my trophies I have founded cities:
There's Tarsus and Anchialus, both built
In one day-what could that blood-loving beldame,
My martial grandam, chaste Semiramis,
Do more, except destroy them?

Sar.

What dost dread?

Sal. Thou art guarded by thy foes: in a few hours
The tempest may break out which overwhelms thee,
And thine and mine; and in another day
What is shall be the past of Belus' race.
Sar. What must we dread?
Sal.
Ambitious treachery
Which has environ'd thee with snares; but yet
There is resource: empower me with thy signet
To quell the machinations, and I lay
The heads of thy chief foes before thy feet.
Sar. The heads-how many?
Sal.
Must I stay to number
When even thine own 's in peril? Let me go;
Give me thy signet-trust me with the rest.

Sar. I will trust no man with unlimited lives.
When we take those from others, we nor know
What we have taken, nor the thing we give.
Sal. Wouldst thou not take their lives who serk
for thine?

Sar. That's a hard question--But, I answer Y
Cannot the thing be done without? Who are they
Whom thou suspectest ?-Let them be arrested.

Sal. I would thou wouldst not ask me: the next mon end
Will send my answer through thy babbling trou
Of paramours, and thence fly o'er the palaro,
Even to the city, and so baffle all.—
Trust me.

Sar. Thou knowest I have done so ever •
Take thou the signet.
[Gives the signet
Sal.

J have one more request.

Sar. Name it.

Sal. That thou this night forbear the banquet In the pavilion over the Euphrates.

They had conjured up stern Nimrod from his ashes.
"The mighty hunter." I will turn these realms
To one wide desert chase of brutes, who were,
But would no more, by their own choice, be human.
What they have found me, they belie; that which
They yet may find me-shall defy their wish
To speak it worse; and let them thank themselves.
Sal. Then thou at last canst feel?
Sar.
Feel! who feels n

Sar. Forbear the banquet! Not for all the plotters
That ever shook a kingdom! Let them come,
And do their worst: I shall not blench for them;
Nor rise the sooner; nor forbear the goblet;
Nor crown me with a single rose the less;
Nor lose one joyous hour.-1 fear them not.
Sal. But thou wouldst arm thee, wouldst thou not, if Ingratitude?
needful?

Sar. Perhaps. I have the goodliest armour, and
A sword of such a temper; and a bow
And javelin, which might furnish Nimrod forth:
A little heavy, but yet not unwieldly.

And now I think on 't, 't is long since I've used them,
Even in the chase. Hast ever seen them, brother?
Sal. Is this a time for such fantastic trifling ?-
If need be, wilt thou wear them?
Sar.

Will I not?

Oh! if it must be so, and these rash slaves
Will not be ruled with less, I'll use the sword
Till they shall wish it turn'd into a distaff.

Sal. They say, thy sceptre's turn'd to that already?
Sar. That's false! but let them say so: the old Greeks,
Of whom our captives often sing, related
The same of their chief hero, Hercules,
Because he loved a Lydian queen: thou seest
The populace of all the nations seize
Each calumny they can to sink their sovereigns.
Sal. They did not speak thus of thy fathers.
Sar.

No;
They dared not. They were kept to toil and combat,
And never changed their chains but for their armour:
Now they have peace and pastime, and the licence
To revel and to rail; it irks me not.

I would not give the smile of one fair girl
For all the popular breath that e'er divided
A name from nothing. What are the rank tongues
Of this vile herd, grown insolent with feeding,
That I should prize their noisy praise, or dread
Their noisome clamour?

Sal.
You have said they are men;
As such their hearts are something.
Sar.
So my dogs' are;
And better, as more faithful :-but, proceed;
Thou hast my signet :-since they are tumultuous,
Let them be temper'd, yet not roughly, till
Necessity enforce it. I hate all pain,

Given or received; we have enough within us,
The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch,
Not to add to each other's natural burden

Of mortal misery, but rather lessen,

By mild reciprocal alleviation,

The fatal penalties imposed on life:

But this they know not, or they will not know.

I have, by Baal! done all I could to sooth them:

I made no wars, I added no new imposts,

I interfered not with their civic lives,

I let them pass their days as best might suit them,
Passing my own as suited me.

Sal.

Thou stopp'st short Of the duties of a king; and therefore They say thou art unfit to be a monarch. Sar. They lie.-Unhappily, I am unfit To be aught save a monarch; else for me The meanest Mede might be the king instead.

Sal. There is one Mede, at least, who seeks to be so. Sar. What mean'st thou ?-'t is thy secret; thou desirest

Few questions, and I'm not of curious nature.
Take the fit steps; and, since necessity
Requires, I sanction and support thee. Ne'er
Was man who more desired to rule in peace
The peacefu only; if they rouse me, better

Sal. I will not pause to answer With words, but deeds. Keep thou awake that energy Which sleeps at times, but is not dead within thee, And thou may'st yet be glorious in thy reign, As powerful in thy realm. Farewell!

[Exit SALEMENES. Farewell!

Sar. (solus.)
He's gone; and on his finger bears my signet,
Which is to him a sceptre. He is stern
As I am heedless; and the slaves deserve
To feel a master. What may be the danger,
I know not: he hath found it, let him quell it.
Must I consume my life-this little life-
In guarding against all may make it less?
It is not worth so much! It were to die
Before my hour, to live in dread of death,
Tracing revolt; suspecting all about me,
Because they are near; and all who are remote,
Because they are far. But if it should be so-

If they should sweep me off from earth and empire,
Why, what is earth or empire of the earth?

I have loved, and lived, and multi ed my image;
To die is no less natural than .ose-
Acts of this clay! 'Tis true I have not shed
Blood as I might have done, in oceans, till
My name became the synonyme of death-
A terror and a trophy. But for this
I feel no penitence; my life is love:
If I must shed blood, it shall be by force.
Till now, no drop from an Assyrian vein
Hath flow'd for me, nor hath the smallest coin
Of Niniveh's vast treasures e'er been lavish'd
On objects which could cost her sons a tear:
If then they hate me, 't is because I hate not:
If they rebel, 't is because I oppress not.
Oh, men! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres,
And mow'd down like the grass, else all we reap

Is rank abundance, and a rotten harvest
Of discontents infecting the fair soil,
Making a desert of fertility.-

I'll think no more.Within there, ho!

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The Works of Lord Byron: In Verse and Prose. Including His Letters, Journals ...