University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—The same Hall in the Palace.
Myrrha and Balea.
Myr.
(at a window).
The day at last has broken. What a night
Hath ushered it! How beautiful in heaven!
Though varied with a transitory storm,
More beautiful in that variety!
How hideous upon earth! where Peace and Hope,
And Love and Revel, in an hour were trampled
By human passions to a human chaos,
Not yet resolved to separate elements—
'Tis warring still! And can the sun so rise,
So bright, so rolling back the clouds into
Vapours more lovely than the unclouded sky,
With golden pinnacles, and snowy mountains,
And billows purpler than the Ocean's, making
In heaven a glorious mockery of the earth,
So like we almost deem it permanent;
So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught
Beyond a vision, 'tis so transiently
Scattered along the eternal vault: and yet
It dwells upon the soul, and soothes the soul,
And blends itself into the soul, until
Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch
Of Sorrow and of Love; which they who mark not,
Know not the realms where those twin genii
(Who chasten and who purify our hearts,
So that we would not change their sweet rebukes
For all the boisterous joys that ever shook
The air with clamour) build the palaces
Where their fond votaries repose and breathe
Briefly;—but in that brief cool calm inhale
Enough of heaven to enable them to bear
The rest of common, heavy, human hours,
And dream them through in placid sufferance,
Though seemingly employed like all the rest
Of toiling breathers in allotted tasks
Of pain or pleasure, two names for one feeling,
Which our internal, restless agony
Would vary in the sound, although the sense
Escapes our highest efforts to be happy.

Bal.
You muse right calmly: and can you so watch
The sunrise which may be our last?

Myr.
It is
Therefore that I so watch it, and reproach
Those eyes, which never may behold it more,
For having looked upon it oft, too oft,
Without the reverence and the rapture due
To that which keeps all earth from being as fragile
As I am in this form. Come, look upon it,
The Chaldee's God, which, when I gaze upon,
I grow almost a convert to your Baal.

Bal.
As now he reigns in heaven, so once on earth
He swayed.

Myr.
He sways it now for more, then; never
Had earthly monarch half the power and glory
Which centres in a single ray of his.

Bal.
Surely he is a God!

Myr.
So we Greeks deem too;
And yet I sometimes think that gorgeous orb
Must rather be the abode of Gods than one
Of the immortal sovereigns. Now he breaks
Through all the clouds, and fills my eyes with light
That shuts the world out. I can look no more.

Bal.
Hark! heard you not a sound?

Myr.
No, 'twas mere fancy;
They battle it beyond the wall, and not
As in late midnight conflict in the very
Chambers: the palace has become a fortress
Since that insidious hour; and here, within
The very centre, girded by vast courts
And regal halls of pyramid proportions,
Which must be carried one by one before
They penetrate to where they then arrived,
We are as much shut in even from the sound
Of peril as from glory.

Bal.
But they reached
Thus far before.

Myr.
Yes, by surprise, and were
Beat back by valour: now at once we have
Courage and vigilance to guard us.

Bal.
May they
Prosper!

Myr.
That is the prayer of many, and
The dread of more: it is an anxious hour;
I strive to keep it from my thoughts. Alas!
How vainly!

Bal.
It is said the King's demeanour
In the late action scarcely more appalled
The rebels than astonished his true subjects.

Myr.
'Tis easy to astonish or appal
The vulgar mass which moulds a horde of slaves;
But he did bravely.

Bal.
Slew he not Beleses?
I heard the soldiers say he struck him down.

Myr.
The wretch was overthrown, but rescued to
Triumph, perhaps, o'er one who vanquished him
In fight, as he had spared him in his peril;
And by that heedless pity risked a crown.

Bal.
Hark!

Myr.
You are right; some steps approach, but slowly.

Enter Soldiers, bearing in Salemenes wounded, with a broken javelin in his side: they seat him upon one of the couches which furnish the Apartment.
Myr.
Oh, Jove!

Bal.
Then all is over.

Sal.
That is false.
Hew down the slave who says so, if a soldier.

Myr.
Spare him—he's none: a mere court butterfly,
That flutter in the pageant of a monarch.

Sal.
Let him live on, then.

Myr.
So wilt thou, I trust.

Sal.
I fain would live this hour out, and the event,
But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here?

Sol.
By the King's order. When the javelin struck you,
You fell and fainted: 'twas his strict command
To bear you to this hall.

Sal.
'Twas not ill done:
For seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance,
The sight might shake our soldiers—but—'tis vain,
I feel it ebbing!

Myr.
Let me see the wound;
I am not quite skilless: in my native land
'Tis part of our instruction. War being constant,
We are nerved to look on such things.

Sol.
Best extract
The javelin.

Myr.
Hold! no, no, it cannot be.

Sal.
I am sped, then!

Myr.
With the blood that fast must follow
The extracted weapon, I do fear thy life.

Sal.
And I not. death. Where was the King when you
Conveyed me from the spot where I was stricken?

Sol.
Upon the same ground, and encouraging
With voice and gesture the dispirited troops
Who had seen you fall, and faltered back.

Sal.
Whom heard ye
Named next to the command?

Sol.
I did not hear.

Sal.
Fly, then, and tell him, 'twas my last request
That Zames take my post until the junction,
So hoped for, yet delayed, of Ofratanes,
Satrap of Susa. Leave me here: our troops
Are not so numerous as to spare your absence.

Sol.
But Prince—

Sal.
Hence, I say! Here 's a courtier and
A woman, the best chamber company.
As you would not permit me to expire
Upon the field, I'll have no idle soldiers
About my sick couch. Hence! and do my bidding!

[Exeunt the Soldiers.
Myr.
Gallant and glorious Spirit! must the earth
So soon resign thee?

Sal.
Gentle Myrrha, 'tis
The end I would have chosen, had I saved
The monarch or the monarchy by this;
As 'tis, I have not outlived them.

Myr.
You wax paler.

Sal.
Your hand; this broken weapon but prolongs
My pangs, without sustaining life enough
To make me useful: I would draw it forth
And my life with it, could I but hear how
The fight goes.

Enter Sardanapalus and Soldiers.
Sar.
My best brother!

Sal.
And the battle
Is lost?

Sar.
(despondingly).
You see me here.

Sal.
I'd rather see you thus!

[He draws out the weapon from the wound, and dies.
Sar.
And thus I will be seen; unless the succour,
The last frail reed of our beleagured hopes,
Arrive with Ofratanes.

Myr.
Did you not
Receive a token from your dying brother,
Appointing Zames chief?

Sar.
I did.

Myr.
Where's Zames?

Sar.
Dead.

Myr.
And Altada?

Sar.
Dying.

Myr.
Pania? Sfero?

Sar.
Pania yet lives; but Sfero's fled or captive.
I am alone.

Myr.
And is all lost?

Sar.
Our walls,
Though thinly manned, may still hold out against
Their present force, or aught save treachery:
But i' the field—

Myr.
I thought 'twas the intent
Of Salemenes not to risk a sally
Till ye were strengthened by the expected succours.

Sar.
I over-ruled him.

Myr.
Well, the fault's a brave one.

Sar.
But fatal. Oh, my brother! I would give
These realms, of which thou wert the ornament,
The sword and shield, the sole-redeeming honour,
To call back—But I will not weep for thee;
Thou shalt be mourned for as thou wouldst be mourned.
It grieves me most that thou couldst quit this life
Believing that I could survive what thou
Hast died for—our long royalty of race.
If I redeem it, I will give thee blood
Of thousands, tears of millions, for atonement,
(The tears of all the good are thine already).
If not, we meet again soon,—if the spirit
Within us lives beyond:—thou readest mine,
And dost me justice now. Let me once clasp
That yet warm hand, and fold that throbless heart
[Embraces the body.
To this which beats so bitterly. Now, bear
The body hence.

Sol.
Where?

Sar.
To my proper chamber.
Place it beneath my canopy, as though
The King lay there: when this is done, we will
Speak further of the rites due to such ashes.

[Exeunt Soldiers with the body of Salemenes.
Enter. Pania.
Sar.
Well, Pania! have you placed the guards, and issued
The orders fixed on?

Pan.
Sire, I have obeyed.

Sar.
And do the soldiers keep their hearts up?

Pan.
Sire?

Sar.
I am answered! When a king asks twice, and has
A question as an answer to his question,
It is a portent. What! they are disheartened?

Pan.
The death of Salemenes, and the shouts
Of the exulting rebels on his fall,
Have made them—

Sar.
Rage—not droop—it should have been.
We'll find the means to rouse them.

Pan.
Such a loss
Might sadden even a victory.

Sar.
Alas!
Who can so feel it as I feel? but yet,
Though cooped within these walls, they are strong, and we
Have those without will break their way through hosts,
To make their sovereign's dwelling what it was—
A palace, not a prison—nor a fortress.

Enter an Officer, hastily.
Sar.
Thy face seems ominous. Speak!

Offi.
I dare not.

Sar.
Dare not?
While millions dare revolt with sword in hand!
That's strange. I pray thee break that loyal silence
Which loathes to shock its sovereign; we can hear
Worse than thou hast to tell.

Pan.
Proceed—thou hearest.

Offi.
The wall which skirted near the river's brink
Is thrown down by the sudden inundation
Of the Euphrates, which now rolling, swoln
From the enormous mountains where it rises,
By the late rains of that tempestuous region,
O'erfloods its banks, and hath destroyed the bulwark.

Pan.
That's a black augury! it has been said
For ages, “That the City ne'er should yield
“To man, until the River grew its foe.”

Sar.
I can forgive the omen, not the ravage.
How much is swept down of the wall?

Offi.
About
Some twenty stadia.

Sar.
And all this is left
Pervious to the assailants?

Offi.
For the present
The River's fury must impede the assault;
But when he shrinks into his wonted channel,
And may be crossed by the accustomed barks,
The palace is their own.

Sar.
That shall be never.
Though men, and gods, and elements, and omens,
Have risen up 'gainst one who ne'er provoked them,
My father's house shall never be a cave
For wolves to horde and howl in.

Pan.
With your sanction,
I will proceed to the spot, and take such measures
For the assurance of the vacant space
As time and means permit.

Sar.
About it straight,
And bring me back, as speedily as full
And fair investigation may permit,
Report of the true state of this irruption
Of waters.

[Exeunt Pania and the Officer.
Myr.
Thus the very waves rise up
Against you.

Sar.
They are not my subjects, girl,
And may be pardoned, since they can't be punished.

Myr.
I joy to see this portent shakes you not.

Sar.
I am past the fear of portents: they can tell me
Nothing I have not told myself since midnight:
Despair anticipates such things.

Myr.
Despair!

Sar.
No; not despair precisely. When we know
All that can come, and how to meet it, our
Resolves, if firm, may merit a more noble
Word than this is to give it utterance.
But what are words to us? we have well nigh done
With them and all things.

Myr.
Save one deed—the last
And greatest to all mortals; crowning act
Of all that was, or is, or is to be—
The only thing common to all mankind,
So different in their births, tongues, sexes, natures,
Hues, features, climes, times, feelings, intellects,
Without one point of union save in this—
To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread
The labyrinth of mystery, called life.

Sar.
Our clue being well nigh wound out, let's be cheerful.
They who have nothing more to fear may well
Indulge a smile at that which once appalled;
As children at discovered bugbears.

Re-enter Pania.
Pan.
'Tis
As was reported: I have ordered there
A double guard, withdrawing from the wall,
Where it was strongest, the required addition
To watch the breach occasioned by the waters.

Sar.
You have done your duty faithfully, and as
My worthy Pania! further ties between us
Draw near a close—I pray you take this key:
[Gives a key.
It opens to a secret chamber, placed
Behind the couch in my own chamber—(Now
Pressed by a nobler weight than e'er it bore—
Though a long line of sovereigns have lain down
Along its golden frame—as bearing for
A time what late was Salemenes.)—Search
The secret covert to which this will lead you;
'Tis full of treasure; take it for yourself
And your companions: there's enough to load ye,
Though ye be many. Let the slaves be freed, too;
And all the inmates of the palace, of
Whatever sex, now quit it in an hour.
Thence launch the regal barks, once formed for pleasure,
And now to serve for safety, and embark.
The river's broad and swoln, and uncommanded,
(More potent than a king) by these besiegers.
Fly! and be happy!

Pan.
Under your protection!
So you accompany your faithful guard.

Sar.
No, Pania! that must not be; get thee hence,
And leave me to my fate.

Pan.
'Tis the first time
I ever disobeyed: but now—

Sar.
So all men
Dare beard me now, and Insolence within
Apes Treason from without. Question no further;
'Tis my command, my last command. Wilt thou
Oppose it? thou!

Pan.
But yet—not yet.

Sar.
Well, then,
Swear that you will obey when I shall give
The signal.

Pan.
With a heavy but true heart,
I promise.

Sar.
'Tis enough. Now order here
Faggots, pine-nuts, and withered leaves, and such
Things as catch fire and blaze with one sole spark;
Bring cedar, too, and precious drugs, and spices,
And mighty planks, to nourish a tall pile;
Bring frankincense and myrrh, too, for it is
For a great sacrifice I build the pyre!
And heap them round yon throne.

Pan.
My Lord!

Sar.
I have said it,
And you have sworn.

Pan.
And could keep my faith
Without a vow.

[Exit Pania.
Myr.
What mean you?

Sar.
You shall know
Anon—what the whole earth shall ne'er forget.

Pania, returning with a Herald.
Pan.
My King, in going forth upon my duty,
This herald has been brought before me, craving
An audience.

Sar.
Let him speak.

Her.
The King Arbaces—

Sar.
What, crowned already?—But, proceed.

Her.
Beleses,
The anointed High-priest—

Sar.
Of what god or demon?
With new kings rise new altars. But, proceed;
You are sent to prate your master's will, and not
Reply to mine.

Her.
And Satrap Ofratanes—

Sar.
Why, he is ours.

Her.
(showing a ring).
Be sure that he is now
In the camp of the conquerors; behold
His signet ring.

Sar.
'Tis his. A worthy triad!
Poor Salemenes! thou hast died in time
To see one treachery the less: this man
Was thy true friend and my most trusted subject.
Proceed.

Her.
They offer thee thy life, and freedom
Of choice to single out a residence
In any of the further provinces,
Guarded and watched, but not confined in person,
Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace; but on
Condition that the three young princes are
Given up as hostages.

Sar.
(ironically).
The generous Victors!

Her.
I wait the answer.

Sar.
Answer, slave! How long
Have slaves decided on the doom of kings?

Her.
Since they were free.

Sar.
Mouthpiece of mutiny!
Thou at the least shalt learn the penalty
Of treason, though its proxy only. Pania!
Let his head be thrown from our walls within
The rebels' lines, his carcass down the river.
Away with him!

[Pania and the Guards seizing him.
Pan.
I never yet obeyed
Your orders with more pleasure than the present.
Hence with him, soldiers! do not soil this hall
Of royalty with treasonable gore;
Put him to rest without.

Her.
A single word:
My office, King, is sacred.

Sar.
And what's mine?
That thou shouldst come and dare to ask of me
To lay it down?

Her.
I but obeyed my orders,
At the same peril if refused, as now
Incurred by my obedience.

Sar.
So there are
New monarchs of an hour's growth as despotic
As sovereigns swathed in purple, and enthroned
From birth to manhood!

Her.
My life waits your breath.
Yours (I speak humbly)—but it may be—yours
May also be in danger scarce less imminent:
Would it then suit the last hours of a line
Such as is that of Nimrod, to destroy
A peaceful herald, unarmed, in his office;
And violate not only all that man
Holds sacred between man and man—but that
More holy tie which links us with the Gods?

Sar.
He's right.—Let him go free.—My life's last act
Shall not be one of wrath. Here, fellow, take
[Gives him a golden cup from a table near.
This golden goblet, let it hold your wine,
And think of me; or melt it into ingots,
And think of nothing but their weight and value.

Her.
I thank you doubly for my life, and this
Most gorgeous gift, which renders it more precious.
But must I bear no answer?

Sar.
Yes,—I ask
An hour's truce to consider.

Her.
But an hour's?

Sar.
An hour's: if at the expiration of
That time your masters hear no further from me,
They are to deem that I reject their terms,
And act befittingly.

Her.
I shall not fail
To be a faithful legate of your pleasure.

Sar.
And hark! a word more.

Her.
I shall not forget it,
Whate'er it be.

Sar.
Commend me to Beleses;
And tell him, ere a year expire, I summon
Him hence to meet me.

Her.
Where?

Sar.
At Babylon.
At least from thence he will depart to meet me.

Her.
I shall obey you to the letter.

[Exit Herald.
Sar.
Pania!—
Now, my good Pania!—quick—with what I ordered.

Pan.
My Lord,—the soldiers are already charged.
And see! they enter.

Soldiers enter, and form a Pile about the Throne, etc.
Sar.
Higher, my good soldiers,
And thicker yet; and see that the foundation
Be such as will not speedily exhaust
Its own too subtle flame; nor yet be quenched
With aught officious aid would bring to quell it.
Let the throne form the core of it; I would not
Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable,
To the new comers. Frame the whole as if
'Twere to enkindle the strong tower of our
Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect!
How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice
For a King's obsequies?

Pan.
Aye, for a kingdom's.
I understand you, now.

Sar.
And blame me?

Pan.
No—
Let me but fire the pile, and share it with you.

Myr.
That duty's mine.

Pan.
A woman's!

Myr.
'Tis the soldier's
Part to die for his sovereign, and why not
The woman's with her lover?

Pan.
'Tis most strange!

Myr.
But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it.
In the mean time, live thou.—Farewell! the pile
Is ready.

Pan.
I should shame to leave my sovereign
With but a single female to partake
His death.

Sar.
Too many far have heralded
Me to the dust already. Get thee hence;
Enrich thee.

Pan.
And live wretched!

Sar.
Think upon
Thy vow:—'tis sacred and irrevocable.

Pan.
Since it is so, farewell.

Sar.
Search well my chamber,
Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold;
Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves
Who slew me: and when you have borne away
All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast
Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace.
The river's brink is too remote, its stream
Too loud at present to permit the echo
To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,—
And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on
Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach
The land of Paphlagonia, where the Queen
Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court,
Say what you saw at parting, and request
That she remember what I said at one
Parting more mournful still.

Pan.
That royal hand!
Let me then once more press it to my lips;
And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and
Would fain die with you!

[The Soldiers and Pania throng round him, kissing his hand and the hem of his robe.
Sar.
My best! my last friends!
Let's not unman each other: part at once:
All farewells should be sudden, when for ever,
Else they make an eternity of moments,
And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not
Now to be pitied; or far more for what
Is past than present;—for the future, 'tis
In the hands of the deities, if such
There be: I shall know soon. Farewell—Farewell.

[Exeunt Pania and Soldiers.
Myr.
These men were honest: it is comfort still
That our last looks should be on loving faces.

Sar.
And lovely ones, my beautiful!—but hear me!
If at this moment,—for we now are on
The brink,—thou feel'st an inward shrinking from
This leap through flame into the future, say it:
I shall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more,
For yielding to thy nature: and there's time
Yet for thee to escape hence.

Myr.
Shall I light
One of the torches which lie heaped beneath
The ever-burning lamp that burns without,
Before Baal's shrine, in the adjoining hall?

Sar.
Do so. Is that thy answer?

Myr.
Thou shalt see.

[Exit Myrrha.
Sar.
(solus).
She's firm. My fathers! whom I will rejoin,
It may be, purified by death from some
Of the gross stains of too material being,
I would not leave your ancient first abode
To the defilement of usurping bondmen;
If I have not kept your inheritance
As ye bequeathed it, this bright part of it,
Your treasure—your abode—your sacred relics
Of arms, and records—monuments, and spoils,
In which they would have revelled, I bear with me
To you in that absorbing element,
Which most personifies the soul as leaving
The least of matter unconsumed before
Its fiery workings:—and the light of this
Most royal of funereal pyres shall be
Not a mere pillar formed of cloud and flame,
A beacon in the horizon for a day,
And then a mount of ashes—but a light
To lesson ages, rebel nations, and
Voluptuous princes. Time shall quench full many
A people's records, and a hero's acts;
Sweep empire after empire, like this first
Of empires, into nothing; but even then
Shall spare this deed of mine, and hold it up
A problem few dare imitate, and none
Despise—but, it may be, avoid the life
Which led to such a consummation.

Myrrha returns with a lighted Torch in one Hand, and a Cup in the other.
Myr.
Lo!
I've lit the lamp which lights us to the stars.

Sar.
And the cup?

Myr.
'Tis my country's custom to
Make a libation to the Gods.

Sar.
[Sardanapalus takes the cup, and after drinking and tinkling the reversed cup, as a drop falls, exclaims—

Myr.
Why
Dwells thy mind rather upon that man's name
Than on his mate's in villany?

Sar.
The other
Is a mere soldier, a mere tool, a kind
Of human sword in a friend's hand; the other
Is master-mover of his warlike puppet;
But I dismiss them from my mind.—Yet pause,
My Myrrha! dost thou truly follow me,
Freely and fearlessly?

Myr.
And dost thou think
A Greek girl dare not do for love, that which
An Indian widow braves for custom?

Sar.
Then
We but await the signal.

Myr.
It is long
In sounding.

Sar.
Now, farewell; one last embrace.

Myr.
Embrace, but not the last; there is one more.

Sar.
True, the commingling fire will mix our ashes.

Myr.
And pure as is my love to thee, shall they,
Purged from the dross of earth, and earthly passion,
Mix pale with thine. A single thought yet irks me.

Sar.
Say it.

Myr.
It is that no kind hand will gather
The dust of both into one urn.

Sar.
The better:
Rather let them be borne abroad upon
The winds of heaven, and scattered into air,
Than be polluted more by human hands
Of slaves and traitors. In this blazing palace,
And its enormous walls of reeking ruin,
We leave a nobler monument than Egypt
Hath piled in her brick mountains, o'er dead kings,
Or kine—for none know whether those proud piles
Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis:
So much for monuments that have forgotten
Their very record!

Myr.
Then farewell, thou earth!
And loveliest spot of earth! farewell, Ionia!
Be thou still free and beautiful, and far
Aloof from desolation! My last prayer
Was for thee, my last thoughts, save one, were of thee!

Sar.
And that?

Myr.
Is yours.

[The trumpet of Pania sounds without.
Sar.
Hark!

Myr.
Now!

Sar.
[He mounts the pile.

Myr.
Art thou ready?

Sar.
As the torch in thy grasp.

[Myrrha fires the pile.
Myr.
'Tis fired! I come.

[As Myrrha springs forward to throw herself into the flames, the Curtain falls.