Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series
Page 119
Sardanapalus, a Tragedy, the second and, perhaps, the most successful of these studies in the poetry of history, was begun at Ravenna, January 13, 1821, “with all deliberate speed;” but, for a time, from laziness or depression of spirits, or, perhaps, from the counter-excitement of “the poetry of politics” (Letters, 1901, v. 205), that is, the revolutionary drama which had begun to run its course, a month went by before he had finished the first act (February 15). Three months later (May 28) he announces the completion of the drama, the last act having been “dashed off” in two or three days (Letters, 1901, v. 300).
For the story of Sardanapalus, which had excited his interest as a schoolboy, Byron consulted the pages of Diodorus Siculus (Bibliothecæ Historicæ, lib. ii. pp. 78, sq., ed. 1604), and, possibly to ward off and neutralize the distracting influence of Shakespeare and other barbarian dramatists, he “turned over” the tragedies of Seneca (Letters, 1901, v. 173). It is hardly necessary to remind the modern reader that the Sardanapalus of history is an unverified if not an unverifiable personage. Diodorus the Sicilian, who was contemporary with Cicero, derived his knowledge of Assyrian history from the Persica of Ctesias of Cnidos, who was private physician at the court of Artaxerxes Mnemon (B.C. 405-359), and is said to have had access to, and to have consulted, the “Persian authorities” (διφθέραι Βασιλικαὶ).
The character which Ctesias depicted or invented, an effeminate debauchee, sunk in luxury and sloth, who at the last was driven to take up arms, and, after a prolonged but ineffectual resistance, avoided capture by suicide, cannot be identified. Asurbanipal (Ašur-bāni-apli), the son of Esarhaddon and grandson of Sennacherib, who ascended the throne B.C. 668, and reigned for about forty years, was, as the cuneiform records and the friezes of his palace testify, a bold hunter and a mighty warrior. He vanquished Tarku (Tirhakah) of Ethiopia, and his successor, Urdamane. Ba’al King of Tyre, Yakinlū King of the island-city of Arvad, Sandăsarmū of Cilicia, Teumman of Elam, and other potentates, suffered defeat at his hands. “The land of Elam,” writes the king or his “Historiographer Royal,” “through its extent I covered as when a mighty storm approaches; I cut off the head of Teumman, their king…. Beyond number I slew his warriors; alive in my hands I took his fighting men; with their corpses, as with thorns and thistles, I filled the vicinity of Susa; their blood I caused to flow in the Eulæus, and I stained its waters like wool.” Clearly the Sardanapalus who painted his face and carded purple wool in the penetralia of his seraglio does not bear even a traditional resemblance to Ašur-bāni-apli the Conqueror.
All that can be affirmed with any certainty is that within twenty years of the death of Asurbanipal, the Assyrian Empire passed into the hands of the Medes; but there is nothing to show whether the period of decay had already set in before the close of his reign, or under which of his two successors, Ăsur-etil-ilāni or Sin-šar-iškun, the final catastrophe (B.C. 606) took place (Encyclopedia Biblica, art. “Assyria,” art. “Ăsur-bani-pal,” by Leonard W. King).
“I have made,” writes Byron (May 25, 1821), “Sardanapalus brave though voluptuous (as history represents him), and as amiable as my poor pen could make him.” Diodorus, or rather Ctesias, who may have drawn upon personal reminiscences of his patron, Artaxerxes Mnemon (see Plutarch’s Artaxerxes, passim), does not enlarge upon his amiability, and credits him only with the courage of despair. Byron’s Sardanapalus, with his sudden transition from voluptuous abandonment to heroic chivalry, his remorseful recognition of the sanctities of wedlock, his general good nature, his “sly, insinuating sarcasms” (Moore’s Diary, September 30, 1821, Memoirs, iii. 282), “all made out of the carver’s brain,” resembles history as little as history resembles the Assyrian record. Fortunately, the genius of the poet escaped from the meshes which he had woven round himself, and, in spite of himself, he was constrained to “beat his music out,” regardless of his authorities.
The character of Myrrha, which bears some resemblance to Aspasia, “a native of Phocea in Ionia — the favourite mistress of Cyrus” (see Plutarch’s Artaxerxes, Langhorne’s Translation, 1838, p. 699), was introduced partly to pacify the Countess Guiccioli, who had quarrelled with him for maintaining that “love was not the loftiest theme for true tragedy,” and, in part, to prove that he was not a slave to his own ideals, and could imagine and delineate a woman who was both passionate and high-minded. Diodorus (Bibl. Hist., lib. iii. p. 130) records the exploits of Myrina, Queen of the Amazons, but it is probable that Byron named his Ionian slave after Mirra, who gives her name to Alfieri’s tragedy, which brought on a convulsive fit of tears and shuddering when he first saw it played at Bologna in August, 1819 (Letters, 1900, iv. 339).
Sardanapalus, a Tragedy, was published together with The Two Foscari, a Tragedy, and Cain, a Mystery, December 19, 1821.
The three plays were reviewed by Heber in the Quarterly Review, July, 1822, vol. xxvii. pp. 476-524; by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review, February, 1822, vol. 36, pp. 413-452; in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, February, 1822, vol. xi. pp. 212-217; and in the Portfolio (Philadelphia), December, 1822, vol. xiv. pp. 487-492.
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.
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.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN.
Sardanapalus, king of Nineveh and Assyria, etc.
Arbaces, the Mede who aspired to the Throne.
Beleses, a Chaldean and Soothsayer.
Salemenes, the King’s Brother-in-Law.
Altada, an Assyrian Officer of the Palace.
Pania.
Zames.
Sfero.
Balea.
WOMEN.
Zarina, the Queen.
Myrrha, an Ionian female Slave, and the Favourite Mistress of Sardanapalus.
Women composing the Harem of Sardanapalus, Guards, Attendants, Chaldean Priests, Medes, etc., etc.
Scene. — A Hall in the Royal Palace of Nineveh.
SARDANAPALUS
ACT I
Scene I. — A Hall in the Palace.
Salemenes (solus). He hath wronged his queen, but still he is her lord;
He hath wronged my sister — still he is my brother;
He hath wronged 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;
He must be roused. In his effeminate heart
There is a careless courage which Corruption 10
Has not all quenched, and latent energies,
Repressed by circumstance, but not destroyed —
Steeped, but not drowned, in deep voluptuousness.
If born a peasant, he had been a man
To have reached 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 20
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 30
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 crowned 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 40
Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels,
As femininely garbed, 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 monarch 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 furnished forth
For an especial banquet; at the hour
Of midnight we will sup there: see nought wanting,
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,
When we shall gather like the stars above us, 10
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 —
Sar. My Lord! — my Life! why answerest thou so coldly?
It is the curse of kings to be so answered.
Rule thy own hours, thou rulest mine — say, wouldst thou
Accompany our guests, or charm away
The moments from me?
Myr. The King’s choice is mine.
Sar. I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy 20
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.
Myr. I would remain: I have no happiness
Save in beholding thine; yet — —
Sar. Yet! what yet?
Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier
Which ever rises betwixt thee and me.
Myr. I think the present is the wonted hour
Of council; it were better I retire. 30
Sal. (comes forward and says) The Ionian slave says well: let her retire.
Sar. Who answers? How now, brother?
Sal. The Queen’s brother,
And your most faithful vassal, royal Lord.
Sar. (addressing his train). As I have said, let all dispose their hours
Till midnight, when again we pray your presence.
[The court retiring.
(To Myrrha, who is going.) Myrrha! I thought thou wouldst remain.
Myr. Great King,
Thou didst not say so.
Sar. But thou looked’st it:
I know each glance of those Ionic eyes,
Which said thou wouldst not leave me.
Myr. Sire! your brother — —
Sal. His Consort’s brother, minion of Ionia! 40
How darest thou name me and not blush?
Sar. Not blush!
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,
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. Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow!
Sal. Curse not thyself — millions do that already. 50
Sar. Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember
I am a monarch.
Sal. Would thou couldst!
Myr. My sovereign,
I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence.
Sar. Since it must be so, and this churl has checked
Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect
That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose
An empire than thy presence. [Exit Myrrha.
Sal. It may be,
Thou wilt lose both — and both for ever!
Sar. Brother!
I can at least command myself, who listen
To language such as this: yet urge me not 60
Beyond my easy nature.
Sal.’Tis beyond
That easy — far too easy — idle nature,
Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee!
Though ‘twere against myself.
Sar. By the god Baal!
The man would make me tyrant.
Sal. So thou art.
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, 70
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; 80
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 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. To thee an unknown word.
Sar. Yet speak it;
I love to learn.
Sal. Virtue.
Sar. Not know the word!
Never was word yet rung so in my ears — 90
Worse 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.
Sar. Say on.
Sal. Thus, then: all the nations,
For they are many, whom thy father left
In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee. 100
Sar. ‘Gainst me!! What would the slaves?
Sal. A king.
Sar. And what
Am I then?
Sal. In their eyes a nothing; but
In mine a man who might be something still.
Sar. The railing drunkards! why, what would they have?
Have they not peace and plenty?
Sal. Of the first
More than is glorious: of the last, far less
Than the King recks of.
Sar. Whose then is the crime,
But the false satraps, who provide no better?
Sal. And somewhat in the Monarch who ne’er looks
Beyond his palace walls, or if he stirs 110