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    Sémiramis
    Sémiramis
    Sémiramis
    Ebook86 pages53 minutes

    Sémiramis

    By Voltaire

    ()

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    About this ebook

    François-Marie Arouet wrote under the nom de plume of Voltaire, and produced works in almost every literary form, including plays, poems, novels, essays, and historical and scientific works. Her eyes are sunk in darkness: help the king And guard his life. Learn from her sad example, That heaven is witness to our secret crimes: The higher is the criminal, remember, The gods inflict the greater punishment; Kings, tremble on your thrones, and fear their justice.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilder Publications, Inc.
    Release dateJun 10, 2015
    ISBN9781627557528
    Sémiramis
    Author

    Voltaire

    Born in Paris in 1694, François-Marie Arouet, who would later go by the nom-de-plume Voltaire, was a French Enlightenment philosopher, poet, historian, and author. Voltaire’s writing was often controversial, and in 1715 he was sent into his first exile in Tulle after a writing a satirical piece about the Duke of Orleans, the Regent of France. It was during this time that he produced his first major work, the play Oedipus. Although allowed to return to Paris a year later, Voltaire’s writing continued to land him in trouble. He was jailed in the Bastille two more times and was exiled from Paris for a good portion of his life. Throughout these troubles, Voltaire continued to write, producing works of poetry, a number of plays, and some historical and political texts. His most famous work is the satirical novel Candide, and many of his plays, including Oedipus and Socrates, are still performed today. Voltaire died in 1778.

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      Book preview

      Sémiramis - Voltaire

      Sémiramis

      Voltaire

      Translation by William F. Fleming

      Wilder Publications, Inc.

      Copyright © 2014

      All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

      Manufactured in the United States of America

      10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

      ISBN 978-1-62755-752-8

      CONTENTS

      Dramatis Personæ

      Act I

      Act II

      Act III

      Act IV

      Act V

      Sémiramis

      Contents

      Dramatis Personæ

      Act I

      Act II

      Act III

      Act IV

      Act V

      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.

      SCENE 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.

      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

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