Sardanapalus (Act 4)

Myr. (sola, gazing). I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be, Which thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him? No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou God of Quiet! Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams, Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed, Look like thy brother, Death,[23]—so still, so stirless— For then we are happiest, as it may be, we Are happiest of all within the realm Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin. Again he moves—again the play of pain Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac] Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs. I must awake him—yet not yet; who knows From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake Me more to see than him to suffer. No: Let Nature use her own maternal means,[76] And I await to second, not disturb her. Sar. (awakening). Not so—although he multiplied the stars, And gave them to me as a realm to share From you and with you! I would not so purchase The empire of Eternity. Hence—hence— Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad] Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes! Once bloody mortals—and now bloodier idols, If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame! Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on The carcasses of Inde—away! away! Where am I? Where the spectres? Where—No—that Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst All that the dead dare gloomily raise up From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha! Myr. Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush— Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer; All will go well. Sar.‍Thy hand—so—'tis thy hand; 'Tis flesh; grasp—clasp—yet closer, till I feel Myself that which I was. Myr.‍At least know me For what I am, and ever must be—thine. Sar. I know it now. I know this life again. Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be. Myr. My lord! Sar.‍I've been i' the grave—where worms are lords And kings are——But I did not deem it so; I thought 'twas nothing. Myr.‍So it is; except Unto the timid, who anticipate That which may never be. Sar.‍Oh, Myrrha! if Sleep shows such things, what may not Death disclose? Myr. I know no evil Death can show, which Life Has not already shown to those who live[77] Embodied longest. If there be indeed A shore where Mind survives, 'twill be as Mind All unincorporate: or if there flits A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay. Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven, And fetters us to earth—at least the phantom, Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear Death. Sar. I fear it not; but I have felt—have seen— A legion of the dead. Myr.‍And so have I. The dust we tread upon was once alive, And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen? Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimmed mind. Sar.‍Methought—— Myr. Yet pause, thou art tired—in pain—exhausted; all Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek Rather to sleep again. Sar.‍Not now—I would not Dream; though I know it now to be a dream What I have dreamt:—and canst thou bear to hear it? Myr. I can bear all things, dreams of life or death, Which I participate with you in semblance Or full reality. Sar.‍And this looked real, I tell you: after that these eyes were open, I saw them in their flight—for then they fled. Myr. Say on. Sar.‍I saw, that is, I dreamed myself Here—here—even where we are, guests as we were, Myself a host that deemed himself but guest, Willing to equal all in social freedom; But, on my right hand and my left, instead Of thee and Zames, and our customed meeting, Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark, And deadly face; I could not recognise it, Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where: The features were a Giant's, and the eye Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curled down On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose With shaft-heads feathered from the eagle's wing,[78] That peeped up bristling through his serpent hair.[ae] I invited him to fill the cup which stood Between us, but he answered not; I filled it; He took it not, but stared upon me, till I trembled at the fixed glare of his eye: I frowned upon him as a king should frown; He frowned not in his turn, but looked upon me With the same aspect, which appalled me more, Because it changed not; and I turned for refuge To milder guests, and sought them on the right, Where thou wert wont to be. But——[He pauses. Myr.‍What instead? Sar. In thy own chair—thy own place in the banquet— I sought thy sweet face in the circle—but Instead—a grey-haired, withered, bloody-eyed, And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing, Female in garb, and crowned upon the brow, Furrowed with years, yet sneering with the passion Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust, Sate:—my veins curdled.[24] Myr.‍Is this all? Sar.‍Upon Her right hand—her lank, bird-like, right hand—stood A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on Her left, another, filled with—what I saw not, But turned from it and her. But all along The table sate a range of crownéd wretches, Of various aspects, but of one expression. Myr. And felt you not this a mere vision? Sar.‍No: It was so palpable, I could have touched them. I turned from one face to another, in The hope to find at last one which I knew Ere I saw theirs: but no—all turned upon me, And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared,[79] Till I grew stone, as they seemed half to be, Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them, And life in me: there was a horrid kind Of sympathy between us, as if they Had lost a part of death to come to me, And I the half of life to sit by them. We were in an existence all apart From heaven or earth——And rather let me see Death all than such a being! Myr.‍And the end? Sar. At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me— Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of The Hunter smiled upon me—I should say, His lips, for his eyes moved not—and the woman's Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile. Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand Rose also, as if aping their chief shades— Mere mimics even in death—but I sate still: A desperate courage crept through every limb, And at the last I feared them not, but laughed Full in their phantom faces. But then—then The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it, And grasped it—but it melted from my own; While he too vanished, and left nothing but The memory of a hero, for he looked so. Myr. And was: the ancestor of heroes, too, And thine no less. Sar.‍Aye, Myrrha, but the woman, The female who remained, she flew upon me, And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses; And, flinging down the goblets on each hand, Methought their poisons flowed around us, till Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung; The other phantoms, like a row of statues, Stood dull as in our temples, but she still Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if, In lieu of her remote descendant, I Had been the son who slew her for her incest.[25][80] Then—then—a chaos of all loathsome things Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling— Buried, and raised again—consumed by worms, Purged by the flames, and withered in the air! I can fix nothing further of my thoughts, Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee, In all these agonies,—and woke and found thee. Myr. So shalt thou find me ever at thy side, Here and hereafter, if the last may be. But think not of these things—the mere creations Of late events, acting upon a frame Unused by toil, yet over-wrought by toil— Such as might try the sternest. Sar.‍I am better. Now that I see thee once more, what was seen Seems nothing. Enter Salemenes. Sal.‍Is the king so soon awake? Sar. Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept; For all the predecessors of our line Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them. My father was amongst them, too; but he, I know not why, kept from me, leaving me Between the hunter-founder of our race, And her, the homicide and husband-killer, Whom you call glorious. Sal.‍So I term you also, Now you have shown a spirit like to hers. By day-break I propose that we set forth, And charge once more the rebel crew, who still Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quelled. Sar. How wears the night? Sal.‍There yet remain some hours Of darkness: use them for your further rest. Sar. No, not to-night, if 'tis not gone: methought I passed hours in that vision. Myr.‍Scarcely one; I watched by you: it was a heavy hour, But an hour only.[81] Sar.‍Let us then hold council; To-morrow we set forth. Sal.‍But ere that time, I had a grace to seek. Sar.‍'Tis granted. Sal.‍Hear it Ere you reply too readily; and 'tis For your ear only. Myr.‍Prince, I take my leave. [Exit Myrrha. Sal. That slave deserves her freedom. Sar.‍Freedom only! That slave deserves to share a throne. Sal.‍Your patience— 'Tis not yet vacant, and 'tis of its partner I come to speak with you. Sar.‍How! of the Queen? Sal. Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety, That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta[26] Governs; and there, at all events, secure My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them Their just pretensions to the crown in case—— Sar. I perish—as is probable: well thought— Let them set forth with a sure escort. Sal.‍That Is all provided, and the galley ready To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they Depart, will you not see—— Sar.‍My sons? It may Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep; And what can I reply to comfort them, Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles? You know I cannot feign. Sal.‍But you can feel! At least, I trust so: in a word, the Queen Requests to see you ere you part—for ever. Sar. Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant Aught—all that she can ask—but such a meeting.[82] Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women, Since you have studied them so steadily[af], That what they ask in aught that touches on The heart, is dearer to their feelings or Their fancy, than the whole external world. I think as you do of my sister's wish; But 'twas her wish—she is my sister—you Her husband—will you grant it? Sar.‍'Twill be useless: But let her come. Sal.‍I go. [Exit Salemenes. Sar.‍We have lived asunder Too long to meet again—and now to meet! Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow, To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows, Who have ceased to mingle love? Re-enter Salemenes and Zarina. Sal.‍My sister! Courage: Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember From whence we sprung. The Queen is present, Sire. Zar. I pray thee, brother, leave me. Sal.‍Since you ask it. Zar. Alone with him! How many a year has passed[27], Though we are still so young, since we have met, Which I have worn in widowhood of heart. He loved me not: yet he seems little changed— Changed to me only—would the change were mutual! He speaks not—scarce regards me—not a word, Nor look—yet he was soft of voice and aspect, Indifferent, not austere. My Lord![83] Sar.‍Zarina! Zar. No, not Zarina—do not say Zarina. That tone—That word—annihilate long years, And things which make them longer. Sar.‍'Tis too late To think of these past dreams. Let's not reproach— That is, reproach me not—for the last time—— Zar. And first, I ne'er reproached you. Sar.‍'Tis most true; And that reproof comes heavier on my heart Than——But our hearts are not in our own power. Zar. Nor hands; but I gave both. Sar.‍Your brother said It was your will to see me, ere you went From Nineveh with——(He hesitates.) Zar.‍Our children: it is true. I wish to thank you that you have not divided My heart from all that's left it now to love— Those who are yours and mine, who look like you, And look upon me as you looked upon me Once——but they have not changed. Sar.‍Nor ever will. I fain would have them dutiful. Zar.‍I cherish Those infants, not alone from the blind love Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman. They are now the only tie between us. Sar.‍Deem not I have not done you justice: rather make them Resemble your own line than their own Sire. I trust them with you—to you: fit them for A throne, or, if that be denied——You have heard Of this night's tumults? Zar.‍I had half forgotten, And could have welcomed any grief save yours, Which gave me to behold your face again. Sar. The throne—I say it not in fear—but 'tis In peril: they perhaps may never mount it: But let them not for this lose sight of it. I will dare all things to bequeath it them; But if I fail, then they must win it back[84] Bravely—and, won, wear it wisely, not as I[ag] Have wasted down my royalty. Zar.‍They ne'er Shall know from me of aught but what may honour Their father's memory. Sar.‍Rather let them hear The truth from you than from a trampling world. If they be in adversity, they'll learn Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless Princes, And find that all their father's sins are theirs. My boys!—I could have borne it were I childless. Zar. Oh! do not say so—do not poison all My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign, And honour him who saved the realm for them, So little cared for as his own; and if—— Sar. 'Tis lost, all Earth will cry out, "thank your father!" And they will swell the echo with a curse. Zar. That they shall never do; but rather honour The name of him, who, dying like a king, In his last hours did more for his own memory Than many monarchs in a length of days, Which date the flight of time, but make no annals. Sar. Our annals draw perchance unto their close; But at the least, whate'er the past, their end Shall be like their beginning—memorable. Zar. Yet, be not rash—be careful of your life, Live but for those who love. Sar.‍And who are they? A slave, who loves from passion—I'll not say Ambition—she has seen thrones shake, and loves; A few friends who have revelled till we are As one, for they are nothing if I fall; A brother I have injured—children whom I have neglected, and a spouse—— Zar.‍Who loves. Sar. And pardons? Zar.‍I have never thought of this, And cannot pardon till I have condemned.[85] Sar. My wife! Zar.‍Now blessings on thee for that word! I never thought to hear it more—from thee. Sar. Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects. Yes— These slaves whom I have nurtured, pampered, fed, And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till They reign themselves—all monarchs in their mansions— Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand His death, who made their lives a jubilee; While the few upon whom I have no claim Are faithful! This is true, yet monstrous. Zar.‍'Tis Perhaps too natural; for benefits Turn poison in bad minds. Sar.‍And good ones make Good out of evil. Happier than the bee, Which hives not but from wholesome flowers. Zar.‍Then reap The honey, nor inquire whence 'tis derived. Be satisfied—you are not all abandoned. Sar. My life insures me that. How long, bethink you, Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal; That is, where mortals are, not where they must be? Zar. I know not. But yet live for my—that is, Your children's sake! Sar.‍My gentle, wronged Zarina! I am the very slave of Circumstance And Impulse—borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne—misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be—let it end. But take this with thee: if I was not formed To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine, Nor dote even on thy beauty—as I've doted On lesser charms, for no cause save that such Devotion was a duty, and I hated All that looked like a chain for me or others (This even Rebellion must avouch); yet hear These words, perhaps among my last—that none E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not To profit by them—as the miner lights[86] Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering That which avails him nothing: he hath found it, But 'tis not his—but some superior's, who Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning The sullen earth. Zar.‍Oh! if thou hast at length Discovered that my love is worth esteem, I ask no more—but let us hence together, And I—let me say we—shall yet be happy. Assyria is not all the earth—we'll find A world out of our own—and be more blessed Than I have ever been, or thou, with all An empire to indulge thee. Enter Salemenes. Sal.‍I must part ye— The moments, which must not be lost, are passing. Zar. Inhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out Instants so high and blest? Sal.‍Blest! Zar.‍He hath been So gentle with me, that I cannot think Of quitting. Sal.‍So—this feminine farewell Ends as such partings end, in no departure. I thought as much, and yielded against all My better bodings. But it must not be. Zar. Not be? Sal.‍Remain, and perish—— Zar.‍With my husband—— Sal. And children. Zar.‍Alas! Sal.‍Hear me, sister, like My sister:—all's prepared to make your safety Certain, and of the boys too, our last hopes; 'Tis not a single question of mere feeling, Though that were much—but 'tis a point of state: The rebels would do more to seize upon[87] The offspring of their sovereign, and so crush—— Zar. Ah! do not name it. Sal.‍Well, then, mark me: when They are safe beyond the Median's grasp, the rebels Have missed their chief aim—the extinction of The line of Nimrod. Though the present King Fall, his sons live—for victory and vengeance. Zar. But could not I remain, alone? Sal.‍What! leave Your children, with two parents and yet orphans— In a strange land—so young, so distant? Zar.‍No— My heart will break. Sal.‍Now you know all—decide. Sar. Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we Must yield awhile to this necessity. Remaining here, you may lose all; departing, You save the better part of what is left, To both of us, and to such loyal hearts As yet beat in these kingdoms. Sal.‍The time presses. Sar. Go, then. If e'er we meet again, perhaps I may be worthier of you—and, if not, Remember that my faults, though not atoned for, Are ended. Yet, I dread thy nature will Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes Which once were mightiest in Assyria—than—— But I grow womanish again, and must not; I must learn sternness now. My sins have all Been of the softer order——hide thy tears— I do not bid thee not to shed them—'twere Easier to stop Euphrates at its source Than one tear of a true and tender heart— But let me not behold them; they unman me Here when I had remanned myself. My brother, Lead her away. Zar.‍Oh, God! I never shall Behold him more! Sal. (striving to conduct her). Nay, sister, I must be obeyed. Zar. I must remain—away! you shall not hold me.[88] What, shall he die alone?—I live alone? Sal. He shall not die alone; but lonely you Have lived for years. Zar.‍That's false! I knew he lived, And lived upon his image—let me go! Sal. (conducting her off the stage). Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force, Which you will pardon. Zar.‍Never. Help me! Oh! Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me Torn from thee? Sal.‍Nay—then all is lost again, If that this moment is not gained. Zar.‍My brain turns— My eyes fail—where is he? [She faints. Sar. (advancing).‍No—set her down; She's dead—and you have slain her. Sal.‍'Tis the mere Faintness of o'erwrought passion: in the air She will recover. Pray, keep back.—[Aside.] I must Avail myself of this sole moment to Bear her to where her children are embarked, I' the royal galley on the river. [Salemenes bears her off. Sar. (solus).‍This, too— And this too must I suffer—I, who never Inflicted purposely on human hearts A voluntary pang! But that is false— She loved me, and I loved her.—Fatal passion! Why dost thou not expire at once in hearts Which thou hast lighted up at once? Zarina![ah] I must pay dearly for the desolation Now brought upon thee. Had I never loved But thee, I should have been an unopposed Monarch of honouring nations. To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves! [89] Enter Myrrha. Sar. You here! Who called you? Myr.‍No one—but I heard Far off a voice of wail and lamentation, And thought—— Sar.‍It forms no portion of your duties To enter here till sought for. Myr.‍Though I might, Perhaps, recall some softer words of yours (Although they too were chiding), which reproved me, Because I ever dreaded to intrude; Resisting my own wish and your injunction To heed no time nor presence, but approach you Uncalled for:—I retire. Sar.‍Yet stay—being here. I pray you pardon me: events have soured me Till I wax peevish—heed it not: I shall Soon be myself again. Myr.‍I wait with patience, What I shall see with pleasure. Sar.‍Scarce a moment Before your entrance in this hall, Zarina, Queen of Assyria, departed hence. Myr. Ah! Sar.‍Wherefore do you start? Myr.‍Did I do so? Sar. 'Twas well you entered by another portal, Else you had met. That pang at least is spared her! Myr. I know to feel for her. Sar.‍That is too much, And beyond nature—'tis nor mutual[ai] Nor possible. You cannot pity her, Nor she aught but—— Myr.‍Despise the favourite slave? Not more than I have ever scorned myself. Sar. Scorned! what, to be the envy of your sex, And lord it o'er the heart of the World's lord? Myr. Were you the lord of twice ten thousand worlds— As you are like to lose the one you swayed[90]— I did abase myself as much in being Your paramour, as though you were a peasant— Nay, more, if that the peasant were a Greek. Sar. You talk it well—— Myr.‍And truly. Sar.‍In the hour Of man's adversity all things grow daring Against the falling; but as I am not Quite fall'n, nor now disposed to bear reproaches, Perhaps because I merit them too often, Let us then part while peace is still between us. Myr. Part! Sar.‍Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present one day part? Myr. Why? Sar.‍For your safety, which I will have looked to, With a strong escort to your native land; And such gifts, as, if you had not been all A Queen, shall make your dowry worth a kingdom. Myr. I pray you talk not thus. Sar.‍The Queen is gone: You need not shame to follow. I would fall Alone—I seek no partners but in pleasure. Myr. And I no pleasure but in parting not. You shall not force me from you. Sar.‍Think well of it— It soon may be too late. Myr.‍So let it be; For then you cannot separate me from you. Sar. And will not; but I thought you wished it. Myr.‍I! Sar. You spoke of your abasement. Myr.‍And I feel it Deeply—more deeply than all things but love. Sar. Then fly from it. Myr.‍'Twill not recall the past— 'Twill not restore my honour, nor my heart. No—here I stand or fall. If that you conquer, I live to joy in your great triumph: should Your lot be different, I'll not weep, but share it. You did not doubt me a few hours ago.[91] Sar. Your courage never—nor your love till now; And none could make me doubt it save yourself. Those words—— Myr.‍Were words. I pray you, let the proofs Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise This very night, and in my further bearing, Beside, wherever you are borne by fate. Sar. I am content: and, trusting in my cause, Think we may yet be victors and return To peace—the only victory I covet. To me war is no glory—conquest no Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs[aj] These men would bow me down with. Never, never Can I forget this night, even should I live To add it to the memory of others.510 I thought to have made mine inoffensive rule An era of sweet peace 'midst bloody annals, A green spot amidst desert centuries, On which the Future would turn back and smile, And cultivate, or sigh when it could not Recall Sardanapalus' golden reign. I thought to have made my realm a paradise, And every moon an epoch of new pleasures. I took the rabble's shouts for love—the breath Of friends for truth—the lips of woman for My only guerdon—so they are, my Myrrha: [He kisses her. Kiss me. Now let them take my realm and life! They shall have both, but never thee! Myr.‍No, never! Man may despoil his brother man of all That's great or glittering—kingdoms fall, hosts yield, Friends fail—slaves fly—and all betray—and, more Than all, the most indebted—but a heart That loves without self-love! 'Tis here—now prove it. [92] Enter Salemenes. Sal. I sought you—How! she here again? Sar.‍Return not Now to reproof: methinks your aspect speaks Of higher matter than a woman's presence. Sal. The only woman whom it much imports me At such a moment now is safe in absence— The Queen's embarked. Sar.‍And well? say that much. Sal.‍Yes. Her transient weakness has passed o'er; at least, It settled into tearless silence: her Pale face and glittering eye, after a glance Upon her sleeping children, were still fixed Upon the palace towers as the swift galley Stole down the hurrying stream beneath the starlight; But she said nothing. Sar.‍Would I felt no more Than she has said! Sal.‍'Tis now too late to feel. Your feelings cannot cancel a sole pang: To change them, my advices bring sure tidings That the rebellious Medes and Chaldees, marshalled By their two leaders, are already up In arms again; and, serrying their ranks, Prepare to attack: they have apparently Been joined by other Satraps. Sar.‍What! more rebels? Let us be first, then. Sal.‍That were hardly prudent Now, though it was our first intention. If By noon to-morrow we are joined by those I've sent for by sure messengers, we shall be In strength enough to venture an attack, Aye, and pursuit too; but, till then, my voice Is to await the onset. Sar.‍I detest That waiting; though it seems so safe to fight Behind high walls, and hurl down foes into Deep fosses, or behold them sprawl on spikes[93] Strewed to receive them, still I like it not— My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them, Though they were piled on mountains, I would have A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood!— Let me then charge. Sal.‍You talk like a young soldier. Sar. I am no soldier, but a man: speak not Of soldiership, I loathe the word, and those Who pride themselves upon it; but direct me Where I may pour upon them. Sal.‍You must spare To expose your life too hastily; 'tis not Like mine or any other subject's breath: The whole war turns upon it—with it; this Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench it— Prolong it—end it. Sar.‍Then let us end both! 'Twere better thus, perhaps, than prolong either; I'm sick of one, perchance of both. [A trumpet sounds without. Sal.‍Hark! Sar.‍Let us Reply, not listen. Sal.‍And your wound! Sar.‍'Tis bound— 'Tis healed—I had forgotten it. Away! A leech's lancet would have scratched me deeper;[ak] The slave that gave it might be well ashamed To have struck so weakly. Sal.‍Now, may none this hour Strike with a better aim! Sar.‍Aye, if we conquer; But if not, they will only leave to me A task they might have spared their king. Upon them! [Trumpet sounds again. Sal. I am with you. Sar.‍Ho, my arms! again, my arms!