The Works of Lord Byron

NOTES TO SARDANAPALUS.

worth a fillip.' Supposing this version nearly exact, And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha. (for Arrian says it was not quite so,) whether the Page 349, line 60. purpose has not been to invite to civil order a people disposed to turbulence, rather than to recom THE Ionian name had been still more compre- mend immoderate luxury, may perhaps reasonably hensive, having included the Achaians and the be questioned. What, indeed, could be the object Baotians, who, together with those to whom it was of a king of Assyria in founding such towns in a afterwards confined, would make nearly the whole country so distant from his capital, and so divided of the Greek nation, and among the orientals it from it by an immense extent of sandy deserts and was always the general name for the Greeks."-lofty mountains, and, still more, how the inhabMilford's Greece, vol. 1. p. 199.

"Sardanapalus

itants could be at once in circumstances to abandon themselves to the intemperate joys which their prince has been supposed to have recommended, is not obvious; but it may deserve observation that, in that line of coast, the southern of Lesser Asia, ruins of cities, evidently of an age after Alexander

The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes, In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip." Yet barely named in history, at this day astonish the adventurous traveller by their magnificence and Page 351, lines 103-106. elegance. Amid the desolation which, under a "For this expedition he took not only a small singularly barbarian government, has for so many chosen body of the phalanx, but all his light troops. centuries been daily spreading in the finest countries In the first day's march he reached Anchialus, a of the globe, whether more from soil and climate, town said to have been founded by the king of or from opportunities for commerce, extraordinary Assyria, Sardanapalus. The fortifications, in their means must have been found for communities to magnitude and extent, still in Arrian's time, bore flourish there, whence it may seem that the measthe character of greatness, which the Assyrians ures of Sardanapalus were directed by juster views appear singularly to have affected in works of the than have been commonly ascribed to him: but kind. A monument representing Sardanapalus that monarch having been the last of a dynasty, was found there, warranted by an inscription in ended by a revolution, obloquy on his memory would Assyrian characters, of course in the old Assyrian follow of course from the policy of his successors language, which the Greeks, whether well or ill, and their partisans.

interpreted thus: Sardanapalus, son of Anacyn- "The inconsistency of traditions concerning Sardarexes, in one day founded Anchialus and Tarsus. danapalus is striking in Diodorus's account of him.' Eat, drink, play: all other human joys are not-Muford's Greece, vol ix. pp. 311, 312, and 313.

WERNER; OR, THE INHERITANCE:

A TRAGEDY.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE,

BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIRERS,
TRAGEDY IS DEDICATED.

THIS

PREFACE.

THE following Drama is taken entirely from the "German's Tale, Kruitzner," published many years ago in Lee's Canterbury Tales; written (I believe) by two sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and another, both of which are considered superior to the remainder of the collection. I have adopted the characters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself; but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young, (about fourteen, I think,) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or, at any rate, its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been developed with greater advantage. Among those whose opinions agreed with mine upon this story, I could mention some very high names; but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use, for every one must judge according to his own feelings. I merely refer the reader to the original story, that he may see to what extent I have borrowed from it: and

|1815, (the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called "Ulric and Ilvina," which 1 had sense enough to burn,) and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere among my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have rewritten the first, and added the subsequent acts. The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage. February, 1822.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Men.-WERNER.

ULRIC.
STRALENHEIM.
IDENSTEIN.

GABOR.
FRITZ.
HENRICK.
ERIC.

ARNHEIM.
MEISTER.

RODOLPH.

LUDWIG.

Women.-JOSEPHINE.
IDA STRALENHEIM.

am not unwilling that he should find much greater Scene-Partly on the Frontier of Silcsia, and partly pleasure in perusing it than the drama which is founded upon its contents.

I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as

in Siegendorf Castle, near Prague.

Time-The Close of the Thirty Years' War.

Jos.
To me-
Yes, but not to thyself: thy pace is hurried,
And no one walks a chamber like to ours
With steps like thine when his heart is at rest.
Were it a garden, I should deem thee happy,
And stepping with the bee from flower to flower;
But here!

Wer. 'Tis chill; the tapestry lets through
The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen.
Jos. Ah, no!

Wer. (smiling.) Why! wouldst thou have it so?
I would

Jos.

Until 'tis spilt or check'd-how soon, I care not.
Jos. And am I nothing in thy heart?
Wer.

All-all.

Jos. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine?

Wer. (approaching her slowly.) But for thee I had
been no matter what,

But much of good and evil; what I am,
Thou knowest; what I might or should have been,
Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, nor
Shall aught divide us.

[WERNER walks on abruptly, and then ap-
proaches JOSEPHINE.

The storm of the night,

Perhaps, affects me; I'm a thing of feelings,

And have of late been sickly, as, alas!

Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my love!

In watching me.

Jos.

To see thee well is much

To see thee happy

Wer.

Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings
(though

These were enough to gnaw into our souls)
Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now.
When, but for this untoward sickness, which
Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and
Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means
And leaves us-no! this is beyond me!-but
For this I had been happy-thou been happy-
The splendor of my rank sustain'd-my name,
My father's name-been still upheld; and, more
Than those▬▬▬▬

Jos. (abruptly.) My son-our son-our Ulric
Been clasp'd again in these long-empty arms
And all a mother's hunger satisfied.
Twelve years! he was but eight then :-beautiful
He was, and beautiful he must be now.
My Ulric! my adored!

Wer.
I have been full oft
The chase of Fortune: now she hath o'ertaken
My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,-
Sick, poor, and lonely.

Jos.

Lonely my dear husband
Wer. Or worse-involving all I love, in this
Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died,
And all been over in a nameless grave.

Jos. And I had not outlived thee; but pray take Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive

With fortune win or weary her at last,
So that they find the goal or cease to feel
Further. Take comfort,-we shall find our boy
Wer. We were in sight of him, of every thing
Which could bring compensation for past sorrow
And to be baffled thus !
Jos.
We are not baffled.
Wer. Are we not pennyless?
Jos.
We ne'er were wealthy.
Wer. But I was born to wealth, and rank, and
power;

Enjoy'd them, loved them, and, alas! abused them

Where hast thou seen such? And forfeited them by my father's wrath,

But think

Let me be wretched with the rest!
Jos.
How many in this hour of tempest shiver
Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain,
Whos? every drop bows them down nearer earth,
Which hath no chamber for them save beneath
Her surface.

Wer. And that's not the worst: who cares
For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom
Thou namest-ay, the wind howls round them, and
The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones
The "reeping marrow. I have been a soldier,
A hunter, and a traveller, and am

A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of.
Jos. And art thou not now shelter'd from them all?
Wer. Yes. And from these alone.
Jos. And that is something.
Wer. True-to a peasant.

In my o'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse
Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death
Left the path open, yet not without snares.
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long
Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon
The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me.
Become the master of my rights, and lord
Of that which lifts him up to princes in
Dominion and domain.

Jos.
Who knows? our son
May have return'd back to his grandsire, and
Even now uphold thy rights for thee?

'Tis hopeless

Wer.
Since his strange disappearance from my father's,
Entailing, as it were, my sins upon
Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course.
I parted with him to his grandsire, on
The promise that his anger would stop short
Of the third generation; but Heaven seems
To claim her stern prerogative, and visit
Upon my boy his father's faults and follies.

Jos. I must hope better still.-at least we have yet

Baffled the long pursuit of Stralen heim.

Had such been my inheritance; but now,

Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sick- Chasten'd, subdued, out-worn, and taught to know

ness,

More fatal than a mortal malady,

Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace;
Even now I feel my spirit girt about

By the snares of this avaricious fiend ;-
How do I know he hath not track'd us here?
Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies,
Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Ham-
burgh.

Our unexpected journey, and this change
Of name, leave all discovery far behind:
None hold us here for aught save what we seem.
Wer. Save what we seem! save what we are-sick
beggars,

Even to our very hopes.-Ha! ha!

Jos. Your father did not think so, though 'twas I asked for something better than your name,

noble ;

But had my birth been all my claim to match
With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is.
Wer. And what is that in thine eyes?
Jos.

Has done in our behalf,-nothing.
Wer.

Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony: what
Shall I say more? You have been a guest this month
All which it Here in the prince's palace-(to be sure,
His highness had resign'd it to the ghosts
And rats these twelve years-but 'tis still a palace)-
say yon have been our lodger, and as yet
We do not know your name.

How,-nothing?
Jos. Or worse; for it has been a canker in
Thy heart from the beginning: but for this,
We had not felt our poverty but as
Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully;
But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,
Thou mightst have earn'd thy bread, as thousands
carn it;

Or, if that seem'd too humble, tried by commerce,
Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes,
Wer. (ironically.) And been an Hanseatic burgher?
Excellent!

Jos. Whate'er thou mightst have been, to me thou art

What no state high or low can ever change, My heart's first choice;-which chose thee, knowing neither

Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy

sorrows:

While they last, let me comfort or divide them; When they end, let mine end with them, or thee! Wer. My better angel! such I have ever found thee;

This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine. Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own nature In youth was such as to unmake an empire,

Wer. My name is Werner. Iden. A goodly name, a very worthy name As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board: I have a cousin in the lazaretto Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore The same. He is an officer of trust, Surgeon's assistant, (hoping to be surgeon,) And has done miracles i' the way of business. Perhaps you are related to my relative? Wer. To yours? Jos. Oh, yes; we are, but distantly Cannot you humor the dull gossip till [Aside to WERNER. Well, I'm glad of that; I thought so long, such natural yearnings Play'd round my heart :-blood is not water, cousin. And so let's have some wine, and drink unto Our better acquaintance: relatives should be Friends.

We learn his purpose? Iden.

You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see That I would be alone; but to your business! What brings you here?

Iden.
Why, what should bring me here?
Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess
That which will send you hence.
Jos. (aside.)
Patience, dear Werner.
Iden. You don't know what has happened, then?
Jos.
How should we?
Iden. The river is o'erflow'd.
Jos.
Alas! we have known
That to our sorrow for these five days; since
It keeps us here.

Blen.
But what you don't know is,
That a great personage, who fain would cross,
Against the stream and three postilions' wishes,
Is drown'd below the ford, with five post-horses,
A monkey, and a mastiff, and a valet.
Jos. Poor creatures! are you sure?
Iden.

Yes, of the monkey,
And the valet, and the cattle; but as yet
We know not if his excellency's dead
Or no; your noblemen are hard to drown,
As it is fit that men in office should be;
But what is certain is, that he has swallow'd
Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants;
And now a Saxon, and Hungarian traveller,
Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from
The whirling river, have sent on to crave
A lodging, or a grave, according as

It may turn out with the live or dead body.

Jos. And where will you receive him? here, I hope,

if we can be of service-say the word.

Iden. Here? no; but in the prince's own apartment,

As fits a noble guest:-'tis damp, no doubt,
Not having been inhaited these twelve years;
But then he comes from a much damper place,
So scarcely will catch cold in't, if he be
Still liable to cold-and if not, why
He'll be worse lodged to-morrow: ne'ertheless,
I have ordered fire and all appliances
To be got ready for the worst—that is,
In case he should survive.

Who knows if he hath now a name or no?
"Tis time enough to ask it when he's able
To give an answer; or if not, to put
His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought
Just now you chid me for demanding names?
Wer. True, true, I did so; you say well and wisely.
Enter GABOR.

Gab. If I intrude, I crave-
Iden.

Oh, no intrusion !
This is the palace; this a stranger like
Yourself; I pray you make yourself at home:
But where's his excellency, and how fares he?
Gab. Wetly and wearily, but out of peril :
He paused to change his garments in a cottage,
(Where I doff'd mine for these, and came on hither,)
And has almost recover'd from his drenching.
He will be here anon.

Iden. What ho, there! bustle ! Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad [Gives directions to different servants who enter A nobleman sleeps here to-night-see that All is in order in the damask chamberKeep up the stove-I will myself to the cellarAnd Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger) Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel; for, To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of this Within the palace precincts, since his highness Left it some dozen years ago. And then His excellency will sup, doubtless?

Gab.

Faith!
I cannot tell: but I should think the pillow
Would please him better than the table after
His soaking in your river: but for fear
Your viands should be thrown away, I rean
To sup myself, and have a friend without
Who will do honor to your good cheer with
A traveller's appetite.
Iden.

But are you sure
His excellency-But his name: what is it?
Gab. I do not know.
Iden.

And yet you saved his life.
Gab. I help'd my friend to do so.
Iden.

Well, that's strange

Iden. How many? Gab.

Sufficient.

I did not count them. We came up by mere accident, and just In time to drag him through his carriage window. Iden. Well, what would I give to save a great man, No doubt you'll have a swinging sum as recompense. Gab. Perhaps.

Iden. Now, how much do you reckon on? Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale: In the mean time, my best reward would be A glass of your Hockheimer-a green glass, Wreath'd with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage; For which I promise you, in case you e'er Run hazard of being drown'd, (although I own It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,) I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, A wave the less may roll above your head.

Iden. (aside.) I don't much like this fellow-close and dry

He seems, two things which suit me not; however, Wine he shall have; if that unlocks him not,

I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity.

[Exit IDENSTEIN.

Gab. (to WERNER.) This master of the ceremonies is

The intendant of the palace, I presume.

'Tis a fine building, but decay'd.

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The Works of Lord Byron: Embracing His Suppressed Poems, and a Sketch of His ...