THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA ENDOWED BY THE DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PGT158 • KT N55 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be renewed by bringing it to the library. DATE DUE RET. DATE DUE RET. -r- DEC 1 5 1 i Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2014 https://archive.org/details/undivinecomedyotOOkras_0 s THE ANONYMOUS POET OF POLAND, COUNT SIGISMUND KRASIŃSKI. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, AND OTHER POEMS. BY THE ANONYMOUS POET OF POLAND, COUNT SIGISMUND KRASIŃSKI. " He burned, a never consumed offering, upon the altar of his country." HIS POLISH ANNOTATORS: ADAM AND LADISLAS MICKIEWICZ. POLISH POETRY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, BY JULIAN KLACZKO. A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OE THE POET. TRANSLATED BY MARTHA WALKER COOK. Xl PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. i87S- Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. CONTENTS. PAGE PREFACE 7 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI 1 5 PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION 3 1 ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY 41 POLISH POETRY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 53 THE "FRAGMENT," OR UNFINISHED POEM .... I3I THE UNDIVINE COMEDY 1 73 IRIDION 275 THE LAST 467 TEMPTATION . . .487 RESURRECTURIS 508 IN MEMORIAM 512 5 PREFACE. It is certainly the duty of a translator to be thoroughly convinced of the intrinsic merit of any work he may pro- pose to translate, for he will be in a measure responsible for its influence upon the minds of those to whom he may introduce it. No hope of sudden success should dazzle him into unworthy labor. Let him first ascertain if the proposed work be one of general human interest, calcu- lated to increase the moral worth of the people to whom it is to be offered, to express the influential conceptions of an original mind, open a new literature, throw light upon the hidden history of an epoch, or develop the char- acteristics of a nation ; — if any one of the above condi- tions be met, then is the translator justified in transplant- ing the quickening germs into the mental being of his own countrymen, to bloom in wider consciousness, in fairer actions. It is claimed that the translations herewith offered meet not only one, but all of the above conditions. That the works of Krasiński are of "general human interest' ' is proved by the fact that, even under their anony- mous publication, they were enthusiastically received by the critics of Europe, and immediately translated into French and German; that "they are calculated to in- crease the moral worth of the people to whom they are offered," is evident in that they contain a genuine attempt to introduce the sublime ethics of Christianity into the vexed and vicious sphere of modern politics; that "they embody the influential conceptions of an original mind," may be read in the fact that these " conceptions" modified the character of an entire People ; that the translations open a "new literature" is clear, since they are the first specimens of modern Polish poetry as yet given to Amer- 7 s PREFACE. ican readers ; that they " throw light upon the history of an epoch and develop the characteristics of a nation," is manifest in the strange truth that, as stated by Julian Klaczko, only through the lessons of Krasiński can some of the startling occurrences of the last Polish revolution be interpreted at all. A curious spectacle is spread before the utilitarian and material spirit of the nineteenth century in the closely interwoven history of our author and his unhappy country. A Christian Poet teaching only forgiveness, patience, and self-abnegation, — the possession of whose works in his native land was Siberia or death, and who, to shield those dear to him from the vengeance of the oppressor, was forced to publish anonymously, — has so influenced the action of a brave, injured, and fiery people, that only in his poems can be found the clue to deeds which puzzled the despot and astonished the world ! Thus only can be explained that startling scene which occurred in Warsaw in February, 1861, when unarmed men, women, and chil- dren bared their breasts, and fell without resistance before the Russian battalions maddened by the sight of the un- furled Polish banner. For their poet had sung : " Holy Spirit, who hast taught us that the most sublime power on earth is the power of self- sacrifice, that the most mighty of arguments is virtue, grant that through love we may win the nations to the end whereto we aspire P' " To each Nation Thou hast given avocation, O Christ ! A profound idea springing from Thee lives in each, and in it is the secret of its destiny ! Some Thou hast elected to defend the cause of celestial Beauty, and to offer to the world an angelic example by hopefully bearing their heavy cross along a weary way overflowing with their blood . . . until they have given loftier and more divine ideas to men through their sublime struggles; given a holier char- ity, a wider fraternity, in exchange for the sword that has been plunged into their bosoms ! " Such a nation is thy Poland, O Lord Jesus !" —Psalms of the Future, Krasiński. And with such ideas did this patriot-poet succeed in impregnating a nation ! To the eternal glory of Poland PREFACE. 9 be it said, that, strengthened by the divine lessons of her Poet, she has hitherto been strong enough to resist all the temptations to avenge herself held out to her by Russia in the fell scheme of Pansclavism ; that, having shed her generous blood on almost every battle-field in Europe, and having been deserted and betrayed by those whom she so faithfully served, she still bares her own breast to the piti- less knife of the Czar, rather than aid him to whet it anew for the heart of the civilized world ! She knows the fury of the Russian Bear too well to let slip a single link of the chain she still holds in her manacled and wounded hands. Let the Russianized pansclavists of Bohemia call her the <£ Judas of the Sclaves;" England continue to temporize until India is lost and her own doom is near ; Greece change the indolent Turk for the Muscovite Czar ; France, conquered of old under the Great Napoleon in Russia because of his treachery to the martyred nation, and fallen beneath the armed heel of the ruthless Teuton under Napoleon the Little, seek a new ally in Russia as she cries in her terror " a bas les Polonais Italy wrap herself in her old indifference with regard to the fate of all " North- ern Barbarians Austria in her fright strive to conciliate Galicia while losing Bohemia ; Prussia rejoice in irritating stolen Posen, and join the oppressor in his designs until, having found his way through Vienna to Constantinople, the prophecy of Frederick the Great is fulfilled : " When Russia possesses Constantinople, two years later she will be in Konigsberg ; young America bend her spotless brow as the bandage is wound round her flashing eyes, that she may not see the pool of blood surrounding the Autocrat; — the Polish Eagle does not quail ; finding no home on earth, she spreads her snowy wings, mounts into the sky of holy sacri- fice, and hopes, ' because she there sees God !' " These works of Krasiński "introduce a new literature to the American public." Translations from the French, German, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Norwegian, Swedish, Arabic, Persian, Hindoostanee, etc., are placed before us, but, as if the Russian censor ruled our press, for us Niem- cievvicz, Mickiewicz, Chodźko, Vincent Pol, Słowacki, Lelewel, Duchinski, Trentowski, Ostrowski, etc., etc., have suffered, written, sung, reasoned, and prophesied in 2 IO PREFACE. vain. Have we any life of the great and good Kościuszko, or the brave and fiery Pulaski ? In 1855 the astute Russian, Pogodin, wrote to his own government: "The time has come in which we should seek an alliance with America." If an assassin can ob- tain the friendship and recommendation of a powerful friend of known honor and magnanimity, his nefarious schemes against the innocent may be pursued in com- parative safety. Much has been said on the unbridled license of an untrammeled Press, but as great a danger lies in its purchased silence. Falsehood and exaggera- tion o'erleap their aims, destroy themselves, and perish in the light of liberty ; but silence veils ghastly secrets, and crime securely revels under its close shroud. How is the alliance of America to be won ? Silence ! Stifle the cries of the victims who for the last hundred years have been crimsoning with their blood the white deserts of Siberia \ the rattling of chains in the wastes of Tobolsk and the mountains of the Caucasus ; the moans and sobs of an entire People we have resolved to de- stroy ; the multitudinous cries of widows and bereaved orphans ! This subtle policy has been skillfully pursued ; and where silence has been impossible, history has been falsified, ethnography outraged, religious prejudices evoked, and the character of the Polish People traduced, that the deception might be complete. For, with Poland crushed and Constantinople won, Europe lies at the feet of the Mongolian-German, and, robed as an angel of emancipation and communistic light, he may Russify civilization at leisure. With every generation since her partition, Poland has entered her united rejection of the iniquitous rule of her foes, by an attempted revolution, in which the awful protest has been signed in the blood of her martyred children, — men, women, and children alike ready to die in this solemn denial of voluntary subjugation. The last disastrous attempt of Poland to arise from her sepulchre, occasioned by measures insulting to universal humanity, occurred during our own civil war. Russia endeavored to make it appear that the rebellion in Amer- ica and the attempted revolution of the Poles were phe- PREFACE. ii nomena bearing a similar character. No idea could be more erroneous, for the struggle in Poland was to restore legitimate authority to its rightful holders, to a govern- ment truly liberal, representative, and Polish ; while our revolted States sought to wrest authority from the legally- elected rulers, the Congress of the United States. The resurrection in Poland meant union, life ; the rebellion, division and destruction. The one sought to bring about general emancipation, the other to prolong slavery. But in the hands of Russia all facts are wax, which her political artists mould to serve their own purposes. While branding the Poles throughout her own realm and monarchic Europe as freethinkers, republicans, and jaco- bins, she makes a sudden turn, and denounces them here as bigots, aristocrats, slaveholders, and despots, and their insurrection as but an attempt of the nobility to regain their ancient status, — a feudal conspiracy ! Hear, shade of Kościuszko ! Poland has long been anxious for the emancipation of her serfs, not only as moved by the advancing humanity of the world, but as a means of national power. Sword in hand, she defended it in the confederation of Bar, in 1768; discussed it in the diets of 1776, 1780, 1788, and finally adopted it by the famous Constituent Assembly of 1 79 1. Kościuszko, May 7, 1794, then Dictator of Poland, issued a document giving entire personal freedom to all the serfs; and on the 22d of January, 1863, the mem- bers of the National Polish Government decreed that the peasants were not only free, but were entitled to a cer- tain portion of land, of which they should be sole pro- prietory. But emancipation would have made Poland too strong for her enemies, by uniting all classes, — and the oppressor would not permit it ! Only six months after the noble decree of Kościuszko occurred the terrible massacre of Praga, which quenched the- contemplated emancipation in gore, and the following year the very name of Poland was — at least for a time — effaced from the political chart of Europe! In later days, the peti- tions addressed to the Emperor Ferdinand L, by the States of Leopol, 26th September, 1845, f° r tne suppres- sion of serfage and corvee, led to the massacres in Gal- 12 PREFACE. licia, and the destruction of the Republic of Cracow. Poland has been literally drenched in blood ever since her last emancipatory act of 1863. It is about as fair to accuse Poland of the permission of serfage during the last hundred years as it would be to accuse Abraham Lincoln and Whittier of being promoters of slavery ! Yet this is precisely what Russia did, in order to assim- ilate the insurrection of Poland with our own rebellion, representing it as originating in the desire to support feudalism, in the very face of the first words promulgated by the Polish Committee, January 22, 1863 : "All the sons of Poland, without any distinction of faith or race, descent or station, are free and equal citizeiis of the country. 1 1 Strong and startling are the contrasts between the United States and Poland. We are young, powerful, active, happy, the bulwark of freedom, the hope of oppressed Peoples; — Poland has lived through many cen- turies; has been since her dismemberment so fettered that all action, save in the spasms of her revolutions, has been impossible; has been rendered utterly wretched, her body mutilated and thrice stabbed to the heart, and all that is material about her stifled in a living sepulchre. And yet there are striking points of resemblance. Both nations are daringly brave ; both are confederatively formed, — Poland, Lithuania, and Ruthenia, uniting in 1569, being the first voluntary confederation in Europe ; both prefer elective governments ; both are opposed to religious persecution and oppression ; both detest foreign domination, and love liberty better than life. And as if Heaven itself would draw the two countries in still closer communion, the idolized heroes of both nations, Washing- ton and Kościuszko, bound by congenial friendship, stood breast to breast in the great contest for American freedom. Material aid being utterly impossible, and in every aspect impolitic, yet in the higher world of justice the moral sym- pathy of the triumphant with the wronged and murdered Nation must be deep and true ; her injuries will be ex- posed by the statesmen of freedom, and the tortures to which she is constantly subjected will flow in the burning words of fiery indignation from the eloquent lips of the freemen of America ! Is this so ? Alas ! silence ! silence ! PREFACE. 13 But why call up this terrible spectacle of a great Aryan Nation in her agony, with the prolonged death-rattle in her throat ; why lift the shroud of anguish from entire generations, fathers, sons, daughters, infants, all driven into dissolution by a barbaric and relentless foe, the ruin of schools and universities, the destruction of libraries, the deportation of students, the transplantation and con- sequent slaughter of thousands of innocent children, the forcible transportation of thirty thousand helpless inhabit- ants into the Caucasus, the desecration of maidens, the tortures of patriots, the knoutings of heroes, boys and matrons, and the persecution of the oldest form of Chris- tian faith ? Because the victim is not dead, and there is vast moral power in the force of public opinion. Because the American mission is the actualization everywhere of not merely nominal, but real freedom, founded upon jus- tice and eternal truth. But chiefly it is done in the present relation, because it is our ardent desire that the Polish poet should be understood in all his sublime patriotism by American readers, and to show that his deepest hues are not so dark as the truth they depict ; because, for full sym- pathy with his original conceptions, we must recognize his own sad stand-point, and the melancholy position of the country he so earnestly loved. For poet and people hold positions entirely exceptional in the history of the world. Poles and exiles ! it is with no light feeling of self- distrust that the daughter of a distant land has ventured to lay her daring hands upon the master-works of your poet, patriot, and statesman. She would fain have called the high poets of her country to the task of transmuting the thoughts of the Polish Dante into fitting English ; but none seemed ready to begin the work. Wreathing their lyres with their own immortal flowers, "singing their songs of freedom for the emancipation, cultivation, and delight of humanity, — some of them perchance momen- tarily charmed by the mystic might of Russia, — -none were prepared to burn the torch of their own genius to illume the spiritual and majestic features of your illustrious dead. Feeble as may be the fire of this torch as now borne, sway and flicker as it may in the uncertain hands, may its light yet be strong enough to manifest something of the 14 PREFACE. valiant "Polish soul" to my countrymen ! Strong enough to point out to future translators the unexplored treasures of Polish literature, in order that in more inspired ver- sions they may yet place "The Undivine Comedy" and "Iridion" where they deserve to rank, — after Dante and Shakespeare, among the loftiest creations of human genius. I know that through the medium of a less impassioned language, and deprived of their exquisite form and bold and undulating rhythm, these poems will seem cold and imperfect in your eyes, but I beg of you to pardon the deficiencies, because of the difficulty of the task and the love and reverence which prompt its execution. Whatever the material, venal, and passing phantoms of the hour may seem to say, believe not that American hearts have ceased to beat in unison with yours ! Your courageous struggles for "a country' ' may be still mis- represented and misunderstood ; the brilliant serf-eman- cipation in Russia may for a time dazzle us into ignorance of the atrocious torments to which you are subjected, but misconception not voluntary cannot long endure, the Sun of Truth is everywhere rising and everywhere dispersing the mists of falsehood under its happy light, true republi- cans will learn that "the path to freedom lies not through the charnel-house. ,, Right, not might, is the corner- stone of God's kingdom upon earth ! Liberty, justice, equality before the law, and self-govern- ment, are the normal dogmas of our political creed ; to renounce them were to stultify ourselves. They are corner- stones in the temple we are building for the refuge of men ; to uproot them were to bring it in ruins about our own heads. We know that, tortured and mutilated, Poland still lives, and that, at every banquet of the " Holy Alliance," her grand and bloody form rises from her three graves to appal the three crowned and rival murderers of a nation. For she is buried, not in the corruption of the grave, but in the loyal hearts of her patriotic and tortured children, in the living sympathies of all who love virtue, self-sacri- fice, and heroism, and in the eternal justice of God ; — therefore is her resurrection certain ! Translator. BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. The following imperfect sketch of the " Anonymous Poet" is the only account we have been able to find of him in European literature. It is translated chiefly from " Unsere Zeit Jahrbuch zum Conversations Lexikon. No. 55. 1862. L. A. Brockhaus, Leipzig." "The silent organ loudest chants the master's requiem." So chants the fact that as yet no details of the life of the great Pole can appear, because they might compromise friends once very dear to him, living within reach of the vengeful arm of Russia. He renounced all fame while living, ever publishing anonymously, and the manifold experiences of his internal life, with his numerous his- torical and political letters, must slumber in the shroud of silence, until Polish patriotism is no longer crime, and confiscation and exile cease to be the doom of all con- nected with those daring enough to defend their native land. The reader may, however, round this skeleton biogra- phy into flesh, by clothing its bones from the veined tissues he will not fail to find in the nervous pages of Julian Klaczko. When Napoleon entered Poland, in 1806, the leader of the Polish Legions, General Dombrowski, summoned the fiery patriot, Wybicki, to unite himself with armed hand to the conqueror of nations ; and as Napoleon spoke freely of the reconstitution of the country, such summons fell not upon unheeding ears in Poland. Many patriots of high distinction offered up property and life 15 i6 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. in the new-born hopes for fatherland, and, captivated by the fallacious promises of Napoleon, hurried to join the French eagles. Count Vincent Krasiński, then about twenty-four years of age, a man of great wealth and high distinction, was one of the first to greet the French Em- peror on Polish ground, and afterwards accompanied him in his campaigns as adjutant. For a time Count Krasiński resided in Paris, in which city his wife, Maria, a princess of the house of Radziwiłł, presented him with a son, born on the 19th of February, 181 2, who received in baptism the name of Sigismund Napoleon. This boy became the "Anonymous Poet of Poland/' Bitterly deceived were the high hopes of the Poles. After the signing of the act of abdication by Napoleon, April 11, 1 814, Count Vincent Krasiński, then under orders from the Czar Alexander, led the unhappy rem- nants of the Polish legions back from France into Poland. His countess soon after joined him there with the little Sigismund, then about three years old. Upon the immense estates of his forefathers, under the tender care of a devoted but very sickly mother, lived for many happy years the young Sigismund, a dark-eyed boy with long, fair curls, remarkable from his earliest years for rare powers of wit and intellect, for rapid and acute answers to difficult questions, for true and chivalric feeling, for high-strung and self-sacrificing ardor. His health, how- ever, was exceedingly delicate. When but five years of age he was presented to the Czar, an especial friend of his parents, and recited for him the lines of Voltaire, "Tu dors, Brute!" meantime fearlessly gazing with childlike confidence into the keen eyes of the autocrat. Two years later he was introduced to the Empress, whom he pleased greatly. She said laughingly to him, "lac- knowledge you as my knight. Will you accept the ap- pointment, and defend me against my enemies ?" His answer was as acute as chivalric. "I cannot," he re- plied ; " your Majesty has no need of defenders, since you have no enemies." He had instructors of great ability, and so rapidly was BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. *7 he advanced in his studies, that he was soon able to enter the sixth class in the College of Warsaw. Uncommon powers of intellect, united with a great memory, ardent and unceasing efforts for thorough mental cultivation, distinguished him in his intercourse with his fellow- students. But however rapid his advances, he failed to satisfy his eager desire for exact and wide learning. His mother died in 1822, and so bitter was the distress of his father, that he withdrew himself from all social intercourse, save that forced upon him by his official po- sition, and devoted himself exclusively to the advance- ment of his idolized boy. He followed his mental and spiritual culture with eyes of constant watchfulness, and, at an examination to which the savants interested in the cause of education had been invited, he had the gratifi- cation of seeing his son, then but twelve years of age, astonish all present by his accurate knowledge of gram- mar, literature, geography, and history. Although Sigismund was too young as yet to take any part in the meetings and discussions of the learned Poles so frequently held in the house of his father, they never- theless exerted great influence over the precocious boy, and aided in preparing him for the vocation of an author. His susceptible nature readily seized upon what- ever appealed to the imagination or soul, and he would often reproduce his impressions for the entertainment and instruction of his companions. When but fourteen years of age, he wrote a tale which he caused to be secretly printed, and then presented to his father, who approved the gift, but forbade all further essays at that time, fearing that the facility of composition might lead- his son astray from more severe studies. But the boy stole from the hours allowed for sleep the time to write another tale, entitled "The Grave of the Family of Reichstal." This was followed by another, "Ladislaus Hermann and his Court/' written in the style of the novels of Sir Walter Scott, of whose works he was at that time deeply enamored. Both of these tales were printed in 1829. But a dreadful crisis was approaching in the fate of the dutiful, loving, beloved, and patriotic son. His father i8 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. and his country were to stand in deadly opposition to each other, and his young dreams of fame to be forever sacrificed. His life was a long penitential offering to his incensed country for the faults of his father. He sacri- ficed all glory to win silence and pardon for the illustrious offender. The year 1825 was a memorable one in Russian history, in consequence of the sudden death of Alexander, and the outbreak of a wide-spread conspiracy for a constitutional government in Russia, of which the leaders were Pes- tel, Orloff, Ryleief, Bestuchef-Rumin, and Kachowski. During the inquiries instituted at St. Petersburg, it became evident that there were societies existing in Poland whose principal object was the restoration of that country to independence. Umiński, Jabłonowski, Soltyk, Kryza- nowski, Łukasiński, and others, members of one of these societies, were indicted for high treason. The trial fell under the jurisdiction of the ancient kingdom of Poland, whose capital was the city of Warsaw. The reduced Poland of the Congress of Vienna en- joyed a nominal constitution, and the Polish Senate was convoked to preserve, ostensibly at least, a legal form. Some Senators were then living abroad, as Prince Adam Czartoryski, but they hastened home to record their pa- triotic votes. The President of this high tribunal was elected in the person of the Palatine, Peter Bieliński. The Commission of Inquiry classed the accused under five categories, and the Senate was charged to decide on their fate. It appointed lawyers as counsel for the prisoners ; the proceedings were public, and lasted a month, when the court, with the exception of one dissentient voice, set aside the charge of high treason, and gave their de- cision : "Not guilty;" a decision based on the principle that all Poles naturally desire the independence of their fatherland. The one dissenting Polish voice was that of General Count Vincent Krasiński, the father of our Poet ! The Emperor ordered the judges to be reprimanded, a thing before unheard of, and consoled himself by con- fining the accused in the dungeons of St. Petersburg, in direct violation of the constitution, — and this was one of BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. 19 the grievances subsequently alleged in defense of the Polish revolution. The constitutional victory of Poland, so full of pa- triotic joy, was, however, greatly saddened by the fact that a patriot so distinguished as Vincent Krasiński should have voted on the side of the absolute Russian Government, then represented in Warsaw by the Grand Duke Constantine, famous for his persecution of all pa- triotic Poles, as well as of the students of the univer- sity. Peter Bieliński, the President of the Senate and Com- mission of Inquiry, died soon afterward, and, on the day of his funeral, the fiery fellow-students of young Sigis- mund Krasiński made a strong demonstration, in the way of threats and insulting expressions, against the young man, judging him utterly unworthy of their fel- lowship, because of the unpatriotic vote rendered by his father on the trial above mentioned. An eye-witness, Professor Podbielski, then a fellow- student of young Sigismund on the benches of the uni- versity, thus describes the occurrence: "On one of the subsequent xlays, after the public lecture to the students in common of the faculties, I observed quite a commotion among the young men ; many leaving the hall, rushed to Krasiński, and as they tore the badges of the university away from him, I heard them cry : ' You are not worthy to be our fellow-student, because your father cast his de- cision against our brothers, our noble patriots !' Sigis- mund, with chivalric and undaunted bearing,~though of " exceedingly slight form and delicate and refined ap- pearance, met them fearlessly, and with true Polish spirit offered them a sincere pardon for their insults to himself, so utterly innocent in his own person of all wrong; but their leader, young Lubiński, and others, refused to listen to his manly explanations. I was astonished at pro- ceedings so unjust, but our Professor, with some friends, finally interfered ; I left the hall, and never again saw our great Anonymous Poet, our long unknown, pure, and noble patriot." This college occurrence was, without doubt, the origi- nal of the scene described by "The Young Man" to 30 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASLXSKL " Dante" in the first part of " The Unfinished Poem" or " Fragment. ' 1 Constantine was greatly enraged at the decision of the Polish Senators, tortured Łukasiński in prison, and sent Krzyżanowski to Siberia. The Polish revolution broke out in 1S30, November 29th. Flying with the Russian army from Poland, Constantine, cruel to the last, caused the unfortunate Łukasiński to be chained to a cannon and dragged with the flying troops. There is but little doubt that the iron entered deeply into the soul of the brilliant and enthusiastic boy at the epoch of the mortifying scene above described. The struggle must have been terrible in the heart of this devoted son, this enthusiastic patriot. It was probably at that time he made the double resolve which filled his entire life with conflict. He piously determined to do all in his power to contribute to the happiness of the father who idolized him, never to desert him, and yet to make his whole life a silent expiation for the crime of that father ; to live only for the moral elevation of the wronged country ; to devote all his powers to her resurrection ; never to yield to the seductions of ambition • never to permit himself to wear the laurel crown with which his unhappy country would so gladly have wreathed his brow of genius. Is there in the whole range of literature a cry more full of heart-rending pathos to be found than in the sole allusion he ever suffered himself to make to his father, in the appeal to his country, found on the last page of his weird tale, "Temptation"? From the time he quitted the university, his life was but an unbroken chain of wanderings in search of health. Always delicate, the shock he had received told sadly upon him, and, as he grew older, his sufferings assumed many depressing and severe forms. Henceforth the reader must expect little but dates, reading the history of his mind and soul in the original works marking the times and places of his pilgrimage. On quitting the university, he went first to Geneva, where he wrote for the journals; among such articles, were some written in French for the " Revue Encyclo- pedique." Falling ill, his physician advised him to seek BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. a milder climate, and he spent the winter in Italy. Re- turning again to Switzerland, he met there with Mickie- wicz, and they made together the tour of that romantic country. The daily association with that far-famed poet kindled the slumbering sparks of creative genius in the soul of Sigismund. The close of the year 1830 found him in Italy, where he received the distressing intelligence of the disastrous events occurring in Warsaw. They made a profound impression on the enthusiastic and patriotic young Pole, but he was thoroughly unable to follow the dictates of his heart. His moral strength would have been sufficient to have supported him through the conflict then so wildly raging in his breast, but he was forced to succumb to physical weakness : the consequent struggle brought upon him an illness which chained him to his bed during a whole year. He has often declared that this was the most painful period of his existence, and a state of bodily suffering began in it which was to last as long as life endured. At the urgent request of his father he returned to War- saw in 1832^. Thence he went to St. Petersburg, where the Emperor offered him such position in the service of the state as he should deem most congenial with his tastes and wishes. He, however, begged permission to con- tinue his travels, and as the court physician declared the severity of the climate would prove disastrous- to health ^ so delicate, and his eyesight grew every day weaker and weaker, it was decided that he should at once repair to one of the foreign watering-places. His stay in St. Peters- burg having lasted all winter, gave him an opportunity to become thoroughly acquainted with Count Branicki, in whose house he first saw the maiden whom Heaven had destined to be the partner of his life. It was about this date that Priessnitz, of water-cure fame, began to be celebrated, and Sigismund, with other Poles, hastened to Grafenberg to try that mode of cure. He found it, to a limited extent, beneficial, and it enabled him to pass the winters of 1833 and 1834 with some degree of comfort in Vienna. It was then and there he wrote the tale " Agai-Chan," in which there is a sketch of the 3 22 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. usurper Dimitri, as well as " Maryna/' a tale which he afterwards discarded as unsatisfactory. The terrible disasters which had convulsed his native land in 1831 awakened in him the deepest sympathy, the most concentrated reflection. He gave words to the thoughts and feelings thus suggested in a marvelous drama, "The Undivine Comedy," the second part of which was written in Vienna, and in which he evinced not only the clearest insight into the perplexed Present, but even tore the blinding veil from the distant Future. The year 1838 he spent in Italy, where, surrounded by the immortal memories of Rome, he wrote his "Iridion," a work which entitled him to a high rank in the literary world. He also visited Warsaw in 1838, but was not able to remain there for any length of time, for, though a true Pole, he could not bear the rigor of his native air; after a short stay in Karlsbad and Teplitz, he returned to Italy, meeting and associating with many of his beloved com- patriots in Rome and Naples. In 1842, Count Branicki, with his three accomplished daughters, visited Rome. It had long been the wish of Count Vincent Krasiński that his son should seek his life- companion in this family; that wish was now fulfilled. Sigismund sued for the hand of Elizabeth Branicka, cele- brated his betrothal, and was married at Dresden. The blessing of the Church gave him a wife richly gifted in body and soul, of an amiable temper, and possessing that ready conception of the sublime and beautiful so calcu- lated to throw over the life of the poet the atmosphere necessary for full poetical development. The young couple spent the first two years of their married life in the land of their fathers, not indeed wholly untroubled, but far from the vexatious turmoil of the world. The malady of his eyes, as well as his general ill health, held him aloof from society, limiting his intercourse to a few trusted friends, among whom was Amilie Załuska, who had grown up with him, and whom he loved as a sister. His first son, Ladislaus, was born in 1844. He would gladly have continued to reside in his native land, but as this could not be without the most injurious influence upon his health, he was forced to resume his wanderings, tarrying BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. 23 for some time in Nice. The frightful occurrences of which Galicia was the theatre, in 1846, affected him most painfully. When referring to an opinion regarding these circumstances expressed by him at a much earlier date, he passionately exclaimed : " Ah! why was I not a false prophet ?" and almost cursed the exactness of his pro- phetic vision. These startling events gave rise to a discussion with the fiery poet, Julius Słowacki. This discussion awakened intense interest, and will ever re- main a most valuable exposition of the political opinions of the times ; it also placed in the strongest light the an- tagonistic genius of the two poets. Toward the end of the year 1847, an< ^ about a year after the birth of his second son, Sigismund returned to Rome, and was consequently an eye-witness of the political scenes occurring during 1848 in the capital of the world. His religious feelings were always deep, and it was most natural that during his sojourn in Rome, a man of his char- acter and antecedents should become through conviction an ardent champion of the Catholic Church. In June, 1848, he returned to Heidelberg, whence he paid a short visit to France, then convulsed by revolution. After a trial of sea-bathing, he remained some time in Baden, where, in spite of severe physical suffering, he labored upon the first and third divisions of " The Undivine Comedy," of which, as already stated, he had finished the second part in Vienna. It was his custom while thus occupied to have his wife seated at the piano, that he might hear her play the melodies he loved. When Baden was also drawn into the whirlpool of the revolution, he went to Berne, in which place he was utterly prostrated by sick- ness. When just beginning to recover, he received a com- mand from the Government to return immediately home. He obeyed the summons, and suffered the necessary re- sults. He spent that winter in Warsaw, but in consequence of the disastrous effects of the rigor of the climate upon his delicate organization, he was threatened with total loss of eyesight. With great difficulty he obtained from Russia permission again to leave Poland. He tried sea- bathing at Triport, which, instead of mitigating, greatly increased his maladies. He was allowed to select Heidel- 24 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. berg as his residence for the winter, where his wife soon joined him. The disease of his eyes had so increased as to incapacitate him for all literary labor. The following summer he spent at Baden ; the following winter in Rome. He took great interest in the excavations and disinter- ments then being made in the Appian Way, finding in them the subject of a masterly poem dedicated to his wife, which has never as yet been published. He went also again to Naples, and was a frequent guest in the Palace of the Grand Duchess, Stephanie von Baden, who took as great pleasure in the society of the Polish poet as she had already taken in the perusal of such of his works as she could obtain in French. He then went to the Rhine, but was ordered by the Government to return to Poland, where he arrived with his family late in the autumn of 1852, and remained there until the close of the next summer. But as his residence in that climate would have been certain death to him, he again applied for permission to go abroad. Having obtained it, he went to Boppard, on the Rhine, to try for the second time the water-cure, but he derived no benefit therefrom. His sons remained in Warsaw with their grandfather, while he, tortured by continual suffering, remained upon the Rhine. His wife, after having given birth to a daughter, followed him to Heidelberg, — the only place abroad in which the Russian Government would allow him to remain for any length of time. Dreadfully emaciated, he had become so weak that, with tottering steps, he was only able to walk for a few moments during the day under the shadow of the trees in front of his dwelling, and could only write with his pencil. In this pitiable condition, the command was again issued for his immediate return to Poland ! His wife instantly returned to Warsaw, to endeavor to have the order canceled. After the most untiring efforts she ob- tained its recall, but with the express understanding that permission to remain abroad was granted for the last time. Return was certain death, but as Russia knouts her own poets, she could scarcely be expected to attach any im- portance to the prolongation of the life of the noble Pole. The death of the stern Nicholas, in 1855, so far allevi- ated the position of Krasiński that his residence abroad was BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. 25 no longer bound by conditions so rigorous. The nomi- nation of his father as Governor of Poland gratified him exceedingly, so much the more as the appointment was received with general satisfaction by his countrymen. He tried the water-cure again at Kissingen in 1856, but he remained so ill and debilitated that during a period of ten months he was only able to move about by the aid of crutches. He spent the following winter in Paris, and was advised by his attending physician there to try sea- bathing the ensuing summer. But a heavy misfortune now fell upon him. Through the failure of the house Thurneissen, he lost not only a considerable portion of his own, but nearly the whole of his wife's property. As the old general greatly longed to see his son and grandchildren once more around him, Sigismund deter- mined to gratify the wishes of his father, although he was well aware that such a journey in his state of health would prove highly injurious to him. A new and deeper sorrow awaited him on his return to his native land: the death of his idolized daughter, Elizabeth. Utterly prostrated, he hastened to Heidelberg, to place himself under the advice of Dr. Chelius. He spent the remainder of that winter tortured by perpetual cramps and spasms. He also lost his beloved friend, Ary Scheffer. Dr. Walther, of Dresden, pronounced his lungs affected, and advised him to try Plombieres, from which trial, however, he derived no benefit. He also tried the springs at Ems, but with no better effect. He then returned to Dresden, to place himself under the immediate care of Dr. Walther : useless efforts ! The skillful physician saw at once the rapid ravages of the deadly disease, and could only advise Italy or Algiers. Krasiński, not satisfied with the advice of one physician, went to Dr. Louis, in Paris, for additional con- sultation, but, too timid to tell him the whole truth, that physician gave him so much encouragement that he re- soved to remain in that city. A new method of medical treatment was essayed, but at its very commencement his heart was again wrung by severe affliction. A telegraphic dispatch announced that his father was lying at the point of death. In consequence of his utter exhaustion, he was 3* 26 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. unable to hasten to the dying bed, and was forced to commit this tender duty to his wife, who fulfilled it so efficiently that she arrrived in time to close the dying eyes of Count Vincent Krasiński. The news of this death fear- fully shattered the sinking frame of Sigismund ; he with- drew from society, and was scarcely to be seen even by his most intimate friends. He tried to soothe his aching heart by preparing a sketch of his father's life for the Italian sculptor who was to execute the monument of General Krasiński, but was only able to bring it down to 1827. Meanwhile, he was constantly urged by his friends, who saw how rapidly he was declining, to seek a milder clime ; but he would not listen to their entreaties, and remained in Paris. He watched the course of political events with intense interest, and his soul was filled with divinations of important and widely-spread changes yet to be. His illness now suddenly assumed a form so marked that he at last became alarmed, and recalled to Paris his wife, who, at his request, had remained in War- saw to attend to the inheritance left him by his father. His three physicians agreed in the opinion that his days were numbered, and his wife saw on her return that there was no hope for the husband so dearly loved. The seal of death was indeed already upon him, and, after a painful struggle, lasting through ten entire days, his pure and immortal soul left his racked and suffering body during the night of the 23d to the 24th of Febru- ary, 1859. The coffin containing his mortal remains was placed temporarily in the Church of the Madeleine ; but later, accompanied by Count Zamoyiski, it was taken to Po- land, and at Opingora, the ancestral seat of the Kra- sinskis, his body found its final resting-place, surrounded by illustrious ancestors. And this is all our author, who evidently loved the subject of his biography, ventures to tell us of the inter- nal life of the man, of the exhausting conflict between filial veneration and duty and intense and glowing patriotism, forever surging through the soul of the sublime Poet. BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. 27 After a judicious analysis of the works of Krasiński, which we omit because the subject is more widely treated by the older and younger Mickiewicz, as well as by Julian Klaczko, our biographer continues : A fragment only has as yet appeared of an apparently large work, entitled "Cracow in 1858," which seems to be written in the style peculiar to this poet. A volume of extracts from his letters has also been published in Paris, under the supervision of one of his dearest friends, Constantine Gaszyński, under whose name Krasiński pub- lished "The Dawn." Poland venerates in him the distinguished author, the inspired poet, the sublime spirit, the brave man who knew how to sustain hope in adversity, and to quicken with new powers the sinking soul. The effort of his life was to attain moral perfection in his own being. But he rested not in this alone ; he strove, even through his own constant sickness and sorrow, to call it forth not only in individuals, but to make it the life-pulse of his en- tire nation ! The character of his works, and their mar- velous influence upon his countrymen, have justly entitled him to the rank of a truly National Poet. Every chord which as an individual he struck upon his lyre rang in ^ harmony with the desires, feelings, thoughts, and hopes of the Polish People. There certainly have been men on earth who could absorb into their own wider and deeper being all the thoughts, feelings, and hopes of their coun- try ; who were capable of fusing them in the glow of their own genius, and of bringing them forth in the clear light and close unity of art. Undoubtedly Krasiński takes a high, if not indeed the very highest, place among such rare national creators. Continually crushed under the weight of severe bodily afflictions, deeply wounded in heart, he took into his inmost soul the sad history of his People ; he felt it as his own anguish, and placed it as his peculiar seal upon everything he has written. Sin- cerity, truth, glow of sympathy, knowledge, nay, clear prophetic insight, were the strong rounds of the ladder by which he ascended to such glittering heights. Wher- ever his people still breathed, not yet crushed to dust under the merciless foot of the spoiler, there the Poet, 28 BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. raising his own sorrow-crowned head above the miseries of Time, gazed with the holy trust of the martyr far into the heavens, and " there saw God," divining with sacred pride and joy that Future which the Polish people see clearly revealed to them through their present agonies, and which their poets, in spite of chains, prisons, tor- ture, and exile, never cease to sing to them. In the vast world of thought and the wide regions of poetry there were no limits for Krasiński, and he reveled in that mystic freedom of art which was alike denied to himself and country in the sphere of politics. But no impurity ever sullies his noble pages, and what he wrote on politi- cal regeneration is already graven on the heart of the world. And yet he never once stooped to win popular ap- plause. Compared with the contemporary writers of Poland, he is especially distinguished by a nature not objectively, but essentially and spiritually poetic, which is stamped deeply upon all his writings. But his peculiar traits are not to be found in the rich gifts of an excitable fancy, wealth of imagery, charms of vivid description, or luxury of ever-varying combinations. They are to be looked for in a higher region, — in a love for justice, and a clear and far-reaching insight into truth, into its devel- opment in things yet to be, a power of so distinctly portraying the future that one is strongly disposed to characterize his works as "Apocalyptic." Known until now only as the "Anonymous Poet," he never sought literary fame, but concealed the good he was effecting as sedulously as others conceal shame. En- joying the love and esteem of his countrymen, blessed with a wife as high-souled as beautiful, and lovely chil- dren, surrounded by many and true friends, and in the possession of large property, he might have been re- garded as one highly favored by destiny. But health, that most inestimable of blessings, was denied him from youth until his last sigh ; and his heart was wrung by never-uttered sorrows. He was thus no friend to idle and useless amusements, and was seldom seen in the saloons of the gay world ; but he loved social inter- course with the friends whom he trusted, and it always BIOGRAPHY OF KRASIŃSKI. 29 gave him pleasure to converse upon the historical and philosophical questions of the day. Then would he open a mine of intellectual wealth, of original and striking views, of profound ideas, which, under more favorable circumstances, would have made him at least the equal of the statesmen of his time. Devout in the very depths of his soul, he shrank from no sacrifice for his family or friends, and was generous and magnanimous almost to prodigality. His own words, uttered in defense of the spirit of knighthood, are won- derfully appropriate to himself : " He burned, a never-consumed offering, upon the altar of his country." PREFACE. TRANSLATED FROM LADISLAS MICKIEWICZ, SON OF ADAM MICKIEWICZ, THE GREAT POLISH POET. Extracted from the French Edition of the Works of Krasiński. Polish Poetry, in the nineteenth century, stands in striking contrast with contemporary literature. While the latter has fallen under the corrupting influence of the schools, has proclaimed art for the sake of art, and volun- tarily restricted its empire to the mysteries of the worship of the Muses, the former has pursued another path, and Poetry has remained in Poland, what it ought ever to be in the heart of a great people, the vigorous and spon- taneous expression of the feelings and thoughts which constitute the spirit of the nation. From this common fund have the poets, or, to use their own language, the ' ' prophets' ' of Poland, drawn all their inspiration; and prophets they really are, for like tongues of fire they were given to their people to express all their hopes and all their agonies. They cling to a firm belief in the Resurrection of their Country, but no more than the patriotic feeling which en- genders it is this faith confined to themselves, for however irreconcilable it may seem with the actual fate of Poland, it is, nevertheless, found in all Polish souls impressed by an internal conviction far more powerful than the external evidence of the moment. Is it not indeed truly surprising to see this People, which, in the day of its greatest prosperity, and two centuries before its fall, had the fatal foreknowledge of that fall, 3i 9 PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. affirm with the same certainty, now when its ruin is con- summated, its approaching resurrection ? In this faith, opposed to nature and fact, is there not something re- sembling a pledge from Providence, something like a sacred promise made to the oppressed ? At least the poets have so understood it, and, confiding in this intuition, they have, in the absence of a terrestrial country, created an ideal one, the admission into which is only to be won by devotion and virtue. "To bea Pole Is to have noble aspirations and a flame divine." Thus the aim of the Polish poets was essentially national, but it would be a great error to deduce from this that the absorption of the genius of Poland in the sad mysteries of its own existence ever rendered it a stranger to the thoughts and interests of the West. So entirely would such a deduction be contrary to fact, that it is precisely through the intuitions of her poetical genius that the close union of the West and Poland — perhaps indeed the dependence of their mutual destiny — is most clearly revealed, the moral and intellectual life which animates both springing from the same sources, and the whole social organism being governed by the same necessities. The works of the Anonymous Poet bear the frequent stamp of this truth. They are full of important lessons even for the most prosperous peoples. We have placed ourselves in this double point of view in publishing these transla- tions. The alliance between France and Poland, con- secrated by blood, will be cemented by related ideas. We hope it will be fertile, for to it we owe that system of international justice, acknowledged by France, which is summed up in the principle of the nationalities. It is impossible to deny that the initiative in this movement belongs to the reclamations of Poland. However warped this principle may have been in Germany or elsewhere, it cannot be gainsaid that it constitutes a moral progress which will benefit all Europe. It may be reserved for the history of Poland under her present circumstances to introduce another motive-power, as yet too little heeded in public life, the principle of Duty PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. as the " primum mobile" of the State and of the citizen. Is not her martyrdom truly a constant appeal to the self- sacrifice of her sons, and to the fraternity of nations ? That the nationalities are really collective individuals, that each one has its part to play in the destiny of this world, and that the lesson to be taught by Poland is the guidance of governments by principles of abstract justice and duty, are favorite themes with the Anonymous Poet. He regards a nation as an entity differing from a merely politically constituted State ; the one being merely a human, the other a divine idea founded in the very nature of things. It is the duty of nations to translate the designs of God into the world of fact ; to incarnate them, to make them useful to the entire humanity. Such should be their aim and the purpose of their existence. Should they fail to fulfill their mission, should they betray it, they must perish as nations; but if they struggle for the truth, material force alone will not be able to repress their de- velopment ; their spirit must at last prevail, and they will rise into a higher life. From this -theory springs a system of political morals, not different from individual morality, nor parallel with it, but the same elevated to a higher degree. Applying these conclusions to the situation forced upon his coun- try, the Poet teaches her that hate is death to the spirit, and always strikes it with impotence. To struggle without relaxation is an absolute necessity, and he desires and urges it ; but let it be a constant com- bat of good against evil, of light with darkness ; let the love of God and man guide and support it, for such love is the pledge of victory ! Without an ardent desire that equal justice may be meted out to all, without Christian forgiveness and moral superiority, he sees only cham- pions of passion, or base gladiators in the wide arena. The future of Poland looms magnificently before him ; she is to resume her existence in the reconciliation of ex- tremes and antagonisms, in a reign of peace and happi- ness. He has no doubt of the progress of humanity, but he assigns, as its absolute condition, the reparation of one of the greatest crimes committed since the Death on Calvary, — the assassination of a Nation, the violent sup- 4 PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. pression by man of a thought of God ! He predicts a glorious resurrection to Poland, if she will faithfully guard the principle of life implanted in her, if, surrounded by hate, she can preserve herself from a moral fall. Such are the ideas which have presided over the crea- tion of all his works, and which he has interpreted with unequaled splendor. He endeavored to present his thought under two aspects: — the sterility of hate, dem- onstrated in "Iridion" and "The Undivine Comedy;" and the fertility of love, as illustrated in "The Dawn" and "The Psalms of the Future." We will attempt to give a rapid analysis of these poems. Iridion is a type of the man of antiquity in deadly combat with Fate. The descendant of an illustrious family, which had fought to the last for the independ- ence of Greece, he only lived to pursue victorious Rome with the implacable enmity which had been enjoined upon him by his ancestors. To aid him in the superhu- man task to which he had been consecrated from infancy, the intense hate of several generations had been occupied in gathering mighty resources for the hour of struggle. Wealth, influence, rank, relations with the barbarians, alliances with their leaders, etc., had all been skillfully prepared. He, in his own person, seemed created for such a role. To great vigor, manly beauty, and the en- trancing fascination of a demigod, he joined the inexora- ble heart of a hero. He knew neither pity nor weakness. He had left room in his soul for only one thought, one desire, — the destruction of Rome. Whatever this one passionate thought could conceive, he executed without recoiling from any sacrifice. On the other hand, the Eternal City, under the rule of Heliogabalus, was but a corpse, crushing with its inert weight all who sought to live. All was peril without and confusion within ; soci- ety was crumbling into ashes, and there was nothing to sustain it save the imperial power, formidable for all who feared it, but weak for those who defied it. Iridion found everywhere fit instruments of vengeance ; he op- pressed with the oppressors, and conspired with the conspirators. His indomitable energy urged on the conspiring and antagonistic elements to a gigantic and PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. decisive struggle, which he intended should terminate in their mutual destruction. A single force refused to be made use of to serve the hatred of Greece : the persecuted Christianity, which re- pelled all violence, and placed its sole hope in spiritual arms. Astonished at a resistance which he could not understand, he at first sought to subdue it, but, growing irritated, he moved too rapidly, and precipitated events. The outbreak took place, but brought not the anticipated results. Uniting in the name of their resentments, men often move together in the path of their own interests. Hatred, the savage sentiment of individual egotism, although it may be strong enough to unite men in a common action, is not sufficiently powerful when it be- comes necessary to exact obedience from them ! Helio- gabalus perished, but Rome endured. The efforts of the heroic leader, aided by many chances of exceptional success, miserably failed, because the whole enterprise was vitiated by the very idea which inspired it ! The tendency of the poem is still more fully unveiled in the epilogue. Introducing the supernatural into the web of the plot, the Poet transports Iridion into our own epoch, and shows him that very Rome which had op- pressed others, itself destroyed and degraded, — fallen as low as even his hate had dreamed it. But these black ruins do not glorify vengeance, for above them rises the Cross, the emblem of those Christians who had re- nounced the transitory supremacy of power to establish a reign of faith, charity, and forgiveness. And this Cross, which here appears as the synthesis of the Past, the Poet will once more bring before our eyes in glory, as the supreme hope of the world of the Present ! It will shine from the skies in sign of pardon and alliance, and, in seeing it, the guilty conqueror will say, " Galilee, vicisti!" and will be engulfed in his own nothingness! Such is the denouement of " The Undivine Comedy," in which the glowing imagination of the Anonymous Poet has traced the struggle which is to precede that apocalyptic day. Humanity, in "The Undivine Comedy, " is severed into two camps, under the leadership of two chiefs, PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. Count Henry and Pancras. Irreconcilable enemies, both having issued from a like critical spirit, the one repels the Future, the other the Past. This absolute exclusion is on both sides the fruit of an utter want of faith. Pan- cras is the personification of human reason, which deifies itself in its own essence, and believes only in finite calcu- lation, — in action as the result of the power of numbers. Count Henry also personifies human reason, which glori- fies itself, in his case, in his own individuality, denying all general laws, and, as a rule of conduct, bowing only to his individual fancies. If he believes in the cause which he defends, it is because he believes in himself, and when he is defeated, he despairs and rushes into sui- cide. He kills himself at the very moment that the God of Life has chosen to reveal Himself in the most striking manner to the conscience of the Peoples ! A feeling of astonishment is at first created by the fact that our author gives the victory to Pancras, the cynic and scorner, the unyielding antagonist of the truth whose triumph is announced. But this victory was necessary to demonstrate that in any struggle undertaken only with the arms of hate, the advantage is always assured to blind force. A still deeper design is also manifest. The de- feat of Pancras by Count Henry would have only resulted in the glorification of the genius of man ; and the inter- vention of the divine symbol, instead of originating an instantaneous reaction, would but have strengthened the pride of Count Henry, in such case, invincible. Now neither pride, nor genius, are the supreme arbiters of human destinies ! The onward path which in their free progress leads men to good, is the Good itself, and it alone, in which, according to the noble words of the Poet, all wisdom is contained ! Upon the perfecting of virtue and on its reign depend our salvation in this world and in the next. Triple and one, identical in its terms which cannot be separated, cause, means, and effect, that good is origin and life, divine order and immortality, for it is the universal bond which links the Spirit of every being to the Spirit of God. It proceeds in its manifesta- tions by order, harmony, love, and union, and is the woof in the work of the universe which, in the divine loom, PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. supports and unites the infinite threads of Creation : — threads which all move under its direction, and weft, to which every human effort must be attached, if fertile or imperishable results are to be evolved. Whosoever works otherwise, builds upon the sands ; striving to annul the labors of the centuries, he can found nothing true, real, or absolute ; the lightest wind will sweep away the build- ing reared by his ignorance and presumption. All the generous ardor with which such convictions in- spired our Poet, he wrought into the service of his cause in "The Psalms of the Future." Sublime Pleader! His nation in its agony was then ready to rush into measures of extremity, but, braving unpopularity, he started up at once to the defense of practical good sense and chivalric honor, against the madness of despair. In 1846, Galicia was mined with conspiracies, all of which had adopted the national flag as their symbol of order and rallying sign. Nevertheless, for some of the affiliated, this flag was to bear in its folds, not only the independence of their country, but also a violent and radical transformation of society. These radicals, while holding up the foreign usurpers to the indignation of the people, also doomed the higher classes of the Polish na- tion as accomplices in an oppression from which they, however, had been the first to suffer. The Government of M. de Metternich, though fully informed with regard to the insurrection, left free course to the democratic and socialistic propaganda, certain in advance that when the revolution did break out, it would fall exhausted by mutual destruction before reaching the Government, and that in a soil so torn and uprooted by internal convulsions, it would be easy to build a firmer foundation for Austrian power. The Anonymous Poet understood the danger, and di- vined the calculation of the Austrian Government ; he endeavored to avoid the peril, and disappoint Austria; and to effect this, he used the arms which his own genius placed in his hands, — that mastery of poetic form which stamped his words with so much authority ! He wrote the Psalms of Faith, of Hope, and of Love, and in them he made eloquent appeals to the heart, as well as to the political acumen of his fellow-citizens. He dernopstrated 4* 3 8 PREFACE O THE FRENCH EDITION. all that was false in their ideas, all that was culpable in their contemplated acts, dissuading them from their de- signs ; and then, rising to a majestic grandeur of concep- tion, he opened before them paths which would inevitably lead them to realize the highest ideal upon earth. But the passions of men were already unloosed, and nothing could arrest them. They found even an apologist in a man of genius and a rival of our Poet, who replied to him in poetic tones — a mingling of biblical prophecy and zealous polemics — " that all progress must be bought by blood, and that God renewed the face of humanity as He did that of the earth, by a series of deluges !" The contest of the two poets retains its celebrity among the literary glories of Poland, and we will find its last echo in the final scene of "The Fragment," which was not published until after the death of the author. The contest was still in progress, when the events them- selves assumed the reply. Truly it was not Poland, but the all-powerful administration of M. Bach, which rose from the massacres in Galicia ! Austrian domination triumphed materially and morally over its opponents, and seemed to realize the conditions which render a victory final. The ideas of the Anonymous Poet, slighted at a time when they would have insured success, were now confirmed in every conscience as a reproach or a regret. But the utter discouragement which pervaded all minds, joined to the conviction that repentance came too late, struck such regret with sterility. Alas ! hours of like prostration occur in the history of most nations ; hours of gloom and despair, when all that is still living lives only in the feeling of impotence and utter nothingness ! Such terrible trials are inevitable in the course of time; — probations which decide upon the life or death of a people, as it shall triumph over its despair or abandon itself to torpor ! .... The Anonymous Poet, always in the breach, felt it now his duty to react against this dis- couragement, and to use the moral authority he had gained through such tragical occurrences to waken the dormant energies of his compatriots. Under this con- viction, he published the " Psalms of Grief and of Good Willi" in which, through his ideal, he returns, tp hope. PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. — hope for Poland, whose immortality he never ceases to proclaim ! Especially is the last Psalm remarkable for its boldness of conception. In the very moment in which accumu- lated disasters bore his country to the earth, and the wretchedness of slavery consumed it like a leprosy, not suffering himself to be shaken by its apparent decomposi- tion and death, and looking far into the future, he points out how everything is preparing for and aiding in the Advent of Eternal Justice. Addressing himself to God, he thanks Him for all the benefits He had never ceased to bestow on Poland, and blessing His all-powerful Hand, he exclaims: "It is not Hope which we beseech from Thee, O Lord ! it falls upon us like a rain of flowers, — nor is it the destruction of our enemies: their doom is written on to-morrow's cloud ! It is not to break the gates of our grave : they are already broken, O our God ! Nor is it arms for the combat : they are already speeding on the tempests' w T ings ! Nor is it succor : Thou hast already oped for us the field of ac- tion, but in the midst of this explosion* of dire.events, we pray Thee, Lord, to purify our hearts ! Give us the gift of gifts : the Holy Will which opens every grave!" A faith so vast, so limitless, almost defying Heaven to disappoint it, could not be without influence over other souls. It ought to have elevated and inspired them, — and so indeed it really did. Therefore the Psalms are not regarded merely as a literary fact, but as a political event, which has its place marked in the National History. The Dawn was written several years before the Psalms. It is composed of a succession of lyrical pieces, in which we seethe constant development of the political and hu- manitarian ideal which had become, as it were, a religion to the Poet. This poem shadows forth the earth restored to the rule of harmony, which is its eternal law, and, after its deluge of blood and crime, blossoming anew under the eye of God. All the works of the Anonymous Poet are written in the spirit we have essayed to portray in this succinct analysis. He devoted himself to the development of these ideas, and * The Revolution of 1848. PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. to their introduction into the morals and life of his nation. The mere singer of the beautiful, the worshiper of the Muses, is elevated by him into sterner regions ; he uses the poetic powers to enforce moral convictions, profound thoughts, and conscientious patriotism. In other circum- stances, and under another government than that to which Poland is subjected, he would not have strung the lyre, but would have mounted the rostrum, and become the centre of political action. But neither rostrum nor po- litical life was possible for him upon his native soil. Through poetry alone could he popularize his conceptions by preserving their precision in the frame of an exquisite, imperishable, and easily-retained form : poetry is also the delight of the nation, whose woes are cradled in its magic, and whose soul palpitates in its divine accents, its lyric enchantment. Therefore he bowed his genius to the exac- tions of rhyme and rhythm. And never had he to com- plain that he had so done, for not only did he attain the proposed political aim, but he won a brilliant literary glory, only surpassed by that of Mickiewicz. Before closing this preface, one point remains to be glanced at, which would furnish material fora long devel- opment, a profound examination. The Anonymous Poet is ranked in Poland among her Catholic writers. It would be far more conformable with the truth to say that he pos- sessed a religious soul, for, with regard to the doctrines revealed in his works, it is very evident that there are wide gaps to fill and important theses to be cut off, before it would be possible reasonably to include them in any de- fined limits of the dogmas of the Church. At all events, a commentary would be required to establish their exact meaning and bearing. But if the judgment of the public upon this point is erroneous, it is because that public is more logical than the author himself. Without following him into his theosophic ideas, obscure even for those ac- customed to such studies, his readers became imbued with the moral side of his work, and seized upon its spirit, — a spirit which was soon to find its final form in Catho- licity, to which the author definitely returned toward the close of his life. This said, let the reader read and judge ! ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. EXTRACTED FROM " LES SLAVES," A COURSE OF LECTURES DELIV- ERED BEFORE THE COLLEGE OF FRANCE (1842-43), BY THE MOST RENOWNED MODERN POLISH POET, ADAM MICKIEWICZ. [In this very remarkable work, by Adam Mickiewicz, written in French, and which, by some strange oversight, has not yet appeared in English, no less than four lectures are devoted to a criticism upon " The Undivine (or Infernal) Comedy." The Essay of Julian Klaczko has been found so long and exhaustive, that it is the intention of the Trans- lator to give but a few condensed extracts from the analysis of Mickie- wicz. The whole course of Lectures is recommended to the reader, as full of information not elsewhere to be found ; and, although in the latter portion somewhat blemished by the elaboration of certain futile theories, containing a mine of brilliant, deep, and highly original thoughts. — Translator.] The word "Undivine" is used in preference to " Infernal" (the term employed in the French translation) as better expressing the relation of the drama to the " Divine Comedy" of Dante. The word is so appro- priate that its coinage may be pardoned. — EDITOR. It is my intention now to place before you the analysis of a very remarkable work which appeared in 1834, en- titled "The Undivine or Infernal Comedy. " I will not call this work a fantastic Drama, although it is now customary to give this name to all compositions in which the characters and scenes are not immediately derived from the world of prosaic reality. Utility and Reality are indeed the boast of our century; but what can be more variable, more contingent, than what we choose to call solid reality, — that visible and material world which is ever on the wing, which is always yet to be, and which has no Present? It is through the soul alone that we are able to seize the connections and rela- 41 4 2 ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. tions of the visible world ; it alone gives them fixity or reality; it alone generates ideas, institutions, litera- ture, — the only things truly real, the only things which penetrate the soul, become incorporated with it, and constitute the living traditions of the human race. Every work which causes the chords of souls to vibrate, which generates new views of life, must be considered real; and foreign writers render but justice to Polish Poetry in declaring it, so regarded, as very real ; — and there is nothing more palpitating in its strange actuality than the work we are now about to consider. The time, the place, the characters of "The Undivine Comedy" are all of poetic creation. The scene of the drama is laid in the future ; and, for the first time in the history of art, an author has attempted to construct a prophetic play, — to describe places, introduce persons, re- count actions which are yet to be. The struggle of the dying Past with the vigorous but immature Future forms the groundwork of the drama. The coloring is not local nor characteristic of any country in particular (though we recognize it to be Polish by the melancholy contrast felt rather than seen between the state of the nation and that of the individuals who compose it), because the truths to be illustrated are of universal application, and are evolving their own solution in all parts of the civil- ized world. The soul of the hero, Count Henry, is great and vig- orous ; he is by nature a poet. Belonging to the Future by the very essence of his being, he becomes disgusted with the debasing materialism into which its exponents, the new men, have fallen ; he then loses all hope in the possible progress of humanity, and is soon presented to us as the champion of the dying but poetic Past. But in this he finds no rest, and is involved in perpetual strug- gles and contradictions. Baffled in a consuming desire to solve the perplexing social and religious problems of the day by the force of his own intellect ; longing for, yet despairing of, human progress; discerning the im- practicability and chicanery of most of the modern plans for social amelioration; finding nowhere his ideal; he determines to throw himself into common life, — to bind ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 43 himself to his race by stringent laws and duties. The drama opens when he is about to contract marriage. The Angels desire to aid him, to open a way into the Future for him through the accomplishment of his du- ties; the Demons tempt him to embrace falsehood. Voice of the Guardian Angel. " Peace be to men of good will! Blessed is the man who has still a heart : he may yet be saved ! Pure and true wife, reveal thyself to him ! And a child be born to their House !" Thus the words once heard by the shepherds, and which then announced a new epoch to humanity, open the Drama. They are words spoken only to men of good will, — men who sincerely seek the truth, — who, in great or new epochs, are able to comprehend it, or willing to embrace it. The number of those who have preserved a heart during the excited passions of such eras is always very small, and without it they cannot be saved, for love and self-abnegation are the essence of Christianity. To instill new life and hope into the disappointed man, the Angel ordains that a pure and good woman shall join her fate with his, and that innocent young souls shall de- scend and dwell with them. Domestic love and quiet bliss are the counsel of the heavenly visitant. Immediately after the chant of the Angel, the voice of the Demon is heard seducing the Count from the safe path of humble human duties. The glories of the ideal realm are spread before him ; Nature is invoked with all her entrancing charms ; ambitious desires of terrestrial greatness are awakened in his soul ; he is filled with vague hopes of paradisiacal happiness, which the Demon whispers him it is quite possible to establish on earth. In the temptations so cunningly set before him by the Father of Lies, three widely-spread metaphysical systems are shadowed forth : 1st. The Ideal or Poetic ; 2d. The Pantheistic \ 3d. The Anthropotheistic, which deifies man. The vast symbolism of this drama is recom- mended to the attention of the reader. Abiding by the counsel of the Angel, our hero mar- ries, thus involving another in his fate. He makes a 44 ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. solemn vow to be faithful, in the keeping of which vow he takes upon himself the responsibility of the happiness of one of God's creatures, a pure and trusting woman, who loves him well. A husband and a father, he breaks his oath. Tempted by the phantom of a long-lost love, — the Ideal under the form of a maiden, — he deserts the real duties he has assumed to pursue this Ideal, — per- sonated indeed by Lucifer himself, and which becomes — true and fearful lesson for those who seek the infinite in the finite — a loathsome skeleton as soon as grasped! From the false and disappointing search into which he had been enticed by the Demon, he returned to find the innocent wife, whom he had deserted, in a mad-house. False to human duties, his punishment came fast upon the heels of crime. In the scene which occurs in bedlam, we find the key which admits us to the meaning of much of the sym- bolism of this drama. We accompany the husband into the mad-house to visit the broken-hearted wife, and are there introduced into our still-existing society, — formal, monotonous, cold, and about to be dissolved. Our hero had married the Past, a good and devout woman, but not the realization of his poetic dreams, which nothing could have satisfied save the infinite. In the midst of this strange scene of suffering, we hear the cries of the Future, and all is terror and tumult. This future, with its turbulence, blood, and demonism, is represented as existing in its germs among the maniacs. Like the springs of a volcanic mountain, which are always dis- turbed before an eruption of fire, their cries break upon us; the broken words and shrill shrieks of the madmen are the clouds of murky smoke which burst from the ex- plosive craters before the lava pours forth its burning flood. Voices from the right, from the left, from above, from below, represent the conflicting religious opinions and warring political parties of this dawning Future, already hurtling against those of the dissolving Present. Into this pandemonium, by his desertion of her for a vain ideal, our hero has plunged his wife, the woman of the Past, whom he had sworn to make happy. It is to be observed that she was not necessarily his inferior, but, ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 45 in the world of heart, superior to himself. A true and pure character, feeling its inferiority, and anxious to ad- vance, cannot long remain in the background ; it has sufficient power to attain the height of self-abnegating greatness. God sometimes deprives men of the strength necessary for action, but He never robs them of the faculty of progress, of spiritual elevation. Meanness and grovel- ing are always voluntary, and their essence is to resist superiority, to struggle against it : thus all the bitter reac- tions of the Past against the changes really needed for the development of the Future, spring from a primeval root of baseness. An admirable picture of an exhausted and dying society is given us in the person of the precocious, but decrepit child ; the sole fruit of this sad marriage. Destined from its birth to an early grave, its excitable imagination soon consumes its frail body. Nothing could be more exquis- itely tender, more true to nature, than the portraiture of this unfortunate but lovely boy. After the betrayal of our hero by his Ideal, the Guar- dian Angel again appears to him to give him simple but sage counsel : " Return to thy house, and sin no more ! Return to thy house, and love thy child t" But vain this wise advice ! As if driven to the desert to be tempted, we again meet our hero in the midst of storm and tempest, wildly communing with Nature, trying to read in her changeful phenomena lessons he should have sought in the depths of his own soul ; seeking from her dumb lips oracles to be found only in the fulfillment of sacred duties; for thus alone is to be solved the perplex- ing riddle of human destiny,— ' ' Peace to men of good will." Roaming through the wilderness, sad and hope- less, and in his despair about to fall into the gloomy and blighting sin of caring for no one but himself, he hears the angel, who once more chants to him the divine lesson that only in self-sacrificing love and lowly duties can the true path to the Future be found : "Love the sick, the hungry, the despairing! Love thy neighbor, thy poor neighbor, as thyself, and thou wilt be re- deemed !" 5 4 6 ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. The reiterated warning is given to him in vain. The Demon of political and warlike ambition then appears to him under the form of a gigantic eagle, whose wings stir him like the cannon's roar, the trumpet's call ; he yields to the temptation, and the Guardian Angel pleads no more ! He determines to become great, renowned, to rule over men : military glory and political power are to console him for the domestic ruin he has spread around him, in having preferred the delusions of his own excited imagination to the love and faith of the simple but tender heart which God had confided to him in the holy bond of marriage. The love and deification of self in the delu- sive show of military and political glory is the lowest and last temptation into which a noble soul can fall, for indi- vidual fame is preferred to God's eternal justice, and men are willing to die, if only laurel-crowned, with joy and pride even in a bad cause. In the third part of the comedy we are introduced into the "new world." The old world, with its customs, prejudices, oppressions, charities, laws, has been almost destroyed. The details of the struggle, which must have been long and dreadful, are not given to us; they are to be divined. Several years are supposed to have passed between the end of the second and the beginning of the third part ; and we are called to witness the triumphs of the victors, and the tortures of the vanquished. The character of the "idol of the people" is an admirable conception. All that is negative and destructive in the revolutionary tendencies of European society is skillfully seized upon and incarnated in a single individual. His mission is to destroy. He possesses a great intellect, but no heart. He says: "Of the blood we shed to-day, no trace will be left to-morrow " In corroboration of this conception of the character of a modern reformer, it is well known that most of the projected reforms of the present century have proceeded from the brains of logi- cians and philosophers. This man of intellect succeeds in grasping power. His appearance speaks his character. His forehead is high and angular, his head is entirely bald, his expression cold and impassible, his lips never smile, — he is of the same ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 47 type as many of the revolutionary leaders during the French reign of terror. His name is Pancras, which name, from the Greek, signifies the union of all material or brute forces. It is not by chance he received that name. The profound truth in which this character is conceived is also manifested in his distrust of himself, in his hesita- tion. As he is acting from false principles, he cannot deceive himself into that enthusiastic faith with which he would fain inspire his disciples. He confides in Leonard because he is in possession of that precious quality. His monologue is very fine ; perhaps it stands next in rank to that of Hamlet. It opens to us the strange secrets of the irresolution and vacillation which have always characterized the men who have been called upon by fate alone to undertake vast achievements. In proof of this, it is well known that Cromwell was anxious to conceal the doubts and fears which constantly harassed him. It was those very doubts and fears which led him to see and re-see so frequently the dethroned Charles, and which at last drove the conscience-stricken Puritan into the sepul- chre of the- decapitated king, that he might gaze into the still face of the royal victim whose death he had himself effected. Did the sad face of the dead calm the fears of the living? It is well known that Danton addressed to himself the most dreadful reproaches. Even at the epoch of his greatest power, Robespierre was greatly annoyed because he could not convince his cook of the justice and perma- nence of his authority. Men who are sent by Provi- dence only to destroy, feel within them the worm which gnaws forever: it constantly predicts to them, in vague but gloomy presentiments, their own approaching destruc- tion. A feeling of this nature urges Pancras to seek an inter- view with his most powerful enemy, the Count; he is anxious to gain the confidence of his adversary, because he cannot feel certain of his own course while a single man of intellectual power exists capable of resisting his ideas. In the interview which occurs between the two antagonistic leaders of the Past and Future, the various questions which divide society, literature, religion, phi- 4 8 ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE CO MED 1 . losophy, politics, are discussed. Is it not a profound truth that in the real world also mental encounters always precede ?naterial combats ; that men always measure their strength, spirit to spirit, before they meet in external fact, body to body ? The idea of bringing two vast systems face to face through living and highly dramatic personifica- tions is truly great, suggestive, and original. But as the Truth is neither in the camp of Pancras nor in the feudal castle of the Count our hero, the victory will profit neither party ! The opening of the last act is exceedingly beautiful. No painter could reproduce on canvas the sublime scenery sketched in its prologue; more gloomy than the pictures of Ruysdael, darker than those of Salvator Rosa. Before describing the inundation of the masses, our author natu- rally recalls the traditions of the Flood. The nobles, the representatives of the Past, with their few surviving ad- herents, have taken refuge in their last stronghold, the fortress of the Holy Trinity, securely situated upon a high and rocky peak overhanging a deep valley, surrounded and hedged in by steep cliffs and rocky precipices. Through these straits and passes once howled and swept the waters of the deluge. As wild an inundation is now upon them, for the valley is almost filled with the living surges of the myriads of the " New Men," who are rolling their millions into its depths. But everything is hidden from view by an ocean of heavy vapor, wrapping the whole landscape in its white, chill, clinging shroud. The last and only banner of the Cross now raised upon the face of the earth streams from the highest tower of the Castle of the Holy Trinity; it alone pierces through and floats above the cold, vague, rayless heart of the sea of mist, — naught save the mystic symbol of God's love to man soars into the unclouded blue of the infinite sky ! After frequent defeats, after the loss of all hope, the hero, wishing to embrace for the last time his sick and blind son, sends for the precocious boy, whose death-hour is to strike before his own. I doubt if the scene which then occurs has, in the whole range of fiction and poetry, ever been surpassed. This poor boy, the son of an insane mother and a poet-father, is gifted with supernatural facul- ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVI'NE COMEDY. 49 ties, with second or spiritual sight. Entirely blind, con- sequently surrounded by perpetual darkness, it mattered not to him if the light of day or the gloom of midnight was upon the earth ; and in his rayless wanderings he had made his way into the dungeons, sepulchres, and vaults which were lying far below the foundations of the castle, and which had for centuries served as places of torture, punishment, and death for the enemies of his long and noble line. In these secret charnel-houses were buried the bodies of the oppressed, while in the haughty tombs around and above them lay the bones of their oppressors. The unfortunate and fragile boy, the last scion of a long line of ancestry, had there met the thronging and com- plaining ghosts of past generations. Burdened with these dreadful secrets, when his vanquished father seeks him to embrace him for the last time, he shudderingly hints to him of fearful knowledge, and induces him to follow him into the subterranean caverns. He then recounts to him the scenes which are passing before his open vision among the dead. The spirits of those who had been chained, tortured, oppressed, or victimized by his ancestors appear before him, complaining of past cruelties. They form a mystic tribunal to try their old masters and oppressors ; the scenes of the dreadful Day of Judgment pass before him; the awe-struck and loving boy at last recognizes his own father among the criminals ; he is dragged to that' fatal bar, he sees him wring his hands in anguish, he hears his dreadful groans as he is given over to the fiends for torture, — he hears his mother's voice calling him above, but, unwilling to desert his father in his anguish, he falls to the earth in a deep and long fainting fit, while the wretched father hears his own doom pronounced by that dread but unseen tribunal : "Because thou hast loved no- thing but thyself, revered nothing but thyself and thine own thoughts, thou art damned to all eternity f 1 It is true this scene is very brief, but, rapid as the light- ning's flash, it lasts long enough to scathe and blast; — breaking the darkness but to show the surrounding horror, to deepen into despair the fearful gloom. Although of bald and severe simplicity, it is sublime and terrible. It is so concise that our hearts actually long for more, un- 5* 5 o ANALYSIS OF THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. willing to believe in the reality of the doom of that ghostly tribunal. It repeats the awful lessons of Holy Writ, and our conscience awakes to our own deficiencies, while the marrow freezes in our bones as we read. Nor is the close of the drama less sublime. Because the Truth was neither in the camp of Pancras nor in the Castle of the Count, IT appears in the clouds to con- found them both. After Pancras has conquered all that has opposed him — has triumphantly gloated over his Fourieristic schemes for the material well being of the race whom he has robbed of all higher faith — he grows agitated at the very name of God when it falls from the lips of his confidant, Leon- ard: the sound seems to awaken him to a consciousness that he is standing in a sea of blood, which he has himself shed ; he feels that he has been nothing but an instrument of destruction, that he has done cei-tain evil for a most uncertain good. All this rushes rapidly upon him, when, on the bosom of a crimson sunset cloud, he perceives a mystic symbol, unseen save by himself : " The extended arms are lightning flashes ; the three nails shine like stars," — his eyes die out as he gazes upon it, — he falls dead to the earth, crying, in the strange words spoken by the apos- tate Emperor Julian with his parting breath, "Vicisti Galilee V* Thus this grand and complex drama is really consecrated to the glory of the Galilean ! Nothing more intensely melancholy than this poem has ever been written. The author could only have been born in a country desolated for ages ! Therefore this drama is eminently Polish. The grief is too bitter to express itself oratorically. Its hopeless perplexity of woe has also its root in the character and depth of the truths therein de- veloped. The poet-hero aspires for the Future; it dis- appoints him ; — he then grasps the dying Past, because, as he himself says, " God has enlightened his reason, but not warmed his heart.' ' His thoughts and feelings cannot be brought into harmony. The tortures and agonies of struggling with pressing but insoluble questions are not manifested in artistic declamations, in highly-wrought phrases, nor in glowing rhetorical passages proper for citation. The Drama is as prosaic and bitter as life itself ; ANALYSIS OF THE UNI) I VINE COMEDY. 51 as gloomy as death and judgment ! The style is one of utter, nay, bald, simplicity. The situations are merely in- dicated ; and the characters are to be divined, as are those of the living, rather from a few words in close connection with accompanying facts, than from eloquent utterances, sharp invectives, or bitter complaints. There are no highly-wrought amplifications of imaginative passions to be found in its condensed pages, but every word is in itself a drop of gall, reflecting from its sphered surface a world of grief, — of voiceless agony 1 The characters are not fleshed into life ; they pass before us like shadows thrown from a magic lantern, showing only their profiles, and but rarely their entire forms. Flitting rapidly o'er our field of vision, they leave us but a few lines ; but so true are the lines to nature, so deeply significant, that we are at once able to produce from the shifting and evanescent shadows a complete and rounded image. Thus we are enabled to form a vivid conception of all who figure in these pages ; we know the history of their past, we divine the part they will play in the future. We know the friends; the stilted godfather with his stereotyped speeches; the priest, in whom we recognize an admirable sketch, the original of which could only be found in a decomposed and dying society. Our author also stigmatizes the medical art of our day as. a science of death and moral torture. While the an- guished father tries to penetrate the decrees of Providence, and in his agony demands from God how the innocent and helpless infant can have deserved a punishment so dread- ful as the loss of sight, the doctor admires the strength of the nerves and muscles of the blue eyes of the fair child, at the same time pedantically announcing to his father that he is struck with total and hopeless blindness ! Im- mediately after the annunciation of this fearful sentence, he turns to the distressed parent to ask him if he would like to know the name of this malady, — that in Greek it is called afiaupcu the Poet only asks the final gift : a will which knows no recourse save to holy acts when extreme temptations come. • . . " To-day, O Lord, when Thy judgment begins upon the two thousand years through which Christianity has already existed, grant us, O Lord, to resuscitate ourselves only through the power given by Thee to holy acts!" This prayer returns, through varied intervals, in this sub- lime Psalm, through which the rhythm flows majestically slow as some vast organ's chords ; it falls upon the ear at most unexpected moments, and is yet always admirably prepared, brought back rather by the musical enchainment of the thought than by its logical development ; recalling the contexture of a fugue of Bach, and producing the same magical effect. The hymn is closed by a marvelous picture of Catholic sentiment. The veneration in which the Mother of Christ has always been held by Poland is well known to the world. Our Poet represents the heavenly Mother pleading to the Son for His faithful servants ; offering before Him a chalice in either hand, one contain- ing the blood of the Saviour of men, the other that of the martyred nation. Lord, look upon Thy Mother ! Look, O Lord ! Surrounded by Thy ransomed souls she mounts To Thee, through the immensities of space; And as she passes, all the stars bow down, The whirling forces of the universe THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Are charmed into a sudden tenderness. Borne upward by the pale and misty Shades Of our own martyrs, now she cleaves the Blue, Crosses the Milky-Ways, and leaves the suns behind; Higher and higher still she ever mounts, And whiter, more resplendent still she grows. Look on her, Lord ! See her as low she kneels Before Thy throne, midst all Thy Seraphim. Upon her forehead burns the Polish crown, Her azure mantle sweeps the depths of space, Tissued of rays of light. The spheres are still, And wait Thy word ! With gentle voice she prays ; Behind her weep the spirits of our sires ; In either hand she holds a chalice up. . . . O Lord, 'tis Thine own blood she here presents In the cup which she holds high in her right hand ! And lower — in the left, — O, lower far, — Thou knowest, Lord, — the blood of those who loved thee, — Of Thine own faithful subjects, crucified Upon a thousand crosses ! The blood which flows Unceasingly beneath a triple sword, Upon three realms which yet are but one country / . . . In the name of the Holy Cup which overflows With Thine own love, she prays Thy mercy for The chalice which is lower — lower far, — - She prays for us, — Father, and Spirit, Son ! She prays for us, and we all pray with her, That Thou wouldst grant the grace of every grace ! It is not Hope that we implore from Thee : It falls upon us like a rain of flowers. — Nor is it Death on our oppressors' heads : Their doom is written on to-morrow's clouds. — Nor is it power to rise from our red graves : The stone unrolled, we have already risen. — Nor is it arms to meet our enemies : The tempests bear them to us on the winds. — Nor is it aid ; the field of action opes Before us now, and we must aid ourselves. — But as to-day Thy judgment has commenced On the two thousand years already lived By Christianity, O grant us, Lord, A holy will ! O Father, Son, and Spirit, a good will ! The hymn of the " Good Will" was the last of the Psalms of the Poet ; we might even say it was the last of his songs. He raised his voice only once more in his "Resurrecturis, M in which he seemed to endeavor to gather together, as in a final chord, all his ideas upon sacrifice, to recommend them to the nation, — after which he was 128 POLISH POETRY IN silent. The Nation was silent with him ; she ruminated long upon the thoughts evolved in "Iridion," "The Dawn," and the "Psalms" ; she thoroughly impregnated herself with them; she entered upon a career of painful and obscure labors for which she may perhaps be some day compensated, but which for the time only thickened around her the shroud of forgetfulness in which she was wrapped. The greatest events passed without in the least changing her lot; even the Crimean war did not call her upon the scene of action, and in the midst of so many Peo- ples making their names resound, or recovering them, she rested long mute and ignored. She became, like her Poet, " anonymous /" During this time, the author of the "Psalms" died in a foreign land, and there was nothing, even to this untimely end, which did not bear the seal of the tragic destiny which, with its weight of lead, pressed to the very earth the whole of this mournful and pained existence. An old man, an old and brave soldier, had just expired in the midst of the indifference of his com- patriots, — an indifference which was indeed only gener- osity ; and if the nation deigned to give a single thought to the event, it was of the respite which this death might give to the tortured life of a son who had been ever faith- ful to his country. But the fatal tie uniting these two lives was not to be broken even by death; a violent ill- ness seized the Poet, and he perished but three months after he had lost his father. He died in Paris, the 24th of February, 1859, — and Silence only came to seat herself upon his grave ! To borrow the picturesque expression of a celebrated Polish writer : "A great genius went to heaven, and in his flight he did not brush the earth, even with his shadow !" A like silence reigned over another tomb, wider and deeper far, which was called Poland ; but on a day more than a year ago the three monarchs of the North agreed upon the "interview of Warsaw," which, rightly or wrongly, the liberal opinion of Europe regarded as the point of departure of a new holy alliance ; it was said this interview was especially directed against Italy, and the gen- eral tendencies of the West. At this news Poland trembled. The Nation, so long buried in its own grief, in its internal THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 129 toil, shook off its shroud, and sprang from its inaction. And is it known what was the signal of this sudden Polish life ? It was a funeral mass celebrated upon the same day in all the churches of the country for the repose of the souls of three poets : Mickiewicz ; the author of the "Psalms"; and Słowacki. A pious thought of love and concord thus strove to re- unite before God, and in the general mourning of their fellow-men, the two great adversaries who had been for a long time friends, placing above them both the great master, — "the immortal Waidelote" Soon after came the day in which the people of Warsaw rose ; rose without arms, bearing only the cross and Polish flag in their hands: "They gave no death, but they received it;" and when the Ruler, frightened at an at- titude so new, demanded what they wanted, they replied : " Our Country.* ' Then must the great spirit of the singer of "Resurrec- turis" have leaped for joy. The Ideal he had dreamed was now Reality ; and the Poetry which had remained so long anonymous was now signed by the name of an entire People. I THE "FRAGMENT," OR UNFINISHED POEM. INTRODUCTION. Mountains in the neighborhood of Venice. Sunrise. Ali- ghieri and the Young Man, both in hunting costume, are seated upon a rock. The Young Man. Look, friend, in what glowing purple the god of day ascends ! Ah ! if man were thus born, and could thus extend his dominion over earth ! Look ! How that last dim star is dying out ! It is said to be the fate of the heart thus to die, consumed in the flames of genius ! Rise ! Rise, O Sun ! Shine down into these depths still tenanted by darkness ; throw thy glittering bridges of rainbows from bank to bank across the white torrents ! How fresh is the air ! I feel so strong, I see so far, my sight is so clear and piercing, I know I shall not miss a single shot to-day. The poor chamois brows- ing there upon that dizzy cliff will not live till noon ! Dost thou not hear ? The shrill horns of our hunters re- echo through the pines of the mountain. Come ! let us go ! Alighieri. I will remain here. Young Man. Alighieri, what is the matter with thee to-day ? Thou hast scarcely spoken to me since sunset. When we began to climb these rocks at midnight, in silence didst thou skirt the precipices, using thy hand only to point out to me their dangers ; and now when the chase is about to begin, when the trees shiver with the bayings of our dogs, when the earth, the rocks, and my 131 132 THE "FRAGMENT." spirit tremble with eagerness, thou hesitatest and hast no desire to accompany us! Alighieri. Knowest thou not this is the hour in which I am accustomed to pray to God? Young Man. Then I will wait for thee. Alighieri. Knowest thou not that I am wont to pray to the Lord only in solitude? Young Man. Then tell me at what time I shall return for thee. Alighieri, Thou wilt find me this evening in the same place. Young Man. I wish to Heaven thou wouldst accom- pany me ! Come ! I cannot fire aright without thee. We will mount that naked peak where crystals form and chamois bound. The hunters say the whole world can be seen from that point : come ! Alighieri, The whole world may be seen from here also ! Young Man. How ? Alighieri. By closing our eyes, and humbling our spirits before the Lord ! Young Man. Hark ! again they wind the horn. Adieu ! Now on, on ! over these abysses, and up those heights, — up — up, among the clouds ! I am sorry from my heart, Alighieri, that thou wilt not come with me. Alighieri, Bend not thus over the precipice, — hold by the branches ! I can still see, — I see thee, — turn not to- wards me, — take care there on the edge of the waterfall ! He hears me no longer. He flies like a bird, scarcely touching earth. In the dawn of existence, the child, agile, light and careless, sports like the spirits whom Death will approach no more. But they know the mysteries of being, and he has scarcely wakened to the consciousness of life ! As the ether which fills the infinite may condense into dark masses, form brilliant suns, or float as light vapor on through space, — so may he become all or nothing ; the Elect of Heaven, or the prey of Hell ! {He raises his hands in prayer?) Merciful Father ! Thy ways on earth have in our days grown obscure ! Thy face is veiled in clouds ! Men INTR OD UCTION. 133 seek thee anew, and cannot find Thee ! But even now Thou risest upon the horizon ; Thou increasest ! Why do they gaze forever into the heights of Heaven ? Ah, if they would but look toward their own horizons ! Heavenly Father ! this moment of transition is for their eyes a fearful twilight ; for their thoughts a dread- ful temptation ; and for their hearts a terrible grief! If Thou shortenest it not, many of them must perish ! (He kneels.} I pray to Thee, Lord, for him whose soul Thou hast committed to my charge. Graciously listen to the testi- mony I bear Thee of him ! Unconsciously, but without ceasing, his soul strives to break a way to Thy Heaven ! The germ of all beauty, a spark from Thee, burns in its depths, but the body, like a thick veil, wraps it on all sides. The spirit over which I watch still seeks Thee through this fog, O Lord ! . . . He knows not yet, O God, that thou art also present within himself ; Thou whom he sees above him, whom he acknowledges below him ; Thou who art everywhere ! Pardon him then, Lord, if he languishes for Thee ! Behold, Lord, I am sad even unto death, for the mo- ments of his innocence are passing away, — soon must his heart be torn by the struggle ofOood and Evil, — the sole but bitter source of virtue ! Remember me, Lord ! Show Thy mercy upon me, by showing Thy pity upon him ! (He bows his forehead to the earth. ) Merciful Father ! I do not pray Thee to remove from his path any of the cares of life ! I know that, like all the exiles upon earth who through this world return to Thee, he, too, must pass through the probation of evil when the hour of temptation sounds ! Thy will be done ! Strike him with the scourge of grief, that he may be humbled among men ; let them load him with chains, let his body suffer martyrdom, if Thou wilt only spare him the shame of baseness and save him from the eternal night of the soul ! Let me warn him in these last, fleet- ing moments ! Let this night obey me ! When in Thy name I shall command it, let the winds of the valleys and the mists of 12* THE "FRAGMENT! the torrents gather round me, that I may form them into ephemeral figures, and breathe my thoughts into a Dream which will only live until to-morrow's dawn ! But in it will be Thy Eternal Truth and the transitory truth of this world ! And he whom I love will one day remember Thy Eternal Truth, — and thou wilt save him, Lord ! {Long silence.} Young Man (re-entering). What is this? Still in the same place, under the same pine, and still at prayer ? Give me thy hand ! Rise, Alighieri ! Alighieri. Thou, Henry ! So soon returned ? Young Man. Thou dreamest ! Did I not leave thee at sunrise? and now that sun sinks in the west, behind the crest of yonder rocks. " So soon," indeed ! Since I left thee, I have thrice crossed the glacier of Hewal- dyne, been on the very summit of the mountain, and to the very foot of this ravine. Thrice have I wound the horn ; thou must have heard it ! Alighieri. True ; it is already sunset ! Young Man. Has the day, then, passed away like a moment for thee? Alighieri. Happy he whose life thus flows ; he lives in eternity ! What has happened to thee, Henry? What means this blood upon thy breast and on the handle of thy knife ? Young Man. Alighieri, a little more, and I must have perished ! This is not the blood of a bounding roe or innocent chamois. I will tell thee all as we wend our way below, for I sent the hunters on in advance, and we must hasten if we would overtake them before night-fall. Alighieri. I will listen as I follow thee. Young Man. Hearken, then, and I will tell thee all. I fire upon a chamois ; it falls and rolls to the bottom of a precipice. I call my Tyrolese, show them the spot, but they see nothing. Consequently, I must descend myself to find my prey. Three of them follow me ; we make a long, winding descent, ever lower and lower, until we reach a dense wood, a thick forest of pines. But as we advance we observe something moving in the thicket be- INTR OD UCTION. 135 fore us, within range of our bullets, — it may be a deer, a stag. I look eagerly towards it, but in my haste have forgotten to reload my gun. I seize a cartridge, but in this very moment a bear starts from the thicket, stops, and scents the air. Ah ! he has discovered us ! My men instantly fire upon him ; their balls only graze his hide ; rising and roaring, he rushes upon us ! They, crying loudly upon me to follow, take to flight. Still shouting as long as breath lasts them, they climb upon the branches of a tall pine. I know not why I remain alone ; what possible glory can a man achieve in a wild struggle with a beast? I know not why I was ashamed to run. But my fathers never fled, whether before the wild beast or upon the field of battle ! I throw away my gun, rapidly tear my knife from my belt, — it is time, for the velvety king of the forests is already upon my breast. As if he were human, he clasps me in his arms ; he buries his claws in my quivering flesh ! I strike him instantly .in the breast ; it avails not, and again I strike him ! He topples over at the third blow, bears me with him to the earth, and lies heavy and dead upon me. Throwing a glance of con- tempt at my hunters, I leave the skin of my victim to them in memory of their cowardice. Alighieri. The Lord has saved thee ; hast thou ren- dered thanks to him ? Young Man. Not in words, but truly from my heart. When I rose, shaking off the bear, and glad to find my- self still living, I lifted my hands gratefully to Heaven. Alighieri. There are moments in which the Lord ex- acts no more. Young Man. It is strange that I feel no weariness ; I am as fresh as I was at sunrise. Look, Alighieri, how rapidly we descend. We cannot now be far from the dwellings of man, for here is a young girl passing near us. Ha ! good-evening, my Beauty ! Do you not hear me ? What do you fear ? Do stay, and give me the lily you bear in your hand ! The Young Girl (in passing). I will not give it t< you, but to the other ! Young Man. And wherefore ? 136 THE "FRAGMENT." The Young Girl. Because he looks like the white angel which stands on our great altar to the right of the Mother of God; but you do not belong to this country, have never been in our church, and so have never seen our angel ! (To Alighieri.) Good-evening ! I pray you, sir, accept these flowers ! Alighieri. Thanks, my child. May you be happy ! Young Man. I suppose, then, I must be very ugly, fair maiden ? The Young Girl. You too are beautiful, but not like our angel ! {She passes on.) Young Man. Give me the half of those flowers ; I will keep them in memory of the fact that this simple young girl felt the same impression which I experienced the first time I saw thee. What she says is true, — very true, — and it is not only thy face which is so much finer than mine, but thy high soul, Alighieri. Dost thou remember the hour in which we first met ? It is as present to me as if it had been but yesterday. Alighieri. To me too, Henry, for in that hour I be- came thy friend. Young Man. Yes, I still see the old building in whose halls a thousand of my companions sat, and the professors who instructed us from their high desks. I see the wind- ing staircase and its embrasure, with its steps of stone, on which thou first appearedst to me: — am I not right? I was a proud boy, though still a mere child and very feeble. I had just left my father's house, and was passing through the throng of students, with pride upon my brow, for I felt they hated me, though I knew not why. They crowded round me, they pressed against me, they nearly stifled me, they shouted " the little aristocrat/' — as if I ought to blush because I had more than one ancestor who had given his life for his country and the church in which he was to repose ! O God ! then first was hell born in my infant breast ! I clung to the balustrade of iron while they pulled me down by my hands, my feet, and the folds of my mantle. Perhaps I should have rolled under their feet hadst thou not then appeared : thou descendedst from above, as pale, as slight, as thou art to day, but thine eyes INTRODUCTION, 137 flashed fire ! No one knew thee, but they must have seen thee from time to time and remembered the expression of thy brow. Thou gavest a cry ; and they fell from me like dead leaves ! Give me thy hand, Alighieri ! Ah ! I can never, never forget that moment ! Alighieri. Thou mayst forget it, Henry; but never forget the words then spoken to thee, and the first I ever addressed to thee ! Young Man. Ah ! I still feel thee embrace me ; I still hear thy voice : "They are unjust. Thou must be more than just ; pardon them in thy soul, and love them in thy deeds ! M Then we descended together, and as thou passedst through them, thou repeatedst, with a tran- quil voice : " Shame ! shame !" Alighieri. And since that hour we have been insepar- able ! Young Man. And will be until death ! for since that hour I have felt thee my superior ; therefore is it I so love thee. Alighieri. Thou sayest : " even until death* ' ? Young Man. Yes. Alighieri. But I must die before thee. Young Man. Sadden not this tranquil hour with a pre- sentiment so dark ! Rather let us with full eyes drink in this softened light ; with full breasts breathe this balmy air, perfumed by mountain roses. Look at the last rays of light upon those peaks of snow, at that star rising above yon crest of rocks ; the smile of God is upon us, — and thou with me — and I with thee, — what would we more ? Alighieri. I must, however, repeat it : I will die before thee. Young Man. Nay, thou art not kind ! Thou knowest my father is already dead, — my mother and sister sleep in the grave, — many of those among whom I grew up left me long, long ago, — their graves ache for me in our poor and distant country ! I am alone — the last of my race, — and thou wilt abandon me, — thou too, Alighieri ! Thou wilt go there, where it is happier to be ; thou wilt not remain with me? No, oh, no, Alighieri ! Alighieri. I feel a germ of death in my breast ; but canst thou only love the living ? My spirit will not die THE "FRAGMENT." in thee because my body leaves thee. In every heart into which it passes thought takes new life ! That for which I have prayed, which I have desired, thou wilt accomplish, — and I have desired that thou shouldst be a hero among men, an angel among the celestial spirits ! Looking upon these mountains in this glowing light, this lovely sky, these trembling stars, wouldst thou not be glad to stay the course of time? Thou exclaimest, "How beautiful!" But, Henry, think what a miracle in this world a soul would be which no mortal could see without crying : " How beautiful ! M Give such a bliss to thy Brothers ! Be in their midst a Master-Work ! Young Man. Art thou thus expressing to me thy last wishes? Cease, Alighieri, cease! I cannot bear it I With a breath thou hast dimmed for me the transparency of these bright skies ; a veil is darkening before my eyes ; — speak ! Where are we ? What can this mean ? Were we not already near the valley ? When at day-break this morning we passed this place together, I saw somewhere here, upon our right, a cross, — what can have become of it ? Alighieri. Follow me ! Young Man. Knowest thou this place better than I do ? But look, friend, the moon rises, and she will solve this mystery. Alighieri. That is well. Let us wait. Young Man. By the living God, the more light we have the more does this country seem utterly unknown to me ! If these mists would only disperse ! — there — far — far below — is a road which seems to whiten. No — it is only a belt of fog across the plain. Ho ! Halloo ! Is there no one there below us ? Halloo ! Answer ! I will fire my gun ; perhaps some one will hear it. Alighieri. The mountains hear and reply. Young Man. Yes, in a voice of thunder. I cannot imagine how it is possible we could have gone so far astray. It seems to me we have never ceased to advance in the right direction, and yet these rocks seem doubling around us. The very sky has changed ; an ocean of cloud INTRODUCTION. 139 surges up through the ravine ! It glitters like a motion- less glacier ! On this side now the vapors rise ; they blind, they stifle me ! My head reels ! I can almost feel the dark- ness ! Look, Alighieri ! The moon mounts higher, but tawny and ghastly is her light, painful to look at, and more perplexing than the darkness ! Alighieri, I cannot extricate myself from this chaos ! Alighieri. Why, then, dost thou linger? Follow me ! Young Man. Down this steep, narrow gorge to our left? Alighieri. Such is my inspiration. Young Man. Lead me as thou wilt ! I will follow, seek, wind, climb down below, — do all thou mayst de- sire ! But all will be in vain ; we are lost, and can do nothing but wander about until the dawn of day. I have never seen so strange, so wild, a night. To find the way now, one must be the supreme master of these solitudes, or the chamois which rule these rocks ! Ho ! Where art thou ? Answer ! Alighieri. Here ! Near thee ! Young Man. This bewildering fog ! It rises now di- rectly under my feet ; it darkens my sight ; I cannot see thee ! Ha ! now it breaks, it sails above and joins its sister bands on high ! Look, Alighieri ! Is that not an old, long-bearded king upon his throne, his sceptre in his hand ? After him comes an immense serpent — no — rather a dragon — no — now it is a cherub with four great wings. Look down there ! Oh, far, far down, in the intervale among the rocks ! there throngs a whole nation of spirits, hastening to the Last Judgment ! Alighieri, what is this before me ? Against what have I bruised myself? Alighieri. It is the gateway of an ancient cemetery. Young Man. Look at the moon ! It burns like a pale purgatory of souls above the graves where their bodies rest. But a moment ago I was so strong, so fresh, light as the air, and now I am so weary, — so ill at ease, — and I know not how nor why, unless the old dead here have cast their spells upon me ! If I do not sit down upon this stone I believe I will fall asleep. THE "FRAGMENT." Alighieri. Lean upon me, Henry. Young Man. Yes, — for my eyelids close ; — I must rest here ! Alighieri. Come but a few steps farther: only as far as this White Chapel. Young Man. I will. We will be more quiet under its roof than out here in the open air. Alighieri. Why do you stop? Go on ! Young Man. Have these mists really blinded me ? or am I asleep ? Is this a dream ? Alighieri. What seest thou, Henry? Young Man. Thy forehead grows strangely livid under the rays of the moon, — thine eyes look hollow, — thou art so slight and attenuated, — thou seemest older, older — but sublime ! Is it really thyself, Alighieri ? Alighieri. It is really I, Henry. Young Man. The voice alone recalls thee. It seems to me now that a crown of laurel glitters round thy brow, that it winds and unwinds, appears and disappears. Leave me ! I fear thee ! I will go no farther ! Sleep bows me to the earth ... I am falling ... let me fall ! Touch me not, Alighieri ! God is my witness that I have somewhere seen a face like thine . . . some- where. . . . Alighieri. A few steps more ! Young Man. Where are we ? Where ? Ah ! now I know the laurel crown, the strange fire in the eye brought from other worlds ! This image stands in the great Hall of my ancestors, under the canopy strewn thick with silver stars : yes, it is under the green canopy in my home ! My father told me that in centu- ries past that man had visited Hell and Purgatory, and had seen Paradise ! Master ! Master ! whither dost thou lead me ? Alighieri (bearing him into the chapel). Now thou mayst sleep ! THE DREAM, 141 II. THE DREAM. It seemed to the young man that the figure of Dante turned to him, and said : " From that realm where Love, Wisdom, and the Eternal Will abide, thence have they sent me to show thee the Hell of the present days ! Therefore banish all fear, and whither I go, follow me I" Like a pale column the Figure rose, and took its flight across the night of space, gliding rapidly over nebulous vapor, and through aerial waves. Sometimes a rapid me- teor broke flashing under its feet, and here and there gray dawns awoke, floating away to disappear in the distance. But the soul of the Young Man was overwhelmed with sadness, for it knew not whither it was going, and it went into the Infinite : — and it felt it was the Infinite of Evil ! The Figure stopped upon the summit of a mountain, and it appeared to the Young Man that they com- menced to descend within its bosom. The darkness yielded by degrees, and where the way could be dis- cerned, it appeared bordered on either side by walls cut in the solid rock ; the most terrific passes were scarcely penetrated by the doubtful twilight, and on the right and the left, all along the rocky parapet, were ranged soldiers, all arrayed in the same costume, all of the same height, all alike in the expression of their features, all in per- petual motion, sometimes leaning forward, and sometimes standing erect ; all engaged in the same monotonous oc- cupation of sedulously polishing the barrels of the mus- kets, which all held in their hands. Light as a sigh, the hand of the Shade swept the eyelids of the Young Man as he said : "Look ! this is truly the entrance of the Hell of Earth ! n And instantly he saw the Souls of the Sol- diers, bent half-way out of their bodies, into which they could return no more, and from which they could not tear themselves away. And in their agony they cried : " We can neither live nor die, — we must forever go where they order us, — order us against God, and we go, — *3 142 THE "FRAGMENT." against our brothers, and we go — and their tears were unquenchable! The Shade stopped and said: "Who are you, and what is your name?" But the souls of all those bodies answered nothing. " Where is your coun- try?' 1 And the souls of all those bodies straightened themselves, full of astonishment ! " Where is your home?" And among so many eyes, a few let fall a tear as at some vague remembrance ! But the arms ceased not to move more and more vigorously, ever rubbing the bar- rels of their guns and sharpening the points of their bayo- nets, and lo ! above those mute bodies all the souls groaned out together : " Since infancy, they have driven us about the world without our own volition ; they have forced us to forget ourselves and to murder others; whoever re- sisted us, we were commanded to shoot as a traitor; and now we know not whence we came nor whither we are going.!" Then the pale figiire spake : " When men of old sought the combat, they knew what cause they were serving, and why they must die; they were like gods of war, but you perish like poor brutes !" And breaking with a sign the ranks of the armed people, the Figure advanced to the stairs which wound down into the depths. Following the steps of the Seer, the young man plunged into the subterranean darkness. Suddenly a deluge of light poured around him ; he saw the black walls, the prison grates, the rings with chains clamped into the rocks : luxurious flames blazed in lamps of alabaster, soft carpets of silk were underfoot, and a numberless crowd was gathered round a man who occu- pied a high seat, and who, delicate and slight as a woman, turned over the pages of a black book. Before him stood a gigantic cross, rising almost to the vault, and a figurę of Christ was stretched upon it. The shade of Dante trem- bled from head to foot as he spake: "I never met that sacred sign with the Condemned of old ! At least they did not know how to blaspheme God in the name of God ! Look and listen !" The Official of the multitude, the slight and delicate man, bent forward, and drew many heavy bags of gold from under the base of the cross. All who were present THE DREAM. approached and formed a circle round him, stretching out to him their hands, — and the sweat of their cupidity streamed from their brows ! And in paying, he instructed them ; his voice was sharp and hissing as the grinding of a dagger over the face of a polished mirror. " Wheresoever you may glide, be cautious and of honied sweetness ! "In the house of the old Signors, be humble and lavish of incense to their pride : in the house of the poor, flat- ter their poverty ! " When the husband tyrannizes over his wife, console her : when the father is hard with his sons, lend them the money of which they have need ! u The strong everywhere oppress the weak : protect the weak ; and all complaints and furtive hopes, like hidden treasures, shall open before you ! " Should you find one melancholy and silent, be your- self loudly desperate : your cry of pain will awaken his voice ! " When you meet the young devoured with impatience to act, bind them on the instant by terrible oaths ! Glide mysterious arms under their garments; it is with men as with grains of corn : the fuller they are, the more easily may they be hulled ! "Let your memory be eager, keen, and limitless: if the winds shake the leaves of a tree, listen to their rust- ling ! " Should you find a pin upon your way, pick it up and bring it here : it is of more worth than a sword, for where the sword intervenes, there is no longer time ! " Love children, and learn skillfully to play with them ; as butterflies upon flowers, so repose the secret mysteries of families upon their lips ! " Knowledge is the gift of gifts. A single prison would not contain the bodies of all, but a single brain may seize upon the thoughts of all, and, like the dome of an immense dungeon, may vault above them all ! " Go and traverse the world !" And all laden with gold, they vanished like phan- toms ! A rose-colored curtain was now rolled upon the other side of the subterranean abyss, and iron doors were 144 THE "FRAGMENT." opened behind it. Servants entered carrying in a wretch in rags, who, as he staggered forward, roared like a beast : " Give me food, food ! drink ! drink ! My father died of hunger yesterday, — this morning my mother perished, — fever consumes me, — I must die ere night V The Official made a sign, a drapery of azure was sud- denly opened before him, behind which stood a table, glittering and groaning under the weight of its dishes of silver, its cups of crystal. The famished man darted for- ward, but they held him back: " First swear fealty to us!" " Food ! food ! afterwards I will swear V 1 The slight Official broke into a laugh at these words, pointed him to the cross, and the dying man fell on his knees before it. It seemed to the Young Man that the voice of the Official sounded like the hissing of a serpent as he dic- tated the oath: "In the name of the Holy Trinity and the Passion of our Lord, I swear to report here all I shall see, all I shall hear, all I may divine, were it the groans of my brother, or the sighs of my sister ! Should my friends or relations imagine anything in secret, I swear to reveal it, though I know I should thus place their heads under the axe of the executioner ! Should I conceal anything from you, may I be tortured, nailed to the cross, burned by fire, and fed on poison ! n But the kneeling wretch would not repeat the words, and, falling upon the earth, he gasped : " I die !" And the slight Official cried: "Die!' ' and calmly crossing his hands, he waited ! A great silence followed ; and it seemed to the Young Man that he asked the Shade: "Master, where are the souls of these men ? I do not see them, though thou hast lent me the power to perceive spirits.' ' And the Shade replied : " In the justice of God, no punishment has been found sufficiently severe for them, therefore, abandoned to eternal contempt, their souls are identified with their bodies. From them alone, among the myriads, has the holy gift of life been taken, and when their first bodies shall fall into corruption, these beings will no longer exist !" At this moment the starving man, stiffening himself, THE DREAM. US turned toward the richly-spread table : "1 will swear ! M he muttered. His eye sparkled with dying fire, while the Official stretched out his hand to him and again placed him on his knees. He began to take the oath ! Then a phantom like an angel, with a veiled brow, de- tached himself from space, and with outspread wings shielded the crucifix, and as long as the oath lasted, the angel thus held himself before the cross. But none of them could see him. When the last word of the oath expired, and the famished body, rising, tottered away, the face of the angel grew ghastly in its pallor, and rending the veil, he cried : " A soul, Lord, has perished l'" This cry transpierced the heart of the Young Man, and he bowed his head under the weight of an insupportable grief. When he again raised his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness, in the midst of which he saw unburied bones and cemeteries full of gibbets on which already swung their victims dimly floating, and they multiplied and sailed on, one after the other, like the gathering clouds of a tem- pest. Like whirlwinds of autumn leaves they drifted on above with mournful sighs ; thousands of voices joined the funereal murmur ; the sobs of women, the wails of children, and the hoarser groans of men ! But the Shade of Dante spake to them and said : " Unfortunate as you are, your hour will surely come, and you will live with a double immortality; your own, and the immortality of those who have ruined you ! For, from the nothingness to which they are destined, a spirit will be disengaged which will pass into you. Calm yourselves, then, O ye unfortunate ! M But as he spake, his own tears flowed. And returning towards the surface of the earth, they repassed through the Armed People, who were already un- der arms in rows like countless statues. The blast of the trumpet and the roll of the drum, in monotonous rhythm, meted out to them time and life. Some were marched off to rest, others, stolid as stones, marched up to replace them. Some, placed in guard of prisoners, who, too weak to stand, were stretched upon the ground, watched 13* 146 THE "FRAGMENT. them breathlessly with unmoving eyes, the butt-ends of their guns upon their breasts, and their fingers upon the trigger; and at intervals the report of fire-arms, some- times in the rear, sometimes on either side, proved that the sport of death was in process. As the Young Man followed the steps of the Seer, the walls hollowed out through the rock began to diverge, always embracing a wider horizon, until one took its di- rection to the east, the other to the west, as far as the eye could follow them. They ran on and on, — one might have said they would embrace all space, — and they increased in height and they spread in breadth, and their girdle of rock grew up into the horizon and lined the whole arch of the sky with a vault of stone, so closely that it formed a building as im- mense as the world, granitic, gray, without verdure, and without azure ! And, far in the distance in this granite world, the Young Man perceived the phantom of a Sun nailed upon the overhanging canopy and lighting the in- closed space with its oblique rays. But its glimmer seemed rather the sickness of light than light itself. Innumerable throngs hurried to and fro through this wan atmosphere, as if all the nations of the earth were collected there, and, like the crossing surges of great seas, the uproar of the myriad voices broke against the granite walls of that world ! The Soul entranced by the Dream, the Soul of the Young Man, asked : " Master, where are we ?" And he answered : "In the Sanctuary which Humanity has, for the present, chosen for its Home ; but from which God is absent !" He then entered a group seated upon the threshold. Each one composing it had an open ditch before him, his own property, deep and long as a grave ; and each bore upon his head a lamp which, as he stooped, lighted the dark trench before him, whence he selected the tools of various trades. Each worked with his hands, though his look was stolid as the face of an idiot ; and the Young Man saw some who held in their fingers the head of a pin, and their brows were as furrowed with expressionless wrinkles as if they had passed the whole of their lives in THE DREAM. U7 rounding this head of a pin ! But whenever the hour of death, tolling always in the distance, echoed nearer along the walls of this gigantic vault, here one, and then another, would bow his head, and roll with a groan into his own ditch. Then their souls became visible ; like bluish clouds, and somewhat resembling the implements of their life-long labors, they detached themselves from their bodies, and skimming along the surface of the earth, they floated on towards the yellow and distant sun ! At the approach of the Seer, the men rose, and, break- ing their lamps, cried : " If you are the gods or the de- mons of whom we have heard, — and it matters to us little which you are, — give us gold ! gold I" And their skeletons extended their shivering hands ! The blood of indignation colored the pale face of Dante as he replied: "Mercenary wretches, possessed by the Demon!" And, like inert masses, they fell to earth before the Spirit ! The face of Dante again flushed, but it was with the glow of inspiration, as he said : " Would you understand me if I should prophesy to you of the future ? When my body advanced from the other side of the grave through the free light of the sun towards death, there were also artisans upon the earth, and the banners of their guilds floated from the terraces of the towers. They trafficked in purple, fine gold, and precious stones upon the public marts, but they carried the sword, and the rosary of prayer hung at their girdles. Their hands could guide the helm over the stormy waves, and their brains could raise invin- cible fortresses upon the land. They received gold ; but they washed its stain away in the blood of battle ! But you, to-day, whose fingers are as soft as wax, what could you possibly effect ? You, whose lips have never breathed a prayer ! You have no strength upon earth, no hope in heaven ! You have lost the sinews of men in the thirst for gold!" A boy, beautiful as an angel, but faded before his time by the rude labor exacted from his little hands, dragged himself to him, and placing his head upon his feet, mur- mured, in low tones : " Have pity upon us ! All that we can gain through the day we are forced to spend at night ; 148 THE "FRAGMENT." and at the dawn of the next day we must go to work again ! We have no time to pray to God, but only to work to get something to eat that we may not die of hunger ; and scarcely have we eaten, when we must again work for food. Have pity upon us !" And the Shade grew as pallid as the boy, who was wiping his feet with his fair hair, and raising his eyes, he sighed : " My child, the past will never return ! Pray for the future to our Father who dwells in Heaven !" And the boy went away murmuring : " In Heaven per- haps, but not upon earth." During this time many, crawling in the dust, ground their teeth ; while the Shade of Dante hurried through them like an avalanche, sweeping on elsewhere. In the midst of this world of granite, other throngs were leaning over an immense gulf. The faces of those who looked down into it swam in a crimson light ; the earth around it trembled, as if convulsed by hidden earth- quakes. When the Young Man drew near, it seemed to him he saw the vast crater of a volcano, or the sunken bed of a dry lake surrounded by high and precipitous walls. The bottom was black with human heads ; black as the waves in a tempest; a bloody light glowed as if from burning coals and smoking cinders like volcanic scoriae, — and threats and curses rose continually therefrom ! As a mother folds her infant to her breast, so the Shade wound the Young Man in his arms, and glided with him into the dismal depths of this great gulf. Forms of the most savage character were there unchained, raging and seething in the abyss. Their cheeks were black with bristling beard, their sleeves tucked up to their shoulders, and their arms were blue with swollen veins like cords. Sometimes they coiled themselves into living knots ; some- times they scattered far asunder ; sometimes they crawled like vipers ; then stood erect in the lurid light of the flames, as men prepared for combat. Close to the nearest fire, twelve men of gigantic size were on their knees. Their bodies were stripped to the waist, and a thirteenth advanced before them, with a dagger in the right hand and a cup in the left, and he said : " I will consecrate you ! M The giants bowed their THE DREAM. 149 beads devoutly, and on spots illuminated by the reflection from the coals he graved with the point of his dagger bloody letters upon their naked shoulders. None trembled, none groaned. The word equality, and the word liberty, were carved in crimson wounds on every brawny shoulder. The Shade said: " Look, how carefully the thirteenth holds the cup to collect the blood flowing from the bodies of his brothers ! No drop escapes him ! Per- haps thou thinkest he will preserve it in testimony of the torments endured, in memory of the consecration, or show it to the People as the emblem of vengeance ?" And the Young Man whispered : " Master, will it be otherwise ? M The voice of the apparition replied, in tones like sub- terranean thunder: " Verily! he will sell this blood to the merchants, and at their hour of barter ! Move on, and look no more.' 1 And as they passed through, a black whirlwind of wild life, madly tossing about in the half-extinguished cinders, cried: " Are we to dwell forever at the bottom of this black gulf? Are we never to reach the surface of the earth, where dwell the merchants?" Another horde of poor tatterdemalions, rekindling the coals of the furnace by the clapping of their hands, in- terrupted the words of the first : " Away to the Sanctuary of the Golden Sun, where the wines are sweet, the food luscious, and the garments fine ! Away to the Exchange, where men always enjoy themselves, conquer power, and never once wound their hands with work, from the cradle to the grave ! M Another whirlwind of black life, pouring oil into the flames, cried: " Boldness! and we will make our way into the Banks of all Nations ! Breasts of rock and claws of lions will be found among us ! We can arm ourselves with iron spikes, as we have no swords. M Then the brawny masses spun together in wild whirl, clapped their hands, and cried: " In spite of all oppo- sition from other castes, we will climb to the top of those steep cliffs ! But once, Fate, let us sleep in the Paradise of the Rich, on their silken carpets, on their beds of down ! Can it be possible to have more in Heaven than THE "FRAGMENT." they have upon earth? -Like them, let us be happy on earth before we die ! M At this moment, the man with the dagger and the cup, leading the consecrated giants, penetrated into the midst of the howlers. The crowd saluted h im with furious ac- clamations, crying: " When wilt thou lead us hence ?" He replied: " For the present be patient; in a little while your hour cometh !" And the giants stretched forth to him their hands ; their bones cracked, and the blood spurted from their fresh wounds, and their lips trembled with the oath : " With you to conquer, or with you to die!" And following their chief, they went where the long rows of gibbets, illuminated by blazing torches, glared through the gloom ! Groups of boys knelt under every scaffold, and jurists and scribes, versed in the Scriptures, were seated near them, and taught them in what way they ought to curse their fathers. The children repeated the maledictions in chorus, and if one, weaker than the rest, hesitated or wept with repugnance, the teachers fell upon him with raised lash, and the child, shielding himself with his little hands, recommenced to recite his task. The Shade of Dante, like a dark column, took a place in the midst of those kneeling rows, and seemed to listen. He sud- denly uttered a loud cry, and the lesson was interrupted. The scribes and jurists grew pale, and asked: "Who spoke?" and the Shadow replied: "One of those against whom you thunder forth your imprecations. Liars and hypocrites ! You are lower than the vilest reptile, for you assume a robe of moral grandeur, and you try to imitate the language of science ! Look into my dead eyes, and endure if you can my glance of scorn ! Ah ! you are utterly ignorant of what constitutes the lib- erty of the spirit ! Woe ! woe ! you understand nothing but the well-being of the body | M Then he called the children to him, and stretching his hands above those who surrounded him and in the direc- tion of those who were more distant, he blessed them all and said : u Do not believe the falsehoods you have been taught ! It is you who are to-day slaves ! The fathers of your fathers were free in the simplicity of their own THE DREAM. hearts. Faith in God was their buckler against the op- pression of men. Their souls were as fresh as the young verdure of the spring. In the cabin of the valley, or the chateau on the hill, they were everywhere true to them- selves ; their love was really love, and their worship was a true combat ! In this vast world of to-day, love is no longer to be found ; in this vast world of to-day, there is no true combat V It seemed to the Young Man that one of the jurists rose and advanced towards Dante, grasping in his hands the double barrel of his gun, and he was blind in one eye, and he cried : " Equality ! murder V 9 His hat was placed awry upon his head, and the word people was embroidered in great letters upon it. He stumbled as he walked, and when he stopped he cocked his gun and began to harangue. His one eye rolled in its socket, and the froth flowed from his lips. But the pale shade interrupted his discourse : " Thy fury exhales in vain sounds, in which there are no thoughts. Not words, but acts ; not blood, but the concord of the citizens must form and maintain a Republic ! The brute alone lives in thee ; the spirit is dead ! Before ten years shall have passed away, thou wilt have betrayed the People !" The eye of the speech-maker became blood-shot, and, seized by a secret terror, he lowered the barrel of his gun. The Shade said to the Young Man : " Such souls merit contempt. The wave that flings itself most vio- lently against the sands makes the most noise : — human bosoms are the waves of this world V The ground now began to descend ; the light from the gibbets still shone, but ever more and more feebly. Be- hold ! afar off appeared numberless little livid stars, like the night-lamps in a hospital. Each star was fixed above a mat of reeds, on which lay a woman : a whole People of women lay here, and groaned, sighed, and wept, and ever and anon broke forth a last cry of pain, a shriek of mortal anguish ; and as they died away, again com- menced low sobs and sighs and wails, and they pro- longed themselves ever farther in the distance, and ever lower in the depths of the subterranean vaults ! At the sight of Dante, one of the women rose, un- THE "FRAGMENT." rolled her long, floating tresses, and twisted their masses round her hands ; and the Young Man saw that her soul was inwoven in those meshes, and streamed down their golden length with horrible writhings of pain. And she said: "Whosoever thou mayst be, tell me — and thou, also : tell me, both of you, — why they have forced me to glide down from the warm surface of the earth to its uttermost abysses ? As long as my body was graceful and fair I walked in the sunshine, and everybody was kind to me. But when like the flower I faded, — as the love- liest flower must fade, — they seized me and hurled me down among those who rot in the sepulchre where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth ! When men grow old, the young honor them in song ; but we, alas ! long be- fore the hour of our death, they order us to lie down in the grave ! We complain, we supplicate, we entreat, we appeal ! But they are afar ; they hear us not. Then our agony begins ; ah ! they have gone still farther off ; they hear us no longer ; they will not come even to say fare- well ; and there is nothing left us but to die !" As she spoke, others rose, and, standing upon their feet, cried : " Justice ! justice ! M And after these, others, striking their breasts, sobbed and cursed ! Streams of tears flowed from their eyes, poured down their long, disheveled locks, and then fell rippling to the ground with the dull rustling of autumnal rain. Scarcely would the weaker and more exhausted among them rise when they would fall back anew; while those who had not been able to rise at all dragged themselves along upon their hands and knees, and many, veiling their faces with their hands in sad memory of their lost beauty, turned towards the apparition, and nothing but the fire of two burning eyes about to die out forever could be seen between the tapering fingers. The Young Man then perceived some old men in long, black robes, carrying vases of holy water, which they sprinkled freely over the sufferers, while they chanted in low and melancholy cadence. Some of the women bowed their heads patiently, and at once went sweetly to sleep upon their mats. Others knelt, kissed the hands of the old men, and murmured to them the interminable THE DREAM. recital of their sorrows. But she who had first arisen, twisting her hair still more violently, cried to them : " Yonder, on the surface of the earth, the men would no longer listen to you ; but they said to you : ' Go, and be our spies on the women we have left to perish ! When their souls are tearing themselves loose from their bodies, stifle their complaints ! When they break into curses against us, close their lips, for their groans are not pleasant to our ears ! Often when they struggle to fling themselves forth from this gulf into which we have cast them, they spoil our festivals, and interrupt our philo- sophical speculations V You obeyed, you descended, you are here ! Your task is to teach us to die silently / But I will not die in silence / I will perish crying aloud : ( I had a soul ; I have a soul ; and on earth they would never acknowledge in me anything but a body ! Be Thou the judge of it, O God ! Thou who hast given me a living soul!'" And as the eyes of the Young Man were fixed upon her, he saw her soul in a final convulsion tear itself loose from the tangled meshes of her hair, and float above the lamps athwart the gloom, like a veil of blood pierced by a thousand needres ! The Seer passed on lost in thought, as if with repug- nance, and answering nothing. At last they reached a white couch in a lonely spot and at a great distance from all others. A lamp burned under a crucifix placed against a pillar of white marble, and a woman in black was upon her knees before it. Her face was turned away from the shadow of the Seer, who stopped and remained standing in silence, as if wrapped in deep melancholy. " Master, who is she?" demanded the Young Man. The Shade replied : " I have seen one form like that, — it was years ago, — once here, upon the earth, — a second time above, in Heaven ! When she turns her head, we will know who she is." And he remained standing there, without interrupting the prayer of the woman. And it appeared to the Young Man that he saw kneel- ing by the side of the woman in black a woman in white, exactly like the first, except that in place of being quite *54 THE "FRAGMENT." veiled with long hair, she had two angel wings softly bent in the form of a cross and folded above her shoulders. And these wings were furrowed with deep wounds, and in each wound a nail was deeply sunk, which kept the wings from unfolding. A moment after, these two forms melted into each other, — and once more there was only the kneel- ing figure in mourning. Then the Shade said : " Lo ! she has finished her prayer, for her soul of snow has disappeared.' ' And he added, as if in spite of himself : "Beatrice f n The woman in black turned round, and said: "She who bore this name years and years ago knew nothing but Paradise upon this earth, for she perished in the first spring of life ; — and she knew nothing but Paradise be- yond this earth, for Heaven immediately received her into its bosom ! But, miserable me ! none ever compen- sated me for the loss of my first spring by a second ! That is not my name V 9 And wringing her hands, she stood erect and white as alabaster. And when the Seer conjured her to speak, she began in these words : "I was born in a land of milk and honey, which is to-day called the land of sepulchres and of crosses, — and which is also called the land of agony ! You have heard me spoken of there ! But a thousand tongues had poisoned and torn my name before it reached your ears. At first my parents called me : Inno- cent, Lovely, Blessed, — afterwards they gave me another name : Slave ! "For in accordance with the customs of the world, while still a child and knowing nothing of love, I was given, or rather sold, to a husband. Oh ! weep for me and for my sisters, who, as yet young, knowing nothing and feeling nothing, go without volition to deliver them- selves up, body and soul, to those who know all and have already felt all, — to whom nevertheless knowledge has not given the light of the angel, but rather the astute decrepi- tude of the demon ! " I bore all, — for all may be endured in this sad world save one feeling : contempt ! When like a dagger it pen- etrates between two beings, — the handle in the heart of THE DREAM. 155 the one, and the point in the heart of the other, — how can they pursue together the same path in life? Wretched beings, only riveted to one another by this mortal blade ! How can they break together every day the same bread, even until death, — then a blessing, — comes to separate them? I tried to force my own will, — 'twas all in vain ! I cried to God ! He would not hear ! He must have despised me f ' Ralapsing into silence, she again stood erect and im- movable, pale, and white as alabaster ! And when the Seer again adjured her, she replied, with broken sobs: "Nay, I will not answer to God Himself upon the Day of Judgment ! I alone know it ! I alone remember it ! " I still see the Palace, the long avenue of flowering lin- dens, and the sun setting behind the perfumed branches. I see myself still under them ; still feel myself walking about as if in a magnetic sleep ! Had it not been said during the last few days that something mysterious was preparing in my country? An indefinable presentiment floated in the air, saddening the perfume of the new-mown hay, as if the plague were about to breathe upon us, or as if men were preparing to rise and combat where they must inevitably perish by thousands ! My husband, delicate, white, and slight as a woman, also walked about and seemed to expect something, some one ! Ah ! he waited with a smile which I can never, never forget ! "Men then began to glide into the garden from all sides. I knew this one, that one, another, I knew them all ! They were relations, friends, neighbors ! He grasps their hands, he promises them, he swears faith ! The sun sets. He begs them to lay aside their arms, sit down, and enter for the last time into consultation. They obey, and seat themselves upon the turf. But he ! He claps his hands, gives a signal, — his hissing is like that of a ser- pent ! Soldiers ! . . . soldiers ! . . . everywhere sol- diers ! . . . "Ask me nothing, — I have borne the name of that man ; . . . I have sworn to be faithful to him even to the grave ! I will not give him up to you, as he has given his brothers up to the enemy ! . . . THE "FRAGMENT." "Hear now my third name upon the earth: Dishon- ored ! "Men, know ye wherefore? Because despair tore my heart — and there came a day when I was loved, — and in that day I believed in Beauty, Goodness, Wisdom, even upon earth ? Because, when dying, I raised my head and cried : How blessed it is to spring from the grave into the skies ! — Because I dared to love !" Again was she silent, again motionless and white as alabaster. And when the Seer for the third time adjured her, she murmured, in a low voice : "Then follow me !" Taking the lamp from below the crucifix, she left the place where the People of women lay prostrate behind her, and fol- lowed a tortuous path far through the subterranean space. The walls of the narrow dungeons contracted and length- ened before the thin hand as it approached them, bearing the lamp with its doubtful and uncertain light. Everywhere around her were walls reeking with hu- midity ; everywhere a low and stifling vault! No sound of footsteps was 'there ever heard \ no breath ever played with the doubtful flame of the lamp ! The Young Man continued to advance, although he felt ever more languid, more weary and oppressed. It seemed to him that the very air necessary for breath failed on all sides ; that an invisible weight crushed him to the earth ; that the blood congealed in his veins, and it seemed to him that he cried to himself : " I will go no farther V 9 The lady in the funereal robes then turned round, and, lifting the glimmering lamp above his forehead, said: "Although thou art a man, and a strong and courageous one, thou canst not endure to breathe for a single hour here, where all my weary years forever flow and reflow ! Go ! Go, in peace !" But the Seer sadly asked : " Tell me, where then is he who loved thee?" Suddenly casting down her eyes, she answered : "There ! where his destiny as man precipitated him ! He tore me from my solitude of heart : and left me in the utter soli- tude of spirit ! I loved him, — he has left me!" Then showing a distant stone which whitened in the THE DREAM. 157. midst of the darkness, she said: "Wrapped in its wings my soul is buried there ! This which you see is only a body which has not yet been able to die 1" And, overpowered by grief, she fell upon her knees and cried : " Thou who knowest, tell us if it will be thus for- ever ?' ' And for the first time her tears began to flow. And the Seer, placing his hand upon her brow, said : " Until now you have been as the Heavenly Lilies, which bloom knowing naught of their colors and perfumes. The day is coming when each of you will change into a Thinking Rose. The chords of inspiration will escape from the hands of the men, and will pass into yours! Kneeling at your feet, they will then implore from you a hymn of consolation, a prophecy of hope, a vision of beauty, — for their destiny will then have led them into prosaic and unendurable cares, into hard and harsh labors ! But absorbed in the contemplation of God, you will not cast a glance upon them, you will not hear their sighs. Then will their hearts break, as yours have done for ages /' 1 "Tell me yet more!" said the lady in black, appeal- ing to Dante with beseeching look. He proceeded : " This will continue until the hour of a new transformation sounds for you. Then you will again stretch forth your hands to them ; through love you will save the dying hearts ; and you will become as their sisters, — forever their equals upon earth and in Heaven ! M But the lady in black weeping with ever-increasing emotion, he added : " Recall thy soul, and be not afraid, for if it were possible for anything to perish, it would be seen that in the judgments of the Lord the star of the glory of men would sooner be forever extinguished than the tears of one unfortunate woman be suffered to flow in vain !" And when, kneeling, she appeared more tranquil, Dante left her, and, bearing off the Young Man with him, walked directly to the grave, and as they passed the tomb which whitened in the darkness, he said : " Verily, she will die in these shadows and will rest here ; — for the time will come; — but it is not yet come !" THE "FRAGMENT." And, having blessed the grave, as if borne upward by his own power he rose through the air into higher regions. Through the opening between the precipices, but very, very high above him, the Young Man saw the granite vault covering the world ! And as he rose from the depths, it widened in its livid light. He could already dis- tinguish the clangor of a thousand jarring bells, the in- cessant pattering of quick steps, the sound of myriads of footfalls, and the groanings of pavements echoing be- neath the tread of thronging men. And when the ap- parition stopped on the edge of the opening, and with a sign of his hand swept the Young Man on like a whirlwind, he saw all the Nations of the Earth making their way toward the Yellow Sun ; and under this sun stood a gi- gantic black platform, upon which many thrones glittered in the distance. Like vapors rising into air, like rushing streams, like hunted herds, the throngs crowd, hurry, jostle one another; all, all rushing in the same direction! The sound of countless invisible bells buzzes through space; old and young men, women and children, brush and bustle on, pass and repass, scramble hurriedly onward ! Vainly do the old implore the young to retard their steps, to stop a single moment and to take them with them. The young refuse to turn, they will not even listen, — they run on ! Pale, weary maidens forced to stop, weep and beg their brothers, supplicate their lovers, to wait a moment for them ; — they will not even spare the time to recognize them, — they run and run ! Mothers with ba- bies at their breasts join in the race; suddenly a child on one side or the other is knocked down ; it shrieks aloud, stretches out its little hands, and lies upon the pavement. From all sides the crowd presses and jostles on; the mothers turn not back nor stoop to rescue ; — they too run and run. The Young Man stopped above one of these little bodies crushed under the trampling feet, and asked : " Master, is it the hour of the Last Judgment?" The Apparition, veiling his face, replied : "It is only the hour of the Judgment of the Merchants : it is the hour of the Exchange and the Marts !" At these words, the Apparition transported the Young THE DREAM. 159 Man from side to side across the space of this world to the opposite point, where were the Yellow Sun and the gigantic black platform ; and it seemed to the Young Man that, as if borne upon wings, he remained suspended at the height of the platform, and lower than the sun : — and the figure of the Master wrapped itself in bitter scorn — and disappeared !" This sun seemed to be of gold with artificial rays, and the platform was of black marble, with stairways which led to many brilliant thrones. Upon those thrones sat the Bankers and Merchants chosen among the wandering tribes of the Orient ; they were clad in flowing robes, wore long gray beards, and purple fillets round their brows; — and under their feet lay enormous sacks full of sono- rous metal. And sometimes broken cries proceeded from the sacks, as it were complaints, prayers, demands, and reproaches. The Young Man perceived that these cries came from the souls of the merchants wailing, hidden and chained, in the bags of gold. And the more the unhappy souls com- plained, the more the rage of the merchants increased, and, trampling and crushing the sacks underfoot, they thus silenced the moans of their own souls ! And when the Wretched souls were silenced, with care- less and rough voices they commenced their consultation, designating from time to time with their hands one or other of the innumerable throngs of Peoples which approached them on every side. A dense mass of black vapor rose, overspreading space, above these hustling Peoples ; it was deeply furrowed with tawny lights ; and the Young Man understood it was the form of all those human souls united and overhanging their bodies, above which they lowered like mists of blood, like melting scoriae, like immense furnaces dying into darkness. Like ice-floes broken by tossing waves, like the rushing of wind-driven tempests, the Nations advanced under the lurid reflections of their souls, as if under a Hell float- ing above them ! Sometimes were heard the cries of those who fell, or the dull groans of those who were crushed and stifled underfoot by the crowd. One of the merchants rose, gave a signal, and on one side of the ióo THE "FRAGMENT." platform enormous slabs of stone were immediately raised, subterranean caverns opened, and long files of soldiers issued therefrom, who, mute and statue-like, with primed arms and bayonets glittering on the points of their guns, marched and placed themselves in line, three deep, on either side of the stairway of marble. And the roaring of the crowd, the uproar, the groans, the complaints, the appeals, redoubled. Each nation, each tribe, each throng tried to thrust itself foremost in the race ; endeavored to force for itself the first passage. Masses formed of thousands of hands, heads, breasts, were overturned, prostrated, or driven forward. Sometimes the reflection of the bloody light shone luridly upon them; sometimes the air was gray, livid, heavy. Like a deluge of waves and clouds, like water-spouts driven by the wind, they at last reached the foot of the platform. The click- ing of the firelocks of the muskets was heard as the soldiers adjusted them for instant use. A dead silence for a moment ensued, and a merchant rose and cried : " The marts are open ; the sales commence !" The clangor of bells everywhere ringing again jarred upon the ear, mul- tiplying until the sound was lost in distant space. Then the merchant closely questioned the men on the occurrences of the days last passed, and as the voices of the Princes and Sages set over the various divisions of men replied from below, announcing the combats, the massacres, the discoveries, and inventions, his associates, standing behind him, deliberated, and concerted their plans : — and again a dead silence ensued. The murmur- ing of the voices of the merchants alone was to be heard in the world of granite. The red lights in the atmosphere grew pale ; the souls of the men were blanched with ex- pectation ! Several minutes thus elapsed. The merchant then an- nounced how much certain interests had increased in value ; how much certain others had decreased upon the earth ; and from these heady throngs, who almost held their breaths to hear, a perfect avalanche of applause, of curses, of cries, threats, and sobs hurtled through the air ! Among the masses some cried : " We must die of hunger ! M while others bellowed : " Hurrah ! hurrah for THE DREAM. 161 the merchants ! Long live the all-powerful merchants !" Some leaped wild with joy, clapping their hands and shouting: " We have won! We have won !" And others groaned out: " O merchants ! O our gods ! have mercy upon us !" Then they began again to quarrel, to fight, to beat, to choke, to kill one another : — and among the bodies, some rolled upon the earth, and others tram- pled over them, crushing them without pity ! The Young Man saw thousands of corpses trampled underfoot in front of the platform ; and passing in un- broken order over the dead bodies, he saw the living begin to ascend the steps of marble. With the sceptre in their hands, and the sword at their sides, the Princes, surrounded by the Grand Dignitaries of the Nations, marched at their heads. A glittering arch formed by the bayonets of the soldiers rose above them, and protected them as they advanced ; and when they had arrived mid- way up the giant staircase, the merchants descended to meet them, and, clasping them by the hand, conducted them higher. All the Workers of this world began to ascend behind them : the manufacturers and the artisans, the lenders and shopkeepers, some carrying various kinds of mer- chandise, some immense bags, others undulating rolls of paper closely covered with writing. As they reached the midway of the giant stairs, they were all ordered to stop, while a voice of thunder from above demanded their names. Turn by turn they replied in the denomination of the trade, the merchandise, the manufacture they sev- erally represented, or by some adopted number; for none among them possessed or were any longer known by any proper human name in this world ! Behold ! after this black surge of people, and following in their wake, appeared a strange group of melancholy men bowed towards the ground. They held antique swords in their hands, and wore battered and rusty armor upon their shoulders. At this moment the Young Man heard the words : " Look ! those are the last de- scendants of the old nobility V 9 And glancing rapidly around him, he saw the Apparition again at his side. This train also mounted the giant stairs until it reached IÓ2 THE "FRAGMENT." midway, and then each man took his station upon a great block of marble, and seemed suddenly to become enraged against the arms he had hitherto borne ; striking, break- ing, pounding, and crushing them with axe and hammer. The Apparition said : " Look at them ! They are trying to extract the gold of Damascus, the turquoises of Persia, from the bucklers of their ancestors ! They are tearing the diamonds, tarnished by the lapse of centuries, from those heaps of arms and sabres, in order to carry them to the merchants ; they will sell to them the last remains of ancient glory!" While the Shade of Dante thus com- plained, they threw down the fragments of their armor ; helmets, cuirasses, breastplates, and daggers rang as they fell upon the pavement, and glittered as they broke into sparkling fragments. Then the sons of the valiant of old arose and ascended higher, stretching out their hands, full of gold and spark- ling gems, toward the merchants ; and thus being allowed to advance, they supplicated in humble tones that they might be permitted to enter among the merchants and princes. A sign was made to them from above that their request was granted. They proffered many thanks, and, speaking now in louder tones, they began to haggle, cavil, and bargain about the price of their merchandise, their precious jewels. The features of Dante writhed with pain ; the blood burst from his torn lips, and he groaned out : " No. The Hell of the ancients never caused me so much agony !" Placing his transparent hand upon the head of the Young Man, he said : " Remember I" . . . But at that very moment he again disappeared. Melting into the transparent air, he was seen no longer. A funereal groan, rising into a cry of fury, now rang through this world, howling up from the depths of the abyss : floating above the nations, it broke at last, with fearful violence, against the Platform ! The Princes and the Great of Earth grew suddenly pale ; but the coun- tenances of the merchants did not change; a strange smile only writhed their lips as they fondly caressed their gray beards. Look ! look ! Giant forms break their way through THE DREAM. 163 the very centre of the black masses ; they come, they come ! They grow in numbers as they draw nearer ! And as they approached him the Young Man recognized the Twelve who had been consecrated, and the Thir- teenth, their chief, who held in his right hand the dag- ger, and in his left the cup of blood. And as he advanced, his face seemed to float above the sea of human heads, power streamed from it, and genius flashed around it. Leading his Giants to the first step, he ordered them to take their seats, and there await his return. And quite alone and asking permission from none, and motioning away with his hands the bayonets of the soldiers, he ascended, — gigantic, irresistible, and irrepressible, shaking his thick hair as if it were the mane of a lion ! One of the merchants descended to meet him, and in- troduced him upon the platform even into the very midst of the circle of consultation. But at this moment it seemed to the Young Man that the eyes of the Giant lost their fire, and the lion-like power of his brow grew mild. Standing boldly, however, in the midst of the merchants, he cried, in a voice resonant as thunder : " I am here for the last time, to summon you in the name of the Oppressed and Wretched ! For the last time we cry : * Share with us, or die ! Division or Death !' " The twelve martyrs left at the foot of the platform greeted this cry with enthusiastic acclaim; thousands and thousands among the multitude repeated it, and the abyss sent it back in echoes of thunder. The giant leaned forward, and threw his double-bladed sword upon the ground ; then stooping still lower, he bent and bent until his forehead had quite disappeared from the gaze of the nations. Thus contracted, he seated himself upon one of the thrones of the merchants, and said, in a low voice : " Answer without delay! How much will you give me for this cup of blood ?" When the merchants had told him the price they had fixed upon it, he said : "It is not enough for the blood I offer you to-day ! Have you the slightest idea of what is going on in the abyss? Have you ever had sufficient courage to descend therein ? Severed as we may have IÓ4 THE "FRAGMENT." been, we are all thoroughly united now ; they await my return, ploughing their breasts with their nails in rage ; desperate and resolute ; tearing their hair and howling with fury ! Should they be again deceived to-day after so many juggles, I cannot answer for them. They may break into open revolt. Pleasant flattery, skillful phrases, honeyed promises, will no longer appease them; maddened in their lair, their wild arms are already raised to strike a fatal blow ! And you pause in this deadly hour to chaffer and traffic with me ? Merchants and masters of the world, is not your luxurious and fortunate position worth a handful of gold to him who risks his life to aid you to rescue it ?" The merchants answered : " Every day you repeat this same story in our ears ! However, on condition that you will urge no further claims, we will pay more for the blood you have now brought us." And after much consultation, they offered him a larger sum. But he again refused. 66 It is not enough for the blood I have brought to-day !" And lifting up the cup, he pretended to be in haste to leave the throne. One of the merchants then unloosed from the band he wore upon his head an enormous diamond, and said : "This is a nail from the cross of Golgotha, which was thus transformed during the night in which your God expired ! It was torn from the wood at early dawn the next morning by one of my own ancestors. Since that time it has always been preserved in my family. Will this diamond repay you for the blood of your brothers ?' ' The Giant cast a glance upon it ; then lowering the cup, he poured out all the blood it contained at the feet of the merchants, and said: "The nail is mine ! M The Jew threw the diamond into the empty chalice, which rang in melancholy cadence as it fell ! The chief of the Sacrifice then rose, and wended his way back to the nations of the world. He broke forth in threats and curses as he descended to his brothers, who cried to him : "When? Where?" He replied to them in angry tones : " Follow me im- mediately ! Our hour is not yet ; but it will surely THE DREAM. 165 come!" And inducing them to follow him, he broke away through the multitudes to the entrance of the abyss. The merchants who had bargained with him then an- nounced to the nations that perfect peace and absolute security reigned upon earth ; that every one would now be allowed to ascend and descend, to trade, buy, and sell. Upon the thrones above sat all the merchants and all the princes ; at their feet lay the company of nobles upon the marble ; they supported their heads upon the sonorous sacks in which the souls of the merchants moaned, and clasped in the hollows of their hands the precious gems they had torn from their swords and armor, — and thus they lay extended, immovable, disarmed, their brows con- tracted and great tears in their eyes. And the common men incessantly rushed up and down the great stairs in two contrary currents ; a constant up- roar prevailed among the people, disputing, haggling, and agreeing about prices : and the howling multitude below also bargained, traded, bought and sold. Poor wretches down there were also crying that they had lost all chance of making their daily bread: but no one heeded their complaints. Countless groups were there, burning with fever or shivering with cold : but no one deigned to look at them. Crushed and mutilated bodies were here and there lying about, still moving their white lips and muttering : " Help ! Help!" but no hand was stretched out to aid them ! While these things were passing upon the earth, the reflection of all those souls which had at first inundated space with a bloody light now became of a livid, ghastly hue. As if hearts were breaking, one after the other, all those fires, rays, lights, fell and died out. Then the smoke, hanging round and wreathing itself about the cornices of granite, overhung the walls of the edifice like a black cu- pola, obscuring the Yellow Sun, and filling the immense structure with darkness from base to pinnacle. In the heart of this gloom, the Bankers of the Orient alone still sat upon their thrones. And the world was all one black Exchange ! and the merchants were kings of the earth ! All these pictures and images, mingling and fusing, began to surge, grow dim, and disappear before the eyes 15 i66 THE "FRAGMENT." of the Young Man. In the midst of this fog, always thicker and more dismal, the figure of Dante, sad but tranquil, again became visible ; and the Young Man caught the tones: "Depart from this Hell of the base I" And at these words a vivifying cold, like a breath of fresh night air, swept over his temples. The Apparition took him by the hand, and moved before him over white and silent clouds, permeated by the faint perfume of an invisible verdure ! From time to time also the sapphire of the sky was seen to break, and little stars glittered in the distance. Lo ! on a sudden a deep groan floated on behind the clouds, filled them, and then died away; but scarcely had it expired before a second rose, — then a third, — then a fourth, — lo ! a multi- tudinous wail of protracted pain ! And the clouds of silver opened before it like flocks of frightened swans. And it seemed to the Young Man that he and the Seer stopped upon one of the clouds, and that from it, as from a high balcony, they looked down upon a vast plain and round a circle of pure azure illuminated by a full moon. It seemed to him that before him in the plain he saw, as it were, a forest of tall, slim trees ; they resembled pines, but were cut in a most singular manner, for on each tall trunk but two branches had been left ; and every tree rose upon its own mound. Meanwhile, the groans became more and more frequent, — each of them thrilled the air like a clap of thunder, and resounded and re-echoed through space, like the death-cries of thousands of men suffering together ! The Shade asked: " Seest thou the Purgatory of our present days?' 1 The Young Man answered: "I see nothing save this forest and the sky." The Seer slowly raised his hands and said : "For the second time thou wilt receive the gift of vision, for with the same sight with which thou seest into the vile thou canst not perceive the generous. But first listen atten- tively to what I have to say to thee : "There is no death ! Its frightful semblance alone is / The Lord formed it nowhere, nor ever : for He lives everywhere and forever ! No one dies eternally save THE DREAM. through an utter and voluntary degradation, and for him who thus ends there is no longer existence nor tomb. He is degraded to utter nothingness ; he is absorbed in his own debasement. Perhaps in the circling thousands of centuries something may yet reawaken within him. . . . But no ! Such a one will never be purified nor have part in the resurrection ! But whosoever is to live again must be transformed, and every transformation bears tempo- v rarily the appearance of death. Such is the probation of the grave. Full of mockery, of tears, of grief, of illusion ! Individuals and races, the Humanity and the worlds, must alike submit to it, — every immortal must traverse it. He who has not been able to bear it has perished forever ! Be lion-hearted, Henry, for such probations are about to open before thee ! n And placing his fingers upon his eyelids, he breathed upon them. It seemed to the Young Man that from every pine- tree in this great forest the form of a man crucified started forth ! He then perceived a multitude of bodies, palpitating and bloody, thus suspended in the air, — and at every moment their numbers augmented. Rank suc- ceeded to rank in the wan light of the moon ; they wid- ened, they lengthened, they extended here, there, ever farther, even to the most distant limits of the horizon. All space is living, breathing, palpitating, shivering with them ! And the Young Man knew it was an entire na- tion extended in the Passion of Christ upon its own soil, — and his eyes swam in tears ! And the Shade said: i 6 Look ! in spite of thy horror, turn not away ! To conquer suffering we must master the science of grief! Look into this limitless forest, how, by a premeditated and powerful effort, every tree, stripped of its branches, has been made into a cross ! See how each cross rises from a mound of heaped ruins ; and those ruins are the skeletons of churches, of homes once full of happy life ! " And everywhere between each mound there are equal intervals, — but nowhere are there bushes, flowers, nor turf ! As blocks of stone are transmuted into a city, so have these forests been transformed into a vast cemetery i68 THE "FRAGMENT." of torture ! None but a perfect Torturer could thus meas- ure out grief, thus arrange the machinery of death !" When the Young Man looked again, it seemed to him that he saw upon the mounds streamers and ribbons of fog silvered by the moon, and although there was no wind to stir them, he observed that sometimes they rose and some- times they fell, as if they too suffered and could find no rest. And he recognized that they were bands of women and children, dressed in white and. standing under the crosses. He saw their light hands raised towards the tops of the trees, like white wings, which would, but could not, soar high enough to reach them, and which, in despair of power, fell back to earth. Then began a hymn of mingled shuddering and prayer, which died away in sobs and tears ! And the warm blood trickled from above upon those snowy groups, poured upon them, and flowed, ever re- newed, among the mounds, and could be heard from afar like threatening and swollen torrents. It seemed to the Young Man that the Apparition again addressed him : "Turn not thine eyes from those multitudes, who are melting away in rivers of blood ! The Crucified are about to feel the shivering and convulsion of Death and Trans- ition ! They cannot die, but they will be given over to the agony *of death, — and you must contemplate and meditate upon it. I command it : look !" At this moment the cry of myriads of victims broke upon the ear like claps of thunder, — the trees, even to the utmost limit of the plain, cracked and creaked, — and voices which break the heart shook the air like a hurri- cane. Tossed by the same whirlwind of grief, all the bodies shuddered and writhed upon their crosses, — and as the summer rain after a sharp clap of thunder pours more heavily, so everywhere spouted and fell thicker streams of blood ! Then this wild tempest of human torture began to abate ; the plain gradually sank into silence; the crosses fell back into immobility and order; again all was mute as death, — nothing save the incessant dropping of blood was now to be heard. . A sudden laugh rose upon and rent the air ! The Young Man cast his eyes immediately below him, and in THE DREAM. 169 front of the first row of crosses, in the open plain, he saw a far higher and far larger mound ; it was black, and com- posed entirely of ruins and cinders, — like the wrecks of a city after a great conflagration. The remains of can- non and broken swords and arms still pierced through the surface of that vast heap of coals and ashes, — and a livid smoke oozed everywhere from it, wrapping its clouds round a Giant, who was seen standing upon the ruins ! A ray of the moon at that moment fell upon him and glittered on the points of his crown of steel, so that his soldier's cloak, bound by an iron chain, could be clearly seen ; but instead of a sword, a many-thonged whip of leather, which fell to the very feet of this monarch, hung from its heavy links. Whenever the groans of the cruci- fied were heard, he stretched his head forward to listen ; and when the broken sobs of the women rose high upon the air, he responded by clapping his hands ! The Shade of Dante said : " Behold, the perfect Butcher ! Listen ! he will tempt them in their agony !" Then it seemed to the Young Man that the crowned Giant leaned over his mound, and stretching forth one hand toward the martyred multitude, while with the other he grasped his belt of chains and his whip of thongs as if they were a sword, he cried: " Forget the Past : Re- nounce the Future ! Deny your country and your God ! It is I ! I will be your Past — your Future — your Country — your God ! Worship me ! and as I have ordained that you should be nailed upon these crosses, I will ordain that you shall be taken down ! I will call my slaves, and they shall deliver you, and I will make you a happy People ! I will give you plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and you shall have all things in abundance ! Your ema- ciated and mutilated bodies will regain their early vigor ; they will grow fat and whole V* But the crucified multitude made no reply ; they uttered not a single plaint ! Only the blood which inundated the soil swelled into a mighty torrent, and like the waves of the sea beat against the mound, and through all the roar . of the hurrying shock the Young Man caught the word : No ! The snowy clouds of women made no reply, but when the flood rolled back, they knelt, and raised their 15* THE "FRAGMENT." infants in their arms: and the little voices of the children lifted in the air cried : No ! And scarcely had the mur- mur of the thousands of little voices risen upon the wind, when a marvelous luminosity inundated space — and the Young Man lifted his eyes ! And lo ! above, but very, very high, at the utmost summit of the wan dome of azure, it seemed as if t^o milky-ways were descending from the celestial vault, and they formed an immense, vast, and luminous cross, and a Form was seen extended upon this cross, which ap- proached ever nearer and nearer. The Arms were out- spread above the world, and with every moment their arc enlarged and increased its span. ^And upon the Brow which pierced into the Heavens was a Crown of Thorns, which, like heat-lightning, flashed in silence, and in the hollows of the Hands and Feet the Young Man saw three shining wounds, like three red moons, and from them for- ever flowed, as it were, rainbows of blood, and each rain- bow as it fell broke into swarms of stars, which scattered through and illumined Space. And thus in glory and in blood, crucified, but contin- ually creating, the Figure floated down, ever lower, lower, casting sunshine into the uttermost abysses, until the milky-ways upon which it was borne grew into two im- measurable rings of silver, encircling the horizon from the East to the West, from the North to the South ; while from the blood that flowed millions of stars sprang into being, and they shrouded the Form in light, like a veil woven of stars. The Eyes alone still pierced through, like two living fonts of lightning, not dispersing over the universe, but falling straight from Heaven to earth, until they lighted in their fullness upon the Forest of the Cru- cified ! And all the pale and bloody bodies, and all the sinking heads and corpse-like faces, with their dying eyes, were fully pictured in this Divine Gaze ! It seemed to the Young Man that he saw the whole Crucified Nation float- . ing there in a sea of celestial light ! and he cried : " Too late ! too late !" The Shade of Dante, kneeling upon a cloud, then said : "Verily! verily! This is the Purgatory of the present THE DREAM. 171 days, for each body here must endure its passion ; but over the soul of this Nation watches the Mysterious, the Beloved!" But as the Young Man struck his breast, wept, and re- fused to be comforted, the Master continued : " Weep not for these, but for those below who inhabit the world of granite, for there is dissolution, damnation, and hell ! Here there is only grief I Have I not told thee the spirit resuscitates from grief? but from infamy there is no resur- rection P 1 The curtain of clouds fell low as he spake : and the plain, the forest, the heavens, and the gaze of flame of the Divine Form, — all disappeared ! The air now grew lighter, fresher, clearer. The crown which glittered upon the brow of the Seer vanished. And it seemed to the Young Man that he again saw the interior of a chapel, the fields, the mountains, and the rising sun. Stretching out his hands, he cried : " Master ! master ! Show me Heaven — it is the third — upon the earth !" The Shade of Dante condensed again into a form, and appeared entire in the midst of the dawning light. But his voice had other tones; as if already from afar, and returning to the glory whence he had come, the Young Man heard : " Until the present hour there have been in your world only Hell and Purgatory. But the Spirit of the Lord has chosen His dwelling in your bosoms ! You are like abysses ; and in your depths also hides the blue of Heaven ! Let Faith bathe it in its light, let your holy will force it to external manifestation, let it surround you on all sides, let it fill your horizon ! It is the miracle of love ! Then will Heaven begin to dawn upon the earth. But watch with care, for no other path will lead you there : neither blind chance, nor fatal destiny, nor the caprices of license, nor the delusions of pride. Woe ! woe to the centuries, should infernal violence attack the mercy of God ! For God, your Creator, has respected you to such a degree as to leave you free to attack even Himself ; to conquer Him through your own evil: — but conquered, He, who is the very Being of every being, will abandon you, and in exchange for eternal life there will only re- main in you an eternal void, an eternal want, an eternal 172 THE "FRAGMENT" nothingness ! Watch closely, then, over the destinies of your planet !*.* s And vanishing in the glory of the light of dawn — leaving in the air a last trace of silver — through circles ever larger and more luminous, — like a whirlpool of agi- tated waters — like the breath of dying winds — like a pass- ing dream, — the figure of Dante mounted in space, — far into the light of the sun, — then it sped on into the invisi- ble Infinite ! 1 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. "To the accumulated errors of their ancestors they added aults un- known to them, — Hesitation and Fear: therefore it came to pass that they vanished from the face of the earth, and a deep silence fell upon them." L'ANONYME. " To be, or not to be, that is the question." Hamlet. (WRITTEN IN 1834-1835.) Translation collated from the version in German by R. Batornicki, Leip- sic, 1841 ; from the version in French in the Revue des Deux Mondes, Oct. 1, 1846 ; and from that published by Ladislas Mickiewicz, in Paris, 1869: " (Euvres Completes du Poete Anonyme." In this drama, or rather dramatic vision, our Author de- sires to point out to his countrymen the two rocks which he dreads for them : the first, is that alluring enthusiasm which is born of the imagination rather than of the heart, which seduces by its antique and brilliant forms, but is powerless to understand, and consequently to create, any- thing in the Present ; the second, is that excess of ma- terial force which destroys without rebuilding, which pulls down without reconstructing, because, like the base- less idealism, it also lacks the vivifying inspiration of the heart. These two excesses are represented in the persons of Count Henry and Pancras. The one, led astray by the phantoms of love and glory, sacrifices the happiness of his family, the interests of his country, to a double chi- 173 174 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. mera ; the other, after having conquered the world by the power of his intellect, and having multiplied ruins and piled corpses around him, is overwhelmed by the convic- tion of his own impotence, totters and expires in the face of a superior power, which he, as well as the Count, had not acknowledged. Is it necessary to name that power? It is Christianity, which, subjecting both the imagination and the intellect to the heart, places its ideal in the union of these three Divine forces. Thus not without design does our Poet represent the Count and Pancras in mortal com- bat, — the dreamer, whose imagination is fascinated by a false ideal, and the thinker, whose intellect has proclaimed to him the blind rule of force. The logical tendencies of the two natures inevitably urge them to serve two in- imical principles ; to arm, one in the name of the dreams of the Past, and the other in the cause of the supposed realities of the Present. Both are doomed to perish, and, in their fatal duel, our Poet evinces no preference for either champion. Each part of "The Undivine Comedy" is preceded by a prologue, in which the general thought is foreshadowed. In the following invocation, our Author addresses himself to such poets and poetry as sacrifice the heart and its duties to a baseless imagination. We are about to see the peace of domestic life ruined by this false enthusiasm, and our Author indicates in this- lyrical invective the principal traits in the character of Count Henry, who represents the fatal victory of imagination over duty. — Revue des Deux Mondes, ier Octobre, 1846. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.* INVOCATION. Stars circle round thy head, and at thy feet Surges the sea, upon whose hurrying waves A Rainbow glides before thee, cleaving the clouds ! Whate'er thou look'st upon is thine ! Coasts, ships, Men, mountains, cities, all belong to thee ! Master of Heaven as earth, it seems as naught Could equal thee in glory ! To ears which heed thy lays, thou givest joys, Raptures ineffable ! Thou weavest hearts Together, then untwin'st them like a wreath, As wild caprice may guide thy flame-lit fingers ! Thou forcest tears, then driest them with a smile ; Then scar'st away the smile from paling lips, Perhaps but for a moment, a few hours, Perhaps for evermore ! But thou ! — What dost thou feel, and what create? A living stream of beauty flows through thee, But Beauty thou art not ! woe ! woe to thee ! The weeping child upon its mother's breast, The field flower knowing not its perfumed gift, More merit have before the Lord than thou ! Whence com'st thou, fleeting shadow? to the Light Still bearing witness, though thou know'st it not, * The appropriateness of this name must excuse its coinage. It has been thought best not to attempt to alter the occasional irregularities in the rhythm of this metrical translation, lest a weakening of its vigor might be the result. — Ed. 175 176 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Hast never seen it, nor wilt ever see ! In anger, or in mockery wert thou made ? So full of self-deceit, that thou canst play The angel to the moment when thou fall'st, And crawlest like a reptile upon earth, Stifled in mud, or feeding upon dust ! Thou and the woman have like origin !* Alas ! thou sufferest, too, although thy pangs Bring naught to birth, nothing create, nor serve ! The groans of the unfortunate are weighed ; The lowest beggar's sighs counted in Heaven, Gathered and sung upon celestial harps, — But thy despair and sighs fall to the earth, Where Satan gathers them ; — adds them with joy To his own lies, illusions, mockeries ! The Lord will yet disown them, as they have Ever disowned the Lord ! Not that I rise against thee, Poetry, Mother of Beauty, of ideal Life ! But I must pity him condemned to dwell Within the limits of these whirling worlds In dying agonies, or yet to be, Doomed to sad memories, or prophecies, Perchance remorse, or vague presentiments, — Who gives himself to thee ! for everywhere Thou ruinest wholly those who consecrate Themselves, with all they are, to thee alone, Who solely live the voices of thy glory ! Blessed is he in whom thou mak'st thy home, As God dwelt in the world, concealed, unknown, But grand and mighty in each separate part ; The unseen God, before whom creatures bow, And kneeling, cry : " Behold Him ! He is here \ n A guiding star, he bears thee on his brow, And no unfaithful word will sever him * Imaginative and emotional : not working in the world of Actuality. — TR. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 177 From thy true love ! He will love men, and be A man himself, encircled by his brothers ! From him, who keeps not with thee perfect faith, Betrays thee to the hour, or his own needs, Devotes thee to man's perishable joys, Painting the sensual with thy hues divine, — Thou turn'st away thy face, while scattering Perchance upon his brow some fading flowers, Of which he strives to twine a funeral crown, Spending his life to weave a wreath of death ! He and the woman have one origin ! FIRST PERIOD. " De toutes les choses serieuses, le manage est la plus bouffonne."j Beaumarchais SCENE I. Morning, The castle of Count Henry is seen. The Guardian Angel descends. Guardian Angel. Peace upon earth to all men of good will! Among the created, blessed ever be The man who has a heart \ he may be saved ! Wife, good and pure, reveal thyself to him, And a fair child be born unto their House ! {The angel vanishes.} (Evil Spirits appear.} CHORUS OF EVIL SPIRITS. Rise, spectres, phantoms, rise ! Hover above, Surround him ! Thou his first beloved in youth, Buried but yesterday, come from the grave ; Head them and lead them ever swarming on ! In morning vapors bathe thyself anew ; Wreathe thy dead brow with perfumed buds of spring : — Thou, his lost love, float on before the Poet ! 16 1 7 8 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Rise, Glory, rise ! forgotten Eagle kept* For centuries in Hell, well stuffed, preserved, Descend from thy long-crumbling perch, unfold Thy wings gigantic, whitened in the sun, And dazzling wave them round the Poet's head ! Come from our vaults, thou rotting masterpiece Of Beelzebub ! Thou wildering semblance of An earthly Eden by his pencil sketched ; Get in thy canvas the old rents reglued, The holes and cracks with varnish all refilled ; Wrapping thyself in webs of rainbow clouds, Shimmer, unroll, and float before the Poet ! Mountains and seas, wild cliffs and forests dim, With crimson dawns and golden purpling eves, Cradle and lull the Poet in vain dreams ! O mother nature, closely hold thy son ! SCENE II. A village. A church with towers. The Guardian Angel floats above it. Guardian Angel. If thou wilt keep thy oath, thou shalt my brother be Before the face of God, our Father ! SCENE III. Interior of the church. Wax-lights blaze upon the altar. Many witnesses are standing round it; a Bride and Bridegroom kneel before it. A Priest {giving the Nuptial Benediction). Remember well my words. . . . The Bride and Groom rise. The Groom kisses the hand of the Bride and leads her to a kinsman. All leave the church save the Groom. Bridegroom. I have descended to an earthly marriage, Because I've found the bride my spirit dreamed. If I should ever cease to love her, may God's malediction fall upon my head! * Not the true glory of self-sacrifice is here designated, but that of pride and egotism. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 179 SCENE IV. A saloon filled with guests. Music, dancing, lights, and flowers. The Bride, after waltzing a few turns, accidentally meets the Bridegroom, joins him, and rests her head upon his shoulder. Bridegroom. How beautiful thou art in thine ex- haustion, While orange flowers and pearls in soft confusion, Fall through the wavy masses of thy hair ! Oh ! thou shalt ever be my song of love ! Bride. Yes, as my mother taught, my own heart teaches ; I'll ever be to thee a faithful wife ! . . . How many guests are gathered here ! How warm It grows ! how wearisome the noise they make ! Bridegroom. Go, join the dance again, that I may watch Thee as thou floatest like a spirit round ; Thus have I seen the angels in my dreams ! Bride. I will if so thy wish ; . . . but I am tired, And my heart throbs. . . . Bridegroom. Dearest, I pray thee, go ! {Music and dancing.} SCENE V. An Evil Spirit appears in the form of a maiden. Midnight. The castle in the distance ; a gar- den and cemetery. Evil Spirit. At the same hour, and in such a night, Not long ago, I also coursed the earth. To-day the Demons drive me forth; command Me to assume a saintly form. {He floats over the garden.} Ye perfumed flowers, break from your fragile stems And deck my hair ! {He alights among the graves.} Fresh charms of buried maids, Scattered in air and floating o'er these graves,' Gather upon, and paint my swarthy cheeks With roseate hues of hope and youthful love ! l8o THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Under this mossy stone a fair-haired girl Moulders in rottenness — will soon be dust, — Gold tresses, come ! Shadow my burning brow ! Under this fallen cross two lustrous eyes Of heavenly blue lie in their sockets dead, — To me ! to me ! the pure and lambent flame Which filled them once, and glimmered through their lashes ! A hundred torches burn within those bars To light the worms where kings repose in state ; They buried a young princess there to-day, — Ye costly robes of snowy satin, come ! Fluttering like downy doves, fly through the grate ; Leave with the dead, undraped, the virgin corpse, And cling around my scathed and fleshless form ! And now, on ! on ! SECOND PERIOD. SCENE I. Midnight. A sleeping-apartment in the castle. A night-lamp stands upon a table, and shines upon the face of the Husband. The Husband (dreaming). Ha ! whence com'st thou whom I no longer see, — Will never see again ? What weary years ! As water softly flows, so glide thy feet, Like two white waves of foam ! A holy calm is on thy blessed face ; All I have dreamed or loved unites in thee ! {Awaking suddenly. ) Where am I? . . . Ha ! I'm sleeping by my wife ! ( Gazing long upon her. ) That is my wife / Ah ! once I thought thou wert My Early Dream, — but there I was deceived : THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 181 It has returned. Mary, thou art it not, Nor like it ! Thou art mild, and pure, and good ; But she . . . My God ! what see I there ? Am I awake ? The Phantom. Thou hast betrayed me ! {Vanishes.') Husband. Gone ! Stay ! stay, my Dream ! Curst be the hour in which I took a wife, Deserted and betrayed the love of youth, — Thought of my thought, myself, soul of my soul ! Wife {awaking). What is the matter? Breaks the morn so soon ? To-day it is we make our purchases : Is that the coach already at the door? Husband. No ! 'tis far from morning. Go to sleep. Wife. I fear that you are ill. I will arise And get some ether for you. Husband. Nay, nay; sleep! Wife. My darling, tell me what the matter is ! Your voice is changed ; your cheeks with fever burn. Husband (rising). Air ! air ! I cannot breathe ! For God's sake, sleep ! Mary, I pray you not to follow me. {He leaves the room.) SCENE II. The church with its adjoining grave-yard. The Husband is seen standing in the garden of the house, lighted by the moon. Husband. Ay, since my marriage, I've dozed life away, Eating and drinking in a lethargy, And sleeping like a German artisan ! The world around me sleeps in my own image ! . . . We've visited relations ; gone to shops ; And for my child, yet to be born, I've sought A nurse. ... {The great bell of the church tower strikes two.) It is the hour when I was wont to mount My throne. Back ! back to me, my glorious kingdom ! 1 82 THE VNDIVINE COMEDY. Ye shadowy forms, obedient to my thoughts, Visions and images of grandeur, grace, Come, throng around me as in earlier days ! (He walks up and down, convulsively wringing his hands.} In very truth, my God, dost Thou make marriage? Dost Thou give consecration to the vows Binding two beings " until death shall part " ? And hast Thou surely said that naught shall break The bondage blessed by Thee in highest Heaven, Even when the souls with constant, violent shocks . Repel each other? When, to advance at all, They must upon opposing pathways move, While their two bodies, chained, grow stiff, and freeze Into two corpses? . . . (The Phantom suddenly appears?) Thou here, Beloved ? Thou who art mine own, Oh, take me with thee ! If thou'rt but a dream, A child fantastic of my seething brain, — Then, child who temp'st thy father, wait for me Until I, too, am shadow, — one with thee ! Phantom. When, where I call, wilt swear to follow me ? Husband. At every moment of my life, I'm thine ! Phantom. Remember ! Husband. Stay ! Melt not like mist away ! If thy dear beauty is above all beauty, If thought of thee above all other thought,— Why dost thou vanish like a dream away ? (A window in the house is opened?) Voice from the window. Dear heart, the night is chill ; you will take cold. I fear to stay alone in this vast room ; The curtains sway ; the shadows frighten me. Come back, mine own ! Husband. Yes, Mary, yes. I come. . . . Vanished the vision ! . . . But she will return : — And then farewell my House, my Garden, Wife, Created for such things, — but not for me ! Voice from the window. Henry, for God's sake, come ! it grows so cold. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 183 Husband. My child ! Must I forsake the child ? Oh, God ! SCENE III. A saloon in the castle richly furnished. Candelabra stand upon an open piano, at which the Wife is seated. A cradle is near it, in which lies a sleeping infant. The Husband reclines upon a couch, his face buried in his hands. Wife. I've been to Father Benjamin ; he said He would be here at the appointed hour. Husband. Thanks ! Wife. I have also ordered the confections : The cakes will have George Stanislas upon them. Husband. Thanks ! Thanks ! Wife. Nay, God be thanked, the rites will soon Be all complete, and our boy quite a Christian ! The water may be poured upon his head And yet, methinks, there may be something lacking. I hope you have invited all our friends To see our son baptized. {She goes to the cradle and arranges the covering.*) Sleep, darling, sleep ! What is it troubles thee? Why dost thou toss the covering off thee so? So, now, I tuck the cradle quilt around, And cover thy bare arms. What ! off again ? My little baby, canst thou dream so soon ? Lie still, my pretty George ! My baby love ! (She addresses her husband. ) I wonder why our infant cannot sleep? (She returns to the cradle.) My little George, my darling baby, sleep ! (She sings.) Husband (aside). A storm approaches ! Heavens, what stifling heat ! There strikes the lightning ! Here my own heart breaks ! ( The wife seats herself at the piano, strikes a few chords, ceases, and again begins to play, rises suddenly, and stands beside her husband. ) i84 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Wife. You have not spoken to me once to-day, Nor yesterday, nor during all this week ; — God ! a month has passed since you've addressed A word to me, save answering a question : And all who see me think me so much changed. Husband {aside). The hour is on me — cannot be delayed ! (To his wife). I do not think so. You look very well. Wife. Ah ! that is quite indifferent to you ; 1 think you never hear, nor look at me ! When I come near, you turn your head away, Or bury deep your face within your hands. Oh, husband, tell me what I've done amiss ! Oh, that I could divine what is my fault ! I to confession went but yesterday, Examined my whole soul, probed all my thoughts, But nothing found which could offend you, Henry. Husband. Nor have you me offended. Wife. Oh, my God ! Husband. I feel I ought to love you ! Wife. Oh, not that ! I cannot bear those drear words, " ought to love !" They freeze my very heart, I know not why ! Tell me you do not love me ! Truth is best, If bitter ; then I would at once know all ! {She goes to the cradle and holds up the child.') Forsake him not ! Not mine, he is your son ! Oh, let your anger fall on me alone ! Look on your child ! our boy ! My pretty George ! (She kneels before hint, with the infant in her arms. ) Husband (raising her from the ground). Forget it, Mary ! dreams and gloomy hours . . . Wife. It is forgotten ! Promise ! . . . one word more : . . . Say that you ne'er will cease to love your son 1 Husband. Nor him, nor you, — I'll love you both, — believe ! (He kisses her brow. She throws her arms around him ; rests her head upon his shoulder. At that mo?nent a loud clap of thunder is heard, followed by wild and melancholy music. ) THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Wife. Look ! What is that ? {She presses the child to her bosom ; the music ceases.*) Phantom {entering). Hail, my beloved ! I come To bring thee peace and bliss. Throw off thy chains, The earthly fetters which enslave thee here ! I come from a free world, great, limitless, Where casts the Past no shadows. I am thine ! Wife. Mother of God protect me ! Guard my George ! This ghost is ghastly, — pallid as the dead; The eyes are dying out, — the voice is harsh As when the death-hearse grides the corpse within the grate ! Husband. Thy brow is radiant, my Beloved ! Thy curls Are gemmed with sweetest flowers ! Wife. A dismal shroud For drapery ! Husband. Thy form is streaming light ! Let me but hear thy voice again — then die ! Phantom. She who impedes thee is but an illusion ; Her life is fleeting as a passing sigh ; Her love, a dying leaf condemned to fall With myriad other fading, blasted leaves ! But I will live forever. Wife {throwing herself into the arms of her husband). Save me, Henry ! Save yourself ! the air is thick with sulphur ; Heavy with vapors from the charnel-house ! Husband. Blaspheme not, child of clay ! Insult her not, Nor envy ! Lo ! The ideal in which God Conceived you ! You let the Serpent tempt you, Became what now you are ! Wife. I leave you not ! Husband {to the Spectre). Beloved, I forsake house, wife, and child To follow thee ! {He goes.) Wife. O Henry ! Henry ! . . . Gone ! {She falls fainting to the floor with the infant in her arms. The storm without grows wilder.) i86 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. SCENE IV. The Baptism. Kinsmen and Guests. Father Benjamin the Priest ; Godfather and Godmother ; Nurse with the Child in her arms ; the sick Wife reclining upon a sofa. Relations and Servants in the background. First Guest. I wonder that the Count should not be here. Second Guest. He may have been detained ; forgotten it, Absorbed in writing verses, — who can tell? First Guest. How pale and tired the young Countess looks ! She speaks to no one, welcomes not her guests. Third Guest. This christening reminds me of a ball I once attended. The host had lost that day His whole estate at cards ; was bankrupt quite, Yet he continued to receive his guests With perfect, if despairing, courtesy. Fourth Guest. I left my lovely princess, and came here Expecting a good breakfast, merry company, But I have only found, as Scripture says, " Weeping and wailing, gnashing of the teeth ! M Father Benjamin. George Stanislas, I sign thee with the cross ! Wilt thou receive our Holy Baptism ? Godfather and Godmother. I will. A Kinsman. Look ! look ! the Countess wakens up ; — How her eyes glare ! She rises wildly, — moves As in a dream, — comes slowly toward the priest. . . . Second Kinsman. She stretches out her arms toward the child. What is she murmuring ? Poor thing, how pale ! She totters — she will fall ! give her your arm ! Father Benjamin. George Stanislas ! Dost thou in truth renounce The Devil and his works ? Godfather and Godmother. I do renounce them. First Kinsman. The Countess tries to speak. Her white lips writhe And twist, . . . her eyes roll. . . . Hush ! what does she say? THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 187 Countess. Where is thy father, George, my pretty boy ? {She lays her hand softly on the head of the infant.} Father Benjamin. I pray you let the sacred rite pro- ceed ! Countess. I bless thee, George ! I bless thee, O my child ! Become a Poet, that thy father's love May cling to thee ! that he may leave thee never, Nor ever drive thee from his changeful heart ! Godmother. Mary, be calm ! You will disturb the priest ! Countess. George, be a Poet, that thoumay'st deserve Thy father's love ! Perchance then he'll forgive Thy mother, and return . . . Father Benjamin. You interrupt The ceremony, and cause scandal, Countess ! Countess. I curse thee, George, if thou art not a Poet ! {She falls to the ground in a fainting fit, — the attendants bear her out. ) Guests {whispering among themselves). What can have happened here? 'Tis very strange ! Come, let us leave the house without delay. {During this time the ceremony is completed. The crying infant is replaced in the cradle.) The Godfather {standing beside the cradle). George Stanislas, you now have been received Into the pale of Christianity, Into the bosom of society. In after-years, you will be citizen, And through your parents' training, help of God, You may become a Statesman, Magistrate ! Remember, you must love your native land ; Know, for your country it is sweet to die ! SCENE V. An enchanting site. Hills and forests, mountains in the distance. Count Henry. Lo ! all I have so long desired, so sought, So prayed for, now is almost in my grasp ! I've left behind me far the world of men. THE UND1VINE COMEDY. The human pismires there may throng their ant-hills, Struggle for prey ; perish with rage and pain When it escapes them, — naught is it to me ! I am alone ; will crawl with them no more. Spectre {showing itself and disappearing). Come this way! Come! . . . SCENE VI. Mountains, crags, peaks, and precipices above an angry sea. Clouds, wind, and tempest Count Henry. But where is my beloved ? I see her not. The breath of morn, the song of birds, all gone ! What sudden gusts of wind ! How black the sky ! Where am I ? Have these mountains any name ? What giddy stairways leading to the sky ! I stand alone upon the highest peak : What a wild world of ruin lies around ! How soughs and howls the wind up this bleak pass I Heaven ! What abysses yawning at my feet ! Voice of the Spectre in the distance. To me, my best beloved, come to me ! Count Henry. Where art thou, love ? thy voice sounds from afar ! I've climbed the peak, and hang midway in air: — How can I follow thee through this abyss ? A Voice near him. Where are thy wings ? Count Henry. Spirit of evil, why Thus jeer at me? I scorn thee ! Another Voice. What ! a soul, — Thy grand immortal soul, that with a bound Could leap to Heaven, dreads to cross a chasm ! The quailing wretch implores thy feet to stay. O valiant soul that longed to scale the infinite, And cowers before a precipice of earth ! O dauntless soul ! O manly heart ! Fear conquers thee ! Count Henry. Appear ! take body ! something I can seize, Bend, break, crush, overthrow, — and if I quail, May I lose what I love for evermore ! The Spectre {from the other side of the abyss). Here, grasp my hand, and swing thyself across ! 7 HE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Count Henry. What wild and sudden change comes over thee ! The flowers leave thy temples — fall to earth, — Touching the ground, they turn to reptiles, — run Like lizards, — crawl and hiss like vipers ! Spectre. Haste ! Count Henry. Great God ! the wind tears off thy lus- trous robe, — It hangs in squalid rags ! Spectre. Come ! linger not ! Count Henry. The water oozes from thy clammy hair, — Thy naked bosom grows a skeleton ! Spectre. Come ! thou hast sworn to be forever mine ! Count Henry. Horror ! the lightning burneth out thine eyes ! CHORUS OF EVIL SPIRITS. Thy task is done : return to Hell, old Fiend ! A great proud soul thou hast seduced, undone ; Admired by men, a marvel to itself ! Thou, ruined spirit, follow thy Beloved ! Count Henry. God ! wilt thou damn me thus, because I thought That my ideal, reflex of Thy Beauty, Surpassed all other beauty on this earth? Because I have pursued it, for it suffered, Until I have become a jest for demons, — Wilt Thou condemn me, God ? An Evil Spirit. Hear, brothers, hear ! Count Henry. My last hour strikes ! Tornadoes sweep the clouds From Heaven, to plunge them in the angry sea ! Higher and higher rise the hurrying waves ; Soon they must reach me here ! The earth heaves, sinks ! Forces unseen drive to the precipice ! Whirlwinds of spectres mount my shoulders, drag Me to the verge .... Evil Spirits. Brothers, rejoice ! He comes ! Count Henry. Useless to combat ; vain to struggle more ! 17 190 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. The giddy rapture of the abyss attracts : My brain is reeling to the fatal plunge ! O God ! the Enemy is conqueror ! {The Guardian Angel appears floating above the sea?) Guardian AngeL Lord, let Thy Peace descend on these mad waves, And calm this raging sea ! ( To Count Henry.} In this same hour baptismal waters pour On thy pure infant's head. . . . Husband, return To thy deserted home, and sin no more ! Father, return to thy forsaken child, And never cease to love him ! SCENE VII. The saloon in the castle in which stands the piano. Count Henry enters. Attendants follow, and servants bring in lights. Count Henry. Where is your lady? Servant. She is ill, my lord. Count Henry. She is not in her room. Servant. She is not here. Count Henry. Not here ! left home ? When did she go away ? Servant. She did not go, my lord : they carried her away. Count Henry. " She did not go! they carried her away ! ' ' Who ? Where ? . . . reply at once ! Servant {taking flight). The Doctor came; he took her to the mad-house ! Count Henry. That is not true, — that were too horrible ! Mary, thou hid'st perchance to sport with me ; Perchance to punish me. . . . Did he say mad? { Calls loudly. ) Speak, Mary, speak ! Mary ! my Mary, come ! I suffer . . . Come to me ! Nothing. . . . She is not here ! . . . No word of answer ! {He calls.) Jacob ! John ! Catherine ! . . . there's no one here ! The house is deaf, and dumb, and desolate ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 191 Can it be true ? . . . I would not wrong a fly, Yet I have plunged the heart that trusted me, The innocent creature whom I swore to love And guard from evil, into Hell itself : All whom I breathe upon I blight, — and will At last destroy myself ! Escaped I not From Hell to do its work, and be on earth Its burning image for a few short hours ? Upon what pillow lies that saintlike head ! What cries and horrors wound the shrinking ears ! — The shrieks and howls of madmen in their cells, Chained, scourged, and uttering frightful blasphemies ! Mary, this is the home I've made for thee ! I see her there ; her brow so pure and calm Is wrung with pain — sunk in her little hands ! Her mind is gone astray, in search of me To wander through the desert — and is mad With anguish ! A Voice, Poet, thou chant'st a Drama !* Count Henry. Ha ! again my Demon speaks to me. (He rushes to the door and opens it violently?) Ho ! Jacob ! my Arabian ! Haste ! Haste ! My cloak and pistols ! SCENE VIII. A hilly country. A house for the insane, surrounded by a garden. The Wife of the Physician, with an enormotts bunch of keys in her hands, is seen opening a barred door for Count Henry, who follows her into a corridor. ) Wife of the Physician. Perhaps you are a kinsman of the Countess? * Through this voice we read the design of the Polish poet. The Count remains faithful to his character. Being a man with whom im- agination has killed the heart, everything, not even excepting his own domestic miseries, assumes to him the garb of poetry, so that even when deploring the madness of his wife, he is still composing a drama. — Re- vue des Deux Mondes. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, Count Henry. I am her husband's friend ; he sent me here. Wife of the Physician. There's little hope of her re- covery. I'm sorry that my husband's not at home; He could have told you all about the case. Day before yesterday they brought her here In strong convulsions. (She wipes her face.') Oh, how warm it is ! We've many patients here, but none so ill as she. We gave two hundred thousand florins for this place ; 'Tis healthy, and the mountain views are fine. Are you impatient, sir, to see the Countess ? Some say the Carbonari came at night And carried off her husband ; others say It was a woman, — and that crazed her brain : Are you in haste ? {She places the key in a heavy door and unlocks it. A room with a grated window, a table, bed, and chair. The Countess is lying upon a low couch.) I beg, sir, you will wait. Count Henry (entering). Leave us ! I wish to be alone with her. Wife of the Physician. My husband will be angry ; I ■ must stay. Count Henry (closing the door upon her). I wish to be alone : leave me, I tell you ! Voice through the ceiling. You've chained up God ! You've put one God to death Upon the cross, — I am the other God, — And I am given to the hangman ! Voice through the floor. Off to the guillotine with lords and kings ! Through me alone the people can be free ! Voice from the right. Kneel down before the King, your Lord and Master, Your true legitimate Sovereign ! Kneel ! Voice from the left. A comet sweeps in fire across the sky ! The trump of Judgment sounds — The Day of wrath. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 193 Count Henry. Look at me, Mary ! Dost thou know me, love ? Countess. Have I not sworn thee faith till death us part ? Count Henry. Give me thy hand. Rise, rise, and leave this place ! Countess. Yes, but I cannot stand. My soul has left my body ; only in my brain it seethes. Count Henry. The carriage waits — 'tis but a step — I'll carry thee. Countess. Some moments more ; and then I will become more worthy thee ! Count Henry. I do not understand. Countess. I prayed three days and nights : at last God heard me. Count Henry. How did He hear thee ? Countess. After I lost thee, There came a change o'er me. I cried Lord ! Lord ! And prayed unceasingly, and struck my breast, And placed a blessed candle on my heart, Did penance, cried : " Send inspiration down, Within me light the flame of Poetry !" And on the third day I became a Poet ! Count Henry. Mary ! m Countess. Thou surely wilt no more disdain me, Henry; Nor leave me when the shades of evening fall, Now that I am a Poet ! Count Henry. Nor night, nor day ! Countess. See if I do not equal thee in power ; Grow like to thee.* I understand all things, I am inspired, flash forth in words, in songs Of victory ! I chant the seas, stars, clouds, Battles and skies : yes, seas, and stars, and clouds, And skies — but battles? — No. I never saw one. An unknown word has fallen from my lips ! Take me where I can see one ! — watch men die ! — * The Countess being mad from love, has but one thought in her deli- rium : to grow worthy of her husband in gaining his poetic powers, and winning the affection of him who had scorned her for their want. Under the mysterious influence of this passion the imagination of the husband has actually passed into herself and made her mad. 17* 194 THE UNDIVINE COMEDO. I must describe them all ! The night-dew, moon, Corpses, black plumes, hearses and swords, shrouds, blood, Coffins and funerals, — I must sing them all ! Infinite space will spread about me ; I must seek the farthest star, Cleaving swift the air around me, Seeking Beauty near and far. Like an eagle onward cleaving All the past behind me leaving, Chaos dark around me lying, Through its dimness lightly flying, Through its infinite abysses, On through darker worlds than this is, Till I vanish in the depths Of limitless black nothingness. Count Henry, Horrible ! Countess {throwing her arms around hint). Henry, lam so happy now ! Voice through the floor. With my own hand I've mur- dered three crowned kings ; Ten still remain : headsman and block await them. I've killed a hundred priests who chanted mass. . . . Voice from the left. The sun is going out : the stars have lost Their way and hurtle madly in the dark. Woe! Woe! Count Henry. The Day of Judgment is upon me ! Countess. Drive off the gloom that darkens thy dear face ! It saddens me. What can be wanting still ? I know a secret which will make thee glad. Count Henry. Tell me ! I will do all thou wouldst have done. Countess. Thy son will be a Poet ! Count Henry. Mary ! Mary ! Countess. The priest, when he baptized him, gave him first The name you chose : you know, George Stanislas ; Then I rushed forward, — blessed him from my soul; Baptized him Poet ! Poet he will be ! This is my work; I have won this from God ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 195 At last I cursed him should he not be Poet ! Oh, how I love thee, Henry ! Voice through the ceiling. Father, forgive ! they know not what they do. Countess. Hark ! Did you hear him ? He is surely mad. Is it not very strange men should go mad ? Count Henry. Ay, strange indeed ! Countess. He knows not what he says ; But I can tell you how it all would be If God went mad ! The worlds would lose their way in space, and mount, and mount ; Then fall, and fall, crashing against each other ! Each creature, worm, would cry : " Lo, I am God l" Then they would die, and lie in rottenness ! The comets and the suns would all go out ; Christ would no longer save us. Tearing His bleeding Hands from the great nails, He'd fling His cross into the infinite Dark, And with it blast the hopes of myriads of souls. Hark ! how it crashes as it strikes the stars ! Bounding, rebounding, as it flashes, breaks, — Its ruined fragments falling everywhere, Until the dust darkens the Universe ! * * * * * * * Only the Holy Virgin still prays on ; The stars, her servants, keep their faith with her ; But she must plunge with all the falling worlds ! Christ throws away his cross, and God is mad ! Count Henry. Mary, hast thou no wish to see thy child ? Come home ! Countess. He is not there. I gave him wings, And sent him through the Universe to find All that is terrible, sublime, and grand ; Have dipped him in the sea, and in the clouds. . . . He will return some day, and make thee happy. Ah, me ! Count Henry. Dost suffer pain ? Countess. Some one has hung i 9 6 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. A lamp up in my brain : it sways and flickers So wilderingly ! Ah, me ! Count Henry. Beloved, be calm ! Countess. When one is Poet, life cannot be long ! (She faints.} Count Henry. Help ! Help ! Send the physician quickly here ! (Many women enter, followed by the wife of the physician.} Wife of the Physician. Pills ! Powders ! No ; she cannot swallow them. Run, Margaret, run quickly \ find the Doctor ! (To the Count.} This is your fault, sir \ you have made her ill. My husband will be very angry with me, sir ! Countess. Henry, farewell ! Wife of the Physician. Then you, sir, are the Count ? Count Henry. Mary ! Mary ! ( Takes her in his arms, covering her with caresses. } Countess. Darling, I'm well ! I die upon thy heart ! (Her head falls. } Wife of the Physician. Her face is flushed ! The blood o'erfloods her brain ! Count Henry. There is no danger, none ! This will be nothing. . . . (The Physician enters and stands by the couch.} Physician. Your words are truth, — for there is no- thing here ! All's over ! She is dead ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 197 THIRD PERIOD. " Gemisch von Koth und Feuer." (" Compound of clay and fire.") Faust: Goethe. Oh, child ! why lie thy toys neglected round thee?* Why never leap astride a cane for horse And gallop off? Why not impale the bright Winged butterflies, enjoy their dying glitter? Why never sport upon the grass, turn somersaults, Steal sugar-plums, rob apple-trees, and wet Thy alphabet, from A to Z, with tears ? Thou king of rabbits, dogs, bees, flies, and moths, Of cowslips, daisies, marbles, kites, and tops ; Thou royal friend of birds, of Punch, and puppets ; Outlaw of petty mischiefs, — why resign Thy kingdom? Poet's son, oh, wherefore art Thou sad, — so like an angel in thy guise ? What meanings haunt the depths of thy blue eyes? Why do they seek the ground, as if weighed down By drooping lashes, mournful memories, Though they have only watched the violets Of a few springs? Why heavily sinks thy head Upon thy small white hands ? ... Like snow-drops burdened with the dews of night Thy brow seems bent with weight of mystic thought. And when thy pale cheek floods with sudden flush, Red as a rose amidst its hundred leaves, And, tossing back thy golden curls, thou gazest * This Invocation is addressed to the son of the Count. This child, whose father was the lover of phantoms, is himself but a phantom ; one of those frail beings in whom the excessive development of internal life exhausts and consumes the external envelope. His soul, even before quitting the body, is almost free from its ties with the body, and already visits the invisible world. Two moral maladies, too common in our time, are seen in the characters of the father and son. In the first, the per- ception of the ideal is falsified and distorted ; in the second, it is exag- gerated. The Count is a dreamer ; the son a clairvoyant. — Revue. * THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Into the skies, — tell me, what seest thou there, What nearest, and with whom thou holdest converse ? For then the light and quivering wrinkles weave Their living mesh across thy blue-veined brow From distaff all unseen ; from viewless coils, Like silken threads, the changeful web is wrought, While in thine eyes still gleams an unknown flame, Which none can ever trace or understand. Thy nurse may call ; thou seemest not to hear ; She vainly weeps, deeming thou lovest her not. Thy cousins, friends, then cry to thee unheard, And think thou dost not wish to recognize them. Thy father speaks not, but observes thee closely, Gloomy and silent, while the gathering tears Swell 'neath his eyelids, — soon to disappear — Perchance to fall upon his heart ! When the physician comes, he feels thy pulse, Says thou art nervous as he counts its throbs. The old godfather brings thee sugar-plums, And pats thee on thy shoulder, saying : " George, Thou* It be a statesman in thy native land !" The learned professor takes thee, runs his hand Among thy ringlets, says thou wilt possess A talent for the exact sciences ! The beggar, whom thou never pass'st without Casting a coin into his tattered hat, Foresees a lovely wife, a heavenly crown for thee. The crippled soldier, tossing thee in air, Declares thou art to be a general. The wandering gypsy scans thy tender face, Traces the lines upon thy little hands, Seeking in vain to read thy destiny, Looks sadly at thee, sighs and turns away, And will not take the gold-piece offered her. The magnetizer strokes thy sunny curls, And makes his passes round thy wondering face, But stops affrighted as he feels that he, Instead of thee, is falling into sleep. And Father Benjamin, preparing thee For thy confession, felt like kneeling down THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 199 Before thee as before a holy image. A painter caught thee in a heady rage, Stamping thy tiny feet upon the floor, And in his picture of the Judgment Day He painted thee among the infant demons : A rebel cherub ! Meanwhile, thou grow'st apace, More and more beautiful each passing hour ! Not in the childish bloom of rose and snow, But in the spiritual loveliness Of thoughts far and mysterious, which seem To come to thee from unseen worlds. And though thy cheek is sometimes pale, thine eyes With saddened gaze droop wearily their fringes, Thy breast contracted, — all who meet thee stop To gaze, exclaim : " How beautiful ! an angel V 9 If some frail flower, already fading, had A breath from Heaven and a glittering soul; And if on every leaf bending towards earth, In place of dew-drop hung an angel's thought, Infant ! such flower would most resemble thee ! Perchance such blossoms bloomed in Paradise Before the fall of Adam ! SCENE I. (Count Henry and George in a grave-yard, seated near a Gothic tomb?) Count Henry. Take off thy hat, my son, and pray for rest To thy dead mother's soul ! George. Hail Mary, full of grace ! Hail, Queen, who scent'st the flowers, fringest the streams . . . Count Henry. Hast thou forgot the words, that thus thou chang'st the prayer? Pray for thy mother, George, who died so young : Died at this very hour ten years ago. George. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, And the angels bless ! Ah ! when thou glid'st across the sky, each plucks Bright rainbow plumage from his sparkling wings, 200 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. And casts it at thy feet ! Thou floatest on, As though the ocean waves bore thee along ! Count Henry. George ! George ! George. Do not be angry with me, father ! When these words come to me, they hurt my head, And I mtist say them. Count Henry. Rise, George ! Such prayers will never reach our God. Thou hast no memory of thy mother ; so Thou canst not love her. . . . George. I often see mamma. Count Henry. Thou seest mamma ! Where dost thou see her, George? George. In dreams, — not quite in dreams, — before I sleep ! I saw her yesterday. Count Henry. What say'st thou, boy? George. She looked so pale and thin. Count Henry. But did she speak ? George. It seemed to me she wandered up and down Alone in a vast Dark ; but she was white. She sang to me last night ; I know the song : Say, shall I sing it, Father ? (Sings.) "I wander through the Universe, I search through infinite space, I pass through chaos, darkness, To bring thee light and grace : I listen to the angel's song, To catch the heavenly tone ; Seek every form of beauty, To bring to thee, mine own ! " I seek from highest spirits, From those of lower might, Rainbow colors, depths of shadow, Burning contrasts, dark and bright ; Rhythmed tones and hues from Eden Floating through the heavenly bars, Sages' wisdom, seraphs' loving, Mystic glories from the stars ; THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 201 That thou mayst be a poet, richly gifted from above, To win thy father's inmost heart, and ever keep his love." Thou seest my mother dear does speak to me ; That I remember all she ever says ! Count Henry {leaning against one of the pillars of the tomb). Mary, wilt thou destroy thine own fair child, And crush me 'neath the weight of two such sepulchres? ******* I rave ! she is as safe and calm in Heaven As she was sweet and pure upon the earth ! . . . My poor boy dreams ! . . . George. I hear her now, but cannot see mamma ! Count Henry. Where? . . . Whence comes the voice? George. It seems to come From yon two cypress-trees, now glittering in The sun's last rays : (Sings.) "I pour through thy spirit Music and might ; I wreathe thy pale forehead With halos of light ; E'en if blind, I would show thee Blest forms from above, Floating far through the spaces Of infinite love, Which the angels in Heaven, and men on the earth Know as Beauty. I've sought since the day of thy birth To waken thy spirit, My darling, my own, That the hopes of the father May rest on his son ! That his love warm and glowing Unchanging may shine ; And his heart, infant poet, Forever be thine !" Count Henry. Do the last thoughts of dying mortals live And torture them in their eternal homes? Can blessed spirits still be mad in Heaven, 1 3 202 THE UN DIVINE COMEDY. And take their place among Thy angels, God ? Insanity make part of immortality? George. Her voice grows ever fainter and more faint : Father, it dies behind the grave-yard wall. Father, down there \ . . . Mamma is still repeating as she goes : "That his love warm and glowing Unchanging may shine ; And his heart, little poet, Forever be thine !" Count Henry {kneeling). O God, have pity on our in- nocent child ! Hast Thou predestinated him in wrath To sickness, madness, to an early death? Oh, rob him not of reason ! Leave not void The sanctuary Thou hast built, O God, In Thine own Image for a holy temple ! Look down upon my restless agony ! Yield not this angel to the fiends in Hell ! I pray not for myself, for Thou hast given Me strength to bear the weight of passions, thoughts ; But pity him ! poor fragile little being ! One thought would snap his slender thread of life ! O God ! my God ! For ten long years I've known no hour of peace ! Many have envied me my happiness ; They did not know how fast as cutting hail, Tempests of agony Thou'st driven on me; Gloomy presentiments, illusions, woes ! My reason Thou hast left, but Thou hast stricken, Hardened my heart ! Thy benefits have been All for my mind ; none for my freezing soul. God ! suffer me to love my son in peace ! And let a covenant be made between The Creator and His creature. . . . ***** (Rises.} My son, now cross thyself, and come with me. Eternal rest be with thy mother's soul ! (Exit with George.) THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, 203 SCENE II. A public square. Ladies and gentlemen walking about. A Philosopher. Count Henry. Philosopher. I must repeat it, and it is in me An absolute, intuitive conviction, The time is near for the emancipation Of negroes and of women. Count Henry. You are right. Philosopher. And from a social transformation, both In general and particular, I deduce A great regeneration of our race, Through bloodshed, and destruction of old forms! Count Henry. You think so ? Philosopher. As on its axis oscillates Our globe, lifting itself and sinking, by a course Of sudden evolutions, we . . . Count Henry. See you this rotten tree standing beside us? Philosopher. With the young leaves upon its branches ? Count Henry. Yes. How long do you suppose it still will stand ? Philosopher. How can I know ? Perhaps a year or two. Count Henry. Although its roots are dead, it still puts forth A few green leaves. Philosopher. What does that prove ? Count Henry. Nothing, except that it will surely fall, Be cast into the fire, because not fit To bear the moulder's chisel, rotten at heart. Philosopher. I cannot see how that concerns our sub- ject. Count Henry. I pray you pardon me : it is your image, As that of your disciples, theories, And of our century. . . . {They pass out of sight.) SCENE III. A gorge in the midst of the mountains. Count Henry alone. Count Henry. I've sought through many weary years to find The last word of all science, feelings, thoughts, To solve the problem of our destiny ; 204 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. And in the depths of my own heart I've found The tomb's dark nothingness ! I know the ?iames of all the human feelings, But I feel nothing ! Nor faith, desire, nor love throbs in my soul ! Some dim presentiments still haunt its desert : I know my son will soon be wholly blind ; That this society in which I live Is even now in pangs of dissolution : And I am wretched as our God is happy; That is to say in me, and for myself alone. Voice of the Guardian Angel. Comfort thy hungry and despairing brothers ! Love thy poor neighbor as thou dost thyself! And thus thou shalt be saved. Count Henry. Who was it spoke ? Mephistopheles {passing). Your very humble servant. Sometimes I Amuse myself by drawing the attention Of travelers by a gift I hold from nature. I'm a ventriloquist. Count Henry {touching his hat with his hand). It seems to me That I have somew r here seen that face before : In an old picture, or a print. Mephistopheles {aside). The Count Has a good memory. Count Henry. May God be praised* Forever and for evermore ! Amen. Mephistopheles {disappearing among the rocks). Curses on thee, and thy stupidity ! Cou7it Henry. Poor child ! condemned to an eternal blindness Because thy father sinned, thy mother lost her senses : Being without a passion, incomplete, Living but in wild dreams and visions, thou Art never destined to maturity ! Thou shadow of an angel thrown on earth, Driven by illusions, suffering infinite sorrow ! * Form of salutation common in Poland. THE UND1VINE COMEDY. 205 Ha ! what a monstrous eagle rises there,* Just where the stranger vanished by the rock ! The Eagle. All Hail ! All Hail ! Count Henry. He flies to me. I hear The whirrings of his great black wings ; they stir Me like the hail of musketry in fight. Eagle. The sword once wielded by thy ancestors, Draw from its sheath ! Maintain their glory, power ! Count Henry. His black wings circle me and fire my blood ! He plunges in my eye his gaze of basilisk ! Ha ! now I understand thee ! Eagle. Never yield, Never retreat, despair ; and thus thy foes, Thy craven foes, conquered, shall bite the dust ! Count Henry. What, gone ? Then I salute thee from the rocks Which witnessed our encounter ! Come what may, — Whether the Future be or true or false, Or triumph, or defeat, — I trust in thee, Herald of glory ! Genius of the Past, Come to my aid ! And even if thy breath Into God's bosom has returned, let it Detach itself, descend in me, become Thought, force, and action ! ( Crushing a viper with his foot. ) Go, reptile, go ! And as no sigh for thee Will heave from nature's heart as thou liest crushed, Thus shall they all too plunge in the abyss, Nor leave regret, nor fame, nor memory ! Not one of all yon hurrying clouds will pause A moment in its flight o'er heaven, to look In pity on the army of earth's sons Whom I will wrap in general destruction. * * * * # * First they will perish . . . afterwards myself ! * sfj * * * * The eagle is the symbol of ambition, evoked, as it will be remem- bered, by the demons in the first period of the Drama. 20Ó THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Oh, boundless azure of aerial blue, Cradling the earth : she, new-born infant, wails, Weeps, sobs ; but thou, ever impassible, Nor hear'st, nor heed'st — whatever be her moan, — Rolling forever toward the infinite ! Farewell, O mother nature ! . . . I must go, Become a man, take arms against my Brothers ! SCENE IV. A chamber in the castle. Count Henry, George, and a Physician. Count Henry. All science yet has failed. My last hope rests In you alone. Physician. You honor me too much. Count Henry. Speak, George, and tell us how and what you feel ! George. I cannot see you, father ; cannot see The gentleman to whom I hear you speak. Bright sparks, black threads, pass and repass before My eyes unceasingly. Sometimes it is As if a shining snake crawled out of them, Sometimes a golden cloud. This cloud will rise, Or fall ; a rainbow then will seem upon it ; Sometimes they disappear — and all is dark. I do not suffer, father ; they give no pain. Physician. Come, George, beneath the shadow of this arch ! How old are you ? {He examines his eyes.} Count Henry. Almost fifteen. Physician. Now turn Your eyes directly to the light ! Count Henry. What hope ? Physician. The lids are sound ; the white of the eye is clear ; The nerves and muscles not at all enfeebled ; The blue is deep ; the veins are as they should be. ( To George. ) Be not uneasy ; you will soon be cured ; (To Count Henry, aside.) There is no hope ! look at the pupils, Count \ THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 207 There's no susceptibility to light : The optic nerve is wholly paralyzed. George. A black cloud seems to shroud all things around me ! Count Henry {aside). It is too true ! his lids are raised, his eyes Are opened wide and gazing at the light, But they see nothing ! blue and lifeless — dead ! George. But when my lids are shut, I can see more Than when they're open, father ! Physician. Have a care ; His mind has killed his body ! we must guard * The boy from catalepsy. Count Henry. Save him, Doctor ! The half of my estate shall be your own. Physician. That which has perished cannot be revived ! (He takes his hat and cane. ) Accept my sympathy ! I cannot stay, I've an engagement with a lady, Count, To couch a cataract. Farewell ! Count Henry. For Heaven's sake, stay ! Something may still be done ! Physician. Perhaps, sir, you would like to know the name Of this disease ? Count Henry. Is there no ray of hope ? Physician. We call it Amaurosis, from the Greek. (He departs.) Count Henry (throwing his arms around George). But you still see a little, my poor George? George. Father, I hear your voice. Count Henry. The sun shines clear ; Look through this window, George ! What do you see ? George. Between the pupils of my eyes and lids A crowd of moving figures pass, repass \ Places I know, and faces I have seen, Pages of books I've read . . . Count Henry. Then you do see / George. With my soul's eyes; my body's have gone out, — I'll see no more with them forever, father! 208 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Count Henry. {He falls upo?i his knees as if to pray, — rises after a short silence. ) Before whom have I knelt ? . . . From whom shall I Ask justice for the woe will crush my child ? . . . {He rises.) Best to bear all in silence ! . . . . God mocks our prayers, as Satan mocks our curses ! A Voice. Thy son a poet is; — what wouldst thou more ? SCENE V. An apartment in the castle. Physician and Godfather. • Godfather. It is a great misfortune to be blind. Physician. Unusual too at such an early age. Godfather. His frame was always weak. His mother died Somewhat so, so . . . {touching his forehead.) Physician. How did his mother die ? Godfather. A little — so — not quite in her right mind. Count Henry {entering). Pardon me that I've sent for you so late ; But during some time past my poor boy wakes At midnight, rises, walks as in a dream. The Doctor ought to see him : Follow me ! Physician. I'm anxious to observe this strange phe- nomenon. SCENE VI. The sleeping-apartment of George. Count Henry, George, Physician, Godfather, Relation's, and Nurse. First Relation. Hush ! Hush ! Second Relation. He wakens, but nor sees nor hears us. Physician. I pray you, gentlemen, let no one speak ! Godfather. I think it very strange. George {rising). My God ! my God ! First Relation. How noiselessly and slowly he glides on ! Second Relation. Look at his thin hands crossed upon his breast ! Third Relation. His lids are motionless, eyes open wide, THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 209 His lips move not, — but what a clear, shrill cry ! Nurse. Jesus of Nazareth ! George. Darkness, depart ! I am a child of light and harmony, And what have you to do with such as I ? I will not yield to your dominion, though My sight is lost, borne off by the wild winds To float in the immensity of space ! It will return to me one day, enriched With all the light of all the burning stars ! My pupils will rekindle with a flash of flame ! Godfather. He's mad as was his mother ! He knows not what He says ! 'Tis most remarkable. Physician. It is. Nurse {kneeling). O Holy Mary ! Mother of our Lord ! Take out my eyes, and give them to poor George ! George. Mamma ! mamma ! pray send me sunny thoughts And lovely images, that I may live Within myself, and there create a world Like that which I have lost ! First Relation. Were it not well to call the family, And hold a consultation ? Second Relation. Be silent ! Wait ! George. Mamma, thou answerest not. . . . Do not desert me ! Physician {to the Count). My duty is to tell you the whole truth. Godfather. To speak the truth is a physician's duty. Physician. Your son is threatened with insanity. Excessive sensibility of nerves, Combining with excitement of the brain, Has caused this state of aberration, dream ; Being awake, asleep at the same time ! I will explain the symptoms if you wish. Count Henry {aside). This man, my God, would read Thy laws to me, Explain Thy judgments ! Physician. Give me pen and ink. 2IO THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Cerasis laurei : two grains enough. I'll write it down. Count Henry. In yonder room you'll find All things required. And now, kind friends, good-night ! I fain would be alone ! Many Voices (as they retire). Good-night ! good-night ! George {awaking). Father, how can they wish good- night to me ? I think 'twere better they should say, long night ; Eternal night without a dawn I And not good-night, which means a happy night I Count Henry. George, take my arm, and lean on me ; I'll lead You to your bed. George. What does this mean, my father ? Count Henry. Cover yourself up warm ; sleep calmly, George ! The Doctor says you will regain your sight. George. I feel so ill. ... Strange voices wakened me. . . . I saw mamma knee-deep among the lilies. . . . (He falls asleep, .) Count Henry. My blessing rest upon thee, blighted boy ! Except a blessing, I can give thee nothing ; Nor light, nor happiness, nor glory ! Alas ! I cannot give thee back thy sight ! Already strikes the hour of combat for me, When I must lead the few against the many. What will become of thee, O infant Poet ! Without protection, helpless, sick, and blind ? There will be none to listen to thee then, Thou harmless little singer, with thy soul In Heaven, yet chained to earth by thy frail body ! Thou most unfortunate of all the angels ! My son ! my son ! (He buries his head in his hands, .) Nurse (at the door). The Doctor sent me here to tell my Lord That he desires to see him. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 211 Count Henry. Yes, yes, I go. , Meantime, good Catherine, sit here and watch My son. FOURTH PERIOD. " II fut administre, parceque le niais demandait un pretre, puis pendu a la satisfaction generale, etc." — Rapport du Citoyen Gaillot, Commis- saire de la Sixieme Chambre, An III., $ pr atrial. A song ! another song ! stirring and new ! Who will begin this song? Ah ! who will end it ? Give me the Past, steel-clad and barbed with iron, Floating with plumes and knightly bannerets ! With magic power I would invoke before you High Gothic towers and castellated turrets, Strong, bristling barbacans and mighty arches ; Vast vaulted domes, and slender, clustering shafts : — It may not be ! the Past can ne'er return ! Speak, whosoe'er thou art, tell me thy Faith ! To abandon life were task more easy far Than to invent a Faith and then believe it, Or call it back to life again when dead ! Shame ! shame upon you all ! Strong-minded spirits, Or spirits weak and vain, — all miserable, — Without or heart or brain ; in spite of you, The world is rushing onward, ever on To its own destinies ! It whirls you on, making wild sport of you, Urges you forward, backward, as it will, Planting your feet, or overturning you : — You have no power to fuse it in your mould ! As in predestined ring the earth rolls on, Maskers appear, vanish, and reappear, Whirled in resistless circles round and round. 212 THE UXDIVIXE COMEDY. As ways grow slippery with blood, they fall ! The Dance of Death goes on : Blood everywhere ! New couples join the ring ! Abyss of blood ! The world is crimsoning ! . . . I speak the truth. What throngs of people seize the city gates, Surround the hills, press through the sheltered vales ! Beneath the shadows of the trees great tents Are spread ; long boards are placed on pikes, on clubs, And fallen tree-trunks ; these as tables serve, And soon are filled with food, meat, bread, and drink. The excited masses seat and help themselves ; The full cups quickly pass from hand to hand, And as they touch the eager, thirsty mouths, Threats, oaths, and curses pour from heated lips. Faster and faster fly the ruby cups, Beaded and bubbling, ever emptying, filling, Striking and clinking as they pass, repass, With their metallic ring and brilliant sparkle, Among the thirsty millions. Hurrah ! hurrah ! Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy ! Fierce and more fierce the agitation grows. They wait impatiently ; murmurs increase, Break into riotous shouts and dangerous cries. Poor wretches, scarcely covered even with rags, The stamp of weary labors deeply ploughed Upon their sunburnt, rugged faces, set With uncombed, shaggy, bristling, matted hair ! Great drops of sweat start from their knotted brows ; Their sinewy, horny hands are armed w T ith spades, With axes, hammers, shovels, scythes, and flails. Look at that stalwart man who holds a pick ; At that stout youth who brandishes a club ; One holds aloft a gun with glittering pike ; With brawny arm another hurls a hatchet. A boy with one hand crams his mouth with cherries, The other thrusts an awl into the tree. Look, how their women crowd by thousands on ! Maids, wives and mothers, famished as themselves, Faded before their time, all beauty gone, THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 213 With hair disheveled, tarnished and soiled with dust. In deep, dark sockets sunk, their rayless eyes Gleam dead and sinister, as if they mocked A living, human look ! But they will soon be brighter, for the cup Flies full from lip to lip ; they quaff long draughts : — Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Long live the foaming bowl Of drunkenness and joy ! Hark ! murmurs rustle through the living mass ! A cry of joy or terror? Who can read The meaning of a sound from myriad mouths, Monstrously multiform? A man arrives, he mounts a table, speaks, Harangues and sways the noisy multitude. His voice drags harshly, grates upon the ear, But hacks itself in short, strong, racy words, Easily heard, and easily remembered. His gestures suit his words, as music, song. His brow is broad and high, his head quite bald ; Thought has uprooted his last hair. His skin Is dull and tawny, and the tell-tale blood Ne'er lights its dingy pallor; — feeling ne'er Painted its living secrets there. Between The bone and muscle of his parchment face Deep wrinkles form and weave their yellow lines. A heavy beard, like garland black, un wreaths The face where no emotion ever throbs. He gazes steadily upon the crowd, Nor doubt nor agitation ever clouds His clear cold eye, delays his strident voice. He lifts his arm, and holds it stiff and straight Stretched o'er the swaying throng who lowly bow, Ready to kneel before him to receive The blessing of a powerful intellect, Not that of a great heart. Down, down with all great hearts ! Away with them ! Away with all old castes and prejudice ! Hurrah for consolation, joy, and murder ! This is the people's idol, whom they love With passion, rage; he is their autocrat, 19 214 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Rules all the tides of their enthusiasm ; They swear by him ; he plays on all their stops. He tells them they shall have bread, sports, wine, gold : — Their cries swell like the rushing of a storm, And echo everywhere repeats the applause : " Hurrah for Pancras ! Bread, and wine, and gold, For us, our children, wives ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! M Leaning against the table where he stands, And at his feet, is seen his servant, friend, Disciple ; one whose dark eye, glittering through Long, dusky lashes, marks his Orient race. His shoulders droop, he sways from side to side, As if his indolent limbs could scarce support his frame. His lips are full, voluptuous, and cruel ; His fingers gleam with rings and precious stones. With deep and guttural voice, he also cries : " Hurrah for Pancras !" The orator looks down Upon him, smiles, and says to him : " Give me My handkerchief, Citizen Neophyte V* Meantime, the tumult ever louder grows : " Death to the nobles ! M " To the merchants, death !" " Death to the speculators !" " Bread ! Wine ! Blood I" SCENE I. A tabernacle. Lamps. An open book. Neo- phytes, that is to say, Jews newly baptized.* Neophyte. Humiliated, loved, degraded brethren ! From holy pages of the blessed Talmud, As from its mothers breast a new-born child Sucks nourishment, let us draw life and force ! * Our author here refers to a numerous sect, forming not one of the least of the elements of trouble fermenting in the bosom of Polish society. The Frankists, for such is the name of this sect, are converted Jews, con- verted not to the spirit of Christianity, but merely to its external rites. They are in appearance Christians, have been baptized and go to mass, but are still really Jews, and only await the proper moment to make use of their equivocal position to gratify their implacable resentment. It is the Frankists, therefore, and not the genuine Hebrews, whom our author here depicts. — Revue des Deux Mondes. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, From it flow strength and honey for ourselves ; But gall and bitterness for all our enemies ! CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES. Jehovah is our God, and only ours ; Therefore He hath dispersed us through the earth, To twine us, like the folds of serpent vast, About the blind adorers of the cross. Our coils are wound around our ignorant foes, The haughty, weak, but still defiant nobles. Thrice spit upon them all ! Thrice curse them, God ! Neophyte. Rejoice ! the Cross of our Great Enemy Is more than half hewn down, rots to its fall, Projects athwart a wild dark sea of blood. Once fallen — it can never rise again ! The nobles are its sole defense on earth — And they are ours ! CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES, Our work, our long, long work Of anguished centuries is almost done ! Death to the nobles who defend the cross ! Thrice spit upon them all ! Thrice curse them, God ! Neophyte. Upon the liberty of all disorder, Upon this slaughter which will never end, Upon the pride of the nobility, The license and the madness of the mob, — We'll build anew the strength of Israel ! First we must drive the nobles on to death, And with their corpses hide the ruins of the cross. CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES. The cross is now our symbol, and the dew Of baptism leagues us with the Christian host. . . . The scorning trust the love of those they scorned / The freedom of the Peoples is our cry, Their welfare is our aim. . . . Caiaphas holds The sons of Christ fast in his sinewy arms ! 2l6 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Ages ago our fathers crucified Our Enemy. To-day again we raise The cross; again we nail Him there in agony: But He will never, never more arise From that deep grave in which we bury Him ! CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES. Jehovah is the God of Israel, Of it alone / Thrice spew the Peoples forth To ruin ! Let them perish in their sins ! May threefold curses light upon them, Lord ! {Knocking is heard at the door. ) Neophyte. Brethren, resume your work. {He hides the Tahnud.) Thou, Holy Book, Away from sight, that glanee of none accursed May soil thy spotless leaves ! Reply : who knocks ? Voice without. A friend. Ope, Brother, in the name of freedom. Neophyte. Quick, Brethren, to your hammers, looms, and ropes ! Leonard {entering). You're working for to-morrow; that is well ; Whetting your swords, preparing for the fight? {Approaching one of the men.*) What are you making in this corner ! One of the Neophytes. Ropes. Leonard. Right, friend, for he who falls not by the sword, Must surely hang. Neophyte. Is it decided, then, The affair takes place to-morrow, citizen ? Leonard. He who among us is most powerful By thought and eloquence, calls you through me ; He waits you, and will answer to your question. Neophyte. I'll follow you to serve our citizens. {To the men.} Quit not your work. Yankel, take charge of them. {Exit Leonard and Neophyte.*) THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 217 CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES. Ye ropes and daggers, clubs and hatchets, swords, Works of our hands, ye only will appear When needed to destroy our deadly foes ! The nobles will be strangled in the fields, Hung in the forests, gardens, by the people. And when their work is done, our turn will come : Then we will hang the hangers ; strangle those Who strangled, murder those who murdered ! The scorned will rise in judgment on the scorner, Array themselves in thunder of Jehovah ! His word is life : His love is ours alone ; Destruction, wrath, He pours upon our foes ; He is our refuge, blasts our enemies. We three times spew them forth to sudden ruin ! Our threefold curses be upon their heads ! SCENE II. A tent. Flasks, cups, flagons, and bottles scattered in confusion. Pancras alone. Pancras. Hundreds of brutes howled here an hour ago, Ending with shouts their orgies. At each word I uttered they would cry : Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Vivats at every gesture, — worthless praise ! Is there a single man among them all Who really understands the aim and end Of that inaugurated here with such loud joy ? Oh ! fervide imitatorum pecus ! {Enter Leonard and the Neophyte.) {To Neophyte). Know you Count Henry? Neophyte. Citizen, by sight I well remember that I met him once, On Corpus Christi, as I went to mass ; He cried, " Out of my way ! M and glared at me With that proud look peculiar to the nobles, — For which I in my soul vowed him a rope ! Pancras. Seek him to-morrow at the break of day ; Tell him I wish to visit him at night, alone. Neophyte. How many men are to accompany me ? 19* 218 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Without an escort, 'twould be dangerous ! Pancras. The mission secret, you must go alone ; My name will be an all-sufficient escort. The lantern post to which you yesterday Hung up the Baron, doubtless will support you. Neophyte. Ai ! Ai ! Pancras. Tell him that two days hence I'll leave my camp, To visit him at midnight, and alone. Neophyte. And if he keeps me bound — and tortures me? Pancras. A martyr in the people's cause you'd die ! Neophyte. All for the people, yes ! (Aside.) AI ! Ai ! Pancras. Good-night ! and tarry not upon the way ! {Exit Neophyte.) Leonard. Why, Pancras, these half-measures, inter- views ? Mark, when I swore to honor and obey you, I deemed you hero in extremities, An eagle flying straight unto his aim, A man who stakes upon one throw his fate And that of others; stout of heart and brain ! Pancras. Hush, child! Leonard. All things are ready. Sturdy arms Have forged our weapons, spun our ropes ; our men Are drilled, the eager millions but await The lightning of your word to burst in flame, Consume our enemies. Pancras. You're very young, And through your brain the heated blood pours fire, But when the hour of combat comes, will you Be found more resolute than I? Restraint You've never known ; — rashness is not true courage ! Leonard. Think what you do ! The exhausted nobles now Are driven for refuge to their last stronghold, The Fortress of the Holy Trinity, Where they await us as men wait the rope Or guillotine suspended o'er their heads. Attack without delay — and they are yours ! Pancras. Of what importance is the hour we strike ? THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 219 They've lost their corporal strength in luxury; Wasted their mental powers in idleness ; To-morrow, or the next day, they must fall 7 Leonard. Whom do you fear ? What can arrest your force ? Pancras. No one and nothing. My own will alone. Leonard. Must I obey it blindly ? Pancras, You have said it : Blindly. Leonard, Should you betray us ? Pancras, Betrayal winds Up all your sentences, like quaint refrain Of some old song. Lower ! for one might hear us. . . . Leonard, Here are no spies. What if I should be heard ? Pancras, Nothing, . . . save perhaps a dozen balls Fired at your heart for having raised your voice Too high when in my presence ! ( Coming close to Leonard?) Cease to torment yourself, and trust me, Leonard. Leonard. I will, I do ; I've been too hasty, Pancras. But I've no fear of punishment ; and if My death avails to serve our cause — then take my life ! Pancras (aside). He is so full of life, of faith, of hope ; The happiest of men, he loves and trusts ! I do not wish his death. Leonard, What do you say ? Pancras, Think more ; speak less ; in time you'll un- derstand me ! Have you the powder for the cartridges? Leonard, Deyitz conveys the stores, his escort's strong. Pancras, The contribution from the shoemakers, Has it been yet collected ? Leonard, Yes. They gave With right good will, — one hundred thousand florins. Pancras, I will invite them to our feast to-morrow. Have you heard nothing new about Count Henry ? Leonard, Nay, I despise the nobles far too much To credit what I hear of him. I know It is impossible the dying race Should summon energy to cope with us. Pancras. Yet it is true that he collects and trains 220 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Friends, peasants, serfs, and drills them for the fight ; And trusting their devotion to himself, Will lead them to the very jaws of death. He has intrenched himself within the walls Of the old fortress, " Holy Trinity.' ' Leonard. Who can resist us, when incarnate live In us the ideas of our century ? Pancras. I am resolved to see him, read his eyes, And penetrate the secrets of his soul, — Win him to join our cause ! Leonard. A born aristocrat ! Pa?icras. True, but a poet still ! Leonard, good-night. Leonard. Have you forgiven me ? Pancras. Go ! rest in peace ! If you were not forgiven, you would sleep Ere this the eternal sleep / Leonard. To-morrow, — nothing ? Pancras. Good-night, and pleasant dreams ! {Exit Leonard.} Ho! Leonard, ho ! Leonard {re-entering). Chief Citizen? Pancras. When comes the appointed hour You'll go with me to seek Count Henry's camp. Leonard. My chief shall be obeyed. {Exit.) Pancras {alone). Why does the boldness of this haughty Count Still trouble me ? Me, ruler of the millions ! Compared with mine, his force is but a shadow. 'Tis true, indeed, some hundreds of his serfs Cling round him as the dog stays by his master In trusting confidence. That is sheer folly ! . . . But why do I so long to see this Count, To subjugate him, win him to our side ? Has my clear spirit for the first time met An equal ? Does he bar its onward flight ? Arrest it in its full development? The only obstacle before me now Is his resistance ; that I must o'ercome ! And then . . . and afterwards . . . and then . . . O cunning intellect, canst thou deceive Thyself as thou dost others? , . . Canst not? — No? . . . THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 221 O wretchedness ! . . . Why dost thou doubt thyself? Shame ! . . . thou should'st know thy power ! Thou art the thought, The reason of the people ; Sovereign Lord ! Thou canst control the millions, make their wills, With all their giant forces, one with thine ! The might of all incarnate is in thee; Thou art authority and government ! What would be crime in others, is in thee Glory and fame ! Thou givest name and place To men unknown ; a voice, a faith to brutes Almost deprived of mental, moral worth ! In thine own image thou hast made a world, An age created, — art thyself its god ! And yet thou hesitatest, — doubt'st thyself? No, no ! a hundred times ! . . . Thou art sublime ! {Absorbed in his reflections, he sinks in his chair.) SCENE III. A forest with a cleared plain in its midst, upon which stands a gallows, surrounded by huts, tents, watchfires, casks, barrels, tables, and throngs of men and women. Count Henry, disguised in a dark cloak and liberty cap, enters, holding the Neophyte by the hand. Count Henry. Remember ! Neophyte {in a whisper). On my honor I will lead Your Excellency right ! I'll not betray you. Count Henry. Give one suspicious wink ; raise but a finger ; And I will blow your brains out like a dog's ! You may imagine that I can attach But little value to your worthless life, When I, thus lightly, risk my own with you. Neophyte. You press my hand as in a vice of steel. Ai ! A'i ! What would you have me do ? Count Henry. To treat me as a comrade just arrived, And so mislead the crowd. What is this curious dance ? Neophyte. The merry dance of a free People, Count. {Men and women leap, dance, and sing around the gallows.) 222 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. CHORUS. Bread, meat, and work ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Wood for the winter ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Rest for the summer ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! God had no pity upon us ! Hurrah ! Kings had no pity upon us ! Hurrah ! Our lords had no pity upon us ! Hurrah ! We give up God, kings, nobles ! Hurrah ! Had enough of them all ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Count Henry (to a girl}. Fm glad to see you look so fresh and gay. Girl. I'm sure we've waited long enough for such A day as this ! I've scrubbed, and washed the dishes, Cleaned knives and forks for many a weary year, And never heard a good word said to me. 'Tis high time now I should begin to eat When I am hungry, drink when I am dry, And dance when I am merry. * Count Henry. Dance, citizeness, dance ! Neophyte (in a whisper). For God's sake, Count, be careful, or you will Be recognized ! Count Henry. Should they discover me, ' Tis you shall die ! We'll mingle with the throng. Neophyte. The Club of Lackeys sits beneath that oak. Count. We will draw nearer ; hear what they are say- ing. First Lackey. I've killed my master. Second Lackey. And I seek my Count. I drink to the health of the club ! Valet de Chambre. In the sweat of our brows, Whether blacking the boots, or licking the dust from the feet Of our arrogant lords, we have never forgotten our rights ; We have felt we were citizens, equals, and powerful men. Let us drink to the health of our present society ! CHORUS OF LACKEYS. Let us drink the good health of our President ! One of ourselves, he ascends THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, 223 On the pathway of honor ; 'tis evident He will conduct us to fame : — All hail to his glorious name ! Valet de Chanibre. Citizens, Brothers, my very best thanks are your due ! CHORUS OF LACKEYS. From dressing-rooms and antechambers, Kitchens, parlors, full of strife, — Prisons where they held us captive, — We are rushing into life ! We have been behind the curtains, Know how brilliant shams may be, We've read all our masters' follies, Vices, crimes, perversity: All their falsehood, cunning, meanness, We have suffered one by one ; We are rushing into freedom, Now our shameful work is done ; Brothers, drink in the light of the sun ! Count Henry. Whose are the voices harsher than the rest, More savage, from the mound upon our left ? Neophyte. The Butchers meet, and sing their chorus there. CHORUS OF BUTCHERS. The cleaver and axe are our weapons ; In the slaughter-house pass we our lives; We love the blood-hue, and we care not What we strike with our keen-bladed knives : Aristocrats, calves, lambs, or cattle, All die when our blade slits the throat. The children of slaughter and vigor, To cut quickly the whole of our knowledge ; — He who has need of us has us ; We can kill without going through college ! For the nobles, we'll slaughter fat cattle; For the People, we'll slaughter the nobles ! 224 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. The cleaver and axe are our weapons, In the slaughter-house pass we our lives ; We love the blood-hue, and we care not If cattle or nobles fall under our knives. Hurrah for the shambles, the shambles ! Hurrah for the bright hue of blood ! Hurrah for the butchers, who fear not To stand in the crimson, hot flood ! Count Henry. Why, that is well ! At least there's no pretense Of honor and philosophy. But who Comes here ? Good-evening, Madame ! Neophyte. You forget ! Your Excellency ought to say : " Woman Of freedom, citizeness." Woman. What do you mean By that word, "Madame"? Fie! You smell of mould ! Count Henry. I pray you, pardon me, fair citizeness ! Woman. I am as free as you ; as free as air ; I freely give my love to the community Which has emancipated me. My right To lavish it in my own way is now Acknowledged by the world ! Count Henry. Oh, wise new world ! Did the community give you those rings, That purple necklace of rich amethyst ? Thrice generous and kind community ! Woman. No. They are not from the community. My husband gave them when I was his wife ; I seized and kept them when I was made free. You know my husband means my enemy ; The enemy of female liberty. He held me long enslaved ; now I am free ! Count Henry. Good-eve ! A pleasant walk, free citi- zeness ! (They pass on.) Who is that curious warrior leaning on A two-edged sword, a death's head on his cap, One on his badge, another on his breast ? THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, 225 Is it the famous soldier, Bianchetti,* Now hired by the people for the combat, As he was wont to be by kings and nobles, To lead the condottieri ? Is it he ? Neophyte. It is. He joined our forces recently. Count Henry. (To Bianchetti.) What is it you ex- amine with such care, Brave Bianchetti ? Can you see the foe ? Bianchetti. Look through this narrow opening in the woods, You'll see a Fortress on that mountain crest ; With this strong glass I scan the ramparts, walls, And the four bastions, brother Citizen. Count Henry. I see it now. It will be hard to take. Bianchetti. By all the devils ! No. It can be mined, Surrounded first by covered galleries . . . Neophyte. Citizen General . . . (He makes a sign to Bianchetti.) Count Henry (in a whisper to the Neophyte). Look 'neath my cloak — My pistol's cock is raised ! Neophyte (aside.) My curse on thee ! (To Bianchetti.) How would you deem it best to plan the siege ? Bianchetti. In freedom you're my brother, Citizen ; . But not my confidant in strategy ! After the capture, all shall know my plans. Count Henry (to Neophyte). Take my advice, Jew, strike him dead at once ; Such men begin all aristocracies I A weaver. Curses ! curse them ! Ay, I curse them all ! Count Henry. What are you doing here, poor fellow, 'neath This tree ? Why do you look so pale and wild ? Weaver. Curses upon the manufacturers ! Curses upon the merchants ! my best years * Bianchetti is the type of those cosmopolitan warriors who are ready to draw their swords in any cause whatever, provided it pays. All countries passing through a revolution (especially Poland) are familiar with such military adventurers. 20 2 26 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, Of life, when other men make love to maids, Or walk abroad, and meet their fellow-men On pleasant plains, or sail upon the seas, — The sky above, around, fresh air to breathe, — I've passed in gloom, in dark and stifling dens, Chained to a silk-loom, like a galley-slave ! Count Henry. Drink down the wine you hold in your thin hands ; Empty the cup — you're faint — it will revive you ! Weaver. I've no strength left to bear it to my lips. I am so weak I scarcely could crawl here, Although it is the promised Day of Freedom ! Too late ! too late ! it comes too late for me ! (He falls and gasps.) Food ! wine ! rest ! sunshine I all too late for me ! Curses upon the merchants who buy silks ! Upon the manufacturers who make them ! Upon the nobles ! all who wear them, curses ! (He writhes on the ground \ and dies. ) Count Henry. Heavens ! what a ghastly corpse ! Pol- troon of freedom, Baptized Jew, look at that lifeless head Lit by the blood-red rays of setting sun ! What now to him are all your promises, Your sounding words that bear no heart within ; Perfectibility, equality, The universal bliss of free humanity? Neophyte (aside). May such a death soon seize your- self, proud Count, — And dogs tear off the flesh from the rotting corpse ! (Aloud.) I humbly beg you will dismiss me now; I must give answer on my embassy. Count Henry. Are you afraid ? Say that, believing you To be a spy, I forcibly detained you. (Looking around him.) The tumult of this orgie dies away Behind us, while before, there's nothing save Great firs and pines which wave in crimson rays Of sunset. Lurid, ominous, that light ! Neophyte. Clouds gather thick and fast above the trees : A storm will soon be on us, — hear the wind ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, 227 You should return to your attendants, who Have waited long for you within the Pass Of Saint Ignatius. Count Henry. Oh, I'm safe enough, I do not fear the storm. I thank thee, Jew, For so much loving care. But back, sir, back ! I choose to see these citizens to-night. VOICES UNDER THE TREES. Good-night, old Sun ! Ham's children say : Good-night ! Here's to thy health, old enemy ! Hurrah ! Thou long hast driven us on to unpaid work, Awaked us early to unceasing toil : To-morrow thou wilt find thy slaves asleep, — Not caring whether thou get'st up or not, — Or eating, drinking, full of flesh and wine ! A Peasant {throwing away his glass). Off to the devil, empty glass ! Hurrah ! Neophyte. These bands of peasants will obstruct our way. Count Henry. You shall not leave me ! Stand behind this tree ; And if you value life, be silent, Jew ! CHORUS OF PEASANTS. On ! on ! to meet our brothers Under the white tents' row, Or 'neath the giant shadows The great oaks throw below ! To pleasant sunset greetings, To rest, to sleep, to wake ; The girl we love is waiting Our hand in hers to take ! We've killed the fattest cattle With which we used to plough, They are waiting us to eat them, — No weary labor now ! A Voice. I drag and pull him on with all my strength ; He will not come — he turns — defends himself. Come on, old fool ! {strikes him.) Down ! down among the dead ! 228 THE UNDIV1NE COMEDY. Voice of the dying Noble. My children, pity! pity! Second Voice. Why, you had none / Come chain me to your land, and make me work Again for nothing, will you ? Third Voice. My only son You lashed to death ! Now wake him from the dead, Or die and join him ! Fourth Voice. The children of Ham drink thy health, old Lord ! They kneel to thee, — pray for forgiveness, old Lord ! chorus of peasants {passing out of sight). A vampire sucked our blood, and lived upon our strength ; We caught him with his bloody lips, — he's ours at length ! As is a great Lord's due, we swear thou shalt swing high ; Yes, far above us all, by the devil, thou shalt die ! To every noble, death ! the tyrants ! they must fall! Drink, food and rest for us ; they've starved and wronged us all ! For shelter, meat, and land, and wine we mean to have ; Though naked, we are men ! Off, vampires, to the grave ! OTHER PEASANTS. Your bodies shall lie as thick as the sheaves On our fields; and the drifting wrecks Of your castles shall fly like the chaff beneath The flail, as we twist your necks ! They shall perish as bundles of straw in the flames, While the children of Ham by the light Will warm themselves by the great bonfire, And merrily dance all night ! Count Henry. I cannot see the murdered noble's face, The crowd has grown so dense! Neophyte. Perhaps he was A friend of yours, a cousin, Count. Count Henry. No more ! Him I despise ; you I detest ! Bah ! Bah ! And yet, perchance, may poetry some day Gild even this wild horror ! Forward, Jew ! ( They disappear among the trees.*) THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 229 Another part of the forest. A mound \ upo7i which fires are burning. A procession of ?nen bearing torches. Count Henry appears at the base of the mound with the Neophyte. Count Henry. The thorns have torn my scarlet cap to tatters ! What lurid flames are those, like fires of hell, That rise among the trees and fringe with light The gloomy forests long and darkening aisles? Neophyte. We lost our way in seeking for the Pass. We must retrace our steps into the wood, For Leonard here will celebrate to-night The rites of this New Faith. I pray you, back ! To advance is death ! Count Henry. I am resolved to try ; This is precisely what I wished to see. Fear nothing, Jew; no one will recognize us. Neophyte. Be prudent ! here our lives hang on a breath ! Count Henry. What monstrous ruins strew the ground about us ! There lies the dying world ; colossal form, Which lasted centuries before it fell ! Columns and capitals, and fretted roofs, And slender shafts, and statues, cornices With golden bands, rose windows and stained glass, Upturned and broken, crashing 'neath my feet ! Painting and sculpture, relics, bas-reliefs Upheaved in ruin ! . . . Heaven ! is that the face Of God's dear Mother shining in this gloom? 'Tis gone ! There gleams a cherub's head ; a shrine With railing carved in bronze ; — Ha ! by yon torch I see a knight in armor sleeping on An upturned tomb ! Crosses and monuments As thick as flakes of snow ! . . . Where am I, Jew ? Neophyte. We cross the grave-yard of the latest church Of the Old Faith. For forty days and nights We labored to destroy it ; built it seemed To last eternal ages ! Count Henry. Ye New Men, Your songs, your hymns, grate harshly on my ears ! 20* 230 THE UXDIVIXE COMEDY. Before me and behind, on every side, Dark forms are moving ; fitful shadows, lights, Are driven to and fro by soughing gusts, And float., like clouds of spirits., midst the throng! A Passer-by, I greet you, Citizen, in the name of Free- dom. Another. I greet you in the slaughter of the nobles. Third Passer-by. The praise of Freedom's chanted by the priests: Why haste ye not to join the chorus? Neophyte. Flight Is now impossible ; we must advance ! Count Henry. And who is that young man who stands in front Upon the ruins of an ancient altar? Three flames are burning at his feet ; his face Shines strangely through the crimsoning fire and smoke, His gestures wild, excited, while his voice Rings like a maniac's shriek? Neophyte. 'Tis Leonard, young, Inspired prophet of our liberty.* Philosophers and poets, artists, priests, Stand round him with their daughters and their loves. Count Henry. I understand, — your aristocracy ! Point out the man who sent to me to seek An interview. Neophyte. I do not see him here. Leonard. Fly to my arms ! Come, let our burning lips Cling to each other till our breath grows flame ! My beautiful, my love ! Come, fly to me, Disrobed of veils, of antique prejudices, — My chosen 'mid the daughters of the free ! Voice of a Girl. I come, I fly to thee, my well beloved ! Second Girl. Look upon me ! I stretch to thee my hands, But in the frenzy of the rapturing bliss, * In Leonard is personified the impotence of a man who desires to found a religion through himself alone. The worship which he preaches is a monstrous chaos. It is supposed the Poet intended to reunite in this character traits common to several modern Utopians. — Retnu des Deux M. ndts. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 231 I faint and fall, beloved, at thy feet ! I cannot rise, — can only turn to thee ! Third Girl. Look, Prophet, look ! I have outstripped them all, Through cinders, ashes, flame and fire and smoke ! I clasp thy feet, beloved, to my heart ! Count Henry. Her long dark hair floats far upon the wind, With heaving breast she leaps upon the altar. Neophyte. Thus is it every night with our young priest. Leonard. To me, my bliss ! Come, child of freedom, come ! Thou tremblest with divinest inspiration. Lend me a share that I may teach my brethren ! Prophetic words thrill through my quivering lips ! Count Henry. Her head is bowed, she falls as in con- vulsion. Leonard. Ye People, look on us ! We offer you An image of the race from trammels freed. We stand upon the ruins of the Past. To us be honor, glory ! We have trampled All into dust, the God of old is dead ! His limbs are torn asunder, and our mind Is borne triumphant to his seat, whence falls His spirit to eternal nothingness ! CHORUS OF WOMEN. Happy and blest is the loved of the Prophet : We stand at her feet, and we envy her lot ! Leonard. A new world give I you ; to a new God I give the heavens, — a God of freedom, bliss, The People' 's God 7 Let every tyrant's corpse His fitting altar be ! The pile would reach The sky ! A sea of blood will flow, and sweep Away the pangs of past humanity ! Our tears all shed, we will inaugurate Perpetual happiness \ the Day of Freedom ! Damnation and the gallows be to him Who would reorganize the Past, conspire Against the perfect brotherhood of man ! 232 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. CHORUS OF MEN. The towers of superstition, tyranny, Have fallen ! fallen ! Death and damnation be to him who'd save One stone from that old, crumbling edifice ! Neophyte {aside). Blasphemers of Jehovah, thrice I spew You forth to swift destruction ! Count Henry. Keep but thy promise, Eagle, I will build A temple to the glorious Son of God On their bowed necks, and on this very spot ! A confused cry of Voices. Freedom ! Equality ! and perfect bliss ! CHORUS OF THE NEW PRIESTS. Where are the lords, and where the haughty kings, Who ruled with cruel pride, and walked the earth Adorned with crown and sceptre ? Where are they ? Voices. Gone ! Gone ! forever gone ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! An Assassin. I killed King Alexander. Another Assassin. I, King John. Third Assassin. I murdered King Emmanuel. Hurrah ! Leonard. March without fear ! Murder without re- morse ! Ye are the elect of the elect, the sons Of that God whom the People have elected i Martyrs and heroes of our liberties ! CHORUS OF ASSASSINS. We glide in the darkness of night, We move in the gloom of the shadow; Dagger and sword in the clutch of our might, We strike for the good of our brothers ! Leonard (to the young girl). Rouse thee, my love ! (A loud clap of thunder is heard. ) {To the throng.) Answer this living God who speaks in thunder ! Ye vigorous sons of freedom, follow me! Sing hymns, and let us once more trample down THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 2 33 The dead God's Church. Awake, beloved ! lift up thy drooping head ! Girl. I glow with love to thee, and to thy God ! Oh, I would share my love with all mankind, With the great universe ! I glow ! I glow ! Count Henry. Who is that blocks the way ! He falls upon His knees, he lifts his hands, and, groaning, speaks. Neophyte. He is the son of our philosopher. Leonard. What wouldst thou, Herman? Herman. Pontiff, I would ask For consecration as a murderer. Leonard. Hand me the oil, the poniard, and the poison ! With this, the sacred oil once used to anoint Earth's kings, I consecrate thee to their murder! I put into thy hands the ancient arms Of knights and nobles, — use them for their death ! I hang upon thy breast this flask of poison, That where the sword can never reach, it may Corrode, and burn the bowels of our tyrants ! Go ! thou art consecrated to destroy Despots in every quarter of the globe ! Count Henry. He goes. He heads his bands of mur- derers ! They climb the hill, — they surely come to us, — Leonard is at their head. . . . Neophyte. We must withdraw. Count Henry. No. I will dream this dream out to its end ! Neophyte (aside). Jehovah, hear ! Doom him to swift destruction ! (To Count Henry.) Leonard will surely know me. See you not The dreadful knife that glitters on his breast? Count Henry. There, hide thee, Jew, beneath my mantle's folds. Know you the women dancing round the man Whom you call Leonard ? Neophyte. All I know by name. The wives of princes, counts, who have forsaken Their former lords, and then embraced our faith. 234 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Count Henry. Women I once deemed angels ! idol- ized ! . . . The crowd surrounds and hides him from my sight, But as the music ever fainter grows, He must be moving from us with his train. Jew, follow me ! We can see better here ! (He climbs the parapet of a wall.) Neophyte. Woe ! woe ! here every one will surely know us ! Count Henry. I see him now ; but other female forms, Convulsive, pale, and haggard, throng around. I see the son of the philosopher ; He foams and gestures, brandishes his dagger. They reach the northern tower, dance round the wreck, Trample the ruins, rend the Gothic shrines, Throw fire upon the holy prostrate altars, The sacred pictures and the broken crosses ! The fire blazes, — clouds of smoke arise That darken all before me ! Anathema on these blasphemers ! Woe ! Leonard. Woe ! woe to men who still bow lowly down, In adoration to a lifeless God ! Count Henry. The blackening masses of the People turn — They drive upon us now ! Neophyte. Oh, Abraham ! Count Henry. Eagle of glory ! this is not mine hour ! Neophyte. We* re lost. Escape is none. Leonard {stopping them). Who are you, brother, with that haughty face ? Why are you not with us ? Count Henry. But yesterday I of your final revolution heard, And hastened from afar to lend my aid. I'm an assassin of the Spanish club. Leonard. Who is this man who hides his face beneath Your ample cloak ? Count Henry. My younger brother, who Has sworn an oath never to show his face Until he kills a noble ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, Leonard. Whom can you Boast to have killed ? Count Henry. It was but yesterday My brothers consecrated me to murder. Leonard. Whom will you strike the first ? Count Henry. The greatest tyrant ; — Yourself, should you prove false ! Leonard. Here, brother, take My dagger for such use ! {Hands it to him.) Count Henry {drawing his own). My own is sharp Enough to strike a traitor to the heart ! Many Voices. Hurrah for Leonard ! for the People's friend ! Other Voices. Long live the assassin of the Spanish club ! Leonard. Meet me to-morrow in our General's tent. CHORUS OF PRIESTS. We here salute thee, friend, in Freedom's name, Within thy hands thou bear'st our safety's pledge; Who fights unceasingly, assassinates Without misgiving, never yields to doubt Of victory — such one is, sure to conquer. CHORUS OF PHILOSOPHERS. We have at last awaked the human race From long and childish dreams, unveiled Truth's face; We've dragged her from the Darkness into Light ; — Go thou to kill, to die, to exalt her might ! Son of the Philosopher {to Count Henry). Comrade and friend, out of this hollow skull Of ancient saint, I drink to your good health. {He flings away the skull.) A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry). Wilt kill King John for me ? Another. For me, Count Henry ! Children. Bring us some nobles' heads : we want new balls ! 236 THE UXDIVIXE COMEDY. Other Children. Good fortune guide your daggers to their hearts ! CHORUS OF ARTISTS. We'll build our church upon these Gothic ruins ; No images shall stand within its walls. Sharp pikes and blades shall form its vaulted arch. The pillars borne upon eight human heads, Thick locks of hair shall form the capitals, Seeming to gush with crimson streams of blood ! Our altar shall be white as new-fallen snow, Our only God will rest upon the stone : — The scarlet cap of Liberty ! Hurrah ! Other Voices. On ! on ! the morning dawn already creaks. Neophyte. They'll surely hang us. Count, on yonder gallows. Count Henry. Thev follow Leonard : us they heed no longer ... This time, — the last, I see with my own eyes, Embrace with my own thought the wildering future, The chaos quickening in the womb of Time, The black abyss that menaces destruction To me, my brothers, all the reverend Past. I gaze once more — ere it engulf me ! Driven by despair, urged on by bitter grief, My soul awakens to new energy. O God ! give me again the hery power Which Thou of old wert wont not to refuse me, — And I will in one burning word reveal, Incorporate this new and monstrous world, Which does not know itself, its destiny, And this Word will become the Poetry Of all the future years ! Voice in the air. Thou chantest a Drama ! Count Henry. Thanks for the information — friend or foe ! The desecrated ashes of my sires Shall be avenged ! . . . Anathema on these new generations ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 237 Their whirlpool seethes around me, but it shall Not draw me in its ever swifter course, The widening circles of its mad abyss. Eagle ! my Eagle ! keep thy promise now ! Jew, I am ready to descend the Pass. Neophyte. Behold the dawn : I may no farther go. Count Henry. Put me upon the path ; I will release you. Neophyte. Ah ! why thus drag me on through fog and briers, O'er embers, ruins ? I pray you, let me go ! Count Henry. On ! on ! descend with me ! The last mad songs Of that bewildered people die behind us; Their scattered lights scarce glimmer through the gloom ! Under these hoary trees, through this pale fog, I see the giant shadows of the Past. . . . Do you not hear those melancholy chants? Neophyte. All things are shrouded in the curdling mists ; At every step still deeper we descend. CHORUS OF SPIRITS IN THE FOREST. Weep ! weep for Christ, — the exiled, suffering Lord ! Where is our Holy Church ? Where is our God ? Count Henry. Unsheathe the sword ! quick to the combat ! I Will give Him back to you ! Will crucify His enemies on thousand, thousand crosses ! CHORUS OF SPIRITS. Day and night we watched the altar, Guarded all the saintly graves: Bearing on our wings sweet echoes, High along the vaulted naves, Vesper bell, or matin chiming Falling on the faithful ear, Swelling tones of pealing organ, Which the angels stooped to hear ; — In the gleaming of the storied, Heaven-hued, rainbow window panes, Haloed heads and virgins sainted ; In the shadows of the fanes ; 21 2 3 8 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. In the holy golden glitter Of the world's redeeming cup; In the whiteness of the wafer Which the blessing Priest held up ; In Consecration, Benediction, — Centred all our happy life : Ai ! Ai ! who can aid us ? Who will end this wretched strife ? Where shall we now seek for shelter ? Altar, incense, priest, are gone ! Man now deems himself Creator ! Dreams the twilight is the dawn ! Count Henry. Day breaks ! Their shadowy forms dis- solve ! they melt In the red rays of morn ! Neophyte. Here lies your way. We've reached the entrance to the Pass at last. Count Henry (calling). Hola ! Hola ! Our Lord, and my own sword ! (He tears off the Liberty cap, throws it upon the ground, and casts pieces of silver in it.) For memory, take the thing and emblem ! they Belong together. Neophyte. You have pledged your word ; He shall be safe who visits you to-night ? Count Henry. A noble ne'er repeats, — nor breaks a promise, — go ! Hail ! Jesus and my sword ! Voices from the Pass. Long live our Lord ! Our swords and Mary ! Count Henry (to Neophyte). Citizen, adieu ! To me, my faithful ! Jesus, Mary, aid ! SCENE IV. Trees and bushes. Pancras, Leonard, and attendants. Pancras (to his attendants). Lie on this spot, your faces to the turf ; Be quiet, beat no signal, light no fires ; If you should hear my pistol, fly to me ! If not, you must not stir till dawn of day. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 239 Leonard. Once more, I must implore you, Citizen ! Pancras. Rest at the foot of this tall pine, and sleep ! Leonard. Let me go with you ! Should you trust your life To this Count Henry, this aristocrat ? Pancras (motioning him to remain). The nobles rarely break a plighted word ! SCENE V. Night. A vast feudal hall in the castle of Count Henry. Blazons, and pictures of knights and ladies hang along the walls. A pillar is seen in the back- ground bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family. The Count is seated at a marble table, upon which are placed an antique lamp of wroicght silver, a jewel-hilted sword, a pair of pistols, an hour-glass, and clock. On the opposite side stands another table with silver pitchers, decanters, and massive goblets. Count Henry. Midnight ! It was at this same solemn hour, Surrounded by like perils and like thoughts, The latest Brutus met his Evil Genius : And such an apparition I await ! A man who has no name, no ancestors, Who has no guardian angel, faith, nor God, Whose mission is destruction to the past, Will yet — unless I'm strong enough to hurl Him back into his primal nothingness — Destroy society, its laws and faith ; Found a new era in the fate of man ! Such is the modern Caesar I await ! ******* Eagle of glory, hear ! Souls of my sires, Inspire me with that fiery force which made You rulers of the world. Oh, give to me The lion heart which throbbed within your breasts ! Your austere majesty gird round my brow ! Rekindle in my soul your burning, blind, Unconquerable faith in Christ, His Church, The inspiration of your deeds on earth, Your hopes in Heaven ! Light it again in me, And I will scathe our foes with fire and sword, 2ĄO THE UN DIVINE COMEDY. Will conquer and destroy all who oppose me, The myriads of the children of the dust. I, the last son of hundred generations, Sole heir of all your virtues, thoughts, and faults ! (The bell of the castle strikes?) It is the appointed hour: — I am prepared. Enter Jacob (an old servant fully armed}. Jacob. Your Excellence, the man you wait is here. Count Henry. Admit him, Jacob. (Exit Jacob.} (He reappears, announces Pancras, and again retires.} Pancras (entering). I salute you, Count. Yet that word Cozcnt sounds strangely on my lips. (He seats himself, takes off his cloak and scarlet cap, and fixes his eye upon the pillar on which the armorial bear- ings hang.} Count Henry. I thank you for the ready confidence Placed in the honor of this ancient House. Faithful to our old rites, I drink your health. (He fills a goblet and hands to Pancras.} Pancras (still looking at the pillar). If I am not mistaken, noble Count, This blue and scarlet shield was called a coat Of arms in the lost language of the dead ; But all such trifles vanish rapidly Forever from the surface of the earth. Count Henry. God aiding, they will shortly reappear ! Pancras. Commend me to the old nobility ! You answer like a chip of the old block. A nobleman learns nothing from the times, Always confiding in himself, high, bold, Though without money, credit, arms, or men. Proud, obstinate, and hoping 'gainst all hope, E'en like the corpse in the fable, threatening The driver of the hearse with vengeance dire At very gate of fatal charnel-house ! Trusting in God — at least pretending trust — When trust in self is found impossible ! Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 241 Of all the lightnings God keeps stored above For your especial benefit, to blast Me and my thronging millions ! Show me one, Bnt one of all the hosts who fill the sky ; One of the mighty angels who are soon To encamp upon your side, and in whose force You trust to win the victory over me, And, without loss, subdue the human race ! (He empties the goblet.') Count Henry. Chief of the People, you are pleased to jest ; But atheism is an ancient formula, And I hoped something new, from the New Men. Pancras. Laugh if you will, Sir Count, at your own wit ; My faith is far more firmly based than yours, My formulas far wider than your own. My central dogma is most holy, true : The emancipation of humanity I It has its source in wild, despairing cries Forever rising to the throne of God From weary hearts of millions of oppressed : The famine of degraded artisans ; The poverty of peasants, woes of serfs ; The desecration of their daughters, wives ; The general degradation of the race ; The unjust laws, the brutal prejudice ! My dogmas spring from infinite agonies ; Such woes give me the aid of all our race ! I am resolved to establish my new creed, Written by God upon all human hearts ! Men know He made them equal, gave them all A birthright; right to happiness, to ease; Possession of the earth, and liberty ! This is my power ! These thoughts, my God ! A God Pledged to give rest, bread, glory, bliss to man ! This creed proclaimed, oh, what can stay its course ? (He Jills and empties the goblet.) Count Henry. The God who gave all former power and rule To my strong sires ! 21* 2Ą2 THE UXDIVIXE COMEDY. Pan:ras. And can trust Him still, When He has given you as a plaything to The devil all your life ? A jest for friends ? But le: us leave discussions such as these To theologians, should there linger still Such fossils upon earth. To facts ! stern facts ! Ccu Henry. Redeemer of the People. Citizen God ! What can you seek from me? why visit me? Pan:?\is. In the first place, because I wished to know you : And in the next, because I wished to save you. Count Henry. Thanks for the first ; and for the second, trust my sword ! Pancras. Year God ! Year sword ! Vain phantoms of the brain ! Look at the dread realities about you ! The curses of the myriads are upon you, Millions of brawny arms already raised To hurl you down to death ! Of ail the Past Yea so much vaunt, nothing remains to you Save a few feet of earth ; scarcely enough To offer you a grave 1 Tac Cas:le of tae Holy Trinity. Your last poor fortress, only can hold out A few days more. You know you have no men, Artillery, appliances of war, Nor powder, shot, nor food for garrison. Your men may fight, but will not starve, and will Desert you in the hour of utmost need. I sneak the truth : yea know as well as I, There's nothing left on which to hang a hope ! If I were in your place, heroic Count, I know what I weald do. G i t «/ Henry. S ;; e a k o n . You s e e How patiently I hear. What would you do? Pansras. Were I Count Henry. I would say to Pan- cras: "You speak the truth ; there's net a single hope. I will dismiss my troops ; my few poor serfs, Xor seek to hold the 'Holy Trinity/ — For this, "I will retain my title, lands, THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, 243 And you will pledge your honor to the deed, As guarantee of that agreed upon !" How old are you, Count Henry ? Count Henry. Thirty-six. Pancras. No more? Then fifteen years of life are all You have a just right to expect, for men Of temperaments like yours always die young. Your son is nearer to the grave than to Maturity. A single case like yours Could do no serious harm to our Great Whole. Remain, then, where you are, last of the Counts ; Rule while you live in your ancestral home ; Have, if you will, the portraits all retouched ; The armorial bearings of your line renewed ; And think no more of that most wretched remnant Of your fallen order, which deserves to fall ! You know the People have been long oppressed ; Stay not the sword of justice as it falls On their oppressors ! Here's a health ! I drink, The last of all the Counts ! (He fills and drinks another goblet of wine.') Count Henry. Cease ! cease ! Each word you utter breathes new insult ! Can you suppose, to save a wretched life, I would submit myself to be enslaved, And dragged in chains behind your car of triumph? Desert the nobles, whom I have sworn to aid? No more ! no more ! I can endure no more ! I cannot answer as my spirit prompts ; You are my guest, and shall be sheltered from All insult 'neath the shadow of my roof! My Lares guard you ; plighted my knightly honor ! Pancras. "Plighted and knightly honor' 9 in our days Swing oft upon a gallows ! You unfurl A tattered banner, whose worn, faded rags Seem out of place among the brilliant flags, The joyous symbols of humanity And universal progress. Flaunt it no more j 244 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. I know your generous spirit, and protest Against your course, self-sacrificing Count ! Still full of life and manly vigor, you Would bind your heart to putrefying corpses, Cling to a vain belief in privilege, In worn-out relics, and in dead men's bones, Mouldering escutcheons, and the word of country ! Yet in your inmost soul you're forced to own Your brother-nobles have deserved their doom, And that forgetfulness for them were mercy ! Count Henry. You, Pancras, and your noisy followers, Tell me what you deserve ! Pancras. Life ! Victory ! For we acknowledge but one living right, One ceaseless law : " the law of eternal progress /" This fatal law seals your death-warrant. Hark ! Through my just lips it cries to you and yours : "Mouldering and rotten aristocracy, Full crammed with meat and wine torn from your serfs, Effete with luxury, worn out with ease, — Give place to the young, the strong, the hungry, poor, Whose vigorous blood will found a nobler race !" I will save you, and you alone, Count Henry ! Count Henry. No more ! I will not brook your haughty pity ! I know you too, and your new riotous world ; I've seen your camp at night, and looked upon The swarms upon whose necks you ride to power ! I saw it all ; detected the old crimes, But thinly veiled by newer draperies, Far wilder and more savage than of yore ; — I saw old vices shining through new shams, Whirling to strange new tunes, voluptuous dance, — The robes were changed, but the old ends were there, The same which they have been for centuries, And will forever be while man is man, — Adultery and theft, murder and license ! I did not see you there I You were not with Your guilty children, whom you know you scorn; And if you do not soon go mad with horror 'Mid the wild riots of the cruel people, THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 245 You will despise and hate yourself, Great Citizen ! Oh, torture me no more ! . . . {He rises, moves hurriedly to and fro, then seats himself under his escutcheon.) Pancras. 'Tis true my world is in its infancy, Unformed and undeveloped ; it needs food, Rest, ease and pleasure ; but the Giant grows, Grows rapidly ; the time is coming fast When it will its maturity attain, {He rises, approaches the Count, and leans against the armorial pillar.) The consciousness of its all-powerful strength, When it shall say in giant tones : I am ! And there will be no other voice on earth Able to answer : Lo ! I also am ! Count Henry. And then ? Pancras. Then from the masses quickening 'neath my breath, Of whom I am the representative, A stronger race will spring, higher than aught The earth has yet produced. They will be free, Lords of the globe from frozen pole to pole ; A blooming garden will they make of earth, Redeem the desert, tame the wilderness. The sea will gleam with floating palaces, With argosies of wealth and varied commerce ; The exchange of all commodities will bear Desires of mutual recognition on, While civilization speeds from clime to clime, And loving hands stretch far across the waves To clasp each other i Cities will cluster upon every height, Bearing rich blessings over every plain. The sons of earth will all find happy homes, Her helpful daughters move in active bliss, The world will be one vast united house, Of joyous industry, creative art. Count Hairy. Pancras, your words and tones dissemble weil, But I am not deceived. Your rigid face 246 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Struggles in vain to assume the generous glow, The love of good, your cold soul cannot feel. Pancras. Nay, interrupt me not ! for men have begged Such prophecies from me on bended knees, And I would not vouchsafe them to their prayers ! The coming world will yet possess a God Whose highest fact will not be death, defeat, And agony upon a helpless cross ! This God, the People, by their power and skill, Will force to unveil his face ; the children whom He once in anger scattered o'er the earth, Will tear him from the infinite recess Of the dim heavens in which he loves to hide ! Babel will be no more. Nations and tribes Will meet and understand their mutual wants; A universal language will unite All in the bonds of charity and peace. The children having reached majority, Assert their right to see their Maker's face ; They loudly claim the just inheritance Due from a common Father to His Sons : * 6 The right to know all truth /' ' The God of the humanity at last Reveals Himself to man ! Count Henry. Yes. He revealed Himself some centu- ries ago ! Humanity through Him already is redeemed ! Pancras. Let it delight in bliss of such redemption / Let it rejoice in all the agonies Endured by His disciples night and day, And vainly crying to Him for relief Through twice a thousand years which have elapsed Since his inglorious defeat and death ! Count Henry. Blasphemer, cease ! I've seen His sacred cross, The holy symbol of His mystic love, Stand in the heart of Rome, eternal Rome ! Ruins of former powers, greater than yours, Were crumbling into dust around its base : Hundreds of gods, stronger than those you trust, Were lying prostrate on the haunted ground ; THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 247 Trampled by careless feet, they did not dare To raise their crushed and wounded heads to gaze Upon the Crucified \ ... It stood upon The seven hills, the mighty arms outstretched From east to west, as if to embrace the world ; The golden sunshine lit the Holy Brow, The perfect calm in utter agony Told man that Love was still the Conqueror, — All hearts acknowledged Him Lord of the world ! Pancras. An old wife's tale ! as hollow as the rattling Of these escutcheons. {He strikes the shield.} Discus- sions are in vain ; I read your heart, and know its secret yearnings. If you would really find the Infinite Which hitherto has baffled all your search ; If you love Truth, and would sincerely seek it ; If you are really man, created in The image of our common brotherhood, — And not the empty hero of a nursery song, — Oh, list to me ! Let not these fleeting moments Pass thus in vain ! they fly so rapidly, Yet are the last in which you can be saved ! Man of the Past, the race renews itself, And of the blood we shed to-day, no trace Will stain to-morrow / If you are really what you once appeared, A man, stand firm in all your former might, Aid the down-trodden masses ; help the oppressed ; Emancipate your fellow-men ; work for The common good ; give up your false desire Of personal glory ; quit these tottering ruins, Which all your pride and power can never prop, — Desert your falling house, and follow me ! Come, help to make an Eden of the Earth ! Time flies. Resolve ! for the last time I speak ! Count Henry. Oh, youngest born of Satan's flatter- ing brood ! ( Visibly agitated, he paces up and down the hall, talking to himself ) Dreams! Dreams ! They never can be realized ! Who has the power to mould them into fact ? 248 THE U ND I VI NE COMEDY. The first man, exiled, in the desert died, — The flaming sword still guards the Eden-gates, — Man never more re-enters Paradise ! . . . Pancras {aside). I have him now ! Have driven the probe to the core Of his high heart ! Have struck the electric nerve Of Poetry, which quivers through the base, And is the life-chord of his complex being ! Count Henry. Eternal progress ! Human happiness ! Did I not, too, believe them possible? . . . Here, take my head, provided that may . . . (He remains silent, absorbed in reverie, then raising his head, gazes steadily at Pancras.') The vision dies — and I can dream no more ! Two centuries ago it might have been : Mutual accord — but now it is too late ! Accumulated wrongs on either side Have dug a gulf of separating blood. Nothing but murder now will satisfy ! A change of race is your necessity. Pancras. Then join our cry: "Woe to the van- quished ! Woe !" Seeker of happiness, say it but once ; Join us, and be the first among the victors ! Man's onward path lies through the People's camp ! Count Henry. You boast, but do you know the track- less ways, f . The unseen chances of the gloomy Future ? Did Destiny at midnight visit you, And, drawing back the curtains of your tent, Open before you all her hidden secrets ? Placing her hand upon your scheming brain, Did she impress on it her seal of victory? Perchance at mid-day, when o'ercome with heat All others slept, the pitiless Form appeared, ' Assured you of your conquest over me, That thus you threaten me with sure defeat ? Are you not made of clay fragile as mine? You may be victim of the first ball thrown ! The first bold sword-thrust may transfix your heart ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 249 Your life, like mine, hangs on a single hair ; Like me, you've no immunity from death ! Pancras. Dreams, idle dreams ! Be not deceived by hopes So baseless ! ?nen live until their work is done ! No bullet aimed by man will e'er reach me, No sword will pierce me, while a single one Of all your haughty caste remains to thwart The task it is my destiny to fulfill ! And so whate'er my final doom may be, On its completion it will be too late To offer you the least advantage ! {The bell of the castle strikes.) Hark ! time flies fast, and flying, scorns us both ! If you are weary of your own sad life, Yet save your hapless son ! Count Henry. His pure soul is Already saved in Heaven ; on earth he must Share in his father's fate. {His head sinks heavily and re?nains for some time buried in his hands.) Pancras. Can you reject All hope for him ? Doom your own son to death ? {He pauses for an answer, but Count Henry does not speak.) Nay, you are silent . . . hesitate . . . reflect . . . Why, that is well . . . reflection suits the man Who stands on brink of ruin ! . . . Save the boy ! Count Henry. Away ! away ! Back from the mysteries Now surging through my spirit's passionate depths ! Back ! Back ! profane them not with one vain word, — They lie beyond your sphere ! The world is yours, The world of bodies, hungry flesh and blood ! Gorge it with meat, flood it with ruby wine, But press not in the secrets of my soul ! Leave me, thou seeker of material bliss, To my own thoughts ; — I fain would be alone ! Pancras. Slave of one phase of thought, chained to one form, The corpse of the dead Past rots in thine arms ! 22 250 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Shame, Poet ! Warrior ! Prophet 1 Scholar ! Sage ! My plastic ringers mould the world at will, I can reduce both thought and form to naught, And out of nothingness mould them, like wax, anew ! Count Henry. You cannot read my heart, follow my thoughts, Will never understand me, man of yesterday ! Your sires were buried in a common ditch, Without distinctive spirit, like dead things, And not as men of individual stamp. (He points to the portraits of his ancestors.') Look at these pictures ! Love of country, home, Race, kin, — feelings at war with your whole past, — Are written in each line of their brave brows ! These things are in me as my vital breath, Their spirit lives entire in their last heir, Their only representative on earth ! Tell me, O man without ancestral graves, Where is your natal soil, your proper country ? Each coming eve you spread your wandering tent Upon the ruins of another's home; Each morn you roll it up, again to unroll At night; where'er you pitch, anew to blight and spoil ! You have not, nor will ever find a home, A sacred hearth, as long as valiant men Still live to cry with me : All glory to our sires / Pancras. Yes, glory to our sires in Heaven, on earth, If there be aught worthy to glorify ! — We'll test the claims of your own ancestors. {He points to one of the portraits.) This noble was a very famous Starost ; He shot old women in the woods, like wrens, And roasted living Jews : this other with The inscription Chancellor, and a great seal In his right hand, forged acts and falsified, Burned archives, murdered knights, and gained and stained His vast inheritance with blood and poison ; And through him came your villages, serfs, power ! This dark man with the flashing eye played at THE U ND I VI NE COMEDY, Adultery with wives of trusting friends: This one with Spanish cloak and Golden Fleece Served other countries with his own in danger ! This lady pale, with long curled raven locks, Intrigued with her handsome page, — they murdered him / This charming woman with the lustrous braids, Reading a letter from her loving gallant, Smiles archly, — well she may, for night is near — And love is bold — and husband trustful, absent ! This timid beauty with the deep-blue eyes And golden curls, that clasps a Roman hound In her round arms, where ruby bracelets glow, Was mistress of a king, and soothed his softer hours. I like this fellow with a jolly face, In shooting suit of green ; he ne'er was sober, Amused himself all day drinking with friends, And sent his serfs to hunt the tall, red deer, With hounds for company ! Such is the true account of your most pure, Unsullied line 1 Oppression everywhere ! The noble deemed the serfs' stupidity His own best safety ; thus he gave the world Convincing proof of his own intellect ! The Day of Judgment breaks in gloom upon you ; I promise you not one of your great sires Shall be forgotten in the dark award ! Count Henry. Son of the people, vou deceive your- self! You and your brethren never could have lived Had not the nobles given you their bread, Defended you, and for you shed their blood ; Like beasts, you would have perished on the earth ! When famine came, they gave you grain ; and when The plague swept over you with breath of death, They found you nurses, built you hospitals, And had physicians schooled to snatch you from the grave. When they, from unformed brutes, had nurtured you To human beings, they built churches, schools, And shared all with you save the battle-field, For fierce encounter, fiery shock, they knew 252 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. You were not formed to bear ! As lances sharp of pagan warriors Were wont, shattered and riven, to recoil From the bright armor of my ancestors, So fall your idle words, flung quickly back By dazzling record of their glorious deeds, Disturbing not the dust that sleeps in fame ! Like howls of rabid dog that froths and snaps, Until he's driven from the human pale, Your accusations die in their insanity ! {The castle bell again strikes.) 'Tis almost dawn — and time you should depart From my ancestral halls. In safety pass From this old home, my guest ! Pancras. Farewell, until we meet again upon The ramparts of the Holy Trinity ! And when your powder, shot, and men are gone ? . . . Count Henry. Then we must draw within sword's length ! Farewell ! Pancras. We are twin Eagles, but your soaring nest Is shattered by the lightning ! {He takes up his scarlet cap a?id wraps his cloak about him.) In passing from your threshold, I must leave The curse due to decrepitude : I doom Yourself, your son, to swift destruction ! Count Henry. Jacob, hola ! {Enter Jacob.) Call up the guards ! Conduct This man in safety through our outmost post. Jacob. So help me God, the Lord ! {Exeunt Pancras and Jacob.) THE UN DI VINE COMEDY. 253 FIFTH PERIOD. " Bottomless perdition." Milton. Perched like an eagle, high among the rocks, Stands the old fortress, " Holy Trinity." Now from its bastions nothing can be seen, To right, to left, in front, or in the rear, But morning mists, unbroken, limitless; A spectral image of that Deluge wrath Which, as its wild waves rose to sweep o'er earth, Once broke o'er these steep cliffs, these time-worn rocks. No glimpses can be traced of vale beneath, Buried in ghastly waves of ice-cold sea, Wrapping it as the shroud winds round the dead. No crimson rays of coming sun yet light The clammy, pallid, winding-sheet of foam.* Upon a bold and naked granite peak, Above the spectral mist, the castle stands, A solitary island in this sea. Its bastions, parapets, and lofty towers Built of the rock from which they soar, appear During the lapse of ages to have grown Out of its stony heart (as human breast Springs from the centaur's back), — the giant work Of days long past. A single banner floats Above the highest tower; it is the last, The only Banner of the Cross on earth ! A shudder stirs and wakes the sleeping mist, The bleak winds sigh, and silence rules no more ; The vapor surges, palpitates, and drifts * Not without design has the Polish Poet given such confused propor- tions and indefinite limits to the scenery of the last act of his wondrous drama. His aim is to prepare the mind of the reader for the solemnity of its close : the Poet cannot give too much grandeur to the scene in which Christ is to appear. — Revue des Deux Mondes. 22* 2 S4 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. In the first rays shot by the coming sun. The breeze is chill ; the very light seems frost, Curdling the clouds that form and roll and drift Above this tossing sea of fog and foam. With Nature's tumult other sounds arise, And human voices mingling with the storm, Articulate their wail, as it sweeps on. Borne on and upward by the lifting waves Of the cloud-surge, they break against the towers, The castle's granite walls — voices of doom ! Long golden shafts transpierce the sea of foam ; The clinging shroud of mist is swiftly riven ; Through vaporous walls that line the spectral chasm Are glimpses seen of deep abyss below. How dark it looks athwart the precipice ! Myriads of heads in wild commotion surge ; The valley swarms with life, as ocean's sands With writhing things that creep and twist and sting. The sun ! the sun ! he mounts above the peaks ! The driven, tortured vapors rise in blood ; More and more clearly grow upon the eye The threatening swarms fast gathering below. The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds, It scales the craggy cliffs, and softly melts Into the depths of the infinite blue sky. The valley glitters like a sea of light, Throws back the sunshine in a dazzling glare, For every hand is armed with sharpened blade, And bayonets and points of steel flash fire ; Millions are pouring through the living depths, — As numberless as they at last will throng Into the valley of Jehoshaphat, When called to answer on the Judgment Day. THE VXD I VINE COMEDY. 255 SCENE I. The cathedral in the Fort of the Trinity. Lords, Senators, and dignitaries are seen on either side of the nave, each seated at the foot of a statue of a king, knight, or hero. Compact masses of Nobles stand behind the statues. The Archbishop is seated in a chair of state, in front of the high altar, and holds a sword upon his knees. Choir of Friests around the altar. Count Henry enters, holding a banner in his hand. He pauses a moment upon the threshold of the church, then advances up the aisle to the Archbishop. CHORUS OF PRIESTS. We, Thy last priests, in the last Church of Christ, Implore Thee for the glory of our fathers : Oh, save us from our enemies, our God ! First Count. See with what pride Count Henry glares at us ! Second Count. As if the universe were at his feet ! Third Count. He has done nothing yet but cut his way Across the* peasants' camp, and there has left Two hundred of our men dead on the field. He slaughtered but one hundred of those wretches. Second Count. Suffer him not to be appointed chief! Count Henry {kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop). This flag, torn from our foe, lies at thy feet ! Archbishop. This sword, once blessed by Florian's holy hand, I offer thee ! Voices. Vivat ! Vivat ! Count Henry ! Archbishop {making the sign of the cross upon the brow of Count Henry). Brave Count, I seal thee with this holy sign Commander of the castle, — our last rampart : — In the name of all, I here proclaim thee chief. Voices. Long live our chief ! A Voice. I must protest. . . . Many Voices. Be silent ! Away with him ! Long live our chief, Count Henry ! Count Henry. If any man has aught to urge against me, THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Let him come boldly forward and advance it, Nor hide himself, thus skulking 'mid the crowd. (No one responds.) Father, I take the sword ! God punish me If I should fail to save thee with this blade ! CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Give him Thy might, O God ! Thy Holy Spirit pour upon him ! Save us from all our foes, Lord Jesus ! Count Henry. Swear to defend the glory of our sires, Their faith and God ! . . . Swear that though hunger, thirst, May drive to death, they shall not to dishonor ! Swear that no pain shall force us to submission, Capitulation, betrayal of our God ! AIL We swear ! ( The Archbishop kneels and lifts the cross. All then kneel. ) CHORUS OF PRIESTS. May Thy wrath strike the perjured, May Thy wrath strike the craven soul, May Thy wrath strike the traitor, O Lord, our God ! AIL We swear ! Count Henry {drawing his sword from its scabbard). And I — I promise to you, glory ! For victory — yourselves must pray to God ! SCENE II. A court-yard in the castle of the Holy Trinity. Count Henry, Princes, Counts, Barons, Nobles, Priests. A Count (leading Count Henry aside). What ! is all lost? Coitnt Henry. No. Unless courage fail ! The Count. How long must courage last ? Count Henry. Even unto Death ! A Baron (leading him off on the other side). Count, it is said you've seen our dreadful foe; If we should fall alive into his hands, Will he have pity on us ? THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 257 Count Henry. Such pity as Our fathers never dreamed that men could dare To show to them : the gallows I The Baron. Naught then's left But to defend ourselves to our last breath ! Count Henry. What say you, Prince ? Prince. A word with you alone. {He draws Count Henry aside.) All you have said does well to soothe the crowd, But you must know we can hold out no longer ! Count Henry. What else is left us, Prince ? Prince. You are our chief ; It is for you to arrange the proper terms, Capitulate . . . Count Henry. Hush ! not so loud ! Prince. Why not ? Count Henry. Your Excellency thus would forfeit life ! (He turns to the men thronging around him?) Who names surrender will be put to death ! Baron, Count, and Prince {together). Who names sur- render will be put to death ! AIL Punished with death ! with death ! Vivat ! Vivat ! {Exeunt.) SCENE III. The gallery of the tower. Count Henry. Jacob. Count Henry. Jacob, where is my son ? Jacob. In the north tower, Seated upon the threshold of the vault, Before the grate that opens on the dungeons, Chanting wild songs and uttering prophecies. Count Henry. Put more men on the bastion-El eanore, And move not from this spot. Use your best glass, And watch the movements of the rebel camp. Jacob. So help us God ! Meanwhile our troops are faint; Some brandy might restore them to new life. Count Henry. Open the cellars of our princes, counts ; Give wine to all who stand upon the walls. {Exit Jacob.) ( Count Henry mounts some feet higher, and stands under the banner upon a small terrace.) THE UNDTVINE COMEDY. At last I see you, hated enemies ! With my whole power I trace your cunning plans Surround you with my scorn. No more we meet Within the realm of idle words, of poetry, But in the real world of deadly combat, Sharp sword to sword, the rattling hail of bullets Winged by the concentration of my hate ! No more with single arm and voice I meet you ; The strength of many centres in my will : It is a joyous thing to govern, rule, Even were it solely at the price of death: To feel myself the sovereign arbiter, The master of so many wills and lives ; To see there at my feet my enemies, Leaping and howling at me from the abyss, But all bereft of power to reach me here : So like the Damned, who vainly lift their heads Toward Heaven ! I know ... I know a few hours more of time, And I and thousands of yon craven wretches Who have forgot their fathers and their God, Will be no more forever ! Be it so ! At least I have a few days more of life To satiate myself with joy of combat, The ecstasy of full command o'er others, The giddy daring, struggle, victory, loss ! Thou, my last song, swell to a chant of triumph, For death's the latest foe a man can conquer ! * " * * Jfl . * - «fS The sun sets fast behind the needled cliffs, Sinks in a darksome cloud of threatening vapors His crimson rays light luridly the valley. — Precursor of the bloody death before me, .1 greet you with a fuller, gladder heart Than I have e'er saluted ye, vain hopes And promises of joy or blissful love ! ****** THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 2 59 Not through intrigue, through base or cunning skill, Have I attained the aim of my desires ; But by a sudden bound I've leaped to fame, As my persistent dreams told me I must. Ruler o'er those but yesterday my equals, Conqueror of death, since willingly I seek him, I stand upon the brink : — Eternal life, or sleep ! SCENE IV. A hall in the castle lighted by torches. George seated upon a bed. Count Henry enters, and lays down his arms upon a table. Count Henry. A hundred fresh men place upon the ramparts ! After so fierce a fight my troops need rest. Jacob (without). So help me God, the Lord ! Count Henry (to George). Thou must have heard The musketry, the noise of battle, George ? Keep up thy courage, boy ; we perish not To-day, no, nor to-morrow ! George. I heard it all ; It is not that strikes terror through my heart. The cannon-ball flies on, and leaves no trace, — There's something else that makes me shiver, father ! Count Henry. Thou fear'st forme? Is' t that makes thee so pale? George. No, for I know thine hour is not yet come. Count Henry. My heart is solaced for to-day at least. I've seen the foe driven from their attack, Their ghastly corpses scattered o'er the plain. We are alone ; come, tell me all thy thoughts As if we were once more in our old home, And I will listen thee. George (hurriedly). Oh, father, come ! A dreadful trial is prepared, rehearsed, Re-echoed every night within these walls ! (He goes to a door hidden in the wall, and opens it. ) Count Henry. George ! George ! Come back ! Where art thou going, George ? Who showed thee this dim passage into vaults 2Ó0 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Hung with eternal darkness, damp with death ? This dismal charnel-house of mouldering bones, Of ancient victims stricken in days long past ? George. There where thine eye cannot perceive the light, My spirit knows the way. Follow me, father ! Gloom roll to gloom — and darkness unto darkness. (He enters the door, followed by his father, and descends into the vaults) SCENE V. Subterranean galleries and dungeons ; iron bars, grated doors, chains, handcuffs and broken instru- ments of torture. The Count holds a torch at the foot of a great block of granite upon which George is stand- ing. Count Henry. Return ! I beg you, George, come back to me ! George. Dost thou not hear their voices, see their forms ? Count Henry. The silence of the grave surrounds us, George, \ Almost its darkness, so this torchlight flickers ; Its feeble rays fail to dispel the gloom. George. They're coming nearer. . . . Now I see them, father. . . . * I see them one by one file slowly on From the far depths of these long narrow vaults, Through broken grates, through cells with iron doors, . . . They seat themselves so solemnly below . . . Count Henry. Thy mind is wandering, my poor boy. Alas! It makes the things, thou only dream'' st thou seest ! Nor voices, forms are here ! Unman me not When I have utmost need of all my force ! * The Count is punished by the two victims of his own folly, his wife and son. He has already been punished by the death of his wife for the sacrifice of his domestic duties to a false ideal ; the vision of his son is about to punish him for the sacrifice of true patriotism to a false ambi- tion. — Revue des Deux Mondes. * THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 261 George. I see their pallid forms, grave and severe, Collecting to pronounce a fearful judgment — The culprit comes before the dreadful bar — I cannot see his face — his features float and flow, Sad as a winter's mist. . . . Hark, father, hark ! CHORUS OF VOICES. In the name of the right and the strength which once forced upon us Our manifold agonies, we, the beaten, immured, The broken 'neath irons, the tortured, the fed upon poisons, The prisoned, the living built up in the tombs of the walls : — The time for our vengeance is here : — in our turn we will torture, Probe, judge, and condemn, — and Satan is our execu- tioner ! Count Henry. What seest thou, George ? George. I see the prisoner. He wrings and clasps his hands. Oh, father ! father ! Count Henry. Who is he, George? George. My father ? . . . Oh ! my father . . . A Voice. In thee the race accursed hath reached its close ! It has in thee united all its strength, Its wildest passions, all its selfish pride, — Only to perish utterly in thee ! CHORUS OF VOICES. Because thou hast loved nothing but thyself ; Revered thyself alone, and thine own thoughts ; Thou art condemned, — damned to eternity ! Count Henry. I can see nothing, but on every side, Above, below me, I hear sobs and wails, Judgment and threatening, and eternal doom ! George. The prisoner ! he lifts his haughty head As thou dost, father, when one angers thee ! . . . He answers with proud words, as thou dost, father, When thou scornest ! . . . 23 I 2Ó2 THE UNDIVINE CO MED Y. CHORUS OF VOICES. In vain ! in vain ! what use of pleading? IJope will wake for him no more ! In earth or Heaven, there's no salvation : — Close the trial, — all is o'er ! A Voice, A few more days of vain and passing glory, Of which your sires robbed us in life, in story, And then your name shall vanish from the earth ! You perish, but shall have no burial proud ; No tolling bell your death-hour peals aloud ; No tears of kinsmen fall, no train of friends Bears your escutcheoned coffin to the grave, Nor pride, nor courage will avail to save. Sad, desolate as ours your death will be, Transfixed on the same rock of agony ! Count Henry. Spirits accursed ! ... at last I recog- nize you ! {He advances into the darkness?) George. My father ! go no farther ! I adjure You in the name of Christ ! Oh, father, stay ! Count Henry (he stops). Speak, George ! quick ! tell me what you see below ! George. The prisoner . . . Count Henry. Who is it, George ? George. Father ! Another father ! ... it is thyself ... O father ! It is as white as snow . . . heavy with chains . . . And now they torture thee ... I hear thy cries . . . (He falls upon his knees.) Forgive me, father ! . . . but my mother comes . . . She lights the Dark . . . she orders me . . . (He falls in a fainting fit. ) Count Henry (catching the falling boy in his arms). Ay, this last blow alone was wanting still ! My only child must lead me to the brink of Hell ! Mary, inexorable spirit ! . . . God ! . . . Thou other Mary, whom I oft have prayed . . . THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 263 Here then begins the infinite of pain, Eternal darkness, doom ! . . . Rouse thee, my soul ! Back, back to life again ! One day of glory still is left for me. First the fierce battle with my fellow-men . . . Then comes the eternal combat . . . (He carries away his son.) chorus of voices {dying away in the distance). Because thou hast loved nothing but thyself! Only revered thyself, and thine own thoughts ! Thou art condemned — damned for eternity ! SCENE VII. A large hall in the castle of the Holy Trinity ; arms and armor hang upon the walls. Count Henry. Women, children, old men, and nobles are kneeling at his feet. The Godfather stands in the centre of the hall ; a crowd of men in the background. Count Henry. No, by my son ; by my dead wife, I will not ! Voices of Women. Oh, pity ! pity ! Hunger gnaws our bowels ! Our children starve ! we die of fear and famine ! Voices of Men. There still is time, if you will hear the Herald Who brings us terms ; — dismiss him not unheard. Godfather. I've passed my whole life as a citizen, And I fear no reproof from you, Count Henry. If I am here as his ambassador, It is because I know our age, and read Aright its glorious mission. Pancras is Truly its social representative, And if I dare to speak . . . Count Henry. Out of my sight, old man ! {Aside to Jacob.) Bring here forthwith a hundred of our troops ! {Exit Jacob.) { The women rise and weep ; the men retire a few steps. ) A Baron. It is through your fault we are lost, Count Henry. 264 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Second Baron. Obedience we renounce. Capitulate ! A Prince. For the surrender of the Fort, we will Ourselves arrange the terms with this good citizen. Godfather. The chief who sent me pledges life to all, Provided you will join the People's cause, And recognize the needs of this, our century! Voices. We join the People's cause ! We own their needs ! Count Henry. Soldiers, when I was chosen to take command, I swore to perish on this castle's walls Rather than yield this Fort. You also swore A solemn oath before the shrine of God. The vow was mutual, — we must die together ! Ha ! nobles, can you really wish to live? Then ask your fathers why, when they were living, They ruled with such oppression, cruelty? (Addressing a Count. ) Count, why did you oppress your cowering serfs ? {Addressing another.) Why did you pass your youth in dice and cards, Travel for pleasure o'er the earth, and quite Forget the claims of your own suffering land? (Another.) Why have you always crawled before the great, And scorned the lowly ? (To a lady.) You, fair dame, had sons ; Why did you not make warriors of them, men, That they might aid you now in your distress? No, you have all preferred your pleasure, ease, Dealings with Jews and lawyers to get gold To spend in luxury : — go call on them for aid ! (He rises and extends his arms towards them. ) Why hasten ye to shame, wrap your last hours In shrouds of infamy? . . . On ! on with me! On where swords glitter and hot bullets hail ! Not to the gallows with its loathsome coil, Where ready stands the masked and silent hangman To throw his noose of shame around your craven throats ! THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 265 Some Voices. He speaks the truth. On with the bay- onets ! Other Voices. We die of hunger: there is no more food ! Voices. Pity the children ! Are they not your own ? Godfather. I promise life and liberty to all ! Count Henry {approaching and seizing the Godfather). Go, sacred Person of the Herald ! go, And hide thy gray hairs with the neophytes, In tents with base mechanics plotting murder, That thus I may not dye them in thy blood ! {Enter Jacob with a division of armed men.) Aim at that brow, wrinkled with folly's folds, That scarlet cap, which trembles at my words, That brainless head ! {The Godfather escapes.) All. Seize ! bind Count Henry ! seize ! Send him to Pancras ! Count Henry. Nobles, ye' 11 bide my time ! {He goes from one soldier to another, as he addresses them in turn.) Do you remember when we scaled a cliff, A savage wolf followed our steps, and when You, startled, slipped, I caught you on the verge Of the abyss, and saved your life, my friend, At peril of my own ? Then you seemed grateful ! ( To others. ) Have you forgotten, men, when driven by winds, Our boat upset among the Danube's crags, And we young swimmers braved the waves together ? {To others.) Jerome and Thaddeus, you were both with me On the Black Sea: — you were brave sailors then ! {To others.) When fire destroyed your homes, who built them up ? ( To others. ) Soldiers, you fled to me from cruel lords, And I redressed your wrongs, — will you desert me ? 23* 266 THE UNDIVJNE COMEDY. {He addresses the men generally?) Say, will you arm to combat for our rights, Or will you leave me here to die alone, Smiling with scorn that midst so many men I found no single man ? Men. Long live Count Henry ! Count Henry. Let all the meat and brandy now be shared Among the men ; — and then upon the walls ! Men. Yes, meat and brandy ! then upon the walls ! Count Henry. Go with them, Jacob ! In an hour hence They must be ready to renew the fight. Jacob. So help me God, the Lord ! Women. Our children starve ! We curse Count Henry in their innocent names ! Voices. We curse thee for our fathers ! Other Voices. For our wives ! Count Henry. And I breathe curses on all coward souls ! SCENE VII. The ramparts of the Holy Trinity. Dead bodies are lying scattered about, with broken cannons, pikes, and guns. Soldiers are hurrying to and fro. Count Henry leans against a parapet, and Jacob stands beside him. Count Henry {thrusting his sword into its sheath). There's no intoxication can compare With that of danger ; thus to sport with life, To win the fight, or if it must be, lose ! Well ! we can lose but once — and all is said ! Jacob. Our last good broadside drove them back a moment, But they are gathering to renew the storm. What can we do ? for since the world was world, None ever yet escaped his destiny ! Count Henry. Have we no cartridges? Our last shot fired? Jacob. No balls; no grape-shot ; powder; — all are gone ! Count Henry. Bring my son here ! for the last time I would Embrace him. . . . {Exit Jacob.) THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 267 The smoke has dimmed my eyes — I cannot see, — The valley seems to rise up to my feet — And then sinks to its place, — the rocks, cliffs, crack — Break in fastastic angles — totter — fall ! My thoughts assume the same fantastic forms Before my spirit — flicker like a lamp ! {He seats himself upon the wall.*) It is too little to be born a man ! Nor is it worth the pain to be an Angel : Since e'en the highest of them all must feel, After some centuries of existence past, As we do after our few years of life, Immeasurable ennui, desire Of greater Power. . . . Spirits must long as we do ! . ... One either must be God Himself ... or nothing ! . . . {Enter Jacob with George.) Count Henry {to Jacob). Take some men with you ; through the castle go, Drive all before you out upon the walls ! Jacob. Counts, princes, barons? {Exit Jacob.) Count Henry. Come to me, my son ! Put thy thin hand in mine, and let me press Thy forehead to my lips ! Thy mother's brow Was once as pure and fair. . . . George. Before thy men took up their arms to-day, I heard her voice ... It seemed so far, far off . . . Like perfume, light and sweet it floated on . . . " George, thou wilt come to-night, and sit beside me!" Count Henry. George, tell me, — did she utter not my name ? George. She said : " This evening I expect my son !" Count Henry {aside). Must my strength fail me . ere I reach the end ? Forbid it, God ! . . . Give me one moment's fiery vigor now, I'll be thy prisoner through eternity ! {To George.) Forgive me, son, the fatal gift of life ! We soon must part ! . . . Ah ! who can tell us, George, How long shall last that parting ? . . . Fare thee well ! 2Ó8 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY, George. Father, hold fast to me ! do not desert me ! — I love thee ! I will draw thee on with me ! Count Henry. Our paths lie widely sundered ! Midst the choirs ✓ Of Angels thou' It forget me ! Thou' It not throw Me down one drop of heavenly dew ! Oh, George ! my son ! George. What are those cries ? I tremble . . . they appal me ! Louder and nearer comes the thundering crash, The cannon's roar ! Father, the time draws near, The last hour prophesied. Count Henry. Haste, Jacob, haste ! {A band of counts and princes, in confusion, rushes across the court-yard. Jacob follows them, with the soldiers.*) A Voice. You give us broken arms — force us to fight. Another Voice. Have pity on us, Henry ! A third Voice. We are starving ! Other Voices. O God ! Why do they drive us ? Where? Count Henry. To death ! To George {folding him in his arms). With this long kiss I would unite myself To thee for all eternity ! . . . It cannot be ! . . . Fate forces me upon another path ! {Struck by a ball, George sinks, dying, in his arms.) A Voice from on high. To me ! to me ! pure spirit ! Son, to me ! Count Henry. Hola there ! Give me aid ! {He draws his sword and holds it before the lips of George.) The blade is clear ! His breath and life were carried off together ! My George ! my son ! . . . Forward, men ! on ! They mount the parapet ! Thank God, at last they stand within the reach Of this keen blade ! Back ! back into the abyss, ye sons of freedom ! {Rushing on of men, confusion, attack, defense, struggle.) THE UNI) I VINE COMEDY. 269 SCENE VIII. Another part of the ramparts. Cries of combat are heard. Jacob lies upon a wall. Count Henry, covered with blood, hastily approaches him. Count Henry. Faithful old man, what is the matter? Speak ! Jacob. The devil seize you for your obstinacy, Pay you for all that I have suffered here ! So help me God, the Lord ! {He dies.) Count Henry {throwing away his sword). I never, never more will need thy aid, Sword of my sires ! Lie there and rust forever ! Mine are all gone ! My son is safe in Heaven, — And my last servant at my feet lies dead ! The coward nobles have deserted me ; They kneel before the victor, howl for pardon. {He looks around him.) The foe are not yet on me, — there is time to To steal a moment's rest before . . . Ha ! Now the new men scale the northern tower ! They shout Count Henry ! Seek him everywhere ! Yes, I am here ! Look ! Look ! I am Count Henry ! But you are not to judge me ! I alone Must march that way my faith hath led ; — it is To God's tribunal I will go, to give Myself into his hands ! {He mounts upon a ruin of the wall, above the precipice.) I see thee, O my dread eternity, As rapidly thou floatest on to me, Like an immensity of Darkness ; vast, Without or end or limit — refuge, none ! And in the centre, God — a dazzling sun — Which shines eternally — but illumines nothing ! {He gazes for a mofnent, takes a step down, and stands on the verge of the precipice.) They see me now — they run — they scale the cliff — The new men are upon me ! Jesus ! Mary ! I curse thee, Poetry ! as I shall be Cursed through eternity ! . . . Grow long, strong arms, 270 THE UND1VINE COMEDY. «* And break a way through yonder sombre waves ! (He springs into the abyss.') SCENE IX. The court of the castle. Pancras, Leon- ard ; Bianchetti standing at the head of the soldiers. The surviving Princes, Counts, accojnpanied by their wives and children, in chains, pass before Pancras. Pancras. Your name ? Count Christopher. Count Christopher of Vosalquemir. Pancras. For the last time on earth you've said it ! Yours ? Prince of the Black Forest. Prince Ladislas, of the Black Forest, Lord. Pancras. It shall be heard no more. And what is yours ? Baron.. My name is Alexander of Godalberg. Pancras. Struck from the number of the living ; — go ! Bianchetti {to Leonard). They have repulsed us for the last two months With worthless cannon, mounted on crumbling walls. Leonard (to Pancras). Are many of them left? Pancras. I sentence all ! Let their blood flow as lesson to the world : — But he who tells me where Count Henry hides Shall save his life. Many Voices. He vanished from our sight. Godfather. As mediator, lo ! I stand between you And these, our prisoners, illustrious citizens, Who gave into our hands the castle keys. Greatest of men, I ask their lives from you. Pancras. Where I have conquered by my proper force I want no mediator ! You will yourself Take charge of their immediate execution. Godfather. Through life I have been known as a good citizen ; I've often given proof of love of country. I did not join your cause with the intent Of choking with the rope my brother nobles, All gentlemen of . . . THE U ND I VI NE COMEDY. 271 Pancras {interrupting Aim). Seize the tiresome pedant, And let him join forthwith his noble brothers ! {The soldiers surround the Godfather and prisoners, and bear them away. ) Has no one seen Count Henry, dead or living ? A purse of gold — if only for his corpse ! {Armed troops arrive from the ramparts.) {To the troop.) Have you seen nothing of Count Henry ? The Leader of the Band. By the command of General Bianchetti I went to explore the western rampart. Just Beyond the parapet on the third bastion I saw an unarmed, wounded man, who stood Near a dead body. To my men I cried : " Hasten to seize him !" Ere we reached him, he Descended from the wall, and sought the brink Of a steep rock which overhangs the vale. Pausing a moment there, his haggard eyes He fixed on the abyss which yawned below, Then struck his arms out as a swimmer would, About to make a sudden, desperate plunge, Threw himself forward with a mighty leap, Cutting the air with his extended arms ! We heard the body bound from rock to rock Into the abyss below. We found this sword But a few paces from the very spot On which we saw him first. {He hands the sword to Pancras. ) Pancras {examining the sword). Great drops of blood are thickening on the hilt : Here are the armorial bearings of his House : — It is Count Henry's sword. Honor to him ! Alone among you he has kept his oath ; Glory to him — to you the guillotine ! Bianchetti, see the Holy Trinity Razed to the ground. Give the condemned to death. Come, Leonard, come with me. {Leonard accompanies him; they mount upon a bastion.) Leo7iard. After so many sleepless nights, you need Repose. Pancras, you look fatigued and worn. 272 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. Pancras. The hour of rest has not yet struck for me ! The last sad sign of my last enemy Marks the completion of but half my task. Look at these spaces, these immensities Stretching between my thoughts and me. Earths deserts must be peopled, rocks removed, Swamps drained, and mountains tunneled ; trees hewn down ; Seas, lakes and rivers everywhere connected, Roads girdle earth, that produce circulate, And commerce bind all hearts with links of gold. Each man must own a portion of the soil ; Thought move on lightning wings rending old veils ; The living must outnumber all the hosts Of those who've perished in this deadly strife; Life and prosperity must fill the place Of death and ruin ere our work of blood Can be atoned for ! Leonard, this must be done ! If we are not to inaugurate an age Of social bliss, material ease and wealth, Our deeds of havoc, devastation, woe, Will have been worse than vain ! Leonard. The God of liberty will give us power For these gigantic tasks ! Pancras. You speak of God ! Do you not see that it is crimson here ? Slippery with gore in which we stand knee-deep? — Whose gushing blood is this beneath our feet ? Naught is behind us save the castle court, Whatever is, I see, and there is no one near — We are alone — and yet there surely stands Another here between tis / Leonard. I can see nothing but this bloody corpse ! Pancras. The corpse of his old faithful servant — dead! It is a living spirit haunts this spot ! This is his cap and belt — look at his arms, — There is the rock overhanging the abyss, — And on that spot it was his great heart broke ! Leonard. Pancras, how pale you grow ! Pancras. Do you not see it ? J Tis there / Up there / THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 273 Leonard, I see a mass of clouds Wild-drifting o'er the top of that steep rock O'erhanging the abyss. How high they pile ! Now they turn crimson in the sunset rays. Pancras. There is a fearful symbol burning there ! Leonard. Your sight deceives you. Pancras. Where are now my people ? The millions who revered, and who obeyed me ? Leonard. You hear their acclamations, — they await you. Pancras, look not again on yon steep cliff, — Your eyes die in their sockets as you gaze ! Pancras. Children and women often said that He Would thus appear, — but on the last day only ! Leonard. Who ? Where ? Pancras. Like a tall column there He stands, In dazzling whiteness o'er yon precipice ! With both His Hands He leans upon His cross, As an avenger on his sword ! Leonard, His crown of thorns is interlaced with lightning. . . . Leonard. What is the matter? . . . Pancras, answer me ! Pancras. The dazzling flashes of His eyes are death ! Leonard. You're ghastly pale ! Come, let us quit this spot ! Pancras. Oh ! . . . Leonard, spread your hands and shade my eyes ! Press, press them till I see no more ! Tear me away ! Oh, shield me from that look ! It crushes me to dust ! Leonard {placing his hands over the eyes). Will it do thus? Pancras. Your hands are like a phantom's ! — Powerless — with neither flesh nor bones ! Transparent as pure water, crystal, air, They shut out nothing ! I can see ! Still see ! Leonard. Your eyes die in their sockets ! Lean on me ! Pancras. Can you not give me darkness ? Darkness ! Darkness ! He stands there motionless, — pierced with three nails, — Three stars ! . . . 24 274 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. His outstretched arms are lightning flashes ! . . , Darkness ! . . . Leonard. I can see nothing ! Master ! Master ! Pancras. Darkness ! Leonard. Ho ! Citizens ! Ho ! Democrats ! aid ! aid ! Pancras. Vicisti Galilee ! {lie falls stone dead.) IRIDION. (WRITTEN IN 1836-1837.) Translated from the German edition, as rendered by Polono-Germanus, 9 published in Leipzig, 1847; carefully compared with the translation made into French by M. Alexandre Lacaussade and published by Ladis- las Mickiewicz, Paris, 1870. PROLOGUE. The old world stands on the brink of the grave. 1 Everything which once had life falls into corruption, crashes into ruins ; and gods and men together rave ! As Jupiter, sovereign of Olympus, expires, Rome, mis- tress of the earth, writhes in her death agonies — and raves ! Fate ("Fatum") alone, the inflexible and im- mutable Reason of the world, 2 stands calm above the hurrying whirlpool of Earth and Heaven ! In the heart of this chaos begins my song ; my song, which gushes forth in irrepressible strains ! Spirit of Destruction, come to my aid ! kindle my inspiration until all bonds and fetters dissolve before it ! Let it flash forth as impetuously as the lightnings of that tempest which, gathering for centuries, whirled all that then had life into the abyss ! And like all force after the accom- plishment of its work, let it also perish ! The orient is bright with light, a new world appears; but it is not for me to sing its glory ! 275 276 IR ID I ON. O Rome ! where are now the stately forms once wont to wander with such haughty pride over thy seven hills? Where are thy high patricians, with their knives of sacri- fice, and javelins in their hands ? Where are thy hearts of mystery, thy brows of menace, thy " Patres familias," the oppressors of the people, the conquerors of Italy and Carthage ? Where are the long-veiled Vestals, bearing the sacred fire in pure and consecrated hands, who were wont so silently to mount the broad steps of thy Capitol ? Where are thine orators, the leaders of the millions, encircled by a sea of heads and rocked upon the waves of popular applause, wooing the fickle mob, and only living in the storm of tumultuous plaudits ? Where are thy indefatigable legions, virile and power- ful, whose faces, bronzed by the rays of the sun, were cooled in the sweat of action, and brightened by the reflection of their naked swords? Gone ! One by one, all have vanished. The Past has taken them, and like a mother has lulled them to sleep forever on her bosom. And no one will ever be strong enough to tear them from the Past ! Gone ! . . . Other forms take their places, but they have no longer the austere beauty of the Demigods, nor the gigantic force of the Titans. Though glittering with gold, these figures are distorted and fantastic ; crowns wreathe their brows, and garlanded cups are in their hands, but daggers gleam through the rosy bloom, poison beads their goblets, and convulsive spasms mar the grace of their dances. One sees only a life of luxury, without law or limits, in which songs and groans mingle with the cries of gladiators and the howlings of hyenas ! Accursed be the spring which blooms in flowers of blood, perfumed only by the unholy incense of base flattery ! Accursed be such an existence ! It can be but transitory. It can create nothing, and will leave nothing behind it but infamy and the record of its impotent agony ! Populace and Caesar, — lo ! the whole of Rome ! 3 Isis, mother of science and of silence, with thy feet washed by the foam of the sea and swollen with thy long IRIDION. 277 wanderings, — foreign tongues are sounding round thee ! Solitary and deserted thou standest upon the Roman Fo- rum, as yet scarcely recognizing thyself, knowing not where thou art, nor where are the banks of the Nile ! Mithras, Lord of Youth and Death, thou too hast been drawn from the plains of Chaldea, the hills of Armenia, to Rome ! Thou standest in the vaults of the Capitol, having taken thy place amidst the other gods ; and in the gloom of night thou wavest thy sacrificial knife above the corpses of thy victims ! Through Grecian halls, and under the shadows of Co- rinthian pillars, sound thy barbaric footsteps, O wild son of the North ! At times thou pausest, leanest upon thine axe, and with thy blue eyes seekest if thou mayst perchance find there the god of*thine own race, — strong Odin! 4 But Odin, the Cimbrian, has not yet appeared in the Cap- itol. Loath to leave them, he still lingers amid his boundless forests of pine, his broad fields of stainless snow, his gray skies, and the choirs of Valhalla. But in a little while he too will begin his pilgrimage to Rome ! On ! On, ye gods and men ! Rage as ye will — 'tis your last raving upon earth ! From sunrise to sunset will your paths cross ; from north to south, from midnight to mid-day, will you hurry on, scarcely finding room for all your throngs. Hasten on then ! Go and come, turn and return ! Thus is it always before a world falls into ruins. On, on, ye gods and men ! Rave as ye will, it is your last course upon earth. Fate scorns you, and repulsing your errors, unfurls a new banner; — sooner or later you will all fall before that symbol, — the Cross ! From this world which is stifling and destroying itself, I tear away a single thought, — a thought of vengeance. My love will dwell in it, and give it life, although it is the child of madness, the presage of perdition. On, on, ye gods and men ! forward in your giddying whirl around my spirit ! Be the tones in which my dreams are set ; the storm which flashes its lightning around my thought ! I will give it a name, a form ; but though conceived in Rome, the day in which Rome will perish will not be the day of its death. It will last as 24* 278 IRIDION. long as the earth and the nations of the earth. And it is therefore, O my thought, that there will be no place for thee in the Heavens ! Where art thou, Son of Vengeance? In what land rest thy bones ? And with what spirits now wanders thy spirit ? I evoked the shadows of the dead from the world of ruins ; before me on the Roman Forum at midnight stood the Roman Senate, — phantoms cowering under the sense of their depravity and cowardice, — but thou wert not among the shrinking shades ! At my voice a gladiator rose*from the vaults of the Colosseum. He called his murdered brethren from their rest, advancing at their head ; the moon shone down upon their pale faces ; on every bosom yawned a gaping wound, and in the sleep of death the blue lips still re- peated : Morituri te salutant Caesar ! — but thou wert not among them ! Upon the sacred Palatine, the hill of ruins and of flowers, the ashes of the Rulers of the world started from the dust at my command and stood before me. They passed before my eyes, each with a diadem held fast to his head with clots of blood, and under the diadem each bore the sign of damnation upon his forehead ; round each form floated in heavy folds the royal purple; through the gashes made by the dagger of the murderer glittered the stars: — I looked for thee, but thou wert not among them ! I heard the solemn prayers and chants of the Christian martyrs; the tones burst from the catacombs 5 and rose directly into Heaven ; sadder and sweeter, clearer than the rest, I heard a maiden's voice once known and dear to thee, — but severed now from thine, it sought the sky alone ! Where, then, art thou, Son of Vengeance, Son of my Song? It is time for thee to rise and tread upon the giant's corpse, — the corpse of Rome ! Remember thou hast sworn to renounce faith, hope, and love forever to IRIDION. 279 gaze but once upon the utter ruin : — then to go down where there are millions, millions of souls. The hour is here, the death-bell tolls ! Where once the Eternal City ruled yawns a wide grave of ruins, bones and ashes ; the creeping ivy twines around it, and creep- ing people crawl beside it. Arise ! Come from the grave ! The death-knell tolls and tolls ! I call thee forth ! I — and the fearful Power from whom I may not ransom thee : but thy name I will tear from his grasp ! Thy name shall not perish with thee in thy desolation ! Leave me ! these rough and savage paths are not for you, my friends ! Remain on the Campagna at the foot of the Apennines. I must go alone ; must see him once ere he descends into the abyss, sinks to eternal death ! In the dim twilight of a narrow cavern, stretched on a couch of stone within the vault, quite without breath he rests ; no palpitation tells of human sleep ; dreamless he lies and waits his wakening, — that promised and terrible awakening, with the dark Day of Judgment nearer to him than to the rest of the world ! Fallen trees, rotted into tinder, glimmer like the eyes of the sphinx around him, and a serpent with glittering scales, which has lain through centuries beside him, is coiled at his feet. His features are dark as if bronzed by fever ; the sleep of ages has failed to pour a cooling stream over their lurid glow. His form is like the Demigods of Greece ; such shapes are seen on earth no more. His feet, white as a Parian statue, rest on a block of black marble ; moss and long ivy-wreaths twine above and below them. A white tunic covers his breast, his right hand grasps a shattered lamp ; a sword, dim with mould and rust, lies beside it ; the left hangs stiffened down ; its fingers are spasmodically cramped, as if sleep had overcome him while still strug- gling with despair. Motionless between sleep and death he lies, — between the last thought which passed centuries ago through his soul and that to which he will awaken, — between the cursing of a whole life and the damnation of eternity ! Son of my Thought, before thou wakest, I will recount thy history ! 28o IRIDION. In the Cimbrian Chersonesus,* along the foaming streams of Silver Land,f thy father loved to stray hand in hand with the Sea-Kings, although his home was in a far and sunny clime, his speech was in an alien tongue, and his face like that of the gods of Phidias. Men and women loved him, for with the beauty of his tales he could make short the longest night, or charm the day at festivals and combats. The windings of the track- less seas were well-known paths to him ; he could read fair weather or storm in the glittering stars of Heaven ; he could fling the heavy javelin over the top of the highest mast, and his brow lost not its calm even under the blast of the black hurricane. And on the land his horn was heard o'er hill and valley : no bear nor wild beast could escape him ; when he returned from chase or battle he could stretch his tired limbs on moss and scented ferns, and, emptying foam- ing cups, recount his combats, dangers, and adventures. His Palace stood upon the shore of the wide waves ; it looked upon a sea thickly strewn with islands bright as stars; it was inlaid with gold and ivory, and under the shade of its white grove of pillars, slaves stood upon its threshold and watched for his return. But thy father tar- ried long, for he had learned to love the conch-shell horn and the song of the young Priestess of Odin. He devoted his youth to constant wandering that he might gather means to achieve a great design. He raised the foaming beaker to his lips, and drank the health of the king of men, Sigurd, the Sea-King. And he said to the daughter of Sigurd : " Crimhild, daughter of Sigurd, my people have worn fetters for centuries, and sigh ! And with my people lie hundreds of others upon the stony coasts of the Sea of the South, and sigh ! To free them I need energy and in- spiration from thy firm breast. I am myself a slave by my nation ; but my soul lives as an Avenger. My foes are * The Romans called the peninsula of Jutland the Cimbrian Cherso- nesus ; the Scandinavian races were known as Cimbrians. f The Cimbrian Chersonesus was called Silver Land by the barbari- ans, on account of the white glitter of the snow and the many sparkling streams. IRIDION. 281 numerous as the sea sands and strong as Titans; — to de- stroy them, maiden, I require thy prophetic soul. Virgin, the consecrated of Odin, come! Enter my threshold, be the companion of my life, the helpmate of my struggles ! "And our descendants shall one day end the task which may extend to distant centuries !" Then was thy father silent, but he had flashed upon her the magic of his glances, and had daily woven his spells of eloquent speech and eloquent silence more closely around her. The young Priestess stood upon the cliffs and gazed with loosened hair and gloomy eyes down into the gray infinity of the sea, rapt and dreamy, mad with love ! The shield of Odin no longer protected her, she was willing to fly from the very steps of the altar, — to follow the stranger to distant shores ! " Hermes, our boldest warriors have as yet ne'er dared to gaze upon my brow, and thou ? Thou seemest to me a hero just descended from Valhalla, — thou but callest Crimhild, and lo ! I must become thy slave! "Unknown to me thy Fatherland, unknown to me thine enemies; even in dreams I've never seen the clime to which thou leadest me, — but I go, unhappy one ! I go, disgraced among my virgins, cursed by the wrath of Odin ! But once more must I seat myself upon the holy stone, once more chant the hymn of the Virgin Priestess before the God of my fathers !" Amphilochus Hermes follows the maiden over beds of moss, steep granite cliffs, through gloomy forests, and down the paths of mountain torrents. Tall pines rustle above, and sometimes the skeleton of a great oak wreathed with mistletoe looks down upon him. The sky is gray and gloomy, and countless paths open to bewilder and entice them into the boundless wilderness, but the fear- less maiden knows the way which leads to the god she worships, to whom she is about to bid farewell forever. Leaders of tribes, Lords of the Land, and Kings of the Sea, with their companions and attendants, stand in a 282 IRIDION. semicircle round Odin and await his Priestess. Sigurd, sprung from the gods and king of men, alone sits ; his throne is the trunk of a fallen pine, and he gloomily covers his face with his massive hand ; the scales of his armor heave as his huge breast swells beneath them. But he remains silent, and his warriors are silent around him. Nothing is heard save the sighing of the trees and the roaring of the sea as it flings its great waves against the rocks beyond the forest. Crimhild suddenly bursts through them, her eyes fast- ened upon the gloomy face of Odin, — she hurries on. to her god with solemn earnestness. The stranger, surrounded by his own retainers, remains behind ; his hands are folded upon his Corinthian armor ; absorbed in thought, he leans against a tree. Under a low arch overhanging a cavern the Priestess seats herself upon a great stone deeply cut with mystic symbols, and seems lost in meditation. The god of the people of the North stands above her ; his beard and hair are stiff with ice and powdered with snow, his eye is dazzlingly bright and cold, he holds a club in his giant hands sprinkled with the blood of his victims ; in his breast yawns the ghastly wound which he inflicted upon himself when the days of his incarnation were completed and he burned with desire to return to the bloody festi- vals of Valhalla. Long rests the Priestess lost in thought ; then gradually awaking, she slowly raises her arm, and speaks in muffled tones : "I know thee, Lord, among thy heroes! Thy spirit flows in dark streams into my breast, — it rages through me like a cataract shattering the rocks on which it pours, — I am with thee there in the very midst of the whirl- pool, — there in the wild night of thy scorn, — thy power is mine ! Listen all to the Priestess ! M Suddenly she lifts the golden-fringed lids veiling her flashing eyes, stretches out her hands to the throng before her, shudders as if in the death-spasm : and then her words ring clear as the tones of heroes who have already scaled the clouds, and who, floating above the storm, cry through it to the children of their children. IRIDION. 283 "Whither are you running by day and by night, O my Brethren? Sons of my people, who is driving you forever forward ? Who calls you on to leave the Silver Land of streams ? "The chained Giants start from the snowy rocks on which they should lie until the end of the world ; half rising, they strike their clanging fetters upon the ice crests, and scent afar the smell of blood ! " Hark, how the hammer of Thor breaks through shield and helmet ! How it crushes the breast and shatters the skulls of men ! " The laughter of the Dwarfs rings through space, — the lance of Horgiebruda floats over the whole earth ! "Who can resist you, O my successors ? Ever faster and faster you hurry on to the Eternal City, — there is the banquet spread for you, — the cups foam to the brim with the blood of your enemy ! Honors and places await you there. — Take them with glory, my sons !" The clear tones of her voice suddenly sink in dim murmurs; her eyes seek something in the world of visionary forms outspread before her, her lips struggle to utter a word. This word comes, grows almost to con- sciousness in the depths of her soul, twines like a serpent round her heart, then like a serpent buries itself in its folds, — vainly she seeks it — pale — wretched — fainting ! A moment of suspense — she will yet tear it from her breast, — her eyes kindle into flame, and her face flashes with higher inspiration : "The city — the city of the seven hills is in flames, — precious metals and clear gems melt and flow in the heat, corpses fall in the blood and float away, — the great city crashes down — and with it a great god ! . . . "Help! Odin, help! — I perish unless I can utter thy secret ! . . . The name ! the name ! who will tell me the name?" Then sinks the head of thy mother, her eyes close, her lips are motionless; the king still covers his face with his hand, not daring to look at his daughter; the warriors stand as if turned to stone, for no one ventures to approach the holy rock. Young Priestess, thy god is dumb, and an eternal 284 I RID I ON. silence is fast settling upon thine own lips ; darkness is shrouding thy soul, and the snow of death is on thy brow ! But he who had promised thee another Father- land and fairer gods forsakes thee not ; he starts from the shadow of the oak, and boldly advances to thee. A cry of rage echoes through the skies; the sea-kings angrily rattle their javelins against their shields ; hoary skalds fling curses on the air ! But he has already crossed the threatening circle ; he bends over thee ; he gives thee his hand and says : "In the name of Rome, the name of thy enemy and mine, I call thee back to life ! Crimhild, arise I" Then turning to the warriors, he cries loudly : " Rome ! Rome! Rome!" The reviving maiden rises, repeats after him the mystic word in clear ringing tones ; repeats it again with the sweet voice of woman in a tone of fare- well \ — and follows the stranger, as a wife the husband ! Slumbering Son of my Thought, thy father now stands on the deck of his ship, and with an incredulous smile upon his curved lips, pours full cups into the sea in honor of Poseidon ; then turning to his slaves he says : " Tighten the white sails ; ply more rapidly the oars ; and the God of the Trident will still the waves before us I" And the planks tremble under their feet ; darkness settles itself in level lines along the horizon ; and waves rise hurrying from the depths to meet the skies, and then lose themselves in the heart of the sea — as the Serpent Python before being prostrated by the arrows of the Sun : — capriciously they pour into each other, breaking in snowy foam, while the wind roars like distant thunder, or sobs in wild shrieks as it whistles above them. Under a canopy supported by the swaying masts, Hermes reclines upon the soft skins of the beasts captured by himself in the Chersonesus, the land of the Cimbrians ; and with gentle voice describes to the maiden at his side the land she is now approaching, painting to her the island IR1DI0N, 285 near the mainland, with its vine-clad hills and shady- groves, among which stands her new home. He tells her of his laborers and tradesmen, of his palace, ships, his stores of arms and treasures, — and these all have their allotted destination! For the people there rejoice not under the leadership of their own chosen chiefs, but are bowed under a heavy yoke, — clothing their shame in gold, in silks, in sculptured marbles, and licking the dust before the city which rises between the two seas. This city, as is well known to the world, is the Queen of lies and oppression. Under the spell of her poison- ous breath, brother rises against brother, and son against father, and traitors against the land which has given them birth ; and as untiringly as Time, she swallows up all the kings of the earth. The calm flies from the brow of thy father as he speaks ; it darkens like the tempest breaking over the flying ship. " Once was my Hellas the soul of the nations; her songs and oracles ruled the world ! But the haughty bar- barians from the. East rushed in multitudinous hosts upon her, with the clang of swords and the whir of arrows. The heavenly fire, torn from the gods, was her only por- tion. Alas ! my beautiful, unfortunate Hellas trusted in the accursed city seated upon the seven hills ; rough hordes pressed from it to her happy isles and myrtle- crowned shores ; cruel and false, it seized my wretched country, not by might of arms and glorious war, but divided her by the poison of treachery, and intoxicated her with the nectar of false promises V* At this moment the clouds break away, a few stars flame from the heavens; but when Hermes again looks forth the heavenly eyes are dimmed with scudding vapors and ex- halations from the land, and he cries to the steersman: " To the right ! Steer all night to the right, and at dawn we shall float in the Straits of Gades !" Then folding thy mother closely to his bosom, he tells her of his mighty ancestors ; of Philopcemen, justly called the last of the Greeks, who fought against the plots of the accursed city, then of the barbarian king who, after the losses of thirty years, at last fell by his own hand, since which time no man had been bold enough to undertake 25 286 IRWION. the protection of the enslaved world. After a short si- lence dedicated to the memory of the great Mithridates, he resumes his account, while thy mother listens motion- less and with her blue eyes fastened upon him. " Crimhild, through thy inspiration thy god has re- vealed what was divined in the vague foresight of my fathers, what I myself have dimly seen and felt in the flames of my own hate. Hail, daughter of the sea-king I The city of sin, after the destruction of the free and the living, has at last turned the sword against her own breast ! " Her treasures, collected from every part of the earth, are no longer sufficient to satisfy her lusts ; her arms are already slipping from her hands, her last hours are tolling in the midst of carousals and murders. " Laugh at the storms and waves, my wife, for we are not to die here, — we are to take our part in that mighty destruction l" After these words the voice of the hero is still fuller of scorn and bitterness ; he speaks of the gods of Hellas, once so mighty, but in whom men haye lost all faith : their oracles have long been dumb, but their forms still stand, for the world grown old cannot readily forget the customs of her youth. All the gods of the earth are to be seen in the accursed city ; some of exceeding beauty from the hand of the Greek sculptor, worthy of immortality ; others distorted, monstrous, grown up without form from the sands of the desert, hewn from the peaks of distant hills, — but he tells her that he knows there is but one God, who in the beginning laid his hand upon the night and whirl of chaos, and conquered it for ever and ever ! "His name?" cries the Priestess of Odin. "Fate," he replies, as he goes to the helm of the vessel, for the night is dark and the storm is again upon them. Son of my Thought, dost thou remember the lovely isl of Chiara, upon which passed thy childhood with th sister, the divine Elsinoe ? Rememberest thou the expe ditions of thy father, when, spreading his mast with sails IRIDION. 287 — not the three-cornered sails of the Greek, but the tall sheets of the Barbarian,— with the Dacian helmet on his head, and the battle-axe of the Cimbrian in his hand, he would, favored by the night, slip out of the cove and steer boldly on through the windings of the Archipelago? All the thoughts of Jugurtha and Mithridates burn in his soul, his intents of Vengeance lead him to seek the wildest Barbarians ; now he visits the swamps of the Palus Moeo- tis, the wastes where horses fly fleet as the wind ; now he goes to the deserts of Africa where range the Syrtians dipping their arrows in the deadliest poisons ; anywhere and everywhere he hurries where he deems it possible to raise enemies against his enemy. He presses the hand of savage kings, learns their tongues and the use of their arms, lavishes rich gifts upon them, and stimulates their 9 desires by promises of pleasure and booty. During these long absences, the days pass in pain for thy mother. But no stranger nor slave ever reads a trace of anguish in her noble features, nor do her lips quiver when she bids them to be still. But often, taking thee and Elsinoe by the hand, she leads you through the long halls to the interior of the palace where, amid niches covered with moss and shells, stands a fierce warrior of rock. Immortal rage wrinkles his broad low brow, his hands hold the skull of a slaughtered enemy, at his feet are piled long icicles and blocks of ice cut from Parian marble. Thy mother bows her head before him, and thinks of her vanished Fatherland. " Iridion, my Sigurd, thou wilt never see the Silver Land of streams, nor thy Grandfather, the King of Men ! Look ! there stands my holy God ! My dreadful Inspirer ! The Lord of Valhalla! the invincible Odin!" Then pressing thy sister to her bosom: " Where is thy father, Elsinoe ? Speak, and tell me where he lingers. I hear the roaring of the winds and the dull sobbing of the waves ; his tall bark rocks on the fathomless abyss of waters, or, stripped of its winged sails, drives on some coast accursed ! . . . But no, he will chain the storms, escape the Barbarians, and return home with the fame of a demigod ! M 288 IRWION. And when the horn of the returning hero is heard winding over the sea, nearer and ever nearer through the myrtle groves ; when Hermes, bronzed by the sun and weather-beaten by the tempests, throws himself into the arms of his wife, his dark eye glittering with passion and flashing with triumphant hope ; — happy, happy days return to Chiara ; the Priestess forgets her dark forebodings, and peaceful and glad you all wander together over grass and flowers, white sands and shells, through halls of marble, among tripods and perfumed incense, and when evening comes, you rest upon the lap of your mother, or in the strong arms of your father, and when he blesses you at night before you go to rest, with his hand upon your bowed heads, he says : Remember to hate Ro?ne / When * grozun up pursue her with a curse / You, Iridion, with fire and sword J You, Elsinoe, with prophecies and wo7nari 's art / Ofttimes comes a Proconsul, Praetor, or officer of the Emperor to Chiara; then long couches are laid and tables spread with luxuries ; the wine of Lesbia pours in streams, and the voices of the female slaves, accompanied by the lutes of the males, chant the hymns of old Homer: — " Anacreon ! Anacreon !" cry the Romans. With scorn- ful smiles thy father beckons to the singers, fills the cups of the Romans, gives fresh wreaths, and when they fall into uproar and merriment, he boldly recounts the deeds of the Past, relates the glories of the contest with Car- thage, sings of the slaughtered legions of Varus, of the revolt of Sertorius in Spain, and drinks the health of the Emperor while he crushes the cup in his clinched hand. The thirteenth anniversary of the day on which the Priestess had forsaken her god is now rapidly approach- ing. Her voice grows wild when she calls her children ; her looks are sad as she presses them to her breast. She speaks of her father, her mother, her sister, the Chiefs of her People ; half-broken farewells thrill her quivering lips ; but in the presence of Hermes she tries to collect her thoughts. "Crimhild, daughter of kings, what is it oppresses thee?" " Hast thou never heard of the vengeance of the immor- tal Spirits, Hermes? For a happy time I have been only IRIDION. 2Sg thine, — on the farthest confines of the world is an island covered with ice, — a flaming mountain rises from its heart, — the Giant of Death lies there enchained, — his arm is already stretched forth to grasp me, — his hand will soon hang over the depths to hurl the white web of my life into the bottomless abyss !" Hermes fondly stretches his hand above her temples ; its shadow falls like a stream of peace upon her brow, and presses into her soul. " Crimhild, look up to the glowing sky of Greece, and out upon its blue sea ! Turn not back to the gray clouds of the North, nor to its harsh God ! The star of Amphi- lochus shines upon and guards thee ! He will not suffer thee to be betrayed to the Evil Spirits !" But a heavy weight is on his heart ! What cry is that which breaks from the interior of the palace, echoing through the vaults, and losing itself among the pillars of the hall ? The slaves hasten to the inner rooms, enter the apartment of their lord ; there, stretched upon a couch of porphyry, lies the Priestess ; Hermes, the Greek, with bowed head stands beside her, and crushes with his feet a cup whose rim is still beaded with pearly drops. The slaves veil their eyes with droop- ing lids, stand, listen, wait; but when Amphilochus lifts his face, and turns it towards them, they shiver ; for the first time in his life anguish which he cannot master distorts the godlike features of their lord. " Go, bring Iridion with his sister here ! " Crimhild, I bid defiance to thy savage god ! There, where surrounded by his heroes he drinks hot blood from human skulls, on the highest throne of his dread palace, — even there shall press the blasting curse of the Greek Am- philochus 1 . . . Oh, leave me not, my wife ! in vain ! in vain ! But a few drops remain of the accursed draught, — the whole cup of poison seethes in thy white breast ! Oh, Crimhild! Crimhild I" She raises her head ; her face is as white as a pale statue resting upon a sarcophagus : "I saw him thrice last night, — he came from Valhalla like an ocean of gloom, and cried to me : My Priestess ! " He stretched out his strong arm, loaded with iron, 25* IRIDION. over the sleeping Iridion, the sleeping Elsinoe, and menaced them with his resistless power. He threatened to curse and blast their whole being unless I came to him ! " For a time I was only thine, — but see ! there at his feet lie the knife of sacrifice, the black veil, and the death- wreath of a priestess ! When I die, place the knife at my side, shroud me in the black veil, and wind the wreath around my brow !" She rises, mounts the marble steps on the top of which stands Odin ; she bends her noble form before him ; she stretches out her white arms, trembling as if she would fain wave away the shadow of death, while the folds of her long white robe sweep the steps on which she stands; then she descends and supports herself upon her husband ; he winds his arm around her, and together they enter the sanctuary. He totters, for he battles with an unseen, unknown power, casting such looks to Heaven as Prome- theus from his rock of pain, or as Laocoon in his anguish lifts reproachfully to the gods from the fatal coast of the sea ; but he stoops not to tears, and is silent in his woe. Fate seizes both in an irresistible grasp ! Then for the last time, Iridion, her look rests upon thy young head ! At the feet of Odin she greets thee, as a last farewell, with the name of thy grandfather : " Sigurd ! be the terror of the Proud \" " Elsinoe, my spirit will be ever with thee ! Remem- ber the Silver Land of streams, and forget not my god ! My children, I die for you !" Her lips grow pale, blue shadows fall around her azure eyes, — now she calls you both, — and then waves you away from her poisoned breast ! Suddenly her thoughts wander, — they fly afar to other places and to other times, — her gray-haired father bows his head upon his powerful hand, — the curses of the sea-kings are in her ears, — she stretches out her arms, and, dying, utters prophecies as the young Priestess of Odin was wont to do : "To Battle! To Battle, my Brothers! Raise your tents upon the seven hills, — upon the Capitol itself your feast is spread, — the skulls of blood await the sons of Odin, — far below you, gnashing her teeth and wailing, — pros- IRIDION. 291 tratę — ruined — trodden in crimson pools, — lies Rome ! Rome ! Rome !" She falls exhausted at the feet of her god ; Amphilochus raises her in his close embrace ; she tries to wind her arms around his neck, but they sink powerless ! She falls back- ward, — her hair hangs lower, lower to the ground, — and a lifeless corpse at last sinks from the trembling hands of Hermes upon the marble floor ! He kneels beside it, places the knife of sacrifice in its hand, shrouds the black veil about it, and twines the death-wreath of the priestess round the cold brow ! Then swiftly rising, as if seized by sudden madness, he cries: "Slaves, bring the axe from the Cimbrian Cher- sonesus !" They bring it, trembling as they give it to their lord ; he grasps it firmly in his powerful hands, gathers all his mortal strength to combat the Immortal, and strides to the dread image ! He looks upon it, — lifts the heavy axe, — waves it thrice round his head, — it falls ! The god is shattered to the earth, and Amphilochus, in despairing silence, tramples the fragments of his enemy under his feet. Such is thy lineage, thy Past, descendant of Philopce- men, grandson of Sigurd, king of men, — O slumbering Iridion ! Thy father leaves the home of his ancestors upon Chi- ara's isle, and with the urn of Crimhild goes to Rome; having lost what he loved, he will live with his enemies, that he may at least hate with all the passion of his soul. And ever and ever more nearly approaches the longed- for day of Vengeance and Destruction. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Heliogabalus, Emperor of Rome. Alexander Severus, his Cousin and Successor, Iridion, son of Amphilochus, the Greek, a?id Crimhild, Priestess of Odin. Victor, Christian Bishop. Simeon, Christian Priest. Ulpian Domitian, Consul. Masinissa, an Old Man from the Desert of Mauritania. Eutychian, Prefect of the Prcetorian Guard. Aristomachus. Lucius Tubero. Cubullus. Rupilius. A Philosopher. Scipio, first known as Sporus ; Slave and Gladiator. Verres. Alboin. Pilades, a Slave, Master of Irid ion's Household. Euphorion, Chief of the Gladiators of Iridion. Elsinoe, Sister of Iridion. Mammea, Mother of Alexander Severus. Metella, a Roman Maiden. Votary of the Temple of Venus. Female Slaves. Female Chorus. ' Christian Priests, Priests of Mithras, Old and Young Christians, Soldiers, Gladiators, Barbarians, Attend- ants, Slaves, Ethiopians, ^^/Infernals. 292 y IRIDION. ACT I. SCENE I. The palace of Iridion in Rome. A vast hall adorned with a double row of pillars stretching in per- spective until they vanish in the distance. A fountain sparkles in its midst ; incense and perfume burn on tri- pods scattered through the hall. Iridion, in Greek cos- tume, is seen lying at the base of the statue of his father, Hermes Amphilochus. Slaves are passing to and fro, kindling lights in lamps of alabaster. First Slave. The son of Hermes sleeps; his weary- head Rests at the feet of great Amphilochus. Second Slave. On the cold marble he has sunk to rest. Third Slave. His sister, our young mistress, wrings her hands, And in the Gyneceum ever weeps. 1 Fourth Slave. By Pollux ! I, from good authority, Have heard she will be carried off to-night By the fierce Moors of Heliogabalus. 2 First Slave. Peace with Iridion ! Let us retire That he may still repose. {Exeunt Slaves. ) Iridion. My faithful slaves ! Like silent shadows have they stolen away With wishes for my rest. Yet I but seemed to sleep. Thou knowest, Father, I must wake and watch For them, for all ! Twilight already here? {He rises from the base of the statue, and advances to a brazen shield from which hangs a sword.) 293 294 IRIDION. The dark hour is upon me ! They come to seize . . . Ha ! did not Brutus offer his own sons ? . . . But Elsinoe ! Elsinoe ! Woe ! {He strikes the shield. ) She comes ! Sad as an image of despair she glides; A cypress-wreath wound round her broad white brow, Such as her mother wore when Odin came In wrath to tear her from us. Elsi?ioe {entering). Are the Moors here? Has the Accursed already sent his chariots To capture me ? Iridion. Not yet, O Elsinoe ! I called thee hither, sister, but to breathe The spirit of our sire into thy soul For the last time. Be brave ! we part to-night ! Elsinoe. Iridion ! Brother ! Shame and infamy ! Iridion. Nay, know'st thou not that Caesar's mad with love? That statues rise to thee throughout imperial Rome ? That the grave Senate has proclaimed thee Goddess? 3 Hope of our House, and jewel of my heart, My sunny-haired, — thou art no longer mine ! Thou innocent victim born to avenge our wrongs, Our sire's dishonor, and our country's shame ! Elsinoe. Yes. I have known it all from childhood's hour, And am prepared for direst sacrifice ! But not to-day — no — nor to-morrow — let it be ! I must have time to collect my utmost strength ; To be taught by Masinissa ; time to drain The cup of poison held to shuddering lips By thee ! My brother ! The vilest criminal Has time to prepare for death ! Save me at least to-night, Iridion ! Iridion. I cannot, virgin victim ! chosen Bride ! Prepare for doom ! The whirlwind knows no rest ! Haste drives us o'er the path we must together tread. Elsinoe {throwing her arm round his neck). Have you forgotten how we used to sport The live-long day o'er bright Chiara's plains? How oft I've wreathed thy head with roses sweet, IRIDION. 295 And myrtle flowers ? How dearly I have loved thee ? Have pity, brother ! Send me not to shame ! Iridion. Tempt me not to compassion ! Tears are vain ! Elsinoe. Why thus complain, thus suffer? Has not power Been always given man to release himself At will from gods or men, by seeking death? (She draws out his dagger.) See how thy dagger glitters, bright and keen ; — Let us dull it in my heart, Iridion ! Iridion. And scorn the aim for which our father lived ! No, we must bear with life and misery, That the great spirit of Amphilochus May joy among the shades. Once the strong arm Of one brave man might save a nation ; now All that has passed away ! We're born in times When even honor must be sacrificed. My Elsinoe, Fate is hurrying on, But few, few moments more are thine and mine ; Then must this sunny hair be gayly wreathed With bridal roses ; thou must robe thyself In magic and bewildering loveliness. (He clasps her in his arms. ) Lay thy doomed head once more upon my breast, Thou most unfortunate of all the victims ! For the last time I hold thee to my heart ! So soon to leave thy home, thy father's hearth, Come, take my parting kiss, and give me thine In all the unbroken charm of happy girlhood ! Sister, farewell ! I ne'er again shall see Thee joyous, young,— ah, never ! He will blast Thy virgin bloom, wither thy innocent life ! Ha ! dost thou understand it all aright ? The Accursed shall surely die ! and with him falls The Eternal City into ashes, dust ! All this shalt thou achieve, my glorious one, — - Thou canst not call this shame ! Elsinoe. I know. I know. My brother, let me rest upon thy heart ! Time flies so fast, — in a few moments more — - And on whose breast shall I dishonored lie ! 296 IRIDION* Indian {looking wildly around him). Mark, how these pillars totter to their base \ Dark shadows slowly glide or writhe along The dim perspective of our ancestral hall ! Gods of my sires, let me not faint and fall Upon the threshold of the arena vast Which I this hour enter ! Nerve my soul With hope of vengeance 1 Come. Masinissa, come ! A Voice from behind the pillars. Who totters now was born for words, not deeds. Meet the Accursed with smiles, and with smiles part ! Masinissa [entering). Caesar has sent his messengers ; they wait Even now for Elsinoe at thy gates. Iridion. Power rests upon thy brow ! On the grave's verge Thou stand'st sublime, — strong as in days of youth. Oh, give me strength to meet this fateful hour ! Masinissa. Is this the chosen virgin ? . . . Where is the wreath Of fresh-blown roses for proud Caesar's bride? [He throws off the express from the head of Elsinoe. 1) Child of the Priestess Crimhild, know'st thou not Our work begins to-day ? Elsinoe. I know life ends ! (Ee/nalc slaves are seen advancing from behind laden with costly gifts, which they offer to Elsinoe.) CHORUS OF FEMALE SLAVES. Fair as Aphrodite rising From the deep-blue Grecian sea. With the snowy foam uplifting, And the Zephyrs floating free, — We bring thee strands of opals, pearls, To crown thy peerless brow : Bring roses, perfumes, rainbow gems, — Less sweet and bright than thou ! Iridion [to Masinissa). Lend her your arm, old man ! (He leads his sister to the statue of Amphiloehus.) IRIDION. 297 Sister, be firm ; Listen to me as if I spoke in death ! Soon must thou cross a threshold laden with shame, Live with the Accursed ; thy virgin body yield In its chaste beauty to damnation's son ; — See to it that thou keep'st thy shuddering soul Pure, high, and free ! Veil it in mystery ! Make it as cold and inaccessible As the shrine of ice in which thy mother knelt When Odin's prophecies thrilled through her lips ! Elsinoe. Iridion, pity me, — poor helpless orphan ! Iridion. Give Caesar no repose upon thy breast ! Startle him constantly with frightful cries That the Praetorians arm, Patricians rise, The People storm his gates, will murder him ! Affright him more and more each passing hour, Suck the young life-blood from his girlish heart, And drive his craven soul with terror mad. Come, Elsinoe {He lays his hand upon her head) , closer to me cling, Rest thy long sunny curls upon my heart. In thirst of vengeance did thy life begin, And in that hope hast thou reached womanhood. Doomed from thy birth to ruin and disgrace ! Kneel, sister! kneel before Amphilochus, While here I consecrate thee to his Shade: — Father, behold and bless the innocent victim ! Elsinoe, Voices from Erebus are floating round ! The air is dark with shadows! Mother ! Come ! {The women surround Elsinoe and robe her.) CHORUS OF WOMEN. Why tremble thy white limbs as winds the veil ? Why pants thy heart beneath the purple bands Girding its snow? Why clutch the bridal wreath With grasp so wild and fierce ? Thy brow is broad, Fit for an Empress in its regal sweep ; Why whiter than the lilies is its pallor ? Iridion. Help ! Help ! She faints ! Masinissa. Fear not, — she will not die ! 26 298 IRIDION. She but begins to live as she must live. See how her lips writhe and foam with some strange pas- sion ! Elsinoe. I leave the threshold of my sires ; but may Not bear away with me my Fathers' gods ! {She crushes the myrtle wreath.*) I crush my virgin wreath, unsullied, pure, In the dim ashes of the hearth of home ! My father doomed me ere my wretched birth ; My brother drives me forth to infamy ; Alas ! I never, never can return ! Haste, mother ! pray to Odin for thy child ! Ask not for life for the unfortunate, But pray for inspiration, gift of prophecy ! Already whirls it through my burning brain ! No mortal children ever will be born From this doomed breast. ... O mother, show me more ! The Future will be generated there, — Rome trusting in my love, and sleeping in my arms ! {Enter Eutychian, Prefect of the Ercetorians, leading a band of Ethiopians in scarlet, who bear presents, which they place at the feet of Elsinoe.) Eutychian. The holy, blessed Emperor, Augustus, High-Priest and Tribune, Consul, greeting sends To the son of great Amphilochus, the Greek. To Elsinoe, the Divine, he sends A hundred shells of purple, a hundred cups Of amethyst, a hundred strings of pearls. Elsinoe. Courage, O mother, in my martyrdom ! Iridion. All now is over ! {He takes Elsinoe by the hand and leads her to Eutychian. ) Bear my sister hence ! Eutychian. The ivory chariot waits for Fortune's child ! Iridion. As gift to Caesar I will send my band Of gladiators; Elsinoe loves To see their skill. Go ! they will follow her. {The women surround Elsinoe and bear her away, escorted by Eutychia?i and the Ethiopians. After their exit, Iri- IRIDION. 299 dion strikes the shield. His band of gladiators enters. They wear black tunics edged with scarlet, their arms and legs are bare, and they carry naked swords?) CHORUS OF GLADIATORS. Are there wild beasts to throttle, men to kill ? Or will thy sister need our deadly skill? Iridion. Brothers, Barbarians and Greeks, whom I Have rescued from the bloody jaws of Rome, Go with the sunny-haired ; give life for her; Be true until the Day of Vengeance dawns ! Euphorion {chief of the gladiators). Until our bodies, rolled in sand and blood, Lie prostrate in the arena, gashed and scarred, They're lithe, strong, active, sworn to serve thee, Greek ! Iridion. I trust my sister to your valiant arms, — Obey her as you would Iridion ! Hear you the sound of the retreating steps? O'ertake them, follow to the imperial hall, And in the Emperor greet your present Lord. {The gladiators retire, waving their swords.*) CHORUS OF GLADIATORS. Gods, may he perish ! die before his hour ! Iridion ! Long live Iridion ! {Exeunt gladiators. ) Iridion. Ye murderers of Hellas, of the world, Ye sons of falsehood and of perfidy, I've sacrificed to you a spotless virgin ! Immortal Gods, wherever you may be, Hearken my prayer ! Grant she may be the last, Except myself, thrown to the Roman wolf! Among so many miserable wretches Driven by threats and tortures from their country, Let me be last of all the writhing victims, — Forgotten after death and martyrdom ! {Exeunt.) 3°° IRIDION. SCENE II. A hall in the palace of Heliogabalus. Heliogabalus, Alexander Severus, Mammea, sol- diers, retainers, slaves, etc, Heliogabalus is robed with great splendor. Heliogabalus (to Alexander). Cousin, it is with me a festal hour, The Greek girl hither comes a bride this day. Alexander {starting). What ! Elsinoe? Has she given consent ? I thought Iridion scorned and hated Rome. Heliogabalus. Could she refuse ? Why, she will Em- press be, My senate name her Goddess — as she is ! Alexander {aside). My ears deceive me, or I hear strange sounds ; — The moans of shame, the sobs of wild despair, Strife, tumult, death, seem floating in the air. (Eutychian enters and bows before the Emperor!) Eutychian. The gold-haired Greek is in the ivory chariot At your gate. By Mithras, how she queens it ! Her maidens she dismissed . . . Heliogabalus. Escort her here ! She comes, my goddess, with her sunny hair. (He moves joyously forward, as if to meet Elsinoe, but starts back in surprise as the gladiators of Iridion, with drawn swords, enter. They approach and salute the Emperor, who clutches Eutychian in his sudden fright.) Heliogabalus. Where is the Greek? Who are these savage men ? Eutychian (laughing hoarsely). A present from Iridion to the Bride ! It seems our Empress loves to watch their skill ; Her brother sends them greeting in her train. (As he speaks, the entering ranks of gladiators open and El- sinoe appears in their midst. She is magnificently attired in the Greek costume, but bands of the imperial purple cross her breast. She wears the wreath of bridal roses, but the long veil is thrown backward, and the haughty IRIDION. 301 face quite uncovered. The Ethiopians of Heliogabalus file in after the gladiators . Elsinoe stands in their midst, with perfect self possession, but her eyelashes suddenly droop oil perceiving Alexander.') Manwiea {aside to Alexander). See how she stands, like a Diana pale, But shows no terror, no obeisance makes. Ah ! now her fringing lashes fall to veil The deep-blue eyes, unused to meet the gaze Of men. Heliogabalus. Fair daughter of Amphilochus, Approach, and fill a throne worthy your charms ! Alexander {aside to Mammed). Look, mother, now the hot blood dyes her cheek ! How haughtily she lifts her golden head As if already Empress ! See the flame Indignant flashing from her dazzling eyes As Caesar calls her to him ! She neither stirs Nor speaks ; as fierce and motionless as the Greek gods ! Ice flashing fire— fire curdling into ice ! Heliogabalus. Mammea, lead her to the inner room. All unaccustomed to be seen by men, Immured within the Gyneceum's bounds, The maiden would have greater privacy ; And I must seek to soothe this startled fawn. Eutychian, marshal the praetorian guard, And house the gladiators with my slaves. Fling the sestercii freely to the crowd, And bid them shout the Emperor's coming bliss ! Good-night, fair friends ! the Empress will receive You as befits her state to-morrow morn. {Heliogabalus approaches Elsinoe, who remains haughtily immovable, but accepts the proffered hand of Mammea. The Ethiopians make a profound obeisance to the Empe- ror as they leave the hall, preceded by Eutychian.) Euphorion {leader of ihe gladiators, kneeling before Elsinoe). Do we depart to rest, or watch near thee? Elsinoe. Depart ! I'll learn to conquer fate alone ! {On a signal from Elsinoe, the gladiators follow Euphorion. Exeunt Mammea, leading Elsinoe, Heliogabalus , Alex- ander, slaves, and retainers.) 26* 302 JRIDION. SCENE III. The hall of Amphilochus, as in Scene I. Iridion is alone, reclining upon a couch. Iridion. My sister ! It is bitter to my soul, — But Rome must perish, or all men be slaves ! Masinissa {entering). Still sighing, Sigurd? Calm thee, king of men ! Iridion (springing to his feet). Call me not Sigurd, or give me the waves Of the old sea-kings ! Give me but the men Who fought with my brave ancestors of yore, And not a shred remains of Caesar's purple ! But my path lies through Darkness ! If I stretch My arm, it meets with barriers strong as iron, Yet movable and lithe as serpents are; And I must crawl among them, and not strike, — Creep without force or life, — I scorn myself! Masinissa. Trust in the baseness, weakness of man- kind ! Fate brought you here, and placed you at the gates Of crumbling Rome : use the new forms of power To combat with the rotting Past, of which You are no part. Now is the time to act ! There will be time to weep hereafter . . . time . . . Iridion. Shame ! Shame upon the Nazarenes who fall Like beasts, rather than fight and die like men ! They hold me back, and . . . Masinissa. Alexander is Forever plotting with their subtle priests. He will dethrone the Emperor, seize the crown, Bring in the Christians, make their faith the law; Then Rome will rule to the last centuries ! Iridion. By Odin, no ! He never shall be Caesar ! Masinissa. The catacombs decide the fate of Rome. You bear the Christian seal upon your brow, And feed with them upon their mysteries ; Inspire them with vengeance in the name Of their own Crucified, still unavenged. Ask where His altars are, His reign o'er earth ! Fire, arm, and lead them ! When they wield the sword IRIDION. Forbidden them, then, O my son, my spirit Shall be with you ! {He approaches Iridion and leans upon his shoulder.') Iridion, remember you the night In which your dying father said to me : " I trust my son to you, with my one thought" ? You swore to give up hope, love, happiness, And live alone for vengeance. Then bending over him, as now o'er you, I said to him : " Amphilochus, when thou Shalt meet the Shades to whom thou art descending, And ask of Masinissa, they will tell thee, He ne'er forsakes those he has sworn to follow ; Once his, they are his forever ! Amphilochus ! Thyself, thy son, and I, Will be united in a trinity Which never can be parted ! n Iridion. Yes, thus it passed ; he died in the same hour : But Elsinoe was with me, and wept Within my arms ! Masinissa. Now I repeat to you The words then said : " Believe and trust in me!" Together upon earth — in the Hereafter — Before Rome's ruin — after its certain fall — We will be one forever and forever ! Iridion. Waves of resolve stream from thy withered breast And give me force ! Give me thy hand, old man ! Together upon earth — in the Hereafter — Before Rome's ruin — after her agony — We will be one forever and forever ! {He throws himself at the base of the statue of Amphilochus.) Yes, it befell in such an hour as this, With Elsinoe weeping in my arms, — Sad, large as setting stars, the dying eyes Of Hermes gazed upon me, — then I swore . . . {Shouting and acclaim heard without.) {He starts to his feet. ) Hark ! Hearest thou that frightful, brutal cry? Caesar throws gold to keep his bridal feast \ 3°4 IRIDION. They shout and share his rapture ! Innocent victim ! Elsinoe ! Gods ! (He wraps his head in the folds of his toga.} Away, old man ! I must be left alone With the wild hell that rages in my heart ! ACT II. SCENE I. A temple in the vaults beneath the capi to I. A golden-rayed statue of Mithras. Music is heard approaching, and again dying away in the dista?ice. Priests and augurs move in procession. Heltogabalus, robed as a High-Priest of the Sun, enters with Elsinoe. After the passing of the procession they remain alone. Heliogabalus. Thou seest my power, O haughty nymph ! I hold Communion with the God of Light, the Stars, The Genii of the Night : the High-Priests of the East Adore my gifts and wonder at^rny words. Elsinoe. The daughter of the North, of clouds and winds, Feels naught but scorn for weak, voluptuous gods Immersed in perfume, lulled by the soft lute, Sprinkled with blood of deer, or new-born babes. The diamond sun upon thy purple breast Compares not with the light of my own North Flashing from ice and snow and javelined men. Heliogabalus. Fair serpent whom I love, what wouldst thou more ? Elsinoe. Odin, my mother's god, lives in the North. Fearless, immovable, he stands through storms, Frost, winds, because he is of rock and glittering steel. He holds in his strong hands a foaming cup Filled with the blood of heroes. His throne is set upon the craggy cliffs, From whence he looks far o'er the Sea of the North, IRIDION. 3°5 Whose icy mirror breaks beneath his feet. He is the god of warriors, — not of trembling boys ! (She picks up a wreath of hyacinths and throws it upon Heliogabalus. ) Go, withered flowers, and grace a marrowless stalk ! — The child of the Cimbrian Priestess ne'er can love A weak, effeminate son of luxury. {She attempts to go. ) Heliogabalus. Stay ! By the mysteries of Baal, stay ! I am High-Priest ! The Delian Apollo is Less beautiful than I. The legion chose Me Caesar for my faultless face and form. I am Augustus, 1 Antoninus, and Aurelius, Lord of Rome, India, and Africa ! Why stand'st thou silent? Why that piercing look? I've showered upon thee ear-rings, bracelets, gems, Purple and precious sapphires ; set thee feasts, Richer than ever dreamed by the beloved Of Sardanapalus ; a hundred lions fought Before thee yesterday; I've sent away Thy rivals from my palace, — the fair nymphs Who loved me, — yet thou art still immovable, Colder than marble; glittering, hard as steel ! Elsinoe. Boy, fed on peacocks' livers, brains of birds, Thou vexest me ! Valhalla is my home, Where my bold fathers sit on steel-girt thrones ; Each foot placed on the coffin of a foe ! Thy childish words disturb my distant thoughts, Arrest my mystic visions. What canst thou wish, Or what require from me ? The hour is late ; 'Twere better I should pray to my stern gods. Farewell, Augustus ! Caesar ! Antoninę ! Heliogabalus, O sunny-haired ! most lovely ! exqui- site ! I do implore thee, stay ! I tremble, gasp; See how I die, shivering at thy cold feet ! Nor god nor goddess ever saw before Such clouds of golden hair, such bosom fair, Such deep-blue eyes, — I do entreat thee, stay ! 3o6 IR ID ION. Elsinoe. Wild boy, be still ! I hear my mother's voice : It pierces through these vaults. Heliogabalus. I'd lay me down Upon the altar's steps to kiss the tips Of thy white feet ! (He approaches Elsinoe, who repulses htm.) Elsinoe. No. I want iron arms, and manly lips That chant a fearful hymn of blood and death ! Slave of the praetors, seek the praetorians ! Heliogabalus. Accursed nymph, bitter shall be thy end ! I'll have thee nailed upon a cross, and ask All Rome to see thee suffer, writhe and die ! . . . goddess, if too beautiful for man, If Caesar's self is not sufficient for thee, Mithras shall have thee ! Thou shalt be the Bride Of the great Sun Himself ! I can do this, For I am able to do all I will ! Stay but a moment with me, even if Thou wilt no nearer come ! I'm happier if I may but see thy face. 1 am so wretched ! Still so fair and young, So eager for delight, yet round me stand Treason, blood, doom and death ! Already life Disgusts, and Fate is maddening me ! The ends Of the earth are mine ; yet they avail me nothing ! The consecrated incense, breath of flowers, The light of Mithras, blood of beasts, of men, Charm Heliogabalus no more ! Dost hear? Say, wilt thou love, or wilt thou drive me mad? Wilt see me die here at thy cold, soft feet ? Come, Elsinoe, we are both so young, So fair, so weary, so unfortunate ! Here near thee, I will with thee, hand in hand, And cheek to cheek, now go to sleep ! Elsinoe. Then sleep, — Sleep till the centurions come to murder Caesar ! Unhappy boy ! What arms, what strength hast thou ? With these weak fingers, white and soft as wax, IRIDION. How canst thou grasp the handle of a sword ? Rest ! I will go and ask my gods if aid May yet be found for thee. (Exeunt Elsinoe. ) Heliogabalus. Help ! Haste to me ! Eutychian, Priests, come, aid your Emperor ! (Enter priests, augurs, and Eutychian.) CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Child of the Sun, what has befallen thee, The Lord of mysteries and sacrifice? Thy lips are white with foam, thy bosom pants, The diamond star bursts from the purple bands Across thy breast ! Thine eyes, dilated, roll Wild in their sockets, while their wandering gaze For pleasure seeks, and then asks blood, — then sink They wearily as in eternal sleep ! Heliogabalus. The Furies tear my limbs ! I know, I know . . . Eutychian. Evoe Bacche ! my disciple is As drunk as thou, when thou didst conquer India. Heliogabalus. Alexian soon will draw the steel across My breast, crying: " Caesar, reach me your throat I" Save me — and you shall have, ten talents all ! Eutychian. Caesar himself I'd strike for that ten talents ! Heliogabalus. Pity ! The Sun Himself is pledged to avenge my death ! CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Arouse thee, godlike Caesar ! Thou art our Lord, And the whole earth belongs to thee alone. Gods envious of thy fame torture thy soul With horrid visions ! These phantoms melt away In fires eternal, in Mithras' purest rays, As the gray waves into the deep-blue sea, The clouds into the sky, or the fair form Of Semele into the light of Jupiter ! Heliogabalus (recovering himself). Give me your hands ! (Eising.) What brought you hither, slaves ? IRIDION. It is my will she shall come to my couch ! Let her fair body tremble in my arms, Or you shall all — as many as stand here — Be given to the claws of the new leopards ! Eutychian. Me Hercule ! I think that I at least Deserve a lion ! Heliogabalus. Silence ! I'll bear no jests ! Where is she, Priests ? CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Her tall form lights the dark. The stranger's god Struggles with Mithras ! Heliogabalus. Silence ! My Greek girl comes ! (Elsinoe enters from the background, and stands on a stone covered with hieroglyphics.} Elsinoe. I've asked them all. At first they would not speak, Sleeping upon their thrones after their meal of blood. The armor clashed of one who was awake, Who raised the crimson skull to his calm lips. I asked them all, — my cry awakened them ! Where lip and cup touched, fell a drop of blood, Which flying through the heavens dropped on my brow . . . Heliogabahcs. Speak, godlike Priestess ! I am not condemned ? Am not to die before the allotted time ? Elsinoe. The doom of the gods is storming through my soul ! Kneel to receive it, mortals ! Heliogabalus {kneeling). Mithras, forgive ! Eutychian (kneeling). Good-night, great Mithras ! Priests {kneeling). Strike the cursed sorceress dead, Great Mithras, with thy beams ! Elsinoe. I saw a man Stand on the earth, with steel and terror armed ; Calm as a mountain lake his godlike brow, The sword of victory flashed in his right hand ! I knew him, — but I nothing understood, — I could not trust my sight ! The night winds then caught up the well-known name, IRIDION. And all Valhalla echoed with the cry : "He shall deliver Caesar ! Heliogabalus. His name ! His name ! Elsinoe. Sigurd, the son of Crimhild ! {She descends from the stone, and approaches Heliogabalus. ) Writhe and crawl No longer in the dust ! Stand up and be a man ! Go, courtiers, priests ; the Emperor needs you not ! {Exeunt. ) Couldst thou mount on the shoulders of thy gods, And on them hunt, as if on untamed colts? Drink blood from skulls, and ride on meteors' beams ? Lie on the snow, with ghostly ruins round, And gaze all night in the icy eye of the moon ? Thou poor, luxurious boy, with purple robes, And rosy gods, what is it thou canst do? But tremble not ; the Greek will rescue thee, And tear thee from the jaws of the abyss ! Heliogabalus. Iridion ? Thy brother ? True, a fierce And magic fire flashes from his dark eye, — Oh, that the People had a single neck, That I might kill them all with one strong blow ! Then, Elsinoe, I might rest my head Upon thy heart for happy, quiet hours ! But my good Genius will Iridion be ; Repeat it,— ^he is my deliverer ! Elsinoe. Give me thy hand, child ! I will watch thee sleep. Fear nothing while my gods keep guard o'er thee ! {She leads him out.) SCENE II. Another part of the palace of the Ccesars. A peristyle 2 in which Mammea is sitting before a sacrificial altar ; Alexander Severus is at her side. An open antechamber is visible in the background. Mammea. Tears often fill his eyes, he rarely smiles, His features are like Plato's in the form, But sadder in the expression ; even his foes Cannot resist his holy influence. 27 IRIDION. Alexander. My heart hangs daily more upon his doc- ' trines. Mammea. The sum of earthly wisdom, only hope Of life eternal, bliss beyond the grave, Lie in our Bishop's creed. (Domitian is seen in the antechamber.) (Mammea rises.) Domitian ! can it be? Alexander {throwing himself into the arms of Domitian). Dearest of men ! My earliest teacher ! friend ! Domitian. Be of good cheer, — I bring great news, Mammea. Mammea. How long you have been silent ! Darkest fears Filled my wrung soul ; I thank the gods they are Not to be realized ! Domitian. I did not write From Antioch, because I had no messenger Whom I could trust. The nearer grows our work To its allotted end, the more we need Caution and silence, — soon our aim we'll reach! Mammea. Speak ! speak ! Domitian {looking carefully around him). Are these walls deaf and dumb? Alexander. Fear not ! But yesterday Roboam, the Emperor's dwarf, Brought me a basket filled with poisoned fruit, Which I spurned with my foot. Our breach is open ; My disgust is known. Domitian. Be patient, Alexander, That here your foes may deem you still a child. Great changes always generate in calm ! What would have been the consequence if I In Laodicea, Smyrna, Ephesus, And Antioch had cried aloud for vengeance, Proclaimed the Emperor unfit to reign Or live? ... I spake no word, was silent everywhere, But closely watched the People, Legions, Cohorts. I marked the general murmurs ; when convinced The germs of hate were ripe, that all hearts longed for change, — Then only did I whisper to myself: IRIDION. 3 1 * The time has come, the spark is widely thrown, All Asia kindles into flame ! Then first Did I hold secret converse with the Tribunes, Questors, Praetorians. The hour to speak Had struck, and, shaping my temptation to The individual wishes of each man Whom I desired to win, my course began. To some I offered gain ; some, higher rank ; Some, wider influence ; thus I gained friends, Closed contracts for efficient services. But when I heard that Heliogabalus Had named you Consul, I began to fear Some dark design lurked 'neath this specious favor; I hurried back to Rome to offer you, In the legions' name, a hope, nay, promise of The highest destiny ! Be patient ; let But a short time pass quietly away, And then our day of liberation comes ! Alexander. But why delay, even until to-morrow? Domitian. Because in Rome the Emperor is thronged By men devoted to him, on account Of his new shows, and by the praetorians, Who worship him as the very god of gold An4 vast expenditure. The people always love, until they murder, Caesar ! The men encamped without the city gates Favor our project. Alexander. Aristomachus said This very day, that he would risk his life To serve Mammea or myself. Domitian. And when The hour of tumult strikes there's none like him ; Until it does, he must be cautious, silent ! He can but serve us in the day of combat \ And there is much to do ere it begins. Think of the swarms of guards around the palace ; The soldiers scattered everywhere through Rome ; And the whole East against us ! The Syrians ne'er Forget Heliogabalus, as the bright And beautiful boy they knew in Emesa ; Or later as their glittering High-Priest 312 IRIDION. In the Temple of the Sun. Remember too There is a potent force but in the seeming Of regal power ; the name of Potentate Compels long after real strength and might Have passed away, — for empty sounds and words Rule men when all they typified is dust ! Mammea, You speak the truth, Domitian, yet haste ! We are surrounded by his tools and slaves ! The grave yawns at our feet ! Poison at any hour may drive the blood From my own cheeks ; my son, my joy, my pride, May bow his bright head on my breast, and die On the heart of his wretched mother ! Domitian. This very day I'll see Aristomachus, Tubero . . . {He approaches Alexander?) Successor of Augustus, have no fear That the wise Fates will cut your thread of life Until you've reigned o'er men ! Surely the gods Will pity this oppressed and wretched realm ! But when you rule this mighty Empire, then Beware of the poison hidden in the true shirt Of Dejanira, — the purple of the Caesars ! Mammea. Do you not know that Rome's last glory, hope, Rests in my son alone? From Plato's words, And Christ's diviner teachings, I've instilled Into his soul love for his fellow-men, And pity for outraged humanity. To the oppressed and wretched he will stretch A Brother's hand. jDomitian. Better he had been taught To punish rebels ! In all the Asian marts I've seen the Roman knights with the freedmen fraternize ! Placed on the bench of law and justice, with The scales and swords committed to their charge, They ruled the world ; but only used their power To advance themselves ! They sent swift messengers With false intelligence to depress or raise The prices of commodities to suit their views, Robbing poor wretches of their property, — IRIDION. 3 X 3 Then, from the Roman senate winning aid, In gloomy prisons they immured their victims, Or nailed them to the cross ! Oh, I have seen Their torments, — turned away mine eye in horror ! Alexander. The descendants of our Consuls, famed Dictators ! Domitian. Yet these enormities now serve our cause, Will form the steps to lead you to the throne ; When firmly seated on it you may fling The stairs into the bottomless abyss : More than Christ's lessons here will be required ! Alexander. I know the difficulties in my path, But my nights pass in studying Trajan's deeds; I hope to equal him or else die young ! Domitian. Think also of the Republic \ of the men Who wore the Toga ! Ah ! what remains to us Of all their glorious examples ? Where Is that great Roman people, whose just laws Made sweeter, higher music to my ears Than Plato's subtle dreams or Homer's songs? Who now can see in Rome a face unstained By shame, or hear a laugh of hearty joy ? Gray hairs on heads without a deed of honor ; Oppression adding weight to hapless years ! Augurs and dancers, singers, sophists, fools, Burden the Forum ; centuries have flown Since the brave Julius crossed the Rubicon. It is impossible to turn back now ; Even in Cassius' days it was too late ; The gods have left us nothing but to pray A Ruler shall be sent us, in whose love Of justice, right, the Empire may regain Its youth, even if the lictor's axe must fall Where the green olive-branch should bud and bloom ! Mammea. I have known earnest, holy men in the East, ^ Who say that better times are dawning o'er us, And that in spite of all its present woe, The Empire will rejoice under the rule Of a just Caesar, knowing the true God. Domitian. A Nazarene ! I pass my life, Augusta, 27* 3M- IRIDION. In thoughts upon divine and human things, And have no time to follow all the worms Burrowing and undermining this old earth ! Mammea. Still groping in the night of ancient preju- dice ? Domitian. Great Jupiter, heed not her godless words ! I'm an old Roman ; brought up to revere Our memories of freedom, fame, although Before my day such glories were no more ! Now bending to its fall, the kingdom bears This brood of Nazarenes : to purge it quite, They must be all destroyed ! {Advancing to Alexander and seizing him by the arm.) And by such means alone As made Rome great, can it be renovated ; Through dauntless courage, and the forms severe Of its ancient fathers ; — foreign creeds and laws Must be destroyed and banished ! Alexander. My mother loves, Reveres the Christians ; patience and fortitude, Mild but heroic virtues, mark their creed. Domitian, look, her eyes are full of tears ! She loves the Christians ; they would die for me ! Domitian. Use them as tools to be destroyed when done with, Is my last counsel with regard to them. {Music heard approaching. ) Hark ! Syrian flutes ! Does the High-Priest of Mithras Perchance announce a visit to his brother? Mammea. Not so, for at this hour he daily visits The gardens of the Palatine with Elsinoe. Domitian. Many reports, all evil, circulate In the East about this Greek ; it was said there Her brother labored long to enhance her price; Then shamefully to Caesar sold his sister. Mammea. Did you believe it ? Domitian. My gray hairs long ago At baseness ceased to wonder ; your dark locks May fail to understand it ! Mammea. You knew Amphilochus, And must remember the still dignity IRIDION. With which he bore himself when he arrived, In the time of the great Septimius. 3 Abroad, Or in the walls of his own palace, calm And majesty ruled all his words and acts, And made him seem a second Caesar in Our haughty city. Domitian. All you say is true, — Yet it proves nothing ! The sons of noblest sires Now crawl in dust, and eat the bread of shame. For proof of this, look at the Roman senate, The fallen People. Alexander. I can say naught against Iridion. Although no youthful frankness marks his moods Nor plays upon his pale and chiseled face, Yet something noble breathes from his whole being ! I cannot read what throbs at the core of his heart, But I am sure there's neither fear nor baseness ! Domitian. How is his conduct then to be explained ? Alexander. Necessity inexorable, blind And pitiless ; inevitable Fate ! Sometimes the Emperor met Iridion With Elsinoe in the street ; sometimes Their chariots met in Flavian's circus; I Have seen the blue veins swell upon my brother's brow, The golden reins with which he drives his lions Fall from his hands at sight of Elsinoe. By Venus ! all there present gazed with him ; A virgin more divinely beautiful Was never seen by men ! Domitian, When I was wont To visit brave Amphilochus, she was, As is the custom with the Greeks, immured In the Gyneceum, only seen by women. Alexander. She has no equal in this Empire vast ! The night of her arrival, I was in The Hall of Narcissus with the Emperor ; I was in favor then, he leaned on me, And clasped me in his arms, and gnashed his teeth, Impatient as a boy. I trembled with Compassion for the maid; sometimes I thought I heard strife, struggle, and the sobs of pain, 3i6 IRIDION. Then the Praetorian Prefect, the Court Fool, Eutychian, entered, murmured to his master: "The gold-haired Greek in the ivory chariot Waits at your gate. ' 1 Then male and female dwarfs, With the Ethiopians, and Lydian flutists, Thronged in to welcome the imperial Bride. The Emperor danced about in childish glee, Crying: " She comes ! she comes ! the sunny-haired ! M Still Elsinoe came not ! in her place Entered a band of brawny gladiators, All clad in black, and armed with naked swords, Unknown at court. My brother hung his head, And bit me in his sudden fright ; meanwhile Eutychian announced with a wild laugh, Iridion, son of great Amphilochus, Had sent these bands as present to his sister. Their close ranks opened as he spake, and lo ! — Surrounded on all sides by this wild escort, Appeared for the first time fair Elsinoe. Domitian. Fainting with terror in her women's arms ? Alexander. No. In the Hall she stood erect, and gave No signs of terror, reverence, nor obeisance. Perhaps her head a moment sank, but soon Recovering herself, she raised her brow As haughtily as if already Empress, Her dazzling eyes filled with indignant flame. Then Caesar called her to him, but the Greek Neither approached, nor answered. Caesar then Dismissed us, and Mammea led her forth. Domitian. The old Hellenic blood is in her veins, Down which the fiery strength of the gods still flows ! But stays her brother at the court? sees he his sister? Mammea. The rumor is that he once visited The Emperor; was closeted with him For many hours ; but he avoids society, Remains secluded in his palace with Barbarians and slaves, on whom he never tires Of showering benefits. Domitian. So did his father. Mammea. Pleasure can win him not, nor wealth mis- lead ; IRIDION. 317 Though one may see that fierce distracting thoughts Torture his soul, yet is he strong enough To rule himself, command them into silence. Domitian. These stormy thoughts may be his fierce desires To avenge his sister's shame ! 'Twere best to win His confidence, and lure him by false aims, Until prepared to reveal the true. Perhaps His pride and treasures yet may aid our cause ! But tell me why the Monster rages still, Having achieved the height of his desires? Is it not strange this Greek girl keeps her power ? Once won with him, was whistled down the wind ! Alexander. Eutychian says she will not yield herself To her new lord ; that since she left her home, Caesar secludes himself in the peristyle Of Agrippina, and no more festivals Are held in the palace. Domitian, This mystery cannot last : He'll murder her, that he may burn her on A pyre of rich perfumes from Araby, And while directing this new spectacle, He will accuse you of high treason ; rob You of your wealth ; deprive the First, the Best, Of life ; — this shall not be, — he shall himself . . . Mammea. Domitian ! No ! He must not die the death Of his poor predecessors ! The reign of love, Of mercy, wisdom, must not thus begin With cruel murder of my sister's son ! Withdraw him gently from the throne, and like A sleeping child, bear him to banishment ! Domitian. That would require a Nazarene ! Not far From this same spot, did Brutus kill his father : And this light soul shall not be sent below, Where the troubled, but great shade of the first Caesar went ? Mammea. Ah, woe is me ! A Slave {entering). Iridion, the Greek, Sends greeting to Severus, Consul, Caesar, And to his noble mother. 3i8 IRIDION. Domitian. He comes in happy hour ! Mammea. Escort him here. {Enter Iridton.) Welcome, Iridion ! Thy brow is clouded still with gloomy thoughts ; Cannot the cheerful rays of the divine Sophia* brighten it with hope and trust ? Iridion. Ask the proud Roman who at Philippi fell With how much confidence she him inspired ? I cannot answer for my face, Augusta ; I know my soul is ever cold and tranquil, Fearing, desiring, hoping, mourning nothing ! How fares it with you, Caesar? Are the gods Propitious to your prayers? Alexander. This very day My wishes are fulfilled ; they've given me Domitian back from Antioch. Iridion. Roman, I greet you home. If I am not deceived, I've seen you often 'neath my father's roof. Domitian. Even now the voice of brave Amphilochus Seems sounding in my ears ! The gray-haired man Who made his home with him, — does he still live? Iridion. Is it Masinissa? Domitian. I think that was his name. I've heard your father say he met him first Upon a tiger-hunt in Syria, After a day of heat, when faint and lost. Iridion. My father's friend still sits beside my hearth, As when my father lived. Domitian. I ask for him, Because he often used to startle me With wondrous thoughts, sarcastic, bitter words. I've heard him say Tiberius was the greatest Of all the Caesars ! Alexander. By the sacred shade Of Antoninus, how could he prove that ? Domitian. I have forgotten how, but I remember well That he debated with such skill, brought out * The Greek Zofaa, Wisdom. IRIDION. 319 Such fearless thoughts, such bold conclusions from The destiny of men, that I grew still, Silent in horror. Manimea. I would not like to argue With such a fearful, subtle reasoner ! Domitian. When from the magic of his presence freed, And flow of logic irresistible, — My mind grew calm, returned to its own thoughts, As men from drunken dreams restored to soberness ! How is it possible not to curse those Who oppress humanity and serve injustice, Who crush our citizens, because they shame To yield as brutes? Freemen must curse the lictors' Rods, taunts, axes ! Son of Amphilochus, Speak I not truth ? Iridion. It may be yes — or no, — As many souls, so many hearts and wills ! Mammea {aside to Alexander). Look at the fiery lips, the motionless face, Pale as a statue's, though the eyes are flame ! Alexander. Mother, I'll speak strong and true words to him. Mammea. Not yet ! Domitian. You have the right of life and death Upon your slaves, Iridion, and yet You do not beat, chain, or imprison them ! The Marcomanni, Suevi, Dacians, all Who beg in our streets, are never turned away Unaided from your door, — so says report. Iridion. My mother was Barbarian ! Domitian. And would her son Persuade us that he is an Epicurean ? Iridion. By the Olympic Zeus, the times are not Propitious for a Stoic ! Mammea. I shall not live to see the better days ; But you, Iridion, and Alexander, Are entering life through the golden gates of youth, Which like a lovely dream floats o'er your heads, Inviting you to trust all sweet presentiments. Iridion, despair suits not my son, nor you ! Alexander. Give me your hand, 320 IRIDION. Son of Amphilochus ! Misfortune links Men often close as love ; let us be friends, That we together may rejoice in happier hours. Iridion. Thanks, noble Roman ! I am sure the gods Must love you well to leave you such sweet hopes ! Sooner or later yet awaits us both The same sad end, — death and oblivion ! Domitian {to Mammea). Either he cheats us with Hellenic art, Or Jupiter has moulded him of wax. (Aloud.) And if the present fraud should change to truth, And if the shadows now so thick o'er earth Were to disperse, as clouds before the wind, And virtue brighten the abyss of crime, — What course would you pursue, Iridion ? Iridion. Honor the gods by thanks and sacrifice ! Domitian. Would you do nothing to advance so blest A day? We play with suppositions now, As men with dice ; speak of the improbable Simply for pastime : do you understand me ? Iridion. Better than you do me ! Doinitid7i. Well, what reply ? Iridion. By Odin ! Order such a day to call on me, And I will answer it in trumpet tones ! Domitian. Do not forget ! Alexander, Remember, Greek. ! Iridion. Romans, I never will forget this hour ! Consul, We meet again ! Domitian. Where now, Iridion ? Iridion. Some friends await me on the Aventine. A festival will there be held ; new songs Be given by the Siculian Poet. I go To pass the time which hangs so heavily upon us ! Domitian. Young Greek, you go to drown the gener- ous thoughts Prompting your inmost soul, in riot and unrest ! Iridion. Why, Lucius Mummius left us Greeks naught here Save death or pleasure ! IRIDION. Long life to Alexander And Augusta ! {Exit Iridio n . ) Domitian {looking after him). No, Mammea, from that clay We mould no solid support to our cause. SCENE III. Another part of the imperial palace. A long atrium with its impluvium in the midst Fauns, satyrs, a?td nymphs adorn the walls in mosaic and fresco ; tortoises, scorpions, and crocodiles carved in stone stand upon pillars of jasper ; statues of Venus and Bacchus near the entrance ; here and there are groups of court- iers , prcetorians , dancers, musicians, and dwarfs. Eu- tychian, Prefect of the Frcetorians ; Rupilius, Cubul- lus, and his parasites. Eutychian. By Bacchus ! it is of no consequence ; Nothing can wean the Emperor from me ; But I don't choose to have such guests at court, — And yet to-day the Emperor will see him, And sent me here to receive when he should come. Rupilius. Eutychian is a demigod, and . . . Eutychian. Yes, Demigod ; the Emperor is a god Entire, — I am the first after the Emperor! Rupilius. Then, Demigod Eutychian, suppose We rob the Greek of the light of day, so that " Dulces moriens reminiscitur argos !" Eutychian. Evoe ! Only spare me Maro's verses ! The Augustan poets had no sense of art ! {He seems lost in thought. ) Rupilius. Nay, no conception of true art at all. Cubullus. And no idea of true poetry. Rupilius. No knowledge of the drama. Cubullus. Or aught else. Eutychian {recovering from his reverie). I've thought i't out, — friend, we must build his way To the shades ! Meanwhile, list to this stirring song Composed by the godlike Nero for his dwarfs. 28 322 IRIDIÓN. Rupilius. He was the pride of music, lord of rhythm. Cubullus. True brother of the nine sweet sisters. Eutychiaii {recites the chorus written for the dwarfs). We stand at his side while our glorious Lord on his tower Wreathes with red roses his golden -strung lyre ; Starless night glooms around him with heavy and ominous clouds ; While the home of the gods upon earth at his feet Shudders and throbs in its mantle of smoke ! He kindled these brightening fires ! He would see for himself How old Troy trembled once in devouring flames ! He could not remain a mere mortal, and so made a crown Of hot light, and created a Drama of fire ! His strong hand wakes the lyre, and entranced by his marvelous tones, The lithe flames leap from hill unto hill ! They care not for sighs nor for tears in their merciless joy, While high o'er the city which crackles and glitters and falls, Another Rome burns in the air ! How frightful the glare with the pyramids tall of hot flame, And the long rows of pillars ablaze ! We shrieked in our joy ! we clapped loudly our hands ! for the day Of Destruction had come in the fire ! In the hot waves of Phlegethon, temple and palace go down, Crashing and crackling they vanish forever away In the arms of the beautiful fire ! Danger and woe are around us, — but we are all safe ! Delivered from death by the powerful Lord of the Lyre ! The master of art, and the glorious sovereign of tones ! Philosopher {approaching Eutychiari). Eutychian, you know everything, and are A very god in Rome ; grant my request. Have Anaxagoras, the Neo-Platonist, Appointed to read lectures twice a week In the Caracallan Baths ! IR IDIOM 3 2 3 Eutychian. What axioms hold you ? What gods do you confess? Say, are you drunk Or fasting when you teach your fellow-men? Philosopher. My god is unity, and all non-unities Arise from unity, which conquers, holds them all. It alone is, embracing in itself, Being divine, all the non-unities. Eutychian. Oh, satis est ! Your doctrines won't o'er- throw The realm! (To Rupilius.*) Tiresias 4 down in Hell himself, Could never understand them ! Rupilius. Surely not ; No, nor the triple-headed Cerebus. Cubullus (to Rupilius). What wrote you in your tablets yesterday ? Rupilius. Read, friend ! Cubullus {reads). The gladiator Sporus fights After to-morrow with the tiger Ernan. Rupilius. Thrice happy memory, great Eutychian ! Eutychian. Why so ? Rupilius. I have an offering for you ! Eutychian. By Isis ! Anubis ! or any gods Of Egypt, I will be most grateful for The gift. Rupilius, tell me what it is ! Rupilius. From Mauritania I brought with me A royal tiger, with a skin of gold Spotted with ebony, nostrils of blood ; Of iron muscles, of terrific power : I have a gladiator too more skilled Than any at the court ; a man who sold Himself to me rather than die of hunger, A real Crotonite; 5 then I asked all My friends to supper, made a bet with Carbo My gladiator Sporus would subdue My tiger Ernan, — but to conquer Fate, I must use Sporus first to kill a man ! Eutychian. Hush! Hush! (To the prcetorians.) Evoe to your leader sing With flutes and lyres united ! 3 2 4 IRIDION. CHORUS OF PRAETORIANS. Live wine, and dice, and games ! Roses and gold ! When the cup foams and Plutus smiles, our feet Are ready for the dance, our hands for combat ! Live Venus ! give us maidens, Syrian girls, And sunburned women from the German woods ! Wiser than men of yore, we go no more To battle with the Parthians and Goths. Our sires are in their graves, and we with them Have buried deep their old and gloomy customs ! We stay in Rome, upon soft couches stretched ; Rose-wreaths and ivy wound around our brows. If we have foes — why, let them come to Rome ! Here we will meet them, — tear ourselves away From the soft arms of dark and fair-haired girls, And clink of foaming cups, and raise the shield, Wield the sharp battle-axe, bathe the bright sword In blood, revel in slaughter ! Evoe ! Now for wine, and dice, and games, Roses, and women fair and dark, and gold ! Eutychian (to Rupilius). If you should fail, we'll need a perjury ! Rupilius. Oh, I can summon all the gods in Rome, Chaldea, Syria, to bear us witness ! Eutychian. Jacta est alea,* — even to-day . . . Rupilius. Hush ! Hush ! here comes the Greek ! (Iridion enters and advances toward Eutychian.) Eutychian {aside). Fear seizes me ! The flames of Hell burn in his dazzling eyes ! I've heard it said his father was a sorcerer. Rupilius {stepping back). A demigod should know no fear ! Iridion. The hour Appointed by the Emperor is here : Lead me to him ! Eutychian. Without delay, great Greek. (To Rupilius.) What pride and scorn ! Vse capiti ejus !f * " The die is cast/' The words of Caesar as he crossed the Rubicon, f An imprecation common hi Rome : " Woe upon his head !" IRIDION. 3 2 5 Rupilius (to Eutychiaii). The Lethean waves will cure his arrogance ! Iridion. I know that time is squandered willingly In the court of Caesar, — but I am in haste ! Eutychian. Caesar awaits your presence, noble Greek ! I'll lead the way. (Exeunt Eutychiaii and Iridion.*) SCENĘ IV. Another part of the palace of Cozsar. The pinnacle of a tower, surrounded by pillars and a balus- trade. Heliogabalus and Elsinoe. Elsinoe (going). I trust you to the gods, and to his power. Heliogabalus. O dreadful nymph, go pray to Odin for me ! (Iridion enters, Elsinoe stops.) Elsinoe. The moon is up ; the fires blaze ; the poison seethes ! (Exit Elsinoe. ) Heliogabalus. Save me ! Oh, save ! or if that may not be, Deceive me not with idle hopes of safety ! Confess at once that my last hour is near, And I myself will drive this glittering blade Through my white breast ! (He takes a dagger from one of the pillars. ) Didst ever see before such emeralds? Iridion. But why should Caesar think of death to-day ? Heliogabalus. H-s-t, friend ! You are mistaken if you think That Caesar lacks the strength to kill himself. From this bright goblet he might drink himself Into the Elysian Fields. (He takes a cup from a tripod.) Look at these pearls, Matchless on earth ! A hundred divers died To fish them for me from the salty sea. Iridion (taking the cup). To Mithras let us drink from this rich cup, — But under other skies, with better men ! Heliogabalus. Here, Greek ! Lookrne directly in the eye, 28* 326 IRIDION. That I may read if you are true or false. Oh, turn away those mystic flashing orbs ! The gods have written in their gloomy blaze Your mother was a mighty sorceress ! Step closer to the pillars, clasp the rails, Look down ! What do you see in the gulf below? Iridion {looking over the balustrade). I see a glittering pavement in the depths, All made of precious stones; the golden ground*. Of a deep, brilliant grave ! Heliogabalus. I chose them all myself ; Beryl, and bloody onyx, and amethyst, Topaz, and sharp-edged chrysolite, — rare gems ! Through one whole day and night my men worked hard Setting the jewels there, I never slept, Nor turned away to rest till all was done, — And then I had them murdered — «every one. Iridion. Murdered \ What ! all the men who served you, slain ? Heliogabalus. Why ask for them? They were but wretched slaves, Who've gone, as they should do, before their Lord ! Was it for Rome to know its Emperor Prepared for death? — not many of them fell, — Only one hundred, — and two little boys. Why do you look so sternly at me, Greek ? I will not give my white, smooth limbs into The jaws of wolves, to be torn with claws and teeth ! I will myself strike off my sacred head, And fall in that deep grave of precious stones; My blood shall flow o'er priceless gems to Erebus ! Iridion. What threatens Caesar thus unceasingly? Heliogabalus. My brother Alexander ! dreadful name ! He comes to cut me off before my time ! He ! he ! Alexis ! treason plots and death ! To the thrice mighty Hecate I devote his head ! Iridion. My watchful eye is on him and his mother. Heliogabalus. Appal me not ! And if you love your life, Protect him not ! Hearken ! that you might know It all, I sent for you. My spies report, IRIDION. 3 2 7 He with Domitian plots, that he grows pale, Straightens his hair, then rolls it round his finger; — Domitian, just returned from Antioch — Ha ! Greek, you know it all ! and what they plot? Iridion. Men say Domitian is a wondrous jurist. Heliogabalus. Immortal gods ! and you can dare to praise him ! I tell you that for the last thirty years No treason has been hatched in Rome without The aid and sanction of this " wondrous jurist' 1 ! Although his bearing is so smooth and fair, He is a most uncompromising Stoic, Ready to murder those who are in power, And strong enough to turn, if he should fail, The sword in his own breast ! I know the man. He's an embodied treason, breathing curse Against all governments, living to destroy ; An eating, drinking, and incarnate revolution ! Damocles' sword hangs by its single hair Above my head — and you can praise my foe ! " A famous jurist !" Mithras ! Proh Jupiter ! I would I might not only take Ais head, But murder with him all the accursed thing Which men call Jurisprudence ! Speak, Greek ! What can I do to escape their plot? Iridion. While all is quiet, doubt not nor despair ; Should danger really come, rely on me ! Heliogabalus, What if the omens of my sudden doom Already speak ? And what if stronger gods Should combat, conquer Elsinoe's Odin ! {Opening a roll .) Here Symmachus Niger gives me an account Of prodigies occurring on the Danube, Signs even in the sky ! At sunrise there appears the holy train Of Bacchus ; consecrated hands swing high The thyrsus, and the heads are ivy-crowned ; And in their midst, on an extended plain, Is seen the Macedonian Alexander, The dazzling armor on his manly breast Worn by him when he conquered -India ; 3 28 IRIDION. A golden helmet glitters on his head ; The rulers whom he conquered follow him ; The people of Mcesia, Thrace, bow down Before the passing hero, crowds on crowds Pursue him to the borders of the sea, The air is full of shadows, of the dead . . . (He leans against a pillar for support. ) Quick ! hand me the Falernian ! I faint ! (He takes the ctp.) Thus, aided by the Macedonian, Will Alexander take my kingdom, life ! Dii avertite omen !* Iridion. Have you forgotten that Septimius, 6 Son of the Macedonian, loved your mother once ? That Alexander's soul throbbed in his noble breast? And when the hero comes back from the dead — Your father's guardian spirit — to announce You victory, you shiver and turn pale, Grow faint, and need the hand of a new friend To prevent your falling prostrate on the earth ! O son of Caracalla, shame upon you ! Heliogabalus. No, no. 'Tis Alexander whom he smiles on With his dead lips ! He greets the rising sun ! Each secret wish, voice, gesture, look and word, The Senate, people, Rome entire, the world, — Seek, plot even now my sudden dreadful death ! The golden-haired, and you, Iridion, you, Conspire with them to tear me from the earth, The sun, my gems and flowers, all things I love, And hurl me into the abyss of hell ! Iridion. In the eternal strife between the man and State, Is it not possible the man for once Should conquer? Heliogabalus. I know not what you mean ! Iridion. I speak Of the strange fate of all the Caesars, which May be your own to-morrow ! They all fall, * " The gods avert the omen!" A standing formula among the Ro- mans to avert evil auguries. IR ID ION. 3 2 9 Either by suicide, driven by despair, Or by the hands of traitors, sword, or poison ; But all go down in shame to death, betrayed By those they've trusted ! Must this ever be? Rome treason plots, and kills her Emperors, Suppose her Emperor should turn on her, Become hwi self the chief conspirator, Might he not save his life, avenge his wrongs, And murder Rome, even while she plots his murder? Heliogabalus. How? Murder whom? What do you mean ? Speak, Greek ! Strange fire burns in your eye and lights your brow — . I do not understand you. Iridion. Has Fate decreed These palaces and amphitheatres, Temples and shrines, already thrice destroyed by fire, Shall stand forever? Shall Jupiter ne'er fall? Have you ne'er heard of cities in the East, Stronger, more beautiful than Rome now is, Beloved by gods, and wondered at by men ? Now clouds of sand drift o'er their haughty halls, The fierce hyena stalks along their streets, And herds of wolves howl on their lonely walls ! Jerusalem, with her devoted people, With her o?ie God, as powerful as Fate, Could she resist the doom of her destruction? Go — ask the desert when they'll rise again ! These palaces upon the seven hills, Are they immortal gods ? No — mortal foes ! They are the veritable Alexanders, They your true enemies, now lying stretched Out at your feet, but creeping day and night, Ever more near to plunge you into ruin, Unless you hasten to prevent it now / Merciless giants will arise therefrom To plunge their daggers in your royal heart, Or throttle you with grasp of monstrous hands ! {Seizing him by the arm.) Kindle a lofty will in your young breast, Challenge your murderers to instant combat ! Become what few on earth have ever been — 33° IRIDION. Destroyer ! and villas, monuments and domes, Temples and idols on the seven hills, Holding but your assissins, we'll devote To snakes and scorpions — fitting heritage ! Heliogabalus. Ha! I have sometimes felt such things might be ! Mithras would glory if his own High-Priest Should force proud Jupiter to bite the dust ! But who is strong enough to do this work, Or lift his hand against eternal Rome? Iridion. The son of Odin's priestess, of Amphilochus. Heliogabalus. In the decisive hour do you believe A single soldier would declare for us? Senate and people, praetorians, against us ! Have you a plan? — Do you not fear the gods? Iridion. My plan will make the gods themselves save Caesar ! Heliogabalus. Rome's Guardian Genius conquers all her foes ! You would make Jupiter my enemy ! I dare not tempt the gods — I shiver ! fear ! Iridion. Live then in fear, until you die in torment ! Heliogabalus. O mighty Greek, obey the will of the gods ! If you succeed, you shall wear purple robes, And I will take the sandals off my feet And bind on yours. Oh, stand by me with help In your strong hands ! Save me from death, Iridion ! Iridion. I only see one way to save your life. The Senate must be sent to banishment, The praetors throttled, and the court removed ! Heliogabalus. The Senate might be scattered speed ily- But the praetorian guard, the Roman people? Iridion. Of old, keen Catiline; Nero, in later days, Planned Rome's destruction through the aid of fire ! Easier to ruin that which stands to-day Than to build that of stone shall stand to-morrow ! The few who linger midst the smoking embers Will call themselves still Romans ; while the rare Buildings here left to crumble and decay, IRIDION. 331 Will still be Rome, and we may safely leave The gray-haired children the great name they worship; But all creative or destructive power, All living force will surely vanish from This place accursed forever and forever ! On the dread day of death and slaughter, I Will furnish faithful troops, and stand beside you. Heliogabalus. Where will we stand? and who will stand with us? Iridion. Oh, deem not, Caesar, that to you alone Has Rome made wretched the sweet days of life ! Remember all the gladiators, slaves, The humble followers of the Nazarene, And the barbarians from every clime! You are the Head indeed; they are the feet; Together you may doom Rome's haughty Genius To a life of anguish and a death of shame. High as you are, a common wretchedness May join you all for the hour of retribution Into a living coil of deadly vengeance! Think you the lords of the amphitheatres, The hired soldiers and praetorians, Could stand before the thousands of the wronged And hungry men, raging with bitter hate, Maddened by cruelty, all eager for revenge And urged to combat by such burning passions? Heliogabalus. True! true! But if these savage men should turn Upon ourselves? Where should we shelter find In the hour of bloody turmoil? Who could set bounds To their wild rage, or quench their thirst for blood? Ever insatiate when fairly kindled in The breasts of lawless, vicious, cruel mortals! Iridiojt. At first, while Rome is burning, blood and gold Will satisfy our men; but as they're held Together only by their hate of Rome, When that is glutted, they will fall apart, Each will return to early prejudice, The customs of his nation, race and. creed; Hate will be generated, they will fight 332 IRIDION. Over the common plunder, kill each other; Exhausted by unbridled license, some Of them, in hope of richer spoils abroad, Will go with us to the East, where they will die Under the burning heat, or fall a prey To that licentiousness, so fatal to Barbarians and brutish conquerors! Or should a few remain, they will be lost Among a people serving you alone, Worshiping you and your great God of light ! — On without fear! Be silent as the dead, That thus you may secure the right to live! Heliogabalus. Prometheus, you have stolen the fire from Heaven ! Io triumphe! Greek, you cannot fail! {He claps his hands joyously together.*) I'll build a glorious fane at Emesa, And live in peace with my own prophets there! Tridion. Yes, in the sunny regions of your birth, You'll go to found new empires. Sleepless nights And anxious days will trouble you no more. High-Priest and Caesar both, sweet hours you'll pass, Like the old demigods upon the Nile, Lulled by the lilies', aloes', myrtles' breath, And the soft tones of flutes and lyres. Where'er Your glance may fail, your slaves will throw themselves Prostrate before you; your white feet will shine Upon their dusky throats! Whatever you may wish will be your own ; What you desire forgot, shall be forgotten ; No fame shall live on earth except your own; What you command men think, alone be thought! No Senate there will venture to debate; No jurist dare to dream mad dreams of fierce And free republics; none will dare to scorn The gold-rayed Mithras: mock the snowy robes Sweeping the earth, you wear as his High-Priest! Heliogabalus. The wretched quirites! As if their antique Tunics', and togas, fibulas, were half As beautiful! O Mithras, hear me swear! IRIDION. 333 Thy golden rays shall pleasure me no more, The genii of the night shall rend my limbs, If I lead not these gods of Rome in chains, And throw them at thy feet ! What you advise, Son of Amphilochus, is wise and good ! By Baal and Ashtoreth, we'll storm and burn The city of our foes! What more, brave Greek? Iridion. Collect your treasures, send them secretly To Emesa; amuse with games the people, And the praetorians with gifts; order The Vindelician legions back to Rome; From Goth the mercenaries; the Cheruski From the Rhine; as they return, 't will be My task to know them all, secure their aid : — The rough speech of the North my mother taught me. Heliogabalus. But the Italian legions, those in Ephesus, In Tarsus, in Pergamus? what of them? Iridion. Dispatch a messenger to Varius With orders to collect and lead those troops By rapid marches to attack far Parthia; And if the news from Rome should reach them, when Engaged in war upon the Caspian Coasts, Some would continue to harass the foe, Many disperse, a few come back to Rome, Or join with you, — hoping to live in peace, And find high favor at your royal court. Heliogabalus. Bold cohorts — likely to be dangerous — Is it not so, Iridion? Iridion. Not so ! Rome once destroyed, there's nothing else to fear. Men safely tread a corpse from which they've driven the soul. We will tear out?$ie soul of Rome; the soul Of the world, — and crush it 'neath our feet ! Heliogabalus. But what if Alexander should precede us? The soldiers murmur loud without the walls, Forever chant his courage in fierce strains; Domitian draws the Senate to support His claims Iridion ! at dead of night They will rush in upon, and murder me! 29 334 IRIDION. Iridion. " Salve Eternum"* Ł you shall surely say First over them ! Trust not Eutychian, Preserve a calm cold mien, visit Mammea, Alexander; use gentle words and keep A quiet bearing; if they confide in you Or not, that for the present will prevent Recourse to stronger measures. Silence and prudence; Heliogabalus. Smile, gods ! Mithras, clear up thy clouded brow ; O Venus, mother of delights, repose Softly on the white foam of the blue waves While rosy Cupids sport around thee ! Drink, Bacchus, drink my health in blood-red wine; Bring perfumed roses and Falernian ! Dearest of men, come let us rest our limbs On down and purple, drink, and praise the gods, For they will bring swift ruin on our foes. {He throws himself into the arms of Iridion.') From Caesar take this kiss ! Is it not true My brow is smooth, my lips are soft and ripe As those of fairest virgin found in Rome ? Come, Greek ! With Elsinoe I will rule In Syria, my country, where the stars Stoop from the skies to speak with man, reveal To him his future: Iridion, come. {Exeunt together. ) SCENE V. A garden of the Ccesars upon the Palatine Hill, adorned with fountains, vases and statues. Elsinoe and Iridion are seen standing by a marble Diana. Twilight, with the moon in the sky. Elsinoe. I can no farther go. I must return To watch the Accursed when he wakes from sleep. Yet, brother, stay a moment longer with me : Do not so soon forsake me ! Iridion. Fate urges haste : *" Eternal rest," a chant commonly sung at Roman funerals over the body of the dead before it was placed upon the funeral pyre. IRIDION. 335 Look ! the last rays of daylight fade away Over the amphitheatre, and I must see The praetorian guard before I seek my home. Elsinoe. I ask not hours from thee, Iridion : Spare me one moment to refresh my soul : (She lays her head at the feet of Diana.} Look into this unsullied virgin face ; How soft the veil of twilight drapes its snow ; As chaste as Dian, I might once have loved, When leaning on her bow she floated down At midnight hour, to bless Endymion : My life is blasted — and I dare not dream ! Son of Amphilochus, go, ask of men, "Where is my Elsinoe ? M They will point In scorn to where her altars stand between Poppea's, Messalina's ! — Brother, go ! How could I beg thee stay to share my shame ! Iridion. Self-sacrifice is glory ^ and not shame / Souls strong enough to offer up themselves To save their fellow-men, need never heed Human opinions, thoughts. The only Son Of the Eternal thus redeemed the world, Endured the shame of the accursed cross, A death of agony ! Such fate is thine and mine, O Elsinoe. Elsinoe. Hast thou assumed another faith, and sought For consolation in a world-scorned creed ? 'Tis rumored Alexander has embraced it. Dost know him, brother? Men say he's great and good; Will equal Trajan, and at last save Rome. I met him late in Dejanira's Hall ; At first his look was flickering and vague, Soon it grew clear and searching ; then he turned Away in silent scorn. Oh, brother, save ! (She buries her faee in her hands and sobs.} Iridion. Scorn ! scorn ! Why, he and all who live within These walls accursed, are doomed to instant death ! 33 6 IRIDION. Elsinoe {throwing herself into Iridiorf 's arms). Unsay ! Recall ! I ask for no revenge : Let me alone be victim ! Iridion. Poor child, be calm : How pale and faint thou art ! How is it with thee? Elsinoe. The gods could never doom me to such grief ; Iridion, go ! See — I am better now. I must return where thou hast sent me, brother, There where the Furies wait to torture me : To amuse the reptile writhing, crawling round me — Stinging my soul ! There where an early death Were best reward for shame and agony ; I go to struggle with fell spasms of Resistance and abhorrence ! . . . What canst thou know Of secret tortures in a virgin's soul ? Iridion. My Elsinoe ! thou whose young life flamed In such unequalled splendor, beauty's own ; How has thy bloom been blasted ! See, these tears, Raining so fast over thy perfect face, Are all for thee ! {He folds her in his arms.) I shed none for myself, Though I am blighted in the self-same storm : Go, sister, go. Remember the decrees Of Odin, and endure until the end ! Elsinoe. O brother, save ! It is not yet too late. Iridion. Inflame the madness of the Accursed ; de- stroy His mind and life ! Farewell, my sunny-haired ! Elsinoe. Shades of Amphilochus and Crimhild, guard Your wretched children ! Vale, Iridion ! ( They embrace, and depa?'t on different sides. ) SCENE VI. The great hall of Amphilo chits as in Scene I. Iridion enters with Masinissa, followed by Pilades, an old servant and now overseer of the slaves. Night. Iridion. What wants he, Pilades ? Pilades. I do not know ; IRIDION. 337 He has not spoken since he came, my lord. As is the custom of your house, he has Had bread, meat, wine. Iridion. Go, bring him here. Masinissa. Beware ! Iridion. Of what ? Masinissa. His mission is to kill. Take this {hands a sword). Iridion. If you divine aright, I do not need That glittering Carthaginian steel. I'll break His head with this Corinthian cup, from which Amphilochus was wont to drink. {Takes a cup from a tripod.) {Enter Gladiator.) What want You, slave ? Gladiator. To see Iridion alone. Iridion. This is my friend : speak boldly before him. Gladiator. My master said to me : " Murder the Greek Instead of fighting with the tiger Ernan, And I will give you freedom." But he who sent Me here is worse than you. {He throws his sword on the ground. ) Curses on slavery ! Iridion. My friend, who sent you here to murder me? Gladiator. One of the new men, coward and plebeian, Blood-hound and despot. Iridion. Then it was a Roman. Gladiator. You've read aright ; it was Rupilius. Iridion. Court-fool of the court-fool ! I thought as much. Look at these prongs upon this master-piece {Shows him the cup.) Of Grecian art ; they would have broken your skull, Scattered your brains, if . . . Gladiator. Son of Amphilochus, I fear you not. The desert kings on which I set my feet are stronger far than you ; I've throttled tigers in the arena sands: But I was hungry, you have given me food ; Was thirsty, you have given me golden wine ; 29* 333 IRIDION. And as I waited for you in your hall, I heard your gladiators bless your name. I cannot kill you. To-morrow I will fall Into the famished tiger's jaws, — Farewell ! Iridion. That shall not be ! Live, and avenge your wrongs ! Ho, Pilades ! Give to this man a tunic, An iron ring, as worn by all my household, And add a hundred sesterces. Your name ? Gladiator, I'm only known as Roman Sporus now. Iridion. A certain pride lies latent in your speech; A smouldering fire, shining like lamps through rents In sepulchres, speaks of a better past ; You're more than slave, — give me your real name! Gladiator. Like gods, my sires were once revered in Rome And in the Senate. The past is past forever ! My name is Lucius Tiberius Scipio. Iridion. Slave, you dream ! That race has long since perished. Gladiator. Perished but in its country's memory! The last of us they chose to recollect Was robbed of wealth at home and fame abroad ; Then Nero stole his wife and banished him To the Chersonesus ; after many years His son returned, a beggar, back to Rome, Since which we've been in utter poverty; My father was a gladiator, Greek. Iridion. Why have the older Romans not received you? Gladiator. Why, who would aid an old patrician's son ? The children of the lictors, now rich Lords, The Emperor, sworn foe of all the past ? Dragged from the sands of the amphitheatre, My father in the spoliarium died,* Cursing the gods. Oh, may the city which Has thus betrayed the children of her consuls, * "Spoliarium." The place close by the amphitheatre, in which the gladiators who had received mortal wounds were dragged to die. IRIDION. 339 Fall into ruin ! {He takes up his sword.) Say but the word, and I Will kill Rupilius, — that upstart Roman ! Iridion. To murder one where thousands are required, Were folly ! Save your strength for nobler work ! Gladiator. Should such work come with vengeance in its grasp, I can bring Cassius, Verres, Sylla, men Of races old as mine, wretched like me, Who only dream revenge. Iridion. Bring them all here. They shall find support, and a home with me. Masinissa. The infernal gods never refuse revenge To those who seek it with their heart and soul ! {Exit Gladiator.) Iridion. Old man, I conquer ! I shall surely conquer ! Ha ! ha ! ye fierce old tyrants ! Ye who led My ancestors in chains to grace your triumphs, Who ruined Carthage, Syracuse and Corinth, The last of your proud Scipios is the slave And tool of the Greek ! He came to-day to beg For bread, and murder! {Laughs.') Drain this cup, old man, To the health of the noble Scipios ! Ha ! Ha ! {He fills the cup, and hands it to Masinissa.) Masinissa. Long life to the Scipios! {He returns the cup to Iridion.) Iridion {drinks and flings away the cup). Thus may the pride Of Rome lie shattered 'neath our vengeful feet ! Masinissa. Sigurd, we're hourly gaining force and power, But until Nazareth be won to aid us, We never can succeed. Iridion. Old man, the God to whom they bend the knee, Stretched out his arms to die for them, beneath The darkened vaults of Heaven. His Spirit came, Descended on my brow in holy water Full of high power and mystery ! . . . A band of pallid brothers stood around 34o IRIDION. Chanting my new name ever and again : " Hieronymus ! Hieronymus!" as sad As if a funeral train swept through the sky Unseen by mortal eye, their voices tolled ; And yet the solemn chant seemed full of hope. Masinissa. You hung their cross upon your warlike breast ? Iridion. I did. Masinissa. And pressed it to your lips ? Iridion. I did. Masinissa. Well done ! Now can we rend their hearts asunder ! Iridion. Dissension is already busy with them. I can do nothing with the older Christians ; They've suffered torture, seen the martyrs die, The Heavens open, and will not be taught To wreak retaliation on their foes ! Monotonous as is the dash of waves Forever breaking on the self-same rock, Their words recur perpetually : " Forgive Your enemies ! Forget all injuries ! Pray for your foes, and love your murderers !" To them I dare not even speak of vengeance ! But with the young disciples, the new converts, Barbarians, pilgrims from the desert, slaves And soldiers, I am more successful far. Stronger vitality throbs in their veins ; Eyes flash at the words shame and martyrdom ; They thirst for life and bliss. When I approached Them first, they too would pray for foes and murderers, But now the wild blood throbs against their wills In their full veins, and I can sometimes catch Even a furtive curse upon their trembling lips ! Masi/tissa. To incorporate a force in human passions, A force not of this world, we need a woman. Ah ! they adore a woman ; a frail being, Precocious in old age, yet an eternal infant ! Upon the ruins of their carnal lusts They build a strange, mysterious worship, and bow Before a woman, slave to her husband's will ! Virgins there are who pass their lives in prayer ; IRIDION. 341 Choose from among them one for sacrifice ! Stamp on her soul yourself, your being, thoughts, Through her alone they'll germ into brave deeds ! She will not understand their hidden scope, But well reflect them to the outer world, Borne on and overpowered, almost crazed By that male power which burns in the heart of a man ! Iridion. I know a maiden, holy, blessed, pure ; She gladly talks to me of faith and Heaven. Masinissa {aside), I've touched the strings, they answer ! {To Iridion.) Her eye is dark, Dewy and lustrous; in years almost a child ; And with her dies the old Metellus line. Iridion. Why do you ask me, since you know it all? Masinissa. Do not forget to praise the Crucified, To kiss the cruel nails that pierced His flesh ; She loves that body with its ghastly wounds, The features which she dreams so fair, the eyes Which in their sockets die through might of love. — She never knew Him; did not see Him when He agonized in hideous contortions, Livid with pain : nor saw the thorn-crowned face All stained with trickling blood, convulsed and drawn, Its shuddering anguish darkening into death ; Nor heard the black storm whistle through the hair Streaming disordered in the wind ! . . . Lead all her thoughts from Him, and fix them on Yourself! He is far ! far ! Though once upon The earth, He never will return — and you Are near, in the young flush of life, and full Of love, — and you must win her soul, and be her god ! O Alma Venus ! Eros to our aid ! Iridion. Ah ! who can comprehend her mystic life, Who read the secrets of her virgin soul ? Within the gloom of the sad catacombs She lives unknown to earth, and vowed to pain, Surrounded by that sovereign majesty Which ever marks its voluntary victims. Her face is calm ; so full of heavenly light 342 IRIDION. Phidias himself could ne'er have caught its charm. With her last sigh passes away this beauty, With its divinity of pathos, from the earth. Against her I am powerless, old man. Masinissa. Why do you linger? doubt ? She must be yours ! Not for voluptuous pleasure, idle jest, But that I know our cause exacts her ruin, As question demands answer, tones their chord. Son, when her head shall rest upon your breast, Her bosom throb, as throbs man's simple slave, Her heavenly soul forget itself, and sink In vain illusions of the flesh, — then True friends will aid us in the catacombs ! My spirit will be with you, and revenge ' Take flesh ; embodied — ruin Rome ! (He retires.*) Iridion. Stay, Masinissa ! Masinissa. What would Iridion ? Iridion. Answer as friend — nay more — as judge severe ! Examine every act, word, thought, wish, hope, From boyhood's happy days — when I could laugh Unconscious of revenge, my country's shame — Recall them all ! Dost understand, old man? . . . Masinissa. Why is your voice so broken ? face so pale? Iridion. All that is sweet and holy for a man, Is sacrilege for me — yet I have borne it ! Have I not always kept the utmost faith, With the ferocious virtue which I pledged The vengeful Furies? immolated all? Has there till now been found on me a stain Of useless pity or compassion ? Speak ! Masinissa. To know nor pity nor remorse, is yet not action. Words are for boys ! deeds are for full-grown men. You have as yet brought forth no fitting act ; Your children sleep in swaddling bands of nothingness; You rest unknown to fame and therefore weak ! Incorporate your soul in daring deeds, Then in your work you'll live ! your work in you! Iridion. Alas ! the gods have planted in my breast That which must be forever useless to me 1 IRTDTOm 343 I feel the subtle poison swell my heart, Burn round my brow, and press beneath my eyelids : — Women would call it tears! ... Is it that I Am never destined to become a man ? Masinissa. This coward weakness marks you most as man ! Do you not know that each of you might be Omnipotent through invincible intellect, Implacable and never-swerving will? Your mortal enemy foresaw this power ; To neutralize your force he placed a heart Within your breast — a dread — and an illusion You caress as slaves who have 'accepted their own shame ! This gift makes slaves of women ; boys of men; Divides the being, and erects itself In opposition to the mighty brain \ And thus both heart and brain are paralyzed, And endless war weakens the human soul ! Thus the Great Foe perpetuates his rule, Making you wretched, miserable, weak, — Although to hurl this Foe from His high Throne If men should will it, might be possible. Iridion. Who makes me wretched, miserable, weak? Where is the Enemy whom you denounce? I know but one Great Foe : — his name is Rome ! Masinissa. There is another, a far higher Rome : Not weakly stands It on the seven hills, But reigns o'er infinite worlds and endless stars. Not puny, driveling men, but countless hosts Of glorious angels, has It doomed to woe. Like fools men bend before It, chant its praise For leave to be so wretched, while the wronged And beautiful Immortals loudly call Upon them for revenge on this Great Foe ! Iridion. Incomprehensible and fearful one, What is it that you thus proclaim to me? Masinissa. Eternal war ! Iridion. When ? Where ? For what ? With whom ? Masinissa. Throughout the eternal ages ! Every- where ! Before, and at, after the fall of Rome ! 344 IRIDION. Wherever spirits think, or feel, or act : And with the infinite God ! Iridion. But without end ? Forever? Everywhere? and with the Infinite? Afasinissa. I will myself conduct you in the strife : Meanwhile among the Fallen play your part, Live on the earth which our Great Foe has cursed. But one day you shall raise your head in all The plenitude of a great intellect Against Him and His servants ! Iridion. But victory ! Will victory smile at last ? If never here, at least on some far star I am at last to take my armor off? At last to lay down quietly my head Upon some cherished breast in utter trust, To love and be beloved; to guard, not doom? Afasinissa. Seek not to know before the appointed hour ! On ! on ! and learn to rule your faltering heart, To be alone on earth, as He above the stars, To endure as spirits mightier far than man ! Before you can attain the utmost height Which man may reach, a thousand times His hot fires will break over and consume you : A thousand times death will transform, and fit For wilder pangs ! You are a foaming wave, One moment scaling Heaven in utmost bliss, Then dashed to Hell in uttermost despair ! He smiles on this eternal surge of souls, Sentient and quivering, breaking at His feet In ever-changing, writhing agony! Iridion. My spirit does not quail before this foe — God should be generous to what He makes : But it grows late — I'm weary — so good-night ! Early to-morrow come to me again. I had no pity on my Elsinoe, — And shall I spare the unknown virgin now? Afasinissa. Think on my words ! The nations of this earth All pass away — my spirit never dies. {Exit JIasiuissa.) IRIDION. 345 Iridion {throwing off his chlamy s). Off! off! You burden me ! {Flinging away his ring.') Circle of flame, away ! I'd tear the very hairs out of my head ! . . . They are not I ! . . . they press and overwhelm me ! . . . The air is stifling . . . is my soul on fire ? . . . Where art thou hid, Iridion ? Oh, show •Thyself to me ! . . . Torment łhat livest in my heart, come out ! . . . Who art thou ? . . . I must see thee ! . . . I must know ... {He draws his sword from its sheath?) Say, blue and glittering steel, say, gloomy fire, Canst find me there, and save me from myself? But mark me, it must be for evermore ! No ! no ! Thou too art only an illusion I Cato once tried thee ; doubtless when he waked, He found some Caesar there, with swords and chains ! {He throws down the sword and tramples upon it.) Liar, who hast deceived "so many suffering souls By thy false promises of nothingness, Lie there ! I scorn thee ! . . . I never can know rest ! Here or hereafter, I must be a slave ! Serpent of falsehood, lie there in the dust ! {He wipes his forehead. ) What anguish must be borne by one who cannot die ! Eternal agony which never ends, Immortal combat with an infinite foe ! {He walks up and down?) Never to bless a being whom I love, Never to rest my weary head in peace ! What solitude ! and what a desert here, Where all is silent ! Alone ! alone ! I fill It with my thought, — a thought that ne'er will sleep ! The night has bound my brows with crowns of fire, — Thanks, Hell-gods, for such royal diadem ! . . . 30 346 1RIDI0N. {He stands before the statue of Amphilochus.) When I gaze in thy face, again I hear Thy holy promises, Amphilochus ! Unhappy Hellas ! Thou wilt render me Back life and peace when thou shalt press me to Thy breast maternal ! . . . Father, the victor hastens to thy heart ! Thou wilt embrace him, for his chariot wheels Are thronged by haughty Romans; their strong forms Crouching in chains around his glowing axles ! Oh, what would signify eternal torments, Provided such a day should e'er arrive? Provided such a day, one day alone, Should wreathe my brow with the laurels of revenge ? {He kneels?) But must I also ruin her? her too ? Shade of my father, pardon her ! Oh, spare ! She suffers not as we ; she has her faith And her eternal Future, God of Pain ! Poor Elsinoe pours her virgin blood In sacrifice to thee for Hellas' sake ! To abase the proud, to fling the oppressors down, To drive by thousands wretches into hell, Destroy the city, offer the sunny-haired, — I knew all that was in my destiny ! But to destroy the happy; desecrate The pure ; tear from her hopes a being full Of faith ; put out a radiant light ; Defile the Cross, and break her simple heart, . . . {Rises, .) Amphilochus, thy son, shall he be chased By Furies, like Orestes? . . . ( Walks up and down the hall, and at last takes a lamp from a tripod.) To sleep ! The Benediction of the Lares rest Upon my father's House, his city, country ! Here it is good and fair, — for here is Hellas ! The star of bliss once shone upon my cradle ! {Exit Iridion. ) IRIDION. 347 ACT III. SCENE I. The catacombs. An antique lamp hangs in the centre of a dimly -lighted vault. Two sarcophagi stand in the background. Rows of heavy stone pillars line each side, until they are lost in the darkness. The walls are covered with tombstones > ranged one above another. Bishop Victor and Alexander Severus. Alexander is wrapped in a soldier* s cloak, with the hood drawn round his face. Bishop Victor. Past centuries were the childhood of mankind ! The creature, as he ever nearer draws To his Creator, loves Him and man more. A day will come when there will be on earth Nor sword nor executioner. Blessed is he who trusts in such a future, And labors to advance it ! Alexander. Oh, if I could But realize it in a single day, This work of justice, reign of good on earth ! Victor. Son, dream not to attain so easily Realization of this blessed hope ! /For in the infinite sea we call the world Each one of us is but a single wave, And whether its course be weak or powerful, Its surge will last but a few fleeting hours ! Live then, and pass away, as do thy brothers, But always act according to the light Which has been given thee ! Consoler be For all who grieve ; that, placed on Christ's right hand, Thou mayst see through coming centuries Thy brethren, still inspired by thee, pursue The work which thou beginn'st to-day in faith ! Alexander. Father, thy blessing rest upon my head ! 348 IRIDION. {He kneels to receive if.') Caesar will ne'er deny this ben- ediction ! Prepare thy people for a coming change ; Accustom them to hear me named. It is Mammea begs ! Victor {placing his hand upon Alexander" 's head). As I thus bless thee now, So may thy people bless thy memory And thee, from age to age ! Hear us, O Christ ! Rise, Alexander ! By the Lord anointed ! Alexander. Be my good genius in the hour of strife ! Hark ! I hear steps ! Forget us not ! Farewell ! {Exit Alexander at the one side as Iridion enters on the other. Iridion is wrapped in the long cloak of the proz- torians. He lays down lance, helmet \ and breastplate at the entrance.) Iridion. Glory to God on high ! Let earthly power Intrude not on His Sanctuary here ! Victor. I've waited for you long, Hieronymus ! Early this morn your servants brought to me The body of a brother, martyred at Cecilia Metella's mausoleum. 1 The Faithful have received it from their hands ; The funeral procession soon will move : — My thanks are due to you, my valiant son ! Iridion. No thanks are due for simple duty done. Father, I have just left the hall of Caesar ; Fear is upon the face of all the courtiers ; The praetors storm against the Emperor, Tumult and strife are raging . . . Victor. Son, I know The solid earth is changeful in its pride As are the waves before the breath of winds, — But that must not disturb peace 'midst these graves ! We'll pray beneath the shade of the martyrs' palms; Those broken newly by Athanador. Iridion. Father, our future lies with you alone ! Your words throw men by thousands in the scales ; Victory is won where they preponderate. Victor. In the invisible kingdom of the Lord, IRIDION. 349 By prayer and sacrifice I can combat The princes of the earth ; if yon will all Unite your prayers earnestly with mine To the Most High — I promise victory ! Iridion. I speak of instant combat, certain triumph ! Father, we are but men ; must suffer, feel, And hope as men ; and must as men require A base terrestrial for our daring acts ! Until this hour a cruel power enslaves us ; We have chosen woe and death rather than crime, Or to bow low before debauch, corruption 1 Insensate pride, senile decrepitude, Oppressing all the nations of the earth, Are now the forces ruling this great city : The Emperor has not sufficient strength To keep what yet he holds ; nor Alexander Weight enough to inaugurate a government ; The power possessed by both will be destroyed In the approaching conflict. We cry to you ! Will any of you, leaders in the faith, Strengthen your souls for struggle ; tear the cross From these dark vaults and bowels of the earth ; Plant it in glory on the Roman Forum? 2 I see the storm-clouds gathering on your brow; Forgive me that I feel my brothers* shame, And know the hour is come to hurl down Jove ! Victor. I've heard your words in grief, Hieronymus. Baptismal waters have I vainly poured Upon your head, and vainly taught you of The blessed world beyond the dreary grave ; You do not understand the truth, nor cast The old man, full of sin, from out your heart. Your fault is deep. You place your hope in steel, And thirst for temporal success. {Funeral chants are heard in the distance?) Hear you the chants now echoing through these graves, Like the last sighing of the pitiless storm In which the Son of God, bowing His head, Gave up the Ghost in direst agony? He called not hosts of angels to His aid, Nor asked for vengeance on His murderers ! 30* 35o IRIDION. Iridion. Then creeping shame and misery are to be Our everlasting portion ? Victor. In your impatient pride, You err to call a moment everlasting. I tell you it is true " that only guests Sleep in this House."* Not only within Heaven, But on our fields of Pain, Love will at last Be conqueror ! All peoples shall bow down Before Him, and no Caesar shall there be Who bendeth not the knee before the Lord ! Know you this figure, son? Iridion. A Grecian lute, Such as my fathers used, with four chords strung; It is the Lycaonian Orpheus. 3 Victor. It is a type of Christ. As Orpheus tamed The wild beasts with his lyre, so our dear Lord By His harmonious word unites in love The thronging millions. When we see this lute We think of the innumerable choirs Of spirits acting on this earth, we seize The harmonies that from the Cross's foot Already penetrate to distant nations. The Son of God lives by His own great Power, And has no need of men at arms. (He makes the sign of the cross upon Iridio?t' 's brow.') Believe, And sin no more. As father truly pained By a son's fault, I've given you this warning; ' Should you renew the error, I must act As shepherd of my flock, and punish you As judge and guardian of this Christian people. (Chorus heard advancing.} CHORUS. We call upon thee from the depths, O Lord ! Receive the martyr's soul into Thy bosom; Christ Jesus, let him in Thy glory rest ! In dying, prayed he for his murderers. {The funeral train appears, bearing the martyr on a bier; the * An inscription graven upon the catacombs : " Ccemeterium est domus in qua hospites dormire solent." IR ID ION. decapitated head 'rests on his breast; men in long black robes bear torches ; the procession is closed by women clad in white, wearing close veils. ) Victor. Give me the symbol of his martyrdom, Sign sacred upon earth as in the Heavens! {The Pro-Christum is brought to him} He takes it with emotion and places it upon the breast of the corpse?) Thine own blood, shed by thee for the Son of man, I give thee in thy coffin, that thou mayst Arise with it upon the Judgment Day! (He kneels at the side of the corpse ; all kneel with him.) O Thou who took'st upon Thyself the form Of the wretched, that the wretched might be saved, Deliver us from sin ! Wash in Thy Blood, O Christ, receive into eternal rest, Thy servant's soul whose pilgrimage is o'er, Whose wanderings are ended upon earth! The Voice of a Virgin. Let him behold Thy sacred face, O Lord ! Another Virgin. And give him such a spring as earth ne'er knew! Iridion. From all temptation to avenge him, save us, Lord ! Chorus. Who speaks of vengeance in this holy hour? Victor (rising from his knees). Happy are they who die in the Lord; they rest From their labors: their works do follow them ! (He lifts up his hands over the kneeling people. ) Rise ! bear the body to Faustinus' tomb ! (All rise. He places hints elf at the head of the procession, which moves slowly on, Iridion alone remaining. As the Virgins pass, Cornelia Metella leaves their ranks and stands before Iridion.) Metella. Will you not join us, Hieronymus? Iridion. I cannot. I must elsewhere pass this night. Metella. Where? Where? Iridion. Where you would tremble for your soul, Although the Christian star were rising there ! Metella. Some plot, I know, is ripening 'midst these graves ! 35 2 IR W ION. Simeon of Corinth stumbled against me But yesterday; he did not even see Me as he passed; a lion's skin around His shoulders hung, and his eyes gazed in space, Glaring with rage and tumult. Ah, wretched me! Iridion. Why "wretched," sister? The Pastor of the flock Declares you purest of the Christian maids, Nay, one of the Elect: what would you more? Metella. Brother, such words seem strange upon your lips. Iridion. Metella, seem they so? Metella. Yes,— you are changed ! Are you the brother whom I taught to pray, With whom I knelt upon Euphemia's grave? The very same baptized Hieronymus? Iridion. The same. Metella, see! Metella. I've prayed so long; Fasted so many days and nights, and . . . Iridion. And you will thus win Heaven, I do not doubt. Metella. I prayed not for myself, — no, not myself. Iridion. For whom? Metella, speak! Metella. A brother who . . . Iridion. A brother ? Speak ! Metella. How terrible you are ! Iridion. Tell me his name ! Ay, whosoe'er he be, He shall be yours. It were far better so ! But hasten, maiden ! There will be no time Left for betrothals by the Cross you love ; But I will see you married, richly dowered, And sent to Thebes, where you may live in peace. Passion has gained the soul of the Elect ! (He laughs scornfully.} Metella. Why, brother, are you mad ? Iridion. His name ! His name ! Metella. His name was Hieronymus ! such as I knew him once, devout and calm, not he Who like a very madman stands by me, Whose eyes roll wildly in their sockets. Apage ! IRIDION. 353 Iridion. Pure, blessed maiden ! Nay, Metella, look, I'm calm and tranquil now ! Metella. And gentle as of old ? Iridion. Humble and calm near thee ! Metella. But humble before God ? Iridion. See, I will kneel here at your feet and call Upon the name of Christ ! Metella. Then promise me You will not join these men ; you will not arm For worldly strife or aim. Iridion. You know not what you ask. Metella. But promise me ! Iridion. * I am myself to lead them ! Metella. Woe ! Woe is me ! Iridion. Have you not heard it said By holy men the appointed time draws near? 5 Remember the words spoken by the Lord To His disciples, when about to leave them, That He would come again, and rule o'er them. Revealed He not to His beloved John On Patmos' lonely shore, that Babylon Should surely fall ; the Just inherit Earth ? Metella. Yes, at some future time. Not now ! not now ! Iridion. Metella, now or never it must be ! Metella. Victor condemned Eugene for teaching thus ! Iridion. The Romans killed Eudore for teaching thus ! Metella. Come to the Bishop and confess your sins, And, like a faithful child, be ruled by him. Iridion. Nay, I can only be a child with you, And that but for a fleeting moment, like A flying wave that never can return. Beyond your gaze, and I must bathe in blood ! No grass must grow where my horse sets his hoof ! Metella. My brother, you blaspheme ! Iridion. Not so. I but Divine the coming triumphs of your God ! Metella. His lessons teach not bloodshed nor re- venge. He pardons all. Did He not bless the poor Because of their humility? Did He 354 IRIDION. Not promise Heaven itself to little children, For their docility and innocence? Iridion. That was at first ! The weak have now grown strong ; The children now are men. Metella. Have mercy, Heaven ! Strike him not dead before my pitying eyes ! What do I say? Am I not vowed to God? For the first time I dread the unseen world ! Who is this standing close beside me here ? The wings spread o'er me like a monstrous pall ! How dark it grows ! How cold ! I shiver ! fear ! Iridion. Let me support you ! Lean on my strong arm ! Metella. Brother, I see it all ! Grace will be given ! Angels and fiends in combat, — love will win ! I know that I was born to save your soul ! Iridion. Not you nor any other can slake the thirst That burns, destroys my soul. Even if our God Called not so audibly upon us now, And if the saints had promised not their aid, — I would commence the work unseconded, alone ! Metella, do not start away from me ; Perhaps we'll never meet on earth again ! I have related you my mother's fate, But the great object of my father's life I have not yet revealed to you. Be strong, And drop by drop prepare to drink with me The secret poison that consumes my soul ! Metella. " Perhaps we'll never meet on earth again" ? The last time, did you say ? Hieronymus ! Iridion (seating himself at the foot of the sarcophagus against which she leans). Upon the thirteenth anniversary Of Crimhild's death, Amphilochus sent for me, Wishing to speak with me without delay. For many days before I had remarked A mortal pallor on his suffering face. " My son," he said, " let them prepare a feast Within the Delphian Apollo's Hall ; IRIDION. 355 For the last time in life we sit to-day At the same table. Thy mother's God pursues Me still in vengeance, and before the sun Again pours his full radiance over earth, I shall have gone forever and forever I" Great sadness seized me as I left his room To obey his command. He spent the day shut up With the old man from Mauritania. Sometimes their voices swelled upon the ear; Then died away like a retreating fight, Till all was lost in long and utter silence. At last they came together to the hall Of festival. Metella. A shiver like a cold snake chills my veins ! Iridion. My father pressed my sister to his heart, Then gently putting her aside, he said : " That which thy brother shall command thee, do For love of me!" No other word he spake to the weeping girl, But pouring a libation to the gods, He drank from a Greek goblet, myrtle-crowned : " The memory of great men [ M A freedman read to him from Plato's Phsedon. After the reading ceased, he ordered up A hundred slaves, and gave them all their freedom. In answer to their thanks, he said : " As I Now break your chains, remember you must break The chains of slaves, your brothers ! Ever remain To my House faithful ! Always obey my son ! What he shall order, you will do for me !" His face glowed with a radiance soft as eve When shadows first begin to dim the sky, The purple hues still lingering in the west. {A moment of silence.*) Then in the Palace of my Fathers fell That gloomy night which sealed my fate forever ! Fire flashed from every tripod, while from time to time Old Masinissa cast fresh incense on them. My father's manly head at last reposed Upon the bosom of his friend ; his life Went slowly out \ — suffering could not destroy 35^ IRIDION. His dignity, although on his calm face We read the anguish of resigning plans Long cherished, — far from their accomplishment ! Vainly the agonies of death increased, The cold scorn on his lips alone revealed His suffering as it ever deeper grew : He died as the gods live ! . . . Metella. I see ! I see him ! Where is his guardian angel? . . . Iridion. 'Twas then he left to me his plans of ven- geance, And traced that future which he longed to mould. Laying his hand upon my head, he said : " Thou shalt not bow thy head to aught on earth ! Thou shalt not lose thy faith in evil hours ! Thou shalt not pardon ever ! — Thou shalt pursue Thy vengeance always ! Thou shalt keep back naught In weak compassion, but trample o'er the forms Of those already fallen, so to reach And ruin those who still may stand beyond ! Thy soul shall never know weakness nor pity ! Never despair ! As the young moon in Heaven, So wax the nations upon earth, again to wane. The star of Rome stands at this very hour Upon the horizon's verge, ready to sink In the abyss of darkness, ruin, death !" And thus he spake and taught me all that night, Revealing to me a new life : — meanwhile, Ever more heavy grew the vengeful hand Of a herce God upon my dying sire. And when the kindling rays of that sunrise Which he was not to see lighted the East, He held his hands above my head : — I swore To obey him, — never to know a hope ; Never to yield to pity ! Never to love ! To offer my young bloom on Hellas' shrine ! I've sworn to live but to destroy, Metella ! Metella. Forgive him, Christ ! He knows not what he says ! Iridio7i. Then Masinissa poured a smoking cup Of blood upon my head, and on my father's hands. IRIDION. 357 The first rays of the sun shone on the bed Of the dying Greek : " Hellas ! Remember Hellas !" He cried in tones of quivering passionate love ; Then looked around him like a conqueror Through victory transfigured to a god ! # * # * * * Metella, vengeance is my heritage, And with this vengeance I will live — or die ! Metella. But upon whom will you revenge yourself? Who injures you? injured Amphilochus ? Iridion. Who drives you down into these catacombs ? Would give you to the lions, were it known You were a Christian? Who assails your God, And tramples the divine out in the soul ? Know you naught of the history of the past? I'll teach it you, Metella, as Christ taught The hidden meaning of the Holy Scriptures To the disciples on their way to Emmaus. The night of the world was near; the innocent flowers Of morning withered, and the fire of youth Died into misery on the shores of Egypt ;* Once more the voices of the Free swelled on From the wild North ;f then they died out again, And slavery ruled the world. A single man, Amphilochus, stood boldly up, and cried : " I will bring back again your ancient glory : We will destroy the Destroyer of the world !" Daughter of Christ, the Merciful, could you Condemn this man, whose constant task it was To strike the fetters from the limbs of slaves, Restore the wretched, teach the deaf and dumb The sweet speech spoken in their Father's house, And bring the oppressed and wandering exiles home ? Has He not thus announced the coming of The God of love ? John cried out from the depths Of the wide desert that the Son of man, The Lord of hope, was coming to the world, But that He would be crucified, and die * Allusion to the reign of Lagides. f Allusion to Mithridates. 3* 358 IRIDION. In agony ! My father has declared His second coming, and made straight the way Before Him who comes conquering and to conquer; Before Him who will rule in justice, peace ; In whom, Metella, you do not believe ! Metella. I not believe ? Iridion {seizing her by the arm). No. You believe that He Will give His world a prey to cruel Rome ; Nor e'er be satiated with the blood Of His adoring, faithful, murdered people ! Metella. Lost soul ! eternal fire shines in his eye . . . The lambent flame of God's own cherubim ! Iridion. Believe ! You know not what a day may bring; Nor what I may effect even on the morrow ! Believe, — I am the Leader of your People ! Believe, and the great Jupiter shall fall Forever from the Forum — to rise no more ! {Footsteps are heard approaching.) There Victor comes, the unbeliever ! Stay And meet him here ! I will return ere long. {He disappears in one of the dark passages.) Metella {kneeling). Poor heart, no longer mine ! throbbing so like A stranger in my breast, — whence these wild bounds? I'll pray to Christ .... O Lord, look down upon and answer thy handmaid ! I've never turned my looks away from the Cross To gaze into the face of mortals, yet Two mortal eyes are burned into my soul ! His eyes, O Lord ! He stands before me like One of Thy prophets, saints, or holy angels, — He speaks — I hear his words — and long to die ! {She buries her face in her hands. ) Have pity on me, Christ ! Deliver me ! (Victor enters, followed by the procession. It passes on, while he remains.) Victor. "As oft as in my name ye shall together meet, IRIDION. 359 I will be in your midst." (To Metella.) Daughter, you have Not been with us to-day, to hearken to His Word. Simeon and others I have missed from prayer. Leave solitary ways to wicked men, And turn away from those who furtively Lurk through these graves, weaving their plots of guile, Sowing dissension even 'midst the saints. Metella. Father ! Victor. Hast thou been praying here ? Metella. I pray. Victor. Hast thou been quite alone? Metella. I am alone. Victor. Thou flutterest like a flickering, dying lamp! Metella, what means this? Metella. I seek the Lord, My God, — and cannot find Him. Pray for me ! Victor. The greatest saints have moments of despair, A sign the Fiend is near. Watch then and pray ; The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Metella. Father ! Victor. What is it, daughter? Metella. Is it near dawn ? Victor. Nay, daughter, the long night is just begun. Metella. But, Father, is the Day of Judgment near ? Victor. The Son of man may come at any hour, To call us to His bar. Art thou afraid ? Metella. No : but I am so weak, — I fain would know. . . Victor. I will remember thee at sacrifice. Thy* soul is sad ; thy body weak with fasts : Rise, daughter, and fear nothing ! Try to sleep. (Exit Victor.*) Metella. Why did I not detain the Bishop ? . . . Hark ! I hear light steps (Enter Iridion), the footsteps of the tempter ! (She turns toward him.) As perfect as a Seraph ! Beautiful ! Victor ! Victor ! Iridion. He is too far to hear you. Metella (throwing her arms round the sarcophagus). O ashes of the holy dead, protect Metella through this lingering, dreadful night ! 3 6 ° IRIDION. Iridion. What do you fear? Metella. I know not what I fear. It grows so dark ! so dark ! so bitter cold ! It seems as if the living all were dead, And we alone remained alive on earth [ And we are damned : the rest are safe in Heaven ! Iridion. The hour of which I told you comes, and is Too hard for your soft heart. Metella. It is not so. Have I not longed to bear the martyr's palm, And shall I tremble when my Lord prevails? . . . Something so black, vast, wild, and terrible Is tearing up my soul, breaking my heart, Whirling my brain ! What is it, Hieronymus ? Iridion. A woman needs no deeds. In tranquil prayers She may find her redemption. If she feel Not strong enough to follow on my path, Let her forsake me ! Here part our ways, — farewell ! Young virgin of the Lord, you may be blest As ere we met ! We may meet once again, Though never more, Metella, upon earth ! Metella. So were it best, my brother ; I will go ! Feet rise, and bear my soul far . . . far from here ! {She struggles to rise, Iridion gives his hand to aid her.} You plunge me back anew, — I cannot move . . . Ah, me ! Iridion. Unhappy girl ! Fly while you can from me ! Metella. Something Immortal seizes upon me ! All-powerful arms embrace me — hold me here ! Iridion. For the last time 1 speak, — Metella, fly ! Metella. I will not leave you, brother, to the Fiend ! Until your soul is dead in mortal sin, You are my brother, signed with the same cross Before the face of our great God in Heaven ! Iridio7i. Bones of the dead, and thou, my mother earth, Bear witness, I would brave a thousand deaths To save this innocent victim ! Her alone ! {He paces up and down in agitation.} Thus did my father once destroy the soul Of the young dedicated priestess ! IRIDION. 361 O powerful Fate, thou triumphest o'er all ! (He approaches Metella.) There's no escape ! Metella ! O Metella ! Metella. I pray for you. Kneel here. Give up re- venge ! Say, I forgive them for Metella' s sake ; Kneel and repeat the prayer after me ! Iridion. It cannot be ! To-morrow must begin My prayer of blood, not muttered in a vault, But loudly breathed through the wide air to heaven, Amid the sobs, wails, shrieks of dying foes ! {A cry is heard approaching). To arms ! To arms ! Iridion. I come ! Metella. 'Tis Simeon ! Iridion. Yes, — thousands more like him await me now, And chide me with delay ! I may not stay ! {He draws off her veil.') Away! thou hid'st from me my angel's soul ! {He folds her to his heart and kisses her forehead. ) Lips, press the promise on this brow of snow Of happier destiny ! Awake to life ! Metella. Alas ! I'm damned with thee to all eternity! {She faints.) Voices. Haste ! Haste ! {Iridion places Metella, still unconscious, upon the sar- cophagus. He takes up his helmet, places it upon his head, and buckles on his armor. He approaches Me- tella, and bends over her prostrate form. ) Iridion. No, no ! Thou art not dead ! Metella, wake ! {He lifts her in his arms.) Awake on this mailed breast ! . . . And thou, Old man, be damned to everlasting woe, Unless thou payest me for all this blight With victory, and Rome's entire ruin ! Metella {recovering). Who calls? I thought I heard an angel speak ! Iridion. He calls of whom 'tis said : ** He comes to abase The proud !" 31* 362 IRIDION. Metella. At last I see Thee ! Take Thy bride ! Oh, I have waited for Thee long, my Lord ! Iridion. Lift up your head ! Pierce with your gaze these walls ; Behold the Elect ! They chant the triumph hymn : Rise, dead ! The Resurrection is at hand ! Metella. The conqueror's glory beams from Thy high Face, And glittering swords are flashing round Thy Brow ! Where are Thy wounds, my Lord, that I may bathe Them with my tears? Iridion {lifting her from the ground). To-morrow, woman, will The promise of the kingdom of the Cross Be all fulfilled ! Metella. I fear to lose Thee, Lord, In this great darkness ! Let me be with Thee ! Thou hast promised Thou wouldst surely come for me, And now Thou takest me not, — forgettest Thy handmaid ! Iridion. Unfortunate, weep riot! Do not despair! Metella. Let me die in the light of Thy great glory ! I am already dead in Thee, my Lord ! Iridion {lifting her up). Woman, wait but a day, — I will return. To all the brethren loudly cry : To arms ! {Exit Iridio?i.) Metella. My Lord is here ! . . . He comes again to earth, The sword of victory flashes in His hands, His last words were, To arms ! To arms ! Ye priests, Bones of the dead, and living warriors, And all ye people of the Lord, cry out : To arms! To arms! Men, follow me ! To arms! {She hurries forward.) SCENE II. Another part of the catacombs. Simeon of Corinth. A roll of parch??tent, a crucifix, and a death^s- head stand on a tablet near him. Simeon. With one day's bound to rule o'er all the world ! IRIDION. 3 6 3 Not that material earth glittering with gold, Groaning in chains; but that realm infinite Of souls ; — to reign there in Thy name, O Lord ! Like a vast sea of light, this thought unrolls Before me. I ever float toward this great sea, Struggling through torrents of oppression, pain, Cleaving the gloomy waves with greater force; Each hour the tide bears me more swiftly on ! All that is matter, Christ, I would subject to Thee ! There are the deserts, mountains, cities, streams, The cries of merchants, clamors of the kings: My soul, made in Thy image, then would float Above them, ruling and embracing all, Ordain them prayer or silence, thought or sleep, Joy, fear, repentance, — I would reign with Christ ! . . . Iridion {enters). I greet you, son of Hellas! Doubly brother ! Simeon. You come at last ! Iridion. I am in time to act. Simeon. Have you seen Victor? Will he move with us? Iridion. The superannuated child who rules us? His gentleness is weakness; weakness, obstinacy! Simeon. His flock will not move on in unknown fields Without the shepherd. Greek, he must be won ! Iridion. We will delay our onset till the last, Then with despairing prayers surround him suddenly; All unprepared his fears may force him on, Or God's own Spirit shine into his heart. Simeon. I'll go and throw myself before his feet; Perhaps the hot sparks breathing from my heart Will kindle his cold brain. Iridion. His eyes are dim, His soul asleep; we must go on without him, Surmount all obstacles; thus only can We hope to win deliverance from shame ! Simeon. All will be as you've prophesied! Hark! Hear You not the sound of many mingling voices? As I ordained, they meet upon the space Which separates the holy Christian graves From the wide cemeteries of the pagans. 3 6 4 IRIDION. Iridion. Simeon, take up this mystic crucifix, And bear their God, still unavenged, before them ! Simeon {seizing the crucifix). Alas! how blind and groveling I have been ! I thought that man must bear wrong patiently; That to win Heaven, he must bear shame and pain ! (He takes up the death' 's-head.) Look on these fleshless temples; into these Dim caverns from which shone a lustrous eye, The joy and light of my once happy life ! The Bishop had consented to unite us In holy bonds; we were so young and happy; Another day had made her mine forever ! But at the dead of night a centurion came, And dragged the helpless innocent away To fight with wild beasts in the Flavian circus: — This skull alone was left me from the tiger's jaws! I struggled with resistance, rage, despair, As if with Lucifer, wild as a fiend ! At last I bowed before the Holy Lamb, And gave to Jesus all my fiery soul. {He places the skull upon the tablet.*) Rest, hapless maiden, rest ! The dawn is near, The Resurrection trump about to sound, And soon thou wilt arise in loveliness From thy red bed of death ! Iridion. Revenge ! Revenge ! Where swarm the bees, let vengeance fall the first ! {Exeunt Simeon and Iridion.) SCENE III. Spacious vaults in the catacombs. The walls are filled with pagan cenotaphs and inscriptions, the ground is almost covered with grave-mounds, tombstones, and mon- umental pillars. It has been the receptacle of the pagan dead, and no Christian inscriptions are within it. The Christians enter, bearing torches. CHORUS OF YOUNG DISCIPLES. Wretched is he who is of woman born : His days are few, and ever full of woe ! IRIDION. 365 Even on the cross He cannot turn for thorns, Nor tear away His hands for cruel nails ! His sister darkness is : His grave is with the worm ! CHORUS OF OLD DISCIPLES. Holy ! Holy ! Holy ! Just are all Thy judgments ! From martyr-sires, Thou bring' st new generations Of Christian sons ! Thou coverest the mounds Of our dead bones with the fresh green of spring, The flowers of young life! And Thou wilt found, From the dying life-flood of our willing veins, Thy holy kingdom, justice, for our children ! CHORUS OF YOUNG DISCIPLES. Send us a Comforter, and let Him stand On the high places of the earth, and plant His feet upon the neck of our proud foes ! {Enter Simeon and Iridion.) Simeon. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Peace be upon you all ! CHORUS OF OLD DISCIPLES. O Simeon ! Why is he who is with thee, lately clad In the catechumen's peaceful robes, now girt With armor, glittering with steel? Teach him repentance is the truest shield, And prayer the only armor for a Christian. Simeon {to Iridion). Step on this mound, and answer for yourself! I will meanwhile invoke the Holy Spirit. Iridion. Let him who doubts trust not to his now wisdom, But look upon the signs, remembering The Promised Days, which were to precede the last Of woes on earth ! This hour Time ends his silence ; The tortures of the Just are over now ; Graves will no longer for our martyrs ope ; Our virgins no more fill the tiger's maw; 3 66 IRIDION. The dead bones quicken, mount to Heaven's blue ! Arise, ye Christians, cowering in the dust ! Tremble, ye rulers, who increase our pangs ! For all " the valleys shall exalted be, And the high places of the earth laid low !" Young Disciples. O son of promise, may the Lord be with thee ! Iridion. The lightnings of Jehovah are with us : From our humiliation springs our inspiration ! Our trust is in the mercy of the Son, The glorious power of the triune God ! If ye will aid me with your wills and prayers, Our strength will be increased a thousand-fold. Strike as one man for vengeance ! Even to-night Division seals the doom of the cursed city ! The son of madness totters on his throne, The praetorians turn away from him their hearts, The storm-tost people know not by what wind To steer their course ; like waves before the tumult, They rise and fall ; but soon the heavy wings Of the black tempest will swoop down on them, Awaking all the lightnings of their passions ! Look how the clouds are piling above Rome Which murders prophets, crucifies the saints ! The legions throughout Asia revolt ; The Alemanni on the Rhine rebel ; Caesar and Alexander stand prepared For their last struggle. The one cries u Jupiter !" The other summons Mithras to his aid ! What matters it to us which of them conquers, Since both will equally blaspheme our Lord ? Such are the signs long since predicted you ; Look up, and see them glittering in the sky ! Will firmly, you are free ; and Christ shall rule ! CHORUS OF OLD DISCIPLES. Who gave thee the commission to conduct us ? Who stamped thy brow with the seal of the Holy Word ? Where is the anointed shepherd of our flock? Will he point to thee, saying clearly to us : Behold the Leader whom the Lord hath armed ? IRIDION. Simeon {standing upon a tomb). I bear him witness {He holds aloft the crucifix.) Flow on, ye tears of Christ ! Open afresh, ye gaping, bleeding wounds ! Behold the Lord, regarding not the proud, Whom you would fetter at the thrones of men ! But God is conqueror of the gates of death ! Men without hearts, sleep on, if sleep you can ; Cumber like stocks and stones His living way, To you I speak not ! You who do not burn To see the new Jerusalem descend Upon the waves of time, — to you I speak not ! I call on those for whom He suffered shame And anguish, till woe grew to such a height The sun in horror veiled his radiant face ! Ah ! since that night of terror, who defends The Son of man ? . . . who strikes for Jesus Christ ? He hungered — there were none to give Him food 1 Thirsted — but there were none to give Him drink ! Naked — none came to clothe or comfort Him ! But every day and every passing hour The nations of the earth conspire against Him, Scorn His disciples, crucify anew ! CHORUS OF THE YOUNG. Curses upon the worshipers of Moloch ! Iridion. Let not the appointed hour escape brothers ! Gaze not upon it as the gleam of wings Whirring above our heads, fading in distance ; Nor as the lightning flash, scathing the sky, To vanish 'midst the clouds ! O brothers, seize, And clasp these moments to your heart of hearts ! Press from them that which never will return ! Strike from them now the glittering spark of life, For they contain the germs of our whole future ; Long centuries are wrapped within their shroud ; They hold the hope of all humanity, — These centuries are yours, — if you know how to gr, them ! 3 68 IRIDION. CHORUS OF OLD DISCIPLES. The flame of prayer is dying in our souls ; A mystic veil darkens the sky above us ; Save us, O Lord, from all the Devil's wiles ! Iridion. This is mere weakness ! Summon all your strength ! I call on you by chains your fathers wore ; By Nero's butcheries; the arena's bloody sands; The victims of the amphitheatre ; Your daughters' shame, — shake off these craven fears ! Be men ! And Rome is yours ! CHORUS OF YOUNG DISCIPLES. Thy voice, like trumpet-thunders, stirs our souls, Driving us up to the surface of the earth ; But our hearts throb, and our hair stands on end ! Simeon of Corinth, speak ! what seest thou ? Simeon. I gaze with the eyes of John, to whom ap- peared The new Jerusalem of the Elect. He sleeps In his lone grave, and angels bend above him. To-day or else to-morrow, he will rise, And then I will retire that he may lead you. But now 'tis I who call you, prophesy. CHORUS. Simeon, strange clouds are sweeping o'er thy brow, The black cross quivers in thy trembling hands Like swaying branch upborne by stormy winds ! Simeon. The spirit lifts me up — and bears me on ! My feet are on the ruins of a city, Idols are overturned like new-mown grass ; On piles of broken arms, eagles of gold Lie shattered without beaks or wings ; I see Imperial purple strewn about in rags, Covered with cobwebs, like flax on the grass. The fire is out within the vestal's lamp ; Unbraided hang the tresses of her hair ; The long robes of the consuls float no more ; The Caesars' jeweled crown is soaked in gore ; IRIDION. 369 Flames run along the heaps of festering corpses, And flying chariots vanish in the distance ! {He falls upon his knees.*) O God, who sufferedst on the cross, inspire * Their souls as thou hast mine ! kindle their hearts With the consuming fire of battle ! {Rising fro7n his knees.) High Heaven is overflowing with your prayers, — The foaming waves repulse the infidels. The souls of martyrs, of the massacred, Are placed before the altar which forever burns Around the Great White Throne : I see Him shine Who sits upon that Throne ; He counts them all ; He finds their number all completed now ; The crimson Book of Martyrdom is closed, Death banished, and a loud voice cries : " Henceforth You witness unto Christ through life and victory !" chorus {kneeling). Christ ! Christ ! our hearts throb wild within our breasts ! Forsake us not in this our hour of doubt, Reveal to us what Thou would'st have us do ! Iridion. O ye of little faith, can ye still doubt ? {He points to the crucifix.) Lift up your eyes ! gaze on your dying Lord ! His lips are open still ; do you not hear The last cry breaking from his anguished soul ? "My Father, why hast Thou forsaken me V 9 Brothers, will you again abandon Him to-day? CHORUS OF THE YOUNG. No ! No ! Iridion {starts and utters a sharp cry). Ha ! what stands there ? Simeon. Thou gro west pale ! Iridion. Look, 'neath the vaults, where light and dark- ness meet ! 32 37° IRIDION. One of the Chorus. Some one approaches us with light, quick tread. (Metella glides rapidly forward. Her veil is displaced, and her long hair floats on the wind.) Simeon. We greet thee, virgin ! Bride of the eternal love I CHORUS. Whence comest thou so late, and all alone, With wild disheveled hair? (Metella stops near the toi7ib where Iridion stands.) Simeon. Greek, finish quickly what thou hast begun ! Iridion {to Metelld). Dost recognize me? Remem- berest thou my words ? (She sees him and shrieks.) A Man. Heard you that piercing shriek? Other Voices. It fills our hearts with awe ! Iridion. Silence ! she speaks ! Metella. Thou didst reveal Thyself! Thy wings were swords on which the angels rode ! Thy mighty words came crashing through my ears ; Since then I run forever to and fro And cry as angels bid {turning to the people) : To arms ! to arms ! Iridion (aside). Through thee I conquer, Masinissa ! (Addressing the people. ) Hear ! A woman's spirit has divined, before you The mysteries of Heaven ! wash off the shame In the hot blood of the idolaters ! (He places his hand on the head of Metella.) Become the living voice of promised glory ! Before our people lift the veil of time ! Metella. I saw him armed with dazzling lightning . . . He went forth conquering, and to conquer all . . . I looked into his face, and grew immortal . . . CHORUS OF THE OLD. Is it a vision ? Hast thou a spirit seen ? Has it yet vanished, or is it present still? IRIDION. 371 Metella. I saw him armed with lightning ... he marched and fought, And triumphed everywhere . . . naught could resist him . . . The arrows from his bow compassed the earth . . . Terror surrounds him as a cloak a king . . . And when he moves, pale Death accompanies him ! {She hurries onward. ) A Voice. Her long hair floats and flutters like a mist Amid this surging sea of heads and torches ! Iridion. Where wilt thou go ? Metella, answer me ! Metella. Where the light cannot pierce, my voice shall reach : To arms ! to arms ! Simeon. To arms ! All. To arms ! To arms ! Metella. O Darkness, rend your walls before my cry ! Dead rocks remove, — bear witness to the Lord ! Simeon. Urged by the spirit on, she disappears. Many Voices. And we will follow her to victory ! Iridion. You know the Palace of Amphilochus ; Whoe'er shall there present himself and say : "Sigurd, the son of Crimhild," shall receive Immediately a javelin, sword, and helmet. Remember: "Sigurd, son of Crimhild." First Barbarian. Was Crimhild, Odin's priestess, child of Sigurd, Once famous in the distant Chersonesus ? Second Barbarian. Our sires invoked that name with love and awe. Third Barbarian. Our kinsmen from the cold sea of the North Chanted to us in the dense Saxon woods Her funeral hymn. She was from Silver-Land. Iridion. She was my mother ! Ye are all my brothers ! (He comes down from the tomb, and moves among the Bar- barians. ) Give me your hands ! We have abandoned all Our ancient errors ; let the errors still, Once common to our fathers, weave new ties 372 IRIDION. Between their sons ! In the name of Christ, be faithful to me, Brothers ! CHORUS OF BARBARIANS. Oh, son of Crimhild ! Son of Silver-Land ! From freemen come free pledges never broken ! The blue-eyed, fair-haired, sturdy sons of the North Will not betray thee ! To thee they give their bodies, As they have given their souls to their new God ! Iridion. The son of Sigurd thanks his faithful breth- ren ! CHORUS OF BARBARIANS. 'Tis centuries since Herminius began The combat against Rome, — the southern elephant ! His bones rest in the woods of Irminsul. On ! on ! Before a wandering spirit drove us forth From our dark pines, we had already heard Our Bards announce the ruin of proud Rome. Iridion our Herminius shall be ! Lead us to battle ! Lead us to destroy The palaces of treacherous Italy ! {Subterranean noises are heard. A wild storm rages, ac- companied by an earthquake.') Simeon. Why ragest thou, O Earth ? thou mother of Dead bodies, not of living souls ? Iridion. Earth's voice Announces judgment on the idolaters ! CHORUS OF THE OLD. O Simeon ! hear'st thou not the voice of God In anger, in these dreadful thunderings? Simeo?z. The wrath of God is here announced, — I bless it ! The Almighty rises — the Abyss cries mercy ! {Subterranean noises increase, with consequent alarm and confusion. ) The very rocks are shuddering in affright, And the winds hiss like serpents ! The Furies send Tempests before them, as they haste to claim IR ID I ON. 373 Their ancient worshipers ! Their dead lie here ! Their graves are yawning wide and bottomless ! Hosanna ! See, the Day of Judgment dawns ! CHORUS OF THE YOUNG. Now keep thy promise, Hieronymus ! The will of Christ reveals itself through thee ! Iridion. Mithras and Jove go thundering down to- gether, As we, the faithful Christians, march to plant The Holy Cross upon the Capitol ! My treasures all are yours ! My blood to its last drop ! Swear then to follow me ! CHORUS OF THE OLD. Swear not ! Woe ! woe ! CHORUS OF THE YOUNG. We swear ! We swear it in the name of Christ ! Iridion, You'll know no rest, no prayers, nor feed upon The Body of the Lord, until you plant His sacred Cross upon the Capitol ! CHORUS OF THE YOUNG. We swear ! BARBARIANS. We swear ! CHORUS OF THE OLD. Earth yawns to swallow sacrilege ! (The tumult continues to increase. Crashing and subter- ranean noises; torches flicker and go out ; mounds, stones, and pillars totter ; the old graves of the pagans yawn; groups of Christians are swallowed up; fires break from the earth and panic prevails.') Iridion. Thus will Rome fall in ashes 'neath our swords ! 32* 374 IRIDION. Voices. The torches flicker ! Beware ! they will go out ! Men running back. Fire ! Fire ! Earth opens, sends forth flame and smoke ! CHORUS OF BARBARIANS. Room ! Let us make a way across this crowd ! Up ! up ! where javelins glance and keen blades shine In the light of day ! Why should the sons of ice Stay here to perish in this realm of fire ? Simeon. Friends, follow me ! He whom I bear before you Once stilled the storm-waves of a raging sea. Voices. Back ! back ! Before us flames rise from the earth ! Iridion. Here ! here ! This Christian tomb is safe enough. The Furies play with earthquakes in these graves ! Wild terror blinds you ! Cease not to be men ! Simeon. This stone is tottering — throws me at your feet ! Iridion. Come, lean on me ! {Pointing to his breast.*) This rock has never trembled ! Simeon. Where are the men who followed after me ? Iridion. All vanished ! . . . I never saw so wild a night. How few remain of all our thousand torches ! Simeon. And they, like dying stars, are going out; First one, and then another. We will be left In utter darkness in these awful vaults ! Many Voices. It is the hour of death ! Forgive our sins ! Simeon (to Iridion). Hold your torch high above this sea of darkness ! Iridion. I hold it firmly, but it throws no light. Simeon (seizing Iridion). Hear you that frightful crash? The tumult drowns The voices of the dying ! all is lost ! (Earth opens, and a group of men is swallowed.) IRIDION. 375 Iridion. I hear the voices of tfie living there below ! To me ! to me ! ye who still breathe and move ! Simeon. Oh ! where are they who but a moment since Stood at our side, and called on God for aid? Iridion. God has already judged them. {Addressing the voices.) This way ! To me ! CHORUS OF BARBARIANS. Through fire and darkness we still wander on, Pursued by earthquakes, thunder, lightning, flame, But our strong hearts beat calm as on our sea Of ice, sleet, hail, whirlwinds, and mist and snow. Iridion. Look to your steps ! Your torches here 1 I know The way, can lead you safely to the light. Voices in the distance. Burn Earth, until the Day of the Last Judgment ! Simeon. I hear the tramp of feet ; the sound of voices ; Our brethren on their way to Eloim ; They're safe ! Let us rejoin them ! Iridion. Heard you that cry ? CHORUS. On! On! Iridion. Fly ! Fly ! A Voice {approaching ever nearer). To arms ! To arms ! To arms ! {Iridion flies forward.') CHORUS OF THE OLD. Stop ! stop ! It is the Father of all lies, Who calls you to destruction ! Iridion. Metella's voice ! Simeon {retaining Iridion). I will not let you go, Hier- onymus ! Iridion. If I remain, who is to guide them out? {He moves on, repulsing Simeon.) I call upon you, O Amphilochus, Humble these flames of Erebus before me ! 37^ IRIDION. Voice of Metella. Netr thee, my crown shall be of stars immortal ! Iridion. O Christ, in whom she trusts, save the un- fortunate ! (It grows lighter. Flames break from the earthy Metella appears in their midst, Iridion rushes forward to save her.) CHORUS OF BARBARIANS. The helmet of our hero flashes lightning ! It disappears in darkness. Simeon. Hieronymus ! Barbarian. Sigurd ! our Sigurd, come ! Voice of Iridion. I hasten to you ! (He returns beaiHng Metella in his arms. ) Lower the torches ! this way ! follow me ! (Barbarians, Simeon, Christians, etc. , follow Iridion, who, winding through graves and mounds, bears off Metella in his arms. The flames fall before him, and the scene is left in darkness. ) CHORUS OF RETREATING BARBARIANS. Save us, O Son of man, and Rome shall be Thrice ruined, burned ! First that she is the foe Of the gay children of the sunny South, Of the strong freemen of the frozen North, And of the human race in every clime ! A Voice in the darkness. Storms, go to rest in these old pagan graves ! You ashes of the ancients, sleep once more ! (New flames rise from the earth and stand like pillars of fire. Masinissa appears in their midst,) CHORUS OF INFERNALS. Look ! At thy voice how peaceful we become, Burning like lamps before a sanctuary ! We, damned, who are to burn eternally, Immortal victims of immortal woes ! IRIDION. 377 Masinissa. The hour will come when earth shall be your prey ! Await it ! . . . Your work to-day must finish here ! You must no farther go. CHORUS OF INFERNALS. O victory ! We will not live forever in despair, In night eternal ! We will wreak revenge ! The spirits of the Light will one day ask : Where is the Earth, our sister? Blotted out ! And He who saved her, cry : Where is my Bride ? For answer we will fling her ashes back, And they will fly beyond the farthest star ! Masinissa. Peace, O my sons ! The moment of revenge Still sleeps in the depths of your eternity ! Thousands of human generations stand Between you and that happy, longed-for hour. Your power must increase with myriads won ; Men must have worn out much of present force ; All creeds must first be deeply dyed in blood, Then given up as false ; every negation Be covered o'er with slime, then deified ! Men first must drive their God from his own throne, Then strive to fill it with their dying forms ! Wait till their pride and nothingness are full, Till their maturity is only folly, Till power with them means naught but cruelty ! Infernals. And they shall perish ! Masinissa. We must possess their soaring intellect, Seize on the godlike thought which rests in them, Make them create worlds farther from the truth, Extinguish in their souls that spark divine Which they have ravished from celestial spheres; Must crown their brows with the meteor gleam of science; Must put ephemeral sceptres in their hands ; And make of them the autocrats of earth. Infernals. And they shall perish ! Masinissa {going up and down among the flames). Faith, Hope, and Love, eternal Trinity ! I've broken Thee asunder in the hearts 373 IRIDION. Of thy most faithful children, even the sons Of Benediction, — wrung Thy blessing from them ! Thou fillest not with them the vacant thrones Once filled by us in splendor, light, and bliss ! Thou'lt never find such glorious sons again, Great Enemy, who hast Thyself put out The blazing stars which were Thy proper glory ! Infernals. Our brilliant Thrones shall ever empty stand ! Our hymns of glory no more fill the sky ! His Psalm-singers shall perish at His feet ! Masinissa. This very night begins your ruin, men ! You, puny souls, shall never fill our thrones ! You will abandon God, as we have Him abandoned ! Infernals. And they will come at last to eat our bread, To dwell in our dark homes, and drink our cups of fire ! Masinissa. How canst Thou love them, deadly Enemy? They've gone astray from the first spring of earth ! No day has ever passed since they were made In which, disputing of Thy Nature, Substance, They have not dimmed Thy Name with sterile questions ! In Thy Great Name they torture, murder, burn ! In Thy Great Name they go forth to oppress ! Through all their knowledge, all their ignorance, Their reason or their folly, anguish, bliss, Humility, or pride, their crimes, or virtues, Their lowly prayers, or blasphemies of pride, — Thou'rt ever pierced and crucified anew! Great Foe ! on Heaven's heights Thou yet shalt drain The cup of gall they held to Thy wrung lips In Thy last sigh of love for them on earth, Until, in Thy turn, Thou shalt also curse them, Until in the midst of all Thy power, glory, The pangs of baffled love and useless mercy Shall teach Thee grief ! Then Thou shalt know what our Hell truly is ! Infernals. Glory to Him who glitters in the fires Of reprobation, bright as He once shone When girded by Heaven's rainbows, fed on Light ! Glory to Him ! and glory unto us ! Masinissa. With His own hand He covereth His brow, IR1DI0N. 379 Furrowed with Heaven's lightning ! In the depths Of the abyss He nourisheth a Thought For the war of the last days when ends this world ! Glory to Him ! Our light transmutes to heat, and darkness comes To overshadow me. Depart in silence, Brothers ! ACT IV. SCENE I. A scene in the camp of Alexander, without the walls of the city. Aristomachus and Lucius Tubero are in the foreground, while in the background Alexan- der Severus and Domitian are seen reclining upon couches, and conversing in a low tone with each other. Iridion enters. Iridion. Romans, I seek you in your master's name ! Make your complaints, and I will listen ; answer To each according to the will of Caesar. Aristomachus. If you desire to know what we com- plain of, You should have come at least a year ago, We would have told you then ; 'tis now too late ; For men who take up arms complain no more ; They threaten, not obey ; command what they require. You've seen our soldiers armed, prepared to march : — You have my answer, Greek. Iridion. Is this the answer too of Lucius Tubero ? Tubero. Although my associate is excitable, More skillful with his sword than with his words, Yet I can add but little to his speech. From me alone then tell the Emperor : He made my father open his own veins, And bleed to death in the bath ! My sister's child He forced to swallow burning coals ! Remind him, Greek, How many senators he has deprived Of life and honor in the last three years ! IRIDION. Tell him that I, surrounded once by friends, By prosperous relations, am now alone : The few he left me, die to-day of famine ! 'Tis true we have for them, Eutychian, Freedmen and concubines wearing the purple ! And, Greek, do not forget to add that he Has basely shamed a noble Grecian maiden. {Iridion draws forth his tablets, and writes upon them with his stylus. 1 ) What write you there, son of Amphilochus? Iridion. What you have said, — your name, — your hour of death / Proceed, I pray. Tubero. Danaus, thanks ! Tell him If he will nail Eutychian to a cross, Pay from his treasures the sums justly due, Resign his powers as high-priest, consul, Caesar, — We may grant him his miserable life, Let him retain his mistress if she choose, And send him to that country whence he came To curse and ruin Rome ! Aristomachus. But bid him haste ! To-morrow's dawn we force the city gates, One hour later in his palace stand. Iridio7i. Is there no more? Aristomachus {drawing his sword). Naught but the flash of steel ! Tubero {also drawing his sword). Only the sword can, in a single day, Wash out in blood the infamy of years ! Aristomachus. With steel we'll hew both crown and head from Caesar, And scare the laugh of scorn from the proud lips Of his confederate ! ♦ Iridion. Indeed ? . . . You have At last divined the scorn which fills my soul To hear a Roman prate indignantly Of yokes and chains, symbols of his own shame ! {He laughs,) Tiberius drove your sires, like beasts, to pens ; IRIDION. And Nero, scorned himself, trod them to scorn ! How can you dare complain of any shame ? You, sons of men who labored to disgrace And outrage the whole earth ! how dare you speak Of honor? Mistake not what you really are ! Your race is the most cruel, basest on earth ! Were this not true, would Asia, godlike Greece, The Hyrcanian Syrtis, the Jazigean wastes,* And every country which you have subdued, Lie withered 'neath your desolating breath, Crumbling in ashes, blighted and destroyed ? You have divined aright, I laugh in scorn / — As yet you know not what such smiles foretell ! (He stands directly in front of them, and addresses them in a tone of command.) Unless you instantly lay down your arms, Without delay fall at your Emperor's feet, Give every tenth man up to meet his vengeance ; Shame, torture, death await you. Romans, my mission now with you is over ! Aristomachus. Away to Caesar ! Tell him to anoint His hair for festival ! To-morrow eve He sleeps with Pluto o'er the gloomy Styx! Iridion {approaching Alexander). My embassy is now with Alexander. Domitian (to Alexander). Strike the intruder dumb with scorn ! Alexander. I cannot ! Iridion. Thy brother greets thee ! He demands to know Why at the dead of night thou fled'st his palace? He orders thy return without delay, And will commute thy doom of death to banishment ! Alexander (rising suddenly). No ! no ! a thousand times ! (To Domitian.) There's more in this * Hyrcania was situated on the coast of the Caspian Sea ; the Deserts of the Jaziges between the Don and Dnieper. 33 382 IRIDION. Than meets the ear ! I will hold converse with Iridion alone. Leave us, my friends ! {Exeunt all save Alexander and Iridion.} The gods of vengeance weave their treacherous mists Between our souls, son of Amphilochus. I can no longer read your heart, designs ; And you no longer seem to know Severus. Did you not vow a hecatomb to Fortune That day when justice should have rule in Rome ? Iridion. I vow it still ! Oh, if she would but grant A single day's, nay, but an hour's, justice, I might bring Rome itself and immolate As burning hecatomb upon the shrine Of this same goddess, Fortune ! Alexander. You wrong me, Greek, With your ambiguous words. Do you not owe Me thanks, that I believe not my own eyes, However clearly they report your perfidy ? I scarcely know myself why I so long To love and trust you ; to be loved and trusted ! Iridion. Thanks from my soul, Severus ! Ah ! if Fate Had made me as a man to live with men, And granted me to soothe my heart with friendship, I would have chosen you, as honored friend, From all the world, true Alexander ! It cannot be ! Look ! both our breasts are clad In iron, and can but approach in mortal combat ! Alexander. It is not yet too late ! Forsake the tyrant, Look through the mists gathering between our hearts ! Call me once friend, — and I will never doubt you. Iridion, where is your Elsinoe ? Iridion. Where Nemesis and all the Furies chain her ! Alexander. She still is pure as purest vestal virgin ; Pure as my thoughts of her ! Listen to me . . . Iridion, stop ! . . . Oh, I conjure you, stay ! . . . Yes, I have read unutterable pain In her heroic eyes ! I know she hates him ! . . . And can her brother fight for one she scorns, Retain her in a bondage worse than death? Iridion. Why are your days to be so short and sad, Young Eagle of the cliff? What will remain IRIDION. 383 Of all your noble love, your thirst for virtue? You perish like harmonious sounds, unheard By men, — known only to the gods ! Alexander. Why gaze upon me with a look so sad ? Yes, I have heard it said your mother bore A demigod in her prophetic breast ! Iridion. A god of vengeance to the Furies vowed ! . . . Alas ! The good inherit oft the punishment Due only to the guilty ! . . . Son of Mammea, know your hour draws near ! Alexander. Would you affright me, Greek? Iridion. No. I announce The simple truth. If you should lose, you die By the hand of the conqueror ; if you should gain, You perish by the swords of those who used Your name as standard to advance themselves ! Alexander. Shame upon him who fears that he must die Before death is upon him ! Shame on him Who fears to die when the gods call him home ! If danger threatens, stay and share it with me ! From the tiger's jaws I'll tear the sunny-haired, Restore to Rome the glories of her spring. Why do you shudder, brother, wring your hands? Would Elsinoe's honor, bliss, Rome's fame, Be bitter to your soul? Iridion, speak ! Iridion. I recollect that I was sent by Caesar, To report your answer ! Alexander. Remind me not of him ! And if the gods have given you a heart, Let the proud memories of Amphilochus, The agonies of Elsinoe's shame, Be brands of fire to chase him from his prey ! Sing as your tuneful ancestors once sang : " Yes, vengeance is the rapture of the gods." Iridion. Oh, innocence ! {He presses his hand.) For the last time on earth I press your hand ! for the last time, Severus ! We both stand on the border of the grave. Before the rosy dawn shall three times tint The sky, or you or I, it may be both, Will cross the Styx to Erebus ! {Exit Iridion.) 3^4 IR1DI0N. SCENE II. A hall in the palace of the Ccesars adorned with pillars, statues, costly vases, and tripods ; an altar dedicated to Mithras and dazzling with gold stands in the centre; in the background, a heavy curtain of purple hangs to the floor between two pillars of gold, its clasps are of precious stones. Before it is seated Elsinoe, clad in purple and glittering in jewels. Iridion enters armed and helmeted. Iridion {looking around). Where is the Accursed ? Elsinoe {pointing to the curtain). There! There! His body rests On violets ; his soul in the Furies' lap ! I choked within the curtain, and came forth To breathe a moment's liberty. Iridion. Spake he of me before he went to sleep ? Hast thou prepared him, as I counseled thee ? Elsinoe. He has accepted all, but wept, and beat His head against the wall. He called Eutychian, Threw himself on his breast and pressed his hands, Not daring yet to tell him he had given Command of the praetorians to thee. He told him that he hoped by gentle means And promises thou would'st win back the rebels. He begged me pray for him to my fierce gods ; Then weeping sprang upon his perfumed couch, And tossed and twisted like a wounded serpent ! Iridion. We must awake him ! Elsinoe. Brother, come w T ith me ! {Elsinoe unclasps the curtain, behind which Heliogabalus is seen asleep upon a couch of roses and violets. Iridion and Elsinoe stand for a mo7?ient gazing upon him.) Iridion. Hush ! those half-open lips are trembling into speech. Elsinoe. Curses upon them, whether they sleep or wake ! Heliogabalus {in his sleep). Iri . . . my Iri . . . why dost thou forsake me ? Elsinoe. He dreams of thee ! Heliogabalus. Elsi . . . my Elsi . . . why dost thou forsake me ? IRIDION. 385 Elsinoe. The child of Crimhild never has been thine ! Iridion {placing his hand upon the Emperor). Wake, Emperor, wake ! Heliogabalus (rising). Who calls? Where am I? Speak ! Is it thou, my Elsi ? Thou, Iridion ? Here are my roses ! My blue violets ! Here my dear smoking tripods ! Elsinoe ! (He takes the hands of Elsinoe and Iridion, and comes for- ward. ) I agonized — thy voice called back to life ! Iridion. What didst thou dream to affright thy spirit thus? Heliogabalus. Oh 'twas a fearful dream, Iridion ! When first I went to sleep, I thought I saw All nations, peoples, shrink into a dwarf, Who, powerless and in chains, lay on the ground ; My white and dazzling foot upon his head Shone like a shell in its transparency ! My throne blazed with the splendor of Olympus, And Rome was burning, as thou saidst it should ; From east to west the bright flames swept the sky ! There were no men to kill us anywhere, For with my foot I kneaded the whole race Into the Dwarf, who mangled lay before me. Iridion. The gods themselves have given the wished- for sign. Heliogabalus. Alas ! Not so ! Then great confusion came ; The dead seemed rising from the catacombs, The circus, mausoleums, unknown graves ; Victor, and the Apulians, Tubero, Lucius, and the dead men who set my gems, And crowds and crowds of ghastly, wormy forms, Rode on the air, and scowled, and breathed on me ! Then suddenly, on the horizon's verge, I saw appear my father, Caracalla ; His head was crowned with coiled and hissing vipers, And in each hand he held a human skull ; His purple robes were dabbled o'er with gore; He tottered in the midst of burning cinders, 33* 3 S6 IRIDIOX. And as he fell, he cried : M My son ! My son !" Then the dead marched and marched, and rushed upon me, The Dwarf began to laugh, and toss my foot From off his head, and grew to myriad men ! They marched and marched, their togas wrapped around Their left arms, while drawn swords were in their right ! Thou wert beside me, and she too was there ! . . . Then thou, Iridion, betrayedst me, Crying: 1 c Behold ! Strike Caesar ! He is there ! n My Elsinoe, thou betrayedst me, Crying: " Behold your murderer ! Caesar ! Kill!" The lightning of a hundred naked swords Flashed out my eyes ; — I could not see ye more ! Hundreds of blades crashed through my shattered heart ! (He buries his face i?i his then rushes madly for- ward, a?id, pointing to a large tripod, cries .-) 'Tis he ! Dost thou not see my father there ! (He shudders, and falls back in the arms of Iridion.} Iridion. Why, this is but a dream ! Drive from thy brain The treacherous poppy-seed, which Morpheus threw Around thee in thy sleep. Summon thy courage ; Thou wilt need it all ! The praetors break Forever from thee, and Alexander swears To take no rest until he wears thy crown. Heliogabalus. Ah, wretched me ! But did you tell them all ? Assure them of forgiveness, gold, reward? Iridion. It is not gold they ask ; — they want your blood 7 (Heliogabalus throws himself upon the altar of Mithras and e?nbraces it with open arms.) Heliogabalus. O Trinity of rapture ! God of light ! jElsinoe. As long as thou liest whimpering like a boy, Crying to Mithras, danger and death surround thee ] Odin invoke, and he will send his Ravens To tear and rend the Eagles of proud Rome ! Heliogabalus. Thy voice, my Elsinoe ! Thy loved voice ! IRIDION. 337 Oh ! let me hear it in my dying hour ! Twine thy white arms around my shattered breast; Let them be my death-girdle ! Oh, how I love thee, Through all thy bitter scorn and hate of me ! Elsinoe. Die not before the hour appointed thee ! Arise, and call thy guards, Eutychian ; Then place all power in my brother's hands, And he will save thee. Heliogabalus {attempting to rise). Elsi, if that could be ! Iridion. Play never with the dice of life and death On Fortune's Altar ! This night Rome rocks in fire ! Fear not ! The jests will die on the fierce lips Of Aristomachus in the unwonted glare ! Where are thy treasures ? Heliogabalus. Part have been dispatched To Syria ; Eutychian holds the rest. Iridion. Divide them with the guard still faithful to thy cause ! Eutychian {rushing in). Godlike ! Divine ! they threaten holy Caesar ! The people rise and drive the soldiers from The senate gates ; the senators rush in ; They seat themselves in solemn conclave there ; Loved Anubis, on what do they debate ? Upon the death of the godlike Emperor ! Iridion. Haste, Caesar ! haste ! Heliogabalus {to Eutychian). Give me your arm, old friend ! {He leans upon his shoulder.) As oft in happier days, I lean on you, And love you well as in our sunnier hours. The censer oft we have together swung In Mithras' brilliant courts ; together drunk The ripe juice of the grape ; together poured Libations to the god of bliss ! Ah ! happy hours ! The parrots' livers and the maidens' lips Are less delicious than they used to be ! The sky of Rome is harsh, old friend, and we Must brave the storms of Fate ever together / Oh, stay with me ! . . . and give the Greek your sword ! Let him be Prefect of the Praetorians ! 3SS IRIDIOX. Euty chi an. They want my head — and this Greek wants my power : But what becomes of me without a head or sword ? Silvias 1 last cup I have prepared for thee, Godlike, and . . . Hciicgaiaius. Be silent ! give ! Eur. chi an handing the szccrd to Iridiori). Greek, spare my child ! Safe in its copper cradle it has hung Forever round my loins. Messenger entering hastiiv] . Grea: Caesar ! I This moment in disguise escaped the senate, And as I left, heard Canulejus cry That thou shouldst die the death of Nero, and Thy brother should be chosen Emperor ! Jlciiogaraius. Thev too conspire against me, seek my life ! Iridic?:. Fear nothing ! (To the messenger.) Soldier, run through the lower halls Of the court ; collect the praetorians ; bid them wait For me within Domitian's atrium ; Then seek my palace, where in the command Of Scipio you'll find my gladiators Armed and ready for the fight. Bid them Without delay march to the temple where The senate sit in counsel ; as they pass The palace bid them shout : Iridion ! Haste and be prudent \ — great will be your gain ! Ex:f 'messenger. ) Hark, son of Scemias ! I will drive away These babblers, to arrive at whom FU fling Aside the people, as a sturdy swimmer Breaks through the waves thronging to overwhelm him. To conquer Alexander — I need more ! Heii: gaia'.us. What need you more? Iridion. It is too late to name Me in the presence of the troops and people As representative of all thy powers: — Lend me the ring of Empire, that all Rome May know in me thy chosen delegate And join our force if faithful still to thee ! IRIDION. 389 Heliogabalus. I dare not, Greek! Dost thou not surely know The Genius of the Roman Empire lives . Within this ring? The Emperor who would Intrust it into foreign hands would be Guilty of treason, doomed to instant death ! Eutychian. Give ! Give it to Iridion, I pray. Stay thou to comfort me, — let him be Caesar ! Heliogabalus. Slave ! jest not at thy Lord ! (He shows him a poniard.} Look at this joke With double edge, dipped in Getulian poison ; — I'm half inclined to plant it in thy heart ! Eutychian (kneeling). A blade of gold ! — Thy servant ne'er feared gold ! (As Heliogabalus advances upon him?) Thou knowest that in the temple of Osiris, The Syrian Seer was wont to prophesy That thou would' st live but three days after me ! Heliogabalus (embracing Eutychian). What say'st thou, friend ? Support my weary head Upon thine arm ! Thou knowest that I love thee ! Eutychian. Yes, as the drunken Macedonian loved Old Clitus ! Iridion. I tell you I must have the ring ! Heliogabalus. Never ! I will not give the god buried in diamonds, With the two golden serpents interlaced to guard it ! Take all my treasures, goblets, vases, gems, — Enough ! Enough ! I will not give the ring ! (Noise and tumult are heard without.} Iridion. Hear'st thou that chant of triumph for Severus ? Elsinoe. Obey the son of Odin's priestess, Crimhild! Heliogabalus (wringing his hands). Ah ! Elsinoe ! (The noise increases.) Iridion. Dost hear? Give me the ring! (Attempts to seize his hand.) Heliogabalus. I will not give my hand ! I will myself 390 IRIDION. From the finger of Heliogabalus take it off! Wait, Greek! Perhaps I'll fight myself, As t once fought with the legions of Macrinus. The day was hot and bright; my silver car Rolled over corpses; with my own hand I threw My golden javelins, flashing like rays of Mithras. Give me my arms! I'll fight again to-day . . . (A sudden change comes over him; he starts back in affright.} Gods ! gods ! . . . Look there ! Behind the tripod . . . look! ... 'Tis gone ... I breathe! . . . No! there he comes again ! He stands before this pillar ! See, he moves ! He leans upon my couch ! . . . He beckons me ! He wears the purple dyed in his own blood ! Father ! I come ! {He falls fainting in the arms of Eutychian.') My friends, all's ill with me! My breast, like a deserted temple, crashes in. (Iridion seizes his hand.} Wrench not my hand so vio- lently, Greek! It is high treason against majesty ! Iridion. Where power is, must be its forceful symbol ! (He tears off the ring.} Now go to sleep, and when the flames blaze high, I will awake you. Heliogabalus. Alas ! He now is Caesar ! . . . Lead me, Eutychian ! Come, and sit by me Upon my violets. Thou shalt hold before me My newest shield, that I may see myself In its bright steel once more by the blazing flames The Greek has promised should consume the city. Oh ! Heliogabalus grows so cold ! so cold ! All grows so black before his aching eyes ! He cannot see . . . Come, Elsinoe . . . Come ! Elsinoe. Spare me one moment with Iridion ! Eutychian. Son of Amphilochus, thou shalt eat dust, And drink thine own hot blood ! then know 'twas cooked By Eutychian, whom thou wilt recollect Was cook to the Syrian ! IRIDION. 391 {Elsinoe leads Heliogabalus, accompanied by Eutychian, to his couch. She unclasps the curtain which falls over the recess, and joins Iridion on the front of the stage.) Elsinoe. Poor wretch ! He stands upon the brink of Erebus Shivering with fear ! As his companion, I Have given him madness ! . . . Have I yet more to do ? To-morrow, nay, to-night, the praetors may rush in, Or Rome will be in flames — or my heart break, — My bosom, tired of suffering, refuse to breathe Longer the scathing air of this dread world ! Iridion. Sister, watch over him till my return; Then thou must leave these walls accursed forever! Elsinoe. What will become of him? Iridion. It matters not ! I care not for his life — nor for his death ! That which he was, now glitters on my hand ; (Shows the ring.) That which he is, is scarcely worth a thought. Elsinoe. If that be so — come near, — ay, nearer still: Iridion, dost thou hear my failing voice? Iridion {holding her in his arms). What is it, sister? What can I do for thee? Thy small hand throbs in mine with veins of fire, And the quick bounds of thy wrung heart beat wild Against my breastplate ! Elsinoe, speak ! Elsinoe. The eyes whose fires withered my virgin soul . . . Must die out in their sockets! . . . And the two arms which once embraced my neck . . . Must fall like mangled vipers ! . . . The lips which once have dared to rest on mine . . . Must crumble in the flames ! . . . Iridion. Yes. He and Alexander both shall burn Upon one funeral pyre ! Elsinoe. Unsay ! Unsay ! Hear my last wish ! I have a right to speak ! ,Have I not given all, — far more than life? Because I know the power of thy hand, 392 IRIDION. I bare to thee the last, the only wish Which pulses in my heart, Iridion ! Spare Alexander on the battle-field ! Let no stroke fall on his broad Grecian brow! For he alone divines . . . Why dost thou turn Thy face away from me, Iridion? Iridion. Think not of him! 'Tis he alone keeps Rome From falling in the clutches of my hate, And the Gods grudge him to humanity. His doom is sealed, — the deadliest foe of Greece ! Elsinoe. Then press thy sister once more to thy breast. Son of Amphilochus, we meet no more ! Dost feel how wildly throbs my wretched heart? Ere thy return, I know that it will break ! Remember Elsinoe asks no blood from thee: Let them all live / The Syrian, the Accursed, He too must live! Spare Alexander, brother ! if. %Z 5|C %c The close of this weird sacrifice is near; The virgin victim must not leave a stain Of blood on her pure hands, her robes of snow! Ah ! long upon the altar she has stood; The fires consumed her slowly; night and day Flamed high her maiden dreams, her spring, her love, Upon the shrine! The victim's heart is dead! Her life is flickering fast; the fire dies out; A fitful smoke will soon remain alone ! . . . The sacrifice is o'er; the hour draws nigh When from the body the soul is sundered, Like a cothurnus' easily-loosened band ! Of Elsinoe, nothing will remain Save bitter memories, and her vexed soul, Which will become an immortal, wandering Shade ! Voices without the Palace. Iridion, the Greek ! Iridion ! Iridion. Away ! thy sorrow is insensate, when Nemesis in both hands holds crowns of vengeance ! The victory is mine ! . . . That noise, those cries, Embody the sole thought of my whole life! I am reborn ; and thou canst wish for death ! IRIDION. 393 Be proud and happy, sister, that the day For which thy father lived, thy country prayed, Comes in the lightning's flash, the thunder's roar! {Loud crashing heard without.} Hear'st thou that crash? it is the doom of Rome ! And thou wouldst perish now with vengeance won ! Voices. Iridion ! Iridion ! Iridion. Farewell ! Elsinoe. Go, brother, go ! Be famous, happy, great ! And if thou ever floatest o'er the waves Of our blue sea, and drawest near the coast, Then throw a handful of my ashes on Chiara's shore ! Farewell, Iridion! (She presses him to her heart, and retires within the cur- tain as he disappears. ) SCENE III. The highest terrace of Iridion' s palace, sur- rounded by balustrades and statues of the Grecian gods, Masinissa is seated upon a stool of ivory ; behind him stand the slaves, barbarians, and soldiers of Iridion. Masinissa. Slave, look again ! Pi la des. Strange things are going on Around the temple; what they are, the Sphinx Alone can tell ! The arch of Septimius Looks like a child, playing upon the sand ; The Capitol alone looms out in all its grandeur. Barbarian. At full two hundred paces I can strike A nut-branch and transfix it with my arrow; But that cursed Forum is so far, I can Discover nothing. Masinissa. Age weighs upon my eyelids ; The burning suns of years weaken my pupils; I still see farther than the youngest here ! I see the vulture on Iridion's helmet ; It floats above the crowd ; I see the gleam Of Scipio's sword before him ; behind him are The dark heads of your brethren. Second Barbarian. I thought 'twas they! Pil a des. Is it a dream, or do I really hear The distant death-cr.y of a thousand voices ! 34 394 IRIDION. A Young Barbarian. List to that shout ! Masinissa. I see him ! he is safe ! He pushes through the throng, — enters the peristyle, — The gladiators sit upon the senate-steps, — The people surge against the palace base Like an o'erwearied sea sinking to calm. Ho ! Verres ! Verres. Here. Masinissa. How many men have you ? Verres. I have with me the slaves from Sicyon ; The Germans too from the Cisalpine legions, Who joined us yesterday. Masinissa. When Hesperus appears, March with them quickly to the Samnite gate; Wait there the signal ! When you see a flame Rise from this terrace, throw your firebrands; Begin at the villa of Rupilius, And kindle flames until you reach the Forum ! Verres. Rely on me as on a Catiline ! Masinissa. I trust you, as old patrician, To leave no drop undrained in the cup of vengeance ! Verres. And fill it up again to the very brim. Masinissa. Albo in ! Alboin. Son of the Desert, give command ! Masinissa. Say rather, Father! Where are the He- ruli ? Alboin. They've just returned, having cut one aque- duct, Stopped Galba's fountain, Manlius' springs. Masinissa. At twilight take your post at Nero's pond ; Be faithful to your task ! Alboin. I need no spur. Caracalla burned upon the Rhine The homes and villages of all my tribe, Made me his slave : this day shall pay my service ! I'll drive away all who approach the pond, From the blind, tottering gray head with his buckets, To the child who stretches out his little hand For a drop of water ! Masinissa. Ay, Alboin, that is right. The blessing of an old man cannot hurt you ! IRIDION. 395 Verres (to Masinissd). Pray, look again ! My heart burns with anxiety ! Masinissa. Hold ! ... I see Scipio flying on his horse ! AIL From whence comes he? Masinissa. From the Hostilian court. There ! there ! . . . He disappears behind the palace. Pilades. I think we ought to go to aid our Lord ! Masinissa. Do you hear nothing ? Alboin. I hear a distant sound. Masinissa. It is the trampling of a horse ! Verres. I hear it ! Pilades. Look! Look! 'tis he ! He dashes swiftly on ! Verres. The portico, the obelisk now hide him. Alboin. See, like a dart he passes to the temple ! Masinissa (calling). Scipio ! The voice of Scipio. Victory ! All. All hail to African us ! Scipio. No time is to be lost ! — The sun sets in A sea of blood beyond the Tiber. Haste ! Bring cypress branches, dry wood from the vaults ! Prepare a high pyre here upon the terrace ; It must be ready ere the stars are out ! (He enters.) My friends, the Roman Senate is no more ! Pilades. Iridion ? . . . Where have you left my Lord ? Scipio. He hurried to the palace of the Caesars To gain the guard ; — he will be here anon. (To the slaves who enter bearing cypress branches, logs of wood, and vessels of various forms. ) Here ! Here ! just in the centre, pile the wood, Between the Athenian Minerva and Diana of Ephesus ! Sprinkle each row With aloes, then pour copious streams of naphtha! Masinissa. Your voice is pleasant to my ears, O Scipio ! How did you the patricians drive away, — Your ancient brethren, — from their curule chairs ? Scipio. We entered with Iridion at our head. We found the conscript Fathers seated calm, As in the better days of the Republic. 39^ 1RIDI0N. The statue of the Emperor was o'erthrown, The head lay at the feet, the arms were off; Volero, with his foot upon the breast, Was playing Cato for the senators ! Verres. A tradesman's son ! Scipio. But when they saw the Greek, They all grew silent, for his brow was dark With all the gloom of the past centuries. Then Uxor rose, and asked him : "By what right Do you dare desecrate the majesty Of the Roman Senate?" . . . The son of Amphilochus, Leaning against a pillar, crossed his hands On the Medusa chiseled on his armor, And said : " Depart ! I banish you from Rome \" Then noise and fury overpowered his words; The priest of Jupiter, Ventidius, Called for the lictors ; some seized the curule chairs; Some drew their swords ; Iridion said, unmoved, — An icy smile upon his haughty lips : — " Here was it that your fathers once condemned Unhappy Greece : and in the very spot I here degrade you ! If you do not fly, You all shall perish !" Volero sprang upon him ; His sword glanced off the armor of the Greek, And with the shock, he fell against the base Of the statue of Caligula; his head, Striking on a sharp angle of the marble, Was gashed ; he fainted as the blood gushed forth. The Greek deigned not even to draw his sword ; Majestic as a god he turned, and said : " Scipio, I give the Senate up to you !" He clapped his hands in signal ; then our men Tore down the brazen doors and rushed within the hall ! The lictors soon repulsed, the conscript fathers fled, Scared by the flashing of our naked blades ! He who resisted, lay by Volero ; The flying called on Jove, while we cried Victory ! (7b Verres.) And I invoked the memory of Zama.* * A town in Numidia, celebrated for the victory which Scipio obtained there over Hannibal, B. C. 202. IRIDION. 397 Verres. Alas ! I was not there ! Scipio. Console yourself ; To-night I bid you to a fuller banquet ! CHORUS. Here comes our Lord ! We know his ringing voice ! {Enter Gladiators; after them, Iridion.) Pilades {throwing himself at the feet of Iridion). Son of Amphilochus, I bless the gods That you return unhurt ! Iridion. Rise ! Rise ! old friend ! I thank you from my heart, my Pilades ! I see the pyre is ready, — that is well ! Nothing is wanting but the asbestos shroud, To save the ashes of the corpse of Rome. Old man, have my commands been all obeyed ? Masinissa. All has been done as you desired, my son. Iridion {seating himself by Masinissa). A moment's rest ! Take off my helmet, Pilades ! Lucius ! Scipio. I listen, Greek ! Iridion. Mark well my words, Engraving each upon your memory As part of your own vengeance ! I have just left The gardens of the Palace : the praetorians were In wild confusion, drunk, some without arms, Some terrified. I let them spend their rage, And when the noise was stilled, 1 raised my hand, When at the sight of the imperial ring, They knew their danger ! The tribunes thronged around me ; I made a short address. The eunuchs brought Great vessels of the Syrian's silver out, And dreadful oaths came from the praetorians' lips : " While a drop of blood remained, they would be true, Ay, long as life should last !" With other vows Which may stand for to-night, — to-morrow blots them out ! Go, then, and watch them closely ! Take with you The gladiators, and Eutychian's sword 34* 398 IRIDION. As token that you come from me as Leader ! Hold the guard in suspense and expectation ; Tell them Severus' bands have crossed the walls ; If they should hear the wailings in the streets, Tell them Severus' bands are raging there ! 2 When they shall see the light of the burning city, Tell them again Severus and his bands ! They will not wish to fight their furious brothers ! Should Alexander's heralds come, toward morn, Find pretexts for delay; reject; accept; Break and renew your terms, as long as lasts His patience ; spinning webs of guile around him ! When that is over, rush with fury on him ; Fight, while a drop of blood is in your veins ! Let Caracalla, Heliogabalus, be Your treacherous war-cry through the lingering night ! Fight till you see the Forum burst in flames, A burning crown wreathing the Capitol, Rome rocking in the throbbing heart of fire, — Then know, the son of Amphilochus is nigh ! Scipio. What if the Syrian should wish to leave The palace, interfere with our success? Iridion. My sister will take charge of the Emperor ; But guard his life and person till the end ! The praetorians but obey us while he lives. Scipio. Where will your post of danger be, brave Greek ? Iridion. I hope to be with you ere night be past! But hasten, for the twilight's crimson streaks Are fading from the sky. {Exit Scipio.) Verres, 'tis time You also should depart ! Verres (to his soldiers). Men, follow me ! (Exit Verres and his soldiers.) Iridion. Go with them, Alboin ; halt at Nero's pond ! Alboin. Sigurd, farewell, until we meet again ! (Exit Alboin with his men.) Iridion (to the slaves). My faithful slaves, you must prepare to leave me ! Before you go, join in the parting feast IRIDION. 399 I have prepared you in the peristyle. For the last time you eat and drink together Within the palace of Iridion ! To-morrow eve, his home will be in ashes; To-morrow's dawn will find you rich and free ! CHORUS OF SLAVES. Father and mother thou hast been to us, Through exile, woe! Thou'st given us food and wine, And made us happy in thy palace, while Our brothers starved, whitening the deserts with Their famished bones, dying unpitied in Their agony upon the Arena's sands, All crimsoned with their blood ! Should some among us ne'er return to thee, Ask not where are thy faithful slaves ! They will Have gladly perished for thy future glory, Blessing thy name, son of Amphilochus ! {They throw themselves at his feet!) Iridion. Friends, when this pyre of cypress blazes high, Answer the signal from your once loved home With countless fires! Burn temples, baths, halls, palaces ! Farewell ! {Exit slaves. Iridion rises and leans against the pyre. ) The nearer comes the longed-for hour The fiercer burns my blood ! Am I deceived ? Is it a real darkness glooms the city ? Amphilochus, is the time surely here? Are these stars actual that shine before me, Or are they only kindled by my thirst Of vengeance ? . . . No ! No ! . . . the blood boils in my veins ! I feel it must be the last night of Rome ! Look, Masinissa, how my men glide on Like shadowy spectres through the growing darkness ! See how the torches creep in silence on ! The neigh of horses, — are they those of Verres? As the light fades, flames flicker through the mounds ! At last, ye gods, vengeance shall fall on Rome ! But softly, softly, soldiers ! Make less noise ! 4oo IRIDION. Masinissa. A desert grows around us ! Voices die That once were wont to echo through this palace ! Hark ! they propose a health ! ( Cheering heard from the slaves feasting below. ) Slaves. Iridion ! Iridion. Ah ! how they ring my name with stalwart cry ! Masinissa. The last glad cheer these walls will e'er re-echo ! They leave the hall, they part, crouch to the ground, — Their torches vanish in the thickening gloom. Iridion. They've kept their faith ; each has been true to me ; All gone to do my will, to ruin Rome ! All gone, old man, and we remain alone In this doomed Palace of Amphilochus. 'Tis strange the Nazarenes are not yet here, — What can detain them? . . . Simeon swore to me He would be here with them within three hours ! Masinissa. They must be here ere long, for Hes- perus Mounts o'er the Capitol; Berenice's Bright hair now lights the distant Sabine hills. 3 Iridion. Night, grudge me not this once thy winds and clouds ! But once, — and then for centuries shine down, Girdled with starry crowns, calm, peaceable, Upon the blackened walls, ashes of Rome ! I scarce can breathe until the hour is here; I long for it so madly ! Masinissa. Ay, so do I ; And not on thee alone does time weigh heavily ! Oh, I have waited longer far in vain The ruin of my Enemy in silence ! Iridion. Your voice recalled my father's well-loved accents. Might not the statue of Amphilochus Spring back to life, in this our hour supreme, And feel a heart beat in his breast of marble ? But as you sit upon his ivory stool, Shadows around, you bring him to my soul ! IRIDION. 40 1 Exactly thus his toga fell about him The hour I swore . . . his hour of death ! Give me Thy hands, and breathe the blessing on my head Which he was wont to do, before the battle ! Masinissa. May my seal rest upon thy forehead till The end of time ! With this sign on thy brow, Thou'lt see a day these stars shall never know ! Iridion. I feel thy strengthening breath ! I see Rome blaze ! The dome of her proud Capitol is crowned With leaping flames ! Ye gods ! her eagles fall ! The clouds swoop down, glowing with crimson light ! Domes, temples glitter, . . . crash in ruins down ! The stars die out ! The sky's on fire ! Fire ! Fire ! jk % * % % % Nay, I but dream ! Fires blaze but in my brain ! But where are they? . . . The Christians? . . . All is calm ! Darker, more silent still it grows on earth ; — Winds sweep the sky ! . . . Where are the Nazarenes? Pilades (enteruig). Did you call me, my Lord? Iridion. No. No. Not you. Yet stay ! Have you heard nothing in the vaults Beneath the palace, heard no steps approaching From the deep entrance to the catacombs? Pilades. I have heard none, my Lord. Iridion. Bring me a torch ! (Exit Pilades.} It cannot be ! they will not fail to come ! Have they not sworn it to me on the Cross? Masinissa. And if they fail ? Iridion. The doubt is malediction ! Then all is lost ! My hopes are placed in them ! With them I meant to overrun the city, Startled and breaking everywhere in flames, Recalling Brennus, 4 shouting " vae victis !" Without them, all my gladiators, soldiers, Are insufficient to repel the troops. If they betray me ... I will die, old man ! Masinissa. Be patient, son ! Perchance they'll come ; but first Must they not finish all their long-drawn hymns? {Pilades returns with a torch.) 402 IRIDION. Iridion. Place it upon the pyre. I die in chains, As did Prometheus. — A single moment lies Between me and the banquets of the gods ! . . . Why are you silent? . . . Masinissa, speak ! Cry, Long live Hellas ! Live Amphilochus ! Masinissa. I'm silent, — for I know the promised hour Of their arrival is already past ! Each feather in its wings, as it flits by, Rustles with long-drawn sneers ! . . . Now it has passed forever ! I can hear The bitter laugh no more ! 'Tis o'er, Iridion ! Iridion. In spite of men and fate, my father's will Be thus accomplished ! (He seizes the torch?) Glory to Greece ! Glory ! Thrice-powerful Hecate, come ! 5 Receive this sacrifice ! (He prepares to fire and spring upon the pyre, when a mes- senger enters. ) Whence comest thou, black phantom ? Answer me ! If thou'rt my Evil Genius, thou'rt too late: Thou canst not hold me now upon the earth ! Messenger. Peace in the holy name of Jesus Christ ! Iridion. Where are the Brethren ? Where is Simeon ? Messenger. In his despair he calls on you for rescue ! All the armed Christians are by force detained By Victor at the gate of Eloim, Most anxious as they are to join you, Greek. Iridion. Thanks, servant of the saints. See, I am calm ; I do not kill you ! Thou alone shalt die ! (He tramples the torch out with his feet. ) (To Masinissa.') Should any of my men come back, bid them Await me here. I will return, old man. Masinissa. There may be time ; it still is far from dawn. Pilades (handing the helmet to Iridion). You have forgot your helmet, my good Lord. Iridion. My sword's enough to win the victory; To die requires no helmet! (To the messenger.) All hangs on haste ! (Exeunt Iridion and messenger.) IRIDION. 403 Masinissa {rising and stretching out his hands toward Rome). Be blest forever, O my cherished city ! Sleep sweetly in the shadow of these arms ! Thy baseness, cruelty, have saved thee, Rome ! Live and oppress ! Live on to torture man ! Let all flesh be corrupted in thy torments ; All souls, until they doubt that God exists ! (He disappears behind the pyre.) SCENE IV. The sanctuary of Eloim in the catacombs. A chalice and a cross wreathed with flowers stand upon the altar ; tapers are lighted round the cross, and burning censers emit clouds of perfumed smoke. Simeon, armed, stands on one side of the altar, Metella on the other, and armed Christians are seen kneeling in the back- ground. Victor stands in the centre, on the highest step of the altar, with many priests surrounding him. Victor. Lost in the air like clouds of smoke, so will All traces of you melt from earth and heaven ! Ah ! would, like stones, you might sleep on forever ! But you must wake to conscious agony, Forever live in the dark home of death, Wherever falls the thunder of God's vengeance ! (To Simeon.) Fly from Jehovah's face, like the first murderer ! Simeon. But hear me, Victor ! Victor. I will not listen more ! Look on this maid, whom I reproach not now, Because the Hand of God is on her brow. Who killed that soul ? left life within that frame, Only to grow a scorn 'mong living men ? Dost thou not hear the voice of one possessed By Satan, quivering through those wretched lips? Metella. Thou persecutest me, Priest of my People ! Victor. Silence, rebellious child ! Thou wert an angel, But, wanting perseverance, thou hast fallen, And now art damned ! Metella. Alas ! thou kno.west him not ! He spake so gently, called me "unfortunate," Because he knew that I would suffer shame 404 IRIDION. On his account. Fear not to trust him, Simeon ; He'll surely come ! Brothers, forget him not ; I know he will be here ! Do not forsake him ! He tore me from the fire when raging flames Were blazing round my body. He will save Me yet from all my foes. He comes ! He comes ! Simeon, Victor, for the last time, I pray you hear me ! Have I not always been obedient to you ? What Christian dares to testify against me? Have I not twice striven for the martyr's crown? Once in the Antioch dungeons ; afterwards At Tarsus in the ring? Have I not done Stern penance in the desert for long years? Have I e'er broken the law, or given offense To any of the Christian brethren ? Speak ! Victor. You now offend, thus boasting of yourself. Like the proud Pharisee the Lord condemned, You throw a stumbling-block before the humble. Simeon. I do not boast ; I speak the simple truth. Who has more deeply meditated on The death of Christ ? Who of you all has felt A deeper love spring from the agonies Of Golgotha? a gratitude more fervent? To save the world our God took human flesh ; Must we to serve the world not take a body? Our Lord took flesh : we live but in the spirit ! W T here are our temples, churches, kingdom, power? Can unseen men control the visible world ? Victor. Corinthian sophist, whom would you deceive ? " My kingdom is not of this world," said Christ. Simeon. Ah ! wherefore did I leave my burning sands? There the Creator I adored ; and here I hate the creature ! Victor. Son ! Simeon. A voice I hear Often at night urges me ever on ! Can such things be but lying prophecies? Victor. A short time since, and you were of the elect, One of the chosen children of the church: — And will you crucify your Lord anew? IRIDION. 40S Mełella. Bow low your heads ! I hear his footsteps ring As they descend the golden stairs from Heaven ! {Enter Iridion.) Immortal youth is on his glorious brow ! {She throws herself at his feet. ) I told them, Lord, that thou wouldst surely come ! chorus of priests {to Iridioii). Go ! Heretic ! Victor. The brimming cup of mercy Once by thy angel held, is now exhausted. Iridion. I'll fill it up anew with Roman blood ! Who swore to come, and broke his plighted oath? Simeon of Corinth, — perjured before God ! Who let their arms fall from their sinewy hands, Licking the dust, feeding on broken vows? You, Brothers ! . . . Yet at this hour proud Caesar falls, And all the gods of the idolaters Wait but the resurrection of the saints To vanish from the face of earth forever ! Ha! Are ye men? Then leave the old, the dead, To sit among their tombs till time is o'er; — Men, follow me, and you shall surely conquer ! Strike boldly, and proclaim the triune God ! Come ! You shall see the star seen by the kings When Christ was born, — it leads to victory ! Christ will be born anew in thousand souls Which else would never know Him ! You shall hear Again the archangel's song, ringing through Heaven ! Simeon. I stretch my arms to thee, Hieronymus ! CHORUS. Beg Victor ! Iridion. Father ! Victor. Nay, this day you have lost Your Heavenly Father ! Iridion. Old man ! Victor. You'll never live To reach my age ! 35 t 4o6 IRIDION. Metella (to Iridion). Forgive the old man, Lord ! He knows not what he says ! To arms ! To arms ! Iridion. Thou only hast remained still faithful to me ; But fate this hour forsakes thee too, Metella ! Victor. My sons ! A sign from Heaven will be given, That you may turn from sin and be forgiven, Saved by the intercession of your Shepherd. {To Metella.) Thou who wert ever wont to be the first At the Lord's table, though to-day the last, Approach, that I may place my hands upon thy brow ! Metella. Metellus' daughter once was dear to thee ; Father, she comes, — what wouldst thou with her now? Victor {elevating the chalice). Metella, kneel before the Blood of the Lord ! Metella (turning round and kneeling before Iridion). Father, I kneel before the Lord Himself! (A priest hands holy water to Victor?) Victor. Spirit ! proceeding from the Father, Son ! Deign to renew thy dwelling in this soul Wandering from Thee ! . . . As in the hour of baptism, (He makes the sign of the Cross upon Metella 's broiu.) Again I bless thee, consecrate thy brow ! CHORUS. Sleep overcomes the virgin ! Her head sinks, And the long lashes droop so wearily ! Victor (to the priests). Surround ! support her in your arms ! She faints ! Metella. To arms ! To arms ! Victor. Be silent, evil spirit Who speakest through her voice, and drivest her mad ! I bind thee by the mighty sign of the Cross, And with the strong word, Jesus, I command Thee, Liar, Fiend, whatever be thy name Or power, — release her soul, and quit her body ! Metella. A hundred sighs are wailing through my breast ! A hundred curses, — none of them my own ! Victor. Yield, Demon ! Go ! Metella. Save me ! oh, save ! IRIDION. Iridion. Here ! Here ! Within my arms ! Metella. Earth, open 'neath my feet ! Hide me forever from his fatal gaze ! Iridion, Metella, thou art mine ! Mine ! only mine ! Metella. Where is Metella ? . . . Do not call her thus ! . . . She loved and trusted thee ... is lost forever ! . . . I hear wild laughter ! . . . laughter which tears the earth ! . . . Black phantoms hover, — circle round my head ! Back ! Back ! Iridion {making his way through the priests). Out of my way ! Give her to me ! Brothers, we'll tear the maid from the hands of her mur- derers ! Metella. Whose voice is that ? ... Ah ! I have heard it oft ! . . . Yes, she was mild and so sincere ! She loved Thee once so well ! Thou wert so beautiful ! Calledst her " unfortunate* 9 ! . . . Thy voice was sweet . . . Thou saidst to her, " My glory shall be thine ! n Victor. Apage Satanas ! Metella {to Iridion). Approach me not ! Fly from me ! Fly ! Thousands of dusky wings Float over thee ! . . . Where is the Lord, my God? Victor {holding the crucifix before her). Here, daughter ! Here! Metella. Press it upon my lips ! {She kisses the cruci- fix.) Forgive ! Forgive ! Victor. Dost thou renounce the evil spirit ? . . . Speak ! Metella. Yes, I renounce him ! {She falls.) He has deceived me, Brothers ! He has deceived you all ! CHORUS. Thou grow'st so pale ! White Rose, thou sink'st to earth, to rise no more 1 4o8 IRIDION. Metella. The Judgment of the Lord is now upon me ! . . . I die . . . but hark ! I die . . . die in the Lord ! (She drags herself 071 to the feet of Victor. ) Bless me, my Father ! Press me to thy heart ! Father, defend thy agonizing child ! It grows so cold ! so wild ! so terrible ! So dark ! Father, I cannot see thee more ! Victor. Daughter, depart in peace ! Thy penitence Hath saved thee ! Iridion. Oh ! tear thyself away, my love, From that cold breast in which there throbs no heart ! Metella, come to me ! Metella (turning her face to Iridion). Ah ! I forgive thee all ! Adore Christ only, Hieronymus ! Victor (leaning over her). Dost thou still hear me, daughter? Answer me ! Metella. I breathe the breath of roses, — violets . . . (She dies.) CHORUS OF CHRISTIANS. Father, pray for us to the Invisible ! Whate'er thou loosest on earth, is loosed in Heaven ! He who deceived us totters and turns pale ! Iridion. Shame ! Were a woman's words your only trust ? Did you take up the sword at her command? Because these miserable dotards here Have killed her, will you then forsake our cause, Desert me, and your God? What, silent all? Shame lays a weight as heavy on your lips As stones upon the dead ! Follow me, men ! Simeon. I tear my clothing, pierce my heart to find The truth ! Let my life perish with my dream ! Iridion. Slave of these dotards, dar'st thou speak to me ? Accursed ! 'twas thou betrayedest her to these priests ! Victor. I excommunicate thee from the church ! Whoe'er shall touch thy hand will be unclean ! And he who listens to thy dangerous words IRIDION. 409 Shall have no place at the table of the Lord ! Go ! Go ! Thy name was Hieronymus ! {Enter a messenger. ) chorus of priests {to messenger). The Lord be with thee ! A Priest. Julian, thou bringest news? Messenger {kneeling before Victor). Mammeabegs your prayers ! Her son has pressed Into the city ; fights upon the Forum. Iridion. Time has outstripped me — men betrayed — and gods deceived ! {He tears a Cross from under his armor.) Take back your symbol of eternal life ! Who that has lived on earth would live again ? {He dashes the Cross on the steps of the altar.) Look ! how it shatters on the altar's steps ! Cowards, live on ! {He goes.) Barbarians. Stop ! stop ! we will be true ! We'll march with you, — Jesus may judge us after ! Iridion. Then cry aloud: "Odin and Crimhild! ,> Come ! {Exeunt Iridion and Barbarians.) Victor. Christians, put up your prayers for Alexander ! He will be Caesar. SCENE V. The street of tombs along the walls of Rome. Enter soldiers of Iridion^ bearing in Verres, wounded. Scattered groups of men are seen from time to time flying across the background. Verres. Your torch seems tripled by my swimming eyes : Greek, read the inscription on this monument ! Soldier (reads). Diis manibus Attilii Verres bis con- sulis . . . Verres. Enough ; lay me beside my ancestor ! 35* IRIDION. Bid me good-night, for though the dawn is near, Verres will never see the sun again ! (Iridion appears oil the opposite side, ascending from the catacombs. He is first seen amid the ruins of a large monument, accompanied by the Barbarians. .) Iridion. The hues of morning mock me, painting flame And fire upon the sky, — Rome yet unscathed ! (To the Barbarians.') Unbrace the axes from your gir- dles, friends ! {He moves forward.) Speak ! who art thou supported by this tomb ? Verres. Is it a dying dream, or do I hear Iridion's voice. Say, is it dream or truth? Iridion. Truth. I am here. I hope you are not hurt ! Verres. Approach ! You know a sign was promised me ; I waited for it like a famished wolf ; It never came, — and I began without it. Behind yon pyramid, 'midst smoke and embers, I met Rupilius, throttled him in the ashes. The people fell upon us shouting " Severus ! M And I received the wound from which I die. Atropos' shears cut rapidly my life-thread ! The dawn grows brighter — but my life goes out — I am the last of the Verres — Rome still stands — {He dies.) Iridion. All efforts to restore him are in vain ; His debt to Fate is paid ! The last of the Verres ! Revenge him, Brothers ! Join with the troops I bring ! {A slave rushes by.) Halt ! tell us whence you fly so rapidly ? Slave. Last from the Forum. Do not stop me, pray! Iridion. In other days I gave you to my sister ; You sang blind Homer to me when a boy. But yesterday you clasped my chlamys for me In Caesar's Hall — and yet you do not know me ! Slave. My noble Lord ! {He kneels.) Iridion. I left you with my sister, IRIDION. 411 Whom you swore to defend with your own life. Spare me no anguish ! tell me quickly all ! Slave, Scarce had the stars shone down through half the night, When suddenly the legions of Severus, Shouting, plunged down upon the Palatine. The livelong night with fury Scipio fought ; I heard him raging like an angry wolf, His men defending, driving back the foe. You know you stationed me in Caesar's room. Eutychian, pale with fear, ran to and fro Without cessation. Thy sister came but once : " Euphorion?" she said. I answered her: "Command! I will obey ! O Elsinoe !" She made me no reply, gliding away Divinely calm and beautiful as ever ! A melancholy splendor lit her brow, Unearthly light, like midnight strewn with stars, As if already floating o'er the waves of Styx ! Without, the cries grew ever more tumultuous. Eutychian could bear his fright no longer ; Shivering, he rushed into the Hall of Porphyry, And, leaning o'er the balustrade, he cried : " The Greek betrays us ! Ay ! He has betrayed us ! His sister is a traitor ! She betrays us !" Maddened with terror then I heard him cry : " The Emperor and Greek will burn the city ! Pardon me, Romans ! I am not in fault 1" Aristomachus thundered from afar Of Alexander's magnanimity, Of recompense, forgiveness, and rewards ; But when he ceased to speak, wild groans arose Under the flashing of his keen-edged sword ! When his blade rested, he again deceived Our people with his treacherous promises ! The praetorians then revolted, would obey Neither centurions nor tribunes more : — The threats of Scipio were hurled in vain ; The fight ceased in the gardens, and they rushed Precipitately in, storming the palace ! Then I ran to thy sister ; I had sworn 412 IRIDION. To defend her with my life, to die for her ! Caesar, with haggard looks, leaned on his couch ; He had attached his pendants as High-Priest To his imperial diadem: he held In the one hand the knife of sacrifice, A jeweled cup of poison in the other. But without courage to destroy himself, He heaved long sighs, lamented, sobbed and wept; Sometimes was silent; suddenly would break Into voluptuous songs, as rocked in rapturous dreams. Upon a throne of gold thy sister sat, Glittering with gems and robed in royal purple, In utter silence, and divinely calm. The first — the second door are rudely shattered — The third door crashes in— voices and tumult — The tramp of men — the clash of ringing steel — I cover Elsinoe with my body — Iridion. Your hand ! Euphorion. Hundreds of lances tear away The separating curtains, — troops rush in, Led by Aristomachus, crying loudly : " Murder and rob ! Vengeance for all our wrongs ! M The Emperor springs upon them like a tiger, — Soon running o'er with blood, retreats — back — back — And falls at last among his cherished roses ! A living wall of swords obstructs my sight — I cannot see him through the glittering veil — I hear the blades break through his shattered breast ! When the wall falls — I see his jeweled hands — Severed — there lies his diadem-crowned head ! Iridion. But Elsinoe? Elsinoe? friend! Euphorion. Alas! my master, must I tell thee all? That instant comes Severus, crying loudly: "Who Elsinoe harms, ne'er sees the sun again P' She gazes on him calmly as a goddess, Throws back the purple mantle from her shoulders,, Seizes and drives a dagger to her heart! I see the flash of steel, — the gush of blood ! Some muttered words . . . Iridion. Go on ! Go on ! the gods Have given Iridion a heart of stone ! IRIDION. 413 Eiiphorion. Broken the voice, — I catch the dying sounds: — " Brother! I will not live to love thy foe ! . . . My task is done! . . . Mother! receive my soul!" . . . She falls into the arms of Alexander ! Whirlpools of motion surge me as they will, I stumble, fall upon Eutyęhian's corpse, Fly for my life, then meet with Scipio, Who still is leading the Cheruskian cohorts, The sole men left who yield not to Severus ! Ha! here he comes! Iridion. Sun ! rising bright and clear, Glaring so ghastly on my ruined hopes, Where is my sister, my poor Elsinoe? {He moves a few steps forward, and leans against a tomb.*) Far in the west on the volcano's brow, The last cloud of this fatal night still lingers! My mother often told me that the shades Of mortals loved to rock themselves in clouds, Float with the flying mists, — O Elsinoe! . . . My sunny-haired, dost leave me thus forever? (Scipio enters with the cohorts, and stops by the corpse of Verres. ) Scipio. Dead ! Thou hast gone to sleep before me, brother ! Yet let me once more press thy icy hand ! Sit tibi terra levis ! Euphorion (to Scipio). Look, where he leans for support on a grave And struggles with despair ! . Scipio. Who? Who? Euphorion. The Greek; Son of Amphilochus. Scipio. Iridion ! I waited vainly for the promised flames! Iridion. In vain ! Scipio. Fortune betrays us everywhere ! Iridion. I know! Scipio. Domitian, Tubero, are here, Close at our heels; what are we next to do ? 414 IRIDION. Iridion {starting from his stupor). Why, go to meet them ! . . . O Scipio, Roman blood ! Scipio. No weakness ever! Despair but gives thee keener arms ! Our glorious chief! Such were the Patrician Romans! Better to die with thee, than live to fall By tigers' claws upon the bloody sands ! On ! on ! and Tubero will soon be ours ! Iridion {drawing his sword and throwing away its scab- bard). Go, where my hopes are gone ! Thou, handle, grow Into my hand, never to be unclasped 1 Blood ! Roman blood ! and death to Alexander ! On ! soldiers, on ! {Exeunt a//.) ACT V. SCENE I. Palace of the Emperors. Alexander, Mam- mea, Domitian, Courtiers. Domitian. Why do you parley longer with a madman ? What can you hope from the perfidious Greek? First he deceived us with his assumed sadness, And then implacably resisted us. Does he address to you a single prayer, Acknowledge you as Emperor of Rome? Without the slightest shadow of success, Did he not furiously fight all yesterday? Did he not burn last night our Roman temples ? Does he not combat for a ruined cause, More like an incarnate Hate than mortal man ? For, thank the gods ! men commit evil rather To attain an end, than through a love for it. He stands beyond the pale of all humanity. Have no more mercy ! You have gone far enough In sending him in state his sister's corpse. Alexander. When Elsinoe lay pierced to the heart, Stifling her moans, and dying in my arms, IRIDION. 415 Her life-blood weltering o'er her breast of snow,— I swore to pardon, to forgive her brother! Upon this sacred vow her spirit fled : — It floats before me now, and claims the promise. Domitian. Let others prate of Caesar's magnanimity ; I call it weakness ! Junius was named the Just Because he would not pardon his own sons. He who forgives the guilty, some day must Punish the innocent ! Mammea {to Alexander). Swerve not from your intent ! Mercy is royal purple for a king. Domitian. And oft transforms the royal hue to blood ! Alexander. I cannot turn from my decision, Consul. Go to Iridion ; propose my terms ; Should you return from him with longed-for peace, Happier than Titus, I can say, my friends, I have not lost my day ! Dojnitian. Should I return, And bring you back refusal, withering scorn ? Alexander. I wili have done what my heart bids me do ; Have kept my promise to the sunny-haired; And you may then begin to judge and doom ! SCENE IT. The Hall of Amphilochus as in Act I., Scene I. The corpse of Elsinoe, robed in white and strewed with cypress branches, lies upon an elevated bier. A Grecian vase of lustral water stands on a tripod beside it. An Altar to Justice is erected in the midst of the Hall. A chorus of weeping maidens circle the corpse, scattering white roses and lilies around it. Pilades sits moaning beside it. Enter Iridion , followed by gladia- tors, retainers, soldiers, and slaves. Iridion {to Pilades). Hast thou seen Masinissa, Pi- lades? Pilades. No one has seen him since you parted with him. Iridion. Masinissa ! CHORUS OF GLADIATORS. Masinissa ! Hear ! 4i6 IRIDION. Iridion. Twice have these vaults alone replied for him ! (He seats hi7nself at the base of the statue of his father.} Pilades. The old man is a traitor to my Lord. Iridion {covering his face with his hands). Oh ! say not so ! . . . He was the friend of Sigurd, Lifelong companion of Amphilochus. Before his words the graves gave up their dead, The buried walked in forms of life again. He will return. He never will forsake me ! (He comes forward and addresses soldiers, gladiators and slaves. ) I've called you all together at this hour, When rest the Roman cohorts from the fight, To pay the last sad honors to my sister's corpse. The first pure victim of our holy vengeance, She perished in her virgin innocence. Let him who honors me, reverence her memory ! Let him who curses Rome, remember her With deathless gratitude ! Let him who swears To die with me, now bless her solemn shade ! (Iridion advances to the bier, takes a branch of cypress, dips it in the vase of lustral water, and sprinkles the drops round the corpse. The gladiators, barbarians, etc. , do likewise, while the chorus of virgins chants the ' ' Salve E termini") CHORUS OF VIRGINS. Not yet the fearful steersman, Son of Night And Erebus, unfurling his black sails, Has taken thee with him, O Elsinoe ! This side of gloomy Styx, thou wanderest still ! We lay a piece of gold in thy pale mouth To pay thy silent Boatman, sunny-haired ! The poppy and the honey now we place In thy snow hands — that move on earth no more — To lull old surly Cerberus to sleep ! We weep around thy bier ! . . . (They pause and weep.) (Again resume.) But a few moments more, and thou wilt go Where swarms of Dead like shadowy vapors flit ; IRIDION. 417 Whirling like autumn leaves they drift and toss : — A moment after — and thou must appear Before the Judgment Seat of Rhadamanthus, The strict and terrible, where there are sighs, Waitings and doom, and groans of vain remorse ! Salve Eternum, Elsinoe pale ! Thy rapid feet scarce touch the living flames ; Light as white wings they bear thee swiftly on ! Thou leavest the brazen gates of Erebus, Thou crossest o'er the blazing Phlegethon, Which, like a snake of fire, winds seven times Round gloomy Tartarus. Ha, virgin ! Now thou seest a soft, sad light, And groves of tender green, where reigns a still And melancholy peace. There wait for thee Fall cups from Lethe's spring, and the calm shades Of virgins like thyself, who perished young — The perfumed leaves of spring flowers early mown ! Salve Eternum ! Elsinoe, go ! The piece of gold lies on thy pallid lips To pay the Pilot with the gloomy sails ! Poppy and honey in thy hands of snow, To soothe the triple-headed Cerberus ! Go, drink the cups from Lethe's calming spring ! Salve Eternum ! Elsinoe, go ! {After the chant has ceased, Euphorion enters and ad- dresses Iridion, who is still standing by the bier. ) Euphorion. Son of Amphilochus ! Iridion. What is it, friend? Euphorion. Domitian, Caesar's Consul, asks admission. Iridion. Admit, Euphorion ! I will see him here. {Enter Domitian, preceded by the imperial eagles.*) Dontitian. As foe and envoy you once came to us : I come to you to-day, as foe and envoy. Iridion. As you then answered me, I answer you to- day : " Our arms are in our hands. It is too late !" Domitian. Like words result not in like consequence ; Ours brought us victory ! Iridion. Did you say victory ? 36 4i8 JRIDION. Rolls the imperial chariot yet along The Via Sacra? I dream my troops are there ! Holds Fortune yet the wreath of triumph round The brow of Alexander, Conqueror? Holds Alboin not the Viminalis still? Is Scipio driven from the Aventine? Who burned last night the temple of Faustinus, The great Emilian Basilica? Roman, it is defeat, not victory ! Domitian. I saw the sentenced on their way to death This very morn ; they moaned and wrung their hands In agony, — such fate must be your own. But Alexander, sporting with success, Would gladly save you from such suffering, And offers peace, and pardon for your crimes. Iridion. Perchance high treason against majesty ? Domitian. And have you not been guilty of it, Greek? Iridion. Your majesty began but yesterday, And my crime is as old as the hearts of freemen ! Is there still more to hear? I am in haste. Domitian. The Emperor exacts that you shall leave The capital forever ; to Chiara go ; Over the smoking entrails, swear to observe All the conditions, faithfulness to him ; Give up your accomplices to the last man. And he who justly might immure for life Or nail you to a cross, will take your hand, Forgive, forget, and say farewell to you. Iridion. Speak louder, Consul ! My people, have you heard ? Caesar renews to me his terms of favor, If I will chain you up like beasts, and give You to his lictors' axe ! Shall I accept his grace ? Would it be sweet to be allowed to kneel, And strike our brows against the heels of Caesar? Immortal gods ! who in your scorn of men So calmly sleep on your Olympian heights, Waken and scoff to hear Mammea's son Dishonor send as his most precious gift By Ulpian, to the son of Amphilochus ! (He rises, and comes close to Domitian.} IRIDION. 419 Sooner will scorpions perch upon the hand Of Caesar, innocent as butterflies ; Or Zeus' dread lightnings kneel to him, and say : " We pray thee suffer us to rend the clouds," Than will the son of the Greek, Amphilochus, Lay down his arms, betray to death his brothers ! Domitian. I urge it not. I simply execute A mission given by the Emperor. Rather continue blind unto the end ; Rage on with your few robbers, murderers; Fight for the Ruler you have chosen on earth ; And when you fall — leading barbarians, slaves, Assassins, gladiators, recreant Greeks, — Into the Dark of Erebus; still shout, Crossing the Styx : " Long live the Syrian !" While Cerberus, with his three barking heads, Makes chorus to your cry ! Iridion. Is this your legal skill in sifting motives, In reading the complexities that weave Their subtle mysteries through the human heart? Great jurist, analyst, you know me not ! The worm which writhes under my feet in mire, The very dust I shake from my cothurnus, Have deeper place in my remembrance than The Syrian. Domitian, ask my people, — If any of them will respond to you, — If there is one among them who has known, Or can remember him you call my master / Many Voices. We serve Iridion only. Other Voices. Only Sigurd. Barbarians. Only the son of Crimhild, Odin's priestess. Domitian. And she who lies so still upon this bier ? Iridion. I dedicated her to sacrifice ! She yielded not to threats of sovereign power, Nor gave herself to spousals of dishonor. Oh, injure not the dead ! Breathe not one word To taint her sanctity, — who wakes no more ! Under the Syrian despot's poisoned breath, — Whom Romans chose to be their Emperor, — She lived more chaste than purest of your mothers, Your daughters, or your unsunned vestal virgins ! 420 IRIDION. Domiłian. For whom then dost thou fight ? and against whom ? Iridion. Old man, the tale were long ; time fails to tell it ! Domitian. Yet Alexander loves you, mystic Greek. Iridion. No portion of my hate has fallen on him. Domitian. Then, Greek, who is your real enemy? Iridion {turning to his soldiers). Answer the deaf and blind, and tell him, Brothers, What foe has driven you from the pleasant paths Allotted to humanity, and forced You into regions of perpetual gloom ; Who from your cradles branded on your brows The seal of hunger, thirst, and misery ; Who has forbidden you to love a wife, To offer her a quiet home of peace, Or sit with children round a happy hearth. CHORUS OF SOLDIERS. Rome ! Rome ! Iridion. Mortal itself, who founds its dearest hopes Upon the agonies of mortals, nations ? Who taught the son of Mithridates to Imbrue his hands in the blood of his own father ? Who invites the traitors of the north, The betrayers of the south, to its high festivals, Making of treason the sure path to fame ? Who forces the unfortunate to drain The cup of wretchedness ? CHORUS OF VOICES. Rome ! ever Rome ! Iridion. And who is it, that, like the infernal gods, Banquets on tears, and bathes in baths of blood, As if Pain were the nectar of the gods? CHORUS OF VOICES. Rome ! Rome ! Iridion. Have you heard, Consul ? Do you know At last, who, what I am ? Domitian. A very madman ! IRIDION. Ą2l Rome is, has been, the darling of the gods ! The second Fate, destined to rule the world ! Before her fall the weak, with faces in the dust ; The haughty vanish when she frowns on them ! The wheel of Fortune cannot turn without her ; She walks a slave, chained to Rome's car of triumph ! Yet you, a boy, without provisions, troops, You will destroy a Power whose thunders crash From the urn of Hannibal to farthest Cimbrian mounds ! Look from this place, and see the spot on which Your head shall fall before the lictor's axe ! Iridion. It may be, Roman ! but before that hour The Cimbrian javelin may have pierced your heart, The axe of the Cherusci found its way Through Aristomachus' breastplate ; and I will Have kept a solemn vow, once pledged to Tubero ! CHORUS. Before that hour the wronged must drain a cup Full to the brim of blood, for every pang They have endured ! After us, come our heirs, Whom we, from our abyss, will lead to vengeance ! Dotnitian. You'll have no heirs ! Your races die in you ! Your madness and its punishment will be A corner-stone in the enduring base Of the city founded on the seven hills ! Iridion. On that stone shall be graven : Here lies Rome ! Domitian. Weak mortal ! Do you really hope to change The will of Fate, forever wise and good ? Were it within your power, to whom would you depute The right to rule, if not to mighty Rome, The home of energy, decisive action ? Should venal Afric hold the sceptre of the world? Debauched Seleucia? singing, dancing Hellas? No. Force is born where never sounds the lyre ; Where steel and iron gird the stalwart brow, Not myrtle-wreaths and crowns of fading roses ! There where the souls of men are filled with vigor, 36* 422 IRIDIOK. Where the strong will is master, acts and dares, Not in the world of Rhythm, Music, Song ! Wills deep as the abyss, and grave as thought, Invincible as reason, must bear rule ! Power dwells where intellect has built her throne; Where understanding, not the muses, sway. Iridion. The martyrs of all nations know too well The meaning of the Roman intellect : 'Tis cunning subtlety, self-interest, guile ! With Ro?7iałi wisdom graven on his brow, The Roman Genius came to take his seat Within the home of Attalus ! He stooped, Caressed and flattered, furled his raven wings, Until he wrenched from tottering, dying hands The title-deeds to Pergamus I 1 Then he arose, and crawled to take a part In the Isthmian games, praising the sons of Hellas. 2 He spake of wisdom, for with this magic word He still deceives the weak, and kills the human soul. The intellect in Greece is godlike power To create the Beautiful ; to bless the soul ; Such intellect is genius from the gods : It means not subtlety, successful fraud. If an unfortunate victim, weak enough To trust Rome's Genius, falls into his snare, Renounces country, home, all fame in life, All glory after death, the Genius laughs And says : " You yield to Roman intellect ;" Then twists a halter round the wretch's throat, Drags him forthwith to the Tarpeian Rock, And pitiless hurls him into the abyss ! My Hellas never was degraded by The debasement of such groveling "intellect" ! The life of Greece is not a dull account-book; Her hopes were never based on treachery, Nor is her nectar bitter sobs and tears. Latona's son in her shades loved to dwell, To twine round her his glorious aureole ; She rests upon the breast of Zeus ; her brow, Shadowed by the immortal shield of Pallas, Engenders thought sublime. Apollo loves her ; IRIDION. 423 The Laurel on his head, the Golden Lyre In his skilled hands, he sports on her blue seas; — Placing his shining feet upon her sunny shores, Inspires her sons, — the Genius true of Greece ! Vengeance, Apollo ! vengeance for thy Hellas ! Domitian. Rave not, but gaze upon Rome's might and strength ! The names of Sparta, Corinth, Athens, die 'Neath the pervading thunders of our arms Like hum of distant bees at sunset's hour. Farther and farther will our sway extend, And from the rising to the setting sun, The world will know no peace, until its name is Rome ! Iridion. And can you dream to cover this abyss With a fresh growth of ivy, vines, and laurel? Deem you the bones of your dead offerings, The plundered shrines, polluted sanctuaries, Swords torn from bleeding hands that trusted you, The murdered women, children's rotting flesh, The myriad broken hearts strewn o'er your path, Will be no longer seen 'neath that lush growth Which loves to shelter ruin, hide decay? Death lurks in every pitfall of such path ! And in a generation without souls, How can you light anew the extinct fires Of honor, peace, security, and art, — Cull palms and roses, where you have sown Hate? Send for your wreaths of laurel, you and Caesar ; Indulge your pleasant dreams, like frail old men Who hope the return of youth, when Death knocks at their door ! Domitian. Chief of incendiaries, bands of robbers, Your breath is poison for a man of virtue ! Branded upon your brow, abandoned by the gods, All crimes are burning with infernal glare : My old frame shudders as I look upon you ! Iridion {turning towards the statue of Amphilochus). Father ! the Roman for the first time hears A freeman speak, and falls into a rage ! Consul, a few words more ! What have you made Of all this world which the Infernal gods 424 IRIDION. Have given to you ? Have you made any happy ? I've seen triumphal arches spring upon it, The ivory chairs of the Ediles rise thereon ; You have made roads o'er which to send your troops, Raised marbles upon which you've graven your name With the sweat and blood of dying, wretched men, Yourselves thus dedicating to the vengeful Furies ! And when the tottering earth fell in your arms, Like a deluded woman led astray, The godlike dreams of Plato floated o'er it, While even from Gades to the Ultima Thule, Glittered the snowy sails of prosperous Carthage ! What have you made this world ? Answer me, Consul ! Speak ! What remains of all the happy past? Do you not hear the sighs and sobs break forth From the fainting hearts of the wretched Nazarenes Whom you detain for torture in the catacombs? Look at the wandering shadows of the Stoics, 3 Who try to console themselves for the loss of all Making life precious, by the cold abstractions Writ by Aurelius ! Can you call this, life? Where has the Olive Branch, since Greece was ruined, Flourished upon the earth you've made so wretched? Show me the people whom your ancestors Have soothed for the loss of liberty with hymns Of hope and love, lessons of godlike wisdom ? Oh yes ! . . . I know ! . . . Augustus closed the gates Of Janus in the evening of his life, And venal lutes sang flatteries before him ! Consider, he but gave the name of peace To silent deserts of the ruined, dead ! — Only on wasted cities ground to dust, On graves of bloody generations slaughtered, You grave the words : Peace to the sons of men ! Domitian. E'en as a father rules his family, Patricians rule plebeians ; masters, slaves, So have we Quirites held provinces, Inherited, subjected, or our own ; So do we rule the world. By the same law, We govern earth we've conquered by the sword, And o'er its head we hang the law of the sword / IRIDION. 425 Iridion. If you had ne'er made use of perfidy, Deceived the credulous by lying words, What would have been your fate, O subtle Roman? Look on the legions of your proud Republic Flying before the elephants of Pyrrhus, Quailing beneath the pronged blades of the Samnites, Falling like grass before the reaper's scythe On Thrasimene's Lake, shrieking aloud For mercy to the Spaniards, when inclosed In narrow defile where no water flowed. In the dense forests of Hercynia, Paling before the prowess of the Germans, They knelt like helpless victims to be slaughtered ! Not with the thunders of bold Alexander, 4 Not with the valor of your naked blades, But through your cups of poison, perjuries, - Conspiracies, fomented treasons, guiles, Your treacherous friendships, dark diplomacies, You've crawled and writhed into the power you hold ! No. Not among the mountains grew your eagles, But in the fetid air of treacherous swamps ! Domiiian. Vainly you rage ! The granite rock on which You gnash your teeth but tears them from their sockets ! Thus you reject the mercy of your master? Iridion. Who is my master? . . .I've known none on earth ! Behind yon pyre, like monstrous birds of prey, The Genii of Death are gathering fast ! In that still kingdom I am soon to enter, They'll tell me, of what Ccesar I am subject ! Here I've known only foes ; and a few slaves Who love and serve me faithfully, my brothers. I never have known peace, nor bliss, nor rest, Only one godlike hour, dear to my soul, Short, brilliant as the flash of clashing swords That shatter suddenly in sparkling atoms, — But sacred to my heart for evermore ! None of you, Brothers, shared that hour with me; was myself, — and I was 7? entire ; There was no separate identity ! 426 IRIDION. The torch of vengeance blazed in my hot hands ; The accursed city lay beneath my feet, More and more closely veiled in night's dim shroud; The winds arose : . . . Fire! Fire! . . . {He funis pale and leans for sicpport on the statue of Am- philochus. ) Ah ! Nemesis ! Domitian. What is the matter, Greek ? Flow pale you grow ! Iridion {recovering himself}. More Roman blood is wanting to my cheeks ! Domitian. The gods have warned you by some inward sign ! For the last time, in the name of him who sent me, I warn you, sentence will be passed against you. For the last time, I offer Caesar's grace. Pardon still lies within your grasp, for Rome Is ever ready to forgive the humble! Iridion. Is such the conclusion you draw from my words ? Is this the Jurist's lore? . . . Wait, Consul, wait ! Euphorion, hand the consecrated cup ! {Euphorion hands a bowl of wine. ) I pour the Lesbian foam upon thy feet, {Empties the wine at the feet of the statue. ) Amphilochus ! Receive my bloom of life In sacrifice ! Father, I come to thee ! . . . Euphorion, fill again ! . . . Drink, Brothers, drink ! Drink, as the faithful men of Leonidas Pledged one another ere their twilight fell ! {The cup is filled and refilled as it passes round from man to man.) Drink, and be free from sad or evil thoughts ! {After the cup has circled round the men, it is again filled; Iridion holds it iit his hand as he approaches the altar which stands between the statue of Amphilochus and the body of Elsinoe, upon which altar fire blazes. He draws from his finger the ring of Empire. ) IRIDION. 427 The Guardian Genius of the cruel Empire; The god who guides its future Destiny, Blessed by the augurs, famed and hymned by prophets, Revered by vestals in their sacred chants, {He holds the ring above the flames. ) Given by the Senate but to Caesar's hand, The Fate of Rome, — I dedicate to thee In sacrifice, O Father ! Mother, thee ! And thee, beloved Hellas ! Domitian. Stop ! Stop the impious sacrilege ! Arrest The desecration of the holy symbol ! Is there a Roman here who hears my voice? Life, honor, gold, are his who saves the ring ! I vow by Stator, by Quirinus, swear ! Hold, infamous boaster ! The mystic name of Rome, Her Fate, her Honor, live within the seal ! Iridion. Life ! Honor ! Gold ! My Brothers, have you heard ? The Name and Fate of Rome live in this ring ! {He throws the ring into the flames. Domitian covers his head with his toga.) CHORUS. The Roman throws the toga o'er his head ; Sorrow and anger swell his troubled breast ; He dares not lift his head to meet our eyes ! Euge ! Euge ! Iridion. Before my lips are closed in death forever, I utter my last will. {To his soldiers.) Hearken to me, And with me join to curse the accursed city ! CHORUS. Look ! is it the reflection from the blaze, Or does Apollo crown him with his light, That thus his face illumes with sudden glory? Iridion. Woe to the victors ! Woe ! As they would have Degraded us, so may they be abased ! All who are born in Rome, all dead in Rome, Women and children, men, — may all be slaves ! 428 IRIDION. CHORUS OF MEN. Women and children, men, — may all be slaves ! Iridion. Eternal "Fatum/" Rise from thy high throne, Where thou art seated o'er all other gods; Descend to earth, rest on these seven hills, Become the Fury of their agonies ! May Rome, which ruins all, die at Thy Feet, All-Creator, God of all their gods ! CHORUS OF MEN. Destroy their race ! Their language die with them ! Iridion. Their infamy shall live till Time shall be no more ! Let the tradition of their tyranny Be their eternal epitaph ! May all Who read it in the future curse them, — curse them From age to age, while lasts the universe ! CHORUS OF MEN. Curse them from age to age, while lasts the universe! Iridion. The hour of prayer and sacrifice is past; The flame is dying out upon the altar; The god of Rome is dead ! Consul, look up ! Domitian. You break all codes, outrage the holiest symbols ! According to the customs of our Fathers, 1 shut you from the protection of all law; I interdict the use of fire and water ! The slave who brings your head shall have his freedom; The freeman, have his statue near the rostrum, A seat next to the Consul at the games ! Villain, I go to await you at the gate Of the Mamertine prison! Madman, death-doomed, I'll see you plunge from the Tarpeian rock! Iridion. None here will raise a hand against me ! Go! Rage is unseemly with a head of snow. (Exit Domitian. ) IRIDION. 429 Thy funeral pyre is ready, sunny-haired ! Take up the bier and bear it gently, slaves! Salve Eternum, Elsinoe pure ! {They carry the bier slowly out, Iridion walking beside it, followed by Pilades. Exeunt soldiers, attendants, etc.) SCENE III. Moonlight. A street in Rome. On one side stands the temple of Venus, opposite to it is the Flavian am- phitheatre. Lucius Tubero and the prcetorians are seen upon the steps of the temple. Tubero. Aristomachus should be here ere this. Night had scarce fallen when we parted ; now The moon stands high above the amphitheatre. The giant shadows, silence of these arches, Weigh upon me! I know not why it is, But the fresh breath of night, instead of calming, Burns on my cheek. How anxious is this waiting! Yet I have looked on far more desperate things Without a shudder. Soul, thou slave of Lucius, Why dost thou now revolt against thy master? 'Tis said that when the end of life draws near, The spirit grows afraid and warns the body. Brutus had signs before the last lost fight, And Otho too at Bedriacum . . . Diespiter ! This is no time for Tubero to die! Young Caesar counts on my experience, And with Domitian I can hold the reins. Should the great jurist fall beneath the sword Of the mad Greek or axes of the Germans, — Then . . . then . . . Who answers me? Marspiter! speak! . . . 'Tis nobody! Only a lion roused from sleep And roaring in the vaults below the circus. No, — there are other sounds 1 Voices and tumult! Marspiter! who comes here? {Armed men rush in in disorder, followed by Aristomachus. ) Aristomachus. Help! help! Tubero. Shame ! shame ! 37 IRIDION. Caesar upon the Forum waits for you To bring the Greek in chains; you fly before him! Aristomachus. Were he the Father of both gods and men, He lies who says I fear! I have just driven This javelin through the breasts of two centurions Because they wavered, turned their faces from The flaming eyes of this same fiery Greek. Tubero. Whence gets he this new power? Does he sow dragons' teeth Which grow to men as soon as they are planted? Aristomachus. He must be near the end, but he still fights With supernatural force and bravery. As we marched o'er the slope of the Viminalis, He rushed upon us like a lava torrent, Throwing his flaming torches, fiery arrows, And burning naphtha. Face to face we met; Three times a desperate encounter followed; As if from Vulcan's anvil flew the sparks Between his shield and my tried sword: in vain, For each time were we driven by the crowd apart. Tttbero. I swear to hang within thy Temple, Mars, His armor, when I've torn it from the Greek! Aristomachus. Take off your breastplate, Tubero! Two scales Ruptured above the heart just as you spoke ! Tubero. The gods avert the omen ! {Exeunt Tubero and Aristomachus.} Masinissa {appearing upon the steps of the temple of Venus). Ye birds of night, fed on the arena's blood, Spread your black wings, and circle round my head ! Moon, ghastly ruin of a dead volcano, Where Vulcan raged, whom men in idle dreams Have changed to star of purity and peace, Send me thy pale, thy faded rays! Earth, give me that which still belongs to me! Air, pay me what is due! I fain would feed To-day on poison, misery, and blood, As I once fed upon eternal light ! IRIDION. 43* Another day, another night, and I, With my brave son, depart to other scenes ! A CHORUS OF FEMALE SPIRITS FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE TEMPLE. The Beautiful, Voluptuous, salute their Lord ! Floating above the helmets of the warriors, Our cheeks we freshen in hot human blood : The blood shed by thy son is now our favorite mirror ! The Beautiful, Voluptuous, warn their Lord, That at the rising of Orion's stars, The mystic spirit came, rolling in streams Through the blue depths of ether's haunted realm ! All melancholy clouds, all silent charms It weaves, re-weaves around Iridion's soul ! Masinissa. Does my son heed the whispers of the spirit ? CHORUS OF FEMALE SPIRITS. Whene'er this mystic thought, which has no voice, Touches his heart, he chill and pallid grows. His sword still seeks the weak points in the armor, . But cannot break into the House of Life. Like a fallen angel he stiW strives and fights 'Midst heaps of ruins. Hasten to him, Lord! Masinissa. Feeble and misty soul of a chaste virgin, Pure sighs breathed from the other side of graves, You shall not tear Iridion from my grasp ! I have not trained his hands to strike your golden harps, Nor tuned his vengeful lips to chant your hymns of praise ! (He disappears.') SCENE IV. The Forum lighted by torches. Alexander is seated in a curule chair ; behind him stand the guard with golden eagles. Domitian is at his side. Aristo- machus enters, followed by soldiers bearing in Scipio, dangerously wounded. Aristomachus. O godlike Emperor ! Brave Tubero Ere this has made a captive of the Greek ! 43 2 IRIDION. I was with him when he began the fight With the Cherusci, who, led by this man, (He points to Scipio.) Stood on the farther slope of the Viminal. I pressed him so severely that they cried : " Long live Severus, Caesar !" They swore to me By all the gods of the north, that they had lost Their senses after Heliogabalus perished. This man closed up the mouths of two or three With vigorous thrusts ; — the rest massed on our side. Alexander. Aristomachus, our best thanks are due ! Aristomachus. I must return to Tubero. {Exit Aristomachus. ) Domitian (to Scipio). Your name ? Scipio. A dying man ! Domitian. Reveal the hidden truth, And reconcile yourself ere your last sigh With the just gods. Scipio. Just gods / Where may I find them ? Doinitian. Answer before your Emperor ! Since when Have you conspired ? Scipio. I cannot count. — Since the beginning of eternity ! Domitian. Nay, jest not, slave ! Have you accom- plices In other portions of this mighty realm ? Scipio. Ay ! everywhere ! Domitian. Who are the chief among them? Scipio. Caesar and you ! While you exist, they live ! (He dies.) Alexander (descending from the throne). Nor threat nor pardon conquers such firm souls ! Dofnitian. No, fire and steel alone ! . . . Learn how to walk On the brink of the precipice without a fall ! Heed not the voice of women ! Never trust The generosity of other men ! Rome has in thee, herself incorporated ; Then be as she is, strong and pitiless ! IRIDION. 433 SCENE V. An open space by the fountain of Neptune. Clashing of swords and alarums heard in the distance. Enter Iridion pursuing Tubero. Tubero. Through the whole night your eyes, like brands of fire Kindling from Erebus, have followed me ! Which of your gods tempered and forged your armor? Marspiter ! Greek, my courage fails me not Under your strokes, — but my strength totters . . . reels . . . Iridion. For the last time you've parried my sharp strokes ; I keep the pro?nise pledged you, Tubero ! Tubero. O Father Neptune, help! {He falls.) My hour has come ! Iridion. Go, tell my sister I am coming soon ! {Kills him.) Vengeance ! Thou givest me but single drops, When I have prayed thee for a sea of blood ! I burn in the full force of vigorous life ! The souls of murdered, dying brothers live And fight within my breast. I know no fear ! I grow into a Titan . . . Must I die? . . . I will not die ! . . . {He stoops and picks up the sword of Tubero, then staggers and turns pale.) Invisible spirit, why thus follow me ? Christ ? Christ? . . . What is that mystic name to me ? Away ! Away ! Torture me not, Metella ! Float with the silver clouds around the moon ! Fly ! darkness soon will shroud the crimsoned earth ! {Enter Alboin.) Is't friend or foe of Iridion, the Greek! Alboin. Once an associate. Iridion. Say, is it fear, Or the reflection of the moon's white rays, "Which blanches thus your cheek? Alboin. The ghastly corpse Of Scipio is thrown down the Gemoniae.* * " Gemoniae Scalas," steps in Rome, down which the bodies of crimi- nals were thrown. 37* 434 IRIDION. Iridion. His fathers on the Capitolium sleep. Alboin. And the Cherusci yield their arms to Caesar. Iridion. Then our last moments will be very short ! We'll seek the palace of Amphilochus, There let the Romans enter in the court, Where blazes still the pyre of Elsinoe ; With her we both will pass away in flame ; My foes, my men, the palace of my father, All, all shall perish ! Alboin, follow me! Alboin. While any hope remained I served you truly, For I hate Rome as you. However . . . now . . . Iridion. Slave of the Golden Eagle, you betray me! Alboin. Not I, but Fortune has deserted you ! Why, I must live ; life's only on that side! Hear you the tribunes shout ? Caesar has set A price upon your head ! {He draws his sword.') Iridion {felling him to the earth). Go down to Hell ! On that route, soon or late, you will meet Caesar ! {Exit.) SCENE VI. The court of Iridion' s palace. The still smoking pyre of Elsinoe stands in the court. Gladiators, slaves, soldiers enter, bearing torches, Pilades is seen hurrying across the stage. Several Voices. Where are you going, Pilades, so fast? Pilades. To bring fresh pine and cypress from the cave. Many Men. Tear the torch from his hand ! He shall not go ! Pilades. No nearer come ! Do you not know me, Brothers ? I must do as my Lord directed me. Many Men. Throw down your torch at once ! Stand still, or die ! Several Voices. Aristomachus' eagles must be near ! Other Voices. And Tubero must be almost upon us ! LHdion {entering). Brothers, you are deceived. No day will ever dawn For Tubero ! {He mounts the base of an obelisk.) Why, what means this? Axes, Shields, arms, thrown down, and my men in disorder? IRIDION. 435 For the last time I call you to the fight : — Then, Brothers, rest and silence evermore ! (A pause. The men stand motionless and make no reply.') Why do you gaze so furtively at me? Why let the arms drop from your sturdy hands? The very flames grow pale before your pallor ! To arms ! First Soldier. My chief! I fought from break of day Until the moon went down. I scarce can stand. Another Soldier. What has become of our associates? Some fainting, exhausted, nearly dead; Some die in torture ; others kill themselves ; Many have gone to yield themselves to Caesar! Other Soldiers {showing their wounds). Look at our wounds ! We cannot stand upright ! A Soldier. Aristomachus broke his heavy lance Off in my breast. Iridion, water! water! Iridion. Ah ! I can only give you fire ! fire ! AIL O impious ! The gods themselves desert you ! Iridion. Diomedes, were you not born in Corinth? Will you humiliate yourself before The tyrants of your country ? You, Glaucus, you ? Eutelles, beautiful as Greek god ? How can you, Greeks, shame Greece before her foe ? CHORUS OF GREEKS. Woe ! Woe ! Our agonies are useless To our dead Fatherland ! Iridion. Die for her glory ! CHORUS OF MEN. Life ! Life ! Not fame ! Food, rest ! — not useless glory ! Iridion. Poor wretches, I have heard your many oaths, Have seen your swords oft deeply dyed in blood, And know how bravely you have borne the brunt ! But now you stand on the very brink of the grave, When one short hour would bring you lasting fame ; And will you die as men are wont to die, Not in despair, blindness, fury of combat, But shame, submission, treachery, cowardice? 43 6 IRIDION. CHORUS. Caesar still loves you ! For yourself, for us, Obtain his pardon ! It is not yet too late ! Iridion. If Rome should now forgive you, can you think You would be suffered long to li ve ? Not so ! Grief, shame, I know, would not cut short your days, But they would send you into desert sands, Where water flows not, where the blazing sun Would scorch your feet, would crisp your hair and burn Your brains, destroying you as Greeks ! Invited to their banquets, they would pledge You deep in poisoned cups, accuse of crimes ! Know, men, that all who'd enter Caesar's service Would find their blood sold cheaply to his foes Because he still would number you among them. You will be forced to fight with tigers, lions, For the amusement of the Roman people, Procuring them another holiday ! You cannot save your lives ! Die then as men, With arms in your brave hands ! Die not as slaves ! A Soldier. You now abuse us ! You, who have be- trayed us ! Another Soldier. You promised victory ! {He seizes Pilades.) Hold, Pilades ! Iridion. Stab him who holds you, Pilades, and go ! A Soldier. Your head is doomed ! Another Soldier. We'll carry it to Caesar ! Iridion. Strike, wretch ! See, I have thrown away my shield ! But your hands tremble so you cannot strike me ! {Pilades is stabbed by a soldier with whom he is struggling?) Ah ! my poor Pilades ! My faithful friend ! Pilades. Son of Amphilochus, Iridion ! Thy fate is far more bitter to me than my own / (He falls and dies.*) CHORUS. Seest thou the golden eagles? Caesar's purple? Hearest thou the trumpets of his legions swell ? IRIDION. 437 Iridion {springing down from the base of the obelisk on which he stood). Each of these swords is at a traitor's throat ! Wretch, see thyself in Sigurd's glittering blade ! Miscreant, the sword of Tubero is keen ! Traitors, no nearer come ! Out of my way ! Grow not so pale ! I have no wish to kill you ! Go ! press your trembling knees into the dust ! Go, beg for pity ! fold your hands in prayer ! Adore the Romans ! I will not die a slave ! (He passes between his men with a naked sword in either hand, and mounts upon the pyre of Elsinoe.) CHORUS. Son of misfortune ! May the floods of blood Which thou hast shed, soon bear thee into Erebus ! The curses of the living follow thee ! May they still thunder on thine ears, until Thou shiverest upon the gloomy shores of Styx ! Iridion. Father ! I die, weary of my few days, Satiate with poison, bitterness of life ! Father, forgive not cowards ! Cruel victors ! (Masinissa appears by Iridion upon the pyre of Elsinoe.) Ah ! thou appearest at last when all is o'er ! Go ! go, old man ! thine hour is not yet come ! Go ! join the traitors ! Caesar may forgive thee ! Masinissa. Son, follow me ! Iridion. No longer do I know thee ! Masinissa. I saved in battle; but thou saw'st me not; Aided in thy despair ; thou knewest me not : And I am here only to save thee now ! Iridion. To save me? No ! Die with me if a man ! Masinissa. What if I cannot die ? (He takes Iridion in his arms. ) Iridion. Why, what art thou? Masinissa. A god ! (He disappears with Iridion.) (Enter Alexander, Domitian, Aristomachus, Koman cohorts, etc. Alexander. Rebels ! Where is the son of Amphilochus? 438 IRIDION. CHORUS. We saw him mount upon his sister's pyre ; We heard him speak but once ; then all was still ; He disappeared, we cannot answer where. See ! We lay down our arms, and pray for pardon ! Soldiers. We would have given him up to thee, O Caesar ! Alexander. My mercy is worn out ! CHORUS. Be pitiful ! Iridion alone was guilty ! He Deceived us all ! He led us to destruction ! Domitian. Woe to the conquered ! Call the lictors here ! The top of a mountain. On the one side Ro?ne is seen as if through a fog ; on the other side, the sea. Iridion is supported on the arm 0/" Masinissa. Iridion. Oh, thou that for thy sufferings I loved, Hellas ! my Hellas ! wert thou but a shadow? Art thou forever crushed, my cherished country, W r hile thy invincible foe still stands erect, Glaring his marbles in the face of the sun, Like the white teeth of a fierce tiger ? . . . Why am I here ? Fire rages in my brain ! Thoughts gnaw my soul, as worms destroy a corpse ! {He throws himself upon the earth.) Masinissa. Refresh thy forces in this morning mist ; Drink this cool air, bathe in this strengthening light ! Iridion. Grasping my hand in thine, like iron links, Thou'st dragged me here ! . . . I am confused ! . . . know not . . . Man lives but once . . . this once is past for me . . . For I died yesterday. . . . Is all but dream ? Masinissa. Thy course is not yet ended, O my son ! Iridion. Nay, torture me no more ! My father died IRIDION. 439 Held in your arms ; my sister, sent by you, Perished by her own hand in Caesar's palace ; And at your feet I lie in agony ! Is this not yet enough, stern Masinissa? {He raises his head from the ground. ) The innocent girl I sacrificed to you Melted away in piteous sighs and wails. I hear her voice still quivering in my ears; I see her cross upon the Blue of Heaven ! Oh, if her God were greater than all gods ! + What if He were the sole Truth of the world ! Masinissa. And were it so, what wouldst thou do, my son ? Iridion. Dying, this broken sword still in my hand, I would acknowledge Him, invoke, adore Him ! Masinissa {with irony). Thou'dst kneel, and say: Father who art in Heaven, Give life to Rome ! Save those who have betrayed me ! Deliver those who've never ceased to oppress My Fatherland ! Iridion. No. I would kneel and pray : Father who art in Heaven ! deign to love My Hellas well, as I myself have loved her — Speak, Masinissa, in this solemn hour ! You who have still deceived me, promised much, And nothing done, making me ever wretched ; You on whose breast my young head used to slumber ; You who even now stand o'er me like a god, As if you had the rule of the whole universe ; — Answer ! for my brain reels and my thoughts whirl, — Answer me quickly, truly, I conjure you ! Is Jesus Christ the Lord of Heaven and earth? Masinissa. Thou hast said it ! Iridion. You also bear Him witness ! Masinissa. As an immortal foe, to his immortal foe ! He rules to-day the old Empyrean And the decrepit earth ! . . . But there exist Immensities where His name is effaced, As my name is effaced within His Heaven ! Worlds of immortal youth there are which roll On in confusion, full of embryos, 44o 1RIDI0N. Working and bringing forth in agony ! There, there are suns still without brilliancy ; Strong future gods in chains; vast oceans, which As yet receive no name, whose swollen waves Forever seek, and tend toward shores of pleasure ! But He . . . He chained Himself . . . mounted a throne, And said I Am ! . . . And bowed His Head ! . . . No. I deny Him not ! I see Him now ! But I. turn toward the abyss of glooms, — my hopes — Eyes wounded by His light ! . . . But from these glooms Shall spring the victory ! Iridion, choose ! Iridion. Upon your brow is iron constancy, The shadow of eternal suffering; But 'midst its many wrinkles, there is not One thought of hope ! No ! No ! From the abyss Of gloomy centuries you'll rise no more ! You have deceived, betrayed, and ruined me ! Masinissa. Forsake me not, as cowards have forsaken thee ! {He lifts up Iridion^) Float over this abyss, and look into The city of thy hate ! Ha ! knowest thou Who is to tear it from thy brothers' hands, When they, as Crimhild prophesied, shall come To ravage Italy, to sow its soil With salt, and plough its furrows red with blood ? The Nazarene ! And when the Purple from the Caesars falls, Dost thou know who will seize it, wear their crown ? The Nazarene ! In Him will be the perfidy of the Senate ; In Him will be the cruelty of the people, As an eternal heritage. His hair is white ; His heart as merciless As that of the first Cato ; His words are sweet ; His voice effeminate ; He fasts and prays. The warriors of the North will come and sit Like little innocent children at His feet ; And for the second time He will raise Rome To be the god and ruler of the world \ Iridion. Alas ! how boundless my desires have been ; IR ID ION. 441 How I have labored only to destroy ; Have sacrificed all J held dear on earth To satiate a sacred vengeance ! As others strain to bless the souls they love, I've strained to ruin those most dear to me ! I die, — and you come to announce to me — To me, the dying ! — the eternal life of Rome ! Masinissa. Despair not ! for a day will surely come When the shadow of the Cross will seem to scathe The nations of the earth like burning heat ; When they will seek a god 'neath newer suns. Then He will stretch out wide His arms in vain To press unto His heart those who abandon Him ! One after one, they will arise and say : ' i We will no longer serve you /' ■ There will be heard at all the city gates Complaints, confusion, threats, and mutterings ! The Genius then of Rome will veil his face, His tears, sobs, sorrows, will be infinite! For on the Forum will be only dust ; And ruins on the amphitheatre ; And of the Capitol, but infamy ! And I will walk upon these desolate plains, Inhabited by wild beasts and a few Pale shepherds, the last denizens of Rome ! Then my long strife on earth draws near its end ! Iridion. My heart begins to beat ! This longed-for day, Is it far distant? Tell me, Masinissa ! Masinissa. So far, I scarcely can myself divine it ! Iridion. Amphilochus, then was thy son a dream, A shade astray, cast from a distant Future, A toy too early born, the sport of Fate ! {To Masinissa.} Go, Masinissa, go ! Neither to thee, Nor any other god, will I give up my soul ! Upon this rock, with my eyes fixed on Rome, I'll die as I have lived, — in solitude of spirit ! Masinissa. Hear me, my son! »The pallor of thy cheeks I will give back to death, and kindle life anew ; I will restore the strength within thy fiery heart ; 38 442 IRIDION. I will obliterate all memory of the Past, And I will give thee ignorance of the Future ! Iridion. Away ! Masinissa. 1 will awake a thousand keen desires, And give a thousand powers to gratify them. I will revive the beauties of the Past ; All of them, ere they vanish, shall devote Their charms to thee ; shall burn, consume, and melt In rapture in thine arms ! Helen of Troy, The radiant daughter of dark Ptolemy, Venus of Ida; all that fancy asks ! . . . And from translucent waves and rays of flame, .Nay, even from the crawling slime of earth, Voluptuous raptures still for thee shall glow ! Iridion. Tempt me no more ! Masinissa. In a far-distant land I'll give thee generations of a race Supple, obedient 'neath the palace-roof, But terrible upon the battle-field. Intoxicated by their adulation, Thou' It love thyself, as once thou hast loved Hellas. I'll steep thee in the power desired by kings, Teach thee their loves, and fill thee with their honors : — Until I come to set my seal upon thee, Saying, " The hour of eternal combat sounds ! M Iridion. Tempt me no more, or crush these walls in ruins ; Destroy the accursed race that blighted Hellas ! You claim great power : renew with me the combat ; The son of Amphilochus would conquer Rome ! Masinissa. Vainly on me thou urg'st thy prayer to- day / Iridion. Then not to-day I yield myself to you ! Masinissa. Hear me ! Yet hear ! Iridion. O Genius without power ! In all your boasted treasures there is naught To tempt Iridion's soul ! He scorns them all ! He scorns you witb them, for such offerings ! Masinissa. What if I could destroy the ages for thee? Iridion. I comprehend you not. Masinissa. If I should tear IRIDION. 443 Thee from the hurrying waves of Time ; should lay Thee safely on the banks of this still shore ; Rock thee to sleep upon oblivion's heart, Until these towers shall tumble into dust, — And then awake thee, such as now thou art? Iridion. In Rome? when centuries have rolled away? Masinissa. Yes. So thou shait fulfill thy sole desire ! Thou' It crush beneath thy feet the smouldering ashes Of ruined Rome, thy mortal enemy ! Iridion. Not when the red flames wrap the accursed city ! Not when the brethren of my mother blow Their vengeful horns upon the seven hills ! Masinissa. Son of Amphilochus, when shall it be? Iridion. When of the Forum there is naught but dust, The amphitheatre lies low in ruins, The Capitol abased in infamy ! Masinissa. And then, my son? Iridion. I will be yours j Swear ! Swear ! Masinissa. I swear to thee to keep thy body safe ! I swear to put thy soul asleep ; awake it ! I swear it to thee by what He calls Evil ; My only Good ! Iridion, give thy hand ! Iridion. Take the unhappy thing that fought in vain ! Masinissa. The Powers of Darkness gather round thy head, And the abyss, my father, hears thy oath ! Wilt thou renounce my Enemy forever? Iridion. I will renounce . . . What a despairing cry wails o'er my head ! Masinissa. Regard it not ! Iridion. The air is full of sighs ! That rock ! . . . Look ! Look ! ... It breaks into a cross ! . . . Black drops are falling from the sky above us ! . . . Look ! . . . they are drops of blood ! . . . Masinissa. 'Tis nothing, son ! Iridion. A wild storm gathers out upon yon sea ! Who calls me there ? ... up there ! . . . farther . . . and ever farther ! Do you not hear that voice? Alas ! alas ! 444 IRIDION. Masi?iissa. And now ? Jridio?i. Silence ! Masinissa. Together through eternity! Together without end, repose, hope, love, Until the Everlasting Vengeance be fulfilled ! Iridion. I swear ! Together for eternity When Rome is ruined, earthly vengeance full ! Masinissa. Now all is finished ! Follow me, my son. Iridion. Whither? Masinissa. To a cool cave upon the shore, Covered with clustering vines and wreaths of ivy. No crimson morning ever breaks its gloom, No moon, no stars, no echo from the living; No pleasure, pain, nor dreams shall haunt thee there ! Thou shalt sleep on through coming centuries, Unconscious till I come to waken thee, The hour my kingdom's gates open for thee ! Iridion. I follow. Rome to me ! To you, my soul ! EPILOGUE. Son of my Thought, long centuries have rolled over thee ! Thou slumberedst through the days of Alaric, the days of Attila ; and neither the clangor of the impe- rial crown on the rugged brow of Charlemagne, nor the tumult of Rienzi, the Tribune of the people, availed to waken thee ! And the Holy Masters of the Vatican glided by thee, one after another, as shadows past a shade ! But to-day thou wilt awaken, Son of my Thought ! In the Roman Campagna the sun only shines upon wastes of desolation, and is now sinking sadly over the deserted plains. The long shadows of evening are creep- ing over the burnt wormwood of the sands and the sway- ing reeds of the swamps. And over the lonely pines of the hills, the cypress-trees of the valleys, the star of the IRIDION. evening — a goddess for the men of the past — rises mournfully, and tears of dew fall here and there beneath her. The foaming waves still play upon the sea, illu- mined by the sunset's bloody shimmer. The silence of a stifling heat weighs on the air ; not a cloud, not the lightest movement in the ether; and yet the depths of the sea are strangely stirred ; the waves, with full and purple breasts, utter wild plaints to Heaven. For he who dwells in the Abyss ; he who once made the solemn promise, rises from the boiling bosom of the waters, and moves with feet far blacker than the night over the surging bodies of his myriad slaves. A sombre light streams from his form, as if a darker crimson sun went down behind him ; shadowy clouds rise from his arms, and roll over the distant waves. He is alone, as centuries ago ; still bearing on his brow his immortality of age. When he attains the shore, the unburdened sea respires ! The tired waves fall into sleep in the fast deepening twilight ! He leaves no traces of his path as he moves by the Sam- nite hills and seeks the hidden grotto. There, by the power of his spells, the sleeping life be- gins to wake in thee, O Son of Vengeance ! The serpent sleeping at thy feet begins to move and shiver. He seems already to divine the approach of his master. The livid scales grow brighter, rise and fall ; as he untwines his coils, sparks flash and glitter from them o'er thy bed of marble. Uncoiled, he rises, stands erect ; and like a blazing torch, he waits ! By his strange light are seen the black stones of thy couch, the cliff behind thee, thy darkened features, my Hero ! The first faint dawn of life quivers across thy brow, like ignes-fatui over graves \ but from the threshold of the cavern, and calling on thee by thy name, a solemn voice intones the chant of resurrection. At every triplet of the mystic song, renewed force of life returns to thee. A 3S* 446 IRIDION. consciousness of all the ages passed since thy long sleep began is given thee, as thou hadst lived them all, and, like the history of a single day, thou seest unroll before thine eyes the cruel torments Rome has suffered, and all the triumphs of the Cross. The whole Past lives before thee, as if in hues of flame. The neighing of horses, and the noise of arms; the clash of swords; rattling of armor; the chimes of bells and chanting of calm hymns float on around thee, splendid and vivid, as they, in their reality, had formerly swept by above thee, during thy centuries of slumber. Dead Bishops pass in long procession on before thee. And preceding each of them is a monarch, bearing upon his shoulders the open Book of the Holy Word. They cross and recross the Seven Hills, up and down, and down and up, moving in ceaseless course. Over some float groups of angels in the air, throwing down crowns of palms; while some move on in silence and alone, bearing in the right hand the holy symbol of redemption, and in the left the insignia of war. And as the hour of thy awakening draws near and nearer still, their train grows less and less ; their bands fall off ; duller sound the footfalls; whiter and whiter grow the heads of the Lords of Rome, and more tremulous their hands. Then above all the varied chanting*peals a voice of wondrous power; a voice of fierce command which does not reach the skies, but which the earth re-echoes from her inmost depths ; and this voice cries : " My son !" Then on the surface of the lake, over its mossy banks, under thy cavern's vault, a flash of lightning gleams, and the thunder of renewed life reverberates through thy dor- mant breast. And young and beautiful, such as thou wert in centuries long past, thou risest from thy couch of marble. Thy flashing eyes first meet pale Dian's face above the Latine Hills ; thou sayest : " Lo ! I am!" He beckons with his hand and leads thee on . . . but the footsteps wake no echo, and the two forms glide over dark ravines like two black clouds. IRIDION. 447 Thou standest in the Campagna of Rome, and nothing veils its shame from thy keen eyes. Like myriad golden memories twinkle the stars, as myriad mocking smiles. The black and stagnant aqueduct, once bearing its clear water to the city, is broken, choked ; great blocks of stone fallen from its walls lie round like rags of vestment, or form in heaps like gravestones, funeral piles, o'ergrown with trailing vines ; winds thick with dust blow over them ; and birds of prey and night flit round with melancholy cry ! The son of centuries gazes around him, and rejoices in the justice of his vengeance. Each ruin seems to him a recompense. He ponders o'er the widowed amphitheatre, the orphaned temples. He shakes the dust from his feet where once stood the circus of Caracalla, and o'er the mausoleum of Cecilia, the wife of Crassus. His dreadful leader guides him ever on ; up through the street of ancient tombs to the gates of Rome. They open, but they grate not on their hinges ; no rattling of bolts and bars is heard ; they enter, but the sentinels seem all asleep, supported on their arms. Like shadows they pass by the sleeping shadows ! Through long and lonely temples, halls, they wind their narrow way. " Night of my love ! My only night ! My last ! Thou shinest for me with all the brilliancy of day ! Above each wreck thou tearest the veil of shadow, and thou deliverest ruins, trembling and naked, to the gaze of their worst foe! Thou, moon, pierce with thy rays these mouldering buildings ! With thy white rays of scorn, show me the wretched remnants of Rome's few inhabitants !" Under the portico of the Basilica stand two old men, invested with a purple mantle ; some monks salute them by the name of Princes of the Church and Holy Fathers, and on their faces may be read poverty of spirit. They enter a chariot drawn by a pair of black and meagre horses ; behind them is a servant with a lantern, such as is held by a poor widow o'er a child dying with hunger. And on the panels of this carriage still remain the marks of former gilding. 448 IRIDION, Slowly vanish the creaking wheels ; slowly disappear the bent and hoary heads. The fearful leader says : " They are the successors of the haughty Caesars ! That is the chariot of the Fortune of the Capitoline ! ' ' The son of Greece looks on and claps his hands in triumph ! And now they climb a slope, mount a broad stairway over mutilated steps and prostrate pillars, and enter a desert court. And in its midst is seen the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, still stretching out his hand in empty space. Caesar without a subject ! A conqueror without triumphal paeans! and behind him appear in the shadow the black walls of the Capitol. Not far from the statue is the Tarpeian rock. With the shattered stump of his sword the young man strikes fiercely upon the brow of the best of the Caesars. Under the blow of the Greek blade, the Roman bronze wails like the toll of a death-knell. To this melancholy clang only answer the piteous cries of the owl, watching from the pinnacles of the castle, and the howlings of the dogs prowling through the ruins of some desert street. Down steps covered with mud and crumbling sand, they descend toward the Forum: it is the "Via Sacra, 7 1 the route of the Conquerors! The arch of Septimius Severus is buried breast-high in earth; the columns of the Temple, sunk to their throats in mouldy rottenness, lift their sad capitals above the soil, like heads of the damned! Other wrecks remain stand- ing, high and solitary, on mounds, glaring nakedly out in the ghastly symmetry of skeletons. Their capitals, their flowers, their acanthus-leaves, which in their snowy white- ness used to glitter so pitilessly upon thee in the cen- turies past, appear to thee now, O my hero, begrimed and bristling like the unkempt locks on the brow of a con- vict. The marble cracks, and breaks from their sides; it disappears in dust and ashes, — and thou canst recog- nize nothing, and name nothing, in the hour of thy triumph ! IRIDION. 449 Under the remains of this portico, two wretched beggars are asleep, wrapped in the rags of the same cloak. In the pale light of the moon their faces gleam like monumental marbles; a lizard glides over their entwining arms; it flies before thee like a leaf in the wind of autumn. In them thou greetest the last of the Roman People on the ruins of the Forum ! Thou strikest them with thy foot, — but they awake not ! Thy leader guides thee through a way bordered with dying trees: there sleep the shadows of the Palatine : there lie the battered breasts and broken limbs of heroes; there headless gods and demigods of jasper and of porphyry strew the ground, rolling together in the dust! Thou passest through the broken arch of Titus, gaping like a great wound into the empty, desolate space beyond. Here it seems to thee, just risen from the sleep of centuries, that the Coliseum still stands entire: — but the terrible one takes thy hand — and laughs convulsively ! And 'midst the deadly silence of the arena, on its silver sands, under its long arcades with broken arches, like formless rocks with ivy growing on their tops and gashes through their hearts, — thou thankest Fatum for the com- plete abasement of the seven-hilled city ! And here must end thy pilgrimage! From the arena's sands thou art to go where millions upon millions have before thee gone ! All that thou hadst once seen, all in which thou hadst thyself borne a part, returns to thy remembrance. There stood the throne of Caesar; there suffered Elsinoe; there writhed Heliogabalus ; there conquered Alexander. Con- tests, struggles, blood, curses, mingling with trumpets, flutes, roll on before thee. But there is no sunshine now, and no velarium,* whose purple folds floated about the circus, now shades the hill of Livius. The moon alone * During the games in the amphitheatre, an awning called the Vela- rium was thrown across its whole length and breadth, to shelter the spectator from the rays of the sun. 45 o IR ID ION. shines coldly down upon the throng of the moving, acting, vanishing phantoms which glide before thee. Of all these varying sounds the accents of a hymn alone swell on thy ear; thou didst hear it formerly; this for- merly was yesterday; yesterday died the Nazarenes within this amphitheatre, their faces calm as an eve in summer. And where they fell stands now a cross: — a black and silent cross in the midst of the arena. Thy leader turns away his dark and stormful face from its peaceful shadow. A wondrous feeling now awakes in thee. Not pity for lost Rome; her desolation equals not her crimes. Nor is it dread of the destiny which thou hast chosen ; for thou hast suffered far too deeply to know fear. Nor is it a regret to leave thy mother Earth ; in thy long sleep of centuries, thou hast forgotten all the love of life. But a virgin's tender face, full of melancholy sadness, floats o'er the cross, — that cross once scorned by thee, because thou couldst not sharpen it to steel, and make of it an arm of vengeance. And now thou hast no wish to fight against it. It seems to thee, that like thyself, it, too, is weary. Its fate appears to thee as sad as that of thy loved Hellas. . And under the rays of the moon, thou hast felt that it is Holy for evermore ! However, thou hast no desire to escape from thy sworn faith. Thou risest and walkest to the old man of the Desert. He shudders, for he reads the secrets of thy soul. He throws his long arms round thee, and clasps thee in their gloomy circle; he tears thee step by step away from the sign of man's redemption; and thou followest him slowly on, as once thy father followed him. But thou, my hero ! strong and beautiful, with thy dark tunic wrapped around thee, and thy Greek cothurni on thy feet, — thou stoppest; — thine arms stretched towards the sky, thy being vibrates with a sudden aspiration, like rapid, powerful music, harmonizing in its own unity a thousand wandering tones: — an aspiration in itself uniting the thou- IRIDION. 45* sand voices of thy soul ! . . . And all the ruins of the Corinthian capitals, the acanthus-leaves, seem to sigh with thee, Iridion! " My son, the time is here. Thou hast drained to the dregs the drink the centuries prepared for thee and poured into thy life-cup. The time has come ! The crimson dawn is nigh, our way is long, and we must enter on a darker path !" Moans are heard issuing from the earth ; it seems as if the bones of those who have sealed their faith in blood awake from sleep. Sighs fill the air ; the souls faithful to Christ appear to float on through space. Then, o'er the summits of the amphitheatre, above all the plaintive voices, resounds a chant full of glory ! And in the air a form reveals itself of dazzling white- ness and transparent splendor; and round this form floats the charity of the celestials; sometimes the rays like flut- tering pennons twine and intertwine, then sunder to ex- pand in the white moonlight into two still, outstretched angel-wings. Thou raisest thine eyes to gaze upon that calm face ; thou recognizest features once known to thee, but fresh- ened by celestial dew, and luminous with the breath of Heaven. Thou gazest into it, and, in bidding it adieu, it seems to thee that thou art bidding farewell forever to all beauty. A Voice calls the old man of the Desert back before the cross, to await a judgment not yet decided. Humbled by that voice, he covers his withered brows with his hands as the angels chant their hymn of love, and turns his dark face toward the gates of the arena. He seizes thy hand, gnashes his teeth and mutters: "Damned! Damned! Who can tear him from me?" And now at the foot of the symbol of redemption, as the first crimson of dawn flushes the sky, and the moon sinks behind the amphitheatre, while the whole arena 45 2 IRIDION. glitters with the brilliancy of the wings of the angel, be- gins the music of an invisible choir, and commences the last, the supreme combat which is to decide thy eternal destiny ! Above thy Tempter, and below thy Angel, thou stand- est upon the steps of the cross. No fear is on thy brow; no prayer breathes through thy lips : — thou art as thou hast ever been : — alone in the universe ! He plants his swarthy feet deep in the sand, supporting his bowed head upon his scathed breast, and asserts his claims: "Immortal Enemy! He is surely mine! He lived for vengeance, and he //^ Rome I" But the Angel unfurling the rainbow of her wings and shaking her curls of gold : " Lord ! He is mine ! for he /^/Hellas!" The air grows sad and dark with this majestic struggle. New agony awakes within thee. Thy life entire becomes an expectation, a harrowing laceration. Infernal fires burn at thy feet ; splendors of heavenly glory dazzle thine eyes \ dark bands of spirits drag thee toward the abyss ; hosts of angels draw thee to the sky ; sometimes a hope divine illumes thy soul ; it vanishes ! it flickers like a dying spark! it dies ! Then like a meteor it again awakes, expires, and all grows dark, silent, and desolate as in blank nothingness ; bitter and woeful, unendurable as black despair ; weak, doubting, wretched, as in grovel- ing shame ! Dark hour of terror, destined for all who live, — begone ! Avert thy face from the Son of my Thought ! Father in Heaven ! If once Thou didst forsake Thine own Son, it was that Thou mightst never more forsake a single one of Thy poor finite children ! No, no. None of Thy works shall disappear forever ! Rise, son of Greece ! Look up ! Thine enemy buries his face deep in his withered hands, and this old edifice of men trembles with his vain struggles ! IR IDt ON. 453 And in the gathering mists of morn, his form, ever more dark, more dim, fades slowly away ! His head supported on the gates of the old amphitheatre, he writhes in agony; while his voice dies away like ever-lessening sounds of distant waters ! Metella testifies for thee ! Metella prays for thee ! And thou art saved, because thou lovedst Hellas ! Arise ! Dost thou not hear the Voice which breaks the hush, the reverential silence of the spirits? Like light- ning-flashes, it breaks through the shimmer of the dawn ; and all the perfumes of the valley-flowers awake to greet it! "Go toward the North; go in the name of Christ! Go ! and halt not until thou standest in the land of graves and crosses: — thou wilt know it by the silence of the warriors, and by the sadness of the little children ! Thou wilt know it by the burned and smoking cottage of the poor, the ruined palace of the exile ! " Thou wilt know it by the moans of my pitying angels, who pass over it by night ! "Go ! dwell with the new brethren I now give to thee ! In that sad land shall be thy second trial ! There, for the second time, thou' It see the object of thy love transpierced and ruined ; thou canst do nothing to avert the wrong, nor canst thou die ! . . . "The agonies of myriad souls shall incarnate them- selves in thee ! " Go ! and have faith in my name ! . . . " Think not of thine own glory ! Only seek the good of those I have intrusted to thee ! Be calm before the pride, oppression, and contempt of the unjust ! "They all shall pass away; but thou and my Word, ye shall endure forever and forever ! "After a long, long martyrdom, then I will light My golden Dawn above thee ! I will give thee that which I have given to my angels through the centuries : Happi- 39 454 I RID I ON. ness ! — That which I promised men from Golgotha: Liberty ! " Go and act ! Act, though thy heart be withering in thy breast ! "Act, even when thou doubtest the Brothers I have given thee ! " Act ; shouldst thou doubt thyself, despair of aid from Me! " Act without ceasing and without repose ! Thou shalt outlive the vain, the fortunate, the haughty, the illustri- ous ! "And thou shalt rise again, not from the sterile sleep, but from the work of centuries ! " Thou shalt become one of the free sons in My Heavenly kingdom !" The sun rises upon the ruins of Rome ! And no one can say where are the traces of my Thought ! But I know that it exists ! I know it lives ! NOTES TO IRIDION. NOTES TO THE PROLOGUE. 1 The scene of Iridion is laid in the third century after Christ. The Roman Empire was then in a state of disorganization, dissolution, and approaching death. All that had once been its force and life was losing form and lapsing into nothingness. Three widely-differing religious systems stood face to face in the Eternal City : Classic Paganism, Barbar- ism, and Christianity. Classic Paganism was, indeed, already lifeless, pushed aside and trampled upon by the creeds of the East, yet like a richly-adorned but still unburied corpse, though stiff and motionless, it was still visible, and still held its place on earth. Christianity, as yet without form or body, was persecuted and oppressed, but was notwith- standing constantly increasing in numbers, combating all the symbolic creeds of past ages, now pronouncing utter condemnation upon them, and now reconciling, through the solvent power of its own higher truths, all that was valuable in them with the eternal Reason. Barbarism, shifting and restless as a stormy sea, brought with it its own wild, rude, and melancholy myths, yet frequently forgot them in the lap of Rome. Sometimes it was found fighting in the Roman legions ; some- times, as in the northern provinces, it raged against Rome; it thronged from all sides into Italy, either to supply her with mercenaries, or to con- quer her, never attaining self-consciousness or knowledge, always blind and reckless, but vivid and formidable as the powers of nature herself. This Barbarism offered a glowing material to be cast into the mould ; to form the Body of that Spirit already existing in the catacombs, — Chris- tianity. The calm which preceded the great storm in which Rome van- ished and became Christian Europe, was the last festival time of the Caesars, while an indescribable wretchedness weighed upon the people and slaves in every part of the empire. Material superfluity, or material want, always causes mental silence, the utter suppression of the intellect, whether with individuals or nations ; for on the highest step of sensuous well-being, or the lowest grade of want, moral life is quiescent, and human existence approaches that of the brute ; the moral and mental essence seems to sleep that it may awake refreshed, and make itself more fully heard. As the old world was rather a world of forms and numbers than of free and independent movements of the soul, it was forced in its convulsive death-throes to writhe and twist in the rigid moulds of its own materialism : our world, on the contrary, is oppressed by mental super- fluity. 2 The Fatum of the Romans, the avaynrj of the Greeks, was, according to Hesiod, the son of Night and Chaos, and was that Necessity, Fatality, 455 NOTES TO IR ID ION. higher than all the Gods and Spirits of Heaven and Hell. It was repre- sented as an old man holding' an urn in his hands, in which slumbered the destiny of all mortals. This figure was symbolic, and principally conceived of in an ideal sense ; it signified the Divine Unity, the logical sequence and final aim, the eternal reason and order, the Mathematics of the Universe, which neither gods nor men were able to resist. 3 Under the rule of the Caesars, arose gradually a general equality of all subjects in regard to their sovereigns ; the rights of citizenship, so scantily distributed by the patricians, were at length granted to all the provinces of the empire. Many of the emperors were from the provinces. Trajan was a Spaniard, Heliogabalus a Syrian, Maximinus a Goth, etc. Rome, full of the idea of conquering the world, and standing, as the Almighty after creation, sole Lord of all, was forced by the press of cir- cumstances to open her gates to the people both of the north and of the south. Even her haughty egotism did not suffice to keep her in her iso- lated position, although she always struggled to retain her individuality, even while the conquered nations were gradually mingling with her, each imparting its peculiar share, and taking in return its peculiar portion. Grecian art and philosophy pressed first into the city ; the Greeks taught the Romans, thus taking possession of the spiritual culture of Rome. In this way was the fall of Rome brought about, for a coarse material ego- tism is only powerful as long as it remains utterly material. To awaken a living spirit in it, is to destroy it. For the very essence of such a spirit is to seek external development, and, sooner or later, through its strivings for wider life and power, the material mass is broken asunder, and its bonds ruptured. Oriental sagas, myths, customs, manners, and luxuries also came to take and give their part in Rome. They exercised as much influence over the people, as Greek art and philosophy over the senate and patricians. The egotistic and exclusive type of the Eternal City was destroyed in this way, and the visible consequences of these unseen moral causes came, in after-times, fully to the light. Rome became Greece, Egypt, Asia Minor; while Greece, Egypt, and Asia Minor were not Rome. Barbarians sat in the Roman senate ; all creeds and laws mingled in this flux of nations ; and in this disorganizing formation, this heterogeneous culture, all the old Roman enactments and ordinances fell to the ground ; the aristocracy disappeared, partly through the jeal- ousy of the Caesars, and partly through the exhaustion of its own vital powers. The emperors confiscated the property of the patricians, seized their privileges, and constituted themselves their heirs. They held in their own hands the rights of the priests, nobles, and people ; whatever they deemed advantageous to their own interest to destroy, was at once de- stroyed. They thus united in themselves the powers of those whom they had ruined. But one thing they could not destroy, — the People over whom they reigned. The people alone remained forever with them, and as the material power was placed in the people, the existence of the em- pire depended upon them, and the emperors were frequently forced to bow to them, to flatter them with gifts and costly shows, with triumphs, games, and festivals. Thus were People and Caesar the whole of Rome ! 4 Considered with regard to religion, the Germanic stem branched into two leading divisions. Germania, as spoken of by Tacitus, in which the Suevi (Hermiones) seem to have had the first rank, held the religion of nature, worshiped the elements, trees, waters, and the goddess Hertha (Earth). She was supposed to visit the earth at stated intervals, when NOTES TO I RID ION. 457 her coming was celebrated with great rejoicings ; she was brought in a closely-covered carriage from the forests of the islands of the North Sea. Different local ceremonies were practiced among the different hordes, and their creeds were confused and uncertain. But stronger colors were im- pressed upon this pale, vague canvas by the tribes dwelling still farther north, unknown to the Romans. These northern people had already made some progress, believing in the virtue of heroic though savage courage; they accepted some religious revelations deemed to have been given them by their god, Odin. Odin of Iceland, where his worship afterwards attained its fullest development, ruled the souls of men even to the shores of the Rhine. The Goths, Saxons, Gepidse, Lombards, Burgundians, were worshipers of Odin and believed in his incarnation, in the sanctity and power of certain ceremonies, in immortality, and in rewards to be conferred after death upon the brave in the Palace of Odin, Valhalla; in a holy place upon earth, Asgard, whence their fathers came, and to which, sooner or later, they were themselves to return. Their courage and warlike energies sprang from these wild myths ; their whole development centred round them. It was this creed which set in motion the Germanic races then vegetating in lower Germania. They went from Scandinavia as far as the coast of the Baltic Sea, turned toward the Danube, and passed through the whole of Germany to the limits of the empire. This incursion from the north generated an utter chaos in Ger- mania, which afterwards passed on to Italy. S The catacombs are spacious vaults lying under the entire city as well as under part of the Roman Campagna ; it has even been asserted that they extend as far as the shore of the sea. They were used by the early Romans as places of burial : the bodies of slaves and of the poorer classes who could not be placed upon funeral pyres were deposited there. They were afterwards places of resort and refuge for the Christians during the persecutions. They are still in a state of preservation in some parts of their extent, and are in a measure accessible to visitors, though they are much obstructed with ruins. They consist of numerous and apparently almost interminable, low, narrow, dark passages, sometimes widening into round or quadrilateral apartments. The walls are covered with tomb- stones, and inscriptions to the memory of the martyrs, whose bones are still excavated from these mysterious vaults. NOTES TO ACT I. 1 The Grecian women had not then attained the freedom of their Euro- pean sisters ; Oriental manners still lingered among them, and they were kept secluded in apartments called Gyneceum (from the word, yvvq, woman), which they never left before marriage. 2 So was called the son of Varius Marcellus and Scemias, from the god Halgah-Baal or Mithras, whose High-Priest he had been in Emessa, before he became Emperor of Rome. The history of Heliogabalus is the most significant exponent, and offers us the strongest proof, of the weak- ness and degeneracy of the world at that time. He ascended the throne at the age of fifteen, and was murdered by the praetorians when but 45 8 NOTES TO IR ID ION. eighteen ; having exhausted in this short space of time all the enjoyments which luxury and power could procure. He had no youth, and was never young. He might indeed be called the very personification of age. The influences of the past seemed to have left a void in his soul which nothing ever sufficed to fill. Sensuality and weariness were the two strongest traits of his character ; these are also the traits of old age. Weariness of life {ennui), is the martyrdom which springs from the feeling of eternal emptiness, and from the unceasing but fruitless efforts to escape from its torment. Voluptuous sensuality is the work of the imagination striving to find something which will have the power to awaken and rekindle the dead senses. Passion is always vigor- ous, it is the synthesis, the poetry of the body ; sensuality, on the contrary, is full of ingenuity and research; it stretches forth to and embraces a thousand details, it individualizes and separates ; it is analysis, prose. Heliogabalus cannot be said to have gratified his passions, for he had none to gratify ; he had only the burning desire to have passions. He sought throughout nature, in every part of his wide realm, in his whole being, for the excitants, the sparks which might kindle a fire of whatsoever character, to inflame, to warm, to stimulate the cold void in his own soul. His whole life was spent in this restless and miserable struggle, and con- sequently everything he did was only a caprice. Such a character and position in a young man would be utterly inexplicable, were it not that the fatal old age of the world in which he was born had cast its burden of years upon him. Thus Heliogabalus was old through the world which surrounded him, and young through his own youth ; and from this melan- choly contrast sprang the eternal contradiction in which his life was passed : eternal impotence and eternal desire ! This impotent old man, this self-warring, decaying, worn-out, and ex- hausted child, was born in Syria, the land of magical myths and consuming climates. His grandmother Mcesa was the sister of Julia, the wife of Septimius Severus. After the death of this emperor, his whole family, robbed of their power and influence, were banished to Syria. Mcesa had two daughters, Scemias and Mammea ; Mammea was the mother of Alexis, afterwards famous under the name of Alexander Severus. Heliogabalus had been from the fourteenth year of his age High-Priest in the temple at Emessa, dedicated to the worship of the great god, Halgah-Baal or Mithras, who was the god of the Chaldeans, and with whom all the Ori- ental and Egyptian myths were closely linked. He was the symbol of the Sun, and was revered as the most famous among the gods, the Highest, the One, and, so to speak, the Abstract Essence ; for this reason no image was made of him ; a round black stone was his symbol. Other gods were worshiped in this temple ; Baal-Fegor, or the sun materialized, the Power which quickened and lived in vegetation; Gad- Baal, or the sun incorporated, from whom came the Oracles; Phcebe, Astarte Baalis. the great goddess, the spouse of Halgah-Baal, or the moon lighted by the sun, nature quickened by the sun ; Baalis Benoth or Venus, and Baalis Dercote or the Grecian Aphrodite, both designating nature already in- carnated, woman. The death and resurrection of Adonis were celebrated in this temple ; a symbol of nature forsaken by the sun in winter and re- vivified in the spring by his warming rays. Presents were sent to it from every part of Asia. Its solemnities were celebrated with incredible luxury, but with the most brutal licentiousness. In this vast temple of phantasms, luxuries, and crimes, the soul of Heliogabalus received its first lessons, its earliest development. His healthful energies, his free will, NOTES TO IR ID I ON. 459 were thus crushed at his very entrance into life by fantastic scenes and creeds, into which there entered neither truth nor reality ; luxury enervated his mind, and voluptuousness sated his soul; the effects of both were in- creased by the influence of a stimulating and exciting climate. In accord- ance with all the accounts given of him, he was exceedingly beautiful. It was a general rumor that he was the son of Caracalla, by whom his mother had been loved, and whose memory was idolized by the soldiers of the legions. After the murder of Caracalla, Macrinus, the Prefect of the praetorians, ruled Rome and the world, but his reign was without strength. One of the legions, passing through Emessa, saw the young Heliogabalus. His exceeding beauty, associated with the memory of his father, struck the legionaries ; and Mcesa, who could not forget that her sister had once been the foremost woman in Rome, struggled with all her powers to advance the interests of her grandson. She took Heliogabalus and Scemias secretly at night from the temple, and conducted them to the camp of the legion. The son of Caracalla was there proclaimed Caesar, and Ulpius Julius, who had been sent thither by Macrinus, was killed. Heliogabalus, for the first and last time in his life, displayed considerable courage in the struggle which then occurred. Macrinus fled on receiving the intelligence of the death of his son, and, springing from his chariot, broke his arm, when his head was stricken off and taken to Heliogabalus. Then commenced the reign of Heliogabalus, and his unceasing efforts to escape from ennui. To escape from these haunting feelings of weariness, he caused Halgah- Baal to be brought to Rome, and had all the other gods transported into his sanctuary, as well as all the heroes who received worship ; he had in his possession the Trojan Palladium and the shield of Vesta and Numa; he amused himself by making of these gods proconsuls, officers, and servants to Halgah-Baal ; of the goddesses, he made mistresses or consorts ; first he gave Baal the Athenian Pallas as wife, but afterwards took her away from him, and gave him the Carthaginian Venus, whom he suffered to remain consort. To escape from feeling weary : he brought chariots from Sicily, flute- players from ^Egium, cooks from Elis, bakers from Athens; he covered the ground with Lydian tapestries, used incense and perfumes from Syria, he sent for doves to Cyprus, for pearls to Lydia, for horses to the island of Melos, for oysters to Pylos, for fish to the Hellespont, for crabs to Minturnae, for pears to Eubcea, for plums to Damascus, for grapes to Rhodes, for oranges to Persia, for cedars to Palmyra, for pomegranates to Antioch, for dates to Phoenicia, for almonds to Naxos, for wine to the apple-perfumed Thasos and to Cyprus. And to escape from weariness : he drove out with camels, elephants, and lions harnessed to his chariot ; he clothed himself in long, graceful garments, instead of the short tunic of the Romans ; and in the interior of the palace he wore, to the great disgust of the Romans, the diadem upon his brow, although he did not venture to appear in public with it. He wore cothurni richly adorned with precious stones. He never put the same garment on twice, nor the same shoes nor rings; he bathed in immense baths of marble, with saffron and the most costly perfumes in the water which he used ; he slept upon a couch of silver, covered with cushions of partridge and swan's-down ; he drank from goblets of crystal, amber, onyx, and gold. After each course of food, the wreaths were changed for his brows ; at the first course they were of roses, at the second of violets, at the third of myrtle, at the fourth of narcissus-flowers, at the 460 NOTES TO I RID I ON. fifth of ivy, at the sixth of roses and papyri mingled, and at the seventh of the Alexandrian lotus. And to escape from weariness : he had the combs torn from the heads of cocks while they were still living, and the tongues from peacocks and nightingales; he had the brains pressed out of partridges and thrushes, and the heads twisted off pheasants, canary-birds, and parrots. When he passed through the halls of the palace, or went into the garden, slaves strewed roses and silver sand before him. At one time he ordered ten thousand spiders to be brought to him ; at another, ten thousand mice ; then ten thousand martens ; and again, ten thousand cats. At the closing of the games he would throw adders and basilisks among the assembled people. To his parasites he would send as presents costly vessels closely soldered, filled with toads and scorpions. Sometimes he would invite some among them to banquets, and the ceiling would suddenly open above them, and roses, violets, and other flowers would be thrown down upon them ; at first they would stretch themselves out delightedly under the fragrant shower, but the rain did not cease, flowers upon flowers con- tinued to fall, until the room was filled ; and the next day were dragged forth the corpses of the unhappy men who had been stifled under the un- ceasing fall of tulips, lilies, violets, and roses. He would often have favorite lions and tigers brought into the hall, and delight himself with the fear and anguish of the senators, consuls, and courtiers, who had been invited to his banquet. And to escape from weariness : at a time when prizes were distributed for horsemanship at the circus, he resolved to play the charioteer, and caught and seized in his own royal person the pieces of silver thrown by the spectators ; then he played the part of a simple musician. As his father, Caracalla, had been a passionate admirer and imitator of Alexan- der the Great, he selected as his model Nero, who, stabbing himself in a grotto in the Roman Campagna, cried to his followers: " See how an artist can die 1" And to escape from weariness : he caused Pomponius Bassus to be murdered, tore the young wife from the corpse on which she lay pros- trate, bathing it with bitter tears, forced the outraged widow to his own bed, and dismissed her at daybreak : — he being already hopelessly wearied ! Then he hoped to find relief in the profanation of the pure and unsul- lied vestals ; as no one in all antiquity had ever before thought of seizing upon one of these consecrated virgins, his idea had all the spice of nov- elty, having consequently the greater charm for him : he had the audacity to tear away Aquilia Severa herself from the sacred fire of Vesta, but dis- missed her the following day, even more hopelessly wearied ! Then he directed nautical machines, and games at the circus upon water, and upon seas of wine and absinthe. Mammea, the sister of Soemias, inherited a strong will, a keen intellect, and a soaring ambition from her mother. Soemias had studied the old systems of magic, and was familiar with all the Oriental symbols of immortality, but Mammea had adopted the idealism of Neo-platonism, and the creed of Christianity. She indoctrinated her son, Alexander Severus, in these principles, and he had in his sacrarium the statues of Pythagoras, Orpheus, Abraham, Apol- lonius Thyaneus, and Jesus Christ. He lived upon milk, in its various preparations, and fruit, wrote verses, and read Seneca, Virgil, and Cicero unceasingly. Mammea persuaded her sister's son, Heliogabalus, that as High-Priest of the Sun, it accorded better with his dignity to occupy himself with the NOTES TO I RID ION. 461 supersensual, supernatural, and magical arts alone, and to leave earthly, vain, and trifling things to Alexander. Heliogabalus at first approved of this counsel, and intrusted the charge of his mundane affairs to Aiexis, naming him Alexander Severus, Caesar, and Consul. But thereupon commenced a strife, at first secret, but afterwards public, in the imperial palace. Heliogabalus tried to mould Alexander after his own image, and because he resisted, he raged against the mother and the preceptors of Alexander. He condemned the rhetorician Silvius to death; he burned Ulpian, a celebrated jurist; he surrounded Mammea with spies, and he finally tried to murder Alexander. In this he did not succeed, for Alexander was protected by the watchful eye of his mother ; where- upon he ordered the Senate to deprive him of his title of Caesar, and the praetorians to overturn his statues. The senators, alarmed, feared to obey, and the praetorians, incited and paid by Mammea, rose in rebellion. Then, the very Heliogabalus who, but three years before, had headed the legion at Emessa, challenged the power of Macrinus, and, almost naked, without armor or helmet, with no defense save the sword in his hand, had given strong proofs of courage and prowess upon the field of battle, fled for refuge to the camp without the city, and promised to confer new honors and dignities upon Alexander. His first thoughts after his return to the palace were occupied in de- vising pretexts to escape from his promises. In order to ascertain the true feelings of the praetorians, he caused a report of the death of Alex- ander to be spread abroad, whereupon a tumult taking place in the camp, he was forced to show his cousin living and uninjured to the soldiers in order to allay the commotion. As he stood upon his chariot, leaning upon Alexander, he addressed the legions, but hearing threatening on every side, he fell into a rage, and ordered the offenders against his sacred majesty to be immediately arrested. Then the tumult rapidly increased, Mammea on the one side encouraging the soldiers, and Scemias on the other promising rewards to fidelity, until Heliogabalus, seized with fright and the presentiment of approaching death, fled. His party was destroyed by the praetorians, — and perhaps this was the only moment of his life in which he forgot to feel weary ! Alexander was hailed Emperor. Long before these events, the Syrian Seers had prophesied that their High-Priest would die no common death, and they had always declared to him that he would take his own life. Consequently, he had prepared various instruments for such an emergency; he had cups of poison, poisoned bowls and poisoned swords, and he had hollowed out a tomb for himself at the base of the marble tower, and inlaid it with precious stones and jewels. As he had prepared banquets, games, and amuse- ments for himself, he would also arrange for death ; but when death came, perhaps the sole reality of his phantasmagoric life, he forgot his games and his artistic preparations for his stern guest. He hid himself with his mother in one of the most distant corners of his palace, — a corner en- tirely unsuitable to the dignity of the Roman Caesars, and of which even Nero, in the depths of his extremity, had never thought. But even in this obscure hiding-place he was not safe; he was discovered by the praetorians, murdered, decapitated, and his headless corpse, together with that of his unhappy mother, dragged about the streets of the city, and then thrown into the sewer; but as the opening was narrow, it was again dragged out, and was finally thrown into the Tiber. The last name of Heliogabalus was Tiberinus. Heliogabalus may be regarded as a synthetic embodiment of the 462 NOTES TO IR ID ION. Oriental myths. These myths, once full of deep and true thoughts, now remained only in the entire prostitution of their outward forms, so that the inner meaning was no longer suggested by, or even thought of in connection with the external manifestation : and thus these degraded and licentious symbols seem to have been gathered together and incarnated in the form of Heliogabalus, that their character and influence might be the more distinctly manifested, and that they might thus vanish from the face of the earth. Indeed, the symbolism of the East fell almost neces- sarily into degradation ; coming under the law of nature there prevalent, the purest idea could take no pure form upon itself, for nature herself there is destructive to human energy and freedom, enticing to sensuality and luxury, lulling the conscience, and rife with the lotus-fruits of obliv- ion. Through her own exceeding softness, beauty, and luxuriance, she seems to choke and deaden the spiritual essence in the soul of man. It is a common thing for historians to pass rapidly and contemptuously over the few short days of the reign of Heliogabalus. As an individual, he richly deserves their scorn, but not as an historic fact, for after his death the victory of Christianity became every day more certain. Pagan- ism manifested itself in its very apex in him, showing clearly before the eyes of the world that it was rotten to the inmost core, that it could bear fruit no longer ; indeed, its whole extent and power, its utter prostration and worthlessness to effect any good for humanity, was typified and mani- fested in this physically beautiful, but cruel, vicious, and unhappy young Priest of the Sun. A moral dissolution stamps every thought and deed of Heliogabalus; in his youthful desires and impotent decrepitude we see an utter want of the life of the spirit, of the soul : — he was matter left to its own corruption / 3 The Latin Diva. The emperors and their consorts were frequently promoted to the rank of gods and goddesses by a decree of the Roman Senate ; statues were erected in their honor, and temples dedicated to them. Many Christians perished because they refused to burn incense upon altars consecrated to the Caesars and adorned with their images. Antinous, the idol of Adrian, was registered (after his death) among the gods by a decree of the Roman Senate, pronounced in accordance with the desire of Adrian. NOTES TO ACT II. * Names of great emperors who were registered after death among the gods, and which became afterwards the titles of those who succeeded them, or of the princes of the Caesarian line. Thus the emperors were called, Augustus, Caesar. Heliogabalus had adopted the names of the best em- perors as titles of honor, and was styled: Antoninus, Aurelius, etc., etc. 2 The Peristyle was the saloon of the ancients, their houses usually consisting of a long row of rooms, the one following immediately upon the other, so that when one stood in the " Vestibulum" or entrance, which was commonly quite narrow, he could see through to the " Viridarium" or garden, in which it was customary for the house to terminate at the other end. Immediately back of the Vestibulum was the M Atrium," in which the slaves sat and the guests were first received. The " Vesti- NOTES TO I RID ION, 463 bulum," in the midst of which was the " Impluvium," a round or square tank destined to contain rain-water, was surrounded by small sleeping- apartments, the light of day entering through an opening immediately over the Impluvium. Then came the " Tablinum," a long hall adorned with all the precious or valuable things pertaining to the house. Beyond it stood the " Peristyle," a quadrilateral room, generally adorned with col- umns, and without a roof, intended for exercise, walking and amusement ; then came the "Triclinium" or eating-room, connected with and fre- quently in the " Viridarium" or garden, in which were statues, vases, flowers, and shrubs. This whole row of rooms was like a long corridor, varied by the narrowing or widening of the walls, and adorned by stat- ues and frescoes. The altars of the house-gods stood in the Vestibulum, and the other gods and heroes in the Peristyle and Viridarium. The rooms occupied by the slaves, as well as the chambers of the family, were only side cabinets attached to this main corridor, opening into it on either side. In Rome, especially in the Palace of the Caesars, the pro- portions were large and noble, but at Pompeii only the main corridor, the places intended for the public eye, for the taking of meals or the re- ception of guests, were either spacious or beautiful, the remainder of the house consisting of low, narrow apartments. 3 Septimius Severus, whose wife, Julia, was the sister of Mcesa, the mother of Mammea and Scemias. Caracalla, the son of Septimius, suc- ceeded him ; Macrinus, Prefect of the praetorian guard, succeeded Cara- calla, and then came Heliogabalus. 4 Tiresias, a famous seer, was a son of the nymph Chariclo ; he was deprived of sight by Juno, and gifted with prophetic power by Jupiter. Heroes, when anxious to pry into the future, went to visit him in the in- fernal regions. 5 The inhabitants of Crotona were celebrated for their great physical strength and their skill in combat. 6 This entire speech of Iridion is based upon the foolish idolatry with which Caracalla regarded Alexander the Great. Caracalla was a man of but moderate ability, not of an iron will, but of iron caprices, vain, os- tentatious, full of petty self-love" and suffering in some degree from dis- order of the brain ; yet he was a bold and vigorous soldier. He was a per- fect hero in his own eyes, and believed that fate had created him for great purposes. The star which shone with the greatest lustre in the Greek and Roman hemisphere was the star of Alexander the Great; it kindled in him the desire to attain the same brilliancy, and it became the object of his worship. He imitated Alexander as closely as possible, and his courtiers declared to him he resembled him as one drop of water resem- bles another. His helmet, sword, and entire armor were like to those of Alexander, and he carried his head bent as Alexander had done, to in- crease the resemblance to him. Although he could not be a genius and a conqueror, yet he found resources in the mustering of legions ; and since he could not take Tyre and Babylon, he marched upon Alexandria, his own city, and in one day destroyed the half of its inhabitants, flatter- ing himself that he too could conquer and murder as the Macedonian king was wont to do. He finally deluded himself to such a degree that he actually believed, toward the end of his days, that through metemp- sychosis the spirit of the Macedonian had entered into his body, and that he had become actually one with the great Alexander. 464 NOTES TO I RID ION. NOTES TO ACT III. 1 It would seem that near this monument, erected to the wife of the Tri- umvir Crassus, was a secret entrance into the catacombs. Near it still stands the church of St. Sebastian, from which the descent is now made into the crypts. 2 The place in front of the Capitol, upon which stood the rostra and curiae. Steps ascended from the Forum to the top of the Capitoline hill ; upon the left height stood the temple of Jupiter Feretrius upon the Tar- peian rock ; on the right, that of Jupiter Capitolinus. Opposite the Cap- itol stood the temple of Vesta, and the cloisters of the vestals ; and near the foot of the Capitolium was the temple of Fortune and Concordia. On a vacant spot in the midst stood a rostrum. The general view must have been exceedingly beautiful. That elevation of the soul which is visible in, and is inspired by, Gothic architecture, is not indeed to be found in the antique or classic ; in its stead rules the highest worth of the mate- rial, the highest dignity of the corporeal. The old intrepid patrician, with his toga thrown back, resting after the offering he has made to the gods, is the type of the ancient architecture. In its every part it is denned, limited, clear, and perfectly finished. The ideas of mass and beauty are in it united and brought into a firmly-closed and clearly-designated circle. Firmness, unity, limitation, are its distinctive marks, whereas in the Gothic we have variety, movement, progression, suggestions of the infinite, life. The one is a beautiful corpse ; the other a growing spirit ; or, classic architecture is the spirit perfectly incorporated in dimensions, in matter; and Gothic, matter struggling to idealize itself, to become spirit. Hence it is that so few Gothic churches are entirely finished, while the heathen temples were completed in every part ; hence, in regard to mere art, Pa- gan architecture has surpassed the Christian, while in thought, spirit, and suggestiveness, the Christian far excels the Pagan. 3 The walls in the catacombs were covered with monuments, with sculpture and painting. In the early days of Christianity, art was essen- tially symbolic. Thus Orpheus, the first sage, poet, and founder of so- ciety and civilization among the heathens, was made to signify Christ, as did also the figures of Noah, Isaac, and Joseph. A golden candlestick with three branches represented Christ ; so did a grape-vine. The lyre was the symbol of the Cross; the palm, of glory in Heaven; a cross set with precious stones, wound with wreaths of roses and with chains of gold extending from the two Greek letters Alpha and Omega, signified God, the beginning and end of all that is. The peacock symbolized the resur- rection, but sometimes stood for Satan. The wood of the olive was the hieroglyphic of rest and eternity ; the cypress and pine, of death ; the anchor, of redemption ; fish stood for men, in accordance with the words of the Saviour to the Apostles: "be ye fishers of men;" the dolphin represented hope and the dead who had left this world for a better. Sam- son with the gates upon his shoulders, signified Christ ; for : " Tollit por- tas civitatis id est Inferni et removit mortis imperium." Civitas once meant the real deed of Samson, but also stood for the old world entire, which was truly only a collection of cities, which, strong in their walled and defended limits, oppressed men to the uttermost. This type proves that the Christians of the first centuries already felt their political mission. NOTES TO I RID ION. A shepherd meant an apostle; a cock, the watchfulness of the pastor; and the cross was always made of four kinds of wood, — cypress, cedar, pine, and olive. 4 The " Pro-Christum" was a little flask, which, containing some of the blood of the martyr, was placed upon his breast in the coffin, en- graved with the letters : P. Chr. (for Christ). The bodies of martyrs are recognized even at the present date by this mark, although no other in- scription remains to show they died for Christ. 5 The depressing belief that the world was approaching its end, and that the day of judgment was near, was frequent among Christians from the death of Christ almost half through the Middle Ages. The entire conspiracy and appeal of Iridion in the catacombs is based upon such views of the approaching end of the world, the resurrection of the saints, and the destruction of Rome. NOTES TO ACT IV. 1 The ancients constantly carried with them small tablets, covered with wax, upon which they wrote with a sharp instrument of metal, called stylus or style. These were worn thrust into the girdle of the tunic, and were frequently used as daggers. Many of the conspirators by whom Julius Caesar was killed came to the senate provided with such weapons. Brutus stabbed him with the stylus. 2 The Roman legions were, upon the field of battle, drawn up in three ranks : the first rank formed the " Hastati" ; the second, the " Principes" ; and the third, the " Triarii." Each rank was divided into twelve bands ; two bands formed a century, whose leaders were called centurions ; and three companies formed a cohort. A company contained, at least, sixty ; at most, one hundred and twenty men. 3 A constellation so called from the sister, and at the same time wife, of Ptolemy Evergetes, a king of Egypt. She made a vow to cut off her hair and offer it up in the temple of Mars, if her husband should return in safety from an expedition which he had undertaken in Asia. Upon his return, she kept her vow : it was hung up in the temple, but disappeared during the same night. Fearing to lose his place, the court astronomer then swore that a zephyr, commanded by Venus, had borne it to Heaven, and named the seven glittering stars near the tail of the Lion : the hair of Berenice. 4 Brennus, a leader of the Gauls, after the capture of the city of Rome and the murder of the senators, when taking the exacted ransom then being weighed before him, cast his heavy sword into the scales with the famous words : "Vae victis !" Woe to the conquered! 5 Thrice powerful, because she was the Moon in Heaven, Diana upon the earth, and Proserpine or Hecate in the lower world. Her usual epithet was : Dea Feralis, — the Goddess of Destruction. 40 466 NOTES TO I RID I ON. NOTES TO ACT V. 1 It is a well-known fact that when Attains of Pergamus was dying without heirs, he was induced to leave his beautiful provinces to Rome. 2 Before the Romans began to assume an intermeddling and aggress- ive part in the affairs of Greece, one of their ambassadors declared openly before the inhabitants of the different cities then assembled from all parts to attend the Isthmian games, that, after due consideration, the Roman Senate and People held the demands of the Macedonian king to be utterly unjust; that they deemed the maintenance of Greece in her rights would be useful and noble, and promised to aid her with all their power against the attacks of Macedonia. 3 The last expression of the Greek school of Platonism was found in Stoicism, in the dying hours of antiquity. The idealism of the ancients was realized in the Stoics, as their materialism was in the Epicureans. The virtue of the Stoics was great, but harsh and inexorable. They knew how to die, but not how to live. They held themselves aloof from other men, gazed sadly upon the dying world, but made no efforts to save it. Shut up in themselves, bowing only before the decrees of their own pride, which they, indeed, called conscience, they were moral egotists , filled with self-love, not even associating closely with each other; never kindled into life by the love of humanity, nor warmed by the social relations and friendships generated in society. Their thoughts and precepts -circled continually round an ideal world, and were never suited for the actual ; hence we have accounts of famous deaths among them rather than of famous lives. The precepts of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius breathe their highest and purest spirit. His maxims for a considerable time served in some measure to console the world, which was daily falling into the corruption of death, but they were unable to generate anything truly great or living. The system of the Stoics might well be called a "testament," in which the dying left nothing to the heirs but some melancholy remarks on life. The Stoics first brought into the world the malady known as the spleen, the last crisis of which is suicide. 4 Nothing could be less ideal, or more thoroughly real and practical, than the policy uniformly pursued by Rome. Its Senate shrank from no treachery to defeat an enemy, or to deceive a friend and ally. Fortitude and stern endurance in misfortune, a faith that Rome must stand because it must, with a daring sbamelessness that stopped at nothing to achieve a purpose, made the greatness of the Eternal City. THE LAST. Translated from the French translation of the original made by M. Constantine Gaszyński. THE LAST. From the summits of the mountains whither they had dragged their heavy crosses, they saw afar off the Promised Land. They saw the celestial splendor toward which the men of their race below were ap- proaching ; but they were not able to reach those heavenly regions. Ah! they may never sit at the banquet of life ; and perhaps even the memory of their sacrifice will be forgotten ! "Anonyme." I. Nearly the whole of my sad life has passed Under a dungeon's vault, a prison's bolts and bars, In darkness, silence, sickness, misery. My memory is fading day by day Out of the hearts of my compatriots ; The love of those who loved me once, grows cold; Perhaps even now they have forgotten me ! A child of light, buried 'neath these dark vaults, I suffer here because I dared to sing To my torn country, hymns of faith and love ; To plant the word within men's sinking hearts, To bloom in inspiration like my own ! ii. I have been proud ! Proud only with the haughty : — Worst nature for success in this low world ! 467 468 THE LAST. Strike those already down, thou mayst find profit : But if thou brav'st the arrogant oppressors, If with a man's free eye thou look'st upon them Simply as droves of brutes and not as men ; A dreadful vengeance from those brutes awaits thee; And thou, a man, will be enchained by them ! in. Like skiffs that skim still lakes, or eagles cleaving space, The first years of my life fled rapidly away. Unfortunate ! I did not then foresee Where these swift waves were bearing me ! As yet The sun shone brilliantly above my head ; Each moment of the day bloomed like a flower; My fellow-beings were my Brothers, Sisters ; And this world, now so deaf to my complaints, Was my youth's Paradise ! iv. Where is the angel who, after the pangs Of martyrdom have ceased, the death-hour o'er, Comes the third day marked for the Resurrection, And lifts the stone pressing the tomb? Alas ! He comes alone for Heavenly Powers, not men! Where is the second messenger from Heaven, Wrenching the bolts from the Mamertine doors, Who came at night, and bore the saints of the Lord, In triumph from their executioners? But I am no Elect — and these are other times ! Our Enemy has sterner arms than death ; He, while hot life is throbbing in thy veins, Will seize, will wrap and hold thee in a shroud, Whence thine intelligence will never rise again ! v. For, shut within the walls of darkened cell, Thy spirit, winged guest of the infinite, Which used to dream of heavenly destinies, Will feel itself so orphaned, so alone, That thou wilt take a spider to thy heart, And supplicate thy jailer for a word THE LAST. 469 To hear again the sound of the human voice ! And when days, months, and years on years elapse, And no hope ever comes to visit thee, — The spirit sinks in deep abyss of nothingness ! vi. How often have I tried by force of will, To rouse my thoughts which fast were dying out, Thus to escape the threatened death of soul ! But when despair has conquered, won its way, And pierced the deep recesses of the brain, 'Tis horrible to see how fast the blood Will pour itself along the deadly bolt, How atrophy will feed upon the mind, And how decay will paralyze the heart, Which does not break, but hardens hour by hour, Until no longer love beats in its throb : — < And of all bitter woes, this is the worst ! VII. I struggled like a Titan 'gainst the void Of nothingness, the death of life. To bolts and bars I cried : " Tell me the news, And what is passing where the living dwell V 9 I took into my livid hands my lamp, And one by one counted the calcined threads Which made its wick, to generate a thought To stimulate my torpid agony ! But nothing solaced me ; nothing aroused ; A heavy fog drifted from day to day Increasing, o'er my soul, darkening my faculties Until the internal world went out within me ! All inspiration fled ; ideas died ; I was alone ; alive — but in a grave; Forever welded to this chain whose rings, Set in my bones, are fastened to the clamp Fixed in my dungeon walls. VIII. Oh, oft in earlier years old men were wont to tell me : " Young madman, cease ! or thy melodious harp 40* 47° THE LAST. Will plunge thee in an abyss of misery ; Thy songs will die with thee 'neath bars and bolts ! To-day men care not for the hymns of liberty ; They seek but peace, propitious to their commerce 1 Vainly thou seek'st to stigmatize corruption ; Such prophets now are stoned ! He who would bring To earth the news from Heaven, must perish wretchedly !" I would not hear them; doubted all they said. I wished to live, not stagnate in this world; Therefore while living, I am sternly doomed To rot beneath the surface of the earth. The light which shines for all, is torn from me. Degraded from my dignity as man, I've fallen so low, while God remains so high In Heaven, that even His eye of mercy can No more perceive me ! ix. Yes, I am chained in subterranean cell. Above me prisons more commodious rise, Where light may enter ; they are ever kept For prisoners less unfortunate than I, And treated by the Czar with less severity ; They only having killed a father, mother, Brother, — and hence their doom less stern than mine ! Ah ! they may freely gaze across their bars Into blue space, and track the flying clouds, And breathe fresh air, and see the happy sunshine, And know when spring comes back again to warm These dreary wastes of snow ! All is permitted them : nothing to me ! I am more guilty than those murderers, Because I am a nian, a Pole, a rebel 'Gainst foul injustice ; whence I'm surely deemed A Satan in this Empire of all virtue ! x. Yes, it is true, I sought to wake the Past, And by my solemn chants to rouse again, In souls unstrung by cowardice, a faith More vivid in the future. . . . Yes, 'tis true, THE LAST. 471 I have been proud, and hoped where hope was none. I was not born to live in this, our age, — Age of transition given up to evil, — Which those who care not for the will of God — Industrial Chiefs and Princes of the earth, — Would fain perpetuate to coin in gold ! Like Solomon's Temple, ere Christ drove away The money-changers, rose the structure of The world I knew, approaching fast its fall, Full of iniquity, and void of faith ! Within, the speculators circulated, Striving the one to overreach the other, Urged on by keen avidity of lucre; Only arrested by the fear of war. The world entire was but a mighty Bourse, From which they had driven God ! . . . Above this den of wily gain and fraud Already loomed from icy northern clime (Like Satan in the garb of an archangel) A monstrous shadow, growing every hour, Thrown by the Giant who has chained me here ! They all, instead of joining to repulse this foe, Strike him with fire and iron, only used The fire to forge the iron into roads ; And based their hopes on steam ; while they feared war Far more than they feared God or infamy. Thus were the traders, manufacturers, Contented with their lot. xi. Thus have they ever rested peaceably Within their cities, near their shops and banks, Crowning their markets with triumphal arches ; And I ? . . . Oh, I have miserably perished ! The foe, with arm as swift as sudden death, Seized me by stealth. I was allowed to breathe No parting wish in any human ear, Nor bid farewell to any whom I loved. Leaving no trace by which I might be found, At dead of night they hurried me away 472 THE LAST In a kibitka;* secretly, in silence ! Only the stars of my own native sky Were the mute witnesses of what was done, And looked on my mysterious, rapid course. XII. Before an infamous court they summoned me ; Tried and condemned me. The judges scoffed because I, a weak Pole, for a moment could forget The power of that Government, which holds The keys of Life and Death, and said that I, Having offended the Czar-god, deserved Stern sentence for my crimes ! Then they decreed That I should go on foot to the world's confines, The land of ice ! I, son of a great nation, Should go with convicts, welded to their chain ! XIII. And I walked on forever through sad lands, Chained with a drove of felons, Moscovites ! Our hangman led a horse before the convoy, But never mounted it : a Holy Thing Was to its saddle constantly appended ; The knout with thongs of leather, iron hooks To gather the torn flesh back to its place That the poor victim might still seem a man, As mutilation, death, swept over him ! The executioner who led this horse Forever with his finger pointed to it, Crying: 6( Behold! the organ of the Czar!" He ordered men to kneel and bow before it With reverence, as if it were the cross Of sacrifice which from the saddle rose ! Thus did this emblem of the soul of Russia, The Czar's omnipotence, still lead me on Through never-ending steppes of desolation, Toward the North Pole, bound in eternal ice. * Kibitka, a Russian wagon in which condemned political prisoners start on their journey to Siberia. THE LAST. 473 xiv. My traveling companions, robbers, thieves, Forgers, assassins, had a happier fate ! They loosed their chains, and left them on the route At various places to form colonies, And populate those wastes.* I, only I, Was forced to drag on ever wearily Behind that hangman, horse, and knout accursed ! And when my rings, welded on hands, on feet, Had worn away the flesh and rubbed into the bones, And I was suffering utmost agony, And begged the ruffian for a moment's rest Upon the horse ; the Moscovite replied : " Die, cursed Pole, rather than thus pollute With touch of thine, with stain of rebel hands, The symbol of the justice of the Czar!"f * * * * * * Happy are they who may expire upon The very threshold of their martyrdom ! Such death were but deliverance from worse ills ! Wait thou until the hour of victory, Then wilt thou die ! — but if thy life be naught But misery, — that life shall be prolonged ! xv. Where are thy smiling plains, my native land? Fields gay with flowers, or rich with golden grain ? * The punishment of death in Russia is only inflicted on those guilty of political crimes. The most dreadful criminals in common law are sent to Siberia to work in the mines and fortresses ; sometimes only in the view of peopling the desert country. f This episode may appear trivial to foreign readers, but our author has inserted it in his poem as an historic remembrance. Prince Roman Sanguszko, who was taken prisoner in the war of 1831, was condemned to be sent to Siberia. The mother of the Prince hastened to St. Peters- burg, and addressed a petition to the Emperor Nicholas, to obtain the pardon of her son. The merciful Czar, however, augmented the punish- ment by writing with his pencil at the foot of the petition of the sick- hearted mother : " He shall go on foot." The sentence was put into exe- cution ; he went on foot ; and many, many years afterwards, when Prince Roman Sanguszko had been pardoned and had returned to Poland, he would often relate to his friends the above history of the executioner, the horse, and the knout. 474 THE LAST. Where are the forests where the pine-trees wave When the wind stirs their branches, murmuring Mysterious tones, solemn and sweet as prayers ? Where is the aerial warbling of the lark? Where the old church where sleep my ancestors ? Where are the Catholic litanies of my people, People who call the Virgin Mary, Queen? xvi. Oh, what has passed ? . . . Where am I, O my God ? . . . Is there still left a corner in my soul Where memory's lamp is not as yet quite out? Does any human trait still live in me ? They say already twenty years have passed, — I cannot tell, — but thou must know, my God, Since I fell prostrate on this bed of death ! All consciousness of Present, Past, or Future Then died in utter, sudden void and darkness ! But with a flash the black clouds sweep away ; My Guardian Angel comes again to me ! Tears tremble in my eyes, steal through my lids, — 'Tis long since I have wept ! Oh, very long Since I could love, or dream of memory, hope ! My Angel, give me back love, memory, In which each mortal claims his blessed share ! I supplicate thee, Angel, let me find My soul again, if only for a moment, Oh, let me feel it ! make it visible ! XVII. My wandering thoughts, can you as yet remember What presages were kindling in men's minds When you were dizzied and obliterated ? Were there not marvelous presentiments Quivering in human souls in that wild hour In which your agony began ? . . . Did not a voice rising from whence none knew, But which reverberated everywhere, Then prophesy what should befall on earth ? Peoples and kings condemned fell on their knees ; The uncreated Word made Itself heard THE LAST. 475 In human souls, by strengthening Faith, Hope, Love ! The ruins of the crumbling centuries past, With germs of future ages, — wholly freed From their black clouds, — the Holy Spirit mingled In the soft azure of the same horizon, Lighted by but one sun : — for He will come At last, the Saviour of all human races, Restorer of all mutilated countries, The avenger of all crimes against Humanity ! Into the Politics of this vexed world He will bring Justice, — and His coming opens A new — the third — last era of our Planet ! Factitious States no longer will exist, Which for their profit, or their idle glory, Have torn apart the body of a nation, And stifled souls under the stones of graves. And, by the will of God upon His earth, The bodies and the souls of nations shall Remain no longer sundered ! . . . Yes, I remember now ! Such was the news ; Such the presentiments which stirred the world, Then given up to violence and woe. And we, the Poles, knew well the Messenger, — The Angel of the sphere of politics, — Who from the stormy waves of earth's events Was destined to bring peace, and reunite The nationalities, could only be Our holy Poland ; for that martyr's cross Had borne such woe, been bathed in such pure blood, As might redeem this upper, earthly Hell. Yes, I believed that having endured till death, My People would unfurl their wings, and seize The sword of miracle, thus to achieve The works of life. XVIII. How many times Alas ! perhaps too soon, I've seen in dreams the God of Resurrection ! No wounds, no blood upon His body now ! The form might seem another Christ, and yet 'Tis the same Christ in His eternal glory. 476 THE LAST. His Face shines like the sun ; whiter than snow His robe floats round Him in his heavenly course ; And in the dawn of worlds new-born to life He bathes His unnailed Hands, transfigured now ! xix. Behind the Man-God, slowly, very slowly, In dazzling beauty, with no trace of death, My Poland, my beloved Poland, moves ! She stops upon the threshold of the Sion Promised to all the Peoples upon earth, And from the sacred heights her voice resounds So far the assembled nations clearly hear, Or high, or low, or in the depths of space : "To me ! to me, fraternal races, come ! Finished the latest fight of the final strife ; The snares of treason, webs of woven lies, Are all destroyed, and hate is buried with them \ Come, mount with me into the realm of Peace ! M The chorus of all nations then responds : " Glory and Benediction be to thee, Poland ! for though truly all have suffered, Thy tortures were far fiercer than our own ! Through deep enormity of that injustice Ever accumulating on thy head, Thou hast held constantly the enemy Under the lightnings of the living God ! During the anguish of thy martyrdom, Thou drew' st into thy heart a stronger life Than that of thine oppressors, and thy sacrifice Hath saved us all ! To thee be Benediction ! Glory l u xx. Oh, often during dark autumnal nights My mother's voice, perhaps some ancestor's, Will break the grave, and come to me to speak Of the unknown, the future upon earth ; And with the mystic tones strange visions throng ! The chant of triumph from the manly breasts Of myriads of men then peals through space ; 1 see the victors pass in countless ranks ; THE LAST. 477 I see the figures, white and luminous, Of sisters, brothers, freed from slavery ; A dazzling star glitters upon each brow : The star of immortality ! Though without wings, They float through air as if full-winged they were ; Though without crowns, they sparkle as full-crowned ! And I move onward in the midst of them, Feeling myself within an unknown Heaven, — Unknown, and yet foreseen, anticipated ! xxi. Ah ! who can tell? Perhaps the prophecies, Given me in dreams, are all accomplished now O'er Poland's grave, and I alone, the corpse, May still be missing 'midst her risen sons? Ah ! through these bars, these walls which shut me in, Closely as coffin-planks close round the dead, My spirit finds the light, and darts afar, Traversing Time and Space ! I see, not dream / There ! there are myriads of stars and flowers ! The world regenerated celebrates Its holy marriage with young liberty ! Over the summits of the clustering Alps, Along the ridges of Carpathian crests, The same Aurora kindles all the heavens ! And all the Peoples surging tranquilly, Mingling and blending waves innumerable, Form but one mighty ocean over which Breathes once again the spirit of our God ! XXII. Electric shivers shudder through my breast ; Each nerve is trembling, tingling every vein, As harps vibrate when touched by master-hands ! Each drop of blood grows resonant within me ; I feel so light, as if I had no body; These ponderous chains no longer weigh me down ; A beatific air envelops me, And fills my being. I elude the grasp 4i 478 THE LAST. Of my dread foe, return to life immortal. My very dungeon walls become transparent ! XXIII. Clairvoyant vision has been given me ! Clearly I see the country which surrounds me ; My second sight each moment penetrates Farther and wider, deeper into depths. As waves still rise behind the nearer waves, Spaces unveil beyond the nearer space ; Horizons spread, unroll, and disappear ! And far beyond this snow, these gloomy clouds, Behold the Blue, — the azure vault of Heaven ! The spring is blooming in the west ; beyond This Moscovy, this hell of snow and ice, I see the verdure of my native soil ! Thousands of flags unfurled are floating wide Above a crowd of limitless extent ! It is a Diet as in days of old, Assembled in the open air of Heaven ! On that great Plain how happy are my Brothers ! How brilliant in the sun's warm golden light ! I see, I feel them with my eager looks ; Should I advance a step, I'd touch them with my hands ! Nothing again can ever make me suffer ! Oh, let me look at them ! again ! again ! Gaze on them till my heart is satisfied ! xxiv. The Diet opens, — they deliberate ! That living plain, covered with human heads, Is by a single impulse tossed and swayed, Like grain-fields when the wind breathes over them. Above the sea of heads rise everywhere Innumerable rows of arms, which point All towards the North — as if in mute command. A glorious troop of horsemen now detach Them from the throng, and journey toward the North. My brothers they, of Lithuania, Poland ! The assembly of the nation disappears, Left far behind ; and I can only see THE LAST. 479 The troop of horsemen cleaving boundless space ! How rapid is their course ! Like lightning, they Cross hills and valleys, flying toward the North ! Angels of my release, my heart salutes you ! Our national colors, scarlet, white, adorn Your vestments ; sabres glitter in your hands Like battle lightnings! Proudly ye cleave the air, Eagles of God. Triumphantly ye pass These frozen steppes of cruel Moscovy, Where nor the Czar, nor any other Satan Can e'er again against your might prevail ! My Brothers seek me ! My white eagles fly ! xxv. On these vast plains, what temples numberless And infamous, rise for the Czar-god's worship ! What forts of stone, with human blood cemented ! What gloomy prisons meet you on your way ! I see you pause at every grated door, Dismount, and, by some supernatural power, Compel the jailers to descend with you To subterranean cells below all light ! My God ! I hear the joyous cry of life Re-echoing through the sepulchres of death, While shadowy ghosts, victims of Moscovy, Return to light of day, rescued by you ! The Breath of God urges you on anew ; On, Brothers, on ! . . . xxvi. During the light of day, the gloom of night, My eye pursues your ceaseless, rapid course ! What rapture ! Brothers ! You have already passed Through the Black lands \ enter my boundless plains Of snow ! Does not earth wear another face ? This is the realm of cold, of ice, of frost, Cf exiled misery, of eternal death ! O Heaven ! Our scarlet banner warms the very snow ! The rays which scatter from your dazzling brows Clothe this ice-desert in resplendent light ! Haste ! Haste ! My Brothers ! faster fly to me ! THE LAST. They urge their steeds, — they gallop proudly on ! How beautiful — robed in our national hues! Aid me, my Lord ! or else my heart will burst ! XXVII. They come ! They see this fortress Moscovite ! Yes, yes, they see ! They turn their horses' heads ! They rush along the trench — like lightning leap it ! Soon they will come to break these bolts and bars ! A moment more, — the twinkling of an eye, — Poland will enter in my cell to give Me back the life I offered, lost for her ! Be praised, O God, that even evil ends ! I shall not die alone and in despair ! Be glorified, my God ! XXVIII. What is it, O my Brothers? Why thus rein Your steeds so suddenly? Ah ! you have met A tribe nomadic,* stop to question it. Oh, come to me ! you've but a step to make ! Waste not your time with those poor savages ! They only seek for moss beneath the snow ; 'Tis all they know ; they have no higher care ! Sometimes a Moscovite may join their ranks; But trust him not; he is more brute than they, For they at least are simple, frank of heart. Why do you stop and talk with that wild horde ? My Brothers ! O my Brothers ! xxix. The air is calm and still ; I hear each word. My Brothers ask : " Within these gloomy walls, Are any Poles condemned to punishment Because their conscience would not let them kneel To worship the God-Czar?" I hear the answer one among them makes : " Here only suffers crime ! Robbers and thieves, * There are still in Siberia remnants of the indigenous tribes, such as the Toungouses, the Ostiaks, the Samoyedes, etc. THE LAST. Assassins, parricides, fill all these cells/ ' O lie ! O lie ! believe it not, dear Brothers ! Again the voices of my countrymen Resound across these desolate wastes of snow : " Not for such victims came we here to search Your prisons. Poland holy is, she seeks Alone the martyrs in her sacred cause ! Let vile assassins rot in Russian dungeons ! God only can absolve them in the sky ; On this earth Poland has no pardon for them." xxx. God ! . . . My Brothers ! . . . Wait ! one moment wait ! Turn not in haste your bridles to avoid This place accursed ! Alas ! for centuries I've waited for you here ! This hope alone Has given strength to bear protracted torments ! And now the power of the Moscovites Is broken ; they are forced to ope our cells ; The ages of our torture are all o'er; And you at last are here ! What rapturous joy ! Why do you pause ? . . . You are so very near me ; Can you not hear me, Brothers, when I cry ? 1 am no murderer ! No parricide ! I have not killed my father, nor my mother ! I'm no assassin, but the constant foe Of him who is the assassin of us all ! Look ! this way look ! I stretch my arms toward you ! Great God ! in pity turn their eyes on me ! To me ! To me ! Here ! Here ! this is my cell ! I strive to reach you, — this chain holds me back ! Oh, wait one moment ! Let me try again ! With my thin hands I strive to wrench my fetters ! Strain every nerve to break them if I can ! Blood covers them ! Alas ! they do not yield ! Do you not hear my shrieks of harrowing anguish? Stop in the name of God ! One moment stay ! . . . I'll try again to break away this chain ! O grant me but one single second more ! ****** 4 i* 482 THE LAST. O hour of bliss ! ... Of utmost agony ! . . . My God, they turn away ! they spur their steeds ! Do you not hear me, O my countrymen, My Brothers, and my only friends on earth ? See ! I am here ! buried within this vault! Return ! Return ! I supplicate ! Return ! My senses reel ! A fog envelops all ! It drifts between my consciousness and me ! My eyes no longer pierce the walls . . . xxxi. God ! My God ! Again I hear a sound, — - The galloping of horses o'er the snow, — Crackling of ice under their iron hoofs! Do they return to find a Brother here ? . . . Farther and farther — ever less distinct — Diminishing with every step from me — Forever and forever die away The blessed footfalls o'er the waste of snow ! Now I hear nothing more ! They have forsaken me ! Is it a wretched dream? No, it is truth ! They have been here / My Brothers have been here ! They have abandoned me ! left me to die In the midst of murderers and parricides, In the hour of Resurrection ! XXXII. Do I not hear the neigh of horses still? 1 am deceived, and there may yet be time ! But I am chained within my coffin's vault! Can I not wrench the clamp? tear it away From these damp walls? break but one single link? On ! on ! my breast ! Forward, my skeleton arms ! All that is man within me strive ! On ! on ! Ah ! that is well ! flow fast, my crimson blood ! Perhaps there yet is time ! Aid me, O God ! THE LAST. 483 Ah ! useless efforts ! I am growing weak, My sight is reeling and my blood flows fast, My chains clash without breakingn*. No one comes ! No one in all the world will ever come to aid me ! Silence and immobility return To float forever o'er this dark, still hell ! Where are you ? Where ? . . . Ah ! can it really be, They have been here, my Brothers have been here, And have abandoned me, — left me to rot With felons, murderers, and parricides, % In the very hour of national Resurrection ! XXXIII. Are you my Brothers ? . . . No ! My executioners / You've robbed me of my poor remains of life ! But who can say ? . . . Perhaps in younger days I did indeed commit some dreadful crime ; Murdered my father, mother, brother, sister, And now have quite forgot it in this grave ? But they, my Brothers, knew it all too well, And so have left me in perdition's gulf ! Nay, none of those were crimes by me committed ; We'll seek some other possible offense ! Who is it driving daggers in my head ? Who rakes my brains with talons, pincers, hooks ? Nothing is left me but to drag myself Over these stones, and gnash and grind my teeth As grinds my chain into my naked bones ! What horror grapples thus my inmost being? I know ! I understand ! I feel it now ! My senses leave me ! I am growing mad ! xxxiv. Where am I ? ... In my cell ? . . . Yes . . . the same lamp Casts the same sickly light . . . round the dim flame, Naught save the eternal* Dark of the Sepulchre ! Here the same sleepless bed, . . . and nothing, nothing more / And Thou ! Where art Thou, God? I do not know ! 484 THE LAST. I look . . but cannot find Thee in this gloom ! I only know I must die here alone ; Die like a dog ! Na^ r , it may be, far worse ! To whom do I owe thanks in this blank world ? I've lived, and I must die, in the Czar's House ! — Other protection I have never known ! God ! Must I hate all I once loved and trusted ? My will no longer o'er my body rules, My eyelids press my eyes so heavily ! xxxv. Remember, God, after such earthly woes, I do not wish to keep my soul alive For other, it may be, eternal pangs ! There is no love within, without, this world ; But irony immense as immensity ! God is no Father ! Nor the angels, Brothers ! On earth, in Heaven, the same deceptions rule ! God ! I renounce my immortality ! What can it do but change my present grief Into another woe ! And I am tired ! . . . I've had enough of anguish, misery ! Give me annihilation ; for I seek Deliverance ! Forget me, my Creator ! After long years, which were for me a hell, Hearken the only prayer I breathe at death : Let me not go where universal life Blazes with glory ! Let my soul lose itself Without a trace in Thy eternity, As they have lost all memory of me ! Alas ! in Poland they will never know The horrors of this living sepulchre, My agonies, deserted by my Brothers, That no fraternal clasp e'er came to press My dying hand, bid me a last Farewell ! xxxvi. Poland ! . . . What, Poland risen from the grave ? Oh, is it true, my God? My country now No longer waits death still enchained, like me ? THE LAST. 485 Father ! Pardon all a child's despair, Who, wrung to sudden madness, dared blaspheme ! It was not love of self inflamed my soul; No, I loved Thee and Poland ! Pardon, my God ! She lives on earth ; as Thou dost in the skies ! And with her name and Thine upon the lips So soon to be forever mute — I die ! Holy Thy will ! Holy my long captivity ! Holy the horrors of my lonely death, — Since as I die, my fathers' land is free ! XXXVII. 1 thank Thee, that in vision I have seen My happy country, Lord ! I give Thee thanks, That Thou hast shown me those who serve her cause ! Thou deignest to permit I here should close The endless vaults of Polish cemeteries ! That I should be the last of Polish corpses Buried alive in dungeons of the Czars ! I bless Thee, Lord ! Alas ! I cannot rise ! This skeleton body has no strength to kneel ! But my heart kneels ! I fold my trembling hands In symbol of Thy Cross upon my breast ! On which side is the sky ? It is so dark, So long since I came here, I cannot tell. Ha ! sudden inspiration wakes my heart ! I must pray, pray, pray ever for my Poland ! XXXVIII. Since Thou hast to thy martyr given, O Lord, The sceptre of true power, aid her to conquer that Which has been still invincible on earth ! That which no Rulers ever have accomplished, Nor emperors, nor kings, nor nobles, nor The middle classes, nor the various Peoples, — All tyrants differing only in their names, But the same despots when possessed of power, — Lord, let Thy martyr conquer it for all ! Floating aloft on archangelic wings, Above the temptations and the snares of pride, Above the abysses which corrupt our times, — 436 THE LAST. Let her bring back to man, drunk with his brother's blood, Holy Fraternity ! The strength of Love, Which is immortal, cannot be exhausted / And as triumphant she has left the grave, So grant her, Lord, to triumph over death ! No, she will not go out in smoke and ashes, As stolen states kneaded of dust and blood ; For in her breast she'll bear Thy Virtue, Wisdom, The elements of Victory and Power ! May all the nations of the earth still bless her, Because she joys in all the nations' bliss ! Oh, may Thy Christ be glorified in her, And manifest Himself in every human act ! And may through her Thy Kingdom come on earth ! My forces sink ! . . . Perhaps this may be Death ! Thanks, Lord ! XXXIX. A white light scintillates before my eyes ! Ineffable well-being fills my breast ! All painful recollections, one by one, Of my sad life fade from my memory ! The air vibrates with the full tones of harps : The human ear ne'er heard such harmonies ! Ah ! Yes ! These are the angels ! They announce The good, good news ! Each moment, less of sadness — less of pain ! O Poland, my Beloved ! . . . My raptured soul, Delivered from all evil, rushes on To the Infinite ! Hosanna ! O Hosanna, Forever and forever ! . . . TEMPTATION. [KRASIŃSKI published a short tale in Paris under this title, at the close of which is found the " sole cry" which he ever suffered to escape his lips on his own situation. It is also believed a real event is figured therein : a meeting between the Poet and the Emperor Nicholas. The students of Lithuania resolved to reprint the tale, which had indeed appeared in a journal of that country, stamped with the imprimatur of the censor, who had not understood the manuscript. But information soon came from St. Petersburg, and several hundred young men were thereupon exiled to Siberia ! They were the flower of young manhood, and heart- rending was the grief of the bereaved families. Imagine the despair of the tortured Poet.— TR.] Thick, crimsoned with blood, and swollen with tears ever falling, Our life-waves run gloomily on ! From the whirlpools and depths of the stormful and gathering currents, Rises the moan of anguish^ternaU^ Behind, roars the abyss, faftTolnTess, helmry^hrouded In black mists, tossed and piled, streaming up from the pangs of the Past 1 Before, lies the far-off Heaven ; its blue blazing with flames red as blood ; Around, struggle onward the swimmers, in surges so cold, hopeless, murky, That fierce agony wrenches from each as he floats the wild cry : " Woe ! Woe ! the old curse is upon me !" Mother, many times murdered! Unhappy mother! with the long and countless blades of thy ever green grasses, with the waving stems of thy grain-fields, thou wilt bind our undying memories closely to thee, but hence- forth must thy sons wander and suffer, as they love thee. Behind them, from sea to sea, is the Grave; before them, wheresoever they may roam, the sunset; while monarchs and merchants curse the endless progression ! The Living cannot understand those reared on the bosom of the Dead — human faces grow pale at the approach of the spectres — at the echo of their footsteps the home-fires glimmer and nicker low on the hearthstone — the mother 487 488 TEMPTATION. hides her child — the wife leads away the husband that he may not clasp hands with the wandering exile, — the even- ing star alone, the star of graves, smiles from Heaven on them ! Was not the silence of the forests holy? When the wind swept over the pines, did not the mystic murmurs, sacred as the prayers of the priest, say to you: " Nowhere there will you find your God The spaces are filled with the giant skeletons torn from the dim woods; they are chained and clamped with iron and fed with steam; the eagles soar not in the air above them, nor do the glad birds twitter in the swaying branches; none among you may mount the strong horse of the desert and fly afar over the boundless steppes, rejoicing in his arrowy swiftness; — you are alone in the midst of the world ! As you wander on, poor exiles, your very gratitude is half disdain ! When they lead you into cities without castles or temples, where trade and commerce rule; among whitewashed houses where the spirit of Beauty is not, and the green window-shutters are the sole adornment — mur- mur ye : The Dead ! On the shores of the seas when you dwell with Jews, Armenians, and Greeks, quarreling forever over their vile profits; seeing not the heavens, nor hearing the thunder as it booms over the waves — murmur ye : The Dead ! % * >k * jfc # * When women in rich attire move around you, and you feel that the faint fluttering of the silken robe is far more spiritual than the life-breath of their souls — murmur ye: The Dead ! * * * * * * * Float on, then, like the sacred whispers from the un^ hewn forests! The world will not know yftu, because you are of the race snrumg from coffins; born and cradled in . coffins; but as you rise from the grave, strew upon the ground beneath your feet the mouldering rags of your TEMPTATION. 489 shrouds, — and he, seated on the verge of the abyss, on the steep and slippery declivity; he, j*o>ed m the royal purple of power, will not survive y^^Kesurrection — but must himself descend into the coffin ! I saw imaged before me, as in a wondrous vision, the varied scenes and changes, as it were, of a long life, — rising, progressing, and vanishing, as if bound in a single day, beginning with the morning and fleeting away with the evening shadows. It seemed to me in my vision that the morning was strangely transparent. No clouds dulled the ether above. Far over the wide green space rose the sun, and in front of the House on the Hill stood a horse already saddled, impatiently wounding the velvety grass with his iron hoofs, and snuffing with wide nostrils the fresh breeze from the valley. Near him stood his young master. The light in his blue eye was bright as the young beam of the day. He had one foot in the stirrup, and the other on the soft home-turf; with one hand caressing the long waving mane of the steed, and the other clasped in the grasp of the man from whom he was taking leave — they knew not for how long, but yet felt it was not forever. Words were pouring' from the heart of the one into the heart of the other. The elder, he who stood on the ground and was to move on on foot, kept his gaze steadily fixed on the rocks and forests lying beyond the smooth green turf. The younger, with raised eyes, gazed into the sky, as if absorbing its light in the lustrous pupils; and when he spoke his voice was like the fresh breath of spring. The elder spoke more slowly, almost sternly, as though ad- vising, warning, beseeching, — as if he loved deeply, yet doubted, feared ; but the younger had no fear, no doubts, — he pledged himself and vowed — threw himself first into the arms of his friend, then leaped into his saddle. He pushed his horse rapidly on, swift as the arrow skims the plain, or the mountain stream plunges below. A cloud of servants poured forth from the halls of the ancient House, and followed their young Lord. He who remained behind, knelt; and fragments of his prayer were brought me by the wind. "O Heavenly 42 49° TEMPTATION. Father! let not that blooming soul wither away upon this arid earth ! Lead it not into the temptation of human servitude; remove from it all sinful stain! Let it serve Thee alone ! Thee and the many times murdered Mother!" He continued kneeling, although sunk in silence, as if wrapped in deep meditation, scarcely knowing whether to indulge in the dim prophecies then surging his soul, or to prolong his prayers. Then I saw him start, clasp his hands forcibly together — and again his words were borne to me by the wind. "O Heavenly Father! I ask Thee not to sweeten the bitter cup of life for my friend; I know that all who live must suffer; but, O merciful God, spare him the blush of shame, the infamy of weakness!" Then I saw the Wanderer rise from his knees, descend the hill, and make his way on foot through the forest to the distant rocks. About high noon of the same day they met again before the gate of a great city. The young man was still on his horse, his fair brow already darkened by the heat of the sun ; the dew from the fresh home-turf was quite dry upon his stirrups, and the glitter of the steel dimmed with rust. The horse gladly stopped, as if wearied with his rapid flight through the distant space, but the blue eye of the youth still sparkled with its early fire. The elder, gray from head to foot with the dust of the road, seated himself on a stone by the wayside. The youth jumped lightly to the earth, and threw himself into the arms of his friend. I saw him give his horse in charge to his servants, take the arm of his companion, enter the gate of the great city, and lead him to the imperial Palace. In one of the inner chambers they sat down together to rest. They conversed, however, in whispers, as if they feared the ear of the enemy even through the massive stone walls. Stretching himself on the soft Persian carpet, the younger raised the cup of wrought silver to his thirsty lip. But when he handed it to the elder he refused to taste the wine from the rich goblet. Nor would he look upon the tapestried walls, nor the objects of luxury lying TEMPTATION. 49 1 profusely scattered around the room, even when pointed out to him by his young companion. At last he rose, and, taking the hand of the youth, led him to a window, from which the entire city was seen lying below, with the moving crowds of the populous nation. The immense city, wonderfully monotonous in its whitewashed walls! the immense nation, wonderfully monotonous in its black garments! The young man looked on curiously; the Wanderer sighed, and said: "When they shall lead you into cities without castles or temples, where the spirit of freedom is chained, murmur ye: The Dead!" But the younger continued to gaze with ever-growing interest. Carriages filled with women dressed in brilliant hues were rapidly driving by, drawn by strong, fleet horses. He saw one drive aside from the throng, the snowy veil and white draperies of the fair one within fluttering and floating far on the breeze, as if the flying chariot were borne onward by the outspread sails. The Wanderer sighed, and said: "When women in rich attire move around you, and you feel that the faint fluttering of the snowy robe is more spiritual than the life-breath of their souls — murmur ye : The I>ead ! ' ' The young man seemed not to hear the words of his friend. Heavy masses of lurid clouds gathered from every direction, and obscured the face of the sky. How differ- ent the hour of the gloomy noon from that of the fresh, transparent morning! The men before whom the People of the Black Nation kneel and prostrate themselves, now began to move through the streets. Their garments glittered with gold, and were richly embroidered in gorgeous colors. They wore long thin swords at their sides, and thick tufts of plumes on their heads. Shouting with harsh voices, they passed on in power, striking the children who were lingering in the road as they moved forward. The children cried and wept; the crowd drew back and fled; and they remained alone upon the Great Square. More and more of them were ever thronging there; more and more courteously they ever bowed to one another, and lower and lower grew their salutes, until at last One rode forward on a steed richly caparisoned, — and then they all fell down with v 49 2 TEMPTATION. their faces upon the ground — as if he were the Lord of Life and Death. Then said the Wanderer: "He is already on the verge of the abyss, on the slope of the steep and slippery de- clivity ; he, robed in the purple of power, must himself descend into the coffin !" But the young man riveted his gaze on the magnifi- cence of the rider, as if absorbing the diamond glitter into the lustrous pupils of his eyes, as in the morning they had absorbed and reflected the clear blue of the skies. He seemed not to hear the words of his friend. When they were earnestly repeated to him, he covered his face with his hands, and tenderly uttered the holy name of the murdered Mother, as if the love of childhood were upon his heart. The Wanderer pressed him to his breast, and said: "Look not upon them ! Look not upon them!" "Never! never!" he replied, as he again threw himself down to rest upon the Persian carpet. As the Wanderer rose to depart, I heard the prayer again rising to God from his divining soul: "O Heavenly Father! even at the burning noon of this bitter trial, I implore Thee for him whom I love ! O God ! I now entreat Thee to work a miracle in his behalf, — to sweeten the bitter cup of life for this young, eager, thirsting soul ! Deliver it from the temptations with which Thou hast seen good to surround the strong on this earth, led like him into these snares! Let him not fall, I beseech Thee, as did even the mighty and beautiful angels round Thy Throne, when the thirst for power was upon them. Save him, O God!" The young man remained alone, utterly alone, in the midst of the great city, and was soon forced to seek com- panionship with his fellow-beings. It was strange, mean- while, how black the heavens grew, as if the whole sky were sheeted with a curtain of lead. I saw him now constantly in the streets, the rooms, and in the midst of the people: he fascinated my gaze as if I saw only him. Under the calm of a tranquil face, he concealed bitter torment, intense suffering. Evil thoughts are winding through him like swarms of black and poisonous worms, TEMPTATION. 493 while the good are also thronging near him like clouds of bright fireflies. The worms crawl over his heart, boring and bleeding it as they writhe; the fireflies would burn out the . black congested gore, and cure the festering wounds, but new swarms of reptiles are forever sliming into life, and ever deeper and more gangrened are the wounds they make. Everywhere danger, everywhere tor- ment; there is no human being whom he may trust! He too must learn to deceive in turn, to betray even women and children; must learn to lie as the masterpiece of art. He attains skill in the profession, and can command looks, smiles, tears, emotions; but alas! the light in his clear eye, once rivaling the young beam of day, no longer flashes from his pupils. Pity him, O God! his very gar- ments become a lie; he throws aside the costume of his nation, in which he once rode so. freely over the boundless steppe. He mounts on his head the tall tufts of plumes; he girds the thin sword to his side; and I saw in my dream that the people began to fall back before him, and bow as he drew near. But I saw that the steed of the desert refused to recog- nize his master when he entered the courtyard of the Palace. In vain he pats, with his own hand, the wavy silken mane : no neigh of joy now answers his caress ; he strives to leap upon him as in the morning of this event- ful day, but the haughty charger rears, stands erect upon his hind legs, and refuses to be mounted. Enraged be- yond control, he thrusts his long sword into the glossy flanks. The startled animal breaks away, spurns the blood-sprinkled soil, and flies thundering afar, rattling and clashing his iron hoofs on the pavement, marking his track with a long line of glittering sparks, flashing but to die in the dying light of evening ! The hour of twilight is already on the earth ! ******* Again, for the third time in that day of life, met the Wanderer and his friend. They stood together in a Church, which was without the gates, and the cross on its towers was different from those on the Basilicas within the walls of the city. The altar was without adornment, and, as well as the walls and ceilings, was shrouded in the 42* 494 TEMPTATION. deepest mourning. Three tapers only were upon it, and they struggled vainly with the surrounding gloom. I saw the Wanderer take one of the lights, and gaze, with a look of woe, upon the face of his friend. The young man was silent, he found no utterance, he had lost the secret of revealing, by honest words, the depths of the soul. But the bitter truth was expressed in the long wild cry which burst spasmodically from his lips. In it might be read the seduction and destruction of a young spirit, not consenting to its own shame and ruin ! He laid his head on the strong shoulder of his friend, and closed his heavy eyelids, as if he dreamed, in this trying moment, it would be possible for him thus to close them forever. But the Wanderer, suddenly calling him back to consciousness, said : " Follow me ! follow me, that thou mayst remember forever the Form of the murdered Mother!" So saying, he led the young man to a low door which opened behind the Great Altar. A whirlwind, as if from plains of ice, blew upon them from the subterranean pas- sages below, and the flame of the taper streamed upon the blast, swaying and torn into a line of dying sparks. And thus they commenced the plunge into the very bosom of night, descending ever lower and lower, exploring depth after depth, until at last they had worked their way through the narrow and winding passages, and stood in the sublime silence of the immensity of space. Their taper had long ago gone out, but they needed not its flickering light. The swamp-fires of the night, the corpse-lights, the will-o'-the-wisps, sometimes fell like falling stars ; sometimes rose like rising moons. Count- less cemeteries seemed moving on in this weird light, one solemnly following the other, and on the dark gate of each glittered, as if graved in frosted silver, the name of the Murdered Nation, and on the white crosses gleaming within, the names of her martyred children. Vast piles of skeletons, of bones and skulls, lay in the path of the young man, and as he advanced he read the glorious in- scriptions. It now seemed to him that the ghosts of the buried were also moving on before him, increasing constantly in TEMPTATION. 495 number, and all moaning as they sped on, until at last they seemed to condense into a murky vapor like a trail- ing storm-cloud, growing ever more and more pervading, and murmuring with myriad voices sad, but spirit-stirring national songs. The air gleamed with the flashing of sabres and wild waving of standards; conflagrations and flames filled the intervening spaces, like vivid flashes of restless lightning, now gleaming, now sinking into the bosom of the cloud. Faster and faster, farther and farther whirled the cloud of spirits. Then in my dream I saw them suddenly descend, driven over the earth like the withered leaves of autumn, — beaten low upon the ground and drifting on like the summer's dust, — while a strong cry burst from the hunted shadows : " O God, have mercy upon us !" The Wanderer stopped before the gate of an open sep- ulchre, on which was graven the name of the many times Murdered. The letters blazed with a soft, lambent flame, and he fell reverently upon his knees. Penetrated with mystic awe, he quivered from head to foot when he arose, and wept tenderly as he crossed the threshold. A soft light, like that of an evening late in autumn, dimly illumined the space within. I saw the holy Coffin as it lay on the gentle slope of a hill ; a giant pine stood at its head, in whose topmost branches perched an Eagle, pierced to the heart and sleeping in its own blood. Within the Coffin lay the sacred Form, with the cross on her breast, the veil on her face, the fetters on her hands, and the crown upon her head. I saw six such hills rising one after the other, separated from one another by the long grass, through which, in place of sunny brooks, flowed crimson streams of human gore. Hilts and shiv- ered fragments of broken swords, overgrown with weeds and covered with rust, were lying scattered in every di- rection through the rank grass. On each of the six hills lay the same Coffin ; the same Form. But always more and more strongly surged the streams of human blood ; heavier and heavier grew the chains on the hands of the Dead ; and paler and paler the dim autumnal light. At the foot of the last hill it was dark, and bitter cold ; the currents of blood were frozen ; the icicles hung from the 496 TEMPTA riON. branches of the pine ; the Eagle lay in his congealed gore ; and in place of the veil, the face of the six times murdered Mother was closely covered with a sheet of snow. When the young man reached this spot of gloom, he fell with his face upon the frozen earth, and cursed his life ! In the distance sounded the moans of the shadows left at the gate of the sepulchre ; he bowed his head and wept. He heard them ask: "Is the six times Murdered really dead ? will she rise no more to deliver her faithful children from mortal anguish?" The Wanderer replied not, but looked with eyes of melancholy love upon his friend who had thrown himself upon the frozen earth, and gently raised him in his strong arms. Then rose the wail of all the armies of the grave ; they broke the silence of death with loud and fearful cries : " O Heavenly Father, Thou hast betrayed us ! Thou hast de- livered us up to Hell, for our Saint is really dead |" The Wanderer answered the cry, and his voice pealed like distant thunder. " Blaspheme not ! Our Saint yet breathes ! I see her lying in her last coffin on the hill of ice, — there is no seventh beyond it — from it comes the Resurrection ! ' ' The wails and sobs of the spirits suddenly ceased, and a murmuring chant of the Mother's was en- toned, low and sweet as the first sigh of a germing hope. The young man now perceived, for hitherto he had not seen it, the illimitable space beyond the coffin. Afar over the infinite blue gleamed the growing splendor of the early dawn, — the clash and clamor of battles yet un- born broke through the veil of Time, — and above it all he heard the Mother's ancient hymn of victory ! The young dawn shone but for a moment, the clash of battle ceased, the song of triumph died upon the ear, — the gloomy silence of the twilight was again around them, and frost and cold upon the earth. The two friends rev- erently pressed their lips upon the still feet of the fettered Form ; together listened to the faint breathing from the icy lips, catching it even through the veil of snow shroud- ing the sacred face ; together they ascended the frozen hill, bowing their heads in their hands to hide their tears. I saw them again as they were returning by the same TEMP TA TI ON. 49 7 road, and overheard them binding themselves with fear- ful oaths. The Wanderer took leave of the young man at the entrance of the church, saying with wonderfully tender and conjuring tones: "Be not deceived by those who would fain ruin thy soul, and blot out thy name from the number of honorable sounds on earth ! Remember, what- soever the splendor of the things thou shalt this night see, they are but deceptions from the lowest Hell!" Then placing his hand on the heart of the young man, he prayed: "O Heavenly Father ! have mercy upon him and upon me, for if he withstands not this terrible Temp- tation, Thou knowest we shall both have lived in vain, and our part on earth is done forever ! ' ' After this they parted, and went their way on different routes. 3c * * ^ * * sfc It was already night in the great city. Innumerable throngs were crowding the streets, all moving in the same direction, to the palace lighted with a thousand lamps, sounding with music, and gay with the dance. Old and young, men and women, thronged the brazen stairs leading to the upper rooms; hurrying on as eagerly, as unceasingly, as if ascending into Heaven ! The hours of the night passed slowly by, seeming longer to me than the whole of the preceding day. It was almost one o'clock before I again saw the young man, and the traces of the oaths he had taken were cunningly hidden under smiles. Groups of servants stood around him ; he carelessly threw them his cloak, and climbed with the rest the brazen stairs. He was richly dressed ; the magnificent guest was worthy of the splendor of the wed- ding feast. He entered gracefully, and gazed curiously on the thousands who were dancing around him. His eyes fell upon the rich and varied spoils overhanging the Hall ; broken swords were wrought into the walls like mosaics ; the flags of the conquered nations were draped in their varied hues across the vaulted ceiling; but as he looked on all these trophies of power, I saw him suddenly turn pale with rage, and bite his lips until the blood fol- lowed the pressure of his teeth ; but then the whirling crowds caught him in their midst- — violins, harps, flutes, and horns poured the reeling air into his dizzied brain — 498 TEMPTATION. clouds of incense intoxicated his senses — piled and mossy- carpets luxuriously yielded to the pressure of his feet — rainbow hues shifted gayly before his dazzled eyes — until giddy, fascinated, stimulated, he sank upon a pile of cushions, resting his hot temples in his burning palms, dreaming of snowy hands and taper fingers, of azure eyes and cheeks like rose-leaves. As he thus rested, I heard the bell heavily toll one ; I felt that this long night was in its darkest hour ! When he raised his eyes, he saw, through the long vista of the illuminated apartments, the Throne of the Splendor of the Sun. It stood above the moving sea of dancers; upon it sat the Autocrat of Life and Death ; and above him waved the canopy of flags torn from the dying nations. The young man started, for he saw one among them dyed in gore, and tattered into rags, and from its torn stream- ers, drop by drop, the blood was ever falling; but no one saw or heeded it save himself. When this sight fell upon his reeling gaze, he determined to repel with all his force the allurements of temptation ; and again his eye gleamed blue and pure as it had done in the early morning. A movement now began in the crowd. It dispersed, divided and formed into long lines upon the right and the left, leaving a wide, open pathway through the whole length of the long vista of the apartments. The Lord of the Palace descended from his Throne, and moved through the living walls as if he were a God, while all prostrated themselves as he passed along. He turned not aside, but went directly to the spot where the young man was seated. Nearer and nearer he approached, wondrously beautiful and strong. The young man rose, and looked boldly into his eyes. The Master of Life and Death did not frown upon him, but said gently: " Come, let us take a stroll together; I will show you the wonders of my Palace !" The youth stood as if transfixed to the spot, but the Lord of Life and Death drew closer to him, stooped and pressed a kiss on his brow, and led him away with easy grace. Although he seemed to see the coffin of the murdered Mother ever winding on before him, the young man ac- companied the Monarch. His arm trembled with the quick beating of his boiling blood as it lay on the hard TEMPTA TI ON, 499 one of the Autocrat, who, thunder as he might to the bow- ing throng prostrating themselves before him, continued to speak in soft tones and with a noble, courteous air to his present companion. He spoke of the past, he uttered without trembling even the name of the murdered Mother, as if her assassination did not weigh upon his conscience. He did not seem to have the least doubt that she was really dead, vanished forever from the face of the earth. He artfully pointed out to the young man another im- mense future,* graven, as he said, in the Book of Fate. He painted it in the most alluring colors, awakening his young desires for its attainment \ he spared no promises, and as if he held himself to be one of God's prophets, he parodied inspiration. The unhappy young man turned his eyes toward the ground, away from the handsome face, as though it had been that of Antichrist. Each word of the Tempter fell like a drop of poison on his heart, en- gendering and hatching the worms within. They walked together through the long ranges of apartments, the close ranks of men prostrating themselves as they passed, until they struck with their foreheads the malachites wrought into the tesselated floor. When they arrived at the other end of the Palace, the gates of bronze upon the order of the Master were sud- denly thrown open, while the mass behind, lifting their heads from the ground, looked enviously after them. "Behold, this is my Treasury," said the Monarch. "Look and have faith in the extent of my power ! M The young man looked before him. He was standing at the portals of deep mines of wealth, endlessly extended. Alas ! the glowing splendor from the hills and valleys burned into the blue eyes of the young man ; his pupils rapidly absorbed the molten torrents of gold and silver ; circles of light from amethyst, opal, and emerald, bent like rainbows round the azure orbs. The subterranean flames roared and crackled ; the hills were shaken to their centre ; the caves were heaving in their depths, and fresh, glittering, golden, diamantine lumps came ever gushing from the fused and seething mass. * Pansclavism ? 5 oo TEMPTATION. But strange sounds were ever and anon heard amidst the hissing and sputtering of the boiling metals. Long cries came up as if from men in the agonies of death ; a clatter as of chains sounded from the abyss ; muttered curses ; and bent and wretched human figures were seen moving over swards of diamonds and precious stones, like the dark stains passing athwart the bright face of the moon. The eye of the Monarch then flamed with wrath. Sometimes clanging their chains as they moved their fettered limbs, these melancholy figures raised to him their suppliant hands, begging with anguished cries for one drop of water, for one moment of respite to breathe the free air of heaven. He vouchsafed to them no answer, and with every mo- ment the wretched and emaciated shadows fell from utter exhaustion into the molten metals seething in the depths of the mine. But what mattered that, since with every instant, new bands of living shadows, equally fettered, doomed, and wretched, arrived to fill the vacant places? The young man thought he- had seen some of these melancholy faces before in the high places of the earth, that the noble traits once had been dear to him ; but the flashes of lightning blinded him, and the features were rapidly lost in the depths of the succeeding gloom. The roar of the seething, fusing metals, deafened the sound of the groans from the chained and broken-hearted miners. And as I gazed, an all-pervading splendor, like the golden calm of the Desert, settled over all, covering with glittering veil the anguish which had been revealed. As this light overflowed the scene with its brilliant haze, the gates of bronze swung to with heavy clang. The Master of Life and Death took leave of the young man, and as he departed, said: "When the great bell again strikes, be in the Hall of the Throne ; thy seat at my Banquet is next my own." As the young man turned to move away, the throng greeted him with shouts and cheers. Many knelt to kiss his hand, because it had touched the hand of the Master. They asked him what music he would hear, and when his choice was made, the grand orchestra rolled it forth in massive waves of sound. They bore him luscious wines in jeweled vases, kneeling as he took the cup. He mar- TEMPTATION. veled, and at first scorned the homage, but again I saw him look proudly round him, and assume an air of com- mand. In a recess of the most exquisite beauty, veiled by groves of perfumed flowers, he meets resplendent groups of married women, blooming clusters of budding maidens. They surround him as he enters, greeting him with lovely smiles, and scattering rose-leaves o'er him. His cheeks flame as with fever; his blood boils in his veins ; he grows giddy, faint : — alas, he feels at last that he might find hap- piness in the Palace of the mortal enemy of his Mother ! This feeling falls upon him like a thunderbolt, and scathes his heart. He turns to fly, but they pursue, the perfumed wind bearing onward and wafting around him the full drapery of their floating trains of luxury. Their long ringlets kiss his cheeks, and weave their nets around him. Through two long hours of this fitful night I watched him with the keenest interest. I saw him struggle, con- fused, bewildered, reeling, giddy, dazzled; sometimes almost yielding to temptation, sometimes earnestly im- ploring the Heavenly Father for strength to resist delusion. As if in despair, I saw him hurrying through the long suite of apartments in search of a sword to pierce his weak, vacillating heart ; but no arms were here to be found. Sometimes I saw him rush to meet the alluring Circes of the Palace, as if seeking their fascinations; then, suddenly turning upon them, he would curse and insult the seductive Sirens. I saw him tear from them their veils of snow, rend them asunder, and trample the costly fragments under his feet. They knelt, wept, and humiliated themselves before him. They prayed for love, saying: " Once, only once, we implore thee, confess that thou lovest !" Utter mad- ness came upon him ; electric flashes fired his veins ; rap- ture tingled through every fibre of his young frame ; and in the voluptuous delirium of the moment he wildly cried: "I love! I love!" As he spake, he caught in his arms the Houri of the foreign race ; he fastened his burning lips upon her rose- bud mouth ; and by the magic of her breath she drew him on to the Hall of the Throne ! There sat the Master of Life and Death, with the flags 43 502 TEMPTATION. and standards of the conquered nations floating around and above him. As the youth and maiden entered, I again heard the great bell toll the hour. Throngs of courtiers stood around the Throne. Slowly the cur- tain of inwrought tapestry rose from the platina door. Those who had been waiting beyond its threshold for admittance, were summoned by the Heralds to appear. Ambassadors from the Kings of the East and the Kings of the West entered the Presence Chamber. On they filed in long and solemn procession. They all bowed as they passed the Throne, each one depositing an urn of pure gold at the feet of the Monarch. The urns were filled with the ashes of those who had fallen in battle, heroes killed in holy causes, patriots and martyrs from different parts of the world. The Grand Duke entered last in the train ; he was clad in the ermine only worn by Princes, and as he bowed his head, he placed the last urn on the floor. The young man started, — the name of the murdered Mother was deeply graven on the sculptured swells. Then all grew dark before him ; he saw neither the Throne of the Monarch nor the fair girl still cling- ing to his arm. But his ear quickened as his eye grew dim, and the question of the Monarch rang loudly through his brain: "Are they all really dead, and will they rise from the grave no more?" And as if with one voice answered the Ambassadors : " They are all surely dead and will rise no more forever.' " At a sign from the Monarch, the courtiers approached, took up the urns, and solemnly deposited them upon the columns of black marble ranged on either side of the Hall. Flaming torches were then handed by the attend- ants, taken by those high in the favor of the court, and held over the open crypt of the urn. The ashes within kindled, and burned with a dim, bluish flame. The pale smoke rose from the shrine, spread through the air, and wafted the smell of Death to the nostrils of the Lord ! It now seemed to the young man as if all he had seen at the hour of twilight was but a dream ; he looked upon these throngs as the sole masters of the world, and on their Monarch as omnipotent and eternal. At that moment the table of festival rose in the Hall, everywhere TEMPTATION. surrounded by the blazing funereal urns. The maiden begged the bridegroom to take his seat at the banquet ; the Master, descending from his Throne, placed his arm in his, and led him to the post of honor, at his side. The great bell again tolled the hour. The guests also took their places at the feast. Directly in front of the young man stood the column of black marble bearing the urn containing the ashes of his Mother. And whenever he saw her holy name, his long lashes veiled his sinking eyes ; but his bride con- stantly recalled his attention to the blue flames of the crypt. More and more madly, fiercely, fearfully, his reeling and wretched soul struggled to regain its ancient faith, to return to its early hopes ; but temptation was around him ; his brain was bewildered ; his understanding dark- ened ; and madness within. Healths poisonous to his heart went round, and he was forced to drain them in honor of the Master. An inward shivering disjointed his members, unstrung his nerves ; heart and frame fainted into weakness, a dew cold as death covered his temples, and his head fell wearily upon his breast ; the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the men, the burning urns, danced, reeled, and tottered in wild confusion before him ! The murmuring voices, the buzz of sound, the swell of the triumphant music, the strange words of the foreign bride, mingled and boomed like the roar of the sea in the ears of the swooning man, — and so the last hours passed away ! He still lived, if life be measured by the wild throbs of the heart. Like the clap of doom the last hour struck upon his ear. He opened his heavy eyelids, the blue flames from the urns were dying out. The Master of Life and Death, graciously smiling and courteously in- clining toward him, said: " Guest of my Banquet, the hour has struck in which thou art to swear to serve me; in which thou must abjure thine ancient faith and name." As he spake, he threw to him across the table jeweled orders and diamond crosses, saying: "Wear these in memory of me!" The Herald then drew near, and read to him from the Black Book the form of abjuration. The TEMPTATION. agonizing and swooning man mechanically repeated the words one by one after him, not even hearing the sound of his own voice. His head had fallen on the bosom of his bride, his lips still moved, but his eyes were glaring in the whiteness of death, — and so he uttered all the pre- scribed words until the very last was said ! Scarcely had he finished, when the Master of Life and Death arose and said: "Servant of my servants art thou now/ — beware ! shouldst thou prove false to thy oath, the rope of the hangman surely awaits thee." Then he broke into a loud, coarse laugh of triumph ! The unfortunate man raised his wretched head, and his first look fell upon the urn of his murdered Mother. In place of her name of glory another word was standing now: "Infamy!" "Infamy," — he looked again; he shrieked aloud, "Infamy;" and started from his seat with the last effort of his failing strength. "Infamy !" shouted the thousands from before, behind, from either side. " In- famy !" sounded from the ceilings of the Palace, the Hall of the Throne, the deep mines and limitless Treasury ! Some among the crowd hastened to greet him by his new name, while others fastened to his garments the glittering orders and diamond crosses. Some commanded him to bow before them, while others ordered him to trample underfoot the still smouldering ashes of his Mother! That thought sends the blood back in hot torrents to his heart. He breaks through the surrounding throng, rushes on, flees from the Presence Chamber, eagerly look- ing for his bride. He sees her leaning on the arm of another, mocking and jeering with the rest. He glides on behind the statues, steals along the recesses, is discov- ered, and again flies before the enemy. The Palace winds before him into countless labyrinths — nowhere is shelter to be found — sneers, menaces, insults are everywhere around him, — but, worse than all, the curse is now within his own_ soul / Then he suddenly turns to meet his enemies; he baffles them at first, but countless numbers are upon him. They hurl him to the ground, trample him underfoot, and pass on singing a song from the land of his Mother. As he rises, fresh numbers assail him; he bids defiance to them TEMPTATION. 505 # all, struggles, advances, until foaming, bleeding, sinking, he is again driven back, again forced to seek an outlet from the Palace. Thus fighting, running, falling, fainting, he makes his way until the first dim dawn of day, and, as it breaks, he falls heavily down the brazen staircase, and rolls below into the court of the Palace. There strong arms seize him, and bear him rapidly away to the steps of the church, — the same church which he had left in the evening twilight. It is the hour of the young dawn, but the sun of this earth will never rise for him again ! Light will awake the world, but it will shine into his blue eyes no more! He awakes to consciousness on the steps of the church, and finds himself face to face alone with the Wanderer. He is mute in his despair. The Wanderer, regarding him sternly, says: ' ' In other times and scenes thou mightst perchance have been a hero, but the Fates doomed thee to heavy trial, and thou wert not strong enough to preserve thy virtue ! The visible reality prevailed with thee above the invisible ; holy, and eternal truth / Alas, thou art lost ! ' ' "Give me back my horse!" cried the young man, as life again began to flow through his veins. "Give me the free dress of the steppes, give me my arms, and thou shalt see that I know how to revenge the wrongs inflicted on my brethren, to redress my own infamy!" He grasped the hand of his friend, and threw himself into his arms, quivering with rage. Far more sadly than before, the Wanderer replied : "The hour for bold and open defiance is not yet near. It is the time for silent sacrifice. But even shouldst thou live until the Day of Judgment, the hour of Resurrection, thy brethren will always number thee among those who have renounced the Mother. Hark! thy enemies are in pursuit of thee, already near. Should they capture thee, thou must be the slave of their wills, the partner of their crimes, the sport and butt of all their bitter jests through- out the remnant of thy wretched life. One only refuge remains for thee!" And, as he spoke, he drew his glitter- ing sword. The young man understood his meaning. With daunt- less courage he tore aside the covering from his breast. 43* 5 o6 TEMPTATION. ♦ "Strike!" he exclaimed. "I die as a true son of the many times murdered Mother, — honor to her holy name for ever and ever !" The Wanderer groaned from the depths of his soul. He plunged the sharp, cold steel into the young naked heart. The unfortunate victim fell without a moan. He fell in the first rays of the rising sun, and in the same hour in which but yesterday, full of strength and hope, he had mounted his swift horse from the green home-turf, urging him down the hill to push eagerly over the broad steppe of life. He fell in silence, but his dying eye again flashed forth a light rivaling the young beam of Day. The Wanderer knelt beside him, and, lifting his clasped hands to Heaven, said: "O Heavenly Father! Thou knowest that I loved him better than aught else on earth! As long as it was possible I shielded him from the Temp- tation of Hell, and in the first moment of his fall, I tore his soul from the grasp of the enemy, and sent it back to Thee! Save it in eternity, merciful Father! Let the crimson tide, poured out by me, be joined to that sea of innocent blood which is ever wailing and moaning at the foot of Thy Throne ! Let it with that sea fall upon the head of the Tempters!" After these words I saw him, with the point of the same sword, draw blood from under his own heart, and write with the sharp, red blade on the stone above the head of the dead : Sent home by the hand of a friend ! The echoing steps and voices of the pursuers fell loudly on the ear; they were close at hand. The Wanderer arose, and rapidly disappeared from my eyes in the sanc- tuary of the ancient church. Thus passed and ended that one day of my vision ! O Mother, many times murdered ! When thou shalt waken from sleep, and again rest on the long grass of the home- turf, again hear the holy whispers of thy unhewn forests green from sea to sea, again feel thy youth return- ing upon thee, thou wilt remember thy long night of death, the terrible phantoms of thy protracted agonies. TE MP TA TION. Weep not then, O Mother ! weep not for those who fell in glorious battle, nor for those who perished on alien soil, — although their flesh was torn by the vulture and devoured by the wolf, they were still happy ! Neither weep for those who died in the dark and silent dungeon underground by the hand of the executioner, though the dismal prison- lamp was their only star, and the harsh words of the op- pressor the last farewell they heard on earth, — they too w r ere happy ! But drop a tear, O Mother ! one tear of tender pity for those who were deceived by thy Murderers, misled by their tissues of glittering falsehood, blinded by misty veils woven of specious deceptions, when the command of the tyrant had no power to tear their true hearts from thee ! Alas, Mother, these victims have suffered the most of all tłfy martyred children ! Deceitful hopes, born but to die, like blades of naked steel forever pierced their breasts ! Thousands of fierce combats, unknown to fame, were waging in their souls ; combats fuller of bitter suffering than the bloody battles thundering on in the broad light of the sun, clashing with the gleam of steel, and booming with the roar of artillery. No glory shone on the dim paths of thy deceived sons; thy reproachful phantom walked ever beside them, as part of their own shadow ! The glittering eye of the enemy lured them to the steep slopes of ice, down into the abyss of eternal snow, and at every step into the frozen depths, their tears fell fast for thee ! They waited until their hearts withered in the misery of hope long deferred ; until their hands sank in utter weariness ; until they could no longer move their emaciated limbs in the fetters of their invisible chain; still conscious of life, they moved as living corpses with frozen hearts — alone amidst a hating People — alone even in the sanctuary of their own homes — alone forever on the face of the earth ! My Mother ! When thou shalt again live in thy olden glory, shed a tear over their wretched fate, over the agony of agonies ; and whisper upon their dark and silent graves, the sublime word : Pardon. RESURRECTURIS. WRITTEN IN 1846. Amid this slough kneaded with blood and tears, This world where none his Golgotha avoids, In vain the spirit struggles when the hand Of sorrow strikes. Against the storms of life No port of refuge here is ever found. At every moment we are mocked by Fate ; The brave engulfed within the dark abyss ; The loved, the saintly, die, — the hated, live; All eddies in a maze without a clue : Pale Death is near, and far — so far — away Across the loitering waves of future ages, Yet scarcely breaks the Resurrection's dawn. Must we then grow inert, insensible, And still the voice of conscience? 'Mid the vile Grow viler, murder with the murderers, Lie, hate, blaspheme, and kill? . . . Unto this world Return the evil it hath wrought on us ? At such price Power is ours, — else wield we none ! Then let us eat and drink, the body sate, And, chasing from the brain each noble thought, Swell high the list of fortunate, and fools ! Oh, no ! Pause ! Pause, my soul ! Not with such arms Can those who guide humanity meet evil ! There is no force but that of sacrifice Able to crush the fate that crushes us ! 508 RESURRECTURIS. It is the sole unconquerable power In this world's history. Servility and pride are idle straws A passing breath may sweep to nothingness. Oh, learn to know thyself! Seek not to grow Omnipotent, like Him who is in Heaven ! Ne'er give consent to bend thee like a brute, Knowing no good save some fat pasture-land ! This side the tomb, ere breaks the distant dawn Of Resurrection, be thou constant Will, Immovable though worlds should crash around ! Be tireless Patience which, amid misfortune, Can slowly rear from naught the edifice, And which, unshaken by defeat, prepares* The future, certain, final victory ! Be thou Tranquillity amid the storm ; Order in chaos ; Harmony in discord ; Amid the eternal combat of this life, Be thou the eternal Beauty ! For cowards and for Pharisees, be Wrath And Menace, or the Silence of contempt ! Angelic Inspiration be for men ; The Nourishment that nourishes the heart ! A Sister's Tear be for the suffering; A Manly Voice, when long-tried courage reels ! For wandering exiles be their Home of Birth ; Be Hope for the despairing, Thunder to wake The drowsy souls lulled in a corpse's sleep; Always and everywhere be thou the Force That reconciles, — the force of Self-devotion, Stronger than death : and in the unending strife Against the abyss of this mad world of Hate, Be thou the Abyss of Love ! Ne'er cease to give Thyself unto thy brethren under form Of teaching and example. Still multiply Thyself by living acts ; and thus alone Thou shalt outweigh thousands of other men ! Even in irons never cease to act ! RESURRECTURIS. Learn to bear pain and bitterest agony ; Be thy whole Nation living in thy breast ! Be thou the miracle joins Heaven to earth ! The holy Labarum in slavery ! Haste not toward death, till, like the buried seed, Thy thought be sown and germing in the hearts Of thy compatriots ; till martyrdom Shall be the pledge of certain victory ! The crown of false vainglory leave to fools ! The loftiest souls heed not the siren voice. But when the tocsin of events shall ring The signal for thy final holocaust With sa£, wild peal, — and from thy native land, — Kneel down upon the threshold of Eternity ! When deep within thy soul, contrite and humble Thou hear'st the voice that only comes from God, — Rise like a strong athlete who wins the goal ! Shake off thy feet the clinging dust of earth ! With infinite love, stretch forth thine arms to Heaven ! Without complaint, wail, inward bitterness, March forth to meet thine executioners, Saluting them with inmost, pitying glance Of immortality ! Thus for the future shall thy sacrifice A fruitful witness be, and from thy death Will spring the germ of life for other men ! Those hopes the world deems folly, idle dreams, Incorporate in actuality, In faith, in justice, something palpable, Which, like a probe, shall sink in all men's hearts, And dwell forever there, although it touch Them lightly in a breath, a quivering sigh ! . . . And then the world, thy murderer, will kneel Before thee, and confess that brutal force Is impotent to strike Country, or God, From the conscience of the nations ! Behold ! the blood that floweth from thy wounds Hath sanctified thy Thought : that Thought will draw RES URRE C TUR IS. 5" The dazzling light of God's sure judgment down From highest heaven upon the impious throng ! And neither troops, nor bayonets, nor lies, Corruption, kings, nor peoples shall prevail Against that Thought. And when the Third Day breaks, above the gulf Of thy past agonies, and on the tomb Of thine own martyrdom, shall spring at last The boon thy Nation long has waited for : Justice, — the child of God ! IN MEMORIAM. This volume was prepared by the gifted translator as an offering to departed worth and genius, in the person of its author, Count Sigismund Krasiński, and also as opening to her compatriots a glimpse into the rich and peculiar literature of that most unfortunate of modern nations, unhappy Poland. The translation was with her a labor of love, and its only reward, the pleasure of well-doing and the hope that the work might bear fruit in the hearts of her coun- trymen. She had been warned repeatedly that the chords were too finely strung to awaken many echoes, but she felt confident that there must be a considerable number of Americans to whom the volume would speak in tones readily understood and warmly welcomed. She did not live to oversee the issuing of the work, and hence there may remain imperfections which her taste and judgment would finally have eliminated. It seems fitting that we should in this place say a few words with regard to one who labored so assiduously and conscien- tiously in the cause of simple justice. Mrs. Martha Walker Cook was born in 1807, at Nor- - thumberland, Penna. Her father was Judge J. H. Walker, one of the pioneers of civilization and legal and classical learning in Western Pennsylvania. The career of her brother, Hon. Robert J. Walker, is identified with the history of his country during many eventful years, and the State of New Jersey will not soon forget the varied services of her husband, General William Cook. Rather shrinking from, than occupying, the place thus naturally open to her in the great world, she devoted much time to the improvement of her mind and the instruction of 512 IN MEMORIAM. her children. Accomplished in many ways, her epis- tolary and conversational gifts were of the highest order. She possessed the rare quality of drawing forth from her associates the best that was in them, and the meanest in- telligence expanded in her presence as in the sunshine of sympathy and ready comprehension. Having had her attention called many years ago to the actual condition of Polish music and literature, she was nat- urally led to a study of the people and their history. The knowledge thus acquired determined her to spare no pains in the .diffusion of correct ideas on a subject regarding which there are but few sources of information in the English tongue. Not only did she advocate the cause of Poland by every means in her power, but she always stood ready to welcome the Polish emigrant to America, giving sympathy, friendly counsel, and such aid as the limited circle of her influence would permit. It was one of her most heartfelt gratifications to know that her name was held in esteem and veneration by the Poles on both sides of the Atlantic. She passed away from the scene of her activity on the 15th of September, 1874. This work is issued in accordance with her desires, and as a tribute of honor to disinterested labor and love of abstract justice. EDITOR. THE END.