Where I have conquered by my proper
force
I want no mediator !
force
I want no mediator !
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
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 !
2 68 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 confusioti, rushes across
the cou? 't-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?
Coutit 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, Gco? ge 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 UNDIVINE COMEDY. 269
SCENE VIII. Another part of the rajuparts. 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?
Speaic !
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 Hen/y {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 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 moment, 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 UNDIVINE 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, accompanied 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.
Pajicras. 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 I^ancras). 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 yrentlemen of . . .
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 271
Pancras {interrupting him). Seize the tiresome pedant,
And let him join forthwith his noble brothers !
{The soldiers surround the Godfather and prisoners, and
bear thc/n 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 !
AVe 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 ha fids the szuord to Pancras. )
Pancras {examining the s7vord). 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. )
Leonard. 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.
Earth's 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 behvecn us /
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 o'erhanging the abyss, —
And on that spot it was his great heart broke !
Leonard. Pancras, how pale you grow !
Pancras. Do you not see it ?
'Tis there I Up there . '
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
273
Leofiard. 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 ?
Pa? icras. 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 !
Fancras. ViciSTi Galilee !
(JLe/ails stone dead. )
IRIDION.
(WRITTEN IN 1836-1837. )
Translated from the German edition, as rendered by Polono-Germamis,
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. *
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 {"Fatiim'") alone, the inflexible and im-
mutable Reason of the world," 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'l
275
276
I RID 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 actioir, 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 theip 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 bowlings 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 Ccesar, — lo ! the whole of Rome ! ^
Isis, mother of science and of silence, with thy feet
washed by the foam of the sea and swollen with thy long
I RID ION. 2^1
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 !
