Can you not give me
darkness?
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
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 !
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 ! *
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 menii< 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^u, 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 I RID I ON.
long as the eartli 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 forclicad ; round
each form float(jd in heavy folds the royal purple ;
through the gashes' made by the dagger of tlie murderer
glittered the stars: — I looked for thee, but thou wert not
among them !
I heard the solemn i)rayers and chants of tlie Christian
martyrs; the tones burst from the catacombs ^ 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 riglit hand grasps a shattered lamj) ;
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 !
2 So I RID ION.
In the Cimbrian Chersonesus,* along the foaming
streams of Silver Land,! ^^y 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 birbiri-
ans, on account of the white glitter of the snow and the many sparkling
streams.
IRWrON. 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 IRIDfON.
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 ! "
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 1 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!
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 !
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 ! *
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 menii< 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^u, 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 I RID I ON.
long as the eartli 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 forclicad ; round
each form float(jd in heavy folds the royal purple ;
through the gashes' made by the dagger of tlie murderer
glittered the stars: — I looked for thee, but thou wert not
among them !
I heard the solemn i)rayers and chants of tlie Christian
martyrs; the tones burst from the catacombs ^ 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 riglit hand grasps a shattered lamj) ;
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 !
2 So I RID ION.
In the Cimbrian Chersonesus,* along the foaming
streams of Silver Land,! ^^y 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 birbiri-
ans, on account of the white glitter of the snow and the many sparkling
streams.
IRWrON. 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 IRIDfON.
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 ! "
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 1 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!
