No More Learning

In Iridion Krasinski's subject, says Count Tar-
nowski, is not the individual soul: it is humanity. The
characters are not so much men and women as symbols.
It follows then that Krasinski's Mephistopheles is
scarcely a devil leading a soul to perdition, albeit at
the close of the play this is his endeavour. Rather he is
the Satan of the universal race, the evil spirit of history,
destroying not this or that soul, but turning nations
from their highest end, deflecting the spiritual progress
of the commonwealth, polluting even the sanctity of
patriotism2. He is, says Krasinski himself, defending
his idea under the concealment of a third person against
a critic who opposed it, "the element of all-evil which
constantly transforms itself by the very necessity of
creation into good; the Satan of all centuries and civili-
zations, eternally warring, eternally vanquished3. " This
psychological signification of the tempter links the Rome
of Iridion with the poet's own country4. The rebirth
of humanity coincided for Krasinski with the redress
of his nation's wrongs. Therefore whatever false or
misguided principle arose to bar or delay the advance
of the world to the desired goal was to the Anonymous
Poet the satanic incarnation. Hence his original and
daring presentment of Mephistopheles as Masinissa,
who ruins the work of Iridion for his country by its
ethically false direction.
Again, Masinissa is the embodiment of reason in
1 A. Matecki, quoted by J. Kallenbach, Zygmunt Krasinski.
2 St. Tarnowski, Zygmunt Krasinski.
3 Letters to Gaszynski. Kissingen, June 6, 1837.
4 J. Kallenbach, Zygmunt Krasinski.
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? 150 The A nonymous Poet of Poland
whom are absent the love and passion that rend Iridion's
soul. At this time of Krasinski's life when he was driven
into sophistry in order to justify his love for a married
woman, his idea of Satan was that of reason opposed
to passion. "Do you think pride is a passion ? " he writes
to Reeve. "No. There is no passion except love, and
love is God. Pride, hatred, are daughters of reason. . .
To produce evil of whatever kind passion has not been
necessary, but cold, observing, perverted thought1. "
Iridion's heart can be moved by his sister's anguish, can
shrink before the thought of wronging Cornelia: but
Masinissa remains the everlasting enemy of the heart.
To ensure his success in the catacombs Iridion
simulates Christianity, and receives Baptism under the
name of Hieronimus. He then sets to work to convince
the Christians that they must vindicate Christ by declar-
ing war on those who persecute Him in His members.
His fiery words carry away the young men, at the head
of whom stands one Simeon of Corinth. The old men
seek to restrain what they consider a youth's hotheaded
zeal by their appeal to the Divine law of forgiveness.
Then Masinissa unfolds to Iridion another stratagem.
He shall gain the ear of the Christians through Cornelia,
the beautiful maiden whose virginity is consecrated to
Christ, the saint and prophetess of the catacombs, who
has talked to Iridion of heavenly things.
"Lead her thought from Christ to thee," says Masinissa.
"He is far. Thou livest and art near her. Why dost thou waver
and doubt? She must be thine, not for vain pleasure, but because
our work calls for her destruction. "
But for once Iridion recoils. He has kept faith with
the furies to whom he has vowed that no stain of pity
1 Correspondance. Krasinski to Reeve. Rome, Dec. 20, 1834.
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? Iridion
or regret shall ever be seen in him: yet now tears rise
to his eyes.
"Thou knowest not," this again from Masinissa, "that each
of you might be almighty by your own inexorable, enraged
thought; but your enemy foresaw and sowed in your bosoms
a heart--fear, delusion, baseness. "
Iridion. Of whom speakest thou? Who made me abject
and unhappy? I know but one murderer of all my hours--
whose name is Rome.
Masinissa. There is another Rome which cannot perish.
Not on seven hills but on millions of stars do her feet rest.
Against her, even after the other Rome has fallen,
Iridion must war for ever. In the meanwhile, before
the victory for which Iridion, only half comprehending
Masinissa's words, is panting, the work in question must
go forward. Iridion remembers "unhappy Hellas. " For
her sake, cries he in despair, the son of Amphilochus
must ruin the happiness of an innocent girl, must tear
hope from one who hoped.
The scene shifts to the catacombs. On every side
branch out the long corridors lined by graves, dying
away into darkness. Iridion, at the feet of the bishop
Victor, as a rash but obedient son, insinuates his request:
may not the Christians for the glory of Christ join hands
with the praetorians and overthrow the oppressor?
Victor points to Christ dying on the cross, and bids this
beloved erring member of his flock believe in the force
of spiritual arms, and sin no more: and Iridion, piously
praying aloud for deliverance from temptation, turns to
Cornelia.
Islridion's adhesion to Christianity entirely feigned?
He is among the Christians in all the falsity of an in-
trigue, but not from any hatred of Christianity1. We
have some faint impression that he is not wholly un-
1 St. Tarnowski, Zygmunt Krasinski.
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? 152 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
moved by what he learns, chiefly from Cornelia, of the
Christian faith. Certain it is that in the last scene
when he looks upon the cross he does so as no mere
stranger1.
Krasinski paints few women, but always with that
singularly delicate and tender beauty that is so marked
in Elsinoe and still more in the exquisite, ethereal figure
of Cornelia. By a diabolical ingenuity, by the insinua-
tion of the love that almost without his knowledge had
forced its way into his soul, and is in its turn pressed
into his deadly purpose, Iridion is exploiting Cornelia
as a weapon in his war. He stands, a demon of guile,
among the dead in the catacomb alone with the beautiful
girl whose eyes are filled with love for the unseen.
Certain that he is preparing with the other youths some
wild act of bloodshed she entreats him for the sake of
his salvation to desist. Iridion hisses into her ear words
new to her: words of flattery.
Cornelia. Alas! Art thou the same with whom I knelt in
the cemetery of Euphemia? Hieronimus, is this thou? So long
I prayed. Such hard penance have I done for so many days
and nights.
Iridion. And thou shalt reach heaven. Who could doubt
it?
Cornelia. Oh, it was not for myself--not for myself.
Iridion. Then for whom?
Cornelia. One of my brothers.
Iridion. One of thy brothers! Speak truth--tell me his
name.
He approaches her, speaking the language of a
jealous lover, which she takes for delirium. He drags out
from her the admission that this brother was Hieronimus:
but as he once was, not he who gazes so wildly, who stands
before me without his senses. Apage! --
Iridion. See! I am calm now as before.
1 Op. cit.
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? Iridion
153
Cornelia. Gentle as thou wert once?
Iridion. Humble before thee.
Cornelia. Before the Lord. Promise that thou wilt not join
them, that thou wilt not arm for earthly and condemned
violence.
The bloodshed and carnage which she holds for
crime, Iridion says shall be the triumph of her God.
She prays for mercy on him, a sinner, that God will
not suffer him to perish before her eyes.
Ah! what say I? Surely, oh, Lord, I have vowed my whole
heart to Thee. What gloom is here! For the first time terror
of the dead has seized me.
Iridion. Lean on me.
He then tells her his story: how the son of Amphi-
lochus swore to his dying father to know neither love,
joy nor pity, but to live in order to destroy.
In revenge must I live and die.
Cornelia. On whom wouldst thou wreak it? Who wronged
him, who hath wronged thee?
Iridion. They who have compelled you all to wander
whence the living flee after they have laid down the dead.
They who have a thousand times reviled thy God. My father
preceded Him Who shall conquer--Him Who shall reign as
king--Him Whom thou hast doubted.
Cornelia. I!
Iridion. Because thou hast believed that He will leave this
earth to be the prey of Rome.
Cornelia. He is lost. And yet the eternal fire of the
Cherubim shineth in his eyes.
He hears Victor approaching, and retires into the
dark passage. Perturbed and terror-stricken, Cornelia
feels her heart beating with a strange, unknown emotion.
Never before has she turned her eyes from the cross
to a human face, and now it is this face that pierces
her memory: "and as a prophet and a saint he stands
before me. "
Once more she is alone. Iridion enters. She clings
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? 154 The Anonymous Poet of Polana
to a sarcophagus with the cry: "Ashes of the saints,
defend me in this night! " Iridion tells her to leave him.
Not, says she, till he will turn from the sin of his revenge.
Delirium is seizing on her. She kneels and prays for
him. For one moment his soul revolts against the wrong
he is about to do her. "You are my witnesses, bones of
the dead, and thou, mother earth, that I would fain have
spared her, and only her. " She entreats him to kneel
with her and pray. Simeon's voice rings through the
vault, calling his leader. Iridion seizes Cornelia in his
arms. His kisses are on her brow. She swoons in his
embrace, crying out that he and she are damned to-
gether. Awakening, her disordered brain is given to
understand by Iridion that he is Christ, come at last to
conquer with earthly weapons. His command that he
shall summon her brothers to arms is to her the mandate
of Christ: and she disappears, running, her cry "To
arms! " re-echoing through the catacombs.
Wild tumult follows. The Christian youths, carried
away by Iridion's eloquence, are divided between ardour
for his cause and doubt. Then Cornelia enters, crying:
"To arms! " The young men, long used to listen to her
as to an inspired saint, now take her summons for that
of heaven. The catacombs rock, flames break out, in
token of hell's victory. Amidst the fire appears Masi-
nissa to gaze on the spectacle of his triumph.
Faith, hope and love! Trinity which wert to last for ever,
to-day I have torn Thee asunder in the hearts of the most
beloved children of Thy benediction. Henceforth in Thy name
they will slay and burn--in Thy name oppress--in Thy name
rebel and rage.
Thou shalt be crucified alike in their wisdom
and their stupidity, in their cold calculation and their frenzy,
in the sleepy humility of their prayers and the blasphemies of
their pride. In the summits of heaven Thou shalt drink this
cup of bitterness till Thou cursest them for ever.
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? Iridion
155
Iridion's hour is now approaching. Outside the city
the praetorians, led by Alexander Severus, are about
to march against Heliogabalus. Iridion is apparently
negotiating with them on the part of the Emperor. In
reality their movement is serving his plans. When they
attack Rome he will let loose his own forces, and there
will be a general destruction in which it is the Greek's
intention that Alexander, rather than live to save Rome,
shall perish. Iridion had in the past dissembled friend-
ship with Alexander for his own ends. Now Alexander
believes him to have forsaken his party for Helioga-
balus: and across the clash of hurrying events and
contending factions there breaks that tender and pathetic
moment when the young Alexander pleads with the
brother of Elsinoe.
"Dismiss him with the silence of contempt," says Ulpianus.
Alexander. I cannot. Leave him alone with me. Friends,
retire. Son of Amphilochus, have the avenging gods stretched
between us some cloud of delusion? I understand thee not.
Affront me not with double meaning words: for thou dost owe
me gratitude for that I trust not my own eyes, albeit they show
me clearly thy change of face.
Iridion. My thanks, Severus. If the fates had created me
a man and had willed to endow my heart with the sweet gift
of a friend, it is thee I would have asked of them.
Alexander. Renounce the tyrant's cause. Speak to me one
word of affection, and I will not doubt thy faith. Iridion, where
is thy sister?
Iridion. Where fate has chained her.
Alexander. Iridion, I call on thee--Iridion, I stay thee.
I have read in her eyes intolerable torture: and wouldst thou
fight in his defence?
"Oh, fresh shoot of youth," murmurs Iridion, pierced to the
heart as he hears accents that have never been his to utter.
"Why are thy days so short? Of thy transports towards
beauty and virtue, there shall remain no trace. "
"Why," says Alexander, "dost thou gaze upon me with
such a mournful look? Come what may, stay thou with me.
I will snatch Elsinoe from the tiger's jaws, and Rome shall
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? 156 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
once more stand in the springtide of her power, armed in im-
mortal thunderbolts. Why dost thou shudder? "
Iridion takes his hand "for the last time--the last,
for we both stand above the grave, and ere a third
dawn shall rise one of us will go down to Erebus. "
The Greek returns to the imperial palace. Helio-
gabalus has fallen asleep on a heap of roses and violets.
Tormented with the terrors that follow him into his
dreams, he shrieks out the names of the two he trusted,
Iridion and Elsinoe, who, cursing him, stand and watch.
A messenger from the senate comes in with the tidings
that Rome has sentenced Heliogabalus to death and is
about to raise Alexander to the purple. The shouts of
Alexander's followers are heard beyond the palace.
Mad with fear, Heliogabalus is prevailed on by Elsinoe
and Iridion to give the latter supreme command over
the army.
Then follows the farewell between Iridion and
Elsinoe. She has done her part. All that remains to
her now is to keep guard over Heliogabalus till Iridion
returns, victorious, to bear her away from the scene of
her shame. She is in her brother's arms, murmuring
into his ear her last request.
Let the eyes die beneath which I withered. Let the arms
which crawled about my neck fall like two crushed adders.
Let the lips which first touched mine perish in ashes.
Iridioti. On the same pyre and at the same moment, both
he and Severus.
Elsinoe. Not so, not so. Let me be given my last desire.
Spare Alexander on the field of battle. He alone with one
look calmed my despair. He alone guessed--ah! why hast
thou turned thy face away from me?
Iridion. Think not of him. He alone is now tearing Rome
from the clasp of my hatred.
Elsinoe. Then once more press thy sister to thy bosom.
Feelest thou how this heart throbs? Ere thou returnest it will
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? Iridion
157
have broken, son of Amphilochus. But remember Elsinoe
desired no blood of thee. Let live all, all! Even he, the abomi-
nated, let him live.
Voices outside the palace. Forward, in the name of the
Fortune of Iridion the Greek!
Iridion. Away with untimely mourning when Nemesis
already holds the crown of vengeance for us in each hand. In
that clash of arms, in those cries leaps my life: and must thou
die? Rather be happy and proud. What thy father invoked,
what long centuries have besought of the gods with tears, ap-
proacheth with the swiftness of the thunderbolt.
Voices. Iridion! Iridion!
Iridion. Farewell.
Elsinoe. Go! Be thou happy and great: and if ever thou
shalt sail on the Aegean waters cast a handful of my ashes on
Chiara's shores.
They part, never to see each other more. It is the
night for which Iridion has lived, the night of Rome's
destruction. His barbarians, the slaves he has bribed
by his gifts, his gladiators, his soldiers, are outside
his palace together with Masinissa. Scarcely able to
brook the delay before Rome's funeral pyre shall be
fired, Iridion feverishly awaits the advent of Simeon's
Christians, when the slaughter is to begin.
Iridion. The whole city is in flames. Nay--it was but in
my eyeballs that fires burst forth. Where are they? Where
are the Christians? If they have betrayed me I am lost.
Masinissa. They are finishing their hymns.
A messenger from Simeon here hurries in, summon-
ing Iridion to the catacombs. Victor is keeping back
the Christians.
From a literal point of view the refusal of the
Christians to rally round Iridion could not doom to
failure a leader who had by now nearly every element
in Rome under his control1. But Iridion is not meant
to be taken literally. It is an allegory, and as such
1 St. Tarnowski, Zygmunt Krasinski.
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? 158 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
must be read, with on the one hand its various historical
inaccuracies, required by Krasinski for his purpose, such
as the open displayal of the cross in the catacombs, with,
on the other, its strong colouring of historical truth.
Iridion's dependence on the Christians is one of the
ethical foundations upon which the whole of Krasinski's
conception rests. Whatever the material strength on
Iridion's side he cannot win because hatred is only
destructive, and in the Krasinskian theory love only
can build the edifice. The work, therefore, of the son
of vengeance must be shattered by the only force in
Rome that is more powerful than his, because this force
only is the force of love.
Iridion rushes to the catacombs. On the steps of
the altar stands Victor with his priests behind him. On
one side kneels Simeon, on the other Cornelia. Further
off are Christians fully armed, but also on their knees.
Stern and immovable, Victor sees the delusions of Satan
equally in Simeon's whole-hearted but filial pleadings
for war and in the frenzy of Cornelia. Into this scene
of discord bursts Iridion, greeted by Cornelia as Christ,
calling upon the Christians to follow him where:
Caesar and the gods of the city only await the resurrection of
the saints to perish.
Simeon. Hieronimus, Hieronimus, I stretch my hands forth
to thee, unto our hopes.
Choir. Ask Victor.
Iridion. Father!
Victor. To-day thou hast lost thy Father Who is in heaven.
Cornelia (to Iridion). Forgive him, Lord! He knoweth not
what he doth. To arms! To arms!
Then Victor is suddenly moved to give his flock a
sign that will convince them. He constrains Cornelia
to kneel before the chalice, he takes holy water, and
begins the exorcism. For the last time she cries:
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? Iridion 159
To arms!
Victor. Silence, evil spirit, that speakest through her delu-
sion. With the sign of the cross I encompass thee. With the
word "Jesus" I command thee.
Cornelia. I hear a hundred wails in my bosom that are not
mine.
Iridion. Here, beloved, to my arms!
Cornelia. Oh, earth, sink under me, hide me from his deadly
look!
Iridion. Cornelia, thou, thou art mine.
Cornelia. Call her not by that name. She trusted thee. She
hath perished for ever. Laughter tears the air. Black spectres
circle round thee.
Victor. Apage, Satanas!
Cornelia. Come not thou near me. Where is my God?
Victor {showing her the cross). Here, daughter.
Cornelia. Give it to my lips. {She kisses the cross. ) Forgive
me, forgive me!
Victor. Dost thou abjure the evil spirit?
Cornelia. I abjure him.