{Enter Domitian, preceded by the
imperial
eagles.
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
.
Iridion. Go on ! Go on ! the gods
Have given Iridion a heart of stone!
IRIDION.
413
Euphorion. 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 Eutychian'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 sivord and throwing away its scab-
bard).
Go, where my hopes are gone ! Thou, handle, grow
Into my hand, never to be unclasped I
Blood! Roman blood! and death to Alexander!
On ! soldiers, on !
{Exeunt all. )
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 !
Mafnmea (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 !
Domitian. Should I return,
And bring you back refusal, withering scorn ?
Alexander. I will 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 n. The Hall of Amphilochus as in Act I. , Seem
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 iRWioti , 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 !
41 6 I RID I ON.
Iridion. Twice have these vaults alone replied for him !
{^He seats himself 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 sp}-inkles the
drops rou7id the corpse. The gladiators, barbarians, etc. ,
do likewise, while the chorus of vifgins chants the * ' Salve
Eternum. ''^ )
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 Grossest 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
Full 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, Cassar's Consul, asks admission.
Iridion. Admit, Euphorion ! I will see him here.
{Enter Domitian, preceded by the imperial eagles. )
Domitian. 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 f
36
41 8 I RID ION.
Rolls the imperial chariot yet along
The Via Sacra? I dream ///)' 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.
Ii-idion. Perchance high treason against majesty?
Doynitian. 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\. \\^ 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 Csesar?
Immortal gods ! who in your scorn of men
So calmly sleep on your Olympian heights,
Waken and scoff to hear Mammea's son
Dishonor ittw'X as his most j^recious gift
By Ulpian, to the son of Ampliilocluis !
(^He rises, and comes close to Domitian. ^
I RID ION. 419
Sooner will scorpions perch upon the hand
Of Ccesar, 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;
Figlit 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 viy 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,
Domitian. 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 r^<z/ enemy?
Iridion {fuming 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 tlie 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. 42 1
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 !
Iridioti. 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 !
Domitian. 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 I 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
IRIDION.
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 Ro7}ian ivisdom graven on his brow,
The Roman Genius came to take his seat
Within the home of Attains ! He stooped.
Caressed and flattered, furled his raven wings.
Until he wrenched from tottering, dying hands
The title-deeds to Pergamus ! '
Then he arose, and crawled to take a part
In the Isthmian games, praising the sons of Hellas. '
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 I
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 ;
I RID I ON. 423
The Laurel on his head, the Golden Lyre
\\\ 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;
Lululge 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 !
Iridio7i {turning totvards 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 Lifernal 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, ^
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 !
Iridion. Go on ! Go on ! the gods
Have given Iridion a heart of stone!
IRIDION.
413
Euphorion. 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 Eutychian'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 sivord and throwing away its scab-
bard).
Go, where my hopes are gone ! Thou, handle, grow
Into my hand, never to be unclasped I
Blood! Roman blood! and death to Alexander!
On ! soldiers, on !
{Exeunt all. )
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 !
Mafnmea (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 !
Domitian. Should I return,
And bring you back refusal, withering scorn ?
Alexander. I will 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 n. The Hall of Amphilochus as in Act I. , Seem
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 iRWioti , 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 !
41 6 I RID I ON.
Iridion. Twice have these vaults alone replied for him !
{^He seats himself 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 sp}-inkles the
drops rou7id the corpse. The gladiators, barbarians, etc. ,
do likewise, while the chorus of vifgins chants the * ' Salve
Eternum. ''^ )
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 Grossest 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
Full 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, Cassar's Consul, asks admission.
Iridion. Admit, Euphorion ! I will see him here.
{Enter Domitian, preceded by the imperial eagles. )
Domitian. 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 f
36
41 8 I RID ION.
Rolls the imperial chariot yet along
The Via Sacra? I dream ///)' 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.
Ii-idion. Perchance high treason against majesty?
Doynitian. 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\. \\^ 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 Csesar?
Immortal gods ! who in your scorn of men
So calmly sleep on your Olympian heights,
Waken and scoff to hear Mammea's son
Dishonor ittw'X as his most j^recious gift
By Ulpian, to the son of Ampliilocluis !
(^He rises, and comes close to Domitian. ^
I RID ION. 419
Sooner will scorpions perch upon the hand
Of Ccesar, 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;
Figlit 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 viy 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,
Domitian. 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 r^<z/ enemy?
Iridion {fuming 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 tlie 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. 42 1
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 !
Iridioti. 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 !
Domitian. 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 I 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
IRIDION.
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 Ro7}ian ivisdom graven on his brow,
The Roman Genius came to take his seat
Within the home of Attains ! He stooped.
Caressed and flattered, furled his raven wings.
Until he wrenched from tottering, dying hands
The title-deeds to Pergamus ! '
Then he arose, and crawled to take a part
In the Isthmian games, praising the sons of Hellas. '
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 I
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 ;
I RID I ON. 423
The Laurel on his head, the Golden Lyre
\\\ 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;
Lululge 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 !
Iridio7i {turning totvards 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 Lifernal 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, ^
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 !
