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.
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.
Poland - 1919 - Krasinski - Anonymous Poet of Poland
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
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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. {She falls. ) Brothers, he duped her,
he duped you all. I die. But listen! listen! I die in the Lord.
She sinks at the feet of Victor with his blessing in
her ear. One last cry of Iridion calls her to his arms in
vain. "Hieronimus, I pardon thee. Hieronimus, pray
thou to Christ": and she speaks to him no more, dying
amidst the scent of flowers from paradise.
Not a Christian, except those few from the north
who are faithful to the son of Grimhilda, will now join
Iridion. He dashes away the cross that he carried upon
his armour: then rushes to the war whence as he knows
all hope has gone. Soon a slave escapes from the palace,
which Alexander's troops have captured, to carry to
Iridion the account of the death of Heliogabalus and
Elsinoe. Whimpering and singing by turns, Helioga-
balus was found by the soldiers fingering the cup of
poison that he was afraid to drink: and they despatched
him off the stage as ignominiously as he had lived upon
it. But Elsinoe,. having robed herself in imperial purple
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? 160 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
and taken a dagger in her hand, sat silent and calm on
the throne, listening as the clamour of the conflict
swelled ever nearer. Soldiers rushed into her apartment
with, at their head, Alexander shouting to them to save
her life. The slave who had protected her with his own
body falters out to the brother her last words: "Iridion,
I will not love thine enemy": and--a victim to the end
--she stabbed herself and died.
"Death to Alexander! " is now Iridion's cry. He is
seen by his foes, fighting, says Ulpianus, "more like the
spirit of incarnate hatred than mortal man. " The chorus
of the mourning women has not died away around
Elsinoe's bier in her father's palace when Ulpianus
crosses the threshold, with overtures of peace from the
new emperor, Alexander Severus.
Now for the first time Iridion throws off the mask
which he has been compelled to wear in the face of
Rome, and appears as his true self, the avenger upon
the race that has destroyed Greece. He is no longer
the feigned favourite of a despicable tyrant, or a cunning
intriguer. In this scene he has the grandeur of one who
is speaking in the name of a wronged cause to the repre-
sentative of a nation whose right is might, who--such
is Ulpianus's proud boast--has conquered the world by
iron and will keep it by iron: and Krasinski strengthens
the position by making the spokesman of Rome no
effete decadent but the survivor of the best traditions
of a bloodthirsty and overbearing race. The question at
odds is that of the unending war between the material,
represented by Rome, and the beautiful and ideal,
represented by artistic Greece: it is that of the struggle
between brute force and the idea: but neither of these,
reading between Krasinski's lines, was uppermost in
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? Iridion 161
his mind. This last colloquy between Roman and Greek
is in truth one of Krasinski's great outbursts of nation-
alism. In the impassioned reproaches of the Greek are
those of the Pole, speaking in the person of his Iridion
the complaints of another conquered people against
another empire in the only language free to him to utter
--the language of symbolism.
"Tell him," says Iridion, motioning to his crowd of gladiators
and slaves, "who was it that thrust you from the highroad
of the human race and forced you to tread the paths of dark-
ness? Who from your cradles stamped on your brows the sign of
hunger and thirst? Who would not suffer you to love a woman
and to sit in the light of your domestic hearth? Who, herself
mortal, based her sweetest hopes in the misery and degradation
of mortals? Who hath emptied to its dregs the chalice of the
world's woe? Who hath grown drunken in the nectar of tears
and blood? "
And the answer of all is: Rome.
"Wouldst thou," disdainfully asks the Roman, "give the
sceptre to playing, singing Hellas? Rule is with the power
of arms under the protection of unfaltering reason. "
To which Iridion:
The martyrs of the nations have heard of your reason.
Thou hast spoken truth. Never has Hellas polluted herself
with a like reason.
What have you done with the world since the gods of evil
gave it to your hands? There stand triumphal arches and the
highroads of the aediles. Ye have inscribed the stones of them
with the blood and sweat of the dying. Where have thy for-
bears lulled the grief of the conquered with tender song, with
the teaching of wisdom?
Ulpianus. Dost thou refuse the mercy of thy lord?
Iridion. Who is my lord? I have known none on earth.
I have had enemies only, a few brothers who served me faith-
fully, and one godlike moment, short as the clash of swords
that are shattered at one stroke. The torch of vengeance flared
in this hand. The doomed city lay at my feet. Ah! Nemesis!
(He leans on the statue of Amphilochus. )
Cursing Rome, he returns to the battle. An unseen
G.
ii
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? 162 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
presence hovers about him, at the thought of which his
cheek blanches and his sword trembles in his hand.
Ah, why dost thou pursue me, invisible spirit? Christ--
Christ--what is that name to me? Off! Torment me not,
Cornelia.
His soldiers abandon him for Alexander. He steps
upon his sister's funeral pyre, and summons death.
Masinissa snatches him from the flames: and the two
disappear to human sight.
They are on a mountain near Rome. There lies the
city in the mists of distance, beautiful, superb, eternal.
For what had Iridion sacrificed himself and all those
whom his road had crossed?
Oh, thou whom I loved for thy sorrows, Hellas, Hellas, wert
thou but a shade? Thy enemy stands unmoved as erst, and
displays her marbles to the sun like the white fangs of the tiger.
Wherefore am I here?
He flings himself upon the ground.
Masinissa. Thy calling is not over yet.
Iridion. Torture me not. My father died in thy arms.
My sister expired in the palace of the Caesars. I at thy feet
breathe my last. Is not this enough for thee? The innocent
maiden I sacrificed to thee hath floated in the sky on mournful
wailings. Ah! if her God lived over all other gods--if He were
the one truth of the world!
Masinissa. What wouldst thou do then?
Iridion. Dying with this shattered steel in my hands I would
call upon Him.
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. {She falls. ) Brothers, he duped her,
he duped you all. I die. But listen! listen! I die in the Lord.
She sinks at the feet of Victor with his blessing in
her ear. One last cry of Iridion calls her to his arms in
vain. "Hieronimus, I pardon thee. Hieronimus, pray
thou to Christ": and she speaks to him no more, dying
amidst the scent of flowers from paradise.
Not a Christian, except those few from the north
who are faithful to the son of Grimhilda, will now join
Iridion. He dashes away the cross that he carried upon
his armour: then rushes to the war whence as he knows
all hope has gone. Soon a slave escapes from the palace,
which Alexander's troops have captured, to carry to
Iridion the account of the death of Heliogabalus and
Elsinoe. Whimpering and singing by turns, Helioga-
balus was found by the soldiers fingering the cup of
poison that he was afraid to drink: and they despatched
him off the stage as ignominiously as he had lived upon
it. But Elsinoe,. having robed herself in imperial purple
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? 160 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
and taken a dagger in her hand, sat silent and calm on
the throne, listening as the clamour of the conflict
swelled ever nearer. Soldiers rushed into her apartment
with, at their head, Alexander shouting to them to save
her life. The slave who had protected her with his own
body falters out to the brother her last words: "Iridion,
I will not love thine enemy": and--a victim to the end
--she stabbed herself and died.
"Death to Alexander! " is now Iridion's cry. He is
seen by his foes, fighting, says Ulpianus, "more like the
spirit of incarnate hatred than mortal man. " The chorus
of the mourning women has not died away around
Elsinoe's bier in her father's palace when Ulpianus
crosses the threshold, with overtures of peace from the
new emperor, Alexander Severus.
Now for the first time Iridion throws off the mask
which he has been compelled to wear in the face of
Rome, and appears as his true self, the avenger upon
the race that has destroyed Greece. He is no longer
the feigned favourite of a despicable tyrant, or a cunning
intriguer. In this scene he has the grandeur of one who
is speaking in the name of a wronged cause to the repre-
sentative of a nation whose right is might, who--such
is Ulpianus's proud boast--has conquered the world by
iron and will keep it by iron: and Krasinski strengthens
the position by making the spokesman of Rome no
effete decadent but the survivor of the best traditions
of a bloodthirsty and overbearing race. The question at
odds is that of the unending war between the material,
represented by Rome, and the beautiful and ideal,
represented by artistic Greece: it is that of the struggle
between brute force and the idea: but neither of these,
reading between Krasinski's lines, was uppermost in
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? Iridion 161
his mind. This last colloquy between Roman and Greek
is in truth one of Krasinski's great outbursts of nation-
alism. In the impassioned reproaches of the Greek are
those of the Pole, speaking in the person of his Iridion
the complaints of another conquered people against
another empire in the only language free to him to utter
--the language of symbolism.
"Tell him," says Iridion, motioning to his crowd of gladiators
and slaves, "who was it that thrust you from the highroad
of the human race and forced you to tread the paths of dark-
ness? Who from your cradles stamped on your brows the sign of
hunger and thirst? Who would not suffer you to love a woman
and to sit in the light of your domestic hearth? Who, herself
mortal, based her sweetest hopes in the misery and degradation
of mortals? Who hath emptied to its dregs the chalice of the
world's woe? Who hath grown drunken in the nectar of tears
and blood? "
And the answer of all is: Rome.
"Wouldst thou," disdainfully asks the Roman, "give the
sceptre to playing, singing Hellas? Rule is with the power
of arms under the protection of unfaltering reason. "
To which Iridion:
The martyrs of the nations have heard of your reason.
Thou hast spoken truth. Never has Hellas polluted herself
with a like reason.
What have you done with the world since the gods of evil
gave it to your hands? There stand triumphal arches and the
highroads of the aediles. Ye have inscribed the stones of them
with the blood and sweat of the dying. Where have thy for-
bears lulled the grief of the conquered with tender song, with
the teaching of wisdom?
Ulpianus. Dost thou refuse the mercy of thy lord?
Iridion. Who is my lord? I have known none on earth.
I have had enemies only, a few brothers who served me faith-
fully, and one godlike moment, short as the clash of swords
that are shattered at one stroke. The torch of vengeance flared
in this hand. The doomed city lay at my feet. Ah! Nemesis!
(He leans on the statue of Amphilochus. )
Cursing Rome, he returns to the battle. An unseen
G.
ii
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? 162 The Anonymous Poet of Poland
presence hovers about him, at the thought of which his
cheek blanches and his sword trembles in his hand.
Ah, why dost thou pursue me, invisible spirit? Christ--
Christ--what is that name to me? Off! Torment me not,
Cornelia.
His soldiers abandon him for Alexander. He steps
upon his sister's funeral pyre, and summons death.
Masinissa snatches him from the flames: and the two
disappear to human sight.
They are on a mountain near Rome. There lies the
city in the mists of distance, beautiful, superb, eternal.
For what had Iridion sacrificed himself and all those
whom his road had crossed?
Oh, thou whom I loved for thy sorrows, Hellas, Hellas, wert
thou but a shade? Thy enemy stands unmoved as erst, and
displays her marbles to the sun like the white fangs of the tiger.
Wherefore am I here?
He flings himself upon the ground.
Masinissa. Thy calling is not over yet.
Iridion. Torture me not. My father died in thy arms.
My sister expired in the palace of the Caesars. I at thy feet
breathe my last. Is not this enough for thee? The innocent
maiden I sacrificed to thee hath floated in the sky on mournful
wailings. Ah! if her God lived over all other gods--if He were
the one truth of the world!
Masinissa. What wouldst thou do then?
Iridion. Dying with this shattered steel in my hands I would
call upon Him.
