No More Learning

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 !

Consider, he but gave the name of peace

To silent deserts of the ruined, dead ! —

Only on wasted cities ground to dust,

On graves of bloody generations slaughtered.

You grave the words: Peace to the sons of men!

Domiiian. E'en as a father rules liis family,
Patricians rule plebeians ; masters, slaves.
So have we Quirites held provinces,
Inherited, subjected, or our own;
So do we rule the world. By the same law,
We govern earth we've conquered by the sword,
And o'er its head we hang the law of the sword !



I RID I ON. 425

Iridion. If you had ne'er made use of perfidy,
Deceived the credulous by lying words,
Wliat would have been your fate, O subde Roman?
Look on the legions of your proud Republic
Flving before the elephants of Pyrrhus,
Quailing beneath the pronged blades of the Samnites,
Falling like grass before the reaper's scythe
On Thrasimene's Lake, shrieking aloud
For mercy to the Spaniards, when inclosed
Li narrow defile where no water flowed.
\x\ the dense forests of Hercynia,
Paling before the prowess of the Germans,
They knelt like helpless victims to be slaughtered !
Not with the thunders of bold Alexander,^
Not with the valor of your naked blades,
But through your cups of poison, perjuries,
Conspiracies, fomented treasons, guiles,
Your treacherous friendships, dark diplomacies,
You've crawled and writhed into the power you hold !
No. Not among the mountains grew your eagles.
But in the fetid air of treacherous swamps !

Domitiau. Vainly you rage ! The granite rock on
which
You gnash your teeth but tears them from their sockets !

Thus you reject the mercy of your master?

Iridion. Wlio is my master? . . . I've known none on
earth !

Behind yon pvre, like monstrous birds of prey,

The Genii of Death are gathering fast !

In that still kingdom I am soon to enter.

They'll tell me, oi what Ccesar I am subject !

Here I've known only foes ; and a few slaves

Who love and serve me faithfully, my brothers.

I never have known peace, nor bliss, nor rest.

Only one godlike hour, dear to my soul.

Short, brilliant as the flash of clashing swords

That shatter suddenly in sparkling atoms, —

But sacred to ray heart for evermore !

None of you. Brothers, shared that hour with me;

// was myself, — and I was // entire ;

There was no separate identity !



426 I RID I ON.

The torch of vengeance blazed in my hot hands ;
The accursed city lay beneath my feet,
More and more closely veiled in night's dim shroud ;
The winds arose : . . . Fire ! Fire ! . . .
(Zr<? turns pale and leans for support on the statue of Am-
pliilochus. )

Ah ! Nemesis !
Domitian. What is the matter, Greek? How pale you

grow !
Iridion {recovering himself^. More Roman blood is

wanting to my cheeks !
Domitian. The gods have warned you by some inward
sign !
For the last time, in the name of him who sent me,
I warn you, sentence will be passed against you.
For the last time, I offer Caesar's grace.
Pardon still lies within your grasp, for Rome
Is ever ready to forgive the humble!

Iridion. Is such the conclusion you draw from my
words ?
Is this the Jurist's lore? . . . Wait, Consul, wait !
Euphorion, hand the consecrated cup !

(yEuphorion hands a bowl of wine. )
I pour the Lesbian foam upon thy feet,

{Etnpties the wine at the feet of the statue. )
Amphilochus ! Receive my bloom of life
In sacrifice ! Father, I come to thee ! . . .

Euphorion, fill again ! . . . Drink, Brothers, drink !

Drink, as the faitiiful men of Leonidas

Pledged one another ere their twilight fell !

( The cup is filled and refilled as it passes round from man
to man. )

Drink, and be free from sad or evil thoughts !

(^After the cup has circled round the men, it is ai^ain filled ;
Iridion holds it in his hand as he approaches the altar
ruhiih stands bctioeen the statue of Amphilochus and t/ie
body of Elsinoe, upon which altar fire blazes. He draws
from his finger the ring of Empire. )



IRIDION.



427



The Guardian Genius of the cruel Empire;

The god who guides its future Destiny,

Blessed by the augurs, famed and liymned by prophets,

Revered by vestals in their sacred chants,

{He holds the ring above the flavies. )
Given by the Senate but to Caesar's hand,
The Fate of Rome, — I dedicate to thee
In sacrifice, O Father ! Mother, thee !
And thee, beloved Hellas !

Domitian. Stop ! Stop the impious sacrilege ! Arrest
The desecration of the holy symbol !
Is there a Roman here who hears my voice?
Life, honor, gold, are his who saves the ring !
I vow by Stator, by Quirinus, swear !
Hold, infamous boaster! The mystic name of Rome,
Her Fate, her Honor, live within the seal !

Iriition. Life! Honor! Gold! My Brothers, have
you heard ?
The Name and Fate of Rome live in this ring !
{He throws the ring into the flarnes. Domitian covers his
head with his toga. )

CHORUS.

The Roman throws the toga o'er his head ;
Sorrow and anger swell his troubled breast;
He dares not lift his head to meet our eyes !
Eiige ! Euge !

Iridion. Before my lips are closed in death forever,
I utter my last will. {To his soldiers. ) Hearken to me,
And with me join to curse the accursed city !

CHORUS.

Look ! is it the reflection from the blaze,
Or does Apollo crown liim with his light,
That thus his face illumes with sudden glory?

Iridion. Woe to the victors ! Woe ! As they would
have *

Degraded us, so may they be abased !
All who are born in Rome, all dead in Rome,
Women and children, men, — may all be slaves !



428 IRIDIOM.

CHORUS OF MEN.

Women and children, men, — may all be slaves !

Iridion. Eternal "Fuiumf Rise from thy high
throne,
Where thou art seated o'er all other gods;
Descend to earth, rest on these seven hills,
Become the Fury of their agonies!
May Rome, which ruins all, die at Thy Feet,

All-Creator, God of all their gods!

CHORUS OF MEN.

Destroy their race! Their language die with them!

Iridion. Their infamy shall live till Time shall be no
more !
Let the tradition of their tyranny
Be their eternal epitaph ! May all
Who read it in the future curse them, — curse them
From age to age, while lasts the universe !

CHORUS OF MEN.

Curse them from age to age, while lasts the universe !

Iridion. The hour of prayer and sacrifice is past;
The flame is dying out upon the altar;
The god of Rome is dead! Consul, look up!

Doniitian. You break all codes, outrage the holiest
symbols !
According to the customs of our Fathers,

1 shut you from the protection of all law;
I interdict the use of fire and water!

The slave who brings your head shall have his freedom;

The freeman, have his statue near the rostrum,

A seat next to the Consul at the games!

Villain, I go to await you at the gate

Of the Mamertine prison! Madman, death-doomed,

I'll see you plunge from the Tarpeian rock!

Iridion. None here will raise a hand against me ! Go!
Rage is unseemly with a head of snow.

i^Exii Domitian. )



IRIDION. 429

Thy funeral pyre is ready, sunny-haired !
Take up the bier and bear it gently, slaves!
Salve Eternum, Elsinoe pure!

( They carry the bier slozaly out, Iridion walking beside it,
followed by Pilades. Exeunt soldiers, attendants, etc. )

SCENE III. Moonlight. A street in Rome. On one side
stands the temple of Venus, opposite to it is the Flavian am-
phitheatre. Lucius Tubero and the prcetorians are seen
upon the steps of the temple.

Tubero. Aristomachus should be here ere this.
Night had scarce f. illen when we parted ; now
The moon stands high above the amphitheatre.
The giant shadows, silence of these arches,
Weigh upon me ! I know not why it is,
But the fresh breath of night, instead of calming,
Burns on my cheek. How anxious is this waiting!
Yet I have looked on far more desperate things
Without a shudder. Soul, thou slave of Lucius,
Why dost thou now revolt against thy master?
'Tis said that when the end of life draws near,
The spirit grows afraid and warns the body.
Brutus had signs before the last lost fight,
And Otho too at Bedriacum . . . Diespiter !
This is no time for Tubero to die!
Young Caesar counts on my experience,
And with Domitian I can hold the reins.
Sliould the great jurist fall beneath the sword
Of the mad Greek or axes of the Germans, —
Then . . . then . . . Who answers me? Marspiter!

speak ! . . .
'Tis nobody! Only a lion roused from sleep
And roaring in the vaults below the circus.
No, — there are other sounds ! Voices and tumult!
Marspiter! who comes here?

i^Armedmeti rush in in disorder, followed by h'RiSTOMXCnus. )

Aristomachus. Help! help!

Tubero. Shame ! shame !

37



430



IRIDION.



Caesar upon the Forum waits for you

To bring the Greek in chains; you fly before him!

Aristomachus. Were he the Father of both gods and
men,
He lies who says I fear! I have just driven
This javelin through the breasts of two centurions
Because they wavered, turned their faces from
The flaming eyes of this same fiery Greek.

Tubero. Whence gets He this new power? Does he
sow dragons' teeth
Which grow to men as soon as they are planted?

Aristomachus.