Полная версия
The Continental Monthly, Vol 6, No 5, November 1864
Jew, I am ready now for the vault of St. Ignatius!
The Baptized. The day dawns; I can go no farther.
The Man. Lead me on until we strike the right path; I will then release you!
The Baptized. Why do you drag me on through mist, through thorns and briers, through ashes and embers, over heaps of ruins? Let me go, I entreat!
The Man. Forward! forward! and descend with me!
The last songs of the people are dying away behind us; a few torches here and there just glimmer through the gloom!
Ha! under those hoary trees drooping with the night dew, and through this curdling, whitening vapor, see you not the giant shadow of the dead Past? Hark! hear you not that wailing chant?
The Baptized. Everything is shrouded in the thickening mist; at every step we descend, deeper, deeper!
Chorus of Wood Spirits. Let us weep for Christ, the persecuted, martyred Jesus!
Where is our God; where is His church?
The Man. Unsheathe the sword—to arms! to arms!
I will restore Him to you; upon thousands and thousands of crosses will I crucify His enemies!
Chorus of Spirits. We kept guard by day and night around the altar and the holy graves; upon untiring wings we bore the matin chime and vesper bell to the ear of the believer; our voices floated on the organ's peal! In the glitter of the stained and rainbow panes, the shadows of the vaulted domes, the light of the holy chalice, the blessed consecration of the Body of our Lord—was our whole life centred!
Woe! woe! what will become of us?
The Man. It is growing lighter; their dim forms fade and melt into the red of morn!
The Baptized. Here lies your way: this is the entrance to the Pass.
The Man. Hail! Christ Jesus and my sword! (He tears off the liberty cap, throws it upon the ground, and casts pieces of silver upon it.) Take together the Thing and the Image for a remembrance!
The Baptized. You pledge your word to me for the honorable treatment of him who will visit you at midnight?
The Man. An old noble never repeats or breaks a promise!
Hail! Christ Jesus and our swords!
Voices (from the depths of the Pass). Mary and our swords! Long live our lord, Count Henry!
The Man. My faithful followers, to me—to me!
Aid me, Mary, and Christ Jesus!
Night. Trees and shrubbery. Pancratius, Leonard, and attendants.
Pancratius (to his attendants). Lie upon this spot with your faces to the turf, remain perfectly still, kindle no fires, beat no signals, and, unless you hear the report of firearms, stir not until the dawn of day!
Leonard. I once more conjure you, citizen!
Pancratius. Lean against this tall pine, Leonard, and pass the night in reflection.
Leonard. I pray you, Pancratius, take me with you! Remember, you are about to intrust yourself alone with an aristocrat, a betrayer, an oppressor....
Pancratius (interrupting him, and impatiently gesturing to him to remain behind). The old nobles seldom broke a plighted promise!
A vast feudal hall in the castle of Count Henry. Pictures of knights and ladies hang upon the walls. A pillar is seen in the background bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family. The Count is seated at a marble table upon which are placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, a jewel-hilted sword, a pair of pistols, an hourglass, and clock. Another table stands on the opposite side, with silver pitchers, decanters, and massive goblets.
The Man. At the same hour, surrounded by appalling perils, agitated by foreboding thoughts, the last Brutus met his Evil Genius.
I await a like apparition. A man without a name, without ancestors, without a faith or guardian angel; a man who is destroying the Past, and who will, in all probability, establish a new era, though himself sprung from the very dust, if I cannot succeed in casting him back into his original nothingness—is now to appear before me!
Spirit of my forefathers! inspire me with that haughty energy which once rendered you the rulers of the world! Give me the lion heart which erst throbbed in your dauntless breasts! Give me your peerless dignity, your noble and chivalric courtesy!
Rekindle in my wavering soul your blind, undoubting, earnest faith in Christ and in His church: at once the source of your noblest deeds on earth, your brightest hopes in heaven! Oh, let it open for me, as it was wont to do for you; and I will struggle with fire and sword against its enemies! Hear me, the son of countless generations, the sole heir of your thoughts, your courage, your virtues, and your faults!
The castle bell sounds twelve.
It is the appointed hour: I am prepared!
An old and faithful servant, Jacob, enters, fully armed.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
1
A renowned fort in Polish history. It stood on the old battlefield between Turkey and Poland, between Europe and Asia.
