The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No. 6, December 1864. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.
my soul went up in praising
To God's ear: 'Yea, Thou dost know,
High and Holy! men are devils,
Earth, like hell, is drowned in woe;
But Thy war-blast, in Thy mercy,
Hath dealt sin a staggering blow!'
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY—A POLISH DRAMA
PART IV
'Bottomless perdition.'—Milton.
Fog and cloud! Nothing can be seen from the bastions of the castle of the Holy Trinity, to the right or to the left, in front or in the rear, but dense, motionless, snowy mist; a spectral image of that deluge-wrath which, as it rose to sweep o'er earth, once broke against these stern, steep cliffs and beetling peaks of rock: no trace is to be seen of the buried valley, for the ghostly waves of the cold, white sea of foam shroud it closely in their stifling veils; the glowing face of the crimson sun shines not as yet upon earth's winding sheet of silent, clinging, pallid vapor.
The tower of the castle stands upon a bold and naked granite peak. Built of the strong rock from which it soars by the giant labor of the now dying Past, it seems during the lapse of centuries to have grown up from its stony heart, as the human breast grows from the broad back of the Centaur. A single banner streams above its lofty turret, the only banner of the Cross now raised on earth; the symbol of God's mystic love alone floats high enough to pierce into the unclouded blue of the stormy sky!
The white and sleeping mist gradually awakens; the sighing and howling of the bleak winds are heard above; the vapor palpitates in the first rays of the coming sun, and a drifting ice-floe of curdling clouds drives wildly o'er this quickening sea of fog and foam.
Other voices, human voices, mingle with the wails and sobs of the passing storm: borne upward on the ghastly waves of the spectral cloud sea, they break against the walls of the granite castle.
The pallid shroud of mist is suddenly riven, and through the walls of the chasm torn through the heart of the white foam, glimpses are seen of the abyss below.
How dark it looks in the depths! A sea of heads in wild commotion surges there; the valley swarms with human life as ocean's slimy sands with creeping things that writhe and sting.
The sun! the sun! He mounts above the rocky peaks; the pallid vapors rise in blood and melt in gold, and as they roll and lift into the sky, more and more distinctly grow upon the view the threatening swarms of men still gathering below.
The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds and scales the craggy cliffs; it dies softly away into the blue depths of the infinite sky. The valley glitters like a sea of light, throws back the dewy sunshine in a dazzling glare, for every hand is armed with sharp and sparkling blades and points of steel—and millions are seen pouring into its depths, numberless as they will pour into the vale of the Last Judgment.
A cathedral church in the castle of the Holy Trinity.
Lords, senators, dignitaries are seen seated on either side, each under the banner of a king or knight. Bands of nobles stand behind the banners. The Archbishop is in front of the high altar, a choir of stoled Priests kneel behind and around it. The Man appears, pauses a few moments on the threshold of the church, then advances slowly up the aisle to the Archbishop, holding a banner in his hand.
Chorus of Priests. O God of our fathers! we, Thy last priests, pray in the last church of Thy Son now standing upon earth for the faith of our ancestors! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord our God!
First Count. See with what pride Count Henry regards us.
Second Count. As if the whole universe were at his feet.
Third Count. And yet he has done nothing but cut his way through the camp of the peasants at night!
First Count. He left one hundred, nay, it is reported, two hundred of their men dead upon the place of combat.
Second Count. Let us object to his appointment as general-in-chief.
The Man (kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop). I lay my trophy at thy feet!
Archbishop (giving him a sword). Gird this sword upon thee; it was once consecrated to Saint Florian!
Many Voices. Long live Count Henry! Vivat! vivat!
Archbishop. And thus sealing thee with the sign of the cross, I commit to thy hands the sole command of this, our last fortress and refuge upon earth.
It is the universal wish that thou shouldst assume the rank of general-in-chief.
Many Voices. Long live our general! Vivat! vivat!
A Voice. I will not give my consent to the appointment!
Many Voices. Away with the objector! Long live Count Henry!
The Man. If any one present have just cause to reproach me, let him proclaim it openly, and not hide himself in the crowd!
He pauses; no one responds.
I accept this sword from thy hands, most reverend father; and may God send me an early and sudden death if I fail to deliver thee!
Chorus of Priests. Gift him with power, O God; and let Thy Holy Spirit descend upon him! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord!
The Man. Let us all, princes, knights, and nobles, take a solemn oath to defend the glory and fame of our fathers!
Let us swear that though hunger and thirst may lead us to death, they shall not force us to dishonor!
Let us vow that no suffering shall induct us to capitulate, to yield one of our just rights, or to sacrifice any of the duties due to our Creator! Swear!
Many Voices. We swear.
The Archbishop elevates the Cross, they kneel and pledge their faith.
Chorus of Priests. The perjured Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!
The faint-hearted Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!
The traitor Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath O God!
The Man (drawing his sword). Keep the oath, and I promise glory—for victory, pray to God!
He leaves the church, surrounded and followed by bands of knights, nobles, etc.
A courtyard in the castle of the Holy Trinity. The Man, counts, barons, princes, noblemen.
A Count (leading the Man aside). What—is all irretrievably lost?
The Man. Not all, unless your courage fail before the time.
The Count. Before what time?
The Man. Before death!
A Baron (leading him off on the other side). It is reported that you have seen and spoken with our dreadful foe, Count Henry. If we should fall into his hands, will he have the least compassion upon us?
The Man. To tell you the truth, such compassion as our fathers never dreamed could be shown to them: 'the gallows!'
The Baron. We must guard against that to the utmost of our power!
The Man. What says your excellency?
Prince. I must speak a few words alone with you, (He draws Count Henry aside.) It is all very well to encourage our people, but you must surely be aware that we can hold out no longer.
The Man. What else is left us, prince?
Prince. As you have been appointed chief, it is for you to propose the terms of capitulation.
The