have forged arms and woven ropes; the masses clamor for immediate orders. Speak but the word now, and the electric sparks will fly, the millions flash into forked lightnings, kindle into flame, and consume our enemies!
Pancratius. You are young, and the blood mounts rapidly into your brain; but will the hour of combat find you more resolute than myself?
Leonard. Think well what you are doing. The nobles, weak and exhausted, have fled for refuge to the famous fortress of the Holy Trinity,1 and await our arrival, as men wait the knife of the guillotine.
Forward, citizen, attack them without delay, and it is over with them forever!
Pancratius. It can make no difference; they have lost the old energy of their caste in luxury and idleness. To-morrow or the next day they must fall, what matter which?
Leonard. What and whom do you fear, and why do you delay?
Pancratius. I fear nothing. I act but in accordance with my own will.
Leonard. And am I to trust it blindly?
Pancratius. Yes. Blindly.
Leonard. You may betray us, citizen!
Pancratius. Betrayal rings forever from your lips like the refrain of an old song.
But hush! not so loud—if any one should hear us …
Leonard. There are no spies here; and what if some one should hear us?
Pancratius. Nothing; only five balls in your heart for having ventured to raise your voice a tone too high in my presence. (Approaching close to him.) Leonard, trust me, and be tranquil!
Leonard. I confess I have been too hasty, but I fear no punishment. If my death could help the cause of the down-trodden masses, I would cheerfully die.
Pancratius. You are full of life, hope, faith. Happiest of men, I will not rob you of the bliss of existence.
Leonard. What do you say, citizen?
Pancratius. Think more; speak less; the time will come when you will fully understand me!
Have you collected the provisions for the carousal of the millions?
Leonard. They have all been sent to the arsenal under guard.
Pancratius. Has the contribution from the shoemakers been received?
Leonard. It has. Every one gave with the greatest eagerness; it amounts to a hundred thousand.
Pancratius. They must all be invited to a general festival to-morrow.
Have you heard nothing of Count Henry?
Leonard. I despise the nobles too deeply to credit what I hear of him. The dying race have no energy left; it is impossible they should dare or venture aught.
Pancratius. And yet it is true that he is collecting and training his serfs and peasants, and, confiding in their devotion and attachment to himself, intends leading them to the relief of the fortress of the Holy Trinity.
Leonard. Who can oppose us? The ideas of our century stand incorporated in us!
Pancratius. I am determined to see Count Henry, to gaze into his eyes, to read the very depths of his brave spirit, to win him over to the glorious cause of the people.
Leonard. An aristocrat, body and soul!
Pancratius. True: but also a Poet!
Good night, Leonard, I would be alone.
Leonard. Have you forgiven me, citizen?
Pancratius. Sleep in peace: if I had not forgiven you, you would ere this have slept the eternal sleep.
Leonard. And will nothing take place to-morrow?
Pancratius. Good night, and pleasant dreams!
Leonard is retiring.
Ho, Leonard!
Leonard. Citizen general?
Pancratius. You will accompany me day after morrow on my visit to Count Henry.
Leonard. I will obey.
Pancratius. How is it that this man, Count Henry, still dares to resist and defy me, the ruler of millions? His forces will bear no comparison with mine; indeed he stands almost alone, although it is true that some hundred or two of peasants, confiding blindly in his word and clinging to him as the dog clings to his master, still cluster round him—but that is all folly, and can amount to nothing. Why, then, do I long to see him, long to win him to our side? Has my spirit for the first time encountered its equal? Can it progress no farther in the path in which he stands to oppose me? His resistance is the last obstacle to be overcome—he must be overthrown—and then? … and then! …
O my cunning intellect! Canst thou not deceive thyself as thou hast deceived others?…
Shame! thou shouldst know thine own might! Thou art thought, the intelligence and reason of the people—the ruler of the masses—thou controllest the millions, so that their will and giant force is one with thine—all authority and government are incarnated and concentrated in thee alone—all that would be crime in others is in thee fame and glory—thou hast given name and place to unknown and obscure men—thou hast given faith and eloquence to beings who had been almost robbed of moral sentiment—thou hast created a new world in thine own image, and art thyself its god! and yet … and yet … thou art wandering in unknown wastes, and fearest to be lost thyself—to go astray!
Thou knowest not thyself, nor of what thou art capable; thou rulest others, yet doubt'st thyself—thou knowest not what thou art—whither thou goest—nor whence thou earnest! No … no.... Thou art sublime!
Sinks upon a chair in silent thought.
A forest, with a cleared hill in its midst, upon which stands a gallows; huts, tents, watchfires, barrels, tables, and crowds of men. The Man disguised in a dark cloak and red liberty cap, and holding the Baptized Jew by the hand.
The Man. Remember!
The Baptized (in a whisper). Upon my honor, I will lead your excellency aright, I will not betray you.
The Man. Give but one suspicious wink, raise but a finger, and my bullet finds its way to your heart! You may readily imagine that I attach no great value to your life when I thus lightly risk my own.
The Baptized. Oh woe! You press my hand like a vice of steel. What is it you wish me to do?
The Man. Appear to the crowd as if I were an acquaintance—treat me as a newly arrived friend.
What kind of a dance is that?
The Baptized. The dance of a free people.
Men and woman dance, leap, and sing round the gallows.
Their Chorus. Bread! meat! work! wood in winter, rest in summer! Hurrah! hurrah!
God had no compassion
A renowned fort in Polish history. It stood on the old battlefield between Turkey and Poland, between Europe and Asia.
