The Dynasts. Томас Харди

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      WOMAN [in undertones]

       I can tell you a word or two on't. It is about His victuals. They

       say that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o' baby every

       morning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant in

       old ancient times!

      YOUNG MAN

       Ye can't believe all ye hear.

      PRIVATE

       I only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengeful

       character—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He's in the

       desert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—'tis too much.

      WOMAN

       Whether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi' horror at

       the queerness o't, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the

       house. He should have the washing of 'em a few times; I warrant

       'a wouldn't want to eat babies any more!

       [A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the

       starless sky.]

      YOUNG MAN

       There'll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o't. I can

       hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to 'em, and

       the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.

      OLD MAN

       Well, come in and taste a drop o' sommat we've got here, that will

       warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed

       eighty tuns last night for them that shan't be named—landed at

       Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with

       the riding-officers this run.

       [They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes

       visible, and quickly enlarges.]

      YOUNG MAN

       He's come!

      OLD MAN

       Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of

       what England's waited for!

       [They stand and watch the light awhile.]

      YOUNG MAN

       Just what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.

      PRIVATE

       My meaning was—-

      WOMAN [simpering]

       Oh that I hadn't married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherless

       children into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Why

       didn't a man of no sprawl content me!

      OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]

       We can't heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,

       being in the King's service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fall

       in, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march!

       [The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flint

       and steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.

       The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by the

       light of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotundities

       of the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-sockets

       of a skull.]

      SPIRIT SINISTER

       This is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] I

       assume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasing

       slaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?

      SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

       We carry out? Nay, but should we

       Ordain what bloodshed is to be it!

      SEMICHORUS II

       The Immanent, that urgeth all,

       Rules what may or may not befall!

      SEMICHORUS I

       Ere systemed suns were globed and lit

       The slaughters of the race were writ,

      SEMICHORUS II

       And wasting wars, by land and sea,

       Fixed, like all else, immutably!

      SPIRIT SINISTER

       Well; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling good

       history; but Peace is poor СКАЧАТЬ