C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Pancras’s Monologue
By Zygmunt Krasiński (1812–1859)
W
Still trouble me? Me, ruler of the millions!
Compared with mine, his force is but a shadow.
’Tis true, indeed, some hundreds of his serfs
Cling round him, as the dog stays by his master
In trusting confidence. That is sheer folly!…
But why do I so long to see this Count,
To subjugate him, win him to our side?
Has my clear spirit for the first time met
An equal? Does he bar its onward flight?
Arrest it in its full development?
The only obstacle before me now
Is his resistance: that I must o’ercome!
And then … and afterwards … and then …
O cunning intellect, canst thou deceive
Thyself as thou dost others?… Canst not?—No?…
O wretchedness!… Why dost thou doubt thyself?
Shame!… thou shouldst know thy power! Thou art the thought,
The reason of the people; Sovereign Lord!
Thou canst control the millions, make their wills,
With all their giant forces, one with thine!
The might of A
Thou art authority and government!
What would be crime in others, is in thee
Glory and fame! Thou givest name and place
To men unknown; a voice, a faith to brutes
Almost deprived of mental, moral worth!
In thine own image thou hast made a world,
An age created,—art thyself its god!
And yet thou hesitatest,—doubt’st thyself?
No, no! a hundred times!… Thou art sublime!