He fills, drinks, and casts and goblet from him.
The Man. I place my trust in that God who gave power and rule, into the hands of my forefathers!
Pancratius. You trust Him still, and yet through your whole life you have been but a plaything in the hands of the Devil!
But let us leave such discussions to the theologians, if any such still linger upon earth:—to business, Count Henry, to stern facts!
The Man. What do you seek from me, redeemer of the people, citizen-god?
Pancratius. I sought you, in the first place, because I wished to know you; in the second, because I desire to save you.
The Man. For the first, receive my thanks; for the second, trust my sword!
Pancratius. Your God! your sword! vain phantoms of the brain! Look at the dread realities of your situation! The curses of the millions are upon you; myriads of brawny arms are already raised to hurl you to destruction! Of all the vaunted Past nothing remains to you save a few feet of earth, scarcely enough to offer you a grave. Even your last fortress, the castle of the Holy Trinity, can hold out but a few days longer. Where is your artillery? Where are the arms and provisions for your soldiers? Where are your soldiers? and what dependence can you place on the few you still retain? You must surely know there is nothing left you on which to hang a single hope!
If I were in your place, Count Henry, I know what I would do!
The Man. Speak! you see how patiently I listen!