2020.09.15.
Feet In The Fire
Wild lightnings flashing, there's a tower in the pale light.Thunder is rolling, and a rider's fighting with his horse,
jumps off and knocks against the gate, makes noise.
His coat is flutt'ring in the wind.
He tries to hold the chestnut by the reins.
A small barred window shimmers, bright like gold,
and now a nobleman unlocks the creaking gate.
„I am a servant to the king, sent as a herald
towards Nîmes. Do grant me shelter! The king's dress you must know!“
„It's stormy. Be my guest. Why should I care about your dress?
Step in, warm up, meanwhile I'll take care of your horse!“
The rider enters then a dark ancestral hall,
illuminated dimly by the fire of a roomy hearth,
and in the moody flicker of its light
he sees a Huguenot in armor here, a woman there,
a proud and noble lady in the brown tableaus.
The rider throws himself into the chair, close to the hearth,
and stares into the living flames. He broods, he stares.
His hair stands to the edge. He knows the hearth, the hall …
The flame is hissing. Feet are twitching in the embers.
An aged housekeeper sets the dinner table
with linen, blinding white, helped by the noble maid,
a young lad brings a jug of wine. The children's eyes
fixed on the guest and on the hearth with horror...
The flame is hissing. Feet are twitching in the embers.
Damn it! Identic blazon and this same dark hall!
It's been three years … A hunt for Huguenots...
A fine and stubborn woman … „Where is the junker? Speak!“
She clams. „Confess!“ She clams. „Deliver him!“ Still silent.
I'm going wild. This pride! I tug the creature.
I grab her bare feet and I stretch them deep
into the middle of the embers. „Deliver him!“ She clams.
She writhes... Did you not see the blazon on the gate?
Why did you ask for shelter here, you stupid fool?
If he has only got one drop of blood, he'll choke you.
Enter the nobleman. „You dream? To table, guest.“
Now there they sit. Those three in their black garb
and him. None of the children says the grace.
They stare at him with widely opened eyes.
He fills his jar and overfills it, one single gulp,
then he jumps up: „Mylord, please show me to my bed!
I'm tired like a dog!“ A servant brings a light.
But on the threshold, looking back towards his host,
he sees the boy who whispers something in his father's ear.
Behind the servant he then stumbles to the tower room.
He firmly bolts the door. He checks his pistol and his sword.
The storm is whist'ling, floor boards and the ceiling shaking.
The stairs are cracking. Is there a pounding or a sneaking step?
His ears are fooling him, and soon it is past midnight.
Lead weighs upon his lids, and slumbering he sinks
onto the bed. The rain is splashing outside.
He dreams. „Confess!“ She clams. „Deliver him!“ She clams.
He's tugging her, two feet are twitching in the embers.
A sea of fire sprays and hisses, swallowing him up...
„Wake up! You should be gone by now! The day is dawning!“
Come to the room through the wallpaper door,
close to his bed, the owner of the castle waits – his hair all grey,
which only yesterday had flown dark brown around his head.
They're riding through the forest, no breeze stirring the air.
Across the path some splintered branches on their way.
Half in their dreams still, early birds are chirping,
and peaceful clouds are swimming in the skies,
as if the angels were returning from their nightly watch.
The dark clods breathe a strong and earthy smell.
Plains lie ahead, a plow goes in the fields.
The rider lurks out of the corner of his eye, „Mylord,
you are a wise man, full of prudence and reflection,
you know, I am the greatest king's own property.
Fare well, and may we never meet again!“ The other says,
„You say it! Property of the Greatest King! Today
it was so hard for me to serve Him. You are a devil,
killed my wife. And you're alive!
Mine is the vengeance, says The Lord.'