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- Wydawca: KtoCzyta.pl
- Kategoria: Literatura obyczajowa i piękna•Literatura piękna
- Język: polski
„Judgement at Chelmsford” is a pageant play, written for a church setting. The author Charles Williams (1886-1945), who was a British theologian, playwright, novelist and poet, was commissioned to produce this play to mark the 25th anniversary of The Diocese of Chelmsford in 1939. In it, he created a huge, sprawling drama about the history of Chelmsford. Eight episodes, a prologue and epilogue, make this a formidable work. It was intended to be a large-scale pageant play and explores both historical and spiritual themes. Thus the complete pageant offers a representation not only of the history of the diocese, but of the movement of the soul of man in its journey from the things of this world to the heavenly city of Almighty God.
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Contents
Prologue
Episode I. Modern Life
Episode II. The Chelmsford Witches
Episode III. The Reformation
Episode IV. The Girl Abbess of Barking
Episode V. John Ball and the Peasant Rising
Episode VI. St. Osyth and the Danes
Episode VII. Old King Cole
Episode VIII. The Invention of the Cross
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
The place is outside the gates of Heaven, considered as in the air above the diocese. CHELMSFORD enters
CHELMSFORD. I am a young See, yet I am one with all the rest of Christendom, blest as they– Canterbury, Rome, Constantinople, Antioch, Jerusalem, my predecessors, my brothers and lords. My house is in the plains beyond the mouth of Thames, and built by the rushing wind and the tongued flames where the coast of heaven borders the English coast and the byres of Essex are the shires of the Holy Ghost. I am as old as the whole Church in Britain. Cedd raised the first rough fold of my sheep and I hallow his name wholesomely where the plough shears the fields still as in his own years, but otherwise now towns are much of my ministry: mark them, the might, mirth, and misery of England, spreading, treading hard on each other’s heels, making me changed from what I was once, before the charge of my children was wholly mine, before the mitre touched my brows with something darker than age, to assuage their need, comfort, console, cherish, lest if they perish I too be cast from the place with my peers, the patriarchates, the heavenly thrones whose zones map Christendom, in England, and beyond where the great ships float from my river. To-day the fledged heel of Contemplation strikes the edged wheel of Time, to spin it, and heaven opens within. It is my birthday; on this feast I come to the place of grace in vision, to the gate of heaven, to walk and talk with the grand celestial princes, they who assess the deeds of the Church militant on earth, and confess in clear light the fulfilment of their needs. I am come shyly to meet them; blessed be he who made me also in Christendom holy and free.
A kind of gentle discord. The ACCUSER comes in
THE ACCUSER. Halt there, sweet!
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