Such were the dreams before the war: We were traveling through a field. Behind the hill the clouds rose. A storm. Through a cloud, head downwards, a fiery serpent pierced the earth. The serpent was double-headed.
Or another dream: Again we travel over a gray plain. No sign of life. Before us, a high hill glimmers dark. We look, but it is not a hill; it is a huge, coiled gray serpent.
And long before were conjurations. The evil ones were conjured. The untruth was conjured. Bird and beast were conjured. Earth and water were conjured. But to no avail. The monsters crept out.
Later were signs. They did not perceive them. They did not trust them. They did not grasp them. The crowds stamped upon them.
And the serpent awoke. The enemy of mankind rose. Attempted by slander to conquer the world. To destroy cities. To defame temples. Turn to ashes human strivings.
He rose to his own destruction.
There were conjurations. There were signs.
Dreams remained. Those dreams that are fulfilled.
He laid himself to rest for the night.
He thought—I shall see great Magi.
There was desire to see—how they look.
There was desire to hear—what names they bear.
He wished to see what is bound to their saddles. What road they take. They should reveal. Whence and whither.
But they did not appear, the Magi.
Possibly it was too soon.
Did not start out yet.
Instead of the Magi two others appeared.
One middle aged in an old blue shirt. In an old dark kaftan. Long hair. In the right hand three staffs.
He holds them to-day with points upwards. Mark, upwards. All has its meaning. But this is Saint Prokopyi, himself.
He who saved Ustyng the Great.
He, who took away the stony cloud from the city. He, who upon high shores prayed for the unknown travelers.
Marvelous tidings! Himself came Prokopyi the Righteous.
And another one with Him—white and old. In one hand a sword and in another the city.
Certainly he is Saint Nicholas.
Instead of the Magi with the star, these came.
Prokopyi speaks:
“Do not depart from the earth. The earth is red, red hot with evil. But the heat of evil nurtures the roots of the Tree. And upon this Tree the good creates its Benevolent nest. Attain the labor on earth. Ascend to the heavenly ocean, the resplendent, but dark only for us. Guard the Benevolent Tree. Good lives on it. The earth is the source of sorrow, but out of sorrow grow joys. He who is the highest knows the predestined date of your joy.
“Do not depart from the earth. Let us sit down and ponder about far-off wanderers.”
The other, the white one, lifted the sword.
And people came closer to him. Many came forward.
“Nicholas, the Gracious! Thou Miracle Maker! Thou, All-powerful! Thou, Holy Warrior! Thou, Conqueror of Hearts! Thou, Leader of true thoughts! Thou, Knowing heavenly and earthly forces!
“Thou, Guardian of the Sword! Thou, Protector of Cities! Thou knowing the Truth! Do you hear the prayers, Mighty One?
“Evil forces are battling against us.
“Protect, Thou Mighty One, the Holy City! The resplendent city calls wrath in the enemy. Accept, Thou Mighty One, the beautiful city. Raise, Father, the Sacred Sword!
“Invoke, Father, all saintly warriors. Miracle-maker, manifest a stern face! Cover the cities with the holy sword! Thou canst, to Thee is given Power!
“We stand without fear and tremor…”