Chapter IV: Act THREE (2)

PIERRE-- It was not the train.
'Twas Father Benedict.

(_Louis stands as one stunned._)

What can it mean?

(_Louis crosses the court and takes a position at
the corner of the chapel near the gate._)

FIRST MONK--He never came as early as this before.

SECOND MONK--And see how worried Father looks.

PIERRE-- I fear
That some one has told Oswald of the dream,
And he has fainted.

FIRST MONK-- I will loiter about.

(_With his eyes upon the ground the monk saunters
over toward the chapel steps and, apparently
absorbed in telling his beads, loiters about
in order to overhear the conversation. The
Abbot enters, followed by Father Benedict
leading an ass. Green twigs are stuck about_
_the bridle. The Abbot appears thoughtful._)

ABBOT--What do you mean by wolves?

FATHER BENEDICT-- Wild paws that prey
Upon the fold.

ABBOT-- And by the fold, you mean--?

FATHER BENEDICT--The Church.

ABBOT-- These wolves live on the mountains here?

FATHER BENEDICT--They do.

ABBOT-- And are not far?

FATHER BENEDICT-- Some are not far.
Within an eyeshot of the peaks.

ABBOT-- And some
Have even made this abbey here their den?

FATHER BENEDICT--Would make it so.

ABBOT-- And from these holy halls
Steal forth and prey--well, let us say, upon
Your flock?

FATHER BENEDICT--They have preyed there.

ABBOT-- Since when?

FATHER BENEDICT--And with the fleeces wiped their heathen mouths,
These wolves of Hell.

ABBOT-- Benedict!

FATHER BENEDICT-- Ay, wolves of Hell.
Hear what I say. Ah, Father, Father!
Sometimes we think our Lord is dead in heaven,
His enemies so thrive upon the earth.
We see the Devil's squatters on our lands
With deeds that seem to bear the seal of Heaven;
Yea, everything they do seems blest of Heaven.
They plow and sow; God gives them sun and rain.
Their fields wave green; the frosts are kept at bay.
They build their barns; Heaven holds her storms in leash
And seems to slumber while the singing foe
Silver their scythes beneath the harvest moon.
But when the season plumps the golden ears
And Satan brings his sacks to get the grain,
God puts his sickle in and takes the crop.

ABBOT--Or sends a reaper?

FATHER BENEDICT-- Ay, sends Benedict.
When vines are bending and the song is heard
Of Bacchus revelling in the bubbling must,
The golden trumpets of the sun in heaven
Proclaim a festival and wake the skies.
Angels come tripping to the foaming vats
And, while the devils tread the vintage out,
Brim their bright casks with gushing purple meath
To crown the crystal goblets of the saints,
Leaving the pulp to slop the swine of Hell.

ABBOT--In you I see an angel?

FATHER BENEDICT-- With a cask.

ABBOT--And in the abbey here I see the vat?

FATHER BENEDICT--A goblet.

ABBOT-- And in myself a--

FATHER BENEDICT-- Saint.

ABBOT-- Ha! (_Searching the Priest's face._)
I do not understand you, Benedict.

FATHER BENEDICT--Then I will put it this way: See this garb?
You know I am a shepherd.

ABBOT-- Yes, I know.

FATHER BENEDICT--And tend a flock of sheep.

ABBOT-- I know you do.

FATHER BENEDICT--And sheep have wool?

ABBOT-- Yes.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Now we go afield.
Do briers grow in pastures? (_The Abbot nods._)
And have flukes?

ABBOT--I see. You mean to say that flukes tear wool.

FATHER BENEDICT--That's what I mean.

ABBOT-- That, therefore, from the shears
The fleece comes lighter to the shepherd's hands.

FATHER BENEDICT--And to the Master's.

ABBOT-- Ha! but in this case--
For your insinuation I perceive
Clearly, I think;--well, in this case, I say,
It does not follow that the Master gets
Less tribute from the flock; for, Benedict,
Remember this: When God's bright seraphim
Collect His revenues, it matters not
Whether it be your hand that pays, or mine.

FATHER BENEDICT--Provided your hand pays, it matters not.

ABBOT--Ah, now you leave your figure.

FATHER BENEDICT-- And take yours.

ABBOT--You climbed the mountain, then--?

FATHER BENEDICT-- To get my wool.

ABBOT--And chop the brier?

FATHER BENEDICT-- That belonged to God.

ABBOT--Then tell me this: If it belonged to God,
How then do you, His shepherd, claim the wool
That God's own flukes have pulled from his own sheep?

FATHER BENEDICT--You do not understand.

ABBOT-- I think I do.

FATHER BENEDICT--I did not mean the brier was God's, but this:
That it belonged to God to chop it down.

ABBOTABBOT--The brier, then, has fallen?

FATHER BENEDICT-- Praise the saints.

ABBOT--You came to tell me how the blow was struck?

FATHER BENEDICT--I stopped to tell you how I got my wool.

ABBOT--You need not.

FATHER BENEDICT--Why?

ABBOT-- I know.

FATHER BENEDICT-- You know?

ABBOT-- I do.

FATHER BENEDICT--I have not spoken since I left him.

ABBOT-- Well.

FATHER BENEDICT--How did you learn it, then?

ABBOT-- I had a seed.
Your coming was the sun, your words the shower;
It could not help but put forth leaves and bloom.

FATHER BENEDICT--Strange, very strange.

ABBOT-- To see a stalk with flukes
Put forth a bloom? 'Tis not unnatural.

FATHER BENEDICT--I do not understand.

ABBOT-- Nor I.

FATHER BENEDICT-- What?

ABBOT-- This:
How that a shepherd could believe a wolf
Had suckled a lost lamb.

FATHER BENEDICT-- What do you mean?

ABBOT--That it is strange that you, a priest of God,
Could see an angel's track upon a slope
And say: "Here went a devil up the rocks."

FATHER BENEDICT--It is too dark.

ABBOT-- 'Twill ever be too dark
To see aught but an angel in that gulch.

FATHER BENEDICT--'Tis midnight.

ABBOT-- No; for yonder peaks are flushed,
And there bright wings are wasting in the dawn.

FATHER BENEDICT--Father, what do you mean?

ABBOT--(_Closing his eyes._) Listen, Benedict.
In an old abbey down in Italy
There hangs an ancient chime of seven bells.
Oft when a child I heard them in the dawn
Singing like angels in the Apennines,
Their tones so blended, so harmoniously
Tuned to the planets that, when twilight fell,
They were the echoes of the Pleiades.
Those old, old bells! I hear them still sometimes.
We children called them by the golden names
Archangels wear. Well, in a storm one night
Raphael went down. Some say a huge black hand
Strangled him in his tower and hurled him down.
And others say--mark, Benedict--that God--

FATHER BENEDICT--Anathema!

ABBOT-- God's hand that shaped the spheres
And hung them in the belfry of the night
To ring through heaven an universal mass,
And set the holy bells of earth in tune,
And set our hearts in tune with holy bells.
That, in the blue cathedral of the air,
One chant might rise from hearts and bells and spheres,
Some say that His, God's hand, threw down that bell.

FATHER BENEDICT--I say, anathema!

ABBOT-- And so you think--?

FATHER BENEDICT--I think it was the foul hand of Hell.

ABBOT-- Ah?
Since withered faces skir along the sky,
Might it have been some--witch?

FATHER BENEDICT-- I said the hand
And that includes the fingers.

ABBOT-- So it does.
Well, Benedict, there you and I are one.
We hold that that which jangles God's great chime.
Whether it strike a sphere or a bell or a heart,
Springs from the pit and hath its root in Hell.

FATHER BENEDICT--Ay, we agree.

ABBOT-- Then follow the same path
And you shall see your seraph of the night
Bleed out his strength upon the spears of dawn.
'Twas thought that Raphael's tumbling down the rocks
Had wrecked his silver voice, and so he lay
Three years half-sunken in a slimy marsh,
His golden throat choked up with water-weeds
And fetid lilies breathing of the swamp.
'Twas said that oft when morning woke the bells
Upon the heights, a drowned voice was heard,
A strangled booming in the marsh-fogs. Well.
One Sabbath while the morning star still burned
A lone white taper, on a sudden from his couch
The ancient bellman started. The old chime
Was singing in its tower, and, like a thrush
That eyeless hath escaped a narrow cage,
The voice of Raphael on his bough again
Rang through the woods. The eagles on the crags
Shook out their wings and circled in the sky;
The mountain shepherds shouted from the rocks,
While down the ether, flaming out of the East,
Melodious angels in the sun-burst sang.

(_With his eyes burning and fixed upon the Priest._)

Now, Benedict, who lifted up that bell?

FATHER BENEDICT--'Twas God reclaimed it and restored His chime.

ABBOT--And if that bell had been a--soul, who then?

FATHER BENEDICT--Still God.

ABBOT-- And if that soul had been-- (_Vehemently._)
Oswald?

(_For a moment they look into one another's eyes,
the Abbot with a penetrating glance, the
Priest with a look of blank amazement. The
Abbot quickly drops his head and walks aside,
his face almost white, the drawn mouth and
furrowed brow showing a mind in desperation,
casting about for an escape._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_With rising resentment._)
What does this mean?

(_The monk, who a few yards back has been
pacing to and fro in order to overhear
the conversation, has stopped and stands
observing them. He has the same bewildered_
_expression as the Priest. The face of Louis
near the corner of the chapel reflects the
palor and perturbation of the Abbot's._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- You put my faith to test? (_A pause._)
A damned insult!

(_His brow darkens and he turns aside. Suddenly his
face lights up as with a revelation._)

Ah, I see what it means.
Out with it, Father. Speak what God commands. (_A pause._)
Before you speak I know what you will say. (_A pause._)
Out of pure envy you are silent.

(_He turns away. While the Priest and the Abbot
walk about, each occupied with his own
thought, Pierre and his two companions
approach and stand a few yards away,
observing them._)

ABBOT--(_With a glance toward the Priest_.) Out--?

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Without turning._)
Of envy, or else fear that I would shrink.
You need not, though.

ABBOT--(_Stopping._) I fear that you would shrink?

FATHER BENEDICT--To you, too, my great honor has been revealed.

(_A pause._)

ABBOT--I do not understand you, Benedict.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Turning and facing the Abbot._)
Why do you hide it from me?

ABBOT-- What are you
Hiding from me?

FATHER BENEDICT-- You feared that I would shrink
To tear those jaws upon the mountain side.
Your dropping of your eyes shows I am right.

ABBOT-- (_Walking aside, composed._)
I was not sure.

FATHER BENEDICT--Why did you think that God
Had revealed it only to you?

ABBOT-- I was not sure
That what I had in mind you had in mind.

FATHER BENEDICT--And you thought you would feel about and see
If I knew it. And if I did not, "Truth, retire.
Do not obtrude yourself on Benedict.
He knows the hunter's dream. If he cannot
Discover whose hands those were the hunter saw
Reach through the green boughs of the Tree of Life
And tear the hell-jaws from the holy deer,
It is not your fault. And I lose no glory.
It is his own crass mind. He comes from Rome.
Florence is Athens come to life again."

ABBOT--Envy, you think?

FATHER BENEDICT-- I know it. When you asked
Whose hand it was that lifted up that bell,
I knew that you were feeling me about
To see if I knew that the hand was mine.
Had I not known it, do you suppose I think
You would have told me? Of your own accord:
"Benedict, God hath chosen you for this.
Be faithful to it. The glory is yours"? Not much.
You pride yourself on what you think is God,
Your erudition. But I know some things. (_He walks aside._)

ABBOT--It is hard to know what another has in mind.

FATHER BENEDICT--It may be hard for the Athenians.

ABBOT--I am an old man, Benedict, and with
White hair the eyes blur and the mind dulls. You,
Vigorous in body and in intellect.
Scale heights I cannot climb. Bear with me, then.
If I just now, forgetting youth is past,
Ventured to tilt with you, is it not enough
That you stand there triumphant while I here
Lie prostrate with my gray hairs in the dust?

(_He bows his head and walks to the rear._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_With a superior air._)
Rome is Jerusalem, the city of God.

(_Biting down his smile, Louis advances, his face
assuming a doleful expression._)

LOUIS-- (_In a low voice, barely hiding his irony._)
Don't treat the old man that way, Benedict.
You do not know how keenly Father feels
The issue of this bout. Amazed I stood
Just yonder by the chapel steps and watched
Your spears break into fire. O Benedict,
What skill, what skill, what admirable skill!

FATHER BENEDICT--In dialectics I do boast some skill.

LOUIS--Compared to Father's admirable skill!

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_With a leer toward the Abbot._)
For what I have I thank no heathen sage.

LOUIS--With that composure which the gods must feel
Your reached your spear and slipped his lady's glove--

FATHER BENEDICT--His lady's glove?

LOUIS-- The secret from his heart
In spite of all his desperate guarding it.

(_Guido comes from the dormitory with a large book
under his arm. As he passes toward the chapel
he turns his burden toward the Abbot, who
gives it an unconcerned glance and walks
right._)

FATHER BENEDICT--Why should he hide it from me?

LOUIS-- I can't say.
Father is not a man to show his heart.
He no doubt had his reason for it.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Humph!

LOUIS--I do know, though, that Father admires you.

FATHER BENEDICT--
Admires me?

LOUIS-- Yes.

FATHER BENEDICT--Scorns me.

LOUIS-- You are wrong.

FATHER BENEDICT--How do you know he does?

LOUIS-- Before you came,
Father had just conceived of a great temple
With you in large space on the entablature.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Opening his eyes._)
That is another proof he knew that I
Was to have part in that great enterprise
And achieve glory. And he lied to me.

(_The Abbot speaks to Pierre, who turns and goes
out, right._)

LOUIS--You may mistake what Father had in mind.
He may have thought it would be policy
To keep you in the dark about this thing.

FATHER BENEDICT--What cause had he to fear that I would shrink
To face the glory of the Lord that day?
'Tis only guilt that fears to face the Lord.

LOUIS--You may mistake what Father had in mind.

FATHER BENEDICT--Too subtle, I suppose, for my dull brain.

LOUIS--I do not think, though, that he envies you.

FATHER BENEDICT--You may have your opinion.

LOUIS-- You may not.
I mean you may not know what Father means.

FATHER BENEDICT--
You two know everything.

LOUIS-- I know one thing.
You would not have said, "You two know everything,"
If you had been here half an hour ago. (_Walking aside._)
With you in large space on the entablature.

FATHER BENEDICT--He need not think that God revealed to him
Alone my glory, for I knew it, too.
Blood appeared on my hands the other night,
And while the congregation sat amazed,
The altar cups took fire, and a white dove--

(_To the Abbot, who has drawn near._)

The night the brother fell I saw some things
During service would have made my hair stand up
Had I been less courageous than I am,
Or less near God. You would have quaked with fear,
And sought the books of some old heathen sage
For explanation. I--I went to God,
With the result that I am ready now.
I have been shown the blood of that great hound.

(_He looks at his hand._)

And I have got God's meaning. I am called.
Now, when the chase starts I will make my way
Up to the mountain tops and meet the Lord,
And Heathendom shall tumble down to Hell.

(_He espies the wine vessels over against the
dormitory wall and goes toward them, pulling
the ass by the bridle._)

ABBOT--What did you come up here to see me for?

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Stopping._)
Come up to see you?

ABBOT-- You are here.

FATHER BENEDICT-- I am. (_A pause._)
It seems you don't know how I got my wool.

(_He continues his way across the court. Louis and
the Abbot whisper together. In the rear, from
behind the chapel, Macias, the hunter, enters
with a young deer upon his back, and at his
belt a brace of geese. Simon is holding one
of the fowls by the tip of its wing, Basil_
_and Rene following._)

BASIL--What'll you have, Simon?

SIMON-- Collops and sauce.

BASIL--Pluck-pudding or crupper?

SIMON-- Both, God bless us.

BASIL-- Both!

RENE--Goose, too?

SIMON-- Ay, stuffed with plums.

BASIL-- Why, you just had
A hunk of beef.

SIMON-- Sh! (_He points to the Abbot._)

RENE--(_Nudging him._) Basil, see the twigs.

(_The jesters chuckle and come forward toward the
Priest, while the hunter and Simon pass
out behind the dormitory. The Abbot also
approaches the Priest, followed a few feet
back by Louis._)

LOUIS--(_Huskily._) Be wary, Father; it may be a snare.

ABBOT--A little wine will bring it to the light.

BASIL--Well, it is spring when asses put forth leaves.

FATHER BENEDICT--Ay, rue that devils flee from in the dark.

(He looks into the casks.)

ABBOT--But when you left the town the dawn was bright.

FATHER BENEDICT--The dawn was bright?

ABBOT-- The day is two hours old.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_After a long look at the Abbot._)
When I rode out of town the sun's red car
Stood hub-deep in the western ocean's sand.
I met the morning on the mountain tops
Fresh dropt from heaven, with one golden wing
Bright on the pines, the other softly sheathed
In valley shadows thinning round her plumes.
The night I spent far back among the hills.
For three hours in the darkness on the road
I staked my life upon the ass' step
And ass and life upon these slips of rue.

(_He thrusts his switch into the narrow necked
diotas, and drawing it out, feels the end._)

If any manna fell upon the heights
The Devil must have harvested the flakes:
I found none on the way.

ABBOT-- I fear the fiend
Has washed it down with our good Tuscan wine
And dressed Hell's tables with the golden cups
The Abbot Boldi sent from Aosta.
The tide is out and the Italian moon
Has slipped her sphere that ruled the purple flood.
These are the empty shells that held the sea.

(_Pierre enters, carrying a flagon and a silver
cup. Simon follows him._)

Have something, Benedict.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Ah, you are good.

ABBOT--What could have drawn you back among the hills
When every pass was choked with drizzling dag?

FATHER BENEDICT--I'm like a desert.

RENE--(_To Basil._) And there flows the Nile.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_To the Abbot._)
The service of our Lord that knows no flaw,
Mountains or darkness or the voice of storms.
Last night--Fill it up.--Last night God's--There.--
Last night God's dread apparitor-- (_He drinks._)

ABBOT-- What's that?

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Tasting his lips._)
Rumney, isn't it?

ABBOT-- Not that--

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_With mock seriousness._)
Isn't it?

ABBOT-- I mean--

FATHER BENEDICT--Pour me another, then; I'll taste again.

(_Pierre pours._)

ABBOT--You said God's dreadful summoner--

FATHER BENEDICT-- Appeared.
And clapped his irons on old--

(_He drinks and again holds the cup toward Pierre._)

ABBOT-- Benedict,--

FATHER BENEDICT--One more.

ABBOT-- Don't think--

FATHER BENEDICT-- The night is in my veins.

BASIL--(_To Rene._) It's a dry night.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Holding up the cup._)
But the red dawn is breaking-- (_He drinks._)

RENE-- (_To Basil._)
The abbey here.

FATHER BENEDICT--And lightening-- (_He drinks._)

BASIL--(_To Rene._) The great deep.

RENE--Come, sing the matins, Simon, for the dawn--

ABBOT--Don't think it is the wine I care for.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Ha!
The cup, eh?--Take it.

(_He hands the cup to Pierre and leads the ass back
to one of the benches, upon which he climbs
and stands fixing the saddle._)

ABBOT-- A while ago you said
God's dreadful summoner appeared.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Yes.
(_Pierre goes out._) Whoa!

SIMON-- (_Following Pierre._)
Pierre.

PIERRE--No.

SIMON-- Just a tiff.

PIERRE-- No, I say.

SIMON-- (_Supplicating._) Brother! (_Spitefully._)
Dinky! Bed-bug! Pizzle-wizzle! (_With a grimace._)
U-g-h! (_He spits at him and turns back._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Who has mounted._)
Now if you get my switch, I think I'll go.

(_One of the monks stoops and picks up the switch,
which he hands to the Priest, who looks from
the Abbot to Louis and then from Louis to the
Abbot._)

FATHER BENEDICT--You see, I could ride off without one word.

LOUIS--Without one word of what?

FATHER BENEDICT--(_Contemptuously._) One word of what!
You think I came from town and so does he.

ABBOT--What of it?

FATHER BENEDICT-- Simply this: that I did not.

ABBOT--We are glad to have learned that.

LOUIS-- Delighted.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Humph!
And you don't wish to know where I have been?

ABBOT--'Tis immaterial.

FATHER BENEDICT-- That is another proof
You envy me. First, you conceal from me
That which you feared would blow my name abroad;
And now you fear to hear where I have been
Because from what you know of me you know
Whatever comes I meet events as friends,
And never sally out but I return
With spoil, and that stirs up the green in you.
Now I will tell it though the heavens fall.
Old Hartzel's dead.

ABBOT-- I find no joy in that.

FATHER BENEDICT--Of course, you don't.

RENE--(_Calling across the court._) Old Hartzel's dead!

BASIL--(_Under his breath._) Thank God!

(_The monks upon the chapel steps and others
sitting about upon the benches start up and
gather forward._)

FATHER BENEDICT--You don't think I told that to give you joy?

ABBOT--It matters nothing to me in either case.

FATHER BENEDICT--But this will matter something. Listen now.

(_Leaning over and speaking in the Abbot's ear_.)

I get his forty neat and all the land
Between the river and the raddle-hedge
South of the village, with the acreage
Of tilth and vines that fronts the rising sun
Near the White Torrent. Does _that_ give you joy?

(_He strikes the ass with the switch and starts
left._)

BASIL--(_Aloud._) Thank _God!_

ABBOT--(_Lifting his hand._) This is the work of Benedict.

FATHER BENEDICT--(_Stopping._) You mean that as reproach?

ABBOT--I simply mean
We had no hand in this; the glory is yours.

FATHER BENEDICT--Come with me.

(_He rides on toward the gate. The Abbot walks
beside him. Louis, behind, where he cannot
be seen, follows them. The bell rings and
the monks move toward the chapel and enter,
leaving the court bare._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- You remember, I suppose,
As we clashed spears a while ago I said
The abbey here was a goblet, and you a saint.
I might say that I spoke in irony,
But that would not be nice.

ABBOT-- And you said, too,
Something about an angel with a cask.

FATHER BENEDICT--That is a cut at me. I recollect.
I said that I would fill your cup.

ABBOT-- Proceed.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Leaning over._)
Of this estate you get one cow. You hear?
That's a fine liquor, eh, Father? (_To the ass._) Come up.

(_Pierre comes from the dormitory and crosses the
court toward the chapel._)

You are an old man and your work is done.
You may retire now and live on milk.
'Twill nourish that great intellect of yours.

LOUIS-- (_Under his breath._)
As well as anything that you could give.

ABBOT--I welcome anything that can do that.

FATHER BENEDICT--If it be heathen.

ABBOT-- Benedict, before you came
Louis and I were talking of the things
That late have happened.

FATHER BENEDICT-- The dream.

ABBOT-- Oswald's fall
And his unnatural rescue from the gulch.

FATHER BENEDICT--'Twas _super_natural, not _un_natural.

ABBOT--A nice discrimination, Benedict.
I do not see as you do. You were trained
By masters who, no doubt, had they heard this
Distinction, would have said: "_Benissime!_"

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Superciliously._)
Well done is _optime._

ABBOT--(_With mock humility._) Just so--just so--
My master would have said--yes, _optime._
A boon it is that words cannot change things.

(_Pierre, who has climbed the steps slowly,
listening the while, enters the chapel._)

FATHER BENEDICT--You feared that I would shrink to play my part?

ABBOT--We feared if you should learn what your part is--

FATHER BENEDICT--That I would shrink?

ABBOT-- If you should learn your part.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Getting angry._)
You feared that I would shrink?

ABBOT--(_Hesitatingly._) W-e-l-l--

FATHER BENEDICT-- _Say_ it.

ABBOT-- Yes.

FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Shaking his finger._)
Deep in your heart you wish I would, old man.
'Twould fill your soul with joy. But mark you this:
To give you joy is not my destiny.

(_He rides out through the gate._)

ABBOT--Your destiny, Benedict, is in God's hand.

FATHER BENEDICT--Thank God it's not in yours. (_A pause._)

ABBOT-- You must go down.
Oswald, by noon, will have finished up his work.
Stay with him till he does, then bring him back.

LOUIS--If I go now, though, Benedict will suspect
Something is up.

(_The Abbot goes toward the steps, Louis half
following him._)

As it is, he does not know
That Oswald has returned to work. (_A pause._) Besides,
After his long, hard ride he will want rest.
He will not go near the church. (_A pause._)
What do you say? (_A pause._)
I will go after service.

ABBOT-- (_After a pause_.) Very well.

(_He enters the chapel, followed by Louis._)

_SCENE THREE--A street in the village showing a low thatched
cottage with a door made accessible by steps. To the left
of the door is a small square open window, on the sill of
which are garden plants and pots of winter flowers put
there to get the morning sun. In the corner of the yard,
right, is a well with an old wooden wheel high up on posts.
At the end of the chain hanging from it is a bucket from
which water is leaking back into the well._

_Madam Valmy, the country-woman who has just come to town and
who has a basket upon her arm, has stopped before the house
and is looking intently left._

MADAM VALMY--Aunt Rachel!

A VOICE--(_Back in the house._) Yes.

MADAM VALMY--(_After a pause._) O auntie!

THE VOICE-- Yes, child, yes.
I get this dough off. Rosa!

(_From the right, Madam Bacqueur enters. She is
bareheaded and carries a child in her arms._)

MADAM BACQUEUR-- Every day
Some dark deed sends a shudder through all hearts.
Who is it this time?

MADAM VALMY-- No one seems to know.
It happened on the mountain, Rosa said.

MADAM BACQUEUR--I wonder if Father Benedict has returned?

MADAM VALMY--Returned from where?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- He rode away last night
Into the mountains. I do hope and pray--

(_They stand looking left. From the right, Hugh
Capet enters hurriedly. Reaching over the
fence to the well he swings the bucket to his
mouth._)

You know so many strange and evil things
Have happened lately. Just a week ago
Old mother Sar was palsied. Then young Foy,
In the dead of night, saw witch-fire on the heath.
Next day two cows, their udders drizzling blood,
Ran snorting down the road into the wood,
And all the village curs that ventured out
Came yelping to their kennels cramped with fear
As though the devils chased them.

MADAM VALMY-- Did you ever!

MADAM BACQUEUR-- (To Hugh Capet who hurries out, left.)
You will come back and tell us what it is?

HUGH CAPET--That all depends, Madam, that all depends.

MADAM BACQUEUR--Indeed they did. And that's not all. Thursday
A black stone fell from heaven. Father said
It was a challenge. And that very night
Occurred a wonder during complines. Yes,
The golden chalices in the church took fire
And circled round the altar. Blood appeared
On Father's hands, and while all sat amazed,
Looking to see him caught away to heaven,
A snow-white dove flew through the trancept wall,
The Holy Spirit, Father says. You know
The canvass that they keep covering the cross
That Oswald carves, round that it whisked and moaned,
And Rachel says she heard the voice of Christ
Under the canvass: "It will not be done."
Meaning the cross, I thought; but Father says:
"Maybe it means God's will will not be done,"
And so it proved. Disaster came at dawn.
Pierre, the sacristan of good St. Giles,
Brought the news down to Father Benedict.
But you have heard of the great miracle? No?
And all the world has heard of it?

MADAM VALMY-- You know
I have not been to town since Sunday week.

MADAM BACQUEUR--Oh, angels have fluttered down on us since then!
And will again, so Father says. La me!
I tell you, Madam Valmy, if any grave
In the churchyard there had jumped a horrid ghost
To stalk the moonlight in a rotten shroud,
There'd be less stir among the village folk.
I know not how it was. It seems they found
The dear monk, Oswald, bruised and bathed with blood,

(_She clasps her child to her heart
passionately._)

Lying before the monastery gate.

MADAM VALMY--Why, Clotilde!

MADAM BACQUEUR-- Yes, indeed. And _that's_ not all.
To think we slept through all of it! To think
We did not wake and cry out, "God is here!"
And then run up and down and ring the bells.
Oh, expectation kindles every bush
For our Lord's coming.

MADAM VALMY-- What?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- Oh, everything!
How wonderful are mountains angels' feet
Have trodden on! How beautiful the air!
Oh, everything seems different to me now.
I half expect to see the stone put forth
A human face and speak to me of God.
Dear Madam Valmy, trees are not really trees.
As Father says, all things have passed away,
And with the miracle the other night
Our Lord begins his reign upon the earth.
For hours I sit and look in my child's face
And wonder if he sees.

MADAM VALMY-- What?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- (_Holding up her child._)
Fire! fire!
O child, child, see the fields, the glory--

A VOICE--(_To the right._) Fire?

JULES BACQUEUR-- (_Entering._)
Where is the fire?

MADAM VALMY--The crowd, you see.

JULES BACQUEUR-- Whose house?

MADAM VALMY--Rosa ran in and said some one was hurt.

MADAM BACQUEUR--Don't you go with them, husband.

(_The smith goes out, left._)

Jardin's been
Trying to get the men to storm the heights
And kill the heathen and the witch.

THE VOICE--(_Back in the house._) Rosa!

MADAM VALMY--She is not here. And he is still alive?

MADAM BACQUEUR--There's not a night since the dear brother fell
But what I've heard her on the roof.

MADAM VALMY-- Clotilde!

MADAM BACQUEUR--But oh, the Holy Ghost was with him. Yes,
His staff they found next morning and his hood--
Thank God for that--they found his hood and staff
Down in the gorge, full forty feet below
The mountain road.

MADAM VALMY-- Not over the steep gray bluff!

MADAM BACQUEUR--Think of a fall like that! At break of day
They found him at the monastery gate
Unconscious, carried there by unseen hands--

MADAM VALMY--What!

MADAM BACQUEUR-- Yes, indeed. And those who found him saw
Archangels sitting on the mountain tops
With golden shields, and there were sounds of war
Far off as they were fighting in the clouds;
Driving the witches off to hell, no doubt.

MADAM VALMY--On _these_ mountains?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- And even _that's_ not all.

MADAM VALMY-- (_Putting her arms about her._)
Dear Madam Bacqueur.

MADAM BACQUEUR-- I get so dizzy.
You must have Rachel tell you. I won't fall.

(_She takes hold of the fence._)

Such wonders and such cures and things to come.
I dare not think of much less speak of that.
Such brilliance, la! You should see Father's face
How it lightens when he speaks of it. His eyes
Look far away across the glory fields.
"Bretheren, this miracle is but the blossom
Whose fruit shall fall in fire upon the world.
Pray, all of you, that you may be perpared."

MADAM VALMY--For what?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- (_Catching her breath._)
I am afraid I--

MADAM VALMY-- Don't try, then.

MADAM BACQUEUR--There is a glory far off in the air.
Father has seen it and his eyes are bright.
_So_ bright. Rachel will tell you. Or it may be
He sees the pilgrims that shall gather here.
This morning Marie heard two brothers say
There's sure to be a shrine where Oswald fell.
Think of it, Madam Valmy, these streets thronged
With holy men that live beyond the sea.
I never even thought to pray for that.
God does all things so easily, though. And--
And all for his dear sake. But I don't know.
The Scriptures say Satan shall be let loose.

MADAM VALMY--The shrine? Indeed I do.
In the last days; in these days, then. Do you?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- How good of you!
You always did have so much faith.

MADAM VALMY-- You know
The day your child was christened--

MADAM BACQUEUR-- Oh, how true!
How like a star his _name_ will shine!

MADAM VALMY-- I now
Predict again. He'll be a saint.

MADAM BACQUEUR-- (_In utter amazement._)
A--

MADAM VALMY-- Saint.

MADAM BACQUEUR--You think he will? Oh, do you, Madam Valmy?
Do you, indeed? Oh, think of what that means
To little Oswald here! To wear a name
A blessed saint hath worn and given him
With his own lips at the baptismal font;
To see a white hand beckon from the sky
And hear forever in each vesper chime
A saint's clear voice calling his soul to come
And flower out beneath the holy bells.
Oh, think, Fidele, some day when he is old
And in his cloister yonder on the mountain,
When the dear brothers gathered after prayer
Shall talk of holy things, and one shall say:
"My father fought with Montfort in the wars";
Another: "I have seen St. Bavon's tree";
And some old palmer who hath seen all shrines
Shall tell of Subiaco and the thorns
Of good St. Benedict, my boy can say:
"I grew to manhood in the little town
Down in the valley. I have never been
Beyond the mountains, but each day have heard,
Morning and night, St. Giles' dewy bells
Ring from these towers the twilight hour of prayer,
Yet was I favored. When they christened me"--
Oh, I can see them wonder at him then,
And press about him.--"When they christened me
St. Oswald stood god-father at the font
And blessed me with his hands upon my head,
Blessed me and said: 'The Virgin keep this child.'
A neighbor said his face shone like a star,
He was so full of glory. And the night,
The night the angels brought him from the gorge
And laid him here before the abbey gate,
He wore the holy hood my mother made.
They keep it yet inside the sacred chest,
There in the chapel." (_Faint shouts far to the left._)
I am so afraid
Jules will go with them. Would you mind if I--

(_The cottage door opens._)

Have Rachel tell you of that awful dream.

(_She goes out, left. With a staff in one hand and
screening her eyes with the other, old Rachel
comes sidling down the steps. Madam Valmy
sets her basket over the fence._)

RACHEL--Clotilde? Marie? Oh, it's Fidele! Why, child,
When did you come to town?

MADAM VALMY-- (_Taking Rachel by the hand._)
There's some one hurt.

RACHEL--_Fidele!_ You frighten me. That horrid word!
Who is it?

MADAM VALMY--The crowd.

RACHEL-- Where?

MADAM VALMY-- Down by the church.

RACHEL--Those heathen dogs. Are they in town? I fear--

(_They go out, left._)

_SCENE FOUR--Before the church which stands about twenty
feet back from the street. Low stone fences on either side
project in to its corners and form with its front three
sides of a hexagon. To the right, in a higher fence, also
of stone, which runs parallel with the street, is an iron_
_gate, overgrown with vines, leading into the churchyard._
_Between the palings can be seen white crosses marking the
graves. In the corners, just where the fences start in_
_toward the church, stand Lombardy poplars in full foliage,_
_one on either side. The church is built of rough stone,_
_with irregular seams of white mortar. In the center is_
_an arched doorway and beside it two false windows almost_
_covered with ivy. High up over the door is seen the lower
part of a narrow louvre window with several long straws,
which the birds have carried there, hanging down from
between the slats._

_In the open space before the church, a crowd is gathered._
_Upon the steps with his back to the door stands Jardin,_
_the Bailiff. He wears a sleeveless hauberk wrought of_
_chain, and upon his head a heavy open helmet. Some_
_distance to the right, upon a step lower down, Jacques
Sar, wearing a leather corselet and a cap of wolf skin, is
leaning with his right hand against the church. His right_
_arm is off near the shoulder. The crowd is made up of men,
for the most part in their working clothes. Some have no
hats on. Among the latter is Hugh Capet, whose red head
is seen far in near the steps. Jules Bacqueur, with his
sleeves rolled up, stands on the edge of the crowd. Out in
the street to the left, is a group of women. A boy is up in
the poplar tree, right._

_As the Scene progresses, other villagers enter, among them_
_the women of the last Scene._

JARDIN--Was Jardin right last week when comrade's wife

(_With a motion toward old Jacques._)

Fell palsied and he said: "Let's kill the witch;
Next thing she'll strike some brother." Was he right?
Was he? In here is a cross can tell you.
Is the cross done? Can any man say why?
The holy monk that carves it, where is he?
Up yonder on the mountain in his cell,
Nigh unto death. Only the Virgin's hands
That plucked him from the pit can save his life.
And who's to blame? Who is to blame, men? Eh?
You men that shout to sail out to the East
And swell about the neck as vipers do,
Blowing against the Moslems, what do you say
To the heathen on the mountain up there, eh?
Twenty moons and more have risen and set
Since they took up their station 'neath the stars
And, in collusion with the hag of hell,
Shook pestilence and death upon the air.
Planets have knocked and fire has fallen and blood
Has drizzled over all this region. Eh?
What do you think our Lord thinks of these things?
Rescue the mountains; they are His Sepulcher.
You want to see Golgotha? _There_ it is.
A mountain with a heretic on its peak
Is like a spear thrusting a bitter sop
Up to our Lord's lips even in heaven. You men
Who see the sop and leave it there are Jews.

HUGH CAPET--They're Maccabees.

JARDIN-- As for Jacques Sar and me,
We'll wear these arms--

JACQUES SAR-- Until the Judgment Day.

JARDIN--Till our old bodies rot, or see those peaks
Waved over with the banner of our Lord.
And you think you will live to see that chase.
You know what I would do if I were God?

(_He draws his sword._)

Gabriel should pass over with his sword
And pierce some heart would bow all heads in tears.
Then you would go shouting up the mountains. And
If this keeps up, you mark me what I say,
Crosses will thicken out there on that grass.

(_He points toward the churchyard. A man reaches
out of the crowd and touches him on the leg._)

But eat and sleep, though. Feed your coward hearts.
Then die. And then what? Then the Judgment Day.
And after that, what? Hell.

(_He stoops down and the man talks with him in an
undertone._)

BACQUEUR-- Who is it's dead?

JACQUES SAR--Dead? All of us, he says, an the hag lives.

HUGH CAPET--He's right, too.

MADAM BACQUEUR--(_Entering, right, and hurrying to the_
_women._)

Is it Father Benedict?

JARDIN-- (_Straightening up._)
It was for that that he rode back there. Eh?
Tell them? What for? What good would that do? What
Do they care if the heathen keeps his land?
I see some of you here that yesterday
Was down at Bacqueur's. Do I? Do I see you?
Somehow it seems to me I recollect
Hearing as how old Hulga'd never strike
No man no more since God had saved the monk
And maybe threw her off the cliff herself.
Did any of you hear that? Did you men?
Eh? No one, eh? So Jardin must have dreamed.
Well, in the dream then Jardin seemed to say:
"The hag will strike till we have dragged her down,
Her and her dwarf, Canzler, the big heathen,
And all his kith, and burnt them in the street."

A VOICE--You got him in the church, Jardin?

MADAM BACQUEUR-- La, now!

HUGH CAPET-- Down with him!

JARDIN--Was Jardin right again? Has Hulga struck?
You'd see the ass he rode you'd think she'd struck.
Awhile ago here some one shouted out:
"Who's in the church?" I've got the arrow strung
And now I'll tell you, now I'll let it fly.
The wine train's lost; three of the mules are dead;
Two men were crushed to death; our Lord's dear blood,
Witches have poured out on the mountain rocks.
Now, has she struck? You think she has, eh? Hugh,
What did we tell them? Jacques Sar? Bacqueur? Eh?
Didn't we?

BACQUEUR--How did it happen, Bailiff?

JARDIN--Some one here asked if Canzler was in here.
No. Yes. What if he were or what if he is?
You think I'd tell you and see you fall dead? (_Madam_
_Valmy enters, right, leading old Rachel by the hand._)
One of the muleteers rode in for help.
He only spoke Italian. A friar, though,
Told me his tale. Last night when the train reached
The Devil's Pass--'twas dark; the moon had sunk--Three
withered hell-hags, with the skirring clouds
Flying toward Pampeluna to their sabbath,
Lit on a gray crag. Lightning splintered blue
About them, smells of sulphur rose, and thunder
Clapped the dark rock. The mountain shook. Straightway,
Cries of the men rang out. The leaders crashed,
Dumb-smitted with horror, mules and packs and all,
Down through the chaparral to the gowle below.
The witches vanished. All the Pass was still
Save through the night the golden chalices
Clinking far down the scaur. Then on a sudden

(_Rosa, excited, runs in, right, and hurries to the
women._)

The grisly hags, crooning a wild song, rose
Tossing the golden cups up in the air,
And like a strip of mist went down the wind
Toward Pampeluna. What is the matter, women?

A MAN--They say the hag's in town.

ROSA--(_In an underbreath._) Sigurd.

MADAM BACQUEUR-- The dwarf.

THE MAN--They say the dwarf's in town.

JARDIN--(_Deeply moved._) Men,--!

THE BOY--(_Up in the tree craning his neck._) I see him!
Yonder he is by the bridge. He's got something
Shining in his hand.

JARDIN---(_His face paling._) What was it the hunter saw
In his dream, men? What was it that roused the dogs--
The heathen dogs to chase the brother?

HUGH CAPET-- Blood.

JARDIN-- (_Feeling the tip of his sword._)
To-day God stains the trail.

A SHOUT-- Down with him!

JARDIN-- Wait.

THE BOY--See it! See it flash! It's a dagger!

JARDIN-- Men!

JACQUES SAR-- Men!

A SHOUT--Come on, men!

JARDIN-- Stop them, Bacqueur! Knock them down!
Bring those fools back.

(_Hugh Capet, out in the street, waves with his
arm. The men who rushed out, right, return
sulky._)

ONE OF THEM--Who is the coward now?

ANOTHER--Hush, Noel.

ANOTHER-- Let's have no trouble, men.

JARDIN-- Silence!

FIRST MAN--'Cause we ain't seen the wars--

SEVERAL-- Be quiet, Noel.

JARDIN--Is that the way you fowlers take your birds,
Rush out and throw the net before their eyes?
Is it? And when the wolves prowl for your lambs,
You raise a shout before you stretch the string,
Do you? Here's Jacques. You think he'd have this cap
If he had yelled to the brute, "Watch for your skin,"
And rushed on him waving a club? Do you?
Eh? If you do, I tell you Jardin don't;
'N I reckon Jardin's seen a wolf or two.
This dwarf of Hulga's, you don't think he's sly,
Do you? Eh? Well, he is, sly as a newt.
You touch the stones once and you'll see him gone.
What's to be done, then? Listen to Jardin:
Deploy. You don't know what that means, do you?
Some of you here are burning for the East
To fight the Moslems. Just cry: "Allah-ho!"
And then rush on them, will you? Turks, ain't they?

JACQUES SAR--Right.

JARDIN-- Listen, men; I'll tell you what it means.
You've seen the falcon 'fore she strikes the hern
Open her talons, ain't you? That's deploy.
Well, then we'll open ours. Three of you fellows
Skirt the ford yonder and shut off retreat
To the cave. There's one claw open. Halt, men.
Then two detachments--Here, attention, men;
Wait for your orders.--Then two squads of three
March up that way-- (_He points left._)
and when you strike the hedge,
Right! left! one along the wold; the other
Down through the waddy; each to the river.
Then we've got him flanked. There's three claws open
And the bird is ours. Now listen. Listen men.
You men that mean to cut off his retreat,
Take spears. He'll squawk we pinch him, and the old hen,
Hearing her chick, will swoop down from the rocks.
Then's your chance; stick her.

JACQUES SAR-- Mine!

HUGH CAPET-- Let Jacques have her.

JACQUES SAR--I'll fetch her head back home to mother Sar.

(_He and the Bailiff come down into the crowd._)

A VOICE--What if the heathen charge down on us?

HUGH CAPET-- Bah!

JARDIN--You think he'd leave that peak for all the world?

HUGH CAPET--After what's happened?

JACQUES SAR-- After this shower of blood?

BACQUEUR--From that black planet came the thunder stone
That tore the field back there.

HUGH CAPET-- You think he would?

JARDIN--Now hear what Jardin says. If he could ask,
For what he suffered in the Holy Wars,
Two gifts of Heaven, and two strong saints should soar
Past the green steeples of these poplars here
And fold their white wings in that street and say:
"Soldier, what are they?" What would Jardin say?
First this: (_He steps back upon the steps._)
Up yonder is a holy monk
Whom God has blessed above all living men.
Abaddon hurled him down to take his life.
He's bruised almost to death. Saints, bring him down.
We're going to kindle such a fire here
As friends of darkness, glowering from the caves,
Shall see and then scoot shuddering to Hell.

(_The crowd shouts._)

Bring him down, then, and let him see the flames
Lick up the limbs that tripped him.

JACQUES SAR-- Right.

BACQUEUR-- You're right.

HUGH CAPET--Let's bring him down!

SHOUTS-- Right! Bring him! Bring him down!

JARDIN--Here, men, put on those caps. You think you're saints?
If you can fly through air, why bring him down;
You can't, then hush and hear what Jardin says.
First then I'd say: "Bring down the monk." Then this:
There's a big fellow on the mountain tops
What calls Thor Father, spitting at our Lord.
And in the dawn when Christians gather here
To holy mass he stands upon the peaks
And scowls upon the bells. He and the witch
Are brain and bowels to some heathen god
Whose dark hand works at night beneath the hills
Sapping the towers of Christ. Saints, send him down.
Tell him to strap his big old martel on him.
He comes down here he'll feel a damaskin
That's sliced the Turks and choked the gates of hell
With ghosts of Allah, and another'll go
Bloody and hot to Thor. (_Shouts._)
Send him down, saints.
Some one here says, "If Canzler comes, what then?"
He'll die. Who'll do it? Listen: Jardin will.

(_He comes down into the crowd that surges and
clamors about him._)

Line up! (_He chooses nine men, whom he arranges in squads of three._)

A MAN-- (_In the first squad._)
About those spears.

JARDIN--Stop at the armory.

(_He produces a great key._)

You know your orders, do you?

A CHORUS--We do.

JARDIN--Jacques.

LEAD.

(_He hands the key to the old man, who puts
himself at the head of the first squad._)

Bacqueur.

MADAM BACQUEUR--No, no.

JARDIN--Capet.

(_The two men put themselves at the head of the
second and third squads._)

JARDIN--March!

MADAM BACQUEUR--(_Holding out her child._) Husband!

(_They pass out, left. Madam Bacqueur looks after
them for a while, then lifts her skirt to her
eyes and sobs aloud._)

RACHEL--Where are they going, child?

JARDIN--Line up now, men.
We'll strike the front. Women, pray that the saints
May bring the monk to see this devil burn,
And send the old warlock down. He will breathe hard,
I slit his entrails once and put this foot
On his big chest.

(_As he goes along lining up the men with his
sword, the church door opens and, pale and_
_emaciated, the monk Oswald appears._)

FIDELE--Clotilde! Auntie! Rosa!

THE WOMEN--Look! Look! (_They fall upon their knees._)

JARDIN--What is it, women!

A MAN--Look! Look!

(_The men cross themselves and fall prostrate.
Old Rachel and the Bailiff alone remain
standing._)

RACHEL-- (_Screening her eyes._)
What is it, Rosa?

FIDELE-- Auntie! auntie!

(_She pulls old Rachel to her knees._)

A BREATH--(_Through the crowd._) His ghost!

OSWALD--What is the matter?

(_Upon hearing his voice, old Rachel, who has
continued to stare toward the church, falls
with her face to the ground._)

A MAN--(_In a low voice._) Jardin, speak.

JARDIN-- Father.

OSWALD--What is it? (_A pause._) What is the matter?

JARDIN-- Is that you?

OSWALD--What was that shouting?

(_A silence ensues. The monk puts his palm to
his breast and coughs._)

JARDIN--(_Completing his thought._)--these men aghast here
Calls up to Jardin's mind a night in the wars
When we were storming Acre. The Infidel,
Sallying out, had laid the Lion Heart
Low in the dust. The waves of battle clapped
Over his head. Barred in with dripping spears
Of Turk and Christian, raged the bleeding whelp,
His paws red-clotted in his own hot blood.
Cleaving the gloom, a burst of crimson light
Streamed down the slanting spears and like a prow
Rolled back the waves of war. Between the crests
Of foam-white faces holy St. Augustine
Came walking down the bodies of the dead,
And lifting the Lion, fired him. At once
Rose on the night the planet of his shield
Burning a lane before his falchion fed,
And down the slope into the Turks he swept
Through dropping shields and sabers thrown in air,
A lurid streak of flame. So Jardin now,
Seeing this blessed monk the saints have brought,
Takes fire, and blown with hate of our Lord's foes,
Will lick the crags and leap from peak to peak,
Nor shall the flame go out until the wind
Rain heathen ashes on the pit of hell.

(_Roused by the Bailiff's words, four or five of
the men spring to their feet. The rest rise
slowly and remain mute. Oswald comes down the
steps._)

JARDIN-- (_Knocking the men with his sword._)
Line, line up! (_A man points down the street._)

ANOTHER-- We'll fix him, Father!

ANOTHER--He'll never strike no holy monk again!

ANOTHER--We'll burn the imp!

ANOTHER-- Father shall see to it, too!

(_The Bailiff strikes with his sword. The line
marches right, double-quick._)

OSWALD-- (_Excitedly._)

Stay, men! Lay no rough hands upon the boy.

(_The line halts. The monk puts his palm to his
breast and coughs._)

JARDIN--No rough hands on--?

OSWALD-- The boy has done no harm.
The night I fell--

A MAN-- Here's Father Benedict.

(_They wait in silence._)

FATHER BENEDICT--Ah, brother Oswald!

(_He comes riding in, left. The women bow
reverently; the men bare their heads._)

_Benedicite._
You see my children gathered here about,
How glad they are to see you.

OSWALD-- And I, Father,
To be at work once more.

FATHER BENEDICT-- Praise the Virgin. (_Dismounting._)
You show a Christian spirit coming thus,
Bruised as you are, to do the Master's work.

OSWALD--I promised it should be done to-morrow.

FATHER BENEDICT-- And--?

OSWALD--I have two golden letters to put on.

FATHER BENEDICT--God hath his eye upon our altar cross;
And on you, too, my brother.

OSWALD-- God has been
Good to me.

FATHER BENEDICT--The angels do His will.

OSWALD--And even human hands--

(_He looks down the street._)

FATHER BENEDICT-- 'Twas marvelous.
As I came down I passed the jagged cliff
You tumbled over, and there a while I paused
Entranced, as it were, by unseen Presences.

(_The boy, who climbed down from the tree upon the
arrival of the Priest, leads the ass out,
left._)

The mountains wore a new and hallowed look
In the morning light. I would give half my life
To have stood upon the peaks that night and seen
God's ministers drop shining down the sky
And blaze the gorge. But God works in the dark.
At night His golden ladders are let down
And deeds are done and no man knoweth how.
At dawn we see the severed hills, the seas
Huddled aghast at some vast mountain head
That yesterday lay fathoms in the deep.
So quietly He worketh in the night
That mountain ranges rise and no babe wakes.
Who can say: "Yonder God is"?

OSWALD-- None, Father.