Chapter 11

(The Priest has walked forward at an angle from the tableand stands with his back to the Abbot. Reaching underhis gown, he draws a dark string across his breast andbegins, seemingly, to untie a knot. The Abbot regardshim in silence.)

Will you hear him?Father Benedict—(Gruffly.) Go on.Abbot—No, Benedict; do it dispassionately.You say God hates the proud. So he does. YetWrath is more perilous to a man than pride.For while pride turns a man's face to the sky,'Tis wrath that shoves him where the thunders fall.Father Benedict—(Under his breath.)I'll drop some thunder on you.Abbot— Now, my son,Speak as though angels heard you. 'Tis almostMidnight, and the Sabbath draweth nigh.Oswald—(To the Priest.)Father.Abbot—Do you hear?—He shuts his ears. Proceed.Remembering that truth is God's own bread.He hungers for it.Oswald— Oh, I have not lied!I did not say that Father was a dog.Abbot—I know you have not, Oswald. The three yearsThat you have been here never have been stainedWith pride and falsehood. Those that now malign,God knows where they shall go when the end comes.Oswald—I will explain just how it came about.Then, if you think I have done Father wrong,Tell me and let me do penance for it. I—I will not be here long.Abbot— My son!Oswald— I feelThe darkness gathering round me.Abbot— Don't say that.You will be well again. You will be strongSome day, my son, and many years shall passEre the Lord calls you. Hath he not given proof?A shepherd to you, surely God hath been.Three nights ago at this time, where were you?Lying down in the gorge, and the night windPassed and you knew it not. But God watched there,And sent his servant—for all things serve Him—Andhere you are safe in the fold again.That deed unclasped a volume of bright days.God doth not put his hand forth and lift upAs he hath lifted you, and then cast downEre the knees be straightened. Your tears should fallFor joy, my son, not sorrow. Think how nearYour foot was to the gates of darkness whenGod turned your face around and there flashed outA jeweled finger pointing toward a dawn—Faroff it may be or it may be near—Whenthe last shred of darkness shall vanish.Let those that hound you, fear, for God shall cleaveA chasm in the earth for them; but you—No,no, my son, not darkness, light. God's lightAnd glory from the new JerusalemWill shine upon you on the mountain tops,If dreams are tapers lighting what is to be,As some believe they are.

Will you hear him?

Father Benedict—(Gruffly.) Go on.

Abbot—No, Benedict; do it dispassionately.You say God hates the proud. So he does. YetWrath is more perilous to a man than pride.For while pride turns a man's face to the sky,'Tis wrath that shoves him where the thunders fall.

Father Benedict—(Under his breath.)I'll drop some thunder on you.

Abbot— Now, my son,Speak as though angels heard you. 'Tis almostMidnight, and the Sabbath draweth nigh.

Oswald—(To the Priest.)Father.

Abbot—Do you hear?—He shuts his ears. Proceed.Remembering that truth is God's own bread.He hungers for it.

Oswald— Oh, I have not lied!I did not say that Father was a dog.

Abbot—I know you have not, Oswald. The three yearsThat you have been here never have been stainedWith pride and falsehood. Those that now malign,God knows where they shall go when the end comes.

Oswald—I will explain just how it came about.Then, if you think I have done Father wrong,Tell me and let me do penance for it. I—I will not be here long.

Abbot— My son!

Oswald— I feelThe darkness gathering round me.

Abbot— Don't say that.You will be well again. You will be strongSome day, my son, and many years shall passEre the Lord calls you. Hath he not given proof?A shepherd to you, surely God hath been.Three nights ago at this time, where were you?Lying down in the gorge, and the night windPassed and you knew it not. But God watched there,And sent his servant—for all things serve Him—Andhere you are safe in the fold again.That deed unclasped a volume of bright days.God doth not put his hand forth and lift upAs he hath lifted you, and then cast downEre the knees be straightened. Your tears should fallFor joy, my son, not sorrow. Think how nearYour foot was to the gates of darkness whenGod turned your face around and there flashed outA jeweled finger pointing toward a dawn—Faroff it may be or it may be near—Whenthe last shred of darkness shall vanish.Let those that hound you, fear, for God shall cleaveA chasm in the earth for them; but you—No,no, my son, not darkness, light. God's lightAnd glory from the new JerusalemWill shine upon you on the mountain tops,If dreams are tapers lighting what is to be,As some believe they are.

(The Priest reaches under his gown and takes something inhis right hand, and with the other draws the string fromaround his neck and drops it into his right hand, afterwhich he pulls the sleeve down over it till only theknuckles are visible.)

Therefore, my son,Lift up your face and let white words go forthAnd usher in the Sabbath. Truth in the heartIs fire under water, but on the lipsIt lighteth every man the Way of Life.

(The Priest goes toward the chest near the door.)

Benedict, will you do as Pilate did?Father Benedict—Is he the Lord?Abbot— He is—Father Benedict— Then who are you?Abbot—He is a child of our Lord's.Father Benedict— So am I.Abbot—So you are, Benedict, a full grown child.Father Benedict—Even if I don't pray here

Benedict, will you do as Pilate did?

Father Benedict—Is he the Lord?

Abbot— He is—

Father Benedict— Then who are you?

Abbot—He is a child of our Lord's.

Father Benedict— So am I.

Abbot—So you are, Benedict, a full grown child.

Father Benedict—Even if I don't pray here

(With a disdainful motion toward the priedieu.)

Abbot— A full grown child;Large enough, one would think, to have slain the wolfOf hate in you.

(The Priest takes up the cloak from the chest and begins toput it on.)

Is it the truth you fear?(A pause.)You dare to go out under the open skyWith hatred in your heart, a night like this?(A pause.)If you go now I know the reason why.You fear to lay your heart down here and letThe light shine on it with Oswald's, side by side.Oswald—(To the Abbot.)Father—Father Benedict—(Over his shoulder.)Call a dog Father?Abbot— Benedict,Exasperating beyond word in thisConduct of yours. You come up here as oneWhose honor has been wounded, and you throwYour charge down and when Oswald takes it upTo answer it, you will not hear him, butYou slink away. A travesty on manIs he who has but one ear, and that filledWith his own voice.(Rising.)But I will settle this.

Oswald—(To the Abbot.)Father—

Father Benedict—(Over his shoulder.)Call a dog Father?

Abbot— Benedict,Exasperating beyond word in thisConduct of yours. You come up here as oneWhose honor has been wounded, and you throwYour charge down and when Oswald takes it upTo answer it, you will not hear him, butYou slink away. A travesty on manIs he who has but one ear, and that filledWith his own voice.(Rising.)But I will settle this.

(Lifting his hand.)

My son, I now absolve you from all—Father Benedict—(Turning quickly.)Hold!

My son, I now absolve you from all—

Father Benedict—(Turning quickly.)Hold!

(He pulls his cloak around so as to hide his right hand, thencomes forward.)

Your haste to wash his heart is evidence—Abbot—You tacitly admit your charge is falseBy the eagerness—Father Benedict—What are you talking of?Abbot—Your eagerness to get out in the dark.Father Benedict—Who said that I was going?

Your haste to wash his heart is evidence—

Abbot—You tacitly admit your charge is falseBy the eagerness—

Father Benedict—What are you talking of?

Abbot—Your eagerness to get out in the dark.

Father Benedict—Who said that I was going?

(To Oswald.)

Now then, youLay your heart down under the lamplight here,And I will show a hunch-backed devil in it.Abbot—Tell us, my son, just how it came about.Let truth spring out upon the table armed.

Now then, youLay your heart down under the lamplight here,And I will show a hunch-backed devil in it.

Abbot—Tell us, my son, just how it came about.Let truth spring out upon the table armed.

(He resumes his seat.)

Oswald—When Father spoke this morning of a chase,A stag pursued by hounds and things like that,I simply said that—Father Benedict—"Simplysaid!"Oswald— I said—Father Benedict—I was one of the hounds, the talbot houndThat led the pack.Oswald— Why, Father!Father Benedict—(Advancing toward him.)You say thatA second time, and by the—Abbot— Benedict!Sprinkled with eyes, a wheel of God's own carAttends our brother. You would best beware.You know God hath him circled round aboutWith that that shall uproot the steadfast hills.

Oswald—When Father spoke this morning of a chase,A stag pursued by hounds and things like that,I simply said that—

Father Benedict—"Simplysaid!"

Oswald— I said—

Father Benedict—I was one of the hounds, the talbot houndThat led the pack.

Oswald— Why, Father!

Father Benedict—(Advancing toward him.)You say thatA second time, and by the—

Abbot— Benedict!Sprinkled with eyes, a wheel of God's own carAttends our brother. You would best beware.You know God hath him circled round aboutWith that that shall uproot the steadfast hills.

(Through the door, rear. Louis enters, carrying a flagon anda silver cup, his face showing terror. Seeing thePriest, he stops suddenly as though amazed, then entersslowly.)

Father Benedict—I care not were he nine times circledround,As Hell is, I would—Abbot—(Lifting his hand.)Let me finish. Then,If with eyes open you will venture on,Do it. The night is wild. Heaven hath shaken downMany a pine upon the mountain tops,And steeples too, no doubt, and towns, who knows?No man can tell what dawn shall look on. EvenThis house of God—Hark how the thunders break!The winds are playing havoc with the worldAnd Order frightened hath plunged into the sea.Louis—The southern gable has been blown down.Abbot—(After a look of surprise.) AndThrice in the mossed chapel tower the bellHath rung, and no hand touched it; as it wereA tocsin to alarm the world that HellHath landed. Though the seas be blown awayAnd the everlasting hills be tumbled down,In summer calmness still the soul of manStands like a fortress, sure against assaultAnd terrible as a gorgon's head to Hell,And adamant to all her engines. ButLet wrath break out inside, and crash! the gatesAre down.Father Benedict—(Tapping himself upon his breast.)And Hell comes in.Abbot— And Hell goes inAnd ravins there.Father Benedict—In me.Abbot— The lightning hathNo power to strike a tree while the blue skyBends over it. But let the wrath of HellBuild up a cloud and fire it, and the treeFalls shattered. But God calls the cloud awayAnd His winds blow it into nothingness.Father Benedict—The tree is—?Abbot— Oswald there. He stands secure.Father Benedict—And the cloud—?Abbot— You. You blacken over himAnd, charged with passion, make an atmosphereOf sulphur and in it, as in native air,Hell slips her flame and the trunk tumbles downTo darkness. But God calls the cloud awayTo judgment, and its shadow is seen no more.If you will venture further in your wrath,Do it, for I have done. (A pause.) Very well, then.You may resume, my—Oswald— I will undergoWhatever ordeal Father may suggest;Will walk hot irons or put my hand in fireOr anything.Abbot— You hear that, Benedict?Father Benedict—He knows the Pope has banned the ordeal.

Father Benedict—I care not were he nine times circledround,As Hell is, I would—

Abbot—(Lifting his hand.)Let me finish. Then,If with eyes open you will venture on,Do it. The night is wild. Heaven hath shaken downMany a pine upon the mountain tops,And steeples too, no doubt, and towns, who knows?No man can tell what dawn shall look on. EvenThis house of God—Hark how the thunders break!The winds are playing havoc with the worldAnd Order frightened hath plunged into the sea.

Louis—The southern gable has been blown down.

Abbot—(After a look of surprise.) AndThrice in the mossed chapel tower the bellHath rung, and no hand touched it; as it wereA tocsin to alarm the world that HellHath landed. Though the seas be blown awayAnd the everlasting hills be tumbled down,In summer calmness still the soul of manStands like a fortress, sure against assaultAnd terrible as a gorgon's head to Hell,And adamant to all her engines. ButLet wrath break out inside, and crash! the gatesAre down.

Father Benedict—(Tapping himself upon his breast.)And Hell comes in.

Abbot— And Hell goes inAnd ravins there.

Father Benedict—In me.

Abbot— The lightning hathNo power to strike a tree while the blue skyBends over it. But let the wrath of HellBuild up a cloud and fire it, and the treeFalls shattered. But God calls the cloud awayAnd His winds blow it into nothingness.

Father Benedict—The tree is—?

Abbot— Oswald there. He stands secure.

Father Benedict—And the cloud—?

Abbot— You. You blacken over himAnd, charged with passion, make an atmosphereOf sulphur and in it, as in native air,Hell slips her flame and the trunk tumbles downTo darkness. But God calls the cloud awayTo judgment, and its shadow is seen no more.If you will venture further in your wrath,Do it, for I have done. (A pause.) Very well, then.You may resume, my—

Oswald— I will undergoWhatever ordeal Father may suggest;Will walk hot irons or put my hand in fireOr anything.

Abbot— You hear that, Benedict?

Father Benedict—He knows the Pope has banned the ordeal.

(To Oswald with scorn.)

Brave!Oswald—I call the saints—Father Benedict—(To Louis.)Do I look like a hound?Oswald—I said youspokeas those that hunt—Father Benedict— By thatMeaning that I should tarre them on him.Oswald—(With a puzzled look.) OnMe?Abbot—How did you come to say it, Oswald?Oswald—I grew up, Father, in a forest whereMen used to hunt, and I have often satIn winter round their fires and heard them tellTales of the chase. And so when Father spokeOf a chase my mind went back—Abbot— Did you say thisAfter he told you of the hunter's dream?Oswald—Dream?Father Benedict—Itold? I did not tell him.

Brave!

Oswald—I call the saints—

Father Benedict—(To Louis.)Do I look like a hound?

Oswald—I said youspokeas those that hunt—

Father Benedict— By thatMeaning that I should tarre them on him.

Oswald—(With a puzzled look.) OnMe?

Abbot—How did you come to say it, Oswald?

Oswald—I grew up, Father, in a forest whereMen used to hunt, and I have often satIn winter round their fires and heard them tellTales of the chase. And so when Father spokeOf a chase my mind went back—

Abbot— Did you say thisAfter he told you of the hunter's dream?

Oswald—Dream?

Father Benedict—Itold? I did not tell him.

(Instantly the Abbot frowns silence at the Priest.)

Speak out.Abbot—Non somnium venatoris.—Oswald— What dream?Priest—(Contemptuously.)As if he did not know it!Abbot—(Agitated.)Ne—ne dic!Non scit somnium.Priest—(Opening wide his eyes.)That's the trick, then!I'm to believe that, am I?Oswald— Father, what—?Father Benedict—I'll tell you what. The hunter—Abbot— Benedict!Father Benedict—If he don't know the dream, I'll tell him.Macias saw a pack of—Abbot—(Striking the table.) Will you stop?Eum ad insaniam adiges.Father Benedict—Let it drive him mad.

Speak out.

Abbot—Non somnium venatoris.—

Oswald— What dream?

Priest—(Contemptuously.)As if he did not know it!

Abbot—(Agitated.)Ne—ne dic!Non scit somnium.

Priest—(Opening wide his eyes.)That's the trick, then!I'm to believe that, am I?

Oswald— Father, what—?

Father Benedict—I'll tell you what. The hunter—

Abbot— Benedict!

Father Benedict—If he don't know the dream, I'll tell him.Macias saw a pack of—

Abbot—(Striking the table.) Will you stop?Eum ad insaniam adiges.

Father Benedict—Let it drive him mad.

(As though provoked beyond expression, the Abbot passeshis hand across his brow and casts a scornful glance towardthe Priest.)

Abbot— Oswald, you go backInto your cloister.Oswald— Drive who mad, Father?Father Benedict—You. The hunter saw the furioushounds of HellChasing you up a mountain, while a storm—Abbot—Benedict, God's curse—Father Benedict— On his enemies?Abbot— On—Father Benedict—(Stretching out his right arm.)On those that aid them?Abbot— Yes, and on—Father Benedict— Him, then.

Abbot— Oswald, you go backInto your cloister.

Oswald— Drive who mad, Father?

Father Benedict—You. The hunter saw the furioushounds of HellChasing you up a mountain, while a storm—

Abbot—Benedict, God's curse—

Father Benedict— On his enemies?

Abbot— On—

Father Benedict—(Stretching out his right arm.)On those that aid them?

Abbot— Yes, and on—

Father Benedict— Him, then.

(From his right hand he drops the silver crucifix and, withthe forefinger of his left, points at Oswald. The latterstarts, shrinking in terror from the curse. The Abbotand Louis, dumbfounded, stare wide-eyed at the crucifixwhich dangles from its cord about the Priest's finger.The latter, after regarding with an expression oftriumph the astonishment of the Abbot, lets the crucifixfall to the table and, reaching across to the other side,pulls the flagon over to himself and proceeds to pourout a cup of wine.)

You're a smart set. You've wormed your way aroundTo let him out of calling me a dog;Now let him out of that. You've made it seem—

(He sips the wine.)

Abbot—Where did you find it?Father Benedict— To yourselves, no doubt,That he was ignorant of the dream when heInsinuated that I led the packThat chased him.

Abbot—Where did you find it?

Father Benedict— To yourselves, no doubt,That he was ignorant of the dream when heInsinuated that I led the packThat chased him.

(After a sip of wine.)

Or would lead it.Abbot— Where did youFind it?Father Benedict—Where do you suppose?Louis— In the brook?Father Benedict—A cauldron of hell-broth would benearer it. And you?(The Abbot shakes his head.)On his best-beloved.Louis— On Pierre?Father Benedict— On the dwarf.(He drinks.)Wages for his services, I suppose.

Or would lead it.

Abbot— Where did youFind it?

Father Benedict—Where do you suppose?

Louis— In the brook?

Father Benedict—A cauldron of hell-broth would benearer it. And you?(The Abbot shakes his head.)On his best-beloved.

Louis— On Pierre?

Father Benedict— On the dwarf.(He drinks.)Wages for his services, I suppose.

(While the Priest drains the cup, the Abbot nods to Louis,who steps quickly toward Oswald as if to hurry him out.)

Father Benedict—Hold up! You let him stay.Oswald—(Excitedly.) You had no right—Father Benedict—(Lifting his hand.)It's my turn to explain.(He begins to fill the cup.)Abbot— Oswald, retire.Oswald—I want to clear myself.Father Benedict—Clear!Let him stay.

Father Benedict—Hold up! You let him stay.

Oswald—(Excitedly.) You had no right—

Father Benedict—(Lifting his hand.)It's my turn to explain.(He begins to fill the cup.)

Abbot— Oswald, retire.

Oswald—I want to clear myself.

Father Benedict—Clear!Let him stay.

(Cup in hand, to the Abbot.)

After your pretty speech this morning I,Reaching the village, found your monk, here, andJardin at swords' points. Some one had espiedThe dwarf, it seems, in town. And the people,Remembering what he did the other night,Shouted, and the Bailiff's voice rang loudFor vengeance.Oswald— But 'twas the boy—Louis— You be still.Father Benedict—Jardin proposed that they should burn him. HeOpposed it, fought it, he did. Just then IRode in. Jardin appealed to me, and IUrged them to seize the devil. Then it wasThis upstart here let loose his venomous,Vile, hell-suggested intimation thatI had turned hound.Oswald— I did not—Father Benedict— Not a word.The upshot of it all was—Ah, but GodWill pour his wrath out on your head for this!In view of what then happened, I now callThis night, this midnight hour, and wake up GodTo witness that these mountains shall be clearedOf heathen; that the dews of heaven shall fallBaptizing bodies of the unbaptizedStiff among the wild-flowers. For this young week,That in this storm hath stepped upon the world,Shall see a storm more terrible than thisOn mountain tops uprooting human treesAnd choking Death and Hell and Darkness.Or let the infant Sabbath, born this hour,Put not a foot on earth, but like a birdWander upon the winds, and in the darkGrope for the morning star and find it not.Let the gates of the morning be shut and let no bellWake up the world, unless it wake to seeDeath ravining on the mountains and white FaithPainting her banners there in heathen blood.But Mercy shall be shut up in the caves,For this accursed deed shall be tracked down,And Vengeance ranging like a wild beast—Thou,Above these maddening winds that wreck this world,Hear me,hear me, HEAR ME. Thou in heaven!

Oswald— But 'twas the boy—

Louis— You be still.

Father Benedict—Jardin proposed that they should burn him. HeOpposed it, fought it, he did. Just then IRode in. Jardin appealed to me, and IUrged them to seize the devil. Then it wasThis upstart here let loose his venomous,Vile, hell-suggested intimation thatI had turned hound.

Oswald— I did not—

Father Benedict— Not a word.The upshot of it all was—Ah, but GodWill pour his wrath out on your head for this!In view of what then happened, I now callThis night, this midnight hour, and wake up GodTo witness that these mountains shall be clearedOf heathen; that the dews of heaven shall fallBaptizing bodies of the unbaptizedStiff among the wild-flowers. For this young week,That in this storm hath stepped upon the world,Shall see a storm more terrible than thisOn mountain tops uprooting human treesAnd choking Death and Hell and Darkness.Or let the infant Sabbath, born this hour,Put not a foot on earth, but like a birdWander upon the winds, and in the darkGrope for the morning star and find it not.Let the gates of the morning be shut and let no bellWake up the world, unless it wake to seeDeath ravining on the mountains and white FaithPainting her banners there in heathen blood.But Mercy shall be shut up in the caves,For this accursed deed shall be tracked down,And Vengeance ranging like a wild beast—Thou,Above these maddening winds that wreck this world,Hear me,hear me, HEAR ME. Thou in heaven!

(Out of breath.)

And you—and you who caused all this, may God—Abbot—Benedict!Father Benedict—But let God have his—(He swallows the wine.) His will.And he will have it, mark you that, young man.

And you—and you who caused all this, may God—

Abbot—Benedict!

Father Benedict—But let God have his—

(He swallows the wine.) His will.And he will have it, mark you that, young man.

(To the Abbot.)

Strange are the ways God hath of rousing upThe slothful to a work he long since laidUpon the world and the world shirked it. ButIt shall be done now,it shall be done now.If for three years the heathen on the heightsHave served their idols, in less than three daysTheir idols and themselves shall be in Hell.Lead the chase yonder, Father, lead it there!Beneaththemshake the mountains. Let this handStrike for Thee there, and serve Thee, striking them,That this accursed deed may smell no more,A putrid carcass rotting under heaven.This is how God hath roused us up at last.

(He drains the cup and sets it down.)

My people armed with vengeance had swung downAnd reached the bridge, and Jardin, valiant man,Soldier of God, Knight Templar of the Cross,Who in the heathen land fought for ten yearsTo stamp out Satan, even in his old ageA furnace burning with the breath of GodAnd firing those about him to the workOf ridding these mountains of the heathen, he—MayGod reward him for it in the worldWithout end, Amen—he had grabbed the dwarfTo drag him off and burn him—Oswald— It was wrong—Father Benedict—His blood is on your hands.Oswald—(Frantically.) You murdered him!You had no cause to kill him.Father Benedict—I!. Hear that.Oswald—The boy had done no harm. The night I fell'Twas he who—Louis—(Seizing him.) Will you hush?Abbot—(White with fear.) Oswald, retire.Your fever—you're excited. (Rising.) Benedict,Don't press this matter further—now.Father Benedict—(Bewildered.) Theboy!Abbot—Louis, take him—Father Benedict— No cause to kill theboy!Oswald—He—Louis— Father has forbidden it.Father Benedict— Um-hm!I think I see—I think—I think I see.Abbot—What?Father Benedict—So he told you it was the dwarf, eh?Louis—

Oswald— It was wrong—

Father Benedict—His blood is on your hands.

Oswald—(Frantically.) You murdered him!You had no cause to kill him.

Father Benedict—I!. Hear that.

Oswald—The boy had done no harm. The night I fell'Twas he who—

Louis—(Seizing him.) Will you hush?

Abbot—(White with fear.) Oswald, retire.Your fever—you're excited. (Rising.) Benedict,Don't press this matter further—now.

Father Benedict—(Bewildered.) Theboy!

Abbot—Louis, take him—

Father Benedict— No cause to kill theboy!

Oswald—He—

Louis— Father has forbidden it.

Father Benedict— Um-hm!I think I see—I think—I think I see.

Abbot—What?

Father Benedict—So he told you it was the dwarf, eh?

Louis—

(All the while shoving Oswald toward the reardoor.)

Just his imagination Father. I—I was the one who found him at the gate.He knew no more about it than a stone.'Twas night; the stars were shooting in the—Father Benedict— When?Louis—When he was brought up. Why he—Abbot—(Quickly.) Louis!(Searching the Priest's face.) You askedIf he told us—?Father Benedict—It was the dwarf was killed.Abbot—He told us that you had burned him.Father Benedict—(Fiercely to Oswald.) God shall burnYou, griffon, son of Tophet, damned thing!

Just his imagination Father. I—I was the one who found him at the gate.He knew no more about it than a stone.'Twas night; the stars were shooting in the—

Father Benedict— When?

Louis—When he was brought up. Why he—

Abbot—(Quickly.) Louis!(Searching the Priest's face.) You askedIf he told us—?

Father Benedict—It was the dwarf was killed.

Abbot—He told us that you had burned him.

Father Benedict—(Fiercely to Oswald.) God shall burnYou, griffon, son of Tophet, damned thing!

(Terrified at the dark in the corridor and with a wild expressionupon his face, Oswald clutches hysterically atthe door jambs.)

Oswald—No, no, no, no! (Piteously, as he is shoved alongthrough the hall.) Father, Father!Father Benedict— Call Hell!I pray to God—Abbot— Breathe no curse, Benedict.I will inquire into this affair.If he hath done aught culpable—Father Benedict—If! If!Abbot—If he hath spoken unbecomingly—Father Benedict—Is Jardin's life then nothing? I supposeNot, to you.(He turns and goes toward the door, left.)Abbot— What?Father Benedict— I suppose not, to you.Abbot—You mean to say—Father Benedict— Go your way; I go mine.Abbot—To say the dwarf killed—Father Benedict— You have espoused the causeof the guilty.Abbot— Of the guilty?Iespoused?

Oswald—No, no, no, no! (Piteously, as he is shoved alongthrough the hall.) Father, Father!

Father Benedict— Call Hell!I pray to God—

Abbot— Breathe no curse, Benedict.I will inquire into this affair.If he hath done aught culpable—

Father Benedict—If! If!

Abbot—If he hath spoken unbecomingly—

Father Benedict—Is Jardin's life then nothing? I supposeNot, to you.(He turns and goes toward the door, left.)

Abbot— What?

Father Benedict— I suppose not, to you.

Abbot—You mean to say—

Father Benedict— Go your way; I go mine.

Abbot—To say the dwarf killed—

Father Benedict— You have espoused the causeof the guilty.

Abbot— Of the guilty?Iespoused?

(Following with the light.)

Don't tell me Oswald had a hand in this.Benedict, this is pure malignity.Father Benedict—And no mouth in it, either, I suppose.Abbot—You mean he instigated this attack?Father Benedict—

Don't tell me Oswald had a hand in this.Benedict, this is pure malignity.

Father Benedict—And no mouth in it, either, I suppose.

Abbot—You mean he instigated this attack?

Father Benedict—

(At the door, buckling his cloak abouthim.)

Go your way; I go mine.Abbot— I don't believe it.I don't believe it. It smacks too like the chargeThat he called you a dog. If you can proveThat any word of his caused Jardin's death,I will attend to him.Father Benedict—By cursing me.Abbot—You know why I—Father Benedict— You needn't apologize.Abbot—You, Benedict, not I, are needing grace.You have assailed a child of God, and youKnow what our Lord said: "'Twere better a mill-stoneWere hanged about his neck and he were flungInto the sea, than offend one of these."You even seemed to take delight, to relishHarrowing his soul up with the hunter's dreamAnd breaching it for horror to peep through.Father Benedict—You wait.

Go your way; I go mine.

Abbot— I don't believe it.I don't believe it. It smacks too like the chargeThat he called you a dog. If you can proveThat any word of his caused Jardin's death,I will attend to him.

Father Benedict—By cursing me.

Abbot—You know why I—

Father Benedict— You needn't apologize.

Abbot—You, Benedict, not I, are needing grace.You have assailed a child of God, and youKnow what our Lord said: "'Twere better a mill-stoneWere hanged about his neck and he were flungInto the sea, than offend one of these."You even seemed to take delight, to relishHarrowing his soul up with the hunter's dreamAnd breaching it for horror to peep through.

Father Benedict—You wait.

(He reaches down behindthe chest.)

Abbot— God will hold you responsibleIf anything should happen to him.Father Benedict— YouTake care he does not visit you.Abbot— Just nowYou said yourself that it was you who urgedJardin to seize the dwarf.Father Benedict— And so I did.Abbot—Whose fault is it if the dwarf killed him, then?Father Benedict—We will let God decide whose fault—Move this.Abbot—(Setting the lamp down upon the floor.)You even said Oswald opposed it, andFor that just now you blamed him.Father Benedict— You think youUnderstand everything. Youthinkyou do.

Abbot— God will hold you responsibleIf anything should happen to him.

Father Benedict— YouTake care he does not visit you.

Abbot— Just nowYou said yourself that it was you who urgedJardin to seize the dwarf.

Father Benedict— And so I did.

Abbot—Whose fault is it if the dwarf killed him, then?

Father Benedict—We will let God decide whose fault—Move this.

Abbot—(Setting the lamp down upon the floor.)You even said Oswald opposed it, andFor that just now you blamed him.

Father Benedict— You think youUnderstand everything. Youthinkyou do.

(They pull the chest from the wall.)

Abbot—Then tell me.Father Benedict—(Reaching down and getting his staff.)The dwarf did not kill him.Abbot— How?Is he not dead?Father Benedict—By this time, he may be.Abbot—I still don't see where Oswald's fault comes in.

Abbot—Then tell me.

Father Benedict—(Reaching down and getting his staff.)The dwarf did not kill him.

Abbot— How?Is he not dead?

Father Benedict—By this time, he may be.

Abbot—I still don't see where Oswald's fault comes in.

(He takes up the lamp.)

Father Benedict—We will let God decide whose fault it is.

(He goes out.)

Abbot—How did it happen?Father Benedict—God was there; ask him.

Abbot—How did it happen?

Father Benedict—God was there; ask him.

(Louis reappears.)

Abbot—Stay, Benedict, tell me explicitly—Father Benedict—This is the last time you will see me here.Abbot—Eh?(Holding the light above his head.)What do you propose to do?Father Benedict— You wait.Abbot—I fear for you, unless you quench your wrath.

Abbot—Stay, Benedict, tell me explicitly—

Father Benedict—This is the last time you will see me here.

Abbot—Eh?(Holding the light above his head.)What do you propose to do?

Father Benedict— You wait.

Abbot—I fear for you, unless you quench your wrath.

(A moment later, he turns back.)

Louis—Again safe.Abbot— Barely.Louis— What was that he said?The last time he would come here?Abbot— I hope so.(Thunder.)Louis—And don't let Oswald—Abbot— Close tight the shutters.Louis—And don't let Oswald go down there again.We would be risking all that we have gained.The brothers, begging in the town to-day,Brought in four hundred franks, a silver cup,Three rings, a pair of bracelets, and a pearlBig as a pea.Abbot— A very good day's work.Louis—If this keeps up, the chest won't hold it all.Abbot—(Suddenly, glancing about upon the table.)Benedict—did he take—the crucifix?Louis—(At the window.)Oswald took it.—Do you think BenedictFound it where he said he—Abbot—(Aghast.) Oswald!Louis— Why?Abbot—The hunter saw it blood-stained in his dream.

Louis—Again safe.

Abbot— Barely.

Louis— What was that he said?The last time he would come here?

Abbot— I hope so.(Thunder.)

Louis—And don't let Oswald—

Abbot— Close tight the shutters.

Louis—And don't let Oswald go down there again.We would be risking all that we have gained.The brothers, begging in the town to-day,Brought in four hundred franks, a silver cup,Three rings, a pair of bracelets, and a pearlBig as a pea.

Abbot— A very good day's work.

Louis—If this keeps up, the chest won't hold it all.

Abbot—(Suddenly, glancing about upon the table.)Benedict—did he take—the crucifix?

Louis—(At the window.)Oswald took it.—Do you think BenedictFound it where he said he—

Abbot—(Aghast.) Oswald!

Louis— Why?

Abbot—The hunter saw it blood-stained in his dream.

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