Chapter 4

(She stops and looks back.)

Canzler—Let us go home and watch the stars come outAbove the mountains where Val-father lives.Perhaps the Norns will spin us a white thread.

(They go out, Selma looking back.)

SCENE TWO—A mountain cavern with jutting ledges ofrock. From the bones that lie about, one would imagineit to be a den to which wild beasts drag and devour theirprey. To the right, a vine, growing out of the crevice inthe rear wall, shows by its leaves becoming a darker greenas it spreads to the right that the entrance is in that directionand near by. Bowlders, evidently used for seats, liehere and there, and in the rear, center, a smoulderingfire throws their shadows about the floor and walls. Severalwillow baskets freshly woven hang on pegs driveninto seams in the rocks. To the left, an old spinningwheel with a thread trailing from it, and near it, uponthe floor, a quantity of black wool. Farther over in thecorner, a couch of rushes and forest grass. From theledge that projects out over it hang bunches of dry herbs.In the left wall, extending to the ceiling and barely wideenough to admit of one's passing through, is a cleft whenceare heard at intervals the muffled sound of hammers fardown in the earth.To the right of the fire, Sigurd, the dwarf, is peeling osiers.He is barefooted. About his neck he wears a string ofbuckeyes. Beside him, upon the floor, lies a pile of whiteosiers newly peeled. Occasionally he takes the withes inhis mouth and tears the bark off with his teeth. On theother side of the fire, reclining upon his elbow, the gnomeKilo is poking the coals with a stick.Despite the red glow of the fire, the cave is quite dark.

To the right of the fire, Sigurd, the dwarf, is peeling osiers.He is barefooted. About his neck he wears a string ofbuckeyes. Beside him, upon the floor, lies a pile of whiteosiers newly peeled. Occasionally he takes the withes inhis mouth and tears the bark off with his teeth. On theother side of the fire, reclining upon his elbow, the gnomeKilo is poking the coals with a stick.

Despite the red glow of the fire, the cave is quite dark.

Kilo—Love the monks, eh?Voice—(To the left.) Kilo!Kilo— Granny says you do.Voice—Kilo!Kilo—Hush! I'm tired.Voice—Loki wants you. (After a pause.) Kilo!Kilo—(To himself.)Call on; Kilo don't care. It's sweat and drudgeAnd puff and hammer the livelong dayAt the blazing forge, and then all nightThe big black sledges swing and fall.I'm tired. You love the bells?Voice— Kilo! You hear?Kilo—Dumb, are you, elf-brat? You squealed loud enoughThe night that Granny found you on the mossWhite as a hail-stone, thunder-whelped, and cold."Tweakle! tweakle!" Elf-cub, are you?Voice— Kilo!Kilo—(Out of temper.)Tell him I've gone with Granny.

Kilo—Love the monks, eh?

Voice—(To the left.) Kilo!

Kilo— Granny says you do.

Voice—Kilo!

Kilo—Hush! I'm tired.

Voice—Loki wants you. (After a pause.) Kilo!

Kilo—(To himself.)Call on; Kilo don't care. It's sweat and drudgeAnd puff and hammer the livelong dayAt the blazing forge, and then all nightThe big black sledges swing and fall.I'm tired. You love the bells?

Voice— Kilo! You hear?

Kilo—Dumb, are you, elf-brat? You squealed loud enoughThe night that Granny found you on the mossWhite as a hail-stone, thunder-whelped, and cold."Tweakle! tweakle!" Elf-cub, are you?

Voice— Kilo!

Kilo—(Out of temper.)Tell him I've gone with Granny.

(From the left Zip enters. Under his arm he carries a great sword, the blade of which he is burnishing with a piece of sand-stone.)

Zip— Where is she?Kilo—Darkening the moon.Zip— Is to-night the time?Kilo—(With a look warning him of the presence of the dwarf.)Got the runes cut on it?

Zip— Where is she?

Kilo—Darkening the moon.

Zip— Is to-night the time?

Kilo—(With a look warning him of the presence of the dwarf.)Got the runes cut on it?

(Zip hands the sword to Kilo and goes over and stands near the vine. Kilo examines the curiously wrought haft.)

Zip— Listen!Kilo—(Sitting up.) What is it? (They listen.)Zip—The geese are out.Kilo—(To the dwarf.) Hear that, gozzard? Do you?Zip—Hark! Hissing, they go down the mountain sideWith flip-flap of their big grey wings.(He returns toward the fire.) Last nightThe monks' new hunter wrung two ganders' necks.I found their heads in the grotto.Kilo—(Poking the dwarf with the sword.) Hear that, lob?You herd the goslets for the holy men?Next thing you'll grind the scauper for the monk,And help him carve the cross. Granny'll get you.Zip—Where's Suk and Gimel?Kilo— Digging water-herbsDown in the marsh.(He rises and the two walk left.)'Twas said to throw him off.The young imp shoots his ears out like a snailTo feel about for danger to the monks.If he should hear the gnomes are out for blood,You'd see him, he'd be footed like a hareTo put the monk on guard.

Zip— Listen!

Kilo—(Sitting up.) What is it? (They listen.)

Zip—The geese are out.

Kilo—(To the dwarf.) Hear that, gozzard? Do you?

Zip—Hark! Hissing, they go down the mountain sideWith flip-flap of their big grey wings.(He returns toward the fire.) Last nightThe monks' new hunter wrung two ganders' necks.I found their heads in the grotto.

Kilo—(Poking the dwarf with the sword.) Hear that, lob?You herd the goslets for the holy men?Next thing you'll grind the scauper for the monk,And help him carve the cross. Granny'll get you.

Zip—Where's Suk and Gimel?

Kilo— Digging water-herbsDown in the marsh.(He rises and the two walk left.)'Twas said to throw him off.The young imp shoots his ears out like a snailTo feel about for danger to the monks.If he should hear the gnomes are out for blood,You'd see him, he'd be footed like a hareTo put the monk on guard.

(From the right, Zory enters. He crooks his back, screenshis eyes with his hand, and walks feebly.)

Zory— "O dear! my eyes!Rosa, is the moon up, dear?" Ha, ha! Zory! Zory!

(He takes up the sword from the floor, and using it as acane, walks unsteadily.)

Zip—Steal into the abbey, will they?Kilo— No, no.He's down in the village. At break of dayI saw the blur of his big black gownIn the mountain mists as he made his way.To-night he will come from the little town.Then Suk and Gimel—the road runs byWhere some wild vines dangle.(As though jerking them.) And far below,The waters gurgle.Zory— They will? Ho, ho!Kilo—(Huskily, nodding toward the dwarf.)The spy of Woden.Zory—(Dropping his voice.) If that's the plan,Then the old dame with her gimlet eyeSees farther than Woden's ravens can.At dusk I crept over behind the town.Some boys were up on the mountain sideRunning a cow they were driving down,With puff-balls pelting her brindled hide.On a slope of heather I knew a sinkWhere a brown backed bunny was wont to squat,To warm his fur in the sun and winkAt the shadows darkening a cabbage plot.Says I: "Now Zory will have some fun.He'll start the hare for the village boysAnd hear them hollo and see them run."With barking of dogs and a hue and a cryThey will soon be off, and, flying the noise,Wat will go bobbing across the down.I'm off for the heather when lo, I hear,Behind the sallows that fringe the foss,A sneeze and a sigh and then, "O dear!"Some women are trying to get across.I hide in the dock. The dames pass byWith baskets of bennet. I hear one say:"With our dear Lord hanging upon the tree,And oh, such a beautiful, beautiful crossNo one ever saw, so the people sayWho have peered in the window. And think, la me!In another day and another dayMy every prayer will have been fulfilled.May the Virgin spare us." The other sighsAnd, scanning the shadowy mountain side:"I fear he will never complete it, Clotilde.He climbs that dreadful mountain at night.Can you see him now? Oh, I fear, I fearThose awful rocks where the devils hide!It seems so dark. Rosa, is the moon up, dear?"To see the old dame as she—(Mimicing with the sword for a cane.) daddled onWith her skirt in her hand, through the dewy grass,Her little whisket of herbs on her armTo keep off the devils, and mumbling a massAnd snuffling and moaning and sighing, "O dear!It's a wicked world."

Zip—Steal into the abbey, will they?

Kilo— No, no.He's down in the village. At break of dayI saw the blur of his big black gownIn the mountain mists as he made his way.To-night he will come from the little town.Then Suk and Gimel—the road runs byWhere some wild vines dangle.(As though jerking them.) And far below,The waters gurgle.

Zory— They will? Ho, ho!

Kilo—(Huskily, nodding toward the dwarf.)The spy of Woden.

Zory—(Dropping his voice.) If that's the plan,Then the old dame with her gimlet eyeSees farther than Woden's ravens can.At dusk I crept over behind the town.Some boys were up on the mountain sideRunning a cow they were driving down,With puff-balls pelting her brindled hide.On a slope of heather I knew a sinkWhere a brown backed bunny was wont to squat,To warm his fur in the sun and winkAt the shadows darkening a cabbage plot.Says I: "Now Zory will have some fun.He'll start the hare for the village boysAnd hear them hollo and see them run."With barking of dogs and a hue and a cryThey will soon be off, and, flying the noise,Wat will go bobbing across the down.I'm off for the heather when lo, I hear,Behind the sallows that fringe the foss,A sneeze and a sigh and then, "O dear!"Some women are trying to get across.I hide in the dock. The dames pass byWith baskets of bennet. I hear one say:"With our dear Lord hanging upon the tree,And oh, such a beautiful, beautiful crossNo one ever saw, so the people sayWho have peered in the window. And think, la me!In another day and another dayMy every prayer will have been fulfilled.May the Virgin spare us." The other sighsAnd, scanning the shadowy mountain side:"I fear he will never complete it, Clotilde.He climbs that dreadful mountain at night.Can you see him now? Oh, I fear, I fearThose awful rocks where the devils hide!It seems so dark. Rosa, is the moon up, dear?"To see the old dame as she—(Mimicing with the sword for a cane.) daddled onWith her skirt in her hand, through the dewy grass,Her little whisket of herbs on her armTo keep off the devils, and mumbling a massAnd snuffling and moaning and sighing, "O dear!It's a wicked world."

(He laughs till he falls to the floorwhere he continues to laugh. Kilo steals to the fire andis about to snap a coal toward Zory when Suk rushes inright.)

Suk—Granny! O Granny!Zip and Kilo—What?Suk—Where's Granny?Kilo— On the peaks.Suk—(Rushing left.) Loki!Kilo—Stop him!Suk—(Dodging past Zip.) Loki!Kilo—Stop him, Zory! (As he darts by, Zory, still uponthe floor, catches the gnome about the legs.) What is it?Zip—Over the cliff?Suk—(Panting.) Over and over. His black gown—The wind puffs it—like a big batSwoops after him.Zory—Whew!Voice—(Right.) Cock-a-doodle-doo!Suk—(Breaking away.) Loki!

Suk—Granny! O Granny!

Zip and Kilo—What?

Suk—Where's Granny?

Kilo— On the peaks.

Suk—(Rushing left.) Loki!

Kilo—Stop him!

Suk—(Dodging past Zip.) Loki!

Kilo—Stop him, Zory! (As he darts by, Zory, still uponthe floor, catches the gnome about the legs.) What is it?

Zip—Over the cliff?

Suk—(Panting.) Over and over. His black gown—The wind puffs it—like a big batSwoops after him.

Zory—Whew!

Voice—(Right.) Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Suk—(Breaking away.) Loki!

(He rushes out left, followed by the three other gnomes.From the right Gimel enters.)

Gimel—Cock-a-doodle-doo!The sun's up, Granny! Hear the cock!His morning trumpet wakes the village up.Cock-a-doodle-doo!See the good people in their Sunday clothes.A long procession up the mountain goesWith boughs of cypress and boughs of yew.And now the big bell in the abbey towerT-o-l-l-s and it t-o-l-l-s and it t-o-l-l-s.Cock-a-doodle-doo!What makes the big bellSob in its tower? Can any one tell?Why, the monk that pulls at the rope, I ween.Cock-a-doodle-doo!

(He follows the others through the narrow passage, left. Amoment later, from the opposite side, a fairy appearsand beckons to the dwarf. The latter, after a quickglance to the left, stealthily takes up the sword from thefloor and follows the fairy from the cave.)

SCENE THREE—The monastery of St. Giles, in the mountains.An open court, with buildings dimly seen in thedarkness. To the right, the dormitory, a large structurebuilt of stone, with high, deep-set windows protected byheavy shutters which are closed. Across the court a highwall, starting in front, extends back some fifteen feet andabuts the side of the chapel before which in outline longstone steps may be discerned. In the center of the wallis an archway with a pair of ponderous iron gates. Thenight is dark and windy.Along the side of the dormitory comes old Andrewwith a staff and lighted taper. He is singing in a low voice.

Along the side of the dormitory comes old Andrewwith a staff and lighted taper. He is singing in a low voice.

Andrew—The barque o' the moon, like the Ithican's ship,Heigho, she's swamped on the sea,With her big bags of wind—(Turning the corner and meeting the wind.) Hey!Up, lads! Swell your bellies, sails! Now we're for't!

(His candle threatening to go out, he draws back. For awhile he stands as if perplexed. Then, rounding thecorner, he again turns his shoulder to the wind and,shielding his taper thus, moves sidewise across the courttoward the chapel.)

Puff, devils, puff, puff! Howl and snap! howl and snap!You'll scare old Andrew, will you? By the saints,I'll have this taper in the chapel sconceIn spite of all your snarling.

(He throws down his staff and shields his taper with his gown.) Blow! blow! blow!

Here's a monk's soul borne to the Virgin's armsAcross a strip of Hell. D'you want to leapOut of this greasy world? Out with you, then!Here's a fine night to jump in, wind and moon,Roar and the scud of swollen water-bags.Jump, jump, soul! Swounds, here's a coward for you;Here's a tallow-swad that loves swine's bellyBetter'n the big deep. Shrift, eh? shrift and housel?Primum confessum, foul monk. Gluttony.(The taper flickers.)Yip! See the devils pluck at him! Quick, priest;St. Giles will lose a lamb. If I damn one,I damn them all; damn the Abbot; damn Andrew.Flesh is flesh.Absolvo te. Secundum.Bibbing, eh? Vap or burgundy? Vap?That's a vile sin; but vap is hell enough.Quid tertio?(He puts his ear to the taper.)St! lower; the Devil's listening.(Starting.)Whee! Bless the saints! God must have gold for that.No gold? No gold, no shrift. And here's old Claw-footComing through the dark, that needs a furnace tender,A skimmer for his bullion pots. Gramercy, monk.No wench-craft there nor bibbing, soft bells and venison.Limbs hot, hot lungs, hot belly, everything—(The taper goes out.) Puff!Down over the big, windy world. Good jump;Clean to the pit.(Thunder.)Ay, night, smack your black chaps.Rumble! rumble!

(He feels about the ground for his staff, and, having found it, walks back and stands under one of the windows of the dormitory.) Soloman! Soloman!

The Devil wants you. D'you hear? His pipe's gone out.Give him a coal.

(He waits a while, then beats upon the shutter with his staff. A low voice is heard within.)

What's that? Eh?Voice— Who is it?Lucifer?Andrew—Ay, with his light out.(After a pause.) Come, come!I'll have to cut a reed and suck the starsLike the big fool you told of.

What's that? Eh?

Voice— Who is it?Lucifer?

Andrew—Ay, with his light out.(After a pause.) Come, come!I'll have to cut a reed and suck the starsLike the big fool you told of.

(The shutter opens and the head of Soloman appears.)

Light, light, man!(Soloman whispers.)Pipe out, cricket. Here's the big noisy windsRoarin' in my ears.(Soloman whispers and points to the corner.)Prowling? A night like this!Turned wolf, eh? There's a fine porker gone.Louis and he were at their wassail cups,Nuzzling a stoup o' hipo' a while ago.(He comes toward the corner.)God bless you, senechal, another stoup.Swine-herd, all-hail! Fill up the Abbot's trough.An he breaks sty, look out! God bless us then!Water and bread, water and bread. Zooks, zooks!The devil's up with Andrew if he findsThe oratory dark. (He listens.) Otho! Spot! Hya! Hya!There's something snooping here. (He crosses himself.) I'll get a lightAnd bustle from this place. It's the DevilWalking on wool.(He turns back toward the window.)Water and bread. Sfoot, sfoot!The sheep will find thin food on Andrew's grave.Light, man, light! It's the bats hurtling.(Soloman disappears.) There's a chinchThat burrows in the vellum like a mole,A parchment moth what can spin yarn or yarnLike the old dame i' the tale. He reads and reads.He's got a wit strung like a rosary threadWith tales and names and things and things and things.Tell me a tale, says I, something valorous,Something to lighten life for an old man.Tales for tapers, says he. A go, says I.And so I pilfers from the chapel sconceThe snuffed stubbs. To lighten life, says I.

(Soloman reappears with a lighted candle.)

The lad that rode the dolphin, did he getTo land?Soloman—He stayed upon the sea.Andrew— And drowned?Soloman—Turned buccaneer and sacked the christian shipsAnd sold the spoil in Jewry.(Andrew walks away.)Don't you wishTo hear it? The tale goes on to tellHow Hugh de Bouillon, cruising in the East,Found him upon a cliff and took him downFrom off a gibbet where the sea-gulls flew,And with his harp upon the deck at nightHe made the sea-lads merry with his songs.Let's have them now, here at the gates of heaven,Far off from dead men crying in the sea.Andrew—What makes the lightning go that way, zigzag?Soloman—The Devil broke it on a gibbet—Andrew— Tush!Soloman—And hung it upon a sea-cliff.Andrew—Tush, tush, lad!Don't make game o' the old man. If he's bent,It's with prayer.(He comes back to the window.)Soloman— Sing me a sea-song.Andrew— It's too rawA night, lad.

The lad that rode the dolphin, did he getTo land?

Soloman—He stayed upon the sea.

Andrew— And drowned?

Soloman—Turned buccaneer and sacked the christian shipsAnd sold the spoil in Jewry.(Andrew walks away.)Don't you wishTo hear it? The tale goes on to tellHow Hugh de Bouillon, cruising in the East,Found him upon a cliff and took him downFrom off a gibbet where the sea-gulls flew,And with his harp upon the deck at nightHe made the sea-lads merry with his songs.Let's have them now, here at the gates of heaven,Far off from dead men crying in the sea.

Andrew—What makes the lightning go that way, zigzag?

Soloman—The Devil broke it on a gibbet—

Andrew— Tush!

Soloman—And hung it upon a sea-cliff.

Andrew—Tush, tush, lad!Don't make game o' the old man. If he's bent,It's with prayer.(He comes back to the window.)

Soloman— Sing me a sea-song.

Andrew— It's too rawA night, lad.

(He holds his taper up toward Soloman's, when suddenlysome one carrying a light appears at the farther cornerof the dormitory. Soloman jerks back his candle.)

Eh? It's Bill-o'-the-wisp!God save us, man! Moving! It's a torch.

(The light passes behind the chapel. Andrew walks back inthe court.)

How the wind blows! There's blood in it. Caw, rooks,Chatter and caw. Villainy is abroad.There's blood on the stones somewhere, fresh blood.

(He stands looking in the direction whence the light disappeared.)

It's the new deer-man fastening up the dogs.He hunts in the night when the brockets o' the woodCome to the stream to drink. And none to tell themO' the foul spear. No abbot-stag to say—Standing to his belly in the stream—"Drink will be the death of you." It's a foul world.

(Returning toward the window.)

The hunter's at the kennel wi' his pups.What's his name? He's been here now a sennight.Soloman—Macias.Andrew— Macias; that's a good name.Soloman—(Giving Andrew a light.)It's a lean name.Andrew— Lean name? Fat, man, fat.An it was lean we'd have to cast our skins,As the snakes do, and sleep at breakfast time.I tell you, Soloman, there a hunter for you.He's for a beast, he fronts it i' the dark,Blazing its pretty orbs wi' his big torch.His eye's a rook's eye and his spear as trueAs the bolt o' the buskined hussy what you sayDrops from the moon i' the dead o' night and huntsNaked i' the woods. She's a—I'm a monk, though.An you could see him coming through the copse,Shuffling the dews away, zooks, you would sayThe burnt faced fellows of Libya were for sureMaking a revel feast for the big god.The game! the game! Sweet, tender prickets,Stags and chamois calves, pheasants and geese,Turtles and loaches and toper horse-fishWi' fins as red as blood. God bless us, though.An the Abbot finds the oratory dark,There'll be thin food for sheep on Andrew's grave.Water and bread.

The hunter's at the kennel wi' his pups.What's his name? He's been here now a sennight.

Soloman—Macias.

Andrew— Macias; that's a good name.

Soloman—(Giving Andrew a light.)It's a lean name.

Andrew— Lean name? Fat, man, fat.An it was lean we'd have to cast our skins,As the snakes do, and sleep at breakfast time.I tell you, Soloman, there a hunter for you.He's for a beast, he fronts it i' the dark,Blazing its pretty orbs wi' his big torch.His eye's a rook's eye and his spear as trueAs the bolt o' the buskined hussy what you sayDrops from the moon i' the dead o' night and huntsNaked i' the woods. She's a—I'm a monk, though.An you could see him coming through the copse,Shuffling the dews away, zooks, you would sayThe burnt faced fellows of Libya were for sureMaking a revel feast for the big god.The game! the game! Sweet, tender prickets,Stags and chamois calves, pheasants and geese,Turtles and loaches and toper horse-fishWi' fins as red as blood. God bless us, though.An the Abbot finds the oratory dark,There'll be thin food for sheep on Andrew's grave.Water and bread.

(He starts toward the chapel, humming to himself.)

Soloman— What's the song, Andrew?Andrew— Sh!The Abbot hears me trill that heathen song,I'll get no chick-weed. It's a foul song.

Soloman— What's the song, Andrew?

Andrew— Sh!The Abbot hears me trill that heathen song,I'll get no chick-weed. It's a foul song.

(He comes forward and looks round the corner of the dormitory,then returns to the window.)

A cricket chirped it from a chink i' the wallAs the old man dozed dreaming o' green fields,Up there.(He sings.)The grass is food for the eweAnd the ewe is food for manAnd man is food for the green, green grassAnd the grass for the ewe again.The foul song makes goat's food of us all.Old Andrew's shoots, gowan, and aigilopsFor filthy goats to browse on.(He starts away.)Sfoot, I'll fast'Fore I'll be carried around in a goat's udder.

(Suddenly around the farther corner of the chapel the lightreappears. Soloman snatches-to the shutter. Old Andrewblows out his taper and gets down upon his kneesby the wall. Macias, the hunter, carrying a pine torch,comes forward across the court.)

Andrew—(Telling his beads.)Adeste, sancti; villainy is abroad.Macias—(Holding down his torch.)Ay, monk, you're right. Are all the brothers in?Andrew—Abi, fiend! Out with the sooty torch!Old Andrew's prayers can fly to heaven i' the dark.Macias—I meant no harm, monk. I was passing byAnd heard you say there's villainy abroad.I thought perhaps you'd heard the blind bitch howl,As I did, mournful. Did you? Did you hear her?Andrew—(Looking up.)Who breaks old Andrew's mass? Zooks, it's the DevilThrusting his grimy face through censer smoke.

Andrew—(Telling his beads.)Adeste, sancti; villainy is abroad.

Macias—(Holding down his torch.)Ay, monk, you're right. Are all the brothers in?

Andrew—Abi, fiend! Out with the sooty torch!Old Andrew's prayers can fly to heaven i' the dark.

Macias—I meant no harm, monk. I was passing byAnd heard you say there's villainy abroad.I thought perhaps you'd heard the blind bitch howl,As I did, mournful. Did you? Did you hear her?

Andrew—(Looking up.)Who breaks old Andrew's mass? Zooks, it's the DevilThrusting his grimy face through censer smoke.

(Turning to the wall.)

Adeste, sancti; villainy is abroad.Macias—(Reflecting.)It may have been in my dream.(He walks out in the court.)A few white starsStill burned above the village. (Looking up.) Not a starIn all the heavens.(He returns right. Andrew has risen.)Are all the brothers in?Andrew—Up there behind the clouds?Macias— Did you hear the howl?Andrew—Ay, heard it in the pines.Macias— The bitch, I mean.Andrew—Carnus is dog. Bitch is a carnal thought.I've been at prayer.Macias— Within?Andrew— The prayer was in;Andrew was out.Macias— Here in the gale? How long?Andrew—Till a soul jumps from the big windy world.Macias—Jumps from the world? Whose soul?Andrew— The monk's.Macias—(Aside.) The monk's!There, there it is, the howl of the hound!Death has been here.Andrew— Shook and refused to jumpTill he was driven off.Macias— What! Driven off?Andrew—Ay, by the winds.Macias— He died not in his cell?Andrew—He died here by the wall.

Adeste, sancti; villainy is abroad.

Macias—(Reflecting.)It may have been in my dream.(He walks out in the court.)A few white starsStill burned above the village. (Looking up.) Not a starIn all the heavens.(He returns right. Andrew has risen.)Are all the brothers in?

Andrew—Up there behind the clouds?

Macias— Did you hear the howl?

Andrew—Ay, heard it in the pines.

Macias— The bitch, I mean.

Andrew—Carnus is dog. Bitch is a carnal thought.I've been at prayer.

Macias— Within?

Andrew— The prayer was in;Andrew was out.

Macias— Here in the gale? How long?

Andrew—Till a soul jumps from the big windy world.

Macias—Jumps from the world? Whose soul?

Andrew— The monk's.

Macias—(Aside.) The monk's!There, there it is, the howl of the hound!Death has been here.

Andrew— Shook and refused to jumpTill he was driven off.

Macias— What! Driven off?

Andrew—Ay, by the winds.

Macias— He died not in his cell?

Andrew—He died here by the wall.

(He walks back in the darkness.)

Macias— Monk, beat the brush;I fear some crime is crouching in the dark.Andrew—Ay, that there is; there's villainy abroad.

Macias— Monk, beat the brush;I fear some crime is crouching in the dark.

Andrew—Ay, that there is; there's villainy abroad.

(He stands listening.)

Macias—Why are you silent? Tell me how he died.

(Andrew returns gloomily and lights his taper at the hunter'storch.)

Andrew—His soul was calm until it sniffed the galeAnd saw the wild-fire grazing in the sky.And then you should have seen him. When he heardThe roar of the wind and saw the lean moonRush through the clouds, tearing them with her horn,Zooks, then he fluttered like a gull on a mastWhen a big barque is poppling up and downI' the foam. And all the while devils' grimy handsPlucked at him through the dark.

(The hunter turns away mumbling to himself.) Eh? Mad? You're right.

An you'd a seen 'em you'd a said they're mad.Macias—Where will I find the Abbot?Andrew— Legions of them.They'd seen me sponge him twice with a good shrift.As soon as ever the third foul sin appeared,They pounced him and pitched him down over the worldTo where the big deep dashes up the skySpraying the stars of heaven. Down, down, down!

An you'd a seen 'em you'd a said they're mad.

Macias—Where will I find the Abbot?

Andrew— Legions of them.They'd seen me sponge him twice with a good shrift.As soon as ever the third foul sin appeared,They pounced him and pitched him down over the worldTo where the big deep dashes up the skySpraying the stars of heaven. Down, down, down!

(He walks back in the court and stands listening.)

Hear it? Blood on the stones, fresh blood. (Calling.) Mother!Macias—Chattering to himself. It must be he,The ancient acholyte they told me of.Gray hairs and staff—Andrew— Mother!Macias— His ears are keenFrom listening to the crickets in the stones,Year after year. Jesu, that's a long time.The eagles that were young upon the cragsWhen he came here are gray. God, fifty years!For fifty years to watch the lizards spawn,To feed them, name them, miss them then and seeIn the green crevices of the old wallAnother brood come forth. Each rook that hauntsThese musty gables here, he knows them all;Knows every tomb-bat in the coffin'd crypt;Can tell the spiders, where they cast their websIn the dark corners, where and how and why;The rere-mice, when they breed; the vermin—God!Fifty long years, fifty! And all that timeTo count the days like beads and feel them black!I'd rather be a fox. I'd rather be—Never to have chased the chamois up the cliffs!Never to have felt the thrill of stag at bay,Or heard the pheasant in the wild brown brakeWhir! (Walking right.) I'd rather be a chipmunk free to—Andrew—You got the dogs shut in?Macias—(At the corner of the dormitory.)They're shut in. Why?Andrew—Hear it.Macias— I hear nothing.Andrew— Far down in the dark.There, groaning in the wind.It tries to rise.Some stag or something's fallen from the rocks.Are the dogs in? Is Twinkle in, and Spot?

Hear it? Blood on the stones, fresh blood. (Calling.) Mother!

Macias—Chattering to himself. It must be he,The ancient acholyte they told me of.Gray hairs and staff—

Andrew— Mother!

Macias— His ears are keenFrom listening to the crickets in the stones,Year after year. Jesu, that's a long time.The eagles that were young upon the cragsWhen he came here are gray. God, fifty years!For fifty years to watch the lizards spawn,To feed them, name them, miss them then and seeIn the green crevices of the old wallAnother brood come forth. Each rook that hauntsThese musty gables here, he knows them all;Knows every tomb-bat in the coffin'd crypt;Can tell the spiders, where they cast their websIn the dark corners, where and how and why;The rere-mice, when they breed; the vermin—God!Fifty long years, fifty! And all that timeTo count the days like beads and feel them black!I'd rather be a fox. I'd rather be—Never to have chased the chamois up the cliffs!Never to have felt the thrill of stag at bay,Or heard the pheasant in the wild brown brakeWhir! (Walking right.) I'd rather be a chipmunk free to—

Andrew—You got the dogs shut in?

Macias—(At the corner of the dormitory.)They're shut in. Why?

Andrew—Hear it.

Macias— I hear nothing.

Andrew— Far down in the dark.There, groaning in the wind.It tries to rise.Some stag or something's fallen from the rocks.Are the dogs in? Is Twinkle in, and Spot?

(Macias walks back.)

There's something moving round it.Macias— Stag, you say?Andrew—It's not a stag. Its foot sounds like a paw.Hear it? It's dragging off the carcass. Hear?Macias—Old man, your ears are at the gates of death.What is it that you hear in this wild night?Awake you strike the trail I struck in sleep.I have just had a dream in which I sawA stag out on the mountain there dragged down.Andrew—(Abstractedly.)Its foot sounds like a paw.Macias— 'Twas in the dream.I am just from a dream in which I sawA snow-white talbot pull a stag down.Andrew— Dream?Macias—And when the talbot had pulled down the buckA pair of hands, small as a fairy's are,Reached through the leaves and—Andrew— Mother Mary! Hold!I will wake Daniel.Macias— Are all the brothers in?

There's something moving round it.

Macias— Stag, you say?

Andrew—It's not a stag. Its foot sounds like a paw.Hear it? It's dragging off the carcass. Hear?

Macias—Old man, your ears are at the gates of death.What is it that you hear in this wild night?Awake you strike the trail I struck in sleep.I have just had a dream in which I sawA stag out on the mountain there dragged down.

Andrew—(Abstractedly.)Its foot sounds like a paw.

Macias— 'Twas in the dream.I am just from a dream in which I sawA snow-white talbot pull a stag down.

Andrew— Dream?

Macias—And when the talbot had pulled down the buckA pair of hands, small as a fairy's are,Reached through the leaves and—

Andrew— Mother Mary! Hold!I will wake Daniel.

Macias— Are all the brothers in?

(Andrew beats upon the shutter.)

Do what?Andrew—You're right. He'll read it as easyAs the old fellow what ate pulse and gotLean as the kine he saw. He knows them all.Says he: "Dreams sleep under the dog-wood bloomsAnd love to hear the patter o' the rain."Why, he knows the color o' their beards, man.Says he, one day, telling me of a dream—Onar was its name, gray-beard like a king—Steals into a tent: "Now you can get the girl;Wake up and fight; now you can get her."(A low voice within.) Eh?A dream, God bless us, fire-wing.(The shutter opens.)He.Soloman— Tell it.

Do what?

Andrew—You're right. He'll read it as easyAs the old fellow what ate pulse and gotLean as the kine he saw. He knows them all.Says he: "Dreams sleep under the dog-wood bloomsAnd love to hear the patter o' the rain."Why, he knows the color o' their beards, man.Says he, one day, telling me of a dream—Onar was its name, gray-beard like a king—Steals into a tent: "Now you can get the girl;Wake up and fight; now you can get her."(A low voice within.) Eh?A dream, God bless us, fire-wing.(The shutter opens.)He.

Soloman— Tell it.

(Farther back, a second shutter opens.)

Macias—First tell me this: Did either of you monksHear Fever howl?Soloman— I heard no howl.Macias—(Flashing back his torch.) Did you?Leo—(In a thin voice.)What?Macias—Hear Fever howl.Leo— What's Fever?Macias— The bitch.Leo— Shame!Macias—(To Soloman.)A while ago I started up from sleepAnd hurried to the kennel, thinking sureI'd find old Fever sick again; but no;The bitch was sleeping. And yet I heard a howl.It may have been the white hound in my dream.I seemed to be out on the mountain there.'Twas early morning; a few stars still shoneAbove the village. Soon, far down the road,I heard a baying as of hounds. Thinks I:"A deer has passed and waked the village dogs.Now for a chase." There must have been a slotOf fresh blood on the road that fired the pack,For on they came like mad. Around the cliffLong bodies swung like shadows through the mist,And tore on up the mountain. Farther upA stag plunged from a hazel copse, and thenA snow-white talbot, following close behind,Shot smoking from the brake. "Abloy!" I cried,And leaped upon a rock. The after-pack,Nosing the vent along the mountain road,Heard the loud challenge of the leading houndAnd, breaking trail, came crashing through the brushAnd spied the quarry, and with their heads in airSprang after up the scree, their steaming mouthsRinging the mountains round. The pretty deer,With nostrils flaming and with dappled flanksTorn by the furze, came skirting round a rockAnd turned to dash under some low-hung boughsWhen over a near knoll the hot, sinewy hound,Like to a cat-o'-mountain from a limb,Shot through the air. Crash through the boughs he went.Sprinkling the earth with leaves. Out jumped my knife,And, leaping from the rock, I hurried downTo slit the poor brute's throat and save a steakFrom the mad, hungry pack. The pretty buckStaggered beneath the hound, while the beads of bloodDripped from the quivering hocks. The head fell back,The tender haunches sank on the soft turf,And death was closing up the eyes, when lo,Sancta Maria, what a miracle!

Macias—First tell me this: Did either of you monksHear Fever howl?

Soloman— I heard no howl.

Macias—(Flashing back his torch.) Did you?

Leo—(In a thin voice.)What?

Macias—Hear Fever howl.

Leo— What's Fever?

Macias— The bitch.

Leo— Shame!

Macias—(To Soloman.)A while ago I started up from sleepAnd hurried to the kennel, thinking sureI'd find old Fever sick again; but no;The bitch was sleeping. And yet I heard a howl.It may have been the white hound in my dream.I seemed to be out on the mountain there.'Twas early morning; a few stars still shoneAbove the village. Soon, far down the road,I heard a baying as of hounds. Thinks I:"A deer has passed and waked the village dogs.Now for a chase." There must have been a slotOf fresh blood on the road that fired the pack,For on they came like mad. Around the cliffLong bodies swung like shadows through the mist,And tore on up the mountain. Farther upA stag plunged from a hazel copse, and thenA snow-white talbot, following close behind,Shot smoking from the brake. "Abloy!" I cried,And leaped upon a rock. The after-pack,Nosing the vent along the mountain road,Heard the loud challenge of the leading houndAnd, breaking trail, came crashing through the brushAnd spied the quarry, and with their heads in airSprang after up the scree, their steaming mouthsRinging the mountains round. The pretty deer,With nostrils flaming and with dappled flanksTorn by the furze, came skirting round a rockAnd turned to dash under some low-hung boughsWhen over a near knoll the hot, sinewy hound,Like to a cat-o'-mountain from a limb,Shot through the air. Crash through the boughs he went.Sprinkling the earth with leaves. Out jumped my knife,And, leaping from the rock, I hurried downTo slit the poor brute's throat and save a steakFrom the mad, hungry pack. The pretty buckStaggered beneath the hound, while the beads of bloodDripped from the quivering hocks. The head fell back,The tender haunches sank on the soft turf,And death was closing up the eyes, when lo,Sancta Maria, what a miracle!

Back to Index Next