Chapter 8

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 templeWith you in large space on the entablature.Father Benedict—(Opening his eyes.)That is another proof he knew that IWas to have part in that great enterpriseAnd achieve glory. And he lied to me.

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 templeWith you in large space on the entablature.

Father Benedict—(Opening his eyes.)That is another proof he knew that IWas to have part in that great enterpriseAnd 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 policyTo keep you in the dark about this thing.Father Benedict—What cause had he to fear that I would shrinkTo 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 himAlone 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—

Louis—You may mistake what Father had in mind.He may have thought it would be policyTo keep you in the dark about this thing.

Father Benedict—What cause had he to fear that I would shrinkTo 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 himAlone 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 thingsDuring service would have made my hair stand upHad 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 sageFor 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 wayUp to the mountain tops and meet the Lord,And Heathendom shall tumble down to Hell.

(He espies the wine vessels over against the dormitory walland 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.

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 theAbbot whisper together. In the rear, from behind thechapel, Macias, the hunter, enters with a young deerupon his back, and at his belt a brace of geese. Simonis holding one of the fowls by the tip of its wing, Basiland 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 hadA hunk of beef.Simon— Sh!(He points to the Abbot.)Rene—(Nudging him.) Basil, see the twigs.

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 hadA 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 afew 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.

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 carStood hub-deep in the western ocean's sand.I met the morning on the mountain topsFresh dropt from heaven, with one golden wingBright on the pines, the other softly sheathedIn valley shadows thinning round her plumes.The night I spent far back among the hills.For three hours in the darkness on the roadI staked my life upon the ass' stepAnd ass and life upon these slips of rue.

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 carStood hub-deep in the western ocean's sand.I met the morning on the mountain topsFresh dropt from heaven, with one golden wingBright on the pines, the other softly sheathedIn valley shadows thinning round her plumes.The night I spent far back among the hills.For three hours in the darkness on the roadI staked my life upon the ass' stepAnd ass and life upon these slips of rue.

(He thrusts his switch into the narrow necked diotas, anddrawing it out, feels the end.)

If any manna fell upon the heightsThe Devil must have harvested the flakes:I found none on the way.Abbot— I fear the fiendHas washed it down with our good Tuscan wineAnd dressed Hell's tables with the golden cupsThe Abbot Boldi sent from Aosta.The tide is out and the Italian moonHas slipped her sphere that ruled the purple flood.These are the empty shells that held the sea.

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

Abbot— I fear the fiendHas washed it down with our good Tuscan wineAnd dressed Hell's tables with the golden cupsThe Abbot Boldi sent from Aosta.The tide is out and the Italian moonHas 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. Simonfollows him.)

Have something, Benedict.Father Benedict— Ah, you are good.Abbot—What could have drawn you back among the hillsWhen 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.

Have something, Benedict.

Father Benedict— Ah, you are good.

Abbot—What could have drawn you back among the hillsWhen 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—

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.

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 oneof the benches, upon which he climbs and stands fixingthe saddle.)

Abbot— A while ago you saidGod'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.

Abbot— A while ago you saidGod'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, whichhe hands to the Priest, who looks from the Abbot toLouis 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 proofYou envy me. First, you conceal from meThat which you feared would blow my name abroad;And now you fear to hear where I have beenBecause from what you know of me you knowWhatever comes I meet events as friends,And never sally out but I returnWith 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!

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 proofYou envy me. First, you conceal from meThat which you feared would blow my name abroad;And now you fear to hear where I have beenBecause from what you know of me you knowWhatever comes I meet events as friends,And never sally out but I returnWith 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 aboutupon 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.

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 landBetween the river and the raddle-hedgeSouth of the village, with the acreageOf tilth and vines that fronts the rising sunNear the White Torrent. Doesthatgive you joy?

(He strikes the ass with the switch and starts left.)

Basil—(Aloud.) ThankGod!Abbot—(Lifting his hand.) This is the work of Benedict.Father Benedict—(Stopping.) You mean that as reproach?Abbot—I simply meanWe had no hand in this; the glory is yours.Father Benedict—Come with me.

Basil—(Aloud.) ThankGod!

Abbot—(Lifting his hand.) This is the work of Benedict.

Father Benedict—(Stopping.) You mean that as reproach?

Abbot—I simply meanWe 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 chapeland enter, leaving the court bare.)

Father Benedict— You remember, I suppose,As we clashed spears a while ago I saidThe 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.

Father Benedict— You remember, I suppose,As we clashed spears a while ago I saidThe 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 towardthe 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 cameLouis and I were talking of the thingsThat late have happened.Father Benedict— The dream.Abbot— Oswald's fallAnd his unnatural rescue from the gulch.Father Benedict—'Twassupernatural, notunnatural.Abbot—A nice discrimination, Benedict.I do not see as you do. You were trainedBy masters who, no doubt, had they heard thisDistinction, would have said: "Benissime!"Father Benedict—(Superciliously.)Well done isoptime.Abbot—(With mock humility.) Just so—just so—My master would have said—yes,optime.A boon it is that words cannot change things.

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 cameLouis and I were talking of the thingsThat late have happened.

Father Benedict— The dream.

Abbot— Oswald's fallAnd his unnatural rescue from the gulch.

Father Benedict—'Twassupernatural, notunnatural.

Abbot—A nice discrimination, Benedict.I do not see as you do. You were trainedBy masters who, no doubt, had they heard thisDistinction, would have said: "Benissime!"

Father Benedict—(Superciliously.)Well done isoptime.

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—Sayit.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.

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—Sayit.

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 suspectSomething is up.

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 suspectSomething is up.

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

As it is, he does not knowThat 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.

Abbot— (After a pause.) Very well.

(He enters the chapel, followed by Louis.)

SCENE THREE—A street in the village showing a lowthatched cottage with a door made accessible by steps.To the left of the door is a small square open window, onthe sill of which are garden plants and pots of winterflowers put there to get the morning sun. In the cornerof the yard, right, is a well with an old wooden wheel highup on posts. At the end of the chain hanging from it isa bucket from which water is leaking back into the well.Madam Valmy, the country-woman who has just come totown and who has a basket upon her arm, has stoppedbefore the house and is looking intently left.

Madam Valmy, the country-woman who has just come totown and who has a basket upon her arm, has stoppedbefore 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!

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 bareheadedand carries a child in her arms.)

Madam Bacqueur— Every daySome 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 nightInto the mountains. I do hope and pray—

Madam Bacqueur— Every daySome 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 nightInto the mountains. I do hope and pray—

(They stand looking left. From the right, Hugh Capetenters hurriedly. Reaching over the fence to the wellhe swings the bucket to his mouth.)

You know so many strange and evil thingsHave happened lately. Just a week agoOld 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 outCame yelping to their kennels cramped with fearAs 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. ThursdayA black stone fell from heaven. Father saidIt was a challenge. And that very nightOccurred a wonder during complines. Yes,The golden chalices in the church took fireAnd circled round the altar. Blood appearedOn 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 knowThe canvass that they keep covering the crossThat Oswald carves, round that it whisked and moaned,And Rachel says she heard the voice of ChristUnder 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 knowI 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 graveIn the churchyard there had jumped a horrid ghostTo 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 foundThe dear monk, Oswald, bruised and bathed with blood,

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. ThursdayA black stone fell from heaven. Father saidIt was a challenge. And that very nightOccurred a wonder during complines. Yes,The golden chalices in the church took fireAnd circled round the altar. Blood appearedOn 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 knowThe canvass that they keep covering the crossThat Oswald carves, round that it whisked and moaned,And Rachel says she heard the voice of ChristUnder 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 knowI 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 graveIn the churchyard there had jumped a horrid ghostTo 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 foundThe 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. Andthat'snot all.To think we slept through all of it! To thinkWe did not wake and cry out, "God is here!"And then run up and down and ring the bells.Oh, expectation kindles every bushFor our Lord's coming.Madam Valmy— What?Madam Bacqueur— Oh, everything!How wonderful are mountains angels' feetHave trodden on! How beautiful the air!Oh, everything seems different to me now.I half expect to see the stone put forthA 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 nightOur Lord begins his reign upon the earth.For hours I sit and look in my child's faceAnd 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.

Lying before the monastery gate.

Madam Valmy—Why, Clotilde!

Madam Bacqueur— Yes, indeed. Andthat'snot all.To think we slept through all of it! To thinkWe did not wake and cry out, "God is here!"And then run up and down and ring the bells.Oh, expectation kindles every bushFor our Lord's coming.

Madam Valmy— What?

Madam Bacqueur— Oh, everything!How wonderful are mountains angels' feetHave trodden on! How beautiful the air!Oh, everything seems different to me now.I half expect to see the stone put forthA 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 nightOur Lord begins his reign upon the earth.For hours I sit and look in my child's faceAnd 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 beenTrying to get the men to storm the heightsAnd 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 fellBut 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 staffDown in the gorge, full forty feet belowThe mountain road.Madam Valmy— Not over the steep gray bluff!Madam Bacqueur—Think of a fall like that! At break of dayThey found him at the monastery gateUnconscious, carried there by unseen hands—Madam Valmy—What!Madam Bacqueur— Yes, indeed. And those who found him sawArchangels sitting on the mountain topsWith golden shields, and there were sounds of warFar off as they were fighting in the clouds;Driving the witches off to hell, no doubt.Madam Valmy—Onthesemountains?Madam Bacqueur— And eventhat'snot 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.

Jardin's beenTrying to get the men to storm the heightsAnd 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 fellBut 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 staffDown in the gorge, full forty feet belowThe mountain road.

Madam Valmy— Not over the steep gray bluff!

Madam Bacqueur—Think of a fall like that! At break of dayThey found him at the monastery gateUnconscious, carried there by unseen hands—

Madam Valmy—What!

Madam Bacqueur— Yes, indeed. And those who found him sawArchangels sitting on the mountain topsWith golden shields, and there were sounds of warFar off as they were fighting in the clouds;Driving the witches off to hell, no doubt.

Madam Valmy—Onthesemountains?

Madam Bacqueur— And eventhat'snot 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 faceHow it lightens when he speaks of it. His eyesLook far away across the glory fields."Bretheren, this miracle is but the blossomWhose 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.Sobright. Rachel will tell you. Or it may beHe sees the pilgrims that shall gather here.This morning Marie heard two brothers sayThere's sure to be a shrine where Oswald fell.Think of it, Madam Valmy, these streets throngedWith 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 knowThe day your child was christened—Madam Bacqueur— Oh, how true!How like a star hisnamewill shine!Madam Valmy— I nowPredict 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 meansTo little Oswald here! To wear a nameA blessed saint hath worn and given himWith his own lips at the baptismal font;To see a white hand beckon from the skyAnd hear forever in each vesper chimeA saint's clear voice calling his soul to comeAnd flower out beneath the holy bells.Oh, think, Fidele, some day when he is oldAnd in his cloister yonder on the mountain,When the dear brothers gathered after prayerShall 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 shrinesShall tell of Subiaco and the thornsOf good St. Benedict, my boy can say:"I grew to manhood in the little townDown in the valley. I have never beenBeyond the mountains, but each day have heard,Morning and night, St. Giles' dewy bellsRing 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 meSt. Oswald stood god-father at the fontAnd 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 gorgeAnd 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 afraidJules will go with them. Would you mind if I—

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.Sobright. Rachel will tell you. Or it may beHe sees the pilgrims that shall gather here.This morning Marie heard two brothers sayThere's sure to be a shrine where Oswald fell.Think of it, Madam Valmy, these streets throngedWith 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 knowThe day your child was christened—

Madam Bacqueur— Oh, how true!How like a star hisnamewill shine!

Madam Valmy— I nowPredict 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 meansTo little Oswald here! To wear a nameA blessed saint hath worn and given himWith his own lips at the baptismal font;To see a white hand beckon from the skyAnd hear forever in each vesper chimeA saint's clear voice calling his soul to comeAnd flower out beneath the holy bells.Oh, think, Fidele, some day when he is oldAnd in his cloister yonder on the mountain,When the dear brothers gathered after prayerShall 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 shrinesShall tell of Subiaco and the thornsOf good St. Benedict, my boy can say:"I grew to manhood in the little townDown in the valley. I have never beenBeyond the mountains, but each day have heard,Morning and night, St. Giles' dewy bellsRing 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 meSt. Oswald stood god-father at the fontAnd 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 gorgeAnd 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 afraidJules will go with them. Would you mind if I—

Back to Index Next