Chapter 9

(The cottage door opens.)

Have Rachel tell you of that awful dream.

(She goes out, left. With a staff in one hand and screeningher eyes with the other, old Rachel comes sidling downthe steps. Madam Valmy sets her basket over thefence.)

Rachel—Clotilde? Marie? Oh, it's Fidele! Why, child,When did you come to town?Madam Valmy—(Taking Rachel by the hand.)There's some one hurt.Rachel—Fidele!You frighten me. That horrid word!Who is it?Madam Valmy—The crowd.Rachel— Where?Madam Valmy— Down by the church.Rachel—Those heathen dogs. Are they in town? I fear—

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

Madam Valmy—(Taking Rachel by the hand.)There's some one hurt.

Rachel—Fidele!You frighten me. That horrid word!Who is it?

Madam Valmy—The crowd.

Rachel— Where?

Madam Valmy— Down by the church.

Rachel—Those heathen dogs. Are they in town? I fear—

(They go out, left.)

SCENE FOUR—Before the church which stands abouttwenty feet back from the street. Low stone fences oneither side project in to its corners and form with its frontthree sides of a hexagon. To the right, in a higher fence,also of stone, which runs parallel with the street, is an irongate, overgrown with vines, leading into the churchyard.Between the palings can be seen white crosses markingthe graves. In the corners, just where the fences start intoward the church, stand Lombardy poplars in full foliage,one on either side. The church is built of rough stone,with irregular seams of white mortar. In the center isan arched doorway and beside it two false windows almostcovered with ivy. High up over the door is seen thelower part of a narrow louvre window with several longstraws, which the birds have carried there, hanging downfrom between the slats.In the open space before the church, a crowd is gathered.Upon the steps with his back to the door stands Jardin,the Bailiff. He wears a sleeveless hauberk wrought ofchain, and upon his head a heavy open helmet. Somedistance to the right, upon a step lower down, Jacques Sar,wearing a leather corselet and a cap of wolf skin, is leaningwith his right hand against the church. His rightarm is off near the shoulder. The crowd is made up ofmen, for the most part in their working clothes. Somehave no hats on. Among the latter is Hugh Capet, whosered head is seen far in near the steps. Jules Bacqueur,with his sleeves rolled up, stands on the edge of thecrowd. Out in the street to the left, is a group of women.A boy is up in the poplar tree, right.As the Scene progresses, other villagers enter, among themthe women of the last Scene.

In the open space before the church, a crowd is gathered.Upon the steps with his back to the door stands Jardin,the Bailiff. He wears a sleeveless hauberk wrought ofchain, and upon his head a heavy open helmet. Somedistance to the right, upon a step lower down, Jacques Sar,wearing a leather corselet and a cap of wolf skin, is leaningwith his right hand against the church. His rightarm is off near the shoulder. The crowd is made up ofmen, for the most part in their working clothes. Somehave no hats on. Among the latter is Hugh Capet, whosered head is seen far in near the steps. Jules Bacqueur,with his sleeves rolled up, stands on the edge of thecrowd. Out in the street to the left, is a group of women.A boy is up in the poplar tree, right.

As the Scene progresses, other villagers enter, among themthe women of the last Scene.

Jardin—Was Jardin right last week when comrade's wife

(With a motion toward old Jacques.)

Fell palsied and he said: "Let's kill the witch;Next thing she'll strike some brother." Was he right?Was he? In here is a cross can tell you.Is the cross done? Can any man say why?The holy monk that carves it, where is he?Up yonder on the mountain in his cell,Nigh unto death. Only the Virgin's handsThat plucked him from the pit can save his life.And who's to blame? Who is to blame, men? Eh?You men that shout to sail out to the EastAnd swell about the neck as vipers do,Blowing against the Moslems, what do you sayTo the heathen on the mountain up there, eh?Twenty moons and more have risen and setSince they took up their station 'neath the starsAnd, in collusion with the hag of hell,Shook pestilence and death upon the air.Planets have knocked and fire has fallen and bloodHas drizzled over all this region. Eh?What do you think our Lord thinks of these things?Rescue the mountains; they are His Sepulcher.You want to see Golgotha?Thereit is.A mountain with a heretic on its peakIs like a spear thrusting a bitter sopUp to our Lord's lips even in heaven. You menWho see the sop and leave it there are Jews.Hugh Capet—They're Maccabees.Jardin— As for Jacques Sar and me,We'll wear these arms—Jacques Sar— Until the Judgment Day.Jardin—Till our old bodies rot, or see those peaksWaved over with the banner of our Lord.And you think you will live to see that chase.You know what I would do if I were God?

Hugh Capet—They're Maccabees.

Jardin— As for Jacques Sar and me,We'll wear these arms—

Jacques Sar— Until the Judgment Day.

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

(He draws his sword.)

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

(He points toward the churchyard. A man reaches out ofthe crowd and touches him on the leg.)

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

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

Bacqueur— Who is it's dead?Jacques Sar—Dead? All of us, he says, an the hag lives.Hugh Capet—He's right, too.

Bacqueur— Who is it's dead?

Jacques Sar—Dead? All of us, he says, an the hag lives.

Hugh Capet—He's right, too.

Madam Bacqueur—(Entering, right, and hurrying to thewomen.)

Is it Father Benedict?Jardin—(Straightening up.)It was for that that he rode back there. Eh?Tell them? What for? What good would that do? WhatDo they care if the heathen keeps his land?I see some of you here that yesterdayWas down at Bacqueur's. Do I? Do I see you?Somehow it seems to me I recollectHearing as how old Hulga'd never strikeNo man no more since God had saved the monkAnd maybe threw her off the cliff herself.Did any of you hear that? Did you men?Eh? No one, eh? So Jardin must have dreamed.Well, in the dream then Jardin seemed to say:"The hag will strike till we have dragged her down,Her and her dwarf, Canzler, the big heathen,And all his kith, and burnt them in the street."A Voice—You got him in the church, Jardin?Madam Bacqueur— La, now!Hugh Capet— Down with him!Jardin—Was Jardin right again? Has Hulga struck?You'd see the ass he rode you'd think she'd struck.Awhile ago here some one shouted out:"Who's in the church?" I've got the arrow strungAnd now I'll tell you, now I'll let it fly.The wine train's lost; three of the mules are dead;Two men were crushed to death; our Lord's dear blood,Witches have poured out on the mountain rocks.Now, has she struck? You think she has, eh? Hugh,What did we tell them? Jacques Sar? Bacqueur? Eh?Didn't we?Bacqueur—How did it happen, Bailiff?Jardin—Some one here asked if Canzler was in here.No. Yes. What if he were or what if he is?You think I'd tell you and see you fall dead? (MadamValmy enters, right, leading old Rachel by the hand.)One of the muleteers rode in for help.He only spoke Italian. A friar, though,Told me his tale. Last night when the train reachedThe Devil's Pass—'twas dark; the moon had sunk—Threewithered hell-hags, with the skirring cloudsFlying toward Pampeluna to their sabbath,Lit on a gray crag. Lightning splintered blueAbout them, smells of sulphur rose, and thunderClapped the dark rock. The mountain shook. Straightway,Cries of the men rang out. The leaders crashed,Dumb-smitted with horror, mules and packs and all,Down through the chaparral to the gowle below.The witches vanished. All the Pass was stillSave through the night the golden chalicesClinking far down the scaur. Then on a sudden

Is it Father Benedict?

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

A Voice—You got him in the church, Jardin?

Madam Bacqueur— La, now!

Hugh Capet— Down with him!

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

Bacqueur—How did it happen, Bailiff?

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

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

The grisly hags, crooning a wild song, roseTossing the golden cups up in the air,And like a strip of mist went down the windToward Pampeluna. What is the matter, women?A Man—They say the hag's in town.Rosa—(In an underbreath.) Sigurd.Madam Bacqueur— The dwarf.The Man—They say the dwarf's in town.Jardin—(Deeply moved.) Men,—!The Boy—(Up in the tree craning his neck.) I see him!Yonder he is by the bridge. He's got somethingShining in his hand.Jardin—-(His face paling.) What was it the hunter sawIn his dream, men? What was it that roused the dogs—The heathen dogs to chase the brother?Hugh Capet— Blood.Jardin—(Feeling the tip of his sword.)To-day God stains the trail.A Shout— Down with him!Jardin— Wait.The Boy—See it! See it flash! It's a dagger!Jardin— Men!Jacques Sar— Men!A Shout—Come on, men!Jardin— Stop them, Bacqueur! Knock them down!Bring those fools back.

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

A Man—They say the hag's in town.

Rosa—(In an underbreath.) Sigurd.

Madam Bacqueur— The dwarf.

The Man—They say the dwarf's in town.

Jardin—(Deeply moved.) Men,—!

The Boy—(Up in the tree craning his neck.) I see him!Yonder he is by the bridge. He's got somethingShining in his hand.

Jardin—-(His face paling.) What was it the hunter sawIn his dream, men? What was it that roused the dogs—The heathen dogs to chase the brother?

Hugh Capet— Blood.

Jardin—(Feeling the tip of his sword.)To-day God stains the trail.

A Shout— Down with him!

Jardin— Wait.

The Boy—See it! See it flash! It's a dagger!

Jardin— Men!

Jacques Sar— Men!

A Shout—Come on, men!

Jardin— Stop them, Bacqueur! Knock them down!Bring those fools back.

(Hugh Capet, out in the street, waves with his arm. Themen who rushed out, right, return sulky.)

One of Them—Who is the coward now?Another—Hush, Noel.Another— Let's have no trouble, men.Jardin— Silence!First Man—'Cause we ain't seen the wars—Several— Be quiet, Noel.Jardin—Is that the way you fowlers take your birds,Rush out and throw the net before their eyes?Is it? And when the wolves prowl for your lambs,You raise a shout before you stretch the string,Do you? Here's Jacques. You think he'd have this capIf he had yelled to the brute, "Watch for your skin,"And rushed on him waving a club? Do you?Eh? If you do, I tell you Jardin don't;'N I reckon Jardin's seen a wolf or two.This dwarf of Hulga's, you don't think he's sly,Do you? Eh? Well, he is, sly as a newt.You touch the stones once and you'll see him gone.What's to be done, then? Listen to Jardin:Deploy. You don't know what that means, do you?Some of you here are burning for the EastTo fight the Moslems. Just cry: "Allah-ho!"And then rush on them, will you? Turks, ain't they?Jacques Sar—Right.Jardin— Listen, men; I'll tell you what it means.You've seen the falcon 'fore she strikes the hernOpen her talons, ain't you? That's deploy.Well, then we'll open ours. Three of you fellowsSkirt the ford yonder and shut off retreatTo the cave. There's one claw open. Halt, men.Then two detachments—Here, attention, men;Wait for your orders.—Then two squads of threeMarch up that way—(He points left.)and when you strike the hedge,Right! left! one along the wold; the otherDown through the waddy; each to the river.Then we've got him flanked. There's three claws openAnd the bird is ours. Now listen. Listen men.You men that mean to cut off his retreat,Take spears. He'll squawk we pinch him, and the old hen,Hearing her chick, will swoop down from the rocks.Then's your chance; stick her.Jacques Sar— Mine!Hugh Capet— Let Jacques have her.Jacques Sar—I'll fetch her head back home to mother Sar.

One of Them—Who is the coward now?

Another—Hush, Noel.

Another— Let's have no trouble, men.

Jardin— Silence!

First Man—'Cause we ain't seen the wars—

Several— Be quiet, Noel.

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

Jacques Sar—Right.

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

Jacques Sar— Mine!

Hugh Capet— Let Jacques have her.

Jacques Sar—I'll fetch her head back home to mother Sar.

(He and the Bailiff come down into the crowd.)

A Voice—What if the heathen charge down on us?Hugh Capet— Bah!Jardin—You think he'd leave that peak for all the world?Hugh Capet—After what's happened?Jacques Sar— After this shower of blood?Bacqueur—From that black planet came the thunder stoneThat tore the field back there.Hugh Capet— You think he would?Jardin—Now hear what Jardin says. If he could ask,For what he suffered in the Holy Wars,Two gifts of Heaven, and two strong saints should soarPast the green steeples of these poplars hereAnd fold their white wings in that street and say:"Soldier, what are they?" What would Jardin say?First this:(He steps back upon the steps.)Up yonder is a holy monkWhom God has blessed above all living men.Abaddon hurled him down to take his life.He's bruised almost to death. Saints, bring him down.We're going to kindle such a fire hereAs friends of darkness, glowering from the caves,Shall see and then scoot shuddering to Hell.

A Voice—What if the heathen charge down on us?

Hugh Capet— Bah!

Jardin—You think he'd leave that peak for all the world?

Hugh Capet—After what's happened?

Jacques Sar— After this shower of blood?

Bacqueur—From that black planet came the thunder stoneThat tore the field back there.

Hugh Capet— You think he would?

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

(The crowd shouts.)

Bring him down, then, and let him see the flamesLick up the limbs that tripped him.Jacques Sar— Right.Bacqueur— You're right.Hugh Capet—Let's bring him down!Shouts— Right! Bring him! Bring him down!Jardin—Here, men, put on those caps. You think you're saints?If you can fly through air, why bring him down;You can't, then hush and hear what Jardin says.First then I'd say: "Bring down the monk." Then this:There's a big fellow on the mountain topsWhat calls Thor Father, spitting at our Lord.And in the dawn when Christians gather hereTo holy mass he stands upon the peaksAnd scowls upon the bells. He and the witchAre brain and bowels to some heathen godWhose dark hand works at night beneath the hillsSapping the towers of Christ. Saints, send him down.Tell him to strap his big old martel on him.He comes down here he'll feel a damaskinThat's sliced the Turks and choked the gates of hellWith ghosts of Allah, and another'll goBloody and hot to Thor.(Shouts.)Send him down, saints.Some one here says, "If Canzler comes, what then?"He'll die. Who'll do it? Listen: Jardin will.

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

Jacques Sar— Right.

Bacqueur— You're right.

Hugh Capet—Let's bring him down!

Shouts— Right! Bring him! Bring him down!

Jardin—Here, men, put on those caps. You think you're saints?If you can fly through air, why bring him down;You can't, then hush and hear what Jardin says.First then I'd say: "Bring down the monk." Then this:There's a big fellow on the mountain topsWhat calls Thor Father, spitting at our Lord.And in the dawn when Christians gather hereTo holy mass he stands upon the peaksAnd scowls upon the bells. He and the witchAre brain and bowels to some heathen godWhose dark hand works at night beneath the hillsSapping the towers of Christ. Saints, send him down.Tell him to strap his big old martel on him.He comes down here he'll feel a damaskinThat's sliced the Turks and choked the gates of hellWith ghosts of Allah, and another'll goBloody and hot to Thor.(Shouts.)Send him down, saints.Some one here says, "If Canzler comes, what then?"He'll die. Who'll do it? Listen: Jardin will.

(He comes down into the crowd that surges and clamorsabout him.)

Line up!(He chooses nine men, whom he arranges in squads of three.)A Man— (In the first squad.)About those spears.Jardin—Stop at the armory.

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

A Man— (In the first squad.)About those spears.

Jardin—Stop at the armory.

(He produces a great key.)

You know your orders, do you?A Chorus—We do.Jardin—Jacques.Lead.

You know your orders, do you?

A Chorus—We do.

Jardin—Jacques.

Lead.

(He hands the key to the old man, who puts himselfat the head of the first squad.)

Bacqueur.Madam Bacqueur—No, no.Jardin—Capet.

Bacqueur.

Madam Bacqueur—No, no.

Jardin—Capet.

(The two men put themselves at the head of the second andthird squads.)

Jardin—March!Madam Bacqueur—(Holding out her child.) Husband!

Jardin—March!

Madam Bacqueur—(Holding out her child.) Husband!

(They pass out, left. Madam Bacqueur looks after themfor a while, then lifts her skirt to her eyes and sobsaloud.)

Rachel—Where are they going, child?Jardin—Line up now, men.We'll strike the front. Women, pray that the saintsMay bring the monk to see this devil burn,And send the old warlock down. He will breathe hard,I slit his entrails once and put this footOn his big chest.

Rachel—Where are they going, child?

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

(As he goes along lining up the menwith his sword, the church door opens and, pale andemaciated, the monk Oswald appears.)

Fidele—Clotilde! Auntie! Rosa!The Women—Look! Look!(They fall upon their knees.)Jardin—What is it, women!A Man—Look! Look!

Fidele—Clotilde! Auntie! Rosa!

The Women—Look! Look!(They fall upon their knees.)

Jardin—What is it, women!

A Man—Look! Look!

(The men cross themselves and fall prostrate. Old Racheland the Bailiff alone remain standing.)

Rachel—(Screening her eyes.)What is it, Rosa?Fidele— Auntie! auntie!

Rachel—(Screening her eyes.)What is it, Rosa?

Fidele— Auntie! auntie!

(She pulls old Rachel to her knees.)

A Breath—(Through the crowd.) His ghost!Oswald—What is the matter?

A Breath—(Through the crowd.) His ghost!

Oswald—What is the matter?

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

A Man—(In a low voice.) Jardin, speak.Jardin— Father.Oswald—What is it? (A pause.) What is the matter?Jardin— Is that you?Oswald—What was that shouting?

A Man—(In a low voice.) Jardin, speak.

Jardin— Father.

Oswald—What is it? (A pause.) What is the matter?

Jardin— Is that you?

Oswald—What was that shouting?

(A silence ensues. Themonk puts his palm to his breast and coughs.)

Jardin—(Completing his thought.)—these men aghast hereCalls up to Jardin's mind a night in the warsWhen we were storming Acre. The Infidel,Sallying out, had laid the Lion HeartLow in the dust. The waves of battle clappedOver his head. Barred in with dripping spearsOf Turk and Christian, raged the bleeding whelp,His paws red-clotted in his own hot blood.Cleaving the gloom, a burst of crimson lightStreamed down the slanting spears and like a prowRolled back the waves of war. Between the crestsOf foam-white faces holy St. AugustineCame walking down the bodies of the dead,And lifting the Lion, fired him. At onceRose on the night the planet of his shieldBurning a lane before his falchion fed,And down the slope into the Turks he sweptThrough dropping shields and sabers thrown in air,A lurid streak of flame. So Jardin now,Seeing this blessed monk the saints have brought,Takes fire, and blown with hate of our Lord's foes,Will lick the crags and leap from peak to peak,Nor shall the flame go out until the windRain heathen ashes on the pit of hell.

(Roused by the Bailiff's words, four or five of the menspring to their feet. The rest rise slowly and remainmute. Oswald comes down the steps.)

Jardin—(Knocking the men with his sword.)Line, line up!(A man points down the street.)Another— We'll fix him, Father!Another—He'll never strike no holy monk again!Another—We'll burn the imp!Another— Father shall see to it, too!

Jardin—(Knocking the men with his sword.)Line, line up!(A man points down the street.)

Another— We'll fix him, Father!

Another—He'll never strike no holy monk again!

Another—We'll burn the imp!

Another— Father shall see to it, too!

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

Oswald—(Excitedly.)Stay, men! Lay no rough hands upon the boy.

(The linehalts. The monk puts his palm to his breast and coughs.)

Jardin—No rough hands on—?Oswald— The boy has done no harm.The night I fell—A Man— Here's Father Benedict.

Jardin—No rough hands on—?

Oswald— The boy has done no harm.The night I fell—

A Man— Here's Father Benedict.

(They wait in silence.)

Father Benedict—Ah, brother Oswald! (He comes ridingin, left. The women bow reverently; the men baretheir heads.)Benedicite.You see my children gathered here about,How glad they are to see you.Oswald— And I, Father,To be at work once more.Father Benedict— Praise the Virgin.(Dismounting.)You show a Christian spirit coming thus,Bruised as you are, to do the Master's work.Oswald—I promised it should be done to-morrow.Father Benedict— And—?Oswald—I have two golden letters to put on.Father Benedict—God hath his eye upon our altar cross;And on you, too, my brother.Oswald— God has beenGood to me.Father Benedict—The angels do His will.Oswald—And even human hands—

Father Benedict—Ah, brother Oswald! (He comes ridingin, left. The women bow reverently; the men baretheir heads.)Benedicite.You see my children gathered here about,How glad they are to see you.

Oswald— And I, Father,To be at work once more.

Father Benedict— Praise the Virgin.(Dismounting.)You show a Christian spirit coming thus,Bruised as you are, to do the Master's work.

Oswald—I promised it should be done to-morrow.

Father Benedict— And—?

Oswald—I have two golden letters to put on.

Father Benedict—God hath his eye upon our altar cross;And on you, too, my brother.

Oswald— God has beenGood to me.

Father Benedict—The angels do His will.

Oswald—And even human hands—

(He looks down the street.)

Father Benedict— 'Twas marvelous.As I came down I passed the jagged cliffYou tumbled over, and there a while I pausedEntranced, as it were, by unseen Presences.

(The boy, who climbed down from the tree upon the arrivalof the Priest, leads the ass out, left.)

The mountains wore a new and hallowed lookIn the morning light. I would give half my lifeTo have stood upon the peaks that night and seenGod's ministers drop shining down the skyAnd blaze the gorge. But God works in the dark.At night His golden ladders are let downAnd deeds are done and no man knoweth how.At dawn we see the severed hills, the seasHuddled aghast at some vast mountain headThat yesterday lay fathoms in the deep.So quietly He worketh in the nightThat mountain ranges rise and no babe wakes.Who can say: "Yonder God is"?Oswald— None, Father.Father Benedict— None.The hand that executes His purposesIs hidden like the purposes themselves.He dwelleth in the storm and in the calm,Yet both look round and say: "Where dwelleth He?"The sun that shines on all, shines not on Him.He goeth forth at night and doth His will,Yet the moon sees Him not. I rode alongThinking upon your providentialEscape from death that night and of the workGod hath reserved for me in the great chase,For half the glory is mine. I prayed our LordThat if it be His will I might catch someGlimpse of the dogs far off. I could not seeMy hand before my eyes in spirit, butWith eyelids down, rode on, probing the dark,Sounding deep in my soul the ocean of God,And finding there bottomless waters.The night of ebony and the golden dawn,The deed the past holds and the future's deed,Rose half way up the sky and called acrossFathomless spaces: "Who are you?" And IThought answer: "Thou art Fall; and thou, with hairBright with the morning and with frightened eyesFleeing the noise of dogs behind thee, thouArt Resurrection and the Peace of God."Connection I could find none. Stark and loneThey stood upon the twilight fields of air,Strangers, each looking in the face of each,When through the gloaming came a glittering linkStar-like with the image of our LordBleeding in silver on a silver cross,A marriage ring that married them, and IDeep in my soul knew the Eternal andSaw Prophesy grappling the North and heardHeathendom hiss and coil and loose her folds;And then a voice filling the heavens: "Well done."Speaking to me, for the glory is mine.Your crucifix has not been found yet?Oswald— No.Father Benedict—And will not be.Oswald— It must be in the brook.I had it in my hand just as I fell.Father Benedict—'Tis in the hand of God where it shall beUntil the morning breaks of that great dayWhen Heathendom shall tumble down to hell.Then it shall dangle bloody from the skyWhile all the mountains shake.Oswald— What do you mean?Father Benedict—The mountains trembled in the tempest.Oswald— When?Father Benedict—During the great chase. (A pause.) Is it possibleYou start upon the chase with darkened eyes?Oswald—I do not understand you.Father Benedict—(Aside.) Can it beThey have not told him of the dream? Mum, then.Oswald—Brother Andrew told me.Father Benedict— And you understandOn whom this dark calamity shall fall?Oswald—It has already fallen.Father Benedict— Already fallen!You think the stag is down, then, do you?Oswald— Stag?Father Benedict—You think the chase is run?(Oswald looks at him blankly.) You seem to thinkThe dream has been fulfilled.Oswald— I do. How not?This last calamity fulfilled the dream.Father Benedict—Fulfilled? Nay, nay. The chase has not begun.The bruised stag is resting in the grove.The hounds of Hell have yet to strike the trail,And when they do, my feet are on the hills,And the loud talbot's baying shall be still.Oswald—You speak as one whose joy is in the chase.Father Benedict—(Glaring at him.)You mean by that that I—Oswald— I mean, Father,You speak as those that chase the deer with hounds—Father Benedict—You mean to intimate that I lead the dogs?Oswald—As hunters do. (The Priest searches the monk'sface.) You spoke of a stag and a trail.Father Benedict—To show you that the dream is not fulfilled.Oswald—Have you not heard it, then? The train is lost.Father Benedict—The—Oswald— Thrown from the cliffs.A Man— The witches did it.Another—Blue devil-fire sputtered on the crags and sulphur—Another—Two men were struck by the hags.Another— The wine, too, Father,They've poured it all out on the mountain rocks.Another—Old Hulga did it.Several— And the dwarf.The Crowd— The dwarf, too.Oswald—(With a nod toward the church.)One of the men who rode in town for helpIs with the clerk.(The Priest starts toward the church.)Jardin—(Stepping forward.) Can Jardin say a word?One night at Acre when the camps were sick,And smells of corpses tainted every breath,Jardin was pacing watch. Through the darkness,Pierced by the burial torches of the Turks,A smoke-thin shadow passed across the plainBetween the armies, blotting one by oneThe drifting death-fires of old Saladin.Nearer it came, and Jardin heard a moan,And walking toward it found a Turkish ladHalf eaten by hunger, in a fever tranceLow-moaning piteously: "Dates, mother, dates."Did Jardin say, Because the Turk's a boyI'll spare him? Did Jardin give him dates? No.He'd made a vow never to spare no foeOf Mary's Son, so, like a starving hound,This Christian blade, drinking his little blood,Licked up the crumbs that Famine's jaws had left.Did Jardin right?Father Benedict—Our Paternoster says:"Thy kingdom come." How could the kingdom comeIf heathens were allowed to—Jardin— If the young Turk,Instead of wobbling in a fever tranceAs weak as smoke a breath could blow away,Jardin had found astride a Christian corpseHolding his red dirk up against the moonFor Allah's eyes and laughing at the blood,Had Jardin spared him then—?Father Benedict— Then the red dirkHad hovered over your gray hairs like a hawkUntil your day of death, and when your soul,Fresh from the holy lustral dews, had sprungSinging toward Mary's bosom in the sky,That red-plumed vulture swooping through the darkHad chased it down to Hell.Jardin— Line up, men.Oswald— Stay!You know not what you do.Father Benedict— What does this mean?Jardin—It means that Jardin is a soldier still,Still fighting as a servant of the Cross,And never, while this arm can lift a sword,Will this sword ever spare a scoffing impTo invocate the devils of the air,And pointing to the gouts of holy bloodUpon the mountain rocks, say: "Aha, see!The Master's slave bleeds as the Master bled."

Oswald— None, Father.

Father Benedict— None.The hand that executes His purposesIs hidden like the purposes themselves.He dwelleth in the storm and in the calm,Yet both look round and say: "Where dwelleth He?"The sun that shines on all, shines not on Him.He goeth forth at night and doth His will,Yet the moon sees Him not. I rode alongThinking upon your providentialEscape from death that night and of the workGod hath reserved for me in the great chase,For half the glory is mine. I prayed our LordThat if it be His will I might catch someGlimpse of the dogs far off. I could not seeMy hand before my eyes in spirit, butWith eyelids down, rode on, probing the dark,Sounding deep in my soul the ocean of God,And finding there bottomless waters.The night of ebony and the golden dawn,The deed the past holds and the future's deed,Rose half way up the sky and called acrossFathomless spaces: "Who are you?" And IThought answer: "Thou art Fall; and thou, with hairBright with the morning and with frightened eyesFleeing the noise of dogs behind thee, thouArt Resurrection and the Peace of God."Connection I could find none. Stark and loneThey stood upon the twilight fields of air,Strangers, each looking in the face of each,When through the gloaming came a glittering linkStar-like with the image of our LordBleeding in silver on a silver cross,A marriage ring that married them, and IDeep in my soul knew the Eternal andSaw Prophesy grappling the North and heardHeathendom hiss and coil and loose her folds;And then a voice filling the heavens: "Well done."Speaking to me, for the glory is mine.Your crucifix has not been found yet?

Oswald— No.

Father Benedict—And will not be.

Oswald— It must be in the brook.I had it in my hand just as I fell.

Father Benedict—'Tis in the hand of God where it shall beUntil the morning breaks of that great dayWhen Heathendom shall tumble down to hell.Then it shall dangle bloody from the skyWhile all the mountains shake.

Oswald— What do you mean?

Father Benedict—The mountains trembled in the tempest.

Oswald— When?

Father Benedict—During the great chase. (A pause.) Is it possibleYou start upon the chase with darkened eyes?

Oswald—I do not understand you.

Father Benedict—(Aside.) Can it beThey have not told him of the dream? Mum, then.

Oswald—Brother Andrew told me.

Father Benedict— And you understandOn whom this dark calamity shall fall?

Oswald—It has already fallen.

Father Benedict— Already fallen!You think the stag is down, then, do you?

Oswald— Stag?

Father Benedict—You think the chase is run?(Oswald looks at him blankly.) You seem to thinkThe dream has been fulfilled.

Oswald— I do. How not?This last calamity fulfilled the dream.

Father Benedict—Fulfilled? Nay, nay. The chase has not begun.The bruised stag is resting in the grove.The hounds of Hell have yet to strike the trail,And when they do, my feet are on the hills,And the loud talbot's baying shall be still.

Oswald—You speak as one whose joy is in the chase.

Father Benedict—(Glaring at him.)You mean by that that I—

Oswald— I mean, Father,You speak as those that chase the deer with hounds—

Father Benedict—You mean to intimate that I lead the dogs?

Oswald—As hunters do. (The Priest searches the monk'sface.) You spoke of a stag and a trail.

Father Benedict—To show you that the dream is not fulfilled.

Oswald—Have you not heard it, then? The train is lost.

Father Benedict—The—

Oswald— Thrown from the cliffs.

A Man— The witches did it.

Another—Blue devil-fire sputtered on the crags and sulphur—

Another—Two men were struck by the hags.

Another— The wine, too, Father,They've poured it all out on the mountain rocks.

Another—Old Hulga did it.

Several— And the dwarf.

The Crowd— The dwarf, too.

Oswald—(With a nod toward the church.)One of the men who rode in town for helpIs with the clerk.(The Priest starts toward the church.)

Jardin—(Stepping forward.) Can Jardin say a word?One night at Acre when the camps were sick,And smells of corpses tainted every breath,Jardin was pacing watch. Through the darkness,Pierced by the burial torches of the Turks,A smoke-thin shadow passed across the plainBetween the armies, blotting one by oneThe drifting death-fires of old Saladin.Nearer it came, and Jardin heard a moan,And walking toward it found a Turkish ladHalf eaten by hunger, in a fever tranceLow-moaning piteously: "Dates, mother, dates."Did Jardin say, Because the Turk's a boyI'll spare him? Did Jardin give him dates? No.He'd made a vow never to spare no foeOf Mary's Son, so, like a starving hound,This Christian blade, drinking his little blood,Licked up the crumbs that Famine's jaws had left.Did Jardin right?

Father Benedict—Our Paternoster says:"Thy kingdom come." How could the kingdom comeIf heathens were allowed to—

Jardin— If the young Turk,Instead of wobbling in a fever tranceAs weak as smoke a breath could blow away,Jardin had found astride a Christian corpseHolding his red dirk up against the moonFor Allah's eyes and laughing at the blood,Had Jardin spared him then—?

Father Benedict— Then the red dirkHad hovered over your gray hairs like a hawkUntil your day of death, and when your soul,Fresh from the holy lustral dews, had sprungSinging toward Mary's bosom in the sky,That red-plumed vulture swooping through the darkHad chased it down to Hell.

Jardin— Line up, men.

Oswald— Stay!You know not what you do.

Father Benedict— What does this mean?

Jardin—It means that Jardin is a soldier still,Still fighting as a servant of the Cross,And never, while this arm can lift a sword,Will this sword ever spare a scoffing impTo invocate the devils of the air,And pointing to the gouts of holy bloodUpon the mountain rocks, say: "Aha, see!The Master's slave bleeds as the Master bled."

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