ELY-- Pierre!
(_While Ely stands hoping that Pierre will
reappear, loud laughter breaks from the open
door of the dormitory, and Simon and Basil
come sprawling out. The former is pulling at
a piece of flesh. Ely's face shows anger, and
he starts left._)
BASIL-- His crutches!
(_He laughs aloud._)
SIMON--Here he is now. Ely!
BASIL--(_Calling through the door._) Hear that, Rene?
The beggar left his crutches for his gift.
(_Laughter within._)
SIMON--You ask him. Ely!
(_Ely unlocks the iron gates and passes out._)
BASIL-- Bring the crutches, man!
Simon's got the gout.
(_Rene comes out and joins Basil in laughing at
Simon. The latter, eating his meat, walks back
in the court. Basil whispers to Rene._)
RENE-- When was it, Simon?
SIMON--Yesterday. I was sleeping on the bench
When the old codger's shouting waked me up.
And there he was. (_He points up to the road._)
I thought the man was mad,
Or had been in the gables robbing nests,
For his white hair fluttering in the wind
Looked like a pair of pigeons on his poll.
He must have thought the Devil-- (_He sits down on a bench._)
BASIL-- Or else Ely.
RENE--Yes, chasing him for his pay.
BASIL--(_Indignantly._) His crutches!
SIMON-- (_Drolly._)
He left his sole support.
(_They all laugh. Basil, who has come forward,
peeps round the corner of the dormitory.
Withdrawing quickly, he hurries back toward
the door._)
BASIL--(_Excitedly, in an underbreath._) Rene!
(_He points back over his shoulder with his thumb._)
RENE--(_Huskily._) Simon!
(_Simon leaps up, jerks away his meat, and, wiping
his mouth with his sleeve, hurries after the
others into the dormitory. From the right,
the Abbot enters followed by a train of
monks. He wears a miter and a flowing cope_
_of scarlet, richly apparelled. From the end
of a rosary about his neck dangles an ivory
crucifix. The monks are all in black and wear
their hoods. Upon reaching the center of the
court, the Abbot raises his staff and the_
_procession stops._)
ABBOT--Saint Martin hath restored the golden dawn
And put the clouds to flight. The kingly sun
Looks on the world like our new-risen Lord
Driving the night before Him. And the fiends,
That fly with darkness from the pit of death
To conjure with the baleful midnight stars
And wreck God's holy chime of human souls,
Are scourged to Hell, and all the rebel orbs
Are thunder-stunned. Vapors and noxious fogs
That hatch contagion in rank, drizzling swamps,
Will soon beneath the lightning's flagellum
With breezes fan their fevers from the blood,
And with pure sea-dews from green ocean urns
Sprinkle the parched earth to cool the vines
Preparing clusters of our dear Lord's blood.
The serpent spawn of imps and evil dreams,
Fairies and watching wanderers of the night,
That kennel in the bowels of the earth
And taint its waters, blight the tender sprouts,
And sow infections through the flocks and herds,
Have flown like bats into the squalid caves,
And there are numb with fear. O'er Zion's towers
The virgin dawn brings forth the sun of God
And smiles upon the world. The blessed light
Spreads o'er the earth its bright, archangel wings,
Dripping with balmy dews and cassia smells.
The day will--
(_High up on the mountain is heard the blast of a
trumpet._) Hark!
A MONK-- It was Ely's trumpet.
ANOTHER--Some one comes.
ABBOT-- The asses from Italy,
Bringing the wine and frankincense, no doubt.
A MONK--And the golden chalices.
ANOTHER-- And Father's cope.
(_Pierre comes from the chapel_.)
ABBOT--Pierre!
PIERRE-- What it is, Father?
ABBOT-- Is the ambry clean?
PIERRE--It is, Father.
ABBOT-- Go find Louis, and fetch--
Fetch the diotas and--let's see--three casks.
(_He saunters toward the gate. Three monks
follow Pierre, right. The rest disperse about
the court, the greater part eventually finding
their way into the chapel. A few walk back in
the rear and stand looking up at the road.
Three monks, who came in at the end of the
procession and who all the while have stood
perfectly still, slip back their hoods and
discover Simon, Rene, and Basil. At the corner
of the dormitory, Pierre and his companions
meet Louis entering_.)
ONE OF THE MONKS--The train has come.
PIERRE-- Father says bring the casks.
(_Louis reaches under his gown and produces a
large iron key which he hands to Pierre. He
then passes into the court. The four go out_.)
ABBOT-- (_Calculating._)
Thirty gallons and six--(_Turning._) Four casks, Pierre.
SIMON--The chopin too, Pierre. You know the men,
The mule-men will be dry.
BASIL-- Or Simon will.
RENE--Or Basil.
BASIL-- Or Rene.
SIMON-- (_With his hand to his mouth._) Or Father.
(_They laugh._)
ABBOT-- Louis!
(_The shutter near the corner of the dormitory
opens, and Solomon leans out. He has a
parchment in his hand._)
SOLOMAN--_Quid est_, Leo?
LEO-- (_Telling his beads, on one of the benches._)
The wine train has arrived.
SOLOMAN--From Paradise.
LEO-- Don't be irreverant.
BASIL---(_To Soloman._) Let no man look on wine when it is red.
SIMON--I shut my eyes.
(_Holding their sides for laughter, Rene and
Basil stagger back toward the rear. Soloman
withdraws from the window._)
LEO-- Father will tend to you.
(_Simon makes faces at him and follows his
companions._)
ABBOT-- (_Walking aside with Louis._)
Say nothing to the strangers of the affair.
LOUIS--Of finding brother Oswald?
ABBOT-- No, not that.
His fall, his being found before the gate,
All that, no doubt, the villagers last night
Poured into their ears. The folk are deeply stirred.
From tongue to tongue the flame of rumor runs
That heavenly hands bore Oswald from the gulch.
They think the holy saints have blessed his palms
With power of healing and of miracles.
Alms have increased ten-fold. Cattle and sheep,
Jewels and coin, and corn and casks of wine
Pour in from every side. Within a year,
St. Giles will swell her roofs and shine in gold-- (_Confidentially._)
Provided, Louis, provided. You understand?
LOUIS--You mean the abbey here will robe herself
In purple cloth-of-bodkin stiff with pearl,
Provided--
ABBOT-- This new loom shall keep her hum.
LOUIS--That here red wines will flow to flush her face,
Provided--
ABBOT-- Hand in hand upon the hills
This sudden sun that hath sprung up the sky
Shall lead the vine and pour his blood to swell--
LOUIS--That morning when it strikes her eastern gate
Will see her heaving heavenward dome on dome,
Provided--
ABBOT-- Ay, that's it. You understand.
The quarry for our domes is in our brains.
Here, in our brains, your brain and mine, Louis,
We have the shuttle of that wonderous loom
That shall array her in her cloth-of-gold.
Here is the sun, the bridegroom of the grape.
And here, from hills of France and Italy,
The purple bride shall come and loose her zone
And lay her dower in the abbey's lap.
Lock up that jewel, Louis, in its case.
Let it not get abroad that you suspect--
Suspect, I say; you surely do not know--
LOUIS--I only know of what I heard and saw.
I heard his voice and--
ABBOT-- You were fast asleep.
LOUIS--At first I was; then, wakened by the shout,
Three times I heard him cry out in the dark:
"Haro! help! help!"
ABBOT-- A voice, of course; but whose?
The night so alters sound you cannot tell.
A cat-o'-mountain screaming in the dark
For all the world sounds like a wailing child.
LOUIS--But when I see the track, I'll tell you then.
The track up by the gate, and it's there now,
Is the dwarf's track, four toes on the left foot.
ABBOT--Preposterous, Louis, that this hunched devilock,
Brought up on witch's dugs, in the dead of night
Should be about the service of the Lord.
Asses can talk like men when angels bid.
Perhaps the angels, taking him in the act
Of throwing brother Oswald from the cliff,
Scourged him before them to the abbey gate
And made him in his pain cry out for help
And set his print to attest the power of God.
Who knows?
LOUIS--Brother Oswald, perhaps.
ABBOT--Only God.
But make no mention of the witch's son.
When truth is whist and doubt a favoring gale
Blowing toward golden islands in the sea,
Let the ship drive before it into port.
No one was with you when you found him.
LOUIS--No one.
ABBOT--And no one saw you.
LOUIS--No one. It was still dark;
The brothers were asleep.
ABBOT--Say nothing of it.
Let rumor blow it as a miracle.
Sweet feet of saints have run down in the night
And with a touch enriched a holy house
Of no more worth than this of good St. Giles.
Rumor of saints can do as much as saints.
If thoughts of bright wings stirring in the sky
Can kindle hearts to deeds of charity,
And by those deeds the Virgin's chapels rise,
Let the flame run. We'll blow it through the land.
I've had the brothers circulate report
That wings were seen dissolving in the dawn
Above the mountains.
LOUIS--(_With a smile._) So, perhaps, there were--
Of eagles wheeling airily in the clouds.
Is this not, Father, to build upon the sand?
ABBOT--To build on sand is to build on a lie.
LOUIS--What is a lie?
ABBOT--A lie is not a thing
That is not, but a thing that cannot be.
Thus to say good is evil is a lie,
For good cannot be evil. But to say
That that hath been which God hath power to do
Is to make faith a fact. In days like these,
When the Albigensian heresy is rank,
We must support the Holy Writ in this,
That what is done in thought is done in deed.
Has a good deed been done? Then a good thought
Has done that deed, and that good thought is God's,
And such thoughts we call angels.
LOUIS--Oswald, then,
Was rescued by the angels?
ABBOT--Without doubt.
The globe of fire that Dominic beheld
Above our Lady's chapel in the plain
Of Prouille was a light in his own mind.
LOUIS--The multitude will never understand
This nice distinction.
ABBOT--Just so; but shall we
Show them the foul body of fair Truth
Or the clear spirit?
LOUIS--The spirit, Father.
I never doubt the end you have in view.
ABBOT--You doubt the means, though. Deep down in your heart
You smile and say: "But Father is all right.
The times are fire, and fight for Benedict.
To build the abbey, Father must have gold.
To get the gold, the people must be bilked.
But Father will return them light for gold.
I never doubt the end he has in view."
LOUIS--You are the brain, Father; I, the hand.
You know that I would help you. You know that.
ABBOT--Anyway, Louis, I am justified.
For simple souls find joy in simple faith.
Go down into the village. Guido tells me
Their faces shine because of this bright thing.
It purifies and cheers them. Cyprian says
There is no power that does not come from God.
He might have said the same of light and joy,
And shall I, to whom what I know this thing is
Seems quite as strange as what they think it is--
That angels did it--, take their light away
Because I know it falls not from a star?
A thousand lamps burn in the House of Life.
Shall I walk through its chambers and say: "This,
Children, and this, now these were lit of Hell;
But that one there--see how the oil of God
Goes up the wick and throws a brighter flame"?
Unless they see it brighter, it is not.
They cannot see it so without my eye.
They cannot have my eye and keep their own,
And they must keep their own a little while;
At least until I get my abbey built,
Until I shout the sun from out the sea
And with its beams illumine the valley there.
And since its rising on their gifts depends,
And since their gifts depend on their belief,
I cannot tell them their belief is false;
'Twould bring the abbey down upon their heads;
And Benedict would shout forevermore,
Seeing their night come back without a star.
And so I cannot tell them what is true.
Nothing is sadder than to see a mind
Drifting between an old faith torn away
And a new rock not risen from the waves.
Their wisp must burn until the sun comes up.
Our Lord himself tempered his dazzling truth
To simple minds, and spake in parables,
Leaving the halo on the brow of things.
And shall we blow it away?
LOUIS-- Is it there?
ABBOT-- For them,
It is intensely there. And when they come
Bringing their little gifts, what can I say?
They ask me, "Is this light?" I say, "Does it
Shine?" They answer, "Yes." "Then it is light." (_A pause._)
Is it? (_A pause._) Louis?
LOUIS-- Suppose so; if it shines.
ABBOT--And if they say it shines?
LOUIS--(_After a pause._) I suppose so.
ABBOT--Shall Plato take Saint Giles' faith away?
That, Louis, is the question of all time.
LOUIS--If he can give him Plato's.
ABBOT-- _If_ he can.
And if he cannot?