ABBOT--A beam of the sunshine hurts the owl's eyes.
LOUIS--And he would peck the stars out if he could.
ABBOT--As though our faith were fungus!
LOUIS-- If it be,
If it must feed on darkness, let it die.
ABBOT-- (_Walking about thoughtfully._)
It need not feed on darkness, Louis.
LOUIS-- This
Miracle, Father, will bring back the day.
ABBOT-- (_To himself._)
The Age is torn and shaken. Passions swell
And range like winter rivers. I would have it
Lucid and calm as Arno flowing down
By sacred Florence. I am far away,
Far away and my hairs begin to fall.
LOUIS--This will bring back the day.
ABBOT-- (_To himself._) And nothing done.
(_He stands with his eyes upon the ground. Then,
dreamily._)
Young faces radiant with the golden air
That Plato breathed among the olive leaves.
LOUIS-- (_Half aloud._)
"If I had my way I would burn that thing."
ABBOT-- (_Half to himself, his back to Louis._)
And if I had my way--(_He lifts his face._)--
Oh, I would build
An abbey! I would cut its trenches deep
Down into God, the God of all things. Then
I would lay the white stones of Philosophy,
The Sages who, as gifts to Delphi, brought
Small sheaves of wisdom, offering them to God
As better gifts than first born bulls and goats.
And I would slay the griffin, Policy,
And scatter its bright gold about the world
And lay its carcass for the corner stone.
Its telamons should be those giant men
Who propt the fabric of the ancient world.
The east and west and north and south should lay
Their four white corners on the four broad backs
Of Plato and his solid pupil's mind,
Then him who dove too deep for Rome to see,
Lucretius, maddening round the seeds of things,
And Cicero because he loved the truth.
And there should stand all round as peristyle
The Bards of Greece in cluster, speaking gold;
Young Sappho with the glory of the sea
All round her milk white throat and marble arms,
Proud Pindar fawning kings, and Sophocles,
And he, he, Aeschylus, wild son of fire,
Who never swerved for mincing Policy,
But spake his sea-thought out and shook the world.
Its roof should be the shields of golden song
Wherever burning on the hills of Time,
Wherever smouldering in Eternity.
And I would have all planets God hath hung
Since first His word went forth, "Let there be light,"
Within our spiritual heaven, shining here
Without eclipse forever. And up there,
In alto relievo on the frieze, should be
Apollo slaying python Ignorance,
And Darkness with the face of Benedict
Half hung down, heavy, livid, hands and teeth
Tugging and biting at the architrave
To tear these golden letters from the slab.
"THE SOUL IS IN THE BRAIN." And over all,
Towering with her calm eternal eyes,
Athene, soul of Athens, holy One.
Oh, I would build an abbey!
LOUIS--(_As in prayer._) Father! Father!
GUIDO-- (_Appearing at the door of the chapel._)
The fifteenth chapter has that blue stain on it.
ABBOT-- (_Pointing right._)
In the scriptorium, the second shelf;
Get the Symposium; I will read that.
(_Horrified, the monk stands for a moment, then
goes slowly down the steps across the court,
every now and then glancing back over his
shoulder at the Abbot._)
LOUIS-- (_In a low voice._)
Remember, Father. Is this policy. (_A pause._)
You know your abbey is not risen yet.
(_The Abbot bows_ _his head. Louis lifts his
hand as a signal. Guido,_ _crossing the court,
stops and stands waiting._)