FATHER BENEDICT--I was one of the hounds, the talbot hound
That led the pack.
OSWALD-- Why, Father!
FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Advancing toward him._)
You say that
A second time, and by the--
ABBOT-- Benedict!
Sprinkled with eyes, a wheel of God's own car
Attends our brother. You would best beware.
You know God hath him circled round about
With that that shall uproot the steadfast hills.
(_Through the door, rear. Louis enters, carrying
a flagon and a silver cup, his face showing
terror. Seeing the Priest, he stops suddenly
as though amazed, then enters slowly._)
FATHER BENEDICT--I care not were he nine times circled
round,
As Hell is, I would--
ABBOT-- (_Lifting his hand._)
Let me finish. Then,
If with eyes open you will venture on,
Do it. The night is wild. Heaven hath shaken down
Many a pine upon the mountain tops,
And steeples too, no doubt, and towns, who knows?
No man can tell what dawn shall look on. Even
This house of God--Hark how the thunders break!
The winds are playing havoc with the world
And Order frightened hath plunged into the sea.
LOUIS--The southern gable has been blown down.
ABBOT--(_After a look of surprise._) And
Thrice in the mossed chapel tower the bell
Hath rung, and no hand touched it; as it were
A tocsin to alarm the world that Hell
Hath landed. Though the seas be blown away
And the everlasting hills be tumbled down,
In summer calmness still the soul of man
Stands like a fortress, sure against assault
And terrible as a gorgon's head to Hell,
And adamant to all her engines. But
Let wrath break out inside, and crash! the gates
Are down.
FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Tapping himself upon his breast._)
And Hell comes in.
ABBOT-- And Hell goes in
And ravins there.
FATHER BENEDICT--In me.
ABBOT-- The lightning hath
No power to strike a tree while the blue sky
Bends over it. But let the wrath of Hell
Build up a cloud and fire it, and the tree
Falls shattered. But God calls the cloud away
And His winds blow it into nothingness.
FATHER BENEDICT--The tree is--?
ABBOT-- Oswald there. He stands secure.
FATHER BENEDICT--And the cloud--?
ABBOT-- You. You blacken over him
And, charged with passion, make an atmosphere
Of sulphur and in it, as in native air,
Hell slips her flame and the trunk tumbles down
To darkness. But God calls the cloud away
To judgment, and its shadow is seen no more.
If you will venture further in your wrath,
Do it, for I have done. (_A pause._) Very well, then.
You may resume, my--
OSWALD-- I will undergo
Whatever ordeal Father may suggest;
Will walk hot irons or put my hand in fire
Or anything.
ABBOT-- You hear that, Benedict?
FATHER BENEDICT--He knows the Pope has banned the ordeal.
(_To Oswald with scorn._)
Brave!