ACT THREE. (continued 2)
Reading edition
(Rosa, excited, runs in, right, and hurries to the women.)
The grisly hags, crooning a wild song, rose Tossing the golden cups up in the air, And like a strip of mist went down the wind Toward 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 something Shining in his hand. Jardin—-(His face paling.) What was it the hunter saw In 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. The men 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 cap If 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 East To 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 hern Open her talons, ain't you? That's deploy. Well, then we'll open ours. Three of you fellows Skirt the ford yonder and shut off retreat To the cave. There's one claw open. Halt, men. Then two detachments—Here, attention, men; Wait for your orders.—Then two squads of three March up that way— (He points left.) and when you strike the hedge, Right! left! one along the wold; the other Down through the waddy; each to the river. Then we've got him flanked. There's three claws open And 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 stone That 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 soar Past the green steeples of these poplars here And 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 monk Whom 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 here As 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 flames Lick 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 tops What calls Thor Father, spitting at our Lord. And in the dawn when Christians gather here To holy mass he stands upon the peaks And scowls upon the bells. He and the witch Are brain and bowels to some heathen god Whose dark hand works at night beneath the hills Sapping 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 damaskin That's sliced the Turks and choked the gates of hell With ghosts of Allah, and another'll go Bloody 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 clamors about 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.
(He produces a great key.)
You know your orders, do you? A Chorus—We do. Jardin—Jacques. Lead.
(He hands the key to the old man, who puts himself at the head of the first squad.)
Bacqueur. Madam Bacqueur—No, no. Jardin—Capet.
(The two men put themselves at the head of the second and third squads.)
Jardin—March! Madam Bacqueur—(Holding out her child.) Husband!
(They pass out, left. Madam Bacqueur looks after them for a while, then lifts her skirt to her eyes and sobs aloud.)
Rachel—Where are they going, child? Jardin—Line up now, men. We'll strike the front. Women, pray that the saints May 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 foot On his big chest.
(As he goes along lining up the men with his sword, the church door opens and, pale and emaciated, 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!
(The men cross themselves and fall prostrate. Old Rachel and the Bailiff alone remain standing.)
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?
(Upon hearing his voice, old Rachel, who has continued to stare toward the church, 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 silence ensues. The monk puts his palm to his breast and coughs.)
Jardin—(Completing his thought.)—these men aghast here Calls up to Jardin's mind a night in the wars When we were storming Acre. The Infidel, Sallying out, had laid the Lion Heart Low in the dust. The waves of battle clapped Over his head. Barred in with dripping spears Of Turk and Christian, raged the bleeding whelp, His paws red-clotted in his own hot blood. Cleaving the gloom, a burst of crimson light Streamed down the slanting spears and like a prow Rolled back the waves of war. Between the crests Of foam-white faces holy St. Augustine Came walking down the bodies of the dead, And lifting the Lion, fired him. At once Rose on the night the planet of his shield Burning a lane before his falchion fed, And down the slope into the Turks he swept Through 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 wind Rain heathen ashes on the pit of hell.
(Roused by the Bailiff's words, four or five of the men spring to their feet. The rest rise slowly and remain mute. 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!
(The Bailiff strikes with his sword. The line marches right, double-quick.)
Oswald— (Excitedly.) Stay, men! Lay no rough hands upon the boy.
(The line halts. 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.
(They wait in silence.)
Father Benedict—Ah, brother Oswald! (He comes riding in, left. The women bow reverently; the men bare their 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 been Good 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 cliff You tumbled over, and there a while I paused Entranced, as it were, by unseen Presences.
(The boy, who climbed down from the tree upon the arrival of the Priest, leads the ass out, left.)
The mountains wore a new and hallowed look In the morning light. I would give half my life To have stood upon the peaks that night and seen God's ministers drop shining down the sky And blaze the gorge. But God works in the dark. At night His golden ladders are let down And deeds are done and no man knoweth how. At dawn we see the severed hills, the seas Huddled aghast at some vast mountain head That yesterday lay fathoms in the deep. So quietly He worketh in the night That mountain ranges rise and no babe wakes. Who can say: "Yonder God is"? Oswald— None, Father. Father Benedict— None. The hand that executes His purposes Is 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 along Thinking upon your providential Escape from death that night and of the work God hath reserved for me in the great chase, For half the glory is mine. I prayed our Lord That if it be His will I might catch some Glimpse of the dogs far off. I could not see My hand before my eyes in spirit, but With 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 across Fathomless spaces: "Who are you?" And I Thought answer: "Thou art Fall; and thou, with hair Bright with the morning and with frightened eyes Fleeing the noise of dogs behind thee, thou Art Resurrection and the Peace of God." Connection I could find none. Stark and lone They stood upon the twilight fields of air, Strangers, each looking in the face of each, When through the gloaming came a glittering link Star-like with the image of our Lord Bleeding in silver on a silver cross, A marriage ring that married them, and I Deep in my soul knew the Eternal and Saw Prophesy grappling the North and heard Heathendom 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 be Until the morning breaks of that great day When Heathendom shall tumble down to hell. Then it shall dangle bloody from the sky While 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 possible You start upon the chase with darkened eyes? Oswald—I do not understand you. Father Benedict—(Aside.) Can it be They have not told him of the dream? Mum, then. Oswald—Brother Andrew told me. Father Benedict— And you understand On 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 think The 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's face.) 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 help Is 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 plain Between the armies, blotting one by one The drifting death-fires of old Saladin. Nearer it came, and Jardin heard a moan, And walking toward it found a Turkish lad Half eaten by hunger, in a fever trance Low-moaning piteously: "Dates, mother, dates." Did Jardin say, Because the Turk's a boy I'll spare him? Did Jardin give him dates? No. He'd made a vow never to spare no foe Of 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 come If heathens were allowed to— Jardin— If the young Turk, Instead of wobbling in a fever trance As weak as smoke a breath could blow away, Jardin had found astride a Christian corpse Holding his red dirk up against the moon For Allah's eyes and laughing at the blood, Had Jardin spared him then—? Father Benedict— Then the red dirk Had hovered over your gray hairs like a hawk Until your day of death, and when your soul, Fresh from the holy lustral dews, had sprung Singing toward Mary's bosom in the sky, That red-plumed vulture swooping through the dark Had 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 imp To invocate the devils of the air, And pointing to the gouts of holy blood Upon the mountain rocks, say: "Aha, see! The Master's slave bleeds as the Master bled."
(Pointing with his sword down the street.)
The son of Satan. A Man— It's the dwarf, Father. Father Benedict— (Solemnly.) God lifts the curtain and the Play is on, Whose last act shall unfold above the clouds With Tempest and with Earthquake that shall shake Hell to the very bottom. Seize him. Oswald—(Excitedly.) No! No, no! The boy has done no— (Coughing.) Jardin— Come on, men! Shall bloody daggers drip on our gray hairs, And chase us through the deep? Shall they? Come on!
(The line swings off.)
Never will Jardin patch a truce with Hell Until her towers, stormed by angels' wings, Shall bow like Acre to the Son of God. Oswald—Stop them, Father! Until I tell you! Father Benedict—(Overcome with rage.) This, This is the worst I ever did hear. (Looking about him while Oswald coughs with great distress.) Men,—
(Seeing that all the men have gone, he shouts after them.)
Pile your wood here, men! We shall have sacrifice!
(He goes toward the church.)
Oswald— (Frantically.) Father! Father! (He falls upon his knees.)
Father Benedict—A burnt offering. (Oswald rises quickly, his face full of horror, and flees in the direction of the Abbey, coughing violently.)
Father Benedict— (From the steps, calling after him bitterly.) If Benedict, whose "joy is in the chase," Shall "chase the deer with hounds as hunters do," Perhaps this devil that goes up in smoke Will drop somewhere upon the mountain paths And pluck your haunches from the talbot's teeth. Pray God he may, when Benedict turns hound.
(He enters the church and closes the door.)
SCENE FIVE—The same street, projected to the outskirts of the village. On the right, is a wagon bridge built of logs. Some slabs, left over from the building of the bridge years ago, lie in a pile at the roadside. Farther back, across the river the course of which is marked by a line of sycamores, the mountain rises abrupt and green, with here and there patches of bare rocks and trees thickening as it extends back and up. Away to the center and left, a stretch of bottom land with cultivated fields. One gets a nearer view of the snow-capped peaks seen from the mountain side in the first Scene and from the courtyard of the abbey in the second. In the foreground at the roadside, is a large olive tree with its dark shadow lying directly beneath it, for over the landscape is a clear light as of a noonday sun shining from a cloudless sky.
Under the tree, with several willow baskets strung together lying upon the ground beside him, sits the dwarf, Sigurd, polishing Oswald's silver crucifix upon his knee. He holds it out in a bit of sunshine that falls through the leaves and, after flashing the light about, resumes rubbing it upon his trousers.
Jardin— (Left, shouting as to men far off.) Close in, men! Close in!
(The dwarf rises to his knees and looks in the direction of the town. Then, hiding the crucifix in his bosom, he comes out in the road and looks in the opposite direction as though trying to discover who it is they are after. Stones strike in the road and go clattering across the bridge. A moment later Jardin and his men come rushing in.)
One of the Men—(With his hands to his mouth, shouting across the river.) We've got him! Another— Fellows!
(He makes for the pile of slabs. Several of the men follow him.)
Another—We can get shavings up at Bacqueur's shop.
(They load themselves with slabs. Jardin, who with the dwarf is in the center of the crowd, suddenly holds aloft the silver crucifix.)
Jardin—You know who threw him down now, don't you, eh? A Cry of Rage—Devil! Jardin—Don't knock him, men. This is God's work. Cries—Down with him! Burn him! Jardin— Fetch your slabs, men. Cries— Come on! (They start toward the village.) Shouts— (From over the river.) Look out! Look out!
(The men carrying slabs glance back, then throw their loads down and go fleeing toward the village.)
Cries— Men! Men!
(The crowd flees, leaving Jardin holding the dwarf by the collar standing in the road.)
A Voice—(From across the bridge.) Let go that boy. Jardin—This is a day of miracles. (Canzler enters.) Heathen, Between us is a grave. (He lays his hand upon his sword.) Canzler— Let go that boy. Jardin— (Advancing to meet him.) With Christ in one hand, and in the other this.
(Canzler draws his sword, and a duel ensues. The Bailiff, protected by his armor which Canzler has twice struck and failed to pierce, lays his blows on as though he would end it all at once. Canzler deliberately draws back into the shade of the tree. Lunging madly, Jardin follows him. The villagers reappear with stones in their hands, and try to get where they will not hit Jardin when they throw.)
Cries—Run him through, Bailiff! Run him through! Jardin—(With a lunge.) There! A Cry— Ha!
(Canzler has parried the thrust, and his sword has passed through the chain hauberk deep into the Bailiff's breast. The latter staggers back, his astonishment that steel armor should be pierced by mortal sword giving way to a look of chagrin, and after endeavoring to steady himself with the blade of his sword, falls flat, his armor clanking on the road. The villagers drop their stones and flee terror-stricken. Canzler stands for a moment, wipes the perspiration from his brow, then reaches down and takes up the Bailiff's sword by the point.)
Canzler—
(Swinging it around his head and hurling it toward the village.)
You men in steel!
(He goes back under the tree and gets the baskets and comes out into the road. The dwarf stoops to pick up the crucifix that lies in the dirt about a yard from the Bailiff's hand.)
Canzler— Nay, let it lie, my boy.
(He takes the boy by the hand and they return across the bridge. The Bailiff stirs, lifts himself to his elbow, and stretches his hand toward the crucifix. He cannot reach it and falls back and lies still.)