Section 11

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      (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.)

Prince Henry. Christ is arisen!

Abbot. Amen! he is arisen! His peace be with you!

Prince Henry. Here it reigns forever! The peace of God, that passeth understanding, Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors, Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent?

Abbot. I am.

Prince Henry. And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, Who crave your hospitality to-night.

Abbot. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. You do us honor; and we shall requite it, I fear, but poorly, entertaining you With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, The remnants of our Easter holidays.

Prince Henry. How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? Are all things well with them?

Abbot. All things are well.

Prince Henry. A noble convent! I have known it long By the report of travellers. I now see Their commendations lag behind the truth. You lie here in the valley of the Nagold As in a nest: and the still river, gliding Along its bed, is like an admonition How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, And your revenues large. God's benediction Rests on your convent.

Abbot. By our charities We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, When he departed, left us in his will, As our best legacy on earth, the poor! These we have always with us; had we not, Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones.

Prince Henry. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your convent.

Abbot. Even as you say.

Prince Henry. And, if I err not, it is very old.

Abbot. Within these cloisters lie already buried Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, Of blessed memory.

Prince Henry. And whose tomb is that, Which bears the brass escutcheon?

Abbot. A benefactor's. Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood Godfather to our bells.

Prince Henry. Your monks are learned And holy men, I trust.

Abbot. There are among them Learned and holy men. Yet in this age We need another Hildebrand, to shake And purify us like a mighty wind. The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder God does not lose his patience with it wholly, And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, Within these walls, where all should be at peace, I have my trials. Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. Ashes are on my head, and on my lips Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness And weariness of life, that makes me ready To say to the dead Abbots under us, 「Make room for me!「 Only I see the dusk Of evening twilight coming, and have not Completed half my task; and so at times The thought of my shortcomings in this life Falls like a shadow on the life to come.

Prince Henry. We must all die, and not the old alone; The young have no exemption from that doom.

Abbot. Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! That is the difference.

Prince Henry. I have heard much laud Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium Is famous among all, your manuscripts Praised for their beauty and their excellence.

Abbot. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile Shall the Refectorarius bestow Your horses and attendants for the night.

      (_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._)

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THE CHAPEL.

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Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister leading an old monk who is blind.

Prince Henry. They are all gone, save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. As if his heart could find no rest, At times he beats his heaving breast With clenched and convulsive fingers, Then lifts them trembling in the air. A chorister, with golden hair, Guides hitherward his heavy pace. Can it be so? Or does my sight Deceive me in the uncertain light? Ah no! I recognize that face, Though Time has touched it in his flight, And changed the auburn hair to white. It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, The deadliest foe of all our race, And hateful unto me and mine!

The Blind Monk. Who is it that doth stand so near His whispered words I almost hear?

Prince Henry. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! I know you, and I see the scar, The brand upon your forehead, shine And redden like a baleful star!

The Blind Monk. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck Of what I was. O Hoheneck! The passionate will, the pride, the wrath That bore me headlong on my path, Stumbled and staggered into fear, And failed me in my mad career, As a tired steed some evil-doer, Alone upon a desolate moor, Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, And hearing loud and close behind The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. Then suddenly, from the dark there came A voice that called me by my name, And said to me, 「Kneel down and pray!「 And so my terror passed away, Passed utterly away forever. Contrition, penitence, remorse, Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; A hope, a longing, an endeavor, By days of penance and nights of prayer, To frustrate and defeat despair! Calm, deep, and still is now my heart. With tranquil waters overflowed; A lake whose unseen fountains start, Where once the hot volcano glowed. And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! Have known me in that earlier time, A man of violence and crime, Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. Behold me now, in gentler mood, One of this holy brotherhood. Give me your hand; here let me kneel; Make your reproaches sharp as steel; Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; No violence can harm the meek, There is no wound Christ cannot heal! Yes; lift your princely hand, and take Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek, Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!

Prince Henry. Arise, Count Hugo! let there be No farther strife nor enmity Between us twain; we both have erred! Too rash in act, too wroth in word, From the beginning have we stood In fierce, defiant attitude, Each thoughtless of the other's right, And each reliant on his might. But now our souls are more subdued; The hand of God, and not in vain, Has touched us with the fire of pain. Let us kneel down, and side by side Pray, till our souls are purified, And pardon will not be denied!

      (_They kneel._)

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THE REFECTORY.

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Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised as a Friar.

Friar Paul (sings). Ave! color vini clari, Dulcis potus, non aman, Tua nos inebriari Digneris potentia!

Friar Cuthbert. Not so much noise, my worthy freres, You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers.

Friar Paul (sings). O! quam placens in colore! O! quam fragrans in odore! O! quam sapidum in ore! Dulce linguse vinculum!

Friar Cuthbert. I should think your tongue had broken its chain!

Friar Paul (sings). Felix venter quern intrabis! Felix guttur quod rigabis! Felix os quod tu lavabis! Et beata labia!

Friar Cuthbert. Peace! I say, peace! Will you never cease! You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again!

Friar John. No danger! to-night he will let us alone, As I happen to know he has guests of his own.

Friar Cuthbert. Who are they?

Friar John. A German Prince and his train, Who arrived here just before the rain. There is with him a damsel fair to see, As slender and graceful as a reed! When she alighted from her steed, It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree.

Friar Cuthbert. None of your pale-faced girls for me!

      (_Kisses the girl at his side_.)

Friar John. Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! do not drink any farther, I beg!

Friar Paul (sings). In the days of gold, The days of old, Cross of wood And bishop of gold!

Friar Cuthbert (to the girl). What an infernal racket and din! No need not blush so, that's no sin. You look very holy in this disguise, Though there's something wicked in your eyes!

Friar Paul (continues.) Now we have changed That law so good, To cross of gold And bishop of wood!

Friar Cuthbert. I like your sweet face under a hood. Sister! how came you into this way?

Girl. It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray. Have you forgotten that day in June, When the church was so cool in the afternoon, And I came in to confess my sins? That is where my ruin begins.

Friar John. What is the name of yonder friar, With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, And such a black mass of tangled hair?

Friar Paul. He who is sitting there, With a rollicking, Devil may care, Free and easy look and air, As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking?

Friar John. The same.

Friar Paul. He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, And where he is going, and whence he came.

Friar John. Hallo! Sir Friar!

Friar Paul. You must raise your voice a little higher, He does not seem to hear what you say. Now, try again! He is looking this way.

Friar John. Hallo! Sir Friar, We wish to inquire Whence you came, and where you are going, And anything else that is worth the knowing. So be so good as to open your head.

Lucifer. I am a Frenchman born and bred, Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. My home Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, Of which, very like, you never have heard.

Monks. Never a word!

Lucifer. You must know, then, it is in the diocese Cal