The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the North

(A gust of wind blows out the light in his hand.)

Louis—Perhaps it got blood on it when he fell.
Benedict may have washed it off. I thought
It might help quiet him. Shall I get it?

Abbot— No;
You may be right.

Louis— Still, if you think—

Abbot— You fetch—
I'll take the lamp and cup; you fetch the wine.
I will have Pierre watch with him to-night.

(Louis turns back to the window. The Abbot relights his lamp at the little taper in the wall and then goes left.)

Louis—By the way, Father, old Andrew has gone mad.
The storm has blown his mind's last spark out. Yes;
He tried to take the bracelets from Luigi
And would have dragged the chest out.

Abbot— And did he?

Louis— No;
But it was all that four of us could do
To hold him. He is on the seas again,
And peers abroad and swears he sees great ships—

(Out in the storm is heard the booming of a bell. They listen. Louis crosses himself and mutters.)

Sed libera nos a malo. Father— (The Abbot lifts his hand.)
What
Do you think it means? (A pause.)

Abbot— Come to my room.

(To himself, as he goes left.) If
The etherial gods, as the wise poet says,
Dwell afar off and in the affairs of men
Interfere not, our domes shall rise yet.
(Turning.) Louis,
Bring the scroll.

Louis— Which?

Abbot— Lucretius. On the floor.

(In the doorway he stops and listens as for the bell. As he goes out.) If.

(Louis takes up the parchment which lies upon the floor near the Abbot's chair and, going to the rear door, shuts it and slides the bolt. He then blows out the taper in the wall.)

Louis— (Listening.)
The witches have their way in heaven to-night.

(He comes to the table and, taking up the flagon, goes out, left.)

SCENE THREE—The court yard of the abbey, as in Scene Three of the Second Act. A storm is heard roaring through the mountains, with an occasional rumble of thunder and in the darkness sudden luster as of lightning far off. In these flashes, the scene gleams wet as after a hard rain.

From the right, comes a faint sound as of a stick tapping on stone, and soon along the side of the dormitory old Andrew appears, carrying a staff with which he is feeling his way through the darkness.

Andrew—Here a black squall, sou'-wester, south-south-west.
Star—star gone! Where's the pole?
(Shouting.) Furl the main, lads!
On she spins, whirling past world on world. Hip!
Feel her—feel her heave! (Shouting.) Take in the mizzen!
A thousand thousand fathoms down, the moon
Shines like a fish. (He peers around the corner.)
Black as—Hear the masts crack.
Watch Alvinach! Watch for the ninth wave, lads!

(Lightning.)

Put out that broom! You'll have the witches here.
Mother, they've burnt the baby!—Hya! Lie down.

(He walks out in the court.)

Here's a night, God bless us! Here's a gale
To make the sea-girls sing. Scylla! Carribee!
Shake your dead bones! Shake 'em and sing! Blow, then.
Growl, Scylla! Growl, ocean-bitch, bark and growl!
Now, Carribee, whirl! Shake the big gulf and slush!
Gulp down the worlds with stars and moons and moons!

(Lightning.)

Yip, there they go! Suck 'em down! suck 'em down!
Arcturus down! Down Cancer! down the Scales!
Whirled into the pit! Weigh the devils, Scales!
Weigh the big Serpent! Weigh Beelzebub!
Hands ahelm! Ahull, boys! Lash her to the lea!
Lash her to the lea! Splinters! Watch out, lads!
Saint Telme! Saint Telme! Hold the gunnel there!

(The bell sounds in the chapel tower.)

Who's dead? Who's dead, i' the Devil's name?
Fetch me those rings. Now throw him overboard.
Scrub these stains, Luigi. Keep the dog back there.
This gold will glitter on the Judgment Day.
I hear you whispering, scoundrels!—Hya! Lie down.

(He walks back, singing.)

There's wind up in her pitch-black flag;
There's foam around her keel.

Now we're scudding. Right through the Dipper—

(Lightning.) Ahoy!

Elmo! Elmo! Light up! light up, man!
Argo's to the larboard! Signal her! Ahoy!
Ship ahoy, Cap! Ship ahoy! Ship full of gold!
She's whirling south! Man the boats! Lay to! lay to!
Here's a squall winks at the pirates, lads!
Mount her, hardies! Break her hatches! Gold under 'em.

(Singing.)

There's foam up in her pitch-black flag;
There's wind around her keel.... (Shouting.)

Watch Alvinach, though! Keep the lantern dry!

(He stops and listens.)

I hear you whispering, scoundrels!—-Hya! Lie down.
Who said so? Louis lied. Stand back, I say!
Four on an old man! Dogs! Let go my hair!

(A loud clap of thunder.)

The shrouds break now, God bless us! here's a wind
Will blow us far off to the Pleiades
And swamp us. (Lightning.)
That was the Bear went by. And
Virgo has sunk here jewels in the south.
Sink 'em deep, girl! Pirates abroad.—What's this?

(Calling down.)

Got it, boys? Got the gold? See it, see it shine!
Throw your cloak over it. Don't let God see this.
Ho, Prester John! sailing among the stars?
Here's your chest, John! Here's your sparklers! Where is he?
Where is he, boys? Throw the king overboard?
Pitched him to Plato on his big fork, eh?
Odi Persicos. Like their gold, though. Up,
Up with it, lads. Heave, now. Chest broken open.
Leak, gold, leak, leak! Here's your spring, Crashus!
Here, Jew! here you can cool your tongue!
Traders, drink! Drink, worms! Pigs! Pastors! Devils!
Drink, drink! Everything drink!
(Stooping down.) Here's a dead man's ring.
Finger's in the coral. Bracelets and gems.
Topaz from Tartary. Emeralds from the East.
Garnets. Eh? Garter-buckles! (Reproachfully.)
Lads! lads!

(A glare of lightning reveals him with his hand close to his eyes.)

"From Carlos."
Chloe's gone bathing, Carlos. Turned cold nymph.
Let go! Let go, I say! Androphanes!
Strike him, Juba! Slash him with the broad-sword!
You hand that back here, then. Hell-dog.
Here's a widow's mite; bought a monk's prayer.
Flip it into the sea.
Judas! here you are! (Thunder.)
Rumble on! Growl and growl! Who cares for Heaven now?
Rain or not rain. We can fight, too, old boy.
Wipe your lips, Scariot. Take the chamois bag.
There's thirty-two. Off with you.—Wallets! Old coin!
Rich man, miser, knave! Sick, eh? Quick, your gold!
Take it to the priest, then you can jump
Right through the needle's eye.

(He gets down upon his knees.) Well, God bless us!

Sacked the sea-king's coffers. See the pearls!
Crescents and ear-bobs. Here's a brooch fine as
Sparkles on Memnon's sister. What's this clammy thing?
Cold, bloody hand! Hand with a locket in it!
Unlock it. Ho! picture, eh? Say mamma, baby!
Mamma's in the sea-weed. That's a foul deed.
Throw your cloak over it. Don't let God see this.

(Calling up.)

Who's there? (Rising.) Who calls Andrew? Stand down on the ground.
The lid is off. (Stooping.) Parchment deeds, eh? I. X.
If Andrew's Andrew, then I. X. is eleven.
What shines? Silver. (A pause.)
Monk's cross. (A pause.)
Wet. (Flash of lightning.)
Red! (With horror.)
Lads! lads!
We'll sink for this, God bless us! Pretty muss!
Who daubed it? (Thunder.) Hear that. Horror in the dark
Doffs his big plume at this. And up there—Here!
Wash it! wash it in the sea! In with the chest, lads!
Murder like a foam-bird dashed upon the prow
Shakes her red wings. And there—Look! (Shouting.)
Wash it clean!
Heaven's golden scales are rising from the deep!
Off! lay her—lay her off, lads! They'll weigh us!

(A sharp flash of lightning. Andrew is seen with his left hand up beside his head, which is drawn down, backing fearfully through the door into the dormitory. The thunder rumbling in the darkness sounds like the growl of an enormous wild beast.)

ACT FIVE.

SCENE ONE—A street in the village. Low thatched cottages, with deep, wide eaves overhanging the street, stand in a dark mass. To the left, a little way from the others and back a few paces from the street, is a small house, the home of Jardin. Through a window in the room on the right side comes a faint light as from a low-burning lamp. To the left of the window, one feels that there is a door, though, either on account of intervening bushes or perhaps because of a porch that makes it darker there, one does not see it. Out in the yard where the light from the window falls upon the bushes near the casement, the glistening of the leaves shows that it has been raining. The windows of the other houses, like vacant eyes under deep brows, are dark, and there are no signs of life anywhere. Over the roofs and through the great trees that rise up behind them flows a greyness that emphasizes the quiet of the hour. About the street lie several limbs that were broken off by the storm during the night.

TIME—Sunday morning. Day is just beginning to break.

A Cry— (Far to the left, full or terror and anguish.)
Haro! Haro! (Drawing nearer.)
Wake, people! Help, oh, help!

(After a pause.)

Will no one hear? Will no one hear? (Near by.)
O men of God! Dear men of God! (A pause.) Oh, run,
Run to the mountains, men!

(Pierre enters half on a run, breathless. There is a wild light in his eyes and his thin frame is shaken with sobs.)

Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!

(He glances toward the lighted window as though in doubt whether or not to rouse the inmates of the house. Then, as though to make up even for the moment he has lost, he hurries along the goes out, right.)

People! Christian people!

(The light in the window grows dimmer and suddenly disappears, leaving the house in total darkness.)

Will no one hear?
Will no one hear? Wake! Oh, wake! (In the distance.)
Haro!

Voice— (To the left.)
Jules!

Second Voice—(Nearer.) Ho?

First Voice— Who is it?

Second Voice— Some brother.

(Jules Bacqueur enters.) Pierre.

First Voice— The abbey's
Blown down, perhaps.

Hugh Capet—(Entering.) Where are all the people?

Jules Bacqueur—At special mass for Jardin.

(He glances back toward the house where, at that moment, the door opens and the light appears.)

Hugh Capet—(Hurrying on after Pierre.) Come on.

Jules Bacqueur— Wait.
Let's hear how the Bailiff is.

(Hugh Capet returns to the corner of the cottages that are flush with the street and the men look back to where two figures, one after the other, appear in the lighted doorway of Jardin's house, a man who comes out and an old woman with a white cap on who carries a small lamp. A little later the door is closed.)

Hugh Capet— Who is it, Jacques?

Jules Bacqueur—He spent the night there.

Hugh Capet— What a night it was!
Just see these limbs.

Jules Bacqueur— And there's some fellow's hat.

Hugh Capet—The roof's off Pirot's barn, and Lisette—

Jules Bacqueur— Here.

(He comes forward to the edge of the street.)

Hugh Capet— (Following him.)
And Lisette found a big bird in her yard
With a broken wing, blown in here miles and miles,
From the Holy Land or Joppa or some sea.

Jules Bacqueur— (Pointing right.)
Look at those yew trees in the church yard there.
Bless God, they've pulled up dead mens' skulls. (A pause.)

Hugh Capet—And those men there—?

Bacqueur— Are filling up the graves.
And where's the cross? (A pause.)

Hugh Capet— Not on the steeple? Say,
That monk—There's something up. When dead men's bones
Are thundered over in the night, and graves
Ungorge like that with wind, strange birds, and things—

Voice— (Left.)
Who is that shouting?

Hugh Capet— Don't know.

Bacqueur— How's Jardin?

Jacques—(Entering.) Eh?

Hugh Capet—He didn't hear you.

Jacques— What's he shouting for?

Bacqueur—The storm tore up the dead last night.

Hugh Capet— The abbey's
Blown down, perhaps, or— Come on. Hurry, men.

Bacqueur—How is the Bailiff? (Distant thunder.)

Hugh Capet—- (Hurrying out right.)
Going to have another'n.

Jacques—The soldier had a bad night. In his fever
He picks the sheets, mumbling: "Saints, send him down,"
And: "Listen, men!" and things like that. And once,
Jumps him clean out of bed and cries out: "There!"
As he had run the woodman through and through,
And wipes his sword like on his pants, and then,
As though he felt his wound, falls back and pop!
The wind or something blows the light out and
We hear the banshee singing in the storm,
Wild—wild. I fear the bell with toll 'fore night.

(They go out.)

SCENE TWO—The open space in front of the church. In the corner of the fence, left, the top of the poplar tree, broken off by the wind during the night, hangs out in the street almost brushing the ground. To the right of the steps is a large wooden cross which was blown from the steeple. It lies sidewise, hazing been split off at the bottom. The gate into the church yard is slightly ajar, as though some one had lately passed through, and against the dark grass the taller of the white grave markers lean as though the wind had been among them. Over the low fences where one looks back into the church yard on the one side and into an open space on the other, is seen yellow light from the side windows of the church, pouring out into the gloom. From within, comes the sound of the service.

Congregation—His spear was lifted over Acre, Lord,
And his right arm hath made the heathen quail.

Father Benedict—And he hath spread thy glory through the East.

Congregation—And he hath spread thy glory through the East.

Father Benedict—Let not the flags be draped that fluttered high
Above the strongholds of the Infidel.

Congregation—Let not the flags be draped that fluttered high
Above the strongholds of the Infidel.

Father Benedict—Let not the scorners from the mountain tops
Look down and see the dark procession go;
But lift him up and lift up trembling, Lord.

Congregation—Let not the scorners from the mountain tops
Look down and see the dark procession go;
But lift him up and lift up trembling, Lord.

Father Benedict—Keep death off, Lord, until the gates of death
Receive the accursed hand that laid him low.

Congregation—Keep death off, Lord, until the gates of death
Receive the accursed hand that laid him low.

Father Benedict—Let not thine enemies triumph over thee.
Thunder it, brethren, so that God may hear.

Congregation—Let not thine enemies triumph over thee.

Father Benedict—The mountains are afraid of thee, O Lord.
Shake their wild tops and shake the heathen down.

Congregation—The mountains are afraid of thee, O Lord.
Shake their wild tops and shake the heathen down.

Father Benedict—So shall thy Church with loud hosannas ring.

Congregation—So shall thy Church with loud hosannas ring.

Father Benedict—World without end.

Congregation— World without end.

Father Benedict— Amen.

Pierre—(Far to the left.) Haro! haro!

Father Benedict—Accept, O eternal Father, the offering that is here made to Thee by Thy minister, in the name of us all here present. It is as yet only bread and wine, but by a miracle of Thy power and grace will shortly become the body and blood—

Pierre—(Drawing nearer.) Help, help! Oh, help!

Father Benedict—(After a pause, as though he had heard the cry.)

—the body and blood of Thy beloved Son. He is our high priest and He is our victim. By Him and—

Pierre—O men of God! Dear men of God!

(There is a hush in the church.)

Will you not help? Will you not—

(He enters with his hands to his head, fearful lest he has disturbed the service.)

Father Benedict— (Resuming.)
He is our high priest and He is our victim.

(Pierre throws himself down upon the steps, sobbing.)

By Him and through
Him, we desire to approach—Sit down, men! (A pause.)
Women! Men! Sit down!

(The noise in the church increases.)

A Voice— Sit down, brethren!
Don't desecrate the Lord's house!

Father Benedict—(Shouting.) You hear me?

A Woman's Voice—Husband!

Father Benedict—(Enraged.) Malediction!

(The church door is jerked open, and the people come pouring out with anxious faces lest something terrible has happened. Back in the church, above the heads of the people, is seen the altar ablaze with lights, and high behind it a colossal cross with a beautiful carven Christ upon it. The wound in the side shows red and over the thorn-crowned brow is an arch bearing in golden letters the inscription: FORGIVE THEM FOR THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY—The DO has never been put on.)

Pierre— (Staggering up from the steps.)
Run, run to the mountains, men!
Quick! quick!
They're dragging him off! They're dragging him off!
O run, run, run, run, run!

Cries—What—where—who is it?

Pierre—Yonder! yonder!
Oh, get torches,
Get torches and run
And kindle fires on the mountain tops
So he may see his way!
No, that won't help! Oh, that won't help!
But he can hear, though!
Call, call to him!
Search all the places where the blind may be!
Run shouting "Oswald! Oswald!" through the woods!
Find him, oh, find him before Satan comes!
Before the storm breaks!
They'll track him by the blood drops!
They'll tear his body on the mountains!
O men, dear men— (A clap of thunder. Pierre dodges.)
What—what was that?
Oh, God said something! God said something!

(Pointing up at the sky.)

He knows! He knows!
Lord Jesus knows that it was not his fault!
And He will pay—oh, He will bless you, men!
Do, do, do run!

Father Benedict—Make way!

Pierre—O Father! Father!

(In his snow-white chasuble, the priest appears pushing his way through the throng about the door. In his hand he has a silver communion plate with the bread upon it.)

Father Benedict—Why all this clamor?
This is the Sabbath and the hour of mass.

Pierre—It's done! It's done!

Father Benedict— (Descending the steps.)
How dare you cry out on this holy morn?

Pierre—Oh, last night, Father, last night in the dark
White angels, oh, white angels in the storm—It
tore their wings and blew them from the sky,
And then—and then—O father, then the fiends—He
saw them in the stones and—screamed and—Oh,
They did a deed of horror in the dark!

(He presses his hands into his eyes as if to shut out the sight of it.)

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Father Benedict—What is this?

Pierre— (Bending up and down.)
Oh! Oh! Oh!

Father Benedict—Pierre! (A pause.)
Pierre, if Hell hath done
Some wild deed in the night, be sure that God
Will right it.

Pierre—Will He, oh, will He, Father, make him to see—
See the blue sky again?

Father Benedict—Who is it Hell hath blinded in the night?

Pierre— (With his hands to his eyes, sobbing.)
Brother—brother—

Father Benedict—Pierre!

Pierre—O, Oswald! Oswald!

(With a cry, Madam Bacqueur falls fainting upon the steps. The women about her take her child from her arms and support her back into the church. The crowd stands silent.)

Pierre— (Bending up and down.)
Say something! say something!

Father Benedict— (Almost overcome.)
Can this be true? Can this be true, Pierre?

Pierre—Oh! Oh! Oh!

Father Benedict—Swift fly the avenging angels from the Throne.
Guilt like a red cloud passes from the sky,
And day looks in and sees where eyes have been.

Pierre— (As though his heart would break.)
Brother! brother! brother!

Father Benedict—Praise be to God!
The tempest shaketh showers upon the grass;
The storm wind cooleth the low violet;
But the proud pine I shatter, saith the Lord.
He shall go down and toss his boughs in hell.
The coffin-worm shall slime him. He shall not
Mock me upon the mountains, saith the Lord.
Praise be to God!

(Pierre glances up at the priest and then, as from something infernal, falls flat and hides his face against the ground.)

The lights are out in Babylon the Proud,
And the Lord God in blackness sitteth there
Among the ruins, dealing judgment.

(The rising wind blows shut the door of the church and leaves the scene enveloped in the half-light of early morning.)

My scales are hung in heaven, saith the Lord.
I weigh them in the darkness of the night.
They balance with the Dragon on one side.
Glory be to God in the highest!

(Shouting off demoniacally in the direction of the abbey.)

Lift up thy head, O Lucifer, in hell,
And see what God hath written on the sky
In letters that burn through thy broken panes.

(With his finger as though tracing the letters.)

"Weighed and found wanting!
I am the Lord God.
In Me the moon goes down; in Me the sun
Rises; I am the night and day.
If over any man a light break forth
And make his brow bright, let him not think
It shines for him alone, and be puffed up
Because of it, and speak
Bitterly, saying: 'See what pure prayers can do.'
For when his lungs are empty, saith the Lord,
Then I will give him flesh unto the dogs.
I will put out the light that kindles pride,
Saith the Lord God, and with the light the eyes." (In a wild chant.)
Praise be to God who doeth all things well.
Shinar hath seen the glory of the Lord.
Nimrod, who piled up Babel to the stars,
Lies sprawling under it, and the thunders laugh.

(Shouting in the direction of the abbey.)

Who lieth under Babel?—Up, Pierre;
I have a message. Rise, for you
Must bear it to your sainted abbot.

(Pierre rises and, with his head thrown back and his hands covering his face, without waiting, goes straight out, left.)

"Benedict to his brother in Christ,
Greeting:
Who lieth under Babel? You were right
In saying that the storm would shake the world.
It hath indeed played havoc. Certain trees
In the churchyard tore the graves up, and the dead
Have shaken roofs and spires in the town.
We lost our cross.
I hear you, too, lost somewhat. Gables though
Can be repaired.
We should both thank our Lord he hath not let
A lamb he careth for be scathed.
Who lieth under Babel?"

(Coming out in the street and shouting after Pierre.)

And to the brother, the dear ward of God,
Convey felicitations!
Ask him to
Tell you the color of the abbot's hair
This morning.
Wake him!
Say:
"The stars are flying in and out the clouds;
The mountain tops are tinging;
Night passes;
Rouse up, and behold the Dawn
Pouring her beautiful gold upon the world!"
Tell him to
Run down and see the print the bishop John
Sent me from Rome.
Blind Samson's head, who pulled the pillars down,
Under a dog's paws in the Gaza streets.
And in his car, as a salutation for the Sabbath,
Bark this from Benedict, from Benedict, the dog:
"Pride is a wind that from the shores of light
Bloweth far off where neither sun nor moon
Nor stars shine nor shall shine forevermore."
God hath heard one prayer. Come in, men.

The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the North

About This Book

ACT FIVE.