Your horses and attendants for the

night. (They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.) The Chapel. 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 recognise 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 evildoer,
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 for ever.
Contrition, penitence, remorse,

Came on me, with o'erwhelming force;

A hope, a longing, an endeavour,
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 'tis 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.)

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

Friar Paul (sings).

Ave! color vini clari,
Dulcis potus, non amari,
Tua nos inebriari

Digneris potentia!

Friar Cuthbert. Not so much noise, my worthy frères,

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 linguæ vinculum!
Friar Cuthbert. I should think your
tongue had broken its chain!
Friar Paul (sings).

Felix venter quem 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!

None of your damsels of high degree! Friar John. Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! (11)

But do not drink any farther, I beg!

Friar Paul (sings).

In the days of gold,
The days of old,
Crosier of wood

And bishop of gold!

Friar Cuthbert. What an infernal racket and riot!

Can you not drink your wine in quiet?
Why fill the convent with such scandals,
As if we were so many drunken Van-
dals?

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

Friar Cuthbert. Well, then, since
you are in the mood

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, (12)

Of which, very like, you never have heard.

Monks. Never a word.

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

Called the diocese of Vannes,
In the province of Brittany.
From the gray rocks of Morbihan
It overlooks the angry sea;
The very seashore where,
In his great despair,

And the cells

Hung all round with the fells

Of the fallow deer.

And then what cheer!

What jolly, fat friars,

Sitting round the great, roaring fires,
Roaring louder than they,
With their strong wines,
And their concubines;
And never a bell,

With its swagger and swell,

Calling you up with a start of affright In the dead of night,

To send you grumbling down dark stairs,

To mumble your prayers.
But the cheery crow

Of cocks in the yard below,
After daybreak an hour or so,

And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds,

These are the sounds

That, instead of bells, salute the ear.
And then all day
Up and away

Through the forest, hunting the deer!
Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here
You are a little too pious, a little too
tame,

And the more is the shame.

"Tis the greatest folly

Not to be jolly;

That's what I think!

Come, drink, drink,
Drink, and die game.

Monks. And your Abbot What's-his

name?

But you see

It never would do!

For some of us knew a thing or two,
In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys!
For instance, the great ado

With old Fulbert's niece,

The young and lovely Heloise.

Friar John. Stop there, if you please, Till we drink to the fair Heloise. All (drinking and shouting.) Heloise! Heloise!

(The Chapel-bell tolls.) Lucifer (starting). What is that bell for? Are you such asses

As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses?

Friar Cuthbert. It is only a poor, unfortunate brother,

Who is gifted with most miraculous

powers

Of getting up at all sorts of hours,
And, by way of penance and Christian
meekness,

Of creeping silently out of his cell
To take a pull at that hideous bell;
So that all the monks who are lying
awake

May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake,

And adapted to his peculiar weakness! Friar John. From frailty and fall— All. Good Lord, deliver us all! Friar Cuthbert. And before the bell for matins sounds,

He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds,

Flashing it into our sleepy eyes,
Merely to say it is time to arise.
But enough of that. Go on, if you
please,

With your story about St. Gildas de
Rhuys.

N

Lucifer. Well, it finally came to pass That, half in fun and half in malice, One Sunday at Mass

We put some poison into the chalice.
But, either by accident or design,
Peter Abelard kept away
From the chapel that day,

And a poor young friar, who in his stead
Drank the sacramental wine,

Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! But look! do you see at the window

there

That face, with a look of grief and

despair,

That ghastly face, as of one in pain? Monks. Who? where?

Lucifer. As I spoke, it vanished

away again.

Friar Cuthbert. It is that nefarious Siebald the Refectorarius.

That fellow is always playing the scout, Creeping and peeping and prowling about;

And then he regales

The Abbot with scandalous tales. Lucifer. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers

Telling scandalous tales of the others? Out upon him, the lazy loon!

I would put a stop to that pretty soon, In a way he should rue it.

Monks. How shall we do it? Lucifer. Do you, Brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall,

And open it suddenly when I call.
Then seize the villain by the hair,
And hold him there,

And punish him soundly, once for all. Friar Cuthbert. As St. Dunstan of old,

We are told,

Once caught the Devil by the nose! Lucifer. Ha! ha! that story is very clever,

But has no foundation whatsoever.
Quick! for I see his face again
Glaring in at the window-pane;
Now! now! and do not spare your
blows.

(FRIAR PAUL opens the window suddenly, and seizes SIEBALD. They beat him.)

Friar Siebald. Help! help! are you going to slay me?

Friar Paul. That will teach you again to betray me!

Friar Siebald. Mercy! mercy! Friar Paul (shouting and beating.) Rumpas bellorum lorum, Vim confer amorum Morum verorum rorum Tu plena polorum!

Lucifer. Who stands in the doorway
yonder,

Stretching out his trembling hand,
Just as Abelard used to stand,
The flash of his keen black eyes
Forerunning the thunder?

The Monks (in confusion.) The
Abbot! the Abbot!

Friar Cuthbert. And what is the
wonder?

He seems to have taken you by surprise. Friar Francis. Hide the great flagon From the eyes of the dragon!

Friar Cuthbert. Pull the brown hood over your face!

This will bring us into disgrace!

Abbot. What means this revel and carouse?

Is this a tavern and drinking-house? Are you Christian monks, or heathendevils,

To pollute this convent with your revels? Were Peter Damian still upon earth, To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, He would write your names, with pen

of gall,

In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! Away, you drunkards! to your cells, And pray till you hear the matin-bells; You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother

For you I've a draught that has long been brewing,

You shall do a penance worth the doing. Away to your prayers, then, one and all!

I wonder the very convent wall

Does not crumble and crush you in its fall!

The neighbouring Nunnery. The ABBESS IRMINGARD sitting with ELSIE in the moonlight.

Irmingard. The night is silent, the wind is still,

The moon is looking from yonder hill Down upon convent, and grove, and garden;

The clouds have passed away from her face,

Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace,
Only the tender and quiet grace
Of one, whose heart has been healed
with pardon!

And such am I. My soul within
Was dark with passion and soiled with
sin.

But now its wounds are healed again; Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain;

For across that desolate land of woe, O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go,

A wind from heaven began to blow; And all my being trembled and shook, As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field,

And I was healed, as the sick are healed,

When fanned by the leaves of the Holy

Book!

Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard,

Has found through me the way to fame. Brief and bright were those days, and the night

Which followed was full of a lurid light.
Love, that of every woman's heart
Will have the whole, and not a part,
That is to her, in Nature's plan,
More than ambition is to man.
Her light, her life, her very breath,
With no alternative but death,
Found me a maiden soft and young,
Just from the convent's cloistered
school,

And seated on my lowly stool,
Attentive while the minstrels sung.

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall,
Fairest, noblest, best of all,
Was Walter of the Vogelweide;
And, whatsoever may betide,
Still I think of him with pride!
His song was of the summer-time,
The very birds sang in his rhyme;
The sunshine, the delicious air,
The fragrance of the flowers, were there;
And I grew restless as I heard,
Restless and buoyant as a bird,
Down soft aërial currents sailing,
O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in
bloom,

And through the momentary gloom
Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing,
Yielding and borne I knew not where,
But feeling resistance unavailing.
And thus, unnoticed and apart,
And more by accident than choice,
I listened to that single voice
Until the chambers of my heart
Were filled with it by night and day.
One night,-it was a night in May,-
Within the garden unawares,
Under the blossoms in the gloom,
I heard it utter my own name
With protestations and wild prayers;
And it rang through me, and became
Like the archangel's trump of doom,
Which the soul hears, and must obey;
And mine arose as from a tomb.
My former life now seemed to me
Such as hereafter death may be,
When in the great Eternity
We shall awake and find it day.