Friar Cuthbert. What an infernal racket and riot! Now we have changed And bishop of wood! Friar Cuthbert. Well, then, since you are in the mood Chorus of Monks. Funde vinum, funde! Tanquam sint fluminis undæ, Sed fundas semper abunde! Friar John. What is the name of yonder friar, With a rollicking, Devil may care, Free and easy look and air, As if he were used to such feasting and frolicking? 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; 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, Lucifer. I am a Frenchman born and bred, My home Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys,12 Lucifer. You must know, then, it is in the diocese In the province of Brittany. From the gray rocks of Morbihan It overlooks the angry sea; The very seashore where, In his great despair, Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, Filling the night with woe, And wailing aloud to the merciless scas Whilst overhead The convent windows gleamed as red Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! None of your death-heads carved in wood, 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? Lucifer. Abelard ! Monks. Did he drink hard? · Lucifer. Oh, no! Not he! He was a dry old fellow, Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. Lowering at us in sullen mood, As if he had come into Brittany For some of us knew a thing or two, 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 Of getting up at all sorts of hours, And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, To take a pull at that hideous bell; So that all the monks who are lying awake Friar John. From frailty and fall— All. Good Lord, deliver us all! Friar Cuthbert. And before the bell for matins sounds, 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. 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 Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! Lucifer. As I spoke, it vanished away again.- Siebald the Refectorarius. That fellow is always playing the scout, The Abbot with scandalous tales. Lucifer. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers Telling scandalous tales of the others? I would put a stop to that pretty soon, Monks. How shall we do it? Lucifer. Do you, brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall, 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, Once caught the Devil by the nose! 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 Siebald. Mercy! mercy! Friar Paul (shouting and beating). Rumpas bellorum lorum, Morum verorum rorum Tu plena polorum! Lucifer. Who stands in the doorway yonder, Just as Abelard used to stand, The flash of his keen black eyes The Monks (in confusion). The Abbot! the Abbot! 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! Abbot. What means this revel and carouse? Is this a tavern and drinking-house? Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; But the blood that follows the discipline. You, who should be a guide to your brothers, And are ten times worse than all the others, 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 Irmingard. The night is silent, the wind is still, Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; 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; O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, |