90

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

Called the Diocese of Vannes,

In the province of Brittany,

From the grey rocks of Morbihan

It overlooks the angry sea;

The very sea-shore where,

In his great despair,

Abbot Abelard walked to and fro,
Filling the night with woe,

And wailing aloud to the merciless seas,
The name of his sweet Heloïse!
Whilst overhead

The convent windows gleamed as red
As the fiery eyes of the monks within,
Who with jovial din

Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin!
Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey!
Over the doors,

None of your death-heads carved in wood,
None of your saints looking pious and good,
None of your Patriarchs old and shabby!
But the heads and tusks of boars,
And the cells

100 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,

Calling you up with a start of affright

110 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. O, no! Not he!

He was a dry old fellow,

Without juice enough to get thoroughly

mellow.

120

130

(A roar of laughter.)

140

Of creeping silently out of his cell

To take a pull at that hideous bell,

So that all the monks who are lying awake

150

May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, 160

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.
Lucifer. Well, it finally came to pass

170

That, half in fun and half in malice,

Friar Siebald. Mercy! mercy!

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!

180 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

190 The Abbot with scandalous tales.

200

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; 210 Now! now! and do not spare your blows.

(Friar Paul opens the window suddenly, and seizes Friar 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 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 heathen devils, 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 Gomorrha one and all! Away, you drunkards! to your cells, And pray till you hear the matin-bells; And you, Brother Francis, and you, Brother

Paul!

And as a penance mark each prayer
With the scourge upon your shoulders bare:
Nothing atones for such a sin

But the blood that follows the discipline.
And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me
Alone into the sacristy;

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!

20

30

lieu,'

And you cloud all his sunshine.

Baradas. I have marked it, And I will learn the wherefore. De Mau. The Egyptian

Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught:

Would I could so melt time and all its treasures,

And drain it off!

De Ber. Come, gentlemen, what say ye, A walk on the parade? come; come, Mauprat.

De De Mau. Pardon me; we shall meet again ere nightfall,

De Ber. and Omnes. Come, Baradas.
Baradas. I'll stay and comfort Mauprat.
De Ber. Comfort!-when

We gallant fellows have run out a friend, There's nothing left-except to run him through!

There's the last act of friendship.

De Mau. Let me keep

That favour in reserve; in all beside
Your most obedient servant.

[Exit DE BErlinghen.

Baradas. You have lostYet are not sad.

De Mau. Sad!-Life and gold have wings, And must fly one day:-open, then their cages,

And wish them merry.

Baradas. You're a strange enigma:Fiery in war-and yet to glory lukewarm ;All mirth in action-in repose all gloom.— Confide in me! we have known each other

long.

Fortune of late has severed us-and led

40 Me to the rank of Courtier, Count, and Favourite,

To join the Duke in Languedoc, I (then
The down upon my lip-less man than boy)
Leading young valours, reckless as myself,
Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced
The Royal banners for the Rebel. Orleans,

(Never too daring) when I reached the camp Blamed me for acting-mark-without his orders:

Upon this quibble Richelieu razed my name
Out of the general pardon.

Baradas. Yet released you

From the Bastille

De Mau. To call me to his presence,

And thus address me:-'You have seized a town

Of France, without the orders of your leader, And for this treason, but one sentenceDEATH.'

Reviewed the troops-his eye met mine;—he frowned,

Summoned me forth-How's this?' quoth he; you have shunned

The sword-beware the axe!-'twill fall one day!'

He left me thus-we were recalled to Paris,
And you know all!

Baradas. And, knowing this, why halt you Spelled by the rattle-snake, while in the breasts

Of your firm friends beat hearts that vow the death

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70

80

IO

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A Room in the Palais Cardinal.
RICHELIEU, FATHER JOSEPH, FRANÇOIS, JULIE
DE MORTEMAR, HUGUET, DE MAUPRAT.
Enter RICHELIEU, leaning on JOSEPH.
Rich. And so you think this new conspiracy
The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?
Fox!-Well, I like the nickname! What did
Plutarch

Say of the Greek, Lysander?
Joseph. I forget.

Rich. That where the lion's skin fell short,
he eked it

Out with the fox's! A great statesman, Joseph

That same Lysander!

Joseph. Orleans heads the traitors.

Richelieu. A very wooden head, then! Well?

Joseph. The favourite,

Count Baradas

Rich. A weed of hasty growth;

First gentleman of the chamber-titles, lands, And the King's ear!-it cost me six long winters

To mount as high, as in six little moons
This painted lizard-But I hold the ladder,
And when I shake-he falls! What more?
Joseph. A scheme

To make your orphan ward an instrument
To aid your foes.

Your ward has charmed the King

Rich. Out on you!

Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots Plucked the insidious ivy of his love?

And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy
Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping?—
sighs?—

Art thou not happy at the Court?
Julie. Not often.

Rich. Thou art admired-art young;

Does not his Majesty commend thy beauty-
Ask thee to sing to him?-

Julie. He's very tiresome,

Our worthy King.

Rich. Fie; kings are never tiresome,

Save to their ministers.-What courtly gallants Charm ladies most?-De Sourdiac, Longue

ville, or

The favourite Baradas?

Julie. A smileless man

I fear, and shun him.

Rich. Yet he courts thee!

Julie. Then

He is more tiresome than his Majesty.

Rich. Right, girl; shun Baradas. -Yet of

these flowers

Of France, not one, in whose more honied

breath

Thy heart hears summer whisper?

Enter HUGUet.

Huguet. The Chevalier

De Mauprat waits below.

Julie. (Starting up.) De Mauprat! Rich. Hem!

He has been tiresome too!-Anon.

Julie. What doth he?-

[Exit HUGUET.