Abbot— (Walking aside, composed.)
I was not sure.
Father Benedict—Why did you think that God
Had revealed it only to you?
Abbot— I was not sure
That what I had in mind you had in mind.
Father Benedict—And you thought you would feel about and see
If I knew it. And if I did not, "Truth, retire.
Do not obtrude yourself on Benedict.
He knows the hunter's dream. If he cannot
Discover whose hands those were the hunter saw
Reach through the green boughs of the Tree of Life
And tear the hell-jaws from the holy deer,
It is not your fault. And I lose no glory.
It is his own crass mind. He comes from Rome.
Florence is Athens come to life again."
Abbot—Envy, you think?
Father Benedict— I know it. When you asked
Whose hand it was that lifted up that bell,
I knew that you were feeling me about
To see if I knew that the hand was mine.
Had I not known it, do you suppose I think
You would have told me? Of your own accord:
"Benedict, God hath chosen you for this.
Be faithful to it. The glory is yours"? Not much.
You pride yourself on what you think is God,
Your erudition. But I know some things. (He walks aside.)
Abbot—It is hard to know what another has in mind.
Father Benedict—It may be hard for the Athenians.
Abbot—I am an old man, Benedict, and with
White hair the eyes blur and the mind dulls. You,
Vigorous in body and in intellect.
Scale heights I cannot climb. Bear with me, then.
If I just now, forgetting youth is past,
Ventured to tilt with you, is it not enough
That you stand there triumphant while I here
Lie prostrate with my gray hairs in the dust?
(He bows his head and walks to the rear.)