Madam Valmy— Don't try, then.
Madam Bacqueur—There is a glory far off in the air.
Father has seen it and his eyes are bright.
So bright. Rachel will tell you. Or it may be
He sees the pilgrims that shall gather here.
This morning Marie heard two brothers say
There's sure to be a shrine where Oswald fell.
Think of it, Madam Valmy, these streets thronged
With holy men that live beyond the sea.
I never even thought to pray for that.
God does all things so easily, though. And—
And all for his dear sake. But I don't know.
The Scriptures say Satan shall be let loose.
Madam Valmy—The shrine? Indeed I do.
In the last days; in these days, then. Do you?
Madam Bacqueur— How good of you!
You always did have so much faith.
Madam Valmy— You know
The day your child was christened—
Madam Bacqueur— Oh, how true!
How like a star his name will shine!
Madam Valmy— I now
Predict again. He'll be a saint.
Madam Bacqueur— (In utter amazement.)
A—
Madam Valmy— Saint.
Madam Bacqueur—You think he will? Oh, do you, Madam Valmy?
Do you, indeed? Oh, think of what that means
To little Oswald here! To wear a name
A blessed saint hath worn and given him
With his own lips at the baptismal font;
To see a white hand beckon from the sky
And hear forever in each vesper chime
A saint's clear voice calling his soul to come
And flower out beneath the holy bells.
Oh, think, Fidele, some day when he is old
And in his cloister yonder on the mountain,
When the dear brothers gathered after prayer
Shall talk of holy things, and one shall say:
"My father fought with Montfort in the wars";
Another: "I have seen St. Bavon's tree";
And some old palmer who hath seen all shrines
Shall tell of Subiaco and the thorns
Of good St. Benedict, my boy can say:
"I grew to manhood in the little town
Down in the valley. I have never been
Beyond the mountains, but each day have heard,
Morning and night, St. Giles' dewy bells
Ring from these towers the twilight hour of prayer,
Yet was I favored. When they christened me"—
Oh, I can see them wonder at him then,
And press about him.—"When they christened me
St. Oswald stood god-father at the font
And blessed me with his hands upon my head,
Blessed me and said: 'The Virgin keep this child.'
A neighbor said his face shone like a star,
He was so full of glory. And the night,
The night the angels brought him from the gorge
And laid him here before the abbey gate,
He wore the holy hood my mother made.
They keep it yet inside the sacred chest,
There in the chapel." (Faint shouts far to the left.)
I am so afraid
Jules will go with them. Would you mind if I—