Is it Father Benedict?
Jardin— (Straightening up.)
It was for that that he rode back there. Eh?
Tell them? What for? What good would that do? What
Do they care if the heathen keeps his land?
I see some of you here that yesterday
Was down at Bacqueur's. Do I? Do I see you?
Somehow it seems to me I recollect
Hearing as how old Hulga'd never strike
No man no more since God had saved the monk
And maybe threw her off the cliff herself.
Did any of you hear that? Did you men?
Eh? No one, eh? So Jardin must have dreamed.
Well, in the dream then Jardin seemed to say:
"The hag will strike till we have dragged her down,
Her and her dwarf, Canzler, the big heathen,
And all his kith, and burnt them in the street."
A Voice—You got him in the church, Jardin?
Madam Bacqueur— La, now!
Hugh Capet— Down with him!
Jardin—Was Jardin right again? Has Hulga struck?
You'd see the ass he rode you'd think she'd struck.
Awhile ago here some one shouted out:
"Who's in the church?" I've got the arrow strung
And now I'll tell you, now I'll let it fly.
The wine train's lost; three of the mules are dead;
Two men were crushed to death; our Lord's dear blood,
Witches have poured out on the mountain rocks.
Now, has she struck? You think she has, eh? Hugh,
What did we tell them? Jacques Sar? Bacqueur? Eh?
Didn't we?
Bacqueur—How did it happen, Bailiff?
Jardin—Some one here asked if Canzler was in here.
No. Yes. What if he were or what if he is?
You think I'd tell you and see you fall dead? (Madam
Valmy enters, right, leading old Rachel by the hand.)
One of the muleteers rode in for help.
He only spoke Italian. A friar, though,
Told me his tale. Last night when the train reached
The Devil's Pass—'twas dark; the moon had sunk—Three
withered hell-hags, with the skirring clouds
Flying toward Pampeluna to their sabbath,
Lit on a gray crag. Lightning splintered blue
About them, smells of sulphur rose, and thunder
Clapped the dark rock. The mountain shook. Straightway,
Cries of the men rang out. The leaders crashed,
Dumb-smitted with horror, mules and packs and all,
Down through the chaparral to the gowle below.
The witches vanished. All the Pass was still
Save through the night the golden chalices
Clinking far down the scaur. Then on a sudden
(Rosa, excited, runs in, right, and hurries to the women.)
The grisly hags, crooning a wild song, rose
Tossing the golden cups up in the air,
And like a strip of mist went down the wind
Toward Pampeluna. What is the matter, women?