Father Benedict— Then the red dirk
Had hovered over your gray hairs like a hawk
Until your day of death, and when your soul,
Fresh from the holy lustral dews, had sprung
Singing toward Mary's bosom in the sky,
That red-plumed vulture swooping through the dark
Had chased it down to Hell.
Jardin— Line up, men.
Oswald— Stay!
You know not what you do.
Father Benedict— What does this mean?
Jardin—It means that Jardin is a soldier still,
Still fighting as a servant of the Cross,
And never, while this arm can lift a sword,
Will this sword ever spare a scoffing imp
To invocate the devils of the air,
And pointing to the gouts of holy blood
Upon the mountain rocks, say: "Aha, see!
The Master's slave bleeds as the Master bled."
(Pointing with his sword down the street.)
The son of Satan.
A Man— It's the dwarf, Father.
Father Benedict— (Solemnly.)
God lifts the curtain and the Play is on,
Whose last act shall unfold above the clouds
With Tempest and with Earthquake that shall shake
Hell to the very bottom. Seize him.