(He points to the broken top of the poplar tree that hangs out in the street. The men from the churchyard come from behind it.)
Oh, they've been by the graves!
(He covers his face with his hands and bends up and down, sobbing hysterically.)
One of the Men— What has he done?
(With a great shining crucifix upon a staff, the priest appears in the doorway and comes hurriedly down the steps.)
Father Benedict—Pierre, in the name of God, all-hail!
I greet you as one having holy lips,
Since God hath chosen you to set on fire
With one bright word all days to be. Pierre,
Which way hath he gone? God is waiting.
The seraphim—Nay, fear me not, for I
Have been baptized with fire that hath fallen
Suddenly from heaven. Which way hath he gone?
To the high places fly the seraphim
And banners flash and fade among the clouds.
The Lord of Life into my power hath given
The life of him who spoke—I will forgive
The bitter words. This is the day of days.
Within I shine, though round about the storm
Spreadeth her gloom. Even my hands are dark.
The thunder peals the muster of the dead.
(Faint shouts, left.)
Pierre— (Falling upon his knees.)
They've bitten him! they've bitten him! Pray! pray! pray!
Father Benedict—Nay, Pierre, these are shouts of them whose mouths
Shall sing upon the mountains when my hand
Shall rend the hound and pluck the blind from death.
His breath is in the hollow of my hand,
And though he taunted me and though I might—
(He blows in his palm.)