(A man goes toward the crucifix that lies on the ground. The Priest steps upon the steps and turns, facing the men. While he speaks, Jacques Sar marches the lines right and wheels them around so as to face left, the direction in which Pierre came and went. For others who keep coming in, he finds places in the lines and, examining weapons and moving the men about, goes up and down with the air of an old commander.)
Father Benedict— Men,
This is the grandest day that ever mixed
Her golden hair with banners. The hunter's dream,
That flashed and vanished in the night, after
Lying like our Lord three days in darkness,
Bursts like a shining angel upon the world
(He receives the crucifix.)
And dazzles. We see not clearly, for the light
Blinds as the darkness doth. All night the earth
Tumbled as a man in fever. Saints on fire
Walked grandly on the mountain combs and called,
And the graves opened, and the silent ones—
What can it mean that of the churchyard dead
Only the soldiers rose? And that, too, when
Hell's hand was heavy on the brother? Men,
At midnight riding down the mountain, I
Saw wonders and heard things I dare not tell.
What the hounds are I know not, but I know
One up there hath a snare laid for them. And I—
I see my name in fire on those clouds.
These winds shall blow it luminous, and all
The world shall see it, and all time. Then some
Who now accuse me will come round with smiles.
For I will not be terrified by him.
(He says something under his breath and comes quickly down the steps and out into the street where he shouts after Pierre.)
Tell the old man I go upon this chase
Out of no love for him or for his monk.
For I despise them both. You
Tell him just what I say and why I go.
Tell him the storm hath spoken to me. Say
I saw a hand of fire in the night
Beckon, and heard a trumpet peal in heaven.
He thinks I am a coward. So I am;
I fear to disobey the voice of God,
And therefore go. Listen to me, Pierre!
You tell him this: Had Heaven not delivered
Its orders to me, by the throne of God,
Not a spear—Hear me?—not a single spear
Should redden in the rescue of this monk.
As for his charge that I have done this deed,
Tell him it smells of Hell.
(Thunder right. The priest turns and for a time contemplates the sky in silence.)
One of you men
Run and ask Pierre which way hath he gone,
For there are trails and trails.
(A man darts out, left.)