Second Monk. In truth an evil race; why strive for her,
A little Moorish girl?
Second Inquisitor. Small worth.
First Monk.My song—
First Inquisitor. I had a sister like her once my friend.
[Touching the first Monk on the shoulder.]
Where is our brother Peter? When you're nigh,
He is not far. I'd have him speak for her.
I saw his jovial mood bring once a smile
To sainted Ebremar's sad eyes. I think
He loves our brother Peter in his heart.
If Peter would but ask her life—who knows?
First Monk. He digs his cabbages. He brings to mind
That song I've made—is of a Russian tale
Of Holy Peter of the Burning Gate:
A saint of Russia in a vision saw
[Sings]
A stranger new arisen wait
By the door of Peter's gate,
And he shouted Open wide
Thy sacred door, but Peter cried,
No, thy home is deepest hell,
Deeper than the deepest well.
Then the stranger softly crew
Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo!
Answered Peter: Enter in
Friend; but 'twere a deadly sin
Ever more to speak a word
Of any unblessed earthly bird.
First Inquisitor. Be still, I hear the step of Ebremar.
Yonder he comes; bright-eyed, and hollow-cheeked
From fasting—see, the red light slanting down
From the great painted window wraps his brow,
As with an aureole.