University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Convent Hall.
The Prior, Provost, Confessor, Steward, other Brethren, and six Laymen of the House.
Provost.
Brothers, no charge of murder rests on them.
Depart in peace, my friends (To the Laymen.)
—Heaven's blessing on you.
Would that the princes of the world, and those
That sigh on golden beds, could lay, like you,
Hands, innocent of ill, on guiltless hearts,
And taste such sleep as yours!—Depart in peace.

[The Laymen, &c. depart.
Enter Infirmier.
Inf.
Alphonso is return'd. Yet, hapless man!

Prov.
Why stands he not, as duty bids, before us?

Inf.
Oh! he is loath to come.

Prov.
This is most strange.

Inf.
I found him in the cemetery, lone,
'Mid many a stranger corse, unsepulchred,
Still gazing on that pilgrim lately found,
When slipp'd the snow-heap from the southern ridge:
His face was yet unchang'd, and calm each feature
As when he rested on the snow, while death
Stole on his dream. So calm, Alphonso look'd;
Such too his smile: each seem'd the other's image.
Scarce could I tell who of the twain had life,
Or who had ceas'd to breathe. Pardon me, fathers!
Long time I fear'd to break that solemn trance;
And, when at last I rous'd him—

Conf.
'T was not kind
To rouse him, brother; well I know his nature:
You should have spar'd him yet a little while.
'T is long since holy peace has still'd his spirit;
That time his soul had converse with his Maker.

Prov.
But when at last you urg'd him—

Inf.
At the word
At once the trance dissolv'd. He started up,
And frowning darkly on me, bade me say,
That never earthly ear should hear his grief,
If thou reject his pray'r, to wear out life
Here amid perilous labours. Thus he left me,
And onward 'mid the mountains swiftly rush'd,
Regardless of my answer.

Prior.
Holy father,
Send forth the Confessor; with him alone
He communes willingly, but shuns us ever,
Save when a sufferer common aid demands.

Conf.
Yes, I have sooth'd his melancholy soul,
And won at times to half-form'd confidence,
By tales of woe, which breath'd to common minds
Had shap'd their spectred night-dreams. Still to these
He gives most heedful ear.

Prov.
Go—soothe, persuade him.
[Exit Confessor.
It must be—strange, unexpiated guilt
Harrows his soul. And was it right, good Prior,
To give him charge among you?

Prior.
He deserv'd it.—
Such thoughts as trouble you, at first came o'er us,
When with wan look distraught, and wild attire,
He call'd at midnight, when no foot beside
Long time had scal'd the snow. Our wary eyes
Watch'd o'er him. Stern his brow, and strange his mood;
Yet, at our call submissive: so months past
He still the same. When patient Anselm died,
Heav'n rest his soul! he fell in manhood's prime,
Worn out with toil; Alfonso, now long tried,
Here vow'd to pass his dedicated days
A cloister'd menial; and with earnest prayer
Besought his perilous office. Look on us:
Age and infirmity here bow before you;
Point out the man whose limbs could stand that charge?

Prov.
None, none: I blame you not. But say, good Prior,
How doth he exercise his charge?

Prior.
With zeal
Passing belief; his labour shames our service.
For still in boisterous months, when all within
Shake at the barr'd-out blast;
Singly he ventures forth, his dog sole guide,
At starless midnight, or when drifted heaps
Have hid the pass: nor seeks again the roof,
(Though numbness steal upon his wearied limbs,)
Till he has sounded each snow-cover'd cave,
And long and loudly call'd, if heard from far
Shrieks of the lost night-wanderer strike his ear.
So pass his days away.

Enter Claude.
Claude.
Oh, holy fathers!

Prov.
Claude!—What brings thee hither?

Claude.
Help! speedy help! or she for whom I beg
Will not long need your succour. (To the Infirmier.)
Good, good father!
This is your office: yes, we know you well;
We who frequent these mountains.

Inf.
(To Claude.)
Where are the sufferers?
And what their number?

Claude.
'T is but one poor soul!
A delicate, tender creature! one of those
That left at morn your roof.

Inf.
But where, where are they?

Claude.
They had past the storm-house,
Where, every day, at noon and fall of night,
Ye kindly leave for those who chance may need
A dole of bread and wine: this they had past
A little space, when they who bore the litter
In which she lay, slipt on the melted ice,
And much I fear the fall has quite o'erpower'd her.
I never thought that thing of such slight frame
Could heave so deep a groan. And so I help'd them
To bear her to the shed; then hurried hither
To claim your aid.

Inf.
Come, honest Claude. (To the Monks.)
Farewell!

[Exeunt Infirmier and Claude.
Prov.
Heav'n guide, and prosperous issue crown thy zeal!
Say, was she of that train whom late I greeted,
Where, rushing from the mountain snows, the flood
Ceaselessly roars?

Prior.
No other foot
Has dar'd the pass.

Prov.
In vain I urg'd them back.
Know you their names?

Prior.
They wish'd to be conceal'd.
Some secret cause of grief ('t was whisper'd so)
Silenc'd inquiry: yet, a prattling page
That loiter'd o'er the hearth, said that his lady,
The dark-stol'd dame, was Countess of Tortona:
And he did hint of a sick peasant girl
Tales of strange import. But we sought not out
What misery wish'd conceal'd. (Bell strikes.)


Prov.
The noon-bell strikes.
Come; holy duties claim unworldly thoughts.
Here meet again. Alfonso must be question'd.

[Exeunt.