You lie here in the valley of the Nagold As in a nest: and the still river, gliding Along its bed, is like an admonition How all things pass.Your lands are rich and ample, And your revenues large.God's benediction Rests on your convent.
ABBOT.
By our charities We strive to merit it.Our Lord and Master, When He departed, left us in his will, As our best legacy on earth, the poor!
These we have always with us; had we not, Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones.
PRINCE HENRY.
If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your convent.
ABBOT.
Even as you say.
PRINCE HENRY.
And, if I err not, it is very old.
ABBOT.
Within these cloisters lie already buried Twelve holy Abbots.Underneath the flags On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, Of blessed memory.
PRINCE HENRY.
And whose tomb is that, Which bears the brass escutcheon?
ABBOT.
A benefactor's.
Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood Godfather to our bells.
PRINCE HENRY.
Your monks are learned And holy men, I trust.
ABBOT.
There are among them Learned and holy men.Yet in this age We need another Hildebrand, to shake And purify us like a mighty wind.
The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder God does not lose his patience with it wholly, And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, Within these walls, where all should be at peace, I have my trials.Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp to deaden its vibrations, Ashes are on my head, and on my lips Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness And weariness of life, that makes me ready To say to the dead Abbots under us, "Make room for me!" Ony I see the dusk Of evening twilight coming, and have not Completed half my task; and so at times The thought of my shortcomings in this life Falls like a shadow on the life to come.
PRINCE HENRY.
We must all die, and not the old alone;
The young have no exemption from that doom.
ABBOT.
Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must!
That is the difference.
PRINCE HENRY.
I have heard much laud Of your transcribers, Your Scriptorium Is famous among all; your manuscripts Praised for their beauty and their excellence.
ABBOT.
That is indeed our boast.If you desire it You shall behold these treasures.And meanwhile Shall the Refectorarius bestow Your horses and attendants for the night.
They go in.The Vesper-bell rings.
THE CHAPEL
Vespers: after which the monks retire, a chorister leading an old monk who is blind.
PRINCE HENRY.
They are all gone, save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep and silent prayer.
As if his heart could find no rest, At times he beats his heaving breast With clenched and convulsive fingers, Then lifts them trembling in the air.
A chorister, with golden hair, Guides hitherward his heavy pace.
Can it be so? Or does my sight Deceive me in the uncertain light?
Ah no! I recognize that face Though Time has touched it in his flight, And changed the auburn hair to white.
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, The deadliest foe of all our race, And hateful unto me and mine!
THE BLIND MONK.
Who is it that doth stand so near His whispered words I almost hear?
PRINCE HENRY.
I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine!
I know you, and I see the scar, The brand upon your forehead, shine And redden like a baleful star!
THE BLIND MONK.
Count Hugo once, but now the wreck Of what I was.O Hoheneck!
The passionate will, the pride, the wrath That bore me headlong on my path, Stumbled and staggered into fear, And failed me in my mad career, As a tired steed some evil-doer, Alone upon a desolate moor, Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, And hearing loud and close behind The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer.
Then suddenly from the dark there came A voice that called me by my name, And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!"And so my terror passed away, Passed utterly away forever.
Contrition, penitence, remorse, Came on me, with o'erwhelming force;A hope, a longing, an endeavor, By days of penance and nights of prayer, To frustrate and defeat despair!
Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, With tranquil waters overflowed;A lake whose unseen fountains start, Where once the hot volcano glowed.
And you, O Prince of Hoheneck!
Have known me in that earlier time, A man of violence and crime, Whose passions brooked no curb nor check.
Behold me now, in gentler mood, One of this holy brotherhood.
Give me your hand; here let me kneel;
Make your reproaches sharp as steel;
Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek;
No violence can harm the meek, There is no wound Christ cannot heal!
Yes; lift your princely hand, and take Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek;Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!
PRINCE HENRY.
Arise, Count Hugo! let there be No further strife nor enmity Between us twain; we both have erred Too rash in act, too wroth in word, From the beginning have we stood In fierce, defiant attitude, Each thoughtless of the other's right, And each reliant on his might.
But now our souls are more subdued;
The hand of God, and not in vain, Has touched us with the fire of pain.
Let us kneel down and side by side Pray till our souls are purified, And pardon will not be denied!
They kneel.
THE REFECTORY
Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight.LUCIFER disguised as a Friar.
FRIAR PAUL sings.
Ave! color vini clari, Dulcis potus, non amari, Tua nos inebriari Digneris potentia!
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Not so much noise, my worthy freres, You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers.
FRIAR PAUL sings.
O! quam placens in colore!
O! quam fragrans in odore!
O! quam sapidum in ore!
Dulce linguae vinculum!
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
I should think your tongue had broken its chain!
FRIAR PAUL sings.
Felix venter quem intrabis!
Felix guttur quod rigabis!
Felix os quod tu lavabis!
Et beata labia!
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Peace! I say, peace!
Will you never cease!
You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again!
FRIAR JOHN.
No danger! to-night he will let us alone, As I happen to know he has guests of his own.
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Who are they?
FRIAR JOHN.
A German Prince and his train, Who arrived here just before the rain.
