Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SISTER BEATRICE, by MAURICE MAETERLINCK



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SISTER BEATRICE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Pity me, lady: me about to fall
Last Line: [the nuns fall on their knees around the bed of beatrice.
Subject(s): Legends - Dutch; Religion; Spirituality; Theology


THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

THE HOLY VIRGIN (in the likeness of SISTER BEATRICE)
SISTER BEATRICE
THE ABBESS
SISTER EGLANTINE
SISTER CLEMENCY
SISTER FELICITY
SISTER BALBINE
SISTER REGINA
SISTER GISELA
THE PRIEST
PRINCE BELLIDOR
LITTLE ALLETTE
Beggars, Pilgrims, &c.

TIME — The Thirteenth Century. PLACE — A Convent in the
neighbourhood of Louvain.

ACT THE FIRST

A corridor, in the centre of which is the great entrance-door of the
convent.
To the right, the door of the chapel, to which a few steps give
access, makes an
angle with the wall of the corridor. In the angle so formed an image of the
VIRGIN, of the stature of an ordinary woman, stands within a niche, on a
pedestal of marble, which is raised on steps and enclosed within a grille. The

image is attired after the Spanish manner, in vestments of silk and precious
brocades, which give it the semblance of a celestial princess. A broad girdle,

wrought in gold, encircles the waist, and a golden fillet, on which glitter
precious stones, confines, like a diadem, the tresses of woman's hair that
fall
about the shoulders of the image. To the left of the convent door is seen the
cell of SISTER BEATRICE. The door of the cell is ajar. The whitewashed
cell
is furnished with a chair, a table, and a pallet-bed. It is night. Before
the
VIRGIN a lamp is burning, and at her feet is prostrated SISTER BEATRICE.

BEATRICE.
Pity me, Lady: me about to fall
In mortal sin, for he is coming back
To-night, to-night, and I am all alone!
What must I say to him, what must I do?
He looks at me with trembling hands, and I —
I know not what it is that he desires.
Since I came first into this holy house
Four years are nearly gone — ay, four years quite
But for six weeks, when August meets July.
Then I knew nothing: I was quite a child:
And now I still know nothing: nor I dare
Ask of the Abbess, nor to any tell
This matter that torments my heart — this woe,
Or else, this happiness. It is, they say,
Allowed to love a man in marriage: he,
When first of all I leave the convent, says,
Before he even kiss me, there shall be
A hermit, one who does miraculous things,
One that he knows, who shall unite us both.
We are told often of the lures of sin,
And of the snares of man: but him you know;
He is not like the others. Long ago,
When I was little, he would often come
Into my father's garden of a Sunday;
We played together there. Him I forgot,
But oftentimes I would remember that
When I was miserable, or in my prayers.
Pious he is and wise: his eyes are gentler
Than those of a little child that kneels to pray.
Here at your feet he knelt the other night,
Under the lamp: did you not see him there?
To look at, like your Son. Gravely he smiles,
As if he spoke to God, though but to me,
To me who cannot answer him he speaks,
Me who have no possessions. See, I tell you
All: for I seek not to deceive you; see,
I am very wretched, though for three days now
I have been unable to cry any more.
Did I refuse to listen to his prayer
He swore that he would die! And I have heard
That such a thing may happen; such as he,
Men that are beautiful, and tall, and young,
Have slain themselves because of love. One day
They spoke of this to Francis and to Paul.
If this be true I know not: but the earth
Is full of trouble, and they tell us naught.
O Mother, hear! I know not what to do!
And who knows, Mother, that these trembling hands
Held forth to your holy image shall not be
Torches unquenchable in the blaze of Hell
To-morrow?
[There is heard without the sound of many approaching horsemen.
Listen! Listen! Do you hear?
There are horses — many! Now they stop! Ah, now
Feet on the threshold! now they try the door!
[A knock on the great door.
What, what to do? Mother, I will not go
I will not, if you wish it!
[She rises, and runs to the door.
Bellidor?

BELLIDOR (from without).
Yes, open quickly, Beatrice! it is I!

BEATRICE.
Yes, yes!
[She throws wide open the door of the convent, and BELLIDOR, clad in
a
coat of mail and a long blue cloak, is seen upon the threshold. On his right
hand is a boy laden with costly garments and glittering jewels. Not far from
the
door is an old man, who holds two richly-appointed horses by their bridles,
and
leads them to and fro beneath a tree. In the distance, under the starry
sky, a
limitless moonlit country.

BEATRICE (advancing).
You are not alone? Who is it there,
Under the tree?

BELLIDOR.
Draw nigh, and have no fear!
[Kneeling upon the threshold he kisses the hem of BEATRICE'S robe.
O, beautiful, as you come forward so,
Beatrice! to front the stars that wait for you
As you upon the threshold trembling stand!
Surely they know a mighty happiness
Has come to birth, and, like the dust of gold
In silence shed before a queen's feet,
They are strewn over all the long blue ways
We go to travel through. What is it? Say!
What would you, what? O, do your feet already
Falter? You turn your head? O no, no, no!
My arms enlace you, hold you forever fast
In the sight of Heaven? No! you shall not fly,
For by enchaining love delivers you!
O come, come, seek no more the shadows dim
Of the lamps wherein love slumbered. Love has seen
The light he never saw before: the light
Whose every passing ray his triumph gilds,
Unites our youthful spirits, and ensures
Our destinies. O, Beatrice, Beatrice!
Behold, I see you, I am near you, touch,
Embrace you and salute you the first time!
[At these words he abruptly rises, seizes BEATRICE about the body,
and
kisses her on the lips.

BEATRICE (recoiling, and feebly defending herself).
No, do not kiss me! You had promised me!

BELLIDOR (redoubling his kisses).
O, those were never promises of love!
Love cannot say that love will not adore,
And lovers make no promises; never they
Shall promise aught who once have given all!
Love every moment gives the all it has,
And if it promise to reserve or stay
One kiss, it gives a hundred thousand more
To efface the wrong done to its lips itself.
[Embracing her more ardently and seeking to draw her away.
Come, come! The night is passing, and the sky
Already paler, and the horses fret.
There is now one step only more to take,
One to descend —
[Suddenly observing that BEATRICE is failing in his arms.
You do not answer me?
I do not hear you breathe: your knees give way!
Come! Never wait until the envious dawn
Outlays its golden snares across the path
That leads to happiness!

BEATRICE (who is almost swooning).
No, I cannot yet!

BELLIDOR.
Love, you grow pale! and all my kisses die
Quenched on your lips like sparks in waters cold.
Raise your fair face and give me your dear mouth,
That strives to smile no more. Oh! it is this,
This heavy veil that so constrains your throat,
And weighs upon your heart. 'Twas made for death,
Never for life!
[With slow and cautious movements he unwraps the veil which envelops the

face of BEATRICE, who is still unconscious. Presently the first tresses of

hair begin to fall, then others and still others, till at last all, like
flames
unimprisoned, fall suddenly over BEATRICE'S face. She seems to awaken.

BELLIDOR (with a cry of ecstasy),
O!

BEATRICE (softly, as if she came from a dream).
Ah, what have you done?
Bellidor? What is this my hands perceive?
This softness that is tender with my face?

BELLIDOR (passionately kissing her dishevelled hair).
Behold, behold! It is your proper fire
Awakens you, and you are overwhelmed
With your own beauty! Lo, you are enmeshed
With your own radiance! O, you never knew,
I never knew, how beautiful you were!
I thought that I had seen you, and I thought
I loved you! Ay, and but a moment gone
You were the fairest of my boyish dreams,
Most beautiful of all most beautiful
I find you now to my awakened eyes,
And to my hands that touch you, and in my heart
That now discovers you! Ah, wait, wait, wait!
You must in all be like your face — must be
Utterly liberated, wholly queen!
[He removes BEATRICE'S mantle with a sudden gesture, and she
appears clad
in a robe of white woollen; then, while he makes a sign in the
direction of the
door, and the boy who was with him at the opening of the scene draws near,
bearing costly raiment, a golden girdle, and a necklet of pearls, BEATRICE
falls to kneeling on the flags, prostrate and sobbing, her
face hidden in the
folds of the mantle and veil, which she has gathered up.

BEATRICE.
No! no! I would — I would not!
[Moving on her knees to the VIRGIN'S feet.
O, you see,
Lady! I cannot struggle any more!
No, not without you succour me! I can pray
No more, no more, if you abandon me!

BELLIDOR (hastening to BEATRICE and wrapping her in the costly garments
which he has taken from the child).

It is time, Beatrice! See the raiment, see
The raiment of your life that now begins!
You are no slave I rescue from her lord,
You are a queen I bring to happiness!

BEATRICE (still kneeling, her hands clinging to the grille that encloses the

base of the image).

Our Lady, hear me! I can speak no more,
And no more can I any longer pray;
No, I can only sob. I did not know
I loved him quite like this; I did not know
That I loved you so much. O listen, look!
All that I ask you is a sign, a sign,
A sign of your hand, a smile of your eyes, no more!
I am only a girl who does not understand ...
They have so often told me that you grant
Everything, and that you were very kind,
That you were pitiful ...

BELLIDOR (endeavouring to raise her up, and to draw her gently away from the

grille).
Ay, so she is,
For she is queen of a heaven that love has made!
Unclasp these tender hands the iron chills,
Look in her face — it is in no wise wroth,
It smiles, it shines; her eyes have seen the prayer
That shines in yours; it is as though your tears
Illumed her eyes that smile. Is it not she
That asks, and you that pardon? In my eyes
You are confounded, and I seem to see
Two sisters, and I know that love is here;
And they bless one another with their hands.

BEATRICE (raising her head and looking at the VIRGIN).
I was told often I was like her.

BELLIDOR.
Look!
Regard, across your own, her tresses thus,
While so my hands outspread the shimmering veil.
Would one not say, rays of the self-same light,
The self-same bliss?
[While he speaks three hours are struck on the convent clock.

BEATRICE (suddenly rising).
Listen!

BELLIDOR.
Three hours!

BEATRICE.
The hour
Of matins that I should have sounded!

BELLIDOR.
Come!
The dawn grows nigh, the windows pale to blue!

BEATRICE.
The windows I would always open wide
Before the dawn, so might the morning air,
Fresh, and the daylight, and the song of birds
Welcome my sisters as they came from sleep.
There is the cord that rings the bell to say
Night and their sleep are ended; there the door,
The chapel door of which no more my hands
Will push apart the leaves to greet the dawn,
And altar-candles other hands will light.
Here is the basket of the poor: ay, soon
They will come hither, and will call my name,
And see no one at all, and vainly seek
These hands they are wont to bless when I dispense
The humble garments that my sisters sew
In peace and silence of the spacious halls
The while they pray. ...

BELLIDOR.
Come, for the day is nigh;
Your sisters will awaken; and it seems
Already that I hear their steps resound. ...

BEATRICE.
Ay, they are coming, ay, my sisters come,
Who loved me all so well, and held me too
So holy! Here will they discover all
That of the lowly Beatrice remains;
Her veil and mantle lying on the stones.
[Suddenly she takes up the veil and mantle and deposits them on the
grille
at the feet of the image.
But no; I would never one of them should think
I trampled underfoot the robe of peace
They gave me, Mother — see, I give them you,
And you will keep them. In your hands I place
All my possessions, all that I received
In these four years.
I lay my chaplet here,
My chaplet with the cross of silver; here
My discipline, and here the three great keys
I carried at my girdle: this the key
That opens the great door; the garden, this,
And this, the chapel. I shall see no more
The garden growing green, and no more now
Unlock the chapel where we used to sing
'Mid odour of the incense. You know all,
Lady, and I know nothing.
There on high
Is it writ that naught is pardoned? And that love
Is cursed, and that none may expiate it?
Tell, tell, O tell me! For I am not lost
Except you will it! I am not now lost
If you but make a sign! I do not ask
Aught of impossible miracle, only this:
A single sign were all enough; a sign
So small that none should see it! If the shadow
Cast by the lamp, slumbering on your brow,
Move but a line I will not go away
I will not go away! O look at me.
Mother! I gaze and gaze! I wait!
[She gazes for a long while at the VIRGIN's face. All is motionless and
silent.

BELLIDOR (embracing her and kissing her passionately on the lips).
Come!

BEATRICE (for the first time returning his kiss).
Yes!
[Enlaced in one another's arms, they go forth into the dawning world.
The
door is left open. Soon is heard the sound of horses that gallop away, away int
o
the distance. The curtain falls, and shortly afterwards the bell of the
convent
is heard in the dawn, loudly ringing matins.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT THE SECOND

The last strokes of the bell ringing matins are heard. Then the
curtain rises.
The scene is that of the last Act, save that now the great door
of the convent
is closed, and all the corridor windows are open to the first
rays of the sun.
Hardly has the curtain risen when the VIRGIN, as at the end of a long, divine
sleep, is seen to stir, to come to life; then slowly she descends the steps of

the pedestal, and reaches the grille, and over her glorious robe and tresses
she
puts on the veil and mantle that BEATRICE has abandoned. Then as she begins
to
sing softly under her breath, she turns to the right, stretching forth her
hand,
when, through the door of the chapel, which opens to her gesture, are seen the

tapers of the altar; which are magically one by one being kindled; then,
continuing her holy song, she revives the flame of the lamp, and having placed

before the pedestal the basket which contains the garments to be given to the
poor, she advances to the great door of the convent.

THE VIRGIN (singing).
I hold to every sin,
To every soul that weeps,
My hands with pardon filled
Out of the starry deeps.

There is no sin that lives
If love have vigil kept;
There is no soul that dies
If love but once have wept.

And though in many paths
Of earth love lose its way,
Its tears shall find me out,
And shall not go astray.

[During the last words of the song, a hand knocks timidly at the gate of

the convent. The VIRGIN opens; and there appears on the threshold a little
girl,
barefooted, and very ragged and poor. She is half hidden behind the oaken
door-
post; she advances only her head, and gazes at the VIRGIN with astonishment.

THE VIRGIN.
Good day, Allette, why do you hide yourself?
[Enraptured and afraid, making the sign of the cross as she
approaches.

ALLETTE.
Why have you put that light upon your robe?

THE VIRGIN.
There is light everywhere when the sun comes.

ALLETTE.
Why have you put those stars into your eyes?

THE VIRGIN.
There are often stars in the depth of eyes that pray.

ALLETTE.
Why have you put that light inside your hands?

THE VIRGIN.
There is always light in the hands of alms-givers.

ALLETTE.
I have come alone here.

THE VIRGIN.
Where are our poor brothers?

ALLETTE.
They dare not come because of what folk say.

THE VIRGIN.
What do they say?

ALLETTE.
They say that they have seen
Beatrice riding on the Prince's horse.

THE VIRGIN.
Am I not like the lowly Beatrice?

ALLETTE.
They say they have seen her — that she spoke to them.

THE VIRGIN.
Only God saw her not, and nothing heard,
[Taking the child in her arms and kissing her on the forehead.
O little one, Allette, there is no one else
To-day that I can kiss. Ay, innocence
Cannot betray me, though it comprehend.
[Looking into the child's eyes
How pure the human soul when thus one sees it!
Most beautiful the angels are, but they
Never know tears. Poor child, enough, enough!
Behold yours falling; you shall know their number!
[She sets the child down on the threshold.
But our poor brothers — where are they? Allette,
Go forth to them, and tell them all of love
Full of impatience: go, and bid them haste.

ALLETTE (who turns her head and looks away from the convent).

O Sister Beatrice, they are coming — see!
[And indeed the poor, the sick and infirm, the women carrying little
children, have timidly drawn nigh, and, thinking that they
recognize BEATRICE,
fearful, hesitating, and astonished, they approach the
threshold, and, halting
outside the door, they gaze and wait.

THE VIRGIN (leaning over the poor-basket, which contains clothes).

What has befallen? Brothers, wherefore stay?
Hasten! the sun already mounts: the time
Is ripe for prayer; shortly my sisters pass.
The door will soon be shut; then, till the morrow,
No more of alms. O come you, all of you!
O hasten, all of you; the time is now.

A POOR OLD MAN (coming forward).

Now, sister, we to-night have seen two ghosts. ...

THE VIRGIN (giving him a cloak, which suddenly becomes radiant as she draws i
t
out of the basket).
Dream now no more of phantoms of the night.

A CRIPPLE (advancing in turn).

We have had wicked thoughts this night, my sister.

THE VIRGIN (drawing from the basket another garment, which seems suddenly to

become covered with jewels).

Open your eyes, my brother: it is now
The hour of pardon. Come, O all of you, come!

A POOR WOMAN.
I, sister, for my mother need a shroud ...

ANOTHER POOR WOMAN.
I beg you, sister, that our latest-born ...
[The poor folk, lamenting, and greedy of charity, their arms outheld,
press in a crowd about the VIRGIN, who, leaning over the basket, fills her

arms from it again and again with garments glittering with rays of light,
sparkling veils, and robes of linen that grow luminous. In measure as the
VIRGIN exhausts the basket it overflows with a still greater abundance of
raiment, more and more costly, and more and more resplendent; and as though
intoxicated by the miracle she herself has worked, she cries out, as she
distributes her treasures to the poor folk, filling their hands, covering
their
shoulders, and wrapping their infants in dazzling and blazing tissues.

THE VIRGIN.
O come you hither, hither, all of you come!
The snowy shroud is here, and here behold
The smiling swaddling-bands! Ah, here behold
Life, death, and life again! Come hither all!
It is the hour of love: and what of love?
It has no limits! Come you, all of you, come!
Give one another aid! and all offence
Let each forgive the other! And through life
Mingle your happinesses and your tears!
Love one another: pray for those that fall;
Come all, come hither, all of you pass by!
Come, all of you! God does not see the ill
Done without hatred. Pardon one another:
There is no sin forgiveness does not reach.
[Now the poor people, stupefied and bewildered, are covered with
resplendent garments. Some, their raiment rustling with precious stones,
waving
and swaying as they go, flee into the open, shouting for joy. Others, sobbing
for gratitude, surround the holy VIRGIN, and seek to kiss her hands. But
the
greater number, silent, and as though smitten with a divine terror, kneel
upon
the steps of the entrance and murmur their prayers. Then a stroke of the
bell is
heard; the basket is suddenly exhausted; the VIRGIN gently disperses the
poor folk who press about her, and closes the door on them.

THE VIRGIN.
Go in peace, brethren: 't is the hour of prayer.
[The murmur of the poor folk at prayer is still heard through the
closed
door. The murmur little by little becomes an indistinct hymn of gratitude and
ecstasy. A second, then a third stroke of the bell resounds; and proceeding
from
the left end of the corridor, the NUNS, with the ABBESS at their
head,
advance toward the chapel.
THE ABBESS (halting before the VIRGIN, who, with bended head, and hands
disposed upon her breast, waits by the closed door).
Hear, Sister Beatrice. This month of sun
Matins are rung a quarter short of three.
Now you shall three days fast, shall three nights pray
Before the Virgin's feet that was a mother.

THE VIRGIN (bowing with the humblest gestures of assent).
My Mother, God be praised!
[THE ABBESS, resuming her steps, reaches the pedestal, which before was
hidden from her by the wall from which springs the vaulting of the great
doorway. There she is about to kneel, when, upon raising her eyes, she stops,
cries aloud, lets fall the book that she carries, and makes a gesture of
unspeakable surprise and horror.

THE ABBESS.
She is not there!
[Disquieted, then terrified, the NUNS run to the ABBESS,
surrounding her and crowding about the pedestal. The first moment of
stupefaction having passed, they all speak, cry aloud, moan, and lament at the

same moment, by turns outraged, terrified, sobbing, upright, kneeling,
prostrated, or staggering.

THE NUNS.
She is no longer there!
The Virgin gone!
Her image has been stolen!
Infidels!
Our Mother, O our Mother!
Sacrilege!
The cloister is profaned!
O sacrilege!
The roof will fall upon us!
Sacrilege!
Sacrilege!
Sacrilege!
Sacrilege!

THE ABBESS (calling aloud).
Sister Beatrice!
[The VIRGIN advances, and halts before the pedestal, close to the
ABBESS. She gazes fixedly at the spot where her image used to stand, and her

impassive eyes and face, as though sealed from the outer world, are, as it
were,
radiant with an imperturbable hope and silence.

THE ABBESS.
You, sister Beatrice, were she in charge,
And it was yours by day or night to wake
And watch above the majesty of her
Who made this convent-house her treasury
Of graces, and to house her predilections:
I understand your anguish, and your fear
I share. Yet fear you naught! The Will Divine
Has oftentimes designs that must confound
Our vigilance and zeal. But answer me;
Speak, for you must have seen; speak, you must know!
[The VIRGIN is silent.
Answer me! Speak! What is amiss with you?
It seems to me there is somewhat strange — it seems
At moments that your face grows radiant ...
And say, what are these garments, now no more
The same as all we wear? Why, do my eyes
Deceive me? One that looks at you would say
You are no more the same. What have you there,
There, there, beneath your mantle, this that gleams
So brightly through it?
[She feels the VIRGIN'S mantle.
Ay, and what this stuff
Whose folds translucent run ablaze with light,
When my hands touch it?
[She opens the VIRGIN'S mantle, and beholds the girdle of wrought
gold.
Mercy! What is this?
[She removes the mantle entirely, and in the same moment of outraged
stupefaction she snatches off the veil which covers the VIRGIN'S hair, and

the latter, always motionless, and as though insensible, appears suddenly
clothed after the manner of and exactly in all points resembling her image
that
occupied the pedestal during the First Act. At this spectacle there falls on
the ABBESS and the NUNS who crowd round her a moment of silent
stupefaction and incredulous anguish. Then the ABBESS, who is the
first to
regain control over herself, covers her face with a gesture of
despairing horror
and malediction, and cries:
Lord God!

THE NUNS.
Our Lady! She has robbed the image
Speak, Sister Beatrice!
She does not answer!
The Demons! O, the Demons!
Beware the walls!
They will avenge themselves!
O madness, madness!
O horror, horror! Let us not await
The thunder-bolt! O sacrilege, sacrilege!
Sacrilege! Sacrilege!
[There is a movement of recoil, terror, and flight among the NUNS; bu
t
the ABBESS restrains them, raising her hands and her voice.

THE ABBESS.
Listen all, my daughters!
Nay, do not fly! Let us await our lot;
Let us not separate; let all our hands
And all our prayers hedge in the sacrilege,
And strive to appease the ensuing wrath!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
I pray
Mother, you will not tarry!

SISTER FELICITY.
Let us go
To find the priest!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
I saw him passing by
Deep in the chapel.

THE ABBESS.
You are right; yes, go,
Sisters Felicity and Clemency.
Go quickly; yes, go quickly; he will know
Better than we what should be done to stay,
If yet it be not all too late to stay,
The sword of the Archangel, and to foil
The triumph of the Accursèd One. Ah me!
My sisters, my poor sisters! Horror has
A name no longer, and our eyes have plumbed
The deepest abysms of hell!

SISTER GISELA (approaching the VIRGIN).
Profanatrix!

SISTER BALBINA (also approaching her)
Sacrilege! Sacrilege!

SISTER REGINA (beside herself).
Demon! Demon! Demon!

SISTER EGLANTINE (in a mournful and very gentle voice).
O, Sister Beatrice, what have you done?
[At the sound of this voice the VIRGIN turns her head, and looks
at
SISTER EGLANTINE with a smile of divine sweetness.

SISTER BALBINA (to SISTER EGLANTINE).
She looks at you.

SISTER GISELA.
She seems to awake.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Perhaps.
You did not know —

THE ABBESS.
No, Sister Eglantine,
I will not have you speak to her!
[At this moment the PRIEST, wearing his priestly appointments,
appears
at the door of the chapel, followed by two NUNS and the terrified
Choristers.

THE PRIEST.
Pray, pray!
My sisters, pray for her!

THE ABBESS (throwing herself on her knees.
You know, my father ...

THE PRIEST (in a stern voice).
Hear, Sister Beatrice!
[The VIRGIN remains motionless.

THE PRIEST (in a loud voice).
Sister Beatrice!
[The VIRGIN remains motionless.

THE PRIEST (in a terrible voice).
Hear, Sister Beatrice! Now, for the third time
I call you, in the name of the living God,
Whose anger trembles round about these walls —
I call you by your name!

THE ABBESS.
She does not hear!

SISTER REGINA.
She does not wish to hear!

SISTER BALBINA.
O misery!
O woe to all of us!

SISTER GISELA.
Father! Intercede!
Have pity on us!

THE PRIEST.
Doubt is at an end.
Now do I recognise the gloomy pride
Of the Prince of Darkness and the Father of Pride!
[Turning to the ABBESS.
My sister, I deliver her to you,
And mark that man's indulgence nowise may
Cheat the prerogatives of Love Divine.
Go, go, my sisters; drag the culprit forth
To the foot of the holy altars; then tear off,
There, in the presence of that One to whom
The angels bow — there tear off, one by one,
The vestments and the gems of sacrilege.
Unloose your girdles; every scourge twist tight,
And from the pillars of the portal take
The heavy lashes of prevaricators,
And rods of grievous penance. May your arms
Be cruel, may your hands be pitiless!
Mercy it is that lends them strength, and Love
That blesses them! Go forth, my sisters, go!
[The NUNS drag the VIRGIN away. She walks indifferent in their
midst, docile and impassive. All, save SISTER EGLANTINE, have
already untied
the double-knotted cords which gird their loins. They enter the
chapel, and the
doors close; only the PRIEST remains, and bows himself
before the forsaken
pedestal. There is for some time silence. Suddenly a song of unspeakable
sweetness filters through the doors of the chapel. It is
the sacred canticle of
the VIRGIN, the Ave Maris Stella, which sounds as
though sung by the distant
voices of angels. Little by little the hymn becomes
more distinct, draws near,
grows fuller, becomes universal, as though an
invisible host, ever more and more
innumerable, took it up with a might ever more and more ardent, ever more and
more celestial. At the same time there is heard from within the chapel the
sound
of seats overturned, of candelabras falling, of stalls thrown into confusion,
and the exclamations of terrified human voices. Finally the two leaves of the
door are violently thrown wide, and the nave appears all inundated with flames

and strange splendours, which undulate, blossom forth, gyrate, and sweep past
one another, infinitely more dazzling than the splendour of the sun whose rays

light the corridor. Then, amid the delirious Alleluias and Hosannas which
burst
forth on every hand — confounded, haggard, transfigured, mad with
joy and
superhuman awe, waving armsful of blossoming boughs that overflow with
miraculous flowers which increase their ecstasy, enveloped from head
to foot in
living garlands which fetter their steps, blinded by the rain of
flower-petals
which stream from the vaulting — the NUNS tumultuously
surge into the
too narrow doorway, and uncertainly descend the steps, encumbered by the
marvellous showers; and while at each step they strip their burdens of their
flowers, only to see them renewing themselves in their hands,
they surround the
ancient PRIEST, who now again stands upright, those that
follow advancing in
turn through the billows of blossoms that surge continually over the steps of
the chapel-door.

THE NUNS (all together and on every hand, while they emerge from the chapel,

fill the corridor, singing and embracing one another amid the deluge of
flowers).

A miracle!
A miracle!
A miracle!
My father, O, my father!
I am blind!
My father, O my father!
A miracle!
Hosanna!
O, Hosanna!
O, the Lord
Is close about us! O, the Heavens are open!
The angels overwhelm us, and the flowers
Pursue us! Hosanna! Hosanna! Sister Beatrice
Is holy! Ring the bell, O peal the bell,
Until the bronze be shattered! She is holy!
Ah, Sister Beatrice is holy, holy!

SISTER REGINA.
I sought to touch her holy vestments. Then —

SISTER EGLANTINE (crowned with flowers more radiant than the rest).
The flames brake forth, the shafts of light spoke!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
The angels of the altars toward us turned!

SISTER GISELA.
The saints bowed over her, and joined their hands!

SISTER EGLANTINE.
And all the statues of the pillars knelt!

SISTER FELICITY.
The archangels all their wings unfurled and sang!

SISTER GISELA (waving heavy garlands of roses).
And living roses brake her bonds in twain!

SISTER BALBINA (waving enormous stems of lilies).
Miraculous lilies blossomed on the rods!

SISTER FELICITY (waving luminous palm-branches).
The lashes blazed into long golden palms!

THE ABBESS (kneeling at the feet of the PRIEST).
My father, O my father, I have sinned.
For Sister Beatrice is holy!

THE PRIEST (kneeling also).
Yea!
My daughters, yea, my daughters, I have sinned!
Behold the ways of God past finding out!
[At this moment there is heard a knock on the entrance-door of the
convent, and the VIRGIN, once more human of aspect, and humbly clad in the

mantle and veil of BEATRICE, appears in the threshold of the chapel. She
descends the steps, her eyes downcast and her hands folded together, passes
among her kneeling sisters, over the flowers, which stand erect as she goes,
and
resuming, as if nothing had happened, the duties of her charge, she goes to
the
door and throws it open wide. Three pilgrims enter, poor, old, and haggard, to

whom she bows low, and taking from a tripod of bronze near by the aspergus and

the basin of silver, she sprinkles the water over their ponderous hands in
silence.

THE END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT THE THIRD

The scene is the same. On the pedestal the image of the VIRGIN stands,
as
in the First Act; the veil, mantle, and keys of SISTER BEATRICE are
hanging
on the grille; the chapel-door is open, and the candles of the altar are lit;
the lamp is burning before the image, and the poor-basket overflows with
clothing: in a word, all is precisely as it was at the moment when the NUN
fled with PRINCE BELLIDOR, except that the entrance-door of the convent
is
now closed. It is early dawn in winter: the last strokes of matins are heard,
though no one rings the bell, and in the porch of the chapel the bell-rope is
seen to rise and fall in empty air. Then, the bell having ceased to sound, a
silence falls, which is broken by three blows struck slowly on the convent
door.
At the third blow the door moves without sound on its hinges, though no one
opens it; and the two leaves are thrown wide open on the white, desolate,
vacant
countryside; and, amid the whirling of the snow which drives upon the
threshold
there advances, haggard, thin, and unrecognisable, she who was once SISTER
BEATRICE. She is covered with rags; her hair, already grey, is
scattered over
her face, which is grievously pinched and livid. Her eyes, bruised and black,
have in them only the remote and impassive gaze of those who are about to die,

and hold no longer any shadow of hope. She halts a moment in the open doorway,

and then, as she beholds no one, she enters, swaying, groping, and leaning on
the doors, sweeping the corridor with her eyes, with the uneasiness of an
animal
long hunted. But the corridor is empty, and she takes a few more fearful
steps,
until, perceiving the image of the VIRGIN, she gives a cry, in which are
mingled who shall say what vain and weary hopes of deliverance? — and
throws herself, kneeling and fainting, at the feet of the statue.

BEATRICE.
My Mother, I am here! Repulse me not,
For you are all I have now in the world!
I hoped that I should see you once again,
And I have come too late, because my eyes
Are closing: I no longer see you smile;
And when I stretch my hands out after you
I feel they are dead. I have forgotten how
To pray, I have forgotten how to speak,
And — since I needs must tell you everything —
I have wept so many tears that long ago
I lost all heart ever to cry again.
Forgive me, O forgive me, if I speak
A name that never should again be heard:
You would not recognise your daughter else.
O see to what estate have brought her love,
And sin, and all that men call happiness!
I left you more than twenty years ago;
And if so be 't is not the will of God
Men should be happy, surely then to me
He should intend no ill, for happy — O,
I have not been that! Thus I to-day return,
But ask for nothing, for the hour is gone,
And to receive I have no longer strength.
I come to die here in this holy house,
If but my sisters will permit that I
Fall where I fall. O, never doubt, they know!
The scandal of my life has been so great
Down yonder in the town, they will have heard ...
But they, they know so little; even you,
You who know all things, you will never know
The wickedness that they have made me do,
And all that I have suffered.
I would fain
Tell them to all, the agonies of love!
[Looking around her.
But why am I alone? Lo, all the house
Is void as though my sins had emptied it ...
O, who has taken up the place I fled,
My place before the holy altars, who?
Who guards the threshold that my feet have soiled?
The lamp is lit: I see the tapers shine;
Matins have rung, and here behold the day
That grows, and none appears.
[Perceiving the mantle and veil that bung upon the grille.
But what is here?
[She raises herself a little, draws nearer on her knees, and feels the
veil and mantle.
Already my poor hands are so near death
They know no longer if the things they touch
Are things of this life or the other world:
But is not this the mantle that I left ...
Yesterday ... five-and-twenty years ago?
[Taking up the mantle and mechanically putting it on.
It seems the shape — and yet seems very long.
When I was happy, when I went erect,
It fitted well enough. [Taking the veil.
Now the long veil,
That now shall be my winding-sheet. O Mother,
Forgive me if it be a sacrilege!
I am cold, I am naked; for my wretched clothes
No longer know my body how to hide,
That knows no longer where to hide itself.
Was it not you, my Mother, kept them safe,
Is it not you who give them to me now
Against the hour redoubtable, that thus
The pitiless flames that wait me may perhaps
A little hesitate and be less cruel?
[A sound of steps and of opening doors is heard.
What do I hear?
[Three strokes of the bell resound, announcing, as before, the arrival
of
the NUNS in the corridor.
What do I hear? O Mother!
The door swings open, and my sisters come!
I cannot! Never! O, have pity, pity!
For the walls crush me, the light suffocates,
And shame, shame, shame, is graven on the stones
That rise up, up against me! Ah! Ah! Ah!
[She falls fainting at the feet of the image. The NUNS, preceded by
the ABBESS, advance along the vaulted passage, as in the preceding Act, on

their way to the chapel. Many of them are very old; and the ABBESS walks
painfully, bent double, supporting herself on a staff. Scarcely have they
entered but they perceive BEATRICE lying motionless across the corridor;
they run to her and crowd about her, uneasy, frightened, and dismayed.

THE ABBESS (who first sees her).
O, Sister Beatrice is dead!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
The Heavens
Gave her, the Lord has taken her away!

SISTER FELICITY.
Her crown was ready, and the angels called.

SISTER EGLANTINE (raising and supporting the head of SISTER BEATRICE,
which she kisses with a kind of pious awe).
No, no, she is not dead: she shudders, breathes!

THE ABBESS.
But look, how pale she is! But see, how thin!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
As though one night had aged her ten long years!

SISTER FELICITY.
She must have suffered, striving, till the dawn!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
And all alone against the angelic host
That sought to draw her hence!

SISTER EGLANTINE.
She suffered much
Already yesternight; she trembled, wept,
Who, ever since the miracle of flowers,
Nursed in her eyes that smile miraculous.
She would not have me take her place; she said
"I wait," she said, "until my saint returns."

SISTER BALBINA.
What saint?
[The ABBESS, raising her eyes at hazard, sees the image of the
VIRGIN reestablished in the pedestal. The NUNS raise their heads, and,
with the exception of SISTER EGLANTINE, who continues to bold the fainting

form of BEATRICE in her arms, they all turn with cries of ecstasy and
throw
themselves on their knees at the foot of the pedestal.

THE NUNS.
The Virgin has returned! Our Lady!
Our Mother is saved! And she has all her jewels!
Her crown is brighter, and her eyes more deep,
And sweeter her regard! She has come back
From Heaven, and brought Heaven back again to us!
Yea, on the wings of her most holy prayers ...

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Come, come! I hear her heart no longer! Come!
[The NUNS turn and once more crowd about BEATRICE.

SISTER CLEMENCY (kneeling near her).
Ah, Sister Beatrice, you shall not leave
Your sisters on this high miraculous day!

SISTER FELICITY.
The Virgin smiles on you; her lips appeal!

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Alas, she cannot hear! She seems to suffer;
Her face grows hollow —

SISTER CLEMENCY.
Bear her to her bed
Come, let us bear her yonder to her cell.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
No: let us rather leave her nigh to Her
Who loves and fences her with miracles.
[The NUNS enter the cell, returning with cloaks and linen
sheets, on
which they lay BEATRICE at the feet of the statue.

SISTER CLEMENCY.
She cannot breathe — undo her veil and mantle.
[She does as she advises, and the NUNS behold BEATRICE covered
with rags.

SISTER FELICITY.
My Mother, have you seen her dripping rags?

SISTER BALBINA.
O, she is quite benumbed with melting snow!

SISTER CLEMENCY.
We never knew her hair had grown so white.

SISTER FELICITY.
Her naked feet are soiled with wayside mire!

THE ABBESS.
Hold we our peace, my daughters; for we live
Near heaven; the hands that touch her will remain
Luminous.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
See, her breast is heaving! See!
Her eyes are going to open!
[BEATRICE opens her eyes, moves her head a little, and gazes
about her.

BEATRICE (as though emerging from a dream, and still bewildered, in a remote

voice).
When they died —
My children — when they died. ...Why do you smile?
They died of want.

THE ABBESS.
We do not smile; we are glad,
Ay, glad to see you coming back to life.

BEATRICE.
I coming back to life!
[Looking about her with advancing recognition.
Yes, I remember,
I came here in the depth of my distress.
Look on me not so fearfully: I no more
Shall be the butt of scandal: you shall now
Have all your will of me. No, none shall know,
If you should fear that any should ever tell —
I shall say nothing. I submit to all,
For they have broken all my body and soul.
I know it cannot be allowed that I,
Here in this place, and at the Virgin's feet,
So near the chapel, and so near to all
That holy is and pure, should die. You are all,
O, very good; you have been patient; yes;
You have not cast me out of doors at once.
But if you may, if God allow it too,
O, do not cast me forth too far from here!
There is no need that any tend me now,
No need that any me commiserate,
Though I am very sick, I suffer now
No more, no more. ...Why have you laid me here,
On these fair sheets of white? Alas! white sheets
Are nothing to me now but a reproach,
And straw polluted is the fitting bed
Of dying sin. But you still look at me,
And still say nothing. And you do not look
Angry. I see tears in your eyes. I think
You do not know me yet.

THE ABBESS (kissing her hands).
But yes, yes, yes!
Surely we know you, surely — you, our saint!

BEATRICE (snatching away her hands in a kind of terror).
Kiss not these hands — they have done so much ill!

SISTER CLEMENCY (kissing her feet).
O soul elect come down to us from heaven!

BEATRICE.
Kiss not these feet that used to run to sin!

SISTER EGLANTINE (kissing her forehead).
I kiss this pure brow, crowned with miracles.

BEATRICE (hiding her face in her hands).
What would you all? What has befallen? Once,
When I was happy, one was never pardoned;
Kiss not this brow: it has been friends with lust!
But you that touched it, tell me who you are?
I am not certain if my weary eyes
Betray me; but if they see yonder still,
You are Sister Eglantine.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Yes, I am she.
That Sister Eglantine whom you have loved.

BEATRICE.
You, five-and-twenty years ago, I told
I was unhappy.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Five-and-twenty years
Since, among all our sisters, God chose you.

BEATRICE.
You tell me that, and no least bitterness
Lurksin your voice. What has befallen me
I cannot fathom. I am weak and ill,
And cannot recollect — and every word
Astounds me. I was inattentive. See,
I think that you deceive yourselves. I am —
Cover your faces, make the holy sign! —
I am Sister Beatrice!

THE ABBESS.
But yes, we know!
Our Sister Beatrice, our sister, ours,
Purest among us, the miraculous lamb, Godchild of angels, the immaculate
flame!

BEATRICE.
Ah, is it truly you? I did not know.
Mother, you used to go so upright; now
How you do stoop! I have also learned to stoop,
And now behold me fallen. Yes, I know
All of you: there is Sister Clemency.

SISTER CLEMENCY (bending her head and smiling).
Yes, yes.

BEATRICE.
Sister Felicity.

SISTER FELICITY (smiling).
It is.
Sister Felicity who came the first
Out of the blossoming chapel.

BEATRICE.
And I think
You have not suffered, for you seem not sad.
I was the younger: I am the elder now.

THE ABBESS.
That is no doubt because of love divine
Being a terrible burden.

BEATRICE.
Mother, no.
It is the love of man that is the burden,
The weary burden. You do pardon me,
You also pardon me?

THE ABBESS (kneeling at BEATRICE'S feet).
O daughter mine,
If any have need of pardon, it is she
Who can at last prostrate herself before
Your feet.

BEATRICE.
But do you know what I have done?

THE ABBESS.
You have done naught but miracle, have been
Since the great day of flowers, our soul's light,
The incense of our prayers, and the source
Of grace, the gate of marvels!

BEATRICE.
But I fled
One night, now five-and-twenty years ago,
With the Prince Bellidor.

THE ABBESS.
Of whom do you speak,
Of whom do you speak, my daughter?

BEATRICE.
Of myself!
I say myself! You will not understand?
One evening, five-and-twenty years ago,
I fled, and when three months were at an end
He did not love me. Then I lost all shame,
I lost all reason, and I lost all hope.
All men by turns this body have profaned,
This clay to its God unfaithful. And I took
Pleasure in this, and called men after me.
I fell so low that Heaven's angels thence
Could not have risen for all their mighty wings.
So many crimes I have committed, I
Have often even sin itself defiled!

THE ABBESS (gently placing her hand on BEATRICE'S lips).
Daughter, the Shadow tempts you; speak no more,
For rising anguish robs you of yourself.

SISTER CLEMENCY.
She is worn out with miracle.

SISTER FELICITY.
And grace
Confounds her.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
The air of heaven weighs her down.

BEATRICE (who struggles, pushes away the hand of the ABBESS and sits
up).
I do not wander! No, I tell you, no!
This is no air of heaven, but of earth,
And this is truth! Ah, you are all too mild!
You are too soft and imperturbable!
And you know nothing! I would rather far
You should afflict me, but should learn at last!
O, you live here and do your penances,
And say your prayers, and seek to expiate sin,
But look you, it is I, and all my kind,
Who live beyond the pale and have no rest,
That do the bitterest penance to the end!

ABBESS.
Pray, pray, my sisters; now the final trial!

SISTER EGLANTINE.
The triumph of the angels irks the Fiend!

BEATRICE.
Yes, yes, it is the Fiend, the Fiend prevails!
See you these hands? They have a human shape
No longer; see, they cannot open now.
I had to sell them after soul and body.
They buy hands also when no more is left

THE ABBESS (wiping the sweat from BEATRICE'S face).
May Heaven's angels, who about thy couch
Now watch thee, deign before thy streaming face
To spread their wings!

BEATRICE.
Ah! Heaven's angels! Ah!
Where are they, tell me, and what do they do?
Have I not told you? Why, I have not now
My children, for the three most lovely died
When I no more was lovely, and the last,
Lest it should suffer, being one night mad,
I killed. And there were others never born,
Although they cried for birth. And still the sun
Shone, and the stars returned, and justice slept,
And only the most evil were happy and proud.

THE ABBESS.
The strife is terrible about great saints.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
It is at Heaven's gates the infernal fire
Wastes the huge angers of its futile rage.

BEATRICE (falling back exhausted).
I care no more — I stifle — what you will
Be done to me. I had to tell you all.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
The archangels bear her forth.

SISTER FELICITY.
The phalanxes
Of the celestial host have brought back peace.

THE ABBESS.
The evil dream has fled. Now smile again,
My poor and holy sister, while you think
On all the blasphemies you did not speak
A baneful voice usurping on your lips
Exhaled them in the rage of final loss.

BEATRICE.
It was my voice.

THE ABBESS.
My good and holy sister,
Assure your heart, and have you no regrets.
For that was not the voice that all we know,
The dear and gentle voice, the angel's pilot,
The health of sickness, that so many years
Quickened our prayers.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
Fear nothing, sister; nay,
In the last conflict you shall never lose
The palm and diadem of a life of love,
And innocence, and prayer.

BEATRICE.
Never one hour
Since that unhappy hour, in all my life,
There never was an hour that was not marked
By mortal sin.

THE ABBESS.
My daughter, pray to God!
You are most holy; yet the enemy
Tempts you, and scruples lead your sense astray.
How should you have committed all these sins
So dreadful? It is nigh on thirty years
You have been here, of threshold and of altar
Most humble servitor: my very eyes
Have followed you in all your deeds and prayers,
And I can answer before God for them
As I would for my own. But would to Heaven
That mine were like to yours! It is not here,
Within these cloisters, but without, beyond,
Out in the world estrayed, that sin triumphs:
And of that world, all thanks to God, you know
Nothing, for never have you issued forth
Out of the shadow of the sanctuary.

BEATRICE.
Never gone forth? O, I can think no more!
It was too long, so long, too long ago!
I am near death; but you should tell me truth;
Is it that you forgive me, or deceive,
Unwilling I should know it?

THE ABBESS.
None deceives,
None pardons. We have seen you every day
Before the altar punctual, to our hours
Attentive, and to all the humble cares
Of alms and of the threshold.

BEATRICE.
I am here,
My Mother, and I do not think I dream.
Look at this hand: I tear it with my nails;
See, the blood shows and flows; the blood is real.
I have no other proofs. So tell me now,
If you have pity, here, in face of God,
For we are close to God when people die, —
If you do wish it, I will say no more,
But if you can for pity tell me, now,
What did you say, and what it was you did
When five-and-twenty years ago you found
One morning that the door was opened wide,
The corridor deserted — when you found
The altar abandoned — when you found the veil,
The veil and mantle? ... Mother, I can no more.

THE ABBESS.
Daughter, this memory, I understand,
Must trouble you and overwhelm you still,
Though five-and-twenty years ago befell
The wondrous miracle whereby your God
Elected you. The Virgin left us then,
To mount again to heaven; ere she went
Investing you with her most holy robe
And sacred ornaments, and lastly crowned
You with her golden crown, to teach us so
In boundless mercy that while she was gone
You took her place.

BEATRICE.
But who then took my place?

THE ABBESS.
Why, no one took it, since you still were there.

BEATRICE.
There, every day? I was among you all?
I moved, I spoke, you touched me with your hands?

THE ABBESS.
As now, my child, I touch you with my hand.

BEATRICE.
Mother, I know no more; except I think
I have no longer strength to understand.
I am still submissive, and I ask you naught.
I feel that all are very good: I feel
That death is very gentle.
Is it you
Who understand the soul is wretched — you?
There was no pardon here when here I lived.
I have said often, when I was not happy,
God would not punish if He once knew all.
But you are happy, and have learned it all.
In other days all folk ignored distress,
In other days they cursed all those that sinned;
But now all pardon, and all seem to know ...
One of the angels, one would almost say,
Had spoken out the truth. Mother, and you,
My Sister Eglantine, give me your hands —
You are not angry with me? Tell them all,
My sisters ... what is it they should be told?
My eyes no longer open, and my lips
Stiffen. ... At last I fall asleep. I have lived
In a world wherein I knew not what desired
Hate and ill-will, and in another world
I die, and understand not what desire,
Nor whereat aim mercy and love.
[She falls back exhausted among the sheets. Silence.

SISTER EGLANTINE.
She sleeps.

THE ABBESS.
Pray, pray, my sisters, till the triumphant hour!
[The NUNS fall on their knees around the bed of BEATRICE.






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