Death of Stephen Harding
Stephen Harding, co-founder of the Cistercian Order, lies on his deathbed in the infirmary of Cîteaux Abbey. Monks gather around him, offering prayers and preparing for his passing as a sacred transit
Setting
The infirmary of Cîteaux Abbey, a simple stone-walled room with a high, vaulted ceiling. The space is sparsely furnished, with a narrow bed placed near a small window that allows morning light to filter in. The room is part of the larger monastic complex, surrounded by the quiet hum of monastic life.
Characters
Stephen Harding
primary
An elderly man in his late 60s with a gaunt, pale face marked by deep wrinkles from years of ascetic living. His once-dark hair has thinned to white wisps, and his hands, resting on the blanket, are bony with prominent veins. His eyes, though dimmed by illness, retain a quiet intensity.
Brother Infirmarian
primary
A middle-aged monk with a lean, wiry build, his face weathered by years of both prayer and practical labor. His hands are calloused from preparing remedies and tending to the sick, yet they move with gentle precision. His deep-set eyes, framed by faint lines of concern, reflect both compassion and quiet wisdom.
Novice
secondary
A slender young man in his late teens with close-cropped brown hair and earnest blue eyes. His smooth, pale complexion suggests a life recently devoted to indoor monastic duties rather than fieldwork. His hands are clean but show signs of recent manual labor in the infirmary.
Prior
secondary
A lean, middle-aged monk with a deeply lined face that speaks of years of devotion and discipline. His dark brown eyes are sharp yet kind, framed by greying eyebrows. His posture is naturally erect, a habit formed from years of leading prayers and maintaining monastic decorum.
Dialog
Stephen Harding
Brothers... the Lord calls this unworthy servant home... Let the vineyard of our Order not lie fallow...
Brother Infirmarian
Peace, Domne... Let this broth strengthen you as oil feeds the lamp.
Prior
Pater... we are ready to bear the yoke as you taught us. Per patientiam curramus...
Stephen Harding
The Rule... the Charter... hold them as plowmen cling to straight furrows...
Brother Infirmarian
The fever breaks like dawn mist... His labors end in peace.