ft my body, and is all
burning, blazing, in my brain.

THE MAN. I can carry you in my arms to the carriage, which is waiting
for you at the door; I want to take you home, Mary!

WIFE. Yes, we will go home. But you must wait for me; leave me for a
little while, and I will become worthy of you, Henry!

THE MAN. I do not understand you, Mary.

WIFE. Ah! I have prayed through weary days and endless nights; at last
God heard me, and smiled upon me!

THE MAN. I know not what you mean, Mary!

WIFE. Listen, Henry! After you left me, a great change came upon my
spirit, and I felt what was wanting to make you love me. I cried to God
unceasingly; I struck my breast; I placed a blessed candle on my bosom;
I did penance; I said: 'Lord God be merciful unto me! Oh send down upon
me the spirit of Poetry, that I may be loved!'

And on the third day I was a Poet!

THE MAN. Mary!

WIFE. You will no more despise me; no longer leave me to my lonely
evenings; for I am full of inspiration, a Poet, Henry!

THE MAN. Never! never!

WIFE. Look upon me! have I not grown like yourself? I understand
everything now; I can explain and describe all that is: I chant the sea,
the stars, the clouds, battles--yes, stars--seas--storms--but battles?
No, I have never seen a battle. You must take me to see a battle, Henry.
I must watch men die! I must see and describe a corpse--a shroud--the
night dew--the moon--a cradle--a coffin:

Endless space will spread around me,
I will seek the farthest star,
Cleaving swift the air around me,
Searching beauty near and far.
Like an eagle onward cleaving,
All the Past behind me leaving,
Chaos dark around me lying,
Through its dimness lightly flying,
Through its infinite abysses,
On through darker worlds than this is,
Farther--farther--ringing--ringing--
Sounds the curse my soul is singing....

THE MAN. Horrible! horrible!

WIFE (_throwing her arms round him, and resting her head on his bosom_).
My Henry! my Henry! I am so, so happy!

VOICE (_from below_). I have murdered three kings with my own hand; ten
are still left for the block: a hundred priests still sing mass--

VOICE (_from the left_). The sun has lost the half of its glory; its
light is dying; the stars have lost their way, and hurtle each other
from their paths--woe! woe!

THE MAN. The Day of Judgment has already come upon me!

WIFE. Do not look so sad, Henry. Cheer up, you make me again unhappy!
What is