nvy me, be
they gods or devils! Little bourgeois gods who parry sword thrusts with
pin-pricks from behind, who won't stand up to their man, but strike at
him with unpaid bills. A backstairs way of discrediting a master before
his servants. They never attack, never draw, merely soil and decry!
Powers, lords and masters! All are the same!

LADY. May heaven not punish you.

STRANGER. Heaven's blue and silent. The ocean's silent and stupid.
Listen, I can hear a poem--that's what I call it when an idea begins to
germinate in my mind. First the rhythm; this time like the thunder
of hooves and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements. But there's a
fluttering too, like a sail flapping.... Banners!

LADY. No. It's the wind. Can't you hear it in the trees?

STRANGER. Quiet! They're riding over a bridge, a wooden bridge. There's
no water in the brook, only pebbles. Wait! Now I can hear them, men and
women, saying a rosary. The angels' greeting. Now I can see--on what
you're working--a large kitchen, with white-washed walls, it has three
small latticed windows, with flowers in them. In the left-hand corner a
hearth, on the right a table with wooden seats. And above the table, in
the corner, hangs a crucifix, with a lamp burning below. The ceiling's
of blackened beams, and dried mistletoe hangs on the wall.

LADY (frightened). Where can you see all that?

STRANGER. On your work.

LADY. Can you see people there?

STRANGER. A very old man's sitting at the table, bent over a game bag,
his hands clasped in prayer. A woman, so longer young, kneels on the
floor. Now once more I hear the angels' greeting, as if far away. But
those two in the kitchen are as motionless as figures of wax. A veil
shrouds everything.... No, that was no poem! (Waking.) It was something
else.

LADY. It was reality! The kitchen at home, where you've never set foot.
That old man was my grandfather, the forester, and the woman my mother!
They were praying for us! It was six o'clock and the servants were
saying a rosary outside, as they always do.

STRANGER. You make me uneasy. Is this the beginning of second sight?
Still, it was beautiful. A snow-white room, with flowers and mistletoe.
But why should they pray for us?

LADY. Why indeed! Have we done wrong?

STRANGER. What is wrong?

LADY. I've read there's no such thing. And yet... I long to see my
mother; not my father, for he turned me out as he did her.

STRANGER. Why should he have turned your mo