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Page 23
LADY. But if that's so, why can't you help yourself, or us?
STRANGER. Can't I? Wait. As yet we've only seen the beginning.
LADY. If the end is like it, heaven help us!
STRANGER. I know what you fear; and I meant to hold back a pleasant
surprise. But now I won't torment you longer. (He takes out a
registered letter, not yet opened.) Look!
LADY. The money's come!
STRANGER. This morning. Who can destroy me now?
LADY. Don't speak like that. You know who could.
STRANGER. Who?
LADY. He who punishes the arrogance of men.
STRANGER. And their courage. That especially. This was my Achilles'
heel; I bore with everything, except this fearful lack of money.
LADY. May I ask how much they've sent?
STRANGER. I don't know. I've not opened the letter. But I do know
about how much to expect. I'd better look and see. (He opens the
letter.) What? Only an account showing I'm owed nothing! There's
something uncanny in this.
LADY. I begin to think so, too.
STRANGER. I know I'm damned. But I'm ready to hurl the curse back
at him who so nobly cursed me. ... (He throws up the letter.) With
a curse of my own.
LADY. Don't. You frighten me.
STRANGER. Fear me, so long as you don't despise me! The challenge
has been thrown down; now you shall see a conflict between two
great opponents. (He opens his coat and waistcoat and looks
threateningly aloft.) Strike me with your lightning if you dare!
Frighten me with your thunder if you can!
LADY. Don't speak like that.
STRANGER. I will. Who dares break in on my dream of love? Who tears
the cup from my lips; and the woman from my arms? Those who envy
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?
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