Wife. Do not look so sad, Henry. Cheer up, you make me again unhappy! What is the matter? I can tell you something will make you so glad.
The Man. Tell me what it is. I will do everything you wish me to do,
Wife. Listen! Your son will be a Poet!
The Man. What are you saying, Mary?
Wife. The priest, when he baptized him, gave him first the name: Poet; and then: George Stanislaus.
It is I who have done this; first I blessed him—then I affixed a curse to the blessing: I know he will be a Poet!
Voice (from above). Father, forgive them; they know not what they do!
Wife. There is some one above us, suffering from strange and incurable madness; is it not so?
The Man. Very strange.
Wife. He does not know what he is saying; but I can tell you how it would all be if God should go mad.