She seizes him by the hand.
All the worlds would go flying about, up and down, and crash against one another: every worm would cry out: 'I am God!' and then some of them would die every moment; they would all perish one after the other!
All the comets and suns would go out in the sky! Christ would redeem us no longer; He would tear His bleeding hands away from the nails, and pitch the cross into the bottomless abyss. It falls!
Listen! how this cross, the hope of millions, goes crashing and hurtling against the stars! Hark! it breaks! it flies asunder! the sky grows dark with the ruined fragments—they fall like hail, deeper, deeper—a wild storm surges from them—dreadful!
The holy Mother of God alone continues to pray, and the faithful stars, her servants, which have not yet deserted her:—but she too will plunge where all created things are storming down, for God is mad—and Christ has thrown away His Cross!
The Man. Mary, will you not come home with me to see our child?
Wife. I have given wings to our son, and dipped him under the waves of the sea, that he might take into his soul all that is beautiful, sublime, and terrible. He will return to you a poet, and you will rejoice in him.
Ah me! ah me!
The Man. Do you suffer, Mary?