—­You feel the night in it.

—­You feel the boundless black forest and hopelessness and terror.

—­You feel solitude and grief.  There are other people with her.  Why can’t you hear other voices beside that savage, dismal wail?

—­They are talking, but you can’t hear them.  Have you ever noticed how solitary man’s cries are?  Any number of men will talk, and you won’t hear them.  But let one human being cry, and it seems as if the others were all silent, listening.

—­I once heard a man scream who had been run over by a Carriage and had his leg crushed.  The street was full of people.  Yet he seemed to be the only one there.

—­But this is more terrible.

—­Say rather it is louder.

—­I should say it is more prolonged.

—­No, it’s more terrible.  You feel death in it.

—­You had a feeling of death then, too.  In fact, the man did die.

—­Don’t dispute.  It’s all the same to you.

[Silence.  Cries.

—­How strange man’s crying is!  When you yourself are ill and cry, you don’t notice how strange it is.  I can’t imagine the mouth that produces such sounds.  Can it be a woman’s mouth?  I can’t imagine it.

—­It’s as if it got twisted and crooked.

—­As if the sound issued from some depth.  Now it’s like the cry of someone drowning.  Listen, she’s choking.

—­A heavy person is sitting on her chest.

—­Someone is choking her.

[The crying ceases.

—­At last she has quieted down.  You get tired of crying.  It’s monotonous and not beautiful.

—­You’re looking for beauty here too, are you?

[The Old Women titter.

—­Hush!  Is He here?

—­I don’t know.

—­He seems to be.

—­He doesn’t like laughing.

—­They say He laughs Himself.

—­Whoever heard Him laugh?  You are simply repeating hearsay.  So many lies are told about Him.

—­He hears us.  Let us be serious.

[They laugh quietly.

—­After all, I’d like to know whether it’ll be a boy or a girl.

—­I admit, it’s interesting to know whom you’ll have to deal with.

—­I wish it died before it was born.

—­What a kind creature you are.

—­No better than you.

—­I hope it turns out to be a general.

[They laugh.

—­You are too merry.  I don’t like it.

—­And you are too sad.  I don’t like that.

—­Don’t wrangle.  Don’t wrangle.  We are all both sad and merry.  Let each be what she pleases. (Silence)

—­When they are born, they are so funny.  Babies are very funny.

—­And self-satisfied.

—­And very exacting, I don’t like them.  They begin to cry at once and make demands, as if they expected everything to be ready for them.  Even before looking, they know there is a breast and milk, and demand them.  Then they demand to be put to sleep and rocked and dandled and patted on their red backs.  I like them better when they die.  Then they’re less exacting.  They stretch out of themselves and don’t ask to be rocked.