We have never seen the house in which we live; it is all very well to touch the walls and the windows; we know nothing of where we live . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
They say it is an old castle, very gloomy and very wretched, one never sees a light there, save in the tower where the priest’s room is.
FIRST BLIND MAN.
Those who cannot see need no light.
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
When I am keeping the flocks, round about the asylum, the sheep go home of themselves when, at evening, they see that light in the tower . . . They have never led me astray.
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
For years and years we have lived together and we have never beheld each other! One would say we were always alone! . . . One must see to love . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
I sometimes dream that I can see . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
I only see when I am dreaming . . .
FIFTH BLIND MAN.
I only dream, as a rule, at midnight.
SECOND BLIND MAN.
Of what can one dream when one’s hands are motionless?
[A squall shakes the forest, and the leaves fall in dismal showers.]
FIFTH BLIND MAN.
Who was it touched my hands?
FIRST BLIND MAN.
There is something falling round us.
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
It comes from above; I don’t know what it is . . .
FIFTH BLIND MAN.
Who was it touched my hands? – I was asleep; let me sleep!
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
Nobody touched your hands.
FIFTH BLIND MAN. 17
Who was it took my hands? Answer loud, I am rather hard of hearing . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
We don’t ourselves know.
FIFTH BLIND MAN.
Have they come to warn us?
FIRST BLIND MAN.
It is of no use answering; he can hear nothing.
THIRD BLIND MAN.
It must be admitted that the deaf are very unfortunate!
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
I am tired of sitting down!
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
I am tired of being here!
SECOND BLIND MAN.
We seem to me so far from one another . . . Let us try to draw a little closer together; – it is beginning to be cold . . .
THIRD BLIND MAN.
I dare not stand up! It is better to stay where one is.
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
There is no knowing what there may be between us.
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
I think both my hands are bleeding; I wanted to stand up.
THIRD BLIND MAN.
I can hear that you are leaning towards me.
[The blind mad woman rubs her eyes violently, moaning, and persistently turning towards the motionless priest.]
FIRST BLIND MAN.
I hear another noise . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
I think it is our poor sister rubbing her eyes.
SECOND BLIND MAN.
She never does anything else; I hear her every night.
THIRD BLIND MAN. 18
She is mad; she never says anything.
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
She has never spoken since she had her child. She seems always to be afraid . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
Are you not afraid here then?
FIFTH BLIND MAN.
Who?
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
All the rest of us!
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
Yes, yes, we are afraid!
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN.
We have been afraid a long time!
FIRST BLIND MAN.
Why do you ask that?
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
I don’t know why I ask it! . . . There is something I cannot make out . . . It seems as if I heard a sudden sound of crying in our midst! . . .
FIRST BLIND MAN.
It does not do to be afraid; I think it is the mad woman . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
There is something else besides . . . I am sure there is something else besides . . . It is not only that which frightens me . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
She always cries when she is about to suckle her child.
FIRST BLIND MAN.
She is the only one that cries so!
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
They say that she can still see at times . . .
FIRST BLIND MAN.
One never hears the others cry . . .
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
One must see to weep . . .
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN. 19
I smell a scent of flowers round about us . . .
FIRST BLIND MAN.
I only smell the smell of the earth!
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN.
There are flowers, there are flowers near us!
SECOND BLIND MAN.
I only smell the smell of the earth!
THE OLDEST BLIND WOMAN.
I have just smelt flowers on the wind . . .
THIRD BLIND MAN.
I only smell the smell of earth!
THE OLDEST BLIND MAN.
I think the women are right.
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
Where are they? – I will go and pick them.
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN.
To your right, stand up.
[The sixth blind man rises slowly, and, knocking himself against trees and bushes, gropes his way towards the daffodils, which he treads down and crushes as he goes.]
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN.
I can hear that you are snapping green stems! Stop! Stop!
FIRST BLIND MAN.
Never mind about flowers, but think about getting back!
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
I dare not retrace my steps!
THE YOUNG BLIND WOMAN.
You must not come back! – Wait. – [She rises.] – Oh! how cold the earth is! It is going to freeze. – [She moves without hesitation towards the strange pale daffodils, but she is stopped by the fallen tree and the rocks, in the neighbourhood of the flowers.] – They are here! – I cannot reach them; they are on your side.
SIXTH BLIND MAN.
I think I am picking them.
[Groping about him, he picks what flowers are left, and offers them to her; the night-birds fly away.] 20