I feel so miserable not to be able to help you.
MAN
You make me ashamed of myself. I am a strong man with a good mind; I am able, talented, and healthy, and yet I can’t do a thing. My dear wife, my little fairy is crying, and I am not able to help her. A woman’s tears are her husband’s disgrace, I am ashamed.
WIFE
But it isn’t your fault that people don’t appreciate you.
MAN
My ears are burning just as they used to when I was a boy and had had them boxed. Why, you are hungry too, and I, egoist that I am, haven’t noticed it. It’s mean of me.
WIFE
My dear, I don’t feel hungry.
MAN
It’s unfair, it’s contemptible. That ruffian who jostled me was right. He saw I was a fat pig and that’s all, a boar with sharp tusks but a stupid head.
WIFE.
If you are going to keep on reproaching yourself, I’ll cry again.
MAN
Don’t, don’t. No tears! Tears in your eyes frighten me. I am afraid of those shining crystal drops, as if some other, some terrible person were shedding them, not you. I won’t let you cry. We have nothing, we are poor. But I’ll tell you of what we are going to have. I will charm you with a bright fairy tale, my queen. I will array you in dazzling dreams as in roses!
WIFE
You mustn’t be afraid. You are strong, you are a genius, you will conquer. Your momentary despair will pass away, and divine inspiration will again quicken your proud head.
MAN _(assumes a challenging attitude and throws an oak leaf into the corner where the Unknown stands, saying)_ Ho, you, whatever your name, Fate, Devil, or Life, I fling my glove down before you, I challenge you to combat! The poor in spirit bow before your enigmatic power. Your stony face inspires them with fear; in your silence they hear the approaching tread of misery and terrible ruin. But I am strong and bold, and I challenge you to combat! Come on! Let the swords glitter, the shields clang! Deal and receive blows so that the earth trembles! Ho, come forth to battle!
WIFE _(nestling up at his left, somewhat behind, speaking solemnly)_ Bolder, my husband, still bolder!
MAN
To your evil-boding inaction I oppose my living, daring strength; to your gloom my clear, resonant laugh! Ho, repel the blows! You have a stone brow, devoid of reason. I will throw the glowing balls of my sparkling thought at it. You have a stone heart, devoid of pity. Take care, I will pour into it the poison of my rebellious outcries. The dark cloud of your grim wrath overshadows the sun. We will light the darkness with our swords. Ho, repel the blows!
WIFE
Bolder, still bolder, my proud knight! Your squire is behind you.
MAN
Victorious, I will sing songs which the whole world will reecho; fallen under your blows, my only thought shall be to rise again and rush into battle. There are weak spots in my armor, but when my red blood is flowing, I will gather my last strength and cry: “You have not conquered, evil Enemy of Man!”
WIFE
Bolder, my knight! I will wash your wounds with my tears. I will stop the flow of your red blood with my kisses.
MAN
And dying on the field of battle as the brave die, with one cry I will destroy your blind joy: “I have conquered!” I have conquered, O cruel Enemy. Unto my last breath I did not recognize your power!
WIFE
Bolder, my knight, bolder! I will die beside you.
MAN
Ho, come forth to battle! Let the swords glitter, the shields clang! Deal and receive blows to make the earth tremble! Ho, come forth!
_[For some time Man and his Wife remain in the same posture; then they turn around, facing each other, and kiss._
MAN
That’s the way we’ll deal with life, my dear, won’t we? Let it frown like a blind owl in the sun–we’ll compel it to smile.
WIFE
And to dance to our songs–so we will, we two.
MAN
We two. You’re a good wife, you’re my true friend, you’re a brave little woman, and as long as you are with me I fear nothing. Poverty, what does it amount to? To-day we’re poor, to-morrow rich.
WIFE
And what is hunger? To-day we are hungry, to-morrow satisfied.
MAN
Do you think so? It’s quite possible. But I’ll eat a lot. I shall need so much to satisfy my hunger. Tell me, do you think this will prove enough? In the, morning, tea or coffee or chocolate. You can have your choice. It’s free. Then a breakfast of three courses, then lunch, then dinner, then–
WIFE
More fruit. I like fruit.
MAN
Very well. I’ll buy fruit by the barrel, direct from the wholesale market. It’s cheaper and fresher. Besides, we’ll have our own garden.
WIFE
But we have no land.
MAN
I’ll buy land. I’ve always wanted to have my own piece of land. By the way, I’ll build a house for us and design it too. Let the rascals see what sort of an architect I am.
WIFE
I should like to live in Italy, close by the sea; in a white marble villa in a grove of lemons and cypresses, with marble steps leading straight down to the blue water.
MAN
I understand. That’s all right. But I intend, besides, to build a castle in the mountains of Norway. Below, the fjord; and above, on the steep mountain, the castle. We have no paper. But look, I’ll show it to you on the wall here. Here is the fjord, you see?
WIFE
Yes, beautiful.
MAN
Here, sparkling blue water gently beating against the green grass; here, beautiful cinnamon-colored stone; and there, in the recess, where this spot is, a bit of blue sky and serene white clouds.
WIFE
Look, there is a white boat floating on the water–it looks like two swans swimming side by side.
MAN
And up there rises the mountain. Bright and green below, it turns gloomier and sterner as it ascends–rugged crags, dark shadows, fallen boulders, and patches of clouds.
WIFE
Like a ruined castle.
MAN
And there, on that spot–the middle one–I’ll build my royal castle.
WIFE
It’s cold up there, and windy.
MAN
I’ll have thick stone walls and large windows with all the panes made out of a single piece of glass. At night, when the winter snowstorms begin to rage and the fjord below to roar, we’ll draw the curtains and make a fire in the huge fireplace. It is such a tremendous fireplace that it will hold a whole log. It will burn up a whole forest of pines.
WIFE
How nice and warm.
MAN
And how quiet too, if you will please notice. Carpets covering the whole, floor and lots of books will make it cosy and quietly lively. And we’ll be there, the two of us. The wind howling outside and we two sitting before the fireplace on a white bear-skin rug. “Wouldn’t you like to have a look at what’s doing outside?” you’ll say. “All right!” And we’ll go to the largest window and draw aside the curtain. Good heavens! What a sight!
WIFE
See the snow whirling.
MAN
Galloping like white horses, like myriads of frightened little spirits, pale with fear and seeking safety in the night. And what a howling and roaring!
WIFE
Oh, it’s cold. I’m shivering.
MAN
Go back to the fireplace, quick! Hey there, fetch me grandfather’s goblet–not that one, the golden one from which the vikings drank. Fill it up with sparkling wine–not that way–fill it to the brim with the burning draught. Venison is roasting on the spit. Bring it here. I’ll eat some. Quick, or I’ll eat you. I’m hungry as the devil.
WIFE
There, they have brought it. Now, go on.
MAN
Go on? I’ll eat some, of course. What else do you expect? What are you doing to my head, little wife?
WIFE
I am the goddess of fame. I have woven a crown of the oak leaves that our neighbors scattered here, and I’m crowning you. It’s Fame that has come to you, the beautiful goddess Fame. _(Puts the wreath on his head)_
MAN
Yes, fame; loud, noisy fame. Look at the wall. Do you see this? It’s I, walking. And who is this next to me? Do you see?
WIFE
I.
MAN
Look, they are bowing to us; they are whispering about us; they are pointing their fingers at us. There is a venerable old gentleman saying with tears in his eyes: “Happy the land that has such children!” See how pale this youth here has turned. Fame looked at him and gave him a smile. That’s after I built the People’s House, which is the pride of the whole country.
WIFE
You are my famous husband. The oak wreath suits you so well. A laurel wreath would become you still better.
MAN
Look, look, there come the representatives of the city where I was born. They bow to me and say: “Our city is proud of the honor–“
WIFE
Oh!
MAN
What is it?
WIFE
I found a bottle of milk.
MAN
Impossible!
WIFE
And bread, soft, sweet-smelling bread. And a cigar.
MAN
Impossible! You are mistaken. It’s the dampness from that damned wall, that’s what it is. It isn’t milk.
WIFE
But it is.
MAN
A cigar? Cigars don’t grow on windows. They are sold for fortunes in tobacco stores. It’s a black stick, a piece of a branch, I’m sure.
WIFE
Look and see. I suppose our neighbors brought it.
MAN
Our neighbors? I tell you they’re people–they’re not human–they’re divine. But even if the devil himself brought it–quick, give it here, my sweet little wife.
_[Man’s Wife seats herself on his knees, and so they eat. She breaks off pieces of bread and puts them in his mouth. He feeds her the milk from the bottle._
MAN
Seems to be cream.
WIFE
No, it’s milk. Chew better. You’ll choke.
MAN.
Give me the crust. It’s so brown.
WIFE
I told you, you’d choke.
MAN
No, it went down. I swallowed it.
WIFE
The milk is running down my chin and neck. Oh, it’s tickling me.
MAN.
Lean over. I’ll lick it off. We mustn’t let a drop go to waste.
WIFE
You’re a cunning one.
MAN
There! Quick work. All good things soon come to an end. This bottle seems to have a double bottom. It looks so large. The glass manufacturers are terrible cheats.
_[He lights the cigar with the air of a man relaxing into beatific repose. His Wife ties the red ribbon in her hair, looking at herself in the dark pane of the window._
WIFE
Don’t you see?
MAN
I see everything. I see your ribbon, and I see, you want me to kiss you on your dear little bare neck.
WIFE.
No, sir, I won’t permit that. You’ve grown too forward of late anyway. You take such liberties. Please go on smoking your cigar and leave my neck–
MAN
What, isn’t your neck mine? I’ll be jiggered! Why, it’s an attack on the sacred rights of property _(She runs away; he catches her and kisses her)_ So, the property rights have been restored. Now, my dear, we’ll dance. Imagine that this is a magnificent, a luxurious, a wonderful, a supernatural, ah exquisitely beautiful palace.
WIFE
Very well. I’m imagining it.
MAN
Imagine you’re the queen of the ball.
WIFE
All right. It is imagined.
MAN
And that counts, marquises, and dukes come up and ask you to dance. But you refuse. You choose that one–What’s his name?–the one in uniform–the prince. What’s the matter?
WIFE
I don’t like princes.
MAN
Indeed? Then whom do you like?
WIFE
Talented artists.
MAN
Very well. Here’s one for you. Why, girl, what are you doing? Are you flirting with the air?
WIFE
I am imagining.
MAN
All right. Imagine a wonderful orchestra. Here is the Turkish drum–boom, boom, boom! _(He strikes his fist on the table as on a drum)_
WIFE
Why, dear, it’s only in the circus that they attract crowds by beating drums, but in a palace–
MAN
Oh, hang it! Stop imagining that, then. Now imagine something else. The violins are playing a melodious plaint; the flutes are singing gently; the double bass drones like a beetle.
_[Man sits down, still wearing his oak wreath, and strikes up a dance tune, clapping his hands in accompaniment. The melody is the same as in the next scene at Man’s ball. The Wife dances. She is well-formed and graceful._
MAN
Oh, you darling!
WIFE
I am the queen of the ball.
_[The song and dance grow ever jollier. Man rises slowly and begins to dance lightly on the spot where he is standing; then he seizes his Wife and dances with her. The oak wreath slips to one side. Someone in Gray looks on indifferently, the candle burning brightly in his petrified hand._
CURTAIN
THE THIRD SCENE
A BALL AT MAN’S HOUSE
_The ball is in the drawing-room of Man’s large mansion. It is a very lofty, spacious, perfectly rectangular room. The floor is bright and smooth. There is a certain irregularity about the room due to the disproportionate size of the parts. Thus, the doors are very small in proportion to the windows. This produces a strange, irritating impression, as of something disharmonious, something lacking, and also of something superfluous and adventitious. The whole is pervaded by a chilly white, the monotony of which is broken only by a row of windows in the rear wall. They are very high, reaching almost to the ceiling, and dense with the blackness of night. Not one gleam, not a bright spot shows in the blank spaces between the window frames. Man’s wealth shows in the abundance of gildings. There are gilded chairs, and very wide gold frames enclose the pictures. These constitute the only furniture as well as the only ornamentation. The lighting is from three chandeliers shaped like tings, with a few electric lights placed at a great distance apart. At the ceiling the light is bright, but considerably less so below, so that the walls seem grayish.
The ball is in full swing. The music is furnished by an orchestra of three pieces. The musicians resemble closely their respective instruments; the violinist, a violin–lean neck, small head, a shock of hair brushed to one side, back somewhat bent, a handkerchief correctly adjusted on his shoulder under the violin; the flute-player, a flute–very, tall, with a thin, elongated face, and stiff, thin legs, the bass-violinist, a double-bass–stumpy, round-shouldered, lower part of his body very stout, wide trousers. The uncommon effort with which the musicians play is painfully evident. They beat time, swing their heads, and shake their bodies. The tune is the same throughout the ball, a short polka in two musical phrases, producing a jolly, hopping, extremely insipid effect. The three instruments do not quite keep time with one another, producing a sort of queer detachment, a vacant space, as it were, between them and the sounds which they produce.
Young men and girls are dancing dreamily. All are handsome, distinguished-looking, with good figures. In contrast to the piercing notes of the music, their dancing is smooth, noiseless, light. At the first musical phrase, they circle around; at the second, they gracefully part and join again. There is a slight mannerism in their dancing.
Along the walls, on the gilded chairs, sit the Guests, stiff and constrained. They scarcely venture to move their heads. Their conversation is also constrained. They do not whisper to one another; they do not laugh, and they scarcely look at one another. They speak abruptly, as if chopping out the words of a text. Their hands hanging superciliously over their laps make their arms look as if they had been broken at the wrists. The monotony of their faces is strongly emphasized. Every face bears the same expression of self-satisfaction, haughtiness, and inane respect for the wealth of Man.
The dancing girls are all in white, the men in black. Some of the Guests wear black, white, and brightly yellow? flowers.
In the near corner, which is darker than the rest, Someone in Gray called He stands motionless. The candle in his hand is reduced two-thirds and burns with a strong, yellow light, casting a yellow sheen on His stony face and chin._
THE GUESTS’ CONVERSATION
–It is a very great honor to be a guest at Man’s ball.
–You may add, it is an honor of which very few have been deemed worthy. The whole city tried to get themselves invited, but only a very few succeeded. My husband, my children, and I are quite proud of the honor Man has showed us.
–I am really sorry for those who were not able to get here. They won’t sleep the whole night from sheer envy, and to-morrow they’ll say nasty things about the ball and call it a bore.
–They never saw such magnificence.
–Or such wonderful wealth and luxury.
–Or, I dare say, such charming, free and easy gayety.
–If this isn’t gay, I should like to know what is.
–Oh, what’s the use of talking? You can’t convince people consumed by jealousy. They’ll tell us we didn’t sit on gilded chairs, absolutely not.
–They’ll say that the chairs were of the commonest sort, bought at second hand.
–That the illumination was not by electricity, but just by tallow candles.
–Say candle stumps.
–Or dirty lamps.
–They’ll have the impudence to maintain that the mouldings in Man’s house are not gilded.
–And that the broad picture frames are not made of gold. It seems to me I can hear the very ring of it.
–You can see its glitter. That’s quite sufficient, I should think.
–I have rarely had the pleasure of hearing such music.
–It is divine harmony. It transports the soul to higher spheres.
–I should think the music good enough, considering the money paid for it. It is the best trio in the city. They play on the most important and solemn occasions.
–If you listen awhile, it compels your absolute attention. After a ball at Man’s, my children keep singing the tune a long time.
–I sometimes think I hear it in the street. I look around–no musicians, no music.
–What I like especially in these musicians is the great effort they make when they play. They know the price they’re paid and don’t want to get the money for nothing. That’s very decent of them.
–It seems as if they became a part of their instruments, their efforts are so great.
–Or as if the instruments became part of them.
–How rich!
–How magnificent!
–How brilliant!
–How rich!
_[For some time the two expressions, “How rich! How magnificent!” are repeated from different parts of the room, uttered abruptly, like a bark._
–Beside this ballroom there are fourteen other magnificent rooms in Man’s house. I have seen them all. The dining-room has such a huge fireplace that you can put a whole log into it. There are magnificent guest-rooms and a beautiful boudoir. A large bedroom, and over the pillows on the beds–just fancy!–canopies!
–Why, how wonderful! Canopies!
–Did you hear? Canopies!
–Permit me to continue. For their son, the little boy, they have a beautiful bright room of golden yellow wood. It looks as if the sun were shining into it all the time.
–He is such a fine boy. He has curly hair that looks like the rays of the sun.
–That’s true. When you look at him you wonder whether the sun has risen.
–And when you look at his eyes you think: “Autumn is, gone, and the blue sky is here again.”
–Man loves his son madly. He bought him a pony for horseback riding, a nice snow-white pony. My children–
–Pray, let me continue. Have I told you yet about the swimming-pool?
–No. No.
–A swimming-pool, a perfect marvel.
–What, a swimming-pool!
–Yes. And further on is Man’s study, full of books, books, books. They say he’s a very learned man.
–You can see it by the books.
–I have seen his garden.
–I haven’t.
–It was entrancing, I must say. Imagine an emerald-green lawn kept beautifully mowed and trimmed at the edges. In the middle a path of fine red sand.
–Flowers–even palms.
–Yes, even palms. And all the trees trimmed as carefully and precisely as the lawn, some cut in the shape of pyramids, others in the shape of green columns. There’s a lovely fountain and little plaster elves and deer scattered all around in the grass.
–How rich!
–How magnificent!
–How brilliant!
–How rich!
–Man did me the honor of showing me his stables and barns. I had to tell him how much I admired his horses and carriages. I was particularly impressed by his motor car.
–Think of it, he has seven servants; seven–a chef, a woman-cook, two maids, gardeners–
–You forget the coachman and the chauffeur.
–Yes, of course, the coachman and the chauffeur.
–And they themselves do nothing at all. They are too fine.
–You must admit, it is a great honor to have been invited to Man’s ball.
–Don’t you find the music somewhat monotonous?
–No, I don’t, and I’m surprised you do. Don’t you see what kind of musicians they are?
–I should like to hear such music all my life. That’s what I say. There’s something, in that music that stirs me.
–Me too.
–Me too.
–It is a delicious sensation to abandon oneself to dreams of happiness under the influence of this music!
–To transport oneself in fancy to the astral spheres!
–How fine!
–How rich!
–How magnificent!
_[These phrases are repeated._
–I notice a stir at that door. Man and his Wife will soon pass through the hall.
–The musicians are working away for dear life.
–There they are!
–They’re coming! Look, they’re coming!
_[Man, his Wife, his Friends, and his Enemies appear in the door on the right, cross the room diagonally to the door on the left. The dancers go on dancing, but part to make way for them. The musicians play desperately loud and out of tune. Man has aged greatly. His long hair and long beard are beginning to turn gray. But his face is manly and handsome, and he walks with calm dignity and an air of coldness. He looks straight ahead of him, as if not noticing those around him. His Wife has also aged, but she is still beautiful and walks leaning on his arm. She too seems not to notice the people around her, but looks straight ahead, with a rather strange, almost fixed expression. Both are richly dressed.
His Friends follow directly behind Man. They resemble one another very much–noble faces, high and candid foreheads, honest eyes. They walk proudly, throwing out their chests, stepping firmly and confidently, and looking, now to this side, now to that, with condescension and slight disdain. They wear white roses in their buttonholes.
Following them at a slight distance come Man’s Enemies, also very much resembling one another–mean, cunning faces; low, heavy foreheads; long, ape-like arms. They walk uneasily, pushing, bending, and hiding behind one another, and casting sharp, mean, envious, sidelong glances from beneath lowered lids. Yellow roses appear in their buttonholes. Thus they pass through the room, slowly and in perfect silence. The sounds of the steps, the music, and the exclamations of the Guests produce a sharply discordant noise._
GUESTS’ CONVERSATION
–There they are. There they are. What an honor!
–How handsome he is!
–What a manly face!
–Look! Look!
–He isn’t looking at us!
–He doesn’t see us!
–We are his guests!
–What an honor! What an honor!
–And his wife! Look! Look!
–How beautiful she is!
–How proud!
–I tell you, just look at her diamonds!
–Her pearls! Her pearls!
–And her rubies!
–How rich! What an honor!
–Honor! Honor! Honor!
_[The same phrases are repeated again._
–Here are Man’s Friends!
–Look, look, there are Man’s Friends.
–Noble faces!
–Proud gait!
–They shine with the reflected splendor of his fame.
–How they love him!
–How faithful they are to him!
–What an honor to be one of Man’s Friends!
–They regard everything here as their own!
–They’re at home here!
–What an honor!
–Honor! Honor! Honor!
_[Same phrases are repeated._
–And there are Man’s Enemies!
–Look, look, Man’s Enemies!
–They walk like whipped curs!
–Man has subdued them!
–He’s put a muzzle on them!
–They’re wagging their tails!
–They’re sneaking behind one another.
–They’re pushing one another.
–Ha-ha! Ha-ha!
_[Everybody laughs._
–What mean faces!
–What greedy looks!
–Cowardly!
–Malevolent!
–They’re afraid to look at us!
–They feel we’re at home!
–Let’s frighten them.
–Man’ll be thankful to us for it.
–Ho-ho!
_[They shout at Man’s Enemies, mingling their shouts with laughter. The Enemies huddle closer together and cast sharp, timid, sideward glances._
–They’re going! They’re going!
–What an honor!
–They’re going!
–Ho-ho! Ha-ha!
–They’re gone! They’re gone! They’re gone!
_[The procession disappears through the door on the left. A pause of silence. The music plays less loudly, and the dancers begin gradually to fill the hall._
–Where did they go?
–I believe they went to the dining-room, where supper is being served.
–I suppose they’ll soon invite us in. Do you see anybody looking for us?
–Yes, it’s time for supper. If you eat too late, you can’t sleep well.
–I always serve supper early.
–A late supper lies heavy on your stomach.
–And the music is still playing.
–And they’re still dancing.
–I wonder they don’t get tired.
–How rich!
–How magnificent!
–Do you know for how many guests they have prepared the supper?
–I didn’t get a chance to count all the covers. The caterer came in, and I had to get out.
–Could they possibly have forgotten us?
–Man is so proud, and we are so unimportant.
–Don’t say that. My husband says we do him an honor by accepting his invitation. We are rich, too.
–When you consider the reputation of his wife–
–Do you see anyone looking for us? Maybe he’s looking for us in the other rooms.
–How rich!
–If you are not careful with other people’s money, it’s easy to get rich, I think.
–Oh, now, it’s only his enemies who say that.
–Well, after all, there are some very respectable people among them. I must admit that my husband–
–It is late, though.
–It’s clear there must be a mistake somewhere. I can’t believe we’ve simply been forgotten.
–Evidently you know people and life very little if you think so.
–I am surprised. We are rich enough ourselves.
–It seems to me someone called us.
–You’re mistaken, no one called us. I don’t understand it. To be quite frank–why did we come to a house like this, with such a reputation? One should be very careful of the friends one chooses.
A LIVERIED LACKEY _(appears at the door)_
Man and his Wife beg the honored guests to step into the dining-room.
GUESTS _(rising quickly)_
–What a livery!
–He asked us to come in!
–I said there must be a mistake somewhere.
–Man is so good. I’m sure he hasn’t had a chance to sit down at table himself.
–Didn’t I say someone was looking for us?
–What a livery!
–They say the supper is grand.
–Everything at Man’s is done in a grand style.
–What music! What an honor to be at Man’s ball!
–Let those envy us who–
–How grand!
–How magnificent!
–What an honor!
_[They go out one after the other, repeating the last phrases. One couple after the other stop dancing and follow the Guests in silence. For some time a single couple remain circling on the floor, but they too join the others at last. The musicians, however, continue to play, making the same desperate effort. The lackey turns out the electric lights, leaving only one light in the farthest chandelier. The figures of the musicians are vaguely seen in the dim light, swaying to and fro with their instruments. The outline of Someone in Gray is sharply visible. The flame of the candle flickers, illuminating His stony face and chin with a garish, yellow light. He turns around without raising his head, walks slowly and calmly through the whole length of the room, and disappears through the door through which Man passed out._
CURTAIN
THE FOURTH SCENE
MAN’S MISFORTUNE
_A large, gloomy, quadrangular room, with dark watts, dark floor, and dark ceiling. There are two high, curtainless windows with eight panes in the rear watt, and between them a small, low door. Two similar windows appear in the right wall. Night glooms through the windows, and when the door opens, the same deep blackness of night stares into the room. In general, however bright Man’s rooms may be, the vast darkness of the windows engulfs the light.
On the left wall there is nothing but a small, low door leading to the rest of the house. At the window on the right stands a broad sofa covered with dark oilcloth. Man’s desk is very simple and poor. On it are seen a dimly burning, shaded lamp, a sheet of yellow paper with a sketch drawn on it, and a lot of toys–little peaked cap, a wooden horse without a tail, and a red, long-nosed clown with bells. Between the windows there is an old dilapidated bookcase entirely empty. The visible lines of dust left by the books show that they must have been removed recently. The room has only one chair.
In the darkest corner stands Someone in Gray called He. The candle in his hand is now no longer than it is thick. The wax is running over a little. The stump burns with a reddish, flickering light, and casts a red sheen on His stony face and chin.
The only remaining servant of Man, an Old Woman, is sitting on the chair. She speaks in an even voice, addressing an imaginary companion._
OLD WOMAN
There! Man has slipped back into poverty. He had a lot of valuable things, horses and carriages, and even an automobile. Now he has nothing. Of all his servants I am the only one left. There are still some good things in here and in two other rooms. There’s the sofa and the bookcase. But in the other twelve rooms there’s not a thing. They are dark and empty. Rats run around in them day and night and fight and squeak. People are afraid, but I’m not. It’s all the same to me.
An iron sign has been hanging on the gate for ever so long, saying the house is for sale. But no one wants to buy it. The sign’s rusty already, and the rain has worn the letters away. But no one comes to buy the house. No one wants an old house. Yet maybe someone will buy it. Then we’ll be going to look for another place to live in. It’ll be a strange place. My mistress will begin to cry, and I dare say, the old gentleman will too. But I won’t. It’s all the same to me.
You wonder what’s become of all his riches. I don’t know. Maybe it seems strange, but I’ve been living with other people all my life, and many is the time I’ve seen money disappear, quietly running off through some leak or other. That’s the way it has happened to these folks too. They had a lot, then it got to be a little, and then nothing at all. People came and bought things. Then they stopped coming. I once asked my mistress how it came about. She answered: “People have stopped liking what they used to like; they have stopped loving what they used to love.” “How is that possible?” says I. “How can people stop liking what they once liked?” She didn’t answer and fell to crying. But I didn’t. It’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me.
People say they are surprised at me. It’s terrible, they say, to live in this house; terrible to sit here at night with only the wind whining in the chimney and the rats squeaking and scuffling. Maybe it is terrible, I don’t know; but I don’t think about it. Why should I? There they sit, the two of them, in their room, looking at each other and listening to the whining of the wind; and I sit in the kitchen alone and listen to the whining of the wind. Doesn’t the same wind whine in our ears? Young folks used to come to see their son, and they would all laugh and sing and go through the empty rooms to chase the rats. But nobody comes to me, and I sit alone, all alone. There’s no one to talk to, so I talk to myself, and it’s all the same to me.
I’m sure they had a hard enough time of it–no need of more ill luck. But three days ago another misfortune happened to them. The young gentleman went out walking, his hat cocked, his hair dressed in latest fashion. And a bad man went and threw a stone at him from behind a corner and broke his head like a nut. They brought him home, put him to bed, and now he’s dying in there. Maybe he’ll recover and live–who knows? The old lady and the old gentleman cried, and then they put all the books on a wagon and sold them. With the money they hired a nurse, bought medicines, and even grapes. So the books, too, were of some good. But he doesn’t eat the grapes. He doesn’t even look at them. They just lie there on the dish, just lie there.
DOCTOR _(enters through the outer door; his face looks red and his manner is uneasy)_ Can you tell me if I am in the right place? I’m a doctor. I have many visits to pay, and I often make mistakes. I’m called here and there and everywhere, and all the houses look alike and the people in them are all sad. Have I struck the right place?
OLD WOMAN
I don’t know.
DOCTOR
I’ll consult my note-book. Is there a child here choking with a sore throat?
OLD WOMAN
No.
DOCTOR
Is there a man here who suddenly went insane from poverty and attacked his wife and two children with a hatchet? Four patients in all, I suppose.
OLD WOMAN
No.
DOCTOR
Is there a girl here whose heart stopped beating? Don’t lie, old woman, I think she is here.
OLD WOMAN
No.
DOCTOR
Well, I believe you. You seem to speak the truth. Is there a young man here whose head was broken by a stone and who is dying?
OLD WOMAN
Yes. Go through that door on the left, but don’t go any farther. The rats will eat you up!
DOCTOR
Very well. They keep ringing, ringing all the time, day and night. Here it is, late at night. All the lights in the street are out, and I am still on the run. Often I make a mistake and enter the wrong house. Yes, old woman, I do. _(Exit through the door leading inside)_
OLD WOMAN
One doctor has already treated him, but didn’t cure him. Now there’s another, and I guess he won’t cure him either. Well! Then their son will die, and we’ll remain alone in the house. I’ll sit in the kitchen and talk to myself, and they’ll sit in there keeping quiet and thinking. Another room vacated, another room for the rats to scuffle in. Let them squeak and scuffle. It’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me. You ask me why that bad fellow threw the stone at our young gentleman. I don’t know–how could I know why people want to kill each other? One threw a stone from behind a corner and ran away; the other one fell in a heap and is now dying–that’s all I know. They say that our young gentleman was a fine chap, very brave, and very kind to poor people. I don’t know anything about it–it is all the same to me. Whether they are good or bad, young or old, quick or dead, it is all the same to me. It is all the same to me.
As long as they pay, I’ll stay with them; and when they stop paying, I’ll go to other people to do their housework, and finally I shall stop altogether–when I get old, and my eyesight gets poor, so that I can’t tell salt from sugar. Then they’ll turn me out and say: “Go where you please. We’ll hire another one.” What of it? I’ll go. It’s all the same to me. Here, there, or nowhere, it’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me.
_[Enter Doctor, Man and his Wife. Both have aged greatly and are completely gray. Man’s long bristling hair and beard give his face a leonine appearance. He walks slightly stooping, but holds his head erect and looks sternly and resolutely from beneath his gray eyebrows. When he looks at anything closely, he puts on large, silver-framed eye-glasses._
DOCTOR
Your son has fallen into a deep sleep. Don’t wake him. It may bring on a turn for the better. You go to sleep too. When one has a chance to sleep one should grab it and not stay up talking.
WIFE
Thank you, doctor, it’s been such a relief. Will you call to-morrow again?
DOCTOR
Yes, to-morrow and the day after to-morrow. Old woman, you go to bed too. It’s late, it’s time for all to go to bed. Is that the door to leave by? I often make mistakes.
_[He goes out. The Old Woman goes also. Man and his Wife are left alone._
MAN
Look, wife, I began to draw this while our son was still well. I stopped at this line and thought I’d rest and resume the work later. See what a simple, placid line it is, yet horrible to look at. It may be the last line I shall have drawn in our boy’s lifetime. What malicious ignorance there is graven in its simplicity and placidity.
WIFE
Don’t get excited, my dear. Don’t think those evil thoughts. I believe the doctor told the truth and our son will recover.
MAN
Aren’t you excited too? Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re as white as your hair, my old friend.
WIFE
Of course, I am a little excited, but I’m convinced there’s no danger.
MAN
Now, as always, you encourage me and fool me so sincerely, so guilelessly. My poor squire, true guardian of my dulled sword, your knight is a poor, broken-down man. He cannot hold a weapon in his feeble hand. What do I see? Our son’s toys. Who put them there?
WIFE
My dear, you put them there yourself long ago. Have you forgotten? You said you found it easier to work with the child’s innocent toys beside you.
MAN
Yes, I had forgotten. But now it’s terrible to look at them, as terrible as it is for a convict to look at instruments of torture. If the child dies, his toys will remain as a curse to the living. Wife, wife, the sight of them is terrible to me!
WIFE
It was when we were still poor that we bought them. How touching it is to look at them, those poor, dear toys!
MAN
I can’t help it, I must take them in my hands. Here’s the horse with the tail torn off. Hop, hop, horsie! Where are you galloping off to? I’m going far, far away, papa, to where the fields are and the green woods. Take me along, horsie. Hop, hop, hop! Sit down, dear papa. And there’s the soldier’s cap, the cheap cap I tried on myself in fun when I bought it. Who are you? I’m a knight, papa. I’m the bravest, the strongest knight. Where are you going, my little knight? I’m going to kill the dragon, dear papa. I’m going to free the captives, papa. Go, go, my little knight. _(The Wife cries)_ And there’s our everlasting clown, with his kind, stupid face. But how ragged he is, as if he had come out of a hundred frays. Tinkle, friend, the way you used to tinkle. What, you can’t? Only one bell left, you say? Well, I’ll throw you on the floor. _(Throws down the toy)_
WIFE
What are you doing? Remember how often our boy kissed his funny face.
MAN
Yes, that was wrong of me. Forgive me, friend, forgive me. _(He bends down with difficulty and picks up the clown)_ Still laughing? Don’t. I’ll put you away, out of sight. Don’t be angry, I can’t bear your smile now. Go and laugh in a place where I can’t see you.
WIFE
It breaks my heart to hear you speak like that. Believe me, our son will get well. It wouldn’t be just if the young were to die before the old, would it?
MAN
Just? Where have you ever seen justice, wife?
WIFE
Please, dear husband, I beg you, kneel down beside me, and let us both pray to God.
MAN
It’s hard for an old man to bend his old knees.
WIFE
Bend them. You should–you must.
MAN
He will not hear me, He whose ear I’ve never troubled with either praise or entreaty. You pray. You are the mother.
WIFE
You pray–you are the father. If a father is not to pray for his son, who is? To whom are you leaving him? Can one person tell the same things in the same way as the two of us together?
MAN
Very well. Maybe eternal justice will answer the prayers of an old man who bends his old knees.
_[Both go down on their knees, their faces turned to the corner where the Unknown stands motionless; their arms are folded over their breasts while they pray._
THE MOTHER’S PRAYER
God, I beg you, let my son live. I can understand only one thing, I can say only one thing, only one thing–God, let my son live. I have no other words, all is dark around me, everything is falling. I understand nothing, and there’s such a terror in my heart, O Lord, that I can say only this one thing–God, let my son live! Let him live! Forgive me for praying so poorly. But I cannot pray in any other way. You understand, O Lord, I can’t. Look at me! Just look at me! Do you see? Do you see how my head shakes, do you see how my hands shake? But what are my hands, O Lord! Have pity on him. He is so young–he has a birthmark on his right hand. Let him live, even if only a little while, a little while. He is so young, such a mere foolish child–he’s still fond of sweets. I bought him grapes. Pity–have pity!
_[She weeps in a subdued way, covering her face with her hands. Man speaks without looking at her._
THE FATHER’S PRAYER
Here I am praying, you see. I’ve bent my old knees. I’ve prostrated myself in the dust before you. I’m kissing the ground, do you see? Maybe I have sometimes offended you. If so, forgive me, forgive me. It is true, I was haughty, arrogant. I demanded and did not beg. Often I condemned–forgive me. And if you wish, if this be your will, punish me, but spare my son. Spare him, I beg you. Not for mercy, not for pity do I pray you. I pray for justice. You are old, and I am old too. You will understand more easily than I. Bad people wanted to kill him, people who insult you by their deeds and defile your earth–bad, heartless people, who throw stones from behind corners. From behind corners, the scoundrels! Do not then, I pray you, permit the fulfilment of this evil deed. Stay the blood, give back the life–give back the life to my noble son! You took everything away from me, but did I ever ask you like a beggar: “Give me back my wealth, give me back my friends, give me back my talent”? No, never. I did not even ask you for my talent, and you know what his talent means to a man. It is more than life. I thought perhaps that’s the way it ought to be, and I bore everything, bore everything with pride. But now I ask you on my knees, in the dust, kissing the earth: “Give back my son’s life.” I kiss your earth!
_[He rises. Someone called He listens indifferently to the father’s and mother’s prayers._
WIFE
I’m afraid your prayer was not humble enough. There was a certain tone of pride in it.
MAN
No, no, my wife, I spoke well to Him, the way a man should speak. He cannot love cringing flatterers better than brave, proud men who speak the truth. No, wife, you cannot understand. Now I believe also and feel reassured–in fact, I am happy. I feel that I too still signify something to my boy, and it makes me glad. Go and see if he’s asleep. He needs a lot of good, hard sleep.
_[The Wife goes out. Man, with a friendly look to the corner where Someone in Gray stands, picks up the toy clown, plays with it, and gives its red nose a quick kiss. At that instant his Wife enters and Man speaks shamefacedly._
MAN
I was begging his pardon. I insulted this fool. Well, how is our dear boy?
WIFE
He is so pale.
MAN
That’s nothing. It’ll pass away. He lost a lot of blood.
WIFE
It makes me so sad to look at his poor shorn head. He had such beautiful golden curls.
MAN
They had to be cut so that the wound could be washed. Never mind, wife, his hair will grow again and be still finer. Did you keep what was cut off? Be sure to keep it. His precious, blood is on it.
WIFE
Yes, I put it away in the chest, the last one left of all our wealth.
MAN
Don’t worry about wealth. Just wait until our son begins to work. He’ll restore all we’ve lost. I feel well again, wife, and I firmly believe in our future. Do you remember our poor little rosy room? The good neighbors scattered oak leaves in it, and you made a wreath of them and put it on my head and said I was a genius.
WIFE
I say so still. Other people have ceased to appreciate you, but not I.
MAN
No, my dear little wife, you’re wrong. What genius creates outlives the old dirty bundle of rags known as the body, whereas I am still living, and my productions–
WIFE
No, they’re not dead and they never will die. Do you remember that corner house you built ten years ago? Every evening at sunset you go to look at it. Is there a more beautiful building in the whole city, is there any with more depth to it?
MAN
Yes, I purposely built it so that the last rays of the setting sun should fall upon it and set its windows aglow. When the whole city is in darkness, my house is still taking leave of the sun. It was well done, and perhaps it will survive me a little while at least. What do you think?
WIFE
Of course, my friend.
MAN
The only thing that hurts, wife, is that the people have forgotten me so soon. They might have remembered me a little longer, just a little longer.
WIFE
They have forgotten what they knew, and ceased to love what they loved.
MAN
They might have remembered me a little longer, a little longer.
WIFE
I saw a young artist near that house. He studied it carefully and made a sketch of it in his sketchbook.
MAN
Ah, why didn’t you tell me that before? It’s highly significant, highly significant. It means that my ideas are accepted and handed down by others, and even if I am forgotten, my ideas will live. It is tremendously significant.
WIFE
Yes, my dear, you are not forgotten. Do you remember the young man who bowed so reverently to you on the street?
MAN
Yes, that’s so, wife. He was a fine, very fine youth. He had such a nice young face. It’s good you reminded me of his bow. It has sent a ray of brightness into my heart. But I feel sleepy. I must be tired. I am old too, my dear little gray wife. Have you noticed it?
WIFE
You’re just as handsome as ever.
MAN
And my eyes are bright?
WIFE
Yes, your eyes are bright.
MAN
And my hair is black as pitch?
WIFE
It’s so white, so like snow that it’s even more beautiful.
MAN
And no wrinkles?
WIFE
Yes, there are little wrinkles on your face, but–
MAN
Of course, I know I’m a beauty. To-morrow I’ll buy myself a uniform and enter the light cavalry. Yes? _(His Wife laughs)_
WIFE
There, you’re joking too, as in olden times. But lie down here and sleep a little. I’ll go to look after our boy. Don’t worry, I won’t leave him. I’ll call you when he wakes. You don’t care to kiss an old wrinkled hand, do you?
MAN _(kissing her hand)_
Go, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.
WIFE
And the wrinkles?
MAN
What wrinkles? I only see a dear, kind, good, sensible face. Nothing else. Don’t take offence at my stern tone. Go to the boy, watch him, stay with him like a quiet shadow of gentleness and love. And if he is disturbed in his sleep, sing him a song as you used to do. And put the grapes nearer, so that he can reach them.
_[The Wife goes out. Man lies down on the sofa, his head toward the spot where Someone in Gray stands immobile, so that His hand almost touches Man’s gray, dishevelled hair. Man falls asleep quickly._
SOMEONE IN GRAY
Man has fallen into a sound, sweet sleep, deceived by hope. His breath is soft as a child’s, his heart beats calmly and evenly, bringing him relief. He knows not that in a few moments his son will die. In mysterious dream-fancies a picture of impossible happiness arises before him.
It seems to him that he and his son are drifting in a white boat along a beautiful, quiet stream. It seems to him that it is a glorious day, and he sees the deep sky and the transparent crystal water. He hears the rustling of the reeds as they part before the boat. It seems to him that he is happy and glad. All his feelings betray him.
Suddenly he is disturbed. The terrible truth has entered through the thick veil of sleep and stung his thoughts.
“Why is your golden hair cut so short, my boy? Why?”
“I had a headache, papa, that’s why.”
And deceived once more, he feels happy again, sees the deep sky, and hears the rustling of the parting reeds.
He knows not that his son is already dying. He hears not how, in a last senseless hope, with a child’s faith in the power of adults, his son is calling him without words, with his heart: “Papa, papa, I am dying! Hold me!” Man sleeps soundly and sweetly, and in the deceptive, mysterious fancies there arises before him the picture of impossible happiness. Awake, Man! Your son is dead.
_[Man lifts his head, frightened, and rises._
MAN
Ha! What is it? I thought I heard someone call me.
_[At that moment many women behind the scenes burst into a wail–the loud, long-drawn wail over the dead. The Wife enters, frightfully pale._
MAN
Dead?
WIFE
Yes, he is dead.
MAN
Did he call me?
WIFE
No, he never awoke. He didn’t call anyone. He is dead–my son, my dear, darling boy!
_[She falls on her knees before Man and sobs, clasping his knees. Man puts his hand on her hand and, turning to the corner where Someone in Gray stands indifferently, speaks in a sobbing, but terrible voice._
MAN
You insulted a woman, scoundrel! You killed a boy! _(His Wife sobs. Man softly strokes her hair with his trembling hand)_ Don’t cry, my dear, don’t cry. He will scoff at our tears, just as He scoffed at our prayers. And you–I don’t know who you are–God, Devil, Fate, or Life–I curse you!
_[Man speaks the following in a loud, powerful voice, one arm about his wife as if to protect her, the other arm fiercely extended toward the Unknown._
MAN’S CURSE
I curse everything that you have given. I curse the day on which I was born. I curse the day on which I shall die. I curse the whole of my life, its joys and its sorrows. I curse myself. I curse my eyes, my ears, my tongue. I curse my heart and my head, and I fling everything back at your cruel face, a senseless Fate! Be accursed, be forever accursed! With my curses I conquer you. What else can you do to me? Hurl me to the ground, I will laugh and shout in your face: “Be accursed!” Seal my mouth with the clamps of death, with my last thought I will shout into your stupid ears: “Be accursed, be accursed!” Take my body, tear at it like a dog, drag it into the darkness–I am not in it. I have disappeared, but disappearing I shall repeat: “Be accursed, be accursed!” Through the woman whom you have insulted, through the boy whom you have killed, I convey to you the curses of Man!
_[He turns in silence, with fiercely uplifted hand. Someone in Gray listens passively to the curses. The flame of the candle flickers as if blown by the wind. Thus they stand for some time in tense silence confronting each other, Man and Someone in Gray. The wailing behind the scenes grows louder and more prolonged, passing into a doleful chant._
CURTAIN
THE FIFTH SCENE
THE DEATH OF MAN
_An uncertain, unsteady, blinking light, so dim that at first nothing is distinguishable. When the eye grows accustomed to it, the following scene becomes visible.
A long, wide room with a very low ceiling and windowless. The entrance is down a flight of steps from somewhere above. The walls are bare and dirty and resemble the coarse, stained hide of some huge animal. Along the entire back wall up to the stairs runs a, bar with a top of smooth glass. This is covered with bottles full of differently colored liquors that are arranged in regular rows. Behind a low table sits the Bartender, immobile, with his hands folded across his paunch. His white face is blotched with red. His head is bald, and he has a large, reddish beard. He wears an expression of utter calm and indifference, which he maintains throughout, never changing his seat or his attitude.
Drunkards, both men and women, sit at small tables on wooden stools. Their number seems to be augmented by their shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling.
It is one endless monotony of repulsive ugliness and desolation. The men’s faces resemble masks with the various features disproportionately magnified or reduced: big noses, or no noses at all; eyes staring savagely, almost starting from their sockets, or eyes narrowed to scarcely visible slits and points; huge Adam’s apples and tiny chins. Their hair is tangled, frowzy, dirty, covering half the face on some of them. Despite their differences, a horrible sameness is stamped upon their faces: a greenish, ghastly tinge of decay and an expression that appears grotesque in some, gloomy and stupidly timid in others.
They are dressed in dull rags, with here a bony arm bared, there a sharp knee, and there again a frightfully sunken chest. Some are almost entirely naked. The women differ little from the men, except that they are even uglier and more uncouth. All have trembling heads and hands and walk with an uncertain step, as if on a slippery, or hilly, or sliding surface. Their voices, too, are all alike, rough and hoarse. They speak as uncertainly as they walk, as if their lips were frozen and refused to obey.
In the centre, at a separate table, sits Man, his gray, unkempt head leaning on his arms. In this position he remains throughout the scene, except during the one moment when he speaks. He is dressed very poorly.
In the corner stands Someone in Gray, with the candle burned nearly to the end. The slender blue flame flickers, now bending, now striving upward with its sharp little tongue. Its blue throws a ghastly glare on His face and chin._
THE DRUNKARD’S CONVERSATION
–Oh my! Oh my!
–Look, everything is swaying so strangely. There’s nothing to rest your eyes on.
–Everything is shaking as in a fever–the people, the chair, the ceiling.
–Everything is floating and rocking as on waves.
–Do you hear a noise? I hear a kind of noise, as if an iron wheel were rumbling, or stones falling from a mountain, large stones coming down like rain.
–It’s the ringing in your ears.
–It’s the tingling of your blood. I feel my blood. It flows heavy through my veins, thick, thick, black, smelling of rum. And when it gets to my heart, it all falls down, and it’s terrible.
–It seems to me I see flashes of lightning.
–I see huge, red woodpiles and people burning on them. It’s disgusting to smell the roasting flesh.
–Dark shadows circle around the piles. They are drunk, the shadows are. Hey, invite me! I’ll dance with you.
–Oh my! Oh my!
–I am happy, too. Who will laugh with me? Nobody. So I’ll laugh by myself. _(He laughs)_
–A charming woman is kissing my lips. She smells of musk and her teeth are like a crocodile’s. She wants to bite me. Get away, you dirty hussy!
–I am not a dirty hussy. I am an old pregnant snake. I’ve been watching a whole hour to see little snakes come out of my body below and crawl around. Say, don’t step on my little snakes.
–Where are you going?
–Who’s walking there? Sit down. You make the whole house shake when you walk.
–I can’t. I feel awful sitting down.
–I too. When I am sitting I feel a horror running through my whole body.
–So do I. Let me go.
_[Three or four Drunkards reel aimlessly about, getting tangled up In the chairs._
–Look what it’s doing. It’s been jumping for two hours, trying to get on my knee. It just misses by an inch. I drive it away and it comes back again.
–Black cockroaches are creeping under my skull and buzzing.
–My brain is falling apart. I feel the gray matter separating. My brain is like rotten cheese. It stinks.
–There’s some sort of a corpse here. I smell it.
–Oh my! Oh my!
–I’ll sneak up to her to-night and cut her throat.
–The blood will flow. It’s flowing already. See how red it is.
–I am constantly being followed by three men. They are calling me into a dark corner of the vacant lot, and they want to kill me. They are already at the door.
–Who is walking on the walls and ceiling?
–Good Lord! They have come to take me.
–Who?
–They.
–My tongue is getting paralyzed. I’ll cry. _(Cries)_
–My whole body is coming out. I’ll soon be turned inside out, and then I’ll be all red.
–Listen, listen. Ho! Somebody! A monster is going for me. He’s raising his hand. Help! Ho!
–What is it? Help! A spider!
–Help!
_[For some time they shout “Help!” hoarsely._
–We are all drunkards. Let’s call down all the people from above. It’s so disgusting up there.
–No, don’t. When I leave here and go out on the street, it rampages and tears about like a wild beast and soon throws me off my, feet.
–We’ve all come here. We drink rum and it gives us joy.
–It gives us fright. I shiver the whole day from fright.
–Fright is better than life. Who wants to return to life?
–I don’t.
–I don’t. I’d rather croak here. I don’t want to live.
–No one!
–Oh my! Oh my!
–Why does Man come here? He drinks little and just sits still. We don’t want him.
–Let him go to his own house. He has a house of his own.
–Fifteen rooms.
–Don’t touch him. He has no place to go to any more.
–He has fifteen rooms.
–They’re empty. Only rats run around and fight in them.
–And his wife.
–He hasn’t any. Seems she died.
_[During this conversation and the following, Old Women in strange headgear enter quietly and replace unnoticeably the Drunkards, who quietly depart. The women mingle in the conversation, but in such a way that no one notices it._
CONVERSATION OF DRUNKARDS AND OLD WOMEN
–He’ll soon die, too. He can scarcely drag himself along, he’s so weak.
–He has fifteen rooms.
–Listen to the beating of his heart. It’s uneven and faint. It’ll soon stop beating altogether.
–Hey, Man, give us an invitation to your house. You have fifteen rooms.
–It’ll soon stop beating altogether, that old, sick, feeble heart of Man!
–He’s asleep, the drunken fool. It’s dreadful to sleep, and yet he sleeps. He might die in his sleep.
–Hey, there, wake him up!
–Do you remember how it used to beat when it was young and strong?
_[A low laugh is heard._
–Who’s laughing? There are some here who have no business to be here.
–It just seems so to you. We are all alone, only we drunkards.
–I’ll go out on the street and start a fight. I’ve been robbed. I’m stark naked, and my skin is green.
–Good evening.
–The wheel is rumbling again. Oh, Lord, they’ll crush me! Help!
_[No one responds._
–Good evening.
–Do you remember his birth? I believe you were there.
–I must be dying. Good Lord! Good Lord! Who will carry me to the grave? Who will bury me? I’ll be lying like a dog on the street. People will step over me, wagons will ride over me. They’ll crush me. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! _(Cries)_
–Permit me to congratulate you, my dear friend, on the birth of your child.
–I am positive there is a mistake here. For a circle to fall out of a straight line is an absurdity. I’ll demonstrate it on the spot.
–You’re right.
–Oh my! Oh my!
–It’s only ignoramuses in mathematics who will permit it. I won’t. I won’t permit it, do you hear?
–Do you remember the rosy dress and the little bare neck?
–And the flowers? The lilies-of-the-valley on which the dew never dried, and the violets, and the green grass?
–Don’t touch, don’t touch the flowers, girls.
_[They utter a low and suppressed laugh._
–Oh my! Oh my!
_[The drunkards have all gone. Their places are taken by the Old Women. The light grows steady and very faint. The figure of the Unknown is sharply outlined, and so is Man’s gray head, on which a, faint light falls from above._
OLD WOMEN’S CONVERSATION.
–Good evening.
–Good evening. What a splendid night!
–Here we are together again. How are you feeling?
–I cough a little.
_[They laugh suppressedly._
–It won’t take long now. He’ll die soon.
–Look at the candle. The flame is blue and thin and spreading sideways. There’s no more wax. It’s only the wick that’s burning.
–It doesn’t want to go out.
–When did you ever see a flame that did want to go out?
–Don’t dispute, don’t dispute. Whether it wants to go out, or doesn’t want to go out, time is flying.
–Do you remember his motor car? He once almost ran me down.
–And his fifteen rooms?
–I was there a little while ago. The rats almost ate me up, and I caught a cold in the draught. Someone had stolen the window frames, and the wind was blowing through the whole house.
–Did you try the bed in which his wife died? Isn’t it soft and nice?
–Yes, I went through all the rooms and let my fancy play a little. They have such a pretty nursery. It’s a pity the window frames are knocked out there too, and the wind makes a racket with the litter on the floor. And the child’s bed too is so dear. Now the rats have made their nest in it and breed their children there.
–Such dear, naked little rats.
_[They titter._
–And in his study the toys are lying on the table: a horse without a tail, a soldier’s cap, and a red-nosed clown. I played a little with them. I put on the soldier’s cap. It was very becoming to me. But there’s such a lot of dust on the things. I got all dirty.
–But did you go into the drawing-room where the ball was given? It’s so gay there.
–Yes, I did. Fancy what I saw. It was dark, the windows were broken, and the wind was playing with the wall-paper–
–Making a sound as of music.
–And in the darkness the guests were squatting on their knees at the wall–and you should have seen how they looked!
–We know.
–And they barked: “How rich! How magnificent! How brilliant! How rich!”
–You’re joking, of course.
–Of course I’m joking. You know I have a funny disposition.
–How rich! How magnificent!
–How gay!
_[They titter._
–Let’s remind him of it!
–How rich! How magnificent!
–Do you remember how the music played at your ball?
–He’s going to die soon.
–The dancers circled about, circled about, and the music played so gently, so beautifully. They played this way.
_[They make a semicircle about Man and hum the tune played by the musicians at the ball._