SCENE III

_The ball continues. There seem to be more MASKERS. The hall is more crowded, and the MASKERS are restless as if the strange, mysteriously altered wine were having its effect upon the guests. The music, though it has grown a little languorous, is as wild as before. A mournful and lovely melody springs up, as it were accidentally, in the chaos of wild and turbulent cries, but is immediately overwhelmed and swept away upon the wind like a withered leaf which, torn from its branch, flutters in circles before it sinks to rest. Part of the MASKERS continue to dance, but the greater number, perplexed and restless, move to and fro, gathering for a moment in groups to interchange brief, excited remarks. The BLACK MASKERS wander about singly in the throng. Hairy and black from foot to crown, some resembling orang-outangs and others those uncouth hairy insects which in the night-time fly toward the light, they move along the walls with a guilty, embarrassed, and somewhat absent air and hide in the corners. But curiosity overcomes their shyness, and, creeping cautiously about, they examine various objects, holding them close to their eyes. They touch the white marble columns with their hairy black fingers. They take in their hands the costly goblets, only to drop them again, as it were, helplessly. The MASKERS who arrived before them are manifestly afraid of them._

VOICES: Where is Lorenzo?

—Where is Lorenzo? We must find Lorenzo. Did no one notice where the Duke went? We must tell him now or it will be too late.

—They fly toward the light.

—It is plain that they are here for the first time. See how they look at everything, with what curiosity they touch things. Who invited them?

—They were not invited. They came of their own accord along the lighted road.

—But perhaps they are some of our friends.

—No, no, they are strangers.

—It is all due to the light in the tower. How dreadful!

—Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo!

—The drawbridge should be raised. Then they cannot enter.

—Call Lorenzo.

_A BLACK MASKER touches, out of curiosity, the sleeve of one of the other MASKERS, who springs back affrighted._

THE MASKER. What do you wish, sir? I do not know you. Who are you? Who invited you here?

THE BLACK MASKER. I do not know who I am. Some one lighted up the tower, and we came. It’s dark out there and very cold. But who are you? I do not know you, either.

_He tries to embrace the MASKER, but the latter shrinks from him._

THE MASKER. Keep your hands from me, sir, or I will hew off your fingers.

_The BLACK MASKER moves unsteadily toward the fire burning on the hearth and sits cross-legged to warm himself. His fellows join him and in a black ring encircle the fire, which immediately begins to die out._

FIRST BLACK MASKER. It’s cold, it’s cold.

SECOND BLACK MASKER. It’s cold.

THIRD BLACK MASKER. Is this what they call fire? How beautiful it is! Whose house is this? Why didn’t we come here before?

FIRST BLACK MASKER. Because we were then unborn. The light begat us.

SECOND BLACK MASKER. Why does the fire go out? I love it so, and yet it goes out. Why does the fire go out?

A MASKER. Duke Lorenzo is a traitor. He has played us false. He said the castle was ours. Why, then, did he invite these creatures?

SECOND MASKER. He did not invite them. They came of themselves. But this castle is ours, and we will have the drawbridge raised. Ho! Servants! Servants of the Duke Lorenzo! This way!

_No one comes._

THIRD MASKER. The servants have run away. Call Lorenzo. Call Lorenzo.

THE OLD WOMEN. [_Running up with castanets_] The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming.

VOICES. Lorenzo! Lorenzo! Lorenzo!

_LORENZO appears, smiling, on the staircase. His clothes are torn. On his bared breast is a large blood-red spot, but he seems not to be aware of it and bears himself with his former dignity and with the refinement and reserve of a prince regent._

LORENZO. Kindly pardon me, my friends, for presuming to leave you for a moment. You can’t imagine, my dear guests, what an amusing and diverting trick has been played upon me. I have just met a very clever gentleman who had donned the mask of Duke Lorenzo. You would have been amazed at the striking resemblance. This skilful artist had stolen not only my dress but even my voice and my features. Really, it’s amusing. [_He laughs._

A MASKER. There is blood on you, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. [_Glancing at himself indifferently_] It is not my blood. I think [_rubbing his forehead thoughtfully_], I think I killed that jester. Did you not hear falling bodies, gentlemen?

A MASKER. Duke Lorenzo is a murderer! Whom did you kill, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. Pardon me, gentlemen, but really I do not know whom I did kill. He lies in the tower, and if you like you may take a look at him. He is lying there. But why has the music ceased? And why, my dear guests, are you not dancing?

A MASKER. The music has not ceased, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. Oh, really? I thought it was the wind, merely a violent wind. Dance, my friends. Your unbounded joy delights me. Petruccio! Cristoforo! More wine for my dear guests. [_Sadly_] Ah, to be sure [_he laughs_], I have lost them all—Petruccio, Cristoforo, and Donna Francesca. So my wife was called—Donna Francesca. A charming name, isn’t it? Donna Francesca——

_The number of the BLACK MASKERS increases. One of them mounts the stairs and addresses himself to the Duke._

THE BLACK MASKER. Did you kindle the light?

LORENZO. Who are you, sir? You have a strange, coarse voice, and I think I did not invite you. How did you gain admittance?

THE BLACK MASKER. Did you kindle the light?

LORENZO. Yes, my charming stranger. I had my castle lighted up. The lights shine far, do they not?

THE BLACK MASKER. You roused the whole night. Everything is astir there, and now the night is coming hither. No harm in our coming, was there? Is your name Lorenzo? Is this your house? Is this your light?

_He seeks to embrace LORENZO, who violently thrusts him away._

THE MASKERS. [_From below_] Be on your guard, Lorenzo. Lorenzo, your castle is in danger. They have come uninvited. Have the drawbridge raised and all the doors tightly barred.

A VOICE. The drawbridge is already raised, but they are clambering over the walls.

ANOTHER VOICE. All the darkness of the night is transformed into living creatures, and from every side they are coming hither. Bar the doors.

A MASKER. [_From below_] Lorenzo, you invited us, and we are your guests. You must protect us. Summon your armed guards and kill these creatures. Otherwise they will kill both you and us.

A THIRD VOICE. Look! For every one of them a light goes out. They devour the light. They put the light out with their black bodies.

FIRST VOICE. Who are they? They love the light and yet they put it out. They fly to the light and the light goes out. Who are they?

LORENZO. What a delightful jest, Signors! It’s very clever of you. But the lights are actually going out, and it is becoming strangely cold here. May I trouble some of you to call my servants? They will bring fresh lights. I really do not know where they are.

_The closed doors burst open, as if suddenly yielding to a strong pressure, and let in a throng of BLACK MASKERS, and at the same instant the light grows markedly fainter. The BLACK MASKERS, roaming about the hall with the same embarrassed but persistent curiosity, gather in a black throng around the fireplace, completely extinguishing the already enfeebled blaze._

THE BLACK MASKERS. It’s cold, cold, cold.

VOICES. Relight the candles. They are going out. Who opened the doors? Bring torches. Torches!

_In the confusion that ensues several of the guests try to close the doors, but give back before the pressure of the continually increasing throng of BLACK MASKERS. Others, with no greater success, attempt to light the extinguished chandeliers, which flare up but immediately go out again. Now and then a MASKER appears with a blazing torch, the red, flickering light filling the hall with a fantastic dance of shadows._

LORENZO. [_Watching the scene with pleasure_] A charming sight. A more interesting conflict between light and darkness it has never been my good fortune to witness. A thousand thanks to him who devised it. I am his devoted, life-long servant.

VOICES. The torches are going out. Bring torches.

A MASKER. We must put out the lights in the tower. This insane Lorenzo will ruin us all.

SECOND MASKER. Some one has already gone to the tower.

THE SPIDER. [_Speaking to a BLACK MASKER toward whom he has for some time been making his way_] Are you from Satan?

THE BLACK MASKER. Who is Satan?

THE SPIDER. [_Incredulously_] Why, don’t you know Satan? Who sent you here?

THE BLACK MASKER. I don’t know. We came of our own accord.

_He tries to embrace THE SPIDER. The latter, frightened, runs away on wobbling legs._

LORENZO. Luigi, you villain, why are you and your orchestra silent? Play, I beg of you, that song of mine— Do you remember it? Pardon my weak voice, gentlemen; I must refresh the memory of this forgetful singer. Listen, Luigi.

_He runs over the opening bars of a simple, touching air, such as mothers sing when they lull their children, and strangely, with low and tender harmonies, the strains of the orchestra answer to the song. All else is silent._

_THE BLACK MASKERS, in awkward and ungainly attitudes, listen to the music, gaping with vacant curiosity. Only at the door, which the MASKERS hold shut by the main strength of their shoulders, there is a knocking and scratching and a low, plaintive moaning. LORENZO, closing his eyes and swaying slightly, sings in a low voice. Suddenly, behind him, along the stairway, echoes the trampling of many feet, distinctly audible in the silence. Several MASKERS run down the staircase past LORENZO, jostling him._

LORENZO. [_Gently reproaching them_] Gentlemen, you put me out.

ONE OF THE MASKERS. [_Panting_] Murder! Murder! There has been a murder in the tower.

VOICES. Who is murdered?

FIRST MASKER. Lorenzo himself—Lorenzo, the Duke of Spadaro, lord of this castle—is murdered.

SECOND MASKER. We saw his corpse. The unhappy Duke lies in the library, pierced by a rapier thrust from behind. His slayer is not only a murderer but a traitor.

LORENZO. That is false, gentlemen. I struck him in the heart. I slew him in honourable combat. He defended himself savagely, but the Lord God strengthened my hand, and I slew him.

VOICES. Vengeance, gentlemen! To arms, to arms! The Duke of Spadaro is treacherously slain.

FIRST MASKER. [_Pointing to LORENZO_] And there is his murderer. Off with your mask, sir!

LORENZO. My mask? [_With dignity_] It is true, gentlemen, that I killed some one in the tower—some brazen jester—but it was not the Duke Lorenzo. I am Duke Lorenzo.

VOICES. [_Shouting_] Off with your mask, murderer!

_Meanwhile the influx of the BLACK MASKERS and the quenching of the lights continue. Now and then another torch replaces one that has gone out. The ensuing words of LORENZO and the MASKERS are interrupted by frequent cries of_ “Bring torches, the lights are going out.”

LORENZO. Why do you think that I am masked, gentlemen? [_Feeling of his face_] This is no mask. I assure you gentlemen, this is my own face.

VOICES. Off with your mask, murderer!

LORENZO. [_Flaring up_] I beg you to give over this unbecoming jest. I swear on my honour that this is the face that God gave me when I was born, and not one of those repulsive masks that I see on you, gentlemen. A mask cannot smile as I smile in answer to your daring jests.

_He tries to smile, but his lips only twitch convulsively. For a moment, with teeth bared, he presents the appearance of a frightful, laughing mask, but instantly his face becomes motionless, turns pale, and stiffens._

LORENZO. [_Horrified_] What is this? What has happened to my face? It does not obey me. It will not smile, but grows rigid. [_Piteously_] Perhaps I am going insane. Just look at me, gentlemen. This is surely not a mask. It is a face—a living, human face.

_Laughter and shouts_: “Off with your mask, murderer! Look, look! Lorenzo is turning to stone.”

LORENZO. [_His face turned to stone_] All is lost, gentlemen. I tried to smile and could not. I tried to weep and could not weep. I wear a mask of stone. [_He grasps his face in a fury, trying to tear it off_] I’ll tear you off, accursed mask, I’ll tear you off together with the flesh and blood. Help me, Donna Francesca. Cut the edge here a bit with your dagger and it will at once fall away and let you see the face of your Lorenzo. Bring your consecrated sword, Cristoforo. Save your master, whom God has abandoned. One moment, gentlemen, one moment—I will——

_He utters a wild cry and falls. At the same instant there is a crash of breaking window-frames, the windows are burst open, and through them pour in the BLACK MASKERS. The hall is dark save for the tremulous light of two remaining torches, and presently one of these goes out. A commotion arises on the darkened stage. There are wild cries of terror and despair and vain efforts to escape. Several of the BLACK MASKERS mount the musicians’ balcony, seize the horns, and trumpet wildly._

A VOICE. Do you hear? They are blowing the trumpets. They are summoning their kin.

SECOND VOICE. That is their music.

THIRD VOICE. Save yourselves, they are coming through the windows!

FIRST VOICE. The tower is full of them. They are pouring down from it like a black torrent. Bring torches.

FOURTH VOICE. There are no more torches. This is the last.

MANY VOICES. Save yourselves, save yourselves!

THIRD VOICE. They hold all the exits.

A FEMALE VOICE. He is embracing me. I am stifling. I shall die. Save me! Among so many knights is there none to protect me?

A VOICE. To arms!

THIRD VOICE. Swords are powerless against them.

FOURTH VOICE. There is no way of escape. We are lost! Crazy Lorenzo! He has ruined us all!

THE BLACK MASKERS. [_Roaming about, one by one_] It’s cold, cold. Where’s the light? Where’s the fire? They have deceived us!

A VOICE. [_In rage and despair_] You have devoured the light, you brood of darkness!

THE BLACK MASKERS. It’s cold, cold. Where is the light? Where is the fire?

_They crowd around the last torch, which one of the MASKERS holds high in his uplifted hand, seeking to keep it alight. The torch goes out. Darkness._

VOICES. Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo! Crazy Lorenzo!

_Curtain._