SCENE V

_The same hall as in Scene I. It is toward evening. Through the half-open window mountain peaks are seen glowing in the last rays of the setting sun. A fire burns in the fireplace. A number of candles are burning, but two SERVANTS, moving along the wall, continue to light others. Silence._

PIETRO. Why have they ordered so many candles to be lighted? Is any one expected to-day? I have heard nothing of it.

MARIO. Hold your tongue, stupid. You talk as if you didn’t know.

PIETRO. [_Gruffly_] How should I know? They call me in when they need me, but as soon as anything goes wrong they shout: “Begone!”

MARIO. Everybody knows. The townspeople of Spadaro came up to the castle to-day. So they know, too. You’re the only one that hasn’t heard.

PIETRO. I don’t care to hear. Only tell me, why so many lights?

MARIO. Because Duke Lorenzo has so ordered.

PIETRO. But why did he so order?

MARIO. Because to-day Duke Lorenzo is expecting guests.

PIETRO. Well, I said myself that there were to be guests. You might have told me in the beginning.

MARIO. [_Sighing_] You’re stupid, Pietro. There will be no guests to-day. It’s only that Lorenzo expects them.

PIETRO. How can he expect them if they are not coming?

MARIO. He imagines that they are coming. Do you understand, stupidity? He only imagines it. Probably you, when you are drunk, imagine things also. Why did you cry out yesterday in your drunken sleep?

PIETRO. I dreamt that Signor Cristoforo was beating me with his cane.

MARIO. There, now. You see, don’t you?

PIETRO. Well, is the Duke, then, drunk? [_He laughs._

_PETRUCCIO, the overseer, enters._

PETRUCCIO. Lively, now, you lazybones, lively! You, there, Pietro, what are you yawning about?

MARIO. My dear Signor Petruccio, you are so wise that even Signor Cristoforo listens to you. Explain to this fool what has happened to our Duke.

PETRUCCIO. That, my fine fellows, is none of your affair.

PIETRO. There, you’ve got your explanation. Which of us is the fool now?

PETRUCCIO. [_Gazing at the ceiling_] Both of you. The Duke is simply indisposed. He has delirium.

PIETRO. But why so many lights?

PETRUCCIO. Because— Clear out!

_Enter CRISTOFORO. PIETRO bows low before him._

PETRUCCIO. Good evening, Signor.

CRISTOFORO. Ah, Petruccio, Petruccio, when will you become thin so that you may contain less wine?

PETRUCCIO. If I become any thinner I shall be like a long drain-pipe, which, letting everything flow through, contains naught.

CRISTOFORO. [_Threatening him with his finger_] Take care, take care, Signor Overseer. [_Sighs_] Well, drink all you like, Petruccio. No one is left to save the wine for. Poor Lorenzo, poor Lorenzo! Little did I think, when we returned from Palestine with his father, that so horrible a fate was in store for the proud family of the Dukes of Spadaro. What has come over him? Where hovers his immortal soul? I looked him in the eyes to-day with a gaze that might have pierced the head of a wine-cask, but he merely smiled at me and, in a voice that would have brought tears to the eyes of a heathen Turk, said gently: “Who are you? I don’t know you. Take off your mask, Signor.”

PETRUCCIO. Indeed, indeed! but that is amazing, Signor Cristoforo.

CRISTOFORO. “My boy,” I said to him, “Duke Lorenzo, just stop and think. If this were a mask, then what a horrible mask I should be wearing.” [_Wiping away his tears_] “My boy,” I said, “Duke Lorenzo, just touch with your finger this scar that I received in defending the Holy Sepulchre. Do masks have such scars?”

MARIO. Really, really! Holy Virgin!

CRISTOFORO. And Lorenzo put his finger on the scar and said: “What a wretched mask, Signor; it is apparently made of two pieces sewed together.” Poor Lorenzo, poor Lorenzo!

_ECCO appears and shrinks into a corner, making himself as small as possible. He sighs deeply._

PETRUCCIO. You see that Ecco, too, is sad, Signor. It’s an ill thing in a house when the jester takes to sighing like a half-frozen dog. Man cannot live without laughter, Signor Cristoforo. When laughter dies the man dies too. Laugh, Ecco. Even if you utter no word, at least laugh, and you will cheer my soul.

ECCO. [_With a deep sigh_] I cannot, Signor Petruccio.

CRISTOFORO. Don’t you find my queer moustachios very amusing?

ECCO. [_With a deep sigh_] Very, Signor Cristoforo.

CRISTOFORO. Then why don’t you laugh?

ECCO. I cannot, Signor Cristoforo.

PETRUCCIO. There, you see for yourself. Laughter is dead. Poor Lorenzo!

CRISTOFORO. Yes. Poor Lorenzo!

_All the candles are now lighted and the SERVANTS withdraw._

PETRUCCIO. Mario, go tell Donna Francesca that the candles are lighted and all is in readiness—for the reception of the guests.

CRISTOFORO. What guests, pray, can there be, Signor Overseer?

PETRUCCIO. [_With a gesture of despair_] And you, Pietro, go and see that the drawbridge is lowered.

CRISTOFORO. What for?

PETRUCCIO. The Duke so ordered.

CRISTOFORO. Lorenzo? Why do you take orders from him?

PETRUCCIO. If, Signor Cristoforo, you had heard his voice and seen his gesture of command, you would have obeyed him too.

CRISTOFORO. I? Never.

ECCO. You would have obeyed, Signor Cristoforo, as I obeyed. What was I? A little, malicious dwarf found in the castle moat. When he so willed, I became his laughter. And what shall I now become? It is not for you to judge, gentlemen. I shall be whatever my master, Lorenzo, bids.

PETRUCCIO. His tears?

ECCO. [_Sighing_] No.

CRISTOFORO. His fears?

ECCO. [_Sighing_] No, his fire. I was his tears. I do not know, Signor Cristoforo, if I was his fears, but now I shall become his fire. He said to me, as he said to you: “Who are you, sir? I do not know you. Take off your mask.” And I fell to weeping, gentlemen, and replied: “Very well, Lorenzo. If you bid me, I will take off my mask.”

CRISTOFORO. No, Ecco, you were better when you smiled.

_Enter SIGNORA FRANCESCA with her suite of ladies and gentlemen. They move silently and sadly about the hall, embarrassed by its emptiness and the brilliant lights._

A GENTLEMAN. [_In a low voice_] It seems an eternity since I kissed you last, Leonora.

LEONORA. And it will be an eternity before you kiss me again, sir.

THE GENTLEMAN. How cruel you are, my goddess. As if one eternity were not enough.

DONNA FRANCESCA. I beg of you, ladies and gentlemen, to do me a favour. You are no doubt aware that the Duke, my husband, is somewhat indisposed. He is expecting guests, though none are invited, and since he will probably assume, my dear friends, that you are his guests, I beg of you not to express surprise or alarm. The Duke’s memory is somewhat impaired, so that he forgets even persons who are dear to him. Divert him, gently and cautiously, from his illusions. I count on your tact and kindness, my friends. Announce to Duke Lorenzo [_covering her face with her hands_] that the guests are arriving.

ECCO. [_Sighing_] I was his laughter. I was his tears. What shall I now become? [_He rises and starts to go out._

CRISTOFORO. Where are you going, Ecco?

ECCO. Where the will of my master may lead me.

FRANCESCA. Signor Petruccio, I trust that you have not forgotten the musicians. Have they learned the music that Duke Lorenzo composed for them?

PETRUCCIO. The musicians only await your instructions, madam.

VOICES. Silence! Silence! Duke Lorenzo! Duke Lorenzo!

_On the brilliantly illuminated staircase appears DUKE LORENZO. He wears the same costume as at the ball, even to the torn doublet, which exposes the spot of blood on his breast over his heart. His face is very pale. He pauses and, looking radiantly about the brilliantly lighted hall, bows with an air of gracious hospitality._

LORENZO. I am delighted to welcome you, my dear guests. From this moment my castle is at your disposal. I am merely your servant. Petruccio, is the roadway lighted?

PETRUCCIO. It is lighted, sir.

LORENZO. Do not forget, my friend, that the whole night is watching us. We will show it, sir, what is meant by a bright and living fire. [_He comes down_] What charming masks! I am happy, my friends, to be honoured by your presence. I am infinitely charmed by your inexhaustible cleverness and wit. Who are you, sir? I do not know you. Please remove your mask, that I may extend to you a friendly greeting.

CRISTOFORO. [_On the verge of tears_] It is I, Lorenzo. I am Cristoforo. Do you not know me?

LORENZO. [_With touching candour_] Why, how should I know you, sir, when you wear so frightful a mask? I knew a Signor Cristoforo. He was my friend from the cradle, and I loved him, but you I do not know. Remove your mask, my dear sir, I beseech you.

CRISTOFORO. I were better thrown to the dogs. I can bear no more.

FRANCESCA. Signor Cristoforo!

LORENZO. What ails the gentleman? Why does his mask change so oddly? I am extremely sorry, sir, and I should be infinitely pleased to learn who you are, but, pardon me, I do not recognise you. And who is this funny fat gentleman with the red nose? What a comical mask!

PETRUCCIO. I have just had the honour, sir— I am Petruccio, your overseer.

LORENZO. You mean you are wearing the mask of Petruccio.

PETRUCCIO. Yes, the mask of Petruccio.

LORENZO. [_Laughing_] A bad bargain, my dear sir. You made a poor choice. My overseer is a great rascal and a knave, and his red nose did not come from praying.

CRISTOFORO. My poor boy!

LORENZO. Ah, now I think of it, has any one of you gentlemen seen a masker in red entwined with a serpent that stings her in the heart? Right in this spot. They say [_laughing_]—they say [_laughing_] that it is my heart. A capital joke! As if every one did not know that Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, has no serpent in his heart.

ONE OF THE GUESTS. [_Incautiously_] You have wounded yourself on something, Duke Lorenzo. There is blood on your doublet.

LORENZO. [_Eagerly_] Oh, that? Thereby hangs a very strange story, gentlemen. It sounds like a fairy-tale. While I was in the tower, some stranger who had concealed his face under a hideous mask, extinguished the light, fell upon me in the darkness, and stabbed me in the back. As you see, gentlemen, the dagger entered under the left shoulder-blade and came out here at the breast. It was a skilful, if treacherous, stroke. My heart was pierced straight through.

FRANCESCA. [_Endeavouring to distract LORENZO’S attention from the wound, which, throwing open his doublet, he eagerly displays_] Lorenzo!

LORENZO. See, ladies and gentlemen, what a master-stroke!

FRANCESCA. Look at me, Lorenzo. Why do you not smile upon me? I am sad when you do not smile. It is as if the sun had set for ever.

LORENZO. You are charming, Signora. I see only your supple figure and your tiny foot, but permit me, my divinity, to make so bold as to peep into your eyes— How they shine! Even through the openings of this ugly black mask I can see how beautiful they are. Who are you, madam? I do not know you.

FRANCESCA. God in heaven! Do you not recognise me, Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_With the same touching candour as before_] Take off your mask, madam, I beseech you. Your question is a strange one. Take off your mask, madam, and I will greet you willingly and cordially. By your stature I should take you to be Signora Emilia; but no [_he shakes his head_], Signora Emilia is not so shapely. Who are you?

FRANCESCA. [_Weeping_] I am your wife, Lorenzo, your wife, Donna Francesca. My love, do you not remember that name—Francesca?

LORENZO. [_Knitting his brows_] Francesca? Did you say Francesca? Yes, that was my wife’s name. True, that was my wife’s name. But I have lost my wife. Have you not heard, madam? There is no Donna Francesca any more.

FRANCESCA. Remember how you loved me, Lorenzo. Look into my eyes. You said that among a thousand women you would recognise me by the eyes alone. Listen to my voice, Lorenzo—you are not looking at me.

LORENZO. [_Gently reproachful_] Your voice is tender and kind, my lady. I hear in it the utterance of a virgin heart. Why do you inflict this painful jest upon me? You are cruel, my dear lady. You should not mock Lorenzo or twist the dagger in his bosom. I have lost my wife. Her name was Donna Francesca, and I have lost her.

FRANCESCA. If you do not believe me, my love, at least give me leave to touch with my lips your blood-stained wound. By the tenderness of her kiss you will recognise your Francesca. [_She bends forward to kiss the wound._

LORENZO. [_With an expression of extreme pain and horror, thrusting her away_] What are you about, madam? You are drinking my blood. Have mercy on me, I beg of you. You have fastened yourself on my heart and you are drinking my blood. You hurt me. Leave me, pray.

_DONNA FRANCESCA weeps. LORENZO, shrinking from her with an expression of suffering and extreme terror, tries to cover the wound, but his hands tremble._

LORENZO. [_Covering the wound and making an effort to smile_] A bitter jest, my friends. You saw how this vampire fastened herself upon my heart?

CRISTOFORO. [_Angrily_] You are crazy, Lorenzo, this is your wife!

A GENTLEMAN. He has insulted you, Donna Francesca.

FRANCESCA. [_Ceases weeping and speaks angrily_] It is you who insult him, sir! Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, cannot insult a woman even though he be insane.

LORENZO. [_To PETRUCCIO, in a low voice_] What is the trouble, Signor? What has disturbed this charming masker?

PETRUCCIO. I do not know.

FRANCESCA. Call the musicians, Petruccio.

LORENZO. [_Joyfully_] Yes, yes, call the musicians.

FRANCESCA. [_Tenderly_] I beg you to be attentive, my dear Lorenzo. Signor Romualdo will now sing for us the charming song that you dedicated to me in the bright days of our love.

LORENZO. You are jesting again, madam. I never loved you.

FRANCESCA. [_Greatly distressed_] Do not listen to him, my friends. I beg you to be seated, Duke, and, if you will permit me, I will sit beside you. Signor Romualdo, show the Duke the song which he wrote with his own hand in the bright days of our love. Do you recognise your handwriting, my dear Lorenzo?

LORENZO. [_Courteously_] Show it to me, Signor. Yes, that is my writing, and a capital joke it is, too. [_Glancing at FRANCESCA_] But here is written: “To my love, to my bride, the charming Donna Francesca.” [_Suspiciously_] How did this sheet come into your hands, madam?

FRANCESCA. [_Hastily_] Signor Romualdo, I beg you to begin. We are listening.

_Strains of soft and beautiful music flooded with sunshine and with the charm of youth and love._

ROMUALDO. [_Singing_] “My soul is an enchanted castle. I have lighted my castle with lights. I have lighted my castle with lights.”

LORENZO. [_Searching his memory_] I seem to have heard those words before. Continue, Signor.

ROMUALDO. [_Singing_] “And the sun entered my charming castle. The black shadows fled affrighted, and an infinite joy, the revellings of a bright and happy soul, gave wings to my thoughts, O Donna Francesca! O Donna Francesca!”

LORENZO. The singer speaks falsely, my friends. I never wrote that.

ROMUALDO. [_Singing_] “And on wings of fancy my flaming spirit ascended to heaven. And on wings of fancy my flaming spirit ascended to heaven.”

LORENZO. [_Rising and hailing ROMUALDO with an angry gesture_] Stop, singer. Do not listen to him, my friends. He lies. He is deceiving you. I remember the words. Luigi, you villain, obey me. If you err even in a single note I will have you hanged to-morrow from the castle walls. Attention, ladies and gentlemen. [_Through the windows the far-off mountain tops stand out from the darkness as if touched by the red glow of sunset. From somewhere behind the MUSICIANS comes the wild music that was played at the ball, but no one hears it_] Right, right, Luigi. [_Singing_] “I, the insane Lorenzo, have lighted up my tower and hither will come those whom I invited not. And the lights in the tower will go out, and my soul will be shrouded in darkness and will rejoice in thee, my lord, my master, ruler of the world—Satan.”

_Cries of indignation and horror. Many, terrified, leave their places and crowd about the columns._

A VOICE. He is calling upon Satan.

SECOND VOICE. He says that Satan is lord of the world. Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Sacrilege!

CRISTOFORO. Awake, madman, you are the son of a crusader.

A LADY. [_To a gentleman_] Look, the sun is setting a second time!

VOICES. The sun! the sun! Look, the sun has appeared again!

CRISTOFORO. [_Stamping his foot_] Even though you are insane, even though you are my master, Duke Lorenzo, I throw down my gauntlet to you.

_The others seize him. The light outside grows stronger and seems to be mixed with flame and blood. The mountains are no longer visible._

VOICES. Look! Look! See what is happening to the sky.

FRANCESCA. Duke Lorenzo is mad, Signor Cristoforo, and cannot do you the honour of crossing swords with you, but in the name of his son, whom I bear in my bosom, I accept your challenge. [_She takes up the glove._

VOICES. The Duchess expects a son. Donna Francesca expects a son. Poor Lorenzo! Poor Lorenzo!

LORENZO. [_Recovering from a profound reverie_] What has happened? I thought I heard the sound of a naked sword. Who dares to draw his sword in the presence of Duke Lorenzo? I showed you honour, my friends, and invited you to my festival. You outrage my hospitality.

VOICES. Look! Something has happened to the sky. There is a fire somewhere. See, the heavens are ablaze! What has happened? There is a fire somewhere.

LORENZO. [_Looking through the window and speaking with elation_] That is the beginning of my holiday, my friends. To our joyful banquet will come one more guest. I commend him to your attention. His eyes are fire, his bright locks are clouds of gilded smoke, his voice is the roar of the impetuous flame that devours stone, and his godlike visage is flame and fire and boundless, pellucid light. Such a masker, ladies and gentlemen, you have never seen!

_The light outside becomes stronger. Frightened cries. Commotion. Voices._

VOICES. Satan! Satan! He calls on Satan. See, the heavens are on fire, the earth is ablaze! Save yourselves! He is summoning Satan.

LORENZO. [_Raising his voice_] Who dares to speak here the foul name of Satan? I thought I heard a strange song. Some madman, deserving of curses and death, called out in tremulous prayer the name of Satan.

CRISTOFORO. It was you, Lorenzo. You are the vassal of Satan.

LORENZO. I? Oh, no, sir. You imagined it. These charming masks beget so many ridiculous misunderstandings. Some jester, assuming my voice and features, has long been deceiving you with a base falsehood.

CRISTOFORO. But you yourself called on the name of Satan.

LORENZO. Oh, no, my friends. [_Falling on his knees and speaking with solemnity_] He whom I have invited to my festival and who now deigns to appear—uncover, gentlemen—is the Lord God, the ruler of heaven and earth. On your knees, knights and ladies. [_Nearly all kneel. Several weep. Low exclamations_: “God in heaven! God in heaven!” _ECCO, the jester, rushes in, all ablaze, and runs frantically about the hall. The SERVANTS, shouting, pursue him_] To me, Ecco; I am here.

MARIO. Seize the villain. He has fired the tower.

PIETRO. He has strewn fire about, and the castle is burning on all sides. Save yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. In a moment the fire will seize upon the staircase.

MANUCCI. We must kill him. Strike him! Strike him!

LORENZO. [_To whose knees presses the blazing and almost blinded jester_] Back! Who dares touch the messenger of God? Back, sirs! [_He draws his sword._

ECCO. [_Trembling_] Is it you, Lorenzo? I am blinded. The fire has burned out my eyes. Do not drive me away, Lorenzo.

LORENZO. Brother, you shall greet our great Master along with me.

_The window-glass crashes. Above appear tongues of flame commingled with volumes of black smoke. Panic and flight. Shouts._

VOICES. Save yourselves! Save yourselves!

FRANCESCA. Fly, Lorenzo, fly!

LORENZO. Your heart has stopped beating, Ecco. Hold fast to life for at least a moment. He comes, Ecco.

ECCO. [_Trembling_] Is he coming? Do you see him?

LORENZO. I hear him, Ecco.

ECCO. I am dying, Lorenzo. But do you tell him that I am your little brother.

LORENZO. I will tell him.

ECCO. [_Growing calmer_] You know—they gave me some bells—I forgot to cut them off—I am dying, Lorenzo.

FRANCESCA. Fly, Lorenzo!

CRISTOFORO. Do you not see, madam, that he is mad? If you will permit me, I will take him in my arms, as I did when he was a child, and carry him away.

_He approaches LORENZO, but, encountering the point of his sword, steps back._

LORENZO. Stand back, sir.

CRISTOFORO. Well, come on, then. [_He draws his sword._

FRANCESCA. Go, Signor Cristoforo. Do not dare to touch that which belongs to God alone.

CRISTOFORO. Well, be it so. But I shall not leave without you, my lady.

FRANCESCA. I leave you, Lorenzo. In the name of your unborn son, I leave you and renounce the happiness of dying with you. But I shall tell your son, Lorenzo, how the Almighty called you to himself, and he will bless your name.

_The fire breaks through everywhere._

CRISTOFORO. Quick, madam, quick!

FRANCESCA. Farewell, my Lorenzo; farewell, my beloved; farewell.

LORENZO. Farewell, Signora. I regret that you wear a mask. Your voice and your words remind me of Donna Francesca. I beg of you, Signora, bear to her my last farewell.

FRANCESCA. Farewell.

CRISTOFORO. Come! Away! Away!

_He takes DONNA FRANCESCA in his arms and, making his way through the clouds of smoke, carries her out. There remain only LORENZO and ECCO, the latter having fallen at LORENZO’S feet. The fire spreads over everything. Outside the broken windows and the ruined doors, in the midst of the black volumes of smoke, appear the BLACK MASKERS. One can see their ineffectual efforts to enter the castle, their silent struggle with the fire, which lightly and buoyantly tosses them back. Again and again they rush forward, only to fall back writhing with pain._

LORENZO. Up, Ecco, the Lord is coming. [_He touches ECCO, but the jester falls lifeless from him. The flames now completely surround them. The BLACK MASKERS have disappeared. The crackling and roaring of the triumphant fire is heard. Solemnly_] I greet thee, O Lord. While I still lay in the cradle my father touched me with his sword and consecrated me a Knight of the Holy Ghost. Do thou touch me, O Lord, if I am worthy of thy accolade. [_Falling on his knees_] But this truth, I aver, O Lord, is known to all people in the world: Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, has no serpent in his heart!

[_The fire envelops him. Everything falls in ruins._

_Curtain._

THE LIFE OF MAN

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS

WITH A PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

_A BEING IN GREY called HE speaks of the life of MAN. The scene resembles a large, rectangular, perfectly empty room, without doors or windows. Everything in it is grey and misty and of uniform colour: grey walls, grey ceiling, grey floor. From an invisible source comes a feeble, diffused light, which, also grey, is monotonous, uniform, and unreal, casting neither shadows nor spots of light. The BEING IN GREY comes gradually into view against the background of the wall, with which he has been merged. He wears a broad, shapeless, grey robe which vaguely outlines the contours of a large body. Upon his head there is a heavy grey scarf which throws a dark shadow over the upper part of his face. The eyes are not visible. That which is visible—the cheek-bones, nose, and sharp chin—is massive and solid, as if hewn from grey stone. The lips are firmly compressed. Slightly raising his head, he begins to speak in a firm, cold voice, calm and passionless, like a hired lector reading with severe indifference the Book of Fate_:

“Look and listen, ye who have come hither for mirth and laughter. Lo, there will pass before you all the life of Man, with its dark beginning and its dark end. Hitherto non-existent, mysteriously hidden in infinite time, without thought or feeling, utterly unknown, he will mysteriously break through the barriers of non-existence and with a cry will announce the beginning of his brief life. In the night of non-existence will blaze up a candle, lighted by an unseen hand. This is the life of Man. Behold its flame. It is the life of Man.

“After birth he will take on the image and the name of man, and in all respects he will be like other people who already live on the earth, and their cruel fate will be his fate, and his cruel fate will be the fate of all people. Irresistibly dragged on by time, he will tread inevitably all the steps of human life, upward to its climax and downward to its end. Limited in vision, he will not see the step to which his unsure foot is already raising him. Limited in knowledge, he will never know what the coming day or hour or moment is bringing to him. And in his blind ignorance, worn by apprehension, harassed by hopes and fears, he will complete submissively the iron round of destiny.

“Behold him, a happy youth. See how brightly the candle burns. The icy wind blowing from infinite space puffs and whirls about, causing the flame to flutter. The candle, however, burns clearly and brightly, though the wax is melting, consumed by the fire. The wax is melting.

“Lo, he is a happy husband and father. Yet look! How dim and strange the candle glimmers, as if the flame were a yellowing leaf, as if the flame were shivering and shielding itself from the cold. For the wax is melting, consumed by the fire. The wax is melting.

“Lo, now he is an old man, feeble and sick. The path of life has been trodden to its end and now the dark abyss has taken its place, but he still presses on with tottering foot. The livid flame, bending toward the earth, flutters feebly, trembles and sinks, trembles and sinks, and quietly goes out.

“Thus Man will die. Coming from the night he will return to the night. Bereft of thought, bereft of feeling, unknown to all, he will perish utterly, vanishing without trace into infinity. And I, whom men call He, will be the faithful companion of Man throughout all the days of his life and in all his pathways. Unseen by Man and his companions, I shall unfailingly be near him both in his waking and in his sleeping hours; when he prays and when he curses; in hours of joy when his free and bold spirit soars high; in hours of depression and sorrow when his weary soul is overshadowed by deathlike gloom and the blood in the heart is chilled; in hours of victory and defeat; in the hours of heroic struggle with the inevitable I shall be with him—I shall be with him.

“And ye who have come hither for mirth, ye who are doomed to die, look and listen. Lo, the swiftly flowing life of Man will pass before you, with its sorrows and its joys, like a far-off, thin reflection.”

_The BEING IN GREY ceases, and in the silence the light goes out and darkness envelops him and the grey, empty room._

_Curtain._